#dream x reader

[savedenji]

i miss my emo husband 😞

[eddielove]

OH AZAZEL

[queenshelby]

The Sandman

Another little on and off obsession...

Ashes of Starlight (Romance Series) - ONGOING

Chains of Reverie (Romance Series) - ONGOING

Athena's Gift (Romance Series) - ONGOING

Just a Dream (Romance Series) - COMPLETED

Amara & Hope (Sequel to Just A Dream) - ONGOING

Smut Only/No Plot:

The Muse's Gift (Smut Only Series) - ONGOING

The Gathering of Claims (Smut Only Series) - ONGOING

The Dreamer (Smut Only Series) - ONGOING

The Offering (One Shot) - Your are traded to Lord Morpheus and he claims you.

In Your Dreams (One Shot) - Morpheus has his way with you while you are asleep.

All stories contain smut!

Send me some ideas and requests if you have any for some dark! smut!

P.s. English is my second language. Apologies for any mistakes! Plus, I would love comments and engagement if you like it!!!!

[ml080504]

i miss my goth husband

[chu16a-blog]

Dream x Reader - The Price of Mercy

Pairing: Dream x Reader

Warning: Spoiler season 2

Summary: Desperate to save his realm, Dream seeks help from a powerful, feared being ... you. Instead of demanding a painful price, you surprise him with a strange request. Flustered but out of options, he agrees.

Part I - The Price of Mercy

Part II - Dinner with a Goddess

Part III - Coffee, Confessions, and Choking

Part IV (End) - The Dream He Dared to Shape

The Price of Mercy

The Dreaming was bleeding.

Dream walked through its corridors, his palace of thought. The sky above cracked with silent thunder.

All because of what he’d done.

A moment of duty. A moment of justice. A moment of blood.

Family blood.

And by the ancient Law, that was enough to summon the Kindly Ones. They were not kind. They would come. They always did. And they would unmake him.

He had exhausted every path.

There was only one door left.

And even he feared it.

You.

He had seen you once, long ago, walking through a Roman temple as if you were bored by time itself. A creature of eerie calm, elegant and still like a mirror pond untouched by wind. Beauty in a form mortals could never survive, but you walked among them like you barely noticed the difference. You had looked at him once, just once, and Morpheus had felt… something.

He didn’t dwell on it.

Destiny had warned him then.

"Do not cross her. She is the unknown chapter, the untethered clause. The Law listens to her in silence. And she charges dearly."

But he was out of options.

So, he descended through layers of reality, past dreams and gods and concepts, until he reached the threshold of your realm, an impossible space suspended between choices and probabilities, colored like dusk and rimmed with the soft laughter of stars.

Your domain was quiet, but not empty. Lanterns floated, casting soft golden light against a midnight backdrop. You sat on a couch made of impossible geometry, legs crossed, sipping tea that shimmered between blue and gold.

You felt his arrival and smiled without looking.

“Took you long enough.”

Morpheus stood still. Tall, still robed in night and regret. His face impassive.

But his eyes… hesitated.

He looked at you, truly, and something ancient and strange twisted behind his ribs. Your beauty was… disarming. The kind that wasn’t trying to seduce or impress. Just was. Effortless. Alive. You were elegance without vanity, danger without cruelty. And you smiled at him like a cat with a secret.

He straightened. His cloak curled behind him like a shadow offended by the light.

"You know why I’m here."

You circled him slowly, watching how his shoulders tensed, how his jaw clenched when you got too close. A flicker in his gaze. He wasn’t used to this. Being seen.

"I do. You want a law bent. A rule rewritten. A leash placed upon the Kindly Ones before they tear you and your precious realm to ribbons."

"Yes."

"That’s not usually something done without consequence, Dream. The Laws of the Endless are older than even your melancholy. You’re asking me to interfere."

He stepped closer, tone taut, restrained.

"I have tried all other paths."

You sighed, the sound somewhere between weariness and dramatic flair.

"Of course you have. And now you’ve come to me, expecting pain. Sacrifice. A price so sharp it leaves your soul limping."

He stiffened. His heart beat once, too loud in his ears.

"I will pay what is necessary."

You tilted your head. Your voice shifted, becoming cool, detached. The same script you’d used with gods, devils, and fools alike:

"The favor you ask comes with cost. Not of coin. Not of blood. But of truth. Of surrender. Of something irreplaceable. All who have bargained with me have walked away different. Most do not walk away at all."

You turned. He was waiting for torment. For agony. His black eyes, so often hollow, held a flicker of dread.

And you were…

Bored.

Gods, they’re all the same. Expecting doom and torment. Never just… asking what I want. Not even a ‘how are you’. Tch. And that restaurant just opened too…

And then it hit you.

The restaurant. The one you had tried to go to last week, only to be turned away at the door because "no singles allowed."

So here he was. Tall. Brooding. Rather unreasonably handsome, in that haunted, starving-poet sort of way.

And available.

You grinned.

"I’ve decided your price."

He braced himself.

"There’s a new restaurant in the Waking World. They serve the best lobster this side of the galaxy. Problem is, it’s couples-only. And I want to try their spicy citrus-butter crustacean."

He blinked.

"…I beg your pardon?"

"You heard me." You walked towards him, hands folded behind your back, voice playful. "I want to go. I want their lobster. Their chef is a magician with butter and fire. But they don’t allow singles. I tried to bring my pet snake, but apparently that ‘violates the vibe’.

He frowned. "You… wish to dine with me?"

You smirked. "I want the food. They require a partner. You’ll do."

His brows furrowed. He searched the shadows for a trap. “That’s… it?”

You stepped closer, voice a whisper of amusement.

"What? Were you expecting I’d demand your memories? Your voice? Your first love’s heartbeat in a jar? Please. I’m not that cliché. I’m just bored. And hungry."

Morpheus hesitated. "You wish me to… date you?"

"Call it what you want, honey."

He choked. "…Honey?"

You leaned in, lips close to his ear.

"Too much?"

He straightened instantly, clearing his throat.

You watched, delighted, as his eyes flicked in every direction like he expected a trap to spring. “I—I don’t…”

“Relax. I won’t bite. Unless the lobster’s bad.”

His lips parted. Words failed him.

“So,” you continued, voice low and amused, “what’ll it be, Dream? Date or death?”

"I… accept. The terms. I choose the… date."

"Oh, how romantic," you teased, spinning on your heel. "Now. You’ll need to dress well. This place is fancy."

You turned, finger raised.

"You’ll need to pick me up. I expect you at eight sharp. No shadows. No sand. No ravens. Knock on the door like a normal being."

His voice was faint, nearly stunned.

"I… see."

"Do you?"

You stepped close again, smile playful, eyes glittering.

"You sure you’re okay with the price, Dream of the Endless? You seem a little… flustered."

He looked away quickly. "I am… simply surprised."

His ears turned faintly pink.

"Hm." You leaned back. "You’re cute when you’re trying not to blush."

Silence stretched, thick with something unexpected. Not doom. Not dread.

Anticipation.

"So," you said, extending your hand. "Do we have a deal?"

He stared at it, then at you.

There was no trick. No hidden malice.

Just you, beautiful, kind (against all rumors), and maybe a little lonely.

He hesitated. Then, slowly, solemnly, placed his hand in yours.

It was warm. Surprising.

“We have a deal.”

You smiled.

He turned to leave, half-floating, half-fleeing, his mind a storm of confusion.

And behind him, you laughed softly.

The Kindly Ones would be kept at bay. Your price was paid.

And perhaps… you wouldn’t be so bored after all.

You smiled. "Excellent. I’ll see you Friday. Don’t be late, honey."

He flinched again.

He stepped back through the veil, heart pounding like a mortal’s.

The Law had been bent. The Kindly Ones halted.

And all it cost him…

…was a date.

He touched the place on his hand where your fingers had rested.

Your laugh still echoed in his ears.

He could not stop the small smile that formed at the corner of his lips.

This is the first part of 4 delicious chapters, ehehehe, enjoy!

[starxs-s]

──── Morpheus┆The King's witch author's note: currently during writer block so this was a real fight. This work contains: cozy evening in witch's cottage, mention of death, mention of sexual encounters, basically emo bf x witch gf but make them immortal. Morpheus x witch!reader mdni

he came at night, just like he always did. ignoring the sign ‘men not allowed’ by the doors, only eyeing it like it personally offended him. maybe it did – you never asked. never cared enough to find out what he’s thinking about your house. he was always only eyeing things. the few tarot decks you had, the crystal ball that he was pretty much sure you talked with the dead through. the book you stole from him to stay forever alive and beautiful. 

you dreamed your way to the Dreaming and somehow managed to steal it. and with it, also his mind, his every waking thought, later you stole his heart. 

and even when he didn’t say that you knew. 

by the way his eyes softened at your sight. his long coat gone, shoes kicked off by the doors, he locked with a flex of a wrist. leaving sand in your shoes again, just to sneak quickly into your living room – you would me mad again if you found out. 

you knew you stole his heart by the way his shoulder slumped tiredly when he finally rested on your couch, letting your legs rest on his lap.

“no tea? you're not a very hospitable host.” he murmured, his voice deep and slow. sensual, almost intimate. and the way he knitted his eyebrows in this fake-mocking manner. 

“you know where the kitchen is.” you said way too comfortable to move anywhere now.

“such insubordination.” he mumbled running his hand over his face.

“but I understand, the time you were trapped in a fishbowl could erase your memory.” you said with your eyes still glued to the fireplace.

“Oh you’re a cruel witch.” he said and the corners of his mouth almost turned into a lopsided smile.

but he managed to get up, throwing your legs off his lap that makes you scoff quietly before bringing your knees up to your chest. You listened intently, how he poured water into the kettle, opened the cupboards in search of mugs.

“make me a lemon balm tea while you’re there?” you said but it came out more like a soft command than a full question.

you didn’t hear his answer, only an exaggerated sigh and quiet murmur, too quiet for you. irritating. 

you pout until he comes back with two cups of steaming tea in his hands. Sour expression on his face.

“what happened?” you asked in the middle of eating a jam cookie, you made in the morning.

“I spilled the water.” he admitted reluctantly before giving you a sidelong glance and sitting back on the couch, handing you the mug. “trouble sleeping?” he asked, staring at his own tea.

“what?” a frown bloomed on your face as you blew on the hot surface.

“don’t play games with me, witch.” he mumbled, taking a sip.

it was weird seeing him like that – even after the centuries you spend together – calm, relaxed, without this damned scowl. Sipping tea like a normal human being, sitting on a couch and you knew he was trying his hardest not to bring this black blanket you had lying on the armchair over both of you. 

“you use lemon balm tea when you have trouble sleeping, but are too stubborn to let me actually help you.” he scoffed and looked at you. 

of course, the Dream King.

“I just like the taste.” 

“this is the most implausible excuse I’ve ever heard.” 

“believe what you wish.” you said and rolled your eyes before taking a small sip of your tea.

“impossible” he only mumbled, before looking away – probably for a book.

“You always get your hopes up.” you said making another tarot guide appear on your lap. “there’s no Shakespeare here.” 

“you always had a disgust for good literature.” he took another sip of the tea and grimaced at the taste.

“sugar?

“no.”

“suffer the bitterness then.” you said and opened the guide where you left the bookmark.

You could feel his gaze on you, brooding and grumpy, yet the way he was staring right into you – that made you shiver. 

“blanket?”

“no.”

“suffer the cold then.” he mumbled before letting out a dramatic sigh trying to look unaffected.

“That’s not cold, I'm suffering.” you scoffed flipping the page and you could feel his jaw clench

bingo.

“Do not play with me, witch.” he said before putting the mug down on your coffee table like it personally offended him. “how many of them have you read?” 

“plenty.” you said and took a sip of your tea. “your point?”

the salt lamp behind you lit up casting a golden glow at his face. he indeed looked majestic in every light. with those bed hair you had a habit of running your fingers through or tugging as he was hovering above you, his hot breath on your neck as he was losing himself slowly inside you. ot those grey eyes that were staring at you every time you were melting on the mattress and in his arms. this pale face you were seeing after you fell asleep where in reality he was wrapped around you, after the love-making. 

gods this man was really something.

“why another one?” he questioned, his eyebrows knitted in soft frown

“I have to keep up with the young ones.”

“you’re young too.” he said, his voice gruff and still grumpy, yet you could hear the softer note.

you knew him.

“I’m 300 years old.”

“you don’t look a day older than when we first met.” he said, his gaze trailing over your features.

“you mean when I stole from you?” you asked and covered your growing smirk with a mug.

“I was meant to retrieve this book.” he said and finally grabbed the blanket, throwing it over him and you.

“I would be dead.” you said and scanned his face, your teasing demeanor fading slightly.

“I know.”

silence occurred as you just looked at each other. the silent guilt that gnawed on him for ever wanting to hurt you, for ever wanting to take the book from you and make you mortal again, let you wither with age, rot in your body as the years you avoided Death would finally catch up. and your quiet gratitude that he didn’t do it, that he let you keep the book, hide it from him, in a place only you could find. Gratitude that he let you keep your heart beating. 

Because it was beating also for him.

“you bewitched me.”

“if that’s your way of saying that I seduced you to my bed then so be it.”

“you truly are a terrible host.’

“I have a feeling you’ll come back to me.” you said and took a sip again. "If you’ll leave at all.”

authors note: it was so fun to write, i wanna write more of the witch!reader so much. Despite my writer block I wrote it on one sit so I'm really proud of myself. Not long but I was absent for... long so I'm finally breaking my silence! Also made Morpheus finally rest with my power of fanfic. Divider: @uzmacchiato

Part two

© starxs-s. est, 2025

[ninikrumbs]

A good dream

Morpheus/Dream x Reader. Short and sweet moments in your relationship with the King of Dreams.

Your giggles echoe across the empty hallway leading up to dream's office.

"Enjoying yourself, my love?" Dream calls out once you come into view– all smiles and laughter as you talk animatedly with Goldie.

Your smile brightens even more as your gaze finally lands on the dream king, "My lord!"

To dream, your mere presence lights up the room, as if sunshine follows your every step. The dreaming realm just as enamored as its master.

In a second, you make it infront of his large desk, pretty eyes scanning the abundance of paper scattered about. "I see Lucienne has managed to put you into work."

A small smile tugs on the corner of his lips, a feat only you can achieve, "I am simply doing my responsibilities."

You raised a sceptical eyebrow, knowing how tedious paperwork is to him. "Is that so.."

He hums in response while signing something on a piece of parchment, "Have you been enjoying yourself in the dreaming?"

"Yes! Nuala and I are having the best time. Learning about the faerie is so interesting." You say excitedly, clasping your hands together.

Dream tilts his head, discerning eyes observing the curve of your lips and the contented gleam in your eyes.

In a second, he drops his quil and gestures for you to move closer to him, "Come here."

It was your turn to tilt your head. Was it something you said? Nevertheless you made your way behind the table to stand in front of him.

Before you could ask, he gently pulls you down to sit on his lap. "Morpheus?"

Such piercing eyes framed in thick and long lashes met yours, and you almost forget how to breath.

Tingles ran up your spine as his hands made soothing motions up and down your back, then he speaks in that deep yet whisper like manner he always does, "You aren't feeling neglected in any way?"

"Im not, I promise," You smile softly, hands racing to trace his strong jaw with your thumb.

It was meant to reassure him, yet he looked disappointed with your answer. You notice by the slight pinch in his brows and the light downturn of his lips. To anyone else he looked like his usual stoic self, but you knew better.

"Why? Are you feeling neglected, my Lord?" Your voice fond and teasing.

"I am not," Yet his denying glare was enough to make you laugh. So cute.

The fact that this all powerful being just wants to spend time with you makes your heart squeeze, as if it was trying to release all the love in it and tackle this man to the ground.

You don't know how he would react to that so you opt for pressing a soft kiss to his lips instead.

"I can just stay here and read a book while you work." You gave, after pulling away.

He perks up at the idea before shaking his head, "I have no wish to bore you. You are to have a good dream, enjoying yourself with frivolous activities that you cant accomplish in the waking world. Go. Ill come find you once Im finished."

God knows when that will be. You sigh, hands tracing up from his arms to his clothed shoulders as you lean in to embrace him. Your body melting into his warmth as you tucked your face into his neck.

He returns your embrace, a hand on your back and another buried in your hair.

"Is something the matter?"

"Yes," Your murmur into his neck. "This is the thing I can't do in the waking world. This is what a good dream means for me."

Pulling away, you look up at him sweetly, "So let me stay?"

His eyes soften, giving a soft huff through his nose, "If that is what you wish."

AN: Binged watched Sandman 😭 Might make this into a series of snippets in your relationship with Morpheus. Accepting prompts and recs.

Also if some of you would be kind enough to leave a review if he's ooc or not. Though he's suppose to be a bit ooc due to him being truly in love for once.

[cardansriddle]

Across the Dreams - (Morpheus x fem!reader)

Summary: You meet him in your dreams. You do not know him or his name, you only know that he returns to you every night, taking you in ways you crave but do not understand.

warnings: dream sex but it's not very explicit. not proofread.

A/N: I (nervously) present the long anticipated morpheus one shot. This is for all of you little rascals in my inbox asking me to get done with it and post it. Hope you enjoy and lmk what you think!!

༻♛༺

You do not quite recall when exactly you started seeing him. Maybe it was on one of those nights you were so exhausted your limbs melted into your bed like they belonged there more than they belonged on your body. Perhaps he came to you then, slipped through the cracks of your half-forgotten dreams, weaving himself in your fantasies that never quite made architectural sense.

All you know is that he was there.

And he was there every night.

You always felt him before you saw him. The shadowed edges of your dreams would forge into the shape of him—him who was tall, lean, little more than the glimmer of pale skin visible beneath the dark coat that brushed the floor of your subconscious and somehow stirred even though there was no wind.

His wild hair fell in black, inky strands that framed the sharp edges of his face but never seemed to settle. It was as if the air refused to touch him, or maybe it was him who refused to belong to the air, or perhaps he owned the very air around him. His skin was pale—not the delicate pallor of the sleepless, but the absence of sunlight itself, as if he had stood untouched for centuries beneath a sky that forgot how to burn.

And then there were his eyes.

Oh, his eyes.

His eyes were so incredibly black, like bottomless pits that offered you a glimpse of the vast darkness of the cosmos. And there were stars in his eyes. You did not see them at first. You had to step closer. You did not remember deciding to move, but you did. Your feet dragged forward, slow and helpless, and when you lifted your gaze you saw it— the faintest glimmer of stars trapped inside his eyes.

The sight of them was enough to pin you in place the first time. Because that was when you realised.

He was old.

Not old in the sense of years or decades. No.

He was old in the way stories are old. Old in the way stars are old. Old in the way you were never supposed to see, or know, or touch. But you did.

The first time, you remember you were hesitant. You remember how slowly you had rose your arm, your fingertips sparking with something desperate, aching to close the impossible space between you and touch his skin. You remember how his dark eyes had followed every movement of your hand, brows twitching—the faintest ripple across his otherwise unmoved face— as if amused, and also surprised, perhaps even outraged at your presumption that you could dare touch him.

He stopped you.

He caught your hand before you could complete the touch, his fingers cool as they closed firmly around yours, pressing your hand down as if to remind you. Of what, you did not quite know back then.

It was only later, after countless times of seeing him in your dreams that you realised. When you first touched, it had to have been on his terms.

His gaze slid over you—not with tenderness, but with a kind of distant permission, the way one might allow a flame to flicker a little closer to the drapes just to see what happens.

His other hand rose with deliberate slowness, trailing up to graze the edge of your jaw. His touch was impossibly cool, his skin like marble—unforgiving at first, but yielding in the places where he chose to let you feel him. His thumb dragged slowly along your lower lip, and he looked at you as if you were not entirely real. Funny, considering how he was a man made of shadows with the entire cosmos held in his eyes. You remember the weight of his fingers against you. You remember leaning into it.

You did not know his name. You did not ask.

After that first encounter, the dreams pressed closer, hotter, rougher—your body pinned beneath his as he claimed you against the wall of some crumbling hall, the slick grass of a forest that flickered in and out of coherence, the ground, the marble floor of a castle, still and perhaps never making architectural sense.

You never begged him to stop. But you did beg him not to leave.

And he did not. Night after night, he returned. He touched you like he knew the notes to the strings of your body, and your soul and body sang for him in response. He filled you with his essence, and hoped his seed would take. You knew because he whispered it in your ear like a dirty, secret confession. Every night.

Overtime, you learned to claim him too. You shed your shyness, climbed him boldly like his lap was your throne to sit on, and touched him like it was your birthright.

It went on for months.

And every time you woke from these dreams, you could always feel the lingering echo of his touch, as if it had been seared into your skin. You spent your waking hours in turmoil, thinking about your dreams, about him. You were getting addicted, you could barely function during the day without wishing you could fall asleep, fall into the arms of your dream man. You started going to bed earlier. You started skipping plans. You started craving sleep like it's a drug and he is the nameless dealer.

The days shrink. The nights length.

But it does not matter, not anymore, for every time you fall asleep, he is waiting. Like tonight.

The moment your conscious enters the Dreaming, his weight settles over you like velvet and iron, but you do not mind, it is an ache you ache to bear. Like every night, he claims you. He takes you against the trembling edge of reason, until the line between you and him feels like it was never there.

You still have not asked for his name. You fear what would happen if you spoke it aloud. You don’t know if you are dreaming, or if the dreaming has devoured you whole.

But you want to know, you need to know it for your own sanity.

So once he had his way with ruining you, you decide, for the first time in months, you decide to voice the question. Your lips part, your breath shallow against his palm, still cool against your jaw.

"...Who are you?"

His head tilts, just slightly, the faintest quirk of his mouth appearing as though the question itself amused him more than any answer he might give.

His thumb ghosts over your lower lip, slow and thoughtful.

“That is not a question you should ask.” His voice curls into you, soft and dark and ancient.

But you do not back down. "You have absolutely ruined me for anyone else. I believe I deserve at least the curtesy of knowing your name." The words rush out before you can stop them. and even you are surprised at your own bravery to be so direct with him.

His brows lift, a flicker of something behind his eyes—interest, perhaps. Or patience thinning.

So you decide to soften your request. "Please," you swallow, pulse thudding in your throat.

“You may call me…” A pause, deliberate one. “…Morpheus.”

You whisper it back to him, testing the shape of it in your mouth. "Morpheus."

His gaze darkens at the way his name falls from your lips. You fear for a moment he might pin you beneath him and have his way for the second time in one night. But he does not. He quenches the fire rising beneath his skin instead.

“Careful,” he says, his thumb pressing just slightly harder against your lip. “Names are powerful things.”

It sounds like a warning, one you think you need to heed, but before you can say anything in response, you jolt awake suddenly.

Once again, alone, in your bed.

You release a heavy sigh and look at the ceiling helplessly. You ask the heavens how long you can bear to live like this— living in your dreams, dreading your waking hours. How long you can continue being in love with a man who does not exist.

You close your eyes and imagine him. "Morpheus," you whisper to yourself wistfully. You half expect him to be there when you open your eyes, and you laugh at yourself with pity when he is not.

You push the covers away, and decide you need to start getting on with your day.

You’re still heavy with the weight of last night’s dream when you step outside. The city hums around you, a thin, irritating buzz—car horns, rubber on asphalt, hurried footfalls. You barely notice them. It is him you are thinking about. His hands, his mouth, his breath against your throat. His name.

You approach the crosswalk, waiting for the sign to change. And then, the air shifts. The sound of the city drops out like someone’s cut the wires.

With furrowed brows, you slowly lift your head. And then—

You see him.

Your body freezes. Because it is him. Across the street. Standing perfectly still, untouched by the blur of people rushing past him. He’s wearing that long, black coat—the same one you’ve clutched in your fists, the same one you’ve felt brushing your bare skin in sleep. His hair falls in black waves around his face, just as it does when he leans over you, when his hands pin you to the floor of the dreams.

His skin is impossibly pale. His eyes are—

Your breath catches.

They’re the same. The same impossible, depthless black, the same faint shimmer of stars caught in the dark.

He’s real.

He’s real. Here. Now.

And he’s looking at you.

Not past you. Not through you.

At you.

The corner of his mouth twitches, just enough to be deliberate. Enough to tease you, or perhaps taunt you, you do not know. You do not care to know. You need to cross the road to him. Now.

The crosswalk signal changes.

Heart hammering, throat burning, you take a step towards him.

A car horn blares somewhere behind you.

When you blink, he’s gone.

༻♛༺