morpheus x reader oneshots & headcanons

being the one who releases morpheus 4

The burning wood in the fireplace cracked pleasantly, reminding one that the cold sea breeze no longer had them in her grasp. In a way, it was that very same freezing wind that made one appreciate the warmth of the fire. The quiet cracking was a nice change from the loudness of the shore.

The inside of your house looked more like a workshop or a laboratory rather than a place where someone lived. Sketches, manuscripts and pieces of newspapers covered most of the walls. The spots where the old flowery wallpaper was left uncovered, had drawings and inscriptions written in chalk made on them. Looking at the seemingly chaotic groupings of all things strange and deranged, one may experience doubts as to the owner's sanity: it was either madness that drove them among cults, botany, astronomy and unsolved crimes or pure genius yet to be recognized. But as it is with all matters that toe this fascinating line, the final decision, whether one was a genius, a madman or a bit of both, belonged to the generations yet to be born; eyes that were yet to blink and tongues that were yet to speak.

"What is this?" Morpheus asked hesitantly as he looked around the room. He deserved a generous portion of understanding for that moment of anxiety: the last time he witnessed those symbols, he ended up imprisoned for a decade. It was only natural that he should react like that. Additionally, the jars with strange contents and dubious labels couldn't be comfort-bringing.

"A monument of my desperation," you answered as you tried to bring even a fraction of order to the papers cluttering your desk. A new, unread newspaper lay among your notes and old books. The front page's headline read 'Louisville theft still unsolved' in bolded letters. "I studied the occult and alchemy to find out what curse my father had put on me but to no avail. Years I have spent chasing after my own ailment, an answer as to what tragedy awaits me around the corner of tomorrow. The question, however, I have left unanswered."

"You have given up," he stated. Despite having no knowledge of your life during those years, Morpheus appeared surprisingly certain in his judgement.

"Yes..." you drew out your answer. Perhaps it was at that very moment that you finally understood it. You nodded your head slightly before continuing. "Yes, I have. But then a new endeavour occupied my mind, one that wouldn't render my studies useless, a waste of time. I wanted to find you."

Momentarily, his attention deviated from the jars, drying plants and unintelligible diagrams only to focus on you. It was a lovely sentiment in all of its romanticism - that the moment your paths diverged, both of you worked to make them cross again and all of that because you were simply curious about one another. Standing under the night sky diagram you had hand drawn in chalk on the ceiling of the room, perhaps it wasn't a stretch to call the two of you starcrossed. There was, however, a certain sadness to that statement: stars, as it befits their whims, align in a specific way only once in a long while. Maybe, just maybe, the gods that watch over stars were going to be merciful towards Dream and you.

Morpheus was standing with his back towards the fireplace. The flame made him cast a long shadow over the old, stained carpet that was already there when you moved into the house years ago. With that bright, dancing halo he appeared both heavenly and hellish like frostbite that feels so cold it burns like the hottest fire. But in all of those contradictory extremes, he never appeared dangerous or you simply couldn't perceive him in that way. Perhaps he was like that fireplace in your house: a raging flame consuming everything in sight but still contained enough to not feel scared of turning away from it. "What for?" he asked in a low voice. For some reason, his tone appeared angered as if he wasn't quite keen on you succeeding in your quest.

"Do not grow anxious, my dear stranger," you spoke mildly with your hands clasped together as if some part of you wanted to beg him to not treat you like a danger waiting to happen. There was something painfully lonely about a man who saw betrayal and ruthlessness in every pair of eyes he encountered. "My heart never harboured any malice towards you. I wished to find you only to ask how you've been doing, whether all those years when you were stripped of freedom had corrupted any goodwill you once had." Unable to help your empathetic nature, your mind began conjuring all possible pain and misery he was forced to endure. Your gaze fell to the floor, for a moment admiring the hue of the flames dancing across the old carpet. "It is beyond my imagination to fantasize about what torment such cruelty must do to a human," you added quietly.