#dr stephen strange
-Stephen ripping Tony out of the afterlife-
Stephen: YOU SAID THE KID WAS DIFFICULT TO LOOK AFTER YOU NEVER SAID HE'D DESTROY THE MULTIVERSE
Tony: YOU LET HIM DESTROY THE MULTIVERSE?!?!!?! STEPHEN I TRUSTED YOU
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Natasha x Reader Magic part 2
A/N: Wow this just kind of went in its own direction. Its a long one
Summary: Natasha hasn't had the best luck in tracking you down since you disappeared on her. She's almost ready to give up and just call it quits. Until unexpected run in happens, and she ends up helping you out off a sticky situation.
"Natasha how could you lose her you knew how important it was to get her on the team." Steve ranted walking back and forth in distress.
Natasha sat on the couch with a bowl of cereal in her lap her mood much more relaxed compared to her fellow teammate, and co-leader. It goes without saying that Steve wasn't too happy when she returned to Avengers compound without the witch in tow. Both of them knew how urgent it was to find someone that could help Wanda get her new powers under control. After everything that happened with her taking over an entire city. The only reason the government even agreed to back down, and let them handle things was. Because they promised to keep Wanda under lock and key until she was no longer a threat.
But the truth was neither of them even knew where Wanda was, but lucky for them no one else did either. Including this new organization S.W.O.R.D, or Monica Rambeau while she was a bit friendlier and wasn't as eager to lock Wanda up. She still worked for the people that did want to take their teammate away. So they kept her at arms length but as long as no one started asking questions, and Wanda stayed off the grid. Then the lie they told would be safe but it's only a matter of time before something else happened. Steve and Natasha wanted to get ahead of whatever it was, so they reached out to Dr.Strange to see if he could help. Stephen just insisted that he had other matters to attend to, but could try and find them help. In the end the despite all his extensive knowledge, and knowing other sorcerers. All he could offer them was a last name out some ancient book about the most powerful witch families in the magic world.
"A name Stephen is that really all you have to offer?" Steve demanded holding up the piece of paper in his hand.
Stephen was levitating in the air with his legs crossed and his eyes closed. He paid Steve's angry outburst no attention not even opening an eye when he replied. "Yes a name to one of the most powerful witch families in the world. I would let you borrow a book but it holds way too much knowledge for me to trust in your hands."
"I don't care about the stupid book and you can keep the name too. Wanda needs a teacher Strange" Steve argued throwing the now balled up paper on the floor.
After that action Stephen did open his eyes and his feet dropped to the floor. "I know what she needs Captain that's why I spent literally hours searching for someone that can help her."
"You didn't give us a person to go with that name" Natasha reminded him with a small shrug.
Stephen gave both of them a pointed look. "A name is all I have to offer because the few witches that do still exist theses days, aren't exactly easy to find all of them tend to try and live off the radar of everyone. Including their fellow magic users after all history hasn't been kind to them at all. I figured a name would be enough for the world's greatest spy to go off of."
"Flattery isn't going to get rid of us Strange- Steve started before Nat cut him off. "Speak for yourself solider" her tone was light going right along with the playful smirk on her face. She was trying to keep things civil between them and the sorcerer supreme. Because it was obvious Steve didn't care if things did get out of hand.
Steve turned to Nat with a glare but it did faze her at all. She simply raised her eyebrows at him mouthing "play nice."
He let out a frustrated sigh but heeded her warning his tone was a whole lot nicer when he spoke again.
"Why can't you just teach her I know you don't have the time, but you have a whole magical academy for sorcerers with teachers, living quarters, and everything."
"For the same reasons Bruce couldn't build your time machine when Tony said no. Magic works the same way science does Captain there is a huge difference between a witch's magic and sorcery. While it might fall under the same spectrum the mechanics of it works differently. I can't just pick up a book and starting learning how a witch's abilities work let alone try and figure out the magical capabilities of Wanda's new powers. Whatever her magic has turned into it far out of my grasp to help her not without extensive research. And that is time I'm guessing you can't afford so you're better off finding a witch who knows of the power, and can help her master it. As for the academy Wanda is welcomed to stay there if she wants to, but I highly doubt that she's even considered it."
"Okay that annoyingly makes sense but is there no witch on your radar that you can point us in the direction of?" Nat asked picking up the piece of paper off the floor. "Or is a witch hunt really our only and best option?"
"The only witch I know of is the same witch Wanda put under a spell. One that I cannot and will not break because Agatha Harkness is much too powerful and dangerous to just let her run rampant. She would be no help to anyone. The name I gave you belongs to a bloodline of witches that were powerful but also known to be good. Unlike other covens they didn't retaliate against the humans and try to kill them, nor did they study dark magic. If anyone can help her it will be one of them. If they're still around these days and you can manage to find one."
Both Nat and Steve let out a groan at his last statement, but neither complained again instead they thanked him and left.
"Is a thousand year old last name really going to be enough for you to find a long lost witch coven?" Steve asked her later when they were back in the compound.
She sat at the table with her laptop in front of her typing so fast her fingers were almost invisible. "You heard him I am the world's greatest spy." she joked with a small chuckle
"Nat" his voice held a worried tone and it made her lookup from her laptop screen. Steve was standing across from her gripping one of the chairs so hard. His knuckles were turning white, and he held his down. But she didn't need to see his face to know how worried he was.
"If there is Farrington witch out there I will find him or her, and find a way to convince them to help Wanda" she swore.
It took her a whole month and days of doing nothing but research behind the family name. But finally she was able to dig up a an actual name of an actual person who was alive and well in the current timeline.
Y/N Farrington Richards
Okay so Farrington was your middle name and not last but it was enough. She couldn't find a lot information on your family but that was actually accurate. Stephen told her that if she could find any trace of the name linked to a family. No matter how small the trace was she needed to look into. Finding your name was the easy part considering it took her another two weeks to finally run into the real you.
Natasha was enjoying a break from her witch hunt when she saw a small crowd gathered around a street performer. It was a meeting by chance she saw a flock of doves flying away into the sky, and it intrigued her enough. That she scaled a nearby building and watched the show from a distance. Staring in awe as you pulled off trick after trick so effortlessly. There was no tell-tell or small hints as to how you did the things, and that is what had her so captivated. Not to mention you matched the only picture she could find of on the internet of Y/N Farrington Richards.
Then before she realized it the show was over and you were getting ready to leave. Nat knew she had to act fast or you would be gone for who knows how long. She didn't even mean to flirt with you, but it was the only plan that formulated in her head. Once she caught your hand in her's and pulled you to her.
It'd been a whole week since her first meeting with you, and everyday Nat would return to the same spot waiting for you to show up. It wasn't till today one of the local shipowners told her that you would switch up locations performing somewhere different as part of the allure to your shows. Your diehard fans couldn't even tell her where to find you only that she had to find you again, and she would only be able to do that once the show started.
But she did manage to get a decent start time for your show which is why she returned to the tower to eat, and get properly dressed. Steve wasn't too happy that you weren't in tow.
"She's a witch Steve with real life disappearing powers. She's also paranoid and suspicious of me and my motives. I'm not going to be able to just trick her into coming here. We're going to have play the long game with this one." Nat told him before finishing off her cereal.
"Why not just tell her the truth Nat."
"Because she'll probably think we're the government and trying to trap her. You weren't there to see how her guard went up the instant I mentioned real magic. If she realizes that we've been looking for her this whole time. She will bolt, so I need to earn her trust force."
"And you plan on doing that by seducing her" Steve accused her with a raised eyebrow.
Natasha cursed herself when the red tint appeared on her cheeks. She didn't blush over anybody, but you were different. "No not really I'll stop before things get out of hand."
"Sure you will" he laughed catching the spoon she threw at him with expert aim.
"Have you learned anything new about this strange woman y/n" your mother asked.
You were too busy trying to pick out a cute outfit for the show today. Well if you managed it to make it out of your loft to do the show your mother had spelled the doors and windows locked. While you knew the incantations needed to to lift the spell. She probably wasn't going to let you leave without a fight. The locked spell was only a warning. You knew you should withheld the story about the redhead woman that flirted with you, and was interested in your powers from your mother. But it slipped out before you could stop yourself, and before you knew your mother showed up at your door. The next morning wanting every little detail in the end when she had aggravated you enough. Finally you did a memory spell so she could see the whole thing herself.
"It was like a week ago mom and I haven't seen her again since. So no I didn't feel the need to know every little detail about the hot woman who flirted with me. But you're right I should've gotten her number at least a date would've been nice." You said changing your boots with the snap of your finger for the third time.
"Y/N you are not taking this as serious as you should be" your mom chided. But she could tell that you weren't even listening to her anymore as you modeled your current outfit. Her eyes narrowed before closing and her face features relaxed as she focused muttering words.
You didn't realize what she was doing until it was too late, and your body was pinned to your wall. All of your movements were restricted, and your mom hovered in front of you with a stern look.
"Are you ready to talk about the potential threat now sweetheart."
You let out a frustrated huff. "Mom there is no potential threat I admit it was a little weird, but she was only trying to be clever and flirt with me. I bet she's not even a fan just someone who was taken by my good looks, and couldn't help herself now put me down."
"Sweetheart she told you that she watched you from a distance. She could be working for-" your mother stopped herself realizing that she was about to say too much.
Now she really had your attention and she wasn't about too lose it. Not after what she had just implied all these years you wondered why she was so cautious all the time? Why she trained you in how to use your powers, but didn't want you to put them to good use? You always asked yourself the same question every night when you were alone.
What was your mother so scared of?
"No dear mother don't stop now tell me who could she be working for?" You demanded to know straining against her spell now.
Your mother let out a shaky sigh but with a wave of her hand and a single word. The spell broke and you dropped to the floor landing in a crouch. She walked over to where you kept the liquor to grab a glass and a bottle of vodka.
She poured herself a glass and took a sip before answering you. "Hunters okay witch hunters to be specific there are real and still operate today. That is why unlike all these scientists who getaway with using magic to become giant green beasts, time travel, and form suit of armors out in the open. For the whole world we still have to hide, and disguise our great power as cheap parlor tricks."
"But you told me I had nothing to worry about all this time. You had me convinced that I had this great destiny to fulfill, and some mystery group wanted me dead because of it." You shouted in anger "and this whole time you knew what the real danger was, and didn't say anything."
"I never lied about that y/n you are meant for great things. It's been written in the magic history books darling. And the hunters know about it and indeed want you dead for it. More than anything that's why our ancestors worked so hard to kill our last name. So our coven could survive the harsh years of witch-hunting. Some covens were wiped out because they refused to set aside their pride. I'm sorry I didn't tell you about it, but you always had this adventurous spirit. I didn't want you to live your life in fear of hunters coming after you, but I made sure to make sure you could protect yourself if the need arose." She explained holding up a hand there tears in her eyes, but it wasn't enough to subside your anger.
"This whole time I've been performing in New York and you knew I was putting on a show with my powers. Why did you let me do that? You could've warned what if hunters have been watching me this whole time mom."
"That is why we need to know more about this woman" your mom said
"No you've done enough I don't want your help" You told her as your jacket materialized on your body.
"Honey I know you're upset but you don't need to do this alone. I can help you" she pleaded.
"You should've helped by telling me the truth ages ago" were your last words as you held up your hands. Muttering the words you needed to break the lock spell.
Your mother watched as you walked out the door slamming it behind you. She considered placing a tracking spell on you, but another idea popped in her head instead. You were too upset with her and would want her gone by the time you arrived home. She would make sure that you had at least one ally before she left this city.
You materialized a hoodie to go along with your jean jacket using the hood to hide your face. As you wandered through the streets of the city you walked right past the corner. Where your some of your fans were gathered at too see if that would be the spot for your show today. You decided to skip the show today but surveyed the crowd looking for the redhead. If she really was a hunter thinking you were an easy kill she was about to get a rude awakening.
But after five minutes of searching and waiting you realized that she wasn't there. Eventually the crowd dispersed in disappointing of your obvious cancellation and you were the only one left. The redhead was a no show you hadn't caught a glimpse of the woman in a whole week. And you searched every single for her face at every show hoping to find those beautiful sea green eyes gazing back at you. But you never saw them, and here you was thinking you left a lasting impression on her. But apparently she was over you and had probably moved on with her life. You knew your mother was wrong about the woman. Natasha was no hunter just a regular person, and you missed your chance with her.
You decided to go get a drink, and play a couple of suckers at Texas Hold'em. While you knew it would be a bad idea to use your powers to win, you knew that the security or the dealer would be no problem for you at all. Yeah the men would get a bit rowdy about losing all their money, but your frustration was starting to boil over. So you were actually hoping for a little action, and would make sure that no one interfered in your fun.
Every single person surrounding the table let out a cry either of joy or frustration. As you threw down a full house of cards again beating out all threw of the last of your opponents. That was game and you were now walking away with ten million from the pot. One man made a show grabbing you by the arm being as rough as he could. It was a scare tactic and it didn't faze you the slightest bit. You broke out of his hold, grabbed him the arm and wrenched it behind his back. None too gently even bending his wrist forward while twisting his arm as well. He started screaming in pain but let out a grunt as you grabbed him by the hair, and slammed his face into the table. Not one by two times knocking him unconscious the second time. You released him letting his body fall over into the back of a chair.
You were tempted to kick it away, but that would be too far. Plus you started to reel your rage in before it got out of hand. Some of the patrons already looked confused probably wondering why the security didn't interfere. "Now does anyone else want to try and take the money they lost back?" You shouted holding up the suitcase.
No one spoke up there was just complete silence till you finally walked away to head back to your room. You would probably give the money away at the show, because you really didn't need it, and you really did love your fans. The only reason you chose to stay at the hotel was because you were trying to dodge your mom till the next day at least. She would probably stick around to try and repair the damage she did, and convince you to leave New York or something. You weren't really mad at her for not telling you about the hunters. It was just a lot to absorb, and you needed a day to yourself before doing that.
You were walking down an empty hallway your room just a couple of door down. When an overwhelming sense of dread overcame you, and made your feet come to a stop. Behind you someone opened their room door and stepped out. But whoever the stranger was their footsteps stopped which they were still behind you but why. You turned around as slowly as you could praying you don't make eye contact with those sea green ones.
Please don't let it be her you pleaded in your head.
It wasn't instead its was a older man probably in his early forties with brown hair pulled back in a long ponytail. He was tall and lean but was definitely in shape. He wore a brown wool jacket with a simple black shirt, and blue jeans. But what really caught your eye was what was in his hand a small baton and a gun in another.
"Well that was quite a show you put on y/n. I'm not going to lie I'm impressed you might be more of challenge than the last witch. I put down usually the parents don't bother to teach them how to fight. Your kind tends to overestimate just how far your powers will get you." He said his voice was softer than what you imagined it would be but the authority in it was obvious.
"Boss can we keep the money" another voice said out of nowhere
You were so caught up with the leader and his little speech. Two more men managed to sneak up on you blocking off your path to escape. They held the same weapons that the man in front of you did.
"Of course my young proteges whoever deals the knockout blow gets a bigger cut." He told them his whole demeanor was so nonchalant.
You didn't like it one bit it was throwing your whole game off. Knockout blow meant he had no intention of killing you here instead they meant to take you somewhere else. Back to a base maybe but for what to torture for the hell of it, or to get info out of you about the rest of your family. Like hell they weren't going to take you anywhere let alone knock you out.
"Do you guy always talk so much before actually doing any damage?" You asked making sure to keep your voice steady and strong. The leader didn't need to know he had you on edge.
He frowned lifting the hand with the gun in it to point it at you. But it was too late. You muttered a quick energy spell and threw your arms out releasing a circle of blue energy that shot out in. The form of a giant wave slamming into the two men behind you knocking them back a couple of feet.
The leader somehow manage to dodge it by ducking with speed that didn't match his age. He squeezed the trigger on the gun it made no sound, and two darts came out instead of bullets.
You cursed quickly holding your hands in front of you a energy shield appeared in front of you. Just in time as the darts slammed against them and fell to the ground. You knew that it was only a matter of time before the other two men got up. With that in mind you tossed the suitcase up in the air and yelled the command. The suitcase exploded into smoke that covered the entire hallway cutting off everyone's vision.
You heard the older man cussing and coughing as you turned around and broke out into a run. Pausing to deliver a harsh roundhouse kick to one of the men that was on his knees coughing. His head snapped to the side as your foot made contact with it. He fell to the ground now unconscious and you threw out a hand at the other man spelling his body to be pinned up against the wall. Just like your mother did you before continuing on your getaway.
You tore through the hallways of the hotel choosing to take the stairs instead of the hotel. Once there was some pretty good distance between the you and the leaders. You paused long enough to breathe and focus on your teleporting. Just as you disappeared the leader rounded the corner with only one henchmen in tow. He held up his gun and fired off another dart that somehow managed to hit you. His evil smirk was the last thing you saw before you reappeared this time right outside of the hotel.
You pulled the dart out of your shoulder already feeling the effects of whatever drug. They were using your legs were starting to lose feeling. You started to stumble across the street hoping to make it to a taxi cab or something. Before it paralyzed or knocked you out for good. But it was just your luck that you left the hunters on the first floor. They came scrambling out of the hotel eyes scanning the crowd for you, but you saw the first, and acted fast.
You didn't have enough strength left to perform a powerful spell. So using your telekinesis you managed to make a nearby fire hydrant break. The hunters attention were drawn towards the water bursting in air long enough for you to stumble to away to the other side of the street. But that was as far as you could get before your body started to give.
You were leaning up against a wall hoping the hunters wouldn't see you. When a suddenly a black corvette pulled up beside you blocking your view of the hotel. The window rolled down revealing the redhead with those sea green eyes. Fear flooded through your body at first there was no way you could fend her off. But then you noted how worried expression on her face.
"Hey are you okay?" she called out to you.
You shook your head not even having the strength to open your mouth. Knowing this was your best and only chance at escaping you dragged your body towards the car. Natasha was on the same page reaching over to open the door catching you as you fell into the passenger seat. She helped you get all the way in the car watching as your head slumped back on the seat.
"What the hell happened to you?"
"Drive" you murmured weakly
If it wasn't for her car blocking out all of the commotion going on outside. She wouldn't have heard your plea realizing that you had been sedated or worse. Natasha put the car in drive and hit the gas speeding off into the night.
Taglist: @wandanatvoid @yelenabelovasgf @romanoffomixam @xxxtwilightaxelxxx @xxromanoffxx @emril-osvigne
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Caring for Wounds
Stephen Strange x Reader
A/N: This is short because it was just an idea seeing this image.
"Could you tell me again?" You asked as you cleaned the wound from your husband's forehead.
"Again?" Stephen Strange sighed, he was sitting in an armchair and you were sitting on his lap, tending to his wounds.
"Yes, Angel doesn't understand" you pointed to your seven-month-old daughter who was having fun with the levitation cloak, the same one was swinging the rattle at her. Your daughter was in the cuddle next to you.
"I know" Stephen smiled sideways "Well, when Mordo and I got there everything was destroyed, Kaecillius and his friends had killed so many people and the shrine was already destroyed"
You paid attention to him every word, you threw the cotton that was cleaning the wound and picked up some ointment.
"Then I went back through all that environment, that's when I found out that Wong had died, but I saved him and got him out of this time loop" Stephen sighed in pain, as he felt the ointment taking effect "While I was going back through things, we had to do battle with the bad guys and that caused the power of the loop to stop abruptly"
"Is that when you got the idea to talk to Dormammu?" You asked finishing passing the ointment.
"Bargaining with him" Stephen corrected "I died many times but it worked" he smiled and complained in pain.
"I'm done" you kissed his forehead and got off his lap.
"Thanks, love" he squirmed in the armchair "You know, that Dormammu had my face"
"A being that eats planets looked like you?" you put the things away in the first aid box.
"Yeah" He shrugged "Maybe it's just an impression"
"I'm sure it is."
You turned to pick up your daughter, but the levitation cloak was holding her in its "arms", naming her.
"This cloak can swing better than you can" you commented taking the little baby out of the cloak "Thank you" you said to it, the cloak bowed.
"Thanks for the part that touches me, love" Stephen stood up and walked over to you.
"Just...try not to die, okay?" You turned to him.
"I won't" he wrapped an arm around your waist and his other hand took Angel's little hand "Never"
"Good one" you passed Angel to him "Your turn to sing music to her"
"What!" He said incredulously, Angel opened his eyes and stretched his hands to his father's beard.
"She loves your voice" you said walking up the stairs.
"Um, I know" he looked at Angel and smiled "Your father is a mage, your mother is Tony Stark's daughter and you are a very loved and beautiful girl" he brought her hand close to his, she took a finger from him and started to bite.
Later that night you went into your baby's room and found Stephen asleep in the armchair and Angel sleeping on his chest. You took the opportunity to take a picture.
"US$ 10,00" the astral Sthepen appeared next to you, you jumped up and hit the air. He ended up laughing.
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Stephen: You often use humor to deflect trauma
Peter: Thank you
Stephen: I didn't say that was a good thing
Peter: What I'm hearing is, you think I'm funny
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WONG WONG WONG MY BELOVED
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Doctor Strange - Baby Blues & Tattoos
A/N & WC - This is the enemies-to-lovers, co-workers, 'there was only one bed' fic. As soon as I thought of it, I knew it had to be a Dr Strange thing, and I loved writing it. Also, Ben's wink in the below GIF makes my knees go weak. 8.9k.
Warnings - Swearing, too much bickering, mentions of scars, mentions of a daddy kink, smut: oral (f rec), unprotected sex, brief orgasm denial, 'Doctor' kink, tattoo kink, hickey kink, belly bulge kink. 18+.
Summary - After a tiring mission, the last thing you want to do is have to crash at a hotel, especially with the cockiest man alive. Will things change with the fact there's only one bed on such a sleepless night? PART II HERE!
YOUR DAY HAS BEEN EXHAUSTING, there’s no denying it, and the only thing to possibly make it worse?
“C’mon, there’s a place not far away,” Stephen snaps at you, cajoling.
“Why can’t we just portal back?” you ask, uncaring of your tone, how brisk you are.
“Because we can’t. Shut up.”
And you do. He’s been grating on your nerves for this whole mission. It wasn’t like it was a bad one, you were away barely for twenty four hours, but this is Stephen. He gets exhausting after five Goddamn minutes.
Bags slung over your shoulders, you follow him down the street. This, sadly, is the type of place you don’t use your powers, save for impending doom. And you have to grant it to Stephen, he knows what he’s doing, and he’s admirable with it. The way he carries his title, so graciously aids those who need him, all with a stoic resolve. He’s a good sorcerer, that’s an irrefutable fact, and you wouldn’t be this far without him.
Still, doesn’t mean you have to like the pretentious bastard in any way.
Dusk is long gone, night time in full bloom, stars scattering around the sky like tiny sprinkles, smudges of light to guide you through the night, only a thin crescent moon available to you in the far distance. The enveloping navy of the night sky meets the dark hues of Stephen’s mundane clothes, sheltering him from view ever so slightly, walking a few paces in front of you.
It doesn’t take long for a relatively small building to come into view, small for a hotel, no bigger than the body of Bleecker Street, an orange glow bleeding out the entrance.
His shoulders rigid, his posture as straight as a rod, he stalks through the front doors and up to the clerk, slightly more human clothes back on in place of his mission attire.
“‘Scuse me, please can I book a room for tonight?” he says, each word articulated to its fullest.
“How many people, Sir?”
He casts a glance towards you, rolls those pretty blue eyes of his, and looks back. “Two.”
“What kind of room would you like, sir?”
“One with two beds, I don’t care about the cost.”
The boyish clerk nervously clears his throat and shuffles the papers on the desk before clicking around on his computer a fair amount. When he looks at you with that typically awkward glance hospitality workers give when they can’t give you what you want, you know exactly what’s coming.
“Sorry sir, we only have rooms with one bed available. I can get you one with a couch if that’s better?”
Stephen grinds his ridiculously defined jaw so aggressively, you can almost hear the bones crunching, grating together.
“You’re small, you take the couch,” he hisses, the comment directed at you before gulping down a breath, straightening his resolve, and meeting the clerk’s gaze. “That’ll do.” he says, his manner more brusque than usual.
You roll your eyes, biting back a snarky comment at his forcing you onto the sofa for the night, and stay positively quiet and zoned out as he organises the rest, handing over his card, and in turn, receiving your room keys.
He marches you down the corridor, shouldering more than his fair share of the bags, while still keeping a gloved hand on the small of your back to steer you in the right direction. He never takes his gloves off. Ever. Even in all your months at the Sanctum, whether he’s fresh out the shower or fully dressed for work, he has never once removed those gloves with you in the vicinity. Strange, like him.
He deftly swipes the key card, his arm looping around your body to do so, and pushes the door open, allowing you in first.
The room is nothing special, just your standard hotel room. White sheets grace the double bed, the main feature of the room, with a soft grey footer to match the draping curtains, comparatively light when beside the ever darkening night. Stephen’s elbow hits the light switch, a white globe light shade casting a fluttery white glow everywhere, bouncing off the tea tray atop the dark wood desk that invades and clunks up half the room. The wardrobe is just behind the door, and doesn’t actually seem to have a front to it, but there’s an ironing board you won’t use—but Stephen probably will—and some coat hangers. The walls are mostly a very pale grey, modern, but a feature appears behind the headboard, the main attraction point of the room, a bright orange that pairs nicely, if not shockingly with the sofa: a poxy thing, barely a two seater. You wouldn’t even get your torso on there comfortably. It’s a decent room, not to your taste but nice enough, and clean, your main query.
“I’ll take the first shower,” he says.
Shifting past you, he nudges your shoulder, heat temporarily shooting between your bodies, and he flings the bags carelessly onto the bed, shrugging off his jacket before shouldering past you and chucking open the bathroom door. You’re still just standing there, even after you hear the door lock shut, Stephen huff a little to himself in the mirror (that much you can imagine, he does it all the time), the clink of a belt and the water start running. You already know this is going to be a long, long night, and it hasn’t even begun.
While he’s out of the way, you begin unpacking, simply lying out your night clothes and any necessities you brought with you just in case, straightening the pillows. Then he walks out, a plain white towel hung low around his hips, his Adonis belt glistening with droplets of water all around. His body is defined, incredibly chiselled—no surprise there—but from what you can see, he’s scarred too, his tan skin worn and cut in places it shouldn’t be. Still, his hands are covered in a towel that he’s rubbing through his charcoal hair, even when he brings it down, you’re not even allowed to catch a glimpse of his bare fingers, the cloth shielding them.
“I can see that, thanks Mr Obvious.”
He offers you a saccharine smile, “That’s Dr Obvious to you, rookie.”
“Myehhh,” you mimic, rolling your eyes as you brush past him, but really, his bulk of muscle does more damage to you than him, leaving your arm throbbing, only able to clutch it and open your mouth in a silent cry of pain once the door is shut and locked behind you.
As you undress, you’re sure you hear his soft chuckles as he goes about his inane bedtime rituals. One of your own rituals is listening to music in the shower, the one thing you know drives Strange insane, so you do exactly that, putting your current favourite song on repeat as you shower.
The bathroom is nice, too, just white. All porcelain white: floor, walls, sink, with only the mirror and showerhead a glistening silver. Why does nowhere have the same character as the Sanctum? If this is the rest of the world you’ve been avoiding a while, you’re not sure if you like it.
Coming out the bathroom, you wrap your white towel taut around your body and tuck the corner in, the lump pressing into your supple skin, releasing your hair from the shower cap. Almost unwittingly you begin humming the song—instinct, you guess, an earworm, a good song with infectious lyrics and a strong tune. You’ll be over it in a week.
“Do you?” Stephen suddenly asks, appearing from around the wall.
You gasp in surprise, your reverie snapped. He’s right there next to you, his hair coiffed but still slightly damp, wearing his usual half-baggy blue pyjamas. His blue eyes snag on something, a peek of black partially obscured by the towel, but he can't be sure.
His exasperated sigh fills your brain with naught but aggravation. How can one person be so anxious and annoying?
“That song you were playing, it’s called Daddy Issues. Do you have them?”
A soft chuckle leaves your lips, tossing your hair around, running your fingers through the locks. “Doesn’t everyone?”
You don’t even bother to deadpan him for more than a split second before you’re pushing past him, your shoulder bumping his bicep again, and you’re shifting over to the desk area, where you lay out your moisturiser and hairbrush.
“Well, statistically, more than fifty percent of people do—"
“Just be quiet Stephen. Get ready for bed.”
He bares his teeth, but obliges, and within half an hour, you’re nervously slouched on opposite sides of the bed, the top light off, curtains drawn, only the bedside lamps on to offer your bodies some shadow.
“I’m not taking the couch,” you warn, “it’s bloody tiny.”
“I don’t expect you to, and this bed is bigger than I anticipated, so I suppose we can share if you stick to your side.”
You grumble, making strange whining noises to piss him off momentarily, “What do you propose, a pillow wall?”
“Yes, actually,” he says, “that sounds rather practical.”
“Why? It’s not like I’m gonna try and cuddle you or hold your hand or anything. You’re not my type anyway, God.”
“Almost, but not quite.” he snarks.
“Could you be any more conceited, Strange?”
“Yes. But, just lie down, I’m tired and can’t be arsed to hear your whining all night. No touching.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it, asshat.”
You draw back your side of the duvet and slide beneath, curling your toes at the cold weight of it, your back to Stephen’s. There’s so much space between the two of you it’s bordering on ridiculous, you could fit half the other wizards in with you at this rate. You're small, but with how close he is to his edge, he has to be falling off. He’s abnormally tall, his feet are probably dangling off the end, too.
“Is this about your hands?” you whisper, barely heard over the deafening silence crashing around in both of your ears, “or your scars? If so I— I don’t mind, I’m not in any position to judge.”
“Shut. Up.” he enunciates.
“Dude, it’s okay.”
“It’s also none of your fucking business.”
Oh he’s seething. He’s fucking hilarious when he’s mad. His jaw clenches and his nostrils flare and his face goes as red as Goddamn tomato, his lips quirk to suffocate a grimace and hands close to fists he can barely control and his voice always stutters when his desperately regulated breath hitches. That’s exactly what’s happening now, you can feel the shift of the bed next to you, hear every tiny movement.
“I’m not trying to pry, just curious.”
“Well, you are prying. You know what happened to me, you know who I was and who I am, surely you have some idea what I must… look like.”
“Yeah,” you breathe, an inflection of compassion in your tone, “and I don’t give a shit. I hate you no less.”
He allows a breathy chuckle out, one of the lightest sounds you’ve ever heard from him, nothing derisive in it, no spite or teasing, just a small laugh. “Hate me all you want. I know I’m right.”
“You don’t want to see me.”
It’s so quiet a request that it's barely a whisper, simply a wistful hope, a prayer, a silent plea. His last word cracks, breaks, and his currently slightly less annoying voice trails away, broken. Even now, the least you can do is respect his privacy on it despite the fact it's the last thing you want to do.
You find the only words you can muster, curling further inwards on yourself. “Night, Stephen. Thanks for this.” you bid.
And you still into a horrible, dense silence, the darkness of the room overwhelming your senses. If you sleep a wink like this, you’ll be lucky.
You find yourself to be regrettably correct, since after what feels like a lifetime (and appears to only have been an hour, and even then, just barely) you feel the whole weight of the bed shift, followed by muffled cursing. You’re cold, incredibly uncomfortable, and the pillow is too cold, but you daren’t move it, lest you disturb the wrath of Stephen.
Fuck it, you tell yourself. You won’t lie on the ridge of a hard mattress all night just because he’s a whiny brat who never cuts you a break. Fidgeting and jolting, tossing and turning, you eventually turn over full bodily, and completely by accident, your hand falls onto more flesh, warm and callused, Stephen. Instantaneously, he recoils, his body slithering away from you, even across the masses of space. Your own breath catches, brows furrowing, shock, perhaps?
“Stephen?” you husk, your voice full of surprise. “Couldn’t sleep?”
You reach over and flick your bedside lamp on, fluffing your pillow and turning to him.
“No. Why did you do that?”
“Why did I do what, roll over in bed and accidentally brush your hands?”
“Yes.” he says, teeth gritted.
“Don’t be such a twat, what’s the big deal anyway?” you ask, a throwaway comment, but the way he gulps, his blue eyes so full of anxiety, you know well enough what it is. “Strange, I didn’t mean—”
“It doesn’t matter.”
Only, you know it does. His hands are balled up in his shirt and embedded into his body, covered by the duvet despite the convulsive movements. He’s asking for it. In one swift move, the duvet is folded back, and you’re grabbing his hands roughly by the wrists and tugging them away from him. Sitting up a little more, moving your body and crossing your legs, you yank his hands into your lap. Gnarled red scars run down each finger and down the back of both hands, puckering from stitches mars them too, and beneath the skin, when you tenderly run the pads of your fingers over his scars, the cuts, you feel metal. Screws, bolts, whatever else. Maybe even metal rods are in there, holding his bones together.
Sure, they’re not pretty, no scars are, but they aren’t as repulsive as he makes them out to be. They’re endearing, unique, and show he’s a Goddamn fighter. Maybe you’d be more inclined to work with him if he hadn’t been trying to hide from you so much.
Suddenly, he jolts away from you, away from the tender rub of your fingers on his skin, his face contorted in a perpetual wince. There’s an expectant pause, like he’s waiting for you to say something, but for once, you’re lost for words.
“I’ll sleep on the couch.” he says, wholly tugging away from you.
“Why, Stephen? Why are you being so pretentious and callous? Can’t we share a bed without it being fuckin’ weird?” you demand, hitting a fist against the pillow childishly.
He shifts his pyjama bottoms awkwardly when he catches another peek of your skin—your upper arm this time, a swirl of ink—and clambers out of bed, snatching a spare sheet from the wardrobe that he takes over to the sofa with him. No way is he gonna fit, but if he’s going to be that obtuse, you’re gonna let him.
Another hour has gone by, and having tried just about every possible position known to man on both sides of the bed, every pillow on both the head and foot of the bed, you’re still unable to sleep, simply staring at the dull white ceiling, your fingers linked and resting over your steadily rising chest. You’d think that sorcery has some perks, perhaps a spell to help you sleep, but no. There are some herbs that can go in drinks to knock you out, but naturally, they’re all at the Sanctum. You’re fucking knackered, and usually sleep so well, why is tonight any different? Does it have anything to do with the gnawing in the pit of your stomach? The anxiety of Stephen being so far away—or perhaps it's just having him in the room. Somehow, you don't know which is worse.
“Stephen,” you tentatively call out, your sound swallowed by the reverberating night. “Are you awake?”
“Yes. Why?” he replies in his typical abrupt nature.
“Just wondered. I’m cold, can you come sit?”
This time you don’t even bother to turn on the light, but merely point your finger at the wall shade and light begins to glow around you, allowing you to peer at Stephen over there. It’s a pitiful sight, really, and one he willingly inflicted on himself, but with his long legs dangling off the edge and his head at a funny angle on the arm, the sheet barely covering half of him, you know this isn’t fair. Still, doesn’t stop you from having a hearty chuckle to yourself.
“You’re so fucking uncomfortable over there and don’t try to deny it. Get your ass into bed with me. Now.”
He’s not used to you being bossy, no one is. As he so constantly reminds you, you’re just a rookie, you don’t bark orders, and only occasionally lend a snarky comment. He likes those best, no matter how much he tries to feign it.
“Can you tolerate me enough to just lie in bed with me?” you tease, hearing his footsteps padding on the carpeted floor.
“To say I ‘tolerate you’ is a vast overstatement.”
“Thanks, Doc.” you reply sardonically, rolling your eyes—playfully this time—and smiling at the fact.
He does as you say, though, and shuffles into bed beside you, actually bothering to get properly comfortable this time, settling into a relatively normal position on his back, his head turned to the side, his cheekbones glowing from definition in the shine from your light. You could cut yourself on those, sweet Mercy.
Once he’s nuzzling into his pillow, you begin to do your own fidgeting around, finding your own comfort with a heavy, warm weight beside you, one of relative solace. You don’t mean to, but you’re stretching, and just trying to find a good position, when your hand accidentally grazes…
No way, this is incredible, better than anything you could have dreamt up. You think you might even bite a hole in your tongue from biting hard enough to keep your incredulous laugh under control.
“Is this why you didn’t wanna sleep in the bed? Because you’ve got a boner?” you ask, slyly.
“Don’t talk about it.” he growls in warning.
“Why? Secret stash of porn up there in that eidetic brain of yours?”
“Could you be more oblivious?” he says under his breath.
Turning onto his side, he pushes you away, prying your arm from him.
“Myeh could you beeee more oblivious, Y/N?” you mimic, purposely whining in that tone you know he hates.
You were trying to banter, so if he wants to be a tosser about it, so fucking be it. At least he’s offering you his bodily warmth so you don’t feel so alone in such an unfamiliar place.
“It’s fine if you do have a boner. For all I care, go sort it out. Human nature, buddy.” you quip, turning on your own side, almost half way into the bed, his body within touching distance, breathing distance. “I am curious, though, why didn’t you just say so? Or wear baggier pants? Men, you’re all the same, so fuckin’ annoying. Contrary doesn’t even begin—“
You don’t have a chance to finish your arsey statement before he’s right there, his hot breath fanning your face hovering above you, his forearms on either side of your head, trapping you in.
“You think you know everything, huh? I bet you’d really love to know what got me so riled up.” he growls, his face lowering to your neck, the juncture of your shoulder, his lips barely brushing the skin there before he’s taking a deep inhale; animalistic, almost.
There’s no denying that his actions send heat flooding to your core. Frankly, you wouldn’t be surprised if a wet patch appeared in the sheet beneath you right about now. Who knew his voice could be so low? So sensual? Christ...
“You’re so fucking insolent. Maybe if you hadn’t been such a bratty bitch then I might’ve fucked you quiet two hours ago. You wanna know what made me hard? You, dancing around in your skimpy underwear and pyjamas. Every day I see you around the Sanctum, and even when you’re dressed in every layer of robe under the sun I can’t keep my eyes off you. You should see how damn hard I struggle to keep my hands to myself, even these Goddamn lumps.”
His fists clench next to your head, shifting your head on the pillow. His eyes burn sapphire. You’re not one for ‘skimpy’ clothes, but you have to admit that being the only woman in a house full of completely disinterested men has made you want to try and test the boundaries just a little, leading to your slightly smaller pyjamas and other minuscule changes in your wardrobe.
Still, his admission sends your mind into a lust-filled frenzy, your only coherent thought being to just submit to him, to kiss him, to finally know what he tastes like. For all these months he’s been watching you, his criticisms have been his manner of flirting, his hiding his own shield. As sweet as that is, there’s something very hard urgently poking at your thigh, something you should probably see to...
“Fucking hell, Stephen, just kiss me.”
After so much waiting, he really doesn’t need to be told twice, pouncing onto you, his lips meeting yours furiously, a desperate clash of tongues. Never in your life has someone kissed you this way before, with so much passion and life and unadulterated want. It makes you wonder just how long he’s wanted to do this for.
It doesn’t take long for his hands to stray, his palms skimming down your burning flesh, goose bumps rising in his wake.
“Off.” he ghosts, tugging at your pyjamas.
You begin to peel your shirt off, but Stephen grabs it by the neck and removes it before you can get any further.
“Maybe I wanted to tease you too.” you breathe, and only once you say it do you realise the truth of it.
Perhaps all this time you have been subconsciously been trying to tease him, rile him up. You’re in for it now, that much is easily detectable by the ragged breaths he begins to take, his grip on your waist increasing as his lips make a downward trail. First, he kisses gently at your neck, only growing more fervent when he reaches your pulse point where he sucks, hard, but only for a moment as he moves further down, biting your right clavicle while pinching your left breast, then switching, and grazing his lips over the swells of your boobs. You’re barely able to control yourself or your moans, desperately holding your tongue, silencing yourself and the obscenities bound to spill. Next, he goes just below your sternum, the sensitive skin there reacting to his tender assault. Until now, he’s had his thinned eyes focussed on you, silently working his way down your body.
“I can’t wait to put bruises all over that pretty, unblemished skin…” he murmurs, vibrations shooting through you like a meteor shower. You don’t realise why he’s training off until his baby blues aren’t locked on your eyes anymore. “Is that a tattoo?”
Not the time, but your cheeks begin to burn red, drawing a blush onto your skin.
“I asked you a question, is that a tattoo?” He’s more solemn this time, commanding your full attention so naturally. Unable to control your voice, you offer him a nod, your eyes wide. “When did you get this? Oh, my God.”
“B— before I came to the Sanctum. I have more, if you like them.”
“Fuck,” he blasphemes, running a hand over his face. Is he… flustered? “Where? Show me.”
Who would’ve guessed he has a thing for tattoos? It’s not like you’re covered, just the odd few: one on your hip, one in between your ribs, one on your back. You’re surprised he hasn’t noticed the few at the tops of your arms yet. You adjust your positioning and show him what he wants: he’s damn near salivating, his fingers toying with his beard as he grows impossibly harder against your leg.
“Do you have a thing for tattoos? Do you like girls with ink all over their skin?”
“Stop,” he whines, imploring, “don’t, I’ll finish too fast if you keep on.”
You cup his cheeks, turning his face towards you, and begin to pepper kisses over his long neck, grazing your teeth where he seems to be the most sensitive, chuckling into your actions.
He kisses you hotly, briefly, and resumes his prior attack. Biting and sucking, drawing the supple skin of your hip bones between his teeth, he has you clamping your screams behind your hand, writhing around beneath his hold.
“These walls are pretty thick, which means you and I can be as loud as we want.” he whispers, and continues his actions, prying your hand away with one of his, and not flinching when you begin to hold it. Tight.
“You know, you’re gonna look so much better when I mark you up, every inch of you. Already look like mine.”
You dare a glance down, and half your stomach is covered in bites already, and he’s right, it looks damn good.
“I know, please.”
He moves gradually lower, tugging on the waist of your trousers. That seems to be when the reality hits him, drawing away from you, his breathing laboured, his beard tickling your hip bones.
“We shouldn’t,” he stammers, casting his gaze away.
You find yourself gulping nervously, “I know.”
His blue orbs wantonly flit from your eyes to your lips, searching for reassurance that’s been there all along. It doesn’t last long, you knew it wouldn’t, because his lips are colliding with yours after little more than a tense moment of eye contact. Your hands grip onto his arms, corded with muscle, tensing as they hold him up. He’s so reliant on his arms, his hands trembling with the slightest movement when it’s not sorcery related. Tonight, you want to show him that he doesn’t have to struggle, but merely has to enjoy it.
Mouths fastened together, your chest presses to his as his tongue glazes along your bottom lip, then your top, delving into your mouth. His muscle is skilled, dancing with yours, but not in a tender waltz, more a hazed tango of burning passion, like he has to taste all of you before he can be content in life. In return, you can’t kiss him deeply enough either, hold him tightly enough, clinging to him with your whole being.
He tears his lips away from you, leaving a strange void in your chest once he lifts away, an emptiness where his deft mouth was licking into yours just moments before. You’re certainly not disappointed when he presses a single kiss to your navel and hooks his fingers in the waistband of your shorts, peeling them off, sliding them down your legs along with your panties.
“You look good all soaking wet.” he purrs, his eyes glued to the glistening slick coating your heat.
You revel in the fact that he can barely tear his eyes away long enough to glance at you, but once he catches sight of your lust-clouded eyes, half-lidded, expectant only for him, he can’t look away, his blue eyes enraptured with the slight drop your jaw makes as his breath fans over you. Almost animalistically, he licks his lips, then yours, tracing the shape of your vulva with the tip of his lithe muscle. Already you’re keening as he languidly works his mouth on your core. He presses a tantalising kitten lick to your clit, causing your legs to instinctively clamp around his head, your thighs trapping his ears. He still doesn’t break eye contact. How he does this, you don’t know, and don’t particularly care to find out right about now, since his eyes are so mesmerising, the different flecks and shades of blue, contrasted with hues of golden green—
Oh Mary sweet Mother of God.
How does he do that? His moustache tickles your swollen pearl as he literally eats you out, no reservations, a full meal to him. His tongue in your cavern, it’s the most beautiful sight you’ve ever beheld, his doling out of sloppy kisses while you can but watch, grasping onto his hair, threading your fingers through his dark locks, tugging for some semblance of grounding, something to keep you tethered to this realm, because this level of pleasure is unmeasured.
“I think you’re going to ruin me. Am I right?” you gasp, your words cut off when he suckles on your most sensitive spot.
“For every other man?” he purrs, straight into your core. “Absolutely.”
The vibrations are simply heavenly, sending your spare hand flying to the pillow beside you, grasping to it with all you're worth, until your fingers begin to cramp, but not once does his assault on your sensitive heat ease, his eyes smiling at you as though you’re the most beautiful thing in the planet.
You’re close, though, so close, teetering just on the edge of something incredible, something mind blowing, something astronomical. You’re simpering as he nears you closer and closer, every lavish of his tongue within your cavern, every nudge of his nose to your overly sensitive clit…
And Stephen being Stephen, that’s when he decides to pull away, crawling back up your body until he’s laying beside you, the heat welcoming and warm, the heavy weight of his arm slung around your bare waist, his breath fanning over your neck. He begins to lazily brush kisses over your neck, but it’s not enough. Frustrated would be a behemoth understatement.
“Goddamn it, Y/N,” he hums heartily, “you get under my skin like no one else.”
“Yeah?” you retort, not pondering the consequences in your haze of denial and desire, “you quite literally were just under mine, and you didn’t let me cum. Asswipe.”
Heaving a sigh, he rolls away slightly, stopping his sweet show of affections in favour of sulking
“If you’d shut up for one damn second and not insult me, I’d tell you why.”
“Why then, huh?” you square up to him.
The last thing you expect is to be kissed, his scarred hand weaving its way into your hair, pushing your head closer to his. You can feel the heat emanating from his cheeks, from his chest. Who knew heaven would be as hot as hell?
“Because I want the first time I make you come to be around my cock, darling. Okay?” he growls.
Wow. That’s one argument you can get behind, but two can play at his game, so you flutter your lashes and play coy, your most innocent doe-eyes joining your pretty, swollen lips that curl up into the sweetest smile you can manage.
“Fuck me,” he groans, barely audible.
In one movement, you have him pinned beneath you, hands on either side of his head while he’s listless between your legs, cerulean irises fixated on your every perceptible move.
“Only if you ask nicely, Doctor.”
His eyes fly shut, lids squeezed together, his head tossed back into the pillow. That’s when you get to work on his shirt. You grasp the hem with nimble fingers, slowly tugging it up the tanned skin of his torso. He occasionally walks around with just a towel on, like today, but you barely glimpse him before he’s disappearing, and even then he’s moving deftly, muscles contracting and water droplets glistening on the panes of his chest, so you're not entirely sure what you’ll find. You tug it up to his collar bones, and he does the rest, since you can’t help but run your hands all over him. Every inch of flesh you can reach. His body quite frankly ripples, his muscles incredible, and his scars matter no more or no less than ever, because he’s just Stephen and you’re just you, and this is just a moment you’ve caught yourselves in. His skin is burning, begging to be ravished the way he did yours, but you daren’t mess up such a masterpiece.
In an intoxicating kiss, you catch his bottom lip between your teeth, nibbling gently as you tug on it, your smirk unwavering yet your eyes as round as saucers.
“You’re heaven.” you whisper.
“You taste like it.”
The blush that dusts your cheeks is undeniable, sprinkling raging droplets of fire that reach the tips of your ears.
You sigh breezily, moving up his hips a little further, thinking aloud at your position, his body all yours, your bare heat hovering his clothed member, rock hard against your bum. “I’ve yearned for this for so long.”
“What, to shag me?”
“No, to finally have you quiet and under my control.”
“I’ve always been under your control,” he tells you earnestly, raising a hand to brush errant locks of hair away from your face, his rough fingers touching your cheek. You nestle into his grip. “Say the word, I’m yours.”
“The magic word?”
“Agamotto?” you question bashfully, curling your hair behind your ear.
He splutters a laugh, jolts his body up to meet yours, and kisses you, a searing embrace, his tongue working it’s way back into his mouth. You can still taste yourself on him. Beneath you, however, his length is twitching, begging to be touched.
You stand on your knees, and crawl back down his body, settling yourself on his beefy lower thighs that clench so delectably, setting friction onto your own throbbing core. You unravel the string at the waist, and fumble to get the soft cotton trousers off him, but seem to forget that, well, you’re hindering your own access. He nudges his legs and pelvis up, shucking the material over his bum. The action grazes over your slit in such a way that makes your breath hitch, the mix of the material of his pyjamas, the hair on his leg, and his tensing muscles creating the perfect cocktail of arousal within you, clouding your cognitive processes. He kicks them off, and draws you further up his legs, his member standing proud, brushing against your navel.
Something strange and new stirs deep within you at the sight, a primal need awakened. Sex has never been… this way for you before, this pleasurable, this fun. And as much as you hate to admit it, that’s because of Stephen and his God-like appendage that you’re not even sure will fit.
“Baby, you’re drooling,” he coos in a condescending tone, something that makes you impossibly wetter, “you gonna ride me?”
“Want your hands on me, though,” you softly admit, wrapping your hands over his, moving them to the dip of your waist. Instantly, they take a bruising settle there, but the pinch is so delectable.
Grasping him in your hands is quite the feat, but nonetheless you try, spitting on your palms to give yourself ample slick as you jerk him a couple of times, watching intently how the skin pulls around his member, your brows furrowed at such a simple yet such a beautiful sight. As much as you hate to cede it, he has a fucking incredible dick. He’s allowed to be as cocky as he is.
“If you keep on…”
You know he means for it to be a threat but he sounds so blissed out, his voice gruff and hitting you right at the pit of your belly. He has a point, though, with your fingertips gingerly running up the vein on the underside, your nails grazing tantalisingly over his balls. His slit is already leaking, a bead of pearly-white precum there. He won’t last. Eh, maybe he doesn’t have to be so cocky if such a featherlight touch can drive him to the edge.
His eyes draw yours in and keep their focus as you rise onto your knees and fidget a little closer, your knees scratching on the white sheets. Your brain grows foggy, like the night outside as you tease the head of his dick against your wetness before you gradually lower yourself down.
Birds crow outside, owls cresting their night time lullaby as he enters you, the most delightful harmony. Flickers of twinkling stars can be seen in your periphery through the slit in the plain curtains.
You hiss, but the slight pain of him stretching you simply spurs you further onto him, desperate to engulf him all. Your bum hits his thighs, and that’s when you realise, your breathing shallowed, that he’s balls deep within you.
This is actually happening.
“Fuck,” he mutters letting out the most aching groan yet, throwing his head back into the pillow once more and letting his dark hair flop of its own accord, his hands tangling their way into your hair to pull you down to him.
Your actions start slowly, a small rocking to your hips as you get used to his sheer size filling you to the brim, even the slightest movement causing your walks to tense around the ridges of his dick, rubbing within you so detectably. His breathing increases with every rock, his eager pants and soft pleas filling the air as you begin to speed up, silenced by your lips.
His moans increase once you start to raise yourself up, only to grind back down with purpose. You’re sure your own moans and whimpers are deafening, too. Stephen simply doesn’t know what to do, where to look. His lips attack your neck, moaning into it as he starts to drive himself further and further into your pussy, his hips bucking to meet your movements.
“Stephen,” you squeak as he grazes something special, followed by a shout of, “Fuck!” though that’s more to the stimulation to the precious spot on your neck he seems to be so wantonly attacking, bruising you.
“Tell me—” he orders, pausing to pant between kisses and his frantic movements beneath you, seeking the best position, “what you like.”
“This— fuck just keep doing that!”
His hands on your waist keep guiding your movements, the rotations of your hips, the rise and fall of your body unencumbered, unbound, free to drive him to insanity with your sensuality in this moment.
“Think you can handle that much?” he taunts.
“Just fuck me, Stephen, no restraints, just you.”
“Are you sure that’s what you want? I could really hurt you.”
“I don’t care. I need you.” you grit out, whining at the slight still.
You thank whatever deity there is that it’s only very brief before his pace begins to pick up again, your body so malleable despite your being on top. And frankly, you can’t stop the screams that erupt from somewhere deep in your throat, followed by a steady stream of whimpers, your hands curling into his pecs to keep you upright.
“If you keep making those sounds, I’m not going to be able to stop myself.”
“What if I don’t want you to?”
“I don’t care what you want, I’m in charge.”
“Myeh I’m in charge, I’m Doctor Strange, ooooo look at me.” you mimic, challenging him, and his movements stall.
“You’d better watch your fucking mouth.” he spits.
The cock of your head is simply devilish, defiant in every way possible, power surging within your veins as you say, “Or what?”
Regret is instantaneous. You’re not sure why you thought that, if you were on top you’d have the power, because you certainly don't. His hands grasp your hips bruisingly hard, lifting you up before literally impaling you on his dick. His pace soon after is punishing, controlling your every movement so you can barely breathe or see straight, just a rag doll for him to throw about. He reaches new depths you’ve never even found yourself before, all while keeping his tip grazing your g-spot on every stroke, his pelvis meeting your clit on every hit. Your jaw hangs open, and you can’t even help it, merely gripping onto Stephen you’re not sure where for dear life. That’s the ‘or what’.
He’s quite literally ravishing you in a way no one has before. You’re fucking mewling before you can help it. His sudden surge of dominant energy causes you to moan headily, putty within his control. With each upward thrust of his, your hips roll in ways you never knew they could before, offering you new depths of pleasure, rolling more arousal from your core.
‘Rough’ was never a word you’d have used to describe the astute, precautious Dr Stephen Strange before, but with the sheer strings of profanity leaving his perfect, plump lips as he takes you wholly, it’s certainly up there with adjectives to describe the supreme sorcerer.
“Fucking hell you’re so good,” he praises, “shit— squeezing me so well.”
“Stephen…” you plead. You can’t care that you’re begging, not with the wash of pleasure trickling down your spine, a building climax within the pit of your stomach, ready to split at any second.
You lean forwards daringly, connecting your lips in a clash of teeth and tongues, a tango of passion, desire, sheer unadulterated need
“Want your hands on me,” you moan, whine, beg. Your words come out in broken fragments in between slathering kisses, your body bouncing.
“No you don’t. I promise you don’t.” he refutes, cut off by a deep groan.
He doesn’t stop pounding into you, your one hand moving to cling around the back of his neck, your other with your nails digging into his flesh, grazing over his nipples; anything to keep you half steady.
“You don’t get to tell me what to do. I like your hands.”
“I don’t— fucking hell.”
“And I don’t care. Please touch me, just run your fingers over me, palm at my tits, anything, I don’t care. I just need your hands on me.” Tears begin to well in your eyes before you can help it, a feeble squeak when his thick tip drives into that spongy spot deep within that has your toes curling, his vein squeezed by the slight ridges within you. “Please.”
He sighs, cut off by a growl, holding his hands out before him, removing them from their hold on your waist. “These things?”
“Yes!” you shout in response, both to the stimulation on your clit from his pelvis and his rhetorical question. “Those ‘things’ that wield so much power. Such ability for pleasure. Doctor.”
That seems to be what does it, a gasping groan leaving him, taking incentive. His scarred finger begins to brush up your stomach, the dip of your hips, pinching your tattoos. His palms splay over your boobs kneading the flesh, eyes as wide as saucers, mesmerised by the way they bounce in his hand, your peaked buds caught under the rough pads of his thumbs. He runs his hands across your whole body, your back, shoulders, arms, savouring every inch of flesh he can reach as your back arches with waves of pleasure above him, thrusting your chest further out as your head lulls backwards and your mouth falls open in a silent ‘o’. When he seems satisfied enough, they travel to your ass, squeezing your cheeks, his hold bruising.
He’s enthralled by every movement you make, his blue eyes staring at you, fixed so intently, the intensity sparking something to life in your belly. You draw your lip between your teeth before leaning down to kiss him, his mouth devouring yours hotly, his lips almost burning on yours, chapped skin massaging yours. While he has you there, his grip on your ass increases, and he begins to go harsher.
“Baby,” you hiss before you can help it.
Skin slaps against skin, you’re just there for him, feeling every jolt of his body so thoroughly beneath you. He swallows your moans, and you swallow his, before detaching and moving your lips to his jaw instead, kissing along the sharp bone gently. He’s fucking you so hard, so meaningfully, you’re going to be aching for days.
“Look at me,” he demands, “look.”
You do, but you’re in such a haze that you only manage to actually see into the crystal orbs once he grasps your skin between his scarred fingers, one of which you press your lips to, swirling the tip of your tongue around the digit.
“No, no darling, I need my hand for this.”
Doe-eyed, you let his finger go with a pop, but follow his hand where it goes, trailing down to your lower stomach. His fingers tentatively press over a blossoming bulge there, one that grows every time you sink down onto him, and then his palm presses down, causing you to scream a little, a pleasurable sort of pain.
“You feel that?” you nod. “That’s where I am, so deep inside you.”
The stream of expletives you moan is utterly unholy, in need of censorship. Never before have you imagined this, anyone being so deep inside they’re bulging against your belly…
“Nobody does it like you do.” you whine, bouncing up and down on him at an inhuman speed, nearing climax more and more, still holding back despite it all, despite the pressure building right where his tip grazes.
“I taste you on my tongue. Still,” he confesses, licking into your mouth filthily so you can taste it too.
“Stephen, I’m gonna—” you can’t finish your sentence, as you’re finishing in other ways, the pressure on your g-spot and the brush on your clit and the intense penetration too much for you to handle amongst his piercing blue stare.
You can’t hold the inevitable tide back anymore, clamping and clenching around him, causing him to emit a guttural, feral moan, clamping his teeth down on your shoulder, his cry resonating through your entire being. It’s a pleasurable ache, but a mark you’ll struggle to hide. This spurs you on further, your entire body pulsing, limbless. You’re whimpering amidst your screams of pleasure, cries so pornographic they startle you. That’s when the world slows, and you feel his thumb pressing harshly into your clit, his other hand pinching your nipple, tweaking it fervently.
The hot white wash of euphoria sends you to heaven and shooting through the stars in a split second elongated by the prolonged, unceasing pressure in your bundle of nerves, keeping you in uncontrollable bliss for you’re not sure how long. Your entire body is electrified, stars dancing on your skin like droplets of Elysian sun, shocking your nerves into a tingling sensation, heavy limbs filled with ecstasy filled blood. The world around you faded long ago, replaced by his beautiful hands and his kiss intoxicating you, explosions of delightful rapture filling your earthly being. In all fairness, you wouldn’t be surprised if, when you opened your eyes, you were in your astral form, on absolute cloud nine, or in another realm entirely. Maybe you’re simply in paradise, your sorcery skills having transported you there of their own volition.
Somewhere in your elation, Stephen comes too, filling you up entirely, warm stickiness painting your inner walls and beginning to trickle out, down your thighs and onto his, melding the two of you together further. Was his orgasm as incredible as yours? Like a hundred put together? Stars plucked from the sky and morphed into a single climax just for the pair of you? Because if he shared it, there’s no way you’re not doing this again, that much you can bank on.
It takes a while for you to come around enough to flutter your eyes open, only to find your chest almost pressed fully against Stephen’s, his arms around you entirely, your harsh breathing in sync. A veil of sweat gleans on your skin, gathering between your breasts, moving up and down hastily with your ragged breaths. He’s covered in a similar sheen, his abs and forehead, the ripples of his biceps as you hold him, feebly pushing yourself half upright.
The last thing you expect while basking in the afterglow, desperate to just catch your breath is for him to lick a blood stripe from the tattoo at the side of your ribs, around the underside off your one boob, and to then suckle tiredly on the rune nestled between your tits, but apparently...
“What’s that for?”
“Love your tattoos. So sexy.”
That’s something you’re never gonna let him forget, and there’s no doubt in your mind that he’s also going to beg for you to get more. You find yourself giggling, the sweet bubbling of it in your throat. It comes out as an airy sound, endearing Stephen.
“Oh my God, you’re so much better than the last person I was with.” you sigh, flopping down next to him.
“And you, bloody hell.”
“We should do this again.”
“We definitely should.”
His hand flies out to rest on your stomach, linking your fingers with his, watching you conspicuously from the corner of his eye.
“Hey, you okay?” he asks, concern betrayed in his tone and the crinkle of his nose.
“Yeah, just might be a bit sore.”
He shrugs his shoulders softly, and you chuckle, “You told me to give it all I’ve got. I think I’m rather spent now, though.”
“So spent. God, is this what overstimulation feels like? How can something be so nice and so achy all at once?”
“That’s how my cock feels, Y/N. You milked me for all I’m worth.”
“Don’t be so crude!”
“I’ll be what I like, baby, and right now I’m going to be bossy. Go to the restroom, I’ll be waiting when you come out.” A mischievous grin creeps its way onto his face, watching you struggle as he sneers, “try to walk in a straight line, sweetheart.”
You offer him your middle finger as you stagger to your feet, clutching onto every piece of furniture along the way. It’s strange to be so naked around him, nothing to shield you from his stare that follows you, right from the bed until you disappear into the bathroom. While there, you glance at your dishevelled state in the mirror. Small hickeys litter your skin, hand prints lying lightly, but the most noticeable things are the signs of affection around your tattoos. Bite marks, finger prints, blossoming bruises. He’s an absolute scamp. You take the opportunity to run a brush through your hair and tap some balm onto your lips.
Your steps are a little more shy on the scratchy, grey carpet as you step out again, taking strides as wide as you can before all but throwing yourself onto your side of the bed.
“Here,” he says, smiling at you in that sweet, closed-mouth way he does, the apples of his cheeks glowing.
In his outstretched hand is his pyjama shirt, creased from your clutching to it. You take it, the soft material limp in your hands, but it simply radiates ‘Stephen.’ You tug it on over your head, unfazed when it hits your mid thigh.
“Looks good on you. Come here.”
You don’t mind his commands for once, and happily shuffle in beside him, instantly curling into his side. Heat radiates from his body, and only when you sling your one leg over his thigh do you realise he’s put his pyjamas back on, the bottoms at least. His arm winds around your shoulder, and perhaps in a feat of confidence, he starts to brush his forefinger up and down the skin of your arm, rising goose bumps in its wake. You could just stay this way forever.
A strange thought brews in the back of your mind, and you almost can’t help but to blurt it out, “Did you want me to call you 'Daddy?' Is that why you asked about the song earlier?”
A subdued nature overtakes him, his voice becoming shy as he murmurs, “Maybe. I like ‘Doctor’ too.”
You roll closer to him, wrapping an arm around his torso.
“Maybe next time,” you tease courageously, kissing his neck softly. “I can’t wait to be on my knees for you later.”
“Tomorrow, baby, I’m tired enough to sleep at last.”
It really is an ‘at last’ type situation, and definitely more than three hours since you arrived at this place with the intention of crashing straight away. Well, it was your intention. His? You’re not entirely sure, an inkling nagging at the back of your mind. Not that you particularly care after the mind blowing shag, but...
“We could’ve portalled back, couldn’t we?” Nervously, he nods. “So this was a ploy to get me to shag you?” He nods again, blue eyes glittering, and you simply scoff at him, holding him closer under the duvet. “Cheeky little shit, Doctor.”
His low laugh rumbles through your whole being, sending more heat flooding through you. “But then again, maybe it’s best if we don’t go home. What’ll they say about us?”
“They’ll congratulate me for finally growing the balls to fuck you.” he deadpans, and you kiss his jawline once more, snorting a little laugh.
You reach out to switch the light off and instantly embed yourself in his comfort again, revelling in your synced breathing and the gentle rise of his chest against your cheek, the stolen whispers and the gentle way he kisses your hairline, so sweet in contrast to his earlier dominance.
Sleep is, rightfully, dragging you both under, your eyelids heavy at last. All you feel is him, the steady thrum of his heart, the tender run of his scarred fingers up and down your arm and spine, sparks shooting through you. Your sleepy state, however, also lowers your already dangerously thin inhibitions, and that’s why you can’t stop yourself saying—before you succumb—your most peculiar thought from the whole night, his half lidded startling baby blues trained on the barely perceptible movement of your lips.
“Hey, reckon we could have sex in our astral forms?”
FIND THE SEQUEL 'AN OUT OF-BODY EXPERIENCE (BABY BLUES & TATTOOS II)' HERE!
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Dr Strange, meditating: Finally, let me just relax and—
Wong: hey look, that Spider-Kid is a criminal, Maximoff girl held an entire town hostage and tried to change reality, there’s also an alternate branch in time back in 2012 where Loki escaped with the Tesseract.
Wong: Look at the bright side, I found some money to buy us TWO Tuna Melt :)
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Prompt: parenting gets trickier in the Strange household when their daughter starts opening portals, specially when Stephen is supposed to be keeping an eye on them. "What do you mean you LOST her?"
Stephen Strange x f! Reader
Warnings: None, this is just fluffy fluff.💖💖💖💖
Summary: Stephen was supposed to watch their daughter while (Y/N) ran some errands, but things go a little off plan, much to his dismay.
A/N: I hope you guys like it 💖💖💖 And if you do please feel free to leave a request 💖💖 Also sorry I haven't been posting much, had to catch up on assignments 😢😢
If anyone had asked Stephen what the best moments in his life were, he could easily name the two, being the day he married the love his life, (Y/N), and the birth of his precious little girl. Unfortunately for him, the latter came with specific challenges, seeing as she seemed to be even more gifted in the mystic arts than himself, as she grew from a swaddled baby, to an energetic toddler.
He still remembered the first time the blazing ring formed behind him and his wife, settling on the soft, inviting cover of their bed. Their legs tangled together as he held her closely to his frame by her waist, moaning quietly as she placed kisses on the tender skin. Her lips curving up into a smile, at the feeling of his calloused fingers travelling expertly under her shirt, only to be shoved away aggressively five seconds later. Picking himself up, he rubbed his palms across his forehead in frustration, expression morphing into one of shock and then pride, meeting the mirror reflection of his crystal clear blue eyes, staring innocently up at them. "I'm not tired yet", the small figure insisted, fists rubbing at her eyes, the glinting reflection of the sling ring on her right hand catching his attention, turning to look at the glaring woman who shifted out of the comforting covers, to pluck the girl from the ground, retrieving the now yawning child from the aged, hardwood floor, waving her hand to dissipate the orange circle into lines of glitter, flashing across the empty space.
Planting his feet onto the chilly panes of the floor, he pushed himself up from the bed, trailing after his wife, footsteps echoing through the empty corridors of the ancient sanctum. He found himself leaning against the door frame, watching how the little girl gave her mother a toothy grin as she covered her mouth, trying to stop another yawn from escaping as she mumbled, "Goodnight mommy", her eyes drifting up to the shapes of lights that swirled across her ceiling, slowly fluttering as she was lulled to sleep. He admired the way the woman's hair fell smoothly across her face as she bent down to place a gentle kiss on her daughters forehead, smiling lovingly as she moved silently towards him, almost floating angelically, cupping his cheek with her hand, snapping him from his daze, as his eyes refocused on her gaze. Sighing, her eyes flickered back to the door she had closed carefully, before worriedly biting her bottom lip, fixating her eyes back on the man she loved, "What are we gonna do about this?", stopping as he intertwined their hands. Grinning widely, he tugged her nearer to his frame, closing the gap in between them, his eyes shining with joy and amazement, "I think this calls for a celebration", he whispered excitedly, tilting her head up, so that their lips connected, moving in sync, "she's a mystic arts prodigy". Rolling her eyes playfully, she broke the kiss, resting their foreheads against each other, "yeah, until it goes wrong", she joked, giggling when the edges of his lips curled into a pout. "Well, I think things have a way of working themselves out", he began, pushing her closer against the wall, their hushed breathing the only thing between their bodies, as he trapped her behind him, eyes darkening, the murmurs leaving his mouth making her breath hitch in her throat, "Besides, I think we were pre-occupied with more important matters".
~ A Few Weeks Later ~
"Darling", (Y/N) yelled out as she hurriedly tugged on a weathered brown coat around her shoulders, snatching the bronze keys from the counter, as she slung her bag around her shoulders, "I'm heading out to get some groceries", grinning when she spotted the man in question, floating down to meet her, with a bubbly girl squirming in his arms, shrieking in delight as the familiar bright red cloak waved extra comically around his shoulders, almost making a flapping motion. She stifled the giggle that arose in her chest as they met her, where she stood holding the heavy door open with her frame, allowing the cold winter's breeze to travel in and tickle her skin, as she place a kiss on both of their foreheads. She laughed, waving goodbye at the pair, as the girl swung her arms around to make a bye motion, almost smacking her father's face multiple times, only stopping when her mother was out of sight, turning around in his arms, to meet his eyes, a mischievous glint shining in her eyes, "Can we play hide and seek daddy?", she proposed. Unfortunately, there was little to nothing that he wouldn't do to make her happy, feeling his head instinctively nod yes, bending down slightly, allowing her to plant her feet down and steady herself. "You count", she exclaimed, practically bursting with excitement, clapping her little hands together while jumping up and down, making her once neat hair come a little loose, the messy strands sticking out in the air. Chuckling softly at her demeanor, he turned around, theatrically covering his eyes as he began to count backwards from 50, smiling knowingly as he heard the sounds of rushed footsteps and giggles grow quiet from behind him.
45 minutes later, Stephen found himself pacing through the hauntingly quiet corridors frantically, the sound of his feet against the wooden floor board ringing a little too loud in his ears. His heart pounded threateningly in his chest, as his mind raced to think of all the possible places she could have crammed herself into, betraying him when it went blank with fear and worry with all the possible accidents that could've occurred, considering the girl's curious nature, that much like his own, often proved to be more dangerous than it was helpful.
He sighed, when he found himself in the main foyer once again, realizing that he had finished yet another lap around the aged building, throwing his face into his hands, tangling his fingers into his hair, a futile attempt to calm himself down, feeling his panic worsen at the familiar click of keys unlocking the door.
Spreading his fingers apart slightly, he was met with a concerned look from the sorceress who stood across from him, promptly placing the wrinkled, brown bag on the faded floors, before making her way towards him, clasping his shaking hands in her own, revealing his face to her, whispering gently, "Stephen, what's wrong ?". With her words, he could feel his heart ache even more, nervously rubbing the backs of her palms tenderly, stammering, "I- It- I think- I may have lost (D/N)", as he tried to look her in the eyes.
Her expression almost instantly morphed from worry and love to anger, lips curving downwards into a frown as her eyebrows furrowed together, swiftly releasing his hands from her hold, to rub them against her forehead in annoyance. Looking back up at the guilt-stricken man before her, she exclaimed, "What do you mean, you LOST her ?", waving her arms around her to extenuate her point. Crossing his arms across his chest, he sighed, "she wanted to play hide and seek-", only to roll his eyes slightly when she quickly cut him off. "Do you have your sling ring?", she questioned, giving him a pointed look, raising an eyebrow. He pouted at her, upset that she would think him to be so careless, messily reaching into his pockets, fingers aimlessly grabbing, searching for the cool feeling of the metal object, "Of course I have-", only to be met with nothing, his lips pressed together into a thin line, "It- It's not here". Giving him a knowing look, she pulled her hands up , spinning them around, making the glittering auburn ring form in front of them, before sticking her hand out behind her, "And you thought this wouldn't be a problem", dragging him through when she felt the familiar weight of his palm.
Stephen was confused when the pair found themselves in the familiar stone-paved courtyard of Kamar-Taj, the evening breeze blowing past them, making strands of hair drift from his forehead. Fortunately, he was able to make the connection quickly, slapping his free hand against his forehead when he realized, "Wong", he sighed, turning to gaze at the woman who was set on marching to the library, pulling him along with her, by their still intertwined hands.
Much to his relief, their arrival was met with two familiar faces, a cool wave of relief washing over him, taking a step back when the little girl throttled over to him, capturing his legs in a hug, giggling as he pulled her into his arms, "You're really bad at this game daddy". Laughing mockingly the Asian man stood from where he was seated, surrounded by piles of yellow paged, leather-bound books, the chair making a screeching sound against the smooth stone floor, making his way towards them, as he reached into his pocket, pulling out the artefact in question to place it in the woman's palm. Wrapping her arms around her friend, she gratefully thanked him, before fixating her gaze on her husband, (Y/N) gave him a dumbfounded look, as she wondered out loud, sarcastically, "Well, would you look at that", stifling the giggle that was fighting to come out, when he turned to face her, giving her a sheepish smile. Using his free hand, he tugged her frame closer to his, placing his lips softly against her temple, sighing defeatedly, "What would I do without you ?", her lips curving into a grin.
An exasperated groan snapped them back to reality, bringing them face to face with an annoyed little girl who was frowning angrily at them, "Mommy, Daddy that's gross", she lectured, eyebrows furrowed and skin turning red. (Y/N) bit her lip, trying to contain the laughter that was growing in her chest as she watched the little girl wave her hands dramatically in front of her father, supposedly educating him about the dos and don'ts of polite etiquette, while he stood nodding away, completely enraptured by her. The sight of her family making her heart swell with love, no matter their quirks and short-comings, she felt thankful for each and everyone of them.
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Stephen: How's the sexiest person here~?
Y/N: I don't know, how is he~?
Stephen, flustered: I-
Wong, from across the room: I'm doing great, thanks
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Sam: So, what is Y/N to you?
Stephen: The reason I wake up every morning.
Bucky: ...That’s adorable.
Y/N earlier that morning, barging into Stephen′s room, smacking pans together: WAKE UP WAKE UP WAKE UP WAKE UP WAKE UP!!!
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my man Stephen looks so good in NWH 🥵
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gaslight. gatekeep. girlboss.
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I want to ask for some doctor strange x reader smut with see dice if possible
You can use any type of dices 🎲
Alright let’s try this, since you didn’t exactly mention the gender of the reader so we’re going to be a bit vague￼￼ and assume that the hole is just ready like that
Roll the dice
"You seriously found this on Amazon?" Strange asked you.
"Yes it was on sale and it looked interesting so I thought maybe you know…fun" you grinned holding up the paper that you found with the dust.
The paper had different sex position numbered from 1 to 100 and by throwing the dice you they chose the position you should be doing.
"I swear people make everything about sex nowadays" he looked at the dice in his palm then back you, sighing when he noticed how his comment might have discouraged you.
"Fine. But only three positions because god knows what this game will make us do"
You jumped up and down ready to get on with this adventure while he chuckled at you excitement.
"Ok it sees here that we should keep doing the same position for like one minute then roll the dice again and change" you read the instructions on the bottom of the paper to him.
"Sounds reasonable enough"
He reached out to you pulling you in for a kiss, then sliding his hand underneath your shit.
He pushed you with his body against the wall while your hands pulled gently on his hair.
He broke the kiss to lift off your shirt while you pulled down his bottoms.
Then you slide your own pajama shorts.
He squeezed your ass making you press against him, skin to skin.
You felt him getting hard from the way you were too close.
"You ready?" He asked.
"Just a second" you went down on your knees and took him in your mouth, you needed to make sure he was hard.
Your soft lips sucked on nippled at his tip before sucking him off repeatedly.
He groaned placing his hand on your hair and griping on it harshly.
When you felt him completely erected in your mouth you pushed away to catch your breath.
"Shit" he said looking at the trail of saliva you left.
"Let’s start" you licked your lips.
You took the dice in your hands and shook them before throwing them on the paper.
First one was 0 which meant it was only number this round and the other number was 5.
You looked at the paper while strange stroked himself slowly beside you.
Against the wall.
Before you could tell him you felt his strong arms left you up against the wall making you gasp warping your legs around his waist.
You moaned when you felt him aiming his dick against your hole then letting you sink in it slowly.
"Hey Siri put a time for one minute" he yelled at his phone which started counting immediately.
"Fuck fuck fuck" you whimper finally adjusting to his size before he started pushing you up and down.
The man was strong you’ve learned that lesson early on.
"You wanted this" he reminded you pushing into you and making you scream.
"I…know" he moaned as he kept pounding onto you without stopping.
His lips attacking your now sweating neck in the process making you even more heated then the timer rang.
"Damn it" he cursed sliding himself out of you quickly.
It felt awful going such high speed then stopping but it was the rules.
Strange threw the dice a little too roughly casing them to bounce a little far but he could see the numbers.
Ride on top.
He looked back at you, desperate clearly to have him inside you again.
"Ride me honey"
You watched him lay down on his back.
You hurried after hearing him set the next alarm.
Your hands on his chest as you sat down on his dick.
You moaned going right back to work.
He placed his hands on your hips to help you speed up.
"Come on honey you can do it" your head felt fuzzy as each time it hit your g spot making you weak and closer to your orgasm.
Strange held you to his chest then flip your positions so he’s now on top of you.
He reached over you to grab the dice and throw them one last time.
You could see how unkept his hair looked and it made you mentally grin, this was the only why his hair would get messed up, even war didn’t mess it up.
He threw the dice.
missionary legs over shoulders.
He let out a breath relieved that he’s somewhat the right position already.
"Hold on honey, be good for me I’ll finish you fast and good" you swallowed feeling him once again deep inside of you while your were up on his shoulders.
You threw your head back as he ponded mercilessly into your hole.
You could see stars and your eyes felt like their about to cry from the pure pressure being building up inside of you.
"I’m…Stephen…close" you cried out.
"Cum for me honey cum" he covered your lips with his own as he slammed one more time inside you then you came all over him.
Your body shook as he in turn came inside of you.
You looked up at his sweaty self and couldn’t help but to giggle.
"Told you it would…fun"
He raised a brow at you before breaking into a laugh fit letting his body lay down on top of yours to catch his breath.
"You’re something else"
Kinda proud of myself for doing this in one go and hopefully it’s up to the standard
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more behind the scenes of MARVEL ROBBING US‼️‼️‼️
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Doctor Strange - An Out-of-Body Experience (Baby Blues & Tattoos II)
A/N & WC - The love I received on Baby Blues & Tattoos is incredible. Thank you so much for the support. I wasn't planning on making a part two, but I've had so many inbox messages about this, asking me to write a sequel and after some time and deliberation, I did: here it is. This is a celebration and a show of gratitude for 7k+ notes on 'Baby Blues & Tattoos', and for more than 3.5k followers. Though it's a sequel, it can be read as a standalone. 6.9k words.
Warnings - Swearing, bickering, teasing, mentions of scars, one mention of vomit, smut: daddy kink, unprotected sex, questionable use of the cloak, oral (f rec), so much choking, panty ripping, mild gagging, teasing, tattoo kink, almost getting caught & mild exhibitionism, he calls reader a prick tease once, and an out-of-body experience. 18+
Summary - You plan on getting Stephen to snap tonight, knowing exactly what you want. But he has wants of his own, and ideas to bring to life, and things he isn't afraid to do in the middle of the Sanctum... (Baby Blues & Tattoos - Part I)
THE SANCTUM GROWS QUIET as the dark creeps in, like an impending mist enveloping the small Bleecker Street building in a blanket of calm. Tonight, with stars twinkling and blinking within view of the Eye, you’re on duty with Stephen—Sorcerer Supreme, and pain in your arse extreme.
“Can you move out of the damn way?” he asks with a huff, floating in mid air, the Cloak of Levitation billowing behind him. He’s reading two books at once, and apparently, by sitting down to enjoy your cup of tea, you’re utterly in his way. His legs dangle, poised, too close to your head for your liking.
“No,” you retaliate, “go around me.”
“Why should I? I’m in charge here,” he says, scoffing as though it’s the most obvious fact in the world.
His baby blue eyes twinkle with venom, but you know your next move will have his pupils dilating until barely a thin ring of cerulean will be left to outline them. You stand up. Boldly, you reach for the reams of belt that tie your robes together and tug, allowing them to unravel, the material falling open and revealing your tattooed body, bare but for some scraps of sheer material one might call underwear. Standing, you approach his descending frame, his feet catching on the floorboards as he lands.
“You didn’t seem to think that last night.” You smirk unabashedly at his paling face. “Oh! Y/N! Please…” you mimic, even dropping your jaw wide and tossing your head back just for dramatics.
He clamps a hand, scars running down each finger, protruding from his skin, over your mouth the second it opens again, and he runs you up against the wall, caging you, trapping you helpless between his arms, between his heating body and the bricks.
“I’m warning you,” he growls.
His voice is a rumble that vibrates through your chest and straight down to your core. Heat skittles over your skin as his eyes roam your body lacking any semblance of shame, his gaze catching on one of your newer tattoos. He’s obsessed with them, to the point you can barely see the more detailed ink through the bruising hickeys he’s littered all over you. He lifts his hand from your mouth when your tongue darts out to lick his palm.
“Or what, daddy?”
It clamps around your neck instead. His calloused skin is rough against your sensitive neck, and the pressure, oh that heavenly pressure, not choking you, but just restricting your airflow enough to drive you insane. You use that name teasingly, you have ever since the first day, but it still gets to him. His lips come down on yours harshly, kissing you with such great intensity that it snatches your breath more than ‘erotic asphyxiation’ ever could. Only, you’re interrupted before his tongue can even steal between the seal of your lips.
“Guys!” Wong shouts. “Come on, please. Keep it in the bedroom.”
Stephen removes his hand from your neck with a tremble and his lips from yours, but instead of jumping away, he presses his body to yours, shielding your bare flesh. He covers you. He turns his head, half smiling apologetically before leaning his forehead against yours. Once Wong’s footsteps recede, along with his under-breath mutterings about how you must get a kick out of the exhibitionism, Stephen steps away from you, and begins to wrap your robes around you once more. Your cheeks burn as you tie the belt, wrapping it multiple times around you, not even wincing when it catches on your belly button piercing.
The two of you have been… for lack of a better phrase that isn’t utterly crude, ‘canoodling’, for some weeks now, and though your relationship is by no means a secret, especially with all the ridiculously loud and blasphemous sex that can be heard despite enchantments and wards, you can’t let it impact your work. Though Stephen is in charge and could bend the rules for the two of you, there’s far too much at stake should either of you trip up. It’s a tough divide, especially when you’re in contrasting shifts, but you make it work because, well, you have to, and now you’ve started with Stephen, you’re loath to stop or find anyone else again. He makes you feel.
“Get to work,” he tells you once you’re ready. “You know what you have to do.”
“Myeh, you know what you have to do,” you mimic.
He rolls his eyes as he stalks away from you, nudging your shoulder. You can feel his smirk though, sensing that he’s got under your skin with the way your eyes burn into his back. He takes some long strides, but then he’s floating, and locked in his head, the eye on his chest glowing in finely tuned emerald hues, boring through the matching eye on the front of the building. Something’s coming, clearly, but now he’s locked in his head, a threatening serenity emanating from him,
You’re going to get him to break tonight, you’re convinced of it. You’ll snap his resolve and have him a horny, blathering mess by the time you’re done with him. But for now, you straighten your robes, and get to work on your own.
As a newly qualified Master of the Mystic Arts, having finished your training younger than most, you still have a lot to learn. Hence why, after perusing the library for half an hour, your fingertips gathering dust as you run them along the spines of all the ancient grimoires, you settle with two books in one of the high-backed leather chairs, alert. One of the books purrs to life as you open it, stroking the thick cover with all its unique ridges and bumps. When you read books like these, it feels as though they’re talking to you, like the magic within them is speaking down your ear in a low whisper, telling you everything you need to know. This particular book is on weapons, and the chapter that’s drawn you in, on Ebony Blades. You possess many of them, more than the rest put together, because you’re so skilled in them. Whatever fight approaches, your weapon of choice is your blade, it’s only right you read more about them.
It’s like you’re sucked into a vacuum, lost to the book until you’re nearly finished, only a chapter and a half from the end of the grimoire, when a dangerous clatter of wood and metal echoes down the stairs and has your neck snapping upright, your skin stippled with goose-bumps as the information bleeds in. Instantly, a dagger is pulled from your holster, and a protective field us up around your fist, orange glowing and bouncing off the ancient mirrored artefacts.
“Down, girl!” Stephen shouts, and the smirk on his face contorts his words to have a certain broad quality, “I just dozed off and fell.”
You release a sigh of relief, let the shield flicker out and fall, and stash your blade back away. Rolling your eyes, you grab the grimoire and fall back into your chair.
“Sorcerer Supreme, everyone!” you bellow in reply, ensuring your words are heard by the building itself.
“You know what? You’d better hope I don’t come down there and teach you a God-damn lesson.”
You click your tongue, falling back into that calm headspace to finish reading, “Whatever you say, Doctor.”
Darkness has fully enveloped the Sanctum by the time you stir from your reading induced reverie, only noticing that all the stars have winked out and so you can’t read the twisting words in the grimoire any longer.
“Stephen, lights!” you call.
Nothing happens, no light, not even the whisper of wind to notify you he’s nearby, just dead silence. Until he’s right there next to you
“What are you reading?”
The lights flicker on. You mask it well, but your heart jumps to your throat, your grimoire slamming shut and hissing—literally hissing—at Stephen. He glares at the worn leather cover and it shuts up, but you’re trying too hard to maintain composure to take much notice of the darkening of his baby blues.
“None of your business,” you say.
“I asked,” he leans down, lips right next to your ear, his voice low and growling, “what you’re reading.”
“'Beyond the Realm.' Reading more about the Astral Plane.”
His smirk is enticing, and you find yourself drowning in his sapphire blue eyes as they scrutinise every line of your face, every miniscule expression.
He cocks his head, and rests his elbows on the crown of the chair, “In that case, why are you singing some trashy pop song I could listen to on any radio in the city?” he asks.
“To piss you off.”
He sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose, rolling his baby blue eyes. “I hate to concede that you’re succeeding.”
“And besides, it’s actually a song the book made me think of,” you protest, arms folding over your chest after settling the grimoire on the side table.
“Really?” He arches a brow, utterly unabashed, pulling a gnarled hand through his short, salt & pepper beard, “I’m sure it did.”
You smirk: it was a somewhat subconscious move to start humming while you read, but you knew what you were doing. Stephen hates noise, especially the music you like. It usually ends in some... fun.
“We can forget about the noise. That is…” you trail off, taking him by the lapels of his robes in order to stand up, “if you’re up for breaking the rules,” you drop your voice to a husky whisper, and yank harshly to bring him to your height in order to purr, “daddy.”
Your wrists are wrenched by his hands a moment later, and he holds a surprisingly strong grip on you, cornering you with wide strides on the old creaky wooden floor until you’re falling backwards over the arm of the chair. His eyes are dark, his cheeks sucked in, his lip drawn dangerously between his teeth. Every rigid line in his body screams to give into you, to punish you, to fuck you. But he’s on duty. So he pulls you up with a gentler hand, pulls at his fingers, and averts his gaze. At least his robes hide his boner.
“Get back to work, Rookie,” he says as nonchalantly as though it’s a passing comment, but you hear the strain in his voice.
Time to pull out the big guns.
“Actually, if you’re okay on your own for five, I was gonna head to the all-night Bodega, get some stuff. You need anything?”
Obviously you can’t go in your sorcerer robes, no, that would be insane. So you start to strip for the second time tonight. Except this time, no matter how hard he tries, Stephen can’t hide how turned on he is. His high cheek bones begin to grow the same red as his cloak, his pulse thudding hard enough to be felt outside his body. One up to you.
“Can you actually, um, summon my clothes? I think I left them on my dresser chair.”
As he’s stumbling over his words, clearing his throat, and doing what you’ve asked, you remove the Ebony Blades stashed at your hip and in your boots, keeping only the one in your lace thigh holster that you know drives Stephen insane.
Since he’s away with the fairies, his eyes transfixed on your pert nipples showing through your bralette, he lets your pile of clothes slam straight into your face. They drop to the floor with a sigh and a flutter.
“Oh my God I’m so sorry!” he says, rushing to your aid, but you’re shouldering past him, leaning down to tug your jeans on while giving him a full view of your cleavage. “I— um, I don’t need anything from the Bodega farm. Be safe.”
You tug your hair out from the neck of your shirt before you go, smiling at him, even winking, adding a sway to your hips as you strut around the sanctum, down the grand staircase, and across the great wooden hallway, blowing a still transfixed Stephen a kiss over your shoulder as you go.
Heading both into and out of the store, you can feel his eyes lasering into you the whole way, and you wouldn’t have been surprised if he had some kind of spell cast to track you while you were in there. You stay inside the walls just long enough to have him irate, almost as though you can feel his nerves bubbling on edge. As you exit though, even halfway up the street, you let your eyes flicker to the Eye of Agamotto, distinguishing your old brick house from the rest of the almost-identical buildings lining the street with exquisite architecture on this end of the concrete jungle you and one-point-six million other people call home. They don’t get to live in a magical Sanctum with their boyfriends. Your boyfriend is still watching you as you totter down the street, so you withdraw a banana from your bag, peel it, and start eating. Chuckling to yourself, there’s pep in your step heading back in.
The second the great oak doors swing open, you know there’s hell to pay: it lingers in the air. But just to rile him up further, you tug your shirt off in one brisk move, polishing the fruit off in one swift, sensual bite. He’s floating at the top of the stairs, his fingers flexed, his face apoplectic, his neck rigid. Even his cloak is standoffish with his attitude this way.
The thing you focus on isn’t his anger, his lust, but the intimacy of you standing with only the staircase between you, each revealed in your own little ways. Stephen is gradually getting more and more confident with the use of his hands in the bedroom, more comfortable with the appearance of them, so when it’s just the two of you on duty, he’ll forgo the gloves. Soon, maybe, he’ll actually go gloveless for more occasions than sex and Sanctum dates.
You prop your hands on your hips, tilting your head teasingly, reaching for the hem of your trousers. He blinks his eyes.
“Are you just going to stand there and watch me, or are you going to fuck me the way I know you want to, Doctor Strange?”
In a blanket of darkness, you’re whipped around the building, and the small of your back is pressed to the chair you were reading in. His lips waste no time teasing you, instead colliding with yours with a burning passion that ignites a bonfire in your belly. His tongue slips between your lips, exploring urgently, hurriedly. He doesn’t waste a second in yanking your bottoms off, shucking them down your legs, not even caring about your Ebony Blade in its special lace holster. His hands then begin to roam your back, a single finger running up your spine, cupping the wings of your shoulder blades almost tenderly, only for him to then snap your bra off. You try to gasp, but his skilful tongue slips further into your mouth, deepening the kiss to the point of his devouring you mind, body and soul. Your hand in his hair, you use the other to create some semblance of leverage, your knees buckling beneath you. And as lovely as it would be to fall to your knees on this sanctimonious, hallowed ground within these ancient walls to suck off your handsome sort-of-boyfriend, that doesn’t exactly seem like his plan, not with the fervour with which he’s grinding his clothed member against your weeping core. Your panties are soaked to an uncomfortable level.
“My little Rookie… it’s abysmal, your behaviour. Can’t go five minutes without getting horny for me, can you?” he inquires rhetorically, shirking off your advances.
The look you share is almost clandestine, telling of all your night-time obedience, your impatience, his crystal eyes twinkling with the secrets you share.
“Well, you know what gets me going Doctor,” you say with feigned composure, although you both know that no amount of composure can truly disguise the wanton fire dancing in your eyes. He cocks his head, his hair falling with the movement, an errant lock of dark hair falling across his creased forehead. “That stupid fucking goatee.”
Your smirk drives him to a level of irritation you’ve never seen on him. It’s preposterous, but he looks fucking gorgeous, his high cheekbones flaring crimson. How does his sex appeal only increase when he’s seething? He was irate the first time the two of you slept together and he did not disappoint (not that he has since, it’d just be nice to recreate the passion). You’re transparent around him, though.
“I know it makes your thighs tingle, baby.”
Despite your flustered state, you know he’s right, though mainly (only) when it's glistening in your translucent juices after going down on you with his perfect, thick tongue. The burn is so fucking delectable…
“I didn’t always have it,” he explains, casual all of a sudden, one gnarled, scarred hand rubbing up and down your thigh almost affectionately.
“Yeah, I had no facial hair.”
“I wouldn’t have gone for you otherwise, bub, I’m sorry. I just… no.”
His other hand brackets your throat not a second later.
“You’re gonna pay for that one,” he purrs.
Of course it was a ploy. Of course he was going to trip you up so he can take you how he wants to: like a man starved. One all… but at this point, you’re as riled up as you were trying to make him… You can’t swallow down your petulance anymore, so you glower at him, ignoring the goose-bumps stippling your arms from the lack of oxygen to your brain, only furthered by the rough skin of his hands on the sensitive flesh of your neck, bitten and bruised and inked within an inch of its life.
“My little prick tease…”
Using your neck he turns you around and lets go a moment later, your stomach pressed to the high back of the chair, the material scratchy against your new belly piercing. Though you can’t see it, you can feel him surveying you, every available inch, tattoos old and new and covered in love bites that he ghosts his fingertips over, eyeing one spanning your hip and upper thigh filled with old runes and sorcery imagery, only to crouch in order to examine a floral display covering your entire left calf. A wave of pleasure heats your blood when his lips meet your skin in what feels like forever.
He kisses up your body harshly, biting, bruising, and stops when he reaches your bum. A rip cleaves the air.
“Doctor,” he corrects, drawing you up short. You can’t fathom a thought right now, let alone words. “Are you gonna be a good little Rookie? Take what I give you?” He pauses, realising that your knees are starting to buckle, your top half almost falling over the other side of the chair. He yanks you up again, impelling you to find the strength. “Do you want this?”
“Yes!” you cry out. “Yes, plea—”
Your panties are stuffed in your mouth before you can finish speaking, fingers digging into the chair for the purchase you so desperately require. Your body has decided to let you play, judging by the drool spilling from the corners of your mouth and the slick dripping down your thighs, but so has his, because if he’s gagging you, he’s come to play, and he won’t tease you much longer, even if it was only fair recompense for how you teased him earlier in the evening…
You have to cast a look over your shoulder to catch the sight, but it’s one you wouldn’t miss for the whole God-damn world. He drops his pants and there it is, his thick cock hanging heavily between his strong thighs. Pre-ejaculate drips from his end. You can’t describe it, he just looks… virile, his member thick and long with a slight curve… The next moment, it’s sweeping through your sex. He flexes his dick in approval of you wiggling your arse for him, slowing it to bounce up and hit your ass cheek. Your muffled squeal goes straight to his stalk of flesh. His eyes, glowing with fire, are the ultimate aphrodisiac. Spitting out your knickers, you smile, smile, when he begins to sink in, kissing your neck following your rumble of assent, but it doesn’t last long, not when your fucked-out state invokes the devil in him. When he slams in hard, all the air leaves your body. The chair rocks, the legs squeaking and grating on the floor. He’ll have to clean it, polish it, or magic it better, but you don’t even think about what he’ll do when he’s fucking you raw. He’s won, fair and square.
“Tell me how you feel,” he commands.
You gasp, his deep voice sending a pleasurable chill rippling down your exposed spine. His harsh grip on your waist as he tugs your body back onto him, using you for his own pleasure, impels you to speak the unutterable: your mind.
“Awww,” he coos, his tone condescending the way it was when he first had you ride him in that hotel bed, his breath heavy on your shoulder blades. “Look at my Rookie, all mine, using big words.”
“Yes, Doctor,” you cry, hiding a wince at the rough press of the chair into your stomach.
He hits his hips back in like a jackhammer, and your nipples tighten almost painfully as you’re driven into the high-backed chair.
His sexual prowess is impressive, and you’d be more than happy to stay this way, letting him take you from behind and bent over whichever surface took his fancy that minute, but this chair is really digging in…
Prior to your comprehension, his weight is no longer hovering over you, his hands no longer spanning every inch of flesh they can reach, and his cock is standing in front of his stomach, the curve of it matching his frown quite ironically.
“I’m so sorry. What do you need?” he asks hurriedly.
His concern is palpable, driving sympathy to punch you deep in the gut where an orgasm was beginning to build, only for discomfort to edge you. The hands he so hates are quivering, half hidden by the shadow of his head hung low, his anxiety inordinate. You smile in an attempt of reassurance and push up from the chair, turning to face him and folding your arms over your exposed chest. One step over the old, glossy parquet floor to reach him, two.
“You did nothing, I promise.” He visibly deflates at that, his hands halting their trembling as he tucks them behind his back. “That chair was just really uncomfortable, the height and all…”
His exhale is long, and a sheen of perspiration dusts your bodies already from the exertion. He looks like a God. He is a God.
“I can remedy that. I’m sorry,” he laments, a note of hope in his tone.
Before you can quite process it, his signature crimson cloak is in his hands, tapping at his wrist with the embellished corner, only for it to then lie out flat. Stephen’s eyes search yours for confirmation, his marked fingers tugging at his dark beard. You nod and let him lift you.
Poor cloak, the things it's seen and is yet still bound to. It’s a wonder it still considers Stephen a worthy master.
You know why it’s in use, to levitate the two of you, allowing him to take you the way he wants without worrying about too much strain on his hands, still not used to bearing so much weight during times of hearty exertion. Stephen’s smirk is just discernible in the dim lights, the silver streak in his hair making him appear wise. He sheds his remaining garments, and steps closer to you, trailing his calloused thumb up the sensitive inside of your ankle, up your calf, around your thighs, hips, across your belly and up your ribs until he’s palming at your tits and all but kneeling before you, his abs as chiselled as his jaw.
With his positioning, you expect him to go down on you, but you can’t say you’re surprised when he presses his tongue flat against your belly button, a pleasured hiss escaping you.
He’s besotted with your body, completely, utterly and irrevocably besotted. His current chosen point of interest before he slips back in is your navel piercing. You got it done the second he expressed an interest in such, having wanted one for so long: you finally had a reason to. He hasn’t left it alone since. He worships every inch of you.
“Are…” you sigh, keenly aware of his hand hovering over your clit, “are you gonna fuck me?”
He straightens himself up, inwardly berating himself for denying you both the pleasure, his cock inexorably hard now. He hoists your thigh around his torso indecorously, and winks, his baby blues twinkling with a salacious lust only you can quench. It’s a long shot, teasing him and riling him again tonight after everything you’ve already tried, but it damn well works. His remaining resolve disintegrates before your eyes when you snake your thumb down to your throbbing pearl and press once, a torrent of pleasure washing through you. In the thrall, you don’t see him shuffling around and positioning at your entrance, carefully balanced at the edge of the cloak. He tips his head back and slams in hard, his beautiful face contorting.
Lust sinks it’s fangs into your belly and his heart, crackling like electricity the moment he’s balls deep within you, circling his hips patiently to ease you into it, allowing you to adjust to his size. After all this time, it’s still a little uncomfortable without proper preparation.
“You can move, baby,” you tell him, reaching up to clasp at his damp shoulders.
You could swear he whispers, “I’m gonna fucking ruin this pretty pussy all over again,” under his breath, but you can’t be sure, not with the pleasure that overtakes you as soon as he bucks his pelvis. Thus far he’s made good on his promise from that first night: he has completely and utterly ruined other men for you, and there’s not a single doubt in your mind about the fact you’ll stay with Stephen.
His thrusts start off languorously, spreading your legs wider with a strong grip as his eyes roam your body, unable to focus on one thing. It evades all of your logic, his obsession with your tattoos, but your obsession with his stunning, crystal baby blues evades him also.
“You’re so warm, darling,” he hisses, his breath hot on your boobs, “squeezing me so good.”
You toss your head around a little, your neck supported by the cloak, snug around your back, murmuring, “I need your hands, Doctor, I need your hands on me so bad. Please touch me.”
His smile flickers but is firmly back in place when he speaks, low and gravelly, “Focus on me, yeah?”
You do, enthralled by the enigma written in every feature of his, the twinkle in his eyes and the slight peek of his teeth when he smiles a certain way, like he is right now, an innocent smile for such a sinful act. He’s a walking juxtaposition, or, right now, a fucking one.
The emotion darkening his baby blues is purely primitive, rapturous. Your soul is already listing in his direction forever, and there’s no reversing it. His scarred hands wrap around your inked thighs and hike them up with verve. You watch him temporarily lose his trail of thought in the swirls of ink on your legs when he removes them from the scarlet of the cloak and, on a long withdraw from your tensing cavern, places them up over his shoulders, eliciting a mix between a shrill cry and a gasp from your suddenly dry throat. When he gets you in this position, you know you’re in for it, so dig your nails into his broad shoulders, leaving crescent moons in their wake. He makes haste in driving into your sex with carnality, the full access pleasing him almost as much as your pleading whimpers.
“You can do better than that,” you tease, swallowing your words with heated cheeks once his pelvis grinds ever so perfectly against your engorged clit, desperate for any attention it can get.
He repeats the move multiple times, his salacious instincts not erring despite the fact you’re fucking in the middle of the sacred Sanctum Sanctorum where you both live and work… with other people. You don’t care right about now, not as his pumps get harder and harder, his deep moans permeating your bones: let the world hear, let the world see how well he pleases you.
His barbaric thrusts bow your back, possessing your pleasure. Your chest heaves at the sensation of his booming grunts rumbling throughout you, your name mingled within like a prayer.
“y/n… my baby, my Rookie… do I make you feel good?”
“So good, Doctor!” you cry out without having to think about it, satisfied by the infectious glee spreading over his features, satisfied to let go of his shoulders, falling back, weightless, onto the cloak.
This is an experience to remember… and that’s before he snakes one rough, marred hand around your throat.
The choked sound you make worries him enough to drop his hold on both that and whichever part of your body his other hand is exploring (though that’s currently lost on you), but when you nod your head, a playful gleam lighting up your eyes, he starts to choke you again in the most pleasurable way possible.
His thrusts continue, and when you begin to feel dizzy, your eyelashes fluttering and your heart rate increasing, he usually lets go. This time, he doesn’t relent in either his hold on the column of your hickey-covered throat or his thrusts.
You’re not worried, but you ease more when he whispers between expletives, “I wanna try something. Just trust me.”
And it’s the best damn decision you’ve made in your entire lifetime.
For a split second it feels as though your soul has let your body… and that’s because, well, it has. Casting a glance to your left, there you are, hovering above the ground in an almost hologram, not fully corporeal but there, present, astral, and feeling everything. Both you and Stephen stand in the glimmering shards nude, waiting. You submit to his control there as well.
The second you fall willingly at his mercy in this alternate realm, his tongue doesn’t hesitate to lash at your clit. It’s almost violent the way he eats you out: his last meal in the wilderness. There’s nothing reverent here. There’s no place for loathing or love, scorn or reverence, solely sex and pleasure. And he offers you those in heaped fucking spades, in both damn worlds. His neatly trimmed beard scratches the insides of your thighs in one realm, but in another, where you’re sure to be corporeal, his moustache is tickling your Cupid’s bow. If you focus, you can taste the sweetness of yourself on his tongue, however that may be possible.
“Such a needy Rookie aren’t you? Can barely handle choking before you’re going astral,” he mocks. All you can do is take his pleasure and his teasing, just feeling.
He’s voracious, insatiable, and each buck of his hips matches in perfect synchronous symphony with each swipe of his tongue in the Astral Plane. He’s not relenting. A swarming dizziness overtakes your head, and however light you feel, you know it’s not from the cloak’s alleviation of pressure, but instead from unadulterated pleasure.
You feel a smack to your cheek, every rough ridge and scar on Stephen's hand digging into your flesh momentarily. His baby blue eyes bore into yours a moment later, his spare thumb pressing circles into the tattoo on your ribs.
“Don’t go getting woozy on me, Darling. I want you to look at how I’m fucking you with my tongue. Can you feel it?”
Tongues thrash, yours and both of his. The kiss you share is heated, lancing through any resolve you had to suppress the onslaught of euphoria he can provide by his cock and his tongue fucking you in the Astral Realm. The sight of it is so phenomenal that it snatches your breath, let alone the fact you’re able to feel it all.
You hum and blather senselessly in response, hoping it’s at least sensical enough to string together an answer, but the pressure in your throat and his teeth grazing your inked collarbone tell you otherwise.
“I said: can you feel me? I’m everywhere.”
“Yes! I can feel you Daddy!”
You can feel his beard tickling your thighs and your sensitive lower lips, grating and rough and oh so pleasurable. You can feel his thick cock so deep inside you, every ridge stimulating your walls so perfectly: the bulge in your lower belly proves how deep he is on each thrust.
His hips stutter the second his lithe muscle ventures and dips into your dripping, full hole. The azure light behind his orbs flickers. His hands tremble.
And then his moment of insecurity is over as quickly as it began, his calloused palms now roughly grabbing onto your supple breasts as leverage as he pistons in and out of you with such force that even the cloak begins to wither beneath it. He delves straight back into your cavern in the astral realm, alternating between lavishing kisses on the tattoos on your hips and thighs and your desperate core. His attention doesn’t once cease, even when he’s switching between various points of such.
“You have to come, Rookie,” he pants, “you have to fucking come.” Even if his aggressive gritting out of the words, punctuated by a deep thrust, doesn’t seem too romantic, in context, it’s precious. Every single time he’s the perfect lover: you always come first, you have to come before him.
“Daddy!” you mewl.
“Oh my fucking God you’re tight,” he hisses, a gravelly quality to your voice that has your walls spasming around his cock.
Tears stream down your cheeks, babbled begs spilling unprompted from your lips. He pointedly plucks at your nipple with one hand, flicking your stimulated clit with microscopic accuracy with the other. The wretchedness bubbles within him, tightening his shoulders as he nears his release, a maelstrom of pleasure his only goal. And when it hits, it’s unquantifiable.
A phantasmagorical display erupts within your body, mind and soul when an orgasm of cataclysmic proportions slams into you. The sight of him still endlessly tongue-fucking you in another realm with every sensation rippling throughout your corporeal being mixed with the headiness of pleasure alone, on top of the edging you've received thus far tonight, it’s the most delightful feeling you’ve ever experienced, one you’d sell your soul to feel again. It’s an out-of-body experience, quite literally. Your climax elongates into a haze, and you lose control of your body, your walls convulsively spasming around Stephen. All you feel is him and unbridled euphoria, all you need is him. His punishing pace doesn’t falter until, at some point he empties himself into you with the loudest bellow you’ve ever heard him emit, and though you can’t know, it feels as though it echoes off the walls and throughout the entire Sanctum. His feet give way from the floor that has to be a hundred years old—now tarnished forever, and as the blinding, hot-white flash of pleasure begins to ebb, his body weight is on you like a blanket.
You feel a final rush of moisture as your body relaxes, spent, into the support of the cloak and the affection of Stephen’s arms. One arm is snug around your torso, his hand splayed on your ribs, while the other cradles your bum with a snug hold, tracing the tattoos with his thumb.
“You with me?” he asks tenderly, stroking your skewwhiff eyebrow.
“Yeah.” You sigh, already drunk on the scent of him: pheromones, sweat, Stephen… “That was…”
He cuts in, “Was it ok?”
Bad timing for you to roll your eyes, but it temporarily slips your mind that you’re essentially in a floating hammock, “Yes, Stephen. If you’d have let me finish I would’ve told you it was more than okay.”
“Someone’s searching for a spanking.”
“That I am,” you play, “but not now. That was incredible. How did you do that? I’ve never been able to stay conscious while in an astral projection.”
He shrugs one strong, sweaty shoulder that brushes your warm cheek, “I lent you some of my power so you could. But now I need to rest my magic too.”
Nuzzling into him is something you didn’t expect to be doing at this moment, but it feels right, “Thank you. It was… an out-of-body experience.”
“And a bloody half!” he guffaws. “I had no idea if it would work in all honesty, but you asked that first night… and I’ve been researching ever since.”
Your eyes widen, your head snapping up to meet his baby blues, “You did this because of one comment I made the first night we shagged?”
“Yeah,” he presses a kiss to your temple, “why wouldn’t I? I love you.”
Eerie silence suffocates the Sanctum. Your heart begins to beat out of your chest, fire roaring in your veins, only to ice over when he starts to speak again, his clear flustered state making him distant.
“I— I mean I don’t love you, I just mean that we’re in a sort of established relationship and I— I like you lots. You don’t, um, have to reciprocate. A— at all. I shouldn’t have said that.”
You cut his rambling off this time with a kiss, short and sweet on his lips, his heavy cupid's bow deepening as he melds into your embrace, his rigid muscles relaxing under your tender caress.
“I love you too.”
He leans in to kiss you, sealing your words as a promise, but one kiss slowly dissolves into another, and another, and before you know it, his lips are all over your body, his arms around you, holding you. His hug loosens as he slips down between your knees and folds the corner of the cloak inwards to pat tenderly at your puffy pussy, lower lips glistening.
“Is that okay?”
He doesn’t get past the first syllable before his back is bolt upright, his hair fluttering in the wind, his face blanching to a worrying extent.
“Stephen?” you ask, worrying your lower lip as he stands nude, astute, waiting.
The next thing you’re aware of, you’re enveloped in the cloak as it’s wrapped around you, and with the extent of Stephen’s power, you couldn’t escape even if you wanted to. This happens more than you’d care to admit.
“Sorry, Cloak,” you whisper, petting it.
It settles around you, as though to assure you that it’s okay, and that it’s Stephen he’s unhappy with, to which you chuckle. It seems he’s not the only one.
Wrapped in your cocoon, you miss the footsteps, the clatter of ornaments, but there’s no disguising the disgust in Wong’s voice as he shouts at Stephen. You can see his face in your mind, his high cheekbones dusted with a blush. Cute.
“GUYS! Stop…” Wong gags, possibly vomits: you can’t quite tell throughout your snickering away, “screwing in the Sanctum! This place is ancient! The disrespect, God…”
“Wong—” he says softly.
“No! You guys copulate everywhere, and it’s disgusting! You’ve ruined this place. It stops now.”
“No,” Stephen retaliates. “No it doesn’t. I’m in charge, I’ll fuck my girlfriend if I want to.”
Wong must be shaking his head, and his footsteps retreat as he mutters curses under his breath. You fall from the cloak a moment later, heart racing and belly fluttering, straight into Stephen’s awaiting arms.
My smile is infectious, hurting my cheeks, “Girlfriend, eh?”
“I am shagging you, it’s about time,” he chuckles, pecking your lips. “Besides, it’s time. And I’ll stop doing this around the Sanctum as soon as we get our own place.”
“Sounds good to me,” you say with nonchalance, when inside, you can't suppress your glee. Your own place? Of course you dreamt of moving in with someone, but when you joined the Sanctum, you assumed this was the closest you'd get... A smile breaks over your face unabashedly.
He kneels down in front of you and recommences his prior task, tenderly cleaning you up and holding you tight. His cerulean eyes darken as he does, snagging on some ink.
“Ohhh my God, your tattoos. Did you get more?!”
You shrug, “Same number as I had this morning, baby.”
He groans, his head thrown back while he pats you down with care. He steps back to give you space to sit up. With a wave of his hand and a flash of sunlight, your body is clean and in his arms again. Your smiles don’t falter the whole time he carries you upstairs and settles the both of you into his bed. Your lethargy is heavy, but it alleviates in his arms when he slips in beside you, his fingers stroking your hair.
“What’s next? A blowjob in the Quantum Realm? 69 in the Mirror Dimension?” he asks teasingly.
You shrug, nestling into his hold with a joyous, natural smile still plastered on your face, “I don’t mind. I’m happy here with you. Our love is an out-of-body experience in itself.”
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Rebellious Stephen Strange in a hoodie. I still can’t believe this look or that mug is canon
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(not my gif)
summary: what was supposed to be an opportunity to improve your understanding of the mystic arts quickly turns into an infatuation with the sorcerer supreme.
warnings: fluff, teasing at smut
word count: 5.2k
a/n: I FINALLY GOT AROUND TO WRITING THIS!!! there’s not enough dr strange fics and i’m here to fix that. this takes place sometime after doctor strange and sometime before infinity war— i don’t know how well this will do, so reblogs are appreciated!
The Mystic Arts were so beyond delicate and precise that you’d spent two years at the Kamar-Taj, yearning to understand its intricacy, yearning to know the multitude of dimensions you’d seen opened by a better sorcerer’s flick of a hand, and on a Wednesday afternoon in the New York Sanctum’s basement, you were finally starting to believe you were progressing.
Flashing white lights were starting to appear in your vision as you sat unnaturally straight-backed on the ground, breathing deeply, zoning in on that specific dimension you were about to enter as your hands moved back and forth in a circular motion. Nevermind that your Sling Ring always seemed to slide off your hands, it was in the right place now, you could feel it quivering against your skin…
When you spoke, your voice came out a murmur.
The Mirror Dimension was opening up in your palms, you could feel it. Just one more push, like gravity…
“Aperiam in astris.”
You startled and knocked over a vase, breaking all concentration you had with yourself.
You summoned a broom to clean up the mess of glass and ceramic while you directed your gaze at the ceiling. The noise hadn’t been celestial, hadn’t been from another dimension, what was it?
“What do you want for dinner?” someone asked from behind you, making you jump.
You whipped around and nearly sighed in front of him. Standing in the doorway was Stephen Strange, the Ancient One’s successor, wearing casual jeans and a sweatshirt instead of sorcerer’s robes, looking horribly out of place.
“You do realize I was about to enter the Mirror Dimension, right?” you responded icily.
“And I’m about to enter the new restaurant that opened on Steinway Street,” he replied flatly. “What would you like?”
You frowned at him. “Did you consult Wong about this?”
“I consulted everyone, you’re the last person I need an answer from. Do you like Mexican food?”
You made a face. “I can eat in my quarters.”
You watched as he left, and a curious but not entirely unfamiliar feeling burned in your chest. He was so strange, ironically. You’d always wanted to gather up the courage to ask him how he mastered the Arts so quickly, but the feeling brewing inside you never let you. Maybe it was because he was so different. He wasn’t like the withered sorcerers you’d seen in Nepal, he moved with an easy yet intelligent grace, he was young…
And unfortunately for you, good-looking...
(Yeah, you kind of hated yourself for it.)
Knowing your concentration had completely slipped your grasp now, you cleared up the remaining spellbooks, magicked them onto their shelves, and left in search of the dormitories.
Twilight shone blue in your bedroom as you tried to recall the feeling of being on the precipice of the Mirror Dimension, drowning in self-loathing for losing your focus so quickly. You were staring up at the ceiling, repeating the same Latin phrases you’d read in the spellbook, but of course nothing happened— your mind was hardly in a state to travel to other dimensions when you were supposed to be sleeping.
“Keep quiet,” said someone, rather suddenly.
You looked up and nearly screamed when you saw the open portal above you.
Stephen Strange was peering down at you from the ceiling, in full robes and cloak this time, but it looked like he wasn’t anywhere in the New York Sanctum.
“Where are you?” you whisper-shouted, scrambling up.
“Took a quick detour to the London Sanctum, I was looking for a metaphysical change of scenery,” he replied, his voice still flat as ever. “I thought of you trying to access the Mirror Dimension earlier, would you like help?”
You gestured to your bed. “I’m sleeping right now, Strange.”
“The Ancient One had me become nocturnal for a month before I mastered the Mystic Arts.”
“I’m not you, and you’re certainly not the Ancient One,” you shot back.
An uncomfortable beat. You thought he’d be offended, but to your surprise, he held out a Sling Ring-adorned hand. “Come with me.”
“Please. I can help you.”
Grumbling, you slid from your bed, summoned your robes from the laundry basket and slipped on your Sling Ring, then took the hand that was dangling from the ceiling.
Strange pulled you up like you weighed nothing and once again, you felt the curious burn in your legs that came whenever you stepped through a portal.
“I haven’t been here since Kaecillius,” you murmured, automatically surveying the place.
“Me neither,” Strange admitted.
“What do we do now?”
He held out his hand once more— graciously, a quality you hadn’t seen from him. “Follow me.”
You took it warily and upon touching him, you immediately found yourself in the library. He was already thumbing through a thick volume that looked to be written in Nepali instead of Latin.
“You’ve been training for three years,” he muttered seemingly to himself, nearly tearing a page from how fast he was rifling.
“Two,” you corrected uncomfortably.
“Two, okay. Where are you from?”
“New York,” you replied awkwardly.
“Heard it in the accent. Alright…”
He tore a page from the book, plucked a hair from your head (it didn’t hurt, but you still yelped) and all of a sudden you were standing in a courtyard.
“I’m going to need you to focus,” he said, like that wasn’t the very first thing you’d learned since you’d stepped foot in the Kamar-Taj. “Breathe deeply.”
You were alarmed at how fast he was going. “What?”
He’d already sank to the ground, and because it very suddenly hit you that he was the Sorcerer Supreme and he was your superior, you complied hastily.
There was an awkward moment where he closed his eyes and held his hands out, and for a moment, nothing happened.
There was a noise like the very fabric of the universe had been torn apart, and the world around you positively rippled— he was opening up the Mirror Dimension with barely any effort, as though he was demonstrating.
You couldn’t help but hold your hand out, amazed: the dimension looked to be made up of smooth mirror-like ridges, just dancing and darting out of your grasp—
And then it all disappeared with a casual flick of his hand.
“What in the gods,” you breathed, taken aback.
When Strange looked at you, he seemed to be fighting a smirk. “You can do that too, if you practice. Control it by surrendering control.”
“That doesn’t make any sense,” you responded, looking up at him.
“You remind me a lot of how I was before I mastered the Arts,” he responded evenly, “Because that happens to be the exact same thing I said when I was properly training for the first time. And you know what the Ancient One said to me?”
“That not everything does, and not everything has to. Set aside your ego for a moment.”
Your face twisted into a scowl. “I do not have an ego, thank you very much!”
“You clearly have some form of pride,” he responded, unconcerned.
You clenched your fist. “I’ve been studying for two years and I haven’t given up yet!”
“Because you’ve made progress, and you’ve subsequently bitten off more than you can chew. You succeed once and you think you can do anything.”
You felt your palms get very hot, and your chest tightened. You inhaled sharply, which turned into one of the toughest exhales in your life.
“Tell me what I need to do,” you replied through a clenched jaw.
Strange nodded. “Close your eyes, breathe deeply, and focus on the last mirrored surface you saw.”
“And what about the calling words?”
A beat, and he stepped forward to take both of your hands in his.
The surprise touch, as well as the feeling it inspired made you want to run, but you stayed put.
Strange met your gaze, his expression impossible to read.
“You won’t need them,” he said after a minute, apparently oblivious to the doe-eyed expression you were giving back to him. “Just focus.”
Between the angry warmth of your hands and the combination of surprise and hope spiralling in your chest, you somehow believed him, so your eyes fluttered closed and you inhaled again.
“Focus,” Stephen repeated, and slowly let go of your hands.
You were surprised just how quickly it came to you: a cacophony of wind chimes suddenly sounded in your ears, and your eyes shot open as the Mirror Dimension came undone in your hands.
“Oh my god!”
The crack sailed high over your head, ripping itself apart, and even Strange looked surprised at how fast you’d harnessed it.
“In!” he shouted over the noise.
This was a little more than you’d bargained for: you forced your hands together, resulting in a loud BOOM, and as the rip started to shrink, you flung yourself at the curtain.
The hole you’d created instantly fizzled out.
You couldn’t care less that you were now trapped inside another dimension. What was in front of you looked entirely surreal: the mirror-like ridges you’d seen when Strange had teased the dimension to you were everywhere, spiralling, tantalizing, and as far as you knew you were still in the courtyard, only the courtyard had entered a different plane of existence entirely.
When you spoke, your voice came out an amazed whisper.
“Can you see all this too?”
Strange looked back at you, the Cloak of Levitation billowing in non-existent wind. “I can.”
You both stood in silence for a moment.
“Congratulations,” he said, turning to you. “You’ve finally found religion.”
You made a face. “What do you mean, finally?”
“Control it by surrendering control,” he repeated. “You’re hardly controlling it now, look at you.”
Twin roses bloomed in your cheeks, and you hoped he didn’t see them in the moonlight.
“You’re right,” you mumbled after another minute.
He cocked his head to the side, smirking a little. “I’m sorry, what?”
“You were right!” you shouted, and it echoed across the courtyard. “Gods, why do you have to rub it in?”
Even though your words were accusatory, you couldn’t help but let a small, guilty smile slip across your face, and you knew you weren’t actually mad at him.
“I’m not,” Stephen replied, fiddling with the yellow gloves he always had on.
He seemed to hesitate, then he pulled them off and chucked them into the atmosphere. Gravity seemed to work differently here: they remained in air, grotesquely revolving above his head.
“I’m proud of you,” he said.
He looked back at you and you smiled at him. He didn’t seem to be affected. Silence fell over the courtyard again.
“How about this,” Strange proposed suddenly, “Meet me in the lobby of the Sanctum tomorrow night, and I’ll show you more about this dimension. Is that okay?”
“That sounds wonderful,” you replied, absently picking at a thread of your robes.
“We should do something about your robes,” he added almost as an afterthought, and you stopped fidgeting instantly. “What’s wrong with them?”
Crimson robes were the robes worn by apprentices of the Mystic Arts, they were at least better than the white worn by novices. You were perfectly fine with how they were, they fit you snugly and you didn’t look too horrible most days. Disciples were the next rank up, the rank where you got to pick the colour of your own robes, but the position seemed a millennium away.
Stephen cocked his head to the side ever so slightly. “Nothing. But they would look better on you if you were a disciple.”
You raised one eyebrow, unsure if he was joking or not. “You’re kidding.”
“Why would I be? I wouldn’t be surprised if all of London knew we were here, considering the racket you made when you opened the Mirror Dimension.”
You opened your mouth and closed it.
For the first time, he smiled at you. “That’s a good thing. The more racket you make, the better.”
“Control it by surrendering control?” you repeated, shrugging your shoulders, but it came out a question. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Strange cast a portal back into the normal courtyard. “Let me get you back to your quarters.”
You went to see him the next night, and then the next night, and then the next.
Soon enough you’d designated a pattern: you’d meet Strange in the lobby as soon as the clock struck eleven, and you’d practice. Sometimes it focused on the disciple exam, other times it was the multiverse, about learning Nepali and Latin and even, on slow nights, you discussed the Mexican restaurant that had opened on Steinway Street.
The more you opened up to him, the more you learned. He’d been a neurosurgeon at Metro-General, but had left the post after a car accident that had left both his hands grievously scarred, and he too originally thought the Mystic Arts were like an incredibly complicated organ to dissect instead of the abstract and never quite concrete art display it really was.
The more you both opened up, the braver he seemed to get. Whenever the sorcerers of the Sanctum decided they wanted takeout for dinner, you accompanied Strange to pick it up, partly because you were genuinely friends and partly because you enjoyed seeing him in regular clothing. The craziest thing was, he let you. Even assumed you were coming with him some nights and waited for you to put on your shoes in the lobby. One could argue that was basic human decency, but...did he even know how much of an effect he had on you?
Whenever there was some kind of fancy gala Stephen would be attending in order to retrieve information for some extraterrestrial threat, which happened more often than you thought as there were a lot of sorcerers disguised as industrialists and socialites, you were his plus one. Apparently this was because Wong didn’t do well at parties and didn’t understand that industrialists and socialites weren’t really interested in discussing the creation of the universe before wine was served, so he’d always ask you.
In fact, there was another gala to go to tonight.
“Do you want to come with me?” Stephen asked, leaning against the bookshelf as you were scanning it for books about astral projection. “It should only be a few hours or so, then we’ll be out. I don’t think the people there are completely insufferable. That’s according to Christine, anyway.”
“Is Christine going to be there?” you responded absentmindedly, tugging a book out of the bookshelf and beginning to flip through it. Eldritch astral projection. Asgardian astral projection. Chaos Magic astral projection…general astral projection. There it was.
“No, she just made sure I was invited,” Stephen answered. “I can’t even remember what the fundraiser’s for, anyway. Does the name Pepper Potts ring a bell to you?”
“That’s exactly what I thought. So, are you in?”
You thought of all your fancy non-sorcerer clothes sitting in the closet collecting dust in your quarters. “Sure, why not. When’s it happening?”
“Seven o’clock tonight. Dress code’s formal. You got something?”
You couldn’t help but smirk a little. “Always, do you even know me?”
Stephen gave you a look, and you didn’t know if he was being sarcastic or not. “I figured. We’re so much of the same mind, you know?”
“I’ll be in the lobby by half past six. Didn’t Wong say he was making dumplings tonight?”
“We can get something to eat after the gala.”
“Okay, fine, I’ll see you tonight.”
“Great. See you.”
An awkward beat, and you went your separate directions, Strange off to the basement and you to the dormitories with the book under your arm.
So much of the same mind?
It was moments like those you didn’t understand. The awkwardness would get thick, heavy, like amidst the silence an indescribable feeling was brewing between the two of you, and then he’d say something offhand or you’d make a joke and the normal banter would come back, you’d pretend like nothing happened, more often than not you’d leave at the exact same time, never seeming to stand the other’s presence after one of those silences. The moment was always on your mind for the hours afterward.
You dreamed of what it would be like to be loved by Stephen Strange. You’d visualize his face and wonder how he’d kiss you, how he’d hold you, how he’d be in the moments with bedsheets bathing in darkness and his hands, his beautiful, scarred, slightly twitchy hands, all over you. Could he even feel things anymore, hands-wise or emotions-wise?
The Mystic Arts weren’t the only thing you considered a religion.
Fuck, you were wrecked.
Half past six came faster than ever, which meant the evening dawned upon you, and an enormous feeling of anticipation flooding you the moment you stepped out of your dormitory and Sling Ringed to the lobby. To your pleasant surprise, Stephen was already standing there in a suit.
You were probably overanalyzing things, but something was definitely off, only in the best way possible.
“Wow,” Stephen said neutrally, fiddling with his sleeve. “You look gorgeous.”
Your face cracked into a smile. “Thanks. You too.”
“You wanna take the train or you wanna Sling Ring?”
“Sling Ring,” you answered, like always. You didn’t know why he asked when you never changed your answer.
Stephen cast a portal in the space in front of you and held out his arm. “Shall we?”
You adopted a stereotypically posh British accent and took it. “We shall.”
Strange had opened the portal straight into a janitor’s closet, it took five minutes to reorder the bucket and mop you’d knocked over upon stepping inside and another ten to figure out where the gala was happening and how to enter it without looking suspicious, but thankfully, you got in there alright.
Soon enough, you’d been served a martini, the pianist was playing a jazz tune that floated over the polite conversation Stephen was making with a few businessmen who still thought he was a neurosurgeon, and all was as well as it could get.
You couldn’t stop looking at him.
That night you came to the conclusion that it wasn’t the silence you heard it in the most. It was over all the noise, the many voices talking about who they knew or what they did for a living or whatever rich bullshit made their lives interesting, the unfamiliarity of it all made it nearly deafening, and yet you could still hear it. What was it? You weren’t quite sure.
Strange caught you looking.
“What?” he asked, but there was a little laugh to it, and his hand brushed over the collar of his suit jacket like he was secretly wishing it was the Cloak or something. Knowing him, he probably was.
“Nothing,” you muttered, desperately trying to stop your lips from kicking up as you took a sip of your martini. “Why are you looking?”
“Because you were looking at me.”
You sarcastically wriggled your eyebrows at him and you both laughed, even though it was short-lived. Stephen paused to sip his cocktail and looked around the room. There it was again: he suddenly couldn’t stand to look at you.
“Have you gotten what you needed?” you asked him.
“Yeah,” he bit back. “If you want to leave, we can leave.”
“Did you thank the peppery pots woman?”
Stephen resisted a laugh, still scanning the room from over his shoulder. “Don’t call her that.”
“Well, did you?”
“I thanked her boyfriend, we should be all clear. Are we just going to book it, or-”
“Yeah, yeah, come this way.”
You stood up rather abruptly, grabbed Stephen’s elbow, and shuffled towards the door.
Your feet were stinging as you clip-clopped along the sidewalk of 2nd Avenue, Stephen power walking beside you, expertly dodging pedestrians and muttering information to you with his nose buried in his cell phone, evidently searching for a place to eat. Even though the gala had started at seven, it was somewhere around 9 or 10pm now, the sky was dark, and if you lived anywhere other than NYC, you knew you would’ve spotted the moon high in the sky tonight. All of the buildings contaminating the sky made it difficult to see.
“There’s a Burger King not too far away from here,” Stephen commentated, breaking you out of your small reverie. “You want to go?”
All you wanted was to take your stilettos off. “Okay.”
You clip-clopped faster.
Nevermind the fact that Burger King always gave you heartburn, Stephen ordered two chicken sandwiches for the two of you and you cozied yourselves as best you could in a yellow plastic booth, you facing away from the door, Stephen opposite you.
“People are staring,” you told him out of the side of your mouth as you inhaled your sandwich.
“Well, we’re not really dressed for Burger King,” Stephen whispered back. “Eat quickly and then we’ll be out of here.”
Underneath the booth, your now-bare toes curled. “Mm.”
You hadn’t realized how tense you’d been the entire night until you got back to the Sanctum and a great unclenching feeling rushed through you like a wave.
You groaned out loud at the pleasure, prying both of your stilettos off right there in the lobby and Sling Ringing them back to your dormitory with hardly any concentration.
“Gods,” you practically moaned. “Freedom.”
Stephen loosened his tie and, copying your motion, Sling Ringed it back to wherever he slept. You didn’t know where that was. You could never ask him without sounding creepy, you just assumed he lived at the Sanctum with everyone else.
“Did you enjoy your conquest?” Wong asked, hurrying down the stairs at your arrival. “You missed dumplings.”
“It was hardly a conquest,” Stephen replied coolly, and you realized something: you’d seen another side of him tonight and never realized, he hadn’t had this arrogance when he was around you. Did he realize it too?
“Did you save some for us?” you asked Wong.
“No, we ate them all, they were that good.”
“Ah, well, there’s always next time,” said Stephen. “See you in the morning.”
“Huynh is leading a meditation in the library, if you want to-”
“No, I’m good,” he cut in. “Y/N?”
You weren’t looking at him: you were watching as Wong retreated back up the stairs. But if you were paying attention to Strange, you would’ve noticed how soft his voice was getting.
“I’ll see you in the morning,” he said.
You got a feeling that something was finishing prematurely, but said nothing. “Okay, I’ll see you. Goodnight.”
You nodded at him, evidently meaning the same, and promptly left to retire for the night.
Because of how the Mystic Arts worked, you were normally up much later than this, so much you practically slept-walked through brushing your teeth and changing your clothes with your mind stretched to breaking point because of your studies. You were always dead to the world the very moment your head hit the pillow, and you slept until the afternoon or even later. You finally got what Stephen meant when he said the Ancient One made him become nocturnal all those weeks ago.
Tonight was different, though. You were preoccupied all throughout washing the aftertaste of fast food out of your mouth and later, you didn’t realize you hadn’t pulled your paisley pyjama pants over your hips until goosebumps formed on your skin from the open window. Not for the first time, the dormitory was empty, but you were still embarrassed, you hiked them up and then stared up at the colourless ceiling.
Stephen was the source of the distraction, you decided. Not like you could do anything about it: no matter what form your relationship took, whether that was acquaintances to mentoring to good friends, to the point where you felt like he was being more natural with you than he was with Wong, easily his closest colleague, he’d always be a distraction, somehow. The only way to solve that would be to wait until his hair went completely grey and his skin got wrinkly, or—
You bolted up in bed, not unlike the way you’d scrambled when he’d come to visit you from the London Sanctum. Were you crazy, or were you very suddenly a genius?
No shame in being a little bit of both, you thought as you threw a blanket off you and jumped into the slippers waiting by your bedside. You had no idea where Stephen slept, but as you got better at understanding this whole magic thing, your Sling Ring often took you to places you could visualize but weren’t totally sure they existed. As long as you didn’t scare the shit out of him (would you scare the shit out of him? Was this rude? How big of a risk was this, anyway?) tonight could actually turn in your favour.
You smiled at the thought of your favour.
You gathered your Sling Ring from your nightstand, and with how clearly enthusiastic you were, it took little effort to open a portal. It didn’t look like you’d portalled straight into his room, thank the gods, there was just a shiny oak door on the other end. You figured it was still in the Sanctum, good.
Heaving out a breath, you cautiously lowered yourself into the portal, and the dormitory disappeared from behind you.
No backing out of this now.
You steeled yourself, double-checking to make sure your mouth didn’t smell of Burger King, then rapped softly on his door.
It creaked open of its own accord.
Stephen turned: he was still in his navy blue robes. The he’s your superior you’re making a mistake feeling threatened to kick in, but you didn’t let it.
“Hi,” you said, and you cursed yourself as your voice had come out shaky. “I - yeah, hi.”
“Is everything alright?”
“Everything’s good, just - I - I wanted to say something.”
“Well, come in, I wasn’t planning to go to sleep for a couple of hours.”
Relief coursed through you, and you moved inside hurriedly. “Good, me neither. Have you been kept awake by your thoughts too?”
“What kind of thoughts are you referring to?” Stephen asked coolly.
The back of your neck felt very warm. “Just, y’know, life and stuff. Yeah.”
(You were never this awkward around him, he’d automatically see that something was wrong, fuck.)
“I was just thinking about the responsibilities that come with being the Sorcerer Supreme,” he said.
Of course he was. “You mean the fact you sometimes have to miss out on Wong’s dumplings?”
You’d successfully made a crack in the tension: Stephen laughed and sat down on his four-poster bed. “Technically, yes. What did you want to tell me?”
The question was clear and even natural in your brain, all you had to do was coax it on your tongue. Four words, that was it. If he laughed in your face, you could Sling Ring all the way back to Kathmandu and never step foot in the New York Sanctum again.
“I was just thinking of the fun time we had tonight, and I - I realized just how much fun I seem to have when I’m around you, y’know, studying for the disciple exam shouldn’t be this - this, y’know, awesome, and I, um, I realized something,” you bit out.
You forced yourself to sit next to him on the bed. “I know you’re probably still interested in Christine, but…”
“I’m not,” Strange interjected, making you look up.
“I’m not interested in Christine,” he repeated. “Why would I be? We broke up years ago now.”
You wondered if he was angry at you for suggesting it. “I - I’m sorry-”
“Don’t be,” Stephen said firmly, glancing down at his twitching hands for the smallest second before looking at you— his expression was set, he was much more sure of himself than you were. “I’m interested in you.”
You were sure your lungs had just collapsed in on themselves. “What?”
“That’s what you were coming in to tell me, right?” His face split into a smile. “God, I hoped it would be sooner rather than later, but you took your time.”
“What the hell do you mean, ‘took my time’?” You couldn’t help but laugh, even though panic was quickly seeping through you: you decided to act as though it wasn’t there. “Did you not see the look on my face when I realized all the rumours about the Sorcerer Supreme were true?”
“That you were young and your voice was hot and you were honestly a bit of an asshole because you were constantly on a different plane of existence than the rest of us,” you replied, hoping if you got it out quickly you wouldn’t blush. “I transferred in from the Kamar-Taj, so all I saw was withered old people for my first two years of training, and then I finally get back to NYC and you’re there, looking all pretty and stuff, and it - it distracted me. Stupidly.”
He was fiercely repressing a grin now. “You flatter me.”
There was an awkward beat.
He was interested in you. He was interested in you. Like, more than mentors and more than friends. There’s only one thing left to do now.
“You’re interested in me?” you blurted out, making all the voices in your head groan at your cowardice.
“You’re pretty cute,” Stephen replied, never tearing his eyes away from your face. It made you nervous, you were so used to him looking away.
You tried to smile at him, but it came out more of a grimace. “Thanks.”
You wanted more than anything to reach out and touch his face, pull it towards you and taste his mouth in the half-darkness, you’d dreamed of it plenty of times before, but somehow the action wasn’t coming. Neither were words.
Your hands were shaking almost as much as his regularly did as you forced yourself to meet his eyes. It was a different kind of silence now— patience. Who would be the one to start it? You were only just holding back from him.
Your heart pounded, and you inhaled, trying to steady yourself.
“Can I kiss you?”
Stephen looked at you, and you were pretty sure you closed your eyes prematurely, but you didn’t care: he leaned forward and pressed his mouth to yours, making everything in you go haywire.
There was a soft swishing noise and the Cloak had slipped onto your shoulders, but none of it mattered, there was just you and him, the moonlight shining in through the window, and this fucking kiss. He automatically leaned backward and you followed, almost pushing yourself onto him as you got onto the bed properly, and you stayed like that for a while, his hands graduating from your face to your back, under your shirt and high up, almost near your bra, teasing at the clasp.
The voices in your head were chanting the same thing: all the way. Go all the way.
Strange seemed to be thinking the same thing: never breaking the kiss, he lifted a hand from your body and with a loud SLAM, the door automatically slammed closed. You kept your eyes shut even when he broke the kiss and instead dragged his lips down your neck.
All the way it was, then.
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Stephen: We all have our demons.
Stephen, grabbing Y/N: This one’s mine
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I.. did.. not just.. watch the leaked.. Spider Man.... No Way Home.. trailer... from a video.. recording another phone... on my.. phone.
BITCH WHEN I TELL YOU IM HYPED BEYOND MEASURE-
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