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sobeautifullyobsessed · 10 months

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Of Magic, Miracles, and Moonlight

a Stephen Strange x OFC Romance

genre: pre-Infinity War, slow burn romance, older man/younger woman, teacher/student to friends to lovers characters: Stephen Strange, Wong, Teyla of Hadeeth (OFC), Moraine of Hadeeth (OC), additional OCs as Kamar-Taj staff rating: general audience to begin with, later chapters contain 18+ material

Ngl - I'm really hoping some of the authors in the Doctor Strange x Reader community will be kind enough to give this a read.🥺🥺 Even more so, a reblog - because I'm quite proud of my writing in this work, and I believe it deserves some love. Maybe some love could see me on my way to updating, even finishing, this WIP. It's lain fallow for far too long!

Chapter One

“Stephen, it’s nearly time.”

Wong’s voice pulled him from his scrutiny of the thick, weathered tome that had become his latest project. Since the passing of his mentor, the Ancient One, Stephen Strange was one of very few left in Kamar-Taj who made a regular practice of studying the advanced manuscripts, spell books, and obscure histories, which she had amassed during her centuries of service as the Sorcerer Supreme. His eidetic memory served him equally well in this pursuit, as it had in his previous vocation; as one of the world’s most talented and successful neurosurgeons he had learned the lesson early on—that knowledge was power—though the power he sought now he would wield for a even nobler purpose than those of his previous life.

“Remind me, Wong…it’s nearly time for…” Stephen let his voice trail off with the question, focusing just a few moments more on the script marking the page before him.

“For the arrival of the emissary from Hadeeth, Stephen,” Wong replied, “As well you know. Need I remind you that our alliance with Hadeeth goes back nearly four hundred years?”

“Not at all, Wong. I’m acutely aware—down to the smallest minutiae—of the terms of our accord the with the Hadeethans, having familiarized myself with every scrap of parchment the Ancient One left behind, detailing the particulars of our relationship.” Strange closed the leather-bound book before him, stretched a mite, and then rubbed thumb and forefinger upon his closed eyelids. “I’ve got a rotten case of eyestrain in the process, but I suppose I’m as ready for this as I can ever be,” he grumbled, “Although I’m not entirely certain why I have to be the one to meet with their envoy. A Master with years of experience—and not one with barely twelve months--would surely make a better representative of Earth. Let alone Kamar-Taj.”

Refusing to be pulled back into the ongoing debate, Wong remained impassive. “Of the Masters left in Kamar-Taj, you are the best qualified by virtue of your life experience. And in the absence of a Sorcerer Supreme, a Master of one of our Sanctums is the best that we can offer.”

He clapped Stephen on the shoulder, “Accept that you’re destined for this bit of diplomacy, Stephen. It can’t be anywhere near as complicated as navigating your way through the human brain to excise a pin point sized tumor.”

Strange rose to his feet, favoring Wong with a scowl, “As usual, Wong, your vote of confidence is underwhelming—but I will do my best not to provoke a diplomatic incident with an ally that has had Earth’s back for hundreds of years, and in some hairy situations.”

A young attendant placed the tray with fresh-brewed tea and a sampling of Nepalese delicacies on the low table before him. Without a word, she filled a cup with the hot liquid, and set it down beside the pot, before sliding a plate of almond honey cakes closer at hand to him. Stephen nodded, murmuring his thanks—though he was a little too nervous to partake of one of his favorite dishes. Instead, he stirred a bit of honey into his tea, briefly reflecting on the first cup of honeyed tea he had partaken in this very room, barely more than a year ago. With a shock to his system, he had been quickly educated as to how very much he did not know about the world, the universe, and the human mind and spirit; and since then, he had learned much more than he would ever had imagined of things he’d never even entertained as plausible. He considered himself a work in progress, truly humbled for the first time in his life, when he took into account how much he still did not know.

Yet, he had earned the respect of his peers here and—just moments before her death--the Ancient One had appointed him Master of the New York Sanctum. Strange took that responsibility ever seriously, having seen and experienced for himself the sort of assaults from other dimensions which Earth would be prey to were it not for the ancient protections provided by the band of sorcerers, bound in service to mankind.

The man he once was—before the accident that had deprived him of his livelihood, and the purpose by which he defined himself—Doctor Stephen Strange had the hubris to consider himself the best his specialty had ever known, and the ambition to pursue the loftiest positions of influence and power in his field. Now, as he split his time between New York and Nepal, he was in a constant quest for knowledge that would enable him to do this job to the best of his ability, while never seeking glory for himself. He would not—could not, in fact—allow himself to aspire to the title of Sorcerer Supreme…although more often than not these days, he was given--by some silent agreement (to which he was no party)--the deference and the responsibilities that came with that designation. Today, he would prefer to be a mere rank and file mage—but he could not turn his back upon the service that was asked of him.

Stephen rose when Wong appeared in the entrance way, ushering a stately, robed woman into the room. “Master Strange, allow me to present Mistress Moraine of Clan Kayolo, member of the Hadeethan Ruling Council,” Wong gave her a nod of respect, before moving to Stephen’s side.

Following the formal protocol which the Ancient One had chronicled, Strange bowed at the waist before speaking. “Welcome to Kamar-Taj, Mistress Moraine of Hadeeth. We are honored by your presence, and offer hospitality and friendship to you, and any others under your protection, for however long you sojourn here.”

She bowed in reply, and recited her opening remarks smoothly, her rich voice that of a woman accustomed to oratory, “The honor is mine, Sir. On behalf of my people, and in the name of our alliance, I accept your hospitality, Master Strange.” Moraine paused, studying him closely, before adding, “May the worlds we serve continue to benefit from our partnership.”

Strange motioned her to take a seat, then sat himself, while Wong moved forward to pour tea for the Hadeethan woman; the ensuing silence enough to allow Stephen an observation or two. She was definitely dignified (royalty was the first word that came to his mind), aloof and otherworldly; she wore her thick, silver hair loose and unadorned, for surely nothing could flatter her more than it’s natural glory; and the only subtle sign of age he could discern, were small crinkles at the corners of her pale grey eyes--but since he knew the average Hadeethan lifespan was upwards of 150 Earth years, they gave no clue regarding her actual age. There was a palpable feel of strength of will about her, as though her spine were made of steel. Moraine appeared—in short—to be a power to be reckoned with. He vowed to tread carefully regarding whatever topic she had arrived to discuss.

She sipped her tea, then nodded her approval, “Ah…it’s been far too long since I sampled this welcoming taste of Kamar-Taj. Though I regret I shall never raise my cup with the Ancient One again.”

“Her loss remains a heavy one for us to bear, Mistress Moraine,” he replied, a truth he felt most keenly every day, “And nothing would make me happier than for her to be here in my place.”

“I bear the condolences of my people for the dread passing of a wise leader and constant ally,” she told him, “And for myself, I share in your grief; for I had known the Sorcerer Supreme from my youth—as a teacher, then a mentor, and at the last, a friend.”

“I envy you that,” he admitted, “We all miss her guidance—but we have done our best to go forward as we believe she would see fit.”

Moraine narrowed her eyes, looking for the truth in his reaction, “And you do not seek to guide in her place? To bear the mantle she wore for centuries?”

Stephen shook his head vehemently, “I assure you, I am not that man. And honestly, I can’t think of anyone who could fill her shoes.”

She nodded, pleased with his reply, than raised her cup. “It is always so with the best of leaders. May we all do her proud in the service we provide to our worlds.”

“May we indeed,” he echoed, drinking from his cup as well.

Formalities now aside, Moraine was swift to reveal the surprising purpose of her visit. “I come on a personal matter, Master Strange. ‘Tis my hope you will entertain my request, if not for the sake of relations between our worlds, but for she whom we both miss.”

“I am certain we can accommodate you, Mistress Moraine. The resources of Kamar-Taj are at your service.”

“Even as I had anticipated,” she asserted, wearing a small relieved smile, “As you may know, Hadeeth has a good share of practitioners of the mystic arts. And in our culture, this is a thing well-known, even aspired to. In fact, by long standing tradition, the majority of those who sit on our ruling council are skilled in magic.”

Strange nodded, having gleaned those facts from the Ancient One’s notes, “Magic being the primary reason our worlds are well-suited as allies.”

Moraine bobbed her head in a brief acknowledgement, then continued, “On Hadeeth, we have found that the aptitude for magic, and the strength to wield it properly, are most prevalent in certain bloodlines. As a result, it is not uncommon for a particular clan to hold a council seat for several generations.”

“I take it that is your own experience,” he inferred.

“It is, Master Strange. But seats are not granted automatically—and those aspiring to them must pass a series of tests, unique to the individual.”

“And these tests involve the use of magic?”

“Exactly so—and thus arises my need for your assistance,” she admitted.

A bit perplexed, he might’ve asked, but Moraine had anticipated his question. “Not for myself, Master Strange—for my daughter, Teyla.” And then surprising him, she added, “A daughter of both our worlds.”

Not having known such a mingling of their races was even possible, it took a moment for him to respond, “You’re asking that we train her here, in Kamar-Taj?”

Moraine’s face took on a pleasant sort of softness, clear sign of the depth of her feelings for her child. “She has ever been my greatest treasure, and from the moment in which I discerned that she possessed aptitude for the mystical arts, I had planned to entrust my own best teacher with her tutelage.” She lowered her eyes, her voice become sorrow-tinged, “Who could have anticipated that such a plan would go unrealized?”

Stephen remained speechless, moved by her quiet show of grief. In the months since the Ancient One fell, he had learned things about her he had never expected—always making him long for the fruits of the wisdom she might have shared with him.

Having set aside her sorrow, Moraine looked to him again, firm of purpose, “Teyla’s skill--her strength—lies in the healing of body, mind, and heart. And though this ability is a miracle in itself, it does not suit well the sort of trials she is likely to face in the fullness of time.”

The doctor in him wanted to ask more of Hadeethan healing magic, but the situation would not allow for it—though he made a promise to himself to learn more of their practices when possible, with an eye towards the exchange of knowledge that might enable him to fulfill again that purpose of more than half his lifetime. “What training would best prepare your daughter for these future trials?”

Moraine looked please at his show of willingness, “She will need to develop defensive skills, for both her own safety, and for those who may someday fall under her protection.” She paused, gauging his reaction, and then concluded, “Teyla also possesses a small degree of prescience, although she is not yet capable of employing it at will. She dreams, yet cannot tell when the images may come to pass; she has strong, yet unpredictable, flashes of intuition, which she finds difficult to interpret. This gift is useless to her until she can cultivate the proper wisdom and discipline.”

“There are no teachers on Hadeeth that might guide her?” he asked, “Seers are rare, even in Kamar-Taj. I can’t guarantee our knowledge is enough to guide her beyond the most rudimentary training.”

“They are rarer still, on Hadeeth,” Moraine shrugged, “So rare they come but a handful of times in each generation. Though I am her mother, I haven’t even a touch of that gift.”

Stephen nodded, considering her request a moment. “We will do our best, Mistress Moraine—but in this case, I can make no promise.”

“I understand, Master Strange. And with this understanding, I will entrust you with Teyla’s further education. For the sake of our alliance,” she reminded him, “And for all the hopes a parent has for their child’s safety and happiness.”

They had concluded their meeting by settling upon three Earth days as the interval until Teyla would arrive at Kamar-Taj. “Of course, we’ll need to see what magic your daughter is already capable of, before we proceed with any training plan,” he cautioned her, as he and Wong escorted her back to the courtyard for her departure. “Please be sure she understands what lies ahead.”

“Oh, she is already more than prepared for that,” Moraine told him gratefully, “And she has spent a share of time on Earth--living with her father for several years--so you should find she will easily acclimate to your world.” With that, she drew on her sling ring—the magical tool which the Ancient One had shared with the Hadeethans, in consideration of their partnership—and conjured a portal back to her home world. Stephen could discern very little of what lay on the other side; a room half lit with what could be daylight, vague shapes that were likely Hadeethan furniture.

Moraine turned his way, and bowed low, and then rose to meet his eye. “Please keep in mind, Master Strange, that some of the tests Teyla may come to face are dangerous. I beg you to see she is properly prepared to survive, beyond the training I have already given her. I will be in your debt, and Earth’s, for the remainder of my days—and look forward to the day when I can be of service to your world, in return.” She stepped into the portal, and raised her hand in farewell, closing the circle before he could utter a word in reply.

“Well, this should prove interesting,” Wong observed, “How much experience do you have dealing with teenagers?”

“Barely to none,” Stephen confessed, “And I hadn’t counted on being asked to play a schoolmaster to a rookie sorcerer.”

Wong chuckled, amused at Strange’s befuddlement, “I’m thinking diplomacy will turn out to be child’s play, compared to the task you have ahead of you.”

“Yes,” Steven agreed grimly, heading back to the library to continue his studies of earlier. “And I’d much rather be navigating my way through the human brain, then babysit an angsty adolescent.”

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thehiddenlawyer · 6 years

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I mean if you’re having a long week @sobeautifullyobsessed, have no fear, Ish is here

Link to this gorgeous story:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/11009052/chapters/24527688

#streyla mood board #streyla #of magic miracles and moonlight #sobeautifullyobsessed #doctor strange #Stephen strange #teyla of hadeeth #stephen strange x ofc #ish loves you

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sobeautifullyobsessed · 9 months

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Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Let’s spread the self-love ❤

Thank you so much for the tag, my friend--you know I appreciate every chance I can get to promo my work!

So, five favorites? Honestly, it's hard to choose, as most of my work remains WIPs that are currently languishing for updates. I'm going to exclude my one-shots to narrow down the field - and base this list on both the story and the quality of the writing. Hoping that they might get a little bit of love and some new readers!

Of Magic, Miracles, and Moonlight - Stephen Strange x OFC. Slow burn romance, older man/younger woman, mentor/student, friends-to-lovers. Pre-Infinity War. Contains Mature Content. WIP, currently 19 chapters.

A Khan By Any Other Name - Khan Noonien Singh x OFC. Adventure, danger, angst, romance. Pre-Star Trek Into Darkness. Contains Mature Content. WIP, currently 12 chapters.

The Secret of Salvation - Major Jamie Stewart x OFC. War Horse AU. WW I. Angst, prisoner of war, romance. Contains Mature Content. WIP, currently 5 chapters.

The One That Got Away - Benedict Cumberbatch AU, where he is primarily a stage Actor with some movie/television appearances. Benedict Cumberbatch x OFC. Takes place during a production of The Taming of the Shrew. Castmates to friends to falling in love, slow burn, jealousy, lots of angst. WIP, currently 18 chapters.

Scarlett and the Professor - Tumblr exclusive. An original, erotic, paranormal romance, based on a discontinued roleplay. All original characters. Takes place on an unnamed Caribbean island. Older man/younger woman, professor/student, supernatural elements bringing them together, romance, angst, forbidden desires, light kinks with foreshadowing of darker kinks. Contains Mature Content. WIP, currently 32 chapters, plus two one-shots.

moodboards under cut

(related works: Lady in Red, Though There Be Pain Love Still Endures)

Of Magic, Miracles, and Moonlight

Doctor Stephen Strange's life has settled into a fulfilling pattern; even as Master of the New York Sanctum, he continues his studies in the mystic arts, self-training with the library that the Ancient One amassed in her years as Sorcerer Supreme. An old alliance forged by the Ancient One brings an unexpected request to him, and he is duty bound to fulfill it. Along the way he meets with some pleasant surprises--and discovers that his heart is not immune to the effects of the gentlest sorts of magic.

moodboard by @strangelock221b

Seraphina DiPietro is wise in the ways of the world; she has to be, as she travels the California coast as a torch singer in pubs, bars and nightclubs. She knows how to take care of herself and stay out of trouble--most of the time. When trouble comes, it's usually because her kind heart overrides her common sense. Stopping to check on a handsome stranger, stranded roadside in the Mojave Desert, her curiosity is piqued as much by the classic, mint-looking Mustang, as by the driver--a tall, dark mysterious drink of water, whom she quickly learns is so much more than what he appears.

moodboard by @mel-loves-all

Major Jamie Stewart is a survivor--but sometimes he just needs to escape. The guilt, the pain, the despair; his bitter fall due to folly and hubris. It helps to survive if one has a sanctuary to turn to, a dream to hold onto. A vision of a day--and a woman--that might grant him the salvation he desperately craves.

bookcover for The One That Got Away created by @onebuttscratcher

An actress making her name for herself on the London stage, Virgilia (Vicki) Gordon vows not to follow her usual pattern: falling in love with her leading man. The work comes first and foremost--or so she plans. She never expects to develop feelings for her co-star in "The Taming of the Shrew", but with his stellar talent matched by his charm, kindness and intellect, Vicki learns all too soon that, despite one's best intentions, the heart goes where it will. Still, all might be well--but he is far from free enough to return her affections.

moodboard by @strangelock221b

Romance & Passion. Mystery & ties to the Supernatural. Lust & Erotica. NSFW material, so be forewarned. A young Scottish woman of ancient Selkie blood finds herself irresistibly drawn to her dashing British professor, with his own mysterious ties to the Sea. A serial womanizer who believes his inner darkness makes him unredeemable, he finds what seems an uncorruptable innocence in the love she freely offers--eventually coming to wonder if her light might be enough to save him from his demons.

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sobeautifullyobsessed · 7 months

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I'm watching The Two Towers while I scroll, and all the romantic & angsty Arwen scenes (especially the ones that seem as dreams) have me in a soft, longing, romantic mood. So, here's some romantic Stephen Strange from an old WIP. Mayhap someone out in tumblrland might find it pleasing. From chapter fifteen of...

Of Magic, Miracles, and Moonlight...

...wherein Stephen goes to sleep longing for his woman, detained for now far across the galaxy ~ and her own longing for him is enough for them to meet somewhere in a dream...

(contains some mature content, although not explicit)

Finally, Stephen slept; he’d gone nearly seventy-two hours without a wink of sleep, so that his head had barely touched the pillow, and he was out like a light, falling swiftly and deeply, exactly as the needs of his body dictated. Likely he dreamed throughout those many hours--as the dusk outside the New York Sanctum changed first to the deep dark of the night, and then to rosy dawn, and finally to mid-day--but he did not remember them upon waking. Only one stayed with him, and he wasn’t even certain it was a true dream--for when he awoke from it, it had seemed so vital, so true to life (and to his heart’s desires) that he wished it was reality.

In this dream—or vision…or perhaps it was a sending from the mind and heart of his woman, who remained upon her impossibly distant world—he stood in the midst of the grove of keyanna trees which she had shown him before he took his leave of her. Their fragrance was as lovely as he had remembered, surrounding him as the gentlest of breezes whispered against his upturned face and through the errant locks of hair that hung perpetually upon his brow. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, filling his lungs with the trees perfume, and feeling the warmth of an alien sun kiss his face. It was good, so very good; a pause from his responsibilities and cares, a welcome respite from the burdens that he bore—not that he ever complained aloud, but some days…well, some days he wished for just a few hours without the worry that came along with being a Sanctum Master, and the constant knowing of the countless threats that existed to humanity, in all its blissful ignorance.

How relaxed he felt, how at peace, thinking this was as close to a vacation that he’d likely get in a very, very long time. He wasn’t even wearing his usual tunic and breeches; just the same sort of casual attire he adopted on the nights when he and Teyla stole what time they could with one another, away from the confines of compound and sanctum. It occurred to him that the moment lacked only one thing—the most important thing—the one thing that was the most crucial of all to his happiness.

As if summoned by that thought alone, Teyla called out his name; Stephen smiled, hearing her as much in his mind and heart as with his ears--as he so often did these days. He opened his eyes to look for her, and saw her approaching from a distance, with a dreamlike grace that made his knees weak. The bright sunlight streamed through the flower-laden branches, painting her skin with a soft, healthy glow; the wind stirred the trees gently, wafting the pale lavender petals around her, leaving some to be caught in her unbound hair. Stephen covered his heart with his right hand; it felt so full of love and joy at the vision of his sweet woman that it seemed like it might burst, if he allowed it to.

Clad in a pale blue shift that was gathered beneath her breasts and fell in soft ripples mid-calf, Teyla walked barefoot through the drifts of fallen keyanna blossoms. Her eyes were set upon him, and she was smiling a beckoning smile, pure with her love for him, as she held out her arms to motion him closer. “Stephen… Beloved,” she called to him, like a perfect piece of music meant for his ears alone, and as an irresistible whisper in his mind. “This is the place, my Beloved; the place where I would lay with thee, beneath the bright sun, beneath the sister-moons and diamond-stars.” Stephen swallowed hard, awe-struck, love-struck, feeling her quiet beauty in his blood, recognizing his weakness for her, and happy that of all the souls in the cosmos, she was the one that had claimed his heart. “This, Stephen; this is the place where I would gladly give myself to thee.”

His dream-self recognized with a soft pang of regret that she had meant it to be the place, and thus was surely no small part of the reason that Teyla had brought him to the grove, so vividly awash in Nonya’s beneficent light. Once there, she had revealed that she’d dreamed of them together in this place; dreams in which they lay together skin-on-skin. And swept up in that longing, she had then shown him her desire.

As he pondered the meaning of his vision—astounded at how real it felt--Teyla closed the distance between them easily, and stood before him, soft and sweet and oh so willing. Why, Stephen could taste her willingness on the very breeze that caressed his skin, feel it in the way the sunlight danced through the keyanna leaves, hear it in the rapid beating of his heart. She smiled serenely, and with perfect understanding of everything he was feeling—including his suspicion that something, or someone, might prevent her from returning to Earth—she whispered his name as she draped her arms around his neck. “Dismiss that fear, Beloved, for I will return to thee—no force in the universe can keep me from your side for long.” Teyla rose up on her toes—as she so often needed to do when she faced him in the flesh--to reach his lips and kiss him tenderly.

“Of course; how could I think otherwise?” he answered, relief flooding his veins--finding her dream-form substantial enough to embrace; not the mist of some sweet reverie, but the real woman whom he ached for with every breath he drew. “Am I dreaming this, or are we somehow here together?”

“We are together, my love, in a realm somewhere between dreams and waking.” How wise she was, how patient and loving; his Teyla, his beloved one, and in that moment he knew he’d be willing to sell his soul to have her be his forever. “Oh, my love, my Stephen—know you not that I already am?” Her smile dazzled him, as he accepted the knowledge from her mind to his, that come what may, her heart had chosen him, had committed to him eternally as was the ancient way of her people; only later, as he considered his dream-vision upon waking, did he realize that Teyla’s mother had bonded in the same way with Walter Charles--which had to account for much of the beauty in his creations featuring her.

“Yes. My sweet Teyla,” he smiled, drawing her against him, patient enough for the future that awaited them together. He let his face hover over hers, drinking in the purity of the love and trust reflected in her eyes, and letting it fill him to the brim, refreshing him as no twelve-hour sleep ever could. He took her offered lips with his, slowly and softly to begin with, tasting all that she promised, her devotion, her desire. Tasting all that she offered him; a lifetime spent at his side as lover and helpmate; as his ‘better half’ in the parlance of Earth. Stephen had never desired such a profound connection to another soul in his old life—but now, it seemed essential not only to his existence, but to the accomplishment of his mystical purpose.

When he broke from their kiss, Teyla sighed against his lips, then buried her face against his neck, breathing him in, humming contentedly. “What comes next, honey?” Stephen stroked her hair, soothing himself as much as he did her, “How long do you think it will take until can rejoin me on Earth?”

She sighed hard this time, delivering regretful news, “I cannot say with certainty, Beloved. To fulfill my obligation, and for the sake of my people, it may be several days.” Teyla hesitated briefly, before quietly admitting that Moraine might present a further obstacle to her departure from Hadeeth. “She will use every entreaty at her disposal to keep me close—but I will show her, Stephen—I will show her that I know my own mind and heart, and that I will not be dissuaded from the course I have chosen.” She spoke gently, but with full conviction against his ear, “The course that you and I have chosen together.”

Despite her avowal, Stephen wanted to hold onto her tighter than ever—but strangely, he began to feel their embrace weakening. Teyla answered before he could ask. “I will be called to Council chambers shortly. I regret I must turn my focus from thee now.” She backed out of his arms just enough to face him squarely, “And you, my love, must rest yourself, return to your world, and focus on the duties that await you.” She kissed him once more, and faced him with a knowing smile, before brushing her fingertips from the edge of his hairline to between his eyebrows, tracing a wee circle there. His sight began to dim, as true sleep overtook him, and as he exhaled his exhaustion, he fell away from her arms.

Upon awakening—and after mulling over his dream-vision, wishing with heartfelt immediacy to find his way back to the keyanna grove--Stephen’s first impulse was to check the Sanctum library for any texts that might explain his extraordinary experience. It had been far too real to be the mere fantasy of a man missing his lover, every sensory detail vivid enough that it seemed he could still taste Teyla’s kisses on his tongue and feel her tender caress against his cheek, while he swore that his room retained traces of scent from the keyanna trees. But as ever, his needs and wants were secondary to his duties, forcing him to set that quest aside until far later in the day.

Instead, he made his first order of business sending messages along to Wong and Master Salma, explaining Teyla’s absence from Kamar-Taj, and that he could not give them a timeframe for how long she might be detained upon Hadeeth. Though she had assured him in his dream that she would return, Stephen was left to wait—just as they were--with no clear idea of when to expect her.

His daily duties kept Stephen busy for a good part of the afternoon and early evening, so that he didn’t see himself clear to visit the library until after wolfing down a late supper. Fortunately, his gift of eidetic memory was crucial to his research, and in less than a couple of hours, he thought he had answers enough to understand what he’d experienced.

Lucid dreaming. That seemed to be the closest explanation for what had happened. Certainly Teyla had initiated it, across the immeasurable distances between them, enabled by her empathic gifts to reach out to him in spirit as he never could have imagined possible. In his studies since his first day at Kamar-Taj, and through a multitude of experiences since becoming a Master, Stephen had learned how powerful pure thought could be, capable of bridging time and vast distances beyond even the speed of light. But he had never imagined it affecting him so personally, so intimately. And now that he knew it was possible, he hoped he might reach out to Teyla in return.

Each night that followed, he settled into bed, relaxed enough from meditation to practice the techniques he had studied, his mind and heart focused on reaching her, spirit to spirit. But each night, to his disappointment, sleep took him before he even came close to succeeding.

By the fourth morning, Stephen’s exasperation with such failures—coupled with frustration that their separation seemed to be stretching on indefinitely—left him irritable, to carry out his responsibilities perfunctorily, while being uncharacteristically curt with those around him. Watching over the multiverse from his privileged vantage point of the Window of the World, he was tempted for the first time to use that auspicious tool for his own benefit, to hone in on Hadeeth and discover how Teyla was faring, and if indeed there was any hope she’d be free to return to Earth soon. Wisely, Stephen denied himself that urge, knowing that the use of magic for such a selfish purpose would ultimately rebound bitterly upon the user, and sometimes even exact unanticipated collateral damage.

On day five, his concern for her welfare far surpassed his need to have her at his side, as he imagined Moraine holding her daughter hostage of sorts, believing she was doing a mother’s service to a misguided child’s heart. Intellectually he knew it couldn’t be so, but the tender heart Teyla had awakened within him worried all the same. Even knowing that he might cause damage to Earth’s alliance with Hadeeth by acting rashly, Stephen had to tap into a lifetime habit of discipline—the selfsame that had forged his brilliant path to medical supremacy--to resist conjuring a portal directly to the People’s Citadel, or to the homey little cottage which Teyla called home. This fifth day, as he went about a Master’s tasks and continued his perpetual watch for threats against humanity--all while waiting for the night to come again--felt like the longest in his memory.

Exhausted in spirit and low on optimism Stephen took to his bed, thoughts of Teyla fixed in his mind’s eye, sending everything he felt for her out into the universe. Not trying to force his way to achieve his aim, and expecting nothing from the universe in return. And perhaps that was the simple, missing element needed to span the realities that lay between them.

His dream-self opened his eyes, and she was finally there before him, making his doubts and concerns evaporate like thin wisps of mist by day’s new light. They stood in a moonlit meadow, surrounded by Teyla’s talat akeylum, countless fragrant blossoms fully opened and nodding almost imperceptibly in the light breeze. The night was deep around them, filled with the lulling nighttime sounds of whatever small Hadeethan creatures and insects called the meadow home. The three moons rode high and brightly in the sky, one full, one half, and one a silvery crescent, their combined light painting the scene with lovely clarity—though that loveliness paled for him, as his eyes drank in the bewitching sight of his woman, the most exquisite blossom of them all. His Teyla.

For a moment, Stephen forgot how to breathe, overcome with awe, his heart beating like a trip-hammer in his chest. Even clad in the simple homespun robe she had worn at their first meeting, her hair piled up in a loose bun once again, Teyla stole his ability to reason. “Oh god,” he whispered, memorizing the details of her face as though he’d hadn’t already committed them to memory dozens of time; he breathed hard to keep his voice from breaking with emotion, “I miss you so much, honey…it feels like years since I’ve touched you…held you. Why haven’t you returned to me?”

She smiled and gave a little sigh before she answered. “My love--though I tarry here, all my soul is bent upon returning to your side. To your arms.” She stepped into him, and though Stephen knew they met in a realm of dreams, of spirit, the sweet, familiar scent of her hair and skin filled each breath he drew, putting to shame the fragrance of the moon blossoms around them. He wanted to taste her scent on his tongue, wear it on his skin, embed it in his very cells. “Stephen…Beloved…our time draws near, and I swear that your patience with me will find true fruition.” She lowered her lashes as she moved in to brush her lips on his, laying both hands against his chest.

How blessedly real it felt—and how he ached for more! He took her face in his hands, kissing her soundly, sinking into the dream as deeply as he could. The silk of her tongue against his, the little sounds she made in reply to his bold advances, the press of her body against him blessedly, sinfully real.

Soon enough, he had loosed the knot on the neck of her robe and tucked his fingers beneath the material to slide it from her shoulders. Teyla lowered her arms and shimmied the cloth away, leaving her robe to hang loose around her waist, laying her torso bare to him. Stephen nearly growled, grown desperate with hunger, grown rougher than he meant to be, raining fierce kisses on her dainty neck and slim shoulders, relishing her surprised gasps and how readily she yielded herself to his raw need.

He planted one hand against the small of her back, trapping Teyla against him, while she wove her fingers in his hair, purring deep in her throat when he cupped her breast in his free hand. He was certain the fury of his kisses had to be bruising her tender flesh, but she offered no complaint; she began to kiss his neck instead, her lips ever soft but insistent. She drifted one hand down to slide beneath the sleeve of his tee shirt, massaging his flesh firmly and surprising him when she murmured against his hair, “Please, Stephen…let me feel your skin against mine…I need to feel you…I need… you…”

He released her for only as long as it took to pull his shirt over his head, greedy to have her softness against him at last, no longer questioning how she could feel so real in his arms, nor how this dream, not-a-dream, surpassed any erotic dream he had ever had.

He pulled her to him, losing himself in the heated press of her naked flesh against his, in the divine sensation of her flawless little breasts rubbing against his chest, her tightened nipples evidencing her desire for him. Teyla moaned and let her head fall back as Stephen laid open mouthed kisses upon her throat, tasting the salt of her skin upon his tongue. She shuddered his name, sliding her arms beneath his to grip his shoulders, becoming her softest self, softly pliant as he lowered her onto a bed of moon blossoms.

He paused, hovering over her, mesmerized by her half-lidded eyes, her sweet parted lips, the quickened pant of her breath, nearly convinced that he had somehow transported bodily to her, and that Teyla lay beneath him at last, and for real. “I would I were, Beloved,” she told him, her smile bittersweet and piercing his heart, “I would couple with thee now, have you sate yourself inside of me…” Stephen took her welcoming mouth with his, a frisson of lust hastening through his blood when she slowly traced her tongue along the inner edge of his lips. The small part of his brain that remained rational, that knew this encounter was closer to dream than truth, was clouded by his desperate desire to know Teyla in every possible way.

“So beautiful, so perfect,” he panted as he kissed a path down her neck to her sternum, while she arched into his hands, whimpering softly at the greedy insistence of his grasp, and crying out when he circled her areola with the tip of his tongue, then tickled the stiff bud of her nipple before drawing it into his mouth. Teyla laid one palm on his cheek, and anchored her other hand in his hair, encouraging his play to continue.

He felt her beneath him as fully substantial; she moved against him as he touched her, arched into his caresses as lovers do, and he wondered how far they might actually go in this dream-like state—and if it was fair to Teyla to do so. She was touching him now as she never had before, sweeping her hands across his bare skin, sparking every nerve of his body with the ache to sink himself inside her. Stephen groaned hard, impatiently grinding his hips into hers, the thin material of his pajama bottoms unable to conceal his lust. Frustrated as much by the layers of cloth between them as by the knowledge of the actual physical distance separating them, he exclaimed shamelessly, “I want you…all of you…so badly, baby,” then licked his lips, craving her every flavor.

“I know, my love,” she assured him, “Even in my sleep, I have felt you wanting me, as far away as you are—and as I have longed for thee as well.”

Wanting her to comprehend the depth of his hunger, of his keen thirst for her, he raised his head enough to look into her eyes. “Teyla, my darling…my dear one...this is so much more than physical.” He read eager, equal desire in her soft, dark eyes. “I need you, honey. I need your presence. Need you at my side, filling my days with your patience and kindness…filling my heart with…with the wonder of your love.”

She nodded in quiet understanding, drawing his face close, and kissing him tenderly, “Even so, Stephen; you have become the cool shadow wherein I find my soul’s ease.” She murmured against his lips, “I shall have no peace of mind, no rest until I am with thee again.”

She drew his tongue into her mouth, giving such patient, gentle suction that the sensation surged through his solar plexus, his loins, his throbbing erection. Stephen grunted into her mouth, concentrating on stilling himself, fighting the urge to come—knowing that Teyla, in her innocence, was likely unaware of the power she held over him.

He rolled to her side, pulling her along with him, allowing some small space between them as they lay face to face, space enough for him to catch his breath and to restore his reason. Teyla blinked open her eyes, the trust there unwavering, silently signaling she would follow his lead wherever he wished. Stephen kissed her brow, as she snuggled against him, the raging of his blood receding a bit as he traced small, soothing circles along her cheek and the side of her neck. When he had calmed a bit more, he trusted himself to speak. “When, honey?” He sounded exhausted to his own ears, worn and ready for the oblivion of sleep. “When will you return to me, Teyla? Give me some hope I can hold you…and love you…for real, sometime soon.”

She was silent a moment, considering the most honest way to answer him. “No more than two days, Beloved. I have submitted to the repeated questioning of the Council, and they have gleaned all they can from my vision.” She did not mention that Moraine had applied what pressure she could to keep her on Hadeeth, but Stephen felt the truth from her nevertheless. “I am certain there is no more that I can do to provide for the safety of my people.” She moved in to kiss his jaw, unable to resist that smallest affection, while pressing one warm, soft hand against his chest. “I shall leave it to their wisdom, and follow my heart back to its home.” Her voice quavered, and Stephen knew that she was staving off tears for his sake. Teyla slid her hand to rest over his heart, adding softly, “Here, my love, is my heart’s true home. I will not be fully myself until you hold me in your strong, loving arms.”

He threaded his fingers in her hair, kissing her brow, feeling himself start to fade from her side, “I don’t want to leave you yet,” he whispered, “I’d just be happy to sleep here with you in my arms.”

“I know,” she sniffled, moving her hand into his hair as well, preparing to kiss him farewell, “But you are weary, Stephen, and cannot hold this form much longer. I have not the strength to hold you here myself, though I would if I could—believe me, love, I would!” Her kiss was pure and powerful, and sent visions into his mind of all the sweetness that they would share once she returned to Earth.

A few stolen minutes more was all they had, and Stephen—his blood fully cooled--held her chastely, exchanging quiet kisses and reassurances of what the near future held for them. Though he could feel himself withdrawing slowly from their shared dream as a sort of numbness overtook him, Stephen was surprised that Teyla faded away completely before he did—perhaps because the brunt of sustaining their connection had fallen upon her, and drained her more vitally. But she managed in those final moments, to charge him with preparing a special place for them, a bower that might suit a hungry suitor and his willing, waiting lover. Still caught halfway between the dream-world, and his own reality, Stephen rolled onto his back, watching wisps of clouds pass across the full moon, breathing deep the sweetness of the talat akeylum—and as sleep finally stole him completely back to his body on Earth, he began to imagine what sort of place might be worthy of the sweet gift that was Teyla’s promise to him.

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Not tagging anyone else today - simply offering this to anyone longing for taste of Romance.

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sobeautifullyobsessed · 8 months

Text

Of Magic, Miracles, and Moonlight

a Stephen Strange x OFC Romance

Chapter Eight

The Sanctum was quiet, and Stephen hadn’t thought to set his alarm—so he wasn’t surprised that he’d slept later than he had in…well, probably since medical school. No, that’s not quite right, he reminded himself; post-accident, they’d dosed him up for both pain and sleeplessness, but he had never awoken in the hospital feeling completely refreshed, as he had this morning. He’d battled depression, too, in those post-operative months, alternating between mourning his loss of purpose and angrily lashing out at the world for failing him where he just knew he would have succeeded in managing a cure enough so he could work again. He’d had plenty of days when he had slept twelve hours plus, feeling like there was no point in leaving his penthouse (growing emptier of furnishings week by week), let alone his bed. Discovering the world of the mystic arts had rejuvenated him, and he applied himself religiously to learning everything he could, soaking up knowledge and skills like the thirstiest of sponges—just as he had in his university days. Since the Ancient One’s passing, he seldom slept more than five or six hours a night; so much to do, so much to still master, a Sanctum to oversee—but it was a life that he loved. Even more fiercely than his life in medicine.

Moreover, he knew exactly why he’d slept so soundly. He had needed to, certainly—and his young Hadeethan Healer had given him an unexpected peace with her understanding and unconditional forgiveness, effortlessly reading his truest need. Astounding, especially considering the burden of grief she was carrying. The grief he was sole witness to. He needed to find her at once.

Stephen dressed quickly, anxious to see how Teyla was faring. He stopped by her room; the door was open, so that he could see that she had made her bed, but she was nowhere in sight. He hurried down two floors to the common room, just off the kitchen, where most of Sanctum occupants took their meals. Two of the Sanctum retainers were clearing away the breakfast things, but they paused to greet him; one asked if he would care for something to eat, and he politely declined.

“We have a guest staying with us for a few days,” he told them, eager to locate her, “A young woman from off-world—she’s been training at Kamar-Taj…”

One of the women was nodding in recognition, “Yes, Master Strange. Teyla, right?”

“Yes…you’ve seen her?” he asked, a sense of relief settling over him.

“She was here earlier. She had some tea and a little to eat. That was about…hmmm,” the retainer looked to her partner for confirmation, “About an hour ago.”

“Do you happen to know where she went?” Though Teyla was comfortable enough on the city streets the day before, Stephen would’ve preferred she wait for him before returning to her father’s loft.

The women consulted silently, before the second answered him, “She told us to tell you not to worry, Master Strange—and that she would not leave the Sanctum without your permission.”

“Oh.” Surprised, but secretly pleased that Teyla had anticipated his concerns, Stephen thanked them, and then turned to leave. Since she had to be somewhere in the building, a quick locator charm would make her easy to find.

He discovered her in the rooftop greenhouse, speaking with an Adept who was tending to the plants, herbs and greenery that were vital to spell work. The hothouse also contained a modest assortment of fruits and vegetables—grown year-round to help meet the dietary needs of the Sanctum residents—as well as a bee hive, situated at the far end near a section of flower beds. Teyla seemed very absorbed in the conversation, with the Adept explaining in detail the uses of the various florae.

Stephen approached them quietly, not wishing to interrupt until a convenient moment arose. The Adept—a young man named Dominic--noticed his arrival, and broke off his lesson in order to tender a respectful greeting to the Sanctum Master. Teyla immediately looked to Stephen. The moment was sunny, warm, bright—and though he knew that she still mourned, there was a light in her eyes which spoke her gladness that he was near.

“Teyla,” he said simply, a world of gratitude and affection compressed into two syllables. He felt his smile grow—nearly certain that he had to look like an utter goof—and she answered with a tilt of her head, and an endearing, bashful sort of smile. Stephen felt like he had stopped time, even though the Eye of Agamotto rested safely back in Kamar-Taj; his heightened awareness brought him the realization that something vital had changed between them. Though he was still Teyla’s teacher and mentor, he couldn’t help but think of her less as a student, and more as an equal…as a friend…as a soul who’d seen his past pain and ongoing insecurities and somehow…somehow understood. Without a need for words, without a call for explanations.

Amid those musings, he watched her eyes widen, and time began again–with Stephen well aware that she had read him once more. You’ve got to stop doing that, Teyla; some secrets need to be revealed slowly. He sent the thought her way, testing if she was actually reading his mind, or just his emotions. Her expression did not change, but she beckoned him closer, her voice echoing slightly in the confines of the greenhouse. "Are you well this morning, Doctor?” Her greeting was solicitous, her manner deferential.

"I am, Teyla. Very well, indeed,” he grinned, “I had the best sleep of any I’ve had in many years.” But you knew that already, didn’t you, my dear? You gave that gift to me.

"I hope you do not mind, Doctor Strange, but I was impatient to explore your domain," she informed him, "And Dominic has been kind enough to show me about the garden. I had not expected to find such a lovely refuge atop a city building."

"Hmm...I never really thought of it that way, but I suppose that's true." He came to stand beside her, dismissing the Adept with a small nod. Dominic moved off, continuing his inspection and care of the next section of plants.

Stephen leaned close, lowering his voice for privacy sake, "How are you today, Teyla? Was your sleep restful at all? And is there anything I can do for you?"

"I am..." Teyla sighed softly, "I am...acclimating...to my new reality--one without the love and wisdom of my father to guide me." Her voice broke, but she mastered her tears before they could claim the day, "But I carry him with me now, as never before--and I believe his spirit survives, merely in another form, so that someday I will look upon his face again."

"That's a lovely thought, Teyla," Stephen said, astonished at her resiliency, "It took me decades to discover that truth." She looked to him, breathing in his sincerity as a comfort and as a fortification, "That we are so much more than random bits of material in an indifferent universe. That thought has given me strength in even the most dire circumstances."

She bowed her head, whispering so that he barely heard her, "Even so, it shall for me."

He placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder, "You're not alone in this, honey. Whatever you need, you only have to ask. Even if it's just a shoulder to cry on."

Teyla raised her chin, her eyes focused on his. As soft as they were, Stephen also saw her resolve to move forward despite her sorrow. "thank you, Doctor Strange. You have been a true friend to me--and I will remain forever grateful."

He shrugged modestly, "You are very welcome, Teyla of Hadeeth. Though I think I owe you a larger show of gratitude..."

Her brow creased slightly, annd her eyes flitted from his to look past him, drawing his attention away. "Something is wrong," she murmured, tilting her head toward Dominic.

The Adept stood several feet away, hands on hips, closely scrutinizing a row of berry bushes. He shook his head, snorting in frustration, then headed towards the far corner of the hothouse. A row of weathered gardening tolls leaned against the glass, beside an old wheelbarrow. Dominic retrieved a spade, and then returned to the plant he had been examining. Curious, Stephen went to join him, with Teyla following right behind him.

Dominic motioned to the bush, and Stephen saw that the fruit was badly discolored. "That's some kind of fungus," he informed the Sanctum Master, "I’ll have to uproot it, or the rot will spread to the surrounding plants.”

“Is that really necessary?”

“I’m afraid so, Master Strange. This one won’t survive much longer,” the younger man pronounced, “Just look at the currants—they’re inedible. And they’d be useless as part of any potions or simples.”

“Well…if that’s our only option,” Stephen conceded, “No use wasting time.” He motioned for the young man to continue.

The Adept nodded, and turned to complete the chore. Teyla stepped forward and laid her hand upon the spade handle. “Wait but a moment please, Dominic. I believe I can work a cure upon this bush; I have seen similar sickness in fruit-bearing plants on my home world, and I may have a remedy.” She looked to Stephen, eager yet respectful, “If you would allow it, Doctor Strange. There is a Hadeethan spell that may be of some use here. I have worked it at least a dozen times.”

“You think it might work on an Earth plant?”

“We cannot know until I try--but I should act quickly, or the damage will be irreversible,” she urged him confidently.

Curious to see a practical application of Hadeethan magic--and remembering the surprising charm of the floating flower petals which Teyla had created for the youngsters of Kamar-Taj--Stephen stepped back, allowing her the space to work. She took several deep breaths, and then kneeled before the bush, exploring the leaves and berries with the lightest of touches. Gingerly, she cupped a cluster of the pink currants in hand, and bent her face close, breathing them in as though seeking their scent. She exhaled softly over them a few times, and Stephen was amazed to see their mottled pink and grey skin turn lavender for several seconds, before reverting to their sickly color. "Yes," she said quietly, addressing the plant itself, "I see the ill and I believe that I can remedy your distress."

Stephen glanced at Dominic, who appeared equally impressed with the plant’s response. “It’s probably worth a shot, Master Strange. Otherwise it’ll be a total loss.”

“Alright then,” Strange decided. “Teyla, please—do what you can.”

She nodded, grateful for his trust, and then turned her attention to the task before her. Teyla placed her hands palm to palm, as though in prayer, while resting her fingertips against her lips. She began to hum a simple run of notes, repeating it several times before stretching her hands over the leaves and berries, and gliding them in a circular pattern which grew wider with each pass. The circle became a figure eight, her hands confidently weaving to and fro as the notes she hummed rose in pitch and volume. A pale blue light began to emanate from the narrow space between her hands and the currant berries. Stephen noted that it was less vivid than the blue that had accompanied the fall of flower petals which she had conjured for the young Novices, but coupled with her music, he realized it was a form of magic far different than that practiced by the sorcerers of Earth—a magic unfamiliar to him, even with his many forays across the multiverse.

Beads of perspiration had broken out upon Teyla’s brow, yet her concentration remained unwavering. After several minutes of her sustained ministrations, her soothing melody rose in a crescendo, and then declined into silence, and the blue light pulsed several times before appearing to recede into the plant itself. Teyla breathed a heavy sigh as her hands fell to her sides, and her shoulders slumped enough that Stephen thought for a moment that she might collapse. “Teyla—are you alright.”

Her head bowed, she raised a hand, stopping him as he approached her. “A moment please, Doctor,” she responded, sounding as weak as she looked, “I need just a little more time to recover.”

Stephen drew closer, thinking to help her to her feet, and Teyla turned to him with tired eyes and an ashy pallor. She took his offered hand lightly—aware of the near constant pain that lived there—while advising him, “Sir, I will be myself again in short order. But look, and you will see that the blight has been eradicated.”

And indeed it was, for the currant berries already looked more wholesome, their dull, murky pink transformed to the appealing translucence of pink champagne, the leaves and stems grown to a healthier green—and remarkably, fresh tendrils were unfurling themselves along several branches.

“Incredible,” he murmured, gently helping Teyla to stand, encouraging her to lean against him as she began to recuperate. “It’s more than cured,” he observed, “The whole plant looks…rejuvenated. What is this magic, Teyla—and will you teach it to me?”

Despite her weakness, she laughed softly, “Are you so eager, Stephen Strange, to be a student once again?”

“Learning is a lifetime adventure, Teyla—that’s a truth I’ve been lucky enough to discover firsthand. I have never turned away the opportunity to learn something new. Never in medicine, and never in the mystic arts. But this,” he declared, incredulously, “This is a combination of the two.” He shook his head, imagining the things he might have accomplished as a doctor if he’d had such magic at his disposal. “When can we begin?”

“You flatter me, Stephen Strange, implying that I am fit to teach a Master any kind of magic.” Her tone was gentle indulgence, and it occurred to him that that she might be teasing him just a bit. “But if that is your will, I will try the best I can, providing you are patient. Ever patient,” she reiterated, “For the forests of Nalor did not spring to life in a mere cycle of the sister-moons.”

“And Rome wasn’t built in a day,” he chuckled, drawing a pretty smile from her. The color was returning to her cheeks, and she drew away from him, no longer needing to lean against him to remain upright. Stephen would’ve let her linger there beyond her immediate need to, but Teyla had already turned away, moving to rejoin Dominic in his rounds.

Curious to confirm the full success of Teyla’s cure, he plucked a few of the currants from the bush, and popped one into his mouth. It burst with bright, sweet flavor the moment he broke the skin, so that he quickly consumed the others--thinking they were among the sweetest berries he had tasted in his life.

Knowing that she would be well out of her depth dealing with the financial and legal matters left behind in her father’s wake, Teyla had asked Stephen to contact her father’s lawyers and the Columbia Art Department Chairman on her behalf, so that he had spent a couple hours consulting with them by phone. She also informed him that she felt strong enough to return to the loft unaccompanied; observing her carefully, he judged that she was ready enough to face whatever tasks lay ahead for her there—though he insisted she travel there via portal. Stephen felt doubly responsible for her now, and ensuring that she was only an easily conjured portal away, was the best compromise at hand.

After addressing a few vital Sanctum concerns, Stephen visited the kitchen to pack enough hot lunch for two (with the cook shooing him out of the way as she bustled about her mealtime preparations), and then used a portal to join Teyla at her father’s place. She greeted him warmly, though he could tell she had been crying once again—as he had known she would need to, choosing to do so in the privacy of her home away from home. They dined at the kitchen table, with Stephen telling her that she must eat the full plate of chicken and pasta with pesto, which he doled out for her, reminding her that she had barely eaten in the time since they had arrived in New York. Obediently, she made her way through the meal, while he filled her in on the details of the financial and living arrangements her father had provided for her.

That done, he turned the topic back to her little morning miracle in the Sanctum’s greenhouse—giving her a welcome distraction from the grief that lay beneath the surface waiting for a quiet moment to break fresh upon her heart.

“It is not a magic exclusive to Hadeeth,” she started, “Though rarely found—according to my teachers--it is practiced by at least a few dozen cultures across the multiverse. Its primary purpose is for healing, although you were witness to that minor charm I demonstrated for the young ones of Kamar-Taj.”

“That was a sweet little bit of magic, Teyla,” he reminded her.

She lowered her lashes demurely, genuinely flattered. “It is quite elementary, Doctor…”

“Stephen, please, Teyla,” he urged her, “After last night—how you helped me—we don’t need to be so formal now, do we?”

She raised her eyes to meet his, surprised but clearly pleased, “As you wish…Stephen.” Again, he found the familiarity of her use of his given name…quite pleasant…and the little smile that graced the corners of her mouth, gratifying. She nodded graciously, and then continued, “Such spell-making relies upon the practitioner to engage in what we call empathetic magic. To not only discern, but to feel the subject’s condition and needs, and to bond with them enough to experience it themselves--to some degree at least.”

Of course, Stephen realized, that’s what makes it a perfect magic for you. “But there must be a cost of sorts to that,” he surmised.

“Indeed,” she admitted, “But oh, Stephen, it is a beautiful price to pay, to be of such service to those in need.” For a heartbeat, Teyla nearly glowed with the joy of it.

“So break it down for me, Teyla. Tell me how to make a start.” Stephen patted her hand, then left his atop hers, enjoying the soothing warmth which was ever present when his scarred flesh came in contact with her skin. “Teach me. Please.”

She studied his face carefully, and nodded solemnly. “I will do my best, Stephen,” she promised him, “For I see your desire to learn is honest and true.”

“Now—as you surely know,” she began, “All life—from the lowliest insect to the most accomplished and powerful Master of the mystic arts…”

He grinned at that, appreciating the humor of her not so subtle reference.

“…all life possesses a unique energy. By attuning one’s own energy with that of the lifeform in need of healing, one can establish a harmonic resonance—a bond that enables a Healer to read exactly what injury or illness that lifeform suffers.”

“Harmonic resonance,” he repeated, making the connection, “The notes you hum?”

“Yes, in a large part, though there are other factors that bear upon the resonance as well.”

“And once you’ve established that bond, how are you able to heal the damage?” he challenged her, “How do you set things right?”

Patiently, she expounded, “Well, that is…hmmm…that is somewhat trickier to explain. Let us call it a temporary exchange of energy. And by this means, the Healer takes unto themselves a fraction of the damage…a shadow of the symptoms…an echo of the pain, where necessary.”

“That’s why you were weakened after you healed the currant bush?”

Teyla nodded, “Though as you witnessed, I did recover swiftly.”

“The side effects on the Healer—they’re only temporary?” Stephen considered how revolutionary introducing such magic into regular training at Kamar-Taj might be, where those with the aptitude could make a difference in the suffering of hundreds of lives in the same span of time in which medical professionals might only help dozens.

Teyla hesitated, cautious in reply, “Most often, yes; they are brief and rarely debilitating.”

“Which means there is a degree of risk?” He had wondered about the downside of the promise of miracle cures—knowing well enough that nothing in the mystic arts came without some cost.

“The relief we offer to those in need far outweighs that risk,” she insisted, a little defensively, “At least for me and my fellow practitioners.”

“Risk nevertheless,” he asserted, easily reading her—for once—and what she left unspoken. “In extreme cases, I’m betting you’d be putting your health and life on the line.”

Teyla nodded, “It is true. But the work that you do, Stephen…the work that you and your fellow sorcerers do…is already far from risk free.” She gave him that small, knowing smile—the one that told him she knew much more about him than she had ever dared to say aloud—and asked frankly, “Did you not lay down your life a thousand times over to protect and preserve this world, and every living soul upon it, from a most ancient, implacable malevolence?”

Stunned to have her mention it, Stephen’s mouth went dry. “How…how do you know this?” Was it something she had read in him—or something she’d been told about?

Her soft, brown eyes held infinite patience—and unabashed admiration. With a wisdom beyond her seeming years, she told him, “You may not speak of your ordeal at the hands of Dormammu, but the story is already legend in Kamar-Taj, and on worlds far flung from here. Yet you remain fully humble, even perplexed at times by the deference paid to by your peers…”

His mouth fell open, but he was speechless--transfixed by her gentle regard, and unable to muster his usual sort of blithe reply.

“…and even the lowliest student here holds you in high esteem for that great and painful sacrifice,” she concluded. “Truly, Stephen, would you now claim that the cost you paid was not worth what you accomplished?”

Stephen closed his eyes; he could not deny those facts, though he did his best to avoid the memories of that time, and all the pain that it entailed. The truth was he had made that choice with no compunction, never factoring in the price that he would have to pay. And given that choice again today, he would do the same in a heartbeat.

Teyla brushed her fingertips across his knuckles, knowing his answer without him speaking a word. “So you do understand, Stephen—why there is no question of choice. Your example is an inspiration to all those who study at Kamar-Taj. To those who have learned of your deed across the many dimensions.” She leaned nearer to him, her breath like a soft caress on his cheek, and his heart sped a little faster as he wondered if a third kiss was in the offing. Realizing that if it were, he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from returning the favor.

Instead, she lowered her gaze, so that his heart lurched with disappointment—and she added shyly, “As you inspire me.”

He was silent a moment, a mix of emotions swirling through his thoughts--not the least of which was berating himself for wanting to kiss a very vulnerable young woman. Not the time or place; he told himself--and certainly the most inappropriate thought I could have, given her condition. Stephen shook his head, declaring adamantly, "I'm no hero, Teyla--please believe me. I am, in fact, the farthest thing in all the worlds from that."

She sat back, her eyes narrowed in such keen study of him that he felt his heart was laid bare. "As you say, Stephen. Though I perceive a destiny for you, in which your courage, brilliance, and selflessness will become the stuff of legends."

"Well in the meantime," he scoffed, feeling the heated blush of embarassment (and shame at his fleeting thought of kisses) color his neck and cheeks, "I'm just a man reaching through a fog of uncertainty, to try my best to do the right thing."

"Of course," she smiled, her faith in him unfaltering, "One day at a time, one deed at a time. Your destiny will find you whether you believe in it or not."

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sobeautifullyobsessed · 10 months

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Of Magic, Miracles, and Moonlight

a Stephen Strange x OFC Romance ~ chapter two

genre: pre-Infinity War, slow burn romance, older man/younger woman, teacher/student to friends to lovers

characters: Stephen Strange, Wong, Teyla of Hadeeth (OFC), Moraine of Hadeeth (OC), additional OCs as Kamar-Taj staff

rating: general audience to begin with, later chapters contain 18+ material

Chapter One

The figure that emerged from the multi-dimensional portal three days later, was far from the carbon copy of her mother that Stephen Strange had expected.

Though similarly robed, any resemblance between the two women appeared to end there. Where Moraine of Hadeeth was stately and striking, and possessed of an unearthly sort of beauty, her daughter Teyla seemed to be plain, simple and unassuming. Pale-skinned, with light brown hair that hung limply past her shoulders, her shapeless robe appeared to hide a slight frame, and her sandaled feet were nearly as small as a child’s—yet her face informed him that she was perhaps a decade older than he had anticipated.

Stephen opened his mouth, about to speak a word of welcome, but she had turned back to the portal, taking a last look at whatever—or whomever—she had left behind. She remained with her back to him, until the circle closed; in its wake, she bowed her head a moment, and then squared her shoulders, readjusting the straps of the large, cleverly woven bag that she bore upon her back. Finally facing him, Teyla gave a formal little bow, but the weight of her basket shifted, nearly upsetting her balance, so that Stephen had to lunge forward to catch a hold of her arm before she fell.

“Th…th…thank you, Sir,” she managed, sounding shy and more than a little embarrassed, “I…I think I can manage it now.” Her speech had a slight lilt to it, reminding him that English was not her native tongue. Teyla kept her eyes lowered as she worked to regain her composure.

Stephen released her, backing up a few steps, frowning at the unavoidable need to abruptly invade her personal space. “You’re welcome, Miss…” What should he call her? Miss Teyla might sound a bit awkward—but Mistress surely didn’t fit; he settled on changing the subject, helpfully suggesting, “Why don’t you set that down? I can have someone collect it for you later, and leave it in your quarters.”

She nodded, and murmured her thanks again, allowing the basket to slide from her shoulders, onto the ground. She took a deep breath, bracing herself to address him, and finally met his eyes. “You are Master Strange, I take it?” Teyla spoke softly, quietly contrite, “Please forgive my clumsiness. I am normally not such a…klutz.”

Despite the initial awkwardness between them, Stephen smiled at her use of the Earth colloquialism. Surprise colored her soft brown eyes, as if she had expected a stern reaction to her artlessness. Though her face was rather ordinary (and so unlike her mother’s, he mused again) her widened, doe-like eyes, shaded by a thick fringe of lashes, were lovely—and very expressive. At the moment, they made her seem a little sad (perhaps she is, he thought, in leaving her familiar world behind), the total effect softening what might otherwise seem plain--and stirring him to a bit of sympathy.

“No need to apologize,” he told her kindly, “And you are very welcome here, in Kamar-Taj.”

A little smile crept upon the corners of her mouth, “I thank you for your hospitality and kindness, Master Strange.” A bit of confidence restored, she offered him her right hand, in another show of familiarity with the customs of her father. “I am Teyla of Hadeeth—but I suppose you know that already,” she shrugged, diffident but clearly well-mannered.

Stephen reached to shake her hand, and as their hands met, she breathed in sharply. Though it often nettled him to see strangers’ reactions to his scars, he had learned to let it pass unanswered—unless they outright gawked. Telya’s grasp was light, so he guessed she might be concerned a firmer hold would cause him pain. She studied their hands together, flipping them a bit so she could see the back of his. He swore he heard her whisper, ‘oh…they are yours’, before she looked up to study his face, shock and curiosity evident upon her simple features.

“Pardon me.” Brusquely, he withdrew his hand, having tempered his statement with a bit of latitude—as rude as her reaction seemed, he believed no ill had been intended. “An old injury,” he added, “And one that brought me to Kamar-Taj. In the greater scheme of things, these scars have no bearing on the work we do here—but I would ask you, kindly, not to stare.”

“Of…of course, Master Strange.” Teyla bowed her head, embarrassed again at her faux pas, “I meant no disrespect, Sir.”

Stephen nodded, certain of her sincerity, and ready to move along to more important things. “Well then…your mother has tasked us with furthering your education in the mystic arts.” She nodded, so that he continued, “But before we proceed, we need to evaluate what skills you have mastered.”

“Yes. Yes, I understand.” She had visibly brightened at the change of topic. “My mother told me it would be so.”

“Good. Excellent, in fact,” he replied, adopting the not so welcome role as mentor, “We have several Masters in residence, and I have made arrangements for you to see them. No rush, so if you need some time to get your bearings here…”

“No, that will not be necessary, Master Strange,” she told him eagerly, “I am prepared for whatever tests you have planned.”

“Alright then—if you would follow me,” Stephen motioned to the archway to his right, “We’ll get you started right away.”

Stephen had left his charge in one of the smaller practice rooms, allowing for Masters of the various disciplines to put her through her paces without unnecessary distractions. As he knew himself not to be as expert in some disciplines as his peers, he thought it best to rely on their judgement, rather than assess Teyla himself; and a variety of opinions would certainly provide a more complete appraisal of her overall skill level and potential, than that of a single teacher. Wong soon joined Strange in the Sanctuary Room, to wait for the Masters to report their findings.

The results were mixed, but at least gave Stephen a handle on where they needed to concentrate their efforts. Teyla had managed a portal, after some effort, marking her halfway between a Novice and an Adept. She handily moved--even levitated-- small objects, and did so with very little effort. But she had no training in hand-to-hand combat, and no skill—or seeming interest—in conjuring weapons, let alone items she might use in self-defense. Exactly the skills her mother hoped we would foster in her, Steven concluded, and therein lies our challenge.

On the upside, Master Salma had been astounded at Teyla’s ability to read people’s emotional states; she reported that the young Hadeethan’s skill was well beyond any that she had encountered since becoming Master of that discipline. “She doesn’t even require physical contact to accurately read someone; she worked wonders just in the proximity of the test subjects,” she informed Strange, visibly excited at the discovery, “And when I placed several objects on a table across the room from her, Teyla successfully read how each item had been last used, by the emotional residue left behind by the user. Allowing her to handle the objects enabled her to pick up on further details—beyond the most recent user.”

“Incredible. Could you tell if her abilities were innate, or the product of some intensive training?” If the later, Stephen believed it would be worth an exchange of knowledge with the Hadeethans to develop such a program for Kamar-Taj.

Salma shook her head, “Best I can tell is she’s a natural empath—and someone must have recognized it in her early on, because her skills are off the charts.”

“That good, eh?”

“Frankly, her abilities far surpass anything Kamar-Taj has seen in a student or a teacher in…well, centuries,” Salma grinned, “When time allows, I’d love to see what she can do reading someone from another room.”

Strange took a moment, mulling over the new information. “Hmm…sounds to me like she should be teaching us, rather than us training her.”

“We could see about that--eventually,” Salma replied wryly, “Though I’m not ready to be replaced quite yet, Stephen. But for now, there are a few things we can do to help her foster and refine her skills.”

“Such as?”

“Well, one of the pitfalls of this sort of empathy is a kind of…bleed, if you will--when reading in especially intense situations--which can influence and effect the empath’s own emotional health and mental state. But that is something we can help her with,” she revealed confidently, “We can show her how to screen out those things that might impair objectivity of mind—and the things that could play havoc with her heart.”

Stephen nodded, satisfied with the thoroughness of her assessment. “One thing, though, Master Salma. Teyla’s mother charged us with building on her daughter’s raw ability for divination—or at least giving her some guidance in its practical use.”

Salma shook her head, “I wish I had better to offer her, but all we can manage right now is an education in dream interpretation. Beyond that is territory that few here have any experience with.” She bobbed her head in a small bow, “Now if you’ll excuse me, gentlemen—I’ve a group of Adepts awaiting my guidance this afternoon.”

“Of course—and thank you, Salma. You’ve given us much to think about.”

Strange watched her leave, considering their limited options, and then looked to Wong, “There must be something in our library, or in the Ancient One’s collection, that we can use to give this young woman the instruction she needs.”

“There are,” Wong offered, “Dusty old scrolls, arcane texts--that seldom see the light of day. You’ll have some heavy reading to do to bring yourself up to speed, Stephen.”

“I hope you’re joking, Wong,” Strange replied, “I can’t be the best man for the job.”

“I’m afraid so. You’re the quickest study we’ve got,” Wong chuckled, enjoying the irony that’s Strange’s strengths had him cornered, “And that unbeatable memory of yours is bound to come in handy.”

Stephen frowned, sighing hard as he recognized the futility of any protest he might make, “I’m not getting out of this one, am I?”

“Nope.” Wong favored him with a rare smile, “I’ll have those texts ready for you by the end of the day.” He laughed quietly to himself, leaving Stephen behind, muttering under his breath.

Stephen looked up at the sound of gentle rapping, to see Teyla pop her head through the entryway of the Sanctuary Room. “Hello? Master Strange? You summoned me?” Patiently, she waited in place for him to acknowledge her.

“Yes,” he stood and motioned her forward, “Please—have a seat.” Again, her appearance was not as he’d anticipated; she had changed from her Hadeethan robe into an over-sized tee shirt and well-worn denim leggings, and had pulled her hair back into a ponytail. The look knocked at least a half a dozen years from her age. Now, she looked like a typical freshman from any American university—and though her alien heritage was equal to her human blood, for a few moments she was like an unexpected taste of home.

He couldn’t suppress a grin as she neared him, “Blue Oyster Cult. Nice.”

“Oh…yes,” she replied, surprised at his reference, “Do you know of them, Master Strange?”

“I do indeed,” he nodded. “In fact, they were a part of the…” Stephen chuckled at the memories, “…soundtrack of my youth.”

“I have enjoyed their poetry at times, although it is often quite somber—but they were among my father’s favorite performance groups.” Her admission was a pleasant surprise. Teyla took a seat across from him. “This garment was my father’s,” her voice grew soft with sentimentality, “He made a gift of it to me, at our last parting. I do not wear it publically on Hadeeth—there are those on my home world who lack tolerance regarding my patrimony.” She shrugged shyly, and smiled—though Stephen noted it did not reach her eyes.

“I take it that it’s been some time since you’ve seen him,” he prompted her, curious as to the time she’d spent on Earth.

She took a breath, seeming to do a calculation before she answered, “Why yes…it’s been…hmm…nearly six Earth years. But I hope to find some time to visit him, once my training here is complete.”

“Well then, we will do our best to move things along so that you can do that as soon as possible.” Her smile in reply was far more sincere than her last, leaving Stephen glad to have given her the cause. “So,” he continued, getting down to the most important business at hand, “Ideally, your training here will involve several disciplines; defensive spells, and the conjuring of defensive tools, as well as helping you to control and tap into your gift for divination.” She looked down at the mention of the later, as though uncomfortable with the topic—and when she raised her eyes, he could swear she was looking at his hands again. He shook it off, telling himself he was being overly self-conscious due to her blunder at their initial meeting.

“And healing spells,” she asked, “That way my future lies--so they would be the most welcome lesson of all.”

Healing. That had been his life and his own future, once upon a time—and though he could never return to those days, Stephen would forever think of himself as Doctor, before any other title he would ever bear. He appreciated that such a vocation was her top priority.

“We will offer what we can, Teyla. Though the bulk of your time will be spent working towards proficiency in those elements that are the backbone of the mystic arts.

“As my mother wills it,” she replied, resigned to the plan that Moraine had intended for her.

“Yes,” he nodded, “And beginning in the morning, you will have a minimum two hours training, daily, in physical defense and combat…”

“No…wait…there is no need for that.” Teyla’s humble, placid expression dissolved into a stubborn mien. “My work is as a healer. I thought you understood this…”

“Yes,” he replied again, holding up one hand to signal her to quiet a moment and allow for an explanation, “Please, Teyla—there are sound reasons for this…”

Though her eyes flashed defiantly, she pursed her lips into silence, ceding the moment to him. Stephen continued, calling on what skill for diplomacy was his, “I promise you will understand this necessity as you advance in your education here. Concentrating first on developing physical discipline is a stepping stone to nurturing mental discipline. Master your body, and the path is clear to master your mind.” Stephen paused, watching her expression soften, pleased that he was getting his message across to her. “Once you have mastered mental discipline, you can achieve nearly anything, as long as you have the will for it.”

Teyla sighed hard, and rolled her eyes (damn, that’s a purely human habit, he thought, trying not to smile at how much it made her look like an impatient teenager), “As you say, Master Strange.” She tilted her head, offering an apology, “Please forgive my rash words, Sir. I only just…well, you see, I feel my purpose so strongly, and any delay is a source of frustration. I promise I will do, faithfully, whatever is required of me to complete my training.”

Stephen leaned across the table, seeking to put her at ease. “I understand your passion, Teyla of Hadeeth. Would you believe I’ve felt the same myself?” Her eyes went wide as she listened. “I was…I am…a healer myself. A doctor. My specialty was neurosurgery. I spent half my life studying, learning, training, searching for greater knowledge, because I knew without a doubt that these hands were meant precisely for that work.” He held them up to her, making no effort to conceal their shaking, let alone the painful map of scars that symbolized all that he had lost, “These hands, Teyla, worked medical miracles; I helped thousands to lead better, longer lives. I know the desire to heal, and I know the sweet satisfaction of that service done well. But I never would have reached that pinnacle without the beginning baby steps. Trust me when I say, you will get there.”

Teyla’s soft, doe-eyes had misted up as he told his story. He hadn’t meant to make her feel sorry for him—never, never did he intend that with anyone in this new life. He only needed to make his point clear. Stephen would have spoken more, but that she took his took one of his hands, studying it even more intently than when they’d shaken hands in the courtyard. “I understand…Doctor. Doctor Strange.” She smiled sadly, “You have lived through much, to come to this place. But your journey has been worth the cost.” She released his hand—which tingled warmly afterwards—and told him, “I will follow whatever path you deem most wise, Doctor Strange. I will put my future in your hands.” She rose, and made a little bow, bidding him goodnight.

Stephen sat in silence a while longer, considering the puzzle Teyla presented. She seemed soft and unassuming, yet she spoke her mind without compunction. She had a share of unexpected wisdom for her age (although he actually wasn’t even sure yet, how old she was), and she was passionate about her purpose in life. He had to respect that—and that her heart seemed bent toward service to others, made him like her even more. He found he didn’t dread so much, the research he would have to put in to help her refine her divination skills; perhaps he’d even learn a thing or two that might be of use to him someday.

Wong—ever true to his word—had sent a selection of scrolls and texts to Stephen’s room, so that the eager student in him couldn’t resist getting a start in researching the rare art he was obliged to tutor Teyla in. He read for about an hour—until his eyes were bleary—making mental notes of key ideas he would revisit when his mind was fresher. All the while, though, his thoughts would drift back to those final moments of their conversation. How Teyla had responded so sympathetically to his story; how she had taken his hand. Under normal circumstances, he would have found that far too familiar, especially on so short of an acquaintance—yet she had breached that personal barrier so gently, he hadn’t even thought to protest.

Only when he’d set his head upon his pillow and closed his eyes, winding down to sleep, did the realization hit him. Master Salma had told him the young woman was an empath of extraordinary skill—and that’s exactly what she’d done to him. She’d read his feelings as casually as one might read a street sign; read his feelings and understood with a kind of quiet intimacy, his struggle. And when she touched his hand, he was willing to bet she gained some understanding of the physical cost his accident had wreaked upon him. Stephen wasn’t quite sure how to feel about it; it wasn’t an intentional violation of his privacy, and certainly she’d meant no harm. In fact, he wondered if that warm tingle her touch had left behind was some trace of healing magic—and if so, was it even possible that she could offer some relief to him, when he had long accepted that he and the lingering pain of his damaged hands were meant to be lifetime companions.

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sobeautifullyobsessed · 1 year

Text

Of Magic, Miracles, and Moonlight

a Stephen Strange x OFC slow burn romance - Chapter 12

(one of my favorite chapters of my long running WIP; hoping to reach some new readers)

summary: Pre Infinty War; I suppose now we should just call it an AU. Doctor Stephen Strange's life has settled into a fulfilling pattern; even as Master of the New York Sanctum, he continues his studies in the mystic arts, self-training with the library that the Ancient One amassed in her years as Sorcerer Supreme. An old alliance forged by the Ancient One brings an unexpected request to him, and he is duty bound to fulfill it. Along the way he meets with some pleasant surprises--and discovers that his heart is not immune to the effects of the gentlest sorts of magic.

characters: Stephen Strange, Teyla of Hadeeth (OFC)- Healer & Empath

rating: 18+ MATURE

word count: 4.5k

This night their eagerness had brought them to an alley on the city’s edge; it was not their usual sort of trysting place, but in their need, they had to make do.

The lovers—for that was what they had become in nearly every sense of the word—were enrapt in one another, protected by the dark of night, secluded enough that the night sounds of a thriving city had fallen away, so that the quiet music of their shared passion was all they could hear.

In the days and weeks since they had begun their unlikely romance, Teyla had become the breath in Stephen’s lungs, the sustenance he craved above all other things, and the secret happiness he carried with him everywhere he went. As far and as wide as he had to range in order to fulfill his duties as a Sanctum Master, as Master of the Mystic Arts and as a fully committed protector of humanity, she was with him--not only in the tender memories of their private times together, but in the divine anticipation of all that lay ahead for them. Parted from her, Stephen felt the worst impatience of his life, but bore it more patiently than he’d ever done for anything. During those necessary separations, he yearned unstintingly to hold her and to feel the shivers of her own longing; and the passion which he ached to spend upon her, he channeled into his work—so that the enemies of Earth stood no chance of victory against him, quaking in fear before his countenance and collapsing into impotence before his righteous magic. Though it mattered little to Stephen Strange, his reputation across the multiverse grew mightily, enough to discourage certain dark forces from engaging in battle with Earth’s most fearsome defender.

The evening before his most recent leave-taking, Stephen had dared to give Teyla a new experience—a risk well worth the reward—a surprise dinner out at a casual little French restaurant several blocks over from Bleecker Street. To justify her presence at the New York Sanctum, he had quietly let it be known that she had business to do with her father’s estate. He’d told her to wear her best—which was that same peasant dress she’d worn on their first trip to the city, and entirely suitable for the evening’s outing. She had embraced every moment of their adventure, as he squired her to the restaurant, allowing him to order for her, tasting her first champagne, and finishing their meal by sharing a decadent chocolate and caramel dessert concoction with him. The sparkle of her eyes by candlelight, her musical giggles prompted by the champagne, and the open way in which she held his hand between the courses, were memories he would take away to warm him wherever he had to roam.

The Sanctum was as good as asleep when they returned, the retainers gone home for the night, and any Adepts in service there, retired to their quarters for the evening. With no one about as witness, Stephen decided it was safe enough to see her to her bedroom door. He asked her not to see him off in the morning, knowing the temptation to take her in his arms and kiss her soundly before he left, would be too great. That had pleased her, and she agreed with a faux little pout, insisting that he kiss her soundly now, if he expected her to comply. And that he had.

Loathe for him to leave, Teyla first thanked him for their magical evening, and then spoke frankly of her feelings. “You woo me, Stephen, in ways I had never imagined any man would wish to. You make me feel beautiful in your eyes, and by your touch you fill me with desires I had never thought to have.” She brushed her fingers through the fall of his hair upon his brow—a habit of familiarity of which he would never tire. “How am I to reckon the hours you are away from me? I feel as though you take all warmth and light with you when you go.”

Her honesty and vulnerability had become a spell upon him; Stephen knew he was already halfway in love with her, and with every hour he spent in her company he was falling hard and falling deep. “Oh, Teyla,” he breathed, his voice rife with astonishment, “The best part of me remains with you—you know that, don’t you?” He touched her forehead, just between her eyes—her Third Eye, which he had learned of from the Ancient One herself, “See me here, and know I’m only a thought away from you. And trust that nothing in the multiverse can keep me from returning to you.” He lifted her chin and leaned in to kiss the tears that hung from her lashes. “Can you do that for me, honey?”

She nodded, managing a brave little smile for his sake, and quietly broke from his gaze—his questioning gaze—to look down as she took his right hand in both of her own. Tenderly, she traced the scars on the back of his hand; but not like she had that day she had worked her pain-relieving spell. Her gentle touch was no healer’s touch this time—though innocent, it felt as intimate as a lover’s touch. It was the touch he had been craving since the day he’d been forced to accept that his old life was irrevocably gone--although he hadn’t known until this moment, how badly he’d been missing it.

Stephen’s breath caught when she raised his hand to gently brush her lips across the back, before laying a soft kiss upon it. Teyla tilted her head so she could nestle her cheek against his scarred flesh, eliciting a moan of both relief and longing, from him.

She looked up at him, her dark eyes wise and solemn, a small, soft smile now playing at the corners of her mouth. “You work wonders with your hands, my love—though few know how you protect and defend lives everywhere. I cannot gainsay the service meant for your hands, as much as I long to have you ever near me...”

That’s my brave girl, he had thought, unprepared for her next admission.

“…I have only ever found them beautiful, Stephen. Your beautiful, scarred hands—they are part of what makes you…you,” she told him, wonder in her voice and on her face, “Through pain and sorrow and despair, they brought you to your destiny.” Her smile spread, lovely as dawn after a stormy night, as she professed shamelessly, “They are the first thing that I came to love about you, on a list that grows longer each day.”

With that, she laid his hand over her heart, and then rose on her tiptoes to whisper against his ear, “And if you be moved to—one of these nights soon--I would have your beautiful hands touch every part of me at last.” With a kiss on his cheek, Teyla withdrew, turning away without looking back, closing her door, and leaving him standing alone—wholly astounded, and dizzy with sudden joy, that so bright a soul could actually find him worthy of her love.

Soon, she had said; soon, was her promise, given as gently as all things she had brought to his life. Stephen had held her parting words close at heart all the while he had been gone. And that Teyla had been the braver of the two of them, forthright in proclaiming that she loved him. On some level he had already known—of course he had—but to have her say it out loud was the most unexpected miracle of all.

Since his return from that last mission, an unspoken urgency had flourished between them—surely sourced in that quiet admission of her deepest longing—which threatened the pattern of caution they’d been following to keep their secret safe. Each time they slipped away now, into their private world, he had grown incrementally reckless, his need for her pressing him always forward. Teyla counseled him to proceed with greater care, but was helpless as he swept her along, unable to decline his will for them.

Stephen’s recklessness had brought them to this alley tonight; his hot need to hold her, to touch her, to have her, overriding cooler reason. Teyla had offered no defense, allowing him to pull her into the darkened alley without protest, within minutes of them meeting up. He honestly hadn’t planned it this way, but the result was still the same.

Their bodies were pressed tightly together, with Teyla’s back against the coarse brick wall as she submitted herself to his hungry, bruising kisses. She stretched her neck, humming deep in her throat at the greedy way he latched onto her tender flesh; her neck, throat, collarbone, all reddened in the flush of her desire, and from the rub of his goatee against her skin. She flexed one hand in Stephen’s hair, and slid the other onto the delicious dip between his shoulder blades, holding him as close as the layers of material between her body and his would allow--their bodies housing no secrets from one another despite those maddening barriers of cotton and denim. “Oh my dearest…my love…,” she cooed, and then gasped his name when he palmed her breasts through her blouse.

It wasn’t enough for him, could never be enough for him now. Stephen needed to rake up her top and feel the contours of her ribs on his way to hold her ripe little breasts fully in his hands—yet he hesitated, knowing the wall at her back would be too rough against her exposed skin. “Do it,” she urged him, reckoning his need from his thoughts alone, “Touch me as you will, my love. Your need is my desire as well…” She trailed off into a heartfelt moan as he slipped both hands beneath the cloth and cupped her smoothly, rubbing her stiffened nipples with his thumbs and making her whimper helplessly.

Teyla arched her back as he fondled her, arched into his hands, seeking his firmest contact with her virgin flesh. He cursed inadvertently against her ear, at the sudden, gratifying heat that flared in his palms and thence to his wrists, up his arms, to course through his blood and fill his body with a flame which felt as though only she would be able to quell. Instinctively, Stephen knew this was her energy, pure as her heart, passing into him; there was no pain in this spectacular sensation, only the hunger to give back to her the same, from the depths of his heart. “How is this happening?” he rumbled against her cheek.

“Because I love thee, Stephen,” she answered, lapsing into a patois of a Hadeethan mixed with English. When his mouth recaptured hers, and she accepted the eager thrust of his tongue so she might suckle it luxuriously—the thrill of that intensifying the throbbing ache for her in his groin—Stephen realized he was hearing her in his mind. I love thee…I love thee…my heart, it is thine. This startling intimacy awakened a need in him, a possessiveness, that shocked him.

You are mine, he thought back to her, spellbound by their connection; mine, he thought over and over. Mine tonight…and tomorrow…and always. Let it be always, my sweet, little angel. Good god…please…

And surely she heard him, even in the relentless depth of that kiss. “I am, my darling…for as long as thee shall desire it of me,” she promised him. Incredulous as much from the bond of their minds, as from the miracle that she loved him as he hadn’t dared to dream anyone could, Stephen gently pulled away, to study her face. Her eyes remained shut as she panted softly, her beauty the same pure radiance he had witnessed in her astral form.

Understanding why he paused, feeling his disbelief that he was worthy of such devotion, Teyla leaned her head back enough so she could gaze up into his eyes. Mercifully, tenderly, she reminded him, “My love, I am yours. I have been, from our first kisses. Mayhap even before that night…” Pictures flickered through his mind as she showed him how she had come to love him. Teyla laughing at something silly he had said; Teyla looking up at him empathetically, on the corner of Bleecker and Mercer; Teyla sobbing in his arms on her father’s kitchen floor. In a half dozen heartbeats, she showed him a slew of little moments, wherein he was simply being himself, and all of them illustrating how her heart had fallen irretrievably to him—though in those moments he hadn’t had the eyes to see that amazing truth. There he was, on the Sanctum roof with her in the moonlight, kissing her hand with sweet reverence; there he was kissing her mouth, on one of their secret excursions from Kamar-Taj, with her face cupped in his hands, and a patience that belied how much his blood had come to burn for her.

Overwhelmed, Stephen hung his head down, feeling Teyla’s sweet breath whisper against his cheek; he splayed his hands flat against the wall on either side of her head, trying his damnedest to collect himself. Allowing him his silence, she waited upon him, threading her fingertips through his hairline at the nape of his neck, the palm of her hand blessedly cool upon his flushed skin. She nuzzled his ear, to whisper against it, “Did you not know this, Stephen? Your lips marked me as yours, on our night beneath the moonlight—as I am forever now, if you would have it so.”

Her confession left him weak and filled him with joy—tinged with a trace of shame for the physical hunger that threatened to overrule his better nature. He wondered if she read his lust as well as she read his tenderness for her. Did she understand how his body cried out to take her—to tear through the material that guarded her innocence, to finally breach her after the countless encounters that had sent him to his bed, unable to calm himself except by lengthy meditation? Some nights lately, even that discipline had failed him, and he could only find sleep by picturing her lying sweetly beneath him, beckoning for him to do whatever he desired, while his scarred hands worked the deed he yearned to do inside of her. Would she still adore him if she knew that dirty secret?

Teyla shuddered against him, sliding her arms beneath his, pulling him as close as she could, and began kissing his neck, delicately grazing his skin with her teeth. “Yes, my love,” she murmured, drifting her hands down to his hips, “I will adore you. I will give myself over to you…” She ground her pelvis against his, moaning her delight at the sensation of his erection trapped between them, “Lead, and I will follow, my beloved…for I desire your satisfaction as much as my own.”

Stephen gripped her shoulders hard, lost to reason as he rained kisses upon her throat, then ripped through her light cotton top. She wore nothing beneath but a heated flush, her nipples taut and rosy, and he grunted his appreciation before nuzzling her breast on a path to take one in his mouth. She cried out in Hadeethan, as he circled it with the tip of his tongue, and he knew she was calling upon him to taste all of her in this way.

Eagerly—and perhaps too roughly—he drew her deeply into his mouth, testing what would please her, while rubbing his thumb hard against her other nipple. Teyla gasped, but allowed him to progress—so that he moved his free hand down the smooth plane of her belly, daring his fingertips inside the waistband of the loose culottes she wore. Teyla tensed as he teased his fingers lightly from hip to hip, and back, to end beneath her navel again. Her small moan was a mix of pleasure—and uncertainty, despite her avowal of willingness.

Concerned, Stephen left off his play with her breast, and withdrew his more intimate touch. He raised his face to Teyla’s, wanting to reassure her. “It’s okay to tell me to stop, honey,” he promised her, “I know this is new to you—and I’m man enough to have the patience you need.”

She blinked several times, reading his truth, and then softly insisted, “But my sole wish is to please you, my love.”

He drew himself straight, beginning to master the fog of lust. “Oh, baby, you do,” he assured her, “You please me in every smile you give me. In the gift of every little touch. In even the most innocent of kisses.” And then, because her happiness was far more important to him than any gratification of the flesh, “I wouldn’t take you like this, in a back alley, fumbling through our clothing. When it happens, I want to give you all the magic that you’ve given me.”

Relieved and grateful, she threaded her arms around his neck, peppering his skin with moist, sweet kisses. He had to smile, had to pull her close again, chuckling devilishly—surprising her as he growled against her ear, “But, my dear Teyla, there is something I would like to give you, if you would allow it. And for this, I think this back alley will do.”

Stephen’s back was against the wall this time, with Teyla leaning against him. The back of her head rested on his shoulder, as he landed slow, loving kisses along her neck, and exposed shoulder. She had shyly agreed to his proposition, and had given him free reign to touch her as he wished.

He still wanted her; in fact, he still throbbed, but he had calmed enough to focus solely on his woman—knowing he’d have a raging case of blue balls once they returned to Kamar-Taj, and planning to take the coldest shower of his life. This interlude was all about Teyla now.

She fit perfectly against him, and not for the first time he wondered if some benevolent power in the universe had fashioned her with him in mind. That was massive hubris, he knew, but also a harmless fantasy after the trials he had endured as one of the secret defenders of Earth. At least he could laugh at himself now, whereas his old self would have been too puffed up with his own self-importance to even grasp his own ridiculousness.

Stephen intended to take his time, to draw out her pleasure, looking forward to reaping her satisfied moans as the sole recompense for his patience—and this would be only a taste of the things he wanted to give to her. Teyla had given him so much in the months since she had entered his life, far beyond the freedom from pain granted by her healing spell—for in her unconditional love, she was teaching him to forgive himself for a lifetime of selfishness, and showing him he was as worthy as any other soul, of being truly loved. In touching his heart as no woman ever had, she had made his life—which was already pretty damn good—even better.

He began by leisurely drifting the back of his hands along the curve of her breasts with the barest of contact, causing her to pull her shoulders back in a bid to have him strengthen his caresses. “Patience, honey,” he crooned, breathing her in, the light, clean scent of her skin dearer than even the most expensive perfume worn by any lover he had ever had. Teyla exhaled slowly, a little moan escaping her as he fleetingly cupped his palms beneath her breasts, and then traced lazy circles around her areolas with just the pads of his fingers, teasing her nipples into hard peaks. His fingers sparked with the familiar heat that flowed from her flesh at his loving touch—such warmth a gift that had already become an addiction for him.

Teyla’s body was remarkably light as she leaned back upon him; she panted softly beneath the play of his hands, while he traced his lips along her skin. Stephen glided one hand back up to her shoulder and then trailed his fingertips along the length of her arm, still slowly enough to make her shiver. Reaching her wrist, he raised her hand to rest against his cheek and pressed open-mouthed kisses on her palm. Teyla hummed her appreciation, and left her hand there after he released it, sinking into him while he drew his fingers along her torso to her hip, keeping her breast gathered in his other hand. She breathed hard, giving the first of many deeper moans to come. He circled his thumb around the tight little bud of her nipple, then scraped his nail across it, making her yelp in surprise, and nestle her body more firmly against him. His own arousal grew stronger, the feel of her bottom pressed against his erection pure and delicious. “Take it easy, baby,” he breathed against her ear, “You move like that too much, and I’m gonna lose it.” She rolled her head enough so she could kiss his neck.

Still massaging her breast, and teasing her with the edge of his nails, Stephen wandered his free hand along her abdomen, and rested his fingers inside her culottes, barely touching her panties. “This is where it gets good, honey.” Really, really good, he thought, sliding his fingers under the elastic band and feeling the downy-soft hair that covered her sex, relishing her quick intake of air and the sweet, open-mouthed groan that followed. His voice grew a bit rough, betraying his need for her, as he asked, “Are you ready for this, baby?” Teyla could only nod, whimpering her own need, her focus wholly on the promise of his fingers waiting there.

Stephen had always had talented fingers; dexterous as he’d learned to tickle the ivories in his childhood, brilliant as he bested all his friends at video games, masterful as he came into his own as a surgeon par excellence. Women had adored the way he played their bodies, craved his skill in exploring their secret places. Even as he’d prided himself on the extraordinary surgical precision of his hands, so too he had always found deep satisfaction in bringing his lovers to climax by the touch of his hands alone. After his accident he’d had no opportunity or inclination for any such attempts, believing that pleasure was as lost to him as the work he had felt defined him.

Trusting that her physiology was the same as women of Earth (and it must be, for Moraine to have born a child of mixed parentage) Stephen cupped his fingers against her mound. Teyla immediately pushed into his hand, spreading her legs a bit to allow him better access. He gripped her hip with his other hand, to keep her in place, and then gently parted her slit. She bucked hard at the first pass of his fingers on her clitoris, bucked hard against him, jarring his cock and making him groan. He knew that he must be careful, yet the temptation to give in to that feeling remained.

“Alright, Teyla,” he told her, dry-mouthed and yearning to rub his full length against her firm bottom, sans the clothing between them, “Easy now, my sweet baby. Let me do this for you. Let me make you cum.” She moaned at hearing him speak so plainly, and at the way he drew out that last, forbidden word.

She nodded again, beautifully compliant and moaning his name, her body grown tense with anticipation. Gently at first, he ran his fingertips along her warm, moist folds, marveling at the return of his fingers’ sensitivity, and glad to give this gift to the woman that he loved. Loving her, he found that spot, unique in every woman, that spot he knew would set her ablaze; his expert, loving touch making her thrust her pelvis in her desire for resolution, although he swiftly left off, wanting to save that pleasure for after he played with her some more. Her panties were damp with her musk, as he let his fingertips linger at her opening, though he didn’t plan to penetrate her this first time. She gasped hard, straining against him. “Don’t fight it, Teyla,” he told her, “Relax and let me please you.”

It was an exacting torture to him, as she pumped her hips in time with how he stroked her. His desire to feel her climax in his hand was equaled by the heady urge to feel her wet, welcoming warmth encompass his erection. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all, he realized—for he was on the verge of losing control.

Teyla keened his name as he worked her towards the peak of pleasure, calling him her beloved, her mouth falling open as her body stiffened in anticipation. He rubbed her clit harder now, in small circles, while trying to ignore his own need by concentrating on how amazing it was to feel her come undone by just his touch. Stephen knew she was close now, knew she would burst beautifully in only moments more. Though he needed her to still her contact with his groin, needed to pull back before he reached the point of no return, he just couldn’t will himself to do it. When Teyla suddenly slid her own hand over his, trapping his fingers beneath hers and in this way silently urging him to finish her, it was too much for him. As her orgasm commenced, as her cries of pleasure filled his mind, it ripped a cry from the depth of his soul--her beauty in this simple act so natural and so purely for him that he came hard, despite his every intention not to, making him groan his release in communion with her own.

“Mmmmmmmm,” she purred in testament to her euphoria, trembling against him, the final spasms of her climax leaving her without strength enough to do anything but sag against him. Teyla laced her fingers through his, still pressed against her swollen clitoris, and sent a whisper to his mind. I love thee, Stephen Strange. Beyond the power of any words to measure.

Quaking in the aftermath, legs feeling like jelly, Stephen managed to stay on his feet, buoyed by quiet happiness, as much from her loving affirmation as from the physical gratification they had both experienced. Teyla still slumped, spent and gorgeous from his ministrations, relying on his arm across her body to keep upright. Stephen thought he would be embarrassed by his loss of control, but as he held her he felt no shame. Only a delicious contentment, and an awareness that she absolutely held his heart in her gentle, patient hands. He brushed his nose and mouth against her hair, dampened at the roots but still sweetly scented, and then kissed her temple. “I love you too, honey,” he told her, certain he could simply send that thought her way, but needing to hear himself say it out loud, “I love you, Teyla. Heart and mind. Body and soul.”

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sobeautifullyobsessed · 3 years

Text

A sort of angsty, Stephen Strange as a single dad one-shot based on this delicious edit of Silver Fox Strangebatch - there was just no resisting his spell!

photo source

Stephen pulled off his reading glasses and squeezed his eyes shut, then pinched the bridge of his nose before lightly massaging them. His eyes strained so much more easily these days, and it wasn’t just the size of the text on the ancient scroll he’d been studying that had done it this time. Getting old, as they say, could be a real bitch.

A dark-haired young woman, clad in the currant colored robes of an Adept, entered his study without so much as rapping on the doorframe or even announcing herself to him with the accustomed deference of her rank. He watched her cross to his favorite, old, leather wingback chair, dropping in to it, and then draped both legs over one of the arms. Once comfy, she pulled an apple from her pocket and took a crisp, juicy bite.

“Selena,” he asked quietly, settling his reading glasses back in place, preparing to tackle the Sanskrit text again, “Did you at least bring one for me?

She rolled her eyes and quirked him a little smile before answering. “Of course, I did. You know I always do.” She took another bite of her Mackintosh, then produced a second one out of thin air, tossed it up and caught it one-handed. Quite prettily, in fact. With a little flourish, she twirled her index finger and set it to spin in the air at her eye level, let it revolve a half dozen times, and then mimed a gentle push to send it floating across to him.

Stephen rolled his eyes in a manner so similar to hers, any onlooker might suspect it was a family trait. He plucked the apple from the air where it hovered above the unfurled scroll on his desk, and tutted, “Now you’re just showing off...Adept.” He had to purse his lips against giving her an indulgent smile.

“No,” she protested around her third mouthful, “Not at all. I’m just...practicing...”

“Hmmmph.”

“...and as you always tell me, practice makes...”

“...perfect.” he finished for her, while her smile grew into a shit-eating grin. A perfect mirror of his own. “So, what’s up today, honey?”

“Oh, I just had some free time, is all,” Selena delayed, sliding her legs off the arm of the chair as she swiveled to face him. “Wanted to see how you’re doing.”

Stephen nodded, seeing well past her cavalier facade--another quality she had gotten from him. “Have you dreamed it again?”

She lowered her face, transforming--to his eyes, at least--from the confident, brash, eager initiate of the Mystic Arts, back into his beloved, tenderhearted daughter. Becoming in that moment, as equally her mother’s daughter as his own. “Yeah,” she admitted on a sad sigh, “Same old. But each time, I’m seeing more and more details.” She looked back up at him, probably weighing the effect her next words might have on him, before adding, “And her voice...Dad...it gets clearer and clearer every time.” Selena shuddered, and his heart ached to give her comfort, though he would wait until she shared her thoughts in full. “It feels so...unbelievably...real. So that when I wake up, reality feels more like the dream.”

“Oh, honey,” he offered, pushing back in his chair so he could stand up, “I know exactly how that feels...” Doubt flickered across her face, but he continued, “Even if I don’t have the gift your Mother gave you...”

“Gift and curse,” she mumbled, disheartened.

Stephen came around to stand in front of his desk. “It is a gift, honey. I promise you. And in time, with proper training, you’ll see that for yourself.” He held out his arms to her, “C’mere, sweetheart.”

She was up in a flash, his dear little girl, launching herself into the warmth and safety of his embrace. Something he hoped she would never be too grown up to need. Though she was tall and angular--like him--she fit in his arms the way Teyla had. Like she was part of him, and had been born to be just that.

Selena hummed softly and drew a deep sigh, and he felt some of her stress begin to fade away. Stephen pressed a kiss to the crown of her head. “Perhaps it’s time you talked to Master Salma about these dreams,” he dared yet again, “She helped your Mother quite a bit when she first came to Kamar-Taj. Taught her about dream interpretation...and...and dream management...” She was already shaking her head ‘no’ against his shoulder. “Truly, honey--she can teach you enough to ward your heart from the pain your dreams bring on.”

“I don’t wanna, Dad. Because it’s a private thing, know what I mean? I don’t want to share this with...with anyone but you.” She sniffled and he held her even tighter. “And I don’t want them to end, because...when I’m in...when I’m in them, I can feel Mama’s love...surrounding me...like it did,” she exhaled several slow breaths, using the discipline of their order to induce a state of self-calm, “Like it did when she was here with us.”

Stephen knew that feeling well, though he had not spoken of it to Selena in years. His dreams of Teyla, though far less frequent than his daughter’s, had been providing him the same sweet comfort for fifteen years. Since the night his wide-eyed, four year old prodigy had counselled him to open his heart and believe that Teyla’s spirit remained with them somehow. He realized that he’d give up those dreams this very day, despite how he’d clung to their comfort through some of his most difficult times as a father, as a Master in the constant battle to keep Earth safe, and in wearing the heavy mantle of Sorcerer Supreme--if it meant that Selena could go without the painful after effects of her sleeping visions.

“Alright,” he conceded softly, “Alright for now. But one of these days you owe it to yourself to seek the guidance Master Salma can provide.” He rested the shelf of his chin atop Selena’s head, his eyes closed as he conjured the image of his dear Teyla as Salma and the Masters of several disciplines had tested her abilities upon her arrival at Kamar-Taj, from her home world of Hadeeth. He never could have guessed at the time that he would have been blessed with two gifts beyond all measure. The unconditional love and unflagging faith that Teyla had granted him. And her further gift of the love she bore him, and of the innate goodness of his precious Hadeethan Healer, in the form of their beautiful daughter.

“Not just for how she can help you personally, Selena,” he advised her, “But if you’re serious about devoting yourself to the service of humanity through the Mystic Arts, you must nurture your talent for dream divination. Just as your Mother did.”

To that, she nodded against him, remaining silent and still breathing deeply, while Stephen rocked her in his arms, grateful that he could still manage to assuage her troubled heart this way. After a bit, she looked up at him with a sad but brave sort of smile and he kissed her brow.

“You know, I only grabbed a light breakfast and this apple isn’t going to be enough to carry me through to lunch,” he told her, “How about we hit the dining hall for some honey cakes? I happen to know they’ll be setting out a fresh batch of them any minute now, and they really taste their best right from the oven.”

“Oh, Daddy-- you and your sweet tooth,” she grinned, “It does sound wonderful, though. And I don’t have another class until after noon, so I guess I might as well join you.” She poked his belly lightly, “Besides, someone needs to be on hand to keep you from overindulging. You’re not getting any younger, you know, and you’ve gone a little past your ideal fighting weight.”

“Why thank you, Adept,” he grumbled as they headed arm and arm, from his study to the courtyard outside, “As if Wong doesn’t nag me enough about eating right and getting proper rest, now I have you to keep me in line...”

Selena giggled, then tried to adopt her most dour mien, in imitation of Stephen’s dearest friend and Master Librarian. She cleared her throat, and with her uncanny knack for impersonation, repeated one of Wong’s favorite rejoinders, “Well, Stephen, it’s all just part of the services which I am happy to provide.”

Stephen chuckled while his own shit-eating grin bloomed across his face. He tickled her waist, right where his hand rested, knowing that he’d be rewarded with further Selena giggles. And for the ten thousandth time, he offered up a silent prayer of gratitude to the Universe for entrusting him with the care and nurturing of the remarkable, resilient, and very loving soul at his side.

__________________________________________________

If you enjoyed this, and would like to know a bit more of Stephen and Selena’s story, please check this post - but perhaps have some tissue on hand. ;-)

And if you’re curious about his love story with Teyla of Hadeeth, please do check it out on AO3. It’s still a WIP, but I have every intention of updating one of these days, eventually to finish it. Of Magic, Miracles, and Moonlight. Rated Mature for love scenes that come later in the story.

tagging some I hope will enjoy this piece: @ben-locked @strangelock221b @ravencatart @doctor-stephenstrange @doctorstrangeaskblog @letterstosherlock @humanbornarchangel @ben-c-group-therapy @splunge4me2art @tsukuyomi011 @emilyinnj4real @aeterna-auroral-avenger @frowerssx2 @groovyfluxie @elizaaugust @notjustamumj (because, my dear, you gave Stephen the same loving treatment in your fic, that I hope you see in mine xx) and @aelaer (because you love Stephen like I love Stephen - and there is no romance involved in this one, but lots & lots of feels)

#my writing #Stephen Strange #Selena Strange #OFC #DaddyStrange #Doctor Strange #Strangebatch #My Eternal Muse #Silver Fox Strangebatch #I have a feeling he's going to find his way into more of my fics #I melt when I look at him #angst #single parenting #love #loss #Of Magic Miracles and Moonlight #Teyla of Hadeeth #Streyla

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sobeautifullyobsessed · 2 years

Text

from the next chapter of Lady in Red - a Doctor Strange x OFC fic

characters: Stephen Strange x Teyla of Hadeeth (OFC); previously established relationship

rating: Teen and up; angst, hurt/comfort, romance, implied non-con (in the past)

word count: 1.7k

Ten days later, and Teyla’s physical wounds were well on the mend, the cruel bruising she had suffered almost faded away, and her cracked ribs well-knit and no longer even tender, thanks to the curative spells practiced by the Healers of Kamar-Taj. Her appetite was beginning to return, and hour by hour she seemed to be more like herself. The nightmares that had plagued her were coming less often—and with Stephen ever near to comfort her when she awoke from those night terrors, her sleep had become more restful.

Still, Stephen remained dismayed that Teyla continued to provide him with only the barest details about her experience—reading in that choice her desire to protect his feelings. All that he could do about that was to gently remind her that he loved her unconditionally and that when she felt ready to break her silence, he would be here for her, to comfort and never judge. As far as he knew, she had not chosen to lighten the burden of those foul memories by airing them with anyone in their Order, even those whose expertise lay in providing for the wellbeing of mind and heart.

Finally, Master Isumo judged that Teyla was fit enough for light duties, if she so wished, and to leave the confines of the compound and Kathmandu. Stephen’s first thought was to bring her to their most special place on Earth: the little hut that he had previously fit out to please her, their private sanctuary whose walls were filled with only love and the dearest of memories.

When he announced his intention to bring her there, just the prospect of that trip enticed the sweetest and much-missed sunshine smile to dawn upon her face at last. That being the first time that Teyla’s smile had looked truly untroubled by the shadow of her ordeal. With Kamar-Taj only a portal away in case of any sort of relapse, Stephen felt confident that this would be the best medicine toward continuing her recovery.

They arrived in the early evening, and everything about the place was the perfect picture of their first night there, the mock orange bushes bordering the rustic cabin in full, fragrant bloom.

Teyla stood stock still and shut her eyes as the golden gateway closed behind them, and then took several deep, cleansing breaths, to hum softly in relief. “I feel as though I am finally home, Beloved. As safe in this shelter you have made for us, as I ever feel in your embrace.” When she opened her eyes again, Stephen thought they looked as soft and warm, and as free of the painful burden she’d been bearing in silence, as they had been since he had brought her back to Earth.

“You can count on that, sweetheart. In all the months and years ahead.” He pulled her to him, as though in proof of that promise, the fit of slim form against him the greatest relief he’d felt in what seemed ages longer than the two weeks time since she’d been abducted. Since the moment he had found her alive, in fact, though she had still been caught in Hades dark magic. “I want you to remember this feeling, honey. Because someday coming up, I will have to leave your side and return to my full responsibilities—but at those times I can’t embrace you physically, I am always holding you this close in my heart.”

Teyla tightened her arms around his back. “Even so, do I hold onto you, Beloved.” Her voice went low and tremulous as she reminded him, “ ‘Twas only knowing that you hold me in your heart no matter where you traverse the cosmos, that gave me hope enough to survive those dark, endless hours until you came to claim me.”

He would not tell her in that moment, but he had already doubled down on matters of her safety---delving deep into ancient documents to research and devise even stronger warding spells to protect her whenever he should need to travel afar. Stephen was aware now, more than ever, that his reputation as one of Earth’s staunchest protectors proceeded him wherever his duties took him---thus making those he held dear, especially Teyla, targets for vengeance and a toy for coercion. “I will always come for you, my love. Come hell itself, I’ll find the way.”

_____________________________________

Teyla had taken a brief nap that afternoon, which had freed Stephen up to transport a few things they would need while staying in their quiet hideaway. A well-stocked hamper of food and drink, extra blankets for the cooler nights, and a wicker chaise---complete with soft, comfy cushions---large enough for them to relax in the open air together. They reclined there now, as the sun set behind the mountain and dusk stole across the sky.

He lay on his back, waiting for the first stars to appear, and Teyla was curled against him, resting her head on his chest and one arm tucked across him. She had gone so quiet that he thought she had drifted off into a peaceful doze, but as the darkness grew, she hummed contently and quietly asked, “Do you think there will be fireflies tonight?”

Stephen drew a deep breath of the pure, crisp air and shook his head. “I don’t think so, honey. That time of year has passed; the nights are too cool now.”

“Hmmm,” she shivered softly, so that he raised his free hand and caused the blanket at their feet to lift up and settle over them. “That’s a shame---I would have liked to see them again.”

He felt a smile tug at one corner of his mouth as he recalled an ancient bit of wisdom he had learned in Sunday school, and which he had seen echoed in one way or another in cultures all across the universe. “To everything there is a season, and a time for every purpose under heaven.”

Teyla laughed softly, “Has happiness made you a philosopher, my darling? We have a similar saying on Hadeeth.” She recited it, in all its gentle rhythm, then added, “It is good to be reminded of such things.”

“I can’t claim credit for it, sweetheart. But it’s a truth that took me most of my life to learn.” He turned his face enough to kiss the crown of her head. “And honestly, I only came to truly appreciate it because of...you.” Though he couldn’t see her pleased smile, Stephen felt it in that wonderful way they shared, of knowing what the other felt. This is some perfect night, isn’t it, my dear, he thought her way, testing to see if that bond had returned to its full power---for during the weeks of her recovery, it had seemed to him that Teyla had somehow been shielding her mind from his.

Nearly perfect, Beloved. But would become even more so if you would take me to our bed.

He gave an audible gasp, not having expected her to ask, or ask so soon. Are you certain you’re ready for that, baby?

“More than ready,” she affirmed, rising up to lean on her elbow, “And surprised to find I have less patience in this matter that you.” She gave him her rarely used, but very genuine pout. “I have begun to fear you think me too fragile...or perhaps...”

“Perhaps?” He found the uncertainty in her voice startling. “Perhaps what, honey?”

She lowered her eyes and traced a lazy heart upon the center of his chest, “That...that now you find me...tainted...by the things...the things that happened when I was...held captive...”

“Oh, baby, no,” he exclaimed, claiming her hand to kiss tenderly, “Not in a thousand lifetime! I love you and want you more with every day that passes.” Stephen sat up and cupped her face in both of his hands. “Can’t you feel that from me? As you had even before I knew it myself?”

Teyla shook her head, her lashes wet with unshed tears, which now spilled down her cheeks and onto his skin. “It may be that my fear of it happening has been enough to keep me from the knowing. And from believing you could want me still...”

“My sweet, sweet angel,” he affirmed in his gentlest tone, “My beautiful, little miracle worker. My beautiful miracle. You know me better than that.”

“I do, my love...I swear I do,” she rushed to assure him, “Yet still the fear and doubt have weighed heavily upon me---and then, in some of my dreams...” She shuddered, and he knew no chill had caused it, but the illusions that had visited her nightmares. “Forgive me, Stephen...in some dreams, after saving me, you came to...to shun me.”

“Oh, baby...never!” Stephen held her to him, feeling the trip hammer of her heart and rocking her gently, while aching to banish any of her remaining fears. Feeling he fell short when better words eluded him than what he’d managed. “It’s all going to be okay, honey. Trust in me.”

“I do. Always, I do. But in these past few days, I have been so much better. And you’ve held me through the night, yet I have not felt even the smallest stirring of your desire for me.”

“Only because I wanted to be careful, honey. To wait until both your body and mind were healed. And to keep from hurting you, inadvertently.”

“Beloved,” she told him, laying her hand against his cheek, “Know you not that there is no manner in this or any world that you could hurt me? Unless your heart should uncouple from mine—an event that is well beyond any dreams or nightmares or even imaginings.” Teyla drew his face to hers, to murmur against his lips, “The final cure I need must come from you, Stephen. Only then will I be completely restored to the woman I was before…before that beast’s foul touch.”

She was trembling in much the same way as the first night they had spent in this place, and he could feel the fierceness of her need for him at every point of contact between them, clothed or unclothed. “Take me to our bed, my love, and make me whole at last.”…

read chapters 1-4 on AO3

...and perhaps if I get a good response to this piece, I'll finally finish the chapter in full!

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sobeautifullyobsessed · 2 years

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a wee taste of ‘Of Magic, Miracles, and Moonlight’

a pre-Infinity War, slow burn, Doctor Strange fic

Stephen Strange x Teyla of Hadeeth (OFC)

In the days and weeks since they had begun their unlikely romance, she had become the breath in Stephen’s lungs, the sustenance he craved above all other things, and the secret happiness he carried with him everywhere he went. As far and as wide as he had to range in order to fulfill his duties as a Sanctum Master, as Master of the Mystic Arts and as a fully committed protector of humanity, she was with him--not only in the tender memories of their private times together, but in the divine anticipation of all that lay ahead for them. Parted from her, Stephen felt the worst impatience of his life, but bore it more patiently than he’d ever done for anything. During those necessary separations, he yearned unstintingly to hold her and to feel the shivers of her own longing; and the passion which he ached to spend upon her, he channeled into his work—so that the enemies of Earth stood no chance of victory against him, quaking in fear before his countenance and collapsing into impotence before his righteous magic. Though it mattered little to Stephen Strange, his reputation across the multiverse grew mightily, enough to discourage certain dark forces from engaging in battle with Earth’s most fearsome defender...

read the full chapter on AO3

#my writing #Of Magic Miracles and Moonlight #romance #passion #smut #doctor strange fanfiction #doctor strange fan fiction #Doctor Strange x OFC #Stephen Strange x OFC #Doctor Strange x Teyla of Hadeeth #Stephen Strange x Teyla of Hadeeth #Streyla #Stephen Strange #Doctor Strange #Strangebatch #LOML #My Eternal Muse

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sobeautifullyobsessed · 3 years

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Of Magic, Miracles, and Moonlight - chapter 12

a Strangebatch Romance by @sobeautifullyobsessed

(As I’m in much need of Stephen-love this afternoon, I’ve had to turn to one of my own works. Stephen Strange x OFC. Contains some rather luscious NSFW. If you enjoy that sort of thing...) ____________________________________________

This night their eagerness had brought them to an alley on the city’s edge; it was not their usual sort of trysting place, but in their need, they had to make do.

The lovers—for that was what they had become in nearly every sense of the word—were rapt in one another, protected by the dark of night, secluded enough that the night sounds of a thriving city had fallen away, so that the quiet music of their shared passion was all they could hear.

Her honesty and vulnerability had become a spell upon him; Stephen knew he was already halfway in love with her, and with every hour he spent in her company he was falling hard, and falling deep. “Oh,Teyla,” he breathed, his voice rife with astonishment, “The best part of me remains with you—you know that, don’t you?” He touched her forehead, just between her eyes—her Third Eye, which he had learned of from the Ancient One herself, “See me here, and know I’m only a thought away from you. And trust that nothing in the multiverse can keep me from returning to you.” He lifted her chin, and leaned in to kiss the tears that hung from her lashes. “Can you do that for me, honey?”

That’s my brave girl, he had thought, unprepared for her next admission.

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Her confession left him weak, and filled him with joy—tinged with a trace of shame for the physical hunger that threatened to overrule his better nature. He wondered if she read his lust as well as she read his tenderness for her. Did she understand how his body cried out to take her—to tear through the material that guarded her innocence, to finally breach her after the countless encounters that had sent him to his bed, unable to calm himself except by lengthy meditation? Some nights lately, even that discipline had failed him, and he could only find sleep by picturing her lying sweetly beneath him, beckoning for him to do whatever he desired, while his scarred hands worked the deed he yearned to do inside of her. Would she still adore him if she knew that dirty secret?

She blinked several times, reading his truth, and then softly insisted, “But my sole wish is to please you, my love.”

______________________________________________

_________________________________________________

This story is still a work in progress, but if you liked it enough to read more, you can find Chapters 1-18 on AO3 - and other bits and pieces scattered throughout recent years, here on tumblr.

#my writing #Of Magic Miracles and Moonlight #romance #passion #Doctor Strange #Doctor Strange x OFC #Teyla of Hadeeth #OFC #Teyla #Stephen Strange x Teyla of Hadeeth #Streyla #love #lust #smut #lemon #Strangebatch #My Eternal Muse #Stephen Strange x OFC

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sobeautifullyobsessed · 3 years

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Let’s indulge in another dose of Stephen Strange angst, shall we? Because there is just so much there that eventually it has to show itself. Of course, one of the next best things to angst is the comfort that comes after, if there’s someone on hand who cares...

(excerpt from chapter seven of Of Magic, Miracles, and Moonlight)

It was that same old dream again, but with a wicked twist. He dreamed it far less frequently these days, and if he took the time to analyze just why, Stephen would realize it was because he had finally shed much of the guilt which he had carried for more than half a lifetime. Accepting that he bore full responsibility for his horrific accident, facing his demons in the aftermath, and recognizing that his medical career had never been of one of true service to others, had been a struggle that rivaled the constant physical challenges presented by his ruined hands. Only the enlightenment that had come to him with his studies in the mystic arts had enabled him to accept the truth about himself, humbling him and inspiring him to be a better man than ever in his life.

His dream-self stood—as he always did--on the shore of one of the smaller Fremont Lakes, drinking a can of Coors, laughing with his friends, and flirting with the prettiest of his sister’s high school classmates. He was only weeks away from beginning freshman year, and Stephen had been thinking that a little fling with Chloe Butler might be the perfect way to end the summer before heading off to study medicine at Creighton University. His sister Donna had swum out toward the the center of the lake, headed for the swim platform to bask in the afternoon sun—swimming as effortlessly as she’d done at least a hundred times before, and he frankly wasn’t paying much attention. He should have been; if he had been, he might have reached her minutes sooner, reached her in time to keep her from going under that last time.

In reality, he’d only heard her call his name once, but in the dreams, her frightened voice always carried across the water to him, repeatedly calling for help, calling his name, begging him to save her. When he realized she was in trouble, he’d shucked off his scuffed leather boat shoes, the first of the young men on the narrow strip of beach to dive in, swimming frantically in her direction. He was never to know for certain what had put her in distress; without a full autopsy (their mother couldn’t bear the thought of one), the best explanation they’d been given was a seizure of sorts, or something as innocuous as an ill-timed cramp. And though his lungs burned with his effort to reach her, Stephen was still a dozen yards away when Donna sank below the surface with heartbreaking finality.

In his dream, he relived again his frantic search for her in the dark depths of the lake, finally finding her, bringing her to shore, and breaking down after he was unable to resuscitate her. But this time, instead of waking sweat-soaked and heart hammering the insistent beat of his failure and his guilt, the nightmare continued. Though she was long dead and buried, Donna was there, in the flower of eternal youth, riding passenger with him in his Lamborghini Huracan. You failed me, Stephen, she intoned, her eyes flashing with bitter accusation; you were my older brother and you were supposed to look out for me, but you failed miserably; and as the rain began to pound the windshield, she questioned him without remorse: how many others did you fail in your egotistical short sightedness?

Stephen faced her, helpless to change the past, knowing his own fate was already sealed; in moments would come the crash and his car would hurtle off the road, breaking his hands beyond repair, robbing him of the life he’d worked so single-mindedly to establish for himself. You failed me, Stephen, she repeated, as you always fail the ones in greatest need…and just before the collision, Donna’s face transformed, and she was Teyla, but not angry--only sad, her indictments delivered quietly, regretfully, with a tenderness that matched her spirit in the waking world. You failed him, Stephen Strange; a better man might have saved my father. Somehow her words stung even more, for the gentle way in which she delivered them. You were ever selfish, and blind to the needs of others, so perhaps there is some justice in your fate, after all. And then she was gone, as his car spun and spun, and the pain was excruciating, and he knew in that moment that he deserved the pain, he deserved to have his old life ripped away…and if he spent a hundred years expunging his guilt through selfless service, he could never erase the misery, the loss, the deaths, of those he’d failed. His dear, doomed sister. Walter Charles, and those patients, who, like him, were not challenge enough to merit his valuable time and attention. And now, his gentle Teyla…

“Stephen”. Softly, yet urgently, spoken. “Stephen, you must awaken.” A concerned, familiar voice, summoning him away from his pain and self-recrimination. Pulling him from the depths of his dream. A hand—her hand--upon his shoulder, soft but insistent, lightly shaking him back to consciousness.

“Teyla,” he murmured, still caught in the nightmare. He needed to tell her. Wanted to, but that would only bring her pain. “Teyla…”

“Yes, I am here,” she answered, “I am here, Stephen. Open your eyes. See me beside you and know that all is well.”

His eyes fluttered open, unable to focus at first, and his heart was pounding, just as it always did in the wake of that nightmare. Her hand on his cheek was soft and cool, her face hovering above his quietly merciful, the ends of her hair just brushing his skin. Teyla of Hadeeth. How was she here, sympathetic as she tried to soothe him, the embodiment of clemency when he deserved only her scorn? “Teyla?” he whispered, wondering if she was just the remains of his dream, and would vanish like mist if he dared to trust she was real.

“Yes, Stephen,” she answered patiently, “Leave those painful memories behind. You must not torment yourself so.” Despite the grief he knew dwelled in her heart, her focus seemed to be solely on comforting him.

“I was dreaming,” he rasped, feeling he ought to explain, and hoping he didn’t appear as weak as he felt.

“I know,” she told him, the calm of her voice and in her touch beginning to banish the anguish that had enveloped him. “I dreamt as well, Stephen. I saw enough to know, and I felt your distress, and now I am here because you are more than worthy of mercy—but such mercy must begin with yourself.” She laid a hand over his heart, and an unexpected warmth spread through his chest.

Amazed at her perception, Stephen searched her eyes, reading her sincerity, unbelieving that redemption could be so easily gained. He shook his head to clear away the vestiges of his nightmare, sitting up against the headboard. He laid his hand atop hers, swearing he could feel the beautiful life force that inhabited her slender form. “Teyla,” he confessed, “If you knew the truth, you might not be so generous…”

Her eyes told him before she spoke, that she was well aware of the part he’d played in her father’s story. “I already know all that I need to know, Stephen.” His given name upon her lips, spoken without a hint of her usual formality, was a balm against his shame. “You have paid a heavy penance for your past mistakes; you need punish yourself no longer.”

Stephen breathed deeply and closed his eyes, feeling entirely unworthy of the absolution she was offering. “Do you understand, Teyla? Your own father…”

She cupped a hand against his cheek, silencing him with a wise, sweet smile. “I assure you, Stephen—I understand it all…and I promise you that you are not the man you were in those days.” He opened his eyes, finding only compassion in her own. “You have become your best self, through trial and pain. I swear that you are now the man you were destined to become…but you must forgive yourself--for that will finally free you from this burden of guilt that weighs upon you so.”

Though awestruck by her heart’s true generosity, Stephen suddenly felt tired enough to sleep for a week. “Yes,” she smiled, relieved on his behalf, “You must rest a while now, and come the day this darkness will fade to naught.” Come morning he would wonder too, if she’d worked some gentle magic by simple touch alone.

At her prompting, Stephen slid back down onto his pillow, allowing her to tuck the blanket around him. He caught her hand in his before she stood up to leave; she didn’t seem surprised. “You are most welcome, Stephen Strange,” she told him, then headed to his door.

“Just tell me this,” he said, a ghost of his usual cheekiness restored, so that she turned back to him from the doorway, “How are you so young, and yet so wise, Teyla of Hadeeth?”

She raised a brow—quite insouciantly—and he saw in her a bit of Moraine’s regal bearing, as she proudly replied, “I am both my mother’s daughter, and my father’s child as well. I dare to believe that the best of both of them have found their union in me.” Teyla gave a little shrug, and left the room—though the surprising smile she left upon Stephen’s face lasted long enough to see him into a more peaceful sleep of his own.

#my writing #angst #hurt.comfort #nightmare #Stephen Strange #Doctor Strange #Donna Strange #Of Magic Miracles and Moonlight #nightmares #Strangebatch #My Eternal Muse #Teyla of Hadeeth #OFC #Streyla

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sobeautifullyobsessed · 3 years

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Though There Be Pain, Love Still Endures

A Stephen Strange fic, mostly inspired by this photo manip. I call him Silver Fox Strangebatch--and he simply won’t let go of my imagination! 💗💗

Chapter Three

Wong had set an around the clock watch in the main courtyard, for Stephen’s return. He would leave nothing to chance, for he knew the news that he must deliver to his old friend was bound to shock him, perhaps even shake him to his foundations, and he intended to prevent even a whisper of rumor to reach Stephen’s ears before he spoke to him. “It is imperative we have the opportunity to prepare your father before we reveal this miracle to him,” he had told Selena. “As you know, he had accepted long ago that this was never a possibility. For as much as you were rocked by this revelation, it will go much harder on him. Utmost patience is required now.”

Selena had readily agreed, for the resilience of her youth coupled with the dreams she’d been having with increasing frequency for several weeks, had somewhat alleviated the shock for her. And of course, she wanted only what was best for her father. She had been anxious to keep watch for him herself, but Wong insisted that she continue to follow her regular activities-–for he knew that their already strong father-daughter bond was so enhanced by their individual magics, that Stephen might read upon her face, mayhap even catch the extraordinary news from the potent swirl of thoughts and emotions filling her, and which were beyond Selena’s ability to control.

The Novice on watch that evening had been swift to come find Wong at the very moment she had spotted the Sorcerer Supreme stepping through the portal he had conjured back to Kamar-Taj. “He appears battle weary, Master Wong,” she had reported breathlessly, having clearly sprinted her way to find him meditating at his desk in the library, “As do the other Masters that arrived with him.”

Wong had nodded and thanked the young Novice, reminding her she must not share this news with anyone else, unless he told her otherwise. He had jotted a quick note to Selena, to let her know that given the lateness of the hour he thought it best to allow Stephen a good night’s rest, and they would address the issue come morning. He then instructed the Novice to deliver his message before dismissing her for the night.

At eight am, as per Wong’s instruction, Selena had gotten a breakfast tray for her father, and then met the librarian outside her father’s rooms. As much as she had worked to calm herself, her eyes shone bright with expectation, the cheekbones which she had inherited from Stephen, flushed with hectic color. Wong kept his voice calm and even–-not difficult, from nearly a lifetime of maintaining detached equilibrium-–and reminded her, “All will be well, Selena. Behave as you normally would. And soon enough, once we have prepared him, your father will take great joy in your news.”

“Of course…of course,” she answered breathlessly, suddenly seeming much younger than her years. Reminding him of the girl she’d been when Stephen had finally relented and allowed her to start spending weekends at Kamar-Taj to begin her studies in the Mystic Arts–-while insisting she complete her regular schooling on weekdays, back in her middle school in New York.

Wong stepped back as Selena knocked on his door. “Come in,” came the voice of the Sorcerer Supreme. Both of his visitors knew that Stephen had likely been up a couple of hours, as was his well established routine. He’d have meditated upon arising, and then addressed any messages, correspondence, or updates left in his absence. All before attending to his own most basic needs-–thus Selena’s offering of breakfast.

She put on her sunniest smile as she opened the door, leaving it ajar behind her. “Hey, Dad–-I brought you a surprise.”

“Good morning, honey.” There was a pause as Stephen took in the unusual sight. “What’s this?” Wong could already hear traces of skepticism in his reaction. “Are you trying to butter me up or something, Selena? Because the answer is still ‘no’ when it comes to going off world just yet. You’re nowhere near ready for that-–and if I allowed it, it would smack of nepotism. Favoritism. And any other ‘ism’ you can think of…”

“Jeez, Dad,” Selena scoffed, convincingly, “Can’t a girl just grab some breakfast with her…perpetually…busy father?”

“Right. Okay.” Stephen sighed, rather wearily–meaning he wasn’t completely persuaded, but his ‘dad-sense’ (as Selena had come to refer to it) had declined a notch or two. “Okay, honey. Let’s catch up.”

Wong heard the shuffling of feet, so that he guessed the pair had moved to the little nook where Stephen often took his meals when he was doing double duty; studying some ancient tome, diagraming new spells, planning a mission, or on the very rare occasion, reading for pleasure. From his position just outside the doorway, Wong saw a second chair float in that direction, so he knew that Selena would soon be seated with her father.

He waited several minutes before interrupting, reasoning that Stephen needed to eat, and also giving them a chance to actually catch up with one another. Wong turned his focus inward, not wishing to play the role of an eavesdropper. When he caught the relaxed notes of Selena’s laughter, he judged the time was right.

He popped his head just past the doorjamb and knocked lightly. “Good morning, Stephen. I was hoping we might have a word.”

Stephen grinned and waved him in. “Come on in, Wong. The more the merrier.” As the Master Librarian had hoped, his friend looked just as relaxed as Selena had sounded. “What can I do for you this morning? Selena has softened me up for you, which means I’m more apt to give in to one of your more esoteric requests.” He winked at his daughter, then looked back to Wong, who had come to stand before the little table, hands tucked behind his back.

“We had a visitor arrive at the main entrance two nights ago,” Wong informed him, “Seeking shelter…and asking after you.”

Stephen dabbed at his mouth with his napkin and took a last swallow of orange juice. “Hmmmm, not entirely unheard of. Is it someone I know?”

Wong looked to Selena, who nodded, and he continued. “Very well, in fact. Someone from…out of your past.”

“Ooooooo, why so cryptic, Wong?” Stephen chuckled, having risen and was heading back to his desk. “Is this someone, someone with…nefarious intent?”

“Um…no, Dad. Not at all.” Selena followed him over, with Wong in tow. She was doing her best to remain calm, but Wong could see she was straining not to just blurt out the name.

Stephen paused, immediately wary, flitting his eyes back and forth between his daughter and his friend. “What’s up with you two? This mysteriousness fits you, Wong, but Selena? Not so much.”

Wong and Selena shared another look. She took a small step forward. “It’s good news, Dad. great news, really. But, uh…um…”

Wong took up where she left off, though he couldn’t proceed with the delicacy he had hoped for from Selena. “You must prepare yourself for a bit of a shock, Stephen. People don’t come back from the dead all that often–even in our line of work.”

Now his normal skepticism was edged with notes of alarm. “What…what are you talking about?”

“Dad, it’s…it’s just the most amazing thing ever” Selena’s voice cracked as she struggled against giving into happy tears. “And the reason I’ve been dreaming so much of…of Mama…lately...”

Stephen straightened, his heart making the jump at their implications, before his mind was even ready to make the connection. “What?”

“It’s a miracle, Stephen. The most unexpected of all.” Wong himself felt nearly moved to some seriously sentimental tears. Entirely uncharacteristic, of course, but having been one of the few to have seen Stephen through that long ago loss and grief, he was ready to witness the happiness to come.

Stephen made a strangled, scoffing sound, then shook his head in denial. “Beg your pardon, Wong, but...” He narrowed his eyes, trying to read in his friend’s calm, inscrutable expression some sign that the conclusion he had come to was the actual truth. Though partially obscurred from his sight due to both Wong and Selena standing before him, Stephen watched--unbelieving, as his brilliant mind made the connection and his heart leapt into his throat--the hooded figure that had silently come to stand in the doorway. A petite, slender vision from out of his past, enrobed in familiar, grey homespun. He squeezed his eyes shut and jerked his head as though trying to shakes it loose of cobwebs, but when he reopened them, the figure remained.

Wong and Selena had parted enough to allow him sight of the full picture, just as a soft voice spoke up from beneath the hood. “Forgive me, please, I know I was supposed to wait a while longer, but the sound of your voice...it...” She sounded as though prevailed upon, unable to resist a moment longer and as though trying to keep her own voice from breaking. “...it has compelled me as ever it did, my darling.” Her sleeve slipped back as she raised her arm, a dainty, pale hand revealing itself as it pushed the hood away from the speaker’s face.

Shock and awe moved Stephen to gracelessly stumble a few steps forward, his confusion giving way to incredulity until the light of understanding lit his face. “I became powerless to maintain Wong’s wise edict of caution, and could not wait a moment longer to look upon your face,” she explained. Her soft, much loved, forever missed, doe-eyes finally found his, and all other words fell dumb upon her lips. All but the one that mattered to him the most. “Beloved.”

(to be continued)

Chapters 1-3 now available on AO3

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sobeautifullyobsessed · 3 years

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Though There Be Pain, Love Still Endures - chapter four

Teyla stood there, straight as a reed, as though rooted in place, and Stephen marveled not only that she was here, but that she appeared not to have aged a day in the intervening years. Yet there seemed something about her that marked her as mature beyond her appearance. Confidence and a stateliness in her bearing–reminiscent of that of her mother, Moraine. An even greater patience then the exceptional measure that he remembered. And a grave sadness overcome through perseverance, instilling greater wisdom, though at the cost of toughening a tender heart. All these things he understood in a handful of heartbeats, along with the certainty that her love for him remained true and evergreen.

Stephen felt barely able to breathe, “How is this possible?” And then she was hurrying to him, reaching one hand to his face, the other seeking to take his hand. Raising it to her lips to kiss. “Stephen…Beloved…my life…my heart’s true home…” Those beautiful, old endearments, repeated now as though no real time or distance stood between them since she last breathed their sweetness upon his lips.

Selena was crying, and Wong had draped his arm around her shoulders, smiling as he hadn’t in years and years. Stephen glanced at them for only a moment without really seeing them, then looked back to his woman. His greatest love. His soulmate—whose loss had left him feeling forever incomplete. He cupped her face in his tremoring hands, “Teyla?”. She nodded up at him, her ever gentle tears wetting his skin, proving that she must be real. “Teyla…”

“Stephen. All my thought, all that I am, all these years, have been bent upon returning to you. To you and Selena.” He was stroking his thumbs along her cheekbones, an old habit of affection, and she closed her eyes and hummed softly. “I know not how I survived so long without your touch to sustain me. ‘Twas hope, against impossible odds, that saw me through, and…” She breathed out slowly, then fixed her eyes on his, “…and a gift you left with me, though you knew it not.”

Oh, that lovely, archaic mode of speech; the softness of her voice and the cadence of her speech, which had always showed that English was not her native tongue; and the beauty of hearing her simply speak his name. Treasures that had lived only in his memory for fifteen years, come back to precious life now, before his very eyes. “Teyla,” he repeated once more, then laid his forehead on hers, breathing her in. “I tried my damnedest to find you, honey. I’m so sorry I couldn’t find the way. That I failed you.”

“Never once have you failed me, Stephen Strange,” she insisted, in that same tone that was the closest she had ever come to chiding him. “Some things remain beyond the purview of even your extraordinary powers. Sometimes,” Teyla sighed, her voice filled with the purity of love and boundless mercy that had laid claim to his heart so long ago, “Sometimes the Universe tests us, refines us by trials, harrows our very Souls, so that we might learn and grow beyond one particular life or another. To guide us into fulfilling our destiny.” She took his face in both hands, raising it so that she could study it carefully. “Oh, yes…I see this in your eyes, my love. And in every line upon your face.”

Though he felt undeserving of such an easy absolution, Stephen accepted it, at least in part—for as things stood now, he doubted that he could ever forgive himself for giving up at all. For both Teyla’s and Selena’s sakes, he now realized that quest should have remained his primary one. Even amidst the ponderous obligations he had assumed in accepting the responsibilities of becoming the Sorcerer Supreme. “I’m not the same man I was then, Teyla,” he cautioned her, the heat of shame rising in his cheeks not only for his failure to bring her home, but for the choices that his duties had forced him to make, and which sometimes boiled down to the narrow difference between bad and worse. “The things I’ve seen…the things I’ve had to do…”

“The things that you have suffered, Beloved,” she reminded him. Tears hung upon her lashes—for surely she was reading his heart, his feelings, if not some whisper of his thoughts. Just as she had almost from their start—and not just courtesy of her empathetic gifts, but because of the depth of their bond.

“There may be things about me now that…that you will not recognize. or care for.”

“Oh, Stephen.” Despite her sympathetic tears, there dawned her pretty, heartfelt smile. The one he first remembered from a sunny morning in the compound courtyard, a few weeks after she had arrived as Kamar-Taj. He had complimented her on a charming bit of magic she had worked to amuse the younglings who lived and studied there. It was the first he had seen of Hadeethan magic, and she had fairly glowed at his unexpected praise. Teyla was wiser and far more experienced now than she had been then, but unlike Stephen, she remained her pure, essential self. “You must learn again to see yourself through my eyes. It will be my joy to remind you of this daily.”

That had always been her way, well before he had ever realized he loved her. To insist he had become his best possible self and had more than made up for the sins of his past. And in doing so, she had made him aspire to be the man he saw reflected in her eyes. Stephen gave the slightest nod, his voice gone low as he meant it for Teyla’s ears alone. “It will be my daily joy, my darling, to learn this once again. And any other lesson that you believe I need.” He turned his face enough to kiss one of her palms, and then the other. But for the presence of Selena and Wong, he would have followed with a deeper, more abiding kiss; a kiss that would show Teyla that nothing in the years of their separation had changed the passion the she inspired him to.

“It’s alright, Dad,” Selena wisely prompted him, “You need to kiss her exactly like that. ‘Cuz I don’t remember you ever shying away like this when I was little…”

He flicked his eyes his daughter’s way. and then back to her mother. “She’s got that thing you do…” he explained with a quirk of his brow.

“I know, my love,” she sighed, as her eyes dropped to his mouth, telegraphing her willingness to kiss ad be kissed at long last, “Although her sass is…absolutely you…”

“It is,” he agreed with a soft laugh, tilting Teyla’s chin up in the prelude to a kiss, savoring the gravity between them a moment more, “Though maybe we should bow to her wisdom…you know, just this once…”

“Just…this…once,” she agreed as Stephen closed the narrow space between them, to finally kiss the breath from his woman’s lungs, and taste the heaven he had believed was lost to him forever. Of all the kisses they had ever shared, it turned out to be the most satisfying yet.

____________________________________

“…I tried everything I could think of. Picturing the details with perfect clarity. The People’s Citadel and its flagstone courtyard with the brightly colored festival carts. Your mother’s little cottage and the garden behind it. The field of talat akeylum that you so love. Even your secret grove among the keyanna trees. And still nothing worked…” They had moved from Stephen’s study to an airy sitting room adjacent to his quarters. Its eastern exposure allowed for an abundance of sunlight to stream through the wide wooden slats upon the windows, which had been thrown open to let in the fresh morning air.

Wong had sent for tea and fresh honey cakes—Stephen’s favorite snack—though the cakes had gone untouched thus far, so immersed were Teyla and Stephen in filling in the gaps for one another, of their individual trials to find a way to bring her home. “…my best guess was that someone…or something…had blocked any kind of portal that was meant to connect Earth to Hadeeth…” Stephen left unsaid that if that had been the case, he would have believed it to be on attack himself, as one of Earth’s staunchest defenders.

“I know, my love. I struggled the same way to create a gateway back to you.” The distress in Teyla’s voice matched the pained expression she wore. “Eight days had passed before my first effort to conjure a portal to Earth. But despite my many attempts, I remained unable to. I began to fear that somehow my magic had gone awry—but when my mother met the same results, I knew I was facing a much bigger problem…”

Stephen was nodding rapidly, all too familiar with that dawning fear. “Yes…yes, that’s exactly how it was for me. Although there were few left in Kamar-Taj who had ever been to Hadeeth, I sought them out to have them try, and not one of them succeeded. It was…” he closed his eyes, the pain of that recollection nearly as fresh as when it happened, “…devastating.”

From the moment they had come together in his study, the two had remained in constant physical contact of one sort or another. One of Teyla’s hands had been resting lightly in one of his, and now she placed the other atop them and gave a gentle squeeze. “Even so, it was for me.” They kept a brief silence, each caught for a moment in their painful memories, until Teyla took up the retelling. “Once I overcame my fear and panic, it occurred to me to try something simpler. Just to see if it were even possible. I attempted to portal from the city center to just outside the city gates—and was successful. So that I repeated the process to various locations across Hadeeth, both near and far, and never had a moment’s difficulty. But even from those locations, Earth remained closed to me.”

“Yes,” he averred grimly, “I eventually reasoned that only the passage between Earth and Hadeeth was blocked. So that perhaps I could leap frog my way to you. I lost track of the scores and scores of worlds I portaled to, praying that I could reach Hadeeth from them, but the story was always the same. The way to your world was…inexplicably…barred. From wherever I tried.” Stephen hung his head, filled with a renewed remorse at his ineffective efforts.

Teyla was shaking her head a vigorous ‘no’, drawing upon that core of steel that lived beneath her beguiling softness. “Stephen, I swear upon my soul, that even with your brilliance…your vast knowledge and experience…there was no magic that could have spared us this untimely separation,” she remonstrated, the strength of her conviction clear in every word she uttered, “So please, my dearest love…please…do not blame yourself.”

“How can you know this, honey?” He looked back to her, wanting to believe her offering, but unable to see the way.

Teyla smiled sadly, and in that way, answered his need so purely before she spoke, that something in his chest unclenched and his tears of shame became the beginning of relief. “Because through years of great trial and effort, I finally found the answer. And it had nothing to do with magic and mysticism.” She laid her palm against his cheek, smoothing away his tears there. “Ironically, it was the thing my people had turned their back upon in an age long past.”

She looked towards Selena, who gave her mother the same sort of sad but knowing smile, striking Stephen anew with all their many similarities. The quiet, little things about their daughter which had provided him solace all these years, and had given him the strength to move forward despite the daily heartache of his loss. It occurred to him that in the two days since Teyla’s arrival, that mother and daughter must have spent much time together—and that as much as he had grieved throughout the years, it had to have been worse for Teyla, robbed of experiencing Selena’s childhood, and only coming now to know her as a young woman.

“As Earth remained closed to me,” Teyla continued, turned back to him, “I reasoned as you had—and hoped amid my growing desperation—that I might conjure a gateway to another world, and then from there, back to you. Which, of course, met with failure no matter how many times my mother and I tried. We concluded that leaving Hadeeth had become…impossible.”

“So what changed, Teyla? How were you finally able to make it here?”

“It was either the mercy inherent in the eternal cycle of life—or simply a lucky chance when one of those responsible discovered they had created a far ranging disruption throughout dozens of solar systems, with Hadeeth at the center.”

Stephen narrowed his eyes, intrigued by the latter possibility, “One of those responsible? Yet this wasn’t a work of magic?”

“No,” she confirmed, “Which is why I must stress once more, that it was insurmountable by any power available to you, Beloved.”

“What was it then, my darling? Enlighten me, and put my doubts to rest for good.”

Teyla raised her chin and sat straighter in her chair, and as she told her tale, her voice fell into the rhythm of a skilled story teller. As on the evening that they had walked together in a deserted garden and she had effortlessly enchanted him with the Hadeethan legend of the Sister-Moons. That same night when Stephen had finally realized his feelings for her had surpassed those of a mentor, and even of a man grateful for the healing magic she had worked for him. So many of our best memories, coming back to me, he thought, silently thanking whatever grace had finally granted them clemency. So many of our happiest times, coming to me now like fresh, clear water after years of thirsting in an endless desert.

“Stephen?” Teyla looked at him now as though she had heard his thoughts in full, her eyes soft with perpetual understanding.

“Please tell me, Beloved,” he smiled, raising her hand to kiss her fingertips, “Tell me everything you can.”

Her knowing smirk was as gentle as the first fairy kiss she’d granted him, before he even knew he loved her. “As you wish, Beloved.” She resumed that familiar story-teller air and continued. “Haughty, heedless men of science, explorers from another world, had created a device which mimics the time distortion in the space adjacent to a black hole. In their hubris, they sought out a world—far from their own, of course—peopled with a race they deemed far less advanced, to experiment upon with their machine.”

She turned to Selena and Wong, including them in her explanation, “They had no way to know that the Hadeethan people had decided long ago to pursue the spiritual instead of the scientific. That the meaning of life lays in the simplest of things. Love, family, friendship, compassion. Generosity of not only material things, but of the spirit.” She looked back to Stephen, who remained rapt in her revelations. “They believed themselves superior, and therefore were certain they had the right to proceed with their vile plan.”

“They created an artificial black hole,” Stephen murmured, amazed.

“Not precisely so…but very close. And they set up a base on Enya to deploy this device from, and to observe the effects of the time distortion upon my world. They also created a sort of bubble around themselves, and around the moon itself, to shield them from the same effects. Thus, they were unaware for years that they had ensnared countless other worlds, Stephen,” she exclaimed, “ Worlds filled with other innocent, unknowing people!”

Stephen felt a leap of understanding. “The time distortion had Hadeeth out of whack with the natural flow of time. So that no portal could ever find a stable destination.”

Teyla nodded, “Exactly so. We had no way to know, of course. Time felt ‘normal’ to us. Life went on in all ways, as though nothing extraordinary had happened. Except that over time, those who track the movement of the heavens noted that Enya’s orbit had speed up significantly, moving through her cycle about three times faster than normal.”

“So, how did you eventually discover this…anomaly of time?”

”A few weeks ago, a team of those scientists set up a cloaked encampment on the outskirts of the city. To observe us up close—after doing so for fifteen Earth years, from their base on the moon. Only then did one of them come to realize how seriously they had affected the course of Hadeethan life.”

“How, Teyla? How so?” Stephen’s mouth had gone dry with a sudden inkling. It would explain why she looked to have barely aged at all.

She looked to Selena. “It is time, toura lela . Would you bring the boy to us now?”

Selena had already taken to her feet, and had sped from the room without further prompting.

“Stephen. My Love. My Life…” Teyla had ever worn her heart upon her sleeve, and now was no exception. His heart had started to race with anticipation, remembering her cryptic allusion of earlier. A gift you left with me, though you knew it not.

“Time slowed down for Hadeeth, didn’t it, Teyla,” he barely managed, “How much…how much so?”

She drew a deep sigh, and lovingly soothed her fingers across his brow. “The one scientist who finally understood that we deserved far better than that experiment had played upon us…she revealed that my world had experienced time at a rate of one-third the rest of the Universe…”

“Five years.” Stephen swallowed hard, as he heard Selena speaking brightly just outside the doorway. A child’s voice brightly piped up in reply, with a slight lisp on the first letter of her name. Impossible! Yet in his bones, he had already accepted it as truth.

Teyla had stood up---breaking physical contact with him for the first time since they had been reunited---and had moved to the doorway, extending her hand as Selena rounded the door jamb. She spoke briefly in Hadeethan---surely to put the boy at ease---and Stephen heard his own name as the little one placed his hand inside his mother’s.

He was pale-skinned, like Teyla, with a shock of thick, black hair. Like Selena’s had been at the same age. And very like his own, though it was silvered now with age. The child gazed bravely and wide-eyed upon the stranger his mother was walking him to. With eyes of such pale, crystal blue, there could be no question as to his sire.

Stephen didn’t wait a moment more; he dropped to one knee as the boy approached him fearlessly, his own blue eyes riveted upon his son. “He is named for you, Beloved,” she told him, “And he has been my comfort and salvation. Just as I know Selena has been the same for you.” Teyla’s voice finally broke when she urged their son forward to take his father’s offered hand. “I would it were you could have known him sooner. But rest assured, I have raised him up to do you proud.”

(to be continued)

Chapters 1-4 on AO3

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