#morpheus imagine

The Maiden, who has a memory longer than most and vividly recalls just how deeply the Sandman loves his son, despite how it may, at times, have looked otherwise, winces just slightly at the reminder of what is coming. Though the action was minute, the Mother, who is perhaps most like the name given to her in that she always wants the best for her ‘children,’ notices, as she always does.

“The oldest battle will begin, and—” the buzzing of a timer in another room cuts the Crone off. “Ah! That’ll be the cookies. One moment, lovies.”

The cat jumps off her lap as she stands from the couch with an agility that one would not expect from someone looking to be the Crone’s age and heads into the kitchen to begin preparing tea. 

“I’ll be sad to see this one end,” the Mother laments, running a hand down the rows of neat stitches. “Our sweet sister-self would call me a softie if she were in here, and maybe it’s true. How can I not be, though? Dream of the Endless is changing, though he once believed that impossible. It’s slowgoing, of course—”

“I wouldn’t expect anything less from him,” the Maiden notes with a small smile.

“Nor I. But there are futures out there where he is given the chance to change fully, futures where he accomplishes a whole lot.” This isn’t a mere guess; in the same way that her sisters can keenly recall the past and peer into the future, the Mother sees the potential paths of everybody who walks Destiny’s garden.

It comes to both Maiden and Mother at the same time that neither of them particularly wants to see Dream of the Endless’s story end in such a way as the Crone has been anticipating. 

The Maiden glances through the door, where the eldest-presenting of the three has disappeared to the kitchen. “There is…something we could do, you know.”

She gravitates towards a cupboard near the window, opening it and beginning to search through what looks to be an infinite supply of yarn until she finds the skein she’s looking for. After checking the identification tag that every skein carries, so as not to get any mixed up, she hums satisfactorily.

For a species so full of themselves, human mortals only know about five to ten percent of what they would consider to be the Universe’s mysteries. What’s waiting for them after death (whatever they decide), if there’s a god (many), if they’re the only signs of intelligent life out there (hardly, and it’s a stretch even to call the human race intelligent). Another one of those mysteries is that of love. Is there such a thing as true love, as soulmates? Though they are familiar with the concept, even going so far as to attempt to label their loves as soulmates, they truly do not know if the person they are attaching themselves to is the one meant for them.

If only they knew what almost every other species capable of higher thought does: that soulmates are very real, and finding one’s is not nearly as much of a guessing game when one’s senses are heightened. Currently, Morpheus and his soulmate do not meet. While Morpheus dies, his soulmate goes on without ever having any idea of his death. There would be a few relationships before a perfectly normal and loving marriage, but his soulmate would never know the all-consuming love of being fated to someone. Now, however…

“Oops.” The new yarn is dropped in the Mother’s lap, and sparks emit as it bounces against the other yarn.

The Mother grins, scandalized. “Naughty petal,” she teases.

“Quickly now, before she returns,” the Maiden urges, returning to her seat and becoming very interested in her own project once more.

The Mother’s deft hands go to work, relying on thousands and thousands of years of practice to begin to knit the new yarn into the well-established pattern already created. By the time the Crone returns, there is no feasible way for the yarns to be separated without stepping into one of the few domains they have no power over.

Her outrage and indignation can do nothing now, for the fates of two have been combined into one, and the future has already been set in motion.

•••

Dream of the Endless is, as he is told that the youth of today say, going through it. A simple family dinner (though is anything truly simple when it involves any of the Endless?) proved to be the catalyst for attempting to reverse one of his most regrettable and shameful decisions, only for his journey to turn into a cosmic fiasco when Lucifer Morningstar abruptly retired and gave him the key to Hell, a key that he neither wanted nor needed. Still, he dutifully oversaw the various pantheons and realms as they each vied for the key, if only to ensure the safety of the woman he originally sought to free.

Although he did not necessarily expect Nada to unilaterally forgive him for what he had done, Morpheus did hope that she would understand the sincerity in his actions at present. The opposite was true. She…struck him. Dressed him down as though he were a mere child. Still, he offered her what he once did ten thousand years ago, for his love for her had not diminished in those ten thousand years: the chance to rule by his side. The Queen of the First People, always so eloquent with words, turned him down with a barb that cut so deeply, Morpheus wondered if the wound left behind would ever heal. 

“I wonder if your kind is even capable of love,” she said to him, chin held high and looking every inch the ruler she once was.

Morpheus tried to defend himself, to make her see that he did love, and that he loved her. His efforts were futile, and she cared not what he had to say. She wished him well, ever the diplomat. Then Nada was gone, to see what the Waking had in store for her, leaving behind only devastation and loneliness, those old friends. 

That was mere hours ago, the Dreaming almost immediately becoming drenched in torrential thunderstorms thereafter. Morpheus made his way to a balcony at the top of the palace, content to let the rain drown him. Lucienne, however, would not stand for it.

“My Lord,” she said tersely, black umbrella shielding her from the brunt of the storm, “perhaps solace is not the best thing for you right now.”

Perhaps she was right, but Morpheus, who was in no mood to listen to helpful solutions, glowered as he stared off ahead into the distant mountains. “Then what would you suggest?”

She thought for a moment, then sighed. “I am sure Hob Gadling is worried after your last interaction, where you told him that you may miss your next meeting. And he has said that you are always welcome.”

Pride and anger almost have Morpheus shoot the idea down before Lucienne can finish speaking. However, as he thinks about it, he realizes that there might be some merit to her suggestion. Hob Gadling had faced many triumphs and challenges throughout his long (for humans, that is) life, matters of the heart surely being one of those. Might the immortal man have some wisdom for a situation such as this?

Now he sits in the temple Hob had inadvertently created while waiting for his oldest friend to return, the New Inn, hand loosely curled around a stem of red wine that he has not yet touched. While the majority of him wishes still to be drenched in rain, another part appreciates the way that the Waking feels real. The Dreaming is real, of course, but he can manipulate every aspect of his realm. Here, he is master of none, and experiences the sights and sounds of a small pub on a Thursday night as any being would.

Morpheus had not gotten the opportunity to ask Lucienne the question he had been meaning to pose to her before he left the Dreaming. So, here in the Waking, he finds that opportunity. “Do you believe that I am incapable of love?”

From across the table, Hob Gadling cocks his head in thought. “Did the woman—did Nada say that to you?”

Morpheus nods. “They were some of her last words to me before she…left.”

The immortal sits quietly to compose his thoughts, taking a sip of his drink and staring up at the ceiling until the words he believes will comfort the Dreamlord, while also telling the truth, come to him. “She’s speaking in anger, my friend. You did an objectively bad thing to her, and she has every right to react towards you in whatever way she sees fit. But,” he says quickly, knowing that Morpheus is a breath away from angering, “she is wrong. Do you not love your realm, the dreams and nightmares that you create? Do you not love the dreamers whom you oversee? Your family, your…friends?”

None of that is romantic love, of course, but Hob is right, as he so often is. Morpheus does experience love in every one of those instances—sometimes begrudgingly, but he does love.

“You speak true, my friend,” Morpheus acknowledges, feeling his sister’s realm loosen its hold on him just slightly as the shadows of Despair begin to shrink.

Hob grins and opens his mouth to speak, but movement from the front of the pub captures his attention, and he instead waves. A mortal approaches their table—braver than most mortals in this pub, who have, so far (as is usually the case when he’s in the Waking), taken one look at the Endless and shied away in fear.

“Hey, Rob!” the mortal greets, using a name Hob must be going by in this century.

“Now, my favorite TA wouldn’t be taking advantage of my pub to work on homework for my class that you haven’t done yet, would you?” he asks.

“I’m your only TA this semester.” The sentence conveys that this is a common line for Hob, who chuckles and waves a hand nonchalantly in the air.

“Semantics!”

“But to answer your question, a couple of us are meeting up before the history grad students’ weekly happy hour to work on our term assignments for Keller’s Archival Methods class. I would never work on your homework in front of you!”

The mortal looks at Morpheus and winks, letting him in on the secret shared between student and teacher that homework for Hob Gadling’s classes has absolutely been completed in this building before, and with one quick movement of an eye, Morpheus feels himself come undone. 

(In that little pocket realm masquerading as a cottage, two of the three Fates giggle and congratulate themselves on their impeccable timing, while the third sulks as she stares into the fire.)

The concept of soulmates is not rare among beings like himself. Indeed, out of all the species capable of higher thought, humans are the only ones who believe it to be a mere myth or fairytale (humans, of course, believe almost everything that they cannot understand is a myth or fairytale, which is why the other specieses don’t bother with them the majority of the time). To them, it’s a word one would use to describe the one whom they love most in the hopes that there are some forces of the universe out there steering them towards true love. 

Most of the gods and goddesses, fae, beings, and creatures of all kinds, who have spoken about it in his presence mention a number of “signs” that average humans, with their dulled senses and limited use of brain capacity, miss. Sometimes it is simply a feeling, as though the universe has been tilted off balance the entire time, and meeting one’s soulmate has righted it. In other cases, electricity seems to spark the first time soulmates touch. Some have known their soulmate’s name before they properly introduce themselves, and others know exactly what their soulmate’s first words to them will be. He has even heard rare tales of seeing the Fates’ work itself, strings of fate connecting soulmates when they’re first in proximity.

Morpheus has never doubted the existence of soulmates, nor has he doubted the experiences he has heard. No, what he has always questioned has been the intensity of such a bond. How powerful could true love actually be, to change the life of one so powerful? Surely, a soulmate did not exert that much sway over a being of myth and legend?

He has been in love before, of course—with Alianora, with Killala, with Calliope. For a moment, when he rescued Nada from Azazel, he allowed himself to hope that such a second chance was his sign that Nada was his soulmate.

Now, he knows that those loves were pale imitations of the love that one has for a soulmate. A single wink has transformed everything that he thought he knew about life, and where he once saw no future that did not involve taking his sister’s hand, now, he sees only possibility. It’s not just a mortal who stands in front of him now, one of seven billion faceless creatures that occupy his realm for a third of their short lives. 

No, it’s you. 

Morpheus comes to know your identity immediately by virtue of you being a dreamer, yet he thinks he will not truly be satisfied unless he hears it from you directly. For a brief moment, a black string appears around his wrist, stretching and morphing into a silver one as it loops around your own. Then, it’s gone, leaving behind only the startling realization that Dream of the Endless has met his soulmate. 

You bid farewell to Hob as Morpheus watches helplessly, uncharacteristically breathless when you, the deity he now worships faithfully, deign to smile his way before leaving. He is a mere planet sucked into the orbit of a bright, shining sun as his eyes follow you across the room, watching as you greet your friends at a large table. When you toss your head back in a laugh while removing a computer from your bag, he regrets that he’s too far away to hear the sound.

“My friend?” Hob’s voice is the life preserver he needs to pull himself out of the ocean he’s found himself treading through, and finally manages to look away. “Is everything alright?”

Morpheus is unsure. On the one hand, it seems as though he has finally found what he has spent nearly his entire, endless life searching for, right when he had decided that it might be time to stop altogether. On the other hand, the intensity of the bond forming…frightens him. Further, you’re a mortal, which means that he risks once again ending a civilization of humans thanks to his romantic aspirations. Instead of answering Hob’s question, he asks one of his own. 

“You have lived a long life,” Morpheus begins, trying desperately not to sound as shaky as he feels. “Surely you have heard of the concept of soulmates?”

Hob’s smile turns soft, wistful. “Of course. Some immortals think that it’s the universe or whoever giving them something to make unending life bearable; others, like myself, are simply romantics who are charmed by the idea of having a love to follow them from life to life. I’ve heard your lot have a much easier time finding soulmates than us regular ol’ immortals, that your heightened senses show you things the rest of us can’t see.” His brow furrows in thought as he digests the rather odd change in subject. “Why do you ask? Did…did you believe Nada to be your soulmate?”

Morpheus is relieved that Hob hasn’t made the connection between his oldest friend’s sudden odd behavior and the appearance of his student. “Yes,” he answers truthfully. “For a time, I did.”

None of his previous feelings matter anymore, though, now that the answer to his happiness is sitting across the room. 

“Forgive me, Hob, but I must end our meeting sooner than I hoped. There are…matters that I must attend to.” He needs to leave, for if he does not, he fears he may occupy this chair all night and watch you in a manner that would be considered ‘creepy’ by today’s standards.

To his credit, Hob does not act like their meeting is being cut short. “No worries at all. You know you’re welcome any time.”

“Thank you for your hospitality and counsel.”

Morpheus hesitates before leaving, defenseless against fate as his gaze is drawn back to you once more. After a moment, he opens the door to the pub and steps back into his own realm.

The ornate stained glass windows of his throne room do not allow him to see outside. But Morpheus does not require windows to know that the weather has already cleared, from booming thunder, bright lightning, and gale-force winds to clearing clouds and hesitant rays of sunlight beginning to dry the drenched landscape of the Dreaming. His realm’s weather is a direct reflection of his own emotions, and as he staggers to sit on the steps leading up to his throne, hope begins to warm his own waterlogged heart.

A soulmate. He would be lying if he were to say he hadn’t ever imagined the possibility of there being someone out there fated for him. Hob Gadling had called himself a romantic when explaining what he knew of the phenomena, and though Morpheus would never use the word to describe himself, he does think it apt. For all that he has been a being so devoted to his duties, he has also longed for someone to share those duties with.

If what he has seen is true, and he truly has become the first of the Endless to have a soulmate, then there is much to consider. There is only one person equipped to help him with this (only one person whose help he wants with this), even if she has never been through such an experience herself, which is how he finds himself in his gallery, staring ahead at the ankh placed in a frame.

“Sister,” Morpheus calls. “I must speak with you.”

“Hiya, little brother,” Death’s voice sounds from her sigil after mere seconds. “This a quick matter?”

“I would prefer that you come through, if you have some time.” Though no day can ever be slow when one is an anthropomorphic personification of a vital universal concept, Morpheus does hope that today, at least, is not busy for his sister.

“I always have time for you,” she says fondly.

One moment, there is nothing but air in front of him. The next, his beloved sister, her trademark smile the antithesis of the all-black ensemble she always sports. Said smile falters when she takes in Morpheus’s affect, likely resembling that of a wounded animal.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Death asks, placing a hand on his arm. “I figured you would be sad after the whole Nada thing—”

Wonderful, Morpheus thinks distantly, word of my rejection has already spread beyond the boundaries of the Dreaming.

“—but this is…not sadness. I’ve seen you sad before. A lot, actually.”

He tries not to take offense, for he knows that she speaks true.

“You have,” he agrees. “And you are correct.”

“Well, out with it then. What’s got you in such a state?”

He has to make an effort to say the words, a part of him worried that it might not be true if he actually voices what he’s just experienced. “It appears that I have…found my soulmate.”

Death’s smile slides off her face in shock before quickly reappearing, somehow wider than before. “Shut up!”

Morpheus’s brows furrow as anger rushes through him. “I beg your pardon?”

When she begins to laugh, those thunderclouds that were only just banished begin to build again over the palace. The Endless were never technically children, but at this moment, Morpheus feels every bit the little brother that he is as he perceives his eldest sister to be making fun of him.

“This is no joke, my sister.” His voice booms through the gallery, making the frames shake just slightly.

“No, sorry, I didn’t mean it in a bad way! You unintentionally quoted a movie, that’s all—remind me to show you that movie sometime, same actress as the one in Mary Poppins! I’m simply trying to say how shocked I am.” Death’s eyes shine as she looks at him. “Dream! Your soulmate? You’re sure?”

“The string of fate all but confirmed it.”

She squeals, a high-pitched shriek that echoes through his gallery, stopping suddenly when she realizes her merriment is not shared. “Wait. Why are you not excited? I thought you would be more excited!”

“It would appear that my soulmate is…mortal.”

Enthusiasm deflates out of her like air being released from a balloon. “Oh. Well. That is a problem, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” he agrees, even though that feels to be a massive understatement. His soulmate being a mortal is more than a problem; it’s a tragedy just waiting to happen.

Death’s eyes flick around the room before she looks at Morpheus again. “Y’know who would be able to help us with this?”

He knows exactly where she’s going with this and wants no part in it. “Sister, no—”

“Destiny!”

“It is alright, truly—” 

The last thing he needs is another of his siblings involved in this situation, specifically the one who can tell him what he fears to hear, but his words fall on deaf ears as Death stands in front of Destiny’s sigil.

“Hello, big brother!” Death runs a finger along Destiny’s frame. “May we come through?”

The reply is immediate. “You are both meant to be in my realm at this time.”

“Ooh, lucky us.” Death grins and takes Morpheus’s arm so that he cannot escape, stepping into Destiny’s Garden as the fabric between realms gives way upon their eldest brother’s invitation.

Destiny of the Endless stands before them, looking as he always does—wearing his robes and carrying his Book, stern and acting as though he carries the weight of many worlds on his shoulders (which is technically true). Out of all of his siblings, Morpheus speaks the least to Destiny, for he knows that there will never be room for a friendly conversation if the Book does not require it.

“Death. Dream,” Destiny acknowledges with a slight nod. Death darts over to give him a kiss on the cheek, and though he tries his best to keep his face as stonelike as the statues surrounding the garden, his lips still twitch up just slightly at the affection.

“Brother,” Morpheus greets. “Need I explain the situation to you, or has your Book explained it already?”

“Yes, I know what has happened.”

“Then you know that our sister believes you have answers to a number of questions.”

“Do not hide your curiosity behind our sister’s actions. You also want answers.”

Even though he knows Destiny isn’t being malicious by saying it, Morpheus still feels chastised and has to fight the urge to lower his eyes to the ground. “Yes,” he says, a little quieter than before, “I do.”

“Your path has stayed the same for centuries now, with little variation.” Destiny opens the Book to a page that must contain Morpheus’s story. “Yesterday, that changed.”

He gets the feeling that the debacle with the key to Hell has something to do with his story changing. “I was not supposed to meet…”

It’s impossible to bring himself to say the word to his brother, to breathe life into his hopes in front of one who could so easily crush them.

“No. But for reasons that I do not understand and cannot say, forces intervened. The moment that you left the Dreaming, it was providence that you would meet your soulmate.”

Though he knows that he must temper his emotions, that there is still a large part of the equation that has yet to be solved, this confirmation that the string of fate Morpheus saw connecting you to him was not a trick of the eye, that the sudden intensity with which he found himself falling for you was not mere desperation to be loved after crushing rejection, is a gift. 

“The first of the Endless to find their soulmate!” Death says beside him, likely almost as happy as he is, simply due to one of her siblings finding happiness. “And here I thought that the Fates simply enjoyed being cruel to us because of our power.”

“There is still the matter of my soulmate’s mortality,” Dream reminds both his sister and himself.

This, he believes, is where the fantasy comes to an end. Death may be pleasantly surprised that the Hecate allowed him a soulmate in the first place, but he worries that their cruelty lies in the linking of his soul to a mortal’s. There will be no falling in love, no learning another in every way that matters. There will be no marriage, no everlasting partnership. No, he will be forced to know that there is someone out there for him, but that making a move would ensure your demise, and likely the demise of many others. He will be forced to watch from afar as you go through life without him, until eventually his chance at true love takes his sister’s hand and journeys to the Sunless Lands.

“We are forbidden to love mortals, lest we bring about their ruin.” His voice sounds hollow as he repeats this unwritten law, matching the hollowness that he is soon to feel for the rest of his endless life.

Death smiles sympathetically, but does not seem as heartbroken for him as he might have imagined. “I have a theory, if you’d be willing to hear it?”

Morpheus nods. “By all means.”

“I’ve been thinking about this for a while, honestly, and the past few days have made me consider that there might be some weight behind this idea. Though we, the Endless, all have our different purposes, our main one is to serve humanity. Humans hold quite a lot of power, even if they don’t realize it. They decide where they go after they die, and their belief, or lack thereof, gives the gods power. Beings with power like to believe that we have control over humans, but if anything, they have control over us.

“Nada and the First People believed that to love an Endless meant devastation for them. Might that be why the First People were wiped out, and not because it’s an unwritten law?”

Morpheus has never considered this, and mulls the possibility over. Desire, specifically, had courted a mortal in order to sire a child in the hopes of Morpheus spilling family blood. Though they did not love Unity Kincaid, he knows from Unity’s own words that she loved her ‘golden-eyed man’ very much. Yet there was never the end of a civilization due to her love, nor did there seem to be any natural consequences for such a union.

Is Death right? Has Morpheus been living under a misguided belief all this time?

“Destiny?” Morpheus asks, yet again, afraid to know what his brother might say. “Is she correct?”

“The Gray Ladies, for all of their aforementioned cruelty and disdain towards us, respect the concept of love; they relish playing matchmaker. It is one of their favorite parts of their function.”

Their other favorite, of course, is when their services as the Kindly Ones are invoked.

Morpheus must uncharacteristically swallow to clear his throat. “So it is true? I will not bring about the end of modern civilization by pursuing my soulmate?”

Destiny remains silent, and Death whoops excitedly.

“That’s a yes!” she declares, wrapping an arm around Morpheus’s shoulders and squeezing—the closest to a hug he typically allows. “Thank you. This visit has been everything I hoped it would be.”

“It is time now for you both to depart,” Destiny responds. He’s not being rude by ushering his siblings out of his realm; it is simply what the Book demands, and he must follow that steadfastly.

“Yes, of course, we’ll let you get back to it. Farewell, Destiny!” Death bids, waving once before disappearing through the tear in the veil that will undoubtedly lead back to the Dreaming.

“Thank you, brother. Truly.” Morpheus would thank him more profusely than this, but it would be in vain. Destiny knows just how thankful Morpheus truly is.

“Dream,” Destiny calls as Morpheus has one foot back in his realm. 

He turns to look at his older brother, only to see the fond twitch of his lips typically reserved for Death or Delirium directed towards him.

“Good luck.” 

It is not the usual foreboding tone of someone who knows what is to come and is merely conveying the necessary information as required by his function. No, these words are sincere, are well wishes that one would give to someone they care greatly about, and he appreciates them all the more as a result. 

Morpheus nods gratefully, then makes his way through to the Dreaming, where Death stands beaming with her hands clasped in front of her.

“You have a soulmate,” she breathes, awed.

“I do.” While he knows he should be visibly thrilled, he cannot help but to remain serious as he works to fully digest the information, works through what it actually means for him and his future.

Death notices this, as she always does, and takes his hands in hers. “You get to be loved, Dream, just like you’ve always wanted. Don’t be scared of this gift that you’ve been given.”

But he is scared. Terrified is a better word to describe how he’s feeling. What if you deny him as Nada has done? What if the gravity of a soulmate bond, of loving one of the Endless, proves too tall a task for you? He could not bear it if his love—if the reveal of so much beyond the world you’ve been raised to know—were to cause you fear. He cannot get this wrong, will not get this wrong, yet…

“I know not how to court in this day and age, let alone court a mortal,” he says weakly. It is a flimsy excuse, of course, and one that Death sees right through.

“You’re asking the wrong being, since it’s been a good two hundred years or so since I’ve been truly involved with anybody. I’m quite sure that there’s some information on modern dating rituals—it’s called dating now, by the way, not courting—in that ginormous library of yours. Your raven was recently human, too, wasn’t he?”

He need not say anything, for they both know the questions are rhetorical. She squeezes his hands softly before releasing them and stepping towards her frame.

“I’ve got to get back to work, okay? But please don’t doubt yourself. You deserve this! And you’ll figure out how you want to approach this situation; you always do.”

Death has always had an unshakable faith in him, even when he does not believe the same of himself. “I appreciate your wisdom, as always, my dear sister.”

“Bye, Dream.” She opens her own rift between realms, likely to the Waking. “I expect to hear all about this soulmate of yours when we meet next!” 

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

He didn’t dwell on it.

Destiny had warned him then.

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

But he was out of options.

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

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

You felt his arrival and smiled without looking.

“Took you long enough.”

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

But his eyes… hesitated.

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

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

"You know why I’m here."

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

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

"Yes."

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

He stepped closer, tone taut, restrained.

"I have tried all other paths."

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

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

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

"I will pay what is necessary."

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

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

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

And you were…

Bored.

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

And then it hit you.

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

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

And available.

You grinned.

"I’ve decided your price."

He braced himself.

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

He blinked.

"…I beg your pardon?"

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

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

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

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

You stepped closer, voice a whisper of amusement.

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

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

"Call it what you want, honey."

He choked. "…Honey?"

You leaned in, lips close to his ear.

"Too much?"

He straightened instantly, clearing his throat.

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

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

His lips parted. Words failed him.

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

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

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

You turned, finger raised.

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

His voice was faint, nearly stunned.

"I… see."

"Do you?"

You stepped close again, smile playful, eyes glittering.

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

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

His ears turned faintly pink.

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

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

Anticipation.

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

He stared at it, then at you.

There was no trick. No hidden malice.

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

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

It was warm. Surprising.

“We have a deal.”

You smiled.

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

And behind him, you laughed softly.

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

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

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

He flinched again.

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

The Law had been bent. The Kindly Ones halted.

And all it cost him…

…was a date.

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

Your laugh still echoed in his ears.

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

"Lucienne and Matthew sent me this way," you began, a small smile tugging on your lips as you loop up to him. "They say you have been on your throne ever since you came back from Destiny's call. Are you brooding again?"

Morpheus's eyes narrow at your accusation. "I do not brood," he insists.

You blink and glance at the window. Raindrops splatter against the window as a raging storm plagues the Dreaming. Not brooding. Right.

Morpheus follows your gaze and sighs. Miraculously, the rain stops. "I was merely thinking."

"Thinking?" You ask, stepping on the stairs, taking your time to climb one step at a time. "Perhaps you simply missed me."

"I do not miss anyone," Morpheus denies. A lie. You both know this. There have been moments where your husband has thrown fits after you needed to leave the Dreaming to fulfill your own duties. "After all, you are right here, before me," he amends.

He extends his hand to you as you approach him, and you take it. He pulls you towards him until you had no choice but to sit on his lap. Your feet dangle atop his throne’s armrest and Morpheus' arms encircle you instinctively, just like how your hands link on his nape, caging him in your arms.

Your eyes search his own and he stares back. You see nothing but darkness and the stars that twinkle in it. "Tell me what's bothering you," you whisper.

“‘Tis nothing of great importance,” he deflects. Morpheus leans in and nudges his sharp nose against yours. You feel his breath as he speaks. “I simply worry about my realm, my duties and quite occasionally, the company of certain goddesses that do nothing but distract me.”

You bite your cheek to keep a grin from forming. “Certain goddesses?” You ask and Morpheus grumbles his teasing reply with ‘mmhm.’ “Two nights ago you called me your lover so reverently.”

“Ah, yes,” he agrees, with mock anger. “Two days ago when you left me for the Waking World-”

“To do my duty!” You explain with a smile.

“You abandoned me nonetheless.” He whispers to you, and you let your head drop to the crook of his neck to stifle your giggle. You feel his hand glide across your back and rest on your nape, holding you close and dear. “I would have liked you there with me when Destiny called,” Morpheus admitted. “I would have wanted you beside me with my siblings when we met.”

You lean back, looking at Morpheus again. “Lucienne is worried about you, my Morpheus. Tell me what is wrong and I will bear it with you.”

Morpheus’ expression softens. “I have my own duties and so have you. And yet, having you by my side already lifts all such burdens.”

You sigh. You try not to show the irritation on your face. Admittedly, Lucienne had hinted at the source of Morpheus’ ire but one could never be too sure. You capture Morpheus’ eyes before you speak her name. “Nada.”

You feel your husband stiffen immediately. A shadow casts over Morpheus’ face and his gaze darkens dangerously. He regards you coldly. “Enough.”

There was a time where this is where you would tuck your tail under your legs and leave your husband be, too terrified at Dream of the Endless to stand your ground. But that was when Dream had never spared you a glance, when he was more content with the silence of his throne room than his own wife’s presence. But those days have ended. 

“Your first queen,” you tell him gently, ignoring the flames of jealousy flickering within your chest. Everyone who knows Morpheus well enough knows the unfortunate fate of his first wife– condemned to a lifetime of suffering in Hell all because she rejected his affection. 

“Yes,” he hisses at you, with his jaw tightly clenched. Morpheus averts his eyes from your gaze and decides to look at his empty throne room instead. The downpour of harsh rain drums at the outside walls of Morpheus’ castle. 

“Are you thinking of freeing her, perhaps?” You ask, your voice small and quiet. You do not want to anger him.

A silence stretches before Morpheus’ head turns to you slowly. His eyes meet yours. “And if I was?” 

You avert your eyes from him and decide to stare at your lap instead, finding the fabric of your clothes suddenly so interesting. Suddenly, your position on his lap feels too much. It feels too loving, and vulnerable for this conversation. It feels inappropriate somehow. 

On one hand, condemning a lover to Hell is too cruel of a punishment. On the other…what about you? “Why now? What changed?”

“I have recently realized that I may have been too malevolent in my fury against my first wife,” Morpheus admits with a whisper. “And the guilt has been weighing on me heavily. I believe that the time to make things right has come.”

You look at your husband with hesitant eyes, almost not believing what he meant. “You mean to challenge Lucifer Morningstar for her. You mean to subject the Dreaming to war.” You shudder at the thought. “After you embarrassed her in her own realm? After-”

You miss the way Morpheus’s gaze softens at your worried tone, at the way the distress of his intentions consume you. He does not deserve you, he realizes. He reaches out to hold your cheek so gently like he was holding some precious glass. “My Love,” he whispers quietly. “It is a wrong I must correct.”

Morpheus knows that you feel the love he has for you—you are Love, after all. But he is certain that you do not know its depth. You do not know that you consume his every thought since his imprisonment; that despite all your reassurances, the guilt of having neglected you for so long still lingers in his heart; and that he is striving to become a better version of himself—to be the husband he so desperately wants to be for you.

“And if you free her, what then?” You ask him.

He meets your gaze with a confused expression. He blinks slowly. “If I succeed at my quest, then Nada shall be free and I shall rest with peace knowing I did what was right.”

You take a breath. You feel selfish and guilty for thinking of yourself when Nada has suffered a thousand years worth of torment in hell. “What about me?” You ask, your voice small and barely a whisper. “I know you love her still– as I do, with my past paramours,” you add quickly. “But where…where will I go, my lord?”

You feel Morpheus’ hand lift your head by your chin, forcing you to look at your husband’s pained stare. His eyes take in your face, trying to commit it to memory. He tucks a stray hair behind your ear, before resting hands on both sides of your face. He pulls you in before he tilts up to give you a kiss on your forehead.

His thumbs rub the softness of your cheek. “My love,” he whispers, his voice low and adoring. You have forgotten where you stand with him. Morpheus must remind you who you are. “You are the Dreaming’s queen. My fated one, my own dearest Love. You must never doubt your place beside me.”

You revel in his touch before slowly shaking your head. “I do not wish to share you,” you confess. 

Your words elicit a small, private smile on your husband’s face. “And you shall never have to, so long as you have me.” He understands your torment, truly, he does, but it baffles him how much Love is sometimes so oblivious to how much her own husband adores her. “I am yours,” he declares, and you feel a ripple of power emit from his words. It echoes throughout the universe, heard by every being. You gasp as he realizes what he is doing– it was a declaration. Morpheus is literally shouting to the entire world that he loves you. 

You let out a small huff of laughter, giving in to his bold declaration. “Silver tongue,” you accuse, and Morpheus sneaks a kiss to your cheek. You laugh in delight. 

“There is nothing– no one– that would make me part from you,” Morpheus whispers. “I would do anything if it would make you happy.”

“Anything?”

“Anything.”

“And what shall it cost me, Dream Lord? Those in the Waking World warn against making deals with your kind for the price is too costly. Shall you demand lighting caught in a bottle? My true name?”

“None of those. Although, perhaps…” Morpheus pauses in faux contemplation. “A kiss.”

You blink and laugh. “A kiss?”

“I had hoped my wife would come and see me in my throne room to comfort me. I led her to sit on my lap for a more carnal purpose, and yet here you have sat, without even blessing me with a single kiss.” Morpehus tells you with a nod. “And I have already given you two.” He petulantly adds. 

You lean towards him, too eager to comply. “My fated one,” you whisper, kissing his forehead. “My lover.” A peck to his check. “My dearest.” A kiss to his other cheek. You lean back ever so slightly, looking at Morpheus’ love struck eyes. “My ever-loving husband,” you whisper, giving him a deep kiss on his lips.

“I love you,” he whispers, his expression adoring and worshipful. 

You smile, pressing your hand on his chest. There you feel his love. It senses you, his wife, as you feel through it– chaotic, red, ancient, and deep. It feels like him. It feels like home. “I know.”

Morpheus shakes his head. There is a smile on his face, and the sunshine peeks from the window and shines on their Dream Lord’s face. “No, you don’t.”

my god. you've done it. fine!! FINE! i wrote this because no one seems to be writing for morpheus anymore!!! if you like fics like these, here's my masterlist.

additional notes:

this is fic happens if love n morpheus from love game made up and got their marriage tgt

love never calls dream 'dream' here. it's a title. her husband is morpheus, and that is who she calls

you guys call each other 'fated ones.' that's just my fancy way of saying soulmate lmao. there was a fic somewhere where the author made dream call the reader 'star-mine' since she was a celestial. i loved that. i'd tag the author if i find them

To say that you had a shitty day would have been a gross misunderstanding. Pretty much everything that could have gone wrong, had.

First, you woke up hours before you were supposed to be up for the day, when you heard a weird noise in your bedroom. It took you just a couple of moments to wake up fully to realise that the noise you were hearing is from dripping water. Water, that was currently dripping from your ceiling and slattering on the floor.

By the time it took you to put a bucket under the leak, reach your neighbours, who, apparently, had a burst pipe, and call for your building maintenance team, there was barely an hour left before you had to be up for the day.

You sighed, knowing that there was no point by then to even attempt to go back to sleep. As much as you wanted to go back to the soothing embrace of The Dreaming, you knew that Morpheus had to go back to his duties. It was better to just start the day bright and early. And, maybe, if you're lucky, you can try to sneak back into the Dreaming a little bit earlier than usual.

The universe had other plans, though. Being awake from such an unusual hour put your head in a weird place. The whole world felt like it was moving 2 seconds faster than you did, and you felt completely off balance.

The sleeve of your favourite cosy knit sweater got caught on the door handle just as you were going through the door, yanking your body back with an unmistakable rip. Mourning the loss of your sweater, you changed out of it in a rush and ran out the door to catch the train to work. Only there did you realise that you put the new blouse inside out in your haste.

Burrowing deeper into your scarf, in both shame and cold, you decided to just pop into the café bathroom on the way to work. You needed more caffeine anyway.

Changing out of the blouse in lightning speed, you thanked the barista behind the counter, grabbed your coffee and rushed out the door. Only to have your boot slip right next to the entrance to your work, making you lose your footing. In the last-ditch effort to save yourself from further embarrassment this fine morning, you grabbed onto the wall for support, which stopped your descent to the cement pavement. But nothing comes free, and you paid the price for that dearly in the currency of your precious coffee. The cup crumpled in your hand and spilt the, thankfully not scalding anymore, liquid right down your pants.

You ended up using your scarf to try and soak up the coffee-drenched material, giving up halfway through. You stuffed the ruined scarf back in your bag and rushed up the stairs to, hopefully, survive the workday.

The dark colour of your pants thankfully covered the coffee stain, so you weren't that bad off, all things considered. What was bad, though, was your entire workday.

From sending an important email to the wrong Reece in the company (why are there so many of them?? Just pick another name!) to your laptop having to update its software right before an important video meeting. You ended up joining that halfway through, barging in with your microphone unmuted, where the host actually had to stop and ask you to mute yourself. During lunch, you swallowed a small fish bone that you felt lodge in your throat for hours after that. The elevator was not working right when you had to go 7 floors up for another meeting, so you arrived all sweaty and panting out of breath - you really should make use of that free gym membership that the company offered.

So, you definitely had better days this year.

In the attempt to change the day, you decided to take it easy for the evening. You knew you had a bottle of wine calling your name somewhere in the cupboard. After work, you stopped at a supermarket and got yourself a box of cupcakes, as a means to drown yourself in sugar.

Thankfully, the way back home was less of a fight for your life. You closed the doors behind yourself, kicked off your shoes, and collapsed on the sofa. As much as you wanted to wrap yourself in a blanket, watch some trashy TV and stuff your mouth full of cupcake icing, or, better yet, to fall asleep and wake up in the Dreaming, you felt sweaty. The coffee stains dried ages ago, and your pants felt stiff and sticky.

You dragged yourself off the sofa and into your bathroom, dedicating the last of your energy to the task at hand. You started filling your tub full of water, dropped a bath bomb in and watched it fizz, creating a mountain of bubbles. You grabbed your box of cheap cupcakes, a glass of wine, some half-decent candles and the cosiest shirt to sleep in afterwards, and closed the doors to trap the steam in.

Dipping a foot in, you sighed in bliss. The water, just on the pleasant side of hot, tingling the skin and sending goosebumps down your back. You could feel it seeping through the skin and muscles, before finally reaching your freezing bones. You haven't even realised how cold you've been, but it would make sense given your poor attire for the day, which ended up being plagued with unrelenting winds and sporadic rains.

You slowly eased yourself in until your neck, and then deeper some more, until the bubbles tickled your nose, and stayed there. When it felt like you could feel your limbs again, you reached out for the cupcake that you left on the rim of the bathtub and stuffed it in your mouth.

Self-care at its best.

Somewhere between your third cupcake and half an overfilled glass of wine, you felt the air in your small bathroom, now resembling more of a sauna, shift. You didn't need to turn your head to know that you were no longer alone, and a smile touched your lips.

You were feeling much better already, so you opened your eyes just to drink in the sheer beauty of him.

Your Dream stood by the door in all his regal beauty. Head held high, back straight, wrapped in black. His lips, for once, were not set in a hard frown, shoulders relaxed just a fraction. An unmistakable softness in his eyes.

The same look, only you were ever privy to.

"My love." He greets you, eyes softening even further at the sight of you, submerged in bubbles and warm candlelight. Voice a touch above a whisper, as if he was afraid to disturb the tranquil bubble you created for yourself.

"Hi, love." You smile back at him, lifting a hand out of the water and reaching toward him with a grabby hand. He takes it as a confirmation that you want him closer, and wastes not a single second before he glides over to your side.

His hand grasps yours as he lowers his head to lay a kiss on the back of your hand. His eyes are still watching you like you're the single most important creation in this universe. Reverent tenderness etched into every move, to convey just how grateful he is that you deem him worthy of your presence.

You can feel a hot blush climbing its way over your neck and cheeks. You hoped it would have been harder to notice with the small room being this steamy and bathed in candlelight, but he knew you well enough to know the effect he always has on you. Amusement dances in his eyes, and he keeps a lingering kiss pressed to your skin, lips softly brushing the back of your hand for longer than he should have.

A corner of your lips twitches into a wicked smile you direct at him, and you tug your arm back. With him absolutely refusing to relinquish his hold, he follows. He leans over the rim of the bathtub and lays a kiss on your forehead. You close your eyes in bliss and drink in the peace and rightness of this very moment after the day of never-ending chaos. 

"Long day?" He mumbles into your skin, moving a hairbreadth away, refusing to let more distance between the two of you. You hum in response.

"Endless." Your body shakes in laughter at the stupid joke you made. It was reassuring to know that you haven’t been defeated by this crappy day, and you were still the funniest person in this room.

He fights the urge to roll his eyes, but his lips twitch in amusement. Not because the joke was funny - far from that. He simply enjoyed watching happiness dance across your cheeks, touching the corners of your eyes and settling on your plump, soft lips. He will stomach a lifetime of less-than-funny jokes, just for the privilege of seeing you like this. And he will do it gladly.

He reaches his other hand out and brushes your hair back from your face.

"Tell me about it." He kneels next to the bathtub you’re lying in, one hand still grasping yours. You lower it and settle on your stomach, his coat sleeve submerging into the colourful water hidden under the mountain of bubbles. His other hand continues to brush your hair softly, thumb occasionally brushing your cheek or temple, eyes not leaving your face for a moment.

His undivided attention would put anyone, Gods and mortals, on the edge. But to you, the intensity in his gaze will always feel like home. Like safety.

You start recounting your day and how everything that could have gone wrong, pretty much had. Morpheus listens attentively, letting out small hums here and there. His gaze flickering across your face, but never straying any further.

At some point during your story, you feel his fingertips start to wander over the slick skin of your stomach, down the side of your hip. He draws soothing circles over your thighs, moving up and down, featherlight touches just on the side of soft and not ticklish. You start to relax deeper into soapy water without even realising it.

Soon, shapes and patterns start moving up your hip and back over your stomach, large hand splaying there in a gesture that could only be described as possessive.

Curious fingertips move up your ribs, reacquainting with the softness of your body. The one he will spend an eternity worshipping, if you only let him.

Your fingers follow his in their path, settling on the back of his hand, tracing soft shapes of your own.

Once your story starts winding down, you feel his hand inching up once again. He stops just at the underside of your breast, brushing the delicate skin there with the backs of his fingers, but refusing to go any further. You interlock your hands and move them up, letting him know you're just as excited as he is to have his hands wandering. He squeezes your breast softly, and you can see his shoulders loosen up just a fraction more. His impeccable posture, even when kneeling next to you, unwinding more, as if he was breathing out the stress of his own day. You make out the softest of sighs leaving his lips.

You crack your eye open and send him a questioning look. He was very touchy this evening. Not that you're complaining, of course.

His thumb brushes over your nipple, and your breath catches. You barely suppress a shiver racing down your spine as he continues to watch you, eyes full of wonder. As if you were the most beautiful life in this realm and any other. The most wondrous creature that even he, the Lord of Dreams and Nightmares, could have ever imagined. His beautiful, strong, smart, resilient queen.

"Let me take care of you, my love." He whispers. He turns his palm to grasp your wrist and lifts your hands up to his lips once more. He plants a soft kiss, eyes closing in comfort.

You sigh, mesmerised. The love in his eyes, the adoration etched into every single line of his body. This beautiful, powerful being, on his knees in front of you, pleading with you just so he could touch you. You never felt more beautiful. Never felt this powerful. You nod your head, as words refuse to form on your tongue any longer, and he leans down, locking his lips with yours.

The kiss is all-consuming. Heavy and filled with passion. His tongue locking in a dance with yours, fighting for dominance, lips nipping yours softly. You feel his hand grip the back of your neck, holding you in place as he indulges in something he could not stop thinking about since the last time he saw you. His other hand moves over your chest, a familiar weight of your breast settling in his palm. He could feel something deep in his chest flip with the rightness of this moment.

You’re so lost in the burning feeling coursing through your veins that you don’t even notice when you start sitting up, pushing back into him. You wrap both your arms around his neck, trying to use them as leverage to pull yourself, and tangle your fingers in his messy hair.

You feel his hand leave your chest to cradle your ribcage, nudging you to lie back into the steaming water, and you crack an eye open to look at him in confusion again. He's there, bent over the porcelain rim of the bathtub, and you have half a mind to ask him what he’s doing, before you feel his hands slowly start to wander again. 

He moves slowly, taking his time and indulging. Testing and teasing, fingers dipping in and out of the water to follow the curves of your skin. Still so tender that it sends tingles down your arms and legs, but never more than that.

He moves his fingertips up and down the length of your side, but his game starts to get tiresome to you, and you open your eyes to glare at him in reprimand. He has absolutely no shame. No guilt in his eyes. Just open wonder and insatiable hunger in the depths of his bottomless black eyes, flecked in stardust.

You open your mouth to tell him off when you feel his fingers inch up your inner thigh towards where you want him the most right now. He moves with a clear purpose, and it's enough to make you choke on your own words, lips parting in a choked gasp. He clearly takes that as a prized victory, judging by the slight twitch of his lips.

His thumb brushes over your clit briefly, but you know him well enough to know that that was no accident.

'Smug bastard...'

Before you can say anything to him, his finger circles your sensitive nub, and you can feel your knees jerk in automatic response. He rubs circles around it, alternating between tight and fast, and featherlight, for so long, but you have no chance to predict what he will do next and stay just on the edge. But never enough to actually push you over it.

You let out a mewl, thighs trembling and bending at your knees. Your hand shoots out to wrap around his wrist, and he tuts at you in reprimand, eyes boring deep into yours.

"Do not deprive me of yourself." His deep drawl makes your heart flip, the demand leaving no room for argument. But he clearly misunderstood your intentions - you were not aiming to stop him. You just needed him to stop teasing already. You roll your eyes at him and his antics.

"Then touch me properly."

Your fingers relax around his wrist, and that's all the invitation he was looking for.

His fingers slide lower, leaving your throbbing clit, and you feel his finger plunging inside you with barely any preamble. Your breath catches at the sudden intrusion, but you feel no discomfort. You were past the prep needing stage of his little game. His ring finger follows shortly after, and you involuntarily let out a gasp.

His other hand moves your head towards him, and he leans in to claim your lips again. He could feel your hot, tight walls quiver around his fingers, and he sighs in delight.

Morpheus continues kissing you breathless, one hand still keeping your head in place, and you're happy to give him the control he's looking for. His fingers finally start moving and curling, finding that perfect sweet spot deep inside you with ease and familiarity, and you lurch from the water and into him.

But he's already there, laying you back down, his curled fingers never stopping their perfect assault, and you barely have the mind to fill your lungs with oxygen. You close your eyes, losing yourself in the sensations burning through your limbs. You arch your chest, vaguely aware of the water sloshing around you. 

"Eyes on me." He commands, and you no longer have any willpower to deny him. Anything. You will do anything he wants, as long as he doesn’t stop.

Your eyes meet, and the absolute hunger and adoration in his eyes makes you let you the most pathetic moan. His fingers still working you open, you reach out your other hand towards his face, and he leans his cheek into your palm, nuzzling the skin there. The act so pure and innocent, and so opposite from what he's currently doing with his other hand, that it threatens to give you whiplash.

The obscene squelching you can hear over the blood rushing in your ears makes you let out a deep moan, heat coiling at the pit of your stomach. You’re breathing hard, not able to fill your lungs nearly enough, but you tug his face back towards yours until your lips clash once again. It’s all teeth and tongue and all shaking desperation to be closer. 

Your hands anchor to him, one tangled in his messy hair, the other gripping his coat lapel. 

His hand is moving faster now, and it's not long before you can feel a third finger enter you, stretching you further. You grip his hair tighter, and you can feel his chest vibrate with a moan he's fighting to suppress.

You know he likes you much more vocal, though, so you detach your lips from his with some difficulty and let out a long whine.

His hand moves faster, thumb drawing tight and fast circles around your clit to bring you closer and closer. Rapidly cooling water is sloshing around you, and you’re pretty sure there’s a puddle on your bathroom floor. Wouldn't it be fun to flood your neighbours tonight?

You feel his pace slowing down again, fingers curling just right to hit that sweetest spot over and over again. Your whines are getting louder, no longer being completely drowned out by the squelching and water sloshing and spilling from your tub.

You feel his nose nudge your cheek, and he whispers something in your ear, but you're far too lost in your pleasure to understand or even hear him. His name leaves your lips in a never-ending chant, as if it's the only thing you still know how to do.

His thumb moves across your clit, fingers moving in and out of your hole at a swift pace, and you feel the coil tighten even further. Morpheus's fingers tighten around the back of your neck to turn you back to him, and he slots his mouth over yours. He swallows up the moans leaving your lips, letting them slither down his throat as he continues to kiss the life out of you.

You come crashing with no warning, lips parting from his to let out the most guttural moan. He lets the moment pass, committing the sound to his memory to revisit later, before he follows after your lips again and continues to steal the breath right out of your lungs. Your body is trembling uncontrollably, heat coursing through and spreading in your veins.

He lets you ride out your high on his fingers, never ceasing the softest touches, teeth nipping at your kiss-bitten lips, brushing against the crown of your head and leaving soft kisses, thumb brushing your cheek. You vaguely note that he's breathing harder and deeper than normal, exhales catching on his lips.

Your breathing is ragged, and you can't seem to fill your lungs with enough air. The humid air in the bathroom is not helping with the task at hand, but he doesn't rush you. Your heart feels like it's about to burst out of your chest. He keeps planting little kisses everywhere his lips could reach, giving you enough time to come back to him.

Once you have enough strength to open your eyes, you feel him cradle your jaw with both hands and return to your lips for a messy, sloppy kiss. Your trembling hands lift off from where they were gripping the tub rim to grasp at his coat, desperately clinging to the safety and security that his arms guarantee.

You want to be closer to him. You need him closer.

He's wearing too many clothes, and you need to touch his skin, now.

"Please…" you mutter right into his mouth, and he doesn't need more than that to understand what you need. He plants a kiss on the tip of your nose, before you feel his arm wrap around the backs of your knees, the other supporting your back, and you use your remaining strength to grip his shoulders.

He stands up with you in his arms, dripping water all over, but he doesn't seem to mind. If anything, he can't seem to stop kissing every inch of you that his lips can reach. He goes down on one knee once again and sits you up on the rim of the bathtub.

Morpheus grabs a towel and starts drying your body off, wrapping it around your shoulders and kissing your temple. He moves down your body, his eyes tracking his own hands and their path, making sure to catch every single drop of water as if it's the most important job that he's been blessed with in his existence. As if you're the most precious thing to him that ever existed.

He makes sure to taste every newly dry inch of your skin on his lips. You can feel his lips on your shoulders, moving down to your chest in the most comforting of ways. He kisses your wrists and palms, and the warmth spreads through your insides. The kisses he lies across your ribs makes you suppress a giggle from the ticklish feeling, and he cracks a small smile in response. When his lips move from your knee to the inside of your thigh, nipping at the sensitive skin there, you grip his hair in warning and Morpheus all but growls.

"My love." You mutter in a voice as stern as you could muster at this moment, which, to be fair, wasn't much, but he stills, eyes lifting to yours. Your fingers relax in his hair, and you brush it softly, fingers hooking under his chin, bringing his face up. He follows as if under a spell.

"Let's get out of here, love. It's getting chilly." You continue, wanting more than anything to lie down in your soft bed and wrap yourself around your Dream.

Morpheus, by the looks of it, could not agree more with your idea. He flicks his wrist, and the fluffiest bathrobe wraps around you. You snuggle deeper into it, vaguely registering that it's definitely not one of the ones you own - he must have created it for you just now.

You smile at him in gratefulness and lean down to peck his forehead. He basks in the moment, fingers flexing at your sides, before lifting you back in his arms and standing up. You lean your head on his shoulder as he carries you out and into your bedroom.

Your head hits the pillow, and you feel his familiar weight settle between your legs as you give him a smile that he returns in earnest. His nose bumps into yours, and you hear him whisper against your lips.

"Let us see if we can make this evening more pleasing, my love." His eyes twinkle with the galaxies you'll never get tired of getting lost in, and you grin back at him.

He brushes a strand of hair back from your forehead.

In spite of the duties that came with such an important position, you had a 'human life'. Much like Hob Gadling, your husband's friend, you had a job and thrived amongst those of your kind — you taught history and archeology in various universities across Europe, something which made you incredibly happy since you had lived through many centuries.

These obligations sometimes kept you away from you and your husband's realm, but you always communicated with him either through Matthew or through dreams.

You were working on a paper when you realized what day it was. The month before you had forgotten to meet with Dream, but he had sweetly forgiven you saying that you would meet the following month.

Which was the day before the events we're recounting, much to your dismay.

For the second time, you had missed your date with the Lord of Dreams. You were unforgivable.

You cursed yourself before setting aside your work and walking into the Dreaming.

"My Lady Y/n" Matthew and Lucienne were the ones who welcomed you. Dream was nowhere to be seen, and the Librarian of the Dreaming was quick to explain the situation.

"Lord Morpheus has matters to attend to at the borders of the realm"

"Bullshit! Y/n, he's upset, he doesn't want to talk to you" Due to the amount of time the two of you spent together, Matthew had developed a familiar bond with you — so much so that he addressed you casually, like a friend rather than a monarch.

The two tried to explain how angry and upset your husband was, so you stated that you would not disturb him during your stay even though he was aware of your presence.

In the following days you spent your time walking around your realm, with Matthew giving you updates on Dream's whereabouts and mood.

On some occasions, you saw his silhouette around — in the library, for example, or in the throne room. But you dared not disturb him.

As a way of trying to gain his forgiveness, you left some gifts here and there — along with some letters you had written. You figured that it was the best way for you to convey your emotions without crossing the boundaries he had put down. In Matthew's opinion, your approach was working.

Fiddler's Green was the one who kept you company the most, besides Lucienne and your raven. He always gave good advice and provided the comfort you needed.

"I suggest you summon your husband" he once said, while you sat under a beautiful oak tree together "Though he feels resentful, he misses you. It hurts me to see my King and Queen suffer, there must be a way to mend what was broken"

As soon as those words left his mouth, you decided to summon your husband. Hopefully, Fiddler's Green was right and you would not anger Dream any further.

The way in which your consort looked at you when he appeared from the vortex of sand was, for a lack of better words, devastating. You slightly bowed your head down as to greet him, and he returned the gesture.

"You came"

"You called"

You restrained yourself from crying and began talking. "Dream, I know that I messed up. I should have remembered about our meeting — God, I was so disrespectful! There were so many things to do at once, I never even looked at the calendar. I'm so sorry. And I understand if you're still angry: I will depart from the Dreaming at once, if you wish"

"I would never ask my wife to leave me" he responded with the same calmness as always, though his eyes conveyed profound sadness and regret "I'm sorry for not visiting you, Y/n".

"And I you, Dream" you uttered.

There were a few seconds of silence before Matthew appeared, flying on your shoulder "Come on, Boss! Hug her, kiss her, do something! I can't put up with your brooding any longer, so put away your pride and give a sign of forgiveness to your wife!" he exclaimed.

Dream sighed, clearly torn about whether he was ready to properly forgive you. Nevertheless, his doubts waned by just looking at you once again.

You were just as exhausted as he was: this tantrum of his had gone way too far. The two of you clearly missed each other and couldn't be distant any longer, so he did what he had yearned to since you walked into the Dreaming.

He caressed your face with his hands, and though he tried to keep his emotions at bay, he kissed you — the longing and profound love you felt for one another finally finding an outlet— then hugged you like you were about to fade away at any minute.

Reaching for a weapon of choice. Sensing the smallest of shifts in the atmosphere. Barely needing to look for you knew it was him. “You shouldn’t be here.” You let out, storing the sword away by your hip. Turning your back on him. “Please.” Morpheus let out beggingly.

You reached for a shield, hand interrupted by his finding steadiness on yours. “I am going, Morpheus.” Stating clearly to him there was no changing your mind. “If you leave, you might never return.” He answered pleadingly. Hoping get through to you for this pointless war. A war angels would fight for mortals. 

Turning your posture more towards him, you reached a hand up to his cheek. Closing his eyes, he leaned in to your touch. Taking in every detail of it. “Who will I be, if I stay?” Your lips formed for you could never walk away from your oath. An angel’s oath. Morpheus slowly opened his eyes once more. Cupping your jawline with his hands.

“This shall not be our last.” Whispering as he drew near. Kissing your lips tenderly. Allowing his lips to trace every detail. Lips lasting in touch as long as they could when the kiss broke off. Morpheus and your foreheads touched. “Princess.” Speaking the nickname he had for you one last forgiving time. 

Stepping back, you drifted away from his touch. Slipping though his fingers with a heavy sigh. Watching you join your fellow angels. Stepping out of those doors to ascend to the heavens. Sky rumbled. Clouds flickering with light that danced within them. Screams and shouts even overpowering the loudest of rumbles.

Screaming loud, your spear pierced one. Wings flapping strongly. Launching back, avoiding one of your falling sisters. Spiraling down to the fallen battlefield. Shouting loud with tears in your eyes, you reached your hand to her. 

A moment of focus loss. Body receiving the impact from above. Gasping loud as the creature was on your back. Sending you down spiraling. Reaching behind you, you tried to grab it. Snatch it off your back before both would fall to your eternal rest. With loud groans, you managed to grab a hold of its ankle.

Flinging the creature off your back into the skies. Wings flapping strongly, you found balance once more. Hearing a loud scream, your head turned immediately. Seeing one of your elderly sisters struggle with a devil. Dipping face down, you dove in the wind. Sword out. Calling it out when you wanted to pierce him. 

The devil’s head snapped your way, blocking your weapon with one of his own. A clash of metal, repeatedly. Fighting for dominance. Warring the devil out. He smiled exhaustingly at your raised sword. Crying out, jamming your hands down. Breath suddenly choking in your throat.

Lowering your gaze at the metal tip, dripping with blood. Morpheus clutched his heart, huffing breathless. “My lord?” Lucienne called out in a panic. The lord’s body gently rocking with rushed pants. Lucienne blinked and her lord had vanished. 

Fluttering his eyes open, they widened with shock. Barren wasteland painted with red. “Y….” Your name thickening in his throat. Hazily he ventured forwards. Glancing left and right at the fallen bodies. Angels and devils tangled up. His footsteps became weak with each taken one.

Keeping a hand on his lower stomach. Stumbling through barren wasteland. Breath choking with the clear ache in his heart. “Y/n!” He screamed out. Rushing over to you. Diving to his knees to be at your side.

“Y/n…Y/n…princess.” Throat forming a knot, hard to swallow. Slowly rolling you over to your back. Sputtering out sobs. Carefully picking you up onto his lap. Bringing your foreheads to touch. “My love…my eternal love…”

Brushing his hand repeatedly down your cheek. Head lifting up to the heavens, he roared out a scream. A cry of pain able to shake the heavens and earths. His eternal promise. 

Eyes flashed open at the annoyance of the alarm clock. Turning your head, you noticed the time. “Sh*t.” Cursing, slapping the alarm desperately to silence. Jumping out of bed, you hurried yourself to get dressed. Little time for breakfast, you picked up a cup of coffee on your way to the door from the counter.

Face turning sour at the cold, tasteless yesterday’s coffee. Snatching your purse by the door, you rushed out. Rushing down the flight of stairs onto the streets. Groaning at yourself for you surely remembered to have set the alarm right. Running, you tried to make something of your hair.

Brushing through people that were on a slower pace. You couldn’t delay. There had to be speed and swiftness. Taking a quick glance left and right, you ran up to the cross walk. Ready to sprint over, caught by sturdy arms before your foot could leave the paveway.

“Whoah, whoah, whoah.” The man let out. Loud honking followed like a trail behind him. Fading away around the corner. Staring up to the man, you stared baffled back at him for a moment. Shoving yourself off him a second later. “I am in a hurry!” You shouted at him. 

The man laughed in disbelief at your reaction. “You were nearly run over by a car!” He replied at your carelessness. “Well you have my utmost thanks, but I must go.” Tossing him a sarcastic smile. Checking quickly again, you stepped onto the cross walk.

Barely making it one stripe further, feeling the sudden tug on your wrist. “Princess.” The man said breathlessly, pulling you away from the street. “What did you just call me?” You responded, slightly offended. He immediately moved his hands up. “I…I am sorry.” Saying with a shy chuckle. 

“It is dangerous if you are this hastened.” He cleared up. With a wary expression, you pulled your wrist free. “I’ll be sure to tell my mother.” Jabbing at his concern with sarcasm. “Y/n…” Your name breathlessly in his voice. Another pull at your wrist to keep you in place.

A distant whisper in the fleeting air. “I’ll take you…” Saying with haste. You eyed the man up and down. Taking a step back for there was no way you would go with a total stranger. “No thanks.” You politely informed him. “You are in a rush and I have a way of transportation.” 

The way he formed the words made you perk your eyebrow up. Checking your phone, you knew you had been wasting precious time. Hoping he wouldn’t end up being a serial killer, you gave in. Responsibilities winning over fear.

“You better not try anything.” Giving him a hard slap on his chest with the back of your hand. He bowed his head, hand near his heart. Gesturing at you to follow him to a black car just up ahead. “Who even are you?” You questioned, getting  in his car. He curled up a smile. “Morpheus.” 

Adjusting his front mirror. “And you Princess are Y/n.” Stepping on the gas, making you fling to the back of your seat. “Stop saying that!” You called out, holding on tight to the car door. The car came to a roaring stop by your workplace.

“I’ll come pick you up.” Morpheus spoke, leaning down to your seat. His words cut off with no response by the loud shutting of the door in his face. Watching you hurry inside through the window. 

Batting his gaze down, he exhaled deep. He had hoped his name would jog up some of your memories. Memories perhaps completely forgotten. Yet his eternal promise was not. Still strong even within this new life of yours. Reincarnated as a human. His once promised angel. 

“Morning Princess.” Morpheus spoke with a cheeky smile. Rolling your eyes, you accepted the cup of coffee from him. “Will you stop that?” Snapping at him. Morpheus removed himself from against the brick wall, falling in step with you. “Not for an eternity.” He responded teasingly.

Having lowered himself a bit to you, before brushing past you. Scoffing loud, you could strangle him for being so annoying. Always princess this and princess that. Morpheus slowed his walk down so you could easily keep up. “Don’t you have places to be?” You asked with a quirked up eyebrow. 

“Why, are you trying to get rid of me Princess?” Chuckling deeply at his own amusement. Rolling your eyes, you gave him a playful shove. There was soft cawing, catching your attention. “Oh look, Matthew is requesting you.” Gesturing at the crow, circling above your heads.

Morpheus glanced briefly up to the crow. “That is not Matthew, Y/n.” He simply responded. Smirking at your annoyed expression. “Are you truly trying to wimple me off, Princess?” Giving your shoulder a little nudge with his own.

“Maybe.” You responded with a cheeky smile. Glancing bashfully away. “Now I regret telling you, if you only are to use this for made up excuses.” Morpheus sighed out, tugging his hands in his coat’s pocket. “I was only joking!” You blurted out, not wanting to offend the lord of dreams and nightmares.

A smirk curled up at the corner of his lips. Turning his head to you. “So was I.” Saying in a husky voice. That flashy smile he teased you with made you swallow softly. Wondering how he got so easily under your skin. Constant teasing and flirting that your heart had begun to ache for his. Filling a hole that had been since you were born. 

That night, you quickly found sleep. Drifting through the dreaming world where all mortals would go. Vision blurry trying to pin-point at a certain desire from within. Shuddering out an exhale, the vision cleared. Eyes slowly opening to a wondrous castle.

Turning around to look at every corner. The dress brushed over the floor with every turn. Fabric soft in your hands. “Y/n.” Upon hearing your name, you took a breathless step back. Moving more back at the appearance of Morpheus from behind a pillar. He took a tentative look around. Curling up a smile at your choice of dream. 

“What…what are you doing here?” You answered pantingly. Batting his gaze down, he curled up a smile. “You wanted me here.” He responded stepping closer to the center you found yourself in. Thoughtfully you tried to recall why. “Princess.” His voice deep with a flinter of cherished melancholy.

Bringing your chin up by his thumb. Wanting your eyes to meet. Those forgotten eyes he had waited for a very long time. Swallowing softly, you felt yourself be compelled to lower your gaze to his lips. A husky chuckling breath teasing you. 

“Morpheus…” You whispered out. Shushing you lovingly, he cherished your face in his hands. Brushing a stray hair aside. You rested a hand to the back of his neck. Feeling your heart thump loudly in your chest. Fighting for freedom. Getting lightly on the tips of your toes, you reached up to him.

Lips parted with a shuddering breath. Nearing as his breath intertwined with yours. Joining your other hand by his neck for support. Lips prickling with senses. Entangling your fingers by his neck, giving him the slightest push forwards. Eyes closed for a touch. A touch of air. 

Fluttering your eyes open, your surroundings had changed. Sitting up, running a confused hand through your hair. Fingers touching your lips for they had not been satisfied. Reality settled in, making you groan loud, falling back in your pillow. Whilst getting dressed, a sudden thought crossed your mind.

He was the lord of dreams and nightmares. What if whatever you dreamed about wasn’t just fiction. What if he truly had been there…in the flesh. Humiliation overcame you. Feeling stupid and ashamed you had your hidden desires swirl to the top. 

Hastening out the door, you hoped a bit of fresh air would do you good. Hastening across the street. Taking a different route to try and avoid him. Clearing a path between bushes, you forced your own path to the park. “Y/n.” Startled by his sudden presence with you in the bushes.

Panting loud, you ignored him, forcing a way through. Stumbling into an open grassfield. Looking over your shoulder, you wanted to see if he was in pursuit. “Y/n.” Announced by your side. Yelping loud at his sudden presence to your left. 

Panicking, you took a run for it. Running past benches towards the playground. “Y/n stop.” Morpheus spoke, standing behind the empty swings. Avoiding his gaze intently, you nearly tripped over your own feet, changing quick directions.

“This is pointless.” He sighed out, appearing right in front of you. Shrieking loud, you stumbled back. Falling down. Morpheus bent through his knees, offering you his hand. Swallowing hard, you avoided his gaze. Aware he was right. Running away was pointless, for he would always find you. 

With a heavy sigh, you accepted his hand. Looking down. “I have to be somewhere.” You let out, turning away from him. “No, you don’t.” Morpheus replied, tugging at your arm. You hated that he knew your plans and daily life. You felt his hand cherish over yours.

“Why are you avoiding me, Princess?” Trying to get your attention. You paused, muscles contracting at that nickname. The one you had heard numerous times with no reason. Batting your gaze down, you let yourself go. Wanting to be close to him.

Holding the back of his neck, you gave that little push to shove him forwards. Your lips catching his. Deepening the touch before following his movement. Caring little for who you would condemn for this kiss between a mortal and an endless.

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

You fell in love pretty quickly.

Or well, quickly when you looked at immortal standards.

(About three thousand-ish years, you didn’t really count to be honest)

Though at first, he annoyed you.

He was arrogant and ruled with harsh hand rather than with kindness that you practised with your own servants.

And he didn’t understand why you were so annoyed by his way to rule.

He had his way, you had your way, and he thought all immortals had a wordless agreement on not caring how others take care of their kingdoms.

But once he talked with you about it, he understood why you felt uncomfortable about it.

You had had to witness him punishing his dreams and nightmares quite a few times by sending them to darkness for long periods, and the thought of it terrified you.

You didn’t believe in ruling with fear.

And after a bit of more talking, Morpheus agreed on it being unnecessary.

A while later, he invited you to The Dreaming.

And since then, you started to spend quite a lot of your time there.

And eventually

He started developing feelings for you.

They were foreign

Scary, even

But oh so addicting.

And he couldn’t help but chase his feelings again and again.

After another century or two, his servants started to feel anxious for him to just confess

But he wouldn’t budge

Lucienne, all of his other ravens across the ages, Mervyn, even Abel and Cain, they all pushed him into telling you about his longing

But he was convinced you didn’t feel the same way

(And he also denied feeling anything like that for you to anyone who asked)

But deep down, he did plan on telling you

One day

Because he saw you felt something too

But he wanted it to be romantic

And so that he wouldn’t make a fool of himself

One day, he hoped to make you his queen

And until that day came

He spent time with you, the Goddess of Light of the Night, and wondered what would come.