#The Sandman imagine

[withoutyouimsaskia]

Sometimes It's Fated (Sandman Short Story Part 1)

Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8

​GIF: Originally posted by @tavners

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. Home invasion. Voyeurism. Implied masturbation. Dream manipulation.

Word Count: 2.6k

A/N: Wow, this took way longer to finish than I had originally planned. My head's been all over the place with trying (and thus far failing) to find a new job. The themes are very different to what I've written before; I hope it reads okay. Please let me know what you think. All my love, Saskia xx

Sandman Masterlist

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Fate.

A phenomenon that governed every particle of matter within the known universe and even those beyond.

Some considered it a comforting concept that excused them from the burden of decision making, citing: "I'll leave it up to fate." For others the phrase was a cursory, throw-away comment or a romantic line they heard in the lyrics of a song.

The real truth of the matter was that Fate was a trio of immortal beings, goddesses, with sight so potent that they knew the past, present and future of every individual to have lived. The mythology of the Greeks, Romans and Norse hadn't been too far off with their stories of the Moirai, Parcae and Norns but of course, no humans really believed there to be any realism in myths. They were just stories. It didn't matter either way; they existed and had influence regardless of what the majority believed.

For beings such as The Endless siblings, the presence of Fate in the cosmos was not only real, but also something that affected even themselves.

For the King of Dreams, an eventuality had been prophesised long ago by The Kindly Ones that spoke of a bond that was to be forged between himself and a mortal.

Lord Morpheus, in his pride, had tried to be above such a foretelling, even questioning its validity because the notion of a mortal accepting his version of the universe seemed wholly implausible.

But he could not truly stop himself from wondering about you, reaching out to see if he could feel your presence in the minds of the dreamers he hosted.

It wasn't something he indulged in with frequency. More of a once-in a-decade interval. Enough to appease his curiosity.

Of course, this was put on hold during his imprisonment at Fawney Rig.

Morpheus had had much to contemplate during this period. The damage his absence caused to the collective subconscious, the decay of his realm, the loss of freedom and dignity. There was also a chance that you had been born and died in the 106 years he spent in captivity.

What if he was too late and had lost the chance of discovering who you were?

It was a nauseating prospect that scraped and scratched a space deep within his being; bleeding him of his remaining stores of hope that were so significantly depleted after the death of beloved Jessamy.

Despite the nasty emotional wound, finding you was a charge that he assigned at the end of his priorities after his escape.

Recovering his scattered tools, restoring the Dreaming, locating his absent creations, unravelling the mystery of Rose Walker and confronting Desire all had needed to come first.

The latter interaction had left Morpheus with a seething rage that was currently propelling him down the boards of the dock that sit above the Ocean of Dreams.

The dense mist in the air is buffeted by his movements and the only sounds are the tread of boots, the creak of wooden slats and the lap of water.

With each step, the liquid becomes choppier as it reacts to its master's mood and by the time he has reached the end of the dock, the surface of the water roils fervorously, completely in line with Morpheus' dangerous temperament.

The words of Desire's final silken-toned taunt echo in his mind with grating persistence.

"Oh, poor Dream. I really got under your skin this time, didn't I?"

He is loathe to admit there is truth in the question.

There are moments where Morpheus ponders the turn that the relationship between them has taken. How Desire went from being his favourite sibling to someone one shade shy of an adversary. Their faultless adeptness at provoking his temper and manipulating the events that encircle him would be impressive if not for the danger posed to humanity.

The agitated water eventually draws focus to how out of control he and his emotions have become. Morpheus knows he must get them in check, and quickly, for he knows the consequences all too well should he ignore it.

He clenches his fist and swallows it all down, pushing it deep inside his belly until the crackling entropy of the anger is fully dispelled.

Morpheus then sweeps his coat out behind him as he sinks lithely into a crouch. Trepidation nips at his heart and tugs his attention to a sobering thought.

This foray into the water may be fruitless.

You may be long gone and there would be no way of ever knowing you.

His nostrils flare as he takes a deep breath; he has run out of excuses to not look, even if he is afraid of the outcome.

Long, delicate fingers dapple the surface of the inky ocean. The waves still at the touch, obedient to him with instancy.

He repositions to full height and reaches into his coat to find the pouch of sand stashed in the pocket. A handful of twinkling grains slip off his palm into the ocean, lighting the water it touches to a luminous green.

"Find my soulmate," Morpheus commands silently.

The intention is set. He steps off the dock into the water.

At first, like every other prior attempt, there is no sign of you. Morpheus floats submerged in the tepid liquid, filtering through the hubbub of countless other dreams and nightmares.

Then there is a pull.

It is faint yet indisputable. Warmth explodes in his chest and he groans inwardly from the delicious sensation of relief.

You are alive, and you are dreaming.

A path of radiance appears in the water, a line that shows your connection, and provides a location for him to hone in on.

Morpheus dives deeper without hesitation.

As he reaches the edge of your subconscious, he rejoices that he got a handle on his emotions. He wouldn't want your first perception of him to be one tinged with rage, however unaware you were of him, with your soulmate being the source.

He hesitates for a moment before entering the dream you are in and is somewhat taken aback by what he finds.

A room comprising of four blank walls, a floor, a ceiling and a door. There is but one other feature; a window, and its view is as non-descript and inoffensive as the internal space.

You stand by said window, head turned from him.

Despite being unable to see your face, he sees your anxiety with immediacy. It is an aura hovering about your body, being sucked into your lungs with every fast-paced breath.

You begin to throw glances towards the door. Morpheus filters through the layers of the dream. No one is scheduled to come across the threshold.

The more he observes, the more questions arise in Morpheus' mind.

What was making you so affected? What were you expecting to happen?

There's nothing in the scene that is intended to be unpleasant yet you are reacting in a way that most observers would characterise as unsettled.

Morpheus, despite not yet knowing you, doesn't like to see you this way. His dominant instinct is to end the dream but he quashes the desire to review the bigger picture.

The empty room dream was symbolic of a beginning.

It clicks into place.

What you were feeling, even if on a purely instinctual level, was the anticipation of meeting your soulmate and starting your new life.

Morpheus steps into the frame, just a couple of paces behind you.

You feel his presence instantly, eyes full to the brim with tears as you whirl around with a soft gasp.

You see him.

The tears spill and patter onto the white floor.

Morpheus reaches out, overcome by his need to provide comfort.

You disappear.

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Morpheus is sat on his throne. He pores over the book he had located in the Dreaming's library a little over a week ago that contains the details of your life. It is something he has taken to doing when the impatience of waiting for you to fall asleep becomes too keen.

Your subconscious has him enraptured, watching it every night as if it is a stage show. Each dream he delves into is like the tug of fingers on a loose thread, your psyche has begun to unravel before him.

Everything from whims to cravings, hopes to fears. Your temperament, the things that delight and irk you. What drives you and demotivates you. He consumes it all with an insatiable hunger.

Based on the projection of yourself that he sees, there is no doubt that he is attracted to you.

All that prior haughty disregard for the Fates' prophecy has been cast aside like a negative thought in a meditation session. Morpheus is a romantic. A believer. He is ashamed to have even doubted your coming.

He wonders if it would vex Desire to learn of him finding his soulmate and by extension, the prospect of companionship, perhaps even physical intimacy or love.

It is all too easy to imagine the sickly sweet grin they would smile at him, shown to be fake by the almost imperceptible contempt glinting in their golden eyes.

Would his triumph drive them to distraction?

It is this smug sentiment that spurs his next decision. He wants more. The next logical step is to find you in the waking world.

He rises from his throne, a sure hand ready to bring forth his pouch of sand when he falters.

Tears pool in his eyes.

His mind is suddenly marred with the memories of what happened in 1916. The agony, mortification and rage that followed. He couldn't go through that kind of treatment ever again and the waking world expanded the risk of it transpiring.

"No," he says resolutely. His sadness turns to resolve, the hard line of his grimace matching those set in his brows.

He will not let the actions of a group of mortals dissuade him from going to you. And besides, he has researched everything he can about you from within the safety of the Dreaming.

He takes a measure of sand and uses it to materialise within your bedroom.

It is obvious from a quick scan of it that deliberate attempts have been made to ensure the space is cosy and calming.

Two marshmallowy pillows support your head. The cotton sheets have been meticulously tucked to avoid drafts. A lavender reed diffuser fragrances the air with a subtle scent. There are no devices or screens visible.

Everything has its place. A coaster supported glass of water within reaching distance. Touch activated lamp in case of emergency. The diary lined up with the back left corner of the bedside table, pen placed parallel in the spine dent. All clothes are in the wardrobe or stashed in the laundry basket.

Morpheus moves to the curtain-shrouded window and delicately moves the dark, heavy fabric to catch a glimpse of the outside world.

The scene is sepia stained from an old streetlight positioned right outside your home. It explained the choice of curtains.

You stir slightly from the change in environment and Morpheus allows the curtain to fall back in place. He remains stationary until your breathing returns to its previous pace. It is imperative that his presence remains undisclosed. He knows that mortals do not take well to home invasion.

Then, your right hand slips out from the duvet cocoon revealing a cushion cut ruby ring on your middle finger.

He smiles exultantly. The similarity between the jewel and his own now-destroyed dreamstone was undeniable.

The Fates were making it transparent.

You were the one.

Morpheus approaches the side of your bed now. In your momentary discomfort, you had moved your head, making your whole face visible to your uninvited guest.

He bends gracefully so his face is closer to yours and observes you with an intent fascination.

Even in the gloom, Morpheus asserts that your features are even more captivating now that he is able to look upon them in person and is certain that if he could guarantee an absence of fear then he would fall to knees and worship you right there.

Fingers stroke a lock of hair splayed across the pillow and his thoughts turn darker still, imagining what he would do with you if he could get you alone in the Dreaming. How he would seduce you with words, and then pleasure your body with his own until you were senseless.

Getting you there would be so easy, all he needed to do was move his hand up and touch your skin and -

Morpheus stops himself, deciding that now is not the time for an introduction. He will wait until tomorrow. You need to rest. It will be quite the revelation for your sweet mortal heart.

Morpheus whispers a promise, "We will be together soon, my precious soulmate."

He leaves after taking one last look at your peaceful form.

When he returns to the Dreaming, Morpheus discovers that the visit has riled him way beyond what he thought possible.

It was supposed to sate his curiosity and answer some questions.

It has done the opposite.

His craving for you is sublimely intense, opiate-like in its ensnarement.

He needs to possess you. To have you all to himself. Everything would fall into place. Loneliness, disillusionment, jealousy; they would never darken his outlook again. You would heal him, he is certain of it.

He paces restlessly in the low light of his private chambers as heat ripples beneath the surface of his being, charging him with pure sexual lust.

He hungers for the moment when you feel the same about him.

For now, all he can do is stand and touch himself while thinking of your face, an act that has been carried out repeatedly in the days since he found you in the Ocean of Dreams.

An erotic idea enters his mind.

Your subconscious is still in the Dreaming; he knows the feeling of it intimately.

Perhaps he could bring you a dream mirroring his own current fantasy.

To give you a taste of what was to come.

A gift that only he could bestow.

The mere thought of it turns him on even more. His back arches and his eyes roll back as he choses the words through which he would deliver the offering.

"Dream of me," Morpheus murmurs breathlessly. "Dream of me."

He repeats the phrase until he is unable to continue, moans taking over the darkened space around him.

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It is dusk the next day when Morpheus returns to the waking world.

The instant he touches down on the Earth's surface, he knows exactly where to go. The metaphysical connection between you is as strong as the energy pulsing through a ley line.

The city he is directed to is thrumming with life but the side street he stands in has been spared from the furore.

It is fortuitous that he is permitted to be unobserved for Morpheus is struggling now with the urge to get closer.

Providence is pulling him in and also locking him out.

He walks up to the door and then an invisible force makes him back away.

He doesn't even try to fight it.

The Fates hold all the cards. Morpheus is beholden to their each and every whim.

It is surprisingly liberating.

He is dancing in the cross hairs. Blinkered by the tie the universe has fashioned for you.

All he has to do is wait.

The door to the building is pushed open.

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Taglist: @herfantasyworldd

"Fate. Up against your will. Through the thick and thin. He will wait until you give yourself to him."

[7-wonders]

Wishful Drinking

Morpheus/Dream of the Endless x GN!Reader

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

Or, drunk shenanigans galore!

Word Count: 3.5k

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

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

Listen.

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

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

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

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

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

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

But then shots had been ordered.

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

And you bought yourself two drinks.

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

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

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

“Don’ worry ‘bout it,” you say.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Where have you been?” Morpheus demands.

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

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

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

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

But that’s not what happens.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How can you tell that in the Dreaming?”

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

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

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

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

“Lucienne! Hi! How have you been!” 

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

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

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

“You put yourself in this state?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Because,” is your simple, childish reply.

“That is not a good answer.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you sure?”

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

“Are you well enough to move?”

“Yes, I promise.” 

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

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

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

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

His face softens. “Of course I did.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You don’t think you ever will.

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

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

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

“Always,” he promises.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And did you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Of course.”

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

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

“No.”

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

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

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

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

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

“What?”

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

“Go. To. Sleep,” Morpheus commands.

“Ugh, you’re no fun!”

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

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

You’re asleep before your head hits the pillow.

[nxtaliaistyping]

Thinking about Morpheus making you ride him as punishment :(

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

18+ nsfw, fem reader, slight bondage

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Please…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You can do better.”

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

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

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

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

[swanimagines]

LOST DREAMS | MORPHEUS

Summary: Your ancestor was cursed by Morpheus long ago so the women in your family would be plagued with eternal wakefulness, but you don't believe in the curse or that some ancient Greek god was the cause of it, like your grandmother always told you about. Doctors have told you that the only reason they can think of is most likely a severe case of ADHD in the family and that's why you never feel sleepy. But then you get a job at a Burgess mansion and find something in the basement that makes your grandmother's stories sounding not so crazy after all...

Even on her deathbed, your grandma had talked about the "curse" she claimed the whole family suffered from. You could see how it can be seen as a curse, never feeling sleepy and how you always had energy for everything - because of that, you had had plenty of boring moments every day and it did suck. Not to mention, your friends talking about how funny and good dreams they have had always sparked jealousy within you. It was something you had never experienced.

Doctors had researched you since you were a baby, but they couldn't pinpoint a reason for being unable to fall asleep either. They had you running from test to test, even sent you to another country for more tests with a world top sleep disorder clinic, but nothing worked. Some doctors were afraid that your condition is a type of fatal insomnia, and that you were slowly dying. But those were knocked down too with brain scans, and after your grandma and mother could testify that they had been exactly the same since birth, doctors were facing yet another puzzle. The condition was absolutely unheard of. You heard stories that someone in your family had been burned as a witch for not sleeping, which ultimately made you believe it's something running in the family.

And after some debating between doctors, they too decided that it's an extremely rare type of ADHD, the most severe there is, and your family are the first ones it's been detected to have. They also believed that something in your brains had aligned so perfectly that you not sleeping doesn't affect the brains negatively and expressed their will to be able to take your brains for medical research.

Your grandmother, however, wasn't keen on that thought. She had made up her mind that it's the ancient Greek god Morpheus who had cursed you with it, and nothing would be found from her brains.

"Mother, Morpheus is an ancient Greek god. He's not real," you remember your mother saying as you were visiting your grandma in the hospital. "There's also no thing as curses or magic."

Your grandma had pursed her lips and shook her head. "Oh my dear foolish girl, you just don't understand it. Our ancestor, many centuries ago, was Morpheus' lover, and-"

"She rejected him, we all remember," you interrupted. "He cursed her and everyone in her family to never feel tired."

Your grandma had let out a long breath through her nose. "No, he cursed the women with it. Not men. It is said that he became enraged when his lover refused his kingdom, and when she passed away, he took revenge by striking down all of us with this curse, preventing us from getting proper rest. And now, you're the newest one of our family to carrying the curse. Your future daughters will carry it too, and it will be passed on to their daughters in turn."

You had sighed in chorus with your mother, your grandma had always been clearly delusional about it. Likely brainwashed by her own mother, who had been brainwashed by her mother and so on. But you and your mother were new generation, who didn't believe in such absurd stories and had reliable medical research under your fingertips but unfortunately, you had had to listen your grandma talking about it all your childhood.

When your grandma had passed away, you moved out from your hometown and settling to a nice little town in southern England. You got a job as a cleaner-occasional cook-extra pay caretaker in a fancy mansion owned by an elderly couple, and life was good.

But every mansion has its mysteries, and this mansion had one too. A secret door with a hidden passcode tablet, and only some could go in. No one, besides the guards or Alex and Paul, really knew what was behind it, and no one dared to find it out for themselves. After all, everyone knew that if Alex found out that his servant was going into the room, he would likely fire them, so no one dared to try their luck.

No one, except you. You knew how to get in, and even though you never tried before, you had the feeling that it would work. So you had gone in secretly in the middle of the night, your "curse" as your little helper. You had succeeded in distracting the guards and crept your way down the stairs.

You came to a large, dark hall and you swallowed as you switched the light on. The lights blinded you for a moment, and you raised your arm in front of your eyes, before slowly peeking through and your heart jumped a little upon seeing a figure sitting there. It was a man, who was inside a large glass sphere, not even looking at you gawking at him. Then you realised that he was naked, and quickly turned your head away from his lower regions.

"I'm sorry, I...I..." You stuttered, your voice croaking. "I didn't think there's someone here. Everyone is so mysterious and I wanted to see what is it that is kept here. Wait, you... you aren't kept here as a prisoner, are you?"

The man didn't reply, but his eyes shifted at you, and you felt like a mouse caught in the stare of an owl. His gaze was intense, and a shiver ran down your spine.

You took it as a yes. "Can I help you? Can I do anything?" you continued nervously.

The man kept quiet, but you caught something in his eyes, something which looked like disbelief. You opened your mouth to speak again, but then closed it. You glanced over your shoulder before taking a step towards the sphere, and noticed strange vigils in a circle on the ground.

"What's this?" you asked, still somehow wishing the man would say something. Even when you knew he wouldn't. But his gaze was on the circle now too and he cocked his head slightly at it.

"This sounds stupid, but it looks like a summoning circle. I've probably watched supernatural movies a little too much," you chuckled. The man slowly raised his eyes on you again, and then back down again. You frowned. "Do you... want me to break it?" you asked hesitantly.

The man's piercing blue eyes once again met yours. Then he, very slowly, nodded.

You swallowed hard and stepped forward, fingers trembling as you touched the circle with your foot. It immediately felt like some unknown force was pulling at you, like you were being pulled towards it and you made a stroke, erasing a small segment of the circle.

You let out a breath you didn't know you were holding, and heard noise from the stairway and immediately panicked, looking at the man and then sprinting towards the light. You turned it off and made your way to the farthest corner of the basement, hoping no one would notice you once lights were on.

After a few moments, you heard a chair scrape the stone floor and carefully peered towards the doorway. The other guard had come back and was reading a newspaper. You watched as the man in the glass sphere slowly stood up, pressing his hands on the glass and suddenly, all hell was loose.

A wind surged through the room, knocking the doors open and making a terrible sound. You covered your ears, before realising it wasn't just the wind. There was a bright light, you saw the figure of that man climbing out of the sphere and you screamed, not knowing what was happening.

Suddenly, the guard was on the ground and another bright light appeared. Then the man in the glass sphere was gone, just like that. The light, the wind and the noise had all stopped the moment that man had gone and you slowly got up. Your knees buckled but you forced yourself to go upstairs, to pretend you were never there. You were shaken. What had happened?

---

Some time after that, you were preparing yourself for another book marathon. You didn't feel like watching Netflix right now, so books it was. But then something happened, something that had never happened before.

You fell asleep. You put your head on the pillow and began reading when you were taken over this strange feeling of wanting to close your eyes, so you did. And sleep came. Suddenly, you were transferred in front of a huge castle, dragons and fairies flying over you and a sweet smell that tickled your nose. And you were sure you had lost your mind.

"Hello," a deep voice said from beside you and you twirled around to see the man from the sphere in front of you. Now, fortunately, fully dressed. He smiled and you stared at him, confused.

"How- How are you here?" You asked, frowning. This was absurd, almost like a... dream?

"You're dreaming," the man confirmed your suspicion. Your eyes widened.

"What? H-how?"

"I lifted the curse. So you could meet me."

You blinked. "C-curse?"

"Yes. A long time ago, I cursed a woman who didn't accept my proposal, when I asked her to be my queen when she died. So I told her that every woman who is born in her family, will be cursed by eternal wakefulness." He narrowed his eyes slightly. "I was bitter and inconsiderate when I did that, taken by my feelings and sadness."

"Wait, so... my grandmother was right? You... you are..."

"Morpheus, the King of Dreams." He smirked. "Your kind thinks I'm just a story, but I exist, in fact. The whole dream realm exists, and we can't tell stories without dreams."

You still stood there, dumfounded. "You lifted the curse so I'm... I'm able to sleep and dream now?"

Morpheus smiled slightly. "Yes. As a thank you for releasing me."

You blinked again, and then took in your surroundings. A dragon sat next to you, its wings spread wide and a fairy sitting on top of it, playing with some sort of crystal ball.

"If I may, I can show you around the realm?" Morpheus offered and you gave him a nod. "Very well. Follow me."

You started walking with him, and in a few minutes, you arrived at a forest. The trees were tall and wide, with red flowers blooming everywhere. On your left, you could hear the sound of water flowing and on your right, a waterfall. A beautiful place, one that you wanted to stay in forever.

"There is a lake not far from here, where the fairies usually gather. It is very beautiful, would you like to see it?" Morpheus suggested and you nodded. "Follow me."

He walked into the woods, and shortly after that, you reached the lake. The water sparkled in the sunlight, and the land surrounding it was green. Many little houses were built around the edges, and you couldn't help but stare at them. They reminded you of dollhouses, and you quickly realised that they were where fairies lived.

"This is the most beautiful place I've ever seen," you murmured.

"It is." Morpheus agreed. "Would you like to see my palace?"

You looked at him questioningly and he smiled.

"The house of the king of dreams is located in the heart of the realm. You need my permission to enter it, and only a few may. But you have earned my trust."

You nodded. "Thank you."

He smiled again. "Then follow me."

You walked out of the forest, and suddenly were met with the palace once again. It was bigger than you expected, even though you had been expecting it to be big. The garden was large and full of flowers, while the inside was decorated in a warm golden colour, with paintings hanging from the walls. He led you to the library, and you looked around at the bookshelves and the many old manuscripts.

"I heard you like books, so I thought you would like this," Morpheus said, smiling. "You can read whatever you want."

"Really?" You gasped, and his smile grew slightly. "Thank you!"

You went through the endless shelves, looking at all the books you could see. Some you recognised, others you hadn't seen before. Morpheus stood there for a moment, before exiting the room.

Dreams were even more magical than anyone had ever told you, and you couldn't wait to see a whole new world of them.

---

Requests are always open! FANDOM LIST | PROMPT LIST(S) | RULES (READ!!!)

[zaczenemiji]

Morpheus x Goddess!Arianrhod!Reader

Synopsis: A convention of deities takes place and you, Arianrhod, Celtic Goddess of the Moon and Stars reunite with your old friend, Death. You meet Morpheus for the first time in person.

Word Count: 1,445

PART ONE

✧ Dream Upon A Star ✧

We begin in the Nexus, the cosmic halls where realms converge and the divine gather. Tonight, a grand convention is held. Deities from every pantheon and mythology were summoned.

Arianrhod, the goddess of the Silver Wheel, answered the call. She belonged to the pantheon of deities, a divine family, known as the Children of Dôn. She who reigns as the queen of the spiral castle, an ethereal realm among the swirling galaxy of stars, is the goddess who weaves the fabric of the cosmos, commanding time and the changing seasons.

In the crowd of deities that gathered, her presence was a beacon. Under the light of a thousand stars, she shimmered brighter than the celestial bodies above.

That said, she did not go unnoticed by the Endless siblings. However, in this assembly wherein countless pairs of eyes looked at her, she did not have the concern to gaze back at each; or to look at anyone, at all. She walked through the opulent corridors in search of a corner she could linger in.

“Star!” She heard a call. Turning, she saw Death, her friend; someone she has known since the time before the Endless were known to mortals. She had always found her presence somber and comforting.

A smile found its way into Arianrhod’s face. She walked hurriedly towards Death, failing to notice the sibling that accompanied her friend.

“It’s good to see you again,” Death mirrored her smile. Arianrhod reached for Death’s hands and held it close to her chest. “And you, Death,” she replied. “The universe always has its way of bringing us together.”

For a moment, Arianrhod reminisced the death of the first living thing on the planet. It was also the first time she met one of the Endless. Death was there to guide the dead into the afterlife. And Arianrhod, with her role as a goddess associated with the cycles of time, has seen to it that the soul reaches its final destination.

“Indeed,” Death nodded. To her, it was nice to have someone aid in the passage of souls into the afterlife. Especially during the times it got harder—when she considered giving up and walking out.

Behind Death, Arianrhod finally noticed the tall and pale Endless. His dark hair framed his face and his eyes held the depth of the universe. “It’s good to see you, too, Lord of Dreams,” she said.

Death let go of Arianrhod’s hands and turned to look at his brother. “And you, goddess of time and cycle,” Morpheus replied.

“I still feel the need to introduce you to each other,” Death joked. However, she still did so. “Arianrhod, this is my brother, Dream,” she started. “And Morpheus, this is Star, goddess of the Silver Wheel.”

The two of them are aware of each other’s existence just like how humans are aware of dreams and the stars. However, for over thousands of centuries, this is the first time they met up close.

“It’s an honor to meet you, Lady of the Stars,” Morpheus said. “Your presence graces this gathering.” He carefully took Arianrhod’s hand and pressed it to his lips.

As the convention progressed, Arianrhod and Morpheus found themselves drawn into conversation. They spoke of their respective duties.

“I have always been fascinated by dreams, you know?” Arianrhod admitted. “They’re a reflection of the souls’s deepest desires. They have always been a strong motivator for humans to keep going—it keeps the wheels spinning.”

“And makes my job easier,” she added with a chuckle.

“In that case, they are, in many ways, like the stars…” Morpheus replied. “…who guide the paths of those who dream.”

In the distance, Death watched, a knowing smile on her lips. She had always understood the connections that bound the divine. Like how her friendship with Arianrhod came to be.

Before she knew it, Arianrhod and Morpheus were no longer in sight. The two found themselves in a secluded garden. The air was filled with the scent of celestial flowers.

“Do you know what this is?” Arianrhod asked, gesturing to the flowering bush nearby. Morpheus shook his head.

Arianrhod bent down to pick one flower off. She held it with both hands as she showed it to Morpheus. “This is called a Stellar Bloom,” she said.

Morpheus stepped closer to examine the flower. They now stood so close to each other, with the flower Arianrhod held in front her the only thing in the gap between them.

Its petals were a deep cosmic blue at the edges. Each were veined with iridescent silver lines that shimmer like stardust under the faint glow of the moon. Its core, a vibrant sunburst of golden tendrils.

“It’s breathtaking…” Morpheus said. He looked up from the flower and at Arianrhod without her knowledge. “…and ethereally beautiful.” He watched her hair shine against the moonlight—silver like the veins of the flower.

“Well, thanks!” Arianrhod replied with joy in every word. “I made this.”

“There’s an abundance of this in my realm,” she continued. “They grow under the light of the stars.”

She then looked up at Morpheus who, to her surprise, was staring softly at her. She looked back at his eyes. It was a realm she would probably not get tired of exploring.

“You can have it,” she said as she nudged the flower to Morpheus. “Keep it indoors in the morning, and outdoors at night, then it won’t die.”

Morpheus accepted the flower and held it carefully in his hand. “Thanks,” he said with a small smile. It was a tiny smile but Arianrhod felt as if a new star was born in the distance.

All of a sudden, a gentle melody filled the air. There is a symphony of cosmic harmonies that echoed through the halls. Arianrhod turned to walk towards the halls. There, by the center of the hall, she saw an open space had been cleared for dancing.

Morpheus arrived beside her. He saw her eyes lit up as the other deities walked into what has now become the dance floor. “Would you care to dance?” She looked up at him, smiling like a little child.

Morpheus was taken by surprise with her question. He could not believe that the goddess was first to ask. As the music continued, Arianrhod extended her hand to Morpheus.

“It would be my honor,” Morpheus said, his voice a smooth, resonant whisper.

They walked to the center of the hall, joining the other deities. Upon facing each other, Arianrhod had one hand on Morpheus’s shoulder, and the other on his hand. Meanwhile, his free hand found its way to her waist.

Then in a heartbeat, they swayed to the music. It was lively, and the other deities seemed to be in high spirits.

Morpheus’s dark robes swirled like shadows in the starlight. Arianrhod’s gown, adorned with the colors of the Stellar Bloom, shimmered with every turn.

As they danced, the cosmos itself bent around them as the stars twinkled brighter, reflecting the Stellar Queen’s delight.

Arianrhod’s laughter, like the gentle chime of silver bells, filled Morpheus’s ear as he spun her around. “The stars are dancing with us,” she said, her eyes reflecting the twinkling lights above.

Morpheus smiled, a rare and genuine expression. “Indeed,” he replied. “They are.”

As the music reached its crescendo, Morpheus and Arianrhod came to a gentle stop, their gazes locked in the moment.

A little breathless, Arianrhod smiled up at Morpheus. “Thank you, Lord of Dreams,” she said. “This dance was a dream in itself.”

Morpheus bowed slightly, his dark eyes softening. “The pleasure was mine, Lady of the Silver Wheel.”

As the convention drew to a close, the deities began to disperse, all on their way back to their respective realms. Arianrhod and Dream watched as the number of Gods decreased by the second.

“I think we could call it a day,” Arianrhod said. Dream nodded.

“Look who enjoyed the night,” Death approached them with a warm and knowing smile. “Well, you two,” she said, putting her hands on their shoulders. “See you when I see you.”

With that, Death departed. Arianrhod and Morpheus were left alone in the garden. “Are you not leaving yet?” Morpheus asked.

“You know,” Arianrhod replied, “My realm is bit too similar with this,” referring to the Cosmic Hall.

“You should come to the Dreaming sometimes,” Morpheus offered.

Arianrhod smirked, “But deities do not require sleep,” she said. “At least, not in the way mortals do—you know that.”

“I do,” Morpheus replied. “But The Dreaming will always open its gates to you.”

“We’ll see, then,” said Arianrhod. She turned to look at Morpheus one last time. “May the stars align in your favor.”

——————————————————————————

PART TWO

If you'd like to be added to my taglist for updates on this fanfic, just comment below or send me a message!

[morpheusbaby3]

Reader: It really sucks to know that you can't sleep...

Morpheus: *walking silently but paying attention*

Reader: I mean... When I have problems I sleep hehe 😌.

Morpheus: That's why you sleep a lot 🙂 (🤭)

Reader: At least I can run away from my problems 😌.

Morpheus: As a good partner, I must say that it's time to face your problems 😌.

Reader: *wakes up at 4:00 am and can't sleep anymore* 😮‍💨.

[thoughtsfromlayla]

Reader: Have you ever noticed that all cute words end with "-ie"?

Lucienne: Yeah like cutie, cookie, sweetie

Morpheus: Die.

[theladyofmanyfandomsfanfiction]

Imagine Death doting on you to Dream…

Death exhaled and placed her hand into the pocket of her jeans. “You know for the longest time we thought that you and Y/n had run off together. Dream and Eternal Hope - kind of makes sense.”

A smile danced itself onto Dream’s features, not missed by his sister, as the thought of being away from his duties and spending his never-ending days with you.

“I would never willingly remove Y/n from their passion of casting hope onto humanity. I could never.” Dream replied.

Death squeezed her brothers arm and looked away onto the manmade city horizon. “It’s a shame. I would have thought that Y/n fit right into the family.”

Dream watched an elderly woman pluck a flower from her bouquet and hand it to an inquisitive little boy. The boys eyes shone with wonder and hope.

“No.” He said simply. “Y/n makes this family better.”

~ More imagines here ~

[marvelsgirl616]

💭 “it’s going to be okay, I just need you to take some deep breaths. You’re safe.” 💭

[alexander-arcturus-black-lupin-r]

Hi! If it’s okay, totally okay if not, can I please request a soulmate!Morpheus x soulmate!fem!reader where she is half dream half human (she doesn’t know she’s a Dream or even that any of that exists) and she’s living a completely normal human life, with a human job (kindergarten teacher), human friends, no knowledge of who either of her parents were. But when she’s approached by The Corinthian, her normal life completely shatters. Like he had found out before Morpheus that she’s technically one of his missing Dreams and also Dream’s soulmate, and he takes her as leverage against Morpheus? Morpheus saves her from danger at the hotel with “Collectors” Convention? He’d take her back home to the Dreaming but I’m sure that’d be a difficult change for her to leave her human life

I spy a cooking opportunityyy pour moiiii to the google docss

i have actually been so busy this year it’s not even funny so I’m glad i had something to write. Let me know if there are any Spelling mistakes and errors

You were different, it wasn’t a thought or idea it was a fact. It was proven. You had a power, it was unexplainable and you’d given up on trying to explain it. It started small, lucid dreaming, you could fix, make, create, do whatever you wanted but it was only through dreams. Then, people. Your mom was dreaming of a new shopping spree and you just watched her. She saw you and just assumed you were part of it and in truth you were. You bought so many things and didn’t question where the money was from, it was only a dream that you wished you could bring her, she looked so happy. Until you woke up to your mom screaming in a room full of boxes and bags.

You brought the dream to her. 

Over the years you learned how to control it. Now years later after getting your teaching degree you became a kindergarten teacher and honestly you loved your job, the smiles and laughs of the little children who scurried around you. It was amazing it helped distract you. Seeing their little selves running over to their parents. 

You slowly just dropped your escapades in the back of your mind. You were an adoptee. You were a baby so you have no memories of who your parents were but the Arlings were a good family who treated you like you were a godsend.

“Heyyy, me and Lorrelai were wondering if you could humour us for a sec?” Debby, a fellow teacher like you asked. 

“Sure what's up?” you asked as you perched onto a nearby desk.

“Her ma's coming into town and she's wondering if she shouldn't be in town when ma's here.” 

“What's wrong with your ma?” 

“You know, controlling, demanding, taxing…you know how moms are.” the moment she said that her eyes went wide. 

“A-”

“Hey lass, there’s someone here for you!”  Since you were the only one Layla called Lass saying your byes you made your way to the front desk. 

You rarely got visitors here, maybe a rare parent but by the sounds of it it wasn’t a parent. Yiu giggled as you dodged hree running balls of energy. You could tell them to slow down but then they’d probably just go faster to avoid you, you chuckled. 

You turned the corner and almost bumped into a man. He was tall with blond hair and familiar black glasses from a show you watched a while back. He smiled and you almost flinched. You tried to smile back in the same manner but it felt painful and unreal.

“Excuse me, Miss Arling?” you nodded wondering if he was an uncle or relative you haven't met of one of the kids here.

“That’s me, who are you?” you tried to make your tone light. 

“Ah, how rude of me, my name’s Corinthian.” What an odd name.

“Mr. Corinthian? What brings you here?”

“You.” Your confusion must have amused him as he laughed like you’d just told him a funny joke. You became deathly aware of how it was just the two of you in a room that seemed to be ever shrinking. Maybe it was your imagination but he seemed to get closer without even moving. 

“I’m sorry, is-”

“You have nothing to be sorry for, thank you for how easy this was and don't worry this won't hurt a bit.” In a quick motion his hand swiped over your head and all you saw was black.

Corinthians caught you before you hit the ground. He had taken precautions so no one was going to remember you after you were gone, no bodies left to worry about. 

With a hop skip and a jump the Lord would be destroyed by the very thing in his hands and he was giggly. Slipping you into the passenger seat of his car he darted off as not to be late for his convention.

***

In and out.

You were in a car and now you're not. 

Someone was talking and when they finished people started to cheer and chatter and laugh. Your head started to ache. 

Where were you?

 What were you on?

A metallic smell filled your nose…blood? With heavy eyes you were met with bright lights, stage lights? Focused on you?

“A-ha, you're up, I was starting to think I gave you too much.” The Corinthian guy came up from behind you startling you, pathetically you tried to move away from him only to end up on the floor. He grinned again and you as you moved onto your back inching away. Like a preg before it's predator. 

He was enjoying this. 

“Still skittish I see.”

“Where am i?”

“Don't worry about it just a little collector's convention.” Collector? Is this a slave market?

“Why…” your legs came to and you began to stand and everything became clearer, the figures before you were more defined and you could make out the little devil's face, you tried to hit him but he dodged you quite easily. “What did you do to me? Who are you?”

“Little weak are we? Just a little sleeping dust and I think we already established the second one.”

Before you can speak any further the ground begins to rumble and shake. Bits of sand start to move from the corners joining and linking up. The lights flickered slightly.

“He's on his way people! SHOWTIME!”

WHO?

The sand started to pick up and wind from nowhere blew it high and a man began to emerged from it. His raven black hair was first, he was tall,  his smooth pale skin as the sand glid over him. His long black coat bellowed and a crow or a raven flew from behind him and landed on his shoulder.  The man had beautiful crystal blue eyes and in this moment they were filled with a lot of emotions, the most prominent one was-

“Angry are you?” Corithian grasped your shoulder steering you around. “This'll do you in.” The man met your eyes and something clicked. A dark blue thread began from soemewhere on you and connected all the way to him. 

“What is the meaning of this?” His eyes never leaving you but he was addressing the man holding you inhumanely tight. 

“Come on now I haven't even started.” Corithian spun you around and sat you on the chair you were on earlier. You tried to get up but you were tied to the chair by an invisible rope had you bound down. 

“Now dearie, tell us, have you ever done anything extra ordinary during the night time!” 

The man tried to move but it seemed like he too was bound by something. His head which had been lowered examining his bonds raised and his eyes met yours.

He was beautiful now that you saw him. Maybe he was a god? Considering everything that had happened so far it didn't seem to far from truth. If only the circumstances had been more favorable.

Corithian was a game show host and you both were his unwilling contestants. 

“I-what?” He shooks his head like a director towards an actor who read the script wrong. 

“No your line is yes.” 

“Yes?”

“Yes!” The crowd burst into laughter, you had an audience. 

“Your turn, Dream.” He turned his back to you as you he addresses the man. Dream. “Do you know who this is?” He asked as he pointed at you.

The man said nothing, but his eyes spoke for him. 

“Nope?” Well audience let me tell you a story…Once upon a time there lived a god called Morpheus. This god was the ruler of dreams and nightmares and he was damn good at his job. One day a mortal man believe he could trap death to delay the inevitable however his spell faltered and he caught Morpheus instead and after failing he kept the god trapped in a glass ball.”

You looked at Dream/Morpheus but he did not look at you instead his eyes were focused on the invisible cords on him. 

“A century passed and finally he was free. He roamed the world in search of the thing stolen from him, fought demons, traversed plains, spoken with the moirai. Eventually he reclaimed his tools. It was left with the dreams and nightmares of his realm.”

Corithian paused. “He got most of them except for two. One was obviously the devilishly handsome man that I am and our star guests mother.” 

Your mother? 

You didn't remember your mother, you didn't remember anything from your little years. Your eyes were hot but no tear fell. 

“Little did he know that said dream had found love. This pretty thing was a product of a human and a dream. Incredible. This child lived undiscovered and grew in silence and love. However a dream and a human were never meant to be together for a reason. 

The father was unknowingly sharing his lifespan with his love and when it ran out, so did he and so did she. A child given to an orphange, a mother and a father turned into dust, dead on site”

“Rescued by an orphanage, adopted by humans. Until today this child has been undisturbed, but Where's the fun in that.

“Alrighty visual demonstration then!” 

“Corithian.” The man who had stayed quiet stood forward. Every step tightening his bonds breaking slightly.

“I am not done!” The nightmare truly looks devilish. 

It felt like you'd been pinched.Your skin was melting away, it wasn’t painful rather it was freeing. You felt something behind you and when you reached for it. 

Wings

However, that wasn't the most surprising thing, surprisingly. It was your body. Your elbow had caught your eye then your while arm. It was like you were the physical embodiment of a galaxy. Purple, blue, yellow, red, your head was spinning. Something warms was rushing through your veins

“Ha, I didn't even have wings until I was older, more matured nightmare, maybe 105? But you? My, am I jealous? Well I guess I am,” Corinthian spoke like this was not a hostage situation and you weren't between two men who were definitely not human. 

“What is this? What have you done to me?”

“Oh sweetheart, don't tell me you're all beauty no brains? I tell you I'm a nightmare, I tell you a pretty story, what does that make you?”

“A dream?”

“100 points to whatever Harry Potter house you'd be placed in.”

“How is this possible?”

“And we're back to stupid questions, you mortals are so limited in knowledge it's a wonder you’ve reached anywhere.” 

A gust of sand filled the area but it didn’t feel gritty or painful, in fact it was quite the opposite it was soft and sweet. The particles danced in the air like dangerous flames. Morpheus/Dream/The strange man freed himself and wrapped his own set of bonds over Corithian.

“Ugh look at you embracing it like you’ve known it all your life pathetic, here I thought you might have a shot.”

“Corithian, Corinthian.” the voice from the sand was low and went through you, and it went through Corithian too, however his recovery time was impeccable.

“Oh come on, it was just getting to the best part.” 

“Soulmates! They were, Isn't it an interesting sort? Just like you and Dream here.” Corithian started to laugh a painful laugh. “You two are bonded. Linked. MEANT TO BE”

Soulmates?

“Corinthian, you are not a dog so I will not need to speak to you like one, you will return to the dreaming.” you half-heard the rest of their conversation. You eyes moved over the crowd. Lost in thought?

“And if I say no?”

“You can’t”

“If you think I’m going back to the dreaming with you-” Corinthian begins as he takes off his glasses. You see his eyes and a primal fear grips you, your blood freezes as you look away, nauseous.

“You’re not staying here.” The Morpheus states. “I brought you into this world to serve humanity, not to feed upon it.” 

Corithian looks to him. He puts his glasses back on. His bonds disappear.

“Do you know why I do it.” He shakes his head. 

“So I can taste what it’s like to be human. And you don’t care about humanity, you only care about yourself, your realm, your rules.” 

He's unravelling.

“I contain the entire collective unconscious, without my rules; it would consume me. Humanity would be consumed.” The Morpheus looks sad for a moment ready to cry but something tells you he's been holding it in for ages. 

“Or you might actually feel something, I am not the problem, Dream!” 

“You’re right, it was my fault not yours. I had so much hope for you. But I created you poorly than. So I must uncreate you now.” 

Corithian doesn't move. Slowly red sand begins to rise from him, little picks of his skin turned to dust the specks floating about in the air some brush past you but their not as soft as Dream's sand was infact their thick and jagged. 

Corithian opens his mouth to speak but it slowly begins to disappear as well. 

“I am only sorry I won’t be here to see-” you don't hear the rest as his head is inherrantly gone too.

Morpheu remains calm, he slowly walks over to the sand remains and picks up something so small you could have missed it. A skull.

“Is that…” you lose your voice. He nods turning it over in his hands. 

“Yes.” .

“Next time I make you, you will not be so flawed and petty little dream,” He speaks to the skull then directs his attention to the field of serial killers who’ve been frozen I'm their seats this whole time, it seems the nightmare's magic wore off. He places the skull in one of his pockets.  

“And you who call yourselves collectors, until now you sustained fantasies where you are the victims, daydreams in which you were always right, but no more, the dream is over, I have taken it away for this is my judgement upon you that you shall know from this moment on exactly how craven and selfish and monstrous you are and you shall feel the pain of those you have slaughtered. “

You watched as every single person in the room went out through the doors, looking so similar you thought they were under a new spell. You may not be a high lord but you could see and smell it. 

The fear. 

The agony. 

“What will happen to them?” you ask, your voice low and shaky. 

“Mass incarcerations, I have a fair idea that they will either terminate their existence and or give into the law.”

“What about what they saw here.”

“They'll remember nothing about today.”

“And me?”

“And you…first we must get your glamour up.” His hand carefully brushes against your collar bone and then up your neck and like a switch your back to your human self, you pinched it just to be sure.

“So he was right, he was telling the truth? I'm one of your creations?” You ask your hands sweaty in your grip. 

“He was half right, you are half my creation and half human. You are something new to me but we will find the answers. But first, you must have questions and I shall do my best to answer them.” 

“Your name is Dream or Morpheus?” he nodded.

“I am known by many names and thousand more titles, Oneiros, Somnia by the romans, Fashioner, Dream, Onierus, Morpheus, The Sandman. You may call me whichever you like.

“Morpheus.” A look passes in his eyes that you didn't recognise but it did not scare you in fact it brought you closer and closer. “Your eyes are like stars, they are very pretty.”

Morpheus chuckled. He did not seem like one who would but he did. It was only then you realise how close you were.

“Even after all you've been through today you still come towards me even after all this.” 

You shrug. “You saved me so that's a pro.” 

“Thank you, you have pretty eyes too.” you giggle as he humours you. 

“But…my life here, I can't just abandon everything I've known.” from your childhood to adulthood you have gained many things to live for. How could you just let it all go to follow a diety you just met?

“Corithian is a nightmare who takes measures as though not to have his fun take from him I'm afraid, no one knows who you are, his magic does not have a good record of undoing itself..”

“And if it does? There's a chance right?” You  knew you were grasping at straws but-

“Then you came resume your daily life. 

“You will not truly leave everything behind, you will simply travel between realms and back. Places and back, I can even create a dream in your image to go over your daily chores so your absence is unnoticed.”

“I couldn't ask that.”

“You forget what I made mention of to Corithian, dreams and nightmares are meant to serve humans, any dream to take on your role would be most pleased and honoured. Do we have a deal?”

You gazed over him, he seemed genuine. 

“But what about the soulmate bonds he was talking about?” 

“I will not be forcing a romantic engagement upon you, if that’s what you're worried about.”

“Isn't it killing you?”

“Mere bullets to a bulletproof vest.”

“It still hurts.” You saw a ghost of a smile on his face.

“It seems your values truly are intact even after such an ordeal. You do not ask about yourself? Whether you might find the same end as your father?”

“What will happen to me?” 

“Your human side is more than your dream so I believe you will simply exist perfectly with or without me.” 

“How would I exist with you?” 

“I am a ruler over my own realm of Dreams and Nightmares so to exist with me you would be my wife and queen.”

“Your wife.” Strangely being married to this man did not seem antagonising for a second nor did you feel any sort of fear or anxiety. Infact the idea…pleased you?

“Yes, there's a whole ceremony, then a party, all a formality really to introduce you to the others.” Other gods and goddesses. 

“Right.”

“I understand if this was a lot to understand from Corithian and his activities to becoming Queen of the Dreaming but you have the option to walk out of here enacting no fury upon yourself.” You wanted to smile, he's a perfect gentleman. 

“Is it foolish if I told you I understood everything and that's why I'm still here?” you chuckled cracking your knuckles. 

“No it's human nature, nothing foolish about you. “ 

“And how do you feel about this?” he looked surprised and stayed silent for a minute before replying. 

“Well, I never believed in soulmates for beings like me and so I'm curious, but…” he trailed off looking at you funny. “I wonder what it's like to be loved by you.” 

“I should be saying that to you. I have a lot of questions for you but I can save them for another time” 

“Then,” His hand was back in sight. “Will you come with me?” you had slight apprehension but you slipped your hands in his nonetheless.

“My care is in your hands.”

i hope this fit the bill. <3333

[bakerstreethound]

Once a Dream, Twice the Nightmare

Relationship: Hobrintheus x afab!reader

Warnings: 18+ Smut, praising, fingering (afab receiving), forceful OC male character who is a creep, mentions of workplace harassment, implied stalking, gentle Morpheus, loving Hob, mentions of killing, blood, knives, and dismemberment, lowkey knife play discovery kink appears, everyone is enraptured by Corinthian, makeout sessions, and consensual polyamory

Summary: Going on a date proves to be difficult, especially when it is from a guy at your office who cannot take a hint that you do not like him nor that you don't want to go out with him. Morpheus convinces you not to go and instead enjoy time with him and the two other people who care about you more than anything in the world. Needless to say, you lose yourself to them and indulge in their ministrations.

All writings belong to me @bakerstreethound (Do NOT claim, copy, repost, or translate my works to other sites. I only publish here and on A03 under the same username)

Word Count: 2.7k+

A/N: Hello lovelies, this came about from a request by my lovely wife @roguelov for my 5-year Tumblr anniversary. My six-year anniversary has passed, but better late than never. I had a lot of fun writing this request and Hob has become one of my favorites. I cannot resist writing for Hob, Corinthian, and Morpheus with a reader. I hope you enjoy it (I am so proud of this one!!). Comments & reblogs are greatly appreciated!

Dating was not your strong suit, so why you bothered adding mascara and eyeliner to your face for a final flare was beyond you. One last check you admired your flowy dress that sat just above your knees and was perfectly stretchy and comfortable.

You offered a half smile to the reflection in the mirror, sticking your hand in the pockets and giving a twirl. Pockets in dresses are rare, so when you first put the dress on you had doubts, not wanting to get too hopeful. They are different from your usual style, but this dress was made for you.

Carefully you smooth out the loose strands of your hair that fell from their bobby pin prison, dabbed on one more drop of lipstick on your lips, giving yourself a satisfactory nod. It wasn’t every day you put yourself together in such a manner, preferring comfortable clothes devoid of flowy dresses and skirts. There is a first time for everything, you think. 

Your phone pinged, breaking you from your thoughts. You know it is likely from Jordan, your co-worker who insisted on taking you to a sushi place. You tried to drop countless hints you had no desire to go or eat sushi and every time it was brought up in conversation it was redirected. You wanted to tear out your hair in frustration, so why wouldn’t he take the hint? 

“Darling, you shouldn’t go on that date. He does not respect you and is a fool. No one, no mortal deserves the likes of you,” a silky smooth voice drifts from the shadows. Goosebumps form along your arms at his appearance, as usual.

Out of the three of your roommates, Morpheus was the most elusive, dropping by at inconvenient times. Being friends with Hob, forever the immortal mortal, and Corinthian, one of Morpheus’s art projects was the least of your worries. 

You definitely could not turn down the rent either, as you desperately needed a place to live while pilfering through job applications. So far, a year or two had passed and you got a steady one, where you had the misfortune to meet Jordan, the nuisance and bane of your existence.

You felt so foolish now accepting his offer, not knowing he was asking you on a date until it was too late and his texts became suggestive and eerie. Men and their twisted words. You wished you could be rid of him and that stupid sushi place.

You turn towards Morpheus, acknowledging his presence as you fiddle with the necklace you added to your ensemble. “Well, I wish I could but Jordan is a pain in the ass and he won’t relent unless I join. If I appear and go on this date, then he’ll leave me alone for good.” 

“Oh, darling, that is not the case. He’s using you and harassing you both at work and during your off hours. No person acts in such a manner. Best leave us to handle it.” 

“Handle what?” a warm voice you’d come to cherish many a night inquired. Hob leaned against your doorframe, a small smile gracing his features. You have lost count of the times you lost yourself in those warm brown eyes. 

Turning from your thoughts you sighed as your phone pined five more times on your nightstand. “It’s nothing, an annoying co-worker who asked me on a date that I did not know was a date, and he never specified it was.

He twisted his words and I eventually caved since he was so insistent and I thought accepting it would make me get rid of him. Hell, I am such a fool and Jordan is a creep.” You take a breath, noting the concerned raised brow Hob gave to Morpheus who stood in the shadows, ever stoic. “You were right, Morpheus. I can’t go. What the hell am I supposed to do?” 

“You could block him,” Hob offered, coming to you to wrap you in a hug. His embrace strengthened your resolve and you looked to Morpheus. 

You sighed, leaning into Hob’s warmth. “I will do that, but I work with him at least three times a week and once he drops by my cubicle he will not take the hint no matter how insistent I get.” 

“We could send Corinthian after him. That is an idea.”

Morpheus came closer, standing before you at his full height, his hair a rumpled mess that you did not notice when he was cloaked in shadows. “I would call for him if you wish.” He stroked your cheek gently and you leaned into him, the coldness of his touch a wonderful contrast to Hob’s warm embrace from behind. 

“I don’t want to go,” you whispered, hating how you melted, hating how much your heart raced at the thought, hating how you’d face Jordan at work in three days. 

“Don’t go on the date,” Morpheus commanded.

Your phone pinged again and your heart seized, but Hob held you tighter determined to keep you steady. “Morpheus, why?” Your eyes widened at the set of his jaw, pure determination in his eyes, not willing to let you run from him. 

“Say it.” 

“Why?”  

“You know why,” Morpheus’s voice was soft, yet dangerously low, a silken melody in the space between and you want to lose yourself to his coldness, to Hob’s warmth. How did you not realize sooner they were who you wanted all along? No one else could or would ever compare. 

“Because I want you. I want Hob. I want so much more in this life than to be harassed and taken advantage of by that creep Jordan. I have never felt so safe, so cared for than with you, even Corinthian.” Your heart ached at your confession, realizing the truth in your words, the pure honesty, the desire behind it all. 

Before you could utter another word, Morpheus’ lips meet yours in a soft, determined kiss and you lose yourself to the cold, the fire inside your heart burning free. Hob grunted from behind you, soft warm lips pressed upon your neck, making you melt all the more.

You wouldn’t question how you got here, but you are thankful for them both, saving you from what could have been a precarious situation. You lose yourself then, with Hob biting your neck, passion, and desire brimming between the three of you, nothing could have been more perfect in that moment. 

They continue in their conquest, determined to turn your mind from the disastrous date that could have been and you’re grateful for them, the distraction, the new feelings between you all surfacing. You would not have imagined this happening to you with one, let alone two people you’ve come to admire throughout the years you spent together.

A soft moan passed from your lips as Morpheus slid his hands over your sides, a shower of goosebumps cascading down your arms in the wake of his touch. Hob groaned, pulling you tighter against him, feeling the weight of his desire along your lower back, sending heat to your core in anticipation.

Never had you expected to feel desire or passion for anyone in this lifetime or the next, and you wanted none but them. 

You sighed again as Morpheus’s hands wandered to your breasts, cupping them gently through the fabric of your dress. Hob followed in kind, sweeping his hands under your dress to tease the fabric of your undergarment with his index finger and tracing the apex of your thighs, a delicious agony. To no avail you squirmed against them both, nowhere to go but remain in this moment in time with them.

The buzzing of your phone faded into the background, drowned out by your panting and moans the men coaxed from your lips. Soon enough they had you a writhing mess for them on the bed, sandwiched between them in the throes of bliss and you kissed them in turn, determined to savor every moment, not wanting to let go. 

“So pretty for us to undress, yeah?” Hob cooed, working you with his fingers, coaxing your release from you as Morpheus toyed with your breasts, nipping and suckling, adding to your pleasure. 

“My darling, you’re a sight to behold, so lovely for us,” Morpheus’s voice drank you in, enveloping you in your soul and mind. 

You could do nothing but whimper at the feeling, everything too much yet not enough, body ignited, yet somehow wanting, no, craving more of them and their touches. “Please, Morpheus, yes. Hell, H-hob right there,” you groan, coaxing your lovers on. “I swear I’m going to fuck the next person that walks through that door.” 

“You have us, my love,” Hob whispered huskily, pressing his length against you, evidence of his want and desire.

Your hand grasped onto him with ease, relishing his head tossing back in bliss, the broken moan falling from his lips. Morpheus looked up in awe, his black eyes narrowing, admiring the display before kissing you on the lips gently. 

“I know, Hob but-” you shuddered, as a flash of white passed by your door. 

A deep chuckle resounded in your room followed by a southern drawl. “Well well, what am I missing out on? What did I hear my dear say, Morpheus? Surely they did not mean that. You and Hob are pleasuring them into oblivion already from the looks of it.” Corinthian smirked, his pristine white suit covered in blood.

He wiped the corner of his mouth, smirking as he pushed his signature sunglasses up on his nose before stalking around the bed to get a better view. You let out a soft moan at the sight. 

“Awe darlin’ look at you so pretty for them. So pretty for us.” Corinthian smirked, tilting your chin up with the tip of his knife. “Such pretty eyes. And Jordan will never look at you again or that sushi place.” 

You shuddered at his words, another wave of desire coursing through you. This other being, the creation of Morpheus had killed for you, showering you with such an act of devotion you’re not sure you could ever repay.

“My sweet, you’re so wet for us,” Hob murmured, dragging a finger along your thighs up to your slit, teasing you just so. 

“Looks like they have a penchant for my knives, is that it?” Corinthian’s smirk widened as he added a hint of pressure to the blade he pressed along your neck. 

You choked back another groan, overstimulated by the touches of your lovers, paired with the sound of Corinthian’s seductive voice, cold metal at your throat.

The bed creaked as Hob and Morpheus shifted slightly pulling you to the middle of the bed, keeping you between them, Hob on the left, Morpheus to your right. All of your eyes were focused on the Corinthian after he gently kissed you on the neck where he teased you with his knife.

You continued to admire the new addition to your party. 

The full-length mirror next adjacent to the dresser offered more of a view as Corinthian reverently took off his coat, placing it on your vanity chair, taking off his knife shoulder holsters, and setting the red stained knives on a pristine white towel. You would complain about the towel later, but you and your lovers are too enraptured by the creation of Morpheus to care.

You cannot deny Morpheus’s tastes, or Corinthian’s eye for fashion, the white button-down shirt accentuating his skin, carved of marble, honed and fashioned in the sands of the shoreline.

Carefully rolling up the sleeves up to his forearms, he took another white towel from your vanity, dipped it into the basin of water, and slowly, reverently, cleaned off his knives. 

The precision and the intention are all practiced methods, a ritual, even. 

A ritual that enraptured you and your lovers.

Corinthian set the clean knives on another plush white towel, placing a kiss on each of their hilts, before turning to meet your gaze through his dark signature glasses. 

“Well well, you three have been patient. Is this all for me?” He drawled. 

Hob smirked, kissing your neck, continuing in his prior conquest of teasing your clit to which you immediately squirmed, holding back a groan. 

“Such pretty sounds, my sweet,” Morpheus murmured as Corinthian walked over to the bed, nestling into his creator’s embrace. You were grateful Morpheus had insisted on a large bed, one that he could adjust in any manner he chose.

For a moment you were sure the four of you would break the bed or struggle for room, but now that all of you are on it, it is comfortable, safe, and warm. 

Warm like Hob’s insistent fingers to which you spread your legs further, welcoming him in, arching into his chest as he smiled at you, murmuring encouragement.

It did not take long for Morpheus and Corinthian to partake as well, them rotating between using their tongues and fingers upon you, driving you made and over the edge. Soon enough you pulled each of them in for a kiss, groaning your thanks to them for a wonderful evening, one you are sure not to forget. 

Hob cast a gentle smile your way, kissing your hand, before dragging his tongue along it, his ministrations continuing to your fingers. You raised a questioning brow, as did you other two lovers who were quickly enraptured once more with each other and their tongues. 

Hob shrugged nonchalantly as his tongue threaded nimbly between your fingers, sending surges of heat along your spine and you hope and pray that it is not obvious the vice he already had you in for the second, maybe even third, time that evening.

Taking his sweet time, he does not break contact as he takes your index finger in his mouth, tongue dancing with confidence before he adds in another finger. You are almost lost at the feeling paired with his eye contact.

The act alone was erotic, sparking your mind but watching him riled you further. You had to look away, you had to. Until Morpheus wrapped around behind you, grasping you, pressing his chest up against you. 

He strokes his hands down your arms, sending goosebumps in their wake. “Let Hob work, love. You can be good for us, right?” 

Corinthian grumbled as he shuffled closer, slumping behind Morpheus, ever the clinger and in want of a hug. He compromises by resting his head on Morpheus’s shoulder. 

You sighed in the agony of Hob’s ministrations, ashamed that something so small could rile you up, having you in a chokehold. “I can be good sometimes. If and only if it happens only for you three.” You smirk, noting Morpheus’ excitement pressing against your lower back. 

So this is riling him up, too. 

“What if I said I wanted to watch you and Corinthian makeout?” You mutter in your throes of it all, your brain becoming mush, spewing your desires, the darker impulses. 

Corinthian raises a brow and Morpheus bridges the gap between them lips and bodies colliding as one. You lose them in a flurry of black and white entranced by them, by Hob, pressing his lips to yours, swallowing your moans. You fall into Hob, into the cacophony of affection and desire, enjoying the whispers, groans, and moans that befell the four of you. 

Slowly, and oh so lovingly they tend to you and each other, your body trembling once you’re completely spent, your heart thrumming in your chest as Hob sinks into you, moaning low all while Corinthian and Morpheus watch, utterly enthralled as you come apart for Hob. 

Once you’re all spent, Hob licked the remaining remnants of the combined mess of their desire on your stomach, groaning all the while. 

“You’re all devastatingly pretty. How lucky am I to have you,” you whisper to the now empty room, lit by a single black candle and yellow flame. 

You heard them all shuffle in the darkness, heading to clean themselves up and Morpheus nuzzled up next to you and you felt a coolness between your thighs, registering the cloth he used to gently clean you off.

You smiled in the dark at the gesture. All three of them were so good to you and completely yours. All of you they could not imagine for more and they adored you and would continue to all until the hours of the night, where dreams and nightmares collided.

They would meet you there time and time again, always there, holding you and never letting go.  

******

[withoutyouimsaskia]

Sometimes It's Fated (Sandman Short Story Part 8)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7

GIF: Originally posted by @darklinsblog

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. Nightmares. Violence. Dub/non con. Kissing. Nudity. AFAB + AMAB penetrative sex. Unprotected sex. Plot related cigarette use. Language.

Word Count: 4.3k

A/N: Hello there! I wasn't intending on posting this chapter until I had the others finished but I guess Tumblr took that decision away from me and published instead of saving! Oh well, guess I'll roll with it. As always, I hope you enjoy and would be very happy to hear your thoughts. All my love, Saskia xx

Sandman Masterlist

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

The combination of the darkened clouds and the even more desaturated décor is making the room despairingly claustrophobic.

Sporadic breaths rattle up and down your trachea; a remnant of the fear that had been created by the tail end of that conversation. You are struggling to make sense of the direction it had taken; the barrelling downward spiral whereby you discovered your newfound status.

No longer do you hold the lone title of soulmate. You are a captive.

At least that's what Morpheus made it sound like. The word is shudder inducing and a fresh trickle of bile spills into your mouth.

The door he left through, the one blocking your freedom, you are standing close enough to it that you can see every grain and groove of the ebony wood - and the curious absence of a handle or lock. With a flattened hand you gingerly press against the varnished surface, upping the pressure when you don't appear to have tripped any alarms. There's no movement no matter how hard you push, not that you really anticipated any. Morpheus said locked in for a reason. Regardless, you feel that you needed to try just in case he had changed his mind. Again, an eventuality that you do not expect.

You get the sense that Morpheus' grasp of stubbornness would rival that belonging to a group of at least 100,000 people; he is a ruler, and a centuries-old one at that. Accustomed to being in control, well versed in the art of exerting it.

He's chilling too. That nightmare quality really won out just now. You have seen darkness in his eyes before, (brought on by intense moments including sexual desire) and the effects he can have on the environments surrounding him, but this was a whole new breed.

The deflection. The disdain. The remorselessness. How the shadows had danced around him like crude oil twisting in water, a cloak of obscurity and energy to drive you away and leave you isolated.

And your relentlessness was the catalyst for it being unleashed. You're unsure as to why you brought up the theoretical consequences of refusing to be his soulmate. It had just slipped out. There were numerous other ways in which you could have handled the situation yet that was the conversational path you took.

You shudder again, wrapping your arms around your middle in an attempt to self-soothe. It provides a measure of relief but also draws attention to the fact that he should be doing this. Morpheus should be holding you. Talking this through with you.

Instead he left you standing on the marble floor, the intrinsically endothermic nature of the material causing iciness to seep up your legs via your bare feet.

Seeking warmth, you move back to the bed and dejectedly lie down.

The usual covered plate of food has appeared on the bedside table; your expression is so obviously rattled that you can see every detail despite the metal's distortion. You roll over, not wanting to contemplate eating for even a second.

Your entire body is tense, with epicentres in your tight chest and thought-clogged brain, the latter of which is showing signs of inducing a migraine. You breathe with steady intent, a review of the encounter relentlessly replaying.

One question keeps rising to the surface, getting louder and more insistent with each iteration:

Why was he doing this?

He had said it was to protect you. That it was dangerous outside. Was the dream world suddenly that different now that you had free will? Surely he would have led with that if it were true. Found a way to make it safe...

He's been unfalteringly devoted to you in every other way thus far. The aftercare looked to be proof enough of his character. The reassurance, and explanations during the soul-tying. Holding you. Staying beside you while you slept, even though he did not require the rest himself.

But then there is the distinct lack of sharing, both of his internal and external worlds, and of course the 'it is not your place to do so' comment.

That one really stings. You had been convinced that you were his equal. Yet the way the words fell so easily from his mouth, without hesitation nor any sign of an underpinning emotion - it sounded like a response that was not uttered in the heat of the moment.

How were you to know though?

You've not known him for that long and it's not like you can tell from the bond between you, even now after days of longing to and trying to pick up on something, anything that would inform you of his heart. The one thing you can attempt to read into is the state of the ceiling sky; you are getting a sense that it is linked directly to his moods. Its sudden deterioration the moment you had voiced your concerns couldn't have been a coincidence, could it?

The more you grapple for meaning, the harder you are finding it to reconcile the evidence before you, so conflicted on your opinion of him, of the situation. Yet no amount of speculation and reframing could take away from the few facts you have:

The Fates had told you of an unfathomably long imprisonment that Morpheus had endured and suffered in.

So why was he putting you in a parallel of that?

How can someone who is supposed to be your soulmate be so unreadable to you, and so inexplicably cruel?

You curl into a ball, groaning out loud in frustration.

You ponder if there is something defective within you, if he can see something that you are too human to perceive. Maybe you deserve this on some level because you are not quite enough for him.

"No," you say out loud, firmly casting that contemptuous thought out of your mind.

You will not go in for self-loathing or self-pity. You are strong and capable and compassionate. Morpheus is still your soulmate. You can fix this. Once he's back, you will talk about this.

The resolution seems to lessen the lingering despair enough that you unwittingly fall asleep.

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

There's an anticipatory undercurrent to the chatter being passed back and forth across the circular tables spaced evenly across the function room.

You're sat at one such table, the hands folded in your lap occasionally brushing against the heavy dark blue velvet draped over the wood, the feel of the material's sumptuous pile triggering pleasant goosebumps.

Ice laden water jugs and bowls of savoury snacks occupy the middle of the table, and each seat is designated by a placeholder. Your name is displayed in a bold font across the folded piece of stiff card in front of you and the names of all your colleagues have been typed out on matching markers.

The lighting could be described as ambient, moody even - a strange choice for such a celebratory event. The strongest source of light is directed towards a projection screen, where the order of events are being presented.

You thumb the lock screen button on the right hand side of your phone to check the time. 20:28. The scheduled break is due to end soon. You take a sip of water from the tumbler stamped with your lipstick and wait.

The microphone on the podium clicks and crackles as it is brought back to life and all heads turn in unison towards the man standing there. A spotlight provided by the professional lighting rig suspended above is ignited, the light from it so bright that it obscures every feature on his face.

His tone is light as he reels off a few formalities, making a joke about the speed of which some individuals had headed to the bar come the start of the interval, eliciting a sequence of throaty laughs from the crowd. He then jumps back into the award giving.

"This person, I know for a fact has really been putting in the effort with developing the traits required to truly embody this accolade and everything it stands for. Taking gullible to the next level, allowing themself to be debased and shutting down all logical reasoning. A veritable inspiration of inconsequentiality; therefore, it comes as no surprise that the award for most worthless human goes to -"

He pauses for effect, and the entire room watches on with baited breath.

Condensation beads slip down the outside of the jug closest to you, mirroring a perspiration bead that has begun to slide from your nape. You look away from the stage, feeling an impending sense of doom slink into your stomach with the nausea that suddenly washes over you. Your intuition is well-founded.

The microphone wheezes as the man inhales the breath needed to deliver the announcement.

He says your name.

The applause that follows is rapturous; a chorus of hollers and whistles punctuating the clapping. It's like you're at a rock concert.

None of it aligns with the damning description of the award name. Under no circumstance do you want to go and accept it; doing so would show that you agree with the committee.

You sneak a glance over your shoulder, wincing at the harsh fluorescents spilling in from the foyer through the set of double doors - that is where you quietly need to get to.

You're pushing your chair back slowly and carefully, about to attempt this surreptitious exit when a spotlight hits you. The hand going for your bag freezes mid-reach.

It's as if a tractor beam has been activated. You cannot stop yourself from standing, cannot stop yourself from walking on the scuffed wooden floor, made that way from years of dancing.

The journey to the stage on your shaky legs is long, given your distance from it, intensified even further by the stares of your peers. You go up the steps at the side of the stage, jelly legs adding risk with the slight elevation. You grip the handrail in a white-knuckled fist.

The award waits on the podium: an oversized key on a black plinth, the golden colour of the metal glints temptingly. With your gaze turned downwards, the man shakes your hand with the pressure of a constrictor, praising you with words that you can't hear above the continued applause.

You force your mouth into a smile and ready yourself to take the award, telling yourself that being gracious is the best approach you can take.

Unfortunately, in your moment of acceptance, someone decides to take advantage.

There's a blow to the back of your knee caps.

You cry out from shock and pain; the sound doesn't last long for as soon as your knees make impact with the boards, a gag is forced into your mouth.

The situation and the gag make it hard to breathe in any way other than frantically, pulse just as agitated in your tight-feeling chest.

The crowd's clapping doesn't stop even as intricate restraints are added at your wrists, even as burning tears and sticky snot stream down your face.

The agony intensifies when you are hauled up by your hair and then herded by several pairs of hands towards the wings of the stage. Your eyes fall on the opaque box that stands just out of view of the crowd.

Its purpose is clear. It is to be your cage.

You're now screaming despite the gag, thrashing as you're dragged towards your doom. Not even allowing yourself to be a dead weight can save you; the cloying fingers are too numerous, too zealous.

The door to the cage opens and the presence of the oppressive void within ekes out towards you like a disturbing fog. Whatever is in there, you can sense it will smother you. Obliterate you slowly. And the people in this room seem to believe you are worthy of such a fate.

The hands anchored on your body begin their last pushes. You whip your head around, making a last attempt to search for an escape when you see a figure out the corner of your eye.

There's no questioning who it is; the person who has been on the periphery of so many dreams these past weeks, you would know him anywhere.

You see a glimpse of movement. Perhaps the raising of a hand. A ripple of power courses through the scene - you feel it vibrate in your chest. Everything freezes, and in that sudden silence you hear Morpheus' solemn and decisive words:

"This dream is over."

You startle, a shriek echoing about the sunless space as you are ripped from the dream. The sheets have you wrapped up like a python; you try with desperation to get free, half-convinced that those relentless hands are still trying to ferry you into that cage.

Floundering, you work and work against the fabric, crying out again when your progress is minimal.

"Soulmate."

Morpheus' deep voice sounds, speaking your name next in such an intimate and gentle way that you instantly halt in your struggle.

He is beside you.

All the attributes of concern are in his facial expression and body language, eyes glistening with an emotion you can't quite place.

"It is over now," he confirms, dissolving the sheet into nothing.

He comes closer, stroking your face with one hand, the other atop your chest with the palm centred on your soul. It's a welcome feeling, his attentions and being free from the tangle of sheets, but you are too far gone for it to stop the fear that the nightmare has set in motion.

"When you said that it was not my place to accompany you, is it because you think I'm less than you?" You ask in a cracking, pitiful voice.

Morpheus stills for a heartbeat, before bending his head to look you straight in the eyes. "No," he breathes. "My soulmate, I could never think that."

He kisses you softly.

It's not what you expected but nevertheless your hands cling to him on instinct, kissing him back and then he's suddenly straddling you. Covering your body with his own to give you a feeling of safety and it's exactly what you require.

You're on the verge of tears from it all, touching the back of his neck, gripping his shoulders to keep him close.

"Morpheus," you call.

"I am here. I am not going anywhere."

He kisses you deeper this time as if to corroborate his statement. It incrementally lessens your doubts and anxieties but there's a call for communication too.

"We need to talk about what happened," you say with quiet assertion.

For a moment, you wonder if he has even heard you for he claims your mouth again.

"I do not wish to talk," he eventually replies, immediately diving back in for yet another kiss. "I wish to take away your anguish."

"But -"

He hushes you, a soothing shut down that would be infuriating if not for the lingering unease of the nightmare clogging your emotions. "Let us forget what was said. Let us instead indulge in the pleasure of each other's bodies."

You blink, slowly processing his explicit inference, taken aback by the very obvious physical reactions they inspire. You force yourself to adopt a professional expression as your arousal begins to leak onto your gown.

"I want to talk to you."

He's smiling smugly as he tilts his head to the side. "Your emotions betray you dearest, as does your body. I know exactly what you want and it is not conversation."

Shame rises but is quickly blotted out by Morpheus' next action.

You feel bare skin against yours; he's used his power to disrobe you as well as him. A protest forms - he stifles it with his mouth. Your eyes are wide as you take it, as he shifts his weight ever so slightly to align your hips.

His own eyes stare you down after he pulls back, unblinking like an apex predator who has caught sight of its favourite prey.

Easy prey.

That's what you are.

He arranges you as such too; grasping your legs and moving your knees to your chest to bend you in half. Pinning you underneath him.

Neither of you last long with the tightness of the angle once you allow him to enter you.

To say you are dazed afterwards would be an understatement. The events of the past few hours have been persistently erratic. If Morpheus feels the same then it isn't apparent. The colour of his eyes are as clear and stable as the weather above, hand warming his favoured spot on your chest.

Your own hands wander up and down his body, running smoothly over his enticing skin.

"You have not touched your food," he comments quietly.

One of your palms moves absentmindedly to trail lazily across your abdomen. "If I'm being honest, I've been struggling to eat since I got here. For some reason I have no appetite or thirst."

"That would be a result of the immortality."

Your hands freeze up, brain doing the opposite as it spins out in a hundred directions.

"W-what did you say?" You stammer, praying you have misheard him.

"The immortality," he clarifies. "My power is within you and with it, comes certain endurances."

You sit up and put some space between you both. This was a serious matter. Despite your empty stomach you feel like you are going to vomit.

"How long have you known that?"

"It does not matter."

Red rag to a bull doesn't come close to covering what his dismissive reply makes you feel. The set of your jaw is so tight that a section on the left side begins to feather. You talk through gritted teeth, levelling a furious glare at him - making it transparent that you are not going to tolerate his evasiveness any longer:

"Tell me how long."

He makes the smart decision to pause to select his reply, though you decipher from the suddenly overcast sky that it is not going to be one that you will like.

"Since our souls joined."

Your hand flies to your chest, to your soul as tears start to brew.

"That was days ago!"

Morpheus simply looks at you.

"Did you not think that I had a right to know about something as life changing as that?"

He opens his mouth to respond but you cut him off before he can issue a syllable.

"Please can you give me some time alone?"

Morpheus' intense stare - the one that had gone from intimidating to exhilarating - has now become distressing and you need to get out from under it.

To his credit, he does what you asked and the moment the door is closed, the tears you have been holding back start to flow freely. The ceiling sky is so crowded with dark clouds that you are convinced that it's going to do the same as your eyes.

You feel like you've been tricked. You didn't ask for this, nor were you consulted.

The gilding has fully tarnished now, revealing that things were too good to be true. And had been from the very beginning. You had been swept up in the haze of sexual satisfaction, too blinded by the soul bond to see clearly. The nightmare had spelled it out flawlessly: gullible, debased and without logical reasoning.

The previous success in derailing your self-loathing falls short now. You are bolting down the path of internal admonishment.

How could you have been so naïve?

The answer is your hubris. It had felt good to be finally wanted, chosen to be a part of something bigger than yourself by making a difference to the Dreaming. Unless you had misunderstood.

No, the Fates had told you it in no uncertain terms. What they hadn't done however was provide a time frame. You had stupidly assumed it would be effective immediately. Instead you could be looking at decades, centuries even with this newfound information.

Even with the promise of eventual fulfilment, there was little chance that you would last for years in this room with your sanity intact.

You need distraction from the demoralising thought so you bluster through your bathroom routine like a whirlwind, slamming containers down where possible and huffing out exasperated sounds.

While the gown has re-materialised on the hook by the shower, you are dead set against putting it back on. You go to the bedside table and dive into the drawers to find your clothes from the night of the award ceremony, uncovering the cigarettes and lighter you forgot had been hidden there.

You don't even think before lighting one up, hoping that the nicotine will take the edge off your despair. You are quick to finish it and the clarity it brings encourages you to have a second. And then a third.

From the combination of your reclined position on the sheets and the dainty way you hold each cigarette, you can't help but feel like a 1940s starlet. It injects a bit of delirious humour, and also gumption into the mix.

"You are not at fault here," you whisper out loud. "He is the one who has an understanding of how soulmates work. He withheld that. You are allowed to be pissed off with him and you should let him see it."

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

By the time Morpheus returns, you are in full possession of your wits and sit perched at the foot of the bed. You regard each other; he appears a touch drawn out, eyes subdued and a small line marking the space between his eyebrows.

"You have been smoking," he states flatly.

Buoyed by the confidence gifted to you by said activity, you inhale the scent of the lingering bluish fog, flashing a sardonic smile as you audibly breathe out, labouring the point with the pleasurable sigh.

"What else was I supposed to do while I waited for you to come back?" You cross your legs and smooth out a non-existent wrinkle in the bedclothes you meticulously rearranged.

The effects of your sarcasm are immediate; the air is becoming ominously dense, threatening to unleash a storm of epic proportions. Morpheus' fists clench and the pressure is dampened a fraction.

"Give them to me," he asks in a monotone.

"No."

Your connection is so devoid of dissonance at this point. Morpheus is stone carved. The kind of impenetrable that would shred and destroy finger nails; there is no point in trying to claw your way to the being beneath. The apathy sends your anger to new heights, compelling that shamefully vindictive part of you into lashing out. You want to hurt him just as he has hurt you.

"They're the only thing I have left from my real life."

A lethal quality seeps into his reply, "That life ended the moment you stepped out onto that street."

"Well then I should have run from you that night," you provoke further, tone biting as glacial ice on exposed skin.

The same shadows from before are crowding about his person, settling in his eyes - a tell that you have unleashed the nightmare form. You have to actively remind yourself to breathe at an even pace. All things you had queued up to say to him are long gone as you gaze upon his dark majesty.

"Even if you had been able to evade me, hide your physical body, I would have found you the moment you fell asleep."

The tether on his control slips as a single bolt of lightning turns the room to a white-out. The thunder never comes, instead the rumble of his voice.

"Do not think that I had not anticipated a refusal. I was more than prepared to use force to get what I wanted. What I was promised. I will not share you with anyone. You are mine. My soulmate. You -"

He stops unexpectedly and head snapping to look at the door.

You roll your eyes. "Let me guess, something requires your attention."

He takes in a deep breath. "I will return shortly."

You watch sullenly as he leaves you behind yet again, about to resume smoking when you feel an urge to re-examine the door. It is as pointless as before; no handle nor locks. Your fists hit the mahogany once, then twice before your composure fully deteriorates and you begin to hammer on it. Not because you are hoping to snag someone's awareness, for you heard it from Morpheus that no one could find this place. Sadly, you do it because you are losing hope.

Dejection momentarily quelled, you resort to staring at the door with such concentration that you fear it may trigger another headache.

"How the fuck do you work?" You ask it.

If there is no tangible way of holding it then that left the metaphysical as its locking mechanism. Metaphysical power that came from him - that now resided in you.

Maybe you could use it to break out...

You huff out a laugh at your optimism. There is no harm in trying.

Decision made, you make a quick trip to the bathroom to get the ruby ring you put by the sink. There's no chance you're escaping and leaving a beloved family heirloom behind.

You walk confidently to the door and plant yourself a forearm's length from it. The gold of the ring glimmers on your right hand as your press your palm to the glossy wood.

You do not want to be the person you were in the nightmare; forced into a box-encased void and cut off from the universe. You want to learn, to experience, to love. You want to have dreams and you're willing to make them with or without their master.

You are going to get out of here.

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

Tag list: @herfantasyworldd @kpopgirlbtssvt @littleblackcatinwonderland @1950schick @lollipopsandlandmines

"I'm walking down the line that divides me somewhere in my mind. On the borderline of the edge, and where I walk alone."

[7-wonders]

Give Me Everything You've Got

Dream of the Endless/Morpheus x GN!Reader

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

Word Count: 4.7k

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

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

And your first fight with Morpheus is a bad one.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, I can do that!”

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

“Mm?”

“Don’t come back.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why?”

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

“It is not stalking,” he retorts.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It is for my own peace of mind.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So you control the weather?” you asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, Morpheus.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You do?” he asks.

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

His lips twitch. “I’d rather not.”

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

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

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

Morpheus immediately begins to protest. “But–”

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

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

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

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

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

“Sage advice.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Very well. Nap first, then bath.”

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

[undiscovered-horizon]

Hello, can I request a Morpheus x reader where she's wearing Morpheus’ coat, and he's absolutely amazed and attracted by that? Thank you ☺️

A/N: thought of writing something like this for Corinthian also? Lemme know if you'd like that!🌺

[MASTERLIST] | [Sandman-inspired playlist]

Breathe in.

A scent of lush, exotic fruits and a slight mustiness of old books. The material is heavy and slightly coarse but the lining feels like satin, delicately brushing against your skin. Something rustles in the pockets. For a second, you consider fishing out those strange treasures but the thought is quickly dismissed - it's impolite to snoop. Besides, whatever Morpheus carries in his coat is something he considers he might need at any given moment, so, perhaps, it was best for you to not play with them.

The garment is a little too big for you, so Morpheus takes a moment to roll up the sleeves. He does so silently, in swift motion as though he had done it countless times - like it was something obvious. His aloofness flusters you and you wonder if he thinks that a certain level of charity is expected of him or if he's simply following his heart's desires without letting reason interrupt this quiet confession of affection. One of his hands lingers around yours, threading your fingers together, and only then does he continue the stroll.

Your lungs are full - you breathe out.

Breathes in.

Morpheus keeps looking at you, indulging in some strange urge he has only just discovered. The coat is slightly big on you (Could he drown in you the way you're drowning in this black material?), virtually hiding your physique as though you are a secret he keeps away from the world. He ponders that thought - can he? Can he actually keep you all to himself, a treasure he never shares with anyone like a well of serenity that never dries?

It's as if he's seeing you for the first time but that doesn't make sense, right? Morpheus has already spent countless hours admiring the miraculous whim of the universe that made you reciprocate his infatuation. Perhaps it wasn't as much seeing you as seeing what the two of you might be one day as though giving you his coat granted Morpheus a glimpse into the future - into days where there is no longer 'him' and 'you' but a third entity, an inextricable union or a tide that mixes the ever-changing seas of what each of you is. His heart flutters at the possibilities and could-bees; seeing you, Morpheus is staring into his future and it is filled with gentle touches, quiet giggles and this overpowering sense of safety.

When you take his coat off, a sad parting that has to happen, will your smell linger on the black material and keep him calm whenever he puts the garment on? Or maybe when he leans in to kiss you, he'll smell pomegranate and antique books on your neck? Will he belong to you or will you belong to him? Truthfully, Morpheus doesn't care - either way, you're bound to each other.

His lungs are full - he breathes out.

Between exhales and inhales, those short seconds when creatures tread the line between death and life, most think about their desire for oxygen, a dull pain in their chest reminds them that they are not yet deceased, but lovers so often get things confused and think about each other instead.

[swanimagines]

ooh how about a fic where morpheus and his wife have been married for a really really long time (think like 4000 years) and he like stands her up on their 4000 year anniversary or something like that because he's helping calliope. ALL THE ANGST AND FLUFF PLS TY

Summary: When Morpheus doesn't show up to the banquet you had planned together for your 400th anniversary, you're concerned. But then you find out what he has been doing — or rather where he had been.

LOOSE ENDS

After four millenias of marriage, most would think that the love that was once there would have dimmed long ago — but that wasn’t the case between you and Morpheus.

It had been 4,000 years since Morpheus had told the stars to forge a ring that he’d place on your finger, 4,000 years since he vowed his pledge, his loyalty, his love to you in front of his Kingdom. 4,000 years since he made you his wife, the Queen of the Dreaming.

You had planned out your anniversary for some time now. You both being immortal didn’t really make yearly anniversaries meaningful, so you decided to spend it every century and the grander, bigger events, massive banquets, on every millenia to celebrate your love and how you thrived in the Dreaming.

Morpheus had left early in the morning, supposedly to take care of some urgent business, but you expected him to be back by the evening.

But he didn’t. It took days of him being gone, and you had no idea where he was. The whole week of your anniversary went by without a word from your husband.

So one day, you decided to risk it and went to the library to see Lucienne, who was working on her usual task with the ledger. She smiled upon seeing you, but her smile faltered as soon as she saw your expression.

“My lady, may I ask if there is something wrong?” she asked, and you sighed before nodding.

“I reckon you know where my husband is?”

The librarian lowered her quill on the table. “He did not inform me of his exact destination, my lady. Only that he had pressing matters in the Waking World.”

You laid your hand on her table before glancing around yourself. “He didn’t say when he’d return?”

Lucienne hesitated, and you could tell she was slightly uncomfortable. She was loyal to Dream above all else, but she was also loyal to you, his queen. But after a moment, she shook her head. “I am sorry, my lady. He gave no indication of how long he would be occupied.”

You sighed, rubbing your face, but then looked up to Lucienne again. “Thank you, Lucienne,” you murmured, withdrawing your hand from her desk. “If he sends word, please let me know immediately.”

She nodded, picking up her quill again. “Of course, my lady.”

—

Two days later, you finally felt his presence at the palace, and you hurried down the corridors, eager to see your husband, slightly concerned about what happened to him. He had already been imprisoned for a hundred years once, maybe it was something where he was trapped and had no way out. Surely he wouldn’t skip your anniversary by choice.

But then you heard two fairies talking around the corner, and you caught up a name.

Calliope.

“It must have been a relief to see Lord Morpheus,” the other fairy whispered. “He’s loyal to her after all this time.”

The other fairy sighed. “Well, she���s the mother of his child, of course he’s loyal. If she needs him, he will go.”

“Such a shame that it hit right on the Queen’s and his anniversary. Her Majesty worked so hard on that day, and then he just stood her up.”

You felt blood rushing up to your face as your heart started beating faster.

He had been with Calliope doing… you didn’t even want to know.

So in the next moment, you were storming towards the throne room, basically slamming the doors open to hear a surprised caw caw from Matthew, and he flew right past your face.

“Whoa, whoa, my lady! What’s the matter?”

You spinned around to face the crow after seeing the empty throne. “Where is he?” 

Matthew folded his wings and bowed his head. “I, uh, we haven’t–”

You let out a bitter laugh. “Don’t lie, I know you know.”

“Oh, uh, he’s... well, uh... probably still in the Waking World, dealing with some loose ends from–"

“Calliope. I know he’s out there dancing around Calliope.”

"Oh boy. Look, it’s not my place to–"

“Matthew,” you warned, taking a step towards him, which sent him flying a little farther away.

"Okay, okay! Yes, he’s been helping Calliope. She’s, uh, been through a lot, you know? And he felt–”

You interrupted him again, your anger too strong to let the poor crow finish. “What can possibly be more important than our anniversary he absolutely must take care of for a week, without even reporting back?”

Matthew let out a squawk again. “Look, my lady, I get it, okay? You’re upset, and you’ve got every right to be. But Dream… he’s not great at juggling things, you know? He’s in the gallery. Please don’t tell him I told you.”

“The gallery?” you repeated, crossing your arms.

“Yes, the gallery,” Matthew repeated, glancing around him. “I swear, he’s been wrapped up in this Calliope thing, but… well, you’re his Queen. You should talk to him.”

So with a huff, you turned away and stormed down the stairs, towards the gallery. You heard Matthew mutter something, you guessed it was a prayer for Morpheus to survive from your fury, and frankly, you understood perfectly why it may be necessary.

Soon, you pushed the gallery doors open to find your husband standing in front one of the paintings, his head bowed down.

“Morpheus.”

His head lifted slightly before he turned to face you, and a small smile appeared on his face. “My love. I’ve missed you.” 

“Don’t ‘my love’ me,” you snapped, making his smile disappear. “Do you have any idea how long I’ve been waiting for you? A week, Morpheus. A whole week. On our 4,000th anniversary.”

He opened his mouth to speak, but you cut him off, the words spilling out before you could stop them. “I understand that Calliope was in distress. I even understand you had to help her. What I don’t understand is why you couldn’t send a single word. Not to me, not to Lucienne. You could have sent Matthew. But you chose to be silent, I knew nothing. Do you have any idea how that felt, how I was scared for you?”

“You are not being fair,” Morpheus told you, and you scoffed, turning away from him.

“Not fair? And you were fair to me?”

He was quiet for a moment, and you saw his shadow nearing you, and knew he stood right behind you. “Calliope was imprisoned,” he said, his hands lowering themselves on your biceps. “For decades, she was held captive, forced to endure unspeakable cruelty. When I learned of it, I could not… I would not delay. It was not just a duty to her but an obligation to myself — to the part of me that still feels guilt for how our relationship ended. She deserved my help, my immediate intervention.”

You closed your eyes, but didn’t pull away. “If you sent a word, I would have understood. I would have been glad you chose to help her. I understand you share a bond forever with her because of… your son, even when he’s gone. But leaving me in the dark, I was terrified you’ve been captured again, and then I learned you were out there with your ex-wife.”

He was quiet again for a moment, before his hands slid down your arms. “You’re right. I should have sent a word. I should have thought about how you’d feel when you don’t know where I am on such an important date.”

You nodded, finally turning in his arms. “Swear to me you will never do anything like that again.”

He nodded. “I swear.”

You smirked. “Good. Because if you do, Morpheus, I might just take a vacation to the Waking World and see how you like being left in the dark.”

He chuckled. “I would not survive such a punishment,” he said, leaning down to press his forehead against yours. “You are the Dreaming’s heart, and you are mine.”

Before you could respond, his lips captured yours in a kiss, his lips moving against yours slowly as his hands encircled you.

You pulled away from the kiss after a moment, but stayed close enough for your lips to still touch. “You’re going to make this up to me, Dream of the Endless. Our 4,000th anniversary only comes once, and you owe me a celebration worthy of it.”

“Then come,” he said, tugging on your hand. “Allow me to make amends properly. I have a few things in mind.”

You couldn’t help but smile at that, and followed him upstairs. You might have a great late anniversary party after all.

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Morpheus x Goddess!Arianrhod!Reader

Synopsis: In the Corona Borealis, Arianrhod finds herself preoccupied with thoughts of Morpheus. Unexpectedly drawn into The Dreaming, Arianrhod encounters him again, leading to an exchange that hints at deeper connections and future

Author’s Note: From this part onwards, alterations on the lore and nature of Arianrhod from the Welsh mythology was made to better fit the plot.

Word Count: 2,217

PART ONE

PART TWO

✧ Dream Upon A Star ✧

In the swirling galaxy of stars deep within the cosmos, there nests an ethereal realm. A mystical domain inhabited by celestial beings: the star fairies, moon guardians, cosmic weavers, seasonal spirits, and celestial animals. All of which were created and governed by their supreme ruler.

At the center of the realm towers a magnificent fortress that rises high into the cosmos—Caer Arianrhod, the Spiral Castle. Its walls glow with soft celestial light, creating an ever-changing display of colors reminiscent of the auroras. Its towers reach into the heavens, crowned with observatories.

In the heart of the castle is the Hall of Stars, a grand hall with an open ceiling where stars and galaxies are visible in their full splendor. Here, Lyrael, the first weaver of the celestial loom, awaits her queen.

Not long after, a silver light appeared. It turned into a swirling vortex of stars, and from there, Arianrhod emerged. Her arrival resonated within the realm, informing its inhabitants of their queen’s return.

“Welcome home, your highness,” Lyrael greeted with a bow. Before Arianrhod could even respond, her celestial owl flew quickly towards her, landing on her arm.

“Lunara!” the goddess greeted as she petted her owl’s head. “Hello, Lyrael,” she said, acknowledging her attendant. She walked towards her throne, owl still on her arm, as Lyrael followed.

“How did the convention go, my queen?” Lyrael asked the moment the queen had sat. Arianrhod told her the events that transpired, especially about the certain Endless.

“I am glad to know that you had a great time, Lady Star,” Lyrael replied. “Surely, the Lord of Dreams had one as well.”

Upon the mention of the Endless, Arianrhod’s curiosity peaked. “Is there anything you know about him?” She asked.

“Not much, my lady,” Lyrael answered. “Only from the fate of those whom he loved.”

Arianrhod decided that it was a story for another day as it was time to return to her duties. Lunara flew off her arm as she stood from the throne. Quickly, she made her way into the Chamber of Destinies where she did most of her work.

The queen can mostly be found attending to her duties in two places: the Chamber of Destinies, and the Stellar Observatory.

In the Chamber of Destinies, ornate pedestals are arranged in a circular formation around the perimeter of the chamber. The pedestals radiate outward from the center in spiraling patterns. They are also arranged in tier levels, with each level rising slightly higher than the one before it.

On top of each pedestal are the Fate Wheels, miniature versions of the much larger Silver Wheel found in the Hall of Stars. Each wheel represents the path of an individual. It is Arianrhod’s duty to ensure that they continue to spin. Otherwise, it would disrupt the Silver Wheel that holds the collective destiny of humanity as a whole.

The Stellar Observatory, on the other hand, is located at the top of the castle’s towers. In there, Arianrhod, together with the Cosmic Weavers, control the cosmic energies that govern the universe. They ensure that the movement of stars, planets, and galaxies synchronizes the rhythm of time.

However, a duty unique to the goddess, aside from the maintenance of the Fate Wheels, is the mending of rifts in the fabric of space-time. She is the one who repairs the cosmic anomalies and deals with those who intend to disturb the cosmos.

This is how the goddess had spent her life since the beginning of time, and how she will continue to do so in the entirety of her immortal life. Or so she thought.

She rarely leaves her realm; only on situations that require her presence—like the recent convention—and her intervention on mortals that negatively affects the Silver Wheel.

Before she knew it, it had been months, in mortal terms, since the convention. Specifically, the first time she met Morpheus. Often, she found her thoughts returning to him.

But as many times she thought of him, were the times she tried not to care. However, in moments like this where her presence is not needed in the chamber nor the observatory, when she is solitarily sitting on her throne, she wonders about him.

“My lady,” Lyrael called, disrupting Arianrhod’s thoughts. “Have you been feeling unwell?”

Arianrhod looked at her. Confused, she asked, “No, why?”

Lyrael sighed, a bit hesitant. “You don’t seem like yourself lately,” she started. “There are times you stare off in the distance like something’s on your mind.”

“Is there something wrong in the realm?” She asked, knowing that there is highly likely nothing outside of the Corona Borealis that would bother you. Unless there are threats but in that case, you would’ve acted to eliminate them immediately. So she settled with the conclusion that something might be going on in the realm.

“Perhaps, in the Lunar Gardens?” Lyrael continued. She remembered what the Star Fairies said—that the queen had frequented there. It was unusual because Arianrhod is a burner of the midnight oil; all she thought about was her duties. In other words, she isn’t one to spend her time on such trivialities as gardening.

For the first time, Arianrhod was at a loss for words, a loss for explanations. “Forgive me,” she said. “Perhaps I just need to…”

“But The Dreaming will always open its gates to you.”

“My lady?” Lyrael asked, urging Arianrhod to continue.

“…sleep,” the queen continued. Poor Lyrael continued to be baffled but she chose to keep it to herself. She is unsure of what’s happening except for one thing: the queen has never been in her sanctum for as far as she can remember.

In Arianrhod’s chamber, there’s an astral window enchanted to reveal different celestial phenomena. However, this time, it remained an ordinary one that gave her a view of the Lunar Gardens.

The Stellar Blooms mirrored the heavens as they looked like stars on the ground. She thought of the one she gave to Morpheus and wondered how it was doing.

She glanced from the window to her bed. Her canopy bed looked so inviting. She never slept—she didn’t need sleep. Rest was a concept she observed in others, not one she partook in herself.

But for the first time, she was curious.

And so she walked over to her bed, sitting on its edge before letting herself lie down.

Then she closed her eyes.

“My lord,” Lucienne calls to Morpheus who stares at the stained glass panes of his castle. It had shifted back to its original form just before Lucienne could see what he was looking at.

“A divine being has entered The Dreaming,” she informed.

“I am aware, Lucienne,” Morpheus said. “I shall welcome them into The Dreaming.” In the blink of an eye, he was gone.

On the bridge held up by massive stone hands, Arianrhod stands in awe. It was daylight wherever she looked. This realm resembled Earth; she hadn’t been there for a long time—the brightness almost hurt her eyes.

She closed her eyes and gently rubbed it. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?” She almost jumped in surprise at the voice that came out of nowhere.

Morpheus stood behind her. As Arianrhod turned, he felt his heart skip a beat. Their eyes met, and the warm feeling inside him resurfaced.

For a moment, he could not believe it. He was just looking at the memory of her on the stained glass panes earlier, as he did every day since the moment he met her.

And now she’s here, in his realm, looking just as beautiful in daylight as she was under the light of a thousand stars.

She smiled, “I am not certain.” She didn’t want to admit that she came here on purpose. “I fell asleep. And it brought me here, to your realm.”

Morpheus looked at her with deep, knowing eyes. “Welcome to The Dreaming, Lady of the Silver Wheel,” he said with a faint smile.

Arianrhod was the first to break the eye contact. She looked around again, now seeing better after her eyes had adjusted.

“This place is beautiful,” she said.

Morpheus kept himself from telling her that The Dreaming pales in comparison to her—and now that she’s here, there is nothing else in his realm more beautiful than her.

Too captivated, Arianrhod almost forgot about the Stellar Bloom. “Oh, does it turn night here?” She asked. “The Stellar Bloom wouldn’t thrive in this condition.”

“The celestial flower is alive and well, Star,” he said. “I made sure to follow your instructions.”

Morpheus held his hand out. Sand swirled on top of it until a small pot appeared. In his hand was the Stellar Bloom, planted in a pot.

Arianrhod was delighted to see the flower. Morpheus saw the twinkle in her eyes as she looked at it.

She held her hand out in an attempt to sprinkle it with stardust. However, to her surprise, nothing came out of it. Then, she realized—she was powerless in The Dreaming.

As if reading her thoughts, Morpheus spoke, “You must come here in person to be able to use your powers.”

Morpheus sent the flower back to its place in his chamber, leaving nothing but traces of sand on his hand.

Arianrhod squinted at him. “Why should I?” She asked referring to his invitation.

Morpheus stepped forward, standing close to her once again, but this time, without the flower in between them. He looked at her eyes intently, his gaze unfaltering.

“Since our meeting at the convention, I have found my thoughts often returning to you,” Morpheus said.

He took another step closer. Morpheus’s eyes reflected a glimpse of rare vulnerability.

“I wish you to be the queen of my realm, Star,” he said. Arianrhod felt her heart flutter. “Will you allow me this?”

“Very well, Dream,” she replied. “I shall allow it.”

But before Morpheus could even smile, she stepped back. “IF you fulfill my conditions,” she smirked.

He was surprised, yet fascinated. “You challenge me, Star?” He asked, his lips forming into a smirk as well.

“Not a lot knows about me. But those who do, call me…” Arianrhod replied, leaning close. “…the goddess who challenges”—and that, she will continue to be. She wouldn’t allow herself to be fooled by any man again.

“What are your conditions, my lady?” Morpheus asked. Someday, that title will no longer be used just for formality. He will make sure—it will be used to refer to her as his woman.

Arianrhod stepped back, smiling. “First,” she said. “You need to show me the entirety of The Dreaming.”

Morpheus looked in disbelief, but he was delighted. “That’s easy,” he said. “We can even start now.”

“I know, Dream Lord,” Arianrhod agreed. “But you can’t show me the dreaming if I’m not here.” She moved to walk past Morpheus

“Which is why,” she continued, turning around when she’s past Morpheus. “Our little tour of The Dreaming would take place only when I stumble upon here.”

Morpheus didn’t know what he would feel, but the challenge added a thrill. Although, he did not understand the need to delay. The only theory he could come up with was that she might be playing with him.

“Second,” Arianrhod said. “You need to be able to find my realm.”

That piqued Morpheus’s interest. No one—not Death, and not even Destiny, who, among the Endless, is the one who could have direct connections to the goddess associated with time cycles, knew the name nor whereabouts of her realm.

“Third,” continued Arianrhod. “You have to make me fall in love with you.”

There was a moment of silence between the two. Arianrhod breaks the silence. “You can always find someone else, Dream,” she said. “Maybe I’m worth the gamble, maybe I’m not.”

“I’m just not that easy of a woman, Dream,” she continued. “I have my own realm to attend to. And I don’t want to compromise it.”

It was Morpheus’s turn to speak. “Very well,” he said. “You’ve named your conditions, and I shall give my all to fulfill them.”

Arianrhod nodded. “Well then,” she said. “Until my next visit, Lord of—“

“Before you go,” Morpheus cut her statement. His sand once again swirled on his hand, later revealing a flower.

It had pale blue petals with delicate silver veins. Its center, a cluster of tiny, luminous white stamens. The stem is a deep indigo. Its leaves are broad and velvety, dark green with a subtle silver lining.

“For you,” Morpheus said, handing it to Arianrhod. The goddess was surprised. She carefully took it in her hands, holding it by the stem.

She places it near her nose. Its fragrance, delicate and enchanting. “What flower is this?” She asked.

Morpheus smirked, “You’ll have to come again to find out.”

What Arianrhod didn’t know, was Morpheus created it the moment he returned to The Dreaming after the convention. He ought to give you something in return—something that could also thrive in a cosmic realm, like the flowers at the Nexus. He spent days perfecting this flower, he’s just glad he was able to give it to you.

“Clever,” Arianrhod chuckled. “Well then, Lord of Dreams. We shall see each other again.”

Morpheus gently took her hand and pressed it upon his lips,” I eagerly wait for your return, Lady Star.”

——————————————————————————

PART THREE

I’m a sucker for slow burn romance 🤧

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