The Markings Of Your Dreams.

the markings of your dreams.

Pairing: Morpheus x Reader

Word count: 250

Content Warnings: None

"My dear dreamer," He started in his strong yet soothing voice. Shivers went down your spine as you practically could feel his powerful presence in the air.

"Why must you hate these calloused hands of yours so?"

Feeling bashful, you held them close to you as you shuffled in your place. You didn't dare to answer back.

"These hands of yours have created worlds," He started, looking up at the sky almost as if he was gesturing to your work, "creations that many have admired." His eyes glazed over your shoulders that sagged.

"Even if you believe otherwise."

He strided closer to you, causing you to slightly step back. You did not know if it was in fear or shame.

"These calloused hands of yours are the results of your creations in the waking world."

"Do not put yourself down to such degrees, do not underestimate yourself." He gently placed your hand in his, tracing the roughness of your palms and fingers.

"Your hands have carried the countless hours, days, weeks, months, years of your hardwork. All made in the name of passion."

The way he carefully ran his fingers over your rough hand made you almost believe that he was mesmerized– no, that he was fond of them.

"These are not scars nor are they imperfections, these are markings."

His lips pinched up slightly by the corners.

"Markings that bear the fruit of your aspirations."

He always adored his artists.

"Cherish them, for they are the proof of your ambition… The proof of your dreams."

a/n: idk why but the concept of dream really loving artists is so scrumptious to me also im kinda insecure abt my hands so theres that (i play guitar and draw alot 😭) anw have this short blurb i wrote in the middle of class

fictional man i'd tuck into bed and kiss goodnight vs fictional man i'd knock out cold in one solid punch

Just. Dream granting Rachel a quiet peaceful death, also for Johanna’s sake. Dream holding John’s head as he gently lowers him on the bed despite everything that just happened. Dream smiling softly when dreaming Jed says he’s the Sandman. Dream endlessly fascinated by Hob Gadling’s stubborn desire to live. Dream, with indescribable emotions in his eyes when he takes a moment to look around the old Jewish man’s house and finds a photo of his days as a musician, Dream who gasped when he heard a melody he hadn’t heard in centuries. Dream, almost dying, finding the strength to warn John: “You’re hurting the dreamers.” Dream who has so, so much love for humanity, despite the hurt they inflicted on him, and only has to remember it exists

It's hilarious to me when people complain about AO3 and its policies, and what they allow on the site - but it's ESPECIALLY funny when people complain like "Why can't the freaks make their own site and just go there?"

Sweetie... AO3 is the site for that. Y'all invaded our space.

Wattpad and FFN still exist. Go there. They're as shitty and G-rated as you want. You can't have the luxuries that AO3 offers if you're gonna be a little bitch about its policies. Imagine walking into a strip club and complaining about the alcohol and naked ladies when there's a god damn Dennys next door you could have gone to. Christ.

“𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘮𝘦𝘵 𝘔𝘰𝘳𝘱𝘩𝘦𝘶𝘴, 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘙𝘰𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘴 𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘚𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘦𝘳 𝘰𝘧 𝘍𝘰𝘳𝘮. 𝘏𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘰𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘮𝘺 𝘩𝘶𝘴𝘣𝘢𝘯𝘥. 𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘰𝘧 𝘮𝘺 𝘴𝘰𝘯.”

Hopeless Surrender

Morpheus, Dream of The Endless x Devotee!Reader

Masterlist

A/N: I’ve remained possessed with the worshipper trope, spurred on by both @rokuhoku and @darkened-writer. So for those of you who were interested in a part two to Endlessly Devoted, this is the fic for you (short, but sweet, since I’m planning more with these two). And as always, I hope you enjoy. Feel free to leave any feedback you have in the comments and if you like my work consider leaving a tip! Thanks:) 

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 600+

Warnings: Smut adjacent, No Spoilers, Religious overtones and imagery, Worship, Dominant!Morpheus, Fluff if you squint, tears.

You kneel at his altar, utterly consumed by the memory of him.

The gentle pressure of his touch, the silent demand of his presence, the unrestrained passion held in his eyes.

It leaves you longing, unable to rest.

The flames of the candles flicker, affected by the sudden change in temperature. Plummeting with each breath of silence.

You steady yourself on your knees, painfully aware of each creak in the wood as he circles you like a predator stalking its prey.

“You are meant to be in the Dreaming”, his deep voice fills the surrounding air, sensuous and promising, underlying the barest hint of a threat.

You bow your head, embarrassed by the intensity of your emotions as hopeless adoration encompasses your every word, “I apologize my lord, for I’ve fallen in love with the memory of you, and it’s sweeter than any dream sleep could bring me”.

He moves closer at that, the airy warmth of his body seeping into yours, “Is that so?”, his hand comes to rest on your cheek, tilting your face upwards to meet his gaze, “And if I were to give you another?”.

You shiver at the prospect, unable to contain your excitement as you nod eagerly.

“Your impatience never fails”, he says, displeased, his fingers leaving light impressions on your skin, “I should like to leave you on your knees for that indiscretion alone”. He withdraws his touch, watching you with an intensity that makes your heart leap from your chest.

With a shuddering breath, you swallow thickly, unable to prevent the tears that brim your lashes, “If that is what you wish”. You sink further into the floor, trembling with desire as you await his command.

“Very well”, he replies, an almost amused smirk on his face. “You will kneel here until I let you move, and you will not allow a sound to escape your lips.”

He moves away then, leaving you to your thoughts as you try to calm your racing heart.

The minutes stretch into what feels like hours, your body growing numb from the awkward position. The only thing keeping you grounded— the knowledge that he’s watching you.

Every move, every breath.

He’s captured, pulled in.

Fear mixed with desire, naive innocence flooded in utter devotion.

The candles have long since burned out, leaving the room in darkness. You can only focus on the sound of his breathing, slow and steady, as he waits for you to break.

But you won’t. You can’t.

Not when you know that this is what he wants.

To see you kneel before him, devoted and obedient.

To know that you would do anything to please him.

His presence is a comforting weight as he comes to stand behind you. “You have done well”, he murmurs, his voice a gentle caress, “You may stand”.

Relief washes over you as you finally pull yourself to full height, your body protesting after being in the same position for so long.

Morpheus brings you close, his hands cradling your face as he captures your lips with his, your back pressed against the wall. Trapped.

He groans lowly at the feel of you fully against him, drinking in the shaky way your breath rasps out at the contact. His hand continuing to guide your lips to his as an arm stays wrapped around your waist, keeping you held there.

He presses his face into your neck, nose trailing down to match as he runs his index finger down your arm, enjoying how your body reacts to the lightest of touches.

You moan, pressing yourself harder against him still, body absolutely writhing.

He’s everything.

An intensity that leaves you trembling, torn apart at the seams.

And just when you think you can't take anymore, he pulls away entirely, leaving you gasping for air.

His next words a tenderly whispered taunt, “Until next time, my love”.

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