Hello!! Could I request a Morpheus/powered reader? Powered like witch, elemental magick, whatever floats your boat! Action with fluff and camaraderie? Romantic or platonic is up to you! I love your fics!!
To Dream of Magic
(Morpheus x Female Reader)
Warnings: Minor injuries, mention of death, Matthew gets a little love interest
Word Count: 2377
A/N: Okay, so I love anything that has to do with witches, so the fact that you requested this was like the best cup of tea! I actually had this idea for a bit, and then you submitted this so it gave me the motivation to finish it!
I consider this a part one. But in the sense that if someone wants more Witch!Reader, this will be the character they get. I'm really excited to dive into this world/relationship. And once my requests are open again, I'd be happy to hear any ideas anyone has.
The residents of Thelma’s Grove were an eclectic bunch. A small community tucked just outside the city—modest homes perched along the street that led back to the highway. It was the type of place you didn’t know was there until you were in it.
That suited the residents fine. The hustle of the city and its traffic and crowds was what led everyone to Thelma’s Grove. It provided serenity, privacy, and above all, secrecy.
They were an eclectic lot indeed—beekeepers, a preschool teacher, a few single parents, and their children. But the woman who lived in the little white house with the sage-colored door was the most secretive.
You were kind—incredibly so—a wonderful neighbor. Everyone in Thelma’s Grove knew one another from where they were before to what they did, so when you arrived with your trunks, plants, and a lovebird, the street was abuzz.
They suspected something was different about you when you told one of your neighbors to take his dog to the vet. He had given you a funny look at first, but you made up an excuse, saying your friend's dog had similar symptoms. A day later, he was at your front door thanking you.
It grew from there. Your neighbors trusted your “instincts” more—that’s what they called them anyway. If someone had trouble with headaches, sleeping, anxiety—you name it—you’d give them a concoction of your making.
It wasn’t until the woman across the road broke her leg that the word “witch” attached itself to you.
You had thought you heard a scream. When the man who lived beside her looked up from his weeding, you knew it was real.
You rushed to her door, unlocking it with a flick of your wrist, and found her at the bottom of her stairs.
Her leg was bent at an odd angle as she lay on the floor, sobbing.
“It’s alright. I’m going to help you,” you said.
Searching around, you grabbed the hand towel hanging from the oven, folded it, and held it to her mouth.
“You need to bite down on this.”
She did as you said, too in pain to register what you were saying or doing.
You moved to her feet, kneeling above her.
“This will hurt, but you’ll be fine once I’m done.”
You didn’t hesitate as you grasped her behind her knee and ankle, straightening it. The scream she let out was muffled by the towel, but you didn’t let it phase you as you aligned her leg.
You muttered to yourself, a language lost in time. Beneath your fingers, the muscles and tissue reconnected. And your neighbor's cries slowly ebbed.
You shifted to sit and pulled the towel from her mouth.
“How does it feel now?” you asked, wiping the tears from her face.
She sniffled and looked at you with a mixture of wonder and confusion.
“Better,” she whispered, hoarse.
You gave her a small smile. “Good.”
You later found out the man had witnessed the whole thing. And between him and her, they had told the entire community what you did.
It all made sense after that. Your “instincts” were really magic. You knew the dog was sick because you spoke to her. Your concoctions were healing potions. And that little bird of yours was your familiar.
Yes, Thelma’s Grove was full of an eclectic bunch, indeed.
—
You were tending to your greenhouse in the backyard. It wasn’t much, no bigger than a shed, but it held life in every square inch. Planters lined the three walls with large terracotta pots on the floor below and other plants hanging from above.
You had finished watering the elderberry tree when Hope flew in.
“Come quickly! Someone needs you,” she said, zipping away when you started to follow.
The cries hit you before you saw who made them.
Hope landed beside a raven whose wing was unfurled and lay limp in the grass.
“It’s alright now. She will heal you,” Hope reassured.
You kneeled slowly, hands raised, so you didn’t startle the poor creature.
“Let me see,” you said, cupping the wing from underneath.
The bird yelped.
“I know,” you hushed. “I know.”
You rested your other hand over the wing, the lost language passing through your lips until the limb was healed.
The bird hiccupped but tentatively moved to test if the pain was gone.
When no zap occurred, the bird hopped closer and bowed its head.
“Thank you! Thank you!” he cried.
“There’s no need for that. I’m just happy you’re okay,” you said.
“I’m more than okay! You fixed my wing!”
You giggled. “What’s your name?”
“Matthew, my lady.” He bowed again.
You shook your head and told him your name and Hope’s. “No need for that. Why don’t you come in and rest?” You held out your finger, and he hopped on.
Hope flew in before you and perched on the back of a barstool as you set Matthew down on the counter.
“So, what exactly happened?” you asked.
He looked down as if embarrassed. “I was running an errand. And…may have gotten distracted.”
Your brow furrowed. “Distracted?”
Only when you caught his tiny eyes glancing at Hope did you understand.
You hummed. “Well, I guess it doesn’t matter. As long as you’re alright now.”
“I am!” He jumped at the subject change. “Never better.”
“Good.” You nodded. Then after considering what he said, you asked, “Who were you running an errand for?”
You knew most, if not all, of the witches in the area. You couldn’t remember any of them having a raven as a familiar. And even if one did, it wouldn’t explain the odd sensation this bird carried. Like…well, it reminded you of the lost language—ancient and powerful.
“The King of Dreams,” he said.
Your eyes narrowed in confusion. The King of Dreams? As in, not a witch?
Matthew shifted from foot to foot, getting the sense this was news to you.
“Are you…Are you not a goddess or something?” he asked.
You pulled back in surprise. “No. No, I’m definitely not.”
“Oh.” He dragged out, coming to a realization. “So, what are you?”
“A witch,” you said blankly, glancing at Hope, whose head was tilted. At least she was just as lost as you.
“Wait. Witches are real?” he asked.
“And apparently, so are gods,” you breathed, laughing in disbelief.
Yes, you were a witch. And yes, you thought of your gifts from the goddesses Hecate and Circe, but to have confirmation that the God of Dreams was real? It was almost too much.
You shook your head slightly to clear it.
“Morpheus is a little more than a god, per se,” Matthew said. “It’s…It’s kinda complicated. And thinking about it gives me a headache.”
You waved a hand. “We’ll save it for a rainy day then.”
—
Matthew had stayed a few more hours, asking questions about your powers and nearly preening when Hope wanted to know more about him.
You were exhausted by the time you crawled into bed. And sleep took you quickly.
The man before you wasn’t familiar. His porcelain complexion and onyx hair contrasted sharply but in an entirely transfixing way. He seemed larger than he was, possessing this energy that encompassed everything around him.
This feeling wasn’t new. You experienced it before…
The raven. Matthew.
This was Morpheus.
“You know me,” Morpheus spoke first, deep and honey-rich.
It was less a statement and more a question, making sure you knew who stood before you.
“Yes,” you said.
A breeze rustled the grass, and the distinct smell of citrus floated upward, but you couldn’t place where it came from. There were no orange trees here.
“It’s in the field,” he said. “I thought it would make you comfortable.”
You smiled at the images it conjured.
Hours upon hours of running through your grandmother’s orange grove. She was the one who first taught you about your heritage. Her skills had laid in plants. She knew everything there was to know. No one could brew a potion like her or heal an ailment quicker. You were happy she saw some talent in you.
“How is Matthew?” You looked back to him, coming out of your memories.
“As if nothing happened.” Morpheus had gotten closer. Or the stretch of green between you had shortened. You supposed it didn’t matter.
“Good,” you breathed, reaching to play with your pendant.
“I wanted to thank you for your aid,” he said.
You shook your head. “That’s not necessary. I’m just happy he’s alright.”
The corner of his mouth ticked up, but it was gone so fast you thought you imagined it.
“He’s spoken quite fondly of you.” He turned to the side, hands in his pockets, and you knew he wanted to walk with you. “And your familiar.”
“Hope,” you said, biting your lip at how Matthew had acted around the lovebird. “I think he has a little crush.”
“I think he’s fallen in love.”
You looked up, surprised at the slight tease in his tone. You never expected someone of his position to joke so readily. Then again, you hadn’t met anyone of his caliber before.
He led you to a pond with water so clear you could see the fish below. A dolphin-sized koi fish swam with half-fish half-cat creatures and so many others you weren’t sure how they all fit.
Morpheus sat on a bench, waiting for you to do the same.
“You are different from the witches I’ve encountered,” he said, regarding you with curiosity.
“How so?”
“You are kind.”
He said it as if it were foreign. Like he hadn’t seen kindness in eons. And, maybe, he’d seen so much that all of the bad had clouded the good.
You opened your mouth, unsure how to respond, then began slowly. “My grandmother used to tell me, ‘Do not put into the world what you do not wish back.’ She said it was the only lesson she wanted me to master.”
“Your grandmother was wise.”
“Yeah, she was.” You smiled softly, watching as willow trees dipped their leaves into the pond. “Is it always this peaceful?”
He stared ahead as if seeing something other than what was in front of him.
“It hadn’t been for some time,” he said. “All is well now.”
You hummed in thought. “‘The only thing that is eternal is hope.’ Another thing she used to say.”
“Is that the origin of your familiar’s name?” His eyes were soft, an endless galaxy on a warm summer’s night.
“She came to me the day my grandmother passed. I thought it was fitting.” You shrugged.
Everyone who had known your grandmother attended her celebration of life—family members, friends, patients—it made you cry harder knowing she was so loved.
You had walked away from the group for a moment to yourself—for a moment of grief and remembrance—when this beautiful little bird landed in your path.
She gazed at you with an intelligence unlike the animals you often healed, and you felt the connection bridge between you and her. And the name came to you when the last piece fell into place. Your utterance of “Hope” solidified your bond.
“My brother was with you that day.”
Your brow furrowed. “Your brother?”
“Destiny,” he said.
You let out a small laugh. “Yes, I suppose he was.”
Conversation flowed easily between you two. Though Morpheus didn’t say much, he was insightful and intelligent, and he listened with keen attention that made you almost shy. He controlled every speck of dirt and beam of light around you yet held an interest in you.
When you felt the tug of consciousness, you couldn’t believe how quickly time had passed. You could have sworn you only arrived in the Dreaming a few minutes ago. But you woke to the sunrays filtering through your curtains.
In the following days, you scoured every source you could think of for information on Morpheus. There were Greek myths, but your search grew more fruitful when you stumbled across an ancient tomb in one of your grandmother’s chests.
She taught you about destiny—how it influenced you and how you influenced it—so to see it written in her delicate scrawl wasn’t unusual. But when it changed to capital-D "Destiny," you shifted your tactics. It led you to the beginning.
Destiny, Death, Dream, Destruction, Desire, Despair, and Delirium.
Personifications of otherwise intangible consciousnesses—all more powerful than any god or goddess you could think of.
And you had unknowingly saved one of their emissaries.
You had spoken to one of them.
You felt the vastness of his power by simply looking at him—it both terrified and thrilled you.
Dream. The perfect name for a creature so enthralling.
Mere days passed before Matthew appeared in your garden once again. You only noticed when you heard Hope speaking to someone, and his voice carried into the greenhouse. You thought it best to give them their privacy.
You could feel Morpheus’ presence through the raven even from here. It was stronger than last time, but you assumed that was because of Matthew’s injury.
And when it moved closer, you paid it no mind, thinking Matthew and Hope were joining you. It only occurred to you that their voices had stayed the same volume when the energy was standing in the doorway.
You glanced over your shoulder, eyes jumping in surprise.
“Good morning.”
“Morpheus,” you said. “I…What are you doing here?”
“Matthew wished to visit Hope,” he said, stepping forward, hands behind his back. He scanned over the pots of flowers and herbs, trailing from the one at your fingertips, up your arms, to meet your eyes. “I wished to visit you.”
You bit your lip lightly, glancing down then back. “Well then, how about a cup of tea?”
He nodded once, letting you lead the way.
You moved to Thelma’s Grove because something pulled you toward it after your grandmother died. You found a home in the community. People who would protect you and who you’d protect in return. It didn’t matter if you had lived here for twenty years or visited for a few hours. Once you found this little corner of the world, you were part of it forever.
And you hoped the same could be said of the Endless behind you.
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