Hello and good morning/afternoon or evening wherever you are. I hope this isn’t a bother but can we have a doctor strange! Reader having to take down interdimensional threats like angstrom and mark variants before the time stream collapses ( kinda like spiderman long way from home. I love your work!)
A wise woman once said, “For a genius, nothing is more precious than failure.”
For a doctor, there is no such thing as perfection–that’s why they call it “practicing medicine,” because there is always more to learn and there will always be something to improve.
Sadly, you were no longer a surgeon. Magic is the source of miracles, but even it is bound by destiny, and destiny states that you were meant to serve the world outside the operating room. Outside the realm considered “normal.”
Being Sorcerer Supreme wasn’t all that it was cracked up to be. Sure, you could turn bullets into butterflies at the flick of a wrist, and yes, it’s nice being able to go anywhere without having to wait for the bus or sit still in an airplane next to a crying baby.
You prevented evil wizards from taking over the spirit and mortal world, stopped the sun from becoming a black hole more times than you can count, and outsmarted an interdimensional Eldritch abomination–
Blah blah blah.
You missed the good old days, when you were just a student at the bottom of the food chain, when there was more to study, more to explore, more to learn.
Humans are privileged in not having enough time to learn everything all at once. You were an unfortunate exception. With your astral projection, sleep was no longer something you worried about; while your physical form recuperated, your soul would devour all the books and ancient scriptures available. But now? You knew everything. Time is the enemy for mortal scholars, but what happens when time becomes your slave?
The time stone has long been lost, but during the brief moments you had it, you bore witness to every branch from the tree of fate. Every probability, every parallel universe blooming with every choice made by everything and everyone in existence.
In one of those blossoms, a man named Angstrom Levy saw but a tiny fraction of eternity, and thought that he alone had unlocked the secret of the universe.
“Little fool,” you said, voice cold.
He struggled against your binding spell but the golden strings around his neck, waist and limbs tightened in response.
“Don’t waste brain power trying to escape.” The spell that kept him in place also cut off the source of his teleportation.
When he finally realized that there was no flaw to exploit in your ropes, he breathed out an angry “Who are you?”
“Wow, you really tried to take over the multiverse without even knowing who I am? Very well–” You flipped your cape. “You are one of the chosen few to meet me in person. I am the Sorcerer Supreme, Master of the Mystic Arts.”
“I have never heard of you.”
You laughed at his cheap attempts to insult you. “That’s all right. I’ve been around for so long that monsters have forgotten to fear me. Soon, you will be joining them.”
“Me? You’re punishing me? What about him–what about them?” He didn’t have to say a name. You knew exactly who he meant. And that person’s alternate selves were likely already killing each other in that wasteland dimension.
“What about them?”
Angstrom was taken aback by your words. “Mark Grayson is nothing but a pest, a-a-a darkness that ruins everything–”
“Mark Grayson is the sole existence that’s keeping this world and all the other worlds alive.”
He looked at you like you were insane.
“You really don’t know anything, do you?”
“Know what?”
You placed your palm over his eyes, white light flashing as you force-fed memories into his head.
Angstrom screamed in agony.
You pulled back. “Now you know the truth.”
“No… it can’t be.”
“You’re supposed to be a smarter man than this, Angstrom, do not deny what has been placed in front of you.”
“No!” He wriggled, the binds suffocated him with each movement. “It can’t be! This world, me and him, you’re telling me… you’re telling me that every bad thing that has happened to us, every single choice we made was meaningless?!”
You shrugged. “I wouldn’t say ‘meaningless.’ You and everyone else here was born for a single purpose–” You smiled and said: “Entertainment.”
Golden threads wrapped around his mouth, stopping him from shouting once again.
“The gods are cruel, aren’t they?” You whispered. “But there’s not much we can do about that.”
You waved your hand and he was gone.
Time to clean up his mess.
You cracked your knuckles and opened the last world he accessed with his powers.
It wasn’t a dying Earth, but a dying universe. Even if they flew out of the Milky Way they won’t be finding anything.
When you appeared, two of them tried to attack you but your protection spells were quicker.
“Now gentlemen, there is no need to be rough. I’m here to send you home.”
The Mark draped in black and yellow kept his fist on your shield. “You expect me to believe that? You’re with Angstrom, aren’t you? Where is he? I'm going to kill him!”
You didn’t say anything, merely watched as he tried punching you again.
Another Mark with a veil joined him.
Idiots.
You snapped your fingers and your shields combined to a giant dome that pushed them back. “I’m not that little red-haired playmate of yours, it’s going to take a lot more than a few hits from a Viltrumite to break down my force fields.”
You waved your arm and they started floating against their will. Even with their smart atoms, they couldn’t fly away.
The others regarded you with anger and suspicion.
“Who…what are you?” The Mark wearing Omni-Man’s colors demanded.
“I’m the Sorcerer Supreme.”
There was a beat before he replied, “Who?”
Your eyebrow twitched. “Look, I already dealt with Angstrom, I came here to help you get back to your respective timelines out of the goodness of my heart, mind you.”
“How about you take us to Angstrom and we don’t beat the living shit out of you?” The guy with the awful haircut said.
“I don’t think you want that.”
“I think we do,” said the bald one.
The Invincible with his whole head covered up stepped forward. “We don’t want to fight, so just surrender.”
“Speak for yourself,” Mohawk snorted.
“Give up,” Omni-Invincible pointed his finger at you. “You are outnumbered.”
“Oh?” Your cape fluttered behind you. “Well, you are outclassed.”
To call what happened next a “fight” would be an insult to the word. They fell like flies in a matter of seconds.
You sent them to their realities and once again, the multiverse was safe from destruction. With a yawn, you went back home and watched a movie.
A/N: I've never watched the Tom Holland Spiderman films and my knowledge about Dr. Strange is limited, but I didn't want to reject these requests cause they gave me a chance to write an OP reader. Once again, liberties were taken when I made this fic. (Y/n is also lowkey inspired by the unrivaled Madam Herta.)
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Hey, can you make a Wednesday Addams x Male Heretic (Vampire/Witch Hybrid) Reader
The reader is a heretic (vampire/witch Hybrid) who studies on Nevermore and is Wednesday's secret boyfriend. They're cuddling alone until Enid barges into the room without knocking.
Understood! I went a little overboard and made Enid slip up, hope you don’t mind!
❕Surprise! 🫢
Wednesday Addams x Male!Heretic!Vampire!Wizard!Reader.
The moonlight spilling through the window of Wednesday Addams’ dorm cast silver shadows across the floorboards, pale beams illuminating the dark sanctuary that had become your second home. The atmosphere inside was comfortably quiet, broken only by the rustling of your cloak as you adjusted your position on her bed.
Wednesday was nestled against your chest, her hand absently playing with the pendant that hung from your neck—an ancient sigil carved into obsidian, humming faintly with restrained heretic magic. You felt her breath against you, calm and steady. For someone who always wore the mask of perfect indifference, she allowed herself a rare softness here, in the quiet, hidden moments with you.
“Your heartbeat,” she murmured suddenly, voice calm but threaded with curiosity, “it’s slower than most. Almost like the clock ticking in a crypt.”
You smirked faintly, fangs grazing your lower lip. “A side effect of being half-dead. Comes with the whole vampire-wizard-heretic package.”
Her fingers paused on your pendant, and she tilted her face up to look at you. Her eyes, darker than midnight, carried that piercing stare that could make anyone else recoil. But you’d learned not to flinch. “Don’t misunderstand, Y/N. I find it… comforting. Like the steady toll of a bell at dusk. It reminds me you are mine, and no one else’s.”
The corner of your mouth lifted. “I wouldn’t dare belong to anyone else, Wednesday.”
Her lips brushed your jaw in response—a fleeting touch, but enough to make your dead heart stutter in ways it never should. You wrapped your arms tighter around her, pulling her closer, the scent of her black ink and clove lingering in the air.
That was when the door clicked open.
“Wens, I was thinking we could—” Enid’s voice, chipper and bright, cut into the stillness like a blade. She froze halfway into the room, her blonde curls bouncing as she blinked rapidly. Her eyes widened as she took in the sight of you and Wednesday tangled together on the bed, your arms wrapped protectively around her.
“OH. MY. GOSH.” Enid’s hand flew to her mouth. “Wens—are you cuddling? With… him?”
You tensed, already considering the spells you could cast to wipe this from her memory—or at least charm her into silence. Wednesday, however, didn’t move. She didn’t pull away, didn’t look remotely embarrassed. Instead, she simply turned her head slightly toward Enid, still resting comfortably against your chest.
“Yes, Enid,” she said flatly. “As horrifying as it may be to your saccharine sensibilities, Y/N and I have a relationship. And before you unleash your rainbow-coated screams of joy, I’d advise you to remember that I know precisely how to extract your tongue without leaving a trace.”
Enid’s mouth opened, closed, then opened again. She looked between the two of you, her expression caught somewhere between shock, delight, and disbelief. “W-Wow. You have a boyfriend. A secret boyfriend. And he’s—uh—kinda scary but also kinda… cool?”
You raised a brow. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
Enid squealed softly behind her hand. “Oh my gosh, I knew something was up! You’ve been sneaking out more, and Wens has been less grumpy in the mornings—”
Wednesday sat up slightly, her hand still resting on your chest like a claim. “Enid, if you value your brightly-colored existence, you will leave now. Pretend you never saw anything. Speak of this to anyone, and I’ll make sure your next full moon comes early… with no control.”
Enid gulped. “R-Right. Secret’s safe. Totally safe. Like… vault-level safe.” She hesitated at the door, grinning despite Wednesday’s threat. “But I’m so happy for you two.”
With that, she slipped out, closing the door softly behind her.
You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding, glancing down at Wednesday. “That could’ve gone worse.”
She reclined against you again, unbothered. “It still might, if Enid’s mouth betrays her.” A pause. Then, with that rare softness again: “But even if it does… you are worth the inconvenience.”
Your undead heart thudded harder than it should have. You pressed a kiss to her temple, whispering, “And you’re worth every secret I keep, Wednesday.”
Her only reply was the faintest curve of her lips—her version of a smile—as she settled back into your arms.
The next morning at Nevermore, the quiet of breakfast in the quad was shattered by Enid Sinclair’s usual burst of sunshine.
She plopped her tray down across from you and Wednesday, her grin so wide it looked like it might split her face in two. “Sooooo,” she sang, drawing out the word, “how are lovebirds this morning?”
You froze mid-sip of blood-tinged tea, while Wednesday’s head swiveled slowly in Enid’s direction. If looks could kill, Enid would’ve been reduced to glittering dust in her cereal.
“Enid,” Wednesday said, voice colder than a morgue drawer. “I warned you what would happen if you opened your mouth.”
“Pfft, relax, Wens,” Enid chirped, twirling a strand of hair. “I haven’t told anyone. Your secret is locked down tight. I’m just… processing. My roomie has a boyfriend—” she pointed at you with her spoon, “—and not just any boyfriend, but a broody, vampire-wizard-heretic boyfriend. It’s like dating three horror tropes at once! You’re living my gothic romance dreams!”
You set your cup down carefully. “I prefer the term ‘multifaceted,’ but… I’ll allow it.”
Wednesday narrowed her eyes at you. “Do not encourage her.”
But Enid was already leaning forward, whispering excitedly. “Sooo, how long has this been going on? Did you, like, cast a spell to sweep her off her feet? Or was it more of a ‘fangs-out’ kinda seduction?”
“Enid.” Wednesday’s tone could have chilled fire.
You couldn’t help yourself—you smirked. “A gentleman never reveals his secrets.”
Enid gasped dramatically. “That means yes! Oh my gosh, you’re perfect for her. Dark, creepy, brooding… but with a soft spot that only she gets to see.” She practically melted in her seat. “You’re like, peak OTP material.”
Wednesday stabbed her fork into a slice of blackened toast with enough force to make the table jump. “If you persist, Enid, I will gladly experiment on how long a werewolf can survive with their vocal cords removed.”
“Eek!” Enid held her hands up in surrender, though her grin never faltered. “Fine, fine. I’ll shut up. But just know…” She waggled her eyebrows at you two. “…I ship it. Hard.”
The rest of breakfast passed with Wednesday simmering in thinly-veiled irritation, you hiding your amusement, and Enid humming happily like she’d uncovered the juiciest secret in the world.
By the time you and Wednesday escaped back to her dorm later that day, she let out a sigh sharp enough to cut glass. “Enid is becoming intolerable.”
You chuckled, leaning against her desk. “You know, it’s kind of nice having a fan. Makes us feel like a forbidden legend.”
She crossed the room, her hand brushing against yours as she passed. Her dark eyes flicked up to meet yours, cool and unwavering. “You are already legend enough to me.”
That one sentence alone was enough to silence any clever remark you’d had waiting on your tongue.
Outside the door, you swore you heard Enid’s muffled squeal through the wall.
It began, as many disasters do, with Enid talking too much.
You and Wednesday were seated together in the library, her notebook open as she sketched out some grisly dissection diagrams while you studied an ancient grimoire. The quiet between you was steady and comforting—until Enid burst through the doors like a rainbow-colored tornado.
“There you two are!” she stage-whispered, plopping down at your table without waiting for an invitation. “Guess what?”
Wednesday didn’t even look up from her sketch. “If it’s another inane update about your manicure schedule, I suggest you bury yourself alive before I do it for you.”
Enid rolled her eyes. “Nooo, it’s about you two! Okay, so I might have let something slip—”
Your head snapped up. “Slip?”
Enid winced, holding up her hands like a criminal caught red-handed. “Not on purpose! Bianca was teasing me about how Wens seemed ‘a little less homicidal lately,’ and I may have laughed and said something about ‘true love softening even Wednesday Addams.’”
You felt your jaw tighten, the ancient wards on your pendant thrumming faintly in response to your irritation. Wednesday finally looked up, her glare sharp enough to flay.
“Enid,” she said slowly, “did you tell Bianca we are together?”
Enid bit her lip. “…Define ‘tell.’”
The silence that followed was suffocating. You pinched the bridge of your nose, exhaling through your teeth. “Unbelievable.”
“Don’t be mad!” Enid pleaded. “I didn’t say your name! I just implied Wens had a secret romance. How was I supposed to know Bianca would immediately start spreading it around like wildfire?”
Wednesday rose to her feet with eerie calm, closing her notebook with deliberate precision. “Because, Enid, you have all the subtlety of a chainsaw in a funeral home.”
By the next day, the rumors had spread like ivy strangling stone.
In the quad, you heard whispers as you walked past—students casting sidelong glances, whispering things like:
“Wednesday Addams, with him? Figures, he’s dark enough.”
“Do you think he enchanted her?”
“No way—she’d hex him back. Must be real.”
You ignored most of it, but you couldn’t ignore the way some students stared like you were suddenly part of a story bigger than yourself. A heretic vampire-wizard dating Wednesday Addams—it was the kind of tale that would slither its way into Nevermore legend.
That night, back in Wednesday’s dorm, she sat on the edge of her bed, lacing her fingers together in thought. You stood by the window, the moon painting your silhouette in silver.
“So… the secret’s out,” you said quietly.
She lifted her eyes to you, expression unreadable. “Secrets are like bodies, Y/N. They always rise to the surface eventually.”
You chuckled darkly. “Poetic as always.”
Wednesday rose, stepping closer until she was only inches away. Her gaze held yours, unflinching. “Let them whisper. Let them speculate. Their fascination will fade. What matters is this—” she touched your pendant, fingers brushing your chest over your slow heartbeat, “—you are mine. Whether the world knows or not is irrelevant.”
Her lips ghosted yours in a kiss sharp as a blade but warm enough to still your restless magic.
From the hallway, you heard Enid squeal again.
The whispers hadn’t died down. If anything, they’d multiplied.
By midweek, walking through Nevermore felt like navigating a hall of mirrors—everywhere you turned, eyes followed, mouths murmured, speculation oozing like smoke. You could tolerate it. You’d been branded an outcast even among outcasts before. But what you didn’t expect was Bianca Barclay herself to cut through the fog of gossip like a predator on the hunt.
It happened in the quad. You and Wednesday were walking side by side, her hand brushing faintly against yours—never openly affectionate in public, but always tethered, always near. That’s when Bianca appeared, flanked by her usual entourage.
“Well, well,” she drawled, blocking your path. Her gaze flicked between the two of you, sharp and assessing. “I’ve been hearing some delicious rumors. Wednesday Addams, caught cuddling up with a vampire-wizard? Tell me it’s true.”
You felt your jaw tighten, but before you could speak, Wednesday’s voice cut in, flat and razor-edged.
“What you’ve heard is none of your concern, Barclay.”
Bianca smirked. “Come on, Wednesday. Don’t be so cagey. You know how Nevermore works. Secrets don’t stay buried long—and this one’s practically clawed its way out of the coffin.” Her eyes slid to you, lingering a fraction too long. “Besides, I’m curious what exactly he did to win your cold little heart. Hypnosis? A blood ritual? Or maybe…” Her smirk widened. “…maybe you actually like him.”
The crowd of students that had started to gather snickered and whispered.
Your pendant pulsed against your chest, magic tugging at the edges of your restraint. You stepped forward, meeting Bianca’s gaze with the full weight of your heretic bloodline behind it. The air grew colder, shadows stretching faintly toward your boots.
“I don’t need magic to win someone’s heart,” you said, your voice low and steady, threaded with power. “Least of all hers.”
Bianca faltered for just a moment—enough for Wednesday to seize the opening.
“Pathetic,” Wednesday said, her tone slicing like broken glass. “You surround yourself with sycophants and gossip because you thrive on attention. Meanwhile, I have something you’ll never possess, Bianca—someone who chooses me without illusion, without manipulation, without pretense.” She laced her fingers through yours, deliberate, defiant.
The quad went silent. Bianca’s smirk slipped, just slightly, before she recovered with a toss of her hair. “Fine. Be mysterious, be cryptic. But don’t say I didn’t warn you—Nevermore loves a scandal.” With that, she turned on her heel, her entourage scrambling after her.
The murmurs erupted again, louder than before, but you ignored them. Wednesday still hadn’t let go of your hand, her grip cool and firm.
“You didn’t have to do that,” you murmured, leaning closer.
Her dark eyes flicked up to yours. “Of course I did. You are mine. And I don’t share.”
That night, word of your public hand-holding spread faster than wildfire. By the time you and Wednesday returned to her dorm, Enid was practically bouncing on her bed.
“You held hands in public?!” she squealed, clutching a pillow. “That’s, like, a Wednesday Addams love declaration! You two are officially legendary.”
Wednesday gave her a look promising immediate death. “Sleep with one eye open, Enid.”
You just laughed, drawing Wednesday closer, the echo of her words still warm in your chest: You are mine. And I don’t share.
Synopsis: You don’t have the courage to enter that lake and join your friends because you’re too damn scared about what others may think about you in your swimsuit. Especially him.
“Are you afraid of the water or something?”
“Yes.” Lied like a professional.
Note: with the swimsuit time on right now and that hot sun, I feel like this is more of a self inserting fanfic than anything hahahaha. Still, I hope you like it, but be reminded that you’re stunning and absolutely beautiful <3 Rock that swimsuit random stranger!! 🐠
——————————————————————
It was a hot afternoon, and everyone has been sweating like pigs, wishing more than ever for the summer break to go home and stay still near a pool of a lake or whatever took the heat away. However, weeks still barreled between school and summer vacations, so Fred’s idea got everyone on the dark lake, near the shore for safety.
Everyone was there from your group of friends, enjoying themselves while splashing water around, laughing and swimming. All while you sat on the green grass, trying to focus on the letters you wrote on your essay under the heat, even if you were protected by a light cast of shadow from the large tree behind you.
Yes, you had to finish that essay as quickly as possible, being due the next day. But part of you knew that the reason you took the supplies with you was because you did not want to get on the water, to show everyone your exposed body. In short, you did not feel comfortable on your own skin, and that’s a problem even when you’re alone looking at a mirror, sitting or even standing. Whatever you do, some part of your brain always likes to tell you how bad you look every time you’re doing something.
And the biggest reason as to why you did not take your clothes of, even if you’re swimsuit awaited to be wet underneath your clothes, was because Fred was there. You liked him from a very and shameful long time, but you knew the feelings were not mutual, obviously. You were never his type, recalling every girl he’s had something with. And it made you sick sometimes, thinking you would never have a chance with him. But maybe it was for the best, given the fact that you would not trade his friendship for anything else on the world.
Still, you would be scarred if you caught him looking down at you if you tried to jump on the water too. What if he looked at you with a nasty glare? Wondering why the hell you took of your clothes, knowing what was underneath.
So, sat you were. You looked up sometimes, forgetting momentarily about the history of gnomes and catching glimpses of some fights or pushes that led to laughs and jokes. However, unbeknown to you, someone made his way to the tree you were using for protection against the sun once your eyes focused on the paper again, marching his way until he plopped near you, against the same tree, and smiling brightly.
“Hello,” Fred says beaming, and his smile is so shiny you think you could mistake him with the sun. However, you feel your cheeks flush once you realize he’s naked from his waist up, his torso well exposed.
You felt like a trapped fool, trying not to look down at all costs.
Just keep focused on his eyes!
You thought, but it was a hard task. Still, you did your best, smiling back at him and dropping the quill on the grass gently. “Shouldn’t you be swimming away from this heat?” You say with a light chuckle, and his eyes crinkle once again when he smiled.
“Yeah, but it’s no fun without you there,” he whines with a wink. Perhaps phrases like these, said by the most charming ginger you’ve ever laid eyes upon, were guilty for making you fall for Fred. And he just smiled again, that damned smile that seemed to never leave his face every time you looked at him, wherever.
You shook those thoughts away, snorting like it was some kind of joke. “I’m right here! Besides, there’s plenty of people there for you to demonize,” you told him with a smirk, but he shrugged, his naked shoulders rising and falling in an instant.
Focus, please.
“You know you’re my favorite person to demonize, right? I thought I had made that abundantly clear.” He looked at you quizzically, almost daring you to recall every inoffensive prank he’s pulled on you, which seemed to occur every now and then.
You just laughed it off, taking your eyes off of his, but still feeling his on you. Once again, your heavy crush making you delusional just like always. Now that you were both silenced you thought he would rise up, bid you his farewell for the next hour before you would all retreat inside of the castle again. But he kept himself on his spot next to you, so close you could feel his arm resting next to yours, his bared leg touching your jeans.
“Why don’t you join us?” You looked at him again slowly, realizing that maybe he really did kept looking at you these past long seconds. And you try to search for an adequate answer, scavenging for something believable and not the truth.
Well, because I know everyone would judge me. But even worse, I can’t stand the thought of you looking at me when I’m so naked.
Should you just throw it all out? That would be weird. Of course it would. “I… I just don’t feel like it,” you said, not explaining further as he raised an eyebrow.
“Daphne told me you said to her that you would give everything to swim at lunch.” Why would he even know that? And why would Daphne tell him something you said amongst the thousands of things you’re always discussing with her? And why the hell would he even want to know that?
“Right. But right now, I don’t feel like it. That’s it.” He did not seem convinced, itching to make you go with him to the lake and join everyone.
You kept looking at him, hoping he would forget about it. He deviates his gaze from you, looking down at the grass beneath him, plucking some of them while you watched the water drip from his hair, which was wet but yet seemed to be more dry than it was some moments before.
“It’s been like, five times?” Fred asked, still looking down and plucking the green from the ground. “Not once did you go in with us,” he said, finally looking up at you again, smiling softly. “Are you afraid of the water or something?” His tone was gentile, and his words were heavy with curiosity.
But you were not having it. You were not explaining why you did not feel comfortable without something covering your body to the boy who makes you want to do backflips every time he speaks to you.
“Yes.”
Your quick answer seemed to answer his doubt. His smile kept being gentle, the droplets kept falling from his hair, his shoulders kept being naked and you kept thinking there was no chance he would know what really kept you away from the water and all the fun.
“Alright, that’s fair.” He chuckled, his eyes wrinkling again before he looked ahead to the lake as you kept looking at him. “I just feel like I should say one last thing before I can return there to push George to the bottom of this lake,” Fred said, looking at you again with those vivid brown eyes, leaning totally on the tree with his back.
You were leaning on the tree too, smiling at him, mostly because you felt lucky, being able to admire him this close, his fainting yet many freckles tainting his rosy cheeks while some of his hair was sticking on his forehead. “What?”
Suddenly, you felt something in your hand, the one on your lap, on top of the papers you were writing on. His hand was colder than yours, perhaps blame of the cold water he was swimming on before, but still, you felt like your hand couldn’t feel more hot.
Your eyes darted quickly to the scene before meeting his eyes again, your smile and peaceful expression being changed by confusion. But instead of a frown, something you would expect him to do if someday you decided to hold his hands out of nowhere - even if he was the one grabbing your hand right now - you were met with a smile. And Fred looked almost as shy as you assumed you’d be too, your cheeks inflaming.
“I think you’re very beautiful. And…” He paused, smiling like a fool to you and to himself, looking in your eyes and searching for something more. “I really like you, everything about you. And I hope you know that,” Fred says, squeezing your hand softly, and you felt petrified, in a good way if that could happen.
Your belly was aching, your heart was racing and your mind was trying to save Fred’s words forever. Basically, you were numb, trying to figure out if this was really happening.
But still, with his hand in yours, his eyes so begging for something, you still had trouble admiring that perhaps your crush of years was confessing to you. It was delirious.
You cracked an awkward but yet sweet smile that to him reminded the sun, softly squeezing his hand with a chuckle. “Thanks, Fred,” you said shyly.
Without letting go of your hand, Fred stands up, leaning over you as if waiting for you to also stand up while your hands remained clasped. You beamed again, feeling your cheeks burn as your mind fried. You gently took the paper and your quill out of your lap and onto the weed before standing up next to Fred.
“I just- I need to take off my clothes…” Fred nodded, finally letting go of your hand that now felt emptier before looking around as you awkwardly took off your jeans and your t-shirt, now with a swimsuit you never used.
You breathed deeply before clearing your throat, smiling and trying to forget about your exposed body. “Well, are we going to swim or not?” You asked as Fred looked at you again. And for a moment, you thought he would laugh at you, tell you how bad you look. Or maybe he would just frown, disgusted.
But that’s not Fred. And you should not think your friend would do that. “Damn right we are,” he practically shouts before taking your hand and dragging you as you ran towards the water while you two laughed.
That afternoon you felt at peace, swimming amongst your friends and feeling less hot, away from the scorching sun. But the best was the way Fred smiled at you throughout the entire time, always keeping himself close to you while still finding a way to put everyone down on the water, finding especially amusing the way his brother despised being pushed into the water.
Later, once all of you were going inside the castle again, Fred remained behind with you while your friends chattered away a few meters ahead. And the conversation you had with him near that tree was plaguing your mind as you tried to figure out if he really meant everything he said.
Looking up at him while you both walked, you stopped, and he did too as he glanced your way. “Do you really meant what you said earlier?” You asked, not knowing where the confidence had come from. But you’re glad it showed up, because Fred approached you, smiling.
“Of course I did,” he told you, putting one of your loose strands of hair behind your ear, making you blush like a madman. “And I want you to know that I mean it, seriously. So, do you want to go to Hogsmead with me Sunday?”
You raised your brows in shock, stuttering. “Like a-“
“Date.” Fred beamed, now taking your hand. “I’ve been wanting to ask you forever,” he admits, now more bashfully. “What do you say?” He smiled coyly, making your insides turn into mush as your head spun around.
How would Angor react to seeing his on and off again S/O after getting out from that rubble in the temple? Like, they're a crystal witch/mage/whatever and they come looking for him because they finally sensed those crystals in his skin after all these years? This is probably a really weird ask, but i would love to see your take on this!
Hello! Sorry for the long wait and here you go! I tried a more realistic approach :) (I hope at least haha)
You were you at your job when you felt sharp shivers shoot up your spine. The scanner in your hands slipped out of your grip and clattered on the counter, along with a fizzing crack as the energy drink you were scanning fell off the counter and split open. Your eyes were wide and you could feel your heart-beat frantically in your chest. That familiar energy aura could only belong to one man. Or troll. Angor Rot.
Angor was alive? You could feel hands on your shoulders guiding you away from the counter, your co-worker easily taking your place and finishing the check-out with the horrified customer. Your other co-works worried over you, fearing that you had a heat stroke. Arcadia was an awfully hot place after all. You waved off their concerns but clocked out for the day at their persistence that you go home and get some rest.
You could barely drive, your nerves buzzing in your arms clutched the steering wheel tightly. You were so sure that he was lost to the sands of time. Hundreds of years had gone by and that same aura had been snuffed. Until now. You felt anxious and excited all at the same time. Now Angor had been something of a ‘on-and-off lover’ as today’s society calls it. Yet that was many, many years ago. Before many humans took to cities and built their society; abandoning magic in their wake. When Angor left and many humans turning against the old days of magic and spells, you blended among society. You were a witch among harvesting the life and spells from special gems and crystals. That’s how you met Angor, actually. You were harvesting crystals and had found him from his aura his stone crystals gave off. It went off from there.You pulled into your apartments drive through and exited your car with a sigh, shutting the door behind you and fondling your eyes to press the lock button. With the satisfying beep from your car, you headed towards your apartment. You climbed the metal stairs and approached your wooden door. You took in the worn wood and the rusty numbers nailed into your apartment door. One of the numbers had fallen off, leaving behind a dusty residue of the past number behind. Finally, you sighed. Fishing out your keys from your pocket and unlocking the door. You shut the squeaky door behind you, locking it back in place before resting your back against the wooden surface. “What am I going to do?” You groan, cupping your forehead with a hand and closing your eyes. “It’s been millennia. You need to get over him.” With a silent shiver, and trembling of your fingertips, you opened your eyes. “I can sense you,” You grumbled, pushing yourself forward and letting your hand falling to your side. “Stop hiding, Angor.”
A raspy chuckle greeted you and the familiar, slender shape of the crystal troll fell from the ceiling, landing as graceful as a cat. “Even an assassin such as myself could never remain hidden from your magic.” He responded, gazing down at you with an intense amber stare. You forced yourself to avert your gaze, crossing your arms to your chest in a sense of security. You remained silent but tilted your head to watch him take in your apartment. His steel gaze narrowing in disgust at the ripped wallpaper, crooked picture frames and the distant sound of a leaky faucet. “A sorceress such as yourself, reduced to a place of rubble.” He growled under his breath and you found yourself becoming defensive of your home. Sure, it wasn’t perfect, but it was home!
“I’m not a sorceress anymore!” You snapped, tensing as his attention turned towards you. “Those days of making potions and harvesting crystals are over Angor. Time has changed while you were gone.” You felt anger as he stared at you in disbelief. Was it really so hard for him to accept you have moved on from magic? You suddenly looked sheepish as you looked at the ground, avoiding his stare. “We have both changed.”
Angor was silent for a heartbeat but stepped forward to gently cup your chin with a clawed hand. “My dear,” he rumbled. “Things may have changed,” He agreed silently. “But my affections surely haven’t.” He finished. You felt your cheeks reddened at the statement but you firmly lifted your arm and grasped his hand with your own, pulling it away from your chin gently. “Angor,” You breathed, flustered but determined. “You can’t just vanish for decades and then come crawling back.” You grimaced at your own words, especially when Angor flinched in response. “I’ve changed as a person and I fear I’m no longer the same person you fell for all those years ago.” You rubbed your arms in comfort, tears building up behind your eyes. “I think we should wait a while before rushing into another relationship.”
Angor let out a raspy but silent sigh and he lowered his arm, taking a step back. “Very well,” He agreed. You watched silently as he approached the window but looked over his shoulder. “Don’t forget that my affections are true, (Y/N).” With that, he was gone and you felt a rush of emotions. You did love him so dearly as well, but you know this was for the best. After all, there was always the future.
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The reader is wizard (BBC Merlin/Tvd style) and a Dragonlord (Dragonlords are men who are able to speak to and tame their spiritual brothers, the Dragons. This is an innate, hereditary ability passed down from father to son.) He organizes a date night with Miss Capri which is flying on his dragon across the world
☁️ Above the Clouds 🐉
Isadora Capri x Male!Dragonlord!Wizard!Reader.
The sun sinks low over Nevermore, gilding the world in orange fire and soft violet haze. You stand in the clearing behind your tower, the air humming faintly with magic as your dragon stretches his wings.
Vaelthyr — your spiritual brother, your bonded soul — gleams in the dying light, silver scales catching every flicker of sunset. You run a hand along his neck, feeling the warmth beneath the armor of his hide. He rumbles softly, a deep, thunder-like vibration that makes the air around you tremble.
“You can feel it too, huh?” you murmur with a smile. “She’s close.”
Vaelthyr’s golden eyes narrow knowingly, and his tail gives a lazy sweep along the ground — a dragon’s version of amusement.
Moments later, you hear her — the steady click of boots against stone, her stride measured, confident. When you turn, Isadora Capri walks toward you, her coat swaying slightly in the breeze, her eyes full of quiet curiosity.
“So this is what you’ve been so secretive about?” she asks, stopping just a few paces away, lips curving faintly.
You can’t help smiling. “Part of it. The rest is… well, you’ll see soon enough.”
She glances past you to Vaelthyr, whose wings twitch in anticipation. “You can’t possibly mean—”
“—a flight?” you finish for her, stepping closer, lowering your voice. “Of course I do. Trust me?”
Isadora folds her arms, tilting her head — but the softness in her gaze betrays her. “You know I do.”
You offer your hand, palm up. “Then come with me.”
Her hand fits into yours like it was made to. You guide her up to Vaelthyr’s back, steadying her with your free arm. The dragon lowers himself obediently, scales glinting like starlight as he helps her climb.
When she settles behind you, her hands instinctively find your waist. You can feel her warmth even through your robes, and it sends a quiet shiver through you.
“You can hold on tighter,” you tease.
Her voice brushes your ear — low, amused. “Don’t tempt me, Dragonlord.”
You grin, then whisper the ancient tongue of your kind — “Vaelthyr, ai rhaesh’an.”
The words glow in the air for a heartbeat, and then Vaelthyr surges upward.
The ground falls away. The rush of air whips through your hair as the dragon’s mighty wings beat against the wind. Nevermore shrinks below — the clock towers, the lake, the rooftops — all turned to glittering fragments beneath the rising moon.
Isadora’s gasp turns into laughter, clear and bright in the cold night air. She tightens her arms around you, pressing close as Vaelthyr climbs higher still.
“It’s—gods, it’s beautiful!” she shouts over the wind.
You glance back at her, catching the starlight in her eyes. “Told you it’d be worth it.”
The dragon glides through a break in the clouds, and suddenly the world goes silent. Moonlight spills over everything — Vaelthyr’s scales shimmer like quicksilver, the sky a vast ocean of stars around you.
You murmur another spell, weaving small motes of blue and gold light that drift like fireflies in the air around you both. Isadora reaches out, her fingers brushing one as it flickers softly in her palm.
Her voice drops to a whisper. “You always do this… you always find new ways to make the impossible real.”
You look at her, really look at her — her hair caught in the wind, her eyes alight with wonder, the faint smile she tries (and fails) to hide.
“You make me want to,” you say quietly.
Her breath catches. For a moment, neither of you move. The stars above and the world below fade until it’s only her — the rhythm of her breathing, the soft heat of her hand against your chest.
Then she leans in and kisses you.
It’s slow, tender — but full of that same fire that burns behind her calm eyes. Vaelthyr rumbles approvingly beneath you, his wings steady, carrying you through the clouds as though even the sky itself respects the moment.
When you part, you’re both breathless.
She laughs softly, her forehead resting against yours. “You’ve ruined every future date for me, you know that?”
You grin, brushing your thumb over her cheek. “Then I guess I’ll just have to keep setting the bar higher.”
Her hand lingers over your heart, her voice soft as silk. “Next time, you let me plan it.”
You chuckle. “Only if it still involves you.”
Vaelthyr dips slightly, beginning a smooth descent toward Nevermore’s twinkling lights. You glance back once more at the stars, feeling the faint pulse of your dragon’s bond echo in your chest — strong, steady, unbreakable.
As Isadora rests her chin on your shoulder, whispering something only you can hear, you think to yourself —
There’s nothing in all the skies you’d trade for this moment.
