Someone Like You
Pairing: Doctor!Strange x Fem!Avenger!Reader
Warnings: age gap, flirtation, mentions of tattoos (?), mentions of drinking, strict/overbearing parent. smut: masturbation (m), oral (m receiving), Daddy kink. timeline? canon? never heard of them.
Word Count: 7,581
Reading time: ≈ 28 mins.
A/N: to anon who originally requested dbf!stephen… here you go bestie XD i would reread the first part because things have been revised and edited! pt. 2 will be all the smut you crave. this is very start of their little relationship. and big thanks to @tessieds for the larger plot idea.
You were sitting in one of the old, worn-out chairs in the hospital lobby, kicking your feet back and forth, waiting for your dad. He was supposed to be out minutes ago, but every time the elevator doors dinged open, you were met with another unrecognizable face. That was until those doors dinged open to reveal human perfection in the form of Doctor Strange. You immediately pulled your eyes from the elevator, your cheeks ablaze. Of course he would make it down before your dad.
You couldn't speak to Doctor Strange alone. Not as like... as a rule or anything. Your dad loved the man. Best friends since Strange took up residency under him over a decade ago now. But as in physically, you couldn't talk to him like a normal person. You got all tongue-tied and sweaty and had a really, really hard time not falling into the chasm that were those beautiful eyes. He was just… so fucking gorgeous. A head full of dark hair, bright eyes, full lips, broad shoulders, strong-looking arms, towering over you…
You’d had a little school-girl crush on the man ever since you’d moved to New York to live with your dad. You were promptly introduced to Strange at sixteen years old, all awkward and hormonal. And at the time it was mortally embarrassing and you were a little grossed out with yourself— the three years it’d been since then had done little to quell the embarrassment, but you didn’t feel quite so gross. There was no shame in finding a hot man hot.
But even worse than just being hot, he was hot and cocky. With the brains to back it up. And you could swear every time he spoke to you, he just loved watching you get all tongue-tied. He'd quirk a little half smile as you sputtered and struggled to form an articulate sentence, eventually offering a response to his own question on your behalf. Maybe he wouldn't notice you?
"Y/N?" Came that beautiful deep baritone you heard late at night with you hand between–
Ugh.
You looked up and tried to force a soft smile on your face, though it probably came off more as a grimace. He immediately flashed you that beautiful smile and you were grateful you were sitting, or your knees certainly would have gone weak. He was still in his scrubs. Oh, God. He just looked so dreamy and authoritative and sexy. There was no way scrubs should fit any man that well. It looked like if he flexed too hard the shirt would rip straight off his body.
Oh, that was so going in the spank bank.
"Hello, Doctor Strange." You murmur, toying with the hem of your skirt
"What are you doing here?" He asks curiously
"Oh, well... Dad and I are going to dinner tonight. He was supposed to get off at–"
"Five." Strange finishes for you, "That was before he got in a kid that shoved a dime so far up his nose, they nearly sent him to me instead." Stephen realized very quickly when your face fell, "He didn't tell you?"
You give a weak laugh, "I guess he forgot about me..." You cringe when you realize how sad and desperate the joke sounds, "I just mean– he's forgetful, you know? Not that he… yeah.”
Stephen nods and agrees, "Forgot my birthday ten years running... until last year."
Your face flushed a shade darker as you recalled the dinner your dad had taken Stephen to to celebrate... after you'd reminded him that morning that it was Strange's birthday. You'd been invited. You, your father, Strange, and the woman your father had been talking to at the time— now his girlfriend. His girlfriend that he spent all his time with. She was sweet enough, gorgeous, worked at the hospital with him, but man… she really took a lot of his time.
It was no secret to Stephen that you were lonely. Your parents were separated, your dad up here and your mom in Atlanta. Your friends were... few and far between, your so-called 'boyfriend' was a dick from everything your dad had told him— and Stephen had been told quite a lot. But still better company than none, he supposed. Stephen would offer his own services as company for the night if it weren’t… such an odd thing to do.
If he trusted himself with you.
You were nothing but trouble for the Doctor. Too young, too related to his best friend, too naive. You had the power to singlehandedly disrupt everything that he’d worked so hard for. You, who was just a kid not so long ago. But well… time had certainly won that battle. There was no doubt you had grown into a beautiful young woman. Shy and underconfident perhaps, but very attractive all the same. And yeah, such an observation was left better in his own mind— and it had been. He would never admit to another soul the things he’d started thinking about you in the last year or so. But oh…
He’d been thinking.
And what he thought about when it came to you wasn’t kosher, to say the least. Most of his thoughts of you came late at night in bed with his hand tugging at his cock, or in the shower the same way. The way you blushed and stuttered and squirmed. And he probably should have felt bad… he knew such a reaction was likely due to discomfort and anxiety, but you just looked so pretty like that. Like you did now.
"In that case..." You sigh, grabbing your purse and pushing up from the chair, "guess I'll be calling a cab."
"Well, um..." Stephen clears his throat, "I could drive you somewhere? Back home? Your boyfriends' house... damn, what's his name?"
A few more minutes with you. A few more minutes to find the perfect instance to play back in his mind over and over when he got home and stepped in the shower.
Your face goes cherry red and you shuffle back and forth on your feet, "David? David and I... well, he broke up with me."
The Doctor snorts, "Why on earth–"
To redirect him from having to answer that question you accept, "But I'd love a ride home."
Stephen nods slowly, looking you up and down and noting your outfit. A short, flowy black skirt that was snug around your waist, a sweater low cut in the top, a pair of black boots, and an oversized denim jacket. Your hair was even done in soft waves, makeup natural but there. You looked so sweet.
How could he possibly let you be alone tonight?
"Sure, yeah, I could do that." He nods slowly, "Or uh, if you wanted... I'm sure you were excited for dinner. I could go home and change, and we could go wherever you had in mind?"
He told himself it was just a favor to your dad. No one wants their little girl alone on a Friday night. Who knows where you'd end up without someone to keep an eye on you? And who better than his best friend? Someone he… trusted… more than anyone.
Fuck. Stephen was a scumbag.
You were speechless.
Dinner? Alone? With Doctor Strange? At his invitation?
Stephen took your silence and wide-eyed stare as discomfort and immediately rushed out, "Only if you'd be comfortable, that is. I didn't mean–"
"Oh, no!" You exclaim, "I would love– like... that would be great... good... fine." You stutter out
Strange quirked a little smile, "We'll aim for great."
And that’s how you ended up sitting across from Doctor Strange at your dad’s favorite steak house in Manhattan, trying to pinch yourself awake from this dream, while also ignoring the fact that it was clearly real judging by the slick between your legs. When Strange said he was going to go in and change, you’d expected some khakis and a polo… not navy slacks and an olive-colored sweater that he just looked divine in. He knew how to dress. You were so used to seeing him in scrubs or jeans and a tee, this was delightful.
And he kept rolling the arms of his sweater up, his forearms bulging, biceps straining against the fabric. He’d fussed with his hair some while he was inside, coming back out and apologizing for it looking a mess. There was a single strand out of place. Right up front that kept falling over his forehead, causing him to continuously reach up and run his hand through his hair.
“So, how’s school going?” Stephen asks after the hostess leaves, noticing the way you nervously pull at the tablecloth
“Oh…” You give a little giggle and glance up at him through your lashes, “You know… I always feel so silly talking about school with people like you— dad too.”
Stephen placed his napkin in his lap and leaning forward a bit prods, “Why’s that, Sweetheart?”
Your brain went haywire. Sweetheart? He’d never called you that before. Never, ever. You surely would have remembered that. Maybe it was just a slip?
“Seriously?” You smile, “You and he are saving lives and finding new ways to do it… I’m just good with pens and pencils.” You consider a moment before admitting, “Not that I don’t think that’s not important. The arts are necessary too, just on a different level. And I’m proud of what I can do, but it feels ridiculous to talk about when— well, like I said, you go to work every day and save people. Makes you feel a bit insignificant, you know?”
Stephen knew that a lot of that “feeling silly” probably came from your dad. To say he was displeased when you’d decided to pursue art as a career was… putting it mildly. Your dad was a good guy, but he was high-strung. He worried about you, your future, your finances… the sort of thing kids like him and Stephen get brought up worrying about and consequently never stopped worrying about. But it didn’t seem to get through to your dad that he’d done something right for his daughter to be so disconcerted with the same thing. You felt safe and secure because of him. You felt like you could support yourself and do something you loved at the same time. Stephen admired that.
“Well, it’s not.” Stephen reaffirms, “You’re right, it’s plenty important. Have you decided what you want to do with it yet?”
You worried your bottom lip between your teeth and Stephen desperately wanted to reach across the table and pull it out. You reached up and tucked your hair behind your ear, fiddling with your earring. Stephen couldn’t help but note how the soft candlelight at the center of the table made you look so warm. He didn’t stop looking at you, not as you deliberated, not as the waiter came back and served you your water and Stephen his wine, not when he waved the waiter away murmuring that you needed some more time, and not as he continued to watch you deliberate.
“C’mon, Sweetheart.” Stephen encouraged, “It’s just me, you can tell.”
“You won’t tell dad?”
“I won’t tell your dad.”
“Promise?”
Doctor Strange rolled his eyes but smiled, reached across the table, and offered his pinky, “Pinky promise.”
You smiled shyly and reached over, twisting your pinky around his. Oh. Oh, his hands were big. You withheld a little whimper at the observation. Stephen nearly laughed at the difference between your hand and his own. Weren’t you just adorable? Such a sweet little thing…
You disjoined your pinky from Stephen’s, taking a quick sip of your water before murmuring, “I uh— I’ve been thinking body art.”
Stephen nearly choked on his wine, “Like… as in tattooing?”
You nodded and shrunk back a bit, though there was a small smile on your lips from his reaction. Your dad would so not be down for this. There were a few things Stephen had learned about your dad over the course of their friendship, and one of those things were his preferences when it came to women. You wanna’ guess what one of his biggest turn-offs was?
That’s right, tattoos.
Your dad thought they were trashy. Trashy and cheap. Many more derogatory terms had been used before, but Stephen wasn’t exactly in agreement. He didn’t see the big deal. It was just a little ink, and it was their body. What the hell should it matter? But Stephen could draw a pretty strong inference… if your dad didn’t like tattoos on women in general, he certainly wasn’t going to like the idea of you being the one to put them there. Or God forbid, get one yourself.
Stephen dabbed his mouth with his napkin and continued, “Is that it? Just a tattoo artist?”
“Well, I’ve been thinking about it a lot. And first of all, it’s not just tattooing anymore. It’s body art, piercing, cosmetic tattooing—“
“Sounds like tattooing…” Stephen teases with a grin
“Yeah, well it is!” You giggle, “But it’s not… it’s a whole different process, okay? And I wanna learn it all.” You pick at your nails, “I just… I know starting off it’s not exactly lucrative, but in the long run, I think it’ll turn out alright. Who knows, I may end up somewhere crazy reputable? Or I could even open my own place. A-and I’d never be bored. And after some time I’ll get to a point where I only have to take the jobs and do the work that I really want to do. Creative freedom, free time, freelancing my other work still.” You shrug and glance back up at him nervously, “It just makes sense.”
Stephen takes a long sip from his glass before trying to gently dissuade, “It sounds perfect for you, it does. But is a tattoo shop going to hire someone who doesn’t have tattoos themselves?”
Stephen thought he was going to pass out when you gave a little smirk and murmured, “Who says I don’t...”
You let out a laugh at the way Doctor Strange just sat there blinking at you. You smiled when you noticed his cheeks turning red… he never had been a fan of being wrong, but you’d managed to catch him off guard.
“W-well… what… when…” Stephen stuttered out, before succumbing to the inevitable, “where?”
“The first one I got the day I turned eighteen. It starts right about here…” You reach across your body and point at the very upper part of your ribcage, parallel to your chest, “and it wraps under here.” You trace your finger along the underside of your breast, which Stephen watches with great interest before realizing just how great his interest must appear and redirecting his attention to your face as you explain, “Olive branch, fine line, love it to death. The second is another fine line, got that as a present for making it through the first year of college, on my sternum… a sort of north star design I drew up as an accent for a larger work and really loved.” You could see the Doctor’s face growing redder and realized, “Oh, Doctor Strange, I’m sorry… I should have asked— I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable!”
Doctor Strange shook his head, “No, no. You’re… it’s fine.” he gives a little laugh, “You’re just normally… much shier than this.”
You feel your own cheeks heat up, “I guess I just get excited talking about it, I never get to, you know? Dad would kill me if he knew…” You flit your eyes back up to Stephen, “And I would like to live a few more years of life.”
“Secret’s safe with me…” Stephen reassures, “Is it just those two?”
You force back a smile at his genuine interest, “One more… just got it a few weeks ago, after the breakup.” You snort, “Maybe not as cheap as a therapy session, but super fun.”
Stephen chuckles, “Alright, where and what?”
“Well, this one was just sort of silly and… and I just thought it’d be funny and cute.” You giggle, “It’s… it’s on my ass.” You watch as Strange forces back a smile, “And it says ‘bite me.’”
Stephen couldn’t have held back his laugh if his life depended on it. Fucking perfect.
“That… that’s a good one. Sure he’d have loved to see it.”
Stephen sure would.
You give a little huff and roll your eyes, slinking down in your chair and muttering, “Yeah, that was like… the whole issue.”
Oh?
Oh.
“Oh.”
You looked up to find Strange staring at you seriously. He sits up straighter in his seat and leans forward, studying your face intently. You weren’t sure what he was looking for, but you didn’t guess he found it, as his brow furrowed, lips turning down in a frown.
“Y/N… he didn’t… hurt you?” Stephen suggests quietly, “And I need you to be honest with me, Sweetheart. Tell me the whole truth.”
You swallow hard and look away, “I mean, he never… he’d stop when I asked him to, he just never asked in the first place.” You shift in your seat, “I just— it’s not like we never did anything— he just wanted to do a lot more and go a lot farther than I was willing to right now, and…” You shrug, your hands coming up to smooth over the tablecloth, “He gave me an ultimatum revolving around it at the start of the month and I refused, so he ditched me.” You give a shaky exhale, “And I know that’s for the best, really, but it doesn’t stop it from hurting any less, you know?”
“Sure, but for what it’s worth…” You startled as the Doctor’s hand came over one of your own fussing with the table cloth, “I’m really proud of you for doing what was best for you.”
You nod, looking down at Strange’s hand over your own. Though over your own implies that you could see your own beneath his, and you couldn’t, but it was there. He was touching you.
Holy shit he was touching you!
“I-I uh…” You stutter, “Thank you, Doctor Strange. That’s nice to—“ A wave of panic washes over you, eyes going wide as you look up to him, “I uh… my dad doesn’t know that I— well, he knows I have… more so had— a boyfriend, obviously, but he doesn’t know that I…” You trail off
Your face was tilted downward, Stephen suspected to hide your blush though he could see it clear as day. Stephen knew what you were trying to say. Much like the tattoos, your father anticipated nothing but pure innocence from his little girl. The idea that she would engage in any sexual act, even at the age of nineteen, would be completely unacceptable. Though it sounded to Stephen that what you had engaged in was very minimal. He took his hand from yours gently and pulled his chair closer to the table.
“Again, secret’s safe with me, Y/N. You’re a legal adult and nothing you’ve told me you do is illegal or harmful to your health.” Stephen smiled when he saw the tension fall from your shoulders, “But just so we’re clear, if you are having sex or plan to any time soon you should be using protection and—“
“Doctor Strange!” Your eyes blow wide and you whip your head around to see if there’s anyone nearby
Stephen couldn’t help but laugh at the reaction, “Well, Sweetheart, if you can’t talk about it, you shouldn’t be doing it.”
“I… can! I just— not with you!” You choke out, bringing your hands to your cheeks which have caught fire
Stephen chuckles and takes another sip from his glass, “Well, as long as you have someone to speak to about the subject.”
“My mom.” You agree, “She’s never been as strict as dad, you know?” Your brow furrows a bit, “I think… I think I’m going to talk to him about moving to Atlanta with mom for a few years.”
“Oh?”
“Well, we both know dad won’t let me start an internship at a tattoo shop while I live with him—“
“Wow, okay. You’re serious about that.”
You give a little huff, “Imagine that. I actually have brain cells and can think for myself.”
Strange gives you a stern look, “That’s not what I meant.”
“Sorry…” You murmur, “Just sounds like him. But yes, I am serious. And it’d be easier to get into the scene in Atlanta or Athens… their state university is in Athens, big crowd. And maybe with mom I can start… actually living. Instead of straight to school and straight home.”
Strange’s brow tensed, “I mean, I knew he was sort of hard on you, but is he that strict?”
“Doctor Strange, it wasn’t far off from the truth when I said he’d kill me if he found out I had tattoos. He wouldn’t actually, of course, but I don’t put it past him to put me on the street. My dad is… my dad has done right by me. He has taken great care of me, provided for me beyond what he had to, given me the opportunity for a great education, I’m not blind to that. He loves me and he is so proud of me…” You hesitate and take in a deep breath before whispering, “As long as I’m doing exactly what he wants and pretending to be this perfect paradigm of a daughter. He is so controlling. I will never get anywhere if I stay here.”
The sentiment struck a little too close to home for Stephen.
“Speaking as his best friend, he’ll miss you if you go.” Stephen offers, “But speaking as one human to another, if you think that’s what’s best for you… it’s what you should do.” He shrugs, “I wouldn’t have gotten far without leaving home.”
“Where is home?” You ask, placing an elbow on the table and propping your chin on your hand
“Home is here now.” Stephen says, “Home was Iowa.”
“Did you… get along with your parents?”
“No.” He says flatly, “Not at all.”
You hesitate before trying, “May I ask why..?”
Stephen takes a deep breath in. How much is appropriate to share and not? How close can he let himself get? How much can he let you in?
“Dad was abusive. Mom was neglectful.” He states simply, “Just… wasn’t a good environment.”
You give a little nod, “I’m sorry— I know you probably hate to hear that, but I am.”
“That’s alright. Turned out okay, didn’t I?”
“Hm… from what I know.” You agree with a little bit of a teasing smile
“And it’s best for both of us if you don’t know the rest.” Stephen smiles back
You laugh and Stephen’s heart skipped a beat. What a pretty sound, what a pretty smile. A real smile, not that timid one you usually gave him. When the waiter came back to take your order, Stephen allowed it. He also noticed the way you kept glimpsing at his glass of wine from time to time.
He smiled softly and offered, “Would you like a sip?”
“Hm?” You asked, drawing your eyes back to Stephen
“My wine. You keep looking at it, would you like a sip?”
“Oh…” You laugh, “I’ve just never had it, I don’t drink. I know Dad and Christine like it— white at least.”
“Red is better.” Stephen says, taking the glass and holding it toward you carefully, “You wanna’ try?”
You reach across the table timidly before reminding Stephen, “I’m only nineteen.”
“I know. But a sip won’t hurt.”
You took the glass gently, feeling sparks against your skin as his fingers brushed your own. You brought the glass to your nose and gave it a sniff, tilting your head. You looked around quickly before taking a small sip. Stephen gave a little chuckle at the way your nose scrunched up, the laugh turning into a smirk as your tongue darted out to lick at your bottom lip.
“I don’t think I get it.” You say passing the glass back to Stephen
Stephen reached out and let his hand linger against your own for a moment too long before informing, “It’s an acquired taste.”
“I think I’d like it better if I couldn’t taste the alcohol.”
He quirks a smile, “Juice… you want to juice.”
You flush at how childish the admission made you seem but murmur, “Maybe…” And changing the subject while the two are still on your mind, “How are they? Dad and Christine, I mean. If you… if you think it’s your place to say. I never really hear about them, Dad and I don’t really talk like that, you know? But I want him to be… happy.”
“You don’t think Christine makes him happy?”
You hesitate before admitting, “No, she’s fine. She’s just a bit… young for him.”
“Ten years isn’t as large a gap at our age as it is at yours.” Stephen defends your father, “More appropriate, at least.” He tacks on to the end as a reminder to himself
And ten years and nearly twenty were two very different things.
“Well, yeah, but I still— I feel like they’re in two different places. Dad has already done his whole stint with the family thing… I don’t think he wants any more kids. And unless Christine isn’t looking for children… and she seems like the kind that would— which I guess is wrong of me to assume, but she gives me that vibe, y’know?” You look back up to Stephen and apologize, “I’m sorry, I know I should just talk to him about it, but he is so awkward with the relationship discussions.”
“Well, does he seem happy to you?”
“He seems the same as he ever has.” You look off into the distance pensively, “I don’t know what that’s supposed to mean. And maybe I’m just too young and have my own idealized version of what it’s supposed to look like…” You trail off
Stephen leaned forward and asked curiously, “And what is it supposed to look like?”
“I dunno’… not as cold as it seems with them sometimes? They hardly ever touch each other or see each other outside of work. She comes over and then leaves instead of saying the night. And I guess I just expect it to feel… warm and fuzzy. And I know things can’t be perfect all the time, but I feel like they should be closer than they are. It’s been almost two years. Is that naive?”
Stephen considers a moment before answering honestly, “I don’t know. I’m not exactly a great authority for this sort of thing.”
“What? Love?”
“Yeah, that.” He smiles shyly, You give something like a snort and look away with a roll of your eyes and Stephen scoffs, “What was that?”
“I just don’t believe you—“ You cut yourself off and shake your head, “I don’t know if I believe that someone like you doesn’t know about love.”
“Someone like me?” Stephen smirks and teases, “Now what am I exactly?”
You clear your throat, “Good job, good finances… attractive.” You mutter at the end
“What do you know about my finances?” He asks
“Well, I was just in your car… and Dad says you have a nice place, and you know if he says so it must be nice.”
Stephen chuckles and picks up his glass, a twinkle in his eye as he murmurs, “And you think I’m attractive?”
“I—“ A furious blush covers your face and you stutter out, “I- I mean… well, yes.” You reach up and tuck your hair behind your ear, ducking your head, “I just— anyone with eyes can see that, Doctor Strange. S’only a fact.”
Stephen felt a bit bad about the state he’d put you in with the question and apologized, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be asking you things like that.”
“That’s alright, I shouldn’t have said it in the first place.” You say, face flushing a shade darker, “I was just trying— you must have a girlfriend or two.”
“Girlfriend?” He snorts, “No, not… not exactly.”
“Not exactly? What does that mean?”
Stephen tilts his head at you and gives you a stern sort of stare, “What do you think it means?”
Your brows tense for a moment before your eyes go a bit wide. You duck your head, but not before Stephen sees the small smile on your lips.
“Oh, I see. So the tabloids don’t lie?”
Stephen huffs, “Don’t tell me you read that trash.”
“I may take a glimpse when I’m in line at the grocery store sure.” You shrug, “Great entertainment value. Have there really been that many women?”
Stephen was shocked by your forwardness, a little laugh escaping his lips, “Now, Miss Y/L/N, is that a strictly appropriate conversation for us to have?”
“You were trying to give me the sex talk not an hour ago.”
“That’s different!” He argues, “I just want you to be safe— bad decisions happen when you’re young and having sex!”
“Doctor Strange, I’m not having sex— I’ve barely…” You huff, “Can we not talk about this, please?” You beg, “I really, really don’t need to talk about this with you.”
“Well, you can’t talk about it with your dad.”
“Again, I have a mom.”
“Would you finish school in Georgia?”
“Oh, yeah. I like school.” You agree, “And I can start my internship at the same time.”
“Won’t you miss your friends?”
You give a little shrug, “I don’t exactly have friends to miss. Acquaintances, people I’m friendly with, but no one it’d kill me to leave behind. Again, I don’t really get the opportunity to meet people outside of school, and Dad would flip his lid if he did meet the people I hang out with.”
“What’re they like?”
“They’re… a diverse bunch. Physically, mentally, morally… it just wouldn’t go over well.”
“Hm…” Stephen muses, “Well then maybe it would be for the best you go live with your mom. Maybe you end up loving Atlanta?”
“I think I’d learn to.” You agree, “But I would want to come back. I love New York, I know this is where I want to end up in the long run.”
“Well, wherever you end up, I hope it’s exactly where you want.” Stephen says earnestly, “You’re a good kid and you’ve been given an opportunity to make a great life for yourself. I know you’ll use it well.”
You smile at him softly and nod, “Thank you, Doctor Strange.”
Stephen dropped you off at your place… the place you and your dad lived together. He walked you to the door and had to use all his willpower not to ask if there was something else you wanted to do, somewhere else you wanted to go. He’d have taken you on something like a real date, though neither of you would have ever called it that. But it would have felt that way. He’d enjoyed his dinner with you. He’d gotten you to open up and talk to him about everything; Family, friends, school, morals… life. And you were more than the pleasant that he’d always known. You were kind and genuine and refreshing.
And afterward, he returned to his own place, the penthouse dark and feeling so devoid of life. And he wondered what it might be like to have someone like you— warm and fuzzy— there to greet him. There to talk about his day and make dinner with. Someone to sit in his lap and hold for just a while; Small, soft, gentle, shy. And you were so beautiful. He’d seen you from every angle tonight, putting his photographic memory to good use. The soft candlelight, the street lamps as you’d both walked through the dim parking lot— you’d walked so close to him, head on a swivel, always looking for danger. He’d wanted to tell you that you were safe with him. You didn’t have to be on guard. He could protect you.
God, he wanted to.
He wanted to protect you and care for you and give you that warm and fuzzy feeling you were so excited to explore. Wanted to show you the life you’d been denied thus far living under your father’s roof.
Stephen stripped out of his clothes, leaving them in a pile on the floor outside of the shower. He turned the hand of the shower all the way to the left, letting the water burn his skin, watching as the steam crept up the glass. And he lost himself in a fantasy of the two of you, your inexperience, your innocence, how he would treat you.
How before you left for New York you’d show up at his doorstep, red in the face, embarrassed, but desperate. Desperate for him. And oh, how he’d be just as desperate for you. You’d find yourself in the living room, wrapped in his arms as he tilted your head back, placing rough kisses up and down the column of your throat, already forcing sweet little noises from your mouth. Your hands in his hair as his groped at your hips and ass. A very nice ass from what he’d caught glimpses of tonight.
“Doctor… please.” You’d beg, even if you weren’t sure what for
“What do you want, Baby?” He’d whisper
“Will you teach me… will you show me how to make you feel good?” You’d whisper shyly, face flushing that pretty shade of pink
He’d trail your hands slowly down his body, bringing them to a stop at his zipper, “Take these off first.” He’d instruct
And you would eagerly, unbuttoning his pants and unzipping them quickly, staring up at him the whole time; Your sweet gaze completely enrapt, focused entirely on him. Maybe you’d surprise him a bit, sinking to your knees as you stripped the denim from his legs. You’d look up at him at a loss for what he wanted next and he’d show you, taking your hand and running it across his erection. You’d flush and look away, a bit ashamed of the act.
“Look at me, Sweetheart. It’s okay. You aren’t doing anything wrong.” He’d reassure, cupping your cheek gently, pulling at your bottom lip with his thumb, “Take those off for me.”
You’d nod and bring your little hands up to the waistband of his boxers, pulling them down slowly. When they were in a pool on the floor he’d watch as your eyes went wide, lips parting slightly.
“You’re… so big.” You’d whisper, “I don’t know… what if I can’t—“
“You can, Baby.” Stephen would encourage, “You’re going to make me feel so good. That’s what you want, isn’t it?” You would nod eagerly, swallowing hard and staring up at him all wide-eyed and innocent, “You’ve never done this before?” You’d shake your head no, “What a sweet little girl you are. Been saving it for someone special? Who did you want to use this pretty little mouth for the first time?”
Stephen sighed and leaned back against the shower wall, reaching to the side and getting a small pump of body wash. He brought his hand to his half-hard cock and started massaging it slowly, throwing his head back. Him. You were saving it for him…
“You, Doctor Strange.” You’d whisper, “I want you.”
Stephen would smile at you and run a hand over the top of your head, “That’s such a good girl. You wanna be my good girl?”
Stephen shocked himself when your answer was, “Yes, Daddy.” The name caused him to groan aloud, the sound echoing off the walls
It shouldn’t have shocked him like it did. Like he said, he wanted to protect you, care for you, have you... so innocent and sweet and willing for him.
Stephen smiled down at you softly, “Go ahead and open your mouth for me.” You open your mouth and Stephen chuckles, “Wider than that, Baby Girl… and stick out your tongue.”
You give a shy little giggle and open your mouth wider, sticking out your tongue and staring up at him wide-eyed. Stephen grabbed the base of his cock like he would in his fantasy. The way he would shift his hips forward, relishing in the way the warm saliva would feel against his head.
“Suck on it soft. Like you would a lollipop.” He’d instruct, “Be careful with your teeth.” You’d close your lips around him slowly, suckling gently at first and he’d praise, “Good Girl. Use your tongue too.”
Stephen ran his hand over his soaped-up shaft and toyed with his head gently, emulating what it might feel like. But he knew it would feel much, much better if it were you. The way your tongue would swirl around his head, the way your lips would start to glisten with your own saliva, pretty eyes staring up at him the whole time.
“That’s it, that’s my Good Girl.” He’d coo, “Now stop for a second and let me have your hand.” You’d hold it up to him and Stephen would demand, “Spit in it.” You’d do that too— shyly, embarrassed by such and improper act— and Stephen would wrap your hand around his base, keeping his own on top of yours for the time being, “You’re gonna stroke me up and down…” He’d say starting to guide your hand across his length, “Use a little more pressure than that… there you go, that’s a Good Girl. Now put it back in your mouth, suck it like a lollipop again.” You’d lean forward and take his tip in your mouth once more, your eyes fluttering closed as you tasted the precum beading on his tip, “You’re gonna stroke Daddy’s cock and suck on his head, just like that. You can do that for me, yeah?”
You’d nod and take his head out of your mouth to reply, “Yes, Doctor.” Before resuming your work
Stephen started stroking himself slowly but firmly, moaning aloud. He liked building himself up, liked the drama and tension of it all. He’d hold the back of your head, his fingers buried in your head pulling gently.
“Now lick the whole thing, make it messy and wet. Doesn’t have to be pretty, Baby Girl.”
You’d let him go with a little pop and lean forward, stilling your hand and running your tongue flat and soft up the entirety of his length, working all around him. You’d be smart enough to return to his head from time to time, suckling gently before returning to your lapping.
“Very good. Now try to take it in your mouth, just a little. Keep using your tongue and use your hand for what you can’t take.”
You’d nod and take a deep breath, opening wide and taking him only a quarter of the way. He’d just be too big, you’d be too intimidated. That sweet little mouth only capable of so much for the time being. But that’d be alright, he’d be patient with you— gentle— like you deserved. You’d start bobbing your head slowly, little by little learning how to take more and more. Your hand still stroking what you couldn’t fit in your mouth, eyes still transfixed on his face. Your other hand would be on his hip, fingers digging into the skin gently, trying to ground yourself.
You’d get braver little by little and when he saw you were comfortable he would ask, “Can I take control?”
You’d pull away from him and ask hesitantly, “W-what are you doing to do?”
“I’m going to use this pretty little mouth…” He’d trace your bottom lip with his thumb, now wet with your spit, “All I need you to do is keep your mouth open for me. You seem to do that well enough.”
You would blush but agree, “Yes, sir.”
“I won’t hurt you. And it’s okay if you can’t take it all. We’ll try again some other time. But you’ll do your best for me, won’t you?”
“Yes, Daddy.”
He’d pull your hair into a makeshift ponytail and bring his hips forward once more, “Move your hand, Sweetheart. Let me do the work.”
He’d start gently for you— for both of you, pacing himself— guiding your head up and down his shaft, only ever taking you halfway. And when he got impatient he’d still your head and start thrusting his hips, forcing himself farther in your warm little mouth. You’d get all teary-eyed and look up at him so wanton and lost, squirming on your knees, growing more and more desperate for him.
“That’s it, Baby Girl. Doin’ so good… so good for Daddy…” You’d moan around his length, causing him to groan and pull you off for a moment to catch your breath, “Take a deep breath. I’m gonna’ try to go farther this time.”
And when he did you’d immediately start gagging around him, panicking and pulling away embarrassed, confessing, “I- I can’t it’s too much.”
“You can, Baby.” He’d insist, “It’s okay if you can’t take it all, remember? I just like seeing my cock in that pretty little mouth. Those lips feel so nice.” He’d pull you back to his cock with a little more force, “Open up.” You would and he’d compliment, “Good Girl. Just like that. You just keep that pretty little mouth open and let me fuck your face.” You’d give a little whimper, brows tensing and gagging once more as he touched the back of your throat, “There you go, it’s okay if you choke. You look so pretty gagging on Daddy’s cock. Can’t wait to have you screaming for me—“
Stephen came with a groan. His cum spurt out in thick ropes, painting the shower floor and being quickly washed away. He was panting, his skin sticking to the wall behind him, covered in a layer of clean sweat. He continued stroking himself slowly, working off his high, a sigh falling from his lips as he blinked his eyes open.
It really would be for the best if you took some time away from New York.
You collapsed in your bed and stared up at the ceiling, finding yourself incapable of wiping the stupid grin off your face that had been present nearly all night. God, he was just so dreamy. And sweet and real. You’d heard from more than a few people that Doctor Strange was a bit of an egomaniac, but you were having serious trouble seeing that. Was he cocky? Absolutely. But egomaniac? Far from it.
You wouldn’t have blamed him if he were. He was a god among men.
Fuck, you wanted him so bad.
You groaned and rolled over, burying your face in the pillows and beating your fists against them. What the hell was wrong with you? He was nearly two decades older than you and your dads’ best friend. You were just some kid. Someone he was obligated to look out for.
But that wouldn’t normally include taking someone to dinner, would it?
“Y/N, Hon?” You heard your dad call, “You here?”
You lift your head and called back, “In my room, Dad!” Before face-planting into the pillows once more
There was a pause and the sound of his heavy tread before a gentle knock on your door, “Can I come in?”
“Yeah.”
He pushed open the door and walked into your room, immediately starting, “I am so sorry about dinner tonight, Hon. I just got swamped at work— I kept meaning to call…” He trails off and notes your clothes, “You haven’t been waiting up for me?”
“No.” You disagree, “Only sat in the lobby for twenty minutes before Doctor Strange came down and saw me. He told me what was going on.” You hesitate before adding, “He got me dinner and drove me back here.”
You Dad smiles softly, “Nice of him. He’s a good kid.”
And there lies the problem. Strange was in his early thirties and still a kid in your father’s eyes. You were a baby.
“Yeah, I told him thank you, but you should text him and thank him too. He didn’t have to do that, you know?”
“I will.” Your Dad agrees, “And you can come out to dinner with Christine and I tomorrow to make up for what I missed tonight. She’s been asking to see you.”
You give a soft smile, not really wanting to third wheel but appreciating both of their efforts, “Okay.”
“Well… get some sleep. I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Good night, Dad.”
“Good night, Hon.”
You watched as he closed the door softly, listening carefully until his door shut down the hall. You felt bad— felt awful about the idea of leaving him. He was a good dad. But he was also infuriating. It was nine on a Friday night and you were laying in bed alone, not a friend to call or text, nowhere to go, nothing to do. Your curfew was in an hour anyways, so what would you really do? Nineteen with a curfew of ten o’ clock. There were high schoolers allowed to be out later.
You reached for your phone on your night stand and clicked the first contact in your recent call list, listening as it rang twice before the phone was answered, “Hey Baby!”
You smiled softly to yourself, “Hey Mom. Can I— I want to run an idea by you.”
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