you’re across the room, watching him sulk behind that massive desk of his like the entire universe personally insulted him. he's been like this since you very gently pointed out that maybe—just maybe—he didn’t need to be such a cold bastard to the mortal girl in the dream he unraveled this morning.
you didn’t even say it mean. you were careful. polite. borderline diplomatic.
but the moment you said, “did you have to be so cold with her?” he full-body froze and replied with a clipped, “i do not require instruction in my own realm.”
and then.
radio silence.
he hasn’t looked at you since. he’s working (allegedly), but every now and then you catch him pausing—just long enough to think, just long enough to be dramatic—before going back to pretending you don’t exist.
which is hilarious. and also unfair. because now you can’t stop looking at him.
his back is all stiff, his shoulders tense under the stupidly elegant fabric of whatever coat he’s chosen today. you know he doesn’t even need to wear clothes like that. he does it to be extra. to be “regal.” to make it harder to stay mad at him.
and it works.
because even when he’s being moody and petty, he’s also... painfully beautiful. and a little tragic. like someone carved a god out of starlight and then gave him abandonment issues.
you sigh. quietly. dramatically. and get up.
he doesn’t move when you approach. he’s totally still, even as you come up behind him and start massaging his shoulders.
he does tense at that—just a little—but he doesn’t stop you.
so you keep going. slow, firm pressure with your thumbs. leaning over him, your lips just barely brushing his ear.
“my dream,” you say softly.
no reaction. but you feel it.
“my morpheus,” you whisper.
his fingers go still. you can’t see his face, but you know that look—jaw tight, pretending it’s not affecting him. pretending you’re not affecting him.
“my oneiros,” you murmur. you kiss the side of his neck, light and slow. “my nightmare. my darkness, my starless sky.”
he says, “enough,” but it’s not sharp. it’s barely even a protest.
“why?” you ask, lips brushing against his throat. “afraid i’ll undo you?”
his breath catches. gotcha.
you keep kissing. trailing slowly down his neck, one hand sliding down his chest, the other still kneading his shoulder like you’re trying to physically drag the tension out of him.
you lean in again, mouth near his ear. “you sit here brooding like someone wounded you,” you whisper. “you push me away because i see too much. because i tell you when you’re wrong.”
no answer. but his hands lower from the desk. one grips the chair. tightly.
“you think you’re too much,” you whisper. “but you’re not. not for me.”
you kiss just under his jaw.
“my king.”
he snaps.
not in an angry way. in a finally breaking way. he turns, grabs your wrists like he’s grounding himself, and stares. hard. eyes all sharp and tired and soft underneath it all.
“you vex me,” he says, voice low.
you grin. “i know.”
he pulls you in. it’s not soft. it’s needy. like he’s been holding something in for centuries and it’s finally cracking.
and then he kisses you.
and it’s everything. it’s desperate and slow and almost angry with how much he wants it, how much he doesn’t want to want it. he’s holding you like he can’t let go or he’ll fall apart. like if he doesn’t touch you right now, he’ll vanish.
when you finally break apart, he leans his forehead to yours, breathing hard.
Summary: Desperate to save his realm, Dream seeks help from a powerful, feared being ... you. Instead of demanding a painful price, you surprise him with a strange request. Flustered but out of options, he agrees.
Part I - The Price of Mercy
Part II - Dinner with a Goddess
Part III - Coffee, Confessions, and Choking
Part IV (End) - The Dream He Dared to Shape
The Price of Mercy
The Dreaming was bleeding.
Dream walked through its corridors, his palace of thought. The sky above cracked with silent thunder.
All because of what he’d done.
A moment of duty. A moment of justice. A moment of blood.
Family blood.
And by the ancient Law, that was enough to summon the Kindly Ones. They were not kind. They would come. They always did. And they would unmake him.
He had exhausted every path.
There was only one door left.
And even he feared it.
You.
He had seen you once, long ago, walking through a Roman temple as if you were bored by time itself. A creature of eerie calm, elegant and still like a mirror pond untouched by wind. Beauty in a form mortals could never survive, but you walked among them like you barely noticed the difference. You had looked at him once, just once, and Morpheus had felt… something.
He didn’t dwell on it.
Destiny had warned him then.
"Do not cross her. She is the unknown chapter, the untethered clause. The Law listens to her in silence. And she charges dearly."
But he was out of options.
So, he descended through layers of reality, past dreams and gods and concepts, until he reached the threshold of your realm, an impossible space suspended between choices and probabilities, colored like dusk and rimmed with the soft laughter of stars.
Your domain was quiet, but not empty. Lanterns floated, casting soft golden light against a midnight backdrop. You sat on a couch made of impossible geometry, legs crossed, sipping tea that shimmered between blue and gold.
You felt his arrival and smiled without looking.
“Took you long enough.”
Morpheus stood still. Tall, still robed in night and regret. His face impassive.
But his eyes… hesitated.
He looked at you, truly, and something ancient and strange twisted behind his ribs. Your beauty was… disarming. The kind that wasn’t trying to seduce or impress. Just was. Effortless. Alive. You were elegance without vanity, danger without cruelty. And you smiled at him like a cat with a secret.
He straightened. His cloak curled behind him like a shadow offended by the light.
"You know why I’m here."
You circled him slowly, watching how his shoulders tensed, how his jaw clenched when you got too close. A flicker in his gaze. He wasn’t used to this. Being seen.
"I do. You want a law bent. A rule rewritten. A leash placed upon the Kindly Ones before they tear you and your precious realm to ribbons."
"Yes."
"That’s not usually something done without consequence, Dream. The Laws of the Endless are older than even your melancholy. You’re asking me to interfere."
He stepped closer, tone taut, restrained.
"I have tried all other paths."
You sighed, the sound somewhere between weariness and dramatic flair.
"Of course you have. And now you’ve come to me, expecting pain. Sacrifice. A price so sharp it leaves your soul limping."
He stiffened. His heart beat once, too loud in his ears.
"I will pay what is necessary."
You tilted your head. Your voice shifted, becoming cool, detached. The same script you’d used with gods, devils, and fools alike:
"The favor you ask comes with cost. Not of coin. Not of blood. But of truth. Of surrender. Of something irreplaceable. All who have bargained with me have walked away different. Most do not walk away at all."
You turned. He was waiting for torment. For agony. His black eyes, so often hollow, held a flicker of dread.
And you were…
Bored.
Gods, they’re all the same. Expecting doom and torment. Never just… asking what I want. Not even a ‘how are you’. Tch. And that restaurant just opened too…
And then it hit you.
The restaurant. The one you had tried to go to last week, only to be turned away at the door because "no singles allowed."
So here he was. Tall. Brooding. Rather unreasonably handsome, in that haunted, starving-poet sort of way.
And available.
You grinned.
"I’ve decided your price."
He braced himself.
"There’s a new restaurant in the Waking World. They serve the best lobster this side of the galaxy. Problem is, it’s couples-only. And I want to try their spicy citrus-butter crustacean."
He blinked.
"…I beg your pardon?"
"You heard me." You walked towards him, hands folded behind your back, voice playful. "I want to go. I want their lobster. Their chef is a magician with butter and fire. But they don’t allow singles. I tried to bring my pet snake, but apparently that ‘violates the vibe’.
He frowned. "You… wish to dine with me?"
You smirked. "I want the food. They require a partner. You’ll do."
His brows furrowed. He searched the shadows for a trap. “That’s… it?”
You stepped closer, voice a whisper of amusement.
"What? Were you expecting I’d demand your memories? Your voice? Your first love’s heartbeat in a jar? Please. I’m not that cliché. I’m just bored. And hungry."
Morpheus hesitated. "You wish me to… date you?"
"Call it what you want, honey."
He choked. "…Honey?"
You leaned in, lips close to his ear.
"Too much?"
He straightened instantly, clearing his throat.
You watched, delighted, as his eyes flicked in every direction like he expected a trap to spring. “I—I don’t…”
“Relax. I won’t bite. Unless the lobster’s bad.”
His lips parted. Words failed him.
“So,” you continued, voice low and amused, “what’ll it be, Dream? Date or death?”
"I… accept. The terms. I choose the… date."
"Oh, how romantic," you teased, spinning on your heel. "Now. You’ll need to dress well. This place is fancy."
You turned, finger raised.
"You’ll need to pick me up. I expect you at eight sharp. No shadows. No sand. No ravens. Knock on the door like a normal being."
His voice was faint, nearly stunned.
"I… see."
"Do you?"
You stepped close again, smile playful, eyes glittering.
"You sure you’re okay with the price, Dream of the Endless? You seem a little… flustered."
He looked away quickly. "I am… simply surprised."
His ears turned faintly pink.
"Hm." You leaned back. "You’re cute when you’re trying not to blush."
Silence stretched, thick with something unexpected. Not doom. Not dread.
Anticipation.
"So," you said, extending your hand. "Do we have a deal?"
He stared at it, then at you.
There was no trick. No hidden malice.
Just you, beautiful, kind (against all rumors), and maybe a little lonely.
He hesitated. Then, slowly, solemnly, placed his hand in yours.
It was warm. Surprising.
“We have a deal.”
You smiled.
He turned to leave, half-floating, half-fleeing, his mind a storm of confusion.
And behind him, you laughed softly.
The Kindly Ones would be kept at bay. Your price was paid.
And perhaps… you wouldn’t be so bored after all.
You smiled. "Excellent. I’ll see you Friday. Don’t be late, honey."
He flinched again.
He stepped back through the veil, heart pounding like a mortal’s.
The Law had been bent. The Kindly Ones halted.
And all it cost him…
…was a date.
He touched the place on his hand where your fingers had rested.
Your laugh still echoed in his ears.
He could not stop the small smile that formed at the corner of his lips.
This is the first part of 4 delicious chapters, ehehehe, enjoy!
Morpheus/Dream x Reader. Short and sweet moments in your relationship with the King of Dreams.
Your giggles echoe across the empty hallway leading up to dream's office.
"Enjoying yourself, my love?" Dream calls out once you come into view– all smiles and laughter as you talk animatedly with Goldie.
Your smile brightens even more as your gaze finally lands on the dream king, "My lord!"
To dream, your mere presence lights up the room, as if sunshine follows your every step. The dreaming realm just as enamored as its master.
In a second, you make it infront of his large desk, pretty eyes scanning the abundance of paper scattered about. "I see Lucienne has managed to put you into work."
A small smile tugs on the corner of his lips, a feat only you can achieve, "I am simply doing my responsibilities."
You raised a sceptical eyebrow, knowing how tedious paperwork is to him. "Is that so.."
He hums in response while signing something on a piece of parchment, "Have you been enjoying yourself in the dreaming?"
"Yes! Nuala and I are having the best time. Learning about the faerie is so interesting." You say excitedly, clasping your hands together.
Dream tilts his head, discerning eyes observing the curve of your lips and the contented gleam in your eyes.
In a second, he drops his quil and gestures for you to move closer to him, "Come here."
It was your turn to tilt your head. Was it something you said? Nevertheless you made your way behind the table to stand in front of him.
Before you could ask, he gently pulls you down to sit on his lap. "Morpheus?"
Such piercing eyes framed in thick and long lashes met yours, and you almost forget how to breath.
Tingles ran up your spine as his hands made soothing motions up and down your back, then he speaks in that deep yet whisper like manner he always does, "You aren't feeling neglected in any way?"
"Im not, I promise," You smile softly, hands racing to trace his strong jaw with your thumb.
It was meant to reassure him, yet he looked disappointed with your answer. You notice by the slight pinch in his brows and the light downturn of his lips. To anyone else he looked like his usual stoic self, but you knew better.
"Why? Are you feeling neglected, my Lord?" Your voice fond and teasing.
"I am not," Yet his denying glare was enough to make you laugh. So cute.
The fact that this all powerful being just wants to spend time with you makes your heart squeeze, as if it was trying to release all the love in it and tackle this man to the ground.
You don't know how he would react to that so you opt for pressing a soft kiss to his lips instead.
"I can just stay here and read a book while you work." You gave, after pulling away.
He perks up at the idea before shaking his head, "I have no wish to bore you. You are to have a good dream, enjoying yourself with frivolous activities that you cant accomplish in the waking world. Go. Ill come find you once Im finished."
God knows when that will be. You sigh, hands tracing up from his arms to his clothed shoulders as you lean in to embrace him. Your body melting into his warmth as you tucked your face into his neck.
He returns your embrace, a hand on your back and another buried in your hair.
"Is something the matter?"
"Yes," Your murmur into his neck. "This is the thing I can't do in the waking world. This is what a good dream means for me."
Pulling away, you look up at him sweetly, "So let me stay?"
His eyes soften, giving a soft huff through his nose, "If that is what you wish."
AN: Binged watched Sandman 😭 Might make this into a series of snippets in your relationship with Morpheus. Accepting prompts and recs.
Also if some of you would be kind enough to leave a review if he's ooc or not. Though he's suppose to be a bit ooc due to him being truly in love for once.
Hi! love your work. Can you please write about Orpheous' wedding day, but with reader accompanying Dream as his wife/partner? I love the little snippet we had of him as a father and I would love to read some more about it.
In the light of love
Morpheus x F!Reader
Warnings: none this is just fluff and cuteness, no use of y/n, not proofread
Word count: 2.3K
a/n: i think i ended up focusing more on the readers and Dreams relationship (the fatherly aspect is still present though). Hope you enjoy it even so!
“Don’t pout.”
“I am not.”
You gave Dream a look that said, Yes, you are. He was pouting, but not because he was angry or in one of his moods. He was pouting because… well… that was just his face.
You made your way over to him, leaning your head on his shoulder. Dream would not let many get this close to him, be this affectionate toward him. But you were different. Not just because you were his wife and queen of the Dreaming, but because you made him feel understood. So he did not fear being vulnerable near you.
You pressed your nose into his neck as your hand moved to caress his locks. He closed his eyes, letting out a deep sigh.
“Come on, Morpheus. We’ll be late if we don’t get going.”
He stared at the paper in his hands. There was much work to be done, but he would not miss his son’s wedding day. Still, he lingered, standing before his desk.
“What’s bothering you, my King?”
Dream let out a soft smile at your question. You were always able to read him like an open book. It should frighten him, just how much you understood him—but it didn’t. If anything, it brought him a small comfort.
“It is because of Calliope?”
Dream tensed a bit at the mention of her name, and you felt it, your arms moving to wrap around his waist, pressing your chest gently against his back in a soothing manner.
“You have nothing to worry about, Morpheus. Calliope bears no ill will toward you. She hasn’t for a long time.”
“It’s not me I worry for.”
You let out a small scoff, unwinding your body from his. Stepping to the side, you walked to the other end of the desk. Dream watched as you moved, his gaze flitting from the papers on his desk to you. You poised yourself at the opposite end, crossing your arms.
“You don’t have to worry about me, Dream. I’m not some fragile creature.” You nudged a small ball that sat on the desk. “And Calliope doesn’t wish me anything but luck.”
“Luck?”
“Well, she of all people knows how difficult you can be.”
You couldn’t help the grin that spread across your face at Morpheus’ disdainful look.
“Difficult, am I?” he murmured, his voice low and teasing in a way he rarely allowed.
“You are,” you said firmly, tilting your head. “But only to those who don’t know you. Me? I’ve seen the real you.”
Dream’s expression softened, a flicker of vulnerability passing over his usually stoic features. “And what do you see when you look at me now?”
You smiled, walking slowly around the desk so you were directly in front of him. “I see a father. A son. A brother. But most importantly…” You leaned in, brushing your lips against the corner of his mouth, a whisper of a kiss. “…I see my husband. My King.”
For a long moment, Dream said nothing, only letting the faintest hum of a sigh escape him. Then, finally, he reached out, fingers brushing the side of your face, tilting your chin up to meet his gaze.
“And I see my Queen,” he said softly, making you smile against his lips.
You gave him a soft kiss which he happily accepted. You pressed your forehead to his, smiling against his cool skin.
“Now come, your son is to be wed and we shall not miss it.” You laced your fingers against his. “You cannot say no. Your Queen commands you.”
“Is that so?”
You merely smiled at him. Dream straightened, his usual regal composure returning, though now tempered with a quiet warmth.
“Lead the way,” he murmured. And together, hand in hand, despairing in a mist of sand.
You and Dream had been the first to arrive, followed moments later by Calliope. You exchanged cheerful greetings; it was meant to be a happy day, and no matter their history, Calliope and Morpheus both loved their son dearly, so they would make the effort to remain civil—for Orpheus’ sake.
Once the young man saw you, his mouth opened into a bright smile. He ran over, giving his mother an embrace before turning to you. You returned his smile, opening your arms to him. He accepted the hug; you may not have been related by blood, but you always treated him as one of your own, and Orpheus had always seen you as family. There were no grievances between you, and you were glad for it.
Orpheus did not hug his father, and although you wished Morpheus would embrace his child, you knew it was not his custom, and you could not force him to do so.
“Have the rest of the family arrived, Orpheus?”
“Oh, I’m not sure. I’ve only seen Aunt Teleute.”
You relaxed at the news. Death had always been the easiest of the Endless siblings to get along with. You were glad she was here; if anything, her presence gave you a reason to excuse yourself. You placed a kiss on Morpheus’ cheek, bidding him a silent goodbye. You wanted to give the family a moment alone. You could sense Orpheus was nervous, and you hoped Dream would help calm him.
You wandered along the marvelous stone pillars until you found the bride-to-be, accompanied by none other than Death. You approached the two women, smiling as you made your way to them.
“Why, Eurydice, how beautiful you are. I am Morpheus’ wife—it’s a pleasure to meet you, dear. Orpheus speaks highly of you.”
“Thank you, my lady. The honor is mine.”
You gave the young girl a tender smile, tugging her into a short embrace before turning to Death. You wasted no time with greetings, giving Death a strong hug.
“It’s good to see you, Teleute.”
“Always a pleasure.”
You noticed Eurydice glancing around. You gave Death a knowing look.
“Nervous, dear?”
Eurydice flushed a bit at your question, embarrassed.
“I must admit I am a bit… wary,” she confessed. “It’s not that I don’t love Orpheus—I do, very much actually. It’s just that… well…” She trailed off, suddenly self-conscious.
“It’s perfectly normal to be nervous, my dear.”
You leaned in closer, speaking low so only Eurydice could hear your words.
“The day I married Morpheus, I almost fainted.”
Eurydice’s eyes widened.
“Really?”
“It’s true. I was there. We had to keep fanning her until she was standing at the altar.”
You and Death laughed at the memory. You couldn’t help but smile, remembering the day you’d finally married the love of your life. You let out a small sigh, moving to grab Eurydice’s hands.
“Love is an odd thing. It makes you feel desperate and afraid, but it also makes you feel wonder and hope. Orpheus is a good man. He’ll make a fine husband. And I know it’s nerve-wracking finding yourself inserted into his crazy family, but something I’ve learned over the years… they’re not as bad as they seem.”
As if summoned by your words, Orpheus appeared, running to Eurydice. They shared a soft kiss, foreheads resting together for a moment.
You felt someone standing beside you and glanced up at Morpheus. You smiled at him, allowing your hand to slip into his.
“How did it go?” you whispered.
Morpheus watched Orpheus and Eurydice for a while before turning to look at you.
“He really loves her.”
You smiled. “So does she.”
You leaned against Morpheus’ shoulder, savoring his proximity.
“Ah, young love. It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”
Morpheus placed a kiss atop your hair, which surprised you.
“What was that for?”
Morpheus gave you a rare smile. “Just for being you. For being with me, through it all.”
The ceremony was beautiful. All of Dream's siblings came and all though he did not show it you knew he was glad for their presence. As the couple shared their vows Dream’s hand tightened around yours, almost protectively, and for a moment, you were aware of the contrast between him and the human world around you—the calm certainty of Dream and the trembling anticipation of Orpheus. And yet… they were alike in one way: both hearts beating a little faster than usual because of someone they loved.
Dream’s hand in yours was warm, strong, grounding. You could feel the tension in him, the faint pull of the responsibility he always carried with him. But in that moment he was present, fully here, for his child, and it made your chest ache with love for him.
When Orpheus slipped the ring onto Eurydice’s finger, you caught a glimmer of a smile on Dream’s face. It was fleeting, subtle, but it was there—just for you to see. You squeezed his hand, letting him know silently that you noticed.
The reception that followed was filled with laughter, music, and warmth. You noticed the Endless siblings mingling in their own peculiar ways—Death gently teasing a few mortal relatives, Delirium flitting through the crowd in her chaotic delight, Destiny observing with quiet approval—but always circling back to Dream, who sat at the edge of the ceremony. A quiet shadow hidden from sight. But you saw him.
You always did.
Later, as the newlyweds shared their first dance, you found a quiet moment with Dream near one of the pillars. The lights shimmered like starlight across the stone floor, casting a soft glow around the two of you. You settled beside him, watching Orpheus and Eurydice dance.
“He hates it.”
You turned to face Dream.
“What does he hate?”
“Dancing.”
“Like father, like son.”
Morpheus turned to look at you, his eyes catching the longing way you glanced at the dancing couples.
“And yet he still does it anyway.”
You turned to him.
“Of course he does, Morpheus. He loves her. He wants to make her happy.”
You said the words as if they were obvious, as if thinking anything else were impossible. It was then that Dream realized just how different you were from him. You had given up your mortality when you married him, and even though years had passed since then, you still held a knowledge of mortals that Dream often forgot. You knew how they felt because you had been one. And you had given all that up—for him.
He rose from his seat, standing before you. You gazed up at him questioningly. He placed his hand out to you.
“May I have this dance, my Queen?”
Your lips parted in soft surprise. He loathed dancing. You knew just how much he despised it. And so, even though you had always adored dancing, you never asked Morpheus to join you, opting instead to observe. But here he was, offering you the one thing he knew you wanted despite his hatred for it.
It was such a simple act, yet it held so much behind it. You took his hand, allowing him to pull you to your feet. Dream guided you to the floor, earning a few curious glances. But when the music started, and Dream’s hand moved to wrap around your body, the only person you could see was him.
The music swirled around you, soft and ethereal, as Dream’s hand rested gently on your waist. Your other hand found his, fingers intertwining naturally. You felt the faintest tension in him at first—the stiffness of someone unused to such vulnerability—but as he guided you across the floor, it softened.
“You’re… surprisingly graceful,” he murmured, his voice low, almost uncertain.
You smiled, tilting your head to meet his gaze. “So are you, when you want to be,” you teased lightly. “Though you might not admit it.”
Dream allowed a quiet hum of amusement to escape him. “I do not dance often,” he said, voice soft, “but I… wished to be with you. To give you this moment.”
The words made your chest tighten. His rare vulnerability, his willingness to step out of his comfort for you… it made your heart ache in the best possible way.
You leaned into him, resting your forehead against his chest.
“Thank you,” you whispered.
Dream’s hand moved to cradle the back of your head gently, his thumb brushing a strand of hair from your face.
The two of you moved together as if the world had narrowed to just this floor, just this moment. All the formalities, all the watchers, all the Endless duties—they vanished, leaving only the warmth of his hand in yours, the slow rhythm of the music, and the quiet certainty of being together.
“Father?”
Orpheus’ voice broke through the little bubble you and Dream had found yourselves in. You turned to look at him, still clinging to Eurydice, for a moment before glancing back at Dream.
Morpheus’ eyes moved slowly over his son’s features. He stepped away from you softly, giving you space. Eurydice released Orpheus as Dream approached him. The two of you watched as father and son met halfway, standing in silence for a moment.
And then, to your surprise, Morpheus reached out, pulling Orpheus into a loving embrace. Your hand moved to clutch at your heart, the sight before you stirring deep emotion.
Morpheus pulled back just enough to look down at his son with pride. He pressed a gentle kiss to Orpheus’ temple before speaking.
“I am very proud of you, son.”
“Thank you, Father.”
Morpheus opened his mouth, paused for a moment, and then seemed to make up his mind.
“I love you, my son.”
You could see the brief surprise on Orpheus’ face at the words, quickly replaced by pure joy. He clung to his father, giving in to a fierce hug.
“I love you too, Father.”
And when Dream’s eyes found yours in the crowd, you saw his lips move softly to form the words, “I love you.” You responded with a quiet, “Forevermore,” causing him to give you a small, rare smile.
And there, beneath the starlight, basking in the glow of the fires around you and the joy in the air, you witnessed something you had always known to be true: even the Endless, beings of great power and eternal life, could be brought to kneel before the force of love.
Pairing: Dream of the Endless x Mortal Fem Reader / Morpheus x Y/N
The cellar was a cradle of dust and silence. The air smelled of stone and old smoke, thick with the weight of decades. Cobwebs hung like forgotten lace from the rafters, shivering whenever the storm winds clawed at the house above.
And at its heart, where darkness pooled deepest, stood a prison: a sphere of glass, vast and unyielding, woven with sigils that bled faint light.
Inside, Dream of the Endless waited. He had not moved in years—could not move—but still he watched. He watched the rise and fall of his captors’ greed, the flicker of candles burning down to stubs, the centuries gnawing at the edges of his patience. Through glass that did not fog, he observed the world, and relearned the art of silence.
The Dreaming withered in his absence. Rivers stilled, flowers closed, libraries crumbled. And still he endured, his eyes burning with stars older than gods, a king stripped to stillness.
Until one night, something changed.
Not the circle, not the prison, not the chains of glass and spell. But the air itself—shifting like a tide. A mortal’s dream had wandered too close.
Not to the waking world above. Not to the cellar. But to him.
The sea of stars that always hung behind the glass stirred, shimmering brighter. A figure stepped into view, hesitant yet unafraid. Bare feet on starlight, hair spilling like ink over her shoulders, eyes steady in the impossible dark.
She drew closer until the starlit sea lapped against the glass. And then she raised her hand, pressing her palm to the smooth surface.
A voice filled the air—not spoken with lips, but carried on the gravity of storms, the weight of night itself.
“You are not supposed to be here.”
The woman did not flinch. “And yet,” she murmured, her voice low but certain, “here I am.”
For the first time in years, his gaze sharpened, focusing on her as though she were not merely a dream, but something more.
“My name is [Y/N],” she said, her hand still against the glass.
“Leave,” he commanded. The sound cracked the silence like thunder. “Before they notice you.”
She did. The dream dissolved, the stars retreating, and the silence folded back in on itself.
But she returned the next night. And the night after. And the night after that.
She never begged, never asked questions, never sought to claim or command. She stood in silence with him, her palm pressed to the glass, her eyes steady and calm.
She offered nothing but presence.
And in her presence, something impossible stirred.
For the first time in an age, the Endless remembered the taste of something he had long abandoned — a small, stubborn, dangerous thing.
Hope.
READ NEXT Chapter 1 — The Dream That Would Not Fade
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It’s my Roman Empire project — the one I can’t stop thinking about. PLEASE ENGAGE IF YOU LIKE IT! Your comments, thoughts, and reactions mean everything. This story truly lives only when someone else falls into it with me.
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He had not summoned you and that, above all else, was what disturbed him.
Dream of the Endless had felt your arrival the moment it happened—a ripple through the fabric of the Dreaming, subtle at first, then unmistakably wrong. Like a thread being pulled through silk where no thread should be.
He had been in the gallery, consulting with Lucienne about a forgotten realm stitched back into place, when the tremor passed through his domain. Not pain. Not dread. But something older.
It felt like an intrusion, by a mortal which, in that particular part of the Dreaming, should have been impossible. The only mortal who had ever passed through this part of his realm before was the Vortex and you were no Vortex. Not in in the slightest.
Lucienne froze mid-sentence, her hand still resting on the spine of a book that had begun to whisper in unease.
“You felt that, didn’t you?” she asked, eyes already narrowing, but Dream did not answer. He was already gone.
***
You stood at the farthest edge of the Dreaming. Not in a dream. Not summoned. Not tethered by belief or story or sleep and, the worst of it was that you were dying, which should ultimately have brought you to Death’s realm instead.
You did not belong to the Dreaming at this very moment, and still you stood within it—wounded, flickering, whole and unravelling all at once.
Dream observed you first from the shadows of the realm, cloaked in silence, held back by caution. You did not see him—not yet—but you felt him. That was clear.
You turned in place, searching, your eyes full of something too calm for terror. Even in the face of what you could not understand.
Your body was broken. Burns along your side. Blood still wet on your skin. A lung collapsed, a limb trembling. You should not have been upright. You should not have existed at all.
But the Dreaming did not reject you.
The land around you did not shift to cast you out. The stars did not fall. The ground did not crack. The air itself seemed to pause—as if the realm was waiting for your arrival.
That was what disturbed him most.
Eventually, he stepped forward, emerging from the stillness, and when you turned to face him, you did not scream. You did not fall. You simply saw him, not with fear, but with something deeper.
“You don’t belong here,” he said softly.
You did not respond. Not with words. Something in you tightened, though—your breath catching like a thread pulled taut.
“No human mortal sets foot into this part of my realm without invitation. Not like this,” he added, gaze moving over you and your injuries, your hands stained with ash, the echo of flame in your skin.
“I am certain you were meant to die,” he said almost coldly, and you knew it too. He saw it in your eyes.
You remembered the light and the explosion, the way your breath never reached the surface. You remembered dying, but Death never took you.
He took a step closer. The Dreaming shifted with him. The air pulled, tense and still.
“What are you?” he murmured, not to you, but to himself and then, your body gave out.
Your knees buckled and the world tilted, but he caught you before you fell.
You collapsed into his arms like a falling star, weightless yet far too heavy with questions he had no answer for. You smelled of smoke and blood and something else, something like static.
His arms were not meant to carry you and yet they did.
You looked up at him, eyes half-lidded and glimmering with some distant knowledge you could not name. He stared back.
For a moment, a fleeting instant, he felt you. Not your body. Not your breath. But you.
Like a memory caught mid-form. Like a story he had forgotten he once wrote.
“You don’t belong here,” he whispered again and this time, there was no edge to it, only wonder.
He reached for your temple with a single touch, barely there and you vanished the moment he touched you as he sent you back to the waking world, which he thought was where you belonged.
After you had gone, Dream stood still in the unnatural quiet that followed. His hand hung in the air, fingers outstretched, suspended in the echo of that moment.
The Dreaming did not sigh with relief, and it did not seal itself behind you either. There was a portal of some sort, remaining open between his realm and the Waking World, and Dream felt no tether, no anchor, no signal of your soul awakening in the human realm.
All he felt was distance and something vast and unreachable. A sensation just out of sight, just beyond the veil of what should be.
“It can’t be,” he murmured to himself as he knew that it was not supposed to be like this. When he returned a soul, or when he touched a mind, there was always a thread. A subtle shimmer between realms, something to show he had passed a traveller from one shore to another, but you had left nothing behind.
No memory echo. No residue of dream. No trace.
It was as though the moment his fingers brushed your temple, you had ceased to belong to any world at all.
***
With that in the back of his mind, he stood alone on the shoreline of the Dreaming for a long while. Long enough for the stars to shift above him. Long enough for the sand to cool beneath his boots.
He had not blinked once since you vanished.
The Dreaming remained unsettled. It shimmered and pulled, reshaping the sky in uneasy pulses, a sign of Morpheus subconscious unease. Somewhere, a flock of dream-birds scattered across the horizon with no sound. Somewhere deeper, the walls of a palace corridor warped for the briefest second before falling still.
Lucienne found him again, eventually. She didn’t approach at first. She stood a respectful distance away, waiting until she knew he would allow her presence.
“My Lord, the human,” she began to say before continuing. “She has not returned to the Waking World yet,” she said, quietly. Not a question.
“No,” he replied. “But she should have,” he acknowledged, his jaw tight as, finally, Lucienne stepped closer.
“Is it not possible that she crossed into another realm? Into a realm belonging to your siblings, perhaps?” she wondered out loud, but Dream shook his head, slow and deliberate. His voice, when it came, was quieter than before.
“If she had crossed into one of the other realms, I would have sensed it,” he said before considering his words some more. “And yet, it feels like she is nowhere and everywhere all at the same time,” he went on to say and Lucienne didn’t press further.
She studied him for a long moment, eyes flicking to the horizon behind him, where the Dreaming sky still pulsed in uneasy waves, as if it, too, were holding its breath.
And then—without warning—a shadow dropped from above.
“Boss!” Matthew’s voice broke through the tension like a gust of cold air. The raven flapped down in a rough spiral, his claws skidding across the sand before he caught himself on a crooked perch that hadn’t been there a moment ago.
“Sorry. Sorry. Didn’t mean to startle you,” he said as he approached.
“You didn’t,” Dream replied coolly, though the lie barely passed.
Matthew looked between them, wings half-open. “Something’s not right, boss. There’s a human in the Library,” he squeaked and, immediately, Lucienne froze.
“In the Library?” she asked sharply.
Matthew bobbed his head. “Yup. Look, I know it sounds crazy, but I saw her myself. Not a projection. Not a dreaming mind. A real human. Breathing, barely,” he said but, before she could even tilt her head to look at her master, Dream was gone.
***
He reappeared in the eastern wing of the Library in a soundless flicker of shadow, coat stirring with the weight of storm-heavy air. The books around him rustled like disturbed birds in a roost, murmuring faint warnings in languages too old to speak aloud.
And there you were.
Lying beneath the arched spine of the shelves, your body curled in on itself, barely stirring. A trail of ash marked your passage — soft, grey streaks that did not burn or stain, but whispered.
You were not dreaming and yet you had found your way into the holiest, most protected sanctuary of his realm.
You were not meant to be here and yet the Library did not reject you. In fact, it welcomed you.
Lucienne appeared behind him a moment later, her boots silent on the marbled floor.
She inhaled sharply the instant her gaze landed on you.
“My Lord,” she breathed, reverent and disturbed in equal measure, “how is this possible?”
Dream didn’t answer.
He moved closer, boots stopping just beside your unconscious form.
The books above your head trembled. One unbound tome opened its pages of its own accord, flipping rapidly — not to your name, but to blank space. Whole chapters waiting. Words never inked.
The story had not been written and, without thinking about it too much, he knelt beside you.
Your breath came shallow, but it was there.
Your skin still bore the soot and char of fire, the deep scars of a body once broken — but it no longer bled. Beneath the ash, something was changing. Reweaving. Mending faster than any human should.
You were healing. But not naturally.
Dream reached toward you again, his hand hovering above your shoulder for one suspended moment.
And then he slid his arms beneath you.
He lifted you from the cold Library floor in a motion so gentle it surprised even him. You were light, still—yet something about your weight had changed since the last time he held you. You no longer felt like you were slipping away. Instead, you felt anchored, but not to the Waking World or the Dreaming, but to him, the Dream lord himself.
Lucienne remained silent. She watched with wide, unsettled eyes as he rose to his full height, holding you against his chest. Her voice, when it came, was softer than parchment.
“My Lord... what are you doing?”
“I do not know,” he admitted and that truth echoed louder than any command.
He glanced down at you, your face still slack in unconscious rest, lips parted faintly as if caught mid-breath.
You were a mystery. A rupture. A note that did not belong in the chord—and yet made the music more whole.
“Clear the Dream Tower,” he said at last. “For now. No visitors. No subjects. No dreams or nightmares are to enter.”
Lucienne blinked. “You’re taking her there?”
“Yes,” Dream confirmed, and Lucienne did not like it.
“But my Lord. She is a mortal. Possibly even human,” she reminded him.
“I am very well aware, Lucienne,” ream said and, as he looked up slowly, his eyes burned with stars that had no name.
Lucienne said nothing after that. She only nodded and stepped aside.
***
The halls of the Dreaming bent to him as he passed, carrying you through his palace.
Shadows parted. Doors breathed open and closed behind him without touch. The fabric of the realm stirred with awareness.
The Dreaming saw you now and it remembered you, not resisting to your presence.
He climbed the winding stairs of the Tower in silence, his arms cradling you with more care than he realized. Once, your hand twitched against his coat. He looked down immediately, but your eyes did not open. Not yet.
He entered a chamber sealed to all others — a quiet room at the pinnacle of the Tower, one where no dreamer had ever walked, not even the Vortex. A place shaped not by memory or prophecy, but by possibility.
He laid you down upon the starlit bed woven from the fibres of unformed dreams. The moment your body touched the fabric, the surface shimmered, then stilled.
You exhaled, just once, and the sound was enough to make the entire chamber fall completely silent.
He remained standing beside you, unmoving for a minute before deciding to seek the help from one of his siblings.
***
After leaving Lucienne in charge, he made his way to the Sidal room and opened a portal, but not to the Waking World.
This one led deeper to a place most avoided. A space that belonged to his eldest sibling. Destiny.
The portal opened with no sound. No flash of light. No burst of power. Only silence, so dense it pressed against his ribs like gravity.
Dream stepped through.
The realm of Destiny was always the same.
It had no beginning. No end. A garden without symmetry or sunlight, where paths turned in upon themselves and the sky never moved. The scent of parchment and rain lingered on the still air, though no storms ever came. The trees did not sway. They simply were.
Here, time was not a river.
It was a knot and, at the centre of the knot walked, Destiny of the Endless.
Barefoot. Hooded. Wrapped in grey robes spun from silence. One hand clutched the great Book chained to his wrist — the Book of All That Is, Has Been, and Ever Will Be. The other hand remained free, brushing the tips of the tall, unmoving grass.
He did not stop walking when Dream entered. He never did.
Dream said nothing for a long while. He followed at a measured pace, steps falling soundlessly behind his elder sibling, the garden’s path unwinding before him with quiet obedience.
“You are late,” Destiny eventually said.
“I did not know I was expected,” Dream replied evenly.
“You were,” came the answer, without irritation, as Destiny’s blind eyes never turned toward him.
Dream said nothing. The path curled at their feet like breath held in suspense. Though they walked, they did not seem to move—each step only folding deeper into the garden's endless hush.
Finally, Dream broke the silence.
“There is a human in my realm,” he said.
“I know,” Destiny responded.
“She should not be there. I did not summon her. She crossed the boundaries of the Dreaming without invitation, without tether, without dream. And now she rests in the heart of my tower, healing when she should be dead,” Dream explained and Destiny’s hand stilled for a fraction of a second on the tall, silver grass.
“And you wish to ask me why,” Destiny said, though it was not a question.
Dream’s expression hardened, though his voice remained calm. “She is not in your book?” he asked, and Destiny shook his head.
“No,” Destiny agreed. “She is not.”
Dream halted mid-step.
He stared at his brother’s back, the weight of that statement curving the world around them. “How is that possible?”
Destiny stopped walking, for the first time.
“You know what this book contains,” he said, lifting his chained wrist with the heavy, open tome. “Every branch. Every thread. Every story, from the first to the last, from potential to fulfillment. All lives. All dreams. All moments of becoming.”
Dream nodded slowly.
“Then understand,” Destiny continued, “if she is not within it… her story was never written.”
The windless garden somehow grew quieter.
Dream stepped closer, his coat whispering against the stillness. “That is not an answer.”
“No,” Destiny allowed. “But it is the truth.”
Dream’s gaze sharpened, stars flaring in the hollows of his eyes. “If her story was never written, then where did she come from? She is not chaos—she is not like the Vortex. She does not unravel the Dreaming. In fact… it accepts her.”
“That,” Destiny said, “is what should concern you most, my brother.”
Dream’s voice was steady, but it carried a thread of warning now. “Why?”
Destiny turned slowly, the movement measured and final. His hood cast a deeper shadow over the space where eyes did not dwell, and when he spoke, his words came like the closing of a gate.
“Because her story may not be absent by accident. It may be absent… by interference.”
Dream’s posture stilled. “Interference?”
“My Book contains all that has happened, all that will happen,” Destiny said, lifting the ancient volume bound to his wrist. “All choices made. All paths taken. It holds even the wavering of stars before they fall, and the thoughts of mortals before they speak them aloud.”
He paused, and for a moment, the garden dimmed.
“But there is one thing it cannot predict,” he continued. “One force it cannot bind to narrative,” he explained but Dream knew the answer before he asked. Still, he said it aloud.
“Another Endless,” Dream said, and Destiny inclined his head.
“Not even I can trace the unfiltered will of our kind, should one choose to act outside the natural order. Should one reach into a place they ought not touch,” Destiny told his brother and Dream stepped forward, slow.
“You think one of us shaped her?” he asked, the Vortex coming to mind.
“I think,” Destiny said, “that someone—perhaps even you—has touched a thread that does not belong to them and when an Endless interferes, the Book does not write. It waits.”
Dream’s eyes narrowed. “I did not summon her. I did not dream her.”
“Perhaps not.” Destiny’s voice lowered. “But there are many other ways an Endless can touch the threads of becoming. With intention. With grief. With curiosity. Even with love."
Dream's face darkened. "I have not—"
"No?" Destiny’s head tilted slightly beneath his hood, though his blind gaze remained unreadable. "You touched her mind, perhaps unintentionally, but you also let her remain in your realm, which is where she does not belong. That is shaping, Morpheus, whether you admit it or not."
The garden felt tighter now, a coil of fate pulling taut.
"Then what would you have me do?" Dream asked, stiffly and, for a moment, Destiny remained quiet, considering his words carefully.
"You should speak to Death," Destiny went on, his voice calm but absolute. "By every law of our realms, she should have taken the human. But she did not. You must ask her why. If this was mere omission—if this was error—then perhaps it can still be corrected. If she does not belong in the Dreaming, she can be passed from one realm to another. And you, little brother, have the power to do so,” Destiny explained, causing Dream to stiffen.
"No," Dream said at once, sharp and low.
Destiny turned his hood fully toward him now.
"She does not belong to Death," Dream said, slower this time. "If she did, our sister would have had ample opportunity to claim her.”
There was silence between them for a long time.
When Destiny finally spoke, his voice was different—more careful. "You have already formed a bond with this mortal and you know how dangerous this is, Morpheus,” Destiny lectured his younger brother, who denied it.
"That is not true,” Dream countered and, to that, Destiny said nothing.
"She is an anomaly. A danger. A crack in the weave," Dream insisted. "But she is not mine."
Still, his brother remained silent, the weight of knowing wrapped around him like a cloak.
"Then hear this, Dream of the Endless," Destiny said at last, the words falling like a closing door. "When she is healed—banish her. Send her from the Dreaming. Remove all memory of this realm from her mind. Erase every trace and do not interact with her again."
Dream’s jaw clenched.
"It is within your power," Destiny said. "Make her forget. Make her forget the Dreaming. Make her forget you."
"Why?" Dream asked, the word bitter on his tongue.
Destiny's voice dropped, heavy as fate itself. "Because if her story begins to write itself outside the Book, untethered from narrative, it may not bring creation. It may bring destruction."
Dream’s eyes narrowed. Destiny went on.
"You have seen what becomes of such things. You have lived it. Nada. Calliope. How many more threads will you tangle before you understand?"
The garden pulsed once, like the echo of a memory neither of them dared name.
"You do not get to keep her, Dream," Destiny said finally. "Even if it feels like you already have."
Morpheus was in a mood, today, it seemed. The castle was dead silent upon your arrival and Lucien had greeted you instead of your dark-haired, silver-eyed Endless. The librarian was as kind and soothing as always and offered a thick-furred coat draped over her arm. You hadn't realized you were shivering until you accepted it.
“When he isolates himself like this,” she sighed, head shaking as she guided you down the spacious halls, “it tends to alter the Dreaming into…”
“A winter wonderland?” you hummed, nose nearly pressed to one of the mile-high windows. The frames of your glasses clicked against the translucent layer when you turned in an attempt to stare up at the snow-topped towers. “It's gorgeous out there!”
Lucien chuckled, pausing her steps once she realized you'd gotten sidetracked. “I was going to say an ice age, but your optimism is appreciated.”
“I'm just stating facts.” You turned away from the snowflakes coating the edges of the window to meet her gaze. “Why's he isolating himself?”
“Sometimes I feel it is a thing of the Endless, but my lord is particularly adept at falling into his work and further into himself.”
Your lips pursed at the thought of those molten eyes--the way his brow raised when he listened to you babble about the day’s events. He'd never seemed particularly distant. Maybe quiet at times but never unreachable.
In truth, you had known Morpheus barely a few months now. You hadn't expected to run into something so god-like from working at a pub under Hob, but you'd been seeing strange things your entire life. Hob liked to call it your “psychic sense,” but Morpheus had taken one look at you and waxed poetry about “seeing the veil as it was and not what it poses to be” or something similar. You'd zoned out a bit from how handsome he was but understood the gist of it.
Apparently one little joke about lucid dreaming was enough to draw an Endless to the lonely little nights in your head. Hob lost it when you mentioned it forever ago.
“Don't laugh! I feel like I pissed him off," you whined. "He shows up like every other week and judges me!”
“He is many things, including judgemental," Hob agreed over his coffee as you pulled down chairs and sliced fruit in preparation for the day ahead, “but he seems awfully interested in you. Best be careful. I can't go and lose my favorite worker, now.”
You weren't lost so much as drawn in by the beauty of the Dreaming, though perhaps that's what Hob had meant from the beginning.
Still, you desperately wanted to go out into that fluffy snow.
“So he's busy with dreams?” you asked Lucien, hands behind you as you marveled the detailed ceilings overhead. “Workaholic over the holidays?”
“My lord doesn't keep to annual holidays.”
“Oh, right, he's like...ancient." Lucien smiled and remained silent as any smart woman would. “Well, how long has he been isolating himself? Can he take a break?”
She waved hand deeper into the castle. “You may try, but don't be disheartened if he doesn't listen.”
The throne room doors didn't budge. You attempted to knock, swaying as you glanced around and pulled your gifted coat closer. You sniffed against the cold air and fixed your sliding glasses, huffing to yourself. Why you always dreamed with them on was anyone's guess.
“Morpheus?” you called out, voice echoing. “Or should I call you Boreas? The Dreaming’s been snowed in.”
Silence. You pressed your ear to the door as if it weren't made of thick, dream-induced material.
“You know, there's this thing called seasonal depression in my world—real tough stuff." You attempted to find a keyhole to stare through and found nothing. Even the the bottom of the door was tight and sealed. "You ever had hot cocoa? It's not a cure-all, but I like to think it's a good balm to the soul.”
You dragged your knuckles over the door, shivering at the chill emitting from it. Movement on your shoulder had you glancing down. The shadows of snowfall paraded over you gently from beyond the windows. Your feet itched.
“Or maybe some fun exercise?” you tried, lips close to the seam of the doors. “Ever made a snow angel?”
On the other side of those doors, a rare thing occurred: Dream of the Endless smiled.
His last meeting with Hob had been ordinary before the immortal man had raised his hand and waved you over. The Endless had seen his reflection before he had seen you—a wonder behind wire frames.
Morpheus had visited his old friend some days ago, asking after you, about your talent and how it brought you to his pub.
“She took one look at me,” he chuckled, leaning in with a smile full of youth and wit, “and immediately asked me how old I was.”
“Astute,” said the Endless.
“To the point,” Hob corrected. “And if you don't speak up, she'll see right through you, too.”
Morpheus' eyes thinned, shoulders taught as he raised his chin.
“And what is there to see?”
The old but never aging man gave him a look. All that he meant to say in this one expression, however, was not something the Endless wished to perceive.
“Christmas is her favorite time of the year. She moved here to experience more ‘winter wonderlands.’” Hob leaned back, shuffling a stack of papers onto the table that had been sitting next to him, ignored. “Now, old friend, we both have work to attend to.”
Morpheus felt laid bare. The Dreaming had gone white before he had taken the time to think the conversation over. Mervyn’s complaints about the various boxes of Christmas decor echoed in the halls. Lucien had come asking questions. Morpheus could not explain it and promptly shut himself away in his throne room, hesitant and brooding.
And now you had waltzed in, asking him to join the gift of snowy weather he had unconsciously prepared for you days ago, hoping you'd drop by and simultaneously dreading it.
He wished he could blame Desire for this.
“Well,” came your honeyed voice through the doors, “if you’re just that busy, apologies for bothering you! If you need me I'll be enjoying the snow day.”
And so you did. He found himself watching from a terrace. He's not sure how you managed to cajole so many of the tenants of the Dreaming into the castle gardens, but the trap was laid and set off as soon as your snow ball hit Cain.
“Hey!” cawed Matthew from a tree. “Watch it! That one was the size of my head!”
“If any of you break a window, I'm leaving you out here to freeze,” Mervyn yelled from the entrance. His sputter that came after as well as your laughter. You had quite the aim, it seemed.
Morpheus watched from afar as you brought life to the castle, dragging Lucien from her library more than her own lord. Matthew liked you and spent whatever time he could berating his sire to “ask her out already, come on, man!”
Lucien had warned him about falling too deeply. Too quickly. You were human. Special, yes, but mortal at your core. He had ruined everything with the last woman that had stolen his heart.
“Lucien you gonna stand there all day?”
Morpheus blinked, raising a brow as you stared back towards the castle, grin cheeky and puffing out clouds of breath. You had lost the coat he'd ordered his librarian to give you.
“Come on! You can join my team,” you called to her.
“We're on teams?” Abel shouted before Caine brought an entire snowman’s head down on him.
“You have your fun,” said Lucien somewhere out of Morpheus’s sight. “I must return to my duties soon.”
“Is it oh so dire?” you asked, hands on your hips as you panted.
“I do not think—”
“Well, if it's not, I don't see why you can't spend a few minutes letting off some steam!”
“I have a terrible aim, I’m afraid.”
“Not as bad as mine. Did you see how long it took me to hit everyone?” You scooped a handful of snow up from the ground, forming it. “Tell you what, if I hit you from here you’re obligated to hit me back.”
“Now, that's not—”
“1, 2, 3, go!” you sputtered, arm a flash of movement. The ball sailed far too high. Snow exploded over the lip of the railing, coating Morpheus.
Every single jaw dropped as they spotted him. Silence leveled the gardens. Every soul watching took a breath and looked from you to their ruler.
“My bad!” you shrieked as he wiped his face clean with a slow hand. “I didn’t know you were there! I’m sorry!”
“Boss,” came Matthew as he landed on the railing. “You good?”
“I am fine, Matthew,” sighed Morpheus. “It’s only snow.”
“Well, we best get going before Goldie starts missin’ us!” Cain chuckled nervously, dragging a suspiciously still Abel behind him. The others scattered much the same, leaving you rubbing your wrists and shuffling in place.
“Uh, am I in trouble?” you called up. You blinked when you found the ruler of the realm missing and sighed, head dipping in disappointment. “I swear it was an accident,” you whined to yourself, sneezing.
You nearly collapsed in fright as something fell over your shoulders. You relaxed when you found it was only your coat. Then fair-skinned hands attached sent your heart spiking a second time.
“Thank you,” you mumbled, face hot as you slid your arms through the sleeves.
“I take it you’re enjoying the weather?”
You hummed, nodding quickly, wishing his voice was as cold as his expression. The warmth of his words left your brain a mess.
“Have you?”
He tilted his head at you.
“Have you enjoyed the weather, I mean? You created it, so I assume you at least put up with it, uh.” You were rambling and worse, you realized you were rambling which led you into a spiral. “But I heard you’ve been super busy and all, so of course you wouldn’t have gotten much time! I hope you’ve been taking care of yourself and all…”
You had to take a breath and Morpheus was just listening, a gentle smile on his face that left your eyes skating the ground. Why were you acting like this?
“It has been some time, hasn’t it?” he asked.
“Like a week, maybe. I think I got a little too used to you popping into my dreams.”
“Is that so?”
God, you were being far too honest, but you dug your feet in and joked around the crippling embarrassment.
“Yeah, makes a girl lonely, but I get it. You’ve got a realm to run, people to look after.” You shrugged, raising a hand up as the snow began to trickle down in soft white fluffs. “I’ve been enjoying our chats, though. You’re very interesting, Dreamlord.”
A soft quiet rose between the two of you, his dark, looming presence blocking the chilly wind. You glanced up to find those silver eyes glinting like shooting stars. You made a wish and held it close to your heart as Morpheus leaned closer.
“May I confess something?”
Your eyes widened, a gasp stuck in your throat. “Are you angry about the snowball?”
“No." He smiled through the word and how unfair for the culmination of dreams and nightmare to have such a dazzling face to pair with it.
“Oh, okay,” you sighed, hand to your chest. “That’s good.”
“I’ve taken some time to myself as of late as you said,” he continued. You nodded as he paused, eyes earnest. Morpheus felt laid bare once more. “However, it was not because of my responsibilities to the Dreaming.”
Your lips parted, taking a breath. “Is it something I can help with?”
He hummed, fingers ghosting the sleeve of your coat. “Perhaps, depending on your answer.”
“Answer?” you mumbled, half listening now that he was so close to touching you. Was the coat weird? Was this just something he did when he spoke to people?
“If I might have the chance to court you.”
The old language went in one ear then out the other before backtracking. You stared at his hand, taking a choked gasp before raising your head to look him in the eye. He looked so effortlessly put together, long eyelashes catching snowflakes, lips rosy. And there you were, mouth agape and glasses fogging up.
“Uh, me?” you echoed, quickly cleaning your glasses to give yourself something to do and not simultaneously combust in the dream world.
“You,” he said.
“But I’m just…well,” you shrugged as you fixed your glasses back over your nose, “slightly less normal than the next mortal, I guess. And you’re…higher than a god.”
He tilted his head, brow raised. “Does it scare you?”
“The ghost that haunted my bathroom when I was eight scared me,” you admitted candidly. “You make me very very nervous. I feel like I’m more court jester than courting material.”
That pulled a real, two-second chuckle from him. You knew what winning the lottery felt like, suddenly.
“I don’t have much to offer besides what you’ve seen,” you breathed, “but I don’t want to say no.”
“Then don’t,” he murmured, cold hand finding yours and warming it with whatever magic he had coursing through his blood.
“What if you get bored?” you whispered, every hair on end as he pulled you closer. His own trailing coat of ink wrapped around you.
“The things your mind has created, the honesty you allow everyone,” he said, chest grazing yours, “it never ceases to surprise me. Boredom is the least of my worries. I fear you’ll find more problems with me.”
“I do worry about your isolation habits,” you admitted, smiling when he hummed and glanced away.
“I promise to not disappear for long periods, then.”
