I need Sandman show-onlys to know that in the Comic, Morpheus' last act as Dream (or Daniel's first act as Dream) was to give Hob Gadling a dream, a LONG ASS DREAM that felt like forever, of him and Morpheus walking into the sunset on a beach so they could drink wine and say goodbye for as long as they needed and I thought it was important to share.
After Morpheus admitted Lucienne was basically his mother, him moping around her personal quarters and messing up her books like a her son makes so much sense
──── Morpheus┆The King's witch
author's note: currently during writer block so this was a real fight. This work contains: cozy evening in witch's cottage, mention of death, mention of sexual encounters, basically emo bf x witch gf but make them immortal.
Morpheus x witch!reader
mdni
he came at night, just like he always did. ignoring the sign ‘men not allowed’ by the doors, only eyeing it like it personally offended him. maybe it did – you never asked. never cared enough to find out what he’s thinking about your house. he was always only eyeing things. the few tarot decks you had, the crystal ball that he was pretty much sure you talked with the dead through. the book you stole from him to stay forever alive and beautiful.
you dreamed your way to the Dreaming and somehow managed to steal it. and with it, also his mind, his every waking thought, later you stole his heart.
and even when he didn’t say that you knew.
by the way his eyes softened at your sight. his long coat gone, shoes kicked off by the doors, he locked with a flex of a wrist. leaving sand in your shoes again, just to sneak quickly into your living room – you would me mad again if you found out.
you knew you stole his heart by the way his shoulder slumped tiredly when he finally rested on your couch, letting your legs rest on his lap.
“no tea? you're not a very hospitable host.” he murmured, his voice deep and slow. sensual, almost intimate. and the way he knitted his eyebrows in this fake-mocking manner.
“you know where the kitchen is.” you said way too comfortable to move anywhere now.
“such insubordination.” he mumbled running his hand over his face.
“but I understand, the time you were trapped in a fishbowl could erase your memory.” you said with your eyes still glued to the fireplace.
“Oh you’re a cruel witch.” he said and the corners of his mouth almost turned into a lopsided smile.
but he managed to get up, throwing your legs off his lap that makes you scoff quietly before bringing your knees up to your chest. You listened intently, how he poured water into the kettle, opened the cupboards in search of mugs.
“make me a lemon balm tea while you’re there?” you said but it came out more like a soft command than a full question.
you didn’t hear his answer, only an exaggerated sigh and quiet murmur, too quiet for you. irritating.
you pout until he comes back with two cups of steaming tea in his hands. Sour expression on his face.
“what happened?” you asked in the middle of eating a jam cookie, you made in the morning.
“I spilled the water.” he admitted reluctantly before giving you a sidelong glance and sitting back on the couch, handing you the mug. “trouble sleeping?” he asked, staring at his own tea.
“what?” a frown bloomed on your face as you blew on the hot surface.
“don’t play games with me, witch.” he mumbled, taking a sip.
it was weird seeing him like that – even after the centuries you spend together – calm, relaxed, without this damned scowl. Sipping tea like a normal human being, sitting on a couch and you knew he was trying his hardest not to bring this black blanket you had lying on the armchair over both of you.
“you use lemon balm tea when you have trouble sleeping, but are too stubborn to let me actually help you.” he scoffed and looked at you.
of course, the Dream King.
“I just like the taste.”
“this is the most implausible excuse I’ve ever heard.”
“believe what you wish.” you said and rolled your eyes before taking a small sip of your tea.
“impossible” he only mumbled, before looking away – probably for a book.
“You always get your hopes up.” you said making another tarot guide appear on your lap. “there’s no Shakespeare here.”
“you always had a disgust for good literature.” he took another sip of the tea and grimaced at the taste.
“sugar?
“no.”
“suffer the bitterness then.” you said and opened the guide where you left the bookmark.
You could feel his gaze on you, brooding and grumpy, yet the way he was staring right into you – that made you shiver.
“blanket?”
“no.”
“suffer the cold then.” he mumbled before letting out a dramatic sigh trying to look unaffected.
“That’s not cold, I'm suffering.” you scoffed flipping the page and you could feel his jaw clench
bingo.
“Do not play with me, witch.” he said before putting the mug down on your coffee table like it personally offended him. “how many of them have you read?”
“plenty.” you said and took a sip of your tea. “your point?”
the salt lamp behind you lit up casting a golden glow at his face. he indeed looked majestic in every light. with those bed hair you had a habit of running your fingers through or tugging as he was hovering above you, his hot breath on your neck as he was losing himself slowly inside you. ot those grey eyes that were staring at you every time you were melting on the mattress and in his arms. this pale face you were seeing after you fell asleep where in reality he was wrapped around you, after the love-making.
gods this man was really something.
“why another one?” he questioned, his eyebrows knitted in soft frown
“I have to keep up with the young ones.”
“you’re young too.” he said, his voice gruff and still grumpy, yet you could hear the softer note.
you knew him.
“I’m 300 years old.”
“you don’t look a day older than when we first met.” he said, his gaze trailing over your features.
“you mean when I stole from you?” you asked and covered your growing smirk with a mug.
“I was meant to retrieve this book.” he said and finally grabbed the blanket, throwing it over him and you.
“I would be dead.” you said and scanned his face, your teasing demeanor fading slightly.
“I know.”
silence occurred as you just looked at each other. the silent guilt that gnawed on him for ever wanting to hurt you, for ever wanting to take the book from you and make you mortal again, let you wither with age, rot in your body as the years you avoided Death would finally catch up. and your quiet gratitude that he didn’t do it, that he let you keep the book, hide it from him, in a place only you could find. Gratitude that he let you keep your heart beating.
Because it was beating also for him.
“you bewitched me.”
“if that’s your way of saying that I seduced you to my bed then so be it.”
“you truly are a terrible host.’
“I have a feeling you’ll come back to me.” you said and took a sip again. "If you’ll leave at all.”
authors note: it was so fun to write, i wanna write more of the witch!reader so much. Despite my writer block I wrote it on one sit so I'm really proud of myself. Not long but I was absent for... long so I'm finally breaking my silence! Also made Morpheus finally rest with my power of fanfic. Divider: @uzmacchiato
