Tumgir
#ao3 fanfic
daydreamtofiction · 2 days ago
Note
Hi! First of all I want to say I really love your writing<3
I saw your post asking for requests and noticed at the bottom you said you would take Doctor Strange ones too. So I was wondering if you’d mind writing something where Stephen is the hero and the reader is the villain but instead of fighting they end up.. well you know. I’m a sucker for the enemies to lovers trope lol and I love Strange smut but I’m getting sick of the reader always being another sorcerer so I thought it would be cool if maybe the reader is a villain instead. Idk totally disregard this if you don’t want to write it! But thank you in advance if you do<3
The Villain // Doctor Strange
Summary: "You hated him. Hated him so much. Yet for some reason, you didn't want to hurt him. You wanted to see him falter, to lose his composure, to blur the lines between good and bad by giving in to you. You wanted him to suffer the torment of his own bad decision. You wanted to be his bad decision." (Doctor Strange x Reader)
Word Count: 6k
Warnings: Rough/angry sex, oral sex, verbal & physical fighting, (light/brief) bondage, mild bad language, mentions of scars. Anything else I’ve missed please let me know. Readers must be 18+
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You never set out to be the bad guy. Although, being the good guy had never really appealed to you either.
You'd witnessed the battles over the years; the gods vs monsters, the super-soldiers and men in armoured suits destroying cities in the name of justice, of avenging. You would watch as the little people cheered and worshipped their so-called heroes as they stood atop the remnants of their homes - their livelihoods disintegrated to nothing but rubble and ash, their loved ones caught in the crossfire. Yet somehow, no matter what, they still saw them as good.
And so you decided, from the moment your palm first itched with a spark, that if that was what good looked like, then 'good' was not for you.
You were the last of your kind; a product of an experiment that enhanced your DNA, that gifted you with more power in the tips of your fingers than most could ever dream of possessing. Your creator was slain, the rest of your team wiped out before they even had a chance. But you, somehow you had got away. And since that day you only had one thing on your mind; to bring the man who destroyed your people to his knees.
Doctor Stephen Strange.
You'd come face-to-face with him many times. So much so that he had become familiar to you; an almost comforting presence in the most twisted, masochistic way. You knew his personality, how to get under his skin, to make him angry. You liked to watch the frustration build in the lines of his face whenever you outsmarted or overpowered him, to watch the conflict behind his eyes when he showed mercy even though you didn't always deserve it.
This time, however, you'd messed up; flown too close to the sun and got yourself burned. Or in this case, locked up.
You stood inside the cold, stone dungeon with your arms folded across your chest, watching him wander back and forth around the dingy basement of the Sanctum Sanctorum. The glass imprisoning you was thick, charmed with some sort of spell that made your attempts to blast through it completely useless. So useless that he'd laughed at you when you tried, which only made you angrier.
He hadn't spoken a word since your capture. No matter what you said or how you said it, he'd ignored it all, and it was driving you insane. Partly because you wanted to antagonise him, but mostly because you secretly enjoyed his attention.
"The great mystic Doctor Strange," you said with a chuckle. "First he didn't make Sorcerer Supreme, and now he's been demoted to babysitting duty."
He turned his head in your direction, the flecks of silver at his temples catching in the low light. "I'm here because I chose to be," he said bluntly.
You were stunned to finally hear his voice, a slight smile tugging at your lips. "Really?"
"Yes really," he said curtly, putting down the small trinket he'd been messing with. "I wasn't going to let anyone else have the satisfaction of finally seeing you behind that glass."
You laughed. "Ah, is that what you guys do all day between meditation and magic tricks? Assign yourselves 'arrest warrants' like some kind of mystic police?" You lowered your voice, mimicking his deep tones. "'This one's my problem, that one's yours'."
"Oh, you've made it very clear that you're my problem."
"Is that right, Stephen?"
"It's Doctor Strange."
"Well, Doctor, I'm glad you noticed. I was starting to worry I was being too subtle."
"You blew through the walls of my Sanctum and shot a beam of light at my head. I struggle to understand what's subtle about that."
"Eh you know what they say about kids in the playground; they always pick on the one they have a crush on."
He scoffed. "Give me a break."
"Just trying to make this interesting." You raised your hands in surrender. "Nothing else to do in here."
He glared at you for a moment before turning his back and making his way over to a bookshelf.
"So what's your plan for me, Stephen?"
"Doctor Strange," he asserted.
"You gonna execute me?" You cocked your head. "Hand me over to the government? Keep me locked up in here like some little exhibit you can come down and observe whenever you like?"
"I haven't decided yet."
"Well if you could speed it up a little, I'd really appreciate it. My legs are getting tired from pacing this box."
He tutted, looking at you over his shoulder and pushing out his bottom lip. "You poor thing."
"For real, though, you could've at least given me a chair."
You watched as he moved his hands quickly, creating a small ring of orange sparks in the air beside him. He pointed to an old desk chair on the other side of the basement and flicked his wrist, sending it flying through the air and into the portal. The familiar hissing appeared behind you, the warmth and light illuminating the walls, but before you could turn around, the chair rolled out of another portal towards you, hitting you in the back of the legs and making you fall into it.
"Wow." You laughed, crossing one leg over the other and resting your elbows on the arms. "So can I like... request anything in here? I just say it and it appears? A basket of puppies! A million dollars!" You were smiling, highly amusing yourself. "Oh actually, I know what I should summon... One Doctor Strange, please!"  
He wasn't finding you anywhere near as funny as you were finding yourself. His face barely moving from the cold, irritated look you'd come to know well. "You don't want me in there with you," he said.
"Why? Don't trust yourself?"
He turned on his heels and approached you, his cloak swaying behind him as he walked. "No."
You raised an eyebrow. "At least you're honest. I probably wouldn't be able to resist me either."
His face broke with a slight laugh; a disdainful, contemptuous laugh. "You seem to have the wrong idea here." He leaned in until his face was almost touching the glass. "I wouldn't sleep with you if the fate of the world depended on it."
"Sheesh, you could've just said I'm not your type."
He walked away, and you couldn't take your eyes off him. You hadn't mentioned anything about sex. It was him who made that connection, meaning it was on his mind, and now it was on yours too.
You leaned forward, resting your elbows on your thighs. "But if the fate of the world did depend on it... Like, really depended on it..."
He paused and turned back to face you. "You know, flirting isn't really appropriate for these hero-villain confrontations..."
"Why would you call yourself a villain?"
"Hilarious."
You placed a hand on your chest, pretending to be awfully offended. "Wait, you think I'm the villain here?"
"Which one of us is in the cage right now?"
"Only because you put me here."
"After you tried to kill me."
You rolled your eyes and threw yourself back in the chair. "Ugh, get over it already."
He grumbled.
"You know all this self righteous bullshit is really tiring," you continued. "It's like the lines are so clear for you between good and bad that you can't recognise your own actions as anything but justified. You got rid of them all; no mercy, no concern for the people behind the powers you were so scared of. But heaven forbid I come and shoot one tiny little light beam at your head and suddenly I'm evil incarnate. I mean, the double standards in that-"
He spun around quickly, speaking through gritted teeth. "Do you ever shut up?"
You straightened your back. "You want me to shut up? Why don't you come in here and make me, Doctor?"
"Don't tempt me."
"That's exactly what I'm trying to do."
He stormed back towards you, his blue eyes piercing through the glass. "I didn't mindlessly take anyone's life, alright!? Your creator was forming an army. He wanted to take over the world-"
"I didn't sign up to be in any army. I was sick, and he said he could fix me. I didn't know what he was planning. I didn't ask for this, I didn't want to be this."
"Funny way of showing it."
You felt the rage bubbling in your chest, your hands burning, heat emanating from your skin. You rose to your feet with such force that the chair flew back into the wall, and let out a scream, your body creating an explosion of light that shook the entire basement.
When the light faded, you took a step closer to the glass, furious to find not so much as a scratch on it. Stephen was staring at you, knees bent, anchoring his feet to the ground to stop him falling in the quake. Then he stood up straight, brushed the rubble from his shoulders and sighed.
"You see," he said. "That's why I did what I did. Because one little tantrum from someone like you and the whole world could burn to the ground."
"Oh, I have no interest in watching the world burn," you replied. "I want to watch you burn. I want you on your knees at my feet, begging for your life."
He approached you again, lowering his voice until it was nothing but a rumble in his throat. "I will never kneel for you."
"We'll see."
You turned around and looked down at the chair, letting out a huff when you saw it broken on the floor. You sat down beside it, leaning back against the wall and bringing your knees up to your chest.
You sat there for a while, staring at him as he pottered around the basement, trying to make himself busy, anything to avoid looking at you. He released his cloak from his shoulders and you watched as it floated away, like it was its own being with a mind all of its own. You wondered where it went when it wasn't attached to him, whether it moved around, curled up somewhere and rested like a tired, loyal pet, waiting until its master summoned it again.
"So," you finally broke the silence, your tone light and playful, as if you hadn't been threatening him just ten minutes earlier. "Since I'm technically locked up here, do I get my one phone call?"
He closed his eyes and exhaled slowly, willing himself to ignore you.
"Also," you continued. "If this were jail, I'm pretty sure I'd be entitled to legal counsel-"
"You'd also have the right to remain silent. Which I'd appreciate if you invoked."
You pressed your lips together firmly, drawing your fingers across them like an invisible zip. He nodded, relieved to see you finally doing as you were told, and sat down in a chair. You eyed the way he sat; like a typical man, leaned back, legs spread, taking up as much room as his body would allow. It made you think back to what he'd said earlier, that he would never sleep with you, and you found yourself absentmindedly biting your lip, wondering if he'd really meant it.
God, you needed to get out of there.
"I have to use the bathroom," you said.
"Nice try."
"What do you mean 'nice try'? I've been in here for hours."
He leaned forward. "When I said I wasn't letting you out of there, I meant it."
"Fine, I'll just pee in the corner."
He waved his hands, calling your bluff, gesturing for you to go right ahead.
You stood up and walked to the corner of your cell with a huff, glaring at him as you unzipped your long, heavy jacket and shrugged it off to the ground.
"I'm really gonna do it," you pressed.
"Sure you are."
He folded his arms and nestled further back into his chair, watching you like you were giving him a private show, waiting for you to break first. But you refused to let him win. So instead you carried on, dragging down the zip of your suit and letting it peel away slowly to reveal the bare flesh beneath it. You kept eye contact with him as you slipped your arms out and tugged it slowly down your body, past your waist and over the curve of your hips.
Finally, he looked away, and you couldn't tell if it was out of embarrassment or the need to resist temptation. "For god sakes put your suit back on."
You smiled triumphantly and pulled it back up, zipping it up to the neck and taking a step forward. "So about that bathroom break..."
He got up from his chair with an irritated groan. "Fine. But I swear if you try anything..."
"I'll be good," you replied.
With the wave of his hands, the barrier between you disappeared. You took another step and he held up his palm, halting you sternly.
"Hands where I can see them," he said.
You did as you were told, holding them up in front of you with a smirk and walking slowly out of the cell towards him. He stepped out of your way, silently instructing you to walk through the basement, remaining close behind you, eyes on your hands as he escorted you towards the staircase.
Your gaze flitted to a shelf nearby, and you knew this was your only chance. You twitched your fingers, so subtly it was almost unnoticeable, but it was enough to make the shelf fall away from the wall, landing on the ground with a loud crash. Stephen turned his head in search of the noise, allowing you the chance to ball your fist into a cluster of light and swing at him, striking him in the chest and sending him flying onto his back with a heavy thud.
Then you ran.
You didn't look back, hurrying through the cluttered basement towards the bottom of the stairs. But as you took the first step, something stopped you. You looked down to see a glowing orange rope wrapped tightly around your waist, Stephen behind you holding the other end. He yanked on it, pulling you through the air and into a nearby wall. Your back crashed against it, the bricks crumbling around you as you gasped to catch your breath.
You growled in anger, the heat in your palms burning hotter and brighter until sparks began to fly. You grabbed the glowing tether and tore it apart with your bare hands, watching it fizzle out and disintegrate in the air in front of you. You charged at him, but he stood his ground, waiting until the very last moment to raise his hand and grip you by the throat. He spun you around and slammed you against another wall, pinning you against it, his other hand raised with a disc of orange light circling in his palm.
It was only then that you noticed his hand was trembling, and at first you thought it was from anger, but then you noticed the scars on his knuckles, scoring along his fingers and tracing the bones beneath the flesh.
This was the first time you'd ever touched. No barriers; no gloves or forcefields or mystical weapons. Skin on skin, close enough to feel his laboured breath on your face, for him to feel your rapid pulse beneath his fingers.
"What happened?" You nodded towards his hand, the other still bracketing your throat.
"Car accident," he replied bluntly.
You giggled and he narrowed his eyes in anger, making it clear you'd touched a nerve.
"Oh, you're being serious," you said, struggling to speak as his grip tightened around your neck. "Sorry, I just imagined something a little more in keeping with whole sorcerer thing."
"Sorry my scars aren't interesting enough for you."
You pushed your hands against his chest, shoving him off you with such force that he stumbled backwards. He grabbed you by the arm as he fell, pulling you down with him, and you began to roll across the floor, the pair of you throwing punches and deflecting blows until you finally came to a stop.
He was lying on his back, you straddling his hips and pinning his hands to the ground. He tried to move but you kept him there, smiling down at him and opening your mouth to speak. But before any words could leave you, he flipped you over, stealing back the power with a smile of his own.
You looked around the room, your eyes landing on the shelf you'd broken; a thick, heavy plank of wood with large brass fixtures. You extended your arm and engulfed it with your powers, sending it hurtling towards him at a frightening speed. He raised his hand calmly, and for a moment you thought he was going to try and catch it. But then it changed, exploding into a burst of water that washed over you both like a tidal wave.
Your nose burned with the cold rush of water, a cough catching in your throat as you tried to steady your breath. He was looking down at you angrily, his wet hair dripping onto your face, eyes burning right through you. You hated him. Hated him so much. Yet for some reason, you didn't want to hurt him. You wanted to see him falter, to lose his composure, to blur the lines between good and bad by giving in to you. You wanted him to suffer the torment of his own bad decision.
You wanted to be his bad decision.
You brought your hand up to slap him, but he was quick, conjuring another rope that wrapped tightly around your wrist and tethered it to a large stone pillar. You growled, trying again with your other hand, only for him to do the same. Now, both wrists were bound, leaving your arms outstretched either side of you as you lay splayed out on the floor beneath him.
You could have broken free. You were strong enough, powerful enough. Yet instead you remained still, glaring up at him, waiting.
"You said you'd be good," he growled.
"More fool you for believing me," you replied.
He stared down at you, breathing heavily, the anger turning his bright blue eyes a stormy grey.
"So what's your next move, Stephen?"
"Doctor."
You swallowed hard, lowering your voice to a whisper. "You know, you didn't answer my question earlier."
"What question?"
"If the fate of the world really did depend on it..."
He lowered his head, bringing his face just inches from yours. "Not even then."
You paused for a moment. "Why don't I believe you?"
He inhaled slowly through his nose, filling his lungs to the brim before holding it there. His jaw was clenched, deep lines forming between his brows as he glared down at you.
And the last thing you expected him to do in that moment was kiss you. So when his lips crashed against yours, you gasped into his mouth. It was a hard, intense kiss, a mess of teeth and tongues, heavy breaths and low groans, like he was pouring his frustration into you, like he was finally giving in to a desire he'd been trying so hard to suppress.
You knew it. You'd known from the moment you first fought each other that his rage ran deeper than a basic need to defeat you. That every snarky comment you'd made, every flirtatious jibe and lingering stare had crawled into his mind and unravelled it, until he finally came apart completely.
You bucked your hips against him, the only part of your body you still had control over, and revelled in the sound he made; a grumble of pleasure and fury, like he was no longer battling you, but instead fighting against the conflicted thoughts of what he wanted to do to you. Hurt you, hit you, restrain you, have his way with you and throw you right back into the dungeon after he was done. Go ahead, you thought. Do your worst, Doctor.
His teeth grazed your bottom lip as he kissed you, his facial hair rough against your skin. He shifted his weight, pressing his knee firmly between your thighs, the friction agonising against the ache that had begun to swell there. You were desperate to touch him, pulling hard against your restraints until they finally broke, bursting into scatterings of orange light before fading away into nothing.
Your hands were your greatest weapon. They could kill with a single bolt of energy, could level cities, destroy worlds. Yet instead, you chose to run them up his chest, weaving your fingers into his hair and tugging on it as you rolled him into his back.
His lips broke away from yours as he grabbed both of your wrists tightly, moving them away from him with a snarl. "I don't trust these." He gestured to your hands.
"I don't trust you," you replied sharply.
"Glad to know we're on the same page."
"What? That we're both completely stupid?"
"No." He sat up swiftly, bringing you face to face. "That I still don't like you."
A smile twitched in the corner of your mouth. "Good."
You joined in another hot, aggressive kiss, your bodies flush together as you sat in his lap. He had made it clear he didn't like you, but the hard length beneath his robes definitely did. It was bulging through the fabric, pressing against your throbbing centre as you ground your hips wantonly, desperate to feel it without the barriers of robes and suits between you.
He let go of your wrists and you immediately began undressing each other, so eagerly you were almost tearing the layers away. You dragged the heavy, dark fabric down his arms and lay a kiss on his bare chest, trailing your lips up over his collarbone. He let out a hiss as you nipped and sucked at the sensitive flesh of his neck, resisting the urge to mark him, at least for now.
The tremor in his hands did little to stop him tearing away your suit. He unzipped it, peeling it down over your shoulders and freeing your arms, letting it pool around your waist. But when he reached around and began trying to unhook your bra, the lack of dexterity in his fingers was clear. He growled in frustration as he struggled with the clasp, until eventually you decided to help him. You grabbed it by the strap and ripped it away from your body in one hard tug, returning your hands to his face and pulling him into another kiss.
He ran his hands up your waist, over your stomach, your ribs, his nails grazing the bare skin and leaving goosebumps in their wake - you sometimes forgot you were not the only one with magic hands. He cupped your breasts, squeezing them firmly and rolling his thumbs over your nipples, drawing a moan from you as you kissed him, another desperate buck of your hips.
"You know I could kill you, if I wanted to," you said, rolling your head back as kissed your neck. "Maybe I will."
"If you were going to kill me you would have done it already."
"How can you be so sure?"
"Because this is what you wanted from the beginning." He pushed you off him slowly until you were lying on your back, crawling up your body as he spoke. "The first time we finally came face-to-face. You had me there, you could've won. But I saw it."
"Saw what?"
"The fact that you act like the flirting, the lewd comments, the sexual tension is all part of your plan to antagonise me. But I know there's truth behind it." He planted his hands either side of your head, caging you against the cold, hard floor. "I know when you throw your punches, shoot out your little light beams, create problems all over the city for me to come and fix... That's just your idea of foreplay." He brought his face closer with a menacing smile. "So that's how I know you'd never kill me. Because it'd destroy any chance you ever had of getting what you really want."
"What I want is for you to pay for what you did-"
"No. What you want is for me to fuck you."
The words ripped through you, igniting a fire in your stomach and stealing the breath from your lungs. Maybe he was right, maybe that was exactly what you wanted. But hearing it out loud, in that dark voice, with those eyes staring down at you, it was like you'd never truly considered it until now. Your feud, your rivalry, your search for revenge; it was all tainted by the fact that every time you looked at him, you wanted to screw him. And you were an idiot for it. But as you felt the erection pressing against your inner thigh, you realised he was an idiot too.
You kissed him forcefully, reaching down in the narrow space between your bodies to slip your hand into the waistline of his pants. There was a part of you that always wondered if his arrogance was all for show. If his bravado was merely an overcompensation for something a little less... impressive. But you were wrong. Thank god, you were wrong. He groaned as you wrapped your fingers around his cock, and you smirked against his lips, tightening your grip and moving your hand up and down his length.
He closed his eyes, melting into your touch as he kissed you. But then he snapped out of it, jerking his hips back, taking your wrist and pulling your hand away from him.
You pressed your tongue to the inside of your cheek. "Still don't trust me, huh."
"Not in the slightest."
"Then what do you expect me to do if I can't touch you?"
He didn't reply, instead he stood up, pulling you to your feet and pushing you back against a tall stone pillar. You watched as he dropped to his knees in front of you, dragging your suit and underwear down your legs and casting them aside. You smirked, lacing your fingers through his hair and tugging his head back to look up at you.
"And you said you'd never kneel for me," you whispered.
"This isn't for you."
"Then who's it for?"
"Me."
He grabbed one of your thighs and hooked it over his shoulder, pushing against the other to part your legs wide. You stopped breathing as his mouth made contact with your hot, yearning centre, his tongue gliding the length of your slit and flicking over your sensitive bud. He pulled back for a moment, his crystalline eyes glancing up at you, like the threat you posed was still weighing at the forefront of his mind. Then he dove back between your thighs, devouring you completely.
You threw your head back in ecstasy, closing your eyes and losing yourself in the ministrations of his tongue, how it flattened and pointed in all the right places, how he sucked and kissed and lapped over every inch of you like he was made to do nothing but this. But even through the overwhelming pleasure, you couldn't help but get the last word.
"I don't care what you say, Stephen," you whispered between heavy breaths. "This is for me. You're kneeling for me."
"For the last time, it's Doctor Strange," he replied in a low, agitated voice.
"Don't you think we're past the formalities?"
"No."
You couldn't help but weave a hand through his hair, pushing him deeper, harder against your needy centre. Your legs were shaking, moans pouring from your open mouth as each press of his tongue sent a current of electricity to your core.
His scarred hands grasped at the flesh of your thighs, holding you firmly in place, not a tremor in sight. And you wondered if this was what he meant when he said it was for him; whether sex and pleasure and passion were some of the only moments where his fingers didn't tremble, when his bones didn't ache.
You felt your climax building, but it seemed too soon - like your mind hadn't caught up with your body, your orgasm working its way through you before you'd even had a chance to welcome it in. You didn't want to come yet, the idea of falling apart in front of him before he'd even removed his pants felt like a loss of power, like you'd be letting him win.
"Stephen," you whispered between desperate moans.
He ignored you, continuing to bury his face between your legs.
"Oh, god," you cried. "Stephen..."
Still, nothing.
You rolled your eyes. "Hey! Doctor Strange."
He pulled back slowly, looking up at you with the slightest smile.
"I need you," you breathed. "Now."
"I can tell."
"Don't be an ass." You grabbed him by the shoulders and dragged him up to his full height, immediately pulling his face down to kiss you.
You could taste yourself on his tongue, a reminder of where it had been, what it was capable of. He planted a hand on the pillar beside your head, his other hand working off the rest of his robes, shimmying them down until his cock sprung free against your stomach.
You snaked your arms around the back of his neck as he brought your thigh up to his waist, positioning himself at your entrance and letting the head of his cock glide along your slick folds. You angled your hips and he pushed into you, slowly at first, letting your body adjust to his size, to the desperately welcome intrusion. You gasped softly against his lips as he brought your other thigh to his waist, lifting you off the ground completely and sliding his full length into you with a low groan.
You wrapped your legs around his waist as he began to move, drawing his hips back fully before thrusting into you again, each time with more fervour, more drive. You dug your fingers into his shoulders, moaning desperately as he pushed deeper and harder, stroking the places that made you shiver, working you back up to the climax you'd denied yourself.
Your hands were on him, the hands he'd been so cautious to avoid, now clutching at him, leaving marks in his skin. It was fascinating to you; the fact that even the most virtuous, brilliant men could lose all sense of logic the second they got laid. He didn't trust you, and you didn't trust him. Yet somehow, it just made what you were doing feel even more satisfying. Because it was forbidden, deliciously wrong.
He dropped his head forward, panting and groaning into the crook of your neck as he pounded into you, slamming your back against the hard stone with an anguishing, unrelenting rhythm. You let out a cry as he hit the perfect spot, the sensation rippling through you and making your eyes flicker with light.
That had never happened before.
You shook it away, bringing your focus back and laying kisses on his shoulder, biting softly and drawing a growl from his throat. He fixed his grip on your thighs, hoisting you further up against the pillar to stop you from slipping, his grasp so firm, thrusts so deep, that you knew you were moments away from orgasm.
"Shit," you gasped, reaching back in a desperate search for something to hold onto. But as another jolt of pleasure shot through you, your fingers ignited, creating a deep crack in the solid stone.
Your skin was growing hot, the palms of your hands burning with a familiar, dangerous energy. You tried to suppress it, but with every deep, hard slam of his hips it only seemed to grow stronger, until light was illuminating your fingertips, pulsating in time with the coiling of your stomach. You squeezed your eyes shut, crying out as the coil finally snapped, releasing a wave of orgasm through you, and with it, an explosion of light from your flesh. You opened your eyes, your irises glowing, your power stronger than you'd ever felt it. Stephen let out a groan, releasing his own climax into you before his attention was quickly stolen by the heat emanating from your body, the earthquake you'd accidentally caused.
The ceiling above you began to crumble, a large piece of concrete breaking away and falling down towards you. He raised a hand, creating a bright orange disc that shielded you both like an umbrella, the hunks of ceiling bouncing off it and shattering into rubble around you.
Your eyes began to fade, your body tingling with the remnants of your power as you panted to catch your breath, staring at him in a stunned silence.
That had definitely never happened before.
You didn't even know it could happen. And by the look on Stephen's face, neither did he. He pulled out of you carefully, lowering you until your feet touched the ground, and took a step back. You stayed quiet, your body so tired and spent that all you could do was watch as looked down at his body, examining his arms, his chest. Not a scratch.
"What was that?" he asked quietly.
"I don't know," you whispered.
He looked around at the destruction you'd both left behind, the crumbling walls and pillars, the fallen shelves, books and items strewn around like a hurricane had ripped through it.
“Hm,” he muttered, like he was thinking, but you were too tired to pry. 
You both dressed quickly, pulling on your clothes like costumes, each layer returning you to the roles you’d so carefully crafted for yourselves. The hero and the villain.  
"Sorry about your ceiling," you said.
"You're sorry for damaging the ceiling but not for almost killing me?"
"It's a nice ceiling."
He rolled his eyes.
"Well, this was fun," you said, extending your arm and summoning your jacket through the air towards you.
"You know I'm not just going to let you walk out of here..."
You shrugged the jacket on with a sigh. "Actually, that's exactly what you're going to do."
"Over my dead-"
"Stephen?" A voice echoed from the top of the stairs.
You looked at each other. He gritted his teeth in frustration, battling with himself about what to do - catch you and risk revealing what you just did, or letting you slip through his fingers again.
"Are you still down there?" The voice continued, the sound of footsteps coming down the stairs. "There was some kind of explosion, did you feel the ground shaking?"
You winked at him, a smirk tugging at the corner of your mouth as you backed away into the shadows of the basement.
He turned on his heels and cleared his throat. "Yeah, Wong, it was me- well, it wasn't me..."
"What the hell happened down here!?"
You crept around them, making your way to the stairs behind Wong's back.
"She uh, she got away," said Stephen.
"She got away?"
"Yeah... My bad."
As you hurried up the stairs and down the halls of the Sanctum, slipping out through the heavy front doors, you couldn't help but question if he'd chosen to let you go. He could have easily locked you back up, restrained you until he was able to convince Wong he had it under control. But he didn't. 
Perhaps it was for his own pride; the refusal to let his fellow sorcerers know what he'd just done. But as you ran your fingers along your neck, tracing the places he'd kissed, you wondered if there could be another reason.
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watercolor-mudhorn · 10 hours ago
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Ok friends, it’s happening.
Here’s Chapter 2 of Detailed Elaboration and the official start of an expansive adventure for the reader (also posted below.) I do have an outline - I wanted to be sure I had a story that made sense for the world and fit in with the show (though some changes in Act 3 of Arcane may occur, depending on how much the reader affects the characters and the world around her. We’ll see what she can do.) I have a rough estimation of Chapter count (45, in 3 Acts -hells yeah symmetry) so yeah, buckle up. Now, I am trying to stay true to the characters, tone, and story already there, so I can’t guarantee a happy ending. I just want that to be clear. There is a lot of trauma and no one can heal it all, so there is going to be some hurt and pain. I can guarantee comfort and love, though, and growth. 
I am so excited (and scared) to write this story. Won’t you come along with me? You’ll meet most of the Arcane characters and maybe get into different relationships. I can guarantee more smut, because *gestures at first chapter* this is where we started. 
So yeah, it has begun!
(Chapter 2 has a little more smut before the story kicks in, about 2.4k words.)
-------------
"Ah, too hot!” Viktor maneuvered himself around you while you fiddled with the shower controls.
“Shit, sorry,” finally you just cut the heat back to almost nothing, the water turning lukewarm at best. “That better?”
He reached his hand back out and nodded, “better, thank you.”
“Sorry again, it didn’t seem-”
“No need to apologize, you are from the south, I hear the sun is so intense you could bake bread on the sidewalk.”
You just covered your face and shook your head. “That’s not, I don’t even have the time to-”
As you tried to form the sentence to make clear to him just how wrong he was, you failed to notice his own hand reach back to the controls.  
“Personally,” he said, making the adjustment, “I like the cold.”
A half a second later all heat dropped out of the spray causing your own startled cry, this time with you twisting around him. The look you gave him could best be described as abject horror. 
He chuckled. 
"You do understand the concept of conflict escalation, right?" you said from the far side of the shower.
"I don't know what you mean," he said, innocence painting his face, poorly, as he reached for the soap. 
It pleased you to see him playful, to see a smile sitting so easily on his face. However, if he wished to declare war this early on, so be it. You dropped your head slightly and let your gaze come from between your eyebrows. A smile slowly spread across your face. Step by step, though it didn't take many, you approached, stalking him. 
His movements slowed, his confidence faltering. You watched him swallow. You also saw his cock jump slightly. "Perhaps," he swallowed, "I have erred." 
Your hand came up, traced down his chest, fingers lining the muscles on his thinner frame. They traveled down his stomach and his cock jumped again, this time starting to fill.
You took the soap from his hand, that had, at this point, stalled at his side. Getting your hand in the spray, still cold, but at least his body stood between you and the water, you lathered the bar until suds covered your hands. Then you handed back the soap, which he barely managed the coordination to grab, and reached for him. 
"Mind if I help?"
All he could do was nod.
Your fingers wrapped around his cock and his whole body shuddered. You used both hands to make long, slow strokes, taking your time to clean him thoroughly. He watched you, intently, and you just stared back, watching his breathing shorten, his eyes dilate, his attempt to stifle a moan.
"Forgive me, but I am uncertain how this applies to the situation," a breath, "directly before this. It is," another breath, "not an escalation."
"It isn't?" you asked as you turned him into the cold spray to wash him off. His body tensed at the temperature and you pulled your hands away, rinsing them.
The look on his face as he realized you were done touching him broadened the smile on your lips. 
He placed a hand over his chest, "please accept my immediate surrender, I agree to whatever terms you desire.” 
“A wise decision.” You drifted back his way, reaching past, letting the line of your body press to his while you adjusted the temperature. You only warmed it a little, enough to take the edge off, you had no desire to make him uncomfortable. In fact, once you’d begun, you’d very much wanted to finish what you’d started. While still close, you kissed his cheek, an action he leaned into, his hand coming to rest on your hip. 
Whatever posturing remained, you let it fall, offering a soft smile. “Mind if I continue?”
The warmth in his face at that just about melted your heart. “Please,” he kissed you, “please do.”
Your hand trailed down again, found him still at attention and resumed where you'd left off. Slow, sure, you pulled and pushed, taking time to run your palm over the head every few passes. His hand clutched tighter to you, the other holding onto the wall for balance. You watched, for each catch of his breath, or moan, or any sign that whatever you just did was a good thing. Like he learned from you, you learned from him, noting what he liked, finding something that made him gasp and then doing it again and again. 
It wasn’t long before he had his face pressed to the side of yours, arm holding on for dear life, breaths coming in short pants. "Please don't stop," he whispered. You had no intention to. 
His body tensed, more of his weight rested against you, as he let out a louder moan, his hips stuttering against your movements. You could feel his cock stiffen in your hand as he came. 
For a few moments he just leaned on you, panting, arm holding you tight. "This might be the best shower I've ever taken."
You smiled against him. "Good." When he could stand again you pivoted, bringing yourself under the spray of water and taking the time to wash yourself. Viktor just leaned there, watching you, eyes still a little hazy. 
Once you were done, you turned back to him and stalled, the soft look on his face bringing heat to your cheeks. "What is it?"
"You are beautiful."
You huffed, seeking to demure even though you knew you should accept the compliment. 
"No, look at me," he reached for your cheek. "I have always thought so."
You just stood there, naked, wet, less than a foot away from Viktor, who was also naked and wet and seemingly completely comfortable standing there with you. Even with your best estimates, this was not how you thought the day would end. Warmth again in your cheeks pushed a smile to your face. "Thank you."
"I am most happy to provide you with that information. And, as a scientist, I can attest to it being an objective observation."
"Of course it is."
"What, you do not believe me? Don't force me to get proof, because I will."
"Oh?"
"Yes, let's see," he began to count off on his fingers. "A letter from Jayce, of House Talis, will be easy. And Councilor Medarda should be easy as well, she has noticed you. Hmm, Professor Heimerdinger will be more difficult, but, ehh, not impossible."
"Oh my god, stop." You grabbed his hand. "You would not ask Heimerdinger about me."
"If I could convince him it was for science-"
You stopped his words with a kiss. He chuckled, wrapping an arm around you. 
"You do know, you only succeeded in gaining my temporary surrender," he spoke against your cheek.
"It is war, then?"
His only answer came in a kiss, one that left you breathless.
10 minutes later, warm and dry and fully clothed, though more comfortably, Viktor sat at your small kitchen table and you shifted nervously as you set your notebooks, portfolio, and other reference materials to the side.
"This is more than just one idea, I think." He watched you organize and prep. 
"A little bit, yeah."
"And it is about magic?"
You took another moment to straighten the books, aligning them when it was clearly not necessary.
He eyed you, "why are you nervous to show me?"
A breath, "ok, here's where it began." You took the top notebook, set it in front of him, and opened it.
His eyes went wide, "These are runes," he quickly scanned over what you'd drawn out in a neat line, they were indeed a set of runes. His gaze shifted back to you, a reserve settling in, a stiffness coming to his posture. "You memorized the runes from my Hextech research? This is private-"
"I know, please, I haven't shown this to anyone."
"You can't just use this for your art-"
"I'm not, look-"
Anger began to thread his next words, "is this why you come to the lab-" 
"Viktor." You held up a finger, "not another word until I explain. You will give me that."
He stared at you, his eyes narrowing, and simply said, "nine."
Another beat. The barest smile ticked at the corner of your lips. Thinking back, this would be the moment that you knew, if you didn't love him yet, you would soon. 
You took a breath, straightened, and opened your portfolio. You pulled out one of your sketches and laid it next to your notebook. 
"This is-"
"-the riverlands of Freljord painting that hangs in the library, you've replicated it prefect-"
He stalled as you gave a pointed look. 
"I am not speaking."
"But yes, you are correct. I've stared at it hundreds of times, and always found it beautiful. Then, one day, not long after you let me come into your lab, I noticed something. If you adjust the perspective-" you pulled out another drawing, this one a more directly overhead view, more like a map. Then you pulled a slip of thinner tracing paper. "-and you focus solely on the central tributaries-" you traced over them. "What do you see?"
He took in a breath. "No, that is coincidence," he said as he traced over it with his finger and then looked at the rune you'd copied from his lab. 
"Which is why I didn't say anything at the time. But, it got me thinking.” You pulled another drawing from your portfolio.
"Noxus Prime, their main city," he said.
You nodded, "and this is a topological map of the land beneath it." You pulled a second. "If you were standing at the headland, and I've confirmed this view is correct, here's what it would look like." You pulled another sheet of tracing paper and outlined the central features.
Viktor's eyes went wide. "I," he swallowed, "still, I'm sure there are other places to match this."
"You mean like this," you opened one of the books to point at a Noxian outpost in Shurima. "Or this," you did the same with one on the edge of Freljord. "Whatever this rune does, it's echoed in Noxian ethos."
"Or it is just where they like to build, where that land formation works best with their architecture."
"Okay." You pulled a different book over. “This is a Targonian sheep hook, and this” you turned the page, “is a Shuriman one used for goats. And this,” another page, “is one used for sows in Freljord.”
“That explains why you have an animal handling book in your pile.” He huffed, “but just because it is similar doesn’t mean-”
“What does that rune do?”
He eyed you. “Go one, tell me, what does the rune that is shaped like a shepherd's hook do with your Hextech?”
“It would seem you have been paying attention.”
You relaxed a little, leaning more towards him. “It’s something you’re passionate about, of course I was. I love when you take the time to explain something to me, I might not always fully follow along, but-”
His face softened for a moment. “How did I not see?” 
You reached for his face, your thumb tracing along his cheek. Then you said, “you haven’t answered my question. How does a rune shaped like a tool used to manage unruly animals work for your magic technology?”
His next words came grudgingly, “it helps control errant energy surges.”
You raised an eyebrow.
“Perhaps there is some merit to your idea.”
"Here, look," and you showed him three more examples you were pretty sure you had correct, then three more that might be right and then a few more that were pure conjecture. 
"So, at first I thought maybe they were a lost language, but I've checked it against all the ones Piltover has on record-"
"Jayce did the same thing."
"And it still could be, some languages are drawn with characters that visually echo a concept or idea. But, what if they are actually pictograms-”
“That’s still, arguably, a form of language.”
“I know, but I think it’s the better descriptor. Instead of putting them together like a sentence, it’s like building a formula. Or like in children's books about witches and their spells. Hell, even baking."
"Baking?"
"Ingredients, conditions, timing, chemistry…" 
When he didn't comment further you continued. "From what I've observed, you kind of throw runes 'at the wall' as it were and see what sticks. Watching how the crystals respond seems to be your only means of learning about them. But, what if our world has already supplied the context, we just have to find it, to see it? What if people didn't 'create' the runes, but just wrote down what they saw all around them. What if we can find more runes by studying the land and the people who've been here this whole time? Some ideas and concepts are universal, that’s why we see them repeated, like fractals in nature."
He'd gone unusually quiet and just stared at you, his face unreadable.
"Say something, Viktor, please." 
"Four weeks, six days. Pack this up, we're going to the lab."
"But I haven't shown you everything."
"Good, then you don't have to repeat all of it to Jayce."
You stalled, "Jayce? Woah, wait, I'm not ready-"
But he was already standing and starting to organize your books. "'Ready' is for cooking and," he paused to kiss you, "sex."  The light in his eyes drew you in, "science must be seized, there is no other time but now."
Then he paused, his hand taking yours. "However, the work is yours. I believe it is at least worth getting his opinion, that is all I'm saying."
You knew that to be a partial truth. If he thought it would lead to something, they'd begin experimenting about three seconds after you finished presenting it. Which meant, you sighed, "I'm bringing a change of clothes and am staying at your place if this runs late. I have class in the morning."
"I might also suggest a scarf, if you do not want your students to see, umm, my enthusiasm."
You eyed him as you paused in your doorway. "Or, I get the fun of watching them try to figure out who has done such a thing to their favorite art professor."
He smiled. "I don't think I've ever been a source of such intrigue before."
You offered a wink. "An important part of military strategy is picking your battlefield."
"Why do I have a feeling it will prove perilous to underestimate you."
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glows-n-the-dark · a day ago
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I would love to read a story of these two where one or the other has gotten a bit thicker. Muscles not quite defined, belly rounder all because the other keeps them fed and happy. Like.....
Geralt always makes sure Jaskier has more of the game when on the road so he never goes hungry. Buys him little sweets because they make Jaskier happy. Gives him the plate with more food on it just because. Then Jask is feeling a bit down because he gets self conscious of his looks. Lords and Lady's make fun of him behind his back. So then Geralt comforts him and says he loves him just the way he is and fuck what other say.
Then there is the other way around. Jask is always feeding Geralt from his plate. As a Witcher he never gets the good meat at taverns. So Jask slips him the good stuff he gets or finds. Jaskier makes sure they sit and eat every meal they can. Geralt walking alone he would eat very little. Just enough until he could make more coin. Too tired to usually hunt. Then Jask of course spoils Geralt with Honey Cakes. So now Geralt is having trouble getting into his pants and is a bit fuller. Geralt is now shy of his body. Not wanting to share a hot spring with Jaskier or be close. Jask of course figures it out when he hears people talking crap about Geralt. So he makes sure Gerlat knows he is loved regardless of what people say.
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This is just one of my 3,000 ideas of stories. Happy thick boys! 💚💚💚💚
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galaxticangel · a day ago
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Memories | Bucky Barnes
Eight
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Pairing: Bucky Barnes x oc
Summary: Ada has to make an impossible decision, even if it means betraying everyone she loves to save them
Warnings: lots of angst, swearing, yelling and cursing, fighting, child soldiers, gassing, chemical agents,
Word count: 4.4k
A/N: next chapter occurs after a six month time jump
~
~
~
"What the hell was that?" Bucky asks me for the tenth time while I figure out the best way to dispose of the body. "Ada!"
"Red Room assassin," I answer, searching her for more weapons and finding a syringe which I pocket to take to Howard to analyse. "She's dead, don't worry."
Oh he should worry.
"Don't worry? They're coming after you!"
"And they failed," I dismiss, even though on the inside I am terrorised by fear. "James, please stay calm."
"Calm? How the hell are you calm!"
"Years of practice," I answer, my instincts kicking in. "I just usually choose not to be."
It's then the door opens and Peggy and Steve stand there open-mouthed, staring at the body on the floor.
"Adelina Viktoria Morgan what-" Peggy begins as Bucky ushers them inside and closes the door, aware of people in the hallway. "Barnes-"
"Red Room assassin sent to kill me," is all I say, except it's a lie. She was sent to get rid of James and bring me in. "She's dead, I handled it."
All three of them are overly hysterical while I search her for a tracker, which I sure enough find attached to her ankle. Brilliant. I shove that into my pocket alongside the syringe, finally unable to take the noise I explode "Enough!'
All of them fall silent and I jump to my feet. "Get a hold of yourselves, it is just a body, and one less spy. The only thing you all should be worrying about is the blood stain on the carpet which I highly recommend someone cleans before it sets."
They all gape at me, much like the hole in the bitches head.
"Ada," Bucky says carefully, seeming more concerned than anything else. "They sent someone to kill you."
"So? Do you have any idea how many people have tried to kill me and failed?" I comment while Peggy clenches her jaw, looking at the body. "I may as well start my own graveyard with the amount of bodies that have piled up. You boys can carry her out and bury her or I will."
They share a frustrated look until Bucky snaps "Damnit Steve get the body." Bucky bends down to get the shoulders and tells me. "You and I are going to talk once you've snapped out of whatever this is."
"Mmhmm," I agree, my mind elsewhere. "Now if you will excuse me I have work to do."
I walk past them and Peggy takes her turn of being the one to chase me down the hallway. "What aren't you telling me?"
"The Red Room gave me an order to return, I ignored it, this is the consequence," I answer without stopping. "Now I am going to take her tracker to Howard to get him to reverse and pinpoint the signal of the Red Room before they figure out I killed her and cut the connection."
"That is - that is a sensible plan," she reluctantly admits as we find our way to Howards lab. "But will you tell me what actually happened, how it went down in Steve and Barnes’s bedroom?"
"She was in there wearing a mask with my face on it, so I killed her," I answer, pushing open the doors. "Howard, I have a job for you."
Whatever look is on Peggy's face must alarm him as I pull out the tracker and drop it on the table. "This is a tracker that was worn by an assassin who just tried to kill me, can you reverse the signal to find the location of the Red Room?"
"Indeed I can," he says clearing his throat. "But can we go back to the part where an assassin tried to kill you?"
"We don't have time!" I say desperately. "Howard we need to do this before they realise she's dead, it's our one chance to find the location."
"On it," he says and immediately gets to work while I finally allow myself to breathe.
"Ada," Peggy says, pulling me aside. "If the Red Room wants you back they weren't trying to kill you, Barnes however-"
"Please, please don't let him realise the truth," I breathe as she takes hold of my trembling hands. "Do you have any idea how close she came to killing him? I can't ignore the Red Room any longer."
She nods in understanding. "We will figure this out as a team."
I clear my throat, needing to be as alone as I can be to process this. "Can you tell the Colonel what happened so I don't have to, please."
She nods again. "I'll be back soon, okay."
She lets go of my hands and leaves, and so I finally fall back into a chair and let my head fall on a desk, shutting out the world while Howard works.
They tried to kill him. They managed to infiltrate the base, of course they did, but they got close to him. So, so close.
I go utterly cold as I realise Hydra wouldn't kill him, not when he is part of the Winter Soldier program, which means this was the operation of the Red Room. There is no doubt they are still affiliated with one another, but - but-
"Fuck!" I cry out, slamming my fist into the table.
Howard stops, alarmed. "Adelina-"
"Please, just keep working," I grit out. "Do you have anything to drink?"
"Top shelf of the filing cabinet," he answers and I get up, searching for the strongest drink I can find and sculling from the bottle. "Woah easy there."
"I'm Russian," I dismiss. "I was drinking vodka and chain smoking before you were old enough to start drinking coffee."
"If you weren't a supersoldier-" he mumbles to himself as he works on the tracker. "Got it."
"Coordinates," I request, grabbing a pen and paper, jotting them down. "I knew it was in that region but could never manage to pinpoint it on a map but this makes sense. Thank you Howard."
"Now," he says with his hands raised. "Will you explain what the hell happened?"
"In a moment," I answer, walking over to a cabinet filled with chemicals. "Please lock the door so James and Steve don't come barging in."
"What are they doing?" he asks as I pull out a specific bottle. "Ada?"
"Disposing of a body," I answer, pulling out a test tube and injecting a drop of the chemical agent the assassin had into it, followed by the liquid from the bottle I grabbed. "If this is what I think it is the liquid should begin to evaporate and produce a heavy fume." I waft the steam that rises and sure enough it leaves me coughing.
"What is that?" Howard asks as he reluctantly locks the door.
"A very powerful chemical agent, developed by Hydra in collaboration with the Red Room, designed typically to put the target in a deep comatose state to be transported in minor concentrations. In larger ones it is designed to kill while leaving very little trace, it would appear as if the victim died in a deep sleep. But in this concentration it is perfect to subdue a supersoldier for long enough to ensure easy transportation," I tell Howard, and he's more than surprised by my knowledge of chemical agents. "The Red Room trained us to use these, it is one of the last things we learn upon graduation. Chemical warfare."
"My god," he murmurs to himself and we hear banging on the door. "I can only guess who that is."
"Ada I know you're in there, open the door," Bucky says, and the desperation in his voice is painfully clear. "You don't need to go rogue on us."
"Let him in," I say, hiding the syringe in my sleeve. "And please excuse us."
Howard opens the door and Bucky bursts in, Steve and Peggy following behind.
"Lina, the hell are you doing?"
"Nothing," I answer and he shakes his head at me.
"You're never doing nothing," he says looking me over. "You're always got something up your sleeve."
"You aren't wrong," I admit, even if it's literally and not figuratively. "I got Howard to reverse the tracking signal the assassin had on her, we have the location of the Red Room."
Bucky knows what this means to me.
It's Steve who says. "Alright then what are we waiting for, let's get the team together."
I know there's no talking them out of this, which is why I suggest "Let me run this mission."
Bucky already knows something isn't right, he knows me too well "You aren't going to try to talk us out of this and go rogue?"
I shake my head. "I can't take on the Red Room alone, and I know you'll follow me anyways."
So that night we spend hours in a boardroom as I draw up a fake mission plane, spinning the lies I was born to tell, knowing what I need to do.
I need to get my sister out of there, and we can’t do it by force. Not when she could be in a Hydra lab. This is different to anything they’ve faced, this isn’t just blowing up another Hydra base. This is the Red Room.
They’ve made it clear what will happen if I stay, and I can’t risk Hydra getting their hands on him. Even if we take out one base, save my sister, they will never stop coming for us.
Finally as it approaches one am we dismiss ourselves from the drawing room, and Bucky takes me aside.
"I'm sorry if I snapped at you earlier," he apologises. "Knowing you, I just thought you'd go rogue on us."
He does know me too well.
"It was a tempting thought," I admit to him. "But for once in my life I need to do things right, I've spent months working as a team after years of being a lone agent. The instinct is there, I won't lie, but I need to use my head."
He holds me close, kissing my forehead. "We'll do this right sweetheart, we'll get your sister back and bring her home."
I stare numbly at the drawing board, knowing tonight will be my last with him.
"Take me home James," I murmur and he does. He takes me to his Brooklyn apartment where my possessions live. The only home I have.
He kisses me in the darkness, our naked bodies one flesh as I try to forget my own betrayal, and be with him. To be one with him.
Our spent bodies lay wrapped up in one another as he tells me "You are the love of my life Lina, I don't want to lose you."
And I know that despite my words, some deep part of him must know, or at least suspect, what I'm going to do.
"And you're mine," I breathe shakily. "I never knew what it was like to be human, to love and be loved, not until I found you."
He strokes my bare back, fingers playing with my hair. "We might be going to hell and back tomorrow, but we'll be doing it together."
I feel his heart beating beneath where my head rests. "You know I'd kill for you before I ever let anyone hurt you again." His heart skips a beat. "Can you forgive me for it?"
"Ada-"
"Please," I whisper desperately, fighting tears. "Can you forgive me for everything I've done, and will do. Please."
He lifts my chin up, those blue eyes looking into my own. "Promise me. Promise me you won't do it."
I don't deny it, he knows me too well. "I can't."
He clutches my face between his hands, wiping away the tears that fall. "Don't do this, don't let this scare you. Whatever comes our way we'll fight it, we'll survive it. But only if we fight it together."
"James-"
"I love you, and I can't lose you," he breathes unevenly, desperately, eyes locked on mine. "I want to spend the rest of my life with you, no matter how long that is. If we live we live, and if we die we die. But we do it together. Promise me sweetheart, please."
I must be a true liar, because if I wasn't I wouldn't be able to look him in the eye and promise. "To hell and back."
~
We sit on the plane, the men under my command as I give the pilot the fake coordinates, coordinates that lead to an old base used during the first world war. It's appearance is enough that it won't arouse any suspicions.
"So tell us," Jacques says, curious. "How is Hydra involved with both Germany and Russia if they're enemies?"
"Hydra began in the third Reich, at the time Hitler and Stalin had some under the table treaties, during that time Stalin built a connection between the Red Room and Hydra to share knowledge under a mutual development, which is how I came to be injected with supersoldier serum," I tell them all. "While the political alliance may have fallen apart Hydra and the Red Room as far as I am aware are still associates, with a Russian branch having been created. Politicians come and go, wars happen, but science is more preoccupied with evolution. At the moment they work for Hitler but there are still active programs in conjunction with the Red Room."
I look at Bucky, us both knowing exactly which program.
"So we'll drop near the Red Room,” I say, going over the instructions. “Bucky will watch from nearby with his sniper to ensure no agents sneak up on us, Steve you and I will be on the ground and clear the building, the main operations occur under ground level. So expect ground level to look abandoned. Once we've done that we'll call the rest of you over to reinforce. Got it?"
They all nod in agreement and Bucky watches me warily, and despite my training I have trouble meeting his eye.
"Agent Morgan, we're approaching," the pilot says. "Land a kilometre from the base in the clearing as instructed?"
"Yes," I confirm. "They may be below ground but we still need to avoid any detection."
We prepare ourselves as the plane lands nearby, my grenade belt equipped but not with live grenades.
With gassed grenades.
We trek through the forest until I find a good place for Bucky to set up his sniper.
"Keep going," I instruct the men as Bucky scopes the area.
Once they're out of earshot he says "You still can't look at me."
I look forward towards the abandoned base and instruct "Make sure they get back to the plane."
"Don't," he pleads quietly and I feel him wrap an arm around my waist as he stands behind me, lips brushing against the garnet earrings he gave me for valentines day. "Come home with me."
I nod as I look forward, tears filling my eyes at the touch of his lips on my cheek. "I will."
And for just a moment I allow myself to imagine going back to James's apartment, going to bed with him and waking up beside him.
But those days are over now.
"I'll be back," I tell him. "Keep an eye out."
I continue to trek forward, not daring to look back, and head down the mountain towards the rest of the unit.
Once I meet with them I prepare them to storm the empty base of what they believe is the Red Room, but the Red Room cannot be brought down in a day. Cannot be brought down by a few soldiers alone. Not when it contains dozens of young brainwashed girls like my sister.
We clear the ground floor, expectedly empty and I find the door in the floor to the bunker.
"Stay here," I order the men. "Steve, follow me to take out the guards then we’ll all storm it together."
Steve obeys my commands as I lead him into the bunker, opening up the door and letting him go first. As we descend down the dark stairs I reach into the bag attached to my belt, just large enough to hold two needles of the nerve agent to subdue a supersoldier.
"Ada there's nothing here, are you sure you've got the right location?" As he turns back around I stick the needle in his neck before he even knows what's happening. "Ada-"
"I'm sorry Steve."
A choke escapes me as he uses his last remaining strength to slam me against the wall, hand wrapped around my throat. "Traitor-"
"I'm doing this to save Bucky's life," I choke out, knowing he only has moments before collapsing. "To save him from Hydra."
The pressure around my throat eases and Steve collapses. I wait a few moments until he's well unconscious before running upstairs and calling the men down. "Quick!"
They run down the stairs in the darkness, and sure enough they find him. "Steve!"
It's then I take two of the gas bombs from my belt and throw them down into the basement before slamming the trap door shut and barring it. I hold it down as I listen to them, coughing and fighting, but after a minute it falls quiet. I remove the bar so they'll be able to escape once they come to.
Knowing there's no turning back now I stand and leave the building alone.
Trembling, I turn and look to where I know Bucky is hidden with a sniper aimed on me.
I remove the American flag from my uniform and let it fall to the ground, stark against the snow. Numbly I look east, towards the closest active guard station and begin trekking through the snow.
An hour later I emerge into the clearing with my hands raised as I approach the outpost, and find it manned by only two men. It seems our Russian blood is being spread thin.
"Comrades," I call out as they approach with guns raised. "Stalin is looking for me."
One raises his hand, speaking in Russian to his comrade.
"It is her- the agent Stalin is looking for-"
I jump as two bullet shots ring out, and the agents fall to the ground, dead.
With my hands still raised I slowly turn, and look numbly up at James.
"You shouldn't have followed me," I warn as he walks down the hill towards me and I gasp in shock as he wraps a hand around my throat, just enough to apply pressure, to keep me still, as he holds a gun to my head.
"What the hell did you do to them?"
And I see the soldier in him, the soldier that's willing to put a gun to the head of the woman he loves for his brothers. It makes me proud.
"They'll wake," I promise him, my voice calm. "I didn't do anything to harm them, I just needed them off my back."
"Why?" he asks, the betrayal thick in his voice. "Why would you do this?"
"I did what I had to do."
He shakes his head, running his thumb over cheek. "Tell me you aren't going back willingly."
"I can't." And I say what I have to, to break him. "They applied the pressure, but I always knew my time in America was borrowed. That it was only a matter of time." He squeezes tighter and I could almost smile. "Look at you James, I always knew you had it in you."
"Had what in me?"
"To be like me," I answer, looking up into those icy blue eyes. "Hydra changed both of us, except you're the one who still pretends otherwise."
"They tried to make us both their soldiers," he says and looks at me in disbelief. "I just didn't realise they broke you so easily."
"I pray to god James you never know what it is like to have your mind torn apart and made something else," I breathe, my worst fear surfacing. "That they never get their hands on you again."
"I know you aren't that far gone, no matter what conditioning they put in your head, you are a fighter," he says firmly, desperately. "You can't just give in now."
"You don't know me," I tell him, even if it's a lie, repeating the words that were drilled into me throughout my youth. "I don't have any place in this world, especially not with you."
He takes my face between his hands. "Do you love me?"
I can't even look at him. "No."
He pulls me against him. "Liar."
My lips brush against his and nothing has ever felt so intoxicating, so heartbreaking, and I lean into his gun, putting on an act. "How do you wanna do this huh? Fuck me on the ground next to the bodies you put there to convince me to stay? Or put a bullet in my head to make sure I never double cross Steve again?"
And I know to him, after no doubt finding all their bodies in that bunker, both options are equally enticing. But I know he can't do it.
"Either way," I breathe into his ear, gathering what fight I have left in me to get him to walk away. "No one would know." He shoves me hard against a tree and I blink up at him. "Or would you rather remember me like this?" I ask, putting on my American accent. "The doe eyed American dream, begging oh please don't hurt me Sergeant Barnes, I swear I'm innocent."
He shakes his head. "I'll remember you as the girl who thought she had everyone fooled, the best agent in the world, who couldn't even lie while looking me in the eye." Whatever facade I had fades. "Who wanted to be good until she went running scared and betrayed her entire unit to save her own skin."
Not mine. Yours.
"You're right," I lie, looking him in the eye. "So what are you going to do about it?"
He lets me go and I breathe in shakily, knowing he would never truly hurt me, even if I wish he would, just to numb the guilt.
"Get back to my unit before Hydra does," he answers, and asks me "You know that you'll never be able to step foot on American soil again after this without being arrested as a traitor?"
"What makes you think I'd ever come back?"
"You know what."
With that he starts walking away, and that's when my heart breaks, when he turns back and says. "It's still not too late. Not if you come back with me and we fix this."
"I can't," I breathe. "They won't stop."
He nods and I see the tears in his eyes as he turns away and continues walking, but I can't let him go like this, with any doubts that I love him.
"James," I cry out and as he looks back I run to him, I run into his open arms and he kisses me hard, neither of us wanting to walk away from one another, and let myself for the last time be completely vulnerable. "I don't want to do this."
"I know you're afraid of what they'll do to your sister, but take us to the real Red Room and we can get her back."
"It's not that simple," I try to make him understand. "Hydra has her now and they won't let her go, not after they lost me. If I go-" I'm crying, gasping, trying to find the words. "They can't make another supersoldier now Erskine's gone. If I go back they might let her go, I can help her escape."
"It's a suicide mission doll," he tells me, clutching me tight. "Please-"
"She's my sister Buck," I cry. "I can't just leave her."
"There has to be another way."
"This is the only way," I say looking at him. "The only way to save both of you."
And he realises, he realises the danger he's in and why I'm doing this. "Lina, Hydra-"
"Wants you," I finish. "You survived the serum, which means they want you almost as much as they want me and they will tear your mind apart-"
"And they won't do it to yours?" he argues. "You know exactly what they will do to you-"
"I'd rather them tear me apart than lay a single finger on you," I tell him, the second syringe in my hand. "I'm sorry."
His eyes widen as I inject the agent into his neck, tears in both our eyes. "No-"
"I love you," I whisper as he falls limp against me and I look up at the sky with tears in my eyes.
I stomach his weight and begin to drag him back into the forest where no one will find him and lay him down by a tree, where the snow is softest, and touch his cheek.
"I'm so sorry Buck."
My dogtags hang down over him and with shaking hands I reach back and remove them, and place them in his hand.
"Goodbye my love," I say, knowing that this is for him as much as Katya. "Thank you for loving me."
I stand and activate the tracker the assassin had on her, so the Red Room will know exactly where to find me.
I wait in the outpost, a mere hour later it is surrounded by Red Room guards and the Russian Hydra faction.
The door opens and I expect guns, but it is my mother who enters.
"Mama," I say as she approaches me. "I'm ready to come home now."
She raises an eyebrow. "Where are the Americans?"
"Dead," I answer, lying to her has never been a problem. "Where is Katya?"
She raises a baton, no emotion crossing her eyes as she cracks me across the face with it, knocking me to the ground.
"That my daughter, is for trying to smuggle her to America," she says, bending down with a syringe in hand. "Do not worry, you will see what she has become."
~
When my eyes open, I am in a familiar room, handcuffed to a bed, and suddenly I am but a child again with no one to cry to for help.
I turn my head to see my mother standing there with Katya by her side.
"Katya," I breathe in relief, not seeing any visible injuries. "Mladshaya sestra." But she doesn't respond. She looks as if she doesn't even remember me and the emptiness in her eyes stirs a fear in me like nothing I’ve ever felt. "Katya, it's me!"
She doesn’t even stir. She looks at me in a way I’ve only seen once, in my own mirror during the worst of the conditioning.
"Hydra has made your sister immune to the whims that became your downfall, the perfect soldier for Stalin," Mama says as I stare into her empty eyes. "And now, they will fix you, but first you must learn your lesson."
I writhe on the bed as Katya approaches me a knife in hand, trying desperately to find my way out of the handcuffs. "Katya, this isn't you-" she doesn't hesitate before plunging the knife into stomach and I gasp, more from the shock than the pain. "Katya."
Mama leans down, brushing the hair out of my face, her touch anything but kind, and turns to the Hydra agent behind her. "Inform Stalin the Winter Soldier program will resume immediately."
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i-did-not-mean-to · 2 days ago
Text
Sticks and stones - Part 5
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This is the second to last chapter of this story...and here's the drawing that goes with it:
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Done by the amazing @mysandwichranaway
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“I swear by everything that is holy in this world,” Fíli huffed, “every time I try to talk to that man, he’s glued to that detective woman. I wonder if there’s something going on between them.”
Lorreyn watched him, thankful to be able to see him so annoyed because it meant that the fire inside his chest had not died out; it was absurd, and she would never have thought it possible but seeing Fíli riled up – even when being unfair and childish – was something she relished like a sunrise after a stormy night.
Too long had he languished in sterile beds, too weak to speak, too broken to get up, so when his pace quickened and his cheeks flushed with frustration, she felt like sinking to her knees and thanking whatever God might have survived the modern times for the immense blessing of his being alive.
“Does it matter, Fí? What could be so important that you need to speak to Ori now?” she asked, leading his steps away from the foyer where his mother was working poor Dwalin like a mule; she knew only too well that Fí wanted to help the woman and that the fact that he couldn’t, would only sour his mood further.
“Do you find me meddlesome, woman?” he asked, his eyes slitted in suspicion.
“I know you to be and if Thorin was less preoccupied with that silly stone, he’d be all over the case as well, wouldn’t he?” Lorreyn cocked one eyebrow; she loved that man, but, sometimes, she really wanted to tell him to mind his own business.
Fíli had chased away more than one suitor of his brother’s by being his own inquisitive and slightly overbearing self; Kí, of course, had more women pursuing him than a ham attracted dogs, but Ori?
“She’s the enemy. You don’t like her!” Fíli exclaimed, his arms twitching to express his instinctive desire to throw them up in frustration, but he knew better than to attempt this for real.
“I don’t want her to succeed, Fí, but no, she’s not the enemy. Thorin…has a problem,” she replied calmly, suppressing the sigh that scratched in her throat like razor blades; Thorin had ever been kind to her, but she was convinced that his obsession with that stone was slowly sucking the humanity out of him.
“Let the man have his moment in the sun, hmmm?” she begged in a soft voice, trailing kisses down the side of his throat when the very same Thorin came – clacking cane and scowling grumble on point – towards them.
“I’ll talk to him,” Fíli promised and bid his fiancée wait for him.
“Thorin? What if she cannot find it?” Fíli walked slowly, the ambient cold tearing into the muscles of his back with voracious, merciless teeth and claws.
“Who? What?” Thorin seemed distracted for a second, but – as his eyes snapped around to this nephew and heir – a soft smile spread out on his lined face from which the dark shadows had only started to subside.
“Bellington. What if she doesn’t find your damn stone?” Fíli grunted.
Thorin seemed to think about these words for a few moments and then shrugged: “If she doesn’t find out where it is, I think I don’t want to know who took it either,” he rubbed his hand over his tired face, “I am too tired to hold grudges.”
Fíli nodded slowly, “Listen, Thorin, it might be for the best. We need you.”
It was hard for him to speak these simple words, but he had increasingly gotten the feeling that his uncle was slipping away; he knew for a fact that his mother needed Thorin to truly start recovering – physically as much as mentally – and that she could not rebuild their lives if they were all holding on to things that were lost for good.
“I am right here, boy,” Thorin forced a smile onto his lips, “I have always been right here. If anything…if things had ended differently, if things do enddifferently than what we expected or wanted…”
“Uncle…are you alright?” Fíli stopped short in his tracks, turning in alarm to the man he had looked up to all his life.
Thorin was reminded of that small boy his sister had let him watch sometimes and then – a little later – of that slightly bigger boy dragging his baby brother around the house he had lived in at the time to play raucous games that included a lot of screaming and smashing things onto the ground.
No matter how tall or adult Fíli and Kíli would ever grow, Thorin would always remember the sparkle in their eyes when he had brought home ice-cream or the wet sheen of their tears when they had taken a tumble and come in – bloodied and dirty – with trembling lips and stubborn faces.
Clapping his hand on the younger man’s shoulder carefully, he said: “Yes, Fí, I am quite alright, and I hope that I shall be for many years to come, but if not, I want you to take care of your mother and brother…and of the others.”
He sighed deeply; it was a heavy burden to put on the shoulders of someone who had outrun death by only a few desperate, forceful strides.
“I know,” Fíli nodded, “be nicer to Kí and let him find a wife; never leave mother alone, make sure that Ori doesn’t die a bitter bachelor and so on and so forth. You’ve taught me well, Thorin.”
Stopping once again and finding the ocean blue of his worried eyes mirrored in the night sky azure of his uncle’s kind gaze, Fíli went on softly: “I have watched you risk your body and mind, your safety, your health, your sanity, and everything you’ve ever owned or been for these people and I shall do you proud. I just want you to be there for it…Is it vain to yearn for your approval still?”
Thorin grunted under his breath; his wife had told him that he was too hard on the boys, and he had not believed her; he should have known better, she was always right and that was part of the reason he loved her so much.
“I am proud of you. It might be hard for you to believe that, but I love your mother like you love Kí – desperately, impatiently, and endlessly – and from the moment I’ve first held you in my arms, I would have died for you.”
It was hard for Thorin as well to speak those words aloud, but he could see now that it was necessary.
“When I thought that I had lost you, you and that recklessly optimistic brother of yours, something died within me. I pray that you never have to experience that kind of pain that puts being run through by a sword to shame.”
“Uncle,” Fíli whispered, “I am alive and so is Kí. I swear, he’s never been better in his life. We are alive and that stone is not; it’s just a thing, Thorin. It means nothing.”
“It is an heirloom,” Thorin contradicted, “it is a visible, tangible sign and testament to my position…It is something I wanted to hand over to you.”
Fíli chuckled at that, smiling up tenderly at his uncle who – so wise – could be so silly sometimes.
“Thorin…it is a stone, a dead mineral, nothing more. What you hand over to me, what makes me your heir, what makes you the king of this castle has nothing to do with it.”
He didn’t know, Fíli discovered, Thorin actually believed that the disappearance of this gem weakened his standing in the family and in the world.
As they walked back to the house, Fíli rapped his knuckles against the solid stone wall of the house.
“These are the stones you’re entrusting to me, Thorin,” he spoke gently, “You’ve taught me to respect my elders, it’s their fossilised bones that will be the foundation stones of my story. You’ve shown me that children need a strong hand and a soft heart, if I ever have any children in my life, it will be their sparkling eyes that are the most prized gems in my collection. You, Thorin, youare the stone.”
Thorin shook his head in confusion.
“Ever reliable and never yielding stone of anchorage, rock under and behind which we have found shelter more often than we can count, lodestone that has guided us safely home from danger and misery…It was never the Arkenstone that made you what you are or made people see or believe it. What you pass on is the living example of what it means to be a good brother, a good uncle, a good husband, and a good man. No stone in this world could add to the value of your teachings, you must believe me!”
Thorin stared at him wordlessly before simply hugging the younger man to his chest and – for a moment – their broken bodies seemed whole again as they felt this other heartbeat – that had been in sync with their own for so many years – vibrate against their skin…an echo of love.
“If she doesn’t find it, then good riddance…” Thorin mumbled and groaned when his sister’s voice called him over in a tone that brooked no protest.
Alina had never seen anything like the scene unfolding in front of her eyes.
All the way up to the remote house, she had wondered if she would find the remains of her baby sister negligently buried in a shallow grave. It all smelled like mass-murder and dark secrets.
As she arrived though, she found Louisa – her hair tied up messily – carrying a crate too big and too heavy for her which made her steps shuffle awkwardly.
“Louisa, what are you doing?” a young man called, his dark hair whipped haphazardly in the strong wind that made the last snowflakes dance in the air.
“I’ll take the crate and you take the girl,” he called to someone Alina could not see and – within the blink of an eye – the man had ripped the box out of her sister’s hands, making her stumble backwards into the arms of the soft-looking porcelain man who had accepted her videocall.
“Hullo there, lass,” another voice resounded and – carrying two crates stacked precariously on top of one another – the presumed axe-murderer strode out past Louisa and winked at her.
“Erm, yes, hi…” Alina mumbled, her eyes wandering to her sister – still ensconced firmly in the ginger’s arms – who looked up in bewilderment.
“Al!” Louisa cried, pushed herself off the man and flung her whole body into Alina’s arms.
“Baby,” Alina sighed in a trembling voice, “how did you fare? Did you find that missing bracelet?”
“It was not a bracelet, it was literally just a stone, and no…I have not found it,” Louisa replied dejectedly.
“Well, seems you found something else though,” Alina nodded at the man who still stood – looking somewhat lost – in the door, witnessing the whole scene.
“I don’t know what you mean,” Louisa grinned and practically danced to the riverbank to help light lampions and candles for the big ‘pushing-off’ ceremony.
“Lass, ye’ll need a blanket,” the rough man said confidently with a look at the sinking sun, “it will get quite cold soon. Let me fetch one!”
“Who’s he?” Alina couldn’t help asking; she knew that Louisa loved cataloguing people as if they were inanimate objects to be looked at under a microscope.
“Dwalin? Family friend as far as I’ve understood; his brother is also here but I think he finally went down to the town to get the food that was ordered for tonight,” Louisa explained, but she was looking neither at the man in question nor at her sister; instead, her eyes kept returning to that slender creature bringing out another heavy-looking crate.
Ori had been right in saying that she would not be able to lift and carry the boxes and Balin’s attempt to distract her had made the old man late for his task; Louisa was a nuisance, and she hated feeling so incompetent.
“Are they all insanely strong?” Alina questioned on as she hated the feeling of being the odd one out and of having to catch up on a joke all the others were in on.
“I think so, yes. Fí and Thorin are still injured, so I don’t expect them to do much hauling…” Louisa’s voice died as she saw Fíli – as if summoned by her words – come around the corner with his uncle.
He strode towards them, frowning at one of the crates that was piled on top of another.
In a movement so fast and smooth, Louisa barely trusted her eyes, he snatched a small object from the crate and passed it discreetly to Ori who let it disappear in one of his countless pockets; the whole thing was over in a flash which told Louisa that it was a well-trained move.
They had grown up together and even though Ori was most certainly not a thief, he could very easily be an accomplice, a fence, a keeper of secrets. He had practically admitted as much to her on more than one occasion and the others also didn’t hide the fact that this discreet little bookworm was the guardian of their confidences.
Trust and love, Louisa thought as she looked over at Alina, a person with whom she had shared her most despicable and embarrassing secrets, and finally, the pieces of the puzzle seemed to click into place.
“Come in, it’s cold,” Lorreyn pulled Fíli gently along, “they won’t be ready for a long time yet.”
Passing his brother – hauling another few crates – Fíli caught his intense look call to him; Kíli needed him!
“I should help them,” he mumbled; she knew that he hated not ‘pulling his weight’ – as he liked to call it – and she had witnessed with her own eyes how he had risked his mental and physical health trying to heal faster for the benefit of other people.
“You are helping them…by taking care of yourself,” she spoke tenderly; he was so much like Thorin in many ways: headstrong and brave, but also utterly oblivious to how much he was loved.
Sometimes, it seemed that they measured their worth by what they could do for others, forgetting that what they were to others was more than enough. She didn’t need him to haul around things for her, she just needed him to be there and believe that she could bear the weight of her own life.
“For better or for worse, Fí,” she whispered, “isn’t that what you intended to promise?”
It was a low blow, but he had asked her to marry him before leaving for the battle he had almost not come back from; months had passed since and she needed to know if it had been a spur of the moment fluke.
“Agh, woman,” he groaned, “you’ve got me there. I am a hypocrite…”
“You’re so much like him,” she laughed, love coursing strong through her veins and making her heart beat faster.
“Yes, we’ve noticed that as well. There are so many great things about Thorin, and I am so proud to have them passed down and bestowed upon me like a crown, but – I admit – that I am not exempt of his flaws either,” Fíli sighed, “we are a proud people. Stubborn and a little pompous…”
He looked at her with that calm, loving gaze that was her sky and her ocean in the sense that she lived – suspended weightlessly – in the strange gravity of his eyes; he was her whole world.
“When I took this vow, I meant to love, protect, and sustain you…not the other way around,” he finally confessed, “I hate being so weak. What kind of man cannot even help his own mother? His own fiancée? I am useless…”
Lorreyn swallowed the tears that stung her eyes as she steered him into the little room behind the kitchen where they stored the firewood and slammed the door shut behind them.
“Your mother has carried you before and you have dragged her to safety more than once. Do you really think anyone of us would love or respect you less because you didn’t simply bounce back from a near-fatal injury? Do you love Thorin less because of his cane? Are you planning to overthrow him?”
“I’d never!” Fíli’s eyes grew round with shock and honest indignation.
“The war is over, darling, we have no need for warriors anymore…” Lorreyn smiled wistfully as she thought about the barges being readied that would take all of those discarded remnants downstream for good.
“I need a husband, Kí needs a brother, your mother needs a son, Thorin needs an heir…nobody needs you to be hale just yet, we just need you, alive and mending,” she purred, sliding her hands under the collar of his sweater.
She loved the way he looked in blue; it complimented his complexion and made his eyes look all the more entrancing, especially when he looked at her like he did now: with barely veiled lust.
His eyes darted back at the door, but her fingers, locked around his chin now, kept him from turning away.
“There’s nothing we can do; there’s nothing they need from us,” Lorreyn hummed, sliding up onto the neat pile of firewood and letting her thighs fall open invitingly.
“Baby,” Fíli groaned warningly, but already, he was pulling closer; he was convinced that the heart of this woman was a magnet for all the iron in his blood was inexorably drawn towards her like the waves were moved by the moon.
His hands found the curve of her breasts with as much ease as they curled around his knives, both had been etched onto his skin, carved into his bones, moulded into his very flesh and he didn’t even need to look down to see her body blossom under his tender caress like a midnight orchid.
When his lips rained kisses onto hers like shooting stars, setting the world around them aflame, he could feel the smile that lifted the veil of sadness off his soul at the same time as it tugged at the corners of his own mouth.
Another thing that he had learned from Thorin: how to make the fragile body and the impervious heart of a woman the only home needed to brave the storms of life.
Oh, he would marry her, offering her more than his devoted protection; he would put his weakness, his ailing body, and his struggling mind into her careful hands. To have and to hold, those were the words that he had promised her, and he was willing to commit to them fully.
Her nimble fingers undid the fly of his trousers and when her fingers brushed along the underside of that sceptre she wielded with such delicate skill, he couldn’t help but shiver and press into her touch eagerly.
In an impossible contortion, Lorreyn managed to pull down her own pants and bundle them under her bare ass so she wouldn’t have to ask Bara to pull splinters from it later; Fíli’s limited motion of range made this a weirdly intimate dance in the smallest of imaginary spaces.
There was something so intoxicating about the rigidity of his sore back, his eyes holding hers, as he caressed her pulsating heat without ever looking down. All he needed to know, all he wanted to see, was the way her eyes clouded over, and her head lolled back as he hit that sweet spot that made her shiver and claw her hands into the fabric of his sweater spasmodically.
“Hush, darling,” he whispered throatily, dragging the tip of his cock along her wet warmth to tease them both; they had slept together so many times before and yet, it was always new and exhilarating.
As a warrior, as a man, as a Durin, he loved that moment where his heartbeat slowed and his breathing deepened, that one instant where everything within him aligned and got ready for the plunge; he pushed through the sharp pain racing along his spine and into her.
Warm flesh welcomed him with a shivering sigh that began where his body met hers and travelled all the way to her parted lips to die on them like a plummeting butterfly.
“I love you,” he moaned, pulling back ever so slightly and grinning when her heels dug into his buttocks mercilessly to keep him from retreating too far.
“I love you too, Fí,” Lorreyn whimpered, “but I’d love you even more if you could bring those hands back.”
He loved it when she begged because she never actually looked or seemed weak when doing it; she knew what she wanted and – unlike him – she didn’t let pride get in her way when pursuing it.
When those huge, glossy, moss-green eyes radiated pulsating want and need, when those sensual lips panted pleas and prayers, when those nimble but strong fingers clawed haphazardly at his skin and clothes, she was not the one giving in; on the contrary, she was in command, in control, in charge.
He had often heard that men liked to hear women beg because it made them feel powerful but Fíli couldn’t agree; his fiancée was a siren, and her word was a spell he could not break. He would either fulfil her wishes or die trying.
Smiling to himself, he slammed back into her, the sharp sting of his old injuries intermingling with the even sharper stab of white-hot pleasure coursing fast and searing through his veins now.
One hand buried between their bodies to coax her to the edge of madness and the other one curled around her white neck tenderly as her head – once again – fell back in softly whimpering rapture, Fíli was sure that he had never seen anything quite as beautiful or held anything quite as precious as this vibrating life that shivered and trembled in his palms.
Just as the discomfort had dulled compared to the cutting spikes of the towering waves of blind lust about to engulf him as Lorreyn contracted like a fist around him, he heard the steps approaching the little room.
“Don’t stop,” she growled, “so close…”
With a featherlight brush of his thumb, he sent her over the edge and when she flung herself at his chest, pressing warm, wet kisses along his throat, he let the vortex of old hurt and new life swallow him.
A sharp knock resounded which made Lorreyn start forward, toppling the whole pile of logs she had been sitting on and making her land square on her ass – much to the amusement of Fíli.
Ah, it was good to see Fí laugh, she thought, even if it was at her expense, sprawling naked on the remnants of dead trees.
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I have tried to get a taglist going, if you want to be added or removed, please let me know!
This will also be posted on Ao3 💕
Chapter 1 ¦ Chapter 2 ¦ Chapter 3 ¦ Chapter 4
Taglist:
@enchantzz @self-conscious-author @laurfilijames @linasofia @shalinizhara @myselfandfantasy @maalezzo @fandomfaeryreads @middleearthpixie @guardianofrivendell
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char-lotteral · a month ago
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Look, I can explain
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alphafemalecarla · 10 months ago
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When I write three sentences on my WIP:
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What if archive of our own had a Spotify wrapped where they tell us our top ships of the year, longest fics, time spent reading, top fic authors and top tags. That would be so interesting.
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greaterawarness · 2 months ago
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max-escaping-reality · a year ago
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Oh hello there, fic idea that I'm gonna fantasize about for days/weeks on end but not write. Nice of you to drop by
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hokkyokuro · a month ago
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Character mannerisms to consider!
Mannerisms, in this case, are the little details that are unique to each character of your story! These are perfect ways help the reader know more about your character’s personality without needing to read through multiple sentences of description or dialogue. Mannerisms also become incredibly useful when you need to convey things like social status, upbringing, mental health status and how they interact with the world/people around them.
There are hundreds of unique ways to use mannerisms, for example linking one character to another despite their lack of interaction in the story. The dialogue and description might point to Character A having never met Character B, but they might share the same mannerisms, which would hint to some kind of past link between the pair.
How much space do they take up? Do they spread out when they sit or stay curled-up? Do they flail their arms to gesture? Do they speak loudly or quietly? Who listens when they speak up? Do they make a sound when they move?
How does your character sleep? What position? Do they sleep restlessly or soundly? Do they prefer covers, or do they sleep without?
How does your character greet people? Are they welcoming or reserved? How genuine are they being?
How much do they mirror others? Do they mirror everyone? (Mirroring is a subconscious behaviour where two+ people in a conversation will copy one another’s body language. This usually means there is a connection of some kind being made. Lack of / exaggerated mirroring might indicate towards a mental disorder or other (ex: personality disorder, neurodiversity, anxiety etc)
Which part of their body is the most expressive? Does your character use their hands a lot or do they tuck them away? Do they need movement to ground themselves (swaying, rocking, fidgetting…)?
Who would your character turn to in a group of people for comfort? Would they acknowledge that person more? Would they engage in a conversation with only them or would they just glance their way?
Do they have a re-occuring habit to indicate a mood? Do they crack their knuckles when excited? Do they bite their lip ring when angry? Do they look at their hands when sad?
How do they gesture? Do they speak with their hands? Do they point, nod or use their eyes to show something? Which movements are conscious, and which aren't?
Do they have a comfort item or person? Is there something they always think of? Is there something they hold with care? How much do they value that thing more than others?
How would they react to another person’s misfortune? Would their eyes light up? Would their heart hurt? How genuine would they feel? How genuine would they act?
Is there anything that makes them OOC (out of character)? (This is a good thing! One tiny OOC aspect can make a huge impact on that character) Perhaps they’re cruel but love cats? Perhaps they’re known for being the kindest but smile when they think of something tragic? How often do they act strangely? Do they do it in front of anyone? Do their actions indicate this or solely their thoughts?
I hope this helps you develop your characters! If you have anything to add, feel free to do so!
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juneforever · a month ago
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Your ao3 mood is bitch get help omfl and come here sweetie *hugs* and you goddamn horny sinner
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veryfangurl · 11 months ago
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You have to stop writing “the fic nobody asked for” in your fanfiction description.
I asked for it. I prayed for it. And you gave it to me. So thank you.
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merlinmyrddin · a year ago
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toddtakefive · 12 months ago
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spookyspiderboiii · 7 months ago
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IF THIS ISNT ME
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heyimboredtalktome · 7 months ago
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why are writers like this
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