#the sandman imagine
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LOST DREAMS | MORPHEUS
Summary: Your ancestor was cursed by Morpheus long ago so the women in your family would be plagued with eternal wakefulness, but you don't believe in the curse or that some ancient Greek god was the cause of it, like your grandmother always told you about. Doctors have told you that the only reason they can think of is most likely a severe case of ADHD in the family and that's why you never feel sleepy. But then you get a job at a Burgess mansion and find something in the basement that makes your grandmother's stories sounding not so crazy after all...
Even on her deathbed, your grandma had talked about the "curse" she claimed the whole family suffered from. You could see how it can be seen as a curse, never feeling sleepy and how you always had energy for everything - because of that, you had had plenty of boring moments every day and it did suck. Not to mention, your friends talking about how funny and good dreams they have had always sparked jealousy within you. It was something you had never experienced.
Doctors had researched you since you were a baby, but they couldn't pinpoint a reason for being unable to fall asleep either. They had you running from test to test, even sent you to another country for more tests with a world top sleep disorder clinic, but nothing worked. Some doctors were afraid that your condition is a type of fatal insomnia, and that you were slowly dying. But those were knocked down too with brain scans, and after your grandma and mother could testify that they had been exactly the same since birth, doctors were facing yet another puzzle. The condition was absolutely unheard of. You heard stories that someone in your family had been burned as a witch for not sleeping, which ultimately made you believe it's something running in the family.
And after some debating between doctors, they too decided that it's an extremely rare type of ADHD, the most severe there is, and your family are the first ones it's been detected to have. They also believed that something in your brains had aligned so perfectly that you not sleeping doesn't affect the brains negatively and expressed their will to be able to take your brains for medical research.
Your grandmother, however, wasn't keen on that thought. She had made up her mind that it's the ancient Greek god Morpheus who had cursed you with it, and nothing would be found from her brains.
"Mother, Morpheus is an ancient Greek god. He's not real," you remember your mother saying as you were visiting your grandma in the hospital. "There's also no thing as curses or magic."
Your grandma had pursed her lips and shook her head. "Oh my dear foolish girl, you just don't understand it. Our ancestor, many centuries ago, was Morpheus' lover, and-"
"She rejected him, we all remember," you interrupted. "He cursed her and everyone in her family to never feel tired."
Your grandma had let out a long breath through her nose. "No, he cursed the women with it. Not men. It is said that he became enraged when his lover refused his kingdom, and when she passed away, he took revenge by striking down all of us with this curse, preventing us from getting proper rest. And now, you're the newest one of our family to carrying the curse. Your future daughters will carry it too, and it will be passed on to their daughters in turn."
You had sighed in chorus with your mother, your grandma had always been clearly delusional about it. Likely brainwashed by her own mother, who had been brainwashed by her mother and so on. But you and your mother were new generation, who didn't believe in such absurd stories and had reliable medical research under your fingertips but unfortunately, you had had to listen your grandma talking about it all your childhood.
When your grandma had passed away, you moved out from your hometown and settling to a nice little town in southern England. You got a job as a cleaner-occasional cook-extra pay caretaker in a fancy mansion owned by an elderly couple, and life was good.
But every mansion has its mysteries, and this mansion had one too. A secret door with a hidden passcode tablet, and only some could go in. No one, besides the guards or Alex and Paul, really knew what was behind it, and no one dared to find it out for themselves. After all, everyone knew that if Alex found out that his servant was going into the room, he would likely fire them, so no one dared to try their luck.
No one, except you. You knew how to get in, and even though you never tried before, you had the feeling that it would work. So you had gone in secretly in the middle of the night, your "curse" as your little helper. You had succeeded in distracting the guards and crept your way down the stairs.
You came to a large, dark hall and you swallowed as you switched the light on. The lights blinded you for a moment, and you raised your arm in front of your eyes, before slowly peeking through and your heart jumped a little upon seeing a figure sitting there. It was a man, who was inside a large glass sphere, not even looking at you gawking at him. Then you realised that he was naked, and quickly turned your head away from his lower regions.
"I'm sorry, I...I..." You stuttered, your voice croaking. "I didn't think there's someone here. Everyone is so mysterious and I wanted to see what is it that is kept here. Wait, you... you aren't kept here as a prisoner, are you?"
The man didn't reply, but his eyes shifted at you, and you felt like a mouse caught in the stare of an owl. His gaze was intense, and a shiver ran down your spine.
You took it as a yes. "Can I help you? Can I do anything?" you continued nervously.
The man kept quiet, but you caught something in his eyes, something which looked like disbelief. You opened your mouth to speak again, but then closed it. You glanced over your shoulder before taking a step towards the sphere, and noticed strange vigils in a circle on the ground.
"What's this?" you asked, still somehow wishing the man would say something. Even when you knew he wouldn't. But his gaze was on the circle now too and he cocked his head slightly at it.
"This sounds stupid, but it looks like a summoning circle. I've probably watched supernatural movies a little too much," you chuckled. The man slowly raised his eyes on you again, and then back down again. You frowned. "Do you... want me to break it?" you asked hesitantly.
The man's piercing blue eyes once again met yours. Then he, very slowly, nodded.
You swallowed hard and stepped forward, fingers trembling as you touched the circle with your foot. It immediately felt like some unknown force was pulling at you, like you were being pulled towards it and you made a stroke, erasing a small segment of the circle.
You let out a breath you didn't know you were holding, and heard noise from the stairway and immediately panicked, looking at the man and then sprinting towards the light. You turned it off and made your way to the farthest corner of the basement, hoping no one would notice you once lights were on.
After a few moments, you heard a chair scrape the stone floor and carefully peered towards the doorway. The other guard had come back and was reading a newspaper. You watched as the man in the glass sphere slowly stood up, pressing his hands on the glass and suddenly, all hell was loose.
A wind surged through the room, knocking the doors open and making a terrible sound. You covered your ears, before realising it wasn't just the wind. There was a bright light, you saw the figure of that man climbing out of the sphere and you screamed, not knowing what was happening.
Suddenly, the guard was on the ground and another bright light appeared. Then the man in the glass sphere was gone, just like that. The light, the wind and the noise had all stopped the moment that man had gone and you slowly got up. Your knees buckled but you forced yourself to go upstairs, to pretend you were never there. You were shaken. What had happened?
---
Some time after that, you were preparing yourself for another book marathon. You didn't feel like watching Netflix right now, so books it was. But then something happened, something that had never happened before.
You fell asleep. You put your head on the pillow and began reading when you were taken over this strange feeling of wanting to close your eyes, so you did. And sleep came. Suddenly, you were transferred in front of a huge castle, dragons and fairies flying over you and a sweet smell that tickled your nose. And you were sure you had lost your mind.
"Hello," a deep voice said from beside you and you twirled around to see the man from the sphere in front of you. Now, fortunately, fully dressed. He smiled and you stared at him, confused.
"How- How are you here?" You asked, frowning. This was absurd, almost like a... dream?
"You're dreaming," the man confirmed your suspicion. Your eyes widened.
"What? H-how?"
"I lifted the curse. So you could meet me."
You blinked. "C-curse?"
"Yes. A long time ago, I cursed a woman who didn't accept my proposal, when I asked her to be my queen when she died. So I told her that every woman who is born in her family, will be cursed by eternal wakefulness." He narrowed his eyes slightly. "I was bitter and inconsiderate when I did that, taken by my feelings and sadness."
"Wait, so... my grandmother was right? You... you are..."
"Morpheus, the King of Dreams." He smirked. "Your kind thinks I'm just a story, but I exist, in fact. The whole dream realm exists, and we can't tell stories without dreams."
You still stood there, dumfounded. "You lifted the curse so I'm... I'm able to sleep and dream now?"
Morpheus smiled slightly. "Yes. As a thank you for releasing me."
You blinked again, and then took in your surroundings. A dragon sat next to you, its wings spread wide and a fairy sitting on top of it, playing with some sort of crystal ball.
"If I may, I can show you around the realm?" Morpheus offered and you gave him a nod. "Very well. Follow me."
You started walking with him, and in a few minutes, you arrived at a forest. The trees were tall and wide, with red flowers blooming everywhere. On your left, you could hear the sound of water flowing and on your right, a waterfall. A beautiful place, one that you wanted to stay in forever.
"There is a lake not far from here, where the fairies usually gather. It is very beautiful, would you like to see it?" Morpheus suggested and you nodded. "Follow me."
He walked into the woods, and shortly after that, you reached the lake. The water sparkled in the sunlight, and the land surrounding it was green. Many little houses were built around the edges, and you couldn't help but stare at them. They reminded you of dollhouses, and you quickly realised that they were where fairies lived.
"This is the most beautiful place I've ever seen," you murmured.
"It is." Morpheus agreed. "Would you like to see my palace?"
You looked at him questioningly and he smiled.
"The house of the king of dreams is located in the heart of the realm. You need my permission to enter it, and only a few may. But you have earned my trust."
You nodded. "Thank you."
He smiled again. "Then follow me."
You walked out of the forest, and suddenly were met with the palace once again. It was bigger than you expected, even though you had been expecting it to be big. The garden was large and full of flowers, while the inside was decorated in a warm golden colour, with paintings hanging from the walls. He led you to the library, and you looked around at the bookshelves and the many old manuscripts.
"I heard you like books, so I thought you would like this," Morpheus said, smiling. "You can read whatever you want."
"Really?" You gasped, and his smile grew slightly. "Thank you!"
You went through the endless shelves, looking at all the books you could see. Some you recognised, others you hadn't seen before. Morpheus stood there for a moment, before exiting the room.
Dreams were even more magical than anyone had ever told you, and you couldn't wait to see a whole new world of them.
---
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#the sandman#the sandman x reader#the sandman imagine#morpheus#morpheus x reader#morpheus imagine#dream of the endless#dream of the endless x reader#dream of the endless imagine#reader insert#female reader#my works
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love game. i
summary: he has never been a good husband, but a century in captivity might change his mind
pairing: morpheus x love!reader
tw: dark!morpheus hehe, mention of rape is you squint but i kinda emphasized that its not? toxic relationships (?)
a/n: gif aint mine. idk where this is fic going. this is the literal example of head empty, no thoughts just my love for men groveling at my feet. hopefully you like them too
“Where is my wife?” he asked, glancing at Lucienne. “Had she abandoned me too? Surely she has sensed me by now…”
His librarian gives him an uncertain look. “My lord, my lady will only come if you summon her. It has been that way for centuries.”
He looks up the ceiling of his palace. There were holes where the roof has fallen, letting sunshine through the throne room. On the damp corners, weeds had slipped through the pristine walls that he had built. His palace looks like a broken heart, thrown away and abandoned. He wonders if this is what she felt like. “Then I summon I shall summon her.”
You came a few seconds after he had said the words.
Lucienne is the first thing you see. She is standing up straight with her hands behind her back- the perfect picture of formality except on her face was a smile wider than you have seen her in a century. Lucienne does not cry, professionalism forbids her so, but you know that if she could he would have tears running down her face in joy. Her heart tells you so. Lucienne’s heart tells you more- the love for her master who has some back.
She bows to you, and steps aside. You cannot help the relief in your face as you see your husband. You blink twice waiting for him to fade away just to be sure. “You’re back,” you whisper in awe, walking towards him quickly. “Forgive me for not coming sooner, my lord, I had to make sure.” Your eyes widen a fraction at your mistake. “Not that I doubted you, husband, I-”
You meet his eyes and you halt. “Are you alright?”
The Dreaming stills. Even in its decaying form its realm remembers its master. Not a single dust threatened to fall, and every speck of dust held its breath. “I was captured.” Dream stares at the ground as he speaks. His voice was a quiet rumble with anger evident in his face.
Captured? You wanted to ask, along with the thousands of questions that bombarded your head. How in the world did an Endless become prisoner? But you held your tongue. Knowing your husband, his pride is wounded and irritable. He is frustrated to retreat to the Dreaming to lick his wounds, and even humiliated that he came back significantly weaker than when he left.
Instead, you swallow the concern down your throat and settled for the sight of him. He looked the same as he had always been, but something has changed. This you are certain.
“Welcome back, Dream Lord.” You greet with a smile and a small bow. It was a smart statement. No mention of his time in absence or your misplaced concern, only your relief that he is back in the Dreaming. You turn your heel to leave, when he spoke up.
“You’re leaving already?”
Your eyes snapped back at him suspiciously. From the corner of your eye you see Lucienne exit the room, but you did not dare to take your eyes off the Dream Lord. He has never complained of your departure before. Some days you think he wishes you left as soon as you arrived. “Yes,” you nod. “I have my duties to attend to. You have called and I have come. I have done your bidding.”
“I-” Something passes in his face, like a shadow of sadness. “That is not what I meant.”
You look at him, confused, but smiled and nodded anyway. “Then how can I serve you, my lord?”
The dream lord looks at you like you had caused him pain. “Love,” he says, and you almost flinch in surprise. He had never said your name so gently before. In fact, you realize that this is the first time you have even heard him say your name. You were only ever ‘wife’, never ‘Love’, you were…nothing. “I…I apologize. I have not been a good husband to you.”
Your mind flies back to the wedding you have blessed before he had summoned you. The groom and the bride looked so happy, so in love. With your blessing you knew their marriage would be a successful one, the kind that would last until the end of their lifetime. If only yours were the same.You quickly shook the thought away from your head. You are not the naive girl you once were.
Instead, you shake your head. For a moment, you wonder if he would forgive you for taking a step towards him, but you decided against it after recalling what had happened last time. “You are not a cruel husband, Dream.”
You have seen first hand what cruelty is. Men and women pray to you constantly to make their spouses love them, if only they would stop hurting them. But your husband had never hurt you. He wouldn’t dare. And you would not let him.
He gives you a rueful smile. “Then what kind of husband am I if my wife can’t even take a step towards me?”
You suck up a breath. So he had noticed that. The king of dreams is not cruel, but he is cold. You had tried once, when you were first married. Arranged marriages rarely bared fruit to love, but there were some exceptions if they tried enough. You had greeted him, every day, sat beside him every morning to break your fast, walked along with him despite his obvious annoyance. For a few years you visited his realm everyday, had greeted his mornings with the sweetest kiss and at the end of your night, opened your legs when he saw fit, letting him take you whenever he wanted. But eventually, you have resorted to only come when he calls you. He never calls because he misses his wife. More often than not, he has a command to give and expected you to obey.
“I realize now that you did not ask for this marriage, and I had forced you into it.” In a surge of courage, he held out his hand silently asking for yours. For the first time in a long time you saw nervousness in his eyes, anxious to see your response. You knew that you had every right to stand still, and no one would fault you for it. But you slowly gave your hand anyway.
You were surprised to know that your husband’s hand was warm. Had you expected him to feel cold? When was the last time you had even touched him? When was the last time he had touched you?
Relief was splattered in his face. Dark eyes lock with yours as he ever so slowly raised your palm to his lips. “How callous have I been to subject Love to a loveless marriage?”
“You did not force me to do anything,” you insist, eyes locked at your hand on his, at the spot his lips had kissed. “You didn’t wish for this marriage either.”
“But I did not have to be so unkind.” Slowly, he dropped your hand to your side and took a step back. You did not know how to feel at the loss of his touch. “In my cage, I had plenty of time to ponder on the things I have normally ignored. I had often wondered how cruel my captors were for keeping me inside my cage for so long but haven’t I done the same to you?”
You gulped.
“Have I not made you feel unwelcome in a realm that is yours as much as it is mine by law? Haven’t I made the Dreaming your cage, Love?” He asked, eyelashes touching his cheek.
“My lord,” you say in alarm as you process his words. “The Dreaming is a haven compared to what you’ve went through. The Dreaming is a haven compared to anything.”
It did not go unnoticed by you both that you did not deny Dream’s first statement. The Dreaming has never felt like home to you for it has given you nothing to be tied down to it. Its wonder had never failed to welcome you every time you visit, but you do not stay too long. Home is warmth, and the Dreaming has always been so cold to you. Home is your own realm, an endless pink sky like a never ending sunset across the horizon.
“Forgive me,” your husband whispers. And to your horror, you watch in shock as the King of Dreams bend down on one knee followed by the other. This time you touch him, not caring about the consequences. You grip his arms and attempt to pull him back up, but he stubbornly remains rooted on the ground.
Your head whips to the exit Lucienne left at and to any other possible entrances to his throne room. It is simply unheard of to have an Endless kneel to someone who is lower to them. You have never even heard of an Endless kneeling before. Your mind races at the thousand possibilities of who might witness your husband beg. Oh, what if Desire came in- ?
“There is no one here, they’ve all gone away in my absence” Dream says, his voice steady like he wasn’t down on his knees for you. “Lucienne is in her library absorbed in her work. You’re all I have left. You’re all I’ve always had. Forgive me, Love.”
Flashes of forgotten cooked meals, cold nights, deserted company and a millennium worth of loneliness flashes in your mind. You have always been so neglected. Is this it, then? Were you to throw away everything because he learned humility after a century?
“There is nothing to forgive, my lord.” You say, eager to get this conversation over and to have your husband just stand up.
“Morpheus,” he corrects with a sad smile. Your response echoes in his head and he did not need confirmation to know that it was a lie. How are you still so loyal? “Then forgive me anyway.” He compromises on your behalf, even when kneeling. He knew you would deny your lie if he asked.
“Alright.”
Your shoulders sag and sigh in sheer relief when Morpheus finally stands back up. You can him from head to toe just to be certain he is well before reminding yourself that your hands are still gripping his leather sleeves. You release them immediately, but he caught you wrists before you could pull away.
You flinch, and his eyes soften in regret. I am not scared, you want to say, I’m just not used to you touching me.
“Have I made you fear me so?” His grip on your wrists in gentle. If you wanted to pull away he would let you. But you let him hold your wrists at the thought that this might be the last time in a long time you will feel him. Might as well relish in it. “I will do better,” he vows. “I will be kinder, more gentle. I will do right by you this time.”
You tug your wrists away from his grasp slowly. “I must return to the waking world, my lord. My duties await me.”
Lie. You hear no prayers, no human calling for your help.
You’ve seen this trick before. You’ve seen mortal men promise the same sweet things to their wives only for them to hurt them once again. A few pretty words is not enough to erase a millennium of memories.
You turn your heel and walk out of his throne room. Morpheus lets you.
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#morpheus x reader#the sandman x reader#dream the endless x reader#dream x reader#sandman x reader#dream of the endless#the sandman#morpheus imagine#the sandman imagine#dream of the endless imagine
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Wishful Drinking
Morpheus/Dream of the Endless x GN!Reader
Summary: After Morpheus cruelly dismisses you, you decide that you'll get back at him by staying out of the Dreaming one night for as long as you can. What you don't anticipate is letting your feelings get the best of you and getting very drunk instead.
Or, drunk shenanigans galore!
Word Count: 3.5k
Author's Note: I don't know what this is, y'all. I haven't written anything in more than a month, and it was so tough to even write this, but I wanted to write SOMETHING. As always, hope you enjoyed, let me know your thoughts, and likes, comments, and reblogs make my world go round.
ALSO! Dream logic applies here, in that you're still drunk when you reach the Dreaming.
Listen.
You know that certain coping mechanisms, like, say, going out clubbing with your friends and getting crazy drunk for the first time in a long time, aren’t exactly healthy. But things have been difficult for you lately! You’ve been struggling a lot, in both your professional and personal life. These hardships are only compounded by the fact that the one person (or person-shaped being) in your life that you thought you could count on, your Morpheus, has been too busy to have time for you.
Literally. He said those exact words to you a mere three days ago, when you had found him in his personal study (a study that he almost never used) after what felt like a day spent chasing him around the Dreaming. You meant for it to come out as teasing when you took note of the fact that you hardly saw him around lately and that it felt like he was purposefully avoiding you, but he had sighed and glared at you before saying, “I have much to do, and I am far too busy to entertain you right now.”
You glowered, but, as he said, he was too busy to see it. Fine, you thought as you turned around and stalked out of his study. Leave him to his business.
Cut to today. When your friends asked if you wanted to go out with them, you almost said no, having gotten accustomed in the past couple of months to the routine of going to bed by nine o’clock in order to maximize time spent in your lover’s realm. But then, the more you thought about it, the more you realized that you didn’t want to just continue sitting around in the Dreaming and hoping that Morphues would come out of whatever funk he was in. After all, why should you make an effort when he won’t? You’re not about to beg for his attention.
With that in mind, you texted back that you very much wanted to go out with them and proceeded to get ready for a fun night out.
The plan was to have a couple of drinks, dance for a bit, and stay out of the Dreaming just long enough to make Morpheus sweat a bit.
But then shots had been ordered.
And your friend bought you a drink because they knew you had had a tough week.
And you bought yourself two drinks.
And a group of guys bought you another round of shots, and though you all laughed at the fact that they were not getting anything out of this, you still took them because you weren’t about to turn down free alcohol.
This leads to you and your friends stumbling out of a bar at two in the morning, holding each other up as you do. Definitely not the plan, but what’s that one quote about plans and mice and men?
“What about a mouse?” your friend asks from beside you, making you realize that you said that out loud.
“Don’ worry ‘bout it,” you say.
Somehow, you make it into a Lyft (thank the gods for friends who don’t get carried away), and somehow, you make it into your home. Not without its difficulties–you dropped your keys multiple times on the walk to your front door, and there might be a you-shaped indent in the entryway wall from where you fell into it when trying to kick your shoes off.
When you reach your bedroom, you decide that actually, the floor looks comfier than your bed does. You’re so drunk that the room feels like it’s spinning when you lay down, and you close your eyes to enjoy the ride.
“Fuck, I’m so drunk right now,” you say out loud, laughing at the sound of your slurred words.
You don’t mean to fall asleep, really. You know that you need to crawl to the bathroom to wash your face and find enough dexterity to change clothes before hopefully sobering up just enough that you can make it to the kitchen to grab painkillers and water for the inevitable killer hangover you’re going to have tomorrow. The floor is just so soft, though, and you work yourself into a trance-like state by staring up at the ceiling fan and watching it go around and around and around. On one blink, you’re staring at your ceiling.
And on the next, you’re staring at another ceiling, one that’s not really a ceiling at all, but an entire galaxy above your head.
It’s easy to get lost in the magnificent colors swirling above you (especially in your current state), and you do, until you hear someone calling your name. When you look away from the universe, you see the love of your life looking at you, though at present, he is not reciprocating the heart eyes that you are always looking at him with.
“Where have you been?” Morpheus demands.
“Morpheus, my love!” You throw your arms out and grin. “I’ve missed you.”
“Do you have any idea how worried I have been? I sent Matthew to find you hours ago when first you were late, only for him to report that he could not find you at your home.” You’re a little surprised that Matthew hadn’t managed to track you down; your little raven friend was almost scarily good at finding people/places/things.
“Aw, you’ve missed me?” It makes sense, of course; after all, you’ve missed him, so it’s only natural that he would miss you in return. Still, the sentiment makes you feel all warm and melty on the inside.
It’s obvious to anybody who actually takes the time to know Morpheus—a tiny list of people and beings, two of whom are in the room with him right now—that he’s fighting a war between wanting to scold you and wanting to hold you and check you up and down for wounds. Morpheus crosses the room towards you, and you ready yourself for the inevitable lecture you’re about to get, about how you’re just a fragile little human and he worries every moment that you’re away from him (y’know, now that you have the clarity of a drunk person, you’re actually annoyed that this is constantly coming from the being that’s meant to be your lover).
But that’s not what happens.
Instead, you find his arms wrapped tightly around you and his face buried in your neck. He’s hugging you, not the other way around. He’s never done such a thing before, and you don’t know how to react. What you do know is that any of the residual anger you had been feeling drains out of you like water from an unstoppered bathtub. You really didn’t think that being away for—the math isn’t mathing for you currently, and you don’t actually know how long it’s been—a couple of hours would affect him this much.
“You are the one most dear to my heart,” he mutters into your ear, cognizant of the fact that you are not alone in this throne room. “Of course, I missed you.”
“Oh. When you said you were ‘too busy to entertain’ me, I just kinda assumed you wouldn’t notice I was gone.” Though you don’t mean to weaponize your words, the poison darts make contact with their target anyway, and Morpheus stiffens in your hold.
“Are you alright?” he asks instead, choosing to wait until a later time to have this particular conversation.
“Aw, dream boy” you coo, snaking a hand up to clumsily run it through his hair. “I’m okay baby, swear it! Like, absolutely, one hundred percent fine.”
Morpheus pulls away from you so that he can look you up and down to confirm that you really are okay. “You smell like a pub,” he notes.
“How can you tell that in the Dreaming?”
He ignores your question when a realization seems to hit him. “Are you inebriated?”
“No, I’m drunk,” you correct very matter-of-factly.
“That is–” he stops, choosing instead to just shake his head.
“Oh, dear,” Lucienne mutters from behind Morpheus, reminding you of her presence in the first place.
“Lucienne! Hi! How have you been!”
You crane around Morpheus to be able to see your favorite librarian, but you almost fall over in the process. Before you can tip too far over, Morpheus is there to right you again. When he does, he looks down at you with quite the serious expression on his perfect face.
“Who did this to you?” he asks, ready to punish whoever put you in such a state.
“Vodka. Rum, maybe?” You think back on your drinks for the evening, though it’s hard to think back that far. “Yeah, the second round of shots was definitely rum.”
“You put yourself in this state?”
“Yes?” Has Morpheus never heard of the concept of going out and getting shitfaced with your pals? “To be fair, I didn’t think that my drunkenness would…” You search for the word that you want to use, but it’s just not coming to you! “Uh, carry over?”
“Please tell me you managed to make it home safely?”
You nod. “Sure did! Pretty sure I fell asleep on the floor, though.”
Lucienne slowly begins to back up towards the door, and Morpheus stares at you for a long moment before sighing heavily.
“Are you mad at me?” you ask nervously, starting to get upset the longer the silence drags on. Did you say something that you shouldn’t have? Is there a rule you don’t know about against sleeping on floors?
Instead of answering you, Morpheus waves a hand in the air and says, “This dream is over.”
You’re awake and once again staring up at your ceiling fan, only this time, Morpheus is also in your line of sight. It’s impossible to stop yourself from touching him when you’re sober, so it’s not at all surprising that your hands go up to caress his face now when you’re drunk.
“Hi cutie,” you greet, laughing in delight when he flushes just the slightest amount.
He grabs your hands and kisses the back of both before setting them against your chest. “Why are you sleeping on your floor?”
“Because,” is your simple, childish reply.
“That is not a good answer.”
“It’s the one you get because it’s the one I have.” You throw in a peace sign to be extra spicy, but Morpheus, unfortunately, doesn’t comprehend your 21st-century humor, and instead just segues into the next order of business.
“Might I help you up, so that we can get you properly ready for bed?”
“But I’m comfy,” you groan. Morpheus is not buying what you’re selling, unfortunately, so you sigh. “Fine.”
Morpheus holds his hands out for you to take and helps you to your feet. Too fast, apparently, because the room begins to spin and your stomach tilts dangerously, making you clap a hand over your mouth.
“Oh no. Dizzy, dizzy, dizzy,” you chant, squeezing your eyes shut and laying your head against Morpheus’s shoulder while you try to breathe through sudden nausea. You will not throw up on your super hot eldritch nightmare king boyfriend, you command yourself. Not tonight, and not ever.
“What is wrong?” Morpheus sounds panicked, and you want to reassure him, but you hold up a finger in the meantime.
When the nausea finally passes, you take a deep breath and slowly look up. “Okay, I think I’m good now.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m sure. Sometimes drinking too much combined with moving too fast makes people feel sick. It’s my fault, but I’ll be okay.”
“Are you well enough to move?”
“Yes, I promise.”
To prove your point, you let go of his hand and start walking heel to toe as the police require during field sobriety tests (honestly, you’re a little surprised that you can actually do this right now). You can practically feel your lover's amusement behind you, but it proves to him that you are capable. Morpheus lets you walk to the bathroom on your own power, and you think the only reason he doesn’t sweep you off your feet is because he’s worried you’ll throw up if he does. He watches you intently the entire time, though.
You sit on the lip of the bathtub, watching Morpheus move about your bathroom as though he knows where everything is; he probably does, you realize, whether it be from that endless wealth of knowledge about everyone and everything that he possesses, or just his familiarity with your home. After rummaging around for a few moments, he comes back with a washcloth and your favorite pajamas. The sight of the familiar material makes you tear up, and you sniffle loudly.
Morpheus looks up in alarm. “Are you okay?”
“You remembered my favorite pajamas,” you say, trying to not start crying. You can count on one hand the number of times he’s come directly to see you off to his realm, and you’ve probably worn those pajamas twice. Yet he remembered the one-off comment you had made about how they were your favorite because of course he did.
His face softens. “Of course I did.”
You clear your throat and wipe your eyes. “Sorry. I’m okay! Just drunk.”
Morpheus hands you said pajamas before turning the faucet on and letting the water run. He seems to realize something after a moment and looks at you helplessly. “I do not feel temperature as you do. Is the water alright?”
You grin and stick your hand under the faucet, moving the tap just a smidge hotter before nodding at him. “It’s good now. Thank you for asking.”
He begins to run the damp washcloth gently over your face, a barely-there smile appearing on his own when you wrinkle your nose at the cool sensations. Where this situation would be awkward with anybody else, it feels entirely natural with Morpheus. You’ll take these little moments of domesticity with him whenever you can get them, even when you’re still half drunk.
Even if you wanted to, you can’t hold yourself back from saying, “You’re so beautiful, do you know that? Seriously, you’re the prettiest man-slash-anthropomorphic-personification I’ve ever seen in my entire life.” The words are heavy on your tongue, but you’re pretty proud of the way you only barely stumble through ‘anthropomorphic’.
“You are still under the influence,” he notes.
“So? Drunk words equal sober thoughts, right?”
“‘A drunk mind speaks a sober heart.’ Jean-Jacques Rosseau,” he supplies.
“Sure, that. I’d tell you how pretty you are even if I was sober, and you know that.”
“Perhaps.” He says it in that infuriatingly sexy way of his, the one that makes you want to tear his clothes off.
Instead, you’re the one taking your own clothes off, though not for any fun reason. Getting changed is not as difficult a task as it would have been when you first arrived home, with the benefit of time naturally sobering one up on your side. Morpheus still keeps a hand held out, just in case you lose your balance and need something to grab onto, but after you’ve finished changing, that hand slips under your shirt and caresses your side.
“Thought you were supposed to be helping me keep my clothes on,” you say with a shiver, grabbing his wrist and pulling the offending extremity out from under your shirt.
“Apologies.” His tone implies that he’s not sorry at all, not that you would want him to be. “I simply couldn’t resist.”
He looks down at you with so much love in those blue eyes of his that you feel like you don’t think your mortal mind could ever truly comprehend it. Nobody has ever loved you the way that Morpheus has—all-consuming and passionate. He told you once that many of his relationships had ended because he had been seen as too intense, too obsessive in his love. Bring it on, you had told him when he expected you to back down. To date, you haven’t regretted that.
You don’t think you ever will.
Now that you can see the end of your night in sight, tiredness begins to seep into your bones. Though your bed is just right through the bathroom door, it feels miles away. With that in mind, you ask, “Will you carry me?”
“Were you not worried that you would feel sick?”
“Yeah, but I’m tired.” You pout (on purpose because you know what it does to him), and you can practically see his resolve break. “Just be careful?”
“Always,” he promises.
And careful he is, slowly picking you up and waiting until you nod to carry you to your bed. He sets you down gently, You’re thrilled to see a glass of water already waiting for you on your bedside table, Morpheus anticipating your needs before you’ve even realized you have them in the first place.
Crawling under the covers after finishing your water, you motion for Morpheus to sit next to you on the bed. He does as you ask, and you move your pillows so that you can sit up and lean on him. When you’re comfortable, you say, “Thank you for everything tonight. I know taking care of me wasn’t what you had planned.”
“You need not thank me. I enjoy caring for you, no matter the situation.”
Your eyes flutter closed at the sensation of his hand carding through your hair, and you start to feel yourself inching closer to the Dreaming. Something keeps you from truly falling asleep, though, and when Morpheus shifts next to you, you realize what it is: the conversation’s not over. Morpheus is trying to figure out how to say what it is he wants to say.
Finally, he figures it out. “Might I ask you something?”
You open your eyes to give him your full attention and nod.
“Earlier, when you seemed surprised that I had noticed your absence. Did you do this,” ‘this’ being getting very drunk, “because of what I said?”
“No. I mean, I went out because I was mad at you, and I figured that me being a couple of hours late would make you learn your lesson, but I got drunk because I wanted to have fun with my friends and let loose.”
“And did you?”
“Maybe a little too much,” you admit cheekily.
“I apologize for my harsh words the other day. I have been…feeling burdened under the weight of my realm, and I took it out on you for no reason.”
“It’s okay, Morpheus. You’re busy running an entire realm and overseeing the collective unconscious. I shouldn’t be so needy.”
He shakes his head. “It is not okay. I should never talk to you in such a way, and you should never feel as though I do not want you around. I do want you around, always.”
“People say things that they don’t mean. That doesn’t mean they’re not worthy of forgiveness. But you gotta talk to me, okay? When you’re feeling stressed, or when things get to be too much. I’m here for you, and I want to support you however I can.”
“I love you,” he says. The fact that he’s being so open with his emotions is a pleasant surprise; it took him so long to be the first to say it, and even longer to be comfortable with it. You smile up at him.
“I love you, too. Stay with me until I fall asleep?”
“Of course.”
Morpheus turns your bedroom light off without you needing to ask (seriously, you love him so much), and you close your eyes. Then, a thought hits you.
“Hey,” you say, staring up at him in the dark and waiting until he looks at you to continue. “Can you get drunk?”
“No.”
“Why not? I mean, isn’t there special alcohol for preternatural beings? You’d think gods and goddesses would’ve figured out a way to get turnt by now.”
Though he doesn’t want to give in to your rambling when you’re meant to be trying to fall asleep, he can’t help but indulge you. “Gods and goddesses can. We, the Endless, cannot.”
“What? That’s so fucking lame. No. That’s–that’s an injustice! I’m so sorry.
“I promise, it is okay. Now, please go to sleep.”
You nod, but close your eyes for maybe thirty seconds before they snap open again with a realization. “Wait.”
“What?”
“You mentioned other gods and goddesses. How many are there? Are they all real? Is actual God real? I mean, I know the devil is real, you kicked their ass for your helm, but for some reason that’s more believable than–”
“Go. To. Sleep,” Morpheus commands.
“Ugh, you’re no fun!”
“I am not afraid to use my sand if need be.”
“You wouldn’t.” You raise an eyebrow in challenge, and he raises one right back. After a brief stalemate, you’re the first to give in. “You have to understand how world-altering this information is to a regular human like me, I mean–”
You’re asleep before your head hits the pillow.
#morpheus#morpheus x reader#morpheus imagine#dream of the endless#dream of the endless x reader#dream of the endless imagine#the sandman#the sandman imagine
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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
#the sandman#the sandman netflix#the sandman 2022#sandman#the sandman fic#sandman fanfic#the sandman imagine#fanfiction#fanfic#lord morpheus#morpheus#morpheus x reader#morpheus/dream#morpheus/dream x reader#dream of the endless#dream of the endless x reader#dream#dream x reader#sandman smut#dream smut#dream of the endless smut#the endless#the dreaming#tom sturridge#sandfam#saskia writes sandman
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𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐩𝐡𝐞𝐮𝐬' 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐬 𝐈𝐈.
⊹ pairing: morpheus x reader
⊹ summary: the much awaited, i-went-to-hell-for-inspiration, morpheus' love languages part 2: nsfw version. how he expresses his love languages when fucking you
⊹ tags: nsfw, morpheus is an adoring, reverent, woman-worshipping Endless who's always on his knees, the king of dreams is a giver
⊹ warnings: explicit language, explicit content (obviously), minors stay back (not that ever stopped me. if you are a minor, just know that sex might not be like this and do more research)
⊹ word count: 3027
⊹ previous part: morpheus' love languages part i.
⊹ now playing: take me to church by hozier
words of affirmation though he isn't the most vocal as an Endless, he does become vocal as a lover. or, specifically, he wants you to be. remember when i said he likes it when you talk to him? this applies here. (of course, by the time he's done with you, you won't be able to form words. but he'll accept desperate mewls of his name.)
call him by his name
not dream, but morpheus
gasp, groan, grunt, scream, whimper, murmur — every adjective of ‘said’ — say it in that way. he loves when you say his name and he the different ways you say it is akin to music. and if you whisper it right in his ear, his name hot against him so he can feel your desperation, he might just give you what you want and fuck you harder and faster
you tried to hold your moans back once
biggest mistake of your life
it doesn’t matter if you were only trying to hold back because you were in the library and mervyn, lucienne, and matthew were just three shelves down having a very serious meeting
though normally private in pda, perhaps that day morpheus was too frustration in being king and just wanted to be your lover. only a king had to worry about looking good in front of others. as your lover, all he had to worry about was pleasing you, and hearing the sounds you make was his signal that he was doing well
you thought that the sound of the shelves being rocked, your heavy breathing, and a book falling every now and then was telling enough what you were doing, and yes, you were a bit embarrassed to be found in such a compromising position with your skirt bunched up to your waist, one leg hooked around morpheus, and your head tilted to the sky as he attacked your neck
so when you bit down on your lip and slapped a hand over your mouth to hide your moans?
he is insulted (and you know how petty he gets) and fucks you even harder and faster than before
hoists both of your legs around his waist so he’s even closer and hits a spot in you that has you moaning obscenely and seeing stars. there’s no use hiding or explaining that away, but you don’t even think of the others anymore. all you can focus on is how he slams repeatedly into you again and again, one had rubbing furious circles on your clit, whispering orders in your ear to never deprive him of your sounds ever again
that as his lover, he owns every part of you (he definitely owns me), including those delicious sounds he purposefully and rightfully earns
and when you start making those sounds again, he is so fucking pleased with himself that he gets even harder
your hand falls from your mouth on its own and finds his hair, tugging on it, harder and harder as you reach your peak and he follows shortly after when you clench around him—all done with a loud cry of his name from you and your name coming out as a pleading grunt from him
when the two of you finally catch your breath, you peek around the shelves and find them gone
morpheus smirks at you before dragging you to the table for part two since “they’re not here anyway.”
always asks for consent
no matter how caught up he is in his emotions or pleasure, always asks you if you’re doing alright and if he’s doing alright touching your body
this man has a praise kink. tell him he’s doing well
tell him he’s fucking you so good as tears run down your cheeks and he’ll all but cum in you in that moment
tell him you were made for him as he bottoms out in you, and he’ll flip you over to your stomach and have his way and ruin you, leaving you a rambling mess who’s only coherent thought is his name
“you can take a little bit more of me, can’t you?” he whispers against your ear as you bite your lip to hold back your whimpers as he pushes inch by inch further, deeper, closer, into you. “you’ll do that for me?”
“you’re gonna make me cum” > “i’m going to cum”
he’ll make you squirt in thanks for reminding him that you’re orgasm is a product of his hard work
did you see how he pleaded with calliope to let him help her? imagine him begging to let him make you feel good
"i can make you feel so good, my love," he whispers as he puts one nipple in his mouth, suck and bite it gently, tugging on it, before releasing it and going to the other one. "let me?"
praise talk is his dirty talk. more into overstimulation and praise rather than edging and degradation cause he’s too in love with you to ever say those things or have you think, even for a second, that you are anything less than too good for him
type of person to say “i love you” as he fucks you
at the most intense moments, like when he’s about to orgasm, he mindlessly rambles out pleads for you to always stay with him and he needs you and you’re the only thing he needs (say less)
so tell him you need him. tell him only he can make you feel this good. because he’s definitely a giver, and the best compliment you can give a giver is to thank them for their service and tell them they’re doing a good job
physical touch this is an Endless who falls hard and intensely in love, as we see with his past lovers. it stands to reason that he'd fuck the same way. he makes sure that he is touching every inch of your body and you are touching every inch of him
has a thing for walls
likes to fuck you against them. either your back to it with your legs wrapped around his waist, or the side of your face pressed against it with your hands on either side as he takes you from behind
he will also eat you out with your back against a wall. makes it his personal mission to make your legs woozy enough that you literally collapse and he has to hold you up or you’re falling on the ground
overstimulation
worships your body
kissed every inch of your body once
on the days that you don’t feel the most confident, he’ll whisper his gratitude towards those parts against your skin until you believe him
is still a sucker for eye contact
looks up through his lashes as he eats you out
looks down at you as he fucks into you
but just because he wants to be gentle and passionate with you, doesn’t mean you can’t be rough with him. in fact, he welcomes it
tug his hair hard as he eats you out and you’ll hear the most guttural groan which you’ll feel vibrate in your cunt
dig your nails down his back and his hips will snap against yours in a speed that reminds you your lover is not a man, but an Endless
suck and bite his neck and enjoy watching him gasp and tighten his grip against your hips, enough to leave his handprint on your skin
however, there is one time you can elicit some roughness from him, and that’s when you ride him
you’ve ridden him on his throne
it was your idea the first time, and his idea every time after
legs on either side, his arms wrapped desperately against your waist as you slam down onto him and he slams up against you
he grabs a fistful of your hair and tugs your head backwards (see gif as example), exposing the column of your neck which he can mark and litter with kisses and bites
a very passionate lovemaker and puts emotions other than lust into it. when you two have sex, he doesn’t just do it to get rid of frustration or because he feels lust for you, but because he loves you enough to want to share this other part of him that so few get
is the type to link your hands together while he slides in and out
presses his forehead against yours when on top of you. he expects you to do the same when you’re on top
if he’s not waiting at your cunt with an open mouth as you orgasm, then he’s kissing you, as if to swallow the sounds of pleasure you make and further drowning in you
can unclasp your bra with one hand
pulls your underwear down with his teeth
bites on thighs
and neck
and chest
i’m not saying this man cries during sex (not that there’s anything wrong with that). but he does constantly have glassy/teary eyes during the show, so don’t be surprised if he gets a bit overwhelmed with his feelings for you and shed a tear or two
just kiss it away
acts of service he's always worshipped you before his capture, but after, he turns into a sinner looking for absolution from the only higher being he'd beg from. and the first step to absolution is looking for it on his knees
the first time you have sex after you reunite, he begs for forgiveness for being gone from you so long in his throne room
sits you on his throne and sinks to his knees before you
doesn’t even bother locking the door because he has no shame in anyone seeing him beg for absolution to you
and he doesn’t hold back from it either, alright? this Endless is making the most obscene noises as he loudly slurps and groans at the taste of you and moans at the sounds of you and ruts against his throne at the feeling of you, you, you
the first time you cum, he doesn’t stop and keeps fucking you with his tongue until he triggers a second one less than a minute later
he’ll add a finger soon enough
crooks it at just the right spot that it presses against the spongy part of you that makes your back arch off the throne and cum for the third time. at this point, your cum has started to drip off his throne, and he thinks about adding it as a design to his chair (you slap him on the back of his head as a no)
inserts another finger and starts pumping it in and out, in and out, even doing a scissor motion every now and then. you come the fourth time
the fifth time, he does all that plus play with your clit with his tongue. flicks at it, sucks on it, does everything you can possibly imagine be done with a tongue and two fingers until you squirt
and he still drinks it all. he takes those two fingers and uses it to scoop up all your cum and drinks it all
he always swallows whatever he’s able to draw out of you and whatever you’re willing to give him
and don't forget to sit on his face
he'd be more than happy to die underneath you, smothered by your thighs and cunt
if you try to do hold back and hover over his face, he'll ask you first if you like to squat over chairs rather than sit on them, before grabbing your things and pulling you down and not releasing you until he's done
if it isn’t clear yet, this man is a giver. gets genuine pleasure when he is the one to give you pleasure and can probably cum just from seeing you orgasm from his ministrations (he has and has no shame in it)
it might be how his possessiveness shows. knowing that only he can give you orgasms that intense is something he prides himself on
probably why he doesn’t mind when others look at you. all he’s looking at is your reactions, and you never show interest. you never give them the looks or sounds you make with him, and that’s enough that he just sits back, smirks, and pities the poor person who tried to hit on you
quality time as kim namjoon says in all night: "we keep all the party in this room all night. we don't wanna put it on the brake, hold tight."
the first time you reunite, he eats you out for hours
only stops because your body literally cannot go any longer and you might pass out (he debates whether he wants you to but lets you rest)
but the first time he fucks you, he doesn’t stop until you’re a whimpering, drooling mess who’s only thought is morpheus
and you do pass out
he’s there when you come to, and he starts again
morpheus rarely does quickies. he’s too intense and long-term for that. he likes to take his time to worship you and he doesn’t want to end because he ran out of time or he has an appointment with someone else. when he’s with you, you’re all he’s thinking about
however, he does like to take his time teasing you
and by that, i mean he can give you little teasing touches all day to get you worked up
hand on your upper thigh when eating with others
presses his front against your back as he reaches for something in the cabinet
might even touch you through your underwear without giving you too much—just to keep you wanting and waiting
he can last a pretty long time, and sessions with him usually involve you cumming so many times that you don’t think you’ll ever be able to cum again (you will. he’ll show you)
always engages foreplay. involves a heavy make out session coupled with groping that leads you to being wet enough that he can just slip inside you
likes to fuck you where its comfortable for you—bed, a couch (walls are his guilty pleasure, though)
will fuck you anywhere in the dreaming, though, cause it’s all him
might even be more intense for him since he can feel whatever surface he’s fucking you on and how hard he’s fucking you or how tight and desperate you’re holding on to the edge of that table
morning sex isn't as common since that's when you wake up from the dreaming
night is definitely prime time for sex
you know you're in for a long time when you have sex before you're even in the dreaming. when that happens, you better hold on, since you'll wake up more exhausted than before you slept
gift giving could be into toys, but he has to be the one who made it and he has to be the one using it on you. but why would you need toys anyway when you can have his cock
might be offended if you think he needs to use a toy to get to orgasm, as it suggests that he’s not enough
and if you say you want a toy just for the times he’s busy, he’ll tell you that he’s never too busy to give you an orgasm and proves it to you in that point
you’ll have to tell him that you can’t take enough if you want him to stop
rather, he uses toys to overstimulate
vibrator on clit while his tongue searches deeper in your fold or vice versa
the gift he does like to give you is lingerie
he gives you an assortment of different colours in different materials
his favourite is whatever makes you feel the most confident
gives you lingerie that is meant to be ripped off you
when he rips a set of lingerie that you actually really liked, he’ll apologize with kisses and promises that he’ll make you more before fucking you senseless
buys you lingerie from la perla. when you wear it to sleep and you arrive in the dreaming in it, he preens in delight
sometimes, he’ll give you lingerie from the dreaming while you’re in the dreaming. that’s completely under his control, and he can make it disappear in an instant
speaking of giving you toys in the dreaming, if he makes it, that he can get behind cause he has absolute control over it. his finger becomes the remote
that little underwear he gives you? with no warning, starts to fucking vibrate during dinner with lucienne. doesn’t ease up until you get up, flushed and with wobbly knees, and run to the hallway where you cum with a poorly concealed moan
when you return to the table, he looks to you with a knowing smirk. thankfully, lucienne remains unaware (or at least has the courtesy of pretending to be)
in the waking world, you like to wear his clothes after you wake up. in return, he takes your underwear
when you fuck in the dreaming, you wake up drenched and with a wet spot on your blanket. he sends you a new blanket as an unfelt apology which he’ll ruin the next night anyway
back to his greatest gift to you being his cock
i see him longer than wider (but not long enough to hurt you. 27-inch dick fanfic writers, stay back). you know, keeping in theme with his whole lean yet lanky physique
might be long enough that you can’t deepthroat him completely, though he appreciates the attempt
but the one time you steel yourself and manage to take him in all whole
nearly cums in your mouth immediately
wouldn’t expect you to do that all the time, of course. but on the special occasion that you want to put the focus on him, that’s the way to go
the way to morpheus’ heart is not through his heart, but through swallowing
all in all, this Endless is guaranteed to find his pleasure in yours, so make sure to tell him that he's doing well, keep your moans loud and uncontrolled, and he'll fuck you out of this universe
𝗮𝘂𝘁𝗵𝗼𝗿'𝘀 𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲: 𝗂𝖿 𝖺𝗇𝗒𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝗌𝖾𝖾𝗆𝗌 𝗆𝗒 𝖿𝖾𝗆𝗂𝗇𝗂𝗌𝗆, 𝗉𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗌𝖾 𝗉𝗂𝖼𝗄 𝗂𝗍 𝗎𝗉 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗋𝖾𝗍𝗎𝗋𝗇 𝗍𝗈 𝗆𝖾 — 𝗎𝗇𝗅𝖾𝗌𝗌 𝗆𝗈𝗋𝗉𝗁𝖾𝗎𝗌 𝗂𝗌 𝖺𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗇𝖽. 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗄𝖾𝖾𝗉 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗍 𝖿𝖺𝗋, 𝖿𝖺𝗋 𝖺𝗐𝖺𝗒 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝗆𝖾.
𝖺𝗅𝗌𝗈, 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗂𝗌 𝗆𝗒 𝖿𝗂𝗋𝗌𝗍 𝗍𝗂𝗆𝖾 𝗐𝗋𝗂𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺 𝖿𝗎𝗅𝗅-𝗈𝗇 𝗌𝗆𝗎𝗍-𝗍𝗒𝗉𝖾 𝗈𝖿 𝗉𝗈𝗌𝗍, 𝗌𝗈 𝖻𝖾 𝗀𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗅𝖾 (𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾 𝗆𝗈𝗋𝗉𝗁𝖾𝗎𝗌). 𝖽𝗈𝗇'𝗍 𝖺𝗌𝗄 𝗆𝖾 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝗂 𝗀𝗈𝗍 𝗂𝗇𝗌𝗉𝗈 𝖼𝖺𝗎𝗌𝖾 𝗂 𝖻𝗅𝖺𝖼𝗄𝖾𝖽 𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝗅𝖾 𝗐𝗋𝗂𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌. 𝗆𝗈𝗋𝗉𝗁𝖾𝗎𝗌 𝗆𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝗉𝗈𝗌𝗌𝖾𝗌𝗌𝖾𝖽 𝗆𝖾 𝖻𝖾𝖼𝖺𝗎𝗌𝖾 𝗂 𝖼𝗋𝖺𝗇𝗄𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗂𝗇 𝖺 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝖼𝖾𝗋𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗅𝗒 𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗋𝗍 𝖺𝗆𝗈𝗎𝗇𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗂𝗆𝖾 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗌𝗂𝖽𝖾𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗐𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗂 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗐𝗋𝗂𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀.
╰┈➤ 𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘤𝘬 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘣𝘰𝘰𝘬𝘴 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘮𝘢𝘯 𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘧!
𝙩𝙖𝙜𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩: @aurorarevenclaw1927
#the sandman imagine#morpheus imagine#morpheus x reader#dream imagine#dream x reader#dream of the endless x reader#sandman fanfiction#dream fanfiction#sandman imagine#sandman headcanons#morpheus headcanons#the sandman#morpheus smut#dream smut#morpheus love languages#i'm not going to hell because i'm already here and wrote it in hell#written in hell
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Only in Dreams
Summary: Married to Dream of the Endless, for centuries, you never expected to feel neglected. Yet even after his return, his attention turned to the Dreaming and ensuring its stability and future. While, your own needs and wants pulled at you. And soon your dreams were slowly filled with pleasure. Just not exactly from Morpheus.
Word Count: ~4k
Reader: Afab
Warning: smut (unprotected sex, oral receiving (afab), switch!reader, switch!dream, dirty talk, fingering), bits of angst, and some fluff
Tags: @lizajane2, @layla2-49
MINOR DNI/ 18+ ONLY
Soft light filtered through the tall windows. Specs of dust glowed in the light, casting a dreamlike hazy in the air. The royal library was a spectacular sight. Endless floors, and winding mazes of shelves, continued to grow and grow.
Comforting, and welcoming.
Yet, a squeaky cart echoed, disrupting the peace. Or it would if anyone else were here enjoying the thousands and thousands of books.
It was you, and you alone. You wheeled around the infernal cart, shelving new books added to the Dreaming. While, Lucienne was off collecting a new census, and as you suspected, a reason to step outside the library’s walls.
But, company soon appeared.
“And what are you doing?” A presence loomed behind you.
Smiling to yourself, you barely turned your head in acknowledgement. “Shelving books.”
Morpheus hummed. “Care to have some company?”
“I would love some,” you smiled. You continued to move down the bookshelf with Morpheus trailing along like your shadow. “So, what have you been up to, my king?”
Morpheus moved to the side of you. “Usual business.”
“How vague,” you teased a bit.
A smile twitched on his lips. “I do not wish to bore you with all the details on how to run a kingdom.”
You hummed, twisting to shelve another book. A mistake. Instantly, like a spring loaded viper, Morpheus pressed himself against your back. His hands curled around the shelves above, white knuckling it. Still facing ahead, you smirked to yourself, “Yes, my king?”
His hand fell from the wooden shelves, and circled around your waist. “Why do you address me as such? Call me by my name, sweetness.”
You leaned your head back and whispered in his ear. “Morpheus.”
A groan rumbled in his throat.
Your heart skipped. It was such a beautiful noise. You laughed through your nose. “I think you have lied to me. I think you are the one in need of some company.”
“Is that a problem?” He buried his face into your neck.
“No.”
“Good.” He pressed a gentle kiss, almost desperate to refrain himself, in the crook of your neck. “Oh, how I have missed you.”
“Have you?”
“Yes,” he breathed into the shell of your ear, sending pleasant shivers down your spine. “You have tainted my thoughts all day, I could not focus at all.”
You spun around in his grasp. Books and shelves dug into your back. But, you didn’t mind. “Oh, have I? And what have you thought about?”
His lips skimmed over your neck. “Treacherous things.”
You bit your lip, and craned your neck. “Tell me.”
“Where do I start?” He nipped at your skin, eliciting a low hum from you. “One was you, your lovely bare body, laid out for me on our silk sheets. And you were squirming under my constant touch.” His hands travelled over your body. A hand snaked up, skimming over your breast and wrapped around your throat. He lifted his head, gauging your reaction. Your eyes were glassy with lust. A mimic of his own. He laughed through his nose. His hand trailed down and gripped your hips. “And you were making the most wondrous noises.”
You sighed, lost in his touch and spellbinding words. Your hands latched into his hair, needing him closer and needing to ground yourself.
He hummed as you carded your fingers through his hair. His thumbs rubbed teasing circles on your hips. All of it calculated, all of it to pull you in. It was so far, yet so close to where you truly needed him. “One was us on my throne with you on top. Your head was thrown back as you cried out in pleasure.”
You let out a shaky breath. Fuck. You rubbed your legs together wishing for some sort of relief.
“Another was here in the royal library,” he pressed his forehead to yours, “tucked away in a corner, like now. And we have to be, oh so, quiet but you, my love, could barely contain yourself.”
You tugged on his hair, making him moan quietly. You laughed, “I could not contain myself? Are you sure it wasn’t yourself you were mistaking?”
His eyes sparked with hunger, his lips curled into a devious smirk. “Shall we test this theory?”
You opened your eyes.
Black silk drapery. Not the captivating blue of a certain Endless. Soft cushioning hugged your back. Not sharp, somewhat uncomfortable, edges of books and wooden shelves.
It was a dream.
A idiotic dream.
You laid here in bed, and not in the royal library about to have a battle of wits and pleasure. Yet, you couldn’t shake off the dream. His voice still echoed through your head like a siren’s call. You rolled over. Empty. You reached over touching the spot where Morpheus would sleep.
Cold.
You sighed, frowning slightly. He must have left a while ago. It was sweet he did not wish to disturb you, but you wished he did.
You needed him.
In many ways right now.
However, you did not blame Morpheus. He had finally returned after so many years away. He had regained his tools, and had more power which he hadn’t had in ages. He was stronger, and wiser too. But, the years away, also brought paranoia. He didn’t want the Dreaming to fade as it did. Rebuilding it all from ruins was a long tiring journey, and now the Dreaming was thriving. Dreamers rejoiced. But, he still worried. He had busied himself with every detail, with every minor issue, to ensure an everlasting success.
And in doing so, he had started to neglect you.
His love.
Of course, in the first week of his return, he hardly left your side. He worshiped you like a fallen devotee begging for your forgiveness, he murmured his love on every square inch of your body, and he showed you again and again how years away had ruined him.
But, a kingdom needed their king.
His attention drifted back to the Dreaming, and ever so slowly he drew away from you.
You sighed, sitting up.
Your hands rested in your lap. You fiddled with the black band on your left hand. A simple band dipped in an inky onyx black, yet when you twisted it, it shone like far off galaxies: purples, blues, flecks of green, and twinkling stars. It resembled Morpheus, and his love, in every way.
You softly kissed the ring. “Morning, my sweet king.”
With a heavy heart, and a droop in your shoulders, you got out of bed and went off to find work.
Day after day.
Night after night.
The fissure between you and Morpheus grew. And so, those dreams became more and more frequent, and more intense.
And you couldn’t turn away from it.
Morpheus slid down your naked body. His eyes, once a delicate enchanting blue, now sharp and filled with a dangerous hunger. His lips dragged the curves of your body. Goosebumps chased after him. You wiggled, and hummed.
His lips skimmed further and further then -
He darted around where you so desperately wanted him. He peppered butterfly kisses across your inner thigh. Fleeting and soft, all of it left you wanting.
“Morpheus,” you whined.
He chuckled and nipped at your thigh. You gasped. “Patience, my love,” he whispered.
He moved to the other side, leaving a new trail of kisses, and marks, on your thigh. You bunched up the bedsheets. “Please, Morpheus.”
Off, in the outer edges of the Dreaming, a king heard his love call out his name. Morpheus, who was diligently working on new dreams and nightmares, spun around. He cocked his head. Did he truly hear you?
“Morpheus.”
His eyebrows knitted together. Why did you call him? Why now? Has something happened?
Curious, he stepped away from his soon to be creations. The bind that connected the two of you, tugged at his chest. Taking a single step, the dark sandy beach vanished like wisps of fog. It was all replaced with a bedroom: your shared bedroom.
And a sight was there to greet him.
You sprawled out on the bed, legs spread, as himself - a copy - buried his head between your thighs.
A dream. You dreamt all of this.
The fake gently blew on your needy core. His eyes flickered up. Your face was turned and buried into the pillow. Your lips parted. Your heavy breathing filled the silence, anticipating - begging - for his next move.
Morpheus stared stunned. His mouth agape.
The fake swiped over your folds with the flat of his tongue, then sucked on your clit. Your jaw dropped as your eyes shut in pleasure. The fake finally dove in. His expert tongue swirled and stroked all the right spots.
“Morpheus,” you moaned.
Your hands flew to his tousled hair, gripping it for dear life. Your back arched in pleasure. The fake hummed, sending your mind spinning. You squirmed. His firm hand pressed on your stomach forcing you down and still.
Morpheus, the real one, couldn’t look away.
Emotions clashed inside of him: anger, sorrow, jealousy, and also spikes of desire. Each one desperate to dominate him, yet he couldn’t grasp on one. He could only watch numbly as a poor copy of himself pleasured you.
You bucked your hip, trying to ride his face. The fake chuckled. The vibrations sent another wave of pleasure through you. You began chanting his name over and over like a broken prayer.
“Come, my sweetness,” the fake mumbled against you.
Morpheus left.
He didn’t wish to see anymore.
Now, he had something he must do.
The next morning, you still woke to an empty bed. The dream from the night before was muddled and hazy but a dull ache lingered in your heart. Yet, you continued on. You put your head down and got to work. Lucienne mentioned something the other day about needing assistance, so you went there.
Hours passed.
You never saw Morpheus. Unfortunately, as you predicted.
You and Lucienne chatted and laughed. Your own sorrows were forgotten for a fleeting moment. However, neither of you were aware of the shadow looming around you. A certain someone who still couldn’t comprehend what he saw last night.
He watched as you smiled and laughed as if nothing happened.
And in a way, nothing did.
Morpheus simply saw something he wasn’t supposed to. But, it continued to dig at him. Why? Why didn’t you come to him? Why did you act as if everything was fine? Why were you hiding this?
Later, he decided. He would address this later.
In the waning hours of the day, snuggled in a plush chair in your grand bedroom, you mindlessly flipped through a book. One, you weren’t truly reading. Your eyes scanned over the pages. Letters barely formed words. They skittered over the page and swirled tirelessly in your mind.
You huffed, setting your book down. You turned your attention to the flickering fireplace. Its heat warmed your cheeks, surrounding and filling you. As you stared at the whipping colors, your mind drifted to where it wished to go since the beginning.
Your dreams.
Your damned dreams that ran rampant.
You couldn’t free yourself from them. Morpheus now consumed your every thought, consumed your every needs. Physically and emotionally.
A door creaked open.
You peered behind you to see Morpheus. You smiled easily, your head resting back. “Hello, my sweet king.”
“Hello, my love.”
Not expecting any more of this conversation, you turned back to the fire. You suspected Morpheus to go to bed, weary from a day’s work. However, he surprised you. He sat down in the chair across from you. His coat wiped and flourished. His fingers threaded together resting them on his lap. His matching onyx band twinkled in the fire light. His eyes slid over to the flames.
The crackle of fire filled the pressing silence.
You glanced at him out of the corner of your eye. His gaze was solely on the fire. His lips puckered in thought.
You may not have been physical in weeks, but it was daunting seeing how in recent days you hadn’t properly spoken to one another. It was awkward, and a little unnerving. It felt as if a stranger sat across from you.
“Are,” you began, getting Morpheus’s attention, “are you okay?”
Morpheus cocked his head in minor confusion. “Am I?”
“Yes, are you?”
“My sweetness, I am perfectly fine.”
You nodded.
“It is you who I worry about.”
Now, you were confused. “Me? Why?”
He sighed. The time has come. He got up and strolled over to you in three easy strides. Standing over you, he cupped your face. “Have I truly made you feel so abandoned?”
You scrunched up your face. “Abandoned? No, not -“
“My love, please, do not lie.”
“Morpheus, sweet Morpheus,” you hummed, smiling at him. Despite the obvious ache in your heart. “I don’t feel abandoned. I know of your duties and everything you must do.”
“But.”
You smiled softly. “I’m okay, I swear. You simply worry too much.”
The Dreaming is more important, you thought.
“Worry? Is it wrong to worry when I have forgotten the one I love?” He huffed. His thumb began to rub soothing circles on your cheek. “Yes, I do worry but, right now, I am more upset than anything.”
“Morpheus -“
“You needn’t lie for my pride. I already know the truth.”
You blinked.
He sighed, dropping his hand. “I have left you alone - needing - so you sought pleasure elsewhere.”
“What?” Your heart skipped. Fearful and slightly ashamed.
“You have used the Dreaming to create another me to fill your needs. I heard you calling out and to say I was surprised at the sight I saw is an understatement.”
Your cheeks warmed. You didn’t think he - “Morpheus, it’s fine. Honestly I don’t know why -“
“Tell me what you want.”
“Excuse me?”
He cupped your face with both hands, gently tilting your head back. He bent down. His lips brushed over yours, instantly drawing you in. “Tell me what you want, my love. Use me to fill your needs.”
“Morpheus -“
“Don’t,” he murmured against your lips. “A husband should care for the one they swore to love for eternity. And I have put my attention elsewhere. I’ve hurt you.”
Your hands slowly moved up bunching the front of his shirt. You haven’t had him - the real him - so close in a while. “You didn’t hurt me.”
It was the truth. You still loved him, always will.
He laughed once through his nose and smiled. “You are too good for me.”
Your hands wandered up further threading into the ends of his hair. You curled your fingers softly, nails scraping against the base of his head. He closed his eyes and hummed.
You bit back a knowing smirk. “It seems you have also neglected your needs, my sweet king.”
He chuckled. “I suppose I have.”
You finally pulled him in.
Your lips melded together. Like two puzzle pieces. Electricity ripples through your body. You tilted your head, deepening the kiss. He greedily followed your lead. You forcibly yanked on his hair. He moaned, opening his mouth. The perfect opportunity. Your tongue snuck in.
He groaned.
Your heart jumped. Oh, how you loved the noises he made. It drove you crazy. Each hum, each moan, seemed to go through you.
He smirked against you.
Although he may give himself over to you, he did enjoy teasing you. As your tongue swirled around, soon Morpheus quickly gained control. He knew exactly what to do and knew your own body better than yourself. In seconds, you were a puddle in his grasp.
You whimpered.
He gently guided you to your feet. His expert fingers trailed down your spine leaving sparks. Morpheus’s hands moved to your hips. You threw your arms over his shoulders bringing him impossibly close. You both clumsily stumbled around. Yet, your chest started to constrict. Your lungs burned. Air, you needed air. You broke the kiss and rested your forehead on his. Your chest heaved in chaotic unison.
Morpheus drawed your hips closer.
The simple friction was fire across your starved skin. You bit the inside of your cheek, humming.
“What do you want?” He whispered.
“You,” you breathed out.
You walked forward, pushing Morpheus backwards until he hit the edge of the bed. He flopped. His arms sprawled out to the sides, his coat draped behind him, his hair pointed in all directions, his cheeks flushed, his lips parted and swollen, and his eyes - oh his eyes - were soft in absolute adoration.
He smiled lovingly up at you. “Use me as you wish, my love.”
You didn’t need to be told twice.
You crawled up on top of him. You pulled him into another deepening kiss. He hummed, his hands flew up gripping your hips.
But, you ended the kiss quickly.
He groaned, disappointed.
You kissed the corner of his lips, down his face, over and up his jaw, then to his neck. He craned his neck back. You peppered kisses up and down his neck, and when you hit a certain spot, right at the crook, Morpheus’s hands tightened, possibly bruising your hips.
You smirked against his skin.
You nipped at him, starting to mark his perfect skin. He groaned, “(Y/N).”
It sent shivers down your spine, and directly to your core. His deep resonance, his pleas, it was dizzying.
Your hands snuck under his shirt tracing every taunt muscle. Your lips moved over his neck to the other side. He leaned, giving you easy access to nip, bite, and mark more of his skin. Your palm laid flat over his chest. His heart thrummed.
You leaned back.
He breathed heavily. His brilliant eyes darkened.
You grabbed the front of his shirt, yanking him up. Your lips smashed together, hot and heavy. And now, he decided to return the favor. His lips ghosted over your neck. Such a simple touch made your head fall back as you groaned.
He smirked.
Needing more, you grinded down.
Morpheus moaned, dropping his head on your shoulder. “Do that again, my love, and I won’t be able to control myself,” he mumbled.
You smirked, grinding down again. He chuckled darkly. He pulled back looking at you in the eye. His index finger and thumb wrapped around your chin, bringing you closer. “Is that what you want?”
Your pleasure meant the world to him. He wanted it to be about you.
“Yes,” you murmured.
“As you wish, my sweetness.”
You feverishly tore off each other’s clothes. Each layer fluttered to the bedroom floor, piles upon piles. Morpheus laid you gently on your back on the dark sheets. He hovered over you. He bent down kissing you softly. You hummed, knotting your fingers in his already messy hair. He pulled away, licking his lips.
Biting back a smile, you slowly pushed him downward. He smirked, taking your not so subtle hint. His lips trailed down your body.
His talented mouth kissed down the valley between your breasts then over to one. Slowly, taking one his mouth, he swirled his tongue over your perked nipple. You sighed, tightening your grip in his hair. His hand kneaded your other neglected breast. Working you, sending you into pleasure. He pinched your nipple.
“Morpheus.”
He popped out your breast and switched, working on the other one. You arched your back, moaning. He knew exactly what to do. He knew how to rile you up in the most delicious taintilizing ways. All of it, leaving you needing and begging for more.
His eyes flickered up. Your eyes were closed, as you fell apart to his touch. Smiling against your skin, he moved farther down, kissing and nipping at your skin. He nipped at your hips, then down your inner thigh.
You squirmed.
You were dripping, desperate for any friction, for some sort of relief. One finger dragged between your folds collecting your wetness. “Morpheus, please,” you begged.
“Patience, my love.”
One finger slid in, soft simple strokes. He was teasing you. Not offering you enough. You bucked your hips begging for more, desperately trying to ride his one finger.
Then he dove in.
His tongue swirled around your clit. You sighed in pleasure, and tugged on his hair. Another finger slid in. He pumped you, a soft rhythm, gently stroking your walls.
He curled his fingers, beckoning you.
You gasped. Your eyes flew open, and peered down at him. His dark eyes met yours. Buried between your thighs, he stared unwavering up at you. Heat spread throughout you. He curled his fingers again.
You moaned, your head falling back.
Each stroke brought you closer and closer and -
He stopped.
He removed his fingers and pulled away completely leaving you feeling utterly empty. You whined. Looking down at him, he put his two fingers, covered in your juices, in his mouth. He moaned at your taste. His tongue swirled around his fingers leaving you wishing it was you.
You bit your lip, whimpering.
He chuckled. “Do not worry, my sweetness. I’ll help.”
Crawling over top of you, he paused. He stared lovingly down at you. You smiled reaching up, cupping his face. He turned his head kissing your palm and down your inner wrist. He brought your hands over your head. Your fingers intertwined together. Your band and his clacked together.
He lined himself up.
He bent down kissing you.
Without warning, he slid in.
You moaned against his mouth, and he eagerly swallowed the noise. Breaking the kiss, he rested his forehead against yours. His dazzling blue eyes bore down at you. You smiled softly at him.
He rocked his hips.
Your face twisted in pleasure.
Slow and steady pace. Each movement filled and stretched you, each movement a show of his undying affection, each movement an apology for leaving you.
“Morpheus,” you whined.
“I know, bear with me, my love.” He dropped his head onto your shoulder. He kissed your skin as he gently rocked his hips. “You are truly too good for me.”
You tightened your hands in his. “I love you, Morpheus. Nothing will change that.”
“And I love you.”
He bucked his hips at a different angle. You moaned, arching your back. “Morpheus, please, faster.”
He smiled, and teasingly said. “If that is what you want.”
“Yes, more than anything.” You mewled.
He snapped his hips.
A new relentless pace. A string of curses left your lips. You instantly wrapped your legs around his hips. Pressure build and build. Your walls hugged his cock wonderfully, as he hit all the right spots. Like before, he knew your body well.
His heavy breathing fanned across your already hot skin.
He slipped one hand free from your grasp. Tracing down between your molded bodies, his finger circled around your clit. “Fuck,” you hissed, squeezing your eyes shut.
“Ah, look at me, my love.”
You cracked open your eyes to see the endless blue. He expertly swirled his finger again. Your mouth fell open.
“You are divine,” he whispered. Your wall fluttered around him, warning him. He groaned. He knew you were about to reach your end, and soon so was he. “Come for me.”
You whined.
“Come for your dear husband.”
His words fueled the already burning fire.
You cried out his name as you clamped down around him.
He smiled to himself.
He continued to work you through your orgasm sending you higher than before. Until, you were completely filled with ecstasy. You writhed beneath him, repeating only his name. Your mind clouded in only absolute pleasure.
Morpheus soon followed after. Your name tumbled off his lips in a low groan. He hovered over you, breathless. You smiled lazily, brushing his hair out of his flushed face.
He smiled down at you.
He fell down into the sheets. You instantly crawled over to him laying your head on his chest. Your ear pressed to his heart listening to its erratic beat as it began to slow down. His arms wrapped around you, unwilling to let you go. Not ever again. His finger drew lazy shapes on your still hot skin.
“If you need anything, do tell me,” he said, breaking the silence.
“Of course,” you whispered against his skin.
His index finger titled your chin back. His eyes connected with yours, and he smiled softly. “Please,” he repeated, “do not think your needs are less than. You are more important in every way.”
You matched his smile. “Do not say that or I’ll have you trapped in here.”
He laughed once. “Please do from time to time.”
You laughed.
He bent his head pressing a loving kiss to your lips. You sighed, closing your eyes. Slowly, he pulled away and whispered. “I love you.”
“I love you too.”
#the sandman#Morpheus#dream of the endless#morpheus smut#dream x reader#morpheus x reader#morpheus imagines#dream imagine#the sandman imagine#smut#afab!reader
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Imagine Death doting on you to Dream…
Death exhaled and placed her hand into the pocket of her jeans. “You know for the longest time we thought that you and Y/n had run off together. Dream and Eternal Hope - kind of makes sense.”
A smile danced itself onto Dream’s features, not missed by his sister, as the thought of being away from his duties and spending his never-ending days with you.
“I would never willingly remove Y/n from their passion of casting hope onto humanity. I could never.” Dream replied.
Death squeezed her brothers arm and looked away onto the manmade city horizon. “It’s a shame. I would have thought that Y/n fit right into the family.”
Dream watched an elderly woman pluck a flower from her bouquet and hand it to an inquisitive little boy. The boys eyes shone with wonder and hope.
“No.” He said simply. “Y/n makes this family better.”
~ More imagines here ~
#theladyofmanyfandoms#theladyofmanyfandomsfanfiction#gif is not mine#dream imagine#dream x reader#king of dreams x reader#king of dreams imagine#morpheus imagine#morpheus x reader#sandman x reader#the sandman imagine#sandman imagine#the sandman x reader
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•Dream as your Lover•
If what's written about Dream in the comics is any gauge, then he's very passionate with those he's infatuated with.
For example, "all that night they stayed together, and every living thing that dreamed, dreamed of her body, and of the warm salt taste of her sweat and her skin..."
Or, "when we made love it was like a flame: I felt utterly engulfed, utterly loved. Treasured."
With just those quotes alone from the books it is easy to imagine what it's like.
As Morpheus's lover you receive fervor and lust beyond what you could ever fantasize.
It seems only a given that, when enamored by his love, the Dreamlord devotes all his time in wooing you and showing you every marvel there is, in this realm and the next.
His otherworldly, all encompassing love enfolds around you and consumes you.
He is Endless after all and with a mere starry eyed glance he can make you fall under his spell.
Giving you everything you could ever want or long for.
In both your waking hours and your dreams he is there to quench his need and fill your hunger.
You will never want for anything.
Dream is a man forever starved of your touch whenever you aren't near.
And, when you are, he will worship your body like it is his personal altar.
Your every curve and crevice, your every sweet spot a well traveled map he knows by heart.
He delights in making you come undone for him, because of him.
The Ruler of dreams and nightmares wants you overcome, overwhelmed from his ministrations.
From how the creamy silk of his skin melds against yours, from how his long ivory fingers grab and trace and touch you.
How his body fits perfectly with yours and how he makes you say his name like a carnal prayer moaned between your sinful lips.
In truth, with Morpheus's power, he could give you pleasure beyond your wildest dreams without ever having to touch you.
By simply using your mind he could make you come apart at the seams and gift you with bliss and rapture in abundance.
But, he chooses to use his body so it may connect with yours. So he can feel his skin against yours, his parts meeting yours.
He lives for that connection. The intimacies that only two bodies together may create.
Being starved of your touch for more than a century only left the Dreamlord more insatiable.
Him all the more inclined to let Lucienne keep watch over his realm in favor of more time with you.
Time to satisfy your every need and fulfill your every desire.
He is nothing if not hypnotizing in his eternal love for you.
And, though he is King, he is all too willing to bow before you daily, his Queen.
#the sandman#the sandman dream#the sandman morpheus#dream of the endless#dream#dream x reader#dream x reader smut#dream imagine#dream headcanons#morpheus#morpheus x reader smut#morpheus x reader#morpheus headcanons#morpheus imagines#the sandman x reader#the sandman x reader smut#the sandman imagine#the sandman headcanons
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**read chapter 1 here** - **read chapter 2 here** - **read chapter 3 here** - **read chapter 4 here**
Morpheus/Dream x fem!reader
In Your Dreams
Chapter 5
“Life is a sleep and love is its dream; and you have lived if you have loved.”
-Alfred de Musset
The following day felt longer than you would have liked. You were anxious for the sun to set, and with it, the answers that would quench the fire of burning curiosity in your mind. Why was the heart of The Dreaming rotting away? Why were you able to escape the borders of your dream and travel there, and why was Lucienne so obviously disturbed by it? Where was Dream? But, most importantly, why did you feel the need to be there in the first place? Why couldn’t you come to terms with this entire experience for the incredible magical adventure that it was and just let it go?
Even though you were filled with more questions than ever before, you could feel in the deepest recesses of your soul that the solutions to all of them lay in The Dreaming.
Your enthusiasm to return to the palace caused you to have trouble falling asleep for the first hour that night. The castle was your new Burgess house – mysteries hid there that tickled at your insides, that whispered to you in the darkness of the night to uncover them.
Finally, after tossing and turning, your eyes fluttered closed and stayed that way. Shifting shapes whirled behind your eyelids, flitting from corner to corner, until they gently settled into the outline of a horizon. A warm sun began to rise and filtered light onto the dark line, illuminating the scene for you. You instantly recognized the scent of poppies on the breeze.
That fragrant wind whipped through your hair lovingly, like the soft fingers of a curious child, swirling around your form. You spun with it, arms outstretched, grinning from ear to ear. How you wished with everything within your heart that this place was real, that this is where you could spend the waking hours of your life.
You opened your shining eyes to see the parting gate of horn and ivory before you. You hadn’t even needed to start the journey within the confines of your own dream this time – you were already here. Your path of glinting black and gold marble was still below your feet, humming with welcoming warmth.
You couldn’t contain your happiness when the dividing gates revealed a view to you that had shifted from the night before. The stretches of murky water were trickling into a singular crystal river, sparkling blue and immense. Where unforgiving rock and dark sand had suffocated the landscape, beautiful blades of grass and stretches of green ferns were beginning to emerge. You recognized your favorite flower, blooming white poppies, dancing in the breeze on the riverside. An enormous bridge was sliding into place over the river, cradled by gargantuan stone hands that surfaced from the crystal water.
Creatures were returning, beautiful and terrifying alike, flying through the milky blue sky and snaking through the growing grass around your feet. The air was no longer choked with an eerie silence; insects buzzed, water rushed, citizens of The Dreaming were laughing.
Life.
You followed the massive bridge of stone to the center, where the once-crumbling palace was being rebuilt in the gleam of glorious sunlight. Fallen walls and castle turrets were reassembling themselves brick by brick with meticulous accuracy, as if someone had hit rewind. Rusting spires were shedding their coat of orange muck and shining gold. Magnificent archways were mending their own cracks and rising tall, transforming from ashy grey to glimmering white.
The heart of The Dreaming was returning to its former glory. Pure joy blossomed in your chest like the rosebuds of a vine that was bending around the pillars of the bridge.
You walked into the castle entryway, still grinning like a fool, as you looked up and watched every shard of broken glass and every crushed stone float into the air and return to their homes. A beautiful stained-glass window was mending directly above your head. The colorful fragments gradually slid together to form the image of a Pegasus, and as the last piece fell into place, it sprang to life, neighing triumphantly and beating its wings.
“Not too shabby, huh?” came a proud voice from behind you.
You spun to see a tall scarecrow-like figure with the head of a pumpkin approaching you. His face was the cut of a jack-o-lantern, crooked mouth pulling up at the corner in a tilted smile. He stopped by your side and put his branch-like hands on his thin hips, gazing up appreciatively at the work of glass art. You tried not to stare too rudely at him.
You turned your head back toward the magnificent window, now casting rays of colored sunlight onto you and your Halloween-like companion.
“I’ve never seen anything like it,” you replied truthfully.
He grunted in agreement, then looked down at you. His triangular eyes narrowed.
“Hey, ya know, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you around these parts before,” he said. “You new?”
Your lips upturned at his gutteral New York accent. “Yeah, you could say that.”
“Lotsa new folks all around this joint today,” he said, shaking his large head in amusement. “Guess that’s what happens when ya hammer a few nails and splash on a fresh coat a’ paint—everyone comes back to tha neighborhood.”
“It does look pretty inviting,” you agreed, turning to face him. You stuck out your hand. “I’m Y/N.”
The pumpkin-headed man stuck out his wooden hand and shook yours firmly. “I’m Mervyn, but everybody calls me Merv.”
“Hi, Merv.”
He chuckled and crossed his arms. “Well, considerin’ you bein’ new and all, why don’t I give ya a bit of a tour? It wouldn’t be my first one today.”
“I would love that,” you beamed, resisting the urge to clasp your hands together like a schoolgirl. Merv nodded and turned, motioning with his stick-like hand.
“Well, then, c'mon.”
He walked like a puppet would without strings, you thought, as you followed behind him. You struggled to keep up with his long strides. Mervyn led you through a hallway that had one wall built while the opposite was still floating together. One piece of stone almost hit him in the head on its way back to its appointed position, and he cursed at it.
Once through the hallway, you turned into a winding staircase that glinted with intricate gold. As you followed Merv’s spindly legs up the flight, you appreciated the view to your left of an assembling tower. After a few more steps, you reached the top.
“First things first, here’s our pride and joy,” Mervyn announced grandiosely, spreading out his arms for dramatic emphasis. Your jaw dropped. “This is the library.”
The room was warm wood, cozy sunlight, and beckoning shelves that stretched on for as far as the eye could see. Books were everywhere, of every size, color, and age. You ran your finger along a nearby shelf, tickling their spines. Some looked thousands of years old, others as if they’d come off the press minutes before.
“How many books are in here?” you asked in wonder, turning in a full circle to better take in the view.
“A helluva lot,” Mervyn answered slyly. “To tell you the truth, I’m not the one you should ask. Lucienne’s the librarian in charge.”
At the sound of her name, the woman that you had met the night before emerged from behind a nearby cascade of bookshelves. Her eyes smiled at Mervyn, but then they settled onto you.
Lucienne’s face paled.
“You’ve returned,” she breathed, striding toward the two of you with a haste in her step, “and so soon.”
“Oh, you’ve met before?” Mervyn asked, eyes shifting between the librarian and yourself.
“We have,” you told him, trying to make sure your grin didn’t turn into a grimace.
“Just last night, in fact,” Lucienne added. Her perceptive gaze wandered over your nervous form.
“Last night?” Merv repeated incredulously. He motioned over his shoulder. “But the boss hadn’t even started rebuilding yet! How’d she—?”
“A question we all would like to know,” Lucienne answered, fixing you with a penetrating stare over the top of her round glasses. She clasped her hands behind her back expectantly.
“Hey, I’d like to know too,” you said defensively. You crossed your arms, but then dropped them to your sides, not wanting to come off as defiant. “I’ve already told you everything that I know.”
“Lucienne, who is this?” Mervyn asked curiously, pointing a thumb at you.
The librarian sighed heavily but her eyes softened. Her tone was gentle, appreciative. “This, Mervyn, is the young lady that released Lord Morpheus from his prison.”
“No kiddin’?! That was you?!” he questioned unabashedly, shock evident in his wide eye sockets.
You shrugged, not a fan of the intense attention. “Well, yeah… but it’s really not that big of a deal…”
“Not that big of a deal?” Mervyn repeated, voice dripping in astonishment. “Are you kiddin’ me? This place would still be fallin’ apart if it wasn’t for you!”
“That’s why everything looked the way that it did the last time I came?” you asked Lucienne. “Because Dream wasn’t here?”
She nodded somberly. “He was captured for nearly a century and was unable to return. Everything was dissipating, disappearing… it cannot exist without him. He is The Dreaming.”
“But it’s been over a week since I helped him escape,” you said, confused. “Where has he been all of that time?”
“Lord Morpheus was traveling the realms on a quest to reobtain his tools.”
Something hopeful fluttered in your chest. Those nights where you’d been calling out to him and he hadn’t shown himself… it wasn’t because he was ignoring you, it was because he wasn’t even there in the first place.
“Look, uh… I hate to interrupt this conversation,” Merv cut in, scratching the back of his pumpkin head uncomfortably, “but… shouldn’t we tell the boss that she’s here?”
Joy sparked in your chest at his words.
Lucienne hesitated. “There’s still so many questions that remain unanswered. We don’t know how or why she is able to leave her dreams, let alone create a path from their border and through the waters to the palace.”
Mervyn didn’t have eyebrows, but if he did, you were sure he would be raising them in surprise.
“I didn’t have to use the path this time,” you told her, biting your lip. “I just kind of started at the gate.”
“You materialized here, in the heart of The Dreaming?” she clarified, voice filled with bewilderment and cut with that undertone of concern again.
“That ain't normal,” Mervyn shook his head.
“It appears that each time you fall asleep, you are somehow able bypass steps that you’ve previously taken,” she said thoughtfully, almost to herself. “You’re no longer appearing within the boundaries of your own dreams.”
An excited smile pulled at your lips. “Cool.”
“No, no, not ‘cool’,” Lucienne admonished, turning from you and Mervyn to start rifling through a stack of books resting on a nearby table. “This behavior is quite abnormal, even for a lucid dreamer such as yourself.”
“Lucid dreamer, ‘ay?” Merv inquired, crossing his reedy arms over his chest and leaning back against the shelf behind him. “Not too many a’ you guys left no more.”
“Really?”
“They’ve become exceedingly rare,” Lucienne confirmed, finally picking out a book from the pile. “Consistently lucid dreamers existed more commonly thousands of years ago. Now, well…” her eyes roamed over your confused face “…you’re the first I’ve seen in, at least, a millennium.”
“You always been able to do that?” Mervyn asked you. “Change stuff around?”
“Since I can remember,” you shrugged, pulling out a chair at the ornate table in front of you and sitting. “I’d sleep the day away just to keep dreaming.”
“But roaming through the dreamscape, you said last night that you had only just started?” the librarian asked, peering over the edge of the thick book in her hands. She joined you at the table.
Something caught your eye. The book that Lucienne had plucked from the bunch was bound in black with two golden words emblazoned on the cover: your first and last name.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa, what’s that?” you questioned enthusiastically, scooting your chair closer to her. “My name’s on there!”
A proud smile creeped onto the head librarian’s face. “This library contains every story ever written and unwritten, finished or unfinished, everything that has been and will never be.” She tapped the hard cover of your book with a manicured nail. “And this is yours.”
“Wow,” you sighed, resting your chin on your palm. Lucienne’s smile grew at your awestruck expression. “So, what all is in there about me?”
“Everything,” she answered simply.
You gulped. “Like, everything everything?”
She laughed. It was a harmonious sound.
“Relax, even your most embarrassing of moments pale in comparison to many of the things I read every day,” she assured you, eyes twinkling with amusement. She became serious again. “I thought it advantageous to find your book after your unexpected visit last night. I had to be sure that you weren’t a threat to The Dreaming.”
Your smile fell. “I’m – I’m not. I don’t want to be a threat to anybody.”
Lucienne sighed, expression trickling with pity.
“I know those aren’t your intentions. But the fact remains that your recent abilities are those that no mortal should possess.”
“Don’t worry, kid,” Merv said, standing from his perch against the bookcase to lean against your table instead. He grinned crookedly at you. “We’ll get this figured out. If anyone can sniff out what’s goin’ on here, it’s Lucienne.”
You let out a shaky breath, nodding. The thought of being some kind of danger to this beautiful place rattled you. All you had wanted was to find Morpheus, to make sure everything turned out okay after you released him. After all, being imprisoned against your will for a hundred years had to be traumatic for anyone, right? Even the King of Dreams?
You had more selfish reasons, too, but those would stay private.
Suddenly, a voice called out.
It echoed into the large room, gentle but authoritative, soft but commanding respect. With a wave of warmth washing over your skin, you knew that you would recognize that beautiful sound anywhere.
“Lucienne,” his voice called, “I believe it is time we review the findings from the census.”
All three of you froze in place.
The King of Dreams emerged from the nearest aisle, graceful stride filled with purpose. He donned all black, a sweeping floor length coat flowing behind him as he walked, regal. His alabaster skin almost seemed to glow against his dark attire. His hair was as black as his clothing, still so gloriously messy and wild.
He was in his element, thriving and flourishing in a way that radiated from his very being. This was his domain.
Morpheus’s icy blue eyes moved from Lucienne to Mervyn. Then, they locked onto you.
Your breath hitched as you stood, chair screeching back noisily. That feeling, that delicious humming in your bones, it was different here, more alive. It was starlight sparking in your spine. He stood at least ten feet away, impossibly still, but you could feel his presence as strongly as you would if he were inches from you. Time stood still.
A myriad of emotions flickered through his fathomless eyes at the sight of you, none of which you could place, but whatever they were made the air in the library thick. Your eyes drank in his face and his roamed yours, penetrating but swirling with something soft.
Mervyn cleared his throat uncomfortably. It just then occurred to you that you had no idea how long the two of you had been standing like that, staring at each other.
The sound seemed to bring Dream back to himself.
“Lucienne. Mervyn. Leave us,” he commanded quietly, but he didn’t look at them. His intense gaze never once broke from yours.
Their replies came quickly and in hushed tones, almost as if embarrassed.
“Of course, sir.”
“Sure thing, boss.”
They scurried away with heads down. As they reached the exit to the library, you could hear Mervyn mutter, “Well, talk about some tension...”
Morpheus blinked at the comment, but you didn’t miss the almost-imperceptible smirk that tugged at one corner of his lips. He was still staring at you.
With a smile that revealed every whisper of your heart, you broke the silence.
“Hi.”
Dream took a slow step toward you, measured. Then another. The curtain of dark lashes framing his endless eyes fluttered as he took you in, gaze roaming to your feet and back up again.
“Hello.” His voice was velvet.
You swallowed, begging the blush that you could feel creeping up your neck to go away. Couldn’t you have at least one interaction with him without your body betraying you? You felt like a fucking teenager.
“You, um, never answered my question,” you said, taking a step toward him as well. One of his dark brows rose. “You put me to sleep first. Rude, by the way.”
His smirk wasn’t nearly as well-hidden now.
“My deepest apologies. And what question would that be?”
You took another step closer, still not breaking eye contact. You clasped the back of a chair with one hand to ground yourself.
“You’re… you are alright, then?” you asked quietly. For the smallest of moments, his eyes betrayed everything. He was touched by your concern.
“You have journeyed through The Dreaming, to the heart of my realm, simply to ask after my well-being?”
His voice held an undercurrent of emotion, but he attempted to hide it with the slightest lilt of tease.
A playful glint sparkled in your eye. “Well, I did play spy for over a month just to get into that basement. What’s a desert and an ocean or two?”
The mischievous gleam in his eyes was shuttered by the weight of your words. It seemed that once Morpheus got past the initial surprise of seeing you there, the same realization dawned on him that concerned Lucienne.
“You traveled through the outer lands of The Dreaming,” he stated, brows furrowed in unease. “You left the confines of your dream and found yourself here?”
The general trepidation from everyone surrounding your ability to leave your dream world disturbed you. You saw it as a gift, but it seemed to be one that you were not meant to have. You let out a sigh.
“I created a path,” you told him. “It took me through the desert and through an ocean… and then I ended up on that dock out there.” You tilted your chin toward the windows. “The path ended at the gates, and when I touched them, they opened. Then I came here.”
Morpheus was close now, taking in every word you that escaped your lips with rapt attention. His powerful stare was not angry, but perplexed. His eyes were swimming with anxious confusion.
“How is this possible?” he whispered to himself. His pale hand rose, ever so slowly, to ghost the line of your jaw. The touch was barely there, so very brief, but it left tingling chills in its wake. He examined your every feature, searching for the answer. “For you are not a vortex.”
For a moment, you’d forgotten how to speak, mind still reeling from the fact that he had just touched you, and that it felt so indescribable. His fingers had barely brushed an inch of skin, but that starlight sparkling in your spine had overtaken every nerve ending.
“Vortex?” you asked when you found your voice. Your eyebrows came together. “What’s a vortex?”
To your dismay, Dream stepped away from you. He turned toward the table where you were previously sitting with Lucienne and Mervyn, delicate fingers flipping through the many volumes that were stacked over its surface. His hands settled on a red hardback, lifting it so that you could read the gold lettering on the cover.
“Rose Walker,” he replied, face impassive.
At your obvious confusion, Dream stepped back and motioned with a graceful hand toward the archway where Lucienne and Mervyn had disappeared moments before.
“Where are we going?” you asked, walking in the direction he indicated.
Morpheus was tall at your side, right hand ghosting the small of your back, featherlight. The stars in your backbone twinkled at the touch.
His voice was euphonious when he bent to your ear.
“Follow me.”
**read chapter 6 here
#the sandman#the sandman netflix#the sandman x reader#the sandman fanfic#sandman x reader#reader insert#dream of the endless#dream of the endless x reader#morpheus x reader#dream x reader#tom sturridge#morpheus/dream x reader#neil gaiman#the sandman imagine#morpheus x you#in your dreams#the dreaming#lucienne#mervyn pumpkinhead#morpheus x y/n#morpheus#dream#dream x y/n#dream x you#the endless#fem!reader#slow burn
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Dating Dream of the Endless Would Include...
Thank you all so much for being so sweet about my last two Dream headcanons, here are the dating ones to complete the set (and also the longest ones)!
Also shock horror I know, but I still have about three episodes of the show left so sorry if this is suddenly very out of character lmao I just love him to the moon and back my petty king
This got much longer than I thought it would oops, so any and all comments are much appreciated!! Thank you ily guys I hope you liked my silly similes lmaoooo
(I do not own the Sandman or its characters, all rights go to creators. Gif credit goes to @thekingofkawaii.)
☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°
Since people seem to love these opening sentences so much and I adore writing them lmao... Dream you pathetic ass cape draping eyeliner scrungle of a wet hissing cat, living for the drama dumbass with the smile of a brick I literally love you in every single way you are impeccable. He’s so stupid bless I want to bonk him with a baguette and give him a big ‘ol hug until he awkwardly shoves me off and mopes away. Well guess what sir, this time you are NOT running away from your feelings you’re happy and in love now biss so guess what you’re getting ALL the fluff ‘cause it’s what y’all deserve.
Dream introduced you to everyone as fellow ruler of his realm pretty much straight after your first kiss (my man intense). As soon as he took you by the hand and led you back to the throne room, his hands settled on your shoulders and turned you to face the erratic shards of the stained glass windows. ‘Everything I have’, you feel him whisper against your ear as soft as mist, ‘everything I am... it is also yours.’ He reaches round to tilt your cheek up, until the back of your head is flush against his chest and he’s able to run his finger down the curve of your neck. ‘If you so wish. I will be yours forever... in both dreams and the waking world. Wherever you need me, or want me. I will be there.’
To be completely honest, too many times he’s been afraid that you’ve still left him, so overwhelmed by everything. All that panic twisting in his gut, only to find you talking over Rose Walker’s dream journal in the library. You’re standing near ear to ear with Lucienne, the two of you bumping fingers and pouring over the contents to understand where exactly her poor brother is, the whole time Mervyn yapping at your side. I mean, they all adore you from the get go: they’ve seen over the last few decades how the mere thought of you has been the only thing stopping Morpheus from spiralling too far into despair. As soon as your feet stepped down onto the whirling sand, you were marked as a pretty integral part of the dreaming, human or not.
Plus, all the ravens that you’ve found encroaching on your roof and landing to hop on your shoulders in the waking world finally make sense. Lucienne was under strict orders to keep an eye on you, to make sure you were safe at all times.
Or you’ll wander off, and Dream will come sauntering away from the palace and down the winding path towards the House of Secrets, knowing from instinct that it’s where he'll find you. That same tide tugs him forwards forward into the suffocating mists, until he emerges in front of a pile of crumbling dirt and sees your smile alight the dusk, as piercing and ruinous as the sun. Goldie is perched upon your shoulder, squawking and sneezing into your eyes from time to time. You just laugh, and the sound is enough to double Dream over in grievous endearment. Abel is sitting by your right, still half-leaning in the pit as he giggles and continues his wild story about the King of Dreams from long ago. You turn around only when you hear a rare chuckle, finally spotting Dream standing with his eyes crossed behind you, and an amused eyebrow raised at you and your friends’ antics.
You expect him to ask you to leave, or to at least lead you inside, but to your surprise he sweeps his coat behind him and takes a seat on the squishing dirt beside you. He doesn’t settle until he feels his knee rest against your own, doesn’t feel comfortable while Abel continues spouting his story, until you take his hand and cradle it in your lap. It’s cold, almost contorted like the first dawn’s mist against your skin, but even now it shakes in your hold. It almost makes you laugh: the mystical, awe-striking, beyond marvel King of Dreams so terrified of loving you that he’s shaking like a barn mouse hiding from the overwhelming world around it. The same man who had spent over one hundred years locked like a Greek statue behind solid glass, only to be finally brought to his knees by the one thing he could never escape: his soul’s serendipity.
Eventually the clouds begin to roll over the stars, as if the sky’s painter had thrown buckets of brown paint over her canvas and left the streaks of ribbed sand to sparkle across the gloominess. Yet the King of Dreams just sits there, still as stone, not even daring to look down at you despite how much fondness tugs him too. Sometime during the night your head has fallen against his shoulder and you’ve fallen asleep against the warmth of his coat. He doesn’t want to move you, until eventually he leans down to kiss your head. He joins you in some of the sweetest dreams he can muster: the two of you lounging out amidst a field of flowers on the eve of spring. The firecracker reds and warm sugar plum violets frame his smiling face and the glimmer in his eyes as he lies admits the reeds, gazing up at you. He begrudgingly allows you to weave daisy petals into his hair, after a while of him running after you through the meadows and picking you up, holding you hostage in his arms until you promise not to tell his family about it.
Speaking of, when you eventually get to meet his sister Death, she loves you just as much (or even more) than her brother does straight away!!! She just immediately wraps you up in a big, excited, squealing, full body hug before tugging you off by the arm and leading you off towards the coastal market. She leaves a very confused and huffy Dream to fend for himself for a while, or perhaps gives him the time to visit his old friend Hob at the New Inn. She leads you to her favourite quaint ice cream parlour, where the two of you spend the afternoon sharing a sundae as siblings do, out on the arching thatch seats. Eventually she squints through the sunlight to look at you a little more seriously. ‘That’s the happiest I’ve ever seen my brother, like... ever I think! Thank you. No, seriously, thank you. He’s had enough time to sulk about, it’s good to see him look himself again.’
You and Dream reconvene in the square and spend the rest of the day feeding his treasured pigeons. He keeps looking at you out of the corner of his eyes with that twitching-lip smirk, with all the stars and constellations in the universe burning in them. He tries to be smooth, stealing a pinch of your baguette and throwing the crumbs at you, just to be able to wipe them off. His slender fingers brush over the pulse point on your neck like butterfly wings flitting over the dawning petals of a blooming rose. Then up to your chin, then gliding upwards till they’re hunched, tracing over the outline of your lips. Your heart fizzes as he leans down to kiss you for the first time ever in public, his frame shadowing you, yet bottom lip so welcoming and caressing as he brushes between your own.
Too often has Lucienne walked into the throne room, only to have to clear her throat to try and get Morpheus’ attention. He has his coat wrapped around the two of you like an inky bat like cocoon, sitting together on his throne as you read through the latest census. He stops every so often out of wild amusement when you gasp and point out a new entity. In pride at how well accustomed you’re becoming to his work that he carefully kisses your forehead and leans his own against it.
When it’s raining he’s the type to look confused at first as to why you’re shivering under your jacket and trying to run under London arches. Eventually it finally clocks in his head and he takes his coat off, holding it over your head during the whole journey to your destination, getting soaked himself by the smacking downpour nonchalantly. It’s a kind of second nature, to protect you, that he doesn’t even bat an eyeliner lined eyelid anymore. It’s innate and as natural, easy to him as dreaming.
Sometimes you’ll find Dream skulking around the palace steps like a disgruntled skunk recently kicked out of a bin, still upset after the events with John Dee. Lucienne and Matthew have attempted every possible solution to talk him out of it, but you’re the only one who can bring him back round. The only presence in any realm that feels more like himself than he does. The only one that understand his every idiosyncrasy, every twitch of his face, until you’re sitting by his side as one entity. He’s too stubborn to ever admit it, but he does indeed like it when you trace your pointer finger down the tip of his nose before tapping twice against his lips as if mockingly chiding him. He always peers down above his bottom lashes with wide, almost crossed eyes as he tries to follow you, but it does ground him again. Eventually, without anything even being said, he groans and jumps up to a stand with a ‘thank you, you’re right... of course... my dream’, and then saunters off again as if he owns the catwalk.
He tries to take you out to visit other dreams, even though you’re still terrified of the waters. He slides his fingers between your own, pulling them up to rest above his heart on the docks. He carefully and calmly talks you through everything that’s about to happen, and how he will be in control of every whiff and whim that could occur. He’s still a dramatic ass though, so before he’s even finished counting down to one he’s pulled you off the decking and into the swirling depths. In the darkness, you grasp onto him like a lifeline as he pulls you further down into the macrocosm than you ever thought possible.
It is worth it though... perhaps after a lot of snuggling and apologies from Dream. You end up in the dreams of young Irish man: one who hopes to become a zoologist after his time at university. You get to enjoy a peaceful night in a canopy beneath the stars, lying side by side with Dream as he points out the constellations that swirl gold like koi fish in the grand pond of the sky. He’s still not quite used to physical touch, which is why he seems to start and flinch back when you wind your arm to rest and rub above his abdomen. He’s spent so long... so so long never really getting much attention, or care from his family, so you’ll have to coax him into realising he can trust and relax in your presence. He does eventually let his guard down after a few hours of cuddles, until he eventually slides to sit up and falls dramatically over your knees. It’s the first time he’s ever allowed you to play with his hair, lying there in the darkness as normal lovers set alight do.
I mean, you’re family, right??? Dream begs you to come along to the family get together dinner (mainly so he can have a sparring partner of equal wit and finally get one up on his sibling Desire). He swaps the placards said sibling placed around the fire-lit table so you’re sitting next to him instead of Delirium. Between meals Dream takes your hand under the table and places it on his knee, stroking his thumb over your palm to try and calm himself down. Desire catches wind (thanks to an eagle eyed Despair), and makes some bitter laced remark with a growl of their lips, flick of their hand and sip of their red wine. This ends up with you lunging for him over the candelabra, with Death barely holding you back and Dream leaning back in his seat with a grin so wide on his face he looks like a smug, satisfied cat lmao
#the sandman#the sandman imagine#sandman#dream of the endless#morpheus#dream#morpheus imagine#dream of the endless imagine#dream imagine#sandman imagine#neil gaiman#tom sturridge#the sandman x reader#sandman x reader#morpheus x reader#dream of the endless x reader#dream x reader#the sandman headcanons#sandman headcanons#morpheus headcanons#dream of the endless headcanons#dream headcanons#desire of the endless#death of the endless#despair of the endless#delirium of the endless#lucienne#matthew#mervyn pumpkinhead#rose walker
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Reader is a human and is oblivious to Morpheus's feelings for her?!?
in your dreams
aka; gn!reader being completely oblivious to morpheus’ feelings
thank you for the ask ! as always, lowercase intended :)
headcanons, morpheus x constantine!reader, established contact, slight plot derision, heavy miscommunication (idiots in love basically), GENDER NOT SPECIFIED !
oh you silly, oblivious fool. the both of you.
in fact, morpheus should become despair, and you? denial. utter delusion.
despite having strings of passionate love affairs, morpheus is perplexed by you. the seduction has never been hard for him, only the longevity. but he can’t even reach that.
he supposes he should be somewhat grateful, as he won’t come on too headstrong. on the other hand, however, he wonders exactly how much effort he has to put in to win you over. and morpheus has never shied away from a romantic pursuit, especially not when it involves his ego (which, in fairness, it always does), but you are…something else. that’s why he likes you. you’re so different from your sibling; where she’s perceptive, you practically live in daydreams.
and that is precisely where he begins his pursuit of you. in your dreams, as you say to him. morpheus begins by making everything softer, brighter. both you and your sister are chronic nightmare sufferers, as you’ve mentioned. so, unknown to you, he keeps nightmares at bay. not this time, he chides them. not this time.
it’s the first night you get a full eight hours of uninterrupted sleep.
you suspect it has something to do with him, but you brush it off as impersonal. even despite johanna’s prodding, you think it’s probably because the sand has been returned.
“i’m telling you jo, it’s nothing.”
“well he didn’t make my nightmares suddenly vanish. next time you see him, tell him i have a bone to pick with him.”
“there won’t be a next time!”
deep down, you hope there will be.
on the other hand, it’s been at least two weeks of pleasant dreams, and morpheus’ patience is wearing thin. surely for someone of your intelligence, you’d realise it has something to do with him? fine. maybe he just has to be more obvious.
he starts by physically appearing in your dream. slowly, though. tactfully. there’s roses along the meadow you’re dreaming of tonight. maybe it’s just you, but you swear you can hear some type of slow jazz.
it takes you at least twenty minutes (if the dreaming even has a linear concept of time) to notice him. and when you do, it’s only because he has to shuffle to get a better view of you, and you’re slightly perplexed by the swath of black fabric against such a vibrant pink background.
“oh! it’s you!”
finally, he thinks. “it is. and you, y/n? how are you?”
“i’m good. i’m not sure if this is actually you, or if you’re just me. still wrapping my head around this whole thing.”
“i am quite certain that we are separate. it will take time to adjust, but i am sure you will. you have quite the mind.”
you flush. “thank you. oh! actually, i had a favour to ask.”
“anything,” morpheus replies, instantly. there’s a softness in his voice that makes you almost melt. he, on the other hand, is elated. such intimacy, already? perhaps his worries were for nothing. he’d quite literally grant you the sun, if he could (though he doesn’t have the best experiences with those).
“could you perhaps get rid of my sister’s nightmares, too? in her own words, she ‘has a bone to pick.’ if that’s not too much?”
ah. not quite the favour he was thinking, but if it makes you happy…
“of course. i will see to it myself.”
you smile at that, and morpheus feels a warmth in his chest that he hasn’t felt for a long, long time.
“thanks, man. i appreciate that.”
you physically cringe. man ? there are seven ways you can envision the ground swallowing you up alive, and the only reason it doesn’t is because of morpheus’ presence.
meanwhile morpheus himself is inwardly despairing. ‘man’ ? either humans have changed entirely, or his seductive skills are at a miserable low.
thankfully, you’re saved by your alarm blaring through. you wake up in sheer agony. so bad, in fact, that you lie in bed for another twenty minutes quite literally saying prayers to every deity you can imagine. you’re atoning for some sin you can’t even think about. what the hell have you done to deserve this?
whilst you’re busy despairing in the waking world, morpheus is slumping against his throne in the dreaming. despair must be having a brilliant time, he thinks.
it takes both lucienne and matthew’s combined efforts to pull him out. giving the lord of dreams a pep talk? never been on the agenda, but he feels remarkably better after matthew assures him “maybe they’re just shy!”
so morpheus does something he’s never done before.
he consults human dating books. oh, so a ‘light touch on the arm’ is still popular. matthew tells him to try a more extroverted approach.
“why can’t you just tell them?”
but the lord of dreams is a prideful creature, though he’d never admit it. why should he go to them?
underneath that is a piercing fear of rejection, of being alone again, especially after the burgess incident. but that’s for later.
morpheus even consults death. his sister has a wonderful track record of being good with humans.
so, armed with flowers, and newfound knowledge of “tenderness, morpheus. be tender and warm,” he shows up at your door.
when you answer, you’re delighted, though you try and hide it, of course.
“hi again - oh, are those for johanna? she’s out at the moment, unfortunately, but i can pass a message on if you’d like?”
he blinks. “no, they…they are for you, actually.”
your eyes widen in surprise. “for me? what’s the occasion?”
he looks at you, so deeply that you almost shudder. there’s something…tangible about his stare. something that looks like restraint. “there was no reason,” he almost whispers. “i just thought you might like these. they’re often in your dreams.”
you could melt right there. he saw your dreams? personally?
but of course he did. he’s quite literally the lord of dreams. he sees everybody’s.
inwardly, you recoil, too caught up in denial to continue even thinking about any possible advances towards you.
“that’s…that’s really nice of you. thank you. would you like to come in?”
but before he can, you hear a car pull up. johanna’s home. and you love your sister, you truly do, but just this once you wish she hadn’t been home on time (which is a rare occurrence of it’s own).
morpheus, on the other hand, looks distraught. he’s practically on the verge of tears as johanna approaches, and though you remind him the offer still stands, he bids the both of you farewell. much to matthew’s chagrin, of course.
“nice one, boss.”
johanna teases you about the flowers, but you brush her off.
“it’s probably just appreciation. you know, because of the sand?”
your sister’s had enough. “you’re utterly hopeless, you know that? and so is he.”
“who?” you ask, absentmindedly.
“your sand boyfriend.”
“he’s not my boyfriend!”
oh, but how he wants to be.
in fact, morpheus has all but given up, until he sees one dream that particularly intrigues him.
you’re dreaming, again. you’re dreaming, and he could fall to his knees in relief when he realises that you’re dreaming of a romance movie.
it’s pride and prejudice. and the only reason he realises this is because he was there for its publication, of course (and because there’s been a strange influx of austen-adapted movie dreams lately, for some reason).
but it’s the scene that intrigues him, where darcy is walking up to you, in this case, and profoundly expressing his love.
how odd. he never would have pegged you down for such a hopeless romantic, but now he realises. he needs to be forward in his advances.
so he swallows your pride and shows up at your door the next morning, armed with nothing this time.
you answer the door hurriedly after hopping out of the shower, wearing nothing but an artfully wrapped towel, thinking it’s johanna.
it’s not. it’s a man (a man?) you are incredibly interested in, and you’re standing in front of him with wet hair and just a towel.
“could you…could you give me a minute, maybe?”
but morpheus’ usually formal tendencies have somehow vanished, and he protests.
“i need to speak to you.”
he barely waits for an answer, striding in. you practically run to shut the door, frantically looking around for something to preserve any shred of modesty you have left. that towel is slipping and you give yourself maybe five minutes before all hell breaks loose.
“y/n.”
“morpheus?”
to your utter horror, he launches into a speech you find all too familiar.
“-you have bewitched me, body and soul, and i-”
“were you spying on me?”
you’re seething. is this some sort of joke? does he mean to insult you? does he find humour in dreams that bring you some semblance of joy?
“i…”
“you have no right to peer into my dreams. that is personal. i don’t give a shit if you’re the king of dreams, you let me have that! let me live my dreams in peace!”
you’re all but yelling into his face, jabbing a finger into his chest. embarrassment is flaring into every atom of your being at the thought of him laughing at you. ridiculing you.
to your surprise, his own eyes burn in anger. “my apologies, but you are not exactly the easiest person to please.”
“to please?”
he groans. quite literally. the sound reverberates around the walls.
“do you have any idea how utterly exhausting it is to get in your mind? to try and win your affection? i have done everything. i have lost my dignity - i even considered asking desire for advice, all for you!” his voice penetrates into every layer of your body.
bashfully, you mutter, “why?”
if he could explode, he might have. you’ve both quietened down, a palpable tension between the two of you. the clock ticking dully is the only sound that fills the room for maybe five minutes.
“i have…i feel for you.”
“what? like pity?”
“no. listen to me. i feel for you. i have feelings for you. every moment i spend in your presence is a test of my restraint. there are no words for the boundless nature of just how deeply i feel for you. i am…i am half agony, half hope. say the word once, and i will leave you in peace. i will not interfere in your affairs, nor your dreams, again. but if there is even a glimmering semblance of affection for me, i beg you. tell me so. i cannot bear it any longer.”
oh.
you’ve never been good with words. it’s not in your nature; you’ve always left the negotiating, the diplomacy, to your sister. you’ve always been the first to act.
so when you grab morpheus’ face with your hands, eyes locked, you can feel in your gut that once again, your instinct hasn’t failed you.
you can practically hear relief filled in the sigh that escapes morpheus’ lips, a wordless plea pooling in his eyes, mouth begging to be savoured with everything you have in you. so tenderly, you press your lips to his.
it’s heaven. months, of pure restraint and long-awaited hope pour into the kiss, settle into your bones, wrap around the two of you. in fact, it’s almost like you both become one, so deeply are you melded together. kissing morpheus is like being filled with every star in the cosmos; like light and dark themselves, simultaneously.
when you finally break apart, you can’t help the smile that spreads on your face, and neither can he.
he looks at you eyes full of wonder, lips lightly swollen from the kiss. you’re wrapped in his arms, and his neck is woven in between your own arms.
“nice way to sneak austen in there, casanova. i thought the lord of dreams would have been original about that stuff.”
he pulls you closer, your head nestling into the crook of his neck. “i might have been very loosely inspired.”
you hum softly. “what a shame. you owe her an apology.”
morpheus shakes his head, and you feel a low chuckle build in his throat.
“in her dreams.”
——-
TAGLIST;
@liv-n
if you’d like to be added to the taglist, please let me know ! i appreciate all feedback. and thank you so much for all the love on my recent writes! it is heartwarming and i am so grateful to everybody! :)
-orion
#dream the endless imagine#the sandman fanfic#the sandman x reader#dream the endless x reader#dream x reader#morpheus fanfiction#morpheus x reader#morpheus x y/n#morpheus x you#dream of the endless fic#the sandman x you#the sandman headcanons#dream x you#morpheus imagines#morpheus headcanons#the sandman imagine
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Morpheus telling Lucienne about the problems he has been through:
#dream of the endless fluff#morpheus x reader#the sandman#the sandman fanfic#lord morpheus#the sandman x you#dream of the endless x reader#morpheus fluff#morpheus x leitora#dream of the endless smut#the corinthian#lucienne the librarian#lucifer morningstar#alex burgess#desire of the endless#the sandman headcanons#the sandman imagine#the sandman art#the sandman memes#neil gaiman
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Y/n: I can fit the whole world in my hands
Dream: That's impossible
Y/n: *moves closer to him, and cups his face slowly and gently*
Dream: *eyes widens slightly, blushes*
Lucienne: My Lord- *stops herself witnessing the scene* I'll come back later *walks away with a knowing, small smile*
Dream: I-I..*clears throat* Get off me, I have a reputation
#ya'll know this common prompt#the sandman incorrect quotes#the sandman imagine#dream of the endless#morpheus#morpheus x reader#morpheus imagine#the sandman
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Give Me Everything You've Got
Dream of the Endless/Morpheus x GN!Reader
Summary: After a fight, you learn that Morpheus does not have the best coping skills. Like, at all.
Word Count: 4.7k
Author's note: This is based off of a scene in Brief Lives where Morpheus dramatically stands on his balcony in the rain. Not going to say more, or else that will spoil the comics completely.
No relationship is perfect; it’s a fact as immutable as which direction the sun rises from. The first fight, though, is always a stark reminder of this. That the person you care so deeply for and have shared so much with over the past days, weeks, months isn’t perfect and has faults. The first fight, though nobody wants it to happen, will, inevitably, happen.
And your first fight with Morpheus is a bad one.
It had been three months since you and Morpheus had shared a heated first kiss in a crowded bar, three months since the man of your dreams turned out to be both real and still the man of your dreams. Those three months had been bliss, to put it simply. You looked forward to falling asleep every night, for that meant you could spend uninterrupted time with your love in his realm. He’s insanely busy, of course, being the anthropomorphic personification of dreams and nightmares. Even just being in his presence, sitting on the Shores of Creation and watching as he creates new dreams and nightmares or reading in the library in your own chair and listening to him and Lucienne discuss matters related to the realm, was a gift that you don’t think you’ll ever take for granted.
But then, of course, the other shoe had to drop. The beautiful bubble of a honeymoon phase that you were living in was bound to pop, suddenly and harshly. Foolishly, you had hoped that things between you and Morpheus would always be like this, with both of you on the same page. That, of course, was nothing more than a mere pipe dream, because two people (or, one person and one eldritch being) will never be completely on the same page for every single thing.
The first time you had seen the raven, perched on the overhang of the cafe you were currently waiting for your friends outside of, you had thought nothing more than “oh, it looks like Matthew,” before going back on your merry way. After all, ravens are pretty common birds, and Matthew seemed like a pretty important raven. Surely it wasn’t him; surely he had better things to do than to trail you. It was simply just a coincidence.
Over the next week, however, you kept seeing a raven everywhere you went. When you left the store carrying bags of groceries, one was circling overhead. When you took your lunch break outside on a particularly nice afternoon, there it was, staring at you from another picnic table. When you were finally getting around to loading the dishwasher, it was sitting on your windowsill.
It was like that mental exercise when someone tells you not to think about a yellow car and then you see yellow cars everywhere. Only, you were certain that this was the same raven, and that this raven was Matthew, due to the fact that this raven tried a little too hard to act like a normal raven. As long as you weren’t directly looking at the raven, then it would just stare at you in a way that gave you the creeps. The moment that you turned to look, then it would suddenly start pecking at the ground or preening itself. Convenient. Too convenient, in your opinion.
Finally, you decide that you’re going to confront him. You go out onto your porch to water the little garden that you’re trying to cultivate, and there he is, sitting on the railing and staring right at you. As you go about your watering, he continues to just stare. Once you’ve finished, you whip your head up, fast enough that he doesn’t have time to pretend like he wasn’t watching you.
“Matthew, I know it’s you,” you say to save him the embarrassment of having to keep up the act.
Though the raven tries not to look at you, eventually he knows that the jig is up. He hops closer to you and still doesn’t look at you, but now due to the guilt he’s obviously feeling. “Uh, hi.”
“Hi. You've been following me around.” It’s not a question, because you know that he’s been doing exactly that.
Matthew looks about as sheepish as a raven can possibly look. “You caught me.”
“Are you gonna tell me why you’re stalking me?”
“Do I have to?” You glare at him to tell him that yes, he very much has to. Realizing that he has no choice, he acquiesces. “Orders from the boss man, y’know? It’s kinda what I do.”
You can feel your blood beginning to run hot in your veins from the sudden surge of anger, and you have to breathe to keep yourself from yelling. “Morpheus is making you spy on me?”
“I wouldn’t call it spying.” Matthew can sense the beginnings of a storm brewing, and quickly goes to work at trying to mitigate the impending disaster. “Just…making sure that you’re safe, that’s all! He really cares about you, and it’s tough for him to not be able to be with you whenever he wants.”
“Okay, well, you need to stop following me.”
“I—I don’t know if I can. I’m really not supposed to disobey direct orders. I already got in enough trouble for the whole business with Hell!”
Though you’re mad about the whole situation and, by extension, Matthew himself, you don’t want your feathered friend to get in trouble when he’s not the one that’s at fault. If he’s going to get in trouble for abandoning his post, then you’ll just give him a task instead that happens to take him back to the Dreaming. After all, Morpheus had told you that you could use Matthew to reach him if the need arose.
“Fine, then,” you say. “Will you go back to the Dreaming and tell Morpheus to meet me when he gets the chance? I’d really appreciate it.”
“Yeah, I can do that!”
Matthew prepares to take off, but before he does, you stop him. “And, Matthew?”
“Mm?”
“Don’t come back.”
By the time the first month of dating had passed, you had both already exchanged declarations of love. It felt entirely natural, and you were both thrilled at the next step. Now, the true next step, that of disagreeing with your partner on a fundamental level, is here. You’re far less thrilled about this step.
When Morpheus appears in your living room, you’re already prepared to say what you’ve been practicing in your head since Matthew left. Morpheus has a way of making you forget words, and you’re not about to let that happen this time. Instead of giving him the chance, you jump to your feet and glare at him.
“What the fuck!” you spit. “How dare you!”
Morpheus simply watches you, as cool and collected as always, which only serves to piss you off even more.
“Matthew told me that you are…upset,” he says, “about my having him watch over you.”
You look at him in disbelief. “‘Upset’? I’m furious right now.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re stalking me, without my permission, through your raven!”
“It is not stalking,” he retorts.
“Really? What would you call it, then?”
Rather than answer what it is (because it is stalking), Morpheus defers to his reasoning behind his actions. “I just want to make sure that you are safe when I cannot be with you.”
In his mind, this likely makes complete sense. Of course he wants you safe, and naturally that means sending his raven to watch you at all hours of the day. Perhaps, in his eyes, this was even seen as a romantic gesture. Who this would charm, though, you’re not sure.
“I don’t need a babysitter, Morpheus. I’m an adult.”
“Yes, I am aware of that. Regardless of the immature way that you are currently acting in.”
Oh, you could hit him right now. You have to dig your nails into the palm of your hand to keep the urge at bay. “Then why did you think that you could invade my privacy in such a major way?”
“Because you are human, beloved. If something were to happen to you, if one of my enemies were to take advantage of my absence, I would never forgive myself. I cannot allow that to happen, hence, Matthew watching out for you.”
“I’m more than able to take care of myself. Especially in my own home,” you stress.
“It is for my own peace of mind.”
“Then you have him drop in every once in a while to say hi! You don’t have him playing James Bond and spying on me every minute of every day!”
It’s obvious that Morpheus doesn’t understand your anger towards him right now, and that’s probably the most frustrating thing about this whole mess. You have to close your eyes and gather your thoughts, lest you lose your cool and say something that you really regret.
When you feel just a smidge calmer, you look at Morpheus again. “I can’t deal with this right now. We physically can’t have this conversation until you can actually see why I’m so mad about this.”
His face grows stormy, and his eyes go straight from blue to black, starless pools. “You want me to leave?”
“Have you figured out why I’m mad?” He remains still, challenging you. “Then yes.”
This is just a way to call his bluff. He’s not going to leave, not in the middle of an argument. You just want him to think for a moment about his actions and their effect on you, and then you can talk like civilized adults about a little something called boundaries before making up.
His jaw clenches, as do his fists, and you realize that you may have overestimated his rationality. “Then I suppose I shall take my leave of you.”
“Wait, what?” You take a step towards him and go to grab his arm in an attempt to stop him. “Morpheus!”
He’s gone before you can even feel his coat under your hand, and you’re left staring in shock at the empty space where Morpheus just stood.
You’re distraught about just how wrong your argument with Morpheus went, enough so that you don’t visit the Dreaming that night. It's not on purpose, though. Rather, you’re so upset about the whole situation that you barely sleep, and the sleep that you do get is fitful.
You’re exhausted when your alarm goes off the next morning, and find that all of the anger of last night has dissipated. Now, you’re just sad. Sad that Morpheus couldn’t understand why you were upset, sad that he didn’t stay to finish the conversation, sad that you couldn’t go after him to try and make things right between you.
You slog through your day, so noticeably sad that multiple people ask you what’s wrong. Though saying that you had a fight with your boyfriend doesn’t really begin to encapsulate everything that Morpheus is, it’s a common enough occurrence in the world that those who you share this with immediately nod in understanding and leave you to your misery.
Sleep tries to elude you for a second night, but you refuse to go any longer without seeing Morpheus. Instead, you scrounge around in your medicine cabinet for the bottle of melatonin that you know is back there. When you find it, you down as many of the artificial berry-tasting tablets that’s safe before crawling into bed and hoping that it works.
When you do finally fall asleep and open your eyes in the Dreaming, you’re immediately thrown off by the rain. No, calling it a simple rainstorm would be underselling it. A veritable hurricane has descended on the Dreaming, and you have to brace yourself against the wind somehow blowing through the palace to keep from being blown away. Rain lashes against the windows, which are rattling heavily, in rough sheets, and lightning crackles through the sky.
Growing up around storms has you instinctually looking for a basement or cellar to get to before you remember that nothing can actually harm you in your dreams. The thought doesn’t do much to settle your nerves (you’ve never been too fond of storms), but you keep repeating to yourself that it can’t harm you in some sort of frightened mantra as you make your way to the library.
The library, unfortunately, is in worse shape than the entryway, and you immediately feel a pang of sympathy for Lucienne. All of the bookshelves have been raised on individual islands via dream-magic in an attempt to save the books from the flooding that’s beginning to encroach from the doors and windows. Even so, sandbags are being piled up at the base of each island by a variety of dreams as a failsafe.
Knowing Lucienne, she probably has a backup failsafe for the failsafe.
Dressed in a rainbow parka with the hood up over his little raven head, Matthew stands atop one of the bookshelves and directs the dreams who have been tasked with helping to protect one of the Dreaming’s most precious assets. When he notices you standing awkwardly just inside the main doors, he lets out a squawk and flies to the bookshelf closest to you.
“Oh thank God you’re here,” Matthew exclaims. “This place is gonna get washed away if he keeps up at it!”
“What’s going on?” you ask, both of you flinching at a particularly loud clap of thunder.
Lucienne appears from around a corner, stomping through puddles as she steadily marches towards you in a way that makes you worry that you’re in trouble with her. She’s wearing bright yellow rain gear, and water streams off of the plastic hat in steady rivulets.
“Has Lord Morpheus explained to you that the Dreaming’s weather is tied to his emotions?” Lucienne demands to know.
Morpheus had briefly mentioned this to you once. It was a month or so into your relationship, and you remarked on how beautiful the weather always was in his realm. In the midst of a brutal winter, the reprieve was especially appreciated.
“I am glad that you think so. After all, I am the Dreaming, and the Dreaming is me.” Morpheus replied from behind you.
You were standing on the highest balcony in the palace so that you could properly take in all of the Dreaming, and Morpheus had his arms wrapped snugly around your middle so that he could pull you into his firm chest.
“So you control the weather?” you asked.
“Yes, but I do not do so consciously. It is…like how your own heart continually beats without you needing to think about it.”
At the time, you were satisfied with the explanation. Now, you’re wondering what the hell kind of autonomic nervous system Morpheus has.
“He did,” you say. “But why is the weather so bad?”
She stares at you like you’re an idiot, and you shift uncomfortably under her pointed glare. “Because you had a fight.”
You’re going to ask how she knows such a thing, but you assume it was pretty obvious to Matthew what was going to happen when you told him to have Morpheus visit you.
“It was an argument, not a fight.” Great, now you sound like your parents when you were a kid and would catch them fighting. “Is he that upset about what happened?”
You know that Morpheus is able to hold a grudge better than most. Even though you haven’t seen him, and the storm is fierce, you can tell that this isn’t caused by some petty anger; this is genuine distress, and you’re starting to think that he’s never had to deal with his emotions in a healthy way.
Lucienne nods and says, “You have only ever seen our Lord Morpheus at his best. He—well, I will not divulge that which is not mine to share, but there is a precedent behind what has led him to react in such a way.”
Good lord, what had happened in Morpheus’s past for this to be a normal reaction for him? While you’re also still a little upset over the ‘disagreement’, your hurt comes more from the fact that he left and that you were unable to finish what you had started. Furthermore, if this is normal for him, you hate to see what an abnormal reaction from him is.
Something needs to be done, and you’re going to have to be the one to do it.
“Alright, then. Do you have any idea where he is?” you ask.
Lucienne doesn’t even need to think. “In his chambers, most likely.”
You don’t believe you’ve ever had to find your way to Morpheus’s chambers without him. The hesitation must show on your face, because Matthew flies down from the bookshelf to perch on the back of a chair.
“Just think about him while you’re walking, and the Dreaming should do the rest,” he advises.
“I’m on it.” You give your friends a mock-salute before turning and heading out the door that you came through, mind focused on Morpheus the entire time.
The way that the Dreaming works is interesting. Sometimes, you need to walk a good distance to get from one place to the next. This is often true of when you trek down the Shores to visit Morpheus, or when he takes you to Fiddler’s Green. Other times, you need only blink and take a step before reaching your destination.
This is one of those times, thankfully, because the anxiety coursing through you as you worry about Morpheus and if he’s okay is making every step that you take a shaky one. You’re standing outside of the library one second, and the next, you’re staring at the large, carved wood doors that conceal Morpheus’s chambers from you.
Will the doors be bolted, like how you would lock your own when you were an angsty teenager and wanted the world to know that absolutely nobody was privy to your misery? Will he be mad when he sees you? Mad that you sought him out, that you consulted his own subjects about how best to approach this crisis?
Though you don’t mean to lean against the door as you lose yourself in your thoughts, you do, and it swings open easily. You hope that this is Morpheus’s way of letting you know that you’re welcome here, with him.
He’s not in the large sitting room that first greets you when you enter his chambers, nor is he in the bedroom that he does not sleep in. That means that there’s only one other place that he could be, so you backtrack into the sitting room and go the opposite direction from his bedroom and towards the balcony that you stood on, with him, what feels like so long ago.
There he is, leaning steadfastly against the balcony railing like some sort of Byronic hero as the rain lashes against him and the thunder and lightning create a show for the ages above him. No matter how harshly the wind blows, he refuses to move, instead taking the full brunt of the storm as he stares out into it.
It’s his own version of self-harm, you realize, and you won’t allow him this vice any longer.
You walk out onto the balcony to stand next to Morpheus and try not to get blown away by the gale force winds. Immediately, you’re assaulted by the rain, and it quickly begins to soak through your clothes; you end up turning your back on the brunt of it and directly facing Morpheus so that you can actually see him.
“I suppose Lucienne sent you my way?” In an entirely un-Morpheus move, Morpheus scoffs.
“She told me where to find you, but only because I asked.” You have to raise your voice just to be heard over the storm. “So? Why are you standing out here?”
He laughs dryly. “As if you do not know? Before today, I did not know you to be so needlessly, brutally cruel.”
Is he on drugs? You’d check his pupils, but in the Dreaming, he doesn’t have any. “What are you talking about?”
“You no longer love me!” His voice booms around you as loud as the thunder.
This is news to you, and you’re about to tell him so, but he continues before you can.
“I have transgressed against you, terribly so, and you rightfully sent me away as a result. Now, you have come to tell me that you wish never to see me again.”
To say that you’re completely thrown for a loop would be a gross understatement. “No! What gave you that idea?”
All of the fight, all of the righteous indignity, suddenly deflates out of him, and he looks at you with a defeated look reminiscent of that of a guilty puppy. “Prior experience, I suppose.”
“Oh, Morpheus.”
This is one of the saddest things that you’ve ever heard. His prior relationships involved his lovers spurning him after one little fight? Since he obviously doesn’t know how wrong this is, your heart hurts on his behalf as you reach a hand up to cup his cheek.
“I’m not going to break up with you, and I’m sorry that you’ve been in relationships where that was something that happened.”
The relief on his face is immediate. “You still love me?”
“Yes, you silly, silly anthropomorphic personification. I still love you.”
“You still love me,” he says again in disbelief.
“It was a little fight. Just because fights happen sometimes, doesn’t mean that it’s the end of our relationship.”
“I am…sorry, for invading your privacy in such a way, and further for not understanding why you were upset with me.” It’s obvious that he’s not used to apologizing for anything, but he’s trying, and that’s what matters.
“You understand why I feel the way that I do about that?” You try not to get your hopes up, but utterly fail at it.
He nods. “You feel as though I’m attempting to exert control over you, that I don’t trust you.”
He does get it! You could cheer right now. “Exactly.”
“I do,” he says earnestly, “trust you. To make you feel otherwise was never my intention. You are just so precious to me that if something were to happen to you and I was not there to help you or come to your aid, it would kill me. That fear led me to become possessive, in a way that is healthy for neither of us. For that, I sincerely apologize.”
“Thank you, Morpheus. And I’m sorry for not properly conveying my feelings before I told you to leave.” You shrug. “You’ll have to forgive me for not really understanding; this is my first supernatural relationship.”
“Your last, too, if I have it my way.”
You smile at him and push the wet strands of hair out of your eyes, which seems to alert him to the fact that it’s still storming at a cool “wrath of God” level. He immediately lifts his hand to stop the rain from coming down around you, and an invisible umbrella forms over your heads. It’s obvious that he’s not done there, and he tries to school his face into an expression cooler and more passive than that which he’s currently sporting.
“If you will give me a moment to rein in my emotions…”
“No,” you cut Morpheus off. “Don’t. I like the rain.”
Maybe not this much rain, but you won’t tell him that right now. Because right now, you can already see him trying to slip back into the role of Dream of the Endless, who takes care of everyone and everything and lets nothing affect him. He can pretend that’s the real him all that he wants, but you’re seeing firsthand how detrimental it is to Morpheus. Not Dream, but Morpheus.
And Morpheus deserves to feel emotions, regardless of if it upsets or inconveniences the citizens of the Dreaming. Morpheus deserves to have somebody take care of him for once, instead of taking care of everyone and everything around him. Morpheus deserves a hell of a lot more than he’s previously gotten, and you’re going to be the one to give it to him.
“You do?” he asks.
“Yeah, I do. And if people don’t…then, fuck ‘em!”
His lips twitch. “I’d rather not.”
“You know that’s not what I meant.” He thinks that joke is so funny every time he uses it, and you’re determined to not let him know that it is kind of funny.
The wind begins to slow down, and the thunder starts to grow fainter. Still, the rain continues, but it’s more tolerable now that it’s falling straight down instead of directly pelting you.
“C’mon.” You grab his hand and start to lead him back inside. “Let’s go lay down for a bit.”
Morpheus immediately begins to protest. “But–”
“Shh. Tomorrow, you can ensure that everything’s back to business as usual. Today, though, I think you’ve earned the right to feel a little sad and upset.”
Though Morpheus doesn’t seem too happy about you telling him what to do, by the time you’re sitting him down on his bed, you’re both completely dry. He watches silently as you take his starry coat off for him, followed by his heavy boots. You take your own shoes off before climbing onto the bed and settling against the pillows. When you hold your arms out to him, he simply raises an eyebrow to challenge you. In response, you wiggle your fingers and try to beckon him over to you.
He begrudgingly allows you to hold him, and kiss the top of his head and try to stifle a laugh in his soft hair. Morpheus’s body begins to relax against yours, and you smile triumphantly as you run a hand up and down his spine. After a few minutes of sitting in silence and listening to the rain against the windows (now less brutal than it was when you first arrived in the Dreaming), you realize that Morpheus is matching his breaths–that he doesn’t need–to yours. Your insides go all warm and fuzzy as a result.
When Morpheus finally feels ready to talk, he picks his head up from your chest to look at you. You smile at the sight of the stars having finally returned to his beautiful eyes, and he asks, “Is this truly how humans cope with their emotions?”
“Mhm. Cry and feel sad a bit, then pick yourself up, dust yourself off, and keep going.” He hums when you begin to gently card your fingers through your hair, and you file this away as a form of care that you’re definitely going to use for him in the future. “If you’re lucky, you’ve got somebody right there with you to take care of you and help you weather that storm.”
“Sage advice.”
It really is. You just won’t tell him that it’s advice from a children’s show.
Morpheus nods and chooses to relax in your embrace for longer than you would have thought. Honestly, you were expecting more of a fight from him as he tried to plead his case to return to being Dream. Eventually, he does say what’s truly on his mind; he’s been getting better at that, the whole communication thing.
“I am not. Used to being taken care of.” Stating the obvious here, but what matters is that he said it.
“I know,” you say. “Which is why, in addition to the normal care that one gives their romantic partner that you’ll be receiving from me, I’m going to make up for all of what you should have been receiving for so long now.”
“Are you?” Morpheus smirks, amused at your determination.
“Yep. Why don’t we take a nap? That’s always helpful.”
Morpheus doesn’t sleep, per se; rather, he drifts, following you through your various dreamscapes and allowing himself to just be. As he’s described it to you, it’s rather relaxing to him, the same as napping is relaxing to you.
“That sounds…” Morpheus thinks for a moment. “Nice.”
“Good. Then after that, perhaps a warm bath?”
“You are just doing all of the things that make you feel better.” Though he says this, you can tell that he finds the concept intriguing.
You smile. “We’re starting from scratch with you, my love. Everything’s on the table at this point.”
“Very well. Nap first, then bath.”
With you by his side, Morpheus quickly learns how useful the human lesson of “cry and feel sad a bit, then pick yourself up, dust yourself off, and keep going” actually is.
#dream of the endless x reader#dream of the endless imagine#dream of the endless#morpheus x reader#morpheus imagine#morpheus#the sandman#the sandman imagine
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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."
-------------------------------------
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."
#the sandman#sandman#the sandman netflix#the sandman 2022#the sandman fic#the sandman fanfic#the sandman imagine#morpheus#lord morpheus#morpheus x reader#morpheus/dream#morpheus/dream x reader#dream of the endless#dream of the endless x reader#dream#dream x reader#dream smut#dream of the endless smut#the endless#the dreaming#dark!morpheus#tom sturridge#fanfic#soulmates#angst#saskia writes sandman#Spotify
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𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐩𝐡𝐞𝐮𝐬' 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐬.
⊹ pairing: morpheus x reader
⊹ summary: how morpheus, dream of the endless, the king of dreams, or as you know him: your love, expresses his love
⊹ warnings: some explicit language, but mostly none (however my inputs are slightly out of control in this one—case and point: this note)
⊹ word count: 3107
𝗴𝗶𝗳𝘁 𝗴𝗶𝘃𝗶𝗻𝗴 you are talking to the king of dreams. the Endless who's responsible for seeing what people dream about, what they're scared of, and managing it. this is also the same Endless who thought it would be a fun idea to put his power into three of his favourite things. of course gifts is going to be his main love language
as the lord of dreams, of course his first instinct is to give you whatever you want. to create whatever you wan. he genuinely finds pleasure in creating something himself to give to you
(dare i say a kink)
has definitely fashioned a dream after you. whatever impact you have on morpheus (make him warmer, kinder, see the beauty in humans and their short but well-lived lives, etc...), that dream because that for others
no need to buy new clothes when he can just make you whatever you want
you want the top half of that one dress but the bottom half of another? check your closet.
you want the new book from your favorite author but it doesn’t release for another six months? check your mail.
you want that chocolate that was discontinued? check your cabinets?
even if you’re not in the palace of the dreaming at all times, he insists that you live in one in the waking world. so he buys/inspires an architect to make you your dream apartment/house
if its an apartment and you live by yourself? still gets you a three bedroom for no fucking reason other than he wants you to be comfortable. there used to be a hill that blocked your window? your architect was inspired to demolish it. you want it back? your architect is inspired to build one
if it’s a house, insert lazy river (honestly, if i had the money to waste and spend, i’d get one for myself. alas, the only lazy river i get is when my sink overflows) cue to you casually floating on a donut floatie while reading a book, doing laps around your house over and over again
if you do a form of art, you’ll get a room dedicated to it. a library. a painter’s studio. a photography room. sculpting nook. all of it and more.
there is nothing you could want that he could not give you
and never ever bring up money unless you want a mysterious and rude amount of money deposited into your account to wake up to
he'll also go to great lengths if you need a particular item (exhibit a: him going into the lake to get gifts for the fates. he did all that for his items, so imagine what he'd do for you)
but you want to know what the best gift he gives you?
his coc
𝗮𝗰𝘁𝘀 𝗼𝗳 𝘀𝗲𝗿𝘃𝗶𝗰𝗲 this man will be begging for you to let him do things for you. in this essay—
(did you see the calliope episode? because that part of episode 1.11 is basically exhibit b for this section)
someone said something mean to you? bam. they will be plagued by nightmares of someone he loves saying those things to him until he dies.
if you’re a better person than him and won’t let him mentally torture people for as long as he likes and thinks they deserve, he’ll omit telling you that he’s torturing people. what you don’t know, won’t hurt, right?
but if you’re flirting with the line that is morally good and you do consent to letting him torture people, he might show you his progress on them and their decaying sanity
“look at what i have done with the love i have for you.”
you still get nightmares when you sleep, not because he wants to hurt you, but because nightmares can actually help you. dreams can inspire us to be better, but so can nightmares. for example, being visited by a nightmare that shows you your fear of failing that test makes you wake up and be motivated to study. what he does do for you is restrain the nightmares? he lets them scare you enough to act as a motivator, but not extremely that you are crippled with fear and anxiety
protective morpheus (currently sobbing)
when you wake and leave the Dreaming, he’s gone but there’s always a cup of coffee with you
acts of service also include making others do acts. rather than get a phone, forces matthew to carry messages between you and him instead.
if you're studying and need information on something, he'll have lucienne prepare a stack of books, and maybe even notes, for you to see to when you return to him in the Dreaming
but the biggest act of service he can do for you is meet your friends
lets you drag him to parties and dinner and brunches
might not socialize (probably will not), and you might find him standing in the corner becoming a shadow, but he won't bother you to leave until you want to
he'll watch you the whole time
takes care of your drinks (and everyone else's)
or, he might follow you around like a shadow. no matter who you talk to, he'll be standing beside you, an arm around your waist
if you're a social butterfly, he admires that about you
if you're more socially introverted, he'll hang out with you in the shadows and leave when you want to, even if you've only been there for five minutes
basically he's a simp—and he might actually proudly admit to being one because who's the one who's dating you in the end?
𝗽𝗵𝘆𝘀𝗶𝗰𝗮𝗹 𝘁𝗼𝘂𝗰𝗵 before his confinement, he wasn’t the most physical person. he wouldn’t pull away, but he didn’t reach for you either, though he always secretly liked it. after his imprisonment, he begins to reach for you. not just that, but he begins to crave your touch. touch is how he reminds himself that he is with you, you are with him, and that he is free
in public, it’s limited but clear that you’re together
the last thing he needs is hearing matthews’ teasing squawks in his ear about morpheus being the endless version of a cat
when lucienne catches pda, she’ll at least be respectful and dignified and not comment, though she will be grinning like a cheshire cat and her eyes will keep looking
your arm around his when walking around
his hand on your back
then your lower back
brushing your hair out of your face
sitting close enough for shoulder and legs to touch
standing close
(once again, I bring up the calliope episode—someone stop me from rewatching that over and over again)
did you see how close they were standing? then, when you thought they were close enough, he takes an even closer step? that. THAT.
whatever concept you have of personal space, a personal bubble, this man is inside it. yes, your arms might be linked while walking. but your sides will be pressed together.
and while it might appear that you're the one who links your arms together, he is the one who already has his elbow slightly bent and held out towards you
when you do hold hands, his thumb brushes over your skin absentmindedly, as if feeling your warmth isn’t enough and it’s a constant reminder of him that you’re there
but when you do the same to him, or gods help him, you squeeze it, he, with every fibre of his being, will feel it and nearly stop from the overwhelming feelings that threaten to send him to the ground
so keep it sparingly
...or not
kisses in public..truthfully, he's probably leaning towards no. full on make out sessions? probably not. when you guys are saying goodbye, i’m seeing more of a tight, slightly awkward dip of the head—a farewell not
but, bringing that calliope episode up once again, he won’t don't anything if you were to initiate it.
kiss on the cheek? you better hold that position for a few fucking seconds so you can let that man close his eyes and savour the intimateness that is the feeling of your soft lips against his cold cheek.
why don’t you press your forehead against the side of his head while you’re at it? you know, when you’re done kissing him but before you pull away. think of it as giving him a few seconds to revert back to cold, formal morpheus, dream of the endless, and not your boyfriend/partner
stares at you when you’re not looking
stares at you even when you're looking
stares down at you when you're asleep in his arms
stares up at you when he's down on his knees between your—sorry, wrong fic
imagine those intense eyes just looking at you and not looking away, not ashamed at taking in the beauty that is his partner
he has no qualms when someone is staring at you, because how he can be blame them
but he does have qualms when their gaze turns into a leer. that's when he'll send a couple nightmares their way for a few directions. not to mention, he'll turn his gaze from you to glare them down, and because they have now deprived him from admiring you for the few seconds this last, he blames it on them and gives them a...gift (and a visit to desire if he finds out they had something to do with it)
on the rare occasion that he's actually using his throne and sitting on it rather than dramatically sitting on the steps after he spread his coat out around him, he might let you sit on his lap (nothing more...in public)
not straddling him—god no—but sitting horizontal so your legs are over his lap and your side is against his chest with your arms around his neck and his arms around your waist
he does that when he needs to relax
he might whisper his problems and insecurities in your ear
but in private—in private—this man is draped over you
he’ll be like a cat who actually likes his owner and will curl up on you
if you’re cuddling, you’ll lie with your head on his chest and his arm around your shoulders, maybe playing with your hair
he may or may not use a bit of his sand to help you sleep if you’re having troubles entering his realm, but with him drawing random shapes on your skin or the steady rise and fall of his chest, or, if you're really lucky, he's reading aloud in that quiet, low, asmr voice of his, you're gone all too quickly
he always feels a bit stiff when the cuddle session begins, but after you lie down on him long enough, his limbs soften before gripping onto you tighter
but back to that no-such-thing-as-a-personal-bubble with him
walls
bringing into evidence, exhibit c: episode 1.03 with johanna constantine
why does he have to be so physically close with everyone (that isn't me)
likes to walk you backwards until you hit a wall
once you hit that wall, he may or may not take an even closer step
then closer
and even closer, but his arms are still in his pockets because he's cool and edgy like that (and intimidatingly hot)
close enough until he's kissing you
then he'll press against you to be even closer
we can unpack the trauma that being separated from everyone he loves for 100 years and being physically separated by a wall of glass some other day. for now, enjoy his closeness
because basically, close is still too far for him
𝗾𝘂𝗮𝗹𝗶𝘁𝘆 𝘁𝗶𝗺𝗲 not 24/7 hanging out, because he is the king of dreams and he has a realm to run, but he does spend his time with you wisely, and just because you're not with him all the time, doesn't mean he isn't thinking about you all the time
his favourite thing is the two of you being in each other’s presence but working on your own things. he appreciates it more than he realizes, and during the times you sit to the side as he makes new dreams, he’ll sometimes put aspects of you in them—intentionally or unintentionally
when you aren't together, he'll still be consumed with thoughts of you
he thinks of you all the time, actually. and because of that, he also talks about you all the time, sometimes subconsciously. and sometimes with no reason at all—or perhaps the only reason he needs to bring you up is because you're you and he's in love with you
"y/n did extremely well on her project, did you hear?"
"did you hear about my report on the rogue nightmares, sir?" matthew asks.
"she worked very hard on it. i'm proud of her."
thinks about you when doing research in the library with lucienne
wonders about you when going on walks with death
mentions you on dinners with hob
dates with him doesn't have to be the most exciting thrilling thing. in fact, he likes living in domestic bliss with you. doing dishes together. helping you with laundry. watching a movie. people watching. walking your pets.
he usually leaves you alone when you’re awake and uses that time for his duties while you’re busy doing awake things anyway, but when you do fall asleep and are in the dreaming, that’s when the two of you are always together, stuck at the hip (and we're back to the closeness)
takes you out to dinner everyday where he listens to you talk and rant about your day and give you suggestions. he eventually does the same with you, and you become the first person he goes to whenever he needs consultations for his problems
insert jealous hob when he finds him and you eating and morpheus actually talking to you and not just sitting there quietly like with him
but hob gets over it (he doesn’t) and sometimes he’ll join dinner with you guys.
family dinners in his realm with you, hob, death, lucienne, marvin (and only because you invited him), matthew (though morpheus gives him a dog bowl rather than a plate)
during the moments the two of you are together, he treasures and cherishes it
and during the moments when it's just the two of you together, he'll definitely make it worth both your while
drawing it out (if you know what i mean)
and i mean, teasing you for hours and sessions that go until you wake—
𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱𝘀 𝗼𝗳 𝗮𝗳𝗳𝗶𝗿𝗺𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻 ha no. did you see how emotionally constipated this man was? how he can't tell calliope he still loves her, admit to hob that they're friends, and ask for help from death? words are not the dream king's weapon
the most you get is a term of endearment, like my love or my beloved
always 'mine' though
but this Endless is not about to spout off a pride and prejudice speech at you, so don’t bother waking up early and going for a hike. just sleep and hang out with him in the Dreaming instead in silence
however he does have a beautiful voice—one that as his partner, you are allowed to take advantage of. cue making him read pride and prejudice at you (especially that speech: “you have bewitched me, body and soul, and i love…i love…i love you. i never wish to b parted from you from this day on.”) you with his head on your lap, him sitting against a tree with the branches over the both of you for some shade. one hand is holding up the book, the other is absentmindedly twirling your hair. when he finishes the line, he looks down at you, slightly amused but completely enamoured, especially at the giddy expression on your face, and he dips down to kiss you
he tells you that he inspired jane austen to write that speech for you—it’s up to you if you want to believe him or call it bullshit
while he might not be giving love confessions every three seconds, he does give you compliments. and not just when you do something that warrants a compliment, but randomly. because to him, everything you do is majestic and needs to be acknowledged as so
"you're beautiful" when you're in casual clothes, sweats, pyjamas, (or bare)
"what would the world do without you?" when you hold open the door for an elderly couple
and you know he says it against your ear, voice low, his whispered words hot and heavy. maybe even a little raspy—
but just because he might not be the chatterbox on the block, doesn't mean he doesn't want someone talking to him
so don't give him the silent treatment, because when he does, he becomes insufferable to everyone
he's all curt to lucienne. snappy with matthew. demanding with poor marvin. sharp with cain and abel. rude with death. threatening with desire.
no one has nice dreams and nightmares become so much worse
not you, of course. you're still sleeping perfectly fine, but you realize something's wrong when you meet up with your friends and one of them hasn't slept in days while the other hasn't woken up in days
if it's his fault, it might take death for him to realize his mistakes and apologize to you. again, no long speech, just the simple words, "i'm sorry. i was wrong. please forgive me, my love." and considering this man's flaw is his ego, that is more than enough
and if you tell him to say it on his knees he will as he whispers it against your—
but if you're at fault, he won't back down until you apologize. however, he won't leave you alone. he'll always be there in the corner of your eye, waiting for you to apologize. and when you do, he'll purse his lips, nod, and say nothing. but you'll know he's already forgiven you when his eyes soften and he gives you that soft smile that's reserved for so few people
he might not talk to you, but he does want you to talk to him, so ramble away
let's not get started on what he says in private, but i'll tell you this. he isn't so silent anymore, and he will definitely appreciate whatever you tell him in whatever form—and might even strive to create and draw such sounds from you
a plea
a cry
a groan
a whimper
a scream—
in conclusion, this man will love you with every piece of him. (and if i could, i would do the same morpheus please just give me a chance)
𝗮𝘂𝘁𝗵𝗼𝗿'𝘀 𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲: 𝗐𝖾𝗇𝗍 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝗈𝖻𝗌𝖾𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗋 1.06 𝗍𝗈 1.11. 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗐 𝗂𝗌 𝗍𝗈𝗈 𝗀𝗈𝗈𝖽. 𝗂 𝖺𝗆 𝖺𝖻𝗌𝗈𝗅𝗎𝗍𝖾𝗅𝗒 𝖽𝗈𝗐𝗇 𝖿𝗈𝗋 this 𝗆𝖺𝗇. 𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝗆𝗒 𝖼𝗋𝗎𝖽𝖾 𝖺𝗎𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗋 𝗂𝗇𝗉𝗎𝗍𝗌 𝖺 𝗌𝗂𝗀𝗇 𝖺𝗇 𝗇𝗌𝖿𝗐 𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗌𝗂𝗈𝗇 𝗂𝗌 𝗇𝖾𝖾𝖽𝖾𝖽?
𝗂'𝗆 𝖺𝗅𝗌𝗈 𝖺𝖻𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗍𝗈 𝗀𝖾𝗍 𝗈𝗇 𝖺 14𝗁 𝖿𝗅𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍, 𝗌𝗈 𝗂𝖿 𝗂 𝖼𝗋𝖺𝗌𝗁 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖽𝗂𝖾, 𝖺𝗍 𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗌𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗆𝗒 𝗅𝖺𝗌𝗍 𝗀𝗂𝖿𝗍 𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗅𝖽
𝗌𝗂𝗆𝗂𝗅𝖺𝗋 𝖿𝗂𝖼𝗌 𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌: 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘢𝘯'𝘴 𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘱𝘩𝘦𝘶𝘴' 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘶𝘢𝘨𝘦𝘴 𝘯𝘴𝘧𝘸 𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯
𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘤𝘬 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘣𝘰𝘰𝘬𝘴 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘮𝘢𝘯 𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘧!
#the sandman imagine#morpheus imagine#morpheus x reader#dream imagine#dream x reader#dream of the endless x reader#sandman fanfiction#dream fanfiction#sandman imagine#sandman headcanons#morpheus headcanons
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