your princess in another castle

Summary: Mysterion saves Butters Stotch from certain death one cold, dark night. He is immediately captivated by the blonde-haired boy, but Butters wants nothing to do with love or caped crusaders.

author's Note: This story will contain some very dark themes, so fair warning! Thanks for reading, and leave a review!

Cover art was commissioned from Preoprix!


Intro.


It was dark and hot.

The smell of cheap perfume lingered in the air, faintly tinged with the coppery smell of blood. There were cigarette burns in the fabric of the old couch in the corner, the coffee table was stained and scratched, and the carpet was so thin the bare floorboards could be seen peeking through in spots. The motel room was covered with a hideous gray wallpaper that looked as if it might have been white once upon a time, and the door was so thin and flimsy Mysterion could hear someone's TV blaring three doors down. It was hardly a romantic scene, but this was hardly a romantic encounter. Right now, all Mysterion cared about was the sturdiness of the bed.

Wendy moaned against him.

She was completely nude, armored only in a fine sheen of sweat. Mysterion was naked except for his mask and cape. Besides the obvious need to maintain his anonymity, they liked it when he kept the mask on, and Mysterion was only too happy to oblige. He pulled Wendy flush against him, smiling wickedly, and lowered his head to take her left nipple in his mouth. He sucked gently while she trembled against him, her hands bunching in the smooth dark fabric of his cape. Mysterion dragged his tongue across the soft mounds of her breasts, kissing and sucking until she was hissing his name in a thin, strangled voice. Wendy hooked a leg around his waist, disentangling her hands from his cape to wrap her arms tightly around his neck. She kissed him hard, her lips moist and slightly swollen, whimpering into his mouth as Mysterion cupped her pert, firm ass and nudged her backward. He tumbled them both onto the bed, his cape spreading over them like a blanket.

"Mysterion…" Wendy whispered, writhing under him as his lips settled hungrily on her throat. Mysterion felt her small hands inching toward the ties that kept his mask in place, but he caught her wrists before she could unlace them and pressed them firmly into the mattress.

"What did I say about the mask, babe?" Mysterion asked, his voice low, rough, "No taking it off. Don't ask, don't even fucking reach for it. If I have to tell you again, we're done." He used a free hand to trail a fingertip across her collarbone, down one heaving breast and over the taut planes of her toned stomach. When he reached her hipbone he dipped inward, slipping a finger into the hot core of her. She was dripping with arousal. Mysterion eased a second finger inside while Wendy buckled helplessly against him, her wrists still pinned.

"Will you be a good girl?" Mysterion murmured as he slipped his fingers in and out, slowly working deeper. "Hmm?"

"Oh...God...!" Wendy cried, arching desperately into his touch, which was never quite deep enough, hard enough. "Please…!"

"Answer my question." Mysterion withdrew himself from her completely, fingers slick with her, watching with a small smile of satisfaction as her pretty face contorted with desire and frustration. "I said, will you be a good girl?"

"Yes!" Wendy sobbed, her dark eyes shooting fire, "Yes, now fuck me, you bastard!"

Mysterion laughed richly, using a knee to urge her legs open. Wendy was squirming unabashedly, impatient with need, but Mysterion started off slow, pressing kisses to her stomach. His fingers continued where they'd left off, and this time, he pushed as deep inside her as they could go. He worked urgently, hooking his fingers up to touch an incredibly sensitive part of her anatomy. Wendy gasped, then screamed as he lowered his mouth to nibble on her throbbing clit, dipping in, pulling out, using both hands now, faster and faster. Wendy was pulsing around him, her nails digging into his scalp, struggling to survive the pleasurable onslaught. Mysterion withdrew once more, his face and fingers smeared with her essence.

"You taste like apples, babe." He murmured, and dove in once more, teeth gently sinking into her clit. He shoved three fingers in, quick and hard, and Wendy came with a shudder, tugging on his hair so roughly she ripped a few strands out.

Wendy was still seeing stars when Mysterion flipped her over, so that she was resting on her stomach, her face buried in the musty coverlet. He placed his hands on her hips, urging her ass into the air, and thrust inside with a groan that made something in her belly quiver.

The rest was motion, frantic motion, as Mysterion fucked her hard enough to make the bedsprings in the funky mattress squeak. Wendy was shouting, cursing, her voice muffled, wildly working her hips back on his dick. She came again, her voice raw with release, and then he did, fisting a hand in her thick black hair as he spilled himself inside her.

It was times like these when Mysterion was glad he wasn't exactly human. He didn't have to worry about unplanned pregnancies.

Later, he dressed himself in the cool, inky darkness as Wendy slept. When he had completely donned his superhero costume, he turned back to the bed and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

"Take care of yourself, babe." Mysterion murmured.

He left his calling card on the night table and slipped out the window, into the night.


As much as Mysterion enjoyed hot, no-strings-attached sex with his admiring fans, there were lots of other things he liked about being a superhero. Despite The South Park Gazette's concerted efforts to paint him as a dangerous (and possibly even insane) vigilante who needed to be put behind bars, Mysterion did this because he genuinely enjoyed helping people, and wanted to protect the town he called home.

Many folks labored under the assumption that being a superhero was a glamorous, exciting occupation, but that couldn't have been further from the truth. Traipsing around as a caped crusader was hard, risky, unpleasant fucking work, and unlike the local police force Mysterion didn't have the luxury of being able to call for backup. His nights were filled with the worst of what society had to offer. Criminals and lost, broken souls who had long since given up on any hope of rescue a long time ago filed his nights in equal measure. He didn't get paid to patrol the streets and hand out tickets, he didn't operate under an umbrella of bureaucracy and red tape. Mysterion went where he willed, and helped those who had fallen so far through the cracks that even the police weren't an option.

He wasn't arrogant enough to think he was doing a better job than the men and women of the South Park PD — but they had their place and he had his. He liked to think he was making a difference, however small. Every person he saved made the pain, the long, sleepless nights, and every unspeakable, fucked-up situation he'd ever witnessed worth it. It was a thankless job, mostly, but Mysterion didn't need to be patted on the back. He did this for himself. He did this for his sister. He did this for South Park, and for every person who'd ever felt hopeless, powerless and alone. Mysterion knew what it was like to feel that way, and he never wanted anyone to have that same experience. He would play guardian angel for half the town, if that was what it took.

So long as there was violence and darkness, he would be there. He was Mysterion, protector of the weak, harbinger of good, and mortal enemy to all those who'd seek to harm others.

...And right now, he was freezing his fucking ass off.

Mysterion sighed, checking his police scanner once again, but all he got was silence, broken by the occasional buzz barely worth listening to. For once, the town was peaceful, held in the grip of an oncoming blizzard. Thick piles of snow had built up along the crenelations of the old City Hall building where Mysterion had perched himself, and more snow was drifting lazily from a sky black and moonless. Mysterion futilely blew into his cupped hands, which were numb in spite of the thick gloves he wore. It was just past three o'clock in the morning, he judged. Mysterion stood up, stretching his aching legs. Being a superhero was ninety percent waiting for something to go down and ten percent action, he had discovered. If he had a dollar for every time he'd nearly frozen to death, or gotten soaked to the bone, he could quit his day job.

Habit — or perhaps it was just stubbornness — made Mysterion check the scanner again. When he was greeted with more silence, he yawned, tucked the device away, and decided to call it a night. Tweek Tweak (his sort-of sidekick and trusted adviser) couldn't sleep until Mysterion had made it back to the base safely. It would be good to hit the sack before dawn for once, and the wind was beginning to pick up speed, each gust carrying a definite bite to it, stealing every last bit of warmth. This storm's going to be a bad one.

Mysterion leapt off the roof of the City Hall building with all the grace and fearlessness of a feline. He navigated the darkened rooftops of South Park's businesses and homes with parkour-like moves, flawlessly executing flips and jumps that could easily have broken every bone in his body with one wrong wrong slip. Hell, he had broken every bone in his body before, back when he'd first started doing this. The learning curve had been one steep upward slope, fraught with danger and setbacks. Mysterion had made plenty of mistakes.

He always got a chance to try again, though.

Mysterion cleared the span of distance between two buildings, then paused to catch his breath. The sound of voices in the alley below made him tense and turn back, because he recognized that sound. It was the same tone his father had once used, when he was in his drunken rages. Mysterion crouched and cautiously peered down into the alley, narrowing his eyes at the darkened figures he saw there. Two men had pinned one small, blonde-haired boy up against a filthy dumpster, while he shivered in obvious fear and distress. From this distance, Mysterion couldn't make out what they were saying, but when one of the men whipped out a pocket knife and held it against the small blonde boy's throat, he flew into action.

Mysterion leaps down with a loud clatter of noise, hoping it would distract them. It did.

The men whirled around, startled. Freed of his tormentors, the blonde-haired boy simply slumped to the ground, too weak to stand. Mysterion rushed the thugs before they could recover from their surprise, taking one out with a furious flurry of blows. One well-placed punch to the face squashed the man's nose like an overripe tomato, then a blow to the sternum, followed by a solid roundhouse had the man on his knees. Another kick to the head and the asshole was out like a light, bleeding into the dirty snow.

Mysterion spun on the next guy, the man with the pocket knife, but this dude was much faster than his friend. He lunged forward, shouting obscenities, and buried the blade in Mysterion's shoulder. Mysterion grunted with pain, staggering under the man's weight, and wrestled with the guy a little before throwing him off.

Great, I just fucking dry-cleaned this costume, Mysterion thought, yanking the knife out of his shoulder. It came free with a spurt of blood, slicing muscles along the way, and hurt like a bitch, but Mysterion was used to that. The man tried to lunge at him again, fists raised, but this time Mysterion was ready for him. He pivoted at the last moment, and used the idiot's own knife to open a weeping gash in his forearm. The dude screamed, staggering, clutching his bleeding limb, and Mysterion quickly buried a foot in his gut, served up with a crushing blow to the temple. Like his friend, the asshole crumbled like a sack of potatoes.

"Now you know how it feels." Mysterion growled, tossing the knife down in disgust.

Breathing hard, Mysterion turned to face the blonde-haired boy. He was huddled by the dumpster, shivering uncontrollably, his eyes huge in his wan, pale face. When the boy saw Mysterion looking he winced, drawing back like a wounded animal, before struggling to his feet.

"Suh-stay away f-from muh-me!" The boy stammered, trembling, "Puh-please, jus'...jus'...get the fuck away!"

"I'm not going to hurt you," Mysterion replied wearily, clutching his bleeding shoulder, "you're safe now, alright? Please, just calm down."

The blonde-haired boy shook his head vehemently, his hair flying. He finally managed to struggle to his feet as Mysterion watched in alarm, and began running away as fast as he could, his sneakers squishing in the snow.

"Wait!" Mysterion shouted at the boy's fleeing back. Damn it!

He chased after the blonde boy, down one alley and into another as he fled, careening wildly into the darkness.

"Leave me alone! Jus' leave me the fuck alone!" The boy shouted over his shoulder, but in spite of his desperation to get away, it was obvious he wasn't doing too well. He was limping, nearly falling flat on his face more than once. Mysterion caught him easily, snagging the back of his shirt with his good arm.

"I said calm down! I'm not here to hurt you!" Mysterion snarled, feeling more than a little annoyed by the chase. He was bleeding like a stuck pig, and the boy was refusing to listen to him. He began struggling madly, sobbing, kicking and punching Mysterion as hard as he could with his weakened limbs.

"Fuck you! Fuck you! I hate you!" The boy whimpered, his high voice breaking with terror, "Please...puh-please...don't take me back there! I jus'...I...I'm beggin' you, please!"

"Goddamn it, for the last fucking time, I'm not here to hurt you! And I'm not taking you anywhere you don't want to go!" Mysterion shouted, at his wits' end. So much for calling it a night. "What are you even talking about?"

The boy turned to look at him. Mysterion's breath caught in his throat. The blonde-haired boy had traces of a black eye, and there were bruises on his neck in the shape of hand prints. His clothes were dirty and he was far too thin...but his eyes...his eyes were beautiful, a stunning shade of aquamarine shiny with unshed tears. Mysterion had never seen eyes like that, gentle and innocent, yet filled with pain, loss, confusion. His heart clenched in his chest as the boy trembled, the tears in his eyes finally rolling down his cheeks.

"Please don't take me back." The boy whispered, before he slumped in Mysterion's arms and fainted.

Mysterion held the unconscious boy in his arms for a moment, before tenderly scooping him up, forgetting the pain in his wounded shoulder. The boy was so small it was like picking up a wad of damp towels. He was clearly malnourished. Mysterion felt fury blossom in his chest, intense and all-encompassing.

Tweek hated having people he didn't know in the secret base...but his trusty sidekick would just have to make an exception this time.