#THE SANDMAN FANFIC

[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

[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."

[itskindofidontknow]

What dreams know about love? Masterlist

Only four chapters posted and I am losing track, so here you can find it all so you don't get lost!

You can catch all that I'ver written in my AO3

Dream of The Endless/Morpheus x Love!OFC

Summary: The Queen of Love has grown used to the absence of her husband, the Dream King. After banning her from the Dreaming, they only saw each other when Morpheus summoned her for social or marital duties. He would go decades without calling for her, enamorated by a variety of mistresses. It broke Love's heart. Not that her husband cared. However, after being imprisioned for a century, The Dream King wants to regain his Queen's love. She doesn't believe him, not after centuries of neglect. The question is: Can dreams repair a broken heart?

Tag: Established relationship, arranged marriage, regency romance, eventual happy ending, angst, morpheus is a dick prepare to hate, love is eoster from west germanic mythology, typos are to be expected, Drama & Romance, Fluff and Angst, eventual smut, mildly dubious consent, denial of feelings, slow burn, emotional hurt/comfort, regency romance, strangers to lovers, think like a marriage story, falling In love, loss of virginity, masturbation, extramarital affairs

What dreams know about love? (+18)

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9 (+18)

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12 (+18)

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

[lis-likes-fics]

Your Delusion

Pairing: dark!Dream of the Endless x Reader Word Count: 4.8k words Warnings: NSFW, dubcon, somnophilia, fingering, oral (f!receiving), multiple orgasms, forced(?) breeding, swearing... A/N: This was to get me out of Writer's Block. Kind of worked? Dream is a bit (ridiculously) delulu in here. He's doing some mental gymnastics in here, and I applaud him cause same. Anyway, enjoy this strange, strange man.

You look so beautiful like this.

Wrapped in your sheets with your eyes so delicately closed, lips so delicately parted, breaths so delicately passed, you look like a dream. My dream.

And you shall always be mine.

No matter what you may believe.

Your rejection was a white hot burn in my chest, a clawing in my throat. The searing courses through my veins, but I know that I cannot blame you for what you had said. You meant only the best, you meant only not to worry me.

But you shouldn't need to worry. Not about such things.

When I saw you in that field, my field—Fiddler’s Green—I knew then and there that I could await our union no longer. I had to have you, I had to keep you.

You turned when you felt me near, and your eyes filled with confusion for just a moment before the recognition of my presence replaced it. You always knew it was me in the end. No matter how many dreams you dreamt.

“Dream lord,” you greeted me, with a smile so soft and true. Oh, how I love your smile.

I took slow steps across the green grasses beneath me, slowly approaching. “It has been a while since you have come here.”

I usually find you with the brothers of the First Story, or perhaps with Lucienne in the library. Other days, you would wander through other fields or amongst the waters of the Golden Rivers. But not then.

Then, you stood in the flowers of Fiddler’s Green. The very place we first met.

“How are you?” I wondered.

You glanced away. It was a shy little gesture, and a quick one at that. In no time, your eyes were back to me and it meant the world. “Better now,” you mumbled, placing your hand against a tree. “I almost forgot how beautiful this place was.”

Though I would usually acknowledge your words, I cannot help but to stare. “I have missed you.” I cannot always find time to see you with all the work I find myself caught in, but when I do, you never disappoint. It had been a couple of nights since last we saw one another, but it was a couple of nights too long.

“I missed you, too.” You said it as though you truly meant it, and that was all I needed. “How have you been doing?”

“Thinking.” I moved closer. There was still too much distance between us.

You tilted your head gently. “About?”

“Many things,” I shrugged. “But mostly you.”

You seemed almost taken aback by what I said, but you remain as kind as ever. “Me?” you chuckled—a bashful thing, really.

My eyes never left you. You're so beautiful, I mustn't ever look away. Perhaps I may lose you if I do…

“I can't keep you from my mind.” I watched as your smile faltered and your face shifted. “Every moment, I think of you.”

You tried to take a step back, but I grabbed your hands and held them within mine. I let the words spill, and I confessed what I had been holding in all this time. “You come and you go from my realm as you please. You smile and laugh as though any being could resist falling for the very thought of you. I look at you, and I know that what I feel is true.”

You looked away from me, down at our hands joined so firmly in one another. You close your eyes shut, and you squeeze them tight. “Dream, I don't think I understand.”

Then I would help you understand. You needed to know how much I need you, how much I crave you.

“I long for you,” I confessed. “Your beauty, your touch, your heart… And I can't keep from you any longer, my dear.”

I stepped even closer, the distance nearly squashed as I set my forehead against your own. “Dream,” your voice seemed so far away, so uncertain. But you mustn't feel that way.

“Be mine,” the desperation began to become clearer in my voice. “Join me as my wife and queen.” My thumb brushed the finger where your wedding ring would be placed. I would almost feel it now… “I shall protect you with my life and love you with all that I am–”

“No.”

The icy chill of your disagreement, the stern tone of your voice, it created a sour taste on my tongue that I deeply resented.

I did not break away from you, though my grip on your hands may have tightened a bit more than they should have. “What?” My voice is low, upset and full of disbelief. You pulled your hands from mine, and I knew that I had to let you or else I may have hurt you.

“Dream…” you sighed heavily, like it pained you. “I can't.”

My eyes fixed on you, and I thought you could see the sudden darkness in them. Perhaps you did, but it wasn't enough.

“Why not?”

“Look at you.” You gesture toward me, taking another few steps away to establish a distance that left me cold. Your voice was not as steady as I'm sure you hoped it would be, but it was firm nonetheless. “Look at me.”

Your hand slapped back down to your side. It was a defeated movement. Hopelessness filled you in the form of tears, and that's how I knew you cared.

“You are the King of Dreams,” you continued, “one of the Endless, the fucking—ruler of sleep and unconsciousness, who's been alive for eons.”

Your brows knitted together, and your hand reaches across your frame. “I'm some…human you've been talking to for the last year.”

I swallowed thickly, the sourness turning to a bitter agony. “Don't you love me?”

I sound pathetic asking, but I simply could not go another moment without knowing.

“Of course I love you!” you exclaimed, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. The leaves in the trees around us shook incessantly, yet there was no wind. Your voice was weaker when you spoke again. “How can I not?”

Hope filled me, if only for a moment. If you loved me so, then why do you choose to deny me your hand?

“But I can't have you,” you explained. “I'm mortal, you're Endless. I will die, and you will go on living for damn near the rest of eternity.”

If time was what concerned you, we could take it away.

“I can get you immortality.” I tried to step closer, but you stepped away.

You shook your head. “It's not mine to take.”

It was times like these where I wish you weren't so good. It was times like these where I wish you were more selfish, more possessive.

“Nonsense,” I disagreed. “If you were mine, the whole of the Dreaming would be yours.” You grunted with such frustration that my own crawled up my neck and into my teeth.

“Morpheus.” I still don't like the way you said it…with such a stern resolve, so bitter and broken. “I can't… I've heard about what happens to those who love the Endless.”

I nearly scoff. “Is that what this is about?” I shake my head.

If danger was what concerned you, I would quash the threats set against my love.

“As I said, I can protect you.”

“I'm not afraid for me,” you urged, “I'm afraid for you.” Oh, my love, you hurt me so. “You've lost so much, I can't hurt you like that.” You took tentative steps away from me, looking down and finding it so difficult to reach my gaze. “It is easier for you to let me go and move on, than to humor this ‘relationship’ and get the both of us hurt in the process.”

You looked up, despite the pain, and you moved forward to take my face in your hands. I must close my eyes to relieve the ache of you so close to me now. Oh, how deeply you cut…

“Forget about me,” you insisted, trying to smile for my sake. I could see how much it hurt you. “I know it's not fair, but it's how it has to be.” When my hands land on your waist, you drop yours from my face.

Reluctantly, you set your hands on my wrists and pulled them slowly away from you. Your voice was soft, wavery. You were trying not to cry. “I am not meant for you.” You take a deep breath in. “And you were never meant for me.”

I didn't know what to say. Though, I suppose it did not matter, for the next moment, you were gone. You left from the Dreaming, and you were lost from my sight.

But that was days ago. You have been avoiding me since.

But I've been there. At every turn, I have been there. And I know you feel me, you know that I am always there—lurking, watching, waiting.

You know it's me when you glance over your shoulder for the shadow in the corner of your eye. You know it's me in the shiver down your spine, the phantom billow of my robes as I ghost past. You know it's me in the faintest sound of breath out of sync with your own.

And I can tell that you know it's me now, in the walls of your bedroom while you lay fast asleep. You look so beautiful, soft and serene. To be in your dreams is one thing, but to watch you lost in your sleep is something else. To know that my realm has so much power, so much influence over something as perfect as you… If only I could watch you sleep forever.

Perhaps I could… but I shall not.

I don't understand how you were so sure of how deeply we did not belong, but I did know that you were wrong. Of course you're wrong.

We are meant to be together. We always were and we always will be. I am not prepared to let you go.

You worry so deeply about us, my well-being and yours if anything were to happen. But as long as there was a gap between us, we could never be together. If our eternal marriage wasn't enough to fill that, then I would just have to find something else.

Something deeper. Something more important than bands on our fingers.

And every kingdom needs its heir.

I shed my robes, the sky hidden beneath them as black as the darkest sapphires. My gentle steps are silent as I approach, the moonlight glinting on your skin now blocked by my frame.

Slowly, I sit on the bed beside you, and I cannot resist the touch of my hand against your cheek. You're so soft and sweet, especially when you lean your face into my hand. I smile, and I know you love me.

I lean down ever so slowly, and my lips press to your forehead. Your head shifts, a little keen against me. Oh, how you beg for my touch, my darling.

And I shall give it.

I remove the covers from your body, revealing you to me. Your shirt rides up your belly, exposing the soft expanse of your skin to me. I place my hand there, and hear you sigh. I slide down, my fingers caressing your skin until my hand dips below your shorts and presses to the cotton of your undergarment.

Your breath hitches when you feel my fingers against your clothed clit, brushing so gently, it's like a phantom touch. Still, you do not wake.

Spreading your legs for me, I cup your perfect little pussy in my palm and sigh. Just as I thought you'd be, warm and wet and waiting for me. I tease, stroking gently with my fingers to bring your arousal further. You squirm against my touch, but still you do not wake. You know I am here, you have no reason to fret.

I knew you loved me.

I lean down and kiss you, though you're so tired you do not kiss back. But that’s alright, you are all I need.

I pull away from you, standing once again and standing at the foot of the bed. I grab at the waistband of your shorts and pull them and your panties down your legs, pausing when you stir too much. When you no longer shift, I pull them off completely.

Oh, you are lovely.

My hands stroke the expanse of your smooth skin, and you sigh at my every touch. Your brows knit together, a far off focus in your dreamland. My fingers tease the seam of your sweet cunt once more, delving between your wetting folds to feel how hot you are around me.

You begin to stir again, but my hand to your stomach eases you. I do not want you to wake yet. Not yet. Soon.

Your walls clench around my finger, and I reward them with another. A tiny whimper slips through your lips. I massage my fingers in and out of you, deep and slow movements that coax more and more wetness from your cunt. My thumb presses to your clit, and your hips roll against me very slightly.

I can no longer control myself. I move onto my knees and hold your legs apart. I just want to taste you. And when my tongue meets the arousal seeping from your lips, a deep moan rumbles within me.

Such sweet honey you make all for me, only for me. I suckle around you, licking and sucking and tasting you with a growing enthusiasm. Your tiny whimpers are becoming moans, broken and needy as you keen into my touch. Your fists clench and unclench, your thighs try to close, your hips roll against my mouth. But I keep you steady, steady and still and open wide for me.

As I suck around your clit, I can feel you clenching around my tongue, which licks in and out of you and laps up your sweetness. You're so close, I can feel it, I can taste it. Your desperation for a release is a potent syrup on my tongue.

Your body shakes and your mewling moans fill the room when you come undone. You gasp, a pitchy, wonderful sound that makes me suck harder around your pulsing clit. You try to break away from me, but I only pull you closer, drunk on your taste and refusing to let up until I have had my fill.

It's a wonderful thing, watching you cum for me so deep in your sleep. I can see flashes of your dreams behind my eyes, skin against skin and warmth and passion and even brief images of me. I feel you tremble beneath me, shuddering and whimpering so sweetly.

I work you through your brief overstimulation, groaning around your pussy as your taste overcomes my senses. The intoxication is a precious salve to my hunger for you, but it does not last long. No, I will never not hunger for you.

And I soon shall never have to find myself starved of you either.

The next time you cum, your back arches off the bed and your mewls mix with your heavy gasp. When I hear the sound of your quickening heart and feel the tug of your slowly building consciousness, I pull apart from you.

Shh. Not yet. Sleep, my love. Soon you shall awake and see me giving you all that you desire.

I place my hand to hold your cheek, and your fluttering eyes steady once more as they seal shut in your returning slumber. And when all is right, I smile. Your slick allows my fingers to glide right through.

Perfect.

I move away, stripping the both of us until we're nothing but skin. The bed dips under my weight, and I pull your thighs over my legs.

Taking my cock in my hand, I hiss lightly. You've truly made a mess of me: hot and hard and leaking. I lean down to you, pressing my lips to the side of your face and dipping down into your neck.

“Don't worry, my love,” I whisper in your ear. “We shall be together.”

I line myself with you, and holding my breath, I thrust inside. Warmth blossoms along my body, and I shudder at the tight heat which welcomes me. “All of us.”

You whine as I push farther inside of you, going deeper and deeper until you've taken me all the way. A thick sigh heaves from my chest at the way you clench, and my hips stutter at the feeling. I pull back and thrust in once more, building a steady rhythm that grows with my passion and desperation for you.

You whimper and moan, squirming beneath me as you stir beneath the slumber I've placed you in. The images in your mind—our bodies, our lips, flashes and breaths—they mix like a cocktail that further my intoxication.

My thrusts are perhaps a bit too rushed for our first time together, but I cannot help it. You are better than I have ever imagined you'd be. I want to savor this, to take my time with you, to cherish each feeling and each taste and each sight…

But we shall have plenty of time for that in the future. Right now, I must ravage your body lying so pliant and willing for me.

I kiss your neck, taking the soft flesh between my teeth and sucking. You taste like flowers and honey, a precious taste I shall never tire of. I rut into you, listening to the sweet sounds of your slick along my cock, listening to your weak moans, your needy whimpers. I'm determined to make you cum with me as I rub your aching little clit with the pad of my thumb.

My need for you trumps everything else. I want nothing more than to bury myself as deeply inside of you as I possibly can and fill you with my love, a love that would take root within you and grow our dearest child. I hook my arms underneath your thighs and put you in the perfect position to receive it, chest to chest as I bury my face in the warm column of your throat.

“Oh, my love.” The words spill out of me as the pleasure grips my throat, and I thrust deeply inside of you. In the same thrust, your back arches off the bed and you actually shake in my arms as you cum around my cock, squeezing me so tight that I have no choice but to cum inside of you.

A rough groan tears through my throat and into your ear. As your tight pussy trembles around you, you gasp as the pleasure rips through you. I feel the harsh tug of sleep being taken from you, and you fully awake with me still buried so perfectly in your cunt.

You choke on my name, and the sound is so sweet that my hips stutter in a half-thrust that pulls a moan out of you. I smile, pulling back without pulling out and looking down at you. You're so beautiful like this, dazed from the pleasure, still coated in sleep with the confusion of it all.

“Dream,” you whisper again, your voice thick with sleep and something else. “Dream, what–?”

You don't have time to speak because I have already begun fucking inside of you again. I'm not quite done yet—I want to make certain that you shall carry my heir in your belly, certain that I shall claim you forever.

And I'm already so addicted to the feeling of your body. To be without it would be a crime.

With the relief of a release, I can focus now as I gaze down at you. My hips thrust in and out—a steady, quick, rough rhythm that has you moaning with loud and helpless sounds that are music to my ears. Your hands reach up, clenching my arms with an uncertain goal.

You struggle to speak, so driven by your lust for me that all you can do is form wordless words as I fuck you. You curse and swear, glassy eyes on me as I hold you close.

Suddenly, I pull out of you, and the most pathetic whine slips from your throat. I flip you onto your belly, spreading your legs and pushing your chest down as I enter you from behind. You welcome me, as I knew you would. My perfect girl.

“Hello, my darling,” I whisper through a groan after a particularly rough thrust. “Did you miss me?”

You mutter something of my name, and I smile.

“I missed you, too,” I say. I press my chest to your back, bringing my hand to wrap around your neck so gently. “But I shall never leave you again. And you shall never leave me.”

You try to say something but it doesn't matter. I pick up my pace, my strength. I hold you tightly and fuck into you with everything that I have. As my fingers circle your abused clit, you moan and gasp for breath as all the pleasure stacks on top of you, one right after the other.

“You're so good for me, my love,” I sigh. “You're always so good for me, as you sleep and as you wake.” Another whimper resounds.

I've longed for this moment for so long. This moment where you would be beneath me, moaning my name and welcoming me into your intimate warmth. Your body moves against me, seeking me out and shuddering under my touch as I give you everything you need. All the slick has built with the addition of my cum dripping out of you, coating me and the sheets below in white. The sounds we make together—the moans, the creaks, the smacks—it's a beautiful cacophony of sweet music. I could stay here forever, locked in this room with you and your body and your love, fucking you with all my passion and making love to you with all my heart.

Your hand reaches out to grab something, settling for the pillow, which you grip so hard, it looks as though you may tear into the fabric. The pictures in your mind have become so much more muddled. Now they're flashes of white, the vague movements of bodies and the vague sounds of groans. It's a mess, a beautiful mess of tangled thoughts and watered down cohesion.

Your moans shudder like cries when I pull another orgasm from your weak little body. As I fuck you through it, the pleasure becomes all the better as you go blinded by it.

“So perfect, my beautiful dear.” I pull out of you, and you sigh as I do, as if you think this is over. I turn you back onto your back.

My knuckles smooth gently down the side of your face as you stare up at me, your eyes glazed over. I kiss you, a deep, bruising kiss filled with all of my lust for you. It takes you a moment, but you kiss back. It's a wonderful feeling.

As our lips are joined, I join our bodies once more. You gasp into my mouth as my cock fills you once more. I trail my kisses along your jaw and back to your neck, painting you in love bites and taking you as mine.

My hips snap into you, my hands hold you tight, my lips lave along your skin. Oh, how I love you so. It shows in the way that I thrust, in the way that I sigh, in the way that I kiss, in the way that I hold you close to me. I can't let go.

A couple of stray tears slip down your cheeks, and I kiss them away. Poor thing, so full of pleasure that you're crying for it.

Without giving you much time to recover, my thumb is at your clit again. I've become utterly intoxicated with the sight of your undoing: the way you tremble and shake, the way you gasp and sigh. I love you.

And for a while, we stay like this, rocking and grinding and moaning into one another. The sight of our faces are drenched in utter bliss, and I bask in the moment. I can feel the beginnings of a second release prickling within me, and my steady thrusts begin to falter.

“I want to hear you say it.”

Your dazed eyes look up at me, your question interrupted by a moan. “Say–ah! Say what?”

“Tell me that you love me. As I love you.” I press my forehead against yours, rutting into you with all my strength as I begin to lose control. “Tell me, my darling. Tell me.”

“I…” You clench your jaw, arching your back as you struggle to speak through your pleasure. “Fuck, Dream.”

Your mouth is agape, and your eyes are closed so sweetly. But I need to hear you say it. I need it. “Say it.” My grip on your hip tightens, my thumb on your clit becomes more ruthless.

Lost in euphoria, you gasp and nearly choke on the words you give to me. “I love you.” You huff out a heavy breath, holding me tighter as your lips search for my skin. Their sloppy contact slides against me, wanting nothing more than to feel my skin against you. “I love you, Dream. Fuck, don’t stop, I love you.”

I sigh at the pleasure it gives me to hear those words on your delicate lips. “Again. Say it again.”

“I love you.” A whimpering sound mixes with a groan. “I love you, Dream.”

My fuse is running out, and with the way you tighten around me, I don’t stand a chance as my rough thrusts bring the both of us even closer to our highs. I can taste it on my tongue. The taste of your honeyed flower skin and your sweet arousal is my own personal wine.

My voice is barely a whisper in my haste. “Say it.”

“I love you, Morpheus.”

The dam breaks as I spill inside of you, shoving my cock as deep as I could possibly reach. Your gasp joins mine, and our sounds mingle with heaving breaths, your pitchy moans mixing with my deepened ones. You hold me as close as I hold you, and our lips slot together in the white noise of our ecstasy.

My hips continue their endless pursuit within you, desperate rolls thrusting within you just to make certain we’ve created our heir. For a while, I lay there on top of you, sparing you my weight but offering my warmth as I stay comfortably sheathed within you. Our gasping breaths have settled to gentle sighs, and you lay limply beneath me as you stare up at the ceiling. Contemplating.

When the time has unfortunately come to remove myself from you, I do as I adjust some hair from your face and kiss your forehead.

There was a fog in the room that I had not noticed before—not a physical one, of course. It’s beginning to clear in the aftermath of our combined pleasure. Your eyes slowly find mine, glazed still but the clearest they have been all night. Now that the blinding bliss has settled and you’ve fully awakened, there’s a clarity you’ve suddenly gained. You take in the sight of my face and I smile down at you, brushing my thumb over your cheek.

“Dream,” you mutter gently, to which I hum. “What have you done?”

My smile grows. I place a kiss to your lips, one that you seem to have trouble returning. Hooking my finger under your chin, I ensure you see me as I speak softly, a gentle hum that I know you shall hear.

“No one shall steal you from me now. Not even Death, no one. You are mine and only mine.”

Your eyes are glossy now, unshed tears gracing them that I hope to wipe away. “Dream,” you whisper, holding onto me with a tight grasp that I embrace. You look like you’ll say something, something dire and important. Instead, you close your mouth and smile, the kind of smile that must be pushed for.

“I love you,” you whisper. There’s an undertone to it that I dismiss. You’re tired, that’s all. I know you love me, and that’s all that matters.

I smile, kissing you again with all the love in my heart. My hand on your waist tightens, and I must remember that you are human. Pulling away from your lips, I brush my finger over your bottom one.

“I love you, too, my darling wife.”

Nothing can take that from us now.

The Sandman taglist: @poetic-fiasco @the-nerdy-goddess @life-on-needs @fanreader @jamiethenerdymonster @sarahbullet235 @majestyjade @melinoe-the-rat @katsukis1wife @sugakookieswithacupoftae16 @hatterripper31 @kplatzman @kmc1989 @thegen3sisark Dreamers taglist: @meg-the-second-greatest @killerqueen-ofwillowgreen @gortycs @octo-octopie @damianodavidhands @alexxavicry @rosaren2498 @sayumiht @jaritzaflores94 @evabalexeeva @cl-0-vr Tag yourself here...

[just-some-random-blogger]

Hello, can I request a dream x reader where reader is his girlfriend and she gets pregnant and how they would both deal with that situation. Maybe a scene with there daughter years later

Aisle 43

Pettiness knows no bounds, especially when you're one of the Endless. This means that if a toddler is what's standing in Dream's way, then it's still very much fair game.

Dream of the Endless x Reader | 800+ | cw: fem!reader, pregnant!reader, vague themes of pregnancy/motherhood, jealousy, super-megapetty!Dream of the Endless, Matthew the 'I'm just happy to be here' Raven, fluff, typos, etc.

A/N: hi my love... i may have totally forgotten I had this in my drafts asfhasfha;sfhasfh sorreh. I JUST DID A DRABBLE BECAUSE MY BRAIN IS MELTING CURRENTLY. I HOPE YOU LIKE IT <3

Tagging: @pinksirensong @aralezinspace @sloanexx @deniixlovezelda @shadow-pancake9

I hum as I make my way out of the soup aisle. The little girl that's been following me around the supermarket tugs at my hand repeatedly. I look down at her and she immediately points, "cereal?"

I turn to the pink cereal box she wanted and flatten my lips into a smile, "sorry, kiddo, you're gonna have to-"

"Why are you with a child?"

Both said child and I look up and see a darkly dressed man in the middle of two shelves with brightly colored items. The girl that barely reached my hips looks up at the dark silhouette then grabs my hand. She mumbles, "nightmare."

Said nightmare raises a brow. It was almost as if a dark haze began to form around him. A raven swoops down and lands on his shoulder.

In stark juxtaposition, Matthew the raven chirpily greets me and adds, "mind getting me some cornflakes?"

I push my cart forward, drawing near both them, and the item. I grab the cornflakes and go to the side of the sullen looking being. I tilt my head, "Dream?"

Dream, who has not torn his gaze away from the child, finally spares me a glance. I free my hand of the cornflakes, dropping into my cart, and use it to cup his cheek. His expression softens.

My other hand, still being tugged by the baby girl, is now tucked behind me. She peeps cautiously from my shoulder.

"I'm going grocery shopping with my coworker."

"Your coworker is a child?" Dream says with a hurt expression.

I make a face but sigh. Suddenly, the dull pain on my back is blatant. I rub my round belly that was the cause of it, "yeah. Beatrice is a prodigy. She does our work better than anyone in the department."

Dream frowns and deflates even more.

I raise my brows.

Matthew croaks as he cocks his head. He whispers, "he's been upset that you haven't been sleeping properly."

"You've not been in my realm for ages," Dream knits his brows tightly, "yet here you are with a child that is not even your own."

When Dream comes close to touch me, Beatrice whimpers and pulls me back. She panics, "nightmare! Nightmare!"

The strength of the child is not enough to make me fall back, but it is enough to make me lose my balance. I feel myself slowly lose my footing. Dream grabs me before anything happens though.

The glare that he throws at Beatrice makes her instantly clamor.

If her wailing wasn't enough to make me panic, then it was when she ran away. I turn to run after her, but Dream grabs my arm before I can get anywhere.

"Let me go!" I snap.

"But-"

"I can't lose my coworkers kid!"

"Don't worry!" Matthew takes off, "I'll keep an eye on her."

I watch as Matthew soars above the aisles and then look back down to glare at Dream. I pull my arm out of his grip, "you terrified a four year old."

Dream glares back, "she was stealing you away."

I am flabbergasted. "You literally put a baby inside me!" I motion to my baby bump and give an exasperated look, "yet you're intimidated by a 40 pound little girl- who, by the way, barely even makes up a fraction of how old you are."

He does not argue with this. He has no argument with it. Instead, he mumbles, "you dreamed of her when you napped."

I roll my eyes, "and how many times have I dreamed of you, my lord?"

He turns away, eyes landing on my belly. He pouts and stares a moment before he rubs it, "I do not enjoy when I must share your dreams with others."

The idea is equal parts exhausting, irrational, and somehow darling.

"What if I dream about our baby?" I raise a brow.

He lifts his eyes. He looks like he actually was mentally debating in that split second it took for him to reply. Dream speaks, "I would be willing to share with the blood of my blood."

I scoff and roll my eyes yet again.

He kisses my temple. A part of my hard expression chips away. I offer him an exasperated look.

Dream makes a face, "was I too much?"

I nod.

"I've got good news and bad news," Matthew calls as he swoops down, "good news, Beatrice found her mom and stopped crying!"

I release a sigh of relief.

"Bad news, she may be traumatized for life, because when a man wearing a black trench coat passed by, she started breaking down all over again."

My relief evaporates and I shoot a hard glare at Dream before pushing him out of the way. I drag my cart along with me as I walk off to look for them.

Matthew perches on the edge of the cart, "oooh, mind if we get some sunflower seeds too?"

"Not at all, my love."

Dream grumbles upon hearing this and watches as we take a turn on the candy aisle.

[pa-nd-em-on-iu-mp-an-da]

My main HC for Morpheus is he lives and just retires from the stress of being Dream.

He gets convinced to just live for himself and choose his own destiny without the expectation of his existence weighing him down.

Hob helps him, both of them moving into a cottage where they learn to coexist and Morpheus learns how to be human without the added stress of a city life.

He reads books, new ones having to be thoroughly digested rather than just instantly available in his head like a goddamn robot.

Maybe he helps Hob plant seeds and realises that it's somewhat close to breathing life into new creations and helping them grow into their desired functions, immediately addicted to the feeling of mud under his nails and stains on his clothes because he's creating a life without needing a purpose for it.

They go down to the beach, and yeah it's not like the Shores of The Dreaming but he still has his spade and bucket and by fucking Christ is he going to make the best sand castle ever, Hob, stop laughing!!

He builds and builds until he's tired and worn out and sweating pints, but there's a version of the castle - his home, even if it's not his anymore, even if it didn't feel like home, not really - standing proudly in the sand. And he stares at it, realising that the dreaded feeling in the pit of his stomach is still there, but it's not as suffocating as it used to be. He's not weighed down by the unconscious minds of everyone, he gets to create for the simple pleasure of creating.

He gets to go back to the cottage, curls his feet under him and drinks hot chocolate as Hob cooks in the kitchen. Music's playing in the background as the fire roars in the hearth.

He feels safe.

He feels content.

He feels loved.

He's happy.

(And maybe a certain Angel and Demon buy a cottage close by, causing an all-out garden war between the Resident Goths on whose plants are better?? Which then creates the Annual Garden Competition. Both Hob and Azi are chilling and having cake whilst the Resident Goths are fighting over the last seedlings).

I just want the dweebs to all be happy.

Is it so much to ask for??

[seiya-starsniper]

Six Degrees of Separation

Rating: Teen || Chapters: 1/4 || Word Count 1.4k

Summary:

The Dead Boy Detectives run into a familiar pub while out on a case, and Crystal has to contend with an unfortunate event from her past.

Hob Gadling wasn't planning on adopting three teenagers and a full grown woman, but stranger things have happened in his long centuries of life.

Read here on Tumblr, or over on AO3

dedicated to @softest-punk for making me emotional about Hob adopting the kids in DBD 💖

----------------

“In here!” Edwin shouts, gesturing frantically at the entrance to a pub that looks vaguely familiar to Crystal. Unfortunately, she doesn’t have much time to wonder before the banshee chasing them lets out a blood curdling scream. Crystal rushes in with Charles right behind her, pushing the door and slamming it shut behind her. Thankfully the pub seems to be completely empty except for one man. 

A man who looked extremely pissed off to see them.

“Oh bloody hell, fuck no, not you, out!” the older man shouts, moving out from behind the bar and looking ready to chase them out by force if necessary. Crystal braces herself, glancing around frantically for some sort of back door that she can bolt to if necessary. She’s pretty sure she can outrun him.

Charles and Edwin however, are a different story.

“Hob, it’s us!” Charles exclaims, throwing up his hands in an attempt to show no harm.

“We’re sorry for bringing a ghost to your door, Mr Gadling,” Edwin adds. “If you’ll just let me borrow one of your books to get rid of this banshee, we’ll be out of your hair.” 

“Not you two, her,” the man, Hob (what the hell kind of name was that?) growls, pointing at Crystal accusingly. Edwin and Charles turn to her in shock, and Crystal is about to protest that she has no idea what this man is on about, but then the memory of how she knows Hob Gadling comes flooding back to her.

The pub they’d run into was The New Inn and Crystal had almost burned it down last year because some girl she hated at school had come here for her 18th birthday. With all of Crystal’s friends, sans Crystal. Ex-friends now, since Crystal had tried to burn the place down with the whole party still inside. Hob had, unsurprisingly, pressed charges, and it took a lot of money from her parents to make everything go away.

“I’m sorry!” Crystal yells, just as the banshee screeches and slams its body against the door behind them. It lights up an iridescent blue, a warding against ghosts. Of course Crystal had to go and fuck up the one supernatural relationship she had because she was an idiot asshole last year. 

“I know this isn’t a great time, but I’m kind of a different person now?” Crystal says, having no idea how to even begin to explain the weird circumstances of the last month. “I swear what my past self did isn't who I am now,” she adds, also raising her hands to show she means no harm. 

“She’s part of the Dead Boy Detectives Agency, mate,” Charles interjects, while Edwin nods furiously in agreement. “Please don’t throw her out!”

The banshee lets out another screech and slams itself against the door, rattling the frame so hard that Crystal’s afraid it might fly off the hinges at any moment. Whatever ward Hob had placed, it wasn’t going to hold out for that much longer.

“What the hell is going on?!” a familiar voice cries out, and then Jenny Green of all people is coming out of what Crystal assumes is the kitchen. She’s also brandishing a butcher knife, because why would any of that change now that she lives across the pond?

“Jenny?!” Charles and Edwin yell.

“Oh fuck,” the older woman curses, glancing back and forth between the three of them and Hob. Crystal really hopes they haven’t just gotten Jenny fired. Finding a job had been tough enough for her when they'd relocated, and she had refused any help financially from Crystal.

“You know them?!” Hob asks, shock clear in his voice.

“It’s a long story,” Jenny grumbles, then screams when the banshee throws itself against the door again. “What the fuck, why did you lead a ghost here? ”

The door rattles and creaks, and the ward around the pub shimmers and vibrates angrily, which seems to finally prompt Hob to action. He straightens his back, rubs a hand over his face, and then takes one, two, three deep breaths before he looks them all over appraisingly. 

“Jenny, get the salt from the back,” Hob orders, gesturing her back to the kitchen. “The iron knives should be on the shelf next to them. Edwin, you know where the tomes are,” he adds pointing upwards, likely towards a room on the second floor of the pub. Jenny and Edwin nod quietly before disappearing to their designated posts, leaving Crystal and Charles alone with Hob.

“Right, so since when have the Dead Boys gotten themselves involved with trust fund brats?” Hob asks, still eyeing Crystal warily as if he expects her to pull out a lighter at any moment. 

“Since this trust fund brat got possessed by a demon and got her memories stolen,” Crystal answers, wincing when she realizes how harsh that sounds. “Sorry. I just recently got them back and it's been a weird time. I really am sorry though. For like, nearly burning this place to the ground cause I was mad.”

“You did what? ” Charles cries out, his mouth agape. “Please tell me that was all David’s doing.”

Crystal scrunches up her face and then shakes her head. “I wish it was, but no. Just plain old shitty Crystal,” she answers truthfully.

Hob looks between the two of them, then sighs, his expression softening. 

“Look, clearly you’ve done some soul searching and I am the last person who should be allowed to hold a grudge against someone who’s done some bad things,” he says, then gestures to Charles. “If the boys vouch for you, then I’m willing to bury the hatchet. All right, Ms Von-Hovercraft?”

“Please just call me Crystal,” Crystal pleads. She really hated being referred to by her surname. It still felt weird and foreign to her, after everything she had gone through. Hob huffs, and this time when he looks at her, there isn’t a shred of contempt in his expression.

“Yeah okay. Crystal,” he says warmly. “You can call me Hob.”

Crystal wants to ask where the hell the name Hob comes from, because she’s pretty sure she remembers his name being Richard , but before she can say anything, Edwin and Jenny come back and Hob turns his full attention to taking care of the banshee that’s trying to get past the wards he has around the entire pub. 

“You’re lucky Tuesday’s a slow night,” Hob says, before he starts flipping through the tome. “Jenny, Crystal, make a salt circle by the tables over there,” he adds, pointing to his left. “You’re going to need to lead her there so we can trap her.”

Crystal and Jenny make as large of a circle as they can, pouring generous amounts of salt into the floor. When they’re done, Hob instructs them to the front of the pub, where the door is still rattling and glowing angrily. Edwin and Charles are standing next to Hob, Charles with his cricket bat out, and Edwin and Hob ready to chant the spell within the tome. 

“When I count to three, open the door and run like hell into the salt circle,” Hob tells them. “One, two, THREE!”

Crystal throws open the door and both she and Jenny cover their ears as they run towards the salt circle. The banshee’s cries are even louder now that she’s inside the pub, but their plan works. She follows them straight into the circle, then screeches again in anger once she realizes she cannot follow them out. Her long hands try to grab for Jenny’s apron, but Charles materializes right at the circle’s edge to bat her hand away. 

Hob and Edwin start chanting some spell in what Crystal assumes is Latin, and the banshee screeches at an even louder volume than before. The salt circle alights a bright gold, and Crystal and Jenny are practically thrown backwards by the force of the magic taking effect.

The banshee lets out one more high pitched scream, and then her dark grey dress suddenly becomes stark white, dark and wet black hair paling slowly to a soft light brown. When the banshee lifts her face, her eyes are no longer sunken and black, but wide and bright green. 

She’s beautiful, now that she’s no longer in pain.

The Night Nurse shows up shortly afterwards, collecting the woman and gently reassuring her that she’s going to a better place. She looks at Hob like she’s offended by his very existence, which the man takes in stride and cheerfully waves her off, telling her to say hello to her boss for him. 

“Right then,” Hob says after the banshee and the Night Nurse have left. “Now that that’s taken care of, care to explain to me what the bloody hell is the connection with you lot?”

[withoutyouimsaskia]

Sometimes It's Fated (Sandman Short Story Part 2)

Part 1 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8

​GIF: Originally posted by @harleytudinous

Pairing: Morpheus/Dream of the Endless x AFAB reader

Summary: Reader Self-Insert. After restoring the Dreaming and locating the missing dreams and nightmares, Morpheus turns his attention to finding you, the human he believes fate has chosen for him. (Title inspired by Placebo's "This Picture".)

Warnings: Minors DNI. Dark!Morpheus. Soulmates. Angst. Obsessive and possessive behaviour. Tension. Threat. Dream manipulation. Masturbation. Voyeurism. Plot related cigarette use. Dubious consent.

Word Count: 2.5k

A/N: So I know I initially billed this as a two shot but the story has run away with me in the most lovely way. Part 3 will be coming soon. Thank you for all your kind responses to part 1, it honestly means so much to me. Hope you enjoy this one too. All my love, Saskia xx

Sandman Masterlist

---------------------------------------------

The veil of sleep comes down upon your weary body with a feather-light touch, trying to coax your mind back into the world of dreams.

Dreamscapes have been a whole new experience for you in the past month of your life. Before, you would wake with no recollection of what had played out. Not even the slightest inkling. Now, you remember everything.

They are staggering; bursting with details and ideas beyond your most outlandish daytime imaginings. The emotions that are conjured by them, both when asleep and also awake are just as bold.

And even though it's been 23 nights since it started you are still finding them predominantly jarring and disorientating. You are baffled by how other people cope with the sheer vividness. The unpredictability. Maybe they have become desensitised. You can only hope that the same will happen for you in time.

One thing you tell yourself with each sunrise:

Thank goodness they weren't nightmares.

At least, you don't think they are. There's no resemblance between yours and what you have heard others describe over the years, nor to those outlined in a dream decoding book you had checked out of the library last week. There's no obvious threat or fear. No re-living of traumatic events. Just weird subtext.

The first dream found you standing barefoot on a beach. A mirage distorted the particulars of the scene making it impossible to see further than half a meter in front of you. The temperature of the sand under your soles was verging on painful and as such, it forced you to walk into the unknown before you.

A groaning wind started to brew and lifted the sand into sparkling flurries. You shielded your eyes from the abrasive particles.

The sun was at its apex when you heard the ear splitting bangs. Unmistakably gun shots; you didn't last much longer in the dream and woke with a start.

For the next week, your dreams had been like a series of video clips edited into a supercut.

Raven wings. Black cats. Hellfire. Ruby red glow. Sprawling library shelves. Landscapes hewn by earthquake fissures. Hotel corridors. A handsome, blond haired man wearing sunglasses, holding a blood covered knife.

If you didn't know any better, you would begin to suspect that your new box of tea bags had been laced with a psychedelic. Alas, no. Your hypothesis was unequivocally disproved when you friends had been completely unaffected after stopping by for a Sunday afternoon catch up.

This quick fire of snapshots eventually stopped, transforming into lucid long form dreams. You often think back to the first one where it happened.

Standing in the the empty room, and the appearance of the figure dressed in black. The colour that had flashed in their midnight eyes had the quality of liquid silver. Sometimes you wonder if you see the same image in other dreams, standing in amongst a crowd.

From that point on, regardless of what dream you are in, you cannot shake the intuitive prickle down your spine that tells you someone is watching you.

You reason that it is nothing to be concerned about. Humans dream, and you cannot deny that some of them - swimming in a sea of clouds, re-visiting childhood haunts, trying out superpowers - have been quite fun.

You roll over on to your left side and close your eyes.

You dream.

The room you see is expansive in breadth and depth. Impressive windows bring brilliant light into the space which bounces off the ivory stone of the floors and walls. There are statues positioned at equidistant intervals, implying that the chamber is a gallery of sorts.

One effigy, fashioned from bronze, and rich in colour draws your attention. The lines and curves of its form intrigue you, despite not knowing the creature it was portraying.

You are about to move on when the feeling of being watched sparks through your skeleton.

Everything changes.

Clarity gives way to haze. Sun is swapped for moon.

You see a man across the room. He stands with a perfect posture. Graceful, powerful. His elbows are bent, fingers interlaced, palms facing upwards. Sheer black fabric floats around his frame. It moves languidly, giving glimpses of his bare body beneath.

The man's face is imperceptible. The distance between you too great but somehow you know you are the focus of his attention.

His robes fall to the floor with a gossamer sigh. The pale, unmarked skin of his slight form glows beautifully in the moonlight. You look down in embarrassment as arousal flushes through you, and you see that you are suddenly as naked as he is.

You gasp, and snap your gaze back up.

The sight you see is rather unexpected. The man is intimately touching himself.

You feel compelled to mirror him. You immediately reach between your legs. The man groans as you make contact.

All it takes is a little bit of attention on your clit before you are ready to slide two fingers into your core. The noise you make at the feeling of the stretch is salacious. The man echoes you with a sound that is just as dirty.

It spurs you on and you burrow deeper.

You curl your fingers until your legs are weak and quivering. You long to sink to your knees so you can finish in a more comfortable position yet you can't. An invisible force is preventing you.

It keeps you on display.

Just like the statues to your left.

You wonder if it is for the man's benefit.

You try to focus on him but it is impossible to do so through the trembling glaze over your eyes. All you are able to sense from him now is the sound of the rhythmic pump of his palm around his cock and his panting breaths.

Desperate whines escape your lips. You are teetering on the edge of an orgasm but you can't seem to lose your balance and fall into the abyss. The unsteadiness in your legs is too much of a distraction. You rub at your clit again in the hope that it will bring the satisfaction you need.

It does nothing.

You are so frustrated by your body's disobedience that it is almost painful.

"Please. Please. Please," you mutter under your breath.

A voice suddenly speaks next to you ear. A velvet voice with the timbre of a thunder rumble. It pours like a soothing syrup into your brain and commands you to do exactly as it bids.

"Let go."

You climax intensely, crying out in relief, squirting all over your fingers and onto your hand as you legs finally give way.

The fall jolts you back into consciousness and you wake with a barely contained scream of pleasure in your throat and adrenaline lighting up your nervous system.

Daylight is peeking through a little gap in the curtains. You take a deep, grounding breath.

That was obscene.

The context, the actions, the sounds. That sultry voice at the end. From the throbbing in your vulva and the twitching of your legs it seems like you didn't just finish in the dream.

There is really no point in looking it up in the dream decoding book.

You were clearly horny on a subconscious level. Or craving attention, hence the exhibitionist behaviour. The latter is not usually in your nature to seek out but if it is the reason, you might not have to wait long before the desire is fulfilled. There is a work event happening this evening that may require you to accept an award and address the crowd.

You love this time of year where community projects get recognition; a nomination alone is a sure-fire way of garnering publicity which in turn helps the charity's outreach.

But first, a normal day at the office. You throw back the covers and go straight to the bathroom to rinse off the evidence of your wet dream.

---------------------------------------------

Your right hand connects with the metal push plate of the function space's front door. The heels of your boots click and clack as you cross the threshold, moving from floor board to paving slab.

It's fortuitous that you brought a long, thick coat with you this evening for the wind is wintery and unforgiving. You stay close to the wall of the building to try and shelter from it as much as possible.

The pavements are slick with recent precipitation, streetlamps bouncing off of the water with caustic white light.

Then you see him; a figure cut from shadow.

He's breathing in such a laboured way that you wonder if he is sick.

Your phone is still inside the venue, currently being guarded by a colleague along with your bag but it wouldn't take long to retrieve it and call for medical assistance.

"You okay?" Concern colours the simple question.

His reply comes quickly and assertively, "I am well, thank you."

You nod, not entirely convinced for the stranger's response was as stiff as his posture, and reach inside the pocket of your coat for the box of cigarettes and lighter stashed within.

You settle one of the sticks between your lips and use your thumb to bring forth a flame. The crackle of smouldering paper and tobacco perforates the damp air and you take a needy drag. The nicotine taints and tantalises in equal measure, filling you with guilt and relief. You've been trying to give up but the little voice inside your head had won this evening. You close your eyes and focus on the pleasure it brings before flicking some ash into the tray mounted to the wall.

Your attention now back on your surroundings, the stranger steps into the scope of the streetlight. The angles of his cheekbones, jaw and nose are accentuated to an incredible extent in the gleam. His dark hair is being buffeted about the wind, locks of it very close to falling in the blue eyes that are unwaveringly trained on you. He begins to talk again, showcasing his deep baritone.

"I'm afraid I wasn't entirely honest with you just now. It is not how I envisaged our first interaction transpiring. I hope that you can forgive me for my deception."

You laugh nervously and take another quick drag. "It makes no difference if you're honest with me or not. I don't know you."

"You are correct. You don't know me. Not yet -"

"Oh," you cut in quickly. "I'm not looking for a hook up."

While you cannot deny that he is arrestingly beautiful, you are technically working and have never been one for one-night stands.

"You mistake my meaning. I have been searching for you for so long. I oftentimes doubted your existence however I was wrong and I find myself humbled to be in your presence at last."

The grandiose declaration is one of the stranger things you have heard in your life and you used to deal with drunken patrons when you worked at a university bar. Maybe he was intoxicated; it would explain a lot.

"Look, this might work on other people but I just came out here to have a cigarette -"

It is his turn to interrupt you now. "You will have no need of those going forward. Your addiction to them will be replaced by me."

"Excuse me?"

You are trying to sound incredulous, however, inside you are rather frightened by the turn the conversation has taken. His gaze is not helping either.

The crystalline eyes are embodying every part of the descriptor; a hard, chill inducing blue. Ash drops from the smouldering cigarette as a tremble of fear rattles through you. The man sees this and the ice suddenly melts to a warmer hue.

His tone turns soft and gentle. "We are supposed to be together. Our union is fated."

He's staring at you expectantly even after your two attempts at rejection. You swiftly stub out the part-finished cigarette and take ownership in ending the interaction.

"I've had enough of this. I'm going back inside now. If you try and follow me, I will speak to the venue's management. If you are still here when I leave later, I will call the police."

You turn towards the door.

He calls your name. Your full name. Middle name too.

Despite your brain chanting at you to go inside, you can't stop yourself from looking back at him. "H-how do you know my full name?"

The profound rumble of his voice resonates deep in your ears. "I know everything about you, Y/N."

He's right in front of you now. His posture is bordering between desperate and predatory. Like he can't quite decide if he is seeking comfort from you, or if he wants to consume you.

You are fumbling behind you to find the door handle. "Please get away from me," you say hoarsely.

He reaches for your hand.

You jump back and struggle to get out of his grip but his strength is inhumanly strong. His skin of his palm is glacial against yours and yet somehow, the touch makes heat snake up your arm and settle in your chest.

You become aware of an internal feeling that you've always had, like that of chapped lips. Low level but something that constantly nags. Something that existed every minute of your life until the moment he touched you.

You grip his hand and look up at his face in astonishment.

"Good. That's it. Look into my eyes. See what you know is there."

You do as he says, totally stunned by the depths that seem to reside within them. It's as if there are universes suspended inside. Maybe there are. Perhaps you could float among the celestial bodies if you asked him to show you how.

You feel so alive and overstimulated that you welcome the delirious thoughts taking over your mind.

You welcome him.

It's like there is a cord connected between your heart and his that is shortening in length. The intensity scares you.

"Give into the pull," he urges darkly, sensing your anxiety.

You obey, feet moving of their own accord and then you are standing before him, just centimetres apart.

He smiles triumphantly and presses you flush against his body.

His free hand comes up to cup your jaw, fingers brushing the sensitive skin of your neck. More heat sears through you from the additional skin-on-skin contact.

Your peripheral vision closes tighter and tighter with every passing moment. The outside world is gone.

He leans in further and you wonder hazily if he is going to kiss you or break your neck. Both options are equally viable given the behaviour he has exhibited. You keep staring at him regardless.

His irises flash silver as he intones his next sentence. "Y/N, I claim you as my soulmate."

-------------------------------------

Taglist: @herfantasyworldd @kpopgirlbtssvt

"Am I your dream girl? You think of me in bed. But you could never hold me. You like me better in your head."

[unpredictable-probabilities]

What Lies Beyond Fear

Summary:

Dream decides to visit Hob a day earlier than their agreed appointment.

He learns about modern-day Halloween traditions, and what it means to have nothing to fear.

Word Count: 4,635

Notes (more at the end):

For All Hallows Sadman 2024 hosted by @mr-sadman 🎃

Prompt: Trick or Treat

[Read on AO3]

---

Dream ducks under fake cobwebs hanging on trees and sidesteps around a candy stall as he makes his way to The New Inn. He could, of course, have just appeared on its doorstep, but he finds that he likes the walk, as it reminds him of the first time he took the path. The first time he had seen Hob again after more than a century.

The late afternoon sun casts a warm glow on the pub as Dream draws closer, and he sees a poster on its wall advertising an upcoming Halloween party tomorrow. Drinks would be at a discounted price if one were to attend in costume.

“My friend!”

Dream turns his gaze away from the poster to look at Hob, already approaching him from the other side of the open doorway.

“You're here early,” Hob smiles when he reaches him. “I'm not complaining, though.”

Dream finds that it is easy to return the smile. It always is now. With Hob.

“I simply took your advice and accepted more help with my work from Lucienne and Matthew. They all but pushed me out of my own castle when I said I wanted to visit you a day earlier than what we agreed on.”

Hob beams at him, and it makes something warm bloom in Dream’s chest. “Well, I should remember to thank them later. Wanna come inside, then?” he nods to the interior of the pub.

Dream nods, and Hob leads the way inside to their usual table, talking about how the Halloween party was a spontaneous idea that only came about less than a week ago.

Dream keeps his eyes on Hob the entire time, not wanting to miss a moment of it. His feet have memorised the way to their table, and so he is free to give his full attention to his friend.

He has grown rather fond of Hob's face this century; the way his eyes light up when telling a story, how he gestures with his hands more as his excitement grows, as if his body couldn't possibly contain all the happiness he is feeling, the way his eyebrows lift and his lips quirk up in a smile when Dream says something he finds surprising. That was what he endeavoured to see today, why he surprised Hob with his unannounced visit. Needless to say, the reality of it is even better than his expectations.

“Is Halloween also celebrated as a romantic event nowadays?” Dream asks curiously as they sit across from each other.

“What? No, why?” Hob furrows his eyebrows.

“I see the daydreams of your patrons. A handful of them are hoping to ask someone as their date to your gathering tomorrow. They have romantic intentions.”

“Oh!” Hob chuckles. “No, humans just do that. Ask someone to be their date to parties as an excuse to spend time together.”

Dream tilts his head a fraction to the side. “I am not certain I understand the need for such an excuse. Would it not be simpler to ask to spend time together regardless of gatherings?”

“Well, you know,” Hob looks down and picks up the round cardboard coaster, tapping the side idly on the table. “Sometimes it's scary to ask that, especially if you don't know what the other person likes to do. It's easier to invite them to a party, where there's already something to do.”

“Ooh Professor G! I didn’t know you’d bring a date!” a young lady wearing a witch’s cape and hat playfully says.

Hob chuckles good-naturedly. “Ah no, this is Dream. My—”

“Date. Yes. I am Hob’s date this evening.” Dream smiles at Hob.

Dream blinks himself out of Hob’s daydream. He always makes an effort to respect the privacy of his friend’s thoughts, but that particular one was so sharp and sudden that it caught him off-guard.

Curious. Hob daydreams of people mistaking him as his date. And him confirming it with a smile. That does not make sense. It would imply that Hob has romantic feelings for him. And why would he, when he has lived among humans for nearly seven centuries and experienced all their warmth and joviality?

Before this century they had only had six meetings, none of which had lasted a full day. Surely Hob would not prefer the cold aloofness of him compared to all the interesting humans within his reach in his daily life.

“Dream? Are you alright?” Hob’s eyebrows knit together in concern.

Dream focuses on his friend once more. “Yes. I was merely… pondering.”

“A penny for your thoughts, then?” Hob’s expression is open, encouraging. As he has always been after Dream told him the reason behind his absence in 1989.

Dream could ask. About Hob’s daydream. It is normal for friends to ask questions.

“I hope my sudden appearance has not intruded on any prior plans.”

Hob raises an eyebrow. “That’s what you were thinking about?”

Dream glances down. It is also normal for friends to be considerate of another’s time. And much more acceptable than inquiring upon one’s private thoughts.

“Don’t worry about that, mate, I’m always glad to see you. I have to chaperone a friend’s kids later tonight for trick-or-treat, but until then we can just be here. Unless you wanna chaperone with me.”

Dream looks at Hob again, trying to discern if he correctly interpreted the hopefulness in that last remark.

“You don’t have to, of course,” Hob says hurriedly. He clears his throat. “The kids’ parents are my colleagues, and they have to attend a seminar tonight so they asked if I could chaperone their kids since they live nearby.” He looks at his watch. “That’s in a little over two hours from now, though. We have plenty of time.”

Dream wants to point out that that is not nearly enough time. That they spend several hours together in their weekly meetings, sometimes until late into the night when Dream remembers that immortal though he is, Hob’s body still needs sleep. At which point they would continue their conversations in the Dreaming, lounging in the couches in the library or under the shades of trees in Fiddler’s Green.

Therefore, no. Two hours is not plenty of time.

“Dream? Is it really bothering you?” The concern has returned in Hob’s eyes.

“I am merely puzzled by these new human traditions. In times past, when this festival had varying names, it was often associated with bonfires and commemoration of the dead. Plastic spiders and masked children asking for sweets are all quite new to me.”

“Ah, yeah, it was a bit surreal to me at first too,” Hob reminisces. “But it’s nice to see an old solemn festival evolve into something that makes people more cheerful, you know? There’s something beautiful in seeing happiness around you.”

Dream keeps his gaze on Hob, on the curve of his lips and the crinkle in the corners of his eyes when he smiles. The same man who had sat across from him talking about chimneys and playing cards and handkerchiefs with raw wonder in his voice.

Dream returns the smile. “Indeed. Perhaps I can learn more about Halloween in this century. If your offer to chaperone with you still stands.”

“Of course,” Hob says immediately, his face brightening in a way that further convinces Dream he made the right choice by proposing to extend their meeting past two meager hours. “Oh I forgot to get us food, sorry. Give me a moment.” He turns and calls the attention of one of his staff.

“You are aware that I do not need food.”

“Yeah, but you enjoy it,” Hob winks at him before turning to the waiter. “I’d like a strawberry scone and my usual coffee, and a blueberry muffin and hot chocolate for my friend.” He turns to Dream for confirmation.

“It appears you know me well,” Dream concedes.

Hob grins at him and thanks the waiter who promptly passes their order on to the kitchen.

They talk, as they always do in their meetings. Hob listens with rapt attention while Dream tells him of his work in his realm, and Dream wonders if Hob is aware that his own stories of how his week had gone captivate Dream in much the same way.  

Dream thinks it is because he is the Prince of Stories that Hob’s tales have such an effect on him, no matter how mundane they may seem. It is not until Hob asks if he wants to have another cup of hot chocolate that Dream realises it is quite the opposite; Hob sees him beyond his function, and wishes to spend time with him simply because they are friends. It is not something that he is overly familiar with. Spending time with a friend. He has far more experience being the Lord of Dreams. Although it appears that he finds more pleasure in being a friend. With Hob.

Two hours fly by quickly—as Dream had known they would—and Hob says that he should get dressed before picking up the kids at their house.

“Is there a dress code for Halloween?” Dream furrows his eyebrows.

“Of course. Costumes.” Hob grins. “Even the chaperones get dressed up here every year. Wanna come upstairs? You can read in the living room while I change.”

They vacate their table and go upstairs to Hob’s flat as they had done many times before. The motions are so familiar that the situation almost feels domestic. And Dream wonders if Hob feels it, too.

“Right then, make yourself at home,” Hob says easily when they reach his living room.

“Do you say this to all your friends? Offer your home as theirs?” Dream trails his fingers along the books on Hob’s coffee table. The stack is higher now than when he first came here. He sits down on the couch to peruse the titles along the spines, and finds that the books are those he had expressed a preference to in their previous meetings.

Hob falters in his step and stops walking. “Oh, um, I haven’t really invited anyone else over since I moved here. I’ve got all these things from my past lying around, like that vase from the 1800s, and that music box from 1902. And other things that would be more difficult to pass off as part of an art collection. It’s just easier if I don’t need to worry about explaining them.”

Dream glances around, realising what Hob means. He has decorated his home to have pieces of the different lives he had lived, has chosen to keep things from his past that he holds close to his heart and doesn’t want to forget.

And Dream is sitting among them.

Dream should say something. Friends express appreciation to each other, he recently learned. He should tell Hob how honoured he feels to be allowed to see all this, to share the same space as Hob’s most cherished memories. Hob should know about the blooming warmth in Dream’s chest, about how perhaps this place is beginning to feel like home to him as well.

“You should get changed.”

Hob blinks. “Ah, right. Won’t be long. There’s some food in the fridge if you want any.” He disappears into his bedroom.

Dream sighs. It seems that he is far more articulate as the Prince of Stories than he is as a friend.

He picks up a book from the top of the stack—a fantasy novel he had begun to read at a previous visit—and continues to read where he had left off, idly wondering how humans learned to express themselves through words.

Several minutes pass before he hears Hob’s voice again.

“That’s everything, I think. I considered an eye patch but I don't wanna be walking around at night with just one eye, especially since I'm chaperoning.”

Dream glances up from his book and sees Hob wearing black leather boots that nearly come up to his knees, brown trousers, a loose white v-neck shirt tucked in, and a long black coat with gold accents at the collar and cuffs. Around his waist is a wide brown leather belt affixed with a scabbard and a gun holster, holding a cutlass and a pistol, respectively. Both of which are evidently made of plastic.

Preoccupied as he had been with his sentiments about Hob and his home, Dream had not stopped to wonder what Hob’s costume might be. He wears it well. His padded thighs and broad shoulders carry the clothes splendidly, and there is a glimpse of chest hair from beneath the low neckline.

“Don't laugh at me,” Hob warns playfully.

Dream blinks and lifts his gaze to his friend's eyes.

“I've got a fake sword and I'm not afraid to use it.”

“You are a pirate.” The past several minutes have not returned eloquence to Dream.

“Yep. That pirate show’s still stuck in my head.”

“That does not look like the ensemble of Edward Teach.”

“Because I'm not wearing that much leather,” Hob says pointedly. “Otherwise I'll be sweating in half an hour.”

Dream huffs out a chuckle. “Am I correct to assume that friends wear matching costumes on Halloween?”

“Sometimes, yeah. Why?”

Dream closes his eyes and conjures the image in his mind. The black leather boots, the black shirt tucked loosely in black trousers, the low neckline mostly covered by the black scarf tied neatly around his neck. The ring on his left index and little fingers, inlaid with rubies. The rapier hanging by the black belt around his hips.

He opens his eyes and stands up, neatly returning the book to the coffee table.

Hob is staring at him with his mouth open, his eyes running over every detail of Dream's clothing as if intending to imprint them in his memory.

Dream smiles in satisfaction at Hob's reaction. “I do like the Gentleman Pirate’s attire but I have a preference for black. I do not think he would mind the colour change.”

Hob blinks and meets his gaze. “You… Is that a real sword?”

Dream glances down at it and waves his hand to change it into plastic. “Not anymore.”

Hob chuckles, seeming to shake himself out of a trance. “Why a pirate, too?”

“I want everyone to know we are together.”

The smile melts off Hob’s face and he swallows, eyes flicking down to Dream’s mouth.

Hob surges forward to press their lips together, his hands cupping Dream's face—

Dream nearly gasps as he closes the walls around Hob's daydream. It is even more vivid than the last.

It is rare for him to manifest a heart in his human form. He finds no point to it, and oftentimes it simply slips his mind to form one.

Yet now it thuds inside his ribcage, every beat echoing in his ears like a measure of a song saying Yes, I want that. Now.

Dream swallows and puts his hands behind his back, gripping his wrist in order to prevent himself from grabbing at Hob and pushing him against his shelf of memorabilia, imprinting another memory into his mind and body that he shan't soon forget.

Dream looks at the door and takes a steadying breath. “Shall we go, then? I do not wish to make you late for the children.” And they will be quite late indeed if Dream were to fulfill their daydreams now.

“Oh, right, yeah. Let's go.”

The air outside is refreshing, calming Dream’s heart into a more even rhythm and clearing his mind.

They pass by other children and adults wearing costumes, some carrying plastic jack-o'-lanterns with candy inside.

Dream listens to Hob talk about more of the city's Halloween traditions, wondering why he had not noticed Hob’s feelings for him before. Why he had not noticed his own.

Hob puts a protective arm out in front of Dream when a motorcycle speeds past, as if Dream could be harmed by such things. They continue on walking, with Hob talking about the unfortunate lack of sidewalks before moving on to more positive things like the free candy tonight at The New Inn for trick-or-treaters and regular customers alike.

Dream watches the light of the setting sun reflect in Hob’s eyes, remembering the first instance of Hob protecting him, all those centuries ago. He had not seen Hob's daydreams then, but he felt them at the corner of his mind. And before he could be tempted to confirm if they wanted the same thing at that moment, he cut their meeting short. He did not wish to risk Hob’s life—immortal he may be—just for the sake of his own fleeting urges.

Now there is no risk of hurt or capture for either of them. Perhaps, instead of wondering why he did not notice such feelings after his return many months ago, it is more important to wonder what he will do next. Now that he knows.

They reach the house of Hob’s friends, and pleasantries are exchanged with introductions. The kids, Noah and Oliver, know Hob as their parents’ friend from the times that they all went to The New Inn. The boys dressed as their favourite superheroes—Batman and Superman, as Hob helpfully whispers to him—and they immediately adore the pirate costumes that Hob and Dream are wearing.

After their parents remind them to get along with other kids and listen to their chaperones, the boys excitedly run ahead to wait for them on the street, bouncing on their heels as they wait for the grown-ups to finish their conversations.

Hob's friends mention an upcoming holiday trip, and Dream is struck by the realisation that the spouses look at each other in much the same way that Hob looks at him.

He tenses and waits for fear to set in. He has had lovers in the past, and their relationships ended in ruin. He will not—must not—allow the same thing to happen between him and Hob.

Dream is so lost in his thoughts that he barely registers when the farewells happen and they join the kids.

They walk down the streets and Noah teases his younger brother about being scared of the older kids’ costumes of ghosts and ghouls.

“I'm not scared!” Oliver says indignantly in his high voice.

Dream feels a small hand grasp his. He looks down and sees the boy’s green eyes looking at him in concern.

“You're quiet, Mister Dream. Are you scared?” Oliver is still holding his hand reassuringly.

Dream glances at Hob and sees that his friend is smiling fondly at him. Those warm brown eyes that welcomed him without question even after he had stormed out of their meeting and was absent in the next. The gaze that belongs to the man who never doubted that he would return and built a new place for him to return to.

“No,” Dream answers Oliver without looking away from Hob. “I am not scared.”

“Hurry, Oli!” Noah calls out from a few paces ahead. “Mum says we're not allowed to separate!”

Oliver lets go of Dream’s hand and runs to his brother.

“Oi!” Hob calls after him. “Your mum also said not to separate from us!”

The boys give no indication that they heard Hob, and instead approach the nearest house to ring the doorbell.

Hob chuckles and shakes his head as he turns to Dream. “You're really okay with doing this?”

“I am. These children tonight have loud daydreams of their favourite sweets and eating them while in their costumes. It is good to see them fulfill that happiness. I had… forgotten. How much every little daydream matters.” Dream looks around at the little superheroes and princesses and fairies walking around the street, and he feels himself smile.

When he turns back to his friend, Hob is watching him with a smile of his own.

“It's good to see you happy,” Hob says with such sincere softness that makes something like yearning twinge in Dream’s chest.

“Mister Hob! Mister Dream! Let's go!” Oliver is holding his brother's hand and is excitedly waving for them to continue walking.

They meet some of Hob's neighbours along the way and get compliments on their costumes, and Hob invites them to tomorrow’s Halloween party at The New Inn.

Plastic pumpkin baskets get filled, and eventually Noah and Oliver grow tired of walking and sit on a bench to peruse their hoard.

Hob goes to buy refreshments at a food stall nearby while Dream stays to guard the kids, standing a few steps away from the bench and looking around with interest at the jack-o'-lanterns that have now been lit all over the park.

“That's a lot of candy you got.” An unfamiliar kid’s voice catches Dream’s attention.

He turns to see that three teenage boys have approached Noah and Oliver, wearing shiny robot costumes that look particularly expensive.

“Yeah…” Oliver says timidly and protectively hugs his pumpkin basket close to his chest.

“Now, that's not nice,” says the tallest kid. “Didn't your mum teach you to share?” He reaches for Oliver's basket—

Noah stands up and squares his shoulders, looking up at the older kids. “Didn't your mums teach you not to steal?”

The tall kid sneers and steps forward, and in that moment Dream bends the shadows and appears directly behind the bench, facing them.

“The night is still young, children. And reward is only sweet when it is earned,” Dream says evenly, his eyes black pools with bright stars in the center.

The older kids stare at him in horror and stumble all over themselves in their haste to run away.

“They left,” Oliver says in awe, watching the kids turn and disappear around a corner.

“It must have been your brother's bravery that daunted them.” Dream blinks and his eyes are once more blue.

“Daunted…” Noah furrows his eyebrows in thought and turns to Dream. “That means scared, right?”

“Indeed,” Dream smiles. “It appears you are smart as well. You make for an excellent Batman.”

Noah beams. Then he gets a chocolate bar from the depths of his basket. “For you, Mister Dream!”

Dream looks down in surprise at the offering in the child’s open palm. “But you worked for it. It is yours.”

“Our mum did teach us how to share,” Noah grins. “With friends.” He holds his palm higher.

Dream is rendered speechless. He does not need air but for a few moments he feels short of breath. Then he smiles and takes the chocolate bar. “Thank you, Noah.”

Hob arrives carrying big cups of fruit shakes in a paper bag. “Everyone alright?” He begins to distribute the cups.

“Yes!” Oliver exclaims, showing his full basket. “Let’s get back home and share these with mum and dad!”

The fruit drinks seem to have replenished the children's energy, and they jog and bounce along the sidewalk on the way back to their house.

Their parents have returned and have already prepared dinner for them. Oliver regales them with the tale of how his brother defended them from bullies, and as a reward they are allowed to have some of their candy before dinner.

Farewells are exchanged, and Hob and Dream make their way back to The New Inn.

“I saw what you did, you know,” Hob says as they leisurely walk under the light of streetlamps. “I can't believe you scared those kids like that,” he chuckles.

“Hm?” Dream hums with feigned innocence. “Noah did not want to give them treats. So I gave them a trick instead. Is that not how this holiday works?”

Hob laughs, a bright sound that makes Dream continually grateful for this night. “Not exactly, no.”

“Then I suppose I should stay longer so that I might learn more.”

“Well, you know I'll never complain about that. We can stay at the pub or in my flat, wherever you like. Could make us some dinner too, if you want.”

“I was thinking about a longer duration than that.”

“We’ll go to the Dreaming afterwards? Yeah, of course.”

Dream stops walking and Hob follows suit, looking at him questioningly.

“Hob Gadling. Will you do me the honour of being my date to The New Inn’s Halloween party?”

Hob’s lips part and a tinge of scarlet colours his cheeks.

Dream smiles. “You arranged for the party to happen tomorrow, on the day you were expecting me to visit. Am I wrong to assume you wanted me there?”

“No,” Hob says quickly. “I did want you there. I do. It's just… Date? How'd you mean…?”

“I mean,” Dream takes a step forward, making the blush on Hob's face even more prominent. “That I have romantic intentions and wish to be the priority of your attentions tomorrow. If you would be amenable.”

“What— Yes!” Hob laughs again, relief and delight evident in his voice. “How… How long have you… felt that way?” His gaze is vulnerable, hopeful.

“I confess I do not know,” Dream glances down for a moment. “But I know how I feel now. And if you feel the same…” He takes another step forward and transports them both back to Hob’s flat. “I have some plans in mind.”

Hob gasps in surprise at the sudden teleportation and stumbles backwards into his shelf of memorabilia, rattling some of the objects.

A smile curves Dream's lips, a coil of hunger beginning to awaken within him.

“What… Plans?” Hob blinks, pupils dilating at what he saw in Dream's expression.

Dream reaches up and slowly undoes his scarf. Hob’s gaze drops to his neck and follows every movement of his fingers.

Dream tosses the scarf to the floor, revealing the low neckline of his shirt showing much of his pale chest and collarbones.

“God almighty,” Hob breathes, and his tongue runs across his bottom lip.

Hob's daydreams wash over Dream, loud and colourful and vivid that Dream feels nearly intoxicated with them.

Dream takes a breath and steps forward, placing one hand on the shelf beside Hob’s head to steady himself. His friend's eyes widen as Dream leans in close enough that their noses are almost touching.

“I can taste your daydreams, Hob,” Dream's voice almost wavers, his restraint hanging by the barest threads of his willpower. “I should like to taste the reality of them.”

Hob swallows, and a trembling exhale escapes him. He opens his mouth as if to say something, then thinks better of it and simply cups Dream's face in his hands and presses their lips together.

Hob's lips are impossibly soft, and his calloused hands a comforting warmth around Dream as one slides down the back of his neck to pull him closer.

Dream places his hands on Hob’s waist and licks at the seam of his mouth, eliciting a moan as Hob's tongue eagerly meets his. He deftly unbuckles Hob’s belt, dropping it to the ground along with the plastic weapons in its holsters.

Hob fumbles around Dream’s belt with trembling fingers, tossing it to the ground as well and kicking it out of the way as they stumble across the corridor to his bedroom, Hob’s coat falling off his shoulders in their journey.

“Please tell me this isn't a trick,” Hob pants against his lips as he opens the bedroom door and they pour through the doorway.

“Not at all,” Dream feels himself to be equally breathless and a fond playful smile curves his lips. “I should like to have you as a treat. If you will have me.”

Hob captures Dream's mouth again in response, dragging him over to the bed as he blindly pushes the door close.

Down at the busy pub, customers enjoy the free candy and new Halloween decorations, as well as the songs playing from the jukebox that drown out any sound that might be coming from the owner’s flat above.

---

Notes:

The whole idea of Dream thinking about his feelings for Hob while they're walking around outside is inspired by this fic written by @beatnikfreakiswriting <3 I had read it shortly before starting to write this fic. It's a lovely and adorable read!

----

(All Hallows Sadman 2024 Masterpost)

(Masterlist)

[tharkuun]

through the dark clouds

The Sandman | Rated T | 11.5k

Gen | Outsider POV, Medical Trauma, Canon Divergence

The day had been quiet and calm, which in a level one trauma centre usually means that the night will bring all sorts of chaos and sleep-ruining work. This night, however, brings even more chaos than usual when an unidentified male in his thirties is brought in by EMS after being found in a ditch in the country, not far from the burning manor of Fawney Rig. From the start, this patient is strange, and he becomes ever more strange the longer he’s in hospital, but that doesn’t stop anyone from trying their best to save him. Or: Dream of the Endless would be a very, very confusing patient to have.

AO3 link HERE

[moonriselabyrinth]

I really love the idea of Hob seeing Dream one night in a dream and not even thinking anything of it cause he dreams of Dream all the time and Hob doesn’t know he’s literally the lord of dreams and shit, he’s just Hob’s oddly charming Stranger he’s sort of in love with! But then Dream is like “sorry to come to you like this” “I know this is confusing” something like that and Hob is like “you’re basically always here ☺️” And just thinks Dream is acting funny cause people act kind of funny in dreams but then Dream is like “??? What?”

Dream comes to the realization a literal dream-version of himself visits Hob often which means Hob often dreams of him and Hob finally learns who Dream is and all that means.

Idk if that completely makes sense but if anyone has any fic recs like that I’d greatly appreciate it!

[hunny-beann]

You Can; You Will...

Dream of the Endless x f!Reader

Note: Hi! This is my first time ever writing for Dream, so if anything seems a bit off or if there are any minor lore issues, please do your best not to pay them too much mind (although absolutely feel free to point them out). That said, I had a lot of fun writing this fic, and I really hope that you enjoy it!

Warnings: Uh angst(?), is Dream himself a warning? Because he should be.

Word Count: 2,644

This had to be torture, surely.

Some evil method of malice created by some long forgotten god of pain.

Why else would Dream have been looking at you so?

Here, sitting in his rotting throne room, upon his crumbling dais, his expression as close to pained as you had ever seen it before.

"You have returned."

He stated matter of factly, though his eyes betrayed the solemn tone that his voice held.

It had hurt him to come back to his realm and find that you had gone with the others, more so than you ever could have anticipated or imagined. You could see it in the way that his fingers gripped at the arm rests beneath them, and in the way that his all encompassing presence seemed to shrink slightly, as if the very particles of him and his power that made up the world beneath your feet were attempting to flee from you.

You swallowed thickly, but managed a nod in spite of your nerves and the heavy weight that bore down upon your heart at the sight of the being before you.

"I have. I did not anticipate it, but I found that I was suddenly overcome with the urge to..."

The words 'go home' died upon your lips before you could say them, because in truth, you were not entirely sure if this realm truly was home anymore, not just for you, but to anything besides the endless sitting before you and his most loyal of dreams and nightmares.

His own creations.

Dream let out a soft hum in response to your words, before he carefully rose into a standing position, his coat swishing at his feet in that familiarly dramatic way that you remembered so painfully at present, and had once recalled so fondly in the past.

Now though, after over a century of having it as only a memory, a longing lodged deep within the confines of your soul, you found that it almost hurt to bear witness to his familiarities again.

You had buried the Morpheus you had once known in all ways but the physical sense, mourned and grieved him as if you had watched his demise with your own two eyes, never having a day pass you by where you did not think of him and the way that his voice had sounded, or that his hands had felt.

And now, he was standing before you so casually, and you could not help but view this figure before you as a caricature, some imposter sent to cause you even more pain than you had already endured.

Being an immortal human was a burden in and of itself, because it meant watching nearly all those that you loved die in the span of a lifetime, which to you, had long since started to feel like nothing in the grand scheme of things.

You had begged Death to take this weight from you, to let time have its way with your body, bones, and soul, but Destiny had seen to it that his sister knew better than to meddle with this particular affair.

A long dead family member had blessed you with what they perceived to be a "gift" long ago.

And now, you suffered while they lay buried in the ground in lands you had not seen nor touched in centuries.

So, once upon a time, Dream had meant everything to you.

Ever since the day you had met him, after once again grovelling with Death to let you go, he had become abundantly special in your eyes.

Because unlike almost everyone else around you, Dream could not die, not from the ticking of any clock, nor the feebleness of his own body.

He was the one thing you believed to be permanent.

And certainly, it had taken quite a while to warm up to the man, and far longer still for him warm up to you, but after enough impromptu meetings in Death's domain over multiple centuries, he had eventually indulged you when you asked hesitantly if you could see his realm, 'the dreaming' as he so fondly referred to it, for yourself.

And oh, what a sight it had been.

Lush rolling lands, fields upon fields of flowers, a palace so tall it seemed possible to view it from miles and miles away...

You had never wanted to leave.

And eventually, you would not have to anymore.

Not after you had fled to the dreaming after losing your very best friend to disease, her death so dirty and without dignity that you could scarcely bare to even consider it.

He had sensed your arrival, of course he had, for the realm was made of the very power that he possessed, but he had not sensed your woes, nor had he anticipated your sudden presence in his crowded throne room, searching for any familiar face that might serve as a reminder that you were not without some semblance of certainty, to prove if nothing else that you were not yet alone.

You had all but collapsed at the foot of his throne, eyes bloodshot and cheeks wet with tears as you regarded him with a pain he was all too familiar with, but had no clue how to comfort you about.

Loss.

'I can't do it anymore.'

You had told him with absolute certainty, hands clenched into fists as you struggled to hold back sobs,

'I can't endure this torture, I feel as if I have died a thousand deaths without ever having experienced even one.'

Morpheus reached forward, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear, before he sat back once more, taking note of the way that, simply due to his touch alone, you were now giving him your entirely undivided attention, breaths shaky but eyes wide and trained on him, as if you had never been touched before, or maybe as if you had never expected him to touch you in the eternity that you would experience.

'You can.'

He said, voice steady and eyes cold, though almost determined looking as he spoke.

'You will.'

You felt your eyebrows crease at his words, but Dream simply shook his head slightly before you could even open your mouth to reply.

He watched you for a few moments, before finally, he decided that enough silence had passed.

'If it is easier, you may remain in the dreaming as long as you please. All I ask, is that you do not make me regret my kindness.'

Shocked, you had nodded, before finally mustering up the strength to respond.

'But why?'

You had asked, watching as the being sitting before you sighed, his gaze traveling up toward the ceiling as he spoke,

'You will not have to watch nearly as many crumble to dust here in my domain, and I can see the toll that your immortality is taking on your feeble human mind. My sister has taken a liking to you, and I do not doubt that she would want me to take pity upon your unfortunate circumstances. To preserve someone she calls a friend, I will allow you to reside here until you give me a reason not to.'

And you never had.

For so very long now, hundreds upon hundreds of years, you had remained almost entirely within the dreaming.

You had friends here, nightmares and dreams alike, although truthfully, none captured your attention in the way that Morpheus did.

And none captured his nearly as much as you somehow managed to.

You were close, bound by some firm understanding of one another that never ceased to solidify the fact that the dreaming was your home, the place where you belonged, and Dream the very host that so effortlessly kept you rooted.

Before, there had been almost nothing for you in the way of consistency or rhythm, and now, there was an ebb and flow, a push and pull, a beat to follow, and the biggest surprise of all was that you made up half of each of these things.

Where Dream would ebb, you would flow, where he would push, you would pull, and you so very easily followed along with and eventually even progressed and changed his rhythm in a way that almost made the dreaming feel as if it had two rulers.

The dream lord,

And his once missing other half, the muse of the very land beneath your feet, and of the wind within your hair.

Until one day, that all came to an end.

The king of dreamers left and did not return.

And you could not even dare try and pick up the pieces of his realm that he left behind.

It had been a shameful abandonment, one full of pain and grief, but only a few short years after Dream's disappearance, you grabbed the scarce few items that did not remind you of him or the family that you were leaving behind, and you vanished just as he had done.

At that point, the slow but sure crumbling of the dreaming had only just begun, but your cowardice had won out over your strength, and you'd quickly found that you could not bare to see it shrink into nothingness.

'You can.'

Dream had once told you.

'You will.'

He had assured.

But you could not this time.

You likely would not ever again.

You were not the first to leave the dreaming, not by a long shot.

But your absence and the meaning that it carried rang out loud and clear for all of those who had chosen to remain.

The once so honored and beloved guest of their lord of dreams had chosen her painful mortal world over anything that the realm had left to offer...

And for many, that was all the proof that they needed that their creator would not return.

You were far from the first to leave.

But you were even further from the last.

"Did you lose faith in me?"

Dream asked suddenly, and you felt yourself gasp slightly at the question.

Lose faith in him?

Was that what you had done?

With almost no consideration for the question, you shook your head.

"No."

You said firmly, watching as the endless in front of you tilted his head ever so slightly, his eyes boring into your own even from across the room and down the ruined steps,

"Never."

Morpheus took a few steps toward you, and almost instinctively, you moved to lessen the space that lay between before forcing yourself to stop, hands clenched into fists at your sides, the pain of seeing your friend, who you had believed to be dead just hours ago, too great even for longing to overcome.

Dream seemed to notice this, and stopped in his tracks, though he was now far closer than before, only a few short steps away.

"Then why did you leave so easily? Why did you abandon the life that I offered you here if you had the faith required to know that I would someday return to the dreaming? Return to you?"

Your breath shuddered at the implication that he had come back in any part for you, but you chose to ignore his words in favor of fighting off his accusations of faithlessness on your part.

"I left because I could not bear to see this world that you created fall apart around me while I did nothing. It felt as if I were watching another loved one die, and I could not deal after believing that someone had taken your life as well. I was hurting, and I found that it was easier to hurt in the waking world, where pain was familiar, than it was to hurt here, where it never seemed to bite so hard. That is why I left. But I never once lost faith in you."

Dream raised a brow at that last part, and you were quick, to clarify,

"I may have thought you dead, but I did not once believe that if you were alive, you would not come back. My belief that you were dead, my certainty in that regard, came from the immense faith that I have in you, Lord Morpheus, because I could not fathom that you ever could have abandoned us or the dreaming... After years, I ceased being capable of thinking that you were somewhere out there anymore. I did not think it possible for anything to bind you so tightly away from your duties, if not for death herself."

Dream stared back at you in response to your words, as if taking them in for several long moments, before finally he nodded,

"I see. Though I do wish you would have considered the fact that I never would have allowed myself to die knowing what I would be leaving behind."

You sighed exasperatedly,

"But we know that you would not be the first to abandon your post, my lord, not the first to leave something as fickle as your universe given duties behind. Who could have blamed you if you died in spite of these things if others were able to willingly leave them?"

Your voice was small and quiet as you spoke, unsure of how Dream might react to the mention of Destruction, even when the wound was not necessarily new anymore.

You watched as the being before you stiffened, his gaze growing ever so slightly colder, before he spun around and began making his way back toward his throne, his tone firm and serious as he replied, still facing away from you all the while.

"I was not speaking of my duties to the dreaming."

He stated simply, though you could tell by his cadence that his words were anything but.

You sighed, exasperated and fragile after all that had been said thus far,

"Well what else was it that you were leaving behind that was so important that I should have known it would keep you alive then, Dream?"

The lord of the dreaming locked eyes with you as you finished asking this question, cold piercing gaze filling you with a deep regret and an immense longing as he sat upon his throne once more, one long leg crossing over the other as he all but stared into your very soul.

"You."

He said simply, voice low and gaze unwavering as he spoke, watching as that one word alone sent you staggering several steps backward, one hand clutching lightly at your chest as your feeble human mind tried to comprehend all that had happened to you in this one day alone.

"Me?"

You whispered, voice echoing slightly throughout the empty throne room in spite of how quiet it was.

"But I am not-"

"You are everything."

Dream cut you off before you could finish, eyes still boring holes into your own as he continued to watch you from his seat, as if knowing that if he moved any closer now, that you would run, run and likely never return for fear of what any of this meant for you and for the once permanent seeming fixture that Dream had so easily played within your life for so long.

You floundered at those words, vision growing bleary and spotty as you turned to rush out of the room, to be anywhere but this pale comparison of the dreaming, the once beautiful world that you had known for so very long.

You fled your home with tears in your eyes and a hand at your heart.

Dream stayed where he sat upon his throne, and watched your fears consume you again until you faded from view.

He did not try to stop you.

A broken home like this was no place for a fragile soul like yours.

And he could offer you no better than the very world he had once so kindly rescued you from.

[thoughtsfromlayla]

26 Ways of Taking You: A for Aphrodisiac

Summary: On a quest to save your little brother, you and your fated companion Dream of the Endless, run into a small problem in Aphrodite's Temple.

Notes: ~2.2k words, GUYS! I finally wrote a fic that wasn't below 500 or above 5,000 words, it just doesn't need any random side characters... or a definitive plot.

Warnings: MDNI - 18+, dubious consent, sex pollen, aphrodisiac (duh), porn without plot, unprotected sex (get tested yearly guys), P in V, no foreplay just straight fucking, Dream is a red flag but he's my red flag. I am willing to die on that hill.

⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄

Masterlist | Series Masterlist

B for Breeding

“A temple of Aphrodite?” You question as you walk through the marbled entrance. The overwhelming smell of roses fills your senses and the honks of swans disappear as you cross into the building.

Morpheus follows closely behind. The drizzle of rain seemingly bounces off his coat and hair leaving him dry like the Sahara. On the other hand, you, the poor human with no otherworldly affiliations, were soaked to the bone. Your light jacket and sundress stuck to your skin until it became itchy and you quickly take off your jacket to dry easier in the momentary shelter. 

You miss the way Morpheus stares at your exposed shoulders and legs. His eyes run up and down your body, to the way the dress sticks to you like a second skin.

“Aphrodite loved Ares, unlike her vowed husband. But such is the game of gods.” Morpheus explains and peels his eyes away from you. 

You lean on a large pillar that supports a large brazier, one of many others. The heat helps you warm up and the shivers slowly leave your body as it dries your clothes. 

“So, Ares is… here?” You say without much confidence.

When the fates set you out on this quest to find your brother, you hadn’t even packed your lunch yet. They just threw you to the wind and then gave you Morpheus as a guide. As for him, it was so “He could get out of the house more” as his older sister has explained it to you. 

So, here you were, soaked in summer rain and sharing conversation with Dream of the Endless on a quest to find your kidnapped brother - all of which happened since this morning. The everything bagel and cream cheese you had for breakfast sat uncomfortably in your stomach, the same stomach that was screaming at you to eat something as your journey had left you to skip the midday meal. 

“Ares is behind this gate created by Aphrodite,” Dream sighs as if he were spelling out the obvious. “Yes, it is a possibility.”

You simply roll your eyes. For someone who is almost infinitely older than you, he certainly didn’t act like it. Feeling warmer and dry you started exploring the temple, running your fingers across the divots in the carved stone much like the climbing ivy that decorated the walls. 

At the end of the temple stood a magnificent statue of Aphrodite herself, wrapped in cloth and her hair flowing in the wind. Beneath her pedestal, you could make out a rectangular outline made out of large roses. 

“Hey! The door!” You exclaim in excitement. As much as you hate to admit it, Morpheus was right. He usually was right but you’d rather keep that comment to yourself, in case the ego inflates any more of his head and he drifts off. Which, would unfortunately leave you on your own to solve these puzzles. 

Morpheus appears behind you, peering over your shoulder at the door. 

“Seems like a hidden mechanism. It would be wise to not touc-”

You press your palm onto the center of the door and it gives away to the pressure of it. 

“You fool!” Morpheus seethes out and you tense. 

It seems like a trap, now that you think about it. With bated breath you wait, slowly inching yourself closer to Morpheus in hopes that the King of Dreams may be able to protect you if something were to go wrong. 

Yet, nothing. 

The door slides back into place, the sound of marble against marble scraping against each other in the otherwise completely quiet sanctuary. The quiet atmosphere stays peaceful for a few seconds but ends when a yelp escapes you when the roses suddenly go into full bloom, the petals giving a “floosh” right in your face, its sweet pollen dusting both of your bodies. You stare wide-eyed at it waiting for anything else to happen. When nothing did, you let out a sigh of relief and turn to Dream with a smile. 

“See, nothing to worry about.” You shrug with your palms facing upwards. The two of you stare back as a golden engraving appears on the door. 

“One from two, enter together.” You read out loud while trying to dust off the shimmering pollen, sneezing when some enter your nose instead. 

Great, a riddle but nothing comes to your mind as you think. Morpheus glares at you still and his eyes drift down to the palm that touched the door. 

“Your hand is glowing,” He states. 

You look down at your open palm and panic. The skin is bright pink and as Morpheus has stated, glowing. You scream at your hand and shake it aggressively. When the glowing still doesn’t reside you scream again and face the palm towards Morpheus’ face and shake it aggressively to grab his attention. 

“Enough,” He commands and grabs your wrist. The grip is stern but it doesn’t hurt and the warmth of his skin calms you down. 

It is now that you realize that the skin doesn’t actually hurt. There’s no burning sensation or pins or needles, nothing. Morpheus takes a closer look at your hand and you can feel the exhale of his breath fanning your palm. It tickles and you try to pull away, but his grip doesn’t relent. 

“What? Do you see something?” You ask, your other hand is clenched in on itself as a way of grounding yourself. 

Morpheus doesn’t entertain you with an answer and instead brings his face closer. A sound that you didn’t know you could produce comes out from your throat as you feel the warm, slick feeling of his tongue on your palm. 

“Wha..mm” Your words fall short and he licks again and a whimper leaves your lips. You look up at him, his eyes are closed as he inhales deeply.

He brings your hand to his cheek and leans into it. When you release your hand and he lets you, you see that your glowing mark has smeared to his cheek. You come in closer, nervous about marking the Endless but he stops you again. He peers at you, all silver gone from his eyes and instead blown pupils pull you deep into their voids. 

His hands find themselves around your waist and you place your hands on his chest to stop him from invading any more of your space. It doesn’t and he advances still. His brooding act doesn’t help with voicing whatever he could possibly be thinking. 

“Hey, what’s gotten into you,” You release a moan at the end when he presses his nose to the junction of your neck. The hot breath released from his mouth had your lower regions start to grow hot and slick. 

When his tongue licks the length of your neck, your fingers grasp desperately at the lapels of his jacket, holding on tight as your knee buckle beneath you. Morpheus smelled like grass after a summer thunderstorm and he stood sturdy like an old oak tree. 

You whisper his name and his grip tightens more, bruising and unforgiving. 

He groans into your neck. “Aphrodisiac.” 

Of course, Aphrodisiac, named after the goddess Aphrodite, the very goddess you are trying to please and solve her riddle. The thought crosses your mind momentarily but it is quickly cut short by Morpheus’ continued administration. The pink stain spreads further on Morpheus, anywhere and everywhere you touch him. Your cheek was pink as well, where he touched yours and markings of his tongue glowed pink as he continued his kisses down your neck and across your collarbone. 

“Oh, gods,” You moan into his hair as he dives deeper towards your chest. Your body is turning hot and you can’t tell if it’s just the aphrodisiac or the way he is touching you. Perhaps it’s neither, perhaps it’s both. Either way, you can’t stop the sounds that escape your lips. 

He presses forward and you step back until your back hits the pedestal and Morpheus’ large frame follows, trapping you between a rock and a harder place. You can feel his erection pressing against your stomach, hot and heavy and begging to be released. 

With restraint, Morpheus pulls back and pants into your neck. Your own breath was ragged, your tongue felt heavy when you speak. 

“Please,” You whisper, your hands travel down his chest, pink smearing along his black shirt, and cup his erection. 

He looks at you now, eyes peering into your soul asking you if you really did want this. You nod, not trusting your voice for a second time. 

“Say it,” He commands again, his forehead pressed against yours. “Say it,” He whispers in a plea. 

You tip your head up and respond with the strength you have left. “Yes,” You murmur against his lips, barely brushing yours with his own. 

He seals the deal with a kiss and hands once again go to your waist. He grabs you, hoisting you up and your legs immediately wrap themselves around his lean torso. You impatiently grind your heat into his as he dips his hands below your dress line and moves your undergarments to the side. 

It was rushed, it was sloppy and it was nowhere near romantic, yet you’ve never felt so much excitement. No one was near but the peering gaze of the daunting Aphrodite statue made you feel exposed. Morpheus doesn’t bother to warm you up for him and the heat of his cock presses against your cunt. He pushes forward and it stings. Tears swell in your eyes at the intrusion, his cock splitting you open as he sets a rhythmic pace. 

“Forgive me, forgive me,” He chants into your ear but the words fly in one ear and out the other. The pleasure the Dream Lord was giving you more important and present in your mind. 

Your hand reaches into his hair and grabs onto his roots. A groan sings from his throat and you can’t help it when your lips connect to his Adam’s apple. You leave bruising kisses along his neck and continuously feel the vibrations of his moans, each one low and gritty. 

Morpheus felt like he was about to lose his mind if he didn’t quickly finish the two of you off. His body felt like it was on fire and his head pounded in his skull with ideologies of fucking you until you were nothing but a pile of pleasure. When your nails grip his shoulders, he welcomes the pain and bites down on your collarbone to suppress his wanton moans. 

You were too sweet for him, a type of innocence that he didn’t want to taint. Tears well up in his eyes as he realizes that he did it without him even knowing. The aphrodisiac completely consumes the two of you. He loved it, the feeling of your legs wrapped around his waist, your grip on his hair, your moans filling the space and echoing around the temple, but were not his to take. 

“More, more, more,” You moan, head thrown back towards the ceiling and he couldn’t deny you the pleasure.

His thrusts become ferocious, slamming into you harder and harder until you were just a babbling mess in front of him. Your words range from his name to curses to simple pleas. The contractions of your cunt spasming around him make him falter for a moment but he presses on. When your orgasm reaches you, your scream is muffled by his open mouth kiss. His thrusts turn sloppy and uneven before he finishes as well and you feel the way his cock pulses within you. His semen drips out of your spent hole and mixes with your release on the polished marble floor. 

Your body deflates as the orgasm finishes and you’re left panting and leaning on Morpheus as your thighs tremble around his waist. The door behind you opens with an ungodly scrapping sound and you look behind you. Lust was still evident in your eyes but you were pulled back to the real world again. 

The aphrodisiac wore off and a blush rose high into your cheeks. You push against Morpheus’ chest not wanting to be in his space, asking him to put you down, but quickly realize that it was a bad idea when your knees buckle and you start to fall. 

Morpheus grabs onto you to steady you and you murmur a thanks, too embarrassed to look at him in the eyes. The aphrodisiac has made you look at Morpheus in a different light, but there were more important matters at hand. You take one steady breath and readjust your underwear and dress, Morpheus releases his grip on your arms as you go to turn towards the open door. 

Beyond the door is nothing but darkness with a slight wind blowing out towards you and the smell of metal and leather comes into your nose. Before you can go, Morpheus’ fingers wrap around your arm again. 

“Should we… talk about it?” He asks in that low voice of his. 

You look back at him, somehow finding the confidence to look at him in the eyes. You find that they are full of adoration and passion that it turns your eyes downwards again. You’ve heard the rumors of what it means to be the lover to Dream of the Endless. It is rainbows and butterflies, the world at the edge of your fingertips, but one wrong move, and you are cast away like you were less than nothing. You think of Nada, Queen of the First People, who is still condemned to Hell for declining his promise to make her queen of the Dreaming. 

It’s too much, you have your brother to save, and there is no room to talk about love. 

“Later,” You say instead. You still need his help and if the promise of ‘later’ keeps him around long enough until the end of your quest, then so be it. 

“Very well. Later,” He repeats then follows you into the realm of Ares.

B for Breeding

Main Masterlist | Series Masterlist

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This is going to be a 26 part series, all porn, no plot hehe ( ๑‾̀◡‾́)

Until the next fic,

♡ Yours, Layla

[itskindofidontknow]

What dreams know about love?

Chapter 16

Dream of The Endless/Morpheus x Love!OFC

Summary: The Queen of Love has grown used to the absence of her husband, the Dream King. After banning her from the Dreaming, they only saw each other when Morpheus summoned her for social or marital duties. He would go decades without calling for her, enamorated by a variety of mistresses. It broke Love's heart. Not that her husband cared. However, after being imprisioned for a century, The Dream King wants to regain his Queen's love. She doesn't believe him, not after centuries of neglect. The question is: Can dreams repair a broken heart?

Tag: Established relationship, arranged marriage, regency romance, eventual happy ending, angst, morpheus is a dick prepare to hate, love is eoster from west germanic mythology, typos are to be expected

TW: Abortion as an option, light violence between sisters

If I forgot any TW, please let me know!

The lake shimmered beneath the gentle rays of the afternoon sun, its surface dotted with the occasional ripple where a stray leaf or bird’s feather met the water. Surrounding the lake were tall trees whose branches swayed lazily, offering shade from the warmth above. The breeze was soft, warm tender even, brushing through the reeds at the water's edge. It was a typical summer day and one could easily hear the buzzing of cicadas all afternoon. It was a place designed for peace, a sanctuary of nature where the muses often congregated for lazy leisure and might enjoy each other’s company undisturbed by the chaos of gods and mortals. And yet, tension now held the air hostage.

What was meant to be an afternoon of gentle persuasion had already turned sour.

Calliope sat with her knees drawn up to her chest, her gaze fixed stubbornly on the far side of the lake, with her back turned away from her sister. The gentle overture from Polyhymnia, the eldest of the muses, to begin the conversation—one that every muse but Calliope knew to be the very purpose of this gathering—had met with quiet resistance. What began as a moment of peaceful indulgence, as Polyhymnia softly brushed her hair in that familiar sisterly manner, soon transformed into a posture of defiance, quickened by the shift in the air, her sisters encircling her as if she were some creature ensnared. Their expressions ranging from concern and frustration.

“She is a spoiled child who saw something she could not have and worked in a devious way to take it!” Calliope’s voice rang out, raw with the emotion she could no longer suppress. Her dark eyes flashed with fury, but beneath that fiery surface, tears glistened, threatening to spill. Her sisters had ambushed her, invited her under false pretenses to what she believed would be a tranquil afternoon. Instead, they had brought their judgment, their warnings, and she could no longer bear the condescending in their demeanor.

“Sister!” Polyhymnia’s tone was sharp, her face marked with the effort of maintaining composure. “Do not speak of what you do not understand.” Her dark brows knitted together, and for the first time in this conversation, her regal calm began to waver. She had promised herself, and the others, that they would approach Calliope with reason, that their words would be tempered with love and concern, the way that was always the best to talk to Calliope, the only way to make her listen. But how difficult it was when faced with such stubbornness, such blindness.

Polyhymnia’s figure, always elegant, now felt rigid. Her dark, braided hair, so carefully woven into a crown, stood in contrast to the loose, windswept strands that framed Calliope’s tear-streaked face. Both sisters, mirror images in appearance, now seemed so far apart.

“What is there to understand?” Calliope spat, turning to face the older sister, even if it felt almost unbearable. “She got what she wanted, didn’t she? She trapped him, and Desire helped her. They plotted together to force him into this—this cage of a marriage!”

At this, Polyhymnia’s lips thinned, her patience unraveling thread by thread. But before she could form a response, Erato stepped forward, her eyes burning with righteous anger. "Is that the sweet lie Oneiros has been feeding you?” Her voice, sharp as a blade, cut through the air between them. Erato’s cheeks flushed with the heat of her own frustration, the kind that only sisters can invoke in one another. Though a few years older than Calliope, she moved with the restlessness of youth, her steps quick as she paced in front of the group. “Does he truly make you believe he is some victim of love, poor and powerless in the hands of a scheming queen?”

Polyhymnia sighed, casting a glance at Erato—her warning unheeded. She had told her sister not to let her closeness with Lady Love cloud the conversation. Erato and Calliope always had friction between them, disagreeing on even the most mundane topics, and Polyhymnia was clear that Erato should not let the emotions of the heart interfere with the delicate matter at hand. But now it was too late.

Her devotion to Lady Love had always made her the first to rush to protect the queen, and judge anyone that dares to speak ill of her. It could almost be compared to the devotion of cupids, although they would not like to be compared. And it showed now in every line of Erato's body.

“He is not kind to her, Calliope. Oneiros treats her with cruelty,” Clio interjected quietly, her voice steady, calm—too calm. She emerged from the lake, her red hair dripping as she wrung it out with slow deliberation, as if the conversation was but a trivial matter.

Calliope’s breath hitched. That calm tone unnerved her more than Erato’s fire. Clio, ever the pragmatist, always seemed to know more than she let on, as she was a specialist on every subject in the universe. And Calliope always believed in her sister's wisdom, now however it sounded as over-the-top pretentiousness. The younger muse looked up at her, seeing in her sister's expression not malice, but pity. And that, she could not abide.

“And what of it?” she replied, her voice now cold, detached. “He is cruel because she deserves it. He punishes her for what she took from him. A fitting retribution for all that she has deprived him of.”

In an instant, the air seemed to still. Polyhymnia’s breath caught, and the others exchanged startled glances. Then, with a sudden, sharp movement, Polyhymnia’s hand connected with Calliope’s cheek, the slap echoing in the quiet, idyllic scene. Not even the buzzing of cicadas could be heard.

Calliope’s hand flew to her cheek, stunned. She had not expected this. Not from Polyhymnia. A deep sense of betrayal flooded her, mingling with the stinging pain of the slap. She opened her mouth to speak but found no words, only a raw, wounded silence.

Polyhymnia’s chest heaved with the effort of regaining control, her hand still trembling slightly from the force of the blow. She never raised her hand to any of her sisters, she never resorted to violence and her immediate instinct was to hug Calliope, and beg for forgiveness. A quick glance at Clio, who locked eyes with Poly, gave her the strength to keep her stance. This was bigger than Calliope’s feelings. This was for her own good. “You defend a man who punishes his wife, and for what? A fleeting love that cannot last?” Her voice softened, but the steel remained. “This affair... it must end, Calliope.”

“She deserves it,” Calliope whispered, her voice barely audible, her pride still clinging to the remnants of defiance. Her sisters exchanged glances, even Euterpe, Melpomene, Thalia, Terpsichore, Urania who let the older ones guide the conversation, sitting on the side, realized with the exhausted sigh of Poly. They were no longer listening to her as a sister, but as a threat to their way of life.

Clio stepped forward, her eyes hard. If love and gentleness didn’t resolve, maybe rationality would. “And what of us, Calliope? What do we deserve? The wrath of the Queen of Four Loves for your defiance?”

The muses all knew what that meant. Lady Love’s sisters, the Ladies of Emotion, were known throughout the realms for their beauty, gracefulness, the embodiment of every form of feeling— They were good sisters, and loving nieces to the Aunts, but they were also known for their ruthless and unforgiving nature. Each had their way of exacting revenge. Honesty and Pride were quick to act when their husbands strayed, they had a tendency for the drama, crafting the bloodiest violent scenes as lessons to their husband.

Not that it worked, as their husbands were equally kin on bloodshed, feeling more proud and enticed by their wives. It is what Lady Honesty called “games of love”. Melancholy and Happiness had more long-term provoked suffering, playing with the lovers' emotion until they themselves ended their lives. Love didn’t agree with her sisters, and they would often fight when it came to discussion. Love used to say that they should punish their husbands for the infidelity, not the affairs they search for. Her sisters always disdain her opinion, saying that she would understand when she got a husband of their own.

Eoster promised herself to her if it ever came to infidelity, she would punish her husband and hold no ill against their lover. But more than often she broke that promise, and hated Calliope and referred to her by despicable names when fighting with Morpheus. Eoster knew it would elicit a reaction from him, she would have his attention, and after she hated herself for it, to reach so low, and found herself wanting her husband to defend her honor against the gossip and awful whispers that called her frigid and unfit, as he defended Calliope’s to her. But even in her lowest moments, Aphrodite never thought to resort to her sisters’ tricks and games. The muses however couldn’t know this, they couldn’t be certain, and they couldn’t risk it. It was for Calliope's own good and survival.

“If Lady Love chooses to punish you…,” Clio said, her voice now edged with fear, “She may be softer, but do not think her heart will remain unscathed by your defiance. She may not draw blood as Pride and Honesty do, but she can withhold her blessings, and with them, the very inspiration that keeps us alive.” Calliope’s sisters feared not just for her, but for themselves. They could not afford to anger the Queen of Love, the one who controlled mortal desires, the very prayers that sustained the Muses’ power.

Polyhymnia’s eyes hardened, her voice unwavering. “The mortals pray to us because they are moved by Love, Calliope. The songs, the poems, the art—it all begins with her. And if she turns away from them, if she takes away that spark… what would become of us?”

Calliope’s heart sank. She knew the weight of those words. Without the prayers, without the devotion of mortals, the Muses would fade. And it was all tied to Love, the queen whose influence stretched farther than even they could see.

“Oneiros won’t allow her. He promised me…” Calliope began, but her words sounded hollow even to her.

“Promised you?” Clio cut her off with a cold laugh. “What good are his promises when our very existence hangs in the balance? He will protect his queen, his soul, not you. You are a passing affair. She wears the crown.”

Polyhymnia stepped forward, her voice firm but tinged with sorrow. “You must understand, Calliope. This is not just about you or your heart. This is about all of us. We cannot risk losing everything for the sake of your… infatuation.”

Tears welled in Calliope’s eyes, but this time, they were not born of anger. They were tears of realization, of betrayal. Her sisters—her family—were not standing by her out of love or concern for her well-being. They were protecting themselves, preserving their own power.

Melpomene with her melodic voice, spoke for the first time, without directly facing Calliope, her tone different from all the others, she didn’t seem like to be talking directly to them, but to an invisible audience preaching a prophecy, her voice was distant “When push comes to shove, he will have one choice only. And she is the one sitting by his side, wearing his crown. She is, and always will be, his queen.”

Calliope looked at each of them, searching for a sign that they still cared for her, that their words came from love. But all she saw was fear—fear for their power, for their survival. They used the worry for her as an excuse to veil their desire of self preservation. The bond they shared, as muses, as sisters, had been broken, replaced by cold practicality.

She stood, feeling the sting of betrayal heavier than the slap across her cheek. She had lost her sisters.

—------------------ Calliope sat at the edge of the bed, her thoughts swirling as heavily as the storm outside the window. Her fingers rested on her belly, a gentle gesture, yet one laden with uncertainty. The Three stood before her, their dark chitons contrasting sharply against her pale gown, their presence an embodiment of fate and finality.

“My child,” the Mother began, her voice both tender and admonishing, “I feel for your tears, but you were warned. You were advised against this.”

Calliope had hesitated to summon them, but the silence of her sisters and the weight of her secret had driven her to desperation. She could no longer bear the burden alone. Weeks had passed without her monthly bleeding, and as the truth of her condition settled in, fear took its place. Oneiros had to know—yet how? How could she speak of the life growing inside her when the very act of creating it was shrouded in betrayal?

She could almost see the dream she once had, seemingly a lifetime ago, before the complications. Calliope watches them from the window from the same bedroom she sat now. A child wrapped in Morpheus’s arms, eyes like the starry skies of the Dreaming, cherished by the Lord of Dreams, as Morpheus would cradle him with the same tenderness he once held for her. How Morpheus would love him, their child, his child. She knew that, just as surely as she knew the stars would continue to shine. A father of stories would fill their child’s nights with tales of the Dreaming. In another life, perhaps, it would be a perfect future. But perfection, Calliope now knew, was fragile.

“It is the last time,” said the Crone, disapproval dripping from her lips as if she had already judged Calliope’s heart. “That is what she said, the last time,” echoed the Maiden, sitting beside Calliope and placing a compassionate arm around her shoulders.

Every breath Calliope took seemed to make the room smaller, as though the air itself was pushing in on her. “Please, my mothers, what shall I do? I crave your guidance.” A blessing it should be. A blessing that belongs only in that perfect life in her dream life.

Because the moment the universe learned of this child, the whispers, and gossip would become insufferable. A scandal, which according to Oneiros, was all that Love wanted to avoid. The Lady of Love herself floated through socials with her sweet, brittle smile and gentle manners. But a child would be different. No amount of feigned ignorance or public pleasantries would quell the storm that would follow.

Calliope knew little of Eoster beyond her public mask—preaching love, displaying polite affection for her husband, always by his side, with her hand holding his arm, in a way that grated on Calliope’s nerves. She expected to see a fracture in her facade or regret, but the Lady of Springs was always composed. In private, Eoster was miserable; Calliope knew this. And yet, despite her misery, the queen had never directly harmed her. She didn’t torture her by any means. But could she trust that?

Eoster might not harm the child, but Calliope didn’t know that. What guarantees did she have, besides Morpheus' word?

And worse— She could see the future as clearly as she could feel the weight in her womb—Morpheus loving their child, yes, but unable to silence the outside judgment. He could not protect him from the scorn of entities, nor from the cruelty of his own family. What would be his place in the universe? The opinion of others might not be relevant to the Dream King, but to a child, it might shape their future.

“I see it,” Calliope whispered, her voice trembling. “I see the life we could have. The child would be so adored by his father, loved as no child could dream to be loved. But...”

Her voice faltered as the weight of the decision pressed down upon her.”My mothers, What would you have me do?” She repeat the question, craving for an answer, for an solution made by others. If she kept the child, he would be a source of joy, but also a source of endless conflict. Their son would grow up knowing he was not entirely welcome, his very existence a reminder of the broken vows of a True Marriage. Would Eoster ever allow Calliope’s child to feel love? Or would she punish him by devoiding him from the feeling? An empty shell, never satisfied, never knowing what is missing.

“It is not a question of what we would have you do,” replied the Mother, her expression softening as she seated herself beside Calliope. “It is a question of what your heart will allow.”

Calliope’s gaze fell to the small cup in the Crone’s hands. The tea was warm, fragrant, almost inviting. “Poppy for a dreamless sleep,” said the Mother. “Peony and safflower to ease your pains, and honey to sweeten the bitterness.”

She stared at the cinnamon-colored liquid, her heart pounding in her chest. How easy it would be—just a sip, and the terrible weight that had settled in her bones would lift. Maybe in a few decades she would tell him. What would he think of her then? Morpheus would forgive her, embrace her, soothe her pain, but beneath that forgiveness would always lie a wound—a wound that would never heal, because she had taken away something he would have loved beyond all measure. He would always feel betrayed, even if he never said it aloud.

The Maiden’s voice broke her thoughts. “What pains you now will not pain you any longer.”

But Calliope’s hands were already trembling. Could she live knowing that she had denied her child the life he could have had, the father who would have adored him, all because she feared entities whose whole lives revolve around gossiping and whispering lies? Could she truly carry on, lying beside him, pretending as though nothing had happened?

She looked at the tea again, the weight of her decision pressing down harder with every passing second. She imagined again her child in Morpheus’s arms, the life they could share together. But then the universe’s whispers crept in—the cruel, cutting judgments, the sarcastic jokes and mean laughs, the reminders that their love was hurting love itself.

The Mother’s voice broke through her thoughts, gentle yet firm. “A child can be a blessing.”

“And a curse,” added the Crone, her tone far less comforting. “What the Dream Lord gives to one, he denies to another.” Calliope closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. She had made her choice, though the weight of it bore heavily on her heart. “I will talk to Oneiros,” she said, her voice steadier than she felt.

The Three exchanged glances, their expressions unreadable. The Mother spoke softly. “Guard your heart, for his answer may not be what you wish it to be.”

“And yet,” the Maiden added, “perhaps it will be.”

Calliope swallowed hard, fear and hope warring within her. Whatever path she chose, it was clear: there would be no peace. Whether she kept the child or ended its life, the scars would remain forever. Yet one thing she knew—she could not bear the weight of this choice alone. Morpheus had to know, and together they would face whatever came.

But the final words from the Three echoed loudest of all, chilling her to the bone. “Remember dear Calliope, if you keep this child, it will never be entirely only your son. It belongs to the Dreaming, and tragedy follows the Dream King.”

—------------------ They had a home, the Dream King and Calliope. It wasn't a palace, like the one in the Dreaming or the one in the Garden. It was a quiet home nestled within a secluded glade, where the trees whispered ancient secrets, and the light filtered through leaves in soft, golden dapples. It was their escape from both their realities. And Calliope and Morpheus were content there, the best they could, taking the circumstances. The land around them was pastoral, untouched by time—wildflowers spilled across the meadow, and a gentle stream wound lazily through the valley. It was a place that seemed to belong more to myth than reality, where dreams and reality blurred together, a sanctuary for their love.

In the early days, the thought of ending her pregnancy had never truly surfaced in their conversation. Calliope’s worry were clouded by the unexpected emotion by her so often introspective king. Morpheus had cradled her growing belly with tender reverence, his dark eyes softened by the love he felt for the life within her. Orpheus grew in their little bubble, they had built dreams of their son, untarnished by the harshness of the universe beyond. And Calliope had been cherished, adored by the Lord of Dreams as if nothing else mattered.

But no child can be forever protected, and Orpheus grew into a fine gentleman, and gifted of music. He was enamored by life and nature, and soon, against his mother’s wishes, started to frequent socials, only from the greek pantheon, which Aphrodite was usually absent. His charisma and harmonic voice, inherited from his mother, soon made him a dear guest at any greek social. Both Calliope and Morpheus forbade him from going to any universal manifestation meeting. Until one day his eyes turned to a girl that always ran way, but in early spring, decided to stay longer than usual, to celebrate the spring solstice and the good fortune that came from mortal’s abundant harvest.

And from a young love, the promised tragedy came.

“I am going to kill her!” Calliope's voice, raw from endless weeping, cracked with a fierce determination as Morpheus appeared, his presence still and impenetrable as ever. Her face was gaunt, cheeks hollow from the toll grief had taken. She had not truly slept since Orpheus' death, haunted by the cruel fate that had befallen her son.

Morpheus stood there, watching her, his expression unchanged—a figure wrapped in shadows, the weight of the Dreaming ever present in his silence.

“My beloved, calm down,” he said, his voice low, distant. But the words felt empty to her, hollow like the chasm now carved into her heart.

“Calm down? She killed him, Morpheus!” Calliope’s fists clenched, her eyes wild with fury. “She used that girl—Eurydice! She took him from us on the day of their wedding, trapped him in darkness. Our dear boy…”she wailed, her voice thick with sorrow. “He will hate the Underworld. He loved the sun, the earth, the very breath of life. And now... now, he is lost, forever entrapped, his soul, his poor soul.” Her sobs broke free again, as though the tears would never end.

Morpheus said nothing. He simply held her, as he had done countless times before, letting the storm of her grief rage while he remained the silent center. Rain began to fall in the Dreaming, clouds swirling above, a reflection of Calliope’s inner torment. He, however, was removed from it. His thoughts drifted to the Garden, to the figure of Love, serene in her eternal role, utterly unaware of this grief. He hadn’t seen Eoster in what felt like an age. The thought of her, oddly, surfaced now, perhaps jealousy of her unremarkable week. The bond was quiet, it has been for a few thousand of years.

Calliope’s tear-streaked face turned up toward him. “Promise me you will bring her to justice. Promise me that you will make her pay.” Morpheus’ eyes darkened. “Calliope... Eoster had nothing to do with this.”

“How can you be so sure?!” Her voice broke with disbelief. “There was a mortal girl, Morpheus. He followed her because he loved her. Loved, Morpheus. Does that sound familiar to you?”

He averted his gaze, jaw tight. “I warned him. I told him not to pursue Eurydice.”

“And that is all you have to say?” Her voice trembled with rising anger. “You warned him?” She scoffed bitterly. “She despised him. She despised me. Her sisters, her aunts, her cupids, her circle of protégés—they all called him a bastard behind your back, they shunned your son. Who do you think allowed that?”

“They needed no permission to behave as they did. Eoster does not control them any more than I can control the tides of time. She would not—”

“Why are you defending her?” Calliope’s voice was raw with accusation. “Orpheus’ blood is barely cold, and you’re here defending her! Why are you not feeling this? Why are you not seeking justice for your own flesh and blood? He was your son!”

Morpheus’ voice hardened, though his expression barely shifted. “Do not mistake my restraint for indifference. I grieve our son. But I will not be ruled by madness.” “Madness?” she spat. “Is that what you call a mother’s grief?” Her breath caught as she trembled. “How can you be so... How can you not see that she is responsible for this?”

His voice was ice, unyielding. “Eoster would never harm a child. She is the queen of love, of family. She would not break her vows so easily.”

Calliope's laughter came sharp and bitter. “Easily?” She whipped a tear from the side of her eye” Wouldn’t be the first time she’s bent her ‘sacred vows’ to get what she wants.”

A brief flicker of emotion crossed Morpheus’ face—something too fleeting to grasp. He inhaled deeply, grounding himself in the calm he always maintained. “Do not speak of what you don’t understand.” It was difficult to explain the bond, how he could be certain that Eoster had nothing to do with it. How he could vouch for her innocence even after years of not seeing her. How he knew her nature even if he didn’t properly know his wife as one often does.

“No. You’re right. I don’t understand. I don’t understand how you can stand there defending her—defending the woman who has scorned us since the day of that accursed marriage, who has despised your son from the moment of his birth.”

Silence.

Something dark and cold settled in her gaze as she looked at him.”Oh, I see” Calliope let out a sharp, mirthless laugh, one that sent shivers through the cold air. “She’s pregnant, isn’t she?” Her voice dropped to a low, venomous whisper. “That’s why you don’t care. She’s carrying your heir—your legitimate heir.” Morpheus’ brow furrowed, his face set like stone. “Calliope, that is not—”

“That’s why!” she cried, interrupting him, voice rising in hysteria. “That’s why you defend her! You have a new child to look forward to, a new legacy to secure. You won’t accuse the mother of your ‘legitimate’ heir, will you?”

His voice, usually a command in the realms of dream and reality, faltered for the briefest of moments. “Do you hear yourself? I know you are in pain, but do not twist this into something it is not.”

Her eyes blazed. “When push comes to shove, you’ll have only one choice.”

“What?” His voice was low, almost a whisper, but filled with a deep, unspoken sorrow.

“You’ll choose her. The one wearing the crown. Sitting by your side.” Calliope’s voice was cold now, final.

Morpheus moved closer, trying to reach her with words, with a touch—but she recoiled.

“Get out,” she demanded, her voice barely audible.

“Calliope, please...”

“Get out!” she screamed, her face twisted in grief, in rage.

Morpheus stood there, the weight of centuries pressing down on him, but his expression remained impassive. He gave a small nod, turned, and walked away.

Even as the pocket sand wrapped him, Calliope’s heartache echoed through the emptiness, and Morpheus was left to face the terrible truth—he could not bridge the gap between them. She would always hate him, see him as the one who could not protect their child.

And somewhere in the depths of his silence, he knew she was right.

@secretdreamlandmentality @littlemoistcarrot @lokigirlszendaya @notyourwildestdream @roxytheimmortal

[lis-likes-fics]

Dream a Little Dream

Pairings: Dream of the Endless x wife!Reader Word Count: 1.9k words Kink: Sleep/Morning Sex Warnings: NSFW, so vanilla, fingering, p in v, so many pet names you'll explode, nothing else really... A/N: I am already....so behind. The next few prompts may end up being really short like this one, as I have nothing prepared as of now. So I'll either write short stuff for a while or hold off on posting for a day or two until I can catch up again. Sorry, guys. Thanks!

The groggy pull of waking sticks to your skin like sap. You pull your heavy eyelids open and moan lazily as you bring your hand to rest upon the one heavy on your side. You intertwine your hand with pale fingers, moving closer to the being already holding you close as the flutter haze of the morning soaks into you.

With a lazy murmur, the deep voice of your husband fills your ears. "Good morning, my darling." His words glue together like licorice that had been melded in the heat.

"Good morning," you mumble.

Morpheus shifts forward until his entire body is pressed flat against yours. You feel the tip of his nose brush against the back of your shoulder, and his lips follow as he presses them into your skin. "How are you?"

You take in a long, deep breath, shutting your eyes again on a hum. "Sleepy." He chuckles lightly. "But I had a wonderful dream."

Morpheus smiles slowly. "My love, this is a dream."

You hum again, amused as you chuckle a little as well. "Well, then, I had a wonderful evening."

Visions of the evening flash behind your eyes, vivid images of flesh and fingers and lips. So much skin against smooth skin, lips on plush lips, eyes on gazing eyes. Your heart swells at the memory, as does his.

You sigh longingly, your eyes still closed as you relish in the softness of the pillow under your cheek and the warmth of his body against yours. Your tongue is heavy in your mouth as you speak, supporting your claim that: "I would love to repeat it but…I am much too tired."

Morpheus hums. "I would not take your sleep, but I shall take the work, if you wish."

Working your arm under your pillow and sinking further into the softness, you moan mildly as your drowsiness dares to pull you deeper into your sleep. "I would like that very much," you nearly whisper, holding his hand fondly.

Morpheus smiles warmly, pressing his lips to your shoulder once more and offering even more tenderness as he grants you more to your neck. You relish in his affection.

"Lay back, my love, and let me serve you." His voice echoes in your mind, and you mumble your response back to him as a sudden drowsiness holds you in its arms.

You whine meekly when he pulls his hand from yours in favor of roaming it over your body, smoothing his palm against your skin and teasing you with his long, slender fingers. His other hand snakes under your body and wraps around your chest, his fingers rolling your nipple between them and savoring your tiny moans. His touch remains gentle and slow as his other hand smooths along your waist and dips lower to tease your inner thigh.

You feel his fingers brush your folds, and your lips part as he parts your own and dips his finger inside of you. You take in a slow, deep breath, sighing on a tiny whimper. "Morpheus…" you mutter.

"Shh, my love." He presses his finger deeper, deeper. His voice washes over you like warm honey and velvet. "Just close your eyes and breathe and feel."

His voice eases you into that fluttering world between consciousness and unconsciousness. His finger sends goosebumps along your flesh, and your lips part as you feel the tiny sparks of pleasure dot your skin. He adds a finger, working them in a gentle thrust to coax the arousal from you.

He curls his fingers inside of you, a steady pace keeping you on the cusp of sleep while also delivering to you the pleasure you deserve. You moan lightly, and Morpheus’ voice finds you once more. “Let me love you,” he says. “Let me give to you what you wish, my darling.”

You mewl at his words, whining as you grind your hips back into him, though you’re not sure you moved much. You feel him growing hard against your thigh as he pulls you closer and continues to caress your breasts in his large hand. You whisper his name under your breath, clenching around his fingers as he presses them deep inside of you and curls them to massage that sweet spot inside of you that makes you gasp.

The room remains otherwise silent, save for your quiet sighs and whimpers, as he fingers you in your half-sleep. When you feel a knot building in your belly, you shift your hips back against your husband in a sudden search for relief.

His power over you, especially here as you dream with him now, is magnificent. He whispers in your ear, "Let go. Give yourself to me, my love." With a gasp and a shudder, you do exactly as he says. You grind your hips back against him as you let his power wash over you and take control.

He's thorough in making sure your pleasure lasts as long as it can, thrusting his fingers steadily into you, rubbing his thumb against your clit in a consistent circle to keep you wound and ready. And he speaks you through it with his soothing voice, gentle motivations and praises of, "That's it, my beautiful wife. You're doing so well…"

When you've properly come down, his voice comes again. "Would you like more, my dear?"

And you nod, your face still nestled in your pillow as your body settles even deeper into your dream-state. "Yes," you mumble, "please."

Morpheus smiles at his influence over you, holding you tighter as he entwines your bodies to wrap the both of you together. He spreads your thighs apart just enough to spread you open, taking himself in his hand and positioning himself at your fluttering folds.

"Are you ready, my sweetling?" he asks gently, kissing your neck tenderly. You nod again, humming as much of a yes as you could. With another kiss to your shoulder, he complies and begins to push himself inside of you, sheathing his cock into your warmth as a content sigh slips from the both of you.

"You feel magnificent, my darling," he says, pet name after pet name kissing your soul like a healing medicine.

He rocks his hips gently back and forth, his gentle thrusts filling you with his love without disturbing your sleepiness. It's a strange kind of feeling, to be so close to the edge of dreaming within dream but to feel so much pleasure keeping you just conscious enough to feel it almost tenfold. You clench around him as the drag of his cock massages the deepest part of you.

His name falls off your lips, almost like a prayer as he pleasures you on his own terms. Morpheus' eyes are shut and his hands are soothing over your body so slowly. He's lost in his own kind of ecstasy, his body tingling with the lust teeming within your own body.

You whimper again, moaning lightly and your bodies move together in a gentle, perfectly synchronized harmony. "M'love," you sigh. "So good."

He shushes you gently, sighing against your skin and kissing your shoulder once more. "Listen to my voice," he says, pulling you in with his compelling peace. His heart is so full with his love for you, you both lose yourself in it. "You are beautiful, my dear. You are radiant, you are lovely, and you are mine. I love you more than the stars could ever say."

You smile gently at his words, falling in love with him all over again as he rocks his hips in a steady motion with yours. You can't help but to grind your hips back against him, however lazy it is as your body seeks him out. "Oh, my love, you are perfect."

His skilled fingers find your clit once more, and he begins a steady pace over it. Your body shudders at the sensitivity, quickly giving in to his touch and letting his praise sink into your skin.

"Dream," you whimper. "'M so close."

"I know, my darling, I can feel it." His thrusts remain, taking the work in stride as he continues to give you what you need. "I can feel the way you tighten around me. I can hear your little breaths, feel the bumps on your skin…"

You whimper again, a little louder this time. The ecstasy is coursing through your veins, and you're so close to the edge of it all. "Please," you mutter.

He can't help the way his pace on your clit speeds up just a fraction, his grinding hips going a little deeper. He's always given you what you want, weak against your pleas and wanting nothing more than to make you happy.

"You are everything to me, my sweet heart," he sighs, his breath becoming more shallow with his own oncoming release.

It isn't long before the combination of his praise and his hips and fingers mix together and make you cum; a deep gasp filling your lungs, a helpless whine delving into little moans muffled in the expanse of your pillow, your thighs trembling with pleasure and still seeking more. "Mmm, Dream– Ah!"

Morpheus follows after, especially when you moan his name so prettily. How could he resist? He fills you to the brim with his love for you, a deep moan of his own slipping from his throat as he holds you closer as thrusts his hips into you through your orgasm. The power he continues to hold seeps into your flesh and bone and have you cumming so long, your entire body has no choice but to relish in the shuttering feeling as you continue to mewl and moan. Morpheus' hands on your skin and his lips kissing lovingly at your neck and shoulder make you weak.

Time stretches on as you slowly float down to the bed with a body heavy as a potato sack. You're so sleepy now, even more than before as the aftershocks of your pleasure still occasionally rattle through your body. Morpheus is right there to soothe your laziness. "You did beautifully, my love," he says, reluctantly pulling out of your warmth and admiring just how messy the both of you had become. "Do you feel better?"

If he wasn't in such perfect tune with your body, he would have missed the way you nodded. "Perfect…" you mutter.

He smiles. After a moment, you muster the strength to turn over onto your other side so you are facing your husband. You needn't open your eyes, you needn't say a word. You just turn yourself in his arms and press your body even closer to his own as he envelops your wordlessly into his embrace. He holds you as you silently praise him and his love for you.

He can tell you're about to sink into an even deeper sleep, the dream you're in being left behind for another (possibly even fonder) one—perhaps even one you could manage to open your heavy eyes in. Just as you're slipping away, his knuckles brushing your skin and his eyes watching your face, you mumble under your breath, "Love you…s'much."

He smiles fondly, a warm smile that would have made you cry, had you see it. He kisses your forehead and then gives into his desires to kiss your sweet lips, overjoyed when you manage to kiss him back. "I love you, too, my darling."

You both slip off together to meet again in a deeper realm of dreaming.

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Hi!! Can I please request a Soulmate!Morpheus x mutant!fem!reader where the reader has the ability to enter and manipulate dreams? I just feel like they’d be sooo cute together and Y/n would feel so at home in the Dreaming (more than she ever did in the waking world), and she’d fit in perfectly as his Queen🥹💜

Pretender

"You are not a dream, and yet you dare meddle with mine." "I didn't mean to!"

Dream of the Endless x Reader | 1k+ | cw: gender neutral!reader, petty sulky eldritch lord!Dream, fluff, it's low key giving enemies to lovers, fluff, typos, etc.

A/N: I'm in a writing dissonance and I'm hoping writing this will get me out of it 🥲 my lovely @kpopgirlbtssvt, I hope you like it 🫶 it took me quite a while to get anything written but here it is!!!!

Tagging: @pinksirensong @aralezinspace @sloanexx @shadow-pancake9

"Here you go," I hand the old woman a cup of tea and milk. She reaches her veiny, wrinkled hand towards the saucer and takes a sip of the tea with a smile.

I sit on the side of her bed and smile back at her.

"Oh, thank you terribly, dearie," she huffs and slowly places the teacup on her bedside table. She then grabs my hands and grasps them frimly.

The warmth of her grip squeezes at my heart. I squeeze her hands back, "now, what would you like to dream about tonight?"

"Oh, I'd like to kiss my Reginald and my children all-night long."

"Then you shall," I lean in and nod, "you will dream about your Reginald and your children."

She chuckles, then yawns, "oh, I do hope we're rich in my dreams. I so terribly wished to buy them pretty clothes, but I just could not afford it, you know."

I nod and rub her hands, "you will this time."

The old lady smiles and sinks into her pillow. I tuck her in and close her light.

She watches me stand before closing her eyes, "thank you kindly, sweet child."

I make sure to leave her apartment as quiet as a mouse.

I release a sigh and go into my room, just next door. I open the lights and head to my kitchen. I open the fridge and rummage through the items which were slowly molding away.

I grab the box of cereal and shove my hand in. I stuff my face with sweet pebbles and close the door. My soul nearly leaves me when I see the shadowy figure behind me.

I shriek and turn away, clutching the cereal tightly in my hand.

"𝕸𝖊𝖉𝖑𝖊𝖗," the voice echoes across the room.

I whine and curl into the foot of my refrigerator.

I can feel the presence move closer towards me. The deep baritone brings a chill down my spine, "𝖕𝖗𝖊𝖙𝖊𝖓𝖉𝖊𝖗."

Shakily, I ask, "who are you?"

"𝕴 𝖆𝖒 𝕯𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖒. 𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕯𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖒𝖜𝖊𝖆𝖛𝖊𝖗. 𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕹𝖎𝖌𝖍𝖙𝖒𝖆𝖗𝖊 𝕶𝖎𝖓𝖌. 𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕾𝖚𝖑𝖙𝖆𝖓 𝖔𝖋 𝕾𝖑𝖊𝖊𝖕," he echoes, "and you are an insult to me."

I shudder and lift my eyes. The being is cloaked in darkness, shrouded from head to toe, and yet there was an inexplicable glow in his black eyes.

"Who are you to decide what one should and shouldn't see in their sleep? Who are you to command 𝖒𝖞 dreams and warp them to your liking? You are no Dream Maker. You are speck in the universe, mortal."

"The Endless Dream," I mutter, "I- I- I know you... I've studied you all my life." I maneuver on my knees, "I- I was born with the power to manipulate dreams. I mean you no insult, I just-"

At this point, my whole room is engulfed in darkness.

"Please," I shake my head, "I'm sorry."

A moment passes, then in a blink, as if it never was, my room is the same as it was before.

𝖄𝖔𝖚 𝖍𝖆𝖛𝖊 𝖇𝖊𝖊𝖓 𝖜𝖆𝖗𝖓𝖊𝖉.

Needless to say, I was shaken to the core.

Which is kind of odd... considering the fact I was face to face with him again, and felt... enamoured?

The Eternal Dream had his back turned to me as he went through a table of books. He turns slightly, profile coming into view as he flipped through a book.

My heart races at the sight of his face. No longer was he covered in darkness, he was now molded with beauty. My heightened pulse was not born of fear, no... it was something of-

"- love."

Dream looks over his shoulder. His eyes widen at the sight of me, then darken in equal measure.

"Lord! I mean my lord!"

"How have you come here-" he mutters in shock before his voice drops an octave, "𝖕𝖗𝖊𝖙𝖊𝖓𝖉𝖊𝖗."

I shirk, "... I went to sleep... and thought of you."

"𝖄𝖔𝖚'𝖛𝖊 𝖙𝖗𝖊𝖘𝖕𝖆𝖘𝖘𝖊𝖉 𝖎𝖓𝖙𝖔 𝖒𝖞 𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖑𝖒 𝖙𝖔 𝖋𝖚𝖗𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖗 𝖎𝖓𝖘𝖚𝖑𝖙-"

I turn away and close my eyes, handing him something.

"... is that supposed to impress me?"

I look back at him then down to the bouquet of flowers in my hand. I feel nervous as I explain, "no. I just- it felt right-"

"There is nothing right about your presence-"

I silence him. In a blink of an eye, he and I are now sitting on a table set with tea and treats in the middle of a garden. He looks enchanting in this setting. My stomach is filled with butterflies. An actual butterfly flutters by. I lean on the table and mutter, "I feel the exact way... but opposite."

Dream looks around the lush gardens and grunts, "you dare teleport me in my own domain?"

I tense when he says this, "fuck-" I straighten up, "-force of habit."

"You are not a dream, and yet you dare meddle with mine."

"I didn't mean to!"

"𝕰𝖓𝖔𝖚𝖌𝖍," his voice echoes, and suddenly we are both standing in darkness.

Actually, only I am standing in darkness. My pulse begins to quicken all over again.

"Dream?" I call out in panic, but the void eats up my sound.

I resist the urge at first, the urge to morph the matter into what I want it to be, but the quickened thump in my chest practically yells out to be free of this darkness.

And so I think. I think hard. I think hard about making a hole out of the darkness that I physically pry out an opening and enter through it. Once I'm out, I find myself in a throne room. Something clanks on the floor.

I look around for a moment, in awe, then turn to whatever it was that fell.

"You got out," a voice speaks in disbelief as I pick the object on the floor.

I look up and see Dream's looming figure. He walks over to me with a skeptical expression.

I blink and steal a glance at what I picked up before handing it to him, "I... think you dropped this."

He looks at my outstretched palm. He looks at the gemstone and looks back at me.

I feel incredibly self-conscious at his prolonged stare.

"Do you know what that is?"

I inspect the stone and shrug, "a... weird shaped diamond?"

"It is a heart of a soul star," he mutters, "half of it."

"Oh..." I lower my arm because it started to tire, "did you lose the other?"

"In a word... many aeons ago," he brings his hand into his breast pocket, "but no longer."

Dream shows me an identical looking stone and my mouth parts at the sight of it.

"It seems you are not a pretender," he sighs, "but the half of my soul. My missing soulmate."

"W-what?"

Dream looks over his shoulder, "Merv. You don't have to continue making that dungeon room."

A scarecrow with a large, orange pumpkin head pulls out the cigar in his lips, "but I already started! The torture chamber and everything!"

"Dungeon room?!"