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brunchable · 2 months

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Untamed Chaos [Request] || Doctor Strange x Scarlet Witch!reader.

Genre: Oneshot, Light-hearted romance, Teacher/Student Words: 5.4K The Request: a fanfic where the reader is Scarlet Witch and she is very insecure and afraid of her powers and Stephen Strange helps her control her powers. A/N: First request in such a long time. I mayhaps liked this idea a bit too much I got carried away but I hope it can make someone's day. Thank you to the GIF creator. For @honeymoon-salvatore

You've always been afraid of your powers. They are immense, unpredictable, and often seem to have a will of their own. It wasn't until the incident in your hometown that you truly understood the magnitude of your abilities.

You had only meant to defend yourself, but in the blink of an eye, the entire street had been engulfed in a swirling vortex of energy, leaving destruction in its wake. The fear and confusion in the eyes of those around you still haunt your dreams.

Since then, you've kept your distance from people, isolating yourself to prevent any further harm. Your powers feel like a ticking time bomb, always on the verge of exploding.

You can't control them, not fully, and the unpredictability is what scares you the most. One moment, you could be sitting peacefully, and the next, you could be unintentionally causing objects to levitate or shatter around you.

You've tried to manage them on your own, practicing in secret, but the progress has been slow and often discouraging. Each failed attempt chips away at your confidence, leaving you feeling more vulnerable and isolated. The frustration builds within you, feeding into the fear, creating a vicious cycle that's hard to break.

You often find yourself alone, both physically and emotionally. The isolation is a double-edged sword; it keeps others safe from your powers, but it also leaves you without support, without someone to reassure you that you're not a monster. You yearn for connection, for someone to understand your struggle, but the risk of hurting someone is too great. The potential destruction you could cause keeps you at a distance, even from those you care about the most.

In moments of despair, you imagine a life where your powers are not a curse but a gift, where you can use them without fear. But those are just dreams, far removed from your current reality. Every day is a battle against yourself, against the fear that one wrong move could lead to disaster. You live with the constant reminder that you are different, that you are dangerous, and that there might never be a place for you in the world as you are.

Despite the fear and the isolation, there's a flicker of hope within you. A hope that maybe, just maybe, someone out there can help you. Someone who understands what it's like to wield such power and can guide you in controlling it. This hope leads you to the doors of the Sanctum Sanctorum, but standing there, you hesitate. Your hand hovers over the grand door, and a wave of shame washes over you. What if Doctor Strange sees you as a lost cause? What if he thinks you're too dangerous to be helped?

× × × ×

As you approach the grand doors, your heart races with anticipation. You take a deep breath, steadying yourself before knocking firmly. The sound echoes in the silence, and the massive doors creak open seemingly on their own, revealing the grand entrance hall bathed in dim, mystical light.

At the top of the sweeping staircase, Stephen stands tall, his presence commanding and imposing. His cape flows dramatically behind him, catching the light in a way that makes it seem almost alive.

“Ah, I’ve been expecting you,” he says with a knowing smile.

“Expecting me?” you ask, chuckling sheepishly. You can’t shake the feeling of shame that lingers, making you want to shrink away.

“Yes. I could sense your presence,” he replies, descending the stairs. “And besides, you’re not exactly subtle.”

You manage a small, nervous laugh, looking down at your feet. “I actually came to ask for your help, Doctor Strange. My powers… they’re out of control. I-I don’t know how to handle them.”

“Hmm.” Stephen nods, his expression turning serious but not unkind. “Come with me. Let’s see what we can do.”

As he turns to lead you deeper into the Sanctum, you can't help but blurt out, “Are we starting already?”

Stephen glances back at you, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “No, we're going to have a tea party first. What do you think?”

You roll your eyes but feel a bit of the tension ease away. “Very funny.”

“I thought so,” he replies with a smirk, leading you to the doors that lead to Kamar-Taj.

The morning air at Kamar-Taj is crisp and fresh, the early sunlight casting a warm glow over the ancient courtyard. Birds chirp in the distance as you and Stephen stand in the center of the tranquil space.

“First things first,” he says, “Do you know the true nature of your powers?”

You nod, feeling a familiar weight settle on your shoulders. “I know. But I don’t know how to control them. It’s like trying to tame a storm.”

He nods, seeming to have expected that answer. “Your powers are unlike any other. They’re rooted in something very ancient and very potent—chaos magic.”

“How do I control something that’s inherently chaotic?” You sigh, looking down at your hands, a flicker of crimson energy dancing across your fingertips.

“By understanding it, accepting it, and learning to channel it. It’s not about suppressing your emotions, but rather, learning to use them to your advantage.” Stephen steps closer, his voice gentle but firm.

“That’s easier said than done.” You scoff, frustration coloring your voice.

Stephen raises an eyebrow. “Is it? Or are you just making excuses?”

You glare at him, but there is no malice in your eyes. “You’re really good at this comforting thing, aren’t you?”

"I try," he says with a smirk, “Look Y/N you came here asking for my help. I know the media doesn’t really paint you. . . gracefully. So, from now on try not to let your self-doubt eat you up.”

You look down. Even though that was a hard pill to swallow, he was right.

“Come with me.” He leads you to a secluded area of the courtyard, where ancient runes are etched into the stone floor.

“This area should have ample space to practice powerful magic. It will be a safe place for you to practice control.”

You nod, taking a deep breath to steady yourself.

“First, we’ll start with some basic exercises. Focus on your breathing, and let your mind clear. Feel the energy within you, but don’t try to control it yet—just observe.” Stephen begins to demonstrate, weaving his hands through the air, creating intricate patterns of golden light.

You close your eyes, following his instructions. You can feel the familiar hum of your powers beneath your skin, a constant presence that you're trying to grow accustomed to. Slowly, you begin to breathe in rhythm with the energy, letting it flow through you without trying to shape it.

“Good, you learn quickly.” Stephen’s voice breaks through your concentration. “Now, open your eyes and focus on a single point in front of you. Imagine your energy flowing towards that point, like a stream of water.”

You do as he says, but suddenly, a surge of power rushes through you, causing your body to twitch while you attempt to contain it. Your eyes snap open in panic. Your powers spiral out of control. Crimson energy begins to swirl around you, leaves and dust spiraling around leaving you at its center. The ground trembles, and a strong wind whips through the trees around you.

"Dammit!" you shout, sinking to your knees as you try to contain the chaos. "I can’t do this, Doctor. It’s too much."

Before you can even process what's happening, Stephen is already moving, his hands weaving complex patterns in the air. Golden bands of light appear, encircling the wild energy and containing it. Sweat beads on his forehead from the effort, but his eyes remain focused and determined.

“Stay with me, Y/N,” he calls out, his voice straining as he tries to contain your powers. “You can do this. Focus on my voice.”

You try to calm your racing heart, taking deep breaths as you attempt to regain control. The golden bands tighten around the chaotic energy, slowly but surely bringing it under control.

Finally, the room falls silent, the wild energy dissipating into the air. Stephen kneels beside you, his hand on your shoulder.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” he says softly. “It’s okay to struggle. You’re learning, and that takes time.”

You look up at him, your eyes glistening, “What if I hurt someone? What if I hurt you in the process?”

“You won’t,” he assures you, placing a hand on your shoulder, “Relax, it’s okay. You’re safe.”

You take a deep breath, trying to steady your racing heart. “I’m sorry, Stephen. It just… it just got away from me.”

He smiles reassuringly. “It’s all part of the process. Let’s try again.”

You picture the crimson energy within you, flowing outwards in a controlled stream. To your surprise, the energy responds, a thin tendril of red mist extending from your hand and touching the ground where you’re looking.

“Excellent. Now, try to maintain that flow, but gradually increase the intensity.” Stephen smiles, clearly pleased with your progress.

You concentrate, feeling the energy surge within you. The tendril of light thickens, glowing brighter as more power flows through it. You can feel the wildness of the chaos magic, but it no longer feels overwhelming—it’s like riding a powerful wave, guiding it with subtle movements.

“Remember, your emotions are your fuel,” Stephen reminds you. “Channel your focus, your determination, and your control into the magic.”

You nod, feeling a growing confidence. The energy flows more smoothly now, the thread of light dancing in intricate patterns at your command. It’s exhilarating, feeling the power within you and knowing that you’re in control.

“Alright,” Stephen says, taking a step back, his expression serious. “Now, let’s test your control under pressure. I’ll create some moving targets, and I want you to hit them with precise bursts of energy.”

He raises his hands, and several glowing orbs appear, floating in a precise formation. They begin to move, weaving through the air in unpredictable patterns. “Focus, Y/N. Use your emotions to guide your power.”

You take a deep breath, focusing on the first target. You extend your hand, and a tendril of crimson light shoots out, striking the orb dead center. It shatters in a burst of golden sparks.

Stephen nods approvingly. “Good. Now, try the next one.”

You move to the second target, feeling a surge of confidence. This time, you channel a stronger burst of energy, the crimson light brighter and more intense. The orb explodes, scattering shards of light in all directions.

As you continue, the targets move faster, their patterns more erratic. You struggle to keep up, the energy within you becoming harder to control. Sweat beads on your forehead, and your breath comes in shallow gasps.

“Stay focused,” Stephen encourages.

But the pressure mounts, and the chaos magic within you begins to surge again. One of the targets moves unexpectedly close to Stephen, and in a moment of panic, you release a powerful burst of energy.

The crimson tendril lashes out, striking Stephen’s arm before you can stop it. He stumbles back, a pained expression crossing his face as blood begins to seep from a cut on his arm.

“Oh my god, Stephen!” you cry out his name accidentally, rushing to his side. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to—”

“Don't. It was an accident.” He grits his teeth, his hand applying pressure to the wound.

You remained quiet, even though guilt is a close friend of yours, it still felt corrosive.

× × ×

The morning training session had taken a turn you hadn’t anticipated. Now, sitting in the quiet, dimly lit infirmary at Kamar-Taj, the reality of your lack of control weighs heavily on you. Stephen sits on a low bench, his shirt discarded to reveal a nasty gash on his arm, inflicted by your uncontrolled magic.

His Cloak of Levitation hovers nearby, holding the first aid kit with its hem, seeming to watch over him protectively.

“Let’s get this cleaned up,” Stephen says, his voice smooth despite the pain. He gestures to the hovering Cloak, which gently extends the first aid kit towards you. “Can you take the antiseptic and bandages?”

You quickly reach for the items, your hands shaking slightly. “I’m so sorry.”

“Y/N, it’s okay,” he interrupts gently, a small smile playing on his lips despite the grimace of pain.

“Let me help.” You kneel beside him, the sight of the deep cut making your stomach churn. The Cloak hovers closer, as if wanting to assist but unsure how. Stephen takes the antiseptic from you, but you gently place your hand over his.

He nods, relinquishing the bottle.

You pour the antiseptic onto a cloth and carefully dab it on the wound. Stephen hisses, his muscles tensing under your touch. His skin is warm, the contours of his body highlighted in the soft light of the infirmary. You try to focus on the task at hand, but it’s hard not to notice how close you are, how vulnerable he seems.

“Sorry,” you whisper, your voice trembling.

He reaches out with his uninjured hand, gently tilting your chin up so you meet his eyes. “Y/N, it was an accident. I know you wouldn't mean to hurt me.”

You nod, feeling a bit more at ease with his reassurance. Carefully, you finish cleaning the wound and reach for the bandages. The Cloak, as if sensing your need, floats closer, offering the bandages to you from its folds.

As you wrap the bandage around his arm, you can’t help but ask, “Does it hurt a lot?”

“I’ve had worse. Much worse.”

You can’t help but smile at his attempt to lighten the mood. “Well, you’re lucky I didn’t turn you into a frog or something.”

Stephen laughs, the sound filling the small infirmary. “I think I'd rather handle a few cuts and bruises. But I appreciate the concern.”

“There. All done.” You finish wrapping the bandage and tie it off, your fingers lingering on his skin for a moment longer than necessary.

Stephen flexes his arm slightly, testing the bandage, “Now I have a new scar to show off. Women dig scars, right?”

“Well, it certainly adds to your mystique.” You laugh, the sound a bit shaky but genuine.

He chuckles, standing up and pulling you to your feet with his good arm, “Go get some rest and clear your mind. Don't wallow too much on this. Really, I'm fine.”

× × × ×

The days turn into weeks. You find yourself growing more confident in your abilities, but there are still moments where the fear and frustration overwhelm you. Stephen’s consistent support and guidance have been invaluable, and you've begun to see glimpses of what your powers could be if fully controlled. However, the road to mastery is far from smooth.

One afternoon, while practicing a particularly challenging spell, your powers spiral out of control. The room around you blurs as a surge of energy erupts from within, sending you flying across the room. You crash into a stone wall with a sickening thud, the impact knocking the wind out of you. Pain radiates from your shoulder as you realize it’s dislocated. Before you can even catch your breath, you hear a creaking sound above you and look up to see a massive pillar beginning to topple over.

Panic courses through you, but before you can react, a burst of golden light encases the pillar, stopping it mid-fall. You turn to see Stephen, his hands outstretched and eyes glowing with a focused intensity as he uses his magic to stabilize the structure.

“Are you okay?” he asks, his voice steady despite the obvious strain.

You nod, still dazed from the impact. “I... I think so,” you stammer, though the pain in your shoulder is excruciating.

He waves his hands, and the pillar rights itself, settling back into place with a groan of stone against stone. Only then does he turn his full attention to you, his expression softening as he kneels beside you.

“You scared the hell out of me,” he admits, “Let me see your shoulder.”

You wince as he gently examines it. “I think it’s dislocated,” you say through gritted teeth.

Stephen nods, his expression serious. “We need to fix this. It’s going to hurt, but I’ll make it as quick as possible.”

You brace yourself, biting your lip as he carefully but firmly maneuvers your shoulder back into place. A sharp, intense pain shoots through you, and you can’t help but cry out. But just as quickly as the pain flares, it begins to subside as Stephen’s magic soothes the injured area.

"Better?" he asks, his voice gentle.

You nod, tears of pain and relief streaming down your face. "Thank you," you whisper, leaning against him for support.

Stephen clenched his jaw when he suddenly felt his heart racing. He wraps his arms around you, holding you close. “You’re incredibly brave, you know that?”

You manage a small, shaky laugh. “I don’t feel very brave.”

He pulls back slightly to look into your eyes, his expression earnest. “You are. You’re facing your fears and pushing through the pain. That takes real courage.”

“I couldn’t do this without you, Stephen.” Tears well up in your eyes again, this time from gratitude and the overwhelming emotion of the moment, “Thank you.”

He smiles softly, brushing a tear from your cheek. “You’re not alone. We’ll get you there.”

After that grueling session, you collapse onto a sofa in the library, exhausted. It was worth every sweat though as you felt being more in control compared to when you first set foot in the Sanctum.

“Here, this will help,” Stephen joins you, handing you a cup of tea and sitting down beside you.

You take a sip, the warmth of the tea soothing your frayed nerves. “Thanks,” you murmur, glancing at him. “For everything.”

He smiles, his gaze warm. “It’s my pleasure.”

A comfortable silence settles between you, the flickering firelight casting soft shadows around the room. The warmth from the fire is a stark contrast to the chill in the air outside, and you pull a blanket tighter around yourself as you sip the tea Stephen prepared. The aroma of the tea mingles with the scent of old books and the faint trace of incense, creating an atmosphere that feels both intimate and soothing.

You find yourself drawn to Stephen, not just because of his wisdom and strength, but because of the kindness and patience he shows you every day. His presence has become a source of comfort, a steady anchor in the tumultuous sea of your emotions and powers. Yet, as the days pass, you've also become acutely aware of the growing attraction you have for him. Maybe because you never knew about this side of Stephen.

You glance at him out of the corner of your eye, admiring the way the firelight dances across his features, casting shadows that highlight the sharp angles of his face. There's a certain grace to the way he moves, even in the simplest of actions like turning the pages of a book or adjusting his cloak. You wonder if he's aware of how often your eyes linger on him, how your heart races whenever he looks at you with those piercing blue eyes.

Stephen breaks the silence, his voice low and gentle. “You've been making remarkable progress. You should be proud of yourself.”

You smile, feeling a warmth spread through your chest. “I couldn't have done it without you,” you admit, your gaze meeting his. “You've been my rock through all of this.”

He chuckles softly, the sound sending a pleasant shiver down your spine. “I'm just doing what any decent teacher would do.”

“No,” you say, shaking your head. “It's more than that. You've been patient and understanding, even when I wanted to give up.”

Stephen's eyes soften, and he reaches out, placing a hand over yours. The touch is light, but it sends a jolt of electricity through you.

“You have an incredible strength within you,” he says quietly. “Sometimes it just takes someone else to help you see it.”

Your breath catches in your throat, the intensity of his gaze making it hard to look away. You can feel the tension building between you, a magnetic pull that draws you closer. The room feels smaller, the air charged with unspoken emotions.

"Stephen," you begin, your voice barely above a whisper, "I... I don't know how to thank you for everything you've done."

He smiles, a tender expression that makes your heart skip a beat. "You don't need to thank me," he replies. "Seeing you grow and gain confidence is thanks enough."

The fire crackles, filling the silence that stretches between you. You can feel your pulse quicken, your mind racing with thoughts and emotions. You want to tell him how much he means to you, how his presence has become a source of light in your life. But the words stick in your throat, your nerves getting the better of you.

As if sensing your hesitation, Stephen moves closer, his hand still resting on yours. "It's okay," he murmurs. "You don't have to say anything."

You weren’t sure if you were hallucinating, but you felt him drawing closer to you, his breath heavy and hot. The space between you seemed to shrink with each passing second, your heart pounding louder in your ears. His eyes, intense and unwavering, locked onto yours, creating a magnetic pull that you couldn't resist.

Your mind raced with a whirlwind of emotions—anticipation, fear, desire—all blending into a heady mix that left you breathless. His presence was overwhelming, his scent intoxicating, and you felt an inexplicable connection that seemed to transcend the physical space.

Stephen’s hand brushed against yours, sending a jolt of electricity through your body. His touch was both gentle and commanding, grounding you in the moment. You could see the flicker of uncertainty in his eyes, mirroring your own. Despite the chaos surrounding you, this moment felt strangely right.

He leaned in, his lips just inches from yours, his breath warm against your skin. You could feel the tension building, the unspoken words hanging heavy in the air. The world seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of you in this suspended moment of longing and vulnerability.

Just as his lips were about to meet yours, the sound of footsteps echoed through the room. You both jumped apart, hearts racing, as Wong entered, his expression a mix of curiosity and amusement.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Wong said, raising an eyebrow. “But there’s an urgent matter that requires your attention, Strange.”

Stephen cleared his throat, taking a step back and running a hand through his hair, trying to regain his composure. “Of course, Wong. I’ll be right there.”

Wong nodded, glancing between the two of you with a knowing smile before leaving the room.

You exchanged a look with Stephen, the moment between you lingering in the air. He gave you a small, apologetic smile.

“We’ll continue this later,” he promised, his voice soft and filled with a mix of regret and hope.

You nodded, your heart still pounding. “I’ll hold you to that.”

As Stephen turned to follow Wong, you couldn’t help but feel a mixture of excitement and apprehension. The connection you felt with him was undeniable, and despite the interruption, you knew that this was just the beginning of something deeper and more profound.

The door closed behind Stephen and Wong, and the room was left in a charged silence. You could still feel the lingering warmth of his presence, the ghost of his touch on your skin. Your mind replayed the moment over and over, heart racing of anticipation.

You sighed and turned towards the window, trying to steady your breath as you watched the city lights twinkle below. The weight of what had just happened, what almost happened, settled over you like a warm blanket. It was exhilarating and terrifying all at once.

A few moments later, you decided to distract yourself by focusing on your training. You knew Stephen would handle whatever urgent matter Wong had brought to his attention, but you needed to regain your composure. The Sanctum's library was quiet and filled with ancient texts and artifacts, a perfect place to lose yourself in study.

You selected a tome on elemental magic, hoping the intricate spells would keep your mind occupied. As you read, the words began to blur, your thoughts drifting back to Stephen. His intense gaze, the way his touch had sent shivers down your spine, and the unspoken promise in his eyes.

Suddenly, a soft knock on the door brought you back to reality. You looked up to see Stephen standing there, his expression a mix of determination and something else—something softer.

“Hey,” he said, stepping into the room. “Sorry about earlier. Wong has impeccable timing, as usual.”

You chuckled, setting the book aside. “It's okay. I understand. Is everything alright?”

He nodded, taking a seat beside you. “Yes, just some minor mystical disturbance. Nothing we couldn't handle.”

A comfortable silence settled between you again, but this time it was tinged with a palpable tension. You could feel the unresolved moment hanging in the air, drawing you closer together. Stephen reached out, taking your hand in his. His touch was warm, reassuring.

“I meant what I said,” he began softly, his eyes locking onto yours. “About continuing this later. I don't want to rush things, but I also don't want to ignore what's happening between us.”

Your heart skipped a beat, his words sending a rush of warmth through you. “I feel the same way, Stephen. It’s actually, kind of. . . really hard to ignore. . .”

Stephen stood and offered you his hand. “Come with me. There's something I want to show you.”

Curious, you took his hand and followed him through the winding corridors of the Sanctum. He led you to a secluded terrace, the city spread out below like a sea of stars. The cool night air was refreshing, and the view was breathtaking.

“This is my favorite spot,” he said, leaning against the railing. “It's where I come to think, to clear my mind.”

You joined him, the two of you standing side by side, looking out over the city. “It's beautiful,” you whispered.

He turned to you, his eyes filled with a mix of emotions. “You make it even more beautiful,” he said softly.

Before you can respond, he leans in, capturing your lips in a searing kiss. The world around you seems to vanish as his lips move against yours, firm yet tender, igniting a fire within you. You respond eagerly, your hands sliding up to tangle in his hair, pulling him closer.

The kiss deepens, growing more urgent and intense. Stephen's arms wrap around your waist, drawing you flush against him, his body warm and solid against yours. You can feel the heat radiating off him, mingling with the crackling energy of your powers, which glow softly around you both, bathing you in a crimson light.

His lips part slightly, and you take the opportunity to explore his mouth with your tongue, eliciting a low groan from him that sends a shiver down your spine. Stephen's hands roam your back, his touch firm and possessive, as if he never wants to let you go. Every touch, every movement sends waves of desire coursing through you.

You press closer, the feeling of his body against yours heightening your senses. His hand slides up to the back of your neck, his fingers threading through your hair, pulling you even deeper into the kiss. The intensity builds, and you feel as though you might melt from the heat of it all.

Breaking the kiss for a moment, Stephen's lips trail down your jawline, planting soft, lingering kisses along the way. You tilt your head back, giving him better access, and he takes full advantage, his mouth finding the sensitive spot just below your ear. His warm breath against your skin sends a thrill through you, and you can't help but moan softly

“Stephen,” you whisper, your voice breathless and filled with longing.

He pulls back slightly, his eyes dark with desire as he gazes at you. “Y/N, I need you,” he says, his voice rough with emotion.

Without another word, you pull him back to you, your lips crashing together in a passionate kiss. You pour all your pent-up emotions into it, the fear, the longing, the love. When you kiss Stephen, the energy around you seems to respond to your emotions, wrapping around the two of you in a protective cocoon of light. His hands grip your waist, and you feel the familiar surge of your powers, the crimson The light shimmers and sparkles, creating a captivating dance of colors that is reflecting the intensity of your connection.

Breathless and flushed, you finally pull away, resting your forehead against his. His eyes, dark and filled with emotion, hold your gaze, and you see your reflection in them, your powers glowing softly around you both.

“I'm so happy you came to me,” Stephen whispers, his voice low and sincere, “And now that I have you, I never want to let you go.”

You smile, feeling a warm sense of certainty. “You don't have to, l'm yours.”

He kisses you again, this time with a gentleness that speaks volumes. It's a promise of unwavering support and love. The crimson energy around you pulses gently, a testament to your newfound control and the harmony between your powers and your emotions.

As you stand there, wrapped in each other’s embrace, you realize that this is just the beginning. With Stephen’s guidance and your own growing confidence, you’re ready to face whatever challenges lie ahead.

The night air is cool, but the warmth between you keeps the chill at bay. You lean into Stephen, your heart steady and sure. With him by your side, you know you can handle anything the future holds.

Stephen pulls back slightly, a mischievous glint in his eye. “You know,” he says with a smirk, “if you wanted to spend more time together, you could have just asked instead of throwing books around.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Oh, so now my out-of-control powers are just an excuse to see you more?”

He raises an eyebrow, still smirking. “I wouldn't put it past you.”

“Well, maybe next time I'll aim for the kitchen. Then at least we can have snacks while we train.” You roll your eyes playfully.

Stephen chuckles, pulling you closer. “Deal. But only if you promise to keep the chaos to a minimum.”

“I'll try,” you say, grinning. “But no promises.”

He smiles, his eyes softening. “That's good enough for me.”

Together, you step back into the Sanctum, ready to embrace the future and the challenges it brings, knowing that with each other, you are unstoppable.

As you walk through the grand halls, Stephen's hand remains firmly in yours, a silent promise of support and partnership.

“So,” Stephen begins, glancing sideways at you with a sly smile, “what's the next item on our agenda? More power control exercises or should we finally tackle the mystery of the enchanted teapot?”

You laugh, the sound echoing softly in the spacious hallway. “I think the teapot can wait. Besides, I’m pretty sure it's been spying on us for weeks.”

“That would explain a lot. It's always the quiet ones you have to watch out for.” Stephen chuckles.

You squeeze his hand, feeling a sense of normalcy and contentment that you haven’t felt in a long time. “You know, this whole training thing isn’t so bad when you have good company.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Good company, huh? I suppose I should take that as a compliment.”

“Don’t let it go to your head, Doctor,” you tease, nudging him playfully with your shoulder. “But seriously, thank you. For everything.”

Stephen stops walking and turns to face you, his expression sincere. “You don’t have to thank me. I’m just glad I could help. You’ve shown incredible strength and courage, Y/N. And I’m honored to be part of your journey.”

A warmth spreads through you at his words, and you lean in to kiss him softly. “Well, you’re stuck with me now, Sorcerer Supreme. Hope you’re ready for that.”

He grins, a boyish charm lighting up his features. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

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lynnlovesthestars · 8 months

Text

"Let me show you how this will benefit you".

For @ask-althaearoserun ❤

Pairing: Gortash x fem!OC (Althaea).

Genre: smut.

Warnings: dub-con (kinda since there's coercion), unprotected sex, fingering, oral fem! recieving, possessive Enver, improper use of throne and throne room, edging, orgasm denial, improper use of golden gauntlet, creampie, slight dumb-fucking, rough sex overrall.. if i missed anything let me know. author regrets nothing. Kind of semi-public sex. Slight power-play, implied ownership. spoiler for act 3.

Synopsis: He's got a proposal she can't refuse.

WC: 4.7k

AN: hello, it took me a while to get through this piece for Skull but a month later i finallydelivered it. With her consent I'm posting it- since her OC is out protag tonight-. Nevertheless let me know what you think, lots of love, lynn.

Wyrm's Rock was obnoxiously calm as they reached the bridge that allowed them into the fortress.

"Lord Gortash is expecting you, please make your way to the audience chamber." The steel watch repeated and repeated until they had stepped past the doors of the audience hall. They were surprised that they’d let them in so easily, yet they obliged seen their insistence without questioning too much the new rules of the fortress.

The audience hall was packed with royalty and steel watchers as Gortash was idly eyeing the door, awaiting for the last invited guests.

Them.

Enver had insisted on having them attend, not only to let them know who they were going against and the power he held, but also because he had heard so much about Althaea. He couldn’t pass up the opportunity to meet the infamous slayer that took down Ketheric, though his first glance at her left him genuinely confused: he knew he could have her wrapped around his gauntlet before even getting to speak with her and her companions.

She was small, clearly a nuisance, compared to him and his grandiose presence in the room; in a normal setting, she would have passed unnoticed, but in the middle of royalty, she stood out.

Nevertheless, his focus was on the ceremony- though Karlach and her troupe didn't agree. The tiefling was furiously throttling towards him, seething and burning. He knew that the steel watch would not have been enough against her, and that it would have sent the wrong message to the masses present at the ceremony,

“A moment please, my friends- an old acquaintance has come to pay her respects." He mused as he took a step forward, descending the stairs. "Please, Karlach, come say a proper hello.” He said with a smile painted full of faux friendliness. His voice was clearly sweetened for the audience they had as he stepped towards her himself.

“My respects? You are lucky I’ve agreed to not shove my boot up your-” Karlach roared before he interrupted her with distaste.

“Ah how I missed your colorful turn of phrase.” He twirled his hand dismissively. “We must catch up as soon as I’ve had words with your little friend.” He uncaringly ignored the tiefling and glanced towards Althaea with dark eyes, clearly hiding something behind them.

“As for you, I shall congratulate.” He gave her a small bow of his head. “Thorn’s defeat has not passed unnoticed; shall I say thanks to that Netherstone you carry and for your astonishing fighting abilities”. He said with his honeyed voice. “Pleasure to meet you” He gave her a small bow with her head, politeness first, persuasion later.

He had wondered how she’d rudely introduce herself, telling him to fuck off or hells knows what, yet the moment she opened her pretty mouth, she sounded anything like the gruesome descriptions of her persona he had heard.

“The pleasure’s all mine, Lord Gortash.” She put up her best smile, concealing her mild disgust at the closeness with him. She could feel the bile forming in the back of her mouth already.

“I believe we have something rather important to discuss.” He pressed his hands together and cracked his fingers, readying for the extenuating and boring conversation they were going to have. “Indeed” She nodded, looking at his movements in case he’d rush a movement.

The conversation went on between Gortash trying to gauge how much they had known and Althaea respectfully grunting and nodding as he went on and on.

It felt for her as if he was trying to stroke her mind as he spoke, keeping her in the loop of the conversation yet leaving behind chunks of information he didn't want to reveal yet.

It was only at the end that he finally seemed to take a step closer to his objective, finally poking at their only protection against the absolute.

“That prism of yours won’t last indefinitely.” He said sternly while he crossed his arms apprehensively. “Next there's the grand design. Though I suppose that if we come to an agreement, this fate can be avoided.” He concluded in a smirk.

“What do you suggest?” She quickly ignored the emperor in her head as she replied with a shake of her head yet standing tall and confident in front of him, not allowing him to believe he had the upper hand against them. Enver seemed entertained by her stance, so insignificant yet so annoying in the bigger picture of his plan. He had two choices: either squish the fly or get the fly on his side, and he was a mastermind at the end of the day.

“Well, the brain won’t respond to new commands as soon as it is done with its current ones. Then it will be free to do as it wishes, and that would be rather unpleasant.” He pointed arch and clever. “And once it’s freed I doubt we’ll ever be able to bring it under control again.” He smacked his lips together as he threw a glance at Althaea- that was now at the center of everyone's attention.

“I still don’t see where you are going” She lied, seeing behind his mask of politeness. He wanted something. He had that look in his eyes that reminded her of how her father would look at her before he'd try to make a move to overpower her, and she wanted to throw up right there and then. Yet she knew she had to do this: for the sake of her friends, for the sake of the city, and possibly for the sake of the whole coast.

It was almost as if his words were calculated, trying to catch her in like a spiderweb set up for the next victim, and his sweet- almost sincere words, where the honey he bet would get her to agree. As if admitting having made a poor alliance would have somewhat fixed all that there was wrong with the situation.

“They say a brittle alliance can never be mended; it is bound to break.” He intoned as if he had rehearsed those words countless times. “Orin is unreliable, and with Ketheric gone, she will want the stone for herself” He simply explained axiomatic. “She only cares for blood, and mine and yours are positively delectable right now.” There was the threat.

Orin.

He would betray her if he needed- and he hoped the merry troupe would agree. He was the better way anyway. Giving Orin all that power would have created devastation and unleashing the brain would waste all this gracious power he was about to grasp at.

No one was fitter to sit ahead of Baldur's Gate like the adept of Bane.

Nevertheless, Althaea didn't budge. If he wanted something he had to say it out loud, in front of everyone in the room. “I suppose you are right, but I still don’t see what you are trying to say” She huffed.

“I can’t let that happen, I don’t want to destroy this city, I want to steer it to its glory." He trailed off with another of his sly smiles. “I have a proposition for you” He finally advanced, looking at Althaea first before addressing the rest of the party.

“A divine oath, sworn and unbreakable. I shall do no harm to you, nor you to me." He propositioned. "You'll slay Oring and with all three of the Netherstones we’ll rule Faerun as kings.” He spelled each of his last words as if they were the best promise he had for them, a vision of success and glory that everyone would run for. “No more than kings- gods. We'll rule as the absolute.” He hyped himself with his own words, as the taste of power already floated in his reach for him to snatch.

“The only absolute here is my no.” She said firmly trying to ignore the same feeling he had, the need for power.

His eyes muted, as if he had a new challenge to accomplish, he had set his mind on. “Oh dear, I didn’t know I had to convince you.” He lowered his voice, while his eyes stared daring. “I shall do so once we are done with the ceremony then.” He dismissed them just as quickly as he had with Ketheric before he left him to his demise.

The ceremony was painfully boring as all the honors had to be made, introducing the most relevant figures in the room and witnessing the tadpoled Duke proclaim Gortash archduke. Althaea could swear even her tadpole was squirming in boredom as the time went on, but there was something about Gortash as he politely entertained the crowd that made her cheeks grow warmer. He'd occasionally made sure to take glances her way, not even attempting to conceal them as the event formally came to an end and their debate resumed.

It had been a long and extenuating conversation up to that moment, the more Althaea and Enver would bicker, the more the room would feel warm, and with Karlach's occasional comments, the tension was over the top.

The two were figuratively at each other’s throat. It was a battle of wit, and whether Althaea would end up accepting it or not was up to Enver’s skills.

She couldn’t deny the allure of the man, and she knew it was better to stay on his good side rather than his bad side.

“This won’t end well, mark my words” Karlach remarked with a scoff while Enver had to fight the urge to roll his eyes.

“I understand your concerns, my old friend, but allow me to demonstrate why you made the right choice.” He purred again, as if he had not tried to reason with them already. He couldn't help but notice Althaea's reaction, her frame shivering when he lowered his voice at last. “You should focus on finding the impostor in your camp” He dismissed Karlach with the useless information of the vanished druid as his eyes fell on Althaea again, already undressing her with his eyes.

"Let me show you how you'll benefit from this deal" He stepped closer to Althaea, making sure his words were low enough to caress her skin only.

She could even smell his thoughts as they floated in the room, between them, just like the polite dislike she felt towards him, inviting her brain to stir towards the thought of being bent over the throne, her legs spread for Gortash as he rolled his hips.

If his point was to get her aroused, he was doing way too good for her wellbeing.

“Let them out” Enver leaned forward and ordered with a whisper that was so rough she could have mistaken him for a rabid animal. A long shiver ran down her spine as she obliged.

It took her a moment to convince them it was safe, that she was going to be okay, and he was not going to hurt her, his mind had said so, his body had said so, and she knew he had better intentions than murdering her right there, or so she hoped.

“Where were we?” He asked, smiling as soon as everyone stepped out and the doors closed behind her.

“The benefits from the deal.” She raises an inquisitive eyebrow at him, wondering where he was going with his words and his behavior. She could tell he had other plans that didn't involve much talking and she hated that she wanted to find out what those plans were.

“Ah yes” He circled around her as if she was his prey and he was about to devour her, the tip of his gauntlet traced her jawline, gently tilting her head as if he wanted her to follow his gaze. “The benefits” He hummed as he was again in his original place. “Follow me, dear.” He offered his hand like a gentleman for her to take. “Let’s take a seat.”

She was dizzy by his words as she accepted his hand and followed him promptly, still trying to keep her composure as they had to come to some sort of compromise. She had to keep up the polite mask, ask for the right things and leave.

When they came close to the red lined throne, she was quick to catch up eased when Enver roughly gripped her hips and sat her in his lap, as if she was his pretty toy for everyone to see as he sat there regal.

She tried to keep her composure even though she could feel her wetness starting to seep through her now soaked panties, not too far from Enver’s thigh. “So, the benefits?” She smiled expectantly as she tried to ignore the redness of her cheeks.

“Well, let's start with a special seat for you, dear.” He purred as he hooked his arm under her legs to properly seat her in his lap, her legs dangling off one side of the golden throne, where she knew she could admire the hall in its whole beauty. She hummed as she didn't dare to look around yet.

“Don’t you like the view?” He teased as he guided her head towards the entrance to the room, from where she could see every corner of the hall. He made a particular effort in being delicate as she manhandled her, making sure she couldn't miss a chair even if she tried to look away again.

Earlier she didn't notice the tapestries hung on the high walls, setting the scene for the countless events that were held there.

“It’s pretty, but it’s not enough” She shrugged faking disinterest.

“Isn’t it?” He asked curiously as rested his gauntleted hand on her thigh deliberately. The cold gold almost stung against her warm skin as it inched way too close to her pussy. She had to focus on the deal and get out of there, she thought, she had to sort this out and leave.

“How about this?” He purred as his index finger made its way towards her soaked underwear, running a finger over her clothed heat. He let out a rough hum as his fingertips drenched just as quickly as she refused again.

“Not enough, sorry” She pushed her legs closed and tight, as the blush on her cheeks made her even more appealing at Enver's eyes.

He didn't retreat as he brushed the tips of the gauntlet on her tight, still reminding her where she was sitting and how sensitive she was to his touch. “You don’t have to be afraid of me.” He whispered as he made sure his lips brushed against her ear.

It didn't take much for her to smell the pungent scent of cheap cologne and sweat, quickly taking over all her senses.

One arm of his quickly wrapped around her middle, supporting her back as his slender fingers quickly spread her legs and moved her underwear to the side before diving ring-deep into her folds.

He let out a low, dark groan as her pussy clenched around his index finger the second it slid in. She was so wet for him, and he was so eager to see her crumble in his arms. The shallow whine she indulged in sounded like poetry to the man.

His thumb took its time to find her clit, gently teasing her sensitive nub. His skilled movements were leaving her breathless as she had to keep herself from moaning his name out loud whenever the pad of his finger would bring her so close.

“I suppose this is a good reason then?” He vexed her teasingly as he stopped on his tracks, waiting for her reply eagerly.

She was leaning against him just enough so she wouldn't lose balance as she gasped. Her body was still taught as if on the verge of a cliff awaiting to be pushed off, yet she was kept there, tense.

She shook her head no, the smallest hint of sanity left in her had pushed, reminding her that she couldn't give it all up for an orgasm, right?

“Ah, pity” He huffed as he quickly slid out his fingers, uncaring if it would stimulate her too much, leaving her gasping and empty, though still in his lap. She almost begged him to not retreat, the newfound need was already enough in her eyes for him to grasp at as he tsked.

"Need further reasons?" He asked wickedly as he undressed her with his eyes. He could already imagine how her shirt would tie nicely around her wrists as he pinned her down and he made sure she could feel his thought deep down her bones.

His eyes wouldn’t leave hers for a second, whenever she tried to look away, he’d gently grasp at her chin and bring her attention to him again. She could feel her body heating ever more under his skillful touch as he couldn't help himself but to feel her again, basking in the moment he allowed another finger to enter her, and he stole a soft mewl from her lips.

This time he was quick, hurried, abrupt as his fingers plunged and grasped at her breath, and just as quick he took his fingers away from her cunt, leaving her just at the cusp of her orgasm again.

“Please-” She let out as she begged to come, she could feel her orgasm so close, yet so far, just a few pumps away, although those ended up being denied to her.

“I apologize, I suppose that’s part of the deal, if you’ll accept of course” He whispered before he languidly brought his fingers in his mouth. He was so undeniably sexy, looking at her from under his dark lashes as he sucked her juices off his pads, the wet sound of his lips swallowing her was sending Althaea over the edge. “Ah how I wished you had agreed.” He sighed as he made sure he'd lick each finger clean. “I would have been delighted to taste this lovely juice directly from the source.”

She swore her eyes rolled at the back of her head just at the thought of his tongue taking a fat lick down her pussy, drenching his stubble with her wetness, and the way he had been swirling it along his fingers looked like a promise she might have been desperate enough to accept.

“Unless you need more, of course.” He noted sultry as he made no effort hiding what he was alluding to.

She hesitated. She wanted to reason, to ask what the accord would have stipulated, yet all she could focus on was the ache between her thighs and the need to be filled before she’d miss the chance.

She nodded as she gripped the edge of her skirt with a blush she couldn’t hide. He hummed satisfied as he quickly secured his arms around her, holstering her frail body and setting her down on the flush throne.

Quickly and uncaring he tore her panties away from her skin, and spread her pretty legs, revealing her sopping pussy to him.

He fell to his knees brazenly, bringing his face close to her heat, humming at the sight of her wetness dripping onto the chair.

His hot breath hitting her naked and dripping core right before his plump lips met with her cunt in a lazy lick, collecting her arousal on his tongue. A filthy growl escaped his lips as he dived between her legs, dedicating his attention to her needy clit, having her whole body shake under his tongue as pleasure overtook her senses completely.

No one ever remotely made her squirm with their tongue the way Enver was doing just about now as he traced figures eight on her swollen bud, her legs shaking as he guided them around his neck, resting them on his back and being totally engulfed face first in her pussy.

His finger soon joined, swiftly plunging into her core with ease. It was like she was losing control of her own body as he pumped his digit in her, hitting right where she needed it as his tongue eagerly swirled and licked her like a hungry and desperate man sitting in front of his last meal, devouring and dipping in her folds like a madman.

Althaea could barely keep her mouth shut as she wailed his name like a forbidden grace as a second finger slid in, his low moans reverberated through her as she sucked him in, clenching around his digits hungry for more, hungry for him.

He licked her, kissed her, savored her, every centimeter of her throbbing warm pussy getting him high off her, the most euphoric he’s ever been.

He pumped his fingers in her cunt insatiably as she could feel it build up, the familiar knot as her muscles tensed up, feeling the heat rise and her legs shake. Then when she finally could taste her orgasm on the tip of her tongue, he stopped again.

He looked at her almost feigning innocence as he cleaned his drenched stubble with his fingertips. He popped each one his mouth again, before sitting up and leaning forward in front of her.

She looked and felt so small under him as he towered menacingly above her, and even more when she noticed his erection aggressively pressing against his trousers.

He couldn’t help but laugh at her wide eyes, stealing a scoff from her. She turned away, her cheeks already bright crimson from the heat coming from her own body, the embarrassment just doubled up on her.

“ ‘suppose you like what you see?” He tantalized as he grasped at her chin, and harshly turned her head towards him.

She nodded a bit dazed from the fast movement as she was still slouched on the throne, legs wide open for him; before they could both line more words, he was on her again.

His lips trailed down her neck, peppering her skin with sloppy open-mouthed kisses as he mumbled praises against the hot flesh he was ready to devour. His body pressed heatedly against hers, his fingers hungrily digging in her skin as he earned a guttural moan from her.

“Accept and all of this will be yours” He rasped as he pressed his clothed hard cock against her cunt, grinding just enough to tease her and ease a bit his erection.

She knew what she was about to bargain with, yet her senses were taken over by her thirst, desperate for release. “Make me come and I’ll accept.” She purred as she bit her lip, almost drawing blood as eager as she was.

He tilted his head, still holding tight to her chin as he considered her offer. “Don’t know” He shook his head, not breaking eye contact with her. Though she was completely disheveled- half naked and slouching, she still didn’t lose her confidence. He liked it, she was breathtaking.

She was bold in her movements as he pushed away his hand from her chin and grabbed the collar of his button up. “Shut up and kiss me already.” She pulled him down as she sat up, making him space on the throne again and making sure she was straddling him comfortably.

Her legs perfectly draped over his lap as she pressed her warmth against his cock. She relentlessly held to his collar as their lips collided in a rough kiss.

His coarse lips felt scorching against her sweetness, taking over her senses with the aggressive and pungent taste of cheap wine and sweat. The second she tasted it, she knew she was not going to be able to give it up for anything.

He didn't get undressed, nor did he undress her more than her panties that were already missing, he simply quickly untied his pants and freed his cock. He was strong and the way he was holding her and guiding her on top of his cock was proof of it- just making Althaea more eager to be filled.

The cold of the golden gauntlet was just the tip of the iceberg as her body was so eager and close already. He had tortured enough, yet the way he pulled her up to have better access to her pussy, made her even hornier than before.

He was quick in sinking into her cunt, loudly and rough as he manhandled her effortlessly. “So tight, doll” He grunted as he dug his fingers in her soft flesh, stealing a strangled moan from Althaea’s loose lips.

She was lucky the chatter from outside was loud enough cause, if that was what he could coax out of her with one blunt thrust, she didn’t dare to imagine how she’d keep her lewd sounds unheard.

She stretched so nicely around him as he filled her to the brim, he didn’t wait for her to adjust before he’d start moving.

He did a good job hiding it until then, but he was dying to fuck her senseless. Looking at her tossing her head back and moaning his name sent a rush of adrenaline down his body to his cock as he mercilessly slammed into her.

One hand quickly snuck under her shirt, sloppily grabbing her breast and teasing her nipple as he could feel her already inching closer to her first orgasm.

The way she rode him drove him insane, unable to form sentences from time to time while the only thing he could do was use his hands to guide her, gripping her ass and helping her to keep some speed as she choked on her words.

All that could be heard was the sound of ragged breath and skin slapping as she tried to meet his speed. He had her wrapped around his cock so consumed as his movements did nothing but make her mewl and sub for him.

She didn’t have the power to question how he did it, but his hips met with her in such an electrifying way as he rolled deep in her.

With one deep thrust he had her eyes rolled back as he rammed her and fucked her till exhaustion.

“You’re mine” He rasped as the words mindlessly fell over his lips with a possessiveness neither expected. “You understand?” He demanded as he suddenly slowed down, his thrusts hitting deeper, till that sweet spot that made her toes curl and her stomach flutter.

Y-Yes” She mewled as his nails once more found her hips, pulled her down and closer to him

“Say it” He ordered as he deliberately let go of her hips, allowing gravity to harshly let her collide with him. “Who do you belong to?” He grabbed at her chin and guided her face towards his.

Her eyes were dilated, her mouth slack as she fucked herself on his cock desperately. “Yours” She wailed as her hips twitched frantically.

“Say my name, doll” He rasped as he could feel her cunt ready to milk him as he waited for her reply.

“I-I” She moaned as she could feel her orgasm pull over her. “B-belong” His hands gripped at her hips again, helping her come as he met her movements. “E-enver” She croaked and sobbed as she could barely hold on to herself anymore, the pleasure rippled under her skin uncontrollably, like a tidal wave pulling her in and out as she gushed over his cock.

His lips hungrily met with hers again as she sobbed a moan against them, his movements were sloppy just like his kiss as he let his own intense, reckless, arrogant orgasm was over him.

He carelessly came into her cunt, enjoying the view of his cum filling her to the brim and spilling on her legs. His words were a faint buzzing as she could barely feel her spine and leaned against him, yet she didn’t care anymore.

She had already fucked up when she accepted and there was no way back.

No way back from being fucked silly on a throne.

Just an handful of minutes later she was standing next to her companions, the closest she could get to presentable as his cum dribbled down her thighs as she sealed her deal with Enver, that smirked at her.

“I, lord Enver Gortash, in the name of Bane, swear I shall do you no harm, and we will rise together over Toril as a roaring sun” He smiled boldly at her, as he offered her his hand, waiting just for her to take it.

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bongo-clash · 2 years

Text

Peacock Au Part 3

(Part One & Two here!!!)

Continuation of the Eldritch Danny DPxDC fic!!!! This is Kind Of the final chapter but Bones has also been making my brain go So Wild with other ideas so!!! Big chance they'll be more parts at some point (probably after Ectober week if I do!!)

Either Way Here It Is

(Fic under cut!!) (+ Part 4 Here)

Constantine makes the executive decision not to explain anything to Batman until the other League members are gathered in the watchtower meeting room. Maybe not his best choice, evidenced for the most part by the seething glare the vigilante is shooting him from his place at the head of the table, but still, John really doesn’t want to have to talk about this any more than he has to. It’s already going to be a pain in his side as is.

It doesn’t take long for the rest to appear through the zeta tubes. Superman and Wonder Woman predictably arriving first of the lot, followed by Zatanna, the Flash, and then Green Lantern. Once they’re all settled and he figures this is all the people that’ll be showing up today, he deigns to begin speaking. He might’ve appreciated a bit of a higher attendance rate, but he’ll take it.

“Alright, you lot,” He starts, just as the Green Lantern opens his mouth, likely to ask what this whole meeting is for. “I believe we’ve got a little bit of a situation on our hands.”

“Situation how, Constantine.” Batman asks, eyes narrowed behind the cowl, the furthest thing from a question.

Constantine sighs deeply, fingers fidgeting in his coat pocket for a cigarette even if he knows he can’t smoke in the watchtower (maybe he could just hold one…). In lieu of looking the man in the face, however, he addresses everyone else in the room. “Well, see, the Bat here had a Pit forming in his territory, and he decided it’d be a bloody brilliant idea to call me for help instead of literally anyone else. The good news is the Pit’s gone. The bad news is I’m pretty sure the thing that got rid of it is worse.”

A few of them make faces, since if Constantine’s involved then this is definitely a magic problem, and none of them are fans of magic problems- Superman looks like he’s trying not to twitch. “Can you describe it?”

“Not properly, no. Big, bright, bit of a space theme going on? Had these horrible things on them, kept changing between eyes and mouths and hands- used those to reach out and get rid of the Lazarus Pit, ‘far as I could see. They knew I was doing it for the Big Bat even though I never said a word about it, and from what I understand, they wanted a favour for sorting it out. I don’t know what they want it for.”

Batman’s face is unreadable, but there’s a scrutiny there that permeates the air around him. “So you discovered the existence of a powerful, unknown entity, and not only did you deign to summon it into our world, but you then proceeded to make a deal with it as well, completely unaware of the potential consequences.”

“In my defence,” Constantine retorts. “This is entirely your fault for getting me involved. I’ve no clue why you thought coming to me was a solid plan in the first place.”

There’s a storm brewing beneath that bat mask, but Wonder Woman intercepts before it can descend into a full-blown argument. “Now is no time to be assigning blame, we need a plan. Do you know of any way we can attain more information on this being, Constantine?”

“Not the foggiest,” He replies simply. “The only thing the book said was that it could help with the Pits. When I asked the damn thing what it was, it just gave me a riddle and, quite frankly, I wasn’t going to push it. So unless Zatanna has anything, I’ve got nothing.”

The whole table turns to look at Zatanna. She has a contemplative look on her face, pausing for the moment presumably to run through the information in her head. “Well, there’s a lot of entities around whose existences centre on keeping the balance between realms or concepts, but this is the first I’ve heard about anything like this. The closest thing I could think of is maybe Pariah Dark, since he’s known to have a connection to the Lazarus Pits, but he’s been out of commission for centuries now, and he’s never been depicted at all the way you described…”

“…And I know for a fact that his summoning ritual requires a blood sacrifice, and this thing didn’t want blood.” Constantine finishes.

Zatanna makes a sour face, seeming to understand his implications, and the remaining non-magic members of the JL look appropriately disturbed. He thinks the worst thing about it for them is probably that there’s no real way to plan this out. They’ve got no power list, no strengths, no weaknesses, they don’t even really know what the entity is beyond its relation to the Lazarus Pits and even that’s an area of questionability, because the Pits are damn confusing on their own. If this thing shows up on them now, they’re screwed.

And just as the thought crosses his mind, there’s a tangible shift in the watchtower atmosphere, like the air’s thinning and closing in on itself at the same time. He looks at Zatanna with matching confusion, praying to gods he’s never met and that don’t like him that he hasn’t just managed to jinx himself in the worst way possible.

“Do you feel that?” He says, and it doesn’t look like it’s only the other magic user in the room that does, because a fair few of the remaining League are pulling expressions Constantine really doesn’t like. Please, please say he hasn’t jinxed himself.

There’s a sound like whale song and whistling as something comes up through the floor, and there’s not enough languages on Earth or beyond to encapsulate how many swears John wants to say right now.

But it’s not the entity.

Or at least, it doesn’t look like the entity, even if it certainly feels like it. It kind of looks like a teenager, of all the awful things. They have flare-white hair, bright, sheepish green eyes, and they’re wearing what Constantine thinks is a hazmat suit but doesn’t know enough about hazardous material protection to say for certain. No alarms going off, no doors opening or shutting, no signals at all; just a weird breeze, and the few seconds of warning that gives before the being appeared. That’s worrying. The way the League doesn’t even say anything is more so.

“Hi,” They start, after what feels like an eternity of silence, and oh boy, they really do sound about twelve. Constantine doesn’t know how to deal with children, let alone ones that can just phase into the most secure superhero base in Earth’s orbit. This is awful. “Okay, so, I feel like we got off on the wrong foot yesterday, so I just wanted to, y’know, rectify my first impression? Uh, sorry if I came across sort of… weird.”

Everyone looks at the glowing kid. Everyone looks at each other. No one knows what to say. Flash decides to be the one to break the silence with a cough. “That’s great, kid! Uh… who are you, though?”

“Oh!” They startle. “Right. Me and Constantine met yesterday- I think I kind of scared him? It was by accident, though, I promise! I’d just had a long day, y’know? I didn’t know I was gonna get summoned and I wasn’t thinking so everything just kind of happened.”

No way.

No. No way in Hell.

“You are not that thing I summoned yesterday.”

And he knows, he knows entities like that tend to have forms more palatable for mortal eyes, but after seeing that yesterday, his brain just cannot for the life of it connect it to this. This child floating mid-air in a base he shouldn’t be able to access, with big huge earnest eyes and a painfully youthful face. One that seems to have reached a realisation.

“Ah,” He says, smile just a little bit wry. “Fair enough, I did look kinda different then. Just- here, this should look a little more familiar?”

It’s not a full shift. He doesn’t contort into the same mind-searing thing that Constantine had had to bear yesterday- but his eyes scatter into neon spots across his face, nose and mouth left intact, the neck of his jumpsuit folds into the creases of an open eye, and those peacock-membrane-whatevers fall into fruition on his back, drifting like a cape or like spines. And just to top it all off, there’s a dinky little crown floating above his head, decorated with icicles and whispers of mist.

It’s not a full shift, but Constantine’s never going to forget those damn cosmic peacock feathers. No mistaking it: that’s the entity. Forget yesterday, this is the worst day of his life.

“What the Hell is happening right now.” Green Lantern flatlines, face dulled into non-understanding. Constantine thinks he feels the same way but worse.

He takes a deep, cleansing breath, and tries not to scream. “You’re the one who sorted the Pit problem out?”

“Uh, yep, that’s me.”

“Okay, great! Fantastic. Can you tell me what the Hell that whole deal was?”

What’s left of the maybe teenager’s face drops somewhat, and a gloved hand reaches up to rub at the back of what’s left of his neck. “Ha, right, yeah sorry.” He mumbles, and Constantine kind of feels bad, but he’s also still kind of suffering from the adrenaline high of meeting the guy yesterday, so he guesses they’re even now.

“So, I mean, I don’t usually look like that? It is my true form or whatever, but I’m not really… I don’t hang about in it too often. Gives people the heebie jeebies, y’know? I don’t want to scare people out of nowhere, especially not for a first meeting! But I was about to go to sleep last night when you summoned me, and I wanted to shift my form a little just to be more formal about the whole thing, but I guess I let the whole thing go by accident, and I didn’t realise at all until I got home. And if I was in that form by accident- I usually go with ghostspeak during summonings ‘cause it’s easier in that way and there’s usually translation sigils embedded in the circle- but if I was in that form by accident, then I was probably using a different dialect to the one I thought I was, so if I sounded kind of off, then that’s why. Again, really sorry about that. This was totally not how I wanted my first impression with the Justice League to go. You’re all really cool, y’know? I wanted to get off on the right foot and not the ‘let’s fight each other’ foot.”

Constantine blinks, opens his mouth, closes his mouth, and then blinks again. He’s sure there’s a reasonable response to this that can be expressed in a sentence somewhere, but right now he’s too enamoured with how utterly absurd this is. He genuinely, honestly does not know what’s worse: that this kid can turn into that, or that he can turn into that and it’s so natural he doesn’t even notice.

Still, as consistent as the sun sets, Batman’s the first one to break the stupor, interjecting with narrowed eyes. “How do we know you’re not a threat to us? We don’t even know who you are.”

“Uh,” The kid splutters. “I didn’t introduce myself. My name’s Danny.”

“Danny.” Batman replies flatly.

“It’s a nice name!” Danny, apparently, defends, looking about as stupefied as someone can without eyes on their face. The dinky little crown drifts after him when he moves his head. “And, um, I don’t know how to prove I’m not a threat? I mean, I closed up that Lazarus Pit for you, if that counts as being helpful in a non-threatening way?”

If anything, Constantine would think that makes someone more threatening. “You said you wanted a favour for it, that you were going to ‘find your recompense’.”

“No I didn’t?” Danny says incredulously, before he pauses and his lips part in an O. “Right, translation error, duh. I uh, didn’t actually say that, that’s just how the sigils took it I think. You don’t owe me anything. It might be nice to get some help if I’m ever in a bind or something, but we didn’t make a deal or a pact or anything, you just asked for help, so I helped.

His brain completely shuts down, blue-screen style. This isn’t how this type of thing goes. There’s no way this is that easy. “You seriously don’t want anything.”

“I mean, an autograph might be nice. My friend thinks you and batman are cool.”

“You don’t think the rest of us are cool?” Flash complains, because that’s exactly what he’s supposed to be getting out of this conversation and not how utterly insane it is.

Danny, the kid that’s going to be giving him nightmares and is already giving him migraines, has the audacity to look embarrassed. “I think you’re cool; obviously you’re all cool, you’re the Justice League! My friend’s just into the edgier members, I guess? She’s goth.”

“Oh? So who’s your favourite?” Why is no one acknowledging that the incomprehensible cosmic horror just called him edgy. Why are they just moving past this.

“…Martian Manhunter and Green Lantern. I really like space.”

Yeah, no shit, he’s made of it.

Constantine genuinely wants to pass out. He wants Batman to get him over the head with a batarang; he wants Superman to tap him on the forehead and give him a concussion, just- anything not to be here right now. This might not even be the weirdest thing that’s happened to him, but he’s hating every minute of it. This kid’s talking and existing like it’s nothing but even as the conversation begins to border on casual the atmosphere is still thick, nearly physical with the chill and the chiming of bells and the way something shifts every time those peacock feathers waver behind him.

Right now, John really, truly does not care if this entity’s playing some kind of twisted long con to trick them into sacrificing their souls or something equally as horrifying. He just wants to go home and forget anything ever happened. “So, you’re not a malicious entity.” Constantine states finally, putting an end to any further back-and-forth that he’d managed to tune out.

“I promise you I’m not.” Danny replies seriously, even as his features shift back to something more human-looking that only seems like it’s trying and failing to hide something bigger underneath it now.

Constantine puts his hands in his pockets, and turns straight to the door. “Brilliant news. I’m leaving now. I hope we never have to see each other again.” The League and that kid can do whatever they want, but Constantine swears on everything he holds sacred that he’s not touching any of it with a ten-foot pole. He never wants to have to deal with anything like this again, and he is never agreeing to do Batman another favour.

#sorry it's late!!! I've had a Weird™ few days #Also sorry if it reads a bit funky or anything I tried my best #I really want to do more for this au though so hopefully I'll be posting about it again in November after Ectober week!!#Maybe even for that DPxDC event!!#dp fic #dp fanfic #danny phantom fic #danny phantom fanfiction #dpxdc #ghost king danny #(Implied)#eldritch danny #danny phantom #john constantine #Bongo's Aus!!!#Bongo's Writing!!!#peacock au

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our-happygirl500-fan · 1 year

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Something that I’ve been wondering about is whether or not the Krang know what Yokai are

Krang Prime: You’re not human. What are you?

When the Krang capture Raph something that was kind of interesting was the Krang wondering what Raph was since they recognised that he wasn’t human but something I was wondering about was why they didn’t assume that Raph was a Yokai instead.

Draxum: My plan is coming to fruition. My bugs are hard at work turning humans into Yokai

It’s been shown in Rise that there isn’t really much difference between mutants & Yokai and the Rise team have said that mutants are basically more or less, enhanced Yokai so if there isn’t much difference between mutants & Yokai, part of me wonders why the Krang didn’t ask Raph if he was a Yokai.

Big Mama: We Yokai have existed for thousands of eons

Krang Prime: Forgive my sister. She’s got a bit of a temper and being in prison for a thousand years hasn’t done her any favours

In the episode Bug Busters, Big Mama says that the Yokai have existed for ‘thousands of eons’ & considering that the Krang say that they were sealed for only a thousand years, unless time moves considerably slower in the Prison Dimension, Big Mama was most likely exaggerating or otherwise the Krang should recognise what Yokai are.

Something that might be possible is the idea that the Krang themselves created the Yokai as during the final episode of Rise we found out that Empyrean originally came from the Krang & the Rise team have said that Empyrean is the source of the Yokai’s mystic powers

Draxum: So nice of you to return my vile

Considering that the vile that Draxum took from Mayhem in the first episode to finish his ooze is said to be Empyrean it’s possible that Empyrean was the original Mutagen in the Rise universe & was what created the Yokai in the first place when the Krang first invaded meaning that the Yokai that we know of in Rise are descendants of the first mutants.

There are a few similarities between Rise & the 2012 cartoon due to a lot of the same people who worked on the 2012 cartoon also working on Rise so it is possible that another similarity between the 2012 cartoon & Rise is that mutants or Yokai are just as much a product of the Krang in Rise as they are in the 2012 Cartoon.

But I don’t think that the Yokai were created by the Krang that got sealed away in the Prison Dimension, I kind of think that the Yokai were created by the Krang that got left behind.

Karai: Oroku Saki made a deal with a powerful oni, this demon offered him a suit of dark armour

It is possible that not all the Krang were sealed away & that there was at least one Krang left on earth when the Krang were sealed away the first time as in the episode Shreddy or Not it’s revealed that the Dark Armour was originally created by the Krang (which would explain why the Foot Clan is said to worship the Krang in the first place).

Though we don’t know when exactly the Krang made a deal with Oroku Saki we do know that Karai & the Shredder were sealed away for 500 years.

Casey: Master Shredder you have returned to us, after five hundred years the Foot Clan can finally fulfil our mission and do your dark bidding!

Karai: Please I have just endured five hundred years of misery

Considering that the Krang were said to have been sealed away for 1000 years they should have been sealed away 500 years before Karai & Shredder were meaning that either time moves faster in the prison dimension making the Krang experience being imprisoned for 1000 years when really it was only around 500 or not all the Krang were sealed away.

If at least one Krang had been left behind on earth after the Krang were originally sealed away that would possibly be kind of an interesting parallel to how there is at least one Krang left on Earth after the Hamato Clan seals Krang Prime away at the end of the movie.

If there was at least one Krang left behind on Earth then it is possible that the Krang that got left behind could have possibly created the Yokai & if the Yokai were created after most of the Krang were sealed away then it is possible that the Krang that we see in the movie might not really have any idea what Yokai or mutants are.

#rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #teenage mutant ninja turtles #rottmnt #tmnt

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zweetpea · 9 months

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Contracts or Biddability? Part 2 of 2

Cw: cringe, swears, innuendos. warning ⚠️ before you proceed there will be very foul language alluding to less than appropriate content! It’s only like a few lines of dialogue but I will mark them with ❌ around them if you want to skip. Liyue arc has concluded. Don’t know when the next chapter will be up but I can say it’s another interlude and it will have Xiao

“Excuse me? Mis… ter…? Ahem. Gen. Excuse me, Gen? You said you were looking for me. What is it that you would like to discuss.”

“Um, uh… I.” Shit! Don’t F this up. Don’t be a Wattpad Y/n girl. “Mr. Zhongli, I would like to be your friend and/or maybe go on a date with you.”

“Uh-um, thank you but I’m not looking for love at the moment.”

fu- “That’s fine. I’m fine with just being friends. Please just forget I asked. Welp, I’ll be leaving then!” You say embarrassed. Face hot, head empty. F this shit I’m out! I guess I can try again with Neuvillette. I never actually thought about what I’d do once I met Zhongli.

You walk out Liyue Harbor and down to the beach. You sit on down and take off your shoes and socks and just let the ocean flow over your feet. So cold but so nice. You think to yourself.

“Coco goat. Coco goat. Where are you?” You hear a faint voice call from behind you.

“Was that Qiqi?” You look behind and don’t see anyone. Until a little blue hat falls out of a bush.

“No. Qiqi’s hat.” She cries in soft dismay.

“Hey!” You call to her. She freezes. “Oh sorry. It’s okay I’m not mad.”

“Hello, adored one.” She says, grabbing her hat and moving closer to you.

“You know me?”

“Qiqi sees you in her dreams. Baizhu doesn’t believe Qiqi when she says that you are real.”

“I’m sorry to hear that Qiqi. If it’s easier for you to remember, you can call me Gen. But please try to remember that it’s with a G ‘Kay?” You shift to sit on your knees.

“You know about Qiqi’s memory problems?” She asks.

“Mhm. Let’s go back to Baizhu okay?”

“Okay. Mx. Adored Gen, can I ask you something?”

“Anything.” You say as you put your socks and shoes back on.

“Why don’t people from your home like me? Why do you?” She looks down sadly

“What?”

“In my dreams Qiqi hears you saying things like, I don’t get why people hate Qiqi. She’s adorable. And recently I heard you cheering and laughing about how you finally got her.”

You did recently loose a 50/50 but you finally got Qiqi for the first time. “Sweetheart, look… they don’t mean it; and if they do then they don’t deserve you. You are an adorable, sweet, incredible person. It doesn’t matter what they say, because so many people love you. Baizhu, YaoYao, and me for example.”

“Okay. We can go back now.” She says as you pick her up and bring her back to Bubu Pharmacy.

“Listen, no one’s gonna hurt you while I’m here.” You console her as she rests in your arms.

“Baizhu! Qiqi told you that the adored one exists!” She shouts as you set her down and she runs into the Pharmacy.

“Qiqi. I’m so glad that you’re back, but what on earth are you talking about?”

“Hey! I’m Harry Styles!” You giggle. “Just a little joke, would’ve killed where I’m from. You can call me Gen with a G.” You extend your hand and Baizhu shakes it.

As he pulls his hand away he looks down at it the back at you. “You… really exist.”

“Huh?” You tilt your head with a smile.

“Come to the back with me. I’d like to talk in private.”

“Okay?” Well it’s not like I can die. I just hope that if this escalates it’s more like 50 shades and less like Dr Frankenstein.

“You too Qiqi.” Dang it! Cock blocked again?! I’ve gotten one kiss and it was from Dainsleif! He brings you into his office and you sit down on a couch. He closes the door and the windows and sits behind his desk.

“She’s been telling me for a while now about you.”

“Really?”

“Hm, she said that you’d descend from Celestia and you would have healing abilities far beyond what Teyvat has seen.”

“Well in all honesty that’s only because I met someone in celestia who gave me their powers. I’m just a normal human.”

“Well in any case I’m grateful for you looking out for Qiqi. Your kindness in her dreams has been an invaluable resource.”

“Of course!” You smile. Qiqi comes over and hugs you.

“Thank you, but Qiqi has to go tend to the reception.” She leaves, closing the door on her way out.

“Now that she’s gone there’s something I wanted to talk to you about Dr.”

“Of course. Ask me anything that you’d like, I’ll help anyway I can to repay what you’ve done for Qiqi.”

“You don’t have to just because I helped Qiqi. You can say no if it makes you uncomfortable.”

“A beautiful person like you couldn’t make me uncomfortable.” He smiles.

❌

You smirk and walk over to straddle him. “Good because I’ve been having trouble for a while now. My ass is too tight. I need a smart, handsome doctor to stretch it out.”

He blushes. “This is highly inappropriate… make it quick.”

❌

“Baizhu. I can’t feel my legs.”

“You were the one who asked me to do this.” He smirks.

“Okay feeling is coming back. Thank goodness for my healing.”

He kisses your lips and you return with more passion and fire. “Come back anytime.”

“You shouldn’t be saying that as a doctor.” You tease.

“You’re not one of my patients though.” He smirks back.

You got up and walked out of his office. You gave Qiqi a goodbye hug and left for the mountains to see what your new Geo Delusion can do.

“Okay so what can I do?” You hold up your hand with the delusion on it and a clay circlet appears in front of you. You take it in your hand and golden ring surrounds you. “Badass!” You say as you run towards the mountains and look for someone to fight.

Running through the mountains you were filled with a sense of wonder and excitement. ‘I haven’t seen a screen in what has to be a week or two, it feels strangely amazing. The grass feels soft and fresh under my skin.’

As you wander around, you hear something whoosh and thunk behind you. You look behind you and see a treasure hoarder reloading his crossbow. He fires another one at you and you try to dodge but it just stops a few inches away from you. You raise the clay circlet in your hand and the gold ring around you shines brighter

“I can do this all day.” You hold out your delusion and shoot a slew jagged spall shoots towards him. Backup arrives and chases you away. “Okay no I can’t.”

You run as fast as you can trying to find somewhere to hide but they’re hot on your tail. Eventually they back you into a corner, you knocked to the ground by one of them holding an oar.

“Hehe, no where to run kid.”

‘What do I do? I don’t want to be kidnapped again. I am in Liyue, I wonder…’

“Xiao… please help me.” You whisper, while you squeeze your eyes shut.

…Before you know it you hear a whoosh and the hoarders groans. You slowly open your eyes and see Xiao standing over you.

“Who are you? How do you know me?”

“I…” You felt so relieved that your body just fell back on the grass and you couldn’t move. You’re too tired from the events of the day and the absolute fear his presence left in you.

“HEY!! Get up!” You hear him say before you drift away from the conscious world.

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yandere-paramour · 3 months

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Chapter Six

The awkwardness is almost physically painful. Atalanta apparently had a private chef who came every day to cook her meals. She paid for the labor and ingredients, and this random culinary student just came and cooked a few times a week. Usually the student made a meal plan and emailed it on Sunday mornings and Atalanta would email back either a confirmation or corrections. It was always something healthy, rarely any true sweets.

At least the medication was wearing off. Last night it took all the effort you had simply to move your head side to side; today you can walk without too much trouble. Atalanta still follows close behind as you descend the stairs, arms outstretched to catch you if you stumble.

“Are you certain you wish to walk, Darling? I worry your legs don’t have the strength,” She held your forearms, helping you down each individual stair as though you were a newly-walking toddler.

“I’m fine,” You grit your teeth, kind of nervous as you lift a leg. If you slipped you’d break your neck.

“I could carry you, if you wished.”

“I’ve got it,” You said resolutely.

Pride kept you from asking for help. If you acquiesed and allowed her to carry you like a blushing bride about to experience her wedding night, you might as well just give up your free will now. She would pamper and coddle you like a helpless infant who couldn’t do anything for themself. Maybe she liked you helpless. Maybe she liked it so much she would break your legs and then you’d be forced to let her carry you up and down the stairs. She definitely possessed the power and money necessary to have it done, but by the looks of her muscles, perhaps she could do the job herself.

You shook the thought out of your head. It wasn’t helpful to dwell on uncomfortable and possibly painful speculation. You needed to focus, lest you fall down the stairs and break your legs yourself. It was an extraordinarily long process, at least thrice as long as it would’ve been undrugged, an endless process of step, wait, other step, wait, repeat. Not to mention the exhaustion; each leg felt as though it were weighed down with ankle weights.

Thankfully the kitchen was not far. Atalanta kept your body stable as you shuffled across the floor, then settled you in a sturdy chair, allowing you to catch your breath. Moving quickly, she handed you a glass of ice water, making sure it was secure in your hands before she let go. She kneeled in front of you, encouraging you to drink, stroking your face with her hands.

“Are you alright, my Darling? I knew the stairs would be too much for you,” She fussed about you, trying to check your breathing and pulse.

When you caught your breath, you looked up. The table setting was simple, yet elegant. Fresh cut flowers were artfully displayed in a silver vase, gently illuminated by the morning sun. Two plates were set, one at the head of the table and one immediately to its right. You were on the right, and Atalanta took her place at the head of the table, carefully laying a napkin on her lap.

“What are we having,” You asked, copying her by putting your napkin over your legs, although not quite as elegantly.

“Whole grain toast with apricot preserves, oatmeal with blueberries and brown sugar, and pasture-raised turkey sausage.”

You blinked a few times, “Oh.”

“I do hope you enjoy it. I specifically asked Agnes to make you something high in sugar, to combat the drop in blood sugar from your medication.”

You took a bite of the oatmeal, “This is high in sugar to you?”

She looks at you confused, “Of course. Blueberries are extremely high in sugar. Along with the added brown sugar, it should be very sweet. Do you not like it?”

Talking back to her was one thing, but insulting the efforts of another working-class citizen was another, “No, no, it’s fine, it’s just not very sweet to me. I’m guessing you’ve never had a hot fudge sundae Pop-Tart with double icing,” You snorted with a little smile.

“What is a Pop-Tart?”

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raccoonfallsharder · 6 months

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i need your help!

hey hello, shiny gemstones and spring sunrises thw doodle queue is currently CLOSED

which is to say, ahem if you’re interested in being added to the doodle queue, REBLOG THIS POST with

a picture or detailed description of your OC

their name/pronouns, their story and any cool powers they have or what makes them rad as hell (i might message you to ask more questions!)

i welcome different body types, skin colors, and hair textures, etc. and so does rocket

you can also send me a message but tbh reblogs are easier to keep track of if i fall behind. see below the samples for more info.

in general i prefer to draw vaguely humanoid femmes with a thing for raccoons (you know which fandom im in), so those characters will likely get in the queue first. this ain’t a “first-come, first-served” thing, it’s a “which character does my brain want to gnaw on, with or without my consent” thing.

i got too swamped last time because i just accepted/took on too many requests at once which resulted in some glorious individuals waiting MONTHS for their doodles to be done and while that could still happen, i am hoping to avoid it by keeping the queue shorter and just closing/reopening more frequently

worth noting i’ve only ever drawn three anthro characters (see one of ‘em below) so if you so request that, just know i’m a novice

i may also end up adding a few to the queue as well (i really want to revisit ember, dori, petra, maybe fleuret and rose, always juno — would love a chance to draw jupe of one of @frostedwitch’s other OCs too!). ive also been playing with a new-to-me, semi-lineless style i might use your characters to practice on.

above are just a few of the OCs from the masterlist. you can find them there to learn more about them and their cool-as-hell creators. from top left to right descending: moon, dori, petra quill (dyed version), brita, ken, magril opossum, rose, cherry, mori, and juno ♡♡♡ thanks for letting me doodle these cuties!

to see past works, check out the let me love your OCs masterlist

taglist ✩ @pa1kaa-toto @archangelofzion

#let me love your ocs ♡rfh #original characters are fuckin fun #fan art #gotg oc #rocket raccoon x oc #rocket raccoon #guardians of the galaxy #marvel original character #original character #guardians of the galaxy oc #gotg fan art #rocket fan art #rocket racoon fanart #rocket fanart #marvel fanart #gotg fanart

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sl-newsie · 10 months

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Snow Day (Carlos de Vil x Silvermist Daughter) *Christmas Special* 🎄

'Can I request a Carlos descendants holiday fic with friends to lovers/everybody knows but them tropes? But the reader is an AK, adopted daughter of Silvermist.’ Here we go!

“No! Cut it out, Elvin!” I shout as I sprint through the icy wind. “You know I don’t like the cold!”

The white-blonde boy behind me jumps up to lean off a lamppost. “What’s the matter? Too afraid to have fun?”

I give an annoyed huff and hug my cape around me tighter. “Just because you’re the son of Jack Frost doesn’t mean you have to make my life a living nightmare with your pranks! Now for the last time, leave me alone!”

In a final effort I let out a water blast that sends Elvin flying into a snowbank, then dash down the street to hide inside Miss Muffet’s Bakery.

“Oh- Sylvia! Hi! What’s going on-?!”

In my haste I almost run into a familiar face, though this is one face I am always excited to see!

“Shh!” I hold up a hand to silence Carlos. “I’m hiding!”

His eyes widen. “Oh!” He joins me behind the cookie display. “May I ask from whom?” Carlos whispers back.

“Ugh. It’s Elvin Frost. Son of Elsa and Jack Frost, and an icy pain in my side. He’s visiting from Arendelle, and has become the reason why I hate snow days.”

“Hate snow days?” Carlos laughs. “How could anyone hate snow days? I mean, look around!” He gestures to the billowing snow swirling around the window. “It’s so- so…”

“Magical?”

“Exactly!”

Ever since Carlos came to Auradon last summer, I’ve always been fond of his childlike energy. Not many kids in Auradon appreciate the little things like he does, so it goes without saying that we’d become friends. Mom’s always so busy controlling the water elements she didn’t have time to look after me, so she sent me to be adopted by Jack Beanstalk. But like Carlos, I’ve learned to enjoy other things. However, snow isn’t one of them.

“My wings can’t stand the bitter cold. If I stay outside too long, they freeze and wither away. It also doesn’t help that my water powers freeze in the winter. Water and cold do not mix well for me.”

Carlos’ face falls. “Oh. I’m sorry, I didn’t think of that.”

I wave it off. “It’s alright.”

“It’s just that… we didn’t get snow on the Isle.”

That’s why he loves the snow. I can’t be mad at him for that. How could he have known anyway? It’s his first Christmas in Auradon, so he wouldn’t know.

“I guess if you’ve never seen it, snow can be very magical,” I attempt a cheerful smile. “I’m glad you enjoy it! You should go play outside.”

Carlos still isn’t convinced. “But it’s not as fun if you’re not there, Sylvia. Would you maybe wanna stay here for a hot chocolate?”

My spirits lift and my wings start fluttering. “That sounds wonderful! I’d love to!”

“Great! Um- maybe we could sit down instead of hiding behind the counter?”

I nod eagerly and start flying to a nearby table, too excited to remember not to use my wings indoors.

“Oh- right.” I flutter down, and my height difference shows. Since I’m the descendant of a fairy, I’ve been short my whole life.

“That never gets old,” Carlos comments with a grin.

I tilt my head in confusion. “What?”

“Your wings. I think they’re beautiful.”

His kind words send us both into blushing messes, so I try to change the subject.

"Where's Dude?"

Carlos chuckles. "He hates the cold, so he's currently sleeping in front of the fire in my dorm."

By now a waitress shows up to take our order.

“What’ll it be, hon?”

I don’t miss a beat. “A large old-fashioned hot chocolate extreme with peppermint dust, whipped cream, and marshmallows, please!”

Carlos’ jaw drops.

I roll my eyes. “It’s my favorite holiday drink, I don’t care if it gives me a heart attack.”

“It sounds fantastic! I’ll have one too!” He smiles at the waitress, who just nods and walks off.

This snow day just got so much better!

Evie’s POV

“We’ve got to get them together!” I huff as I pace the dorm room.

“But they are together,” Jay states bluntly. “Haven’t you seen them around?”

I roll my eyes. “I mean, they need to know that they love each other, right? It’s like they’re completely oblivious to it!”

Jay lazily gets up from the couch and walks over to the window. “I wouldn’t say they look too upset.”

“What?”

I dash over and peer through the frosted glass to see Carlos and Sylvia walking hand-in-hand through the snow, each holding to-go mugs.

“Oh my God. Are they on a… date?”

Jay shrugs. “Guess we don’t gotta step in after all.”

I’m still unconvinced. “No, no. It’s been going on like this for months! They look happy hanging out together, but won’t confess their feelings! Come on!” I grab Jay’s sleeve and start dragging him out the door. “I want to see this for myself!”

Sylvia’s POV

Ok, if all snow days involve drinking hot chocolate with Carlos then I want one every day!

“What’s been your favorite snow activity?” I ask Carlos, who keeps looking at the snow outside as if we’re in a real-life snow globe.

“Definitely making snowmen. Or snowball fights! Wait- have you ever ice skated?”

I let out a carefree laugh as I sip my cocoa. “Yes, it comes very naturally when I can control water.”

“What’s your favorite snow activity?”

I come to a stop in the flurrying snow, remembering how much I used to love winter as a kid.

“I… I liked making snow angels,” I whisper.

Carlos gets an unreadable expression. “Why don’t you now?”

I shake my head and gesture to the frozen ground. “I don’t like risking direct snow contact with my wings. Plus, all the snow that melts under me begins to freeze to my cape.”

The freckled VK looks distant for a second, then seems to get an idea.

“Wait a sec!” He quickly slides off his own coat and lays it on the fluffy snow. “Now you have a double cover!”

I smile sadly at his thoughtful gesture. “Carlos, that’s really sweet. But I’m not sure-”

“Come on, it’ll only be for a second!” Carlos takes my hand and pulls me closer. “We’ll head straight back indoors, I promise.”

I must admit, Carlos’ pleading eyes combined with the sparkling snow is all too taunting to pass up despite my usual refusals.

With a deep breath, I hug my cape tighter around me and turn around to gently lie down on the soft blanket of snow. The cooler surface is refreshing, flooding my mind with childhood memories. Slowly, I bring my arms out to form the angel, and when I do I feel Carlos lay down beside me.

“Are you having fun?” He asks sincerely.

“Yes,” I answer in a relaxed tone, then seem to rethink something. “Carlos… Do you like spending time with me?”

Carlos doesn’t take more than 2 seconds to respond. “Of course! You’re always so full of fun ideas, and having a water balloon fight with you is one of the best things ever!”

I nod. “Does that mean… you enjoy my company? You like… me?”

By now we’ve both realized where this conversation might be going, but thankfully Carlos doesn’t seem weirded out by it and doesn’t slide away.

“Ok, don’t water-blast me for this,” Carlos takes a deep breath. “Would you be mad if I said I did like you? Maybe… as more than a friend?”

Is this what I think it is?

“So is this a date?” I stand up and my wings start getting excited, threatening to shake loose from my cape. “Oh no- I can’t be out too long!”

Carlos sees my panicked face and stands up with me to dust the snow off my cape. Then out of nowhere, he sweeps me up bridal-style and rushes me across the grounds to the dorm building entrance. We don’t speak, there’s no need to. I trust him not to drop me. Through speaking with actions Carlos shows me just how much he cares, and it sends my spirits soaring. I don’t know if it’s the sugar in the hot chocolate or my dilated emotions, but my heart’s racing like a rabbit!

When we get inside and the warmth engulfs my wings again, Carlos gently lets me down.

“I supposed I did mean for this to be a date,” Carlos admits. “I’m sorry you got too cold.”

For some reason my stubborn eyes can’t leave his cute face. “It’s my fault, I got too excited. I just wish I could stand the cold longer so I could enjoy it with you,” I say in a sad tone.

“I’d keep you warm.” Carlos leans in closer and wraps his arms around me, firm enough to show his affection but not too tight to damage my wings.

Using what courage I can muster, I turn my head up. “I know you will.” And with that, I press a soft kiss to his cheek.

Carlos’ face goes as red as a cherry, and immediately I regret being so bold.

“I’m sorry! God, I’m so bad at this- I just messed everything up- and now you’re mad-!”

Carlos cuts me off by leaning in to kiss my lips and my eyes close on instinct. If it weren’t for my wings going into hummingbird mode, this would be a really tender moment.

When we break apart to breathe, I hear Carlos let out a surprised gasp.

“Sylvia, um… As much as I love your wings, would you mind letting me down?” He jokes.

My eyes pop open and I look down to find that my wings have lifted us up a good 5 feet in the air.

“Oh! Right. Sorry about that,” I gush as I lower us down, with Carlos still hugging me to him.

“Does this mean we can have more snow dates?” I ask in a timid voice.

Carlos grins. “That sounds fun! I think I just found my new favorite snow activity!”

I mirror his happiness with my own smile and grip his hand. “I think we’ve had enough snow for today, so how about watching a Christmas movie?”

“Perfect!”

Carlos starts leading me back to his dorm, and when we pass by Evie and Jay in the hallway I swear I hear Evie mutter “It’s about time.”

God, I love snow days!

@laylasshiftingtonight

#carlos descendants #carlos de vil x reader #descendants carlos #mal descendants #evie descendants #jay descendants #ben descendants #disney descendants #descendants #descendants x reader #carlos x reader #snow day #christmas time

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number1mingyustan · 2 years

Text

—4:18 am ☾

pianist!minghao x fem!reader

Warnings: unprotected sex (riding), creampie, multiple orgasms, mentions of sex, grinding, hands hands hands and more hands

Summary: The hot pianist helps take your mind off everything for the night

World Count: 2.3k

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You woke up with your body entangled in the empty white sheets. Checking the clock on the nightstand adjacent to you, you were surprised to see the clock read 4:18 a.m.

It wasn’t any noise or anything that woke you from your sleep. Rather, the feeling of an empty bed. Where could Minghao possibly be at 4 in the morning? It was his own home, you know there’s no way he’d leave you here alone.

You slipped on the button-up Minghao had discarded only hours previously and opened his bedroom door to venture around the large house. Upon opening the door the faint sound of music captured your ears.

The melodious sound piqued your curiosity and you began to follow the noise. You walked down a hallway, descended a flight of stairs and passed countless different rooms. The more you walked, the louder the music got. You were clearly able to identify the music to be coming from a piano.

You approached one more hallway and stood in front of the open doorway leading to the open space on the smooth wooden floor.

There sat a shirtless Minghao, playing the piano and singing a song you didn’t recognize. The room was structured to be a spacious setting, but the piano was the only thing in the room. A rather large window was in the back of the room, allowing the moonlight to illuminate the scene before your eyes.

You stood, visibly intrigued by his talents. You crossed your arms, leaning on the open white wall. His delacite fingers skillfully danced with the black and white keys. You could see the way he poured passion into his every movement. His figure swayed with the music as he was completely submerged in his activity.

His fingers were long and slim, his veins were visible with each press of the piano keys. They glided across the instrument with ease, producing one of the most beautiful sounds you’ve ever heard.

It was only a few moments until he played the last few powerful notes of the song. Despite finishing, he simply sat there for a few moments unaware of your presence. “Minghao.”

He was quick to turn his head in your direction. “Y/n.”

“Hi,” you waved shyly.

The flustered boy awkwardly scratched the back of his neck. “Did you hear any of that?”

You nod. “Yeah, it kind of woke me up.”

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to-”

“It’s fine. What are you doing playing the piano in the middle of the night anyway?” You ask, taking a seat on the small black stool next to him.

He scooches to his left to make more room for you while shrugging, “Helps me to clear my mind. Makes me feel at ease I guess.”

“What song was that?”

He shrugs. “Don’t know, I just made it up.”

“Like right now? On the spot?” you ask.

He flashes you a soft smile. “Yeah kind of.”

“I’m impressed,” you smile back. “I’ve never even touched a piano before.”

“Here,” he takes your left hand in his and places it onto the instrument. “I’ll teach you.”

He presses his hand on your back, politely forcing your posture to be straighter. “Can you teach me the one you just played?”

He bites down on his bottom lip. “Of course, we can play it together.”

He scooches his body closer to yours, leaving no space between the two of you. He leans behind you, placing both his hands over yours. “So what you do is press down on this one first.”

His pointer finger lightly pushes yours down on a white key on the right side of the piano. He continues to guide your hands and fingers along the instrument, ever so softly pressing down on your fingers for a few moments. What he showed you only had to have been a couple seconds of the song.

Satisfied, he removes his hands from yours and wraps them around your waist. “Think you can play that back for me on your own?”

His head nuzzles into your neck from the side as you bite down on your lip anxiously. “No.”

He laughs lowly into your neck and his right hand rests on the inside of your thigh. “I think you can. Try it just once for me baby.”

Baby. The pet name sends a shiver through your body. You’d only met him a few hours ago before he brought you back to his place. Yet, having him call you baby makes you feel like you’re on top of the world.

You give in to his desires, trying to replay the movements he guided you into only moments before. Your fingers press the keys slowly, the melody sounding somewhat familiar to what Minghao had just shown you. As you play the instrument, he rubs small circles along your thigh and breathes lowly onto your neck. You can practically feel him smirking in satisfaction as he watches you play.

As you finished what you could remember you felt your skin vibrate as he hummed in satisfaction. “That was perfect, baby. You’re a natural.”

His words cause your smile to beam and you felt proud of yourself. He began to plant small kisses along your neck, causing you to tilt your head to the side. His right hand slithered up from your thigh, now resting on your throat as he began to leave love bites along your neck.

“Minghao.” The softness of his lips and tongue causes you to elicit a moan. In response his grip on your throat momentarily tightens and he groans into your skin.

“Shshshhh,” he hushes softly. In a low whisper his voice fills your ears. “You did so good, baby. Let me make you feel good. Will you let me do that for you?”

“Please,” you practically beg him.

He wastes no time pulling you onto his lap and into a straddling position. His lips remain attached to your neck as his hands find their way to the front of the shirt you were wearing. His fingers dance with the buttons and he’s sure to take his time with each one.

His touch is delicate as he plays with the buttons of the shirt, much like how his fingers were playing with the piano.

You feel increasingly sensitive to his touch. As he sucks on the suppleness of your skin you could feel the way his tongue grazed against your neck and desired more of him. You hadn’t even gotten your clothes off and your body still felt like it was on fire because of him.

He slips the shirt off your shoulders, letting it fall onto the floor between the seat and the instrument. Your nipples hardened having been exposed to the air and Minghao’s hands soon found the stiff buds.

“You weren’t wearing anything at all under this all this time?” he questions against your skin.

You shake your head. “No.”

He lets out a low groan in response. “Fuck. You’re driving me crazy.”

The way he was touching you now was completely different than he had a few hours ago. This time, there was no rush and he intended to savour every inch of you.

When he fucked you earlier, he was rough and hard. He made sure you were loud for him, back arching as you came on his cock countless times while moaning his name.

When he first approached you at the bar, he was flirty, but you weren’t exactly interested. You told him you’d just gotten out of a relationship and you were really on there because your friends peer pressured you into going out.

He assured you he could take your mind off things even if it was just for the night, and he absolutely did not disappoint.

Desperate for more, you begin rocking your hips back and forth against his sweatpants. You feel him growing harder underneath the grey material separating the two of you. Your arms are snaked around his body for support as you increase your pace of movement.

You feel yourself growing wet, your arousal dripping along your thighs and onto his sweatpants. It’s becoming more and more apparent to him how eager you are to feel him again. “Fuck’s sake Y/n. I’ve barely touched you.”

“That’s the problem,” you whine in his ear.

He rests his hands on your chin, positioning you so you’re forced to look straight at him. “You wanna ride me?”

You’re almost too quick to answer, nodding your head enthusiastically. “Yes please.”

He chuckles to himself before whispering in your ear, “Then use me. I’m all yours tonight baby.”

His words alone are nearly enough to make your legs shake. Although, they had a double meaning. You knew him allowing you to use him wasn’t just about sex but alos him staying true his word about fucking you until you forgot about your ex. He was revealing another side of you to him. Minghao was submitting himself to you and it was driving you crazy in the best way possible.

Impatiently you lift your body enough to pull his sweatpants down to his thighs and allow his length to spring free. Although the moonlight was the only thing lighting up the room, you were still able to look down and see that he was just as turned on as you.

His length stood up straight, the reddened tip already leaking a clear fluid out the slit. You swiped your thumb across the sensitive area, smearing the pre-cum along his length. He inhaled sharply at your sudden action and you felt his thighs tense up. You began slowly stroking his now lubricated length, eliciting a few dirty words and noises from his lips.

He didn’t bother to finger you. He knew you were already stretched out from him fucking you not too long ago and you were more than ready for him.

You lifted your body again, this time lowering yourself onto his length. Two two of you let out a simultaneous moan at the now familiar feeling. His hands gripped your waist for extra support as you began riding him.

You bounced up and down on him, submitting your body to the euphoric feeling that washed over your body. He let you be fully in control of your own pleasure. As you rocked your hips against him, you watched him tilt his head back with his eyes closed and mouth slightly parted.

Moan after moan escapes his agape lips, only encouraging you to ride him faster. His thumb finds its way to your clit, still sensitive from your previous activities, his touch causes you to violently jerk your hips forward. Your sudden reaction makes him groan loudly and increase the speed of his fingers on your sensitive bud.

The stimulation causes you to throw your head back in pleasure, your back pressing against the instrument, accidentally pressing against the keys and produce noise. You and Minghao however, were too wrapped up in the pleasure of chasing your orgasms to even notice.

You could feel every inch of him penetrating you, hitting every single sweet spot inside of you. You feel so full, stuffed completely with his cock as he penetrates through you.

The entirety of the house was silent except for the echoey room the two of you occupied. You were much louder than him, as remaining quiet in such an environment was impossible. Your body was reacting to everything he did to you and it was driving you over the edge. The way he began to jerk his hips up to match your pace or circle his thumb over your most sensitive spot had you shaking and panting on top of him.

He throbbed inside of you as you rode his length, aching and begging for a release. You slid his length in and out of you at an increased pace. Your body was starting to grow tired from being on top of him for so long. Your legs started to feel weak and you could feel sweat dripping along your body.

You were so fucking close.

“You gonna cum baby?” he questioned in a low tone dangerously close to your ear.

You bit down on your lip nervously, nodding your head with the slightest movement. “Go ahead baby, cum all over my cock.”

And you did. You felt a wave of relief wash over as you released all over him. You moaned his name out with your head thrown back, legs shaking, body dripping in all its glory. As your orgasm overwhelmed your body, causing your movement to be momentarily halted. Your body rested against his and he drew small circles along your sweaty back.

Minghao hummed in satisfaction as he gave you time to recover from you pleasurable moment you experienced. “Baby.”

“Hmm?” You responded in a mere whisper.

“Can you keep going for me? I know you can do it.”

You shake your head weakly. “Hao I-”

You were cut off by the feeling of him thrusting his hips into you, causing a sudden gasp to escape from between your lips. “Fuck.” you cursed out.

“C’mon baby. I know you can do it.” he cooed.

Whatever he was doing was clearly working out because despite being completely and utterly exhausted you managed to find the energy to keep riding him. You held a firm grip on his shoulders for support as you fell back into your previous rhythm.

“There’s my good girl,” he moans. “So fucking good to me.”

His pleasure only encouraged you to keep going, although you wouldn’t have to for long. It wasn’t long before his head fell back and he gripped your hips to keep you still and steady as he spilled into you. You feel him throb and pump his cum into you as he let out an elongated low groan.

The two of you remained in this position for a few moments, breathing heavily and looking into each others’ eyes. His fingers played with your damp hair and he left comforting kisses along your exposed skin.

“Let’s get you back to bed hm?” he smiles.

You nod weakly with heavy eyes and wrap your arms around his neck.He lifts off off his now soft cock, which causes you both you let out a hiss of dissatisfaction.

Your fucked out state does nothing but make him smirk as he carries your body back upstairs into his bedroom. He’s extremely careful with you, making sure to properly tuck you in and wrap you in his arms for the remainder of the night.

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#seventeen smut #seventeen #seventeen fanfic #xu minghao #seventeen mingyu #minghao smut #kpop

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panderbearwolf · 7 months

Text

TMA/TMAP Orignal VS Somewhere else

OK, So….

I’m new here. Take anything and everything I say here with a MASSIVE PILE of salt.

I don’t think that TMAGP takes place in an alternate universe. I think this is the world they left behind, and the fears are making their way back in for some reason.

Now, I know that this is not what most people expect. A lot of what I’ve seen is people thinking this is “somewhere else”, that Jon and Martin made it somewhere else in this sort of monkey’s paw sort of way.

But I don’t think so. I think this is the TMA universe. And the fears are coming back in. That’s why all the artifacts were coming back in from Hilltop. I think Jon and Martin and the extra got caught in the web and dragged into the last semblance of the fears that stayed behind—the web, because it connects everything and wasn’t going to wholly leave its home world because it knows that it’s home is useful and filled with a source of fear—so it left itself a way back in. We know that Annabelle is not wholly trustworthy from Jon’s last statement in TMA 200.

I think that as the fears come back, Jon starts to get more power again, as well. This is why he’s now reaching out to people via e-mail. He’s also probably trying to stop Fear-pocalypse 2, no fun for anyone. Because if the fears are coming back so quickly after leaving, there’s something else driving them back. And they’ll want to feed again.

It would also explain why the ruins of the Magnus Institute exist in this world. Why would a world that never had to deal with the 14 15 cosmic soup of the fears have a ruined Magnus institute? While the fears are a universal thing—or so it seems from how they left in TMA—the specific landmarks and people who are coming through make me think that there wasn’t a somewhere else for Jon and Martin to land.

Now I do understand why people think that this has to be somewhere else. The world of TMA should have been in ruins after the fears took over. And I agree, you’d think. But at the very, very end of TMA we do get Georgie and Basira talking. And it seems like the world just ‘snapped’ back to normal and it seems like everyone is pretending it was just a mass hallucination that everyone suffered. (I don’t want to imagine the generational PTSD, though. Yikes.) It seems like this is the TMA world, a few years down the line after everything righted itself.

That’s why Celia is there. I’ve seen a lot of people saying that she must have made the jump with Martin and Jon, but I don’t see how. (If you have an idea, please, please PLEASE tell me. I would LOVE to be wrong here.) She wasn’t an avatar. She wasn’t even an acolyte outside of being a victim herself. I guess I could see that since she lost her identity that she sort of qualified as a emissary of the stranger, but she’s the only one we’ve met thus far who is might be. And if I’m right, there should be a TON of people who are. Although, I guess people probably wouldn’t talk about their experiences in the fear-world. So maybe I’m wrong. I don’t know.

Anyway, I wanted to ask about something I hadn’t seen many people talking about from TMAP 7: The fact that a ‘security’ force burned down Hilltop Road Consignment shop. It almost seems like the security force knew what was going on, what it meant and why it needed to be stopped. Almost like it was a splinter cell of the original Magnus Institute that recognized what the hell was going on and was trying to stop it. I haven’t seen anyone geeking out about this part as much—mostly because OMG THERE’S SO MUCH to be excited about and theorizing about—but I was hoping someone else thought the same?

I was kind of wondering if there are any descendants from those who survived the TMA series—Basira/Georgie/Melanie—who may have started a watch-group or something because they knew the fears could return.

Anyway.

Happy “I’m losing my goddamned mind” day. I look forward to next Thursday where we somehow find a scrap of sanity left to lose it when TMAP 8 rolls out.

#tmagp #the magnus protocol #tmagp spoilers #the magnus archives #the magnus pod #the magnus institute #basira hussain #melanie king #jonathan sims #jon sims #gwen bouchard #sam khalid #alice dyer #celia ripley #tmagp 7 #tmagp speculation #tmagp theory #the magnus protocol spoilers #tmagp theories

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theredofoctober · 2 months

Text

SPITE: PART 2

A Billy Butcher x Female Reader Darkfic

Synopsis: After an attack by Billy Butcher the villain known as Spite seeks her revenge.

Trigger Warnings: violence, blood, noncon/rape, degradation, drug use, vomiting

Read after the cut

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“I should never have let you come,” says Butcher. “You little Supe cunt.”

He fucks you again and again, drunken and wrathful as a Greek God, swinging from coldly jovial to a black lust with frightening unpredictability.

“Here, love. Have a drink,” he says, and rams a bottle of reeking alcohol down your throat.

Then he ruts you a fourth time, licking up the spilled moisture like a dog.

Butcher’s drunk, and he’s angry, and keen to pulp every last particle of suffering from you while you’re still here in his possession. Your hands he’s bound and covered with tape to avoid any further assaults of your dreaming power.

Panicked, you gaze into the death pits of his eyes and see an abyss in humanity’s stead.

He crushes your lip in a kiss that is all teeth, all hate, blistering your mouth with a vile passion to see you brought low beneath him.

You’re more frightened of Butcher than you’d been against your most overpowered adversaries, glimpsing in the grotesque fix of his countenance that—had he his own abilities—this man would fuck you in two.

“Silly fuckin’ bitch,” he mutters, slamming the back of your cunt with quick, bullying thrusts. “In your bloody ballet pumps and your tacky little tiara. Must have been dropped on your head as a nipper to come near me dressed like that.”

He pulls one of your breasts between his jaws and tongues the nipple with such a vigour that you think he’ll break the skin. Then he sucks bloody welts across your chest and neck up to the tips of your ears, still fucking you with the need to make an example of your folly.

“Not so gobby now, are you, Spite?” he asks. “Go on, start screamin’. Nice and loud. No one’ll hear ya.”

You reek of semen, drink, sweat. In the accursed mirrors of Butcher’s eyes you see your mascara streaked across both cheeks, gloss sandpapered away by the black brush of beard from swelling lips.

There is blood in your nostrils, your hair, the torn-up scraps of your suit.

The ugliness of it all cramps you with a toppling nausea— that, and too much drink.

“Gonna stick my cock down your bleedin’ neck,” Butcher slurs. “Fuck that pretty little mug of yours and make you swallow down what I’ve got to give ya.”

But he’s too full of whiskey to make good on his promise and ends up falling asleep on top of you, his cock still pulsing, hardened by the drunken dreams of what he’s done.

With difficulty you roll him off onto the mucky floor, puffing and blowing at the effort. He doesn’t wake, only snores thickly, his member still loose from his trousers.

You kneel over him, thinking to wrap your knotted arms around his throat and squeeze the rattling breath from his numb body.

The door to the pawn shop basement creaks open, and you dart away into the shadows, your bound limbs swinging uselessly before you.

A slim man in his mid-thirties descends the stairs, looking nervously at your attacker’s crumpled form.

“Butcher?”

You take your chance and bolt for the steps, aware of Hughie’s head snapping around in startled fright.

“Wait! What? Who the fuck are you? Butcher! Wake up! Did she hurt you?”

“Nah,” you hear the older man mutter. “I’m on cloud bloody nine, son.”

He vomits, and is silenced as the pawn shop doors bang shut behind you.

It’s many months before you make an attempt on Butcher’s life again, each week of them spent sweating, trembling, strung out on Temp V as you test drive the new powers you inherit through its influence.

You pick off criminal Supes identified by a friend inside Vought: the serial killers, the perverts, predators of all and every kind, and find that you observe, as they do, the worst memories of their lives, and are there able to trap them in madness.

This end you decide for Butcher, a just and vicious revenge, but he evades you for some time, a step ahead of you and your inside man on each occasion you come close to him.

The first time you approach him successfully you’re drunk for the courage of it, hopped up beyond your tolerance on Temp V, sticky and gut sick in the humid night.

You’ve known since Butcher first touched you that you must go back, must see him dead for the game he’d made of your body. But your pulse is a cricket of dancing regret as you approach him, the wish that your vengeful spirit could settle, and let him go.

Butcher hears you staggering down the backstreet after him before he sees you. His head twists against the turned-up collar of his trenchcoat, both scabbed fists tightened into tanned rocks as he recognises your uniform.

“You,” he growls. “Back for more?”

He throws a rapid punch you avoid only by chance, toppled aside by your precarious balance.

Butcher squints through the stinking dark, watching you trip across a torn garbage bag and righting yourself against a wall.

“Fuckin’ ‘ell,” he says. “Are you pissed? What’s the matter with you?”

Enraged, you say, “As if you don’t know.”

Before he’s thought of an answer you open out your hands and grope around inside his head with your abilities, fumbling to find the worst of his bad memories.

There is an image there of him fucking a waitress, drunk himself by the looks of it, doubled over afterwards by the guilt of betraying his lovely wife.

You play it before Butcher’s eyes again and again, knowing it hurts him. Knowing that he must hate himself enough to die.

Butcher lunges, smashing you between him and the wall.

“You smug cunt,” he snarls. “What are you tryin’ to do? Make me feel guilty? Make me wish I ain’t done what I done? ‘Cause I done worse, and if I remember right the worse made you bloody come.”

His eyes become twin beads of light, and before you’ve the chance to register their change you feel the heat of power.

You arms go up to counter the attack, pausing only as Butcher shakes his head.

“Keep your hands to yourself or you ain’t gettin’ out of here in one piece.”

“Fuck you,” you spit, and Butcher pins you to the alley wall by the throat, grinding his other hand into your cunt through your net skirt.

“Already have, love,” he says. “Fancy another round?”

Seething, you reach into his head again, pulling forth another memory like a balloon trick.

An assault emerges from the bloody chasm of Butcher’s psyche, not one enacted by him, but as told by a weathered, war hardened woman named by his thoughts as Grace.

You gasp, aware of Butcher’s grip tightening about your throat.

“You’re a hypocrite,” you rasp. “Your wife—Rebecca—and still you—"

“What Homelander did to Becca ain’t nothin’ like what we got up to,” says Butcher, his face halved by a sick grin. “You come dancin’ around me done up like a nineties porn star. What did you think I was goin’ to do? My wife, though. She was a bloody saint. He forced her into it. You and her ain’t nothin’ alike.”

His stare crawls your writhing body, panning to the cold hardened points of your breasts.

“You’re delusional, Billy,” you hiss. “You’re fucked in the head.”

“You’re one to talk. You sat and had a drink with me after we were done shaggin’. Didn’t exactly run for the hills, did ya?”

“I thought you were going to kill me if I didn’t. Was I wrong?”

Butcher smirks, and as he hoists you further up the wall you realise his strength, like his yellow stare, is of Temp V. An artificial godhood.

“Well, love,” he says. “What do you think?”

You don’t answer, glancing away from him into some murky corner of the alley where rats nip at a congealing wrapper.

“I ought to kill ya,” Butcher mutters. “Rip your cute little head off and shit down your neck. But I ain’t gonna. A cunt that tight’d be a bloody waste buried.”

He pushes himself against you, hard in his black jeans from his threats.

“Don’t,” you say. “Don’t do this again.”

“Why not? You come here hopin’ to finish the job, didn’t ya? But you can’t hold your Temp V, and you’re off your bleedin’ head like a slag who’s had too many beers down the pub.”

Jerking your elbow upwards you strike Butcher in the chin, his teeth closing upon his tongue in a star of blood. His eyes flash, and there is the smell of burned fabric as he catches your skirt in his laser.

You freeze in his grip, blackly amazed by the quickness of the attack.

“What the hell have you done to yourself?”

“Same as you,” says Butcher, “only looks like I got a better deal out of it.”

Realising you’re out of your depth, you shove past him, or try to. Before you’re a foot away from him Butcher kicks a boot at your lower back, knocking you down on all fours, wheezing violently.

You crawl like a dying cat through puddle water, rooting desperately for something from Butcher's mind that might stall him. There is killing, so much killing, lurid in its horror, and none of it touching him.

You see how much he thirsts for that violence, that what good is in him is like a narrow slant of sun in some dank jail.

Most of the worst Supes you’ve driven to suicide had more heart to them than this.

Butcher had been rotten through before the Temp V, and though he burns on a righteous road his aim is the joy of killing, now, and—through you—a love of something else.

“Oh, shit,” you say, and Butcher seizes you by the waist, wrangling you up against the wall again so that your face skims coarse brick.

“Whoops-A-Daisy!” he leers. “Took a bit of a tumble there. Hope you ain’t hurt yourself. That’s for me to do.”

He pulls your skirt up at the back and slaps you, his hand sinking into the flesh of your rump as though with a will to tear it out.

You kick a leg back at his ankle, and Butcher rams you harder against the wall.

“Keep that up and I’ll make you wish your Mum swallowed you.”

You sense the scorch of his eyes on you as his hands go down your top to feel your tits.

“Why do you even want this?” you say. “I disgust you, right?”

“Don't bother me. When a cheap bit of skirt like you needs a good seein’ to I’m happy to help.”

Tugging your panties aside, he spits on his fingers and works them inside you, too many to comfortably fit.

You try not to make a sound, pray that if you can’t escape him then he’ll at least finish fast, and be done with it.

“Oi,” says Butcher, close to your ear. “Open them peepers, love. Who said you could sleep on the job?”

He yanks out his cock and wedges one leg between yours, pulling your hips back against him.

Desperate, you train every awful image you have at him in a rotting wave, and for a moment he sways about, letting out some wretched croak.

But whatever memory would shatter him you cannot grasp; instead of breaking him the onslaught makes him angry.

“Shouldn’t have done that,” says Butcher. “Should have took it like a good whore.”

He seizes your neck from behind and chokes you until you’re limp in his hold. Only then does he punch his cock into you, dangling you in his grip like a shot rabbit in his frenzy.

“Butcher—” you croak.

“That’s it,” he barks. “Say my name.”

His thumb parts your ass so that he can look at his cock in you, watching its girth make wide the slender opening as it has done before.

Like the last time he stinks of blood, perspiration barely concealed by deodorant. Smokes. The salt musk of his genitals.

He is filthy, fucks raw. You don’t want to think of the implications of it, yet you do, can’t help it when you’ve seen into his mind and know how careless with his body this creature is.

Clearly Butcher’s thinking of it too, for he says, “Hope you’re on the pill. Don’t need no Supe brats comin’ lookin’ for me.”

“You won’t live to see them if they do,” you say, and cough phlegm at the wall.

Butcher chuckles.

“Oh yeah? And who’s gonna finish me off? You ain’t up to it. Weak as a shit cup o' tea, you are. Even the Temp V ain’t done you no good.”

Lifting your right leg, he fucks you so deep that the pain transforms into some mortal blight of ecstasy.

With his other hand Butcher twists your head to him. He’s handsome by the way of ageing actors or a washed-up rock star, black hair gelled into spikes, the smugly rugged expression.

You've never despised a face so much.

“Remind me what that mouth’s good for,” he says, and he kisses you without grace, an arrogant, teeth-filled join of flesh.

You spit blood in his mouth and rip your mouth from his again.

“Jesus,” you say. “I hate you”

Butcher grins.

“Oh yeah? Then how come you came back for more?”

“Not for this. You’re such a fucking loser. A dirty fucking drunk”

Again you see the spark in his raging eyes.

“Pack it in.”

Would he burn the life from you while you’re still within him? Of course he would, you think; he’d probably come as he did it, pulling himself free of the charred halves of you with a sneering quip.

“Remember how hard you came on my cock the first time I shagged you?” asks Butcher, suddenly, a new aggression to his thrusts. “And what did you say when I asked if it was good?”

“Kiss my ass.”

Butcher pulls out of you briefly to turn you around and hits you in the face. You close your eyes against the pain, letting blood run freely down your upper lip until you taste it.

“Don’t be cheeky, Spite,” Butcher warns. “What did you fucking say?”

“Eat shit.”

He hits you again, cutting the skin at your hairline.

Still you say nothing, only bare your teeth and fill Butcher’s head with pictures of a night he’d been too drunk to finish, had slipped out of a girl half-hard and hit his head on the wall so violently he’d concussed himself, and she had gone home, sulking at his impotence.

“Think you’re clever, dolly bird?” says Butcher, and he stuffs his cock back between your legs again with a hand trembling with rage. “Well, you ain’t. I’m gonna make you come so hard you’ll think of it every time you stick your hand down your dainty little drawers.”

Butcher claps a whole palm upon your face as though he can’t stand the sight of it, and then he fucks you at just the right position and with enough evil passion to ring pleasure’s chord through your cunt again.

You clench your jaw so tight your head aches so as not to cry out, but he feels you climax around him, stares, smirking, into your eyes as he draws back his cock to examine the wet on it.

“Look at the state of you,” he mocks. “Bonked in an alleyway and loving every minute. Better give you a proper send off, eh?”

He picks you up and uses your body like a tissue to finish in, pressing you against him until the pulses of his finish slow to stillness.

Setting you down again, he rips off your panties with a nasty tug and pockets them, letting his spend spill down your thigh.

You teeter, furious, miserable, thinking he’ll kill you now, and half-hoping for it.

Butcher blows you a kiss.

“Thanks for the quickie, darlin.”

He jerks his head towards the street and the uncaring city beyond, jabbing in its direction with a belligerent thumb.

“Go on, then,” he says. “Fuck off.”

You do.

What else is left for you but to run?

#billy butcher x reader #billy butcher x spite #billy butcher x you #spite fic #the boys fic #tw noncon #tw rape #tw violence #dead dove do not eat

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northlt03 · 4 months

Text

Read The Secret History for the first time and I got obsessed with it so I wrote smth. Kind of want to write a whole fic but should I ??

Does such a thing as the “fatal flaw” so prominent in Ancient Greek myths and plays exist? And if so, what makes it fatal? What makes it have the power to unravel a person from the inside out? To be the very reason behind their downfall? To be the reason behind the madness they descend into.

My given, legal name is Bartemius Crouch Jr, after my rather self absorbed father. I am twenty three years old and this is my suicide letter.

I do believe such a thing exists. A fatal flaw. Something in the core of one’s soul, one’s psyche. Something fixed and immutable. A core part of one, around which the rest of their being is built.

Mine, I would like to think, would be something striking, perhaps climactic and dramatic. A morbid longing for the picturesque at all costs.

That sounds like something an old friend of mine might say. In a way, my writing of the events that follow, is a letter to him. To justify, perhaps, or to explain. I am not asking for forgiveness or understanding. This is simply a recount of what happened.

As is the case, the search for “aesthetic” might not be my fatal flaw at all. It is pride, or perhaps hubris, as the Greeks called it. A call for attention. I did this! We did this! Oh we’re all sick bastards but how fucking glorious was it?

Perhaps a smarter man might analyze that, sit me down and ask me why I feel like announcing this to the world. Is it because of the lack of attention I had growing up from my father? Or the feeling of being absolutely inconsequential and meaningless?

I grew up hearing, listening, reading, about old men and women who went on soliloquies, about the importance of family. Blood maketh family. Toujours puur, was the motto of my friend’s family. That is what all the adults believed around me, while I was young and even now.

Family above all else.

I feel as though they might have exaggerated the consequence of a family, making me believe I would never be greater than my father, that all my existence would be tainted by his. I would follow in his footsteps as a lawyer or perhaps a public servant and waste away like he did, with a wife and a child I never wanted.

Now, writing down my bitterness for my family, I may come across as a bit harsh. But that is the truth.

My father, a lawyer, who settled down in the south of England in a quiet sort of city, had never wanted to get married, nor to have a child. The fact was painfully established. Clear even to me as a child. I was unwanted. I was a hindrance, just another mouth to feed. Then as a teenager, a recalcitrant, rebellious waste of space.

I had a few friends growing up, none of them significant. I had always felt a shadow of dread, something rotten in my core, perhaps my fatal flaw. And it was this that other people, even children my age, could sense. I suppose that is why I was so swept up in the romance of it all at college. My first real friends, the ones who understood me, just as rotten and downright ugly on the inside.

It sounds shameless and repulsive on paper, but it is one thing to read about the events and another entirely to live through them, to live despite them, though I won’t much longer.

In my younger years, I did not have much of an affinity to the classics. I found them boring and incessant. It would be long until I grew to love everything I despised about them.

My father was a tall man, someone who, to me, had always seemed foreign and distant. We shared the same name (a bit egotistical in my opinion to name one’s son after oneself), and according to my mother, even shared the same features (a sharp nose, dark brown eyes, a distant stare, and a slim figure). I never accepted the comparison as a compliment. Even now, when it has been years since I’ve seen my parents, I detest even the mention of my father.

It is one thing to not want children and another entirely to have one you feel nothing for and push him to fulfill your ambitions that you never achieved.

The trajectory of my life had been decided by him since before I could put one foot in front of the other.

I was to study law, like him, from a better university than him, then with my practices, I was to support my aging parents once my father retired. I have now a few hundred pounds to my name, and I leave it all to them. It is a bitter sort of ending. They will not know about my death until the papers tomorrow.

My mother, in contrast, is a meek woman. She had always been that way and will stay that way until she dies. Passive, docile, doing what my father requests because she is in love with a ghost of a man who aged and turned vile.

She used to tell me stories of their youth. How she had met my father at college, a smart, brilliant, animated young man with great ambitions. She had been charmed instantly. And that is perhaps her fatal flaw. To see someone or something and immediately assume the best of it. To ignore the abuse she endured, and to try and convince me, her son, to see her husband in the same light she saw him— a hard working family man who despite his aloofness and distance, ultimately wanted the best for me.

I don’t know what magical land my mother lived in, nor what rose tinted glasses she looked at my father with.

My only impetus through most of my life was the fact that I never wished to be like my father. I would rather die before I became that cold husk of a man. Rather funny how life works out.

Now I am sitting here in a rented apartment at midnight, scrawling desperately while the love of my life snores in the bed behind me. The only light is the candle burning, something that reminds us both of our old friend. Tomorrow, we will join him.

But for now, I am my past.

My father could have accepted the sciences as a career had I chosen them. If I wanted to be a doctor or perhaps a veterinarian even. He would have been displeased, but ultimately be persuaded. It was my attraction to the Arts and Humanities he despised.

Though my involvement with them was largely an accident.

I was rather lazy in my first two years of college, content to just drift through life (another thing my father disliked). It was in my first year I chose Greek simply because the classes were only twice a week and both times late in the afternoon. That should give you an idea that I truly did not intend for everything to play out the way it did.

A butterfly effect so aptly called.

Had I known I would change the trajectory of my life this way, would I still choose that Greek class in the afternoon? (Now, listening to the soft snores behind me, the answer is obvious. Yes. Of course).

I was nineteen when my life changed. A quite unruly teenager who dramatized his life because he was afraid it would amount to nothing. I wrote in my diary, similar to the one I am now writing in, about everything and nothing.

I would write about the colors of the flowers in the spring, the first breath of fresh air after I had not left my house in some time, the vexatious and futile rituals of teenagehood the rest of my peers conducted, the loneliness I felt, trapped in that house, like my father’s hand constantly squeezing my throat, making it hard to breathe.

It was this diary my father had found, through my own fault. He was rarely, if ever home. He spent nights and days out, never informing my mother of his whereabouts. It left her wondering and fearing for his safety. Though a few days later he would come stumbling back with no explanations.

Sometimes I wanted to hold her by her shoulders and shake her.

Look at him. I wanted to scream, but for fear of becoming a shadow of my father, I did not. Look at his pathetic state! At the secrecy he employs. Business retreats he calls them! And what about the lipstick stains on his blazer?

My mother was either blind in love or a fool.

I hate to think I am a son of those two.

I hate to think I am no different from them.

I had always wanted to run away. Even as a child. I would dream about running into the woods, a mile out from the city. I had quite the imagination then. I would live in a tree, build my own house with my seven year old hands and live right there. I would never see my parents again.

I had written about my urge to run away as well in my diary.

My father found it tucked between the cushions of the sofa after I had fallen asleep the previous night writing in it and retired to bed, forgetting about the notebook.

There was screaming, a few objects thrown. An anger at the way I had written about him and my mother. It was all truth, of course. I never knew why he had the audacity to treat us the way he did, but not enough courage to own up to it, denying it entirely and loathing the truth I wrote about him. He could not hope to face the man he had become and took it all out on me.

I slammed the door of my bedroom hard enough for the frames on the walls outside to rattle. No one could bring out my father’s worst traits in me better than the man himself.

The day was cold, my windows closed. I wanted a breath of fresh air, but with my bad luck that day, I probably would have lost my balance and fallen out of my window and broken my neck on the pavement below.

That’s when my eyes fell on the brochure, shoved carelessly in my closet somewhere when I had been looking for colleges. My father had insisted on some local college not far from the house to cut back on the cost of living had I gone somewhere across the country or continent.

We weren’t poor, exactly. Not rich either. And the campus on the brochure made it clear Hogwarts University of Humanities and Arts was not for people like me. With its grand castle-like buildings, the rolling hills that surrounded it, blanketed by snow in the winter when the photo had been taken, and the classical medieval looking classrooms inside, I wanted it more than anything I had ever wanted.

Greed, I suppose, could also be a flaw of mine. I am chock full of flaws. All the sins rolled into one. Although I hope you wouldn’t hold that against me. It is so much more interesting to get swept up in the amorality of it all.

From the moment I had laid my eyes on the brochure, I knew I wouldn’t stop at anything. I wanted to be there and I would. Sometimes my ambition showed through. Greed, ambition, hubris, maybe not concerning on their own.

I flipped through the brochure, eyes scanning the important parts of the text. Perhaps if I could get a scholarship, which was certainly possible with my above average grades and excellent record in my local university.

#tsh #the secret history #donna tartt #regulus black #barty crouch jr #barty crouch junior #marauders era #rosekiller #marauders fanfic #tsh au #evan rosier #james potter

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