#bene

[punti-disutura]

“Ora non ho bisogno di nulla. Un tempo di tutto. Ma allora non ci fu nessuno per me. Ora mi tengo il molto male che nessuno può togliermi, e il poco bene che nessuno può attribuirsi.”

Giovanni Pascoli, Aforismi.

[aetherialmuse]

Conjure

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pairings: Doctor Strange x reader

genre/warnings; Fantasy, angst, hurt/comfort, magic overload, supportive relationship

Summary: When your unstable magic threatens to consume you, Doctor Strange refuses to let you disappear into the chaos again.

1104 words

Snow spiraled around you in the middle of the Sanctum’s library.

Which would’ve been fine—if there wasn’t also fire crackling above your palms, water pooling under your boots, and a ring of floating books orbiting your head like confused, mildly terrified satellites.

You squeezed your eyes shut as another pulse of uncontrolled energy rattled loose from your chest, a shockwave that sent scrolls flying off shelves.

“I—I can’t stop it,” you choked out. “Stephen, I can’t—”

A golden portal sliced open beside you, and Doctor Stephen Strange stepped through with the exact expression he wore whenever you did something that made Wong consider early retirement.

Concern disguised as irritation.

“Okay,” he said calmly, hands raised as if approaching a wild, magical raccoon. “Deep breaths.”

You let out a noise that was absolutely not a breath and definitely a screech.

“Don’t tell me to breathe! Last time I breathed, I set the curtains on fire!”

He glanced at the scorched curtains behind him. “Point taken. But screaming isn’t helping either.”

“Stephen—!”

Your magic surged again, brighter this time—gold around your fingertips, blue flickering in your veins, your heartbeat mixing with the hum of raw power that refused to be caged. Energy lashed outward in uncontrollable arcs, and Strange had to form a shield to deflect it.

Not a good sign.

When it faded, he stepped slowly toward you, slipping through your chaotic orbit of books with practiced ease. “Look at me.”

“I can’t—if I lose focus—”

“You’re not going to lose anything,” he said, softer now, stepping close enough that you could feel the warmth off him. “You’re safe. I’m here.”

The words cracked something in you.

You’d tried so hard, trained for months, pushed yourself until your hands shook. And still your magic slipped.

Still it scared you.

“I’m going to hurt someone,” you whispered, voice trembling. “I’m going to hurt you.”

His jaw hardened. “No. You won’t.”

You shook your head, panic swelling in your throat as another tremor of magic rippled outward. “You don’t know that—”

He reached out, slowly, deliberately—letting you feel the warmth of his palm before he touched your cheek.

“I do.”

Something inside you responded instinctively to him—your racing magic faltering, flickering in confusion like a wild creature encountering someone who wasn’t afraid of its teeth.

“Stephen…” Your vision blurred as sparks scattered from your fingertips. “It’s… too much.”

“I know.” His thumb brushed your cheekbone. “Then let me help you carry it.”

Another pulse surged through your chest—you felt the familiar sensation of magic climbing too fast, like pressure building with no escape, threatening to rip itself out of you.

Stephen felt it too; his hand slid from your cheek to the base of your skull, steadying you.

“Listen to my voice,” he murmured. “Match your breathing to mine.”

“You said not to breathe!”

“That was five minutes ago,” he deadpanned. “Now you breathe.”

You wanted to argue. You really did. But then he inhaled deeply, slowly, and the force of his calmness pulled at you.

You tried.

For a moment, it didn’t work.

Your powers flared violently—a burst of uncontrolled magic spiraling upward like a storm. Strange drew a sigil in the air, weaving a stabilizing spell around you in shimmering gold bands. They didn’t restrain you—they grounded you, like hands pressed firmly around your shoulders saying you’re not alone.

Your voice cracked. “I’m sorry—”

“Don’t apologize.” His gaze flicked over the chaos behind you—floating tomes, overturned tables, a fireplace that was now… inexplicably filled with jelly. “Trust me, this is far from the worst thing that’s happened in this building.”

Another shaky breath left you. He stayed close, forehead nearly touching yours.

“Again,” he murmured. “With me.”

You inhaled, unsteady but trying.

Your magic trembled like a tightly wound thread.

“Good,” he whispered.

You exhaled.

The books dropped from their orbit, clattering to the floor. The snow dissipated. The fire in your palms shrank to embers.

Your knees buckled.

Strange caught you before you could hit the floor, arms sliding beneath you with surprising gentleness. He lowered the two of you to the ground as the last flickers of energy sputtered uselessly.

You clutched his robes, exhausted, your voice barely audible. “I hate this.”

“I know.” His fingers threaded through your hair, grounding you more effectively than any spell. “And you’re allowed to hate it.”

Hot tears spilled down your cheeks—silent at first, then louder as the adrenaline drained out of you.

He didn’t tell you to stop.

Didn’t tell you it was fine.

Didn’t pretend this wasn’t terrifying.

He simply held you.

“Your magic isn’t broken,” he said quietly. “You’re not broken.”

You pressed your forehead against his chest. “It controls me. Not the other way around.”

“That’s not true.”

“It is,” you whispered. “And every time I lose it, I see the way everyone looks at me. Like I’m going to explode.”

“I don’t look at you that way.”

You shifted, lifting your head enough to meet his eyes. “Why not?”

“Because I know a person,” he said gently, “not a danger.”

Something warm twisted painfully in your chest.

You swallowed. “What if… what if one day I’m too much? What if you can’t contain me?”

A faint smile touched the corner of his mouth. “Since when have I wanted to contain you?”

You blinked.

“That magic of yours?” he murmured. “It’s powerful. Chaotic. Beautiful. And when you learn to shape it—because you will—it’s going to change the world.”

You shook your head. “You make it sound easy.”

“It isn’t.” He brushed a tear from your cheek with his thumb. “But you don’t have to face it alone.”

Your breath hitched.

He stayed with you on the floor until your shaking subsided, until your magic quieted in your veins like a sleepy, stubborn animal curling up at last.

When he finally helped you stand, he didn’t let go of your hand.

“Come on,” he said softly. “Let’s clean up before Wong sees and decides I’m banned from teaching.”

“I’m the one who blew up the library,” you mumbled.

“And he’ll blame me anyway.” He squeezed your hand. “That’s what partnership looks like.”

You stared up at him, chest tight.

“Stephen-”

"I know.”

Your magic hummed faintly beneath your skin—not threatening, not wild. Just present.

Because he was.

Because he stayed.

And as he guided you through the wreckage of your own chaos, your fingers intertwined with his, you finally allowed yourself to believe what he’d been trying to teach you from the beginning—

You weren’t something to fear.

You were something to master.

And you were not alone.

[foreverblondie23]

[somehow---here]

Tante cose si fanno per il bene degli altri che diventano il male degli altri e il proprio.

Leonardo Sciascia, "Candido, ovvero un sogno fatto in Sicilia", pag 111

[futurirubati]

Ricordati di non stare male per chi sta bene senza di te.

[luvjua]

Benedict Bridgerton

[insinirate]

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