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withoutyouimsaskia · 6 months

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Don't Stop (Sandman One-Shot)

GIF: Originally posted by @imironstark

Pairing: Morpheus/Dream of the Endless x AFAB reader

Summary: One-shot. Reader self-insert. Smut. You and Morpheus are in the exploratory stages of your relationship. Morpheus asks to worship you, and all is going well. At least, that is, until you start to wake up...

Warnings: Minors DNI. Smut. Porn with plot. Kissing. Oral sex (AFAB receiving). Slight dominant Morpheus.

Word Count: 1.7k

A/N: So I watched Sweetbitter. With my partner. Maybe not the best idea because suppressing the squeaks of excitement whenever Tom came on screen was tough and not always 100% effective! The hyper fixation is still going strong... Hope you enjoy this one. All my love, Saskia xxx

Sandman Masterlist

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It is only when the violent spinning not only stops but holds for several minutes after, does Morpheus make steps in allowing his guard to drop.

He straightens elegantly out of his crouching position, withdrawing his hands from the scree smattered earth. He looks to his left, to Lucienne, who is warily regarding the ground and sky, wondering if they might start to rapidly switch places again.

She meets Morpheus' gaze and adjusts her round-framed spectacles with a steady hand.

"I might be speaking too soon, sir, but I truly think it is over now."

Morpheus takes one last steely appraisal of the horizon, almost daring it to misbehave.

He nods once. "I believe you are correct, Lucienne."

"Will you be requiring anything else from me, my lord?"

"Not at present."

"Very well," Lucienne replies with a warm smile. "I will return to the palace now."

She does a little incline of the head in deference and goes to start the winding walk back towards the glowing lights of the Dreaming's seat of power.

Morpheus calls to his friend.

"I thank you for your persistence in supporting me to resolve these issues. I suggest you take some extra hours to rest."

"I suggest you do the same, sir."

Though her reply is innocuous, the knowing gleam in Lucienne's brown eyes hints at an alternative interpretation, one that Morpheus cannot help but notice.

It was becoming generally well known that he was in the early stages of courtship with a dreamer, you, and there was no doubt that Lucienne was aware of how far the relationship with you had recently gone.

He raises an eyebrow in response, earning a grin from Lucienne and then he watches her walk away.

Once alone, Morpheus allows his eyes to flutter closed as he sifts through the myriad of dormant minds and tunes into the space occupied by yours. He takes a reading of your emotions, thankful to find that you are contented and have not been rendered feeling neglected by his absence.

There's a faint undercurrent lingering below the surface level of your emotions that he is also able to lock on to given the familiarity that you share.

Desire.

They are present, filling you with neediness and longing.

A longing to be touched, to be touched by him.

Morpheus is with you in seconds, appearing in the doorway of the room you have chosen to conceal yourself in.

You are curled up in a large armchair by a panoramic window that frames the mountainous vista beyond. The torches that mark equidistant points along the bridge leading to the palace project a soft gleaming warmth over your skin. You are gazing softly at the landscape, the fingertips of one hand combing through your hair, the others trailing up and down your inner thigh.

Such an innocent yet provocative display. It makes Morpheus' voice drop to an even deeper and more sultry register than usual as he calls to you.

You are out of the chair instantly, meeting him at the threshold of the room. Your heart pumps out an allegro drum beat, the sound of the blood rushing in your ears like a waterfall.

You are pulled into a searing kiss, arms encircle your waist to ensure you are flush against his hips and chest. It is a relief that he is holding you in such a way for your knees are threatening to give out within seconds.

The power he has, in his body, his actions, through his words, in a metaphysical sense; you are helpless against them all.

When Morpheus pulls away from the kiss, you follow him on instinct, aching for more. He smiles faintly at your eagerness but maintains the gap in order to explain his length of absence.

"I must apologise, Y/N. The issue was a little more complex than Lucienne and I had anticipated."

He's looking down with a tint of shame in his aquamarine eyes.

You slide your hands up his forearms, gripping tightly and angling your head so you can capture his gaze.

"There is nothing to be sorry for. Your work and the safety of your dreamers take priority."

He simply nods. Your unwavering understanding is always on the side of overwhelming for him.

You register this in his stance.

"You feel a little tense. I can help with that if you want. Like I did last night?"

You move a hand up to stroke the hair on the back of his head. It is a form of touch that never fails to release tension.

Morpheus indulges in your attentions for a bit, leaning into you and sighing deeply, before staring at you directly with sudden seriousness.

"I cannot deny that what you did for me yesterday was beyond exquisite," He leans in to speak by your ear. "But it is my turn to worship you."

"Oh," you swallow down your surprise. "Okay."

Morpheus wastes no time in guiding you back towards the armchair and sits you on the very edge of the seat pad.

He carefully removes his long sweeping coat and then drops to his knees before you.

His rosy lips are parted, eyes dark pools, both standing out against his beautifully pale skin.

"Where can I touch you?" He asks urgently.

"Everywhere," you reply as the flutterings in your stomach warble your voice.

He begins by trailing his hands up your legs. The patterns he draws are intricate and intoxicating.

"May I have the honour of tasting you?"

"Yes," you consent, breathless already.

You remove your trousers and underwear in the same movement and allow Morpheus to adjust your position.

The image of him looking up at you with lust and intent as he parts your legs is immediately imprinted deep within your memories.

He trails innocent kisses up your left calf to your knee. A long-fingered hand is hooked under it and once Morpheus slips your leg over his shoulder, he continues his path along your inner thigh.

Wisps of his midnight hair tickle your skin and make you squirm in the most delicious way. You whimper when you feel his cool breath hit your pulsing core.

Morpheus speaks your name reverently, a taster of what was about to come.

He leans in the last few inches and kisses your vulva. You melt with an ecstasy-filled exhale. His tongue gently licks at your labia, encouraging them to part and expose your clit. He laps at you with precise strokes before sealing his mouth over the nub.

It's like a direct current has been shot into your body; you jolt into him, moaning his name with abandon.

He hums against you, lips curling into a naughty smirk. You are completely at his mercy and he knows it all too well.

He manipulates your clit between his plush lips and the pleasure reaches a higher ground.

"Whatever you do, please don't stop," you beg.

Morpheus obeys, slowly increasing and decreasing the pressure of his suckling until you are almost unable to think clearly anymore.

Then, suddenly, you are distracted by a strange feeling radiating through your body. You recognise it with immediacy. It's like you are being dragged upwards by a marionette string. You are waking up.

You stiffen, falling silent, hoping above all hope that if you stay still, you can stave off the pull back to consciousness.

Morpheus, noticing your change in demeanour, stops his attentions and pulls away.

He speaks your name in a caring tone, "Are you alright?"

You grab the arm rests in a further attempt to keep yourself in the Dreaming. The sensation isn't letting up.

You respond with haste, "I think I'm waking up. I don't think I can stop it."

Waking had been the cause of cutting short your time with Morpheus many times before. It was to be expected; you were a human being with things like sunlight and birdsong and routines to contend with. The worst had been mid-way through a conversation, one that you were able to pick up again the next time you passed the Dreaming threshold.

Right here while Morpheus was working on you so perfectly, however left you with one thought: Why did it have to be now?

Your surroundings flicker and all sound becomes warped. The support of Morpheus' body and the chair vanish.

"I'm sorry." They are the last words you speak before you disappear.

You come to in the semi-darkness of your bedroom. Your chest is heaving and wetness has spilled onto your pyjamas from the dream of Morpheus lavishing your aroused core.

Your phone is blasting out a morning alarm, its shrillness the clear root of you disappearing on him.

It turns out though, initially unknown to you, that Morpheus was having none of this separation business. That is until you notice him sitting between your splayed legs.

"Morpheus?! What are you -"

"You asked me not to stop, my dearest dreamer," he interrupts, pouring every ounce of seductive energy into the words as he can muster.

Morpheus' eyes bore into yours as he climbs up to fully straddle your body. He reaches over you to turn off the alarm with a precise tap on the screen of your phone. He takes a deep breath.

"Much better," he purrs. The pitch of his voice is pleasure enough on its own, even without the fact that his hips are subtly grinding against yours.

"Now, would you like to resume with what we were doing before we were so rudely interrupted by that repugnant tone?"

You nod.

"Verbal consent, please."

It's suddenly so hard to speak now he is in your bedroom, your domain. You hope that a clear display will be an acceptable alternative. You reach your hands down to rid yourself of your pyjamas only to have each wrist pinned either side of your head.

You gasp.

"I need to hear you say it out loud, Y/N."

Another wave of hot, stifling arousal is released between your legs. You shiver in reaction to it, to his dominance.

Your mouth is open but no coherent words leave it, just the starts of failed sentences. Morpheus comes to your aid:

"Will you allow me to taste you here, in the waking world, just as I did in my own realm?"

"Yes," you breathe. "Yes, Morpheus. Please. Put your mouth on me."

He hums his approval before lowering your shorts and beginning to feast on you once more.

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Tag List: @herfantasyworldd @shadowqueen1318

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withoutyouimsaskia · 2 months

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

Part 1 | Part 3 | Part 4

GIF: Originally posted by @harleytudinous

Pairing: Morpheus/Dream of the Endless x AFAB reader

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

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

Word Count: 2.5k

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

Sandman Masterlist

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

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

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

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

One thing you tell yourself with each sunrise:

Thank goodness they weren't nightmares.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You dream.

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

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

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

Everything changes.

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

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

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

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

You gasp, and snap your gaze back up.

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

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

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

It spurs you on and you burrow deeper.

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

It keeps you on display.

Just like the statues to your left.

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

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

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

It does nothing.

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

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

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

"Let go."

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

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

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

That was obscene.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then you see him; a figure cut from shadow.

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

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

"You okay?" Concern colours the simple question.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Excuse me?"

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

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

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

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

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

You turn towards the door.

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

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

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

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

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

He reaches for your hand.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You welcome him.

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

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

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

He smiles triumphantly and presses you flush against his body.

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

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

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

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

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Taglist: @herfantasyworldd @kpopgirlbtssvt

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

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withoutyouimsaskia · 2 months

Text

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

Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

GIF: Originally posted by @tavners

Pairing: Morpheus/Dream of the Endless x AFAB reader

Warnings: Minors DNI. Dark!Morpheus. Soulmates. Angst. Obsessive and possessive behaviour. Tension. Home invasion. Voyeurism. Implied masturbation. Dream manipulation.

Word Count: 2.6k

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

Sandman Masterlist

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

Fate.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This foray into the water may be fruitless.

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

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

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

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

"Find my soulmate," Morpheus commands silently.

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

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

Then there is a pull.

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

You are alive, and you are dreaming.

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

Morpheus dives deeper without hesitation.

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

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

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

You stand by said window, head turned from him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

The empty room dream was symbolic of a beginning.

It clicks into place.

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

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

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

You see him.

The tears spill and patter onto the white floor.

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

You disappear.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Would his triumph drive them to distraction?

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

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

Tears pool in his eyes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Fates were making it transparent.

You were the one.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It has done the opposite.

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

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

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

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

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

An erotic idea enters his mind.

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

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

To give you a taste of what was to come.

A gift that only he could bestow.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Providence is pulling him in and also locking him out.

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

He doesn't even try to fight it.

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

It is surprisingly liberating.

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

All he has to do is wait.

The door to the building is pushed open.

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

Taglist: @herfantasyworldd

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

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withoutyouimsaskia · 7 months

Text

The Sandman Works Masterlist

Hello there! I figured it was about time that I made a comprehensive list of all my fics set in the world of The Sandman so here it goes ❤️

Remember Me, Special Dreams

Table of Contents and Playlist - Self-insert. You're having trouble with recurring night terrors and Morpheus pays you a visit. (Warnings: language, angst, mentions of graphic night terrors. Smut in later chapters.)

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Sometimes It's Fated

Self-insert. AFAB reader. Dark Morpheus. After restoring the Dreaming and locating the missing dreams and nightmares, Morpheus turns his attention to finding you, the human he believes fate has chosen for him. (Warnings: Minors DNI. Dark Morpheus, smut, possessive behaviour, voyeurism, dub con/non con.)

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One Shots

Healed - Fluff. Gender neutral reader. You hurt yourself at home and Morpheus tends to you. (Warnings: injury, blood.)

Fever Dream - Fluff. Gender neutral reader. You develop a flu-like illness resulting in fever dreams. Morpheus helps you with the nightmares and cares for you. (Warnings: sickness, nightmares, physical intimacy.)

Decisions - Fluff. Gender neutral reader. You and Morpheus are due to attend an Endless family gathering and you ask Morpheus for points on what to wear. (Warnings: physical intimacy, suggestive themes.)

Low - Angst/comfort. Gender neutral reader. Morpheus attempts to bring comfort to a dreamer who is managing depression, while in his cat form. (Warnings: angst, talk of depression.)

Autumn - Fluff. Gender neutral reader. Morpheus has made you a dream based on one of your favourite things and you explore it together. (Warnings: physical intimacy.)

Don't Stop - Smut. You and Morpheus are in the exploratory stages of your relationship. Morpheus asks to worship you, and all is going well. At least, that is, until you start to wake up... (Warnings: Minors DNI. Smut.)

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withoutyouimsaskia · 18 days

Text

Sometimes It's Fated (Sandman Short Story Part 5)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

GIF: Originally posted by @simply---words

Pairing: Morpheus/Dream of the Endless x AFAB reader

Warnings: Minors DNI. Dark!Morpheus. Soulmates. Angst. Obsessive and possessive behaviour. Tension. Threat. Dubious/non consent. Language. Kissing. Nudity. First time. AFAB + AMAB penetrative sex. Unprotected sex.

Word Count: 2.2k

A/N: Hello there! How are you all doing? Thank you so much for sticking with me on this. I always hope I can get chapters out quickly and it always turns into 2+ weeks... Special thank you shout out to my IRL bestie @theviridianbunny for giving the chapter a once over ❤️Much love, Saskia xx

Sandman Masterlist

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

Morpheus' eyes glint like onyx stones under firelight as he waits for you to yield. His breathing is as laboured as it was when you initially laid eyes on him, and with each exhale you are exposed more and more to the intoxicating scent that rolls off his alabaster skin.

One hand is braceleted around your wrist, thumb swiping back and forth over the veins there that jump frantically, the other steadies the solid appendage that nudges temptingly against your opening.

"I can see that you want this," he intonates proudly. "Your physical reactions inform of me all that I need to know."

Your attention darts down to the markers that are broadcasting your arousal: first to the hardened peaks of your nipples, and further down to blushing labia framing your swollen clit. Morpheus follows the same path with predatory meticulousness.

"Oh, yes, those reactions are delightfully obvious. Most of all here."

He drags the tip of his erection in a teasing circle around your entrance and smiles sadistically when you stiffen and whimper in response. He brushes his nose against yours, the playfulness of the gesture juxtaposed entirely by his next sentence.

"Your sweet enticing cunt, gushing as it prepares itself for entry."

If you could close your legs to shield yourself from further embarrassment you would, for his dirty words only add to the wetness that he has observed between them. It's now running onto the silk sheets, mingling with the pre-cum that drips from his poised cock.

Morpheus continues to speak, "But I would know from even more subtle signs: the shade of the flush on your chest, the curl of your toes, the arch of your back." He dips his head, breath feathering over the shell of your ear as he whispers, "You want penetration."

He is right. Of course he is.

The desire to be filled is powerful - a base instinct that is relentlessly chiselling away at your resolve. You swear you can hear a voice in your head chanting with every proverbial swing of the hammer:

Do it. Do it. Do it.

A conflicted whine pushes past the clench of your teeth.

Morpheus has fallen silent, his tongue tracing a scintillating path directly over your jugular, an action that makes you automatically twist to offer more of your neck to him. He doesn't oblige, instead he moves his head lazily and stares you down once more.

How was he so good at playing with you like this?

The question spends little time unanswered; the Maiden's words from the tail-end of your conversation with the Fates bounces to the forefront of your brain. "He has been made to be perfect for you."

It's the whole soulmates thing.

Speaking of the soul, to make matters worse, the ache in your chest is returning with ire. It appears that the touch of his skin is no longer enough to pacify the pain. A flash of recognition musters in your mind from the near-imperceptible sudden knit of Morpheus' brows, the tautness in his own chest; subdued cues that he shares this affliction.

You reach out with your free hand and spread your palm across his sternum, feeling the fierce shuddering there that matches yours.

His soul.

It is under the same stress as yours. He had said he could feel the sub-epidermal heat like you but had made no mention of this. Supernatural being or not, Morpheus is grappling with pain and it will simply not do.

Your eyes flick up, your decision made in the next heartbeat.

"I surrender."

Quicksilver flashes through those blackhole irises and with an exultant groan he sheathes himself within you.

You screw your eyes shut and cry out, amazed by how far he is able to push in before he meets resistance. The overstimulation you had been predicting is absent, as is the agony you feared would accompany it. It's just the involuntary constricting of your channel that you contend with, a metronome swinging between discomfort and enjoyment.

"Look at me," Morpheus commands in that velvet voice.

You comply, and when you do you see that his eyes are blue again. A pair of cerulean pools; tranquil, somewhere to shelter. If only you could relax enough to slip into those waters. There's so much tension in your jaw and balled fists, inside you.

"Breathe," he coaxes, guiding you with tenderness, a hand reaching hold yours to give it a grounding squeeze.

You inhale slowly and shakily, mouth forming a shape of surprise when the muscles slacken and allow Morpheus to sink those last few centimetres within you.

The agony inside your chest ceases and from the small change in Morpheus' posture, you intuit that his has too. Heat like a solar flare envelopes you head to toe and the weight of his lustful stare only adds to the pyre.

"Mmm, that's it," he praises huskily, putting a forearm flat on the bed next to your face. "You feel divine, Y/N."

You nod zealously, unable to concur in any other way as he has robbed you completely of sentence forming. Your walls flutter as you adjust to the stretch, the feeling of this beautiful being bottomed out inside you. Your soulmate, exactly where he needs to be.

Morpheus makes the first move; a languid roll of his hips that grazes every place inside you, and releases breathy moans from you both. Your grab onto him, the spot where neck meets shoulder, as your mind scrambles to process the pleasure. With this initial test completed, he studies your expression, looking for any indication of a wish to stop. He finds none. Only a pair of expectant eyes overflowing with desire for him to keep teaching you like he promised.

He begins to rock into you with lavish, sensual thrusts. Your cunt unfurls even further to ease his movements; you are a moonflower, blooming under the night sky that overlooks the chamber, under his celestial form.

Remembering how much he liked it before, you move your free hand to play with his hair, eliciting deep-seated shudders all down his spine. It is joyous to inspire another such visceral reflex and you feel it pass through into your own body at each point of contact.

If he is a sculptor, you are the clay yielding beneath the presses of his body, shaping you into something entirely new - a lover. Just when he has you in the desired form, he changes everything.

He slows to a stop, still tucked safely within your warmth and secures his hands around your calves to bring them around his slight waist. You're not sure how it's possible but the change in elevation makes him feel even thicker.

His eyes are becoming darker again, gaze centred steadfastly on your face as he once more restrains both your wrists against the midnight coloured sheets. The semiotics give an unmistakable clue to his plan.

He's going to fuck you like he said he wanted.

You brace as he drags his cock back, and then he delivers a bruising thrust, animalistic grunt sounding low in his throat as the jut of his hip bones imprint into your flesh. A measure of dark lust is shot into your bloodstream and immediately you yearn for more of this roughness.

"Please," you say breathlessly.

He indulges you with a barrage of hammering thrusts, moans tumbling from your lips with abandon as warmth settles in your skeleton. His own vocalisations of pleasure syncopate with the completion of each thrust. The sound takes residence in your brain, his touch in every cell. The wish he had to occupy you in entirety is being granted.

You only take your eyes off him for a handful of seconds to look at the place where your bodies are joined, where he is slamming into you, the obscene image of it.

It's like he is an open flame and you are being doused in 99% proof vodka; the fire under your skin is so intense that your moans transform into screams. Morpheus consumes them all with the sudden seal of his mouth over yours.

The smothering action unlocks something inside you. In your chest, where your soul resides, it is vibrating aggressively, much more than it has done in the course of the evening thus far.

Morpheus notices the surge in the shaking and pulls back from the kiss.

"We must be close," he muses.

You feel the orb writhe in retaliation to his statement and your whole body does the same involuntarily.

"Shhh," he says in baritone purrs, pausing in his movements to soothe you. "A little longer and then I will breach the last defence about your soul."

His tone is confident as he restarts the powerful pace he has set, "I will not fail you."

He is stormy waves against a sea wall, bringing with it both the promise of blissful inundation and the threat of drowning. Yet you wouldn't mind drowning in him. A deep-rooted impulse tells you it would be an honour to lose yourself to the King of Dreams and Nightmares.

Your conclusion translates to the contraction of your calf muscles as you pull Morpheus tighter against you, deepening the physical connection to him as well as the emotional; choosing to submit fully to this somewhat scary situation - the tying together of your souls.

Pulling him closer, it's not without cost. The extra exertion, the deeper angle he can now reach, with all the pleasure it brings, quickly takes its toll. You are becoming weaker, his determined expression growing blurry, the edges of your vision field greying and closing in. You can't tell if you're about to climax or pass out.

Morpheus, observant and empathic, interlaces his fingers with yours and grips them tightly, clearly intent on keeping you here, not drifting off into the dimension of unconsciousness. Your returning hold is just as strong, perhaps a tad on the side of overtly vehement, but if it is then he doesn't seem to care. He just keeps railing into you, the warning signs of an oncoming orgasm beginning to daintily pulse through your walls.

A long-fingered hand reaches between your bodies to hover over your clit. With the last of your energy reserves, you arch up into his fingers, determined to reach your high, instinct telling you that it will somehow aid Morpheus in his endeavours.

He grunts sinfully in approval at your enthusiasm and uses the pad of his index finger to stimulate you, a familiar instruction issued as your soul jolts sharply, shockwaves rocking your bones.

"Let go."

The way he says the words, coupled with the movements of his hand and cock brings on the most intense orgasm you have ever experienced.

Five, ten, fifteen, twenty seconds elapse where your muscles are clamping down, desiring to keep his still-moving length as deep inside as possible. You loudly say his name, pleasure devouring you whole as you look adoringly into Morpheus' indigo eyes, before you are devastated by a snapping sensation as he breaks your soul open.

You are splintered and for a measure of moments, the exposed edges of the shards threaten to turn your insides to ribbons. Your brace for lacerations is short-lived; his essence, like liquid lapis, pours in to bind the pieces of your soul. Melding with you on a metaphysical level. Waking you from the mortal life you had and greeting you with a new path.

While you have no basis for comparison, an errant thought occurs to you that what is transpiring between you and Morpheus is fulfilling something of unfathomable importance. Something that was borne far from this room, in both the measures of space and time. Primordial. Inexorable. This linking of your soul with his is the culmination of what the Fates have wanted for millennia.

And once your soul is content, your essence begins to reach out in return. Like tender shoots drawn towards solar light, your soul stretches past its boundary to embrace his.

It's the final trigger that allows Morpheus to find his own release. His mouth jumps in astonishment, eyes turning black, then silver, then blue; a broken groan echoing around the low-lit room as he buries his pulsating cock deep inside you and spills his seed into your cunt.

You keen from the warmth of it, and you swear the fast paced breaths he is taking sound like melodies carried on ocean breezes.

The stars above you have been joined by dancing swathes of green and purple - a depiction of the Aurora Borealis at its finest. It swells with each inhale that Morpheus takes, his state having a direct effect on the sky. The colours catch the high points of his face, glowing vibrantly on his cheekbones, nose bridge and cupid's bow.

You wonder if this is the most beautiful sight you will ever see. The perfect face of your ethereal soulmate, framed by celestial splendour, gazing at you with the same devotion that you are casting towards him. But then he smiles. A small, genuine smile that makes your heart soar despite its fatigue, and it's clear that there will never be anything that can compare.

Morpheus then lowers his head to your chest and presses his lips to your healed soul.

"You are complete," he declares.

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

Blinding: "Felt it in my fists, in my feet, in the hollows of my eyelids. Shaking through my skull, through my spine and down through my ribs. No more dreaming of the dead as if death itself was undone. No more calling like a crow for a boy, for a body in the garden. No more dreaming like a girl so in love, so in love with the wrong world."

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withoutyouimsaskia · 1 month

Text

Sometimes It's Fated (Sandman Short Story Part 4)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

GIF: Originally posted by @teenwolf-theoriginals

Pairing: Morpheus/Dream of the Endless x AFAB reader

Warnings: Minors DNI. Dark!Morpheus. Soulmates. Angst. Obsessive and possessive behaviour. Tension. Threat. Dubious/non consent. Groping. Language. Kissing. Nudity. First time. AFAB receiving oral/manual sex. Fingering. Mentions of overstimulation.

Word Count: 3.3k

A/N: Hello there my lovelies! I come bearing a new chapter and this time it is pure smut. It's probably the darkest, filthiest thing I have ever written so brace yourselves. Any feedback would be greatly appreciated. In other news, I watched All of Us Strangers on Friday and it broke me in half. Hope you are all doing well. All my love, Saskia xx

Sandman Masterlist

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

The first thing that registers upon returning to your physical body is the touch of Morpheus' hands and mouth.

Warmth blooms at every point of contact and counteracts the biting winter weather.

Both hands have gone under the hem of your shirt to explore the skin of your back. The top three buttons have been undone to give access to your throat. Morpheus nuzzles there, pressing possessive kisses to the sensitive skin.

Navigating through the lingering brain fog, you realise that this was the source of the ghostly grazes you had felt during your meeting with the Fates.

Even when your mind was disembodied from your physical form, he was still able to affect you.

The connection between your souls is strong.

His sense of curiosity is strong too as he creeps a hand round and upwards to cup the flesh of your left breast. Your mind fully snaps back into your body and you make a squeaking noise, overcome with the intimacy.

He removes the exploring hand and pulls back from the crook of your neck, speaking your name eagerly.

Gentle fingertips stroke from your temple to your jaw bone. The world undulates when you try to open your eyes, and you sway on the spot.

He takes the weight of your body until your strength returns. Your eyelids flutter as you try to blink away the excess moisture that has accumulated there.

"That's it, come back to me," he murmurs.

You see the ocean blue of his eyes first, and then pan out to take in his whole face. Once again, you are wonderstruck by his exquisite beauty. Have you ever seen a bone structure combination as exemplary? No. Absolutely not. No one ever has.

The angles are balanced perfectly with his pouty lips, all pink and swollen from use; the sight of them urge you to replicate the same activity with each passing second.

There is no chance allowed for Morpheus disrupts your objectification. "Did you gain some clarity on the situation?"

You pull your coat closer to protect your décolleté from the weather, and take time to thoroughly contemplate his inquiry. There was much to unpack and while you had no inclination to do so standing out in the winter-washed street, you believe that for now Morpheus at least deserves an abridged version.

"Yes. And no. I may have more questions than before I spoke to them..."

"I see." He swallows visibly, hinting at trepidation. "You need not tell me of the specifics of which you conversed. All I need to know is that they have not changed their minds. That you are still mine."

You are smiling reassuringly before he has even finished the sentence. Your intuition tells you it was agony for him the entire time you were gone and you cannot leave him in lingering in that state any longer.

"I am yours," you say ardently as a blissful, expanding feeling blossoms in your chest. "My soulmate."

You brush your knuckles over his cheekbone and cup his face with the gentlest of touches. "My Morpheus."

Saying his name in front of him for the first time has a considerable affect on him. His pupils dilate, lending him a feline air and he groans lowly and quietly in the back of his throat. Hips then roll forwards to give further evidence to his arousal.

You reflect this lustfulness by putting both hands on the back of his neck to pull his face down to yours. He goes willingly, of course, laying claim to your lips like he is an addict and you his vice.

The previous kisses you had shared had been led by Morpheus. You had participated with enthusiasm but he was clearly the one conducting the order of events. Now it was a duet.

Your confidence is shown in your touches. The placement of your hands on his nape and the small of his back, gripping tightly to maintain his closeness. Peppering in open-mouthed kisses in an attempt to get him to open his mouth in return. You want to taste inside him with your own tongue.

He lets you.

You both moan as you trace the inside of his upper lip with your tongue. The taste is just like before; a heady and delicious mixture that blinkers and exposes you in equal parts. You open your mouth further, intending to go deeper when he suddenly delves into your mouth too.

You kiss and kiss and kiss, all the while becoming aware of a trembling heat just above your sternum that carves a path straight and true down to your core.

The hands that were at your sides disappear and the wind begins to pick up. There are gritty specks hitting your bare skin, but you are too overcome with pleasure to wonder why. Morpheus takes hold of your hands and squeezes tightly.

Your head begins to swirl. Is it due to a lack of oxygen? You breathe in through your nose. The adrift feeling persists. The grip Morpheus has on your hands is causing them to go numb.

There's a pressure in your ears similar to that created by the ascent of an aircraft. You feel it straining against your eardrums and spreading across your sinuses. All sound then disappears, as does the floor beneath your feet. Your heartbeat thuds frantically in the back of your throat, pulsating with red flashes behind your closed eyelids. You don't stop kissing him though. He is the only thing that has sense and stability in the disorientation.

The spinning ceases and the pressure fades as your feet find solid ground again. The chill factor has reduced to an ambient temperature. Morpheus extricates himself from your mouth slowly and unwillingly.

There's a sleepy dust-like substance in your eyelashes; you dislodge and wipe it away and open your eyes.

Your location has changed.

The puddle strewn pavements are now white marble. The stinging light emanating from the lamp post replaced by a peaceful mixture of moonlight and starlight through vast windows.

It is extremely familiar. You are trying to figure out why when your focus falls on the statues.

The niggling thought that you put on the back burner is suddenly set free from its cage.

The King of Dreams and Nightmares. That was what the Fates had called him.

You had visited this gallery as you slept and touched yourself in front of a ethereal man.

You vocalise the end of your train of thought as mortification clenches in your gut.

"You were in my dream last night."

"Yes." There's a tiny movement of his lips that suggests pride at your comprehension. "I've been in your dreams for many nights now."

"In the crowds, and that room?"

"Yes."

It all made sense now. It was him you had been waiting for in the blank room and after then, he was the one you had been able to feel watching you from afar. That was why he seemed so familiar. He'd been with you for weeks.

"I can't believe I did that in front of you."

The predatory gaze is back as he surveys your flustered form.

"Hmm," he purrs, "You were quite the spectacle."

"Did you make me do it?"

"I set up the parameters of the dream. Your actions within it were your own."

"I don't remember choosing," you comment in a small voice.

You feel his hands about your waist. "Perhaps you were guided by instinct, rather than conscious thought."

It sounds very plausible for instinct had undoubtably been in the driver's seat since he touched you for the first time.

You decide to change the subject from your exhibitionism. "So this is your realm?"

"We are at the heart of it, within the palace. Few are able to come here when they sleep. Even fewer are permitted to see it with a cognisant mind."

You look down as a bashful blush stains your cheeks. It is truly moving that he let you into his inner most sanctum, even before he had divulged your connection.

A strong thumb and forefinger find purchase on your chin and tilt your head up so he can assess your countenance. "What are you thinking of?"

"I'm just... all of this. What's happened tonight, it's beyond anything I could -"

"Dream?" He offers with a quirked eyebrow.

You laugh. "I was going to say imagine, but dream works just as well."

He brings you in for another passionate kiss, one that goes from lips to earlobe to neck, designed to make your head loll back and knees go weak, and you do both with a sigh.

"I would like to take you to my chambers now," he whispers against your pulse point.

That delicious vibration in your sternum shifts up a gear and you let loose a faint groan in lieu of a reply.

He speaks your name.

The inflection of his voice as he says it is so beguiling that you would probably do anything he suggested.

You are nodding, hazily repeating the word yes a few times even though Morpheus hasn't technically asked you a question.

The pressure you felt before in your ears returns for the briefest of moments and in the time it takes for you to blink, your surroundings have changed once more.

The first thing you notice is the bed, the lone piece of furniture in the room. The frame is an ornately carved pale stone, it twists and turns with gorgeous fluidity. The silk sheets upon it are a stark contrast; black with an iridescent quality that looks like the wings of a corvid. Its presence carries a raft of expectations with it and sets forth a barrage of nervous energy. You ignore the bed for now and look to your soulmate who has moved a few steps away from you.

He looks correct here, you note with intrigue. It's not as if he was out of place outside the function hall, for he has a humanoid form, but the grandeur of this private place is casting him in a different light. Here, with the omniscient gaze, assured tilt of his chin, graceful poise; he looks like the King he is.

And through a funny quirk of fate, he is all yours.

Your chest begins to ache, you raise a hand to it and frown in confusion. It's like your soul is pining, calling out for help.

Morpheus is by your side in an instant.

"I need to touch your bare skin again."

You waste no time in permitting this, shrugging out of your coat and letting it fall onto the black marble floor. Next to be shed are your heeled boots and socks. The height difference between you is lengthened by a couple of inches as you relax the tendons in your feet. You're left in your underwear after you take off your button-up blouse and trousers.

Morpheus' lips part as he observes your body. His eyes dart up and down and you can see the hunger within the darkening irises. His long fingers skim liberally and indiscriminately across your skin, diligently taking away the pain and cataloguing the sensitivity of your body at the same time.

The fingers of his right hand then twitch and his all-black ensemble dissolves into nothing, leaving him completely naked.

Your flush must be fuchsia as you notice his size, and twitches that traverse the length. You look to your own pile of clothes that took you several minutes to remove, hoping that a change of focus will steady your stomach's ever burgeoning butterflies. "That was efficient."

"Once you are dressing in garments created in the Dreaming, I will be able to disrobe you just the same."

You're not entirely sure how you feel about that. It's risky yet also kind of sexy.

"As long as you don't ever do it in front of people by accident," you assert playfully.

"You need not worry, I would never do such a thing to taint your honour."

You nod and close the gap between you.

To say you are astounded by his nude form would be an understatement. Whispers of sinew cord through slender limbs and across his torso, and for each angular peak proffered by bone there is a counteracting swathe of soft, flawless skin that covers it.

You yearn to touch him.

Morpheus' stares are intense as you place your palm over his heart. He hums out a sound of pleasure at the warmth this new skin-on-skin contact has created.

He draws you closer and suddenly lifts you off the ground, knocking the breath out of your lungs. You feel safe in the strength he possesses yet you cling to him with all four limbs regardless, pressing against his bare chest. Having so much of his skin against yours is creating a heat that is close to burning in the most wonderful way.

He lays you onto the bed and watches you with unwavering focus.

"Are you going to perform for me again, or would you like me to take control?"

The notion of that kind of pleasure being administered by him causes your reply to be breathless, "Touch me again, please."

The mattress dips slowly as he gracefully joins you on the bed, straddling himself on top of you.

He starts with your face, caressing you with adoration. Next, pressing kisses to your neck and shoulders before reaching down your body. One hand fondles your breasts while the other cups between your legs. You sigh, relishing in the warmth and how slowly he is taking things.

Deft fingers then dip below the waistband of your underwear.

You jolt and moan, simultaneously thrilled and taken off guard.

"Good," he says with dark delight. "You respond well to me."

He teases at your entrance and you are all at once very overwhelmed.

"I look forward to seeing how you react when I push inside you."

It truly does sound like something you want him to do - you've longed for a physical relationship for years however there's a detail that you know your soulmate should be privy to before you try. How it will be received, you cannot begin to guess, but you need to be upfront.

"I've never been with anyone in that way," your words sounding even more vulnerable than you feel.

Morpheus stops his attentions immediately and for a handful of heartbeats, you are admonishing yourself for the bluntness of your admission.

He moves back up your body and his eyes find yours. His expression is gentle and devoid of judgement, the following sentence backing up what your optic nerves are perceiving.

"Then I will teach you."

He presses a single chaste kiss to your lips; an act that seals his promise. Your apprehension melts away. You run your hands through his hair as you bask in the sweetness of the moment. The Fates were right: Morpheus really is perfect for you.

"I am going to worship you now."

He's ridding you of your bra and underwear immediately after you consent. The second he sees you fully bared, his eyes turn black.

You wonder what you've just agreed to.

He kneels on the floor at the foot of the bed, grabs your ankles and pulls you towards him until your legs hang off the edge.

You've seen depictions of oral sex in media however you have always reasoned that they are likely to be unrealistic; fantasies created in controlled environments and you would be naïve to hope that it could be like that for you, when it happened. Until now. Morpheus is the expert in dreams after all. Maybe you are allowed to get your hopes up.

His lips tease your inner thighs as he settles himself closer and closer to your throbbing, wet core until you feel the tickling of his breath.

He observes for a moment, part your folds with a single finger, grasps your hips and then goes down on you like you are an enticing, delectable treat that must be devoured.

Your lips falls open as his own closes around your clit. The heat that is brought from this touch is an inferno. You moan, and look at him, at this otherworldly being smothering you so adeptly, and how his intense eyes dance with pleasure of their own. He is enjoying this. It makes you gush.

Morpheus, taking advantage of this, very quickly collects the slick on both his index fingers and reaches up to lubricate your hardened nipples with it.

You groan from this additional stimulation and throw your head back with abandon, getting a good view of the vaulted ceiling above you and the seemingly literal constellations that float glimmering and glowing in the rafters.

Soon you are writhing on the cool silk of the sheets and he is forced to resume holding your hips to keep you still.

He then switches to a two-fronted approach. Two fingers sink into your cunt, the thumb of the same hand curling up to press on your clit. It's quite the step - letting another person inside your most intimate place and his reverent groans at feeling your tightness envelop his digits shows that he acknowledges this too. All it takes is a few deep, well angled pumps and then you are granted a mind-shattering orgasm.

His hand presses into the softness of your lower abdomen and the ecstasy becomes ten fold. You repeatedly moan his name as vibrant colours explode behind your eyelids, like the green and purple phosphenes that form if you rub your eyes too hard.

"Was that to your satisfaction?" He asks once your body has gone limp.

You look at Morpheus through the pulsing haze of aftershocks; his cheek resting against your inner thigh as his skin gleams with the same divinely beautiful quality as the stars above you.

"It was more than that," you declare emotionally.

What he's just given you is beyond your highest hopes of what intimacy could be. You had let another person see you at your most vulnerable, and reaped the rewards of that trust. Now, you must show your devotion to him.

"Your turn."

He stands and shakes his head. "No."

You are crestfallen but catch on when he begins to spread pre-cum over the length of his erection.

"Oh, um, Morpheus, I'm sorry. I don't think I can take you right now."

The notion of any kind of touching so soon after climaxing would be the guarantor of pain.

He ignores you, his movements calculated as he adjusts your position; arranging you in the centre of the mattress and splaying your trembling legs.

"Morpheus. I appreciate that I'm inexperienced but I know my body. I can't -"

His tone is dangerous as he interrupts you, "You are my soulmate. You have been made for me and as such, you will be able to take me."

You sit up. "I want to do things for you too."

He climbs on top of you, takes your wrists in his long-fingered hands and leverages you back towards horizontal.

You still don't concede. "Morpheus, tell me what you want."

His voice rumbles with authority, "I want to fuck you without delay. Pour myself into you. Possess you. Merge with you and have us become one."

He ups the persuasive tactics, leaning in close so all you can see are dark eyelashes framing even darker eyes. The heat under your skin is stifling.

"This is the final stage in your awakening. Don't you want to know what will happen when it's done? Allow me to guide you there. Be your first and only, make you feel exquisite with my touch."

He places a palm onto your chest and smiles a twisted smile when a luscious shuddering in that spot above your sternum makes you whimper and squirm.

"Submit to fate," he whispers. "Let me tie our souls together."

He is so eloquent and compelling and he delivers the killer blow as he lines his thick, long cock up at your entrance.

"Will you surrender yourself to me, Y/N?"

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

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

"In the middle of the night in my dreams, you should see the things we do. In the middle of the night in my dreams, I know I'm going to be with you so I take my time. Are you ready for it?"

110 notes · View notes

withoutyouimsaskia · 2 months

Text

Sometimes It's Fated (Sandman Short Story Part 3)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 4

GIF: Originally posted by @sassycherryblossomtree

Pairing: Morpheus/Dream of the Endless x AFAB reader

Warnings: Minors DNI. Dark!Morpheus. Soulmates. Angst. Obsessive and possessive behaviour. Tension. Threat. Dubious/non consent. Physical intimacy.

Word Count: 2.9k

A/N: What a full on week! I've had a job interview. Got turned down for said job. Went to a Sandman filming location (Natural History Museum) and watched Dune Part 2 (cannot recommend enough). It took away from my writing time a bit but part 3 is here now, and I hope you enjoy. Let me know what you think. Part 4 will be coming soon. All my love, Saskia xx

Sandman Masterlist

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

"Y/N, I claim you as my soulmate."

The sentence is a catalyst, fuelling the physical and emotional reactions in both the surroundings and your body.

The wind is gone, leaving a claustrophobic air that crackles with untameable energy. The streetlight above violently flickers and flares, the unmistakable noise of a circuit about to overload emanating with each surge.

You feel these surges within your chest too, stoking the warmth radiating through you to an uncontrollable blaze. The ferocity of the sensation makes you whimper.

The man's hands are still touching you. Cradling your face and holding your hand; he feels the tremble that couples with your vocalisation.

"I understand. I feel it too," he whispers. "Though I imagine it is much more intense for your mortal heart to bear."

He eyes are raven black as he strokes his thumb back and forth over your cheek, before strengthening the hold he has on your face.

"Let me kiss the pain away."

He gives you no time to respond. He leans in the last few centimetres and puts his lips firmly against yours.

At first, contrary to his intent, the pain amplifies. He grunts, indicating that he has felt this spike also yet begins to move his lips regardless. It's like your heart is a balloon and it is being overfilled with air, close to exploding and obliterating you from existence. You then feel as if you are about to black out and want to pull away, and are about to try when the agony starts to subside.

The seduction begins.

The fire is mellowing with each press of his mouth, transforming into a restorative, yet sensuous energy. It's alleviation akin to calamine on a sunburn.

It awakens a primal need in your soul. This man is fundamental to you. He is the only one who can truly protect you from harm. You must remain with him. Give yourself to him.

You act on this revelation and kiss him back with a hunger that you didn't think you were capable of demonstrating.

Your reciprocation sends him into a frenzy. He cages you against the damp wall of the building and kisses you with unyielding, dangerous passion.

His skill is impressive, changing technique frequently to keep you guessing. Smothering kisses, bruising kisses, slower kisses to give you time to breathe. The hand that was cupping your face is now stroking down your side; breasts, waist, hips and back up again.

Tentatively, you raise your free hand to the back of his head and run your fingers through his wild hair. He makes a noise in the back of his throat, a satisfied vibrating sigh of sorts that encourages you to dig deeper into the silken locks.

He escalates things by slipping his tongue into your mouth. You feel his lips curl into a smirk as you moan in response. His taste is a potent blend: a smoky base, herbaceous core and ambrosial top notes. You are drunk on it, and him seconds after exposure.

Logic has left you. Schedules and duties cast aside.

The juxtaposition between the present and minutes prior would be frightening if not for how correct all this feels. You had been disgusted and alarmed by his conduct, ready to bring in reinforcements and then all of it had dissipated like dust under a short, sharp breath.

It is not a ridiculous change in behaviour; you were supposed to be doing this. This stranger is all you want.

He pulls back when even his slower kisses are unable to calm your elevated respiratory rate, dragging your bottom lip between his teeth as he does so to draw another moan from you.

The blue of his eyes shimmer with a myriad of emotions. Lust stands out the most along with awe and relief. Your cheeks prickle with a light blush as he continues to stare and document every detail.

"I have been waiting to do that for thousands of years, my precious soulmate," he eventually says in reference to the kiss after absorbing your image for a while.

There's that word again. Soulmate. You hadn't exactly been allowed a period of contemplation when the man first uttered it, too swept up in the fire and his touch, but now with the semi-reinstation of coherent thoughts you begin to assess. It proves difficult. Your cerebral matter feels like a mixture of treacle, sap and epoxy. Trapping words and slowing down your processing power. It would be so simple to let yourself live in this mental mire and be carried along by his whims.

No. You scold inwardly. Ask a question.

"What do you mean by soulmates?" You force yourself to speak.

He guides your palm to rest on his heart and sets up a mirror image with his hand on your chest. "It means that we are bound together, made for one another."

The next question is easier to form. "And what now, given that you've found me?"

"Now," His hips grind into yours. "I will continue with the ritual of awakening you to the metaphysical connection between us, stripping back the shrouds and glamours that have been protecting your mind from the gravity of this gift."

That explained why everything shifted when he first touched your skin.

"Are you going to do that here?" Your brain is really starting to break free of its trappings and you need to ascertain his plan for it sounds like his intentions are of a sexual nature and you are in a public place.

"No, your time in this world has reached its end. I will take you to my realm, lead you to my chambers and I will not stop stimulating you until I have taken residence in your every thought, every cell."

The speed and confidence with which he is pouring forth all of these sentiments, and the near-full recovery of your mental faculties triggers a wave of nausea. Perspiration forms on your nape and ears and your core temperature feels off; warning signs that you get when you are about to vomit.

He still hasn't let go of your hand. You hone in on the softness of his skin, hoping you can use him as an anchor as you wade through the icky symptoms.

Recent events are starting to catch up with you. You replay it all.

Soulmates. Mortal. Thousands of years. Metaphysical. Realm. The unexplainable environmental manifestations. The strange shifting qualities of his eyes. What kind of supernatural devilry had you managed to become ensnared in?

Was he in fact the devil?

You are so conflicted. This being, for you are convinced that 'man' is no longer the correct term, is telling you things that threaten your entire way of life and your heart is pushing you to seek comfort from him!

Then the voices start.

Your sense of balance tilts and you instinctively grasp his forearm for stability. He says your name and you drag your focus from your thoughts to his face. He is looking at you with deep concern.

"Tell me," he commands gently.

"I feel dizzy... And I can hear voices."

"How many?"

"What?"

"How many voices?"

Your eyes are wide as you struggle to understand the relevance of his question.

You stammer out a couple of syllables.

"Breathe," he encourages.

You obey and concentrate on the hubbub.

"Three. Everything is being repeated three times."

The frown lines smooth and he is smiling faintly. "It seems The Fates are vying for your attention."

"The Fates? Like in Greek mythology?"

"The very same."

Was this being a God then?

"They're telling me to close my eyes," you relay as soon as the instruction is delivered.

He nods. "That will be the trigger that transports your mind to their location."

"Will I pass out?"

"No. It will be a temporary connection that keeps your body frozen for mere moments."

"I feel so dizzy though."

"I can hold you while you converse with them should you wish."

You nod somewhat frenetically as a sliver of fear creeps into your mind. "Yes, please."

He lets go of your hand for the first time since you tried to go back in the building, slips his arms around your waist and he pulls you close with a satisfied sigh. The neediness with which you are clinging to him lessens your apprehension just a little.

"How does that feel?" His voice rumbles deliciously through your chest.

"Good, thank you."

"You should close your eyes now. It is best that you do not keep them waiting."

"Okay."

"I'll see you in a few moments."

You shut your eyes.

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

The scene you awaken in is all lemon yellows, blush pinks and pastel blues. There's no landforms or structures. Just a never-ending stretch of bedrock, topped with a horizon that is beginning to show a sumptuous sunset.

You squint a little and then notice that there is a actually a point of interest. A lump of rough rock, waist height. There's a divot worn into the top that makes the obtrusion look like a font. For a moment you see a single figure standing at it.

A figure that appears to have three faces.

But then you blink and the number has tripled.

Maiden, Mother and Crone.

The trio block the worst of the sun glare, and the light that isn't obscured is highlighting the translucent layers that overflow from their intricately constructed and adorned outfits. Their curly hair, like the fabric of their clothes, flows freely in the gentle breeze.

You walk towards the group, thinking back to that term in school where you studied Greek mythology. Under no circumstances did you ever think that any of it could possibly be true, yet here you were.

You stop a respectable distance from them and quickly avert your eyes downwards to look at the ruby ring on your right hand.

One of them speaks, "You need not be intimidated by us, sweetness."

"I only wish to pay respect to you, your Graces."

You chance a peek at the Fates and see amusement in their eyes.

"Oh, you are going to fit in very well in his world," the Mother says with a smile.

You don't know what to feel about that comment however you don't have time to dwell on it for the eldest addresses you.

"Come closer. Let us look at you."

And look they did. Their resolute gazes are just as discerning as the stranger's but unlike his, where you knew he was soaking you in, you feel like the Fates are seeing through you.

You don't know what exactly it is that they are looking for but their smiles give the impression of being appeased.

"Has Morpheus told you how this will go?"

"No..." You hesitate before speaking his name, "Morpheus has not."

"He didn't tell you his name, did he?"

"We didn't get a lot of time for small talk," you admit sheepishly.

"We can see that from the state of your lips."

"He always was rather forward with his physical affection."

"Touch starved," the Crone finishes.

You are beyond embarrassed. How swollen were your lips for it to be that obvious? You can almost feel his touch now, it tingles like phantom caresses on the skin of your neck, chest and waist. You swallow hard before further lust can thicken your throat.

The Fates then speak in turn again, explaining the context of your rendezvous.

"You will have the opportunity to ask three questions."

"That is the custom when meeting with us."

"There is no need to rush."

Choosing only three questions will be tough when there are hundreds you could ask. Were you losing your sanity? Was Morpheus a demonic envoy from the underworld sent to corrupt your mind?

You suppose all you really want to know is whether this is real.

"Is he telling the truth about us being soulmates?"

The Maiden answers in a musical voice, "He is. The confluence of yours and Morpheus' lives has been written for millennia. Your souls have been intended for each other since he came into existence. You were never meant for anyone else but him."

You feel like you are about to cry. That last statement cuts deeply.

"All those times that potential partners lost interest or ghosted me. It was because of this soulmates thing," you murmur the statement, aware that you don't need to ask them to know if it is true.

Years of heartache and confusion had been for nothing. The nights spent wondering if you had done something wrong, the days where you threw yourself into your work to distract from it.

You cannot regret all the good things you managed to create as part of your team at the charity yet it is hard to look past the personal torment that countless unexplained rejections caused. You are human after all.

Selfishness rears its head and pushes the next question from your mouth with a tone of indignation.

"Why am I only finding out about this now?"

The Mother takes over, tone caring and brown eyes cordial, "It was not necessary for you to know."

Ire disintegrates into frustration. "But I could have been preparing. Not building a life that I was clearly going to have to give up."

"You would not be the person you are had we given you warning. You needed to live as a human, not as someone who was fated to be with the King of Dreams and Nightmares. Besides, there was no possibility of you being together. For 106 years, Morpheus was the prisoner of a human, and it was the recent end of his captivity that allowed fate to take its intended course. Reaching your potential on Earth gives you a strong foundation from which to guide and influence him in how to best serve humanity, and learn to trust in them once more after what he suffered at the hands of one."

The amount of information you have just received is like a freight train. One after the other, the revelations barrel into you and you take refuge in your mind.

The King of Dreams and Nightmares; not a title you had heard of before. Yet there is a strange sense of recognition. A forgotten memory that barely flickers with life. You ignore the niggling thought and focus on the more devastating one.

This King, your soulmate was held against his will, subjected to suffering. You cannot bear the idea of it regardless of how few details you have at present. Your chest aches and you know your soul is the source.

Fury twitches in your fingers, as fiery as the now burnt oranges and bloody reds of the ever-progressing sunset. You want to know who could do such a terrible thing but you realise that it is not the most important question you could be asking.

You look back to the Fates. You note their proud smiles at your restraint.

"What role am I expected to play in his future?"

The Crone moves to centre stage, "You are to be his everything. Muse. Lover. Queen. Advisor. Confidant."

Your stomach twists.

"Are you ready to return to him?" The Maiden asks, taking you off guard.

You feel like you a patron being kicked out at closing time with half a drink left. A fizzy one that you can't knock back easily.

What you've just been told honestly scares you. It's a mountain of expectation, the sort of thing that could birth an inferiority complex. There's also your self-preservation instinct starting to scream. You've seen darkness in his eyes, felt his physical strength and heard how resolute his statements are.

You have to say something.

"I'm worried about what would happen if I disappoint him, if he would hurt me."

The trio step closer, the scant remnants of sunlight reflect off their perceptive eyes and the metal of their matching earrings.

The Crone speaks solemnly, "It has been well-documented that Morpheus has a ruthless nature. As one of the Endless siblings, he is among the most powerful beings in the universe; equal parts creator, and destroyer."

The Mother touches your cheek with a warm hand. "But you have just as much power to hurt him, sweetness. We have provided you with it."

The Maiden nods in agreement, and takes your hand.

"He deals in fears, yes but his domain also lies in fantasies. He will be able to furnish you with yours. He has been made to be perfect for you."

"But -"

"This is not a loss of agency or an act of surrender. Put aside your qualms, listen to your soul and ask yourself this: do you find him attractive?"

"Yes." He's the most attractive person you've ever seen.

"Do you care for him?"

"Yes." Your reaction to his imprisonment is evidence enough of that.

"Do you want to a chance of happiness?"

"Yes." Deep down beneath all the doubt and overthinking and catastrophising, it's exactly what you want.

You want Morpheus.

"I'm ready," you say calmly.

You take a step back from the Fates and bow.

"Thank you for your time, your Graces."

The sky is an inky violet with daubs of dark blue, the sun is a thin line on the horizon. It sets, signalling the end of the meeting and your time as an ordinary mortal.

"Fare you well," the Fates' voices echo in unison as everything fades to black.

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

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

"Deep in my heart, deep in my mind. Take me away, take me away. This is my word, dream maker, life taker. Open up my mind."

113 notes · View notes

withoutyouimsaskia · 1 year

Text

Healed (Sandman One-Shot)

GIF: Originally posted by @spaceslayer

Pairing: Morpheus/Dream of the Endless x gender neutral reader

Summary: One-shot. Reader self-insert. Established relationship. Fluff. You hurt yourself at home and Morpheus tends to you.

Warnings: injury, blood, physical intimacy.

Word Count: 1.4k

Sandman Masterlist

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

Sunday mornings were your favourite part of the week and this particular one was proving to be no exception.

Glass of orange juice in hand, you chatter away to Morpheus about some of your most pleasant childhood memories. He is seated next to you in your bed and looks devastatingly beautiful lounging against the numerous squishy pillows arranged behind him. A green coloured plate sits on your lap, scattered with golden toast crumbs and blobs of melted butter.

The conversation you are having has been influenced by the dreamscapes you had lived in last night. You had been overflowing with nostalgia when you had awoken and this had led to you opening the door to memories of your younger self.

It always brings Morpheus immense pleasure to know that his dream creations not only satisfy you but also inspire you to open up to him. Talking about yourself was not something that came naturally, and goodness knows, Morpheus could relate to that, therefore it felt wonderful to see you so uninhibited. The gratification your partner is experiencing from this is reflected in the smile gracing his ethereal features.

You stop talking when you notice his expression.

“What is it?” You are overcome with a rush of self-awareness.

Morpheus takes your free hand and squeezes. “Nothing. I am simply wondering whether the images conjured in my mind by your stories match what you were actually like as a child.”

You take a sip of your zesty drink. “I have some photographs, if you want to see them.”

He strokes tenderly over your cheekbone. “I would like that very much.”

You throw off the duvet and exit the bed.

A chest of drawers stands across the room. You walk to it and kneel down to access the bottom compartment. It’s the one that induces unstoppable reminiscing when you open it. Ticket stubs. Birthday cards. School reports. Photo albums. You reach for the collection you want to show Morpheus and go to push yourself up to standing again.

Unfortunately, the manoeuvre goes slight awry and you lose your balance, falling forwards and smacking the bridge of your nose on the edge of the unit.

The impact is painful and sends aftershocks down to the roots of your teeth and up across your forehead.

“Oww,” you comment in an undertone, sitting back on your bottom.

Morpheus is by your side in an instant.

“Are you alright, my love?”

You are looking down, a little dazed. “Hmm?”

His cool hands cup your face and he gently encourages you to look at him. His countenance shifts from worry to something stronger.

“You’re bleeding.” His tone is level but you cannot deny the sense of panic that is also there.

You reach a finger up, grimacing as you make quick contact with the mark; it comes away smeared with red.

“Oh dear,” you murmur.

“Where are your healing supplies?” Morpheus asks.

You can't help but giggle.

"What is it?"

“Healing supplies,” you laugh again. "How old are you?"

He quirks an eyebrow.

You frown. "Hang on, don't answer that."

You begin to feel an unpleasant trickle of liquid working its way over your skin. It is a sizeable amount; you position your hands under your chin to catch any drips.

"There’s some stuff in the kitchen. Top shelf of the big cupboard.” You eventually clarify.

“Stay here. I will return presently.”

He gets up with enviable fluidity and goes downstairs.

Sitting alone on the floor, it makes you feel a like a lost child so you get up and position yourself on the bed. The initial shock is beginning to fade and is leaving you with a pain that flares with every beat of your heart. The escape of blood is showing no signs of stopping just yet either. You tip your head back to try and slow its release.

Morpheus’ footsteps back to you are silent as ever meaning you only know he has returned when you hear him speak.

“I thought I told you to wait over there,” he chides softly.

He has paused in the doorway, a small bowl of water and the basket of first aid supplies in each hand.

You look down coyly. "I know. But at least this way we know I probably don't have concussion."

He purses his lips but does not argue the matter any further.

You take the bowl from him once he has sat beside you. The astringent smell of diluted disinfectant whacks your nasal nerves.

Morpheus rolls up the sleeves of his long sleeved top, revealing his slender, pale forearms. He leans closer to inspect the injury properly.

“How deep is it?” You ask fearfully.

“It will not require stitches, only a dressing.”

His long fingers pull out a handful of fluffy white from the cotton wool packet. He dunks it in the water for a brief interval and squeezes the excess liquid out.

He puts his hand on your jaw bone to steady you.

"This will likely cause discomfort,” he warns.

He isn't wrong. You are wincing sharply as soon as he makes contact and your hands twitch with a desire to make him stop. Involuntary tears mist your vision as the disinfectant does its work.

“I apologise,” he whispers, ocean eyes full of sadness for the further pain he is inflicting.

“It's okay. Keep going."

He continues with a meticulousness that completely matches his character.

You flinch again and again, resorting to sitting on your hands to keep them from blocking him. You know this is necessary and do not want it to last any longer than it has to.

“I have nearly finished,” he reassures, as if he heard your thoughts.

“You promise?” Your voice cracks a bit from the sensory overload.

“I promise,” his reply is husky and soothing.

Less than thirty seconds later, Morpheus is dropping the soiled cotton in the nearby bin. He appraises the area again.

“It’s clotting now.” His tension lessens a fraction and he reaches for the basket once more. He pauses, caught between the pads of gauze, the rolls of bandages and the box of plasters.

Your focus drifts between his hands and the expression on his face. You have always found it fascinating to watch Morpheus work and even more so to watch him thinking.

In the end, he looks to you for guidance.

“I think a plaster will work,” you say with a little smile.

He nods his thanks and picks through the box to look for one of a suitable size.

After one final wipe to remove the new spills of blood, Morpheus applies the plaster to your face. He eases the edges flat against your skin and pulls away.

“How does that feel?” He holds your gaze unwaveringly.

“It’s unsurprisingly sore but otherwise comfortable.”

“Good, and you have not developed any dizziness?”

“No.”

He is visibly relieved. He then comes closer again and presses a lingering kiss to your forehead. The simple act makes you feel so beloved that you could swoon right there. You are infinitely grateful to have him to take care of you both physically and emotionally.

“Thank you,” you say wistfully.

“Of course, my love.” The way he is looking at you is blush-inducing.

“What now?” You inquire.

He smiles mischievously. “As your healer, I would encourage you to stay in bed for the remainder of the morning and rest.”

You grin at his joke. “Oh, well in that case, I guess I should follow your advice.”

You rest your head on his shoulder. "Where will you be?"

You know that he is eventually going to be needed back in the Dreaming. It was something you were accustomed to but it never failed to bring on a hint of melancholy.

He smiles, reading between the lines of your question.

"Right beside you, if you'll have me. Someone has got to keep an eye on you, my fragile little human."

"Sounds good to me." You look over to the photo album that had been left on the floor. "Are you ready to be overwhelmed with the cuteness that is me as a toddler?"

“More than ready, my love.”

You laugh and bring your lips to his.

359 notes · View notes

withoutyouimsaskia · 1 year

Text

Fever Dream (Sandman One-Shot)

GIF: Originally posted by @saraicus

Pairing: Morpheus/Dream of the Endless x gender neutral reader

Summary: One-shot. Reader self-insert. Established relationship. Fluff. You develop a flu-like illness resulting in fever dreams. Morpheus helps you with the nightmares and cares for you.

Warnings: sickness, nightmares

Word Count: 2.2k

Sandman Masterlist

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

Pressing your fingertip to the red circle of pixels on your phone screen to hang up the call took effort.

That was when you knew that you were in for a brutal few days.

Your boss had asked very few questions on said call, summating pretty easily from your voice that you were not in any fit state to be working.

Your first sign of what was to come had been the sore throat that had emerged the day before yesterday. A scritchy sensation that had intensified with every swallow before progressing into a tickly cough in the next 24 hours.

Bedtime last night saw you at the proverbial fork in the sickness road. One path led to a moderate illness and the other to a severe one. The only way to know which you were about to be dealt was to wait until morning.

According to your memory, there had been no recent contact with anyone acutely sick, and with this in mind, you had not mentioned your symptoms to Morpheus when you had gone to meet him in the Dreaming. There seemed little reason; you had been fairly certain that it wasn’t going to be bad.

Understatement didn't even cover it.

You had woken ten minutes ago with aches so deep inside your bones that it felt like your marrow was being scraped by razor claws. Every movement was now painful, including low impact ones like utilising your phone.

You plop the object on your bedside table before slumping back against your pillow.

All you desire is sleep yet you know you must attend to some basic needs first. You go through the list in your head:

1. Toilet

2. Sustenance

3. Hydration

4. Painkillers

5. Hydration Pt. II

The very idea of moving was not tempting in the slightest yet you cajole yourself out into the cold air of your apartment. Your steps are wobbly on the way to the bathroom and lurching as you press on to the kitchen.

You shovel a banana into your mouth and down an entire pint of water with great urgency. Two paracetamol tablets are then chased down with another gulp of tepid liquid.

How you manage to get back to your bedroom while holding a full glass and several packets of medication without incident, you are unsure however, it is a relief when you are back under your covers.

Sleep claims you not long after.

***

Morpheus senses your return to the Dreaming and it confuses him slightly. Why had you come back so quickly? You are a firm believer in getting up when your alarm sounds.

The Endless reasons that you must have changed your schedule. A day of leave from work, perhaps. The idea satisfies him for a little while and then curiosity becomes too predominant.

He lets his being drift towards your sleeping mind to check in.

What he finds in your subconscious is a kaleidoscope of disjointed scenes, all with an unpleasant or sinister underpinning.

You are holding a frightened cat in your arms as you wade through knee high sewage. You are in a room with an old television that bursts into flames when you go to turn it off. You are scrabbling on a hardwood floor, desperately trying to find something but being completely unable to remember what it was that you had misplaced. You are running through deserted streets, convinced that someone is following you, taking more and more detours to try and shake them off.

He feels your fear reach a crescendo as your pursuer gains a corporeal form. The images then begin to shake, burning and flashing with a palette of hyper-reality.

He has seen this many times before.

You were having a fever dream.

Which meant you were suffering.

You suddenly cry out his name and the sound is like the stab of a blade in Morpheus' gut.

He ends the nightmarish dream without hesitation, tells Lucienne of his intentions and leaves to journey to you in the Waking World.

***

Morpheus stands at the foot of your bed. Even with the curtains drawn, he is able to notice your off-colour complexion. Your eyes are closed despite being awake. The covers are draped clumsily over your frame. He longs to re-arrange them to ensure you are completely wrapped in their embrace but he doesn't want to startle you with an unexpected touch.

He speaks your name.

Your eyelids flutter and your attention is drawn to where he is standing. Your eyes are unable to focus yet you know what you are seeing is Morpheus for you would recognise his silhouette anywhere. Whether he was real was a different matter.

"Morpheus?"

"My love."

His deep, rich timbre thrums through the air at a resonance that is unable to be fabricated; no hallucination could match it even if it tried.

"Why are you here?"

As your partner, it was not the first time he had been in your house however it was the first time he had come unannounced.

"You called for me in your sleep."

"I did?" You let out a cough.

"You were having a fever dream."

You suddenly become aware of the clammy sweat that is drenching every part of your body. In fact, the more you dialled into your senses, the more you began to notice other hallmarks of being in the grasp of a fever. The inability to regulate your core temperature manifesting in the quick-fire switching of hot and cold. Deep seated shivers that ripple through your body and into the mattress. It must have come on since you had fallen asleep.

Morpheus moves to crouch beside you.

"What can I do to help you, my love?"

"I think I just need to sleep."

He concurs with a nod before adding, "I will ensure that it is a peaceful one."

He reaches inside the pocket of his coat and produces his leather pouch.

"When would you like me to wake you?"

You fumble for your phone to check the time.

"In 3 and a half hours. That's when I can take my next lot of medication."

"May I sit next to you?"

You nod your agreement.

Morpheus walks around the bed and removes his boots before situating himself beside you. He neatens the duvet with a precise tug.

"I will be here to watch over you."

"Thank you," you whisper hoarsely.

Morpheus takes some sand and breezes it across your face with a steady exhalation. He feels your mind materialise in the Dreaming.

Barefoot, you walk on the shoreline of a deserted beach. A gentle tide laps over the golden sand. The sun is high in the sky, accompanied by pillowy clouds. A tranquil haven.

You sit just out of reach of the waves and deeply breathe the sea salt air with closed eyes. Morpheus chooses this moment to step into the frame and settle next to you, a direct mirroring of your waking world configuration.

He watches you intently and is soon satisfied; your smile and the unfurling of your fists indicate that you have calmed, at least in your psychological space.

Morpheus comes back to your bedroom and assumes sentry. A couple of hours pass and then he begins to see a fiery blaze in your cheeks.

His palm presses against your forehead. It is inferno-like in temperature. He pulls you out, rife with worry. You come to slowly, weakly rubbing the remnants of the sand from the corners of your eyes.

"Is it really 10:30 already?" Your voice sounds strange and nasal when you talk.

"No, my love. I felt it necessary to wake you; you are crimson."

He folds the cover back to give you some ventilation. The cooler air feels good on your skin.

"The meds must have worn off already," you reason dazedly.

"I think it would be wise if you drink some water."

He helps you to sit up. You take small sips as he rubs circles on your lower back, an action that never fails to induce relaxation inside you.

After you lay back down, you find the next 45 minutes to be agony. The pressure in your sinuses is making the roots of your teeth ache horribly. Involuntary twitches of your limbs shoot pain everywhere. Your temperature inches higher and higher, forcing you to throw off the covers entirely.

You whimper involuntarily as the random spasms become non-stop shudders and that is when you begin to feel tears leaking from your eyes.

Morpheus hates seeing you this way. You know it from how his gaze never strays from you, in the way he protectively strokes your face.

"I'm sorry." They are the only words you can muster right now with the brain fog that has taken hold.

"Why are you apologising? You did not choose to be unwell."

His words console you instantly. You could always rely on him to be the voice of reason.

You check your phone again. It was finally time for your next round of tablets.While waiting for the medication to kick in, you find that your mind starts to lose clarity and lucidity. Fever-induced images float eerily before your eyes; you screw them shut, hoping to sleep instead but you can’t because of frustrating cyclical thoughts.

A single lyric from a song you had been listening to yesterday repeats with sanity-robbing precision. More tears fall. Morpheus wipes them away.

"Can you make me sleep again?" You ask desperately.

***

Over the next couple of days, Morpheus uses his sand several times to ease you into slumber. It wrecks your sleep pattern, along with the daytime napping, however he reasons it is necessary for healing and allows it. He also takes care of you in other ways through refilling your water glass, bringing you food and steadying you while you brush your teeth and wash.

The depths of his patience and devotion were seemingly bottomless. You do not know what you would have done without him. When you tell him this, his usual composure slips and he turns an adorable, bashful pink.

At the end of the third day, you feel a marked change in your health. The fever breaks, taking the shudders and hallucinations with it. You are still weak, achy and mentally fuzzy but the difference is such a relief for you, and for your diligent partner.

When the evening draws in, you are finding it near-impossible to switch off with your broken circadian rhythm. Morpheus is reading a book by lamplight beside you; you place a hand on his to get his attention.

“Can you help me sleep, please?”

You look automatically to the pocket where he keeps his sand pouch. Morpheus places the book on the floor.

“Not this time, my love. You are much improved and you must learn to sleep on your own again.”

You worry your bottom lip. “I don't think I can.”

He smiles at you softly, moving a few stray strands of hair off your face. “You can. I believe in you.”

“But it's so easy when you use your sand. Effortless. It’s a nice change from the usual everyday exertions.”

Morpheus’ fingers languidly caress your cheeks. His bottomless blue eyes are full of wisdom and adoration.

“I find effort to be a reliable of gauge of whether something has purpose or meaning. Everything that is worth doing requires some kind of effort,” He has adopted the whispered tone that makes his sentences sound like lullabies.

“Annoyingly, I think you may be right,” you sigh.

He releases a satisfied noise at your agreement and he lies down beside you.

“Come here.”

He initiates a slow and deep kiss. You instinctively reach for his messy, silken hair and he clings to you in a similar fashion, both of you savouring the first proper intimacy you have been able to share in many days.

Pulling away, he rests his forehead against yours. You are flooded with oxytocin and all tension in your body melts away however, despite his best intentions, you feel more awake than ever.

“Morpheus?” Your voice is croaky.

“Yes?”

“I still can't sleep.”

He laughs a precious laugh. “Let us try a different approach then, my little insomniac.”

He gently rolls you over onto your side and positions himself flush against you.

“I want you to focus on me. Feel me holding you. The sensation of my arms cradling you. My palms on your abdomen. My chest against your back.”

You do as he says, already feeling hypnotised.

“Feel my breath on your skin. Hear my voice. Inhale my scent. Taste me on your lips.”

You let out a breathy, contented noise.

“You are safe here. You can relax. Just relax your body and your mind will follow. That's it. Drift across to the Dreaming. I'll meet you there.”

His coaxing is working. You feel so very tired now.

“I love you,” you say sleepily.

“I love you too.”

You manage one more sentence. “Thank you for looking after me.”

"Always."

You nuzzle further into his embrace. His mouth brushes against the shell of your ear.

“Sleep now, my love."

384 notes · View notes

withoutyouimsaskia · 2 years

Text

Remember Me, Special Dreams

Part I.

GIF: Originally posted by @sandmancentral

Summary: Self-insert. You're having trouble with recurring night terrors and Morpheus pays you a visit.

Warnings: language, angst, mentions of night terrors.

Word Count: 1.2k

A/N: Title from the lyrics of Placebo’s Special Needs. Story inspired by my own experience with parasomnia and night terrors. Fun fact: I've had two parasomnia episodes since starting to write this and they were quite something! Second part coming soon. Have a great day, Saskia.

Sandman Masterlist

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

Sleep hallucinating was not something that you had experienced as a child. The occasional bout of sleep talking and walking, yes, but seeing things in a state of semi-unconsciousness was something you had grown into.

This particular type of parasomnia was fuelled by nightmarish visions. Of insects and arachnids crawling in your sheets. Of threatening, humanoid shadows stalking the perimeter of your bed. One instance a few years ago had been a severed head floating above your face. Macabre but not wholly unexpected due to the brutal TV programme you had been watching before bedtime.

Each incident unleashed a visceral, unbridled terror that sent your pulse spiking and incoherent noises tumbling from your mouth. There would be a frantic scramble for the nearby light source, a search of your room or violent thrashings of your limbs to defend against your imagined threat.

Strangely, unlike when you had sleep walked and talked, you were always lucid enough to be aware of what was transpiring and recall each detail come morning. However, the truly unsettling part of each episode would be that despite your recognition that these visions weren’t real, you were totally unable to stop your physical reactions to them.

Your rational brain would be held hostage by your subconscious and until you had performed your safety behaviours, you were unable to assuage your over-stimulated mind.

There was a pattern to it too; when your life was being affected with stress, the hallucinations would gain their freedom. At present, stress was staining your nearly every waking moment and creating turmoil in your nocturnal ones.

This had been happening every night for over a week, with each hallucination becoming more vivid every time. It had resulted in a jittery dread of bedtime and extreme exhaustion come morning.

So when a worry-amplifying day at work coincides with you noticing a person standing in the corner of your room, you are hardly astonished.

As per, your survival instinct kicks in and forces you to slam your clammy hand onto the plastic lamp switch.

Terror then turns to confusion when your delusion doesn’t disappear like it usually would.

"Well this is new," you speak out loud.

You blink a few times, wondering if there’s something in your eyes.

You re-focus on the space where your little desk stands.

The person is still there. They appear to be a man. And you can pick out stunning levels of detail on their pale face.

An angular bone structure and nose. Intense, bluish eyes framed by dark lashes and brows. Perfect pinkish lips. Most striking, however, is their raven-coloured hair. It sticks out in all kinds of directions with unruly precision.

You laugh feverishly. "Okay, brain, you’ve really outdone yourself this time. I applaud your newfound persistence but you can stop now. I know this isn’t real."

“What makes you so sure that I’m not real?” The man asks.

Your head falls back in exasperation. “Oh great, a hallucination that talks.”

The position of the figure’s head told you that they were still waiting for an answer.

You lean forwards a fraction to study him more closely. You smirk as you choose your reply.

“Honestly, you’re way too attractive to be real.”

A smile ghosts over the man’s face and you hear a small noise of bemusement.

“You flatter me, but I can assure you that I am very real."

"Nope, you're just a side effect of my anxiety."

You close your eyes, upgrading to screwing them shut when you could still pick out his silhouette from behind your eyelids.

He's still there when you look again.

You find yourself rubbing rough circles into the skin at the back of your skull.

“Just wake up," you say to yourself as your movements become a little desperate.

"You already are awake."

His tone is the blended juxtaposition of the whispered beginnings of a rainstorm paired with the sub-continental trembles of an earthquake. It is utterly distracting but somehow you manage to argue back once more.

“I’m very certain that you are a dream. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to focus on regaining consciousness.”

The image takes a single, measured step towards you.

You could now see him in the mirror across from you. You were unsure if your subconscious had paid attention to the laws of reflection before.

The observation gives birth to panic. Never before had a dream been so intricate. And the more it progressed, the more you began to question whether you were actually asleep after all.

When he takes another step, fear moves from your stomach to your throat.

"Oh, shit," you curse in an undertone, as you find yourself retreating like a mouse from a feline.

The man continues to advance.

His floor length coat sways hypnotically with each movement he makes.

"It's just a dream," you reason.

More like a nightmare. Your inner voice volunteers unhelpfully.

Your arms form a crisscrossed belt around your waist, your hands are balled into fists, skin blanched by your clenched knuckle bones.

You begin to repeat four words in a mantra, hoping above all else that it’s enough to over-ride the sleep cycle that has you imprisoned.

“It’s just a dream. It’s just a dream. It’s just a dream. It’s just a dream.”

Your mattress is like a lifeboat in a treacherous ocean, you feel it shift under you as the man takes a seat beside you.

Two more of your senses begin to process stimuli from his presence; his proximity sends a jolt of stirring heat across your sweat-cooled skin and there’s a scent blend akin to a glacial landscape.

A landscape dominated by snow dappled mountains, divided by serene water and framed by ancient forests. Like the Fjords of Norway in the summertime.

You are aware of your growing delirium from this intoxicating sensory overload.

"It's just a dream," you whisper once more as his stare swallows you entirely.

He speaks in his velveteen voice, “Would a dream be able to do this?”

Before you have time to process, his hands are reaching for you own, prising them out of the vice-like grip you have on your torso and setting them down on your lap.

His deep blue eyes appraise you thoroughly, checking for a change in your viewpoint.

There is no difference. Your face is still set with disbelief.

A frown pinches the man’s face for a quick moment before reverting back his previous stoic expression.

His next movements are graceful and measured, like he's performed them a thousand times.

To your surprise, he pulls a leather pouch from his pocket.

He loosens the beaded draw strings and you feel a strange hum of energy pass through the air.

By this point you are so confused by your brain’s choice of hallucination that you simply accept it without question and continue to watch the scene unfold.

Long fingers dip inside the pouch to retrieve something that you cannot see.

He's then bending so his face is at the same level as yours. There's a rush of air from his mouth and a swirl of sand is hitting your skin.

You flinch away from the assault but it's too late. The particles are in your eyes.

It brings on a sensation that is impossible to ignore. It fogs up your brain like warm breath on a cold windscreen. A sensation completely summed up by the single word you hear him utter as your body goes limp.

"Sleep."

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

"All my dreaming torn in pieces."

532 notes · View notes

withoutyouimsaskia · 1 year

Text

Remember Me, Special Dreams

Part XXIII.

GIF: Originally posted by @simply---words

Summary: Self-insert. You're having trouble with recurring night terrors and Morpheus pays you a visit. (Title from the lyrics of Placebo’s Special Needs)

Warnings: language, angst, mentions of night terrors. 18+ Minors DNI. Smut, hand play, penetrative sex (AFAB+AMAB).

Word Count: 2.1k

A/N: Hello there! Smut part 2 is here! I apologise for the delay with this chapter. It took a long time to pull all the threads together and get the dialogue right. Hope you are safe and well. All my love, Saskia ❤️

Sandman Masterlist

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

“Right now I need to be inside you.”

Morpheus’ desperate words see another spark burst forth into flame within your core.

There is no point in arguing with him. You can tell from the obstinate set of his shoulders as he gazes up at you from his still-kneeling position.

You push yourself back so your entire length rests on the pale blue sheets.

“Lie with me.” You pat the space next to you and roll onto your side.

Once Morpheus is situated beside you, you watch each other, kissing every so often. After a period, the aftershocks of your recent orgasm burn out and you feel prepared to take things further.

You inhale a deep breath, knowing that what you want to say next is important but uncertain of how to phrase it.

“I'm not exactly sure of how reproduction works among Endless beings... however I wanted you to know that I’m taking a contraceptive pill,” you clarify while fruitlessly attempting to smooth a crease out of the sheet.

He kisses you sweetly. “Thank you for your openness.”

You lay on your back and Morpheus carefully straddles you.

He’s so delightfully accessible to you now. The angles of his collarbones are demanding to be touched so you do it. You start there, with both hands in the centre, spreading out across his chest, over his upper arms, round to his back and up into his hair. His muscles contract as you trace the path.

You change instrument, swapping from hands to lips, and press kisses to his exposed neck. It sends him into a feverous delirium; his pupils are dilated so far that they almost eclipse the blue.

He guides your hand to his erection. He is already hard yet he stiffens even further when you begin to pleasure him.

His eyes roll back with a low groan. You gush at the sound.

Dark lashes cast pretty shadows onto his cheekbones in the light of the lamp. With your free hand, you cup his face then slide your fingers through the shorter hair above his nape.

You stroke his shaft evenly for a while before tightening the hold you have on him by a fraction. He tenses, speaking your name in a forewarning and you release him before you get too carried away.

The liquid lust in his eyes when he looks back to you is overwhelming. You open your legs.

“You are ready?” He asks.

“Yes,” you whisper, heartbeat picking up. “Are you?”

“I am.”

He adjusts your position ever so slightly. His weight sinks down and you feel his tip at your entrance. You become rigid, nerves returning full force.

“I will be gentle with you, Y/N, I promise,” he pledges.

You nod. "I trust you."

He strokes your face with his fingertips. “As I trust you.”

The mutual exchange of those candidly spoken words gives you proof that the connection you are cultivating together is pure and honest and authentic. Exactly as you want it to be.

Morpheus waits until you are completely relaxed before resuming. His eyes are trained on your face, looking for any sign of discomfort but also to see your reaction.

You are doing the same. Despite your suppression and denial of your attraction and feelings, both of you genuinely had wanted this for some time now.

And because of that, you need to remember every second.

You secure your hands on his shoulders.

He eases into you slowly, stretching you further than you had been in the past, inspiring a long moan that harmonises with his own.

“Morpheus,” you call as he continues to push in.

You are panting. The sensation of being opened up has your eyelids fluttering.

“Keep looking at me,” he whispers.

You do as he says and re-focus on his familiar, perfect face.

He bottoms out with a breathy gasp.

As your walls flutter, he holds still to give you time to adjust.

He feels so very large and so very right.

The expression on his face is one of unadulterated astonishment. “You feel…” He groans, “You are…”

For the first time since knowing him, he is unable to finish his sentence. You have rendered the King of Dreams almost speechless.

You reach up to stroke his jaw line. “Please.”

He understands and moves ever so slightly. You overload from pleasure, burying your face in his neck and inhaling deeply to compose yourself with his scent.

You feel his large hand on the back of your head.

“I’ve got you,” he repeats a few times. His voice calms you quickly and keeps your arousal throbbing.

With your heart rate stabilised, you look back at Morpheus and smile.

“I’m okay now. Keep going.”

He smiles back, and lowers onto his forearms. You are more prepared for the movement this time; the pleasure is still visceral but you soak every bit of it in.

You instantly want more.

His first thrust is shallow, as is the second, and after the third, he begins to deepen in increments. When you begin to move with him, bliss lights his countenance.

He is taking his time to satisfy you and it is so unlike any of the sexual encounters you have had before. He is savouring the moment, savouring you. It makes you feel undeniably special. He wants to share his very being with you as you do with him.

It adds another tie of emotional attachment to him. You trace his cheekbones with adoration.

Morpheus stops suddenly. He draws almost all the way out.

Your mouth drops open. You want to complain, to tilt your hips up and maintain the friction but you don’t. There’s a look on his face that stops you. A look that has you combusting.

You watch him with baited breath. The urge to squirm and whine is immense.

He slams back into you.

The grunt he makes as he does so is salacious. You cry out and grab his shoulders.

He repeats the action.

You hold tighter still.

His lips claim your own in a searing kiss.

He then sets a rhythm that you know will send you over the edge if he maintains it. And he does. He takes you hard and deep until everything you know is him. Him alone.

The roll of his hips casts a hypnotic spell over you.

You wrap your legs around him. He hums in approval at the deeper angle you have offered.

"Morpheus," you moan loudly as he takes you into a realm of pleasure that you had not been permitted to enter before.

The devotion in his eyes intensifies with every pump.

You feel your channel contracting as he pushes you closer and closer to the edge.

“Let go for me,” he urges in a dangerously seductive tone.

His hand finds yours and he laces his fingers between your own. Such care is shown in that simple act; in his ocean blue eyes. You focus on them as the tension in your core threatens to snap.

“Let go, Y/N.”

You arch up, walls clamping around him.

You are silent as the orgasm bursts forth and then all you can say is his name as the euphoria blinds you.

As soon as you speak, he spills himself inside you.

Pleasurable agony is drawn on his beautiful features. He continues to move until he runs dry. Your trembling legs sink down onto the mattress.

Then Morpheus withdraws and descends the last few centimetres to be flush against your glowing skin.

The only movement either of you make are the rises and falls of your chests and involuntary twitches created by your orgasms.

You remain contentedly pressed together until your spent bodies recover, consumed by joy and serenity.

***

You and Morpheus take it in turns to clean up in your bathroom. He lets you go first; your body feels painfully cold without him and you have to take refuge under the duvet upon re-entering the room.

Pink warmth blushes your cheeks when he comes back and you don’t try to hide it. What a difference it makes to feel able to show your desires now.

Morpheus pauses, eyes flickering to the vacant side of the bed. You pull a corner back and beckon for him to join you.

“You are sure?” He asks, respecting your personal space.

“Hold me, please.”

He slips between the sheets. His dark locks fall into a halo on the pillow. He draws you against his side and tucks your head under his chin. You nuzzle into his strong chest and sigh.

"You were right when you said you were experienced," You murmur after a few minutes.

He huffs out a little laugh. "Does that mean that you enjoyed yourself?"

"Of course I did. It was -"

Life changing. Mind altering. Soul defining.

They were all viable ways to end your sentence.

"It was the best I've ever had," you eventually say.

His fingers trace precise patterns on your upper back.

"I have longed to be with you like that for some time. Since the day that you kissed me on top of that hill.”

“That long?”

“Yes,” he replies solemnly.

“I hope I lived up to your expectations.”

“You exceeded them.”

You blink. “Really?”

“Your touch is something to be coveted, and you react so perfectly to me. You are considerate of my boundaries. You understand the emotional weight of sexual contact. I could not wish for more.”

He shifts to be able to look into your eyes.

"I apologise for the way I reacted when I got undressed. I did not mean to cause you any concern. I am grateful for how you sought to console me.”

“You don't have to say sorry for anything, Morpheus.”

“Perhaps not but I feel I should elucidate.”

He sits up and you follow.

“Something happened to me. I was certain that I had overcome it yet I couldn’t stop myself from drawing a parallel to what had transpired.”

His gaze fixes on the light source.

“There was a human. An occultist named Roderick Burgess. Burgess was dangerous and obsessive and after the death of his son, he attempted a spell to imprison my sister, Death, hoping that she would bring him back from the Sunless lands. But instead he got me. What he wanted was not mine to give but Burgess never backed down. I had no means of escape; the binding circle drained my power, and he took my tools. The effect on humanity’s subconscious was devastating without me to curate and manage it. Certain dreams and nightmares went rogue, some preying on the waking world.”

His pauses and his voice cracks when he speaks again. “My raven, Jessamy, tried to help me. Burgess’ other son murdered her right before my eyes. I stayed in that basement for 106 years, completely naked, locked in a glass cage as I grieved the loss of my friend and my reason for existing.”

You feel a tear escape and streak down your cheek. Naked. It made sense in the most heartbreaking way. He had been right back in there in his memories remembering his agony and isolation. You know without a doubt that the trauma Matthew had mentioned when he had come to visit you in the cottage was the same. Morpheus had watched a loved one die. How could it be anything else?

You suppress a sob. “What happened when you got out?”

“I took my revenge on Alex Burgess. For Jessamy. For not letting me go when his father had died, and then I went back to the Dreaming. When I returned, I found it had wasted away, as I had done in that cage, decayed beyond recognition.”

“But you re-built it?”

“Yes. With the help of my tools once I had reclaimed them. It took time, and self-reflection and allowing myself to trust others but eventually everything was set right.”

Morpheus goes quiet. You take his hand.

“I’m so sorry, Morpheus. I’m sorry about Jessamy. I’m sorry that you suffered for so long. I’m sorry for the cruelty of humans. I will always be here if you need to talk about it, about anything.” You are crying as you speak.

He buries his face against your neck. “Not all humans are cruel, Y/N. You are one such example. The offer you just made is proof, and I give the same to you. You will always have a shelter with me.”

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

"We don't need to know. All we have is now, so just let go. When your number's called and it's time to disappear. Have no fear cause you got me and I got you. Right here."

Taglist: @pinkcyclewitch @layla2-49 @shoidy-cat @silverhart93 @boofy1998 @dotieeee @ponysboy-sunsets @fangirlmary @littledollll @fatimakinney @jamiethenerdymonster @rosaren2498 @mr-sandman-bring-me-a-dream @madiebear @sandman-33 @sallysal9 @asiludida164 @elf-punk @grungeisntmything @sapphireonline @seninjakitey

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withoutyouimsaskia · 2 years

Text

Remember Me, Special Dreams

Part VIII.

GIF: Originally posted by @sic-vita

Summary: Self-insert. You're having trouble with recurring night terrors and Morpheus pays you a visit. (Title from the lyrics of Placebo’s Special Needs)

Warnings: language, angst, mentions of night terrors.

Word Count: 1.4k

A/N: Hiya! Hope this message finds you well. I’m so excited to be able to introduce a couple of familiar faces in this chapter. Let me know how you like it and enjoy your evening/day.

Sandman Masterlist

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

Morpheus’ sand swirls softly around your body for the second time in two nights. You pay more attention to the process this time round since you are aware of what is happening. Your understanding does nothing to delay things however. The pull towards sleep is inexorable. Your eyes fall closed and your mind drifts.

The next sensation you are aware of is a surface coming up to meet your soles.

The impact with the flagstones is jarring. You wobble like a new-born lamb taking their first steps.

Morpheus is unaffected, his posture is perfect, his dark locks unruly but not messy. You suppose you should not be surprised; this is his realm after all.

You are standing in a corridor fashioned from a pale stone. Steady flames in torch brackets emit a warm light. A large wooden door sits before you.

“Where are we?” You ask.

“This is my palace.”

His reply catches you off guard.

You have no idea what to say back so you smile and nod a few times.

“Walk with me,” he requests politely.

The doors open of their own accord which sends your eyes widening, but the view through them goes one step further. Your mouth genuinely drops.

You see a library. A library beyond your wildest imaginings. One with lots and lots of windows and walkways and spiral staircases. Grand and majestic and yet inviting and peaceful.

Morpheus begins to move. His strides are long and you are so enraptured by your surroundings that you struggle to keep up with him.

You somehow reach a table. You barely notice the scarlet upholstered chairs or the blue reading lamps, let alone the presence of another person standing at the head of it. You are too distracted by the never-ending morphing of the shelves and the impossibly large amount of books that sit on them.

"Why didn’t you mention this place sooner? I would have been much easier to persuade if you had led with this.” You are still looking up as you tease the Dream King.

You manage to drag your attention away from the magical scene.

A person watches you bemusedly over the top of their round rimmed glasses.

Colour rushes to your cheeks.

"Oh!"

You shrink backwards in the throes of a cringe attack.

"Lucienne."

"Lord Morpheus."

You watch their simple exchange but cannot help but notice the warmth in their eyes.

Then, those two pairs of eyes fix on you.

“Y/N, I would like you to meet Lucienne. Lucienne is the custodian of the palace library and provides me with invaluable counsel regarding matters of great importance in the Dreaming. You can trust her with your life.”

You can barely contain your excitement; not only had Morpheus brought you to his literal home, he had also just introduced you to a friend.

Embarrassment suppressed, you approach Lucienne and offer your hand to shake.

“Hi, it’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Y/N.”

Between her returning beaming smile and fantastic outfit, you realise that you are quickly beginning to like Lucienne.

You step back beside Morpheus. A soothing vibration spreads through you as his hand hovers near the small of your back. You instinctively lean towards him, but the sensation disappears when Lucienne visibly notices the declining space between you.

Morpheus starts to explain the circumstances of your presence.

“I have recently confirmed that Y/N’s parasomnia is responsible for the unusual activity we have been experiencing in recent times.”

The smile drops from Lucienne’s face.

“Sir, are you sure it is safe for someone with that kind of influence to be at the heart of the Dreaming? I cannot help but compare the events to those created by vortexes.”

“Y/N is not a vortex.”

“But Sir-,”

He speaks again with quiet authority, “Y/N is not a vortex, Lucienne, and she is here because she is under my protection.”

“Of course My Lord. Forgive my caution.”

“You need not apologise, you have every right to be cautious, and I thank you for voicing your concerns.”

Lucienne nods. “Will that be all My Lord, or is there something I can assist you with?"

Morpheus gestures to the pile of books on the table.

Your eyes track down the spines. Your full name stands out in gold lettering on a couple of them. At the bottom of the stack, sits the first volume from ‘A Song of Ice and Fire.’

He had looked up Game of Thrones like you had suggested.

You suppress a giggle as Morpheus starts talking to Lucienne again.

“I made a start yesterday in cross referencing the records of seismic disturbances in the realm against Y/N’s nightmares. I would appreciate a second pair of hands to reach a conclusion more swiftly.”

“I would be happy to, My Lord.”

Lucienne sits down, moving the tails of her coat out the way. Morpheus sits opposite.

“Let me get this straight. Everyone’s dreams are recorded here in these books?”

“That is correct, as well as every book that has ever been imagined in the Waking World, even if they are unpublished or unwritten.” Lucienne says.

"So this is how you were able to look up my dreams for the cottage dream?”

“It is, yes,” Morpheus affirms.

He and Lucienne begin to read. After less than a minute, they are talking out loud about your night terrors in explicit detail.

It brings them back with disgusting clarity, and reinforces to you just how much trouble you seem to cause everyone you come into contact with.

Then, more and more technical words and phrases that mean nothing to you start to be woven into the already triggering conversation.

You look back and forth between Lucienne and Morpheus, an uneasy sensation in your gut.

You are very aware of the fact that you are becoming overwhelmed.

Your inferiority complex starts a berating inner monologue.

In your already heightened emotional state, this thought process quickly spirals out of control.

The word burden stands out. It bounces around your neurons with persistence.

You are already so wounded by your guilt and self-loathing that every insult sticks like toffee to a molar. Not impossible to remove but likely to stay around for a good while and exacerbate the ache in your heart.

It all becomes too much.

You are checking your surroundings for a way to leave.

It appears that backwards is your only option so you take it. You move slowly at first, tiptoe stance engaged.

“Y/N?”

Morpheus speaks your name but you know you are too far now for him to be able to see you.

“Let her go, My Lord.” You hear Lucienne say.

“But-”

“Let her go. In my experience, humans only slip away when they do not wish to be followed. Give her some time alone.”

“Very well,” Morpheus acquiesces softly.

Despite this comment, you do not trust that he won’t change his mind.

You run the remainder of the way from the room and also in some of the corridors beyond.

It is only when you find the palace entrance do you finally stop.

Tears start to fall as you walk across the bridge over the mirror lake. You find a sheltered spot in amongst some trees and try to stem the flow of sadness.

There’s a creaking noise as an imposing black carrion swoops down to sit on a branch above you.

The bird caws once.

"Hello," you say meekly.

"Hi!"

Your eyebrows rise.

"What the f-" You start to exclaim before catching yourself. "No, remember, this is the literal place where dreams are made, of course there could be a talking bird."

"I am way more than just a bird, I’m Matthew, one of Lord Morpheus’ ravens.” His tone is sassy and little proud.

You huff. “Did Lord Morpheus send you to come and check on me, Matthew?”

“Nope.”

You look down. “Oh, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it.” He flies down and sits beside you on the verdant grass.

“What’s your name?” He asks, fixing a bright, beady eye on you.

“Y/N.”

Matthew squawks. “You’re Y/N?! The Dreamer that Morpheus has been going to visit.”

“The very same.”

”Well, Y/N, I can’t help but notice that you’ve been crying. You want to talk about it?”

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

"Oh no what's this, a spider web and I'm caught in the middle. So I turned to run. The thought of all the stupid things I've done."

Taglist: @pinkcyclewitch @layla2-49 @shoidy-cat @silverhart93 @boofy1998 @dotieeee

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withoutyouimsaskia · 2 years

Text

Remember Me, Special Dreams

Part II.

GIF: Originally posted by @beaulesbian

Summary: Self-insert. You're having trouble with recurring night terrors and Morpheus pays you a visit. (Title from the lyrics of Placebo’s Special Needs)

Warnings: language, angst, mentions of night terrors.

Word Count: 1.4k

A/N: As mentioned in my post earlier today, I have completed my do-over of the chapter I released yesterday. I am much happier with this version and it will definitely make next chapter feel like a natural continuation rather than whiplash. Have a great day, Saskia.

P.S For all you Placebo fans out there, how good is their cover of Tears For Fears’ Shout? I was literally squealing with joy this morning

Sandman Masterlist

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

There’s a croquet knitted blanket on the ground before you.

The colours are bright, mismatched, verging on garish. But you love it. It’s reminiscent of the one used at picnics that you shared with your grandparents during your youth.

You can almost taste the tangy prawn cocktail crisps and the tropical squash that came in those straw-pierced pouches on your tongue as you think back to those simpler times.

You turn to gaze out across the wilderness behind you. You're atop a mountain. Where you are, there is a grassy plateau that is a perfect place to rest and appreciate the view.

You kneel down to unlace your chunky walking boots and pull one off before planting the now sock-clad foot on the woollen rectangle. The other boot follows as you stand in perfect flamingo style. You then sink into a cross legged position and survey the landscape properly.

Craggy obtrusions punctuate the rolling vista. They are made of a type of rock that tells you that they were formed by volcanic activity. The shapes themselves are inspirational yet also a touch intimidating.

You look further still and see a coastline. Blue on blue, as sky sits upon sea. It is miles away but just being able to see the horizon is pleasure enough. It is uncommon for you to see an uninterrupted skyline. Your city is a confinement of tower blocks and ringed suburbs of houses.

In comparison to the rocks and water with their dominating natural splendour, you cannot help feeling exceptionally tiny and insignificant.

But you know how important it is to feel that way sometimes. To be humbled by things that are greater than yourself. To appreciate the power that Mother Nature has over all things. It was a comfort to know that if humans pushed their boundaries too far, she would step in and take care of it.

You shift your focus to the details closer to you. The soils here are fertile. There are swathes of wildflowers and grasses supporting all manner of trophic levels, from the tiniest beetle right up to the most majestic bird of prey.

You spy one of the latter mentioned in the distance as it soars in the slipstreams. Its white-feathered underbelly winks at you as the bird spins into a dive.

It disappears into a cluster of butter coloured gorse and you feel a pang of sorrow when it resurfaces with something brown and furry in its talons.

The circle of life. You justify internally, before remembering that the hunt you just witnessed was not actually real. You were most definitely tucked up in bed, not soaking up sunshine in this rugged countryside.

Despite the comfort of your lucidity, your sadness persists.

You can't help but draw a parallel between the images and your recent decisions in the real world.

The sudden and unexpected snatching away of a way of living.

You were the raptor.

Eyelids close as you try to screw the lid back on the jar of memories.

"Just a dream," you say. "No need to over analyse."

When your eyes open again, you notice a book has appeared beside the blanket. Its cover is pristine, spine un-creased, pages devoid of pressure dents.

An invitation to stay a little while longer. One that you couldn’t ignore even if you wanted to. The temptation was too much.

Reaching for the volume, you flip it over, pausing as you notice a few pieces of desiccated grass on the multicoloured surface you are sitting on. You brush the strands off with the heel of your hand.

You begin by inspecting the blurb. Tracing the pads of your fingers over the illustrated borders. They were full of jewel toned flowers. Drawings of cream coloured ribbons had been threaded lazily between the pictures and offset the darker palette nicely.

The passage of text had done its job and hooked you right in. You open the book gingerly and find the first page.

You read. For how long, you cannot tell. Time never felt the same in dreams as it did when you were awake.

Then, you see something in the corner of your eye. A few paces away, stands a person.

The glorious sunlight backlights the sharp lines of a figure into a perfect, angular silhouette. It’s dressed head to toe in black, a colour match to the crown of messy hair that flutters ever so slightly in the breeze.

It was the same man as the one from your bedroom.

You’re a little taken aback but you go with it.

"We have to stop meeting like this."

His face is quirked by a crooked smile.

"Like what?" His voice sounds muted and wobbly compared to when you imagined him in your bedroom, like there’s a wall of water between the two of you.

"In my dreams, of course."

His eyes flick around, processing your surroundings with speed.

"You are quite certain that this place is fiction?"

"Of course I am. There is no way that a spot this beautiful and sunny would be this empty in the real world. And I’ve definitely been here before when I’ve fallen asleep. It's one of my favourite dreams."

"It's an admirable choice."

You tilt your head to the side slightly in surprise.

"Oh, so you're no longer arguing with me about the status of my subconscious?"

"You are correct."

You smile triumphantly. Your dormant brain finally appeared to be listening to reason.

Your playful tone persists, "Wonderful. I'm going to return to my book now. Please feel free to stay if you wish."

You look back down at the tome. Your index finger tracks down the page as you search for the last sentence you remember reading.

But within seconds your eyes are pulled upwards once more by a movement in your peripheral vision.

The man is now standing over you.

"I'm afraid I can't let you do that."

The book falls to rest on your thighs.

"Really? And why is that?"

"It's time to wake up."

You pick up the volume again and hold it up in front of your face.

He calls your name. Your lips purse at his tone; you feel like you're back at school, when you were scolded for reading a book under the table in maths class.

"You have to return to the waking world.”

You lower the object a fraction so you can look him in the eyes as you deliver an assertive response.

"No, thank you."

Your barricade of pages is put back in place.

You speak again, "This is my dream. I am in control here and I want to stay."

The man sighs softly. He speaks again but not to you, "Humans are so stubborn."

You concentrate harder on reading, hoping that ignoring him will make him acquiesce.

But then his left hand is on yours, the other easing the book from your grasp.

Your mouth drops open.

"Umm, rude."

His impassive face is infuriating.

"Please can you give that back?"

"I could, however there would be little point."

You get ready to query his cryptic statement but the reason soon becomes clear.

The words begin to fade from the cover. One letter at a time until it becomes a blank block of card-bound paper.

You don't have to check inside to know that the pages would be completely desolate too.

"Fine." You throw your hands up in defeat and push yourself to a standing position. You situate yourself right in front of him.

"Do you realise how annoying you are?"

"It has been inferred," he deadpans.

"You're funny too, you know... for a figment of my imagination."

He speaks your name again. "I am real."

"As you keep saying. But how am I supposed to believe that when I'm clearly not awake right now?"

"Do you remember what transpired in your bedroom?"

The absurdity of your imminent response is not lost to you. Humour glistens in his ocean eyes as you rattle through the list.

"You appeared, I told you that you were attractive, we argued a bit, you blew sand in my face and then I found myself here.”

He nods in agreement.

“I used the sand to make you sleep. To dream of this place. The only reason you are here is because I made it so and now, this dream has served its purpose."

Your voice becomes a whisper, "What is that supposed to mean? What purpose?"

"You'll find out soon enough.”

If it wasn’t for his comforting smile, you would have found his words a little disconcerting.

“Are you ready to wake up?”

You fiddle absentmindedly with the hem of your shirt.

“Yes.”

He waves his hand and speaks in his wistful voice.

“This dream is over.”

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

"Like the stars chase the sun. Over the glowing hill, I will conquer. Blood is running deep. Some things never sleep."

Taglist: @pinkcyclewitch @layla2-49 @shoidy-cat @silverhart93

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withoutyouimsaskia · 1 year

Text

Remember Me, Special Dreams

Part XVIII.

GIF: Originally posted by @khun-sam

Summary: Self-insert. You're having trouble with recurring night terrors and Morpheus pays you a visit. (Title from the lyrics of Placebo’s Special Needs)

Warnings: language, angst, mentions of night terrors.

Word Count: 1.5k

A/N: Hello there, how are things? Many of you may be aware that it’s Tom Sturridge’s birthday today so I’ve decided to release this chapter a day early to celebrate! I really hope you like this one, let me know. I’m squeeing at the thought of you reading it! Take care, all my love, Saskia <3

Sandman Masterlist

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

Morpheus meets you at the end of the bridge that is furthest from the palace. He stands with his hands on the stone side as he surveys the lake.

“Hi, Morpheus,” you begin, your tone as bright as the sun above you. “Where are we going today?”

He looks towards you with a mischief loaded smile.

“There is something that I would like to show you.”

Your curiosity is ignited. “Okay. I’ll let you lead the way.”

The King of Dreams sets off with his usual powerful gait.

“How was your day?” He asks.

“It was quite lovely, actually. The summer weather is doing me a lot of good.” Seasonal affective disorder usually hit you hard. “What did I miss when I was awake?”

“My sister spent some time with me.”

“Your sister?”

“You seem surprised.”

You fumble for words. “Well, um, it’s just that you’d never really mentioned your family before and now you've made contact.”

"Our conversation last night inspired me.”

Happiness literally radiates from him and it warms your heart.

“I’m really pleased for you, Morpheus," you say warmly.

“I told her about you.”

Your eyes widen with shock. You were not expecting that at all and the thought of people talking about you was a sensitive issue. “What did you say?”

“Just about your nocturnal abilities and how we are managing them.”

Your chest caves in with relief; it was nothing too embarrassing thankfully. “Which sister did you see?”

“My elder sister, Death.”

“What is she like?”

He looks down, selecting his words. “She is wise and compassionate beyond measure and I admire her a great deal. I think you would like her.”

“It sounds like you have a strong bond.”

He nods. “I would go as far as saying that she is my preferred sibling.”

You laugh. “I’m not sure you’re supposed to have a favourite. From what I’ve observed, it tends to annoy the others.”

“I can assure you that there is no shortage of friction-inducing incidents in my family, regardless of whether I declare that I prefer my sister.”

“Oh.”

He comes to a stop and you follow suit.

“We’ve arrived,” he announces. “This is Fiddler’s Green.”

You stand at the mouth of something that instantly reminds you of an illustration of a glade you would find in a fairytale story book.

Swathes of green grass stretch out before both of your boot-clad feet. Pockets of wildflowers create a mosaic of colours giving detail to the viridian background. Delicate ox-eye daisies contrast against the electric purple splashes of cornflowers. The cowslip look like little yellow fireworks. Foxgloves of every colour imaginable rise up higher than the rest of the flowers with confident majesty.

Tall trees, heaving with blossom fill the upper third of your vision. In the distance there is a waterfall. It flows with torrents of aquamarine into a pool below that is as blue as Morpheus’ eyes. It has been so long since you have seen one that it makes your soul sing.

Pink blossom petals scatter in a gentle breeze, falling like fragrant snow. You notice that the breeze moves like breath. Rhythmically. It flows languidly in and out using the glade as its lungs.

You are completely silent, overwhelmed by the scenery. It is another one of those moments where you feel humbled.

"Is something amiss?" Morpheus questions.

"Not at all."

His eyes narrow a fraction; he is completely unconvinced.

"You've become very quiet all of a sudden."

“Can you blame me?” You look down feeling self-conscious.

“I suppose not. This place is supposed to have that effect.”

You take a couple of steps, sending dandelion clocks into dizzying spirals. They disperse far and wide. There’s a suggestion of a path so you take it, walking right up to the edge of the body of water.

Shafts of sunlight refract spectrums through the liquid. Its surface is lightly dappled by the action of the waterfall. The sound is serene.

You carry on strolling absentmindedly until you decide to take a rest a few paces from the tree line.

There’s a cluster of bee orchids nearby, you notice them as you sink into a cross legged position. Morpheus, who has been walking beside you the entire time, sits next to you. The sun is warm on your face and you feel so contented that you close your eyes.

However, not long after, you are forced to open them again because your sixth sense starts pinging.

You find Morpheus staring at you.

"What?" You ask as a nervous blush bleeds across your chest and up your neck to your face. “What are you thinking about?”

"I am recalling the first time that I met you,” he replies.

Your stomach muscles pull inwards. "I'm still really sorry about that. I was quite stubborn wasn't I? And talkative. I can’t begin to imagine what went through your mind when I immediately told you that you were attractive. You must have thought I was a right odd duck. Not that there's anything wrong with ducks. Ducks are great... Sorry, I've started babbling.”

You look at your hands resting in your lap.

"I cannot deny, it was one of the more eccentric encounters that I have had with humans.” His tone changes from playful to reassuring. “But I cannot hold it against you. You were dangerously sleep deprived, and I have since got to know you as a person.”

“I’m sorry about that too,” you deadpan.

“I’m not.” He replies abruptly, missing your sarcasm. “You are a remarkable being and spending time with you brings me great pleasure.”

“I feel the same. Your friendship means a lot to me.”

You both become silent.

Out of the corner of your eye you see a strange movement from inside Morpheus’ coat. You tilt your head to one side inquisitively.

“Have those stars always been there?” You ask as you focus in on the galaxies tracking across the lining of the garment.

“Yes," he says softly.

You wonder how you missed them before. You lean in, wanting to see them in greater detail.

“They’re beautiful,” you breathe. “Are they real?”

“Yes.”

Your fingers extend instinctively but you pause before you get too carried away.

You find his eyes.

“May I?”

He nods and pulls the coat open a little further to aid your endeavour.

You shuffle closer, reaching out with your dominant hand.

A thrill goes through you as you make contact. Your gaze widens and a little gasp falls from your mouth. The sensation is nothing like you expected it to be.

The stars swirl trails of warmth over and under the layers of your skin with the faint tickle of an ASMR reaction. You wonder what it would be like to actually wear the coat and whether it would feel like heaven.

You look back to Morpheus. His eyes are closed and there is a peaceful expression on his face.

The whole thing suddenly strikes you as feeling very intimate.

You pull your hand a centimetre back and Morpheus' eyes flutter open. You make to retract even further when his own hand captures yours.

Your lips part in surprise. He relaxes his grip.

"I apologise.”

"It's okay.”

He takes a deep breath through his nose. “I oftentimes recognise that I am touch deprived and may find myself craving it."

“It’s okay,” you repeat again. “I understand that feeling too."

To add evidence to your reply, you return your hand to his, releasing a wave of shivers from the residual energy of being in contact with the constellations.

Morpheus’ eyes are locked with yours as he speaks. "You're trembling."

"There's a lot of power in that coat," you murmur.

He hums in response, and the sound goes right to your chest.

“There’s a lot of power in you too.”

All he can give is a controlled nod in return. You can literally feel the anxiety seeping out of him.

There are candyfloss coloured petals flying about you, settling on both your bodies and the grass you are sitting on.

You are getting delirious. You question if you should have touched the coat for as long as you did.

Your heartbeat thuds in your ears. It’s galloping away, showing no signs of slowing down.

You can’t handle the intensity of his gaze anymore. You close your eyes.

Morpheus’ breath is cool on your cheeks. Then, his equally cold fingertips graze your cheek, your jawbone.

Suddenly the touch is gone. You are crestfallen, about to open your eyes again when his lips brush yours.

The act is so tentative that it makes tears prick from behind your eyelids. You daren’t move.

He kisses you again. It’s fleeting and chaste, loaded with care and respect. It makes you feel as if you are the most delicate thing in the universe.

You decide that you like the emotion it invokes within you. To be treated with reverence; it was something you desperately wanted to receive and also share with someone. And so when Morpheus’ lips find your own again, you return the sentiment with as much of your being as you can muster.

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

"What a way to go to bed with those thoughts inside your head."

Taglist: @pinkcyclewitch @layla2-49 @shoidy-cat @silverhart93 @boofy1998 @dotieeee @ponyboys-sunsets @fangirlmary @littledollll @fatimakinney @jamiethenerdymonster @rosaren2498 @mr-sandman-bring-me-a-dream @madiebear @sandman-33 @sallysal9 @asiludida164

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withoutyouimsaskia · 1 year

Text

Remember Me, Special Dreams Part XXII.

GIF: Originally posted by @vampgf

Summary: Self-insert. You're having trouble with recurring night terrors and Morpheus pays you a visit. (Title from the lyrics of Placebo’s Special Needs)

Warnings: language, angst, mentions of night terrors. 18+ Minors DNI. Smut, oral receiving (AFAB).

Word Count: 2.0k

A/N: Hello there dearest readers. I must confess, I got a wee bit carried away with writing this chapter and it somehow turned into a 3k+ unwieldy monster so I've split it into two parts. I've also never published smut before so I'm a little nervy. Hope you enjoy. All my love, Saskia ❤️

Sandman Masterlist

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

The next few hours sees Morpheus re-write your understanding of the word pleasure.

The story begins from the moment he takes your outstretched hand and allows you to lead him up the stairs.

There are still rays of sun trickling in however, you shut them out with your curtains and opt for the light of your lamp. Under no circumstances are you going to risk your neighbours seeing through your bedroom window.

As you flick the light switch, the reality of the situation announces itself with a bellowing fanfare.

You and Morpheus have just been reunited after months apart and are acting on desires that have been developing for longer still. You had suppressed the physical attraction, determined to be friends. And now you’re in your room on the precipice of crossing the friendship boundary entirely. All it had taken was a confession and a kiss.

You wanted him badly.

So much for resolve.

You turn to look at him. He stands with a perfect posture, his arms relaxed at his sides, messy hair all but begging to be touched. He is grace and beauty. Ethereal.

You toy with your sleeve in a display of unease.

Morpheus speaks your name as he looks to your jittery action.

“Nerves,” you explain meekly.

“I understand. I feel the same.”

He takes both your hands in his own. “I will not do anything without your consent. Every time. You are safe with me.”

“I know,” Your heart aches from his anxious admission and caring declaration. “You are safe with me too.”

He smiles.

The reaction, with his kiss-swollen lips and ocean eyes pouring with adulation has you melting. You care so deeply for him and your need to demonstrate it is irresistible.

You stand on tip toe to press a kiss to his cheek.

When you are settled back on to the soles of your feet, Morpheus asks a question that causes your cheeks to fill with red.

“Where would you like me to touch you?”

You opt for an answer that you actually feel able to voice. “I – I like having my neck and shoulders kissed.”

He bends his head to speak softly next to your ear. "Then we shall start there."

His lips find your pulse point. A sigh falls from your mouth and you tilt your head back involuntarily. Morpheus kisses you more before replicating the wonderful attention on the other side.

He moves the collar of your jumper to kiss the hollow of your throat. You are then grabbing the bottom of the article to remove it. The black fabric of your camisole contrasts against the white of your bra. You go to pull the straps down.

“Allow me,” Morpheus offers.

You pause. "Okay."

He hooks his cool fingers under both sets and eases them downwards to leave the skin of your shoulders completely uninterrupted.

His knuckles graze across your collarbones and you shudder. He kisses your neck again and then your newly exposed skin. You are weak with delight, breathing deeply.

He pulls back to check in with you. His blue-green eyes dance with vivacity and you know yours are doing the same.

Taking advantage of the lull, you guide his face down so you can press your lips to his again. The resulting kiss is fire, one that stokes the blaze in between your legs to the point of desperation. You moan for the first time as your tongues meet.

His taste is incredible. Delicate and natural and clean. Like botanicals mixed with spring water.

When you pull away, you are feeling dizzy and delirious; securing your hands firmly on Morpheus’ slight waist for stability.

“Y/N,” he utters with a deep timbre as he regards your blissed out expression.

In your lustful state, the sound of his voice alone is enough for you; shivers ripple from the crown of your head down to your feet. Morpheus notices this.

“You like the way I speak, don’t you?”

“Maybe,” you are coy. “Yes.”

He nods. "Good. I will ensure that I keep speaking to you.”

"Oh, and what are you going to say to me next?"

He smirks. "I believe that you are wearing too many clothes."

You hum flirtatiously, your confidence spiking. With assured fingers, you begin to unbutton your jeans. You strip down to your underwear and feel a torrent of goose bumps raise.

Morpheus’ gaze roams up and down your almost naked frame. A blush much more significant than the one he created earlier tints the upper quarter of your body. You close your eyes to steady the yearning coursing through you.

Even with your sense of sight temporarily paused, you can tell exactly where he is in proximity to you. His presence is ubiquitous. It’s in the air that sparks and vibrates around you. Skims across your skin. Flows in your blood. You are linked to each other now.

“Beautiful,” he whispers.

He comes closer and kisses you feverishly. You thread your fingers into his silken hair and he sighs.

You like that he is vocalising his enjoyment. For someone so quiet and subdued, you knew it meant true pleasure.

"I would like to see more of you," he says.

You unclasp your bra and let it drop to the floor but subconsciously cover your chest with your forearms.

"Do you not wish for me to touch you there?" He queries.

It takes you a second to understand. "Oh. They're just very sensitive. Everyone who has touched them in the past, they were too rough and it hurt."

He cradles your face with a large hand.

"Y/N, I am Endless. My experience goes way beyond that of the humans you have lain with."

You consider his statement; anyone else would have sounded egotistical or invoked a sense of inferiority yet it is reassuring coming from Morpheus. He is centuries old. It isn’t unexpected that he would have skill.

"Would you stop if I needed you to?"

"You are in control. All you have to do is say no and I will stop."

"You promise?"

"You have my word. My entire focus is with you."

An interlude of contemplation passes. You lower your arms.

He comes to stand behind you and covers your neck with slow and sensual kisses. Your nervous anticipation stills for a moment.

"I'm going to touch you with my hands now."

You nod.

His hands run up and down your sides, ghosting the skin beside your breasts. He then makes to cup them. You jump a little and he withdraws.

"Do you need me to stop?"

"Keep going," you say with determination.

He puts his arms back around you. The movement is considered. He is respecting you completely and you adore him for it.

You lean forward the last few millimetres and press yourself into his cool palms.

It feels surprisingly pleasant. You exhale. He massages you. You tremble with pleasure.

"Would you like more?"

"Yes."

With a feather-like touch, he brushes the pad of his thumb over your nipple. You gasp.

"More, please," you request. “Kiss me.”

Morpheus sits on the edge of your bed and positions you to stand between his legs. He bends forward, maintaining eye contact to ensure that you are and remain okay. Your breathing is ragged even before he makes contact.

His lips part and he is smothering you with his soft, wet mouth. And then he lightly sucks. Your head falls backwards. You call his name loudly. He brings his fingers up to stroke your other nipple.

You feel your arousal pooling.

Never before had someone been able to make you feel so good from this kind of touching.

The experience lasts a maximum of thirty seconds; Morpheus clearly taking on board your sensitivity and not wanting to over stimulate you.

After, he sits you on his lap and caresses your face as you decompress.

“You are okay?” He asks caringly.

“Yes, thank you for being so patient with me.”

“You are most welcome,” he replies.

You tip your head to the side, suddenly deep in thought.

“What are you thinking?” He asks.

“I am thinking that you are rather overdressed compared to me.”

He raises an eyebrow.

“I do believe you’re right,” he murmurs while looking at your chest.

You dismount him and perch on the mattress. You watch him walk to your chair. He gracefully slips off his overcoat and drapes it over the green velvet upholstery, leaving him in a black long-sleeved shirt and jeans. He removes them with precision, along with his boots.

The second he sheds the final layer sees you stunned into silence.

Morpheus is a dichotomy of slender and toned. Subtle sinew cords its way across his torso and down his limbs in a way that suggests a whisper of strength rather than a shout. His skin is hairless and unmarked, and almost glows in the low light of your lamp. He is well-endowed too, you note quickly and bashfully.

His body is so absolutely otherworldly and like his face, stunning to behold.

You look to said face now; it is impassive yet his eyes are glassy with vulnerability.

You are on your feet, approaching him cautiously, all too aware that this is the first time he has ever let you see past his physical armour and worried that maybe you were causing him discomfort from your stares.

“You’re perfect.”

Morpheus looks down and closes his eyes.

“Can I hold you?” Your voice wobbles slightly. Seeing him like this affects you greatly.

He nods, sinking into your offered embrace. Skin on skin, you feel his energy thrumming just under the surface, reiterating his unearthly identity. You cradle him, stroking the back of his head for many minutes until you feel him adjust to his exposedness.

He straightens, conviction returning. You pull back, pressing your palms against the porcelain skin of his chest.

“I want to kiss you between your legs,” he intones unexpectedly.

“Okay.”

He crouches a little, grasps under your thighs and lifts you clean off the ground. He lays you down on the bed with your legs hanging over the edge. He traces the waistband of your underwear. He opens his mouth to ask for consent but you give permission by elevating your hips. He eases the garment down with his cool fingers.

"You are exquisite," he breathes, looking down at your body.

His voice has you pulsing in your core.

Morpheus kneels. He nudges your knees open.

"Please," you plead, squirming with need.

He parts your labia and dips his head. You groan as he makes contact. It's initially tentative but soon he is alternating between sinful suckling and soothing laps of his tongue.

He then teases your opening, nose bumping into your most sensitive spot as he does so.

His eyes are alert, taking note of every gasp, every movement you make. Learning your body. Cataloguing your reactions for the present and future intimacy.

You watch him with a wide, non-believing gaze. You cannot fathom the pleasure coursing through you. You feel yourself gush from it.

From your time spent together in the Dreaming, watching him selflessly take care of his realm, his citizens and his dreamers, you had known that Morpheus had a giving nature but you had never contemplated the extent of it beyond his purpose. The way he is attending to your needs, however, proves he is without doubt, a giver in the bedroom too.

And he was giving everything to you.

All thoughts of his charity are promptly banished from your brain as Morpheus pushes his tongue inside you and puts a thumb down to rub on your clit.

Your hips buck and he has to steady you with his hands. The contrast between languid swirls and targeted pressure scrambles your brain.

You come within the next minute, ecstasy igniting every nerve until you are nothing but a trembling, moaning mess of a being.

He strokes your quivering calves and thighs as you work to find coherent thoughts again.

You sit up once you are strong enough. “Your turn.”

He shakes his head.

“But-”

“There will be other times for that, I can assure you, but right now I need to be inside you.”

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

"I'm open wide. I want to take you home. We'll waste some time. You're the only one for me."

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withoutyouimsaskia · 2 years

Text

Remember Me, Special Dreams

Part III.

GIF: Originally posted by @ravenclairee

Summary: Self-insert. You're having trouble with recurring night terrors and Morpheus pays you a visit. (Title from the lyrics of Placebo’s Special Needs)

Warnings: language, angst, mentions of night terrors.

Word Count: 1.3k

A/N: Hello Tumblr peeps. I’ve had another parasomnia episode since I posted last. This time I thought there was a crack in the ceiling above my bed and there were gelatinous things falling through. Such fun! Hope you enjoy this chapter, please let me know what you think, and also if you want to hear more about my night time hallucinations. Have a great day, Saskia

Sandman Masterlist

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You resurface with a nervous energy humming in your bones. You are lying on your side, facing the curtain shrouded window. Thick crusts of sleepy dust have accumulated along your lower lash lines and in the corners of your eyes. You rub them away carefully with an index finger.

A siren wails outside. Your stomach rumbles loudly. Rhythmic ticks emanate from the wristwatch that sits on your bedside table.

There is no doubt that you are awake now.

You exhale shakily, successfully dispelling a single ounce of tension. You immediately feel less anxious, and your following inhales and exhales provide further relief.

That was some dream.

You begin to piece the sections together. Night terror into hallucination, into dream... into whatever the heck that was at the end.

It was a complex beast, but so was your life right now. You were now up to 8 days in a row of these parasomnia episodes. It was getting silly now, you knew this, and you were tired beyond measure, yet you were completely unable to get sustained rest without some kind of subconscious interruption.

And with your emotions in constant overdrive and showing no signs of letting up, you were certain that they were going to continue for a little bit longer.

A frustrated huff of air escapes your lips; you know your swirling mind will stop you from getting back to sleep for a while now.

Your thoughts drift back to your mind-conjured images of the beautiful Dream Man with the ethereal voice. He was a whole other breed of night terror.

You wonder if perhaps you are losing your grip on reality and if a visit to the GP was in order. It was a task for tomorrow though, as there was no way you could make contact in the middle of the night.

You roll onto your back and realise that your lamp is on. You guess you must have fallen asleep again before getting a chance to switch it off after the hallucination part of your night.

You turn another 90 degrees, further towards the warm glow that pervades the space around you. By this point, the energy saving bulb has heated up enough, not only to successfully cast light across your whole mattress but also illuminate the face of the 'Dream Man' who is sitting on the chair across the room.

"Oh fuck!" You exclaim, recoiling away from him.

Your heart rate picks up like a sprinter off the starting blocks.

The man holds his hands up, palms facing you in a show of peace.

His voice rumbles with the same rainstorm-like quality as it did before.

"I will not hurt you. You have my word."

You're not listening to him in the slightest though. Your chest is pounding painfully and you are worried you may vomit. A stream of consciousness falls from your lips instead.

"You're real. You're fucking real. Fuck! And I'm wearing next to nothing. Fuck!"

You're looking down at your bare legs peeking out from the tousled covers and hastily rearrange them to regain some dignity.

You look back to him and fix him with an accusatory stare.

"You have some serious explaining to do."

"I agree. Where would you like to begin?"

Your eyes drift off to the left as you try and choose.

You know that you should probably start with something like ‘why are you here?’ or ‘how did you get in?’ but all you keep coming back to is the question you utter with trepidation:

“Who are you?”

"In the folklore and legends of your world, I am known as The Sandman, The Oneiromancer. Across the other realms, I go by many names. I am Dream of the Endless, Lord Morpheus, The Shaper of Form, Keeper of the Dreaming, King of Dreams, Ruler of Nightmares and Curator of the collective unconsciousness of the universe."

"Okay, Daenerys Targaryen." You stifle a giggle in response to your joke.

He doesn't react.

"Huh, not into Game of Thrones then? You should look it up. Although I would advise sticking to the books. The series got a bit lost towards the end."

He shifts ever so slightly in the seat, the moss green velvet fabric standing out against his dark clothes. You snap back to the present.

You fidget with the seam of the duvet cover as your cheeks flush with blood. His gaze makes you feel insecure.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to start babbling like that. I haven't been sleeping well."

“I know. That is precisely why I am here.”

His hands steeple in front of him. He leans forward, blue eyes trained on you intently.

“It has come to my attention that you have become the recipient of a plague of vicious and unrelenting nightmares. I have also seen a drastic change in your sleeping habits, with a concerning decline in the amount of time that you are spending in the Dreaming.”

This was no surprise to you in the slightest.

You had been deferring your bed time to a later and later point in the hope that you could tire yourself out enough to bypass the nightmares and night terrors. But they would always be there within an hour of your head hitting the pillow and would prevent you from getting no more than two hours of sleep at a time.

The Dream Man rises slowly and fluidly from the chair. His expression is tinged with something you cannot interpret.

“I've been observing you for a number of nights now to try and ascertain the cause of your plight. The very idea that this is happening to you as a result of a defect or weakness in the fabric of my realm truly disturbs me. As of yet, I have been unable to pinpoint the exact reason, however I will do everything in my power to ensure my success.”

He’s close to you now, his glacial scent drifts over you like mist rolling off a waterfall.

“To be unable to sleep is to suffer. I only have to look at you to see that you are suffering and I cannot allow it to continue.”

You know all too well what he is seeing. Your bruised and swollen under-eyes have been the focus of many of the people you have come into recent contact with.

“I don’t know what to say,” you finally speak in a whisper.

“You do not need to say anything, for now you must sleep.”

He turns off your lamp and takes a single step backwards.

“Wait,” you call to him. “I don’t think I can sleep knowing what I now know.”

“You need not worry. I have already selected a dream for you. All you have to do is let it take you.”

“But-.”

“Lie down. Close your eyes.”

You visibly hesitate.

“Do as I say, Y/N.”

You reluctantly recline on your side but do not fulfill his second request.

You gaze at him with glassy, tired eyes.

"I'm afraid."

"They will not come for you, I promise. I will watch over you until morning."

You can't help but believe him.

You re-arrange your pillows and curl into a foetal position.

The Dream Man takes this as a sign that you are ready to sleep, and begins to walk away.

He is wrong.

In your tired delirium, you begin to converse chaotically to his retreating figure.

"You know, I still don’t know what to call you. You said so many names but didn’t tell me which one I was allowed to use."

He turns his head to look back at you.

His reply is a soft intonation that causes shivers to run through your entire body.

“You may call me Morpheus."

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

"These are the days. These are the strangest of all. These are the nights. These are the darkest to fall."

Taglist: @pinkcyclewitch @layla2-49 @shoidy-cat @silverhart93 @boofy1998

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