#New York Sanctum

[sobeautifullyobsessed]

🎄 Wrapped Up In Christmas Memories 🎄

a Stephen Strange Christmas fic

Chapter Two

genre: angst, catharsis, healing...and above all, love❤️💚

characters: Stephen Strange, Hope Collins (OFC); established relationship

word count: 1.9k

Reposting from last year as edits have been made on the way to finally completing this fic.⛄️🩵🎄

moodboard by @strangedreamings 💙🩵💜

The weeks ticked down towards Christmas, and Stephen remained as occupied with his work as in any other month of the year. And still Hope held steadfast to her promise to ask nothing but his tolerance as she rang the season in. Every few days, when he emerged from attending to his Sanctum duties or his ongoing studies, or returned from a far-flung mission or from Kamar-Taj itself, he would find she had added some new decoration or holiday detail, making not only his quarters, but the main floor as well, ever more festive. Her Artist's eye insured that she kept everything tasteful and in accord with the surroundings. Hope's latest addition had been an evergreen garland for the fireplace on the main floor, lit with colorful fairy lights and frosted candle holders of varying heights bearing ivory or red candles, nested along the greenery.

Whenever he complimented her newest handiwork, Hope would give a modest little shrug as she thanked him, moving onto the next subject of conversation without so much as a pause--though Stephen could absolutely feel how pleased she was. Thus, their equilibrium continued, and despite his ambivalence about the holiday season, he found himself quietly looking forward to each new surprise.

One such surprise was Hope's newfound dedication to attending the weekly vigil service each Saturday evening of Advent at a small Roman Catholic parish in Brooklyn. In their occasional discussions of philosophy and faith, she had given Stephen the impression that although she was lapsed from organized religion, Hope still held a true belief in a higher power. Indeed, he always saw her as a living example of the biblical maxim 'do unto others...'. And of course, she had understood and respected the beliefs he had come to hold about soul & spirit, and good & evil, based on his experiences and encounters with mystic realities.

In response to his curiosity on the first Saturday she shared her plans, Hope fell back on a familiar explanation. "It's a tradition that does my heart good to honor," she told him frankly. "It connects me to my family even when we're apart. With those who've passed on...and with past generations." He didn't miss the flicker of grief in her eyes and in the set of her mouth at her reference to those who had passed on, though soon enough, her honest smile replaced the sorrow. "Besides which, I love the music...the lights on the tree...the aroma of the incense they save for the most sacred moments. That sense of being one with a community of like-minded souls is vital to my experience of the Christmas season." Stephen found none of this surprising, for such was her nature, and part of the reason she had conquered his heart with no effort at all.

With a scant few weeks until Christmas Day, the Sanctum felt ripe with Hope's inimitable brand of holiday cheer. The sights, the scents, the flavors, and the very sounds that filled his rooms, became reminders of his own Christmases past, though Stephen refused to entertain those memories as he knew they'd only leave him morose.

Even the Sanctum kitchens had their own unique decorations, courtesy of some of Hope's grammar school-aged students; a couple dozen had given her handmade, crayon-colored Christmas cards and Tempera-painted winter scenes of snowmen and Santas, Angels and Christmas trees, or sledding and skating children, which found their way onto the walls and the refrigerators.

She'd even fashioned a miniature tree as a tabletop centerpiece, festooned with a popcorn & cranberry garland and a tiny paper chain of red & green construction paper loops. In a surprising moment of clarity, Stephen remembered the several years when he still believed in Santa Claus and had helped his mother create the same sort of decorations for their tree, and how excited he'd been counting down the days until Christmas morn. Memories of a simple happiness that he'd quite forgotten had been his. Gazing at Hope's little tree brought a warmth to his chest he would like to share with her - but he stopped himself each time, knowing full well that if he let that recollection bubble forth, it might open the gates to other memories not as pleasant.

Most evenings now found Hope settled on the sofa wrapping presents or penning personal greetings in Christmas cards, while her favorite Christmas movies played on television, setting what she considered the ideal mood. Stephen eventually ended up joining her some evenings, and once he took his place beside her, she very willingly set aside her project in favor of cuddling on the couch with him. He ended up adopting the habit of fixing them hot chocolate, and in Hope's homey company, he discovered that he didn't even mind the movies he'd once found trite and too sentimental since his undergraduate days. Besides, they made Hope happy--and her happiness had become key to his own.

On the 14th, Stephen was called to Kamar-Taj for an emergency meeting of all the Masters of the Sanctums and those in charge of the various disciplines. A rift in Earth's reality had opened inside the Kibo caldera of Mount Kilimanjaro, and whatever entities had worked that magic, it appeared they were trying to wake the dormant volcano into eruption. He only had time enough to fire off a cursory text to Hope, warning her he might be away for several days--and advising her not to worry. Then he was off to Tanzania, along with Wong and a dozen other Masters to beat back the incursion and seal the rift.

'Twas a grim Stephen that returned to the New York Sanctum just after midnight on December 17th. Hope was sound asleep, and he didn't have the heart to awaken her. He was sporting a split lip and multiple abrasions to his face, neck, and hands, and though he had been charm treated in the Kamar-Taj Infirmary, he still had a slight but nagging cough from smoke inhalation.

Yet he had gotten off more lightly than most of those who had to battle the dragonlike creatures that seemed to be ideally suited for a volcanic environment; that breathed fire and fought ferociously to maintain their foothold. Two Masters had fallen to their flames, and three more had suffered severe enough burns to be placed in magic induced comas while Healers worked around the clock to hasten the regeneration of new, healthy skin. Wong, who had suffered a broken wrist, bore the same sort of wounds as Strange and the other Masters did. Stephen was heartsick over the lost lives and the pain of his brothers & sisters, and his body ached all over.

Casting the Mirror Dimension on the master bath, he bundled up his rent robes and buried them deep in the hamper so Hope wouldn't see how badly they were damaged and bloodstained. Stephen had already repaired Cloak, and it had flitted off upon their return to the Sanctum to see to its own ablutions. He soaked in the tub of hot water and Epsom salt for nearly 90 minutes, trying to put the pictures frozen in his mind of the battle and the wounded behind him. Fearing that sleep would still elude him once he finally went to bed.

In the wee hours before sunrise, he slipped carefully and quietly between the sheets, and by some lovely instinct, Hope turned to him. She stirred a bit when he placed her hand above his heart--for he always found that soothing--and after a few moments she whispered, "Missed you, magic man. Is everything alright?"

Stephen sighed in the darkness, unwilling to disturb her peace with the truth, and murmured 'yes', and then, 'I missed you too'. What he wanted most was to forget everthing for a little while, and when she rested her head on his shoulder, he nuzzled the tender haven of her hair, focusing on Hope's softness until he was able to drift off the sleep.

Stephen rarely indulged in the luxury of sleeping in, but this day it had been a necessity. Though he felt physically refreshed when he finally left his bedroom, his spirit was all too weary, and he remained disconsolate in his very bones. No matter the season, he would've felt this way following the outcome on Kilimanjaro--but somehow looking at Hope's cheery holiday trimmings made it even worse. When he found her in the kitchen baking cookies, the sweet sight of her, so incongruous with the miasma he was lost in, prompted him to issue her a fair but regretful warning.

She had just moved a batch of cookies onto a wire rack to cool, then turned to greet him--but her smile faltered the moment she saw the misery on his face. "It went badly, then." Stephen nodded, and then she was sliding her arms beneath his, holding him tight, murmuring against his neck. "I'm so sorry, Stephen. Do you...do you want to talk about it?"

He shook his head and simply held her close, grateful that she was his true and loving sanctuary. When they parted just a little, Stephen cleared his throat before speaking. "Hope...honey..." he began, cupping one hand against her cheek, "I really appreciate how patient you've been with me this past month. And I appreciate everything you've done to bring Christmas to our..." He paused when his voice cracked, taking a moment before continuing, "...to our home."

Empathetic as usual, Hope simply reached to cup his cheek in her hand, and he wished he could just let himself melt into the moment. "But I dunno if the miracle you're hoping for is gonna happen this year. The past few days were pretty rough and given that...and the ghosts of my Christmases past...well, I think it's best if you lower your expectations about the holiday. I don't want to disappoint you but...well...I'm not gonna be catching the Christmas spirit this year."

Hope sighed and turned her face enough to place a soft kiss on the base of his thumb. "It's alright, darling. I...I understand." She sighed and stood tall enough to kiss his mouth, then whispered against his lips, "Whatever you need, Stephen. However things go." She embraced him warmly, then moved enough so she could look him in the eyes. "I spent five Christmases wondering how things might have been if you had survived Thanos. I know what's most important to me now--so in the end, all I really want for Christmas is you."

Stephen managed a small but genuine smile. He had expected no less. Undaunted, Hope briskly changed the subject. "How about I fix you some lunch and you go unwind with some mindless television? I'll bring it right to you."

"Actually, there's a little something I want to take a look at in my study...if you don't mind too much..."

"Of course, of course," she answered gamely, then swatted him softly on his way, "Gourmet grilled cheese and tomato soup are the special today, and the only tip I require is a couple dozen kisses."

"You can add those to my tab, honey," Stephen chuckled, then headed down the hall to his study, grateful for the distraction which he knew awaited him on his desk. Getting lost for a little while in a recently discovered manuscript might be exactly what he needed to get through the day.

If you enjoyed this little fic so far, you can read more about how Stephen & Hope met and fell in love in my stories 'Friday in the Park with Stephen' (meet-cute, flirtation & fluff), and 14,000,604 (hurt/comfort, angst, passion/smut, lovers reunited against impossible odds).

In addition, I've written a couple of one-shots/prompt fills as part of their ongoing series, The Wizard and the Artist. These works can be found both on tumblr and on AO3.

[ironstrange1991]

Home

[panelswithoutpeople]

Strange Tales No. 117

by Stan Lee and Steve Ditko

[hildyj]

Oh God, I was just reminded of that show The Gilded Age and now I'm angry all over again about what a waste of Carrie Coon's talents that first season was

[vickiee-mcmuffin]

Ahhh your requests are open!! You can write a smut where the reader is America's friend (of legal age!!!) and has a crush on Stephen. I would be happy if you can do something really dirty with dirty talk and creampie.

A little crush

Word count: 3.4k

Pairing: Stephen Strange x Female Reader

Trope: Explicit smut, Age gap, Oral (F Receiving), (18+ Warning, Minors DNI)

Summary: You became good friends with America when you started your journey at Kamar Taj a few months ago. But you also found yourself having a bit of a crush on America’s carer, Doctor Stephen Strange.

A/N: This is a very old request, so I’m not sure if the person who asked for this is still here. But I hope you like this idea.

You were glad that it was America you had met first at Kamar Taj. She was sweet, friendly, and welcoming, and it only took a few months for you two to become best friends.

She was staying in New York with one of the masters: the one and only Doctor Stephen Strange. He had helped America out: saving her after a witch attempted to steal her powers. That was when Stephen became America’s carer, and since the two of you were so close, you often found yourself spending your days and nights at the sanctum. You’d see Stephen a lot, and you’d be a liar if you said you didn’t have a crush on him. He was a good twenty years older than you, but you found him so handsome, and there had been so many nights where you laid in bed having the filthiest of fantasies about him. There was no way you could ever tell America, though.

Just like a lot of other nights, you were staying over at the sanctum. You were resting with America in her room after a long day of training when the urge to down a cold drink hit you.

“I’m gonna go get some soda,” you told her.

Smiling at you, America nodded. “Okay.”

You began your journey to the kitchen, but that was when you made your way past Stephen’s room. The door was open with just the tiniest of cracks and you could hear music pouring through. You couldn’t help it when you looked through the little gap, gasping when you saw Stephen in nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist and one on his shoulders, his hair slightly damp from the shower. He was humming to the song in the background, and you found yourself staring. He was just so damn beautiful.

Suddenly, Stephen looked in your direction. Your eyes locked and you backed away fast, spinning on your heels. 

“Y/N?” you heard Stephen call out to you. 

But you ignored him, your cheeks bright red and your heart racing. You chose to just forget about your drink and scurry back to America’s room.

You weren’t sure how you’d face Stephen again.

******

A few hours had passed since your little incident with Stephen. You and America were deep in conversation when there was a knock at her door.

“Come in!” America called out.

Stephen pushed the door open, eyes darting between the two of you. “You two should get some rest now. It’s late and you both have training tomorrow.”

America nodded. “Okay.”

Then Stephen’s eyes landed on you, and slowly but surely, he ran them up and down your body. He shot you a little smile, one that made your body tingle. “Goodnight, Y/N.”

It was hard to fall asleep after that. After the way he looked at you. You tossed and turned, your mind not letting you forget how dark his eyes had got as he stared your way. You needed something to cool you down, so you hopped out of bed to get a drink. You moved into the kitchen as quietly as you could, pouring yourself some cold water, just about to raise the glass to your lips.

“What are you doing?” a deep voice asked.

You gasped and jumped, heart racing as you turned to see Stephen. “You made me jump!”

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I just wanted to know why you were still awake.”

“I just wanted to get a drink. I can’t sleep.”

It stayed quiet between the two of you, but your skin felt hot and tingly as Stephen took slow steps your way.

“Are you okay?” he asked, head tilted a little.

You turned around. Stephen was so close to you. Closer than he had ever been. You stared into his eyes before looking at the floor, feeling your face go all hot. You must have been blushing.

“I’m good,” you finally said.

“Am I making you uncomfortable?” he asked, taking another slow step your way.

“No. No, you’re not.”

“Why won’t you look at me then?”

Swallowing, you realised just how close Stephen was. Just inches away. You could smell him. That deep, masculine scent. It made your whole body heat up. “I can’t tell you. It’s embarrassing...”

You felt a long finger on your chin, your head tilting up. You met Stephen’s eyes and just like earlier, his eyes moved up and down your body. Slowly, he leaned in close, his soft-looking lips by your ear. “I know that you were watching me earlier. I bet you liked what you saw, huh?”

“I… Um. Ma-ma-maybe,” you stuttered, unable to think of the correct words to say. 

Stephen kept his eyes on you and chuckled. “Seems to me that a certain someone here has a crush on me, hmm?”

“I’m so sorry, Stephen.”

“No, you’re not sorry. I’ve known about your little crush on me for a while now.”

You had been caught. Really, you weren’t sorry. He knew about your little crush on him and had caught you red-handed with your eyes on him. You weren’t subtle or slick. No. You were painfully obvious.

Stephen pressed his broad body to yours suddenly, and it had you gasping.

“Stephen?” you asked, grabbing his arm.

“Tell me, Y/N. Tell me what you want from me,” he whispered.

“No, I can’t.”

“You can.”

“It’s… bad. It’s inappropriate. You’re so much older than me.”

Stephen laughed lowly. “Is it inappropriate that I think about you?”

Blinking at him, you gave him a wide-eyed stare. “You do?”

“Yes. A lot.”

“Oh...”

You couldn’t hold yourself back anymore after that. Standing on the tips of your toes, you softly pressed your lips to his. The kiss was slow and soft as Stephen held you to him, the two of you sharing a sweet kiss. But then you remembered your friend. The girl who had been so kind and warm to you.

You pulled away from Stephen quickly, your hands on his chest as you shook your head. “We can’t do this.”

Stephen’s brows pulled together. “Why?”

“What about America? What if she finds out?”

“She doesn’t have to know. This can be our secret. America is sleeping right now, anyway. I won’t tell her if you don’t.”

You could definitely keep the secret to yourself. You already had experience with that. Humming, you nodded at Stephen. “Okay,” you said. “As long as you promise to keep us a secret because I’m not sure how America would react if she saw us doing this. I never want to lose her as a friend.”

“I won’t say a word to her. I promise.”

You knew you could trust him. You kissed him again, pushing your tongue into his mouth, the kiss growing more intense by the second, his hands moving all over your body until he grabbed you and lifted you onto the kitchen counter. One big hand pushed through the elastic of your pyjama bottoms. He pressed a skilled finger to your clit, his finger circling against the wet, sensitive bud. You whined against Stephen’s lips, the feeling sending a spark up your body.

“You’re so wet, Sweetheart. Go on, tell me. Tell me what you want,” Stephen asked you again.

“I want you so bad,” you finally confessed with a cry.

“Good girl.” Stephen grabbed at you, picking you up from the counter as your legs wrapped around his waist. “I’m gonna give you what you want.”

He held you tight as he carried you to his bedroom. Stephen kicked the door shut and with a wave of his hand, the sound of the door locking hit your ears. He must have locked his door with some kind of spell. A second later, his tongue was back in your mouth, his grunts and groans loud as he got you settled on the bed. His eager hands tugged your pyjamas and panties off, and he took a step back, eyes moving up and down your body.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispered. His lips met your neck and he gave you wet, little kisses along your breasts and stomach, not stopping until he got to that spot between your thighs. 

Stephen suddenly gave you a dark look. You locked eyes, the two of you almost staring each other down before Stephen finally gave you a cocky smirk. His tongue pushed out between his lips as he ran it right along your slit, right until he got to your clit. A soft moan fell from your lips, your back arching at the sudden feeling of pleasure. You brought a shaky hand down, dragging your fingers through Stephen’s locks.

“Stephen,” you whined out. “Mm, feels so good.”

You were being too loud. Your teeth bit into your bottom lip, trying to keep your sounds of pleasure muffled as Stephen kept playing with your clit. You had never felt anything so good. Your fingers gripped Stephen’s hair hard and tight, a fistful of hair in your grasp. Stephen wouldn’t stop. He just kept licking and sucking at you as you laid there, trying to keep your filthy sounds of pleasure to yourself.

But he managed to make it even better as he slid a long finger into you, curling it just right as he kept taking care of your clit. It was all too much for you. His lips, his finger. Another finger. He slipped one more into you, and then you found yourself clamping your free hand to your mouth to keep your scream low and muffled.

“Stephen!” you called out, the sound thankfully softened thanks to the palm of your hand up against your lips.

Stephen’s eyes met your half-opened ones and he smirked against your wet pussy. Then he carried on sucking and licking at you, his goatee tickling you with each second that passed. It just added to the pleasure. You were getting closer and closer. You could feel it. You were on the brink of your orgasm.

“You’re gonna make me cum,” you whined to Stephen.

Stephen began to pump his fingers into you at an impossible speed once you said that. He wouldn’t stop. He just seemed so focused on giving you nothing but pleasure. You rocked your hips against his face, so desperate and eager to cum. His nose began to rub up against your sensitive bud, his tongue lapping at your pussy lips. You just couldn’t control yourself anymore. You came right then and there, crying out loudly behind your hand as the pleasure hit you. Stephen didn’t take his lips off of you, though. He kept licking and sucking at you, dragging out your orgasm and making it last as long as possible.

Panting wildly, you allowed yourself a few moments to calm down. Your pussy still felt so sensitive as you looked down at Stephen, his lips and goatee glistening with your pussy juices. He pulled his fingers from you and moved up your body, pressing his lips to yours. You could instantly taste yourself right there on his mouth. It was filthy but in the best way possible.

Shoving your tongue into Stephen’s mouth, the two of you laid there kissing one another hungrily. But Stephen suddenly pulled away and stood up. He smirked at you as you watched him pull his clothes off in a second flat. You gasped when you saw how big he was: thick and long and veiny. You wanted to feel him inside you badly.

Stephen got settled on his knees in front of you, keeping your legs spread before he grabbed his cock, pumping himself up and down. He gave you a long, deep kiss before resting his forehead against yours.

“I really wanna hear all those beautiful sounds you’ll make,” he said lowly, “but you gotta be quiet for me.”

You nodded. “I’ll be quiet.”

He kissed you again before pressing the swollen tip of his cock to your entrance. Slowly, he slid into you, and you already found yourself whining at the stretched out sensation he was giving you. He was just so big. He groaned above you, pushing into you more.

“You’re so big,” you said with a whisper. You had never felt anything so big and thick and perfect. “God, you feel so big inside me.”

“Fuck,” Stephen grumbled out. “You feel so fucking tight, warm and wet.”

He inched into you more and more until you had all of him, until you were stuffed with his cock. That was when he pulled out and began to pump himself back into you, stretching you out with his cock. You felt so full as he fucked you, your legs wrapping around him as he took you and fucked you and made you all his. In and out, in and out.

“You feel so fucking good, sweetheart,” he muttered into your ear. “God, you feel so good. Does my cock feel good inside of you? Hm?”

You nodded, whining as you bit into your bottom lip. “So… So good. Please, you feel so good.”

“Mm, this is what you wanted, huh? You wanted my cock. You wanted it so fucking bad. You’re taking it so good, baby. You’re taking my cock like such a good girl. Look at you. Look at how good you look like this.”

You didn’t do it on purpose. It was just that Stephen’s cock felt so good stuffed inside of you and his filthy words were getting to you as well: the moan was ripped right out of you, the sound loud and shrill. Stephen’s hand was suddenly on your mouth, your eyes big as he carried on fucking you and filling you up.

“You gotta stay quiet for me,” he said. “I know it feels good. I know that little pussy wanted my cock so fucking bad, but you can’t keep moaning so loud. I know it’s hard. My cock feels so fucking good inside of you, doesn’t it?”

“Mhm!” you let out behind his hand.

He chuckled. “You take it so damn good. You’re taking every fucking inch. Look at that look in your eyes. I bet you’re so close for me again. Are you? Hm? Are you close?”

You were, and all you could do was nod in response as he slid in and out of you, his cock so thick as he took you. Your orgasm was seconds away. You could feel it. Stephen pulled out of you and pushed into you deep, the movements fast and wild, the sound of skin hitting skin in the air.

“I’m so close,” you said, your voice so soft and muffled. “Mm, I’m so—” It was all too much, and soon you found yourself losing control right there with his cock stuffed inside of you. Your orgasm hit you, taking over your whole body. Your skin felt hot and your toes curled as Stephen slammed in and out of you.

“There we go,” Stephen said with a chuckle.

You laid there panting for a good full minute until Stephen pulled his soaked cock out of you. He flipped you over so that you were on top, his hands moving from your waist to your hips to your ass, lifting you up before he lowered you back down onto his cock. A second later, he had filled you back up, stretching you out once again. Hands on his broad shoulders, you began to ride his cock wildly. Up and down, up and down. You took every inch of his cock as he groaned below you.

“That’s it,” Stephen muttered. “Just like that. Keep riding my cock.”

Your own moans were far too loud so you pressed your face right to his neck, hoping that would keep the sounds muffled. You couldn’t help it when you sucked at his soft skin, leaving behind little love bites as you bounced on his cock.

“God, you feel so fucking good,” said Stephen. “You feel so fucking good, Y/N. Fuck.”

There was a knock at the door suddenly. A loud one. It made you jump a little, your eyes widening as you stared down at Stephen.

“Shit,” he said, voice laced with panic. “Stop.”

You halted then and there, waiting to see Stephen’s next move.

Stephen cleared his throat. “Who’s there?” he asked, a fake, sleepy tone in his words. Like he had just woken up.

“It’s me,” America said from the other side of the door. “I was just wondering if you knew where Y/N was. I just woke up and can’t find her anywhere.”

“Uh,” Stephen said, that feigned, sleepy tone still there in his voice, “maybe she went for a walk or went back to Kamar Taj or something. I dunno.”

“Hmmm, okay then,” said America. “I’m going back to bed. Goodnight.”

You both stayed still with Stephen’s cock still buried deep inside of you. You waited to hear the sound of America’s door clicking shut, and with that, you lifted yourself up that little bit and worked yourself back down Stephen’s cock, eager to feel him again. You were moving fast and hard, your nails digging into Stephen’s shoulders as you took his cock. It was almost impossible to keep your moans to yourself as his thick cock stretched you out, and every now and then, a pleasure-filled moan would slip from your lips.

His swollen tip kept hitting that sweet spot deep inside of you. You were so close, and it seemed like Stephen could sense it.

“Be a good girl and cum on my cock for me again,” he said from below you. “Fucking do it. Just cum.”

You nodded, bouncing right there on his length, so eager to feel your third orgasm of the night. You rode him hard and fast, not stopping until that feeling of wild pleasure pooled all over your body. Stephen was fucking up into you, dragging out the feeling, letting your orgasm turn your body all hot and shaky.

He pounded into you from below with a groan. “I’m gonna cum,” he said.

“Mm, please cum inside me,” you whispered.

“Fuck, okay,” he said with gritted teeth.

One, two, three more thrusts, and then it was it for him. He pounded into you deep and hard, his eyes rolling into the back of his head as he lost all control and emptied himself inside of you. Hot and sticky, his cum coated your inner walls and you shuddered at the feeling.

“Fuck, Y/N,” he let out with a pant.

For a little while, the two of you just stayed like that before Stephen reached forward, giving you a quick, sweet kiss. Then he gave your ass a tap, and you knew that was his way of telling you to lift yourself off of him. The second you did so, you felt his cum spilling right out of you. You laid against his chest, your own breathing heavy, but it was Stephen who got his back on track first.

You laid there in the bed as he got up and put some underwear on. Then he moved into the bathroom and came back with a warm cloth, letting it gently trace along your body and cleaning up the filthy mess he made. He threw it to the floor before sliding into bed with you, your head suddenly back on his chest. He kept his strong arms wrapped around you, holding you close to him. Eyes heavy, you were just about to let them shut and get lost in sleep.

“Y/N,” Stephen said softly.

You looked up at him, watching him smile at you. “Yeah?”

“You better get back to America’s room before she gets suspicious,” he said.

You had almost forgotten. “Oh, right.” You kissed him before you grabbed your hastily thrown pyjamas from the floor. “Goodnight, Stephen,” you said as you slowly moved towards the door.

“Goodnight, Y/N,” he said.

Being as quiet as you could, you slipped back into America’s room. You moved into her bathroom, cleaned yourself up that tiny bit more, and then put your pyjamas back on. Then you climbed back into bed and America almost made you jump when she spoke up.

“Where were you?” she asked in the darkness.

“Um… I just went for a walk,” you lied. “I couldn’t sleep. I just needed to clear my head, you know?”

“Oh, okay,” America said, voice sounding sleepy.

You were pretty tired yourself. Your eyes slowly shut and you couldn’t fight back the smile as you thought about what had just happened. What a night. Stephen’s touch had been so skilled, so perfect. Everything you had imagined. You just hoped that you’d get to do it again, and hopefully, the next time wouldn’t be so rushed. You also hoped America wouldn’t ever find out the truth.

[fandomnerd9602]

Scarlet Delivery

a Scarlet Webs story

Wanda Maximoff x Spider-Man!Reader

Wanda was hyperventilating. Her cell phone was buzzing just waiting for you to pick it up.

“Hello?” You manage to answer.

“Detka, where are you?!” She managed to say in between her hyperventilating breaths.

“Currently…rush hour” you said sticking to the front of a police car. The perp was Mac Gargan. “You shouldn’t worry, baby. I’ll be there.”

“Promise?” Wanda said, tears streaming down her cheek.

“I promise.” A gunshot went off. You narrowly dodged a bullet, “gotta go. Hey! Can’t you see I was taking a phone call!?”

And with that you had to hang up and jump back into the fray. You hated having to do patrol without Wanda. But circumstances had changed the flow and now you were solo again. Nothing changes when you’re the friendly neighborhood Spider-Man.

Meanwhile, Wanda’s tears were still flowing as a portal opened behind her. And out of the portal comes this universe’s Doctor Stephen Strange.

“It’s time,” he says gesturing for your lovey witch to follow. She does so, all the while hoping that you’d keep your promise.

You land on the hood of Mac Gargan’s stolen vehicle. “License and registration, sir?”

Blam! Another shot goes off, you jump onto the roof of the car. A couple more shots ring out. You dodge each bullet flawlessly.

“Can we wrap this up?” You mockingly whine, “I have prior engagements!”

You web up Mac and yank him out the car, webbing him to a nearby streetlight. The car barrels towards a nearby crosswalk where a little old lady with a Walker is currently trying to cross.

“Of all the times!” You jump onto the hood and spray it with various webs before jumping onto the back and yanking the car back with all your might, bringing the car to a dead halt mere inches from the elderly lady.

You give a quick salute and swing off. You knew the location. You knew where Wanda was gonna be. It was all a piece of cake right?

Well then came the Vulture. He tries to slice at you once, twice. “Not now Toomes! I have some place to be.”

“Yes. The morgue!” He tries slicing at you again. You swing thru Times Square and web the winged foe in a giant spider web.

“Yo! Spidey!” A citizen calls out to you.

“Yeah?”

“Where’s your lady? The Witch?”

“I’m trying to get to her now!” You call out before swinging off again into the city. Why did it have to be on the other end of New York?

You land on a rooftop. You quickly web a couple silk lines to your suit, forming a makeshift pair of wings.

“I’m coming Wanda,” you shoot out two web lines and slingshot yourself across the city. Catching a wind current, you sail thru the open air of the city.

You see your destination: the Sanctum Sanctorum. You dive bomb and land right in front of the building. Wong quickly answers the door.

“How far?” You ask.

“You made it just in time.” He smiles and leads the way. You nearly run the way to the little room.

You run in to find Wanda in a relaxed position, still hyperventilating. Nine months pregnant and she still looked beautiful as ever. Dr Strange was readying his medical scrubs.

“Detka!” Wanda exclaims, tears of joy streaming down her face. You run up to her, kissing her gently.

“I promised I’d be here, right?” You ask with a little smirk. Wanda giggles and kisses you again.

“Okay Wanda,” Strange intones, “it’s time. Now push.”

“Sure you got this, Doc?” You ask.

“It’s not surgery. I’m just catching the babies. I won’t drop them.”

“Drop them and I will kill you” Wanda say through gritted teeth.

“I believe you” Strange answers back. “Now focus and push.”

It ended up taking the rest of the day and into the night but Wanda delivered two healthy baby boys. You and her were so excited.

“My boys,” Wanda said with fresh tears streaming down her cheeks. “Billy. Tommy.”

“They’re amazing,” you kiss the top of Wanda’s head, “thank you baby.”

“Thank you. I love them so much already,” Wanda let out a little tired laugh. She actually had her boys in her arms. This wasn’t some conjured up version of them. This wasn’t some other universe’s version of them. This was them, flesh and blood. She had a loving spouse, two handsome little babies, a nice little home in Queens.

Wanda finally had the life she always wanted. And best yet, she got to have it with you, her Spider Monkey.

Tags: @tokufighter @ma1egamer @jacelion @lifespectator @aloneodi @holiday-house-of-m @family-house-of-m @multi-fandom-enjoyer @iamnicodemus @rroyale-109 @scarletquake-n7 @moonpheus

[astroboots]

Every You Every Me Issue #3

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x female reader

Summary: You are determined to meet your Spider-benefactor face to face and you go to ever increasing extreme lengths to do so. Problem is, Miguel O'hara is very uncooperative to your plans.

Word count: 5,500 words.

Content: Slowest of the burn, so slow you wonder if it's even burning. Near death experiences, the state of the economy and how expensive it is to live in a big city, the emotional whiplash of Miguel O'Hara.

Astroboot’s Masterlist | Series Masterlist | Spiderverse Masterlist

[Previous issue] [Next Issue]

You saw them in the window display of a bakery in Greenwich Village. Round sugar cookies with red frosting and white eyes, decorated as a tribute to everyone's favorite neighborhood Spiderman.

Before you had time to properly think things over (would he even like the cookies? Is he on a strict superhero diet and workout plan? What if he's gluten intolerant?) you were already standing in front of the cash register having a dozen of them wrapped up in fancy crinkly paper and were $72 dollars poorer. 

Charging six dollars per cookie is practically highway robbery, but that's par for the course with New York bakeries. You wouldn’t be surprised if every bakery in New York was already a part of Wilson Fisk’s criminal empire. 

As you push open the door, box in hand, you wonder wryly to yourself why Spiderman’s ruder alter ego isn't there to save you from that.

You wonder, for Superheroes, what classifies as an event worth intervening in and what everyday citizens need to be saved from?

Financial ailment doesn't quite seem to qualify from what you've been able to glean so far.

Tony Stark, for all the wealth he’s amassed (a large enough treasure hoard that he would be capable of buying the whole planet of Mars according to Forbes) isn't massively involved with charities. He only donates to the one: his own. And the Stark Foundation is really just Tony Stark paying reparations for the damage he and his buddies caused in the first place.

Thor is an actual deity, and you still remember that write-up in Esquire magazine, where local waiters in New Mexico had called him a terrible tipper and a habitual smasher of glassware.

Assault and battery is up in the air. There are accounts of Superheroes intervening; that Tiktok videos of She-Hulk breaking up a bar fight that went viral a few weeks back. But then equally, there are memes of Doctor Strange peeking out the window of Sanctum Sanctorum watching a street fight unfold,, utterly uninterested in getting involved. The internet labeled it as "mood". 

As for murder and mayhem, there's a longstanding public debate as to whether Superheroes cause more than they prevent. Case in point: that Moon Knight guy that paints the streets of London red.

There is no rule book written to explain how Superheroes decides who is worth saving and who is not.

Does one have to be important and have a material effect on the state of the world?

If so, you fall pitifully short. The most world-changing decision you made as of late was deciding to opt out of utensils on your last GrubHub order to help save the environment.

So it makes you wonder: Why on earth has this non-costume accurate Spiderman saved you, not once, not twice, but 13 times to date?

That’s just the first of many questions you’d like to ask him. What does he know that you don’t? Does he know why the universe seems to be out to get you lately? Or why death itself is following you everywhere you go, nipping at your heels?

You haven’t had the chance to ask him anything, because despite all of your encounters, you haven't met him face to face since that very first time. 

Inconveniently, you don't exactly have a way of contacting him. Superheroes aren't listed in the phone book. 

With no other way to reach out, you go at it the old fashioned way. You write him a note from a page you've ripped out of your notebook:

‘Thank you for saving me. Can we meet? I have questions.’

You place the note on the window sill. Setting the plate with $72 dollars worth of Spiderman cookies on top of the left corner of the paper to make sure it doesn't get blown away in the wind. Then you leave the window open for the first time since you've moved into this apartment before heading to bed.

There's nothing else to do but to wait. 

You wake to the spit and splatter of rain against your window. It's gray outside, and the cookies you set out the night before remain untouched. You frown at the sight, but you can't say you're surprised.

There was never any real indication that he was lurking around you. Superheroes are bound to have more interesting things on their schedule than stalking a random insurance employee.

You don't know why you thought this would work in the first place.

Getting out of bed, you walk up to your window to inspect the scene. The note is where you have left it, ink a little smeared from the rain, where the plate has kept it in place on the right corner.

That seems odd, now that you think about it. You stare at the note, eye drawn to the watermarks. Why are there water stains bleeding into the paper if your window was closed? As crappy as your rundown apartment can be, water damage is the one thing you haven't had issues with.

You draw your eyes to the closed window being smattered with the rain outside. Didn't you leave the window open last night? You're pretty sure you did, hoping that the open window would be seen as a gesture of invitation. You had left it open… right?

You did.

You're sure you did.

He must’ve been here.

Rude, not-costume-accurate Spiderman was here.

Right?

Your eyes flicker back to the window.

Or maybe you did close the window?

You close your eyes trying to recall your evening, packing the length of your apartment as you replay the memory. Suddenly, you're not so sure anymore. You always close your window, and even though you had every intention of keeping it open last night, who is to say you didn't close it out of sheer habit?

It's strange. Because if he was here, he would've spotted the note. But it's in the same spot you left it yesterday right under the plate on the left side of it...

You eye the undisturbed note tucked under the right corner of the plate.

Wait, wait. Didn't you put the note under the left side of the plate?

You did.

Yes, you definitely did.

Which means, he was here... Right?

You feel like you are going insane.

Are you seeing things that are not there? Was he actually here and if so why did he go to such lengths to pretend otherwise. Why would he passive-aggressively gaslight you into thinking he was never here?

You decide on a redo.

Because if you can't trust yourself and your questionable memory, you can trust a recording.

A teddy bear nanny cam sets you back $50. Not cheap, but not as outrageous as your stale-cardboard-tasting Spiderman cookies. 

You set it up on your dresser opposite your window and link it to your phone as per the instructions.

As for the bait. After having tasted those brick cookies for yourself, putting it out for a second night for a man who has saved your life repeatedly didn't seem right. You decide to bake them yourself this time.

The added bonus is that you get to mix blue food coloring into the frosting for the decoration that goes on top. In retrospect, the red Spiderman cookies from last time might’ve implied that you’re calling him a knock-off Spiderman. 

Besides, even with the cost of living crisis: a bag of flour, baking powder, unsalted butter, sugar and eggs cost a lot less than $72 dollars.

This time, you don't write him a sloppily put together note. You decide to write him a proper letter. 

If he did visit your apartment, (and you're not just going insane) the fact that he moved the note meant that he must've read it. 

This note didn’t work. 

It must not have been compelling enough, you were kind of in a hurry… 

You’ll have to write something better this time. Longer. More emotionally compelling. Surely if you take the time to really explain your plight, you can make him understand why it’s so important he talks to you! 

The problem is that it’s hard to sound serious when it’s written on lined paper from your ruled notebook. 

That won’t do. You go to the nearest stationery store in your neighborhood, a chain outlet of Paper Source to get yourself some decent looking stationary paper with a matching colored envelope to boot. 

You immediately regret this part of your plan, because it ends up setting you back another $26 dollars. Why is 6 pieces of paper so damn expensive anyhow? Surely there’s a few trees left in the world to chop down?!

$102 dollars down in your bank balance, you sit down at your dining table that night, pen in hand and begin writing. You pour your heart onto the pages, setting out in as precise words as you can manage the effect your near death incidents have had on you. 

How scared you are, how confused you are, but also how grateful you are that he's saved you, again and again and again. That you believe if you and him can just meet in person and talk, if you could ask questions and figure out why this is happening, then maybe you can find a way to stop it from happening again.

Then you fold the letter and tuck it neatly into the matching envelope and slide it under the left side of the cookie plate and go to sleep.

When you wake the next morning, nothing seems out of the ordinary.

The cookies are still neatly arranged on your plate. The letter snugly tucked underneath it.

On the left side this time, you note. 

It doesn’t look like he came. 

The only thing is that you swear that the envelope is now several inches further to the left than where you left it last night.

Again, maybe that’s just wishful thinking.

You pull up your phone, opening the app linked to the nanny cam and press play.

There is nothing but the still frame of your studio apartment, your bed to the right and your window square in the camera-view. You speed up the video, but the only thing that takes you by surprise is that you apparently toss a lot more in your sleep than you thought.

The camera footage goes well into 3am, and you’re resigning yourself to the fact that this was all down to your imagination.

He didn't come last night. Probably didn't come the night before. Most likely you woke up from the rain, closed the window and were too sleepy to remember.

You sigh, setting down your phone on the table, prepared to let this whole endeavor go.

On your screen, a smudged shadow appears in the corner of the window. You jump to your feet from your seat, knocking your chair over in the process with a raucous thud. The dark figure grows larger on your screen, dark navy blue and lines of stark red that perches itself onto your window sill.

YES! yes-yes-yes! You knew it. You fucking goddamn knew it!

You were right.

Adrenaline buzzes victoriously in your veins, and you grip your phone harder. Your heart is pounding so fast and hard in your chest you can hear the drumming beat of it in your ears.

He was here!

(You're not cuckoo for cocoa puffs).

You watch as his large figure sits on your window sill. He's still wearing his mask, and while you can't make out the expressions underneath, the outline where his eyes would have been, painted in dark blue, now narrow into a slit on your screen. 

There's a hostility emanating from that glare that you are able to sense all the way from the opposite side of the screen. He stares down at the plate of cookies suspiciously. Then he just stays there, unmoving, having a staring competition with the cookies you baked in his image.

In the privacy of your living room, you have the luxury of taking the time to get a proper look at him without interruption. It's hard to ignore the fact of just how tightly fitted to his skin that suit is. The dark blue fabric clings to every line of muscles on his body and it makes your cheek prickle with heat when you look. It feels voyeuristic somehow, but you can't help but think that the more modest alternative would be if he had worn nothing at all.

He's absurdly ripped. Muscular doesn't even begin to describe it. Broad shoulders and a narrow tapered waist segueing into obscenely thick and defined thighs that have your eyes linger for far too long. You shake your head to snap yourself out of it, Jesus you are acting like a creep. This isn’t OnlyFans, though lord knows you paid for this privilege! $102 for a cam video! 

On the footage, there is finally movement. He reaches for a cookie, bringing it to his mouth. The blue fabric dematerializes on his lower face until it reveals his tanned skin and that ridiculously cut jaw of his.

His mouth parts. Fangs protrude where his canine teeth are supposed to be and the sight makes you nearly drop your phone in shock.

Is this Spiderman a vampire? Or is he like a tarantula Spiderman with fangs to match?

You watch in suspended horror as he bites into the cookie, those sharp fangs of his are in plain view as he chews. 

He leans over to reach for a second cookie and all your trepidation is forgotten for a second, because if he’s reaching for a second one, it must mean he likes them. You grin at your screen, culinary pride beating out any caution or fear you may have had. 

Then he lifts up the plate, picking up the letter. The anticipation is too much. You press your face closer to the screen to try to get closer, because your screen is too small to pick up any possible nuances in his expression. 

He's carefully opening the envelope as he starts to read. It's impossible to tell what he's thinking. There's no visible change of facial expressions in the outline of his masked eyes. His mouth, which is bared to you, doesn't so much as twitch.

It doesn’t take long for him to read it. When he's done, he tucks the letter back under the plate. Then he bends down over the plate of cookies, and for a moment you think he’s going in for a third. Instead his hand lingers on the plate, before he starts to slide the remaining cookies around the plate to your confusion. You watch in confusion as he picks up the cookies one by one to space them out more evenly. You don't quite understand what he's trying to do, wait… is Vampire spider man re-arranging the cookies to make it less obvious he’s eaten them?!  

The bastard really was trying to gaslight you into thinking he was never here.

Once he’s seemingly satisfied with his work, he straightens up, turning until his back is against the camera preparing to leave.

To your surprise his face turns around to take one last look inside. The direction of his gaze settles on your bed where you're sleeping. His eyes lingers there for a handful of moments, inscrutable over the mask.

Is he sad? Angry? You can't tell.

He finally looks away and then he leaps off the window.

Politely asking him in writing is clearly not working out for you.

You decide the only recourse you have left is to try and physically catch him.

Such a simple sentiment that had sounded so easy in your head, but you quickly run into logistical issues when you try to put it into practice.

The man is built like a tank. Can leap off of skyscrapers (and the window of your sixth floor) without breaking a sweat. Potentially also a vampire.

You're not exactly sure how you're supposed to catch someone like that.

Your google research is off to a shaky start. Somehow you end up down a rabbit hole of tutorials for non-lethal mouse traps. It's not very useful inspiration. Because you can't exactly build a 7 foot large cage trap to catch him the next time he comes around to help himself to cookies.

But the concept of having a lure trap set with bait seemed transferable and so you decide to go for a classic spring trap that you’ll modify. No cage, instead you set up a DIY contraption with a sturdy string attached to a bell meant to quickly alert you to his presence next time he comes around. 

The game plan is to wake up and corner him before he has a chance to abscond.

As for bait, you google things that vampires might like in a half-thought of plan it might be applicable. Unfortunately, there are no young virgin maidens you know of as far as the eye can see in New York (yourself included) so that was a no go. 

So you default back to cookies (because hey, at least it worked last time).

Amazon has your whole set up shipped and delivered by the next day and you implement phase 3 of your rapidly escalating attempts to reach out to him.

Unfortunately, it doesn't work. For one he doesn’t show up that night. Or the night after. It takes him four whole days to show up again and when he does, he spots your trap a mile away. When you review the footage on the cam the next day, he avoids the rope and the whole mechanism effortlessly. 

There's no sound on the nanny cam so you can't be sure of it. But you think from the way the line of his shoulders shake as he steps over the rope that he might be laughing at you. He’s definitely seen through few supervillain traps in his days so in hindsight the probability of success here was low.

He does however eat three of your cookies this time.

You get a little bit more desperate after that.

You decide that if a trigger trap to wake you won't work, then obviously, the next best thing is for you to simply stay awake.

The problem is that he doesn't show up every night. His visits are entirely random without an obvious pattern. Sometimes he shows up two nights in a row, sometimes he goes several days without making a guest appearance on your nanny cam footage.

It means you end up downing a whole carafe of coffee, and several energy drinks, every night for a week straight. Entirely unable to predict what night he's going to appear, you keep dooming your already tiny bladder to a dozen visits to the bathroom before the clock has even struck nine.

The saddest part of it is that despite being wired on enough coffee to power a nuclear power station by yourself, you never end up staying awake the whole night through. 

More often than not you end up falling asleep sitting upright by the dining table waiting up for him. Then the next morning you wake with a wry neck, a sore back and your face pressing up uncomfortably against the wooden surface.

But you're nothing if not tenacious. Tonight makes it the sixth night in a row that you’re doing this. You stare down the can of red bull on your dining table as you pick it up and lift it to your mouth. You’re going to keep going, hardness of the wooden table be damned.

You're surprised to find yourself waking up feeling well rested without any aches. Surrounded by the softness of your quilt and your even softer memory foam pillow. 

The luxurious comfort of it all is such a relief that you don't even question it at first. Don't question why you're in bed when the last thing you remember was nodding off against the palm of your hand and the hard discomfort of your dining chair.

In the sanctuary of your bed, you just dig your face deeper into your pillow and snooze for as long as you can. Ignoring the bright sun pouring in from your windows until it sears unforgivingly against your skin and you decide that it’s finally time to start your day.

By habit, the first thing you do as you get up from bed is to pull up the nanny cam app on your phone and press play on last night's recording.

There's nothing of interest. Seeing yourself read a book by the dining table and chugging down a series of Red Bull is hardly riveting television.

Yesterday you barely even make it until midnight because you can see yourself nod off at the table, head sliding off your palm and plonking down on the dining table. You flinch at the impact, vaguely impressed that the collision didn't wake you.

Your (maybe vampire) Spiderman turns up at 3 am.

Much like the times before, he perches himself on your window sill, peering inside (presumably to check for any new traps you might have laid out for him).

His broad frame stiffens, and then, with a smooth leap, he's inside your apartment.

Excitement rushes to your head, because this is the furthest he’s gone and the first time he's come all the way inside instead of just lurking on the window sill. 

He goes over to your bed, flinging the quilt to the side. He seems stressed, the dark shape of his eyes wide as he stands over the empty bed when it dawns on you what’s happening on screen right now. 

Oh, he's worried.

He looks over at you, hunched over the dining table, sound asleep and oh god, is that drool on your cheek? 

The line of his shoulder relaxes. The broadness of his chest rises then dips with a heavy exhale. Something warm trickles in your stomach at his obvious concern for you.

The mystery is confounding. You don't know him. You've never met him, but for some unfathomable reason he cares enough about you to genuinely care about your safety and you want to know why. 

He makes his way over to the table where you are. The mask slowly ebbs away, uncovering his familiar chin, cheeks and then finally his eyes. An other-worldly shade of crimson that has you spellbound and transfixed on the screen. 

You find yourself raising your phone closer to your face, trying to get a better look at him. Cursing the crappy quality of the video. You don't know what to make of the way he's looking at you. It's intensely focused, almost sad, and… and… And you don't know what, but it makes your heart leap up into your throat, chest clenching tight.

He bends over, wrapping his broad arms under your knees. He’s careful in his movements, cupping your head as it lolls to the side until you’re comfortably resting against his shoulders. It’s a practiced movement, as if he’s done this a hundred times before as he picks you up and carries you bridal style to your bed. Gingerly tucking you under the quilt with something that looks a lot like tenderness. 

It leaves you with more questions than ever.

Ever since you started your caffeine chugging marathon, work has become a new kind of hell.

You're already half-asleep and nodding off at your desk by 10.30. Eyes sore and strained as you stare at the bright screen and try to make sense of the endless columns that are all different and also all the same until your brain refuses to try to make sense of any of it anymore.

You need to go for a walk. Clear your head.

Maybe pop out for a coffee... smoothie. Definitely smoothie.

Outside, the heat is oppressive, far too hot for only being May. Definitely too hot when there are this many tourists around. The street is so crowded you can barely make an inch of headway, trapped behind a family with a stroller in front, trapped in front of a pushy businessman who keeps stepping on your heels every two steps, and trapped next to a guy who is really into his airpods.

With the excess of caffeine still trying to make its way out of your system and the unforgiving heat of the sun beating against your back, it all has the effect of making you feel like you’re hung over. Your breakfast is roiling in your stomach. Sweat plastered against every inch of clothing. You don't know why you do this to yourself.

Every morning you tell yourself never again, and yet every night, there you were, spending half of your disposable income on energy drinks.

Starting from today, you're going cold turkey on the stuff. You've finally given up on trying to stay awake long enough to catch your super-stalker in his cookie burglar routine. Endlessly chugging down caffeine every night is not working out for you. Neither are the DIY mouse traps.

You're running low on ideas of how to trap him. You have nothing else to go on anymore. No idea on how to summon the man. The only time you know he'll be there is the moment before each near-death when he's there to save you.

What are you supposed to do with that? Purposely throw yourself off another building to lure him out?

That's crazy!

…Right?

But maybe... No! Definitely crazy.

Someone screams, and you snap out of your thoughts. There's yelling and terrified shrieks all around you. You're caught in the throng of people, panicked bodies pushing and pressing up against you, all of them trying to run the other way.

You dig in your heels, bracing yourself against the stampede of people. They’re pushing in from every direction until it’s impossible to move an inch. It’s hard to turn your body, when second after second, someone is pummeling into your side, knocking into your bruising shoulder. You barely manage to crane your neck back far enough when you finally spot it. 

A red-green truck with a gigantic taco on its roof is careening towards you across the pavement, no driver behind the wheel. The sea of bodies parts around the out-of-control vehicle, people running left, right and forward to escape being crushed under the wheels.

There’s no time to react. It’s too close. Too fast. 

A hand clutches at your wrist and pulls you backwards, your vision obscured as your face is pressed up against a familiar solid warmth. 

"Hold onto me," he tells you, and you do. 

You're held firm against him as the ground underneath your feet disappears, and everything feels weightless. Then all you hear is a loud thunderous crash.

Your feet touch back down on the ground, and the strong protective hold on you unravels.

When you open your eyes he's already gone. You're left on the corner of Lexington Avenue, still trying to catch your breath. The mob of people is still there all around you, but the panic has passed now, everyone is standing still. Everyone is observing the wreckage of the run amok truck that is now flipped onto its side, rendered harmless.

Miraculously, somehow, nobody around you seems visibly injured.

From a distance, you can hear sirens approaching with a deafening wail. 

But your mind is elsewhere, on the shade of the familiar dark blue and red as you were being saved seconds ago. On his gentle voice in your ear that still thrums pleasantly in your chest. 

You want to see him again. 

It's Friday, and you break half an hour early for your designated 40 minutes of lunch, taking the elevator directly to the 72nd floor, which is under construction to renovate it into an open observation deck for the public next year.

The thing with commercial skyscrapers is that nowadays most of them have safety glass panels on all outside spaces of the upper floors to ensure that it is impossible to climb up the buildings and jump.

It's a safety feature that became standard after the financial crisis of 2008.

Turns out that imposing an 80 hour work week on your employees, where they don't get to see their family or friends or have a life outside of work, and then stripping them of their financial security makes a lot of people miserable and suicidal (who knew?)

The elevator pings open, and you exit into the construction zone, carefully avoiding the various tools scattered across the half-finished deck. On Fridays, the construction workers on the site leave by lunchtime, and the space is empty of people. 

Step by step, you walk up towards the edge of the terrasse, until you stand before the temporary safety rail, looking out over the sprawling city below you. Cars look like tiny moving pebbles and the people, a hive of ants scurrying from street to street.

It’s a dizzying view. Both beautiful and grotesque in its grandeur. The 72nd floor will be 28 more floors to fall from than the 44th was.

The air around you seems to thin, and your stomach wants to crawl down to your feet and hold on to steady ground.

Taking a deep breath, you lift the hem of your shirt, running your hand over the safety harness strapped around your waist, reassuring yourself it's still there. Then you feel along the attached cord, using the carabiner at the end to clip it around the rod of the safety rail. 

Being impulsive and daring in your quest is one thing. Reckless and stupid is another.

It’s not a real climbing rope and harness. Turns out professional safety gear is shockingly expensive, but you found a knock-off resistance training set, complete with harness and stretchy bungee cord rope, on Amazon for a very reasonable $15. You’ve already spent $72 on cookies, $50 dollars for a nanny cam set, and an extortionate $26 for stationary paper in your never-ending quest to lure out Fake Spiderman. You figure a rope is a rope, and you're not paying $100 more to get ripped off by the big climbing corporations. But you’re also not willing to go without.

After all, you've already fallen from the Chrysler building once, and you're not angling for a repeat.

As intent as you are on seeing your Spider-benefactor eye to eye, you're not quite prepared to die for the privilege. Your plan is just to make it look like you are going to jump.

Any superhero worth his dime wouldn't actually let you fall before they would be willing to save you.

That would be a real dick move.

You give your impromptu safety rig one last tug to make sure it's secure, then straighten your posture. Grabbing a hold of the metal rail, you hoist yourself up. You clamber onto it, gripping tight with shaking hands as you swing a leg over, straddling the bar.

Left leg then the right, until all of you are on the other side of the railing.

Then you stay there.

One second. Then two. You close your eyes and try not to look down at the many, many floors below, and how one gust of strong wind could probably knock you over and have you falling down the building again. You count the seconds that pass you by. 

Five. Six. Seven.

A strong gust of wind blows through your side, and your legs buckle at the strong resistance, hand gripping down on the metal railing to hold yourself steady so you don't fall off.

Eightnineten! Ok. Fuck. No. You're good. Fuck this! He's not going to come.

If he didn’t come when you climbed over, he's not going to turn up now.

You briefly let go of the railing with one hand, adjusting your grip so you can climb back to safety. The sun beating down on your back disappears and is eaten up by a large and looming shadow. Every hair on the back of your neck prickles in warning.

Your reaction is too slow, you don't even have time to turn around to see what caused it. Then all you hear is an angry booming voice right next to your ear.

"Have you lost your goddamned mind?!"

You panic, flinging out your hand to catch the bar, but the hard metal of the railings isn't there anymore.

There is a sharp metallic snap. The safety rope around your waist splits from the hasp.

He’s calling your name.

The world tilts and everything goes upside down along with it. Your stomach sinks with a sickening plummet, legs dropping through into zero gravity as you find yourself staring up at the blue and endless New York sky.

Then you're falling from the Chrysler building.

Again.

Fuck!

~ Next Issue

Dedication & Credits: To my dearest @thirstworldproblemss who has to constantly listen to me jabber on about this day and night endlessly and forever. She is in every sense of the word a collaborator on this project. She brainstorms, she pitches in, she edits and she beta-reads. This and so many of my works would not exist without her, please send her all the love if you enjoyed this story.

I don’t have a tag list but please follow me on astroboots-writes and turn on notifications to be notified when I post something new!

[kingpreciouswrld]

If you’re still accepting Miranda Priestly x Reader fic ideas i’ve got one!

Miranda and Reader have been married or a long time now secretly of course to prevent a media mishap. The reader is a stylist who sometimes stops to visit and help with a showcase, maybe she comes in casually to have lunch with Miranda and gets stopped by Andrea and Emily who try to get her to leave as they don’t know her(only Nigel does) and they’re both trying to tell Emily and Andrea that she’s allowed back there without exposing the marriage, eventually Miranda just comes out and asks why they’re touching her wife ( or something of the sort???) feel free to branch from this

ask and ye shall receive!

I hope you like it! It's been a while since I've written for anyone but myself :3

Nobody's Gonna Know

It’s an unusually busy day in your office. The clothes you’ve ordered haven’t arrived yet and your workers seem to not know how to conduct themselves in a manner without the very needed materials. You looked on through the glass doors as your workers ran around like headless chickens, trying to come up with something to show you before you needed to leave.

As a well-known stylist, it was your job to come up with new and creative or out-of-the-box looks to those who paid for your help. You mainly helped with showcases that Runway Magazine held and the clothes you needed today were actually from Runway Magazine. Through the grapevine you’ve heard that their workers were just as clueless as yours when it came to the clothes you were seeking.

As you sat in your little office, you thought back to when you first started out. You were a nobody, hell you weren’t even a New York local. No, you came from a small town in the middle of nowhere. Having nothing to your name, you first tried making it in California. You gained some traction which led you to move to New York. At first you were against it. You didn’t like big cities all that much, it just wasn’t your scene but you knew that your talent and job called for being around big things.

A year into the job, you attended a charity event where you were introduced to the one and only, Miranda Priestly. It was hard to read the woman at first but you saw it in her eyes, she liked you or at least, your work. That’s how it all started. You started to come and do jobs at Runway Magazine while also taking some jobs on the side. Not to mention the growing relationship between you and the editor which also included the lives of her rambunctious daughters and her slobbery saint bernard.

3 years passed and Miranda and you kept things underwraps. Heaven knows you’d have a field day for Page Six and their stinging words, so you have kept your relationship from everyone. Well, everyone except those closest to you.

Sighing, you looked at the clock. It was almost lunch time and Miranda didn’t like to be kept waiting.

You grabbed your bag and slung it over your shoulder, “Annie, reschedule the runthrough until this afternoon. I’m sure Runway will do the same due to the circumstances with its clothing gone missing. I’m going out for lunch.” Your assistant nodded and frantically went to work at her computer as you passed her.

Making your way to Elias Clarke, you weaved through the small crowds before entering the building– blending in with the clackers around you. No one knew about your relationship with the fashion queen so you easily blended with crowds and you loved it. No one bothered you.

Until they did.

You had made your way up to Runway’s floors when you passed the front desk and made your way towards Miranda’s inner sanctum. You’ve been to Runway multiple times so no one blinked an eye as you strolled down the halls.

Reaching the outer office of Miranda’s, you haven’t intended to actually be stopped by her assistants.

Andy was the first to notice you as Emily was out.

“Oh! Y/n! I’m sorry but Miranda is in a meeting so you wouldn’t be able to go in right away.” 

You looked at the clock above the assistant’s desk. 11:56 am. Knowing your wife, you knew she wouldn’t mind if you interrupted her work. She never minded when you did it at home, so why would her workplace be different?

“Trust me, I think Miranda wouldn’t mind Andy. So I’m just gonna…”

You tried to step past the young woman but Andy just stepped in front of you. The assistant’s eyes widened as you tried to step past her again but she blocked your way through.

There was only so much you could do so you sighed as you looked back at the clock. 

11:58 am.

This time, you tried to listen for the soft voices coming from your wife’s office. There were only two that you could pick up on. One was, of course, Miranda’s but the other was a man’s voice. Somewhat…feminine? But not too feminine.

“Is it just Nigel and Miranda in there?”

As you tried stepping past the brunette, again she blocked your path.

“Look Y/n, if you keep this up I’m going to have to call security.”

At this time, Emily walked in and took in the scene in front of her, “Andrea? What’s going on here?”

As Andy was distracted, you tried to step past her again but only to be grabbed by the arm and pulled back, away from Miranda’s office door, “Woah! Okay, no touchy, alright? These cost more than your paycheck alright?”

Emily huffed and rolled her eyes but didn’t release you. Andy looked like she was nervous about losing her job. She knew you were stubborn and wouldn’t stop until you were able to see Miranda.

“Since you already have her, escort her to the lobby Em. She’s been trying to break into Miranda’s office. “ ‘Break into’? I’m just trying to see my– ugh, look, I’ll just wait alright? You guys don’t need to be so touchy about–”

Before you could finish your sentence, the brit was already moving towards the front desk area. You immediately stood your ground so the redhead would have a harder time moving you. You’d show them stubborn.

As the three of you were arguing and you were still struggling against Emily’s hold– you didn’t know how the redhead was this strong– you three failed to notice Miranda’s office door open.

“Look, if you let me go, i’ll make sure you still have your job at the end of the day, alright?”

Emily scoffed, “As if you’re so important here, you’re just a small town no one who just happened to meet Miranda and kiss her ass all the way till–”

“Is there a reason you’re restraining my wife?”

Both assistant’s straightened their posture at the cool voice before they realized what she said.

Emily gaped, looking like a fish out of water while Andy looked more afraid of losing her job this time.

Miranda’s eyes were still where Emily had a grip on you and she glared at the redhead, “Let. Go. Emily.” 

The brit let your arm go as if your arm burned her and you grumbled as you rubbed your arm, trying to soothe the lingering pain of Emily’s grip. Behind the editor, Nigel looked as if he was about to burst out laughing at the girls’ faces.

“Now, how about some lunch my love?”

[darsynia]

Fate and Fairy Tales (Stephen Strange/Reader)

MCU Masterlist | Steve | Bucky | Tony

Summary: The Sorcerer Supreme spoke your soulmate Words while the magic of Kamar Taj healed your life-threatening wounds. Overwhelmed, you seek to hide your bond and save him from a lifetime of protecting someone as ordinary as you. The time comes to spend a week at the Sanctum, usually a reward for someone at your training level-- but will you make it through with your secrets intact?

Words/Warnings: 4,500 // none

This is a gift for the lovely @sobeautifullyobsessed, I do hope you enjoy! Here's an excerpt to tempt anyone else who might be interested! gif by @doctorstrangegifsparadise

“What do you hope to gain by your silence?” he asks, a tone of warning hovering just out of reach.

You’d already decided that pure silence has been like a scarlet Cloak to Strange’s bullish nature, so you hold up the microfiber cloth you’d been using on the window and address it, rather than him.

“What do you think, scrubcloth, was I looking to gain something by my silence, or simply enjoying my time in a sacred, meaningful space?”

His derisive scoff tickles the back of your neck, and you shiver. Suddenly he’s not an adversary but a man , one that’s technically yours for the taking. This is exactly what you were trying to avoid. His next words heighten your sense of danger.

“You are scheming, and I will find out why.”

Fate and Fairy Tales

Routine is important in Kamar Taj. You’re not much of a routine girl, but you’ve done your best to make up for that, something that’s gotten you recognized as a hard worker. There’s only one thing you’ve managed to dodge so far: a week-long assignment at the New York Sanctum. It’s practically a vacation, with easy work as a caretaker for the Artifacts, scheduled magic use to keep the defensive shielding active, and the opportunity to study some of the books that don’t leave the premises. The real draw for most of your colleagues is personalized instruction from the Sorcerer Supreme. 

That's the part you’re worried about.

With your head down, you head for the library, crossing the courtyard by a less-traveled path. Despite this, the silver-threaded soulmate Words on your ankle itch under the leather band you’ve covered them with. Usually that means that Strange is in the vicinity. Though you don’t remember the catastrophic attack that brought you to the sanctuary for rescue, you do remember the flurry of magic and healing that followed.

The only face you recall is that of the tall, attractive man in mystical robes bending close to your crumpled form. He’d rested a steady hand on your cheek and spoken with authority. Look at me--you’re safe now.

They say soulmate Words burn at the magical moment they’re first spoken. You wouldn’t know; the agony you’d felt on that day has been mercifully removed from your mind; you and your magical healers had agreed to wipe your memories of the events leading up to your arrival. That indelible moment is all that’s left. Everything before your life in Kamar Taj has faded into a distant haze, a rare but warned-for side-effect.

A different kind of magic vibrates in your ankle, so much so that you stop and press your back against one of the columns at the edge of the courtyard, closing your eyes. Strange has to be very close by, but you’re off the usual path, and you’ve never spoken to him, so you know his Words won’t buzz from your presence. It isn’t that you’re afraid or repelled by him, far from it. He’s a charismatic leader, powerful to the extreme, and very handsome. You? You don’t even remember the person you were before learning to attune the Mystic Arts. 

There’s no way to know what the Fates had in mind when they branded the two of you, but you suspect you’ve fallen far short of their plans. As a wealthy, talented surgeon, Dr. Stephen Strange was always out of your league, but now he’s the Sorcerer Supreme for a powerful cadre of magic users. It’s practically your duty to see that your ships pass quietly in the night, and you’ve done your best to see him as nothing more than the aloof leader of your mystic order. Besides, he deserves a partner as powerful, notable, and charismatic as he is.

To cover the resonant sound of his voice as Strange’s group walks by, you cast a sound-muffling incantation. Soon, the agitation in your ankle fades, replaced by the dull, hollow feeling of a missed connection. 

Each time this happens, the ache lasts longer, meaning you’ll be in agony by the end of a week spent in Strange’s company. It’s going to be a nightmare to deal with that pain and the constant vigilance of avoiding directly speaking to your soulmate. The exhaustion alone might put you in danger of a slip up. Now that you can’t avoid your Sanctum assignment, the only thing left to do is persuade the Powers That Be to let you spend your time there under a Silence spell, preferably without explaining why.

Unfortunately, that Power is likely to be Wong, and he’s not known to Be all that lenient.

“--and that’s why I intend to spend the next two weeks under a Silence Vow,” you say, hoping your constructed excuses sound plausible.

Wong hasn’t said more than ten words since you walked in, but his expression speaks volumes. “You’re scheduled for the Sanctum in two days. You can do it when you get back.” 

You start for the door with a decisiveness you absolutely don’t feel, hoping to get away with your plan via sheer audacity. “What would you say if I couldn’t speak in the first place, hmm? It’ll be a challenge! Thrive in adversity, and all of that.”

“Sonnet?”

A warm sense of belonging strikes you on hearing the name you’re known by here at Kamar Taj, and you pause to look back at Wong.

“If the Sorcerer Supreme gives his permission, I suppose a week isn’t the end of the world.”

You spend all of your energy preventing your shoulders from slumping as you nod and rush through the door.

It takes you 12 hours to come up with what to do.

Your plan is audacious and absurd, but what convinces you to do it is the knowledge that it’s an act of protection for both Strange and Kamar Taj itself. Someone clearly meddled with the proper order of things to mark you as soulmates, and you’re just… setting things right.

Besides, you’ve been putting your library books back on the returns shelf with portals since three months after you came here, so your plan is only four times more ill-advised than that.

You don’t have to go just outside the Sorcerer Supreme’s study to place your request for an official Period of Silence in his ‘to be fulfilled’ inbox (the existence of which you confirmed with one of your friends, who works as a part-time admin for Kamar Taj leadership), but your Words’ penchant for vibrating in his vicinity is uniquely useful tonight.

Right before you complete the mission, you cast the intricate, personalized incantation you devised to steal away your voice for the following seven days, just in case. No one will know it’s a spell unless they detect as much, but it’ll stop you from speaking out of turn and literally ruining everything.

That turns out not to have been necessary, though. There’s no alarm, no floodlight, no magical imprisoning sentry spell to trap you in place for the room’s owner to come discover what you’d been up to. You simply sneak back out the way you came, silently congratulating yourself on a job well done.

You implement the crucial second part of your plan the second you arrive at the Sanctum: detached competence. You place the groceries you purchased in their places, check the cleanliness of the kitchen and the efficacy of the appliances and tools, and move on to begin laundering all of the towels, sheets, and other cloth items throughout the building. That started, you embark on a deep clean of each floor. The goal is to both seem extremely busy and foolish to have taken on such a labor-intensive plan. It would be crazy to question your actions, given how overdue most of the work is.

The problem? Dr. Stephen Strange is crazy.

Your first encounter at the Sanctum happens one hour into your self-appointed task of thoroughly cleaning every Artifact display case. He’d arrived in the building fifteen minutes ago, according to your erstwhile ankle monitor, the buzzing of which feels almost audible by the time Strange walks into the room. You are on the floor underneath one of the largest display cases, halfway through a painstaking rag and q-tip removal of all residual dust.

With a surprised cough, the Sorcerer Supreme casts a spell to clear the air, rushing over shortly afterwards to crouch down and frown in your direction.

“What on Earth are you--” he starts to say, but you interrupt by lifting up the discard tray full of lemon-scented dusty q-tips, wordlessly tapping it against your industrial-sized spray-can of Pledge. “Must have been one hell of a lost bet,” Strange observes. You shake your head and move to clean out another line of dusty crevices, shaken by how attractive you find his frustrated amusement.

You wrestle with that for a three-dirty-q-tip-long pause before he speaks again.

“You could just use magic for that, you know.”

You swing your head out sideways to offer a skeptical look, which he answers by casting what is probably intended to be a cleaning spell on your next dust target. With as neutral an expression as you can manage, you swipe at the same area with your Pledge’d rag and hold up the (vaguely less dusty, but still obviously disappointing) evidence. 

Your soulmate’s deflated sigh accompanies his departure.

Dinner doesn’t go much better; you’d chosen to make your favorite dish despite the 90 minute prep/cook time. You’d taken reassurance from reports that Strange tends to dislike vapid small talk at the table, but something about your silence makes him attempt it anyway. 

At first he fires off a sequence of yes or no questions that end with something that requires a complicated answer, an obvious trap which you can’t help but admire even as you dodge it. Next, he turns on the charm, which would have worked if it weren’t for the secret you’re planning to keep from him for all eternity. Despite this, you can’t help but feel a bit of a thrill when he smiles at you. Strange compliments your recovery, your accelerated course of study, and your particular talents in concealment magic. The latter twinges your conscience; your specialty is in preparation for the worst case scenario, the one where you flee somewhere he can’t find you after speaking his Words. 

As dinner winds to a close, Strange turns academic, and you almost break when he muses on the meaning of one of your favorite sonnets. 

The man fights dirty.

You do your best to fend it all off with nods, smiles, and the occasional thumbs-up, but you’re definitely shaken. You’d never allowed yourself to see him as a man before, certainly not as a potential love interest. He’s attentive, intellectual, and clever, a trifecta that threatens your entire world-view. Eventually your implacable silence sends him into the kitchen with his newly-cleared plate. Seconds later, he appears in the doorway to glower at you.

“You made cheesecake?”

Your cheerful thumbs-up doesn’t prevent him from eating any, but it looks like a near thing. It seems that Stephen Strange hates mysteries almost as much as he hates not being in control.

The next morning at breakfast, Strange casts two spells on you in rapid succession. One is a diagnostic spell that leaves a harsh ringing in your ears-- and the second strips away your silence evocation. You’re left feeling anxious and exposed, but you lean into it and shrug defensively, hoping he’ll get so annoyed by your obstinance that he leaves you alone. Stephen Strange is very handsome when he’s upset, which is a twisted silver lining, to be sure.

You’d almost purged your mind of Strange thoughts (an exercise much more difficult than you would have expected, may the fates be damned) when he steps up behind you while you’re scrubbing windows. Almost the entire day has passed; it’s now the magic twilight time where you can see your reflection in the window but still look through it to see the cityscape beyond. The light outside is beautiful, hovering between golden and navy blue in a way that accentuates the ancient garb Strange is wearing.

“What do you hope to gain by your silence?” he asks, a tone of warning hovering just out of reach.

You’d already decided that pure silence has been like a scarlet Cloak to Strange’s bullish nature, so you hold up the microfiber cloth you’d been using on the window and address it, rather than him.

“What do you think, scrubcloth, was I looking to gain something by my silence, or simply enjoying my time in a sacred, meaningful space?”

His derisive scoff tickles the back of your neck, and you shiver. Suddenly he’s not an adversary but a man , one that’s technically yours for the taking. This is exactly what you were trying to avoid. His next words heighten your sense of danger.

“You are scheming, and I will find out why.”

You indulge your instinctive, annoy-thy-neighbor movement to spin around and pat at his chest reassuringly. You’d have said something snarky and encouraging to his Cloak Artifact, but instead the warmth of his chest under your hand and the determined look on his face steal your words away. Briskly, you play off your physical reaction by pretending you’d missed a spot on the window closer to the door.

Once in the hallway, you lean up against the wall and just breathe for a while.

The third day at the Sanctum always comes with one-on-one instruction with the Sorcerer Supreme. You wake with the weight of the world strung up above you, held at bay by the slender threads of your resolve.

Skipping breakfast, you opt for nuclear-grade coffee from a highly-recommended shop nearby. Strange had been absent from dinner the night before, which means the last time you saw him was during your heated confrontation at the window.

For the upcoming metaphorical and instructional battle with Stephen Strange, you choose Kamar Taj battle-dress. The rich, full robes allow for easy movement, which you complement with leather padding for your knees, elbows, and forearms. It’s your heart that’s the least armored today, an oversight you hadn’t considered. As you walk toward the practice room, all you can do is remind yourself how important Stephen Strange is to your order, to humanity in particular, even to the universe as a whole after his confrontation with Dormammu. If he were destined to be with someone ‘ordinary,’ it would be a skilled, compassionate doctor like Christine Palmer, not a woman with no past and an uncertain future.

To your surprise, Strange proceeds to spend the session treating you with kindness, showing no cynicism, sarcasm, or frustration whatsoever. He even weaves poetry into his instruction, the words shocking and romantic coming from that rich, practically sensual voice of his.

“In the absence of a more pleasing sound, close your eyes and listen to my voice, then watch my hands, then you can try it yourself.”

At that, you almost trip on your own feet. Thankfully, Strange was turned away and maybe didn’t see-- but did he somehow know you’d thought of his voice in the same way Shakespeare had written in one of your favorite sonnets? ‘I love to hear her speak, yet well I know that music hath a far more pleasing sound…’

“I know your brain is beguiled by book learning, but you must trust me that practice is the best way to achieve this particular attunement.”

On hearing that one, you drop the mystical pattern you’d been conjuring and frown at him. His own concentration dips, sending his spinning geometric leaves colliding into a shower of sparks that fade into fairy dust. 

“What’s wrong?”

You put your hands on your hips, conveying as much ‘give me a break’ as possible.

His voice is gentle. “I thought you liked poetry.”

You almost retort. For a heart-stopping second you wonder if he’s trying to bait out some snarky, poem-related comment for fate to slice into his skin, but no. There’s no way he wouldn’t have magically commanded you to speak if that were the case, not when you’re known throughout Kamar Taj as Sonnet. This cements your resolve, and you convert your anxiety to kinetic magic and conjure a large version of the advanced shield he’d been teaching you to create. You make eye contact with him through the pulsing lines of the pattern, and he dips his head as if to concede the point.

It’s a turning point, a moment when the rightness of fate feels like it’s rubbing through your paper-thin defenses-- but when you focus on the backs of your hands instead of his piercing eyes, you see the defensive scars from your attack. Every reason you’re staying silent crashes back through, and you twist your fingers, spinning the shield into a spiral that guards you on the way to the door.

There you curtsey and leave, pressing the shield against the door on the other side to prevent yourself from being followed.

Seconds later you run smack into your soulmate. He’d opened a portal directly in your way with such precision that his Words on your ankle didn’t even have time to warn you. He catches you against him with one hand splayed across your back and the other clasping your exposed upper arm. Both of you gasp.

Your nerves are singing. It’s glorious and terrifying, stealing your breath such that you must close your eyes against its strength, held in fate’s embrace despite all your efforts to avoid it. The hallway is silent except for heavy, stunned breathing.

Strange swipes a warm caress with his thumb across the skin of your arm and steps back, steadying you for those first bereft seconds-- and then he lets out a deep chuckle.

“This is the reason. Your silence, your avoidance. This!”

It’s somehow both the perfect response and a completely unexpected one. You don’t know whether to be offended or tempted, so you lift your chin and cross your arms tightly, stubbornly leaving your eyes closed.

His chuckle has graduated to a beautiful full laugh. “All these years I thought you were a patient. Someone broken, someone I couldn’t fix. When I came here I accepted that I lost my chance-- and yet here you are! Talented in the Mystic Arts, unafraid of hard work, and as obstinate as I am. Do you even understand how relieved--”

You stagger back, eyes flying open in complete disbelief.

His beautiful eyes search yours, hands held up in the classic ‘not a threat’ pose, though you know differently. You shake your head, seeing his body relax and loosen in response, even as you clench up even more.

He cannot be serious.

Insidious joy seeps across the short distance between you, reminding you of the physical delight true soulmates find in each other. Isn’t Strange the one who knows most about the challenges he faces as the Sorcerer Supreme? If he isn’t concerned, why should--

No. That’s magic speaking, not reason.

You wheel around, turning your back on him. Your heart is a gash inside your chest, and the only way to heal it is to board the whole thing back up. Opening up a portal will give him a chance to follow you, but you’ve been practicing concealment for many months.

“Dear Diary,” you say in a clear, ringing voice, aiming at the dim ceiling rather than the man behind you. “Today I saved a great man from a terrible decision.”

“Oh, Sonnet, don’t,” your soulmate whispers behind you.

You are salt tear crystals compressed into stone as you continue walking away. In your mind’s eye, his confusion and dismay will soon turn into resolute understanding. There’s no other logical option.

“With galactic responsibilities like his,” you continue, “such a man cannot harbor weakness in the form of an inconsequential, imperfect partner--”

His voice is commanding as he interrupts. “You’re wrong.”

You are wrong, but about Strange’s wisdom, as it seems your soulmate is bewitched by the allure of magical bonding. It’s not his fault. He had given up, hadn’t considered the consequences, not like you have. Inside your chest is a hurricane of please yes and please no, swirling around your impenetrable heart. 

Never since your arrival in Kamar Taj --never since you’d heard this man’s voice speak your Words-- had you imagined you’d ever be tempted to change your mind, but oh, oh, you hadn’t been prepared for him to disagree with your choice to reject the bond.

Ahead of you, the pair of ornate doors that protect this wing of the Sanctum swing closed, the metal bolt slamming home with a loud clang.

You start gathering magic for your escape. “So, Diary, for the good of all, I must reject the generous offer fate has made to me--”

Strange interrupts to correct you, his tone achingly gentle. “To US. ‘ I fear no fate-- for you are my fate, my sweet. I want no world-- for beautiful, you are my world--’”

The storm in your chest bursts forth into a torrent of tears. That poem by e. e. cummings has always been your favorite, and to have it used against you -! You throw your hands out at your sides, bursting open the doors to the rooms beside you and further still, breaking the windows you’d so recently cleaned. 

You need access to as much magic as you can pull from the world at large, and it gathers in your outstretched fists, furious and barely constrained. Embers of magic dart out to sink into your ankle, while others dance around you to fly off out of sight behind you, probably into Strange. Many seconds have passed, and you recognize your mistake in facing away and thus being unprepared for whatever his next move is, but you’re a breath away from casting your spell. 

You’d practiced up to this moment a dozen times, triangulating your inner being on a single point, a necessary point in time and space. When you release your grasped magic, you’ll burst into countless points of light and coalesce at that one place. It’s the last step, the one you haven’t been able to complete yet, as it’s limited to one try. Wong’s precious library had taught it to you as the Sorcerer’s Elusion, a combination of illusion and eluding capture.

“Go on,” Strange says behind you, an odd sort of acceptance in his voice. The exultation from his capitulation is the last burst of energy you needed, and you complete the spell, slamming your hands together in an explosion of pain and panacea.

You arrive in a heap at Stephen Strange’s feet.

“No! What?” you groan.

Stephen throws himself down and pulls you to his chest, one hand brushing the tear-wet hair from your eyes. “I’m sorry, dearest.”

You’re completely spent, but the magically-crafted, fate-tuned pleasure in his touch is sour in the back of your throat as you struggle to pull back. You forget yourself in that moment, aiming your misery and disappointment directly at him. “Just give up! I’m too broken, it’s not right!”

“That has never been true, and it never will be,” your soulmate says. “Trust me, I’ve been there.”

He strokes his fingers across the fists you’re shoving him away with, and even through your tear-blurred eyes you can see the scars he also bears. “You deserve better,” you whisper.

“How far into the tome did you read, about the Elusion?”

“You’re just trying to distract me.” The quaver in your voice nullifies your attempt at outrage.

“No, I’m trying to figure out whether you’re impulsive or arrogant,” Stephen says, clearly amused. You lift your head and glare at him, but the damned man cups your face with his hand just as he’d done when speaking your Words. “It’s only been cast successfully three times, Sonnet. If that’s not proof you’re worthy to stand beside me, I don’t know what is.”

You blink up at him in disbelief, your instinctive retort falling flat. “There’s no chance that’s true.”

His smile is heart-stoppingly gorgeous. “You’re right, in a way-- it’s four times now. All of the others were life or death situations.” He lifts you up to a stand with impossible grace, adding, “We’ll never live it down, I hope you know that.”

“Hang on, now!” you burst out, frowning against the rush of rightness his words engender. “There’s no we! You and I barely know each other! I’ve spent our entire acquaintance avoiding you, and I just broke a bunch of the windows in the Sanctum attempting to--”

“--ruin my life, yes, I know. There are some trouble spots.”

“Trouble spots?!" Your lifelong instinct during outrageous moments such as these has always been to pace around, sometimes while gesticulating, but when you start, your soulmate catches your hand in his, arresting your spin. He tugs, and though you hold onto your reluctance as a matter of habit, you end up standing in front of him.

Only then do the words ‘ruin my life’ register, and it’s enough to cement your feet in place and really look at him. He seems utterly sincere, gentle even, and he uses that opportunity to take your other hand, clasping both lightly, a low-dipping bridge between the two of you.

“I’m going to ask you some yes or no questions. Is that all right?”

“I suppose,” you say, instead of ‘yes.’

There’s heat in the little chastising glare he offers, but Stephen just says, “Did you research soulmates?”

“Yes.”

“Did you research me?”

You bite your lip. “Yes.”

“You researched escape mechanisms, both physical and mystic?”

“Yes.”

“Did you research fairy tales?”

Your brows crinkle up. “What?”

Stephen squeezes your joined hands and smiles. “In fairy tales about lovers, the couple often must use magic in some transformative way to defeat the obstacle to ‘ever after.’ You just defeated yourself. Was it enough, or should I start looking out for feathers or bark while I get to know you? I don’t think I'd make a very good tree.”

There’s an unfamiliar feeling in the pit of your stomach. It flutters there, and every time it makes contact with your innards, you feel more comfortable with this possible future.

It seems like… there’s a chance… it just might be joy.

“Oh, come on, you’d make a majestic tree, what are you even talking about?”

Stephen looks at you like you matter, and it’s heady and glorious until the expression starts to fracture into amusement, and his eyes widen. “No, trust me, trust me,” he gasps out, holding back a laugh. He pulls your joined hands up to his chest and drags you close, looking more vulnerable than you’ve ever seen him, not that you’ve let yourself be near enough to really say that.

“Tell me,” you whisper, scared he’s just thought of something that means you were right all along, now that you’re almost on board with the crazy insanity that is being his soulmate.

“It’s a poetry joke. I thought of a perfect, terrible poetry joke. You were right to-- well no, you weren’t, but--”

Stephen shakes his head and swoops down, capturing your lips in a brief, intense kiss before he says, “Could you consider the Road Not Taken with me?”

Your lips buzz with possibilities, but something makes you shake off your happy intoxication just long enough to examine why Stephen is so very apologetic. In your head, you pull out the memory of the Robert Frost poem he’s referenced. Two roads diverge in a yellow--  WOOD.

“There it is,” Stephen murmurs.

“Maybe I do deserve you,” you grumble. His triumphant bark of laughter warms you from the inside out. 

“I certainly hope so,” he rumbles, sliding a possessive hand into your hair and tipping your head up for a kiss. When your lips meet, all of the best lines of poetry in your memory coalesce into the perfect sonnet about how love (and obstinacy) conquers all.

[moonpascaltoo]

steven grant / marc spector / jake lockley

MASTERLIST • OSCAR ISAAC CHARACTERS • 06/01/24

˚‧⁺ ･ ˖ · ୨ৎ recs three

moon knight one two

𑣲 first kiss I @eastbluecafe

You're trying to figure out why your lovely boyfriends Marc and Steven haven't kissed you yet.

𑣲 homecoming I @luke-o-lophus

All you can remember is Marc died. Your boyfriend, killed by Harrow's bullets. He died not knowing how deeply you love him. And now everything has stopped making sense. But then who's the man in the room?

𑣲 all of me, all of you I @/luke-o-lophus

Steven's life is finally going his way, but he's feeling empty. It's up to you, his long time friend, to remind him he's beautiful and worthy of love. And maybe find love along the way.

𑣲 love bites I @astroboots

Marc wakes up with a lot of hickeys in the mirror.

𑣲 i need some sleep 2.0 I @/astroboots

You've fallen asleep with Steven deep inside you and the poor man tries to hold onto his failing sanity (cockwarming galore).

𑣲 domesticity I @commander-sunshine 

You move into a new flat with the moon boys and they have their first tastes of domestic bliss.

𑣲 lonely is a man without love I @lizzie-is-here

you’re an ex-black widow, now working with the avengers. and marc spector, a soldier gone vigilante, is your target. so who’s this steven guy, and what’s up with the giant skeleton bird?

𑣲 touched starved jake I @softlyspector

𑣲 request I @/softlyspector

𑣲 request I @/softylspector

𑣲 request I @/softlyspector

𑣲 baseball game I @/softlyspector

𑣲 the question is why I @/softlyspector

Steven tries to ask you on a date, he really does.

𑣲 wrong part 2 I @phantomspiderr

Your first date with Jake takes a bit of a steamy turn but ends in a rather soft moment

𑣲 when they decide you're "the one" I @wysteria-clad

𑣲 keepsake I @/wysteria-clad

the boys keep something of yours that reminds them of you

𑣲 i accept in cash and kisses I @/wysteria-clad

𑣲 cucumber face mask and fist of vengeance I @/wysteria-clas

𑣲 lesson in touch I @marc-spectorr

an inexperienced steven turns to you, his best friend, for advice ahead of a date. you happily agree to give him a few pointers, including a quick guide on how to kiss. but what starts out as an innocent favor ends up unearthing feelings that steven has buried for so long, complicating things more as his lessons in touch with you unexpectedly continue.

𑣲 glimpse of us part 2 I @bibli0thecary

you love all three of them equally, not knowing only one of them truly loves you just as much

𑣲 daylight I @/bibli0thecary

𑣲 drabble request I @charnelhouse

𑣲 secret I @quicksilverownsmysoul

You unlock Steven’s hidden mommy kink after overstimulating him

𑣲 just a kiss I @/quicksilverownsmysoul

𑣲 were not married yet I @saikokirakira

you received nothing but radio silence from your partners for months. one day, jake comes home and calls you by an unknowingly offensive endearment. your insecurity acts up, and jake won't give up control until he fixes it.

𑣲 the boy with the thorn in his side I @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction

Steven Grant’s day is going poorly to say the least. He’s lost days, missed his date and now a stranger has sat down opposite him who seems to know him? It would be nice if our favourite Gift-Shopist could catch a break.

𑣲 cancelled I @/my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction

Your plans change.

𑣲 getting up next to you I @in-a-daddy-state-of-mind

Steven keeps waking up next to you after you and Jake hook up

𑣲 fixing mistakes I @madlittlecriminal

𑣲 chaos in us I @sailorkamino

When you leave behind your friends in New York to be the master of the London Sanctum you can't help but feel a little lonely. Luckily a mysterious gift shopist is there to make the foreign city feel like home.

𑣲 3 days away I @variety-fangirl

you and Jake end up arguing about his safety, especially when he comes home worse than ever. After days of silent treatment from him and him refusing to let the others front, you decide a few days away for him to calm down is best.

𑣲 the power of love I @missdictatorme

You live a quiet life, not really feeling like you belong to anywhere. You go to work then go home to your empty apartment and that’s about it. For comfort, you read your favorite comic book, Moon Knight, which is criminally underrated in your opinion. It doesn't even have any merch which is devastating, so you take matters in your own hands and make some dolls out of your favorite characters: Marc, Steven and Jake. Your life takes an interesting turn when unexplainable things start happening in your apartment.

𑣲 ovulation sensation I @ivystoryweaver

You feel awful and Steven makes it all better. Or, I've read the amazing period fics. What about the sometimes-hell of ovulation?

𑣲 the museum's guy I @writingsoftheloser

A meet-cute at the museum

𑣲 resolutions part two part three I @inknopewetrust

𑣲 for the first time I @ereminsdiary

𑣲 a little banged up I @grippingbeskar

𑣲 getting to know you I @moonlight-presence

Jake is jealous of Marc and Steven, so he asks them if he can "get to know you better"... You aren´t sure of this, so you ask to talk to him first. Things escalate a bit, and you end up knowing him in a very intimate way.

𑣲 everything I @cosmicloki

there are always fights with marc, but this time he went too far and steven has to come out to fix the mess he made and try to convince you not to leave them, since you are literally the only good thing in his shitty life.

𑣲 chamber of reflection I @/cosmicloki

steven looks really tired and exhausted, so you decide to confront marc for not taking care of his body properly and this pushes him to do something that the three of you have been wanting to do for quite some time now

𑣲 softcore I @/cosmicloki

marc is apparently having a breakdown in the middle of egypt, the good thing is that you’re right there with him, the person he seems to hate the most in the whole world… or quite the opposite of that. 

𑣲 succiduous I @never--doubt

You know you’re in love with your coworker, Steven Grant. But when things go sideways in more ways than one, will you ever be able to tell him how you feel? More to the point…will you ever see him again?

𑣲 tuesday's on the phone to me I @spilledkauffie

Steven misses a date with you; understanding and thinking that you'll never want to see to him again, he apologizes and leaves. . .

𑣲 and they were roommates I @jayke0

You catch your roommate, Marc, having some private time, and it's only when he comes at the sight of you that something inside you is released.

𑣲 french lessons I @pilotispunk

You had been in desperate want to learn French, but the absolute droll of learning through a boring app was no fun. Coincidentally, you meet a brilliant gift shop clerk at the museum who can teach you French while you can teach him a thing or two about love.

𑣲 take me, i’m good I @ohcaptains

marc’s lost in egypt. he could do with a helping hand.

𑣲 tear in my heart I @foli-vora

𑣲 steven grant I @writefasttalkevenfaster

Steven was stuck doing inventory yet again in the museum, and you come to pay him a little visit, but inventory is the last thing on your mind (and two others pay you a visit as well)

𑣲 seeing red I @obnoxioussmiley

After loving you in the shadows of Marc and Steven, Jake finally shows himself to protect you.

𑣲 promises I @avatar-of-procrastination

Steven and Marc open another door to the memories. Only this time, it's not theirs.

𑣲 soft dark nothing I @psychedelic-ink

Steven's been suffering from nightmares for a while now, you should've known better than to startle him awake.

𑣲 relatively alright I @moonknightly

𑣲 medicine I @soonknight

𑣲 request I @runa-falls

[scarletwitching]

In What If…Wanda Maximoff and Peter Parker Were Siblings? A Scarlet Witch & Spider-Man Story, the fabric of reality is altered once more, and this time Wanda Maximoff, AKA the Scarlet Witch, hails from a distinct corner of the Multiverse where her origin story gets a unique twist. All Wanda has ever known is her friendly little neighborhood in Queens. As an infant, after her parents died, she was adopted into a family where her doting Aunt May and Uncle Ben will always be at the breakfast table. One that includes her idiot brother, Peter Parker, who thinks hiding a spider bite, joining a secret fight club, and becoming a super hero are somehow good ideas. When Wanda’s own powers emerge, blood, chaos, and suspicion follow in their wake. But as she harnesses her power under the guidance of Doctor Strange, Peter is standing beside her in the Sanctum Sanctorum. And as they try to protect New York City, the Parker siblings learn that with great powers, there must also come great responsibilities—and greater loss. Reeling from tragedy, Wanda finds herself truly alone for the first time in her life. Peter is lost to his own grief, and so she must strike out on her own. But on her first solo outing, she runs into a mysterious speedster—a man named Pietro. And everything she has ever known shatters like glass. Faced with unbelievable truths, Wanda is forced to choose between the life she knows and the life she could have… (x)

[sobeautifullyobsessed]

Share your newest OC and a few facts!

I'm excited to share about this OC, so thank you so much for the Ask @arrthurpendragon!

Contessa 'Tess' O'Neill

fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe/Doctor Strange

face claim: Liv Tyler

I originally created Tess as an RP character. Since then, she appeared in my fic, 'It's Not the Years Honey - It's the Mileage', a Doctor Strange one-shot. And I'm currently working on a Defender Strange one-shot where she'll make her second appearance.

mid-thirties, Bachelors Degree in Literature, published two minor poetry collections, worked as a freelance copy writer pre Blip

speaks fluent Italian, gift of her maternal grandmother who lived with her family

ended up in Kathmandu, Nepal, after months traveling Europe & Asia; her trip had been motivated by the death of her flight instructor husband on the day of Blip; taking such a trip had been on their bucket list

however, Tess had never planned to return to the United States

trigger warning below the cut...

trigger warning: attempted suicide stemming from depression; survived due to the timely intercession by a Nepalese street vendor who brought her to Kamar-Taj for medical treatment

during her recuperation, Tess found her spirit healed as well, witnessing the philosophy, tranquility, and unselfish purpose of the residents of Kamar-Taj

found her own new purpose as an initiate of the Mystic Arts, eventally becoming a Healer

[sokkadora]

something there — mizu x fem!spider-woman!reader

summary: landing in a new place, and time, leads to new experiences and friends… and a hot samurai?

a/n: mizu having a thing for competence and her s/o’s being capable of handling themselves babygirl i got that you want me!!!

wc: 1.6k

warning(s): injuries, mentions of gunshot wound, passing out from blood loss yippee!!!

ALSO REMINDER THAT MY REQUESTS ARE OPEN SO FEEL FREE TO ASK!! <3

from the river to the sea, palestine will be free 🇵🇸

︿︿︿︿︿︿ ✎ᝰ . . . .

Your eyes shot open, the sudden cold chill of the snow beneath you shocked you into a sitting position. You ripped off your mask and panted, taking in your new surroundings.

You were still in your suit, which explained why you were so cold, but you were also in the middle of a dark forest. The snow seemed to cool the burning from the gunshot wound in your shoulder and the cut across your thigh, but it didn’t distract you from your entirely new surroundings.

The last thing you remember was being in New York, fighting some gang members who had stolen an artifact from the Sanctum Sanctorum… you’d taken a gunshot to the shoulder, which… ow. But anyway, you must’ve been thrown out of New York into… wherever you were now.

Shivering, you shakily got to your feet and steadied yourself against a tree. You needed to find warmer clothes, fast. You pulled the hood from your suit over your head and your mask back on for the sake of preserving body heat.

You attempted to be stealthily while stepping through the forest, not knowing what wild animals or people could in the darkness lingering beyond your eyes grasp.

After about 5 minutes of walking, you figured it would be better to scale up a tree to get some lay of the land. Maybe a city’s lights nearby to give you an idea of how far you hade to go until you reached some sign of civilization.

Placing your hand onto your eye level with the tree, you easily pulled yourself up and began scaling the tree. It took a minute to maneuver through all the branches with your injuries but upon reaching the top, you noticed a small clearing in the trees that was dimly lit, and you let out a sigh of relief.

After getting down, you corrected your course and started trekking towards your new destination. It took longer than expected because your injuries were slowing you down, but you webbed them up and continued over.

These people were sure to help you, you’re a well known super-hero. Spider-Woman, and if you were still around the vicinity of New York you should be alright…

Right?

It took until daybreak to reach your destination, you figured it would, but that didn’t make you pleased with how long you took.

Your hands were shaking profusely from the cold, and you were beginning to wish that you let Peter put the heater into your suit for days like this.

You heard rustling from a few yards ahead and scaled up the tree closest to you, your head spinning from the blood loss. You grunted softly, beginning to leap from branch to branch to get closer to the noise.

Finally, you made it a few trees away from the source, and were surprised to see a man dressed in… what looked like a chef uniform. You squinted behind your mask, watching as he cut off plants with the knife strapped to his wrist, since he didn’t have any hands.

You were about to get down yourself and approach him, but a nap just sounded… so… nice…

Ringo jumped at the sudden loud thud behind him, his humming being interrupted by a sudden gasp as he whipped around. He gulped nervously before rushing behind a tree, and peeking out from it.

He saw a figure laying motionless in the snow, that seemed to be non threatening, but the attire they donned was bizarre. Skin tight, covered their whole body… what were they?

Ringo cautiously held his knife out while stepping out from behind the tree and making his way to the body.

Were they already dead?

He gulped as he kneeled in front of the person, now clearly seeing that they’re a woman, nudging them with the arm not armed with a knife. After waiting a few more moments to confirm they were really passed out, he bit down on the dull side of his knife and placed it into his pack. He noticed the wound on their shoulder and thigh, along with smaller cuts through the clothing along the arms and torso. He carefully picked the limp body up, and began to carry them back to camp.

He knew Mizu wasn’t going to be thrilled with this new person joining, neither would Taigen, but they’d have to deal with it. He wasn’t going to leave a random woman out in the woods to die.

Upon arriving to camp, he noticed Taigen on the other side of the abandoned shrine writing something down on a piece of paper. Ringo slipped into the house from the far side to carry the body to the room Mizu was resting in.

He lowered the woman onto his futon, pulling the blanket up to just below her chin. He pulled off your mask successfully after a few attempts, and was shocked by your appearance. Mizu wasn’t in the room, but just as he was about to go looking, she stepped into the room.

Mizu’s gaze immediately fell to the figure on Ringo’s futon, a prominent frown taking place.

“Master, just listen-“

“Ringo, I can’t have anymore strays tagging along on this,” Mizu scolded, brushing past him to step over to you. Her anger paused quickly as she noticed how different you looked from them. “Who is..”

“I don’t know,” Ringo replied, stepping onto the other side of you and kneeling down, peeling off the blanket to reveal your injuries and strange clothing. Her eyes widened. “I was going to come find you to stitch up her wounds. I don’t want to encroach on her privacy since she’s a girl.”

Mizu sighed, her eyes shutting tightly. She was reluctant to do so at all, seeing as she doesn’t know you, and your attire was setting off alarm bells in her head. But she agreed, and Ringo took off his medical supplies and handed it to her before wandering off to make the medicine for when you woke up.

Your first meeting with Mizu after waking up was… interesting. She certainly didn’t act warm towards you, with her threatening you with a sword to the throat as soon as you sat up.

But after traveling with her since leaving Taigen behind, you’d began to slowly grow closer to her; more attached. She was distant at first, but slowly warmed up to you after finding yourselves in the same position.

Now, you found yourselves sparring in the middle of the woods before you hit another town the next day.

Mizu wanted to test out your spider sense; she had been intrigued by your powers since she’d first found out about them, wanting to test the limits of them, but not wanting to harm you on accident. She didn’t know how skilled you were yet.

She stood behind you and tied the blindfold over your eyes gently, making sure not to get your hair caught in the knot. She resisted the urge to let her hands wander across your taut shoulder muscles, not yet being willing to openly admire your looks.

“Alright, you’re set,” Mizu said, patting the top of your head before moving to stand a few yards in front of you from where you stood in the center of the clearing.

“If I get hurt, I’m gonna punch you,” You warn playfully, biting back a grin as you heard the sharp sound of Mizu’s sword unsheathing. You could practically feel her smirk as you remained still, but alert.

“Good thing I know what I’m doing then,” She rasped, making you swallow thickly.

The was lingering tension in the air as you heard Mizu’s footsteps go to the left, your enhanced sense cluing you in to her minuscule movements as you took a deep breath.

Before you could really tell with your own perception, you felt the hairs on the back of your neck stand on edge. Mizu had swung her sword skillfully at you from behind, barely grazing the hair flying from your braid as you ducked into a lunge, sliding away.

She huffed, impressed. And continued to slowly taunt you with her attacks, which you quickly dodged each time. Eventually she had sheathed her sword and began using her arms and legs to kick and swing, until you ended up pinning her against the ground, your thighs on either side of her waist.

You quickly brought your hands to her wrists, pinning them against the ground and smirking as you heard her grunting underneath you. After a moment of struggling, she groaned but you knew she enjoyed the round.

“You win, god,” She chuckled lowly. You released her wrists and tugged the blindfold off, grinning down at her.

“Not so bad, huh?” You smiled, raising an eyebrow at her as she let her hands fall onto your thighs.

“Not at all,” She returned the smile, trying her hardest to hide the warmth growing between her thighs at the thought and demonstration of your capabilities. “Is it… hot out here?”

You pursed your lips before laughing, getting off her waist. “Mizu, it’s snowing outside.” You scoffed playfully, rising to your feet.

She hummed bashfully, taking your hand when you offered to tug her back to her feet. She gazed down at you softly as you brushed off your haori, smiling proudly once it was rid of the frozen mud and snow flecks.

She couldn’t help but feel her gaze soften almost inevitably as she let herself lovingly look at you for a moment while you were distracted.

Reaching down, she softly touched the braid that was slung over your left shoulder, admiring your (h/c) hair gently. You looked down at her hand, eyes wide before you tilted your head up to look at her face.

Her eyes moved back to meet yours, and you forced the fluttering feeling in your stomach away with a smile.

“Round two?”

[captainsophiestark]

Hopeful Future

Stephen Strange x Reader

Masterlist - Join My Taglist!

Written for Fictober 2024!

Requested by anon!

Fandom: Marvel

Day Eight Prompt: "Are we happy?"

Summary: Strange's SO has been struggling since he disappeared in the Blip, but an unexpected visitor to the New York Sanctum might be able to help with that.

Word Count: 1,199

Category: Angst, Fluff

Putting work into an AI program without permission is illegal. You do not have my permission. Do not do it.

I took a deep breath as I tipped the water can over the nearest flower bed. I'd been advised that keeping a garden might help me cope with my grief. So far, it hadn't really helped. But I guess it hadn't hurt, either.

What had started as a few sunflowers had grown into multiple planter boxes, all outside the brownstone next door to the New York Sanctum Sanctorum. Hardly anyone came and went through either front door anymore, but by the well-tended garden, you'd never know it.

Honestly, I should've moved years ago. Lingering in a place that my fiancé, Stephen Strange, and I had shared before the Blip was almost certainly making it harder for me to deal with him being gone. A lot of the people around me had moved on in the past few years, but I couldn't help holding on. Maybe it had something to do with the magic that had always surrounded us, but for whatever reason, I just didn't want to leave this place behind.

I sighed, straightening the watering can and turning to take care of the flowers outside the Sanctum. I froze in my tracks when I saw the front door just closing, someone apparently having snuck in while I had my back turned. I frowned.

Nobody was really supposed to be going through that door anymore. The only exception was Wong, and I knew he would've stopped to say hi to me. I set my watering can down, then headed for the front door.

Maybe I should've been a little more cautious, but seeing somebody sweeping through the door to the Sanctum had set me off a lot more than I thought it would. I quickly pushed my way inside, shutting the door behind me as my eyes swept the entryway. When I saw a figure about halfway up the stairs, I froze solid in my tracks.

He had dark hair, a very familiar red cloak, and held himself in a way that I'd recognize from a mile away. And he'd frozen on the staircase, too.

"...You weren't supposed to see me."

His voice was equally unmistakable. Somehow, Stephen was standing in front of me.

I rushed towards the stairs, my mind racing. Stephen turned around slowly at the sound of my footsteps, a grimace on his face. I wasn't sure whether I wanted to kiss him or kick his ass, but when I reached him, I went with my gut and wrapped him up in a tight hug. He sighed, but his arms came up to wrap around my back.

"Oh my god, I can't believe you're real," I breathed, tears streaking down my face. I hadn't even realized I'd started crying, but I knew I wasn't going to be able to stop anytime soon. "How are you real? You got Blipped out of existence! Tony Stark told me himself!"

I pulled back to look him in the eyes, but he kept his arms around my waist, not letting me go too far. He looked almost as pained as I felt, and it made me want to hit him again.

"I did disappear with the Blip. I'm... cheating a little with the time stream right now. It's a long story, but I need something in the future that can only be found in the Sanctum of the past—your present."

"Ugh, you're giving me a headache," I said, pinching the bridge of my nose. Stephen huffed a soft laugh, and a minute later, his words finally sank in. My eyes snapped open as I tried to contain a kernel of hope appearing in my chest against my will. "Wait. Did you say... you came from the future?"

Stephen took a deep breath, his eyes searching my face. Then, after a moment, he huffed and rolled his eyes.

"The less information you have the safer we keep our timeline, but... yes. I did. Give it another year or so, but this Blip isn't going to be permanent. Other friends of ours figure out how to bring everyone back."

I stepped back, my mouth dropping open, and Stephen let me go. I blinked at him a few times, waiting for a sign that he was a hallucination or otherwise just messing with me, but none came. He met my eyes with a steady stare, absolute calm and certainty in his expression.

A sob welled up in my chest, and I didn't hold it back. I surged forward again, holding Stephen tight, then moving back just enough to kiss him. He kissed back, holding me tight and rubbing comforting circles on my back as long as I needed it.

When I finally calmed down, Stephen's arms still tight around me, I took a shaky breath and met his eyes again.

"What can I do? How can I help bring you back? Is there a way to bring you back faster? It's probably Rogers or somebody I need to call first, right?"

"Sweetheart." He interrupted me with a gentle squeeze of my sides and I stopped, looking at him questioningly. "I appreciate that you want to bring me back. And I wish you didn't have to go through this at all. But you can't make it go any faster. I know the path and the timeline that brings us back, and I know you're not involved in it. Maybe if you got involved, it would've gone faster. Maybe not. But I can't check, because I don't have the time stone anymore. I shouldn't even be talking to you right now, but it's critical that you don't change anything in the timestream. And that includes not talking to Rogers or anyone else about the fact that you saw me."

I took a deep breath and closed my eyes, focusing on the feel of Stephen's arms around me. I knew he was right. I'd studied enough of the books in this Sanctum looking for ways to bring him back that I knew how finnicky the timestream could get. But still, it didn't make it any easier to face the prospect of letting him go, right here and now, and waiting at least another year to get him back.

"Just tell me one thing," I said, at last opening my eyes again. I scanned Stephen's face as he nodded, waiting for me to continue. "Are we happy? When you come back, with whatever else is happening... are we happy?"

The corner of Stephen's mouth pulled up, the corners of his eyes crinkling. My heart leapt as he pulled me closer, leaning in until his mouth was inches from mine. I could feel his breath against my lips as he spoke.

"You know I can't tell you details but... yes. We're happy."

I huffed a laugh, shaking my head even as I smiled and kissed Stephen again. He smiled into the kiss, too, the two of us holding each other tight. I knew he'd probably seen me recently, maybe right before he'd come here, but I hadn't seen him in years. Being in his arms again, and even better, knowing we had a future together beyond this moment, was an absolute dream come true.

****************

Everything Taglist: @rosecentury @kmc1989 @space-helen

Marvel Taglist: @valkyriepirate @infinetlyforgotten @sagesmelts @gaychaosgremlin

[favouriteconstellation]

halloween

synopsis: you and stephen wake up on halloween, interrupted by wong - who explains peter and america are already dressed up in their halloween costumes. a sweet little unconventional family moment.

rating: lots of fluff, not actual smut but like a lead up to it before it’s interrupted - yeah get blueballed guys xoxo stephen is a grump but a cutie pie!! not proofread.

authors note: hello sweetie pies!!!!! i love you! okay that’s all, this isn’t perfect but we need more stephen content, it’s a dying art.

new york was always freezing, it was a given that you would freeze to death three quarters of the year when you moved here. fall on the other hand was beautiful, magical even. the prettiest leaves cascading down into the street, fluttering down from their bare tree branches and pattering down to the cold, wet streets of greenwich village. the warm smell of cinnamon in peoples coffees, thick flannel scarves and fuzzy gloves. you loved fall.

stirring awake to the cool chill of the sanctum sanctorum you made a mental note to ask wong about the central heating system, which is suspiciously clearly not working. your body instinctively moves closer to your husband, clinging to the warmth of stephen as light pools through the large windows, sounds of busy new york feeling so comforting. he groans sleepily, a deep baritone voice making your lips upturn, smiling with closed eyes.

“good morning baby..” stephen smiled looking down at you positioned with your head on his chest, holding his toned torso with your arms. he drew lazy circles on the side of your arm as you looked up at him smiling lazily.

“it’s so coldddd… i don’t wanna get up.” you whined looking up at him, cursing fall mornings.

he chuckled softly.

“mm?? oh my poor, poor baby…” he cooed softly, almost mockingly, smirking like a bastard. you scoffed, giggling softly.

“you can’t be egotistical AND an ass, honey. doesn’t work like that” you smiled up at him, rolling over on top of him, sitting on his lower torso, straddling his hips as he smiled drowsily up at you through half lidded eyes. his hands snaked their way around your hips, shuffling you closer.

“my pretty little baby… all for me, hm?” he propped himself up on his forearms, looking up at you. she looked down at him, at his chest.. sculpted by gods. the pretty silver chain around his neck with his wedding ring around it, since his ring finger couldn’t cope with the pressure a wedding band ensued - although it took a month of you trying to convince him to slip his ring off even just for a second, so he could put it around his neck. your hands held his jaw lovingly stroking his jawline, his goatee giving you goosebumps as always.

“always all for you, stephen.” he studied your face smirking confidently before humming in approval.

“happy halloween gorgeous” he said, cutting the tension with a knife. you laughed softly as he stroked his hands up and down your hips, clutching the plump of your ass and squeezing it softly as you sat on top of him.

“you know we can’t do this right now…” you tilted her head down at him. he shrugged, feigning innocence.

“course we can, you’re not exactly quiet though, are you sweet girl?” he stretched his arms out before placing them back on your tiredly.

you playfully swatted his chest, scoffing.

“i’ve never had any complaints” you shrugged confidently.. “and i’m pretty sure those noises get you goin’ don’t they, honey?” she leaned down before kissing him passionately. he smirked against your lips, deepening the kiss before you broke away, leaving him with ragged breaths.

“mmm.. do you remember last valentine’s day, when you were on a mission and we couldn’t be together?.. when i called you while straddling your pillow, making those little noises for you?” she moved her hips against his half hard cock, her hands resting on the mattress to steady herself. he inhaled sharply, scoffing as he laid his head back.

“i remember it. i also remember being in the middle of a meeting and having to excuse myself, thinking it was an emergency, and then i heard those breathy little moans coming from the phone. you were practically whimpering for my help baby, had to talk you through, huh?”

“mhmmmm…” she sighed, rolling her hips against his pelvis. “couldn’t help it, needed you” she pictured him in the compound, walking confidently into the bathroom just to unbuckle his belt and palm his pretty cock, making a sticky mess of himself.

“stephen…” you whined out pathetically, humping his now hardened cock. he groaned softly, throwing his head back.

“fuck baby, im not going anywhere- you can.. slow down..” he inhaled sharply, letting out a ragged moan.

a knock at the door, of course. she told him they couldn’t, she was right. wong opened the door slowly and you dove under the covers, smoothing your hair down, and smiling - flustered.

“good morning wong! happy halloween” you smiled, chirping.

stephen groaned at wong, pissed.

“it was a good morning…” he sighed, sitting up and running his hand through his hair, annoyed.

“again with the whole noise thing.. you’re like rabbits, this is disgusting. seek help!” your face flushed, turning over and pushing it into the pillow giggling softly, before mumbling out a muffled apology under the sheets.

“peter is downstairs, by the way.” wong informed and you smiled softly nodding.

“parker is here? why is-“ stephen groaned, not expecting to be practically an adoptive father of two at his age.

“stephen.. i told youuuu! he and america are doing the whole halloween costume thing at school. everyone does it apparently.” she informed, laughing softly at his frown.

“great.” he sighed. “that’s great.”

wong mumbled to himself walking away at stephens response, an insult you could only hear half of, but it made you laugh. you jumped out of bed, rubbing your eyes, and stephen flicked his wrist, his clock entering the room and wrapping itself around your shoulders. you laughed softly, smiling at him, walking over to his side of the bed and kissing him softly.

“rain check?”

“always.”

you smiled, satisfied.

“what are they dressing up as?”

“that’s a surprise, you’ll have to see.”

he scoffed, getting out of bed, his grey sweatpants hanging low on his torso, exposing his v line and his entire chest and you had to stifle a sigh. he chuckled, smacking your ass before walking into your shared ensuite to brush his teeth.

“happy halloweeen!!!!!” amercia cheered as you walked downstairs into the kitchen, spotting peter inhaling a stack of pancakes, laughing at his costume. “happy halloween!” you smiled softly, walking over and kissing her atop of her head before walking over and pouring yourself and stephen a coffee.

“that is a very cool puffer vest, mer.” you smiled at her, “surely you’re gonna win best costume guys.” she smiled proudly, posing at your comments.

“that’s what i said” wong entered the kitchen, agreeing.

“oh god…” stephen chuckled looking at peter and america, or should he say doc brown and marty mcfly.

“parker you aged about 60 years overnight. a modern day miracle.” stephen couldn’t help but laugh. they looked so dorky, but they picked a great movie.

“1986?” stephen asked confidently and america, the family cinephile rolled her eyes.

“85, actually. and aren’t you supposed to be a genius?” the 15 year old hummed confidently. you chuckled to yourself. it was days like this that made your sweet unconventional family so perfect.

“oh well pardon me! i studied science, not film. and kid?” he laughed, throwing his hands up in surrender.

“yesssss??” america laughed

“it is a cute vest, you guys are going to win the

costume competition for sure.” he smiled, walking past america and ruffling her hair. she whined, fixing it but smiling. peter finished his stack of pancakes before standing up and burping.

you grimaced slightly but laughed, stephen shook his head.

“manners parker.”

“sorry strange sir, excuse me”

“it’s stephen, kid.” he smiled warmly at peter. walking over to you and resting his head on your shoulder, enveloping you in his arms from behind, hands on your waist. both of you admiring your little family.

[vickiee-mcmuffin]

Just this once

Word count: 3.9k

Pairing: Stephen Strange x Female Reader

Trope: Explicit smut, Age gap, Oral (M receiving) (18+ Warning, Minors DNI)

Summary: You accidentally walk in on Stephen trying to pleasure himself. You see he's struggling because of his hands, so you decide to help him out.

A/N: I think I've seen this idea before, but I hope you like my attempt at this. This fic is just pure smut. Plot? What plot… 😅

It wasn’t your first time in the New York Sanctum, but it was the first time you had ever seen Stephen Strange with his hands all over himself. You had been trying to talk to Stephen about something innocent: about a spell you needed some help with since Wong and the other masters were so busy, and that was when you had heard the deep sounds of his grunts and groans coming from his room. You entered, thinking that he might have been in pain or in trouble, but that was when you found him naked, completely and totally bare with his cock out.

That was why you were staring at him, eyes wide as you stood there in his doorway, his cock looking painfully hard, the tip all red and swollen. He grabbed at the closest blanket, pulling it over his lap as he glared at you.

“Jesus Christ, Y/N, don’t you know how to fucking knock?” he snapped at you.

You scoffed, raising an eyebrow up at him. “Um, excuse me, but I thought you might have been in pain or something since that was what it sounded like. I didn’t expect to see you struggling to get off when I walked in.”

Stephen rolled his eyes. “Well, I can’t do it because of my stupid hands, okay?”

“Oh.” Guilt hit you when he said that. You didn’t know his hands stopped him from doing that. Your foot tapped against the floor for a moment, wondering if you could be the one to help him. “Well, maybe… Maybe I could help you?”

“What?” Stephen asked, eyes wide.

“I’ll be happy to help you out.”

The two of you got into fights all the time. You mostly argued about stupid, silly things, but that didn’t mean you wanted to see him so frustrated.

Stephen gave you a little smile. “You know, this won’t get you extra help during your training sessions.”

“Shut up.” You rolled your eyes. “I’m trying to offer you help here. You want it or not?”

“Alright, fine. But just this once, okay? We shouldn’t even really be doing this. We shouldn’t even be talking about it.”

“Right. Just this once.”

You joined him on the bed, kneeling next to him and pulling off the blanket, revealing his thick, long cock. He was big. Bigger than you imagined, and you had done so a few times. The tip was all swollen and red as you spat on your hand, reaching down to wrap your fingers around him. Giving him a squeeze, you moved your hand up and down, rubbing your thumb across his pre-cum soaked tip whenever you got close. He was throbbing in your hand, his moans deep and low, and you couldn’t help but think about how damn beautiful those sounds were. It just made you want to keep going, to keep working his cock so he made more of those sounds.

The noises were getting to you, your thighs pressing together as you felt yourself growing wet. His groans got louder, more intense, and he kept muttering out how he wanted you to keep going, how he didn’t want you to stop.

It was hard to focus on his pleasure and not yours. This was about him, not you. So you kept playing with his cock, moving your hand along his big, slick length.

But you stopped after a few more pumps of his cock, and Stephen just stared at you as you sat there taking in his eyes, thinking for a short moment. Then you sent him a small smile before moving your face down to his length, your lips hovering just above his leaking tip.

“What are you... Oh fuck, sweetheart!” Stephen groaned loudly when you ran your tongue along his cock, starting from the base and making your way to his swollen tip.

Wrapping your lips around the head of his cock, you began to suck at him before swallowing every inch of him. His cock was stuffed right into your mouth, his length throbbing in between your lips. You began to bob your head up and down, keeping your lips wrapped around Stephen’s cock nice and tight. Stephen grunted as you moved faster, forcing you to gag on his cock. His hands were in your hair, pulling at the strands before he guided you along his length. You lowered a gentle hand, rubbing at his balls and forcing a deep groan from Stephen’s lips.

It didn’t take long for you to feel Stephen suddenly tense up. You wondered for a second if he was close, and you were happy to stay there with your lips wrapped around him so he could chase that release he so desperately needed.

“God, I need to be inside you,” Stephen suddenly grumbled out.

That made you halt right then and there. Stephen’s eyes slowly opened up, all hazy looking as he looked down at you. Then his eyes widened.

“I… Wait, fuck. I didn’t mean to say that,” he whispered.

But that wasn’t enough to convince you. You pulled your lips off him with a wet pop before you opened your mouth to speak. “Well, I don’t mind…”

“You don’t mind what?”

“I don’t mind having you inside me if it helps. I did offer to help you out, after all.”

Stephen’s face was all bright red as he took in a deep, long breath. “Only if you really want to.”

You nodded, and then Stephen laid down against the bed while you pulled off your pants and underwear. You were absolutely soaked after stroking and sucking his cock, and all those sounds had definitely gotten to you. Pressing your hands to his chest, you straddled him, your pussy hovering right over his cock.

“Will you promise not to tell anyone at Kamar Taj what we did today?” you asked as you looked into his eyes.

He nodded. “Yes. Do you promise not to tell anyone? You’re a student and I’m your master. We’re not supposed to be doing anything like this. I’m so much older than you, too.”

“I can keep a secret,” you whispered. “Don’t worry.” With that, you lifted yourself up that tiny bit, moving so that the head of his cock brushed up against your slick entrance before you sunk down on to his length. You were immediately met with the feeling of his tip stretching you out. He was so big. So big and thick. You sunk down some more, letting him fill you up as his hands landed on your hips.

The feeling made you bite your lip, trying to keep your moans to yourself. This was about him. His pleasure, his satisfaction. Not you. And you were only trying to help him cum. This wasn’t sex. This was just you lending him a helping hand.

Hands there on his chest, you began to move. Up and down, up and down. You were moving slowly, trying to get used to his size filling you up and stretching you out. He was so big, his length fitting inside of you perfectly as you began to bounce right there on his cock. You were rocking your hips while Stephen grunted and groaned below you, his eyes all darkened. Stephen grasped your hips tight as you still bit into your bottom lip, trying to keep every moan and whine to yourself. That wasn’t just because this was about him. No. It was because he just felt so good buried deep inside of you, and you didn’t need his already inflated ego to grow even bigger.

It took everything in you too keep every sound of pleasure to yourself, but you could still feel your orgasm growing. It was blooming by the second as you rode his cock, that feeling hot and heavy as you moved up and down his length, and then his swollen tip pressed up against that sweet spot deep inside you and you found yourself losing control right then and there.

“Stephen!” you cried out, body shaking from top to bottom as you rode him so desperately. You could feel yourself squeezing at his cock as waves of pleasure hit you, and then the sound of Stephen’s groans hit your ears. Gasping, you stopped moving, realising what you had just done. “Oh, shit…” Looking down with blushing cheeks, you saw Stephen staring up at you with a smirk.

“Did you just cum on my cock?” he said.

Lips pressing together, you felt your cheeks burning brightly.

“Why do I get the feeling that you were secretly enjoying this?” he asked, his voice low and gravelly, a teasing tone to his words.

“I… I…”

Stephen chuckled at that, his eyes lighting up. “I could feel how wet you were when I was inside you. You were probably getting off on all those sounds I was making, huh? I bet you were loving them.”

“I’m sorry,” you finally managed to say. Your face felt so hot as he looked at you. Your whole body felt like it was burning, his gaze all dark.

Stephen looked at you for a long, lingering moment, looking like he was deep in thought, like he was trying to figure out what to say next. Slowly, he sat up. “Look, I’m going to ask you this, because I need to know: do you want to continue, or do you want to stop now and never speak of this again?”

You watched him closely, his lips about to part to say something else, but you cut him off with a soft, pleading, “fuck me.”

Laughing lowly, Stephen slammed his lips to yours, his tongue pushing into your mouth as he kissed at you deep and fast and hard. Hunger took over as you kissed him back, his hands pulling off your shirt and then your bra, your breasts suddenly on show for him. Large hands landed on them, giving them a squeeze as he groaned. Your hardened nipples pressed into the palms of his hands as he held you tight.

“Such perfect tits,” he muttered. “I’m going to give you exactly what I know you’ve been fantasising about for months,” he said, voice deep and confident.

Gasping, you kept your eyes locked with his. “How do you seem to know that I think about you in private?”

“Well, you aren’t exactly subtle. You can act like a brat around me all you want, but I’ve definitely caught you eye fucking me on daily basis.”

“… Oh.” Had you been that obvious? Apparently so. Whoops. You wondered if anyone had noticed.

Stephen suddenly moved, flipping you around and getting you settled on your hands and knees. But then his fingers found your hair, massaging at your scalp as he pushed you into his pillows, the material all soft against your face as he had you arching your back with your ass high up in the air. The position felt so filthy. He could see every last bit of you, the bits he wasn’t supposed to be seeing. Your cheeks still felt all red and burning as you knew his eyes were running up and down your body.

You could hear shuffling behind you, and then you felt a big, heavy hand on your hip followed by the wonderful sensation of his swollen tip running up and down your slit. A whine left your lips, pure frustration taking over as he teased you. The head of his cock felt so big against you. You were aching to just feel him push himself inside of you already.

“I want to hear how good I make you feel,” Stephen muttered.

You nodded into the pillows. “Just fuck me already.”

“You’re needy.”

But that was when you felt his swollen head slip into you, filling you up slowly, the both of you moaning out at the same time. Stephen grabbed your hips and began to pump in and out of you. He was so big and you could feel every inch of him stretching you out, your eyes rolling into the back of your head as he fucked you.

“You feel so fucking good,” he muttered from behind you. “You’re such a dirty girl for letting me do this to you. You know I shouldn’t be touching you like this, but here you are, letting me fill you up with every inch of my cock. You just can’t help yourself, right?”

“Yes,” you whined out, the sound muffled from the pillows pressed to your face. “Your cock feels so good. Mm, you’re so big. God, you’re so big.”

“Yeah, you like it, don’t you?”

“Mm, yes!”

“You’re a dirty fucking girl for letting me touch you. I’m so much older than you, but you don’t care about that. You’re still letting me fuck you. You’re letting your teacher fuck you like this and you fucking love it.”

“I can’t help it,” you whined out, voice sounding utterly desperate.

Stephen kept pounding into you, his thick length taking you exactly where you needed to go. Pure, hot pleasure kept hitting you in waves, your fingers clawing at the sheets below you.

“Mm, Stephen!” you called out. “Please don’t stop! Please, please, please don’t stop.”

“You’re such a good girl,” he murmured. “You’re taking every inch of me. Look at your little pussy, it’s completely filled up with my cock. What a good girl.”

He slid into your slick, tight pussy with ease, his balls slapping up against you, that filthy sound of skin hitting skin in the air as he pounded into you. You were getting closer and closer, your orgasm right around the corner as you squeezed your eyes shut tightly.

“So close,” you whimpered. Your voice was wavering and you just needed to cum already, needed to feel that heap of pleasure take over your body. Your pussy was aching, begging to cum as Stephen fucked you harder and faster, his perfect cock filling you up to the hilt so that you were forced to feel every last inch of him.

It was with one more deep, long, hard thrust that you felt your eyes rolling into the back of your head. A sharp, barely there gasp escaped your lips, yours fingers clenching at the pillows below you so tight you were certain you’d rip a hole right through them.

“Stephen!” you cried out. You could feel your pussy gushing around him, your slit all wet and sticky as Stephen kept fucking you. He was dragging your orgasm out, making it last for what felt like a minute straight as he took you hard and fast and deep. You kept chanting out his name, your ears ringing and your body hot and your pussy absolutely soaking wet as he fucked you. You had never felt so full and stretched out in your life. Stephen felt like heaven, like your body was on fire in the best way possible. He was so big and thick as he pushed in and out of you, letting you ride out your orgasm right there on his perfect cock.

“Good girl,” he said with a deep chuckle. “Just like that. Cum on my cock, just like that. I bet that feels so fucking good, doesn’t it? It feels so good to fucking cum on my cock. Your teacher’s cock.”

It was hard to string a proper sentence together. Moans and whines kept escaping your lips, your toes curling as your orgasm took over your whole body. You kept whimpering out his name, your whole body shaking as he carried on pumping you full of cock. 

But then Stephen suddenly pulled his length out of you and you quickly whined, instantly missing the feeling of him inside of you. Stephen let out a low chuckle at that.

“Miss me already, huh?” he asked, voice deep and cocky. “Don’t worry, I’ll give you what you want in a second, sweetheart.”

Stephen grabbed at you, moving you so that you were laying down on your side. He then got settled on his side behind you before he pulled you to him, so that your back was up against his broad chest. He moved your leg and hooked it over his hip, spreading your legs for him.

He held his cock in one hand, pressing the tip to your pussy before he slid back into you with ease, the both of you moaning in unison. He used his other arm to wrap it tight around your chest. You were flush against him as his hand held one of your breasts tight. Then he kissed you, and you moaned into his mouth as you kissed him back deeply. 

Stephen wasted no time fucking you good. He fucked you harder and faster and it had you letting out a rather shrill and loud moan. It felt so good to have him stretching you out as he filled you up with his big, hard cock. You couldn’t help but moan.

You felt Stephen’s lips on you again suddenly, closing the gap as he kissed you, your tongues dancing together. You moaned against his soft lips when the tip of his swollen cock met that sweet, sensitive spot so deep inside of you again.

“Does that feel good?” Stephen mumbled against your lips. “Is this what you wanted from me, sweetheart? Wanted me to take care of you?”

All you could do was give him a little nod before Stephen kissed you again. He then began to pump his length into you even faster. His cock pushed into you so deep as he slammed into you. Each and every thrust of his cock had you crying out his name. He kept going, your pussy dripping wet with your juices.

“Fuck, Stephen. Please don’t stop!” you begged. “Please keep fucking me!”

Stephen did just that. He kept pushing his cock into you, fucking you with every last bit of energy he seemed to have. He was moving so quickly that you could barely believe it. You were being so loud. Stephen had you crying out for him with every pump of his cock. He was taking you deep and hard and fast, stretching you out in the best way.

Every thrust he gave you had you getting closer and closer to yet another orgasm. You were so close. The feeling was growing, your wet pussy getting even wetter.

“You… You’re gonna make me cum again,” you let Stephen know.

“Cum on my cock for me. Cum on my cock like a good girl,” he hissed.

All you could feel was his thick cock pushing into you, your little hole taking him so well. And then all it took were a few more deep thrusts from Stephen for you to meet your orgasm.

“Oh, Stephen!” you screamed out, letting the pleasure take over. The wetness between your thighs growing. It felt like you were gushing right then and there, like something was pouring right out of you and all over Stephen’s cock. You just screamed at the feeling, all the while Stephen fucked you right through the delicious sensation.

Your eyes rolled into the back of your head as a new sensation hit you. You were shaking, your orgasm so much stronger than the others. It felt different, though. Very different. Your whole body felt warm, your pussy so soaked. How was it that Stephen was making you feel so good? How did he have all of that energy to take you so good and hard? It didn’t even matter, because all you could do was lay there and cry out as Stephen fucked you, making you feel better than you had ever felt before.

The wetness between your legs soon slowed down as you focused on your breathing. Stephen pumped his cock into you just three more times before his moans were turning into deep grunts, his thrusts going from fast and wild to slow and deep, and you had a feeling he was close.

“Fuck,” he muttered from behind you, pushing into you with an eager thrust, filling you right up to the hilt. “So fucking close, sweetheart. Christ, you ready to feel me cum inside you?”

You moaned, his cock pushing in and out of you, his balls pressed right up against your bare pussy until he was groaning wildly from behind you, his arm wrapped around you tightly, holding you in place as he just fucked you and took you and made you all his. It was filthy. It was raw. And you were loving every last second of it.

A second later, you could feel it. He was shooting out thick, heavy loads deep inside of you, your inner walls suddenly painted with the sticky drops of cum. You gasped, the feeling making you sigh in relief.

“That’s it,” Stephen said with a moan, his arm still holding you tight. “God, Y/N, that’s it. Take it. Just like that. Fuck, I bet you’ve wanted me to cum inside that pussy for so fucking long. You’re such a good girl just fucking taking it. You’re taking every single inch of me.”

You were panting as he slowly pulled out of you, his cock still hard as he pressed a kiss to your bare shoulder. His breaths were deep and heavy and you heard him get off the bed behind you, then the sound of water in the distance hit your ears. You laid there, trying to get your breathing back in control. What turned into a simple favour for Stephen had turned into something completely different. You almost couldn’t believe what the two of you had just done.

You were pulled from your thoughts when you felt something soft and warm pressing up against you. Looking over your shoulder, you saw Stephen running a cloth along your slit, cleaning you up with a gentle hand.

After ridding himself of the cloth, he joined you in bed, laying down next to you while you both kept your lips firmly pressed together. There was nothing but silence between the two of you until Stephen broke it.

“What we did,” he said. “It… It shouldn’t have happened.”

Turning to look at him, you offered him a curt nod. “I know. But no one will know if we both keep our mouths shut.”

“Well, I won’t be mentioning it to anyone.”

Nodding, you slowly sat up. “I should get back to Kamar Taj. I was only supposed to be here for a couple minutes…”

“Yeah, okay,” mumbled Stephen.

You got up to put your clothes back on, moving a little gingerly thanks to how tired you were. Stephen had taken you so hard that even your legs felt a little wobbly, but you managed to get all your clothes back on, and after patting down your hair, you hoped no one would be able to guess what you and Stephen had just been up to. Turning towards the door, you heard Stephen call out your name, and you spun around to meet his eyes.

“Thanks for helping me out,” he said, sending you a wink.

A tiny smile stretched across your face. “Bye, Stephen.”

With that, you turned back around so you could leave for Kamar Taj. You wondered if anyone had noticed that you were missing. You couldn’t help but wonder if you’d be able to keep your word—Stephen too. You were curious if it’d be just a one-time thing, or if maybe the two of you would get all tangled up in each other once more. It had certainly been fun, and deep down, you knew that you wouldn’t be able to say no to Stephen if he made you the offer. You also knew that Stephen wouldn’t exactly say no either.

Only time would tell what would happen next.