Him

Pairing: Corrupted dark! Stephen Strange x apprentice black reader

Rating: Explicit, 18+ only. Minors, ageless, blank, & non-updated blogs will be blocked immediately.

Word count: 5,291 words

Plot: Stephen Strange is lost in the multiverse and it's up to you to find him and bring him home. But what happens if he's changed in a way that you don't recognise?

Warnings: Dead dove do not eat. For 18+ readers, this fic contains dark subjects. Swearing, continual body horror, violence, blasphemy, kidnapping, graphic non-con sex, humiliation and degredation, loss of bodily autonomy. Please heed the warnings and do not read if this triggers you.

Notes: This is based in the Multiverse of Madness universe, though it is canon divergent. Spoilers from the start. Also known as 'can I make Stephen worse than Wanda?' I saw the souls of the damned and immediately had thots. As always, a blend of film and comics.

It had been over a day. Much too long for your teacher to have remained away. A friend had told you the horrible news. Kamar-Taj had been breached. Many were dead and injured, all by the hand of a woman once considered a hero.

Everyone needed your help- Wong, the child from another world. If they were still alive. You couldn’t guard the Sanctum against your enemies, you were still much too inexperienced.

You trawled the books in the forbidden section. Wong wasn’t there to tell you no, and you thought that he would make a rare exception in this case. You couldn’t ride the eddies of magic through the multiverse, but you could adhere a spell to your teacher, the former Sorcerer Supreme.

Hello, yes, I need a doctor, I think I’ve come down with a bad case of the hots for this man. 👀🔞

Tonight’s Horny Headcanon:

You teased him all day, mercilessly at that, saying you had a surprise for him. You gave no indication what kind of wicked scheme you had in store, so you wait until he least expects it.

He’s absorbed in his reading when you come up behind him and slide your hands down his chest.

“Hello there, Doctor,” you say in a sultry whisper. “Your favorite patient is requesting a private appointment.”

He pretends to be reading diligently and answers with a small chuckle. “Oh, is she now?”

“Mhm.” You place kisses down his jawline. “It’s urgent too, a very pressing matter. Think you can squeeze her in?”

“It’ll be a tight squeeze, but I think we’ll manage. What seems to be the issue?”

It’s then you round his reading chair and reveal your outfit to him. A brand new lingerie set covered only by his white lab coat. Stephen’s jaw nearly hits the floor.

“I’ve just had this… ache that won’t seem to go away, and you’re the best doctor I know. Would you help me find the cure, Doctor Strange?”

He sits back in his chair, a tightness already growing in his pants. With a smile, he replies, “It would be my absolute pleasure, pretty girl. I’ll take good care of you, don’t worry. I’ve been told my bedside manner is… superb.”

Doctor Strange - An Out-of-Body Experience (Baby Blues & Tattoos II)

A/N & WC - The love I received on Baby Blues & Tattoos is incredible. Thank you so much for the support. I wasn't planning on making a part two, but I've had so many inbox messages about this, asking me to write a sequel and after some time and deliberation, I did: here it is. This is a celebration and a show of gratitude for 7k+ notes on 'Baby Blues & Tattoos', and for more than 3.5k followers. Though it's a sequel, it can be read as a standalone. 6.9k words.

PLEASE REBLOG!!!

Warnings - Swearing, bickering, teasing, mentions of scars, one mention of vomit, smut: daddy kink, unprotected sex, questionable use of the cloak, oral (f rec), so much choking, panty ripping, mild gagging, teasing, tattoo kink, almost getting caught & mild exhibitionism, he calls reader a prick tease once, and an out-of-body experience. 18+

Summary - You plan on getting Stephen to snap tonight, knowing exactly what you want. But he has wants of his own, and ideas to bring to life, and things he isn't afraid to do in the middle of the Sanctum... (Baby Blues & Tattoos - Part I)

THE SANCTUM GROWS QUIET as the dark creeps in, like an impending mist enveloping the small Bleecker Street building in a blanket of calm. Tonight, with stars twinkling and blinking within view of the Eye, you’re on duty with Stephen—Sorcerer Supreme, and pain in your arse extreme.

“Can you move out of the damn way?” he asks with a huff, floating in mid air, the Cloak of Levitation billowing behind him. He’s reading two books at once, and apparently, by sitting down to enjoy your cup of tea, you’re utterly in his way. His legs dangle, poised, too close to your head for your liking.

“No,” you retaliate, “go around me.”

“Why should I? I’m in charge here,” he says, scoffing as though it’s the most obvious fact in the world.

His baby blue eyes twinkle with venom, but you know your next move will have his pupils dilating until barely a thin ring of cerulean will be left to outline them. You stand up. Boldly, you reach for the reams of belt that tie your robes together and tug, allowing them to unravel, the material falling open and revealing your tattooed body, bare but for some scraps of sheer material one might call underwear. Standing, you approach his descending frame, his feet catching on the floorboards as he lands.

Doctor Strange - Baby Blues & Tattoos

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? PART II HERE!

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.

It’s You, It’s always Been you

Pairing: Stephen Strange x f!Reader

Summary: It’s a known fact that you are in love with Stephen Strange. It’s also a known fact that Stephen Strange is still in love with Dr. Palmer. When Stephen asked you to be his wedding date though, you’re starting to regret your decision. A confession from the doctor himself, changes everything.

Word count: 3.0K (I got carried away, oops)

Genre: angst, unrequited love, confession, overall feels!, and soft smut (of course)

A/N: There’s no major MoM spoilers, just the beginning with the wedding and all that. As much as I love Stephen being a complete daddy in MoM, I need to write me some soft smut. No beta, so if I missed anything, It’s my fault. If you enjoyed this, please please comment and reblog. It just means a lot. Please follow @wint3r-library​ and turn on post notification for fic update.

Strange was getting impatient with you.

You haven’t noticed it yet, but with all your inability to sit still during Doctor Palmer’s wedding, you were getting on his last nerve. 

Another heavy sigh fell from your lips as you sat there beside him, slouching slightly because you really wanted to shift your body. Your fingers fiddled in your laps as you were trying very hard to pay attention to the ceremony, quite unaware of the piercing gaze from the man beside you. 

It wasn’t like you were nervous about being the date to the bride’s ex or anything. You really didn’t need to be there, especially when Stephen couldn’t figure out what his feelings toward Christine were.

There was no doubt that the man looked as delectable as it can be in that suit, and there was no doubt that you would jump at his bones if the opportunity presented itself. However, you needed to stop saying yes to him all the time when you were dying on the inside.

Blow Me Away

Summary: You just discovered that your boyfriend has never had a blowjob before and that’s a travesty. Good thing you’re about to blow his mind.

Pairing: Chubby!Baker Bucky x Reader

Word Count: 3.6K

Warnings: Smut, Oral (m. rec.), Overstimulation, Praise Kink, Bit of Dirty talk.

A/N: Beta’d by the wonderful @late-to-the-party-81 and @cwbucky. Comments and reblogs are golden. 

Gif credit. Banners by@maysdigitalarts

|Masterlist|Chubby Bucky Masterlist| Library|

This is not what you were expecting him to say when you asked him if you could go down on him, eager to finally taste him.

It doesn’t make sense. 

His softly spoken confession lingering in the air like wisps of smoke. 

You almost don’t believe him. Bucky is many things, but he’s not a liar. 

Which means…

“You’ve never had a blowjob?” Honestly, you don’t mean to sound so astonished, but you can’t help the way the words scrape out of your throat, thick with disbelief and confusion. 

You are, though. 

Surprised. 

Baffled.

Who in the right mind would have this Adonis of a man in their bed and not want to wrap their lips around that gorgeous cock of his?

Naturally, he turns several shades of red when you say that aloud as you pace in front of him. 

“I don’t, it’s not that-” he stammers endearingly, rubbing his hand across the back of his neck. Looking up from his perch on the end of the bed, he cringes, brows cinched together. “Can we forget I said anything? It’s not a big deal and I-” He inhales, nipping at his bottom lip, searching for a way to get out of this conversation. “I can eat you out if you want?” 

There’s a hopeful tint to his baritone voice, not that you notice, your eyes locked on his long, nimble fingers plucking at a wayward thread along the seam of his sweatpants. His very grey sweatpants. Showcasing a large, detailed outline of his pretty cock staring at you. 

Smut - Explicit content - NSFW - 18+ only!

Pairing: Doctor Stephen Strange x Reader

Summary: The Doctor will see you now. A fantasy request from your boyfriend leaves you with an ache only he can fix.

Warnings: Smut (NSFW) - 18+ ONLY - doctor kink, praise kink, roleplay, slight dom/sub, oral sex, fingering, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, dirty talk, slight degradation, pet names, language, creampie, porn with minimal plot

As much of a perfectionist as Stephen was, you were surprised when he suggested the two of you play doctor. You knew full well you would probably get any sort of medical jargon wrong. Despite re-watching M*A*S*H multiple times over the years you weren't exactly up to snuff of your surgical speak. 

So you agreed, you would never say no to anything that ended with the two of you fucking, but on the condition that he wasn't allowed to go off on any tangents & had to stay in charector. 

"That's why I want to play doctor & patient sweetheart. You don't have to know anything except that the doctor always knows best... If we decide to play slutty nurse I'll just write you a script." He raised an eyebrow & gave you a cheeky smile reaching to grab a hold of your waist.

You chuckled & moved into his arms. Letting Your hands slide up his chest & around his neck. Yep, there's that perfectionist you knew.

Doctor Strange - Baby Blues & Tattoos

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? PART II HERE!

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.

The Witness (1)

series summary: After witnessing a Hydra hit and the handsome, borderline endearing cop who had become a regular at your bar takes it upon himself to ensure your safety off the books, you learn to rely on someone else for a change and find you don’t mind it at all. Not when it’s him. 

pairing: detective!bucky x reader

word count: 4.5k

warnings: flirty bucky AF, descriptions of violence, v minor character death

author’s note: This is almost more of a prologue to set the story up so its a little time jumpy. But I live for your comments and I’d love to hear what you thought! 

series masterlist 

The first time you met Detective Barnes, it was in the midst of a brawl that had broken out in the middle of your bar. The two men, regulars you had come to know as Jack and Mosely, had been pushing through unsuspecting patrons, knocking over tables and braking glass along the floor with every punch. You mostly ignored it, figuring they’d calm down as they usually did after a hard enough hit to the face. It had taken up until a knife lodged itself into the wooden arch behind your head before you reached under the bar with an aggravated huff and yanked out your rifle, cocking it loudly.

The men froze as you tapped the stock of the gun against the bar, fists clenched in each other’s shirts, blood dripping from the sides of their faces. The onlookers silenced as they all turned to you.

“Take it outside, boys,” you growled, aiming the barrel at the two men. If there was one thing you didn’t tolerate, it was this kind of Neanderthal shit. Punching at one another was one thing, but throwing the knife that had whizzed by your face enough to feel a quick gust of wind? Unacceptable.

No. Weapons.

There was a sign by the door in big red letters for Christ’s sake.

“You know the rules, assholes. Out!”

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