#the sandman fic

[hunny-beann]

I am literally having the worst day ever, do you think you could write some insanely fluffy Dream for me? I'm talking tooth rotting levels of fluff here.

Rest Now, Wife, Mine

Dream of the Endless x f!Reader

Note: Hi anon! Thanks a ton for the adorable request, I had a lot of fun with it and really hope it helps make your day feel a bit better <3

Synopsis: Morpheus' wife finds their bed far too lonely without him in it, and seeks out his presence to remedy this so she may finally succumb to slumber for the evening.

Thankfully, he is all too happy to oblige.

Warnings: None! Just pure and unbridled fluff :)

Word Count: 1,298

Her steps are silent and her pace slow as she approaches the familiar throne room, sensing even from outside of its walls that it is as close to empty as it is going to get for the evening.

That said, as close to empty as possible for the throne room of an Endless such as Dream was not nearly as empty as one might think, with it being a rarity that he not be found there.

She fights back a shiver as she steps across the threshold, her bare feet suddenly far colder than before, and her majority uncovered shoulders beginning to undergo horripilation at the seemingly inexplicable shift in temperature.

That said, being easy to explain was not a rule that the Dreaming followed, so this was nothing new, and certainly nothing unexpected.

Though, the sudden voice that split the once heavy silence in twain on the other hand, was.

"And what could possibly have you awake at such an hour, dear wife?"

The voice asked quietly, laced with both amusement and even a twinge of concern that had the wife in question smiling softly in spite of her best efforts to not appear excited at the mere sound of her love's voice.

Oh, but she had never been that strong, had she?

He had her wrapped around his finger just as he did the entire realm that he ruled, though he notably reserved the one with the ring for her and her alone.

She padded up toward his throne quietly, not willing to answer his question until she was close enough that her voice might not reverberate so loudly off of the palace walls.

Some words, she had decided long ago, were for her husband and her husband alone.

Upon her eager approach, the Lord of Dreams could not help but raise one of the corners of his mouth at the mere sight of her, holding his hand out at her nearness to guide her to stand before his crossed legs as he reached gently to take her other in his own as well, making a mental note of how chilled her extremities felt due to the cool night air of his throne room.

He watched as she slackened slightly at his familiar touch, her body always so happy to find him near in a way never ceased to have his heart all but melting at her feet.

What a disastrous little thing she was, truly.

He could never love another.

As her form relaxed at the feeling of his hands on hers, so loving in spite of the power that they held, she could not help but yawn softly, eyes growing teary as her ease allowed the weight of the day to truly set in.

Her dearest Dream Lord smirked up at her, his brow raised knowingly and his eyes twinkling as he watched her fight off the eternally tempting wiles of sleep.

What a sweet little thing, so helpless in her battles against her own biology that it was entirely too amusing to ignore, and always far too entertaining to neglect to bear witness to.

"You are tired, my dear."

The Lord of Dreams stated matter of factly, tugging his beloved closer using his soft grip on her hands so he could properly brush some of her hair behind her ear, a gesture which caused her eyelids to flutter closed briefly before they snapped open once more, her fight against herself not yet over in her eyes (though Dream could see clearly in the way that she swayed on her own two feet that there was already an obvious victor).

He chuckled quietly, shaking his head,

"You need to rest, sweet stardust. Let me bring you back to the bedroom."

He spoke gently, rising to guide her back to their soft and familiar bed only to halt when he heard her reply.

"No, I don't want to go back, you're just going to leave once you think I'm tired enough not to follow."

The Dream Lord faltered upon hearing this, raising a questioning brow in response before lowering himself down upon his throne once more, though this time he pulled his wife right along with him, sitting her on his lap in order to get a better look at her exhausted expression.

He frowned.

"Have you been staying awake on purpose, my love? Lying in wait for me as you promised you would not do?"

She shook her head, but he could see the way that the blood rushed into her cheeks as she tried to explain, embarrassed to admit the things that she had to in order to quell his worries of any intentional harm having been done.

"No, of course not, I just..."

The Lord of Dreams hummed and brought one hand to her back, rubbing up and down along her spine and feeling her lean against him unintentionally in response, her bones heavy and all too prepared to sink into whatever comfort they could find.

"You just what, dearest?"

He urged, causing his lover to nod blearily in response, slowly coming back to reality again.

"I just find that sometimes I cannot bear to sleep alone, that the bed feels far too wide and empty without you in it."

Dream fought back a slight smile upon hearing this, feeling more than a little bit proud to know that his wife could rely upon him enough to truly need him so (though he was notably unhappy to hear that this was causing her any amount of unnecessary strife).

"And is tonight one of those nights, beloved?"

He asked, watching as she nodded, her head lolling slightly upon her neck as her overworked muscles struggled to remain in control over her all too tired body and mind.

"Poor thing,"

Dream all but purred in response, adjusting his love upon his lap until she was leaning against him, breaths warm on his neck and body seeming to grow heavier by the second as the feeling of his familiar closeness drove her into a type of ease that was felt only at a lover's closeness.

"That will certainly have to be remedied, won't it?"

He murmured against her ear, feeling her shiver in response, nuzzling closer with a nod as he gathered his coat that had been hanging on the back of the dais behind him with just one hand, draping it over her body and pressing a soft kiss against her head as he felt her begin to drift off into a much needed and far too well deserved slumber.

"Rest now, wife, mine."

He said softly, feeling his dearest love smile gently against his skin at his familiar words and the use of his favorite (and almost sickeningly sweet) nickname for her,

"I will see to it that no one interrupts you as you do."

If she had been more awake, perhaps the woman would have rolled her eyes or even offered a sarcastic retort in response to her husband's dramatics, but instead she simply nudged herself closer, pressing a gentle kiss against the pale flesh of his neck before she drifted off for the very first time that night, feeling truly safe in the arms of her most adoring love.

And when morning arrived, and the throne room became far less uninhabited, the two of them made for quite a sight, indeed.

After all, who would have thought that the Lord of Dreams might choose to sleep simply to live life as his dear wife did, his cheek pressed gently against her head and his arms wrapped around her as slumber found them both, pulling them closer together, ever still, in the very same way that they belonged now, and always would for the remainder of eternity, and perhaps even beyond that.

ao3 link

#morpheus x reader #the sandman x reader #dream x reader #dream the endless x reader #morpheus x y/n #sandman x reader #the sandman x you #dream x y/n #dream of the endless x reader #dream of the endless fic #the sandman fanfic #morpheus x you #morpheus x f!reader #sandman x female reader #dream x fem!reader #the sandman fic #morpheus fanfiction #morpheus fic #morpheus x wife #the sandman fluff

[withoutyouimsaskia]

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

[swanimagines]

SOMEONE TO BE SCARED OF | MORPHEUS

Summary: Your ex is an asshole. So Morpheus punishes him.

"If I can't have you, no one can."

That's what he had said when you broke up with him. Months of belittling and torment from the man you had foolishly started dating on Valentine's Day. He had felt like a dream, but by the end of February, he had turned to complete opposite of himself. His true self.

Morpheus had succeeded in talking you out of it, he had told you you deserve someone better - seeing how miserable you were now that he let you live on Earth with the man you claimed to love. Eventually, he saw what was happening, and you finally broke down in front of him when he visited your dreams. Morpheus managed to make you break it with your ex, and there, hell began.

Your ex's threat seemed just a childish outburst at first - but then it started turning into worse. Humanity showed its worse side to you. He came to your workplace, started spreading ugly rumors about you and even tried to attack you in broad daylight. You were scared for your life, you tried to go to the police and hide from him, but nothing seemed to work. He always found a new way to torment and bully you.

But without your knowledge, Morpheus had started to work on actions what he'll do to your tormentor for making you scared like that. He had cared about you for a long time, more than a boss should care about his employee. In a different way. He had changed a lot during his imprisonment, so much that he had eventually accepted your wish to live on Earth, he had let you to fall in love with someone else than him. Even through his jealousy. He felt like your current situation was his fault too - he should have checked the man's dreams, he would have found out his real nature from them. But he also knew it would have been creepy if he had done it. But he still should have known.

He was fixing that mistake right now. Your harasser would be left scared and alone, unable to get anyone else fall for him ever again.

"Who are you?" the man snarled the moment he saw Morpheus standing by his bedside. "Creep, get out of my house!"

Morpheus smiled, and the man got a look as if something snapped within him, as he lost all power over his own body. A partial sleep paralysis was an excellent way for things like these.

"I am someone you should be scared of," Morpheus replied. "You will leave everyone you torment alone."

Morpheus knew the man was desperately trying to find some way to escape, but he was glued into his bed, forced to watch Morpheus loom over him.

"I can make you suffer," Morpheus whispered. "Or you can end this here."

The man just stared at him, taking in short breaths.

Morpheus reached forward and grabbed the man's neck, squeezing it tightly until his eyes bulged out.

"This is what happens to men who mess with people who love them," Morpheus said softly. "You're a fool, you don't know any better. You think you can try to scare them?"

"No," the man finally squeaked. "No, I won't contact them anymore, please, I promise I won't."

Morpheus stared at the man, his eyes glowing brightly in the dark. "You won't. And if I hear you have, I will curse you with nightmares for the rest of your life."

With that, Morpheus was gone and the man was released from his paralysis, his heart pounding and sweat trickling down his spine. For a moment, he wondered if it was real or just a nightmare, but he definitely didn't want to find out. He got so scared that he dropped everything and moved out of town - and never again he mistreated anyone in his life.

---

Requests are always open! FANDOM LIST | PROMPT LIST(S) | RULES (READ!!!)

#morpheus x reader #morpheus #dream of the endless x reader #dream of the endless #the sandman #the sandman x reader #morpheus x y/n #morpheus x you #morpheus fic #the sandman fic #reader insert #gn reader #my works

[writethrough]

Hello! I just finished reading your Morpheus fics and I absolutely love them! So I thought about requesting something, too. Morpheus x reader where reader is feeling well and calls for him. They spend all evening togheter after a long time. reading togheter, watching some movies, talking and sharing their thoughts... until Morpheus notice it’s really late, almost midnight, and it’s time for reader to sleep, but she doesn't want to ‘cause Morpheus is always busy and she misses spending time with him, even whe she's asleep lately he was never there. Morpheus feels guilty and promises her he’ll be more present, especially in her dreams. A nice ending where he stays with her until she falls asleep, and him appearing in her dreams as he promised? Thank you 💖

A Homemade Remedy

(Morpheus x Female Reader)

Synopsis: After days of dealing with your sickness by yourself, you give in and call your boyfriend, hoping he'll come.

Warnings: Minor language

Word Count: 815

A/N: Stop two on the apology tour. I'm so sorry this has taken so long! And I want to thank you profusely for your patience. And for sending the request in. I really hope you enjoy this fluffy little fic!

Normally, you wouldn’t bother Morpheus with this. He had more important things to deal with instead. But you felt as if Death would appear at any moment, and all you wanted was some comfort from your boyfriend. 

You pressed the ruby pendant he gifted you to your heart, croaking his name. 

“Beloved?” 

You blinked, seemingly slower than usual. 

“Hi,” you whispered, covers pulled to your chin. 

He took you in for a few moments, brows pinched slightly. You could only tell he was worried because of how long you’d known him. 

“You are unwell.” 

“S’just a—” A coughing fit started, only ceasing when he handed you your glass of water. “Just a cold.” 

Between the tissues piled in the trash beside your bed, the bottle of medication without its lid, and the two additional blankets on top of you, he knew that wasn’t the case. You’d been here much longer than a few hours. 

“Why did you not call for me when your ailment began?” 

And there it was, the look you were dreading the more you prolonged summoning him. You’re not even sure he’s aware of his “kicked puppy” look. 

You shrugged, pulling the covers just below your nose.  

Morpheus made no sound—as graceful and Endless as ever. The only indication he had moved was the lifting of your blankets as he slid in behind you. 

“Turn around, my love.” 

You were far too weak and needy to refuse. 

Settling with your head on his thigh, he rested a hand on your hair. 

“I am here now, and I will take care of you,” he said. “Whatever you may need, I will gather.” 

“Just this.” Your voice barely carried on a whisper. 

“Then here I shall remain.” 

Morpheus always spoke softer than you would expect while still containing all the authority in the universe, but it sounded even softer. It held gentleness—kindness—a quality that said, “You are precious to me.” 

“What about the Dreaming?” you asked, eyes closed. 

“In Lucienne’s capable hands,” he replied without hesitation. You were so considerate of him and his duties, for once, he wished you’d be selfish.  

“What if she needs you?” Even as you said this, your arm settled over his lap. 

“She has looked after my realm much longer than you will be ill.” 

You squeezed him as best you could at the reminder. You didn’t like to think about what had happened to him. Though you met long after that, it hurt to know someone could do that to another being—human or not. 

Morpheus had reassured you he had healed. Much of that having to do with you. 

“Could you read to me, then?” you asked. 

A book appeared in seconds, his voice matching perfectly to the cadence of the lines. It didn’t matter what he was saying, hearing him speak in that hypnotic rumble was enough. Even the flipping of the page didn’t distract you. He was captivating from the first word. 

He’d read two chapters when your stomach growled. 

“When did you last eat?” His smile was soft, thumb grazing your arm. 

You shrugged, not wanting to be scolded. 

“Can you eat?” 

You weren’t sure if it was how shitty you were feeling, how tired you were, or how helpless you felt, but his words went straight to your heart. 

He considered how you might feel. He wasn’t pushing you to eat, but asking if you thought you could stomach anything. He wanted to help, but not at the risk of causing you more discomfort. 

You nodded, keeping your eyes closed so he wouldn’t see them watering. 

“Here.” He helped you sit up before picking up the bowl of broth that had manifested on the nightstand. 

You went to grab it, but he tutted, picking the spoon up himself and bringing it to your mouth. 

“I can feed myself,” you said after swallowing. 

“I know,” he said. “Please. Let me help you.” 

You ate the next spoonful without complaint, and soon, the bowl was empty. 

“Thank you,” you mummered, head nestled into the crook of his shoulder. 

“It’s late, you must rest,” he whispered into your hair. 

You shook your head, and tried to snuggle yourself closer to him, like if you planted yourself firmly enough, he wouldn’t be able to leave. 

“Haven’t seen you in forever,” you mumbled. “Don’t wanna waste it.” 

Guilt flooded Morpheus. He knew he had been neglectful of you, but you had been so patient with him. You were the embodiment of understanding—and he had taken advantage of that. 

“Go to sleep, dear one. I will meet you in the Dreaming.” His lips pressed to your crown. 

You hummed, head growing heavy. 

And when your eyes opened, there he was, holding you as you laid in his chambers. 

He smiled fondly, brushing your chin with his knuckles. 

“What shall we do now, my love?” 

Taglist: @sayumiht, @hatterripper31, @snowsatsu, @1950schick, @navs-bhat, @bookshelf-dust, @sapphireonline, @fictional-hooman, @steph-speaks, @ladyredstar1991, @secretdreamlandmentality, @ababycake, @morpheuss1mp, @boofy1998, @alice-the-nerd, @herfantasyworldd, @poemfreak306, @tronnily, @commanderfreethatdust

If you’d like to be added to any taglists, please comment or message me with the character you’d like updates on. 

#the sandman #the sandman fic #the sandman fanfic #the sandman fanfiction #the sandman oneshot #the sandman one shot #the sandman fluff #morpheus #morpheus fluff #dream #dream fluff #dream of the endless #dream of the endless fluff #morpheus x reader #dream x reader #dream of the endless x reader #morpheus x fem!reader #dream x fem!reader #dream of the endless x fem!reader #morpheus x female reader #dream x female reader #dream of the endless x female reader #morpheus x you #dream x you #dream of the endless x you #morpheus one shot #dream one shot #dream of the endless one shot #morpheus fanfic #dream fanfic

[virgo-dream]

Once upon a time he’d thought it was perfectly normal, falling head-over-tits in love with people more or less instantly. Life had been uncertain at best, you could be carried off by a mild sniffle or something equally innocuous at a moment’s notice. What was the point in holding back?

— New Stranger, by @softest-punk

#the sandman #the sandman fic #Dreamling #dreamling fic #dream x Hob #Morpheus x Hob #dream of the endless #morpheus #hob gadling #softest-punk #fic rec #this fic is my new all time favourite I think!!!! #soft really Did That on this one #please go read! #bad edit but I want everyone to read this fic!!!! #my edits

[moorishflower]

Us and the Moon (Dream/Hob, werewolf AU, COMPLETE)

Us and the Moon || Dream of the Endless/Hob Gadling || Chapters 4 of 7 || Explicit

Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Werewolves, Dream of the Endless | Morpheus has PTSD, POV Hob Gadling, Story within a Story, Child Death, Minor Eleanor | Hob Gadling's Wife/Hob Gadling, PiningCanon-Typical Angst, Happy Ending, Historical References, Canon Retelling, Drowning, References to the Slave Trade, Confessions, Traumatized Dream of the Endless | Morpheus, Hob Gadling Loves Dream of the Endless | Morpheus, Scent Kink, Anal Fingering

Somehow, it always feels like Hob is meeting his oldest friend around the night of the full moon. It's been six centuries since Hob got the bite that turned him into a werewolf, and in all that time he's somehow managed to dance around telling Dream the truth. Tonight, though, he's determined to have out with it. The whole story, finally laid on the table…minus, of course, the part where he's been in love with Dream since at least the 1400s. No, that part can stay safely locked up for the rest of eternity as far as he's concerned. He's only just gotten Dream back into his life, and he doesn't dare ruin it any more than he already did in 1889. The werewolf thing, though, that's easy.

Read it on AO3 here! Currently chapters 1 and 2 are up

Thanks to the mods at @the-centennial-husbands-bigbang for all their hard work, my awesome artist @wolfgirl-valentine, and @dsudis for the beta! Please go check out the art by Wolffie, it's AMAZING and beautiful and so much effort went into each piece <3

#the sandman #the sandman fic #my fic #dream of the endless/hob gadling #dream/hob #dreamling #centennial husbands big bang 2024

[queerofthedagger]

Inspired by this absolutely precious dreamling art by @anabimelo ! <3

The first time, Dream doesn’t do it on purpose.

He visits the New Inn as he has taken to doing a little more often than perhaps he should, and finds Hob with bruised skin beneath his eyes and a stack of unmarked exams scattered all around him.

“I can return at a better time if you are busy?” Dream offers; he would very much like Hob’s company, but he dislikes seeing him tired like this—much more, he would dislike adding to the reasons for it.

“Stay,” Hob requests, doubt flickering across his face before he nods at the bench beside him.

Dream has been finding himself increasingly incapable of denying Hob anything. He very carefully ignores the implications of said condition.

“Are you certain?” he asks. “You appear to be stressed.”

“All the more reason for a break,” Hob says, waving him off. “You could tell me about… just anything, really. News of your realm? How is the rebuilding going?”

Dream has been trying to become better about this—telling Hob his name and his purpose, all those minute implications that come with it—and so he does.

He speaks of the restoration process of the library, and Lucienne’s tireless work. He spins the stories that make up the inhabitants of the Dreaming and their various histories, while life in the pub keeps playing out around them, a comforting lull that never once disturbs their quiet bubble.

Hob listens, even as his eyes seem to grow heavier, exhaustion radiating off of him.

The first time is not on purpose, and so when Hob Gadling rests his head on Dream’s shoulder, drifting off into his realm, Dream freezes. He is painfully, viscerally aware of the warm weight of Hob’s head, the hair tickling his neck, the soft cadence of Hob’s breathing now pressed against Dream’s side.

Within his chest, something awfully close to a heart is thrashing against its bone-coloured constraints.

The implicit trust is almost overwhelming, would be too much if it wasn’t Hob; Hob, who is muttering a name in this early stage of sleep that he has learnt only months ago, pressing his nose into Dream’s neck as if to build himself a home there.

Dream can do little but breathe, can do little but wrap the magic of his realm around them so that he can carry Hob to his bed without waking him.

He lingers, for the briefest of moments, witnessing Hob’s sleep.

He ignores the blooming tenderness within his chest, too.

While the first time was an accident, the following instances are not.

Hob doesn’t mention it the next time they see each other, as their meetings spill over from the Inn to strolls through London’s early autumn streets and into Hob’s flat. They huddle up on Hob’s sofa, as Hob talks about anything and everything, and nudges Dream to do the same.

So he does; he talks about Matthew and Rose and Jed, about his siblings and his plans for the Dreaming. He lets his voice drop low, lets it drag and curl through the room and wrap around Hob like the magic of lullabies that people dream of.

When Hob’s head comes to rest on his shoulder once more, Dream forgets that he does not need to breathe. He forgets the weight of eternal responsibility that usually presses down on his spine, forgets the phantom coldness of glass and steel, and comes alive beneath the steady, never-ending rhythm of Hob’s breathing. --- So it becomes a habit. Selfishly, Dream builds himself a sanctuary between the sleeping mind and the waking form of his only friend.

He allows his voice to coax Hob into his realm and pretends not to see the knowing glint in Hob’s eyes. He talks of his past and his present and his future as if of gifts that are simple to hand out, and he offers them all up at Hob’s feet for the comfort of his warmth against Dream’s shoulder. For how, without fail, Hob’s calloused hands will find his. How, without fail, once Dream puts him to bed after taking his fill of the warmth, Hob’s fingers will still curl into the insubstantial fabric of Dream’s clothes as if asking him to stay.

It has nothing to do with him, really, and there is only so much Dream can allow himself to indulge. So he never does, no matter how much the longing is threatening to swallow him whole—to lie down beside Hob, to press his nose into the tender skin of Hob’s throat. To pull the covers over them and bask in Hob Gadling’s warmth as if he were the sun and Dream the thawing ice of early spring.

So he never does, until one night, Hob’s grip on his clothes does not loosen; instead, he blinks up at Dream with drowsy eyes that are full of fond exasperation.

He shouldn’t be, is the thing. No mere human should possess the strength to tear themselves out of the Dreaming’s grasp—not with Dream’s attention on them, with no nightmare or outside force to throw them back to waking.

Hob Gadling has not been an ordinary human in a considerable time. He is blinking up at Dream, slow but awake, awake, awake. He says, “Stay. Please.”

Dream’s throat is dry, air stuttering through insubstantial lungs; part of him is tempted to step back into his realm and the safety of its loneliness.

Hob’s fingers are still warm against the skin of his wrist. Beneath the exhaustion and the hope and the quiet confidence, Dream can read the nervous anticipation as if in bold letters.

You have been staying for months now, he seems to say. Will you let me stay with you too, finally, finally?

Dream has been finding himself increasingly incapable of denying Hob anything; Hob’s constant, gentle tenacity renders it impossible, at last.

“As you wish,” Dream murmurs, and means, please; I would stay for as long as you have me.

Hob smiles up at him as if he understands, and once Dream has stretched out beside him, Hob reaches for him. The blanket is spread over Dream, and Hob’s hand finds his wrist, unerring.

“Could’ve just done that weeks ago,” Hob says with a sigh, pulling him close with a light arm around Dream’s waist that he could slip out of if he so pleased.

He doesn’t; he stays silent instead, tension unspooling as his body melts into the warmth of the bed, the scent of Hob around him—its own kind of lullaby.

“Thank you,” Dream says, the words slipping off his tongue in a rare moment of missing deliberation. He can’t bring himself to mind.

Hob hums, a small, content sound before he presses his lips to the crown of Dream’s head. He pulls Dream a little closer yet, and then he drifts back off into Dream’s realm as if it all really is as easy as this, for him.

Dream breathes in, and lets the quiet joy seeping off of Hob’s mind fill the cold cracks within himself. He breathes out and presses his nose into the crook of Hob’s neck, feeling at home for the first time in over a century.

#the sandman #dreamling #hob x dream #the sandman fic #mona's writing #this art has been living rent free in my head since i've seen it I just HAD to write it #and considering all the things I *should* be writing instead this felt like the perfect time

[tinageeart]

some quick sketches for @moorishflower ‘s “Make perfect the present” 🤠

#my art #fanart #the sandman #the sandman fanart #doodles #the sandman fic #dreamling #dream of the endless #hob gadling

[im-not-corrupted]

I was consumed by the idea of Merman!Hob in the last few days and now I'm writing a Dreamling fic about it so have a small, 1.7k snippet from the much larger fic :)

Includes: near-drowning, near death experiences, perhaps many medical inaccuracies because I am not a doctor and haven't edited yet, Merman!Hob, Prince!Dream and some light angst.

---------

He awakes with a gasping, heaving breath. His lungs are greedy things, sucking in air with desperation, and he presses a hand to his chest. Beneath his palm, his heart races. Adrenaline and panic both fill his veins and his hand shakes. His lungs feel full, but as he coughs mostly involuntarily, nothing comes up at all.

It takes a bit for him to calm down. When he does, when his lungs stop heaving and he stops coughing and he is left with nothing but an ache in his lungs, his head and a rawness in his throat, he looks around himself.

He sits on a beach, the sands golden and kissed by the sun. It shines down on him, blessing his face with its light. His clothes are soaked through and no doubt ruined, and before him—before him is the ocean.

It holds none of the fierceness he saw earlier, and he stares at it blankly. It looks as welcoming, as lovely, as it did the day he stepped onto the ship. His mind had been occupied, yes, but he had enough awareness to acknowledge the sea’s beauty.

Not enough awareness to acknowledge its dangers, though. He remembers in startling clarity the coldness of its waters, the ferocity with which it drowned him, the storm that waged and threw him overboard.

He should’ve been more careful.

It is not just the ocean that lies before him, but a man, too. A man, staring at him with honey-eyes that catch the sunlight as though they were made for it, with a curiosity on his face that, if it weren’t for the sudden anxiety twisting his all-too empty stomach, would’ve endeared him immediately. His skin is tan, golden like the sands, and some distant part of his brain wants to press his lips to that skin and find out what it tastes like for himself. Like ocean salt and sweat and the sun itself, he thinks, and then considers the possibility that he may have suffered some brain damage due to oxygen deprivation.

It takes him a bit to find his voice. During that time, the man—sitting in the ocean as though he belongs there, ignorant of its gentle waves lapping at him—continues to stare, head tilted like a particularly curious bird. “Who are you?” he asks, wincing at the hoarseness of his throat. It feels scraped raw, and he thinks he would like to simply not speak for a while, only—only this is rather strange, isn’t it?

The man’s shoulders shake with laughter. He is a beautiful creature, this man, with chestnut hair framing his face. Laughter, and amusement, becomes him. Distantly, Morpheus is aware that he should probably take offence at the man’s laughter, only—only he doesn’t really have the energy. If anything, he thinks he’d much rather sleep. “The one who saved you, obviously. Or did you forget you nearly drowned?"

He has half a mind to scowl at the strange man in the water, but only just has enough energy to narrow his eyes. "You saved me," he repeats dumbly. In his defence, he did nearly drown, and sleep calls to him now. Nearly drowning is, apparently, rather exhausting. "We were in the middle of the ocean. We weren't even close to any land. How did you—"

Come to think of it, he can't recall having seen this man's face before. Though perhaps that's explained easily. He was distracted on the ship, after all, and it wasn't like he went out of the way to remember the entire crew. Both Telute and Lucienne always said he should try to interact with people a little more than he does, but he thinks recent events made him exempt from that rule these last few months.

Still. The man's statement doesn't really make sense. They were in the middle of an ocean, and in a storm no less. It would've been impossible for the man to save him then, at least not without a boat or ship of his own.

Thinking of it made his head hurt more. For a moment he feels ready to simply shrug and accept the nonsensical answer as truth in the hopes that maybe the man would leave him to rest. Logically, he knows that isn't what will happen at all. If this man knows who Morpheus is, if he recognises him, then there will be some kind of demand. A boon for saving the Prince's life.

He can't do anything about that now, though, and the idea of laying on this beach and letting himself wither under the sun's heat seems very appealing. He doesn't even know where they are, or how close he is to his kingdom. How he's supposed to make it back in this condition, he doesn't know. The task seems impossible, in all honesty.

The man does not leave him to rest, not even when Morpheus simply nods stiffly and says, "Sure. Saved me. Alright." He remains in the ocean actually, the waves lapping at his torso, and continues to stare at him blankly as though expecting something a little more. Eventually, he rolls his eyes—Rude, Morpheus thinks, but hardly cares at all in the moment—and moves a little closer. It looks almost like the ocean parts for him, but that's ridiculous.

Then—well, then things get even stranger. Which also seems impossible, but—there they are. The man shifts in the water and brings what looks like a tail out of the ocean, all golden scales and fins. Beautiful, he thinks, knowing he's staring but seemingly unable to help it. Of course the man's tail would be golden. That only makes sense when the rest of him could've been carved from sunlight.

A little belatedly, he realises just what he's staring at. Which is the man, who had a fish's tail.

Hallucinating. He is hallucinating, then. That makes sense. Still, he can't help but laugh quietly—it makes him wince, his lungs still raw and aching, but the pain is temporary and certainly doesn't matter much if he's hallucinating—and says, "You're a merman."

The statement is ludicrous. Morpheus wonders just how much damage nearly drowning can do to a person, and then figures he doesn't want to know at all, actually.

"That is what you call us, yes," the man agrees easily.

Sure. Why not. "Why did you save me then?"

He shrugs softly. “Too pretty for death,” the—the merman, of all things, tells him. It sounds almost petulant.

He is losing his mind. He had swallowed a lot of water. A merman. “One can be too pretty for death?” he asks weakly, his throat hoarse and his chest tight with pain. The ridiculous nature of the question at least makes that pain easy to ignore. It will get him later, he knows that much, but he lets himself be distracted by his amusement at the situation for a while.

The merman blinks at him, expression entirely serious. “You are.”

”Right.” Right. Of course. Too pretty for death. That makes sense. As much sense as a merman fishing him out of the water does.

Whatever energy let him carry this conversation leaves him suddenly and he falls onto his back on top of the sand, his elbows failing to hold him up any longer. The sun glares down at him and he gazes back up at it blearily. Exhaustion clings to him just as the beach does to his sea-soaked clothes. Sleep seems like a wonderful, bright idea.

He let his eyes fall shut. It isn't very effective for blocking out the sun’s rays—it remains insistent, and closing his eyes doesn't give him the satisfaction of darkness that he dearly wants. Still, while that would’ve been a problem any other time, his body yearned for the void, to let the dark take him. It would be easy to simply lay here and wither, until either the tide takes him or someone finds him. Whichever came first. He didn’t mind either way.

Then the merman spoke again. “Are you dying, pretty one?”

It took a great deal of effort, but he grunts, “No.”

”Are you sure?”

He is not, actually. But that is no concern of this mermaid, and he merely answers, “I am certain.”

Silence follows that statement. Morpheus lets himself relax, lets himself hope this is it. He can sleep now, he thought—and is quickly proven wrong, for the merman states, “You look like you’re dying. Does anybody look for you?”

He hardly cares. Distantly, though, he thinks Lucienne might be. Jessamy and Matthew, too. “Perhaps,” he says after a couple of minutes pass, when he realises he has not yet replied. "I would like to sleep now."

The merman makes a considering noise. "I do not know much about humans," he said slowly, and Morpheus can practically feel the concern in his voice now, "but I'm pretty sure that's a bad idea. I'll stay and talk to you until you're found."

"Must you?" he asks, a desperate edge to his voice. The merman's voice is pleasant enough, yes, but rest is the preferred option here, regardless of what he says.

"Yes," he confirms. Morpheus's eyes are still closed so he can't actually see but he can imagine the smile on his face easily enough.

He sighs heavily and wonders what he did to deserve this. Then figures this is some weird, twisted kind of punishment for all that happened with Orpheus and Calliope and resigns himself to his fate. "Very well."

The merman talks, almost endlessly, until the sun is low in the sky. It is, truly, an impressive amount of talking. Morpheus doesn't remember much of that afternoon. At some point, he regains just enough energy to sit up, to listen more attentively. The merman, whose name he doesn't learn, seems to appreciate that. And just when despair begins to eat at him—I will not be found, he thinks and despite his inaction while he sank into the ocean, the idea panics him, I will die on this beach—there are calls of his name from behind him. They are voices he recognises and his heart picks up its pace when he turns around to see Lucienne, Telute and Jessamy walking down the beach towards him, each of them looking a little rough but all of them alive.

When he turns back to the ocean, the merman is no longer there, and Morpheus wonders if he dreamt the whole thing up. He does not mention it as Jessamy helps him to his feet, as Telute pulls him in for a hug, as the three of them begin to make it back home, to their duties, but he does not forget the kind eyes of the man who saved him from drowning.

#the sandman #dreamling #dream of the endless #hob gadling #dreamling fic #morpheus dream of the endless #the sandman fic #merman!Hob #listen i've written nothing but this for the last three days and I have 5k to show for it #also the larger fic is way way angstier than this snippet would lead you to believe since it deals with a lot of grief around Orpheus #but i thought this little and mostly light(er)-hearted snippet would be fun to share #and YEAH i have many many WIPs and yes i put them aside for this. that's fine #this becomes a Dream Saves Hob Fic eventually #for anyone interested in that #Merman au #eris writes things

[ginjones]

“What did Apollo dream of?” Asks Hob, his voice a questing note which brushes the curve of Dream’s ear. He lies in naked warmth across the corded thew of his back, breathing life into marble. Breathing for them both. They had stayed this way for hours. Swathed together in the casual rituals of Sunday. An indulgent afternoon spent riding the blissful peaks of orgasm. Fragments of time dissolving into the peony blush of an August sunset.

Muscles tense beneath him and for a moment, Hob wants to swallow his words. The question has come too early. He should have waited. Let another century pass in quiet restraint for answers to fall unbidden. Then Dream moves under him with tectonic force, and every muscle rolls to bear his weight with ease. Impassive eyes stare blankly up.

“Music,” Dream states simply and then, after a pause “how the notes of a Lyre might soar and scatter their seed in the wheat fields of Crete. He dreamed the way God’s dream. With intent.”

“Oh.” Hob replies, “…alright.” He is not sure how to take this or for what answer he had hoped.

When Dream had returned to him in the bright glory of a June afternoon, had called him friend and sat in alignment on the seat of a twin chair, he had felt himself exalted. Then came the gifts of a name, several in fact, and the first offering of answers. That he had lain at the base of a glass sphere for 133 years. That he had missed the sound of birds taking flight. That blood will turn a dark sepia if left to stain a cold stone floor. Hob had felt the brush of fingers to his palm then. He had felt each subtle contact point of hands, of wrists, of legs. He had said nothing. Dream, he had told him, is in the process of rebuilding.

Hob gives himself freely to this process. By July the casual touches had transformed into weekly rituals where, in the summer heat of his flat upstairs, they had venerated each other in the arching of bodies, in the twisting of limbs. In warmth. In wetness. In light.

Dream looks up at him now, the light of ancient stars reflecting in his eyes. He smiles faintly. “I have had many lovers, Hob”. And he knows this. He knows. But he wants to know more. He wants to unwind the tangled eons of his being and find the subtle frays of conquest. To trace the heart line of his relations with the gods of another age. To wonder perhaps, what they felt like to this impossible creature who, after making himself a willing body, became the vessel for their dreams.

And his traitorous mind will not stop its reckless imaginings. Of perfect bodies mounting each other with graceful fluidity. Rutting for hours, decadent in the gleam of their own transcendent   splendour. He regards his own body then and finds it lacking. And yet, to trace the distant lands of Dream’s past is to know him, fondly, completely. He holds the envious blade to his heart and smiles. 

“I want to show you something,” Hob says, “Wait here.”

He rises from the alter of the bed to gather the offerings of books. Stories told by others to share. Hutton’s Queens of the Wild, a battered copy of Lexicon Iconographicum Mythologiae Classiciae he had bought second-hand in Cambridge. Human tales to dying gods who wait, in the tomb of the earth, for idolatrous rebirth. He places them down kindly and wraps himself again in the comfort of the bed.

Seraphic black eyes glance over the pages for the briefest of seconds before one is turned, then another and Hob realises this is how Dream processes information. So that entire books could be read in minutes; knowledge subsumed, taken inwards, and swallowed whole. Each story catalogued and reformed as a star in the nightscape consciousness of the collective unconscious.

“And what about Brigid?” Hob asks again, brushing a finger over the image of a woodcut in Hutton’s book. Dream’s body curves towards him; the pale crescent of a waning moon.

“Protection to those who would adorn her with the pearls of their words. Love given at a price. She was triple natured and dreamt of sacraments in milk and blood.”

He imagines the proud swell of her breasts and the lustrous warmth of her sex. How Dream might have laid her down among the richness of the living earth, her legs parting in mimicry of the unfurling of shivering leaves. How he might have bent to kiss the curve of her fruiting form and then, with the surge of yellow iris and bloodied poppies their consummation would sing in the arrival of spring.

Dream watches him closely with the subtle glimpse of a frown. His features correct themselves back to unspoilt marble. He glances back at the book.

Hours pass, or maybe days, and Dream is feeding him grapes. He watches with fascination at the ripe burst between his teeth. He places one perfect finger to the corner of his mouth and Hob takes him in. They make love again. Dream edging inside gently; a curtesy that belies the sheer strength of him. His shoulders are the roll of Atlantic waters, his corded muscles the terrain of mountains. Every quiet command to sit or bend down or open for me is the distant promise of a rainstorm. A body made for the pleasure of the divine. In the drop after the rising heat of release, he is reformed in bliss and made anew.

 “And Saturn?” He asks, once more.

It is midnight now. Time hangs suspended from one day till the next. His throat is the frayed edge of a salt slicked rope. Language has come back to him slowly and with it, the recollection that he wants to learn more. He has been placed under soft, dark sheets and held in the willowy bough of cool arms. His world has shrunk to hold nothing but the senses; the smell of his own body, juniper and vetiver. The glow of orange lamplight casting shadows on the wall. The delicate ache of muscles. The sound of distant voices rises thorough the stone of buildings, the wood of floorboard.

Dream is under the blankets with him too. He opens his eyes; sapphire bright.

“Unwavering devotion despite the hardships of capricious seasons. To be fed the rich loam of toil. Saturnalia was a decedent celebration, but his worshippers did not sleep. They turned away from my realm to follow the ghost of his words.”

“And you’re okay with me not being…Like; you don’t mind if I’m not someone one who could…”  Be a god for you, He thinks. Be better than I am. Be good enough to keep you.

Dream graces him with the rarity of a true smile and moves to close the distance. He is pulled to rest his head in the cove of a moonlit scapula. He is held there in silence; Dream placing a hand to the soft warmth of his stomach then tracing the thick trail of chestnut hair that leads down towards his pubis. He nuzzles into the crook of his neck and Hob can feel the subtle sensation of air. Dream is breathing him in. In this sanctuary they have created for themselves he is reminded of several moments. Where Dream, bathed in morning light, has watched him butter bread, or rinse dishes, or change tracks on a playlist to find a favourite song. He has watched him water plants, watched him eat. Has asked, several times in fact, to place a hand to the bob of his throat when he swallows. Sometimes, when he has woken from the swell of sleep, he finds Dream’s attentions on the aura- space around him. His eyes lit from the inside, tracing the phantom movements of some unseen, imperceptible thing. Half asleep still, he has seen Dream move a hand through the gloaming air in a dextrous swirl of intent. Capturing something, examining it, then looking back at him. You dream such wonderful things.

And here, resting together, Dream’s voice brushes the curve of his ear.

“You are more than a god, Hob. You are human.”

@softest-punk

#dreamling fic #dreamling #dream x hob #dream of the endless #hob galding #hobert hob gadling #the sandman fic #the sandman #greek gods #pagan deities #what it means to be human

[hunny-beann]

You Can; You Will...

Dream of the Endless x f!Reader

Note: Hi! This is my first time ever writing for Dream, so if anything seems a bit off or if there are any minor lore issues, please do your best not to pay them too much mind (although absolutely feel free to point them out). That said, I had a lot of fun writing this fic, and I really hope that you enjoy it!

Warnings: Uh angst(?), is Dream himself a warning? Because he should be.

Word Count: 2,644

This had to be torture, surely.

Some evil method of malice created by some long forgotten god of pain.

Why else would Dream have been looking at you so?

Here, sitting in his rotting throne room, upon his crumbling dais, his expression as close to pained as you had ever seen it before.

"You have returned."

He stated matter of factly, though his eyes betrayed the solemn tone that his voice held.

It had hurt him to come back to his realm and find that you had gone with the others, more so than you ever could have anticipated or imagined. You could see it in the way that his fingers gripped at the arm rests beneath them, and in the way that his all encompassing presence seemed to shrink slightly, as if the very particles of him and his power that made up the world beneath your feet were attempting to flee from you.

You swallowed thickly, but managed a nod in spite of your nerves and the heavy weight that bore down upon your heart at the sight of the being before you.

"I have. I did not anticipate it, but I found that I was suddenly overcome with the urge to..."

The words 'go home' died upon your lips before you could say them, because in truth, you were not entirely sure if this realm truly was home anymore, not just for you, but to anything besides the endless sitting before you and his most loyal of dreams and nightmares.

His own creations.

Dream let out a soft hum in response to your words, before he carefully rose into a standing position, his coat swishing at his feet in that familiarly dramatic way that you remembered so painfully at present, and had once recalled so fondly in the past.

Now though, after over a century of having it as only a memory, a longing lodged deep within the confines of your soul, you found that it almost hurt to bear witness to his familiarities again.

You had buried the Morpheus you had once known in all ways but the physical sense, mourned and grieved him as if you had watched his demise with your own two eyes, never having a day pass you by where you did not think of him and the way that his voice had sounded, or that his hands had felt.

And now, he was standing before you so casually, and you could not help but view this figure before you as a caricature, some imposter sent to cause you even more pain than you had already endured.

Being an immortal human was a burden in and of itself, because it meant watching nearly all those that you loved die in the span of a lifetime, which to you, had long since started to feel like nothing in the grand scheme of things.

You had begged Death to take this weight from you, to let time have its way with your body, bones, and soul, but Destiny had seen to it that his sister knew better than to meddle with this particular affair.

A long dead family member had blessed you with what they perceived to be a "gift" long ago.

And now, you suffered while they lay buried in the ground in lands you had not seen nor touched in centuries.

So, once upon a time, Dream had meant everything to you.

Ever since the day you had met him, after once again grovelling with Death to let you go, he had become abundantly special in your eyes.

Because unlike almost everyone else around you, Dream could not die, not from the ticking of any clock, nor the feebleness of his own body.

He was the one thing you believed to be permanent.

And certainly, it had taken quite a while to warm up to the man, and far longer still for him warm up to you, but after enough impromptu meetings in Death's domain over multiple centuries, he had eventually indulged you when you asked hesitantly if you could see his realm, 'the dreaming' as he so fondly referred to it, for yourself.

And oh, what a sight it had been.

Lush rolling lands, fields upon fields of flowers, a palace so tall it seemed possible to view it from miles and miles away...

You had never wanted to leave.

And eventually, you would not have to anymore.

Not after you had fled to the dreaming after losing your very best friend to disease, her death so dirty and without dignity that you could scarcely bare to even consider it.

He had sensed your arrival, of course he had, for the realm was made of the very power that he possessed, but he had not sensed your woes, nor had he anticipated your sudden presence in his crowded throne room, searching for any familiar face that might serve as a reminder that you were not without some semblance of certainty, to prove if nothing else that you were not yet alone.

You had all but collapsed at the foot of his throne, eyes bloodshot and cheeks wet with tears as you regarded him with a pain he was all too familiar with, but had no clue how to comfort you about.

Loss.

'I can't do it anymore.'

You had told him with absolute certainty, hands clenched into fists as you struggled to hold back sobs,

'I can't endure this torture, I feel as if I have died a thousand deaths without ever having experienced even one.'

Morpheus reached forward, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear, before he sat back once more, taking note of the way that, simply due to his touch alone, you were now giving him your entirely undivided attention, breaths shaky but eyes wide and trained on him, as if you had never been touched before, or maybe as if you had never expected him to touch you in the eternity that you would experience.

'You can.'

He said, voice steady and eyes cold, though almost determined looking as he spoke.

'You will.'

You felt your eyebrows crease at his words, but Dream simply shook his head slightly before you could even open your mouth to reply.

He watched you for a few moments, before finally, he decided that enough silence had passed.

'If it is easier, you may remain in the dreaming as long as you please. All I ask, is that you do not make me regret my kindness.'

Shocked, you had nodded, before finally mustering up the strength to respond.

'But why?'

You had asked, watching as the being sitting before you sighed, his gaze traveling up toward the ceiling as he spoke,

'You will not have to watch nearly as many crumble to dust here in my domain, and I can see the toll that your immortality is taking on your feeble human mind. My sister has taken a liking to you, and I do not doubt that she would want me to take pity upon your unfortunate circumstances. To preserve someone she calls a friend, I will allow you to reside here until you give me a reason not to.'

And you never had.

For so very long now, hundreds upon hundreds of years, you had remained almost entirely within the dreaming.

You had friends here, nightmares and dreams alike, although truthfully, none captured your attention in the way that Morpheus did.

And none captured his nearly as much as you somehow managed to.

You were close, bound by some firm understanding of one another that never ceased to solidify the fact that the dreaming was your home, the place where you belonged, and Dream the very host that so effortlessly kept you rooted.

Before, there had been almost nothing for you in the way of consistency or rhythm, and now, there was an ebb and flow, a push and pull, a beat to follow, and the biggest surprise of all was that you made up half of each of these things.

Where Dream would ebb, you would flow, where he would push, you would pull, and you so very easily followed along with and eventually even progressed and changed his rhythm in a way that almost made the dreaming feel as if it had two rulers.

The dream lord,

And his once missing other half, the muse of the very land beneath your feet, and of the wind within your hair.

Until one day, that all came to an end.

The king of dreamers left and did not return.

And you could not even dare try and pick up the pieces of his realm that he left behind.

It had been a shameful abandonment, one full of pain and grief, but only a few short years after Dream's disappearance, you grabbed the scarce few items that did not remind you of him or the family that you were leaving behind, and you vanished just as he had done.

At that point, the slow but sure crumbling of the dreaming had only just begun, but your cowardice had won out over your strength, and you'd quickly found that you could not bare to see it shrink into nothingness.

'You can.'

Dream had once told you.

'You will.'

He had assured.

But you could not this time.

You likely would not ever again.

You were not the first to leave the dreaming, not by a long shot.

But your absence and the meaning that it carried rang out loud and clear for all of those who had chosen to remain.

The once so honored and beloved guest of their lord of dreams had chosen her painful mortal world over anything that the realm had left to offer...

And for many, that was all the proof that they needed that their creator would not return.

You were far from the first to leave.

But you were even further from the last.

"Did you lose faith in me?"

Dream asked suddenly, and you felt yourself gasp slightly at the question.

Lose faith in him?

Was that what you had done?

With almost no consideration for the question, you shook your head.

"No."

You said firmly, watching as the endless in front of you tilted his head ever so slightly, his eyes boring into your own even from across the room and down the ruined steps,

"Never."

Morpheus took a few steps toward you, and almost instinctively, you moved to lessen the space that lay between before forcing yourself to stop, hands clenched into fists at your sides, the pain of seeing your friend, who you had believed to be dead just hours ago, too great even for longing to overcome.

Dream seemed to notice this, and stopped in his tracks, though he was now far closer than before, only a few short steps away.

"Then why did you leave so easily? Why did you abandon the life that I offered you here if you had the faith required to know that I would someday return to the dreaming? Return to you?"

Your breath shuddered at the implication that he had come back in any part for you, but you chose to ignore his words in favor of fighting off his accusations of faithlessness on your part.

"I left because I could not bear to see this world that you created fall apart around me while I did nothing. It felt as if I were watching another loved one die, and I could not deal after believing that someone had taken your life as well. I was hurting, and I found that it was easier to hurt in the waking world, where pain was familiar, than it was to hurt here, where it never seemed to bite so hard. That is why I left. But I never once lost faith in you."

Dream raised a brow at that last part, and you were quick, to clarify,

"I may have thought you dead, but I did not once believe that if you were alive, you would not come back. My belief that you were dead, my certainty in that regard, came from the immense faith that I have in you, Lord Morpheus, because I could not fathom that you ever could have abandoned us or the dreaming... After years, I ceased being capable of thinking that you were somewhere out there anymore. I did not think it possible for anything to bind you so tightly away from your duties, if not for death herself."

Dream stared back at you in response to your words, as if taking them in for several long moments, before finally he nodded,

"I see. Though I do wish you would have considered the fact that I never would have allowed myself to die knowing what I would be leaving behind."

You sighed exasperatedly,

"But we know that you would not be the first to abandon your post, my lord, not the first to leave something as fickle as your universe given duties behind. Who could have blamed you if you died in spite of these things if others were able to willingly leave them?"

Your voice was small and quiet as you spoke, unsure of how Dream might react to the mention of Destruction, even when the wound was not necessarily new anymore.

You watched as the being before you stiffened, his gaze growing ever so slightly colder, before he spun around and began making his way back toward his throne, his tone firm and serious as he replied, still facing away from you all the while.

"I was not speaking of my duties to the dreaming."

He stated simply, though you could tell by his cadence that his words were anything but.

You sighed, exasperated and fragile after all that had been said thus far,

"Well what else was it that you were leaving behind that was so important that I should have known it would keep you alive then, Dream?"

The lord of the dreaming locked eyes with you as you finished asking this question, cold piercing gaze filling you with a deep regret and an immense longing as he sat upon his throne once more, one long leg crossing over the other as he all but stared into your very soul.

"You."

He said simply, voice low and gaze unwavering as he spoke, watching as that one word alone sent you staggering several steps backward, one hand clutching lightly at your chest as your feeble human mind tried to comprehend all that had happened to you in this one day alone.

"Me?"

You whispered, voice echoing slightly throughout the empty throne room in spite of how quiet it was.

"But I am not-"

"You are everything."

Dream cut you off before you could finish, eyes still boring holes into your own as he continued to watch you from his seat, as if knowing that if he moved any closer now, that you would run, run and likely never return for fear of what any of this meant for you and for the once permanent seeming fixture that Dream had so easily played within your life for so long.

You floundered at those words, vision growing bleary and spotty as you turned to rush out of the room, to be anywhere but this pale comparison of the dreaming, the once beautiful world that you had known for so very long.

You fled your home with tears in your eyes and a hand at your heart.

Dream stayed where he sat upon his throne, and watched your fears consume you again until you faded from view.

He did not try to stop you.

A broken home like this was no place for a fragile soul like yours.

And he could offer you no better than the very world he had once so kindly rescued you from.

#morpheus x reader #the sandman x reader #dream x reader #dream the endless x reader #morpheus x y/n #sandman x reader #the sandman x you #dream x y/n #dream of the endless x reader #dream of the endless fic #the sandman fanfic #morpheus x you #morpheus x f!reader #sandman x female reader #dream x fem!reader #the sandman fic #morpheus fanfiction #morpheus fic

[withoutyouimsaskia]

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

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

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.

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

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

[swanimagines]

SLEEP THIEF | MORPHEUS

Summary: You, being plagued by a sleep thief called insomnia, managed to free Dream a few months back. Now he wants to pay you back by finding a cure for your insomnia - and maybe because he has developed feelings for you.

Once, in the realm of dreams, where reality bends and imagination takes shape, Dream of the Endless found himself trying to help a mortal, who suffered from a condition that prevented her to visit his kingdom.

Insomnia. That relentless thief of sleep that plagued your every night. Despite always being tired, having eyebags and looking old beyond your years, you were always kind to Dream. Somehow you had sensed he was a vital part in the world, and in little, tiny gestures over two years, you helped him with every way you could. “Accidentally” swiping your feet over the summoning ring. Guards hadn’t slept well, so they fell to sleep after drinking your special tea. Little things - and eventually, your constant, diligent effort was worth it and Dream got himself out. You didn’t know what had been the thing that made the trick, but his glass prison was shattered and the guards didn’t remember much - it was concluded the summoning ring had weakened over time and Dream could finally push through it.

You got fired from the mansion with the rest of the workers after Mr. Burgess was cursed with eternal nightmares and your services weren’t needed anymore - and within the first week of you tossing and turning in the bedroom of your new apartment, you got a visitor - startled by a man with glowing eyes standing in the corner of the room, almost letting out a scream before you recognised him and turned on your bedside lamp with a smile.

“Dream? Is it… really you? I thought you were gone, that I would never see you again,” you mumbled, beaming as you sat up properly. “I… I knew you got out, but I thought you’d be busy to get the world rolling again.”

Dream smiled softly, taking a step towards you. Then he spoke, with a deep voice - to be honest, you hadn’t expected him to sound like that. “Yes, it is I. I have returned to express my gratitude for the compassion and help you offered me when I needed it the most. The world is on its track again, and you are to thank for that.”

You smiled back bashfully, looking at your hands fiddling with your blanket. “It was a human thing to do. I knew your captivity was a reason why the world was messed up. I’m happy you popped by, it’s good to see you’re alright.”

Dream was quiet for a moment, studying you. Then he spoke again. “I wish to grant you the gift of sleep. You have suffered from the lack of it for so long, and a mortal like you does not deserve such a fate. It is not caused by my absence, but I want to help you with it.”

You frowned, looking up to him. “I’ve always had it. Sleeping pills help somewhat, but even they might not let me sleep throughout the whole night. Are you sure that- I mean, I know you can do it, you’re the king of dreams, after all. But are you sure your help will last? I read it may originate from the way brains are built, and I don’t know if you’re able to change it. You can’t have time to guard my sleep every night, can you?”

Dream was quiet for a moment. “I will do everything I can in my power to ensure you will be able to sleep your nights without struggle. For tonight, my sand will have to do.”

And with that, he took out his pouch and you, knowing what he was about to do, settled under your covers. You looked at Dream as he placed the sand on the palm of his hand and the last thing you saw was him blowing the powder-like sand on your face, and you fell asleep on that very moment.

—

“Are you sure about this, Dream?” Matthew asked as he flew by his master, settling onto one of the many chairs in the library. “Humans and Endless rarely mix well. You know it could be dangerous. The potential consquences could be destructive.”

Dream didn’t even look up to his companion as he read one of the many books he owned. “She showed me kindness during my captivity. It is time for me to repay that debt.”

Matthew was quiet and used the time to ponder his next words to groom himself. Then he tilted his head, studying his friend. “Are you planning to act on your feelings?”

Dream paused for a moment, tapping his fingers on the cover of the book. Then he finally looked up to his friend. “I understand your concerns, Matthew. But should we deny ourselves happiness only because the risk of heartbreak it may involve?”

Matthew sighed. “I suppose not.”

Lucienne emerged from behind the corner. “Your devotion for her is undeniable. And your wish to help her through her condition is noble - but remember the consequences what could happen if she starts to dwell in dreams and forget to live. You may get blindsided about what will lie ahead if you let your feelings overwhelm your senses.”

“I am aware, Lucienne,” Dream said, lowering his eyes back down and tracing his finger across the page of the book. “I do not know if she feels the same way. It may be she does not return my feelings for her.”

Matthew and Lucienne exchanged a glance, before the librarian handed a book to Dream. “I believe this book will help with her condition. Just… be careful, my lord.”

Dream’s eyes flickered up again, and he nodded slightly. “Thank you, Lucienne.”

And so, Matthew and Lucienne left Dream alone - he would find a cure for you, let you visit his Kingdom. And even if it would never be anything more than friendship, Dream would enjoy having you around in his Kingdom every night, walking with you through the field and listen to you telling about your day. 

It had been a while since he had had a mortal human friend - Hob being immortal - but he had a feeling that you could be one of his greatest friends who have ever lived.

---

Requests are always open! FANDOM LIST | PROMPT LIST(S) | RULES (READ!!!)

#morpheus x reader #morpheus #dream of the endless x reader #dream of the endless #the sandman #the sandman x reader #morpheus x y/n #morpheus x you #morpheus fic #the sandman fic #reader insert #female reader #my works

[xx-vergil-xx]

thank you

thank you to everyone who read this fic — who left comments and kudos and even simply opened the first chapter and went “huh. alright then”. thank you to the artists who found something in it worth painting and drawing and making, thank you for the songs you have sent me, thank you for the wrath/grief/enthusiasm you have enriched my inbox and my life with. there were times in this fic where my life was not so good, and then there was you, and it was all a little better. i have never in my life written something this hefty, nor this truly involved — i wasn’t sure i could. now i know i can! there is always the next thing. i think that’s beautiful. and it gives me a feeling i can’t express to know that my particular manner of assembling language has gone and touched other lives and left gentle impressions — this is a privilege i can’t even begin to express my gratitude for, and it is all thanks to you, right there, reading

if you read this story once, or halfway, or four times, or just the first paragraph, you have given me the most immeasurable gifts: your time, your thought, your eyes over my words. i am surpassing honored. i am so so stupid lucky. i’m really glad i settled in to watch this show that year and a half ago <3

thank you for reading <3 <3 <3 xoxo

#hounds #the sandman #the sandman fic #dreamling #dreamling fic #hob gadling #dream of the endless #<3 <3 <3

[gay-dorito-dust]

Some touch starved morpheus stuff cuz we all know he is and since he can’t ask for shit he’s gonna revert to cat form to get what he wants.

Morpheus is incredibly touch starved, this is what many would call an undisputed fact. He’s an endless and therefore means that there has never been a moment in his life where he was ever blessed with the sweet embrace of a tender, loving hug nor the comforting squeeze when holding another’s hand.

Needless to say that he was perplexed when he found himself wandering within the depths of his mind, craving in silence of its feel within your arms. Did you run cold? or did you run warm? Would you allow him to rest his weary head against the comforting counsel of your heart? Or would you prefer to rest yours upon his instead? Were you the type to snuggle closely so that every part of your body was pressed flushed against his own and yet crave to be even closer? Head pressed into the crevice of his neck, pressing featherlight kisses there on occasion to remind him of your presence.

Were you what humans called a big spoon or a little spoon? How that was related to cuddling morpheus had no clue and sometimes questioned humans for their…interesting choice of words for specific actions. They were…peculiar to say the least. Did you wish to be held or wish to hold him as you both laid comfortably beneath a cosy blanket as you fought against the weight of sleep weighing upon your eyelids gradually overtime, easing you into a vulnerable state of slumber.

These thoughts clouded the dream lords mind as he went about his tasks as king, disrupting him from his work that he would often remember old romance books he’s read during the height of their publication and replace the protagonist and their love interest with you and him without realising it until caught on the receiving end of an concern Lucienne’s gaze.

“My lord, are you alright?” She’d ask and each and every time was greeted with similar responses. “I’m quite alright, the state of my health isn’t of concern to anyone then myself.” Afterwards came Lucienne’s unconvinced stare but she knew firsthand how unbearably stubborn Morpheus is and decided that since he was a fully grown man capable of dealing with his own issues, it would be best if she left him to it and concentrate on her own pile of work to complete. Morpheus was incapable of asking for help or advice for the matter unless he was physically brought down to his knees due to his insufferable pride.

That pride had proven to be a hindrance on multiple occasions and that was no different when the lord of dreams and nightmares tried to muster up the courage in asking you for affection he desperately craved. Yet he’d always seem to backpedal from actually asking and instead waited for the moments where you were least aware of his motives that he thought were increasingly childish of a being such as himself.

Things such as holding your hand whenever crossing passable riverbanks, streams and small shallow lakes by broken bridges he had yet to repair sooner or later if you weren’t already invading every possible space within his heart, soul and mind at every given moment. Keeping his hand at the small of your back when walking through crowed spaces under the pretence that he didn’t wish for you to be swept away from his line of sight. To even his shoulder pressing against your own ever so briefly as you walked through the vast gardens of his palace together.

‘Innocent coincidence’ was what they were called but to you it sounded oddly as though he was covering something up you have yet to brush off the vail of mystery of. So one day as you sat beneath the shade of the palace, eyes just about ready to flutter to a close when a sound caught your ears, causing you to peel open your eyes wide enough to see what you presumed to be a cat like figure sat in front of you.

You’d say cat but this cat was bigger then any cat you’ve ever seen, the closest you could compare it to size wise was that of a main coon but even then that didn’t seem quite right. It’s fur dark was as midnight, it’s eyes glowed within the shade; giving it a more supernatural and or ethereal ambiance about the creature of unknown origin because as far as you were aware morpheus didn’t keep cats about the palace.

However your mind was too foggy to make sense of how the cat got here nor where it came from as you immediately drew the creature into your lap, not questioning how almost eagerly the cat seemed to respond to your actions and bundled itself against your chest, purring contently, as it’s eyes slide to a close and you swore that you could see it smile.

Again you were on the verge of sleep so it was hard to make out what exactly you were seeing constitutes as reality. Instead wishing to get straight to dreaming, unaware that you were holding the lord of dreams within your lap the entire time.

Taglist: @mess-in-side @mm2305 @blossomedfloweroflove @dinonuggett @murnsondock

#the sandman fic #the sandman fanfic #the sandman x you #the sandman imagine #the sandman imagines #the sandman x reader #dream of the endless imagine #dream of the endless x reader #dream of the endless imagines #dream of the endless x you #morpheus fic #morpheus imagine #morpheus imagines #morpheus x you #morpheus x reader #morephus imagine

[moorishflower]

Basic Needs (Dream/Hob, continuation of Hierarchy of Needs)

Basic Needs || Dream of the Endless/Hob Gadling || Chapter 1 of 4 || Explicit

Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, Falling In Love, Caretaking, Depression, Suicidal Thoughts, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Body Image, Hob Gadling Has a Big Dick, Established Relationship, Porn with Feelings, Dream of the Endless | Morpheus is Bad at Feelings, Hob Gadling Loves Dream of the Endless | Morpheus, Food as a Metaphor for Love, Slowly building Dream up towards self-actualization, Masturbation, Rimming, Coming Untouched, Just the Tip, Creampie, Mentioned Orpheus (The Sandman), Mentioned Daniel Hall, Child Loss, Grief/Mourning, Winter, seasons as a metaphor

In order to achieve self-actualization, you have to start at the bottom.

Read it on AO3 here.

A continuation of Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs. First: shelter.

Thank you all so so much for reading, for being here, for enjoying. Where would I be without you? And thank you to @avelera and to @delta-pavonis for giving this a read-through and encouraging me. <3

#the sandman #my fic #the sandman fic #dream of the endless/hob gadling #dream/hob #dreamling