#morpheus fluff

Slowly —almost sweetly— the chirping birds and the bright sunrays covered your senses coaxing you to come back to the waking world. It always welcomed you with it's warm embrace that never failed to make you feel goosebumps.

But this morning wasn’t just the sun you woke up to.

He looked just like a dream, which was understandable since that was one of his many names.

You love calling him that, Dream. It was the first name of his that he gave you and the one that rolled the sweetest on your tongue.

Morpheus was currently sitting on your armchair, in front of the coffee table. An open book was lying on his lap, probably from your own bookshelf. His eyes were closed and he had his fingers intertwined under his chin.

He definitely knew you were awake, but refused to acknowledge it. Too focused in whatever thought he was stressing himself out with.

You sighed, sleepily still. Rubbing your eyes, you convinced yourself that getting out of the couch was the least of your priorities at the moment. Not when everything around you was designed to make you feel embraced and supported in warmth.

Looking back at your Dream, you smiled. And just when you were about to call for him out loud, someone beat you at talking.

“He’s been like that for ages” you jump a little, taken by surprise by Matthews’ voice sounding too close to you. You turned your head towards him “Not sure what he’s thinking about, though” the black raven, loyal companion of Morpheus, was perched on the back of the same couch you slept the whole night on.

“Probably in that he has to go and feed the birds at the park” you flash a smile to your singular friend, who gave you a way too human-like scoff.

“Please, he doesn’t even feed me” you huff a small laugh at the raven’s joke.

“Perhaps if you didn’t criticize every step I take, you would actually have time to put food in your beak”

Matthew jumped down to rest on your side, his small claws squeezing the skin of your hip softly two times— calling for your attention at his next jab “Someone can’t take a joke” the raven whispered looking at you, only to then turn towards his master “I shall go to the kitchen to press more buttons, my Lord, but this time the coffee machine’s ones” and with that overly played impression of Morpheus’ accent, the bird took flight disappearing in the kitchen in matter of seconds.

You looked at Morpheus with a smile. He was still with his eyes closed “You shouldn’t have taught him that” he said, his words dragging lazily.

You chuckle sweetly, remembering how at the beginning of the week Matthew learnt how to operate the coffee machine without breaking it in the process. Morpheus watched the two of you in silence, knowing better than anyone that your little shenanigans consisted in a ten percent of the goal of learning a new skill and ninety percent in annoying him. It was the way you and his raven bonded: the amusement you both got out of making Morpheus grumpier than usual.

Now, Matthew insisted every morning to make you coffee and you didn’t have the heart to deny the overly sugared mug.

You closed your eyes, snuggling even further under the covers “Good morning, Dream”.

When you opened your eyes, he was already looking at you “Good morning” he said with a voice deeper that the ocean you were dreaming about a few minutes ago.

The sun, entering from your window, bathed the whole apartment in a beautiful light. Morpheus, in the center of the scene, looked glorious. Godly like. The warm rays bathing all his features and making him look soft in all the right places.

“I can tell it was a good night sleep”

Your sweet smile turned into an amused one “When I ask for your help to sleep, you didn’t have to watch over me the whole night”

“How else am I going to make sure you’re sleeping well?” he inquired, a small smirk pulling at the corner of his lips.

Cheeky little god.

You raised an eyebrow “You are the king of the Dreaming, sweetheart”

The corners of his lips pulled totally upwards thanks to the nickname you gave him “With you, it’s not enough” his voice was hushed, a murmur that lulled you into an incredibly flustered state in the most delicious way.

You sighed, trusting that with your eyes closed it wouldn't sound too dreamily “You still can’t find me in there?”

“We’re not sure where you go when you sleep, that is the reason why I need to keep an eye on you for now”

“How is that even possible?”

“Well, you do have the same magic I use to nourish the Dreaming inside of you” he explained “It’s not hard to hypothesize that the reason we don’t find you back home is because you simply don’t want us to”

You nod slowly, wanting to agree with him. You came from a long bloodline filled with magic. Your power was a gift from Dream to one of your ancestors and those same powers bled down your family line for centuries. When you met him, it was the first time someone of your own saw him after a really long time.

At first, he came to you for your magic. Needed it back to retrieve his stolen amulets, the ones he lost to the pretender Roderick Burgess. And when instead of giving him your gifts, you offered him your help… he was intrigued to see firsthand what his powers could give to a simple mortal like you.

But that was a long time ago, when you still wouldn’t call each other a friend and the only worry between the both of you was the possibility of losing your power to the other.

“So, why?” he questioned. You open your eyes to look at him confused, then he insists “Why don’t you want us to find you in there?”

You frowned, dropping your smile “Dream. If I knew I would’ve corrected it already, don’t you think?”

“No nightmares, no bad dreams, only happiness” the man recalled your first conversation on the matter, not even stopping to listen to your point “And you don’t let any other entity to get closer to your mind but me”

"You just said you could not find me in there" because it sounded like he was getting at a dangerous point, an overwhelming conclusion.

"It's not the only way you shared your mind with me" Morpheus explained his point "When you offered your magic to help my cause, you had to let me in. Why are you keeping me out now?"

You sat on your sofa, the warm cover falling to your lap. You tried to ignore the implication of his concerns: it wasn't the fact that a dream or a nightmare could not reach your mind, it was that himself could not cradle it with his own intentions.

"I'm not doing it on porpuse" you defended yourself.

"But that's the only explanation I can offer you" he stood up and got impossibly close to you. You had to tip your head up to look into his eyes that were looking down to yours. You were filled with surprise when you saw a bit of hesitation on his features.

"What are you thinking about?" you whisper softly, worried about him pondering himself into misery.

"You are casting me out"

The accusation almost makes you jump from your seat "I am not" you shake your head side to side.

"You're keeping your mind beyond my reach, you've been doing it this whole time" he interrupted you before you could defend yourself again "On purpose or not and you're doing it because there's something you don't want me to see"

"Why are you taking this so personal?" you insist, a bit desperate.

"Because the alternative is that you're keeping an endless out of your mind— because there's something in there you don't want a cosmic entity to see" his cold tone stole your breath away "Which is the most dangerous and threatening thing you could do against someone of my kinship"

You stay in silence for a few seconds "I'm not keeping anything away from you"

"You're keeping yourself away from me" he whispered, mindlessly and filled with disappointment.

"I'm right here" you whispered, distraught "I don't understand this accusation—"

"What are you dreaming about?" hard. Unbending.

"I—" you felt tears welling up in your eyes "I told you" you croak out, standing up and circling him "I need to see what Matthew's doing"

"I forced Matthew back into the Dreaming— I need to understand what are you doing. We need to discuss this. What are you dreaming about?" he demanded. you gave your back to him.

"I told you about it, Dream" you voice was a plea "It's always something nice, something that makes me feel just right. Tonight it was the ocean. Blue and dark and—"

And you— you thought to yourself. So awfully and beautifully you.

You face him, not finding a safe haven from his questioning.

"I do not understand it" he insists "And I need to understand you, before the alternative becomes unbearable to ignore"

You adverted your eyes from him, looking out your window. A tear rolled down your face and you dry it quickly before he accused you of using them against him.

"You accuse me of casting you out" you tried to hide a sob "You believe in the good in this world, and yet that's not what you think me out to be"

"This is not a matter I'm bringing to you lightly" he insists, stepping closer with urgency.

You cross your arms, just to hold yourself for a moment and then you smile sadly at him.

"I can't believe this morning started feeling like one of my dreams and now it's turning into this nightmare" you tilt your head to the side, a tear rolling straight to your earlobe.

Morpheus stayed in silence, looking intently at you for a few seconds.

Suddenly, realization brightened up his face.

"Why did you feel the need to keep this from me?"

"I didn't even know I was keeping this away from you until Lucienne made me list my dreams to her" you whispered "I suppose some part of me thought that one glance to my dreams and you would understand"

"Show me"

"Dream" you begged "Why do you wish to humiliate me like this?"

"I need to know" he got closer to you in an instant, so suddenly that he took your breath away "Share your mind with me again"

You look up at him, eyes bluer than any sky you could imagine— more inviting than any waters you could dream of.

And if you didn't know any better, you would think that was a plea.

"If I do that, my mind won't be the only thing I would be sharing with you" you breath out, feeling a bit helpless.

"What is the wrong in that"

You looked intently into his eyes.

He looked away from you, turning his face to your window "Admidts of a confession and you're still keeping your love away from me"

"I'm keeping my heart" you almost need to sob "I don't want to expose it just because you need something to be proven"

He turned his face to you again "I believe in you, I don't need anything to be proven to me"

"Then why are you demanding my mind?"

"Because it's the only way I get to protect my heart"

Somehow that took your breath away in an instant.

And without even attempting to, you allow a wave of your ocean crawl onto his shore as you feel his hands cupping your jaw. Eyes closed, breathing jagged and tears feeding his hunger.

Your mind opens up, and your heart bursts into emotion as soon as your feet touch the evergreen grass of the Dreaming— summer breeze caressing your skin and sunshine hitting against your closed eyelids.

As your eyes open, he´s standing tall in front of you still. Dark and glistening, eyes of deep gold and fire burning at the hem of his black tunic.

And just as it began, you force yourself to wake up.

Back home, back in your apartment.

You need to take a step back, but he doesn´t let you get far as he smirks widely at you.

Cheeky little god.

"Cheating darling girl, you barely showed yourself" he cups your jaw securely once again, face contorting around amusement as you let a smile creep in too.

"I've shown enough" you counterpart, a bubble of giddiness about to explode in your inside.

He contemplates you in silence, eyes traveling around your face "I will see all of it—" he warns "—even if I have to take it out of you caress after caress-"

"Dream Lord" you warn, the formality foreign in your tongue.

"Lady enchantress" he warns as well, playful and too close to happiness for you to stand on your offense for long.

You look around his face, shaking your head as your nose bumps against his "I can't dare to dream about you anymore"

Dream stands in silence at that, "In counterpart, you'll find a piece of you all around the fabric of my Dreaming—" he rasps, forehead nudging against yours "Inspiration used to be something I gave away, now I´m tempted to keep it all to myself"

"Mellow and needy" you accuse him.

"All the more reason for you to stop casting my love away" he demands softly, almost as a plead.

"In exchange I would demand far more consideration when giving me dreams" you shift slightly, lips kissing the palm of the creator.

"Demanding and needy" he accuses you now "Always getting your way around me"

And just when you´re about to talk once again, a high pitch croak can be heard "Is rather rude to cast me away when needing alone time, my Lord" Matthew's voice is heard. He's standing on the window frame.

You chuckle.

Morpheus sighs in annoyance, "Tell Lucienne I heard her calling the first time"

Matthew croaks once again, "Boss Lady just wanted to make sure" and then he was off.

You look back at Morpheus, and he´s already looking at you.

"Consideration you will have, dazzling creature" he reassures you softly.

it was nearly silent in the dreaming.

not just quiet—silent.

too silent.

the kind of silence that doesn’t settle but suffocates.

you’d walked the long marble halls without direction, guided only by instinct—or maybe by some deeper tether, something sewn between your soul and his. you hadn’t seen him in days. not since he’d returned from whatever distant corner of the realms called him away.

you’d asked lucienne, but she had only cast you a sorrowful glance and said gently, “he needs time.”

and you knew what that meant.

he was grieving again.

when dream grieved, the dreaming changed.

colors dulled. light faded. the air grew thicker, heavy with some old pain no one but he could name. the castle itself responded, growing taller, darker, colder, walls shifting to protect its broken master.

and yet still, somehow, you found your way in.

his throne room loomed like a forgotten cathedral. vast. hollow. drenched in shadow.

and there, slouched at the foot of his own dais, sat the king of dreams.

barely recognizable.

his normally statuesque posture had collapsed inward, limbs folded messily beneath him like he’d forgotten how to sit like a god. his head hung low, black curls veiling his face in a tangle of sorrow. his robes pooled around him like ink, soaked from the rain pouring in through the shattered glass dome above.

the stars weren’t visible.

and that alone told you how deep this went.

you stepped closer on instinct, the soles of your shoes whispering against the floor. he didn’t move. didn’t speak. you weren’t even sure he’d noticed you.

and then, his shoulders twitched.

a tremor. a breath.

and then—

a sound.

broken.

a sob cracked through the stillness like lightning. not loud, but raw. hoarse and breathless, as though it had clawed its way out of him against centuries of resistance. you stopped in your tracks, heart catching in your throat.

dream—the eternal, unreachable, untouchable dream—was crying.

and not like a man with pride.

like a man who had run out of ways to keep the ache buried.

you approached slowly, kneeling down beside him. your presence shifted the air. made it warmer, softer.

and finally, he moved.

he didn’t lift his head fully, but tilted it just enough for his pale, tear-streaked face to be visible. the wet lashes, the trembling lips, the slight widening of his eyes when they met yours.

he looked wrecked.

and then came the shame.

his hand jerked upward to cover his face, fingers digging into his temple as he turned away.

“you should not be here,” he rasped, the words scraping against his throat like gravel. “this is not how you’re meant to see me.”

your chest ached.

“why not?” you whispered, shifting closer but not yet touching him. “why shouldn’t i?”

“because i am not meant to be seen like this.” he sounded angrier now, but it wasn’t directed at you. “i am… not a man. i am not soft. i am not supposed to break.”

“but you have broken,” you said gently.

his breath caught.

and another tear spilled.

you let the silence stretch. not empty silence, held silence. silence with space for him to feel.

then, carefully, you reached out.

your fingers brushed his sleeve.

he tensed. visibly. sharply.

“please don’t,” he said quietly. “i… i do not know what i might do. i do not understand what this… is.”

you nodded. your voice was barely a breath.

“then let me help you understand.”

it was tentative at first.

you slid closer until your knees touched. you didn’t force him to look at you. you didn’t pull him into your arms.

instead, you offered them.

you opened your hands. your body. your warmth.

and waited.

for a long, aching moment, he didn’t move.

but then his hand lowered.

his eyes met yours again, and you swore the universe tilted.

not because of the power behind them.

but because of the fear.

raw, trembling, human fear.

“i do not know what i have done,” he whispered, “to deserve you.”

his voice cracked in the middle of it, brittle and filled with disbelief.

you exhaled, slow and steady.

“you don’t have to do anything to be loved, dream. you just have to let it in.”

and that was what undid him.

not the kindness.

not the nearness.

but the invitation.

like a bridge held out with trembling hands, and for once, he stepped across it.

he moved toward you slowly. carefully.

his head bowed like he was afraid to meet your eyes again.

and then, with the fragility of ancient marble beginning to fracture, he leaned into you.

his body pressed to yours like a wave curling against the shore.

your arms wrapped around him without hesitation.

one hand cradled the back of his head, fingers weaving into his rain-wet curls. the other splayed across his back, feeling the tension in him begin to tremble and dissolve.

he melted.

not all at once.

first his shoulders slumped. then his arms came up slowly—shaking—until they gripped your sides with desperation he didn’t know how to name.

his face buried itself into your shoulder.

and then he wept.

truly wept.

his sobs weren’t graceful. they weren’t poetic or restrained. they were shattering.

they came in waves, great wracking gasps like the sea dragging out grief centuries deep. you held him through every quake. you whispered soft nothings, murmured affirmations that didn’t need to be understood, only heard.

“i’m here. i’m not going anywhere.”

“you are not alone.”

“you don’t have to carry this by yourself.”

you kissed the crown of his head.

you pressed your cheek to his temple.

you held him.

and slowly…

the sobs faded.

not completely. not gone.

but gentler. less jagged.

his breathing evened.

and for the first time in what may have been millennia, dream of the endless allowed himself to rest.

not just sit. not just exist.

but rest.

in your arms.

in your kindness.

in the love you offered freely, without condition.

and there, in the stillness, beneath a sky that finally began to clear, dream whispered so softly you almost missed it:

“…thank you.”

and maybe, just maybe, he meant more than he knew how to say.

the dreaming didn’t have mornings, not truly.

it wasn’t bound by time, not the way the waking world was.

but even so…

something shifted.

light filtered into the throne room like mist through stained glass, soft and pale and silver-gold, stretching in gentle bands across the floor. the rain had long since stopped. the sky above, once dark and empty, now shimmered faintly with distant stars, pale in the early quiet.

you stirred slowly.

your limbs were stiff from staying curled in the same position for hours, still cradling the body of a god who had finally allowed himself to collapse.

dream hadn’t moved.

he was still curled into your side, head resting just beneath your chin, dark lashes casting shadows on his cheeks. his breathing was deep and steady, each exhale a whisper against your collarbone.

he was asleep.

or as close to sleep as a being like him could ever get.

you shifted only slightly, enough to press your hand to the center of his back, grounding him there in your hold.

and still, he didn’t wake.

his body was warm against yours. heavier than you’d expected, like sorrow made flesh. but softer, too. more real like this than you’d ever seen him before.

and then—slowly—he stirred.

you felt it first in the way his fingers twitched where they’d been loosely wrapped around your waist. his body tensed for a moment, like he wasn’t sure where he was.

and then his voice, low and hoarse, against your skin:

“…you stayed.”

you didn’t move.

“of course i did.”

he lifted his head slightly, enough to look at you, but not enough to leave the shelter of your arms. his eyes were still shadowed, rimmed with the remnants of grief, but there was something softer in them now. not quite peace. but… an echo of it.

“you held me,” he said, voice low and uncertain, like he was repeating a memory he didn’t believe could be true. “i… wept. and you did not look away.”

you gave him a faint smile, brushing your fingers through his hair.

“that’s what love looks like.”

he blinked at you, like the word itself was foreign.

“i do not understand you.”

you let out a soft breath, half-laugh, half-sigh.

“i know.”

he looked down, ashamed again, but only for a moment.

“i am not used to being witnessed,” he murmured. “not like that. not… undone."

your thumb traced slow circles at the base of his neck.

“maybe that’s something you can learn.”

his eyes flicked back to yours. curious. vulnerable.

“…with you?”

you smiled, soft and sure.

“if you’ll let me.”

another silence fell. this one different. full of things not said, but not hidden. things being felt instead of feared.

and then—slowly, hesitantly—he reached for your hand.

his fingers curled around yours with such care, as if he thought you might disappear.

and when you didn’t—when you laced your fingers between his and squeezed gently—he exhaled.

you felt it all the way down to your bones.

not just the breath, but the release. the surrender.

he wasn’t healed. not completely.

but he wasn’t hiding anymore.

“the dreaming,” he said softly, looking out the cracked skylight above, “is quieter today.”

you tilted your head.

“because you are.”

he nodded, a slight, grateful movement.

“i… rested,” he admitted. “not just in form. in spirit.”

his eyes found yours again.

“you gave me that.”

you leaned in, forehead pressing gently against his.

“then keep letting me.”

he closed his eyes at your touch, his hand tightening around yours.

and for a long moment, there was nothing but warmth between you.

not divine. not celestial.

just human.

quiet. real. shared.

he didn’t want you to leave.

you realized it gradually, not because he said it (dream didn’t yet have the language for needs like that), but because he kept finding ways to stay near.

after that long, quiet morning curled up on the throne room floor—his face buried in your shoulder, your arms around his slow-breathing frame—he didn’t return to his throne. didn’t resume the formality that usually wrapped around him like armor.

instead, when he finally rose, he offered you his hand.

his fingers were hesitant, loose at first, as if he didn’t expect you to take it. but when you did—when you curled your hand gently into his—his hold grew firmer, thumb brushing lightly across your knuckles.

“come,” he said, voice soft and steady.

you walked with him through the Dreaming.

not as subjects and ruler.

not as human and god.

but as two people sharing a space neither of you wanted to let go.

he led you into a smaller chamber you’d never seen before.

the walls were tall and pale, draped in soft, celestial fabric. moonlight drifted in from no visible source, and the air smelled like memory: parchment and petrichor, crushed petals and something faintly like his skin.

it wasn’t the library.

it wasn’t a throne room.

it wasn’t anywhere formal.

just a room built for rest.

he didn’t speak much as you settled in.

but he stayed close.

closer than usual.

when you sat on the edge of the dream-couched bed, he followed. not beside you, not right away, but near. hovering, cautious.

as if still afraid he was dreaming you.

eventually, you looked up at him and opened your arms again, this time without asking.

just offering.

quietly.

and just like before… he came.

this time, he didn’t cry.

this time, he held you.

his arms slid around your waist, his head resting lightly against your shoulder. he didn’t bury himself like before, didn’t shake or tremble, but he melted all the same. like the shape of you was something he could finally fit into. like your presence gave him permission to exhale again.

“are you… all right?” you asked after a while, your voice a hush in the stillness.

he was silent for a long moment.

then:

“i do not know,” he answered. “but i am no longer drowning."

your hand moved to his hair, gentle as moonlight, and his eyes fluttered shut.

“good,” you whispered. “that’s enough for today.”

he pulled back slightly, just enough to look at you—really look at you.

“you do not realize what you have done,” he said, voice low and reverent. “what it means that you stayed. that you chose me.”

your brow furrowed, and you brushed a thumb beneath his eye. “dream…”

“i am not easy to love,” he said, voice soft but unwavering. “i am distance. i am duty. i am solitude, in every sense. but with you—”

he paused, searching your face.

“with you, i feel… close to something i thought i had lost.”

you reached for his hand again.

and this time, he laced your fingers together.

he didn’t let go.

“i’ll keep choosing you,” you said simply. “even when it’s hard. especially when it’s hard.”

his lips parted like he wanted to speak, but the words faltered.

instead, he leaned in.

his forehead touched yours. gently. deliberately.

you stayed like that for a long, quiet stretch of time.

breathing together.

existing together.

finally, he spoke again. softer than breath:

“…stay with me. here. in the dreaming.”

your heart stilled.

he had never asked before. never dared.

“you want me here?”

he nodded, once. “not as a guest. not as a visitor. but… with me.”

you reached up and cupped his jaw.

and when he leaned into your palm, you swore you felt the stars shift again.

“okay,” you whispered. “i’ll stay.”

he closed his eyes.

and for the first time in an eternity, the king of dreams smiled, not for the world.

not for duty.

but for you.

umm okay so i doo think i mischaracterized him quite a bit, but that's primarily because im not used to writing characters with his personality! he's very stoic and complex so i apologize if it doesn't quite fit him, i just adore dream and wanted to write something. i will work on being more flexible with differing personalities like his though!

anyways, i hope this was enjoyable and thank yeww sososo much for reading!!!

you really, really hadn’t meant to pry. but when you entered the dreaming after just having come home from a friend’s birthday celebration, the thought came to you randomly.

"lucienne?" you asked while sitting and reading a book at a desk in the library. "do... do endless have birthdays?"

having gotten used to your curiosity about all aspects of the realm, lucienne responded, "as far as i know, no. they are the personification of ideas, so no one knows the exact date they came into existence. why do you ask?" her response was accompanied by a knowing smile.

"just... was unsure, is all," you answered, head sinking further into your book.

"completely unrelated, but do you know if tamaris is busy tonight? i... i have some questions."

𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧

as you crossed off today’s date, december 21st, you were stupidly proud of yourself. pulling this off was a feat in itself, but convincing dream that you weren’t plotting something? that was the impressive part. from the time you questioned lucienne, you had had about a month to get everything ready. unfortunately, a lot of it had to go through matthew—whom you bribed with your trail mix—while you kept dream... otherwise distracted in his room.

but tonight would be perfect. only the living room and the bedroom were decorated, so he could be surprised when he came in. and he would come—you were someone who fell asleep quickly. if you didn’t show up in the dreaming an hour past your usual time, he’d poke his head into the waking world to check on you... which was loving. in a semi-stalker kind of way.

when he appeared to find you sitting on the floor of your bathroom, the lord of dreams was a bit perplexed. "are... are you alright, beloved?" he asked cautiously.

you smiled, standing up. "never better." then, fishing around in your pocket for a moment, you held out a black silk blindfold. "can i put this on you?" you asked excitedly.

he blinked, then chuckled. "as i recall, darling, this most typically goes on you—"

you felt heat rise to your face and rushed to cover his hand with your mouth. "it’s not like that!! well i mean... it can be later, but not now. it’s not a trick, i promise. don’t you trust me?"

he sighed, then leaned down so you could reach the back of his head. "whatever game it is that you are playing," he said against your neck as you tied it, "i suggest that you think very carefully about how you go about it."

you rolled your eyes. "you’re dramatic," you said as you took his hand. "come with me."

"you don’t leave me much of a choice," he grumbled, as you seated him at the table in your kitchen.

you pinched his shoulder in response, then took his blindfold off.

when he opened his eyes, you were sitting next to him at the table.

"surprise," you said with a smile.

your small kitchen and living room had been decked out with black balloons, a few streamers, and small (fake) candles. in front of him sat a small cake, two empty glasses, and a bottle of white wine. the cake was chocolate, with blackberries and raspberries covering the top. poking out of it was a small toothpick with a scrap of paper that said “happy birthday dream” in script.

he looked at you, expression fond if not a bit unreadable.

"i... i asked lucienne if endless had birthdays. she said that they didn’t... so i thought i’d give you one," you said bashfully. "it... it’s because it’s the winter solstice today. i wanted it to have some meaning." you continued. he still wasn’t speaking—was that good or bad?

"you... you always care so much about me. about everyone in your family. i wanted you to know someone celebrated you."

he stayed silent for another moment, gazing at the cake, before he spoke. "no one has ever done something so... considerate for me," he said, voice so thick with emotion that it surprised even you. "...thank you for this, beloved. it... it is a most welcome surprise."

you smiled. "i didn’t know what kind of cake you liked, so i asked tamaris. i can’t promise that it’s as good as anything she makes, but i tried," you said, rubbing your neck awkwardly.

"you made this?" he asked. you nodded. "i... i thought it would mean more than just ordering one. did you want some?"

once you received a quiet "yes," you cut two slices and gave him a bite off your plate.

"thoughts?" you asked nervously. you’d cooked for him before, but baking for someone felt more intimate in a way.

"it is quite good," he said sincerely, lips pulling into his signature half-smile. "you put my kitchen masters to shame."

"now you’re just boosting my ego," you laughed. "oh!" the realization hit you. "one second—I need to grab gifts." morpheus watched as you grabbed three cards off the table and handed them to him: one in a white envelope, one in a black envelope, and one in a green envelope.

"i assure you, i do not require gifts. you really did not have to go through all the trouble."

"thank matthew—he’s the one who went through all the trouble. i just gave him instructions, is all," you said as he began to open the black one.

it was from death, a simple grey card with an illustration of a cat saying have an un-furr-gettable day!


"happy birthday, dream. love, death.
p.s. keep this one around. she’s good for you."

the next was the white envelope, which held a yellow card with "happy birthday!" in glitter and red.


"to the lord of dreams and nightmares—happy birthday. your friend, eternally, hob gadling."

these made him smile. how you even managed to get death’s, he had no idea.

but he had one more card to open—yours.

inside the green envelope was a grey card. no graphic designs, no funny jokes. he opened it, and his heart almost contracted.

on the left side of the page, you had written a beautiful note:


"happy (technically first) birthday, my love. you are my dream come true. i hope you know i celebrate you every day. you make me happy in a way i didn’t even know was possible. thank you for being my best friend. to a million more memories and birthdays."

but it was what was on the right side that made him beam. taped to the card was a small polaroid photo. he recalled that you had taken it on your phone during the first outing the two of you had after he began courting you. he was half-hidden behind your head, only his blue eyes visible, while you smiled widely into the camera. you looked so happy—and so did he, shockingly.

"i wanted you to have something to look at when i’m not there," you said softly, pulling him out of his thoughts. "i was trying to think of what to get you, when i realized that you’re immortal. you can summon any object you desire. i figured... something with just the two of us would be special."

instead of responding, morpheus pulled you in for a deep kiss, which you very quickly returned. after all but attempting to remove your lips from your face, he rested his forehead against yours.

"it is funny," he spoke softly. "i, the one who shapes dreams, fail to shape a world for myself that you are not a part of."

you smiled. "i love you too, birthday boy," you said, kissing his cheek. "i hope you liked your day."

he leaned over to speak into your ear. "on the contrary... it is my birthday, as you say. and i do not think i am done celebrating yet," he said, voice laced with amusement.

your eyebrows creased in confusion. "did i miss something?" you asked. you had thought of every detail down to the t—you couldn’t imagine that you’d forgotten any part.

"you misunderstand me," he said, finger drawing a lazy circle on your thigh, though his expression looked like he could eat you whole. "i would like to continue the celebration—privately. in your room."

"well," you said as you grabbed his hand and stood, "who am i to deny you your wishes?"

he stood alongside you, and as he closed the door behind the both of you, you could almost swear he said something akin to "a very happy birthday, indeed."

but maybe you just imagined that.

----

Still he does not stir, simply waits, his breathing even and unbothered. She has told him that waking together is an important part of mortal relationships, a time of quiet before the day and its responsibilities intrude. A way of connecting. Given the needs of his realm, he often works while she sleeps, but he has decided to make it a priority to wake up with her as often as possible.

He is not, however, entirely sure he understands all the appropriate steps to the process. He is clear about waking, but he is not sure what else is needed. Perhaps he should have asked more questions. Or even requested additional guidance from Matthew, though the thought of discussing something so intimate with his raven is…distasteful. But he wishes to meet her expectations. To make her happy.

"I can hear you thinking, love," she murmurs, her breath ghosting over his skin. He feels her shift again and then her lips are smoothing over his collarbone. "And you don't sleep."

He ignores her, continuing the pretense, but can't quite seem to stop his arm from tightening around her, holding her close.

She chuckles lightly and then her lips are on his neck, so soft and warm, he has to suppress a small shiver. After a few moments that test his restraint, she moves her mouth to his ear, and whispers, "You can wake up now, my love."

Shifting slightly, in an echo of her waking, he slowly opens his eyes, focusing on her lovely face. Her sparkling blue eyes and fond smile suggest he has been at least somewhat successful in replicating this waking ritual. "Good morning, beloved," he says in a low voice, his hand smoothing up her back.

She leans in, giving him a long, slow kiss. With a low hum, he turns on his side, hand cupping her face as he deepens the kiss in return. Finally pulling slightly away, he murmurs, "This morning ritual you described might have some merit."

"Ah, is that what you're about then?" Her arm slips around his waist and she presses even closer to him, slipping her leg between his. "You don't have to pretend to wake up with me, you know."

He strokes his thumb along her jaw. "I wish to do things you enjoy. Things that will make you happy." Brushing another kiss down her nose, he catches something across the bond that feels dangerously close to awe, and it makes him raise his gaze to hers. His breath hitches slightly as the air seems to still around them.

She blinks slowly, emotion swirling in her deep blue eyes. "My heart," she whispers.

Exhaling carefully, he tries to absorb the moment, savoring the feel of her love, both in her eyes and across the bond. His own feelings rise and she swallows hard as she feels them too.

Another kiss distracts, and for the next several minutes, there is only the sound of their ragged breathing.

When he finally releases her mouth, she takes a deep breath, then grins at him, mischief in her expression. "You should be careful saying things like that, love. I'll have you at Christmas markets and judging the three-legged race at the parish fête."

Flinching delicately, he schools his features into bland agreement. "I am somewhat afraid to ask what a three-legged race is, but if it pleases you to attend such an event, I would do so."

Her giggle makes his mouth turn up in the ghost of a smile. "Gods, I'm just imagining Dream of Endless brooding darkly at the finish line, decreeing Thomas and Dolly as the winners in that fabulously solemn way you have."

He sniffs, raising an eyebrow. "I would not brood, my Lyra. I would fairly and impartially determine the winner of the race based on the stated rules."

Her giggles increase and she covers her mouth with her hand to try to stifle them, unaffected by the disapproving glare he doesn't really mean. "That might be worth whatever price I'd have to pay to persuade you to go in the first place."

He turns speculative as he considers the idea of a price for his attendance. "Exacting a price had not occurred to me, but it is an excellent suggestion."

"Uh oh," she says, her giggles slowly subsiding as she watches him, "now I'm afraid…"

He brushes another kiss over her lips, his tone turning velvety. "Yes, I shall deliberate on an appropriate payment for these types of requests. Perhaps a scale depending on how loathsome they might be."

"I've created a monster," she replies dryly, in contrast to the laughter still reflected in her gaze. "I may have to call for a treaty negotiation to hammer out terms."

"If you wish," he says smoothly as he rolls her under him. "But keep in mind," he continues, his lips on her neck, "I have millennia of experience in such negotiations. Do not presume you will receive special treatment as my beloved."

A surge of desire washes over the bond, and he hums against her skin in response.

"I might have my own negotiating techniques," she says, her fingernails tracing lightly down his spine. "Don't presume I won't play dirty because you're my beloved."

He makes a low sound in his throat as he kisses his way along her collarbone. "We shall see who comes out on top, as it were, then," he says, reaching for the buttons on her pajama top. As they slide free and he exposes more skin, he continues, "Is the discussion portion of this morning ritual completed now? Because I find I have my own ideas as to what should happen next…"

"Yes, please," she says with a small gasp as his teeth find a sensitive spot. "Feel free to improvise."

He looks up at her, taking in her flushed cheeks and parted lips, and says, "For future reference, my love, this mortal ritual will have no fee required. I will attend as often as you desire."

Feedback is love! ❤️

You were lying on your couch, music playing softly from your record player. Spring was slowly shifting into summer, enough that you had opened your windows to feel the breeze drift through your home. 

The early afternoon rays filtered in, and everything seemed brighter and newer in that way only the warm weather brought. For this moment, everything was peaceful. 

Even Morpheus couldn’t find fault in it. Not when his head rested on your chest, and you were carding through his hair to the base of his neck. Your nails gently dragging down his scalp to the ends of his strands would’ve made him shiver if he were human. 

You’ve been like this for some time now, relaxing in each other's arms. It was a rare moment for the Dream King. He couldn’t recall the last time he had felt this content. Though, it’d been happening more frequently since he’d met you. 

When he’s working, his mind often wondered to you, what you were doing, when he would see you, it’d become ever the distraction—be it a welcomed one. 

He hummed as your nails traced his neck, and you giggled lightly. He squeezed your side in return. 

Never had he thought he’d let anyone see him like this, not after all those years in that cage. But there was something in you that called him. He could let his guard down around you. And it was easier than he thought. 

You opened your arms to him and all he had to do was step closer. 

You placed a kiss on the top of his head, pulling him from his thoughts. 

“Have I put the Sandman to sleep?” you teased. 

He answered with his eyes closed. “You are the only creature capable of such a feat.” 

“You deserve some rest.” He could hear your smile, but there was seriousness, too. It made him lift to his elbow to look at you. 

You stared at one another a few moments until you reached out a hand to cup his cheek. Your thumb grazed his skin reverently, seemingly amazed that he was before you now. 

The corner of your lips ticked up as you took him in. This otherworldly being that wasn’t really a being at all. He was too perfect. It only made sense that he was a concept, one that provided all with the ability to escape, to wrap themselves in imagination, to set themselves free. 

“My Dream,” you whispered, almost like you hadn’t meant to. 

His eyes softened. His own hand reached up to caress your hair. 

“My heart.” 

Tags: @sayumiht, @hatterripper31, @snowsatsu, @1950schick, @navs-bhat, @bookshelf-dust, @sapphireonline, @fictional-hooman, @steph-speaks, @ladyredstar1991, @secretdreamlandmentality, @ababycake, @morpheuss1mp, @boofy1998, @alice-the-nerd, @herfantasyworldd, @poemfreak306, @tronnily, @commanderfreethatdust

The warmth of her grip squeezes at my heart. I squeeze her hands back, "now, what would you like to dream about tonight?"

"Oh, I'd like to kiss my Reginald and my children all-night long."

"Then you shall," I lean in and nod, "you will dream about your Reginald and your children."

She chuckles, then yawns, "oh, I do hope we're rich in my dreams. I so terribly wished to buy them pretty clothes, but I just could not afford it, you know."

I nod and rub her hands, "you will this time."

The old lady smiles and sinks into her pillow. I tuck her in and close her light.

She watches me stand before closing her eyes, "thank you kindly, sweet child."

I make sure to leave her apartment as quiet as a mouse.

I release a sigh and go into my room, just next door. I open the lights and head to my kitchen. I open the fridge and rummage through the items which were slowly molding away.

I grab the box of cereal and shove my hand in. I stuff my face with sweet pebbles and close the door. My soul nearly leaves me when I see the shadowy figure behind me.

I shriek and turn away, clutching the cereal tightly in my hand.

"𝕸𝖊𝖉𝖑𝖊𝖗," the voice echoes across the room.

I whine and curl into the foot of my refrigerator.

I can feel the presence move closer towards me. The deep baritone brings a chill down my spine, "𝖕𝖗𝖊𝖙𝖊𝖓𝖉𝖊𝖗."

Shakily, I ask, "who are you?"

"𝕴 𝖆𝖒 𝕯𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖒. 𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕯𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖒𝖜𝖊𝖆𝖛𝖊𝖗. 𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕹𝖎𝖌𝖍𝖙𝖒𝖆𝖗𝖊 𝕶𝖎𝖓𝖌. 𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕾𝖚𝖑𝖙𝖆𝖓 𝖔𝖋 𝕾𝖑𝖊𝖊𝖕," he echoes, "and you are an insult to me."

I shudder and lift my eyes. The being is cloaked in darkness, shrouded from head to toe, and yet there was an inexplicable glow in his black eyes.

"Who are you to decide what one should and shouldn't see in their sleep? Who are you to command 𝖒𝖞 dreams and warp them to your liking? You are no Dream Maker. You are speck in the universe, mortal."

"The Endless Dream," I mutter, "I- I- I know you... I've studied you all my life." I maneuver on my knees, "I- I was born with the power to manipulate dreams. I mean you no insult, I just-"

At this point, my whole room is engulfed in darkness.

"Please," I shake my head, "I'm sorry."

A moment passes, then in a blink, as if it never was, my room is the same as it was before.

𝖄𝖔𝖚 𝖍𝖆𝖛𝖊 𝖇𝖊𝖊𝖓 𝖜𝖆𝖗𝖓𝖊𝖉.

Needless to say, I was shaken to the core.

Which is kind of odd... considering the fact I was face to face with him again, and felt... enamoured?

The Eternal Dream had his back turned to me as he went through a table of books. He turns slightly, profile coming into view as he flipped through a book.

My heart races at the sight of his face. No longer was he covered in darkness, he was now molded with beauty. My heightened pulse was not born of fear, no... it was something of-

"- love."

Dream looks over his shoulder. His eyes widen at the sight of me, then darken in equal measure.

"Lord! I mean my lord!"

"How have you come here-" he mutters in shock before his voice drops an octave, "𝖕𝖗𝖊𝖙𝖊𝖓𝖉𝖊𝖗."

I shirk, "... I went to sleep... and thought of you."

"𝖄𝖔𝖚'𝖛𝖊 𝖙𝖗𝖊𝖘𝖕𝖆𝖘𝖘𝖊𝖉 𝖎𝖓𝖙𝖔 𝖒𝖞 𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖑𝖒 𝖙𝖔 𝖋𝖚𝖗𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖗 𝖎𝖓𝖘𝖚𝖑𝖙-"

I turn away and close my eyes, handing him something.

"... is that supposed to impress me?"

I look back at him then down to the bouquet of flowers in my hand. I feel nervous as I explain, "no. I just- it felt right-"

"There is nothing right about your presence-"

I silence him. In a blink of an eye, he and I are now sitting on a table set with tea and treats in the middle of a garden. He looks enchanting in this setting. My stomach is filled with butterflies. An actual butterfly flutters by. I lean on the table and mutter, "I feel the exact way... but opposite."

Dream looks around the lush gardens and grunts, "you dare teleport me in my own domain?"

I tense when he says this, "fuck-" I straighten up, "-force of habit."

"You are not a dream, and yet you dare meddle with mine."

"I didn't mean to!"

"𝕰𝖓𝖔𝖚𝖌𝖍," his voice echoes, and suddenly we are both standing in darkness.

Actually, only I am standing in darkness. My pulse begins to quicken all over again.

"Dream?" I call out in panic, but the void eats up my sound.

I resist the urge at first, the urge to morph the matter into what I want it to be, but the quickened thump in my chest practically yells out to be free of this darkness.

And so I think. I think hard. I think hard about making a hole out of the darkness that I physically pry out an opening and enter through it. Once I'm out, I find myself in a throne room. Something clanks on the floor.

I look around for a moment, in awe, then turn to whatever it was that fell.

"You got out," a voice speaks in disbelief as I pick the object on the floor.

I look up and see Dream's looming figure. He walks over to me with a skeptical expression.

I blink and steal a glance at what I picked up before handing it to him, "I... think you dropped this."

He looks at my outstretched palm. He looks at the gemstone and looks back at me.

I feel incredibly self-conscious at his prolonged stare.

"Do you know what that is?"

I inspect the stone and shrug, "a... weird shaped diamond?"

"It is a heart of a soul star," he mutters, "half of it."

"Oh..." I lower my arm because it started to tire, "did you lose the other?"

"In a word... many aeons ago," he brings his hand into his breast pocket, "but no longer."

Dream shows me an identical looking stone and my mouth parts at the sight of it.

"It seems you are not a pretender," he sighs, "but the half of my soul. My missing soulmate."

"W-what?"

Dream looks over his shoulder, "Merv. You don't have to continue making that dungeon room."

A scarecrow with a large, orange pumpkin head pulls out the cigar in his lips, "but I already started! The torture chamber and everything!"