#Stephen Strange X Reader | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

urdreamydoodles · 5 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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lanae111 · 3 months ago

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Desperate, begging, and pathetic men 😵‍💫😵‍💫

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alixandra-multifandom-version · 6 months ago

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

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strangesthirdeye · 1 year 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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unearthlyeclipse · 1 month ago

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Hii! If you have the time could you make dr strange p links? Please and thank youuu

STEPHEN "VINCENT" STRANGE :: DR. STRANGE P! LINKS // NSFW/SMUT

A/N: So far, the requests I've been receiving are some that I've been working on, THIS IS SO FUNNN!!!! Strange is my beloved so this one made me pretty giddy as I worked on it!!! Hope you enjoy it, my first post after I graduated!!!

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI, smut, fingering, squirting, cunnilingus, face riding, edging, slight size difference, p in v sex, creampie, hand jobs, blow jobs, 69ing/position, thigh jobs, teasing, dirty talk.

Stephen was longing for you because he's been so busy.

Stephen working his magic fingers on you.

Being tied and bound while Stephen pummels your cunt with his digits.

Getting thanked by Stephen for being such an amazing assistant.

Stephen would gladly die between your thighs.

Stephen trying to teach you how to hold your orgasm, but his thick fingers were already making it hard enough.

Stephen had just come home from a mission and was quick to press you into the mattress. Perhaps he was hexed...

After having such a rough day, Stephen had offered to fuck the problems out of you.

Stephen unloaded within you and watched you play with yourself with hunger.

Being held down by Stephen, his tongue wet with your juices while groping you desperately, he wanted you terribly.

Stephen didn't disappoint when he went down on you after you were waiting for his arrival in his luscious bed.

Giving Stephen a break from his studies.

You were feeling so overwhemled, considering Stephen's cock was in your mouth while his tongue was delved in your heat.

You had on your best lingerie to surprise Stephen for your anniversary; you can tell he adored it.

Stephen claimed he wanted you to relax after a long day, but he truly making you melt and crumble beneath his touch.

A stingy, greedy Stephen trying to touch you however he can.

#p links #twt links #p!links #marvel #mcu #writeblr #writers on tumblr #marvel rivals #stephen strange #dr. strange #dr strange #stephen strange x reader #dr strange x reader #dr. strange x reader

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torpublishinggroup · 1 month ago

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🥀💀🍒 Charlotte + Alice

Meet the women of Bury Our Bones in the Midnight Soil! Love them or hate them, you’ll never forget them.

All first edition copies of Bury Our Bones in the Midnight Soil are signed by the author (while supplies last)!

The art featured in this image is by Abigail Larson.

WHAT IT’S ABOUT

From V. E. Schwab, the #1 New York Times bestselling author of The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue: a new genre-defying novel about immortality and hunger.

Santo Domingo de la Calzada, 1532.

London, 1827.

Boston, 2019.

Three young women, their bodies planted in the same soil, their stories tangling like roots. One grows high, and one grows deep, and one grows wild. And all of them grow teeth.

#Tor Books #Booklr #New books #Tbr #Bookish #LGBTQ #Sapphic #Bury Our Bones in the Midnight Soil #V. E. Schwab #Vampire fiction

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midniqhtt · 2 months ago

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miscellaneous marvel characters

masterlist • marvel • 06/19/25

˚‧⁺ ･ ˖ · ୨ৎ recs

tony

𑣲 sky rockets and robots I @amethystarachnid

Y/N's ex left her when she got pregnant, Tony is a softie here

steve/ loki series

𑣲 remember pt2 pt3 pt4 pt5 pt6 pt7 pt8 pt9 pt9.5 I @bonky-n-steeb

Bored after staying on Asgard your entire life, you decide to sneak on earth. But what happens when Steve falls irrevocably in love with you, the Queen of Asgard, wife of Loki

sam wilson

𑣲 the futures overdue I @aquaticmercy

A year after breaking up with Sam Wilson, he shows up at your doorstep.

peter quill

𑣲 homesick I @rose-gold-bullet

You're sent on a mission to another planet and catch the attention of your ally.

𑣲 say yes (please?) I @mcondance

stephen strange

𑣲 we can’t be friends I @brunchable

Your relationship with Stephen Strange has been strained to the breaking point by his constant absences and mystical duties. Despite Stephen's attempts to mend your fractured bond, you decide to seek a more permanent solution.

𑣲 no other way I @/brunchable

stucky

𑣲 double trouble I @lostalioth

steve and bucky would follow you to the ends of the earth. one call of their names and they’re at your service. they’re obsessed, only problem is you aren’t theirs, not yet anyways.

𑣲 i met them and now im their queen I @mercurial-chuckles

𑣲 accidents happen I @myfictionaldreams

You were visiting a friend when you were accidentally hit in the face, leaving behind a cut across your cheekbone. How will Steve and Bucky react when they see their girl injured?

𑣲 between the pages of a journal I @crazyunsexycool

You had been in a relationship with Steve and Bucky up until the time they went off to war only to lose them both. Years later when Steve and Bucky have reunited the receive the letters and journals you had written. Through them they learn about your life without them.

𑣲 a soul for a soul I @jamesbuchananxsteviegrant

reader dies when collecting the soul stone with steve, and bucky finds out in the final battle against thanos

𑣲 we lost I @/jamesbuchananxsteviegrant

Reader Was In Space With Tony When Thanos Snapped And Is Later Reunited With Bucky And Steve

joaquín torres

𑣲 his secret I @writingdumpster

Joaquin has always wanted to keep you separate from his avenging, but when Sam and Bucky pay him an unexpected visit he can’t anymore.

𑣲 vuelve a mí pt2 I @nathanbatemanfucker

you and joaquin confront the cause of the end of your relationship.

thunderbolts* (multi)

𑣲 cumming in their pants I @lovebugism

𑣲 fake dating I @/lovebugism

𑣲 interrupted/getting caught I @/lovebugism

𑣲 nothing’s gonna stop us I @starktonyx

An attempt at homemade cookies, ridiculous requests to Valentina and a karaoke night will have you finding out you have a hidden singer in your team.

𑣲 seeing you in lingerie I @webslinger-holland

𑣲 the thunderbolts watch you get ready for a date that's not with them I @/webslinger-holland

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bimrwolf · 1 year 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.

824 notes · View notes

blue-sadie · 1 year ago

Text

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

3K notes · View notes

ironstrange1991 · 1 year ago

Text

His Medicine

Pairing: Doctor!Strange x Fem!Reader

Synopsis: Stephen has a nightmare and when he wakes up he seeks comfort in your arms.

Word Count: 4k

Warnings: SMUT: Possessive sex, oral sex with male and female receiving, deep throat, fingering, unprotected p n v sex, hair pulling, creampie, cum eating, slight male domination. A bit of angst if you dig too much.

A/N: I was missing writing the good and classic smut with og Stephen so here it is. Hope you guys enjoy it and have a good reading. - Any typos or grammar mistakes you see in this, pretend you didn't ;)

You woke up to the movement of Stephen tossing and turning next to you in bed. Your first impression was that he was irritated at not being able to sleep, after all you knew that Stephen had been struggling with insomnia since the accident. Before, he used to sleep really well, according to him.

You closed your eyes again to try to go back to sleep, but he continued tossing and turning in bed so, sighing, you turned on the lamp to finally look at him. It was then that you noticed that he was sleeping, but his body was sweaty under the blanket and he seemed to be struggling against something invisible. You had never seen Stephen have nightmares like that and for a second you wondered if you should wake him up, but before you could make the decision he sat up abruptly on the bed gasping for air and running his hands over his face.

"Stephen..." You sat next to him, touching his shoulder lightly so as not to scare him.

He held your hand tightly and sighed heavily.

"Are you okay? You were having a nightmare."

He nodded. "I haven't had one of these in a long time." He confessed, his voice shaking a bit. "Christ, it was like being there again."

You put your arm around his shoulders and to your surprise, he laid his head on your shoulder seeking comfort. Stephen was extremely affectionate with you, but it was always the other way around, it was always you looking for comfort in him. The change was welcome, but not in that circumstance.

Automatically your hand searched for his hair and you started stroking it.

"Do you want to tell me about it?"

His arms wrapped around your waist and he nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck.

"The accident. It's always the accident. I thought I had left it behind me, but it still haunts me in my sleep."

You held him in your arms as if that way you could protect him from all the evil that had affected him or that could still affect him. You just wanted to keep him safe there within your reach.

"It was an extremely traumatic experience and you dealt with it alone. Maybe you should consider seeking help..."

He shook his head "I don't need therapy. I already have everything I need."

He said lifting his head and searching for your lips.

You kissed him softly, but disagreed, "I can't save you from the ghosts of your past, Stephen, as much as I want to help you, I don't know how."

He sighed, running a hand over his face again. "They're just dreams. What harm can they do?"

You shook your head. You had been together for almost two years and you were still surprised by how headstrong and stubborn Stephen was. "Disrupting what little decent sleep you have is already something to worry about." You pointed out. "You've barely been sleeping lately, always worried about everyone except yourself. Someone needs to take care of you while you're taking care of everyone else, don't you think? Being ill you don't help anyone, sweetheart."

Stephen sighed and you took that as a sign that he agreed with you, at least a little.

"You're stealing my pet name." He said, changing the subject in a not-so-subtle way. "I gave it to you."

You smirked running your fingers through his hair absentmindedly. "You gave it to me and I can use it however I want. It's extremely cute if you ask me and it suits you. Especially when you're clinging to me like a koala because you had a bad dream."

Stephen hummed knowing full well that you were teasing him but he didn't give in, he continued cuddling with you, it was as if he couldn't bear the thought of moving away from you for even a second.

"Promise me you'll see a doctor." You pressed and he groaned knowing full well that you wouldn't give up on the subject so easily. "Stephen..."

"I know every neurologist and psychiatrist in New York, I can't see any of them."

"Well then go to Europe, use your amazing ability to open portals for something that benefits you for a change."

He pulled away enough to look at you. "I love you." He muttered.

You cupped his cheek "I love you too, Stephen, but sometimes you're as stubborn as a mule and it makes me really angry."

He chuckled "I'm sorry."

He caressed your face and placed his trembling hand on the back of your neck and pulled you in for a hard kiss. The intensity surprised you, but you let yourself be pushed gently against the mattress as Stephen positioned himself on top of you, his knees making room for him to settle between your legs.

When your head hit the pillow, he took your lips again while with one hand he held yours on the side of your head and the other he slowly moved between your legs. You moaned involuntarily when his fingers touched over your pajama shorts, tracing circles there, teasing you as he grinded himself into your thigh.

"You're the only one who can give me what I need to make me feel better and you know it." He confessed in your ear and then licked your ear making your body shiver. "I love you so much, sweetheart, you are my medicine."

You couldn't help but giggle, but then a loud moan escaped your lips as his fingers pulled your shorts to the side and began to play with your folds.

"We can't fix everything with sex." You tried to rationalize with him, but you could feel reason quickly giving way to desire in your brain.

"No, but I'm not talking about sex, I'm talking about the way you make me feel when I'm in your arms, when you stroke my hair or massage my hands. I'm talking about love. Your love is my medicine and it’s all I need."

You felt your heart flutter in your chest hearing those words, but at the same time your hips started to move against his hand as if it had a life of its own. It was very difficult for you to separate sex from love with Stephen. Before him the line was thick and visible, but with him it simply disappeared. The two things seemed to complement each other so well.

"Stephen...make love to me." You asked, giving in to your desire and abandoning reason once and for all.

He bit your lower lip lightly before taking your mouth in another hungry kiss. "I thought sex didn't solve things..." He teased you with a smirk while grinding his erection into you.

"You just said it's not about sex..." You tried to say, but shook your head, changing your mind when he stuck two fingers inside you. "Fuck...need you."

Stephen buried his face in your neck, stifling his giggle, but his fingers curled inside you with precision to reach your g spot and he moved them quickly. You held his face in your hands making him look at you. "I love you... oh yes... I love your fingers even more."

He kissed you again giggling and knelt between your legs.

"I think there's something you love even more." He teased, "But first..." He snapped his fingers and your pajamas disappeared with a glimpse of orange light. "Open wide for me..." He licked his lips dramatically which made you laugh softly. You loved that about Stephen. You loved how he could make you feel so good and at ease with him. Even though you had been together for so long, it never stopped enchanting you.

"Or maybe a combination of the two." He announced before diving between your legs and entering you again with his fingers. Your hand grabbed the pillow and the other grabbed his hair and you allowed yourself a loud moan, not giving a damn if Wong would hear you or not. In fact, it had been a long time since you stopped caring about Wong's presence at the Sanctum and perhaps because of that he almost never spent the night there.

Stephen hummed contently, delighting between your folds, taking turns licking them with the tip of his tongue and sucking your clit while his fingers moved nimbly to stimulate your g spot.

He was so good, perfect, surgical when it came to giving you pleasure and as much as you knew that that night he was using sex to escape the current problem, you couldn't resist, you always fell into the same trap.

But it wasn't just to distract you from the subject that he used sex, but also to distract himself from all the problems and fears that afflicted him. He wasn't kidding when he said you were his medicine, and you might even feel flattered by that if it weren't worrying. The man never allowed himself to feel. Always trying to be in control of everything, especially his own emotions and there was nothing Stephen controlled better than sex. He had simply mastered that art so well that he was able to make you forget your own name with just a touch of his fingers.

"Steph... gonna make me cum..." You murmured, giving in to the delicious pleasure between your legs, but keeping your eyes wide open to look at him and see him eating you. There was nothing more mesmerizing than Stephen going down on you because you knew he took pleasure in it and he was so lost in his need for you that he started rubbing his erection on the mattress while eating you and that vision, Stephen so lost in his pleasure , that's what made you finally get there, moaning his name loudly and creaming his fingers.

He emerged from between your legs with a proud smile on his lips and you ran your hands over his face to clean him of all his fluids and pulled him to your lips, delighting in the taste of your cunt in his tongue.

"You're not going to be able to change my mind about you needing to see a therapist. Not even after such a wonderful oral." You warned and he smirked.

"I guess we can talk about this later." He said, running his lips on your neck and placing little kisses on your skin and finally nibbling on your earlobe.

"Later when?" You rasped.

He grabbed one of your hands and brought it to his cock, slipping it inside his pants. "After you take care of this."

You grabbed his cock and started pumping him up and down. "But this is a full time occupation. It really seems like you're always like this." You said pulling him to your lips.

He groaned when you tightened your grip on his cock. “Is this a complaint?”

"Never." You said gently pushing him to the side and straddling him. He let himself be moved easily and you ran your lips down his neck, making a point of leaving a clearly visible hickey just below his chin, your nails went down his chest, scratching him lightly as you took one nipple and then the other in your mouth, circling your tongue on the sensitive skin and feeling him pulse beneath you.

"Sweetheart... please..." His voice was so beautiful when he begged.

"Please what?" You teased, running your lips down his belly, giving small bites.

"Fuck me... with your mouth. Please."

You lifted your head to look at him and couldn't keep the cocky smile from your lips. Your hands grabbed both sides of his sweatpants.

"Since you're asking so nicely."

He lifted his hips, letting you take off his pants and you were treated to his beautiful, hard cock. It's no exaggeration to say that your mouth always watered at that sight.

You held him upright by the base and licked him from the base to the tip, finishing with a suck on the tip that made him see stars. His legs shook and he moaned outrageously loud.

"Oh yes... please take it in your mouth sweetheart, give this delicious mouth to me."

You smiled mischievously, taking your hands up to your hair to tie it into a bun tied with your own hair and Stephen grabbed his cock by the base, gesturing with the other hand for you to take it. You let him lead, opening your mouth for him to put his dick in and letting him thrust all the way in.

"Fuck yeah!" He praised taking his cock completely out of your mouth, saliva dripping down your chin. You took the opportunity to swallow some. "Open for me really big" He ordered and you did as he asked letting him go deep again and gagging around him which made him moan even louder. He loved that.

Stephen loved seeing you gagging on him because it inflated his ego, he knew very well that he had a huge cock, but he liked seeing you suffering to take it all in, it made him hard as a rock and when you cried, when he saw tears streaming down your face he loved it even more. You were sure he could cum from just that.

"Gonna let you take me however you want now." He said taking his hand away which was quickly replaced by yours. "Just keep making me feel good" He asked and you took the lead pumping his cock and sucking him in perfect synchronization. The wet noise his dick made moving in and out of your mouth filled the room.

"So good... fuck sweetheart it feels so good."

He grabbed your hair and without holding back he began to push your head so that you took him entirely. Stephen never gave up control completely and he was obsessed with deep throat, he was only satisfied when your nose was against his pelvis and his cock was deep you’re your throat.

"Taking me so good. Always taking me so good, sweet..." He moaned loudly and his cock pulsed hard in your throat making you gag.

"Wanna cum in your throat, please let me cum in your throat..."

You hummed positively and relaxing your head and throat, breathing through your nose and letting go of the control completely, letting him use your head to get off.

He thrusted up a few more times and then held you tight against him and began to cum down your throat. "Oh yeah... fucking take it, love. Oh yeah... fuck... take all of it... take all of my cum."

When he finally let go of your head and you took him out of your mouth you were gasping for air. Your face was soaked with tears and your chin was dripping with saliva, some still clinging to a thread connecting your mouth and the head of his cock that was soft, but not completely flaccid.

"You always take me so good. Always accepting what I give you. Such a sweetheart indeed." He patronized.

You wiped the spit off your chin with your hand and moved to straddle him.

"Yeah? Now you're gonna fuck me with the same harshness that you fucked my mouth and you are going to make me cum again. Hard."

"And isn't it always hard when I make you cum? Always writhing and moaning my name, thanking the gods that is me fucking you so good." He teased grabbing his cock and giving a couple of jerks before entering you.

You moaned loudly, letting yourself sink into his cock and started riding him fast and hard, placing your hands on his chest for balance.

"Yes... oh yes I love to have you inside me. Feels so big... you always fuck me so good... such a good lover, Steph..."

You leaned your head back and placed both hands on his thighs, moving your legs forward and allowing the new position to give him a better view of where you joined.

Stephen placed a hand on your clit, circling it and stimulating it deliciously, increasing your pleasure, which made you moan so loud that anyone in that house could hear it.

"Just like that, sweetheart. Give it to me."

You kept moving fast on top of him, letting your body move instinctively in search of your release, but Stephen had other plans. Quickly, he moved you under him, getting lost between your legs again, sucking your clit and licking your dripping folds before patting your leg and ordering, "Turn around and lift that ass for me."

You did as he ordered, but not satisfied he slapped your ass cheek and ordered again. "Higher." He gave another slap and when he was satisfied with your position he entered you again, fucking you with surprising ferocity. That was one of the things you loved about Stephen, you never knew what sex with him would be like. Sometimes it was soft and other times it was like that. Hard and delicious.

Stephen was so big that his body covered your entire body, his weight made it impossible for you to move and when he fucked you like that you were completely at his mercy and that was fucking hot. You loved being dominated by him, you loved knowing that your man had complete control over you.

"Fuck yes Stephen... take me, use me, I'm yours. Fuck me harder. Show me I am yours and no one else's. Prove to me that you own me… my owner."

Stephen groaned at your words, grabbing the headboard and increasing the strength of his thrusts as the bed creaked beneath you.

"Gonna make me cum, Stephen, uh? Want me to cum? Tell me, wanna hear you saying it."

He grabbed your hair with one hand and started using it as a rein, pulling you against his thrusts, which became increasingly irregular and strong.

"Gonna cum for me, sweetheart. Wanna see you fucking cum in my cock, come on, give it to me, cream my dick."

You moaned loudly feeling the knot threatening to break in your stomach.

"Yes Stephen...please."

"Come on, love. Let go for me. Cum... Cum on my dick."

And so you did. You came hard feeling your whole body shaking with the force of your release and your legs gave way making you fall face first into the pillows.

"There you go. Such a sweetheart doing as you're told." He groaned the words as he continued thrusting.

"Now you're going to let me use this pussy to get off. What do you think, uh? Letting me using you like this. I know you love it."

You groaned positively, but your groans were muffled by the pillow.

"What is that, uh? Can't hear you, love."

"Use me..." You tried to say, but your voice came out hoarse, but it was enough for him to hear.

He kept thrusting hard into you searching his own high.

"Want me to use you, sweetheart? That's what I am doing and you feel so good. So fucking amazing. Pussy feels so warm and wet and delicious, gonna cum so fucking hard inside you, fill you with my milk, it’s that what do you want?"

"Y-yes, please." You begged and he moaned loudly, placing his hand on the headboard to increase the strength of his thrusts.

"Yeah? Want my milk inside this warm little hole? Then tell me, ask for it."

"Please Stephen, cum in me, cum inside me, want your cum so badly, please."

Stephen groaned loudly and gave two more hard thrusts and then began to cum. He kept thrusting, pushing his cum inside you until he was finished.

"Oh fuck, fucking take it." He groaned in your ear and finally rolled onto his side, his breathing ragged and rapid.

You buried your face in the pillow trying to compose yourself, but a fit of laughter invaded you.

Stephen wrapped his arms around you and began tickling your hips giggling with you.

"Okay, okay, please... I can't..." You begged, gasping for air from laughing so hard. He let go of you and you rolled to the side finally looking at him. The worry, the fear that you saw on his face had disappeared and in its place was the most beautiful smile in the world.

"You’re feeling better." It wasn't a question, but an observation.

He nodded confidently "I told you. You're like medicine to me."

You smiled, dragging yourself closer to him and he wrapped you in his arms letting you lay your head on his shoulder. "You get different sometimes when you're horny."

He let out a small laugh.

"I'm serious. You get a bit rough. I like it."

He cupped your cheek making you look at him and kissed you softly. "It must be because I love you so much. You do these things to me."

You smiled feeling your heart flutter in your chest again. "I love you too, more than anything."

"More than chocolate?" He joked and you grimaced.

"Not that much."

He giggled, squeezing you against his chest and the two of you were silent for a minute. It was you who broke the silence first, determined to return to the subject he was avoiding.

"Promise me you'll seek professional help to deal with these nightmares." You insisted.

He sighed heavily. "You know what they say about therapy. You start it for a reason and the next thing you know you're digging up all the dead bodies on your floor."

You knew exactly what he was talking about and what he was afraid of, part of you always knew it was much more than the accident. You just didn't know how to broach the subject with him. It was something so deeply hidden within him that he didn't even want to talk about it, but you knew this was the moment.

"I know you're afraid to deal with your feelings about your sister, Stephen, but these nightmares are your unconscious telling you that you need closure."

"I'm not afraid..." He said, staring at the ceiling. "I just don't think it's beneficial to go over things that happened so many years ago. I'd rather forget."

You rolled your lips. "But you can't forget, that's the truth. No matter how hard you try, it's all in there and you're just trying to distract yourself from the pain. It was like that with medicine and then at Kamar Taj and now with me..."

"Is not the same thing." He interrupted you. "Medicine was a way to prove to myself that I could be more. Kamar Taj was my salvation when I had lost all hope. You... you are the love of my life. I'm not with you to get distract from my problems, I'm with you because you gave meaning to my life, you made me happy."

You nodded, stroking his chest absently.

"But I'll do it if it's what you want."

"It's not for me that you have to do this, but for you, Stephen. You need to think about yourself sometimes."

He chuckled dryly "I've been called a narcissist, you know? Arrogant. Prepotent. It was when I stopped thinking about myself that I became a better person, they say."

"Fuck them. This is not true." You cupped his face making him look at you. "You've always been a good person, you've always done good even when you did it for selfish reasons. Now I'm asking you to dedicate some of your time to yourself. Please."

He smiles reassuringly at you. "Okay. Consider it done."

You allowed yourself a relieved sigh.

"I liked the 'you're my owner' thing. A little possessive, but I liked it." He teased, changing the subject again and again without any subtlety.

You smirked "We talk and do unimaginable things when we're horny."

"Yeah? I like making you horny, I love seeing how you transform at my touch. It's fascinating to me and I never get tired of it."

You pulled him to your lips and kissed him lingerly, pulling a hum from his throat.

"No man has ever made me feel the way you do. I love everything about you, Stephen."

He rested his forehead on yours and smiled proudly.

"And I love everything about you, my sweet… sweet... sweet... sweetheart." He said separating the words with kisses.

Reblog please! Leave a comment if you liked it. Interact! I will love to read all of your comments and opinions. It inspires me to keep writing ;)

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urdreamydoodles · 4 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?

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