đ Dream of the Endless I Lord Morpheus x reader đ
Unplanned pregnancy, SMUT. 8.5k words of sin.
crossposted to AO3 (want to read the whole story? click here)
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You run and Morpheus goes after you. Tags under read more. posted here for the folks who want the smut without wading through a ton of plot.
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SMUT TAGS:
primal kink, hide and seek/running and hunting, CNC, consent check ins, aftercare, tentacles if you squint, one sided hate sex (she hates him, he loves her)
Reader POV:
You stop screaming about halfway down once you realize that youâre not falling - youâre floating. Like a fucking flower petal.
You land feet-first on the soft, green grass outside the castle and promptly ruin everything by stumbling to your knees, scraping your skin raw and red against the dirt. Itâs not your fault. Flying wasnât on the fucking agenda.
The storm above roils with flashes of sickly yellow lightning and sullen, moody clouds.
Anger bleeds from you like the slit throat of the man you murdered. The feeling clings to your skin, warming you against the tempestâs chill.
Itâs been a very long time since youâve punished someone other than yourself, and you lust half-starved for Morpheusâs misery, for the chance to try your freshly-blooded canines.
As you get to your feet, the fog surrounding you lifts just enough to show flashes of a thick, thorny wood up ahead. A forest fashioned from charcoal shadows and long, spindly branches with no leaves. Not trees, only their skeletons.
It will do. Does the dried blood on your shirt make you some kind of morbid Little Red Riding Hood? If thatâs the case, the Big Bad Wolf always dies in the end. Perfect.
Without looking back, you sprint for it.
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Lucienne POV
While Lucienneâs life has become more exciting since Lord Morpheus decided to make you his business, it certainly hasnât gotten easier.
After all, what is his business is her business. Therefore, you and your relationship are her business.
She was doing a perfectly acceptable job managing everything, she thinks to herself somewhat crossly, until the two of you decided to make her life worse.
But while she doesnât understand why you are trying to escape when you will never, ever make it out of this realm without the Lordâs permission, she accepts that it is not her place to question such⊠obscure, esoteric decisions and seeks to assist you as requested. To an extent.
Why, is Lord Morpheusâs coat on fire? Lucienne hasnât seen him so worked up since Rose Walker. Not even then. âWhere is she?â He demands, using the rolling thunder and howling wind as his voice.
Play dumb. ââŠWho is âshe,â my lord?â Lucienne winces. Perhaps not that dumb.
Though none of the books can catch fire, as they are not written upon flammable, single-use Waking-world paper, Lucienne resists the urge to beat the hem of his flaming robe away from the stacks of parchment and dream-paper. Call it a librarianâs force of habit.
âMy- my intended.â The kingâs glare would put the fear of the Endless in any lesser being.
But Lucienne is no lesser being. In fact, sheâs rather put out at the complete absence of decorum Lord Morpheus has seen fit to show⊠this entire debacle.
Sneaking around like a common thief? Lying to you, keeping you completely unaware of the station that he has elevated you to? Casting disgrace and disrepute on the Dreaming and its people by terrifying you of it so?
Lord Morpheus practically dragged you here stark naked and screaming, for all intents and purposes.
And to add insult to injury, he dares to act as though she should be thrilled to debase herself before him.
âI donât recall ever meeting your intended, my king. You must forgive me,â Lucienne snaps, peering at the figure on fire over the tops of her spectacles.
She is not so decrepit as to misremember when Lord Morpheus formally put forth his suit for the Lady Calliope.
Every realm and kingdom rang with it. Lord Morpheus brought the Lady Calliope in full honor through the Gates of Horn and Ivory, in a gleaming chariot of gold drawn by Heliosâs horses covered in rose garlands.
In Lucienneâs unasked opinion, it is the height of disrespect on her Lordâs part to deprive you of such honors. Sheâs not surprised youâve rejected him, and neither should he.
His flaming cloak flares blue, leaving holes in the carpet. Repairing them will significantly inconvenience Merv. They may need to replace the whole floor at the rate their king is going. What a pointless waste of a good carpet.
âYou are my Vizier. You are my right hand. If you cannot tell me where that woman is, I will throw you out that window myself. And then I shall strip you of your position and seal, and set the hounds of Hell on what remains of you.â
Lucienne doesnât think itâs nearly that serious. But then again, she has never been in love like Lord Morpheus loves, nor has she misstepped the way Lord Morpheus perennially steps on cracks in concrete.
In her mind, Lucienne apologizes to you. She hoped to grant you a little more time. âShe went that way,â Lucienne says, gesturing to the Great Beyond on the outskirts of the kingdom. Hopefully, youâve made it far enough to enact whatever chaotic scheme youâre brewing.
âGood luck, Lord Morpheus!â Heâll need it.
Lucienne watches the king disappear without a word of thanks. Once sheâs sure that heâs gone, she goes to inspect the damage to the library.
Her earlier fears were warranted; the carpet is done for, along with a few floorboards. Theyâre singed to a crisp, filling the air with an acrid, burnt stink. With a long, suffering, frustrated sigh, Lucienne summons the pumpkin-headed caretaker.
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Reader POV
Your shoes-
Theyâre getting in the way. The laces have come undone, and you trip over them, then over a series of tree roots rippling above the ground.
When you kick them off in an impulsive, frustrated fit, you expect the ground to be full of sharp things, thorns, jagged pebbles, and maybe even a few bones.
Your feet instead sink into pillowy-soft dirt. As soon as your toes go near a twig, the hard edges around it blunt until it metamorphoses into a blade of tender young grass. The pebbles turn into balls of fuzzy moss, and upon closer inspection, the bones are oddly shaped mushrooms.
So Lucienne was telling the truth when she said nothing in this place could hurt you.
The wind picks up, blowing your hair around your face in a halo and rustling through the leaves in a high, wailing sound, screeching like a pulled fire alarm left too long.
The hairs on your arms stand, and goosebumps trail down your spine.
As you start to run again, you wonder if youâre not only hearing the wind but also some wounded creature crooning and crying out for help.
Itâs coming from behind you, from the castle.
Shit.
Shit shit shit.
You feel a cramp open up in your side from running so hard, from panting and clawing for oxygen to keep you upright and moving.
The forest goes on and on, a never-ending series of towering, menacing dead trees with gaping shadows and a horizon that grows increasingly distant no matter how far you go.
Fragments of dried bark dig into your palm as you brave yourself on a withered tree trunk.
Run.
You lurch a few feet forward.
The shadows grow maws. They grow fangs. They nip at the backs of your heels.
Morpheus is coming for you.
Everything aches, but you keep going. Your stomach grows nauseous, but you keep going.
The sky above you turns a sickly shade of blue-gray, a horrible warning sign for the torrent of freezing rain about to accompany your desperate, hunted flight.
He will catch you, stick his claws in your back, and parade you through that grand palace in chains.
Or not.
Morpheus says he loves you. Look at what youâve done with your love for him. No chains are needed for the dead.
But who knows?
You donât. You do know better than to hope.
That thought carries you just a little further. No matter how weary or wounded you become, youâll never stop fighting for yourself or your baby bird.
Your heart pounds in your chest like a war drum, and your blood sings in your veins.
You flee past two trees, then three, then four. Their long arms beckon you to turn down one of their dark, haunted paths, to put your back to the horizon and lose yourself in the underbrush like a rabbit running straight into a trap.
You cling to slivers of gold and orange sunbeams peeking through the branches with all the dying hope you can dredge up. The edge of the forest isnât that far away. Youâll feel the sun on your face and outrun the storm in a moment.
A twig snaps.
Something takes a step. It breathes.
At the corner of your eyes, the shadows pulse and twist.Â
So heâs found you. You never truly thought youâd make it out of here, but disappointment weighs on your chest like a brick pulling you into the depths of a cold, unforgiving lake. The forest may have had no end, and you were only deluding yourself that it did.
The scent of salt and ice is so heavy in the air that you can taste frozen crystals forming on the roof of your mouth, briny with a tinge of iron.
A dark, endless void of shadows blocks your path, reaching the top of the stormy sky. âBoo.â Morpheus wears a disgusting smile filled with sharp white teeth. It makes you feel things. Abject terror. The impulse to drop to your knees and beg for mercy. And a sick, sadistic heat under your skin.
He came hunting.
You love it.
He wears a red flush on his stark white cheeks as if chasing you took effort. âDream.â The show is appreciated, even though you both know his godly biology doesnât work like that. A+ for effort.
It enhances the glowing blue of his irises, like twin stars shining bright in his face against the rich obsidian cloak with a smoking hem flaring around his shoulders. He is a stained glass painting of an archangel, and you are the creature of clay and Adamâs blood barred from Heaven.
You watch the razor edge of his teeth sink into his bottom lip with a feeling reminiscent of envy rotting in the pit of your stomach.
His voice has the sensuality of freshly carded silk brushing over bare skin. âHow on earth did you find yourself out here, beloved? These woods are dangerous. They say there is a monster here that eats pretty girls.â Morpheus tilts his head slightly, and his smirk widens.
Your rust-colored nails flex and dig into the hem of your sweater. âDo you get many of those passing through?â You snark back. If Iâm so special, prove it. Do what you wouldnât do for a goddess, or a queen, or a star.
Unfortunately, the blow doesnât land. He acts like youâre the only person heâd come for. âNone as pretty as you. So what are you doing alone? My lady, Iâd be delighted to lead you back to the castle. Youâre shivering.â There is a grating, patronizing indulgence in his tone. Heâs fucking humoring you. He knows youâre full of shit and that no matter how hard you deny it, his feelings are a truth you canât sully.
That doesnât mean youâll give up. âIâm not going back.â How far can you go before Morpheus turns away? How terrible and cruel and horrible can you be before he decides youâre not worth the trouble?
You want- no, need to find out.
Itâs only fair. You have suffered, and you never stopped loving him. Let Dream suffer and see if his love endures, if heâs even half the person you are.
In the blink of an eye, the shadows disappear as if they were never there. âAnything could happen to you. Some fiend could carry you off-â Morpheus says evenly as his cloak shifts into the elegant coat you adore.
Now, he is but a beautiful stranger in the woods. Your clothes are a weak, flimsy barrier to his searching, heated gaze, trailing intimately over the full curves of your body and your rounded belly.
Has Morpheus read your mind and revealed your own brutal desire concealed in your skull like a minefield waiting to explode? âYouâve already done that.â Maybe he didnât need to. Youâve given yourself away in your dilated pupils, and how you gave up on running as soon as you got what you wanted.
âHurt you-â Dream ignores your provocation as he spreads his long-fingered hands, showing he holds no weapon or trick.
For every step he takes towards you, you take one back. âYou also already did that,â You frostily remind him.
Morpheusâs coat would irritate you less if it were cast off on the ground and crushed into the dirt along with the rest of his clothes. His hair would be prettier fucked up and tugged between your fingers. You might be able to stand the sight of his mouth better if it were bleeding and bruised from your teeth.
The corner of his mouth ticks up as his eyes gleam with mischief. âOr dishonor you, right here. Who would hear you scream?â He backs you against a tree, and the bark snags your sweater. âNobody,â Morpheus leans in to whisper. His collarbones peek out of the neckline of his shirt, as delicately articulated as the hollow bones of a bird.
Heat stirs in your blood at the sight.
You felt good watching that man die for Morpheus. And then empty, dreadfully empty. âDonât touch me,â You hiss, more of a challenge than a deterrent. You want to feel good again.
Morpheus could make you feel good again.
A black shade knocks on your skull at the edges of your vision and politely asks to be let in. Your eyes roll back as it walks through the door youâve opened inside of yourself and sees what you define as âgood.â
ââŠIs that what you really want, darling?â Dream asks, both mocking your resistance and subtlety, softly acknowledging what he found behind your eyes.
Bile builds in your mouth. No. No softness. He has no right. âWhy would I ever let you near me again? You are a liar and a fucking dick,â You hiss venomously before gathering saliva and spitting straight into his face.
Morpheus blinks a few times, his eyes round and blameless. âI love you.â For a single breathless second, you donât hate him, and he never hurt you. Youâre two children playing tag in the grass or tackling each other into the dirt.
You snap out of it. âFuck off.â You feel a thousand degrees hotter. Sticky sweat gathers under your clothes along the heavy curve of your breasts and clings to the small of your back.
He braces one muscled arm on the tree above you and leans in to take in the scent of your hair, so close that his lips almost skim the shell of your ear. âI adore you like this. Fighting me, fighting yourself. Itâs charming.â You shiver, unable to stop yourself from reacting.
Heâs not touching you. When he exhales, you feel his breath pass over your cheek. He takes a step closer, looming tall and majestic over you. Morpheus delicately pins his arm on your other side, effectively boxing you in.
But heâs still not touching you.
You swallow quickly.
âIâm not fucking doing it for your benefit. Canât you take a hint? I said no. You have shown me amply this past month how little of a fuck you give. So why donât you keep doing that and go the fuck away?â
Despite his best efforts at seeming harmless, you canât shake the impression of his wild, almost-inhumanly blue eyes and too-gaunt cheekbones, like a wraith wearing an angelâs wings.
His eyes trail over your flushed cheeks and the pink of your tongue as you lick your lips.
He reaches out to cradle your face before pulling his hand back when he sees you lean in. âAh, so this is a test. You want to see how far Iâm willing to go. You want to see what Iâll do for you, how long Iâll wait, and how much patience I have,â Morpheus murmurs in a voice as soft as fog.
You should-
You should tell him that heâs got it all wrong. You should tell him that youâll never forgive him and thereâs nothing he can do. Youâve made up your mind and hardened your heart.
âAnd if it is?âÂ
He kisses you.
The worst part is that you let him.
Morpheusâs hands clutch you against him, your belly brushes his coat, his lips are warm and inviting, and he kisses you like heâs waited his whole long immortal life to do it. His tongue brushes yours, drawing a quiet moan from you. He tastes like salt and musk, and your arms circle his neck, pulling him further into your kiss.
âThen I look forward to passing it,â Morpheus says breathlessly as he breaks away, pressing his forehead to your temple as if nothing is wrong.
With strength you didnât know you had, you take him by the lapels of his coat and shove him back. Fuck him. Fuck this.
You turn and run before he realizes whatâs happening. Panic isnât egging you on anymore - itâs your fury, smothered slightly but not anywhere near finished. Oh no, youâre not fucking done with Morpheus. You want to see him draped in your agony, you want the light in his eyes extinguished.
You donât make it two feet. Darkness wraps you up in a warm, gentle embrace, blocking out the whole world other than Dream, watching you struggle with his arms crossed over his chest.
Shadows thread around your wrists, pinning them behind your back. âRunning away again? Iâll always catch you, and youâll never escape.â Morpheus runs a finger along your jawline. His skin feels cool, and the touch is far too tender.
âYou donât know half of what Iâm capable of.â Your glare would singe his stupidly immaculate hair off if it could.
His finger trails down your throat and hooks in the neckline of your bloody sweater, pulling it slightly away from your body. âI think I do. I think I know you better than anyone else, dead or alive.â For every ounce of your poison, Dream gives you back steady, unwavering adoration, tugging on the sweater without shying from the stains.
When the damned thing gives, youâre not even that upset. It falls to the ground in two pieces, leaving you in your tank top and pants.
âWhat the fuck?â You squirm in your makeshift binds, trying and failing to find a sharp edge you could use to convince him to release you.
âThat divine mouth of yours may lie, but this,â Morpheus hisses as he rests his palm at the base of your throat to feel your blood rush crazed and wild at his touch. âThis doesnât.â The corner of his mouth turns up as you moan, reluctantly eager for him to tighten his grasp just a little more.
Morpheus tuts before releasing your throat.
Before your feelings smart from the loss, his shadows pluck at the straps of your tank top. âHow fucking dare you? Get off of me.â
âBut I donât want to,â Morpheus parries in a high-pitched, playfully mocking tone.
Oh, he has a goddamn death wish. âDo you think I care?â When one of the shadowy tendrils tries to sweep lovingly across your cheek, you bite it. Hard. It tastes like fresh snow. You far prefer it to Desireâs sickly-sweet flesh.
With a single flick of his hand, he makes a deep crimson mark appear on his throat, a perfect image of the imprint of your teeth. Morpheus tilts his face as proudly as if he were wearing a crown.
âIâve thought about having you like this, bare in our home, ever since I left you.â He rids you of your pants with surgical precision, casting the shreds of rust-speckled fabric somewhere, never to be found again. As Morpheus turns to your tank top, his shadows tighten their grip on your hands, pushing your chest forward.
You watch the intelligence and rational thought die in his eyes when he sees your breasts free of clothing, hanging round and heavy in the cool air.
âWhat? Youâve never seen my boobs before?â You snarl after growing tired of a full minute of speechlessness.
Your dark binds tug you back and back until you find yourself held upright by a tree trunk.
Dream delicately sweeps strands of your hair away from your throat so he can see without obstruction. âTheyâre⊠theyâre bigger,â He whispers hoarsely. His fingers pause in their exploration of your sternum long enough to feel your pulse thudding under your skin.
Then he covers one of your breasts with his palm. You hear him groan under his breath when he realizes thereâs far too much you for one of his hands. âI distinctly, intimately, precisely remember the shape and size of yours, and theyâve grownâŠâ His fingers knead your soft breasts slowly, relieving a tenderness you didnât even know you had.
Thereâs absolutely nothing sacred or respectful in his eyes glittering like sapphires. He only has a wolfâs hunger for a rabbit for you.
And then his face is pressed to the crook of your neck, his lips moving on the column of your throat as he runs a thumb over your nipple once, twice.
His touch feels different. Maybe heâs fucking with your head, or maybe being pregnant has done something to your nerves. Every little movement feels like too much pleasure and not enough of it at the same time.
Heat washes through you, blooming from his mouth and his hands to pour into your belly. âFuck, youâre so fucking creepy, oh-â You gasp, hating how much your body craves him.
Your underwear sticks to your thighs as you shift in search of a position that lessens the ache in your core.
Your head falls against the tree as you writhe in his hold. He runs his nails along the curve of your breast, greedily soaking in your every whimper and how you jolt, unconsciously arching closer.
You feel Morpheus lick a hot line along your throat. âSensitive.â His other hand clutches your waist, your round hips, then palms your ass. A contented groan rumbles deep in his chest.
In revenge, you tug fervently at his coat, getting it about halfway down his strong shoulders before you start clawing at his shirt. The fabric disappears beneath your fingers, leaving him as bare-chested as you.
Instead of avoiding your nails, Morpheus encourages you to carve gilded furrows into his back. âIâm sorry, I cannot- I canât help myself,â He says, far too pleased with himself to mean that stupid apology.Â
You look down to see whatâs captured his attention now, only to find your tits littered with fingerprint bruises.
That sudden movement displeases him, and he pins you against the tree with a hand on your throat. âBeautiful. And when IâŠâ When he leans down to take one of your nipples into his hot mouth and sucks, bolts of lightning dance and fizz under your skin, electrifying every nerve.
Your hips tremble and push towards him as your dripping cunt pulses and flexes around nothing. âStop it,â You moan, trying to shove him away yet only managing to tangle your fingers in his hair. Then he switched to your other breast, kissing and lapping at the hypersensitive skin. âOh God.â You give up fighting for a moment, too caught up in the sensations to care about your pride.
Morpheus barely has to apply the slightest pressure with his knee for your legs to part.
His fingers drag along your inner thighs to capture the arousal leaking through your panties. Before you get the chance to feel ashamed, Dream sucks his shiny fingers into his mouth, savoring your taste with an almost-blissful glaze across his eyes.
With his lips still coated in you, Morpheus looks like the very picture of sin.
After heâs cleaned his fingers, he runs them along the soaked cloth covering your cunt, pressing down just enough to tease. âYouâre so needy, my love. Iâm horribly cruel, arenât I, letting you suffer in this state without my assistance.â You grind your hips against his hand, trying to get him to do something about your needy, swollen clit, desperate for relief.
He tastes like salt and sex when he kisses you. âIâm here now. Iâll take care of you.â Morpheus tears through your underwear like ripping paper. He works your clit with his thumb until youâve soaked his palm and then slides a single finger into your pussy. Without waiting for you to adjust, he sinks in a second finger knuckle-deep.
You cry out, shaking like a leaf, as your core spasms and milks his digits. You thought that could satisfy the ache but it barely scratches the surface. You need more-
You take his chiseled face between your hands and drag him down for another kiss. âI literally despise you.â To spite him further, you mulishly keep your mouth shut as he starts fucking you with his long fingers.Â
It turns out that your stifled whines arenât needed. Your wet cunt more than makes up for it. Loud, soaked squelches echo, and your legs shut to hide the sounds. That only forces Dreamâs fingers deeper into your pussy and grinds your throbbing clit into his palm.
You canât stay quiet a second longer, not as your stomach tightens and tears gather in your eyes from the rush. Those breathless, pathetic noises are all yours, and Morpheus answers them with a breathless laugh.
He keeps up a steady rhythm, carefully and precisely aiming for that sensitive spot deep inside that drives you fucking insane. âYou want me to be the villain? Is that it?â
You sink your teeth into his shoulder as deep as theyâll go as your thighs shake, ecstasy rushing painfully through your muscles.
His eyes burn a brighter shade of sapphire when you bite him again. âYou wish for me to be cruel? To torment you?â Morpheus wraps his other arm around your hips to help you fuck yourself on his digits. âNo, beloved. I wonât,â He purrs in your ear and then kisses away the sweat from your brow.
âGo fuck yourself, Morpheus. I hate you. I hate you,â You chant in a trembling, weak voice. He doesnât need to help you anymore, youâre shamelessly riding his hand and dripping slick to the ground.
âAnd I love you.â
You cry out at his words. They fucking- they do something that makes you feel hotter, more sensitive, drives you closer to the edge.
âI want- thatâs it, my darling. Youâre close. I can feel it.â Your pussy quivers repeatedly as the tension in your belly grows unbearable. He quirks his fingers, hitting that sensitive place as he rocks your puffy clit into his palm.
Your body is betraying you, and youâre just fucking letting him ruin you. âNo. No. No, fuck- no, Iâm not,â You try, blubbering denials through cries of pleasure.
Morpheus fucks into you faster, harder, matching the pace your hips set. âTell me what you need. Use me for your pleasure, beloved.â Fuck. Fuck. Youâre going to-
Your knee slides up a little, giving him more room to stretch your tight cunt further. âCome for me. I know you want to.â His tone is soft and affectionate, calling to you sweeter than a sirenâs song. It tells you to give in and promises unimaginable bliss if you do.
You come with your eyes rolled back and your mouth open, shuddering, your hips jerking on his fingers, and waves of hot flame pouring down your spine.
Your orgasm fucking drenches his fingers and your muscles clamp down tighter, each vicious pulse so strong that you taste iron in the back of your mouth. All you can hear is your heartbeat, loud and insistent, and the low sound of Morpheusâs approval. Youâre wracked with pleasure, wholly gone to anything else.
Just before the feeling dwindles, Dream slides his fingers out of your swollen folds, forcing you to finish coming on nothing. âThatâs it. There you go. Good girl,â He says with a smile. Your frustrated wail fills the air, and you clutch at his wrist, wordlessly begging for more. âIâm not so loathsome now, hm?â Morpheus showers your face with delicate kisses, pausing only to clean a tear from your cheek with light kitten-licks.
The two of you rest there for a moment. Youâre slumped between him and the tree, panting and spent and warm, while he gently rubs your back, waiting for you to catch your breath.
Once Morpheus deems you suitably recovered, he traces the marks he scattered on your chest. He smears the slick gathered on his hand across your nipples, then bends down to lick your juices from your skin. The feeling of him mouthing your tits, the sharp edge of his teeth scraping and biting, overwhelms you, and your knees buckle.
Morpheus catches you and lowers you to the ground. Dried leaves find their way into your hair and crunch under your back as you stretch out like a lazy cat.
âI have a feeling that Iâd be able to make you come simply from playing with your breasts,â He murmurs as he kneels between your open legs before laying another series of kisses over the bite marks. âMy lady, you are truly the most sublime creature Iâve ever touched.â
You roll your eyes and half-heartedly push his head away. âYeah, well, youâll be lucky if I let you near them again.â His hair feels soft and downy under your fingers like the underbelly of a bird. Thatâs another thing to resent him for. Why canât he be ugly with bad hair?
Dreamâs canines leave imprints in your hand when he bites, clearly communicating how he feels about being denied access to you. âWeâre just getting started, darling. Your game isnât over.âÂ
You look up at his fair, radiant face, shining brighter than a full moon, and his mouthful of nightmarish, fanged teeth, and wonder for the first time if this was a mistake.
Thatâs how you find yourself riding his face while being forced toward your third orgasm of the night.
The second orgasm passed by in a shimmering haze of heat and lust.
Morpheus pulled you astride his shoulders without fanfare, clamped his hands around your plump thighs, and dragged your sensitive cunt onto his open, wet, and waiting mouth. You hit and kicked, you even tried forcing his head back with a fist in his dark hair, but he gave you the most glorious and beguiling grin at the sudden violence. You couldnât give him any more satisfaction, so you had to let go and let him do⊠what he wanted.
Hands made of antimatter gripped your hips and held you upright by your hair. He thumbed your swollen folds, carefully tracing around your clit but never touching it. You werenât able to look into his eyes from this position - your belly was just large enough to hide most of his face when you were on top. But you had a pretty good guess about how he felt about your wet cunt dangling before his lips, like fruit to be easily plucked, split open, and devoured. You heard him fucking whimper, a stupidly arousing, frustrated sound, and then his arms forced you down.
It took Dream no time to make you crumble like a deck of cards. He lapped his tongue through your folds, smearing your arousal over his lips, before working carefully on your reddened clit. Morpheusâs strong hands endured your desperate attempt to escape him by clutching you tighter.
He sucked on your bundle of nerves once, then twice. You tried to tell yourself mind over matter, that if you focused hard enough, you could ignore the pleasure rippling through you.
Of course, that meant you came so suddenly that your stomach tied itself into knots, and your spasming, throbbing cunt soaked his face. The waves snatched every scrap of air out of your lungs, so you couldnât even plead for mercy or cry out. You gasped, hunched over with hair in your face, silently screaming and shivering, as your brain turned to slush and your eyes glazed over.
Now, Dream takes sadistic pleasure in teasing that third orgasm out and denying it to you every single fucking time.
Thereâs an obscene squelch when he thrusts two fingers into your cunt, finally filling the awful, hollow ache. âFuck, fuck, oh my God, Morpheus⊠pleaseâŠâ You babble, mindlessly grinding down on his tongue.
He takes his mouth off you and slowly strokes his digits inside you, far too gentle to get you off. âPlease what? Please what?â Morpheus mocks as you almost collapse into the shadows, letting them take your full weight.
You try to hide your mewls by biting on your lips and end up cutting yourself, fresh blood joining the fine layer of sweat covering your face and body. âStop, Iâm- itâs too much. You have to stop.â You have no fucking clue what youâre begging for anymore. Youâre dumb to it all, helpless and panting and begging for the fever that rises every time he drags the tips of his fingers over your g-spot.
A shadowy tendril wipes the blood from your chin before crawling into your mouth, gagging you so you canât bite yourself anymore.
More tendrils curl around your breasts and pluck at your hardened, swollen nipples. âYou need more? Is that what Iâm hearing? Does my lady want more?â Now he matches the rhythm of his fingers with kisses along your shuddering thighs, occasionally pausing to suck and lap at the juices covering your skin.
The tendril in your mouth dissipates into smoke so you can answer. âNo, shit, aaah-â Strands of your hair stick to your cheeks as you writhe and gasp for air.
Morpheus tries to withdraw his fingers to deny you again, tease you again, punish you again, but youâre having none of it. You blindly reach down, grab his slick hand, and urge it back towards your greedy pussy.
He laughs roughly, then kisses your hip with petal-soft lips as he obeys. âThatâs it, darling. Does it feel good yet?â Fuck. Fuck. It does. Youâre so full, your core flutters and milks his digits, but itâs not right or enough to satisfy the burning wildfire of desire thatâs driving you mad.
You shake your head to try and get some control back, to clear your head. All you want is to just- just to give in, let him have you, let him replace every thought and word and will with himself. âNo,â You stutter through slightly numb lips, your eyelashes trembling.
Your nails find his wrist and dig in as deep as they can go. Shimmering gold blood coats your thighs, and the mess gets worse and worse when Morpheus starts to bounce you on his face, eagerly drinking from your creamy folds.
âGo on. You can tell me. I know you fucking love this. Just like you love me.â As Dream is far too busy eating you out like heâs starving to lift his mouth, his voice is muffled by the slick, disgusting sounds of his tongue, his fingers, your cunt.
âI⊠IâŠâ You scrabble for purchase in the dark, searching for something to hold onto, anything that can stabilize you. The hands that intertwine with yours arenât the ones kneading your ass or fucking you into oblivion, but theyâre just as reassuring as Morpheusâs real hands.
His mouth works your clit, getting rougher, messier, sucking harder. âSweet girl, Iâve missed you. Iâve missed your noises and, fuck, the taste of you. And this pretty, pretty cunt. So sensitive. Delicious.â Dream braces one hand on your lower belly, just above your core, applying faint pressure to heighten the sensations.
âBut I need you to come. Please, my darling. Please,â He moans against your puffy folds, forcing in a third finger as you wail and thrash.
Just like that, youâre shoved off the cliff, screaming and sobbing. Tears cover your cheeks as your hips move on their own, wrenching out every last bit of pleasure you can. It hurts so fucking much yet feels so fucking good. Static electricity arcs through your limbs, and even the faintest breeze whispering across your bare back makes your overstimulated core flicker and squeeze his fingers harder.
His shadows lovingly lower you to the ground, helping you curl on your side around your rounded tummy. Exhaustion filters in slowly, wrapping you in a gossamer blanket of numbness and calming your frazzled nerve endings.
Dream is there. Dream is curling protectively around your shaking form, he slides an arm under your neck to support your head, and his other hand squeezes the back of your neck. You bury yourself in his embrace and let him rock you like a child.
Here, stitched as close to him as you can be, the horrible past forty-eight hours starts to be less horrible and more foggy, like looking at something in the rear-view mirror as you drive away.
You can let yourself love him in this moment. You can be weak for a little while longer.
When you lay your palm against his heart, you feel it thudding as furiously as your own.
Morpheus exhales slowly as the feeling of you in his arms leeches the tension from his muscles. Even if you wanted to push him away, which you donât, you wouldnât have the strength to do it. So, for now, youâll let him keep you here.
He kisses you as many times as he can, everywhere he can reach. Your baby hairs, your smile lines, the corners of your eyes.
Before Morpheus wipes your cheeks clean of tears, he cleans his fingers off with his tongue. Then heâs stroking away the stinging salt water dotting your skin. A furrow grows on his smooth, unwrinkled brow out of concentration.
When you start crying again out of relief, hiccuping ungracefully and snot going everywhere, his large hand tucks you into the crook of his neck. âIâm so sorry. I know, I know,â Morpheus soothes. âDo you want us to be done now? Are you finished?â Heâs warmer than a furnace, and you instinctively wrap an arm around his waist and shove your feet between his calves, seeking that comfort with single-minded determination.
His small chuckle is as sweet and fragile as spun sugar.
You absentmindedly trace the veins crawling up the back of his hand as you think.
Then your anger begins to grow back, rotting through your lungs and making each breath taste like death, and you have your answer. âI want⊠donât make me say it, Morpheus,â You mutter into his skin and follow it with a tiny, tiny bite, more of a nip than anything else.
This time, when Morpheus unfurls the petals of your mind, you anticipate it eagerly.
You want him, and you loathe it, and itâs choking you. âI should. I ought to make you beg on your knees,â He tells you.
You need him to cut the strife and self-loathing from your chest and smooth out your riled, tangled heartstrings, and then put you back together again. He has to pluck the violence out of your hand as if it were a knife and point it somewhere it canât hurt you, ideally towards himself.
Dream goes quiet. He pets your hair and rests his cheek against your forehead. Youâre beginning to think the softness isnât just for your benefit; heâs drinking his fill to tide him over until the next time you let Dream touch you like this.
And there will be a next time, a gentle, honey-sweet next time. That promise runs true in your mind, buried deep beneath the layers of poison and resentment like a vein of untouched gold.
His star-filled eyes flutter shut. âFine. Fine. I canât deny you anything. Just a little further, and then you can rest.â When they open, his pupils twist and stretch into a monstrous, serpentine gash of black against his brilliant blue irises.
âN- no more?â You hear yourself ask for mercy, easily slipping into the role of the maiden to his beast.
Morpheus rises on his knees and hovers over your vulnerable form. âNo more, my love. Can you be brave like I know you are? Can you take it for me?â He asks as the fingers stroking your cheek turn into obsidian claws for a moment.
You are not supposed to find this attractive. Youâre meant to be terrified right now, unwilling, pushing him away with conviction of any kind.
ââŠYes.â Yes. Take me. A warm, needy craving makes you draw up your knees to conceal your filthy, ruined cunt, glistening with fresh arousal.
The claws metamorphize into fingers before the sharp edges can slice your skin. Morpheus is no less intimidating without them, looking down at you like youâre a pretty toy in his palm. Youâll miss them, though, and you swallow your disappointment before he notices.
He lifts you from the ground before gently turning you until you face away, unable to see him while he can control all of you. âThatâs it, beloved. On your knees, arch your back.â The stoic, hardened mask cracks slightly as he runs an open palm up and down your body, inevitably running into the baby in your belly. Youâre surprised he lasted so long without asking about it.
Maybe Morpheus didnât think he had the right to until now.
Your back presses into his broad, muscled chest. âMay I?â He asks before slowly kissing your neck. His hair tickles your earlobe, and you feel a soft puff of air ghost over your skin when he exhales.
âOur baby.â You even surprise yourself by resting his hand over the swell of your soft, squishy tummy.
Dream strokes the rounded skin with hardly any force, suddenly treating you as delicately as heâd handle a fragile eggshell. His breathing hitches, and tension strings his tendons as tight as they can go.
If only you could capture this in a painting or trap it in a snow globe so you could relive the feeling of trusting him again over and over.
Itâs too much. Itâs far too much. Your heartbeat echoes in your ears as you shove his hand away from your skin. Heâs too close, too soft, and too kind.
Youâre not sure if you deserve it, and you sure as shit donât want it.
As fast as a viper striking a hapless mouse, Morpheus grabs the back of your neck and traps you in place. His long fingers wrap around your throat, and his nails prick your skin. âYouâre insatiable,â He tells you, then forces you down until the side of your face meets the forest floor.
He leaves your arms where they cushion you on the ground, correctly judging that bringing them behind your back will hurt in an unpleasant way, and instead keeps his dominance with a fist in your tangled hair. Dried leaves crush under your cheek as you try to prop yourself up and rest his strength. Dream doesnât give an inch, and eventually, your body grows pliant and submissive beneath him.
His fingers dance up and down your spine in a soothing pattern. âGood girl. Thatâs it, sweetheart.â You grit your teeth and buck again, trying to express your displeasure, but Morpheus merely laughs and kisses the base of your spine.
âNo need for all of that. Iâll give you what you want.â
When his fingers dip between your parted thighs, you push back, fucking begging him to touch your swollen folds and ease the building ache.
Your moan is exhausted and sweet as he thumbs your clit before playing with the fresh slick on your skin. âFuck, youâre still so wet. Is that for me, darling?â Dream groans, his breath hitching as you arch a little further, presenting your dripping pussy to him.
The desperation in how hard he tries to make you cry out tells you everything about how tightly wound he is, how close he is to snapping. âCome on. You can admit it.â You keep your mouth stubbornly closed even as the pressure on your clit increases. Itâs bad enough that he knows you as well as he does and can play your body like a virtuoso on a violin.
His breaths come in short, almost feral pants. âSilence? Weâll see how long that lasts.â And then- and then- Morpheus pushes the fat head of his cock inside you, going slow enough for your muscles to adjust.
But heâs so fucking big, and itâs been so long since he last fucked you, and your eyes roll back, sweat drips down your neck, and your knees dig into the ground, trying to keep you upright. âShhhhh. Gods, youâre so fucking tight. Fuck. Itâs okay. Youâre okay. Feels good, hm?â Inch by inch, he stretches your spasming cunt, and you whine, your hips tilt back, and his thick cock slips against that spot deep inside that makes you sob.
âThatâs it, my love,â Morpheus reassures through gritted teeth. âCan you take me a little further?â
You feel your muscles constrict around him like a vice when he grinds himself deeper. âH-how much?â You moan as your juices run down your thighs and coat his cock to the base.
Dream releases your hair before sliding an arm under your breasts to hold you upright without hurting the baby. It takes you a second to trust him and give him the whole of your weight. He balances you between his hips and arms like youâre lighter than air.
He kisses your damp hair and nibbles on your ear. âThat much,â He says, showing you another inch or so with his fingers.
Your hand covers his resting above your belly, and your fingers intertwine with his. ââŠYeah,â You nod as tears prickle in your eyes. Morpheus is everywhere, inside you, holding you. Youâve missed him. Youâve missed him so fucking much.
With a deep breath, you relax and let him carry you. The feeling of his heartbeat thudding through his chest and his hand cupping your breast is a sweet, easy soporific, soothing the sharp, anxiety-ridden knots in your head into something mindless and loving.
He rocks into you slowly until his hips are flush against your ass. âRelax, my love. Youâre okay. Gods- you feel- so good, youâre perfect, thatâs it, good girl. Perfect girl,â He chants, over and over, as the stretch and the push and pull have you shaking and pleading for more.
âOh- oh god. Morpheus. Ahhh- I canât, Iâm so full.â Your breathy cries echo over his deep, gravelly moans.
âYouâre still so tight even when full of my cock. And my child in your belly? Gods, I love you. I adore you.â Every time he tells you that, your cunt grows wetter.
Morpheus lays into you, fucking you like a man possessed, pressing in as deep as your body will let him. All you can do is rest there in his arms and take it. âI- Iâm not going to last. I need you- I need you to come for me. One last time.â Youâre not listening when he speaks, too busy bouncing your hips in time with his thrusts and screaming your pleasure out as loud as you can. âPlease, darling?â He begs. His free hand returns to your pussy, and his fingers stroke your clit softly.
Your knuckles go white from the force you use to grip his wrist. âHngh- shit, shit, shit, yes.â The feeling of Dream kissing your cheek sends you over the edge.
Your eyes go wide as the moon, and you hiccup as the force of his cock bullying into your shivering, clenching cunt wipes your mind blank of coherent thoughts. Your spine straightens and your limbs tense. Youâre delirious, babbling nonsense, and he keeps working your swollen, hypersensitive clit, now chasing his own release.
Morpheus sinks his teeth into your shoulder as he comes, painting your inner walls white. The warmth relieves some of your soreness from all the orgasms he forced from your tired body. You can feel your combined cum coat your thighs, sticky and viscous.
When you collapse, you donât hit the forest floor like expected. Instead, you end up in a large, impossibly soft bed, bundled in plush blankets and your head cushioned on fluffy pillows.
Everything hits you at once - the running, the fear, the man dead in your living room.
As you weep into the soft linen under your cheek, Dream curls around you until you donât know where you end, and he begins. âIâm here. Iâve got you. Youâre safe now.â His fingers shake as they wipe away your tears and tuck the blankets tighter around your shoulders.
The bedchamber is cool and dark with no shards of light that could irritate your eyes or worsen your building headache from crying so goddamn much.
You cling to him and smush your face into his chest. âMorpheusâŠâM sorry.â In this strange, fairytale land, the strange god embracing you feels like home.
Something damp trickles down your forehead. âShhh. Did you think killing that man scared me off?â When you look up, you see tears glimmering on Morpheusâs face like sapphire beads.
âIt should have.â Youâve always had darkness in your heart. You might have been born with it, a seed planted by your motherâs hatred and watered by your pain.
But if Desire was telling the truth, Morpheus is as flawed as he is beautiful. Thatâs oddly comforting.
His mouth tastes like you when he kisses you. âListen to me, beloved. I have been captured like that once before. I languished in a prison for almost a century. I was forgotten. Abandoned. Starved. All of this around you that I built crumbled into dust. At long last, it was the pity of an old man and my rage that freed me. But you⊠No one has ever protected me like you did,â He whispers.
Your arms tighten around his waist. You love him, you hate him. Most of all, your heart breaks for the decades he spent alone.
He swallows thickly. âThatâs all I ever wanted. For my whole existence. Someone to fight for me.â You wanted that, too.
âAnd if you had chosen to leave me there, to keep you and our child safe, I wouldâve let you. I would have forgiven you. That is how much I love you.â His hand sketched slow, circular patterns across your stomach, never shying from the rolls.
Your lips ghost over his shoulder, sending a shiver through him. You donât kiss him with forgiveness, not yet. Even though you canât say it aloud, you want him to know youâre here. Heâll always catch you, no matter where you run, so he wonât ever be alone again.
âMaybe youâll regret it. That it was me.â You can be just as cruel and monstrous as him; there are other kinder, prettier, gentler, sweeter people. He could be anywhere else right now other than tethered to a canvas of scars with her teeth bared.
He kisses your forehead with his hands, cradling your cheeks like a dragon cradling its hoard. âDo your worst.â
this is the smuttiest thing ive written for this fic yet. hope you guys like this!
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Shifting Wings: Before the Raven Matthew, there was Jessamy, and Jessamy came with a little sister by the name of Adrienne. Dream adores his two little Ravens, but after over a hundred years of imprisonment and the death of Jessamy, Dream will find that he has not just lost his companion, but his beloved little Raven Adrienne no longer brightens the halls of his Palace. None of his staff wish to speak of where the Raven has gone, but the silent new resident of the palace is cause for question. After all, she was the one who aided in his release. If none of his subjects would help him find Adrienne, perhaps she could lead him to the whereabouts of the missing Raven. If only the woman wasnât so flighty and hard to track down.
Warnings: Angst, Language.
To Note: Morpheus/Dream x FemaleRaven!Reader, NAMED Reader (I like the name).
Word Count: ~2.3k
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She has not shown herself to you, because she does not wish to.
Lucienneâs words haunted Morpheus in an Endless pain he felt within his being. He had expected you to seek him out the moment he returned as you had always been faithfully by his side. Not to mention he had made a promise to you that he was not able to keep. Surely you were upset by that. No, he had expected everything to be as it was when he had left. Heâd been wrong. Lucienne changed. Cain and Abel changed. Fiddlerâs Green changed. It was a naive notion to think that you wouldnât change. Stewing in his morose thoughts, Morpheus decided he had brooded long enough. It was time he tracked you down, for Morpheus needed your comforting presence, even if you held nothing but animosity towards him. Even if all youâd allow was for the Endless to merely gaze upon you, that would be enough.
Rising from his throne, Morpheus stepped down the stairs and strode for the one place that would have the most clues regarding your whereabouts. Your studio. Striding through the palace, Morpheus pondered your absence some more, disturbed by your lack of appearance. Did you not love him as he thought you did? Had he not made his affections clear to you? Jessamy had certainly threatened him plenty over his intentions towards you. 106 years. How much could a person change in that time? Had your love dissipated and resentment taken shelter? Were you angry? Were you unconsolable? Did you want nothing to do with him and the palace after Jessamyâs death? Did you hate him? Perhaps you did if you refused his company.
He reached the door to your studio and paused. He couldnât feel your presence within, but several light orbs were softly illuminated indicating that you had been within your studio recently. Opening the door, Morpheus stepped into your art studio and ventured forwards. There were paintings and sketches scattered throughout the studio, you were clearly still painting and drawing⊠but all of your works now held a darker tone. Your artwork reflected a darkened mind crippled by pain, agony.
Walking around your work bench, Morpheus eyed the luxurious bed, expecting to see your nest of pillows, feathers, and down. But all he saw was a neatly made bed, devoid of indication that anyone used it. The studio was used, yes, but clearly you did not use it as you once had. He looked closer at your sketches, many of which were sketches of Jessamy, beautifully sketched and detailed. Your skill had only increased. It only felt like a night ago in which you were just starting to learn how to draw in your new body.
âYou look quite concentrated, little one,â Morpheus observed as he sat for you while you struggled to hold a pencil with your foot and draw his likeness. You growled under your breath and spit out a few curses which made Morpheusâs lips twitch. He doubted you noticed, but you truly came alive when you were focused on your art. The melancholy on your face faded and a spark of determination sparkled within the depths of your black eyes.
âThatâs because I still sometimes have a hard time grasping this stupid pencil,â You huffed back, gripping the small instrument in your tiny foot. You hopped several places and flapped your wings. âI can control it pretty well at times but then it getâs away from me and everything starts going awry!â
You let out a caw of frustration and threw the misbehaving pencil across the room. It was much easier to paint, in your opinion, than to draw. Youâd taken to the brush much quicker than the pencil, and your frustrations were starting to get the better of you. Morpheus rose from his seat and walked over to where you were standing, trying not to let your frustrations get the better of you.
âWhy am I even doing this?â You asked with an exaggerated sigh. Morpheus lifted a finger to your beak and tilted your head up.
âBecause you are determined, Adrienne,â He reminded you with a small smile. âAnd you are not one to give up so easily, your perseverance has brought you this far, has it not?â
You eyed your lord, seeing his provocative eyebrow raise. It ruffled your feathers and you huffed.
âI never said I was gonna give up, I justâI feel like I am not making any progress and itâs been decades.â
âAnd you have eons more to hone your skill, for I shall always look forward to your creations.â You eyed him carefully. Sometimes you really wished that you had your human body rather than a birds.
Donât be envious. Donât be envious. It wasnât like the dreams and nightmares throughout the realm had the pleasure of painting Morpheusâs portrait with the Endless sitting right in front of them. It wasnât like the Endless actively sought out their company.
âFine, fine, sit back down Iâm almost done with your general profile.â You ordered, having no issue ordering the Endless around. Morpheus, pleased that you had finally perked up, returned to his seat and watched as you fluttered to where your thrown pencil had ended up. Grasping it in your foot once more, you swooped back up to the easel and focused back on your sketch.
You were not a conventional lover, certainly if your relationship with him had grown more intimate. But at the time your company had been more than enough for him. Now all Morpheus wanted was to hear your comforting voice and see the familiar splash of midnight and pearl. Even if it was only to hear your thoughts of envy and yearning for what you had once had. He also owed you an apology. Not just for the fact that he had broken his promise to return with an hour, but your sister had been killed while in his service. It had been voluntary, but you would still feel betrayed.
Morpheus was about to leave the studio, not having garnered any new information from inspecting your studio, but then caught sight of a brighter light peeking out the trim of the small closet. Curiosity peaked, for why would you have the closet light so bright compared to the rest of your studio? Morpheus drew the slightly cracked door open and found his answer. Compared to the rest of the studio, the closet was far more homely and lived in. Down and feathers littered the floor, and there was a nest tucked in the corner. That was where you slept. But what Morpheus took notice most of all, was the obsessive amount of drawings of Jessamy.
They were everywhere, pinned on the walls, stacked on shelves, stuffed between books on a small bookshelf. He moved over to a stack that sat next to a bowl full of charcoal, clearly being used. On the top of the pile was a sketch of himself with Jessamy, the drawn lines darkened and clear, sharp. His eyes were the only hint of color on the page, an illuminating blue. By far your best work yet, not even Morpheus had seen you draw this beautifully. As Morpheus stared at the sketch, he spotted something at the edge of the page that should not be there. A charcoal fingerprint.
All who knew you, who lived within the palace, knew to never touch your artwork unless permission was given. Who would even think to enter a place so small and intimate, one you took shelter in, and touch your work? Certainly with charcoal on their fingers? Morpheus reached for a journal he had given you, inscribed with your name in gold lettering, and opened it. More pictures of him and Jessamy greeted his gaze. It was just as obsessive, and Morpheus could see your mental breakdown over the years. But even as he witnessed your breakdown through your drawings his eyes kept returning to the fingerprint upon your sketch. So journal and sketch in hand, he strode from your studio and headed for the library, determined to finally get answers.
Lucienne had been speaking with Mervyn about the newly rejuvenated gardens when their lord came striding into the library with a swirl of anger. Her brown eyes saw that he carried a leather-bound journal she often saw you drawing in, and a piece of parchment.
âSir,â Lucienne greeted, trying to keep herself calm. âIs there something you need?â Morpheus strode up to her and held up a charcoal drawing of him with Jessamy perched on his shoulder. âAh, I see you have discovered Adrienneâs artwork? She has much improved over the last century.â Lucienne said pleasantly, ignoring the charcoal fingerprint on the edge.
âTell me, Lucienne, who enters Adrienneâs studio and touches her work when we all know that is an egregious event?â Morpheus asked, his voice poised with a lethal edge of a dagger. Both Mervyn and Lucienne shifted where they stood.
âIâ I am not aware that anyone has entered Adrienneâs studio without permission let alone touched her work. We know she does not like it when her work is touched.â Lucienne replied evenly, reverting back to what was well known about you. âNot even to admireâŠâ Morpheus shifted his gaze to Mervyn.
âAnd have you, Mervyn, witnessed anyone trespassing these halls? Surely you have seen something, as Adrienne does not possess hands.â He was enunciating his words now, his patience dwindling at the lack of information on you. Where were you? Why had you not appeared before him? Did you truly hate him? Did you despise him for Jessamyâs death? Were you in such anger that you would refuse to grace his presence ever again? Mervyn rubbed the back of his head, not knowing what to say. The promise he made to you all those years ago to treat Adrienne as dead was still strong⊠but lie to his lord? That he could not do.
âWellâŠâ Mervyn sighed dramatically. âNo one has gone into her studio who shouldnât have, I can tell you that. Sheâd eat âem alive if they did⊠kinda anal about keeping people out actually. Sheâs gotten mean the past few decades,â He muttered while Lucienne forced herself to not facepalm herself in front of Morpheus. Mean. Adrienne had gotten mean. That was the first piece of true information Morpheus had gotten since coming home. But how could you have turned mean? You didnât hold one mean bone in your entire body.
âMervyn,â Your quiet, flat voice shattered the tension between the trio as you came striding into the library. The pumpkin headed janitor looked at you as you came to a stop. Your hair was ruffled and your clothes looked hastily put on. âI retrieved the sprite lantern from the relieving arch.â You announced. âIf you want the Hesperides to stop throwing the lantern up there, may I suggest moving it? They despise each other.â
âMove it?â Melvyn repeated, insulted at the idea. âThe whole point of having the spite lantern there is because of the waterâ ah fuck, Iâm really gonna have to find a new place for the lantern, ainât I?â
âIndeed,â You echoed, knowing that the janitor hated when he had to shift the homes of the residents of the palace around. They were quite persnickety about their place of home. You contemplated where the sprite lantern could be moved. âPerhaps the east end garden? I believe Lord Morpheus put in a new pond there.â
âYeah, yeah, good idea,â Mervyn agreed before glancing at Morpheus. âSpeaking of which, you met whitey here?â He asked, jerking his stick thumb at you. âSheâs kind of mean and never smiles, not that she can, but is one hell of a worker to have around. Sheâs kept this place running while you were gone.â
You blinked at Mervyn before looking at Lord Morpheus.
âWe have met before, though never the chance to formally speak,â You confirmed, then gave Mervyn an unimpressed look. âAnd I believe you mistake my frankness for me being mean, because that would imply emotions which you are aware that I do not experience.â As you stared at Mervyn who was scowling at you, you felt Morpheus gaze wearing heavily on your body. âIf you will excuse me, retrieving the sprite lantern from the receiving arch is not the only task I have do to this day,â You said before giving your lord a respectful nod. âLord Morpheus,â
You strode out of the library, heading for your next task. Morpheus stared at your back as you strode away, still feeling like there was something off about you. No, there was. He just couldnât put his finger on it, and it wasnât that you lacked empathy. It was something else. Something about you was hauntingly familiar, yet entirely foreign.
âWhere did she come from?â He asked, settling his gaze back on Lucienne and Mervyn. They shifted uncomfortably. âShe might be a resident of the Dreaming, but I have no memory of her. So tell me, exactly where did she come from? You say she has maintained my palace diligently all these years, yet I do not know her.â
âI just realized that I left the sprinkler on in the desert garden so Iâm just gunnaâŠâ Mervyn rambled while edging his way out of the library, Morpheus made no comment, his eyes locked with Lucienneâs, who was staring back and trying not to be daunted. A nearly impossible task, even for her.
âOnly a creature with wings, is capable of retrieving something from the relieving arch,â Morpheus stated, his eyes now hard. He was done asking questions. Yes, done with asking questions, worrying about where you were, wondering if you hated him, needing you⊠and would now demand answers. He demanded to know where you were, he demanded your presence. The secrets had gone on long enough. Even if you did in fact hate him, he still demanded your presence. âI expect Adrienne in my throne room tomorrow morning at ten oâclock exactly,â Morpheus decreed, then his eyes glowed silver in warning. âOr I shall summon her directly with my sand regardless of her wishes.â With that he strode away, coat billowing just as much as his anger.
Date Published: 7/5/23
Last Edit: 7/5/23
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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, arenât exactly healthy. But things have been difficult for you lately! Youâve 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, âI have much to do, and I am far too busy to entertain you right now.â
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.Â
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 oâclock in order to maximize time spent in your loverâs realm. But then, the more you thought about it, the more you realized that you didnât 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 wonât? Youâre 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 werenât 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 whatâs that one quote about plans and mice and men?
âWhat about a mouse?â your friend asks from beside you, making you realize that you said that out loud.
âDonâ worry âbout it,â you say.
Somehow, you make it into a Lyft (thank the gods for friends who donât get carried away), and somehow, you make it into your home. Not without its difficultiesâyou 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.Â
When you reach your bedroom, you decide that actually, the floor looks comfier than your bed does. Youâre so drunk that the room feels like itâs spinning when you lay down, and you close your eyes to enjoy the ride.
âFuck, Iâm so drunk right now,â you say out loud, laughing at the sound of your slurred words.
You donât 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 youâre 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, youâre staring at your ceiling.
And on the next, youâre staring at another ceiling, one thatâs not really a ceiling at all, but an entire galaxy above your head.
Itâs 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.
âWhere have you been?â Morpheus demands.
âMorpheus, my love!â You throw your arms out and grin. âIâve missed you.â
âDo 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.â Youâre a little surprised that Matthew hadnât managed to track you down; your little raven friend was almost scarily good at finding people/places/things.
âAw, youâve missed me?â It makes sense, of course; after all, youâve missed him, so itâs only natural that he would miss you in return. Still, the sentiment makes you feel all warm and melty on the inside.
 Itâs obvious to anybody who actually takes the time to know Morpheusâa tiny list of people and beings, two of whom are in the room with him right nowâthat heâs 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 youâre about to get, about how youâre just a fragile little human and he worries every moment that youâre away from him (yâknow, now that you have the clarity of a drunk person, youâre actually annoyed that this is constantly coming from the being thatâs meant to be your lover).
But thatâs not what happens.
Instead, you find his arms wrapped tightly around you and his face buried in your neck. Heâs hugging you, not the other way around. Heâs never done such a thing before, and you donât 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 didnât think that being away forâthe math isnât mathing for you currently, and you donât actually know how long itâs beenâa couple of hours would affect him this much.
âYou are the one most dear to my heart,â he mutters into your ear, cognizant of the fact that you are not alone in this throne room. âOf course, I missed you.â
âOh. When you said you were âtoo busy to entertainâ me, I just kinda assumed you wouldnât notice I was gone.â Though you donât mean to weaponize your words, the poison darts make contact with their target anyway, and Morpheus stiffens in your hold.
âAre you alright?â he asks instead, choosing to wait until a later time to have this particular conversation.
âAw, dream boyâ you coo, snaking a hand up to clumsily run it through his hair. âIâm okay baby, swear it! Like, absolutely, one hundred percent fine.â
Morpheus pulls away from you so that he can look you up and down to confirm that you really are okay. âYou smell like a pub,â he notes.Â
âHow can you tell that in the Dreaming?â
He ignores your question when a realization seems to hit him. âAre you inebriated?â
âNo, Iâm drunk,â you correct very matter-of-factly.
âThat isââ he stops, choosing instead to just shake his head.
âOh, dear,â Lucienne mutters from behind Morpheus, reminding you of her presence in the first place.
âLucienne! Hi! How have you been!âÂ
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.
âWho did this to you?â he asks, ready to punish whoever put you in such a state.
âVodka. Rum, maybe?â You think back on your drinks for the evening, though itâs hard to think back that far. âYeah, the second round of shots was definitely rum.â
âYou put yourself in this state?â
âYes?â Has Morpheus never heard of the concept of going out and getting shitfaced with your pals? âTo be fair, I didnât think that my drunkenness wouldâŠâ You search for the word that you want to use, but itâs just not coming to you! âUh, carry over?â
âPlease tell me you managed to make it home safely?â
You nod. âSure did! Pretty sure I fell asleep on the floor, though.â
Lucienne slowly begins to back up towards the door, and Morpheus stares at you for a long moment before sighing heavily.
âAre you mad at me?â you ask nervously, starting to get upset the longer the silence drags on. Did you say something that you shouldnât have? Is there a rule you donât know about against sleeping on floors?
Instead of answering you, Morpheus waves a hand in the air and says, âThis dream is over.âÂ
Youâre awake and once again staring up at your ceiling fan, only this time, Morpheus is also in your line of sight. Itâs impossible to stop yourself from touching him when youâre sober, so itâs not at all surprising that your hands go up to caress his face now when youâre drunk.
âHi cutie,â 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. âWhy are you sleeping on your floor?â
âBecause,â is your simple, childish reply.
âThat is not a good answer.â
âItâs the one you get because itâs the one I have.â You throw in a peace sign to be extra spicy, but Morpheus, unfortunately, doesnât comprehend your 21st-century humor, and instead just segues into the next order of business.
âMight I help you up, so that we can get you properly ready for bed?â
âBut Iâm comfy,â you groan. Morpheus is not buying what youâre selling, unfortunately, so you sigh. âFine.â
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.
âOh no. Dizzy, dizzy, dizzy,â you chant, squeezing your eyes shut and laying your head against Morpheusâs 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.
âWhat is wrong?â 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. âOkay, I think Iâm good now.â
âAre you sure?â
âIâm sure. Sometimes drinking too much combined with moving too fast makes people feel sick. Itâs my fault, but Iâll be okay.â
âAre you well enough to move?â
âYes, I promise.âÂ
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, youâre 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 doesnât sweep you off your feet is because heâs worried youâll throw up if he does. He watches you intently the entire time, though.Â
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. âAre you okay?â
âYou remembered my favorite pajamas,â you say, trying to not start crying. You can count on one hand the number of times heâs come directly to see you off to his realm, and youâve 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. âOf course I did.â
You clear your throat and wipe your eyes. âSorry. Iâm okay! Just drunk.â
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. âI do not feel temperature as you do. Is the water alright?âÂ
You grin and stick your hand under the faucet, moving the tap just a smidge hotter before nodding at him. âItâs good now. Thank you for asking.â
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. Youâll take these little moments of domesticity with him whenever you can get them, even when youâre still half drunk.
Even if you wanted to, you canât hold yourself back from saying, âYouâre so beautiful, do you know that? Seriously, youâre the prettiest man-slash-anthropomorphic-personification Iâve ever seen in my entire life.â The words are heavy on your tongue, but youâre pretty proud of the way you only barely stumble through âanthropomorphicâ.
âYou are still under the influence,â he notes.
âSo? Drunk words equal sober thoughts, right?â
ââA drunk mind speaks a sober heart.â Jean-Jacques Rosseau,â he supplies.
âSure, that. Iâd tell you how pretty you are even if I was sober, and you know that.â
âPerhaps.â He says it in that infuriatingly sexy way of his, the one that makes you want to tear his clothes off.
Instead, youâre 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 youâve finished changing, that hand slips under your shirt and caresses your side.
âThought you were supposed to be helping me keep my clothes on,â you say with a shiver, grabbing his wrist and pulling the offending extremity out from under your shirt.
âApologies.â His tone implies that heâs not sorry at all, not that you would want him to be. âI simply couldnât resist.â
He looks down at you with so much love in those blue eyes of his that you feel like you donât think your mortal mind could ever truly comprehend it. Nobody has ever loved you the way that Morpheus hasâall-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 havenât regretted that.
You donât 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, âWill you carry me?âÂ
âWere you not worried that you would feel sick?â
âYeah, but Iâm tired.â You pout (on purpose because you know what it does to him), and you can practically see his resolve break. âJust be careful?â
âAlways,â 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, Youâre thrilled to see a glass of water already waiting for you on your bedside table, Morpheus anticipating your needs before youâve 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 youâre comfortable, you say, âThank you for everything tonight. I know taking care of me wasnât what you had planned.â
âYou need not thank me. I enjoy caring for you, no matter the situation.âÂ
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 conversationâs not over. Morpheus is trying to figure out how to say what it is he wants to say.
Finally, he figures it out. âMight I ask you something?â
You open your eyes to give him your full attention and nod.
âEarlier, when you seemed surprised that I had noticed your absence. Did you do this,â âthisâ being getting very drunk, âbecause of what I said?â
âNo. 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.â
âAnd did you?â
âMaybe a little too much,â you admit cheekily.
âI apologize for my harsh words the other day. I have beenâŠfeeling burdened under the weight of my realm, and I took it out on you for no reason.â
âItâs okay, Morpheus. Youâre busy running an entire realm and overseeing the collective unconscious. I shouldnât be so needy.â
He shakes his head. âIt 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.â
âPeople say things that they donât mean. That doesnât mean theyâre not worthy of forgiveness. But you gotta talk to me, okay? When youâre feeling stressed, or when things get to be too much. Iâm here for you, and I want to support you however I can.â
âI love you,â he says. The fact that heâs 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.
âI love you, too. Stay with me until I fall asleep?â
âOf course.â
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.
âHey,â you say, staring up at him in the dark and waiting until he looks at you to continue. âCan you get drunk?â
âNo.â
âWhy not? I mean, isnât there special alcohol for preternatural beings? Youâd think gods and goddesses wouldâve figured out a way to get turnt by now.â
Though he doesnât want to give in to your rambling when youâre meant to be trying to fall asleep, he canât help but indulge you. âGods and goddesses can. We, the Endless, cannot.â
âWhat? Thatâs so fucking lame. No. Thatâsâthatâs an injustice! Iâm so sorry.
âI promise, it is okay. Now, please go to sleep.â
You nod, but close your eyes for maybe thirty seconds before they snap open again with a realization. âWait.â
âWhat?â
âYou 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 thatâs more believable thanââ
âGo. To. Sleep,â Morpheus commands.
âUgh, youâre no fun!â
âI am not afraid to use my sand if need be.â
âYou wouldnât.â You raise an eyebrow in challenge, and he raises one right back. After a brief stalemate, youâre the first to give in. âYou have to understand how world-altering this information is to a regular human like me, I meanââ
Youâre asleep before your head hits the pillow.
Whatâs writing, you know? What does writing actually mean?
OMG I JUST FOUND THAT SOMEONE MADE THIS REALISTIC DRAGON RING AND I CAN'T STOP THINKING ABOUT IT!!
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hii! i would like to share a thot if it's okay with you! i've been thinking a lot about shy!reader and dream the morning after they have sex for the first time. it was actually reader's first time ever, and even though she absolutely loved every second of it, she's still a bit insecure when it comes to voicing her needs. so, that morning, when she finally whispers to dream that she would like to do it again (and again, and again lmao) he's like trying to control himself because the sound of her voice telling him that she needs him is too much (in a good way) - hope this is okay! i totally get it if you decide to ignore it! :)
The spice and the fluff??? The perfect combo đ„°
Black silken sheets were draped over your naked figure and Dream laying beside you. Your cheek was pressed firmly into the pillow as you watched Dream began to stir awake. His eyes fluttered opened and slid over, locking with yours.
âMorninâ,â you smiled softly.
He reached over cupping your face. He leaned in, kissing your forehead. âGood morning, my love.â He gently pulled away, gazing lovingly into your eyes. âAnd how are you? Are you sore in any way?â
A heat bloomed in your chest. Last night replayed sinfully in your head. You quickly dropped your gaze, shaking your head. You whispered shyly, â⊠no, Iâm fine.â
Dream frowned slightly. âMy dear, you must speak up.â
You cleared your throat, âI - Iâm fine.â
Your tone wasnât very convincing.
Dream tipped your chin up, making you look at him. âTalk to me. What is bothering you? Was it last night?â
âNo ⊠yes? Well âŠ,â you sighed. It was now or never. âCould ⊠could we go again?â
You had been thinking about it since you woke up. You craved Dream, and you only had a taste last night.
His eyebrows shot up.
You stuttered out, âI mean if you only want to! We donât have to go now or -â
âI would love nothing more,â he purred.
You let out a shaky sigh and rubbed your thighs together. âGood ⊠because I ⊠I need you, Dream.â
Dreamâs heart flipped. Something stirred inside of him.
You slowly reached out, wrapping your hand on the nape of his neck. You drew him close. Your lips skimmed over his, still a little hesitant and unsure. You licked your lips as your heart raced faster. âPlease, I need you -â
Before you finish your sentence, Dream quickly flipped you onto your back, and crawled on top of you. His eyes flashed black, swirling with stars and far off galaxies. âAnd I will fulfill all your needs, my love.â