#doctor strange drabble

[geeky-politics-46]

hiii!!

in regards to your quick drabbles i was wondering if you could do a 616 stephen strange who is married to the reader. the reader isnt aware she is pregnant but is like showing all the symptoms, and stephen picks up on the pregnancy before her

thank you so much ily

It had to be food poisoning. You tried to recall everything you had eaten. Could food poisoning last for more than a week though? Not likely. It wasn't flu season but maybe there was still some sort of stomach bug going around. There had to be a reason why you had been nauseous and sick to your stomach every day for over a week. You were shocked Stephen wasn't worried about it. He could be a bit obsessive when it came to anything medical.

He had been keeping an extra eye on you since you started feeling like this, but you seemed far more concerned than he did. The only upside was that he was paying you more attention than normal. Almost to the point of following you around. Under normal circumstances, it would have been sweet, but between the nausea and feeling exhausted, it was a little cloying.

"Stephen, seriously what is up?! Why are you being so weird?! I feel like crap and you are glued to my side all of a sudden with a big ole stupid grin on your face. If you don't stop or tell me what's up your ass I'm gonna vomit on you."

He looked at you with a cheeky smirk and his eyebrows raised. Like he was waiting for you to realize the punch line of a joke. When he realized that you really didn't get it, he led you over to the calendar you kept by the bed. Handing it to you and suddenly disappearing into the bathroom and retrieving something else.

"Notice anything missing from this month's calendar?"

As you studied the calendar, all appeared in place at first glance. So you flipped to the previous month to see if it could offer any hints. As it slowly dawned on you what was missing, you flipped the page back and forth a few times. Sure enough, what was missing was a red dot. The red dot you used to signify the start of your period. As your expression started to change Stephen pulled the item he retrieved from behind his back, a large genuinely happy smile on his face, dropping it in your lap on top of the calendar.

It was a pregnancy test.

--------------------------------

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[overadores]

༉‧₊˚. haunted by you

pairing.ᐟ daniela avanzini x doctor!strange reader about.ᐟ  daniela doesn't remember their love. The curse took that away, but when she looks into the stranger's eyes—the woman who won't stop staring at her like she's something lost—she feels something aching, something empty. genre.ᐟ heavy angst. no comfort. cw.ᐟ language. three dimensions. a/n.ᐟ drabble only. currently working on the one-shot. not proofread. just gonna post this cuz its been staring at me in my docs. pls someone tell me if this is good or not so i could edit it in the final fic :D. 4k words

dimension one - soul severance curse.

They tell you not to fall in love when you study the arcane.

Not because love makes you weak, but because it makes you choose.

And I chose her.

Even when I swore I wouldn't. Even when I whispered oaths in a language older than the stars, carved words into my soul, anchored myself in silence—I still chose her. Every day. Every hour.

Her name is Daniela. Not Lady Daniela, or Seer of Light, or anything like the others I met through the Sanctum. Just Daniela. Just…her. And she has no idea who I really am.

She thinks I’m a surgeon who switched to theoretical physics after a bad accident. She doesn’t know. About the Sanctum. About the texts hidden under my bed wrapped in illusions. About the magic that leaves bruises on my spirit. About the way I wake up sometimes not remembering which timeline I’m in.  

She doesn’t know what I keep in the second drawer of my desk, or that I once stitched a bleeding tear in the fabric of space while she slept two rooms away. She doesn’t know I’m on a first-name basis with demons who speak only in riddles and lies.

But she knows me.

She thinks I’m just…Y/N. A little odd. A little secluded. Always curious. Always hers.

The real me. The one I forget sometimes when I get too close to the edge of whatever revelation I’m chasing.

When I’m with her, I forget the multiverse. I forget fate. I forget that I’ve read the end of too many stories.

We met on a Tuesday.

Not the kind of day stories are usually built on—there were no omens in the sky, no signs carved into stone—but I remember it clearer than I remember most of my magical training. She was standing in line at the café on East 73rd, scowling at the menu like it had personally offended her.

“I don’t trust anyone who names a drink Soul Latte,” she muttered under her breath.

I laughed. She looked at me. And that was it. That was the first spell I was ever caught in.

She never knew it, but she was already starting to save me.

We don’t talk about fate.

She hates the idea. Thinks it strips people of their choices. “If fate’s already made the decision for us,” she’d said once, “then why bother loving anyone? What’s the point of falling if you didn’t choose the edge yourself?”

I remember wanting to agree with her. But I also remember the way her hands felt wrapped around mine that night, like maybe fate wasn’t a villain. Like maybe it had done one thing right—one thing good—when it placed her on that street, in that café, in front of me.

But lately… I’ve been studying fate anyway. Quietly. Behind her back.

Because if there’s even a chance that someone like her could be taken from someone like me—by a timeline, a breach, a paradox—then maybe the answer isn’t to trust the universe.

Maybe it’s to control it.

I see it in her eyes sometimes. A flicker of worry. She doesn’t say it, but she feels it—that I’m slipping. That something in me is spiraling further away.

“You okay?” she asks, brushing her fingers through my hair, tucking it behind my ear the way she always does when she’s trying to feel closer.

“Yeah,” I say, kissing her wrist. “Just tired.”

She smiles like she wants to believe me. God, she always wants to believe me.

The first time we kissed, it was raining. Not the dramatic kind. It was the sort of rain that just existed—soft and constant like a heartbeat, more background than plot device.

She was soaked. Her curly dark hair stuck to her cheeks, and she looked up at me like I was the only thing in the world worth standing in the rain for.

I hadn’t planned it. I never do with her.

It’s terrifying. All my life, I’ve been a woman of plans. Of contingency. If A, then B. If B fails, then C. I learned the layout of every sanctum before I ever set foot inside one. I learned how to make people think I wasn’t afraid of anything.

But her? I never planned for her. I just—fell.

She leaned up, her breath warm and shivering against mine, and said softly, “You always look like you’re about to leave.”

That was the moment. The shift. The crack in my armor.

Because she was right. I was always ready to vanish. To portal out. To fix something. To stop a war before it began or speak with time itself. I was always half-here.

But not with her.

“I’m not going anywhere,” I whispered.

And for a while, I meant it.

She doesn’t know about the mirror dimension. The place I go when the world is too loud. Where gravity bends sideways and I can scream without anyone hearing it. That’s where I’ve been spending my nights lately. There, and the library beneath the Sanctum, trying to decipher ancient incantations written in languages that died before memory existed.

I tell myself it’s all for her. That if I just understand the weave of the multiverse enough—if I find the right pattern, the right key—I can keep her safe. I can keep us safe.

But there’s a cost to knowing too much.

I’ve started to dream of her face…fading.

She doesn’t believe in magic.

She likes science. History. Real things. She tells stories with her hands when she talks about her job—archival preservation. She’s the kind of person who protects the past so it doesn’t disappear. And I’m the kind of person who tears open time just to see what’s hiding behind it.

“I think you like breaking rules,” she told me once, her head on my chest.

“Only the ones worth breaking.”

“So…all of them?”

I laughed, kissed her forehead. “Not yours.”

She smiled then. I remember that smile. She believed me.

I don’t think she would now.

Tonight she’s curled up beside me on the couch, her legs over mine, a book resting on her stomach. Something by a dead poet. Her hair is falling into her face and I can’t stop staring.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” she asks, her voice barely louder than the crackle of the fireplace.

“I just…I love you.”

It slips out. Too raw. Too sudden.

She freezes for a second. Not because she’s surprised—I’ve said it before—but because of how I said it. Like it’s a goodbye.

She sits up. “Hey. Hey, what’s going on?”

“Nothing,” I lied. “I just—I wanted to say it.”

Her fingers cup my cheek. “Y/N. Whatever you’re holding in, you can tell me.”

I want to. I ache to. But I can’t tell her the stars are aligning in patterns they never have before. I heard a whisper from a guardian of the multiverse last week saying I was too close to something sacred. That I cast a spell last night that burned the edge of my soul just to see what would happen—and what I saw was her, looking at me like she didn’t know me.

“I love you too,” she says, pulling me into her chest. “Whatever it is, we’ll get through it.”

Her heartbeat is steady. Mine isn’t.

I start writing things down.

Not spells. Not maps of potential timelines. Not warnings from the old texts.

But memories.

Little ones. Dumb ones. Her face the first time I made her pancakes and set off the smoke alarm. The way she laughed until she cried when I tripped over my cloak (she thought it was a costume). The time we stayed up talking about whether ghosts get lonely. The way she smells in the morning—like cedarwood and coffee.

I write it all because I’m scared I’ll forget. Or worse—scared she will.

The curse is only theoretical. That’s what I tell myself. I haven’t cast it. I haven’t even spoken it aloud.

But I’ve read it. And when you read something forbidden, it doesn’t leave you clean. It leaves residue. Whispers. Echoes that follow you even after you swear you’ve put the book away.

It was an accident, really. I was looking into soul bonds. Into tethered fates. Into what binds people across dimensions.

I didn’t expect the price to be so specific.

“You will remain. They will forget.”

I laughed at first. Thought it was a metaphor. A romantic tragedy from another realm.

But last night, I heard the mirror speak back to me. As if it already knew.

Daniela leans into me while we sleep. Her body naturally finds mine. Like we’re planets drawn to each other by instinct, by gravity.

She doesn’t know I watch her. That I memorize the way she shifts in her sleep. That I count the freckles on her shoulders because they’re more permanent than anything I’ve ever summoned with a spell.

“Don’t go too far,” she mumbled in her sleep last night.

I don’t think she was talking about the room.

Today she asked me what I’d do if I lost everything.

I said I’d find a way to get it back.

She laughed. Thought it was bravado. “What, you’d fight the universe?”

I didn’t answer.

Because I already am.

And yet.

With every spell I read, I feel it. A pull. A tug from somewhere beyond this world—like fate is daring me to challenge it. And I’m tempted, every time, because I’ve never met anything I couldn’t try to fix.

But maybe love isn’t meant to be fixed.

Maybe it’s just meant to be held, fiercely, until it slips through your hands.

Tonight, Daniela is reading in bed, her glasses slipping down her nose.

I stand in the doorway, just…watching.

“Come here,” she says, smiling.

I walk over. Slide into the sheets beside her. Kiss her like it’s the last moment before the storm.

Because maybe it is.

She hums against my lips. “You always kiss me like I’m going to disappear.”

“You’re not,” I whisper, clutching her like a lifeline.

“Good,” she murmurs, curling into me. “Because I’m not going anywhere.”

I close my eyes.

But the universe never needed her to leave.

It just needed her to forget.

dimension two - temporal curse.

She doesn’t know.

That’s the first thing I always remind myself of when I look at her. When I watch her sleep, cheek pressed lazily into the pillow, lips parted just slightly, one arm dangling off the side of the mattress like she didn’t wage war with her own blanket hours ago.

She doesn’t know who I am. Not really.

She knows I like my coffee strong and my silences softer. She knows I’ll always steal her side of the blanket even if I’m not cold. She knows I flinch a little at loud thunder, and that I hum under my breath when I think no one’s listening. She knows the mundane pieces. The unremarkable ones. The kind of things you learn when you love someone in the daylight.

But not the rest. Not the reason I sometimes leave in the middle of the night, not the reason I clutch my wrist like it’s bleeding when nothing’s there. Not the weight in my gaze when I watch her—like she’s a countdown, and I don’t know when the clock started ticking.

I didn’t even know which version of her I saved.

Not at first.

The timelines blurred so violently when I did it—when I pulled her from the moment death reached for her, when I bent time so far it nearly snapped.

It wasn’t graceful. It wasn’t noble. It was grief in motion.

One second, she was lying there—her blood on my hands, lungs struggling, eyes unfocused.

And the next…she was alive. Standing in front of me. Whole.

But she was already different.

And I’m not sure I could ever bear the way she’d look at me if she did.

There was a moment once—two weeks ago maybe—where I almost told her everything. We were on the rooftop, just after midnight, and the city was silent in that eerie, stretched-thin way. Like the world was holding its breath. Like it knew I wanted to say something dangerous.

She had her knees pulled up to her chest, hoodie too big for her, sleeves half covering her hands. The stars had lost their fight to the city lights, but she looked up anyway. Like she believed in them just the same.

“I had this dream,” she said, softly, not looking at me. “That the world ended, but we didn’t die. We just...forgot.”

I didn’t respond. I couldn’t.

Because I’ve seen it. Variants of that dream. A thousand ways the world ends and keeps on spinning anyway. Some with fire. Some with silence. Some where I lose her. Some where I find her too late.

She tilted her head then, rested it on her knees, and blinked at me. “You ever get that? Like...something’s coming. And you’re already grieving it.”

She always does that. Says something that guts me without knowing she’s twisting the knife.

I think I touched her cheek then, just to make sure she was still warm. Still here. I kissed her slowly—slow enough it could have meant goodbye.

But I didn’t tell her. Not yet. I told myself it wasn’t the right moment. That she deserved normalcy while she still had it.

Really, I think I was just selfish.

The thing about loving someone as someone else—someone fictional, someone edited—is that you get really good at lying to yourself.

You tell yourself the parts you gave them are enough. That the secrets are protecting them. That it’s love, even if it’s in a cage.

And she does love me. I think.

No. I know.

She loves the version of me that forgets to charge their phone and can’t cook pasta to save their life. The one who gets too intense sometimes, too still, too far away in the eyes—and she just reaches across the table, grounds me with a touch. She never asks where I go when I go quiet. She trusts me without needing to understand.

Which is maybe the most painful part.

She never asked for magic. Or war. Or fate. She just wanted someone to stay.

And I’m going to break her heart. I know it.

It’s already started—the ripples. Little shifts in the air. Loose threads pulling at the seams of the life we built. The kind only I can see. The kind I shouldn’t ignore.

But every time I think about acting, about stopping the momentum of what’s coming, I see her laughing in the morning, barefoot on cold tile, humming some pop song she pretends not to like. I see the little love notes she hides in the fridge, the way she sings to plants when she waters them, the way she lets her guard down only for me.

And I tell myself: Maybe there’s still time.

I don’t think she notices the way my hands shake when I hold hers sometimes. Or the way my breath catches when she says things like, “We should plan a trip.”

Trips require a future and futures are fragile.

Especially when you’re me.

I’ve bent time before. Ripped it clean in half to protect the other version of her. I paid the price. I always pay the price. The universe is cruel, but fair.

And I know—deep in my bones—that if something happens to her, I’ll do it again. I won’t hesitate.

Which means I’ll destroy everything just to keep her breathing.

Even if she hates me for it.

Even if she forgets.

She brought home sunflowers today. Said they looked “obnoxiously hopeful.”

“I thought they’d balance out your broody vibe,” she teased, poking my side.

I smiled like I always do—crooked and weak—and watched her arrange them in the chipped mug we both pretend isn’t a vase.

She looked so proud. Like placing bright yellow petals on the windowsill was enough to shift the axis of the world. And maybe, for a second, it was.

Maybe, in that moment, I wasn’t the Sorcerer Supreme. Maybe I wasn’t the harbinger of the end. Maybe I was just hers.

And maybe that’s why I kissed her like I was drowning.

Because I knew—I knew—I wouldn’t get many more chances.

We lay on the couch that night, limbs tangled like vines, half a movie playing in the background. She fell asleep first, as always, breathing slow and even against my shoulder.

I watched the screen flicker. I listened to the faint hum of the fridge. I stared at the ceiling and tried to memorize the way she fit into me.

And then I whispered, so quietly it hurt,

“I’m going to lose you, aren’t I?”

She didn’t answer. She couldn’t.

But I think the universe did.

The lights flickered. Just for a second. Barely noticeable.

But I felt it.

A shift.

A warning.

There’s this concept—chronomancy. Time magic. Dangerous, unstable, almost always fatal in the wrong hands. I’ve only used it twice. Both times it almost broke me.

But I would do it again. For her.

If it meant she got to keep laughing like that. If it meant her hands stayed warm.

If it meant I didn’t have to bury her.

Because I’ve seen what’s coming. I’ve seen the moment she dies.

And I won’t let it happen.

Even if I have to tear open the fabric of time itself. Even if it fractures everything. Even if it breaks her.

She won’t understand.

She’ll never forgive me.

But she’ll be alive.

Right now, though—right now she’s curled up in bed, face buried in my chest, arms loosely around my waist. Her breath tickles my collarbone. She makes this soft sound when she dreams—half sigh, half content hum.

And I hold her like she’s already gone.

Because in some version of time, she is.

In some timeline, I wasn’t fast enough.

In another, I didn’t choose her.

But in this one, this fragile and beautiful and doomed one, she’s mine.

For now.

And if the only way I can keep her safe is by rewriting the rules of love itself...

Then so be it.

She’ll wake up tomorrow, same as always, maybe kiss me sleepily, maybe ask what I want for breakfast.

She’ll have no idea that the world is already unraveling. That the spell is already forming. That I’ve already started the process.

But she’ll live.

And maybe that’s the most I can ask for.

Even if she forgets how she loved me.

Even if I become a stranger.

dimension three - dimensional drift curse.

She always forgets me by morning.

No matter what I say, what I do, how long I stay—every time I cross into her world, it resets.

A curse, layered through time and dimensional faultlines. One that clings to her like dust in sunlight. Not her fault. Never her fault. She didn’t ask to be loved by a woman who breaks universes.

But God, she was loved.

And I keep going back.

I don’t know how many times I’ve met her now.

Could be a hundred.

Could be a thousand.

Every time, it’s different. A new version of her. A new variant of the same soft soul, living a life untouched by the war I fight across stars and spells and sleepless nights. Sometimes she’s an artist. Sometimes a teacher. Sometimes she owns a flower shop that always smells like spring.

Sometimes she’s wearing the same earrings I once gave her in a universe that no longer exists. And she doesn't know why.

But every version has her smile.

That same one. Like dusk settling over the ocean.

And every version still stuns the breath out of me.

I never tell her everything.

What would be the point?

She won’t remember.

By the time I cross back into my own dimension, the tether of memory unravels behind me. Like it never unfolds at all.

The curse is designed that way. Not by me. Not by her.

For a moment.

By a mistake in battle, a spell hurled with such fury it fractured the truth of us across existence. A sorcerer’s curse spoken through cracked teeth:

“The cost of power is always love.”

And I didn’t believe them. I thought I could fix it.

I always think that.

I’m not even sure why I keep trying.

Maybe it’s ego.

Maybe it’s hope.

Maybe I just want one more hour with her before the world resets. Just one moment where she tilts her head and says, “You look like you haven’t slept in years,” and offers me tea like I’m not wearing the weight of every timeline I’ve failed to save.

Maybe I like pretending—for a minute—that I’m not Doctor Strange.

That I’m just Y/N. And she’s just Daniela.

And we’re just…us.

Yesterday—whatever “yesterday” means in this spiral of slipping worlds—I told her something small.

I said, “Your voice sounds like spring rain.”

She blushed. Looked at me like I’d pulled that sentence from some long-lost poem.

She doesn’t remember that I said the same thing in Dimension One, on the first night she cried in my arms.

Doesn’t remember how I held her hand as she forgot me.

How I watched her fall in love with me in one universe, only to lose the ability to feel love in the next.

Here, she’s new.

Fresh.

Alive.

And I’m the ghost.

I know the spell exists.

The reversal.

The one that could fix it.

It’s buried deep in the Book of the Broken Star—pages bound in silence and consequence. A forgotten ritual that rewrites memory across dimensional planes.

It requires something.

A trade.

Not blood. Not time.

A soul.

One soul in return for another’s remembrance.

I know what it means.

If I cast it…she’ll remember everything. Every kiss. Every touch. Every laugh and grief and joy.

But I will be gone.

Not dead. Not erased.

Just—

Unraveled.

Like a name no longer spoken.

She’s sleeping now.

I found her again three hours ago.

This version works in a bookstore that smells like ink and wood. She keeps her hair up with a pencil. She laughed when I asked if she believed in magic.

“No,” she said. “But I believe in feeling like something matters. Isn’t that the same thing?”

I didn’t answer.

My hands were shaking.

Because even though she doesn’t know who I am, and doesn't remember anything, she still says things like that. Still feels like her.

Still is her.

I sit at the edge of the bed now, watching her breathe.

Her face is soft in sleep.

I can cast the spell.

Right now.

And she will wake up with every memory. Every version of us stitched back into her chest.

She will know me.

Will finally remember the love we once shared so loudly, so fully, that it split reality when it broke.

But I won’t be here to see it.

I’ll be lost to her.

She will wake up crying for someone she knows by heart and can no longer find.

That’s the price.

A reverse curse. A reverse cost.

She remembers. 

I forget.

I close my eyes. Hold my breath.

And I cast it.

There’s a stillness in the universe when magic like this takes shape. A pause. Like the world knows what it’s about to lose.

And then—

A whisper.

A shift.

Her name, Daniela, whispered through a thousand timelines.

A thread, snapped and re-intertwined.

She gasps.

Her body jerks upright in bed, eyes wide, tears already falling.

“Y/N?”

I don’t respond.

I can’t.

Because I no longer know that name.

I no longer know her.

And somewhere else—in another city, another time, another morning—I wake up in a world I’ve saved a thousand times, with a hollow in my chest I don’t understand.

A woman passes me on the street. She stops, suddenly breathless.

Looks like she’s seen a ghost.

Her lips tremble as she reaches for me.

But I just smile politely.

And keep walking.

Daniela remembers everything.

And I remember… nothing.

But the universe never forgets.

And love, even when fractured across dimensions, always finds a way to echo.

maybe a manon or fic next lol

[traveller-of-the-knight]

Ok, so!

You know all the "Doctor Strange Astoprojects the mk system and we cinematically see the three alters slipping out of the body.

But but but hear me out!

What about Dr. Strange trying to push one person out of his body and failing because it is actually a system and he needs more strength to push them away.

So Strange would hit their chest multiple times expecting something to happen but uh-uh nothing and poor Steven tries to get away from him.

Eventually he puts more effort and manages to do something, that is making Jake front by pushing Steven away from the front and suddenly gets slapped by him.

Jake gets into a fist fight with Strange while Strange tries to use his powers to teleport Jale away from him.

Eventually he manages to astroproject them for a second and he sees Jake and Marc splitting from the body holding hands until Steven pulls them back in.

They are together in this they won't let anyone separate them, Strange needs to try harder.

[reginaphalangelobster125]

Ocean Eyes

You have been watching him for quite some time. Whenever you see him walking around the common areas you can't help but look. You see him doing mundane little tasks and you just....stare. You can't stop staring at those ocean eyes. The way they sparkle in the sunshine and the way you're sure they'd glow in the darkness. Some days they're a light icy blue, others they're dark, clouded, those are the days when he doesn't want anyone staring into his eyes. The days when his eyes have seen things he can never forget, burning cities and napalm skies, fifteen flares inside those ocean eyes.

When he sees so much pain and suffering, when he carries it and takes it home with him. Your only wish, your only want in life, is to be waiting for him. To be there when he comes home and to be his home. To comfort him, to hold him, to take all his pain away. To wipe the tears from his ocean eyes. But you're not there, you're not his home and you never will be.

It's not fair. He really knows how to make you cry when he gives you those ocean eyes. When he looks at you and you melt. All you want is him. You're scared. You've never fallen from quite this high. But here you were, flying through the air. Falling into his ocean eyes. Some days, some days they really did look like oceans, everything crashing around. His pain splashing against his pupils like waves against jagged rocks. You wanted to dive into them and get lost, get washed away into him. Into those ocean eyes.

You've been walking through a world gone blind. Blind to the suffering. Blind to everything that has been going on outside of their own little bubble. Blind to the real world, to the truth. You can't stop thinking of his diamond mind, clear. He isn't blind to anything because he sees it every day. He feels it all the time. He feels it forever. Careful creature made friends with time. Time was something that everyone else took for granted, but he didn't. He knew what it was like to lose time. He left her lonely with her own diamond mind, all those years ago. He knew the feeling of time slipping through his fingers, he knew it too well. All the time he had seen pass by, with those ocean eyes.

No fair. He really knew how to make you cry when he gave you those ocean eyes. One look in his eyes on a bad day and, you're scared. You've never fallen from quite this high and you were scared to fall into those ocean eyes. Falling hard and fast, straight into those ocean eyes.

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Heads up all of these are x readers!

🥀 -Benedict Cumberbatch

🥀 -Doctor Strange ⪼------➢ 𓍢ִ໋🌷

🥀 -Sherlock Holmes

🥀-Lucanis Dellamorte ⪼------➢ 𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒

🥀 -Jeremiah Fisher ⪼------➢ 𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒

🥀 -Loki Laufeyson ⪼------➢ 𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒

🥀 -Evan Peters ⪼------➢ 𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒

🥀 -Sebastian Sallow ⪼------➢ 𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒

🥀-Tyler Galpin ⪼------➢ 𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒

[strangelockd]

I hope whatever fictional your fixating on visits you.

I hope they visit you in your dreams. Smothering you with all the love and admiration that you so richly deserve.

May you feel them hug you tightly, assuring you that everything will be ok.

The delicate words slip out of there lips while they stroke your hair kissing you softly as there soft caress lulls you to a peaceful sleep.

“You are safe

You are loved

I’ll never let you go…”

💐

[sisterdivinium]

Now is the time to place your bets on whether or not this hyper self-indulgent doctor superion Vampire the Masquerade AU fic will or won't get to 100 handwritten pages...

[hapytears]

"A... Strange Halloween Costume" An Oops Drabble

“Oh… oh this is too good,” Tony said when he first saw Bucky after Strange's spell. Bucky agreed.

The spell was supposed  to clear his mind, help with the nightmares, allow him to move on and grow as a person, that sort of thing. Except it wasn’t his sense of self that grew. And no, it wasn’t that either, get your mind out of the gutter.

Instead, he was walking around with 6 ft of hair trailing behind him.

“It would be the perfect costume.” Tony was still insisting, the day before Halloween. “I am not going to be Rapunzel.”

[popcorn-plots]

"Master Wong is cheating on you."

Stephen looked up to see America staring at him with wide eyes. Stephen blinked. "What?"

"Master Wong... he's cheating on you."

"And... how did you... come up with that?" Stephen asked, pressing his bookmark into the pages. He closed the book and set it down as America swallowed.

"I saw him and Master Stark kissing. Yesterday. And two days ago, you were kissing Master Wong." America whispered.

It took Stephen a second to realize what was happening. America nearly jumped out of her skin when Stephen burst out laughing.

"Cheating? Nah." Stephen finally choked out. America's eyebrows furrowed as Stephen wiped away a tear.

"Then what..."

"Alright, America. Me and Master Wong are married, yes?"

"Uh... yeah."

"Well... I am also engaged to Master Stark."

"Huh?" America tilted her head. "How does that work?"

Stephen chuckled. "Well. I love Wong. I also love Tony. I love both of them, so I decided to marry both of them."

"Then why did Master Wong kiss Master Stark?"

"Because Master Wong and Master Stark love each other. And they both love me. Does that make sense?"

America frowned. "I... guess so. But isn't that cheating?"

Stephen hummed. "No. Not in this case. You see, cheating is what happens when someone... breaks the rules. If I was only married to Master Wong and then I kissed Master Stark without telling Master Wong, then I would be cheating." America still looked kind of confused. "Its like... playing a game and not following the rules."

America nodded. "Then... Master Wong knows you kiss Master Stark?"

"Yes. Me, Wong, and Master Stark have a polyamourous relationships. It's when someone has more than one romantic partner at the same time, but everyone knows about it and agrees."

"So... you and Master Wong and Master Stark..."

"Agreed on the rules before we started playing a game. So everyone knows what's going on." Stephen explained.

America folded her arms. "That makes sense."

"Good. Do you have any more questions?"

"I.. I don't think so."

Stephen smiled and picked up his book. "Good. If you do have any questions, you can always ask me."

"Okay. Thank you, Master Strange!"

"Of course. Goodbye, America." Stephen smiled, waving back as America giddily ran out of his office.

[glass-strawberries]

ironstrange - stephen is hallucinating sort of triple drabble

[aimmyarrowshigh]

JAMuary: 100 Drabbles Based on Songs (2024)

002. I Want It That Way - Clea Strange/Stephen Strange

[boredzillenial]

Writing Masterlist

🥰 : fluff , 🥵: NSFW

🌙 MoonKnight Bingo🌙

🎃 Fawktober 2023 🦇

Series: all 🥵

A Gift Horse and His Mouth: Doctor Strange x afab!reader (Word count: 3k)

You came to Kamar-taj for help with your mental health. Little did you know your dreams would work against you and make things a lot more complicated.

Yes Sir: Part II to "A Gift Horse and His Mouth" (Word count: 2.8k)

Dealing with the aftermath of your dream Stephen has an idea on how to work through some issues.

Attitude Adjustment: William Tell x afab!reader (Word Count: 3k)

A friend of your fathers pays you an unexpected visit you aren’t likely to forget.

One-shots:

🥵Bad Bet: William Tell x F!reader (Word count: 2.6K)

William beats you in a poker tournament, but you just can’t accept defeat, not yet…

🥵 Sweet Relief: Laurent LeClair X F!reader (Word Count: 1.1K)

Laurent finds you during a difficult time of the month, he wants to help you feel better.

🥵 Stronger Than I Look: Steven Grant X curvy f!reader (Word Count: 2k)

You and your coworker Steven are doing inventory late at night. Being a bigger girl you hadn’t worked up the courage to make a move. But an artifact hidden amongst the trinkets in stock changes things.

🥵 A Simple Arrangement: Jonathan Levy X f!reader (Word count: 1.3k)

Jonathan wakes you in the night for some much needed relief.

🥰 That Damn Smile: Matt Murdock fluff x afab!reader (Word Count: 1.6k)

You’re new to Hells Kitchen and there’s a stranger who’s caught your eye, but you’re not sure if you’ve caught his.

🥰Giftshop Steven: Steven Grant with gn!reader (Word count: 1.4k)

Steven comes to your rescue in the crowded museum.

🥵Caught: Marc Spector x afab!reader (Word Count: 1k)

You get bored while housesitting for Marc and are caught in a rather compromised position.

Drabbles/Thots/Ficlets:

🥰 Drunken Confession: GN!reader X Miguel O’Hara (Word Count: 517)

You snoop around Miguel's office and confess to the "empty" room.

🥵Blue Jones Thots: just some HC and a quick drabble on this very unstable man. gn!reader (WC on drabble: 552)

What I will and won’t write

Messy masterlist for Kinktober 2023 here

[raddocwrites]

SNW drabbles

Little is as little does

Chapel playfully distracted baby nyota as the doctor scanned her and spock. The tiny Vulcan had crossed his arms and slouched on the biobed. “You say we are sick, but I feel fine,” he argued once more.

The captain opened his mouth to explain it, again, when baby spock cut him off. “Your explanations are insufficient. Please do not attempt again until you have collated more data,” he said somewhat smugly.

Pikes mouth snapped shut and he tried to ignore the way the doctor was laughing at him with his eyes.

Chapel held nyotas hand as the Dr drew blood. She didn’t cry, but her lip did quiver dangerously. Chapel also held spocks hand even though he declared he wasn’t a baby and didn’t need her to.

She looked over to Mbenga as they had the same thought that the captain finally voiced, “What about la’an?”

“Maybe just scans,” the doc muttered. Chapel snorted remembering the way his tricorder had flown from his hands earlier.

Una nodded at captain pike as he and the others transported to his quarters…for lunch and to figure out next steps. The captain held spocks hand even though the tiny Vulcan pointed out that it was completely unnecessary as there was no danger of him getting lost during transportation. Tiny uhura gladly held onto the captains other hand as well as Dr mbengas.

Una couldn’t remember the last time she had seen the doctor smile so big as when the little girl eagerly slipped her small hand into his large, but impossibly gentle, hand. He was officially smitten.

Not that una could blame him. She looked down at the tiny package in her own arms. Una still rubbed la’ans back slowly but now tried to sit the little girl up. La’an resisted the movement holding tighter and burying her face further into unas neck.

Una pressed a kiss to the top of la’ans head and rubbed her back soothingly. She spotted chapel approach slowly with tiny sized shorts and tshirt. Una frowned slightly. La’an was always cold. She mouthed at the nurse for socks.

Chapel raised her eyebrows in acknowledgement and spun quickly on her heel. She brought the garments and quietly laid them next to una, who nodded her thanks, and stepped back. She was there in case una needed something. But she knew la’an liked her space.

“La’an, sweet pea,” una said softly. “Its time to change. These clothes are too big.” Una plucked at the uniform engulfing the small child. “Lets put on some that fit you.”

La’an shook her head.

“Please?” una tried.

She could feel the little girl thinking about it. “Just for a second, sweet pea. Then you can come back just like you are now.” Una chose her words carefully. For as long as shed known la’an, her friend had been worried about appearing weak, about being…needy.

La’an hesitated for several breaths. Then she slowly sat up and allowed una to put her down. But she wasn’t happy about it. She blinked fiercely and her breaths were short and hitched. She numbly shucked off the ginormous uniform then held her arms up as una slipped the tshirt on her. She clutched onto unas shoulder as she lifted one leg then the other through the soft shorts.

Una quickly slipped on the little girls socks one at a time even as la’an shivered and a tear slipped out and trailed down her cheek.

Una felt her heart want to break in two. “Hey sweet pea,” she cooed. She stared into la’ans terrified eyes and gently wiped away the tear. La’an leaned into her touch and held her arms up hesitantly, like she knew what she wanted but wasn’t sure how to ask for it. If she could ask for it.

Una scooped the little girl back up and held her tightly. “Youre okay la’an,” she said quietly as she rubbed the girls back. The tiny figure in her arms just shook. Silently. Unas heart crumbled a little further at that, because she knew it was engrained so deeply in la’an that it remained with her even in this state. Especially in this state. Anything besides absolute silence, meant potential death.

They sat like that on the floor, with la’an in unas lap, her face buried in unas neck and una holding her tight rubbing her back. But finally she heard la’ans stomach growl. “La’an, sweet pea, are you ready to join the others?”

La’an didn’t say anything but she stiffened slightly.

Una quickly added, still rubbing the little girls back. “We can join them, but I don’t have to put you down. You can stay just like you are.” She let la’an think about it a moment. “How does that sound?”

Finally, the tiny head nodded into unas neck. Una smiled. “Okay,” she said softly as she carefully stood up. She nodded to chapel who closed her tricorder and tucked it into her uniform. She had scanned la’an looking for anything amiss then used it to passively monitor the girls vitals.

Chapel quickly typed in the commands to the sickbay transporter and an instant later she, una and baby la’an materialized in the captains quarters.

[reginaphalangelobster125]

How do you write song fics? (not rhetorical I would really like your answers in the comments)

I listen to the song, then play it while I'm writing, usually half an hour+. I read the lyrics while I'm singing along and then elaborate on them from there.

Why am I asking this now?

I have 4 requests, ready and waiting, at LEAST 10 fics in my drafts, ready and waiting, yet I just spent probably half an hour-ish writing an angsty almost 500 word drabble set to Ocean Eyes by Billie Eillish.

[plooto]

no i think pre infinity stone!stephen strange deserves his dick sucked.

i mean , he’s so mean , you are the way he is with what’s her name .. claire ? he’s just that mean , maybe meaner ..

-> “ jesus, weren’t you taught any manners? clean up after yourself. ” he doesn’t care that your jaw is tired, his cock is covered with his release that should’ve been down your throat.

he’s a neurosurgeon , of course he’s good with his hands .

-> you couldn’t think , your body was on fire - filled with white hot pleasure . you bit down on your lip , trying to muffle the cries of pleasure as his fingers curled expertly inside you .

[hithertoundreamtof23]

Whumptober day 8

Prompt- "It's all for nothing"

Rated- G

Stephen deals with Clea's untimely death

Whumptober2023 masterlist