#domestic stephen strange

[frostandflamesfanfic]

You Matter to Me (Strange x Reader)

You Matter to Me (Rated T)

Request?: NO

Pairing: Stephen Strange x Reader

Word Count: 1.5k+

Warnings: Self-conscious Stephen, domestic fluff, traumatic flashback

Summary: During a calming baking session within the Sanctum Sanctorum, Stephen has a tough time working through his fears. When you do your best to ease his mind, the two of you end up in a bit of trouble.

One morning in the Sanctum Sanctorum, there was a sound rarely heard. Somewhere within the great hallways and magical rooms was a kitchen, with a very confused sorcerer and his baker of a significant other. The clinks and clanks of cooking utensils bounced against the walls of the mystical sanctuary, performing an unlikely melody to an otherwise quiet day.

At first, the Cloak of Levitation had been more than willing to help you. It would gather the ingredients and cooking utensils that were too far out of reach. However, when it came to the baking itself, you and Stephen were on your own. You couldn't blame the mystical artifact, though. There was only so much chaos a person could take in a kitchen. Eggshells littered the counter, flour coated your hands, and somehow oil had ended up on the ceiling.

“We only need a quarter of a cup of powdered sugar,” you instructed as you measured out a thing of cocoa powder. There was a streak of flour against your cheek that you hadn't bothered to clean up -- a battle scar from the cupcakes you had baked earlier. “Any more than that and the icing will be too sweet.”

Your boyfriend of a sorcerer grumbled to himself as he attempted to coordinate his hand movements with the package of powder. “Why do they make it so hard to open these things?” 

His frustration was evident in his tone of voice. Stephen was always self conscious of his hands, not to mention his ability to do anything with them. He hated that feeling. Before his accident, he felt like he could do anything. Now here he was, hands shaking and unable to tear a hole into a thin plastic casing. It made him feel less than enough without fail. Every single time.

“Oh, honey,” you giggled at his aggravated pout at the bag. You hated to see him like this but you had to admit it was kind of adorable. As you leaned over to pull open the plastic, you pressed a kiss to his chin. “It’s alright. They’re just tricky.”

Stephen frowned at the measuring cup in his shaking hand. “How much again?” he tried to keep his voice from cracking. He should have known there would be no hiding anything from you.

“Okay, honey,” you lifted a spatula and cocked your hip to the side as he dumped the white substance into the mixing bowl. “What’s the problem?”

“There isn’t a problem.”

“Liar.” You started to cream together the ingredients, smiling at the creamy brown concoction now forming. As you scooped the mixture into a piping bag, you couldn’t resist sneaking a glance at your boyfriend. “There’s something bothering you.”

Stephen sighed. “It’s my hands.”

The spatula you were using to scoop the frosting out of the bowl stilled in the air. Concern for him was evident on your face. “Is the pain back?” you fretted. “Did something happen?”

“No! No, no, not at all,” he assured you. “It’s just...how do you put up with me? With- with this?” He held his hands up for emphasis. The redness on the skin had gone down over the years, scars fading to become less noticeable. They still shook — something Stephen could never control, especially without the Time Stone.

“Oh, honey,” you put the spatula down to scoop his hands into yours. Your thumbs gently traced along his knuckles and you brought them up to lips to press a kiss against them. “I love everything about you. That includes your hands. You might not be able to do everything you used to, but I don’t care.”

Stephen stiffened in your hold. “It’s been seven years-“ he hesitated after you gave him a knowing look. “Fine, two years. I should be able to do more by now! But they’re just useless!”

“Stop that.” You hated using that tone with him, you really did, but you couldn’t bear to hear him like this. He had been through too much- you both had- for him to be so hard on himself. “Please. Stephen, your hands... they’re a reminder of how strong you are, of how you survived. If you didn’t have these scars, you never would have come to Kamar-Taj, become the sorcerer supreme...”

“Saved you from that idiot with a gun...”

A small smile flickered across your face as you remembered the day your paths crossed. You had been coming home after a trip to the bank. Life after being Blipped meant that you needed to get a little financial help. Unfortunately, you and thousands of other people were on the same page. If that wasn’t bad enough, some of them had the ingenious idea to take what they thought they deserved.

That’s how you found yourself staring down at a barrel of a gun.

You hadn’t even heard the gunshot, much less felt it when it went off. The authorities said it was just a trigger-happy thief, but you knew that wasn’t the case. You could see the fear in his eyes when he held the weapon, but his hand was steady. He didn’t regret what he did. What more could a man lose after coming back from the dead? It wasn’t a fatal shot, but you still lost a lot of blood. Shock had overtaken your body to the point you were frozen in the alley you had been corralled into.

Thankfully for you, as your attacker was preparing to take your latest loan, a flash of red material and orange magic came to your rescue. After Stephen apprehended the guy, he helped you with your injuries. You had been fortunate to be shot in the shoulder. If the bullet had been a few inches lower, it would have been a different story, he assured you. He had saved your life that day and to repay him, you asked if he wanted a coffee.

Both of your lives had changed that day. It was as though something was pulling the two of you closer, binding you together. A coffee date led to something much more serious. When Stephen had asked you to move in with him, it had been an adjustment, but a welcome one. The Sanctum Sanctorum hadn’t just become your home. It was your sanctuary, a place where you could feel safe and be with the love of your life. With Stephen, you felt safe and secure. But to hear him question his own usefulness when he’s already done so much for you…

“I love you,” you said simply.

If Stephen was surprised or taken aback by the confession, he didn’t show it. Instead, he merely placed his hands on your waist and stared earnestly into your eyes. “I love you, too,” he replied. “I didn’t mean to scare you. It’s just....” Stephen sighed. “It’s just that sometimes it all becomes too much.”

You gave a small nod and toyed with his hands before placing them against your jaw. “I know. But you need to replace the bad memories with good ones. You need to see what I see.”

Stephen traced his thumbs against the shape of your jawline, stroking your cheek in the process. “You’re perfect,” he murmured, blue-green eyes searching yours.

“Perfect doesn’t exist, Strange.”

“I’m looking right at it.” He moved one hand away from your face, angling his body to be closer. You closed your eyes in anticipation of a kiss that you were sure would soon follow. “And it’s sweet, just like....”

He didn’t finish his statement as you felt something smear against your nose. With a yelp of surprise, you opened your eyes to see a large dollop of frosting on the tip of your nose. Somehow your boyfriend had found a way to grip onto the spatula and utilize it as a paint brush against your face.

You gaped at the sorcerer standing in front of you. “Stephen Strange, you did not!”

There was a loud period of laughter from the sorcerer. “I’m sorry, but your face!” he spoke between chortles. “It was priceless, honey.”

Without another thought, you grinned and started to roll up your sleeve. You reached over to the container of flour on the counter. Stephen’s eyes tracked you wildly as you moved the fist back to your side. “Oh, it is on, doctor,” you said as you tossed a handful of flour into his face.

It was the beginning of a very long night, which wasn’t great for the hidden kitchen. Dishes, ingredients, and towels were tossed about the room. By the time you and Stephen had finished with your childish food fight, it looked like a hurricane had infiltrated the Sanctum through the Rotunda of Gateways. The cupcakes and frosting had been long forgotten, with it being nearly two hours before you finally remembered to come back and finish your task. If there was one thing you learned about dating the great Stephen Strange was that every day was an adventure....

.....but you wouldn’t want to change it for the world.

=================

Author's Note: Well, hello there! Yes, I am back with another Stephen fic. I'm so sorry to those who have requested fics that I haven't posted yet. I've hit a bit of a writer's slump and haven't had that right inspiration to crank out those amazing requests. This idea kinda morphed on its own accord in my brain. Who doesn't love domestic Stephen? I have an idea for a Part 2 during the clean up stages, but not sure when or if I'll ever be able to write/post it.

As usual, please don't forget to leave a like, comment, and a reblog! It really helps me out with the Tumblr algorithm and lets me know what type of fics you like reading. If you have a request, too, make sure to check out my guidelines before sending it through my asks/submissions! Until next time, loves!

[salty-ironstrange-shipper]

Tony: Stephen bought donuts so I took a bite out of every one just to fuck with him. But then he got mad about something else, and now I'm afraid that when he sees the donuts he's gonna lose his shit.

[winterspiderpurrs]

Tony was wrapping up his jog on the private beach when his drone dropped off the coffee he had Friday get ready for him. He was cold and didn't want to wait til he got back to the house to have his coffee. He was moving up one of the dunes when he paused with his cup in hand.

There not to far off, at the estate next to his oddly enough was a young man in a big puffy coat. He seemed to be putting together a bunch of logs, huh must be setting up a bonfire. Not to out of normal but it wasn't something done often in the winter time. The only reason he wasn't in more layers himself was the possibility of over heating while out on his jog.

His nose twitched a moment when the faint hint of cinnamon, cloves, and honey. Eyes widen as he stares. Male omegas are not unheard of, just not as common as they used to be. Most packs swoop them up.

Clearing his throat he waltz over.

" Hey there. Starting a fire?"

A pair of warm brown eyes looked up at him. He knew the moment he recognized him as his eyes widen before he smiled.

" Yeah. Your welcome to join us if you like. Making smores."

At the 'us', Tony looks around and spots on the edge another man, older, kneeling down next to a little girl. Ah. So he has a pack.

" If you don't mind. Never had one as long as your Alpha is fine with it?"

The young man blinks.

" Never? Well you don't have to worry about Stephen. We aren't like that. ... kinda sorta?"

Tony sits down across from him.

" Kinda sorta kid?"

" Parker i mean Peter Parker that is. Call me Peter Mr. Stark. Its complicated? "

Tony snorts and takes a sip of his coffee.

" Call me Tony. So... Peter. Whats so complicated?"

" Well... Stephen is great, and he is Mary's father. But uumm, it was more of... After I had my degrees even though I had 2 doctorates... most places won't hire omegas...so I ended up getting a 3rd degree in nursing. Stephen is a doctor, famous, really, at least in the medical world. We grew close. But Stephen is married to his career, which I understand. After a couple of years... well, I wanted a baby. I was actually looking into sperm banks when Stephen found out well he volunteered. So.. we aren't really together, but... we kinda have this....thing? Stephen likes to call it an open relationship, though we both haven't actively dated other people. See, it's complicated"

Peter laughs and lights a match and gets a small fire going.

" No. I don't see it too complicated... odd but whatever works. How involved is he?"

Tony's thoughts go to his father who was in a committed relationship with his mother but was distant and more overbearing than anything.

" Oh Stephen is great with Mary. We live in the same building we both have rooms at each others. We take turns picking her up, we go with him to all his conferences. Vacations. Holidays. He adores our daughter"

Tony nods and sips his coffee looking back toward the others in the distance. They had started walking toward them. The little girl laughing as she runs to jump into Peter's arms. The man, Stephen, approached them and raised an eyebrow at Tony before looking over at Peter.

Peter laughs " Tony, this is Doctor Stephen Strange, and this little wild heathen is Mary"

Mary giggle " Momma! I'm just Mary"

Stephen nods his head before moving to sit down next to Peter.

" Don't believe I've seen you here before Mr.Stark. Are you here for the Medical Green Energy Conference?"

Tony blinks and nods his head.

" Yes. We are presenting on day 3."

Some rustling is heard and the older men turn to look at Peter and Mary as they start to set the ingredients for the smores out on a tray.

" Mary, why don't you show Tony how to make a smore. He has never made one before"

The little girl gasps and spins around to look at Tony.

" Never Misters Starks? Smores are the greatests in the world!"

Tony blinks and smiles.

" Never. Its a tragedy. So lets see what all the fuss is about."

Not long later after several quiet talks and bellies full of smores. The fire is put out, Mary is fast asleep on Peter's shoulder.

" It was great meeting you Tony. Maybe we will see you at the conference? Excuse me while I put this sleepy girl to bed."

Peter gives Tony a shy smile before he heads up the the beach out with Mary in tow. Stephen and Tony were left standing there, cleaning up the rest. As they headed back up the dunes heading toward the houses. Stephen paused before they went there separate ways.

" I know you like Peter. And I won't sway him away from you if he wants to be pursued. But I won't have you hurting Mary in the process"

" Hey now. I just met Peter. He is a nice guy. But I'm not looking to date"

Stephen raised an eyebrow.

" Sure. But I wasn't interested in dating either, and now I have a family. I'm willing to share MY omega. But stay in line, Stark, we are a package deal."

And that is how Tony found himself courting an Alpha and an Omega. And within three years time, Peter was giving birth to another little girl, this time to Morgan Stark.

[daisybell17]

Tony: I still don’t have a New Year’s resolution. Nat: You could lose a few. Clint: You could be less lazy. Strange: Don’t be such a bitch. Tony: Okay DAMN, SHIT.

[giveemcoffeekid]

After a lab incident

Stephen: I came as fast as I heard Tony had a brain injury, what part of his head hurts?

Tony: The part above my shoulders.

[lyspunkt-star]

Prompt 18

Five first times of Avengers felt like a family to Stephen

and one time they actually are

1.The first time he was intruduced to Avengers officially as Tony’s boyfriend, while they smiled and were not surprised at all.

2.The first time he spent his whole night at their movie/dinner night relaxing.

3.The first time they held a surprise birthday party for him, after all those years of locking himself in his room and drowning himself in alcohol on his birthday.

4.The first time there was more than one person around and taking care of him when he was sick.

5.The first time they stand up for him and protect him from some assholes, who just ignored he was still a human, took his dedication for granted and blamed him for something he couldn't control.

+1. When he said yes to Tony’s proposal, they finally outright tell him how much they love and care about him at their wedding.

And yes, he knows.

[popcorn-plots]

my sore throat is almost 100% gone. Yay! The cold has progressed to tired 24/7 (not that that's unusual), and cotton in my ears. plus headaches. because that's what head colds do :')

I got to binge watch Sherlock today though, and I had an entire box of mac & cheese to myself. good times.

part 1 || part 2 || part 3

Stephen woke up for the third time that day to a stuffy nose. Tony was still holding him, but he had fallen asleep and Bluey had been turned off. Stephen groaned when he realized he could not breathe through his nose.

Absolutely wonderful. Truly one of Nature's most magnificent feats.

Stephen wriggled out of Tony's grasp to search for tissues, some painkillers, and possibly some food. He didn't have any appetite, but damn was he hungry.

Finally, after digging through the closet, Stephen finally found a pack of tissues. He blew his nose (not that that helped one bit) and wandered into the bedroom to find his phone.

'We need tissues :(' he texted Wong.

'Is Tony still there? he can get you some. if not, there's some in the closet.' came Wong's near-immediate reply.

'I found those. and tony's asleep.'

'alright, I'll pick some up on my way home. last class ends in an hour. anything else you need?'

Stephen smiled at his husband's text.

'just you <3'

'aww. get some rest, honeysuckle. I'll be home soon.'

'love you.'

'i love you to. send Tony my love when he wakes up.'

'k'

"Stephen?" Speak of the devil. "Stephen?"

Stephen wandered back into the living room. "Hi."

"Hey, Stephy. How was your nap?" Tony asked.

"Good. Wong will be home in an hour." Stephen relayed, sniffling slightly. Tony nodded.

"Bluey until he gets back?"

"Bluey until he gets back."

~~~

That's how Wong found his two lovers when he returned from work, curled up together on the couch watching Bluey, Stephen's favorite show, while Tony brushed his fingers through Stephen's sweaty hair.

"Hello, how are we?" Wong asked, entering the living room. He planted a kiss on Tony's lips and kissed Stephen's forehead. Stephen looked up at him with a dopey smile, his eyes glazed over with his cold.

"Hi, Wong."

"Hey."

Stephen laid his head back on Tony's shoulder. "I want Wong cuddles." he suddenly declared, much to Tony and Wong's amusement.

"Let me just change my clothes and find some food and I'll come give you Wong cuddles." Wong said.

Stephen hummed and went back to watching his cartoon with Tony.

~~~

Like always, Wong changed quickly and scarfed down some leftover pizza from the night before. He joined his lovers on the couch, maneuvering himself so Stephen fit into his arms while still half-laying on Tony.

Stephen sighed and leaned back into Wong. "Missed you."

"I missed you too. And I got work off for the week, and I got work off for you as well. I can stay and cuddle until you feel better."

"Yay. And Tony?"

"Maybe." Tony answered. "I have some big meetings at SI that I can't get out of, but I'll come over whenever I can, Kay?"

"Kay."

Wong pressed a kiss to the side of Stephen's head. "I'm sorry you got sick."

"S'okay." Stephen huffed, shifting so he was laying his head of Wong's shoulder. Tony sent him a scandalized look as Stephen laughed, his voice slightly hoarse. "I have Wong cuddles now."

Wong laughed. "Yes, yes you do. And you got Tony cuddles as well."

"And now I have both." Tony smiled and draped himself across Stephen, mindful of his hands.

"Oof--" Wong groaned at the extra weight. Stephen just chuckled at his husband and boyfriends antics, cuddling closer to the warm heat of his husband and closing his eyes.

"I love you two..." Stephen muttered, feeling himself close to dozing off. His Stephen sandwich was actually quite warm.

Tony and Wong looked at each other and both kissed Stephen's graying temples at the same time. "We love you, too." They echoed in perfect sync.

"Creepy." Stephen muttered jokingly.

Tony laughed. "You love it."

"Mm. I do. Tired now." Stephen returned, barely able to fight the heaviness of his eyes lids.

"Okay. Sleep, and we'll be right here when you wake up." Wong reassured while Tony rubbed at Stephen's head.

"Thank you for taking care of me..." Stephen whispered.

"Anything for you. We love you." Tony whispered back.

"Love you too."

It still hurt, his nose was still clogged and his body still sore, but for the first time that day, Stephen fell asleep peacefully, cocooned by his lovers.

He really did have the best husband and boyfriend a man could ask for.

[couldntbedamned]

Cold Comes From the East Side - 3

Summary: Peter breaks one of the rules in a spectacular way and suffers the consequences. It's rare for Stephen to actually be angry with him, but given the circumstances, Peter supposes the anger is more than earned. It's a hell of a situation for the pair of them and Peter wonders if they'll actually make it through.

Warnings/AO3 Tags: Domestic Discipline, Relationship Discussions, Standing in the Corner, Punishment, Spanking, Non-Sexual Spanking, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Aftercare, Peter Parker is an Adult, Don't Text and Drive, Angry Stephen Strange, Look Peter is in Big Trouble, Trouble With a Capital T, Struggling Stephen Strange, Struggling Peter Parker, Smartass Sharon Carter, Good Friend Christine Palmer, Safeword Use

Notes: This one is kind of a doozy. We're finally going to see what happens when Peter is grounded.

_______

Cold Comes From the East Side - 3

_______

When it was time for breakfast the next morning, Peter was slow and deliberate as he walked into the small nook and sat down. He didn't look as well-rested as Stephen would like and was wearing some of his softest clothing. He didn't miss all the wincing as Peter attempted to get comfortable on the barely-cushioned chair.

Stephen didn't enjoy seeing his lover so miserable, but Peter had brought it on himself. Hearing Peter crying and begging for him to stop during a spanking hurt his heart in ways he didn't think Peter understood. Being able to tell Peter that he was forgiven afterwards eased the ache. For both of them, he was sure.

He brought Peter a large plate loaded with scrambled eggs and crumbled buttermilk biscuits topped with thick sausage gravy. He also set down a bowl full of fresh cut fruit and a glass of orange juice. Then, because he himself was happy that Peter's grounding was finished, he poured Peter a cup of coffee.

Peter just stared at him in shock over the spread of food and the coveted steaming cup of caffeine.

"Are you not hungry?" Stephen asked, concerned.

"Oh, I'm starving, but I was expecting cereal or something." Peter's eyes closed in pleasure as he sipped his coffee slowly. It was astonishing, Peter's reverence for the brew, and how he listened to Stephen's mandate to limit his intake even away at college.

"I can get you a bowl of cereal as well, if you'd like."

Peter shook his head and picked up his fork. "No, I think this is going to be plenty," he said.

Pleased that Peter was eating, Stephen let himself enjoy his own breakfast. He rarely ate so heavy so early in the day.

"Do you have any plans for today?" he asked once Peter had put a decent dent his food.

"Not really," Peter answered. "I have a couple of books I've been meaning to read and I might start one of those after I finish cleaning the guest room in the west wing."

"Peter, you don't have to clean the guest room," Stephen said. "Your grounding is over."

"No, I know, but I started cleaning it the other day and I might as well finish it," Peter reasoned.

Okay. That was odd. "If that's what you'd like to do, feel free," Stephen said. "Isn't May supposed to be back from her vacation with Mr. Hogan this week?"

Peter went to check his watch, realized he didn't have it, and then shrugged. "She might be."

With a gesture, Peter's smart watch appeared on his wrist and displayed the date. "Yeah, they should be back in a few days," he confirmed.

"I'm sure she'd like a visit once she's settled back in," Stephen said.

When Peter was grounded, May, unknowingly, was the exception to Peter's "no company" rule. Stephen would never keep Peter from his aunt and she was always welcome to stop by and visit. But during the two weeks Peter was being punished, May hadn't visited because she and Mr. Hogan had taken off to Bora Bora. He was sure a visit with her would do Peter wonders.

"Yeah, maybe," Peter said. "Do you have plans for today?"

"Wong sent me a message while I was cooking asking if I could go to Kamar-Taj and fill in for one of the Masters who has taken ill. I wanted to see if you needed me here for anything before I answered."

"No, go ahead," Peter encouraged. "I don't want to keep you."

"It's no trouble to stay here," Stephen said. "There are plenty of other Masters who can step in; I don't mind at all." He'd prefer it, in fact. For all that Peter had been restricted to the Sanctum, he felt like he'd hardly seen him.

"No, the students will be thrilled to see you," Peter insisted... a little too enthusiastically. "You should go!"

"If you're sure," he said slowly. "I should be back tomorrow afternoon."

Wong knew. Of course, Wong knew. He never said anything out loud but the glances said it all.

"How is Peter?" He asked, a couple of weeks after Peter's grounding had been lifted. "He's had a rough couple of weeks but even now he doesn't seem to be doing much better."

Stephen sighed. "No, he's perfect," he said. "Perfectly respectful and all that goes along with it. I haven't heard him laugh since before... well, he's not himself."

Wong raised his brows. "Neither are you."

"I feel like I'm going mad," Stephen admitted. "I don't know how to fix this."

"What is it that you believe needs fixing?"

The lack of easy laughter. The lack of Peter destroying his ego with a teasing smirk. How they hadn't slept in the same bed since Peter had been grounded. The way Stephen hadn't felt Peter's lips against his own in what felt like eons, let alone felt Peter shake apart beneath him.

"I'm not sure. Probably a lot of things," he hedged.

"You aren't that man anymore, Stephen. And though I never met him and you've only told me the basics, you are not your father, either."

"I could have lost him and it made me so angry."

"You were allowed to be angry." Wong's expression was unexpectedly soft. "You didn't act on it; not in any inexcusable way. Be at peace with that."

"And Peter?"

"You two will sort it out."

Peter was in his room reading a book when Stephen went to collect him for dinner. Peter had actually offered to help cook but Stephen had shooed him off. He wanted time to ruminate on the discussion he'd had with Wong earlier.

Like he'd said, Peter's behavior lately had been... well, it had been perfectly respectful.

Stephen hadn’t been sassed in weeks. Even when he’d purposefully left openings, Peter hadn’t taken advantage and popped his admittedly overinflated ego. There was no joking and no witty asides about anything.

Like he'd told Wong, it was maddening.

Peter’s sense of humor - sarcasm and all - was one of Stephen's favorite things about him. Very few people could make Stephen laugh to the point of tears; Peter could do it in minutes without effort. Peter’s irreverent commentary on a slew of topics was almost always entertaining and unlike Stephen's own sense of humor, very little of it was mean-spirited. His heart was simply lighter with Peter’s good nature around.

Lately his heart had felt heavier than lead.

“Dinner,” Stephen announced, once he opened the door to Peter’s “Come in.”

Peter looked up from his book (Dark Matter by Blake Crouch) and nodded. “Okay.” He dog-eared the page he was reading and set it on the bedside table. “Do I need to set the table?” he asked as they made for the kitchen.

So neutral, Stephen thought. So damn… polite. He didn’t like it.

"You don’t need to, but if you feel strongly enough about it, I suppose you can," he teased. Or tried to.

In the dining room, Peter went about setting the table while Stephen brought in the serving dishes of food. He’d needed distraction, so he’d made Greek-influenced lamb meatballs with tzatziki sauce, a turmeric rice pilaf, and a salad of diced tomatoes, cucumbers, red onions, olives, feta cheese, and a lemon-garlic vinaigrette.

“Water or something else?" Peter asked, looking over from the fridge.

"Can you get the bottle of Chianti?"

"Sure." With a nod, Peter grabbed a bottle of water and the bottle of wine in the wine cooler next to the fridge.

"Would you like a glass?" Stephen asked.

Peter's eyebrows raised in surprise. He hadn't been allowed to drink while grounded and he hadn't had a drink since.

"It's not a trick question," Stephen said. "Chianti goes well with the garlic and lemon in the dishes, and if worse comes to worst, I get you drunk enough to think the food is delicious even if it's terrible." He was joking about the food being terrible - it was one of his best meals and he knew it.

"I can't get drunk, though," Peter replied.

"I..." Stephen sighed. "I was joking," he said. "Or trying to, anyways."

Two perfect pitches, zero swings.

"I'll just have water," Peter told him. He opened a cabinet and grabbed one of the wine glasses, handed it to Stephen.

Was this their life now? Stephen wondered.

When Peter retreated to his room after dinner, Stephen started to think he had his answer.

Peter hadn't even seemed enthused about attending a late summer cookout at the Avengers Compound, or that he'd see his friends again.

Being back at the Compound felt weird, especially because he wasn't there to train as Spider-Man. He knew there wouldn't be any proper training, since his web shooters and suit were still securely locked up with his phone in Stephen's study.

Stephen portalled them over for a late summer barbecue but Peter wasn't as excited for it as he should have been. Still, he wasn't going to say no - he'd been confined to the Sanctum for what had felt like ages. Seeing everyone would be nice.

Stephen, predictably, had gravitated toward Christine as soon as they arrived. Christine was sitting in one of the lawn chairs clustered around a picnic table with Ava and Barnes.

She greeted him cheerfully. "Be a sweetheart and drag Sharon out here?" she asked him. "Not literally, of course."

"Yeah, I'll go get her," he agreed.

While his friend hadn't "officially" moved in, Sharon had agreed to keep quarters on the Compound. He knew the way there well, since Ava lived in the same wing and before he'd been grounded, he'd visited her whenever he got the chance when at the Compound and not training.

He was sure FRIDAY had announced him because he hadn't even knocked when he was bid to come in.

Sharon was stalking around the living area presumably looking for something. "Chrissy sent you?" she asked. "Of course she did. Just hang on; I can't find my damn phone."

"Neither can I," Peter joked.

Sharon looked up from where her head was buried between the back of the couch and its cushion. "Funny," she deadpanned.

"Yeah, about that," he said. "I wanted to say I'm sorry about that night. I shouldn't have been texting and I didn't mean to get you involved in everything."

"Oh," she said, looking surprised. "Thank you." Holding up her phone triumphantly, she slipped it in her pocket.

"It's just, I didn't ever think you'd end up in the corner because of something I did an-"

She laughed. "Oh, I wasn't in the corner because of you, sweetie. I was in the corner because I'd been rude to Stephen and Chrissy had had enough of my attitude."

"Why were you being rude?" he asked with a frown. "Stephen's always nice to you!"

"I was annoyed because you were blowing up my phone when you were supposed to be driving." She shrugged. "I shouldn't have taken it out on him and I even apologized for it." She smirked. "The way you two defend each other is adorable."

"Yeah well, I don't think he'll be defending me for a long time, so," he said, shoving his hands in his pockets. "Even though I'm not grounded anymore he's been pretty distant."

"That can't be right," Sharon said, concerned. "Peter, he talks about you all the time! He gets a stupid love-struck look on his face and everything!"

He shrugged, uncomfortable. "Maybe for everyone else. I've been on my best behavior since the night I was grounded but I still feel like I'm just a word or two from being sent to stand in the corner."

"Have you talked to him about it?" she asked.

"And risk upsetting him again? No," he said with a shake of his head. "I can't do that to him again."

She didn't say anything for a moment. "You really shouldn't keep how you're feeling bottled up. It's just going to build until it explodes and I don't think either of you would want that."

"Maybe," he hedged. "Come on. The great outdoors is calling us to save Christine from its horrors."

Sharon laughed. "She's so prissy sometimes. I love her."

"And you said Stephen gets a love struck look on his face," he teased, doing his best to convince her that his heart was in it and he was fine.

"I don't think I can do this anymore."

Peter was sitting with him in the living room. Whereas Stephen was in his usual armchair, Peter was curled up against the side of the couch. He looked miserable, but determined.

He felt his heart drop. "What?"

"I feel like you're never going to stop being mad at me and I don't think I can live like this anymore. I'm not talking about the grounding, either. I broke the rules in a big way and I definitely deserved it. It's... it's you."

"Peter, I-" What was he saying?

"I feel like you've wanted nothing to do with me since that night."

"I'm around you all the time. We live together. We share a bed." Well, they used to, at least.

"But you're not with me! It's like you're looking right through me. We haven't had sex and you don't even kiss me or - hell! - hug me. I can count on one hand the number of times you've told me, unprompted, that you love me since that night. I get that I was being punished, but you've never just cut yourself off from me like this. Do you still love me?"

"I..." he wasn't sure what to say or even how to make it right. Looking back, he could understand why Peter felt the way he did. He hadn't been affectionate with Peter since the night he grounded him. It hadn't been intentional, not in the way Peter seemed to think. He'd been trying to keep from losing his temper, keep from taking his frustration with the entire situation and with himself out on Peter. "Of course, I love you, Peter, desperately. I'm so in love with you I'd choose you over taking my next breath."

"Then why have you kept pushing me away?" Peter asked, miserable.

"Because I've been scared that if I don't keep myself tightly contained, I'd lash out and hurt you."

"How is this different than any other time, though?"

Stephen closed his eyes, opened them when he felt in control once again.

"I could have lost you."

Peter looked so confused Stephen nearly laughed. Peter didn't understand the severity of of what would have happened and though Stephen didn't want to even think about it, he couldn't exactly leave him in the dark.

"You could have crashed your car and been severely hurt, or even killed. You heal, Peter, and damned fast at that. However, you can't heal from death and I don't as yet possess the ability to bring anyone back to life."

"My recklessness that night could have hurt someone else on the road," Peter admitted.

"If that had happened, I would have lost you," Stephen said. "As surely as if you had died, I would have lost you."

"What? Stephen, no!" Peter insisted. "How can you say that? You'd really stop loving me?" He looked as if his whole world was about to fall apart.

"Nothing could ever make me stop loving you, but I would have lost you."

"You can't know that!" Peter argued.

"I know you," he said. "I know your heart, Peter. Do you remember a year or so ago when we were called out to fight against Dr. Doom?"

Peter nodded, looking confused. "Yeah, I remember. One of his bots damaged one of my web-shooters and I couldn't get a web out in time to stop part of a wall from hitting that civilian. It broke both of her legs."

"Even though you did nothing wrong and made every right call while fighting that day, it still happened. You blamed yourself and you were despondent for weeks. I couldn't get you to eat or drink with any regularity and finally I had to spell you into sedation so Christine could push fluids and nutrients." He took a moment to gather himself. "It was bad, and it took a while before you managed to forgive yourself for something that was no one's fault but Doom's."

"Yeah," Peter said weakly. "It was pretty rough."

"That episode was from someone getting hurt from something not your fault, while you were on top of your game and making every right decision." He waited until Peter looked at him. "How bad do you think it would be if it someone was hurt or killed because you were being reckless and only thinking of yourself while on a joy ride?"

Peter's face paled as he processed the words. "I wouldn't be able to come back from that," he all but whispered.

"Do you understand now?" Stephen asked gently.

Peter nodded and then seemed to steel himself. "I think there's something I need to show you. Do you still have those morning stones?"

"The Memory Stones of Morntauk? Yes, I do."

He retrieved the stones and set them aside. "Whatever it is you wish to show me, I want you to know you don't have to. You're entitled to your privacy."

"I know," Peter said. "But I think you need to see, because I don't know how else to explain it."

The stones went hot between their clasped hands as Stephen fell into Peter's memory.

The penitentiary was cold and impersonal and the guard frowned as Peter scrawled his name in the log book. Or rather, B. Jones' name.

"Through the double door and have a seat until you're called back. You've surrendered your phone?" The guard asked, bored.

"Yeah," Peter said. He ducked his head and went through the double doors only to sit on the most uncomfortable hard plastic chair in existence.

He waited for what felt like hours before he was called back.

"Jones?" Another guard asked, entering the waiting room and glancing around as if she didn't care if anyone was waiting.

"Yeah! Yeah, that's me," Peter said.

He stood obediently as he was scanned with security wands and let himself be led through yet another set of heavy double doors to a room with a two cubicles and chairs separated by thick plexiglass. There was the usual phone connecting them and heart going a mile a minute, Peter sat.

"You'll get fifteen minutes," the guard said.

It took a few minutes but an inmate was all but shoved through a door on the other side of the plexiglass.

Aside from a gaunt face and thinking blond hair, the man was painfully average.

He looked puzzled at the sight of Peter, but sat down with a shrug and picked up the phone.

"Dennis Carradine?" Peter asked shakily after picking up his phone. He didn't like this, didn't want to be here, this was a mistake...

"Do I know you? I don't get many visitors here." He frowned. "'Specially not children."

He wasn't a child! He hadn't been a child since that night, when this man had murdered his uncle right in front of him!

"You shot my uncle a couple of years ago, in Queens."

God, there'd been blood everywhere and all over his hands as he'd desperately tried to staunch the flow, blood that had taken him ages to scrub off... his hands still didn't feel clean...

"Oh, right! I remember you. You were the little kid who wouldn't stop crying. Come to gloat that the boogeyman is finally locked away?"

Gloat? How could he? This man was locked safe away, with three guaranteed meals a day. Ben was still dead.

Peter shook his head. "I just came to ask you why?"

"Why what?"

"There were a few dozen people out and about that evening. Why him? Why did you shoot him?" He hated asking, hated the microscopic part of the question that implied 'why not kill someone else?'

Dennis smiled slowly. "Ah. Yeah, I can see why that would keep a kiddo like yourself up at night. He stood out, kid."

Peter scowled. "How? Uncle Ben wasn't flashy and he didn't cause scenes. He definitely didn't that evening!"

"Kid, your dear Benny stood out because he didn't stand out. Do enough crime and you can tell who will raise a fuss and draw attention to you. You learn to stay away from them and go for the quiet ones. The last time I didn't follow my rules to avoid a quiet one, I got caught." He motioned to the vomit-orange jumpsuit he wore. "It's never the rule breakers and risk takers that pay the price in this world." The smile he leveled at Peter showed several crooked, yellowing teeth. "A little recklessness goes a long way."

Stephen thought that was it, but then he was immediately pulled into another memory.

Peter winced as he decompressed the suit. Mr. Stark was going to pissed, but he'd handle it.

He pulled his medkit out from under his bed and selected what he'd need once he was done with his shower. He was just grateful that Aunt May was working another double. The last thing she needed to worry about was her nephew with a few burns that would heal in a day or two.

He hated fire.

The fire department had not been happy with the friendly neighborhood Spider-Man. He'd heard their admonishments that what he'd done was stupid and reckless. And yes, it had been. He had the burns to prove it.

But the little girl and her puppy were safe.

They'd go to bed with the rest of their family and see another day.

If Spider-Man... if Peter had to be reckless in order to make sure others would get to go to bed safe and sound with their families... well, that was just what he'd have to do.

Peter took him through more memories of patrols and soon the pattern emerged: the more reckless Peter was, the more lives were saved. Stephen realized that Peter had internalized just why being reckless was not only okay, but for the greater good. And that was not something Stephen alone could magically fix.

When Peter was finished showing Stephen his memories he looked at Stephen expectantly.

Heart aching, Stephen said the only thing he could in good conscience say.

"Titan."

_______

[ctxrover]

Everybody always remembers Cap!Wolf and Hank Pym hitting Jan, but nobody ever remembers this bizarre and totally canon Marvel story in which Doctor Strange straight up attacks Clea, who has to be saved by Spider-Man, and then turns into a werewolf.

It’s criminal.

[polizwrites]

An A-maze-ing Afternoon

Stephen was starting to wonder if the two of them had somehow wandered into the Mirror Dimension, as he could swear that this was the third time they’d gone down this particular aisle of the corn maze. He’d let Tony take the lead - enjoying the view from behind - but it seemed that without JARVIS’ assistance, his beloved’s navigation skills were sub-par.

“How you holding up back there, sunshine?” Tony asked over his shoulder. He was working his way through a second cup of mulled cider and appeared to be in much better spirits than Stephen himself was.

“I’m starting to think I ought to try astral projection just so we can get our bearings.” Stephen was joking … mostly.

Tony feigned a shocked look. “But that would be cheating!”

Stephen raised an eyebrow. “Your point being?”

Read the rest on Ao3!

This is a @flufftober fill for Day 6: Corn Maze and a @tonystarkbingo fill for Tony/Stephen Strange.

[lady-strange0]

crystal butterfly

By: Lady_Strange0

Words: 1926

Rating: General Audiences

Published on AO3: 10/06/2023

Relationships: America Chavez & Stephen Strange, America Chavez & Wong, America Chavez & Stephen Strange & Wong, America Chavez/Lisa Halloran, Stephen Strange/Wong, Stephen Strange & Wong

Summary:

“You know, you don’t have to look like a kicked puppy just cause I’m going out, and you aren’t,” said America, with a large grin on her face, holding a lipstick towards her lips.

“If I wanted to, I could be out every night,” said Stephen.

“Uh-huh.”

-or-

America is going to Prom and Stephen gets sentimental seeing his daughter growing up, and lots of feelings are felt.

The invitation has been up on the fridge for a month now with little paper hearts and star magnets all around it.

America is going to prom, and Stephen couldn’t be more proud of her.

She was attending with her girlfriend, Lisa, who Stephen has met on many occasions and approves of totally, not that America needs approval on who she dates, but he’s happy that she has made such good and responsible choices.

Lisa is a no-nonsense type of girl, who wasn’t intimidated by Americas supernatural powers nor Stephens kinda- Avengers status nor the place they call home with all its oddities. She makes America smile and laugh whenever they are together, and most importantly, happy. And that’s all Stephen cares about.

The fact that she is absolutely smitten with America also helps, she’s confident and loyal, and stands up to classmates and teachers for what she believes, but will turn into a blushing mess when complimented by America. It’s honestly quite cute to see.

They had been dating for two years now and Lisa had asked America to prom with a bouquet of beautiful ‘Blaue Blaumen’ which is german for Blue Flower, a flower that is inspired by the Romanticism movement which is Americas favourite period in art history, some of her favourite artists are from the period too such as Casper David Friedrich and Thomas Cole as well as Mary Cassatt and Edgar Degas. The flower represents loving the infinite and unreachable.

It’s the perfect flower for America.

From what America had told him about the small and sweet promposal, Stephen knows there was dinner involved in a new pizza place in town, as well as a walk through Central Park, and the flowers. Which are now incased in a spell that will keep them eternally fresh and alive. They are on the bedside table in Americas room.

Since then, America has talked of nothing but Prom, what she will wear, what Lisa will wear, the dancing, the food, the fun it will be.

And today is the day, with Stephen sitting on one of the living room couches and America applying her makeup and curling her hair on another with a small mirror levitating in front of her. Stephen had offered to pay for a hairdressing and makeup appointment, but she had refused, insisting on doing it herself.

So he watches as she applies her eyeliner and a light shade of blue eyeshadow with a little bit of glitter and two small pearl stick-ons to each eyelid.

She has been growing out her hair throughout the almost 4 years they’ve known each other. Stephen had learned early on that she always kept her hair short between universes as it was easier to manage, but now that she has been stationary in one for so long, had started to let it grow again. It’s pulled back into a half up- half down style with a slight curl and wave at the bottom. A white ribbon holding the hair in place with a bow.

She looks beautiful and grown up, and Stephen knows this is when his daughter starts becoming an adult, and he is both happy and saddened by this. He is obviously the proudest he could be to see what a strong, kind and happy person she has grown up to be, but he also knows that he will miss not having her around all the time when school is over and university calls.

She had applied to multiple art universities in New York, but her top choice was NYU, she was very insistent on being in walking distance of the Sanctum. So, at least he’d still see her regularly, but it’ll still be different.

But before Stephen starts getting really emotional, he looks over to see America smiling at him fondly.

“You know, you don’t have to look like a kicked puppy just cause I’m going out, and you aren’t,” said America, with a large grin on her face, holding a lipstick towards her lips.

“If I wanted to, I could be out every night,” said Stephen.

“Uh-huh.”

“Hey, I’m not that old and decrepit, I’m still fun, ask Wong.”

“Ask Wong what?” Said Wong, as he walked out of the kitchen with three cups of tea floating next to him. He handed one to Stephen as he sat down next to him and set the other down on the coffee table for America.

“America thinks I don’t leave this house enough and am therefore not fun.”

“Well, you do only hang out with America and me, and one of those is your partner and the other is your kinda daughter-kinda ward-kinda teenage disaster.”

America just shrugged and nodded at the description.

“Hey, I hang out with other people, there’s Christine and some of the Avengers and when the guardians are on earth them too-“

“Yeah? When was the last time you saw Christine when you wearing injured or the Avengers when it wasn’t for a mission or something?”

The fact that Stephen couldn’t remember was answer enough and he just pouted and sipped his tea instead.

America and Wong exchanged a knowing look before she walked out of the room to put on her dress and shoes.

While they waited Wong put his arm around Stephens shoulders and pulled him close and asked, “you okay?”

“Yeah, just thinking of America being off to prom, and then graduation, and then summer break at Kamer-Taj, and then off to art school. And it’s just she’s grown up so fast, and I didn’t even want children but I couldn’t imagine not having her here, and I’m glad that wants to live here while being at college too, but I’m also worried she’ll miss out on the college experience if she does that and-“

“Woah, calm down, Stephen, before you worry yourself into a panic attack. America chose NYU as her top school choice because it’s in walking distance to the sanctum, but even if she ends up choosing Columbia or a school further away, she has portals of every sort at her fingertips, and her slingy.” Stephen smiles at the thought of her sling ring, it was a perfectly normal one except it had SS and AC in-craved on the inside.

“So, she will be alright, and she will go study fine art and do something that makes her happy, and she’ll make friends, and have a college experience, but in the end she’ll always have a home here, and she knows that.”

“Of course, you’re right, maybe I’m just not ready to see her all grown up.”

Wong just squeezed Stephens shoulder from where his arm was still around him, and pressed a kiss to Stephens forehead.

It was then that America walked back into the living room, and said with a twirl “ta-da!”

The dress America had landed after a lot of consideration was from a small boutique in Italy. It was a floor length almost midnight blue organza dress with a similar coloured tulle over the skirt and small white flowers embroidered into the tulle fabric. It had long see-through sleeves that ended at the wrist with a small bow, and hugged her waist beautifully before flaring out towards the bottom, in the back it was secured with a corset like back and white ribbon.

Her jewellery consisted of a pair of small pearl earrings which had been a birthday gift from Lisa, and a necklace that Wong had given her during the Mid-Autumn Festival the previous year. It was a gold necklace with beautiful freshwater pearls from the private collection of artefacts of the Sorcerer Supreme. The necklace was enchanted to warm up slightly whenever a loved one of the wearer was close by. Which meant in Americas case that the necklace was almost constantly pleasantly warm around her neck.

Finally her shoes were a simple pair of white heels with a dark blue sole. They had randomly found them on a market while walking though a small town in Thailand.

Stephen got up after she finished twirling her dress for them. He smiled at her softly and got a bright smile back.

“I’ve got something for you too,” said Stephen.

He gently pulled one of her hands towards him and closed his slightly trembling hands around hers. She was watching him, as their hands suddenly glowed in an orange light before dulling again. He pulled his hands away again, to leave a beautiful deep blue crystal butterfly with white lines around the edges of its wings, in her hand. Its wings fluttering softly and catching the light on its shiny surface.

“It’s a ‘Palos Verdes’ or ‘Glaucopsyche lygdamus palosverdesensis’ scientifically,” America raised an eyebrow at him, but he continued without reacting to her, “they are some of the rarest butterflies in America. They are known for said rarity and their elegant blue wings. I found this one on my visit to that magic forest last month, and it- well anyway, it was dying from the magic overflow, and I thought I’d save it with the crystal enchantment, it’s able to regulate the magic overload much better now, and as a thank you it offered to be a little guardian for your evening.”

America was a bit teary eyed as she looked from the butterfly to Stephen, “no, no no no, don’t cry, you’ll mess up your makeup, Star.”

She just laughed slightly wetly and pulled Stephen into a tight hug, his arms went around her back squeezing her back just as strongly.

Over her head he could see Wong smiling slightly at them from his perch on the couch arm. Stephen nodded for him to come closer and join them. The other man rolled his eyes, but got up and joined in the group hug anyway. He didn’t know if he’s ever been happier, but Stephen just pressed his lips to Americas head softly and then to Wongs cheek.

“Okay, okay, enough soppiness for today, Lisa will be here soon and we can’t give you away with tears in your eyes. She’ll kill both of us then.”

America pulled back and said, “ thank you for all of it not just the gorgeous butterfly and the necklace but just for taking me in all those years ago and-“

“Nuh-uh, if we do this then Stephen will have a breakdown and we can’t have that right now.” Wong said, interrupting Americas speech.

“I would not have a breakdown,” Wong just raised his eyebrow at Stephen, who tried to shrug innocently.

Stephen smiles at America, took the butterfly from Americas hands and gestured for her to turn around. After she spun around, he placed the butterfly above the twist on the back of her hair and repositioned some of the strands sticking out to the side.

“You look stunning, I’m so proud of you.”

“We both are-“ there was a knock at the Sanctums door and the slight squeak as it opened for their guest.

“I think someone’s here for you, are you ready?” America looked down herself after the question and looked up at the two men and nodded. “Totally.”

She gave them a cheeky double thumbs up, and then they watched as America picked up the front of her dress and run from the room to her girlfriend, and they heard giggles and laughs and compliments.

Stephen knows that America will always be ready for whatever is thrown at her, but he is also happy in the knowledge that she will always have Wong and him in her corner.

[salty-ironstrange-shipper]

Tony: Stephen is actually very polite. Just in a dickish way.

Stephen: TONY! Tony, GET UP HERE AND INSTALL THE AIR CONDITIONER! WE ARE GOING TO HAVE CONSTRUCTION WORKERS AND MOVERS ALL THROUGH THE HOUSE AND I WILL KILL US BOTH IF THEY THINK WE'RE BAD HOSTS!

Tony: I told him he could just use one of his spells to keep the house cool. He said that wasn't the point.

[ironstrangle]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Tony Stark/Stephen Strange Additional Tags: Fluff, Domestic Fluff, Whipped Cream Summary:

Tony realizes he's in love with Stephen Strange over breakfast, with a little bit of whipped cream.

(In spite of being for the kink bingo, this is a very fluffy, innocent tale.)

[geeky-politics-46]

So I've been trying to come up with an idea where Eddie & Venom are part of the MCU. My mind keeps getting stuck on this idea:

- It would take place around the same time as Falcon And The Winter Soldier & Spider-Man: No Way Home. Maybe a little bit after.

- You are an Avenger who has also studied the mystic arts, but Nat trained you in combat so you are a true blend of both. Not sure if her & Tony are dead, Steve is gone. Shang-Chi & Katie are part of the group now. Not sure on Wanda's situation or Kate or Yelena.

- You had moved into the Sanctum after Thanos & the compound was destroyed.

- This became a problem the more Sam & Bucky were around. The Sanctum itself & the artifacts seemed to enjoy messing w/ Bucky, & Sam was gonna end up in the mirror dimension if he tried to argue the "sorcerers are wizards w/o a hat" thing to Wong &/or Stephen again.

- The Flag Smashers stuff still happened, & Sam still went to Louisiana to help out Sarah. Leaving Bucky just kind of following you around the Sanctum when he didn't have anything else to do.

- Eventually you end up sharing an apartment w/ Bucky. Maybe Wong & Strange couldn't stand it anymore. Maybe you just wanted to help him stretch his wings a little.

- Bucky has gotten Alpine, & things are going really well. Maybe a flirtation there? A thing?

- Until you see Spiderman all over the news w/ all sorts of villains going after him. You just have a hunch it somehow involves Stephen, but you stay out of it. If he needed your help or Wong needed you on clean up they would have contacted you. It all culminates w/ the purple sky & Strange floating over the Statue Of Liberty.

- Not sure whether Peter gets forgotten.

- Well a few days later Stephen shows up at your door w/ a man you don't know. Turns out his name is Eddie & long story short he is from a different reality, he can't get home, & he "conveniently" ends up in the apartment next to you & Bucky. You're babysitter basically so Wong doesn't find out & shit doesn't go haywire.

- You hear lots of crashing & multiple voices from his apartment. Eventually confronting Eddie & Strange about what is going on you meet Venom. Bucky doesn't know about this.

- Venom asks if he can eat Alpine. Obviously no, & being the sassy B she is let's him know. Somehow he understands cat. They become gossip buddies.

- Somehow Venom learns you are almost as good a host match for him as Eddie & when they have a fight he starts jumping into you until Eddie apologizes. You start freaking Bucky out talking to yourself & he doesn't like you being w/ Eddie so much.

- He tries to get you to go to therapy w/ him & you have to come clean about Venom. He becomes like a 3rd roommate & let's Eddie have alone time a lot more. It's helping their relationship.

- Cue opportunity for lots of weird Three's Company or Friends-esque shenanigans between you, a 106 year old super soldier (maybe dating?), an alien symbiote, & his husband. Regular appearances by Sam, Joaquin, Wong, Strange, & the others.

Should I turn this into a story or a series? Would you be interested?

[peachesofteal]

Simple Math / Part Thirteen

Simple Math masterlist

Ghost/Soap/female reader 4.2k words - AO3 Warnings-tags: 18+ MDNI. Nurse!reader. Domestic slice of life. Feelings of fear, self loathing, anxiety, dread. Complicated emotions. Verbal depiction of domestic violence. Non sexual intimacy. Scars from cigarette burns. Very brief daddy kink. Sick character (not reader). Comfort. Confessions.

The park is quiet.

You hoped it would be- middle of the day, in the middle of a work week, in the middle of the city. There are a few people around, walking, running, lingering. Enjoying themselves, the warmth of the sun on their face, a bright spot amid a typically grey winter.

It makes it easier. To look.

To watch.

To wait.

And you do. You wait, and you wait. You sit steady on the park bench, pretending to be remotely interested in the rough paperback cradled in your lap, spine already cracked flimsy by Simon’s grip. It’s Stephen King. Carrie, if you’re precise. A story of stolen girlhood and rage.

You swallow the shards of glass and acid the pages bring forth.

Deep breath. 

The breeze gusts, and your shoulders nearly shake. It’s been a long, long time since you’ve sat out in the open like this.

Easy prey.

You may have always been easy prey. Easy and young and stupid, easy, and naïve and manipulated. You fell for every trick in the book. You didn’t see the signs until it was too late.

Still, you watch. You wait.

You considered, for a while, that if Philip was around, if he was in the city, looking for you- he’d arrive here. Like magic. Like a classic villain, materializing in a plume of smoke.

And while it’s not exactly comfort you feel as each minute ticks by and he fails to appear, there’s relief in your soul for certain.

It’s a risk, to sit here. A question. With an answer, for now.

Will he? Won’t he? 

Today, the answer is he won’t.

Your phone vibrates, and you don’t need to look at it to know, guilt worming its way into the depths of your heart, anxiety piquing as you imagine both Simon and Johnny at their house, their home, worried.

Don’t fool yourself. Don’t give yourself too much credit. Don’t get carried away. 

Someone clears their throat over the back of the bench, and you whirl.

“Hey, sorry.” Your pulse slows from a gallop to something slower, and you shake your head.

“You can’t sneak up on me like that.” The man shrugs his second apology, legs spreading into the spot next to you. You’re practiced at this, familiar. Knowledgeable enough to keep your hands from shaking, even though the tremor builds through your bones.

“Been waitin’ for you to call.”

“I’ve been busy.” You eye the black bag in his hands, a small black fabric pouch, gold zipper glinting in the sun. “That everything?” He nods.

“Can I ask-“

“No.”

“Just seems strange, is all. Pretty, polished thing like you, needin’ all this. Most of my clients are more… rough around the edges.” Your teeth dig into your tongue. Already, this guy is less discreet and more obnoxious than your last purveyor. You wish you had hidden your face.

Like Simon. 

“We’re solid, then?” You unzip the pouch, cursory eye roaming over the collection inside, checking off a mental list. Usually, you would feel relief at this point, but today, it sours and rots. Liberation burns into a roaring wave of uncertainty, and your fingers tighten over the zipper.

“We’re good.” He stands, giving you one last long look, and then his mouth shifts into a half smile. “Good luck.” Your polite nod is strained and forced. A nonverbal fuck off.

He takes the cue, and slinks away, disappearing around a corner and out of sight.

The bag weighs heavily in your hands. A terrible reminder of the truth.

You’ll never have a life. You’ll never have a family. You’ll always be alone. 

You’ll never be pretty or polished or perfect. 

You’ll always be this. 

Scarred. Sectioned off. Scared. 

Desperation wells, and you close your eyes. You see Johnny, and Simon. Their faces. Sunlight in bleak darkness.

Love and family and strength.

The ache in your chest widens. You want to be home, with them. Curled up, with them. Sitting at the table and eating dinner, with them. All these things, these domestic, familiar things that once seemed so unattainable, now within arm’s reach.

But still so far away. 

Your shoulders relax a fraction, dipping lower, the strain on your injury zinging through your muscles as you roll them, and you shove the little bag into the backpack, above the clothes you pulled from your apartment.

Deep breath. 

Johnny’s the first you see after locking the front door. He’s in the kitchen, half leaning on his crutch, fishing something out of a pot, a noodle of some kind, and he freezes, eyes heavy with relief, when you come around the corner.

“Bunny.” His good arm reaches, fingers brushing together, cold against warm. He coos. “Ye’re freezin’.”

“It’s cold.” You agree, unzipping the front of your jacket. He slides cautious and slow touch around your waist beneath it, and you go with him, face burrowing into his chest, just below his collarbone. Your nose is nearly smashed, but you can still breath him in, feel him, be in this moment with him.

His hold tightens. “What is it?”

“Sorry it took me so long.”

“That’s alright, was jus’ worried is all. Text us back next time.” You nod, but stay silent, still taking gulps of air, nosing against the collar of his shirt to find his skin. “Pretty girl,” his hand strokes over the back of your head, warm breath on your cheek. “Ye alright?” You breathe through the threat of tears, though they sting and threaten to sink you.

“Ye-yeah.” You choke, and he tries to pull back, grip steady on your upper arm, but you follow him, still trying to crawl inside and hide, wrap yourself up in him and disappear.

“Hey now,” he clucks his tongue, trying to re-focus you, trying to get your attention, nimble fingers cradling your jaw, “what is it?”

There are no words to explain it, these feelings. The fear. The dread. The bile rioting in your stomach, the anxiety churning like a turbulent sea. It’s like no matter what you do, it all comes back, no matter how deep you bury it or how much you try to change the tide.

It’s easier to lie.

“I’m tired.” You whisper, and he rubs your back.

“Did ye eat?” No.

“Yes. I got something at the hospital.”

“Paperwork all in order so ye can hang out wit’ us until ye’re better?” His smile is infectious, a mirror blooming across your own face, and he dots your nose with his lips. “There’s our girl.” Your toes curl. He tugs the backpack into his grip, and you let him, let him push you up into the counter, drop your bag to the floor, slip his tongue between his teeth. You let it all go to your head, let yourself get lost in him, twist your fingers in his hair, nipples pebbling stiff as his mouth finds the sensitive skin of your neck.

He takes it all away. Every time. 

“Johnny.”

“I’ve got ye.” He finds an opening, a soft spot between your jeans and your shirt, hands roaming upward and over, everywhere. He’s everywhere, effortlessly, and you’re along for the ride, clinging so tight like you’re afraid you’ll fall.

And then-

It stops.

He’s holding your face, blue gaze unwavering, focused. “Bun, talk to me.” Your throat throbs, words sticking like taffy, clawing their way up in a jumbled mess until the only thing intelligible is what spills out.  

“Is this real?” You’re a child. Small and scared, desperate for some sort of reassurance, some semblance of security.

“Is what real?” His fingers close over yours, lifting them to his lips. “This? Us?”

“Everything. All of it… I- I-“

“It’s real. It’s been real since ye held my hand the first time. Or at least, it’s been real for me… since then. Thought ye were an angel. An answer to a prayer.” He cracks a smile, thumb rubbing across the slope of your cheek. “An’ I’m not the praying type.”

“There’s… you don’t know me, Johnny. There’s so much… you don’t know.” Your chest heaves, anxiety stuttering inside your lungs, air turning thin in your mouth.

“I know, shhh. I know.” You press your face back into his chest, words slowing to a stop, a trickle. “Ye remind me of him, ye know. A lot prettier though.”

“Who?”

“Si.” He kisses your temple, your forehead, peeling away to peer at your face. “Guarded… but scared under it all. Ye dinnae even know how life can be, too busy runnin’ away.”

“Johnny-“

“Ye’ve got secrets, I know. But it’s the same thing I used to tell him. Eventually you’ve got to let go, let me in. Let us in, Bun. We’re not goin’ anywhere. We’re not afraid. Let us prove it.” Your lower lip trembles, eyes burning with the brunt of tears. “Shhh, dinnae cry. Ye’re alright, everything’s going to be okay. I swear it.” You do nothing, nothing except stand there, half folded into him, breath and touch agonizingly slow, steady in his hold.

The two of you stay there, in the silence, until the agonized sear of distress starts to fade, and you begin to balance, ship righting itself after a long night in rocky seas.

Penny’s bedroom door is open.

The soft glow of a nightlight floats into the hall, and you peer past, finding Simon with his arms full, reclined in the rocking chair, a nearly asleep Penny gap mouthed in his arms. You wave.

“Hi,” he whispers, “get everything you needed?”

“Yeah, all set.” You nod to the baby. “She’s knocked.”

“Bath time was rough.” He traces her cheek, twirling a finger in her hair. A soft, faultless picture, his features delicately framed by shadow, thick arms the perfect place for a baby, an easy cradle.

It’s an intimate moment, and inside it, you feel out of place.

“I’ll see you downstairs?” You shift away, motioning, and he hums.

“In a few.”

Everything is slow with them in the evenings, you’ve realized.

They move leisurely, dancing around one another, Simon constantly watching and waiting, for both you and Johnny, anticipating. It’s a natural role, one that seems more permanent over necessary considering the circumstances, Johnny falling into an unhurried pace, languishing on the couch after dinner and dishes are done, fingers mindlessly stroking into the soft spot beneath your ear. Simon leans over, kissing Johnny and then settling at your side, an arm stretching around your back. “Should we watch something?” Johnny brightens.

“A movie?”

“If you’d like. Bun, any suggestions?” You blink. It’s a surprise, one that’s never occurred to you, the ability to simply choose a movie.

“Umm… no?”

“What’s yer favorite?”

“I don’t know. Whatever is fine. What do you guys like?”

“We know what we like. We want to know what you like.” What do you like? Comedies, you suppose. Something light and funny, something to distract the never-ending stream of thoughts cycling through your head.

“Uh, have you guys ever seen Forgetting Sarah Marshall?” Johnny chuckles.

“It’s been a while.” He flicks through the icons on the screen, thumbing over to where he starts to type it in. What if they don’t like it? What if they’re humoring you? What if you picked wrong? “Or, if you don’t like that, we can do something else. Anything. I’m not picky. It doesn’t have to be-“

“Hey,” Simon murmurs, warm palm resting on your knee, “that’s perfect. We both like that one.”

“Dracula musical.” Johnny smiles, finding it easily and clicking play. Your breath catches at the ease of it all, of picking a movie and that being that, no anxiety about a reaction or something triggering popping up on screen.

You can just… enjoy it.

The light in their bathroom is a little too bright.

Your toes stretch across the tile, nerves thrashing in the pit of your stomach as you stare in the mirror.

You don’t know who it is looking back at you.

You don’t recognize the girl getting ready for bed, brushing her teeth, wearing a pair of pajama pants and Simon’s shirt.

There’s a disconnect, some semblance of wires crossing, some phantom of someone else, living in your skin.

Because it can’t be you, getting ready to crawl into bed between them. It can’t be you, who fell asleep with her head on Simon’s stomach during the movie, can’t be you who stole a kiss from Johnny as Simon propped his leg up on the stack of pillows.

You’re playing house. Playing a game. 

It won’t last. 

It can’t.

You wrap a finger up in the hem of Simon’s shirt, frayed and torn edges pulling apart below the seam. It’s an old one, something he tugged out of a drawer and tossed on the bed, faded graphic turned from white to grey against a rusted black backdrop. It’s soft, and worn, and comfortable, an article of clothing well loved, and you wonder if Johnny’s worn it too. If it’s been passed around, washed, and dried a hundred times.

“Everything alright?” Simon leans into the bathroom, Johnny in view just past his shoulder. He’s not wearing a shirt, just soft, flannel pants, and you stare at the scars dotting his torso before dragging your gaze away.

“Yeah, sorry… I got distracted.” You turn the tap, rinsing your toothbrush before placing it by itself on the edge of the sink, out of place next to the cup holding theirs, and Penny’s.

You blink slow, allowing your eyes to close for a fraction of second.

“Ready for bed?” Johnny beams at you, lush and sleepy, hand outstretched, reaching.

You take a deep breath. “Yeah.”

Simon’s bedside lamp is still on, barely illuminating the dark. It’s quiet, and warm, and you bask in the space between their bodies, fingers playing idly with the hem of your shirt.

When Johnny’s fingers graze the skin under the fabric, your chest tightens. He strokes back and forth, over your navel, blazing heat from his palm tingling into your skin. You’re being torn in two, swallowed by the ocean, tugged in different directions.

You struggle to regulate your breathing, small draws coming in quicker, and Simon covers Johnny’s hand with his own, stopping the movement.

“Will you show us?” He murmurs.

“Sh-show you?”

“The scars.” Oh.

Will you? 

Even though Simon’s already seen them, this feels different. This feels like a choice. Like you’re peeling something back, baring yourself.

You close your eyes and pull the bottom of your shirt to the top of your ribcage, cool air ghosting over your exposed skin. Johnny makes a sound, a twisted whisper of something pained, and you shiver.

A thumb slides over the raised skin on the left side of your belly. “These are from cigarettes?”

“Yes.” You almost want to look, want to see, but can’t bring yourself to do it, to witness their disgust, their shock. You’re hollow. Drifting. Falling away from them. Someone shifts, the bed moves, jostles slightly, but you block it out. Every muscle in your body is taut, jaw locked, and fists clenched.

This morning was intimate but this… this is something else. Something more. 

“Can ye feel them, still? Do they hurt?” Two hands roam, rubbing gently, skimming.

“No but… they’re hideous.”

“No.” Simon croaks, voice thick. “There isn’t a single part of you that isn’t perfect.” Your heart cracks, and the light touch of fingertips disappears, replaced with a swath of breath and then-

Lips. 

He’s kissing them. 

It stops your heart, dries your mouth. Robs you of your breath, your head spinning into an enormous vortex of disbelief. Simon’s mouth travels, dotting your skin between each ugly, raised bump, carefully pressing a kiss to each one, gradually. He takes his time, and with your eyes closed, you can feel his body hovering above you, holding steady just over your frame. Johnny’s forehead rests against yours, and he cups your face, thumb rubbing the apple of your cheek, sweet and slow.

“Will ye tell us… about how you got them? Who gave them to ye?” Simon cradles your hips, firm pressure folding into your skin, the curve there, and he squeezes, prompting you, expecting. You don’t know how he does it, how he’s so easily able to guide you, and Johnny. It’s seamless.

“I…” You don’t know what to say, if you were to say anything at all. How to answer. How to begin to explain. How to confirm what you know they already suspect, how to start this story. This nightmare.

Are you really doing this? Could you really do this? 

There’s a sliver of sun, begging. Pleading. It rails against the cracks in your heart, desperate.

So, you spit out the only thing you know for sure.

“He liked to hurt me.”

“Who?” Simon’s question is immediate, and your ribs expand with a long breath.

“My… ex.” Stop talking. Stop this, stop it, stop- “He’s a monster.”

“The healed breaks on your x-rays…” He trails off, and you reach blindly, searching for an anchor. Johnny gives it to you, clutching your hand in his, thumb soothing over your knuckles.

“Yes.”

“And more.” Simon whispers, and Johnny draws a sharp breath. You nod.

“And more.”

“Your neck, and shoulder?” There’s a long silence, as you sit atop the wall. As you wait and try to decide if you want to jump off or continue to sit here… trapped at the top, teetering on the edge while they wait below.

You’re in their life now. You said you’d try. They should know. 

You trust them. 

Don’t you? 

“He found me.” You confess, cracked and bleeding and hung out to dry. Three words barely scratching the surface of the truth, saying almost nothing at all and still so much. You stumble, and panic, fear bubbling up to the surface. “I’m sorry, I told you before- I said-“

“And we told ye; nothing is going to get ye while ye’re with us. Ye’re safe, bunny.”

“It’s not me I’m worried about!” you blurt, a near snap, and Johnny freezes. “It’s you guys, and Penny, and your friends, you- you don’t know what he’s capable of. You don’t understand. He’s chased me across the world, he always finds me, no matter what, no matter what I do, o-or where I go-” You’re rambling, nearly hyperventilating, and slipping away, succumbing to the rolling black clouds overtaking your mouth and mind, stuttering and falling, drowning in an endless darkness.

They don’t know. They don’t understand. They can’t. 

You’re weak. You’re stupid. You’re nothing. 

You’re a child again. A lost girl. Alone and scared. Trapped in the dark.

“Open your eyes, sweetheart.” You shake your head, and Simon catches it between his palms, holding you still. You can fight and flail and run, but he’s still there. Strong and safe and beautiful in every way, a foundation of love, of trust. “It’s just us, we’re here. With you. Look.” Johnny tightens his hold, and your bones rattle inside your skin, aching and splintering, shredding you from the inside out.

“I can’t.” You hiss, trying to curl away. You can’t face them, or this. The reality. The truth.

It’s easier to run. Who were you kidding? You can’t do this. You should have already been gone. 

But they won’t let you go. Not now. Not when they have you so close to the light. So close to the sun. 

And maybe it’s time to accept it.

“Look at me, pretty girl.” Johnny murmurs. “Ye can do it.” The pull of his voice drags you closer, comforts you, and you long for him, long to see his blue eyes, overgrown mohawk and gorgeous smile. You long to relax into him, to hear the thump of his heart, steady and strong. He’s a lighthouse in the pitch-black night, a guiding light. It’s enough to lessen pressure building in the back of your skull, and you slowly blink, both of their concerned faces coming into view.

The three of you linger silence, holding each other, decompressing from your confession, your fear that feels too much sometimes. It all fades, night turning long, and eventually you yawn, blinking away the sleepy stars in your eyes.

“There’s our bunny.” Simon kisses your cheek. “My good girl.” My good girl. Turning it over in your mind makes you squirm, allowing it ricochet back and forth with his accent, and you wish you could latch onto it, memorize it, hear it every day. Johnny gives you a bemused smile.

“Ye liked that?” He raises an eyebrow at Simon, and then presses his lips to your ear, whispering. “Ye want to be a good girl for daddy, little bunny?” Daddy. You choke. You anticipate disgust, revulsion, but none of it comes.

Only… intrigue. Warmth.

“I think that’s enough for tonight.” Simon interrupts gently. “Thank you, sweetheart. For trusting us. I know it’s hard.” You turn into Johnny, and Simon rolls to flick out the light, pulling up tight behind you, sliding an arm under the pillows. You burrow deeper into the blankets, snuggling between them to find the warmest spots, and sigh.

“You both… make it easier. You make it easy.”

The world from yesterday is forgotten the next day when Penny wakes up with a fever.

The house is thrown into confined, regulated chaos, but chaos all the same. She wails almost the entirety of the morning, miserable, and you ache for both her, and her dads, who are unmoored and anxious. You don’t even balk when Simon asks you to hold her, explaining he has to call her pediatrician.

“Hey, you’re okay.” You coo, rubbing her back. She’s warm to the touch, but not scorching, and it gives you some comfort, even with what little you know about peds. You rock her, pacing, as Johnny watches uneasily from the couch, typing unending questions into a web search about babies and fevers. “I’m sorry, baby. I’m sorry. I know you don’t feel good.”

“It’s 38.1… that’s fine, right? As long as it’s under 39?”

“I think so.” You try to reassure him. “I’m not a little human nurse though, so I can’t be sure. But it hasn’t been that long, Johnny. We don’t need to worry until at least twenty-four hours.” He nods, lips quirking into a small smile. “What?”

“Ye said we.”

“Well… yeah…” you trail off, and he shakes his head.

“Jus’ like the sound of it, is all. Like how ye look, holdin’ our baby.” You give him a look, half exasperated, half doe eyed, as always, because you can’t help but feel a little lovestruck or dazed whenever you glance his way, always taken by him, no matter the moment.

Simon steps back inside from the patio, swooping to rub his nose in Johnny’s hair and squeeze his shoulder affectionately. “The pediatrician says if she gets worse, or doesn’t improve by tomorrow, to bring her in.”

“Good.” You bounce her, propping her up on your shoulder. “That’s good.” She gurgles, croaking through her miserable fever. “Poor baby girl, I’m sorry.” You pat her again, trying to help settle her-

She coughs, and something warm runs down your back.

“Shite.” Johnny curses, Simon immediately trying to pull her from your arms, but you shake your head.

“There’s no sense in her throwing up on you too.” You explain.

“I’ll go grab a towel, and some clothes. Do you want to change your shirt?”

“Yeah, that’s fine.” You keep your hand steady on her back. You’ll both need a thorough wipe down now, maybe even a shower.

“Sorry, bun.” Johnny frowns, but you reassure him, still rocking Penny in your arms. 

“It’s fine, really. I’ve been through way worse with bodily fluids, trust me.” The bottom stair creaks, in the way that it only does for Simon, his mass too much for one of the wooden slats.

When you look up, you realize he’s not moving, only standing shock still, clothes and towel and a baby blanket in one hand,

and the contents of the little black bag in the other.

You left it on the dresser. You left it out in the open, unzipped, on the dresser. 

Your blood freezes. Johnny frowns, looking between his partner and you, trying to desperately draw a conclusion that doesn’t come.

Simon holds the little navy-blue book up, the one with your picture in it, but with a name they won’t recognize. A person they wouldn’t know.

A person you don’t even know, yet. A new life. A new identity.

“What’s that?” Johnny’s quizzical, intrigued.

“Bunny.” Simon breathes, and you shake your head. It’s all you can do, just shake your head back and forth until your brain is rattling around in your skull.

You can’t stop it.

They’ll never love you. They won’t accept you. They won’t understand. 

“It’s- it’s j-just in case,” you stammer, panicked and tongue tied. “you… you don’t understand, I have to have it… just in case.”

“What is it?” Johnny demands, and Simon flips the front of the booklet around-

revealing the cover of a brand-new American passport.

[shippingdragons]

Toby Stephens as Poseidon in Percy Jackson

“When I read the scripts I thought, ‘This is really nice.’ It’s something that will be fun to do, and it’s obviously a huge privilege to be part of such a much-loved franchise that means so much to so many people.” Source

"I really liked working with Virginia, and she's a really great actress. We found that very quickly. The scene just had a very intimate feel." Source

"It's a domestic scene between a mother and father, and at the heart of it there's this pain. It's a yearning between two people to be connected who can't be." Source

About Lance Reddick: “It was so strange because we instantly connected just as actors and as people. I really liked him. I genuinely connected with him.” Source

Photo by Dan Shotz

Photo by Walker Scobell

Virgina Kull about working with Toby: “Toby Stephens, yum, wonderful, amazing actor … [is] so beloved by Dan and Jon that I knew I was going to be partnered up with someone really special, and he did not disappoint. He was a dream to work with.” Source

“This scene gives them a real relationship. It wasn’t just some sort of Fly By Night kind of thing, not a fling or fad, he’s invested. He’s invested in her, he loves her. And he is invested in a son who he loves.” Source

“When Poseidon turns around to Percy, it's like, 'You don't realize what you've cost me,' but he's not going to let him know that. Instead, he's like, 'You're trouble, but I love you and I'm proud of you at the same time. And I'm willing to save you.” Source

"He's like, 'Yeah, I dream about her all the time, and it's incredibly painful. And if only I could talk to you about it, but I'm not going to do that.’ There is that side of our parents that is always mysterious.“ Source

Toby behind the scenes:

Photo by Dan Shotz