IT'S NOT ABOUT YOU.

Still, Peter desperately attempts to come up with some sort of excuse to get Stephen to stay.

Truthfully, there were plenty of things he could come up with- the rumor of some group of people referring to themselves as the Sinister Six; finding out what happened to his parents; the looming threats of companies- so many so that it's to the point it's almost too easy to come up with some excuse.

But even as all of these perfectly rational and important things cross his mind, he knows full well none of them are important enough to risk the structural integrity of the multi-verse.

And if none of those are good enough, neither is his own selfish desire to get Stephen to stay.

"I don't have a good reason," he admits as he tears his gaze away from the only person who's truly managed to make him feel some genuine sense of happiness since Gwen died.

There's been a pit in his chest ever since he watched her head slam against the pavement because he had been just too slow in catching her. It's a guilt that Peter's carried with him in everything that he does. He's tried to move on and have a full life, just as he knows full well she'd want him to, but despite his best efforts, it's been near impossible to let others in.

But Stephen, well, he's different from anyone he's met before. There's no worry about whether someone will hurt him when he can literally move through dimensions. Magic aside, he's also one of the smartest people he's ever spoken to.

"It's just- It's just me and Aunt May, and it's been that way since... it's been that way for a while. And it's been nice having you around, you know? It's been kinda lonely.

When did he get so soft?

His left boot is tied all the way up now. His teeth dig lightly into his lip, and his eyes linger on the right one still undone. If he looks Peter in the eye once more-- sees how earnest those big brown eyes are alongside the admittedly pathetic sound of his voice-- he'll be lost.

"I'd be worth that to you, huh?" he says, tone even. Stephen struggles not to sound cold.

"You'd just... figure out inter-dimensional travel. For our inter-dimensional booty calls." The term, though joking, comes out fonder than he intended.

Corner of his mouth ticking up slightly, his shaking hands take hold of the ends of his right boot's laces. Stephen puts them together carefully, clearing his throat.

"Well... that'd be creating the capacity to travel to my world in yours, technically," he says. "That'd be you adding multiversal mobility to the laws of this universe through your invention. It..."

It's ridiculous. And even if Peter hadn't intended for it to make any real sense, it's the most brilliant way for them to still see each other without breaking the tenuous threads of the multiverse.

"It'd work."

Stephen straightens, boot laced, and keeps looking at the wall in front of him.

𝚂𝙿𝙾𝙺𝙴𝙽 :

" that's a lot of blood. "

" it isn't mine. "

" what did you do ? "

[ sigh ] " what did you do ? "

" come on. have a taste. "

" holy shit, are you okay ? "

" it looks worse than it feels. "

" you should see the other guy. "

" it's a good look on you. you should get covered in blood more often. "

" lean on me. "

" oh my god. oh my god, oh my god, what the fuck ? is that what i fucking think it is ? "

" . . . gross. "

[ standing over a body ] " oops. "

" is that a fucking body ? "

" look, i'm sorry, okay ? "

" what the hell happened ? "

" before you say anything, it wasn't me. "

" at least it wasn't me this time. "

" look at me. this is who i am, no matter how much you pretend it isn't. "

" look at me. this is who i am, no matter how much you wish it wasn't. "

" i'm not scared of you. "

" you don't scare me. "

" shut up and let me help you. "

" i got your shirt all bloody. "

" let's get you cleaned up. "

" that looks like it hurts. "

" i'm fine, just. . . give me a minute. "

" we are so fucked. "

" what the fuck is wrong with you ? "

" are you gonna help me clean it up or not ? "

" the fucker deserved it. "

" red looks good on you. "

" what the hell did you do ; tap - dance all over the body with ice - skates ? "

" what, did you run over the body with your car a couple times after ? "

" i. . . i didn't mean to. . . "

" sorry. fuck, i'm sorry. "

" this isn't what it looks like. "

" it was an accident. "

" motherfucker ran right into my knife, i swear. "

" people need to look both ways before crossing. . . bullets. "

" would you believe me if i said wrong place, wrong time ? "

" hey, look at me. i don't care. are you okay ? "

" they deserved it, right ? please tell me they deserved it. "

" you're bleeding. "

" what the fuck happened to you ? "

" you're getting blood on the carpet. "

" sit down before you fall down. "

" that looks like a you problem. "

𝚄𝙽𝚂𝙿𝙾𝙺𝙴𝙽 :

sender spits out a mouthful of blood at receiver's feet

sender spits out a mouthful of blood on receiver

receiver finds sender covered in blood

sender tries desperately to stop receiver's bleeding

sender helps receiver clean up after a kill

sender wipes blood from receiver's face with a washcloth

sender wipes blood from receiver's face with their thumb

sender licks receiver's blood off a knife

sender licks receiver's blood off their thumb

sender lights up a cigarette a foot away from someone they killed before offering one to receiver

receiver finds sender stood over a body

sender stitches up receiver's wound [ optional wound placement ]

sender digs their finger into receiver's wound [ optional wound placement ]

sender frantically checks receiver for injuries under all the blood

sender guides receiver's bloody hands under a faucet / water source and begins washing them clean

sender bites receiver hard enough to draw blood

sender tilts receiver's head back to staunch a nosebleed

sender draws a smiley face out of the blood they spilled :)

receiver finds sender cleaning up a kill in a daze

sender looks receiver in the eye as they shoot / stab / kill someone

sender ruffles receiver's hair, getting blood all over their hand

sender gets some of receiver's blood on them and makes a face

sender flicks blood at receiver to annoy them

sender stomps in a pool of blood to splash it on receiver

sender slips in their victim's blood but receiver steadies them before they can fall

sender steadies receiver when they slip in the blood sender spilled

receiver comes home to sender covered in blood and waiting for them with all the lights off

sender spits out a tooth and it hits receiver

sender tries to wipe blood off receiver but the blood on their hands just makes it worse

sender takes an injury meant for receiver

sender shows up on receiver's doorstep covered in blood

sender sits down quietly next to receiver after receiver kills someone

sender punches receiver in the mouth

receiver watches sender lick the blood off their fingers like its cheeto dust

sender helps receiver bury a body

sender hugs receiver just to get their victim's blood all over them <3

sender hugs receiver just to get their blood all over them <3

sender leans on receiver for support

sender kills someone to protect receiver

receiver finds sender in a frenzy maiming a body after they've already killed it

sender kills someone and the blood spatters on receiver

receiver finds sender desperately trying to wash the blood off of themself

sender kisses receiver to taste the blood on their busted lip

Stephen's stance is practiced and intentional, a battle ready pose that reminds her of her old fighting instructor back in school that leaves oneself poised and ready to defend at a moment's notice. America suddenly wished she paid better attention in class, despite how her powers give her a slight edge when it came to brute force she was inexperienced when it came to actual technique.

He doesn't talk about how often he'd been knocked off his feet in the early days-- how conjuring shields quickly didn't mean much when they were made in the wrong places. Stephen doesn't expect America to be incredible, though a part of him can't help the amusement at how nervous she is at starting.

"I trust you, America. And I promise if you look even a little bit like you're losing control, we'll stop immediately.

"Now come at me." Stephen's tone verges on playful, goading her on. "Conjure whatever weapon you want and give me everything you've got."

She had been about to pull back when she felt his hand guide her movements, confirmation that he was ok with her helping. She nodded a little, copying the pressure he had shown her as she pushed her thumb up his palm. 

"It is what is." He chuckles. "This helps, though."

And to his credit, the firmer touch does bring relief. Stephen murmurs gentle instructions, showing Wanda how best to direct her pressure, and then goes quiet to fully enjoy the experience (and ignoring the brief pang of guilt in his chest to the best of his ability).

“Yeah here…” she whispered back, fingers brushing through his hair and grabbing a handful to tug on ever so gently. She let out another moan as Stephen nipped her lip, her heart rate already speeding up from the gentle touches and kisses, 

She did as she was told, her arms and legs wrapping around him tight as she leaned into the kiss. In that moment, it felt like time had stopped and like she was truly in a dream. Maybe it was down to the fact they weren’t back home, or maybe it was from the way he made her feel. Either way, it was addicting and she wanted more. // @illbringthechaosmagic [x]

God, it feels good to be wanted. Wanda presses against him and buries her fingers in his hair, and between the heady mess of post-battle adrenaline and how god damn good she tastes, it's impossible not to kiss her even deeper. The wet heat of their tongues touching makes him sigh in pleasure, warm and low into Wanda's mouth.

It's been so long since he's had someone to touch the way he does Wanda-- so long since he's had anything other than one night stands. But Wanda is familiar, known, and with one hand on the small of her back, the other pulls away to flick and form seals. A Tao Mandala instantly appears behind them; Stephen wastes no time to trap Wanda against it.

The magic in his construct shivers with someone as powerful as Wanda so near. He pulls away, marvelling at the sight of her amidst all the warm sparks of energy, and feels as juvenile as he is excited at the thought of fucking her against a wall.

"Get these off," he says impatiently, one hand on the side of Wanda's neck whilst the other slips between her legs. He's touched her enough times before to know where to press his finger-- to slide it between the lips of her pussy and part it just enough to find her clit through her leggings.

“Mm I had a funny feeling he might not appreciate that. But I’m sure he’ll get over it,” she mused, finishing off her snack before moving to rest against him once more. Mornings such as this one made her believe that life could be normal, or as normal as you could get with two magical beings. She finally felt relaxed, no longer hiding herself away.

...but, in a move almost uncharacteristic of him these days, he silences that rampant self-loathing. The bubble he and Wanda have curated is nice, and even if he doesn't deserve it, she certainly does.

"'Today'," he muses, "implies you want to spend the whole day with me."

His heart lurches and soars all at once.

"It's an interesting proposal." Stephen takes another bite of his apple, chews so that it looks as if he's thinking deeply, and then curves his arm a little tighter around Wanda's middle to pull her closer to him.

“Compared to you, yes.”

He stated playfully, sticking out his tongue at him for a moment.

“I am 23 years old..”

He added with a glance in his direction, curious about how he would react to this fact. He was quiet while he started to explain more about the Cloak that was currently carrying him. His eyes widened and he giggled when the cloak started to tickle his ears, making them move up and down in delight.

He nodded faintly when he mentioned it had a personality. That was something he had noticed indeed.

“That tickles..”

He said fondly to the cloak, letting out another burst of laughter as it continued to wiggle around him anyway..

“Hahaha! You are funny..”

He said, wondering if the cloak would be able to understand him.

It's a good thing Grogu's distracted by the Cloak's energy, because the admission to being twenty-three years old leaves Stephen stunned in its wake. The Cloak's lapels seem to bristle with glee at Grogu's compliment, and it sways the floating child from side to side in a gentle motion not unlike the wagging of a dog's tail.

Did you always live there? he thinks of asking. In that temple?

Do you not have a home to go back to any more?

But, recognising he'd just gotten the kid laughing, Stephen holds himself back. Just because he was a few years in age didn't mean that he was an adult. He'd ask questions about that temple some other time-- at the very least until after Grogu'd gotten a good night's sleep.

"It isn't everyday the Cloak approves of someone so quickly." Leaning against the counter, Stephen crosses his arms over his chest and smiles. "How about the two of you have a sleepover tonight?

However, the pain soon faded. Jacob reminded his body that this was a use, and, therefore, he was not to fight it. They had discovered that the gifts God once bestowed upon Jacob were imbued in his flesh ; from this font of blessed abilities, Stephen seemed able to draw strength. Jacob did not understand it, not really, yet he willingly offered up the meat of his divinely - touched form without question whenever Stephen needed it.

( that was love, wasn't it ?? )

Jacob watched Stephen eat of his flesh without further complaint, chest moving with shallow breaths. The sound had stopped bothering him long ago. Now, the wet tearing, snap of firmer material, and chewing were almost enough to lull him to sleep. They were as familiar as the sensation of Stephen's fingers digging into his limb — and as strangely intimate. For a moment, Jacob considered reaching out to touch Stephen's hair.

However, the sorcerer finished, and Jacob bit back his desire to ask if Stephen didn't want more. The bit of physical reassurance on his cheek and whisper of home made Jacob smile. As Stephen moved away to take care of the creatures that the cowboy had fallen prey to earlier, Jacob examined his ruined leg. With a frown, he ripped open the buttons that held together his blue checkered flannel shirt. Sweaty fingers looped the garment around the worst of the damage. Jacob pulled the cloth away from his neck and tied it tightly around the middle of the crude bandage. He groaned, white spots dancing across his vision. Shaking hands attempted to drag his jeans back up, but he was not able to get them beyond the middle of his thighs before the pressure overwhelmed him.

Jacob sank down to the ground, shoulders flat to it, and stared up at the ( beautiful ) glowing pieces that formed Stephen's barrier. He trusted that the sorcerer could handle these . . . things, all tentacles and torturous ooze just beyond the other man's conjured protection. — ESPECIALLY NOW THAT HE WAS FULL. Jacob took pride in that, and the toothy grin on his rugged face said as much.

Home. The word reverberated in his skull as he fought the urge to dig his nails into the itching, new meat that had begun to crawl back together under the layers of fabric on his leg. Home was where they would return, sure, but it was also here. Jacob's fingertips trailed along the grisly scar on his neck absently while he laid there, pale skin and shining gaze reflecting the magic above.

When he phases through his own barrier, Stephen's hand presses flat to the wetness of a monster's eye and squishes. A blue, glowing bracelet of sigils appears around his forearm in the fraction of a second, and the creature barely has time to screech (loud, but difficult to decipher; it's less noise and more vibration, so fucking intense Stephen's skull shivers) before it bursts into sludge and viscera, splattering messily into the shield that keeps Jacob safe.

Stephen doesn't waste any time. His fingers curl and uncurl, arms bending, reaching, twisting; each twitch of muscle is an incantation, each shift in his stance a spell, and in bursts of blue light he whips, and slices, and ties in shimmering rope before he pulls tight enough things explode. The edges of the Mirror Dimension tremble at all the eradication around them, and the feeling of suffocation Stephen had been compartmentalising away eases further and further until his lungs are filling with clean air once more.

By the end of it, he's standing in gore that reeks of leprosy. The glowing blue brace on his arm fades away, and the only reason Stephen doesn't collapse onto his knees in exhaustion is because he can still feel Jacob's presence, as warm as ever, glowing with magic radiation in the corner of his mind. He turns to look at him where he's still within his barrier, and with a relieved noise allows each delicate weaved line to fade away as he levitates in the man's direction.

"You okay?" Stephen's hand lands on Jacob's chest, resting square on the core of his soul. Though he's covered in the muck of interdimensional disaster, he's sure Jacob wouldn't mind. (God knows Stephen's found him covered in worse.)

His hand thumps on Jacob's chest in a quiet rhythm, fingers raising and unraising all the while as he forms seals atop him. With luck, this spell will keep Jacob hidden from any more otherworldly threats for a while-- it's damn dangerous that he'd been pulled into the Mirror Dimension outside his control, and Stephen doesn't want it happening again.

"I'm confident that if I can punch through walls then I could seriously hurt you." America didn't think that doing terribly bodily harm to her mentor was a great way to learn hand-to-hand combat or spellcasting for that matter, but then again Stephen was tougher than he looked maybe the sorcerer had secret kung-fu tricks that they taught him at Kamar-taj.

"Don't insult me."

With his hands compressed in their wraps, Stephen flexes his fingers, concluding that today's a good day for sparring. If nothing else, Wong would be proud of him for remembering to train his body (and then even prouder that he finally decided to include America in his routine).

"Training doesn't mean anything if you don't try. I don't expect you to go hard enough to kill me" -- God, Stephen hopes that's clear -- "but I want you to take this seriously, too.

"The only way you'll get good at using your powers is if you make an effort to use them."

Stephen gets into the right stance, knees bent and his weight distributed evenly. One trembling hand reaches out, then turns to show America its knuckles.

He curls his fingers towards himself twice, beckoning America closer.

Stephen Strange + 🔥Walking🔥