𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕴𝖓𝖋𝖆𝖒𝖔𝖚𝖘 • Doctor Doom

𝓥𝖎𝖈𝖙𝖔𝖗 𝖛𝖔𝖓 𝕯𝖔𝖔𝖒/ Victor von Doom ► Descriptive, Knowledgeable, Experienced. ► 13 years running. ► Prime Earth (616), original stories. ► Adult Themes (21+), Strong Language, Intense Violence. ► OC friendly. Crossovers welcomed. ► ↺ & ♡ / Repost & Like #MarvelRP Story-focused. Single character focus but can and will write others within stories. Banter gained after familiarity. Multi-ship. DMs are open for writing and plotting. NSFW disclaimer: Erotic and graphic material can appear within threads on the TL. The majority will be relegated within DMs. Do not approach if this bothers you. NSFW Images will be blurred. Erotic material by direct mentions only, not quoted reposts. Lewd/Story flexible. Preference is lewd involved with a story. Literacy and descriptiveness are expected. Signed: the.overseer👁

(He should start a fight though...)

Once more, I find the wisdom of observation far outweighs the impulse of speech. Were Doom to utter the unvarnished truth, he would surely ignite the very conflagration of war. While such a conflict offers its own grim amusements, it is not always the most calculated path toward the future.

He takes in the raw honesty of her confession — the years she spent convincing herself she was beneath his notice and burying the desire that came with it. Her lips move along his neck and ear, testing him with a gentle nibble and swipe of her tongue. She rocks forward on his lap again, responding to the lightest brush of his thumb. His palm stays warm against the bare skin of her lower back beneath her shirt. He lets it glide higher along her spine, fingers spreading until they rest just at the base of her ribcage. “You believed you weren’t worthy of this,” he says, voice low and clear near her ear. “Yet you still offer it all to me.” He pauses, letting her actions speak for themselves. “If you truly believed that, you wouldn’t have pressed this far. Look at you — a needy little thing who finally let that want take charge.” His fingers hold their position on her skin as he keeps his eyes on hers, faces close.

@EldritchSystems “Please,” she murmurs again, a sweet tension in her voice. “I’m yours. I wanna be yours.”

Fffffine, I’m swiping this.

As expected, I'm free from work and now I'm going under the blanket.

Yep. As soon as I get out of work I am going tf back to sleep. And I don't think that's gonna be too far away today.

the.overseer👁 When you wake up with the WORST headache.

magik! at the disco 🪩🪩

Victor remained right there with her in the small space she had claimed beside the window. He felt her body language shift as she spoke—knees still hugged tight, the faint tremble in her voice when she admitted how strongly she felt Morose blooming in her mind and heart, and how it made her nervous. When she leaned her head back against him after murmuring “Mm, that feels good~,” he answered with a low, understanding hum against her ear. “Hours, then,” he said softly, voice low and steady. “Doom can give you that. As many as you need before we go to her.” He felt the tender kiss she pressed to his forearm and tightened his arm around her middle just enough to reassure. His free hand rested lightly along her hip, a calm anchor. “I understand the nerves, my Jester. Feeling her so clearly after nine years… it is no small thing. But do not let these hours feed the fear. Use them to steady yourself. To prepare your heart to hold our daughter as she deserves.” The faint golden threads of his sorcery slipped warmly into her bare skin—calming, patient—brightening softly in reply to the lingering lavender. He sensed the bright, insistent bloom of Morose between her mind and heart, rich with love yet touched by her nerves, and simply held her through it. No rush. No pressure. Just this quiet space beside the window, bare and breathing together, until she was truly ready.

Swept in her own subconscious, Bianca didn't noticed he'd been watching, attentively. She may have heard the sable float onto the carpet, but her mind is preoccupied with dreams and metaphors. There's a stab in her heart that isn't without reproach; arguing amongst her mind. Pleading to allow entrance. His heat is unmistakable. The way she's so laxed that she doesn't hear him approach showcases the ease in which she feels. Upon his touch she hugs her legs tighter, rest her chin upon her knees, and gazes at him with gloss in her depths. Tracing her spine resonates he's there, supporting her. She leans her head against him as he massages. She nods to his inquiry, but answers entirely different. "Mm, that feels good~" The scalp clears of tension she didn't realize was there. He's sublime towering over her. Not to mention, he's fucking handsome - Irresistible, charismatic. Infinite. Soft and hard in the right places. She still remembers earlier... Victor has measured her mood and is responding accordingly. It's working, along with the PDA, she's more receptive, but still.. "...will you entrap both of us here... Doom?" It isn't anything personal. Bianca just understands and accepts his possessive instincts. "..I guess it's baseless to ask such questions.." Deciding to put the question to rest, with tender care she kisses his forearm. "I rested well, thank you." Again, he's so attentive, she can't help but to love it. "...I feel her in a space between my mind and heart. I'm nervous, if you can believe that. It's not so quiet anymore, its blaring rich and desperately. She loves me Victor, she really loves me." B cannot usually process others emotions this quickly, it literally has to build over time. This is how she knows, this is how she knows it's her blood, her daughter. The earlier question is answered as the moon crosses her stare again. His anchor-ship being the answer; leaving her room to not feel caged. Is she in love all over again? She doesn't want to conform, yet. "...can we just be here.. in the moment?" In a few hours. A few hours should do.

[@ThrillKiller_] A Taste of Intention The scent of smoked meat and burning jasmine clung low in the air. When Victor entered Casa Bianca, the hush was palpable—not fearful, but reverent. The lounge didn’t flinch at his presence. The patrons were too refined for that. But still, something in the atmosphere shifted, as if every fabric thread and polished surface took note of the moment. There was no need for theatrics. Doom did not demand attention—he attracted it, the way a black hole attracts light. The maître d’ greeted him with a nod deeper than the usual. His table was already waiting. Whether it was preparation, intuition, or something more arcane—he recognized the pattern. The same echo he’d felt when she first let him inside her crafted world, when he’d stood amidst fractured psyche and lavender streams. That metaphysical encounter had not ended—it had merely shifted forms. And now, as he approached the seat in her domain, Doom understood: she was extending her hand again. Not in greeting, but in challenge. The table was set for one. The menu, crisp and cream-colored, waited atop black silk napkins. He read through it slowly, absorbing the flair, the decadence—until his gaze fell on one item. “Penguin Delight: Flash-seared penguin breast over quail egg foam, with charred herbs and red wine reduction.” No overt message, no name attached. Just implication, sharp as a knife’s edge. A dish placed with intent. He did not smirk. He did not bristle. Doom simply set the menu down, fingers tapping once. “I’ll have the Penguin Delight.” The plate arrived beneath a silver cloche. Its unveiling was a ceremony, slow and measured. Steam curled like incense as the lid lifted, revealing the immaculate preparation. Slices of penguin breast, glistening and dark, fanned outward from a soft mound of quail egg foam. A thick line of red wine reduction divided the plate like a stroke of calligraphy. Garnish was minimal but brutal: blackened herbs, sharp as broken laurels. A server poured the wine. Doom nodded once in thanks, dismissing all else around him. With deliberate poise, he tore a portion of fresh bread—not too soft, not too crusted—and dipped it lightly into the reduction before tasting. No fork. No knife. Still refined, but personal. This wasn’t about manners. It was about flavor. The richness hit him first—unctuous and deep, the flesh tender but defiantly wild. The foam added contrast, a ghost of softness against the primal core. But it was the sauce—sharp, wine-bitten, subtly bitter—that delivered the message. It was not about Penguin. It was about her. This was no tribute. It was a warning dressed in delicacy. A message to him, to everyone, wrapped in opulence. She had claimed a symbol of power and turned it into nourishment—something to be devoured. And yet, Doom indulged. He did not mock it with commentary or performance. He honored it by consuming it fully, tasting every note she had laid bare. There was calculation in every fold of flavor, yes—but also passion. Pride. Possession. She had dared to serve him her world on a plate. The final bite lingered like a signature. Doom reclined, hand resting near his untouched wine glass. He did not drink yet. Instead, his eyes drifted slowly to the perimeter of the lounge. She wasn’t present—yet. But this place breathed with her. The décor, the rhythm, the curated tension between violence and velvet—he could feel her fingerprint on every inch. He adjusted the cuff of his glove. A moment passed. Another. Then his voice, low and composed: “Let her come.” He did not raise it. He didn’t need to. Whether she was already watching or would make him wait was immaterial. Doom had arrived. He had tasted. And now, he waited to see if Bianca would step into the light she had so artfully arranged.

👁: It will.

👁: Nah. I'll get it sorted or I'm gonna do the adult thing and ignore it until it sort itself out.

👁: A little shake up isn't unwelcome from time to time. Just now on the weekends.

👁: It's fine. Life isn't that stressful now.

👁: Seen too much. Robbed childhood. Regular disappointment from a young age. It happens.

👁: I have never been that my entire life.

👁: You know, you right. It did have an update available. Thanks for being so smart!

👁: by that time I'll be too old to teach.

👁: Only because I've been talking to you, but it's been doing that all day. This app been breaking lately and this is just how it decided to break today. Android btw

the.overseer👁 Twitter/X is so much on their shit it's arguing with me that it didn't send posts that it did.

👁: I'm too stubborn to go. Idk why. It's been too long, even my shadow is a teenager now. 😔