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sobeautifullyobsessed · 2 years

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The second part of 'I'll always be holding you' is going so slowly--so here I am, indulging my impatient need for a wee bit of input by publishing a snippet.

from my Defender Strange x Female Reader fic

here be passion, a taste of angst--and soft Defender Strange

Defender Stephen has returned to Kamar-Taj to discover that the woman he loves had been seriously injured and traumatized, while performing a routine exorcism. After months of mutual longing, they finally give in to the love that has flourished between them.

Your back still rested against the propped-up pillows, while you watched Stephen pull his shirt off over his head and let it fall to the floor, with that same swift grace that always left you speechless. Breathless. And filled with the desire you’d been silently denying could ever be set free. Your mind flashed back to that evening in the sauna and your first sight of him shirtless. How you’d tried so damn hard not to stare at his strong, broad shoulders and his muscular biceps and chest. You had been awestruck by the markings of his battle scars and tattoos upon first sight, but now--knowing him as a man, instead of as hero and leader and the Sorcerer Supreme—you didn’t have to forgo the urge to touch him. To memorize with your fingertips—and later, with your lips—the chronicle of his service, and to cherish each marking with the tenderness which he deserved.

You laid the tips of your fingers upon the thin, vertical scar nearby his tattoo tribute to his sister; later, in the warm and loving afterglow, he would reveal it had resulted from his first encounter with dark magic and it had been a miracle that he’d survived at all. At your tentative touch, Stephen’s eyelids fell shut while his mouth fell open with a soft moan, reminding you how touch-starved he must be. “Tell me,” you murmured, softly tracing along its length back and forth and back again, “If not now, but as our time together unfolds. Tell me the stories behind each of these…”

You laid your palm on his shoulder, to smooth you hand down onto a far fresher weal upon the firm curve of his bicep, “I want to know everything, Stephen. And thank you for every danger that you’ve faced and all the pain you’ve borne for the sake of keeping the world from harm.”

He nodded, opening his eyes to meet yours, pledging as he moved close enough to breathe light, lingering kisses on your cheeks and chin, these promises, “Every secret of my body…every truth that my soul houses…are yours for the asking, Y/N. And my heart I’ll trust to your hands alone.” Stephen was patient as he took your lips, slowly, deeply, stealing your breath. Remarkably gentle as his tongue teased yours--drawing a soft sound of relief from your mouth into his, while its thrust gradually grew more insistent. He cupped your face in both hands, again more gently than you had ever imagined he could. You’d seen how strong a man he was, witnessed his imposing physicality, yet the care he took with you now was that of a gardener nurturing the tenderest flower in his care. Your whole being was flush with joy and filled with your willingness to give Stephen whatever he might desire.

He withdrew and you both gasped for breath as one. “My darling…my precious Y/N,” he whispered as he brushed his lips onto your cheek again, softly spoiling your skin with his full, tender lips. You had slid your hand up to the nape of his neck, laying the other laid flat over his heart, lost in the sweet kisses he continued brushing on your face—until you realized he was placing them upon the half-healed cuts that marked your cheeks and forehead from your battle with the demons. Stephen trailed his lips along your jawline too, to linger softly on the bruise marking the shelf of your jaw. “Oh, Stephen…” you sighed, weak with awe to receive such loving care.

Then he moved down to nuzzle your neck and you nested your fingers in his hair. His whiskers only tickled you briefly as you got used to them and they were softer than you’d expected. As heavenly in their way, as everything about him. He’d drifted his hands to your shoulders, painting your throat with soft, moist kisses, while the warmth of his breath made you shiver, in anticipation of the pleasures to come. The give and take of the love it felt like you’d been waiting forever to share. “Mmmmmm…you’re so good to me, darling…”

“And I swear- I’ve only just begun,” he rumbled, and then nosed his way up to graze your earlobe, while sliding his right had down to cup your breast. “Oooo, sweet baby,” he panted against your ear, not even trying to hide his surprise, “You’re not wearing anything beneath this…”

“Mm-uhhh…” your lips parted with a sigh at the gentle flex of his large hand upon you, delighting you in how fully you filled it. “I wasn’t expecting company, you know…”

“Yet…here we are…at last…” The warmth of his breath on the delicate shell of your ear as he trailed off, raised goosebumps cascading across your skin and all down your arms. You felt the raw hunger of his voice as a thrill in the pit of your belly and an unmistakable need at the apex of your thighs...

tagging: @harlekin6 @valkyrieandstrangeridingaragorn @doctorstrangeaskblog

#my writing #Defender Strange x Female Reader #snippet #'I'll always be holding you' part two #'I'll always be holding you'#doctor strange fanfiction #stephen strange fanfiction #doctor strange fan fiction #stephen strange fan fiction

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sobeautifullyobsessed · 3 years

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‘Faith Is My Sword’ - chapter three

a Doctor Strange fic inspired by this piece of art

As he had done to maximize his studies and training in the Mystic Arts, Stephen utilized the Time Stone to spend the equivalent of nearly twelve hours reading the weathered tomes, ancient scrolls, and fragile parchments which Wong had handed over to him—while allowing for only about twenty minutes to pass in the normal course of time. After all, time was of the essence in resolving this mystery and preventing any further loss of life. His medical studies served him well in his research, for what hadn’t been written in old, archaic English turned out to be recorded in Latin; in fact, he had found it easier translating the Latin than ‘ye olde English’. Either way, he was fairly bleary-eyed by the time his research was completed.

Tackling the Ancient One’s History of the Mystic Arts in the British Isles proved intriguing. It had clearly been written by two different hands, the majority of which had been recorded and annotated by Merlin’s apprentice, Morwenna. Stephen assumed this was a feminine name, which didn’t surprise him in the least; in the long and ancient tradition of the Mystic Arts on Earth, women had always been equal in standing, education, and responsibility to their male counterparts, and like men, their rank and accomplishments were arbitrated solely on natural ability, skill level, and personal determination. There was a good reason that both sexes had always been referred to as Sorcerers, and that remained a constant to this day.

Even throughout periods of history when many cultures treated their women as chattel, this value was strictly observed. And it had been the formidable sisterhood of Kamar-Taj’s female Masters that had saved thousands of lives when an alignment of Dark Sorcerers had infiltrated the hierarchy of the Roman Catholic Church and brought about the persecution of midwives and other women of knowledge and healing skills, as witches in league with the devil.

Fortunately for Stephen, Morwenna’s script was clear and concise, and delivered with an astute understanding of those things most vital to the practice of the Mystic Arts—while Merlin’s (who, in all his notations, referred to himself as Myrrdin Emrys) entries appeared as a spidery, sprawling hand, and tended to be meandering and quite self-aggrandizing.

Stephen had been ready to concede that as fascinating as the compendium was, it lacked the information he was searching for, when a single sentence only a handful of pages from the end--and set down in Morweena’s hand--changed his mind and determined his course. ‘Only by use of the most powerful magick, did the young Sorcerer drive the foul Beast into the anciente circle of standing stones and binde it welle, casting it back into the deepe cave from whence it had entered the Worlde.’ An obvious reference to Stonehenge, and too much of a coincidence with where the current trouble had appeared to have begun, for him to disregard.

Still, he was puzzled by the descriptive word ‘young’, wondering if it referred to someone other than Merlin. The history book had painstakingly chronicled the fabled mage’s deeds and the growth of his powers from the viewpoint of his loyal apprentice, so that it seemed to Stephen that Morwenna must’ve had an honest reason to neglect crediting the Master of the Londinium Sanctum with disposing of the creature. Had this been because he had already been trapped in his own crystal cave by the lover who, as a matter of legend, have woven a diabolical spell upon Merlin and seized his powers for her own? And had it followed then, that Morwenna was the young Sorcerer who had actually defeated the ‘foul Beast’?

The reckoning of years was tricky to figure out, as he would need to arrive as closely as possible to the Beast’s initial appearance, and all that Stephen had to go by was a rough estimate. Until he realized that Morwenna had provided him an unwitting map--for throughout the work, she had mentioned important celestial events such as shooting stars, eclipses, and what his hunch insisted was the passage of Haley’s comet. Based on those key historical dates, Stephen did a google search to pin down the month and year almost to the day. Things were swiftly falling into place, and though he wouldn’t share this thought with Wong, it had begun to feel like this quest was one he had been destined to take on, from his first fascination with The Sword in the Stone.

All that was left was to insure he was dressed and equipped to blend into the twelfth century. Stephen’s online search provided a bounty of historically accurate images to base his disguise on. His own tunic and leggings were easily transformed to resemble those of an itinerant healer and practitioner of rudimentary mystic arts. He fashioned himself a pair of well worn leather boots in keeping with the era, and even cast a charm upon himself to lengthen his hair, further fitting in with standard appearances. Cloak would be able to pass as is, and its rich fabric and sumptuous color and construction would reinforce the image he needed to project. Finally, Stephen used a simple but unbreakable spell (by anyone other than himself) to bind The Eye to his essence, so that he could use it while protecting it from detection; he planned to keep it tucked between his sleeveless, light weight undergarment and his tunic.

Stephen’s cover story would be that of a man who had traveled the Holy Land amidst the Crusades, not as a soldier, but as a man seeking knowledge and fortune, and left it having found his vocation. A tale not too far removed from his own experience. He dipped into the Sanctum ‘treasury’--a small utility closet on the third floor that no one ever bothered to lock--for the currency he thought would best serve him. A large handful of modestly sized precious gems and gold nuggets, which he secured in an enchanted velvet sack that only he could access, and then tied it to his sash. Anything else he might need, even weaponry such as the Sacred Sword of the Vishanti, he could easily conjure as the situation might arise.

Oddly, as Stephen’s departure time drew nearer, Cloak had gone unusually silent; that is to say, the almost constant low hum of reactions and suggestions, which it normally made by conveying feelings, seemed to have ceased. After all their adventures and all their time in partnership, Stephen found this unsettling--a feeling reinforced by the vague impression that the ancient relic was experiencing an interlude of reluctant anticipation. He knew it couldn’t be at the prospect of time travel. They’d been through that on enough occasions for Stephen to have proven his ability to handle the intricacies of non-interference in the timeline. But trying to decipher the cause of Cloak’s reluctance was useless, for it remained it’s essentially stubborn self, the same as at such times when it felt some level of opposition to Stephen’s plans.

Though eager to be on his way. he took time enough to eat a full meal, unsure of what odd victuals would be on an Arthurian era menu. Stephen then meditated a while as well, achieving the depth of concentration necessary to work the spell which would send him to his intended time and destination.

When creating a dimensional gateway, one needed to visualize the target as fully as possible. So too with this Time spell, created by the well-revered Sorcerer, Cagliostro--and tinkered upon these past few years by Stephen Strange. As he had no idea what the actual Camelot and it’s environs looked like, Stephen decided to focus on arriving at the time and place where existed a particular person. In this case, as he had gotten such a striking impression of Merlin’s apprentice--rather than that of the Master himself--Morwenna it would have to be. At least he was confident that his extraordinary arrival would not alarm her over much, for initiates of the Mystic Arts learned early on that sudden appearances and disappearances were just part of the experience.

_____________________________

Stephen opened his eyes to find himself in a circular room bisected in the center by heavy velvet draperies, which featured a repetitive series of gold symbols representing the heavenly bodies of Earth’s solar system on a midnight blue background. He wore a little half-smile at the familiar scent that filled this room, just as it did his quarters back in New York, back in the future. Frankincense, sage, and citrus. That alone confirmed that he had indeed arrived in the presence of a fellow Sorcerer trained in Kamar-Taj.

The fitted stone walls told him that he was in a fortress of some sort, the shape of the room an even further clue. Surely this was the turret of a castle or keep. somewhere in Camelot. Or Caerleon, as Morwenna had sometimes referred to it. Stephen heard someone moving about behind the thick draperies, so that he called out to them to alert them to his presence. “I seek the Master known as Myrddin Emrys.” His call went unanswered, though he felt a wariness emanate for the figure on the other side, and he continued, “I have traveled far to consult with him, on matters pertaining to magic.” The silence remained. “Please,” Stephen added, “This is a matter of providing for the protection of a village and its people. Surely Arthur’s own mage would wish to aid me in this endeavor.”

Cloak had tensed around him; if it had been human, Stephen could have sworn that it wanted to flee from whatever waited behind the curtains. Trust me, he thought as clearly as he could, you know I’ve got your back, just as you always have mine. His loyal relic briefly tightened across his shoulders, long enough to signal its acceptance of that promise.

The ongoing silence was broken only by the crackling logs burning in the unseen hearth on the other side of the room, yet still Stephen sensed someone was listening for him. Time to try another tactic, he decided. “By the Sacred and Supreme Vishanti, I swear I mean you no harm. If you understand the meaning of such a vow, then you know I would not make it blithely.”

Apparently, that was the assurance needed, for a woman’s hands parted the drapes, providing Stephen with one of the biggest surprises of his life--and that included the myriad wonders he had encounterd in his forays across the multiverse. The woman’s dark eyes locked on his and for a moment he forgot to breathe. She was a good dealer younger than when he saw her last, and the long, blonde hair that framed her clever-looking face was a shock to behold. “Master Myrddin has gone to the King’s Council,” she told him, the unexpected lilt of her accent indicative that she was native to the British Isles--completely unlike the cadence of the final words she’d spoken to him before her spirit passed into the existence beyond mortal men. “But in the name of the Vishanti, I would be glad to provide you with what help is in my power.”

Stephen was speechless as his mind accepted the stunning serendipity that was part and parcel of the world he moved in, ever since his mentor had taught him to see through his Third Eye. The Ancient One smiled at him reassuringly, “I am Morwenna, apprentice to Master Myrrdin, and in his stead, I will do what I can.”

Chapters 1-3 on AO3

tagging: @strangelock221b @ben-locked @doctorstephenvincentstrange @aelaer @aeterna-auroral-avenger @starkiller-queen @tsukuyomi011 @d0ct0rstrangewife @ravencatart @doctor-stephenstrange @dxctorstephenstrange @doctorstrangeaskblog @battledress @strangesunicornsparkle @letterstosherlock @puddlejumper72-blog-blog @accolatus @splunge4me2art (and I’m going to tag @elennemigo because even though there’s no Molly or romance in this one, I know that you love Stephen very, very much ;-) )

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