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morpheusbaby3 · 5 days ago

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── MORNING GLORY.

pairing: robb stark x wife!reader

summary: robb wakes up needy for his wife. good thing she's right there to help.

warnings: slight somno, fingering, spooning to prone bone, breeding kink (it's required), biting, lazy morning sex idk, this was written so quickly I just really needed to post something, not proofread cause I'm too lazy right now, mdni.

notes: this is not what I planned on posting today but I didn't get a lot of progress done on what I initially wanted to do, so enjoy this in the meantime. I woke up horny and I'm ovulating this week and this is the outcome. also regular text size won the poll!! I'm just keeping the notes and stuff small text.

word count: 1.5k

The ache between Robb's legs was the first thing he noticed when he awoke. The morning light was just beginning to filter in through the curtains, rays bathing the bedchambers in hues of orange and yellow. Even with the thorough love-making from the night before, his body ached for more before he was fully conscious.

Your soft form was curled beneath the furs, silky hair sprawled across the pillow, your lips parted ever so slightly as you slept. You were surely a pretty sight, one that only served to make him grow harder in his smallclothes. It was almost pathetic, Robb thought, that the mere sight of his wife could make him ache. He hoped the feeling was mutual. Your body was so warm and pliant against his own, one firm arm slung over your waist as he held your back to his chest.

Robb didn't want to disturb your slumber, not when you slept so peacefully, but his need for you was getting harder to ignore. He would make sure your abrupt awakening was well worth your while. His lips found your neck, planting gentle kisses over the marks he had left the night before. He could feel the shift in your breath, even if it was unconscious, your body responding to his familiar touch in your slumber. His hand, once splayed over the soft plane of your stomach began to dip lower, fingertips gliding across the skin of your thigh that was left bare from the way your shift had tugged up on the night. He savored the warmth of your skin and the subtle shift of your hips as you began to wake.

Robb's touch grew bolder as his fingers moved to the honey between your legs. He groaned softly at the wetness he found there, eyes squeezing shut as his calloused fingers found your clit. The little nub was already slickened with your arousal, two fingers easily gliding over it in tight circles. The whine you let out was so soft, so needy, it had your husband throbbing.

“Shhh, my lady,” he murmured, voice rough from disuse, “I've got you.” The scratch of his stubble against the delicate shell of your ear had you shuddering, hands clutching the bedsheets as you began to come back to reality.

“Robb.”

The breathy call of his name had his fingers speeding up on your clit, and it was then that he realized he was rutting against your rear, too desperate to stop himself like a dog in heat. His mouth found your neck again, teeth gently sinking into the sensitive skin before he soothed it with his tongue. It had you gasping, and Robb took the opportunity to slide a finger into your welcoming heat. “You're soaked, love,” the smirk was practically audible in his words. His hips rolled slowly, grinding the hard outline of his cock against your ass. “Were you dreaming about me?”

“Mhh… perhaps,” you replied, eyes fluttering shut with a small pinch of your brow. Your walls clamped around his invading digit, already wanting for more as you subtly rocked against his hand.

In tune with the tells of your body, and the soft little sounds that escaped you, Robb slid a second finger inside of you. He scissored his fingers for a few long moments, stretching you out for what was to come. “I hope it was a good dream,” he spoke huskily, lips still planting open-mouthed kisses along your neck and behind your ear until your skin glistened with his spit. “But never better than the real thing. I am here, my wife, let me love you.”

He withdrew his fingers from your cunt, reveling in the whimper of protest you let out, ready to be filled again. He made quick work of shoving down his smallclothes, his cock springing free. It was hard and aching, leaking with his need for his wife. One hand tugged up your shift in a haste, revealing the swell of your rear and the shape of your hips. His fingers sunk into the supple flesh of one of your cheeks, spreading you open for him. He grasped his cock, guiding the leaking tip through your folds. He watched, enraptured, as your folds parted around him, his length gliding easily through your arousal.

“Husband!” You gasped when his head caught on your clit, the delicious drag sending heat through your core as your body tensed.

“Shhh, my lady wife,” he repeated. Without more preamble, Robb lined himself up with your entrance. He groaned as soon as he slid inside, your warmth pulling him in further as he dropped his forehead onto your shoulder. His hand slid from your ass to your hip, fingers clutching onto you as he bottomed out. The moan you let out had him exhaling shakily, and it took all of his strength not to move until you adjusted.

Slowly, agonizingly so, Robb began to rock his hips. He dragged out of your clenching cunt until only the tip remained before pushing back inside. The pace was slow and deep, and he reveled in the soft moans he could draw from your lips, he reveled in the feeling of your warmth around him. It was what he had been aching for, and now he was lost in the pleasure. His hand slid up your body, arm looped over your waist, as his hand cupped one of your breasts through the thin fabric of your shift. He kneaded the soft mound, thumb circling your pebbled nipple as he sped up. Robb's hips slapped against your ass, the sound of flesh against flesh mingling with his grunts and your moans.

“So pretty,” Robb gasped, words falling from his lips without rhyme or reason, “so perfect. My lady. My wife. My heart."

As his thrusts grew more erratic, he eased you onto your stomach without missing a beat. His chest was flush against your back, body covering your own as he continued to run into you. “Robb!” You cried out, the noise strangled as his weight pressed into you. He pried open the tight grip you had on the pillows, fingers locking with your own. The other hand slid up your body, finger wrapping around your chin to tilt your head to look at him. His lips found yours in a messy kiss, though it was far too quick for your liking.

“You feel so good beneath me, my darling,” Robb panted, eyes glued to the way your brows furrowed, your hair clung to your sweaty forehead, your lips parted around soft gasps and whines. He felt his balls begin to tighten, threatening with his incoming release. He dropped his head upon your shoulder again, teeth biting at the bare skin he found. “My love, my lady, I'm close.”

“In… inside!” You managed to gasp.

That was all it took.

“You want me to cum inside, darling? Want me to fill you up and fuck you full of my seed?” The words were ragged as his hips stuttered, his hand sliding away from your jaw to clutch your hip. Robb squeezed your hand, and though his next words were spoken in a daze of lust, he meant them. “I can't wait to see you round with our babe. Let the whole North know you're mine.”

With a few punishingly hard thrusts, Robb stilled, and spilled inside of you. He felt your walls clench and spasm around him, a shrill cry falling from your lips as you met your orgasms together. He screwed his eyes shut, lips parted around gasping breaths and raspy moans. His hips stuttered as he rode out the waves of his climax, each pulse of his cock sending jolts of pleasure shooting up his spine. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the last spurts of his release dribbled out.

You were both panting, trembling with the aftermath of pleasure. Robb rolled his hips lazily, feeling his softening cock still nestled inside you. He could feel their combined releases starting to leak out around him, dribbling down your thighs. Marking you. Claiming you. He let go of your hip, hand propping himself up so he did not fully crush you with his weight. Nuzzling against the crook of your neck, he placed a reverent kiss to your skin.

“Are you alright, love?”

His question was almost laughable.

“Never better, husband. Only.. tired.”

Robb grinned against your neck, peppering kisses up the expanse of it until he met your jaw, your cheek, your forehead. “Well-spent, hm?” He hummed. He hissed as he slipped his softening cock out of you, rolling onto his back to gather you on his arms. He didn't miss the way you clenched your thighs together, an attempt at keeping his warm seed inside of you. It made his heart stutter, not entirely with lust, but hope. Hope that it would take.

“Sleep, wife,” he whispered, placing a final, lingering kiss upon your forehead as you rested on his chest. “I will be here when you wake.”

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morpheusbaby3 · 8 days ago

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Y’all remember that one scene from The Good Place? 😐

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morpheusbaby3 · 8 days ago

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Lady Luck Is Smiling - Chapter One

.☘︎ ݁˖ Quis facit Fortunam gratiam? - Who Does Fortuna favor?

Summary: When the Fates leave Morpheus' call unanswered, he gains insight into another goddess that may be able to help regain his lost tools. Lady Luck, as you go by now as opposed to Fortuna nor Tyche, is the second youngest of the Four Ladies. Morpheus is determined to learn how and what makes you smile, for your smile will allow luck to be on his side, and with any of it, will he find his tools.

Warnings/Tags: None

Word Count: 2.5k

Main Masterlist || Series Masterlist

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•☽────✧˖°˖☆˖°˖✧────☾•☽────✧˖°˖☆˖°˖✧────☾•

The air is heavy with the smell of smoke and old scotch, a scent that irks Morpheus’ nose as soon as he steps across the threshold. A casino is no place he would think to find himself, and yet here he is. When he eventually returned to freedom, it did not take him long to set out on a new journey to regain his tools.

The hoops Morpheus had to jump through to gain an audience with the Fates had proven useless. In the thundering and lonesome drying fields was he left unanswered. The snake he had so carefully selected as a gift slithers around in his coat. It’s like a taunt as it crawls around his torso, its forked tongue flicking out to taste his alabaster skin. After waiting for hours for the Fates to answer his call, only to be met with silence, Morpheus reluctantly returns.

“Perhaps in my absence, they have turned against me,” he murmurs, absentmindedly throwing small pieces of his fallen kingdom. The rubble bounces off a cracked column before finding its new home in a crevice in the floor.

“You could enlist the help of your siblings,” Lucienne offers hopefully, but if she saw the tic of his jaw correctly, the offer would remain unaccepted.

“My siblings,” Morpheus scoffs, his words sharp with resentment. “They had the last century to help and yet they too have remained silent.”

“It would be impossible to find your tools without any help at all,” Lucienne points out.

“Indeed.”

“You would have to be damn lucky,” the librarian mutters to herself, the situation dire.

“Luck…” Morpheus echoes the word, the briefest of ideas swirling around in his mind like the clouds at the highest mountain peak. “I know what I must do.”

»» ──── .☘︎ ݁˖x ࣪ ִֶָ☾.

A round of laughter brings Morpheus back to the present. His eyes dart around the busy room as he tries to locate the goddess who may help him. Plenty around him are drinking, smoking, and gambling—it’s the perfect place to find the Goddess of Luck. They pray to her each time they pull the lever at the slot machines.

Morpheus moves with intention. The deeper he goes within the casino, the heavier the smoke. It slowly shifts from the acrid and pungent smell of cigarette smoke to something akin to hydrangeas. Mortals dispel from his presence, they unconsciously cover their playing cards with their hands or body as he passes by.

The smell of hydrangeas grows stronger until Morpheus finds himself at the center table, a card game amidst its end—four players total and one dealer. The Dream King easily locates your silhouette at the center of the table, your posture relaxed despite what he imagined to be quite an intense game of poker.

“Make your final bets,” the dealer instructs after flipping over the last card in a series of five.

“$2,000,” a man says slowly, tossing a few black chips to the center of the table.

“Oh, come now, Emerson. Only 2,000?” You ask, a lithe finger circling the top of your scotch glass.

“I’ll put more when I see your pretty smile, miss,” Emerson says, coming closer to you as he does so. You maintain a respectful distance, a distinct grimace on your face as you smell ripe body odor and cigars.

“The Lady only smiles when she wins, have you not been paying attention?” Another player comments as you so bluntly push Emerson away with a finger on the middle of his forehead.

“I pay attention, don’t I, miss?”

“Ugh, piss off, Emmy,” you grumble at his insistence. “I raise $4,000.”

More black chips enter the center of the green felt table as the game progresses and Morpheus watches with curious eyes. Poker is not new to him, but this game of chance is always an interesting watch. At least, the reaction of those who have just realized they have lost a game against Lady Luck who will always turn in the favor of the very thing she personifies.

The players reveal their cards and you crack a soft smile as you see your perfect win. Your fingers wrap around the chips on the game table as you bring them closer to you as the rest of the players groan out in defeat.

“Holy shit!” Morpheus turns as someone shouts out at winning on the slot machines nearby, Lady Luck’s smile bringing its good fortunes to the unexpecting soul.

“Weep,” you laugh loudly, particularly to Emerson, taking the ticket stub of the “hard-earned” cash.

When you turn, you run into hard muscles with a grunt. The smell of hydrangeas that tends to follow you around is ambushed by the smell of old leather books and sand. You let out a small cough, the smell of sand almost intruding in your nostrils as if you really were inhaling the mineral.

“Lady Luck,” Morpheus greets curtly with a sharp nod of his head.

“Ah, geez,” you breathe out when you acknowledge Dream of the Endless. You attempt to brush past him, making your way to the back where your secluded office is, but Morpheus follows like a second shadow. “Haven’t seen you in a while.”

“I was… preoccupied,” Morpheus settles on, ignoring your lack of manners.

You hum noncommittally, cringing as your mind conjures thoughts of your limited shared past. Particularly considering he was the ex-husband of one of your close friends. Not to mention he was technically there for your birth. Yuck!

“My Ladyship,” a woman walks up to you in a high pulled back bun and a tight pencil skirt. She held a clipboard in her hand and a serious expression across her eyes with thin lips.

“Not now, busy. We have a guest.” You stop your manager with a curt nod, ushering her along.

“A priestess in a casino?” Morpheus asks.

“A priestess belongs in a temple.” You don’t like the condescending tone he took. “A manager belongs in a casino. One person can be many things.”

‘Or maybe you just don’t have enough friends to let her go,’ that annoying voice in your head sneers at you.

“Shut up,” you grumble under your breath.

You open a heavily teal rusted door that leads into your little office, purposefully ignoring the quizzical look Morpheus was giving you. He watches as you place your ticket stub into the drawer of a rustic wooden desk before you sit down on an equally torn leather office chair.

You let out a groan, your butt sore from sitting in those horribly uncushioned tall chairs at the game tables. It's an issue that could’ve been rectified if you actually bought nicer quality chairs for your casino and not another deck of Pokémon cards. But you really want that holographic Charizard card, damnit.

Furthering your relaxing demeanor, you slam your feet onto the desk, practically horizontal as you sink further into your chair.

“What do a casino and Lady Luck have to do with each other?” Morpheus asks after a moment.

His eyes roam across the small office—a mess if he is to be honest. There are trinkets here and there, no doubt trophies from any bets you might have won. A file cabinet is tucked away in the corner, paper practically flowing out of it and a small tint of magic power radiating from the corners. There is also a few-day-old Chinese takeout container with what he imagined used to be beef and broccoli on your desk, currently staining a stack of papers with oil.

“Uh, bringing luck?” You answer with a shrug of your shoulders and the old swivel chair creaks underneath you.

“You used to be in the center of wars, famine, and all things bleak,” Morpheus points out. “Mortals pray for the luck of living, of returning home.”

“A casino is bleak, too. People lose thousands of dollars in minutes, pretty bleak in this economy,” you rebut simply. “Did you know they re-elected Donald Trump as president?” Morpheus stays silent, disapproving of your answer and it doesn't take you long to say the real reason. “I got bored listening to those kinds of prayers.”

“Yes, that I can believe.”

“Your turn, what are you doing at a casino? Wanting to spend your magic sand?” You joke, laughing to yourself. The liberty you took of drinking earlier in the night still made your body tingle and your mouth loose.

“In actuality,” Morpheus starts, then pauses as he decides on his next words carefully. “My tools were stolen and I seek the help of Lady Luck for assistance.” Morpheus actively decides to leave out the major details of his imprisonment. Though you have never had any negative affiliations with each other, he would rather, as you would say it, “keep his cards close to his chest.”

You sit up as you hear his request, a hint of distress in his voice. Your feet are planted back on the ground as you level with him, gauging his demeanor to see if he is telling the truth. Morpheus thinks your silence is denial and quickly sweetens the deal.

“I brought a gift for the Lady,” he adds.

“All of your tools were stolen?” You ask with a raise of your eyebrows to which he simply nods. “Better be a really good gift.”

“Even the Fates would be jealous,” Morpheus lies as he procures the black snake that still lives within his cloak.

You hold out your arm, feeling the silky scales of the snake as it slithers around your arm. Most people are averse to snakes, especially here in the Western World. They see them as a sign of ominousness, yet your work in the Eastern world has made them a sign of prosperity and, of course, luck.

‘Oh, right. ‘Cause your love can be bought with more animals,’ the dumb voice mutters. You ignore it with a sharp huff. Mostly because the snake is quite adorable.

“A good start,” you comment as you admire the reptile—large, black eyes, silky scales that shine in the low light of the office, and a perfectly pink tongue that greets you with a flicker.

You conjure a small enclosure for your new friend. A magical snake from the Dream King wouldn’t need much, at least for now. Who’s to say the snake doesn’t feed off tormented human souls or something? You give a last pet to its small head before turning to Morpheus.

“Tell me you have a general idea as to where your tools are?” You grab the light jacket that you had thrown onto your chair earlier that evening. As the evening turns further into night, the office tends to get cold.

“London.”

“Across the big pond, really?” You grimace, finding the discomfort of having to travel so far from your lovely American casinos. Not to mention leaving your casino. It’s safe in here. Loud, sure, drunk mortals cursing, always—but no sudden twists of fate. Here, you are in charge and you know exactly where you fit in.

“Can your domain not maintain itself without their ruler?”

“Of course not,” you lie straight through your teeth. “Luck lingers where I stand and the gambler’s within these walls understand that. If I leave, so will the very believers of my divinity.”

Morpheus stares into the depths of your soul and you know that you’ve been read. He hears something deeper in your hesitation.

“Let us depart,” Morpheus commands and his hands come up to your temples.

“Wait—” One moment, you are staring at the peeling wallpaper of your tiny office and the next you’re staring down a baby gargoyle.

“Awk?” It squawks at you, biting the fabric of your pants in curiosity. It doesn’t take more than a few seconds to realize you’ve been taken to Morpheus’ realm. The air is different here; it is lighter and easier to breathe. An odd sheen seems to cover everything, like a film that made all the edges a little too blurry to be real.

You try to blink it away, willing the objects to stabilize in your vision. Though, before much progress is made, sand swirls and teleports you away from the momentary pit stop. A pout forms on your lips as you wave goodbye to the cute little golden pet and the waking world once again greets you.

Nausea churns your stomach like rancid stew and you give out a groan. Traveling by sand? Worse than dealing with the TSA if you were allowed to voice your opinion. You hack out a mouthful of sand, some grains still sticking to your tongue as you desperately try to spit it out—puh, pith, pith, hurk.

The bleak knowledge of knowing that Morpheus himself, the Sandman, is made of sand makes you gag slightly. “Oh, my fuck! You’re in my mouth.”

“How crude for a lady to say,” Morpheus scorns, keeping a respectful anti-spitting zone away from you.

“Maybe next time you should wait for someone to close their mouths before teleporting them via sand. By the way, sand? Worst possible route of travel,” you grumble out. Your hands pat down your jacket and pants, sand falling from every nook and cranny. “Isn’t this supposed to be magical sand? Why give it properties of normal sand then?”

“Are you aware of how often you talk?” Morpheus asks, the street lamps casting a harsh shadow over his already sharp features.

Well. You zip your mouth shut with a sharp exhale of breath. This stupid, lanky, white, demeaning little shit. Didn’t he ask you for help? Give you a gift to sweeten the deal? And now, what, he wants to tell you to shut up?

‘He hates you already,’ she taunts.

“Shut up,” you grumble under your breath, itching the inside of your ear. As if it would get rid of that annoying voice.

Morpheus turns and continues walking, solely to hide the quirk of his lips. It’s not hard to read your thoughts, not when they are so easily broken over your facial features. He knew that you rarely smiled, filtered down to just being a part of who you are.

Lady Luck your name may be, but you too are the goddess of misfortune. Luck is random, only inclined to mortals by the grace of your smile—and even Morpheus doesn’t know what can get you to smile. Winning poker games is one apparently as he had witnessed earlier in the day. But throughout history and time, what else have you graced your smile for?

When soldiers of war pray for a safe return home despite the losing odds against them, were you a nurse amidst their ranks? Giving them soft smiles as they think of their mothers and try to forget the pain of their lost comrades? Perhaps someone had scorned you once, too. It would certainly explain the eruption of Mount Vesuvius, which cast the eternal city of Pompeii in ash.

The real question is how Morpheus is going to get you to smile. It is his less-than-ideal plan. The first was asking the Fates. Yes, their answers always proved vague, but it was better than nothing, and yet, the sisters had given him exactly that. Nothing.

His second plan is trailing behind him now: to get Lady Luck to smile and, by some miracle, have that graced luck point him in the direction of his tools.

A pouch of sand, as endless as himself.

A helm made from the bones of a forgotten god.

A ruby, his essence in dreamstone.

•☽────✧˖°˖☆˖°˖✧────☾•☽────✧˖°˖☆˖°˖✧────☾•

Someone told me that I write angst well. So let's put that to the test for the rest of this fic shall we? Let me know hehe.

Thanks for reading and for your support, always!

♡ Yours, Layla

•☽────✧˖°˖☆˖°˖✧────☾•☽────✧˖°˖☆˖°˖✧────☾•

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morpheusbaby3 · 8 days ago

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I need a fic where Cregan and his wife REALLY fuck like animals. I’m talking in the woods during summertime, they’re alone in a circle of trees, and it’s borderline painful every time Cregan hits her cervix as he growls behind her. To the point where she looks up to see if a wolf is nearby but no, that sound genuinely came from her husband’s throat…. sending this as ovulation makes me disgraceful

it will come back,

CREGAN STARK

“CREGAN! FUCK, IT HURTS—BUT GOOD…gods!” I panted facedown in the dirt as my husband chased his umpteenth high of the day.

Let us take advantage of the long summer, he said. Which in truth I knew meant him taking advantage of me under the summer sun. Not that I minded one bit. Going at it in the woods, we fucked like animals for hours among the flora. From the moment we rose that morning, Stark dragged me out of chambers in only my nightgown. Summer sun shone through our window, burning bright. And as hot as my husband had been, aroused drenched in sweat from his wet dream. If the shadows shifting from the sun were any indication, we had been at it for at least a few hours.

“It’s your punishment, pretty… for being such a tease in my dreams—haunting even my sleep…” Stark slurred, his hips snapping into mine at a punishing pace.

Showing no signs of stopping, Cregan rutted rabidly into me like a mad dog. Taking a bitch in heat, me a whining, moaning mess underneath the weight of his muscled body breeding mine. Earth underneath me wet with melting summer snow dissipating underneath our burning bodies. My breasts and curves leaving an imprint from how hard he plowed me into the dirt. Rolling me over onto my back again from where he fucked me fast and hard facedown on my stomach, so he could bend my legs up until they were dangling on either side of his handsome face.

My overstimulated cunt clenched around him, milking every last drop he had already poured into me.

Spilling out of my folds as his white seed seeped onto the dirt below. Above, a circle of trees towers over us as I held onto his broad shoulders for dear life. Sinking his teeth into the flesh of my shoulder, I screamed out in a mix of pain and pleasure.

“Please! My love, it’s too hot—everything burns…” I cried out as tears pricked at the corners of my eyes, burning from inside at how much his long, thick cock stretched my cunt’s walls.

A slick sheen of sweat coated us both, making our skin stick as his slapped against mine, echoing in the wolfswood. Without a care in the world should a pack of wolves happen upon us in our vulnerable state. Stark’s swollen lips found mine, claiming my mouth. His tongue fought mine dominantly into a deep submission. Before only pulling away after ages, his teeth dragging my bottom lip between them hungrily.

“Summer snow should cool you down… anytime now…” Cregan struggled stringing together the sentence as his twitching cock was squeezed by my walls, even his stamina starting to slow after hours of us fucking like wild animals.

“Stark… I’m begging you, m-mercy, please!” I whimpered with tears streaming down my face before he flipped me onto my back again without leaving my cunt.

It was borderline excruciating every time Cregan’s cock hit my cervix.

Pounding into me like his life depending on it, again and again, and again. All that could be heard in the deadly silent woods was the sounds of our skin slapping. Stark suddenly pulled my hair without warning, making my eyes water even more.

A growl was all I heard in response.

Animalistic and feral, I felt my stomach drop in fear of a wolf preying on us. I somehow managed to crane my neck up from where he pounded me facedown in the dirt. There was not a beast in sight to be seen. None other than the one who I knew to be my husband, the Wolf of the North chasing his last high. I felt both our muscles trembling as the sound ripped through his throat. Guttural, and as deep as his cock was buried within me.

His growl alone was enough to send me over the edge again.

I came around Cregan’s cock a crying, moaning mess. My cunt gushing around his throbbing length as he praised me, “Good girl, lasting this long… I’m so proud of you, love…” Stark sighed.

Wiping away my tears, he craned my neck around again for a sweet kiss. A reprieve from our hours long hard, harsh fucking. I melted into it, my mind made mush.

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morpheusbaby3 · 8 days ago

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Could we take care of Cregan when he is sick? I see a lot of his wife being sick but the Warden isn’t invincible, even if he believes he is.

WE TOTALLY CAN, you’re so right. if you want a fic i’ll try to post one later it’s just i’m out rn and like to write at home but here are some headcanons!! OKAY SICK! CREGAN X CARETAKER! WIFE BUCKLE UP

i feel like he would hate and love it:

i feel he would hate feeling so weak and powerless as he rarely falls ill, the picture or health, until mr. invincible thinks he can brave the Northern cold at the peak of a long winter without his cloak, even if only for a moment

in fact i see him getting sick for something so silly yet sweet like maybe the pups are too cold so he gives them his big cloak to huddle under by the fire, but one sneaks outside to play in the snow so he runs out after them

the next morning has the worst cough and chills and the maesters all order him to be on bedrest, which he detests because i see him as a very up and active, a man of action

but part of him secretly loves it because you insist on being the only one to primarily be his caretaker for the time being until he gets better, having trained at the Citadel being from a smaller vassal house in the reach

he loves having your undivided attention, but he hates the thought of you catching his sickness, and catching your death because of it, but you assure him what he has is not contagious after consulting many maesters and books

and even if it was, you tell him, “I’d gladly suffer this sickness with you, my love. Gods, let it take me before it ever takes you from me first—but that will not happen. I will not allow it.”

and you don’t, staying up all night mixing all sorts of teas and tinctures to help aid his ailing illness, and at first it seems like nothing is taking, until finally one morning he starts to seem a bit better, if only a little bit, it’s progress

his nasty coughing fits finally subside, and you’re just glad he never coughed up any blood, or was ever to weak to stand or eat, all good signs pointing towards his health

“Thank the gods for you, my love. If not for you, I don’t think even the best maesters of the citadel could cure me how you have. And never say you’d let the sickness take you first, I could go on living without you… but I promise, next time I will wear a cloak,” he laughs, giving you a kiss

after you run a wet towel over his handsome face glowing with sweat after his hot and cold fever had finally broken

“That is all I ask of you, my love. Even though you are the Warden, even though they call you the Wolf of the North, I hope you know even you, Stark—with the icy blood of the First Men coursing through your veins—cannot brave such a fierce Northern winter alone. So, yes, next time, please wear a cloak, if not for yourself, then for me?”

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morpheusbaby3 · 8 days ago

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some thoughts I have on what kind of girl suits each of these atj characters in my world (heavily influenced by my biases & favorite tropes)

⊰ alexei vronsky ⊱

a bitch with a brain, he's a lover boy & a very decent man for the time period so he loves a smart woman with a sharp tongue

someone who challenges him in many ways, he doesn't feel threatened by it at all bc he appreciates an intellectual equal

ooh she has to be up for travel & a bit of adventure, given his line of work but also his occasional spontaneity

she doesn't have to be overly affectionate with him (especially in public), but as long as he knows she's in love with him, he's happy

his one main issue is a lady who puts others down for fun or to make herself look better

⊰ dave lizewski ⊱

he needs a lover girl bffr he's a sweetie pie & he deserves a girl who's soft with him

dave can definitely handle some playful teasing but at the end of the day he's still kind of insecure bc of how people treated him before :(

she can be tough & stoic around other people but he needs her to be lovey dovey around him, plus spend a lot of time around him pls pls pls

his big weakness is if she plays with his hair or scratches his back or cleans him up after a fight, just generally taking care of him

dave will be such a simp for his girl so pls don't break his heart it'll break him

⊰ friedrich harding ⊱

oh his wife has to match his freak & his propriety, I'm not just saying that bc of anna

he loves seeing her be perfectly poised in front of people knowing how much she loves being totally ravished by him

as in, the only reason she's wearing a high-neck gown in summer is bc they have guests who don't need to see the marks on her chest from her man

it's also why friedrich refuses to remove his coat when it's burning hot. those blouses really don't hide much & he has red scratches down his back.

there has to be passion & mutual support more than anything in this relationship, plus his wife has to be okay with him spoiling her to insanity

⊰ pietro maximoff ⊱

hmm I think someone a little more on the traditional side, partially bc he's Eastern european & partially bc he didn't really have a childhood

cant blame him for wanting happiness & a more settled life, he wants a girl who wants the same

now I don't mean a tradwife. ew. he wants the main priority not to be work or investments or something. just to have a happy home.

loves a strong woman who can take his teasing & give it back, he will actually worship the ground she walks on

also loves if she's super smart to the point where he has no idea what she's talking about but he listens & wants her to teach him more

⊰ sergei kravinoff ⊱

he's a powerful man with a lot of love in his heart for a very limited number of people, so he'll love her HARD

i think someone very open is what would suit him best bc he's lacked that almost all his life

very gentle in showing him affection, comfortable in getting spoiled by him, appreciative of his smaller gestures, & understanding of his condition

...plus someone who can uhhh take the more animalistic side of him. you know what I mean.

also ideally she would be comfortable in an isolated environment with a lot of wild animals nearby & only sergei to keep her company

⊰ tangerine ⊱

SUNSHINE READER!! I love how grouchy he is & I think it would be so cute for him to be all grumbly then MELT when she's around

i think he'd want a piece of normalcy & not want to commit to someone related to his work

tangerine only has lemon for family & he would be a complete teddy bear if she treated him with all the warmth he's lacked for a long time

also loves spoiling her bc maybe he isn't so good with all the other love languages but he definitely knows all the things that make her smile

she just needs to be able to wind him down from his anxiety & also help him manage his control issues. there's an easy & enjoyable way to do that.

⊰ tom ryder ⊱

someone who will set him straight & not take his bullshit for a single second

im not saying he needs a mommy, I'm saying he needs a bad bitch who he will want to change himself for completely

like he's obsessed with her the minute he meets her & tries his usual Hot Shit Famous Guy approach only for her to shut it down

she holds him to a very high standard when they're together, but rewards him for being particularly good (not for the bare minimum!!!!)

tom really does try bc he's in love with this woman who's so perfect in every way & he knows she will drop his ass if he fucks up at all

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morpheusbaby3 · 8 days ago

Text

You Give Morpheus New Dream Ideas

MASTERLIST

The ethereal, shifting corridors of the Dreaming were Morpheus's dominion, and tonight, they were also the proving ground for your particularly unbridled imagination. You followed in his silent wake, a vibrant splash of mortal chaos against his midnight cloak and the quiet dignity of his stride. He moved with the slow, deliberate grace of a king surveying his realm, and you, with the breathless enthusiasm of a child in a candy store.

"Okay, okay, Morpheus, hear me out," you chirped, your voice echoing just slightly in the vast, whispering spaces of his palace. "What about a dream where everyone communicates solely through interpretive dance? No words, just… jazz hands and dramatic leaps. Or, for a nightmare, maybe one where all the food turns into sentient, judgmental broccoli the moment you try to eat it."

Morpheus continued to walk, his back to you, a living silhouette against the ever-changing tapestries of his halls. He didn't acknowledge you, not with a glance, not with a twitch of his elegant shoulder. This was their usual dynamic when you found him wandering: you spouting delightful nonsense, Morpheus embodying stoic indifference.

"Oh! Oh! This one’s good," you pressed on, undeterred. "A dream where all the furniture can talk, but they only ever complain about your decorating choices. Imagine your couch sighing dramatically about your throw pillows! And for a nightmare… a relentless jingle, Morpheus, a truly inescapable, infuriatingly catchy jingle that plays on a loop in your head forever."

You paused, taking a breath. "Or how about a dream where you can fly, but only if you hold a rubber chicken? And if you let go, you plummet into a giant bowl of lukewarm noodle soup!" Your laughter bubbled, light and clear in the hallowed silence. "And then, a nightmare: a perpetual queue. You're always in line, but the line never moves, and you're always slightly too far from the front to see what you're waiting for."

Just as you were concocting a scenario involving sentient teacups and tap-dancing squirrels, Morpheus stopped. He didn't turn fully, but he shifted, a subtle pivot of his lean frame, his head tilting ever so slightly towards you. The air in the Dreaming seemed to hold its breath.

Then, in a voice like rustling silk and ancient stone, a voice that rarely betrayed anything beyond profound gravitas, he said, "A perpetual queue. Always in line, never moving, slightly too far to see the purpose." He paused, a flicker of something unreadable in his dark eyes. "That one's actually not a bad idea."

He then pivoted back to his original trajectory and continued walking, as if the profound utterance had never happened.

You, however, were frozen. Your mouth hung slightly agape. You stood there for a long moment, the echo of his words reverberating in your mind. Then, a slow smile spread across your face. You reached up and lightly brushed imaginary dust off your shoulder, a small, triumphant gesture.

"Right then," you muttered to yourself, your voice now filled with renewed purpose. You quickly realized Morpheus was already several steps ahead, his form starting to blend with the shifting mists of the palace. "Hey, Sandy! Wait up!" you yelled, quickening your pace to catch up. "I've got more ideas! What about a dream where all the animals can talk, but they only speak in bad puns? Or a nightmare where your socks constantly disappear in the wash, but then reappear as tiny, aggressive gnomes?" You continued to ramble, a whirlwind of creative chaos once again hot on the heels of the Lord of Dreams.

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