#stephen strange fanfiction

[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.

[brunchable]

The Morning After

Part I || Doctor Strange × f!reader × Steve Rogers

Word count: 7.5K Characters: Black Widow Reader, Strange, Rogers, The Avengers Summary: You wake up in Stephens bed after drinking the Asgardian Ale Thor brought from Asgard. Warning: One night stand, Love Triangle? A/N: The photo ain't mine, I saw it on pinterest and I thought. . . what if y/n woke up in Stephen's bed? Also inspired by this song lol. I think all of my fics is inspired by a song. HELP. This is a multiple part story. I hope you enjoy.

PART II [R18+]- Coming soon.

“Gather 'round, friends, it’s Thor, the God of Thunder, here to tell the tale of one fateful evening—a night when the legendary Asgardian Ale, brewed in the heart of the golden city. A brew so potent, it has brought down the fiercest of warriors, now, this tale is not of epic battles or heroic deeds, but rather of a night where this very ale claimed yet more victims from among the finest heroes of Earth.”

"Now, let me set the scene: it was a grand feast in the tower of the Man of Iron, where Midgard’s greatest heroes gathered to celebrate their triumphs. The mood was joyous, the laughter loud, and the drinks… well, the drinks were stronger than even the mightiest of Asgardians would dare admit!”

"Enter Doctor Stephen Strange, master of the mystic arts, and Y/N, the ever-resourceful Black Widow. Brave, cunning, formidable—yet even they were no match for the enchanting pull of the Asgardian Ale. Oh, they thought they could handle it, that it was just another drink… but little did they know, the ale had other plans!”

"And so, as the night wore on, the ale did its work. It loosened tongues, softened hearts, and—most importantly—muddled minds. By the time the moon had set and the sun was ready to rise, these two found themselves in a most… shall we say, unexpected situation.”

"For when the morning light crept through the windows of the Sanctum Sanctorum, the good Doctor and our dear Black Widow awoke to find themselves in a predicament that no amount of sorcery or spycraft could easily explain. There they were, side by side, both equally confused and—dare I say—horrified by the night’s unforeseen outcome!”

"What follows, dear friends, is a tale of confusion, awkwardness, and a series of events that might just lead to something more… or, at the very least, a very, very interesting morning."

× × × ×

The morning sunlight streamed through the curtains, casting a warm, golden glow that danced across the ornate rugs and ancient relics scattered around the room. Doctor Stephen Strange stirred, his mind still foggy from the remnants of sleep, feeling an unfamiliar weight on his arm. 

The silk sheets, usually cool and comforting, felt oddly warm and heavy. He shifted slightly, the soft rustling of the fabric the only sound in the stillness.

As he blinked his eyes open, the grogginess quickly gave way to sharp clarity, and he was greeted by a sight that immediately jolted him awake: You, the Black Widow, your tousled auburn hair splayed out on the pillow next to his. The vivid auburn strands created a stark contrast against the deep blue of the pillows, and the way the sunlight caught the strands made them seem to glow. 

His movements woke you up, your eyes, wide with shock, were locked onto his, mirroring the panic that he felt.

Stephen’s mind raced, trying to piece together the events that could have led to this surreal scenario. The faint scent of your perfume, mingled with the familiar, comforting smells of the Sanctum, filled his nostrils. The warmth of your body next to his was both foreign and startling, a stark reminder of the unexplainable situation he found himself in.

Simultaneously, you both glanced down at the sheets, lifting them cautiously. The sight underneath made your eyes widen further. 

You exchanged a horrified look, your faces a mirror of disbelief. Quickly, you dropped the sheets, looked at each other again, and then, as if needing confirmation, peeked under the sheets once more.

"AHHH!" Stephen screamed, jerking away from you.

"AHHH!" You echoed, scrambling to sit up, clutching the sheet to your chest. "What the hell, Strange?! Look away!"

"What the hell, Y/N?!" Stephen shouted back, equally horrified but with his head turned away from you. "Why are you in my bed?!"

“Your bed?!” You looked around, recognizing the distinctive décor of the Sanctum Sanctorum, “Why am I in your bed!?"

“Shit.” Stephen rubbed his face, still trying to wake up fully.

You both sat there for a moment, the awkward silence, the sound of Wong humming a catchy tune as he walked past the door with a tray of breakfast pastries resonated into the room. He paused, glanced into the room, and then continued on his way without a word, though his eyebrows were raised high enough to practically touch his hairline.

"This is not happening.” Stephen groaned, running his hands through his hair. 

You remained quiet, looking traumatized while staring into space, forcing your brain to form any recollection.

"Last thing I remember, we were having that ridiculous amounts of Thor's Asgardian ale. Then we. . . we—”

Suddenly Thor laughing in ridicule echoed in his head. You Midgardians truly are a delicate lot, he said.

“We what?!”

“Underestimated it. . .?”

Just then, Wong finally walked in, this time holding a tray with teapots and cups. He paused mid-step, his eyes darting between the two of you. 

"I see the Doctor is taking 'house calls' a bit too literally now," he said, a smirk playing on his lips.

"Wong, this is not what it looks like!" Stephen exclaimed, scrambling to his feet, the sheets tangling around his legs and causing him to trip while trying to cover his bottom half. He flailed, grabbing onto a nearby chair for balance, only to have it tip over, sending him crashing to the floor.

"Very graceful.”

Wong shook his head, setting the tray down on a nearby table. "I've seen strange things in this Sanctum, but this... this takes the cake. Breakfast is ready, by the way.”

"Wong, I swear, I don't know how this happened.” Stephen managed to extricate himself from the sheets and stood up, his face a mixture of embarrassment and frustration. 

"Sure, you don't. Just like you didn't know how the Eye of Agamotto ended up in the fish tank last week?” Wong raised an eyebrow. 

“That was a magical mishap!" Stephen protested.

Wong chuckled, heading toward the door. "Well, whatever happened, you two might want to get dressed before the rest of the Avengers show up for the morning briefing. Can't wait to hear the explanation for this one.”

Without a word, Stephen quickly conjured a portal to another room, vanishing through it in a swirl of golden sparks to get dressed and, more importantly, to escape the awkwardness.

You hurried to get dressed as well, eager to avoid lingering in the uncomfortable silence, and made your way to the meeting room. 

As you head to descend the grand staircase, your mind is still racing, seeing Stephen without his clothes—an image you've never dared to imagine before. You turned a corner and—thud!—collided directly with Stephen, who had just stepped out from his portal.

"Whoa!" you both exclaimed simultaneously, your voices overlapping in a jumble of startled sounds.

There was a moment where you both froze, staring at each other, shocked to see each other so soon when you planned to avoid Stephen the rest of the day. . . or indefinitely. 

Stephen recovered first, awkwardly adjusting his cloak as though it might somehow smooth over the situation.

"Uh, sorry, I—didn't see you there," he stammered, trying to step aside and give you space.

"No, no, it's fine," you replied quickly, waving it off with a forced laugh that sounded more nervous than casual. "I wasn't watching where I was going."

You both tried to continue walking as if nothing had happened, but in your haste to act normal, you ended up sidestepping in the same direction, then awkwardly shuffling the opposite way, only to block each other again.

"After you," Stephen said, his voice a bit too high-pitched with forced politeness.

"No, no, you go ahead," you insisted, waving him forward, though your hand gesture came out more like a nervous flail.

Finally, after an excruciatingly long moment of shuffling and half-smiles, you managed to move past each other, continuing down the stairs at a brisk pace, trying to put as much distance as possible between yourselves. 

You both knew you'd failed miserably at playing it cool, but neither of you dared to look back or acknowledge it. As you reached the bottom of the stairs and headed toward the meeting room, you couldn’t help but wonder if this day could get any more embarrassing. Judging by the start, it seemed likely. 

× × × ×

As you entered together, Tony Stark was already there, phone in hand. He didn't say a word, just snapped a photo the moment you both walked in.

"Morning, lovebirds," Tony said with a mischievous grin.

You groaned, shaking your head. "Seriously, Stark?"

Tony laughed, pocketing his phone. "Oh, this one's for the highlight reel. Don't worry, I'll send you both a copy."

As you took your seats, trying to ignore Tony's teasing, Thor walked in, grinning broadly. "Well, well, looks like my ale claimed a couple more victims. Didn't I warn you about its strength?"

Stephen groaned. "We might have underestimated it a bit."

"A bit? I think I need a new liver." You grimaced, rubbing your right side.

"Next time, perhaps you two will heed my warning. Asgardian ale is not for the faint of heart!” Thor laughed heartily.

You rolled your eyes, still in a grimace. You didn't remember him giving an actual warning, "Thanks, Thor. We'll keep that in mind."

"Next time, we're sticking to the lightweight stuff. Like water." Stephen added.

"Wise choice. But where's the fun in that?” Thor shrugged.

Just then, Barton sauntered in, a wide grin on his face. "Hey, I heard we had a slumber party at the Sanctum last night. Everyone had fun?"

"What did I miss?” Wanda raised an eyebrow.

“Oh these two here tasted the might of my Asgardian Ale!" Thor declared proudly, slapping Stephen on the back so hard it nearly knocked him out of his chair.

You and Stephen exchanged a quick glance. "Something like that," Stephen said.

Thor nodded, grabbing a seat. "Ah, the joys of revelry. Once, I woke up in a field surrounded by screaming goats. No idea how I got there.”

"That sounds... interesting, Thor. Thank you for sharing." You say with your best sarcastic tone.

“You’re welcome. The best stories come from the nights you can't quite remember. Especially when you wake up in unusual company.” Thor laughed with cheer, obviously taking a jab at the situation.

Steve, who had been quietly observing with a smile at the corner of the room, suddenly narrowed his eyes, sensing the tension.

You sank into your chair, pinching the bridge of your nose in frustration. "Tony, what did you do?”

"Sorry," Tony replied with an unapologetic grin, "I think I accidentally sent your highlight reel photo to that unwanted group chat Banner created.”

“Wow, thanks Tony.” Bruce mumbled.

"Great, just what we needed," Stephen muttered, rolling his eyes.

Cap, ever the gentleman, quickly stepped in to steer the conversation back on track. “Alright, since everyone is here, let's focus on the briefing. Stephen, how's the mystical side of things?” 

× × × 

Stephen cleared his throat, trying to compose himself and focus on the task at hand. "Right, uh... mystical threats. So, recently, we've had some minor disturbances in other dimensions, particularly around the... um…”

He trailed off, his mind suddenly flashing back to the previous night. He remembered the two of you huddled in a corner, both of you giggling like kids, as you attempted to teach him how to perform a simple card trick without using magic. You had insisted it was a basic skill every “sorcerer” should know, and despite his vast knowledge of the mystic arts, Stephen struggled with the sleight of hand. Each time he messed up, you would burst out laughing, and eventually, so did he, the two of you caught in a cycle of laughter that seemed endless.

 Stephen blinked rapidly, trying to refocus. "Uh, disturbances... yes. There was an issue with a, uh, pocket dimension, near the, um..." His voice wavered as another memory surfaced.

This time, it was the two of you back at the Sanctum, stumbling through the portal he had opened, both of you laughing hysterically at something neither of you could now recall. You had accidentally knocked over a priceless artifact, and instead of being concerned, you both had fallen into fits of uncontrollable laughter. The sound of your laughter echoed in his mind, making his heart skip a beat.

He coughed, desperately trying to get back on track. "Right, so the, uh... the pocket dimension. We managed to stabilize it, but there were... complications. Minor, really…”

But his voice faltered again as another memory slipped through. This one was quieter, more intimate. The two of you were sitting side by side on the balcony, sharing a drink. The atmosphere was calm, almost serene, as you both watched the flamingos fly away. You had leaned against him, your head resting on his shoulder, and he remembered the warmth of your presence, the soft sound of your breathing in the quiet night. He couldn’t recall what you had said, but he remembered the way it made him feel—content, at peace, and something more that he wasn’t ready to name.

"Doctor Strange?" Steve’s voice cut through the haze, bringing him sharply back to the present.

"Uh, yes, sorry," Stephen stammered, feeling his face flush. "What I mean to say is... the mystical threats are... under control. Nothing major. Just a few minor disturbances that we've, uh, managed to contain.”

As he spoke, his eyes involuntarily drifted toward you, catching your gaze for just a split second before he quickly looked away, his face turning an unmistakable shade of pink. He turned his head abruptly, pretending to adjust his cloak to hide the blush that had crept up his cheeks.

"You sure everything’s alright in the mystical world, Doc?" Tony asked, the teasing tone in his voice barely concealed.

Stephen nodded quickly, trying to compose himself. "Yes, absolutely. Everything’s fine. No major threats. We’re good. All clear.”

But as he finished, another flash of the previous night’s events hit him—a quick, jumbled memory of you leaning in, your lips brushing his ear as you whispered something that made his stomach flip. He had no idea what you had said, but the memory of your breath on his skin was enough to make his heart race all over again.

"All clear," he repeated, though the words sounded hollow even to his own ears. His mind was anything but clear. If anything, it was more muddled than ever, filled with fragmented memories that both excited and terrified him.

Steve, sensing something was off but choosing not to press, simply nodded. “Alright then. If there's nothing else, we'll wrap this up.”

Stephen exhaled in relief, glad the briefing was over, but as everyone began to file out, Tony's grin only grew wider. He had clearly picked up on Stephen's discomfort. 

As you stood to leave, Stephen risked one last glance at you, his heart still racing. You were avoiding his gaze, your expression unreadable, but he could tell you were just as distracted as he was.

× × × ×

After the meeting wrapped up, the Avengers began to disperse, each heading off to their respective tasks. Just as you were about to leave, you felt a presence behind you. Turning around, you saw Steve Rogers standing there, his usual calm demeanor in place, but there was something softer in his eyes as he looked at you.

"Y/N," Steve began, his voice gentle but carrying that unmistakable authority. "Got a minute?”

"Of course, Cap. What’s up?” You nodded, though you felt your heart skipped a beat. 

Steve smiled slightly at the use of his nickname, "I couldn’t help but notice you seemed a little… distracted today. Is everything alright?”

"Yeah, just… you know, last night's party and all that. Still trying to shake off the effects.” You hesitated, trying to decide how much to share.

"I understand. But if there’s anything more to it, you know you can talk to me, right?” Steve nodded slowly, but the way his gaze was glued on you made it clear he wasn’t entirely convinced. 

“Thanks, Steve. I appreciate that. Really, though, it’s nothing major.” You offered a small smile, appreciating his concern.

Steve studied you for a moment, his blue eyes holding an intensity that made your heart flutter. He seemed to be debating something internally before he finally spoke again, a hint of hesitation in his voice.

"Listen, Y/N… I was about to head back to the compound, and I was wondering… do you need a ride?” 

"A ride? On your motorcycle?” 

Steve nodded, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Yeah. I know it’s not the usual mode of transport around here, but I thought you might like some fresh air. Clear your head a bit."

“That sounds nice, actually. I could use a little fresh air.” You couldn’t help but smile at the thought of riding with Steve on his motorcycle. It was such a classic, straightforward gesture—so very Steve.

“Great,” Steve said, and you could hear the relief in his voice, “Shall we?”

As you walked out toward the front of the Sanctum Sanctorum, your thoughts still spinning from the day’s events, you heard a voice call out your name.

“Y/N, wait,” Stephen’s voice, a little rushed and breathless, echoed through the hallway. 

You turned around to see him approaching, his expression serious but laced with something else—something you couldn’t quite place.

“Stephen?” you said, your hand resting on the doorframe. “What’s up?”

“I, uh,” Stephen hesitated, his eyes flicking from your face to somewhere over your shoulder, where Steve was waiting by his motorcycle. He seemed to be searching for the right words, but they didn’t come easily. His brow furrowed slightly as if he was wrestling with something internally.

You waited, feeling the weight of the silence stretching between you. There was a tightness in your chest, a nagging sense that something important was about to be said. 

You took a small step closer, trying to catch his gaze, but his eyes kept darting away, unable to meet yours for more than a fleeting moment.

“Stephen?” you prompted gently, your voice softening as you tried to encourage him. “What is it?”

He finally looked at you, really looked at you, and for a split second, you saw the vulnerability in his eyes. It was gone as quickly as it had appeared, replaced by a carefully guarded expression, but that momentary glimpse was enough to make your heart skip a beat.

“I just wanted to have a quick chat before you head out,” Stephen finally said, though his voice was quieter than before, almost as if he was second-guessing his decision to speak up. “It won’t take long.”

The hesitation in his voice was palpable, and it only added to the growing tension between you. You could see the conflict in his expression—the way his jaw tightened, the way his hand flexed slightly at his side, as if he was holding himself back from saying something more.

You nodded, though a part of you was still trying to decipher the emotions playing across his face. “Sure, no problem.”

As you turned back to Steve, you caught a glimpse of him watching the exchange with a blank, unreadable expression, but it’s obvious that he was paying close attention. The realization that both men were acutely aware of each other’s presence only added another layer into your growing anxiety.

“I’ll be right back, okay?” you said to Steve, forcing a smile that you hoped would mask the unease that was creeping into your chest.

“Take your time. I’ll be right here,” Steve replied, his voice steady and reassuring, but his gaze lingered on Stephen for a moment longer before returning to you.

You offered Steve a grateful nod before turning back to Stephen, who had already started walking toward a quieter corner of the main hall. As you followed him, you couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to this conversation than either of you were willing to admit.

Once you were alone, Stephen stopped, his back to you for a moment as he seemed to gather his thoughts. When he finally turned to face you, his expression was conflicted, his usual confidence replaced by uncertainty since he doesn't know where or how to place himself.

"I just… I wanted to make sure everything’s okay between us after this morning," he began, his voice careful, measured. "I know things are a bit… awkward.”

There was a pause, and in that silence, you tried to read the emotions flickering across his face. His eyes, usually so focused and intense, were softer now. It was as if he was waiting for you to give him some kind of reassurance, something to ease the tension that had settled between you.

"I mean, everything's been chaotic," you replied, your own voice laced with a nervous edge, "but I don’t want it to make things weird between us either.”

Stephen nodded, though you could see the way his shoulders tensed slightly, as if he was bracing himself for something. "Yeah, I feel the same way. It’s just… I’ve been trying to piece together what happened last night. . .”

His words hung in the air, unfinished, as he hesitated again. You could sense the unspoken question lingering behind his words, the uncertainty that mirrored your own. But even as he spoke, his eyes searched yours, as if looking for an answer that neither of you were ready to give.

“It’s pretty clear what happened,” you interjected, your tone firmer than you intended. “I think it’s best if we just leave it as it is. . . My mind is already a mess, I just need some time.”

Stephen’s heart sank at your response, but he tried to hide it, his expression tightening for just a moment before he forced a nod. The disappointment that flickered across his face was subtle, but it was there, and it made your stomach twist with guilt.

He had hoped—needed—there to be more to say, a way to unravel the confusion that had been left hanging between you both, but your words made it clear that you preferred to bury the past, to move on without digging deeper. 

It wasn’t the answer he had wanted, but he couldn’t bring himself to challenge it.

“Yeah… maybe you’re right,” he finally said, though the words felt hollow as they left his lips.

A heavy silence settled between you. Stephen opened his mouth as if to say something more, but then closed it, his shoulders slumping slightly in defeat. The weight of unspoken thoughts and unacknowledged feelings hung heavily in the air, filling the space between you with a tension that neither of you knew how to break.

You searched his face one last time, trying to understand the depth of what he wasn’t saying, but his expression had shifted back to that carefully controlled neutrality. Whatever he had been about to say, he had chosen to keep it to himself.

Finally, you took a small step back, glancing toward the door where Steve was waiting. “I should probably go. Steve’s waiting.”

At the mention of Steve, Stephen’s heart gave another uncomfortable lurch, and this time, he couldn’t completely mask the flicker of jealousy that crossed his face. It was brief, barely noticeable, but you caught it.

“Yeah, of course,” Stephen said, his voice more strained than before. “Don’t keep him waiting.”

You offered him a small, apologetic smile, sensing the shift in his mood but feeling it was necessary to draw a line. “Thanks for understanding, Stephen. I appreciate it.”

He gave a nod, though the word “anytime” felt almost like an afterthought, his voice lacking the usual warmth. There was something deeply unsettling about the way this conversation had ended, but you knew that pressing further might only complicate things even more.

With that, you turned and walked out of the room, leaving Stephen standing there, his thoughts a chaotic mix of regret and uncertainty. 

He watched as you joined Steve outside, noting the way Steve’s face lit up slightly when he saw you. The two of you exchanged a few words, and then Steve handed you the helmet with a warm, reassuring smile.

Stephen’s heart twisted painfully as he watched you climb onto the motorcycle behind Steve, your arms wrapping around his waist as you settled in. The sight of the two of you together, so close and comfortable, stirred a deep sense of jealousy within him—something he hadn’t expected to feel so intensely. 

He had kept his feelings hidden for so long, not wanting to complicate the dynamic between you, but seeing you with Steve, even for a brief moment, made him wonder if he had waited too long.

As the motorcycle roared to life and sped down the street, Stephen stood there, alone in the quiet Sanctum, grappling with the realization that he might have missed his chance to tell you how he really felt—a part of him couldn’t shake the thought that maybe forgetting wasn’t the best idea after all.

And as Steve drove, he glanced briefly in his side mirror, catching a glimpse of Stephen standing in the doorway, watching you both leave. Steve’s grip on the handlebars tightened slightly, his jaw clenching as he forced himself to focus on the road ahead. He couldn’t shake the feeling that the ride back to the compound had become far more complicated than he’d anticipated.

While the motorcycle sped down the road, the world around you seemed to blur into a whirlwind of emotions—confusion, guilt, and something deeper that you weren’t ready to face. 

You tightened your grip around Steve’s waist, trying to ground yourself in the present, but your thoughts kept drifting back to the look on Stephen’s face, the things you didn't give him a chance to say. And with each passing mile, you couldn’t help but wonder if you had made the right choice—or if you were leaving something important behind.

× × × ×

The motorcycle roared down the winding roads, the wind rushing past you as you clung to Steve’s solid frame. The world around you blurred into streaks of color—trees, buildings, the sky—yet the rush of the ride did little to quiet the storm of thoughts swirling in your mind.

You should have felt the thrill of the ride, the freedom of the open road, but instead, all you could focus on was the conversation with Stephen. The way he hesitated, the way his eyes darted away from yours, as if he was hiding something—no, not hiding, holding back. The tension in his voice had been undeniable, and now, as you sped away from the Sanctum, you couldn’t help but wonder what he had really wanted to say.

Being Black Widow, you were trained to compartmentalize, to push emotions aside when necessary. But the events of the morning, combined with the tension between you, Stephen, and Steve, made it hard to keep everything neatly locked away. Stephen’s hesitation, his guarded expression, and Steve’s quiet concern—these were things you couldn’t easily ignore.

Your thoughts were interrupted as Steve turned slightly, his voice carrying over the noise of the motorcycle. "You okay back there?" he asked, his tone gentle, but with an undercurrent of concern.

You realized you’d been holding your breath and quickly exhaled, trying to shake off the lingering tension. "Yeah," you called back, forcing a smile that you knew he couldn’t see. "Just… a lot on my mind."

Steve nodded, though you could feel the way his body tensed slightly beneath your grip, as if he wasn’t entirely convinced by your answer. He knew you too well; he could sense when something was deeply weighing on your mind. "If you want to talk about it…"

His offer hung in the air, but you didn’t respond right away. What could you say? That you were torn between the memory of a night you couldn’t fully recall? That you were struggling to untangle your own emotions, not knowing if you should pursue them or let them go?

The motorcycle continued down a long, empty stretch of road, and you assumed you were headed straight for the compound. But after a few moments, you noticed Steve taking a turn down a road that didn’t lead in the direction of the compound. It wasn’t the familiar path back—this road led toward the outskirts of the city, a more secluded area.

"Steve?" you called, a note of curiosity creeping into your voice. "Where are we going?"

Steve didn’t answer right away, his focus on the road ahead, but you could sense the deliberateness in his actions. After a moment, he glanced back over his shoulder, his expression calm but with a hint of something more—something determined. 

"Thought we could use a detour. Clear your head a bit before we head back. I think you need it”

Steve continued down the road, the city slowly fading away behind you. The landscape became more open, with rolling hills and patches of forest lining the sides of the road. It was a route you hadn’t taken before, and the unfamiliarity of it was oddly comforting—a break from the routine, a moment to breathe.

After a while, Steve slowed the motorcycle, turning onto a narrow, tree-lined path. The air was cooler here, the dense foliage creating a canopy overhead. Eventually, he brought the bike to a stop in a small clearing by a quiet, shimmering lake. The water was calm, reflecting the sky and the surrounding trees in perfect stillness.

Steve cut the engine, and for a moment, the silence was overwhelming. You both sat there, the only sounds being the rustling of leaves and the distant chirping of birds. It was peaceful, almost surreal, after the whirlwind of emotions and confusion you’d been dealing with all morning. He took off his helmet and dismounted, looking back at you with a soft hesitant smile. 

"I figured you might need a break. This place… it’s always been somewhere I go when I need to think."

You followed suit, removing your helmet and stepping off the bike. The ground felt solid beneath your feet, and the cool breeze off the lake was refreshing, grounding you in the present moment. 

"It’s beautiful," you said softly, taking in the serene surroundings. "I didn’t know a place like this existed around here."

Steve nodded, his gaze fixed on the tranquil water. "Not many people do. It’s kind of a hidden spot, but it’s been here for as long as I can remember. I come here sometimes. When things get… complicated."

You glanced at him, his words resonating more than he might have realized. "It’s peaceful," you acknowledged, though your tone was still guarded, your mind alert even in this serene environment.

Steve watched you closely, his expression understanding. "You don’t have to talk about what’s on your mind," he offered, his voice gentle. "But I’m here if you need to."

It was a simple statement, but it carried weight. You were used to relying on yourself, keeping others at arm’s length. But Steve’s quiet presence, his never-ending support—it was different. Disarming, in a way you weren’t accustomed to.

There had been a time, not too long ago, when you had harbored a crush on Steve—a deep, confusing mix of admiration and affection that you had tried hard to push down. He was Captain America, after all—the embodiment of everything good and noble, and for a while, you couldn’t help but be drawn to him. 

But you had convinced yourself that his heart belonged to someone else, that he was still in love with Peggy Carter, the woman from his past who seemed to cast a long shadow over his present. You had seen the way he looked at Peggy’s picture, the way he spoke about her with such reverence, and it had made you believe there was no room in his heart for anyone else.

So you had buried those feelings, told yourself it was better to move on, to focus on your work, on the missions. You had even started to convince yourself that those feelings had faded, that they were nothing more than a fleeting infatuation. But now, standing here with Steve, you felt them stir again, refusing to stay buried.

And then there was Stephen. Your growing affections for him had caught you off guard—what started as a mutual respect for his intellect and strength had slowly turned into something more, something you hadn’t quite been ready to confront. 

The way he could be both infuriatingly arrogant and deeply compassionate, the way he had made you laugh at the party, the way his presence had a grounding effect on you—it had all begun to carve out a space in your heart that you hadn’t anticipated.

"It’s not easy to sort through," you admitted, your voice low, almost reluctant. "There’s a lot to unpack."

Steve nodded, his gaze steady. "You don’t have to unpack it all at once," he said quietly. "Take it as it comes."

His words were kind, but there was an undercurrent of something more—a tension that hummed just beneath the surface. 

You met his eyes, and for a moment, the usual defenses you kept so firmly in place wavered. Steve’s patience, his willingness to let you take things at your own pace—it was a kind of understanding that you weren’t used to, and it made the knot in your chest loosen, just a little.

But as the silence stretched on, you couldn’t ignore the way Steve’s gaze lingered on you, the way his jaw tightened slightly, as if he too was conflicted by something. There was something he wasn’t saying, something that made the air between you feel charged, like the calm before a storm.

You felt a pang of guilt as you remembered the way Stephen had looked at you that morning, the way his voice had faltered when he tried to talk about what had happened. 

And now, here you were with Steve, who was looking at you with that same unspoken emotion in his eyes—only this time, it felt different. More complicated.

"Steve…" you began, unsure of what you wanted to say, but needing to break the silence that was becoming increasingly heavy. "I appreciate you bringing me here, but…"

"But you’re thinking about Stephen," Steve finished for you, his voice quieter now, his eyes darkening with something you couldn’t quite place—was it hurt? Jealousy?

You blinked, taken aback by his directness. "It’s not like that," you said quickly, but even as you spoke the words, you weren’t entirely sure they were true.

Steve turned away slightly, his gaze drifting out over the lake, but his expression was tense. "Maybe not. But something happened last night, didn’t it? Between you and him.”

You didn’t answer right away, the truth of his words settling heavily between you. "I don’t know what happened," you finally admitted. "It’s all a blur."

“But it’s on your mind,” Steve pressed gently, though there was a tension in his voice that hadn’t been there before. 

You tilted your head, sensing the shift but not fully understanding its source. "You’re acting a little… weird, Steve.”

Steve’s eyes flicked away from yours, out over the lake, as if gathering his thoughts. "Weird? No, not weird," he said, "Just… trying to figure something out.”

"Figure out what?" you pressed, genuinely confused. You knew Steve well enough to recognize when something was bothering him, but you couldn’t quite put your finger on what it was this time. "Is it about the mission? Or something with the team?”

Steve exhaled slowly, his shoulders tensing as he processed your words. He wasn’t angry—not exactly—but there was a quiet intensity in the way he looked at you now, a mix of emotions that made your heart race. 

"It’s not the mission," he said finally, his voice low but steady. "It’s about you.”

"Me?" you repeated, caught off guard. "What about me?”

"You and Stephen," Steve clarified. There was no accusation in his tone, but it was clear that something about the situation was weighing heavily on him. "I saw the way he looked at you this morning. And I saw the way you looked at him.”

"Steve, I—”

"You’re on his mind, Y/N," Steve interrupted, his voice softening, but the tension in his posture remained. "And he’s on yours. I can see it.”

There was no use denying it, not when Steve was looking at you with that penetrating gaze, as if he could see right through you. “Yeah,” you said softly. “He is.”

"I can’t compete with that," he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper.

You frowned, still not quite understanding where this was coming from. “Why would you need to compete, Steve, what are you talking about?”

Steve’s jaw tightened, and for a moment, he didn’t respond. When he finally did, his voice was rougher, more vulnerable than you’d ever heard it. "I care about you, Y/N. More than I probably should. But seeing you with Stephen… it made me realize that maybe I’m too late. Maybe I should've just been honest from the start.”

The air seemed to leave your lungs as his words sunk in. “Steve..”

“I didn’t want to say anything," Steve continued, his eyes still focused on the water, as if he couldn’t bear to look at you. “I didn’t want to make things complicated between us. But now… I can’t pretend I don’t feel this way. I can’t pretend that knowing that something happened between you with him doesn’t… doesn’t hurt.”

You stood there, stunned into silence. Steve’s confession was the last thing you had expected, and the weight of his words settled heavily on your shoulders. You had always known Steve cared about you, but this… this was something entirely different. And it brought all those buried feelings rushing back, feelings you had tried so hard to forget because you thought his heart was already spoken for.

But then there was Stephen, who had slowly, subtly made his way into your heart. The warmth of his smile, the way his eyes softened when he looked at you, the way he could make you laugh even in the direst situations—it all made it impossible to ignore the connection that had been growing between you two. 

And now, you found yourself standing at a crossroads, torn between the man you adore and the man who had become an unexpected part of your life.

"Steve, I didn’t know," you whispered, your voice shaky with the shock of his sudden confession. "I never thought…"

"I know," Steve said quickly, finally turning to look at you. "I know you didn’t. And I don’t blame you for that. But now that it’s out there… I just need you to know. I need you to know how I feel about you.”

The raw honesty in his voice made your heart ache, and for the first time in a long time, you felt truly at a loss for words. You had always seen Steve as your rock, your steady, unflappable friend, but now, standing in front of you, he seemed almost fragile, vulnerable in a way you had never seen before.

"I don’t want to lose you," Steve said, his voice barely above a whisper as he reached out, his hand gently cupping your cheek. The warmth of his touch sent a shiver through you, and you found yourself leaning into his palm, the closeness between you suddenly overwhelming. His thumb brushed softly against your skin, his eyes searching yours with an intensity that made it hard to breathe. 

"But I don’t want to stand in your way, either. If you have feelings for Stephen… if you want to be with him… I’ll step back. I’ll let you go.”

His words broke something inside you, and you felt tears sting your eyes, though you fought to hold them back. The way Steve was looking at you—so full of raw emotion, so open and unguarded—made your heart twist painfully in your chest. 

"I don’t know what to say— I don’t want to lose you either.” you said, your voice trembling.

Steve’s face was so close to yours now that his forehead touched yours and you could feel his breath on your skin, the warmth of it sending a surge of conflicting emotions through you. 

For a moment, you thought he might kiss you—there was a part of you that wanted him to—but he didn’t. Instead, he just held you there, his hand still cradling your cheek, his eyes filled with an emotion that you thought would look at you that way.

"You won’t lose me," Steve promised, his voice low and full of conviction. But there was a vulnerability in his words, a silent plea for you to understand just how much you meant to him. The weight of it settled heavily in your chest, making it hard to breathe, hard to think.

Your mind raced, caught between the intensity of the moment and the memories of everything that had led up to this. You remembered the times you’d watched Steve from afar, admiring his strength and kindness, wishing for something more but always telling yourself it could never be. And then there were the recent moments with Stephen—the shared laughter, the way he’d looked at you during the party, the connection that had grown between you when you hadn’t even been looking for it.

"I… I don’t know what to do, Steve," you admitted, chuckling as a way to cope. "I care about you, I really do.”

Steve’s eyes flickered with something—understanding, pain, maybe both. "It’s okay," he said softly, though you could hear the strain in his voice. "I just needed you to know. Whatever happens, I’m here for you. I always will be.”

The sincerity in his words made your chest tighten with emotion. How had things become so complicated? You had tried so hard to move on from your feelings for Steve, to protect yourself from the heartache of unrequited love. And then Stephen had come into the picture, turning your world upside down in ways you hadn’t expected. Now, the idea of hurting either of them made you feel sick to your stomach, but you knew that avoiding the truth wasn’t an option either.

You reached up and placed your hand over Steve’s, still cupping your cheek, and the warmth of his skin against yours was both comforting and confusing. 

"Steve, I… I need time to figure this out," you said, your voice shaking with the weight of your own indecision. "I’m so torn right now.”

Steve nodded slowly, his thumb brushing gently across your cheek one last time before he let his hand drop. 

“Take all the time you need,” he said, though there was a trace of sadness in his eyes, “Whatever outcome you choose, I won't change, I'll still care for you just like how I do now.”

× × × ×

Stephen paced back and forth in the Sanctum’s main hall, his thoughts tangled and uneasy. The morning’s events had left him shaken, not just because of the unexpected situation he had woken up to, but because of the emotions that had surfaced in its wake. He had tried to push them aside, focusing on the day’s tasks, but every time his mind wandered, it inevitably drifted back to you—your shocked expression, your voice as you insisted that it would be better to forget what had happened, and the lingering warmth of your presence beside him.

He needed to understand. Not just what happened, but to confirm he doesn't want to let this go easy. After last night. . . he thinks he’s now in love with you.

Stephen leaned back in his chair, his thoughts racing. There was a spell he could use—Memoratus Arcanum, a memory recall spell. It wasn’t a spell he used lightly, but this wasn’t a decision he was taking lightly either. 

The spell would allow him to relive the events of the previous night with perfect clarity, to see everything as it had happened, unclouded by the fog of alcohol. Most importantly, it would help him understand the feelings that had been awakened in him.

With a steadying breath, Stephen stood up and moved to a small table in the corner of the room. The study was filled with the familiar scent of old books and the faint, lingering aroma of incense—comforting smells that helped him focus. He gathered the items he needed for the spell: a small silver mirror, an incantation sheet and a candle to help center his thoughts.

He set the items on the table and sat down cross-legged in front of them, the silver mirror resting in front of him. Lighting the candle, he watched the flame flicker for a moment before closing his eyes, centering himself as he began to chant the incantation. The words flowed easily from his lips, a familiar rhythm that calmed his racing thoughts.

As he finished the incantation, the mirror’s surface began to shimmer, the room around him fading as the spell took hold. The mirror now showed the swirling mists of memory, and Stephen leaned in closer, his heart beating faster as the mists cleared to reveal the events of the previous night. . .

[mostly-marvel-musings]

I was wondering if you’ll ever write for Dr. Stephen Strange or Benedict Cumberbatch? I love them as much as I love Tony and Stephen needs love, too!🥰

Hello!!!

I have written a smut drabble/one shot w Dr. Strange but I can’t seem to find it for the life of me! I haven’t written much for him though, I’d like to!

I also wrote a two part series with him, the reader and Loki, in case you’re interested!

The Bachelorette 🪻

[creamecafe]

Hii!! Can you do one for Stephen where he found out he and the reader are married in several words thanks to America, and the two of you are pining for each other until he accidentally reveals he’s truly in love with you? Thank you!! <33

I Know I'd Go Back to You

Summary: Stephen has always loved you and you with him from the start. But you both ended things on short notice. Until America reveals you both are together in different worlds in the multiverse, will Stephen take the risk to let it happen in his universe?

Pairing: Stephen Strange x GN!Reader

Word Count: ???

Warnings: none just fluff, pining, a bit of angst, flashbacks, heartbreak, deja vu to palmerstrange 🥲

Author's Note: I'm literally so sorry @smokeywhalee that this literally almost took 2 years. But here it is, FINALLYY! Hope you enjoy

Navigation | Main Masterlist | Marvel Masterlist | Stephen Strange Masterlist | Series Masterlist | Join my taglist!

Read on Wattpad and AO3 here

Life was normal for neurosurgeon, Doctor Stephen Strange and for you too. You both met in college in New York, he was studying to be a doctor and you were studying to be a lawyer. 

Despite your guys' different classes times and different career choices, both of you had a unexplainable attraction to each other. You started off as friends, Stephen would walk you to your class or you would walk out during the four seasons.

But both of you knew you wanted something more. It wasn't until in March 2013 that Stephen asked you to be his partner. He was a nervous wreck, worried that he would ruin the friendship, you both have. But you said yes. Now being with you is the best thing to happen and to occupy his life happily besides being a neurosurgeon.

You would wait for him after work to drive home and spend time together. He would also love to take you on expensive and fancy dates, because he always wanted the best for you. Life was going great for the both of you. 

Until February 2, 2016 came. The day of Stephen got into a car crash. You were waiting for him in the restaurant with the reservation you guys both made 5 months in advance. 

10 minutes had passed and you started to become worried. You knew he wasn't the type of guy to stood you up or leave you hanging. It was until you got a call from the hospital Stephen works at. You picked it up

"Hello?" Your voice shaking nervousily

"Hello, is this Y/N?" 

"Yes it is"

"I'm sorry to inform you that Stephen Strange has been in a car crash and is in critical need."

Your heart stopped. You couldn't believe this was happening. Stephen gotten into a car crash. 

"Oh-oh my God. Is he ok?" Your voice got higher and shaking even more

"We're trying to take care of him right now and get him under care as immediate as possible."

"I'm on my way, please tell him that."

"Will do, sorry to tell you the news."

Grabbing your coat, you wasted no time leaving the restaurant. You explained to the waitress you have to leave to a emergency. You called out a taxi and asked to go to Metropolitan General Hospital." 

7 minutes passed with traffic in the way. You ran to the front desk and asked to see Stephen Strange, saying you were his partner. The lady in the front told you that he's in surgery and won't be conscious in another day or two. You were willing to wait those days, just to make sure he was still alive. You took a seat in the waiting room, hoping and praying Stephen would be ok. The anxiety was eating away of how bad his condition could be. Soon enough, you fell asleep until the next day.

You take a look at your phone and see it's 5am of February 3, 2016. You go to buy yourself a snack fron the vending machine as you missed your dinner from the restaurant you and Stephen were supposed to be. You waited and bought 2 more snacks to keep yourself awake. 

"Y/N L/N?" 

Your head raised to who was calling you. 

"Y/N L/N?" 

Ahead of you see a lady in a white coat and scrubs with a clipboard call your name.

"That's me." You raise your hand.

"You can see Stephen now."

Your heart beat gladly. It must be a sign he's still alive, probably the not best condition but you're glad he's still alive. 

You go to him room and see him in bed. His right eye is swollen and both of his hand are raised up supported by strings and 11 stainless steel pins to support his nerves. He was sleeping. You quietly thanked the nurse. 

You sat by him and waited till he woke up. 25 minutes have passed and he did. 

You held his shoulder gently until he was fully conscious. 

"Hey, hey. It's me Y/N. It's going to be ok." 

Stephen looks at you and looks at his hands. 

"What did they do?"

You explained everything that the doctor told you and how long he was in surgery, the same time you waited for him to make sure he was well.

He repeated the same words "What they did do?" Can't believing what his eyes are seeing. 

The next past few days you stayed by his side to make sure he was well. You were by his side in therapy, helped him shaved supporting him along the way. 

But his attitude didn't change of bitter he had become. And he definitely didn't show appreciation for you either. You went into his apartment to drop off the groceries you bought for him. He was upset due to a meeting regarding a procedure in Tokyo. He was going on he needs a loan of at least $200,000. 

You tried to tell him it's best for him to stop as this was having so much control over him, especially his condition. He explains that no matter how much therapy he receives, he's not getting any better, can't get back to the way he was before.

You explain to him that there other things that can give his life meaning. 

"Like what? Like you?" He snapped back at you.

You were shocked. He never spoken to you in a matter like this before. No matter how cocky he could be, he knew better than to talk to you in a way that he knew could hurt you.

"This is the part where you apologize."

"This is the part where you leave." 

That's when it hit you, he really changed. He wasn't the same boy who would walk you to class or always compliment your outfits. He was still Stephen, but not the Stephen you have loved for 3 years. 

You try to talk to him, but he still had this fire coming out of his voice, like daggers stabbing.

"You just care so much, don't you?" Stephen yelled.

"Goodbye Stephen." You went ran out the door and slammed it behind you. You went to your car and started driving to your place. But you couldn't hold it in anymore. You were crying, sobbing. You didn't want things to end this way, but you can't bear to see Stephen this way or the way hes treating you. 

A year pass and you're going on in your normal life. That's when Stephen makes a portal to where you are. You are scared and shocked. But also confused to what he's wearing. He apologizes everything to you and the way he treated you. You accept it but didn't feel ready to get back with him. Stephen accepts and leaves you be, taking on protecting the world as new priority. He's just at hurt as you a year ago with breaking up with you. But he knows he must move on. 

In 2018 the blip happens and you disappear, so does Stephen Strange. 5 years later you come back and you try to get your life back to normal. Stephen tried to do the same but couldn't stop thinking of you still. 

Later on, he meets a teenage girl named America Chavez that can travel through the multiverse. 

With different versions of Stephen around the multiverse, he didn't realize the possiblity of still being with you. 

"How's Y/N?" America asked. 

"They're good. Happy. They're happy." Shaking, Stephen says, now thinking about you. 

"I can imagine. They're happy with you."

"Uh, well we're not together. We used to be. We broke up 8 years ago. I disappeared due to the snap and it felt like we ended things on short notice."

"What? You both are not together in this universe?" 

He was confused about what America meant by that. "Together? In this universe?" 

"What do you mean this universe?" 

"Every Stephen I know there with Y/N. You both are together. Married. It always felt to me no matter what universe it was, you always were meant to be together. And nothing could stop that."

He had to stop and think for a moment. Every universe he's with you?

"I'm with Y/N in every universe?

"Don't you love Y/N?" 

"I do. But it was 8 years ago, almost a decade. They most likely moved on..."

"You'll never know if you don't tell them. America interrupts. "In a million ways it can go where you are together, why not risk one chance. Tell them how you feel."

He thought about it. Being with you is the only thing that can help him be at ease. Making amends with you is something he doesn't want to stop doing.

He practices of how he's going to talk to you, what he will say. Walking back and forth, he's trying to think of the right words. 

"Don't overthink it. Just talk naturally, say how you really feel."

"I don't know if I can. What if they already moved on?" 

"You'll never know unless you tell them. Come on, I know you can do this." 

Stephen takes America's word into his mind and try to come up what to say.

He spent the next few days going over of how he's going to approach you and he knew exactly what to say.

Until he thought he did until he saw you. He greteted you and you did the same. He was a stuttering mess with you

"Y/N-Y/N. I would like to tell-tell you something."

"Ok, what is it?"

This was it, he could tell you.

"I was thinking we could get coffee sometimes." He cursed himself in his head.

Why couldn't he say what he really wants to, to you?

"Uh sure, what day? Because this whole week and the next I'm kinda really busy."

"Tuesday?"

"Yeah that could work, oh wait I have a meeting"

"Friday then?"

"Friday, but could it be at 6pm because I have-"

"I love you Y/N."

You were stopped talking and were taken back.

"What?"

Oh no. This could be the perfect opportunity to tell her everything or mess up, or both.

"I tried to stop thinking about you, but I can't. And it's okay you don't feel the same way. I love you. I love you in every universe."

Stephen took a deep breath and waited for you to say something, anything. He knew he would mess it up and make it awkward quick.

That's when you kissed him. You wrapped your arms around his neck. He was taken back, but soon melted into the kiss and he wrapped his arms around you back.

"I can't, couldn't stop thinking about you either. I love you too Stephen." A tear goes down your cheek.

This made him happy, America was right all along. It looks like you guys were meant to be after all.

Taglist: @bitchy-bi-trash

Thanks for reading! Don't forget to heart, reblog, share, comment on what you think, and follow for more works! You can also find me on Wattpad and my other socials in my bio. Feedback is always much appreciated!

Have a great day/night or wherever you live around the world!

[daydreamtofiction]

Ugh, I really want to write more Strange fics. I have some requests in reserve that I’ve been working on, some I haven’t started, some that were sent in as far back as 2022!

They will all be written eventually, promise promise promise, but if anyone has any requests or prompts for something on the shorter side please do send them in. If I get some spare time I might try and bash them out in one sitting.

Stephen (pre or post sorcerer), Surgeon strange, AU, anything really. Go ahead and stick them here

[whimsicalknight]

Help a fella find this fic

Soo I've been on the search for this one Stephen Strange fanfic series I found long ago and I sadly don't remember the title and the author, I'm wondering if anyone can find it cause I'm worried it got deleted or shadow banned.

I'll try not to spoil too much but from what I remember the fic is about reader who used to be the apprentice of Stephen and accidentally got sent into our universe cause of America, the reader was able to catch up with Marvel timeline from the movies and shows.

A lot happens in this series and it's really good, I've tried to look through everything and I've caught up to a dead end so please help me. If you remember the title or the author please please tell me.

[omgstarks]

Shadow of Doubt (Stephen Strange x Reader)

Summary: A hidden revelation about Stephen's attendance at Christine's wedding casts a shadow of doubt on your relationship, provoking emotions of insecurity and uncertainty.

Warnings: SMUT over 18+ ONLY, creampie, unprotected sex, porn without plot, hint of angst

A/N: this was supposed to be a short, angsty drabble, but I got caught up in the smut oops (but not really) also just wrote quickly so if you see mistakes, what mistakes?

----

“Sweetie?” You heard Stephen call from outside the bathroom. You wrapped yourself in a black robe before stepping out to meet him. 

“Stephen.” You gave him a smile, knowing full well that he had just been at Christine’s wedding. It was just last week you noticed a card sticking out from his coat pocket. Upon further inspection, you read it as an invitation card to Christine’s wedding. 

He rarely spoke of her with you, just saying she was an old co-worker who he used to date in his surgeon days. But a part you knew it was something more. From the broken watch he still wore on his arm, to this, you knew very well Christine wasn’t just some ex.

He moved across the room and hugged you tightly. You wondered if he had spoken to her today. If he felt a sense of regret letting her go seeing her in a white dress. If he even loved you. 

“I’ve missed you, sweetie.”

“Yeah? Busy day today?” You replied, trying to remain oblivious. He only nodded, dodging the question all together.

“Just needed to see you.” He kissed your cheek and rested his forehead against yours, holding you by your waist. You grazed your fingers against the side of his face, studying his features carefully. He took your head in his grasp, his fingers weaving through your hair before he kissed you. You leaned into him, submitting to his passionate kisses, moving your lips in tandem of his. 

Stephen pulled away slowly, looking down between you and moved his hands down to the knot at your bathrobe. He slowly loosened it, opening it with ease. He pushed his hands between the silk fabric and touched your bare skin. His warm touch always made you quiver slightly, which he was able to calm with his lips. He leaned down to place a soft kiss on your shoulder before moving his hand around your waist-  squeezing firmly. 

Stephen looked up at you with his cold, blue eyes. It expressed a particular longing expression- one of which you knew he wanted to take this further. He rested his forehead against yours once again as his hand slowly moved down from your stomach. Slow and careful until he brushed his middle finger against your sensitive bud. He pushed it back and forth, teasing your slit until you coated his fingers in your slick. He watched your every reaction intently, gauging when to slow or to move faster.

You bared your neck to him as your head fell back and let out a soft moan.  He continued his work between your legs, moving his lips to latch on your neck. His fingers thrummed against your clit, as they circled around it. 

With the other arm, Stephen wrapped it around your waist and lifted you up, placing you gently down on the bed. He pushed the robe off your shoulders, moving his lips down from your collarbone to your shoulders. He made sure both sides were taken care of, then helped you to lean back onto the bed. 

With a sudden change in pace, he quickly removed his clothes and got on top of you, spreading your legs wide with his knee and settling down between your legs. You looked up at him and saw a primal hunger on his face. Before you knew it, he was pushing his cock into you, desperate to be wrapped in your heat. And you let him. He grunted with every thrust, trying to chase his high. 

You reciprocated his hunger- hooking your legs behind his, pulling him close to you, wanting to be engulfed by him. Although, a part of you still hung on those questions but in this moment, it was only you and him.

He breathed against your temple, his breath hot and wet against your skin. You took his face in your hands, kissing his deeply, you took his bottom lip between your teeth and playfully bit it. This only made Stephen more lustful, his eyes growing darker as he claimed you. 

His movements started to become erratic, almost animalistic as he chased his release. His hold on your waist would probably leave bruises in the morning. The sweat that was beading above his brow fell onto you with every thrust.

He moaned and you could feel his cock throbbing inside you. After a couple more thrusts, he stilled and you could feel his cock twitching with every spurt of his cum.

“Oh fuck-“ He grunted through his teeth before collapsing on top of you. He kissed you messily before rolling off and settling by your side. 

You remained on your back, laying in the silence apart from heavy breaths. After a couple minutes, Stephen turned to you and smiled with closed eyes and an exhausted expression.

“I love you, y/n.” He spoke before drifting off. Your mind lingered on that statement, constantly fighting whether it was really true or not.

A flicker of doubt crossed your face, a silent reflection of the turmoil within your heart. Knowing his secret attendance at Christine's wedding had shattered the trust you had in him and made you question any authenticity of his past and future affections. 

Could you ever truly trust Stephen again? Or would the ghost of Christine forever haunt your relationship, a constant reminder of a love that never truly belonged to you?

[favouriteconstellation]

sinful I

18+ readers only please lovelies!! (this is for a reason please listen<3)

little synopsis: the reader is tonys daughter (he had her young, canon doesnt exist) theres tension between you and stephen, an obvious age gap keeping you from eachother (26, 40). theyre 'trapped' in an elevator together and the tension crumbles.

pronouns: female pronouns are used

relationship: fem reader x stephen strange not established relationship

note: i do not know what possessed me to write this shit, i will not apologise. i love you <333

warnings: defined age gap, stephen being possessive, controlling smut, dd/lg kind offf, petnames

you could always tell when stephen strange was in a room you were in without even looking. he was the type of man who had one of those commanding prescenses, maybe it was his ego you thought to yourself. either way, for weeks you had continuously been trying to block him out of the forefront of your mind. but no matter how hard you tried, you just couldn't shake his presence. it was like he was a part of your subconscious, a part of you that you never wanted to acknowledge.

you knew that you had to find a way to cope with his presence or it was going to drive you crazy. you had to find a way to remove him from your thoughts. you had to find a way to make him go away. you could swear he knew how infatuated you were with him, how you’d drift off in meetings with thoughts of him racing through your mind. you wanted to wipe that god awful smirk off his face, and the way he looked at you like a starving wolf. that look terrified you, but you’d be lying if you said it didn’t make your stomach flip. fucking Christ.

he was 40 years old. the thick grey streaks that run through his tousled hair becoming prominent. he carried himself with authority, his body language conveying strength and confidence. his eyes were sharp and focused, his expression serious and determined. you shook him out of your thoughts, standing in the empty elevator, holding a binder you were supposed to speak about at an avengers meeting. something important about presenting to the government. it was an important event, not the type of meeting you’d show up to in your training gear. your eyes met his shiny leather dress shoes. shit.

“stark.” he confidently spoke in his baritone voice nodding at you, his scarred hand extending to hold the elevator open before he stepped in silently, standing tantilizingly close to you. closer than any other coworker would.

“oh. good morning, stephen.” you spoke back softly, anxiously tapping your foot. it wasn’t the meeting you were anticipating. you were met with silence as he pushed the button to go to the floor of the meeting you were both attending. the elevator slowly went up. 

“you seem nervous, stark.” he looked straight ahead, not making eye contact with you. 

“just not a public speaker, that's all.” you managed to squeak out. you could tell he was smirking, that sick bastard knew what he was doing. you couldnt. you were only 26, and here you stood head over heels for some magical doctor who’s ego towers over him. suddenly the sound of clanging pipes could be heard followed by a deafening screeching. the elevator came to a halt, but the doors stayed closed. stephen scoffed and hit the ‘open door’ button. nothing. he chuckled under his breath. 

“we can miss this meeting. oh please no.” you started pressing the button as you panicked.

“oh come on darling, it’s not as if this is the worst situation in the world, is it?” he stood facing you. darling. get fucked. 

“i don’t know what game you’re playing, strange. now could you just portal us out of here?” you checked your watch. “we’re 7 minutes late.”

“i don’t have my sling ring on me, not exactly something you bring to an all-important government meeting, now is it?” you sighed, that sarcastic attitude would be the death of you. 

“why don’t we just sit tight, mm? nobody is going to come save you, they’re all busily writing notes on something some superfical united nations member has to say.” he stared into your eyes, clearly unbothered. you nodded, what else could you do? you were stuck. slowly backing against the metal back panel of the elevator, you slowly slid down in defeat, sitting on the cold metal with your legs stretched out. he did the same. 

“wouldn’t want to dirty that suit.” you mumbled, annoyed that you were here, stuck with the last person you’d want to be in a confined space with. 

“wouldn’t want to dirty that pretty little dress. oh. that’s right, daddy will just buy you a new one, won't he?” te bit back. being tony’s daughter had its perks, but many people mistook you for a spoiled brat. 

“what, you tight on money or something, strange? need me to spot you? buy you lunch?” you scoffed. he laughed, loosening his tie and sighing from relief. you crossed your legs in response, he's almost your fathers age, why are you pressing your thighs together? jesus - you thought to yourself. 

she looked over at him, his collar was turned up on one side after he loosened his tie. you leaned over the cold metal floors and reached him. 

“oh here. let me fix this for you.” you whispered, stumbling as you ended up straddling him as you fixed his collar, his hot breath fanning your face as you were inches away from eachother. 

“hi darling..” he whispered seductively. you were burning red, your mouth slightly parted as you sat there flushed and frozen. 

“dont get all shy on me now, hm?” he laughed, his scarred fingers reaching to trace the side of your jaw. 

“stephen.. we can’t. it would be wrong. this is sinful” you whispered against his lips. 

“then why does it feel so right? i see the way you look at me. the way your breath hitches in your throat when i walk in front of you. the way you stumble over your words when you speak to me. tell me this is wrong one more time, and I’ll leave. we'll stop.” he stated, looking at your lips and then gazing back into your eyes. you kept your eyes on him and your heart raced. you knew that what you were doing was wrong, but you couldn't help it.

you wanted to stay. he was hypnotizing, it was cruel. you launched closer into his embrace, kissing him passionately as if he was the last man you’d ever kiss. he groaned softly into your mouth in shock but quickly moved one hand up the side of your hips and the other was holding the side of your cheek. you felt a warmth spread through your body as his lips moved against yours, and you felt yourself getting lost in the moment. you pulled away reluctantly, your heart still pounding as your eyes met his. 

he lingered there for a moment, and then his lips curved into a knowing smile as he slowly pulled away. he was aware of your attraction and you were both enjoying it. he rested both of his hands on your lower back, holding your hips as you were sitting in the same position. he slowly moved you forward, rocking you, the friction was you were grinding on him creating warmth and longing to be touched. you were inexperienced, shy. no man had ever made you feel like this and you couldnt help but softly moan into his ear and he moved you. he did all the work, picking up the pace and praising you. 

“that feels good, huh baby? oh fuck. keep making those pretty noises for me. anyone ever made you feel like this?” he groaned, watching you sinfully as you rocked your lips back and forth against his lap. you closed you eyes in embarrassment. the answer was no. you shook your head gently, rocking against him, mewling.

"atta girl" he groaned in your ear.

“oh stephen..shit.” you moaned, louder than before. he grabbed your waist, stopping you. 

“keep moving, and i won't be able to stop. at least let me be a gentlemen” he scooped you up and slid his sling ring out of his coat pocket. 

“you dirty liar!” you scoffed in his arms as he opened a portal.

“oh come on sweetheart, you know i always have it on me.” he chuckled, walking through the portal. you were in his bedroom. the dark oak panelled walls of the sanctum were glossy and rich. the 4 post bed was the star of the room, overshadowing everything else. he laid you down on the bed. part of you expected him to be sweet and gentle with you, caring almost. tt was almost as if he could read your mind. 

“i’m bad for you baby. i want to be selfish with you, i’ve wanted this for so long.” he said as he threw his suit jacket to the floor and the clinging of his unbuckling belt made you whine.

"be a good girl for me, yeah baby?" you were about to lie on your stomach so he could unzip your dress, but without hesitation he knelt straddling you. He placed his scarred hands on the neckline of your dress and ripped it down the middle as if it was paper.

[sobeautifullyobsessed]

Of Magic, Miracles, and Moonlight

a Stephen Strange x OFC Romance

genre: pre-Infinity War, slow burn romance, older man/younger woman, teacher/student to friends to lovers characters: Stephen Strange, Wong, Teyla of Hadeeth (OFC), Moraine of Hadeeth (OC), additional OCs as Kamar-Taj staff rating: general audience to begin with, later chapters will contain 18+ material

Ch.One | Ch.Two | Ch.Three | Ch.Four | Ch.Five | Ch.Six | Ch.Seven

Chapter Eight

The Sanctum was quiet, and Stephen hadn’t thought to set his alarm—so he wasn’t surprised that he’d slept later than he had in…well, probably since medical school.  No, that’s not quite right, he reminded himself; post-accident, they’d dosed him up for both pain and sleeplessness, but he had never awoken in the hospital feeling completely refreshed, as he had this morning.  He’d battled depression, too, in those post-operative months, alternating between mourning his loss of purpose and angrily lashing out at the world for failing him where he just knew he would have succeeded in managing a cure enough so he could work again.  He’d had plenty of days when he had slept twelve hours plus, feeling like there was no point in leaving his penthouse (growing emptier of furnishings week by week), let alone his bed.  Discovering the world of the mystic arts had rejuvenated him, and he applied himself religiously to learning everything he could, soaking up knowledge and skills like the thirstiest of sponges—just as he had in his university days.  Since the Ancient One’s passing, he seldom slept more than five or six hours a night; so much to do, so much to still master, a Sanctum to oversee—but it was a life that he loved.  Even more fiercely than his life in medicine.

Moreover, he knew exactly why he’d slept so soundly.  He had needed to, certainly—and his young Hadeethan Healer had given him an unexpected peace with her understanding and unconditional forgiveness, effortlessly reading his truest need.  Astounding, especially considering the burden of grief she was carrying.  The grief he was sole witness to.  He needed to find her at once.

Stephen dressed quickly, anxious to see how Teyla was faring.  He stopped by her room; the door was open, so that he could see that she had made her bed, but she was nowhere in sight.  He hurried down two floors to the common room, just off the kitchen, where most of Sanctum occupants took their meals.  Two of the Sanctum retainers were clearing away the breakfast things, but they paused to greet him; one asked if he would care for something to eat, and he politely declined.

“We have a guest staying with us for a few days,” he told them, eager to locate her, “A young woman from off-world—she’s been training at Kamar-Taj…”

One of the women was nodding in recognition, “Yes, Master Strange.  Teyla, right?”

“Yes…you’ve seen her?” he asked, a sense of relief settling over him.

“She was here earlier.  She had some tea and a little to eat.  That was about…hmmm,” the retainer looked to her partner for confirmation, “About an hour ago.”

“Do you happen to know where she went?”  Though Teyla was comfortable enough on the city streets the day before, Stephen would’ve preferred she wait for him before returning to her father’s loft.

The women consulted silently, before the second answered him, “She told us to tell you not to worry, Master Strange—and that she would not leave the Sanctum without your permission.”

“Oh.”  Surprised, but secretly pleased that Teyla had anticipated his concerns, Stephen thanked them, and then turned to leave.  Since she had to be somewhere in the building, a quick locator charm would make her easy to find.

He discovered her in the rooftop greenhouse, speaking with an Adept who was tending to the plants, herbs and greenery that were vital to spell work.  The hothouse also contained a modest assortment of fruits and vegetables—grown year-round to help meet the dietary needs of the Sanctum residents—as well as a bee hive, situated at the far end near a section of flower beds.  Teyla seemed very absorbed in the conversation, with the Adept explaining in detail the uses of the various florae.

Stephen approached them quietly, not wishing to interrupt until a convenient moment arose.  The Adept—a young man named Dominic--noticed his arrival, and broke off his lesson in order to tender a respectful greeting to the Sanctum Master.  Teyla immediately looked to Stephen.  The moment was sunny, warm, bright—and though he knew that she still mourned, there was a light in her eyes which spoke her gladness that he was near.

“Teyla,” he said simply, a world of gratitude and affection compressed into two syllables.  He felt his smile grow—nearly certain that he had to look like an utter goof—and she answered with a tilt of her head, and an endearing, bashful sort of smile.  Stephen felt like he had stopped time, even though the Eye of Agamotto rested safely back in Kamar-Taj; his heightened awareness brought him the realization that something vital had changed between them.  Though he was still Teyla’s teacher and mentor, he couldn’t help but think of her less as a student, and more as an equal…as a friend…as a soul who’d seen his past pain and ongoing insecurities and somehow…somehow understood.  Without a need for words, without a call for explanations.

Amid those musings, he watched her eyes widen, and time began again–with Stephen well aware that she had read him once more.  You’ve got to stop doing that, Teyla; some secrets need to be revealed slowly.  He sent the thought her way, testing if she was actually reading his mind, or just his emotions.  Her expression did not change, but she beckoned him closer, her voice echoing slightly in the confines of the greenhouse.  "Are you well this morning, Doctor?”  Her greeting was solicitous, her manner deferential.

"I am, Teyla.  Very well, indeed,” he grinned, “I had the best sleep of any I’ve had in many years.”  But you knew that already, didn’t you, my dear?  You gave that gift to me.

"I hope you do not mind, Doctor Strange, but I was impatient to explore your domain," she informed him, "And Dominic has been kind enough to show me about the garden.  I had not expected to find such a lovely refuge atop a city building."

"Hmm...I never really thought of it that way, but I suppose that's true."  He came to stand beside her, dismissing the Adept with a small nod.  Dominic moved off, continuing his inspection and care of the next section of plants.

Stephen leaned close, lowering his voice for privacy sake, "How are you today, Teyla?  Was your sleep restful at all?  And is there anything I can do for you?"

"I am..." Teyla sighed softly, "I am...acclimating...to my new reality--one without the love and wisdom of my father to guide me."  Her voice broke, but she mastered her tears before they could claim the day, "But I carry him with me now, as never before--and I believe his spirit survives, merely in another form, so that someday I will look upon his face again."

"That's a lovely thought, Teyla," Stephen said, astonished at her resiliency, "It took me decades to discover that truth."  She looked to him, breathing in his sincerity as a comfort and as a fortification, "That we are so much more than random bits of material in an indifferent universe.  That thought has given me strength in even the most dire circumstances."

She bowed her head, whispering so that he barely heard her, "Even so, it shall for me."

He placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder, "You're not alone in this, honey.  Whatever you need, you only have to ask.  Even if it's just a shoulder to cry on."

Teyla raised her chin, her eyes focused on his.  As soft as they were, Stephen also saw her resolve to move forward despite her sorrow.  "thank you, Doctor Strange.  You have been a true friend to me--and I will remain forever grateful."

He shrugged modestly, "You are very welcome, Teyla of Hadeeth.  Though I think I owe you a larger show of gratitude..."

Her brow creased slightly, annd her eyes flitted from his to look past him, drawing his attention away.  "Something is wrong," she murmured, tilting her head toward Dominic.

The Adept stood several feet away, hands on hips, closely scrutinizing a row of berry bushes.  He shook his head, snorting in frustration, then headed towards the far corner of the hothouse.  A row of weathered gardening tolls leaned against the glass, beside an old wheelbarrow.  Dominic retrieved a spade, and then returned to the plant he had been examining.  Curious, Stephen went to join him, with Teyla following right behind him.

Dominic motioned to the bush, and Stephen saw that the fruit was badly discolored.  "That's some kind of fungus," he informed the Sanctum Master, "I’ll have to uproot it, or the rot will spread to the surrounding plants.”

“Is that really necessary?”

“I’m afraid so, Master Strange.  This one won’t survive much longer,” the younger man pronounced, “Just look at the currants—they’re inedible.  And they’d be useless as part of any potions or simples.”

“Well…if that’s our only option,” Stephen conceded, “No use wasting time.”  He motioned for the young man to continue.

The Adept nodded, and turned to complete the chore.  Teyla stepped forward and laid her hand upon the spade handle.  “Wait but a moment please, Dominic.  I believe I can work a cure upon this bush; I have seen similar sickness in fruit-bearing plants on my home world, and I may have a remedy.”  She looked to Stephen, eager yet respectful, “If you would allow it, Doctor Strange.  There is a Hadeethan spell that may be of some use here.  I have worked it at least a dozen times.”

“You think it might work on an Earth plant?”

“We cannot know until I try--but I should act quickly, or the damage will be irreversible,” she urged him confidently.

Curious to see a practical application of Hadeethan magic--and remembering the surprising charm of the floating flower petals which Teyla had created for the youngsters of Kamar-Taj--Stephen stepped back, allowing her the space to work.  She took several deep breaths, and then kneeled before the bush, exploring the leaves and berries with the lightest of touches.  Gingerly, she cupped a cluster of the pink currants in hand, and bent her face close, breathing them in as though seeking their scent.  She exhaled softly over them a few times, and Stephen was amazed to see their mottled pink and grey skin turn lavender for several seconds, before reverting to their sickly color.  "Yes," she said quietly, addressing the plant itself, "I see the ill and I believe that I can remedy your distress."

 Stephen glanced at Dominic, who appeared equally impressed with the plant’s response.  “It’s probably worth a shot, Master Strange.  Otherwise it’ll be a total loss.”

“Alright then,” Strange decided.  “Teyla, please—do what you can.”

She nodded, grateful for his trust, and then turned her attention to the task before her.  Teyla placed her hands palm to palm, as though in prayer, while resting her fingertips against her lips.  She began to hum a simple run of notes, repeating it several times before stretching her hands over the leaves and berries, and gliding them in a circular pattern which grew wider with each pass.  The circle became a figure eight, her hands confidently weaving to and fro as the notes she hummed rose in pitch and volume. A pale blue light began to emanate from the narrow space between her hands and the currant berries.  Stephen noted that it was less vivid than the blue that had accompanied the fall of flower petals which she had conjured for the young Novices, but coupled with her music, he realized it was a form of magic far different than that practiced by the sorcerers of Earth—a magic unfamiliar to him, even with his many forays across the multiverse.

Beads of perspiration had broken out upon Teyla’s brow, yet her concentration remained unwavering.  After several minutes of her sustained ministrations, her soothing melody rose in a crescendo, and then declined into silence, and the blue light pulsed several times before appearing to recede into the plant itself.  Teyla breathed a heavy sigh as her hands fell to her sides, and her shoulders slumped enough that Stephen thought for a moment that she might collapse.  “Teyla—are you alright.”

Her head bowed, she raised a hand, stopping him as he approached her.  “A moment please, Doctor,” she responded, sounding as weak as she looked, “I need just a little more time to recover.”

Stephen drew closer, thinking to help her to her feet, and Teyla turned to him with tired eyes and an ashy pallor.  She took his offered hand lightly—aware of the near constant pain that lived there—while advising him, “Sir, I will be myself again in short order.  But look, and you will see that the blight has been eradicated.”

And indeed it was, for the currant berries already looked more wholesome, their dull, murky pink transformed to the appealing translucence of pink champagne, the leaves and stems grown to a healthier green—and remarkably, fresh tendrils were unfurling themselves along several branches.

“Incredible,” he murmured, gently helping Teyla to stand, encouraging her to lean against him as she began to recuperate.  “It’s more than cured,” he observed, “The whole plant looks…rejuvenated.  What is this magic, Teyla—and will you teach it to me?”

Despite her weakness, she laughed softly, “Are you so eager, Stephen Strange, to be a student once again?”

“Learning is a lifetime adventure, Teyla—that’s a truth I’ve been lucky enough to discover firsthand.  I have never turned away the opportunity to learn something new.  Never in medicine, and never in the mystic arts.  But this,” he declared, incredulously, “This is a combination of the two.”  He shook his head, imagining the things he might have accomplished as a doctor if he’d had such magic at his disposal.  “When can we begin?”

“You flatter me, Stephen Strange, implying that I am fit to teach a Master any kind of magic.”  Her tone was gentle indulgence, and it occurred to him that that she might be teasing him just a bit.  “But if that is your will, I will try the best I can, providing you are patient.  Ever patient,” she reiterated, “For the forests of Nalor did not spring to life in a mere cycle of the sister-moons.”

“And Rome wasn’t built in a day,” he chuckled, drawing a pretty smile from her.  The color was returning to her cheeks, and she drew away from him, no longer needing to lean against him to remain upright.  Stephen would’ve let her linger there beyond her immediate need to, but Teyla had already turned away, moving to rejoin Dominic in his rounds.

Curious to confirm the full success of Teyla’s cure, he plucked a few of the currants from the bush, and popped one into his mouth.  It burst with bright, sweet flavor the moment he broke the skin, so that he quickly consumed the others--thinking they were among the sweetest berries he had tasted in his life.

Knowing that she would be well out of her depth dealing with the financial and legal matters left behind in her father’s wake, Teyla had asked Stephen to contact her father’s lawyers and the Columbia Art Department Chairman on her behalf, so that he had spent a couple hours consulting with them by phone.  She also informed him that she felt strong enough to return to the loft unaccompanied; observing her carefully, he judged that she was ready enough to face whatever tasks lay ahead for her there—though he insisted she travel there via portal.  Stephen felt doubly responsible for her now, and ensuring that she was only an easily conjured portal away, was the best compromise at hand.

After addressing a few vital Sanctum concerns, Stephen visited the kitchen to pack enough hot lunch for two (with the cook shooing him out of the way as she bustled about her mealtime preparations), and then used a portal to join Teyla at her father’s place.  She greeted him warmly, though he could tell she had been crying once again—as he had known she would need to, choosing to do so in the privacy of her home away from home.  They dined at the kitchen table, with Stephen telling her that she must eat the full plate of chicken and pasta with pesto, which he doled out for her, reminding her that she had barely eaten in the time since they had arrived in New York.  Obediently, she made her way through the meal, while he filled her in on the details of the financial and living arrangements her father had provided for her.

That done, he turned the topic back to her little morning miracle in the Sanctum’s greenhouse—giving her a welcome distraction from the grief that lay beneath the surface waiting for a quiet moment to break fresh upon her heart.

“It is not a magic exclusive to Hadeeth,” she started, “Though rarely found—according to my teachers--it is practiced by at least a few dozen cultures across the multiverse.  Its primary purpose is for healing, although you were witness to that minor charm I demonstrated for the young ones of Kamar-Taj.”

“That was a sweet little bit of magic, Teyla,” he reminded her.

She lowered her lashes demurely, genuinely flattered.  “It is quite elementary, Doctor…”

“Stephen, please, Teyla,” he urged her, “After last night—how you helped me—we don’t need to be so formal now, do we?”

She raised her eyes to meet his, surprised but clearly pleased, “As you wish…Stephen.”  Again, he found the familiarity of her use of his given name…quite pleasant…and the little smile that graced the corners of her mouth, gratifying.  She nodded graciously, and then continued, “Such spell-making relies upon the practitioner to engage in what we call empathetic magic.  To not only discern, but to feel the subject’s condition and needs, and to bond with them enough to experience it themselves--to some degree at least.”

Of course, Stephen realized, that’s what makes it a perfect magic for you.  “But there must be a cost of sorts to that,” he surmised.

“Indeed,” she admitted, “But oh, Stephen, it is a beautiful price to pay, to be of such service to those in need.”  For a heartbeat, Teyla nearly glowed with the joy of it. 

“So break it down for me, Teyla.  Tell me how to make a start.”  Stephen patted her hand, then left his atop hers, enjoying the soothing warmth which was ever present when his scarred flesh came in contact with her skin.  “Teach me. Please.”

She studied his face carefully, and nodded solemnly.  “I will do my best, Stephen,” she promised him, “For I see your desire to learn is honest and true.”

“Now—as you surely know,” she began, “All life��from the lowliest insect to the most accomplished and powerful Master of the mystic arts…”

He grinned at that, appreciating the humor of her not so subtle reference.

“…all life possesses a unique energy.  By attuning one’s own energy with that of the lifeform in need of healing, one can establish a harmonic resonance—a bond that enables a Healer to read exactly what injury or illness that lifeform suffers.”

“Harmonic resonance,” he repeated, making the connection, “The notes you hum?”

“Yes, in a large part, though there are other factors that bear upon the resonance as well.”

“And once you’ve established that bond, how are you able to heal the damage?” he challenged her, “How do you set things right?”

Patiently, she expounded, “Well, that is…hmmm…that is somewhat trickier to explain.  Let us call it a temporary exchange of energy.  And by this means, the Healer takes unto themselves a fraction of the damage…a shadow of the symptoms…an echo of the pain, where necessary.”

“That’s why you were weakened after you healed the currant bush?”

Teyla nodded, “Though as you witnessed, I did recover swiftly.”

“The side effects on the Healer—they’re only temporary?”  Stephen considered how revolutionary introducing such magic into regular training at Kamar-Taj might be, where those with the aptitude could make a difference in the suffering of hundreds of lives in the same span of time in which medical professionals might only help dozens.

Teyla hesitated, cautious in reply, “Most often, yes; they are brief and rarely debilitating.”

“Which means there is a degree of risk?”  He had wondered about the downside of the promise of miracle cures—knowing well enough that nothing in the mystic arts came without some cost.

“The relief we offer to those in need far outweighs that risk,” she insisted, a little defensively, “At least for me and my fellow practitioners.”

“Risk nevertheless,” he asserted, easily reading her—for once—and what she left unspoken.  “In extreme cases, I’m betting you’d be putting your health and life on the line.”

Teyla nodded, “It is true.  But the work that you do, Stephen…the work that you and your fellow sorcerers do…is already far from risk free.”  She gave him that small, knowing smile—the one that told him she knew much more about him than she had ever dared to say aloud—and asked frankly, “Did you not lay down your life a thousand times over to protect and preserve this world, and every living soul upon it, from a most ancient, implacable malevolence?”

Stunned to have her mention it, Stephen’s mouth went dry.  “How…how do you know this?”  Was it something she had read in him—or something she’d been told about?

Her soft, brown eyes held infinite patience—and unabashed admiration.  With a wisdom beyond her seeming years, she told him, “You may not speak of your ordeal at the hands of Dormammu, but the story is already legend in Kamar-Taj, and on worlds far flung from here.  Yet you remain fully humble, even perplexed at times by the deference paid to by your peers…”

His mouth fell open, but he was speechless--transfixed by her gentle regard, and unable to muster his usual sort of blithe reply.  

“…and even the lowliest student here holds you in high esteem for that great and painful sacrifice,” she concluded.  “Truly, Stephen, would you now claim that the cost you paid was not worth what you accomplished?”

Stephen closed his eyes; he could not deny those facts, though he did his best to avoid the memories of that time, and all the pain that it entailed.  The truth was he had made that choice with no compunction, never factoring in the price that he would have to pay.  And given that choice again today, he would do the same in a heartbeat.

Teyla brushed her fingertips across his knuckles, knowing his answer without him speaking a word.  “So you do understand, Stephen—why there is no question of choice.  Your example is an inspiration to all those who study at Kamar-Taj.  To those who have learned of your deed across the many dimensions.”  She leaned nearer to him, her breath like a soft caress on his cheek, and his heart sped a little faster as he wondered if a third kiss was in the offing.  Realizing that if it were, he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from returning the favor. 

Instead, she lowered her gaze, so that his heart lurched with disappointment—and she added shyly, “As you inspire me.”

He was silent a moment, a mix of emotions swirling through his thoughts--not the least of which was berating himself for wanting to kiss a very vulnerable young woman.  Not the time or place; he told himself--and certainly the most inappropriate thought I could have, given her condition.  Stephen shook his head, declaring adamantly, "I'm no hero, Teyla--please believe me.  I am, in fact, the farthest thing in all the worlds from that."

She sat back, her eyes narrowed in such keen study of him that he felt his heart was laid bare.  "As you say, Stephen.  Though I perceive a destiny for you, in which your courage, brilliance, and selflessness will become the stuff of legends."

"Well in the meantime," he scoffed, feeling the heated blush of embarassment (and shame at his fleeting thought of kisses) color his neck and cheeks, "I'm just a man reaching through a fog of uncertainty, to try my best to do the right thing."

"Of course," she smiled, her faith in him unfaltering, "One day at a time, one deed at a time.  Your destiny will find you whether you believe in it or not."

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buy me a coffee?☕

[imeternallylove]

Like what? - S.Strange

Pairing: Stephen Strange x reader

Genre: just smut 🤤🤟🏻

Warning: none

Word: approx 900

main mastetlist | request | prompts

The door slammed shut behind him as your boyfriend stormed in, growling, “I’m mad.”

Cutting your eyes at him, you snapped, “Don’t break my freaking door.”

Stephen was at your side in a heartbeat, leering over you with a very frustrated and equally hungry look on his face. “I like when you yell at me,” he flirted, cocking an eyebrow.

Scoffing, you rose to meet him, grabbing the collar of his shirt in your hands. “You know, when you’re needy, it’s really obvious.”

“I tried,” your boyfriend whined, winking dramatically at you. “Now, can you help me with this really big problem in my pants?”

Pouting your lips, you teased, “oh, big problem, you say?”

He nodded, puffing up his cheeks to look cute and pathetic. Gosh, did it work.

“You seem tense and stressed,” you crooned, gripping his biceps and massaging them before working your way to his chest.

Swallowing loudly, Stephen grabbed your hips and kneaded at your waist.

“I’ll make you a deal,” you said softly, bringing your lips to the side of his neck and pressing a loud, open-mouthed kiss.

“Mm, what’s that?” he hummed, tightening his hold on you.

You stared into his eyes and told him, “I’m going to bend over the back of this couch and let you fuck all that stress out, on the one condition, I better finish.”

“Fuck yes, you will,” he growled.

Smirking up at him, you pecked a quick kiss on his lips and followed your promise, spinning on your heels and grabbing the top of the kitchen counter. With your plump butt offered to him in shorts, he drew a blank, standing there with his jaw slacked before he came back to his senses.

The belt jingled and his jeans hit the floor around his ankles. A hand slid between your thighs, fingers working their way around the material of your shorts and panties before pushing between your lower lips. You braced your forearms on the cold surface of the counter and bit your lip, inhaling sharply as a digit pumped inside you.

“You’re wet enough,” Stephen rasped a moment later, yanking your panties and shorts down your legs, without bothering to free them from your ankles. A second later, the head of his member was at your entrance.

“Mmph,” you exhaled as he thrust into you, bruising your hips with his restraint. He curved gently at first, steadily picking up speed until he couldn’t hold back anymore.

“Damn it,” Stephen groaned, squeezing your waist in a death grip as he pounded into you, letting out all his stress and anger and borderline exhausting himself.

Your legs buckled at this, struggling with the intensity of his thrusts into your core, and you wavered on tiptoes, trying to use more of the counter where it has dinner over there for balance.

In a heartbeat, Stephen wrapped his arms around your waist, driving you back into his chest. His hand was at your jaw, turning your head so he could lick at your lips before sliding his tongue between them. Fingers moved to your clit, rolling and pinching at the rhythm of his hips.

"Steph..." You whimpered, your eyes rolling, and your back instinctively slumped down into the frigid surface, both of your legs on his firmly gripped arms. “S-so good, babeㅡ“ all you do while he works hard on his sex-making job is only whine beneath him, every move of his hips thrusting in and out eagerly more than you could bear, it's smack your face and showing you how wet you are.

“Shh…” he grunted, bumping your core more speedy and pulled out when he sensed you reach your cloud nine before him just as usual, Stephen grins that you finally splash out to your orgasm juice all at once. He then holding you against him possessively while chasing the high for you both. And when you put out your tongue in lots of pleasure, his white sticky cum splashes all over your face.

“Ahㅡ you made me came so fast, Y/N.”

”Hmm, and your taste so good.”

You laughed as you licked your lips and bite your fingernails, you spotted him slip his cock and release even more sperm on your stomach. His stiff cock, which still stands upright and points at your face, is quite endearing.

Stephen isn't done with you yet, and you know it, which is why he has got his hand on your hips again. When his tip slides, circling on your wet fold, till he pushes it into you and buries his palms on the back of your head, you begin to quaver moan once more.

He starts to fuck you again, this time slowly as you always pleasing.

“I really want to stay like this forever,” 

“Like what? Like this?” With chuckling, you brushing his sweaty hair on his brow upward. “Then how we gonna walk while your dick inside me ‘like this.’” 

He smirked, shrugging. "Maybe like this." Then he quickly lifts you up off the counter, his muscular arm now pressing on your spine to support the weight of you.  It makes you scream with thrill, tie your legs around his quickly, your palm confusedly gripping his shoulder and then wrapped around his neck, his hard cock too deep.

“Oh一” you cried out, shuddered and grasping for breath, “fuck, oh my, fuckㅡ Stephen!”

“I got you, baby girl.”

oi oi

[vickiee-mcmuffin]

Caught

Summary: You are 20 years younger than Stephen, and you can't help thinking about him. One day, Stephen catches you during an intimate moment.

Word count: 2.7k

Pairing: Stephen Strange x Female Reader

Trope: Explicit Smut, Mentions Of Sex Toys, Age Gap, Daddy Kink, Fingering (18+ Warning, DNI)

A/N: Guess who lol. The reason I'm back on another account? Well, it's a long story... To cut it short, I was just not having a very good day yesterday. But I'm back... For now.

Sorry if this fic isn't the best. It hasn't been proofread, and I did write it pretty quickly :/

You had only known Stephen for a couple of months, but as soon as you set eyes on him, you knew you were attracted to him. There was just something about him that drew you to him. He was older. Twenty years older to be exact. But he was handsome, and you always found older guys more attractive in a way. You couldn’t stop thinking about him, in ways that would be deemed inappropriate.  

You were good friends though, so on most days you would find yourself looking after the Sanctum while he was away on certain missions because he certainly trusted you. When alone in the Sanctum, you would often find yourself using your vibrator, rubbing it against your clit as you moaned out his name. You knew you shouldn’t have done it, but you couldn’t help but imagine how his cock would feel thrusting in and out of you as he groaned into your ear, telling you how good you felt wrapped around him. 

You tried to relieve the ache you had for Stephen to take you, and using the toy helped, but it never fully satisfied you. You were certain you and Stephen would never make love. You were younger than him, so you were probably not on his radar. 

It was a new day and Stephen had told you the night before that he had plans today to help Wong with something at Kamar Taj, so he would be gone most of the day. As usual, you agreed to look after the Sanctum while he was away. After you had bid him farewell, you waited a little while to make sure he didn’t come back for anything. When you were certain the coast was clear, you made your way upstairs, and to your designated bedroom in the Sanctum. Once you were inside, you pushed your door, leaving it open just a little. 

You made your way over to your bedside cabinet and pulled open the drawer, blushing a little when you caught sight of your vibrator. Grabbing the toy, you hoped to relieve the ache you had for Stephen to take you. You got onto your bed, your back resting against the mattress before you got settled against your pillows. Then you moved to pull down your trousers, your panties following shortly after. 

Turning on the toy, the familiar buzzing sound filled your ears before you moved the toy to your pussy, gently pressing it against your clit. You let out a gasp as the toy moved against your clit, the vibrations sending a shiver up and down your spine.

You then added a little more pressure against your clit, your toes curling as you felt the pleasure increase. Squeezing your eyes shut, you arched your back slightly off your bed, the heat between your thighs growing as you let out a little whine.

As you continued your assault against your clit, you couldn’t help but think of Stephen. You couldn't help but think about how he’d feel deep inside of you, his thick cock stretching you out as you cried out his name, begging him to fuck you faster. Your filthy thoughts forced a moan from you, the feeling of your orgasm growing as you continued on with your thoughts. You imagined Stephen whispering into your ear, calling you a good girl as you came undone around his cock. The thought alone made you cry out Stephen’s name as you neared your orgasm. 

But you were suddenly disrupted from your thoughts when you heard the sound of your bedroom door opening slightly. You panicked and dropped your toy before you spotted someone backing away from outside your door. 

“Stephen?” you called out, not sure if it was him or not. Truthfully, it could have been anyone, but he was the first person you suspected it to be seeing as he was the only other person staying at the Sanctum. 

There was no answer, and you knew for certain that you saw someone. So, you got out of bed half-naked and opened your door. You quickly spotted Stephen trying to walk away unnoticed, but you wanted to stop him.

“Stephen, wait,” you called out to him.

He stopped in his tracks, and you took slow steps towards him. Grabbing his shoulder, you turned him so he was facing you, and as soon as you looked at him, you saw his red cheeks and a rather large bulge in his pants. Had he been watching you? 

“Were you watching me?” you asked him. 

Stephen didn’t say anything, instead, he just gave you a little nod. 

“How long were you standing there for?” you wondered, but you weren’t sure if you wanted to know the answer. 

“Long enough to know that you were thinking about me,” he told you, his eyes stuck on you. 

“I’m sorry,” you said quietly. “I just didn’t expect you back this soon, you know.”

“Well, it turns out Wong didn’t need me for as long as I thought he would. So I came back to tell you, and that’s when I saw you…” 

You looked down at the floor worried Stephen was disgusted at you. The long silence that followed your earlier conversation made you believe he was until Stephen spoke up. 

“Do you think about me all the time when you’re using that?” 

You looked back up at him and nodded. “Yes. All the time.” 

Stephen then moved towards you slowly, stopping when his chest was almost touching yours. He leaned down, his warm breath on your neck making you shudder before he whispered in your ear. “I think about you too, a lot. I imagine you screaming my name as I fuck you. I think about it all the time when I’m touching myself.” 

His words sent a shiver straight down to your pussy, your need for him increasing. That’s when you moved, quickly getting up on your tiptoes before your lips collided with his. He kissed you back with hunger, his big arms wrapping around you, pulling you closer to him. 

You continued to kiss just outside your bedroom door, moaning into his mouth a little when you felt his hands on your ass, squeezing your bare cheeks tightly. Moving your own hands, you gently pushed one into his pants, your fingers wrapping around his hard cock, moaning at how big he felt. Just like in your fantasies. 

Stephen groaned against your lips when you moved your hand up and down his length, your thumb swiping over his swollen, leaking tip. 

“Need this inside me, please,” you whispered against Stephen’s lips as you continued to stroke him. 

That’s when Stephen moved. He gripped you tightly, lifting you up as your legs wrapped around his waist. Your arms wrapped around his shoulders before your lips joined together for another wild kiss. 

Stephen began to walk away from your bedroom, and you could only imagine he was taking you to his own room. When you made it, Stephen kicked the door open and made his way over to his bed. He settled you down on his bed gently before he backed away and you were left to stare in awe as he started to remove his clothes. 

You bit your lip in anticipation as he began to pull down his briefs, and you whined when you got sight of his cock. It was long and thick, and perfect. You couldn’t wait for him to fill you up. 

Stephen got back on the bed, crawling over you until his face was level with yours. He leaned down and kissed you hard and fast, his tongue slipping into your mouth for a moment before he pulled away. He grabbed your shirt and pulled it over your head, tossing it somewhere in the room. He then leaned back down, this time to kiss your breasts, his tongue swirling over your swollen nipples. 

You whined, a hand raking through his hair as he continued his attention on your breasts. But then you felt a hand on your pussy, two of his scarred fingers running across your labia as Stephen moved his head to look at you, his blue eyes staring at you intensely before he sent you a small smile. Your hand reached out to grab at his bicep as he pushed his fingers into you, a choked cry escaping your lips. 

Stephen leaned down and kissed you as he began pumping his fingers in and out of you, an obscene squelching sound filling the room. His thumb was soon on your clit, rubbing it in circles as he continued to pump his fingers into you. 

You cried out when his fingers hit a sweet spot deep inside of you, Stephen’s lips swallowing all your moans as he kept pumping his fingers into your wet heat. 

“Please,” you whined. “I need your cock inside of me so bad.” 

Stephen stopped, his fingers leaving your pussy as he let out a low chuckle. “My fingers not good enough for you, my sweet girl?”

You shook your head. “Your fingers felt so good, but I just need your cock inside of me. Need it so bad.” 

“Okay, sweetheart. Whatever you want, whatever you need.” 

Stephen moved, spreading your legs apart before positioning himself comfortably between them. Once he was settled, he wrapped a hand around his length, pumping himself a few times before placing the tip against your entrance. 

But he didn’t move, so in a desperate attempt to have him inside, you lifted your hips hoping he would breach your entrance, but Stephen seemed to notice your little plan. He laughed and grabbed your hips tightly, pushing you back down onto the bed. He caged you in with his large frame and you looked up at him with big eyes, sending him a pout. 

“So desperate for me,” he said as he smiled down at you. 

“Can’t help it. Need you to fuck me, please,” you whined desperately at him. 

He leaned down and kissed you. “Only if you ask nicely.” 

“Please, Stephen.” 

He kissed you once more. “You can do better than that, sweetheart.” 

You whined in frustration. “Please fuck me, sir. Please fuck me with your big cock— Oh, fuck!” you suddenly screamed out when he slid into you. 

Stephen groaned against your lips as he bottomed out inside of you. “Fuck, sweetheart. Holy fuck, you’re so tight, warm, and wet.” 

You just whined in response as you adjusted to his size, your pussy squeezing around him tightly. 

“Gimme a sec, sweetheart,” Stephen said with a groan as he felt you squeezing him. 

You took his face in your hands and kissed him. Stephen kissed you back before he started to move, rocking his hips against you slowly. You whined against his lips as he moved in and out of you, happy to finally have what you had been fantasizing about for so long. 

He kept moving in and out of you at a slow pace and it felt good, but you needed more. You needed it hard and fast. “Please fuck me faster. Harder.” 

Stephen complied. He pulled almost all the way out of you before slamming back into you with a hard thrust that pushed you up the bed. He then grabbed your hips, his fingers digging into your flesh before he began to just pound into you. 

You cried out, your hands desperately reaching out to grab the covers below you. “Fuck yes. Just like that.” 

“This what you wanted, sweetheart? Is this what you always dreamed about?” Stephen asked as he continued to fuck you fast and rough. 

“Yes,” you whined before you felt Stephen’s lips on you. You kissed him back before you pulled away. “Please don’t stop. Your cock feels so good.” 

As soon as you said that, Stephen suddenly gripped your hips even harder, and you were certain he’d leave bruises. He began to fuck you so fast that you began to slide up the bed.

“Fuck, sweetheart, fucking take it. Look at you taking all my cock like the good girl you are,” Stephen praised as he continued with his punishing pace. 

Your breasts began to bounce with the velocity of his thrusts and you knew you were going to cum soon, you could feel it. “Just like that. Fuck, Daddy, keep fucking me like that!” you cried out. You always knew using that word for older guys was a gamble. You really hoped Stephen didn’t mind it. 

Unfortunately though, as soon as the word left your mouth, Stephen's thrusts came to a halt as he stared down at you. You just stared back, looking into his dark eyes, trying to figure out if he was put off by you calling him that.

“What did you just call me?” Stephen asked you.

You swallowed thickly, worried you had made a mistake by calling him that. You decided not to answer him and you hoped he would go back to fucking you, and thankfully, he did. 

He went back to his earlier pace, fucking you hard and fast as his fingers dug into your hips. You screamed for him again as he kept hitting that sensitive spot deep inside of you. Your orgasm was seconds away, you could practically taste it.

“Fuck, Stephen. You’re going to make me cum,” you moaned as his cock continued to hit all the right spots.

“Yeah?”

“Yes!” you cried out. 

Stephen kept moving as you wrapped your arms around him, your nails digging into his skin. Your toes curled and your back arched as he pounded into you. You were close. So close.

“Be a good girl and cum all over Daddy’s cock.” 

That was it for you. His words came out of nowhere and set you right over the edge. You screamed out as you came undone around his cock, your walls squeezing him tightly. He fucked you through your orgasm, dragging out the feeling for as long as possible. But as he kept moving, you felt something else building up, something you had never felt before. 

“Please keep fucking me. Oh, Stephen, I think I’m going to—” But before you could even finish your sentence, you felt yourself gushing around Stephen’s cock as he fucked you, drenching him with your juices. 

Stephen started groaning above you, and you knew he was close too, and you wanted him to fill you up. You needed it so bad. 

“You can cum inside of me. It’s okay, you can do it.”

It seemed that was all Stephen needed to hear because, after a couple more thrusts, he let out a deep groan before painting your insides white.

“Fuck, Y/N. Such a good girl.”

Once he had given you every last drop, he pulled out of you, a whine escaping your lips at the loss of him. 

“Miss me already?” Stephen asked with a low chuckle. 

You felt your face heat up as you looked away from him. But you felt a finger on your chin as Stephen tilted your head up so your eyes met his again. 

“I’m just teasing you, sweetheart,” he assured you. 

“Okay,” you said, sending him a sweet smile, one he returned before he leaned down and kissed you. You eagerly kissed him back, but Stephen soon broke the kiss and moved his face down to your ear. 

“Did you know you squirted?” he whispered into your ear. 

That explains what that feeling was that you felt earlier. You didn’t think it was possible. “I didn’t realise that was what I was feeling. I’m sorry,” you winced, worried Stephen was grossed out by it. 

But he moved to give you another sweet kiss. “Don’t be sorry. It was hot.” 

You sent him another smile before Stephen moved off the bed. He disappeared into another room before returning with a damp washcloth in hand. He cleaned you up gingerly before tossing the cloth to the floor. He then moved and joined you back in his bed. 

Once he was comfortable, you moved over to him, getting settled on his chest. You felt him wrap a strong arm around you and soon you were met with a comfortable silence. 

“You know,” Stephen spoke up suddenly. “If you need me to take care of your urges again just ask.” 

You looked up at him and sent him a smile. “Yes, Doctor.” 

He let out a low chuckle before you shared one final kiss. Soon you found yourself falling asleep in his arms, satisfied that you finally had Stephen take you, and make you his. 

Tag list: @butchers-girl @azu21 @polytheatrix @lucimorningst4r @evelyn-kingsley @withalittlehoney @mirikusashes @bobateadaydreams @strangelockd @thealleydog @cemak @stewardofningishzida @lady-harvey @ironstrange1991 @smokeywhalee @floatingfireflies @marym7 @iamsherlocked1479 @bly2338 @icytrickster17 @asherloki @cobe76 @ssinimbrn-catsr0pia @aphroditesdilemma @strangesthirdeye @scxrleth3r

[darsynia]

Do you have your Stephen Strange fics listed anywhere for easy reference?

I do, thanks for asking! In my MCU Masterlist I have a section for Stephen; admittedly it's underneath the Tony and Steve sections, which given that I have masterlists for them individually, I probably ought to clean that up and let people go to those for their fics, barring 1 or 2 favorites.

For Stephen, I have... an ongoing series (suspicion to lovers Stephen/OC) and (Stephen/Reader established relationship) three (Stephen/Reader sort-of soulmate) oneshots! (Stephen/OC where Stephen 'prime' plays matchmaker with his own variant)

I appreciate the interest 💚

[omgstarks]

The Doctor Will See You Now (Stephen Strange x Reader)

Pairing: Stephen Strange x Reader

Summary: Nervous for your first ob-gyn visit, you meet the handsome Doctor Stephen Strange. As he guides you through the examination, a mix of anxiety and attraction brews.

Warnings: SMUT over 18+ ONLY, semi-public sex, creampie, unprotected sex, oral sex (fem receiving)

AN: Just had my first cervical exam so...

“Hi, I’ve got an appointment at 4:00.” You leaned against the counter while the receptionist behind it typed away at her computer.

“Your name?”

“Y/N, L/N”

“Great, I’ve checked you in. If you can have a seat, one of the doctors will come out and call you.” She gave you a reassuring smile. You took a seat in the waiting room. It was a cold, bright room that was illuminated with harsh LED white lights. In the background, played some local radio station. You were feeling anxious. It would be your first time seeing an ob-gyn, and the thought of being bare from the waist down to a complete stranger was intimidating, even more so if the doctor wasn’t a woman.

You looked around the room to see some other patients of all ages waiting. Mostly women, but a handful of men. It was nice to know some men actually cared about their sexual health.

You waited patiently as patients came and went, scrolling through Instagram to past the time or just sitting alone in your thoughts, periodically skipping through songs on Spotify. Suddenly, the big doors leading to the examination rooms swung open, and a man walked through, clipboard in hand. All eyes followed, hopeful to be the next one called.

The doctor, tall, with a slender figure and dark hair graced by white at his temples, wore navy blue scrubs beneath a white lab coat. He wore a face mask which he took off revealing a sharp jawline and high cheek bones.

“Y/N? Y/N L/N.” He spoke in a low baritone voice, scanning the room. You lifted your hand and quickly grabbed your things, standing up to meet him. His eyes met yours, and smiled.

“Hi, I’m Doctor Stephen Strange, and I’ll be conducting the examination and tests with you.”

“Hi,” you replied, a touch more nervous at the realization that your doctor was a man- even worse, an attractive one at that. He looked slightly older than you, probably in his late 30’s early 40’s But his clean-shaven face and styled hair, made him look younger.

“You can follow me this way.” He held the door open for you to walk through and led you down a hallway. You followed him, watching the white coat billowing behind.

“The room is just down here.” He motioned to the examination room at the end of the hall.

“Just take a seat in the blue chair by the computer, please.” You nodded and took a seat, scanning the room you were in. The room was small and sterile, with white walls and tile floors. A single circular window offered a view of the city below. 

On the wall by the door were a couple of large posters. One with the different forms of contraception and the other an infographic of the female reproductive system. Your eyes scanned the poster, and you felt a slight shiver run down your spine. You knew that this doctor would be examining your reproductive system in just a few minutes, and you couldn't help but feel nervous. He was an attractive man- a part of you just hoped you wouldn't embarrass yourself by doing anything inappropriate during your examination.

Doctor Strange sat at the computer, reading up on your record on the clipboard, and he cleared his throat and met your eyes.

“So, how are you feeling today?"

"Good. Just a little nervous." You admitted.

"That's understandable." Doctor Strange said. "But I promise that I'll make this as comfortable as possible for you." You nodded.

“I just have to ask you some questions before we start. Is that okay?”

“Yes.” You replied. He looked back to his computer and pulled up a long form.

“Can you recall when your last menstrual period was?”

“Umm, about two weeks ago.”

“Normal bleeding?”

“It’s been pretty irregular since I had the implant inserted a couple of months ago. I’ve heard it might just be the hormones?” You fiddle with your thumbs.

“Most likely. The progesterone in Nexplanon often induces variations in the menstrual cycle. But we’ll assess and rule out any potential underlying concerns." A reassuring smile accompanied the explanation.

“Great.”

“Are you currently taking any medication or supplements?” 

“No medication, but I am taking some vitamin D supplements.” This earned a small chuckle from him as he typed. “That’s a good idea during this gloomy time.”

“Just trying anything to combat the seasonal depression.” you joked.

“Maybe I’ll give that a shot.” He smirked.

Doctor Strange continued asking you questions, delving into your medical history and current health. He diligently typed your answers into the computer.

Your eyes flickered down to his fingers with each keystroke. His hands were big and the pads of his fingertips were almost the size of the keys themselves. Your eyes roamed up to the prominent veins etched on his hands, and you wondered how they would might feel pressed against your skin-

“And, when was the last time you had sex?” This took you out of your trance. You choked on your breath, a bit startled by the question. You knew it was routine—a standard procedure at a sexual health clinic. Yet, discussing your sexual history with a stranger felt strangely awkward. It was the kind of conversation you'd normally have with your best friend, someone who knew every detail of your life.

“Oh, um, probably 4 months ago.” The thought of your ex boyfriend brought a bad taste to your mouth.

“Was it oral or vaginal?”

“Both.” You said shyly.

“Both.” He murmured under his breath.

“And was the oral sex female or male receiving?”

“Male.” Unfortunately for me.

“Was this with a partner or casual?” 

“A partner- well, a former partner.”

"I'm sorry to hear that," he expressed sympathy. You shrugged, shaking your head.

"No don’t be. It's actually a blessing, more time for other important things."

"Let me guess... Playing the piano and reading?" you quirked an eyebrow.

"Yes..? How did you—"

He pointed to your purse at your on the floor. "You've got a piano keychain on your purse, plus I’d recognize 1984 anywhere. Just putting two and two together."

"You're quite observant."

"It’s what makes me a good doctor," he responded, the trace of a smile lingering on his lips before he cleared his throat and shifted his attention back to the computer.

“So that’s all the questions. I’m just going to take your height, weight and blood pressure before we proceed with the exam. If you can stand on the scale for me.” He motioned over the scale in the corner of the room. After taking your weight, he showed you where to stand to take your height.

“If I can have you here..” He gently placed his hands on either side of your arms and subtly shifted you to the correct position. Standing close, he measured your height, his baritone voice murmuring softly as he read the numbers above your head. His demeanour, a blend of professionalism and subtle warmth, left an intriguing impression on you. Stepping back, he instructed you to take a seat for the blood pressure test.

You nodded and rolled your sleeve up, exposing one of your tattoos. He rolled his chair towards you, taking your arm and wrapping the blood pressure sleeve around your bicep, his eyes flickering down to your tattoo of a treble and bass clef in the shape of a heart.

"That's a lovely tattoo," he complimented with a smile. "Any special meaning?"

“I just love music.” you chuckled. “So much so I’m doing a masters in NYU in Music Theory.” 

“Impressive.” He commented. “I take it you’re quite skilled at playing instruments.”

“Piano mostly. I could probably make it with the violin and the French horn as I grew up playing those as well.” 

“Quite a range. I have a baby grand at home, though my duties as a doctor don't afford much playing time."

"You must play well. No one just has a baby grand in their home. Maybe you’re just as skilled as I am." you teased, earning a smirk.

"Observant, aren't you?"

"You’re rubbing off on me already," you quipped, realizing right after your unintended flirtation. Fortunately, the blood pressure machine's timely interruption spared you the potential embarrassment of Doctor Strange witnessing your flushed face.

"So- Before we proceed with the examination, let me outline the tests we'll be conducting today. We'll check for STIs like gonorrhoea or chlamydia, BV and thrush, HPV, and perform a pap smear and pelvic exam," he explained.

“Okay.” you replied.

Standing, he moved to the other side of the room, drawing back a yellow curtain to reveal an examination table. A crisp white paper sheet ran down its length, with stirrups at the end for leg support.

“So you’ll need to take everything off from the waist down, lie back on the table, and position yourself at the edge," he instructed, tearing off a piece of the sheet. "Here's a covering for you while you're on the table." You nodded, and as you approached the exam table, he closed the curtain to give you some privacy during the undressing process.

"I'll be back shortly with all the necessary supplies," he assured.

"Okay," You responded, and the door closed behind him as he exited the room.

You positioned yourself by the bed, swiftly removing your pants and underwear. Folding them neatly, you placed them on the chair next to the head of the exam table, subtly concealing your underwear beneath your pants.

As you lay back on the table, draping the paper sheet over the exposed lower half of your body, the realization hit you—this was really happening. Your gaze fixated on the light fixture above, and the door creaked open.

You could hear him on the other side of the curtain, likely organizing the tools needed for the examination.

"Just locking the door to ensure privacy during the exam," he informed.

"Okay." The prospect of being alone with him in a locked room, your lower half exposed, triggered a whirlwind of thoughts. It was probably all routine for him. You’re just another patient.

"All set up. Ready for me to pull back the curtain?" he asked.

“Yes, I’m ready.” He pulled back the curtain, looking down at you as you lay before him. Your eyes met his, and this made your thighs twitch a little. He sat down at the other end, between your legs and pulled the table holding all the supplies towards him. 

"Could you shift a bit more towards the edge?"

"Um, yeah, sure." You attempted to move, struggling a bit due to the stirrups.

“I know, I’m sorry, it can be quite difficult,” he reassured, aiding you by holding the stirrups in place, and his hand subtly grazed your inner calf. Eventually, you managed to shift forward enough for him to proceed.

“Now, I’m just going to lift the table up.” He informed you. The table started to move up until you were almost at eye level with him. You laid back, hearing him putting on latex gloves on his hands.

“Before we begin the exam. I’ll be examining the outside of your vagina to make sure that everything looks okay.” You nodded, and you started to feel your face heat up as he pulled back the paper covering you, exposing your vagina to him. You let out a soft exhale as you felt his warm, gloved fingers open and move your vulva to the side. Before you could think much of it, it was over.

“Everything looks good, now for the swab tests. Again, the first test will be the STI screening test, and I’ll be inserting a swab inside your vagina. Shouldn’t hurt, but please let me know if you feel any discomfort.” 

“Sure.” You nodded. You felt a thin object slide into your vagina with ease. He twisted the swab before removing it and placing it in a test tube.

“Next will be the internal exam, I’ll use the speculum to gently widen your vagina so then I can collect a small sample.” You nodded.

“Have you had an internal exam before?”

“No.”

“Would you like to see what it looks like before I start?” You nodded, and he held up the plastic instrument. It looked quite small initially before he started to open it, showing you how it works.

“This might cause some discomfort, so please don’t hesitate to tell me to stop.”

“Okay..” You breathed, laying back down on the table. Before you knew it, you felt the cold, lubed-up plastic tool sliding into your vagina. You took a sharp breath, and your thighs started to quiver. 

“It’s okay, Y/N. Just breathe.” he spoke in a in a soothing manner. You felt a hand on your inner thigh- like that was going to help you relax any more. Your thighs trembled under his touch, all a mix of nervousness, and discomfort and just a hint of arousal as you felt his thumb lightly caressing your inner thigh. You squeezed your eyes shut, lightly gripping the hem of your shirt, trying to focus on your breathing and not so much the discomfort the speculum was causing. 

“You’re doing well.” He spoke as he inserted the small brush to collect the sample from your cervix, then inserted cotton swabs for the other tests. 

“Just one more..”

The last swab test was done, and Doctor Strange closed the speculum and slid it out of you.

“How are you feeling?” You opened your eyes and nodded.

“I’m okay.”

“Would you like to take a break before I proceed with the pelvic exam?”

“I think I’m okay.”

“This shouldn’t cause much discomfort as the speculum, but I’ll be gentle.” He quickly changed out his gloves for a new pair and squirted some lube on his fingers. He placed a hand on your lower stomach before slowly inserting two fingers into you. Oh god- 

“Tell me if this is okay…”

It was more than fucking okay. Not having sex in 3 months was going to be the death of you.

“I-it’s okay.” you stuttered. His hand started to press into your stomach as his fingers moved in a circular motion, palpating the organs within. You felt a slight pressure, but it was not painful, more like a gentle exploration.

The examination continued, Doctor Strange’s movements were precise yet gentle. As if you were an instrument, he was expertly playing. His fingers were thick and felt amazing inside you. No one- not even your stupid past boyfriends had been able to make you feel like this during sex.

The feeling was getting almost overwhelming for you, and it caused you to roll your head back into the exam table and let out a soft moan. Oh fuck.

The silence was broken, with Doctor Strange clearing his throat and withdrawing his fingers from you.

“I-I am so sorry. I- I didn’t mean to do that. God-” You quickly covered yourself with the sheet in shame. You watch as Doctor Strange removed his gloves with a loud pop from the latex before tossing them into the trash. For a moment, he was silent, as if he was trying to assess the awkward situation you had put on him.

He stood up, quickly glancing over to the locked door, before turning his head back over to you, his eyes scanning your bare legs.

“Are you sure?” You raised an eyebrow at him, confused about what he had meant.

“You said you didn’t mean to do that- but why do I get the feeling you were..enjoying it?”

Your face burned, unable to answer his sudden questioning. You tried to deny it, although deep inside, you know his words to be true.

“The way you looked at me this whole time. The way your body has responded to my every touch. Not to mention how soaking wet you were when I put my fingers inside you. Surely you could feel your arousal dripping onto my table?”

He was now towering over you; his cold blue eyes were darkened with lust. 

“I’m sorry about the table.” You gave him an innocent look, which caused him to smirk.

“No, you’re not.”

He shed his coat, tossing it casually beside your neatly folded pants and underwear. Your eyes couldn't help but trace the contours of his arms sculpted with toned muscles, veins subtly weaving along their sides. A lump formed in your throat as you swallowed, caught in a moment of silent admiration for this god-like man standing before you.

He walked back around to the edge of the table. You propped yourself up on your elbows to watch him from between your legs. He looked at you before pulling the curtain close and moving the exam table down a bit. 

“I just need a taste.” He groaned, then buried his head between your legs. 

“Oh fuck-” You breathed out, feeling his mouth envelop you. You let out a shaky breath as he found your clit a moved his tongue across it, softly playing with it with the tip of his tongue. He placed each hand on either side of your thigh to hold you open and keep your hips from moving while his mouth worked on you.

“Talk to me, sweetie.” He said before pushing his tongue inside you. 

“Oh my god..” You groaned, your eyes rolling back. You physically couldn’t speak, not properly, that is.

“Tell me how good this feels.”

“It-it feels so good, Doctor-” You managed to say. He pulled his face away from you for a moment, and you looked down at him, the bottom half of his face wet with your slick- which made him even more sexy.

With his fingers, he traced your slit slowly, watching you twitch every time his finger brushed against your clit. 

“Look at you.” He licked his lips as if he was a starved man. “Look how your body responds to me. No one has ever made you like this, have they? Not even your idiot ex-boyfriend who doesn’t know how to eat cunt.” You vigorously shook your head, wanting him to stop talking and continue where he had left off. You were close, and somehow you knew that he knew that.

“Please. I need more.” You moaned.

He carefully pushed his finger into you, his eyes never leaving yours. He added another finger, watching you carefully, and he curled his fingers up to caress your g-spot. He moved his fingers back and forth in this motion, finding arousal not only from your body but your reactions.

“I can see you’re close, sweetie. Don’t hesitate. Give me a taste of your sweet nectar.”

He leaned back in and found your clit easily- sucking hard then flicking his tongue against the small sensitive bud that immediately sent you over the edge. 

You let out a choked groan, hips buckling against his face as you came and flooded his mouth with your cum.

He removed his mouth from you, and you looked down at him, seeing your arousal drip from his chin. His mouth twitched up in a small smile as he stood. He grabbed the end of his shirt to remove it in one fell swoop. 

“No- wait.” you stopped him. His eyes quickly flicked with concern.

“Um...Can you leave it on..?” He gave you a look of confusion before understanding what you were asking of him.

“Are you saying you want me to fuck you with my scrubs on?”

You nodded shyly, wanting to fulfil the fantasy of fucking a Doctor.

He hid his wide smile and shook his head in disbelief. “Ohh, you dirty girl.” He pushed the waistband of his pants down to his mid-thigh, and you watched his cock, sprang up from out of his boxers. My God was he was thick. When you thought the speculum opened you up too wide, you wondered how his cock would feel stuffed inside you.

“Is this okay?” The lust from his eyes disappeared for a moment when he asked. You reassured him with a nod. 

“All I want is you right now, Doctor.” his eyes darkened once again, and he lined the thick head of his cock at your entrance, using some of your cum as lube. He put one hand on your knee and the other on the base of his cock to steady himself as he pushed inside you. You squeezed your breast as he moved slowly, inch by inch. 

“Shit-” He breathed once he was sheathed inside of you. His eyes were squeezed shut, and his breathing shallowed.

“Are you okay?” He asked once again. 

“I-I’m fine. You’re just too big.” The corner of his mouth twitched, almost like he was proud of his size. Who wouldn’t be?

He rubbed your lower stomach soothingly, saying, “Just breathe, relax your core for me.” You nodded, trying to relax until the pain started to transition into pleasure.

“Okay, you can start moving now.” He nodded. He pulled his hips back a little, watching his cock inch out of you before pushing himself back into your heat. He continued this slow, shallow pace until he could move in with ease.

“Fuck-” You allowed yourself a soft moan, letting your head roll back from his thrusts.

“God, you’re so tight I might actually cum.” He stilled, moving his hands across your legs and touching your skin. 

“I don’t mind.” You winked teasingly.

“And cut all of this short? I’ll fuck you all day if I could.” Your face warmed up at the idea. He rocked his hips back and forth, holding you by your legs to pull you into him. You gripped the sides of the examination table, letting out a guttural groan with his every thrust. You didn’t know it was possible to feel this much pleasure.

“I’m so close, Doctor.”

“Stephen. Call me Stephen.” 

“Cum with me, Stephen, please.” You begged, watching him fuck you in an animalistic nature.

“Oh, Y/N-” After a couple of thrusts, you felt his cock throb inside your walls at the same time, the pressure in your stomach began to roll over. Gripping your thighs tight, he thrust into you one more time as deep as he could, letting his cock pump his cum into you.

His head fell back as his orgasm coursed through him, wave after wave, until Stephen filled you up to the brim. You felt the slick of your combined arousal leak out of you, dripping down between your ass.

He ground his hips to keep his cum from spilling out completely. He looked up from where you two met, and you reciprocated his exhausted smile. Your eyes were glassy with tears from the intense orgasm that had left your body and thighs shaking. His chest heaved deeply with each intake of breath.

Whilst still inside you, Stephen carefully moved your legs from off the stirrups, placing them down on the tabletop carefully. He got on top of you carefully to hold you for just a moment.

He lifted his head to look at you, sweaty and dishevelled. He leaned down to give you a kiss. You could still taste yourself on his lips, but it didn’t matter.

“We should do this again.” You broke the silence as he pulled his softening cock out of you. You groaned softly, suddenly feeling empty.

“Oh sweetie, give me at least 10 minutes before we start again.” He laid by your side with a deep groan.

“No, I mean in general, old man.” You teased. “I want to do this again sometime.” 

“Come over for dinner tonight, and I can show you more.” his lips curled into a teasing smile.

“Like your baby grand?” He let out a deep laugh. “Only if you promise to play something for me.”

“Fuck me good, and we’ll see.”

“Oh baby, there’s no doubt about that.” He smirked, pulling you into another deep kiss again. A thought popped into your head, and you pushed him back gently.

“By the way, was everything good..you know, down there?” He responded with a light-hearted chuckle to your unexpected inquiry and gave you a kiss on your temple. 

“Yes, you're perfectly healthy.”

[favouriteconstellation]

sweet torture

18+ readers only please lovelies!! (this is for a reason please listen<3)

little synopsis: a man hits on the reader at a bar innocently, and this leads to an interrogation from stephen who is incredibly possessive...

pronouns: female pronouns are used

relationship: fem reader x stephen strange

note: not super proud of this but like i will be uploading this because being overly self-critical is not hot xx i hope you enjoy this i love u!!

warnings: stephen being possessive, controlling lowkey insecure, accusations of cheating, smut, dacryphilia, bdsm, temp play (ice), sensory deprivation, dd/lg kind offf ??

“who is he?”

“i told you! i don't know what his name is.” you gritted through your teeth, angered about how unnecessarily prolonged this conversation had become. 

stephen was naturally a very tall man, you had always found this characteristic of his incredibly attractive, until now. his figure towered over you, inches away. his usual soft blue eyes darkened as he bent down to your height, you could feel his hot breath against your neck and the occasional graze of his goatee against your skin, it burned and you loved it. 

“i'm gonna ask one more time, what's his name baby?..” he whispered in your ear.

jesus christ you hated how much control he had over you when he was like this. you didn't know ‘his name’, he was just a guy at a bar who was drunk and hitting on you. of course you turned him down, but stephen’s always been overprotective, dare you say downright possessive. you hated the way him looking down at you and whispering made you press your thighs together, fighting being angry at him. but god, his possessiveness was hot as shit.

“what are you gonna do? here you are trying to sound so threatening. what? you gonna pull some KGB shit on him?? because i'm pretty sure i can handl-” your sentence came to a crashing halt at his undeniably quick response. 

“i’m going to fuck you within an inch of your life, actually. hows that sound? and its going to be for me, not for you.” your stomach dropped. jealousy sex sounded hot on paper but he loved to drive a response out of you, a yelp, a squeal until your cheeks were painted with tears and you were begging for him to stop teasing you.

“stephen..we could just talk this out, i promise you he was just drunk” you mumbled out, looking wide eyed. although you couldn’t lie to yourself, the way you were gently begging him to fuck you, to gain some relief. this shouldn’t be arousing but fuck it is. stephen noticed this, he also noticed how your cheeks flushed, and how your pupils dilated - he could read you like a book. 

before you could show even an inkling of shame or embarrassment for being turned on because of him, you yelped as he effortlessly slung your body over his shoulder - your legs failing in surprise and your ass in the air. you were brought back to reality by the familiar sound of his portals opening as you were no longer in the sanctum foyer. 

“stephen..” you breathed out as you were laid down on his bed, god you wanted him. 

“spread those pretty arms and legs for me, yeah baby?” His deep baritone voice was the only sense of sound you could focus on. you did as you were told and his fingers snapped, his godforsaken magic leaving you bare in his bed. the cold hit you, your nipples immediately hardening. 

“you just have to be good for me, huh sweet girl? that’s all i’m asking baby.” he whispered as he firmly grabbed your wrists and ankles, binding them to his dark oak bed posts. you laid there, looking defeated as he reached over you, stopping to hover and smirking condescendingly.

“don’t act like we both don't know you were pressing those pretty little thighs together 2 minutes ago” he chuckled. he knew your deepest desires, it was as if he could poke and prod around inside your mind, well- realistically, he probably could..much to your horror.

the last thing you saw were his scarred fingers holding fabric that he ever so gently tied around your head, blocking your sight. unironically he could have done all of this in less than 30 seconds with a wave of his hands, but was purposefully prolonging the torture knowing you were impatient.

“stephen.. please” you barely whispered, begging for his touch. he tutted devilishly at your impatience. he conjured an ice cube, placing it on your torso with no warning. you couldn’t help but squeal at the freezing sensation you weren't prepared for, he swirled it up and down your torso, slowly - leaving a trail of melted ice, now cold water that pooled around your lower stomach. your back arched at the sensation, pulling at the magical binding. you could feel a band in your lower stomach building inside you, you wanted to free yourself, kick, scream, touch him. his cruel tongue lapped up the water slowly, teasing you - a familiar feeling. the ice cube rolled over your nipples as you tugged on the ropes, your back arching and your body jolting forward as much as it could. 

“look at you... mm??” he laughed. the icecube disappeared and for a moment you couldn't feel his touch, you whined at the feeling. 

“is my little girl feeling needy?? mm..?” His head darted between your already spread legs, kissing the soft flesh on your inner thighs and lazily licking them, as if he was preoccupied. you moaned softly, the relief you felt for him to be even remotely close to where you wanted him. 

“please stephen..” you whined, tears pooling in your eyes in absolute desperation, throwing your head back as he slid his tongue between the wet warmth of your pussy, lapping up your slick in long, cruel strokes. the teasing bastard. he licked circles around your clit, but didnt touch it once - not yet. he placed his large hand on your lower stomach to further stimulate you as his goatee rubbed against your thighs, scratching and burning once again. you were shuddering and shaking, pulling at the robes like a fucking mess. 

“come on baby, give it to me. let me ruin you for a sec, yeah? i got ya.” he praised, as he paused to pepper kisses and then went back to work. it was only 8pm and knowing him, you still had at least 2 hours of this left.

[sobeautifullyobsessed]

I'm loving some of the answers & insights I'm getting regarding my post questioning if any Readers in the Doctor Strange fandom are still willing to read multi-chapter fics. It's moving me to put together a list of authors and fics for those interested in more than reader insert one-shots. I hope to post it sometime this weekend.

Thank you to everyone who has commented on that post! You've given me reason to hope that some underappreciated works by wonderful authors might get some much deserved, long-overdue, love.

[imeternallylove]

Moulin Rouge Sous le Ciel Bleu - S.Strange

Red Mill under the Blue Sky: the roaring '20s era

Pairing: Stephen Strange x Reader

Genre: angst and fluff, mostly bittersweet 💔✌️

Warning: forbidden love, sexual content

Word: approx 4k

main mastetlist | request | prompts

theme song (im very rec to listen while reading this)

A brilliant red mill stood out among the other buildings in the Jardin de Paris, at the foot of the hill in the Montmartre neighborhood, commanding attention with its vibrant color and unusual façade. Large metal letters spelled out the word Moulin Rouge over the entryway to the colorful venue. The Red Mill, because it was exactly what the building looked like. It certainly drew attention to itself, and Monsieur Strange had no doubt that this was the proprietors' goal. Moulin Rouge had grown infamous in Paris, and he had no doubt that it was also infamous throughout the rest of France.

The building's bright scarlet façade contrasted with the pristine blue of the sky above it, making it stand out even more on clear days like today. Stephen would not have imagined, looking at the red mill, that this was the edifice known as The Bastion of Pleasures in the city of love. It wasn't visually appealing, but it was a novelty, and the mill at the entryway was one of the reasons for the establishment's notoriety. That, and the female cabaret performers.

Stephen Vincent Strange, heir of an eastern trade enterprise and an expert in oriental goods, was known as "young Monsieur Strange." He had been sent to France by his father a year before starting university to acquire the French language, and now, years later, he was studying for a degree in Orientalism at the famed Sorbonne. He'd become a go-to man for Parisian socialites, advising them on real Chinese and silk textiles, among other things, all sourced from his family's import business.

But, underneath the elegant and wealthy heir, he had become enthralled by the revolution, a movement that began in the middle of the last century, a stride towards freedoms and liberties that he had never known in his own home of New York.

That's how he ended himself in the Moulin Rouge cabaret. Stephen adored it. The excitement of doing something that would be considered inappropriate in his own nation was exhilarating. He wished he was an artist or a poet some days. Of course, he was brilliant at both due to his considerable schooling, so it wasn't that he couldn't do either. Nonetheless, he wished that he could live off his riches and do whatever he pleased, composing poetry, creating watercolours on rice paper, and attending the cabaret.

Most crucially, in those crazy daydreams, he could freely love you.

You'd met when he came to consult with you about some costumes you were working on for a Moulin Rouge performance. The surroundings were supposed to be inspired by the Orient, interesting, exotic, and beautiful all at the same time, and you required assistance with the designs. Young Monsieur Strange had paid you a visit in your sewing chamber as an orientalist. He was impressed by the attention to detail you had placed into the costumes and was eager to help you in perfecting the ideas.

He was back in your workrooms a few weeks later, checking the finished product as well as the music hall stage set. Because your lodgings were close to the Moulin Rouge, he stopped by to see you and your fellow seamstresses on his way back. He had admired your outfits and had recommended you to the proprietors.

That's how you met and then kept meeting, each one ending with you smiling a little brighter, his smile getting cheekier and cheekier.

Stephen often assumed that falling in love with one of the dancers would be simple. Monsieur Strange, on the other hand, was not one to take the easy way out. He had been unimpressed by the dancers' charm, flirty manner, and womanly figure. He was an orientalist visiting Paris from his hometown, and he had no interest for the loud women of the cabaret, famous for their cancan. 

Instead, he had chosen the difficult path. He fell for you.

It was an impossible love. Hopeless in more ways than one; not only had he fallen head over heels for you irrevocably and explicitly, but there was no future in which he could do so. Your love was ephemeral, not because the sensations vanished, but because you couldn't freely love each other in this world, neither in France nor anywhere else. It was a forbidden love. 

Something forbidden. 

It's a hopeless love.

You knew it wouldn't last, you wouldn’t; but nothing does, so you loved him the same way he loved you.

Stephen would never marry a mere seamstress. He was a class above you, and he was certain his father had already picked a merchant's daughter for him, one from New York, just like him, just like his father wanted.

Tonight, he could spend naked in your arms, snuggled in the warm sheets of his bed, listening to his heartbeat while his long fingers combed through your hair.

"The sky was falling," you said as his heat cock finally came out, weary, clogged, and squeezed all the air out of your lungs. The palm of his hand lingered warmly on your exposed breasts, like a boy's toy.

Your hair is wet, and so is his. You look at the mess on the bedsheet, it's like a war, so criminally. Unless, of course Stephen's sharp smile, the top of his chest breaths heavily, and the bottom is buried beneath his blanket, but you pull out it to cover yourself so you can glimpse his entire body again. "And I'm falling for you, amour."

It was a quiet night. He'd snuck you into one of his smaller homes, where no servants could spy on you two. You had a glass of dry red wine and a baguette with camembert and red grapes. It was a basic dish by his standards, but it was everything the two of you could have desired for dinner tonight.

You had been kept busy by the continual repairs of Moulin Rouge costumes, as well as other work sent to you by higher and middle-class women, in the heart of balmy summer, with the sun shining down in all its splendor, warming you up and making all proper ladies sweat under their garments. You made no complaint. It was good job, and there was always additional money, which you could never have enough of.

Stephen did all the whining for you, about how you didn't have time for him, about how he felt neglected, about how you were too gorgeous to spend the days in a workroom instead of on the garden outside, enjoying in the sun and definitely keeping him company.

Finally, your work was completed, and you decided to take the day off, and now, at the end of the day spent in his arms, you were falling asleep in his arms, his gentle breathing feeling like a summer breeze in your hair, and his golden skin was warm on yours. Because of your body heat and the warm night, you couldn't sleep beneath a blanket, so you slept on a light linen sheet.

"Mon plus cher amour," he said into the air, that’s the way he called; "my dearest love." And you had responded to his call through the thin veil of sleep, turning in his arms to face him, your lips brushing against his as he spoke, the delicate touch sending thrills down Stephen's spine.

"Mon cherrie?" You'd wondered, laying a sly kiss on his pouty lips.

"I cannot imagine living without you." He engaged, his eyes staring into yours with such affection that you wondered if a mortal man could be filled with so much love. Such deep feeling was surely destined for something more holy than you; for ladies whose beauty lived on in legend, a kind of beauty caught by poems, songs, and prayers. Not you, mortal, frail, and average.

"Don't say such things." You murmured softly, your tone echoing Stephen's love in his gaze. His breath caught, and you could feel his heart rattling against your chest, its steady beat matching the pace of your own. "They make me fall in love with you even more." Your lover grinned at your comments, his long fingers reaching to gently hold your hand before bringing it to his lips, kissing your knuckles delicately, his lips smooth like rosebuds, flushed a deep pink as blood flowed through him, red and strong. His aquatic eyes never left yours for a second. 

Hopelessly, you loved him so badly, too.

The days passed without him, and eventually, after all work was finished, Stephen decided to take you to the premiere of the new cabaret show, the one you had spent months sewing costumes for, and now he would allow you the pleasure of seeing the fruit of your labors, and you had a feeling it would be sweet.

Tonight, he had taken you to the cabaret. The moulin rouge was full with patrons, their cacophonous banter before the show was like the beginning of a birdsong, someplace deep in the rainforest, their words, not always French, rang throughout the room like a flock of tropical songbirds, unorganized but cheerful. You sat at a table for two, he in a magnificent black suit, you in your best dress, your hair done up in a stylish style you had seen many of your clients wear. When you looked in the mirror before leaving the house, you couldn't believe the lady in the reflection was you. You wondered if he had always thought you were beautiful.

"You are lovely to look at. Never forget that, mon amour." He leaned in to whisper into your ears, the dim light shimmering golden against his skin, making the shape of his nose and the plushness of his lips even more refined, even more seductive. Your heart skipped a beat despite your will. As the dancers entered the stage, the flock fell silent, leaving only the melody of the orchestra. Stephen relaxed in his chair, entirely at ease, sipping champagne.

The show was spectacular, but no one expected less from the legendary Moulin Rouge. The dancers glided around the stage in perfect synchronicity. Even their most frantic routines were carried out with beauty and precision. others gowns were shorter than others, and others were more scandalous. You hadn't skimped on the feathers and sequins. Each costume was meticulously fitted, with every thread perfectly in place and every color carefully chosen.

"Something like this would never be tolerated where I come from." Stephen whispered in your ear. Even without looking at him, you could tell that his gaze was drawn to the dancers and his lips formed a sneer against your ears. You knew he wasn't talking about the cabaret. "I'm glad it's allowed here." When you didn't react, he whispered, and you felt a delightful chill down your spine.

"They look gorgeous." Instead, you stated that your gaze never leaves the stage. The dancers span, their skirts swirling with them, exposing more of their legs, and the audience couldn't stop gasping.

He questioned as he took another sip from his flute. "The dancers?"

"Pretty women look good in pretty clothing." When another round of cacophonous delight rippled through the audience, you responded with a nod, a smile on your lips.

"Are those your dresses?" Stephen smiled, his eyes twinkling as he examined the colorful outfits, feather plumes, and embroidery on the bodices and skirts. 

“Oui.” You sipped your drink, allowing the buzz of alcohol to enhance your enjoyment of the evening. "What's the point of staring at me?" After a while, you said, the feeling of Stephen's deep ocean eyesight staring at you becoming uncomfortable as the night progressed, your second flute of champagne now standing empty in front of you.

"I can't stop myself. You are like the moon." He smiled, turning his head to look at you from a fresh perspective. "So attracting me." He spoke, and his hand moved across the table to grip yours, his long fingers weaving through yours.

You stayed like that till the end of the show.

When the night was done and he had draped your coat over your shoulders like a gentleman, a cheeky smile graced his lips, his eyes bright with mischief.

"We went to the pleasure palace, and yet my greatest pleasure was watching you." He told you, tucking a stray lock of hair behind your ear, savoring the crimson that warmed your cheeks, both from the champagne and from him.

Another week passed, and you were again in his chambers, laying among the lovely covers, holding a book as Stephen dressed. He was dressed in a suit identical to the one he wore to Moulin Rouge, but he had changed the jacket to something more suited for dinner. You liked his straight brows and heavy lashes as you combed his hair back away from his face. 

"How do you think I look?" He approached, tying his black bowtie in front of the mirror above his dresser.

Looking at his tiny figure over your book, you told him. "Handsome as always." You said that when he turned around and winked at him. "You will be fine, Monsieur Strange."

"Whatever you want to say, Mademoiselle." He smiled as he walked over to the bed and knelt down. His plush lips were on yours in an instant, and you melted into the kiss. 

When he turned to slide into his jacket, he looked back at you, his eyes filled with concern. You could tell he was tense by the clench of his jaw and the strain in his shoulders. 

"Enjoy yourself." You smiled at him, attempting to cheer him up. Whatever was on his thoughts was weighing heavily on him. Enough to make him wary of telling you about it. It was a rare occurrence. 

"It's just another business meeting; I'm recommending teapot purchases." He muttered, presumably to himself, and you sprang from the bed, wrapping your arms around his torso and staring into his eyes. Their maritime blue reminded you of hot coffee and chocolate in the morning. "New York ceramics have grown in popularity among those who can afford to import them." He spoke, his arms wrapping over your shoulders. Stephen buried his face in your hair, and you gave him a minute of silence. He pressed you against him, and you listened to his heartbeat, sure and steady like him. 

"Selling a lot of teapots, then, mon cherie." You told him, and he let you go with one more farewell kiss.

"Don't worry about missing me too much, mon plus cher amour." He called out as he walked out of the room, and you couldn't help but smile as you watched him go.

Sadly, you do.

The dinner was drab. The hosts were rich, as they always were, and they loved to gossip, as they always did. Normally, Stephen avoided the ladies' gossip, preferring to sit and drink whiskey with the males, but tonight he found himself in the center of it. Not because he was really interested, but because he was the topic of it. 

Many guys stood around the room conversing, and some women avoided the host's wife, who was a nasty gossip who could run her mouth like no other. Unfortunately, Stephen was on his way to meet his business partner, Monsieur Holmes from England, when he overheard the conversation.

The guests sat on luxurious sofas, with a tiny wooden mahogany coffee table in the center, containing a lovely tea set, white porcelain with delicate lotus blossoms painted in red for adornment. Last summer, it was one of the models they carried. Surprisingly, it was not a high-end set.

"I heard he went to the cabaret with his mistress last week. I'm curious who she is." The harsh voice of one of the ladies pierced his eardrums. Stephen could tell she was one of your clientele based on her attire. In your shop window, a similar dress, however green rather than the caustic salmon color this woman was wearing, was shown. He could recognize your work from anywhere right now.

"There will be no high standing." Another woman interrupted him, and he wanted to stop listening. Morbid curiosity kept him quiet, listening to those women criticize you, his blood boiling under his skin. 

"A Frenchwoman and a New Yorker. In public!" Stephen tried to stop himself from cursing after hearing the woman in salmon scream. 

"How are you doing, ladies?" Instead, he put on a happy face and walked right into the women's chat, interrupting their gossip. "I heard you ordered two tea sets, Madame." He turned to gaze at an older woman sitting between the two who were chatting about you.

“Yes. My daughter is marrying into a good family, and I want to make sure she brings only the best to her new home." She had spoken, her nose turned almost comically high as she tried to gaze at him with contempt. 

"I hope you will be pleased with the quality of our products." He had bowed lightly, a sickly-sweet smile lingering on his lips, as rage had no doubt poked through his eyes. When you glanced into his eyes, you stated you could tell he was upset. He would have spoken more, but Shrr had come to his rescue, his cheerful attitude brightening the mood of the women.

"Ah, Monsieur Strange, I was looking for you." He talked, his rich voice filled with joy as he tried to pull Stephen away. 

He pushed him to the side and handed the shorter man a tumbler of scotch. Sherlock's massive body towered over him, hiding him from the gossips' gaze. His huge hand reached out and squeezed Stephen's shoulder in reassurance.

"Young men are young men regardless of where they come from." Do not listen to old rumor." Sherlock's powerful voice slowed to a mumble, and Stephen assumed his companion was growling rather than speaking.

"Thank you, Sherlock." He mumbled, gulping the scotch down, too frustrated to taste it. He found the burn of alcohol to be a pleasant distraction.

"Better to love one woman than to hate one woman." When his pal looked down on him, his teal eyes were soft.

Stephen asked shifting the conversation from one unpleasant issue to another. "Any news from my father?" 

“None yet. I’m not sure he even knows about her.” Sherlock reassured him, a small smile playing on his lips. He sipped on his scotch.

"If he knew," Stephen said, his heart pounding wildly against his chest, making him dizzy, before Sherlock cut him off. 

"You'd have been on a ship back by now, and that merchant's daughter would have been waiting for you at the docks." He finished for him, gulping down the rest of his scotch before proceeding to refill their glasses.Stephen received an increasing number of inquiries for imported pottery as the evening continued. Tea sets, plates, and bowls were among the items requested. By the end of the meal, his notebook was full of names and catalog numbers. 

Stephen had removed his coat and unfastened his bowtie when he returned home. His white shirt had a few buttons undone, displaying his golden collarbone. He sat on his living room sofa, sipping more scotch from a crystal glass. When he arrived, you tossed the book and sat alongside him on the couch, your head resting on his shoulder. The fabric beneath you was velvet, far more expensive than you could possibly afford. You could see he had it built to order.

Stephen had remained silent other than greetings and a couple brief kisses. Despite the drink he consumed, the worry shown on his face had not subsided. From the corner of your eye, you noticed his jaw clenched and relaxed.

"Are you ready to tell me now?" You asked him, and he turned his chin towards you. His gaze was drawn to your lips first, then up into your eyes. He'd always assumed they were sapphires. Not because they were blue, but because they reminded him of the sea, deep and uncharted. They hid your heart, so they gleamed like valuable stones and reflected light like the tumultuous waters of the sea. Deep, so deep that he lost himself in them and found himself in them as well. 

"I'm worried about my father." His heavenly voice broke, heavy with uncertainty, and he mumbled.

"We knew about your father from the start,” you told him as you pressed your palm against his cheek, allowing Stephen to sink into your contact and relish in how warm he felt against you. “We knew how this was going to end before it even started."

"What if I don't want this to come to an end?" He asked whether and you were the one to lose yourself in the depths of his irises this time.

You kissed him with your other hand on his cheek. Passionately and uninhibitedly. It didn't matter if the end was coming or if it was already here. You had feelings for him. You were hopelessly in love with him. 

Stephen went violet when you touched him. He felt it seep into him when he pressed his lips to yours with bruising force, and again when you grabbed him in his bed, and again when you left purple marks over his collar bones, each one a visible stain on his body; something to remind him he was yours, something to remind you that you were his. 

Days flew by in a blur of color. You awoke in his bed, went to work, and spent the evening at Moulin Rouge. Every night was spectacular; every night was the same. You had grown fond of Moulin Rouge. Stephen could sit by you in public and flaunt your devotion for him. In Montmartre, most people were preoccupied with the concept of liberty and freedom. You shared their hopes, that the world will be a better place to live one day. Both you and he fit in. It was simple to be at the Bastion of Pleasures.

After one of the shows, when you had finally returned home to recuperate, an unexpected guest appeared. 

Sherlock had come in one evening, just as Stephen was falling asleep in your lap, your voice calming him. The British man had arrived with a letter. It was obvious that it was from Stephen's father. Because the characters were strange, you were illiterate and blissfully unaware of the contents. 

"Not good." Stephen had risen from your lap and was pacing as he read over the letter. Sherlock had taken a seat near you, his form looming over you. You weren't bothered because you were used to being in his shadow, but the expressions on both men's faces made you nervous. 

Sherlock told them. "He wants you to return by the end of the next year." His strong voice boomed through the room, and his loving brown eyes looked down at you, and then at Stephen, with such sadness that you couldn't tell who was more saddened by the news.

"I understand." Stephen paused his pacing and requested that one of his assistants bring them some cognac. "To one more year." When the vodka was poured into crystal glasses and delivered to the three of them, he toasted.

You raised your glass with a cheeky smile, toasting with him. Sherlock raised his glass reluctantly and witheredly, the amber liquid shimmering in the faint light, before taking a gulp.

You lay wrapped in Stephen's arms that night, a pleasant breeze blowing through the open window, drifting over your naked shoulders as you glanced up at your sweetheart.

"Let us leave. Just… Run away with me." Stephen mumbled, his eyes gleaming in the dim light of his room, more pensive than you had ever seen him.

"Is this? …New Americana proposal’s? Where’s my ring?" You commented, a broad smile on your face, as though pondering of the possibilities, soon, your shoulders jolted down. "Where shall we go?"

"Wherever my father won't find us." You pressed closer to him, further into the protection of his arms, as he aware you. “Italy?” You sought out, considering locations too far away for the Strange business to pursue you to.

“Britain? Erm-”

"French Indochina?" You kissed his forehead, with an awkward smile on your lips.

"I don't care… literally. Where we go; my heart goes to loving you everywhere." He spoke softly, and you knew he loved you now more than ever. 

Stephen was ready to leave everything to be with you, where his father could not intervene, and you were ready to leave with him, you knew you would; for anything even your cabaret flora life here; for one condition… just be with him.

"Then let's go anywhere." You gave in, putting a kiss to his lips and whispering love words into his ears as he held you. He whispered them back, breathed love into you with his kisses, was firm and soothing alongside you, and despite the frost in the air, you were warm. 

His lengthy fingers knead over yours, enveloping them. You know he staked his entire future on it. You are mindful of this. "Whether it's an ice-covered world or warfare, I'll be the one that burns it." Your lips curled together, his words so sincere, and his rich tone melt with every emotion you've ever beheld. "Like frost and flame; hot and cold both evaporated."

You draw stars on his chest, another one, another one… Attentively paying attention to his heartbeat. The galactic cosmos feels incredibly near whenever you're with him, your Monsieur Strange, yours.

"Trust me?"

"Always have."

Love was occasionally hopeless, but maybe this time, just this time, there was hope.

And this is hope that you want would be go on survived.

For everlasting. 

a/t: how was it 🥹 idk why but the plot comes while i listen this so bitter, tortured but sweetener so it’s challenging me to write 1920’ era. Well… in fact, the forbidden love is my first time writing… so erm yk what i mean? just please give love to it bc Monsieur Strange is watching you 😂🥹🤭 the core of this story is foreign man who has love affair with the owner of cabaret and he bet everything on it to stay with his heart, so fucking romantic yeah? this side is so rare to see from Stephen x reader ff and that’s why, so sorry to bring him out of character again bc it’s not my first time actually HAHAHAHAHA xD well next story we will see new youtuber Stephen who open YouTube channel so bright the boredom of quarantine by corona, he’s doctor right? let’s go romantic comedy yahooooo