Jan 9
Add full body. My design vampire AU Doctor Strange
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Add full body. My design vampire AU Doctor Strange
For a change of pace, a DP x Marvel prompt!: Dr. Strange is looking for new super being to learn spells from to protect Earth, and ends up summoning Ghost King Danny. Danny has never had anyone summon him for completely altruistic reasons before, so he's happy to help.
(.... are you telepathic or are you just hiding in my room?)
Danny blinked. He stared at a well groomed man with a red flowing cape and orange, geometric circles around his hands. He had them raised, looking wary but not outright hostile.
"... I apologize for the summoning," the man said. "But I have summoned you to ask you for help."
Danny eyed him. "What sort of help?"
"A threat is coming to Earth. I've researched possible ways for help and I saw a way to summon you, the Ghost King," the man eyed him up and down, clearly expecting Pariah Dark. "... I hope."
Danny smiled, amused. "I'm the Ghost King, you don't have to worry about that. You summoned me to save Earth?"
The man finally put down his hands and his magic circles. He looked a tad relieved. "Yes. I apologize for the unexpected summoning. My name is Stephen Strange, Sorceror Supreme of this Earth. I would like to ask you to teach me or perhaps guide me into finding more ways to protect this planet. The Mad Titan, Thanos, is coming and he will destroy us all to get the infinity stones."
Danny's eyebrows rose.
Then he smiled.
"Y'know, I've never been summoned for altruistic purposes before. I accept, Stephen Strange, Sorceror Supreme. Please, call me Phantom."
Danny grinned, sharp fangs showing and Stephen suddenly looked apprehensive.
"Y'know, I think this will be an interesting partnership!" Danny said with a grin. He pulled his phone out of his body, already dialing up his friends. "Let me call my team— I have someone who's better at magic than me, and everyone will help too!"
Stephen stared at him. His expression was slowly starting to fill with realization. Then he said slowly, "I'm going to regret this, aren't I?"
Danny beamed. "Oh definitely!"
⋆˚࿔ Oh baby 𝜗𝜚˚⋆
words: 1.1k
warnings: cheating, hurt/comfort, slight angst, neglect of partner, piss kink, slightly dark, slight pevert wanda, stephan strange (yes, he needs a warning), wetting yourself, jealousy, texture issues, alludes to possible eating disorders and possible abuse, smut, praise, degradation, brief ignoring/ghosting, kissing.
relationships: boyfriend!stephan stranger x female!reader & bestfriend!wanda maximoff x female!reader
18+ minors & men dni
Sanctum Shenanigans~Oneshot
Summery: After accidentally lighting your previous magical mentor’s library on fire (it was only a small inferno, thank you), you’re sent to train under the reluctant Doctor Stephen Strange at the Sanctum Sanctorum. What starts as a clash of egos turns into a chaotic, hilarious, and oddly heartwarming partnership… especially when the Cloak of Levitation takes a shine to you.
Characters: Dr. Stephan Strange x f!Reader
Note: All Characters except y/n are not mine!
||Master List||
<Requested by Braincell Collector but never uses(my twin sister)>
You arrive on a Tuesday.
It’s raining. Fitting, really.
Your boots squeak on the wet marble steps as you stand before the massive doors of the Sanctum Sanctorum, feeling like a magical stray cat dropped at a sorcerer’s doorstep. You raise your hand and knock.
The door opens—on its own. Of course it does.
Doctor Stephen Strange stands in the entryway in full Sorcerer Supreme fashion: Cloak of Levitation resting on his shoulders, jaw sharp, expression sharper.
He takes one look at you and says, flatly, “Absolutely not.”
You blink. “Uh. Hi.”
He crosses his arms. “No.”
You frown. “But I’m supposed to—”
“I said no.”
A second later, Wong steps into view behind him, holding a scroll.
“She’s on the list,” Wong says calmly. “Master Hamir approved the reassignment after the incident.”
Strange’s brow twitches. “The incident? You mean the fire that destroyed half the Eastern Library archives?”
You wince. “It was a small fire. Technically. It only ate one corner.”
“It screamed,” Wong adds. “The fire. It screamed.”
Strange levels a stare at you so potent, you half expect to turn to stone. “And they sent you here?”
“I’m really sorry about that,” you offer weakly. “But hey—I’m very motivated to not catch fire again.”
Wong shrugs and pats Strange on the shoulder. “She’s your problem now.” And just like that, he walks off, leaving you and the Sorcerer Supreme in a painfully awkward silence.
The Cloak of Levitation floats up behind Strange, hovering like it’s curious about you. It flutters closer, sniffs at your sleeve, and then—with what you swear is a friendly twirl—gently lands on your shoulders.
Strange stares.
“…That’s never happened before,” he mutters.
You grin. “I like it already.”
⸻
Your first week is a mess.
You trip over artifacts. You spill enchanted ink on a centuries-old scroll (Strange almost combusts). You sneeze during a spell and accidentally summon a swarm of butterflies that won’t leave the Sanctum’s attic.
Strange watches all this with ever-growing exasperation.
“Magic requires control,” he says for the third time during training. “Not flair. Not improvisation. Control.”
“I am controlling it,” you grumble, conjuring a faint shimmering shield between your palms. It wobbles. Flickers. It looks a little like magical Jell-O.
“That’s not a shield. That’s a pudding with ambition.”
You shoot him a glare. “I’m still standing, aren’t I?”
He narrows his eyes. “Barely.”
Despite his criticism, he keeps training you. You’re not sure why—maybe it’s Wong, maybe it’s guilt, or maybe it’s the Cloak, which seems to adore you. It regularly drapes itself across your lap when you’re reading or playfully flicks Strange’s ear when he’s being too harsh with you.
You’re beginning to think it’s your most loyal friend.
⸻
The teapot incident is the tipping point.
It begins innocently: you’re in the kitchen, trying to make chai. You’ve always hated using regular methods—what’s the point of magic if not convenience?
So, you enchant the teapot.
Just to pour itself. That’s all.
Unfortunately, you accidentally use a partial personification spell.
The teapot grows legs.
Then arms.
Then declares itself the Tea Emperor of All Dimensions.
You scream. The teapot hops off the counter and begins converting mugs into soldiers.
By the time Strange storms into the kitchen—robes swirling, hands glowing with crimson light—the teapot has established a small monarchy near the sink and has started barking orders at a stack of possessed sugar cubes.
Strange takes one look and says, “What. The hell. Did you do?”
“I just wanted chai!”
He runs both hands down his face. “It’s wearing my cloak!”
The Cloak had, in fact, wrapped itself around the teapot like a royal robe. It looked very proud of itself.
It takes nearly an hour to subdue the teapot—Strange chasing it down with teleportation circles, you singing a calming spell under your breath, the Cloak occasionally tripping Strange for comedic effect.
When you finally reverse the spell and the teapot returns to its inanimate, ceramic form, you’re sitting on the kitchen floor, panting.
Strange looks at you.
You look at him.
You both burst into laughter.
It’s the first time he’s laughed around you.
You’ll remember that sound for weeks.
⸻
The dynamic shifts after that.
Training becomes less of a chore and more of a challenge. He teaches you better now—not just barking commands but demonstrating techniques, sharing the logic behind sigils, even making dry sarcastic jokes to see if you’re paying attention.
You surprise him with your creativity.
He surprises you with his patience.
One night, you find him in the observatory. He’s alone, surrounded by stars cast through the enchanted glass dome.
He looks up as you enter, but says nothing.
You sit beside him, pulling your knees up. “Couldn’t sleep either?”
He shakes his head. “Too many memories in this place.”
You’re quiet a moment, then ask, “Do you regret becoming the Sorcerer Supreme?”
He doesn’t answer right away.
Finally, he says, “No. But some nights, I miss the man I was before all this.”
You tilt your head. “Stephen Strange, world-famous neurosurgeon. Arrogant. Brilliant. Alone.”
He lets out a quiet breath. “Exactly.”
You turn to him. “You’re not alone now.”
He looks at you. The stars reflect in his eyes.
“I’m not?”
You smile. “No. You have Wong. And a Cloak that judges your fashion. And me.”
He huffs softly. “You nearly destroyed the Sanctum with a teapot.”
“I also fixed it. Eventually.”
A beat of silence passes. The Cloak floats in from another room and gently rests over both your shoulders like a blanket.
Neither of you speak.
But you feel it—that shift in the air.
The tension softening into something unspoken.
⸻
Then comes the breach.
A corrupted mirror dimension spell opens a rift in the Sanctum. The walls shudder. Portals flicker. You’re fighting alongside Strange on the second floor, flinging wards and defensive runes as a shadow creature claws its way into your plane.
“Y/n! Close the breach!” he shouts.
“I don’t know how!”
“Yes, you do!”
Your hands shake. The sigils blur in your mind. But you look at him—his eyes steady, unwavering—and suddenly, you remember.
Control.
Not chaos. Not instinct.
Focus. Precision. Intention.
You press your palms together, breathe, and draw the closing circle.
The breach snarls—yes, snarls—and then folds in on itself like a collapsing star.
Silence crashes down.
You collapse to your knees, trembling.
Then Strange is at your side, pulling you into his arms. “You did it,” he whispers.
You look up at him, dazed. “I didn’t think I could.”
He brushes your hair back. “I knew you could.”
Your breath hitches.
So does his.
But neither of you moves—yet.
⸻
The Sanctum Sanctorum was unnervingly quiet at night.
It wasn’t the kind of silence you found in ordinary places. It was… alert. Like the building itself was holding its breath. A sort of mystical hush that made the hair on your arms rise if you lingered too long in the wrong hallway.
But the library?
The library felt safe.
Warm light glowed from the enchanted chandeliers above, bathing the shelves in a soft golden hue. The scent of parchment and sandalwood lingered in the air—comforting. Familiar. You had a habit of sneaking in here past midnight, when the world was asleep and the chaos of magical training wasn’t looming over you like a judgmental storm cloud.
Tonight was no different.
You stood near the tall shelves in your favorite corner of the room, craning your neck to read the spine of a book on the top shelf.
“Come on…” you muttered, stretching onto your toes. Your fingers barely brushed the binding.
Typical. The one spellbook you needed had to be six feet up, guarded by dust and pure spite.
You sighed, stepped back, and stared up at it. “Alright. We’re doing this the hard way.”
Behind you, a gentle rustle stirred the air. A familiar flutter of enchanted fabric.
You didn’t need to turn around to know.
“I didn’t ask for help,” you said aloud.
The Cloak of Levitation ignored your sass and floated up to the shelf like a dutiful assistant, tugging the book free with a flick of its hem. It drifted it down into your waiting hands with a flair that could only be described as smug.
You grinned. “Thanks, buddy. Always dependable.”
The Cloak swirled playfully around your shoulders, brushing your cheek before flitting off again like it had better places to be. Probably tormenting Strange’s wardrobe.
“You talk to the Cloak more than you talk to me.”
You startled. The voice came from the hallway—smooth, deep, laced with just enough sarcasm to sting.
You turned, clutching the book against your chest.
Stephen Strange stood in the doorway, his robes slightly rumpled, his hair even more so. He looked like he hadn’t meant to run into anyone but wasn’t surprised to find you there.
You smirked, recovering. “That’s because the Cloak listens.”
He arched an eyebrow and stepped into the room slowly, his arms crossing over his chest. “It listens because it doesn’t have a choice.”
“And yet, it still has better manners than you.”
He stopped a foot away, staring at you with that unreadable expression he always wore—like he was analyzing your every move, but not necessarily judging. Just… watching.
You tilted your head. “Can’t sleep either?”
He didn’t answer right away.
Instead, he nodded toward the book in your hands. “That’s not light reading.”
You looked down at the worn cover. ‘Mystic Frameworks of Multi-Planar Barriers’. “No,” you admitted. “But I was curious. You said planar shielding was one of my weaknesses.”
Strange’s mouth quirked. “I also said you had a tendency to blow holes in reality because you rush your spells.”
You rolled your eyes. “It happened once. And it was a small hole.”
“Tell that to the stray basilisk that came through.”
“Okay,” you said with a shrug, “that one’s on me.”
There was a pause.
The kind of pause that wasn’t awkward—just filled with things neither of you had the nerve to say yet.
Then:
“Y/n.”
Your name left his lips so softly it made your heart stutter.
You blinked. “Yeah?”
He opened his mouth—closed it again. Took a breath.
“I need to say something.”
His tone was different this time. Not mocking. Not commanding.
Just… honest.
You took a step forward. “Okay.”
But before either of you could continue, there was a sharp shove against your back.
You yelped as you stumbled forward, colliding into a solid chest.
Stephen caught you immediately, his arms instinctively wrapping around your waist.
Your hands landed against his chest. Warm. Steady. His heartbeat beneath your palms betrayed nothing, but yours was thundering like a runaway train.
“The Cloak,” you whispered, breathless, “is matchmaking.”
You could feel his breath against your forehead. Close. Too close.
“I swear,” he murmured, “it’s usually not this aggressive.”
You looked up. Your noses were almost touching. His eyes searched yours—not with the calculation you were used to, but with something softer. Warmer.
The air between you shimmered. Electric. Like a spell suspended mid-cast.
Neither of you moved.
Until he did.
His lips brushed yours—tentative, like a question.
You didn’t hesitate.
You kissed him back.
Slow. Careful. Like the two of you were afraid the moment might break if you moved too fast. Your fingers gripped the fabric of his tunic; his hand slid up to cradle your jaw.
The library around you faded. The silence grew deeper. Not oppressive. Not magical.
Just… intimate.
When he pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours. His breath was a little uneven. His eyes were closed.
“You drive me mad,” he said quietly.
You chuckled against him. “You’re not exactly easy to live with either.”
He smiled—small and real. “But you make this place feel alive again.”
You felt something swell in your chest. Something warm and terrifying.
Your fingers tightened on his robes. “You made me feel like I belong. For the first time in a long time.”
The Cloak, still floating above like an enthusiastic chaperone, curled around you both like a blanket.
You didn’t say anything else. You didn’t need to.
⸻
The next morning, Wong caught you both in the kitchen.
Stephen was sipping coffee at the counter while you leaned against him, half-asleep, wearing one of his robes. The Cloak fluttered behind you like it was proud of itself.
Wong took one look and muttered, “About time.”
Stephen choked on his coffee. You buried your face in his shoulder and laughed.
⸻
The weeks that followed were… different.
There was a softness to your routine now. A rhythm that hadn’t been there before.
Training sessions still involved sarcasm, occasional fire, and the occasional near-death experience, but now there was laughter in between. Coffee shared in the mornings. Books passed across the table with fond glances. Late nights spent talking in whispers on the observatory floor, watching stars spin overhead.
You were still messy. He was still grumpy. Wong was eternally unimpressed.
But the Sanctum Sanctorum no longer felt like a gilded cage full of relics and echoes.
It felt like home.
One night, you curled into Stephen’s side on the old velvet sofa in the main hall. The Cloak tucked around both of you like a pet that had claimed its people.
“You ever think,” you asked quietly, “that we weren’t supposed to find each other like this?”
Stephen hummed. “You mean in the middle of magical chaos, talking teapots, and pocket dimensions?”
You smiled. “Yeah.”
He looked down at you. “Y/n… I think we found each other because of it.”
You met his eyes.
And you believed him.
-the end
Amazing Spider-Man #62 - "Out of Space" (2024)
written by Joe Kelly art by Ed Mcguinness, Cliff Rathburn, Mark Farmer, Wade von Grawbadger, Marcio Menyz, & Erick Arciniega
Please Help me!!!!!
I'm trying to find this one fic that I read, where pepper and morgan were the only ones who remembered peter becasue tony put a barrier around the farm house which protected them from magic. Can someone please help me find that fic it would be greatly appreciated.
Doctor Strange (2025) #1
Imagine: America asking you if she can call you and Stephan ‘mom’ and ‘dad’
America’s pov:
I looked at y\n as she was adjusting my pillow. y\n and Stephen kinda adopted me after the whole scarlet witch thing, eve thou they don’t like to call it ‘adopting me’ but they do act like moms and dads.