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treehouse chapter 29 (tumblr version)

🔞 Dream of the Endless I Lord Morpheus x reader 🔞

Unplanned pregnancy, SMUT. 8.5k words of sin.

crossposted to AO3 (want to read the whole story? click here)

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You run and Morpheus goes after you. Tags under read more. posted here for the folks who want the smut without wading through a ton of plot.

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SMUT TAGS:

primal kink, hide and seek/running and hunting, CNC, consent check ins, aftercare, tentacles if you squint, one sided hate sex (she hates him, he loves her)

Reader POV:

You stop screaming about halfway down once you realize that you’re not falling - you’re floating. Like a fucking flower petal.

You land feet-first on the soft, green grass outside the castle and promptly ruin everything by stumbling to your knees, scraping your skin raw and red against the dirt. It’s not your fault. Flying wasn’t on the fucking agenda.

The storm above roils with flashes of sickly yellow lightning and sullen, moody clouds.

Anger bleeds from you like the slit throat of the man you murdered. The feeling clings to your skin, warming you against the tempest’s chill.

It’s been a very long time since you’ve punished someone other than yourself, and you lust half-starved for Morpheus’s misery, for the chance to try your freshly-blooded canines.

As you get to your feet, the fog surrounding you lifts just enough to show flashes of a thick, thorny wood up ahead. A forest fashioned from charcoal shadows and long, spindly branches with no leaves. Not trees, only their skeletons.

It will do. Does the dried blood on your shirt make you some kind of morbid Little Red Riding Hood? If that’s the case, the Big Bad Wolf always dies in the end. Perfect.

Without looking back, you sprint for it.

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Lucienne POV

While Lucienne’s life has become more exciting since Lord Morpheus decided to make you his business, it certainly hasn’t gotten easier.

After all, what is his business is her business. Therefore, you and your relationship are her business.

She was doing a perfectly acceptable job managing everything, she thinks to herself somewhat crossly, until the two of you decided to make her life worse.

But while she doesn’t understand why you are trying to escape when you will never, ever make it out of this realm without the Lord’s permission, she accepts that it is not her place to question such… obscure, esoteric decisions and seeks to assist you as requested. To an extent.

Why, is Lord Morpheus’s coat on fire? Lucienne hasn’t seen him so worked up since Rose Walker. Not even then. “Where is she?” He demands, using the rolling thunder and howling wind as his voice.

Play dumb. “…Who is ‘she,’ my lord?” Lucienne winces. Perhaps not that dumb.

Though none of the books can catch fire, as they are not written upon flammable, single-use Waking-world paper, Lucienne resists the urge to beat the hem of his flaming robe away from the stacks of parchment and dream-paper. Call it a librarian’s force of habit.

“My- my intended.” The king’s glare would put the fear of the Endless in any lesser being.

But Lucienne is no lesser being. In fact, she’s rather put out at the complete absence of decorum Lord Morpheus has seen fit to show… this entire debacle.

Sneaking around like a common thief? Lying to you, keeping you completely unaware of the station that he has elevated you to? Casting disgrace and disrepute on the Dreaming and its people by terrifying you of it so?

Lord Morpheus practically dragged you here stark naked and screaming, for all intents and purposes.

And to add insult to injury, he dares to act as though she should be thrilled to debase herself before him.

“I don’t recall ever meeting your intended, my king. You must forgive me,” Lucienne snaps, peering at the figure on fire over the tops of her spectacles.

She is not so decrepit as to misremember when Lord Morpheus formally put forth his suit for the Lady Calliope.

Every realm and kingdom rang with it. Lord Morpheus brought the Lady Calliope in full honor through the Gates of Horn and Ivory, in a gleaming chariot of gold drawn by Helios’s horses covered in rose garlands.

In Lucienne’s unasked opinion, it is the height of disrespect on her Lord’s part to deprive you of such honors. She’s not surprised you’ve rejected him, and neither should he.

His flaming cloak flares blue, leaving holes in the carpet. Repairing them will significantly inconvenience Merv. They may need to replace the whole floor at the rate their king is going. What a pointless waste of a good carpet.

“You are my Vizier. You are my right hand. If you cannot tell me where that woman is, I will throw you out that window myself. And then I shall strip you of your position and seal, and set the hounds of Hell on what remains of you.”

Lucienne doesn’t think it’s nearly that serious. But then again, she has never been in love like Lord Morpheus loves, nor has she misstepped the way Lord Morpheus perennially steps on cracks in concrete.

In her mind, Lucienne apologizes to you. She hoped to grant you a little more time. “She went that way,” Lucienne says, gesturing to the Great Beyond on the outskirts of the kingdom. Hopefully, you’ve made it far enough to enact whatever chaotic scheme you’re brewing.

“Good luck, Lord Morpheus!” He’ll need it.

Lucienne watches the king disappear without a word of thanks. Once she’s sure that he’s gone, she goes to inspect the damage to the library.

Her earlier fears were warranted; the carpet is done for, along with a few floorboards. They’re singed to a crisp, filling the air with an acrid, burnt stink. With a long, suffering, frustrated sigh, Lucienne summons the pumpkin-headed caretaker.

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Reader POV

Your shoes-

They’re getting in the way. The laces have come undone, and you trip over them, then over a series of tree roots rippling above the ground.

When you kick them off in an impulsive, frustrated fit, you expect the ground to be full of sharp things, thorns, jagged pebbles, and maybe even a few bones.

Your feet instead sink into pillowy-soft dirt. As soon as your toes go near a twig, the hard edges around it blunt until it metamorphoses into a blade of tender young grass. The pebbles turn into balls of fuzzy moss, and upon closer inspection, the bones are oddly shaped mushrooms.

So Lucienne was telling the truth when she said nothing in this place could hurt you.

The wind picks up, blowing your hair around your face in a halo and rustling through the leaves in a high, wailing sound, screeching like a pulled fire alarm left too long.

The hairs on your arms stand, and goosebumps trail down your spine.

As you start to run again, you wonder if you’re not only hearing the wind but also some wounded creature crooning and crying out for help.

It’s coming from behind you, from the castle.

Shit.

Shit shit shit.

You feel a cramp open up in your side from running so hard, from panting and clawing for oxygen to keep you upright and moving.

The forest goes on and on, a never-ending series of towering, menacing dead trees with gaping shadows and a horizon that grows increasingly distant no matter how far you go.

Fragments of dried bark dig into your palm as you brave yourself on a withered tree trunk.

Run.

You lurch a few feet forward.

The shadows grow maws. They grow fangs. They nip at the backs of your heels.

Morpheus is coming for you.

Everything aches, but you keep going. Your stomach grows nauseous, but you keep going.

The sky above you turns a sickly shade of blue-gray, a horrible warning sign for the torrent of freezing rain about to accompany your desperate, hunted flight.

He will catch you, stick his claws in your back, and parade you through that grand palace in chains.

Or not.

Morpheus says he loves you. Look at what you’ve done with your love for him. No chains are needed for the dead.

But who knows?

You don’t. You do know better than to hope.

That thought carries you just a little further. No matter how weary or wounded you become, you’ll never stop fighting for yourself or your baby bird.

Your heart pounds in your chest like a war drum, and your blood sings in your veins.

You flee past two trees, then three, then four. Their long arms beckon you to turn down one of their dark, haunted paths, to put your back to the horizon and lose yourself in the underbrush like a rabbit running straight into a trap.

You cling to slivers of gold and orange sunbeams peeking through the branches with all the dying hope you can dredge up. The edge of the forest isn’t that far away. You’ll feel the sun on your face and outrun the storm in a moment.

A twig snaps.

Something takes a step. It breathes.

At the corner of your eyes, the shadows pulse and twist. 

So he’s found you. You never truly thought you’d make it out of here, but disappointment weighs on your chest like a brick pulling you into the depths of a cold, unforgiving lake. The forest may have had no end, and you were only deluding yourself that it did.

The scent of salt and ice is so heavy in the air that you can taste frozen crystals forming on the roof of your mouth, briny with a tinge of iron.

A dark, endless void of shadows blocks your path, reaching the top of the stormy sky. “Boo.” Morpheus wears a disgusting smile filled with sharp white teeth. It makes you feel things. Abject terror. The impulse to drop to your knees and beg for mercy. And a sick, sadistic heat under your skin.

He came hunting.

You love it.

He wears a red flush on his stark white cheeks as if chasing you took effort. “Dream.” The show is appreciated, even though you both know his godly biology doesn’t work like that. A+ for effort.

It enhances the glowing blue of his irises, like twin stars shining bright in his face against the rich obsidian cloak with a smoking hem flaring around his shoulders. He is a stained glass painting of an archangel, and you are the creature of clay and Adam’s blood barred from Heaven.

You watch the razor edge of his teeth sink into his bottom lip with a feeling reminiscent of envy rotting in the pit of your stomach.

His voice has the sensuality of freshly carded silk brushing over bare skin. “How on earth did you find yourself out here, beloved? These woods are dangerous. They say there is a monster here that eats pretty girls.” Morpheus tilts his head slightly, and his smirk widens.

Your rust-colored nails flex and dig into the hem of your sweater. “Do you get many of those passing through?” You snark back. If I’m so special, prove it. Do what you wouldn’t do for a goddess, or a queen, or a star.

Unfortunately, the blow doesn’t land. He acts like you’re the only person he’d come for. “None as pretty as you. So what are you doing alone? My lady, I’d be delighted to lead you back to the castle. You’re shivering.” There is a grating, patronizing indulgence in his tone. He’s fucking humoring you. He knows you’re full of shit and that no matter how hard you deny it, his feelings are a truth you can’t sully.

That doesn’t mean you’ll give up. “I’m not going back.” How far can you go before Morpheus turns away? How terrible and cruel and horrible can you be before he decides you’re not worth the trouble?

You want- no, need to find out.

It’s only fair. You have suffered, and you never stopped loving him. Let Dream suffer and see if his love endures, if he’s even half the person you are.

In the blink of an eye, the shadows disappear as if they were never there. “Anything could happen to you. Some fiend could carry you off-“ Morpheus says evenly as his cloak shifts into the elegant coat you adore.

Now, he is but a beautiful stranger in the woods. Your clothes are a weak, flimsy barrier to his searching, heated gaze, trailing intimately over the full curves of your body and your rounded belly.

Has Morpheus read your mind and revealed your own brutal desire concealed in your skull like a minefield waiting to explode? “You’ve already done that.” Maybe he didn’t need to. You’ve given yourself away in your dilated pupils, and how you gave up on running as soon as you got what you wanted.

“Hurt you-“ Dream ignores your provocation as he spreads his long-fingered hands, showing he holds no weapon or trick.

For every step he takes towards you, you take one back. “You also already did that,” You frostily remind him.

Morpheus’s coat would irritate you less if it were cast off on the ground and crushed into the dirt along with the rest of his clothes. His hair would be prettier fucked up and tugged between your fingers. You might be able to stand the sight of his mouth better if it were bleeding and bruised from your teeth.

The corner of his mouth ticks up as his eyes gleam with mischief. “Or dishonor you, right here. Who would hear you scream?” He backs you against a tree, and the bark snags your sweater. “Nobody,” Morpheus leans in to whisper. His collarbones peek out of the neckline of his shirt, as delicately articulated as the hollow bones of a bird.

Heat stirs in your blood at the sight.

You felt good watching that man die for Morpheus. And then empty, dreadfully empty. “Don’t touch me,” You hiss, more of a challenge than a deterrent. You want to feel good again.

Morpheus could make you feel good again.

A black shade knocks on your skull at the edges of your vision and politely asks to be let in. Your eyes roll back as it walks through the door you’ve opened inside of yourself and sees what you define as ‘good.’

“…Is that what you really want, darling?” Dream asks, both mocking your resistance and subtlety, softly acknowledging what he found behind your eyes.

Bile builds in your mouth. No. No softness. He has no right. “Why would I ever let you near me again? You are a liar and a fucking dick,” You hiss venomously before gathering saliva and spitting straight into his face.

Morpheus blinks a few times, his eyes round and blameless. “I love you.” For a single breathless second, you don’t hate him, and he never hurt you. You’re two children playing tag in the grass or tackling each other into the dirt.

You snap out of it. “Fuck off.” You feel a thousand degrees hotter. Sticky sweat gathers under your clothes along the heavy curve of your breasts and clings to the small of your back.

He braces one muscled arm on the tree above you and leans in to take in the scent of your hair, so close that his lips almost skim the shell of your ear. “I adore you like this. Fighting me, fighting yourself. It’s charming.” You shiver, unable to stop yourself from reacting.

He’s not touching you. When he exhales, you feel his breath pass over your cheek. He takes a step closer, looming tall and majestic over you. Morpheus delicately pins his arm on your other side, effectively boxing you in.

But he’s still not touching you.

You swallow quickly.

“I’m not fucking doing it for your benefit. Can’t you take a hint? I said no. You have shown me amply this past month how little of a fuck you give. So why don’t you keep doing that and go the fuck away?”

Despite his best efforts at seeming harmless, you can’t shake the impression of his wild, almost-inhumanly blue eyes and too-gaunt cheekbones, like a wraith wearing an angel’s wings.

His eyes trail over your flushed cheeks and the pink of your tongue as you lick your lips.

He reaches out to cradle your face before pulling his hand back when he sees you lean in. “Ah, so this is a test. You want to see how far I’m willing to go. You want to see what I’ll do for you, how long I’ll wait, and how much patience I have,” Morpheus murmurs in a voice as soft as fog.

You should-

You should tell him that he’s got it all wrong. You should tell him that you’ll never forgive him and there’s nothing he can do. You’ve made up your mind and hardened your heart.

“And if it is?” 

He kisses you.

The worst part is that you let him.

Morpheus’s hands clutch you against him, your belly brushes his coat, his lips are warm and inviting, and he kisses you like he’s waited his whole long immortal life to do it. His tongue brushes yours, drawing a quiet moan from you. He tastes like salt and musk, and your arms circle his neck, pulling him further into your kiss.

“Then I look forward to passing it,” Morpheus says breathlessly as he breaks away, pressing his forehead to your temple as if nothing is wrong.

With strength you didn’t know you had, you take him by the lapels of his coat and shove him back. Fuck him. Fuck this.

You turn and run before he realizes what’s happening. Panic isn’t egging you on anymore - it’s your fury, smothered slightly but not anywhere near finished. Oh no, you’re not fucking done with Morpheus. You want to see him draped in your agony, you want the light in his eyes extinguished.

You don’t make it two feet. Darkness wraps you up in a warm, gentle embrace, blocking out the whole world other than Dream, watching you struggle with his arms crossed over his chest.

Shadows thread around your wrists, pinning them behind your back. “Running away again? I’ll always catch you, and you’ll never escape.” Morpheus runs a finger along your jawline. His skin feels cool, and the touch is far too tender.

“You don’t know half of what I’m capable of.” Your glare would singe his stupidly immaculate hair off if it could.

His finger trails down your throat and hooks in the neckline of your bloody sweater, pulling it slightly away from your body. “I think I do. I think I know you better than anyone else, dead or alive.” For every ounce of your poison, Dream gives you back steady, unwavering adoration, tugging on the sweater without shying from the stains.

When the damned thing gives, you’re not even that upset. It falls to the ground in two pieces, leaving you in your tank top and pants.

“What the fuck?” You squirm in your makeshift binds, trying and failing to find a sharp edge you could use to convince him to release you.

“That divine mouth of yours may lie, but this,” Morpheus hisses as he rests his palm at the base of your throat to feel your blood rush crazed and wild at his touch. “This doesn’t.” The corner of his mouth turns up as you moan, reluctantly eager for him to tighten his grasp just a little more.

Morpheus tuts before releasing your throat.

Before your feelings smart from the loss, his shadows pluck at the straps of your tank top. “How fucking dare you? Get off of me.”

“But I don’t want to,” Morpheus parries in a high-pitched, playfully mocking tone.

Oh, he has a goddamn death wish. “Do you think I care?” When one of the shadowy tendrils tries to sweep lovingly across your cheek, you bite it. Hard. It tastes like fresh snow. You far prefer it to Desire’s sickly-sweet flesh.

With a single flick of his hand, he makes a deep crimson mark appear on his throat, a perfect image of the imprint of your teeth. Morpheus tilts his face as proudly as if he were wearing a crown.

“I’ve thought about having you like this, bare in our home, ever since I left you.” He rids you of your pants with surgical precision, casting the shreds of rust-speckled fabric somewhere, never to be found again. As Morpheus turns to your tank top, his shadows tighten their grip on your hands, pushing your chest forward.

You watch the intelligence and rational thought die in his eyes when he sees your breasts free of clothing, hanging round and heavy in the cool air.

“What? You’ve never seen my boobs before?” You snarl after growing tired of a full minute of speechlessness.

Your dark binds tug you back and back until you find yourself held upright by a tree trunk.

Dream delicately sweeps strands of your hair away from your throat so he can see without obstruction. “They’re… they’re bigger,” He whispers hoarsely. His fingers pause in their exploration of your sternum long enough to feel your pulse thudding under your skin.

Then he covers one of your breasts with his palm. You hear him groan under his breath when he realizes there’s far too much you for one of his hands. “I distinctly, intimately, precisely remember the shape and size of yours, and they’ve grown…” His fingers knead your soft breasts slowly, relieving a tenderness you didn’t even know you had.

There’s absolutely nothing sacred or respectful in his eyes glittering like sapphires. He only has a wolf’s hunger for a rabbit for you.

And then his face is pressed to the crook of your neck, his lips moving on the column of your throat as he runs a thumb over your nipple once, twice.

His touch feels different. Maybe he’s fucking with your head, or maybe being pregnant has done something to your nerves. Every little movement feels like too much pleasure and not enough of it at the same time.

Heat washes through you, blooming from his mouth and his hands to pour into your belly. “Fuck, you’re so fucking creepy, oh-“ You gasp, hating how much your body craves him.

Your underwear sticks to your thighs as you shift in search of a position that lessens the ache in your core.

Your head falls against the tree as you writhe in his hold. He runs his nails along the curve of your breast, greedily soaking in your every whimper and how you jolt, unconsciously arching closer.

You feel Morpheus lick a hot line along your throat. “Sensitive.” His other hand clutches your waist, your round hips, then palms your ass. A contented groan rumbles deep in his chest.

In revenge, you tug fervently at his coat, getting it about halfway down his strong shoulders before you start clawing at his shirt. The fabric disappears beneath your fingers, leaving him as bare-chested as you.

Instead of avoiding your nails, Morpheus encourages you to carve gilded furrows into his back. “I’m sorry, I cannot- I can’t help myself,” He says, far too pleased with himself to mean that stupid apology. 

You look down to see what’s captured his attention now, only to find your tits littered with fingerprint bruises.

That sudden movement displeases him, and he pins you against the tree with a hand on your throat. “Beautiful. And when I…” When he leans down to take one of your nipples into his hot mouth and sucks, bolts of lightning dance and fizz under your skin, electrifying every nerve.

Your hips tremble and push towards him as your dripping cunt pulses and flexes around nothing. “Stop it,” You moan, trying to shove him away yet only managing to tangle your fingers in his hair. Then he switched to your other breast, kissing and lapping at the hypersensitive skin. “Oh God.” You give up fighting for a moment, too caught up in the sensations to care about your pride.

Morpheus barely has to apply the slightest pressure with his knee for your legs to part.

His fingers drag along your inner thighs to capture the arousal leaking through your panties. Before you get the chance to feel ashamed, Dream sucks his shiny fingers into his mouth, savoring your taste with an almost-blissful glaze across his eyes.

With his lips still coated in you, Morpheus looks like the very picture of sin.

After he’s cleaned his fingers, he runs them along the soaked cloth covering your cunt, pressing down just enough to tease. “You’re so needy, my love. I’m horribly cruel, aren’t I, letting you suffer in this state without my assistance.” You grind your hips against his hand, trying to get him to do something about your needy, swollen clit, desperate for relief.

He tastes like salt and sex when he kisses you. “I’m here now. I’ll take care of you.” Morpheus tears through your underwear like ripping paper. He works your clit with his thumb until you’ve soaked his palm and then slides a single finger into your pussy. Without waiting for you to adjust, he sinks in a second finger knuckle-deep.

You cry out, shaking like a leaf, as your core spasms and milks his digits. You thought that could satisfy the ache but it barely scratches the surface. You need more-

You take his chiseled face between your hands and drag him down for another kiss. “I literally despise you.” To spite him further, you mulishly keep your mouth shut as he starts fucking you with his long fingers. 

It turns out that your stifled whines aren’t needed. Your wet cunt more than makes up for it. Loud, soaked squelches echo, and your legs shut to hide the sounds. That only forces Dream’s fingers deeper into your pussy and grinds your throbbing clit into his palm.

You can’t stay quiet a second longer, not as your stomach tightens and tears gather in your eyes from the rush. Those breathless, pathetic noises are all yours, and Morpheus answers them with a breathless laugh.

He keeps up a steady rhythm, carefully and precisely aiming for that sensitive spot deep inside that drives you fucking insane. “You want me to be the villain? Is that it?”

You sink your teeth into his shoulder as deep as they’ll go as your thighs shake, ecstasy rushing painfully through your muscles.

His eyes burn a brighter shade of sapphire when you bite him again. “You wish for me to be cruel? To torment you?” Morpheus wraps his other arm around your hips to help you fuck yourself on his digits. “No, beloved. I won’t,” He purrs in your ear and then kisses away the sweat from your brow.

“Go fuck yourself, Morpheus. I hate you. I hate you,” You chant in a trembling, weak voice. He doesn’t need to help you anymore, you’re shamelessly riding his hand and dripping slick to the ground.

“And I love you.”

You cry out at his words. They fucking- they do something that makes you feel hotter, more sensitive, drives you closer to the edge.

“I want- that’s it, my darling. You’re close. I can feel it.” Your pussy quivers repeatedly as the tension in your belly grows unbearable. He quirks his fingers, hitting that sensitive place as he rocks your puffy clit into his palm.

Your body is betraying you, and you’re just fucking letting him ruin you. “No. No. No, fuck- no, I’m not,” You try, blubbering denials through cries of pleasure.

Morpheus fucks into you faster, harder, matching the pace your hips set. “Tell me what you need. Use me for your pleasure, beloved.” Fuck. Fuck. You’re going to-

Your knee slides up a little, giving him more room to stretch your tight cunt further. “Come for me. I know you want to.” His tone is soft and affectionate, calling to you sweeter than a siren’s song. It tells you to give in and promises unimaginable bliss if you do.

You come with your eyes rolled back and your mouth open, shuddering, your hips jerking on his fingers, and waves of hot flame pouring down your spine.

Your orgasm fucking drenches his fingers and your muscles clamp down tighter, each vicious pulse so strong that you taste iron in the back of your mouth. All you can hear is your heartbeat, loud and insistent, and the low sound of Morpheus’s approval. You’re wracked with pleasure, wholly gone to anything else.

Just before the feeling dwindles, Dream slides his fingers out of your swollen folds, forcing you to finish coming on nothing. “That’s it. There you go. Good girl,” He says with a smile. Your frustrated wail fills the air, and you clutch at his wrist, wordlessly begging for more. “I’m not so loathsome now, hm?” Morpheus showers your face with delicate kisses, pausing only to clean a tear from your cheek with light kitten-licks.

The two of you rest there for a moment. You’re slumped between him and the tree, panting and spent and warm, while he gently rubs your back, waiting for you to catch your breath.

Once Morpheus deems you suitably recovered, he traces the marks he scattered on your chest. He smears the slick gathered on his hand across your nipples, then bends down to lick your juices from your skin. The feeling of him mouthing your tits, the sharp edge of his teeth scraping and biting, overwhelms you, and your knees buckle.

Morpheus catches you and lowers you to the ground. Dried leaves find their way into your hair and crunch under your back as you stretch out like a lazy cat.

“I have a feeling that I’d be able to make you come simply from playing with your breasts,” He murmurs as he kneels between your open legs before laying another series of kisses over the bite marks. “My lady, you are truly the most sublime creature I’ve ever touched.”

You roll your eyes and half-heartedly push his head away. “Yeah, well, you’ll be lucky if I let you near them again.” His hair feels soft and downy under your fingers like the underbelly of a bird. That’s another thing to resent him for. Why can’t he be ugly with bad hair?

Dream’s canines leave imprints in your hand when he bites, clearly communicating how he feels about being denied access to you. “We’re just getting started, darling. Your game isn’t over.” 

You look up at his fair, radiant face, shining brighter than a full moon, and his mouthful of nightmarish, fanged teeth, and wonder for the first time if this was a mistake.

That’s how you find yourself riding his face while being forced toward your third orgasm of the night.

The second orgasm passed by in a shimmering haze of heat and lust.

Morpheus pulled you astride his shoulders without fanfare, clamped his hands around your plump thighs, and dragged your sensitive cunt onto his open, wet, and waiting mouth. You hit and kicked, you even tried forcing his head back with a fist in his dark hair, but he gave you the most glorious and beguiling grin at the sudden violence. You couldn’t give him any more satisfaction, so you had to let go and let him do… what he wanted.

Hands made of antimatter gripped your hips and held you upright by your hair. He thumbed your swollen folds, carefully tracing around your clit but never touching it. You weren’t able to look into his eyes from this position - your belly was just large enough to hide most of his face when you were on top. But you had a pretty good guess about how he felt about your wet cunt dangling before his lips, like fruit to be easily plucked, split open, and devoured. You heard him fucking whimper, a stupidly arousing, frustrated sound, and then his arms forced you down.

It took Dream no time to make you crumble like a deck of cards. He lapped his tongue through your folds, smearing your arousal over his lips, before working carefully on your reddened clit. Morpheus’s strong hands endured your desperate attempt to escape him by clutching you tighter.

He sucked on your bundle of nerves once, then twice. You tried to tell yourself mind over matter, that if you focused hard enough, you could ignore the pleasure rippling through you.

Of course, that meant you came so suddenly that your stomach tied itself into knots, and your spasming, throbbing cunt soaked his face. The waves snatched every scrap of air out of your lungs, so you couldn’t even plead for mercy or cry out. You gasped, hunched over with hair in your face, silently screaming and shivering, as your brain turned to slush and your eyes glazed over.

Now, Dream takes sadistic pleasure in teasing that third orgasm out and denying it to you every single fucking time.

There’s an obscene squelch when he thrusts two fingers into your cunt, finally filling the awful, hollow ache. “Fuck, fuck, oh my God, Morpheus… please…” You babble, mindlessly grinding down on his tongue.

He takes his mouth off you and slowly strokes his digits inside you, far too gentle to get you off. “Please what? Please what?” Morpheus mocks as you almost collapse into the shadows, letting them take your full weight.

You try to hide your mewls by biting on your lips and end up cutting yourself, fresh blood joining the fine layer of sweat covering your face and body. “Stop, I’m- it’s too much. You have to stop.” You have no fucking clue what you’re begging for anymore. You’re dumb to it all, helpless and panting and begging for the fever that rises every time he drags the tips of his fingers over your g-spot.

A shadowy tendril wipes the blood from your chin before crawling into your mouth, gagging you so you can’t bite yourself anymore.

More tendrils curl around your breasts and pluck at your hardened, swollen nipples. “You need more? Is that what I’m hearing? Does my lady want more?” Now he matches the rhythm of his fingers with kisses along your shuddering thighs, occasionally pausing to suck and lap at the juices covering your skin.

The tendril in your mouth dissipates into smoke so you can answer. “No, shit, aaah-“ Strands of your hair stick to your cheeks as you writhe and gasp for air.

Morpheus tries to withdraw his fingers to deny you again, tease you again, punish you again, but you’re having none of it. You blindly reach down, grab his slick hand, and urge it back towards your greedy pussy.

He laughs roughly, then kisses your hip with petal-soft lips as he obeys. “That’s it, darling. Does it feel good yet?” Fuck. Fuck. It does. You’re so full, your core flutters and milks his digits, but it’s not right or enough to satisfy the burning wildfire of desire that’s driving you mad.

You shake your head to try and get some control back, to clear your head. All you want is to just- just to give in, let him have you, let him replace every thought and word and will with himself. “No,” You stutter through slightly numb lips, your eyelashes trembling.

Your nails find his wrist and dig in as deep as they can go.  Shimmering gold blood coats your thighs, and the mess gets worse and worse when Morpheus starts to bounce you on his face, eagerly drinking from your creamy folds.

“Go on. You can tell me. I know you fucking love this. Just like you love me.” As Dream is far too busy eating you out like he’s starving to lift his mouth, his voice is muffled by the slick, disgusting sounds of his tongue, his fingers, your cunt.

“I… I…” You scrabble for purchase in the dark, searching for something to hold onto, anything that can stabilize you. The hands that intertwine with yours aren’t the ones kneading your ass or fucking you into oblivion, but they’re just as reassuring as Morpheus’s real hands.

His mouth works your clit, getting rougher, messier, sucking harder. “Sweet girl, I’ve missed you. I’ve missed your noises and, fuck, the taste of you. And this pretty, pretty cunt. So sensitive. Delicious.” Dream braces one hand on your lower belly, just above your core, applying faint pressure to heighten the sensations.

“But I need you to come. Please, my darling. Please,” He moans against your puffy folds, forcing in a third finger as you wail and thrash.

Just like that, you’re shoved off the cliff, screaming and sobbing. Tears cover your cheeks as your hips move on their own, wrenching out every last bit of pleasure you can. It hurts so fucking much yet feels so fucking good. Static electricity arcs through your limbs, and even the faintest breeze whispering across your bare back makes your overstimulated core flicker and squeeze his fingers harder.

His shadows lovingly lower you to the ground, helping you curl on your side around your rounded tummy. Exhaustion filters in slowly, wrapping you in a gossamer blanket of numbness and calming your frazzled nerve endings.

Dream is there. Dream is curling protectively around your shaking form, he slides an arm under your neck to support your head, and his other hand squeezes the back of your neck. You bury yourself in his embrace and let him rock you like a child.

Here, stitched as close to him as you can be, the horrible past forty-eight hours starts to be less horrible and more foggy, like looking at something in the rear-view mirror as you drive away.

You can let yourself love him in this moment. You can be weak for a little while longer.

When you lay your palm against his heart, you feel it thudding as furiously as your own.

Morpheus exhales slowly as the feeling of you in his arms leeches the tension from his muscles. Even if you wanted to push him away, which you don’t, you wouldn’t have the strength to do it. So, for now, you’ll let him keep you here.

He kisses you as many times as he can, everywhere he can reach. Your baby hairs, your smile lines, the corners of your eyes.

Before Morpheus wipes your cheeks clean of tears, he cleans his fingers off with his tongue. Then he’s stroking away the stinging salt water dotting your skin. A furrow grows on his smooth, unwrinkled brow out of concentration.

When you start crying again out of relief, hiccuping ungracefully and snot going everywhere, his large hand tucks you into the crook of his neck. “I’m so sorry. I know, I know,” Morpheus soothes. “Do you want us to be done now? Are you finished?” He’s warmer than a furnace, and you instinctively wrap an arm around his waist and shove your feet between his calves, seeking that comfort with single-minded determination.

His small chuckle is as sweet and fragile as spun sugar.

You absentmindedly trace the veins crawling up the back of his hand as you think.

Then your anger begins to grow back, rotting through your lungs and making each breath taste like death, and you have your answer. “I want… don’t make me say it, Morpheus,” You mutter into his skin and follow it with a tiny, tiny bite, more of a nip than anything else.

This time, when Morpheus unfurls the petals of your mind, you anticipate it eagerly.

You want him, and you loathe it, and it’s choking you. “I should. I ought to make you beg on your knees,” He tells you.

You need him to cut the strife and self-loathing from your chest and smooth out your riled, tangled heartstrings, and then put you back together again. He has to pluck the violence out of your hand as if it were a knife and point it somewhere it can’t hurt you, ideally towards himself.

Dream goes quiet. He pets your hair and rests his cheek against your forehead. You’re beginning to think the softness isn’t just for your benefit; he’s drinking his fill to tide him over until the next time you let Dream touch you like this.

And there will be a next time, a gentle, honey-sweet next time. That promise runs true in your mind, buried deep beneath the layers of poison and resentment like a vein of untouched gold.

His star-filled eyes flutter shut. “Fine. Fine. I can’t deny you anything. Just a little further, and then you can rest.” When they open, his pupils twist and stretch into a monstrous, serpentine gash of black against his brilliant blue irises.

“N- no more?” You hear yourself ask for mercy, easily slipping into the role of the maiden to his beast.

Morpheus rises on his knees and hovers over your vulnerable form. “No more, my love. Can you be brave like I know you are? Can you take it for me?” He asks as the fingers stroking your cheek turn into obsidian claws for a moment.

You are not supposed to find this attractive. You’re meant to be terrified right now, unwilling, pushing him away with conviction of any kind.

“…Yes.” Yes. Take me. A warm, needy craving makes you draw up your knees to conceal your filthy, ruined cunt, glistening with fresh arousal.

The claws metamorphize into fingers before the sharp edges can slice your skin. Morpheus is no less intimidating without them, looking down at you like you’re a pretty toy in his palm. You’ll miss them, though, and you swallow your disappointment before he notices.

He lifts you from the ground before gently turning you until you face away, unable to see him while he can control all of you. “That’s it, beloved. On your knees, arch your back.” The stoic, hardened mask cracks slightly as he runs an open palm up and down your body, inevitably running into the baby in your belly. You’re surprised he lasted so long without asking about it.

Maybe Morpheus didn’t think he had the right to until now.

Your back presses into his broad, muscled chest. “May I?” He asks before slowly kissing your neck. His hair tickles your earlobe, and you feel a soft puff of air ghost over your skin when he exhales.

“Our baby.” You even surprise yourself by resting his hand over the swell of your soft, squishy tummy.

Dream strokes the rounded skin with hardly any force, suddenly treating you as delicately as he’d handle a fragile eggshell. His breathing hitches, and tension strings his tendons as tight as they can go.

If only you could capture this in a painting or trap it in a snow globe so you could relive the feeling of trusting him again over and over.

It’s too much. It’s far too much. Your heartbeat echoes in your ears as you shove his hand away from your skin. He’s too close, too soft, and too kind.

You’re not sure if you deserve it, and you sure as shit don’t want it.

As fast as a viper striking a hapless mouse, Morpheus grabs the back of your neck and traps you in place. His long fingers wrap around your throat, and his nails prick your skin. “You’re insatiable,” He tells you, then forces you down until the side of your face meets the forest floor.

He leaves your arms where they cushion you on the ground, correctly judging that bringing them behind your back will hurt in an unpleasant way, and instead keeps his dominance with a fist in your tangled hair. Dried leaves crush under your cheek as you try to prop yourself up and rest his strength. Dream doesn’t give an inch, and eventually, your body grows pliant and submissive beneath him.

His fingers dance up and down your spine in a soothing pattern. “Good girl. That’s it, sweetheart.” You grit your teeth and buck again, trying to express your displeasure, but Morpheus merely laughs and kisses the base of your spine.

“No need for all of that. I’ll give you what you want.”

When his fingers dip between your parted thighs, you push back, fucking begging him to touch your swollen folds and ease the building ache.

Your moan is exhausted and sweet as he thumbs your clit before playing with the fresh slick on your skin. “Fuck, you’re still so wet. Is that for me, darling?” Dream groans, his breath hitching as you arch a little further, presenting your dripping pussy to him.

The desperation in how hard he tries to make you cry out tells you everything about how tightly wound he is, how close he is to snapping. “Come on. You can admit it.” You keep your mouth stubbornly closed even as the pressure on your clit increases. It’s bad enough that he knows you as well as he does and can play your body like a virtuoso on a violin.

His breaths come in short, almost feral pants. “Silence? We’ll see how long that lasts.” And then- and then- Morpheus pushes the fat head of his cock inside you, going slow enough for your muscles to adjust.

But he’s so fucking big, and it’s been so long since he last fucked you, and your eyes roll back, sweat drips down your neck, and your knees dig into the ground, trying to keep you upright. “Shhhhh. Gods, you’re so fucking tight. Fuck. It’s okay. You’re okay. Feels good, hm?” Inch by inch, he stretches your spasming cunt, and you whine, your hips tilt back, and his thick cock slips against that spot deep inside that makes you sob.

“That’s it, my love,” Morpheus reassures through gritted teeth. “Can you take me a little further?”

You feel your muscles constrict around him like a vice when he grinds himself deeper. “H-how much?” You moan as your juices run down your thighs and coat his cock to the base.

Dream releases your hair before sliding an arm under your breasts to hold you upright without hurting the baby. It takes you a second to trust him and give him the whole of your weight. He balances you between his hips and arms like you’re lighter than air.

He kisses your damp hair and nibbles on your ear. “That much,” He says, showing you another inch or so with his fingers.

Your hand covers his resting above your belly, and your fingers intertwine with his. “…Yeah,” You nod as tears prickle in your eyes. Morpheus is everywhere, inside you, holding you. You’ve missed him. You’ve missed him so fucking much.

With a deep breath, you relax and let him carry you. The feeling of his heartbeat thudding through his chest and his hand cupping your breast is a sweet, easy soporific, soothing the sharp, anxiety-ridden knots in your head into something mindless and loving.

He rocks into you slowly until his hips are flush against your ass. “Relax, my love. You’re okay. Gods- you feel- so good, you’re perfect, that’s it, good girl. Perfect girl,” He chants, over and over, as the stretch and the push and pull have you shaking and pleading for more.

“Oh- oh god. Morpheus. Ahhh- I can’t, I’m so full.” Your breathy cries echo over his deep, gravelly moans.

“You’re still so tight even when full of my cock. And my child in your belly? Gods, I love you. I adore you.” Every time he tells you that, your cunt grows wetter.

Morpheus lays into you, fucking you like a man possessed, pressing in as deep as your body will let him. All you can do is rest there in his arms and take it. “I- I’m not going to last. I need you- I need you to come for me. One last time.” You’re not listening when he speaks, too busy bouncing your hips in time with his thrusts and screaming your pleasure out as loud as you can. “Please, darling?” He begs. His free hand returns to your pussy, and his fingers stroke your clit softly.

Your knuckles go white from the force you use to grip his wrist. “Hngh- shit, shit, shit, yes.” The feeling of Dream kissing your cheek sends you over the edge.

Your eyes go wide as the moon, and you hiccup as the force of his cock bullying into your shivering, clenching cunt wipes your mind blank of coherent thoughts. Your spine straightens and your limbs tense. You’re delirious, babbling nonsense, and he keeps working your swollen, hypersensitive clit, now chasing his own release.

Morpheus sinks his teeth into your shoulder as he comes, painting your inner walls white. The warmth relieves some of your soreness from all the orgasms he forced from your tired body. You can feel your combined cum coat your thighs, sticky and viscous.

When you collapse, you don’t hit the forest floor like expected. Instead, you end up in a large, impossibly soft bed, bundled in plush blankets and your head cushioned on fluffy pillows.

Everything hits you at once - the running, the fear, the man dead in your living room.

As you weep into the soft linen under your cheek, Dream curls around you until you don’t know where you end, and he begins. “I’m here. I’ve got you. You’re safe now.” His fingers shake as they wipe away your tears and tuck the blankets tighter around your shoulders.

The bedchamber is cool and dark with no shards of light that could irritate your eyes or worsen your building headache from crying so goddamn much.

You cling to him and smush your face into his chest. “Morpheus…’M sorry.” In this strange, fairytale land, the strange god embracing you feels like home.

Something damp trickles down your forehead. “Shhh. Did you think killing that man scared me off?” When you look up, you see tears glimmering on Morpheus’s face like sapphire beads.

“It should have.” You’ve always had darkness in your heart. You might have been born with it, a seed planted by your mother’s hatred and watered by your pain.

But if Desire was telling the truth, Morpheus is as flawed as he is beautiful. That’s oddly comforting.

His mouth tastes like you when he kisses you. “Listen to me, beloved. I have been captured like that once before. I languished in a prison for almost a century. I was forgotten. Abandoned. Starved. All of this around you that I built crumbled into dust. At long last, it was the pity of an old man and my rage that freed me. But you… No one has ever protected me like you did,” He whispers.

Your arms tighten around his waist. You love him, you hate him. Most of all, your heart breaks for the decades he spent alone.

He swallows thickly. “That’s all I ever wanted. For my whole existence. Someone to fight for me.” You wanted that, too.

“And if you had chosen to leave me there, to keep you and our child safe, I would’ve let you. I would have forgiven you. That is how much I love you.” His hand sketched slow, circular patterns across your stomach, never shying from the rolls.

Your lips ghost over his shoulder, sending a shiver through him. You don’t kiss him with forgiveness, not yet. Even though you can’t say it aloud, you want him to know you’re here. He’ll always catch you, no matter where you run, so he won’t ever be alone again.

“Maybe you’ll regret it. That it was me.” You can be just as cruel and monstrous as him; there are other kinder, prettier, gentler, sweeter people. He could be anywhere else right now other than tethered to a canvas of scars with her teeth bared.

He kisses your forehead with his hands, cradling your cheeks like a dragon cradling its hoard. “Do your worst.”

this is the smuttiest thing ive written for this fic yet. hope you guys like this!

*trembling, vibrating, clawing at the ground and foaming at the mouth, crawling and dragging my weak body across the ground* MUST. WRITE.

Random Names

Part XI

A list of random names that I come across to give you some variety for your next characters.

Dion (m)

Kiko (f)

Isaiah (m)

Millicent (f)

Athena (f)

Archibald (m)

Sadie (f)

Tonya/Tonia (f)

Frances (f)

Arion (m)

Sarina (f)

Amrita (f)

Logan (m)

Merve (f)

Kamillia (f)

Arif (m)

Lali (f)

Adil (m)

Myron (m)

Kiana (f)

Cassiel (m)

Milla (f)

Reva (f)

Lysander (m)

Yağmur (f)

Cyril (m)

Rouven (m)

Dörte (f)

Shania (f)

Jona/Jonah (m)

More names!

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"Adverbs pave the road to hell."

-- Stephen King

I have this written on a tiny spiral notepad next to my desk just in case I need reminding.

So... I found this and now it keeps coming to mind. You hear about "life-changing writing advice" all the time and usually its really not—but honestly this is it man.

I'm going to try it.

OMG I JUST FOUND THAT SOMEONE MADE THIS REALISTIC DRAGON RING AND I CAN'T STOP THINKING ABOUT IT!!

For the people asking I found it HERE

THROUGH A RAPIST’S EYES” (PLS TAKE TIME TO READ THIS. It may save a life, It may save your life.)

An Article from Neena Susan Thomas

“Through a rapist’s eyes. A group of rapists and date rapists in prison were interview…ed on what they look for in a potential victim and here are some interesting facts:

1] The first thing men look for in a potential victim is hairstyle. They are most likely to go after a woman with a ponytail, bun! , braid, or other hairstyle that can easily be grabbed. They are also likely to go after a woman with long hair. Women with short hair are not common targets.

2] The second thing men look for is clothing. They will look for women who’s clothing is easy to remove quickly. Many of them carry scissors around to cut clothing.

3] They also look for women using their cell phone, searching through their purse or doing other activities while walking because they are off guard and can be easily overpowered.

4] The number one place women are abducted from / attacked at is grocery store parking lots.

5] Number two is office parking lots/garages.

6] Number three is public restrooms.

7] The thing about these men is that they are looking to grab a woman and quickly move her to a second location where they don’t have to worry about getting caught.

8] If you put up any kind of a fight at all, they get discouraged because it only takes a minute or two for them to realize that going after you isn’t worth it because it will be time-consuming.

9] These men said they would not pick on women who have umbrellas,or other similar objects that can be used from a distance, in their hands.

10] Keys are not a deterrent because you have to get really close to the attacker to use them as a weapon. So, the idea is to convince these guys you’re not worth it.

POINTS THAT WE SHOULD REMEMBER:

1] If someone is following behind you on a street or in a garage or with you in an elevator or stairwell, look them in the face and ask them a question, like what time is it, or make general small talk: can’t believe it is so cold out here, we’re in for a bad winter. Now that you’ve seen their faces and could identify them in a line- up, you lose appeal as a target.

2] If someone is coming toward you, hold out your hands in front of you and yell Stop or Stay back! Most of the rapists this man talked to said they’d leave a woman alone if she yelled or showed that she would not be afraid to fight back. Again, they are looking for an EASY target.

3] If you carry pepper spray (this instructor was a huge advocate of it and carries it with him wherever he goes,) yelling I HAVE PEPPER SPRAY and holding it out will be a deterrent.

4] If someone grabs you, you can’t beat them with strength but you can do it by outsmarting them. If you are grabbed around the waist from behind, pinch the attacker either under the arm between the elbow and armpit or in the upper inner thigh – HARD. One woman in a class this guy taught told him she used the underarm pinch on a guy who was trying to date rape her and was so upset she broke through the skin and tore out muscle strands the guy needed stitches. Try pinching yourself in those places as hard as you can stand it; it really hurts.

5] After the initial hit, always go for the groin. I know from a particularly unfortunate experience that if you slap a guy’s parts it is extremely painful. You might think that you’ll anger the guy and make him want to hurt you more, but the thing these rapists told our instructor is that they want a woman who will not cause him a lot of trouble. Start causing trouble, and he’s out of there.

6] When the guy puts his hands up to you, grab his first two fingers and bend them back as far as possible with as much pressure pushing down on them as possible. The instructor did it to me without using much pressure, and I ended up on my knees and both knuckles cracked audibly.

7] Of course the things we always hear still apply. Always be aware of your surroundings, take someone with you if you can and if you see any odd behavior, don’t dismiss it, go with your instincts. You may feel little silly at the time, but you’d feel much worse if the guy really was trouble.

FINALLY, PLEASE REMEMBER THESE AS WELL ….

1. Tip from Tae Kwon Do: The elbow is the strongest point on your body. If you are close enough to use it, do it.

2. Learned this from a tourist guide to New Orleans : if a robber asks for your wallet and/or purse, DO NOT HAND IT TO HIM. Toss it away from you…. chances are that he is more interested in your wallet and/or purse than you and he will go for the wallet/purse. RUN LIKE MAD IN THE OTHER DIRECTION!

3. If you are ever thrown into the trunk of a car: Kick out the back tail lights and stick your arm out the hole and start waving like crazy. The driver won’t see you but everybody else will. This has saved lives.

4. Women have a tendency to get into their cars after shopping,eating, working, etc., and just sit (doing their checkbook, or making a list, etc. DON’T DO THIS! The predator will be watching you, and this is the perfect opportunity for him to get in on the passenger side,put a gun to your head, and tell you where to go. AS SOON AS YOU CLOSE the DOORS , LEAVE.

5. A few notes about getting into your car in a parking lot, or parking garage:

a. Be aware: look around your car as someone may be hiding at the passenger side , peek into your car, inside the passenger side floor, and in the back seat. ( DO THIS TOO BEFORE RIDING A TAXI CAB) .

b. If you are parked next to a big van, enter your car from the passenger door. Most serial killers attack their victims by pulling them into their vans while the women are attempting to get into their cars.

c. Look at the car parked on the driver’s side of your vehicle, and the passenger side. If a male is sitting alone in the seat nearest your car, you may want to walk back into the mall, or work, and get a guard/policeman to walk you back out. IT IS ALWAYS BETTER TO BE SAFE THAN SORRY. (And better paranoid than dead.)

6. ALWAYS take the elevator instead of the stairs. (Stairwells are horrible places to be alone and the perfect crime spot).

7. If the predator has a gun and you are not under his control, ALWAYS RUN! The predator will only hit you (a running target) 4 in 100 times; And even then, it most likely WILL NOT be a vital organ. RUN!

8. As women, we are always trying to be sympathetic: STOP IT! It may get you raped, or killed. Ted Bundy, the serial killer, was a good-looking, well educated man, who ALWAYS played on the sympathies of unsuspecting women. He walked with a cane, or a limp, and often asked “for help” into his vehicle or with his vehicle, which is when he abducted his next victim.

Send this to any woman you know that may need to be reminded that the world we live in has a lot of crazies in it and it’s better safe than sorry.

If u have compassion reblog this post. ‘Helping hands are better than Praying Lips’ – give us your helping hand.

REBLOG THIS AND LET EVERY GIRL KNOW AT LEAST PEOPLE WILL KNOW WHATS GOING ON IN THIS WORLD. So please reblog this….Your one reblog can Help to spread this information.

THIS COULD ACTUALLY SAVE A LIFE.”