morpheus x reader oneshots & headcanons

being the one who releases morpheus 7

The mansion hasn't changed one bit. It looked exactly the same as it did the day you were forced to leave. A strange feeling sprouted in your chest - the very same sensation you felt when you saw Morpheus on the pier. How could it be that days had gone by but the fang of time did not bite down into this house? Was it built with the same arcane element with which Morpheus was created? And if so, was he, too, a house of horrors and woe underneath his handsome looks?

"What a strange feeling, to become a visitor in one's own home," you said quietly as you longingly looked at the bricks you had grown to know so well. Unbeknownst to you, Morpheus was watching your melancholic expression, silently wondering if you, too, looked at him this way.

"This is not your home."

"And yet part of me longs for the days when it was. Curious, isn't it? I broke you out of here and now I'm dragging you back to your prison."

"I came with you on my own accord," he corrected you. To be honest, even if you hadn't asked him to help you, Morpheus would have found a reason to come with you anyway. "Your plan requires a significant amount of preparation and cunningness to be successful."

His observation was in no way revolutionary. "Yes, it does but we do not possess the time required. We must do with what we have. Non est ad astra mollis e terris via," you said. "There is no easy path from earth to the stars." Turning your head towards Morpheus, you met his intense gaze. He noticed how your eye lit up the moment they met his but Dream was quick to discard such sentiment. "Seneca's words. Sometimes I think he knew more about life than any of us."

Morpheus never cared much for philosophy - humanity might be a reasoning species but they are hardly reasonable, so they're pondering about the nature of the world were always wrong in one way or another. To a creature of his sort, human philosophy was as though watching a blind person paint a landscape. Despite his prejudice, he thought that you made Seneca sound akin to an oracle. Perhaps, if he were to understand the teachings of that ancient philosopher, he'd know more about you too? Could a wise Greek be a secret passage into your heart and soul?

"Be careful, Morpheus. If Yasmin was right and I have no reason to doubt her honesty, my father is unpredictable in his anger. It is beyond me to speculate what horrors he will bestow upon you should he catch you once more."

"I can not die," he reminded you.

"But you can still be in pain." Although his yearning heart exclaimed at such a notion, Morpheus couldn't quite understand why you would care about his discomfort. He was an eldritch creature, you have said that yourself multiple times, so physical pain wasn't something unbearable to him. Why did you treat him like he was a fragile human? Was that tenderness, too?
Having said that, you directed your steps to the back of the house, planning on trespassing inwards through the staff door. Seeing you disappear behind perfectly kept bushes and flower beds, Morpheus felt a sudden desire to stop you, to share some kind of blessing with you; to ask you to come back to him, perhaps. Nevertheless, not a word left his mouth. For a second, he even considered a prayer.

Gathering his strength and discarding his gnawing worry for you, Morpheus's booming voice called out to Rodrick who undoubtedly resided within the mansion. It was like challenging someone to a duel but Dream's pride whispered songs of greatness into his spirit - hymns that never once suggested that the wicked mortal could have a chance against him. Although this supposed summon to the contest was entirely your idea, Morpheus had his own reasons to see it through. Yes, it was high time he faced that villain, looked him in the eye and gloated in his triumph. You deserved justice and he deserved peace.

Minutes of complete silence and inaction went by as Morpheus waited for Rodrick in front of the house. Such dismissal of a king's challenge couldn't be read as anything but utterly disrespectful. Was that wicked man trying to humiliate him? Dream's anger only intensified with that thought. Who did Rodrick Burgess think he was? His fingers were growing strained as he kept one of his fists clenched but he couldn't let go - not yet.