springtime kisses in the rain -
inspired by this moodboard created by @burnthoneymint
rating: general audience, fluff, a quick taste of smut to come...and MAGIC, of course 💖
word count: 1.3k
The sun shower passed almost as quickly as it came, and left the air filled with the freshness of spring and rife with the possibilities of romance. You couldn’t help thinking in such poetic, starry-eyed terms—not only because you were a hopeless romantic by nature, but because of the company you kept. For this all too fleeting afternoon, anyway.
You had it bad for the man at your side, and that was without him even trying. There was a magic to Stephen Strange beyond that of his scarred yet talented hands, and it had you enrapt beyond any hope of resisting. Months of slow burn flirtation—initiated by you and which he had hesitantly reciprocated at first, until he decided that he could trust you with his mind-boggling secret—had finally blossomed into dating. Today’s excursion to the Botanical and Butterfly Gardens of Central Park had been his idea—the picnic basket of decadent treats you carried, yours—and the afternoon had been utterly charming until the rain began to fall.
Stephen had immediately ushered you beneath a canopy of cherry blossom laden branches for the duration, surprising you when he smoothed back your wet bangs so he could press warm kisses to your forehead, a low thrum of contentment rising from his chest as he went on to kiss the raindrops from your eyes and nose, to finally hover a fraction from your lips. “Better?” he asked softly.
“Mmmmm…much,” you had hummed, replying with eager kisses of your own. Savoring the divine plumpness of his lower lip, tugging it gently between your teeth as you had learned he enjoyed. Your heart racing with happiness when he pulled you flush against him, dizzying you with the sudden hunger of his kiss. That’s when you lost track of time, and barely held onto an awareness of Nature’s vital life all around you. Lost in the perfect play of his tongue in your mouth, while Stephen planted one hand on the center of you back, and daringly cupped the other upon your breast.
Releasing you from the growing demand of his kiss—for you both needed to draw deep gasps of air—his voice went low enough to make you shiver. “You’re delicious, darling. The sweetest taste I’ve had in years.”
You opened your eyes to find his riveted upon your face, their pale, sundrenched blue grown dark with the lust that the press of your body to his, had awakened. Compelled by equal desire, you gave bold assurance, “I’m a woman of many flavors, Stephen. And when the time is right, I’d have you taste them all…”
His gorgeous smirk told you he was more than ready to, and but for the rain and being in so public a place, he’d take you at your word this very moment. The heat of his gaze seemed to strip you bare, and you shivered again with longing to have it be so. “But how careless of me—to let you catch a chill from the rain,” he teased, knowing full well that he was the true cause of your trembling.
“No,” you protested, “Not at all, Stephen. When I’m with you, I’m…I’m perfectly fine.” More than fine, you were thinking; I could walk on air if you bid me to. I would happily drown in your kisses.
He lifted a brow as though he’d caught a trace of your secret admission, but soon smiled warmly, tilting your chin up to deliver a soft, chaste kiss, then leaned his forehead on yours. “Sun’s out again,” he noted. “And look- there’s a rainbow,” he motioned, so that you turned to spot it spilling through the swiftly retreating storm clouds.
“It’s beautiful,” you mused, sighing as Stephen wrapped his arms around your waist from behind. “Do you think the rain is done for the afternoon?”
He chuckled against your ear. “Well, if I have anything to say about it, then ‘yes’.” Assuring you in his quiet way, that he’d use his power to keep any further rainfall at bay, if only to please you. Stephen scooped up the wicker basket that you’d let drop when his kisses had stolen both your attention and your will. “If I recall correctly, there’s a meadow dotted with wildflowers at the end of this path. Perfect spot for a picnic,” he suggested.
“Lead the way, darling, and I’ll gladly follow,” you told him, offering up your hand. He took it gladly, his large hand engulfing yours as he tugged you along. Perhaps his eagerness meant he was hungry—though you hoped it was as much for you, as for the sweet treats you’d packed for this outing. Several minutes later, he led you to a sunny spot at least a dozen yards away from the path.
Wildflowers abounded in a riot of brilliant colors, their petals beaded with water, and the tall grass too damp to recline upon. You pouted in disappointment, but not for long. “I’ve got this, Y/N,” he promised, handing you the basket. Stephen took a look around, in every direction, making sure that there would be no witness but you to the spell he was about to cast. “Piece of cake,” he winked, and placed both hands waist high, palms down, and slowly moved them in a smoothing motion. You watched as the wet all around you became just water vapor, and then evaporated. How pleased he looked at his minor but timely bit of magic, as he dropped down to sit, before pulling you down onto his lap.
“Stephen,” you exclaimed, more thrilled than surprised at the direction he now seemed to be leading you. Tangling his hands in your hair, breathing his warmth and his zeal upon the skin of your neck. “But aren’t you hungry?” you faux protested, and his answer came between kisses that smoldered upon your flesh.
“Only for you”, he vowed softly, “Only and ever for you…” You heard the low, dark honey of his voice—rich and seductive enough to make you forgo reason--but felt his words as well, like a spell imbedding them in your skin. Spreading like a delicious electric current down your spine and along your limbs to the very tips of your fingers and toes. Rousing your need to have him taste you in the ways you’d alluded to earlier. Leaving you panting, aching, wanting, whatever this master of the mystic arts might desire of you.
Though his will was ever the stronger between the two of you, the tatters of your modesty stirred you to a half-hearted plea, even as he laid you back upon the grass. “But…but anyone could come along…at…ahhhhhhh…any time…Stephen…please…”
He hovered above you, the sun like a halo behind his head, though he had become as a fallen angel afire, his sinful desire for you clear in his molten eyes and in every line of his peerlessly handsome face. “Not to worry, dear. This too, I have the power to…repair.” His eyes flickered with amusement, but never broke from your gaze, as you heard a crystal tinkling fill the air around you.
“Oooooooooooo,” you sighed in happy understanding as the Mirror Dimension came to life around you. Such a handy trick that was! For a moment you wondered just how many other women he’d seduced with that simple yet brilliant bit of magic. Certainly you couldn’t be the first. But as his lips explored the hollow of your throat, and heat bloomed in your belly at the slow trace of his powerful hand upon the diaphanous material draped across your thigh--on its way to touch you into bliss--you decided that for this afternoon it didn’t matter one damn bit. For this afternoon, Stephen Strange was completely yours—and if your luck held, he would be so until the sun faded from the sky, and the distant pinpoints of the stars shone above this field, where the seeds of love and desire would finally find willing, ready soil.
My thanks once again to @burnthoneymint , whose generous creations have served to inspire me once more! 😘💖😘
(a little something I've been working on, inspired by the moodboard and blurb created by @burnthoneymint - and she's been kind enough to indulge me as I attempt to continue. currently untitled. please go read her blurb...and all the other lovely--very often deliciously smutty--writings!)
the story continues:
Stephen stood on the sidewalk outside the diner and took several deep breaths, attempting to clear his mind and calm the surprising jitters that had come upon him as he had neared his destination. He had continued to tell himself that he was only doing this because he wanted to make sure you were alright. Since finding you in the Sanctum’s black marble scrying bowl, that image of you in your little apartment (barely more than a studio)…that image of you curled up despondently on your side, with crumpled tissues littering the floor and sofa cushions all around you…seemed to have been seared behind his closed lids. It was inescapable, and the feeling that he was the cause of your misery had settled deep into his bones—so deeply that he needed to know for sure if that was the case. Needed to know—and if his hunch was true, Stephen needed to do something about it. More for your sake, then for his own.
Unlike during his midnight visits, all the booths were filled and at least three-quarters of the tables were taken. It made him hesitate--how could he even be sure he’d be sitting at one of your tables? But then he spotted you behind the counter and knew how to proceed, quickly taking a seat and grabbing one of the menus that was wedged between a napkin holder and a bottle of ketchup. Stephen ducked his face behind it, appearing to study it intently--even though he pretty much knew it by heart—and settled in to wait.
But he didn’t look up, not even when he felt you approach. Although he had mostly convinced himself this was just a way of checking up on your welfare, it suddenly felt as though a kaleidoscope of butterflies had been set loose in his chest and stomach.
The last time they’d invaded with such fierce insistence was years ago; the first time that Christine Palmer had accompanied him to a Neurological Society Dinner—as a colleague only, presumably as just his ‘plus-one’. He was mingling and glad-handing his way through the throng, following an utterly forgettable speech by the Society Chairman. Working the crowd and collecting the kudos of his peers for a recent breakthrough in surgical technique which he’d chronicled in a paper for The Journal of Neuroscience, when he’d looked up and saw her reentering the banquet hall from a trip to the ladies’. And he had simply forgotten how to breathe for about a dozen heartbeats.
At the time, Stephen wouldn't have been able to say exactly why--but in retrospect the reasons had become stunningly obvious. The combination of the light from the crystal chandeliers and the smooth silk of her dress clinging to her in all the right places; the way she moved while being completely unaware of how breathtaking she looked; and her honest, spontaneous smile when her eyes met his across the room, had done it. Perfect details that had brought those butterflies to vibrant life, along with the realization that he wanted her to be his. Not only in a physical way—but in wanting her undivided attention. The stimulation of her keen mind and the comfort of her laughter at his most stupid jokes. The softness and sanctuary of her heart opening to him as he confided the secrets and fears and insecurities that he successfully hid from the world. Precisely those things he could finally admit to himself that he longed for from you. Longed for, right now...
“Can I start you off with some coffee?” You sounded distracted. Half-hearted, as though you were just going through the motions. Not like the vibrant, engaged young woman who had quietly stolen a place in his heart. And certainly not like the woman he’d been missing these past few weeks. Pining for, in fact. Remembering your last several interactions--and the growing disappointment in your extraordinarily expressive eyes as you wondered why he wouldn't take the next, very natural step forward, given the growing attraction between you--Stephen pondered if this change could be laid at his door as well.
With his face still practically buried in the menu, he guessed—hoped even more—that you hadn’t recognized him yet. Alrighty then, he resolved; here goes. He lowered the menu and looked straight up into your eyes. All he could manage, when finally beholding for real, the face that filled his thoughts each night as he settled down to sleep, was ‘Hi’.
Your mouth dropped open with a breathy little ‘oh’ while you blinked in equal shares surprise and disbelief. “Stephen…um…hi…” you stammered, setting the glass coffee carafe on the counter, lest you drop it from your shaking hand. You had never seen him in the full light of day, so that now you found yourself mesmerized by the pale, crystal clarity of his blue eyes. Somehow, they appeared a deeper blue at night, by the light of the overhead fluorescents—though now you learned they were just as easy to get lost in, either way. Flustered in a good way—in the way that drove home the fact that you hadn’t succeeded in getting him out of your system--you did your best to sound nonchalant, “I, uh…I thought you were a night owl.”
Stephen’s stasis broke at that. He felt the left corner of his mouth tick into the precursor of a smile as he gave a quiet huff. “Yeah…yeah, usually I am, but um…I had a…thing…I needed to take care of this morning…” A ‘thing’, Stephen? Really? He winced at himself internally; smooth, Stephen. Really smooth. “So, I figured a cup of crappy diner coffee might be the, uh…best start for my day.”
You narrowed your eyes a moment, as though sussing out his truth, catching the inside of your bottom lip with your teeth. His heart gave a little lurch over that simple, natural little habit. He’d always found it cute, and sexy at the same time; during the last several times he’d visited the diner after hours (before you’d disappeared), he’d found himself thinking how much he’d like a taste of that. Imagining how soft your lips—dressed so prettily in pale pink lip gloss—would feel against his own, and if he’d be lucky enough to feel the slight scrap of your teeth tugging at his bottom lip before you allowed him to deepen the kiss.
A shiver of need raised the fine hairs on the back of Stephen’s neck; it had been far too long since he'd had the luxury of tasting any woman’s kiss—let alone that of a woman he was finding increasingly beguiling. He’d come here today with the full intent of seeing that you were well, and perhaps to discover if you were willing to deepen the friendship that had bloomed all on its own, between you. Yet, here he was, having traded only a dozen or so words with you, and he was already thinking things he’d promised himself were simply out of bounds. Seriously—what was he to do?
(to be continued. and I'm sure you'll agree with me,@burnthoneymint, that something comes before this, where you/reader has disappeared from the night shift long enough to make Stephen want to make sure she is alright)
