an: not the seventh grade hawkeye obsession lmao (omg don’t come for me) ... pls i dug this out from the depths of my many wattpad archives. ik this is so terrible as it was my only ever coherent fic - feel free to talk to me :)
summary: the reader is enraptured by clint as he’s training and things end up going their way. *click on the source for the lyric video!!*
warnings: idk? barely proofread fluff; some poorly written kissing; like a lot of sweat; wanda, bruce, and tony cameos...
word count: around 1.5k
You were currently seated in the air vent right above the training room. You always stayed up there on Thursday mornings, or more specifically, the mornings when Clint trained. You had the perfect view of him from up there. Everybody always thought you slept in on Thursdays, but in reality you were just in a vent watching your crush work out and practice archery by himself. It was a perfectly normal start to the day.
"(Y/N)! Where are you? I wanted to go to the store and I checked your room but you weren't there!" Wanda screamed through the hallways faintly. Clint was about to shoot his arrow when he stopped. He ran to the doors, opened them, and peered out. "Wanda‽" he yelled. She came rushing to where he stood. He leaned in and whispered something in her ear. She looked up at him and smiled. Without a second thought, she disappeared. Clint stepped back towards the center of the room and resumed his training.
You watched him for another 10 minutes. The sweat glistened down his face and slicked his hair to his forehead. You loved when he looked like that. His disheveled appearance made you recall all of the stolen glances during your shared missions. He is such an amazing man. You sighed when you thought about how hot he was. And how much you liked him. And how lucky his partners would be to see him like that above them.
A distinct rattling in the space beside you caused you to jump and put an end to your dirty imagination. You began to move quickly in the direction of your bedroom in order to avoid any unwanted confrontation. Before you could escape, you felt a hand grasp at your ankle. You spun your neck around and were met with Wanda’s eyes. "What the hell! You scared me," you whispered. She grinned mischievously and apologized.
"Clint told me that I would find you here. Were you watching him practice?" she queried, her thick Sokovian accent causing her to enunciate every word. You shook your head while feigning innocence and said, "That is ridiculous. This is my Thursday morning exercise." She looked at your face and retorted, "Yeah, you must have really worked out by the look of your face." You glanced at your hands as you felt your cheeks heat up even more.
After a while, everything came crashing down on you at once. “Wait,” you cried, “he knows? Did he sound weirded out?” Wanda shook her head and comforted you, “No, no, no. He told me how cute it was that you are too shy to ask for lessons and just choose to observe his techniques from such an obscure spot.” You felt like curling up into a ball and dying.
She chuckled at your silence and said, "Now, (Y/N), can we go? I'm feeling a bit claustrophobic." It immediately dawned on you that you both were still inside the small air vent. Rushing out, you guided her to crawl through your bedroom vent. As you sat on the bed, she stood in front of you and smirked. "Clint is pretty attractive, so I'm not surprised that you're obsessing over him." You quickly defended yourself and said, "I don't know what you're talking about. Really. You’re all mistaken because I just vent-stretch. It’s a new activity that Bucky taught me." She just nodded and smiled, “Mhm, of course Barnes did.”
Just as you were about to open your mouth to speak again, Tony's voice bellowed throughout the speaker-filled hallway. "(Y/N)," he called, "Would you please join me in the kitchen for a brief chat?" You gulped and Wanda spoke, "It's probably nothing, go on."
Wanda ushered you out of the door and towards the elevator. As you were going down to the main level, the elevator stopped on the 6th floor and Clint walked in. Your eyes went wide and you moved to the left corner of the - now - too small area. He nodded and said, "Tony called me to the kitchen as well. I wonder what that's about." You laughed, but groaned internally. Stupid soundproof elevator, you complained. He crossed his arms and muttered, "Pretty chilly." You looked him over and smiled. You admired how his big arms were bulging through his training uniform. He wasn't nearly as sweaty as before, but you didn't mind. He noticed you staring and attempted to hide his own blushing. "How have you been, (Y/N)?" he questioned. "Uh, 've been good," you replied as the elevator stopped. You took this as God’s plea for the conversation to end, so you advanced abruptly to avoid walking next to Clint.
You saw Tony sitting at the kitchen table waiting for your arrival. He flashed a smile, clapped his hands together, and said, "Ah! I'm glad you both came. So listen, I'm doing this experiment with the esteemed Doctor Banner and we needed two test subjects." You rolled your eyes and interjected, "Nope, Tony. I'm out." He didn’t take this well, as he stood up and walked towards you. "(Y/N), please. If you won't do it for me, do it for Banner." he begged. You looked at Tony and then towards Clint, reluctantly agreeing to participate in their little science project.
Turns out, you and Clint had to be handcuffed for 48 hours to “see how your brain activity would be impacted by a prolonging connection with someone of the opposite rank,” as Bruce had put it.
After being placed in the handcuffs, Clint spoke, "Whose bed are we sleeping in?" You choked a little on your spit before offering yours. He readily agreed and thanked you. I should be the one thanking you. He interrupted your thoughts by asking, "Want to watch a movie to pass the time?" Not trusting your voice, you nodded eagerly.
The two of you walked to the theater room in the tower and put on one of the DVDs that Tony owned, which, unfortunately, was Paranormal Activity. You and Clint were about a foot apart on the couch; that was until a jump scare took you by surprise. You ducked your head and it eventually found its way onto Clint's chest. He quickly wrapped his arms around you, which caused your connected arm to bend in a weird way. He didn't notice and, frankly, you didn't care. All you felt was the warmth of his body and a feeling of comfort. You closed your eyes and, before you knew it, you drifted off.
Your eyes shot open as the feeling of Clint’s slight shaking registered within you. You took in your surroundings and realized that you were no longer in the theater room; you were now in your bedroom laying beside The Love of Yo- Clint. You looked up at him and noticed that your faces were inches away from each others'. You could feel his hot breath fan your face as he gently said, "The movie ended an hour ago, and you were sleeping, so I brought us up here. Is that okay?" You smiled and whispered, "Yeah, it is."
He wrapped his free arm around you and shifted closer. You had always dreamt of this moment - being spooned by Clint Barton. You mentally high-fived yourself and closed your eyes, wanting to bask in the feeling forever. Just as you were about to fall asleep again, you felt Clint stiffen beside you. You didn't open your eyes, though. He carefully nudged you and whispered your name. You still didn't open your eyes. "Oh, screw it," he said as he leaned down and placed a kiss to your lips. Your eyes shot open and you looked up at him, shocked. His eyes remained shut until you began to kiss back. "You're up‽" he whisper-shouted as he pulled back. You nodded dazedly and leaned in to capture his lips again. The kiss was everything you imagined it to be and more. It was hot and passionate, but not too rough. It felt as though all of the unspoken feelings were coming out at once. Soon enough, your tongues were fighting for dominance. You pulled away as a feeling of embarrassment washed over you. Clint noticed how you looked anywhere but him and reached out to cup your cheek. He ran his thumb over your swollen lips, all the while trying to catch his own breath. You felt safe with him... safe enough to blurt out, "I've always liked you, Clint." His cheeks matched yours in color and he replied, "I feel the same way. And, I've always wanted to do that."
"Does this mean we're together?" you built up the courage to ask. He shrugged and lifted up his hand that was connected to yours through the handcuffs. "Aren't we already?" You both laughed and he pulled you closer to him, tangling your legs in the process. Your head lay on his chest once more and he kissed your forehead, his rapid heartbeat lulling you to sleep.
Weeks after that happened, you and Clint decided to go public with your relationship. Tony was the first to congratulate you guys before sharing, "It was never an experiment. There was just way too much sexual tension between you two, and it made me uncomfortable." Your jaw dropped and you didn't know whether to strangle or hug Tony.
simon riley/reader – 7.1k words
sale of a lifetime mini series !
tags: smut, childhood best friend!simon, virginity for sale trope, unrealized feelings, soft!simon, protective!simon, virgin!reader, afab!reader, no prns for reader
cw: loss of virginity, cunnilingus, wet & messy, fingering, creampie, mid-sex love confession, a little arguing but nothing crazy tbh, petnames (love, lovie, sweetheart)
; he remembers the way you would look at him when you were children, all smiles and bright eyes. he never thought he was deserving of such happiness. but now, with you shyly covering your bare breasts, in his bed, he feels like he’s the only man deserving of you.
or.
he may not have been the first man you picked to give your first time to. but looking back, you realized he was the only right choice in the end.
Meeting some unknown, shady guy out on the street outside of a seedy bar wasn’t the smartest decision you’ve ever made. Nor was it how you actually intended to spend your Friday evening. But it was the only option you had at the moment, so you swallowed your nerves and forced yourself to stay put at the spot the guy had chosen despite the fact that being out on the street made you feel x10 more nervous and vulnerable.
You could hear the loud music and chatter inside the bar every time the door opened to let someone in or out. There was a chill in the air that had you contemplating actually going inside and just telling the guy to meet you in there – you were about to give the bastard your damn virginity, the least he could be was accommodating to your temperature struggles. Plus, you could really use a drink.
A car, expensive by the looks of it, pulling up to the curb had you pausing in that train of thought. You recognized him from his profile picture when he stepped out of the vehicle – Lucas, you recall being his name. Whether that was really his name or not didn’t matter; all that mattered was he brought what he promised.
“You have the money?” you asked when he approached you, giving him a tight-lipped smile as a greeting.
“Yeah, got it in the car. All cash, I hope that’s alright,” he grinned, a sight that made a shiver go down your spine. His tone didn’t match the smile, all transactional and dull despite the glimmer in his eyes.
He wasn’t necessarily unattractive but he certainly wasn’t your type. There was a look in his eyes, one that made your skin crawl because you felt like you were nothing but a piece of raw meat in front of a starving, salivating predator.
“We should get going,” he said, hurrying to open the backseat of his car for you.
You paused, “Aren’t we going to go inside or something?”
He looked confused, grip on the door tightening for a moment before he bursted out laughing. When he saw the shocked look on your face he sobered up, “Sorry, sorry, that was rude of me. Sweetheart, this isn’t a date. I’m just here to get what I paid for.”
“Oh…” you swallowed around the lump in your throat at the condescending tone, humiliation making your cheeks burn, “Right.”
Tears stung the back of your eyes and you quickly averted your gaze so he wouldn’t see how much that stung. Of course, you knew it wasn’t a date. This was a transaction. But you at least thought you’d get to know the guy who was about to take your virginity. You should have known better.
A man who was paying for your virginity wasn’t bound to be someone you could trust to feel comfortable around. You quietly sigh, resigning yourself to this all for the sake of some fucking money.
You settle into the car, heart jumping into your throat when the door slams. It feels as if you’ve just sealed your fate and you can’t deny that you’re scared.
But there’s an envelope next to you that you can see stuffed with bills and you clench your fists, trying to calm your racing heart by closing your eyes and breathing.
You just hope this decision doesn’t cost you your life or something. You’d hate to imagine what that would do to a certain someone.
Suddenly, the car jostles. Your eyes snap open and you see Lucas is jacked up against the side of the car, a very familiar form caging him in. His scarred hands grip the man’s shirt in tight fists. You can’t hear what they’re saying but you can see Lucas is chattering frantically, gesturing wildly with his hands in an attempt to quell the angry man in the skull balaclava.
You curse to yourself, a different kind of terror shocking through your system. Lucas is thrown to the side and you wince at how hard he hits the pavement before the car door is jerked open.
You can’t even say anything before a strong, rough hand wraps around your arm, yanking you out. You stumble once you’re on your feet, falling right into his chest.
You try to pull away but his arm clamps down around you.
Lucas is cursing and screaming his head off, words you don’t even bother to try and decipher because you’re too preoccupied with the masked figure that made his sudden appearance. Nerves make your knees shake and from the look of pure rage in his eyes, you know you’re in deep shit.
Lucas opens the car door and slams it before driving off, tires squealing against the pavement before he vanishes. Along with that wad of cash that was going to be yours in just a short time.
Suddenly you’re angry, shoving your hands against his chest to get him away from you.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing, Riley?!” you shriek, shooting him the fiercest glare you could muster.
“I should be askin’ you that,” he sneers, “The hell were you doin’ with that prick?”
“I–”
“Don’t answer that,” he snaps, cutting you off swiftly, “I know what you were doin’. If you needed money that badly you should have told me.”
“It’s not your concern, Simon!” you cry, resisting the urge to petulantly stomp your foot.
You’re so pissed.
Simon Riley and you went way back, childhood friends. The two of you had always been in each other's lives. Simon especially was always there when you needed him, a beacon of safety and protection. Your best friend and someone you loved to the ends of the Earth.
But right now, you’re so angry with him that you can’t seem to think straight.
How dare he show up now, when you’re about to do the most humiliating act of your entire life. How could he show his stupid, masked face here when you didn’t even ask for his help in the first place for a reason.
“You are always my concern,” he shoots back, scarred knuckles turning white from how hard he clenches his fists, “I have always taken care of you. You should have come to me for help instead of puttin’ yourself in danger like this. You didn’t know that guy, what the fuck were you thinking?”
Anger makes your skin hot, sweat beading on your forehead, blocking out the chill that once made goosebumps rise. You feel ashamed that you were caught in this situation – that the man you’ve known your entire life knew you were about to sleep with some random asshole for a fat wad of cash. You don’t like that he’s made you feel ashamed and confronted you with it.
“Just fuck off, Simon!” you shriek, the only thing you can think of before turning on your heel and stalking away from him.
You don’t glance over your shoulder to check if he’s following because you know he most likely is – from a safe distance to make sure you make it inside your apartment alright but far enough that you can’t get mad at him for it. Your jaw is clenched so tightly that you feel a headache radiating down your neck.
By the time you reach your apartment, the anger has simmered and all you’re left with is a festering shame that makes tears fill your eyes. You wrap your arms around yourself and quickly shuffle yourself inside, not bothering to check if Simon is out there or not. All you want is to get a hot shower and crawl into bed for the rest of the weekend.
You do just that, letting the burning hot water scald your skin until you can’t feel any emotions except exhaustion. And then, you crawl into bed and let sleep overtake you without a second thought.
When you wake up, it’s clear that it’s late into the afternoon. The sun is high in the sky and shining painfully bright through the crack in your curtains. You groan and roll over, slapping the bed to find your phone.
You grab the device and unlock it, taking a moment to scroll through your notifications. There’s some angry messages from the guy from last night – cursing you out for setting him up to be jumped. It makes you roll your eyes before a particular notification catches your eye.
It’s from your bank – alerting you of a deposit.
You sit up straight in your bed, brows furrowed before your eyes nearly bug out of your head when you see your bank statement. It’s more than you needed and you know exactly who was responsible.
You jump out of bed, not even bothering to dress out of your pajamas before you’re shoving some slides onto your feet and storming out of your apartment.
You’re so heated that you can’t even remember the walk to Simon’s place, your mind racing a million miles a second. You storm up to the door and slam your fist on it, the hard wood making your hand sting from how hard you pound.
The radiating tingle of pain is quickly forgotten when the door swings open.
Simon stands there, looking down at you expectantly. He leans against the door with his arms crossed over his chest. He wears an army-issued t-shirt that’s a bit too tight. The sleeves stretch taunt around his biceps and you can make out the swell of his pecs. It’s not very often that you get to see his tattooed arms, littered with scars since he tends to wear long sleeves most of the time.
He doesn’t look at all surprised to see you, clearly having expected you. The apathetic look in his eyes just solidifies that you were right all along.
“What the hell is your problem?!” you cry without so much as a greeting.
He sighs, broad shoulders rising and falling with it before he opens the door wide and motions you inside. You duck underneath his outstretched arm, turning to watch as he closes the door and locks it.
He wanders into the kitchen and you realize you can smell bacon. He doesn’t seem at all surprised by your outburst nor does he seem interested in acknowledging your question.
“Are you hungry?” he asks, only solidifying how unperturbed he is by your display of anger.
“No!” you snap, “I want to know why you did that, Simon!”
He sighs again, much louder but doesn’t respond. You stand in the doorway to his kitchen, watching him plate his lunch – which is actually just breakfast food. He places the dish on the table and pauses, looking up at you.
“You needed the money, I had it,” he offered with a shrug of his shoulders.
“I was handling it on my own,” you say, “I-It was my problem to solve.”
“By sellin’ yourself to some prick?” he snarls, the anger he was masking coming out in a flurry.
“I wasn’t selling myself–” you refute but he slams his palms down on the table. His cutlery clatters with the action and you jump.
“I read that post you made,” he hisses, teeth bared, “There’s no fuckin’ reason you should be selling your virginity for some cash when I was right here the whole time!”
Your cheeks burn when he brings up your virginity, crossing your arms over your chest protectively, “I-It’s mine to sell if I want to! I needed that money!”
“And now you have it,” he says with finality.
He takes a seat and you stand there, fuming. Your jaw is clenched, teeth grinding together as your mind races to find a rebuttal. He begins to eat, taking large, fast bites that just shows how he’s been conditioned to eat quickly by the military.
“That’s not the point, Simon,” you huff, growing less angry and more frustrated by this conversation. You were just going around in circles.
“Then what is the point?” he snaps, snatching his empty plate and angrily tossing it in the sink. He turns to you again, a frown evident on his face, “You got the money you needed safely. That’s all that matters.”
“It’s too much money, Simon!” you cry, “I was selling something in exchange for it!”
“I care about you,” he says, “That doesn’t matter to me. What’s mine is yours, you know that.”
You silently glare at him, wishing that the heated stare would get through to him. He stands unbothered, staring blankly at you with his fists clenched by his sides.
You hang your head, sighing, “I-I can’t take your money, Simon, alright? I’m already in debt and I’m not going to be in debt to you of all people.”
“You feel like you owe me, is that it?” he asks.
You nod your head, heart rate spiking when he stalks towards you. You’re close enough to smell his body wash and aftershave, a painfully familiar scent that you adore. He stares down his nose at you, brown eyes lidded and lazy.
He reaches out suddenly, rough hand gripping your cheeks, smushing them together until your lips pucker, “Then give me a kiss as payment.”
“H-Huh?” you whimper dumbly, eyes wide in shock as his face grows closer and closer.
“It can be payment for a kiss, lovie,” he coos, syrupy sweet and soft, “Will that make up for it, then?”
The air in your lungs suddenly doesn’t feel like enough. This is a man that you’ve known almost your entire life so you’ve obviously thought about him in a romantic sense at some point. Hell, when you were a teenager you even had a crush on him. But he never once looked at you any other way than as a friend so you quickly got over it – or maybe that’s just what you told yourself. Because as you stand there, staring into his eyes, you realize that kissing him would feel like a dream come true.
You find yourself nodding despite the inner turmoil going on in your head. Simon huffs through his nose before leaning down and pressing his lips against yours.
There’s a shock of electricity that goes through you at the contact. Your eyes flutter shut as you lean into the kiss, letting him take over. He works his lips expertly against yours, eventually abandoning his hold on your face in favor of wrapping his arm around your waist. You gasp into the kiss when he suddenly yanks you closer, your body pressed close against his.
He’s warm and sturdy against you, a solid form of muscle that makes you feel safe and content – just as he always has. His hands are big and rough as they grip your hips, kneading the soft flesh there as he gets lost in kissing you.
“S-Si,” you find yourself muttering without realizing.
He hums in response, chuckling when you continue to mindlessly kiss him. He pulls back, one hand coming up to wrap lightly around your throat, thumbing at your jaw as your eyes slowly focus on him, “What is it, sweetheart? What do you need?”
“I-I don’t…” you swallow thickly around the forming lump in your throat, “I don’t know. I just…”
“Show me,” he breathes, softer than you’ve ever heard his voice.
The sweet, tender look in his big, brown eyes is what gives you the courage to grab his wrist, leading it just under the hem of your shirt so he can touch your bare stomach. You give him a shy glance from under your lashes, hoping he’ll get the hint that you want more.
You want him.
Simon, in all his experienced wisdom, understands immediately what it is you’re aching for. His hand travels up further, pausing at your ribs, just under the swell of your breast. Your heart hammers in your chest when your gaze meets his. His eyes are lidded, long lashes obscuring his pupils but still burning into you.
He stares deep into your eyes, waiting for any sign of hesitation as his fingers creep higher and higher. You suck in a breath when he cups your breast in his palm, squeezing lightly to feel their weight.
A large, calloused thumb creeps up, passing ever so softly over your nipple until the bud peaks and hardens under the attention. You sigh at the feeling, new shocks washing over you that you’ve never experienced before.
Sure, you played with yourself plenty – you had a healthy masturbation life, you’d say. But you’d always just been focused on reaching an orgasm, never on the build up. You imagine, however, it would never feel as good by yourself as it does with him.
He pinches your nipple between two fingers and you whine, lips parting as the sound escapes. Simon takes the opportunity to slide his tongue into your mouth. Your hands grab his shoulders, desperately clinging to his shirt as you lose yourself in the sloppy kiss.
Drool drips down your chin – it's messy and hot between the two of you. His hand switches to your other breast to give it the same attention as the other. You tremble in his arms, overcome by the insatiable throbbing between your thighs.
You shift on your feet, the fabric of your panties stick uncomfortably to your core. You’re so wet, wetter than you’ve ever been in your life. By the time he pulls back, there’s a string of saliva connecting your lips to his.
“You want more?” he asks, voice gravelly as he speaks, as if he’s drunk. You nod your head and he clicks his tongue, “You gotta tell me, sweetheart.”
“I-I want more, Si,” you whisper, feeling your cheeks burn as you admit it.
“Let’s go,” he hums, taking your hand in his as he leads you around the couch towards the hallway.
“Where?” you ask dumbly, hoping that making some kind of conversation would ease the nerves steadily building in your chest.
“The bedroom,” he responds, stroking his thumb over the top of your hand as if he can sense that you’re nervous, “Wouldn’t want to be stripped down in the middle of the living room, I imagine.”
“N-No,” you squeak, cheeks burning even hotter at those words.
You’re going to be naked. In front of another person for the first time. In front of him. Simon.
“There now, lovie,” he whispers as he shuts his bedroom door behind the both of you. He takes your waist in his hands, kneading the soft flesh there, “It’s alright.”
“I-I’m just–”
“Nervous,” he finishes for you, smiling softly when you nod, “I know. We can stop anytime you’d like.”
“I don’t want to,” you rush out, hands coming up to press against his firm chest, “Just…d-don’t be upset when I don’t know what I’m doing.”
The tender way he looks at you sets your heart pounding like a little rabbit. A ghost a smile appears on his lips, “I would never do somethin’ like that.”
“I-I know, I just…” you look down at your feet only for him to catch your chin in his fingers, pulling you to look up at him.
You swallow thickly around the lump in your throat, holding your breath as he descends down. His lips find yours all over again, as exhilarating and mind-melting as the first time.
Just the sweet, deep kiss he gives you has your nerves dissipating a bit – back to normal levels. You no longer feel the desire to flee, you just feel an intense longing and anticipation. You crave more from him.
As if sensing this, his fingers find the hem of your shirt. He slowly starts to pull it up, agonizingly slow. But you’re grateful for it, it gives you time to prepare before you’re bared completely to him. You lift your arms for him, a sign that you’re still okay with this.
He pulls it up over your head and lets the fabric drop to the floor. But he doesn’t look down, he continues looking in your eyes, softly pecking your lips as his hands cup your breasts once more.
When you sigh and lean into his touch, he finally lets himself break the eye contact. He sucks in a sharp breath when he sees how pretty your tits sit in his hands. He touches them softly, sweetly brushing over your nipples in admiration.
“Perfect tits, lovie,” he coos, chuckling when you whine in embarrassment.
His head descends, pink lips parting to take one of your nipples in his mouth. It’s hot but his tongue is soft when it circles and flicks at the bud. He sucks, popping off lewdly before switching to the other one.
The sensation makes you squeeze your thighs together, imaging what that would feel like around your clit. Your hole clenches around nothing, drooling messily into your panties. The fabric was so wet by now that it couldn’t soak it up anymore, leaving it to slick up your thighs instead.
Your core ached, a feeling only Simon would be able to soothe.
“Please, Si,” you finally break, whimpering pathetically.
He detaches from your breast, lips wet and swollen from the worship he had been giving your now sore nipples. His pupils were blown wide, black swallowing brown and you were sure that yours looked the same.
He stands to his full height, nudging you backwards until your knees hit the bed. They buckled at that, leaving you to fall back against the bed. Simon’s bedding was soft, the scent of detergent and his own body wash filling your senses. You relax at the familiar, comforting scent, sinking into the blankets with a bashful smile on your face.
To Simon, you’re an ethereal beauty. You take the air right out of his lungs with the way you look at him.
He remembers the way you would look at him when you were children, all smiles and bright eyes. He never thought he was deserving of such happiness. But now, with you shyly covering your bare breasts, in his bed, he feels like he’s the only man deserving of you.
He scooches you up the bed, crawling on after you until he’s on top of you. Though you’re still wearing your pants, you feel so vulnerable beneath his weight. He’s heavy and warm and he smells so good. You can’t focus on anything except for him – he’s all around you and it’s exhilarating.
Feeling bold, you reach up and tug at his shirt. He pulls it off with ease, revealing his toned, scarred upper body. You can’t help but trace over some of the ones you’re familiar with – there’s one from a time he fell out of a tree trying to rescue a cat that you had been crying about. He fell out of the tree on the way down, a jagged branch stabbing into his upper arm and slicing it open. There was another one from when you were teenagers, some other kids jumped him and he took a stab to his shoulder trying to protect you. You kiss that one and he softens, as if he’s remembering it too.
He’s always been there for you, an overwhelming presence that you simply couldn’t live without. The fact you’re here, in this bed, about to give him your virginity is something that you never would have expected.
And to think, you were planning to sell it off to some random loser.
“I’m glad you stopped me,” you find yourself whispering.
He looks confused for a second before he hums, nodding in understanding, “I am too.”
“I-I want it to be you, Si,” you whisper, the confession leaving you embarrassed. It’s true, all this time, you realize, he’s all you’ve ever really wanted. You had just buried it deep down so you no longer felt those sparks towards him.
“I’ll take care of you,” he whispers back, as if the two of you are sharing some secret little moment that no one else can hear about even though it’s just the two of you in this room.
“You always do,” you respond, the words making his dark eyes light up.
He kisses you deeply, moving his lips slowly against yours. When your hands come up to grip the back of his neck, he takes that as his cue to move down to your neck, then your collarbones, down the center of your chest between your breasts, the spot between your breasts, and finally your navel.
You lay back, head in his pillows with your hands on either side of your head. You watch him, breathing labored as you wait for his next move. He pauses in his path, looking up through his lashes at you before his fingers find the hem of your sweats. You swallow thickly, holding your breath when he slowly begins to pull the fabric down. You lift your hips to help him, pulling your legs free while being careful not to kick him by accident.
He keeps his gaze on you until you’re settled back down into the bed and the pants are forgotten on the floor to be collected later. Then, he looks down.
Even though you still have your panties on, you know that the white cotton is soaked through and hides absolutely nothing from his view.
You watch as he licks his lips, as if his mouth is suddenly bone dry. His hands are burning hot when he touches you again, sliding over your thighs to your hips. He leans down, pressing his lips against each of your thighs.
His thumb reaches down, stretches over your pubic bone to touch the sticky fabric. You nearly jump at the sensation – someone’s fingers other than your own touching you there for the first time. Simon’s fingers.
As if he can’t help himself anymore, he tugs the waistband of your panties and yanks them down your thighs. You squeal when you’re jostled under the force.
He holds the material up and you’re mortified to see just how wet they are. He runs his thumbs over the crotch and you whine, drawing his attention from them. He drops them to the floor and returns his hands back to you, gripping underneath your knees, so he can spread you all the way open.
Your hands fly to your face, covering your eyes in embarrassment at how exposed you are. He doesn’t seem to mind, pressing a kiss over the top of your hands before moving back down your body.
You peek through your fingers only to find him already staring at you with a sparkle in his eyes. He carefully spreads your slippery folds apart with his thumbs, the movement causing a wet, sticky sound to emanate from between your legs. The little bud of your clit is hard and twitching as it’s exposed to the cool air of the bedroom. When he’s sure you’re looking he leans down, pink tongue hanging out of his mouth. You stop breathing as you watch a fat glob of spit roll down the surface of the smooth muscle and splatter right on your clit.
“Si-!” your squeal of his name is cut off when your eyes roll back in his head as that sinful tongue slides right over your bud.
Your whole body twitches at that, hands falling away from your face so you can reach down and grab his hair. It doesn’t even seem like he notices your grip, focused on slurping up that sensitive nub into his hot mouth.
You choke out a moan, tilting your head back into the pillows as your back arches. It feels just as good as you thought it would when he was giving the same, lewd treatment to your nipples.
He continues to suck and lick your clit until your mind is completely blank and all you can think is him. Then, all at once it stops and he pulls back, letting your bud slip from the heavenly clutch of his lips.
“You ever have somethin’ inside you, lovie?” he asks, bringing up one of his fingers to swipe through the folds of your entrance, as if to show you what he intends.
You swallow to moisten your throat before nodding, “J-Just my fingers.”
“How many?” he asks, growing more confident in prodding at the tight little hole.
“T-Two,” you breathe, any embarrassment you felt long dissipated in the face of true pleasure.
“Alright, lovie,” he hums, “Just lay back, I’ll take good care of you, yeah?”
You nod and do as he says, turning utterly boneless against the blankets. The sweat already slicking your skin despite the fact you’ve only just begun makes the fabric stick to you.
He prods at your entrance for only a second longer before finally, he pushes his thick middle digit inside you. Your cunt is so wet and pliant that it hungrily swallows it up to the very last knuckle. You clench around it intentionally, getting used to the feeling of the foreign finger inside of you for the first time.
It feels so different compared to your own, thicker and rougher. The sensation is so strange but you can’t say you don’t like it – in fact, it feels amazing. You already want another, feeling like one just isn’t enough to give you that unknown feeling you’re chasing. It’s like you have an itch that needs to be scratched and only Simon can do it for you.
As if sensing this, ever the reliable one, he carefully introduces a second finger. The stretch is unfamiliar, a burn around your entrance following as he reaches the last knuckle on that one too. His middle and ring finger stuffed snuggly inside your gooey little cunt as you whine and squirm from the feeling.
Once you’ve adjusted, he slowly begins working them in and out of you. You slick up his fingers easily, streaks of creamy white coating his skin and making his mouth water. When he crooks his fingers up suddenly, prodding at that tender little spot inside of you, your entire body twitches and the most beautiful moan rips from your chest.
He can’t resist leaning down and trapping your pulsing little clit under the flat of his tongue. He doesn’t slurp it into his mouth like before, instead, he just licks over it, pressing it down with the muscle. Your eyes are rolled up and your mouth hangs open as you moan and moan, tugging mindlessly at his hair as he works you towards your orgasm.
It grows and grows, the unrelenting pleasure of his fingers fucking deeply into you and his tongue lapping sloppily at your clit like a mutt driving that knot in your belly to tighten. Drool spills out around his tongue, slipping down to meet his fingers where he easily fucks it into you – the added lubrication not needed but so very welcome with how much wetter and messier it makes you.
“S-Simon…” you pant, gasping to catch your breath as the pleasure makes it hard for you to even think.
He glances up at you through his lashes but doesn’t offer any other acknowledgement. There’s a knowing look in his eyes that tells you he knows exactly what he’s doing. He’s going to wring this orgasm out of your little cunt whether you like it or not.
And fuck, do you love it.
The orgasms you brought yourself in the deep of the night, little hands stuffed down your panties as you played with your clit and stuffed yourself with your own fingers was nothing like what you were experiencing now. Simon’s thick fingers and hot tongue were torturing your little clit until your entire body started to lock up.
You looked at him desperately, unsure what was even going through your mind besides him and how fucking good you felt right now.
Just as you teetered on the edge of this orgasm, he suddenly changed up and swallowed your twitchy little clit into his mouth. He sucked, sending you flying over the edge with a shrill wail of his name. Your legs kicked and twitched, heels hitting him on the back as you trembled and shook through the orgasm that he eagerly fucked out of you onto his fingers.
He suckled your clit, swirling his tongue around it until it was too sensitive and you were tearily pushing him away. When he finally released you, slipping his fingers from your cunt, you were boneless and twitching on the bed. You didn’t even try to close your legs when he pulled away, giving him the perfect view to watch your cute little pussy clench and messily drool cum in the aftermath of your orgasm.
He popped his fingers in his mouth, eyes rolling and lashes fluttering at the taste of your cum tingling on his taste buds. As you came down, eyes closed and breathing heavy, he began pulling at his belt.
You could hear the metal clinking as he dropped it to the floor, peeking your heavy lids open to see him pull the button of his jeans open. As he slowly pulled them down, his underwear went with and suddenly you were more aware than ever.
His cock was something to behold. Thick and veiny, bobbing in the air where it hung – too heavy to actually stand upright. You’d seen dicks in porn before but none of them prepared you for Simon’s. Precum dribbled from the tip, creating a long, gooey string down towards the floor before it broke.
He wrapped a big hand around himself, giving a few good strokes as he reached down to cup his own heavy balls. The hair wasn’t wild or offensive, but neatly trimmed short.
“All good, lovie?” he asked, stepping out of the pool of his jeans and boxers so he could kneel on the bed again.
“All god-good!” you blushed as he laughed, leaning down over you to balance his weight on his elbows.
“You still want this?” he asks, hushed and sweet,
You glance between your bodies to see that intimidating cock, drooling messily over your skin. You realize, quickly, that you’ve never wanted anything more in your life.
When you voice such, he looks relieved, like a weight was lifted off of his shoulders. He sits back on his heels and spreads your legs, pushing your knees up to your chest.
“Hold them there,” he orders, which you follow immediately.
Your elbows circle around your knees, holding yourself open for him as he asked. He whistles low in appreciation when your cum-slicked cunt was spread and exposed for him to prod his cockhead against.
He swipes the tip up and down through your folds, humming appreciatively when your little hole tries to suck him in every time he grazes past it. He nudges your clit, the little bud still hard and sensitive from your orgasm but so eager for more. He couldn’t wait to grant your wish and make you cream on his cock.
You watch him with wide eyes as he starts to push into you. Your jaw drops as you feel that burning stretch, an ache settling between your legs as he continues to sink himself into you.
“F-Fuck, wait, Simon!” you squeal and he halts immediately.
He’s only reached just past the head of his cock but he reaches down to pet your clit. The pleasure shoots through you, making your toes curl and your walls relax around him. He keeps his eyes on your face for any sign that you want him to stop as he moves his hips again.
More and more of his cock sinks inside and his thumb keeps working little circles over your clit until his hips are flush with yours. Your voice breaks as you moan when you realize you’ve taken every single inch of him.
He’s heavy and throbbing inside of you and you clench around him intentionally, forcing a moan from his chest.
He leans down, arranging your knees over his shoulders, folding you up and pressing down on you. He’s heavy and it makes it hard to breathe but that makes it even better – the pleasure of being speared on that fat cock and being utterly helpless underneath this man is better than any fantasy you could have made for yourself.
“Fuck,” he snarls, rolling his hips back before rocking them forward again, heavy balls slapping against you as he does, “Can’t believe you were gonna give this little cunt away to some prick.”
“S-Si,” you whimper, biting your lip at the feeling of him slowly and carefully rocking his hips against yours, “‘M sorry, sh-shoulda been you all this time.”
“That’s fuckin’ right,” he hums, “No one else gets to love you but me, sweetheart.”
“O-Only you!” you agree, nails digging into his shoulders when he hits that spot just right.
He can feel you soaking his cock, drippy cum lathering him up to make every glide of his cock wetter than the last. He sits back up on his knees, adjusting his grip so he can pin your legs wide open, giving him the best view of your greedy cunt swallowing his length up.
He begins to fuck you in earnest, pulling out halfway before sliding home again - nothing like the little movements he gave you to prepare you. He was going to show you exactly why you should only think of giving him this precious pussy for the rest of your life. No one will ever be able to fuck you as good as he can, he’s going to learn your body like the back of your hand and you’re never going to be able to cum as hard as you can with him. You’ll never even want to use your own fingers again when he’s done with you.
You can’t do anything but lay there and take it, take the pleasure and take his cock. He hits so deep, prodding at your cervix in a way that aches but it only feels that much better when it’s mixed with mind-numbing pleasure.
Simon looms above you, panting and groaning as he fucks you like he was made to. He angles his hips just right, blunt nails biting into your thighs where he pins you open, neither of you caring if he happens to break skin while he does. You don’t even register the bite of pain underneath the way his cock prods you g-spot so perfectly.
Your own fingers would have been tired by now, no longer able to work that little spot like you need. Simon’s cock, however, is unrelenting. The pleasure builds and mounts uninterrupted, every stroke of his length sending you higher. His body moves fluidly, rolling his hips tirelessly so he can give you every ounce of pleasure your sweet little cunt needs.
You’re creaming around him, a frothy, milky ring forming around the base every time he sinks in and becoming visible when he pulls back. It’s filthy and messy and makes your cheeks burn but Simon seems to not mind in the slightest.
“So fuckin’ messy, love,” he coos, breathy and slurred, “Look at that, pretty cunt needed some cock, huh?”
“Y-Yours!” you manage to choke out.
“What’s that?” he asks, a crooked, teasing grin on his face.
“Y-Your cock! Only needed your cock, Simon,” you pant, reaching up to grope your own tits, pinching and rolling your nipples meanly. It hurts so good, making you clench around his cock. He moans at the sight, his pretty little virgin tormenting your own nipples.
“That’s right,” he hums, reaching a shaky hand down to thumb at your clit, “Keep pinchin’ those pretty tits, sweetheart. Don’t stop.”
You nod your head, unable to form a vocal response from the new sensation of your clit being played with while he fucks you. It feels so damn good that you could go drunk from it all. Everything in your brain is slow, thoughts of only him and how good you feel are all that’s there. Your entire world, right at this moment, revolves around Simon Riley.
He knows it too, a cocky grin on his face as he works you to your orgasm. You dangle, almost helplessly, staring unblinkingly at his handsome face as he works it out of you.
After what feels like minutes, but is probably only seconds, you cum. Hard.
Your head slams back against the pillows, back arching as you cunt clasps tight around him. You cry out in pure, unadulterated pleasure as he fucks you through it. His thumb keeps working your clit as it twitches and pulses under the digit, cumming nice and pretty for him just like he wanted. Just like you deserved.
You cream his cock messily, it drips down his balls and down your ass to the bedding below. So fucking sloppy and wet, a perfect little cunt made to take his cock.
His brows furrow, mouth falling open as his own orgasm mounts and builds. Now that your well-earned orgasm is out of the way, he can finally let go and allow himself to experience it as well.
“Where do you want it?” he grits out, teeth clenched from the ache of holding back.
His balls draw up, heavy and full. He feels ready to positively explode when you gasp, “I-Inside!”
His head falls back, the loudest, most drawn out moan you’d never expected to come from a stoic man like Simon falling from his lips. It’s deep and primal, full of nothing but euphoria as he spills into you. His load is hot and thick, drooling out of the sides of his cock as he slows his thrusts to milk the least bits of pleasure from the orgasm.
When he comes down, he collapses. Your legs lock around his waist and he draws you tightly into his arms, neither of you caring for the way his weight crushes you. All you care about is being wrapped up in his arms where you belong.
He pulls his neck from your chest and kisses your forehead. Then he kisses your nose. Then your lips.
“Pretty,” he breathes, still drunk on the endorphins of the sex so his lips are a little looser than they’d normally be, “Always thought you were pretty.”
“Really?” you prompt, cheeks heating at his confession.
He hums, “Glad you’re finally mine.”
You beam, “No one deserved me as much as you.”
He nods as if it’s the most obvious statement in the world, rolling off of you with a sigh. His cock unplugs your cunt and a gush of your mixed cum comes out, making you whine. He laughs softly, drawing you back into your arms.
You’ve never felt safer and warmer in your life, knowing in that moment that you should have come to Simon all along. There’s no one in the world who would be there for you, more willing and able than he.
this work belongs to rowarn. do not repost to third party websites or use for character ai. reblogs welcome and appreciated!
Welcome! Below you will find the current masterlist for the story Out of Character (Outer Banks Fiction)
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Out of Character (Rafe Cameron - Outer Banks)
Out of Character (Rafe Cameron)- Part One
Out of Character (Rafe Cameron) - Part Two
Out of Character (Rafe Cameron) - Part Three
Out of Character (Rafe Cameron) - Part Four
Out of Character (Rafe Cameron) - Part Five
Out of Character (Rafe Cameron)- Part Six
Rafe and Gemma: A Teaser to the Beginning
Rafe and Gemma: The Beginning (Full)
Out of Character (Rafe Cameron) - Part Seven
Out of Character (Rafe Cameron) - Part Eight
Out of Character (Rafe Cameron) - Part Nine
Out of Character (Rafe Cameron) - Part Ten
Out of Character (Rafe Cameron) - Part Eleven
Out of Character (Rafe Cameron) - Part 12
BLURBS/ SINGLE STORIES
Staying In (Drew Starkey)
The Balcony (Drew Starkey)
The Scenic Route (Drew Starkey)
Tonight (Drew Starkey)
If I Could (Drew Starkey)
Heat (Drew Starkey)
Cabin Fever (Drew Starkey)
Cabin Fever Part 2 (Drew Starkey)
Strip Tease (Drew Starkey)
Sea Creatures (Pope Heyward)
Home Again (Dylan O'Brien)
Golf Days (Rafe Cameron)
Private Party (Rafe Cameron)
Sour Straws and Short Shorts (JJ Maybank)
Fire Pit (JJ Maybank)
Treasure Hunt (JJ Maybank)
Side of the Road (JJ Maybank)
Early Morning (JJ Maybank)
Late at Night (JJ Maybank)
The Other Woman (Ward Cameron)
Are You Sober? (Rafe Cameron Request)
Were You Ever Going to Tell Me? (Rafe Cameron Request)
A/N & WC - This is the enemies-to-lovers, co-workers, 'there was only one bed' fic. As soon as I thought of it, I knew it had to be a Dr Strange thing, and I loved writing it. Also, Ben's wink in the below GIF makes my knees go weak. 8.9k.
Warnings - Swearing, too much bickering, mentions of scars, mentions of a daddy kink, smut: oral (f rec), unprotected sex, brief orgasm denial, 'Doctor' kink, tattoo kink, hickey kink, belly bulge kink. 18+.
Summary - After a tiring mission, the last thing you want to do is have to crash at a hotel, especially with the cockiest man alive. Will things change with the fact there's only one bed on such a sleepless night?
YOUR DAY HAS BEEN EXHAUSTING, there’s no denying it, and the only thing to possibly make it worse?
“C’mon, there’s a place not far away,” Stephen snaps at you, cajoling.
“Why can’t we just portal back?” you ask, uncaring of your tone, how brisk you are.
“Because we can’t. Shut up.”
And you do. He’s been grating on your nerves for this whole mission. It wasn’t like it was a bad one, you were away barely for twenty four hours, but this is Stephen. He gets exhausting after five Goddamn minutes.
Bags slung over your shoulders, you follow him down the street. This, sadly, is the type of place you don’t use your powers, save for impending doom. And you have to grant it to Stephen, he knows what he’s doing, and he’s admirable with it. The way he carries his title, so graciously aids those who need him, all with a stoic resolve. He’s a good sorcerer, that’s an irrefutable fact, and you wouldn’t be this far without him.
Still, doesn’t mean you have to like the pretentious bastard in any way.
Dusk is long gone, night time in full bloom, stars scattering around the sky like tiny sprinkles, smudges of light to guide you through the night, only a thin crescent moon available to you in the far distance. The enveloping navy of the night sky meets the dark hues of Stephen’s mundane clothes, sheltering him from view ever so slightly, walking a few paces in front of you.
It doesn’t take long for a relatively small building to come into view, small for a hotel, no bigger than the body of Bleecker Street, an orange glow bleeding out the entrance.
His shoulders rigid, his posture as straight as a rod, he stalks through the front doors and up to the clerk, slightly more human clothes back on in place of his mission attire.
“‘Scuse me, please can I book a room for tonight?” he says, each word articulated to its fullest.
“How many people, Sir?”
He casts a glance towards you, rolls those pretty blue eyes of his, and looks back. “Two.”
“What kind of room would you like, sir?”
“One with two beds, I don’t care about the cost.”
The boyish clerk nervously clears his throat and shuffles the papers on the desk before clicking around on his computer a fair amount. When he looks at you with that typically awkward glance hospitality workers give when they can’t give you what you want, you know exactly what’s coming.
“Sorry sir, we only have rooms with one bed available. I can get you one with a couch if that’s better?”
Stephen grinds his ridiculously defined jaw so aggressively, you can almost hear the bones crunching, grating together.
“You’re small, you take the couch,” he hisses, the comment directed at you before gulping down a breath, straightening his resolve, and meeting the clerk’s gaze. “That’ll do.” he says, his manner more brusque than usual.
You roll your eyes, biting back a snarky comment at his forcing you onto the sofa for the night, and stay positively quiet and zoned out as he organises the rest, handing over his card, and in turn, receiving your room keys.
He marches you down the corridor, shouldering more than his fair share of the bags, while still keeping a gloved hand on the small of your back to steer you in the right direction. He never takes his gloves off. Ever. Even in all your months at the Sanctum, whether he’s fresh out the shower or fully dressed for work, he has never once removed those gloves with you in the vicinity. Strange, like him.
He deftly swipes the key card, his arm looping around your body to do so, and pushes the door open, allowing you in first.
The room is nothing special, just your standard hotel room. White sheets grace the double bed, the main feature of the room, with a soft grey footer to match the draping curtains, comparatively light when beside the ever darkening night. Stephen’s elbow hits the light switch, a white globe light shade casting a fluttery white glow everywhere, bouncing off the tea tray atop the dark wood desk that invades and clunks up half the room. The wardrobe is just behind the door, and doesn’t actually seem to have a front to it, but there’s an ironing board you won’t use—but Stephen probably will—and some coat hangers. The walls are mostly a very pale grey, modern, but a feature appears behind the headboard, the main attraction point of the room, a bright orange that pairs nicely, if not shockingly with the sofa: a poxy thing, barely a two seater. You wouldn’t even get your torso on there comfortably. It’s a decent room, not to your taste but nice enough, and clean, your main query.
“I’ll take the first shower,” he says.
Shifting past you, he nudges your shoulder, heat temporarily shooting between your bodies, and he flings the bags carelessly onto the bed, shrugging off his jacket before shouldering past you and chucking open the bathroom door. You’re still just standing there, even after you hear the door lock shut, Stephen huff a little to himself in the mirror (that much you can imagine, he does it all the time), the clink of a belt and the water start running. You already know this is going to be a long, long night, and it hasn’t even begun.
While he’s out of the way, you begin unpacking, simply lying out your night clothes and any necessities you brought with you just in case, straightening the pillows. Then he walks out, a plain white towel hung low around his hips, his Adonis belt glistening with droplets of water all around. His body is defined, incredibly chiselled—no surprise there—but from what you can see, he’s scarred too, his tan skin worn and cut in places it shouldn’t be. Still, his hands are covered in a towel that he’s rubbing through his charcoal hair, even when he brings it down, you’re not even allowed to catch a glimpse of his bare fingers, the cloth shielding them.
“It’s free.”
“I can see that, thanks Mr Obvious.”
He offers you a saccharine smile, “That’s Dr Obvious to you, rookie.”
“Myehhh,” you mimic, rolling your eyes as you brush past him, but really, his bulk of muscle does more damage to you than him, leaving your arm throbbing, only able to clutch it and open your mouth in a silent cry of pain once the door is shut and locked behind you.
As you undress, you’re sure you hear his soft chuckles as he goes about his inane bedtime rituals. One of your own rituals is listening to music in the shower, the one thing you know drives Strange insane, so you do exactly that, putting your current favourite song on repeat as you shower.
The bathroom is nice, too, just white. All porcelain white: floor, walls, sink, with only the mirror and showerhead a glistening silver. Why does nowhere have the same character as the Sanctum? If this is the rest of the world you’ve been avoiding a while, you’re not sure if you like it.
Coming out the bathroom, you wrap your white towel taut around your body and tuck the corner in, the lump pressing into your supple skin, releasing your hair from the shower cap. Almost unwittingly you begin humming the song—instinct, you guess, an earworm, a good song with infectious lyrics and a strong tune. You’ll be over it in a week.
“Do you?” Stephen suddenly asks, appearing from around the wall.
You gasp in surprise, your reverie snapped. He’s right there next to you, his hair coiffed but still slightly damp, wearing his usual half-baggy blue pyjamas. His blue eyes snag on something, a peek of black partially obscured by the towel, but he can't be sure.
“What?”
His exasperated sigh fills your brain with naught but aggravation. How can one person be so anxious and annoying?
“That song you were playing, it’s called Daddy Issues. Do you have them?”
A soft chuckle leaves your lips, tossing your hair around, running your fingers through the locks. “Doesn’t everyone?”
“No.”
You don’t even bother to deadpan him for more than a split second before you’re pushing past him, your shoulder bumping his bicep again, and you’re shifting over to the desk area, where you lay out your moisturiser and hairbrush.
“Well, statistically, more than fifty percent of people do—"
“Just be quiet Stephen. Get ready for bed.”
He bares his teeth, but obliges, and within half an hour, you’re nervously slouched on opposite sides of the bed, the top light off, curtains drawn, only the bedside lamps on to offer your bodies some shadow.
“I’m not taking the couch,” you warn, “it’s bloody tiny.”
“I don’t expect you to, and this bed is bigger than I anticipated, so I suppose we can share if you stick to your side.”
You grumble, making strange whining noises to piss him off momentarily, “What do you propose, a pillow wall?”
“Yes, actually,” he says, “that sounds rather practical.”
“Why? It’s not like I’m gonna try and cuddle you or hold your hand or anything. You’re not my type anyway, God.”
“Almost, but not quite.” he snarks.
“Could you be any more conceited, Strange?”
“Yes. But, just lie down, I’m tired and can’t be arsed to hear your whining all night. No touching.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it, asshat.”
You draw back your side of the duvet and slide beneath, curling your toes at the cold weight of it, your back to Stephen’s. There’s so much space between the two of you it’s bordering on ridiculous, you could fit half the other wizards in with you at this rate. You're small, but with how close he is to his edge, he has to be falling off. He’s abnormally tall, his feet are probably dangling off the end, too.
“Is this about your hands?” you whisper, barely heard over the deafening silence crashing around in both of your ears, “or your scars? If so I— I don’t mind, I’m not in any position to judge.”
“Shut. Up.” he enunciates.
“Dude, it’s okay.”
“It’s also none of your fucking business.”
Oh he’s seething. He’s fucking hilarious when he’s mad. His jaw clenches and his nostrils flare and his face goes as red as Goddamn tomato, his lips quirk to suffocate a grimace and hands close to fists he can barely control and his voice always stutters when his desperately regulated breath hitches. That’s exactly what’s happening now, you can feel the shift of the bed next to you, hear every tiny movement.
“I’m not trying to pry, just curious.”
“Well, you are prying. You know what happened to me, you know who I was and who I am, surely you have some idea what I must… look like.”
“Yeah,” you breathe, an inflection of compassion in your tone, “and I don’t give a shit. I hate you no less.”
He allows a breathy chuckle out, one of the lightest sounds you’ve ever heard from him, nothing derisive in it, no spite or teasing, just a small laugh. “Hate me all you want. I know I’m right.”
“About what?”
“You don’t want to see me.”
It’s so quiet a request that it's barely a whisper, simply a wistful hope, a prayer, a silent plea. His last word cracks, breaks, and his currently slightly less annoying voice trails away, broken. Even now, the least you can do is respect his privacy on it despite the fact it's the last thing you want to do.
You find the only words you can muster, curling further inwards on yourself. “Night, Stephen. Thanks for this.” you bid.
“Night, Y/N.”
And you still into a horrible, dense silence, the darkness of the room overwhelming your senses. If you sleep a wink like this, you’ll be lucky.
—
You find yourself to be regrettably correct, since after what feels like a lifetime (and appears to only have been an hour, and even then, just barely) you feel the whole weight of the bed shift, followed by muffled cursing. You’re cold, incredibly uncomfortable, and the pillow is too cold, but you daren’t move it, lest you disturb the wrath of Stephen.
Fuck it, you tell yourself. You won’t lie on the ridge of a hard mattress all night just because he’s a whiny brat who never cuts you a break. Fidgeting and jolting, tossing and turning, you eventually turn over full bodily, and completely by accident, your hand falls onto more flesh, warm and callused, Stephen. Instantaneously, he recoils, his body slithering away from you, even across the masses of space. Your own breath catches, brows furrowing, shock, perhaps?
“Stephen?” you husk, your voice full of surprise. “Couldn’t sleep?”
You reach over and flick your bedside lamp on, fluffing your pillow and turning to him.
“No. Why did you do that?”
“Why did I do what, roll over in bed and accidentally brush your hands?”
“Yes.” he says, teeth gritted.
“Don’t be such a twat, what’s the big deal anyway?” you ask, a throwaway comment, but the way he gulps, his blue eyes so full of anxiety, you know well enough what it is. “Strange, I didn’t mean—”
“It doesn’t matter.”
Only, you know it does. His hands are balled up in his shirt and embedded into his body, covered by the duvet despite the convulsive movements. He’s asking for it. In one swift move, the duvet is folded back, and you’re grabbing his hands roughly by the wrists and tugging them away from him. Sitting up a little more, moving your body and crossing your legs, you yank his hands into your lap. Gnarled red scars run down each finger and down the back of both hands, puckering from stitches mars them too, and beneath the skin, when you tenderly run the pads of your fingers over his scars, the cuts, you feel metal. Screws, bolts, whatever else. Maybe even metal rods are in there, holding his bones together.
Sure, they’re not pretty, no scars are, but they aren’t as repulsive as he makes them out to be. They’re endearing, unique, and show he’s a Goddamn fighter. Maybe you’d be more inclined to work with him if he hadn’t been trying to hide from you so much.
Suddenly, he jolts away from you, away from the tender rub of your fingers on his skin, his face contorted in a perpetual wince. There’s an expectant pause, like he’s waiting for you to say something, but for once, you’re lost for words.
“I’ll sleep on the couch.” he says, wholly tugging away from you.
“Why, Stephen? Why are you being so pretentious and callous? Can’t we share a bed without it being fuckin’ weird?” you demand, hitting a fist against the pillow childishly.
“No.”
He shifts his pyjama bottoms awkwardly when he catches another peek of your skin—your upper arm this time, a swirl of ink—and clambers out of bed, snatching a spare sheet from the wardrobe that he takes over to the sofa with him. No way is he gonna fit, but if he’s going to be that obtuse, you’re gonna let him.
—
Another hour has gone by, and having tried just about every possible position known to man on both sides of the bed, every pillow on both the head and foot of the bed, you’re still unable to sleep, simply staring at the dull white ceiling, your fingers linked and resting over your steadily rising chest. You’d think that sorcery has some perks, perhaps a spell to help you sleep, but no. There are some herbs that can go in drinks to knock you out, but naturally, they’re all at the Sanctum. You’re fucking knackered, and usually sleep so well, why is tonight any different? Does it have anything to do with the gnawing in the pit of your stomach? The anxiety of Stephen being so far away—or perhaps it's just having him in the room. Somehow, you don't know which is worse.
“Stephen,” you tentatively call out, your sound swallowed by the reverberating night. “Are you awake?”
“Yes. Why?” he replies in his typical abrupt nature.
“Just wondered. I’m cold, can you come sit?”
“No.”
This time you don’t even bother to turn on the light, but merely point your finger at the wall shade and light begins to glow around you, allowing you to peer at Stephen over there. It’s a pitiful sight, really, and one he willingly inflicted on himself, but with his long legs dangling off the edge and his head at a funny angle on the arm, the sheet barely covering half of him, you know this isn’t fair. Still, doesn’t stop you from having a hearty chuckle to yourself.
“You’re so fucking uncomfortable over there and don’t try to deny it. Get your ass into bed with me. Now.”
He’s not used to you being bossy, no one is. As he so constantly reminds you, you’re just a rookie, you don’t bark orders, and only occasionally lend a snarky comment. He likes those best, no matter how much he tries to feign it.
“Can you tolerate me enough to just lie in bed with me?” you tease, hearing his footsteps padding on the carpeted floor.
“To say I ‘tolerate you’ is a vast overstatement.”
“Thanks, Doc.” you reply sardonically, rolling your eyes—playfully this time—and smiling at the fact.
He does as you say, though, and shuffles into bed beside you, actually bothering to get properly comfortable this time, settling into a relatively normal position on his back, his head turned to the side, his cheekbones glowing from definition in the shine from your light. You could cut yourself on those, sweet Mercy.
Once he’s nuzzling into his pillow, you begin to do your own fidgeting around, finding your own comfort with a heavy, warm weight beside you, one of relative solace. You don’t mean to, but you’re stretching, and just trying to find a good position, when your hand accidentally grazes…
No way, this is incredible, better than anything you could have dreamt up. You think you might even bite a hole in your tongue from biting hard enough to keep your incredulous laugh under control.
“Is this why you didn’t wanna sleep in the bed? Because you’ve got a boner?” you ask, slyly.
“Don’t talk about it.” he growls in warning.
“Why? Secret stash of porn up there in that eidetic brain of yours?”
“Could you be more oblivious?” he says under his breath.
Turning onto his side, he pushes you away, prying your arm from him.
“Myeh could you beeee more oblivious, Y/N?” you mimic, purposely whining in that tone you know he hates.
You were trying to banter, so if he wants to be a tosser about it, so fucking be it. At least he’s offering you his bodily warmth so you don’t feel so alone in such an unfamiliar place.
“It’s fine if you do have a boner. For all I care, go sort it out. Human nature, buddy.” you quip, turning on your own side, almost half way into the bed, his body within touching distance, breathing distance. “I am curious, though, why didn’t you just say so? Or wear baggier pants? Men, you’re all the same, so fuckin’ annoying. Contrary doesn’t even begin—“
You don’t have a chance to finish your arsey statement before he’s right there, his hot breath fanning your face hovering above you, his forearms on either side of your head, trapping you in.
“You think you know everything, huh? I bet you’d really love to know what got me so riled up.” he growls, his face lowering to your neck, the juncture of your shoulder, his lips barely brushing the skin there before he’s taking a deep inhale; animalistic, almost.
There’s no denying that his actions send heat flooding to your core. Frankly, you wouldn’t be surprised if a wet patch appeared in the sheet beneath you right about now. Who knew his voice could be so low? So sensual? Christ...
“You’re so fucking insolent. Maybe if you hadn’t been such a bratty bitch then I might’ve fucked you quiet two hours ago. You wanna know what made me hard? You, dancing around in your skimpy underwear and pyjamas. Every day I see you around the Sanctum, and even when you’re dressed in every layer of robe under the sun I can’t keep my eyes off you. You should see how damn hard I struggle to keep my hands to myself, even these Goddamn lumps.”
His fists clench next to your head, shifting your head on the pillow. His eyes burn sapphire. You’re not one for ‘skimpy’ clothes, but you have to admit that being the only woman in a house full of completely disinterested men has made you want to try and test the boundaries just a little, leading to your slightly smaller pyjamas and other minuscule changes in your wardrobe.
Still, his admission sends your mind into a lust-filled frenzy, your only coherent thought being to just submit to him, to kiss him, to finally know what he tastes like. For all these months he’s been watching you, his criticisms have been his manner of flirting, his hiding his own shield. As sweet as that is, there’s something very hard urgently poking at your thigh, something you should probably see to...
“Fucking hell, Stephen, just kiss me.”
After so much waiting, he really doesn’t need to be told twice, pouncing onto you, his lips meeting yours furiously, a desperate clash of tongues. Never in your life has someone kissed you this way before, with so much passion and life and unadulterated want. It makes you wonder just how long he’s wanted to do this for.
It doesn’t take long for his hands to stray, his palms skimming down your burning flesh, goose bumps rising in his wake.
“Off.” he ghosts, tugging at your pyjamas.
You begin to peel your shirt off, but Stephen grabs it by the neck and removes it before you can get any further.
“No bra?”
“Maybe I wanted to tease you too.” you breathe, and only once you say it do you realise the truth of it.
Perhaps all this time you have been subconsciously been trying to tease him, rile him up. You’re in for it now, that much is easily detectable by the ragged breaths he begins to take, his grip on your waist increasing as his lips make a downward trail. First, he kisses gently at your neck, only growing more fervent when he reaches your pulse point where he sucks, hard, but only for a moment as he moves further down, biting your right clavicle while pinching your left breast, then switching, and grazing his lips over the swells of your boobs. You’re barely able to control yourself or your moans, desperately holding your tongue, silencing yourself and the obscenities bound to spill. Next, he goes just below your sternum, the sensitive skin there reacting to his tender assault. Until now, he’s had his thinned eyes focussed on you, silently working his way down your body.
“I can’t wait to put bruises all over that pretty, unblemished skin…” he murmurs, vibrations shooting through you like a meteor shower. You don’t realise why he’s training off until his baby blues aren’t locked on your eyes anymore. “Is that a tattoo?”
Not the time, but your cheeks begin to burn red, drawing a blush onto your skin.
“I asked you a question, is that a tattoo?” He’s more solemn this time, commanding your full attention so naturally. Unable to control your voice, you offer him a nod, your eyes wide. “When did you get this? Oh, my God.”
“B— before I came to the Sanctum. I have more, if you like them.”
“Fuck,” he blasphemes, running a hand over his face. Is he… flustered? “Where? Show me.”
Who would’ve guessed he has a thing for tattoos? It’s not like you’re covered, just the odd few: one on your hip, one in between your ribs, one on your back. You’re surprised he hasn’t noticed the few at the tops of your arms yet. You adjust your positioning and show him what he wants: he’s damn near salivating, his fingers toying with his beard as he grows impossibly harder against your leg.
“Do you have a thing for tattoos? Do you like girls with ink all over their skin?”
“Stop,” he whines, imploring, “don’t, I’ll finish too fast if you keep on.”
You cup his cheeks, turning his face towards you, and begin to pepper kisses over his long neck, grazing your teeth where he seems to be the most sensitive, chuckling into your actions.
He kisses you hotly, briefly, and resumes his prior attack. Biting and sucking, drawing the supple skin of your hip bones between his teeth, he has you clamping your screams behind your hand, writhing around beneath his hold.
“These walls are pretty thick, which means you and I can be as loud as we want.” he whispers, and continues his actions, prying your hand away with one of his, and not flinching when you begin to hold it. Tight.
“You know, you’re gonna look so much better when I mark you up, every inch of you. Already look like mine.”
You dare a glance down, and half your stomach is covered in bites already, and he’s right, it looks damn good.
“I know, please.”
He moves gradually lower, tugging on the waist of your trousers. That seems to be when the reality hits him, drawing away from you, his breathing laboured, his beard tickling your hip bones.
“We shouldn’t,” he stammers, casting his gaze away.
You find yourself gulping nervously, “I know.”
His blue orbs wantonly flit from your eyes to your lips, searching for reassurance that’s been there all along. It doesn’t last long, you knew it wouldn’t, because his lips are colliding with yours after little more than a tense moment of eye contact. Your hands grip onto his arms, corded with muscle, tensing as they hold him up. He’s so reliant on his arms, his hands trembling with the slightest movement when it’s not sorcery related. Tonight, you want to show him that he doesn’t have to struggle, but merely has to enjoy it.
Mouths fastened together, your chest presses to his as his tongue glazes along your bottom lip, then your top, delving into your mouth. His muscle is skilled, dancing with yours, but not in a tender waltz, more a hazed tango of burning passion, like he has to taste all of you before he can be content in life. In return, you can’t kiss him deeply enough either, hold him tightly enough, clinging to him with your whole being.
He tears his lips away from you, leaving a strange void in your chest once he lifts away, an emptiness where his deft mouth was licking into yours just moments before. You’re certainly not disappointed when he presses a single kiss to your navel and hooks his fingers in the waistband of your shorts, peeling them off, sliding them down your legs along with your panties.
“You look good all soaking wet.” he purrs, his eyes glued to the glistening slick coating your heat.
You revel in the fact that he can barely tear his eyes away long enough to glance at you, but once he catches sight of your lust-clouded eyes, half-lidded, expectant only for him, he can’t look away, his blue eyes enraptured with the slight drop your jaw makes as his breath fans over you. Almost animalistically, he licks his lips, then yours, tracing the shape of your vulva with the tip of his lithe muscle. Already you’re keening as he languidly works his mouth on your core. He presses a tantalising kitten lick to your clit, causing your legs to instinctively clamp around his head, your thighs trapping his ears. He still doesn’t break eye contact. How he does this, you don’t know, and don’t particularly care to find out right about now, since his eyes are so mesmerising, the different flecks and shades of blue, contrasted with hues of golden green—
Oh Mary sweet Mother of God.
How does he do that? His moustache tickles your swollen pearl as he literally eats you out, no reservations, a full meal to him. His tongue in your cavern, it’s the most beautiful sight you’ve ever beheld, his doling out of sloppy kisses while you can but watch, grasping onto his hair, threading your fingers through his dark locks, tugging for some semblance of grounding, something to keep you tethered to this realm, because this level of pleasure is unmeasured.
“I think you’re going to ruin me. Am I right?” you gasp, your words cut off when he suckles on your most sensitive spot.
“For every other man?” he purrs, straight into your core. “Absolutely.”
The vibrations are simply heavenly, sending your spare hand flying to the pillow beside you, grasping to it with all you're worth, until your fingers begin to cramp, but not once does his assault on your sensitive heat ease, his eyes smiling at you as though you’re the most beautiful thing in the planet.
You’re close, though, so close, teetering just on the edge of something incredible, something mind blowing, something astronomical. You’re simpering as he nears you closer and closer, every lavish of his tongue within your cavern, every nudge of his nose to your overly sensitive clit…
And Stephen being Stephen, that’s when he decides to pull away, crawling back up your body until he’s laying beside you, the heat welcoming and warm, the heavy weight of his arm slung around your bare waist, his breath fanning over your neck. He begins to lazily brush kisses over your neck, but it’s not enough. Frustrated would be a behemoth understatement.
“Goddamn it, Y/N,” he hums heartily, “you get under my skin like no one else.”
“Yeah?” you retort, not pondering the consequences in your haze of denial and desire, “you quite literally were just under mine, and you didn’t let me cum. Asswipe.”
Heaving a sigh, he rolls away slightly, stopping his sweet show of affections in favour of sulking
“If you’d shut up for one damn second and not insult me, I’d tell you why.”
“Why then, huh?” you square up to him.
The last thing you expect is to be kissed, his scarred hand weaving its way into your hair, pushing your head closer to his. You can feel the heat emanating from his cheeks, from his chest. Who knew heaven would be as hot as hell?
“Because I want the first time I make you come to be around my cock, darling. Okay?” he growls.
Wow. That’s one argument you can get behind, but two can play at his game, so you flutter your lashes and play coy, your most innocent doe-eyes joining your pretty, swollen lips that curl up into the sweetest smile you can manage.
“Okay, Doctor.”
“Fuck me,” he groans, barely audible.
In one movement, you have him pinned beneath you, hands on either side of his head while he’s listless between your legs, cerulean irises fixated on your every perceptible move.
“Only if you ask nicely, Doctor.”
His eyes fly shut, lids squeezed together, his head tossed back into the pillow. That’s when you get to work on his shirt. You grasp the hem with nimble fingers, slowly tugging it up the tanned skin of his torso. He occasionally walks around with just a towel on, like today, but you barely glimpse him before he’s disappearing, and even then he’s moving deftly, muscles contracting and water droplets glistening on the panes of his chest, so you're not entirely sure what you’ll find. You tug it up to his collar bones, and he does the rest, since you can’t help but run your hands all over him. Every inch of flesh you can reach. His body quite frankly ripples, his muscles incredible, and his scars matter no more or no less than ever, because he’s just Stephen and you’re just you, and this is just a moment you’ve caught yourselves in. His skin is burning, begging to be ravished the way he did yours, but you daren’t mess up such a masterpiece.
In an intoxicating kiss, you catch his bottom lip between your teeth, nibbling gently as you tug on it, your smirk unwavering yet your eyes as round as saucers.
“You’re heaven.” you whisper.
“You taste like it.”
The blush that dusts your cheeks is undeniable, sprinkling raging droplets of fire that reach the tips of your ears.
You sigh breezily, moving up his hips a little further, thinking aloud at your position, his body all yours, your bare heat hovering his clothed member, rock hard against your bum. “I’ve yearned for this for so long.”
“What, to shag me?”
“No, to finally have you quiet and under my control.”
“I’ve always been under your control,” he tells you earnestly, raising a hand to brush errant locks of hair away from your face, his rough fingers touching your cheek. You nestle into his grip. “Say the word, I’m yours.”
“The magic word?”
“Mhm.”
“Agamotto?” you question bashfully, curling your hair behind your ear.
He splutters a laugh, jolts his body up to meet yours, and kisses you, a searing embrace, his tongue working it’s way back into his mouth. You can still taste yourself on him. Beneath you, however, his length is twitching, begging to be touched.
You stand on your knees, and crawl back down his body, settling yourself on his beefy lower thighs that clench so delectably, setting friction onto your own throbbing core. You unravel the string at the waist, and fumble to get the soft cotton trousers off him, but seem to forget that, well, you’re hindering your own access. He nudges his legs and pelvis up, shucking the material over his bum. The action grazes over your slit in such a way that makes your breath hitch, the mix of the material of his pyjamas, the hair on his leg, and his tensing muscles creating the perfect cocktail of arousal within you, clouding your cognitive processes. He kicks them off, and draws you further up his legs, his member standing proud, brushing against your navel.
Something strange and new stirs deep within you at the sight, a primal need awakened. Sex has never been… this way for you before, this pleasurable, this fun. And as much as you hate to admit it, that’s because of Stephen and his God-like appendage that you’re not even sure will fit.
“Baby, you’re drooling,” he coos in a condescending tone, something that makes you impossibly wetter, “you gonna ride me?”
“Want your hands on me, though,” you softly admit, wrapping your hands over his, moving them to the dip of your waist. Instantly, they take a bruising settle there, but the pinch is so delectable.
Grasping him in your hands is quite the feat, but nonetheless you try, spitting on your palms to give yourself ample slick as you jerk him a couple of times, watching intently how the skin pulls around his member, your brows furrowed at such a simple yet such a beautiful sight. As much as you hate to cede it, he has a fucking incredible dick. He’s allowed to be as cocky as he is.
“If you keep on…”
You know he means for it to be a threat but he sounds so blissed out, his voice gruff and hitting you right at the pit of your belly. He has a point, though, with your fingertips gingerly running up the vein on the underside, your nails grazing tantalisingly over his balls. His slit is already leaking, a bead of pearly-white precum there. He won’t last. Eh, maybe he doesn’t have to be so cocky if such a featherlight touch can drive him to the edge.
His eyes draw yours in and keep their focus as you rise onto your knees and fidget a little closer, your knees scratching on the white sheets. Your brain grows foggy, like the night outside as you tease the head of his dick against your wetness before you gradually lower yourself down.
Birds crow outside, owls cresting their night time lullaby as he enters you, the most delightful harmony. Flickers of twinkling stars can be seen in your periphery through the slit in the plain curtains.
You hiss, but the slight pain of him stretching you simply spurs you further onto him, desperate to engulf him all. Your bum hits his thighs, and that’s when you realise, your breathing shallowed, that he’s balls deep within you.
This is actually happening.
“Fuck,” he mutters letting out the most aching groan yet, throwing his head back into the pillow once more and letting his dark hair flop of its own accord, his hands tangling their way into your hair to pull you down to him.
Your actions start slowly, a small rocking to your hips as you get used to his sheer size filling you to the brim, even the slightest movement causing your walks to tense around the ridges of his dick, rubbing within you so detectably. His breathing increases with every rock, his eager pants and soft pleas filling the air as you begin to speed up, silenced by your lips.
His moans increase once you start to raise yourself up, only to grind back down with purpose. You’re sure your own moans and whimpers are deafening, too. Stephen simply doesn’t know what to do, where to look. His lips attack your neck, moaning into it as he starts to drive himself further and further into your pussy, his hips bucking to meet your movements.
“Stephen,” you squeak as he grazes something special, followed by a shout of, “Fuck!” though that’s more to the stimulation to the precious spot on your neck he seems to be so wantonly attacking, bruising you.
“Tell me—” he orders, pausing to pant between kisses and his frantic movements beneath you, seeking the best position, “what you like.”
“This— fuck just keep doing that!”
His hands on your waist keep guiding your movements, the rotations of your hips, the rise and fall of your body unencumbered, unbound, free to drive him to insanity with your sensuality in this moment.
“Think you can handle that much?” he taunts.
“Just fuck me, Stephen, no restraints, just you.”
“Are you sure that’s what you want? I could really hurt you.”
“I don’t care. I need you.” you grit out, whining at the slight still.
You thank whatever deity there is that it’s only very brief before his pace begins to pick up again, your body so malleable despite your being on top. And frankly, you can’t stop the screams that erupt from somewhere deep in your throat, followed by a steady stream of whimpers, your hands curling into his pecs to keep you upright.
“If you keep making those sounds, I’m not going to be able to stop myself.”
“What if I don’t want you to?”
“I don’t care what you want, I’m in charge.”
“Myeh I’m in charge, I’m Doctor Strange, ooooo look at me.” you mimic, challenging him, and his movements stall.
“You’d better watch your fucking mouth.” he spits.
The cock of your head is simply devilish, defiant in every way possible, power surging within your veins as you say, “Or what?”
Regret is instantaneous. You’re not sure why you thought that, if you were on top you’d have the power, because you certainly don't. His hands grasp your hips bruisingly hard, lifting you up before literally impaling you on his dick. His pace soon after is punishing, controlling your every movement so you can barely breathe or see straight, just a rag doll for him to throw about. He reaches new depths you’ve never even found yourself before, all while keeping his tip grazing your g-spot on every stroke, his pelvis meeting your clit on every hit. Your jaw hangs open, and you can’t even help it, merely gripping onto Stephen you’re not sure where for dear life. That’s the ‘or what’.
He’s quite literally ravishing you in a way no one has before. You’re fucking mewling before you can help it. His sudden surge of dominant energy causes you to moan headily, putty within his control. With each upward thrust of his, your hips roll in ways you never knew they could before, offering you new depths of pleasure, rolling more arousal from your core.
‘Rough’ was never a word you’d have used to describe the astute, precautious Dr Stephen Strange before, but with the sheer strings of profanity leaving his perfect, plump lips as he takes you wholly, it’s certainly up there with adjectives to describe the supreme sorcerer.
“Fucking hell you’re so good,” he praises, “shit— squeezing me so well.”
“Stephen…” you plead. You can’t care that you’re begging, not with the wash of pleasure trickling down your spine, a building climax within the pit of your stomach, ready to split at any second.
You lean forwards daringly, connecting your lips in a clash of teeth and tongues, a tango of passion, desire, sheer unadulterated need
“Want your hands on me,” you moan, whine, beg. Your words come out in broken fragments in between slathering kisses, your body bouncing.
“No you don’t. I promise you don’t.” he refutes, cut off by a deep groan.
He doesn’t stop pounding into you, your one hand moving to cling around the back of his neck, your other with your nails digging into his flesh, grazing over his nipples; anything to keep you half steady.
“You don’t get to tell me what to do. I like your hands.”
“I don’t— fucking hell.”
“And I don’t care. Please touch me, just run your fingers over me, palm at my tits, anything, I don’t care. I just need your hands on me.” Tears begin to well in your eyes before you can help it, a feeble squeak when his thick tip drives into that spongy spot deep within that has your toes curling, his vein squeezed by the slight ridges within you. “Please.”
He sighs, cut off by a growl, holding his hands out before him, removing them from their hold on your waist. “These things?”
“Yes!” you shout in response, both to the stimulation on your clit from his pelvis and his rhetorical question. “Those ‘things’ that wield so much power. Such ability for pleasure. Doctor.”
That seems to be what does it, a gasping groan leaving him, taking incentive. His scarred finger begins to brush up your stomach, the dip of your hips, pinching your tattoos. His palms splay over your boobs kneading the flesh, eyes as wide as saucers, mesmerised by the way they bounce in his hand, your peaked buds caught under the rough pads of his thumbs. He runs his hands across your whole body, your back, shoulders, arms, savouring every inch of flesh he can reach as your back arches with waves of pleasure above him, thrusting your chest further out as your head lulls backwards and your mouth falls open in a silent ‘o’. When he seems satisfied enough, they travel to your ass, squeezing your cheeks, his hold bruising.
He’s enthralled by every movement you make, his blue eyes staring at you, fixed so intently, the intensity sparking something to life in your belly. You draw your lip between your teeth before leaning down to kiss him, his mouth devouring yours hotly, his lips almost burning on yours, chapped skin massaging yours. While he has you there, his grip on your ass increases, and he begins to go harsher.
“Baby,” you hiss before you can help it.
Skin slaps against skin, you’re just there for him, feeling every jolt of his body so thoroughly beneath you. He swallows your moans, and you swallow his, before detaching and moving your lips to his jaw instead, kissing along the sharp bone gently. He’s fucking you so hard, so meaningfully, you’re going to be aching for days.
“Look at me,” he demands, “look.”
You do, but you’re in such a haze that you only manage to actually see into the crystal orbs once he grasps your skin between his scarred fingers, one of which you press your lips to, swirling the tip of your tongue around the digit.
“No, no darling, I need my hand for this.”
Doe-eyed, you let his finger go with a pop, but follow his hand where it goes, trailing down to your lower stomach. His fingers tentatively press over a blossoming bulge there, one that grows every time you sink down onto him, and then his palm presses down, causing you to scream a little, a pleasurable sort of pain.
“You feel that?” you nod. “That’s where I am, so deep inside you.”
The stream of expletives you moan is utterly unholy, in need of censorship. Never before have you imagined this, anyone being so deep inside they’re bulging against your belly…
“Nobody does it like you do.” you whine, bouncing up and down on him at an inhuman speed, nearing climax more and more, still holding back despite it all, despite the pressure building right where his tip grazes.
“I taste you on my tongue. Still,” he confesses, licking into your mouth filthily so you can taste it too.
“Stephen, I’m gonna—” you can’t finish your sentence, as you’re finishing in other ways, the pressure on your g-spot and the brush on your clit and the intense penetration too much for you to handle amongst his piercing blue stare.
You can’t hold the inevitable tide back anymore, clamping and clenching around him, causing him to emit a guttural, feral moan, clamping his teeth down on your shoulder, his cry resonating through your entire being. It’s a pleasurable ache, but a mark you’ll struggle to hide. This spurs you on further, your entire body pulsing, limbless. You’re whimpering amidst your screams of pleasure, cries so pornographic they startle you. That’s when the world slows, and you feel his thumb pressing harshly into your clit, his other hand pinching your nipple, tweaking it fervently.
The hot white wash of euphoria sends you to heaven and shooting through the stars in a split second elongated by the prolonged, unceasing pressure in your bundle of nerves, keeping you in uncontrollable bliss for you’re not sure how long. Your entire body is electrified, stars dancing on your skin like droplets of Elysian sun, shocking your nerves into a tingling sensation, heavy limbs filled with ecstasy filled blood. The world around you faded long ago, replaced by his beautiful hands and his kiss intoxicating you, explosions of delightful rapture filling your earthly being. In all fairness, you wouldn’t be surprised if, when you opened your eyes, you were in your astral form, on absolute cloud nine, or in another realm entirely. Maybe you’re simply in paradise, your sorcery skills having transported you there of their own volition.
Somewhere in your elation, Stephen comes too, filling you up entirely, warm stickiness painting your inner walls and beginning to trickle out, down your thighs and onto his, melding the two of you together further. Was his orgasm as incredible as yours? Like a hundred put together? Stars plucked from the sky and morphed into a single climax just for the pair of you? Because if he shared it, there’s no way you’re not doing this again, that much you can bank on.
It takes a while for you to come around enough to flutter your eyes open, only to find your chest almost pressed fully against Stephen’s, his arms around you entirely, your harsh breathing in sync. A veil of sweat gleans on your skin, gathering between your breasts, moving up and down hastily with your ragged breaths. He’s covered in a similar sheen, his abs and forehead, the ripples of his biceps as you hold him, feebly pushing yourself half upright.
The last thing you expect while basking in the afterglow, desperate to just catch your breath is for him to lick a blood stripe from the tattoo at the side of your ribs, around the underside off your one boob, and to then suckle tiredly on the rune nestled between your tits, but apparently...
“What’s that for?”
“Love your tattoos. So sexy.”
That’s something you’re never gonna let him forget, and there’s no doubt in your mind that he’s also going to beg for you to get more. You find yourself giggling, the sweet bubbling of it in your throat. It comes out as an airy sound, endearing Stephen.
“What?”
“Oh my God, you’re so much better than the last person I was with.” you sigh, flopping down next to him.
“And you, bloody hell.”
“We should do this again.”
“We definitely should.”
His hand flies out to rest on your stomach, linking your fingers with his, watching you conspicuously from the corner of his eye.
“Hey, you okay?” he asks, concern betrayed in his tone and the crinkle of his nose.
“Yeah, just might be a bit sore.”
He shrugs his shoulders softly, and you chuckle, “You told me to give it all I’ve got. I think I’m rather spent now, though.”
“So spent. God, is this what overstimulation feels like? How can something be so nice and so achy all at once?”
“That’s how my cock feels, Y/N. You milked me for all I’m worth.”
“Don’t be so crude!”
“I’ll be what I like, baby, and right now I’m going to be bossy. Go to the restroom, I’ll be waiting when you come out.” A mischievous grin creeps its way onto his face, watching you struggle as he sneers, “try to walk in a straight line, sweetheart.”
You offer him your middle finger as you stagger to your feet, clutching onto every piece of furniture along the way. It’s strange to be so naked around him, nothing to shield you from his stare that follows you, right from the bed until you disappear into the bathroom. While there, you glance at your dishevelled state in the mirror. Small hickeys litter your skin, hand prints lying lightly, but the most noticeable things are the signs of affection around your tattoos. Bite marks, finger prints, blossoming bruises. He’s an absolute scamp. You take the opportunity to run a brush through your hair and tap some balm onto your lips.
Your steps are a little more shy on the scratchy, grey carpet as you step out again, taking strides as wide as you can before all but throwing yourself onto your side of the bed.
“Here,” he says, smiling at you in that sweet, closed-mouth way he does, the apples of his cheeks glowing.
In his outstretched hand is his pyjama shirt, creased from your clutching to it. You take it, the soft material limp in your hands, but it simply radiates ‘Stephen.’ You tug it on over your head, unfazed when it hits your mid thigh.
“Looks good on you. Come here.”
You don’t mind his commands for once, and happily shuffle in beside him, instantly curling into his side. Heat radiates from his body, and only when you sling your one leg over his thigh do you realise he’s put his pyjamas back on, the bottoms at least. His arm winds around your shoulder, and perhaps in a feat of confidence, he starts to brush his forefinger up and down the skin of your arm, rising goose bumps in its wake. You could just stay this way forever.
A strange thought brews in the back of your mind, and you almost can’t help but to blurt it out, “Did you want me to call you 'Daddy?' Is that why you asked about the song earlier?”
A subdued nature overtakes him, his voice becoming shy as he murmurs, “Maybe. I like ‘Doctor’ too.”
You roll closer to him, wrapping an arm around his torso.
“Maybe next time,” you tease courageously, kissing his neck softly. “I can’t wait to be on my knees for you later.”
“Tomorrow, baby, I’m tired enough to sleep at last.”
It really is an ‘at last’ type situation, and definitely more than three hours since you arrived at this place with the intention of crashing straight away. Well, it was your intention. His? You’re not entirely sure, an inkling nagging at the back of your mind. Not that you particularly care after the mind blowing shag, but...
“We could’ve portalled back, couldn’t we?” Nervously, he nods. “So this was a ploy to get me to shag you?” He nods again, blue eyes glittering, and you simply scoff at him, holding him closer under the duvet. “Cheeky little shit, Doctor.”
His low laugh rumbles through your whole being, sending more heat flooding through you. “But then again, maybe it’s best if we don’t go home. What’ll they say about us?”
“They’ll congratulate me for finally growing the balls to fuck you.” he deadpans, and you kiss his jawline once more, snorting a little laugh.
You reach out to switch the light off and instantly embed yourself in his comfort again, revelling in your synced breathing and the gentle rise of his chest against your cheek, the stolen whispers and the gentle way he kisses your hairline, so sweet in contrast to his earlier dominance.
Sleep is, rightfully, dragging you both under, your eyelids heavy at last. All you feel is him, the steady thrum of his heart, the tender run of his scarred fingers up and down your arm and spine, sparks shooting through you. Your sleepy state, however, also lowers your already dangerously thin inhibitions, and that’s why you can’t stop yourself saying—before you succumb—your most peculiar thought from the whole night, his half lidded startling baby blues trained on the barely perceptible movement of your lips.
“Hey, recon we could have sex in our astral forms?”
you know, i’m not opposed to it - there are some major moments that do make me ship frostiron… but if there is a ship involving iron man that i would choose, it would be ironstrange.
SO IN SUMMARY: YES SOMETIMES, BUT IT’S NOT MY IRON MAN OTP
TY FOR ASKING ❤️ (i still love viewing the edits/art & fanfics for frostiron though 😏)
