Morpheus X Reader - Tumblr Posts

i love love LOVE the trope where its god x worshipper PLEASEEEE if uve enjoyed my and @/beautifulbows924 fics i highly recommend this!!! IVE SPAT OUT LITERAL WATER AT LEAST TWO TIMES THIS PAST WEEK BC OF BOTH OF THESE FICS I LOVE MORPHEUS SO MUCH

Hopelessly Devoted To You

Pairing: Morpheus/Dream of the Endless x reader Fandom: The Sandman Word Count: 2017

Warning(s): Dark Morpheus, unhealthy obsession, lightly detailed smooching scene

A/N: This is a one shot!! I was inspired by the god x worshipper trope because when I first saw it, I was like ‘I gotta write a fic on this’. Thank you to @beautifulbows924​ for this inspiration and for the read of your own take on this trope! I also combined the virgin!reader with this trope :D. Enjoy reading and comments are appreciated!

Taglist: @beautifulbows924​

——————————————–

Since young, books and mythology had been a topic of interest for [Name]. First, it was the Egyptian gods and then it led to more than just Gods. Upon entering adulthood, her obsession grew more intricate to a point where it led to the discovery of special omnipotent beings that not many in the world knew. A special set of beings that were the embodiment of natural forces. [Name] travelled around the world, researching old books, visiting places where it was once said that these beings had visited.

Her obsession never stopped. Specifically to one being. Dream of the Endless. Everything she did, she did it in His name. Every decision she made, she would thank Him for helping her choose the right path. He was like God to her, praying to Him to try to make herself known to Him. Within the compounds of her little home sat a little shrine, ‘items’ dedicated to Him and for Him only. She dressed specially for Him, kept herself pure for Him to take.

Keep reading

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

HOLY SHIT THIS MADE ME TEAR UP??? FUCKKKK AND CORI PRACTICALLY BEGGING WANDERER TO TAKE HIM WITH HER I LOVE THEIR DYNAMIC SM U CAN TELL THERES A DEEP CARING FOR ONE ANOTHER EVEN IF ITS PLATONIC IM GONNA DKEIEOWOWKWOSOSKSKAKS

──𝐭𝐨𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐢 𝐛𝐮𝐫𝐲 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐞 [𝐕𝐈𝐈.]

summary: "Matters of this realm are not for you to consider."

pairing: dream of the endless x f!reader

wc: 7.5k+

warnings: brief violence/blood, Corinthian is his own warning, we're hitting the big time rush angst, Dream is still Dream (insult) ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

notes: i'm just... hahahaaaaaaa. enjoy.

part one | series masterlist | ao3 |

PART SEVEN: YEAR 619-850

“Do you imagine stopping one shipment will change anything?”

Gliding your tongue over your bloodied teeth, you shrug half-heartedly. In part because you could care less what this pompous man concludes about you. Another part—a brazen, reckless side that’s been steadily honing to life with experience and age—craves to see this man squirm. Your fellow humans are no longer so indifferent to your presence. They’re becoming more knowledgeable. Nowadays, they welcome you with distrustful, knowing stares. Those with old family names whose ancestors you might have encountered previously. But there’s also apprehension. Fear. That one’s new. 

That particular emotion is cherished when faced with such men. 

“Sure it will,” you drawl, licking your bloodied mouth again. “They’re free people now. You don’t have any right to them or anyone else.”

Subdued wrath laces every syllable, and each word rips from your mouth with pointed accusation. Your people have come to this. Carting off other human beings like merchandise. Things to be sold. To be treated as lessers. For wealth. As if they won’t all decay and die in a few decades. It makes you sick with fury. You had such faith in them, such hope—that they would grow and improve, achieve wonders and help one another. So fiercely you’ve defended them to the other Endless. 

And this is your reward. 

“My father warned me about you,” the man continues, regarding you through narrowed eyes. His fine coat, stitched with golden threads, rustles when he lumbers over. The guards holding you jerk your body, keeping you upright. “The Conjurer. The Trickster. The Many Faces Witch.”

“Yes, your father was a piece of shite, too.”A yawn pulls at your mouth. The man’s lined face tightens at your dismissiveness, deepening the grooves etching into his pallid, leathery skin. “You people need to work on something better than a witch. It’s outdated.”

“Silence your wretched tongue,” he hisses, stalking closer. Oh, he’s getting braver. The merchant's gloved hands ball into fists at his sides. He’s taller and stronger. Your body, in comparison, is all but battered, but there is no fear in you. For one such as he, that is a far greater insult. “I will discover where you hid them and who helped you. Do not think I will not.”

Your lip throbs when you dig your tongue into the fleshy, torn skin. Copper on your tongue tastes like nothing and everything. 

“You’re most welcome to try, Mr… hm, I honestly don’t remember your name. Neither will history.”

Merchant’s face turns purple, nostrils flaring. Blinking innocently, you await the strike. Usually, it’s a backhand. Deliberate and savoured. Humiliation is vital in breaking spirit. But it stopped working on you a long time ago. You’ve been stripped naked, paraded around, and degraded so many times you’ve stopped counting. Or caring. 

He can hit you. He can mock you and abuse you all he wants, for however long he wants. You will get back up and continue helping people because they deserve it. It is not for some pampered, greedy man to deem otherwise. Decades from now, you’ll still be here when he’s no more than an ailing husk of a man. 

He wants to hit you. It’s written in the harsh, shuddering way he swallows down his breaths. The holding cell is utterly silent aside from his occasional spluttering huffs. 

“I will cut out your tongue, you insolent—”

The cell door swings open with a metal creak behind him.

“You called for me?”

The new man is younger, clad in finely-stitched royal blue, augmented coat. Folds and ruffles locomote around his lithe body when he strides forward, hands resting folded behind his back. 

“Constantine, yes.” The merchant straightens, impatiently waving his hand for the newcomer to join you. His ring-clad finger digs in your direction. He won’t see you cower. You’ve experienced many such condemnations. “This creature. I want this one dealt with.”

The younger, blonde man raises a ponderous, curious brow, a crafty sheen reflecting through his irises. 

“Your meaning, sire?” he prods innocently. 

“She is not… normal, Edward. Not human.” The merchant’s expensive shoes slide through the grimy cell floor when he veers in Edward Constantine's direction. “Your family deals with these matters, do they not?”

“My mother, Lady Johnna, would not take kindly to your implication, sire.” Edward smiles pleasantly as he speaks. He’s unfairly handsome; in a pale, nonpareil way that flustered most souls he encounters. Cupid's bow mouth; wheat-coloured hair like that of his mother; gentle, narrow features and lulling voice. But all Constantines you’ve met have something wicked pulsing beneath their skin. It’s what makes them so powerful, so excellent at their craft. “And I assure you, if you were dealing with a demon, you would know by now.”

“How?” 

The man’s snarling question sends spittle flying.

Edward puckers his lips in mock thought. He then grins brightly. “You would be rather dead, sire.”

Old, powerful Latin spills from Edward’s mouth, the mischievous grin sliding clean from his face. His focus narrows, well versed in his craft. 

One of the guards holding you chokes abruptly. Heaving, sobbing retches leave him, his hold on you loosening. Shoving away, you bury your elbow in the other guard’s ribcage, grabbing his pistol while he’s too winded to react. You promptly knock the weighted weapon across the guard’s temple. The dazed man goes down like a falling tree, his mouth agape while he sprawls across the cell floor unconscious. 

The merchant holding you prisoner stumbles back at the commotion, sweat beading his brow at the power shift. He looks on the verge of throwing up. “What—what is going on—stop!” 

Pale, twitching hands rip from the guard’s gaping mouth, something crawling from inside his body. The man squirms pathetically, plunging to his knees. Faint, smug smile curls Edward’s mouth, all but victorious, while the Latin continues reverberating against the dank stone.  

“I order you to stop!”

The guard explodes. A wet, squelching sound hits your eardrums. Then only a pale, gnarly-looking creature rests curled on the gore-covered floor. 

“You’re late, Constantine.”

The ire in your voice causes Edward to bow his head apologetically. 

“My apologies, fair Wanderer.” His grin is downright roguish. “Perhaps if you offered me a kiss as a reward next time, I shall hurry.”

The merchant chooses that precise moment to empty his stomach, fainting a second later. While you do not intend to shoot him, it does comfort you to level your newly acquired firearm on him. His judgement will not be in your hands. You have no right to it. His sentence will be at the hands of those he tried to trade for personal riches. 

Sighing, you stare down at the convulsing demon. “Wrong host.”

Edward clicks his tongue. “Yes, quite. It turns out the old coot is just a regular cunt.”

You step forward, hesitating. The demon snarls loudly at your proximity. Hissing and spitting, it springs back up, leaping forward instantly. Its slimy, boney form crushes you to the ground, pinning you there.

“Wanderer—”

“No! Finish it.” The order rings piercingly through the saturated, cold air. It’s a testament to how much Edward relies on you because just as the demon’s jaws part to sink into your flesh, guttural, commanding Latin resumes. The demon’s half-humanoid body cracks under sheer power, light opening up in swelling circles around you. The wind howls through the tiny cell. Portal straight to Hell. “I’ll be fine! Do it! Help them, Edward!”

The wind wails deafeningly, light burns through your vision, tears blurring everything in sight.  

Invisible power closes around you in an unyielding fist, sucking you down, down, down—

The demon wails above you, its claws sinking into your arm and stomach for support, flailing as you both plummet. You choke down a yelp of pain when blood starts gushing, the demon’s claws dug in too deep. Portals, dimensions, blurring hues, cold, hot, hot, hot—

In its rawest form, the universe rushes and slides around your body. Every knock and snag nearly breaks bones. Edward’s enchantment is sending you speeding down straight to Hell, but you’re using the curse as an anchor. An excruciating, ill-fitting buffer that slows your descent into an agonising shredding.  

Your nails hook deliberately in the slimy, cold skin of the demon. Snarl forming, you jerk.

The knock sends you whistling through the universe's raw matter, but in a different direction. You plummet to the ground with cracking bones. A rare cry tears from your throat when your body flops to a resting position, jolting at the sudden impact. 

You’re in a cemetery. Black clouds roll overhead, faraway thunder vibrating through the air. You manage a bloody, victorious smile. 

“Human ssscum. Come here.”

The rattling, hissing voice gets accompanies by eager claws at your skin. Your pistol is long gone, lost in universal transit. Your hands are all you have left. 

“No pleasss for help?” it coos and caws gleefully. 

Words form, but it’s the pleasant voice behind you that responds: “You talk too much.”

Metal blade sticks clean through the demon’s gut. It screeches—a piercing, haunting sound—for it’s no ordinary blade that guts it. Black liquid gushes from the demon’s belly; its greyish skin marred as it crawls backwards, slobbering and snarling in a frenzied symphony.

The nightmare crafted by the King of Dreams himself stands above you, a black halo assembled from shadows and lightning crowning his pale head.

“Corinthian.”

Your chuckle sounds a touch manic, relief slumping your limbs into the supple dirt beneath. 

Corinthian’s head tilts marginally in your direction, but his focus stays entirely on the demon sitting erect on its hunches. Its tongue lolls to the side—a disturbing sight paired with its humanoid features.  

“Puny nightmare,” it gloats, black liquid coating its bent, rotting teeth. “You dare to challenge me? I am Bifrons, Earl of Hell. You think you can prevail against one sssuch as I?”

A slight, cruel grin edges Corinthian’s face. His dual blades flip through the air, adjusted and firm in his relaxed hold, an extension of him. 

“Let’s find out.”

It’s a blur. The demon is sly, its long limbs and small but robust wings serving it well, but Corinthian is liquid metal. More fluid than water and more vicious than any serpent. If the blade doesn’t sink in, it cuts and cuts and cuts. In seconds, the demon is covered in its own deformed version of blood, dripping heavily onto its hooked feet. 

One blade punches clean through the demon’s wing, pinning the creature to the burnt tree behind it. The demon flails, bucking. 

“You’re in the Dreaming.” Corinthian shapes each word with calm, pleasant malice. “The Nightmare Realms are my domain, and you’re a long way from home, my friend.”

The wind, the lightning, even the demon’s pained bleats—every sound and sensation hush to an abrupt suspension. 

You sense his arrival in the clearing before he so much as utters a word. “Corinthian, enough.”

Dream’s deep, unwavering command glides through the charged, unnaturally still air.

Corinthian glares at the demon’s beady eyes, his teeth bared and face crinkled with enraged disbelief. “This thing—”

“Enough.” You cringe at the frigid bite in Dream’s timbre, struggling to sit up. “I will deal with the demon.”

If they continue at this, it’ll devolve into a disaster.

Your mouth wobbles, pain lapping at your senses. “Cori.”

The blade poised in Corinthian’s graceful hand quivers at the subdued plea, keen for the killing blow. His mouth contorts, shaping a hollow, wide grin. A tense moment crawls by. Then his arm drops to his side. 

“As you command.”

He doesn’t bow. A strange sensation prickles your skin at the observation, but you brush it aside. 

Black blocks Corinthian from your sight. Power sizzles across your skin. Achingly familiar, absolute. It’s everywhere, embracing you in blankets of everlasting comfort. Cold, bitter night and sun-dripping sleepy daydream simultaneously. 

Cold fingers skim over your swollen cheek. The air around you cools by several degrees the longer Dream King drinks in your torn appearance. “Wanderer.”

Sorrow traces the whispered moniker. Why is it that when you’re alone, these tragedies slide clean off you, but when Dream peers at you with such unspoken despair, it hurts so bad? Is it because his comfort is so vastly different from others? Or perhaps because with him, there is no escaping anything. Because Dream’s hands touch and linger with a gentleness that wrenches something hurt and bleeding deep inside you and lays it bare.

“Hey, Dream.”

Dream Lord imparts no words, decrees no commands. He simply sweeps his midnight, flame-edged coat across you, and you’re both gone.  

.

“I’m fine. I told you, typical trouble.” A more pressing question springs to mind. “Where is Corinthian?”

Dream of the Endless sweeps a searching look over your healing body, mutely unsatisfied. Even though you’ve slowed down, he resumes his steady trek through the sweeping castle corridors. 

“I will speak with Corinthian later,” he replies. “He acted outside his function.”

Something in your chest ices over at the carefully light way Dream articulates those words. Springing on your tiptoes, you hurry after him, wincing at the everpresent discomfort. 

“Outside his—” Swallowing your frustration, you reach for the Dream King, folding your fingers gently around the crook of his arm. His black coat warms your hand when you touch it, sending a pleasant shiver up your arm. Dream halts at the light contact, pinning you with a stormy stare. “He tried to protect me. He did this to protect me from a demon.”

But Dream King has retreated, leaving the ruler of the Nightmare realms behind. Stony, stubborn, uncompromising.

“As monarch of this realm, it is my duty to handle these transgressions,” Dream clarifies. “Corinthian acted on his own accord. You do not slaughter the Earl of Hell without invoking wrath from Lightbringer.”

“Then why give them free will in the first place?” Your fingers tighten around his arm. “Don’t give me that look. You heard me.”

Dream exhales softly, his head bowing closer. “I was coming for you.”

You’re unsure why that sentence pulls a pained laugh from your chest. Feeble and scratchy. Your hand slips away from him, and with it, the more benign light with which Dream was regarding you does so as well. 

“Yeah, before or after that thing killed me?” Damage is so blatant in your strangled question that you’re almost embarrassed by it—that you would be so apparent in your emotions after centuries together. “You haven’t been there in the past, Dream. Corinthian was. I can’t stand by while you punish him for keeping me safe.”

Dream’s pale, handsome features stutter at the not-so-subtle reminder. Does it trouble him? The knowledge that once you didn’t call for him because you didn’t believe he would come, but now you never do because being alone, relying on yourself, has become the norm. Calling for his aid no longer crosses your mind. 

“Do you suppose Corinthian did this from the goodness of his heart, Wanderer? Or because it was a prime opportunity to indulge in his savagery?”

Dream’s soft conjecture lances clean through you, balling your heart in a merciless fist. 

“You mean savagery you instilled in him?” Your shoulders hunch, defensive. It’s challenging standing against him when he’s like this: looming, all-powerful, ancient dust and brimstone. But the poor, naive soul who once found themselves in his gardens, at the foot of his mercy, has long since grown up. “You made him this way. You make them all for humanity. To serve them. Corinthian just did.”

Dream’s stare darkens, sliding away dismissively. “I do not expect you to understand the intricacies that come with Hell’s wrath—”

“You don’t expect me to understand.”

The gallery you’ve halted is quiet enough to hear a feather drop. 

For years, you were trapped in Hell. You’ve tasted their cruelty and bloodlust; experienced firsthand the unending list of methods they use for torture and how they delight in it. 

Dream’s soft mouth parts. “I did not mean to imply—”

“No, you implied enough, Morpheus.” 

He leans back at the hard bite of his true name. It’s so rare for you to use it, and rarer still, for it to be spoken with such… disappointment. You’re too blind to his faults. Perhaps Desire was right in saying so. Or maybe you’ve always seen them but never cared because you care for him. Your fondness for the lonesome Dream Lord outweighs the logical, critical part that’s all survivor now.

Or does it?

You brush past him. “Excuse me.”

He doesn’t stop you. 

.

“I’m an idiot.”

Your groan is met with a contemplative hum from your nightmare companion. Wanderer Island is blanketed by flimsy cloud cover today; the sun blazes hot and bright onto the sand, trees and flowers encircling you. You chew absently on the sour apple grass, your fingers knotted in the undying pasture beneath. 

Corinthian deliberately bobs his leg, jolting you where your head rests on his thigh, your arms wrapped tight around yourself. 

“You challenge him.” The nightmare pauses in his whittling, his attention straying over the water towards the rest of the Dreaming. “Dream doesn’t like hearing the truth. The only truth he cares about is his own. He’s selfish like that.”

You say nothing. Just as you’ve never pointed out that Corinthian has all but migrated to the Wanderer Island. It’s the one place you are guaranteed to find him no matter how much time has passed. Shelter for those lost and seeking. It applies to him as much as you.

You examine his profile. Each line, pore, and curve of his proud visage. “He won’t punish you for this. I won’t let him.”

Corinthian lightly scratches the tip of his blade into the half-finished wooden piece snug in his palm. “He already talked with me.”

You freeze. “What?”

He reaches out and flicks you on the forehead. Hard. “Nothing to concern your pretty little head with.”

Slapping your hand over your stinging forehead, you propel yourself upwards, shooting him a glare. His tells are as apparent to you as yours are to him after centuries together. 

“Corinthian.” His name, spoken with intent, drags the nightmare’s attention your way. “What did he tell you?”

A light breeze ripples the tree branches you’re resting under—molten spots of sunlight smear and dance across Corinthian’s cheek through cracks in the leaf cover. For too long, he’s altogether quiet. Dread coils around you in a suffocating grip. 

“That if I stray again, he will unmake me.”

Of course. You knew you. Even before he spoke aloud, you knew. 

“I don’t believe him,” you hiss, dragging your hand over your face. 

The tiny stabs caused by the still healing flesh hardly register. 

Corinthian peers up at the sky, relaxing in his spot. “Ah, tough business.”

You cast a suspicious glance his way. “You’re not even a little bit concerned? If you keep pushing Dream’s boundaries, it will implode in your face eventually.”

The nightmare rubs his thumb over his newest piece. “Nah, not even slightly concerned. He won’t dare to unmake me.”

This once, you take the bait.

“Do you know something I don’t… or?”

Your reflection appears puzzled in the distorted, dark shine of his glasses. 

“If Dream unmade me, it would break your heart.” Unequivocally self-assured. Your heart skips several beats. Corinthian swishes his blade from side to side playfully. “He knows as much. Why else do you think I’m still around? I get away with things others won’t dare to dream about. Told ya, truth bites.”

He taps the blunt edge of the blade against your nose. You don’t react to it. No, instead, you mull over his hypotheses, his conclusions, the weight in your pocket becoming unbearable. 

“Funny timing,” you mutter absently. Your hand closes around the figurine in your pocket, now significantly more ragged than when Corinthian first gifted it to you. “I’ve been meaning to give this to you for some time.”

Another item has been living with the figurine in your dark pocket. Pinching it carefully, you pull it out, proffering it to the nightmare wordlessly. 

“A ring?” A slow, crooked smirk bites into Corinthian's cheeks. “Oh, now Dream will unmake me for sure.”

You can’t help but roll your eyes. “Hilarious. It’s not for that. Put it on.”

Still smirking, Corinthian accepts the offered object, slipping it on his finger. With much pleasure, you watch that haughty, charming smirk slide from his face. The nightmare’s body goes incredibly still, a deep, nonplussed frown taking shape. 

“What is this?”

This is the first time you’ve heard the nightmare sound so serious or carefully controlled. The silver band on his finger doesn’t stand out. But wearing it, specifically for him, you imagine, would be a rather peculiar experience. 

“A small piece of humanity for you to hold,” you say with a small smile. “I told you, they’re not all bad. I hope this can help you experience it.”

“You prefer people. Not me.”

“I prefer their stories. Their worries and hopes. Give it time, Cori.” You drag your feet closer to your chest, hugging them to you. Corinthian is still staring down at the ring on his hand. “Sometimes I’m ashamed of them. But sometimes I love them so dearly I remember why I still walk amongst them. Now you have that in this. From me.” 

A small segment is packaged from you—your very soul—into his ordinary ring. So he experiences what it’s like. 

“Desire helped me make it,” you add when the silence becomes too profound and heavy. 

Dragging his thumb over the ring, Corinthian snorts. “The flashy one.”

You match his grin. “You two should meet. And I never did give you a Dreamfall present, so.”

His brows lift, the strange bout from moments ago shaken and laid to rest. “Should have waited for the next one. You’re a tad late.”

You lean over, grabbing for his hand.

“Fine, give it back.”

The nightmare yanks his arm back, wiggling his fingers. “Don’t think so,” he concludes slyly.

“Wanderer.”

Wanderer Island warms with delight at Dream Lord’s impromptu arrival. Your grin withers, your tongue nervously dragging over your teeth. 

“I hate it when he does that,” you mumble, standing to your feet. Corinthian eyes his creator with a neutral but nevertheless shadowed expression. “Have you noticed it? He always says your name with that tone when you’re in trouble. Talk to you later?”

The nightmare finally reacts. “Sure thing, trouble.”

His drawling, ponderous reply does not reassure you. 

Flames kindle brighter around Dream’s coat, orange and red sparkling at his feet. His otherwise black apparel and unruly hair make for a fond, beloved memory. He’s unchanging in an equally frustrating and comforting manner. 

“Dream.”

His jaw flexes, relaxing somewhat. It takes you several seconds to deduce why. When you parted ways last, you left with an impersonal farewell, calling him Morpheus. You haven’t done so in centuries. 

Dream slopes his chin towards a blossom-covered path behind him. “I hoped we could conclude our earlier conversation.”

Never one to admit he’s in the wrong. 

Without a word, you set out down the path he gestured towards, butterflies fluttering past your head. One lands directly on your shoulder, and you hold out your finger, delighted when the butterfly flutters over immediately. 

“You misunderstood my meaning,” Dream begins, his footsteps near silent behind you. 

Another butterfly lands on your outstretched hand, but no smile graces your face. “Did I? You don’t interfere with the curse. I’m perfectly aware. It’s my destiny. We’re all born into our roles. There is no escape. I get it.”

Dream cuts around you, his coat rustling behind him when he blocks your path. “It is not that I do not wish to help,” he insists, his words tight. There’s a beseeching edge in his low intonation, a plea for understanding perhaps. “It is that I cannot.”

Your smile is faint and sad but understanding because, of course, you understand him—your stubborn, lonely, weary Dream Lord. 

“That’s fine, Dream. You have duties. You won’t risk the Dreaming. And you shouldn’t. Not for me. Are we done—”

You jump when he grasps your hand in his. Sand strokes your skin, your eyes widening at the gliding sensation. He holds your startled stare, burning through you. Dream’s grip loosens as swiftly as it formed, but your hand is no longer empty. Your fingers splay, stupidly missing his touch, sand trickling to the ground. A miniature, transparent stone sits in a teardrop shape in your palm. “What is this?”

Dream takes a while to respond. 

“A pebble from the Fiddler’s Green. In it, I have deposited additional power beyond that of an unadorned creation. My power.” Your head jerks up, staring at him wide-eyed. Dream strides closer, so close you feel his breath on your mouth. “I cannot interfere in my siblings’ affairs, Wanderer. If anything should befall you in their realms, there is nothing I can do. But the waking world… is fickle. You do not dream; therefore, I cannot locate you, but with this, I can.”

You’re so speechless that no words come to mind, leaving you spluttering on a pathetic, “I… I shouldn’t…” 

Twin stars rage in Dream’s eyes. He carefully folds your fingers back over the stone. “I need not stress how imperative it is you only use this in emergencies.”

“Why? Why now?”

Why make such a drastic gesture after over seven hundred years together? Was your suffering not enough before? Or did something change in how Dream views the curse? Views you? 

“Because I made you a promise long ago, and I do not commit to such deeds lightly.”

A promise? Oh.

Would you come for me?

Yes.

Promise?

You never did hear his answer back then. You had assumed Dream never responded at all. Endless do not pledge themselves to such commitments. 

Days of no food or water, near constant beatings, but it’s a tiny stone denting your skin that causes tears to well in your eyes. They don’t fall, but you’re sure Dream hears them when you choke out, “Thank you. I’ll keep it safe.”

Dainty contact caresses your cheek, tingling and light. You raise your head, savouring his thumb sweeping over your skin. Your breath catches at the conflicted, intent way Dream peers at you. “Wanderer… I…”

“What’s wrong?” you breathe. 

Tell me, be open with me, let me in.

Dream swallows, working a kink in his jaw. His piercing stare lowers, latching onto your mouth—

He forcefully turns away, muttering, “Nothing. Nothing at all.”

Flames flare brightly around his coat’s hem, and he’s gone in a breath.

Butterflies explode in a mad circle around you at the Dream Lord’s departure, their featherlight wings kissing your skin. Wanderer Island seems to shudder a breath, settling back into place. 

You clench the stone in your hand so hard your skin turns numb. 

.

“Morpheus. Dream King. Oneiromancer. I bid thee welcome.”

Mighty wings extend in either direction behind the powerful silhouette, showcasing the fallen angel’s full, terrible might. Even for one such as him, power emitting from Maker’s once most beloved angel is immense. 

Morpheus inclines his head marginally, his helm tucked close to his side. Anything less than face-to-face with the netherworld ruler would be considered an insult. “Lucifer Morningstar. I thank thee, Lightbringer, for your welcome.”

Lucifer’s slight smile belies the malevolence festering beneath it. “Tell me, Morpheus, what brings you to my domain? Enlightenment, perhaps?”

Hell boils with cruelty unprecedented and hatred unmatched, sins unpaid and torment everlasting. In this, Morpheus finds these lands unchanged. Fluttering reminder flees through his mind that Wanderer had suffered here. For such long years. 

He may be required to keep to the accords when dealing with infernal regions, but it does not mean he will be quick to forget such slights. 

“I have come to return one of your adrift terrors.” His hand lifts, and the wretched demon falls out from the rushing sand. The wounds Corinthian has inflicted on the creature have not faded. Lucifer regards one of their demons with callous indifference. Its claws are still covered in what was once red blood. Dream’s voice slips into soft caution. “Demons may pass through the Dreamworld, that is the agreement, but they do not attack my own. I request, Lightbringer, that you see to it we do not have a repeat of such incidents in the future.”

Lucifer circles them in their luxurious silken robe, their fingers steepled. 

“Bifrons, are Dream Lord’s allegations true?”

Torchlight illuminates the demon’s broken shape. 

“Yesss, your majesty.”

Lightbringer halts before him. Morpheus edges his chin higher to meet their cunning stare. “Describe this being you attacked.”

His self-possession prevails, giving up nothing, but Morpheus sees right through Lightbrnger’s objective. 

The slow, satisfactory smile grows at the demon’s detailed description, curling beautifully across the former angel’s mouth. 

“Ah, not just any old creature dwelling in your dream clouds, then.” Vindictive pleasure glimmers through Lightbringer’s deceptively composed countenance. “The Wanderer. Oh, Morpheus, you are becoming rather soft for that one.” 

They circle again, their majestic black wings whisper over the floor as they add a contemplative, “Though I suppose you always were the sentimental one.”

“I did not come here for a social call.”

Soft. What presumption. As if Wanderer is a weakness. Instead of a soft spot, something tender and free, leaping through stars and into his awaiting home. 

“No, you did not.” Lucifer glides a sudden, purposeful step forward. Their eerily angelic smile remains perfectly intact. “Fear not. Bifrons will be flayed for what he has done. Blood unjustly shed will be repaid as the old laws would demand.”

He no longer wishes to linger here. Even the dreams lapping at him insistently, reaching for him as starved branches would call for the sun, for life, taste of nothing but ash and rot. 

“Then I bid thee farewell.”

He bends his head in another slight bow. Ceremony only, but it is a necessity. Beneath the calm mask, chafing irritation prickles his chest. 

Placing his helm back over his head, Morpheus edges backwards, a handful of sand slipping from his pouch and into his awaiting palm. 

“It never ends well, Morpheus.” Sand engulfs his knees, slowing with Lightbringer’s saccharine words. “Mortals falling in love with the Endless. The control that gives them spells ruin. And it especially won’t end well for that one. Cursed. Tormented. We will have your Wanderer one day, Dream Lord. You left one here quite willingly already. I’m sure we will find room for the Wanderer just fine.”

Love? It’s foolish to even contemplate it. You would not love one such as him. You are far too clever, and he…

No. He is done with love—and all it entails. Even if your soul is destined for Hell, Morpheus will see to it that Lightbringer awaits until the end of times for it.

“Eternity is a long time to wait, Lightbringer.” Sand slithers along his body, so Morpheus gently reminds, “But I suspect you know as much already.”

He’s gone just as Lightbringer’s features crack open with fury. 

.

The news reaches you in between dimensions. One foot in and one foot out. Such a feat should not be possible, but such is the power this news carries, spreading through the universe. It’s as if a part had been broken from you and crushed. 

Destruction of the Endless has abandoned his domain.

Your knees fold beneath you, hand over your mouth. You’re not entirely sure where you ended up. 

A hand grasps your shoulder. “Wanderer? Heavens. Wanderer! Mother, come quick!”

Edward sounds frazzled, his eyes visibly bulging. At long last, the dreary walls of Fawney Rig come into focus. Your head rings so loudly, you desperately drag your fingernails over your forehead.

It’s not until much later that Edward informs you that the reason for your sore throat is relatively uncomplicated. 

You were screaming the entire time. 

.

“Do you hate me for what I’ve done?”

“I don’t.”

“Did it hurt?”

“Yes.”

The large, strong arm tightens around your shoulders. You don’t miss the slight tremor there. “Forgive me, Wanderer. Others… do you they…”

Sunset paints the panoramic vista around you with gushing golds and reds.

But you cannot lie to him. “Yes, I think they resent you for it. Some more so than others. But give them time. One day they’ll understand why you did it.”

“Not Dream. He believes we cannot change our nature. Perhaps he is right.”

He says it so knowingly your heart cracks. 

“Dream is wrong. And before you ask, no, I won’t tell them. It was your decision. I respect that.”

“You can’t tell anyone, my dear friend,” Destruction reminds kindly. “I beg you never attempt it.”

What is more powerful? An ancient curse or aspect of the Endless? You suppose one day you could try and find out. See what tears you apart first. 

Gazing at him, you rest your cheek on broad Destruction’s shoulder. “I’m not telling them because you’re my friend. Idiot.”

Destruction’s warm, booming laughter compels a smile from you. “I have missed you, dear Wanderer.”

I missed you too.

.

“I told you, it won’t kill you.”

Having said that, even you can admit you’re painfully winded. Leave it to Dream to build a castle with the biggest staircase you’ve come across in any dimension in over eight hundred years. 

Challenging an Endless to a physical wager is a sure indication of your hubris. 

“You are certain?” Dream poses lightly. 

“You’re so not funny.”

The accursed Dream Lord even manages to sound a shade smug about it. Or at least far more so than usual. Gatekeepers bow deeply to their Lord upon your entry to the castle side by side. You wave at them until they’re no longer visible. 

Cracking your neck, you endeavour to relax and luxuriate in the knowledge you’re back at the Dreaming. The curse has been painful since the beginning, but lately, since Destruction’s departure, it’s as if your very bones feel ill-fitting. Your skin is a thin, worn cloak. Whatever disorder Destruction’s departure caused in this universe, even your curse is acclimating.

“Are you well, Wanderer? You have been more distracted as of late.”

You’re certain your surprise shows. That he noticed, even more so that he asked. 

“Nothing. It’s nothing. Curse stuff.”

You enter the throne room, where Dream purposely slows you both down. 

“Has my brother’s departure made it worse?”

It’s an effort to hold back from flinching. Every time Dream brings up his younger brother, an imperceptible noose finds its way around your neck. “No. I mean, Olethros is fine. It’s not his fault—”

Dream halts dead in his tracks. Too late, you realise your mistake. Your heart plummets to your stomach. 

“Olethros…” Dream rasps. “My brother did not share that name with you before his departure. You have seen him recently. You know. You know where Destruction is.”

Dream draws closer, his scrutiny crushing. For the first time in your long existence, you stumble a step back from your Dream Lord. 

“Don’t ask me about that,” you choke out, fear audible in your shaky voice. Hot, scalding destruction licks up your spine in warning, in reminder. “Please don’t ask me about that, Dream.”

You’re not sure what’s worse: how betrayed he looks or how determined he appears to dig deeper. “Why did you not tell me?”

Your head is shaking before he’s finished. “It’s not my secret to tell.”

Merv and Lucienne come into view, halting mid-chatter when they spot you, but you’re too choked up on dread to pay them any heed. Neither does Dream. 

“His duty… he has to fulfil it.” Dream takes another step closer, and you stagger backwards again. “You must tell me.”

Your mouth is so dry you fear you’ll choke on your own tongue. “No.”

Distantly, you hear Merv mutter oh, boy but it’s swallowed by the deafening silence that veils the throneroom. Muted purple light pouring from glasstained windows blinks out, devoured by the steadily building cloud cover outside. 

“No?” Dream repeats so softly you want to crawl from your own skin. 

It hurts. It hurts not telling him, but you can’t. Even if you tried, Destruction assured no one would locate him again. 

“You good, trouble?”

Not once have you dreaded Corinthian’s presence at your back until now. His arm brushes against yours, but you don’t remove your attention from Dream. 

Dream Lord finds Corinthian’s presence less than palatable. “Leave.”

You can’t help but bristle at his authoritative tone. “Don’t take this out on him.”

“Where is my brother, Wanderer?” Dream’s features darken, shadows pooling in the crevices of his handsome face. “You will answer me.”

He sounds so soft, but that immemorial wrath trembles through each word. Your mouth remains clamped shut. 

Corinthian chuckles sardonically at your side. “You can’t order this one around. Not yours to play with.”

Dream’s pale, lightning stare cuts to the nightmare at your side. Every muscle in your body goes rigid. “You forget yourself, Corinthian.”

“Stop it, both of you.” You shove your shoulder between them. Behind Dream, Merv hovers awkwardly on his heels, unsure if he should interfere. Even Lucienne appears bewildered as to what action she should take. Jessamy’s low crows echo like doom bells across the throne room. “I can’t tell you, Dream. Please, just trust the fact I can’t.”

Please, please, stop asking me—

But there are few traces of your Dream Lord to be found. No gentleness, no reluctant attempt to understand, or his exasperated patience. Only Nightmare King, one of the Endless, stands before you and your spine nearly bends under his suffocating presence. 

“Can’t, or won’t?” Dream questions, each word a cutting caress. 

Your tongue refuses to work because you both already know. Destruction is a beloved friend. So not even for Dream, not even for the one you trust most, would you betray that plea for acceptance. Because how can you judge someone who wishes to be free? Who wants to be something more outside his destiny? Who wants to create instead of destroying? 

Cold realisation washes over Dream’s features. With it, the invisible tether binding you together snaps in two. Here, at the end of everything, you will choose your conviction, hope, and integrity over him. You can’t tell him, but you also won’t. And it snuffs out the unspoken affection you’ve glimpsed in him for centuries in a single wink. 

“That is what I thought,” he concludes emptily. 

“Well, for once, somebody doesn’t dance to your tune,” Corinthian bites out. 

Dream doesn’t move. The Dreaming moves around him, gliding him closer. “Hold your tongue.” He halts when you shove in front of the nightmare. “Wanderer.”

Warning laces your title. 

“You’re not touching him. I won’t let you.” 

Words stumble from your mouth in a rush, but you stare directly at the Endless, your head unbowed. 

Faint breath tickles your ear. Corinthian’s brief laugh vibrates against your back. “Oh, let him show us his true colours.”

But Dream is no longer paying attention to his creation. He’s staring down at you with the same distant nothingness when he first came upon you. Nothing. 

You are nothing to him.

“Won’t let me? Matters of this realm are not for you to consider. You have also forgotten yourself. You are a guest here in the Dreaming, nothing more.” Those words strike you harder than any physical blow or kick ever has. You would take a thousand more kicks, a million more, just to have him take those words back. “But these privileges, too, can be revoked. So, I will ask you one last time: where is my brother, Wanderer?”

You recognise the olive branch. If you just tell him now, all will be forgiven and forgotten. 

Once again, it’s about his damned pride. 

“No.”

Dream’s unnatural stillness makes Corinthian tense behind you. 

“No…” The single word sounds like a betrayal on his tongue. Nothing has ever hurt more than this. Your stomach roils, but still, you stand, staring him down with a glassy stare. You would rather he were screaming at you. 

“You would forsake us, this realm and all it has offered you, in favour of secrets? Lies?”

Your knuckles hurt from how tightly you’re clenching your clothes. “I care for you.”

Supernovas flare and burn in his irises. “Do not speak to me of care.” It’s a lash on bare skin, salt in the wound, an agony you sense ripping you from inside out. “Desire has no place in the land of dreams. But have it your way.”

His coat sweeps over the pale marble, embers flaring as he ambles towards the stairwell leading to his throne. Merv physically slopes backwards when the Dream Lord brushes by him. Lucienne grips the ledger in her hand in stunned silence. 

Dream climbs his stairs one at a time, deliberate in his actions, but when he pauses, that is when fear floods your body. 

Your Dream Lord gazes at you over his shoulder—not angry, not bitter, he looks, then, simply devastated. Exhausted. Utterly betrayed. Perhaps hurt. Then, whispers of vulnerability, imagined or otherwise, disappear like smoke, leaving nothing but endless emptiness behind. 

“Wanderer, you are henceforth banished from the Dreaming. Take your secrets and your curse, and begone.”

Lucienne marches forward. “My lord—”

A single, swift look from the Dream King cuts her speech short. 

No. Surely he won’t. The Dreaming is all you have. It’s all you ever had—

“Dream.” His name, called a thousand times, loved just as many, cracks to splinters on your tongue. “Please, I can’t.”

He doesn’t pause, striding up the staircase with single-minded, dogged purpose. 

Pained desperation unleashes a simple request, “Don’t make me leave. This… the Dreaming is my home.”

You’re my home. 

Dream halts, almost at his throne, and you silently beg for him to choose you in your mind. But the foolish hope is not done forming before you know what will transpire next. 

There is no changing the Lord of Dreams. 

Dream sits down on his mighty throne. You’ve been in this position many times, but this is the first time he’s looking down at you, not at you. “Go, or I will have you removed.” The exact words as when you first met, but you’re not strangers this time. Or are you? “When you are ready to cease your artifice, you may return.”

So, never. Because you can’t justify yourself, and he never listens. He will never listen. 

It’s over. 

You have no idea where to put your hands, where to place your feet, how to walk or form a thought. 

Wobbling, you spin around blindly, putting one leg in front of another. 

“Kid—”

“Wanderer.”

“That is enough.”

A single command promptly silences Merv and Lucienne. Your steps echo deafeningly as you stagger from the throne room. Outside, the Dreaming has turned bleak and cold. Over the snowcapped mountains on the horizon, lightning splits the purple back skies. 

No one is in sight. Trembling, you raise your head hopefully towards the Gatekeepers, but they avert their gazes. You think you read silent regret and sorrow in their powerful faces. Not that it matters. 

It’s over. Where do I go?

Footsteps approach from behind. Somehow you already know who it is without having to check—the only one who is not afraid to disobey even at a time like this. 

“You’re just going to let him do that?” Corinthian hisses. 

Your feet move mechanically while you descend the staircase. You’d been so happy to return, to see Dream again just minutes ago. You had just laughed and joked with him. You…

“You heard him. He…”

—wants me gone.

“Fight back.” Corinthian grabs you by the shoulder, shaking you once. “Fight back.”

Your tiny smile is defeated, cracked and shattered. “He’s the Endless, Cori. He… he doesn’t want me… here.”

He doesn’t want me. Why would he? You don’t belong in his life. A stray, a curse, you’re nothing—

“Then take me with you,” Corinthian proposes abruptly. You blink, uncomprehending. His grip tightens around your bicep. “To the hell with them. You and me.”

“What?” you croak out. 

Lightning strikes above head, thunder clapping seconds later—the Dreaming trembles from the frenetic energy. “Take me with you,” Corinthian says breathlessly, his fingers curling around your shoulder, holding you close. “To the waking world. You’ve brought other objects with you in the past. This time, we go together.”

You pull from his hold, staring at him blankly. “It doesn’t work like that. Outside the Dreaming… the journey alone. I rip through dimensions, Cori. It’s meant to harm me. What if it destroys you? No, I can’t risk that. Your place is here.”

A hissing, disbelieving sound slips from Corinthian's clenched teeth.

“Here. I’ve never belonged here. Not with them or him. Neither of us does.” But we did, you and I, together. A breathless laugh puffs from the nightmare’s mouth. He paces backwards, a sneer warping his expression. “Even now… Still, you would rather obey his rules.”

The barely leashed disappointment, the sheer betrayal you hear, guts you. 

“Wait, Cori—”

Your hand sails through empty air. 

“... don’t go.”

Don’t leave me here alone. 

But you’re alone on the stairs leading up to the castle you once believed to be your home.

Nothing, and no one, answers you back. 

an:

y'all wrongfully assumed nothing bad can happen between these two before Dream's capture, and I'm saying bet. this is still pre-capture!Dream we're dealing with after all. he's truly dumb as bricks, and we love to hate him for it.

also, sorry if this was a lil clunky I wrote most of it in one sitting and will be doing a lot of travel over the next few days, so I wanted to get this out before I have to leave because I won't be able to update till Wednesday at the earliest, but we're truly in the trenches now.

heads up!! i made a spotify playlist for this!! well,,, not really for this,,, actually this fic came from that playlist i made bc i brainrotted over morpheus so much

you can find it here! (fair warning tho it becomes a bit angsty in the second part bc of daydreams ive already forgotten about)

also im debating if i should write a sequel to this or just let it be its own thing 🤔

Divine Dream Of The Endless, I Shall Serve You So, My Lord Morpheus.

Pairing: Morpheus/Dream x Gender-Neutral!Reader

Trope: God x Worshipper, God x Devotee

Content Warning: Alluding to religious imagery, nothing spicy tho

Rating: Mature, Comedy (No Smut)

Summary: You’ve devoted your entire mortal being to Morpheus. He doesn’t understand why.

Word Count: 2,760

Disclaimer: This is only for fun and I am in no way shape or form trying to dictate what Morpheus would do!

~

You sighed dreamily as you looked up at the skies, hands clasped together tightly against your chest, whispering words of both tender and intimate worship to the one and only Lord Of Dreams And Nightmares. You don’t exactly dwell on the details of how it started– how this devoutness (some would say, obsession), for a seemingly forgotten god came from.

To put it bluntly, you didn’t mind people’s stares whenever you talked about your savior. Why would their words matter when only his did? Fortunately, your friends still supported you in any way they can (albeit with looks of worry and confusion).

“ ‘Lord’ Morpheus? You mean one of Hypnos’ many children?” Your friend who was particularly interested in mythologies asked. You and them had planned to meet up at your apartment to simply hang out. They figured that you needed at least a little time not wasting your every breath singing phrases to your supposedly fictional god. To their surprise, you vehemently shook your head in “no” before your eyes glistened as you thought about your lord even more. 

“He comes with many names, be it Oneiros, Morpheus, Shaper Of Forms, Kai’ckul,” A dopey smile adorned your face as your friend looked at you with slight concern and disturbance.

“Sandman, Lord Of Dreams, and–” You stopped to take a breath, breathing in heavily before exhaling in deep admiration. “Dream.”

As you talked on and on about how glorious and magnificent your one true savior is, your friend couldn’t help but just stare in shock at how extremely devoted and obsessed you were.

“How did this even start..?” Their question made you halt in your ramblings as your eyes glistened even more (if that was even possible) as you recounted the tale of how you came to know such a sacred figure or deity.

(Your friend could do nothing more but only get goosebumps as you talked more and more about him. It kind of sounded like you were in a cult.)

“Well, of course my lord introduced himself to me in his most beautiful creations…”

… A dream. It all started with a dream. You remember waking up in a meadow that was so peaceful you could just close your eyes and let yourself sink into the soil and let nature take its course. You laid there for a moment, basking in the seemingly absent sun and its rays, sighing deeply and enjoying the peacefulness.

The peacefulness was interrupted by a quiet russell in the bushes ahead of you.

You opened your eyes, slightly inconvenienced at the noise. Begrudgingly, you carefully got up in order to not disturb the local flowers you had spotted near you. As you made your way through the meadow, a being with greatly beautiful features that both scared and intoxicated you came into view.

They lifted their head up, their blonde hair swaying with the wind. Their beautiful gold eyes met with yours, before a cheshire grin took hold on their face.

They said your name in what would be the human equivalent of a purr, causing your face to heat up before you approached them slowly, feeling the light tickle of the grass on your feet.

“Who… Who are you…?” You asked meekly, mesmerized yet overwhelmed by their appearance. The wind pushed you away from them, almost as if warning you of their presence.

They looked pensively at you for a moment, before shrugging and speaking in a silky voice.

“Let’s just say… I’m a prophet that’s been sent to give you a message.” They snickered, before beckoning you to come closer. Their grin never faltered as they spoke, it even looked like it grew wider if you looked close enough. The grass continued to tickle at your feet.

To their surprise, you deadpanned at them and immediately turned on your heel to walk away. You just wanted to enjoy this meadow more yet this weirdo disturbed your peace. Clicking their tongue, they grabbed you by the arm. 

“Wait,” They whispered in your ear, causing shivers to go down your spine. 

“Don’t you want to meet your lord and savior?”

“My lord and… what now?” Their grin grew even wider.

As they recounted stories about this king…. this King Of Dreams, you suddenly felt pulled to his very essence as your heart weighed heavier and heavier as the mysterious beauty described him to you. You tried to shake off this feeling, but you could not stop it from weighing over your shoulders.

A black feather (in the back of your head, it was telling you it was a raven’s) materialized itself in front of you along with a five pointed star. Your eyes darted to the alluring being beside you, before your hand slowly reached for them, as if they were calling you. 

And as soon as you touched both things, you were hit with the overwhelming knowledge and stories about him– about Morpheus. 

His form flashed in your mind, and your brain made sure to trace every little feature it can. From the shine on his ebony hair– to the cool ivory of his soft skin, to the elegant sweep of his raven black coat. And those eyes. Those eyes pierced your very being as you saw dreams, hope, and fantasy swirl into a vortex within them.

You fell to your knees, gasping softly, before looking up at the stranger with the golden eyes beside you. You felt your eyes pricking with tears as you burned his image in your mind. Your lord. Your savior.

They grinned once more, kneeling down and taking your hand in theirs before kissing your knuckles softly. 

“Is this not what you desire?”

You sighed wistfully as you finished the story, your hands clasped tightly together in a habit, while your friend just stared at you with worry and concern.

“Isn’t he wonderful-?” “Dude, I think you should look into paranormal investigators.”

After smacking your friend’s shoulder multiple times as they teased you under their breath whilst laughing, you both resumed doing the activity you planned to do. And it was almost like a switch was turned off. 

Whenever one asks about who you’re praying to, your face contorts into one of ecstasy and love. But if one were to change the subject, you’d get back to being your “normal self.”

Soon, the sky turned into a hue of dancing purples and blues– indicating your friend would have to take their leave. They bid you goodbye, ruffling your hair on their way to the door. You chuckled and waved goodbye, before the switch was turned on again.

You spent the rest of the evening worshiping and bomboarding your dearest deity with compliments. Your lips composed a ballad of praise and flattery entangled into an elegant dance reserved for him and only for him. 

Soon enough, soft murmurs filled the air as you felt overwhelming love and admiration pour from your heart, your eyes pricking with tears once again (ever since you became a proud devotee of his, this always seemed to happen). Gently wiping the tears from your eyes, you checked the time and quickly prepared to go to bed– excited to visit his realm.

~

Morpheus, even as he did not know he was capable of doing such a thing, gulped.

Morpheus heard it– he heard all of it. Your desperate prayers that you chanted like a mantra everyday, your eyes so full of devotion and sincerity. He didn’t know what to feel about it.

Frankly, Morpheus felt awfully awkward and stiff to be the subject of such high praises and worship. Let alone a mere mortal’s worship, in the modern times at that.

If Morpheus had it in him, he would cough awkwardly in his sleeve to disguise his confusion and stiffness, but he could not. All he could do was keep his head high and watch your dreams at the sidelines. And heaven’s name, they were always so detailed and vivid!

He sensed the air shift around him, alerting him of your slumber. Letting curiosity take over him, he personally went to your own dream, though he made sure not to let Lucienne and Matthew know (who were all too familiar with your antics).

Soon, Morpheus came face to face with what looked like a cathedral, temple, and chapel all mixed into one. Its shape was constantly changing in small yet noticeable details, referencing your mind’s subconsciousness on what this certain architecture represented.

Hesitantly, he pushed open the doors, making sure not to make a sound. His eyes scanned the area, looking for you before coming to a rest when he spotted you at the very front, kneeling and clasping your hands tightly like you always did.

Your soft low voice can be heard echoing throughout the building as you let out a breath and looked up at the art piece in front of you. He was pretty sure he could see a few tears stain the bench you were resting on.

Wait a minute.

Morpheus’ gaze followed yours…. Before he came face to face with a stained glass painting of… himself in all his naked glory, with only his helm and pouch among his person. The painting constantly shifted from being stained glass to a canvas painting. 

Morpheus did not know which one was worse or if either were flattering at all. (At least you had the decency to censor his private parts with a leg, he supposed.)

His usual brooding face was filled with bewilderment, intrigue, a bit of flattery, and disturbance. Even in your dreams you choose to worship him? Dream Of The Endless? Not even Desire? Death? Destiny? You chose him of all beings?

Morpheus vaguely hears the loud laughter of his sister as he tells her of your unwavering devotion.

He suddenly came to a still, something in the air had suddenly changed.

 Morpheus’ face of mixed emotions is suddenly replaced with alarm as he gazes at you sharply. Through means even he did not know of, you had somehow sensed he was in your dream. 

Your head quickly snapped back as your eyes met with his. His eyes widened and in an instant, Morpheus fled and dematerialized out of your dream. 

You awoke with a startle as you gasped for air, clutching your chest. You felt disoriented, mouth feeling dry as you looked over at the clock stand. 3:33 am. For a few moments, you focused on evening out your heavy breathing, drinking the cup of water that was on your bed stand. Soon however, your emotion of startle morphed into one of loving as you felt your face heat up. 

Putting a hand to your cheek, you looked above you with such adoration and affection. He visited. You grinned gleefully, bearing the image of a child receiving their favorite toy. You stayed like that for a few beats before deciding to go back to laying down and continue dreaming.

Morpheus, who was standing in the corner of your room could not do anything but watch you in utter bafflement as he saw how true and deep your never-dying devotion was.

Though he was never a being of many words, Morpheus had found himself truly at a loss for words.

~

You felt your own heartbeat quicken as you giddily prepared yourself some breakfast. The King Of Dreams personally visited you! You were chuckling and swaying as you felt your face heating up almost as hot as the eggs you were cooking. The King Of Dreams visited!

From outside your window, a certain talking raven looked at you with what could only be described as judgment and unease before he flew back to his master who was waiting just outside of your house. Morpheus looked at him expectantly, not daring to utter your name. 

If Matthew could, he would scratch the back of his head in nervousness.

“They’re… okay…. Nothin’ suspicious going on apart from the…’’ The raven paused, unsure how to word this to his master who was already disassociating as we speak (can the endless even do that?), “…. usual.” He squeaked (squawked) out.

Morpheus let out a breath he did not know he was holding before he spoke with what sounded like encouragement to himself. “Very well.” He lifted his head up in fake confidence. “I shall speak with them.” Matthew tilted his head. 

“Uh… about what, boss?” About everything. He thought, and as though Matthew could read his mind, the raven nervously perched onto his shoulder as support.

You were happily transferring your breakfast from your pan to your plate, when a figure suddenly appeared in the middle of your kitchen, causing you to shriek and almost drop your breakfast. You quickly placed it on the table (making sure the food was unharmed) before putting your spatula in front of you in defense.

The tall dark man gazed at you pointedly, before raising an eyebrow at the spatula you had pointed at him. Your mind came to a stop as you took in his features. Black hair… Pale skin… A coat so long it pooled at the end…

Your eyes gazed over the raven perched on his shoulder, before you gasped as the fear in your features washed away.

“You’re…. You’re Dream.” You said, breathless.

“And you.. are wishing to defend yourself with that.” Was all he replied, gesturing vaguely to the spatula in your hands. 

You gasped and dropped the spatula. “Forgive me!”

Much to his and the raven’s surprise, you quickly pushed away your spatula and dropped to your knees in front of him, your forehead touching the floor. “My lord.” You said with so much passion and faithfulness, he could do nothing more but to tear his eyes away from your quivering form.

Morpheus stood there stiffly for a few moments, not knowing what to do. Sure, he’s had his fair share of worshippers but it’s been over centuries since he has seen someone so devoted to him in mind, body, and soul. He did not like this feeling. This feeling of uncertainty, of blundering. Morpheus did not like the feeling of being awkward.

He cleared his throat, stopping himself from shifting from one foot to the other. 

“You may rise.” Your eyes locked with him for a few moments, and it took all of his essence to not look away from your intense glistened gaze filled with adoration, passion, and devotion. He inhaled deeply. An endless should not yield to a mere mortal.

You slowly stood up, head still in a bow as a respect from him. You noticed his clenched knuckles and quickly shrank into yourself, not knowing what you had done wrong. Morpheus had taken notice of this and breathed in deeply to compose himself, before relaxing some of his own body parts.

“Tell me, dear dreamer,” He started in his honey-filled voice that you swore you could listen to for days. Faintly, you can hear your friends’ voice in the back of your head saying, “He should start a podcast!” 

“What is the purpose of your rather… intimate prayers to the King Of Dreams… and Nightmares?” Morpheus emphasized the last part as he had felt you often forgot about that. 

You grinned at him dopily, though. Much to his chagrin. “It’s because you’re my lord, Divine Dream Of The Endless.” You replied, tail practically wagging behind you. Matthew could only do what the equivalent of a facepalm to a bird is.

“You are my hope,” You started, “my love,” Morpheus took note of how ambiguous this statement was, “my passion, my dreams.” Your eyes were practically glittering at this point. Matthew swore he could see sparkles coming from around your aura. Morpheus scanned your face, no lie or deception was in sight. He felt his eye twitch, still very much so baffled and puzzled by your actions.

“You have so much devotion to give… yet you save it all for one such as myself.” You nodded, uncaring of judgment from the bird who had been staring at you for the past fifteen minutes,

“…. Why?”

You clasped your hands tightly together closely to your chest, the familiar look of lovesick adoration gracing our features once again. Matthew let out a puff of breath. Oh, brother.

“Because I know you, Divine Dream Of The Endless, My Lord Morpheus.”

Morpheus could not do anything but hopelessly stare at you, still very much shocked and partially flattered he was at your bold confession. 

It took him this much to realize that he’ll never find his words with you. Even if he tried for all eternity.

~~~

author’s note: HOO BOY THIS WAS SO MUCH FUN TO WRITE I HONESTLY JUST DROWNED MYSELF IN MY BRAIN AND THEN LET THE SPIRIT OF SIMPING FOR MORPHEUS POSSESS ME AND THEN BOOM THIS CAME OUT. hope u like it :DD also lmao i am amused at the thought that desire would give dream a human really passionate abt him bc they know how emotionally constipated he is and they just wanna mess with him

"Dream has had a history of romantic involvements, all of which ended poorly for various reasons. Despite his cold exterior, Dream is often passionate and infatuated with his lovers."

SCREAMING

i think it’s beautiful that we (the sandman fandom) collectively looked at dream*, picked him up from the back of his neck like the surly wet cat he is, said “ha stupid little blorbo, spiteful little bastard” and put him in our pocket

(*of the endless)

"Dream has had a history of romantic involvements, all of which ended poorly for various reasons. Despite his cold exterior, Dream is often passionate and infatuated with his lovers."

SCREAMING

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐟.

𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘢 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘢𝘵 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘷𝘦𝘴!

𝐆𝐔𝐈𝐃𝐄.

[ 𝐚 ] — angst

[ 𝐟 ] — fluff

[ 𝐬 ] — smut

more specific trigger warnings will be seen in the fic!

𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒.

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐓𝐇 𝐓𝐎𝐎𝐋 — [ 𝐚 ] , [ 𝐟 ]

𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘮 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘴 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘦𝘦 𝘵𝘰𝘰𝘭𝘴: 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘱𝘰𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘰𝘧 𝘴𝘢𝘯𝘥, 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘮, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘳𝘶𝘣𝘺. 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘪𝘴 𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘳 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘰𝘰𝘭: 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘸𝘪𝘧𝘦. 𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘦𝘦 𝘵𝘰𝘰𝘭𝘴, 𝘩𝘦 𝘪𝘴 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘵𝘩 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘩𝘰𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘩𝘪𝘮

𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍𝐒.

𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐩𝐡𝐞𝐮𝐬' 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐬. — [ 𝐟 ]

𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐩𝐡𝐞𝐮𝐬' 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐬 – 𝐧𝐬𝐟𝐰 𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧. — [ 𝐬 ]  >>> 𝗋𝖾𝖼𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗅𝗒 𝗋𝖾𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗌𝖾𝖽

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐚𝐧'𝐬 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐬. — [ 𝐟 ] 

𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚜𝚘𝚘𝚗:

[ + ] 𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐬𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦

𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘱 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬𝘴 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘧 𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘮𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘯𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘴 𝘥𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘰𝘯𝘴

𝐈𝐌𝐀𝐆𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐒.

𝐦𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞. ⏤ [𝐟]

if you'd like to be tagged in everything i release for the sandman (series parts, headcanons, & imagines), please let me know in this shelf.

if you’d like to be tagged in just a specific series, then please let me know in that specific series’ masterlist.

shelf taglist   @aurorarevenclaw1927, @hueanhdang, @queen-taryn, @cyanide-mustard, @azrielloveselain, @sherazyjade, @missdreamofendless, @lothbrokcore

𝒑𝒍𝒂𝒄𝒆 𝒂𝒏 𝒐𝒓𝒅𝒆𝒓

𝐦𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞.

⊹ pairing: morpheus x reader

⊹ summary: only expecting to meet up with hob, morpheus ends up meeting someone else

⊹ warnings: none

⊹ word count: 799

morpheus follows the red arrow painted on the wall.

he is already late for his meeting—by a century and a few decades—though none of it his fault. but their last fight and his abrupt leaving of hob in the rain in 1889—that, perhaps, was his. but he takes the red direction as a good sign and follow it until it leads him to an inn across the street, appropriately called "the new inn." he doesn't think it's very creative, but he doesn't say anything. he simply walks in.

his eyes first scan over the people sitting on the tables, then those ordering drinks at the bar. he keeps looking until his eyes spot a man at the far corner in a brown jacket scribbling away, a glass of beer half-drunk to his right. when he stops beside his table, the man finally looks up, an amicable glint in his brown eyes as he recognizes him. his smile comes quick after that, reassuring morpheus that he was in fact not angry.

"you're late," hob gadling says.

morpheus chuckles. "it seems i owe you an apology. i've always heard it impolite to keep one's friends waiting."

hob's smile widens. morpheus takes that as a good sign and he claims the seat—his seat—in front of hob.

"so, my friend," morpheus begins, smiling. "how has your life been?"

hob takes a deep breath before launching into all that has happened since they last saw each other. and like the first time hob talked about his life, hob maintains his appreciation for his immortality, his eagerness to keep living, and his excitement for the future, no matter what he went and will go through. morpheus listens quietly, like always, and even asks a question or two and makes several comments to show he is enjoying the conversation.

“i’ve made a new friend, too,” hob says before he takes the last sip of his drink. “she’s coming here, actually. i didn’t know you were showing up today, so i already had plans.”

“then i shall take my leave.”

“oh, no! you should stay for a little bit and meet her.”

“i think our meeting has been enough—”

“but, she’s already here. y/n!”

morpheus turns as he stands, and suddenly he is facing you. you are looking up at him curiously, head tilted slightly to the left in an endearing way. your hair is in a low bun, front strands free and framing your cheeks that makes his hands itch to brush behind your ear. you are pretty, of course, enough to make the men and women passing by to take a second look at you, but it’s the way you’re looking at him, a complete stranger who has always looked scary to others, unafraid and innocently curious, that makes morpheus stop.

then you blink and you smile. it's the kind of smile reserved for strangers who you wished weren't one. it pushes your cheeks up, making the growing pink flush on them more noticeable to his eyes.

“hello,” you say. your voice is gentle—the gentlest anyone has spoken to morpheus in a century—and he is surprised at how he has to put a hand on the table to keep his knees from buckling.

“ah. this is y/n. y/n, this is...an old friend of mine.”

morpheus turns back to hob. “I think i should like a drink, now.”

hob looks at him with confusion. in all their meetings, hob had always set out food for him and he had never touched it. “you—”

morpheus looks pointedly at his empty glass. “and i think you need some more too.”

“if you’re getting this round, hob, then i’d like one too,” you add, glancing at morpheus with a teasing glint in your eyes to say you were in on his game.

morpheus can’t help but look at you pleased and a bit amused.

“you—” hob starts.

“quickly, hob! before a line forms.” you pull hob out of his seat and gently shove him in the bar’s direction.

“he's known her for five seconds and he's already given her his name,” hob mutters as he walks to the bar. “not to mention making me buy her a drink.”

you slide into hob’s seat with a chuckle. “i didn’t get your name,” you say.

morpheus glances at hob, his friend for several centuries who still knew nothing about morpheus, not even his name. Then he thinks about lucienne who, if present, would introduce him by his many formal titles.

but to you, with your lively eyes, pretty smile, and the faint pink on your cheeks that he has already grown to like and which he thinks he’ll like even more if he was the cause of it, he simply says, “morpheus. call me morpheus.”

𝗮𝘂𝘁𝗵𝗼𝗿'𝘀 𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲: 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖿𝗂𝗋𝗌𝗍 𝗁𝖺𝗅𝖿 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗂𝗆𝖺𝗀𝗂𝗇𝖾 𝗇𝖾𝖼𝖾𝗌𝗌𝖺𝗋𝗒 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗁𝗈𝖻 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗆𝗈𝗋𝗉𝗁𝖾𝗎𝗌? 𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗁𝖺𝗉𝗌 𝗇𝗈𝗍. 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗂𝗍 𝗇𝖾𝖼𝖾𝗌𝗌𝖺𝗋𝗒 𝗍𝗈 𝗆𝖾 𝖻𝖾𝖼𝖺𝗎𝗌𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝖾𝗉𝗂𝗌𝗈𝖽𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝖻𝖾𝖺𝗎𝗍𝗂𝖿𝗎𝗅 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗌𝗈 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗂𝗋 𝖿𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗇𝖽𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗉? 𝗒𝖾𝗌.

𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘤𝘬 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘣𝘰𝘰𝘬𝘴 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘮𝘢𝘯 𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘧!

𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐩𝐡𝐞𝐮𝐬' 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐬.

⊹ pairing: morpheus x reader

⊹ summary: how morpheus, dream of the endless, the king of dreams, or as you know him: your love, expresses his love

⊹ warnings: some explicit language, but mostly none (however my inputs are slightly out of control in this one—case and point: this note)

⊹ word count: 3107

𝗴𝗶𝗳𝘁 𝗴𝗶𝘃𝗶𝗻𝗴 you are talking to the king of dreams. the Endless who's responsible for seeing what people dream about, what they're scared of, and managing it. this is also the same Endless who thought it would be a fun idea to put his power into three of his favourite things. of course gifts is going to be his main love language

as the lord of dreams, of course his first instinct is to give you whatever you want. to create whatever you wan. he genuinely finds pleasure in creating something himself to give to you

(dare i say a kink)

has definitely fashioned a dream after you. whatever impact you have on morpheus (make him warmer, kinder, see the beauty in humans and their short but well-lived lives, etc...), that dream because that for others

no need to buy new clothes when he can just make you whatever you want

you want the top half of that one dress but the bottom half of another? check your closet.

you want the new book from your favorite author but it doesn’t release for another six months? check your mail.

you want that chocolate that was discontinued? check your cabinets?

even if you’re not in the palace of the dreaming at all times, he insists that you live in one in the waking world. so he buys/inspires an architect to make you your dream apartment/house

if its an apartment and you live by yourself? still gets you a three bedroom for no fucking reason other than he wants you to be comfortable. there used to be a hill that blocked your window? your architect was inspired to demolish it. you want it back? your architect is inspired to build one

if it’s a house, insert lazy river (honestly, if i had the money to waste and spend, i’d get one for myself. alas, the only lazy river i get is when my sink overflows) cue to you casually floating on a donut floatie while reading a book, doing laps around your house over and over again

if you do a form of art, you’ll get a room dedicated to it. a library. a painter’s studio. a photography room. sculpting nook. all of it and more.

there is nothing you could want that he could not give you

and never ever bring up money unless you want a mysterious and rude amount of money deposited into your account to wake up to

he'll also go to great lengths if you need a particular item (exhibit a: him going into the lake to get gifts for the fates. he did all that for his items, so imagine what he'd do for you)

but you want to know what the best gift he gives you?

his coc

𝗮𝗰𝘁𝘀 𝗼𝗳 𝘀𝗲𝗿𝘃𝗶𝗰𝗲 this man will be begging for you to let him do things for you. in this essay—

(did you see the calliope episode? because that part of episode 1.11 is basically exhibit b for this section)

someone said something mean to you? bam. they will be plagued by nightmares of someone he loves saying those things to him until he dies.

if you’re a better person than him and won’t let him mentally torture people for as long as he likes and thinks they deserve, he’ll omit telling you that he’s torturing people. what you don’t know, won’t hurt, right?

but if you’re flirting with the line that is morally good and you do consent to letting him torture people, he might show you his progress on them and their decaying sanity

“look at what i have done with the love i have for you.”

you still get nightmares when you sleep, not because he wants to hurt you, but because nightmares can actually help you. dreams can inspire us to be better, but so can nightmares. for example, being visited by a nightmare that shows you your fear of failing that test makes you wake up and be motivated to study. what he does do for you is restrain the nightmares? he lets them scare you enough to act as a motivator, but not extremely that you are crippled with fear and anxiety

protective morpheus (currently sobbing)

when you wake and leave the Dreaming, he’s gone but there’s always a cup of coffee with you

acts of service also include making others do acts. rather than get a phone, forces matthew to carry messages between you and him instead.

if you're studying and need information on something, he'll have lucienne prepare a stack of books, and maybe even notes, for you to see to when you return to him in the Dreaming

but the biggest act of service he can do for you is meet your friends

lets you drag him to parties and dinner and brunches

might not socialize (probably will not), and you might find him standing in the corner becoming a shadow, but he won't bother you to leave until you want to

he'll watch you the whole time

takes care of your drinks (and everyone else's)

or, he might follow you around like a shadow. no matter who you talk to, he'll be standing beside you, an arm around your waist

if you're a social butterfly, he admires that about you

if you're more socially introverted, he'll hang out with you in the shadows and leave when you want to, even if you've only been there for five minutes

basically he's a simp—and he might actually proudly admit to being one because who's the one who's dating you in the end?

𝗽𝗵𝘆𝘀𝗶𝗰𝗮𝗹 𝘁𝗼𝘂𝗰𝗵 before his confinement, he wasn’t the most physical person. he wouldn’t pull away, but he didn’t reach for you either, though he always secretly liked it. after his imprisonment, he begins to reach for you. not just that, but he begins to crave your touch. touch is how he reminds himself that he is with you, you are with him, and that he is free

in public, it’s limited but clear that you’re together

the last thing he needs is hearing matthews’ teasing squawks in his ear about morpheus being the endless version of a cat

when lucienne catches pda, she’ll at least be respectful and dignified and not comment, though she will be grinning like a cheshire cat and her eyes will keep looking

your arm around his when walking around

his hand on your back

then your lower back

brushing your hair out of your face

sitting close enough for shoulder and legs to touch

standing close

(once again, I bring up the calliope episode—someone stop me from rewatching that over and over again)

did you see how close they were standing? then, when you thought they were close enough, he takes an even closer step? that. THAT.

whatever concept you have of personal space, a personal bubble, this man is inside it. yes, your arms might be linked while walking. but your sides will be pressed together.

and while it might appear that you're the one who links your arms together, he is the one who already has his elbow slightly bent and held out towards you

when you do hold hands, his thumb brushes over your skin absentmindedly, as if feeling your warmth isn’t enough and it’s a constant reminder of him that you’re there

but when you do the same to him, or gods help him, you squeeze it, he, with every fibre of his being, will feel it and nearly stop from the overwhelming feelings that threaten to send him to the ground

so keep it sparingly

...or not

kisses in public..truthfully, he's probably leaning towards no. full on make out sessions? probably not. when you guys are saying goodbye, i’m seeing more of a tight, slightly awkward dip of the head—a farewell not

but, bringing that calliope episode up once again, he won’t don't anything if you were to initiate it.

kiss on the cheek? you better hold that position for a few fucking seconds so you can let that man close his eyes and savour the intimateness that is the feeling of your soft lips against his cold cheek.

why don’t you press your forehead against the side of his head while you’re at it? you know, when you’re done kissing him but before you pull away. think of it as giving him a few seconds to revert back to cold, formal morpheus, dream of the endless, and not your boyfriend/partner

stares at you when you’re not looking

stares at you even when you're looking

stares down at you when you're asleep in his arms

stares up at you when he's down on his knees between your—sorry, wrong fic

imagine those intense eyes just looking at you and not looking away, not ashamed at taking in the beauty that is his partner

he has no qualms when someone is staring at you, because how he can be blame them

but he does have qualms when their gaze turns into a leer. that's when he'll send a couple nightmares their way for a few directions. not to mention, he'll turn his gaze from you to glare them down, and because they have now deprived him from admiring you for the few seconds this last, he blames it on them and gives them a...gift (and a visit to desire if he finds out they had something to do with it)

on the rare occasion that he's actually using his throne and sitting on it rather than dramatically sitting on the steps after he spread his coat out around him, he might let you sit on his lap (nothing more...in public)

not straddling him—god no—but sitting horizontal so your legs are over his lap and your side is against his chest with your arms around his neck and his arms around your waist

he does that when he needs to relax

he might whisper his problems and insecurities in your ear

but in private—in private—this man is draped over you

he’ll be like a cat who actually likes his owner and will curl up on you

if you’re cuddling, you’ll lie with your head on his chest and his arm around your shoulders, maybe playing with your hair

he may or may not use a bit of his sand to help you sleep if you’re having troubles entering his realm, but with him drawing random shapes on your skin or the steady rise and fall of his chest, or, if you're really lucky, he's reading aloud in that quiet, low, asmr voice of his, you're gone all too quickly

he always feels a bit stiff when the cuddle session begins, but after you lie down on him long enough, his limbs soften before gripping onto you tighter

but back to that no-such-thing-as-a-personal-bubble with him

walls

bringing into evidence, exhibit c: episode 1.03 with johanna constantine

why does he have to be so physically close with everyone (that isn't me)

likes to walk you backwards until you hit a wall

once you hit that wall, he may or may not take an even closer step

then closer

and even closer, but his arms are still in his pockets because he's cool and edgy like that (and intimidatingly hot)

close enough until he's kissing you

then he'll press against you to be even closer

we can unpack the trauma that being separated from everyone he loves for 100 years and being physically separated by a wall of glass some other day. for now, enjoy his closeness

because basically, close is still too far for him

𝗾𝘂𝗮𝗹𝗶𝘁𝘆 𝘁𝗶𝗺𝗲 not 24/7 hanging out, because he is the king of dreams and he has a realm to run, but he does spend his time with you wisely, and just because you're not with him all the time, doesn't mean he isn't thinking about you all the time

his favourite thing is the two of you being in each other’s presence but working on your own things. he appreciates it more than he realizes, and during the times you sit to the side as he makes new dreams, he’ll sometimes put aspects of you in them—intentionally or unintentionally

when you aren't together, he'll still be consumed with thoughts of you

he thinks of you all the time, actually. and because of that, he also talks about you all the time, sometimes subconsciously. and sometimes with no reason at all—or perhaps the only reason he needs to bring you up is because you're you and he's in love with you

"y/n did extremely well on her project, did you hear?" "did you hear about my report on the rogue nightmares, sir?" matthew asks. "she worked very hard on it. i'm proud of her."

thinks about you when doing research in the library with lucienne

wonders about you when going on walks with death

mentions you on dinners with hob

dates with him doesn't have to be the most exciting thrilling thing. in fact, he likes living in domestic bliss with you. doing dishes together. helping you with laundry. watching a movie. people watching. walking your pets.

he usually leaves you alone when you’re awake and uses that time for his duties while you’re busy doing awake things anyway, but when you do fall asleep and are in the dreaming, that’s when the two of you are always together, stuck at the hip (and we're back to the closeness)

takes you out to dinner everyday where he listens to you talk and rant about your day and give you suggestions. he eventually does the same with you, and you become the first person he goes to whenever he needs consultations for his problems

insert jealous hob when he finds him and you eating and morpheus actually talking to you and not just sitting there quietly like with him

but hob gets over it (he doesn’t) and sometimes he’ll join dinner with you guys.

family dinners in his realm with you, hob, death, lucienne, marvin (and only because you invited him), matthew (though morpheus gives him a dog bowl rather than a plate)

during the moments the two of you are together, he treasures and cherishes it

and during the moments when it's just the two of you together, he'll definitely make it worth both your while

drawing it out (if you know what i mean)

and i mean, teasing you for hours and sessions that go until you wake—

𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱𝘀 𝗼𝗳 𝗮𝗳𝗳𝗶𝗿𝗺𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻 ha no. did you see how emotionally constipated this man was? how he can't tell calliope he still loves her, admit to hob that they're friends, and ask for help from death? words are not the dream king's weapon

the most you get is a term of endearment, like my love or my beloved

always 'mine' though

but this Endless is not about to spout off a pride and prejudice speech at you, so don’t bother waking up early and going for a hike. just sleep and hang out with him in the Dreaming instead in silence

however he does have a beautiful voice—one that as his partner, you are allowed to take advantage of. cue making him read pride and prejudice at you (especially that speech: “you have bewitched me, body and soul, and i love…i love…i love you. i never wish to b parted from you from this day on.”) you with his head on your lap, him sitting against a tree with the branches over the both of you for some shade. one hand is holding up the book, the other is absentmindedly twirling your hair. when he finishes the line, he looks down at you, slightly amused but completely enamoured, especially at the giddy expression on your face, and he dips down to kiss you

he tells you that he inspired jane austen to write that speech for you—it’s up to you if you want to believe him or call it bullshit

while he might not be giving love confessions every three seconds, he does give you compliments. and not just when you do something that warrants a compliment, but randomly. because to him, everything you do is majestic and needs to be acknowledged as so

"you're beautiful" when you're in casual clothes, sweats, pyjamas, (or bare)

"what would the world do without you?" when you hold open the door for an elderly couple

and you know he says it against your ear, voice low, his whispered words hot and heavy. maybe even a little raspy—

but just because he might not be the chatterbox on the block, doesn't mean he doesn't want someone talking to him

so don't give him the silent treatment, because when he does, he becomes insufferable to everyone

he's all curt to lucienne. snappy with matthew. demanding with poor marvin. sharp with cain and abel. rude with death. threatening with desire.

no one has nice dreams and nightmares become so much worse

not you, of course. you're still sleeping perfectly fine, but you realize something's wrong when you meet up with your friends and one of them hasn't slept in days while the other hasn't woken up in days

if it's his fault, it might take death for him to realize his mistakes and apologize to you. again, no long speech, just the simple words, "i'm sorry. i was wrong. please forgive me, my love." and considering this man's flaw is his ego, that is more than enough

and if you tell him to say it on his knees he will as he whispers it against your—

but if you're at fault, he won't back down until you apologize. however, he won't leave you alone. he'll always be there in the corner of your eye, waiting for you to apologize. and when you do, he'll purse his lips, nod, and say nothing. but you'll know he's already forgiven you when his eyes soften and he gives you that soft smile that's reserved for so few people

he might not talk to you, but he does want you to talk to him, so ramble away

let's not get started on what he says in private, but i'll tell you this. he isn't so silent anymore, and he will definitely appreciate whatever you tell him in whatever form—and might even strive to create and draw such sounds from you

a plea

a cry

a groan

a whimper

a scream—

in conclusion, this man will love you with every piece of him. (and if i could, i would do the same morpheus please just give me a chance)

𝗮𝘂𝘁𝗵𝗼𝗿'𝘀 𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲: 𝗐𝖾𝗇𝗍 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝗈𝖻𝗌𝖾𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗋 1.06 𝗍𝗈 1.11. 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗐 𝗂𝗌 𝗍𝗈𝗈 𝗀𝗈𝗈𝖽. 𝗂 𝖺𝗆 𝖺𝖻𝗌𝗈𝗅𝗎𝗍𝖾𝗅𝗒 𝖽𝗈𝗐𝗇 𝖿𝗈𝗋 this 𝗆𝖺𝗇. 𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝗆𝗒 𝖼𝗋𝗎𝖽𝖾 𝖺𝗎𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗋 𝗂𝗇𝗉𝗎𝗍𝗌 𝖺 𝗌𝗂𝗀𝗇 𝖺𝗇 𝗇𝗌𝖿𝗐 𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗌𝗂𝗈𝗇 𝗂𝗌 𝗇𝖾𝖾𝖽𝖾𝖽?

𝗂'𝗆 𝖺𝗅𝗌𝗈 𝖺𝖻𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗍𝗈 𝗀𝖾𝗍 𝗈𝗇 𝖺 14𝗁 𝖿𝗅𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍, 𝗌𝗈 𝗂𝖿 𝗂 𝖼𝗋𝖺𝗌𝗁 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖽𝗂𝖾, 𝖺𝗍 𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗌𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗆𝗒 𝗅𝖺𝗌𝗍 𝗀𝗂𝖿𝗍 𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗅𝖽

𝗌𝗂𝗆𝗂𝗅𝖺𝗋 𝖿𝗂𝖼𝗌 𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌: 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘢𝘯'𝘴 𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘱𝘩𝘦𝘶𝘴' 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘶𝘢𝘨𝘦𝘴 𝘯𝘴𝘧𝘸 𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯

𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘤𝘬 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘣𝘰𝘰𝘬𝘴 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘮𝘢𝘯 𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘧!

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐓𝐇 𝐓𝐎𝐎𝐋 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘮 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘴 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘦𝘦 𝘵𝘰𝘰𝘭𝘴: 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘱𝘰𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘰𝘧 𝘴𝘢𝘯𝘥, 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘮, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘳𝘶𝘣𝘺. 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘪𝘴 𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘳 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘰𝘰𝘭: 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘸𝘪𝘧𝘦. 𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘦𝘦 𝘵𝘰𝘰𝘭𝘴, 𝘩𝘦 𝘪𝘴 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘵𝘩 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘩𝘰𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘩𝘪𝘮.

⊹ pairing: morpheus x reader

⊹ tags: angst, established relationship, fluff, longing!morpheus, wife!reader, love triangle (unrequited love version)

⊹ warnings: descriptions of violence, swearing — specific warnings which will be included in that part's warnings section

⊹ last updated: 10.11.22

series theme: where's my love by SYML

𝚍𝚒𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚛𝚞𝚗 𝚊𝚠𝚊𝚢? 𝚍𝚒𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚛𝚞𝚗 𝚊𝚠𝚊𝚢? 𝚒 𝚍𝚘𝚗’𝚝 𝚗𝚎𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚒𝚏 𝚜𝚑𝚎 𝚛𝚊𝚗 𝚊𝚠𝚊𝚢, 𝚒𝚏 𝚜𝚑𝚎 𝚛𝚊𝚗 𝚊𝚠𝚊𝚢, 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚑𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚑𝚘𝚖𝚎

𝐯𝐨𝐥𝐮𝐦𝐞𝐬

❑ 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞/𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞𝐫

❑ 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐢

❑ 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐢𝐢

❑ 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐢𝐢𝐢 → recently released

❑ 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐢𝐯 → coming soon

❑ 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐯

❑ 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐯𝐢

𝗮𝘂𝘁𝗵𝗼𝗿'𝘀 𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲: 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖺𝖽𝗏𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗎𝗋𝖾 𝗂𝗌 𝖺𝖻𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗍𝗈 𝖻𝖾𝗀𝗂𝗇! 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗐𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝖻𝖾 𝗆𝗒 𝖿𝗂𝗋𝗌𝗍 𝖺𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗆𝗉𝗍 𝖺𝗍 𝗐𝗋𝗂𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺 𝗌𝖾𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗌. 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗄 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖺𝗌 𝗆𝗒 𝗍𝗋𝖺𝗂𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝖾𝗅𝗌 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝖺𝗇𝗒 𝖿𝗎𝗍𝗎𝗋𝖾 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗄𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗂 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗄 𝗈𝗇. :) (𝖺𝗍 𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗌𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍'𝗌 𝗁𝗈𝗐 𝖨'𝗆 𝗀𝗈𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗄 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗌𝗈 𝖨 𝖽𝗈𝗇'𝗍 𝖻𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗄 𝖽𝗈𝗐𝗇 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝗉𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗌𝗎𝗋𝖾.)

𝗂𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎'𝖽 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝖻𝖾 𝖺𝖽𝖽𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗍𝖺𝗀𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗍 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗍𝗁is series, 𝗉𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗌𝖾 𝗅𝖾𝗍 𝗆𝖾 𝗄𝗇𝗈𝗐 𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗌!

𝙨𝙝𝙚𝙡𝙛 𝙩𝙖𝙜𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩: @aurorarevenclaw1927, @hueanhdang

𝙨𝙚𝙧𝙞𝙚𝙨 𝙩𝙖𝙜𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩: @justviktormlolm, @amirahroronoa, @sunna-fangirls, @mrs-captainsteverogers, @absbdbshhs, @urbanbts, @theamuz, @ac-procrastinator-13, @thegreatestsandwich, @julegrav009-blog, @harrypotter55, @blossomedfloweroflove, @lestaikkeullsokka, @thetrashypanda423, @ponyboys-sunsets, @izzicle, @dilfsandtherapy, @mischiefmanaged71, @grippleback-galaxy, @cynic-spirit, @thecrazytealady, @violet-19999, @junobutbored, @avanisbored, @redskull199987, @bilesxbilinskixlahey, @ladymoon666, @celestialceremonials, @mm2305, @ttae-yong, @thegreatestsandwich, @notabotiswear, @boofy1998, @crimsonsabbath, @megumimind, @itsnanabun, @spygrrl99, @regulusblacksimpsblog, @maverey, @storm4433, @writerinlearning, @lokigirlszendaya, @thesadvampire, @thestarsanctuary, @floreoo, @pinkpunkdynamite, @jesllianaquilesrolon, @aegeanblues, @anjimimimoo, @imaginativefanatic, @book-place, @littlemoistcarrot, @lorosette, @wondermia69, @commanderfreethatdust, @flowerpersephone, @carrietrekkie, @mividaesmeh,

@tea-effect, @lex-the-flex, @dreamamubarak, @witchxlove, @mxtokko, @i-x4o, @ponyboys-sunsets, @thewrittingaddict, @howlerwolfmax, @skarlletthepig, @intothesoul, @i-love-it-loud

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐓𝐇 𝐓𝐎𝐎𝐋 | 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞/𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞𝐫.

⊹ pairing: morpheus x reader

⊹ summary: how the past hundred years have been for the wife, the king of dreams, and the nightmare

⊹ warnings: cursing, description of graphic violence

⊹ word count: 788

⊹ up next: prologue/teaser

a wife is on the run, and has been for the last hundred years.

she stopped briefly in boston, and now she pays the price. she looks on at the scene as two women and one man recreate the painting she stopped for to admire. 𝘫𝘶𝘥𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘴𝘭𝘢𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘰𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘯𝘦𝘴**, was the name of the painting. 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘢𝘯𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘯 𝘮𝘶𝘳𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳, **will be the name of the crime when news of it breaks out.

she can’t take her eyes away. even when she whispers at them to stop, they continue. the man still lies there, lifeless eyes boring into the wife’s for help she can no longer give. the woman is still hacking away at the man’s neck, and she won’t stop until the head is completely severed. the third woman is still holding the man down, as if he’s still resisting and not dead.

“i’m sorry,” the wife whispers. her words have no effect on any of them. not anymore. she hears voices start to shout. alarms begin to blare.

she takes a step back, trying not to throw up as she steps right into a puddle of the man’s blood. as she flees, her right foot leaves behind bloody prints on the floor.

this all happened because of her, of course. all because she thought she could rest for two seconds and stop running. she won’t make that mistake again.

she’ll keep running and won’t stop, as that’s what he last asked of her.

the king of dreams is trapped, and has been for the last hundred years.

in a basement in london, trapped in a glass bubble built by an amateur magician that was rodrick burgess, and confined by his pathetic son, alex burgess, who’s only act of freedom from his father had been to follow into his father’s footsteps, the king of dreams is breaking free.

he has more pressing matters to attend to, but his wounded pride, his ego, and his anger at being kept away from his wife, brings him to bestow a gift upon alex burgess so he may feel a fraction of the despair he had been forced to endure. only when he is done, then he returns home.

the black sand is cold and hard underneath him. this is the first touch of comfort he’s felt in a hundred years. lucienne, his ever so faithful librarian, rushes to his side and breathes in relief at the sight of him. he won’t admit it, but seeing there brings relief to him.

but it is _her _name he whispers first. he doesn’t need lucienne’s verbal answer to know. he is the dreaming, and the dreaming is him. he can feel the ghost of her touch over his kingdom, just as he can feel that she is not there. the mere thought that someone has taken her is enough for him to swallow an inch of his pride and accept lucienne’s help in standing. he is too weak now, but he won’t be for long.

he is coming for her, as that’s what he last promised her.

a nightmare is free, and has been for the last hundred years.

he sits in the apartment of his current lover. rain drips down the window, but the view of the new york skyline at night is just as visible as ever. the city is big and crowded, perfect for him.

“he’s free,” he says, slightly disappointed. has a hundred years passed that quickly? “he’s out of his cage.”

he wipes away a drop of blood trailing down from his eyes before standing. in the corner of his apartment, the news is on. tonight’s headline: insane women murders stranger. like all the past victims of this serial killer, they were driven insane, causing them to harm themselves and others. the nightmare smirks at the only mark the killer left behind: a trail of one right footprint in the same shoe size as he sent her last christmas.

“so, i’m afraid i’m gonna have to go,” he tells his lover. he moves to the mirror and buttons up his shirt. he needs to look his best for what was to come. for _him _and her. “and i’m not gonna stop until i’ve reshaped this world to look just like me.”

a flash of lightning outside illuminates his reflection. this nightmare, rather than possessing eyeballs, have mouths in their place instead. the nightmare slips his shades on before brushing his lover’s cheek as he walks past. his lover stares ahead without moving, his eyes missing from his sockets.

he will do whatever it takes to be free, as that’s what they made him to be.

𝗮𝘂𝘁𝗵𝗼𝗿'𝘀 𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲: 𝗂𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝗆𝖾𝖺𝗇𝗍 𝗍𝗈 𝖻𝖾 𝖺 𝗍𝖾𝖺𝗌𝖾𝗋, 𝗐𝗁𝗒 𝗂𝗌 𝗂𝗍 788 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝖽𝗌? 𝗐𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝖽𝗈𝖾𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗆𝖾𝖺𝗇 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗍𝗌??? (𝗂’𝗆 𝖺 𝖼𝗁𝗋𝗈𝗇𝗂𝖼 𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗐𝗋𝗂𝗍𝖾𝗋, 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍’𝗌 𝗐𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗂𝗍 𝗆𝖾𝖺𝗇𝗌.)

𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗍𝖾𝖺𝗌𝖾𝗋 𝗂𝗌 𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗋𝖽 𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗌𝗈𝗇 𝗌𝗈𝗅𝖾𝗅𝗒 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝖽𝗋𝖺𝗆𝖺𝗍𝗂𝖼 𝗉𝗎𝗋𝗉𝗈𝗌𝖾𝗌. 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗍𝗌 𝗐𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝖻𝖾 𝗐𝗋𝗂𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗇 𝗂𝗇 𝗌𝖾𝖼𝗈𝗇𝖽 𝗉𝗈𝗏 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗂𝖿𝖾'𝗌, 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖺𝗅𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗇𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗆𝗈𝗋𝗉𝗁𝖾𝗎𝗌.

𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘤𝘬 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘣𝘰𝘰𝘬𝘴 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘮𝘢𝘯 𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘧!

𝙩𝙖𝙜𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩: @justviktormlolm, @aurorarevenclaw1927, @amirahroronoa, @sunna-fangirls, @mrs-captainsteverogers, @absbdbshhs, @urbanbts, @theamuz, @ac-procrastinator-13, @thegreatestsandwich, @julegrav009-blog, @harrypotter55, @blossomedfloweroflove, @lestaikkeullsokka, @thetrashypanda423, @ponyboys-sunsets, @izzicle, @dilfsandtherapy, @mischiefmanaged71, @grippleback-galaxy, @cynic-spirit, @thecrazytealady, @violet-19999, @junobutbored, @avanisbored, @redskull199987, @bilesxbilinskixlahey, @ladymoon666, @celestialceremonials, @mm2305, @ttae-yong

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐓𝐇 𝐓𝐎𝐎𝐋 | 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐢.

⊹ pairing: morpheus x reader

⊹ summary: you're missing, and morpheus nearly goes insane in longing and desperation in his search for you

⊹ tags: angst, morpheus copes (he doesn't) with you gone, established relationship

⊹ warnings: spoilers for 1.06, 1.07, & 1.08

⊹ word count: 3039

⊹ previous part: prologue/teaser

⊹ up next: part ii

⊹ now playing: everything i wanted by billie eilish

𝚒 𝚑𝚊𝚍 𝚊 𝚍𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚖 𝚒 𝚐𝚘𝚝 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚒 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚒 𝚠𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚞𝚙, 𝚒 𝚜𝚎𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚖𝚎

The first person Morpheus swallows his pride and asks for helping regarding your whereabouts, is his sister.

After enduring an earful from her not of not trusting her and being too prideful to ask for help when you were concerned, Death reassures him that she did not reap you in the years you were gone.

"I kept my word to you, brother. I did not touch Y/N. But I have reaped many who came across her," Death says.

"Y/N killed them?" Morpheus asks, surprised. Though the laws that keep an Endless from hurting mortals does not apply to you, you tried not to take their lives anyway.

"No. At least, not directly." Death drops her voice to a whisper. "The humans call her the Lady of the Whispers. She's a notorious serial killer, Dream!"

"Have you talked to her?"

Death shakes her head. "She hasn't allowed me to get close to her. I sometimes see her when I reap the humans she leaves behind, but she never says anything to me. She just runs away."

They are silent for a while. Morpheus aggressively throws a chunk of bread at a pigeon, hitting it on the head, while Death makes small conversation with a man playing soccer.

"I think she's using her powers," she says finally.

"She would never abuse it," he says immediately. He might not know what you were doing or why you were doing it, but his trust in your remains unwavering. There was a reason you possessed the power you did.

"You need to find her, brother," Death says. "Before someone finds her first."

She faces the street as a car collides with the man playing soccer. Unbeknownst to the man in question, he jogs over with the ball, whistling at how the car had missed him. Death gives him a warm smile and links their arms as she proceeds to explain while they walk away.

Morpheus' gaze darkens at her back, and for a moment, his eyes look like hot, twin white stars. "I know," he says quietly.

Hob Gadling is the second person he swallows his pride for you for.

"I haven't seen her since the last time I saw the two of you together a few centuries back," Hob says.

'A few centuries back' was when he and Hob had a fight after Hob accused him of being in need of companionship. In Morpheus' defence, he was more prideful then. More than that, to suggest he was lonely despite having you, his wife, was an insult to you that he would not stand for. It had been you who demanded he apologize, but by the time he followed you to the pub (his punishment had been your refusal to hold his arm) Hob was gone.

"You better show up here in a hundred years," you told him firmly.

"For you, my love, I will. Now give me your hand before someone mistakes you for not being taken for."

You lightly hit his arm. "Not for me, Morpheus! For Hob! He's your friend, whether you like it or not. And you need someone apart from me. Who will you have if something happens to me and we are apart?"

He hadn't glorified that question with an answer. He simply grabbed your hand himself and refused to let go.

His capture led him to missing his and Hob's next appointment and being late to fulfilling his promise to you. But here he was, fulfilling it, and you weren't here to see it or to finally offer your hand.

Morpheus sighs heavily as he straightens in his seat.

"Just because I haven't seen Y/N, doesn't mean I haven't heard about her," Hob says. Though the New Inn is boisterously loud, Hob drops his voice to a hush and leans forward. "I hear there's a bounty on her head."

Morpheus looks at him warningly. "Have you tried to claim it?"

"What? No! Of course not! The opposite. She's more my friend than you are. I tried to offer her refuge, but she never replied to my attempts at contacting her. I did manage to see her once by pure coincidence."

Morpheus doesn't bother trying to contain his eagerness. "How did she look? Did she say anything about me?"

"She looked terrible," Hob admits. "Exhausted and always looking over her shoulder. And no, she didn't say anything about you. She didn't say anything at all, actually. It was quite odd. Maybe her tongue got cut off—"

"I'll cut your tongue off, Hob Gadling, if you dare voice such insolent thoughts again about my wife."

Hob chugs the rest of his drink in apology. But Hob's words aren't the first time Morpheus heard you refusing to talk to anyone. The few dreams and nightmares who also caught a fleeting glimpse at you also reported that although you recognized them, you didn't utter a single word to them. A normal person would have taken this as confirmation that you had turned your back on your duties as his wife and Lady of the Dreaming. But Morpheus knew you. He had loved you for more years than you were official his. That, plus the murders associated in your wake, causes the suspicions in Morpheus to grow.

He needs to find you.

Sooner rather than later, if not for his sanity, then for the good of the waking world.

Morpheus enters his throne room, exhaustion and longing for you nearly bringing him to his knees.

He doesn't have the strength to walk all the way up his staircase, so he settles for sitting on the fourth step—your step—and drapes his coat around him.

His throne room is large and barren—a sign that your touch was missing. When you were by his side, you had conjured ivies to scale the walls and flowers to drip from the ceiling. The multi-coloured lights from the stained glass windows would blend nicely with the streaks of gold from the candlelights and chandeliers you had placed throughout. The mere presence of you brought him warmth.

Morpheus doesn't think he'd ever felt as cold as he does now.

Outside, he hears hushed whispers between Mervyn, Matthew, and Lucienne. They are debating whether not is the right time or not to ask him about you, or if that'll earn them a front row seat to being unmade.

Truthfully, Morpheus doesn't know what he'll do either. All he knows is that he's so tired and misses you, like a starving man longs for food or a drowning man desperate for air. The pain of missing you makes it hard to move, but it's the thoughts of you that threatens to drive him insane—neither is a good state to be in for the Endless responsible for everyone's dreams.

If they were drawing sticks, Lucienne must have pulled the short end.

She sticks her head past the door, not daring to take another step. "May I disturb you, lord?" she says, attempting to hide the fear in her voice by sounding cool and formal as she normally does.

Though he barely had two seconds to rest, he pushes himself up. "Speak, Lucienne."

She takes a deep breath before crossing the room to him. She talks about menial things first, like how Cain and Abel seem to have accepted his apology with Goldie and how the dream folk are planning to throw a celebration for his return, which they have invited him to come.

He says no. It was always you who dragged him to these things, and you are not there.

"What is it you really want to ask, Lucienne?"

"It's not only from me," she says slowly, "but your other subjects as well."

Morpheus already knows what she's going to say, and at the thought of your name, his exhaustion grows heavier against his limbs, threatening to send him to the floor.

"Now that your tools have been returned to you, and many of your subjects are back in the Dreaming, the dream folk are wondering where Lady Y/N is and why you have not come for her yet."

"I do hope that question is not from lack of faith that I have abandoned my wife," Morpheus says sourly, although he knows that is not the case. Lucienne had already been by his side when he met you. She witnessed the years he pined after you, counselled him into acting on his emotions and courting you, and it was she who officiated your wedding and watched the blissful years after. While he appreciated Lucienne's loyalty to him as his librarian, he also knows Lucienne and you had become close enough to be friends, to the point that she would sometimes let go of formalities and call you by her name. If anyone was to know how much you meant to him, it would be her.

"Of course not, lord," Lucienne says, as expected, "but it has been days since you have returned to full strength. How can you bear to be away from her any more than you have to?"

"I cannot."

Lucienne pauses. "My lord?"

"I cannot bear being from her for so long," Morpheus admits, and he lets his tiredness show by taking his seat on your step once more. He sighs heavily as he looks up at her. "She is my wife, Lucienne."

"Perhaps you can ask your siblings—"

"No." Morpheus scowls at the idea. He had already done enough by asking Death and a human. If any of his other siblings found out he was incapable of finding you—Desire, especially—then there would be real cause to fear for your safety.

"I can still feel her," Morpheus murmurs. "She is somewhere out there, alive. I will find her, Lucienne. You can tell my subjects that their lady will be back."

"You know," Lucienne says after a pause. "That was the last thing Y/N said about you."

Morpheus tries not to recoil from what her words imply. According to Lucienne, you had not entered the Dreaming since your last attempt at rescuing him, which was also the day Jessamy died. As heartbroken as he was witnessing the death of his beloved raven, he was even more terrified at what could have happened to you that prevented you from protecting Jessamy. You never would have let her go down to that basement unguarded and unprotected. You cared for the bird more than Morpheus did. Whatever happened that day, whatever stopped you from going downstairs, must be linked to whatever you were running from.

But what? What could you possibly be running from?

Was it him? Had the century of being apart taught you that you didn't love him as much as you thought you did, and like his other dreams and nightmares, you took your shot at freedom and left? Was he the threat you were running from?

"I will find her," Morpheus repeats. "But wherever she is, she must be safe." Lucienne frowns but he continues. "No one knows who she truly is to me, and she would not have told others. She has to be safe—"

"She is not safe, lord Morpheus."

He looks up at her immediately. Suddenly, he's standing before her and Lucienne takes a step back in surprise.

"What did you say?" he asks lowly, the words scratching his throat.

"Forgive me, lord. I thought you were aware."

He shoots her a look, as if to remind her where he had been the past century. "Aware of what, Lucienne?"

"There is a bounty on lady Y/N's head."

Morpheus struggles not to stagger back. Was this another one of Desire's games? Perhaps Desire had looped Despair into one of their ploys? Though Desire had not been invited to the wedding, Delirium had been, and he had no doubt Desire's had intimidated their youngest sibling into telling them everything.

"For what?" he manages. "Because she's my wife?"

"For being your wife," Lucienne answers, "and for being one of your tools."

For a few seconds, he is unable to speak. He simply stares at Lucienne, waiting for her to say she was joking or mistaken, but she does neither. The secrecy of you being one of his tools was the only thing Morpheus had to reassure himself that you were safe. But if that was out, then...

Lucienne meets his gaze, reaffirming the truth behind her words.

"That's not possible," he finally says. "Few people knew of that ceremony. Fewer still attended and can confirm it happened."

"It was the Corinthian, sir."

The Corinthian. His pride and joy. His greatest masterpiece and the first nightmare you helped him with.

His rogue nightmare left a bitter taste in Morpheus' mouth. The Corinthian had been at the power transference ceremony—a sign that Morpheus truly loved his nightmare the most. His defiance was already heartbreaking enough, but now this? You? This was unforgivable.

Morpheus didn’t even want to imagine what sort of prize could be promised for the wife of an Endless, let alone for being one of his tools. Was that what he left you? Loneliness and enemies? Did you resent him for that? Was that why you had not returned or called to him for help? He had no reason for falling out of love with you in the century you were apart, but it seems that you had plenty of reasons to fall out of love with him.

"My theory is that something happened between him and her the day she ran away. What, I do not know. But Matthew reported the same thing: he heard whispers of a bounty placed on the wife of the Dream King by the Corinthian."

Rage simmered in Morpheus, and the Dreaming responded as such. Across his realm, the land trembled. Volcanoes bloomed and exploded, lava rapidly surging forth as a message to the Dreaming’s inhabitants that all was at the mercy of their king and his rapidly declining patience at his missing wife.

But in the library, Morpheus remains eerily still. "You may go conduct that census now, Lucienne," he says.

She stands there for a few more moments, as if wondering whether she should press the problem that was you. Thankfully, her years of servitude has taught her of his limits, and she departs with a dip of the head.

Morpheus waves his hand, locking the doors behind her. Only then does he released a long, exhausted breath as he sinks to his back on your step. A hot tear spills over his cheek as he touches the step, remember the days you and him have spent on it. Talking sometimes, kissing on others. He can feel your lips on him still, but it's starting to fade like a dream.

He is drowning in his grief for you. If missing you had not been enough, now he is plagued with fear that perhaps you did not want to be found. Did you blame him for your predicament? Did you hate him? Morpheus doesn't think he'd be able to handle not seeing love in your eyes if you look at him? And if he sees resentment, he thinks that might just break him.

How painful it is, he thinks, to grieve for the living. How unbearably painful it is.

It takes Lucienne a few days to conduct the census.

When she finishes, Morpheus is in a slightly better mood. She talks about the census first, then the three major missing arcana: Gault, the Corinthian, and Fiddler's Green. One was unsurprising, the second expected, but Fiddler's Green was hurtful. It was in Fiddler's Green he had married you, after all. Now he had lost another part of you.

When Lucienne brings up the vortex, Morpheus is smiling as he corrects her on the vortex not being an 'it' but a 'she'.

Lucienne eyes him suspiciously. "You don't seem worried."

"Rose Walker will be my answer and solution," Morpheus declares.

"But she is a vortex. She is not a solution. She is one of our problems!"

"You said it yourself, Lucienne. She is a vortex. Sooner or later, she will bring them all to her: Gault, the Corinthian, Fiddler's Green. My wife."

Lucienne is struck silent for a few moments, and he can see that is she is torn between listening to her duty as the Dreaming’s librarian and her loyalty to you as her friend. In the end, she picks duty, and Morpheus does not blame her for that. Neither would you, if you heard her. After all, you would have said the same thing.

"But she could destroy the realm first," Lucienne says nervously.

"I will take that risk if it means finding her. I've built my realm once and rebuilt it another time. With my wife back at my wise, both will be easier to accomplish."

"But sir—"

"I will hear none of this any longer. You may go tell my subjects that the Lady of the Dreaming will be returning son." Morpheus smiles towards the ceiling at his conjured image of Rose Walker. "I will ensure it."

When Rose Walker dreams her way to his throne room, uninvited but welcomed, Morpheus' worry about the vortex' growing powers is superseded by the hope that you will find your way to her soon enough.

"She shouldn't be here," Lucienne says agitatedly.

"No," Morpheus says, eyeing his solution with fascination, "but I should like her to stay."

As he explains to her what and where she is, he thinks of you. "I need you to look for someone for me, Rose Walker," Morpheus says as he finishes circling her. "Y/N. She is neither a dream or a nightmare. She is my wife. When you find her, you must tell me. But first, I need you to tell her something."

Morpheus bends close and Rose and whispers the words into her ear. he waits for her to nod in understanding before straightening.

"But how will I know who she is?" Rose asks. "Do you have a picture?"

Morpheus turns towards the painting on the wall of you. He points to the marble statue in the midst of the water fountain that is of your body, which he had carved with his own bare hands from memory. Then he summons a flower to spiral down from the ceiling and land in Rose's palm. All mementos of you.

"Believe me," Morpheus says with a smile. "You'll know it's her. My wife is...unmistakeable."

"Can I have her name, at least?"

"Y/N," Morpheus says tenderly. He always says your name that way. Borderline a reverent whisper like you are the goddess he's praying to. "Her name is Y/N."

ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ɴᴇxᴛ ᴘᴀʀᴛ…

Your throat is throbbing. You touch your throat gingerly, and you don't need a mirror to know that the handprints of that man are visible against your skin. But even as you cough, the motion raw against your raw throat, you don't stop running.

You catch sight of a hotel, and you feel relief as you turn away from the road and bolt up the hill to the building. It'll be easier to hide in one of the many rooms, but the guarantee of people in the hotel was cause for concern. But as long as you keep your mouth shut, all should be fine.

You slow into a walk as you pass a trio of people in the parking lot. Name tags dangle from their chest, one of who is named, The Music Teacher. In the centuries you've been alive, you've never heard such an in-depth and seriously spoken topic about their favourite methods of cooking barbecue and collecting grills.

As you hurry inside, you pass by a sign that reads: CEREAL CONVENTION.

ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴄᴏɴᴛɪɴᴜᴇᴅ…

09/03/22 𝗲𝗱𝗶𝘁: 𝗂𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗍 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖿𝗂𝗋𝗌𝗍 24 𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗋𝗌 𝗂𝗍 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗈𝗎𝗍, 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗆𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽 𝖺𝖻𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗈𝗇𝗒𝗑 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖻𝗅𝖺𝖼𝗄 𝗃𝖺𝗒. 𝗂'𝗆 𝗈𝖿𝖿𝗂𝖼𝗂𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗒 𝗆𝗈𝗏𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗁𝗂𝗆 𝗍𝗈 𝗆𝗒 𝗈𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗌𝖾𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗌, 𝗌𝗈 𝖽𝗈𝗇'𝗍 𝖻𝖾 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝖿𝗎𝗌𝖾𝖽 𝗂𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖽𝗈𝗇'𝗍 𝗌𝖾𝖾 𝗁𝗂𝗆 𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗍 𝖺𝗇𝗒𝗆𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝗈𝗋 𝖺𝗇𝗒 𝖿𝗎𝗍𝗎𝗋𝖾 𝗈𝗇𝖾𝗌!

𝗮𝘂𝘁𝗵𝗼𝗿'𝘀 𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲: 𝗐𝗁𝗒 𝖽𝗂𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖽𝗋𝖺𝖿𝗍 𝗋𝖾𝖿𝗎𝗌𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝗌𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝗍𝗐𝗂𝖼𝖾? 𝖺𝗆 𝗂 𝖻𝖾𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗉𝗎𝗇𝗂𝗌𝗁𝖾𝖽 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗍𝖺𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗌𝗈 𝗅𝗈𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈 𝗉𝗈𝗌𝗍? 𝗈𝗋 𝖻𝖾𝖼𝖺𝗎𝗌𝖾 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗈𝗇𝖼𝖾, 𝗂 𝖽𝗈𝗇'𝗍 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝖺𝗇𝗒 𝗌𝗇𝖺𝗋𝗄𝗒 𝗌𝗆𝗎𝗍𝗍𝗒 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗌 𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗈𝗇𝖾?

𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗐𝗁𝗒 𝗂𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗍 𝗌𝗈 𝗅𝗈𝗇𝗀? 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖺𝗇𝗌𝗐𝖾𝗋𝗌 𝗍𝗈 𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗌𝖾 𝗊𝗎𝖾𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌 𝗂𝗌 𝗀𝖾𝗇𝗎𝗂𝗇𝖾 𝖼𝖺𝗎𝗌𝖾 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝖼𝖾𝗋𝗇. 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝗅𝖾 𝗂 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝖺 𝗆𝗂𝖽𝗅𝗂𝖿𝖾 𝖼𝗋𝗂𝗌𝗂𝗌 𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝖿𝗎𝖼𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗎𝗆𝖻𝗅𝗋, 𝗂 𝗁𝗈𝗉𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝖾𝗇𝗃𝗈𝗒𝖾𝖽!

𝖿𝗒𝗂 𝗂 𝗀𝗈𝗍 𝗌𝗎𝗇𝖻𝗎𝗋𝗇𝗍 𝖾𝗑𝖼𝖾𝗉𝗍 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝗅𝗈𝗇𝗀 𝗌𝗍𝗋𝗂𝗉 𝗎𝗉 𝗆𝗒 𝗅𝖾𝗀 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝗂 𝗉𝗎𝗍 𝗌𝗎𝗇𝗌𝖼𝗋𝖾𝖾𝗇. 𝗍𝖺𝗅𝗄 𝖺𝖻𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗎𝗀𝗅𝗂𝖾𝗌𝗍 𝗍𝖺𝗇 𝗅𝗂𝗇𝖾 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋. 𝗍𝗈𝗈𝗄 𝗁𝗈𝗍 𝗀𝗂𝗋𝗅 𝗌𝗎𝗆𝗆𝖾𝗋 𝗅𝗂𝗍𝖾𝗋𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗒. 𝗌𝖾𝗇𝖽 𝗉𝗋𝖺𝗒𝖾𝗋𝗌.

╰┈➤ 𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘤𝘬 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘰𝘰𝘭 𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵!

╰┈➤ 𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘤𝘬 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘣𝘰𝘰𝘬𝘴 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘮𝘢𝘯 𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘧!

𝙩𝙖𝙜𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩: @justviktormlolm, @aurorarevenclaw1927, @amirahroronoa, @sunna-fangirls, @mrs-captainsteverogers, @absbdbshhs, @urbanbts, @theamuz, @ac-procrastinator-13, @thegreatestsandwich, @julegrav009-blog, @harrypotter55, @blossomedfloweroflove, @lestaikkeullsokka, @thetrashypanda423, @ponyboys-sunsets, @izzicle, @dilfsandtherapy, @mischiefmanaged71, @grippleback-galaxy, @cynic-spirit, @thecrazytealady, @violet-19999, @junobutbored, @avanisbored, @redskull199987, @bilesxbilinskixlahey, @ladymoon666, @celestialceremonials, @mm2305, @ttae-yong

𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐩𝐡𝐞𝐮𝐬' 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐬 𝐈𝐈.

⊹ pairing: morpheus x reader

⊹ summary: the much awaited, i-went-to-hell-for-inspiration, morpheus' love languages part 2: nsfw version. how he expresses his love languages when fucking you

⊹ tags: nsfw, morpheus is an adoring, reverent, woman-worshipping Endless who's always on his knees, the king of dreams is a giver

⊹ warnings: explicit language, explicit content (obviously), minors stay back (not that ever stopped me. if you are a minor, just know that sex might not be like this and do more research)

⊹ word count: 3027

⊹ previous part: morpheus' love languages part i.

⊹ now playing: take me to church by hozier

words of affirmation though he isn't the most vocal as an Endless, he does become vocal as a lover. or, specifically, he wants you to be. remember when i said he likes it when you talk to him? this applies here. (of course, by the time he's done with you, you won't be able to form words. but he'll accept desperate mewls of his name.)

call him by his name

not dream, but morpheus

gasp, groan, grunt, scream, whimper, murmur — every adjective of ‘said’ — say it in that way. he loves when you say his name and he the different ways you say it is akin to music. and if you whisper it right in his ear, his name hot against him so he can feel your desperation, he might just give you what you want and fuck you harder and faster

you tried to hold your moans back once

biggest mistake of your life

it doesn’t matter if you were only trying to hold back because you were in the library and mervyn, lucienne, and matthew were just three shelves down having a very serious meeting

though normally private in pda, perhaps that day morpheus was too frustration in being king and just wanted to be your lover. only a king had to worry about looking good in front of others. as your lover, all he had to worry about was pleasing you, and hearing the sounds you make was his signal that he was doing well

you thought that the sound of the shelves being rocked, your heavy breathing, and a book falling every now and then was telling enough what you were doing, and yes, you were a bit embarrassed to be found in such a compromising position with your skirt bunched up to your waist, one leg hooked around morpheus, and your head tilted to the sky as he attacked your neck

so when you bit down on your lip and slapped a hand over your mouth to hide your moans?

he is insulted (and you know how petty he gets) and fucks you even harder and faster than before

hoists both of your legs around his waist so he’s even closer and hits a spot in you that has you moaning obscenely and seeing stars. there’s no use hiding or explaining that away, but you don’t even think of the others anymore. all you can focus on is how he slams repeatedly into you again and again, one had rubbing furious circles on your clit, whispering orders in your ear to never deprive him of your sounds ever again

that as his lover, he owns every part of you (he definitely owns me), including those delicious sounds he purposefully and rightfully earns

and when you start making those sounds again, he is so fucking pleased with himself that he gets even harder

your hand falls from your mouth on its own and finds his hair, tugging on it, harder and harder as you reach your peak and he follows shortly after when you clench around him—all done with a loud cry of his name from you and your name coming out as a pleading grunt from him

when the two of you finally catch your breath, you peek around the shelves and find them gone

morpheus smirks at you before dragging you to the table for part two since “they’re not here anyway.”

always asks for consent

no matter how caught up he is in his emotions or pleasure, always asks you if you’re doing alright and if he’s doing alright touching your body

this man has a praise kink. tell him he’s doing well

tell him he’s fucking you so good as tears run down your cheeks and he’ll all but cum in you in that moment

tell him you were made for him as he bottoms out in you, and he’ll flip you over to your stomach and have his way and ruin you, leaving you a rambling mess who’s only coherent thought is his name

“you can take a little bit more of me, can’t you?” he whispers against your ear as you bite your lip to hold back your whimpers as he pushes inch by inch further, deeper, closer, into you. “you’ll do that for me?”

“you’re gonna make me cum” > “i’m going to cum”

he’ll make you squirt in thanks for reminding him that you’re orgasm is a product of his hard work

did you see how he pleaded with calliope to let him help her? imagine him begging to let him make you feel good

"i can make you feel so good, my love," he whispers as he puts one nipple in his mouth, suck and bite it gently, tugging on it, before releasing it and going to the other one. "let me?"

praise talk is his dirty talk. more into overstimulation and praise rather than edging and degradation cause he’s too in love with you to ever say those things or have you think, even for a second, that you are anything less than too good for him

type of person to say “i love you” as he fucks you

at the most intense moments, like when he’s about to orgasm, he mindlessly rambles out pleads for you to always stay with him and he needs you and you’re the only thing he needs (say less)

so tell him you need him. tell him only he can make you feel this good. because he’s definitely a giver, and the best compliment you can give a giver is to thank them for their service and tell them they’re doing a good job

physical touch this is an Endless who falls hard and intensely in love, as we see with his past lovers. it stands to reason that he'd fuck the same way. he makes sure that he is touching every inch of your body and you are touching every inch of him

has a thing for walls

likes to fuck you against them. either your back to it with your legs wrapped around his waist, or the side of your face pressed against it with your hands on either side as he takes you from behind

he will also eat you out with your back against a wall. makes it his personal mission to make your legs woozy enough that you literally collapse and he has to hold you up or you’re falling on the ground

overstimulation

worships your body

kissed every inch of your body once

on the days that you don’t feel the most confident, he’ll whisper his gratitude towards those parts against your skin until you believe him

is still a sucker for eye contact

looks up through his lashes as he eats you out

looks down at you as he fucks into you

but just because he wants to be gentle and passionate with you, doesn’t mean you can’t be rough with him. in fact, he welcomes it

tug his hair hard as he eats you out and you’ll hear the most guttural groan which you’ll feel vibrate in your cunt

dig your nails down his back and his hips will snap against yours in a speed that reminds you your lover is not a man, but an Endless

suck and bite his neck and enjoy watching him gasp and tighten his grip against your hips, enough to leave his handprint on your skin

however, there is one time you can elicit some roughness from him, and that’s when you ride him

you’ve ridden him on his throne

it was your idea the first time, and his idea every time after

legs on either side, his arms wrapped desperately against your waist as you slam down onto him and he slams up against you

he grabs a fistful of your hair and tugs your head backwards (see gif as example), exposing the column of your neck which he can mark and litter with kisses and bites

a very passionate lovemaker and puts emotions other than lust into it. when you two have sex, he doesn’t just do it to get rid of frustration or because he feels lust for you, but because he loves you enough to want to share this other part of him that so few get

is the type to link your hands together while he slides in and out

presses his forehead against yours when on top of you. he expects you to do the same when you’re on top

if he’s not waiting at your cunt with an open mouth as you orgasm, then he’s kissing you, as if to swallow the sounds of pleasure you make and further drowning in you

can unclasp your bra with one hand

pulls your underwear down with his teeth

bites on thighs

and neck

and chest

i’m not saying this man cries during sex (not that there’s anything wrong with that). but he does constantly have glassy/teary eyes during the show, so don’t be surprised if he gets a bit overwhelmed with his feelings for you and shed a tear or two

just kiss it away

acts of service he's always worshipped you before his capture, but after, he turns into a sinner looking for absolution from the only higher being he'd beg from. and the first step to absolution is looking for it on his knees

the first time you have sex after you reunite, he begs for forgiveness for being gone from you so long in his throne room

sits you on his throne and sinks to his knees before you

doesn’t even bother locking the door because he has no shame in anyone seeing him beg for absolution to you

and he doesn’t hold back from it either, alright? this Endless is making the most obscene noises as he loudly slurps and groans at the taste of you and moans at the sounds of you and ruts against his throne at the feeling of you, you, you

the first time you cum, he doesn’t stop and keeps fucking you with his tongue until he triggers a second one less than a minute later

he’ll add a finger soon enough

crooks it at just the right spot that it presses against the spongy part of you that makes your back arch off the throne and cum for the third time. at this point, your cum has started to drip off his throne, and he thinks about adding it as a design to his chair (you slap him on the back of his head as a no)

inserts another finger and starts pumping it in and out, in and out, even doing a scissor motion every now and then. you come the fourth time

the fifth time, he does all that plus play with your clit with his tongue. flicks at it, sucks on it, does everything you can possibly imagine be done with a tongue and two fingers until you squirt

and he still drinks it all. he takes those two fingers and uses it to scoop up all your cum and drinks it all

he always swallows whatever he’s able to draw out of you and whatever you’re willing to give him

and don't forget to sit on his face

he'd be more than happy to die underneath you, smothered by your thighs and cunt

if you try to do hold back and hover over his face, he'll ask you first if you like to squat over chairs rather than sit on them, before grabbing your things and pulling you down and not releasing you until he's done

if it isn’t clear yet, this man is a giver. gets genuine pleasure when he is the one to give you pleasure and can probably cum just from seeing you orgasm from his ministrations (he has and has no shame in it)

it might be how his possessiveness shows. knowing that only he can give you orgasms that intense is something he prides himself on

probably why he doesn’t mind when others look at you. all he’s looking at is your reactions, and you never show interest. you never give them the looks or sounds you make with him, and that’s enough that he just sits back, smirks, and pities the poor person who tried to hit on you

quality time as kim namjoon says in all night: "we keep all the party in this room all night. we don't wanna put it on the brake, hold tight."

the first time you reunite, he eats you out for hours

only stops because your body literally cannot go any longer and you might pass out (he debates whether he wants you to but lets you rest)

but the first time he fucks you, he doesn’t stop until you’re a whimpering, drooling mess who’s only thought is morpheus

and you do pass out

he’s there when you come to, and he starts again

morpheus rarely does quickies. he’s too intense and long-term for that. he likes to take his time to worship you and he doesn’t want to end because he ran out of time or he has an appointment with someone else. when he’s with you, you’re all he’s thinking about

however, he does like to take his time teasing you

and by that, i mean he can give you little teasing touches all day to get you worked up

hand on your upper thigh when eating with others

presses his front against your back as he reaches for something in the cabinet

might even touch you through your underwear without giving you too much—just to keep you wanting and waiting

he can last a pretty long time, and sessions with him usually involve you cumming so many times that you don’t think you’ll ever be able to cum again (you will. he’ll show you)

always engages foreplay. involves a heavy make out session coupled with groping that leads you to being wet enough that he can just slip inside you

likes to fuck you where its comfortable for you—bed, a couch (walls are his guilty pleasure, though)

will fuck you anywhere in the dreaming, though, cause it’s all him

might even be more intense for him since he can feel whatever surface he’s fucking you on and how hard he’s fucking you or how tight and desperate you’re holding on to the edge of that table

morning sex isn't as common since that's when you wake up from the dreaming

night is definitely prime time for sex

you know you're in for a long time when you have sex before you're even in the dreaming. when that happens, you better hold on, since you'll wake up more exhausted than before you slept

gift giving could be into toys, but he has to be the one who made it and he has to be the one using it on you. but why would you need toys anyway when you can have his cock

might be offended if you think he needs to use a toy to get to orgasm, as it suggests that he’s not enough

and if you say you want a toy just for the times he’s busy, he’ll tell you that he’s never too busy to give you an orgasm and proves it to you in that point

you’ll have to tell him that you can’t take enough if you want him to stop

rather, he uses toys to overstimulate

vibrator on clit while his tongue searches deeper in your fold or vice versa

the gift he does like to give you is lingerie

he gives you an assortment of different colours in different materials

his favourite is whatever makes you feel the most confident

gives you lingerie that is meant to be ripped off you

when he rips a set of lingerie that you actually really liked, he’ll apologize with kisses and promises that he’ll make you more before fucking you senseless

buys you lingerie from la perla. when you wear it to sleep and you arrive in the dreaming in it, he preens in delight

sometimes, he’ll give you lingerie from the dreaming while you’re in the dreaming. that’s completely under his control, and he can make it disappear in an instant

speaking of giving you toys in the dreaming, if he makes it, that he can get behind cause he has absolute control over it. his finger becomes the remote

that little underwear he gives you? with no warning, starts to fucking vibrate during dinner with lucienne. doesn’t ease up until you get up, flushed and with wobbly knees, and run to the hallway where you cum with a poorly concealed moan

when you return to the table, he looks to you with a knowing smirk. thankfully, lucienne remains unaware (or at least has the courtesy of pretending to be)

in the waking world, you like to wear his clothes after you wake up. in return, he takes your underwear

when you fuck in the dreaming, you wake up drenched and with a wet spot on your blanket. he sends you a new blanket as an unfelt apology which he’ll ruin the next night anyway

back to his greatest gift to you being his cock

i see him longer than wider (but not long enough to hurt you. 27-inch dick fanfic writers, stay back). you know, keeping in theme with his whole lean yet lanky physique

might be long enough that you can’t deepthroat him completely, though he appreciates the attempt

but the one time you steel yourself and manage to take him in all whole

nearly cums in your mouth immediately

wouldn’t expect you to do that all the time, of course. but on the special occasion that you want to put the focus on him, that’s the way to go

the way to morpheus’ heart is not through his heart, but through swallowing

all in all, this Endless is guaranteed to find his pleasure in yours, so make sure to tell him that he's doing well, keep your moans loud and uncontrolled, and he'll fuck you out of this universe

𝗮𝘂𝘁𝗵𝗼𝗿'𝘀 𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲: 𝗂𝖿 𝖺𝗇𝗒𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝗌𝖾𝖾𝗆𝗌 𝗆𝗒 𝖿𝖾𝗆𝗂𝗇𝗂𝗌𝗆, 𝗉𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗌𝖾 𝗉𝗂𝖼𝗄 𝗂𝗍 𝗎𝗉 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗋𝖾𝗍𝗎𝗋𝗇 𝗍𝗈 𝗆𝖾 — 𝗎𝗇𝗅𝖾𝗌𝗌 𝗆𝗈𝗋𝗉𝗁𝖾𝗎𝗌 𝗂𝗌 𝖺𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗇𝖽. 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗄𝖾𝖾𝗉 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗍 𝖿𝖺𝗋, 𝖿𝖺𝗋 𝖺𝗐𝖺𝗒 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝗆𝖾.

𝖺𝗅𝗌𝗈, 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗂𝗌 𝗆𝗒 𝖿𝗂𝗋𝗌𝗍 𝗍𝗂𝗆𝖾 𝗐𝗋𝗂𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺 𝖿𝗎𝗅𝗅-𝗈𝗇 𝗌𝗆𝗎𝗍-𝗍𝗒𝗉𝖾 𝗈𝖿 𝗉𝗈𝗌𝗍, 𝗌𝗈 𝖻𝖾 𝗀𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗅𝖾 (𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾 𝗆𝗈𝗋𝗉𝗁𝖾𝗎𝗌). 𝖽𝗈𝗇'𝗍 𝖺𝗌𝗄 𝗆𝖾 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝗂 𝗀𝗈𝗍 𝗂𝗇𝗌𝗉𝗈 𝖼𝖺𝗎𝗌𝖾 𝗂 𝖻𝗅𝖺𝖼𝗄𝖾𝖽 𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝗅𝖾 𝗐𝗋𝗂𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌. 𝗆𝗈𝗋𝗉𝗁𝖾𝗎𝗌 𝗆𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝗉𝗈𝗌𝗌𝖾𝗌𝗌𝖾𝖽 𝗆𝖾 𝖻𝖾𝖼𝖺𝗎𝗌𝖾 𝗂 𝖼𝗋𝖺𝗇𝗄𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗂𝗇 𝖺 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝖼𝖾𝗋𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗅𝗒 𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗋𝗍 𝖺𝗆𝗈𝗎𝗇𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗂𝗆𝖾 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗌𝗂𝖽𝖾𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗐𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗂 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗐𝗋𝗂𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀.

╰┈➤ 𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘤𝘬 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘣𝘰𝘰𝘬𝘴 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘮𝘢𝘯 𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘧!

𝙩𝙖𝙜𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩: @aurorarevenclaw1927

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐓𝐇 𝐓𝐎𝐎𝐋 | 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐢𝐢.

⊹ pairing: morpheus x reader

⊹ summary: you encounter a strange string of coincidences in the forms of old friends

⊹ tags: violence, you don't do well coping with being separated from your husband either, more longing but from reader's perspective this time, established relationship

⊹ warnings: violence, cursing, spoilers for 1.09

⊹ word count: 2671

⊹ previous part: part i.

⊹ up next: part iii

⊹ now playing: thoughts by faime

𝚒 𝚍𝚘𝚗'𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚗𝚊 𝚋𝚎 𝚊𝚕𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚑𝚘𝚠, 𝚒 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞'𝚕𝚕 𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚍 𝚖𝚎 𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚒 𝚠𝚘𝚗'𝚝 𝚐𝚘 𝚑𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚊𝚕𝚠𝚊𝚢𝚜 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚍 𝚖𝚎

You wouldn't think a bathroom stop counts as you stopping from running, but the bounty says otherwise.

Your pants are barely up after having taken a piss when the door is kicked open and a hand clutches around your throat. You cry out in pain as your head is slammed against the mirror, carving cracks into the glass. Large fragments break off and fall into the sink next to you, but the piece is just out of reach.

You gasp desperately as you dig your nails into the hunter's hands, but the hunter — a man in his mid forties who you've already narrowly escaped from twice before — learned his lesson from his last attempt and now wears gloves and earmuffs.

You manage to kick his knee, forcing him away from you. But freedom lasts only for a few seconds, and despite your attempt at running away, he grabs your hair and yanks to the floor. He straddles you as he resumes his grip back on your neck, this time with both hands squeezing tight enough that you know it’ll be hard for you to talk for a day or two.

"Bounty...needed...alive..." you choke out.

The hunter scoffs and leans closer to you. "I wanted that bounty the first time I tracked you. Now, this is personal." His grip tightens, and black dots swarm your vision and block him out so all you can hear is his voice in your ear and the stench of cigarettes and bloody. "You hurt my pride, lady Y/N."

Pride. The downfall of all men.

Though the situation doesn't warrant the memory, thoughts of your husband flood you anyways. Perhaps it's because he's always in your thoughts. Or perhaps he's chosen to make this appearance to give you solace from the pain as you black out. For when you open your eyes, you aren't in the dingy gas station bathroom anymore, but a green meadow with trees around and flowers blooming throughout.

Just because you're untouched by Death doesn't mean your memories throughout are vivid or intact. But you remember everything about that day, from the smell in the air — crisp, clean summer air with a fresh breeze that brings around the smell of petals — to the touch of the sun's warmth and your soft, chiffon wedding dress against your skin.

Unlike a dream, you aren't in control. Your body moves according to the memory. You move down the aisle between the three or four rows of seats. At the end of the aisle is a large willow tree, its branches drooping over a white arch where Lucienne stands. She bids you a small smile, which you return with your own, before your eyes shift to him.

Like always, there is a look of adoration in Morpheus' eyes. He looks handsome, having foregone his usual long black coat for a formal suit of that time. He's even managed to tame his messy hair — something Mervyn and Hob must have helped him with. As you get to where he stands, you see his eyes glassy with unshed tears.

"Don't cry, my love," you whisper. You place your palm against his cheek and rub your thumb under his eye. And like always, he leans into your touch, finding comfort in you. He turns his head and press a kiss against your palm — all while not breaking eye contact with you, the coy bastard.

You shake your head and smile.

The memory fast forwards, and suddenly he's saying his vows. He doesn't speak quietly — he has no shame in everyone hearing how much he means to you.

"I vow to always find you, as long as you wait for me. I vow to love you for as long as you let me. And I vow to be your husband until you want me no longer. All I am is yours until you cast me aside. And I beg of you to never."

Thank the gods you had said with your speech first. His speech had rendered you overcome with emotion to do anything else but cup his face and kiss him, both of you sealing your promises of forever with that act.

And both of you had kept your promises to each other. He remained by your side, as you remained by his. Until now.

He, by no fault of his own, disappeared from your side.

And you, also by no fault of your own, disappeared from his side.

A cruel twist of fate. Perhaps the universe restoring balance to the centuries of happiness the two of you lived together. Perhaps that had been enough, and it's time you stop trying to delay the inevitable. Perhaps it's time you stop and succumb to the exhaustion and pain of being with Morpheus.

I vow to always find you, as long as you wait for me.

Wait for me.

Morpheus' vow jerks you back to consciousness. Your eyes snap open, staring directly into the hunter who's looking down at you greedily. His mouth is curled into a hideous snarl, and his pride at seeing you weak and defenceless has drawn his head close enough that your noses were nearly touching.

Behold pride, you think as your hands drop from his wrists in feign unconsciousness, the downfall of all men.

You grab onto the sides of his head and dig your thumbs into his eyes. You try not to think about why your muscles memorize the exact amount of pressure and angle to do it so.

The hunter jerks backwards, screaming, his hands flying to his eyes which has begun to bleed. You cough violently as you take in as much air as you can to soothe the fire in your lungs, all the while scrambling to your knees and trying to get away.

A hand grasps onto your ankle.

You're pulled backwards with a scream.

"Where do you think you're going, lady?" the hunter growls. "I'm not done with you yet—"

"Remove your hands from me."

You feel the man go still. His hand falls from your ankle, and you scramble forwards. You don't need to look back to feel the shift in the air, but you do anyway because looking at them is the least you can do.

The man pulls out his saw from his bag. Without hesitation, he places the blade over his wrist and begin to move back and forth. He screams out in pain and begs for relief, but doesn't stop his motions. The hunter looks over at you, eyes glassy with gold that resembles sand, as his hand falls to the floor.

You're out of the bathroom before he begins his other hand. Before Death arrives for him.

You begin to run and don't look back.

Your throat is throbbing.

You touch your throat gingerly, and you don't need a mirror to know that the handprints of that man are visible against your skin. But even as you cough, the motion rough against your raw throat, you don't stop running.

You catch sight of a hotel, and you feel relief as you turn away from the road and bolt up the hill to the building. It'll be easier to hide in one of the man rooms, but the guarantee of people in the hotel was cause for concern. But as long as you keep your mouth shut, all should be fine.

You slow into a walk as you pass a trio of people in the parking lot. Name tags dangle from their chest, one of who is named, The Music Teacher. In the centuries you've been alive, you've never heard such an in-depth and seriously spoken topic about their favourite methods of cooking barbecue and collecting grills.

As you hurry inside, you pass by a sign that reads: CEREAL CONVENTION.

Is cereal that interesting to warrant a convention? you wonder as you scan the lobby. Nothing looks too out of place, apart from more people with name tags. It wasn't weird that there were adults taking part in the convention, but it was weird that there wasn't a single child in sight. A strange familiarity with those two words only made you more uncomfortable.

"Ma'am?" the receptionist calls. "May I help you?"

You tug up your turtleneck before approaching the reception desk and smiling at the receptionist. She visibly relaxes and smiles back, even wider than before.

"Do I know you?" she asks, peering at you curiously like everyone else who looks at you. But no matter how hard they look, they'll never be able to remember just where they remember you. Dreams had a funny way of being that way.

Even if she doesn't remember, her smile changes from being polite to being genuinely friendly, as if her muscles remember that you were a friend.

You motion for a notepad and pen. The receptionist scurries and puts the tools before you.

1 room, 1 night please, you write down.

She doesn't question it. She eagerly nods and asks for your name, which you also write down.

"You already have a room, ma'am," the receptionist informs you.

You raise a brow. A room? You never reserve your hotel rooms ahead. That guarantees someone waiting to kill you when you get there, as you learned a few decades ago in Manila.

The receptionist seems to understand the confusion on your face. "Perhaps you reserved the room for the convention?" she suggested.

But what interest would you have in a cereal convention—

The invitation.

The memory is jarring. Suddenly, you can picture it clearly. You can even feel the parchment between your fingers as you opened it, and the gasp you let out as you dropped the envelope and an eyeball rolled out, the nerve still attached.

The iris was blue, a shade nearly as light as Morpheus'. You knew it was no coincidence.

You take a step back from the receptionist, reeling that you've walked straight into a trap. You're so caught up in trying to figure out a way to get out without alerting anyone that you hear the receptionist's warning too late and your back hit something large and firm.

You spin around, your hand instinctively going to the hilt of the knife hidden underneath your shirt, before freezing in recognition at the man in a green cloak and cane.

"Lady Y/N?" the man gasps, gawking at you.

"Fiddler's Green?"

You've never seen Fiddler's Green personified as a human before, but the warmth that surrounds him in unmistakeable and makes you relax.

He dips his head in a respectful bow as he puts an appropriate amount of distance before you — a law Morpheus decreed in the Dreaming. He had been more possessive back then, especially since it was right after the power transference ceremony. Though you thought it ridiculous, you saw the slight relief it brought him so you allowed it to remain, pretending you still didn't know about it.

The appropriate response to a bow is to return with a small curtsy, but after a century of running, your first response is to run. You have to go before you harm Fiddler's Green. You'd never be able to forgive yourself for hurting someone so important to both you and Morpheus.

But it's because he's so important to Morpheus, and you've always known him so loyal to the Dreaming, that you think about your words carefully before speaking.

"What are you doing here?" you ask hesitantly, your voice still a bit rough from the fight. "Why have you left the Dreaming when you are so vital to it?"

You wait for the gold to appear in his eyes, but it doesn't appear.

"I am not vital to the Dreaming," Fiddler's Green says. "You and lord Morpheus are, and you were both gone. I left to go search for you, but I stayed for the humans. I do worry for the punishment I will receive. I know lord Morpheus has been calling back his other dreams and nightmares, but I wouldn't exchange it for the knowledge I have learned from the people who visit my glades every night."

You soften at the pureness in Fiddler's Green, but something catches your attention.

"My husband? He's free?"

Fiddler's Green looks surprised. "Why, yes, lady Y/N. He's been back for a few months, I believe. You haven't seen him? I thought that was why you were here. I thought perhaps he sent you after us."

You fight back tears of relief at the news that your husband has managed to break himself free from his cage. Your only regret is not being the one to have helped freed him, and you hope he doesn't resent you for that.

But what if he does? What if he thinks you have abandoned him? What if he thinks you've cast him aside? A hundred years, and he never received a visit from you. Now he's been free for months and you have not received a visit from him.

Why had he not come looking for you?

"There is something else you must know, lady Y/N." Fiddler's Green bends to your height. "The Corinthian is here."

You look at him in panic. How was it possible that you, him, and the Corinthian were all in the same place at the same time? You hadn't meant to come to the convention, yet there you were. Fiddler's Green definitely didn't prepared to se you or the Corinthian, which meant he was unaware too. What could be the reason for three pieces of the Dreaming to be near each other?

"I'm here to help Rose Walker find her little brother, Jed," he continues. "I fear both her and the boy are in danger from him."

"Then you must return to the Dreaming and let my husband know," you say without thinking.

The second the words leave your mouth, gold fills Fiddler's Green's eyes. He straightens and turns on his heel, and despite telling him to stop, he marches out of the hotel without another glance back, leaving you alone with your whispered apology going unheard.

Shit, you think. You try to dismiss your worries by entrusting Fiddler's Green's safety to Morpheus. He would be safer in the Dreaming than here with the Corinthian and no Morpheus.

You grab the piece of paper he had been holding. It's a missing poster for Jed Walker, and contains a picture of him with an older girl — Rose Walker, you presume.

If two mortals were being preyed on by a nightmare, then it was part of your responsibility as lady of the Dreaming to protect them. Morpheus can deal with the Corinthian. You just have to trust he'll come.

Of course he'll come, you think as you pocket the poster. I'm his wife.

In the corner of your eye, you catch sight of a man in a beige suit. There's something charmingly offputting about the man even from a distance — something you've only seen another man possess before.

You head in his direction immediately, only to be stopped by a man with the name tag Fun Land.

"Only guests are allowed in the convention."

"I think—"

"Guests only."

You eye him irritatedly. You glance at the extra name tags on the table, one of which you recognize coldly. Slowly, you look back up at Fun Land, then at the other convention attendees who are also wearing name tags. The conversations you manage to overhear are still talking about collecting. Only now, you're starting to understand what this fucking convention's really about.

"Can you check if I'm on the list?" you ask tightly.

"You're a guest?" he asks dubiously. "Name?"

"Whispers."

His eyes widen. You don't entertain the excitement in his voice as he apologizes and starts to ramble about how he was a fan. You snatch your name tag from his trembling grasp, his palm slightly sweaty, before starting your search for the Walkers in the basement, where you also coincidentally saw the man in the beige suit head down.

ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ɴᴇxᴛ ᴘᴀʀᴛ…

You push Jed behind you.

He grips onto the back of your shirt, trembling in fear as you and him both look at the Corinthian and the man being stabbed to death by two others behind him.

Even with those dark shades on in the dimly lit room, you know the Corinthian is looking at you. You can feel his stare raking you up and down, taking every inch of you greedily. His tongue darts out to lick his lips.

It has been a century since he last saw you, after all. An entire century since he stopped you from entering the basement of Rodrick Burgess and freeing your husband when you were right outside the door, and instead put a bounty on your head.

"Hello, my lady," the Corinthian says, his honey-like drawl drawing shivers from you as always. He dips his head in a bow — more mocking than respectful. He takes a step towards you, and you take three back. "I've missed you."

ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴄᴏɴᴛɪɴᴜᴇᴅ…

𝗮𝘂𝘁𝗵𝗼𝗿'𝘀 𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲: 𝗂𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗆 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝗋𝖾𝗎𝗇𝗂𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗒𝖾𝗍 𝖺 𝖿𝗈𝗋𝗆 𝗈𝖿 𝗌𝗅𝗈𝗐 𝖻𝗎𝗋𝗇 𝗈𝗋 𝖺𝗆 𝗂 𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝖺 𝗌𝗅𝗈𝗐-𝗉𝖺𝖼𝖾𝖽 𝗐𝗋𝗂𝗍𝖾𝗋?

𝖾𝗂𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗐𝖺𝗒, 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝗌𝗈 𝗆𝗎𝖼𝗁 𝗆𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝗈𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗇 𝗂 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝗐𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝖻𝖾 𝗂𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗅𝗂𝗍𝗍𝗅𝖾 𝗉𝗋𝗈𝗃𝖾𝖼𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝗆𝗂𝗇𝖾, 𝗌𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗇𝗄 𝗒𝗈𝗎! 𝗇𝖾𝗑𝗍 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗍'𝗌 𝗎𝗉𝗅𝗈𝖺𝖽 𝗐𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝗆𝖺𝗋𝗄 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗁𝖺𝗅𝖿𝗐𝖺𝗒 𝗉𝗈𝗂𝗇𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗌𝖾𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗌, 𝗌𝗈 𝗂 𝗐𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝖺𝗅𝗌𝗈 𝖻𝖾 𝗋𝖾𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺 𝖽𝖾𝗌𝖼𝗋𝗂𝗉𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗆𝗒 𝗇𝖾𝗑𝗍 𝗌𝖾𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗌, 𝗌𝗈 𝗌𝖾𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗇!

╰┈➤ 𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘤𝘬 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘰𝘰𝘭 𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵!

╰┈➤ 𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘤𝘬 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘣𝘰𝘰𝘬𝘴 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘮𝘢𝘯 𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘧!

𝙨𝙝𝙚𝙡𝙛 𝙩𝙖𝙜𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩 @aurorarevenclaw1927, @hueanhdang

𝙨𝙚𝙧𝙞𝙚𝙨 𝙩𝙖𝙜𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩 @justviktormlolm, @amirahroronoa, @sunna-fangirls, @mrs-captainsteverogers, @absbdbshhs, @urbanbts, @theamuz, @ac-procrastinator-13, @thegreatestsandwich, @julegrav009-blog, @harrypotter55, @blossomedfloweroflove, @lestaikkeullsokka, @thetrashypanda423, @ponyboys-sunsets, @izzicle, @dilfsandtherapy, @mischiefmanaged71, @grippleback-galaxy, @cynic-spirit, @thecrazytealady, @violet-19999, @junobutbored, @avanisbored, @redskull199987, @bilesxbilinskixlahey, @ladymoon666, @celestialceremonials, @mm2305, @ttae-yong, @thegreatestsandwich, @notabotiswear, @boofy1998, @crimsonsabbath, @megumimind, @itsnanabun, @spygrrl99, @regulusblacksimpsblog, @maverey, @storm4433, @writerinlearning, @lokigirlszendaya, @thesadvampire, @thestarsanctuary, @floreoo, @pinkpunkdynamite, @jesllianaquilesrolon, @aegeanblues, @anjimimimoo, @imaginativefanatic, @book-place, @littlemoistcarrot, @lorosette, @wondermia69, @commanderfreethatdust

𝗂𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗐𝖺𝗇𝗍 𝗍𝗈 𝖻𝖾 𝖺𝖽𝖽𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗍𝖺𝗀𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗍𝗌, 𝖼𝗁𝖾𝖼𝗄 𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗆𝖺𝗇 𝗌𝗁𝖾𝗅𝖿 𝗍𝗈 𝖿𝗂𝗀𝗎𝗋𝖾 𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝖼𝗁 𝗍𝖺𝗀𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗍 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗄𝗌 𝖻𝖾𝗌𝗍 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗒𝗈𝗎!

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐓𝐇 𝐓𝐎𝐎𝐋 | 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐢𝐢𝐢.

⊹ pairing: morpheus x reader, corinthian x reader if you squint

⊹ summary: you reunite with an old enemy and an even older friend, the corinthian, and confront him about his betrayal to morpheus, and more importantly, to you

⊹ tags: unexpected hints of a love triangle (more like a love V since there's no third line), contains more corinthian than morpheus in this part

⊹ warnings: violence, spoiler for 1.09

⊹ word count: 3492 (an absolute menace)

⊹ previous part: part ii

⊹ up next: part iv → coming soon

⊹ now playing: run boy run by woodkid

𝚛𝚞𝚗 𝚋𝚘𝚢 𝚛𝚞𝚗! 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚕𝚍 𝚒𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚖𝚊𝚍𝚎 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚛𝚞𝚗 𝚋𝚘𝚢 𝚛𝚞𝚗! 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢'𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚛𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘 𝚌𝚊𝚝𝚌𝚑 𝚢𝚘𝚞

The basement is cold and empty.

You shiver as you walk quietly through the hall. The years have taught you how to step lightly as if you were gliding on the marble rather than stepping.

Even though there was no logical reasoning that bound the Corinthian and you, you can still feel his presence. He was somewhere on the floor, getting closer and closer with each step you take even though your not working purposefully in a directions. You can feel him waiting for you to find him. To come to him — ironic, considering it’s been him chasing you all this time.

You don’t know what will happen when you see each other again. Will he hurt you? Try to claim the very bounty he set on your head? Has he finally gotten tired of your cat-and-mouse game?

Your thoughts are put to a pause when Jed Walker appears ahead, just a few doors from where you’re standing. You whisper his name but it goes unheard as he pushes open a set of doors and steps through, disappearing from your view. You still don’t know what the Corinthian could want with two young mortals, but given his track record, you don’t trust him with them. If saving them means your game has to continue, then very well.

“Jed!” you whisper louder. You hurry after the boy, slipping through the doors just before they close and nearly bumping into him.

The room isn’t empty. In fact, there are four—technically, three—other people in the room. A dead mortal, two killers, and in the centre of it all, the Corinthian himself.

The Corinthian smiles at you.

You push Jed behind you. He grips onto the back of your shirt, trembling in fear as you and him both look at the Corinthian and the man being stabbed to death behind him.

Even with those dark shades on, you know the Corinthian is looking at you. You can feel his stare burning into you, taking in every inch of you greedily. It has been a century since he last saw you, after all. An entire century since he stopped you from entering the basement of Rodrick Burgess and freeing your husband and his maker, and instead put a bounty on your head.

“Hello, my lady,” the Corinthian says, his honey-like drawl drawing shivers from you. He takes a step towards you, and you take three back. “I’ve missed you.”

He hasn’t changed much since the last time you saw him—nearly a hundred years ago. He still insists on indulging his materialistic side—something he got from Morpheus’ tendency to spoil you, probably—by wearing high-end suits. His golden hair is still the same length, though he no longer wears his hat. And he still wears those damn shades that covers his eyes—eyes that Morpheus spent days crafting specially for him.

You shove Jed further back, and the boy thankfully takes the hint and bolts. You stay.

“Who’s she?” one of the killers, a woman with straight hair, asks.

“She’s mine,” the Corinthian says dismissively. “Just continue with him.”

The woman looks at you before shrugging. She raises her hand to resume stabbing the man.

“Both of you, stop,” you command, and the two behind him immediately stop. Not just their arm, but every muscle in their body has frozen in compliance with your order. Even their hearts have frozen, and though you’re sure they’re feeling terrified, their bodies can’t show it because of what you’ve done to them with a single spoken word.

“All these years, and you still can’t control it, can you?” the Corinthian says. Though he sounds slightly disappointed, he keeps his tone light, as if remarking that it was raining when it should have been sunny. The casualness in his voice enrages you.

He’d always been a nightmare, but the last time you saw him, he had also been your friend. Not the maker-and-created relationship he has with Morpheus, but a friend. You hadn’t been surprised he’d want to keep Morpheus trapped and stop you, but you hadn’t expected for him to put that bounty on your head and reveal Morpheus’ and your’s, secret. To Morpheus, it was an act of defiance. To you, it was an act of betrayal.

“Corinthian."

His features softens slightly at the name you chose and gave to him. “My lady.”

“What have you done?”

“I inspired people, just like you said I would be able to.”

You flinch, as he’s spat your words back at you verbatim. You and him had been walking through the Dreaming once, your arm linked around his. It had been after your wedding to Morpheus but before the power transference ceremony. The Corinthian had asked what your intention was for him, as while it had been Morpheus who crafted him for you, you had decided his purpose. Even Morpheus had been surprised that you would choose to craft a nightmare rather than a dream, but you defended the Corinthian by saying nightmares had just as much power influencing a person and their decisions as much as dreams did.

“Confronting one’s fears challenges a person, but when they emerge, they come out stronger and firmer in their beliefs,” you had told him. “That’s what I want you to be. To be a mirror for humanity’s darkest self so they would choose to be better.”

He had smiled down at you in response, and dipped his head in a small bow. You tightened your grip on him as you resumed your walk, the sun warm down on both of you—so different from the cold that filled the air between the two of you now.

“I wanted you to inspire others to be good, Corinthian. Not…this.”

“I’m letting them be their true selves.”

“You’ve taught them to be selfish and cruel.”

He tilts his head before taking a step forward. You take another three back until you hit the door. But you don’t run. Not yet.

“Are you disappointed in me, my lady?” he asks lowly.

You toss your nametag to his feet in response. Of all his atrocities to you, that was the worst. “You made me that,” you spit out. Lady of Whispers. The name he gave you. He was the one who blew on the flames and built your reputation when he knew that you never meant to hurt anyone. It was his fault that people feared you, when you had been the complete opposite in the Dreaming. 

“I gave you a name of your own,” he says through gritted teeth. “Something for people to know you by other than being someone’s wife.”

There is truth behind his words. People still knew you as Lady of the Dreaming, but now they feared you for you, and not because of Morpheus solely.

The two killers behind him fall to the ground, dead. Death was always the only one able to put a stop to your powers.

The Corinthian bends down to pick you your name. As he does, you seize his distracted nature and run, going after Jed wherever he is. As the doors swing shut behind you, you hear the Corinthian’s throaty chuckle, the sound raising bumps all over your arms.

You sprint up the stairs rather than wait for the elevator.

Floor after floor, you search the halls, hissing out Jed’s name. By the fifth floor, you’re breathing heavily. By the eight, there’s a sharp cramp in your side. On the tenth, you’re forced to stop against a wall to catch your breath. As you will the fire in your lungs to go away, you remember the key in your back pocket. The room reserved for you is on this floor. It’s a completely irrelevant point, but you can’t help but wonder what you would find if you entered that room: one bed or two.

A girl walks past you, her head tilted upwards to the room numbers. You stare after her in surprise, recognizing her from the picture you’re carrying.

“Rose Walker?” you ask.

She turns to you. She blinks, and you see the recognition flare in her eyes. “I know you, don’t I?” she says thoughtfully. “I think I’ve seen you in my dreams.”

That wasn’t possible. Mortals already rarely remembered the full extent of their dreams. They rarely remembered Morpheus being by their side as they went through the Dreaming, you even more, talking to them and guiding them through. The most they remembered was the warmth of your presence.

“Y/N,” she says. “You’re Dream’s wife.”

You stop. “How do you know who I am?”

“He told me I’d know who you were.”

“My husband?” You step closer. “He’s spoken with you? Is he here? Is he alright? What did he say?”

“He told me to tell you something.”

“What is it?” you ask insistently, the desperation clear in your voice. Was it an explanation for why he isn’t here? Anger or hurt? Understanding?

“He told me to tell you that I’m a vortex,” Rose says.

You freeze and stare at Rose. It takes a few seconds for the pieces to click—why your husband would want her to tell you that apart from everything else. But when it does click, your shoulders relax and you smile at her. Of course he’d have her tell you that. You never would have figured it out on your own.

“Why would he tell me to tell you that?” Rose asks. “Does it mean something special to you?”

Of course you pity her for what has to be done, but you’re also relieved that you’re almost done. But before you can give her an answer—a partial truth to not be so cruel—someone calls her name.

You both look down the hall and see Jed Walker standing there. Rose breaks into a smile, forgetting you, and hugs Jed tightly. You recognize the man behind Jed, Fun Land, who’s too busy looking at him like prey. He moves forward and starts to tug Jed from Rose, who screams at him and you for help.

You rush forwards and slam your elbow down on Fun Land’s neck, hitting a nerve that sends him crumpling to his knees.

“Run, Rose!” you bark at her, and though her eyes don’t turn gold, she does as you command anyway.The three of you sprint down the hallway, only to be forced to a stop as you reach a locked green door. You try to kick it down, but the lock is thick and made of metal. As Rose and Jed begin to knock on it desperately, shouting for help, you think about who you’d call for help—Morpheus. But he isn’t here. At least, not yet. And you couldn’t let someone like Fun Land appease the appetite that the Corinthian had inspired in him.

“Cover his ears,” you command Rose. As Fun Land reaches you, you shove the kids behind you, using your body as a protective shield. 

“Stop,” you command. Gold fills his eyes, swirling in his irises like sand. Fun Land halts a few step from you, standing completely still and waiting for more instruction. “See yourself for who you really are.”

Immediately, he flinches and recoils into himself. He starts to whimper and seek forgiveness from Jed and Rose and every other unfortunate child he’d collected that would not and should not ever be given to him.

“What are you doing to him?” Rose whispers.

“Exactly what I said,” you say coldly. If the Corinthian inspired them to be who they really are, then let them see just that. He would see the monster he is.

Fun Land’s whimpers begin to turn into screams as he slaps his hands over his eyes to hide the world. Because that isn’t enough, he digs his fingers into them, the squelch as he hits his eyeballs echoing in the hall despite Rose’s horrified gasp and Jed’s cries. You only continue to stare, true, merciless and just, just as the Lady of Dreaming should be.

Fun Land’s cries are cut off when he suddenly drops dead. His body falls to the floor, a dagger protruding from the back of his head. Standing behind where he one stood, is the Corinthian.

“What a waste of a snack,” he says with a tut of his tongue. He licks his lips. “But my lady. We haven’t finished our conversation. Shall we?”

The Corinthian tosses your nametag to you. Out of instinct, you catch it.

“I did not make you this way,” the Corinthian says. “Dream did. If there’s anyone to blame for your talent, your gift, it’s him. He made you this way, just as he made me this way.” He takes a step towards you. “This is who we are, and if you would just stop running for one second and look in the mirror and see how much better you are in this form—with your powers and without him—you would be a lot happier.”

“With you?”

The Corinthian looks taken aback. “What?”

“Do you think I would be happier with you than with my husband?”

If Morpheus made him, then perhaps he had put his affection for you in the Corinthian as well. Perhaps that was why the Cortinthian insisted the bounty be for you to be taken alive, and why you had never been able to use your powers to stop him. You’ve always known those emotions were there, even if it went unsaid by you or him. Even before Morpheus’ capture, the Corinthian’s affection for you had always been soft, gentle. Lingering touches on your arm, laughing a little too loud at your jokes, his gaze on you longer than a friend’s should. But you always ignored it, as you never saw him in the way you saw your husband. You loved the part of him that was Morpheus,, but you could not love him completely. You could never.

“I did them for you,” the Corinthian insists. “Inspired them for you. They worship you, just as everyone should. Dream never let the others see your beauty and talent, but I did. I let them see you as you really were and they adored you. Because of me, you are loved.”

His words and the veneration in his tone—something you wish he was faking but can tell is genuine—struck you into silence. He’s standing before you now, one hand brushing a stray strand of hair behind your ear. His movement is gentle. A caress.

“My lady,” he says quietly, his voice deep and thick with emotion. “I have missed you.”

Was it possible that he was right? That he loved you in a way Morpheus loved you differently? In a way you should be loved? Whereas Morpheus hid you from the world to protect you, the Corinthian showed you to the world and gave the world a reason to fear you—your own protection. Was he right?

He’s about to brush your cheek with the pad of his thumb when you grab his wrist tightly; painfully. A stark contrast against his touch.

Through his shades, your eyes meet. “Don’t. Touch. Me.”

Though you don’t see his eyes, you know they fill gold as the effects of your powers take control. The Corinthian yanks his hand back like you were the surface of a hot stove. He tries to slap you, but his hand stops inches from your cheek and he cries out in pain as his other hand grabs his wrist and pulls it away forcefully. He stares at his hand in repulsion, then up at you in anger, and just like that you know that whatever emotions he has for you is gone. The Corinthian had rebelled against Morpheus so he would not be under his maker’s will, and now you had just forced him under yours.

His lips curl into a nasty smile. He directs his attention to Rose, who’s been watching with fearful eyes this whole time.

“You don’t think she’s going to protect you, now do you, Rose Walker?” the Corinthian says, his tone sickly sweet and charming. “Do you know who she is?”

“Dream’s wife,” Rose says hesitantly.

“Oh, she’s so much more than that. She’s one of his tools.”

“His tools?”

“Dream is known for three of his tools: his pouch of sand, his helm, and his ruby. But what’s lesser known is his fourth tool: his wife. While the first three were crafted, his fourth was given to a mortal that he fell in love with.”

“Enough,” you snap, but the Corinthian doesn’t listen.

“The ceremony was beautiful. A slice from his palm to draw blood, which he placed on top of hers so that his blood may enter her veins. In his blood was his power. When the blood had dried, it was done. She had been remade into one of his tools, and like his other tools, she has powers. Did you see what she did to Fun Land?”

“She told him to stop,” Rose says slowly. You can hear her piecing it together, and as you turn to her, you see the growing fear and apprehension in her eyes. “You told me to cover Jed’s ears…it’s because you didn’t want him to hear what you would say. Your order. Is that your power? You can tell people what to do?”

“The proper term is she inspires,” the Corinthian said.

You aren’t blind. You’ve seen the slow, small steps he’s taken to Rose, as if he’s offering her his protection. And you can see how Rose has been leaning away from you and towards him too. He’s always been good with words. That he got from you.

“Dream stored inspiration in her,” he says. “The ceremony turned her into the physical manifestation of inspiration; of the aspect of our thoughts and dreams that incline us to do something.”

Rose looks at you, perhaps waiting for you to say he was lying or there was more to the truth, but you don’t say anything. You can’t.

“Dream’s coming to kill you, Rose Walker,” the Corinthian whispers in her ear.

“What? Why?”

“Because you’re the vortex.” He turns to you. “And as Dream’s tool and his wife, she’s going to kill you too if she can.”

There’s betrayal in her eyes towards you as she tugs Jed closer to her. And fear. That’s what’s in her eyes. That’s how everyone’s looked at you in the past century.

“Is he telling the truth?” she asks. “You’re both going to kill me?”

“You have to die, Rose,” you say, void of emotion. “For everyone. For your brother’s safety. You are the vortex.”

“Is that why he had me tell you that I was one? So you could finish the job if he couldn’t?”

Perhaps it was one of the reasons he told her that, a sign that he still had trust in you. But you knew the main reason he had her tell you that was to reassure you that he still loved you and was coming for you. As the vortex, Morpheus had to come for her. His message—the unspoken words behind it—was to tell you to stay close to Rose Walker so that he could find you.

In other words, he was asking you to wait for him.

“I’m sorry, Rose,” you say softly. Behind your back, you reach for the hilt of your dagger. Morpheus will find another way to get to you. But he won’t be able to do that if the Corinthian has Rose.

But before you can grab onto it, the Corinthian moves. He’s a blur of speed and strength, and you’re soon slammed against the wall with a syringe sticking out of your neck. You gasp and dig your nails into his wrist, hard enough to draw blood, but it’s too late. When he pulls the syringe out, it’s empty. The liquid burns through your veins and dulls everything immediately, and you go slump against his body as he brushes your hair out of your face.

“He’ll come for me,” you mumble.

“Oh, I’m counting on it, sweet thing,” the Corinthian murmurs. He grips your chin with his thumb and points and points your face towards him. “What do you think the reward for the bounty is?”

Your eyes widen in horror. The Corinthian smiles and nods.

“Dream, your husband who’d do anything to get you back. Well. Let’s see just how much he means that, shall we? When you get home, why don’t you tell your husband that I’m waiting for him?”

You try to push away from him, but you’re too weak. Soon, you can’t feel your limbs. Then, you begin to drift. For the first time in a long time, you’re falling asleep and entering the Dreaming. But before you do, you feel the Corinthian press his lips against your forehead. His words are the last you hear.

“I’m sorry, my lady.”

ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ɴᴇxᴛ ᴘᴀʀᴛ…

Morpheus walks slowly towards the Corinthian, the weight of his footsteps and anger to be felt by all as the world tremors. Across the waking world, dreamers encounter nightmares that haven’t been seen since the Morpheus was first captured. They stir and cry out in their sleep, unable to wake and escape the monsters. Some wake up and find that the monsters have followed them into the waking world.

They all scream.

But in the hotel, where the cult of serial killers are asleep in their seats, it is only the King of Dreams and Nightmares and the Corinthian.

“Where is she?” Morpheus asks eerily calm. His voice is deep and dangerous; wrath being barely restrained from being unleashed on the Corinthian.

The Corinthian smiles. “You can feel her, can’t you? Feel her strength? Or shall I say, her strength diminishing?”

“What have you done, Corinthian?”

“I want to kill you, Dream. And what easier way to kill you, than to kill your wife.”

ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴄᴏɴᴛɪɴᴜᴇᴅ…

𝗮𝘂𝘁𝗵𝗼𝗿'𝘀 𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲: 𝗋𝖾𝗆𝖾𝗆𝖻𝖾𝗋 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗂 𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝗂 𝖼𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝗆𝖺𝗇𝖺𝗀𝖾 𝗌𝖼𝗁𝗈𝗈𝗅 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗐𝗋𝗂𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀? 𝗍𝗎𝗋𝗇𝗌 𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗂 𝖼𝖺𝗇'𝗍 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗎𝗇𝗂'𝗌 𝖺 𝖻𝗂𝗍𝖼𝗁. 𝗍𝖾𝗅𝗅 𝗆𝖾 𝗐𝗁𝗒 𝗈𝖿 𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝗆𝗒 𝖼𝗈𝗎𝗋𝗌𝖾𝗌, 𝗂𝗍'𝗌 𝗆𝗒 𝖼𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗏𝖾 𝗐𝗋𝗂𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖼𝗈𝗎𝗋𝗌𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗁𝖺𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝗈𝗌𝗍 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗅𝗈𝗇𝗀𝖾𝗌𝗍 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌??? 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗂𝗍'𝗌 𝗈𝗇𝗅𝗒 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗋𝖽 𝗐𝖾𝖾𝗄 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗂'𝗆 𝖺𝗅𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝗒 𝖻𝖾𝗁𝗂𝗇𝖽??? 𝗐𝗍𝗁 𝗂𝗌 𝗀𝗈𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗈𝗇.

𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗒𝖾𝗌, 𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝗇𝗈 𝗆𝗈𝗋𝗉𝗁𝖾𝗎𝗌 𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗉𝗍𝖾𝗋. 𝖽𝗈𝗇'𝗍 𝖺𝗌𝗄 𝗆𝖾 𝗐𝗁𝗒. 𝗂'𝗆 𝗇𝖾𝗐 𝗍𝗈 𝖿𝖺𝗇𝖿𝗂𝖼 𝗐𝗋𝗂𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖼𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗅𝗒 𝗂'𝗏𝖾 𝖻𝖾𝖾𝗇 𝗆𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝖿𝗈𝖼𝗎𝗌𝖾𝖽 𝗈𝗇 𝖿𝗅𝖾𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋 (𝗅𝗈𝗐-𝗄𝖾𝗒 𝖺𝗇 𝗈𝖼) 𝗋𝖺𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗇 𝗆𝗈𝗋𝗉𝗁𝖾𝗎𝗌 𝗁𝗂𝗆𝗌𝖾𝗅𝖿. 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗁𝖾'𝗅𝗅 𝖻𝖾 𝖻𝖺𝖼𝗄 𝗇𝖾𝗑𝗍 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗍!

𝗂𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗆𝖺𝖽𝖾 𝗂𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖿𝖺𝗋, 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗀𝗋𝖺𝗍𝗌 𝖼𝖺𝗎𝗌𝖾 𝗂 𝗇𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗅𝗒 𝖽𝗂𝖽𝗇'𝗍. 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗂 𝗌𝖺𝗂𝖽 𝗂 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗀𝗈𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈 𝗋𝖾𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗌𝖾 𝖺 𝖽𝖾𝗌𝖼𝗋𝗂𝗉𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗇𝖾𝗑𝗍 𝗌𝖾𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗌 𝗂 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝗉𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗇𝖾𝖽, 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗂 𝗐𝗈𝗇'𝗍 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗋𝗍 𝗐𝗋𝗂𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗂𝗍 𝗎𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗅 𝖺𝖿𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝗂 𝖿𝗂𝗇𝗂𝗌𝗁 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗐𝗁𝗈 𝗄𝗇𝗈𝗐𝗌 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗐𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝗍𝖺𝗄𝖾. 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗍𝖾𝗇𝗍𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗏𝖾 𝗌𝗒𝗇𝗈𝗉𝗌𝗂𝗌 𝗂𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌: 𝖽𝖾𝗌𝗂𝗋𝖾 𝖽𝖾𝖼𝗂𝖽𝖾𝗌 𝗍𝗈 𝗆𝖾𝗌𝗌 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗆𝗈𝗋𝗉𝗁𝖾𝗎𝗌 𝖻𝗒 𝗀𝗂𝗏𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗐𝗂𝖿𝖾 𝖺 𝗌𝗈𝗎𝗅𝗆𝖺𝗍𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍'𝗌 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝗁𝗂𝗆.

╰┈➤ 𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘤𝘬 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘰𝘰𝘭 𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵!

╰┈➤ 𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘤𝘬 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘣𝘰𝘰𝘬𝘴 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘮𝘢𝘯 𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘧!

𝙨𝙝𝙚𝙡𝙛 𝙩𝙖𝙜𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩:   @aurorarevenclaw1927, @hueanhdang, @queen-taryn, @cyanide-mustard, @azrielloveselain, @sherazyjade

𝙨𝙚𝙧𝙞𝙚𝙨 𝙩𝙖𝙜𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩: @justviktormlolm, @amirahroronoa, @sunna-fangirls, @mrs-captainsteverogers, @absbdbshhs, @urbanbts, @theamuz, @ac-procrastinator-13, @thegreatestsandwich, @julegrav009-blog, @harrypotter55, @blossomedfloweroflove, @lestaikkeullsokka, @thetrashypanda423, @ponyboys-sunsets, @izzicle, @dilfsandtherapy, @mischiefmanaged71, @grippleback-galaxy, @cynic-spirit, @thecrazytealady, @violet-19999, @junobutbored, @avanisbored, @redskull199987, @bilesxbilinskixlahey, @ladymoon666, @celestialceremonials, @mm2305, @ttae-yong, @thegreatestsandwich, @notabotiswear, @boofy1998, @crimsonsabbath, @megumimind, @itsnanabun, @spygrrl99, @regulusblacksimpsblog, @maverey, @storm4433, @writerinlearning, @lokigirlszendaya, @thesadvampire, @thestarsanctuary, @floreoo, @pinkpunkdynamite, @jesllianaquilesrolon, @aegeanblues, @anjimimimoo, @imaginativefanatic, @book-place, @littlemoistcarrot, @lorosette, @wondermia69, @commanderfreethatdust, @flowerpersephone, @carrietrekkie, @mividaesmeh,

@tea-effect, @lex-the-flex, @dreamamubarak, @witchxlove, @mxtokko

𝗂𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗐𝖺𝗇𝗍 𝗍𝗈 𝖻𝖾 𝖺𝖽𝖽𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗍𝖺𝗀𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗍𝗌, 𝖼𝗁𝖾𝖼𝗄 𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗆𝖺𝗇 𝗌𝗁𝖾𝗅𝖿 𝗍𝗈 𝖿𝗂𝗀𝗎𝗋𝖾 𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝖼𝗁 𝗍𝖺𝗀𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗍 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗄𝗌 𝖻𝖾𝗌𝗍 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗒𝗈𝗎!

Cheaper then therapy 😌

Yeah, I'm fine

*Types "<character name> x reader" into tumblr search bar*

𓅨 Eros Masterlist

Eros: Married to Dream of the Endless, you find yourself sent back in time to Ancient Greece where you, unfortunately, meet Oneiros. Fresh off a divorce and drowning the sorrows of his son's death by indulging in the Panathenaia, you find yourself trapped beneath the lustful gaze of your future husband. In your defense, he seduced you first…

Overall Warnings: Filthy Explicit Material, Explicit Language, Time Travel, Morpheus getting jealous of his past self, Hoe!Dream, DILF!Dream, Seduction at its finest.

To Note: Morpheus x Wife!Reader, Time Travel, Oneiros is used for AncientGreek!Morpheus.

Total Word Count: ~24.5k

Legend:

❗ = Explicit Sexual Material

𓅨 Chapter One

𓅨 Chapter Two

𓅨 Chapter Three❗

𓅨 Chapter Four❗

𓅨 Chapter Five❗

𓅨 Chapter Six❗

𓅨 Chapter Seven

𓅨 Chapter Eight❗

Date Published: 12/30/23

Date Completed: 6/19/24

Last Edit: 6/19/24

Morpheus/Dream Masterlist

I love it

𝐒𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐃𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦𝐬 (𝐀𝐫𝐞 𝐌𝐚𝐝𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐬)

Pairing: Morpheus / Dream x (female) Reader

Summary: being reunited with your lover, Morpheus, after he’d been captured for nearly a century

Warnings: angst, smut, tiny bit of dry humping I guess?, oral (f receiving), fingering, penetrative sex (m+f), multiple orgasms, minors DNI

A/N: here we are adding another pale emo boy to my never ending list of men I’d like to fuck lmao! title is of course from Sweet Dreams by Eurythmics! I hope you guys like this <33

p.s. this was not properly proofread bc I was in a rush to post it before I left for holiday so I’m so sorry for any spelling and grammar mistakes, hopefully it’s still readable lmao

This is for people 18+ only. Minors do not read on. By clicking ‘keep reading’ you are hereby agreeing that you are 18 or older.

“Here’s here! He’s back!” Lucienne pants as she barges through your door, or what was left of it at least.

You sit upright from where you were lying on the bed.

“What?” You squeak.

“He’s back. Morpheus. He’s here. He’s back at last,” she smiles at you, elation and sadness both mixing in her eyes.

You waste no time in following her, the two of you running through the ruins of your once beautiful castle until you reached the throne room. Your breathing fast and shallow, your heart pounding ferociously in your chest.

“Morpheus!” You all but sigh in relief as you finally lay your eyes on your lover.

He was standing by his throne, one hand rested on its back, dressed in his usual dark attire. For a moment your breath hitches in your throat. For a moment it was almost as if he’d never left, as if he’d been there, where he belonged, all this time. But your reverie is quickly broken when you feel the pang in your chest, the pain as it hit you again just how long your lover had been kept from you.

“My love,” he calls back quietly, his tone as serious and calm as it ever was.

He descends the stairs slowly, making his way towards you. You didn’t have it in you to be as calm and reserved as him. You raced towards him, closing the the distance between you as quickly as you could. You almost don’t stop when you reach him, you just crash into him. Your arms fling desperately around his neck, pulling him down into you. His hands snake around your waist and pull you flush against him, his palms flattening against your body, his fingers digging into your back.

You bury your face into his chest, titling upwards to nuzzle against his neck. He buries his own face into your neck, the warmth of his breath tickling your skin, making your hair stand on end. Your hands wander up his neck, moving to run through his hair, tugging it tightly, afraid that if you let go he’d somehow disappear again. You’re so lost in the moment, of having Morpheus back in your arms, you almost completely forget about Lucienne until she clears her throat lightly.

“I’ll, er, let you have some time alone,” she murmurs.

Morpheus raises his head slightly to nod an acknowledgment at her. As soon as she’s exited the throne room you tug him down by his hair, crashing his lips against yours. You both moan desperately into the kiss as your mouth greedily devours his, as if you could somehow make up for a century of having his lips parted from yours.

You didn’t need to talk, to say anything. There were no words to comprehend this moment. Instead you let all your feelings pass to him though your lips; a century of torment parted from your lover, a century of aching for him, of feeling so empty and incomplete. ‘I missed you’ simply wasn’t enough.

You moan softly again as you push your body against his even harder, arching your back and curving yourself into him. You feel a gentle smile tug at Morpheus’ lips as his hands hold you even tighter against him. Your hands move to tug at his long coat, pushing it off his shoulders. He lets the coat slip off his body before he presses into you even harder than before, walking you back a few paces.

You gasp in surprise against his lips when you feel something hit the back of your knees. You twist your head to suddenly see a magnificently large bed placed behind you. The sheets were black silk, it’s frame made from darkest of brown woods, gothic twists and turns carved into it’s structure.

It was beautiful. It was Morpheus.

“I almost forgot how much I missed that trick,” you smirk, referring to Morpheus’ ability to manipulate everything around you in the dreamworld.

Morpheus just hums deeply against your lips, his fingers digging into your hips as he tilts you further backwards, gently lying you down on the grand bed. He moves to kneel at the edge of the mattress, pausing briefly to slip off his black t-shirt and toss it to the floor. You feel your heart flutter with a mix of pain and excitement as your eyes take in the sight of his pale torso. He looked exactly the same, exactly as you remembered him. The nostalgic familiarity of his body causes a flood of emotions to surge through you, a tear blinking in your eye.

Morpheus notices your tears as he leans down over you, positioning himself above you, his hips against yours. He shushes you gently, bringing a hand to cup your face, his thumb swiping at your fallen tears.

“Shh, I’m here now, my love. I’m here,” he whispers before kissing you gently again.

Suddenly the messy urgency of before dissipates, melting into a languid and lazy kiss, as if the two of you had all the time in the world. Your hands roam over his torso, revelling in the smooth skin you hadn’t touched for a century. You feel the soft contours of his body, the ripple of his muscles as he holds himself above you. You scratch your nails down his stomach, eliciting a deep groan from Morpheus. You stop your movement just short of the small trial of dark hairs on his lower abdomen, sliding your hands back up his body until they clasped around the back of his neck once again.

As Morpheus kisses you his body starts to slowly rut against yours. You can feel the buckle of his belt dig into your lower belly as he grinds himself on top of you. Another moan passes your lips when you feel how hard he is; his cock straining against his dark jeans and poking between your thighs. You shiver and whimper when he moves his hips further forwards, pushing against your clothed pussy, providing the tiniest amount of friction.

Your hips buck up into the movement, humping him just as fervently as he was humping you. Your back arches, your covered chest pushing against his bare one. Slowly the urgency and desperation from before starts to creep back into your kiss, into your bodies. His mouth starts to attack yours more hungrily again, his lips moving faster and more greedily against your own. Your hands tug on his hair again, silently pleading him for more. His hands run down your body, grabbing at your hips and giving them an almost painful squeeze.

“Morpheus please,” you whisper. “I need you,” you whine, pushing your hips up against his for emphasis. “I need you to fuck me.”

He groans deeply again at your words, his fingers almost trembling where they held onto your hips. His eyebrows furrow, his face twisting in contemplation, almost as if he was fighting with himself, or fighting to control himself.

“I- I want to take my time with you, love,” he murmurs against your lips.

You shake your head lightly, your nose bumping against his.

“We can take our time later. We have all the time in the world now you’re back,” your sigh against his lips. “But right now, I just want you to fuck me. Please. Please,” you plead with him.

You continue to murmur the word ‘please’ against his skin as you kiss down his jaw, along his throat. You make your way to the spot just below his ear, the one you knew always drove him absolutely wild. Once you find the spot you bite gently at his pale skin, sucking quickly to pull a bruise to the surface; you were determined to show the worlds, dreaming and waking alike, who Morpheus, the Lord of Dreams himself, really belonged to.

Morpheus grunts when you suck harshly on that sensitive spot. His hands run up your body quickly again, snagging on the hem of your shirt and hurriedly lifting it free of your body. He groans deeply when he realises you weren’t wearing a bra, his gaze burning as he takes in the sight of your perfect tits. It seems he practically has to force his gaze away as he sits up and begins to make quick work of undoing the fastenings of your jeans. You shimmy your hips, helping him as he tosses them aside. You sit up, ferociously crashing your lips against Morpheus’s again as your shaky hands fumble desperately with the fastenings of his own jeans.

But he pulls your hands away, not so gently shoving you back down onto the mattress. He looks down at you with a commanding glare in his eyes. You move to sit up again but he grabs your jaw in his hand, pushing you back yet again until you were lying hapless on the bed.

“Morph-“ you whine, cut off when he squeezes your jaw.

“I will take my time with you, my love,” his voice is a whisper and yet it holds all the command and authority of a king.

A whimper lodges in your throat as Morpheus starts to drag his hand down your body. He gives your throat a gentle squeeze before his hand is trialing down your chest, between the valley of your breasts, over your stomach, right down until he reached your navel. His gaze follows his hand, his eyes mapping your entire body as you squirm naked beneath his stare.

“I’ve missed this body,” he muses to himself, his eyes glazed, drunk on the sight of you. His eyes snap back up to yours before he adds; “I’ve missed you.”

He looks at you with such an intense and sad gaze that you feel your heart twinge again, a tear pricking your eye. You take one of your hands and place it over his where it still rested on your lower abdomen.

“I’ve missed you too,” you squeak, giving his hand a squeeze.

He flashes a soft smile, taking your hand in his and bringing it to his lips so that he could place a chaste kiss to your knuckles. Your heart twists at the gesture; it was something he used to do frequently before he’d disappeared. He bumps his nose against your knuckles before gently placing your hand back on your stomach. His small smile twists into a smirk when he finally leans forwards again, hovering over you. His lips land on your chest and begin following the same trail he’d just made with his hand.

You shiver as he kisses down your body, his lips somehow cold and yet burning like fire as they sear down onto your skin. You bite your lip as you look down at him, his eyes trained on yours even as he kisses lower and lower down your body.

When he finally reaches the apex of your thighs he first places a gentle kiss to your pussy lips. His hands move to tuck under your thighs, helping to hold you open. He flashes you that tiny beautiful smirk again before he finally licks a stripe up through your folds. You shiver at the sensation, throwing your head back immediately. It was almost outrageous how just the lightest of touches was already driving you wild; you are simply just horrendously desperate for your lover’s touch. And he was more than happy to oblige.

Morpheus licks through your folds a few more times, spreading a mixture of your arousal and his saliva all through your slit. A strained profanity slips past your lips when he finally starts to focus his attention on your clit. He sucks it into his mouth, his tongue swirling it languidly. Your hips buck, your body jerking under his touch as the feeling almost overwhelms you. You swear you can still feel his smirk as he brings one of his hands from under your thighs, moving it to splay across your lower belly again, pushing you down and pinning your hips to the mattress. You whine, a sound somewhere between frustration and pleasure.

“Mmm, I’ve missed your taste,” he groans against your cunt. “You always taste so exquisite. Just heavenly,” he hums.

You whimper, his name falling from your lips in a sinful moan. He reciprocates your moan, the noise vibrating through to your clit as he sucks it back into his mouth. Pleasure sears through your body, a fire inside that you’d not felt for over a century. Your head almost feels dizzy, your breathing shallow and fast, your skin tingling, your fingers and toes almost going numb as all feeling is focused in your core.

“M-Moprheus,” you whine, twisting your head to hide in the sheets, almost embarrassed by how quickly your orgasm was building.

Your thighs tremble and shake on either side of his head, your toes curling and pushing against his shoulders. He moans against you again as he feel you start to buck your hips more fervently against his face. He glances up at you and sees how you’ve twisted to cover your face, hiding the heat in your cheeks as your body surged closer and closer towards your climax.

“It’s okay, my love, just let go. I want you to let go,” he whispers gently.

You mewl, your fingers knotting harshly in his hair, your back arching and your neck twisting even further away from his stare.

“Look at me, lover, please. I want to see your face,” he pleads quietly. “I need to see how good I make you feel.”

Though he may be pleading there’s still that edge of command in his tone that lets you know it wasn’t really a request and there really wasn’t any room for arguing. You bite your quivering bottom lip as you slowly lift your head to look at him. You moan lewdly as you catch the sight of him between your thighs. His gentle blue eyes are somehow dark with lust, his hair even messier than usual from where your fingers were gripping it. You can just about see, as well as feel, the smirk on his lips as he keeps his tongue swirling over your clit, sucking softly at the same time. The sight and sensation of it all is finally enough to tip you over the edge.

“O-oh, fuck,” you barely manage to choke out as pleasure races through your entire body, spreading from your core right into the tips of your fingers and your toes.

You fight the urge to toss your head back and arch your spine as you desperately try to keep your eyes on his. You feel his smirk grow into a small grin of pride as he continues to just lightly suck on your clit, enough to prolong your orgasm without making you go too sensitive. When your body has finally given every ounce of pleasure it had to offer, for the moment anyway, he removes his mouth from your cunt and starts kissing your inner thighs again lightly.

“That’s my good girl,” he murmurs lowly against your skin, placing another kiss to your thigh. “You did so well for me,” he praises gently.

You slump back against the mattress again, your chest rising and falling heavily as you try to catch your breath. Morpheus just continues to kiss all over your thighs as he gives you a moment to recover, occasionally biting and sucking a hickey into your skin. Feeling the wetness of your euphoria on his chin and lips as he kisses over your skin feels deliciously filthy.

His hands stroke the back of your thighs and your ass, grazing over your hips, causing goosebumps to raise on your flesh, a shiver running through your whole body. Your hands loosen their grip on his hair, instead just stroking his head lightly as you try to relax and just revel in the feeling of being with your lover once again.

But it’s not long before you start to feel the ache build in your core again, your cunt clenching desperately over nothing as Morpheus kisses tantalisingly close to your pussy.

“Please,” you beg quietly, your head lulling to the side again. “Please Morpheus, I need you inside me,” you almost cry, your voice pitching in tone.

“Shhh,” he kisses the inside of your thigh. “All in good time, my love,” he promises.

He continues to kiss at your thighs for a short while before you feel one of fingers gently brush through your folds. You mewl at the feeling, at the promise of more. He swipes his finger through your slit, gathering the wet mixture of his spit and your cum. It’s like fireworks explode in your chest when you finally feel his finger push into you, slowly and gently stretching you open. You swear your body was about to combust when he’s quickly able to add another finger, your wetness making it all too easy for him to pump his two fingers in and out of you.

Your fingers knot tighter in his hair, yanking hard as he starts to curl his fingers, searching for that sweet spot inside you. He hums in satisfaction, kissing your thigh again when he hears a squeaky moan lodge in your throat, knowing he’d found the right spot.

“O-oh fuck. Yes...” you whisper with a shaky breath as he adds his mouth back into the mix, his tongue smothering over your clit again.

He curls his fingers in time with his tongue, stroking your sweet spot with the pads of his fingers as his tongue swirls circles around your swollen clit. Your body feels impossibly hot, the pleasure making you feel tingly as it races through you. Your orgasm builds even faster than before, rushing to the surface and breaking over your body. You can barely moan Morpheus’ name as he pumps and sucks you through your second high. You convulse and shake, your body almost twitching from the pleasure, your pussy clamping over his fingers as he slowly continues to curl them against that spot inside you.

Morpheus hums in satisfaction again as he steadily slows down his movements, slowly bringing you down from your high. He sits up, his eyes never leaving yours, before he gently pulls his fingers free from you. You gasp at the loss of contact but the sound quickly develops into a full blown moan when you see Morpheus bring his two fingers to his mouth, sucking them clean of your juices as he continues to stare you down.

You can’t wait any more; you needed this man to fuck you.

You didn’t even care how sensitive you were from your first two orgasms. You sit up and grab him by the back of his neck, yanking him harshly down until his lips collided with yours. Another moan escapes you as you taste yourself in his mouth, the tang of your arousal coating his tongue as it roamed over yours. You pull on the hair at the nape of his neck, arching your back and pushing your chest up against his, your perked nipples brushing against his skin.

Morpheus groans into the kiss as his body starts to move against yours, his still clothed hips slotting between yours. The tent in his dark jeans rubs against your pussy and sends a flare of euphoria through you again.

But it still just wasn’t enough.

Your fingers quiver as they fumble once again with the fastenings of his jeans; only this time he doesn’t move to stop you. You moan greedily into the kiss, your lips moving with an even more urgent hunger against his as you start to push his jeans and boxers down his hips. He breaks the kiss briefly as he shifts to remove his jeans completely, throwing them to join the rest of your clothes somewhere on the floor.

The sound that leaves your throat when you’re finally able to take in the glory of his naked body is almost indescribable. He was just so painstakingly beautiful it genuinely made your chest ache. You can’t bring yourself to wait any longer as you reach forwards to grab his glorious cock in your hand. You swipe your thumb over his red and swollen tip, gathering the pre-cum and swirling it around his head. Morpheus all but shudders as you do so, his eyes fluttering as he tries to keep himself under control.

You’re just about to start stroking him properly when his hand clamps over your wrist, giving a quick but firm shake of his head. You release his cock as he gently guides you to lie back on the bed, his body crawling over yours. His nose bumps yours as he gives you a desperate and messy kiss before you feel the wet and warm tip of his cock nudge against your folds. Your fingers curl and dig into his shoulders as you desperately try to pull him against you.

Morpheus grabs his cock and helps guide it through your slit, gathering the mixture of his spit and your cum and coating himself with it. Then, at long last, you finally feel him start to push inside you. A whimper escapes traitorously past your lips as you feel the dull ache of him stretching you open. You could feel just how tight you were around him as he slowly pushes himself into you, slowly slotting himself to the hilt, until you could feel his hips flush against yours again.

You feel the light tremor in Morpheus’ body, the slight tremble in his arms as he holds himself above you. His eyes close and his face twists with pleasure, and with concentration, as if he was pouring all of his focus into not cumming almost immediately at the feeling of your tight pussy wrapped around him after a century apart. His head hangs low, his fringe ticking your forehead as he pauses there for a moment, giving you a second to adjust, or giving himself a moment to gather himself before he loses himself completely to the feeling of you.

He takes a deep shuddering breath, searching your face. You nod quickly, bucking your hips again as you silently give him permission to move. He nods shortly himself before he obliges your request from the beginning and slowly but surely starts to fuck himself into you.

He’s barely started to move and already you can feel fireworks explode throughout your body. Your hips buck to meet his, your tits pushing up against his chest, your nails tearing at the skin of his shoulders. He shudders and groans as he feels you pulse around him, hugging his cock impossibly tight.

“Oh, my love, I’ve missed how good you feel,” he whispers with a deep groan, “how tight and perfect you are for me.”

HIs voice is so quiet, almost as if he’s rambling more to himself than to you. You can feel his breath tickling your face as he hovers just above you. His one hand holds himself up, resting just next to your head. His other travels across your waist, caressing the soft curves of your body. That same hand trails higher up your body, grazing the side of your breast until he reaches the apex of your arm.

You shiver, more goosebumps beginning to litter your skin as his fingers dance back down your arm. You mewl softly when his hand reaches yours, dancing over your palm until his fingers interlock with your own. He gives your hand a quick squeeze before he lifts it above your head, pinning it to the mattress behind you.

His name escapes your lips in a plea as he squeezes your hand again. At the same time he begins to speed up his thrusts. His pace is still relatively slow and steady; he puts all his effort is focused on trusting deep inside you, the tip of his cock brushing that spot inside you with each snap of his hips. With each thrust another cacophony of moans fly from your lips.

“I think most of all,” he continues through his shaky breathing, “I’ve missed the sounds you make. The way my name falls from your lips,” he pants hotly, his breath fanning over your face. “You are divine,” he groans through gritted teeth, “like the sweetest dream there ever was.”

You moan his name again as you feel your body coil again, the fire burning and building in your core with each brush of his cock inside you. Morpheus pushes his forehead down against your own, his nose bumping against yours as his own moans start to increase in frequency. You almost smile as you feel a small jolt of joy swell in your chest. His moans grow higher in pitch and you knew it was his telltale sign that he was close to finishing himself.

But you also knew he never let himself finish first. And, as you expected, as he always used to do, he brings his hand, the one not holding onto yours, down between your bodies. His fingers find your clit quickly, wasting no time in circling it with expert precision.

His eyes search yours desperately, a century of unspoken emotions passing between the two of you. You knew there were no words to describe how you both felt. No amount of letters would ever be able to encapsulate the enormity of torment that had been your time apart.

Instead you just let your bodies do the talking. The glaze of tears in his eyes letting you know how much he loved you. The hunger of his lips when they moved with yours showing you much he missed you. The tight grip on your hand signalling that he would never let you go; a silent promise that you’d never be parted again.

You lose yourself in the moment. Nothing else exists other than here and now. You pay no mind to the crumbling castle around you, the vast and empty space that stretches on forever. All you see, all you feel, is Morpheus. Your senses are clouded and overwhelmed by him. The sight his ethereal blue eyes boring into yours. The smell of him, light and clean, refreshing and comforting. The feeling of his smooth skin under your palms are you claw at his back. The wet sounds of his cock slipping in and out of you with ease. The gentle sounds of his heavy breathing and soft groans in your ear.

“Morpheus, I- I’m close,” you breathe, nudging your nose up against his.

He nods lightly; “let go for me, baby.”

You whimper, something akin to a sob, when you hear him call you ‘baby’. He hardly ever called you that despite knowing how much you actually loved it. The pet name, his fingers circling your clit, and another deep thrust of his cock inside you, finally work to tip you over the edge once again.

This climax was different to the others; it was more intense but not in a way that felt overwhelming or too much. It was just the prefect amount of pleasure and you swear your vision goes blurry as you reel from the sensation. Your eyes roll back slightly, your head lulling onto the pillow, your jaw going slack as your mouth hangs open in a silent O.

“Oh how I’ve missed that view; how beautiful you are when you fall apart for me,” Morpheus groans lowly as he keeps fucking into you slowly.

His hips jut raggedly against yours, his pace faltering and his thrusts turning sloppy as he fucks himself towards his own climax. You paw at his back with your free hand desperately as you encourage him to let go. You slide your hand up his neck and fist his dark hair again, pulling tightly in the way you knew he liked. And it worked, as not a second later his hips still completely as he lurches deeply against you, finally climaxing himself.

He pants shakily, deep groans falling from his parted lips as his cock twitches inside you. You sigh his name contently as you feel the warmth of his release flood inside you. His hand shakes where it still holds onto your own. His other hand had moved to squeeze your hip as he slowly rocks you both through the remnants of your highs.

The two of you just stare at each other for a second, the both of you trying to make this moment last for a century, as if this could make up for the century spent apart.

Morpheus smiles gently down at you, his hand moving from your hip to palm your cheek, his thumb stroking your skin. You reach up to cup his face in return, your fingers softly tracing over his features. His eyebrows furrow when he sees a slight sadness behind your eyes.

“What’s wrong?” He asks quietly, twisting his face to place a gentle kiss to your palm.

“It’s nothing,” you shake your head slightly.

You sigh defeatedly before explaining further, warmth rising to your cheeks with a slight embarrassment.

“I want to say 'I love you', but the words seem somehow so small and insignificant, like they’d never be big enough to capture how I actually feel,” you whisper.

Morpheus just smiles gently, leaning down until his lips connected with yours in a gentle kiss. You both smile softly into the kiss when you feel the silent message pass from his lips to yours.

Perhaps words would never be enough to encapsulate how you felt about each other. But it didn’t matter. You could feel it in your heart. And, somehow, you just knew that he could feel it in his heart too.

Masterlist

A/N: just gonna tag my babies @mothdruid and @siempre-bucky as well bc I know how much they love this pale emo too!! I really hope you all liked this <33

p.s this will be my final fic for a short while as I’ll be away on holiday and taking a short hiatus from Friday onwards!

Taglist // Join My Nightmare Realm // Ko-fi

Perfection

~Dreaming of him~ - Morpheus x female Reader (not sfw)

warnings: smut and fluff, (less) p*orn with (more) feelings, oral s*ex (f! receiving), nudity

summary: reader falls asleep while thinking of Morpheus and has an e<rotic & emotional dream

words count: 3,312 k

"Finally!"

A loud sigh of satisfaction left your lips when you collapsed on your bed, sinking into the soft sheets and warm furry blanket.

You always looked forward to that moment, especially after a long busy day like the one you had just barely survived. You felt tired, like your whole vital lymph had been drained out and even slightly feverish although you knew it was your usual migraine making your heart pound in your head like crazy.

You needed to close your eyes and have a good night's rest. Your sore muscles however were making it a bit too hard to find a good position to sleep into.

There was only one efficient way to help you relax, to ease your tensed body and although you were quite sleepy you convened that pleasuring the tiredness off your body was what you needed. To this end, you turned and laid on your back, spreading your legs a little under the sheets. Your hand crawled under your nightgown and slipped unceremoniously in your panties.

You couldn't just touch yourself, tough. It wouldn't work. You needed to make up a fantasy in your mind or else you'd still be wanking in the morning. Well, perhaps not the morning but it would definitely take you a lot more time than you were willing to sacrifice that night. You needed to make something up real quick and with that aim in mind you closed your eyes and started rubbing your fingers on your clitoris.

You gasped when your mind presented you an highlight of a few different memories, all associated with the same person or well, a supernatural being. Morpheus.

You have had a crush on him since the first time you saw him in The Dreaming. He had helped you with a particularly aggressive nightmare and since that night you had had a few other brief but pleasant encounters. Literally everything about him intrigued you and captivated you. Although, his voice was what attracted you the most. It was like a soothing balm for your very soul but at the same time a lit match that aflamed your whole body with passion.

And it was his voice that you tried to recall and replicate in your mind as you touched yourself, making it whisper whatever you needed to hear to whet your arousal. With his deep voice came a vivid image of him, his charming eyes wandering over your exposed skin and his full lips parting to kiss his way to the inside of your legs, getting closer and closer to the point where you wanted to be touched the most.

"Y/N... " He whispered and you flinched a bit, startled at how the voice in your head could sound so real.

"Y/N?"

Maybe a bit too real.

Your eyes flied open and you heart almost jumped out of your chest. He was right there, in front of you, on your bed, kneeling between your legs, his crystal eyes curiously looking at you.

"I heard you call my name." he said, his gaze slowly traveling down your laying body, halting at your lower belly, were your hand disappeared inside your panties.

You followed it and gasped, abruptly withdrawing your hand and unfolding the nightgown that was rolled up to your hips.

"I fell asleep?!" you asked alarmed looking around you as you retreated a little to put some space between the two of you, leaning your back against the headrest. Morpheus was looking at your every move, amused, a small smile curving up his lips.

You were deeply mortified. How could it have happen? You were laying there in your bed, pleasuring yourself in the privacy of your room and then what happened? You fell asleep while thinking of Morpheus and inadvertently brought him to you? Oh God. You wanted to dig a hole in the ground right then and there and hide inside it forever or better yet, you wished you could immediately wake up and never ever dream again for the rest of your life. How could you look him in the face after that?

You tried to hide your embarassement as best as you could by covering your face behind your hand, fingers lazily scratching your forehead while you kept your eyes fixed on the ground, not daring to look up.

"Sorry...", you huffed in a whisper, "c-could you wake me up please?"

He chuckled in response at which you flinched a bit in surprise and your head snapped up. He moved your hand away from your face and took it in his.

"Why should I, Y/N?"

The look he was giving you was so genuine and alluring at the same time that you felt your heart missing a beat or two.

"You're here now...", he said, bringing your hand to his lips and leaving a gentle peck on its back, "exactly where you wanted to be."

Your breath itched at the touch and you gawked at him in disbelief. What was he doing? Why was he doing it? It took a moment for his words to fully register.

"I-I didn't mean to come here! I was just- I just wanted to... "

He smiled as he pecked your skin again, then turned your hand around and planted another delicate kiss on your palm.

"Morpheus?" the tremble in your voice betrayed your eagerness and he looked up, locking his gaze with yours.

"You were touching yourself thinking of me, calling my name."

He knew, he knew. Of course he knew. You wanted to melt, vaporize, get struck by a thunder! Anything!

"Isn't it true?" He arched an eyebrow, his head tilting a little to the side, his now seemingly innocent gaze boring into yours. You gaped at him, unsure how to react.

"Was it my hand that was pleasuring you?"

You gulped. The embarrassment of the situation couldn't keep you from feeling a growing warmth in your lower belly at the thought of the fantasy you were only a few minutes ago so nicely weaving in your mind.

"How did it feel?"

You wanted to answer that it was the best fantasy you ever had but you were stunned and kept your mouth shut. The whole situation felt unreal. It was unreal.

"Y/N? How did it feel to be touched by me?"

His gaze was too intense and you couldn't resist.

"So good."

The words spiraled out of your lips in a shaky huff before you could realize what was happening and stop yourself. You looked away, feeling ashamed.

"Oh?", he smiled, visibly amused. His hand moved on your cheek to caress it. You felt a light tingling where his fingers brushed over your skin, making your whole body shudder.

His fingers curled around your chin and he turned your head to face him. Your eyes locked for a moment before his gaze began to wander over your features, admiring every inch of your face, halting at your mouth. His thumb moved up to delicately brush the outline of your parted lips.

"Did I kiss you in your fantasy?"

He looked up at you and you flinched again, heart jumping in your chest. All you could do was shake lightly your head in response.

"No? Well, that's a shame. I think we require one kiss, at least."

He bent over you, slowly closing the distance between your faces. His lips brushed over yours in such a subtle way that made you lose your head and lean forward, attracted to him like a magnet. It seemed to you that your yearning was the only sign he was waiting for because as soon as you moved, his smiling lips crushed on yours. You moaned in the kiss, surprised by his eagerness. He was literally devouring you. His hands came to clench your sides and you felt like jelly, melting in his touch.

You were literally gasping for air when he leaned back, putting an end to that heated kiss.

Dream's eyes were scanning your face once again, seeming to revel at the sight of your flushed cheeks and dumbstruck look. Without uttering a single word, his lips moved back on yours only to tease you with a peck before he trailed them toward your cheek, then along your jaw, stopping at your neck, at the level of your throat. He planted a open mouthed kiss on that spot, sending goosebumps all over your body.

"Morpheus?" you shakily whispered, "why are you doing this? Am I making you do it, somehow?"

You felt his hot breath on your skin as he chuckled and lightly shook his head. He sought your eyes and his hand gently cupped your cheek.

"You are not. I am still the ruler of this realm and I make your dreams."

He saw the puzzled look on your face and tried to explain himself better.

"This is your dream, Y/N. And I am, voluntarily, making it happen. I'll give you anything you wish."

"And you are willing to..."

"I am, my dear."

You searched his eyes, trying to understand, to catch any sign that could finally ease your mind about the whole situation. Was he really willing to play out your fantasy for you? Was he interested in you as you were in him? Would he take as much pleasure in having you just as you would in having him?

Feeling your hesitation, Dream captured your lips in another kiss, less voracious than the last one but equally passionate. It was slow and deep, in one word, intoxicating. Your eyes fluttered close and you reveled at the sensation of feeling desired by someone, by him.

He begrudgingly brought the kiss to an end just to move his lips up to your ear and whisper, "I want you, Y/N. Do you want me?", then moved back and locked his eyes with yours, now wide open.

Of course you wanted him! You were the one who had fantasised about him and brought him to you. You nodded repeatedly, mind already wandering in anticipation to what was to come.

Dream tilted his head a little, scanning your face.

"Y/N, I want you to say it" , his forefinger moved on your mouth to gently tap your lower lip, "I want to hear it from your lips."

"Yes, Morpheus", you cleared your throat to let your voice sound more full and confident. "This is what I want. This is my dream."

The beautiful smile that appeared on his face brought one to yours as well and a warm reassuring feeling rose in your chest.

In no time his lips were back on your neck to tease the sensitive skin there, under your jaw, on your jugular, down to the swell of your chest, stealing a series of moans from your lips. He threw a glance up at you and locked your eyes with his as he resumed his descent, peppering teasing kisses over the light fabric of your nightgown. He moved down in a straight line along your chest, kissing between your breasts, on your belly button, halting only as he hovered over your groin.

His fingers skimmed over your legs, igniting the skin through their climb toward the inside of your thighs. They danced around the hem of your nightgown, teasing you with the lightest of touches, before they slid beneath the fabric and reached the hem of your panties, tugging them down in an agonisingly slow pace.

"Morpheus, please..." you cried out impatiently, rubbing your thighs together to make up for the ever more frustrating absence of his touch where you most needed it.

He smirked up at you as he slid off your foot the last portion of your underwear. His hands moved on your knees to give them a little squeeze then trailed up your thighs, spreading them wide, fingers slowly dipping under the hem of your dress, traveling upwards.

"You are so beautiful Y/N."

That compliment caught you off guard and you blushed visibly, bit your lips and averted your eyes from his.

You were on the verge of begging him to touch you and put you out of you misery when he lifted your dress, dipped his head and slicked his tongue through your folds. You couldn't possibly hold back the loud moan that escaped you.

After a second solid stripe down your core he placed a soft kiss to your clitoris and peeked up at you to watch your face contorting, then he continued littering you with teasing kisses until you were writhing under his touch.

"Morpheus!" you cried in frustration as you squeezed your eyes shut and bucked your hips towards him.

He was pleased to see you so desperate under him and he chuckled, his warm breath going cool against the wetness between your legs, driving you mad.

While his hands gripped your hips to hold you down, he latched his lips to you and started dragging his tongue back and forth, occasionally swirling against your most sensitive button.

Your hands instantly found his head, fingers tangling in his dark hair and tugging at it, making him groan against you while you whined pathetically.

He moved to focus on the clitoris sucking gently at first then with more decisiveness. He pulled the little botton up into his mouth, just past the lips as he sucked on it up and down.

A loud deep moan escaped you when his tongue dove into your entrance, making you arch your back and bent your head backwards on the headrest.

You were already worked up before he started so it wasn’t long before you felt your release growing closer. All your muscles felt tense like a violin cord and your hands tightened their hold on each side of Dream's head, supporting his motion.

"Morpheus, I'm- I'm-"

Looking down, you met his eyes which watched your reactions with a hazy, love-drunk gaze. His tongue slid up to focus once more on your nub, sucking firmly on it a few times. That was the last straw for you. A second later a rolling wave of pleasure washed over you and you cried his name out loud, eyes squeezing shut and seeing stars, legs twitching around him. He had to plant his palms on your inner thighs to keep from being squeezed as he got back up.

He licked his lips as he watched you come back from the ecstasy, eyes lingering on the rising and falling of your chest gradually going back to normal and then on the contraction on your face fully abandoning your features to give them a relaxed and satisfied look.

He was smiling softly, hands caressing affectionately your thighs when you reopened your eyes and met his gaze. Your hands were still at the sides of his face so you gently cupped his cheeks.

"That was..." you whispered, still trying to regain your breathing, "that was intense."

He took your wrists in his hands and as his eyes fluttered close he placed a lingering kiss on both your palms. That sweet little gesture after the thoroughness and care he just put in giving you the best orgasm you ever had, felt so intimate and meaningful that it made your stomach flutter and your eyes start to sting a little.

"Did it measure up with your fantasy?" he genuinely asked, looking down at you with the most tender gaze.

You could feel your eyes beginning to fill with tears and before he could notice, you leaned forward, throwing your arms around his shoulders.

"Are you kidding me?", you tried your best to swallow a sob as you nestled on his shoulder and against his neck "this was a billion times better."

His arms were around you in no time, hands supporting your back and he squeezed you against his chest making you feel so safe and happy and loved. You couldn't possibly hold back the tears any longer. A stifled series of sobs escaped your lips and you clinged tighter to him, fingers tugging at his robe.

"Y/N..."

His beautiful voice, resonating so close to your ear only made you more emotional. You genuinely had no idea what had gotten into you.

"Y/N, why are you crying?"

In an attempt to soothe you he ran one hand up and down your spine, while the other kept supporting your lower back.

"I don't know..." your shaky voice was interrupted by your sniffling, "I just- I've never felt like this... I'm so full to the brim of emotions and they're pouring out."

He hummed, nodding his head. "You must know that emotions here are amplified. It's totally normal to feel overwhelmed."

"Is that true?" The grip you had on his robe loosened and you leaned back seeking his eyes.

Dream immediately brought one hand to your face, wiping a tear from your cheekbone with his thumb.

"It is."

It made sense to you. That was still a dream, after all, even though one of a kind. And just like in any other dream you had, good or bad, everything you felt had been ten times more intense. You knew however that what Morpheus had made you feel was totally new for you, dream world or not. You've always yearned to know how it would feel to be desired, to be loved, and truly cared for and Dream had just given you all of that and more. At least that was what you felt. Was it real? Was that intense bubble of emotions pouring out of you real? And was it love? Or something else? Something made up entirely? Would you have felt different in the Waking World? All those unanswered questions were really starting to mess with your head.

You took a moment to scan his face, taking in all his beautiful features, the ones you adored so much. Your fingers reached up to follow your sight in its contemplation, grazing delicately over his skin as if you were scared he could disappear at a moment’s notice, but also as if you were touching a forbidden piece of art of invaluable worth and feeling undeserving of the permission granted to you to even stand so close to it.

You begrudgingly let your arms fall back.

"I'm sorry...", you sighed, giving him an apologetic smile, "I ruined the mood. It was your turn... You still want to...?" You babbled feeling a bit ashamed.

"Y/N. You have not ruined anything." he admonished kindly, brushing affectionately his hand through your hair. "And, I think we should keep something for the next time..."

You perked up at his words.

"For your next dream..."

"Right", you couldn't hide the hint of slight disappointment in your tone.

"Or-", he resumed, leaning forward, a knowing glint in his eyes, "for when you're awake."

As soon as the meaning of his words hit you, you gawked at him, a wide grin taking form on your lips.

"Y-you would?!"

Your earnest reaction made him smile and he nodded.

"If it will ease your mind, of course."

"Oh...", you averted his eyes, rubbing nervously your fingers against your cheek, "am I that easy to read?"

"Perhaps a little", he whispered, taking your hands in his, "the look you gave me just a few moments ago spoke louder to me than words could ever have."

With a sheepish smile you fiddled with his fingers in your lap then you interlocked them with yours and looked up.

"So", he said, leaning his forehead against yours, "until next time, my love?"

You screamed internally at the word 'love' he so earnestly uttered to adress you. There was no way you could refrain the wide smile that popped up on your face as you answered, "until next time".

You both leaned forward to meet in a soft and lingering kiss worth a thousand words.

-

"This dream is over."

A/N = thank you for reading! I hope you liked the story. Feel free to leave a comment to tell me what you think of it, feedback is always appreciated.

Also, you're welcome to come over on Ao3 and Wattpad where this story and other my works are published as well, to live kudos, stars and read other people's comments and opinions. [author's name is the same everywhere]

I officially don't take requests but I'm open to suggestions and I might use your ideas for a future story so either leave a comment under one of my stories, dm me or send an anonymous request.

Thank you again and until next time! xx