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whoppert · 1 year ago

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Sunna 7 (stephen strange/reader) (loki/reader)

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3969 words

warnings: the after effect of mind violation

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Despite the gaping hole in my memory, I'm confident that I've never felt like this much of a burden before. A few days ago I wouldn’t have batted an eyelid at the staircase, but now? Now it’s an impossible mountain to climb.

Most of the world is contained to my room now.

Wong had mentioned struggling to cleanse the space of mystical markers that had been left behind, but I couldn’t even tell. The power that flowed through me, albeit slight compared to Stephen’s or Wong’s or even this goddamn house? It’s gone. The purple energy that used to flicker around my fingers, forming shapes almost of its own will was gone. I'd tried to call it, but I almost threw up. My body is at odds with my spirit right now and I hate it.

AO3

Stephen brandishes the worm, dropping it into the palm of my hand.

“What the fuck is that?” I ask, trying to ignore the pool of slime it extruded.

“Excuse you, ” said the worm.

The flick of my hand was involuntary, and I fling the worm onto the rug.

Stephen, who had been trying to tell me to be careful, squats down and plucks the worm out of the carpet fibers. “This is the frontier in magical psychology. Its name is Gorron.”

“It’s a worm.”

“It’s a grub, thank you very much, you ungrateful mammal,” the worm had an accent that I couldn’t identify. “You’re lucky I’ve already been paid or I’d march right outta here! Worm? What am I, a nematode?”

Stephen sighs and shoots me an apologetic look. "I know it's strange, but it's actually very good at it's job."

"I'm really sorry, I don't usually do bugs. I'm sorry if I offended you and for... throwing you," I wince. “So… do I just lay back and tell Gorron my problems? Care to summon me a chez lounge?”

“It is much more simple than that. Look, I recognize that this is going to sound really gross, but-”

“Stick ‘im in ya ear, baby, lemme have a look at that mind!” Gorron interrupts.

So stark was the silence after that statement, that I almost decided that I might have a limit when it came to finding a cure. I look from Gorron to Stephen, who nods in confirmation and then back at Gorron whose little mouth had fallen open and was licking his lips. If grubs have lips. “Absolutely not.”

“Look doll, I’ve got a job to do, so open your ears and shut ya mouth, capeesh?”

Stephen snaps his hand shut, muffling the grub’s yells of displeasure. “I’m sorry about him, he doesn’t get out much," he continues, obviously with the intention of Gorron overhearing, "and he hasn't updated the way he speaks to women since the 1950s ap-pa-rent-ly."

I talk over Gorron's slew of deadened swear words. "You're joking, right?" I hear how desperate I sound, but- "In my head? This is a joke? To lift my mood?"

Stephen is right in front of me. Really there is a-step-and-a-half between us. “He’s crass, but if anyone can figure out the next steps, it’s Gor-”

My stomach bottoms out in my gut, a wave of panic hitting me with such force that I literally stagger. “I’m not-”

His free hand steadies me. Stephen says nothing, taking his bottom lip between his teeth, his gaze flitting back and forward between my eyes. I don't understand, what his expression is conveying, concern, and sympathy and pain all together perhaps.

“I can’t,” I want to sound strong, but my voice betrays me, cracking. “I’m sick of this, I’m sick of having shit shoved into my head. I’m sick of it, I’m sick of it. Please.” My breath comes fast and sharp.

“I know,” Stephen eases into the space between us, his empty hand still grasping my upper arm gently, the warmth seeming to loosen the knots in my body. “I know you’re scared. You have every right to be. Does it change anything if I assured you that Gorron can’t hurt you? He can only see what’s going on in there, he can’t change anything.”

My bottom lip wobbles, and Stephen’s gaze shifts to look at it, before snapping up to look me in the eye.

"Would it change anything," Stephen's voice soft, "if I told you that Gorron's basically my shrink?"

"Huh?"

"Do you remember after I found you and we were sitting in my office? And I told you I've been... having trouble sleeping, and you joked about therapy?" He pauses for confirmation. "Well, Gorron's my therapist. Wong makes me see him."

Excluding fighting lessons, Stephen and I are never this close, but lately I appreciate his sparing touch. There is something inviting about him when he isn’t trying to hit me, something comforting. I guess this is his job. I've seen him behave similarly for the people that seek out his help. “Does it hurt?”

A smile tugs at the corners of his lips, “not at all, it can be a little uncomfortable, but it doesn’t hurt, no. After your injury you might be a little sensitive though.” Glancing around the room, Stephen adds, “I’m right here, you know. Right by your side, I won’t leave you. You are always safe with me.”

His gray eyes hold no hint of a lie.

I nod. “This is coercion though.”

“I know.”

“And if it goes wrong, I’m holding you accountable.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

Stephen opens his hand. Gorron, who had spent the last few moments remarkably silent, opens his eyes in mock surprise. “Glad to see you haven’t forgotten about me! I have a waiting list ya know, I could be getting ignored by far more important people than the pair of you!”

Stephen grasps the grub by its tail.

“Do you trust me?”

“I guess. Yes. I do.”

His gloved hand lightly grasps my cheek, tilting my head, my right ear skyward, before dropping Gorron right into the shell of my ear. Gorron's rolling and wriggling sent a shiver through me. There was a little resistance, culminating in a wet plop, and then he was inside. There’s a grub in my brain, there’s a grub in my brain, there’s a grub in my- I shudder. I feel bad about thinking it's gross, Gorron's a sentient being after all, but I don't do bugs.

Stephen tilts my head back to my midline and then removes his hand from my cheek. I feel its absence keenly.

“Wow, Strange, ya weren’t wrong, something’s destroyed it in here,” Gorron’s voice is too loud and it vibrates in my skull.

I swear, instinctually jerking 'away' from the sound and I feel Gorron brush up against something, strings that bring the spots back to my vision. I grasp Stephen’s hands.

“Wow, talk about a household in denial,” Gorron mutters, quiet enough that I wasn’t sure Stephen could hear, but I was too dizzy to ask what he meant. “And your powers have gone too. That’s a knock to the balls for sure.”

“Can you give us any insight?” Stephen asked.

“Yes, but you’re not gonna like it.”

“Out with it.”

“Firstly - lass, gotta commend ya on having the cleanest brain ever. Not a single mind mite to be found. I have literally never seen that before. Secondly - whatever Loki did, it broke that enchantment that you were under.”

“That enchantment ?” Stephen and I say in unified confusion. There is a yellow and green blob floating between us and it makes the sorcerer look like he's got a bad case of jaundice.

“You heard me. I’d ask if you knew who put you under their spell, but I can see you don’t remember at all. Hey, have you considered renting this space? I know a few parasites that could use a place to live.”

“Gorron.” It was Stephen's last warning.

“Non-lethal of course.”

“Wind it back up a sec,” I demand, “what do you mean Loki broke the enchantment? What enchantment?”

I can feel Gorron squeeze it's body through some tight spot and the spots in my vision cleared.

“Has she always been this slow?”

“Mind your manners, Gorron. I know some bugs that lay their eggs in live prey,” Stephen threatened.

“Jeez, it was only a joke, man. Learn to take a joke. Hmm…” inside my brain, Gorron trailed off. “Your oldest memory is meeting Strange… because that was the day the enchantment was created. It’s got a magical signature that I don’t recognize, but boy did they hide it well.”

“And my memories, my life before that?”

“My best guess is that whoever put this enchantment in place didn’t account for Loki going for a trip through ya head, and it broke the enchantment differently to the way it was supposed to be broken, it severed your mind. Separated the before-the-enchantment from the after-the-enchantment. Your memories from before then might still be here, but as a result of the spell or the unorthodox way in which it was broken, yeah, I wouldn’t know how to find them. The block on it can only be reversed by the creator. I’d say your best shot would be to find them.”

“Wait, so our best chance of finding out who put the block in place is to find out who put the block in place?”

Gorron sighs like I'm wasting its time, “yes. That’s what I said. Look, if there’s no mites in here, you’re gonna have to tip me, Strange, I didn’t come all the way out here for nothing.”

“For nothing. My whole brain has imploded and it’s nothing to you,” I whisper, my cheeks tight from my uncomfortable smile, before falling into a stunned silence. Everything feel so far away.

“Gorron, what can we do to figure this out?” Asks Stephen.

There's a whoosh, and I feel the grub slide out of my ear, the opposite ear to the one it had entered. “Seems to me, your next step would be finding someone who knows memory magic like the back of their hand and get them to have a look. See if they can recognize the signature. Maybe even see if they can locate where her memories have been hidden in there. Once you know that, I’d go and ask-” Gorron almost fell, but Stephen catches it, “thanks doc. Anyway, figure out who put the enchantment in place and get them to remove it. Easy as pie.”

Without missing a beat, Stephen crushes Gorron in his hand. The sound had a surprising crunch, like the grub had more bones than expected. I gape at the sorcerer.

“Sorry,” he opens his hand to reveal that it is empty empty, no fluids or bug guts in sight, “I was getting really sick of him, and the only way to send him home is to 'kill' him. He’s fine, I’ll see him later about his tip. How are you? That’s a lot to process.”

“If I wasn’t so overwhelmed, I’d probably be angry. Yeah. Probably angry.” I look down to find that Stephen is still holding one of my hands. I recount what we have learned, “so there’s a block on my memories, created the day I met you, probably not by you, because then Gorron would’ve recognized the signature? Correct?”

Stephen nod.

“And the only way to find out who it is that cursed me, is to let someone else have a look? I'm assuming it's a very similar type of magic to what Loki did to me.”

He nods again.

“Even though the last time someone did that it gave me the magical equivalent of a severe concussion?”

One final nod.

My heart pounds. “That voice- from my dream told me what a disappointment I was. I don’t even know who I’m letting down. And my powers are gone, and yeah they weren’t big and dramatic but they were mine. They belong to me, it’s like I’ve had a limb sawn off and I can’t even walk up the fucking stairs without my body giving up on me so I’m just trapped in this room. Is this my life now? Someone just put a spell on me one day and for what? I’m not important, I’m not powerful. Whoever did it must have had a reason but I have no idea who- or what? Except it’s got something to do with you? It must do, or maybe it’s just a coincidence that we met that day, I don’t know.” I'm spiralling.

Stephen doesn't say anything, just squeezes my hand tighter and like a toddler having a tantrum, I try to wrench it from his grasp, but he has a stronger grip than I’d anticipated. I poke a finger into his chest, but he doesn’t flinch.

“And you! You have the nerve to stand there, all sympathetic and concerned, ‘cause I’m just another pathetic-”

“You’re not pathetic-”

“Maybe I’m not, but who’s to say because I don’t know who I am! I couldn’t tell you my favorite food! I don’t know who I am and I feel so stupid. I’m barely a person.” Tears well up in my eyes and I hate them. I try to brush them away, but Stephen still wouldn’t relinquish the hand he held. He was swimming in my vision, and I was glad because then I didn’t have to look him in the eye as he beheld my tears. I’d never cried in front of him before.

It was the second time he had ever embraced me. The first time even through the wave of nausea and the bright lights, I could feel his relief that I was safe, but this time? Stephen pulls me in, his arms wrapping around me, no relief, only release as I bury my eyes in his shirt and sob. He doesn’t say a thing. Doesn’t move, just holds me, one arm around the small of my back rubs small circles and the other grasps my shoulder firmly. I can feel the ridges and stitching of his glove through the fabric of my shirt.

After a while, I couldn’t tell you how long, I manage to stop crying, taking deep breaths to get myself together. He smells like earl grey tea and lemons.

“You are a person,” said Stephen, finally breaking the silence. His low voice rumbles through his chest. “Look, I’m not the most open person in the world, but,” he takes a deep breath, “I… care about you. You're not stupid and you are certainly not pathetic. I promise we will get to the bottom of this, but until you get everything you’ve lost back, you’re still a person. You're no burden to me.”

My arms are around his neck, our bodies pressed together. “I’m scared.”

"I know."

"I'm scared I'm going to be like this forever."

“I know,” his lips skim my temple, and goosebumps raise down my limbs. “I felt the same way when my hands were crushed. But we have no evidence to suggest you won't make a full recovery. And worse case scenario, we’re going to figure this out. Do you believe me?” His breath is warm on my skin.

"I believe you.

The air is charged, the question is charged, and Stephen holding me is the only thing keeping me together. I get the distinct impression that I should feel embarrassed, humiliated for sobbing in front of Stephen, as though a proper lady might have done it more demurely. I don't though. I like it. I like how caring and attentive he has been since I was injured.

"What do you need? What can I do for you?"

I glance around my room. It seems especially small with another person in it. The green wallpaper is still bright and the iron bed below it is a mess. The room itself is mercifully, not too messy. The curtains are mostly drawn now, blocking out the harsh light of the sun, and leaving only a thick stripe that cuts the room into unequal halves. The room itself is cozy, but after all the time spent in it the last few days, and what had happened there, it's suffocating me.

"Take me somewhere else. I need to get out of this house."

Stephen clears his throat, and created a portal. Through the golden circle is the stark night. The chill from the cold air radiates through, prickling my skin. We manage to detangle.

The wind is mild and the sky clear. I have no memory of the world so dark. Back in the city the night is never dark, polluted with bright lights and fluorescence and color. But here, the sky is a sheet of black, with hundreds, no, hundreds of thousands of stars of every hue. The world is so quiet and there are no tell tale signs of humanity around. All this space and only the two of us.

"Where…?"

"New Zealand." His robes had shifted into casual wear. That grey sweater again. Stephen stores his hands in his pockets. "Aptly named by the European settlers as the South Island, due to the fact that it is the Southern Island."

"They sound creative." When the portal went, so did all of the light and my eyes tale a moment to adjust. "It's beautiful."

"It is. And it will only get better."

I look at him surprised, eyebrows raised though he probably can't see it in the darkness. The tracks my tears have left behind feel particularly cold in the icy air.

“From a scientific point of view, auroras are the result of charged solar wind particles caught in Earth’s magnetic field. These particles ionize oxygen and nitrogen molecules in the upper atmosphere, a chemical reaction creating light. The indigenous people of this land saw auroras as the campfires of their ancestors.”

“Are they? The campfires of their ancestors?”

Stephen stands at my side, and passes me the sweatshirt that had been hanging on the end of my bed. “Yeah, they are. And if I’ve timed correctly, they should be just about to…” He trails off.

Nothing happens. There is only blackness around us.

Stephen chuckles, “that would’ve been really impressive. This area has been having an increase rate of solar storms-”

The dull cloud twists into a ribbon of white which begin to curl across the sky. Then it's yellow. Red, green, blue - a nebulous glowing arc ornamenting the sky and I look on in awe. The lights of New York had been overstimulating, but this is- "beautiful."

“Yes.”

The dam inside me breaks and energy floods me. Even being out in the fresh air had invigorated my soul a little and I take off marching towards the slab of rock on the edge of the cliff. I dig my fingers into the top and hauling myself up.

"Jesus Christ, be careful!" Stephen's at my side in half-a-second, clamoring up to stand at my side.

"You're worse than Wong," I complain.

"At least sit ," Stephen's hands find my shoulders and gently push.

I groan but comply, letting my legs dangle off of the edge. He joins me. I could see our breath in the air, and pull my sweatshirt tighter around my shoulders.

"What made you want to be a doctor?" I ask finally, breaking the prolonged silence.

"Do you want the PR answer or the truth?"

"Either."

"Well," Stephen runs his fingers through his hair and I wonder what it feels like, "what I used to tell people was that I wanted to help. We are the world type of bull," he laughs and it cuts through the cold, warming my chest. "But the truth is that I wanted to be the best at something with a lot of status."

Stephen digs through his pocket and pull out a chocolate bar. He hands it to me and I snap it in half, letting him choose which piece he prefered.

"Well, I've been thinking about why I must have chosen anthropology to dedicate myself to. I have three possible answers."

"And they are?"

I chew my chocolate thoroughly. "One, knowing how big of a motivator spite is for me, someone probably told me I couldn't do it."

Stephen laughs again, "sounds about right."

"Two, it's just so damn interesting! I was reading through my doctorate thesis and I seemed really passionate about how teeth could tell you so much about someone's social status.” Cupping my hands I blow warm air into them. My knuckles are bright red. "Three, and probably the most boring of all the answers, maybe it was related to my powers. I didn't really ever figure out the origin, maybe I thought it would be linked to something else, something bigger."

"Well, it's looking more and more like you are a part of something bigger."

"Now that I know what 'bigger' entails, maybe I should have wished for a more simple life." I finish my half of the bar and suck the last of the melted chocolate off of my fingers. The aurora crackles around us like radio static. “The way the light flows… It reminds me of the incense that Wong burns. You know the stuff, lotus and patchouli.”

I look at Stephen, his face bathed in colored light. “I know exactly the one. Gives me headaches, but he still insists on it.”

“That’s because it gets you out of his hair once in a while.”

“I suppose, yeah. It does.” Then he adds, "metaphorical hair."

It's nice to laugh with him. “Why did you choose-? I mean, I said I needed to get out of the house, why was New Zealand the first place you thought of?” I shiver, my sweatshirt is not holding up against the winter breeze, I twist my hands in my lap trying to increase the friction.

“Ah, I don’t know,” his eyes levelled against my gaze, the grey taking on the colors passing overhead. It's mesmerizing. “Just popped into my head, I guess.” His voice gets quieter and quieter and I have to lean in to hear him.

There's a magnetic pull between us. Something strong have sucked us into its current, it wasn’t just this moment, it's everything, it's the universe deciding our fate and pushing us together. Everything since we had met had just felt so right, like we were made for each other.

“Aren’t you cold?” I whisper. “I’m freezing.”

For the moment he looks so relaxed. He's only inches away from me now, and his hand covers mine, his warmth permeating through the yellow leather, and I look from his eyes to his mouth, pink lips from the cold slightly parted and bordered with his dark beard. “Stephen?” I couldn’t get my voice to work properly, my breathing had gotten shallow, heart clanging in my chest.

My eyes flutter shut, as he comes close enough that his nose brushes against my cheek, and he murmurs something I can’t make out, cut off when I press my mouth to his.

Stephen tasted like the chocolate we had shared and for a moment everything in this dark world, with its vibrant skies slowed, until he kisses me back, energy flowing through us at the places where we connected, his hand gripping the back of my neck to deepen the kiss, his tongue running over my bottom lip.

He's gone.

I've lost my breath.

Twisting around, I find Stephen standing behind me. “I’m sorry if I gave you the wrong impression, I was just- trying-”

Heat floods my cheeks and for once I'm at a loss for words.

A portal opens to my room and I flinch at the sudden piercing light.

“I should go,” Stephen hurries into my room, disappearing into the hall.

In his haste, he left the door wide open.

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urdreamydoodles · 2 months ago

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MARVEL COMICS CHARACTERS x FEM!READER

Marvel Comics Characters Receiving a Dirty Picture from You in Public

Characters: Peter Parker, Tony Stark, Steve Rogers, Thor, Loki, Clint Barton, Natasha Romanoff, Bucky Barnes, Matthew Murdock, Frank Castle, Marc Spector, Johnny Storm, Reed Richards, Felicia Hardy, Stephen Strange, Namor, Johnny Blaze, Eddie Brock / Venom, T'Challa & Elektra Natchios

God, I love Marvel Comics...

Peter Parker aka. Spider-Man

Peter has been through a lot. He’s fought villains, lost people he’s loved, and carried the weight of responsibility since he was a kid. But nothing—not Venom, not Doctor Octopus, not the Green Goblin—has ever hit him as hard as opening his phone and seeing you.

He’s perched upside-down on a fire escape, mid-stakeout with Daredevil, when his phone buzzes. He barely glances at it at first, assuming it’s an update from MJ or the Bugle. But then—his Spidey-Sense misfires. His stomach drops. And suddenly, he’s scrambling so fast that he almost falls off the fire escape.

“...Parker?” Matt’s voice is suspicious, brow furrowing beneath the red mask. Peter clutches his phone like a lifeline, heat rushing to his face, his entire body going rigid. “Uh—nope! Nothing’s wrong! Totally fine! Just, uh—gotta—go!” Before Matt can say another word, Peter web-slings away, heart pounding.

Later, in his apartment, he stares at the image, biting his lip so hard he might draw blood. Then, fumbling with his phone, he types back: You cannot just drop this on me in the middle of a mission. I almost DIED. You’re gonna make it up to me. In person. Immediately.

Tony Stark aka. Iron Man

Tony Stark is always the one making people flustered. He’s the king of inappropriate timing, the grandmaster of chaos. So when you flip the game on him? When you send him something completely indecent while he’s in the middle of a live press conference? Oh, he is in trouble.

He’s mid-sentence, standing in front of a sea of reporters, when his phone vibrates. He glances at it without thinking, because hey, it might be about stock prices or another alien invasion. But no. No, it’s you. In the filthiest pose imaginable.

He visibly freezes. Blinks. Blanches. Then—his brain blue screens. The entire room stares as Tony suddenly cuts off mid-sentence, clears his throat, and forces a smirk that’s absolutely not covering up a crisis. “Uh—ladies and gentlemen, I think that’s enough questions for today.”

The moment he’s offstage, he stumbles into the nearest private room, yanks at his tie, and pulls out his phone like it holds the meaning of life. He types back immediately: Oh, now you’ve done it, sweetheart. I hope you’re home right now, because I’m on my way, and I’m bringing consequences.

Steve Rogers aka. Captain America

Steve is not a prude. He’s been around, he’s seen things. But there’s something about you—about the way you know exactly how to knock the breath from his lungs—that makes him feel like a kid again.

He’s in the middle of a strategy meeting with Sam and Bucky, his shield leaning against the table, when his phone vibrates. He checks it without thinking, eyes flicking down—and then every muscle in his body tenses. His grip on the phone tightens. His ears burn red.

“You good, Rogers?” Bucky gives him a knowing smirk, because he immediately recognizes that look—Steve flustered beyond belief. Steve clears his throat, hard, locking his phone like it’s offended him. “Fine,” he says, voice a little too even. “Let’s, uh—let’s keep going.”

But later, when he’s alone, he exhales deeply, pressing a hand over his face before looking at the image again. Then, with slow deliberation, he types: I hope you know what you just started. Because I don’t break my promises, sweetheart. And I promise—you’re not leaving that bed when I get there.

Thor Odinson aka. God of Thunder

Thor has seen battles, has waged wars across the cosmos, has faced monsters and gods. But when his phone pings—when he sees the absolute sin that you’ve just sent him—he forgets how to breathe.

He is in the middle of the Avengers’ common room, laughing boisterously with Bruce and Natasha, when he pulls out his phone. He expects something simple—a text from his brother, perhaps, or a message from Jane. But instead? Instead, he sees you.

The entire room feels it when Thor’s laughter stops. There is a moment—just a beat of silence—before the lights flicker. The air crackles with static electricity. His fingers twitch around the phone, and then, in a low, very serious voice, he mutters, “By the Norns…”

Natasha raises an eyebrow, but Thor abruptly stands, clearing his throat. “I must depart. Urgently.” Bruce frowns. “What? Why?” Thor barely offers an explanation before storming out of the room, typing furiously: You dare tempt the God of Thunder? Very well, little one. You shall learn what it means to summon a storm.

Loki Laufeyson aka. God of Mischief

Loki is the undisputed master of control. He is calm, composed, always one step ahead of everyone else. But when you send him something so shameless, so brazen, in the middle of an important diplomatic event in Asgard—he nearly drops his goblet of wine.

He’s reclining on his throne, listening to some dull ambassador drone on about trade negotiations, when his phone vibrates. He lifts it lazily, expecting nothing of importance—until he sees you.

His entire body goes rigid. His grip tightens around the goblet, the silver denting beneath his fingers. His green eyes darken, and for the first time in centuries, he feels his pulse stutter. The ambassador keeps talking, oblivious, but Loki? Loki is seething.

Later, in his chambers, he lounges on his bed, turning the phone over in his fingers before smirking. Then, with slow, careful precision, he types: You dare tease the God of Mischief? Oh, darling, you are in such trouble. And you know how much I enjoy trouble.

Clint Barton aka. Hawkeye

Clint Barton is used to chaos. He’s fought alien invasions, taken down crime syndicates, and, most impressively, lived in a house with three dogs and somehow survived. But nothing—not the Avengers, not S.H.I.E.L.D., not even Kate Bishop’s endless sarcasm—could have prepared him for this.

He’s in the middle of a debriefing with Captain America and Black Widow when his phone vibrates. Normally, he’d ignore it, but boredom gets the better of him. He sneaks a glance, tilting the screen just slightly—and immediately chokes on his coffee.

“Barton?” Natasha’s voice is sharp, her suspicious gaze snapping to him. Steve looks concerned. Clint, on the other hand, is malfunctioning. He quickly locks his phone, pressing it to his thigh like it’s burning him. “Yep. All good. Just… wrong text thread. You know how it is.”

The second he’s alone, he whistles, rubbing a hand down his face before sending a text: You are absolutely trying to kill me, aren’t you? I’m a trained marksman, babe. You know I always hit my target. Hope you’re ready.

Natasha Romanoff aka. Black Widow

Natasha Romanoff is a professional. She’s endured psychological conditioning, trained with the deadliest assassins in the world, and can lie so well that even she forgets what’s real. But when you send her something so utterly filthy, in the middle of a high-stakes poker game with some very dangerous people—she nearly loses her composure.

She’s holding a perfect poker face, one leg crossed over the other, a cigarette between her fingers (purely for effect). Then, her phone buzzes. She never checks her phone during missions, but for some reason, she does this time.

The second she sees the image, her fingers twitch. She almost fumbles her cigarette. Almost. A single slow breath is all that betrays her before she locks the screen and smirks, adjusting her sunglasses to hide the flicker of heat in her gaze.

Later, after she’s won the game (because of course she has), she finally responds: You must be very confident, sending me something like that. I hope you know what happens when I catch my prey, моя любовь (my love). Because I always catch them.

Bucky Barnes aka. Winter Soldier

Bucky is already always on edge. He spent decades being controlled, his mind fractured, his instincts constantly telling him that danger lurks around every corner. But when his phone vibrates in the middle of a mission briefing and he makes the mistake of checking it—he nearly self-destructs.

He’s sitting next to Sam Wilson, arms crossed, trying to focus on the tactical discussion. Then, out of habit, he glances at his phone. And suddenly? His enhanced heartbeat spikes. His grip on the phone tightens, metal fingers creaking.

Sam immediately notices. “Dude. You okay?” Bucky doesn’t answer. He just exhales deeply, jaw clenching, and locks his phone like it’s personally offended him. “Fine,” he mutters, but the way his throat bobs betrays him.

Later, in the privacy of his room, he leans against the wall, pressing his flesh hand over his face before looking at the image again. Then, he types—slow, deliberate, full of promise: You are playing with fire, doll. And you know I don’t burn alone.

Matthew Murdock aka. Daredevil

Matt has learned to control himself. He has to, considering his senses pick up everything. The heartbeat of a liar, the scent of blood, the whisper of fabric against skin. But when he puts in his earpiece during a stakeout with Elektra and hears you—sultry, teasing, wicked—his composure shatters.

Your voice is a purr, warm and full of amusement, as you describe, in explicit detail, exactly what you want to do to him. Every syllable slides into his ear like a sin, and for the first time in years, Matt Murdock forgets how to breathe.

“Murdock.” Elektra’s voice is unimpressed. “Are you even listening?” Matt clenches his jaw, forcing his expression into something neutral as he slowly removes the earpiece. “Yeah,” he lies, his voice way too tight. “Loud and clear.” But his fingers twitch, betraying him.

Later, alone in his apartment, he plays the message again. And again. Until his own heartbeat is thunderous in his ears. Then, with a slow smirk, he records his reply—his voice low, gravelly, barely more than a rasp: Angel, you have no idea what you’ve just done. And I promise—you won’t be able to walk tomorrow.

Frank Castle aka. The Punisher

Frank Castle does not fluster. He’s a man who’s seen the worst of the world, a soldier who has lost everything. He does not get distracted. But when he’s sitting in the middle of a grimy bar, brooding over a whiskey, and his phone vibrates—everything stops.

He checks it absently, expecting intel from Micro or maybe a warning from Daredevil. But instead, he gets you. And just like that, his grip on the glass tightens. His jaw locks. His entire body tenses, muscles coiled, because you have just sent him something so utterly indecent that he has to set his whiskey down before he crushes the glass.

The bartender notices. “You good, man?” Frank barely glances up, his fingers white-knuckled around his phone. “Fine,” he mutters, voice rough. He shoves his phone back in his pocket and downs the rest of his drink in one go.

Later, in the dead of night, he finally lets himself look at the picture again. He exhales, rubbing a hand over his face, before sending a single message: You think you’re real cute, huh? Yeah. Keep that same energy when I get home. See if you’re still smirking when I’ve got my hands on you.

Marc Spector aka. Moon Knight

Marc has lived multiple lives. A mercenary. A vigilante. A fist of vengeance. But the moment his phone vibrates in the middle of a stakeout, and he sees you—he nearly blows his own cover.

He’s perched on a rooftop, watching a weapons deal go down, his mind sharp and focused. Then, out of habit, he checks his phone. His breath hitches. His grip tightens around the device, and he has to physically restrain himself from groaning. Khonshu’s voice rumbles in his mind: "Your mortal desires are distracting, Spector." Marc grits his teeth. "Yeah, no shit."

“Something wrong?” Jake’s voice purrs from inside his head, amused. “She send you something nice, hermano?” Marc rolls his eyes, exhaling sharply before locking his phone. “Mind your damn business.” But his pulse is thundering.

Later, back at his apartment, he leans against the wall, staring at the image before typing: You have no idea what you’ve just done. Hope you’re home. Hope you’re ready.

Johnny Storm aka. Human Torch

Johnny Storm is used to attention. He thrives on it. He’s a celebrity, a hero, a walking flame. But when you send him something scandalous in the middle of a live television interview, even he isn’t ready for it.

He’s laughing, flashing his signature cocky grin at the camera, when his phone buzzes. He checks it without thinking—because hey, it might be Sue yelling at him again—but instead, it’s you. In the filthiest pose imaginable.

Johnny visibly chokes. His entire body tenses. For the first time ever, he forgets what he was saying. The interviewer blinks. “Uh… Johnny?” His brain short-circuits. His face heats—literally. The tips of his ears ignite before he clenches his fists and forces himself to not spontaneously combust on live television.

The second the interview is over, he’s sprinting to his dressing room, slamming the door shut and typing frantically: Ohhh, you are in trouble. You’re really trying to set me on fire, huh? Hope you’re home, babe, ‘cause I’m flying over. Right. Now.

Reed Richards aka. Mister Fantastic

Reed Richards is a genius. His mind is constantly working at speeds beyond human comprehension. But when he’s mid-lecture at a prestigious scientific conference and his phone vibrates—his brilliant mind suddenly goes blank.

He absently checks his phone, half-expecting an alert from the Baxter Building. But instead, it’s you. Wearing almost nothing.

For a solid ten seconds, he is frozen. His eyes slightly widen. His fingers twitch. And then, very slowly, he locks his phone and clears his throat. “Ah—excuse me, esteemed colleagues, but I must—um—attend to an urgent matter.”

Later, he adjusts his glasses, staring at the image with a fascinated, almost scientific appreciation. Then, with methodical precision, he types: You are a very distracting woman. I will be conducting an… in-depth study on you as soon as I return. Expect a thorough examination.

Felicia Hardy aka. Black Cat

Felicia Hardy is a master of seduction. She flusters men for fun. But when she’s in the middle of a high-stakes casino heist, and you send her something utterly indecent, even she loses her composure.

She’s leaning against the bar, sipping an expensive martini, eyes locked on her mark. Then, her phone buzzes. She lazily checks it, expecting an update from her crew. But instead? Instead, she sees you.

Her eyelashes flutter. Her lips part just slightly. And for the first time in years, her poker face cracks. The bartender—oblivious—raises an eyebrow. “Everything okay, miss?” Felicia exhales, smirking as she locks her phone. “Oh, it’s better than okay.”

Later, she lounges on silk sheets, staring at the picture before purring into her phone: You really think you can tease me, kitten? Oh, sweetheart… you just made a very expensive bet. And I never lose.

Stephen Strange aka. Doctor Strange

Stephen Strange is not easily shaken. He’s fought cosmic horrors, bent reality, and wielded power beyond mortal comprehension. But when he’s in the middle of a magical duel with Dormammu, and you send him a sinfully explicit picture—he almost loses.

He’s mid-incantation, floating above the Sanctum’s rooftop, when his phone vibrates. Normally, he’d ignore it—except something in the back of his mind tells him it’s you. He flicks his fingers, glancing at the screen—and immediately regrets it.

His spell stutters. His fingers twitch. The fabric of reality briefly warps. Wong, standing below, yells, “What the hell was that?!” Stephen clenches his jaw, locking his phone immediately before snapping his wrist and repairing the timeline. “Nothing,” he mutters. “Absolutely nothing.”

The moment the battle is over, he retreats into his study, loosening his Cloak, before typing: You dare distract the Sorcerer Supreme? You have no idea what you’ve just unleashed, darling. And I do hope you’re prepared for consequences beyond mortal comprehension.

Namor aka. The Sub-Mariner

Namor is a king. He does not answer to anyone. He has waged war against the surface world, stood against the mightiest heroes, and commands the loyalty of an entire empire. But when he is seated on his throne, discussing politics with his council, and his communicator vibrates—everything else becomes irrelevant.

He glances down, expecting a diplomatic missive. Instead, he is greeted by you—a vision of temptation, captured in a way that only he has the privilege to see. His grip on the communicator tightens, his lips parting slightly. The light of the display reflects in his dark, narrowed eyes.

The council drones on, but Namor hears nothing. His golden gauntlets flex, his knuckles tightening as his jaw sets. A slow, deliberate exhale is all that betrays his reaction. But those closest to him—his most trusted generals—see the flicker of something dangerous in his expression. A storm, barely contained.

Later, as he stands upon his balcony, overlooking the endless ocean, he types a single response: You seek to tempt a king, my love? Then be prepared for the wrath of a god. When next we meet, you will drown in my devotion.

Johnny Blaze aka. Ghost Rider

Johnny Blaze has seen Hell—literally. He has ridden across the desolate highways of damnation, stared into the abyss, and laughed. But when he’s sitting in a biker bar, nursing a whiskey and half-listening to some guy ramble about the Devil, his phone vibrates. And when he checks it—he nearly sets the whole place on fire.

The image of you is burned into his mind, seared into his soul. He sucks in a slow breath through his teeth, his fingers tightening around the glass. His knuckles go white. Somewhere deep inside, the Spirit of Vengeance chuckles.

“Something wrong, Blaze?” One of the other bikers eyes him warily. Johnny forces a smirk, setting his whiskey down before he crushes the glass in his grip. “Nah,” he rasps, his voice a little too rough. “Just realized I got… unfinished business to take care of.”

Later, on his Hellfire-coated bike, he sends a text: You got a real bad habit of making me wanna sin, sweetheart. And I promise—I’ll make sure you repent. Over. And over.

Eddie Brock & Venom aka. Venom

Eddie Brock has been through hell. He’s fought monsters, been one himself, lost everything, and still kept going. But nothing—not a damn thing—could prepare him for the absolute carnage of getting that picture from you in the middle of a crowded subway.

He’s scrolling through his phone absentmindedly, Venom muttering in his head about wanting tater tots, when the image loads. For a solid five seconds, he is completely still. Then—

“Eddie.” Venom’s voice rumbles, amused. “Your mate is very… bold. We approve.” Eddie, red-faced, slams his phone against his chest like that’ll somehow erase what just happened. “Jesus Christ,” he mutters, eyes darting around to make sure no one saw. A teenager across from him raises an eyebrow.

Later, when he’s alone, he finally lets himself look at the picture again. A slow, predatory grin spreads across his face as he types back: Oh, you think you’re being cute, huh? Yeah. Just wait till I get my hands on you. Hell, maybe we’ll even let Venom have a little fun, too.

T’Challa aka. Black Panther

T’Challa is a king, a warrior, a legend. His mind is a fortress, his will unshakable. But when he is seated in the royal palace of Wakanda, surrounded by dignitaries, and his Kimoyo Beads alert him to a personal message—his focus wavers.

He allows himself a discreet glance. And in that moment? His heart skips a single beat. His fingers—steady even in the heat of battle—tighten just slightly around his beads. His expression does not change. But to those who know him well—Okoye, Shuri—they notice the subtlest flicker of something dangerous in his eyes.

Shuri smirks. “Brother,” she murmurs, leaning in. “You look… distracted.” T’Challa exhales deeply, locking the message with a casual flick of his fingers. “I am merely… anticipating a conversation.”

Later, when he is alone, he reviews the picture once more, fingers grazing his jaw before he types: You are testing my patience, beloved. And you know I am a man of great discipline. But for you? I am willing to break my own rules. Expect me soon.

Elektra Natchios aka. Elektra

Elektra Natchios does not fluster. She has slit the throats of kings, danced on the edge of oblivion, and played cat-and-mouse with death itself. But when she is sharpening her sai on the rooftop of a New York high-rise and her phone buzzes—her grip falters.

The blade nicks her glove. Barely. But it happens. Her lips part in a slow, dangerous smirk as she tilts the phone toward the moonlight, drinking in the absolute audacity of your message.

“Something amusing?” A voice—a rival assassin, lurking in the shadows. Elektra does not answer. She merely tucks her phone away, standing smoothly, her stance lethal. “Yes,” she purrs. “Something… very amusing.”

Later, as she leans against the window of her penthouse, she finally sends a reply: You are so very reckless, my love. And I do enjoy breaking reckless little things.

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alixandra-multifandom-version · 3 months ago

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Writing fanfiction isn't enough anymore I need that character to kiss me breathless

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blue-sadie · 1 year ago

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Good Morning

You wake up needing him

The rays of sunlight peaked through the curtains making both of your body's glow, the morning coldness left goosebumps all over your naked bodies and you enjoyed eachothers presences.

You were the one that woke up first, his hair was all messy some of it sticking to his forehead as he let out soft hums in his sleep, his arm was lazily settled on your bare thigh, his finger tips twitching every so often from his dream.

You stared at him as you sneakily moved your hand from his chest downward tracing your finger tips along his abs to his v line causing a shiver to run up his spine, then as your hand went further your breathe hitched he was already hard for you.

It was fairly easy to move yourself on top of him, your thighs straddling his waist as you raise yourself to take him in, the eager movements caused him to stir from his sleep his hands finding their places on your hips planting you down on top of him.

He would chuckle and speak to you with his raspy calling you a bad girl for not asking him first but he'd soon let you continue your actions, 1 orgasm turned into 2 then 3, you wanted this so your not going to stop intil I think you've had enough he would say as he puts his hands behind his head watching you bounce on his cock.

Bruce Wayne, Jason Todd, Dick Grayson, Clark Kent, Hal Jordan, Berry Allen, Jake Lockley, Marc Spector, Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes, Stephen Strange

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skarpetaspodnapleta · 4 months ago

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Without limits, without pauses, without mercy. From dusk till dawn, from dawn till dusk. From the kitchen counter, where dishes tremble at every movement, to the cold tiles of the bathroom floor, where every trembling breath echoes against the walls. From the walls that fail to contain the moans, to the cabinets that shake in rhythm with moving hips. From the bedroom mirror that mercilessly reflects every taut muscle and every trace of nails down your back, to the shower where water mixes with sweat and saliva, soaking everything: bodies, walls, and souls alike.

On the table, on the chair, on the floor, on the couch, on every piece of furniture that stands in your way. Missionary, with nails digging into your back. On top, with hands wrapped tightly around a throat. Reverse cowgirl, where the view alone drives you insane. From behind, with raised hips begging for more. Sideways, backwards, upside down, in every position that shifts with the rhythm of desire. On the dining table that groans under the weight. On the washing machine, vibrating in perfect sync with your movements. On the stairs, where every thrust reverberates like an echo through the house.

In the kitchen, where steam rises above pots, and the smell of spices mingles with the scent of overheated skin. On the windowsill, where moonlight illuminates every motion, every drop of sweat, every bite mark left on shoulders and necks. Against the fridge, its cold surface a stark contrast to the fire in your body. On the kitchen island, where hands grip the countertop and legs wrap around hips in a desperate plea for more.

In the living room, where the couch becomes a battlefield. Pillows thrown to the floor, the rug crumpled, furniture shifted, and the air thick with moans. On the coffee table, barely sturdy enough to handle the force. By the window, where curtains sway in time with your movements, the city lights outside flickering in rhythm. On the armchair, balancing on the edge, every tilt and angle pushing your pulse faster and faster.

Outside, where the cold air bites at your skin, but the heat of your bodies makes it irrelevant. On the terrace, where the night sky becomes your only witness. On the car hood, still warm from the day’s sun. In the trunk, where every movement feels like breaking the rules. On the motorcycle, where balance is a challenge, and every moment feels like defying gravity.

In the car, where fogged-up windows shield what’s happening inside. On the back seat, where hands pull bodies closer. In the front seat, where the steering wheel barely stays in place. In a parking lot, where the risk of being caught makes your heart race even faster. By the side of the road, where the sound of passing cars merges with ragged breaths and muffled moans.

In the forest, where the scent of earth and dampness blends with the scent of skin. In a tent, where the thin fabric barely conceals the movements, and every sound carries through the trees. On the beach, where sand sticks to sweaty skin, and the crashing waves match the rhythm of your hips. In the water, where the waves cradle your bodies, every surge amplifying the pleasure.

In a hotel, where the bed never stays in one place. Where the mirrors on the ceiling reflect every moment. In the elevator, where time seems to freeze, and the space between floors becomes your entire world. In the restaurant’s backroom, where kitchen tools tremble on the shelves, and your bodies pulse with unrelenting desire.

In the bathroom, where the mirror fogs up, and the floor is slick with water. In the shower, where hands glide over wet skin, mouths never ceasing their search for each other. In the bathtub, where warm water envelops you, and the foam becomes the only veil between you and the heat.

Every inch of skin, every hidden curve, every nerve pushed to its breaking point. Fingers sliding across sweaty flesh, teeth sinking into lips, bite marks left on necks, shoulders, hips. Backs arching into impossible shapes, legs trembling with tension, toes curling with every wave of pleasure. Breaths quickened, shallow, broken by endless screams and moans.

From the first touch to the final shudder, when your body quakes and your mind dissolves into pure bliss. From the first look that sparks the fire, to the final embrace that leaves you both spent. Without limits, without pauses, without mercy.

And then, there’s him—in uniform, the sight enough to ignite every nerve in your body. The crisp lines of his police uniform, the badge glinting under dim light, the holster at his side holding his weapon, a reminder of the authority he wields. The weight of his presence pins you in place, his voice low and commanding, each word sending shivers down your spine. His hands, firm and unyielding, trace your body as if asserting control, the leather of his belt brushing against your skin, the cold metal of his cuffs a silent threat and promise all at once. Against the wall, with his body pressed tightly to yours, his breath hot against your neck, the uniform and everything it represents only heightening the tension, the power dynamic pulling you deeper into unrelenting desire.

#tim bradford x reader #tim bradford #tim bradford smut #police #police uniform #smut #all day #stephen strange x reader #t'challa x reader #jason todd x reader #bruce wayne x reader #monster lust #hobie brown x reader #ninjago x reader #miles morales x reader #marcus acacius x reader #cregan stark x reader

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geeky-politics-46 · 4 months ago

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Surgery Headcanon

How would my favorite Marvel men react to you having surgery.

I'm getting my gallbladder taken out in a couple of weeks, it will be my first surgery ever, so this is 100% self-indulgent. That's part of why I've been so absent this year, I've had an organ rebelling.

Doctor Stephen Strange

Will ask who your doctor is to see if he knows them. If not, he may send a referral to a trusted former colleague on your behalf. He's not letting you under the knife unless he knows you have a good surgeon.

Will tell you how routine the surgery is if you are starting to worry. Almost a bit blasé about your concerns, after all, bedside manner was never his strong suit as a surgeon. Plus, it really is a routine, laparoscopic procedure. Way less intricate & dangerous than neurosurgery.

1000% will try to micromanage everything once you're at the hospital prepping for or immediately out of surgery. He wants to see your chart. He wants to know what your most recent vitals are. Hell, he may have even asked if he can observe the surgery. Partly, it's him being overprotective, partly it's because he misses being a doctor.

Definitely breaking into the doctor's lounge for the good coffee, not the instant crap in the cafeteria.

After you are home, he will be vigilant about making sure you take your pain meds & will check your incisions to make sure everything is healing well. You are in very safe, if slightly neurotic hands.

Secretly, or not so secretly, enjoying getting to play doctor again to take care of you. Looking forward to when you are well enough that you can play doctor and patient the really fun way.

Bucky Barnes

May actually be a bigger mess than you are. Thanks to Hydra, medical anything makes his anxiety shoot through the roof. Now piled on top of that, he feels out of control & helpless to make you feel better.

Would have to be physically dragged out of your hospital room, so the hospital staff just lets the whole “visitors hours” thing slide.

The second you wake up, he is by your side asking if you need anything. Probably didn't sleep or even sit down the entire time you were in surgery.

If you even make an odd face, he's asking if you are in pain, and he has become a huge pain in the ass for your nurses.

May have thought about threatening your surgeon about if something went wrong.

Either guard dog mode, or he completely shuts down. There is no in between.

Afraid he's going to break you while you are recovering. Offers to sleep on the floor or on the couch just in case. Doesn't want to let you out of his sight until you are healed.

Steve Rogers

Tells you over and over how everything will be okay and that you are in good hands.

May tell you stories about how much hospitals and medical stuff has improved since he was so sick before the serum.

Reads up on your surgery and your doctors. He wants to understand as much as he can about what is going on. He probably has more questions for the doctor than you do.

Puts on a brave face for you but secretly will be a little nervous. He hates seeing you sick or in pain, and he can't help but worry a little bit.

Will respect hospital rules but will stay up until the very last minute of visiting hours are over. Knows the names of every nurse and doctor treating you.

Definitely has flowers or a stuffed bear for you as soon as you wake up from surgery.

Dotes on your every need once you are home and watches you like a hawk. The first few days, he doesn't even let you go to the bathroom by yourself. You can't get away with shortcutting your recovery under his eye.

Sam Wilson

Buys you a cute, silly stuffed version of whatever you are having surgery on to make you laugh. See my new stuffed sad gallbladder plush as reference here.

All the nurses love him, and he likes to crack jokes with all the staff. Offers to help with anything he can but mostly tries to stay out of their way.

Trying to make you smile all the way until they wheel you to the OR. He doesn't want you to be scared or nervous.

Like Steve, he will put on a brave face but will be nervous once you are in surgery. Lots of pacing back & forth. Lots of trips to the coffee machine.

Takes care of you once you are home but not quite as mother hen as Steve. Will let you judge what is best for you, but will 100% call you out if he sees you doing something the doctor told you not to.

Will also rat you out to your doctor if you don’t follow their instructions. He doesn't want to snitch, but he'd also rather not be the one to scold you.

Loki

Doesn't like the idea of someone operating on you. Trained surgeon or not, they are still just a simple Midgardian.

Doesn't like the hospital one bit. Comments on the color and decor, even the hideous hospital gown you have to wear. Partly to make you laugh, partly because it was all truly hideous.

If your surgeon even hesitates on a question you ask, Loki will assume they aren't the best and demand another doctor. You may have to talk him down a bit. He's a prince, after all, and he wants to make sure you are in the best hands possible.

The whole thing seems a bit barbaric to him. He would much have preferred using magic or Asgardian ways to heal you, but alas when on Midgard.

Secretly terrified something will happen to you, but would never tell you he's worried. Doesn't like that he can't do anything to help you.

Is not very used to taking care of people, and as royalty, he's the one used to being waited on, but he will try his best to do whatever you need him to do.

Will probably mostly ignore instructions from the doctor so you are in charge of that part of your care, but he will beg to accelerate your healing with his magic if he can.

Eddie Brock & Venom

Venom brings you chocolates, which he then eats after you tell him he can, and says not to worry because if the doctors don't take proper care of you he will bite off their heads and eat their brains.

Eddie is nervous but trying to be brave, so you won't be scared. It doesn't help that Venom keeps telling Eddie not to make you nervous, which then, in turn, makes him nervous. He will try to make jokes and keep you entertained however he can.

Eddie and Venom try not to argue while they wait for you to get done with surgery. The last thing you need is to wake up and find out that they ended up in the psych ward for talking to/arguing with themselves in the waiting room. They are on their best behavior.

Both of them try to wait on you hand and foot after you get home. You've had to eat several well-meaning but truly gross breakfasts in bed so as not to disappoint either of them. They mean so well, but neither of them can cook beyond tater tots.

You have woken up to Venom staring at you because “one of us has to watch you at all times until you are recovered”. He took that 100% seriously. He has also stuck tendrils under the bathroom door like cat paws.

One great thing about Venom is the fact that thanks to his tendrils, he can literally get anything you need from around the apartment in seconds without you or Eddie having to get up. This makes him one of the best nurses ever. All you have to do is hint that you want something and boom, it's there.

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lanae111 · 30 days ago

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Desperate, begging, and pathetic men 😵‍💫😵‍💫

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harrie-fic-center · 7 months ago

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avengers

bucky barnes [2]

clint barton

druig

hobie brown

loki laufeyson [2]

marc spector

matt murdock

miguel o'hara

miles morales

peter parker

pietro maximoff

sam wilson

stephen strange

steve rogers

thor odinson

tony stark

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greengoblinswifey · 5 months ago

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𝓜𝓪𝓲𝓷 𝓜𝓪𝓼𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓵𝓲𝓼𝓽

➼ All my fics are female(unless stated otherwise) and black!reader <3

➼A blog for black girl readers but all are welcome <3

➼ I’m open minded so I’ll write anything except Pedophilia, Age play, Incest or anything relating to that.

➼Requests are currently open for who you’ve seen me write for these past few months. I’ll usually take a couple days or weeks to write.

➼Comment to be tagged and also follow and turn on post notifications <3

➼If you don’t like what I write or who I write for, use the brain that I’d hope you have and don’t interact <3

Nicholas A. Chavez Masterlist

OuterBanks Masterlist

Marvel Masterlist

Stranger Things Masterlist

Squid Game Masterlist

Luigi Mangione Masterlist

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ironstrange1991 · 6 months ago

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The Healing Touch

Pairing: Stephen!Strange x Fem!Reader

Synopsis: The Reader has a terrible headache and Stephen goes full doctor mode to take care of her

Word Count: 4,1k

A/N: This fic is total self indulgent. The entire medical part is based on my experience with the worst headache I've ever had in my life. I had to take something positive from the whole situation. Hope you guys like it and have a nice reading ;)

You had never had such a bad headache in your entire life. It was strong enough to bring tears to your eyes and prevent you from working. It had all started with an allergy attack due to the renovation work in the office building where you worked. Even taking the anti-allergy medication you were used to taking, things only got worse and soon your airways were completely blocked and you had an incessant cough that made you want to vomit your guts out.

But things got worse when you woke up on Friday with a headache that simply wouldn't go away no matter how many painkillers you took. The persistent pain got worse over the days, reaching its peak on Monday morning. When you woke up, you simply couldn't open your eyes, and when you tried to get up, your head hurt with a piercing throb that made you sit down again and fall into silent tears.

It was a nightmare. Stephen was on mission and you hadn't been able to talk to him in the last few days. You were practically married to a doctor, but you couldn't count on him to help you when you needed it most and that only made you cry even more, giving in to despair.

After a few minutes you forced yourself to get up and staggered to the bathroom where you forced yourself into the shower, hoping that the cold water would somehow help you, but there was no improvement. As you were changing your clothes, feeling dizzy from the strength of the pain and the throbbing in your forehead, you decided that you would take a taxi and go straight to the hospital. By that point, your anxious mind was already telling you that you had a brain tumor.

You were slowly walking down the stairs, each step you took making your head ache even more, when you heard the familiar hiss of a portal opening in the entrance hall. You didn't feel excited, already imagining it was Wong and the light coming from the windows and the door barely allowed you to open your eyes to see anything, but then you heard a baritone voice informing you that it was Stephen who had arrived.

"Sweetheart? What's wrong?" His voice was a big relief, although it sounded extremely worried and as if by magic - which it was - he was by your side, helping you to put your arm around his neck and picking you up. He quickly went downstairs and took you to the nearest sofa in the main hall and knelt in front of you. Cloaky let go of his shoulders and flew nervously across the room, stopping behind the sofa and watching you.

Stephen's presence, although a relief, made you succumb to tears again.

"Hey, Y/n, look at me, tell me what's going on, you look pale. What are you feeling?" He asked, going into full doctor mode and forcing your eyes open so he could examine them.

"My head is exploding." You finally managed to speak. "It's been hurting since Friday, but today it's unbearable, Stephen. I can't handle the pain."

Stephen conjured a small flashlight to examine your pupils and then hummed to himself looking relieved. "The pupils are normal. That's good. Can you follow my finger, please?" He asked, raising his index finger to the level of your eyes and directing it to the left and then to the right slowly. You followed the movement with your eyes to which he praised.

"Very good. Now tell me how many fingers you see." He asked, showing you three fingers.

"Three."

"Very good. And now?" He showed you one finger.

"One."

"Good. One more time. How many fingers?" He asked, closing his fist.

"None."

He nodded, sighing in relief. But the small wrinkle that always appeared between his eyebrows was still there.

"How is your vision? Can you see perfectly or is it blurry? Any black spots or spots of light?"

You shook your head. "I can see, but I can't keep my eyes open because the light makes it hurt even more." You whimpered. "The pain is too bad, Stephen. I don't know what to do."

Stephen shushed you, putting the small flashlight aside and bringing his two thumbs to your forehead, positioning them just above your eyebrows and pressing them there in circular motions.

"Fuck." You hissed.

"I hit the spot, didn't I? Here is where it hurts the most?"

You nodded. "And inside of my eyes and on my cheeks. It feels like my whole face hurts. Even my teeth."

He hummed positively but remained silent, moving his fingers from your forehead to your cheekbones and down to the joint of your jaw, putting some pressure there.

"It hurts so much, Stephen. What if I have a brain tumor? Or... or an aneurysm? What if I have an aneurysm?" Your voice was getting shakier and shakier, and heavy tears fell from your eyes. "I don't want to die, Stephen. I don't want to." You said, clinging to him and hiding your face in his neck as you gave in to crying again.

Stephen wrapped you in his arms, one of his hands stroking your hair as he shushed you. "You're not going to die, sweetheart, and you don't have an aneurysm or a brain tumor." He said, trying to reassure you.

"But it hurts too much." You whimpered.

"I know. I'll make it stop. I promise. I'm here now. But you need to let me go so I can go to the drug store to get your medication."

But the idea seemed absurd to you and instead of letting him go, you tightened your arms around him even more, which made him grunt softly and pull your hands away gently.

"What you have is called sinusitis. It's a serious inflammation of the airways that causes secretions to build up in this region here." He explained, pulling you away enough so he could illustrate what he was saying. He ran his index finger along your cheekbones and above your nose. "Because of the inflammation, you feel pain here." He continued moving his finger down to your jaw. "That's why your teeth hurt too." You nodded.

"But why does my head have to hurt so much? I don't understand." You asked, wiping away the tears with the back of your hand.

"Because the inflammation causes the facial muscles to tense up, which causes all the pain." He explained, standing up, but you held his hand tightly.

"Don't leave me alone. Please."

Stephen sighed. "I really need to go, love. The sooner you get your medication, the faster you'll get rid of the pain. Isn't that what you want?" He asked and you nodded, but kept holding his hand anyway.

"I had an idea. What if Clocky stays with you while I go, huh? Do you think that's a good idea?"

Before you could even answer, you felt the sentient relic moving excitedly behind you.

"It really loves you, you know?" Stephen insisted and you finally let go of his hand and watched him gesticulate with his head for the relic to come closer. Cloaky quickly flew over the couch and wrapped you in a comfortable hug. One of the things you loved about it - besides the fact that it was a magical piece of clothing that had thoughts and feelings just like Aladdin's carpet and you thought that was amazing - was that it smells like Stephen.

The warmth and soft touch comforted you somehow and you leaned against the back of the couch and curled your legs up trying to get as comfortable as possible.

"That's great, sweetie. I'll be back in a minute. I promise." He said and with a quick gesture of his fingers his robes were exchanged for jeans and a shirt and he walked quickly towards the door.

...

Stephen hated waiting in line. He had always been impatient, but ever since he learned the mystic arts he simply couldn't accept that there were things he couldn't solve with magic. Sure, he could open a portal and get the medication he needed, but that would be stealing and he considered himself an honest enough guy to do that. So there he was waiting in line at the checkout with a basket in his hand, waiting for the woman to pass the purchases of the person in front of him with an almost deliberate slowness while everyone in the drug store continued to stare at him in the strange way that everyone else stared at him when they recognized him.

When it was finally his turn, the woman named Katia looked at him with a sour face and said in a tedious manner, "Prescription, please."

Stephen sighed, "I don't have a prescription. I'm a doctor. The medication is for me." He lied shamelessly.

The woman cast a suspicious look at the basket and then at him. "I'll need to see your license."

Stephen sighed, letting his irritation show. "Come on, you know who I am. Everyone knows I'm a doctor."

"I'll need your license, sir."

Stephen sighed, taking out his wallet and opening it with difficulty because his hands were shaking more then usual. He took the document and showed it to her, then put it back.

"That's 145 dollars." She said, finally putting the boxes inside a plastic bag and handing it to him.

"Keep the change for the wonderful service." He said ironically, handing her the money and finally leaving the drug store and returning to the usual movement of Manhattan.

When Stephen finally returned home, it seemed like it had taken hours, but it had only been 25 minutes. He found you still in the same position, cuddled with Cloaky and with your eyes closed. He quickly moved his fingers, closing all the curtains in the room and approaching.

"Hey, I'm sorry. I tried to go as fast as I could..." He said and Cloaky gently pulled away from your hold and flew up the stairs.

He sat down next to you and conjured a glass of water and handed it in your hands while he opened the medication boxes and took out the pills and put in your hand.

"This is an anti-inflammatory, this one is an antibiotic and together they will cure the inflammation and relieve the tension."

You nodded, putting the two pills in your mouth and swallowing them with a sip of water. He couldn't help but smile at the fact that you didn't question him, just trusted him completely. He knew that a big part of that trust was because you loved him, but an important part was because you trusted him as a doctor and Stephen missed that. He missed being a doctor, having people's trust in that way and feeling good about being able to save a life or help someone in that way.

"This one is for the pain. It's a strong painkiller and should take effect within a few minutes. It will make you drowsy, though."

You took the pill and threw it in your mouth, swallowing it quickly while you poured the glass of water. Stephen smiled tenderly, taking the glass and placing it on the coffee table. Then he took a small bottle from the bag and opened it, showing you how to use it. "This one you spray twice in each nostril, and it will help decongest your nose and make you breathe better."

But instead of taking the bottle from his hand, you just got closer to him and put your head forward, waiting for him to apply the medicine to you. Stephen let out a small chuckle, feeling his chest get warm. You were so cute. Even in that situation that wasn't the least bit funny, you managed to be extremely adorable.

"There you go." He said, finishing the application of the medicine and putting them all back in the bag and placing the bag on the table. "Now come here." He asked, stretching out his arms so you could snuggle into his chest. “I think you need cuddles.”

He hugged you, gently resting his chin on the top of your head. "I'm sorry I wasn’t here for you, sweetheart. I hate these missions sometimes, especially when we can't communicate." He confessed. Deep down he was feeling extremely guilty about the situation, even though he knew it wasn't his fault. If he had been there, he would have diagnosed the problem sooner and spared you so much pain. After all, what was the point of dating a doctor if you couldn't count on him when you needed him most?

"You're here now. That's all that matters." You answered, lifting your head to look at him and it broke his heart to see your eyes red with tears like that. He cupped your cheek gently. "Can I kiss you? I heard that getting a kiss from me is the best medicine for sinusitis." He joked, managing to get a small smile from your lips.

"Kiss me all you want then." You said with a tired smile and he giggled, kissing you softly on the lips and then giving small kisses on your cheeks, on the tip of your nose, finishing on your forehead.

You hummed softly. "I love you, Steph." You said, laying your head back on his chest.

"And I love you, sweetheart. More than you can imagine." He confessed and you hummed again, but remained silent and he respected your silence. He knew that the pain you were feeling wasn’t small. Sinus headaches could be extremely painful, and you had endured it for as long as you could without asking for help. He only wished you had gone to the hospital sooner. He hated seeing you in pain.

...

You didn't realize you had fallen asleep until you woke up to the sound of soft voices talking. Stephen hadn't moved a muscle apparently, possibly to avoid waking you up, but now he was talking to someone.

"I'm glad she's okay now. Give her my best wishes when she wakes up." You heard Wong's voice and kept your eyes closed. The excruciating pain had passed, but your head was still sore and there was still a slight throb above your eyebrows.

"Are you going back to Kamar Taj yet?" You heard Stephen ask.

"Yes. Lots to do as usual. I'll let you rest for the night, Stephen. We'll talk tomorrow morning. Send me an update on Y/n when she wakes up." And as soon as he finished speaking, you heard the squeak of the portal opening and closing and then silence followed only by the sporadic sound of cars passing by on the street.

When you finally opened your eyes, you were surprised to find the Sanctum plunged into darkness. A single lamp was on, emanating a dim light from the kitchen. You had no idea how many hours you had slept, but you were completely dizzy, probably due to the effect of the medicine. You yawned and rubbed your eyes slowly, noticing that the pain behind them had also diminished considerably. Stephen moved slowly and then stroked your hair.

"Are you awake, sweetheart?" His voice was hoarse and heavy with sleep, which made you wonder if he had fallen asleep too.

"What time is it?" You asked softly.

"Almost nine." He answered. "You've slept for almost ten hours."

You rubbed your eyes again and then looked at him in surprise. "You've been here this whole time?"

"I left you in Cloaky's care so I could shower and eat, but I basically spent the day on this couch. I ended up falling asleep too, which is a rarity. I woke up to Wong calling me and asking for a book."

You smiled to yourself. "I'm glad you got some rest too."

He hummed positively. "How are you feeling? Better, I hope."

You nodded, slowly lifting your head to look at him now that your eyes had adjusted to the darkness.

"My head is sore, hurts a little, but the excruciating pain is gone."

Stephen smiled, cupping your cheek and stroking it slowly with his thumb. "That's great. But I'm afraid you'll need to take another painkiller now to give the anti-inflammatory time to kick in before the pain starts to come back." He explained.

"But if I take another one of those I'll sleep for another ten hours." You complained, to which he shook his head.

"I think a Tylenol will do for now. I'll get it for you." He said, threatening to get up, but you held him in place and cupped his face.

"Stay. Just a minute more."

He smiled reassuringly. "Don't worry, sweetie, I'll be back in a moment."

You let him go reluctantly, but took the opportunity to sit up. Your body was limp and you felt like you were slightly drunk, so you avoided getting up. Suddenly you saw your bag on the coffee table and remembered that you hadn't even texted your boss, but before you could think to do so, Stephen was back answering the question you hadn't even voiced.

"I called the office and told them you were sick. You're staying home tomorrow too, by the way. Doctor's orders."

You nodded, watching him approach. He was wearing gray pajama pants and a white t-shirt. His hair, always impeccable, was messy and a few strands fell over his forehead. He looked handsome as always, but you couldn't help but notice a nasty cut on his cheek that you hadn't noticed before.

"You're hurt." You said as he sat down next to you, handing you a Tylenol pill and picking up the empty glass on the table and handing it to you. With a simple gesture of his hand, the glass filled with water.

"It's nothing. Drink it."

You obeyed, and the whole time he looked at you with tenderness in his eyes, but the crease between his eyebrows was still there.

"I'm fine, Stephen. Really."

He nodded, taking the glass from your hand and placing it back on the table.

"Seeing you in pain was a horrible experience, Y/n. It made me think that I would never forgive myself if something happened to you, and I'm not just talking about illnesses. The work I do, the things I deal with are extremely evil. It makes me think about the risk you run by living with me."

You smiled, trying to ignore what he was saying, but deep down you knew he was right. Living in the Sanctum with the Master of the Mystic Arts was a risk, but one you were willing to take because you loved him. "Let's not think about that." You simply said. "I'm fine and you came back from your mission safe and sound. That's all that matters."

He nodded, taking your hand in his and promptly changed the subject. "You need to eat something before taking the next dose of medication."

"Pizza." You asked immediately, which made him giggle.

"I was thinking about a salad..."

"I thought I was going to die today from a brain tumor. Fuck the salad, I want pepperoni pizza with lots of cheese and chocolate ice cream for dessert."

Stephen smiled broadly, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear. "Whatever you say. I'll order and while we wait, I'll help you take a shower. What do you think?"

You nodded. "I don't think I can stand up on my own to do it anyway. Whatever you gave me made me totally dizzy."

"I told you it was strong, didn't I? But the important thing is that it took the pain away."

You nodded. "Thanks for taking care of me, Steph."

"That's what you do when you love someone, isn't it? You've taken care of me so many times, sweetheart. I lost count of how many times you patched me up after I came back from a mission. That’s what people who love each other do."

You smiled "I really do love you."

...

Stephen had never seen you eat pizza so eagerly and then devour two bowls of ice cream. It was cute. Even your childish palate was something he found adorable about you. He ate four slices of pizza himself and found himself having seconds of dessert, which he rarely did. After a day like the one you had, he was sure you both deserved the comfort of the food.

Finally, you got ready for bed and ended up in bed with the lamp on, giving the room a low, comfortable light.

"How are you feeling now?" He asked to confirm, but it was clear from the look in your eyes that the medication was taking effect.

"Better. I barely feel any pain, but my head is still sore."

He caressed your face, watching you settle into the pillows next to him. "It's normal after such intense pain. You'll be better tomorrow."

You smiled, biting your lower lip and making that little face you always did when you wanted something, but you didn't say anything, you just brought your hand to his hair, tangling your fingers in it and scratching gently. Stephen closed his eyes, indulging in the touch and only then noticing how tired he was. The mission had been energetic, it had been a really hard few days that had taken a lot out of him physically and although he had managed to sleep for an hour or two, he could feel the exhaustion taking over him.

"Hm, it feels so good." He found himself confessing as he melted into your touch. "I missed you, sweetheart. Every day all I could think about was that I wanted to go home." He opened his eyes to see you smiling sweetly at him and slowly you snuggled closer to him as he automatically reached out to hold you impossibly close.

You cupped his cheek and pulled him to your lips, kissing him slowly, but with a growing desire. "I missed you too. I had plans for when you got back. I wanted to surprise you with a special dinner, but it wasn't possible." You said and he smiled reassuringly.

"Well, even though the day wasn't the most pleasant, it's safe to say we had a special dinner tonight. The pizza was very good." He said smirking.

"But there was something else I wanted to give you when you got back." You said, hooking your leg around his hip teasingly and Stephen soon understood what you were up to, but even though he wanted it as much as you did, he was forced to reason.

"Unfortunately, it's not a good idea, sweetheart, even though I really want it."

You frowned, clearly annoyed. "Why not? After the day I've had, don't I deserve a little affection?"

Stephen nodded with a smile. Of course you did. You deserved everything you wanted and he believed he deserved it too after the mission he had just returned from, but it wasn't always possible to get what you deserved. "Trust me, you do, but I don't want to risk making your headache worse."

You stared at him, not understanding what one thing had to do with the other, and he chuckled, trying to explain in a way that made sense.

"Remember what we talked about the tension in your facial muscles making your head hurt?"

You nodded.

"When we make love and you have a good time, which is always, I hope, the pleasure makes you tense the muscles of your entire body, even those on your face and especially during orgasm, which could lead to an orgasmic headache."

You rolled your lips, trying not to laugh. "Did you just make that up?"

Stephen let out a soft laugh. "Of course not. I'm serious. It's a real problem that you don’t have, but given the sinusitis, orgasm could be a trigger for a worsening of your condition."

You buried your face in his neck, laughing softly, and the sound was very welcome after he had seen you crying in pain earlier. "Believe me, I would never make that up, especially since I'm climbing the walls after so many days without sex."

"It hasn't been that many days." You contradicted him. "But I believe you, as stupid as it may seem. I just hate this fucking sinus thing even more now." You groaned.

"Your treatment will last five days, but after that we will have plenty of time to make up for it, trust me."

You sighed, lifting your head to look at him. "You'll have to make it up to me tonight with lots of kisses."

Stephen smiled. "As many as you want, sweetheart." He said, pulling you back to his lips.

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urdreamydoodles · 2 months ago

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MARVEL COMICS CHARACTERS x FEM!READER

Marvel Comics Characters Realizing They Are Jealous

Peter Parker aka. Spider-Man

- Peter Parker has always told himself he’s not the jealous type. He knows better. He’s seen what obsession does to a person, how it corrodes and twists and turns something good into something dark. He swore he’d never be that guy, the one who grips too tight, who loses sight of what matters. And yet, as he watches some stranger lean in close, flashing a smile that’s just a little too confident, he feels it coil inside him—hot, sharp, unexpected.

- His fingers twitch, and he clenches his fists like he’s bracing for a fight, even though there’s no real battle here. Just words, just glances, just you laughing at something someone else said. And Peter—who has fought gods and monsters, who has lost more than he ever thought he could survive—finds himself standing frozen, drowning in something far more terrifying than any villain.

- He tries to be rational. Tries to remind himself that you’re not his, that he has no right to this feeling clawing at his ribs. But then your head tilts, your lips part in that familiar, effortless smile, and it hits him like a fist to the gut: he wants to be the reason you smile like that. He wants to be the only one.

- The moment passes, the stranger moves on, and Peter still can’t breathe right. He should let it go, should shake it off, but when you turn to him, bright-eyed and oblivious to the war raging in his chest, all he can do is force a grin and hope you don’t notice the way his voice strains when he speaks.

- Later, alone in his room, he presses his forehead against his hand and exhales shakily. He’s in trouble. So much trouble. Because Peter Parker? He’s never been good at letting things go. And now, he doesn’t think he can let you go, either.

Tony Stark aka. Iron Man

- Tony Stark doesn’t get jealous. That’s what he tells himself, anyway. He’s been around the block too many times, seen too many people come and go, to let something as petty as jealousy get under his skin. He’s Tony Stark. He’s seen it all. So when he spots some smooth-talking nobody leaning into your space, flashing that kind of grin he perfected years ago, he should laugh it off. Should.

- But he doesn’t. Instead, there’s a flicker of something sharp and ugly curling in his chest, something possessive and unfamiliar. It’s ridiculous, really. He could have anyone, could fill a room with people hanging onto his every word, but none of them matter. Not the way you do.

- He swirls the whiskey in his glass, eyes narrowing as he watches the way you tilt your head, the way your lips quirk in amusement. It’s harmless, he tells himself. You’re just being polite. But his jaw tightens all the same, and suddenly, the ice in his drink isn’t the only thing cold in the room.

- He doesn’t make a scene. No, Tony Stark never needs to. Instead, he waits until you’re alone, leans in with a smirk that’s just a little too sharp, and says, “Didn’t know you had a thing for guys who wear cheap cologne.” You roll your eyes, laughing, but there’s something in his voice that makes you pause. Something raw beneath the bravado.

- Later, when you’re gone, Tony leans back against his chair, rubbing a hand down his face. Damn it. He wasn’t supposed to feel this way. But now that he does, now that he’s seen what it would be like to lose your attention, he knows one thing for certain—he’s not going to let that happen again.

Steve Rogers aka. Captain America

- Steve Rogers likes to believe he’s patient. He’s fought wars, survived decades of loss, and carried burdens most men would crumble under. He’s not impulsive. Not reckless. He’s better than that. Or at least, he thought he was—until now.

- The sight of someone else standing too close to you, their voice too low, their gaze lingering just a second too long—it sparks something in him, something old and primal and dangerous. His fingers tighten around the coffee cup in his hands, his jaw locking as he forces himself to breathe.

- He knows he has no claim on you. No right to this feeling twisting inside him. But that doesn’t stop the way his chest tightens, the way his pulse kicks up in something too close to fight-or-flight. He’s fought wars, but this? This is different. This is personal.

- He doesn’t interrupt, doesn’t stake a claim—Steve isn’t the kind of man to do that. But when you finally turn away from the conversation, when your eyes meet his across the room, there’s something there—something in the way he looks at you, steady and unyielding, that makes your breath catch.

- And maybe, just maybe, you see it too. The truth of it. The confession that lingers in the space between you, unsaid but undeniable. Steve Rogers is a patient man. But even he has his limits. And when it comes to you? He won’t let someone else take what should have been his.

Thor Odinson aka. God of Thunder

- Thor Odinson does not know jealousy the way mortals do. He does not simmer in silence, does not let resentment fester like a slow-growing storm. No, when Thor feels, he feels. And right now, he feels the weight of something heavy, something possessive, something undeniable.

- He watches as another person captures your attention, as their voice fills the air where his should be. And though he does not doubt your loyalty, though he knows the strength of his own heart, something inside him rumbles. A warning. A storm brewing on the horizon.

- He does not shrink. He does not sulk. Instead, he acts. With slow, deliberate steps, he crosses the room, placing himself at your side with the ease of a warrior reclaiming his place on the battlefield. “Ah, my friend,” he says, voice rich with warmth, though his grip on his hammer is just a fraction too tight. “Are you enjoying my beloved’s company?”

- The title slips from his lips before he can stop it. Beloved. It is instinct, raw and unfiltered, and when you glance at him in surprise, he meets your gaze without hesitation. There is no retreat, no denial—only the thunderous certainty of a god who knows what is his.

- And in that moment, as realization dawns in your eyes, Thor Odinson understands—there is no turning back from this. And by the gods, he does not want to.

Loki Laufeyson aka. God of Mischief

- Loki is not a fool. He sees things others miss, reads between the lines of every conversation, every fleeting glance. He is a god of mischief, a master of deception. And yet, for all his cunning, he did not see this coming.

- He did not expect to feel the sharp sting of jealousy as someone else’s words make you smile. He did not expect the coil of irritation tightening in his chest as he watches you lean in, drawn into a conversation that is not with him. And above all, he did not expect the slow, creeping realization that follows: he cares.

- The thought unsettles him. Love, affection—these things are not meant for him. He has been cast aside too many times, burned by his own foolishness, by the cruelty of fate. And yet… here you are, undoing him with nothing but a laugh that isn’t even meant for him.

- He does not confront it, not directly. Instead, he sidles up beside you, his presence a whisper of silk and shadows, his voice a low murmur in your ear. “Surely, you do not find them that charming?” The words are laced with amusement, but his fingers twitch at his sides.

- And when you turn to him, curiosity flickering in your gaze, he holds it—holds you—longer than he should. He will not admit it. Not yet. But the seed has been planted, and gods help him, he does not know if he has the strength to pull it free.

Clint Barton aka. Hawkeye

- Clint Barton isn’t the type to take himself too seriously. Life’s too short, and his luck’s too bad for that. He rolls with the punches, cracks a joke when things get tough, keeps it light—because that’s what keeps him sane. But watching someone else flirt with you? Yeah, that’s not funny.

- He tells himself he doesn’t care. You’re not his, you don’t owe him anything, and really, it’s probably his own damn fault for never making a move. But still, there’s this tightness in his chest, a slow-burning irritation curling in his stomach, and suddenly, he’s gripping his drink a little too hard.

- He could walk away. Should walk away. But instead, he lingers at the edge of the room, watching, waiting, fingers tapping against his thigh like he’s counting down the seconds before he does something stupid. And when you laugh at something that guy says? Yeah, that’s when he snaps.

- He doesn’t make a scene. No, Clint Barton is too smooth for that. Instead, he saunters over, slides an arm around your shoulders like it’s the most natural thing in the world, and grins at the guy like he’s already won. “Hey, sweetheart. Who’s your friend?” His voice is light, teasing, but there’s a sharp edge beneath it. A warning.

- And when you glance up at him, confused but not pulling away, Clint feels something settle inside him. Something warm, something right. Maybe he’s been an idiot. Maybe he’s been avoiding this for too long. But he knows one thing for damn sure—he’s not letting anyone else steal what should’ve been his all along.

Natasha Romanoff aka. Black Widow

- Natasha Romanoff is a master of control. Of reading a room, of keeping her emotions locked behind an unshakable mask. But this? This is unexpected. This burn in her chest, this sharp, cutting edge of irritation curling along her spine as she watches someone else pull you into a conversation that should be hers.

- She doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t let a single crack show. But her eyes follow every movement, her fingers tapping an idle rhythm against her thigh, the only outward sign of the storm brewing beneath the surface. It’s ridiculous, really. You’re not hers. You’re free to do whatever you want. And yet…

- Yet, when you tilt your head, smiling at something they say, something inside her snaps. It’s subtle, barely there, but she moves—slipping through the crowd with effortless grace, coming to stand beside you, close enough that her presence demands attention.

- “Interesting conversation?” she asks, voice smooth as silk, but there’s something dangerous in the way she tilts her head, in the slight smirk playing at her lips. The person flirting with you hesitates, suddenly unsure, suddenly feeling like prey in the presence of a predator. And Natasha? She enjoys it.

- Later, when you’re alone, she leans in, voice softer now, more real. “You should be more careful,” she murmurs, fingers brushing yours. “Some people don’t deserve your attention.” And though she doesn’t say it outright, you hear the truth behind the words. She wants you for herself. And Natasha Romanoff always gets what she wants.

Bucky Barnes aka. The Winter Soldier

- Bucky Barnes has been through hell. He’s lost more than most, suffered in ways he doesn’t talk about, and rebuilt himself from the ground up. He knows better than to let himself get attached. But when he sees someone else standing too close to you, when he watches them steal your attention, something inside him goes cold.

- It’s not anger. Not exactly. It’s something deeper, heavier, a pressure in his chest that won’t ease no matter how hard he tries to ignore it. He doesn’t like this—this feeling of being on the outside, of watching you smile at someone who isn’t him.

- He clenches his jaw, looks away, tries to focus on something else. But then, as if the universe is testing him, he hears it—your laugh. Soft, genuine, warm. And it wrecks him. Because that laugh? It’s his favorite sound. And he doesn’t want anyone else to have it.

- He doesn’t move right away. He’s still figuring this out, still sorting through the mess of emotions he doesn’t know what to do with. But when you finally turn to him, eyes bright and unknowing, he meets your gaze and holds it. And for the first time, maybe ever, he lets the truth slip through.

- “Didn’t think I was the jealous type,” he admits, voice rough, words meant just for you. And when your lips part, surprised, he only smirks, shaking his head. “Guess I was wrong.”

Matthew Murdock aka. Daredevil

- Matt Murdock is a patient man. He has to be. He’s spent his entire life walking the razor’s edge between control and chaos, between justice and vengeance. But this? This is different. This isn’t a courtroom battle or a rooftop fight—this is you, smiling at someone else, and it is unraveling him in ways he doesn’t expect.

- He can hear everything—the steady heartbeat of the person flirting with you, the subtle shift in your tone, the way your breath catches just slightly before you laugh. It’s innocent. Harmless. And yet, his grip on his cane tightens, his jaw locks, and he hates the way his pulse betrays him.

- He’s never been good at sharing. It’s not in his nature, not when it comes to things that matter. And you? You matter. More than he’s willing to admit. More than he should ever let himself believe.

- He doesn’t interrupt. Doesn’t step in. But when the conversation ends, when you finally come back to him, he tilts his head and murmurs, “They seemed… interesting.” There’s a sharp edge to his voice, something unreadable behind his glasses. And when you chuckle, brushing it off, he exhales slowly, forcing himself to let it go.

- But later, when it’s just the two of you, his fingers linger when they touch yours. His voice is softer, quieter when he says, “Just—don’t let someone else take what they don’t deserve, okay?” And though he doesn’t say it outright, you understand what he means. He wants to be the only one.

Frank Castle aka. The Punisher

- Frank Castle doesn’t get jealous. At least, that’s what he tells himself. Jealousy is for men who have something to lose, for men who still believe in the kind of love that doesn’t end in blood. And Frank? He doesn’t have that luxury.

- But then he sees you—sees them, standing too close, talking too smooth, and something inside him goes black. His blood turns to fire, his muscles coil tight, and suddenly, he has to remind himself not to break something.

- He watches. Silent. Dangerous. The kind of quiet that makes lesser men nervous, that turns a warm room cold. And when your laughter rings out, light and unknowing, Frank swears he feels something crack inside him.

- He doesn’t make a move. Doesn’t say a word. But when the conversation ends, when you finally turn and meet his eyes, there’s something dark and unreadable waiting there. Something that should scare you. But it doesn’t.

- Later, in the dead of night, he exhales smoke into the silence and mutters, “Should’ve killed ‘em.” And maybe he’s joking. Maybe he’s not. But either way, Frank Castle knows one thing for sure—he’s never letting anyone else think they have a chance with you. Not while he’s still breathing.

Marc Spector aka. Moon Knight

- Marc Spector has always been a man of war. His heart is battle-worn, his soul stitched together by vengeance and duty. Love? Love is dangerous. Love makes you weak. But when he sees someone else’s hand resting just a little too long on your arm, when he watches their eyes linger on you the way only he should be allowed to—Marc feels something snap.

- It’s not a rational thing. No, it’s visceral, instinctual, an old wound torn open and bleeding jealousy into his ribs. His fingers twitch, his vision narrows, and for a brief, fleeting second, the weight of Khonshu’s will presses against his skull. Hurt them. Make them regret it.

- But then, you laugh—soft, unknowing, untouched by the storm raging inside him. And that’s what stops him. That’s what saves him. Because you don’t need his darkness. You deserve something gentler than him.

- So he stays where he is, jaw tight, fists clenched, shadows curling around his thoughts like whispers in the night. He doesn’t interfere. Not yet. But when you finally turn to him, oblivious to the war he’s fighting inside, his voice is low, rough, edged with something he doesn’t dare name.

- “Let’s go.” It’s not a request. And when you blink up at him, confused but willing, Marc exhales. You’ll never know just how close he came to losing himself for you.

Johnny Storm aka. Human Torch

- Johnny Storm doesn’t do jealousy. Or at least, that’s what he tells himself. He’s too cool for that, too charming, too damn good-looking to ever feel threatened. But the second he sees someone else trying to steal your attention, the easy confidence he’s built around himself starts to flicker.

- He keeps it casual at first—leans against the bar, crosses his arms, smirks like he’s just so amused by whatever’s happening. But beneath that cocky grin, his fingers tighten against the glass in his hand, and the tips of his ears burn hot.

- He tries to laugh it off. Makes a joke at your expense, something playful, something light. But when you don’t immediately turn back to him, when you keep talking to them, the flames inside him rise, licking at the edges of his restraint.

- “Okay, that’s cute,” he finally mutters, before striding over and slinging an arm around your shoulders with deliberate ease. His smile is bright, a little too sharp, as he looks the other person up and down. “You make friends fast, huh?”

- He plays it off well. Too well. But later, when you’re alone, he mutters, almost to himself, “Y’know, if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were trying to kill me.” And when you laugh, shaking your head, he exhales. Yeah, he’s in trouble. Big trouble.

Reed Richards aka. Mister Fantastic

- Reed Richards has spent his life solving impossible equations, unraveling the mysteries of the universe, conquering the unknown with nothing but his mind. But this? This is a problem he doesn’t know how to fix.

- He sees you—sees them—standing too close, exchanging words he can’t quite hear over the noise of the room. Logic tells him he has no reason to react. You are not a variable in an equation he controls. And yet, the sharp sting of possessiveness coils in his chest, irrational and unrelenting.

- He tells himself to let it go. There is no scientific basis for jealousy. It is an emotional impulse, a flaw in human reasoning. And yet, his fingers tighten around the pen in his hand, his mind fracturing into a thousand calculations, each one ending in the same conclusion:

- He does not want to lose you.

- Later, when he finally speaks, it’s careful, measured, spoken in that calm, analytical tone that betrays nothing. “You seemed… engaged in that conversation.” It’s not an accusation, not quite, but when you tilt your head at him, curious, he wonders if maybe, just maybe, he’s already lost the upper hand.

Felicia Hardy aka. Black Cat

- Felicia Hardy doesn’t do jealousy. She’s far too confident, far too aware of her own power, to feel threatened by someone else’s presence in your orbit. And yet, when she sees them flirting with you—sees their hand brushing your arm, sees your lips curve at whatever they said—she feels something sharp and territorial curl inside her.

- She doesn’t react immediately. No, Felicia Hardy is far too strategic for that. Instead, she watches, waits, lets them think they have a chance. And then, just when they start to relax, she makes her move.

- “Mind if I cut in?” Her voice is silk, smooth and effortless, her fingers trailing along your arm as she steps between you and the intruder. She doesn’t even have to look at them to know they’ve already lost.

- She leans in, lips brushing the shell of your ear, her voice dropping to something only you can hear. “Careful, kitten. You don’t want to get tangled up with the wrong person.” And when you shiver—when you look at her the way she wants you to—she knows she’s won.

- Later, as you walk together, she smirks, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “You should be more careful who you flirt with.” And when you laugh, shaking your head, she only grins wider. You were always going to be hers.

Stephen Strange aka. Doctor Strange

- Stephen Strange has never been the kind of man to fear losing something. He has conquered the impossible, rewritten fate, bent the very fabric of reality to his will. And yet, when he sees you with them—sees you laugh, sees you lean in—he feels something disturbingly close to fear.

- He tells himself it’s illogical. That he has no claim to you, that what you do is none of his concern. But the words taste hollow in his mouth, and the air around him hums with restrained magic, with emotions he refuses to name.

- He doesn’t intervene—not at first. No, Stephen Strange is not a man of petty impulses. But when the conversation lingers too long, when he sees them touch your arm, he exhales sharply and moves.

- “I wasn’t aware we were entertaining guests.” His voice is even, his expression unreadable, but there is something unmistakably sharp in his gaze as he steps beside you. The other person stiffens. Good.

- Later, when you question him about it, he only lifts a brow. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” But the way his fingers graze your wrist, the way his magic lingers against your skin? It tells a different story. One he isn’t ready to say aloud. Not yet.

Namor aka. The Sub-Mariner

- Namor is a king. A warrior. A god among men. He has no reason to feel jealousy, no reason to regard anyone as his competition. And yet, when he sees another lingering too close, their gaze trailing over you with something unearned, his blood boils.

- He watches, expression composed but dangerous, as they speak to you, as they dare to bask in your presence. Do they think they are worthy? Do they believe, for even a moment, that they can take what Namor has already claimed in his heart?

- He does not interrupt—not immediately. No, Namor is patient, calculating. He waits for the perfect moment, stepping forward with regal, effortless confidence, his presence alone enough to command attention. His fingers brush your arm, a deliberate, possessive motion. “My dear, surely you do not waste your time with this one?”

- His voice is smooth, edged with something sharp. The poor fool who thought they had a chance swallows hard, sensing the shift in the air. Namor does not need to fight for you. He simply reclaims what is his.

- Later, when you tease him about it, his only response is a slow, knowing smirk. “You belong at my side, and my side alone.” And when you see the certainty in his gaze, you realize—he’s not asking. He’s declaring.

Johnny Blaze aka. Ghost Rider

- Johnny Blaze has never been a man of peace. His soul is battle-worn, haunted by fire and vengeance. But nothing—nothing—burns quite like the sight of someone else trying to steal your attention.

- His jaw tightens, his grip on the edge of the bar going white-knuckled as he watches. He tells himself to let it go. He’s not the type to get jealous, right? But the Rider in his chest—the monster wrapped in fire and bone—growls in warning.

- He doesn’t make a scene. He doesn’t say a word. Instead, he moves, slow and deliberate, stepping into the conversation like he was always meant to be there. His presence alone is enough to shift the atmosphere—dangerous, electric.

- He doesn’t glare, doesn’t threaten, but when his dark, firelit gaze locks onto the poor bastard who thought they had a chance, the message is clear. Back off. Now. And they do. Because everyone does, eventually.

- Later, when you ask if he was jealous, he scoffs, looking away. “Jealous? Nah. Just didn’t like their face.” But the way his hand lingers on your hip, the way his body hums with unspoken possession? Yeah, he’s a terrible liar.

Eddie Brock & Venom aka. Venom

- Eddie Brock knows jealousy. It’s been his constant companion—festering, clawing at his insides long before the symbiote ever took root in his veins. But this—seeing you smile at someone else, seeing their eyes linger on you—it’s a different kind of ache.

- “We do not like this.” The voice slithers through his mind, low and possessive, the symbiote pressing against his ribs like it wants out. Eddie grits his teeth, his fingers flexing as he tries to shove down the urge to tear something apart.

- He tells himself it’s fine. You’re not his. Not really. But when that idiot reaches out—when their hand dares to brush against you—Venom surges forward before he can stop it. A dark, twisted growl bubbles from his throat, something inhuman.

- The poor bastard nearly jumps out of their skin. “What the hell was that?” they mutter, backing away as a shadow flickers over Eddie’s eyes. And when you glance at him, brow furrowed, he exhales sharply, rolling his shoulders. “Dunno. Must be the wind.”

- Later, when Venom whispers, “We should eat them,” Eddie just mutters, “No, we shouldn’t.” But as you walk beside him, unaware of the war raging inside him, he wonders—what would it take for you to see that you’re already his?

T’Challa aka. Black Panther

- T’Challa is not a man ruled by petty emotions. He has been raised in the art of restraint, taught that a king must always remain in control. But when he sees another vying for your attention, when he watches their hand hover too close—his restraint is tested.

- He does not react immediately. No, he simply observes, his expression unreadable, his mind already three steps ahead. There is no need for outbursts, no need for crude displays of possession. T’Challa wins wars with patience and precision.

- And so, when the moment is right, he moves—effortless, calculated, undeniable. His voice is smooth as he steps into your space, his hand settling gently at the small of your back. “Forgive my interruption,” he says, gaze flickering to the would-be suitor, voice full of quiet authority. “But I believe I was promised this dance.”

- The other person falters, unsure, outmatched in a game they did not even realize they were playing. T’Challa does not need to fight for you. He simply reminds the world who he is.

- Later, when you tease him about it, his lips curve into something soft, something secret. “You are… precious to me.” And though he does not say more, the look in his eyes is enough. You are not just a passing fancy. You are a queen, and he will not let anyone take you from him.

Elektra Natchios aka. Elektra

- Elektra is not jealous. Jealousy is for the weak, for the foolish, for those who lack the confidence to take what they want. But when she sees them—sees you—laughing at something someone else said, her knives feel heavier at her hips.

- She does not make a scene. No, Elektra is far too skilled in the art of subtlety for that. Instead, she watches, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. Not with violence—not yet.

- When she finally moves, it’s with all the grace of a predator circling its prey. She doesn’t touch you, not immediately, but she steps into your space like she belongs there. And when she finally speaks, it’s a soft, amused purr—“Surely you don’t find them interesting?”

- Her hand traces your wrist, feather-light, but the weight of it is undeniable. She doesn’t even look at the other person. They don’t matter. They never did.

- Later, when you tell her she was jealous, she only smiles, slow and dangerous. “Jealous? No. But if they touch you again, I’ll consider sharpening my blades.” And something about the way she says it makes you wonder—was she joking?

1K notes · View notes

vickiee-mcmuffin · 5 months ago

Note

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

A little crush

Word count: 3.4k

Pairing: Stephen Strange x Female Reader

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Smiling at you, America nodded. “Okay.”

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

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

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

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

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

******

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

“Come in!” America called out.

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

America nodded. “Okay.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m good,” you finally said.

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

“No. No, you’re not.”

“Why won’t you look at me then?”

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

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

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

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

“I’m so sorry, Stephen.”

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

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

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

“Stephen?” you asked, grabbing his arm.

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

“No, I can’t.”

“You can.”

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

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

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

“Yes. A lot.”

“Oh...”

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

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

Stephen’s brows pulled together. “Why?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nodded. “I’ll be quiet.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mhm!” you let out behind his hand.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuck, Y/N,” he let out with a pant.

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

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

“Y/N,” Stephen said softly.

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

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

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

“Goodnight, Y/N,” he said.

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

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

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

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

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

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transboyswitchytales · 4 days ago

Text

A Proposition

This is Part 2

Wanda Maximoff Professor X Student Reader

Part 1

Wanda and you hooked up after meeting at a bar. Later, you learn she is your professor and you panic. But is Wanda upset, or is she intrigued by you?

( Mommy kink, 18+ Will block you if under 18)

“You haven’t heard what I’m offering yet.”

“Professor,” you say again, and the name falls flat, and it only amuses Wanda now. But she looks at you with a twinkle in her eyes. You are both walking and you turn to see if you will be overheard.

“Yes, Darling?” She says, amused at your paranoia.

“This is inappropriate.” You whisper loudly.

“No, what’s inappropriate is if I fucked you on my desk really slow with the strap on from the other night. What would be really, really inappropriate is if I made the class watch. Especially that boy who stares at you all class long, Steve Rogers. That would be sweet revenge. Yeah, that, now that would be inappropriate. You and I met and were two consenting adults, and we still are.” She says with a shrug as if it’s nothing. Your eyes are fucking wide as she says such dirty things. You catch up to the last bit in shock.

“Still are?”

“I don’t know about you, though I have an inkling. But that was the best sex I’ve ever had. It’s also the most chemistry I’ve had, maybe ever. It was never gonna be a one-and-done. At least that wasn’t my plan. I knew at the bar I wanted more than one night with you.” She says, and the blush is now definitely all over your body.

“Professor-“

“Wan-da.” She sounds out and stops to open a door that is her private office. Unlocking it with her keys. She opens the door and waves her hand for you to enter. You hesitate, and she lifts an eyebrow. You roll your eyes and walk in as she flips the light on. It’s a cute office, her blinds are drawn. But there are plants everywhere, a little mini fridge with stickers from national parks all over it, and it's wall-to-wall shelves that are covered in books. You can’t help yourself; you get distracted and walk over to trace your hands over the spines.

Wanda seems to like this as she shuts the door behind her and locks it. You don’t feel even a little worried, like you know you should. You bend down and pick up a copy of The Count of Monte Cristo. Its leather spine draws you in, and you love the story so much. You open it and look for a publication date.

“It’s about 80 years old,” Wanda says, pulling off her glasses and leaning against the desk. She threw her bag and keys onto it. Then she lets her hands hold her weight behind her.

“Fuck.” You say, and suddenly feel bad about picking it up. Wanda seems to take that as you have been scolded by people too much before. But she saves that thought away.

“You can touch it, honey. It’s ok.” She says, seeing your panic. You ignore her and put it back. Standing back up, you see Wanda looking at you like she was enjoying you on the floor. You chastise yourself to stop imagining her naked.

“I-“

“I’d like to take you out tonight?”

“Tonight?”

“Yes, well, right now actually. No time like the present,” she says, smiling at you for the hundredth time today. She likes how much she smiles because of you, she hasn’t done that in a very long time.

“Shouldn’t I play harder to get?” You tease at the lack of dating etiquette she’s showing. She shakes her head

“Why would you do that? I’ve already tasted you and I want more, I don’t want to play games. And before you ask no I’ve never fucked a student before. I never planned on it before you.”

“But-“

“Our age gap isn’t that wide, Darling. Even if I make you call me Mommy. Don’t look so scandalized. We aren’t breaking any district or college rules. I like you a lot. And I’m not the kind of woman who likes things and then takes no for an answer.”

“You do this with all your one-night stands, then?” You say, and it’s meant to be funny, but it sounds desperate, and you hate it.

“You would be the first person I’ve ever taken home from a bar. I wasn’t going to say anything this soon, but I was married …to a man… for too long....”

“Oh.”

“It’s been a few years. I have tried to date but… no one’s caught my attention.”

“Until now?” You say, and you try not to sound hopeful.

“Until now.” She says more confident than you’d expect.

You turn and look at the books, and she watches you.

“I think we have more in common than you realize.” She says slowly, and you snort at her. Looking over your shoulder, you are sarcastic to a fault.

“You mean besides the fetishes we share.” It’s not supposed to make you blush more, but you do at your own sentence. She thinks it’s cute and smiles.

“It’s not just about sex.”

“I’m not sure I believe you.” It’s a bit of a lie, because you want it to be more. But you keep your eyes on the books. So she talks to your back, not seeming bothered by sharing your attention with her library.

“You are getting a BA in English with an emphasis on writing, so did I,” She says, and you look at her like ‘that’s obvious.’

“You like old books, and so do I. You are extremely smart. And way funnier than I am.” She says as if she’s already in love, and you aren’t sure how to respond.

“I don’t know if I’m all that.” You say, and she disagrees with you. Her face shows instantly that she doesn’t like your answer. You turn to her now, fully taking her in. She’s so fucking gorgeous. Her professor's look is sharp as hell. You would happily go back to the floor for her right here, right now. She surprises you, though.

“You have been hurt by people. That much is clear. So have I. I get that you don’t want to trust me. I’m scared too, but not scared enough to let you walk away without taking my chance.” She says, and her voice dips, and it does things to you.

“You can tell all that, huh?” You sa,y looking down at your shoes. She walks over and lifts your chin so you are eye to eye.

“I can see that and much more. I don’t want to hurt you. I just want to be with you, will you let me?”

You nod slowly, and she moves and kisses you. It’s a sweet kiss, it’s slow and tender. Not possessive and demanding like her kisses the other night. She pulls back and grabs her keys.

“Come with me.” She holds out her hand, and you take it.

————

That’s how it starts. You go to a restaurant thinking it’ll be one and done. And you have an amazing time, and it’s not the last. Not even close. Wanda is on your ass like white on rice. She’s texting you, calling you, FaceTiming you all the time. You are inseparable. And you fucking love it. You won’t let yourself tell her you love her. Afraid of what that will mean. You are at her apartment all the time. She starts buying your coffee creamer and makes the popcorn brand you like for nights when you watch endless hours of sitcoms. It’s so fucking sappy and it’s getting extremely domestic on a Tuesday.

You are both sitting on a dryer in a laundromat. You got a big gulp of a cherry slushy. You are waiting for your laundry to be done. She asked if she could come, and you laughed at her and told her it would be boring. Wanda said nothing with you could ever be boring. And here you were both laughing so hard your sides hurt.

“What do you mean you’ve never had a slushie?” You say after you wipe your eyes from tears over laughing. She reaches over and brushes stray tears from your other cheek.

“I’m from Socovia, baby. We didn’t have slushies.” Wanda reminds you and you hold the cup up like it’s amrosia from the gods and it’s being blessed.

“That simply won’t do.”

She giggles at your display, and it’s the best sound. You hold it to her, moving the straw so it bends.

“Isn’t it like water and corn syrup?”

“Do not knock the cherry syrup like that.” You say in mock horror. She shakes her head at you.

“You know, I keep Swedish fish at my place for you now. I read the back of it. That stuff is gonna kill you, devochka.”

You beam at her, knowing she’s calling you baby girl in her language, feels so sweet. So many partners called you baby. This felt so much better.

“I’ll die happy.” You say not to defend the red food dye.

“Nu uh, no dying, how about that. You stay my girl and be healthy.” She says, and it feels good under your skin. Being her girl.

“I can do that.” You whisper and kick your legs up against the machine. She seems to like you flushed and embarrassed, and she moves your jaw and kisses you. It’s long and slow, but unlike her offic,e it’s practiced now. Like two lovers who know how to slow dance with each others, understanding one another's body rhythms. You lean your forehead against hers and slowly open your eyes to see her staring at you with love laced in every single inch.

“Be a good girlfriend and drink my toxic slush.” You whisper, and she laughs now.

“I’m your girlfriend, huh?” She says, and you panic.

“I mean-“

“No, no, my love, no take backs. You taught me no take backs.” She reminds you, and you curse because you had taught her that.

“Well…”

“I did want to ask…”

“Yeah?” You say and tuck a hair behind your ear. She watches it and seems in a trance, looking at you. You look at her with a questioning glance. You take a sip of your drink as she finishes.

“Are we um… what’s the English word? Are we exclusive?”

You snort the drink and cough, and she looks panicked as she rubs your back. You breathe again after a few seconds.

“Um.. do you want to be?” You ask, catching your breath.

“I was hoping we already were.” She says slowly, and you look confused.

“Why did you think we weren't?”

“My friend Natasha told me it’s a conversation that people have to have?” She says and looks anxious now like she’s fucked up.

“You told your friends about me?” It’s what you take from the sentence, and she looks slightly miffed that you haven’t answered her question only asked follow up questions.

“Moya lyubov', you are killing me with the suspense. I’m a little scared now. Are you seeing someone else? Or sleeping with someone else?” Her eyebrows furrow, and you quickly grab her hands

“Oh god, no, Wanda. I have no interest and no time. When would I have slept with someone else? I’m always either on the phone with you or at your place. You think I sneak off after your apartment and have a gangbang or something?” You say, and it’s meant to be funny, and her eyes bulged.

“Gangbang? What is that? Do you get hurt with that?”

“Oh yeah, that’s an English word you might not have heard before. I’ll tell you later. The point is, I’m all yours, ok?” You say, and she instantly relaxes.

“Ok,” Wanda says, and she seems deep in thought again. Her nose scrunches, and you know she’s in the depths of it.

“So who’s Natasha?”

“Friend from college. You’ll like her, she mostly does S.H.I.E.L.D. agent retaining now.” She looks over and you and you nod, impressed.

“So she’s like super hot and buff?”

“Hey, you are now in a committed relationship. Very taken and very off the market. There will be no hot buff girls in your future. Only this Socovian Professor who is totally going to spank you tonight for that.” She says and scoffs in outrage.

“Yes professor.” You smirk and she mumbles in her native;’ you’re that she can’t believe you, and you are such a brat. ‘

“So will Natasha be coming by soon?” You say, and she turns bright red and looks at you.

“No, actually, I’m not sure you are ever meeting her.”

“Is she straight?” You say not getting that you are making Wanda more jealous.

“Why does this matter?” Her accent comes out and that’s when you realize she’s anxious.

“Oh, baby, I’m not into your friend. I’m very taken as I just was told. I’m just curious who your friends are.” You say, and you look down at the time on the machine. But when you look back at her, she’s thinking again.

“Well, there’s Natasha, Clint, who I’m not super close with. But he hangs around Natasha, so I put up with him. He’s gonna love you.”

“Wh,y because of my breasts?” You tease and you swear you see smoke come out of her ears.

“Hey! I’m not gonna tell you any more about my friends. I’m going to fuck you in that bathroom instead.” She points to the grungy bathroom.

“Not a bad time for me. But I’ll behave. Why would Clint like me? Would Natasha not like me?”

“No, she’d like you too. She already does. She’s always telling me what I should do with us.”

“Good stuff?” You say feeling weird.

“I’m not used to dating in the U.S I don’t know the customs of what’s too much too soon.”

You reach over and grab her hand.

“You don’t need advice. You can just talk to me. I’ll tell you.” You say, and Wanda rubs her thumb over your knuckles. She gulps and agrees.

“I know, but you scare easily sometimes, and I don’t want to ruin this or scare you away.” She says it, and it’s so vulnerable and rea,l and you know, just the feeling.

“Wanda Maximoff, you sweet charmer. You got me pretty wrapped up in you. I don’t think you have anything to worry about.” She meets your eyes and grins now. Her mega-watt smile, the one she only gives you.

“So Clint.” You say, and she goes on.

“While he would love to see you naked, he’s never going to. Because your mine. He’s a jokester, and he will love laughing with you. Because he’s effortlessly funny.”

“So are you.” You say taking a sip. She furrows her brows.

“I am so not funny.” She says, and you disagree.

“I think I’ll be the judge of that.”

“My brother was funny. He would have adored you.” She says, and it’s only the third time she’s brought him up. You cup her cheek and she lays her hand on top of yours. You know she’s got a lot of trauma.

“You think so?”

“I know it.”

“Ok, so your brother, Natasha and Clit like me. Who else is in your life that you are hiding from your girlfriend?” You say, and she chuckles. Her face hurts from smiling this much. Like it has a lot recently because of you.

“Well, I used to hang out with this guy Stephen. He’s a doctor, well surgeon now, so he’s pretty busy, but we email a lot. Bruce is getting his PHD, so he’s slammed, but he texts me pretty regularly. He’s upset with his boyfriend a lot.”

“Wow, you have smart friends.” You say, and she arches an eyebrow,

“You won’t think that when you meet them. Beside,s I have a way smarter girlfriend.”

“Then a PHD student, a surgeon, and a S.h.i.e.l.d agent?”

“You are waaaay smarter.” She says, and you don’t believe her, but her face proves she believes it. Wanda doesn’t lie to you. Even when she wishes she could because it would be easier in some moment.

The dryer dings and you hop down. Wanda looks anxious for a moment, not wanting this date to end. You don’t see her worry and you speak.

“So I’m thinking we grab dinner and then you read my paper, professor.”

Wanda instantly feels relief that the night isn’t over. She hops down and takes your laundry out of the hamper you are putting it in, and starts folding.

“What are you doing, Maximoff?” You sa,y and she looks momentarily taken aback at you using her last name.

“Folding?”

“I think we have to be married for you to fold my underwear. You can’t just do that, like we haven’t been dating only three months.”

She looks confused at you. She wants to talk more about marriage, but changes her mind.

“Who do you think folds your laundry at my apartment?”

“Oh my god, you so do. You throw my clothes in with yours, too. Oh my god, you do my laundry.”

“Yeah, I’m also in a lesbian relationship, so I put your bra on the delicate cycle. Not just throwing it in with jeans like an ape.” She says, and your mouth opens. She looks proud as she folds one of your sweatshirts with more precision than you’ve ever folded. She doesn’t stop at your shocked expression, grabbing a pair of your sweats.

“That…is really hot.”

Wanda throws her head back and her curls bounce as she laughs at you.

“My love, you’ve never been taken care of, and it shows.” She say,s and it’s light coming from her, but you realize that it’s really true.

“Maybe, or maybe you just take care of me really well. Like better than anyone ever has.” You say and shut the door. You turn to load another load into the washer and move the wet clothes to the dryer. You pull out quarters and miss Wanda looking at you. Because she has more love for you than she thought she could have for anyone. After breaking her marriage with Vision and the loss of her family, her brother. She felt so lost and alone. But here you were, like a bolt of lightning into her dead heart. And now she felt like she was living, for maybe the first time ever.

“I’m thinking Thai. But I know you didn’t like the place on 3rd, even though you say you didn’t mind it. You barley ate your drunken noodles. And I know you were hungry cuz we went on that hike. So don’t even say “that place you like.’ Because I know my girlfriend way better than that.” You say, and it’s so easy, and you don’t even think about it.

Wanda looks at you still. She felt such warmth in her chest. You were now throwing around her new title with ease. Like she’d always owned it. And she realized she’d wanted your lips to say wife. And then she felt herself growing hot. So she coughed, and you looked at her.

“What? Did you find gum in my clothes? That’s happened here before, and it ruined an awesome sweater that had a Jane Austen quote. It wrecked me.” You say throwing a laundry pod in the wash and cranking it to start.

“You take really good care of me…too, just so you know,” Wanda says and she stops folding but looks down at your black jeans with new interest. You walk behind her and snake your arms around her waist.

“Wanda?”

“Hmm?”

“You think I take good care of you?”

“You make my to-go coffee in the morning better than I do now. You cook for me, and you make sure I take my meds at night. You always check in when you know I’m sad. Or reaching out when you know I’ve gone dark and gloomy, so I haven’t texted. You always lift my spirits and make me laugh…I…no one’s ever cared for me like you.” She says, and you kiss her neck. She leans back into you, and you repeat kisses over her shoulder and up her throat.

“I don’t want anyone else to.”

“To what?”

“To take care of you. I want to do it.” You say, and she turns and wraps her arms around your neck.

“No other college girls have applied, so you have job security.” She jokes, and you laugh sarcastically.

“I thought you didn’t date college girls.”

She pretends to think about it and you pinch her ass and she laughs.

“Only one college girl.”

“Aye, woman.”

“All women.” She says and leans in and kisses you sucking your bottom lip in. You moan, and she pulls bac,k putting her hand over your mouth.

“Those noises are for me, not the laundromat!” She hisses at you. You lightly bite her hand, and she pulls back.

“Oh, please, the only guy in here is drunk. It’s not like we are being live streamed on pornhub.”

“Ok, slow down, American girl. Livestream? Pornhub? Gangbang?”

“Sometimes the language barrier is really funny and other times it’s hilarious.”

Wanda glares at you but grabs your ass and squeezes. Making it clear she’s won… again.

“Lifestream is when you are giving a live, real-time feed onto the internet.”

She nods, and you continue. That was probably the most innocent explanation and you figured you’d build into the other ones.

“Pornhub is a website with pornography videos.”

Her eyes zero in on you.

“Do you watch porn on Pornhub.”

“I have.” You answer, not about to deny it.

“Do you still?”

You shrug as if it’s nothing.

“Why?”

“I don’t want you to.” She answers plainly, but her eyes are squinting at you. Her nose scrunched, and you laughed.

“Are you being a prude? Because you made me squirt before. Hell you’ve tied me up and fucked my mouth with a dildo. Plus, the names you like in bed or call me in bed. I don’t think you have a leg to stand on here.”

“No, I’m not a prude. And plenty of women like being called Mommy in bed. I have no shame for what we do. I just don’t want my girlfriend masturbating to someone else.” She said the last part at a high decibel in her voice, and you realize you’ve hit a new nerve for her.

“So you are a prude.” You say, and she glares deeper now.

“I don’t think this is a hard ask. I don’t masturbate to porn.”

“Do you masturbate?” You ask genuinely curious now.

“Besides, when I’m on the phone with you, no.” She admits looking over at the man, clearly passed out in the corner. Before looking back at you.

“Before me?”

“You know I own a vibrator and some dildos,” Wanda says as if this line of questioning makes no sense.

“I know I just am curious what you cum to.”

“I used to use my imagination. Now I am having so much sex, I don’t have time or the desire to masturbate. Not when it’s so much better when I’m straddling your face. Why would I want to use my vibrator alone?” Wanda says, unsure of why this doesn’t make sense to you. Her arms stay around your neck.

“Hmm..”

“What?” She says a little too sharply.

“I think we should go to a kink event.”

“What?” She looks shocked at your answer.

“You might like it. Plus it’s always interesting.”

“Will you be clothed?”

“Yes, baby, I won’t let anyone else touch me. But you are a bit of a dominatrix, I think you’d like to see it. And if you don’t like porn then it’s an intresting way to watch.”

“I’m not much of a voyeur.” She says having learned the word from you.

“You like watching me. But that’s not the point. If you don’t wanna go, we don’t have to. No pressure whatsoever. But I do think it would be interesting. On the conversation of porn, I won’t watch it if it makes you uncomfortable. I haven’t really masturbated much since we started dating. Maybe twice in the shower on my own, but it was all to thoughts of you.”

This seems to make Wanda feel better.

“Do you mind that I’m…”

“Possessive? Jealous?” You insert the thoughts.

“Dominant?” Wanda says even though all of those thoughts crossed her mind as well.

“I like it all. I like that you put your hand on my ass when someone is staring at me at Starbucks. I like that you make me beg and call you Mommy in bed. I like that you ask me what I’m reading because you like picking out books for me.” You say and Wanda’s hands travel to your ass again.

She likes to touch you. She, for the first time, is allowed to do PDA. Vision didn’t even like holding hands, so it’s a big shift. Wanda craves being able to touch you. So she wouldn’t be able to stop in public if she tried. The hand on your lower back through a crowd gives her a shot of a power high. She knows you are gorgeous, and you chose her. So she doesn’t keep her hands to herself ever.

“You said you liked my book recommendations.”

“I do. I even lie and say I haven’t read it just so I can re-read it and talk to you about it.”

“You lie!” She yells now.

“Only about books. Only because I like it when we talk about them.” You admit, and she softens her gaze on you.

“You are getting punished for that later.”

“I’m game. After we get pad Thai, cuz your baby needs food.” You break the contact and throw one of your Lacey thongs like a slingshot, and it hits her face.

“Nice shot, kid.” The drunk man in the corner says, and you smirk at Wanda’s shock. His eyes were closed.

“Thanks, Ernie.” You say, and Wanda looks at you in horror.

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strangesthirdeye · 11 months ago

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It's been a years, daddy.. I really really miss you.. PLS COMEBACK PLEASE

#benedict cumberbatch x reader #benedict cumberbatch #doctor strange x female reader #doctor strange x reader #doctor strange #dr stephen strange x reader #stephen strange x reader #doctor stephen strange #dr stephen strange

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bimrwolf · 10 months ago

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Sex with a Ghost

stephen strange x reader words: 11,583 warnings: minors DNI, smut, will they wont they, commitment issues, sex sex sex summary: Stephen and you have a strange relationship. A casual friendship turned into a casual affair. Your heart takes a different turn concerning the superhero. You learn the hard way of his lack of emotional intelligence. a/n: this is an old fic i wrote..... decided to put it on my blog... pls ignore me. im trying to get over benedict i really am...this is 2 years old pls forgive me

His rough long fingers traced your bare skin as your back pressed against his stomach. Your hair was a tangled mess that fell in front of your eyes. A giggle escaped your lips when you felt him pull your hair out of the way so his warm cupid bow lips could find their way beneath your ear. You had just woken up after an… eventful night to say the least.

You hadn’t seen Stephen Strange in a few weeks. You weren’t upset or anything. It was your arrangement the pair of you had. One of you had a bad day? You could call them. One of you had one of the best days ever? You would call them. If one of you was incredibly horny… well you get the picture.

Last night, Stephen hadn’t called you for any of those things. You were a bit shocked to hear from him considering the last time you were together ended in an argument. But when you answered the phone he talked to you like nothing had happened. Like he had never told you he never wanted to see you again. You had to bite your lip when he sputtered out that he needed your help.

You were going to tell him to suck a fat one and fuck off, but when he sensed you were about to hang up the phone, “Y/n, please.” The begged tone that came out of his mouth made you shiver. It seemed like as soon as you hung up the phone you were at his door. It didn’t take long for his problem to be long forgotten and he had you bent over a desk, hands on your hips as he took long thrusts inside of you.

You didn’t exactly remember how things began between you. You were roommates with Christine in University and introduced the pair to one another. You didn’t even have feelings for him until years after they had broken up; however, it was clear the two still had feelings for each other. It was when Stephen came back from the blip that things had been different. Christine had met someone, and they were serious. He had shown up to your apartment, asking you a million questions about Charlie until you had enough of it and kissed the former surgeon to make him shut-up. You found yourself sprawled on your couch with your sundress hiked up and hands clenching Stephen Strange’s hair as he devoured you.

You flipped over so you could look at the dark haired blue eyed man. His hand returned to your torso, his thumb massaged into your skin. “I missed you.”

A lump formed in your throat when he said this. He didn’t mean it. He never did or he would make more of an effort to see you. You weren’t sure how to respond. You had missed him too, but you couldn’t help but still feel the wound he left in your heart the last time he saw you. You already felt weak enough that you slept with him.

His eyebrows furrowed when he noticed the look on your face. “Y/n, about last time-”

You kissed his lips softly. “We don’t need to talk about it.”

“But you should know-”

“Stephen, it’s okay. We don’t have to bring it up.” You nipped at the soft spot of his neck. You smirked when you heard a pushed back groan from the back of his throat. You continued to trail nips and kisses down his body. You would occasionally look up to see his reaction but his face was stoic. You rolled your eyes at his stubbornness. It didn’t matter though, because his hard member told you that he was enjoying it.

You climbed on top of the superhero and stretched so that he could get a good view of every curve before him. Stephen bit his lip as his hands trailed up and down your thighs. “Y/n.” He begged. You felt him twitch, as he tried not to devour every inch of you.

The sun started to bleed through his curtains. The beams shone on his face, his sharp cheekbones glowed. You couldn’t help but be in awe of the magnificent man underneath you. You loved him. Your eyes pricked with tears. Those words infiltrated your head again. It was unwanted like ants at a picnic. You took a deep breath as you pushed yourself off of him and got out of the bed. “I have to go.”

Stephen was confused. He hoisted himself up with his elbow as he watched you try to find your clothes that were scattered around the room.

“You said last night you didn’t have anything to do today. Hence why you stayed over.”

“Um, yeah. I forgot. I have a thing.”

“A thing?”

“Yeah.” You groaned. Where the hell was your shirt?

“Y/n, does this have to do anything with-”

“Oh my God, Stephen. Can we please just drop it? I don’t want to talk about it.” You snapped.

“But Y/n, you said you love me.”

Right. It wasn’t a secret. The last time you were together, you were making coffee for both of you. He made a joke you have forgotten by now, because you only remember the embarrassment of letting those cursed words roll off your tongues as you laughed.

He stared at you for a moment before standing up to walk away. You begged him to say something, but he wouldn’t. He didn’t want to acknowledge it.

“Well, you didn’t say it back. ” Tired of looking for your shirt that you’re certain is now lost in another dimension, you grabbed one of his on the floor. You tried to remember if it was the one he wore last night. “I’ll mail it back to you.”

Stephen had crawled out of bed by this time and put his boxers on. He walked towards you while you buttoned the shirt. Stephen grabbed your hands. “Y/n, stay.”

You remembered asking him to do the same thing. Tears streamed down your puffy cheeks. You wanted him to stay and talk it out. You had finally had enough and told him that if his lack of response was because of Christine, he needed to get over it. You told him Christine and him were over and she didn’t love him anymore.

You had never seen Stephen angry before. His nose flared, and his eyes narrowed. He didn’t yell, or curse you. He simply said he never wanted to see you again. But his words were like a venomous snake, striking you hard.

You realized why had called you tonight. He was lonely and unhappy. What else was there to do than to call the only other lonely unhappy person that he knew. It always had to be him to make the shots.

You snatched your hands out of his grasp. “You know what your problem is, Stephen? You’re still so far up your own ass even after everything you’ve been through. I don’t know what was going through my head coming over. I don’t know what went through my head being involved with you. All of this has clearly been a mistake.”

“You think our time together was a mistake? All of it?” Stephen crossed his arms.

You pressed the bridge of your nose, unsure what to say. Of course you didn’t think it was a mistake. You enjoyed every moment of it, but you couldn’t help feeling resentment in his commitment issues. You hated that you allowed yourself to fall in the same trap he set up for Christine. You were a little mouse and he taunted you with cheese, hope and a future, but instead you were trapped and left to die with no rewards.

“Stephen, I love you.” You couldn’t look him in the eyes. You couldn’t let him see that vulnerability like the last time you had confessed to him.

“I know, but Y/n… you know I… I can’t.”

“I’m not finished. I love you,” you repeated. You looked him in the eyes, and hoped to see that glimmer that maybe he would say it back. He opened his mouth; however, he shut it quickly. “But I love myself more. I can’t keep letting your stunted emotions hold me back.”

You left the room before he could say anything more. You knew he could easily open a portal to catch up to you. He could get on his knees and show you he felt the same, but he didn’t. You wanted nothing to do with him ever again.

You went three months without hearing, seeing, or talking about Stephen Strange. You missed him. You thought about him every day and at least once a week… okay maybe more… you would draft a text message to him that you were thinking about him. You would delete it before the temptation of pressing that send button overtook your stubbornness. He would ignore it like other messages anyway. Always leaving you on read until he was ready to see you again on his time.

Saturdays were always a lazy day for you. You hadn’t left your bed except to use the restroom. You mindlessly scrolled on different media platforms to waste time and avoid getting up. You jumped when your phone started to buzz and ring in your hand. You furrowed your brows when you saw who it was, but nevertheless answered.

You felt a little grouchy that you had agreed to get lunch with Christine on your day you vow not to leave the apartment unless for emergencies. If it weren’t for the fact you had barely seen her this year, you would have rain checked.

She was at the café first. Her strawberry hair was down in loose curls and she wore a yellow sundress. When she saw you, she smiled and stood up to hug you.

“I’m so happy to see you!”

“Same. We haven’t done one of these in a while,” you commented. She had already ordered your food, you noticed. You were grateful because you were starving and not sure if you could wait any longer before devouring a sandwich.

“Between the hospital, Charlie… and the engagement. I guess I’ve been busy.” Christine took a bite of her pasta salad.

“Yeah, It’s been busy for me too… wait engagement?”

Christine set down her fork and showed her right hand that you didn’t notice had been in her lap the entire time. An elegant diamond ring glimmered on her slender finger. “We’ve been keeping it hushed for a few months now. But since we have a venue and date ready I thought it was time to come clean!” You couldn’t help but feel envious. Christine looked so happy, her smile reached from ear to ear. You wondered if you would ever feel that one day. “Also, I have been trying to find the best time to ask if you would be my Maid of Honor.”

“You want me?”

“Of course! We wanted a small wedding party, and you’re the first person I could think of. ”

The pang of guilt made your chest tighten. You realized all this time you hadn’t been honest with Christine. You had been sneaking behind her back with your casual affair. “Christine, I’m honored. I really am, but I don’t think I’m the right person.”

“You’ve always been there for me, Y/n. I want to celebrate my happy day with you by my side.”

Your eyes made their way to the sandwich on your plate with only one bite. The hunger you felt earlier vanished but you felt it threaten to come up. “I haven’t been a good friend.” Your voice was barely above a whisper. If you tried to speak any louder you might croak.

“Is this about you and Stephen?”

You snapped your head up eyebrows furrowed. You were confused how she could possibly guess that. “How?”

“You didn’t think I’d notice you two sneaking off together at my Christmas party?” She didn’t look hurt or angry. Her lips were tugged into a smug look. She had been waiting for this moment to talk about you and Stephen. I guess you weren’t the only one holding secrets.

“Well, it’s over anyway.” You poked at a pile of sliced pickles on your plate.

“That dumbass.”

“Who said it was his fault?”

“It’s Stephen Strange we’re talking about.”

You two shared a fit of giggles. It felt good to laugh. She made you feel like you weren’t crazy or clingy or stupid. For the past few months you thought you had been alone. It was a bit narcissistic when you thought about it, because there was one person who understood— probably more than you.

The next three months you were too busy helping plan Christine’s bridal and bachelorette party that you had no time to think about your love life. You had convinced yourself to forget about the arrogant superhero— until his name was on the list of invitations.

You tried your best to ignore it. You skipped over his name numerous times when stamping and sealing envelopes. You contemplated if you should spray your perfume on the invitation, or add a message. You wanted to do something to make him miss you. Being the bigger person, however, sucked.

Christine wanted to do one thing for her bachelorette. Get wasted.

She didn’t have many other girl friends due to her busy schedule, but she insisted on inviting a few girls from work and her fiancé’s sister. You had to convince her co-worker free booze was involved and they were all in.

It didn’t take long for everyone to be wasted. They were all middle-aged women and giggling over the dick shaped objects you had bought for the party.

“How big is Charlie?” Cathy, one of Christine’s co-workers asked.

“Ew, please don’t answer that.” Charlie’s sister, Moriah, fake gagged.

Everyone burst into laughter while Christine blushed and covered her face.

“My mother always told me, if the shoe doesn't fit just right, don’t buy it!” Cathy howled at her joke.

“Mmm, I bet some of those surgeons at the hospital know exactly how to work their hands.” Another co-worker, Minnie, replied. “Spill the beans Christine, was Dr. Strange as wonderful in bed as everyone assumes?”

You choked on your “Cumcoction” that you had made out of different alcoholic beverages and juices. You received curious glances as you tried to clean up a few drops on your chin.

“I don’t think about him and our past anymore.” Christine was trying to be polite and considerate of your feelings. You gave her a look to tell her it’s okay. “Besides he seems to have his hands busy with other things.”

The girls didn’t seem to catch on what she was insinuating. “Ah, yes. He’s probably too busy saving the world to be worried about a relationship.” Cathy commented. “I bet he he has a pretty dick, though”

“He does.”

Everyone’s eyes snapped towards you. You covered your mouth quickly, as if doing that wouldn’t make them suspicious of you. You tried to sputter out excuses that you meant you thought so too. But the girls weren’t buying it, and Christine wasn’t helping. She was too busy trying not to laugh at your confession.

“Y/n, are you sleeping with Stephen Strange?” Minnie asked.

“Not anymore!” You proclaimed. “We… it wasn’t anything serious.”

“Yeah, right! She’s in love with him.” Christine rolled her eyes.

“You’re okay with it?” Cathy questioned.

“Why wouldn’t I be? I don’t own either him or Y/n.”

“Okay, girl, then why are we not with him anymore?” The question was directed at you this time.

You racked your brain for a reply. But it felt like the words floating around were squiggles that you couldn’t decipher. “I… we’re different.”

“How so?”

“This party is about Christine, we should talk about something else.” You coughed. When no one budged to change the subject you sighed. “It doesn’t matter. He doesn’t miss me or anything like that.”

“Why do you say that?” By this time the alcohol is pumping in your bloodstream you don’t even know who’s the one talking.

“Hee… hasn’t texted me to check on meee.”

“Girl, you have to do something to make him realize he misses you. This is your apartment right?”

You nodded.

“Come on!”

You believe it was Cathy who led everyone to your bedroom. She asked you where you kept your undergarments. You led her to your dresser and pulled out a drawer. She peeked inside and shook her head. “No. We need something revealing but not too much.”

“What about this?” You asked, picking up a white button up shirt.

“That is the opposite of what I meant.”

You giggled. “It’s his. I stole it.”

Everyone knew immediately what you needed to do.

You found yourself laid on your bed in a pair of black bra, panties and Stephen’s shirt. Turns out, Charlie’s sister is a boudoir photographer and was in charge of setting up the scene. She undid most of the top buttons— enough to have your bra and breasts exposed. Moriah instructed you to arch your back and put your hands stretched above your head. If there wasn’t alcohol in you there would be no way you’d let strangers see you like this.

The girls cooed and giggled. Christine kept repeating how hot you looked. You tried to keep a neutral facial expression like Moriah commanded, but it was hard not to blush at the drunken compliments.

When Moriah was done taking the photo she gave you the okay to relax. Your phone got passed around like it was show and tell. They kept squealing at the photo. You weren’t sure how a simple photograph could cause such a reaction. There wasn’t anything special about you.

Minnie handed you the phone with an approved smile plastered on her face.

Your eyes widened as soon as you saw the screen. You looked… sexy. Your sultry body language made your toes tingle. You looked up at the girls in front of you as they gave you a are-you-going-to-do-it look. You smirked and began to type out a message that you believed was well constructed enough to make Stephen Strange teleport into your room as soon as he saw it— he’s done it before.

There was no need to ask if it was acceptable. After you pressed send you turned your phone to show them. They all gathered around to see that you sent the photo along with the message “I’m trying to give back this shirt to its rightful owner, could you help?”

Their laughter almost covered the sound of your phone ringing. The sudden vibrations in your hand scared you, which caused you to throw it on your bed. “Oh my god.” You whispered. It was him. You looked at the girls, begging for help. You realized you weren’t being that serious. It was a joke, and now the joke went further than expected because he was responding. “Oh my god.” You cried out. You felt like you were going to throw up and it wasn’t because of the alcohol.

“Answer it!” Christine encouraged.

“What would I even say?” You put your hands on top of your head.

Christine rolled her eyes, picked up the phone and handed it to you. “Start off by saying hello.” She looked at her friends and motioned her head towards the door to give you privacy.

The phone rang again and you felt your lungs rip out of your chest for a moment. Your shaky thumb betrayed you and accepted the call. “H-hello?”

“Y/n?” His cool voice made a shiver roll down your spine. You missed his voice, his soothing words that triggered the hairs on your arms to stand up. You missed his fingers when they trailed your goosebumps followed by those sweet kisses.

“Yeah.”

“Er, I received your text.”

“Right, that silly thing. I was joking.”

“Joking.” He repeated out loud.

“Yep.”

“What a shame I really miss… that shirt.”

You let out a breath of air. “I think this shirt misses you too.” Your finger trailed over a loose thread on your comforter. “Unfortunately, you would have to rip it off of me before I gave it up. I’ve grown quite attached to it.”

You smirked when the sound of his breath hitched in his throat.

“I can imagine it now. You have one hand wrapped around my neck so you can feel my pulse while the other hand tears the shirt off my naked body. I’m wet just thinking about it, Stephen.”

“Y/n.” It sounded like a warning. If you said anything more he would come undone.

“Sadly, I’m preoccupied with other endeavors. I guess the rest of this conversation can be left for the imagination. Talk to you later!”

You heard him call out your name as you removed your phone from your ear. You felt so much power once you hung up. You had hoped he would send a stream of text messages or would try to call again. You even hoped he would be in your room by now, but after about five minutes of silence you came to terms none of those would happen. Disappointed, you got dressed back into your previous clothes and joined the party again.

Everyone left about two in the morning. Cathy was so drunk that Minnie volunteered to let the woman stay with her. Christine thanked you for the exciting night— it made her feel like they were in University again.

You were practically sober when you closed the door to your apartment, but the inevitable pressure started to push against your skull. Luckily your apartment wasn’t that messy. It was nothing you couldn’t handle in the morning.

You felt tired, but not enough to lay in your bed and go to sleep. You settled on trashy reality while you laid on your couch, an ice pack on your forehead. This was the consequence of drinking a lot tonight when you rarely drink at all. You were surprised you didn’t end up like Cathy, stumbling around sputtering nonsense. But you were drunk enough to send a risque photo to your ex-lover who will never love you back.

You groaned and sputtered out curses. If you could, you would kick yourself. So much for holding your ground and never talking to him again. You would have to see him next weekend, but it was different because you didn’t initiate it and it would be easy to avoid him. If he tried to come towards you it would be just as easy to turn the other way.

Another example would be if he were to knock on your door at two-thirty in the morning, it would be easy to slam it in his face. But what if he was standing there, wearing a blue cotton t-shirt with grey sweatpants? His hair disheveled and fell in front of his eyes. He looked like he had been trying to sleep, but couldn’t.

You should just slam the door. You should, but you didn’t.

Stephen walked inside your apartment scanning the remnants of the party. “Ah.” He said. He seemed to acknowledge what you were doing tonight and there was no need to ask further questions.

“What are you doing here?” You knew why he was here, and that’s probably why you closed your door, locking it.

“I told you… I really missed my shirt.”

You bit your lip. He wasn’t looking at you and it was making you mad. You wondered if he’d notice if you started making goofy faces at him. “It’s in my room. I can go get it for you.”

When you came back out of your room, Stephen had made a spot on your couch. He sat upright hands in his lap. The only light came from the TV as the blue tint glowed on him.

“Didn’t take you as a Kardashian fan.” Stephen called out, unaware of your presence.

“It helps me sleep at night.”

“That’s what melatonin…” He looked over at you on the other side of the couch. His mouth fell agape. It was like the photo you had sent him came to life before his eyes. “I thought you said you were getting my shirt for me. Not wear it.”

You strutted towards him. His eyes never left yours as you got closer. “I told you Dr. Strange,” you said. You were now in front of him. “You’ll have to tear it off of me if you’re wanting it back.” You wiggled his knees apart and slipped between him. Your fingers ran through his unkempt dark locks. You were always fascinated with the silver streak and found yourself twirling it around your finger.

His hands stayed on his thighs. They hadn’t budged at all as if he was forcing them down with weights.

“You’re not touching me.” You stated. Your left hand left his hair and came to his cheek. “Why?”

“I’m only granting your wishes.”

“My wishes?”

“You said this was over.”

You smirked and leaned over to his ear. “Stephen, if you were granting my wishes you wouldn’t have answered the phone.” You looked into his icy eyes polluted by darkness. “You can tell me to stop.” He wouldn’t tell you to. That’s why he let your fingers trail to his lips. Your thumb grazed from top to bottom, allowing you to have an opening to place your own lips on his.

Hot breaths exchanged between you like you both were trying to suck the oxygen out of one another. You needed to take a breath of air— as if you had been underwater and gasped for life. The only thing that told you were alive was the sound of your heart beating out of your chest and the blood pumping in your veins.

You stole another deep kiss, nipping his bottom lip. He hissed, but you quickly shut him up by putting your thumb in his mouth letting his tongue graze the digit. Your other fingers placed underneath his jaw as you pressed down to open his mouth.

You had never really taken control like this before. It had always been him bending you over, making you whimper, making you beg for him.

He still refused to touch you. It was pissing you off, but you refused to say anything. Instead, you pushed his hands away and sat in his lap. You bucked your hip to force a soft moan to escape his lips.

He shifted, allowing you to feel the hardness through his sweats. He placed his hands on your hips to pull you closer allowing more friction between him and you, the pressure relieving the ache trapped beneath. He grabbed the back of your neck to bring you into a passionate kiss. His other hand found itself wandering underneath your — his— shirt. That damn shirt.

He had had enough. He picked you up slightly and threw you on the couch. He climbed on top of you, hungry kisses attacked your lips. You pushed the hem of his shirt up to help him take it off, throwing it on the ground. He came back down and started kissing your jaw down to your neck, nipping and sucking pink blooms all over.

You placed your hand on his chest. You loved the feeling of his muscles under your touch. You felt him shudder as they trailed down his body to the hem of his sweatpants. However he was quick to dodge her eager fingers from exploring further. “Patience.” He growled.

“I haven’t been with you in months, can you blame me?”

“And whose fault is that?”

You had to bite your tongue. You were too incredibly horny to try to argue with him. He slid down, eyes never breaking yours as he pushed your thighs apart. His eyes broke away from yours and he was now focused on what he could see between your legs. You had gone ahead to do away with anything else besides his shirt. He wanted to say something witty, but he used his sharp tongue to lick you instead. A small quiet moan left your lips, making him work faster. You instinctively grabbed the first thing you could think of as you embraced the jolts of pleasure pumping through your body which was Stephen’s hair. He spread your legs a bit further to get a better angle. His tongue pressed a spot that made you gasp and back arch. If he went any longer you might not make it so you tugged his hair, a silent instruction to come back to you.

He licked his lips that tasted only of you. You wanted him to come back and kiss you but instead he got off of you and the couche. You frowned and thought maybe he was done and wanted to leave. He realized it was another mistake that they were together again after months of silence. But rather than collecting his things, Stephen began to remove his sweatpants, throwing them to the designated clothes pile. Your eyes were wide when you discovered he was not wearing anything under his clothes either. He knew this would happen. Smartass.

He returned on top of you. He looked at the shirt covering you. His impatient fingers began to pick at the buttons to free your body. He struggled to get them undone, a small vein popped at the top of his forehead from frustration.

“Here let me help.” You offered, bringing your hands towards the buttons.

Stephen pushed them away and hooked his fingers between the gaps, pulling the fabric. A few buttons flew across the room, but neither one of you cared. He began kissing your inner thigh, up your leg, your stomach. He relished the sight of your bare breasts before he took one in his mouth while the other was being massaged. The blue tones from the TV cast shadows on his face, exaggerating his cheekbones.

“Stephen, I need you.” Your voice was shaky. It felt like you had forgotten how to speak.

He looked up at you to see the plea in your eyes. Sitting up on his knees, he took your legs and wrapped them around his waist. You adjusted yourself to help him find your entrance. You moaned in unison as he entered inside of you, your walls welcoming him as they pulsated like a heartbeat. It was a mixture of relief and pleasure as he took long slow thrusts inside of you. He wanted your body to crave the feeling until it begged for more.

Stephen placed his chest flush against your breasts. One hand rested on your hip as he nuzzled his face into your shoulder, his warm breaths tickled your bare skin. His pace began to pick up a low groan rattled in his throat that sent tiny vibrations into you. He slid out of you almost completely then sank back inside you, hitting a spot that made you cry out in satisfaction.

“Stephen,” you called out. Your nails dug into his back.

He moved his lips to your neck, running his tongue over your pulse as he buried himself inside you again. Each thrust harder and faster than the last, sending waves of electricity through your core and nerves. You closed your eyes, the pleasure seemed almost unbearable. You felt the heat in your core begin to bubble like a teapot boiling water, the steam begging to be released. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him deeper. His hips snapped forward granting your body’s needs.

“Fuck.” He groaned.

His voice melted into you, pushing your climax over the edge. Heat pulsated through you hot, burning, blazing, tearing through you. Your walls hugged him as you released. “Keep going.” You sighed.

He continued unrelentless thrusts in you. The only words exchanged were whimpers and grunts between stolen kisses as you felt him twitch. He drove himself into you, a final growl escaped his lips, releasing his climax.

His pace steadied to a halt, his forehead on top of yours. You still felt him inside you, but neither of you moved. You studied each other’s breaths and how they once were erratic. Now, they were steady and back to normal, as if neither one of you were crying out in pleasure just moments ago.

Every time you were with him you never knew if it would be the last. Each time you told yourself you’d relish and savour every touch, but like tonight, you got carried away. You brushed your fingers through his hair, scared he would disappear if you blinked. You knew nothing had changed, but maybe you were attempting to make a relationship out of nothing. Maybe this was all you’d have with him, and you needed to accept that.

The past few days felt odd. At work, Stephen would text you, asking if you wanted to get lunch or dinner. You didn’t mind, it wasn’t unusual for him to invite you out to eat; however, it had never been a daily occurrence. You didn’t want to question it so you accepted every time, not caring about his intentions. It was a bonus that a majority of the meals were free because the staff would recognize him as Dr. Strange, the superhero who helped defeat Thanos.

What was even weirder was when he came to your work after you got off to walk you home. If you had already ate lunch, he would fuck you as soon as you got to your apartment, and if you had dinner plans he would fuck you before and fucked you after. You don’t recall having that much sex in a week but Stephen found a way to break your personal record. Not that you were complaining about the sex either.

No, the sex was amazing as always, and the food delicious, but every day you couldn’t help but feel sick to your stomach. He would stay over at your apartment. You swore he put his toothbrush in your bathroom the second night. It was all you ever wanted out of him, a domestic relationship. But why did you feel unfulfilled every time you looked over at him sleeping peacefully in your bed?

It was Thursday, two days before the wedding, tomorrow being the rehearsal dinner. You managed to decline lunch with Stephen, begging Christine to meet with you. You hadn’t seen her since the bachelorette party. You couldn’t make the next two days about you, but you needed advice.

Christine’s schedule was busy to help tie up work at the hospital before her week-long honeymoon. She asked if you could have lunch at the hospital and if you hadn’t been under desperate measures you would have said never mind.

“I’m so happy you asked to meet. I needed a chance to catch my breath.” Christine told you, taking a sip of her tea.

“Been a busy day, I guess?”

“Working my ass off this week and the future in-laws are in town. I don’t think I’ve been able to relax or have fun on the week of my wedding.” She raised an eyebrow. “You on the other hand… look like you’ve been having fun.”

“What?” You asked.

She scoffed, reaching over the table and pulling the collar of your shirt so it could reveal a bruised love bite. “I do hope you plan on covering that for Saturday.”

You brushed her hand away, embarrassed. “I guess I’ve been a little carried away… this week.”

“Wait, all week?”

You put your face in your hands in shame. “Every. Single. Day. But it’s not the sex that’s bothering me. He’s treating me like we’re in a relationship.”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“Christine, we’re talking about Stephen Strange here. He doesn’t do relationships.”

“Well you don’t do just sex. Y/n, you’re in love with him and he’s using that to his advantage.”

You wanted to snap at her, because it was her who started this mess. If Christine hadn’t gotten her friends involved in your love life, then maybe that photo would had never been taken and then maybe he wouldn’t have come over and had sex with you on the couch and on the kitchen counter and the shower… it was definitely Christine’s fault. But then again, Christine knew Stephen maybe better than you did. You were only his booty call whenever something was bothering him. Except, you didn’t know anything that might be bothering him besides maybe your love confession. Your brain was hurting trying to figure it all out.

“I can’t wait for this wedding to be over. I didn’t think monster-in-law was a real thing.” Christine said out loud, scrolling on her phone.

Then it clicked. No wonder Stephen was acting like it was the end of the world.

After your lunch with Christine you went back to work, but you couldn’t focus on anything. You had finished your reports earlier this week since you would have tomorrow off. Time seemed to drag. Every time you looked at the clock on your computer nothing seemed to change.

You had two hours left of your shift before asking your boss if you could leave early. He wasn’t strict or high maintenance if you did your job right, and you always did. So, he had no issue with you leaving for the rest of the day. You were certain he probably wouldn’t notice you were gone tomorrow.

You always felt nervous arriving at the sanctum, especially since it seemed like Wong was the one who always greeted you when you walked in.

He always gave an all too knowing look when he would tell Stephen he had a guest.

“Surprised to see you, Y/n.” Wong said as he walked through a portal, carrying a box.

“Really?”

“No. Strange, your girlfriend’s here!” Wong set the box down and walked back into the portal.

“He’s not my boyfri-“

A voice interrupted you. “Y/n, I was just getting ready to come pick you up.”

You didn’t question that he hadn’t corrected Wong. But you did raise an eyebrow. “Two hours early? I thought you just opened your portal thingy right before I got off.”

“He does, it just takes him two hours to pick out an outfit.” Wong said, bringing in another box, grunting as he set it down. “You know, it wouldn’t hurt to help.” He looked at Stephen, who rolled his eyes in return.

“You’re the Sorcerer Supreme. Not my job.”

You giggled. Wong and him always had to make jabs at one another when it came to the subject of Sorcerer Supreme. That was actually one of the many reasons Stephen would call you upset. Which reminded you why you were there. “Stephen, could we talk?”

“Yes, of course. Want to talk over dinner? I’m starving. I know a great restaurant about two blocks from here.”

“Actually, I was thinking we could talk somewhere… private.” You bit your lip.

“Really? Strange, I’d rather not hear you and your girlfriend talk about engaging in coitus while I’m here.”

“He’s not my boyfri-“

“I don’t think that’s what she meant, Wong.” Stephen moved his hands in a circle. There were a few sparks as he opened a portal. He held out his hand for you to take. You waved goodbye to Wong as the two of you walked through. You took in the salty air as Stephen closed the portal so it was just the two of you. He had brought you to a secluded beach. There seemed to not be any sign of inhabitants within miles. “Where are we?”

“A deserted island. One of my favorite places to come when I need to think.”

You looked at the man beside you. Most of the time he was arrogant and unbearable to be around, and that’s probably why you enjoyed his mouth being preoccupied elsewhere. But there were moments he shared with you that maybe you could find hope being with him.

You took off your shoes so your feet could sink in the sand, it was also much easier to walk alongside him.

“So, what was so important that you took work off early?” He asked.

You felt your words lose their way when you tried to speak. “I… um… I think we should stop. For real this time.”

He didn’t budge, nor was there a change in his expression.

“You’re not going to say anything?”

“What is there to say, Y/n?”

“I don’t know. Just something.” Your voice was soft, covered by the sounds of waves crashing the sand bank.

“We’ve done this a thousand times, Y/n. One of us tells the other we’re done, but the next day we’re back to how we were.”

“Well, I’m tired of feeling trapped in that cycle. This week, I thought I finally made a breakthrough. But I realized nothing was different. I realized you were using me like you had before. You’re sad, Stephen. You’re sad that Christine is getting married on Saturday, and you’re trying to use my emotions as your outlet to avoid it. I always thought if I begged for you, and I had more sex with you, then maybe you would see how much I truly love you and you would give it back to me.”

He finally stopped walking so he could look at you. You tried your best to not look him in the eyes. You knew if you saw his reaction, you would cry. “Y/n…” He tried to speak but words failed to come out.

“I’m done feeling like I need you to make me happy.” You felt your words choke on the sob rolling up your throat. “I don’t think I’ll ever make you happy.”

“I’m not sure how to respond.” Stephen admitted. His hands were at sides, you could see them twitch as if he wanted to do something but restrained himself.

You wiped a tear that finally escaped, turning your back to him you were unable to face him any longer. “Just take me home.”

He let out a heavy sigh before a portal to your living room opened in front of you. Without another word or glancing back at him, you stepped through. In all honesty, you wanted to turn around and ask him to forget everything you had just said. But you couldn’t fall back into the pattern. You needed to break it for both of you. Turning your body slightly, you watched as the portal closed, a few sparks were left until it became nothing, and you were staring at your mundane apartment once again as if nothing had been there.

You debated on telling Christine you had a stomach bug and you couldn’t do the wedding anymore. The thought of seeing Stephen on Saturday made you want to throw up. You knew you couldn’t let her down. So, at the wedding rehearsal, you made sure to leave all of your problems at the door— these past two days were not about you. You did pretty good avoiding all of your issues, grateful that Moriah didn’t acknowledge the other night when she spoke to you.

The wedding on the other hand… you knew he would be there. You had mentally prepared yourself when you would inevitably see him. When it was your cue to walk down the aisle, the best man arm linked with yours, your eyes immediately scanned the many guests. Although it was the back of their heads you could identify his silver streak. You gulped as you passed him, feeling his eyes bore the back of your head.

As soon as you took your place, the pianist began to play Christine’s entrance. Everyone stood and turned to look at her as she walked in. Your focus was on her and you couldn’t help but let the anxiety wash away with happiness, watching your closest friend look extraordinarily beautiful. You noticed Charlie, tearing up as the two looked at each. To them, they were the only people in the room. Your eyes flickered to Stephen as Christine made her way past him; however, he only looked at her momentarily with a half-hearted smile before looking back in your direction. You pretended not to notice, but the heat on your cheeks told you otherwise.

This went on the entire ceremony. You could feel his gaze on you, watching every single thing you did. Every breath you took his eyes were on the rise and fall of your chest to your slightly opened lips you occasionally licked. You wished you had your own superhero power like mind control, then you could tell him to fuck off.

You made sure not to make eye-contact with him as you followed Christine and Charlie after they kissed and ran down the aisle. You swore you could hear Stephen whisper your name, yet, you refused to turn your head.

At the reception you saw multiple times he attempted to approach you but by the grace of God, someone would jump in front of him to bombard you with questions about the wedding. It seemed being on your feet constantly was the only thing you were able to do. One point you snuck off to a secluded hallway, a glass of wine in your hand and sat down on a red cushioned window seat. A long sigh escaped you looking out at the city through the window. Passersby made their way past the building. None of them knew they walked by two people who vowed their love to one another. None of them knew how happy you were for your best friend. Yet, you couldn’t help feel the tight pang in your chest that held the feeling of jealousy and yearning. They were blurred together where it was hard to distinguish which one was which.

The room temperature wine tickled your tongue. The bittersweet liquid always made you pucker your lips the first sip.

You had just finished your maid of honor speech about Christine. It had been the most difficult part of the entire wedding in your opinion. Trying to write about a subject you weren’t exactly a professional in made it hard to come up with words. Sure you knew how to love, but when writing you realized you never knew what it felt to be loved. You saw the way Christine tucked her hair behind her ear whenever she shyly spoke about Charlie. But there was a different reaction when he did something romantic or said something sweet. The twinkle in Christine’s eyes sparkled bright.

You looked at yourself in the reflection of the glass. You tried to imagine anybody treating you that way— you tried to imagine Stephen. You hated to admit that him staring at you the entire wedding made your heart skip a beat in your chest. You guessed it wouldn’t have been that terrible if he had come over and talked to you. There was nothing said to him that the two of you couldn’t be friends… right? You took another sip. Time to go back to reality.

The band started playing a slow song once you entered the reception hall. Couples, including Christine and Charlie, were dancing. Heads placed on shoulders as they swayed to the tranquil music. You told yourself not to do it but your eyes betrayed you as you searched for him. It didn’t take long to find the tall superhero standing near the balcony, his own eyes scanning the crowd. Your heart stopped beating momentarily when his blue irises locked with yours. You said curses under your breath when he began walking in your direction. You turned sideways to pretend like you definitely had not just eye-fucked him and downed the rest of your wine.

“Y/n.” His voice was loud and clear beside you, but he still managed to say it low enough that it sent a shiver down your spine.

You turned to face him. “Stephen. I didn’t know you were still here.” He gave you an unimpressed look because you both knew you were lying; however, he didn’t correct you. “Beautiful wedding, wasn’t it?”

His eyes drifted down and looked over at the newlyweds before focusing back on you. “Yeah, it was. I’m glad she’s happy,”

“Are you happy?” The words came out of your mouth unexpectedly. You wished your wine glass wasn’t empty.

Stephen’s lips pursed. “Christine asked me the same question.”

“Well, what did you say?”

“Dance with me.” He blurted.

His hand reached towards you but you pulled away from him. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“I didn’t have an answer.” He reached for you again, this time succeeding in taking your free hand. You felt the tingles of electricity move through your fingers, much like the first time you had held hands after a month of seeing each other. You subconsciously grazed your thumb over the scars on his knuckles. You remembered when he winced the first time you touched them, but now it was one of his favorite things you did to him. Stephen leaned over. His lips nearly touched your ear. “Dance with me, and I’ll have an answer.”

You shook your head, slipping your hand from his. “You know I can’t.”

“Y/n I…” Before he could continue a loud crash came from outside the building. A few people noticed and ran towards the balcony to see the commotion of screams. Stephen looked at you with an apologetic look before running that way himself. You watched as he leaned over the rails. His shoulders dropped from a long sigh. Without hesitation, he swiped his hand in the air changing into his infamous Doctor Strange attire. You swore his cape gave you a small wave before Stephen flew over the ledge.

You probably had the worst date of your entire life. You were going to kill Christine once she came back from her honeymoon next week. Who even takes a three week long honeymoon? I guess someone who rarely gets a vacation. You needed a vacation after the events of tonight, that's for sure.

Before the wedding was over, Christine pulled you aside and demanded you tell her what was wrong after watching your interaction with Stephen. She noticed something was up since the rehearsal.

You tried to tell her not to worry about it, but she insisted. So you told her you made a declaration not to see Stephen Strange in any intimate setting ever again. Christine seemed upset, the first time you had seen her frown on her wedding day. A pang of guilt crept inside. That was precisely why you didn’t want to talk about it with her.

“Y/n, I wish you saw the way he looks at you. He’s holding it back. He just needs a little push.”

You bit your bottom lip, trying to prevent any tears. “I’m tired of carrying all the weight of pushing.”

Christine gave you a sympathetic smile. Her hand placed on your shoulder. “I’m proud of you. You deserve only the best.”

Apparently the best was Charlie's semi-attractive second cousin, Simon. You shuddered thinking about him. For one, he was twenty-three minutes and twelve seconds late to the movie— which you paid for everything. After the movie you went to a café and the entire time he talked. It wasn’t a bad thing, but you believe the only thing you were able to get out was how your day had been. Then his phone rang and rang and rang until you finally told him to answer it. Turns out, Charlie’s second cousin, Simon, is going through a divorce. Yet, he’s still sleeping with his future ex-wife. Information you had wished Christine had told you before you wasted five hours of your Saturday.

You debated on taking Cathy’s advice last Tuesday when you had lunch with her and Minnie. “Girl, get Tinder!”

You’ve had it before, and you had plenty of suitors, but there was always that queasy feeling of not knowing anyone’s true intentions. For nearly a year you’ve felt like an object of sexual desires and relief. All you wished for was something real. As pathetic as it sounded, you wanted a boyfriend. You wanted someone who would greet you with a kiss. Someone who would hold your hand as you walked down the street as you pointed at ridiculously priced objects in stores that you would buy if you were a millionaire. You wanted someone who would take you to gatherings with friends and let you sit on their lap as you talked. You wanted someone who would talk about the possibility of marriage and kids while sitting in your sunshine mimosa bubble bath. You wanted it all. Worst of all, you wanted it with Stephen Strange.

You groaned at the large thunderclap followed by the pitter patter of rain splashing on you. Passersby put up their umbrellas. Guess you should look at the radar more often. Damn the New York mentality that it’s not far of a walk instead of taking a cab. The rain started to pick up and it was difficult to see.

By the time you made it to your apartment, you were drenched head to toe. Your clothes clung to your body uncomfortably. A nice hot bubble bath sounded amazing. As soon as you closed and locked your front door you started to kick shoes off. You unbuttoned your blue jean shorts so you could shimmy out of them. You barely got the zipper down when you realized a figure stood outside your balcony.

At first you were scared and ducked behind your couch to call 911, but the longer you looked at the person, the more you recognized them. Stephen slouched over the railing. A charcoal gray shirt clung to his body along with dark navy blue trousers. If it had been any other person you would yell at them to get out, yet you found yourself joining him outside, leaning over the railing and avoiding eye contact. You were thankful the rain was blocked from the awning above you.

“I heard how you saved the world, once again.” You bit your bottom lip, chewing it lightly.

He grunted. “I wouldn’t really call it that.”

“Then what would you call it?” You turned your head so you could see him. His hair was slicked back and face clean shaven. It kind of made you upset he didn’t look like shit. Maybe he didn’t miss you as much as you missed him.

His eyes didn’t meet yours as he looked off. “It’s my job.”

“One hell of a job, then. Do you get health insurance? Is there an underground superhero hospital?”

Stephen let out a laugh. A real laugh that formed in the pit of his belly all the way up. He turned to you, leaning on his left arm against the railing. You couldn’t help your eyes that flickered to a sliver of his exposed skin as his shirt rode up. “Yes, I passed Thor Odinson getting a colonoscopy.”

You snorted. “Do you miss it?”

“Miss what?” His furrowed eyebrows unwrinkled when he realized what you meant. He glanced down at his right hand. “It’s always hard to let go of something you love.”

You didn’t answer him but you agreed.

“I guess that’s why it’s difficult to let go of you, Y/n.” His statement was casual and smooth like honey. You scoffed, turned away from him and shook your head to face him again.

There was no hesitation as he looked you in the eyes, a serious look painted his face. Did he get closer? Or have your bodies only been inches apart this entire time? There was hope he wasn’t able to hear your heart pounding against your chest as if it were trying to escape your chest. “That’s not funny.” The words came out barely a whisper.

He tilted his head, giving you a pointed look. “I didn’t tell you a joke.”

“I think it’s time for you to go home, Stephen.” The prank he was trying to pull was the lowest of lows. He has used you for months and now he was trying to make awful attempts to toy with you. You wondered if he was a sociopath with no consideration of how his actions made you feel. Or maybe he was a psychopath and knew, and got off on it. Either way, you made a promise to yourself that you didn’t intend on breaking.

“We have a kid.” This man sounded insane. You should probably run inside and block him from everything, but then again, he’s battled aliens. Him saying you have a child with him was not the craziest phrase that has come out of his mouth. “Technically two. A boy and girl. Also, technically in another multiverse.” He shrugged.

“You really are testing the waters.” You turned around to go in. “Just go home. I don’t want to hear it.”

“Their names are Adalina and Ben.” He called after you. Stopping dead in your tracks, hand hovering the doorknob you took a sharp breath in. There had only been one conversation about children between the two of you. It only contained two sentences. In one sentence you asked if he wanted to have children, and the second sentence he answered no. The subject was dropped and never brought up again, until now. So how the hell did Stephen Strange know two names you’ve always wanted to give your children if you had any? Turning around, you crossed your arms across your chest. Your face told him to continue but he was on thin ice.

“I became a surgeon because I believed I loved saving people. But, an old friend of mine made me realize I never wanted to save them in good heart. I loved having life at the control of my fingertips and every move I made manipulated it into the outcome I wanted.

“It was easy because those people were only part of a game to me. It didn’t matter if they lived or died because it only meant I got better at my job. In a way it’s the same with having super powers. But, if I cared enough about a person… if I love them. What would I do if they were gone forever? I can’t stop death and it terrifies me. It terrifies me if I lose you, especially since I’m in love with you, Y/n.”

A tear rolled down your cheek. Never in your time you’ve known him have you been able to crack his surface. There were a million questions racking your brain. “There’s another me in another universe?”

He nodded. “Every single other me has made the mistake of not recognizing your value. I came here tonight, Y/n, to tell you that I need you.” His voice cracked. He stepped closer to you. “I wasn’t sure what loving someone felt like. How could I love when I don’t feel worthy of it myself? Yet, when I’m away from you my heart stops.” There was only enough room to put a ruler between the two of you… one of those bendy rulers you used to beg your mom to buy for school.

“What does your heart do when I’m around?” You asked, batting your eyes ever so innocently.

Stephen softly grabbed your hand, pulling you closer. He placed it on top of his chest. His heart greeted you as it thumped rapidly against his chest. “I’ve tried to ignore that for a year. I’m sorry.” He whispered.

You slid your hand from his chest to his cheek, placing your lips tenderly onto his, letting him know you forgave him.

“I love you.” He muttered onto your lips. It tingled like those words were laced with electricity and shocked you. He placed his hand at the back of your neck and pulled you into a long fervent kiss. Both your hands explored their way to his hair, which you tangled around your fingers, messing it up. Lightly tugging, he released a moan from the back of his throat. You bucked your hips, feeling the hard member forming. Quick feverish kisses trailed the side of your face to the nape of your neck. “You’re wet.”

“Not yet, but I’m getting there.” You groaned.

He chuckled. “No, I meant your clothes are drenched.”

“Oh, right. I was going to change…” You tried to finish your sentence but he had pushed you against the door, his leg between your thighs allowing it to rub the right spot. His hand slipped under your drenched shirt and grabbed your breast, a gasp escaped your lips.

“I need you, Y/n.” He sighed.

“Out here?” You moaned as his teeth latched your exposed collar bone, sprouting a rosy bloom.

“We’ve done it everywhere else, why not?”

You rolled your eyes in disbelief. “You just proclaimed your love to me and now you believe you can show it to me on the balcony… where my neighbors could see us? Not exactly romantic.”

“I plan on a lifetime of showing you.” He took both of his hands to your ass and picked you up. You wrapped your legs around his waist, lips meeting once again. “But now, I need you right now.” With one arm wrapped around you, Stephen pulled your shirt off. He carried you to a reclining deck chair you had out there where he sat down so you could straddle him. Fortunately, the chair was all the way down from the last time you laid on it.

Between kisses, you helped him take off his shirt. New fresh cuts were formed on his chest. You assumed it was from his recent adventure. He let you examine the wounds, carefully running your fingers over them. Your hand fell down and began palming him. In the meantime, Stephen leaned forward to nuzzle his face in your neck. His heavy hot breaths tickled you, giving you goosebumps. He unclasped your bra sometime because his fingers pinched your nipple. “Take your pants off.” The order came unexpectedly from you, nevertheless, you moved out of the way so you could help him pull his pants down and discard them. You frowned that he had decided to wear underwear this time. No time to pout. Your hands rushed to the waistband of his underwear. Stephen moved back out of your reach. “Why do you always do that?”

“Why are you always impatient?”

“Usually guys don’t refuse blowjobs from me.” You crossed your arms to sulk.

He ran his fingers through his hair. “My dear, only if you could imagine what you do to me.”

“I could say the same to you.”

“Yes, but there’s a major difference between the two of us.” He began unbuttoning your shorts, shimmying them down your legs so you stood in your purple lace panties. He looked up at you, licking his lips. “You are able to come undone.” He thumbed you through the fabric, smiling as you let out a sharp breath. “And undone…” He leaned over to kiss your hip while still massaging you. “Your pretty mouth around me wouldn’t let me last twenty seconds.”

You reached for his boxers again. “Then give me nineteen.”

He allowed you to pull them off, springing free, throbbing at the sight of you. You gripped his bare thighs to allow your body to kneel in front of him. His eyes were dark and dangerous as he watched you grab his base, twitching under your fingers. Your lips tenderly kissed his shaft making your mouth to the head, carefully popping it in. Stephen hissed as your head bobbed up and down taking him in and out. Your mouth, hand and tongue worked together to explore every inch of him. By reflex, he bucked his hips from the relief, making him push further into your mouth. His hand gripped your shoulder, most likely will leave a mark for tomorrow. You took as much of him in as you could until you couldn’t breathe. Looking up, you saw his head thrown back as if he was begging God for mercy. Low rich moans escaped his cupid bow lips. They looked delicious.

You released him from your mouth. He looked down to see why the sudden lack of warmth. However, he didn’t have to ask since your lips that were once around him now attacked his own in a deep heated kiss. He slowly pulled you down on top of him. “That was only seventeen seconds.”

“Didn’t realize you were keeping count.” His fingers curled the band of your panties, helping you slip out of them. You straddled him, grinding your hips to revel in the satisfaction as you caused friction to your swollen clit. “Don’t worry, I plan on making up for the lost time.” You both knew you didn’t mean the two seconds.

You reached down to grab him, guiding it to your entrance. From your soaking core and the slick salvia still on him, you slid onto his length with ease. Groans slipped both of your lips as you lifted yourself up and sank back down. Many times before, you’ve wanted to savour every thrust, kiss, touch. It always felt like there was no promise you two would be flush together the next day. This time, however, felt much different. Knowing he loves you sent a thrill of electricity into your core as you two worked together to bury himself as far as possible inside you. He pulled you in, leading a kiss with his tongue, sliding it in your open mouth. His moans as you ground your hips vibrated your body, digging your nails into his chest as you pushed yourself up to change the angle.

Stephen propped himself up with his right hand and ran his hand up your thigh so he could grab hold of your hip. “Why were you dressed so nice today?”

You angled forward— a small cry came from both of you. “Does it matter?” He narrowed his eyes, bucking his hips so he could hit the right spot when he thrusted into you. You whined when he slowed his pace, punishing you for not telling him what you did today. “I went… on a date. Don’t give me that look. It was terrible. He didn’t even buy dessert.”

Stephen rolled his eyes, palming your breast as he picked the rhythm back to the way it was before. “I can get you dessert after this if you want.”

“Are you really asking me on a date while inside of me?” He started to hit that spot again. Your eyes began to water as the overwhelming currents of pleasure and relief pumped through you.

“Is that not what boyfriends do?” He was being arrogant, a smug look on his face that you wanted to smack off of him.

“Since when did you become my boyfriend?” He directed you to turn around, and so you did. The new angle and direction gave him access to hit the spot in a new way.

His arm wrapped around your chest and cupped your breast. You guided his other hand to rub the sensitive area between your folds. Your moans became louder. “When you became my girlfriend.”

You were glad you faced away from him so he couldn’t see your bashful face. Yet, it didn’t matter, because he knew. He let out a small chuckle and placed a tender kiss on your shoulder. You reached behind to place your hand on his head, leaning your own in his neck. Your throat now exposed and vulnerable he nipped and licked a tender spot, over and over until you sighed his name. “Y’n, I’m…” His moans sounded agonizing. If he didn’t release himself now, he would die.

You bit your lip, picking yourself and dropping onto him. “Fuck, Y/n.” He muttered into your ear.

Your walls tightened against him, you couldn’t take it anymore. “Oh my god…” One last thrust and your core swelled like a balloon and popped all over him. Your head fell further back as you cried out from the heated pressure you released. You panted as you felt him twitch, filling himself inside you.

Stephen slipped out of you, but continued to hold your bare body, placing kisses up and down your arm. “I know a great frozen yogurt place a few blocks away.”

“I don’t think I’ll be able to walk.” You flipped back around so you could drape your arms over his shoulders, soft playful pecks on his face. “Do they have toppings?”

“Lots.” His hands ran up and down your back.

“Do you think I have time to take a bath? I was going to take one when I got home, but I got sidetracked.”

“Take all the time you need.” He hummed into your lips.

You got up from your spot, trekking back into the apartment. You glanced over your shoulder, watching him put his underwear back on. A smile painted his face from ear to ear. You turned back around and looked at yourself in the reflection of the window. Your hair tousled and still wet from the rain, rosy blooms sprouted over your neck and breasts. Things you’ve seen before after a nice time with Stephen Strange, but there was something different. Now, there seemed to be a twinkle that shone in your eyes.

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