Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

If you weren’t so drunk, perhaps you wouldn’t have considered jumping. The balcony at Stark Tower was so ungodly high… That bourbon margarita had your face so uncomfortably warm. You leaned over on your tiptoes, hand curling just a little tighter around your glass to keep it from slipping from your grip. It was ironic, really, you’d imagined jumping to feel the cool air across your face, maybe pretend for a moment that you were one of the Avengers, maybe hope that one of them would catch you and save you from certain death, but God forbid you break a glass on the way down.

Some sober neuron, buried deep within the tangle of your otherwise inebriated brain, fired off. That’s a little too high, dear, it whispered, might be a good time to step back. With a sigh, you obeyed. Your body had a little trouble catching up with that neuron, though, and then you’d taken two and three and four steps back until your ass bumped into somebody and then you were stumbling and grabbing someone’s jacket and oh, shit, fuck, you were falling. Yet again, your hand uselessly tightened around your drink as if it could possibly save you, or you it, you weren’t really sure anymore. The air was already out of your lungs and your hair clouded around your face like smoke by the time you hit the ground. No, that couldn’t have been ground… It was warm. Soft. Any impact you expected to feel in your tailbone never came. With a dazed inhale, you realized your face had been smushed against a man’s chest through the chaos of your fall. His palm cradled the back of your head. He’d caught you. Like a fawn learning to walk, your ankles wobbled as he guided you back upright. You must’ve twisted one… There was a dull throbbing in the right ankle that urged you to not put too much pressure on it.

“Help,” you said. In the shock, your whine was pathetic, cracking and sounding more infantile and defeated than dignified. It woke you up a bit. As a young assistant trying to make a name for herself, the firm and confident tone you normally used in Stark Tower was responsible for anyone taking you seriously. Now, you just sounded like a child asking for someone to reach the cookie jar. You leaned into him, seeking extra support to be sure you wouldn’t fall again. That same sober neuron reminded you to be embarrassed about that. Maybe tomorrow. Somehow, your cheeks felt even hotter.

Ugh. You should never have come. You should have never had this much to drink, especially at a work party… even if it was one of Stark’s. Thinking of Tony, you scrunched your brow, remembering the weak excuse he’d pulled for this party. Loki was basically here in Stark Tower on probation, proving that, with the help of some plucky planet-saving babysitters, he wasn’t totally evil and definitely wouldn’t try to take over the world again. What a crock of shit, you’d thought. You could only hope that Loki’s presence on campus wouldn’t impact your safety or job too much when he would inevitably find and exploit some weak spot of the organization. You were resentful enough of your job being contingent on a boarding school style living arrangement. It was easier to protect the employees with the most clearance when they were all in the same spot. So, until Loki showed his ass again, your only choice was to shut up and enjoy this party in his honor. Really, you knew Stark was just looking for an opportunity to get hammered. Just like you were, right now, as you groaned into a stranger’s chest.

“I am helping,” the man said. You were too disoriented to focus on who he was. Through the tight sheath of your little black dress, the warmth of his hand leaked through to your hip. Another hand lingered on your shoulder, steadying you. “Are you going to be alright?”

The music was blasting. Before you could recognize the song, muscle memory made your hips sway automatically. You winced, remembering the fresh twist in your ankle. Your focus started to turn to the lights. So many lights on this balcony… Flashing. Blue, red, yellow, pink, green…Ugh. At first it was pretty, but if you stared for too long, you knew you’d turn green yourself. He said something else, but through your focus on the lights, his voice sounded like it was underwater.

“Huh?”

“I said we ought to sit down.”

“No, no. I’m good, I’m good,” you said, waving him off. Then, you were moving against your own volition, trudging through the crowd of guests. God, there must have been hundreds of people here. You looked down when you felt a squeeze. His hand was around your wrist. He was pulling you inside. Oh.

Too worried about falling again, your attention went to making sure your feet were sturdy and keeping up with his pace. You were already starting to limp on the right one, though, and dreaded the idea that in the morning, when all this drink was worn off, you’d feel the full brunt of your mistakes.

There was a burst of light and heat, some crackling sound, and a few guests started cheering at something to your right. You whooped along with them, trying to look up at the excitement and raise your free arm, but the man yanked you a little harder and you stumbled again. You swore under your breath.

By the time you looked up again, you were back in your office. He pushed you down into your swivel chair. The force shot you back until the crown of your head smacked into the wall. You gasped, eyes slipping shut as you lifted your hand to check the damage. Shit, wrong hand. The icy remnants of your margarita spilled over your scalp and ran down your back. You hissed and the shock of it all finally compromised your grip on the glass. It shattered instantly when it hit the floor.

“God, look at you,” he said. “I get you alone for two seconds and you’re already causing trouble.” The man ruffled a hand through his hair and your drunk brain went into overdrive analyzing the move. His hands were scarred and gnarled with deep punch-colored lines running over the spines of his fingers, following the line of his tendons back to the wrist. The hair his hand mussed was technically short since it was styled, but in the shower, you imagined it was long enough to cover his eyes, even with his tall forehead. His mane was dark, almost black, with two thick streaks of grey running back from the temples. “Doctor Strange,” you realized, though not meaning to announce it. Your hand came over your eyes in a futile attempt to quell the new wave of nausea that rolled in. Whether it was from either of your two newest injuries, or the drinks, or all of the above, all that stimulation was settling into your gut in the worst way. You let out a soft groan, feeling again like an infant, your hand sliding across your torso. “It’s alright. I’ll take care of it,” Stephen said. His voice was low and soft. You kept your eyes closed as he rolled you towards your desk. One of his hands swept up behind the base of your neck, tilting your head forward. The other hand was careful, prodding ever so tenderly as it moved the hair away from where you hit your head. Still, you couldn’t help but whine.

“No blood,” he said, his voice low and thoughtful. His thumb smoothed velvet-soft circles over that sensitive spot. Intuition sensed him leaning over you, closer, and then he was…smelling your hair? No… You could’ve sworn he kissed over your new bruise, feeling extra warmth and pressure on the crown of your bourbon-soaked head. Maybe he was just looking at it closer… Maybe it was him pressing another finger, trying to inspect you…Whether it was from surprise or pain, you made another noise that was somewhere between a gasp and a grunt.

“Shhh,” he whispered. You opened your eyes, watching him take the seat on the other side of your desk and scooching it closer to you. Despite being drunk, you couldn’t have possibly mistaken Stephen’s languid gaze oozing down your frame. He paused at the floor, eyebrows pinching together. “You hurt your ankle?”

The nausea was making you pant. You weren’t sure what he saw that gave the injury away, but you were grateful. You nodded, unable to fight how shrill you sounded when you complained again, “It hurts.”

Doctor Strange leaned closer, running his hand down behind your right calf to lift the leg and settle it on the desk where he could inspect the injury a bit better. Already self-conscious and thinking about the view he and whoever might waltz through your door would find, you squeezed your left knee inward. It wasn’t perfect, but at least you could pretend you still had your dignity.

“Relax,” he said. His voice was a little firmer now, impatient with your squirming. His eyes went from your face to your hands which pressed over your groin, making any effort you could to conceal yourself. Yes, the doctor was attractive, but you weren’t going to let that damned dress ruin your reputation. No matter how dreamy he or his perfectly coiffed and evenly salt-streaked hair may have been, the fact that you worked together, in however disjointed a way, was a huge issue. He pouted down at you like you were a child doing something too cute to be scolded for. “Sweetie, I won’t look. Do you have some lotion?”

That was good enough for you.

“That drawer, there,” you said, pointing and feeling your heartrate pick up as he retrieved your miniature bottle of hand-lotion and repositioned himself over you. For his large hands being so damaged and having the near-demonic reputation that they did, his fingers were surprisingly nimble as he unclasped your heel and set it to the side. Your left foot braced itself on the ground, the broken glass under your stiletto crunching as it was pushed away. Your hands claw-gripped either arm of your chair and you sucked in a breath, preparing for the pain.

The lotion sounded wet and slick in his palms. It was cool at first and his touch was unyielding and forceful, making you cringe. You let out a slow, shaky breath. His hands slid over your skin and instantly found the troubled area. It sent a hot, shooting sensation up your leg. Unable to keep yourself from crying out, your nails clamped back down, head throwing itself back. You took to biting your fist to quiet (though, unfortunately, not stop) the howling.

There was a bang as your office door flung open. Stephen startled and turned around as your hands fled back over your groin, your left leg flexing in to protect your privacy. You noticed Stephen rolling his shoulders back.

“Is there a problem?” he asked, shifting to the side. You could only assume he was trying to shield you.

“That’s what I was wondering,” the other voice responded. The Asgardian accent stuck out to you immediately, for there were a select few residents of Stark Tower with accents so similar to an Earthly British one. It was a voice you’d seldom heard but easily recognized. It was low and rough. It belonged to Loki Laufeyson.

“She’s fine,” Stephen said. “Just took a little tumble.”

Your gaze was flickering everywhere, fighting to see some part of him. The alcohol lingering in you was convinced that you were mistaken…Certainly the dreadful Loki wouldn’t have invested any interest in Stephen Strange and his dealings, or you, Tony Stark’s assistant, who he’d only met a few times during his initial check-in. Between Stephen’s legs you could see the tapered ends of Loki’s overcoat, the green lining within. You leaned to the side, trying to get a glimpse at his face, still not totally satisfied. Loki’s gem-green eyes locked with yours as he saw the movement, leaning over with you around the wall of Stephen. His gaze travelled over you, emotionally detached though scrutinizing, and you noticed him tense when his eyes made it to your hands. He clearly saw you covering your groin. The fear of having yet another relatively-strange man see up your skirt had your pulse booming in your ears, but you were in too much pain and frankly too drunk still to try getting your right leg down from its hoist. You opted for pulling the hem of your dress down a bit more. Loki looked back at the Doctor, eyebrows raised. Even from across the room, you could see Loki’s sharp, defined jaw clenching. He wouldn’t look back at you anymore, engaged in an intense staring contest with Stephen.

“It’s really not what it looks like, Loki,” Stephen said, sensing the weight of Loki’s presumption. He showed his palms in innocence while shaking his head.

“Could it be what it sounded like, then? A drunk girl hollering and waving for help as she’s pulled through a crowd, thrown into a room before a series of crashes and bangs? How about the shriek of glass breaking? Surely her whimpering and whining meant nothing either? Or her gasps and protests of pain? I couldn’t have possibly heard that, could I?” Loki was shaking, speaking faster with each word. You could tell by the way he trembled that he was using all his mental energy to keep himself from moving, being violent, from immediately sacrificing the deal he’d made with Stark. Stephen tried to explain himself, but Loki wouldn’t stand down, holding up a hand to silence him as he finally looked back at you. “Are you hurt?”

You blinked.

“My ankle,” you said. Still a bit dizzy from your labored breathing, you tried to take a slow inhale to explain the situation, but the only words you could find were, “Stephen just touched it.”

Doctor Strange looked back at you, mouth agape, before turning back to Loki, “Buddy, I don’t have time for the witch-hunt. You don’t realize how drunk she is.”

“No, doctor, I do realize how drunk she is. That’s quite the point, isn’t it? Tell me, does the ‘do no harm’ vow lose its meaning when you’re no longer qualified to practice?” Loki said. His voice was straining as he fought to keep his composure. “Stark is looking for you. Get out of my sight before I make that task impossible.”

Stephen hesitated before straightening his back and shaking his head as he walked off. Loki refused to step out of the way, forcing Stephen to shoulder-check him as he left. The moment the doctor was out of sight, Loki rushed forward, a few coils of his raven black hair falling over the straight bridge of his prominent nose. He reached straight for your leg, pulling it down from the desk without realizing your injuries. The pain was like a nightmare, the heat so hot this time that it actually sent a chill running up your side, making you jolt like a feral animal. You weren’t going to be able to fight the nausea this time. The pit in your stomach swelled up into your throat.

“You ignorant fuck,” you hollered, throwing yourself off the chair to kneel in front of the garbage can next to your desk without any regard to the glass that was all over the floor.

“What did I—” he started. You wretched and heaved, clutching the can closer as your body released. The burn in your throat made you shudder, inhuman groans spilling over your lips. Loki must have realized his mistake, “Oh, Gods.” He gagged.

“We really should get you off the—” you interrupted him again with your next lurch, hot vomit splashing over your discarded papers from the week. Your panting was ragged. His voice sounded different now, like he’d covered his mouth. “There’s glass,” was all he could say, his voice tight and controlled.

You started trying to regulate your breathing but kept your face over the garbage can, just in case.

"Too late,” you said. Your throat was raw and your voice now showed it.

“Finished?” Loki said, putting a tentative hand on your back. He must have realized the drink you’d spattered on yourself, “Gods almighty, why are you wet?”

“I spilled,” you said. You yawned thoughtfully over your upturned dinner and then nodded, “All done.” Loki’s hands were immediately under your armpits. He lifted you and held you away from himself as if you were an infant with a soiled diaper. Then, your hind came down on the desk, the wood cooling the backs of your thighs. For a night filled with so much heat, from the party to the drinks to the puking, it was a nice treat. You sighed.

Loki had taken to brushing some of the larger chunks of glass from your knees. Luckily, you’d had a hard time learning to shave back in the day, so you barely felt them bleeding. At first, he was rough with you, but when he saw finer shards glinting under the overhead lights, his fingers were as deft as tweezers. He plucked and pulled with such measured ease that you couldn’t even feel the pressure of his hands, just the chilling pinpricks of blood leaking out as the glass was removed.

“You surprised me,” you said.

“How’s that?” Loki asked, though sounding thoroughly disinterested. You imagined he was just placating you in your drunk state, but you continued anyways.

“The fearsome Loki, the ruthless son of Odin,” you said, your deep growl mocking him, “Sorry, Laufey, I mean…rushing to save a woman not even in real danger…”

He rolled his eyes, his face centimeters from your knees as he inspected them for any remaining glass, “With due respect, you may be too intoxicated to understand the peril you were just in. You didn’t hear what I heard, mortal.”

You didn’t have the energy or capacity to explain your situation to him. Liquor still raging through your veins, every time you thought to start speaking, your mind got stuck at the flashing lights on the balcony and went blank again. The two of you stayed in comfortable silence for a while until you fought enough through your stupor to speak again, “So what? Murder thousands to own shitty, dumb Earth but…I mean…‘Gods’ forbid a man other than you be alone with a woman while she’s drunk…At least Stephen’s a doctor…He would have actually helped if you weren’t mean to him…”

Loki chose to ignore you. His hands were busy over your body, tender and slow. He inspected your frame like you were an artifact, like you’d evaporate if he was too harsh. His search started at your ankles, though he was overly cautious with your damaged one, now that he realized the source of your pain, and moved up, prodding, twisting, and lifting limb by limb. You were confused, and as he made it to your thighs, you decided to take offense. Your good foot planted itself against his chest and pushed him back, holding him away from you like a guard dog, “Hey, hey, why so handsy, buster?” Even you were a bit shocked at how loud you were.

He held up his hands in innocence, not forcing himself towards you but not backing away either, “Your night seems to be wrought with misfortunes. I’m inspecting for any further injuries. If you’d rather, I can get a medic.”

“There was literally just a doctor in here, cowboy,” you said with a snort.

"My, you are difficult. Please just—"

“Just my head,” you spat, crossing your arms. “No medics. I’m fine.” You didn’t put your foot back down.

“May I check?” he asked. You glowered at him, trying to see if it was somehow a trick, given his nature as the God of Mischief. Being as drunk as you were, you couldn’t honestly trust your conclusion either way. Your foot dropped.

“Fine,” you said with an accusatory finger-point. “Just my head.” He was immediately back in your personal space, chest in your face as he tilted your head down. Loki made a displeased grunt, hesitating over your damp scalp before sighing and forcing himself back to work. When he found the damage, which didn’t take long thanks to the fact that it was swollen, you flinched and yelped.

“He really did a number on you, didn’t he?” Loki said, though it was quiet, not meant for your ears.

“Was n’ accident,” you said, “You weren’t here… Plus you didn’t answer me before…About the…About the…You know.” You waved a small circle, hoping he would remember your confusion about his concern for you.

Loki lowered himself down to your eye level, his lips in a sympathetic tight line, “Indeed I’ve brought violence and ended lives many times over, but there are still things that I don’t believe in, things that are unforgivable… As a God, I can have virtually any woman I want, so there’s no prestige to be gained from bedding one who doesn’t want my advances. As the son of a mother who doted on me, I can’t condone asserting myself over another woman. Doctor Strange should share the same sentiments tenfold, given his background. I was thoroughly surprised to find that my judgement of his character was wrong. I can normally spot malicious intent quite easily, being the God of Lies…of Mischief. He went under my radar, perhaps thanks to the alcohol. With all the excitement of tonight, I fear I was nearly too late. I think in the morning, you may have a better grasp on what could have happened had I not been here. For that, I am deeply sorry.”

Silence fell over the two of you again as you mulled over his words, fighting to process everything he was saying. Your mind trailed off as you tried to measure the curve of your eyeballs under the lids as you blinked. Maybe he got impatient waiting for you to respond, or maybe he was feeling a little more open than normal, perhaps hoping that you wouldn’t remember when you were sober. Whatever the case was, he continued.

“I know I’ve done everything in my power to earn this reputation… That of a cruel monster, an irredeemable killer with insatiable bloodlust. I am the one who can’t be trusted. But… It is still possible for me to do good things. I can stop bad things from happening too, even without ulterior motives,” he said, his eyes burning into yours, willing you to hear him.

“Stephen wasn’t…Ugh. He was helping,” you said, exasperated. Loki let out a breath and nodded.

“Why don’t we discuss it in the morning?” Loki said, a sad, stiff smile locked onto his face. He patted your thigh the same way a father might at his son’s baseball game before calling him “Champ” or “Big Guy.” He squatted all the way down, your hand instinctively shooting back over your nether-regions and legs clamping shut as he clasped your missing high-heel back around your foot. “Let’s get you home.” He slid one arm under the bend in your knees and the other around your back, lifting you like an infant to carry you out.

“I feel sorry for whoever will come to see all this mess you’ve made on Monday,” he said with a small laugh.

“This is my office,” you said, pouting. You closed your eyes, head lolling back onto Loki’s shoulder. The ends of his hair tickled your nose, so you lifted and tucked your face into his neck. He didn’t react, instead asking about how to find your room in this massive building.

“It’s up there,” you said, not even bothering to open your eyes or point in any direction. “On the left, when you face it.”

“Of course,” Loki said softly. “How could I have been so forgetful?”

Chapter Text

When you woke up, you were amazed to not have even a semblance of a hangover. You sniffed in confusion, propping yourself up on your elbows to watch your right ankle roll and stretch under the sheets, testing it for the damage you remembered, though it felt perfectly fine. The covers were grey. Grey? Wait—who’s sheets were those? Who’s bed was this? It sure as shit wasn’t yours. Though you weren’t a big drinker, you knew you weren’t a promiscuous drunk. It was not like you to just wake up in a stranger’s bed after a night of indulgence.

You remembered bits and pieces of the night. The temptation to jump, your slip and subsequent ankle twist… There was yanking, crashing, yelling, puking, but that was all disjointed. Stinging in your knees. Stephen Strange’s face was somewhere in the mix, reassuring you, promising help. He was mad at someone… Protecting you. Blush was heavy and warm on your cheeks. Doctor Strange didn’t live at Stark Tower but that didn’t mean Stark didn’t loan him a room for the night… Could this be…?

You pushed yourself out of bed and crept to the door, looking around all the while in case someone happened to pop out. Through the door was a kitchen you didn’t recognize either. It was unoccupied. You sighed away the tension and stepped out, confident that you could leave here unnoticed and find your way back to your dorm, or better yet, find the doctor and thank him properly for taking care of you. You smirked. Wait… Would that count as employee fraternization? Ugh.

The bedroom door opened a little wider to reveal the living room. There was a glass coffee table, topped with a pen with the cap removed and a small stack of white notecards with gold-trim. You could see a few of the cards had been scribbled on but were scratched out or crumpled. Who was the doctor writing to so late at night, you wondered? Then, your eyes trailed to the couch, upon which slept Loki Laufeyson. A gasp caught in your throat as you put a hand over your open mouth. His giant frame overtook the couch, one leg slung onto the floor, the other hung back over an armrest. His neck was turned all the way out so he was “facing” you. His right hand rested over his chest, long fingers spread wide like the branches of an oak tree. He looked like an ancient painting, like a man professing something deep and moving. You recognized the position as one that was destined to lead to a sore neck and felt a brief pang of pity before rolling your eyes at yourself. All his midnight locks that were normally a key component to his broody, intimidating presence were like strands of kelp, graceful and relaxed, falling over his hollow, cotton-white cheeks. You’d never seen his face so blissful and calm, not once muscle tense. He was so still that you wondered if he was breathing until a puff of air crossed his lips and his chest sank.

You were oppressed by two conflicting feelings. The first was intense curiosity and surprise. Loki had a home. A home that you were in. What could be hidden in here that might reveal more about him…? Was it worth snooping around to see what you could find? Your eyes focused back on the notecards… Who had he been writing to? What was so urgent and special that lead him to waste all those trashed cards? Somehow, you’d landed in his bed, but he (seemingly) didn’t get into it with you. What was that about?

Your more sensible side was chilled by fear. Loki was bloodthirsty, vicious, arguably insane, and betrayed everyone he knew, including his own family. The only reason he was in this tower was to atone for the arguably unforgivable crimes he’d committed. The lives he ruined and stole, the planets he ravaged, his thievery, the list went on. What if you were the one who snuck into his bed and he’d ended up on the couch by a blessing of fate, or worse, luck? Yup. There was no possible way he knew you were here. If he were to find out… You couldn’t bear to think of the consequences. You suddenly felt very, very cold. You had to get the fuck out of there, like, now.

Loki made a soft sound, his face twitching as he struggled against a dream, and that was it for you.

You burst from his dorm, not even bothering to look for your shoes or trying to quiet the door when it closed. You bolted like an unbroken horse busting out of a stall, remembering the months of training you did to earn this job. All those miles you ran with weighted packs strapped to your back weren’t for nothing, after all. God, you were fucking lucky that your ankle didn’t turn out worse. It wasn’t until you came across a person, probably some analyst or something, that you stopped literally running for your life.

“Hey! Hey,” you said, practically screeching to a halt. “What floor is this? What time is it?” Your head whipped to look behind you, making sure that no one was following you. He looked frazzled, seriously confused if not startled by your behavior and state of dress. “God damn you, floor and time. Floor and time!”

His eyes went over your shoulder.

“Umm…” he said.

You looked back again, seeing that unfortunately familiar mass of black hair peeking out towards the other end of the hallway. Loki’s pallor had just turned from investigating the other side of the hall to look at you, and you were already sprinting again.

“Shit,” you hissed. “Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit.”

By the time you’d figured out where you were (the 95^th floor) and had finished making the mad dash to end all mad dashes back to your place (the 37^th), that skimpy black dress you’d picked for yourself last night had ridden impossibly higher up. If you thought it was revealing before, the line that dress towed now would beg to differ. You slammed your door behind you, locked it, and shuddered. That was close.

The doorknob seized when you tried to twist it, confirming it was locked. Relief. A slow, chest-decompressing sigh was the only noise in the room. To the right was your kitchen and you could see the microwave clock over the bar that read 7:30. You were due for a morning briefing with Stark and the gang at 8. Shit.

You stormed through the house like you had something to prove. Between a song-length shower, wearing the tightest bun possible to hide the fact that you didn’t have time to blow dry your hair, and eating a peach for breakfast on the walk up to the office, you pummeled the notion of being late. Not only would the teasing be brutal if you were late, but you had no hangover to excuse yourself. If you were a better actor, maybe you could’ve faked one. Even if you’d been known to gab with your coworkers after hours, you took your reputation and job very seriously. The aftermath of one stupid party was not going to get in the way of the respect and status you fought for.

These morning briefings were typically trivial. Tony expected you to take notes on anything that might require you setting up a meeting, stock, and other general concerns. For being in such a high position in a powerful company like Stark Industries, this aspect of the job seemed cartoonishly low-brow. That said, it was a nice way to almost meditate. It was a solid hour every Monday morning where you sat in front of everyone, back stiff, legs crossed and perched on your stool, while you scribbled and kept to yourself. No one would ask you anything, there was no chasing, no barking orders, no orders being barked. Tranquil.

You made it in at 7:55, slipping in with the clack of your heels masked under the chatter of the Avengers and other staff that huddled around the concessions table. It seemed Tony had treated everyone to donuts this morning. Though you still had a few bites of the peach left, you knew you’d be hungry… That, and donuts were fucking delicious, obviously. You squeezed through and reached for the first thing you could get your hands on: a vanilla ring with strawberry icing and rainbow sprinkles. The first bite, taking nearly half the pastry, was in your mouth within seconds. You hummed to yourself in appreciation, stepping back from the crowd.

“There she is!” Stephen said, patting you on the shoulder. “How did all those bourbons treat you? You shouldn’t look this well-rested, little patient.” He laughed and as you smiled up at him, still chewing, his gaze fell to your lips. His face quirked into a playful mask of confusion. You pulled back in shock when his hand lifted, the wide back of his pointer finger sliding up your chin and collecting the peach juice you hadn’t bothered to wipe in your rush to be on time. “What’s this?”

“Mmf—” you tried not to choke as you began. “Peesh.” You held up your other hand, indicating the fruit with a small chuckle. Your voice was muffled as you covered your mouth, trying to be polite as you finished the bite of donut. Stephen angled his hand back towards himself, watching the glisten of the peach juice on his fingers as if he were considering licking it off, and then wiped it on his pants.

“God, I love peaches,” he said. “So tasty…each time I bite into one, I’m tempted to suck the pit until it’s smooth just to make sure I get it all.”

Your eyes had never been so wide.

You’d never honestly put much serious thought into the idea of being with Stephen Strange, but between his demeanor last night and that fucking comment, you were suddenly confronted with the possible reality of that man being into you. Was this even allowed? You’d be sure to brush up on the employee handbook when you were back in your office… You finally swallowed and struggled for words.

“This isn’t the 1600’s, Strange,” Tony said, giving Stephen a brotherly pat on the chest as he led him towards the conference table. “You can’t just say shit without thinking first. You’ll give someone the wrong idea.” Tony winked at you, and you blanched.

“No, no, it’s fine,” you said. “Peaches are my favorite, too. I totally get it.” You offered Doctor Strange an understanding smile.

"How’s that ankle?”

“You hurt your ankle?” Tony said. You could feel the color drain from your face with embarrassment. If you weren’t still so worked up about Stephen’s peach-thing, you would’ve been mad at him for basically ousting you for being a rowdy drunk in front of your boss.

“No, I—”

“She fell on me right as the fire dancers started performing,” Stephen said. “Took her to her office and she bumped her head… Poor thing spilled her drink all over herself and broke her cup. I didn’t know if she’d even be able to find her room.”

“Thor would’ve been proud,” Tony said. You grimaced, remembering all the mugs that blonde Asgardian had smashed and pre-mourning the ones he had yet to smash. You’d actually ended up adding the cost of a monthly shipment of cups into the company budget because of Thor. “How are you feeling though? I don’t want you suing me over some party foul.”

“Guys, seriously, I’m fine. It’s like it never happened. I made it home safe, took some aspirin and iced it, I can’t feel a thing.” You hoped they wouldn’t look too deep into your lie and would just trust your word. No one could know that you’d spent the night in Loki’s bed. As of now, the secret was between you, Loki, and possibly that so-and-so you verbally abused in the hall. Lord willing, that kid would be so afraid based on your demeanor that he’d keep your interaction to himself. If anyone knew… God, you’d never hear the end of it. For being fully-grown adults, these people savored a rumor like it was prime rib. Not to mention a development like that could fuck up your possibly-existent chances with the doctor.

“How did you get back?” Tony said.

“Walked. It’s time to start, Tony.” You tapped on your wrist, indicating an invisible watch.

“You walked back on that ankle? You could barely take someone breathing near it before I left,” Steven said. He looked down at you with wide eyes and nostrils flared. He looked livid. You could see he was making the only natural conclusion: if you were telling the truth, Loki must have left you behind.

“You left her like that?” Tony said, now turning to the doctor, who put up his hand in defense and opened his mouth to speak before you interrupted them. You went from being cold to getting way too hot under the pressure and in your haste this morning had forgotten deodorant. If they kept the round of questioning up, soon everyone in the room would be able to literally see and smell how uncomfortable you were.

“Guys, meeting. Let’s go,” you said.

“Alright then, Peaches One and Peaches Two,” Tony said. “Let’s get this meeting over with.”

The meeting was going swell. It was about thirty minutes in. You’d perfected the art of looking focused and diligent while doodling childish little flowers, moons, and suns all over your notepad. Things were running quicker than normal as well. In that short half hour, Tony had already breezed through the few cards in the employee suggestion box (a few of which were put in as a joke, like the one that read “Stark Tower needs more jukeboxes” in Steve Rogers’s penmanship) and updated the Avengers’ new training schedule now that more eyes would be needed to monitor Loki. Until there was an emergency, it was hard to say when they would be needed, so the plan was to keep them busy, strong, and ready. Tony asked them to consider a sleeping rotation where at least one of the heroes would stay next to Loki’s room at night until everyone was more confident about his reform, but the idea was still in workshop, so it was brought up and put to bed in under a minute. All that was left was—who the fuck was knocking on the conference room door?

Who the fuck else?

Loki peered into the room like a child eavesdropping on his parents, his face tight with a smirk.

“Unh uh, nope. Trusted members of society only,” Tony said, waving Loki out.

“Well surely the lady would like her shoes back,” Loki said, stepping in further. His arm raised; the straps of your heels were hooked over his two fingers so they dangled in the air like Christmas ornaments. You felt your chest tighten as your heart skipped a beat. In your eyes, he might as well have been holding a grenade. Maybe that would have been better, you thought.

“Pardon?” Tony said. Clearly the rest of the gang would be confused, and you were mentally scrambling to talk your way out of this. Well, all but one should be confused. Your eyes flickered to Doctor Strange, trying to be subtle, but he was staring at you already and made instant eye contact. Fuck. He did not look like he approved. His head was cocked to the side, one eyebrow raised sternly and jaw ticked like he was fighting himself from reprimanding you right then and there.

“Well,” Loki said with a breathy laugh as he gestured to you. “A certain Cinderella forgot these when she left my room this morning. It only seemed polite to return them… They aren’t even in my size.” He donned that shit-eating grin as the rest of the room turned to see every muscle in your body go rigid. He waltzed towards you as slowly as he could, drawing out the moment, before setting the shoes next to you. “These are yours, aren’t they, darling?” Loki nodded as he encouraged you. The soft tone of his voice betrayed what you could only assume were his true intentions—to humiliate and horrify. Well, Loki, you thought, mission accomplished.

Your heart was pounding in your throat as you looked again at Doctor Strange, who now had his arms crossed over his chest. You fought to unclamp your jaw as you practically growled out a “yes.”

Loki walked back to the door with no noise besides the shuffle of his pants. Relief whispered at your ankles until he whipped around, leaning in the doorway with one elbow above his head and catching everyone’s attention yet again.

“How rude of me, I nearly forgot to ask,” Loki said. “I trust my spells were ‘just as the doctor ordered’? No hangover, no ankle injury, no scrapes on those delicate knees of yours?”

“Oh, Peaches,” Tony said, quivering as he tried not to cackle. “You have some explaining to do. Meeting adjourned.” He clapped once as if his hands were a film slate before spreading his arms wide, signaling that everyone should leave immediately.

Never did you think you’d be so resentful of another person’s unadulterated joy. Tony crowded you the second that the room was, well, almost empty. Doctor Strange lingered, arms still folded as he glowered at you. He was perfectly composed, but under his collectedness, you knew there was a whole cocktail of ugly emotions just waiting for someone to take a sip. Tony, on the other hand, looked like a kid who just found out they were going to Disneyland.

“No way out of this one. Tell me everything,” Tony said. He rubbed his palms together and grinned down at you.

“I really don’t remember much from last night. I’m just as confused as everyone else.”

“But you clearly remembered an unlikely and miraculous stroll home, taking an aspirin, and icing the ankle you twisted,” Strange said, his sarcastic tone firm and low. It stung. You’d thought it was a harmless lie, but apparently Stephen took it as a personal offense.

“Oh my God…” you said, “This really isn’t fair. Doctor, I remember going to my office, someone coming in and arguing with you, and waking up in Loki’s bed. The moment I realized I was—”

“So, the sex wasn’t memorable?” Tony said.

“Tony, enough,” you said. “I really don’t think anything happened.”

“If anything did happen, he did it when you were drunk and obviously could use his magic to keep you from feeling it. I should have never left you alone with that guy,” Strange said, jabbing his finger towards you. “This is a problem.” He made a quick swooping motion with his hands, summoning a man-sized ring of gold. It swirled, shimmered, and splintered as he stepped through it. His teleportation portal closed directly behind him before you could say anything or try to stop it.

God fucking damnit.

It seemed everyone was lingering outside. The hallway sounded loud, even from inside the conference room. Whether Loki had pulled the plug on that hangover spell or the gravity of the situation had finally come down on you, your stomach was fluttering with nausea and the pressure in your temples built. You leaned your face into your hands, resting your elbows on your knees.

Stephen’s insinuation about last night was dreadful. Would Loki have—

Were you—

You didn’t even want to think the word. Your eyes were starting to sting. This whole thing was so overwhelming… All you’d wanted last night was to have a nice time at a party. You did not want to cry. Not here. Not now. Not in front of your boss, especially.

“Okay, I guess I can see why you lied,” Tony said. You chuckled coldly and looked up at him, resting your chin in your palms. Tony swallowed and poked his tongue into his cheek as he stared at your swollen, red-rimmed eyes. He lifted his hand to pat your shoulder and then decided against it, letting it fall awkwardly at his side. “Don’t worry about it. Doctor’s got time-magic shit… Um, he’ll—he’ll figure it out.”

“Yup,” you said, hoping your sharp tone would get Tony to shut up.

“And if it does turn up that Loki, um…”

“Tony.”

“I’ll fucking castrate him. I don’t care if he’s a God.”

“It seems like you’ll have to get in line behind Doctor Strange.” You fiddled with your hands and smirked. It was nice to be cared for.

“And, um, I want to offer you some time… It doesn’t have to be now. Just take a week off. Whenever you want it, let me know. You work hard. That party was supposed to be a breather.”

“I miss my family,” you said, barely squeaking the words out as the tears finally fled to your cheeks. You hoped no one outside could hear you crying over the clamor of their own conversations. Honestly, it seemed pretty rude that they would all hang around like that. The morning had already been overwhelming enough, the last thing you needed everyone to see was the aftermath of you crying. You’d lived on campus for two years since being hired and could count the times you’d seen your loved ones in person on one hand and still have fingers to spare. Just one weekend off would have been enough.

“I know,” Tony said. The scrunch in his brow told you that he knew even if you really did miss your family, saying you were homesick was a way to avoid the real issue. He finally worked the nerve to pat your shoulder and squeezed it. You could tell he was struggling to sense where your boundaries were. In fairness, you were struggling to sense them yourself. For now, this small touch was okay, and you smiled up at Tony to let him know.

That’s when you realized that the din in the hallway was shouting. There was about to be a fight.

You and Tony glanced at the door at the same time. Your back straightened as you tried to decide if it was better (or even safe, considering the powers of those around you) to check it out or stay inside. Tony took a few cautious steps forward, as if anyone out there would have heard or been deterred by him overhearing. The stool creaked when you stood up and Stark pressed his palm back towards you, a silent “stay there.”

When he cracked the door open and peaked through, you could finally understand the yelling.

“—what the fuck you did to her before I send you to a dimension a lot less forgiving than this one,” Stephen said.

“That’s quite rich considering the scene I stumbled upon when I found you with her. Go on, then, search the rooms,” Loki said. You started walking as quietly as possible up to the door, trying to keep Tony from hearing you behind him. “If your ego is too proud to check, send me back to prison, then.”

“If you think I won’t be able to find you when I’m done, you’re in for a shock. Rest assured it’ll be much easier for you to tell the truth now than to force me to see it.”

“I can’t wait to hear what you discover,” Loki said. You’d finally made it to the door, unheard, and peered over Tony’s shoulder. The hallway was silent as you watched another one of Stephen’s portals close up behind him. You’d heard of this power before but had never played such an intricate role in him using it. Apparently, with his universal awareness, he was able to enter a room and see things that had happened in it, like a kind of time travel. By now, he would’ve been temple-deep in your office and then Loki’s apartment.

From over Stark’s shoulder, you saw Loki deflate and lean against the wall. He looked exhausted, rubbing his hands over his eyes and grunting in frustration. It may have only been thirty seconds before Stephen transported himself back, but it felt like centuries.

“Well?” Loki said.

Stephen didn’t acknowledge him, instead looking over Tony’s shoulder and pointed at you. You ducked but didn’t miss him calling out to you.

“Don’t ever lie to me again,” he said. Your stomach dropped. Stephen’s cape whipped and snapped as he stormed off. No one said a word until he was out of sight.

“That’s good news,” Tony said.

“That’s payback for the shoes, I suppose?” Loki said to you, his fists clenching and unclenching. “I tried to protect you, take care of you. Can you fathom what an accusation like that could have done to me?”

“But you can waltz in here and ruin my reputation as a professional?” you said. You took a step forward, trying to push past Tony, who blocked you with his arm.

“Total misunderstanding. This is on me and Strange,” he said to Loki. He kept his arm out so you couldn’t get to Loki. “Peach, why don’t you take the day?”

“I can’t afford the time. Plus, I trashed my office—”

“I cleaned it,” Loki said.

“You…why?” You didn’t mean to scowl at him, but in your anger and confusion, it was the only expression you could muster.

“A thank you would suffice.” Loki was looking at the floor now, defeated. On another man, it may have looked like a childish gesture, but on him, it looked like surrender. He was done. You huffed, feeling like an ass, your shoulders drooping.

“Peach,” Tony said. “Go home. Now.” His tone had changed from that of a man comforting a friend to a boss giving an order. So, you listened. You walked back to your apartment, your ears humming from the emotional cooldown.

This was a rare walk through Stark Industries where the building seemed quiet and empty. Almost everyone else was working, muddying labs or hunched over desks. You didn’t see the corridors this peaceful very often, but it was a welcome surprise. It was an opportunity to zone out, which you eagerly took advantage of. Your daydreams were static fuzz, so thick that you didn’t notice the man leaning against the wall next to your apartment door.

“Are you alright?” Doctor Strange said. You gasped, your gaze breaking from the far wall to look up at him.

“I—Stark sent me home.” You reached for your keys but kept your distance from Stephen, unsure why he was there and still embarrassed from him yelling at you. You couldn’t look at him, training your eyes on the number plaque.

“That’s my fault.” You saw him nodding from the corner of your eye.

“It’s not,” you said, hoping for the second time that being short would end a conversation that you didn’t want to have.

“Can I come in? I really owe you an explanation…An apology.” His voice was measured and calm, like he was overcompensating for lashing out at you. He probably practiced that tone often as a doctor. Stephen took a step closer to you but when you stepped back and looked even further away, he backed up again and showed you his palms in innocence. It was like he was trying to prove he wouldn’t do any more damage.

“I’d like to be alone, please,” you said.

“That’s fair. Maybe another time? We could do lunch?”

The look you shot him must have appeared deadly, because he immediately followed up by saying, “Platonically. In public. Whatever you’re comfortable with.” His grey-blue eyes bore into yours, bleeding empathy. You looked him up and down, nose scrunched as you worked through a cocktail of annoyance, suspicion, and endearment. Part of you was secretly smug at the idea of making the doctor feel suspense, even if your frustration was a bit petty and misplaced. He was a nice enough guy, but so arrogant. He could stand to sweat.

“Doesn’t Stark have some type of rule about employee fraternization?” you said, crossing your arms and shifting your weight to one foot. Your head tilted, challenging the doctor.

“There isn’t. Not for platonic meetings, at least… Anyways, I don’t work for Stark.”

“Oh,” you said too quickly. “Um, I’ll think about it.” Your gaze flashed between him and your door, silently asking him to leave. He nodded and stepped away from the door.

“Get some rest, little patient,” he said, “I’m so sorry about today. About everything.”

Chapter Text

In the midst of the chaos of the last twenty-four hours, you decided to count some blessings:

1. You could stop feeling guilty about your undeniable attraction to Doctor Strange.
2. If Strange did end up developing feelings for you, Stark couldn’t stop anything from happening.
3. You finally had some free time to try out a new face mask. It had coffee in it.

Through the day, your thoughts were fixated on those first two bullet points. Doctor Strange… His concern over you. Was it part of his hero complex, or something deeper? You’d interacted with all the Avengers plenty of times. It was part of your job description. It was a bit surreal to imagine any of them developing an intimate relationship with you, romantic or otherwise. But…Good God that man was pretty… If he wanted you, he could have you. Thusly, your thoughts circled. And circled.

Annoyed with your rumination, you made a pact with yourself not to think about how behind you would be at work tomorrow, or Loki, or Stephen, as you gave yourself away to a night of relaxation. You spent the entire day trying to be like the feminine woman your mother wanted you to be. You took a bath, painted your nails, did some yoga, and even shaved, masked, and plucked every socially expected surface of your body. By the time you were done, it was dark out.

Your favorite comedy was on in the living room. You watched it from the kitchen as you blindly chopped some vegetables that were due for sautéing, your gaze flickering between the TV and the cutting board. There was some line that made you laugh, and just like that, your hand twitched the wrong way to slice your finger. Warmth rushed over your fingers as the blood came out and you instinctively hissed. You couldn’t feel it yet, but you knew it was bad.

“Shit. Fuck.”

Deciding not to look, you clutched your hand against your chest and took a few deep breaths. The cutting board and vegetables were maroon, soaked. Well, there goes dinner. Yuck. The sight made you shiver, even without having a fear of blood, but you couldn’t look away. It looked like some avant-garde art piece. A statement on consumerism or societal pressures to eat healthy, perhaps. A heavy drop of blood hit the top of your left foot and goosebumps rolled down your arms.

Wait. Why were you just standing there?

You ran off to the bathroom and used your good hand to rifle through the cabinets, keeping your injured hand pressed to your shirt.

“Come on,” you said to your gauze and sterile pads, chewing on your lip. “I know you’re in here.”

But they weren’t there. It took you three one-handed searches through the bathroom and a half-hearted dig through your bedside table and under the kitchen sink to give up. You were bleeding pretty badly still, as evidenced by the wet splotch you felt growing over your chest. Not like you’d bleed out or die, but this thing needed a bandage ASAP to stop the gushing. Your apartment would be no help. It was time to leave. You had to settle with wearing slippers around the building, your phone ringing and sandwiched between your shoulder and your ear as you locked the front door.

The phone stopped ringing.

“Hello?”

“Margot? It’s me.” You were running to the elevator, determined to get fixed up as soon as possible. Your finger felt like it was vibrating and the sting was starting to set in.

“What’s up, Peach?” she said.

“Oh, dear God. You heard about that?” you said. The elevator dinged and you pressed the button for her floor, 95. The doors swooshed shut and there was a dizzying pull in your temples as the cab rose. You leaned your full weight into the back wall, anything to keep your knees from giving out. The more still you were, the more you could feel your nerves screaming.

“Yeah, me and the entire building. I’ll let you fill me in this weekend. Did you need something?”

“Yeah, actually. I’m coming over. I cut myself,” you said, panting. Margot gasped. “Not like that—I mean, I was cooking. My hand slipped. I need bandages.”

“Why don’t you just go to the drugstore up the street? Restock. I think they’re still open.”

“You bitch, now is not the time. My kitchen looks like a murder scene.”

“The store is in walking distance. Just buy what you need, dude,” she said. You could hear her shoving her hand into a bowl of something—chips or popcorn you guessed—before taking a loud, crackling bite. The crisp pops of her munching made your face hot.

“Meet me outside or I’ll hate you forever. I’m serious.”

“Fine,” Margot said before swallowing. You rolled your eyes and hung up the phone. Margot was probably your closest work friend. She appeared to work in reception, but she was actually the first line in security, so she interacted with most of the tower employees on a regular basis. This made her especially prone to gossip. Margot was fun, but immature. As the counter on the elevator panel ticked up to 87…88…89…, you remembered your first time going out with her. You’d shown up to her apartment in a classy outfit—a light pink silk tank top and a pair of high-waisted black slacks, and she took one look at you before saying, “That’s not going to do.” She’d thrusted you into her closet and said that if you’d be seen together, you could either wear a silver sequin dress that would barely cover your honor or a (slightly) longer red velvet number with a slit all the way up to the curve of your waist (making underwear a no-go). You’d opted for the velvet at the time, convincing yourself it was less revealing just to save from being uncomfortable.

She was easily the loudest woman in the bar that night and danced on any man who came near her. She scream-sang every song she knew and attempted some she didn’t. You rolled your eyes at the memory. Margot was so easily able to influence you in your earliest days as a Stark Industries employee when your desperation to fit in was at an all-time high. You tried not to think about how much your wardrobe was still influenced by her as the elevator opened up on the 95^th floor.

Now your finger was really starting to hurt, despite the pressure on it between your chest and unscathed hand. Every muscle in your body was trembling, your stomach roiled, and you silently prayed that whichever entity was listening wouldn’t let you puke from pain again so soon. You barreled down the hallway, headed straight for Margot’s apartment which was at the farthest end of the corridor. You felt a twinge of resentment that she wasn’t outside already. She should’ve had enough time, but whatever. You’d probably find a way to purposely piss her off the next time she needed an urgent favor. It was only fair. You were nearly halfway down when you felt like you’d stepped back in time. You were running when a mop of rich black hair peeked out from a door on your left. Cue the internal screeching. You really couldn’t catch a break, could you?

Loki looked at you and you stopped moving. You were sure he would still be furious with you from earlier. How did he know you were out here? Did the guy have a freaking tracker on you or something?

“It’s you,” he said, head tilted in confusion.

“Apparently I’m going by ‘Peach’ these days,” you said, hoping to lighten the mood and distract from your fear.

“Well, ‘Peach,’ why are you stomping around out here? I could hear you from my bedroom.” He looked unusually casual, sporting some black sweatpants and a navy-blue tee shirt. He tucked some of the hair hanging in front of his face behind his ears, and for a moment, you could have been fooled into thinking he was just a regular guy, not a literal god. You took a couple steps forward, hoping to just pass by since you didn’t think you’d be able to get away with running.

“I’m here to see a friend. All is well. You can go back to bed. Sorry for disturbing you,” you said, inching past him with your back nearly to the wall on the other side of the hall. If you weren’t so close to collapsing, you may have tried harder to not sound so obvious.

“I wasn’t asleep, if you can imagine. I’ve had a rather stressful day,” he said, watching you through squinted eyes. It was as if he could sense your anxiety and was trying to decipher the cause. You chewed on your lip in nervousness, not wanting to deal with the confrontation. The unease was making you self-conscious, so you twisted the wrist of your injured hand inwards to cover the blood on your shirt, guarding yourself like a hurt animal. Loki noticed the movement and looked down. His eyes went wider than you thought possible.

“Who did this to you?” He rushed forward and pulled your hand away, visually searching the dark spot on your chest. His free hand pressed against your sternum and floundered. “Where’s the wound? Oh, Gods…”

Ah, so he thought you were stabbed in the chest. How darling.

“It’s my finger,” you said, a little too calmly. Your voice had taken on an airy quality without your permission. His brows scrunched together as he looked back to your hand. On instinct, you looked with him and instantly regretted it. Your hand was almost completely red, marinated in the blood that you’d smeared on yourself through the commotion. The skin was flapped open on your pointer finger from the middle knuckle down to the nailbed, revealing a burgundy-purple vein that pulsed and raged at you. It was still oozing blood, however slowly. It looked like a dying worm, like knotted string, the glob of it poking out now that your skin wasn’t holding it back. You heard yourself bark a single, sharp laugh before you shuddered.

“Here, here, it’s okay. I’ll take care of it,” Loki said. He pulled your hand in between both of his own. You jolted back. Your mind was in all directions with half of you wondering if he was still mad at you, trying to find an excuse to fuck up your hand even worse, and the other half wanting to avoid a reason to owe him more than you already did. Your inner cavewoman just didn’t want to hurt anymore.

“You really don’t have to,” you said. “My friend is coming.” You nodded and tried to take your wrist back.

“You need more than she can provide. I’ll help you,” he said. “Don’t be stupid.” You jerked back and whimpered, but he didn’t let you go, locking his grip around your wrist. “You won’t feel it.” Before you could try and fight him off again, he whispered something down at your hand. By the time you found the courage to look down, your finger was healed. You were still covered in blood, but it was like you’d never cut yourself. There wasn’t even a scar. Loki ran his thumb up the line where the slash was, inspecting his work, and you shivered. Somewhere behind him, a door clicked shut.

“Sweet Peachy?” Margot said with a laugh. You and Loki looked back at her and her jaw dropped, her olive skin practically turning green. She must have noticed all the red. “Oh shit, you were serious.”

Loki didn’t say a word as he walked back into his house. The deadbolt on his door made a small shuck as it fell into place.

You were in for a late night. The floors were smattered in rich crimson, the kitchen needed cleaning, your clothes would need a special soak to keep from staining, and you needed your third bathing of the day. So much for a relaxing day in.

The cleanup, however easy, left you exhausted as you laid back in bed. The room was quiet, dark. Your shoulders ached with tension. Through your thin bedroom curtains, you could see the blurry glow of the city and wondered which of those buildings Doctor Strange was sleeping in. You closed your eyes, determined to sleep, but saw the concern in Stephen’s brow when Loki was taunting you in front of everyone. The way he crossed his arms was so…protective. You grumbled, rolled to the side, and took a deep breath. You laid on the shoulder that you’d used to avoid Stephen’s gaze. That sternness of his voice when he was upset, though scary, made your heart flutter. You started counting backwards, from thirty, and realized you’d chosen the number of seconds it took Stephen to investigate and ensure your safety. He was so brave. So dominant. You could only imagine the anguish he must have felt when he did that for you, thinking he would witness…well…a rape. He did that for you. He was prepared to defend you even though your first extended interaction with each other was the night before when you were a blithering drunk. It was undeniable…You were warm, so warm, in the most unfortunate of places.

“Okay, fine,” you said. You rolled to your back and spread your legs under the covers, digging your heels into the mattress for leverage. One hand snaked down under the blankets, smoothing over your belly, and slipped under the waistband of your panties. Just one finger ran over your slit, a gentle, feather-light tease, and you could already feel your clit swelling. With a measured sigh, your two fingers pressed in just enough to open you, sliding, grazing, knowing better than to give your pearl the full pressure it craved. You thought of Stephen Strange, his warm, soft grip when you’d tumbled into his arms… The possessive way he’d guarded you when Loki invaded your office. Loki’s growl when he thought Stephen was hurting you. You moaned.

No. No, no. Stephen. Stephen’s voice. A deep, rich baritone. Yes… You sighed, remembering Stephen’s eyes, a gorgeous light blue that turned grey in the right lighting. How those eyes might look staring up at you from between your thighs. His broad shoulders would force your legs open, long black hair tickling your cunt as his face buried—wait, nope Doctor Strange’s hair was short. Ugh. Your hand stopped toying with your clit.

You bit the inside of your cheek, trying not to get too upset. You knew you wouldn’t be able to cum if you were distracted. You couldn’t fathom why your mind was so fixated on Loki. Back to Stephen, you thought. Your pointer finger swirled over the very tip of your nub, warming yourself back up. Your back arched into the touch and you thought of Stephen’s fingers collecting that peach juice from your chin.

“Oh, God…”

What if he’d licked it off like you knew he wanted to?

What if he’d had you alone in that conference room, locked the door, and sucked every drop of peach juice he could find from your skin? His large hand would encompass yours as he held it, thumb rolling a careful line over your pointer finger, sending a chill down your spine before bringing your newly-healed digit to his mouth.

The thought sent flames into your belly. Your breathing picked up, fingers moving a little faster as your back melted into the mattress.

His jade-colored eyes would stare at you until you burned as he lapped the peach juice from your fingers, from the very finger he’d healed for you earlier, the one you were using to play with yourself right now. Wait—

“God damnit,” you said. Your hand retreated. That was it. You were going to bed. The pressure that had built in your lower belly started settling into your pelvic bone uncomfortably, like your clit was flipping you the bird for not finishing the job. Traitorous little muscle. You laid in bed awake for what seemed like hours until the fatigue finally swept you under.

The click of your bedroom door shutting roused you from sleep. Your eyes snapped open, but you didn’t dare move, your pulse rushing in your ears. The room was dim, but you could clearly see a man stepping towards you. Adrenaline pulsed cold under your skin.

“It’s me,” Loki said, kneeling beside you. “You’re safe.” His shoulder-length hair was tucked behind his ears. Though you couldn’t see much in the dark, you could tell he hadn’t changed clothes since you’d seen him earlier.

“Loki?” you leaned up on your elbow, hoping he couldn’t sense the anxious thrum of your heart. “What are you doing here?”

“I couldn’t sleep. I had to come check on you,” he said, shaking his head with concern. His hand came up to cup your cheek. “Are you in pain at all?”

“No, no you fixed everything,” you said, heart practically vibrating from thudding so fast. It was mostly true. You could still feel the ache from your failed masturbation attempt rolling around in your groin, but you weren’t going to tell him that. He… How did he get in your apartment? You spoke before you could process the strangeness, the potential danger. “Thank you, Loki.”

“You know, as the God of Lies, I can sense when you’re being dishonest… Tell me the truth. Where does it hurt?” His murmur was low, gaze searing into yours, and it revived the warmth you felt before going to bed. Your pussy clenched.

Your heart skipped a beat as you fought to keep that heat from flowering between your legs. Your thighs pressed together before you tried to disguise the action as stretching.

“M-my belly,” you said. It wasn’t a complete lie. Loki raised a brow and smirked at you. He leaned in, skimming his nose up your neck.

“Ah,” he said, the heat of his breath against your pulse making you gasp. His hand slid under the sheets and rested over your tummy. “Is that so?”

You whimpered and nodded, your legs shaking in anticipation as you stretched them out again. Anything to keep your hips from bucking. He couldn’t know what you were feeling; you wouldn’t allow it. Loki used the very tips of his fingers to trace delicate circles over your abdomen and your eyes slipped shut. You couldn’t help but sigh. Every breath he took fanned out over the sensitive skin of your throat, covering you in chills despite the lava-like oozing in your pussy. You knew you were wet already, throbbing painfully, your body begging you to allow it some release.

“I’ll take care of it,” Loki said, pressing a kiss to your throat. You groaned. “Just tell me where to go.” He kissed your neck again, slipping his tongue out this time and nipping at the spot. Your hips writhed on their own accord and your face tingled with shame.

“Oh?” Loki said. “Is that what you need?” He nibbled along your jawline, savoring your gasps.

“Please,” you said, tightening your hands on the sheets. You were burning up, rolling into his touch. His hand dipped down, down, down, until he found that precious, tense little gem. The gentle touch was so torturous that it made you grit a pitiful whine into the indifferent blackness of your room. Loki chuckled lowly as his fingers eased over you. Your eyes squeezed shut and hands pulled at the sheets, breath becoming uneven.

“Shh, don’t want to wake the neighbors, do we?” Loki said, “Hmm…Perhaps we should wake them…Let them know all the ways I heal this body, how good I make it feel when I pull the pain from you. What do you think, Little Peach?”

You answered him with a moan and his fingers flicked faster. His hair tickled your neck as he placed his lips right next to your ear.

“That’s it,” he said, “Let it out. Let me know what feels good on this aching clit.” When your hips bucked again, Loki groaned and nipped your earlobe. It was like he was getting off just from your own pleasure. You were getting close. If he couldn’t hear it in your babbling or sense the pooling slick of your arousal on his fingertips, the tremble of your muscles gathering gave you away. He pressed his forehead to your temple as you grunted and whimpered. He snickered to himself before mocking moans of his own directly into your ear, spurring you on. Oh, oh, oh…Yes, ohhh…Your breath hitched and he growled pleasantly. You could feel your frame tightening as your body prepared to release. Pressure stacked low in your belly, searing hot, severing you from any control you once had over yourself. The heat mounting in your cunt was unbearable… You reached out and clutched at Loki’s shoulder, not saying a word but confirming every ounce of rapture he summoned through your cries.

Your orgasm crested and failed right as your alarm went off.

It was the first time in your life that you performed the cliché of sitting straight up in bed as you jolted awake, hand clutching your chest. What the fuck was that about? Oh no, no, no… Sure, it had been a while since you’d had sex with someone, but Loki? You’d never looked at him that way before. The guy was a menace. Your brain couldn’t even begin to wrap around the logistics and ramifications of so much as flirting with the would-be tyrant. God, not even twenty-four hours ago, you’d had to consider the idea that he might have taken advantage of you when you were drunk.

You chalked it up to your brain trying to process the ideas you’d been confronted with about the party and your alcohol-induced memory loss. That had to be it. It definitely wouldn’t happen again.

On your walk down to work, you saw a text from Tony telling you to skip the morning meeting and head straight to your office. You responded with a thumbs up and secretly hoped that he would make Margot fill in for you… She’d rather squirt lemon in her own eyes than sit still and be quiet for any extended period of time. Not only were you still pissed about her not helping you when the meat inside your finger was literally trying to escape your body, but you’d changed your mind and decided to blame her (at least in part) for the incident you were referring to as “The Dream Which Shall Not Be Recalled.” If she could have just been a good friend and shown up for you, Loki would have never had the chance to chat you up in the hallway. He found you when you were panicked, emotionally and physically vulnerable, and that obviously scrambled your upstairs egg (or, arguably, downstairs egg) enough to conjure that Unrecallable Dream. That was the only logical explanation… After failing to climax so many times, your veins were humming in frustration and expectancy, a gnarly little cocktail that would surely give you an attitude until you were able to coax yourself into submission.

Well, the reception desk was empty, so that must have meant your wish came true. Serves Margot right, you thought with a smirk. You could imagine her now, shifting in your seat, chewing on her lip just to keep from making any noise, picking at her cuticles to distract from the overwhelming boredom. Hah. Your shiny black pumps made sharp clicks against the tile as you sauntered into the office. The sound alone reminded you to walk with purpose. Your hips swayed, back went stripper-pole straight, chin lifted. You had to be on fire today, there was no other option. Considering that all of your coworkers either saw firsthand or heard about you at the party and the shoe-incident, your reputation was on the line. People had surely speculated enough already about your absence and Doctor Strange’s outburst. Though you couldn’t control what they said, you could control what they saw, and that would make all the difference. The way you saw it, it was much easier to believe character-damning rumors about a sniveling nail-biter than a manicured alpha-bitch.

When you found your office door, your hand lingered on the doorknob. There was an uncomfortable thrum in your temples as you remembered what happened the last time you were in there. Broken glass, relentless vomiting, arguing, and worst of all your legs. It wasn’t just the twist in your ankle seared into your memory but the persistent (albeit drunken) effort you’d made to keep your legs closed, the fear of misleading someone and jeopardizing your dignity… Ironically, the exertion was all for naught.

The energy inside that office would be oppressive. Actually…You suddenly wondered whether Stark would give you an extra day off? You could cash in that pity-induced week vacation he’d offered… No. You wanted to save that time for something good.

It took a few measured breaths and false starts to be convinced to go inside. You’d expected the crunch of glass under your feet, to smell the rancid sting of vomit, or feel the thick, greasy energy of unresolved conflict seeping into the walls as it searched for a way out of your office. Instead, the God of Lies turned out to have told the truth. The room was spotless. It was possible that Stark had sent someone to clean it, as there was a need for extra janitorial staff for the party, but guests were supposed to be in the main areas, not the offices... Would Loki have taken credit for the janitors’ work? Somehow, you didn’t think he would.

Chapter Text

It wasn’t until you’d walked around to sit at your desk that you had the proof to answer that question. Set in front of a family photo so it would only be visible to someone sitting at your desk was a small, forest-green box. It had been hidden with intention. Anyone who peeked into your office, janitor or otherwise, wouldn’t have seen it from the door. Was that effort to ensure that no one else would take what precious item was yours, or were the contents of this little package so scandalous that the sender couldn’t risk another seeing? Your initial reaction wasn’t fear but overwhelming curiosity. The excitement of the mystery made your heart skip a beat. You took the box in your hands. It was only about the size of your palm and the top, which wasn’t taped down, lifted to reveal a packet of some generic pain relief powder. You took it out, inspected it for any tampering, and then noticed a gold flicker from the corner of your eye. Looking back down, you immediately recognized the gold-trimmed notecard laying on the bottom of the box. It was the same kind you saw on Loki’s coffee table yesterday morning. His scrawl was neat and wispy, as if he’d been thinking about switching to cursive as he was writing. You imagined his voice as you read.

My mother always taught me to leave a place neater than I’d found it. It’s a late start, but I hope this is sufficient. If you feel unwell when my spell wears off, dissolve that powder in eight ounces of water and drink it quickly. Please let me know if that isn’t enough, and we can find an actual, licensed doctor who is qualified to treat you.

                                    Regards,

                                                Loki Laufeyson

Your mouth was agape. He wrote to you. Initially, you blushed, charmed by the gesture. Then, horror on two counts. First: your eyes flickered to that picture of your family and hoped Loki hadn’t paid much attention to it… Whether he was trustworthy or not, it felt much safer to have as few people as possible know about your relatives (especially if those people were, say, on all-powerful-overlord probation). Though slightly estranged due to the nature of your job, your family was precious to you. Second: you realized how long this note had been there. It was there when you ran from Loki’s apartment, when you snapped at him in front of Tony… Oh, God. Your heart sank as you remembered the dejected look he tossed at the floor after you and Stephen had both argued with him. Not to mention he hadn’t yelled at you or guilted you like Stephen did, despite you treating him way worse. If it wasn’t exclusive to you, Loki at least had a deeply-engrained moral code when it came to women. You briefly wondered who you had to thank for that.

Your cheeks warmed at the remark he made about finding a doctor. A current of exhilaration washed through your veins at the thought that he was trying to take care of you. He didn’t even know you, but he felt responsible for you. It was so gentlemanly, like nothing you’d ever heard about Loki before. Before you could stop it, you did the impossible and recalled the Unrecallable. The image was there: his lips on your neck, hand trailing down…Your chest tightened. There was a knock at the door. You flinched in your seat and smacked the note against the desk, hiding it under your left palm.

“Yes?”

The door cracked open and there were those unmistakable grey-streaked temples.

“Good morning, Doctor Strange,” you said. Your voice was breathy as you tried to re-forget the images your brain had fabricated last night.

“Didn’t mean to scare you. Tony said I could find you here,” he said, misunderstanding your tone. He stepped in just far enough that he was through the door but didn’t come any closer. “I brought a peace-offering.” His hand lifted, cradling a peach.

“A Peach-offering, you mean? I hope this isn’t a bribe…” You smirked and held out your left hand, forgetting the notecard it hid. Stephen walked slowly, as if you were an animal he didn’t want to spook. He was so careful, walking with a surgeon’s precision, that his cherry-red cape didn’t fuss or ruffle. He ignored your hand and sat the fruit on your desk.

“What are you working on?” he asked, pointing to the notecard. Your eyebrows lifted in surprise.

“Taxes,” you said, flattening your hand back over the card with a grin.

“That’s cute,” he said. “I guess it doesn’t count as lying when you’re being so obvious, huh? I mean it… It looks nice, whatever it is. Whoever sent that must really like you.” Strange offered a tentative smile, trying to offset the tension in the room. You wondered if he saw Loki write and place the card during his investigation yesterday. Did he know what it said? Was he testing you? Trying to decipher your relationship with Loki? His comment was just a little too on the nose…

“It is. Nice, I mean,” you said, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of a real answer. You chewed the inside of your cheek, wanting to forget the fact that you tried to masturbate to him just a few hours ago…that you’d failed because you were too busy thinking about his enemy. That little slip of paper was steaming under your palm.

“May I sit?” he raised a brow at you and gestured to the chair in front of your desk. You couldn’t remember if anyone had ever actually used the thing before. It had really been more of a prop than anything until today.

“Sure,” you said, lacing your fingers together. Your knuckles brushed against the soft skin of the peach. If it turned out to be ripe, you were planning on devouring it the moment Stephen left you alone.

“I hope I’m not bothering you. You said yesterday you weren’t ready to talk… I just really needed to tell you how sorry I am about everything that happened.”

“It’s fine—”

“It’s not fine. Don’t you get that? I left you behind with a guy I didn’t trust when you were drunk. I didn’t check on you or try to help you. I yelled at you. I hurt you. The look on your face yesterday cracked me in half,” he said, his throat tight. “I was so enraged that I didn’t think about how I’d hurt you until you wouldn’t look at me. It’s just…When I realized what Loki might have done, thinking about his hands on you…” He put his hand over his mouth, fingers flexing as if he might claw his lips off, peel away his jaw. A jagged red vein in his neck bulged until he released himself, hand falling into his lap. “I can’t express the regret and the agony I felt. The wrath. But I shouldn’t have yelled at you. I overstepped. I think after that party, I felt…God…” He put his hand over his face in shame, tilting his head back, like he couldn’t believe what he was about to say. You unconsciously leaned forward, enraptured by his speech. “It’s so inappropriate.”

“Say i—”

“—I felt protective over you. I can’t explain it, and I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, but I don’t want to mislead you.”

You blinked at him, your lower lip quivering as it tried to find the right words to respond. A squeak came out of your throat. The doctor had never looked so stupidly handsome, here in your office, begging for your forgiveness. Well, begging for your hatred first. He wanted you to understand the weight of his failures so that your forgiveness would actually mean something to him. You could almost laugh at the idea that the doctor would need to appraise the worth of your forgiveness before accepting it. Stephen’s clothes—if you could call his steel-blue monk robes “clothes”—looked normal enough, but his composure was rattled. Every muscle was tense, he even gripped the armrests of the chair as he spoke. His hair was tousled, and his eyes were bloodshot.

“Have you been sleeping?”

“Not well,” he said.

“This can’t be the only thing troubling you this much,” you said. Stepping around the issue seemed like the safest, most non-committal response you could give until you knew all the angles to his story.

Stephen sighed, his bright eyes looking directly into yours, baring his shame.

“I tried to justify the way I felt to myself. How… How desperate and nauseous I felt thinking about him touching you. I kept telling myself that it was because of your ankle, like you were one of my patients and me looking you over stirred up some of my old doctor-mojo, but I never felt this way about a patient. Ever. I wanted to do a good job, but their personal lives were never a factor in how I practiced,” he said, finally relaxing back into the chair.

“You’re…interested? In my personal life?” Your heart fluttered when he mentioned someone else touching you, but you decided to save him the embarrassment and tuck that comment away for later.

“In no uncertain terms. I know it’s not my business, but…I…I need you to give me some boundaries so that I don’t fuck this up. I mean… If you aren’t interested in something romantic. If you’re seeing someone, whatever the case may be.” He gestured to the notecard you were trying to hide. “I want to be in your life, however you’ll take me, and I don’t want to step on any toes.”

“So, you read it?”

“Read what?”

“Don’t be coy,” you said. You lifted the card and held it next to your temple, the side with writing hidden from Stephen’s view.

“I didn’t,” he said. You raised one eyebrow at him in warning. His lips flattened into a straight line and he cleared his throat. You tilted your head to the side, waiting him out. After a few seconds, he frowned. “I did,” he croaked, dropping his head. “I’m sorry. Tell me what to do.” He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his wrists.

God, could he be more endearing? You weren’t typically one for sharing your feelings, especially at such an early stage, but Stephen looked like a wreck. You could practically taste his anguish. He really had been torturing himself over all of this.

“You’re forgiven,” you said. He let out a breath that decompressed his entire upper body and mumbled a thank you, his voice cracking. He must have been exhausted. “If you really want to make it up to me and be in my life, you might try asking me out.”

He looked up at you, first in reverence, but then his eyes squinted, lip quirking in confusion, “You aren’t seeing anyone?”

You pictured Loki, with his emerald eyes and healing hands and broad shoulders. You should your head no.

“I’m not looking for anything serious right now, but I’d be open to a date. If someone were to ask me, I mean.”

“Okay, okay that’s great,” Stephen said. His smile was much more genuine now that his body was relaxed. “I know someone who is going to ask you, then, when he can show up to your office with some dignity.” He stood up and ran a hand through his hair. It was already looking closer to normal.

“I look forward to saying yes to him,” you said, smirking. “Go get some rest, Doctor.”

“Back to work, little patient,” he said. His grin was laden with relief as he walked out of the door.

True to your own word, your hand was wrapped around the peach as he walked off, thrilled to find that it was pliant and ripe, and sunk your teeth in it as soon as you heard the door click shut. Juice ran down your chin and you keened into the tender, pink flesh.

The first thing on your docket was emails. That would be the first clue to everything you missed yesterday. There were a few generic reminders and follow ups that you addressed. Tony was due for a physical soon. He wanted you to order an extra case of mugs so that Thor could bring some of his friends around. Apparently, Tony had been inundated with questions about the employee fraternization policy, which surely wasn’t related to any of your recent exploits, so he wondered what your opinion on the policy was. Should he change it? Did you have any suggestions on what the new rule should be?

Tony already took so few things seriously, and now his employees would be bound to rules that he wanted you to set as a joke so that you’d feel more comfortable getting laid. You rolled your eyes, unsure if you were more flattered or insulted by his frivolity. The last email you looked at was the one that caught your attention the most. It wasn’t company wide, but addressed to you, the Avengers, and a few other administrative staff. The subject line read “Operation Loki-Sitter.” The email wasn’t as self-reverential.

In light of Stark Industries offering asylum to Loki of Asgard until he is properly rehabilitated and can be trusted on his own, select members of the Avengers and employees of Stark Industries will be required on campus as night guards. Guards will be expected to sleep in apartment 9512, directly next to Loki’s in room, and should make every effort necessary to prevent and report any disturbances as they occur. Guarding can be done on a one-time or long-term volunteer-basis and offers substantial compensation for the inconvenience. If no volunteers come forward to relieve the selected staff, the shift rotation will occur as follows until further notice:

Monday—Captain Steve Rogers

Tuesday—Tony Stark

Wednesday—Doctor Bruce Banner

Thursday—Natasha Romanov

Friday—Doctor Stephen Strange

Saturday—Margot Hayes

Sunday—

No. It couldn’t be.

You reread the line.

Your heart skipped a beat. Your eyes blurred over the Sunday slot in disbelief, trying to convince you that your name wasn’t really there, but it was. Tony hadn’t consulted you about this. Where the hell did he get off giving away your Sunday nights without any notice? Sure, that could change if anyone decided to volunteer themselves, but it didn’t seem likely. At least you’d be compensated. You rolled your eyes, pushing your suddenly-stiff shoulders back down in an effort to pretend that you weren’t totally seething, as you continued to read.

Guards will receive instructions in a separate email within 48 hours of their first shift. For more information on this policy and to learn how to volunteer for this opportunity, please visit Margot Hayes at the reception desk.

We appreciate your help and feedback as we navigate these circumstances.

Stark Industries Management Team

You were fucking livid. The sacrifices you’d made to live on campus just so you could have this job were already enough. As a matter of fact, you knew the Avengers themselves didn’t have to live here, and neither did most of the rest of Stark’s employees. It was just some, a special select group that he wanted to keep close, that had to give it all up for the sake of the company, and now he had the nerve to dictate how you spent your time off? You could see it coming from a mile away. First it would be one night a week. Then someone would ask you to cover their shift. Then suddenly you’d wake up one day and realize you were working 24 hours a day, not living in ‘your own’ apartment (if you could even call the dorm yours), and probably being much less fairly compensated than what you were originally promised. Those fucking bastards. That fucking bastard. Tony Stark.

Your mind flashed back to your talk with Tony, when you cried and told him you missed your family. The nerve he had to do this shit only a day later. You’d be having a fucking chat with him. That was for certain.

Closing out of the email, you went to grab your phone from your purse, but realized if you got your hands on your phone, you wouldn’t be able to stop yourself from texting Tony something nasty that would sacrifice your negotiating power. It would be better to talk to him with a more level head.

Your focus shifted back to the computer. Your hands spread over the wood of your desk as you tried to read the next email, but you were overcome with a memory. It was the night of the party. Loki had lifted and placed you on this very surface. In seconds, his face was mere inches from your knees, his nimble fingers so delicate that you could’ve forgotten his presence if he weren’t so god-damned large. That gravelly voice had cooed you into submission, you realized. He’d never forced himself on you, even where your physical safety was concerned. His chest was like a wall when he stood up, but you hadn’t been afraid. You recalled his enduring patience despite you giving him an unnecessarily difficult time. In fact, you…Oh God. You’d nuzzled Loki when he carried you away. Those bourbon margaritas must have pulled a sweep-the-leg on your memory. This, you thought, explained a lot of Loki’s behavior. You were probably the first person on Earth to show him any affection, even if it was just for a few moments in a drunken stupor. Ugh. You had to physically stretch the grimace out of your cheeks. Your jaw clicked.

You blinked and looked back up to your computer. There was a to-do list of tasks burning a blue-light tan into your cheeks. Simple shit, rookie stuff. Following up on emails, beginning your revamp of the Avengers’ training programs, scheduling and ordering and filing and, and, and…

You blinked again. Your cheeks were still blazing. Were you going to be able to get through the day without thinking about smooshing Tony’s face under your heel?

Yes. Yes, you could totally do that. That would be the mature response, which a grown woman with as high a rank as you had should be capable of performing. You could be calm and measured.

Your knuckles made hollow pops as you cracked them. The pulse racing between your collarbones reminded you that you were still angry. You remembered a time when an old professor read one of your short stories and said it was marvelous, but that if you related at all to the main character, you should seek out anger-management counseling. You’d stormed out of his office that day. He couldn’t have been right. He was just some lazy, tenured, presumptuous, self-absorbed, booger-licking—

Okay, maybe you couldn’t do this. The whole ‘chilling-out’ thing.

You didn’t have that thought until you’d already walked halfway to Tony’s office, but in fairness, that was only because your brain had shut off all coherent thought until your heart rate was slow again.

His door was made of thick, dark wood. You may have been the first person ever to not knock when you entered. Well, burst in may have been a better term. Any more force and you would have risked cracking the precious drywall that the silver knob slammed into.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” you said.

Tony didn’t even flinch. You wondered if he’d been expecting you, your rage. Not like that would have made you feel any different. He looked up from the file he was reading, the manilla envelope making a shy flicking sound as it closed, unaware of the tense situation it had been put in.

“Welcome back, Peach.”

“So now I don’t even get a full weekend off? Is that how you plan on covering for giving me that week vacation? Which, if you’ll recall, I haven’t cashed in yet, being that it’s only been twenty-four fucking hours since you gave it to me.” You swept in like a tsunami, stomping up to his desk with half the nerve to kick it as your hair fell in front of one of your eyes. The door was still open.

“Okay, I hear you. I totally hear you. Let’s consider the idea that this may not be a personal attack.”

“I’ll listen to you explain yourself while I type up my resignation. I’m a great multitasker.” You smiled, though your voice was laced with the tenderness of a prison shank. Your hands fanned out as you leaned over his desk with one hip cocked to the side, weight shifting to your right leg.

“You know I wouldn’t let you go that easy, the—”

“So, don’t. I don’t accept this offer. My time off is sacred. Thanks for understanding, Mister Stark!” Your grin was vicious, teeth barred in spite of the gooey-sweet tone you’d switched to.

“Peach, you’re one of the highest-ranking employees of the company besides me. My name is on that list, too. What other choice did I have? Until he can prove himself, Loki is considered one of the greatest active threats to this country, and he’s living in its borders. This is your job, and we are all making sacrifices. Anyways, Sunday is the worst day of the weekend, so be grateful that I didn’t give you a Friday or Saturday night shift.”

Your heavy breathing was the only sound in the room as you considered his words. Your tongue poked around the inside of your cheek. Tony looked up at you with his eyebrows raised, clearly unsure if you were going to listen to reason. Fuck, you thought, he actually may be right…

“Fine,” you said.

“Fine?”

“You’ll switch me to a weekday at your earliest convenience. If there’s a volunteer, my shift is first in line to be filled…every time. Pleasure doing business.”

“Glad you’re back,” he said. You started towards the door, but he spoke up again. You stopped in your tracks. “So, while you’re here…I take it you didn’t read the texts I just sent you?” You turned slowly towards him, left eyebrow quirked up in challenge, but face revealing nothing of your trepidation. You waited for him to say something else, but he just gestured towards you, presumably to the pocket that your phone was in. You pulled the phone out, glaring at him before checking the screen.

8:57 AM          Tony: Just FYI Laufeyson is probably getting a job here. Need something menial for him to show the public he’s improving…contributing to society, blah blah blah…do you think you can manage him?

9:03 AM          Tony: You’d do really well with an assistant. Just saying.

9:05 AM          Tony: Also, totally unrelated…You know I don’t like breaking promises.

You read over the lines three times in disbelief. Were you in a coma or were your biggest fears as a Stark employee coming to life? Tony looked at you like he knew just how deeply disrespectful he was being by putting any one of these things on you, let alone all of them at once.

You didn’t have the energy to be mad anymore, instead wondering what your prospects were if you actually quit. You made a metric fuck-ton of money, sending a good portion of it back home. Your younger brother needed a college fund. Your parents barely scraped by and could stand to have the house paid off. None of those needs put a dent towards the life you wanted for them…One where they didn’t portion out single goober sandwiches for the day’s food allotment, sparing palmfuls of soap so they could wash their hair, or letting the pads of their feet go charcoal-dark and harden against the gravel road to get as many years out of their shoes as possible. Your brains and grit got you here, got you out of that situation, and your lifestyle since working under Stark was totally unrecognizable from what it once was. Like a child afraid of the monster under your bed, you were stone-cold petrified of what might happen if you left. Were you truly capable of finding another job? One that could afford the luxuries this one did? That could carry the weight of your family’s plights with the same ease?

With your rage-fit sapping up your arguing energy, the reality of your situation and fears settled over your skin like dust after a windstorm. Maybe you could make it. Maybe. But with the faces of your loved ones racing through your mind, their needs etched into the lines on their skin, you decided it wasn’t worth the risk.

“Tony,” you said, your eyes starting to sting. “Please. You couldn’t have consulted me first? I…I could find something for him. Something out of this office, even. Anything.”

“We need him here,” he said. “I know. I get it. And I’m sorry, but this is one of the few protests of yours that I have to veto.”

Your thumb and forefinger pinched the bridge of your nose as you squeezed your eyes shut and sniffed.

“Fuck me, this can’t be happening…”

“Don’t do that to me,” Tony said. You could hear the guilt in his tone. Whether he wanted to admit it or not, Tony had a less-than-professional (albeit platonic) connection with you. It seemed like he actually felt bad, and the fact that he wasn’t finding a way to fix things told you that he was out of options.

“Whatever,” you said, dropping your hand to look back at him. “You owe me.”

“I always will,” he said with a wink. His smile was small and tight. He appreciated the forgiveness, even if it was tainted with snark.

Now that you were cooled off, you actually managed to get a good bit of work done. The idea of quitting had, at least for the moment, been put to bed. At least until Tyler went to college, you agreed. Just a few more years of being trapped, and then you could reevaluate your options.

While you thought about that, you were staring at the blinking cursor on your screen, waiting for the team’s nutritionist to send whatever she was typing so that you could hopefully close the conversation. She was on about something budget related and wanted Tony to give her the reigns on hiring another trainer for the Avengers. Snore. You could read right through her scheme. What the nutritionist really wanted was an easy project that looked big on paper, an excuse to ask for another raise in a few months. Not going to happen, you thought. Little did Dr. Scoursburgh know, you were Stark’s personal horseshit filter. If anyone other than you took on a task like that, it would be your assistant. Loki. Loki the assistant. You scoffed. Not so long ago he proclaimed to the world that he was a god. Now, he’d be making coffee runs.

The computer dinged.

12:45   Leslie Scoursburgh: What about the potential for a lawsuit? What if someone is hurt in battle and blames it on Stark or the company?

Oh, so that’s how she wanted to play? You smirked. You typed up your response and sent it so quickly that you didn’t bother proofreading it. She should have seen it coming, honestly, given that you’d already shut her down in every thinkable way for the last half hour that she’d been chatting with you. It came down to the simplest point of them all: Stark already chose the person he wanted on that project (you), and the Avengers were fine with his decision. The nutritionist didn’t know that Stark had contracts protecting him from virtually any situation a person could dream up. Why should she? It was none of her fucking business.

There was a knock at your door and a small click as it opened.

“Afternoon is by appointment only,” you said, flicking your gaze up only after you spoke. Your surprise at your newest guest didn’t show on your face. “Margot will help you schedule up front.” Doctor Strange grimaced, only coming in enough to show his right shoulder and most of his head.

“So sorry,” he said. “Didn’t realize.” He waved in apology as he stepped back, closing the door behind him.

“Stephen!” you said with a laugh, “Come in! Please.”

The door cracked back open again. Stephen didn’t say anything when he poked his head back in, only offering you a suspicious eyebrow raise in both teasing and genuine confusion.

“I was only kidding. Well, making an exception,” you said. “Don’t let word of it spread… Stark’s interns would be in and out of here all day if it were open-door.” Your lips pursed to the side in thought as he sauntered in with renewed confidence. The last few times you’d seen Strange, he was troubled and groveling, but now he stood tall, his jawline sharp enough to slice your corneas with clinical accuracy. God, even in that thick tunic you could see how ripped he was. He wasn’t bulky and overgrown, but lean and strong, perfectly filled out.

“I made a reservation for dinner this Friday night. Will you be there?”

You paused. Your heart skipped a beat. It wouldn’t be smart to give in that easily… After all, you two had barely started whatever this little arrangement was.

“It’s only been a few hours. You’re back on this already?” You couldn’t help yourself. Dodging the question was almost always a safe bet, and anyways, you wanted to see how hard Stephen would work for your answer.

“Yeah,” he said.

“Where’s it at?”

“Whoever comes with me will find out.”

The two of you were in a silent stare off. If the heat on your cheeks was any indicator, you were blistering red, and he could definitely see it. He searched your face and smirked, tilting his head to the side. He wasn’t going to ask you a second time.

“Is this a date…?”

“Don’t ask questions you already know the answers to. It isn’t as endearing as you think.”

Ouch. It seemed he was already getting tired of your conversational hopscotch. Biting the inside of your cheek, you sighed through your nose.

“Yes,” you said. “I’d be happy to go with you.”

His smirk only deepened as he told you he’d pick you up at six. You told him your apartment number, 3745, and then quirked your brow as you realized something.

“Wait—aren’t you supposed to be guarding on Friday night?”

“My shift doesn’t start until eight,” he said. His arms folded over his chest, like he was waiting for you to ask more questions. If you asked anything else, he’d probably think you were looking for a way out, so you gave him your biggest, most genuine smile, and told him you couldn’t wait. With a wink, he turned back and opened the door. Before it closed, he leaned back in to remind you that the dress code would be formal.

He was so cocky that you couldn’t help but imagine him back in his prime, stalking the hospital in scrubs like an apex predator, barking orders as if he himself had invented the art of modern medicine. There weren’t many—scratch that—any men that could get you to just give in like that. You’d planned on making him beg, asking you out at least two more times and giving you all the details about the reservations he’d made before you said yes (because of course you would say yes), but you submitted to him with almost no effort at all. Hell, you’d just told off your own boss and threatened to resign from a position so good it almost seemed fictional, but Stephen Strange melted your backbone like butter. Next time, you promised yourself, you’d be stronger.

Chapter Text

“You said yes?” Margot had to catch herself from spitting out a half-chewed bite of mystery pasta back onto her plate. She’d invited you over for dinner as an apology for the Band-Aid incident and you eagerly accepted, considering that you hadn’t gone shopping and weren’t interested in cooking since the finger-cutting debacle. In what could only be described as a hunger-induced delirium, you’d forgotten Margot was a God-awful cook and had equally bad table manners, though you’d never tell her this. As a matter of fact, as you stared down at your plate, trying to forget the image of her sucking her mouthful back in to keep it from dropping, the only ingredients you could identify in the sauce were chunks of fig, shredded cheddar, and some variety of leafy green (perhaps kale?). The slurry was salmon-pink but somehow bitter. You brushed off the notion of asking why the sauce was such an unholy shade and forked a couple more bowties. It was mercy, really. Your duty of eating them was a kindness to put those disgraced pastas out of their misery.

You hummed an affirmative as you chewed, flexing your biceps to the beat of your favorite song to distract yourself from the acrid flavor the cheese took when mixed with the sauce.

“He’s nice,” you said, placing a hand over your mouth to preserve your manners. “Handsome, smart, successful… Even if it doesn’t turn into anything serious, it’ll be nice to just…Get some time in, I guess. With a man. It’s been a while.”

“You don’t have to be so coy about wanting to have sex with someone,” Margot said. She rolled her eyes at the table as she took the last scoop from her bowl. Yours barely had a dent in it. “It’s natural. It’s been a long time. Sure, that’s your fault, but—”

“It’s not my fault,” you said, dropping your fork down with a clang. Your tone was unintentionally sharp and whiney like that of a harpy. Margot looked at you like a mother about to scold her toddler, ticking her head to the side and raising her brows in challenge. She made unyielding eye contact.

“Not your fault?” she said. “Girl, I’ve lost guy friends because of you. You’re a nightmare to date, even casually. You think too much.”

“Thanks for the fucking pep-talk, Margie.”

“Don’t call me ‘Margie.’”

“Anyways, it’s really not my fault for being a little…particular—”

“Insane,” she corrected.

“—about the people I choose to sleep with. If I get the sense that a guy might have bigger baggage than I’m willing to unpack, I can’t get off. That’s just how I operate. Point being, Stephen Strange is a great guy and I think we’re going to have a nice time. For fuck’s sake.”

She sensed you were done eating, stacking your bowl on top of hers as she strode from the table towards the kitchen sink. With her back turned, you rubbed your temples.

“Don’t get me wrong, I’m totally on board and I want you to have a good time,” Margot said over her shoulder, “I was just surprised that you were actually interested. This job is, like, your life. I didn’t think you were dating anymore.”

“I wasn’t.” Your gaze moved to her tall windows. Staring into the night, you caught yourself again wondering which of the orange and yellow freckles of light dotting the landscape belonged to Doctor Strange as he prepared to go to bed. Margot kept blabbing but you weren’t listening. You were thinking about the changes in your life since Stephen caught you that night. Your wavering confidence, the poor sleep, your inability to escape from Loki…

“I can pick, if you want?” Margot said through the fog of your reverie. You blinked and straightened your back as you looked up to her from your seat. She was at her couch, a glossy black leather wraparound, holding up a small stack of DVDs. Ah, yes. You’d forgotten why you came. It was supposed to be a girl’s night in, a small breather to get you through the rest of the week. You weren’t really in the mood anymore. Your tiff with Margot and the reminder of Loki and Strange had you feeling more drained than when you’d first shown up.

“I think I’m going to head home,” you said, grabbing your bag from where it hung on the back of your chair as you stood up. You gave your friend a half-hearted hug, squeezing her arms as you lifted your chin over her left shoulder while she protested. It was supposed to be girl’s night, she didn’t mean to offend you, is everything okay, blah blah blah. It didn’t matter. You were done being social and only halfway lied about being tired as she followed you to the hallway.

“Can I at least send you home with a bowl? There’s plenty of leftovers…” The guilt in her voice made her sound pitiful and soft.

“I’m pretty full,” you said, massaging the back of your neck and looking back towards the elevator.

“You didn’t eat,” Margot snapped. The scrunch in her nose told you she was debating on whether to be insulted or worried.

“I’m not hungry,” you said, squeezing her arm lightly one last time with a smile. It was meant to reassure her and close out the conversation, but she just rolled her eyes as she closed the door on you. So, mission technically a success? Whatever. You heaved a sigh as you started walking towards the elevators. An electrifying chill pulsed through your veins as you passed Loki’s door. From the corner of your eye, the light leaking under his door flicked off as you passed.

Your eyes burned as you walked to your office the next morning. By some cruel trick of fate (or psychology), you’d kept yourself awake fretting over the fact that Loki would be coming by to fill out paperwork. The few times you’d slipped into sleep, your subconscious was tortured with images of him at your desk. Bending you over it. Knocking your computer to the floor as he laid you back. Kneeling between your thighs as you arched on top of it. And always with his hands, so soft, as they squeezed and gripped and caressed. You were overtaken by that flood of raven curls, surging awake before you could finish. Even in your dreams you knew it was fucked up.

By the end of the night, you could account for two hours of sleep, though they weren’t consecutive. At one point, you went into the kitchen and polished all the stainless-steel appliances free of handprints and water marks to see if you could tire yourself out. Spoiler alert: you couldn’t.

It was Thursday. If you could just make it to Friday, you’d be fine. One more day. That’s what was keeping you from going insane. If you played your cards right, Doctor Strange might mercifully rail you into a coma and you could finally go back to getting rest at night instead of being plagued with perverted visions of the country’s favorite villain.

One more day.

Your hand was trembling as you reached for the doorknob leading to your office. You couldn’t even lie to yourself and say it was the exhaustion. The fact was that you were absurdly horny and way too deep into associating this room with the feeling of your cunt fluttering in need.

Your gaze was on the floor as you walked in. No one had been around in the halls, and no one would be in your office, so the bad-bitch peacock-walk could take a rest. You closed the door behind you and lifted your eyes as you turned to your desk. The silhouette of a man in your chair set your nerves on fire. You screamed. Your back slammed against the door. One arm shot out, fist smashing against the light switch. Your free hand clutched your throat.

“Woah—hey! Hey, it’s okay. I didn’t mean to scare you,” he said, setting your picture frame back in its spot. He looked familiar. His dress told you that he was one of Stark’s interns—khaki slacks, blue polo shirt, ID badge clasped to the chest pocket. You’d probably seen him many times before, but there were enough of those interns that all their faces blurred into one. He was young, early twenties at most, with short-cropped, light brown hair. He’d gelled it up to give some height to his square face, which made him look more like a frat boy than an adult.

“You don’t remember me?”

You didn’t say a word, your heart was thudding in your chest even as you realized you weren’t in any danger. You were just too tired to process that he wasn’t a threat. He eyed you and eased up from your chair.

“‘Floor and time, floor and time’?” he mocked, waving his hands about. It was the kid from the hallway, from that morning when you’d ran from Loki’s apartment. He asked you about your first name, wondering aloud if he was in the right room. Not being addressed as a superior bit at your already-questionable temper.

“It’s ma’am to you,” you said. “You don’t just hang out in my office in the dark. In my chair, no less. There’s a seat for guests, of which you have excused yourself from being. Get out.”

“But—” he started saying your first name again before stopping himself, “I mean, ma’am, Mr. Stark said you were his second in command…That you might be willing to mentor me…?” He did this childish little tilt of the head, his eyebrows coming together innocently. You could tell he was probably charming to a stupider class of women and had grown way too comfortable with getting what he wanted. He reminded you of the kids you used to babysit, so you pulled a trick right out of your babysitter’s manual.

“So, if I call him right now and ask him about that, he’ll tell me the same thing?”

The kid’s eyes shot wide, revealing bright amber irises. He hadn’t been expecting that.

“Well, I hope so…” he said. He was backpedaling, caught off guard by your unwillingness to back down. You pulled out your phone and unlocked it, raising a suspicious eyebrow at him as your thumb hovered over Tony’s contact as if to say, “one last chance to tell me the truth.” He stayed quiet, gaze flickering between the phone and your face. Once the phone started ringing, you walked up to the kid. The phone rang twice and then stopped.

“What’s up, Sugarpop?” Tony said.

“I’ve got a, uhh…” you lifted his ID badge to your line of sight to read his name, letting it snap back as it retracted to his chest, “Darren Bartell…who was waiting in my chair in the dark as I walked in just now—”

“Need me to call security?”

“No, no it’s fine. He’s one of your interns, apparently. He said you referred him to me for a mentorship.”

“Those weren’t my exact words…”

“What were they?” you said. You glared at Darren and noticed him swallow. He was uncomfortable with your close proximity. You weren’t.

“If it’s the kid I’m thinking of, he asked me yesterday if I could mentor him and I said even if that was something I’d do, I was too busy right now anyways…So, you would be the real person to talk to, but you had some bigger projects starting up. I told him to come back next semester.”

“Well, he’s here now,” you said. The eye contact you were making could slaughter. Darren wouldn’t break it, however. He was still hoping to charm his way through this interaction.

“What do you want me to do?” Tony said. His tired tone made you realize this conversation was a little below his pay grade. Your throat felt tight in embarrassment.

“Fire him,” you said. Your stare was cold and unyielding as Darren’s cheeks went pale. His lip quivered almost imperceptibly. You were mostly joking, but your patience with this kid had already atrophied and you wanted to see him squirm under the power play. Tony sighed as dramatically as possible, surely trying to stress how taxing this mundane conversation was on him.

“How about this,” he said. “You keep him and never bring something like this up to me again, and your little brother will be the first and only recipient to the ‘Stark Industries Peach Compliance Scholarship?’”

“How much does it pay…?” you said.

“Full ride.”

“Deal.” You hung up the phone before Tony could say anything else. Sure, it was low of him to use your dedication towards your family against you, but it was still an easy choice. Your brother would be cared for. You shouldered past Darren and slumped into your chair. “Darren—come back Tuesdays and Thursdays. I’ll give you six weeks. You will not enter my office until I let you in. You will not pester me. You will address me with respect and follow my orders without question, or your mentorship will be terminated. I don’t do warnings. Are we clear?”

“Yes ma’am,” he said.

“Now get out of my office.” You adjusted the frame on your desk back to the perfect angle as he walked out, glaring at the spot between his shoulder blades. When he was gone, you wiped away the smudge his thumb had left over your mom’s face.

Your pulse gradually quickened as the day went on. The suspense of knowing Loki could show up at any minute to fill out his onboarding paperwork had you on edge. Would he still be upset with you? Would he sense the way your body had been responding to him in your dreams? Was it better to steel yourself or be vulnerable with him? The more you thought about it, the more you dreaded the right answer.

You imagined Loki sitting at your side, like an office guard dog, keeping you safe and answering to your beck and call. It didn’t have to be a fantasy. He was on his way to fill out the very forms that said he was agreeing to that reality.

You gulped.

He arrived with a knock, not even jiggling the doorknob until you told him to come in. His look said that he was still trying to blend into society. His hair was tied back into a bun and he wore a long-sleeved white button down with a slim, olive-green tie and black slacks. He bore no remnants of his Asgardian heritage. As soon as you locked eyes with him, you felt lightheaded. Your internal monologue, including everything you’d practiced telling him, was replaced with static fuzz. How could the face of danger, the cohort of hate, make you feel this peace? How could he, just by being near you, make your lungs feel so open despite the way they burned for your next breath? The silence was going on for too long. He broke his eye contact to look around the room, brows scrunched as if he’d found the wrong room.

“Were you not expecting me?” he said. His tone was so light and warm, his voice just loud enough that you could hear him, and the gentleness of it all made your cheeks tingle. You tried to imagine the man before you doing the things he was infamous for: stabbing his brother, impersonating his father to take over his homeland, removing a living man’s eye… They couldn’t be the same man. There was heat in his cheeks and laugh lines hugging his lips. In that moment, you knew exactly why Stark commissioned this program to get the world reacquainted with Loki. He’d grown.

Fuck.

“No, no I was…I…I’m sorry. Welcome in,” you said. “Please, have a seat.”

He crossed his arms when he sat, quickly correcting himself to fold his hands over the desk instead. Warmth spread in your chest at the effort he was making to appear less dominant, less threatening, as you dug through the bottom drawer for his packet. You pushed it across the table towards him with a pen on top. It seemed standoffish, but…if your hand brushed his…you might implode.

“I’m going to keep working but let me know if you have any questions…Most of it is pretty self-explanatory,” you said.

“Sure,” he said. He seemed tense, perhaps nervous, and you couldn’t help but wonder how much of that was your fault. There was a two-minute span where you were actually working, almost forgetting who was sitting across from you with a precious, obsidian cord of hair vibrating in front of his eyes from the force of his writing. Loki had a white-knuckle grip and wrote with so much pressure he could carve his signature into the desk.

At first it was just the sound of his scribbling that was distracting, but as you lost your focus, the tremors he caused only made matters worse. He made the entire desk shake. By the time you realized you were staring at his hands, it had been long enough that he noticed too.

“Is something wrong?” he said. You flinched at the sound of his voice, trying to cover for yourself by raising your brows and humming in question. “Stark said you’d be fine with this. If it’s a problem, I’m sure he can find another position for me.” Loki set the pen down firmly, lips forming a tight line as his jaw set. The bridge of his nose had gone red.

“No, no, Loki, I’m sorry. I swear it’s not you,” you said. His gaze was all over your face as he struggled to maintain eye contact. Frustration was building in your temples. If you didn’t act soon, you were on a fast-track to a migraine. “We have to talk.”

“Is this a typical experience for your new employees?” he said. His tone was sharp and cold, exacerbated by sarcasm.

“I can’t tell you how sorry I am for the way I’ve treated you since you got here. That first night I was just drunk, but after that I have no good excuse and it’s despicable and I want to make it right,” you said, gesturing wildly like a conspiracy theorist on a rant. “Thank you for trying to protect me and making sure I was safe that night, and for healing me—both times. Um, for cleaning my office and for the note...I feel like I’m missing something…”

“How about bringing back your shoes?” he said with a smirk, now brave enough to cross his arms.

“No. That was a real dick move. Don’t ever embarrass me like that again,” you said. “I’ll thank you when you act with some couth.”

He rolled his eyes as he failed to keep a grin from you. He blinked slowly as he thought of a comeback, enjoying the banter. You were blushing and hated yourself for it.

“But I was wrong about the other stuff, and I really am sorry about that. I want us to start off on the right foot,” you said. He squinted his eyes as he leaned in, looking more and more smug by the second.

“I forgive you,” he said, his voice low like a purr, as if he couldn’t risk anyone in the hall hearing. Your pulse jumped in your throat. As if the conversation had never happened, he went right back to filling out his papers. The pressure he wrote with was now feather-light as his shoulders relaxed.

When you tried getting back to your work, his presence was so unobtrusive that you’d periodically look back to make sure he hadn’t vanished. He’d feel your stare and return it, saying nothing, and you’d rush to look away. Ironically, it was easier to focus when he was rage-writing and jostling the desk. It was a long hour until he stood up, said he looked forward to seeing you Monday, and left.

You were in a daze for the rest of the day, baffled by the way he made you feel. You didn’t get much done before it was time to clock out, handing Margot his papers to get processed as you went. On the walk back up to the apartment, your phone buzzed. It was a text from Tony.

4:03 PM          Tony: Training back on ASAP.

You rolled your eyes. If Stark was so hellbent on getting everyone to trust Loki, why would he immediately go back to this? How hard could it be for the guy to make up his mind? The training he was referencing was the reason you got paid so much, why you were required to live on campus. Besides the normal day-to-day aspects of your job, you were the final line of defense when it came to security breaches, to protecting Stark’s most precious assets.

There were drives and files that only you had access to. Your apartment protected things not even in the system’s network. Underground projects, histories, plans for the future of the company. Things ninety-nine percent of Stark Industries didn’t even know existed. Take, for instance, the file of blueprints for medical technology Tony was working up. His pride was the hospital bed that could (among other functions) alert medical staff, track medications, and monitor a patient’s vitals just from them laying down. It could examine recovery and suggest treatment plans customized to the individual patient. Tony’s newest idea for it was an arm attachment that would start CPR if staff was taking too long to arrive. The whole machine was non-intrusive and screamed efficiency, from energy to cost and beyond. After an incident with the Avengers that destroyed a hospital a few years back, Tony had been working behind the scenes to atone for their sins. This project was just a fraction of the things you hid for the company, all in a backpack that had been stuffed in a hollowed-out cubby under a quadrant of your guest bathroom’s tiles. You kept a flathead screwdriver handy in the medicine cabinet for the right occasion.

If shit hit the fan, your job was to bust through the grout, wedge those tiles up, get the backpack, and run for the fucking hills like your life depended on it, because it would. Training, at least for your role, was simple. You’d wear a weighted backpack on the treadmill, sprinting with as high of an incline as you could manage without falling over. Over the course of a few weeks, until you were up to pace, you’d run over and over again, gradually adding weight to the practice-pack, for as long as your body could stand it. In case of emergency, you needn’t be strong, but quick.

This brought you back to Loki. The whole point of him getting this job was so that the world could learn to tolerate him. What use would he have for files like that anyways? You texted Tony back.

4:05 PM          You: Everything OK?

4:06 PM          Tony: We aren’t worrying yet.

You replied with a thumbs up, not bothering to tell Tony that he was responsible for the headache brewing as you entered the apartment. It was time for a drink. Remembering the tang of the orange juice and vodka in the kitchen, you slung your purse to the floor and locked the door behind you in a manner so sloppy, an onlooker might’ve thought you were already drunk. You reached for the fridge handle and noticed a fingerprint you must’ve missed during the midnight cleaning session. You rolled your eyes at the carelessness, scrubbed your palm over the mark to blend it in, and yanked out the nuclear-orange bottle of juice.

The screwdriver you mixed for yourself was strong, but you felt like you’d earned it, and downed it all in one unbroken guzzle. You slammed the glass down on the counter with a loud clash, gasping for air, but cherishing the burn of vodka rolling through your chest.

The pressure in your temples would soon melt away under the shower, your favorite playlist blasting memories of the day away as you fantasized about what was in store for you tomorrow: a date with your favorite doctor and then…

Chapter Text

It was Friday night, and you were practically vibrating in the booth in this little Asian-fusion kitchen across from Stephen Strange. If he noticed, he was being a total gentleman about it. It was natural to be a little nervous, but the bulk of your shivering was anticipatory. You were certain Dr. Strange was going to bed you and the time to get to the action was limited since he had to clock in to guard Loki by eight. Your eyes flitted to his watch, which read six-fifteen. If you ate quickly, perhaps you could be back to your room by seven and…and…oh fuck, he said something. His left brow was quirked up. A breathy laugh fled his throat as his head tilted. It must’ve been a question.

“What?” you said.

“Your foot has been furiously tapping since we sat down,” he said. “What can I do to make you more comfortable?”

Ah, shit. If you tried to rush the meal, you’d just seem ungrateful, or like you didn’t really want to be here, and by God you did. You totally did. If he couldn’t tell by the neckline of that frilly little black dress you donned, no man on the planet could. There were fewer things on this Earth that could make your heart stutter like the thought of Stephen wanting you, wanting to court you. If your baser urges hadn’t taken the forefront of your thought over the last few days, you’d be short circuiting just trying to process the reality of being on a date with Stephen. His eyes were like crystals as he leaned over the table towards you, one hand on the menu but the other reaching just slightly across the table. It was dizzyingly subtle, but you knew he was offering the hand to hold—if you wanted to, no pressure, of course. You had half the mind to clue him in to the little problem between your legs causing all these jitters but you saw that hand again, waiting in the most gentlemanly fashion, and suddenly you couldn’t force yourself to be so callous if there was a knife at your throat.

You tried to cover for yourself, huffing in embarrassment.

“It’s just…it’s been a really long time since, well, anyone…Anything like this…has happened. I promise I’m really happy to be here.” It was true, but not exactly the answer to his question.

“I know you are,” Strange said, “I can see your aura.”

“Tell me, Doctor, what do you read from my aura?” You held the edge of the table as you leaned in closer, a baby-step towards holding his hand. He gave an open-mouthed grin, and you couldn’t help but wonder again if he could see the well of tension rolling in your lower belly.

His eyes now openly roamed your body, scanning, as he pondered your query with a flirtatious hum. Could he see through the table? That would be trouble… Could he see through your clothes? Oh God. Get your head in the game, you inwardly scolded.

“There’s a cherry-red ring of stress around you, around your shoulders in particular. Quite thick and sticky, almost like syrup. I’d guess that’s from work?”

“Sounds right,” you said, rolling your shoulders slightly to test his diagnosis. Was the twinge of pain you felt mere placebo?

“But all around your head is this cloud, light blue, like a halo, of happiness, which I hope is for me. I try to be generous and not read minds unless I really have to…”

Thank God, you thought.

“Anything else…?”

“There’s conflict in your low back,” he said, grumbling as he cleared his throat. “It’s purple, and it’s weighing on your hips.” The two of you stared at each other, you now being the one to raise a brow. You placed your hands in your lap. What the fuck was that supposed to mean?

“I’m not calling you fat,” Strange said, retracting his free hand as well.

“Thought you didn’t read minds,” you said.

“I got nervous. Anyways, yoga and breathwork should help. I’m sure you’re not big on meditation either, but it might serve you well…”

Ah, a reference to your anger issues. Not ideal for a first date, but your date could probably literally taste your emotions as they surfaced. You kept quiet as you processed his advice.

“Before I find another line to cross, tell me about your week,” he said, his warm smile begging you to treat this like a date with a normal guy. He leaned back in the booth, shifting his hips as his knees went wide and throwing one arm across the back ledge. One of his large hands swept through his hair, uncovering some of the grey strands that his updo tried to hide under younger, darker locks. Your eyes were drawn to his attire—in lieu of his cape and robes, he chose a black button-down and matching slacks. His velvet loafers were maroon, so dark they were nearly black. He looked like he’d walked off a photoshoot.

“I’m sure you remember the first half,” you said, your tone riding the line between sweet and stern. “But I became a mentor today.”

“Oh?” Strange said, though he didn’t actually sound surprised. His tone ventured on sarcastic, but…You didn’t want to overanalyze. He couldn’t have known.

“Yeah. Actually, it was really strange—” you choked on your sentence when he smirked at you. “I mean odd, anyways… I come into my office this morning, and there’s a kid just sitting there in my chair. Can you believe the nerve?”

“A child?” His shock this time couldn’t be feigned.

“Well, I think he’s…like…nineteen or something?”

“Oh, I see. An infant,” Strange corrected. He placed his chin on his interlaced hands as he listened. You couldn’t help but laugh. Gracious, he was charming.

“Turns out Tony passed him on to me—as if I need to do anymore babysitting around here—but the kid thinks he’s so cute that he shows up to the job an entire semester early.”

“I wonder what his rush is,” Strange said. “What’s his name?”

“Dillon-something. Probably trying to graduate early,” you said with an eye-roll. “He definitely thinks he’s cuter than he is.”

There was a small silence. Stephen studied your face, then your eyes, and your mind was completely blank. Was the eye contact a necessary part to reading your thoughts?

“So, you think he’s ‘cute,’ huh?” he said. It was teasing, totally not possessive, but something about the way he said it made you feel like you’d known Doctor Strange for a thousand years. You cackled and shook your head, sounding awfully childish as you breathed an “unh uh” through your laughter. He laughed with you and somewhere in the interim, the waiter came for your order. You were so set on watching your date that you didn’t bother to look up. The doctor ordered a water and some appetizer called Italian pot-stickers. You didn’t catch what meal he wanted, being too caught up imagining spaghetti-filled dumplings dressed in garlic and dipped in plum sauce.

“For you, ma’am?” the waiter said.

“I-I’ll take a white Moscato,” you said, keeping your eyes locked on Strange’s. “And whatever meal you recommend is fine.”

“Ma’am?”

“I promise it’ll be fine, whatever you bring,” you said, still not looking away. Your heartrate sped up from the prolonged eye contact with the doctor. The air between you was thick and as the waiter walked off, you were the one to offer your hand over the table. He took it, leaning in as his thumb smoothed over the tops of your fingers, his own cupping the underside of them, leaving your palm with some breathing room. Not that you wanted any. He held your hand through the entire meal. For having notoriously shaky hands, his ability to eat one-handed was impressive.

Your Moscato hit you fast, forcing you to remember that you’d skipped lunch today so that you wouldn’t be bloated tonight. You decided to limit yourself to two glasses and sipped the second one throughout the rest of your meal. The check came before you remembered to look at his watch again and you gasped, your stomach dropping with the thought that you might be late. His hand was off of yours when he went to pay, the ensuing cold making you miss his touch.

“What’s wrong?” Strange asked, sliding the envelope just over the edge of the table, his credit card sticking out just-so. His wrist was angled away from you, blocking his watch from sight.

“What time is it?”

“We’re fine,” he said.

“But—”

“We’re fine. I have cosmic awareness and the ability to phase through dimensions, but you can’t trust my sense of time? C’mon, Little Peach, you’re better than that,” he chided with a wink. “But, if you must know, it’s half past seven.”

“Right on time,” you breathed. You could settle for a quickie. Compromise.

“I know,” Strange said. He slid from his side of the booth and lifted his arm, offering an elbow to you and anchoring his fist under his pectoral. You felt like a southern belle with your hand looking so delicate and fragile wrapped around Strange’s bicep. He tried letting you walk at your own pace but forced you to slow down when he realized that you walked as fast as a surgeon. Through the din of Friday night traffic, cars honking and tourists squawking, he whispered into your ear two commands: take your time and enjoy the stroll. A date only lasts until it ends, after all.

Despite walking at a pace so slow you could burn, you were at the doorstep of Stark Tower too soon. Strange halted before you could slide your keycard.

“Look at the stars,” he said. Your head tilted back and there was a rush of air and a peal of laughter from you both as Stephen locked his arm around the small of your back and lifted you up, spinning, so the bleach-white stars blurred into spiraling lines and morphed back into individual speckles when he set you back down. You remained clinging to his chest, small hands loosely clutching the collar of his button-down.

“Well…I had a great time, Peach. Should I see you to your room or are you more comfortable going up alone?” he said.

Wait. What?

You had to consciously tense your face to keep it from twitching into a mask of unadulterated confusion. He didn’t pull that clichéd ‘lets do this again’ line. Had the date not actually gone that well? You felt compelled to prod him for the truth. How to get farther without being too obvious…

“I had a great time, too…Shame it has to end so early. If it weren’t for your shift, I’d invite you up. I make a mean hot chocolate,” you said, blinking up at the stars. For whatever reason, men always seemed more eager to earn your attention when you acted aloof like this, looking away. Stephen hummed in thought but didn’t bite the no-eye-contact bait. He tilted his head down to yours, inhaling as his nose met your hair. His hand, you realized, was still on you from when he’d set you down, as his palm carved a small circle around the small of your back.

“If you can handle me prioritizing Loki, you can come hang out with me,” he said. “There should be some streaming services set up already, if you don’t realize you’re sick of me after the hot chocolate, that is.” On Strange, even the gentlest smile had a hint of smirk. He turned back to the building and started leading you inside.

Clocking in for the role was simple, though nontraditional. Strange simply had to text Tony and a couple higher-ups from the HR department that he’d made it. Once he was settled in, he’d have to check in with Loki and make sure he was alive, pretty much. The same routine applied for clocking out.

As Stephen sent his “I’m here” text, you took a few uncertain steps into the apartment. It had the same layout as yours: kitchen to the right, living room ahead of you, and bedroom tucked back to the left. It was disorienting to see “your house” that wasn’t actually yours. Your gaze shot to the wall behind the couch, knowing that directly behind that wall was Loki’s bedroom, Loki’s house, where you’d recently blazed away from. In the silence, you became hyper-focused, wondering if you’d be able to guess where he was, what he was doing. Maybe if you listened hard enough, you could hear him walking…

“Be right back,” Stephen said, squeezing your shoulder as he sauntered out and turned left to Loki’s door. You heard his knuckles rap three times on the door, a pause, and a creak as the door opened. Loki’s voice was so quiet that the average person wouldn’t have been able to detect it, but you, being so tuned-in to his presence, could.

“Yes?” he asked your date.

“This is just my obligatory check-in. Let me know if you need anything. Or if you’re contemplating mass genocide,” Strange said. The levity in his tone made you forget about his recent quarrel with Loki, but the door closing without a word brought those events right back to the forefront of your mind. Your heart sank. Stephen raised his brows and shrugged his shoulders at you as he came back inside, as if to say, “Wonder what his problem is?” Instead, he asked about the hot chocolate.

You gave him a soft smile, though suddenly you didn’t feel like smiling, and turned into the kitchen.

“Why don’t you pick us a show while I work,” you said, fumbling through the drawers for supplies and ingredients.

“On it,” he said with a clap.

Soon, you’d melted a bar milk chocolate into a couple cups of almond milk. Over your shoulder, you could hear Stephen fighting with the TV. Though he was Sorcerer Supreme, he somehow wasn’t exempt from the older man cliché of not understanding technology. You whisked furiously with one hand and shook a small sprinkle of nutmeg and cinnamon into the pot, finishing the ordeal off with a splash of vanilla. The mugs that Stark had supplied the place with were whiter than the whipped cream you topped the drinks with.

Stephen exclaimed in joy as the TV finally flickered to the right input, turning to see you carrying your mugs. He swarmed you, taking a deep breath into your hair and pulling you into a tight hug.

“God, you smell good,” he said.

“Keep sniffing me like that and I’ll start wondering if you’re really a bloodhound…” you said, nuzzling his chest.

“I have been called a dog before…”

He rubbed your back for a moment and rested his cheek on top of your head. The collected Casanova façade he held during the date faded fast as he relaxed. It melted into a whole different brand of charming, fine-tuned with playful, boyish energy. You couldn’t help but admire his cool and happy demeanor under the circumstances that bound him away from home for the evening.

He took one mug from you with a thanks, kissing the crown of your head before passing you to reach the couch. He sat in a figure four with one arm draped back. His head cocked to the side as he watched you saunter over, his right hand loosely gripping the mug as he rested it on his knee.

“Evening, Peach,” he said, his voice warm and tired.

“Doctor,” you said with a nod, sitting on the couch with your legs tucked close to your body. His arm slid down the back of the couch, dragging you close to him. The movie he’d picked was a favorite, Juno. In one of your first encounters with the Sorcerer Supreme, you were dressed as Juno for the company’s Halloween party. It was your first year as a Stark employee. “You remembered!”

Your gaze was fixated on the screen, watching as the track team jogged in slow motion. Simultaneously, you and Stephen took a sip of hot chocolate from your respective mugs.

“Of course I did,” he said, squeezing your shoulder again. “This is amazing, by the way. I should have known you weren’t lying.” He gestured all-too casually with his mug before taking another sip, not realizing that his choice of phrasing struck a nerve. The last time he’d talked about you being a liar, his expression was twisted in rage as his finger jabbed an accusation at the bridge of your nose. You couldn’t help but stiffen at the memory. Suddenly, you were wondering what Loki was doing. Was he asleep? Listening to your movie through the walls? Constructing a weapon of mass destruction?

God, you scolded yourself, couldn’t you just let that go? So, Stephen had had one bad day…Look at him now, you thought, with that dreamy, sleepy smile plastered on his cheeks, which were rouged from the heat of his drink. It was the type of first date you never thought you could’ve deserved. It didn’t have to end so plainly, you thought. That does it…With a sigh, you drew the tip of your nose along his jawline. He jolted in surprise and then looked down at you with a confused scrunch in his brows. You looked up at him in defiance, flicking your nose against his chin.

“What’s up, Peach?” he said with a chuckle. You set your mug on the coffee table in front of you before snuggling deeper against the doctor.

“Hi,” you breathed, nuzzling into his neck. Every muscle in his body was frozen in concentration.

“Hi,” he said, swallowing and rubbing his thumbpad around the dome of your shoulder. You inhaled his scent: clean and delicate, like lavender or books, with lingering traces of musky cologne. Your hand, as if on its own accord, slid up his chest and cradled the other side of his neck, stabilizing you as you gathered your nerve. The smell of him was intoxicating, making you feel like you were underwater. Your pulse raced up between your collarbones as you finally pursed your lips and stretched up to kiss his neck. Gaining confidence, you kissed again, using your tongue to lick and draw in a bit of skin. You sucked that little piece of his neck for a short moment and then let go. It made a sweet, sharp, popping sound as you pulled away. As you warmed up, you swung a leg over to straddle him, gaining leverage as you tried to kiss him again. Stephen leaned away and placed a firm hand on your chest.

“Honey…I’m…so flattered,” he said, grimacing.

“Oh God,” you said, an unbearable shame flooding forth like lava on your cheeks. You pulled back, as if repulsed by him, but really trying to get away from yourself.

“No, no, please…I, fuck…It’s—”

“Don’t,” you put your hand out to stop him. “I’ll see myself out. Thank you for the date.” You bolted like an arrow towards the door, unable to look him in the eye.

“Please, please, honey. You have to understand,” he said. You turned around, cowering like a battered animal with a vice-grip on the doorknob. The pleading, desperate look in his eyes was too endearing to turn away from. “I’m bold enough to say that if you look below my belt right now, you’ll realize I don’t want to reject you. Peach…Honey…God, I’m on the clock and it’s only our first date. I haven’t even kissed you yet.” He was practically whining like a child, scraping his palms against his forehead before locking his fingers in his hair.

You realized your free hand rose to your cheek, halfway over your mouth, giving you the look of a positively frightened southern belle. Before you could stop yourself, your eyes were already burning a hole through Stephen’s pants. He hadn’t lied; he was hard. He just wasn’t ready to let you fix that.

“You don’t have to stay, but I like you a lot,” he said, gesturing to your figure. “I want to earn the privilege of your body. You’ll have to bear with me.” His eyebrows rose in earnest. You were stunned. The tent in his pants, which your eyes were still trained on, contrasted against his speech, and put your thoughts into a tizzy. You still felt the urge to be embarrassed, the sting from his rejection lingering.

“I’m not that traditional, but I’ll respect your wishes…I…I really like you, too.” You were finally able to make eye contact with him. His expression was pained, and you realized he was probably fighting the urge to read your mind, desperately wanting to know your thoughts to save from his own embarrassment.

“Will you come to the Sanctum tomorrow night?”

“A second date?”

“Yes,” he said.

“Yes.”

“Good,” he breathed. “I’ll be by yours when it’s time.”

That time couldn’t come quick enough. Stephen was kind enough to let you take yourself back to your own apartment, as you both clearly needed some reprieve after all that awkwardness. You walked as if in a trance. The date was amazing, beyond what you could have ever expected, so of course it would have to end on such a strange (pun intended) note. Your phone had been inundated with texts from Margot asking for updates, but if you didn’t have the energy to actually read them, you sure as shit didn’t have the wherewithal to reply. You shuffled into bed, fully clothed, makeup still on, and folded your hands over your stomach, trying to remember the last time a man had rejected your advances.

Before you could come up with an answer, you opened your eyes to see your walls bathed in the orange-pink light of the sunrise. It was Saturday and Doctor Strange would turn by your apartment at some unknown point in time to take you on your second date…With a stretch and a groan, a hand dragged over your face to reveal black and brown smudges from your leftover makeup.

“Fuck,” you groaned, swinging your legs to roll off the bed, only to find that you hadn’t even bothered taking your heels off before falling asleep last night. The familiar soreness from wearing those shoes shot through the ends of your toes all the way up your calves as you sleepily trudged into the bathroom. If only Loki were here now, you thought with a smirk, maybe he would take this pain away too.

You scoured the bathroom for makeup remover, or at least facewash, only to discover that you were out of both. They were on your shopping list, yes, along with an entire kitchen’s worth of groceries. Since you went on the date, that shopping trip never came around. With an angry huff, you tamed your hair into a ponytail and brushed your teeth before changing into a pair of grey knit joggers and a forest-green tank top. It was an outfit that screamed ‘do not fuck with me.’ The soles of your feet screamed in relief as you slipped on some tennis shoes and tucked your heels back into the closet.

The walk down to the local drugstore was quiet. It was still pretty early and Stark Tower was virtually empty, being the weekend. The streets of the city were notably livelier. You caught yourself brushing against countless people as you waded through them, growing numb to the discomfort of being touched by strangers. There was a prickle at the back of your neck, as if you were being watched, but in a crowd like that, it was impossible to pinpoint, let alone take seriously. You gave the customary over-the-shoulder glance and chalked the feeling up to pre (or post?) date jitters.

As the automatic doors to the store swept open, a gust of air-conditioner blew your hair back and sent a roll of goosebumps over your arms. You paused. The air smelled as sterile and heavy as the dull overhead lights looked, making you feel like a lab rat being observed in a glass cage. It was a small relief to be out of the crowd, but not enough to compensate for the compulsion you felt to finish the errand as soon as possible and get back home. You’d been in the store a thousand times but found your feet stuttering as you tried to remember which way to go. Your heartrate picked up. Did the prospect of a second date with Stephen really have you so worked up? You remembered feeling intensely safe with him on your stroll last night. The tension you were feeling now that you were alone must have been from the comparison. You had to step aside to gather yourself so that you didn’t block the door as other people came inside, taking a quick, deep breath and squeezing your eyes shut as tightly as possible.

“Get it together,” you grumbled to yourself. There was no danger. There was no reason to be spazzing out in public. The aisle for soaps and scrubs was just ahead and to the left. All you had to do was walk towards it. There…One foot at a time. The thrumming in your chest calmed down enough and by the time that you’d crouched in front of the face scrubs, you’d forgotten that nagging feeling.

The debate was between something with honey and oat or another something with grapefruit and sage when a familiar voice called out to you.

“Ma’am?”

You jolted with a gasp, your hand clutching the base of your throat out of instinct. You knew him by his oversized arms and square face. It was that brat that Stark was having you mentor.

“Sweet God… Dominic,” you breathed. “You can’t keep sneaking up on me like that.”

“It’s Darren,” he said with a chuckle. “I’ll try to do better, I’m sorry.”

“It’s…” you pinched the bridge of your nose before wiping your hands over the tops of your thighs, standing to face him. “I’m sorry. I’m a little on edge today. Don’t take it personally.”

“Well, I hope you’re able to relax… It looks like you had a nice night,” he said with a well-meaning smile. You remembered how you looked before you left: hair unbrushed, makeup stale and smudged, limping with the memory of your heels. You looked like you’d been out, or rather, as if someone had been in. Unfortunately, looks were deceiving. You scowled at him.

“That is…not appropriate. I’ll see you on Monday,” you said as you started walking away, now having arbitrarily picked a facewash just to have a reason to leave.

“Tuesday,” Darren corrected.

“Nice catch,” you lied. “Glad to know you really do listen.” You were thankful he couldn’t see your face. The shock and embarrassment would be too fresh to hide.

Chapter Text

On the bright side, you didn’t feel like you were being watched on the way back home. You’d also inadvertently picked the facewash you were leaning more towards anyways: an organic honey and oat scrub. You had been meaning to get something like that, a subtle token to convince yourself that you were getting better at self-care. To make sure you were home all day, not knowing when Stephen would be by, you opened an app to order groceries for delivery as you walked back to the apartment. Sure, he’d said ‘tomorrow night,’ but night could mean anything depending on who you asked… Maybe Margot was right about you thinking too much. That didn’t mean you’d be answering her texts anytime soon, though.

Your list was pretty standard, but in remembering the two heathens you’d be babysitting over the coming weeks, you also chose a few grab-and-go items like instant oatmeal and pre-brewed chai to take some pressure off. It was the little things that would help you feel grounded when Loki and Darren would inevitably throw your balance off-kilter. As you slid your keycard to enter Stark Tower, you mentally recited the items you needed and scrolled through the cart on your phone. Veggies, fruits, bagels, chai, oatmeal, pads, and… Oh.

Band-Aids.

Those silly little items had taken on a much deeper meaning this week. Your thumb hovered over the trashcan next to the Band-Aids in your cart, mind wavering like a metronome over what to do with them. Keep, delete, keep, delete, keep, delete… If something happened again, you’d need them…but…Loki had done such a good job healing you. He’d seemed to enjoy it, too, insisting on fixing your mistakes both times he’d found you physically vulnerable. Was it healthy to rely on him as a form of health insurance? Would he mind repeating the favor? What if he wasn’t around one day when you really needed him? You couldn’t explain the pull you were feeling other than with one action.

Click.

The bandages vanished from your cart. It wasn’t a responsible choice, but you were at peace with that. If you survived without them before, you could survive without them next time. Not that there would be a next time, of course.

Back home, you turned your key in the door only to hear the latch shuck into place, effectively locking you out, as if you’d left the door open earlier. That was odd—you were diligent about locking up. It was a safety concern. Thinking back to that nasty cut you’d so carelessly given yourself and your overall tenseness and lack of sleep, you could only blame the new changes in your life that had been adding stress to your mush-brain. It was your fault. You needed to try harder and take better care of yourself. With an annoyed grumble, you finally unlocked the door and let yourself inside just as the phone started vibrating in your pocket.

The thought that it might be Stephen made your heart skip a beat, wondering if he was on the way already. You answered the phone without checking the caller ID.

“Hello?”

“Why haven’t you clocked in at the gym yet?”

“Oh, good lord,” you said, exasperated. “Hi, Tony.” Your shoes flew across the hall as you kicked them off.

“Your log says you’ve been in and out of the building a few times since my text. Just so we’re clear, can you tell me what you think the meaning of the word ‘ASAP’ is?”

“Dude, don’t stalk my card-swipes…Not cool. You said we weren’t worrying yet.”

“But I also said ASAP, meaning as soon as humanly possible, Peach,” Tony whined back. Glass condiment bottles clanked together in the background as his refrigerator slammed shut. “I know I’m pretty lax with you, but I figured it went without saying that dick appointments don’t come before your job.”

“Who said I had a dick appointment?” You set your keys on the counter, switching the ear your phone was against.

“Were you not with Doctor Oddball?” He asked, sounding genuinely perplexed.

“Oh, for the love of—how many fucking cameras do you have in this building?”

Tony barked out a laugh.

“I didn’t see anything,” he said, coughing lightly as if choking on a drink. That mental image made you smile. “He texted that you were there that night. Liability issue.”

“Your vested interest in my love life is starting to become a real hassle, you know…” you said. He snickered. “Mixed signals aside, I’ll start back at the gym next week. Don’t expect me to go outside of work hours.” He started to complain but you cut him off with a sharp reminder about how many different ways he was currently stretching your time and patience. After the call, you preened, feeling like you were finally settling back into your old confidence. Thank God for it; you’d finally be able to walk around Stephen with some solid footing.

He texted just as you started to wonder if he would come at all.

6:02 PM            Stephen: Let me know when you’re ready. Are you ok with portals?

God damn if he wasn’t suave… Brave as you were, you had to admit to yourself that the idea of stepping through a portal with him into the Sanctum Sanctorum was terrifying. Still, you played it cool and told him that it wouldn’t be a problem at all.

Portals? Yawn. Been there, done that.

That’s what you told yourself as you dressed, fiddling with the waistband of a pair of black lace panties so they would lay just so over the arc of your hip. It couldn’t hurt to be prepared…just in case. Your hands were shaking again, reminding you how long it had been. Not only since you last came, but since you last had sex with anyone. Even though you used contraception, it was tough to make a connection that felt safe, even tougher to coordinate schedules. No one could fathom how your job would always come first. Not because you loved your job, but for your family, for the greater good. No one except Stephen Strange, perhaps.

You were just touching up your lipstick, a waxy nude shade, when there was a knock at your door. You checked your phone, which read 7:00 on the dot. Of course he was on time. So there your heart went, stuttering away underneath the form-fitting burgundy shirt you’d paired with some jeans as you trotted off to meet him. It was a v-cut, perfect to show off your tits. Nothing too provocative, just casual enough to excuse yourself, but maybe showing off your figure would help plead your case to him. Your body was worth consideration, you thought as you opened the door.

“Stephen, shame on you! You’re late!”

He gasped dramatically.

“Oh no! I must be in the wrong timeline!” He grabbed you by the shoulders, giving you a light shake. “Quick! Is this the one where everyone uses tentacles for money or where gravity goes away at night?!” You giggled as he pulled you into a hug, his willingness to be more physical helping you relax. He told you how beautiful you looked as he kissed your forehead before noting the golden baby-hoop earrings you wore. You chose not to call him out for yet again smelling your hair. It was endearing that he tried to hide it. 

“Ready?” he asked, gesturing outside of your door. You nodded, pinning your lips in a tight line as you shuffled past Dr. Strange. “It’s okay to be nervous. You won’t feel a thing.”

“I’m not nervous,” you insisted as you clutched your purse. A lie. You were imagining nausea, freefalls, and landing alone in the wrong dimension with no way home, but Stephen didn’t need to know that.

“Peach, anyone could see how tense you are right now, but you forget what I can see. If that cloud around you was any thicker, you could spackle a wall with it.” He took your hand, smoothing his thumb over your knuckles as he turned to stand in front of you. “If you really aren’t comfortable, we don’t have to.”

“Are you sure?”

“Uh huh,” he hummed, using the hand he held as leverage to back you up to the door. “Why don’t we go inside and just hang out until you’re relaxed? We have all the time in the world.” His chest blocked your view of the hall as he reached behind you to grab the doorknob. He took another step, pushing your wrist against your stomach so you’d continue walking backwards.

“It’s locked,” you said, stumbling as you prepared to hit the doorknob.

He leaned in close, smirking in a way that would make your head explode if he weren’t so handsome. With a mischievous glint in his eye, he released your hand in favor of your chin, tilting it up before he kissed you.

It was overwhelming in the best way possible. He hadn’t worn cologne, his natural smell so delicate and subtle, yet completely surrounding you. His thumb stayed there on your chin, not forcing you to kiss back but insisting that yes, despite his previous rejection, he wanted you more than you could know. His hand on your face was a question, asking please, please let me do this, please stay. And his lips—so supple—willing you closer, closer, closer. You thought you might never break away from his touch. You were at peace with that.

When he pulled back, you realized you’d grabbed his collar and tried to pet it back in place as casually as possible. His presence was dizzying—you had to focus on regulating your breath.

“Welcome to the Sanctum Sanctorum,” Stephen said.

“You tricked me!” you said, stomping at him like a child.

“I had to,” he said. “You were working yourself up for no reason. Fear was getting in your way.”

“You lied,” you said, crossing your arms and hoping the hypocrisy would move him to guilt.

“Did you feel it, though?” he asked. You were quiet as you replayed the last minute in your head, getting stuck in the memory of his mouth on yours. You blinked at him. “Yeah, didn’t think so.”

You couldn’t help yourself.

“Well…I…No, because listen, you—”

“Me,” Stephen said.

“It’s not honest science if you distract me out of feeling it! Shouldn’t a doctor know better than to muddy up his experiment?”

“So, you’re my experiment now?” he said lowly. Your heart skipped a beat. “What does that mean for this little arrangement? Does dating my lab rat create a conflict of interest?” Stephen used his pointer finger to gesture a circle at you, squinting at you in feigned confusion. You frowned.

“I’m…I’m not a rat. I liked it better when you called me ‘Little Patient.’”

“You liked that?” He gave you a crooked smile. You pursed your lips to the side and nodded, suddenly feeling very shy. Stephen nodded back, like an affirmation to revive your confidence. “We can do that.”

You looked around the lobby of the grand, ancient building Stephen had stolen you off to, setting your purse on a nearby granite coffee table. Behind him was a huge staircase that flared at the bottom and narrowed as it went higher, the silhouette of it like a skirt. The railing could have been gold a long time ago but a film of dust dulled the entire room, including the various chairs and couches that were scattered around and the rings of ice-blue and clay brown tile you both stood on. Everything was worn. You could tell many souls had passed through these mystic halls before you’d arrived and many would filter through for ages after you were gone. The place looked abandoned yet elegant, like the intentional, sloppy tousle of Dr. Strange’s coiffed hair.

“What did you have planned for me?” you asked, smiling sweetly as you wrung your hands. Strange shrugged.

“Well, uh, I thought I might show you around. It’s a pretty neat place,” he said, running a hand through his hair. Your face went deadpan as the two of you stared at each other.

“You didn’t plan anything,” you said.

“I didn’t get that far!” he said, throwing his hands up.

“God, what is this? MTV Cribs?” You put your hands on your hips. “You went so far as to trick me inside and you didn’t have a plan for what comes next?!” Your eyebrows went up, eyes wide as you shook your head in disbelief, challenging your doctor. The look on his face said he didn’t have a good enough rebuttal and he knew it.

“I just wanted to spend some time with you,” he said. His shoulders drooped in defeat. “After everything that’s happened between us…I keep fucking it up. I owe you better than what I’ve given you.”

“If you’re trying to say that you’re only asking me out on dates as payment for being an ass, send me back home right now. A date is not a consolation prize, Stephen Strange, and frankly I’m a little bored with this routine.” Your cheeks were hot and tingled in frustration. “I’ve accepted your apologies, so it’s time to move forward. You have no authority to decide whether my forgiveness is valid. If you want me, then fucking have me. Otherwise, you’re wasting my time.”

“I want you,” he said. “I want you so badly. I want to deserve you first, though.”

“Do you think I’m an idiot?” You were shouting, now, but couldn’t find the will to lower your voice. Your palms pressed your temples in frustration.

“What makes y—”

“If you don’t deserve me, that’s my call to make. I would know it. I’m not fucking stupid. Quit making excuses and trust my judgement or send me home and we can forget we knew each other.”

He gaped at you. Though you didn’t have the same vision as he did, you could see the little hamster wheel behind his eyes going about sixty miles an hour for his next answer. You crossed your arms, leaving the choice in his gnarled, magnificent hands. His mouth snapped shut. The muscles in his jaw flexed.

“Come to bed with me,” he said, squeezing his hands into fists.

“So that’s what you’ve decided?” You jutted your hip out, leaning on your right heel. You were still pissed; it was impossible not to test his patience. He didn’t say a word, raising his fingers to point over your shoulder as he cast a portal. It whooshed to life behind you (a sound you must’ve missed the first time) and that’s when Stephen started stomping towards you.

“You want to be my ‘little patient’?” he mocked, his voice alluring yet threatening. He was face to face with you now and giving you one last chance to change your mind before he backed you into another portal going God knows where. Your heart was pounding, adrenaline rushing down your spine. You nodded.

In one quick motion, he put a hand behind your head and another at the small of your back, forcing one bent knee between your thighs. He used his chest to give the final push, sending you both through. You were falling. Hair rushed over your face, a gust of wind chilling the back of your neck. Before you could scream, you landed. Stephen was on top of you, his arms and hands like a protective frame, using his knee to support his weight. When he took his hands from under your head, you realized there were pillows under you. You were in his bed.

“Welcome to the hospital,” he purred.

You had to catch your breath as Stephen fought to decide where he was starting. Your doctor was in a frenzy. He took your left ankle, halfway pulling off your shoe, before changing his mind and jolting forward to fidget with the button of your jeans. You put your hand on his wrist and he startled. His eyes flashed up at you and he pounced, pulling you into a stiff, forceful kiss. You pushed your hand against his chest. His attention quickly turned to the hem of your shirt which he began rolling up.

“Hey, hey,” you said, shoving a little harder. He leaned back, panting. The back of his fist wiped over his lips as though he’d been punched. You squeezed his shoulder. “I’m here.”

“I want you,” he said.

“I know, I’m here. We’re okay,” you said, nodding to reassure him.

“I want you,” he moaned, his voice rough and shaky. His brows were scrunched as he squeezed his eyes shut. He was blushing, you realized, in embarrassment.

“You can have me,” you said softly.

“It’s been a while,” he admitted. He gulped. His hands were nearly vibrating from how hard they trembled. “I may have a hard time—”

“It’s okay.”

“—reeling myself in… You have to understand, my abilities give me so much more energy than most people have. It’s…profoundly more difficult to work it out of my system. This may take a while.”

His warning sent chills down your body. You didn’t know what to say, so you waited for him.

“If you need me to stop, for any reason, ‘ten’ is the word. You can count up from one if you need me to start backing off or change something.”

You swallowed.

“Do you understand? Is this okay?” He sounded hoarse, desperate. He didn’t want to start if it would be too intense for you. It was as if he didn’t know how far his body would need to take him.

“Yes,” you said, your voice small. You felt the need to stretch. The excitement and anticipation was building up in your bones. He sighed in relief, leaning back in to try again.

This kiss was light as cotton. Tender. Cautious. Stephen’s hands, still shaking, found your cheeks. Their hold was softer than butter. He just wanted to keep your face there so he could kiss without you moving, again, again, again, barely leaving a gap for breath. His left hand slipped behind your neck, locking you in as his tongue grazed your bottom lip. You opened for him with a sigh, allowing the kiss to become sloppy as you melted into his touch. Your hands searched for a good place to settle. He groaned into your mouth when your palms ran over his back and across his chest.

Ugh…You loved that. Would do anything to hear that noise again. You kept your hands there on his chest, giving a little press to remind him where you were. He took your lower lip between his teeth and tugged ever so slightly, sighing at your touch. You knew if you worked a little harder you could coax another moan from him. The thought alone made you gush.

He moved to kiss along your jawline and down your neck, biting softly between kisses. You hissed at the sensation, the warmth of his mouth against the stinging bites and then coldness as he moved away to the next spot. You leaned your head back, offering him access as he licked and sucked. His right hand slipped under your back, tightening around your waist like a boa constrictor to force you even closer to him. You tilted your hips up, gasping when you found his thigh and felt him anchor against the mattress so you could grind against him.

“That’s it,” he said, nibbling your collarbone. “Let me hear you.”

You let out an airy laugh—it seemed you both were on the same mission. You were out of words now, just whining as you used his thigh as leverage to get off. Your cunt was getting wetter as you felt yourself sliding against your own panties. A wave of heat rushed into your chest, your pussy growing desperate for something real. Stephen’s hands moved to your breasts, cupping just under them.

“Please,” he panted.

“Yes,” you said, though unsure what you were agreeing to. Strange growled in approval, restless hands rushing under your shirt to rip it off. He went for your bra clasp. The band snapped against your back four times as he fumbled with it, growing more frantic with each failure, until you stopped him.

“I got it, I got it,” you insisted as you sat up, sounding as feverish as him. As your arm hooked behind your back to unclasp your bra, Stephen worked your jeans. He yanked them down, dragging you along so you fell back again. The air was knocked out of your lungs. You laughed, finally tossing your bra to the side. He was still frantically trying to strip the tight fabric from your legs, totally focused. You imagined being in the E.R. on a gurney with Stephen working over you. Maybe then he’d resort to simply cutting the damned things off. He’d surely done it before. Before you could finish the fantasy, he threw your pants so hard behind him that they made an audible snap against the wall.

“The next time you wear those, I’ll fucking burn them,” he said. You nodded, trying to catch your breath. You watched his gaze flicker down to your chest before his brows furrowed, mouth hanging open. “Oh my god…So fucking pretty.” His right hand reached for your breast, his fingers so delicate as they skimmed over your nipple. Your breath hitched. He hissed as he watched it harden before sliding his hand down to cup your tit, giving it a firm squeeze. You could only imagine the focus he needed to keep his insatiable, marred hands that still.

“Fuck,” he hissed. His free hand ran down your side and began mapping out your belly. “Your body is gorgeous.” His thumb, as if on its own accord, was tracing circles over your nipple. Each round sent an electric pulse of pleasure to your cunt. Your clit was throbbing now. You hoped that the torture of waiting wasn’t what he meant when he said this may take a while. Your hips rolled in search of relief. Stephen ignored you, knowing he would be able to tire you out without any help. Now he was caressing both of your breasts, your back helpless and arching into his touch.

“May I lick them?” he said. His rasp was so firm and calm compared to the hushed craze he was in moments ago, and you shuddered to think how much control he was forcing over himself just to seem put together. All you could do was groan and puff your chest out, somehow managing to hollow towards him even more as he dipped his head down to your collarbone. He kissed and licked in a practiced line down the left side until he found your nipple. Strange breathed over it, teasing, before kissing around the bottom curve of your breast. He repeated the same on the right side. The heat of his breath fanning out over the most sensitive part of your chest made your pussy flutter. It was agonizing.

Stephen moved back to the left side, kissing just around your nipple one, two, three times before finally setting his tongue loose over the hardened bud. You gasped ragged breaths, fisting the sheets as his tongue smoothed over them, pushing them in before drawing them back into his mouth. He took turns, spending a few moments on one side before switching to the other, head swerving back and forth over the valleys of your tits like a drunk driver. He was wasted on your taste, your scent, and he hadn’t even made it to the best part.

Then it was the teeth. He dragged them over your nipples with precision, rolling them between his teeth with a tender bite before kissing an apology, licking the hurt away. His hands gripped your waist like guard rails, holding you solid in place. You could tell he was using your sounds as a gauge, waiting until you moaned deep enough, right on the edge of actual pain, before pulling back. He toyed with you like this until you were writhing under him, holding the back of his head so he would provide that delicious torture to your nipples for longer. You were getting lost in the pleasure. That was his cue to start working his way down.

Strange’s hands slid behind your thighs, pushing them up so he could open you as he lowered himself to face your clothed pussy. He rested your legs over his shoulders, circling his arms around your thighs as he kissed down the inner sides of them.

Finally he was there where you craved him most. The only thing between Stephen and your cunt was a thin strip of lace that you’d grown to soak and resent as he teased you. He breathed over it as he did your chest, letting the heat of his lungs stoke the fire that had you squirming and bucking to meet his lips.

“Easy,” he whispered. He leaned in, pressing his nose right against where your clit was, and breathed in deeply, taking in your scent. Your whine was staggered, devastating. “You’re still learning, Peach. You’ll know better than to wear all those clothes next time, won’t you?” He nuzzled in, using his nose to tease your clit through the panties.

“Uh huh,” you moaned, pushing your hips up to meet him. “M’ sorry…”

“Aww,” he mocked. “Be patient, Little Patient. I’ll fix you up.” He pressed a kiss over your panties, the lava-like heat making you groan again and toss your head back. Stephen hooked his fingers in, pulling your panties up, but your unmasked scent must have hit him harder than he’d expected. He was able to hold his composure until your thong was at your knees before he shuddered like a feral beast and licked a stripe up your slit. You gasped, grabbing at the blankets, looking for anything to hold you right there. His hips rocked against the bed.

That’s when Strange cracked, holding your ankles up with one hand so he could keep tasting you. He wiggled his tongue between your pussy lips, having to pry his way in now that your legs were bound shut by your panties. He didn’t care; he wasn’t willing to waste any more time not tasting you.

The noises he made were fucking obscene. You could hear him inhaling between licks, guzzling your scent. He sounded like a man having his first meal in weeks as he drank you down, his moans riddled with hunger, satisfaction, relief. Meanwhile, he thrusted an even pace against the bed to offer himself some release.

“God,” he said, punctuating each word with another firm strike of his tongue across your nub. “Juicy…delicious…fucking…peach…” He sucked on you as if you weren’t wet enough already, drawing any slick he could from your hole before dragging it all up with his tongue to bathe your clit.

You couldn’t see his face past the wall your legs made, but the tops of your thighs came to push against your belly as he continued lapping at you, his hands now locked behind your knees for leverage. You could finally reach your thong and pulled it the rest of the way off, tossing it aside before spreading your legs for your doctor.

“Mmph,” he groaned into your pussy. “Thank you.”

His tongue laved over your clit, sending tingling embers low in your belly. Stephen’s hands tightened around you as he found the pressure and pace that made your moans become spaced out and breathy. You were focusing on that feeling: the burning pressure of your clit swelling, your hole clamping down on open space as it flooded for him, your muscles gathering in anticipation. Suddenly, you were noticing the creases in the sheets, the gaps between the pillows. Every inch of your body was becoming sensitive to the sensations around you. His attention was almost too much. Numbing, yet electric. Overstimulating.

“Stephen…” you breathed, working your hips away from his face. “Unh…”

He pulled away just long enough to speak.

“What is it?” he said, not hesitating to dive back down to suckle on your clit. You jolted and arched back again, unable to hold back the moan.

“Three,” you rasped, grating your nails over the sheets.

“Three? Okay…” He started backing off, still washing over you with his tongue but with much less force. “What do you need?”

“I want to cum…”

“You can cum, honey,” he said. Now he was sitting up on his heels, using his left hand to brush light circles over your clit. “Talk to me… Guide me through it. What do you need?”

“Your c-cock…please, God, I can’t t-take it anymore,” you panted, your thighs trembling around him. His smirk was devastating as he looked down at you, who shivered at just the sweep of his knuckles over your pussy.

“Mmn…Yeah, okay,” he agreed. He stopped touching you for just long enough to strip himself and leaned back over you. You looked down to his cock, so pretty, and his body all flushed and pink with exhilaration. He pumped it slow with one hand—that thick, gorgeous, tan shaft until just beyond the middle, where it turned rosy up to the head. Stephen bucked into his palm. He kissed you again when he ran the head of his cock between your slit. You sighed into his mouth, rolling your hips up to feel a cool bead of precum leak over your clit.

“You ready for me?” he teased, smirking into the crook of your neck, planting gentle kisses over the hickeys he’d left earlier as he lined himself up. You nodded, raking a hand through his hair while the other held his shoulder.

“Give it to me,” you begged. He slid in. Your pussy involuntarily constricted around him when he reached the hilt.

“Mmm…Unh, my Peach…”

He rocked into you slowly, not wanting to push you past your ‘three’. He moved his arms to hold you as he fucked you. The only way you could move out of his grasp was if you asked for it. Strange kept his face tucked into your neck, sucking another hickey right above your collarbone. His cock fit you so well, stretching you in ways you forgot possible, mindlessly hitting spots you fought to soothe when you were on your own. Stephen’s grip on you was equally arousing and comforting. It was nice to not have to worry about where he wanted you or squirming away and somehow ruining things. The cradle of him kept you in position so you could please him just as much as he was pleasing you.

Each time he entered you, it was a gasp, a grunt, a moan, a whine. Your sounds melded in with his heaving breaths as you found yourself holding him tighter and tighter, with your hands, legs, and your cunt. Stephen took a leisurely pace. He’d pull out; you’d inhale. As he rolled back in, cock polishing itself against your g-spot before resting at your cervix, you’d shudder as weight of his body and the force of his dick crushed another pathetic sound out of you.

“How’s that?” he asked. He was trying to sound collected but you could hear the way he ground his teeth.

“S-so good,” you said. “Y-you can—unh! Fucking… God… F-faster is good t-too… Shit…”

“Yeah?” He sped up a little, the snap of his hips making pretty little slapping sounds against your ass. You could feel your body opening even more for him, his angle perfect to ram into your most sensitive spots. The pleasure rang like a gong through your core, loud and starry, familiar yet foreign, sapping up all your attention. You sounded ravenous now as you groaned for him, scratching up his back to ask for something you couldn’t think to name. Stephen chuckled at you, pulling out and unwrapping your legs from his waist so he could turn you over.

He put you in child’s pose like the yoga connoisseur he was: face down, ass up, your thighs supporting your belly. “Fuck, you’re so beautiful…” He placed a hand between your shoulder blades, pinning you against the bed as he slipped back in. That was what you were looking for… Now you were screaming. Your hand shot out, palm pressing against the headboard. You needed to make sure you stayed right fucking there as your doctor railed into you. When Stephen saw this, trusting you wouldn’t move, he groped your hips, snapping into you as if losing control over himself. He hunched over to press a kiss at your spine.

“Oh—oh my God,” you panted. “F-fucking pound into me. J-just like that…”

“Yeah? That’s what you wanted? That’s why you’ve been mouthing off to me, huh? Just n-needed someone to beat some sense into that precious little cunt…”

You shuddered, moaning in return. His hand snaked around front to find your clit, rubbing tight little circles against you until you were bucking and writhing against his hand. The damned nub was so swollen you thought you might burst. You squeezed your eyes shut, gritting your teeth as the pleasure started gathering in your belly.

“Ohh, I know. Feels so good, doesn’t it? That’s the f-fuckin’ spot, right?” Stephen teased, swirling his fingertips faster over you. You scratched the headboard, feeling the pressure well up in your g-spot as if you might squirt.

“My tight Little Patient,” he groaned. “Beautiful body…You take—ohh shit—take my cock so well.”

You growled into your throat, keeping your mouth clamped shut as you focused on your approaching orgasm.

“No one will hear you, honey,” Stephen said, suddenly sounding compassionate. “Let it out.” He ran one hand up and down your back in a soothing way, still petting your clit into submission. You let out a pained gasp, feeling yourself so close, teetering precariously on the edge to oblivion.

“That’s it,” he purred. “Let me take it, Little Patient. Atta girl.”

That was all it took. You hollered, smacking a clenched fist into the headboard as the explosion of your orgasm rattled your body. Every muscle in your frame shook itself loose, white-hot, as Stephen’s cock continued to bully your sensitive pussy, which shivered around his girth. He was encouraging you, but you could barely hear him through the buzz of your pleasure. His hand stayed there, cupping as you ground your clit against his fingertips. You’d finally rode out your pleasure, but Stephen continued pumping himself into you.

The squelching sound of your arousal coating his cock brought you back to reality.

“Oh…Stephen…” you said with a sigh.

“I’m close… Please… Please, I just…I want…one for me, at least…” he hissed through his teeth. “I can go for m-more though.”

“Take it. Use me,” you plead, looking back over your shoulder. He threw his head back, veins in his neck flexing out in a rage. His fingers kneaded your ass as he corrected his hold. His hips set a punishing pace and though your body was tired, it still felt so fucking good, even better knowing he was using you to get off. Stephen let out a strained gasp as his cum flooded you, stuttered strokes marking his peak. He slowed and then pushed into you again…again…

And…

Again.

Then he pulled out. He was still hard as he laid down next to you. You were cozy, sated, and sleepy as you snuggled up next to your doctor. Some sober part of you was amazed at how much that single orgasm quenched your want. His arms wrapped around you and as your ass made contact with his dick, he couldn’t stop himself from rutting against you.

“A-are you okay…?” you asked. “Do you need more?” You tried to disguise the way your legs quivered from the exhaustion.

“If you don’t stop me, I won’t stop… I can feel that you’re done, Peach. It’s okay to be done.” He kissed the back of your neck and hugged you from behind. “You did so good. Gorgeous woman… How can I live now that I know that exists? How have I stayed out of you for this many years?”

You laughed.

“Why don’t you just…I don’t know, put me to sleep or something? Figure it out, Doctor… Keep using me…” you said, wiggling your hind against his still-hard cock. “Use this pretty pussy until you wear yourself out. I’ll be okay… I can take it.”

“Is that what you want…? Is that okay…?” he said. The rest of his body was tense now. He was restraining himself.

“Uh huh,” you promised. “I trust you.”

“Fuck…” he groaned, grinding against you again, painting your plush rear with the slick left on his cock. “Such a good girl.” He rolled you onto your back, staring deep into your eyes as he explained what was coming. “The spell I will have to use, it’s like a haze. It’ll fog you up, keep you nice and relaxed until I’m done with you. You won’t really be aware of what I do with you…Like an out of body experience. It could make you fall asleep, too…”

“Doctor,” you said sternly. “Use my body until you are done.”

He nodded, finally accepting your consent as his hands cast a signal.

“By the Vapors of Valtorr,” he started. You didn’t hear the rest, consumed by the pleasant haze that erupted from his fingertips. A grey mist filled your vision. It swelled into your lungs and you hummed, closing your eyes. All you could see through the fog was the memory of his gaze, those piercing blue eyes. You just barely felt some pressure below, like a tickle, before realizing that it was Stephen slipping back into you. Whether your eyes were opened or closed, still you saw his eyes staring back at you. His watch kept you grounded to reality. If you focused really hard you were aware of him pounding mercilessly into your cunt, your muscles shivering instinctually, but sensed none of it within yourself. You could hear him groaning relief through the void. Precious girl, pretty pussy, so fucking tight, fill this cunt, that’s it squeeze my cock, all filtering through the blurred wall guarding your mind. It was like your body was in the doctor’s office and you were in the waiting room while he completed his exams behind closed doors.

In reality, your pussy had a chokehold on Doctor Strange’s cock. He slammed into you for hours, your numb little body writhing under him, occasionally jerking as you came again and again, but your consciousness stayed trapped in the haze you’d requested from him. He carved himself into you, holding you tight, so tight, as he came and came and came. Your cum mingled with his, gushing out all over the bed as he drove in. As he realized he was fucking his seed into you, his cock throbbed impossibly harder. It was ok if his sheets were ruined. Fuck, he’d throw the entire mattress away if it meant he could stay burrowed in your body, burrowed within your mind, as your consciousness ogled him in blissful confusion.

Yes—he was in your mind with you, watching, though you didn’t realize it, imagining those blue eyes were a signature of the spell. The motives were pure. He only wanted to make sure you felt safe and comfortable. The moment you didn’t, he would know and be able to pull you right out.

Though he thought it would be ages before you two used a spell like this during sex, it was nice to have your blessing to learn your body, to feel what made you clench and soak, without your rampant thoughts getting in the way of your enjoyment. With each thrust, he was studying. Next time, when you were fully conscious, it would be effortless. He’d be able to wring the cum out of you until you could feel your climax in your teeth.

He came hardest when he watched you fall asleep, recognizing the level of trust you and your body had placed in him. Gorgeous girl, he thought. He silently vowed to honor that trust. He would take care of you physically and mentally as long as you allowed him in. In your sleep, you continued to cum for him, though your orgasms were harder to come by as your body truly tired out, having gone far beyond what you thought yourself capable of when awake.

You stayed asleep in the vapors for a while, but Strange continued watching you both in fog and flesh, his focus on your comfort riding along with his search for pleasure. He came one last time when the eyes of your consciousness blinked awake at him, just as vibrant as they were in real life.

“I’m still under?” you thought.

“Yes,” he replied. “Are you okay? We can be done.”

You startled at the surprise, screeching horror in your mind, not having expected those eyes that were watching you all this time to speak back. Your body twitched and heaved. Flight response.

“It’s okay, it’s me, it’s me. Let’s get you out of there, honey,” he soothed. “Such a good girl.”

He pulled the spell off of you and slipped himself out. As you re-entered your body, the grey fog cleared. You could see again. You could feel. You groaned, feeling just how much he’d used you. Everything was warm, numb, throbbing, raw. If your body was a wet dishrag, Stephen had twisted you dry. He was checking over you just like a good doctor should, making sure all your parts were in place and functional, kissing each exhausted limb and joint as he crossed it off his list. Even now that the sex was over, he stayed worshiping your body, obsessing over every stitch of skin until he was sure you were okay. He was still talking to you, whispering praise and reassurance, but you were too out of it to focus on what he was saying. Suddenly you realized he was saying the same thing repeatedly. He wanted your attention.

“Uhh?” you grumbled, blinking until your eyes focused in the dim room.

“Would you like to sleep here or go home?” he asked, fingers trailing gently over your arm. He was straddling you, finished with his post-coital checkup.

“Mm…I don’t know…Umm…Home, please? Or here…It’s okay. I’m happy.”

“Alright, sweet Peach. You did so good. Let’s get you home, then…You won’t feel a thing,” he said. You sighed, closing your eyes again when you heard a portal whir to life. When he spoke, you could hear his smirk. “Well…You won’t feel the trip back home. I’m going to let you keep feeling me, though.”

You didn’t respond but pursed your lips. Stephen Strange gave you one final kiss before cradling your body and setting it on the other side of the portal. You recognized the smell of your own sheets as you sunk into bed. The room was silent. You were alone. You felt…so good.

Chapter Text

You’d slept as if in a coma. Light streaming through the curtains nagged at your eyelids until you were bothered awake and stretched, your hind bumping into the person sleeping on the other side of the bed. You blindly reached back and found their hand resting over their tummy. The hold of it was cozy and familiar as he unconsciously squeezed your hand before letting it go. Stephen must have come back after sending you away, you figured. The heel of your palm rubbed over your eyes and oh… Oh sweet Lord almighty, your temples were fucking throbbing. A wave of nausea swelled in your tummy. You were hungover.

You were on the left side of the bed, but you normally slept on the right. Stephen had set you down on the right side…You would have noticed if he hadn’t. Plus, you hadn’t been drinking, as far as you could recall. You didn’t remember him saying skull-melting hangovers were part of the deal with that sex fog he’d put you in… Mind now awake, an inexplicable sense of dread overcame you.

Something was wrong.

Scanning down your body, you felt fine besides the hangover. You weren’t tied down, you didn’t feel any injuries, not even the memory of last night’s sex lingered between your legs. You squinted, trying to avoid the light, and saw your phone sitting on the bedside table. He’d been kind enough to place it on the charger that normally lived on the opposite side of the room. Those soft breaths were comforting and clued you in to the fact that he was still asleep. Not ready to face your bedmate, you decided to check your phone.

What the fuck?

That was impossible.

Monday. 10:57 AM. 63 notifications.

Your last memory was Saturday night. Stephen Strange laid you in this bed after fucking the common sense out of you. You hadn’t been drinking… You’d conked out in bliss. Where on God’s good green Earth had your Sunday gone?

Your first move was to check those notifications. Hopefully that could give you some insight, some answers. When you unlocked your phone, it opened to a text chat with Tony.

1:08 AM          Tony: Are you okay? Doctor Oddball is blowing my phone up. Call me.

1:09 AM          You: She’s fine. Calling now. A lot to explain.

1:25 AM          Tony: Peach, when you see this, take the day off…Margot can cover. I’ll see you Tuesday. I forgive you.

62 notifications left. Looking at the time stamps, you knew a substantial conversation took place between whoever’d had your phone and Tony. They knew the missing gaps in your timeline, the mistakes you’d made. You switched to your phone call log. There were four missed calls from Tony (from before that text chat) and 35 missed calls from Stephen Strange, 8 with voicemails. You decided to listen to them later. Your pulse was quickening with the idea that this person in your bed was probably not your doctor and did not feel ready to face them yet.

15 notifications left. They were all texts from Doctor Strange. You flipped back to your texts with him and scrolled up until you recognized something—his text asking if you were okay with portals and your reply that it was no big deal. The conversation under that, however, you didn’t recall whatsoever.

6:08 PM          Stephen: Peach, honey, come back here. Let’s talk this out, I swear you are misunderstanding the whole situation.

6:10 PM          You: Fuck off. Don’t call me that. I truly don’t care.

6:10 PM          Stephen: You clearly do. Please don’t be like that. Let’s show a little maturity.

6:11 PM          You: Nope.

6:11 PM          Stephen: Honey, don’t do this. Communicate with me.

6:12 PM          You: Leave me alone. Honestly, Stephen. You were so right. I should have listened to you the first 800 times you said you weren’t worthy of me. Thank GOD I realized it before anything *important* could happen between us, you insolent fucking prick.

6:13 PM          Stephen: If I was right then, I’m right now. If you would just let me explain, it would all make sense.

6:14 PM          You: I bet it would.

6:14 PM          You: Must be convenient having your stupid little time powers, right? What’s the plan? Reverse time over and over until you can tell me a story I find plausible? Fuck you, dude. Lose my number.

6:15 PM          Stephen: Please, honey. I’m begging you.

6:35 PM          You: Guttersnipe.

The text chat went cold until a few hours later when you sent him two videos a little after midnight. You turned down the volume on your phone so hopefully the person next to you wouldn’t be bothered by the sound. A cold bead of dread tricked down your forehead as you opened the first video. It was in a club. Someone was holding your phone, aiming the camera at you as you pushed your way through a crowd of people. There were a few small platform stages crowned with dance poles around the club and you watched in horror as a drunk version of you, margarita sloshing in hand, pulled yourself up onto one.

You were almost ashamed to admit to yourself that you looked fucking gorgeous. You’d worn a skin-tight black skirt and fashioned a lacy pink piece of lingerie into a crop top. Your hair was a mess—you could tell by the time this video was taken you’d probably danced for hours waiting for your turn to take the pole. Your tired feet stuttered in those fluffy pink stilettos (a gift from Margot that you never imagined actually wearing) as you reached for the pole. Some men down below whistled and hollered for you and whoever was recording sighed in annoyance. You grabbed the pole, leaned out, and did a basic spin. Then, back facing the crowd, you hooked your leg around the pole, put one hand behind your head, and used the other to hold your drink to your lips as you did a full backbend and chugged, downing the entire margarita in seconds. They went nuts as you passed the empty glass to someone and shook your hair out before pulling yourself back up. That’s when the song started, bass and alcohol vibrating your inhibitions loose.

The drink did you a favor, apparently, as you pulled yourself around the pole expertly. You spun and climbed and fanned your legs out as you sunk down over and over again. It was all about leverage and your drunken bones knew that better than your sober ones ever could. You’d pull on your clothes, sliding your back against the pole, but never revealed enough to sacrifice your honor. You watched yourself smirk as the crowd below cheered and howled for you. Despite the mounting shame you felt, you were impressed at how sexy and graceful you looked twirling around onstage. After a minute or so, the song ended and you shuffled back down. As you ran to the person recording, a bachelorette party took their turn. They were all in matching blue sequin dresses, pink sashes, and headbands with flailing plastic penises like devil horns as they urged a reluctant woman in a white sash to come up with them.

You didn’t look at the camera, only the person behind it, when you arrived. You were out of breath, grinning madly, with makeup melting down your face.

“How was that?” you purred. “Did I look good?”

The video cut off before they could respond.

Your heart was pounding. What the fuck did you do? I mean… You’d just watched what you’d done but… Oh my god. What could have possibly prompted that? You clicked on the second video, which was much shorter than the first.

You were still in the club, lights flashing, bass bumping, as you danced up on some random man. You smiled a drowsy, shit-eating leer, eyes half-lidded as you bent over, twerking and grinding against him. Your face was barely in view, the lens trained on the curve of your waist, the lilt of your ass, as you bumped against his pelvis. His face was cut from the frame but you could tell he was tall. He had one hand wrapped around your hip but was clearly trying to stop you from recording. His hand grasped for your phone. The frame jostled when he nearly got ahold of the phone and you squealed, running away from him and giggling like a fiend as he chased you. The phone was too close to your face now to see him. The video ended abruptly while you were still running. These were sent to Stephen at almost the same time, and suddenly you remembered sitting on the bathroom counter of the club, face hot as you pushed send. That snippet of a memory made your hangover pulse harder in your skull. He’d responded almost immediately.

12:35 AM        Stephen: Are you fucking kidding me?

12:35 AM        You: fuck YU O

12:35 AM        Stephen: We can talk about that later. Where the hell are you?

12:36 AM        You: use ur fuck in pertal about it, bitch. You wont!!!!!!!!! Never eveen cared old aksj dumb erpervert wixard bitch

12:37 AM        You: quip calling me

12:38 AM        Stephen: I can’t portal without knowing a location. Please tell me where you are and I’ll come get you. Are you safe?

12:39 AM        You: You cant’ haveb me. I’m with osome one ELSE AND HES’ JWEVERY NCIE TO ME NOT LIEK YOU BIROWTCH

12:39 AM        You: *bitch

12:40 AM        Stephen: Oh my god.

12:40 AM        Stephen: Honey, I swear on my life I’m not going to be upset with you. I get it, you can pick up other guys. Message received. Please just let me know you’re okay.

12:42 AM        Stephen: Please pick up.

12:45 AM        Stephen: Peach. Tell me where you are so I can find you.

12:50 AM        You: I didn’t realize she would send those videos. I apologize for that.

12:50 AM        Stephen: Who is this? Give her the fucking phone back NOW.

12:57 AM        You: Stop calling. She’s safe. I will be protecting her until she’s ready to talk to you again.

12:46 AM        Stephen: Who the fuck is this? Where is she?

The remaining onslaught of messages from Stephen all held the same tone: let me talk to her, if you touch her I’ll murder you, blah blah blah. No notifications were left. It was time to face your apparent hero, you thought, as you locked your phone and rolled over. The movement stirred him awake as he breathed in deep, and somehow you were more relieved than surprised to see Loki laying on your side of the bed. His mass of glossy black hair was spread over your pillow like debris after an explosion. He stretched in his white tee shirt, revealing a sliver of his hipbone, before opening his eyes at you. The two of you stared at each other in a comfortable silence for a long moment before he spoke.

“I’m glad to see you’re finally not running from me. For once.”

You gave Loki a small closed-mouth laugh, sighing hard through your nose.

“Was that you…?” you said. “On my phone?”

He nodded but said nothing. His lips were parted just slightly, eyebrows pinched, as he tried to read your face.

“Did I reach my limit on hangover spells that quickly?” You felt the urge to reach out, to touch him, but covered for yourself by itching your cheek.

“You asked me not to,” he said. “Change your mind?”

It was your turn to silently nod, your eyes closing as he cast the spell. It was nothing but bliss as the pressure dissipated from your head and your stomach cooled. You smiled at Loki in thanks. He seemed to understand, smiling back. As you realized why he was here, even if you didn’t fully know the story, your smile faltered. You looked away, focusing instead on the length of his neck that was highlighted by a stray beam of sunlight.

“Loki…I’m so sorry about last night,” you said, chewing on the inside of your cheek. He sighed at you and you instantly recognized the sound from the first video. Loki had been the one recording you at the club, as if you needed confirmation.

“You don’t even know what you are apologizing for, yet you were forgiven before it even happened,” he said. The scrunch in his brow was endearing. Despite being the God of Lies, you felt compelled to believe his sincerity. You wanted to be close to him but weren’t sure how to go about it. Not knowing where you stood with Doctor Strange made you even more frustrated. It was as if your spirit was remembering something your brain didn’t. The lack of control you had in the situation, now that it was over and you were sober, was infuriating. Another thought cropped up, hitting you like a freight train: as hard as you’d worked and waited, just as soon as things were getting good with Stephen, you’d managed to ruin it. Even though he’d promised he wasn’t mad, you couldn’t help but feel like you’d crossed a point of no return with him. Things could never be the same after last night and you couldn’t even remember why. Your eyes were watering.

“Are you okay?” Loki said. He propped himself up on one elbow to get a better look at you.

“How is it that easy for you to forgive me?” you croaked. Your throat was quivering, asking you to let it sob, but you couldn’t give in.

“I can sense when you’re being genuine. God of Lies, right?” he said, as if it were the simplest thing in the world. “If you did all those things in a steady state of mind it might be different. You were hurting. You needed a release. Now you can learn from your regrets.”

“It shouldn’t be that easy,” you said. “I need someone to be mad at me, to yell at me. I need to atone. It can’t…I can’t…It doesn’t work that way.”

“It does with me,” Loki said. His nostrils flared. “I have lived a life where even trying to atone was not enough to earn forgiveness. Real forgiveness, anyways. Can I touch you?” He tilted his head and the sunlight shone over his eyes. They were impossibly green, like a pasture without a fence. You nodded and scooched over to meet him. He wrapped himself around you, one arm fitting under the crook of your neck and the other lining up with your spine. Loki put his chin on your head as he squeezed you in his embrace, the only part of him not draped around you being his legs.

“You’ll forgive me for being so intimate,” he said. “We’ve had a long night together, if you can imagine. It’s hard not to feel close, even if she was a different woman.”

“I can’t believe you let her dress like that,” you said with a small laugh, remembering the fact that you wore literal lingerie out to a nightclub. Loki snickered. His chin flexed against your head as he fought against a grin.

“She was pretty determined to make her own choices,” he explained. “My job was to get her home unscathed by those choices.”

“Can you tell me what happened? What made her pick the things she picked?” You fisted the collar of his tee shirt and tucked your face flush against his collarbone. He smelled…he…well, he smelled so much like home that you couldn’t detect much of a scent on him at all. It was easier for you to talk about your past self in the third person like this. That woman…The “her” that your fickle memory didn’t identify with. It separated you from the guilt that Loki didn’t want you hanging onto.

Loki sighed in thought before suggesting he could tell you the story over breakfast. You agreed and the two of you padded off into the kitchen. It was odd seeing him so comfortable in your house. You had to remind yourself that his apartment had the same layout. The two of you slipped and fumbled around each other, fighting for dominance in the kitchen as you pulled out bowls and forks and eggs, until Loki got fed up and sent you to brush your teeth.

“I was planning to cook for you anyways. Go,” he said. “I’ll manage.”

So, you did. It was easy to let your guard down with him, to let him take charge. Your training told you it was against your better judgement, but all your judgement said to trust him, so that’s what you would do. As you refreshed yourself, you were melted by the sound of Loki cooking. There was a sharp tang of dishes clanking, the tap tap tap of a whisk running laps around a bowl, and something sizzling. You stared at yourself in the mirror and immediately noticed the hickeys Stephen had left all over your neck. Others would be all under your clothes. Besides that, your face had no remnants of makeup, your hair wasn’t frizzy, and you’d made it into pajamas. Never (before Loki, at least) had you made it to bed that clean after a night out. Not even Stephen Strange, in all his gallantry, had the initiative to take your makeup off or brush your hair before sending you to bed. Strange hadn’t even dressed you, you realized, in remembering the cold caress of your sheets against your body when he’d put you down.

It seemed every time you thought you were falling for Stephen, your next encounter with Loki would make you question everything. You tried to ignore this thought as you returned to the kitchen, now dressed and prepped for the day.

He’d been quick. You watched him set a waffle on his plate as he pulled out your seat, gesturing to it with a gentle smile. His fluffy, unbrushed hair was tucked behind his ears. He adjusted the waistband of his thin, black joggers as he sat. Each plate had two waffles with some strawberries on the side that had been cut to look like roses. Your mom used to do that for you when you were little, the few times she did cook. You didn’t realize anyone else knew how to do that… The gesture was more warmly received than Loki could have known. A bottle of syrup stood like a centerpiece between you both.

The two of you ate in silence. Loki’s attention was consumed by his food as he ate with fervor, but you took measured bites, patiently waiting for him to start filling in the missing gaps in your timeline. When he chewed the last red morsel from his strawberry top, you spoke up.

“Well?”

“Ah, shit—sorry,” he said. “I’ll tend to the dishes later. Why don’t we put on a show or go back to bed? We can discuss there.”

"I’m starting to worry that you’re avoiding it. Is it really that bad?”

“I promise I’m not,” he chuckled. “I was just very hungry. Didn’t eat much last night.”

“That’s my fault,” you said, lips pursed to the side in a frown.

“It was my choice,” he said firmly. “I could have eaten if I’d made the effort. Bed. Let’s go.” He stood and stirred his pointer finger in a ‘round up’ motion before directing it towards the bedroom.

He was sprawled out in the middle of the bed, legs and arms wide in a starfish formation as if he was calling you to come lay on him. As much as your mind warred over whether to continue this physical intimacy with him, you figured it would be easier to hear this story in the safe, nonjudgmental warmth of Loki’s cuddle. You draped your torso over his and rested your right temple on his collarbone. He squeezed his arms and legs around you, forming a perfect cradle, as you slid your hands up to loosely grip his shoulders. He pet your back gently, taking a few short breaths as he waited to feel you relax.

He wouldn’t say it, but Loki was endeared at how quickly he felt Peach’s muscles yield for him, how his presence, his touch, could calm her breathing. He knew it was hard for her to will herself into relaxation under the suspense. He knew she was worried, especially about how Stephen Strange would feel about her after this, despite how much she tried to deny having true romantic feelings for the guy. Peach could insist it was just about the sex all night long, and she had, but Loki had known from the way her eyes flickered over to Stephen that day when he returned her shoes that she wanted the doctor. Did he think Stephen was a good fit for her? Absolutely not, though he couldn’t quantify why… Maybe it was Strange’s capricious attitude? Sure. Maybe. Whatever. Either way, after tucking her into bed last night, Loki had decided he wouldn’t pursue that charming, enchanting, flighty little minx drooling over the pillow unless she made the first move. He wouldn’t get in the way of her budding relationship with Doctor Strange. That wouldn’t stop him from (for once) telling the truth, though. So, as he told Peach the story of the night before, feeling her back tense and relax with each turn, he told the full truth as he remembered it, only leaving out the details of how these things made him feel.

It started at eight on the dot. Loki had been relaxing on his couch, halfway forgetting that someone was coming to watch him, when the sound of her fist against the door shocked through him like lightning. When he opened the door, he almost didn’t recognize Peach. Her hair was frizzed into oblivion, face streaked in makeup, blotchy red and swollen from crying. She was shivering, shuddering, and had cried so much that a two-inch rim down the collar of her shirt was soaked with tears. He was horrified. Not realizing it was Peach’s day to guard him, his first thought was that she’d been hurt again and came to him for help. Who the fuck had hurt her? He couldn’t will the question from his throat, paralyzed as he stared at her, waiting for an explanation.

“I-I’m h-h-here ch-checking in,” she said, voice cracking. That’s when he smelled the alcohol on her breath. Peach munched the inside of her lip. Loki assumed it was an attempt to stop her jaw from vibrating. He nodded at her in silence, eyes wide. She didn’t walk away though, standing too close to the doorway as she wrung her little hands against the stretched hem of her shirt. It was baggy, grey, and had a few holes worn in with age.

“Gah, f-fuck—” she said before hiccupping. “C-can I come inside? I d-d-don’t want to be al-l-lone…” She wiped the back of one hand over her eyes and sniffed. Loki heard a wad of snot slap against the back of her throat and she gulped before looking up at him apologetically. Magnificent, he thought shamefully, even in such a state. Those brows scrunched together, the tip of her nose dribbling and red, those long eyelashes heavy with wet. She shouldn’t be this beautiful. It shouldn’t occur to him that she’s this stupidly pretty when she’s devastated, hurting.

“Yes…of course,” he said, moving aside and putting a hand at the small of her back to guide her as she shuffled inside. Peach wouldn’t sit, looking around in a panic as she assessed the chairs. The choice meant nothing, yet she clawed at her palms in anxiousness. In just those few seconds they’d been together, Loki realized more and more how shaken her state of mind was. Loki felt the bristle of rage in his cheeks. An instinct to fucking demolish what or whoever planted that pain inside her. He’d need to bridle his fury until he knew the source of her hurt. It would be the only way to coax it from her. He closed the door behind them. “Are you okay? Can I offer you a drink?”

She spun around and flung herself onto him, sobbing. Her body quaked through her hysterics and Loki quickly felt the cold press of her tears digging through his shirt. Her hands pawed at his shoulders and the collar of his shirt, looking for anything to hold. Loki took Peach’s left hand, kissed her palm, and smoothed her hand around the back of his neck before doing the same with the other one until she was loosely hugging him. The move seemed to calm her down some. Her shaking almost completely stopped when he hugged back, leaning side to side until she submitted and swayed with him. Loki pressed his cheek to the top of her head and waited for her breath to slow, hoping that she couldn’t hear his heart racing. When she’d quieted down to just her hiccups, he led her back to the couch. He sat on one end and tugged her wrist with the lightest pressure, asking her to sit. He didn’t want to speak out of fear that she’d change her mind and spend the night next door like everyone else had. Not that he’d wanted to spend time with them anyways, but still.

That drunken Peach sat on her calves as close to him as humanly possible, tucking her face into his neck, flinging an arm across his chest, and finally resting her left leg in the gap between his thighs.

Peach’s nails clawed the base of Loki’s neck. It stung like a bitch. He didn’t correct her, telling himself that it was the right thing to do, when really, he was too disgusted with himself to admit how much he loved her proximity to him. The very fibers of his being wanted her as close as possible. Shit, if Peach dug herself a nest in the cavity of Loki’s chest, he’d offer her a blanket as she curled up inside him. The heat of her face warmed the wet spots she’d left on his shirt and frankly he couldn’t have given less of a fuck if she left makeup, snot, slobber, or hell, even vomit, if it meant she wanted his hold around her, even if just for the night.

She was sobbing again. Heaving and twitching. Battling the cry that ransacked her frame. Loki could hear how she struggled for breath, beginning to hyperventilate, when he decided she wouldn’t mind if he talked.

“Who did this to you?”

He immediately cringed. Not ‘what happened’ or ‘what’s wrong,’ but who. It was an intuitive guess but why the fuck did he have to clue her in? God, he thought, it would only be a breath before she ran out screaming.

But—no…How? Peach sniffled into the dip between his collarbones and pushed her face somehow tighter against him. She was still looking to him for comfort. It seemed impossible to Loki.

“S-S-S-S-Stephen d-did this,” she stammered before sucking in another unsteady breath. Loki’s jaw snapped shut. He knew he had no claim over this woman, but the thought of another man hurting her made an ugly beast claw at his innards. His mind was racing—had that shit-stain of a doctor hurt his Peach while she was drunk? Did he touch her? He couldn’t stop himself now. The title had brewed as naturally in his brain as hunger. His Peach.

“Your heart is going a lot of fast,” Peach said. “Fuck—I mean, in there, the…pitter patter. Quick.” She wiped her eye again and swore. She was too drunk to make coherent observations. If Loki hadn’t been feeling so rageful, he would’ve found it precious. All he could think about was how vulnerable she would have been to Strange (or any man, for that matter) if he’d had her this drunk. Loki’s nostrils flared.

He had to keep her feeling safe. He couldn’t let her know how close he was to turning that blasted Sanctum Sanctorum to ash. Loki shushed her gently and rubbed her cheek. She was gaining control of her breathing now, soothing herself against him. Surely a woman as intelligent as she would get frustrated not being able to form complete sentences.

“I understand you. Don’t worry about me,” he said. “Tell me what he did.”

Loki’s Peach hiccupped and then wretched. He almost laughed…just the thought of Stephen’s sins made her want to vomit. Tender-hearted Peach. He’d be thinking of that wretch when he snapped that doctor’s stupid fucking ne—

“I went to his house,” Peach said. She was speaking slowly and deliberately, fighting the drunk-speak from her mouth. “Last night. We…we…umm… It was Saturday.” She looked up at him and now, with her neck bared so she could look at Loki’s face, he got a full view of the ‘umm’ she was referring to. His heart skipped a beat. His eyes locked on deep purple stains like a mask over the tender skin of her throat. Stephen had marked her. Loki’s nostrils flared again. How had he missed them before? He tried not to imagine Strange on top of her, inside her, or the other places his mouth had likely claimed. What sounds she might make for an undeserving man who clearly betrayed her trust so quickly. He had no right to be jealous. The thought still made his stomach turn. Just as quickly, his disgust with himself bloomed. How could he be jealous while she was in hysterics on his couch, desperate for comfort? Selfish, loathso—

“I’m sure you can guess what happened,” she sighed. “B-but I left my purse over there. M-my clothes.”

“H-how…?”

“Portal.”

“Ah.”

“S-so, I asked him out again tonight. He could come here with me to watch y-you. He said he had plans…He’d bring my stuff Monday to work. I said I need my purse. He said he would portal to me later. I said no problem, I’ll can p-pick everything up myself…I j-just wanted my stuff. Thought maybe we plan the next d-date. He said he would handle it.”

Then she was quiet. It took another minute of practiced breathing and snot-wiping for her to talk again.

“I w-went by anyways, but she was there.”

“…she?”

“Doctor. Leslie. Scoursburgh.” She pronounced it like it left a bitter taste in her mouth. “That bitch. The aveb…ave…av-en-gers. Their food doctor…wants my job. Didn’t know she and Stephen…” Peach wretched again. “She wouldn’t let me in… Said Stephen was busy. I could only see her h-head. I don’t th-think she had any clothes on. He was off in s-some r-room and he said ‘honey’? And then she said ‘that’s my cue’ and slammed the f-fucking door in my face.”

“Oh dear…” As much as Loki hated Stephen, his heart sunk. The anguish in her voice made his throat tight. All he could do was pet her hair and hope he’d find the right words to fix it. Yet, he couldn’t fix it; he hadn’t put the hurt there, and he knew this. That wouldn’t keep him from trying, though. The instinct to be there for her trumped every ugly feeling doing donuts behind his temples.

“He’s supposed to call me ‘honey,’” she said bitterly.

“I thought we all called you ‘Peach,’” Loki said.

“He calls me ‘honey’ too,” she clarified. “Called, I mean… So…That’s why I’m drunk.”

He’d have to talk to her about that in the morning. Loki pursed his lips to the side in thought.

“Why don’t we try to take your mind off it? At least for tonight,” Loki said. Peach gasped and her eyes were suddenly wide and bright. It was like her excitement had made her sober.

“Can we go out?!” Her cheeks were stretched in a grin. “I want to dance! Ugh, that would be literally exactly what I need to feel better. Screw him! Please? Please, can you take me dancing? I’ll pay your cover, I’ll do anything.”

“That’s what will make you happy?” Loki said.

“Yes,” Peach vowed. “Just don’t tell Tony.”

So, Loki took her back to her apartment to get dressed. He was relieved to find no smell of sex lingering in the room. Strange must have taken her somewhere else. It made Loki feel better. If Peach was done with Stephen, maybe her bed wouldn’t be full of steamy memories with the guy.

He looked around the room with vague interest as she pillaged her closet, gulping when she came out dressed like…that. Those fluffy stilettos that made her flex her strong calves. That black skirt stretched thin around her plush yet muscular thighs and molded around the mound of her cunt perfectly. One wrong move and the fabric might rip open. No man was gentlemanly enough to keep his mouth from watering at the sight. Peach spun around to show him, to get his approval. That’s when he noticed her top. She’d taken a pastel-pink baby doll dress, all lace, and tucked it into itself to cover her nipples. She was lucky he was here to protect her, Loki thought, the mortal men would go feral when they saw her.

He peeled his eyes from the spot where her nipples should be, every decent bone in his body refusing to search through the holes in that layered lace just to get one little peek and told her she looked lovely. He would’ve sworn she blushed when she thanked him, but he wasn’t going to get ahead of himself. The girl was drunk and vulnerable. His only priority was to keep her safe and happy and get her home in one piece.

So, that’s what he did. Loki was a ripe, aggressive, territorial hound all night while his Peach screamed and danced and drank her sorrows away. He kept his distance, leaned up on the bar and eyes never leaving her. He’d return to her side when a man was watching her too closely or getting too friendly and correct the situation. It was usually simple: a hand on her low back, leaning in close to her ear.

“Just checking on you—are you feeling alright?” he would say. His hand would find her chin when she’d grin up at him. If the degenerate was still interested, Loki would press a kiss to her forehead. She would giggle and playfully shove his chest before trying to pull him in to dance. He’d spin her around as a distraction and ease her back into the crowd before returning to his post, only stopping to chat with the ingrate along the way to make sure his message was received. He had a few favorite lines from the night that seemed effective:

If your eyes so much as glance the cap of her heel again, there is no god in this universe powerful enough to stitch you back together when I’m done.

Touch her again, and I will slit your throat and guzzle the puss that drains out.

I kill nicer men for more forgivable sins, and I don’t stop until they beg their throats raw.

He tried not to be bothered while he filmed her on stage. She went up there specifically for attention from other men, so he couldn’t threaten to eviscerate every person who whistled and cheered for her. Part of him couldn’t help but wonder if it had gone too far, though.

Peach was absolutely plastered. Was she able to make decisions for herself? Loki knew how she valued her reputation. Would she regret this in the morning? Wish he had stopped her? Did he even have the right to stop her?

He ruminated on these questions while Peach filmed herself dancing on him. He wasn’t interested, especially not while she was this drunk, but he knew she needed a prop who wouldn’t try to take advantage of her and he was fine keeping it platonic. Not many people wanted to dance with her anyways since word of Loki’s promises had circled around the bar.

Then, like the hefty waft of fresh brewed coffee in a room, Loki suddenly sensed the bitter tang of Peach’s intentions as she rolled her ass against his groin. She was about to do something really mischievous. He’d noticed the feeling before, but assumed it was from the other patrons at the bar. He’d been mistaken. He wasn’t entirely sure what her plan was, but that acrid film in the back of his throat told him it wasn’t a good idea. He needed to take that phone from her and fast. He stretched one hand out, grabbing her hip with the other to keep her from scurrying off, and lunged forward.

Despite his towering build, Loki couldn’t seem to reach the phone and then she was running because of course she was fucking running. Loki groaned and rolled his eyes, darting after her, only to halt like he’d hit a brick wall when she threw herself behind the door to the women’s restroom. He wasn’t about to traumatize the other women in the club by storming in there and searching for Peach, though, so he leaned against the wall across from the door and waited, arms crossed and jaw set in annoyance. After a few minutes, a petite brunette in a holographic minidress poked her head outside the door and startled, not expecting a man to be standing there. She stared intensely at Loki. He felt her intentions were pure, but he could see the fear rolling around behind her glossy brown eyes. She was sizing him up, inspecting him. After being quiet for an uncomfortable stretch of time, she pursed her lips and huffed.

“Is she yours?” she asked.

“Pink lace top?”

“Uh huh,” she said.

“Yes. She’s mine,” Loki said. The woman didn’t respond and Loki rolled his eyes, impatient for her answer. “Is she okay?”

“She’s asking for you.” She tilted her head and gave him the oddest look, widening her eyes and raising her brows. Loki couldn’t tell if the woman was trying to guilt him or signal a message. He rolled his eyes again, shaking his head and pushing his way into the women’s restroom.

It was dimly lit and foggy with perfume. The countertops and tiled floors were glossy and black and the mirrors were a streaky, powdery grey from lack of cleaning. The air felt sticky. A few women, including the one who brought Loki in, huddled near the sinks. One looked at the closed stall they stood across from and spoke.

“He’s coming, baby, don’t worry.”

He heard Peach wretch. Her little voice was warped into the sound. She may have been crying again, possibly in pain. Loki stopped outside of the stall, not wanting to enter and expose her to all the women standing around.

“It hurts,” Peach groaned from within the stall. His heart sank. It was supposed to be a fun night. He was supposed to keep her safe.

“Don’t fight it, let it all out,” another said. Peach obeyed. The wet splash of her vomit falling into the toilet echoed off the bathroom walls. Some of the girls cringed and the first one looked at Loki sympathetically.

“I already told you. He has a—” she started, stopping to vomit again. She talked through her breathlessness. “Green. Green belt. Long black hair. Please.” She was begging for him, Loki realized. Peach, black-out drunk, had commanded a room full of women to find Loki. His chest swelled with pride, despite his guilt.

“Peach, I’m here,” Loki said. He covered his mouth, trying not to gag. “Can I come in?”

“Loki,” she gasped. “I need you.”

He found her on her knees, hunched over the toilet with one hand holding her hair back and the other holding her phone away from it all. Her muscles trembled with the strain. She was trying so hard to stay clean.

He took her phone and placed it in his pocket, keeping his hands free so he could hold her hair and rub her back while she finished emptying herself out. Meanwhile, her phone buzzed in his pocket nonstop. Thinking Peach must have pressed something to cause that, Loki broke from stroking her back to pull the phone out and undo her handiwork. The screen shone bright in his face with a picture of Doctor Strange. He was calling her. Loki declined the call and as he shoved the phone back in his pocket, it started vibrating again. It was Stephen.

Loki didn’t want to be that guy and sacrifice the trust his Peach had placed in him so far, but he felt compelled to confirm his suspicions. He went through her phone. The evidence was all there in the last few texts she’d sent Doctor Strange. The videos, texts talking shit, claiming she was with another man, and a smorgasbord of calls and desperate texts from Stephen who was trying to wrap his head around the whole situation. The minx had used him to make Stephen jealous. It stung but wasn’t a complete surprise. He would have to remind himself not to be hurt in the morning.

He wanted to be civil with Strange. At least, that’s what he told himself. He thought telling Strange that Peach was safe would at least get him to stop calling, but it only made things worse. That’s when he started to really get angry. Regardless of the claim Stephen thought he had over Peach, he should have been beyond grateful that Loki was taking care of her. Loki had had zero intentions of stealing her away or taking advantage of her. He couldn’t say the same for another man. Loki knew if Peach were his, he would have put the phone down and scoured the Earth to make sure she was safe. After her phone continued to buzz for another three minutes, he silenced her notifications from Stephen.

When she was done puking, Loki sat her on the bathroom counter and helped her rinse her mouth out and rubbed some of the mess from her face with a damp paper towel. Her sweat had cooled and her body was tired. She shivered and leaned into his palm as he wiped her cheek.

“You’re so good to me,” she crooned, looking at him through heavy lids.

“You used me,” he said. She winced.

“I got carried away,” she said, lip quivering. “I didn’t mean to.”

He didn’t respond. Loki didn’t sense that she was lying, but he figured there was no use reasoning with someone who wouldn’t remember anything in the morning. She was too busy trying to keep herself awake to have that conversation, hands clenched around the edge of the counter and elbows locked so she wouldn’t fall over. Not like Loki would let her fall, but still.

He carried her home bridal-style, her head lolled back as she mumbled gibberish at him. It was all about Stephen. She didn’t care, she had no feelings for Stephen but his cock is pretty, something about a haze or a fog…It was hard to follow. She kept looping back around to the same point: she was only sad because she wouldn’t be able to have sex with him again while he was seeing Dr. Leslie. She wasn’t a skank, after all. Couldn’t risk picking up Dr. Leslie’s diseases.

Loki had brewed enough in his annoyance and was now able to laugh at her rambling. He could keep her talking just by humming in agreement and occasionally saying “Yeah? You think so?”

The apartment was only a few blocks away and his godly strength was unfazed by her weight, even when he slung her over his shoulder to field the notifications coming in from Tony Stark. He didn’t tell Tony everything that had happened between Peach and Strange, but by the end, Tony knew better than to ask how her romance with the doctor was coming along and agreed to excuse her from work the next day. Loki was relieved that he’d proved to Tony he could be trustworthy even without supervision.

After wrestling the apartment key from her handbag and shuffling her inside, Loki laid Peach along the foot of her bed. He rubbed the back of his thumb across his hairline. What the fuck was he going to do? He looked down at her as she writhed and tugged her clothes, kicking her ankles against themselves.

“Peach, stop it,” he said, putting a hand on her wrist as she yanked the folds of her top loose.

“Itchy,” she said, squirming away from his hold. She rolled to the middle of the bed, face smushed into the blankets, and raised up on her knees. Ass in the air, she pushed her weight on her shoulders and threw her arms back, sloppily trying to pull her skirt off. The slick, skintight material slipped from her fingers twice. The skirt was halfway pulled up, half of each cheek popping out. She’d worn a black thong. Her knees finally gave out. She fell flat against the bed and huffed angrily.

“Loki, help…” she groaned. “Need it off. Jammies.” She smacked the empty spot next to her, beckoning to Loki to come be by her. He shook his head, brows knit together. What the fuck was he supposed to do? Where was the line? From this angle, he could see the fingertip bruises on the round of her ass that Stephen had left behind. The bites and hickeys between her thighs, getting darker and more numerous as they got closer to her pussy. Loki’s heart was pounding. This was not supposed to be part of the job. Stephen should be here, fixing this, or not having fucked up so badly in the first place. As much as he felt for her, he was not meant to see her body. Not like this. But she was begging and whimpering and uncomfortable and vulnerable. He couldn’t just leave her there. Not like this.

“Fine,” he said. Loki started with taking off her shoes, fiddling with the clasp before setting them near her closet. When he turned back to the bed, she’d rolled onto her back and was smiling at him through half-lidded eyes. Her makeup still lingered on her face, smeared everywhere. She mouthed “thank you” as he turned towards her bathroom to find some makeup remover.

It wasn’t hard to find. He propped her up on her pillows so he could clean her face and she wouldn’t stop looking at him. If he wiped the mascara from one eye, she was peeking at him with the other. Her hand gently held his wrist as he worked, not trying to stop him, but just trying to touch. Loki tried not to think anything of it. If she were sober, things would be different.

He realized from the state of her bedside table that she slept on the right side of the bed. Deciding she would be better off away from her phone, he moved her charger to the left side and plugged the phone in. If she got to it before she was ready, at least he could say he tried.

Next, he brushed the mats from her hair. Normally, it was silky and well-cared for, but she’d gone berserk tonight. He ended up having to use some leave-in conditioner just to keep from shredding her precious scalp. When he got the hair untangled though, Peach started humming at the feel of the bristles on her scalp, tilting her head back where it felt best. It was too cute to ignore, so Loki brushed her hair for a few extra minutes before stopping to find her pajamas.

He stripped her with clinical disinterest, keeping his eyes from focusing on any one spot for too long. That was both a blessing and a curse. The more of her body he saw and chose not to stare at, the more he saw of Stephen’s claim over her skin.

He dressed her quickly in a set of burgundy, satin pajamas. As he set her old clothes next to her shoes, she called out to him in a pathetic whine.

“Don’t go,” she said. He turned to face her. She’d made her way to the middle of the bed, clutching a pillow for dear life. “Stay with me. I don’t want to be alone…”

He sighed. That Peach knew exactly how to tug on his heartstrings. He couldn’t resist her, chewing on the inside of his cheek as he climbed in on the right side of the bed where there was more room. Peach immediately scooched up to cuddle with him and laid her head on his shoulder.

“Thank you,” she mumbled. “No one ever did that before.”

“You needed it,” he said. “Look at me before you fall asleep. I’m going to cast a hangover spell; eye contact makes it stronger.”

“No, no, no…” she smacked his chest. “Don’t fog me up. I don’t want it this time… I want to be awake for this.”

He was confused but chose not to ask, chalking it up to her drunken ramblings.

“You know what I do want?” she asked, throwing a leg over his.

“Hm?” He threaded his fingers through her hair and started massaging her scalp, relishing the way it made her body relax against him. She sighed into the touch.

“Strawberry roses. My mom used to make them… It was so nice,” she said. Her voice had gone raspy, eyes closed. Loki could tell she was almost asleep.

“I’ll make you some in the morning,” he said. He didn’t admit to her that he’d have to look up what the fuck a strawberry rose was, but by god would his Peach eat one come morning. They sat in comfortable silence while Loki massaged her scalp. He was listening hard, waiting to hear her breath slow, but it didn’t. She was fighting off the sleep. Thinking.

“Loki?”

“Yes?”

“I like you. I like you more than I tell you and I think about you. I think about you so much.”

“That’s nice,” he said. He rolled his eyes at the drunken blathering, thankful that she couldn’t see it.

“I think about you even when I’m with Stephen,” she said. His heart skipped a beat. “I hope that’s okay.”

He said your real name when he addressed you this time.

“You’re drunk,” he said, but he didn’t sense a lie in her words.

“Loki, I like you,” she whined.

“You’re very sweet,” he said.

“Loki,” she groaned, scrunching her face at him in frustration.

“Wha—”

And that’s when she kissed him.

Chapter Text

You were about to make a huge mistake.

“No. The fuck. I did not,” you asserted. You still hadn’t separated from Loki and didn’t want to admit to yourself the reason why. Laying on top of him, his hand traced aimless patterns along your back while the tip of your nose ghosted across the cool skin of his neck.

“You did, and I kissed you back until I remembered you were drunk,” he said. Pink heat oozed from your cheeks all the way down to your chest. Your pulse surged with fervor.

“Not true,” you squeaked. Your fingers tightened around the collar of his shirt and immediately uncurled when the action reminded you of the first time you kissed Stephen Strange.

“You’re welcome to believe that,” Loki sighed. You knew he was being honest, even without your own memory. It was the reason you’d felt so close to him all morning. Your body felt a connection to Loki when your brain couldn’t remember where it came from. It was the relief in your bones, the ease in the air. “And what I told him before still stands. I will be guarding you until you’re ready to talk things out with him.”

Your throat caught. A sweltering need to be even closer to him swelled in your chest. His phrasing took you…Guard, he’d said. Guard you. Like a prize, a treasure. You imagined Loki snarling with bared teeth, an arm stretched like a railing across your chest as he formed an indomitable barricade between you and Stephen. There was something empowering in knowing the moment you wanted Stephen back, Loki would step aside. That freedom, ironically, made you wish Loki felt the protective ownership over you that Stephen did. His entitlement could be found hiding under the veil of your memory if you looked hard enough, but how could you ever trust him when you didn’t understand his motives?

“Well…It’s not like I’ll be getting back with him after that,” you admitted. “I can’t believe he turned out to be such a…an…”

“Don’t think so?” Loki said, sensing how your thought would end. You hummed a negative, grateful that he didn’t force you to finish. It wasn’t helpful to wallow in your disdain for Strange. Loki’s fingers twitched over your back as he tried to contain himself. Your face prickled from the nerves…It was so hard being vulnerable with Loki, but this felt right. You couldn’t jerk him around after all he’d done for you. “I may try to make you mine. Officially, rather.”

You shifted to meet his gaze but said nothing, your lips slightly parted in shock. The tip of his prominent, elegant nose touched yours. He didn’t move away.

“Would you want that? To be courted?”

“I—” you stuttered before nodding rapidly. “Yes. Yes. I would.”

Loki’s eyelids lowered in contentment. His gaze slipped down to your lips and he tilted his head as if in thought. A pink flush swept over his defined cheekbones. With a sharp breath, he perked up as if he’d remembered something.

“You’ll think about that prospect carefully,” he said. “If I have you just for me, I don’t know if I could muster the strength to give you back.” Your heart fluttered as you swallowed a gasp. Loki appraised a lock of your hair, twirling it between his long fingers. “Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

You tucked your face against his collarbone as he cuddled you. Two of his fingers trailed along your wrist and up your arm until they found the side of your neck. Comfortable goosebumps bit the flesh as the backs of his fingers ghosted over that most sensitive skin. They pet smooth circles from your jawline to your collarbone until you felt yourself practically oozing over him. The silence was like a sanctuary. The soft, repetitive whisper of his breath nearly lulled you to sleep until he spoke again.

“You think about me when you’re with him,” he insisted. It wasn’t a question. You didn’t respond. Burning tingles pricked your cheeks as you hoped he would drop the subject. Loki raised his knee and adjusted his hips, resting his heel near your hip so his leg formed a triangle. “Even when he fucked you, I was there, wasn’t I? Were you able to admit it to yourself?”

That’s quite enough, you thought.

You pushed yourself off the bed and walked towards the kitchen. A knot of dread settled in your stomach as he followed.

“Loki, don’t.”

“Haven’t you wondered why? What is it about him that leaves you wanting?” His head quirked to the side. A soft, incredulous smile revealed deep laugh lines on his cheeks and he clicked his tongue in thought. “Did you wonder what I might do differently? How I’d compare?”

“Please don’t,” you said, folding your arms as you leaned back against the counter. Your eyes squeezed shut. Maybe when you opened them, he’d be gone. This whole morning could just be a hangover-fueled fever-dream…

“I’m desperate to know,” he said, his grin sinister. Your eyes shot open as you shivered with fury. It was humiliating enough to have him recount how you’d damaged your relationship with Stephen. How you’d blacked out drinking and damaged your professional reputation yet again thanks to the way these men affected you. Worst of all, you’d drunkenly told Loki your newest and most shameful secret: that you craved him on a subconscious level. You’d accepted the humiliation of all those awful things with grace under the guise of his charm. Now, he had the audacity to rub it in your face. After caring for you all night, holding you, making you breakfast…making you feel safe. The relief you’d felt to see him when you first woke up was a long-forgotten memory. A bitter taste lingered on your tongue.

“Come, now,” he prodded. “It’s an interesting question and I know you know the answer. Quit toying with me.” Oh, so he thinks he’s being cute, you thought. He must’ve mistaken your capacity for stress at work with your patience for ridicule. You rounded the counter to try and get more space from him and looked down at the dishrack next to your sink that glistened with droplets of water from the morning’s clean. Your face fell flat at the sight as their glitter and shine mocked your mood.

“Why does it matter so much to you?” You grabbed a cup from the rack and rolled it between your palms, needing something to do to keep from making eye contact with him.

“I want to know why your feelings towards me aren’t enough to earn your favor,” he said. Your hand tightened around the cup as he continued. He crossed his arms as he leaned on the wall directly across from you. “What quality of mine draws you in enough to keep you from committing to him? This war you feel inside over us is utterly fascinating. Why are you raising that glass? It’s empty.”

The sharp crash of the cup shattering against the wall made your ears ring. It made impact about six inches away from where his head was. Call it a warning shot.

“I am not a thing to be kept,” you spat. “I’m not an experiment to be pondered. It’s your turn to quit toying with me. Get the fuck out of my house.” You stamped towards the front door, ignoring Loki’s wide, stunned doe-eyes and parted lips. You hoped he didn’t pick up on the way your voice shook. Did he not realize how hurt you were over losing your connection with Stephen? Frustrated tears weighed at your lower lashes. The adrenaline had your throwing-hand fumbling over the deadbolt. When it finally unlatched, you yanked with full force, only to hear a thud and a gasp at your feet.

“Trouble in paradise?”

“Stephen?!”

He was sprawled out in your doorway, eyes rolled back as he looked up at you.

“My patients are supposed to call me ‘doctor,’ but I’ll let it slide this time,” he said. He didn’t attempt to get off the floor. Even at this angle, you saw how puffy and purple his under-eyes were. “Sorry for the scare. I was trying to sleep.”

“On my door?!”

“Well, technically, the door belongs to Tony Stark,” Loki chimed in.

“Shut up,” you barked, whipping your gaze back to glare at him. When you looked down at Doctor Strange, you noticed a bouquet of fuchsia and white stargazer lilies draped over his lap and your purse between his legs. “Why are you stalking me?”

“Just making sure you got home safe,” Strange explained. “I had to know you were okay. God knows that one can’t be trusted to take care of you.” He nodded towards Loki and sneered in disgust. Loki curled his lip.

“Yes, we can all see how very hard you tried. Finding her at her home. How did you ever guess she’d be here?” Loki snapped. “Too exhausted to knock after all that tiresome searching, were you?”

“Get out of here, Loki,” you groaned, sounding quite like a child embarrassed over their helicopter parent.

“Can’t charm your way out of this one, miscreant,” Strange taunted.

“You have no place here,” Loki said. His tone had turned from teasing to sharp, forcing you to remember his promise: to guard you from Doctor Strange until you explicitly said you were ready. Loki stepped forward and hooked his right leg out to subtly nudge you behind him. His wide, tall frame formed a perfect barrier between you and Stephen, who had rolled onto his knees to stare up at you in confusion.

“Excuse me?” Strange said. The tick in his jaw revealed his bewilderment, but you didn’t see it for long before Loki stepped even farther in front of you, cutting Stephen from view. “You don’t speak for her.”

“As it turns out, I might.” Loki clasped his hands behind his back tried to fight a smirk by poking his tongue against his cheek. It didn’t work.

“No. We aren’t doing this,” Strange said, glowering at Loki as he stood. His right hand trembled as he gestured emphatically. “Peach, I’m not done with you. So, we had one fight. I want one adult conversation with you to talk it out, and if you still hate me, I promise I will let it go and leave you be.”

Loki scoffed and rolled his eyes, “You can’t possibly think—”

“No time tricks?” you asked. Loki’s teeth clicked together as his jaw snapped shut. His hands tightened but he said nothing as he, quite literally, stepped to the side so Stephen could see you again. 

“None,” Stephen said.

“Get me the hell away from him,” you said warmly, a wicked smile tugging at your lips as you shouldered past Loki and held your hand out to Doctor Strange. In your periphery, you could see Loki’s vicious, wide-eyed stare, his flexed jaw, but pretended not to notice.

“What did he do?” Stephen asked. He took your hand and looked over your shoulder. You stretched on your tip-toes and kissed your doctor on the cheek twice, slow and deliberate to make him sigh as his free hand slipped over your lower back. Even if you resented whatever relationship Stephen might have with Leslie, you had something to prove to Loki: you weren’t desperate enough to be some game to him.

“Darling,” you hummed, pressing a third kiss at Doctor Strange’s jaw. “Take me away.”

“What did he do…?” By the glazed look in Stephen’s eyes, the touch of your lips was enough to short-circuit whatever protective, jealous wire in his brain that was trying to fire off. Praise the heavens for that man’s insatiable sex-drive.

“Why don’t we talk it over in the hospital? I can fill you in while you make your rounds.” You looked back over your shoulder to Loki, whose chest heaved with calculated breaths as he sorted through his wrath. “You can see yourself out, right?”

Loki’s eye twitched. You’d forgotten that drunk-you had told Loki the details of your encounter with Stephen Strange, which must’ve included the doctor’s pet name for his bed. That flashbulb realization made your stomach drop. Oops.

“The next time he disappoints you,” Loki said. “Which isn’t a matter of ‘if,’ but ‘when,’ you should reconsider your drinking habits.”

By then, Stephen’s eyes drooped pathetically as he leaned into your touch. Apparently worry and lack of sleep turned his horndog factor up by one thousand.

“Do you want…here…? Or…?” Stephen grumbled.

“When’s the last time you slept…?” You observed his puffy lips and bloodshot eyes, placing your palm on his cheek.

“Umm…Friday…” He said. “Since I was watching him.” He glowered at Loki. “I was going to sleep Saturday but we had our date and…” He paused to yawn. “I was too worried to sleep on Sunday…” His voice had a slight rasp that you found way too endearing.

“You poor thing…Maybe I can tire you out,” you snickered.

“Oh, for the love of God. Have you no shame?” Loki cried.

Why was Loki still here, anyways? You had no intentions of sleeping with Stephen, but you thought enough flirting would have sent Loki running for the—wait. It was Monday. He was technically on the clock for Stark Industries. As your assistant.

“Actually…Loki, we could really use you right now,” you said. Your thumb smoothed over the back of Stephen’s hand. The color drained from Loki’s cheeks. Doctor Strange shivered. Goosebumps rose on his arms.

“Peach…” Strange sighed as he dipped his forehead to rest on your shoulder. He tightened his hand around yours.

“I will not share you,” Loki growled through clenched teeth. “Not with him.”

“I don’t mean like that, good lord,” you said. “I mean as a lie detector. If he’s going to tell me his side of the story, I want to know for a fact that it’s true. You need to stay here while we talk. It’ll be your first duty as my assistant.”

Loki knocked his head back in a fit of laughter.

“You called out today!”

“But you didn’t,” you said with a smirk. Loki’s smile fell.

The boys sat on your couch as far apart from each other as possible. You sat across from them in a white upholstered armchair with wooden accents. The lilies Stephen brought laid across your lap. Your purse dangled from a hook near the front door. You’d crossed your legs, scowling at the current banes of your existence, and tried to look as scrutinizing as possible.

Your gaze flickered back and forth from Loki to Stephen as you decided where to begin. Strange looked exhausted and confused. He was so horny from your teasing that it hurt and his eyes were barely open. He hunched over, resting his elbows on his knees to hide his raging erection. Loki looked put-out and annoyed, leaning back against the couch with his right ankle propped on his left knee to create a figure-four. He leaned his left elbow on the arm of the couch and pressed those supported fingers against his temple as he waited for your questioning.

“Why was Doctor Leslie at your house?” you said.

“I don’t—”

“Lie,” Loki sighed.

“She came to consult about our meal plans…” Strange tried.

“That’s…mostly true. He’s holding back,” Loki said.

Stephen rolled his eyes.

“She wanted to know more about you,” he said. “She doesn’t like you…She wanted to know if there was a way to…persuade—”

“Manipulate,” you interrupted.

“She wants more say, more power, more projects. You’re in her way,” Stephen said. “I didn’t know that was her plan until after she showed up. I thought it was just a consult. That’s why I didn’t want you there. I was trying to protect you from her. I didn’t want her to know—to see you—I mean. I thought it would give her too much leverage.” You looked at Loki expectantly, brows raised. He scowled.

“True,” he said reluctantly. Maybe Loki would stick with the truth to earn your trust back, you thought.

“Did you help her?”

“No,” Strange rushed, his tone harsh and forceful. Loki’s expressionless face silently begged to be excused from the conversation.

“You’re at work, Laufeyson. Do your job,” you hissed.

“Truth.”

“Did you fuck her?”

“Peach, we aren’t exclusive. Why is that part of it?” Strange whined.

“It’s a yes or no. She clearly wanted me to think you had sex.”

“That’s not a fair question. You would’ve fucked Loki today if he hadn’t made an ass of himself.”

Loki’s brows rose and he suddenly looked very interested in the conversation. The glow had returned to his cheeks and he side-eyed Strange as he (poorly) pretended not to care.

“That’s not true!” you shouted, exasperated.

“She’s lying,” Loki realized, barking a laugh. You ignored him.

“Oh, fuck off, I could feel the heat coming off you from the moment he undressed you,” Stephen said.

“You were outside the apartment for that long? Wait—you asked me what he did to piss me off but—but—you were listening the whole time?!” You were screaming at him, your lungs ablaze.

“What can I say, the man’s a liar,” Loki said sweetly. He inspected his fingernails.

“I wouldn’t have stopped him, though!” Stephen groaned. “That’s how not committing to someone works! Would I have been thrilled about it? No, but it’s not like I own you. I wouldn’t have held it against you. I still would have waited at the door to make sure you were okay and asked for a chance to talk.”

“Did you fuck her or not, Stephen?”

“No,” he said sternly, his blue eyes boring holes into the floor.

“Is that his answer or is he just being defiant?” You trained your eyes on Loki as your hold tightened around the lily stems. The anticipation was making you nauseous.

“Guess,” Loki said.

“It…” Stephen grimaced and finally made eye contact with you again. He ran each hand through the silver stripes in his hair and tugged. “It didn’t start until after you left. I thought it would help convince her you and I weren’t serious…It…It was part of the strategy, you know? It—fuck. Peach, don’t look at me like that. Please? It was politics. Come on, don’t do that to me.”

“With the sexual appetite you have, Stephen, it’s just obnoxious that you’d have me take pity on you and believe fucking Leslie was you doing me a kindness,” you snapped. “Well, was she good? Was it worth it?”

“He’s going to tell the truth,” Loki started. “Wait—wait no, he changed his mind. He’s going to lie.”

“Fuck, man.” Your voice cracked. “You have cosmic fucking powers and you couldn’t pick up on the fact that I was trying to protect myself from getting hurt? You think I’m some cold, emotionless droid that dates and romances without getting attached? I…I wanted you to want to be with me. I wanted you to pursue me, and instead you bang her because it might do me a favor that you never intended me to know about? This is why I can never be vulnerable with men. It’s gotten me the shit end of the stick every time.”

“How could you expect me to know that?” Stephen rasped. “I tried to respect your privacy—”

“By lurking outside of my home and eavesdropping on me and Loki? You didn’t give me privacy when you were sniffing out my want for him, did you?”

“How are you this upset when you’d rather be with Loki anyways?!” Stephen’s face was red as a poppy. A jagged vein flexed under the taut skin of his forehead.

Loki’s left brow shot up in confusion, his eyes hungry and back straight as the spine of a book as he waited for your response.

“Whatever she’s thinking, it’s a lie,” he said, sounding so excited it was predatory. You folded yourself over your lap and pressed the heels of your palms against your eyelids. A primal growl erupted from your chest. It was all you could do to keep yourself from screaming.

“Make up your mind and decide which opposing reason you’re actually mad at me for so I can have a chance in defending myself. Which one is it? Huh? Do you need me to ‘pursue’ you or do you need me to leave you alone so you can be with another man?”

“A god,” Loki corrected with an open-mouthed grin, prideful over his pre-possession of you. His eyes flickered back and forth between you and Stephen. A stray lock of his dark hair fell over his left eye but he was too entranced by the argument to bother tucking it behind his ear. Your voice became a stammer in your throat as you tried to conjure a rebuttal before dying off. You were left gaping at him, hoping an argument would fall from your mouth, but found only silence. Your heart thudded inside your chest. A rim of sweat on your forehead gave you a chill as it cooled. Your grip around the bouquet loosened and your shoulders dropped.

“Peach, I care about you,” Doctor Strange said, his gravelly voice emphatic. “Can’t you see that? I watch over you. I make sure Loki does right by you, even when it hurts me. I was prepared to wait in front of your door all morning, even if I had to listen to you fuck him, just to make sure you were alright, just to get the chance to make things right with you, so for the love of all that is sacred can we just call a truce already?”

“Good fucking lord, you men will be my ruin…Fine. Truce,” you said, wiping the backs of your hands over your eyes and sniffing. “Loki?”

He hummed in question and raised his brows.

“It’s time for your second task as my assistant. Go find me Derick Bartholomew and have him meet us at the gym. I need to train. Get some of this energy out.”

“You mean Darren Bartell?”

“Yeah, whatever. That guy.”

Chapter Text

Your chest heaved every time you slammed down. It was a balancing act: touching down delicately on the right spot and pushing off without losing speed or twisting the wrong way. Sweat trickled down your brow. Your lungs burned. Soon, your legs would tremble. You glowered down at Loki who passively watched your struggle with his hands folded behind his head.

“She’s good,” he said.

“Quick, too,” Darren replied.

Your eyes flickered to the counter on the treadmill. Thirteen minutes had passed and you’d just hit a mile. Not your worst speed, but certainly not your best. The last time you were in the gym, you were running seven-minute miles with a thirty-pound pack strapped to your back. Without that weight, you were clearing five-minute miles with ease. Today, just ten pounds on your back and a slight incline set your whole body ablaze. It didn’t help that your assistants were ogling you.

“Do you men have nothing better to do? We’re at the gym. Work out. Go somewhere. Quit bothering me,” you said between breaths, flailing your hands to shoo them away.

“She’s feisty when she’s tired,” Darren laughed. Loki smirked.

“I’m. Not. Even. Close. To. Tired,” you panted.

“How long will you run for?” Loki said.

“Until I can’t.”

That time, as luck would have it, came fifteen minutes later. You’d wanted to call it two minutes later, but spite fueled you on and you needed to prove to Darren and Loki both that you were in much better shape than you really were. Seeing how much progress you’d lost since your last bout of training made you ashamed. It shouldn’t have, but it did. How could all that work go to waste so quickly? What if there had been a security breach before now? How could you protect Stark Industries if you weren’t fast enough?

“What next?” Darren said. The message Tony had sent you flashed through your mind: an instruction to include Loki and Darren in your training because they were your assistants. You were the one who insisted on training during work hours, after all, so keeping the boys, your employees, handy during that time was your penance. You rolled your eyes at the memory before Tony’s second instruction came to mind: begin combat training ASAP. It was never something he’d had you do before, but you had no choice. It was part of the job. Frankly, it ticked you off that he assigned it. Did he not have faith in your ability to get away?

At least you could take your frustrations out on the punching bag.

Admittedly, it felt good. You were tired, yes, but the urge to drink your troubles away faded with each knee strike, punch, and eye-gouge you threw into the bag. You also realized the other reason why Tony insisted on Darren attending trainings. He was well-versed in hand-to-hand combat thanks to his father being a fighter. If his opportunity at Stark Industries didn’t work out, he planned on opening his own dojo. You thought of Karate Kid and rolled your eyes.

With Loki watching silently in the corner, Darren stepped in to correct your form and to show you how to parry. He walked slow circles around you as you wailed on that ugly, firetruck-red, faux-leather punching bag, occasionally stepping in to tuck your elbows or adjust your posture. He also taught you something called the fishhook, where you’d dig your fingers into the other person’s cheek and pull with all your might, careful not to let them catch you with their teeth. It was apparently a dirty move, but necessary in the right situation. It gave you leverage, control, and time if things were getting dicey. You spent a good while after that demonstration washing his spit off your fingers, never quite feeling clean enough.

“You ready for the real-deal now?” Darren challenged. He was already slipping his hands into a pair of protective gloves as you wiped your damp hands over the tops of your thighs.

“Huh?” you said, tilting your head in confusion.

Loki stepped forward. Darren jumped at the sight of him, seeming to have forgotten that he was there after such a long time silently lingering in the corner.

“I think she’s ready to stop for the day,” Loki said firmly. His face was flat, hands folded behind his back. What was he so tense for?

“She can take one more fight,” Darren said, his tone condescending.

“She’s been working out for two and a half hours now,” Loki said, jutting his head forward. “I should’ve ended this an hour ago. Look at her.” He extended his arm out to you but didn’t break eye contact with Darren. “She’s exhausted. It’s time.”

“I can take one more,” you said, not wanting to seem weak in front of either man. “One more, then we’re done. Okay?” You smiled at Loki to reassure him, but he wouldn’t look at you. His jaw was tight as he stepped out of the way, though this time he didn’t retreat to the corner. He stood only a foot or two at most behind you as you strapped your gloves on for the final time that day. If he were any closer, you were sure you’d feel his breath on the back of your neck. Darren looked over your shoulder at Loki, face scrunched in pure confusion. Darren’s gaze flickered back to you, brows drooping as his expression morphed to that of a teacher, a challenger.

“Alright, shoulders back. I want to see that palm open when you parry, right? Okay…” Darren shifted his weight side to side as you settled into proper form, waiting for him to pounce. He jabbed and you parried right on time. He punched across and you deflected it with your elbow. The only sounds in the room were the sharp slap of skin against glove and your angry huffs of breath as you fended him off.

“Atta girl,” he said. “Not too hard, right?” You shook your head and jumped side to side, waiting for him to move so you could react. “Why don’t you come at me? That’s it, yeah, step forward. Throw me a few. I want to see you fight.” He was laughing breathlessly, clearly having a lot of fun being in his own element. You could feel Loki behind you, staring and rocking with you. Though you couldn’t see him, your intuition knew it was true. You pressed into Darren’s space and threw a few jabs which he parried against perfectly.

“That’s it, keep going,” he said.

Something about his smiling while you were so tired was pissing you off. You tried a punch. He blocked. Knee strike. He deflected. Your chest rose and fell dramatically with your frustration. You wanted to prove you’d learned something, to end the day on a win. How could you win when that greasy little smirk of his was giving you tunnel vision?

You anchored into your front foot, pivoted your hips as your back knee drew in, and sent your heel flying out full-force. Darren never saw it coming. It was an immaculate side-kick delivered square into his chest. Flawless execution. He reeled back and clutched his chest, squawking as he tried to catch his breath.

“Okay,” he said, nodding in encouragement. “Okay…Nice try. That—that was good. Alright. One more.”

He pressed back into your space as you turned your hips and launched again. This time, Darren knocked your foot out of the way and you completely lost your foundation. Your kicking foot flung out to the side. You yelped in surprise as you felt yourself falling. Your arms reached out, grasping at the ceiling, at nothing. Your body braced for impact.

The air rushed from your lungs as Loki’s arms came around you like a cage. He scooped you up before you could land, tucking his chin over your left shoulder. He dragged you back a few feet and then set you loose when you were ready to stand. He stepped between you and Darren, taking a defensive, wide-legged stance as he jabbed his finger at the younger man. Loki’s nose twitched as he tried not to snarl.

“I told you,” he growled. “She’s had enough.”

“One more,” Darren insisted, shaking his head ‘no.’ “It’s good to learn to fall, the pain is a good lesson. A real opponent wouldn’t let her off so easily.”

“One more,” you panted. “Just one.” You lurched forward around Loki, knees wobbling. There was no energy left to kick him, and now the fear of falling was too fresh, but there was still a punch left in you. You rolled your shoulders back, grinding the ball of your foot against the ground for stability.

Darren realized your mistake even quicker than you did, watching you shuffle your arms to prepare for the next punch. You’d given your plan away and it was too late to pull back. He ducked, hooked his foot around yours to sweep it out from under you, and down you went. Loki caught you even quicker this time, his grip so tight it hurt. He chomped over your shoulder like a rabid Malinois, roaring at Darren.

“YOU KNEW WHAT YOU WERE DOING,” Loki screamed. Pearls of spit like buckshot spewed from his maw. Your ears rung at the volume. “HOW DARE YOU DEFY ME TO ATTEMPT HURTING HER.”

Darren showed his palms in defense. As Loki twisted his torso to the side to tuck you behind him, his right arm pinned you against him as he all but strapped himself down to keep from lunging at Darren.

“Hey man,” Darren said. “Chill out. We’re fine. She’s good, look at her. We can be done now. It’s over. We’re done.”

“You’re absolutely right, we’re done,” Loki hissed. “Try that shit again and the last sound that will leak from your mangled body will be you begging me to end you. Are we clear?”

Good lord. You wanted to blame it on the adrenaline, an involuntary groinal response, perhaps, but that dark, seething rumble in Loki’s threat made your pussy clench. It shouldn’t be so easy for a man to turn you on, you thought. The memory of his voice rang through your mind, correcting you. He is no man, it said, he is a god. He was. Fuck.

Back at the apartment, Loki had finally seemed to calm himself down. You’d practically wrenched him from the gym, only able to pull him away when you agreed to let him walk you home. He was ready to massacre Darren, unwilling to let the kid explain that getting hurt was part of training. You needed to learn to fall, to have someone fight you back, but Loki was having none of it. You chalked his overreaction up to his protectiveness, watching his hands periodically clench into fists and relax again as your skin remembered the exact placement of those hands around your body when he’d caught you.

“You’re limping,” he said, tone cold as steel. You jiggled the key in the lock until it submitted, shoving it open with your shoulder. You had to catch yourself from falling as the door popped open and hoped Loki didn’t notice.

“I’m just tired,” you said. “I’ll be fine.” His eyelids drooped. He gave you the stony expression of a warrior kept from battle, like he was pent up, just one inconvenience away from boiling over again. You stood in the doorway as a half-hearted attempt to send him home so you could wallow in your loss alone.

“That’s a lie,” he said. His eyelid twitched. “If you choose to suffer through it, that’s your call, but what he did was dirty and unfair. You’ve never fought before and he took advantage of that.”

“Loki,” you condescended. “If you can’t let me learn to fail, how will I ever be able to fight?”

“It doesn’t take a living lie detector to realize you would’ve cracked your skull open had I not been there. With such delicate mortal ankles, one would think you’d be a little more careful throwing your body around so recklessly,” he quipped. “Out of my way.” Loki pushed right past you, welcoming himself into your home.

“Sure, come on in,” you sighed, rolling your eyes. The door clicked as it shut. Loki was walking out of your bathroom, scraping his palm across his jaw and clawing at his lips as if he were trying to physically will his thoughts not to be spoken aloud. The hearty rumble of the bathtub running filled the room.

“You’re…running yourself a bath?”

“It’s not for me,” Loki said.

“O-oh…Thank you.”

He nodded. You both stared at each other in silence for a long moment before he spoke again.

“Will you need help getting in?”

“No,” you mumbled. Why was your voice so small? What were you nervous for? Loki squinted his eyes at you, trying to get a read. You weren’t lying, or so you thought, until you took a step towards him and found your ankle seizing up and feeling like it had just gone through a meat tenderizer. You yelped in pain.

“What did you do to me?”

“I didn’t do anything,” he said. “The adrenaline has worn off. Perhaps now you’ll realize just how rough he was with you.” His nose scrunched up at the memory as though it had a rancid smell. He walked up to meet you, extending his arms in an offer to pick you up. “It was spectacularly difficult to watch.”

“No spells?” you asked sheepishly. Loki shook his head no, smirking as he picked you up bridal style and carried you to the bathroom.

“I won’t bail you out of this one so easily, darling. Someone told me not long ago it would be good for you to learn to fail, that the pain might teach you something.”

You rolled your eyes as he set you down on the counter, looking smug. He was quite pleased with his own wit. You pursed your lips to the side, choosing not to meet his penetrating gaze. The tub was nearly full, capped with a thick layer of iridescent bubbles that he’d added for you. Your heart fluttered.

“I don’t mean to force your hand, but…” he started. For being so smug just moments ago, Loki was suddenly the sheepish one, staring into the sink as a wave of pink rose from his collarbones all the way up to his hairline.

“Out with it,” you croaked, sounding much softer than you’d intended.

“Do you need any help?”

“In the—”

“Yes.” He gulped. Your eyes met and you froze, paralyzed by the vibrant green that stared back at you. Loki turned and stepped away suddenly, like an animal startled by a noise in the bushes. He busied himself with turning the water in the tub off before facing you again, his posture stiffer than a brick of ice.

“Well…”

“I could call Stephen for you,” he said, taking a small step back. “I—I understand you two have an…arrangement.”

“No,” you said too quickly. Intuition took over and you had to restrain yourself from slapping your own forehead. “I—I trust you. It’s purely platonic.”

“Medical, even,” he offered with a nod. Your heart thudded sloppily.

“Right, exactly.”

Both of you were lying. Both of you knew it. Neither of you said a fucking word to acknowledge it.

“Just—don’t, uhh—”

“You forget I’ve seen you before,” Loki said. “But again, my eye won’t linger. Purely platonic.” He shoved his hands in his pockets, tilting his head to wait for your cue. Your breath was picking up. Why were you nervous? Loki sat on the edge of the tub, giving you some distance.

“You’re safe,” he said. “Just tell me what you want me to do.”

“Okay…okay, yes,” you said. You peeled your shirt away and unhooked your bra with one hand, tossing them to the side quickly before you lost your nerve. “My pants, please.” Loki’s eyes were locked on your face, like he needed to prove to you he wouldn’t ogle your body. He exhaled slowly through his nose and nodded, standing to meet you. He only looked down to ensure a good grip on the waistband of your workout leggings, pulling down as you grounded your palms against the counter and locked your elbows to lift your bottom for him. He handled you like delicate porcelain, peeling the clothing so carefully that your ankle wasn’t bothered at all.

His chest heaved as he cradled your naked body, lifting you off the counter and setting you in the tub with marked tenderness. You sunk in, laying your arms over the sides of the tub and closing your eyes. Steam had started to fog the room and cleared your chest as you breathed. The bubbles made everything around you smell like roses. You were in heaven. A deep sigh escaped your throat as the heat from your bath permeated your muscles. It sent pleasant, relaxing prickles through your frame.

“There we are…ah-ah, best to keep the ankle raised,” Loki corrected, dipping his hand in the water to find your hurt ankle and prop it up on the rim of the tub. “Good girl. I’ll be in the living room, just call out if you n—”

“Don’t go,” you said. “I…umm…I need help washing my hair. Please.” He didn’t call you out for lying, but you were certain from the way he pursed his lips to the side that he picked up on it.

“You can’t wash your hair…?”

“Unh uh,” you said.

“Because of the ankle,” Loki said, raising a suspicious brow.

“Right.”

His face quirked in confusion, but he humored you and sat on the edge of the tub for leverage. His left arm wrapped around your upper back while his right hand cupped the back of your head.

“Scooch for me and lean back,” he said softly. As you obeyed, arching your back, you felt your breasts threatening to poke through the layer of bubbles hiding them. You weren’t sure you had the bravado to play it cool if they did, so you let your eyes flutter shut. Ignorance would be your saving grace. Loki’s fingers gave your scalp a gentle massage that sent goosebumps down your shoulders.

The more chills you got, the more you relaxed into Loki’s touch. Soon you were melting, leaning your full weight against his hold so he’d keep up the massage. You were drunk on the experience: soft bubbles caressing, the scent of roses fogging up your brain, and Loki’s skilled hands making you pliant as ever.

“Sweet thing,” he mumbled, readjusting his hand against your shoulder blade. “Must be exhausted.” His teeth were chattering. Your heart skipped a beat.

Few times in your life had you actually followed the advice to follow your gut instinct unquestioningly. This was one of those few.

You opened your eyes again, finding Loki with his high cheekbones and sharp jawline looking entranced as he met your gaze. You used your good foot to push against the far edge of the tub, sliding up to sit. His eyes were busy scanning your face, puzzled by your motives. You wrapped your hand around the back of his neck and kissed him. You would count this as your first kiss with Loki.

The touch of your lips spurred him to life. He jerked like a colt, restraining himself from jumping into the tub with you. His hands frantically searched for a place to settle, deciding on your cheeks before pulling you deeper into the kiss. He sighed into your mouth, his warm breath tasting like tea on a rainy day: fresh, natural, and with undertones of honey. His hands slid back to your scalp, fingers curling and scratching lightly before tugging at the roots. He pulled you away.

“I’m sorr—” you panted.

“Don’t,” he said, sounding just as breathless. “Don’t do that. Are you going to let me have you or not?”

“Y—”

He was yanking you out of the tub before you could finish.

You screamed in laughter as Loki took off with you in his arms. A river’s worth of water crashed to the floor in his haste to pull you from the tub. The bathroom would be soaked, a problem for later. He wrapped your body in a towel that hung on the bathroom door along his rush to the bedroom, rubbing his hands over the outside to help you dry off quicker.

Wait…Why wasn’t he taking you to the bedroom?

Loki had walked you to the living room and took a spot on the couch. You sat sideways on his lap and he gingerly slipped the towel off as you turned to straddle him. He wasted no time to take his first real look at your body. With his right hand supporting your tailbone, Loki placed his palm on your chest to make you lean back. Water from your hair trickled down your back and caught on his hand. He didn’t seem to care. He chewed the inside of his cheek as his eyes raked over your frame. One eyebrow raised and he sighed, slowly shaking his head.

“You are absurdly pretty,” he said, sliding his hand up your back to pull you up. You kissed him again, taking a sharp inhale in surprise when he took your bottom lip between his teeth, sucking it lightly before pulling away again. “You are a phenomenal woman. So smart…witty…brutal. If I were a lesser man, I would spare no expense to steal you away from Strange for good. You’d never even share a building with him again. Any man who can earn your affection has more fortune than the gods.”

You practically flung yourself up to reach his face and, as if you shared a hive-mind, he already had his hands on your cheeks before your lips met. It was violent and merciless: your mouths pressed together so tightly they could form diamonds. Though his lips were thin, they were soft and fervent, pushing over and over against yours.

He bit your lower lip again and you groaned. His tongue grazed over the bite, asking sweetly for you to grant him access. You opened for him, sighing into his kiss as your tongue met his. They danced, beautiful clicks and pops erupting from the space where you connected.

His right hand finally slipped around to the back of your head, fingers threading through your hair. He made a fist, yanking on your scalp in the most delicious way to gain control so he could keep your mouth moving against his. You whined and sank down, feeling Loki’s cock straining against impatiently against his pants.

“I don’t want you to ever be away from me,” he gasped before slipping his tongue back into your mouth.

“Then don’t be,” you groaned, rolling your hips. The pressure of his erection against your clit sent an addictive wave of pleasure through your spine, making your back arch.

“I don’t know if I’ll be able to give you back,” he admitted before dipping back into the kiss. Chills rocketed across your skin. His touch was electric, smooth, controlled. Trusting that you’d keep making out with him, Loki slid his hands down your sides and settled on your hips. They gripped tight, thumbs pressing into your hipbones as he pushed you harder against him. His long fingers pressed on your backside, urging your hips to tilt as he guided you to roll over him just right.

You whined. The pleasure of his touch made an unbearable heat radiate from your pussy. You finally pulled away from his lips in favor of kissing down his strong jawline. His eyes fluttered shut as he tilted his head back for you. He sighed so pretty for you as you kissed and nibbled his neck. He was warm and tasted sweet. Now that the smell of him, the smell of home, was this close, it flooded your senses.

“Good girl,” he sighed. Your cunt throbbed at the phrase and you started sucking over a bite on his neck to reward him. He chuckled lowly. “Ohh, you like that? You like being called a good girl?”

You raised yourself up by placing your palms on his chest, brows furrowed and eyes wide in surprise. His smirk was pure mischief, one eyebrow raised as if inviting you to challenge him.

“Let’s not pretend like I didn’t feel that. You pulse for my voice, my praise. Is it better when you earn it or when I give it to you freely?”

You gulped. You felt yourself tightening in want around nothing. The fact that he would know if you lied made the boldness of his question equally better and worse. You were silent for a really long time, getting wetter and wetter as you pondered his question and whether you were willing to answer.

“…I’m not sure,” you admitted. It was the most honest answer you could give.

“Fine,” Loki said. “Then we will just have to try both and I will decide for myself.” In one swift move, Loki flipped you onto your back and hovered over you, his left foot stabilized on the floor and his right knee planted between your knees. If it weren’t for the playful glint in his eye, he would have looked absolutely menacing as he grinned down at you. Now he was the one rolling his clothed groin over yours. He kissed you again, his hand sliding up your stomach to cup your breast and, as if on cue, Loki jolted away from you as if he’d suddenly realized what he was doing.

You were panting.

“I’m bored. Why don’t we take a snack break?” he said, face flat and unassuming. Your throat tightened and mouth flapped wordlessly like a fish out of water. Your hands instinctively wrapped around your chest and legs pulled in, trying to cover your honor.

“Are you—” you started, but Loki wasn’t listening. He was too busy throwing you over his shoulder as he dragged you off to the kitchen. You yelped, kicking and punching at his back, trying to squirm away from his grip, but it was useless. He plunked your bare ass down on the counter and you screeched, immediately trying to push off of the cold surface.

“You understand I was a prince on Asgard, right, my lovely?”

You were panting still, but for a totally new reason. You nodded, unsure of where this was going.

“You can imagine how well-fed Asgardian royalty is,” Loki explained. “If you want me to keep telling you what a good girl you are, you might consider offering me a meal that’s up to the standards of a prince like myself.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

“Are we tracking, darling?”

You nodded, your legs spreading as if on their own accord. Your back arched, nipples hardening as Loki stripped himself there in the middle of your kitchen. He shook out his dark ringlets as his shirt hit the floor. When his pants dropped, you finally got to see his crowning glory. Loki’s cock was fucking massive. Long, longer than…And so thick. Veins. Pretty fucking veins. Your brain was short circuiting at the sight of him. Your cunt clenched as you wondered how much longer it would be until that magnificent thing was pounding you senseless.

His smirk was devastating as he folded his arms, watching you hold yourself open on the counter for him. Your thighs trembled in anticipation.

“Well you certainly know how to present,” he mocked. “Good girl.”

You throbbed.

He walked up to you, placing one hand around the back of your neck and the other at the crease of your hip as he welcomed himself to your neck, licking and sucking, practically making out with the column of your throat. Oh, how he hungered for you.

“When Strange sees my marks over his…the freshness of them…” he growled between nibbles. “He will be utterly emasculated…devastated…to see what he so carelessly lost. This treasure…Now mine. You’ll have to capture the moment for me if I’m not there.” He went lower, lower, down to your tits. His aggressiveness tempered as he reached them, now laving his tongue over your taut nipples so delicately you could’ve been convinced he was toying you with rose petals.

Your pussy fluttered. You were pretty sure by now that your womanhood was slick enough to polish the countertops and have some left to spare.

“Loki—d-don’t,” you said, despite how much his mouth excited you. “We aren’t…unh…I might still…fuck, just like that…”

“You might still what?” He pulled away, straightening his back as he furrowed his brows at you.

“Well…” Your heart was pounding. “I’m not looking for anything exclusive right now.”

His nostrils flared. His eyes lost that playful warmth they’d held only moments before.

“You mean you may still want him to fuck you? Him, with his ‘pretty cock’?’” His voice grated through his clamped jaw, flooded with bitterness at the word ‘him,’ as if the implication of Stephen alone was enough to put a sour taste in his mouth.

“I never said his cock wa—"

“Well that’s what that inebriated woman I spent the night with said. You may want to chat with her about honesty,” Loki spat. “Tell me now, do you think you’ll have sex with him after this?”

You felt tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. You felt so vulnerable and anxious, spread in front of Loki as he interrogated you. His cold tone was biting and you knew you couldn’t get away with lying to him. You squeezed your eyes shut, clenching your fingers around the edge of the counter as you quietly admitted that yes, you might have sex with Stephen again.

“Good,” Loki said, his voice now eerily calm. “As a matter of fact, I hope you do. I encourage it, because I want you to feel the full brunt of disappointment when you realize no other man will get you off the way that I can. I want Stephen to see that too, how I’ve ruined you for him, so that he will remember what a putrid little wretch he is, any time he thinks of me.”

You gulped and despite the ominous, almost evil chill his tone had taken on, felt yourself growing needier with every word. His possessiveness alone was enough to get you off.

“I won’t even need to put you to sleep. No spells required for you to be fully satisfied by me,” he said, shaking his head slowly. Your clit swelled as he sauntered back to you. He was giving you time to change your mind. You didn’t. Loki sank to his knees and pulled your legs over his shoulders. He looked up at you, jade eyes sparkling with rage.

“I want you to remember this moment,” he said, the heat of his breath fanning over your pussy as he spoke. It only made the throbbing worse. “Because it will be the last that you revere Stephen Strange as your ‘god of sex.’” His head tilted in mock innocence as his eyes travelled down your body again, slowly, until reaching your cunt. He hummed to himself, curling his hands around your thighs. He used one hand to part the lips and leaned in. You watched as he breathed over it, licked his lips, and closed his eyes, inching closer, closer, closer, and then pulled away to kiss your inner thighs, starting at the hinge of your knees.

You didn’t realize how rapid your breathing was until you groaned in protest at the tease.

“No fair,” you grumbled.

“Very fair,” Loki corrected, biting your thighs and sloppily kissing over the marks he left as he travelled closer to your core. “Before you kneels intergalactic royalty, a god starved for a decent meal, and you dare tell him he might have to split this magnificent feast with someone else?” He took an extra hard bite and you flinched before his tongue soothed the sting. “You’re lucky I don’t fucking spank you.” Your heart skipped a beat, your pussy throbbing harder at the suggestion. His jealousy was like kerosene to the flame between your legs. His eyes flickered up to meet yours as he was face to face with your pussy again. Your chest tightened, body holding still as stone for fear that he might back away again. It was everything in you not to squirm, to buck up and reach him, to do anything to relieve the pressure stacking behind your pubic bone.

Loki smirked, blinking slowly at you before licking a long, fat stripe along your pussy all the way from the hole to your clit, grunting in satisfaction at the taste. You cried out and tossed your head back, grip tightening over the edge of the counter. He slipped his tongue back down to the hole and dragged it up again before sucking on your clit, pulling your essence into his mouth. He swallowed and it sent a shudder through your frame. You hooked your right ankle around his back as you felt him backing away, trying to keep him close.

“N—”

“You taste…” he said. “Celestial. So, so sweet. But have you earned more?” He kissed your inner thighs again before raising his eyes to you.

“Please,” you panted. You arched towards him, unable to keep your brows from furrowing in desperation. “Please, please, I’ll do whatever, I don’t care, please just fucking give it to me.”

“So now she decides to be honest? What a good girl.” he said, smirking. His eyes fluttered shut as he leaned back to your core, taking in your scent. “What will you do?”

“Name it, just please—fuck—dude c’mon,” you babbled. His tongue lolled out to flick against your clit once more. You felt your pussy gush. “Anything.”

“Keep that wretched doctor’s name off your tongue for as long as you live,” he proposed before swirling his tongue over your cunt again in perfect little circles.

“It’s done,” you swore breathlessly. “Never again.”

“Good girl,” he growled. You shuddered, locking your thighs around the sides of Loki’s face as he toyed your clit. As you peered down at him, buried between your quivering legs, the sight of his brows scrunched in focus made the constant lap of his tongue suddenly feel like a star bursting, white hot flame, sparks shooting down your spine and into your tailbone. You closed your eyes as the thrill of your oncoming orgasm swelled in your chest.

“Yes—Loki, I—”

“Not so fast,” he said, prying your thighs away from his cheeks. His chin was wet, sparkling with your dew. The sides of his face were red from the sheer pressure of your hold around him. “I know you think you were being honest, but any rational person would know a promise like the one you just made…” He tutted in disapproval, shaking his head. “You could never really deliver in the long-run. How can I keep tasting if you can’t tell the truth?”

You were about ready to scream. He got off his knees and wiped his face with the back of his hand.

“Aw, don’t look so sad, darling. I was really just looking for a good excuse to slip my fingers inside you.”

You pouted as he kissed your cheek.

“You set me up,” you said.

“It won’t be the last time,” he sighed. You jumped as his fingers grazed over your slit. Your mind instantly went back to the night you’d spent dreaming of him and suddenly you were melting against him all over again. The pads of his first two fingers dragged over your sensitive clit, now aching from the orgasm it was denied, and it throbbed against his touch. It burned in the most delicious way. His cheek brushed against yours.

“Listen to me very closely,” he growled into your ear, sliding his fingers back down to your hole. You squeezed around his fingers as they pressed inside. “You’re going to cum on my fingers, and then I’ll let you cum on my cock. If you can’t cum on my fingers, you won’t cum at all.”

“Yes—yes, fine, okay,” you rambled, unable to focus on the rules of his game as his fingers curled up against your g-spot and his thumb nuzzled your clit. They massaged you in sync, slipping in and out, up and down, and you quickly found yourself staring down at the flexed tendons in his wrist as you rocked against his hand. “Fuck, that feels so good…”

“I know,” he cooed. You throbbed. “Ohh, that’s it. Good girl, take my fingers.”

The sound of his voice spurred you on. You stretched your arms up and behind you, taking hold of the kitchen cabinet for support. Your gasps and sighs became background noise as Loki pumped his fingers over your most sensitive spots. After his previous denial, your body was eager to cum and you felt it coming on almost instantly. Your cheeks were hot and tingled as your stomach tightened. You tilted your hips back as you were about to cum. Then, right as it crested, your pussy bearing down and drooling, Loki pulled away.

“Again?!” You slapped the counter in frustration. “Why?!”

“Revenge,” he said. He was picking you up again, his hands supporting your bottom as your legs wrapped around his waist. You groaned in protest, tired of his teasing.

“Shh. I’ll make it better,” he promised, sitting back down on the couch so you were straddling him again. “It was another set up, but I promise it’ll be worth it.” His thumbs soothed the crease of your hips. His cock bobbed against his stomach, dribbling precum that glistened against his skin.

Loki’s face was flushed as he pulled you closer, planting small kisses around the dome of your shoulder.

“Let me fix it,” he whispered, nipping your collarbone. The ghost of his breath on your neck gave you chills.

“I don’t know… I don’t know!” You screeched, suddenly realizing your volume before dropping to a whisper. “We—we’re in the middle of my living room, I have neighbors, this is Stark’s building, my front door is right there.” You pointed back towards the hall.

“It seems I’ve given you too much time to rethink this, haven’t I?”

“Maybe—ugh—maybe this is not a good idea. What if someone hears us?”

His hand shot out to the right and the blinds and curtains of your floor-to-ceiling living room window flung open.

“What if they see us?” he challenged. You blanched and hurled yourself against Loki’s chest, trying to hide yourself from any would-be voyeur. Loki threw his head back in laughter, his dark hair spilling over the couch. He hugged you, stroking your back. “Let them…Let them know what I do to you, how I make you feel. Anyone in a hundred-mile radius should know who you belong to.”

His hands moved down to your thighs, petting gentle, calming lines up and down. Loki returned to your jawline, kissing the trail from your earlobe to your chin between every few words as he spoke.

“I was going to offer you some control,” he explained. “Would it be easier for you if I took over?”

You sat up and nodded, lips pursed to the side in embarrassment. Loki didn’t seem to mind, lifting your hips as he positioned his cock at your entrance. You eased onto it when you felt the head pressing at your hole.

“That’s it…” he encouraged. “Sink down on it, pretty girl…Oooh…” His head fell back, eyes closed and brows scrunched in pleasure. He filled and stretched you so much you worried for a moment that he’d be too big. When he bottomed out, you took a moment to adjust to the girth, appreciating the way the head of his cock kissed the mouth of your cervix. With Loki still fully inside, you swiveled your hips, wanting to feel him press into every stitch of your being. His grip around your hips tightened and he let out a soft squeak.

“Oh…Oh, Darling…It’s s-so tight,” he gritted out.

“Sweet lord you feel f-fucking good…” you said, picking your hips up before dropping again. You held the back of the couch for leverage and tilted back to snuggle him up against your g-spot. Loki’s mouth fell open. His length went so deep you pressed a hand at your lower belly to feel the head threatening to push all the way through as you started bobbing up and down on him. Loki ground his teeth together, the veins in his neck flexing as he suddenly wrapped his arms tight around you.

He sunk his teeth in the space between your shoulder and neck and fuck did it sting, but you couldn’t help clenching around him. He used the hug as a means to keep you in place, thrusting up inside even deeper than before. The squelch of him plunging in and out of you was absolutely obscene, only drowned out by your cries as he drilled right against that perfect spot that made your eyes roll back. Your whole body went limp, overwhelmed with pleasure, except your nails which dug into the ledge of the couch.

Loki fucked you slowly, purposefully, and hard. Each time his cock sailed into you, it was precise: his body could feel yours reacting to him, and you suddenly realized just how handy his lie detecting sense was. He was reading the honesty in your responses to his touch to know what you liked. As soon as he found the right pace and force he followed it like a faithful servant, pounding over and over until you were quaking.

Seemingly out of nowhere, he stood up, still inside you, and dragged you across the house. With each step towards the bedroom, his dick jostled inside of you just enough to keep you moaning.

“Do you think they’re watching now?” he said, nodding towards the window. You’d still yet to cum. His words passed through your ears like static fuzz. You’d agree to anything he said if it meant he’d keep railing you.

“I hope so,” you said. He chuckled lowly.

“How about a detour, then?” He turned from the threshold of your bedroom back towards the living room.

“Huh? Unh…Oh, Loki…Fuck…Oh! Ow, fuck! God!”

The glass against your back felt like ice when he pressed you against the window.

“I hope they enjoy the view,” he said.

Loki pinned your arms above your head as he returned to hammering away at your pussy. This new angle, coupled with the weight of his body pressing you against the glass, sent tingles over your skin. He was so deep, so deliciously fucking deep, that you could barely process anything aside from how swollen and open your pussy felt.

You tossed your head to the side. Seeing the view out there, all those high-rise buildings with uncovered windows and however many floors you’d fall if Loki somehow managed to fuck you through the glass, was beyond exhilarating. Each car passing by down below held someone that could look up and see. Each of the thousands of windows you could see held the chance to get caught. Anyone that could see Stark Tower could see Loki Laufeyson claiming your body. You were no exhibitionist, but the thrill made you lightheaded. It was all about the way he insisted you belonged to him. Loki pressed his forehead against yours.

“Let them hear it, darling,” he said, voice breaking. His eyes were squeezed shut, one jagged vein running down the side of his neck. You let out a shaky moan. The sweat on your back would have made you worry about slipping, but Loki was leaning so hard, thrusting so deep, you knew it was impossible. However, from his hold on your wrists, your hands were cold and starting to go numb.

“L-Loki,” you said. “My hands.” You both looked up at the same time and saw they were purple.

“Shit…” he said. “Sorry. You just…Fuck... It’s—it’s so tight. So good.” He let your wrists go and you hummed a laugh as you kissed again. Loki placed his hands under your ass as he carried you back to the bedroom.

“They’ll have to forgive me for stealing you away. I just can’t hold this off any longer,” he said. “I need you to scream.”

Holy. Shit.

As he laid you down, you were confused. Nothing was wrong with missionary, but it’s not like it was the most scream-inducing position you’d ever tried. Hovering over you, sweat beading at his brow, Loki slipped his cock out and slid it up to your clit. The heat was pure, directly from the deepest pit of your core, like molten caramel against your body. So sticky. So sweet. So hot you could burst.

You cried out his name and could practically feel the smirk on his mouth as he swirled the tip of his cock along your clit before sliding back inside to the very source of that heat. That’s when he hooked his hands into the crook of your knees and pinned them at either side of your waist. The angle was divine, unmatched, sending that shooting-star feeling back into your spine, your tummy, your brain. Your whole body had been infiltrated by the white-hot prowess of his prick.

“Loki—!”

“That’s it Darling, say my name.”

“Loki, oh…”

“Mm, uh huh, touch your clit, show me how you tease it,” he growled. You felt your thighs shaking beside your ribs. His hands pinning them down did nothing to quell the shivering.

“Loki, yes,” you groaned, frantically rubbing at yourself like a feral creature. He was staring right into your eyes, holding his lip between his teeth.

“You want me to make it cum?”

“Oh my god. Oh my god. Please!” Your voice was growing hoarse. “Oh my god.”

“I’m here,” he said, chuckling lowly. “Why don’t you ask me for what you want, little thing?” You could feel just how much he was making you gush as the slick he inspired flowed down to your other hole.

“Please,” you rasped. “Play with my clit and make it f-fucking cum.”

“Ohh, you think I should play with that pretty pussy?”

“Yes.”

“You want to feel my hands tease it, make you shake and writhe all over my cock?”

“Please, Loki I beg of you!” You were screaming, desperate, as the weight of your denied orgasms ground down into your pelvis like a mortar and pestle. You tugged at your scalp with both hands in agony, not bothering to care that you’d smeared some arousal on your forehead. “I want to cum so bad I could fucking die, please, I’ll do whatever you want, just let me fucking cum.”

“Fine,” he said, sighing sarcastically. “But if you do it, you do it my way.”

The windows to your room burst open with another flourish of Loki’s hand. The gust of wind that followed reminded you how achingly hard your nipples were. He had you turn to face the windows, upright on your knees, as he pressed himself flush behind you. His knees came between yours, urging your legs wider as he slipped back in. His hands became like a seatbelt: one arm wrapped around your waist and the other between your breasts with the hand cupped around the base of your neck. He could choke you if he wanted, but you felt the security he was trying to provide. If you fell forward, he’d just be taking you doggy style which wasn’t bad at all, but you appreciated his concern.

“You’re only going to cum if you let everyone outside of those windows hear it,” he said. “They need to know you’re mine if you want to earn that orgasm.” He started thrusting into you slowly, softly, and you whimpered. Your head fell back to his shoulder and he kissed your temple before licking his lips. “Sweet little Peach, let them know how I satisfy that scorching, unbearable hunger you feel.” The hand he had around your belly drifted down to your slit. “Oh…Darling, it’s so swollen. So wet for me…What a good, good girl you’ve been.”

His fingers stroked your pussy lips, now puffy and sensitive from all his teasing. Your hips bucked, forcing his fingers to slip between your lips. Your clit sang at the scrape of his long fingers as you rutted up against his palm. You gritted out a whine.

“Loki, oh—oh fuck, please, please let me cum.”

“I will.”

“Oh my god—!”

“I know, Darling. It’s alright, I’ll coax it out of you. Just relax into me.”

How could he sound so calm when every muscle in his body was rigid as marble? You’d watched him this entire time grate his teeth together to keep from losing his composure, yet now he was tranquil?

Your back was arched at an almost painful angle, but you couldn’t convince your body to conform to his posture. Every nerve ending in your body was like a live-wire, teetering on the edge of a blissful abyss, feeling that imminent orgasm dangling just breaths away.

Loki strummed at your clit in rapid, tight circles as he pummeled your dripping cunt. Your frame held itself there like a compound bow, taking the beating, as your skin prickled and legs shivered from the overwhelming pleasure of it all. His cock was still finding new ways to tease you. At this angle, he felt somehow bigger than before, pressing against your g-spot and poking up into your belly.

“Loki, Loki, L-Lo—oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god, I’m going to cum, I’m going to fucking cum.”

“You’re going to squirt first,” he said lowly.

Your chin quivered, eyes watered, and, as if on cue, the floodgates burst and all that pressure you felt welling in your g-spot dissipated as you gushed on the bed. He kept toying your clit as you shuddered through the throbbing that echoed through your belly. When your tap ran dry, you could feel the puddle he wrung from you soaking into the blankets at your shins.

“Are you ready to cum for me?”

Tears were streaming down your face. You hadn’t realized you were sobbing, but you were, and it was all pouring through your open windows for anyone to hear how Loki was torturing your cunt. Your chest heaved every time he slammed back inside. It was a balancing act: letting the pleasure take over your throat so you could scream it to the heavens, but not so much that someone thought you were getting murdered. Sweat trickled down your back. You lolled your head back to face Loki who passively watched your struggle with his hands supporting your near-limp body.

“Please,” you whined with the last scratchy remnants of your voice. “I want it s-so bad. It hurts.”

Loki kissed your neck sloppily as he gathered more slick from your weeping hole. As he coaxed it back up to your painfully-hard clit, you wailed an ungodly shriek, desperate for release. His strokes inside you were steady, firm, and slow. He spiraled his fingers over your clit in a calculated way that made your body re-tighten. Your climax was finally, torturously, bubbling to the surface. You felt your pussy flutter and squeeze his cock as it prepared to cum.

“Oh, Darling. Darling Peach, I’m going to—w-with you.”

He was panting, voice ragged and cracking. His composure had finally faltered.

Right at that moment, seconds away from orgasm, Loki slipped his other hand to your cunt, gathering more of that precious dew, and swiped his wet fingers over your hardened nipples. He flicked and stirred your nipples with your own arousal as you finally teetered over the edge, releasing a mind-melting scream as you writhed and bucked.

You felt your entire body wind and snap around him as he twitched inside you. Loki flooded your body with warmth, grunting and whimpering, his arms tightening like boa constrictors around you. He grabbed your face and pressed his lips against yours as his orgasm faded, all the while with you whimpering into his mouth.

Your ears were ringing. When you were aware of yourself again, Loki was slipping himself out, using the soiled blanket to collect his spend as it poured from you. He laid you on the pillows, hovering over you to draw your nipples into his mouth one at a time. You jerked and hissed at the overstimulation. He shushed you and planted promising kisses around each bud until you were calm enough to let him work.

Loki lapped and sucked at each breast until the taste of your pussy was gone.

“Too good to waste,” he said.

You laid like a ragdoll, watching him stalk off to the bathroom before returning with a couple warm, damp washcloths. You remained limp as he cleaned you, watching the steam roll off the white rags. He started with your face and moved down until every stitch of your frame had been dabbed clean of sweat and seed. He didn’t say a word as he worked over you, deep in focus as he lifted and inspected each limb, squinting in suspicion before swiping the cloth over your skin, twisting to find a new area, and repeating.

“If you’re wondering why your ankle doesn’t hurt anymore, it’s because I took pity on you, just this once,” Loki said. He’d tried to sound stern, but the warmth in his voice made you blush.

“Such a kind prince,” you whispered, closing your eyes. He held the side of your face and kissed your forehead.

He left you again to discard the soiled blanket, your clothes, and the rags in the washing machine and came back with a big, fluffy, white blanket from the hall closet.

Loki curled under it with you and pulled you into his arms as you caught your breath. You instantly relaxed in his hold, starting to fall asleep until your phone started buzzing.

It was Stephen.

“Answer it,” Loki demanded.

Chapter Text

As soon as the phone was to your ear, Loki’s mouth was back on your pussy, sucking at your overstimulated clit with reckless abandon.

“St-EPHEN—!” You cried out, hips bucking against your better judgement into Loki’s stupidly gorgeous aquiline nose. “Hi. Hello.” You cleared your throat and tried to shuffle away from him. He reacted with the quickness of a panther, locking his wide hands around your hips and pressing you deeper into the mattress before nuzzling his face back where you wanted him least (and most).

“Little Patient,” Strange replied, sounding suspicious of your shock and volume. “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” you squeaked. Loki slipped a finger inside your hole and it instantly fluttered around him. He must have realized how overwhelming his assertive attention to your clit was, now smoothing over it with soft, languid strokes as his finger curled up against the ragged cushion of your g-spot. Your breath hitched. You gave Loki a gentle-but-telling swat on the forehead with the backs of your fingers.

“You sound a little, um…distracted,” Stephen said. “You sound…pretty.”

“No, no, no. I’m fine, really.” Your strong thighs were a saving grace as you squeezed your legs together, forcing Loki to back off. He rolled his eyes, pouting before running his index finger through the shiny line of your arousal that coated his chin. Your jaw dropped as he slipped his finger between his lips and sucked it clean.

“Do you think that’s possible…? Peach?” Strange said.

“Lo—Stephen…Stephen, I’m so sorry. I think—I think we have a bad connection. One more time for me?” You shook your head, hoping to etch-a-sketch away the throbbing between your legs. Loki mouthed ‘one more’ and smiled viciously, nodding his head to agree with his own innuendo. He lifted your ankle and started kissing it, beginning to work his way up your calf. Your knees fell open and your head fell back.

“Stark needs you to meet him at the office immediately. He thinks someone was trying to impersonate you. Can you do that?” Stephen said.

“Oh, shit, okay. Yeah, yeah, I’ll be there. Can you give me thirty?” You yanked your leg away from Loki’s grip. Your heart dropped into your stomach. That was a very serious accusation, and you knew Tony wouldn’t jump to a conclusion like that without solid backing. You remembered his recent texts, how suspicious and tightly-wound he’d seemed about a potential security breach. Your eyes flickered to Loki with a sigh, your lips pursing off to the side. Poor Loki. Knowing how wary everyone still was of him, you could only imagine what kind of undue berating he was in store for.

As you stood up to get dressed, Loki’s phone started buzzing on the bedside table. You watched him, tangled like a fallen angel in your papery white bedsheets, crawl on his belly to pick up his own phone. Threads of sunlight inched through your still-open window, stretching their little fingers over Loki’s lean yet muscular frame. The sight was intoxicating, you thought, reluctantly turning to the closet.

“Hello?” he said. Your hand cupped your neck and, considering the events of the last hour or so, you couldn’t help but be curious. “Mister Strange, what a surprise. How are you?”

You leaned away from the closet to peek at the bathroom mirror. You had to cover your mouth to keep from yelping at what you saw.

If your neck had anymore hickeys on it, someone might think you’d painted it purple.

Loki had nibbled bruises into nearly every stitch of skin from your collarbones to your jawline…When he’d said he wanted to claim you, you hadn’t realized how seriously he meant it. As your eyes travelled down, you could see the imprint of his teeth on your shoulder, his lingering grip on your breast, and racing stripes of hickeys soaring up your thighs. It was like looking at another woman. The sight gave you chills.

“Yes, as a matter of fact, she and I just spoke,” Loki said, smirking into the receiver.

You ran back to the closet, immediately yanking out one of the ugliest, but safest, dresses you owned. It was goldenrod yellow, cable-knit, and stopped at your knees. Your current favorite feature about it was the fact that it was a turtleneck. Without enough time to do your makeup, this was the next best thing to cover up his marks.

“Oh my, that sounds serious…Oh dear…Certainly, I’ll meet you there,” he said. As you pulled the dress on, Loki said his goodbyes and hung up the phone. You re-checked yourself in the mirror. It was better than nothing, but your jawline was still visible and a rich shade of lavender. If you could keep your head still and your hair in the way, you could be in the clear.

“We can’t show up at the office together,” you said, ruffling your hair as you looked in the mirror. “It’s bad enough that someone probably saw you take me home.” Loki walked up behind you as you spoke.

“Well if anyone saw us come here together, I can only hope they stuck around for the show,” he said with a grin, ghosting his fingers over your jaw and slipping your hair behind your shoulders so he could view his handiwork. You huffed your breath, annoyed at the deep, crimson blush you could feel washing over your face. “I know I’d be sorely disappointed to learn I’d missed out on that.” He raised a brow at you and let his eyes roam your figure, even muddled as it was in that god-awful dress.

Loki had the dumbest smirk plastered on his face the entire trip up to the office. He walked a good ten feet behind you, insisting that since he wasn’t walking beside you, he was technically abiding by your request. You argued that if he could see you and take the same elevators as you, it still counted as showing up together.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re feeling ashamed of me,” Loki mumbled, leaning next to your ear as the elevator rose to the office floor. “Perhaps…embarrassed by the exquisite pleasure I just wrote into that precious little body of yours?” His eyes travelled down. By the way his lids drooped, he was clearly picturing you naked again.

You shot him a deadly look with eyes so wide they could’ve rolled right out of your head.

“Aww,” he mocked, tutting as his head cocked to the side. He jutted his lower lip out, feigning sympathy, before rolling his eyes. That shit-eating smirk pulled back at his cheeks yet again. “No need to get worked up, darling. It’s natural to feel confused when you’re coming down from such an…overwhelming experience like that.”

The elevator dinged and you were eager to stamp off, suddenly craving the ten-feet distance you’d taken for granted before.

You just grit your teeth, knowing anything you could say would be turned around to his benefit. Such were the perks of being in cahoots with the God of Mischief. As you approached the front desk, Margot was playing on her phone and vigorously chewing a wad of blue-raspberry gum. It was her favorite, despite staining her lips to the point that one could see the blue ring of her mouth from across a football field.

She had a nice space. It was well-lit and sterile-looking, with sheets of white marble from the walls all the way to the top of her wood-bodied desk. She liked to keep fresh flowers on the corner of the desk closest to the entrance so they were the first thing someone saw when they walked in. As fancy as the office looked, you always internally chuckled at her addition of the wooden “Reception” sign she topped the desk with. It reminded you of your hometown: a hokey, rural place with the cozy charm that small towns always seemed to exude. It made a silly, nostalgic vein mourn for “the good old days,” though you knew saying “good” was generous.

“Margot, long time no see, good afternoon,” you said, sounding breathless as you tried to gauge her mood.

“Long time, no speak, either. Phone broken, Peach Pie?” She looked up at you as the bubble she was blowing popped. “Thanks for taking all this time off lately, by the way. It’s so much fun doing your best friends job on top of your own when she’s not speaking to you for no discernable reason. So great. I really hope you keep doing that.” Her face was totally flat, showing no emotion.

“Margot, I’m really sorry and I get that you’re upset,” you said. Her left brow rose as she waited for you to negate yourself. She knew you well. “But—we kind of have a situation and I’m in a bit of a hurry. Could you please check us in?”

“Actually, you have like twenty more minutes before you’re supposed to get here. Stark and Strange both looped me into the schedule today since this—surprise, surprise—concerns me too. Not everything is about you and your insatiable compulsion to speed through life.”

Shit, were you really that early? God, now you looked like an even bigger ass. You hadn’t given poor Margot the time of day in, well, days. She was right to be upset. You sighed and gave her a pathetic look, only hoping she could see how ashamed of your behavior you were.

“Whatever,” she said, shaking her head and chomping obnoxiously on her gum with a smacking noise as she turned back to her computer. “Scan your cards, I’ll approve it. I’m done talking to you.”

Loki followed you, saying nothing, as you passed Margot’s desk to reach the locked door leading to the suites. You held your badge to the black plaque mounted to the wall until it beeped, a little green light at the top indicating that the door was unlocked.

The halls were buzzing with the droll of people typing and shuffling files behind the series of closed doors you passed as you twisted and turned up to your office. The path along the way looked about as blank as Margot’s area, with white tile and equally white walls, undecorated, the entire way through. Though it looked a little drab and depressing, it was another safety precaution. If someone somehow got past Margot, they’d need to have intimate knowledge of the building to make their way through the maze of identical halls without getting lost. The only way you knew your own office was by memorizing the turns and number of doors that lead to it—there was no special plaque or marker with your name or title on it. Just numbers.  The only rooms that were distinguished from the rest were the conferences rooms (thanks to their larger, frosted doors) which held nothing of significance and Tony’s office, which, if someone made it up there without getting caught on the way, maybe they deserved to take whatever they came for.

You and Loki entered the door, 42015, to find your office exactly as it had been left before. Well…No. Shoot. Someone moved that picture of your family. Was it so hard to put things back where they’d been found? You should just take it back to the apartment, you thought, it wasn’t worth hassling the janitors over. No need to have anyone with access to your office seeing them, anyways. It wasn’t their business. Nothing good could come out of strangers remembering the faces of your loved ones.

“Looks like we’ve got some time until they get here,” Loki said. He was tracking at your heels as you rounded the desk to grab the frame of your family and shove it in your purse. His hips met the round of your ass as you reached for the photo. “Would you like to know two lovely problems I observed until they get here?”

“Loki—” Your face was already hot, heart thudding needy and heavy in your chest as you froze. His hand slid up your back outside of the dress, gently easing your torso down over the top of the desk. Without thinking, without fighting, you submitted, laying down just like he silently asked you to.

“I’ll tell you anyways,” he continued, his voice lowering to a growl. “Problem one: you deprived me of the joy of offering you multiple orgasms this morning.”

You gulped. Your eyes slid shut, breath growing ragged as his right hand, cold as night, ran up from the hinge of your knee to the hem of your dress, just below the bottom of your ass.

He was tricking you.

Your head shot up.

“B-but…No, no, wait. Wait. You told me to answer the phone. That’s n-not my fault.” Despite the nervous pounding in your chest, you felt yourself arching your back into his touch.

“Don’t interrupt me. Problem two: you didn’t put on any panties when you got dressed.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

“Oh, you didn’t think I was watching? Thought you could get away with it? You wicked little creature. Fortunately, that second issue helps me solve that dreadful first one.” He yanked the skirt of your dress all the way up to your tummy. You gasped.

“L-Loki, we’re at work, they’re going to be here any minute,” you squeaked out.

“Then I guess you’d better be quiet and quick, hm?” His hand slipped between your legs.

Loki let out a bitter hiss as he felt how wet you were already. You could hear his teeth chattering as he hurried to shuffle his trousers down.

“Darling, I’m aching to play rough with you. Would you entrust me with the honor?”

“Oh God, please,” you whined, pushing yourself against his hips, only to find his hand blocking the way. “Be as rough as you’d like, just give it to me.”

“What’s your safe word?” He began peeling your dress the rest of the way off and tossed it over your computer screen.

You paused. Stephen’s rules for you came to mind. As dirty as it felt recycling another man’s rules with Loki, you’d fallen in love with the code as quickly as it had been presented to you. Your cunt was sorely empty, impatient, and you vowed to yourself to find a way to apologize to Stephen for your indiscretion another day.

“I count up to ten when I start to get up to my limit,” you said, trying not to cringe. “One is a gentle warning that I’m not perfectly comfortable and ten is the absolute final stop. I tap twice to say ‘ten’ if I can’t speak.”

“How thorough,” Loki crooned. “Good girl.”

He wasted no time plunging in.

You panted. His hand immediately came over your mouth as he bottomed out.

“Need help being quiet?” His right hand gripped your hip with barbaric strength as his left slid down from your mouth to your throat. Loki’s fingers and thumb wrapped around the sides of your throat and he gave a light, testing squeeze. “Lean into my hand, Darling Peach, choke yourself on me if you can’t be quiet.”

Loki ground himself into you, rutting perfectly against that spot that was making your cheeks tingle and eyes roll back. Tentatively, you pressed your neck into his palm. The harder you leaned, the harder he squeezed the sides of your throat. Regardless of the weight you drove into his palm, his arm held steady like a safety rail. As soon as you found a pressure that felt good, Loki locked his clutch into place and plunged into you slowly, dragging his cock out enough that you could feel the head pop in and out as he teased your entrance with it. That slow pace, coupled with his choking you, made a throbbing heat surge into your temples.

You could still breathe with a hushed, throaty rasp. Loki pressed inside with such care that you couldn’t hear it, only feeling the ridges and veins in his dick stretching you loose. His forehead pressed against your shoulder and he sighed, sliding his right hand from your hip to your ass.

Loki gave your ass a tentative squeeze and lifted his hand away. Hearing your deep inhale, he chuckled and brought his palm down against your hind like a whip. Shocked, you jumped forward and tried to cry out, bowing deeper into his hand which tightened its grip and cut off your screech. The sting rippled goosebumps along your entire body. Loki jostled your neck in his hand, shaking you around like a bobblehead.

“Shh, it’s okay,” he murmured. “I’ve got you.” His hand smoothed over the slap, which you could already feel welting up, and you whimpered. Loki straightened his back and loosened his hand from around your throat, somehow slowing down his hips even more. “Is that a number? Are you alright?”

You nodded, wordlessly slamming your hips back and using one of your own hands to reinforce his grasp around your collar. You immediately felt the pressure in your temples rise back up, the lack of oxygen making your clit swell. Your eyes rolled back. Loki adjusted his hand around your rear, clutching a new area that he hadn’t struck.

“Arms back,” he instructed. You folded your hands behind your back and Loki let your throat go. “Breathe.”

You sucked in a hoarse breath, trying to keep quiet as you heard someone’s footsteps coming down the hall. At that moment, Loki ran his fingers through your hair, lightly scratching your scalp. He entwined his fingers in your hair, securing a wad of it before yanking your head back. Still breathless, you barely made a sound as he nuzzled his way behind your ear, kissing that little spot just behind the lobe. Loki jerked that bundle of hair to turn your head to the side to face him as he kissed you through his thrusts, humming a strangled groan into your mouth. He swatted your ass lightly a few times until the skin was buzzing and gave it one final, appreciative squeeze before he used your hair as leverage again to slam you down against the desk. Your temple hit the wood top with a thunk.

If there had been any breath in your lungs, he knocked it out of you as your cheek warmed the cool wood top of your workspace. Your eyes slid shut.

Loki huffed, picking up his pace as his free hand slid down to your clit. The hand holding your hair was wrenching savagely at your scalp and in any other situation it would hurt, but here, with the coil tightening in your belly and Loki’s warm, rough fingers swirling love notes into the burning crest of your quivering pussy, if he’d skinned you alive it would’ve felt orgasmic.

“M-more,” you hissed.

“As you wish,” he sighed, letting go of your hair in favor of laying his palm over the small of your back. A pair of hands cupped your cheeks, lifting your face. As you opened your eyes, you saw—no—how could he…? Loki was kneeling in front of you, face flushed and jaw slightly agape, practically drooling over the sight of you bent over your desk taking cock. You jolted, trying to unwind your hands so you could lift yourself up, but found your wrists bound.

“Ah, ah, let him work, Little Peach,” Loki said, grazing a thumb along your chin.

Your head whipped back to see Loki railing into you, the tendons in his neck flexing and head knocked back in utter bliss.

“More,” said the Loki in front of you. “Just like you asked.” You punched yourself in the back as he kissed you, slipping his tongue into your mouth and making out with you sloppily as his fingers drifted down to your chest. He palmed your breasts, weighing them in each hand, before breaking the kiss to offer you his thumbs.

“Lick,” he said, and you did. He moved his hands back down and began twisting and pulling at your hardened nipples, catching your shriek in his mouth. He bit your lip and tugged back, pinching those precious buds between his slick fingers mercilessly.

The Loki behind you delivered another slap across your backside, still swirling his fingers over your clit, and you were nearly gone. After he soothed the swollen welt with his soft palm, his nails dug into the sumptuous flesh of your ass, pulling the cheeks apart. The stretch helped him plunge just that much deeper and you could feel the head of his cock massaging the tension out of your belly. You tried to gasp, but the Loki kneeling before you had his mouth back on yours, trapping the sound.

“Ohh, you like that?” the Loki behind you taunted. The Loki in front kissed your cheek, refusing to separate from you. “You like when I pull you open? How’s this?” His left hand released one of your cheeks and there was a pause before his thumb, warm and slick, pressed against that tight ring of muscle between your butt cheeks. The front Loki knew it was coming, shushing you as he set one of his knuckles between your teeth for you to bite down on as you squeaked. The feeling was shocking, unfamiliar. He didn’t try to push in, just letting the pressure sit there against your other hole, and as soon as you relaxed it felt…so good. Your whole body was warm, oozing pleasure, and that thumb had worked your pussy into a frenzy. You felt so open, like Loki was embedded into the fibers of your being. He owned you and your pleasure in that moment and he must’ve known it from the way you drooled over his doppelganger’s knuckles.

“Aww, that’s it,” he cooed. “Feels so good, huh?” You weren’t sure which one said it, but you nodded and felt the pace against your clit increase. Your hips reared back, inadvertently driving harder against Loki’s thumb.

“Choke yourself,” the Loki behind you grit out. You immediately obeyed, finding your wrists suddenly free. You used your left hand to mimic the hold Loki had first choked you with. Your right hand wrapped around the front Loki’s shoulder, holding him for stability as your knees began to go weak from the ministrations of the one behind. Blood rushed to your face. He was everywhere: kneading the plush skin of your ass, toying your hole, tugging and flicking your nipples, making out with you, and pummeling his wretchedly fat cock so deep into your pussy that black spots were coming into your vision.

“I’m g-gonna—” You hissed against the choke. You were clawing his shoulder, every muscle in your body vibrating with anticipation. You could feel your pussy gushing around him. Loki’s fingers massaged your clit with an endless spiral that made you go lightheaded and limp just as the you teetered over the edge of madness.

“Do it,” one said. “That’s it.”

“Let it out, let go for me,” said the other. “Let me feel it.”

“L-Lo—!”

The front Loki clamped his hand over your mouth and the back of your head as you came to muffle your cries. His forehead pressed against yours. You lost control of your body, mindlessly bucking back into the Loki behind you as your pussy spasmed. The pleasure he gave you ladled over your shivering body like lava, and you melted under it. Even as your orgasm dissolved and Loki’s hands drifted away, you still grunted and rolled your hips back into his, feeling possessed.

“Such a sweet girl,” Loki cooed, now being the only one of himself in the room, as he slipped himself out of you. He used one of the tissues next to your computer to clean you up, tossing the tissue in your wastebasket before pulling your dress over your head. He looked at the clock. “You should have another small minute to collect yourself before they get here.” He smoothed out your hair and kissed your cheek, easing you to sit in your rolling chair. Your pulse thudded lowly in your ears as you heard his belt buckle chime into place.

As you regained control of your breath, Loki knelt beside you and massaged your wrists. The roll of his thumb seemed to bring you back to Earth, seemed to go on for hours, before he was standing again.

“You did so good, Darling,” he whispered, kissing your forehead, before stepping away and folding his hands behind his back.

There was a light rap against the door as it opened. Tony and Doctor Strange must have walked together. The room instantly felt stuffy.

You went from feeling zoned out, taken by Loki’s new obsession with your body, to overly aware of the three large men crowding your suite and the varying tensions shared between them over the last few weeks. The energy of it all felt like a pallet of bricks being laid on your chest.

Stephen sniffed inconspicuously, the briefest flash of confusion passing over his face before he smiled at you.

“Little Patient,” he said sweetly. “I’m happy to see you. I wish it wasn’t under these circumstances.”

“No small talk—let’s jump straight into it. Where’s the intern? And that receptionist?” Tony said, punching the bridge of his nose as the door closed. His teeth clacked together as his jaw clamped shut. His posture was tight as violin string.

“Right here, sir!” Margot rushed through the door with the same clamor of a toddler in a China cabinet. “Sorry for the wait—I had to show Darren the restroom. He’ll be right in.”

“Oh perfect. The temp is taking liberties with our schedule now,” Tony said. Margot’s cheeks flushed as she looked at the ground and shuffled to the seat on the other side of your desk, setting her laptop down on an open space. As she cued the laptop up, Tony paced.

“Can someone explain to me what the issue is?” You said. “I don’t see where something could have slipped through the cracks.”

“Laziness,” Tony barked. You startled in your seat and both Doctor Strange and Loki snapped their gaze to check on you. “Will bring down a skyscraper faster than a bomb.”

Darren jogged inside, ducking his head apologetically.

“Thank you for waiting,” he whispered, showing his hands and grimacing to overstate just how sorry he was.

“Glad you could be torn from your impossibly busy schedule to join us underlings, temp,” Tony said, his voice cold and low. Darren looked at his feet, leaning against the wall with his hands behind his back. “Is it running, Margot?”

“Yes, sir.”

His hands shook as he pulled a sticky note from his pocket.

“Excellent—the order numbers are—”

You zoned out as Tony recited a series of numbers and letters from the note, stopping briefly after each one was finished. Margot typed each order number furiously and read each line back to Tony to confirm she’d gotten them right. There were three in total.

“What’s this all about?” You scowled at your boss, feeling like you were begging questions at a brick wall.

“Did you receive three packages from me with instructions inside?” His eyes snapped to you, looking strained and bloodshot. Whatever the issue was, he was livid.

“Uhh, no,” you said, sinking deeper into your seat, backing away from his stare.

“Well someone sure as fuck signed for them,” Tony said.

“I never ordered anything,” you said, your nose scrunching in confusion.

“I. Sent. Them,” Tony said. “Someone. Signed. For. You.”

Your brow rose, your gaze darting to Margot who was frantically digging through her logs and reports. Suddenly, she froze.

“Um, sir,” she said. Tony didn’t answer. “It was me, sir. I signed for her while she was out, Mister Stark. The logs, they, um, it’s—it’s my name next to those order numbers.”

“On whose authority?!” Tony shouted, slamming his fist against the desk.

“They—they looked important, I j-just, I didn’t want to reject them in case they n-needed to be here,” Margot tried, stumbling over her words. “They’re—I locked them up, they’re safe, so when she came back—”

“Don’t you dare explain to me why breaking simple fucking protocol is ever acceptable. You don’t sign a higher up’s name and take what isn’t yours. You have a list of names to call down to reception in a situation like that. It’s pinned next to your computer screen. You know how I know that? Because I FUCKING POSTED IT THERE.”

Your heart was pounding. You gulped.

“Issue two—Peach,” Tony grinned at you, looking so disingenuously happy that he could’ve passed for a marionette. “Someone’s duplicated your keycard. Our tech team called me up asking how you could be walking around the office and at home at the same time.” He listed off two badge numbers and the room was dead quiet besides the clack of Margot searching through her files to match them. Tony didn’t even move to breathe as he waited, staring Margot down with the intensity of a forest fire.

“The first one is hers, sir,” Margot said, nodding to you. Her voice was small, nostrils flared. “The second belongs to Darren.”

“And I’m sure you have an excellent excuse as to why a FUCKING INTERN would need the same badge privileges as MY NUMBER TWO EMPLOYEE,” Tony screamed. His voice was beginning to sound raw and the veins in his neck flared. His entire face was red as merlot.

“Sir, I assure you it must have been a mistake. I just assumed he’d need her same access since he’d be working directly with her and got mixed—”

“Is reception so difficult that a mistake of this proportion is actually possible? Loki’s badge number is unique, yeah? How does that happen? Tell me, seat-warmer, how, on God’s good, green Earth does that happen?”

“Respectfully, Mister Stark, it was Loki. I had to be caref—”

“You’d be best set to watch your fucking mouth when you speak about Loki Laufeyson, Miss Hayes,” you snarled. It was out of your mouth before you could stop it. “Your job is to be precise every time. Not just when you, in your cushy throne, deem someone a threat.” Your nose was twitching with rage and, though your eyes were boring holes into the empty space behind Margot’s skull, from the corner of your eye you could see Loki and Strange ogling you with their pale faces warped in unadulterated confusion.

“Peach,” Margot said with an airy laugh. “You’re surely aware of his past…”

“Apologize,” you growled, leaning towards her. You hadn’t wanted to push the issue, but Margot was grating on your last nerve now.

“What?” You weren’t sure who said that, as multiple voices in the room echoed each other.

“Apologize to him now.” Your vision was tunneled. Your voice trembled. “He is an employee here and gets just as much respect as anyone else earning a paycheck from Tony Stark. Let’s keep in mind that Loki is in my and Stark’s good graces more than you will likely ever be after such flagrant disregard for your job and the company’s best interest. How dare you insinuate that he’s any less of an employee than that polo-wearing fuck who’s name I can’t remember half the time.” You gestured to Darren without looking at him, but guessed he was probably scowling at you.

Margot muttered some pathetic apology and you only hoped the other men in the room hadn’t caught on to your protectiveness over Loki. Part of you wanted to fire her, and you could if you really wanted to, but worried your anger was taking you farther than rationale could justify.

“Mistakes were made,” Strange said, raising his hands to try diffusing the tension. “If we’re going to move forward, I think the next step is to search the rooms. As long as I don’t find anything, I think we can chalk it up to a lesson learned. Better safe than sorry.”

“Agreed,” Tony said. “This office, reception, and the apartment.”

Your anger had made your mind move in slow motion, and as you realized what they were proposing, your mouth went dry. Tony was going to let Doctor Strange use his universal awareness to scan the rooms for any suspicious activity. Not just the office, but your home. Loki had just spent the better part of the morning railing you in every relevant part of the search Stephen was about to perform, since reception would be a dead-end. This can’t be happening. This couldn’t be happening. This won’t be happening.

You thought back to the last time that Stephen used his universal awareness. It was the day he’d accused Loki of raping you. It was the same day that Tony offered you a week vacation, no notice required, and suddenly you wanted nothing more than to be as far from this building as humanly possible. You wanted to be somewhere with privacy. Your thoughts fixated on the picture frame that suddenly felt like a grenade in your purse.

“Uh, no. No, no,” you said. All eyes in the room snapped to you. You gulped.

“I don’t think that’s necessary,” you tried, feeling their judgement like smoke in your lungs. “Margot made a simple mistake a-and we can’t give Darren a hard time for showing up to his internship, right?”

“So you haven’t noticed anything strange lately? Everything at home is normal?” Tony challenged with a skeptical raise of his brow.

Unexplained fingerprints on your fridge. Feeling like you were being watched. Things in your office being moved. Countless nuances and gut-feelings that you’d chalked up to anxiety or forgetfulness ever since Loki showed up.

What if Tony was right?

What if something terrible was closing in on you?

What if—shit, shit, calm down. Okay, you’re fine, everything’s cool. Your heart was beating so hard you felt the urge to swallow it down, gulp it back into your chest. Loki would know you were lying, but you doubted he’d rat you out. Doctor Strange’s ability to read auras, or whatever the hell, would tune him into your anxiety, but you doubted he’d read your mind. He wouldn’t suspect you of covering up something that might put you in danger.

You had a right to privacy and Tony was getting too comfortable putting you in these types of situations.

You could fix this.

Everything was going to be fine.

“Everything’s been fine,” you lied. “I really think you’re being a bit quick on the trigger with this one, Tony.”

Tony opened his mouth to respond, but Loki interrupted. His face showed nothing, but you sensed he was confused about your lie.

“Well hold on, it certainly can’t hurt to be a little overly cautious,” he said, flickering his gaze between you, to Stark, to Strange rapidly. “I think Peach might be a little confused, this is an overwhelming situation.” He emphasized the words as he looked at you, apparently assuming the sex had damaged the part of your brain responsible for logic and better judgement. Your cheeks were hot. How dare he.

“You’re confused,” you quipped.

“If there’s the possibility someone’s misused their privileges here, it’s surely better to know now than later,” Loki said.

“For once, we agree,” Stephen said, trying to hide an incredulous smile. Perhaps he was second-guessing his rationale.

“Thank you, Mister Strange,” Loki said with a curt nod.

“Doctor,” Stephen corrected, giving Loki the side-eye.

“Gesundheit. This search—you’ll be able to see everything that’s happened here and in Peach’s home since this all started?” Loki’s tone was low, and you instantly recognized the possessive tone it took. You blushed.

“Everything, yes,” Stephen said, nodding to reassure you. “If it happened, I’ll see it, hear it, all that. No stone left unturned.” Your pulse soared.

“Well—well, don’t we…Hold on,” you huffed in frustration and pressed your two first fingers to your temples, pausing to regain your bearings on the conversation. Loki was smirking at you. The little shit wanted Stephen to see what he’d done to you. As if forcing you to scream-gasm for the entire city wasn’t enough. You lowered your hands. Your nails dug into your palm as you clenched your fist. The sting helped you focus on taking control of the conversation again. No. No it didn’t. You were freaking out, and the thought that everyone could tell was making it worse. You clenched your fist harder. “Ok, listen, just listen. No crimes have been committed. I really don’t think Margot was trying to be malicious, she just made a couple mistakes. Big mistakes, yes, but no one died and it won’t happen again, right?”

Margot nodded vigorously.

“Right. Thank you. Plus, again, we don’t need to be harassing an intern for doing his job. He showed up to work, he can’t help the fact that his card was wrong.”

“It’s not like it’ll hurt to check,” Strange said. “This is meant for your safety, especially, Little Patient. Not just the company’s.”

“I think we’re all much better off knowing for certain what’s happened in these rooms,” Loki agreed, staring you down to ensure you caught his double-meaning. You were fuming. Did he have to be so pushy and obvious? Fine. Two could play that game.

“As second in command at this company, my answer is no. I have a right to privacy and I have ZERO reason to believe anything fishy has happened here. End of conversation,” you snipped. “If a mistake like this happens again, anyone involved will be fired immediately.” Your glare shot to Margot, who’d ultimately caused this train wreck of a meeting, no matter how unintentional her fuck-up was. Her nostrils flared, but she didn’t argue.

You shoved yourself out of your seat and stormed towards the door.

“And Tony, I’ll be cashing in on that week-long vacation now. Loki, book me the first flight out to Florida for tomorrow.”

The door slammed behind you before you could hear anyone’s response. You didn’t blink, didn’t breathe, didn’t think, until you made it to the elevator and pushed the button to your floor. As it rose, you took a violent breath in and collapsed against the wall of the cab, pressing your sweaty face against your forearm. A wave of relief washed over you.

Your frame quaked with a sob. Ever since that night that you twisted your ankle, you’d been bombarded with more stress than you ever should’ve had to bear at your workplace. Having the apartment just a few floors up wasn’t enough space away to decompress from the shitshow that was your job. You had to get away. For your sanity. For your mental health.

As the elevator dinged, the doors swishing open, you sniffed and wiped your nose. Your posture straightened with dignity.

You were finally going home.

Chapter Text

Your hands trembled violently. You room looked like it had been ransacked. Had you been robbed?

Clothes, jewelry, even bedding strewn across the floor in a haphazard jumble. Drawers upturned, spewing assorted puddles of junk over your bare mattress. A fallen lamp laying like a corpse over your nightstand.

All this, only to have your suitcase filled with a fistful of panties. The empty space in your luggage stared up at you, resentful, taunting. Now that the moment had passed, you wondered if you’d been too hasty with pulling the vacation card and shutting down the investigation. Sure, things had been stressful lately, but were they that bad?

A hearty rap on the door made your shoulder seize up like watered chocolate.

Ok, maybe things were that bad.

“Who is it?” you called as you rushed to the door.

“Ma’am? It’s me.”

“Dustin?” Your hand fumbled with the deadbolt.

There was a sigh on the other side of the door.

“Yeah,” he said. As the door opened, you noticed him scratching his head, lips pursed in annoyance. “Look, I didn’t come to visit. I know you’re not going to change your mind.”

“You think I should stay?”

“I do, but frankly, why would my opinion matter when you can’t even remember my name?”

Your mouth fell open in genuine surprise.

“Did I get it wrong again?! God dang it, I’m sorry.”

“It’s Darren. Doesn’t matter. All I came to say was that if you’re going to go, I want you to keep practicing those moves we worked on. It won’t be the same if I can’t be there to correct your form, but you could at least develop some muscle memory. Then, if something were to happen—”

“Nothing’s going to happen.” You shook your head, trying to reassure him. “I’m sorry about everything Stark said. He shouldn’t have put any of us in that situation… I know we got off on the wrong foot but I want you to know that accusation didn’t come from me. I trust you and I think you’re going to be a great intern.”

He pursed his lips to the side, shoulders drooping almost imperceptibly.

“Thanks…It’s just…” Darren rolled his eyes and cracked his knuckles. “I know nothing’s going to happen, but, if it did, those moves I showed you could save your life.” His brows were knit together, imploring you to agree with him.

You placed your hand on his cheek. Despite his baby-like features, stubble grated your palm.

“You’re sweet,” you said, giving him a warm smile before chuckling. “But…I’m not in need of a savior. I’ll be alright.”

“Promise me,” Darren said, his face unusually stern. “Promise me you’ll practice while you’re on vacation. We could even do a video call if you want extra help.”

“Okay, okay! Fine, you have my word,” you laughed, sliding your hand from his cheek to pat his chest. You were smiling wide as you pulled him into a hug, hoping to wipe away the look of a kicked puppy that was plastered on Darren’s face. He nuzzled his cheek against the top of your head as he hugged you back and you were surprised at the way that simple move made your heart stutter in your chest. “You must be really passionate about that self-defense stuff…Your dad must be so proud. Are you guys close?”

“Um, my dad is dead,” he said. Your breath caught and throat tightened. Darren swallowed thickly before pulling himself from your embrace. Your hand came over your mouth in shame.

“Can, uh, can I help you with anything before you go…? Packing? Reservations?”

“No, no it’s okay. I think Loki’s got me covered. Thank you, Darren. You’re really sweet to drop by. I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry, shit…” You ran a hand back through your hair, nails scraping at the scalp.

“Please don’t worry about it. It’s no problem, really,” he said, taking a step back with a sheepish smile. He squeezed your shoulder. “You be safe.”

“I will,” you said. Your hand was on your neck, subconsciously trying to will away the lump in your throat. He gave a small wave before turning from you and walking off.

Your phone dinged a small symphony as you returned to packing. After the lock on your luggage zipper clicked into place, you checked the texts that waited for you. Three were from Loki: one with the details for your flight, one with a selection of hotels to choose from, and one begging you not to go. Two were from Stephen, offering to drive you down and pay for lodging. No pressure either way, he’d said, I hope you have a good time and get the rest you deserve. You thanked him for the offer but emphasized that this was a journey you needed to take alone, offering to tell him all about it over dinner when you came back. You didn’t respond to Loki’s message but read it over and over again as you waited to board your flight.

3:08 PM          Loki: You cannot fathom the agony that is wrecking my body and soul at the thought of you being so far away. Please don’t do this. You’ve allowed yourself to submit to me, to bear my marks, to come undone at my touch. I beseech you to remember how safe you were under the guidance of my hand. I told you that you belonged to me. I meant it. I kept quiet when you announced you’d be leaving to keep you happy, but you must know how utterly distraught I am to imagine you being so far away that I could not protect you if something were to go wrong. I would never lead you astray, and I certainly would not try to keep you from being happy, so I beg you to reconsider. Submit to me again by taking this advice. You will not regret it as I know you don’t regret any time you’ve submitted to me so far. Perhaps you can secretly take your vacation at home or in my quarters? I will spend every waking hour tending to your needs. You will want for nothing. I will spare no expense to make it worth it. Tell me anything I must do to keep you from leaving here. I feel as though my spirit might claw its way through my flesh just to stay near you…For the love of all that is sacred and holy, do not go.

His words flashed through your mind like a song stuck in your head, looping ceaselessly as the passengers were corralled into the air bridge. Please don’t do this. Your head peered down the aisle, eyes locking on your seat as everyone trudged forward. I could not protect you if something were to go wrong. You hoisted your carry-on into the cubby above your seat. Submit to me. You buckled your seatbelt into place, sighing softly as you watched the world roll away, the plane plunging forward to prepare for liftoff. For the love of all that is sacred and holy… Your forehead greased up the window when the tops of clouds, like an endless, plush field of snow, were visible… do not go.

You’d inadvertently fell asleep on the flight, only waking when a flight attended with brilliant green eyes shook you awake and gently ushered you out into the muggy, thick Florida air. None of your family waited for you at the airport, though, how could they wait when they didn’t know you were coming?

As you shuffled along, dragging your suitcase behind you, your free hand was busy hailing an Uber. Your hair fell in your face, sticking to dewy sweat that crowned your hairline, and you nearly wrenched your neck out of alignment trying to flick the pesky locks behind your shoulder.

The car that came for you was nondescript but relatively nice. You didn’t catch the driver’s face but noticed his large hands, long fingers wrapped around a steering wheel that looked puny under his grip. Your suitcase filled the footwell, locked between your knees. The drive was all but silent up until the last 15 minutes.

“Umatilla, was it? That’s uhh…Nice. Very nice area,” he offered, his voice gravelly.

“Ahh, I know it’s bumpkin-town, you don’t have to pretend,” you said with a laugh, wiping some perspiration from your forehead.

“No hotel, huh? Are you staying with family?”

You weren’t a huge fan of the prying questions. The driver seemed well-intentioned, but you weren’t naïve enough to be honest with him.

“I live here with my husband, actually,” you said. You saw the driver’s head recoil in shock, though he tried to cover it up. His fingers drummed over the steering wheel as he processed this (apparently scandalous) information.

“A husband…nice guy?”

“Very nice, yes.”

“Of course,” he said. “Good, good. How long have you been married?”

“Six years,” you said. It was easy to lie when you didn’t think too hard about your answers, letting them spill forth naturally like a spring. For a moment, his eyes caught yours in the rear-view mirror. They were a stunning shade of green, much like the flight attendant’s, and you were instantly tense, like an antelope who realized a leopard was sniffing its ankle.

“Do you have anyone special in your life?” Your nostrils flared and you shifted in your seat.

“One woman,” he said. “Only one. She lives very far away, though. Flighty, snippy little bird, but she’s softer than custard when she relaxes enough to trust.”

Your heartrate had skyrocketed into your temples. No, your skull…Your hands. No… It was everywhere. You were stone-still.

“What do you do when she asks for space?” Your voice had gone cold.

“I’m not so good with that,” he admitted, green eyes flashing in the mirror to yours again. “I’m very protective. I don’t like her out of my sight.” His hands tightened around the wheel, a low squeak erupting from the leather cover.

“It sounds like you both may need a day off. You can drop me here, I’ll walk the rest of the way,” you rushed as he reached the stop sign that intersected with your old street. Before he could lock the door, you jumped out, yanking your luggage and slamming the door behind you. You ducked your head, walking fast as his car sat there, as if he was thinking about following you before he thought better of it and drove off smoothly.

As you walked, feeling a bit uneasy from that interaction, you called Stephen. Your home was about a mile down the road, so you had plenty of time to talk. The wheels of the suitcase roared against the lumpy gravel as you hauled it along. You told him everything, even reading out Loki’s text line by desperate line.

“—right, and then he had the nerve to call me ‘flighty.’ Me! I mean, come on, what a prick. Can you believe he followed me out here?! What was he thinking? I thought someone was supposed to keep track of him. How the fuck did he make it out of New York?!”

Stephen was laughing lightly. You could hear the disbelief and amazement in his breath.

“That’s only at night, but I wouldn’t put it past him if he told Stark he was coming with to keep the alarm bells from going off. He…Wow. He certainly knows what he wants.”

“But not how to get it,” you said.

“No, apparently not. Wow… Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, I guess. Honestly, part of me is flattered, but I never knew he could be so obtuse and possessive like that.”

Stephen barked a laugh.

“Have you met him?!” he said, now cackling. “Little Patient. Come on. You’re smarter than that.”

You scowled and hoped Stephen couldn’t hear how your feet were suddenly stamping against the ground much harder than before. Your old mailbox was just a few yards ahead of you with it’s slanted, rotting wood pole topped with a faded yellow box mottled with rust spots. It once had a bluebird painted on it and the phrase “Welcome Home,” but now these just looked like blue smudges, worn with time.

“I made it. Have to go now.”

“Don’t be mad,” he said. “If you need me, I’m a portal away, alright?” You could hear the smile in his voice and it made your heart stir.

“How about a smoke signal?” You started your way up the unpaved driveway, doing your best to stick to the center where a narrow strip of grass grew. Occasionally, you’d stumble and step in the powdery dirt, feeling like you might slip. There was once a time that you’d run up and down this dirt path and even the gravel road, back and forth, all day, shoeless, but that was years ago.

“My nose will be tuned in for the first puff of smoke, how about that?” Stephen said warmly.

“Perfect. Alright, I really do have to go.” You passed the wooden post-and-rail fence, with pieces warped and discolored from years of weathering. Many of the boards were rotting, some were entirely missing, and others, closer to the ground, had a green layer of mold filling in. Half of the fence was falling away, as if the next rain would send it all tumbling down. You remembered helping your father build that fence when you were a teenager, how bright the fresh wood was. The depth of time you’d been away for was settling in like an anvil on your chest. “I lo—ahem, bye, Stephen.”

“Please call, honey,” he said, before the phone chimed in your ear to tell you he’d hung up.

The trailer was just ahead. It hadn’t changed much, admittedly, because you couldn’t remember a time when it looked new. Still the same distorted plastic windows that didn’t lock. The thin, dented metal front door that no longer latched into place, thanks to the knob busting loose and barely holding itself together by a thread. The lattice skirt around the bottom of the double wide was also slick with algae and riddled with holes, some with duct tape over them, others without. You were overcome with the memory of the time your foot had gone through a loose tile in the kitchen, screaming out of fear that some creepy-crawly hiding behind that lattice would come bite you. Mom said it was your fault, of course, because you should’ve known where not to walk in the house. You winced and shook your leg out, trying to forget the residual feeling. No matter which way you wanted to cut it, you couldn’t remember a time when this home wasn’t falling into itself.

You grit your teeth as you reached the front door, wondering to yourself yet again why you’d chosen to come here of all places. Your knuckles hit the chipped paint on the front door unceremoniously. Instantly, some dog that you didn’t know they owned started screeching and you flinched, shoving yourself against the door to keep it closed as the dog launched itself at the opening. Its weight pounding against the door almost knocked you back, so you re-planted your heel on the porch to maintain leverage. Thank goodness you knew the door didn’t latch. The poor missionaries that came around from time to time probably had to learn the hard way.

Your mom hollered for the dog to hush as the heavy vibrations of her stomping came closer. You lifted yourself from the door, still keeping one firm hand against the edge in case Fido decided to come for you again, but dropped it when your mom came into view through the window. She squinted at you, pushed the door open, and tilted her head. She leaned on the doorframe with her forearm, giving the same intimidating look she’d scared off a number of door-to-door salesmen with. You offered her a shy, tight-lipped smile, and her eyes went wide. Clarity washed over her face.

“Ho-ly shit, if it isn’t the princess,” she said, laughing brusquely. She looked over her shoulder, calling to your father. “Todd! The snot-nosed brat you raised lost her fancy New York job!” She turned back to you, sneering. “Bed’s made but you know momma don’t do hand-outs, girl. One month tops and you’re out. Good Lord almighty, I always knew you’d fuck it up and come crawling back. How’d you do it?”

Your jaw tightened as you followed your mother inside, suddenly overwhelmed with the smell of smoke.

Chapter Text

With your mom immediately getting back on her bullshit and you being fresh in the shock that Loki had followed you home, you couldn’t help but fall right back into the role you held when you were a kid: quiet, agreeable, jaw clamped shut. The peacekeeper. You could feel the muscles in your jaw flexing out.

Your tummy was cold. Soaking wet. The front of your shirt dripped dishwater on your bare toes.

Your mom had offered you a peach, but didn’t have a clean plate to serve it on, slowly turning around to show you the mass of dishes racked up in the sink before turning back to you with a brow raised, as if to say, “Aren’t you going to get to work?” By the height of the pile, you’d made a conservative guess that every dish and utensil in the kitchen was hidden in there and with a deep, non-confrontational inhale, you’d begun loading the glassware into the dishwasher.

“No, baby,” your mom had said. “Dishwasher’s long been broke. Use it as a drying rack these days.”

You wondered, silently, just how they’d been using all the money you’d been sending back home these last few years. They certainly hadn’t put a dime towards maintenance. Your eyes scanned the room for a moment, lingering on cracks in the floor tile, the gaps between bedroom doors and their handles, and panels of wall that had warped from years of having the space heater pointed at them. You pushed your hands back into the opaque, elbow-deep sludge that filled the sink, tried not to gag, and shut off your mind. A hazy vision trickled into your vision: you were alone in the woods, phone long gone, with warm sun on your shoulders. At peace. Warm. Clean. You stayed there for a while, imaging how the earth would crunch under your hiking boots or how the birds would sing as you passed, until suddenly the sink was empty and the countertop was wiped down. As if on cue, your mom paced back into the kitchen as you tossed out a wad of soiled paper towels.

“That’s much better,” she said. “You ready for that peach?”

The name of that fruit made your heart skip a beat. For a moment, you mistook it for the pet-name your favorite men called you, and it was like an assault coming from her mouth. Feeling like she knew.

You used to be extremely close with your mom. She was once your best friend, someone you told everything to, but she couldn’t understand the nature of your job. She felt abandoned when you left home to be a Stark-drone and had spent the month leading up to your move crying and berating you almost non-stop. She’d slingshot through mood swings, at one moment telling you how proud she was and how much she’d miss you, heavy tears lining her eyes, and the next she’d be scowling, spitting accusations that you hated the family and didn’t appreciate all that had been done for you growing up. It was enough to give a person whiplash and was a shock at the time, as you’d been closer with your mom than anyone before announcing your plans to leave.

In your time being gone, you didn’t have as much availability to talk or come home, but you’d hoped she would process the distance and get over it. You loved her and figured the money sent home would show you cared and hadn’t forgotten. To be frank, you didn’t realize she was still going to be so upset when you returned. Luckily, you’d developed pretty thick skin under Stark’s tutelage. She’d figure out sooner or later that she couldn’t hurt your feelings anymore and no amount of snark could force you to grovel and apologize for growing up.

“Where’s Ty?” you asked. Your eyes flickered to your brother’s closed bedroom door and back to her, wondering how you hadn’t seen or heard him yet.

“Tyler? That boy’s sleeping. Be out ‘til dinner, I’d bet. Maybe if you were home more you’d know that’s how teenage boys are. He ain’t a baby anymore,” she said.

“No, I suppose he’s not,” you said, wiping your hands on the back of your pants.

“You missed all that.” Her lips were in a tight line, head tilted down at you as if you were a toddler being goaded into saying sorry. You clenched your jaw, unsure if you wanted to quip back or if it was better to let it go. As you decided, your mom bit into the peach she’d offered you, silently revoking the treat. “Could’ve called to let us know you were coming.”

“It’ll only be a week, Ma. I can get a hotel if it’s such an issue.”

“Oh, what, you want to leave me again already?”

You sucked in a breath and leaned over the counter for a moment, fighting the urge to tell your mother to fucking shove it. You almost wanted to laugh—the interns would lick bubblegum off your shoe and you wouldn’t try half as hard to hold your temper with them. They’d probably spend good money to watch you get talked down to like this, as well they should.

“What can I make you for dinner?” you asked. A look of surprise cross your mom’s face. She’d been expecting a fight and you wouldn’t give it to her. She eyed you carefully, trying to see if there was some catch or trick while you waited for her response, stone-faced.

“Spaghetti,” she said, narrowing her eyes as if she was preparing for your comeback.

“On it,” you said, smiling gently. “Go relax, I’ll get it taken care of.”

She swallowed and nodded, face softening, before she left to go sit on the porch.

You spent the next two hours cooking what might have been the best spaghetti you’d ever made, pulling half the spices from the shelf just to make sure it was aromatic and flavorful. By the time you were done, the soles of your feet were so sore they felt like they could’ve peeled clean off. A tray of garlic bread steamed on the counter next to a pan of herbaceous, buttery veggies while a heavy pot full of spaghetti waited on one of the stove coils. You called for everyone to come and eat but were met with silence. You called again. Silence. Huffing your breath impatiently, you went around the house to see what the damned hold-up was.

Tyler was still sleeping deeply, unphased when you shook his shoulder and told him to get up. Your dad “wasn’t hungry yet” but said he might eat if you gave him a couple more hours. Your mom said she’d had a big lunch, but she might try some tomorrow. Your heart sank in your chest. You’d hoped in vain for a family dinner, something you hadn’t had since you were seventeen.

“What’s wrong with your leg?” your mom said as she watched you turn away.

“Huh?”

“You’ve got a limp.”

“My feet hurt, Ma.”

“Well, why?”

“Uh, I walked down the road to get here and I’ve been up working now for hours. I’m tired.”

She gave you a pitiful look and told you she’d be back. As you waited on the porch, leaning against the wall of the house, you listened to an army of cicadas cheering for themselves out in the darkness. When she returned, she held out a double-shot of whiskey and a small pill that you eyed carefully.

“It’s a muscle relaxer,” she said. “Take ‘em both. It’ll help you ease up.”

You opened your mouth to argue, suddenly feeling a deep-seated rage fill your chest as you realized how many times she’d given you a shot as a teenager “just to take the edge off” since you “worked so hard.” Was she the reason why you always craved a drink when shit hit the fan? Why you doused your feelings in liquor when it got too hard? As the first word crawled up your throat to tell her just what you thought of her parenting style and life choices, you saw sadness in her eyes. You could only guess it was remorse for treating you so badly, for shunning you, and you decided to keep your trap shut. You thanked her for the offer and took the drink and pill to your room, not yet sure how you’d get rid of them.

You also took a portion of dinner to your room in a bowl, mixing the veggies with your pasta and using the garlic bread as a vehicle to stuff it all down. You ate alone, curled up in bed with your knees close to your chest to prop the bowl up, feeling spited. All these years slaving away at Stark Industries alone, paying (or, rather, attempting to pay) for their well-being, only to be ignored, insulted, and brushed off when you came home and cooked and cleaned for them. You felt incredibly naïve for thinking they’d be excited to see you, for thinking they’d be past the whole “Peach abandoned us” thing. God, you didn’t even identify by the name they’d given you anymore. How could you call yourself a part of this family? You sniffled and swallowed thickly, trying not to let your hurt get the better of your composure. As you slammed your bowl down on the same nightstand you’d had since middle school, your phone buzzed. It was a text from Stephen.

9:12 PM          Stephen: Having fun? :)

You gulped, a squeak leaving your throat as you tried not to cry. Your lower lip wobbled as you replied with a gust-of-wind emoji, hoping he’d catch your meaning.

9:13 PM            Stephen: Is that your smoke signal, honey? Already?

You sent a thumbs up.

9:13 PM            Stephen: What’s the address? Which room?

You replied with your home address, letting him know you were in the back bedroom on the right corner of the house and a second message with a simple request: Please don’t knock, I’d rather they not meet you right now.

The moment your message showed as being delivered, a glimmering ring of golden light appeared at your door. He actually came… The thought struck a nerve and you bit back a sob, feeling your throat suck in around itself. Through the haze of your tears, Stephen looked fuzzy as he stepped through the portal. Just as quickly as the portal closed, he rushed to the bedside and gathered the puddle of you up into a hug that you didn’t return.

“Oh, baby…Oh, honey. Come here, it’s alright. I’ve got you,” he said, pressing your cheek against his chest as he smooshed his face flush with the top of your head. He held you like some porcelain artifact caught mid-fall before it could shatter against the ground. His grip was tight and unyielding as your eyes wet his shirt. His cloak reached around to assist, supporting your backside like a hammock. The corner of the cloak slid across your cheek to dab away at your tears. You whispered a ‘thanks’ into the fabric and it responded with a light tap against the tip of your nose.

So, there Stephen Strange was, in your old room, shuffling himself onto your childhood bed as he cradled you. The cloak did a lot of the lifting but left to tuck itself around a chair when you were settled into bed. The bedframe croaked under the weight of you and Stephen and you suddenly remembered the time that very croak stopped you from losing your virginity. The image of your high school boyfriend running full-tilt down the driveway, struggling to buckle his pants as your father chased him off would never get old. You remembered the cracking sound as your father whipped his own belt in the air and threatened “the ass-whooping of a lifetime,” trying to keep up with the poor kid. You smiled at the memory. That night at dinner, your father wouldn’t stop scowling at you, red-faced, and after a full meal in silence he finally said, “And no, missy, we won’t be getting you a new bed any time soon. That one you’ve got is old for good reason.” Oddly enough, that boyfriend never came by the house again. What was his name again?

Stephen was petting your hair as you reminisced, finally settled against the pillows.

“What’s so funny, lovely girl?”

You smirked as you tried to decide whether or not you’d share the memory, humming in thought.

“You know, I’m fighting the urge to just read your mind and get it over with,” he teased.

“I just don’t know if I could describe it well,” you admitted, blushing as you tucked your damp face into the crook of his neck. Now it was your doctor who hummed in thought.

“I could always just look inside that brilliant mind of yours. It’s easier than you’d think.” He tilted his head at you, gently asking permission, and you were confused but intrigued, so you nodded in approval. Stephen gave that iconic half-smile of his, combing his fingers through your hair as he eased you down against him. Your face laid comfortably on his chest.

“Close your eyes,” he murmured. It began as a head massage, but you instantly realized what he was doing. It was hypnosis. You let him into your mind without hesitation. The hand of his astral form extended into your body as Stephen combed through your memories. The pads of his fingers tracked silky paths along your scalp, sending tingles and goosebumps over your skin until you were breathless and lost in the relaxation.

“Picture it again,” Strange instructed. It was in the front of your mind’s eye instantly: you were breathless there, too, just a highschooler trying not to trip as you yanked your panties away from your ankles. Your boyfriend was already on the bed, his family jewels out and proud. You’d gotten fully naked for the experience, but he’d left his shirt on, God only knows why. Then, as you climbed over his lap and prepared to feel him for the first time, the extra weight caused the frame and the springs to groan. You’d paused, eyes flickering to the door, waiting to hear a parent storming down the hall (they’d only recently allowed you to close your door when he was over), but the house stayed quiet. He pulled you back in for a kiss and your hand wrapped around him, trying to line it up just right. Hm…Your legs weren’t wide enough…You adjusted your knees, trying to spread just a little wider, and the bedframe squawked again.

The rest happened in a whirlwind of stomping and yelling, clothes flying around the room, the locked door handle jiggling until the door simply gave way and burst open. Your boyfriend threw himself through your window, leaving his shoes behind as he bolted for the hills. Your dad called after him, calling him something horribly dorky like a “purity-thief” or a “skeevy little son-of-a” as he, too, climbed out the window and went after the kid.

As Stephen watched your vision, smoothing through your hair, you blushed. This was such an intimate, embarrassing moment, and your brain didn’t filter any of the details away from Strange’s eye. He held back a chuckle, shaking from the effort as the last bits of your memory played out. He couldn’t hold it back anymore and finally snorted.

“Shh!” You slapped his chest. “Everyone’s still up!”

“I put a spell around the room, no one can hear us. We’re snowed in.”

“You—?”

“I didn’t know if you were safe. No amount of dad-rage is going to open that door tonight,” he said with a laugh. “But spells aside, that is stupidly funny. I can’t believe my meticulous little Peach didn’t account for the bed squeaking when your parents were in the next room!”

“I may have learned to be meticulous the hard way…”

“Was that your first time?”

“It was supposed to be,” you grumbled, pouting. Stephen cackled, his head falling back with a light thud against the wall.

“Oh my god, you are precious. Can I see your first?” he asked jokingly, waggling his eyebrows and nipping your sides delicately. You yelped and struggled away from the tickle.

“Doctor Strange, you are absolutely rotten!” You laughed, rolling to face away from him in a faux-pout.

“A menace,” he agreed, rolling with you as he easily fell into the roll of big-spoon. With one arm encircling your waist, the other went back to your scalp. “Now who’s going to be getting the ‘ass-whooping of a lifetime’ for making my Little Patient cry?” He mocked your dad’s voice as he quoted your memory.

You groaned.

“C’mon, that was the whole point of the smoke signal.”

“So you could be nosey?!”

“So I could protect you and help you feel better,” he hummed. “What happened, sweetness? Show me.” His fingers went back to work, smoothing you over and massaging your aura. As soon as the tingles started, you were a goner. You gave it all up, showed him everything, from the way you used to be close with your family, to finding your job, your mom turning on you, to the countless checks and packages you sent home and had never received a ‘thank you’ for, and even your decision to take down the photo of them (your only reminder of home) to keep them safer. You showed him your excitement to return home and reunite with everyone, your interaction with Loki in the car, the way you’d been treated, and your revelation about your budding problem with alcohol. By the time you were done, you were shivering with exhaustion. It took a lot of energy to be so thoroughly exposed to another person. Stephen moved to caress your shoulder. He was quiet for a while, sorting through his own thoughts, as the din of the frogs and crickets outside leaked through the poorly-sealed windows.

You could see the question in his eyes, his wondering of how many times you’d been made to feel like you weren’t wanted.

“You care for them so much,” he finally said. “When will you let someone care that way for you?”

“Stephen, don’t…” you warned.

“I’m saying this as your friend.” He twirled a lock of your hair between his fingers. A chill slipped over your skin. “You deserve the love you give to others.”

“God, you’re so dramatic…”

“That’s exactly what I’m talking about. I know Loki—” He tried again when he felt how you tensed at the name. “I know he thinks your biggest problem is drinking, but he’s wrong. It’s the fact that you are emotionally constipated.”

You snorted. He flipped you to lay on your other side, facing him.

“You were going to tell me something on the phone earlier, but you stopped yourself.”

“No, I wasn’t,” you said, pulse thudding in your ears. Stephen made blistering eye-contact with you.

“I heard it.”

“You didn’t hear jack-shit, wizard.”

“If you could just let go and allow others in, you might be surprised at the outcome. You are worthy of love, Little Patient. My Peach. I know it’s scary, but if you spend your whole life shutting people out, what was it all for?”

You didn’t say anything. Propped up on one elbow, Stephen traced a hand along your collarbone, sweeping your tousled hair away from your neck and behind your shoulder. You were fixated on his jawline, the way that his facial hair highlighted it perfectly.

“What were you going to tell me?”

“I can’t say it.”

“You can.”

“Loki would be furious,” you admitted, finally meeting his gaze.

“It’s just you and me here. Totally and utterly safe. Um, speaking of which, do you need me to have a talk with him about boundaries or something? Because…” His brows raised with the sort of quirk that implied he didn’t approve of Loki’s most recent possessiveness.

“N-no, you don’t… I think I made myself pretty clear with him. He probably scampered back home.”

“…Have you met him, though? Anyways, whatever. I know there’s something you need to say to me. It almost slipped out earlier.”

“God, why are you doing this?! It’s so embarrassing,” you whined.

“I want to hear you say it, Peach. I—quite literally—worshipped your body at one time. There’s not much you can say that would put me off.”

You made a face like you’d smelled something sour.

“Come on. Please. I want to hear you say it, let me hear it.”

Your nostrils flared. You swallowed. The air in the room seemed so heavy all of a sudden, so thick with tension. Could you do this? Could you admit it out loud, in front of him?

“Please,” he said.

“Stephen, I love you,” you breathed. It sounded so natural coming out of your mouth it could’ve been the wind. “I love you and I did something horrible and I don’t want to tell you what it is.”

“You can tell me,” he murmured. There was a lump in your throat. You thought you might puke. The blues of his eyes looked so kind and sincere as he cocked his head to the side and it made everything so much better and so much worse all at once.

“I used your safe-word system with Loki. I… I had sex with him.”

He scoffed, smiling lightly.

“Aw, Peach…” he cooed condescendingly, jutting his lower lip out to show how much he pitied you.

“I’m so sorry, Stephen… I’ve been feeling so guilty but you had to know.”

“Honey, I’m so proud of you. That is amazing that you liked the system enough to reuse it and feel safe with someone. Even if it was a greasy, would-be-magician in a weasel’s body.” He pulled you in for a hug, kissing your forehead. He didn’t let go, keeping his lips there above your brow as the warmth of his breath fell over your hairline. “Such a smart girl. Wonderfully done.” He kissed your forehead again and squeezed his arms around you. “I love you, too.”

“How can you say that?”

“I love you,” he said again. “Without ties or expectations. Whether you are exclusive with me or not. Whether you are my friend or my paramour. In no uncertain terms. Without time constraints. Without limits.”

“I love you too… You… You can’t tell Loki,” you spat out, feeling like your heart might split your chest wide open.

“Never,” Strange agreed. “It’s not his to know. Could I address something, though…?”

“Go for it.”

“It was not a secret at all that you were having sex with him,” Stephen said.

“WHAT?!” You sat straight up, wrenching away from his embrace.

“Oh, Peach, the smell.”

“Oh, sweet lord…”

“There was no mistaking the smell in your office that day. Not to mention, you were littered in hickeys, your voice was raw, and you looked like you were going to come completely unglued whenever he was involved. Loki wasn’t very inconspicuous either. Standing there stiff as a fucking board trying to look casual. God, his thoughts were so loud I actually had to concentrate on blocking them—which is a first. He must have been projecting them on purpose.”

“W-what was he—”

“He had a good time—ahem—times with you, I’ll leave it at that.”

You couldn’t hold back your smirk. Your face was unnaturally warm. You couldn’t believe you were here having this conversation with Stephen, feeling his unconditional love, his lack of judgement. It felt like your first glass of water after running a marathon in the summer.

Without another word, Stephen climbed off the bed and knelt on the floor. He reached for your ankles and eased your legs over the edge of the bed. With a palm full of lotion in his gorgeous, scarred hands, your doctor went to work massaging your aching feet. Where that lotion came from and how he knew your feet were so sore, you couldn’t be bothered to know and agreed to yourself that his powers were vast and useful as you sighed and fell back on the bed. The only sounds in the room were the slippery pops of his fingers working the tension from your heel and the soft sighs his attentions garnered from you.

As he massaged, you suddenly had the realization that he could have just used magic or a spell or whatever-the-fuck to make you feel better, but he didn’t. Doctor Strange was choosing to sit here and spend time, to be intimate and vulnerable with you. It definitely couldn’t have been easier than just casting a spell and saying goodnight, but he was doing it anyways for you. Your throat tightened at the thought.

“Stephen?”

“Hm?”

“Can I tell you something difficult?”

“Always.”

“It’s just that… I don’t know if I want to be with you or with Loki.”

“I know,” he said, sounding totally neutral. “Can I tell you something that will either help or make your decision way more difficult?”

“By all means,” you sighed.

“Well first of all, there’s no rule saying you have to be with anyone, or that it has to be me or him, but, if you decide to seriously be with me, I’m not going to share you. I won’t live in some world where I have to wonder what he’s going to do next to steal you away from me.”

“Funny enough, Loki said nearly the same exact thing not long ago,” you said, wiping the discomfort from your expression with the palm of your right hand. You were thankful to be laying back on the bed where he couldn’t see your face.

“Shitty minds think alike,” Strange grumbled. His hands moved up to your calves, strong thumbs digging in to smooth out the tension. “What I’m trying to say is, whether you make a decision or not, I’ll just be glad to have enjoyed you at all.”

“That must mean you’re extra stupid,” you giggled. He stroked the sensitive skin behind your knee and you jolted, accidentally kicking him in the chest. He let out a huff of air and yanked your offending leg playfully, as if he were telling it to stay put.

The conversation died down as your doctor pressed through all the knots in your feet and legs, the fog of sleep slowly rolling through your lungs the longer he worked. You kicked once when he roused you by humming some ancient sailor’s shanty, and again when he whisked your body around to tuck you in properly. As his left hand pushed the hair from your forehead, you heard a swoosh from the other side of the room and a warm weight as his cloak settled over your body. There was a rustle on your nightstand as he made the pill and whiskey vanish.

He paced. Sat down. Flipped through a book. Closed the book. The noises of his every move stirred you back awake and eventually you whined, frustrated, reaching out to him wordlessly as your half-sleeping brain tried to decide what was real. You heard his soft steps, felt the dip in the bed as he nestled in beside you, and sunk into the crevice between his arm and his torso. You weren’t sure if you’d actually heard him, feeling the siren hand of sleep drawing you (finally) under.

“Angelic little woman,” Stephen sighed to himself. “I’m not stupid, I’m starved.”

Chapter Text

You woke with a start, gasping as you pushed away from the hulking figure next to you and scrambled to the other side of the bed. There was a low thud as the wall met your back. You were trapped. In the dark, you could see him lurch forward to catch you. Run.

“Don’t,” you huffed. You went for a palm heel strike, thrusting the wrist-end of your right hand out towards where you imagined his face was. A soft weight blocked you, locking your hand against wall. You snarled as you felt a hand on either side of your waist. The man was shushing you.

“Don’t,” you said again. Unable to free your dominant hand, you tried to punch with your left, and immediately felt the slap of the wall against the back of your hand and that soft weight again, pushing against your other palm. His hands tightened on the curve of your waist as he tried to quiet you again. Fight. You spasmed violently, trying to shake his grip.

“Don’t fucking touch me,” you spat, kicking full-force with your left leg. It landed on what felt like his stomach, doughy and malleable. Temples thudding. The breath whooshed from his lungs as he doubled over.

“Stay away from me,” you shouted hoarsely. A snapping sound before something velvety—a blanket, maybe—locked your legs in place with a smart, stable grip. His hand reached towards the door and the lights came on. You started to yell but were cut off by a wad of fabric stuffing itself into your mouth. It smelled like Stephen. You bit down on it, grinding your teeth, and felt whatever was strapping your limbs to the wall constrict its hold.

“If you bite…any harder…it might bleed…” Stephen choked out. He was hunched over on the bed, one arm wrapped around his torso. You were out of breath, still involuntarily struggling against Stephen’s cloak. The muscles in your jaw were starting to ache from the effort.

“You were having a nightmare,” he said, face scrunched in pain as he recovered from your kick. “It wasn’t real… You’re safe.”

You spat out the collar of his cloak which shook itself out like a wet dog as it retreated behind your head. It didn’t release you from the wall, however, as it apparently still thought you were a threat to its master.

“I’m sorry,” you breathed.

Stephen sat on his calves with a lopsided smile, a hand on either of his knees.

“I forgive you,” he said. “The cloak, however, might need more convincing.” He gestured behind you to his partner. It was holding you firm, with both arms locked above your head and legs spread. Your doctor did nothing to persuade the cloak into letting you go. You swallowed, watching in silence as his eyes betrayed his better intentions. His dusky blue gaze scanned down your frame until it reached the apex of your thighs. His hand twitched as if stopping itself from reaching out. His breath was meticulous and calculated.

“Can I—”

“What did you dream,” he asked blankly, not looking at your face. Your nostrils flared as you watched his fingers curl into fists. He was in deep thought, clearly trying to distract himself.

“Um, I dreamt s-someone came to my apartment and attacked me,” you said, voice small.

“Poor thing,” he gritted out. He breathed in deeply and licked his lips. “You’re safe now.” His hands were trembling. A cold, familiar thrill shot down your spine. You felt like you were being hunted, splayed all out like a buffet.

“Stephen?”

He jumped, eyes finally meeting yours. His left brow raised, waiting for your question.

“Is that silencing spell still around the room?”

He nodded. There was a long pause.

“No one can get in either,” he said. On his hands and knees, he moved just an inch towards you, eyes zeroed in below your tummy. “Why? Something wrong, little one?” His focus shifted to your wrists, still bound by his cloak. You squirmed but the sentient fabric didn’t give you a centimeter.

“J-just worried. Didn’t want anyone to hear me screaming,” you said. Stephen’s watch snapped to your face, a dark energy behind his eyes. “W-when I woke up, I mean.” You gulped. A shudder overcame Doctor Strange, the tendons in his neck flaring as he bit back a snarl.

“I completely understand,” he said, nodding sagely as his eyes slipped shut. His head hung low as his fists unclenched, nails digging into his kneecaps. He’d come to a decision. “Cover her eyes.”

He gestured to the cloak and your vision was shrouded in darkness as the inexplicably-dry, plush wool collar tightened itself across your brow. A whimper trapped itself in your throat.

“You sound so pretty when you’re nervous,” he murmured. The back of his hand, shaking, stroked the inside of your right thigh. You jerked in surprise, an unsettling cocktail of relief and joy filling your chest as you realized no amount of struggling could free you from your binds. Only Stephen Strange had that power, and he’d only enact it if you used the magic word he’d gifted you. “I’m getting carried away, aren’t I?” His hand fell away from you, leaving you alone in the dark. You could hear his bluff, practically taste his smirk, but gave in anyways.

“Stay,” you muttered. It was the only sound you could send tumbling past your lips.

“Hmm…why?”

“B-because…Because you want me.”

“Ah, so it’s my fault, is it?” The low rumble of his voice made you pulse. You nodded, knowing he was watching you with the ferocity a starved wolf watches a doe with. He chuckled quietly. “And for you?” His nose skimmed your neck, a soft exhale fanning over your throat. You tilted for him, offering access, but he backed away.

“I w-want you too, sir. I haven’t stopped missing you.”

“Sir? Oh, sweets, what happened to ‘doctor’? Aren’t you my Little Patient anymore?” His knuckle grazed the top of your thigh and your head rolled back, hips bucking as you gasped, overwhelmed with the heat that swarmed your senses. He hadn’t kissed you, barely even touched you, and you were melting. It was as if the sexual energy that could keep him going for hours was some contagion, leeching into your bones just by being near him for long enough. You nodded desperately, craning your neck forward and pursing your lips, asking him for more.

“Is this what you want?” His mouth was millimeters from yours. His thumb dragged against your lower lip. Just as quickly as he’d leaned in, he retreated again. “You want me to touch you? Take away all that pain and fear?”

“Please,” you whined. “Make it go away, Doctor.” You could practically hear his mirth as his hands curled around your hips. The room was painfully silent as you realized just how connected you and the doctor were. Without your sight, you could sense his presence in the room, anticipate where he would go next. You tuned in to the lilt of his breath, the vibrating pulse under his skin, and felt him closing in on you.

Your hands clenched into fists as his lips finally met yours in a tantalizingly delicate kiss. He was holding back, the rotten tease. As he tried to pull back, you bit his lip, forcing him to stay close. Stephen grunted and you sighed, joyfully, as that little bit of convincing was enough to send his fingers dipping under the waistline of your bottoms.

“Thought we had an agreement about the pants,” he growled against your mouth, ripping the pajama shorts away without hesitation.

“We had an agreement about jeans, Stephen!”

“Whoops,” he said flatly before tearing the front of your shirt open, the thick buttons of your satin top skittering across the floor.

“I liked that set,” you pouted. “Damn you, wizard.”

“A worthy sacrifice for this…divine view,” Stephen hummed as he palmed one of your breasts. He shivered as he leaned close to you. “God, I’ve fucking missed this body.” He latched to your neck, nipping the delicate skin, and you rolled your body up to be flush with his. Doctor Strange’s arms wound around you, the scrape of his robes against your skin making your pussy gush. His body was like a sturdy, safe temple for you to source your pleasure through. His nails dug into your back as he tried to pull you closer than close. Skin-to-skin wasn’t enough; Stephen wanted himself to be engrained into the very fibers of your being. You moaned, wishing you had the use of your hands to draw him impossibly closer, yet loving the freedom that came with being strapped into place for him to use as he pleased.

His lips hummed over your body as Stephen kissed, licked, and sucked his way down to your tits, murmuring little affirmations against your flushed skin as he moved. You felt swollen, arching out as far as the cloak would allow to ensure his mouth stayed on you. You found yourself gripping onto some extra fabric of the cloak for support and felt it press tighter over your eyes. Perhaps it was deciding to take pity on you.

Stephen slid one hand down your tummy as his smooth tongue laved over your aching nipple, forcing a cry from your throat. The sheer heat of it turned your insides to lava, a jolt of pleasure surging into your cunt. As he licked, coaxing the sensitive bud into a tight knot, his fingers finally found your slit. He stroked lightly as you bucked against his hand, wanting more, more, more.

“I want to see you,” you gasped, rutting against his touch as his fingers finally dipped in enough to soothe the swollen gem between your lips. He hummed in thought, sucking mindlessly on your breast as if it held the key to his decision.

“You heard the lady,” he finally said, voice muffled by your tit, and the cloak lifted from your eyes, allowing you to stare down at the glorious sight that was your doctor palming himself in time with the roll of your hips against his other hand, his teeth bared over the taut, rosy peaks of your chest. The fabric brushed your cheek as the collar slid along your jaw, giving you goosebumps. It cupped your chin as you watched Stephen run the edges of his teeth across your nipples, eliciting a sweet hiss from you as your hands mindlessly struggled against their binds.

“Easy, now,” Strange cooed, kissing up your neck again as his hand pulled away from your pussy. You groaned impatiently, but when his lips met your jawline, you saw he was drawing his hand up between your faces. His two fingers glistened, coated in your arousal, and you watched in awe as his tongue lolled out to clean the backs of his fingers off. With his proximity and that penetrating eye contact, you knew what he wanted without needing him to ask. Your eyes slipped shut as you licked the pads of his fingers. The cloak smoothed over your throat before tucking behind your head again.

The clean, sweet, tang of your essence was made even more delicious when your tongue met Stephen’s through his spread fingers. Helping him clean your mess off, making out through the barrier of his massive hand, sent a forbidden shiver through your frame, knowing that very action was making you ooze more of that sticky delicacy you were tasting. Stephen pushed his two fingers into your mouth and allowed you to suck the last of yourself from him.

“Addicting,” he sighed wantonly, settling his lips against your cheek before kissing, kissing, kissing, and kissing, your head bobbing from the force. He nipped your earlobe when his fingers snapped again, and suddenly the warmth of his clothing was replaced by the warmth of bare skin. Your thighs were trembling and you thanked your lucky stars that his cloak’s hold was steadfast around your limbs.

“Let me in, Little Patient,” he crooned, nuzzling his nose under your chin, forcing your head up before planting a kiss over the bob in your throat. You were already spread for him, already dripping, but he wanted to hear you say it. Needed to know your mind wanted him as much as your body did. The silken heat of his cock brushed against the inside of your right thigh and you pulsed around nothing, as if your cunt was trying to draw him in with sheer magnetism.

“Yes,” you rasped. You angled your hips towards him as best you could, the weight of your body stressing the binds. “Take me, Doctor.” The veins in his neck flared as he clawed at his mouth. Stephen Strange looked utterly wild, hair askew and eyes blown wide, a twitch away from losing his composure.

“Hold her back,” he snapped at the loyal cape, and in an instant it pulled you flush against the wall. There was a low thunk as the back of your head made contact. You sucked in a breath. “Her eyes, God damnit, her eyes!” And again, you were met with instant darkness, only accompanied by the cape that was now tangled around nearly every part of your body, doing all it could to obey its master. The room was silent, save the heaving breaths of your beloved doctor who was trying desperately to fight the urge to fuck you until you broke.

The void was obsidian, heavy, and Stephen wasn’t touching you, as if he knew the suspense was worth more than the action. You could feel his weight shifting on the bed, prowling, as he decided just what exactly he’d be doing to you. You made a mental map as he leaned to the right, closing in, and then centered as he leaned back.

He froze. The tempered lilt of his breath was gone. The room was more quiet than the sound of wax melting and you realized he was now holding his breath. He’d read your mind, knew you were tracking him. Silence was his way to up the ante, to hide from you on another level. Something in your chest locked up like a rusted bolt. Adrenaline.

“Five,” you peeped.

“Tell me, lovely.”

“I’m scared.”

“Hm?”

“The silence is intense,” you said, your own voice sounding far away.

“I’m sorry, sweetness,” he purred. One of his hands enveloped your knee as he murmured against your forehead. “How’s this?”

“Better, thank you.”

“Not a big fan of the sensory deprivation, I take it,” he chuckled. One hand drifted back down to your slit and as soon as he touched, you knew exactly how wet he’d made you. Stephen groaned to himself as he gathered the mess he made before slicking it over his dick. Through the thick gloss of your arousal, you almost couldn’t feel his fingers until they spread your lips apart. He fit the head of his cock against your tense, quivering hole. Your hips bucked, knocking away from him, and he laughed lightly as he repositioned himself. “Maybe we can try the opposite of sensory deprivation, then?”

“Please,” you whined, trying to straighten your back, lean into him, anything to get him inside, anything to soothe that ache that clouded your awareness.

“You want it?” He pushed just the head in, just enough that you could feel that weighty, breath-catching stretch, and held it there. He knew you couldn’t wiggle down to force him any deeper. There was no more room to move. Your pussy fluttered pathetically on its own volition, asking him for more as politely as it knew how to.

“God, Stephen, please, please, how long will you make me beg for?!”

He slammed into you.

A guttural scream clawed through your chest when he reached the hilt. The fullness of him, that blissful pressure as he split you open on himself, was the epitome of pleasure. Searing. Mind-melting. He ground his pelvis against yours, using the soft thatch of hair above his cock to work your clit into submission. You were quickly running out of breath and sanity.

Eyes covered, he still enveloped you in a way that made you feel like you could see him, resting his forehead against yours, gripping your body frantically in the few places his cloak wasn’t touching, like he needed to know you were still in one piece. His hands locked around your hips, curling until his nails nearly broke the skin, and then clambered up to your tits, the back of your neck, and finally your shoulder blade before yanking your thighs free from the cloak to wrap your legs around his waist.

You let out a shaky whimper as you felt Doctor Strange lose himself within you. His cock sailed in and out of you harshly, desperately, and some quiet voice inside knew he was making up for lost time. He’d missed you. Could another woman take the intensity of his needs? You supposed not.

“That’s it,” he choked out. “Love it when you whine. When you f-fucking squirm for me.” One of the hands that was supporting your tush gave your right ass cheek a harsh smack that seemed to echo through your nerves like a forest fire.

You moaned like his cock was punching the breath out of you.

“Fuuuck, Peach. Tight little pussy. So fucking warm for me.”

You squeezed your legs around him, keeping him deep as you let the sounds of your ecstasy come forth effortlessly.

“I can still taste you,” Doctor Strange groaned, kissing you again. He was right. The perfume of your fluttering cunt lingered on his goatee, making you clench around him as you tasted yourself yet again.

“Give her to me,” he finally growled. The cloak dropped you into Stephen’s strong arms as he continued pumping into you at a brutal pace, the blood rushing back into your hands with a cooling sensation when you gripped his shoulders. You smelled the faint remnants of a sage cologne on his neck when he tucked you tight against his body, bouncing you in his lap. There was no deeper, no harder, no sweeter he could rock himself into you, yet still you wanted more of him. Something unknowable, unnamable, that your primal instincts thirsted for. A growl rolled through your chest as Stephen’s cock pummeled your g-spot.

He laid you back so your head and upper back hung over the edge of the bed. Your arms shot out as Stephen settled you into your back-bend, the heels of your hands pressing against the floor.

There was a thudding in your ears that pulsed in time with the rhythmic thump, thump, thump of your bed against the wall. Your low back and butt were supported on the mattress, heels digging into Doctor Strange’s back. Stephen snapped his fingers and the cloak slid behind your head to keep you from straining your neck. Your eyes slipped shut as the blood rushed into your temples. At this angle, with your arms trembling and lungs burning as you practically hyperventilated, Stephen could grind against your mound perfectly, sending bursts of white light like shooting stars into your clit.

You were stunned by the way he could drill your g-spot with that villainous cruelty yet massage your clit with innocent tenderness at once. Your eyes rolled back into your head, body gradually tensing as the musical waves of his attention built up a knot in your belly.

“S-Stephen…fuck! Fuck, I love how you fuck me,” you babbled. He chuckled lowly at you.

“Like getting fucked upside down, huh?” he panted, giving you a lopsided smile when your blurry gaze found his mesmerizing cerulean eyes.

“Fuuuuck yes,” you groaned, sounding drunk. “Fuck. M-more, more please, God, I just want your fucking cock.”

“You have it,” he murmured, laughing warmly before hunching over to nip at your ribs. You squealed and jerked as the scruff of his goatee tickled your stomach. Stephen hummed dramatically in thought, sliding his hands along your stomach. “That reminds me of a fun game we can play.” His hips slowed. You stirred, wanting to feel him massage the lucidity out of you.

“A game?” You perked up like a pet waiting on a treat from its master. Doctor Strange raised a brow and spoke slowly, unsure of how you’d react to his proposal.

“Yes, baby…How would you feel about fighting me? Get some of that tension out? Your aura is roiling.”

He could sense your confusion. The cloak helped him guide you out of your backbend so you could lay properly on the bed, though your head was now at the footboard.

Stephen plunged into you, the heat of his cock melting you from the inside. That torturous grind of his pelvis against your clit still working you up, edging you to keep your muscles fiery and taut. You shuddered, pressing a kiss against his chest.

“Try to get away,” he murmured.

“Huh?”

“Fight me while I fuck you. Try to get away from me.”

“What if I say no?”

“You can tell me ‘no’ or ‘stop’ or call me any wretched name under the sun, but I’m not going to let you go unless you use your numbers. Got it?” His eyes were light with mischief. That tender hand stroking your jaw made you feel so soft and open despite the challenge he was presenting you with. You raised a tentative eyebrow at him and tried not to look so flustered with his dick still massaging a nerve that made your vision go fuzzy.

“Is that a yes?” He skimmed his nose along your cheek. Not trying to force you, but to remind you just how safe you were. Stephen wanted to play with you, push you, rewire all the hate and hurt that was knotted up in your brain from the events of the last few days and turn it into pleasure. All it took was one little syllable, ten, and you knew he’d pull you out of the storm. A new woman.

“Yeah…” you said. “Yeah okay. We can try that.” You couldn’t help the curious smirk on your face, your expression warped from trying to anticipate the unknown. Stephen kissed your chin, your cheek, and finally your lips before quickening his hips and raising a thick brow at you.

“You know what to do,” he whispered. You did. It took your orgasm-deprived brain a moment of extra convincing. You didn’t want to be away from him, you wanted him to ride you until your skin was raw, but it was part of the game.

You jerked your shoulders and he tensed around you, instantly locking one hand over the top of your head and the other behind your back, wrapping it around the opposite shoulder. The squabble forced his cock in deeper, punching into your g-spot a little harder than normal, and it forced a squeal out of you that you’d never heard before. The way he had you pinned left your arms essentially useless and with your face tucked into his neck, you couldn’t headbutt him, but now you understood the game. It was sex therapy. The harder you fought, literally pushing out all the negativity you’d been feeling, the harder he’d fuck you and the better he’d make you feel.

“That’s it,” he grunted. “C’mon, pretty Peach, take this cock. Fight me.”

“Ugh, fuck off.” You jerked your hips, trying to roll him off of you, and it almost worked until he slammed his knee against your inner thigh, spreading you even wider on the bed. Doctor Strange hit a new angle inside you then, kneading the rightmost walls of your pussy, and another ragged groan erupted from your throat. He let your arms and head free, showing you a little mercy

“Get the fuck off me!” The sweat on your thigh allowed you to yank it from his pin and you immediately started scrambling away from him. He looked genuinely surprised as his cock slipped out of you, watching you retreat for just a moment before his brain caught up, and he started chasing you.

You slapped him across the face with all your might. Stephen’s breath caught as he froze in place, trying to process how hard you’d just hit him. It came so naturally, you didn’t think to stop yourself, your heartbeat stopping for a full two seconds before realizing that shit just got real. There was a puffy, cherry colored hand-shaped welt on his cheek.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry, Stephen. Are you oka—”

“GET HER.” His growl was so coarse and dark that you didn’t recognize him for a moment. When that moment passed, the room spun around you as the cloak wrapped around your throat and slammed you back down onto the bed. The force of it knocked the breath from your lungs with a pathetic huff. You were dizzy. Stephen hovered over you, looking equally angry and impressed. You hoped the anger was part of the game. His right hand pressed against your chest, pinning you down as he fit his cock back into you. Had your legs automatically opened for him? The intensity of the situation had your body tense and tight, so your cunt bore down on him harder than normal, making him feel even bigger.

He watched your mouth, making sure he wouldn’t miss you mouthing a number, but you were still enjoying the game.

“I said…Get OFF of me,” you thrashed ferociously under his hand. Your voice was getting raspy from the effort. “Get out! Get OUT OF ME! Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you, fuck you! FUCK YOU! Fuck you, I don’t want this! I don’t fucking want you!” You were fighting him with every ounce of strength now, jerking your torso, kicking at nothing, fists battering the mattress, and even though you both knew you were lying, it felt so good to scream, to spout hatred on his deaf ears. When you were done, he placed his left hand over your mouth and you bit the side of his palm so hard you nearly broke skin.

His right hand pushed against your chest even harder, his dick pushed just a little deeper, insistent against your cervix. That warm, soft patch of curls over his pubic bone was teasing fire into your clit with every stroke in and out. Your eyes rolled back, a shudder overcoming you. You punched him in the chest one, two, three times before he laid on top of you, wrapping his arms so tight around your torso that it was getting hard to breathe.

“STOP,” you demanded.

He could feel your pussy quivering, fluttering, preparing to give out. He ground against your clit insistently and you took to punching him in the back, each impact followed by a resounding, hollow thunk as the force of your fists rolled through his lungs.

“Stephen, DON’T!”

Your orgasm took you so suddenly, you wondered for a moment if you’d missed him casting a spell. You screamed so high, so harsh, that you couldn’t hear yourself after a moment, overcome by unfettered trembling. He praised you in words you couldn’t understand through the bliss but felt as a warm swell in your chest. When you came down, you were still shivering, throat hot and raw. Stephen was petting your face.

“Do you need to cum still?” you rasped.

“I think we’ve had enough, precious one. Maybe we can do something slow and soft in the morning, hm?”

He pulled you against his side, holding you and stroking your back as the cloak draped itself on top of you, feeling like the heaviest, most plush blanket you’d ever had.

“Did I do okay? Was that alright?”

“Shh, try not to use your voice… You were fantastic. So very good. Beyond words, honey. Are you feeling okay? Squeeze my finger, one for yes, two for no.”

You squeezed his pointer once and swallowed, wincing at the way your ragged throat protested.

“Hmm. Such a good girl. Get some rest, I’ll get you taken care of.”

His hand came over your eyes and before you could tell him goodnight or thank you or okay or I love you, your breath hitched and muscles oozed into submission as you were ladled into sleep.

Chapter Text

The pressure on your bladder was enough to make a weathered soldier squeal like a newborn. You woke with one foot already touching the floor and body sliding off the mattress, your subconscious apparently determined to keep you from pissing the bed. Stephen rustled in his sleep. He left out a soft groan before grabbing your wrist. In the dim light of the room, his face scrunched but eyes did not open.

“Uh?”

“Shh, I have to use the bathroom. I’ll be right back,” you whispered. Your thumb stroked a reassuring circle on his forearm. He squeezed your wrist once, a silent ‘ok,’ and then released you. The covers hissed as he rolled onto his side, facing away. A smile crept on your cheeks despite your body’s insistent need to pee. Had you ever seen him look this helpless? This relaxed? Not a chance. You tilted your head, studying the way the glow from a streetlight leeching through the blinds made the sweep of gray above his ear twinkle. That’s when you noticed he’d dressed you in a pair of sweatpants and a tank top with a sleep bra underneath. Not your typical choice of pajamas… He must have been trying to keep you warm. What a love. One hand stretched out, wanting to pet him, to feel how silky his hair was. Oh, to—

Ok. Nope. Time to pee. Let’s go.

You snatched your phone from the bedside table and cut on the flashlight, using it to guide your way down the hall to the bathroom. The floorboards creaked as you padded along and the dog growled at you from his nest of blankets in the living room.

You took a sharp inhale of disgust at the sight of the bathroom. It reeked of mildew. The toilet seat was peeling with a splotchy yellow film from years of use without cleaning. The toilet bowl was no better, with a mean, dark, jagged crust like cracked paint lining the inside. You gagged and held the back of your hand over your mouth. Someone should destroy that monstrosity, you thought. It wouldn’t even be worth hiring a cleaner…You made one mental note to research ‘toilet stores’ in the morning and another to budget for whatever the cost of an arsonist might be. Realizing the counter was probably last cleaned the same time that the toilet was, you decided to tuck your phone in your armpit instead of setting it down.

You squatted over the toilet without letting your tush touch the seat, your thighs trembling from the effort, and flushed with your big toe after. As you washed your hands, your phone vibrated. Ugh. Who would be trying to get ahold of you at this hour? What hour was it, even?

2:36 AM          Tony: TRACKER IN BACKPACK JUST LEFT BUILDING. SOMEONE BROKE INTO YOUR APARTMENT. GET HOME ASAP. WHERE TO SEND CAB? THIS IS NOT A DRILL.

Your pulse whooshed into your ears. Face hot. No, on fire. Every inch of your skin prickled with dread. You replied with trembling hands instantly, sending Tony your parents’ address. You stared at the black screen, waiting for it to light up with his reply.

2:38 AM          Tony: CAB ON WAY. WAIT OUTSIDE. TELL NO ONE. TRUST NO ONE. DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME?

Yes sir, you replied.

The dog growled again as you, shoeless, slipped out of the house. You were thankful that the doorknob was busted, as it allowed you to leave without making a sound. The gravel driveway was painful to walk on without shoes, but the lawn was infested with stickers, so you powered through it as quickly as possible, sighing with relief when your soles met the smooth road.

It was a brisk night with a slow, thick wind that tried (and failed) to leak through your clothes. You’d have to remember to thank Stephen for dressing you so warmly when this was all over. Had he realized you left yet? You almost turned around, picturing him chasing you down the driveway and scooping you back into bed, telling you that was all a dream, too. That there was no text from Tony, no burglar in your apartment. If only. You shook from the adrenaline rather than the cold and rubbed your back against the light post as you waited for your ride to come.

Tony must be so freaked out, you thought, I have to be brave for him.

You didn’t want to be brave, but a car was coming to take you away. It was time to clock in. You shoved your hands in the pockets of your sweatpants, took a deep breath, and steeled yourself as a pair of white headlights came into view.

Chapter Text

Eight hours later

11:43 AM        Tony: What do you mean she’s gone??? She didn’t tell you she was leaving??????

11:44 AM        Stephen: She didn’t. I don’t know. I’m freaking out.

Chapter Text

Five hours earlier

You were about to make a huge mistake.

When you arrived at Stark Tower, you acted as if everything was fine. As far as the rest of the people in the building were concerned, nothing was amiss. Tony had texted you again on your flight back home with a game plan. A number of people from his team were tracking down the backpack and scanning tapes of the break-in and he’d be meeting you in the apartment to assess damages and see if anything else was stolen. You’d move forward from there. New apartment arrangements, if you wanted. Though you were cool and collected on the outside, wading through the halls of Stark Tower in a pair of cheap, plastic, airport flip flops, you were counting your breaths to ensure you didn’t have a full-blown panic attack in front of everyone.

As the elevator doors closed, you had to correct yourself to keep from pressing the button leading to Loki’s floor. He hadn’t texted you once since that initial cab ride in Florida. It seemed he was finally willing to give you some space. It…It made you miss him. What had he been up to since then? Was he happy…? You hoped, in a pathetic way, that he wasn’t upset with you, though you doubted he’d be able to hide it if he was.

The elevator dinged as it opened, and you couldn’t help but look at the corridor leading to your apartment in a different light. The floor looked normal but felt so sinister with the knowledge that someone came up here and violated your living space. Just the thought of someone breaking in made you nauseous. You counted again, trying to steady your breaths. At least it was safe now, you thought as you reached for the door. Yes. Tony is inside right now with a team prepared to set things straight. Everything would be ok.

The lights were off when you entered. The apartment was quiet.

“Tony?”

You set your phone on the kitchen counter. They must be in the guest bathroom, you thought. Yeah, that would make sense…starting from the scene of the crime. You walked that way, calling for Tony again. No one answered. You hummed in annoyance.

The bathroom door pushed open with a swish, easy. Lights off. Empty. Your head tilted down and eyes went to the tile on the bathroom floor. Well, to be more specific, the in-tact tiles on the bathroom floor. You expected the floor to be busted up. That would be the only way to get to the backpack, breaking the floor apart. Did Tony get it repaired that quickly? It had only been three hours since the break in… No. It wasn’t possible.

A familiar voice sounded behind you.

“So it’s in here, huh?”

Your breath caught in your throat as you whipped around. You blinked in disbelief. A wave of nausea made impact on your stomach like a bird on a windshield.

“D-da—”

“Just tell me where it is so we can be done here, okay? No need to try and remember my name,” Darren said.

“Y-you—”

“You were looking down. So it must be in the floor, right?”

“You—”

“Shut the fuck up,” he said. “And listen to me before I have to hurt you. I’d like to make this as clean as possible.” You heard the latch on your front door shuck into place. Someone else was in your house. They just locked you inside. Your eyes darted over his shoulder. Darren snapped his fingers in front of your face. “Focus on me, Peach. Focus like your life depends on it. Which tile is the backpack under?”

How did he find out it was a backpack?

“No…No, T-Tony…Tony texted me…This doesn’t make sense… How did you—”

“Point out the tile,” he rasped. “This is your last opportunity before I do something truly devastating to that lovely bone structure of yours.”

Okay. Fair enough.

“Second tile from the left, touching the bathtub. There’s four of them, starting from there,” you said, sounding very far away. Darren shoved his way into the bathroom. Forgetting about the other person in your apartment, you turned to watch him as he knelt and pressed his ear to the ground. His knuckles rapped on the tiles you pointed out a few times, listening to ensure there was a hollow space underneath. There was.

“Ah, nicely done. And your tool?”

You pointed to the medicine cabinet.

“There’s a screwdriver in there,” you said.

“I was wondering what that was for! I figured you just got a lot of hair stuck in the drain…Wow,” he said, laughing lightly as if you were both friends. “I should have figured it out sooner. It seems so obvious now.”

Your mind flashed to the memory of fingerprints on your fridge after you specifically remembered cleaning the stainless steel. It seemed so long ago, but given the present circumstances, you wouldn’t be surprised if he’d been casing your apartment.

“Did you go in my fridge?”

“I was running out of leads. And hungry. Turns out you’re not worth much as a shopper though,” he said, turning back to the tile with the screwdriver in hand. “Guess you should be thankful no one’s here expecting you to be a homemaker, right? What a miserable guy that would be.”

The lighthearted, casual way he spoke struck a mournful nerve in your chest. The world went silent as you watched Darren raise the screwdriver over his head and strike down multiple times. The soles of your feet felt the vibrations of the impact. The impressive muscles in his back rippled as he clobbered the floor. Despite the unfortunately occupied apartment, you felt alone in the deepest, most unadulterated sense of the word. Every stitch of Stark Tower was dressed to the nines in security features. Alarms should be going off. Sirens blaring. Lights flashing. Blinds clamping shut. Someone should have been coming to rescue you, but the halls were quiet.

Where was Tony?

Finally, there was a crack in the tile big enough for him to fit his meaty hands through. He ripped the tiles back, opening the cubby as porcelain shards flung around the bathroom. You’d gone numb. Didn’t even flinch when one nicked your arm.

Where was Stephen?

Darren yanked the bag out of the hole in the ground, face split into a beautiful, untamed grin. His knuckles were white with the grip he had on it, even as he set it down, unzipped it, and dug through just to ensure the treasure he was after was really inside. It was. He turned to you, mouth moving as he zipped the pack closed. He was saying something. You couldn’t hear him. Your body was cold. Your eyes blurred.

Where was Loki?

His brows furrowed. His mouth moved again, slower this time. You were in shock. Cold tears rolled down your cheeks. He snapped his fingers again at you until you could hear, your head rearing in surprise from the sudden return of noise. The reality of your situation was closing in on you.

No one was coming for you.

It was a fact as hard and sturdy as wrought iron.

No one was coming for you.

“Hey, hey, can you hear me? You listening, girl?” He threaded his arm through the right shoulder strap of the pack and stood up.

“I—I can, um—”

“Listen: if you can’t keep your mouth shut about this, you understand there’s a lot of people who know your face that want this backpack, right?” He tilted his head. Now that the initial shock had passed, his cockiness and threats were starting to make you angry. You sniffled indignantly.

“I’m the only one who can access the files in there anyways. Everything is password protected, so why don’t you quit while you’re ahead and I’ll consider not advocating for prison. How about that, you skeevy little twerp?” Your jaw clamped shut, heat pulsing in your cheeks.

“What the fuck did you just say to me?”

You gulped.

“No, no, really. Say it again,” Darren said, lurching towards you. “I want to hear that pretty little mouth tell me exactly what I needed to hear.”

You shook your head. The blood drained from your face. You took a step back. The side of his fist slammed into the wall next to your head.

“ANSWER ME!”

You lunged for the backpack, ripping it from his shoulder, and took off at a sprint. Well, you thought you did, until Darren’s foot slipped around your ankle to trip you as you ran. The pain rippled through your elbows like a gong as you crashed to the floor. The backpack partly cushioned the right side of your ribs besides where the zipper poked harshly against bone.

His hands wrapped around your ankles and yanked you back. You clawed at the floor, trying to resist him, but he was significantly stronger than you.

He flipped you over and you tried to kick him in the balls but aimed too high, nailing him in the stomach instead. Darren doubled over, choking from the loss of breath, and swore. You scrambled to your feet, scooping up the backpack, and leapt forward.

He already had a hand locked into your hair. You would’ve fallen flat on your ass had Darren not taken the mercy of holding you up, swinging you around by the hair like a ragdoll until you were backed against the wall of your kitchen. He slammed the back of your head into the wall, forcing an unsteady grunt from your throat.

Despite knowing you were alone, you screamed for help. Darren’s forearm swiftly came over your mouth, stuffing deep into your maw like a horse’s bit. The sheer force made your jaw ache but you didn’t stop screaming. You tried to bite him so he’d back off, but the size of his arm made it impossible to get the upper hand. He didn’t even react to the pressure of your teeth against his skin.

“Even if someone were to hear you, which they won’t, do you really think you’d be alive by the time they got here?”

He didn’t take his arm back, even after you’d stopped screaming, until you gagged. By then, your chin and his arm were battered in drool. You swallowed. One of your hands gently pressed on his chest and the other laid over the hand of his that was woven in your hair.

“There’s cameras,” you panted. “They’ve seen your face.”

He looked over his shoulder towards your closed bedroom door, presumably at his unseen accomplice who, from the sound of it, was rifling through your drawers.

“You hear that? She said there’s cameras to catch us,” Darren chortled. Whoever he’d brought snorted but said nothing. Before he could turn to face you again, you tried to shove him away, eyes locked on the backpack which laid on the floor near the couch.

He delivered a brutal knee strike to your liver, a haggard cry erupting from your chest as the pain bloomed in your stomach. It was pure fire, your thighs trembling, begging to give out. You’d leaned into your attacker, who did the great kindness of holding you up. You wheezed hoarsely, lungs locked up. Your mouth gaped open and shut, pathetically, like a fish out of water. Without even laying a finger on your throat, he’d managed to strangle you.

“Quit fucking running from me,” he bellowed. With each word, he used his grip in your hair to jostle your head, as if he could shake his logic into your mind. He got closer and closer by the breath. You were getting dizzy and the foam spewing from his lips was misting your cheeks. It reeked of cheese whiz and saltines. “You had so much potential to be a good fighter… You’ve got the fight of a lifetime staring you in the face and all you want to do is run.”

“Stop,” you breathed. The shock took him aback for a moment before he rolled his eyes and slammed your head into the wall again, the drywall molding around the shape of your skull with an unsettling crunch. A cold fog swelled over your vision.

“Stop? Stop?! Are you fucking serious?! Who are you? Huh?” He used your real name, mocking the sound of it. “What a massive disappointment you’ve turned out to be. You gave the backpack up before I could land a single punch. You told me where to find your family after one text. You showed your hand every step of the way after countless opportunities to turn this fight into a win.”

“Please don’t do this.”

“To think Tony ever trusted you.”

“Please don’t do this to me.” Your body vibrated as you tried to keep from losing it.

“Stupid fucking bitch… Do you even remember how to knock someone out, Peach? Do you? Did that dense little cashew behind your eyes retain a fucking syllable I said when I tried to train you?”

“Uppercut,” you said, voice ragged. He let your hair go. The relief was so intense it sent goosebumps down your neck.

“That’s right, baby,” Darren said, holding your cheek in his hand as he feigned pride at your correct answer. “A fucking uppercut.”

The crack of his fist against your jaw when he executed the uppercut was like nothing you’d ever heard—so nauseating it was erotic—like a hollow bomb sounding off in your skull. There was blackness as your legs buckled from underneath.

That was three weeks ago.

Chapter Text

“You can’t keep talking about her as if she’s dead,” Loki said, his voice ragged. “I won’t allow it.” He was on his third hour of pacing for that day. If the last three weeks had been any indicator, he would have calves of steel by the time Peach was recovered.

“I…I don’t see another way around it,” Doctor Strange said. He leaned forward with his elbows on the conference table. He chewed his words very carefully before spitting them out, with that same solemn expression and tone a doctor takes on when delivering bad news to the family of a deceased patient. “With that, ahem, that amount of blood. With the damage we saw. It was clear that whoever came to her apartment wasn’t looking for a prisoner. If we’re going to do her memory any justice…I…I just don’t want this guy at large for months because we’re in denial about the evidence.”

They presumed torture.

There was a drought concerning security footage they could use to confirm the events of that morning. It was an unprecedented anomaly… Shortly before Peach arrived back at the tower, the surveillance cameras at Stark Enterprises cut out. No backup cameras activated like they should have. No alarms sounded. Peach’s self-installed door camera captured two masked individuals entering the apartment, her arrival shortly after, and about thirty minutes later, the same two people heaving an unnervingly large and lumpy duffle bag exited the apartment. That was the extent of the footage they recovered. The only other thing they could take notes from was the physical scene they’d walked in on.

First, of course, the backpack was gone. Her bathroom and bedroom had been ripped to shreds. It looked like a robbery: her clothes were strewn about the room, drawers upturned, jewelry box cleaned out, the works. Her phone had been incinerated in the oven.

Then, of course, there was blood everywhere. Leading away from the bathroom, there was a small puddle and red handprints smeared across the floor as if she’d fought someone trying to drag her away. Perhaps she fell and smacked her face on the floor during the pursuit. There was a crimson splatter up the wall of her kitchen and a little on the ceiling, indicating that if the splatter wasn’t from a stab wound, someone had punched that woman with the might of a freight train. Flecks of dried blood lined a bowl-shaped dent in the wall where someone had bashed her head in repeatedly, probably more times than she could remember if she survived. Droplets of blood trailed on the floor, indicating a chase. It all lead to one conclusion: she’d fought hard and lost hard.

“You should have been here,” Loki said, bloodshot eyes staring venomously at Doctor Strange. His hair was stringy, looming over the hollow, angular features of his face.

“I know,” Strange said.

“You were the only person that could have actually been of use that day.”

“I know.”

“You failed her,” Loki said.

“Kamar-Taj was under attack,” Strange said, his tone flat. “Time was needed to rebuild what was damaged, re-fortify our defenses—"

“It’s under attack every other day!”

“They needed me and I had no idea that the cameras here were out or…or…any of the rest. I thought you guys could handle it and I had to make a choice.”

“You chose wrong,” Loki gritted out.

“You know I came as soon as I could.”

“It wasn’t soon enough,” Loki said, the purple bags under his eyes showing the only real color on his pale face. He wrapped his arms around himself and slipped his eyes shut, leaning back in his chair.

“Well where the fuck were you, then? You were IN THE BUILDING—”

“Let’s get on with it,” Tony said. He looked well-groomed, but his slouch and the severe cracks in his lips from weeks of chewing showed how distraught he was on the inside. “I don’t understand why we brought you back here if you’re not actually going to do your job. This isn’t social hour.”

“I just want us all to be prepared for the obvious truth,” Stephen said. He wouldn’t admit out loud that he was petrified to see what they’d done to his Little Patient. After the attack on Kamar-Taj, Tony asked him to return to Stark Tower to use his universal awareness—to search Peach’s apartment and find out what they did to her, to see where they took her. As soon as he’d heard the state of her apartment, Doctor Strange found for the first time in his life that he didn’t think he was strong enough to face something.

“Go,” Loki said. “The least you can do for her is witness it.”

Stephen swallowed thickly and nodded. With a flourish of his wrist, a glimmering, golden portal opened in front of him and he stepped through.

Though his eyes were closed, Loki picked at the skin around his nails for what seemed like hours—a little nervous tick to help pass the time. After three weeks of this habit, however, the pickings were slim and his fingers were raw and bleeding slightly from his incessant attentions, the nerves throbbing angrily, begging him to stop. He couldn’t stop. He’d failed his darling. He knew, he fucking knew he should have never left her alone in Florida. He’d had a bad feeling and he didn’t listen to his gut. During the time she was attacked, he was sleeping. Would he have heard something and been able to help had he been awake? His subconscious screamed at him, all hours of the day and night, with a resounding yes.

Tony opened his mouth to say something, but Loki shushed him. He wasn’t interested in conversation. His mind was tuned in on the belligerent, ceaseless cry from within that he’d fucked up in the worst, most irreversible way a person could. There would be no relief from his anguish. Not through some petty distraction like conversation. He didn’t feel he deserved the break. Tony’s teeth clicked when his jaw clamped shut. Then, the seconds would pass quietly as they waited for Doctor Strange to return.

…

…

…

…

Stephen burst through his portal in a flurry, falling to his hands and knees, breathless. His face was wet and red, eyes swollen. Loki quickly realized Stephen was sobbing. Bad news, surely. Though he didn’t think he was strong enough to hear it, Loki waited patiently for the insolent ‘doctor’ to reveal the details of Peach’s brutal end, prolong his well-earned internal suffering all the more. It would fuel his rage when he took revenge on her killers.

“SHE’S ALIVE. SHE’S ALIVE,” Strange choked out between heaving breaths. “I know how to find her.”

After explaining the events of that morning, ending with Peach’s unconscious (but not dead) body being stuffed into the duffel bag, Stephen revealed his insight.

“She has to be alive. They know they need her to access those files, and if they already did, we would surely know by now. There would have been another breach or attack, there’s no way anyone would be sitting idle with that information. As long as she doesn’t give up the passwords, she’s alive.”

“Probably being fucking tortured,” Tony breathed, his eyes welled with tears. He wiped his hand over his mouth.

“Probably, yeah,” Stephen said, nodding. “But I can communicate with her if she’s alive. I can find out where she is.”

Loki wanted to respond, he really did, but his mind was ravaging the bones of his memory of the training day he’d spent with Peach. He knew there was something off about that Darren kid during their fight, but the girl fell for his act without a question in her mind. He should have been there. He should have fought harder. He should have nipped this entire situation in the bud. And now, because of Loki’s own ineptitude, that kid probably had her locked up in a basement somewhere with electrodes hooked to her t—

“Loki?”

The ‘doctor’ was addressing him. Loki raised a brow at his enemy.

“Do you have anything you want me to tell her?”

…

“What is your plan, half-wit? I was too bored by your first explanation to bother listening.”

“Uhh, okay… I’m sure you’re familiar with the spell—I just need to burn a few strands of her hair, which we can find in the apartment, and when I cite this incantation, my consciousness will be transferred into her mind until either of us ends the spell. While I’m with her, I can ask her whatever we need to know to learn her location.”

Loki scoffed.

“Yes, aha, I’m familiar with that spell, but I can assure you—it won’t work in this situation.”

“I can assure you it will,” Strange argued, tilting his head and furrowing his brows, thoroughly perplexed.

“Trust me. It’s best if I perform the spell,” Loki tried. “I believe you’re forgetting one very important parameter of the charm and I think it best that we don’t waste the precious resource of her hair on what will certainly be a botched attempt to contact her.”

“I’m not sure what you’re getting at,” Strange admitted.

“That enchantment only works if the participants have not had sex with anyone else besides one another before the spell is cast.”

“I was the last person who had sex with her,” Stephen said.

“No.”

“Yes.”

“That’s…That’s not right,” Loki said, shaking his head in genuine disbelief. “That’s not possible. We…We… No. Before she left on her trip to Florida. That very morning I took her not an hour before her flight. On the desk in her office, no less.”

Tony snickered, welcoming his first reason to smile since Peach left.

“Yes. And I stayed with her while she was in Florida.”

Loki’s lip curled and nostrils flared. He leaned over the conference table like an animal ready to lunge and rip it’s prey’s throat out.

“What?!”

“I comforted her while she was adjusting to being back in her hometown,” Strange elaborated. “She was having a hard time. Ahem, no pun intended.”

“You mongrel, I laid my claim, I made the lines of my territory very clear. My marks would still have been on her delicate neck. How DARE you touch her?”

“Look, buddy, she called me so maybe you should take up your ‘claim’ with her. When we recover her alive. Which I’m desperately trying to do before the next century passes.”

“Fine, if you’re so smug, but know this: the moment she’s safe and well, I will eviscerate you.”

“I can see you’re having a hard time dealing with the responsibility you feel over her disappearance and I hope you find a way to stop projecting those feelings onto others,” Stephen said. “If you’ll excuse me, I have an important task to carry out.” He opened another portal leading to Peach’s apartment so they could gather some of her hair, allowing Tony to walk through before gesturing to Loki, welcoming him to join them.

Loki’s nose twitched. He took a step back, watching Strange’s cape flick around impatiently, sensing it’s master’s mood. His girl needed him, he thought, but he felt so useless. What would Loki do, sit there and watch the ‘doctor’ cast a spell that should have been his? Wait patiently with his thumb up his own arse while Strange did all the legwork? Hm. Perhaps the ‘doctor’ would need a sitter, Loki thought, just to ensure that he asked all the right questions, to be absolutely certain she would get home in one piece. Fine. Only for her. Loki waltzed through the portal with his nemesis and made sure he was the first to find Peach’s hairbrush.

Once the spell was complete, the room reeking of burnt hair, Stephen sat on Peach’s couch, relaxing as much as he could considering what he’d just seen in this room. He felt his consciousness slip into a dark void as it searched for the vessel of her mind. The key was staying calm. A calm mind wouldn’t alarm her or frighten her into ending the spell early by accident. A calm mind could find her faster.

He’d asked the other men in the room to stay quiet while he worked. Fewer distractions would make the spell more successful, and the more times the spell was successfully performed, the stronger his cosmic connection with Peach would be. Overtime, he might be able to look through her own eyes or even speak on her behalf. For their first time connecting, though, he expected a dark void and the voice of her thoughts.

When Stephen Strange’s consciousness fell into Peach’s body, he felt suffocated under the weight of her exhaustion. He took a moment to tune in, being surprised to find that he could feel some of the physical sensations in her body. She was in immense pain. Her hands were bound above her head, wrists raw. Her face was throbbing with bruises. There were a number of severe lacerations painting her back and thighs. When he tried to feel in her body elsewhere, such as her stomach, he was met with radio silence. Next time, he hoped.

Their conversation began with a thought.

Lovely girl? Can you hear me?

…

…

Sweets? It’s Stephen.

No.

Peach?

I know it’s not him. Please leave me be.

How did you guys get in my mind?

Little Patient, it’s me, it’s Doc—

Please just let me rest. I can’t take any more today.

Any more what?

What have they been doing to you?

…

Peach?

Shhh. I need to rest.

How can I prove to you it’s me?

There’s nothing you can do.

A hallucination would know everything I know.

If you’re a trick, same thing. They know how you played with me.

Hm…Loki’s here with me. Would you like me to—

Yes. Now.

Okay, one moment while I talk with him.

…

…

…

He says the last time he ‘ravished’ you, he gave you the illusion of a threesome. Does that sound familiar?

Is he okay?

You want to know if HE is okay?

            Please.

He’s been a wreck without you. He blames himself.

            He’s an idiot.

We all thought you were dead.

I don’t know where to begin, Peach. I’m so sorry.

            It’s okay.

            I’m really tired. Did you call to say goodbye?

Goodbye? No. No, honey. I called to tell you to hold on.

            Yawn.

Did you just yawn in real life and think the word ‘yawn’?

            Yeah. I’m tired. Problem?

Sweets, we are trying to find you. Where did they take you?

            Shrug.

Did you just…? Okay… Have they let you outside at all?

            No. Why?

I’m wondering if the environment is hot or cold.

Maybe rainy or sunny?

What time of day is it over there?

Not sure.

They haven’t let me sleep in a few days so my internal clock isn’t uhh, how you say…

‘Functional.’

Oh, baby. My honey. I’m so sorry. Go get some rest.

Don’t leave me.

You need to sleep, angel. I’ll be back soon, okay?

Please don’t go, Stephen. I’m not strong enough. I can’t take it.

Just hold on for us, alright? Keep fighting.

You’re so strong, baby. You’re doing amazing.

Is Tony upset with me?

No, Peach, never. He knows you did your best.

This kid sideswiped us all, but we’re going to find you soon, okay?

Okay.

Please sleep. I promise I’ll be back as soon as I think you’ve slept enough.

            Promise?

I swear. I’m not going to leave you alone.

            Can’t you just stay until I fall asleep?

Doesn’t work that way, lovely. You’ll just want to chat me up.

            But I miss you.

I miss you, too.

            I love you.

I love you, too.

            Good night, Stephen.

Good night.

            Goodbye.

Chapter Text

Loki shrouded his face in his wide palms as he waited for the doctor to finish his conversation with Peach. His Peach. The woman he’d failed. Not long ago, he was her hero: rocking her in his arms as she shivered and cried, protecting her from creeps in the bar while she danced and played, carrying her home and cradling her through the night and well into the next morning. She’d allowed Loki inside her body and heart, in harsh spite of her better judgement. How did it come to this?

Loki’s eyes strained when he lifted his face to observe Stephen meditating on Peach’s couch, the air around them rank with the stench of burnt hair. The doctor’s lips twitched as he muttered under his breath, speaking to her through some ethereal portal. Stephen’s eyes fluttered under the lids as though he was searching for something, and his left hand poised but trembled slightly. Loki wondered, could Strange see her? Could Stephen and Peach have become that cosmically connected, right under Loki’s nose, without his knowing?

He pictured the soft lilt of her jawline. The plush swell in her lips. Peach’s hair, shiny and healthy, which once ran through his fingers like cords of silk. Dotted freckles along her body and the creases of her knuckles, both of which he now regretted not taking the time to count. Loki remembered the low, delicate huff of her breath as she slept, occasionally interrupted by her grumbling. She often sounded like she was scolding someone in her dreams. Perhaps she was scolding the dream itself for disturbing her slumber… Loki smiled wistfully at the thought. Scolding a dream, he thought, that is so her.

Stephen sniffled, halting Loki’s reverie. The colors in the room greyed as Loki’s vision of Peach dissolved. He looked to the doctor with tired resent. Stephen narrowed his eyes at Loki, jaw tight as the tendons in his neck flared almost imperceptibly.

“You should be thrilled,” Strange said through his teeth. “After that conversation, there’s really no excuse for you to keep wallowing.” He slapped the couch as he stood. “No one here thinks it’s half as endearing as you do.”

Tony was helping himself to a glass of water, fumbling through Peach’s kitchen as if he owned the place. Well, technically he did, but… Still.

“Kids, don’t make me put you in time-out,” Stark said absentmindedly, inspecting the glass he’d chosen for water spots. “Doc’s right though. The mean-mug stopped being cute about a month ago.”

Loki rolled his eyes, throwing his arm over the back of his seat.

“I’m well within my rights. Perhaps if the ‘doctor’ could mind his own aura and stay out of my thoughts, we’d get along just fine.”

“Are you fucking serious right now?” Stephen said, eyes wide in disbelief.

Loki’s back straightened at the sight of Strange losing control over himself, a mischievous nerve tickling the back of his neck.

“I miss her,” Loki explained, trying to resist the urge to tease his foe.

“Oh yeah, do you? Do you miss her? That’s great, Laufeyson,” Strange taunted, taking a small step towards him. “But as far as I’m concerned, your ‘relationship’ with her is like a parasite gnawing at her brain. You need to let her go.” His face was growing red.

“Let her go?” Loki repeated, dumbfounded.

“When she gets back, she needs to be with someone who she can rely on. Someone mentally stable. It’s time for you to step down.” Stephen was nodding slowly, voice calm but steeped with venom.

Loki shook his head ‘no’.

“What’s your problem?” Tony said, face scrunched in confusion.

“You want to know my problem? MY fucking problem. That’s rich. Do you want to know how I knew that bringing up Loki was the only way to convince her to talk to me?”

Loki’s heart skipped a beat. He blinked a few times, confused.

“Because when she was here in this apartment, being beaten and robbed and threatened and kidnapped, she cried for help, right?”

“Right,” Tony said.

“Except I left one detail out. She wasn’t crying out the word ‘help’. She was screaming for Loki. Not you, Tony. Not me. Him. Over and over again, crying his name at the top of her lungs. But he never showed up, did he?”

Loki swallowed thickly.

“And then—get this—I couldn’t get the first fucking detail about where she’s at or what they’ve been doing to her, besides sleep deprivation, because the only thing she wants to talk about is Loki.” Stephen was yelling as he jabbed a pointer finger accusingly at Loki. “He’s like a toxin in her veins and this entire situation is his fault anyways.”

“MY fault?!”

“He doesn’t deserve to be here and he doesn’t deserve her.”

“She’s mine,” Loki said lowly, feeling a light explode in his chest now that Strange had confirmed it was true.

Tony wasn’t able to get between the two men before Stephen Strange could throw the first punch.

Chapter Text

“Do you know what this is? Hmm? Ohh baby, don’t tell me you fell asleep again.”

A soft hand feathered down your cheek. Another hand wrapped around the left side of your waist. Warm.

You were naked. You had the sense that you’d been naked for a very long time. It wasn’t uncomfortable.

“Hmm? Stephen?” You slurred. The sharp tang of iron filled your mouth as you came to—blood. Your nose scrunched at the taste before a sharp inhale of disgust followed by a screaming ache that bloomed into your cheekbones. Why didn’t you remember taking a crack to the face?

“Guess again, angel,” he said. The hand on your cheek moved to cup your chin. Soft lips nipped at your jawline. Chills rippled down your neck. “Open your eyes…”

You tried to stretch, wanting to reach up and touch his wrist, but found your arms were too hefty to even lift. Every joint was sore, like waking up with the flu. Your eyes tried to flutter open, but the lids felt like they were being pulled back down by bungee cords. Through what little light broke through, all you could see was a blur. Though your body felt heavy, your mind felt light, as if in a dream.

“Where am I?” You didn’t recognize that groggy, hoarse voice, though it must have been yours.

“Shhh…It’s okay. Stop fighting, Peach. Just open your eyes. Do you know what this is?”

Two thin metal fingers poked at your right side. The cold touch made you jolt, eyes flashing wide open. His voice darkened.

“Tell me what this is before I use it on you,” Darren said. He jabbed it against your ribs.

“Shit,” you gasped, gritting your teeth as you breathed through the pain.

“Good guess, but no. It’s a cattle prod. Damn, that muscle relaxer really did a number on you, didn’t it?”

You nodded the affirmative. If by ‘muscle relaxer’ he meant ‘the sleeper hold,’ then yes, it had done a number on you.

“Back to the old grind, then. I’m sure you know the drill by now,” Darren said, smiling lightly as if you were out on a lunch date.

“You’ll have to remind me,” you grunted, your typical snark lost behind your tired voice.

“Oh sure…The game is simple, give me the passwords to that flash drive. If you win, I won’t use this cattle prod on you. If you lose, zap zap. I might waterboard you for a little ‘dessert’ if you make things too difficult. I’ve been missing that cute little face you make when you think you’re drowning.” He chuckled before mocking you, making a faint wheezing sound and puckering his lips into an O. It reminded you of that scream painting by Edvard Munch. You’d always hated that painting. “Shouldn’t be too hard. Easiest game you’ll ever play.”

You might have been close to complying before, but your talk with Stephen Strange before your last sleep had rejuvenated your will. After the first week, you’d lost hope that they were looking for you and by the second…You may have only chosen to live out of pure spite. Now you knew you’d be on Stark’s radar until you were good and dead, and as long as Stephen could contact you, your boys were on the hunt.

“Get bent,” you croaked. Darren activated the cow prod, which promptly delivered an electric shock over your stomach. It didn’t hurt as bad as you’d imagined. It was intense, sure, but the bite was localized to the small area where the tongs of the prod touched. The sting was certainly not worse than some of the torture you’d already been subject to. Waterboarding, sleep deprivation, beatings, choking… Numerous phone calls from men pretending to be Stephen, Tony, and Loki. Those had nearly tricked you until the inevitable question came: Can you just tell him the codes so he will let you go? After enough rounds of that, it was only rational that you first assumed Stephen’s manifestation in your mind was another trick.

They’d also spent a few sleeps subjecting you to solitary confinement, your food slipped through a crack in the door at mealtimes. No bathroom breaks were given, leaving you to piss in the corner of the shed they’d locked you in. After they’d let you out, Darren sat you down in his office and showed you the only thing on his desk: a picture of your family. The one from your office, frame and all. He spent the next few hours very calmly detailing how he’d torture and kill each of them in unless you gave him the passwords. Mom would be gutted, dad beaten to death a la Inglourious Basterds, and your brother would be skinned alive. Now that he knew your address, all it would take is a little gas and a can-do attitude to kidnap and lay waste to your loved ones.

That conversation did more damage than any physical torture they’d bothered with yet. By your next sleep, you’d held your head high knowing you hadn’t begged for them. Cried, yes, but never begged. That would have given him too much power over you, and if he’d heard your pleas, you didn’t doubt that he would go through with his threats.

“Lets try again,” Darren said, his tone clearly irked.

“I said get—”

Zzzt went the cow prod, higher this time, against your ribs. The lack of meat over that area made the shock worse. Your head knocked back as your body jerked in protest.

“Nngh…Okay, let’s play this game, how do you know you haven’t whooped the memory out of me, hmm? Maybe I actually don’t know the passwords anymore.”

“How does the wind know when to stop blowing?” Darren retorted. He lifted the prod even higher, pressing it against the lower half of your right breast. Though the metal electrodes had warmed after touching your skin for a while, you caved your chest in to pull away. It didn’t work, only causing Darren to push even harder.

You gasped and bared your teeth this time when the shock hit, your chin hitting your chest. The skin was so much more sensitive there. Darren’s contented sigh told you he’d noticed your pain. There was a look of accomplishment in his eyes. His mouth did not quirk, his gaze did not falter, and his hand did not twitch as he raised the fingers of the cow prod to your right nipple.

“Hey, hey, no. No no no no no no no, Darren. H-hey, hey, Darren please? Please no, don’t, man, come on. Come on, man, I’m a person. I’m a person, Darren, look at me, please. Please don’t do that, dude, please. Don’t. Listen to me. Don’t.” Your voice was cracking. You shook your head vigorously, that cool façade vanishing as tears stung your eyes.

His head tilted to the side, wondering if you might finally break.

“Don’t?” He questioned, blinking slowly.

“Darren, don’t do that to me, please. Please. I’m a person. You’re a person. We’re just people, just two people, it doesn’t have to be like th—”

The high-pitched screech you let out when he shocked your nipple made your ears ring.

Darren spent the next…however long it took, shocking your body one inch, one jolt at a time until he ran out of things to electrocute. By the end, you were sweating, disoriented, and felt as if your teeth were vibrating. He’d left your nether regions alone, but only with the promise that if you didn’t start talking soon, that would change.

He slipped out of the room stretching, arms high in the air as he twisted the tension out of his back, looking as if he were waking up from a nice, long nap. He left the door wide open.

“She’s all yours, boys,” he called out, and the two men who watched over you shuffled in. They weren’t comically hulking, but they were big enough in stature that you would not want to take either in a fight, let alone both. You hadn’t learned their names, so you assigned names after you realized they might be the last people you’d ever get to meet. The shorter one with a tattoo of a pigeon on his wrist was ‘Stoki’ (combining ‘Stephen’ and ‘Loki’) and the blond with a bit of a limp was ‘Tony’. Half the time they wore ski masks, as if to convince you that there was a rotation of guards, but you could identify their silhouettes instantly by now, even with the lights out. If you had to pick between the two, you liked Stoki better.

Stoki wrapped a blind over your eyes, knowing it was secure by the way you sucked in a breath when the knot pulled your hair. As Tony threw you over his shoulder, you heard Darren turn back and give them a status update. Something about ‘plan b’ and ‘low on time’. You’d need to remember that, make sure to pass it on to Stephen for the next time. Maybe he could decipher the meaning. Speaking of Stephen, you were starting to wonder what was taking him so long to contact you again. How much sleep did he think they’d let you get?

No matter how slight, Tony’s limp made you even more dizzy than you would have already been hanging upside down as he lugged you down the hall. The floor sounded solid beneath his feet, not like at your parents’ trailer, where you could hear the hollow space between floor and ground from heavy footsteps. He turned down a few halls and then you heard, behind a door, the sound of bathwater running. It had been a while since you’d been given a bath, and the prospect had you both anxious and excited. You had stopped feeling some of the dried blood and dirt that was crusted over your body, but you knew it was there.

Stoki turned the water off as Tony lowered you in the tub. The luscious heat gave you chills, instantly taking your memory back to the day that Loki gave you a bath. Though you were still blindfolded, your vision was taken over by the memory of flaring veins in Loki’s neck as he lowered you into the tub that day. Your skin remembered the absurd gentleness he’d washed you with. Bliss.

“Aw, look how perky,” Stoki chuckled as a lone finger flicked against one of your nipples. Your memory faded to black, the sensation of Loki’s hands disintegrating as you dropped back into reality.

“Oh, look at her, she’s still shaking,” Tony cooed. A hand grabbed your chin but you yanked it away, drawing your knees towards your chest.

“Hm, maybe not the best idea while she’s this feisty,” one of them said, beginning to soap and drop each of your weak limbs in the tub, scrubbing you down in a stiff, medical fashion. The other man took to washing your hair. Your mind struggled to distinguish which of them was talking. “Have to wait that out.”

“Yeah. Soon,” the other said wistfully. A cup of water poured over your head, suds running down your cheeks. The blindfold was sopping wet.

 Despite the scalding bathwater, you felt very cold.

Chapter Text

You’re awfully quiet today.

It was the best Stephen could come up with after nearly twenty minutes of opening lines since casting his transference spell. Peach was giving him radio silence. He could tell she wasn’t tired, though. As a matter of fact, her mind was on high alert. Sirens blaring. He didn’t let her know he could tell just yet. Stephen was hoping with more time ‘online’ with his girl that he would be better able to tune into her body and decipher the reason for himself.

                        What of it?

I don’t mean to pry, honey, it’s just helpful for us if I can get you to talk.

                        Well what if I don’t feel like opening my mouth for you?

                        Huh, ‘Doc’? What then?

                        You plan on prying it open?

Did you get a nice rest?

                        Oh it was peachy, thanks. Glad I could be of service, now if you’ll excuse me—

Loki misses you.

                        Good for him.

Do you want to talk to him? Through me, I mean.

                        Nope.

Why are you cold?

                        …

                        I’m not.

No… No, it’s not just cold. You’re wet. Why are you wet?

                        …

                        …

                        They gave me a bath.

‘They’

Who is ‘they’?

                        My guards. There’s two of them.

Just two?

                        Yup.

Okay, see, that’s helpful. Good girl. Can you tell me any—

                        Don’t call me that.

Sorry?

                         Just forget it.

Did something happen?

                        …

                        …

                        …

Stephen addressed her by her real name this time before repeating his question.

Did something happen in the bath?

There was a vision in her mind, a memory. Stephen felt her being lowered into a warm tub but could see nothing. There was a moment of bliss, her body relaxing and skin warming, tingling, and then, like lightning hitting a circuit board, blackout. Peach blocked the memory of her bath before jumping to the next scene, being tossed back into her holding cell. Naked, no towel, dripping wet. Knees knocking as she crawled to her cot. Then, another blackout.

She was beautiful enough, the reason for her shutting him out of the memory seemed obvious. His blood turned into ice.

What did they do to you.

                        …

Answer me now. What the fuck did they do?

Show me their faces.

He could hear the thought running through her mind, “Why don’t you just mind your fucking business and leave me alone?” and was grateful she didn’t ‘voice’ it to him. Instead, Stephen’s vision was overcome with flashes of features. Brown hair, blonde hair, shorter, taller, a large hand, a tattoo of some bird that was so well-detailed he could see the barbs and veins on its feathers. Both husky and strong. One of them limped. Peach found the other one extremely attractive. She tried (however ineptly) to hide this attraction in her presentation.

And their names?

The full rendition of the blonde came back to mind. He had poor posture and leaned his weight on one hip.

                        That’s…uhh…Tony.

Next was the darker-haired man with the bird tattoo. He licked his lips, eyeing the viewer. He must have been checking Peach out a lot since her arrival.

                        And Stoki.

That’s a dumb fucking name.

                        I named them after you guys.

The realization hit Stephen in the gut as she said it. He wanted to smack himself.

Oh, geeze, crap, honey, I didn’t mean—

I didn’t know they were made-up names.

                        It’s fine, honestly. I just want to go to bed.

Stephen could feel her eyes welling up with tears. Her body was riddled in chills. She was freezing and there was nothing he could do to help. Beneath the surface of her composure, Peach’s subconscious was banging on the walls in protest. Some chained-back part of her mind was desperate to process whatever had happened in the bath. Stephen could hear it, like a heavy-footed upstairs neighbor galivanting through their apartment.

Are, uhh… Tonsil and Stinky being nice to you?

                        Can’t you just let me go to bed?

The footsteps upstairs grew louder.

I’m sorry, bunny. Tony and Stoki. Is Stoki being nice to you?

He looks like a, uhh, friendly fellow. Handsome guy.

Her throat tightened. Stephen could feel her body tensing it as if it were his own. He knew his aloofness was torturing her, but it was the only way. She just needed a little push. 

What about Tony?

…

Do you have any friends there?

The events of Peach’s day sprung to the surface so hard they could’ve given Stephen whiplash. It was all in an instant, but he took every second in like he was living it himself. Hours of stinging bites of electrocution, the torture so endless and repetitive that her skin began jumping on its own, burning in anticipation of shocks that weren’t even coming. She’d twitched in her binds like an epileptic at a rave. Darren had spent the day teaching her body to torture itself. Hours and hours and hours dragged on to the point that between jolts, Peach rehearsed her favorite songs and movies. She knew Juno and 50 First Dates almost line for line.

Stephen watched Darren strut away, wringing the tension from his muscles with that self-satisfied roll of the shoulders as these men, Tony and Stoki, came to haul Peach off to the bath. Perhaps it was a consequence of being so hardened as she was, or of being isolated for this many weeks, but Peach did not notice the way these men exchanged a glance with each other after leering at her figure. She didn’t realize that she leaned into their palms as they blindfolded her, seeking warmth and familiarity, or how she smiled towards the sound of their voices, even with a blindfold on. Desperate for human connection. None of this, absolutely none, could hope to excuse what happened after she was set in the tub.

Perky, one says. It came so suddenly that Stephen felt his physical body flinch: a simple, but heartily unwelcome, flick of the nipple. Her skin seizes at the touch, all those live-wire nerves convinced she’s being electrocuted again. There’s a hand on her chin that she jerks away from. Soon, says the other. Rough hands slick her down in soap, yanking her submissive frame around limb by sleepy limb, and scrubbing her down until her flesh was raw. At some point, the blindfold cannot take the weight of the water anymore and slips down to her collarbones, hanging like a necklace. Her heart is thudding the entire time, every panic-ridden hormone surging through her veins, but she does not fight. She knows it's in her best interest. The men talk as if she’s not there.

Think he fucked her?

Can’t hurt to check.

Two large hands pry her thighs apart. Just being thorough, one says. The other hums pleasantly to himself. Hot, sudsy water scalds her vagina as two fingers shove inside. Her knees quake. She tries to clamp her legs closed, but it’s too late. One of them tuts at her in disapproval. She can’t remember the ending to Juno, so she tries her favorite scene instead, but her mind is blanking, laser-focused on the feeling of meaty hands and how dry the water makes her insides feel. Every time they push in or out it feels something is ripping. Tearing. Feels like his fingers are made of sandpaper. Have to get that filth out from you, one jokes. Her eyes flicker down. She’s checking for blood, convinced that this level of pain can’t come from a simple fingering. There’s a tattoo of some stupid bird between her legs. The tendons in his wrist are flexing. Makes the bird’s wings flutter, as if it’s trying to fly away. She almost laughs, wishing she could fly away as well.

Good girl, one says. Nice and quiet, that’s it.

A sob wracks her body and someone stuffs the blindfold in her mouth before clamping a hand over her lips and pinching her nose. Shhh. Meanwhile, the other mocks, You can’t be close yet, we just started! She thrashes. As she tries to breathe, sucking on the blindfold, soapy, foamy water coats her throat. She gags. Grit from her own dirt lingers on her tongue. A large hand digs it’s fingernails into her breast, pushing her back against the wall of the tub to keep her from moving. Her mouth and nose are still cut off from air. She’s suffocating. As the pressure builds in her temples, it feels like her eyes might burst from the sockets. Bright red fireworks.

The moment she realizes she can’t breathe, she’s overcome with joy at the thought that she might finally die. Just as quickly, Stoki finishes scraping the discharge from her vagina, swishes his hand around in the tub, and wipes his fingers on his jeans in disgust. The hand on her mouth and nose vanish. The gag is removed from her mouth. A breath of air. She sputters and spits. Relief and burdensome disappointment all in one lumpy swallow. Limpy carts her back to her room.

I can’t take it anymore, one says. She’s so…

Go for it then, she’s too tired to fight, says the other.

Keep an eye on the hallway for me. You got next.

Peach’s eyes slip shut as she hears the latch on her door shuck into place along with that familiar jingle of a belt buckle coming undone. She lays on her side, thinking the angle might make a quick fuck too inconvenient. She knows she’s too weak to push anyone off. She peeks over the shoulder of the figure lurching towards her cot to see the blonde, Tony, keeping watch through a small window in the door, like the ones you’d see in a school classroom with the crisscross wires embedded within. His thumb, holding up the blind, trembles. He’s excited for his turn, she assumes. Tony’s phone chimes.

Stoki pushes his hand through Peach’s damp hair, sighing contentedly to himself as the other hand fiddles with the button of his jeans. He squeezes the back of her neck tenderly as he pulls himself out. His prick reeks of musk and salt as his fingers, still smelling faintly like Peach’s vagina, offer a little massage to the rigid nape of her neck. Close your eyes, he whispers, sounding shockingly gentle. Dude come on, don’t cry…it’ll be over quick, just relax your throat. Shhh, it’s okay.

On the other end of the ‘call’ where Stephen’s physical body sat, there was a tingling sensation in his hand. Then, he felt someone shaking his shoulder. He jerked his body away from the touch and settled back into position. He felt his mouth and nose twitching as his face grimaced, possibly snarled. With a deep breath, he returned his focus to Peach’s consciousness.

The tip of Stoki’s cock is warm and rubbery as he strokes it along Peach’s cheek. Alright Dummy, open up. He taps it against the side of her mouth, getting impatient. Her lips tighten in defiance. It’s the most energy she can summon. Her body is going into freeze-mode and she can’t find the will to stop it. Don’t make me force you, Stoki says. Help me help you; it’s going to hurt worse if I have to pry your mouth open. He barely fits the tip inside her lips. His thumb lodges itself inside her cheek, searching for a ridge he can leverage to wrench her jaw open. Meanwhile, his penis scrapes against the edges of her top teeth, her jaw vibrating as it tries to stay shut. A tepid bead of precum dribbles past Peach’s teeth and soaks her tongue. The taste is wretched, like sticky ocean water or fish marinated in piss. She flinches, but Stoki’s hand on the back of her neck keeps her from being able to pull back. If you bite it, I’m going to fucking hurt you. His voice is obsidian. The phone chimes again. Tony pulls out his phone, checks it.

Shit, shit, he says. We have to go, he’s calling us down.

Fuck, Stoki hisses. He kicks a leg of her cot in anger as he zips and buckles his jeans back into place. They leave in a flurry.

Peach is shuddering in bed, trying to remember how that man from 50 First Dates constructed the waffle cottage, when a familiar voice enters her consciousness.

Hi sweet girl, did you sleep well?

It makes her nauseous.

Back to the present moment, Stephen feels Peach’s labored breath. She wants to be done, to ‘sleep it off,’ and this time he is reluctant to leave her to rest. What if they came back for her? What if she did something utterly stupid to make the pain go away? Stephen remembered the first night they truly met, just moments after she was considering leaping from the building, just to escape her job. She could tell herself all day it was because she was drunk, but Stephen knew the truth, which meant he couldn’t trust her to be alone with her thoughts in general, let alone after being...touched.

                        Stephen?

Yes, bunny?

                        How do I make you leave my mind?

Why don’t we just—

                        I want to be alone.

I don’t—

                        I haven’t been allowed to make any decisions for myself.

                        I have had zero control over what happens to me for weeks now.

                        I would like some control over this one little thing.

Peach, let’s not be hasty, I’m here for you, I love you.

                        I love you too and I want you to leave me be.

Please don’t. I can help you process this, I can help you, if you’ll just—

                        Stephen Strange, get THE FUCK OUT OF MY HEAD!

Peach’s scream echoed through Stephen Strange’s mind as his consciousness was sent rocketing back into his own body. His left leg and face were wet. His left hand was in searing pain. His left arm was numb. He sniffled, realizing he was crying, before lifting his head off the couch. His right hand wiped the tears from his cheeks. Stark and Loki were leaning in towards him, both sitting on the coffee table, watching him intently.

“What?” he snapped.

“Your hand,” Loki said. Stephen looked down, finding that the glass of water he’d been holding when he cast the spell had been crushed in his hand. Innumerable shards of glass of all different sizes tore into his palms and fingers, blood steady oozing out and soaking his pant leg. He watched the glittering shards in his hand with utter indifference as he inspected the wounds. 

Chapter Text

Stephen wanted to keep his discovery from the group. Although the information was important in respects to their urgency, he didn’t think it was anyone’s business to know that Peach’s guards were beginning to use her as a sexual outlet. She’d be devastated if her torture wasn’t a secret.

When Strange had come back from his “trip,” his hand riddled with broken glass and face mottled with tears, Loki and Tony demanded to know what had upset him that much, what had inspired the dazed, detached look in his eyes. Stephen tried to resist, stumbling off to mend his wounds and find a broom, but the tears kept gushing forth and he began hyperventilating as Loki tailed him, inundating the doctor with questions and orders until finally shoving his shoulder from behind.

Strange collapsed to his knees, his very spirit snapping in half like a wad of angel hair pasta, crushed by the weight of his failures and his inability to control the situation. It shouldn’t have been this difficult. Stephen Strange was brilliant, had power that most would sum up as unlimited, and had every resource Stark Industries could offer to supplement where he lacked.

“Please don’t make me say it,” he whimpered, forehead pressed against the tile floor, unwilling to face Loki, who was crouched next to the doctor with his persistent scowl permeating the back of Strange’s head.

“You will tell me the truth,” Loki hissed, his voice grainy and hollow. “Even if you must admit your own ineptitude. I’m running out of patience.”

Loki hadn’t eaten or slept in…who knows how long. Too long. If the striking, angular shadows cutting his cheeks didn’t give it away, the fragmented squawk of his voice did. Loki was plenty lean before this ordeal began, but now his clothes were barely catching a grip on the ridges of his bones. His sweatpants were being held up by a shoelace that had been drawn through the waistband, as the elastic wasn’t tight enough to do the trick anymore. His grotesque weight loss made his movements like that of a spider. Light-footed, spindly, robotic. It was unsettling to witness and was even worse for the person his attention was being directed at.

As Loki squatted next to Stephen, his hands crimped his knees, forcing the tendons in his knuckles to jut out like twigs under his thin, translucent skin. Loki cocked his head to the side, eyes wide and bulging from the sockets as he chewed on a wad of his unbridled fury like a cow munching on cud.

“I can’t speak it,” Stephen said.

“And yet, you will,” Loki instructed. “She doesn’t belong to you anymore. It’s not your place to withhold.”

Stephen lifted his face, took in a breath, and paused, remembering the pain, the smells. Loki held his crouch without moving, seemingly without even breathing, as he tried to extend his patience just one iota further.

“She…they…” He hiccupped and held a fist over his lips. “There’s two guards that watch her when Darren isn’t torturing her.”

Loki’s shoulders relaxed, pleased with Strange’s compliance.

“All of it,” Loki commanded, his jaw tight. As Stephen continued, trying not to hyperventilate, he stuttered heavily and choked on his words.

“Today. Once Darren finished electrocuting her naked body for hours. The guards came and gave her a bath. It was supposed to be an incentive. S-since they hadn’t b-bathed her in a while. But. They.” Stephen’s jaw quivered. “They groped her. And held her down. And gagged her with her own washcloth. While one of th-them f-f-f-fingered her. And it hurt so bad. She thought they were. They were. They were… Cutting her open. And when they took her to bed. It was supposed to be over. But one changed his mind. And. And. And he. He got the tip. The t-tip of his…” Stephen grit his teeth, his face pinched painfully. “He wanted a blowjob.”

There was a long silence as Loki’s eyes became impossibly colder.

“I see,” Loki said softly, accepting Strange’s testimony as truth. “I’ll keep that in mind.” He folded his hands neatly, his knees creaking as he rose to his feet. He padded gently into the living room, where Stark sat on the couch with his face in his hands. Loki then cleared his throat and promptly demolished Peach’s living room wall, uncorking a scream that had been marinating in his chest since the day Peach had been captured, and in a blur punctuated by clouds of dust, battered the far wall of the living room until there was nothing left of it.

After, Loki, Tony, and Stephen all sat gathered on her couch, staring at Peach’s bed through the massive hole that was once a wall. Loki’s breath heaved from the exertion. Occasionally, one of the men would cough lightly or clear his throat of the settling clouds of concrete dust.

“I’ll uhh, ahem, I’ll get that fixed before she gets back,” Tony said. “Replace the TV, too. Get some cleaners in here. It’ll be like nothing ever happened.” He nodded to himself, an assurance that his plan would work.

Chapter Text

“You need to get back in her mind,” Loki said. His hands were clawing the knees of his sweatpants. Only a few hours passed. The sun had just set.

“I can’t. I can’t. She’ll just kick me back out again. She wanted time to herself to process things,” Stephen said.

“Are you on meth?” Tony came out of his seat. “Are you an actual, functioning meth head? Peach is alone waiting on someone to come back and rape her and you’re afraid she’ll be a little disturbed by your presence?” His brows were raised, bewildered at Stephen’s inaction.

“You’re a coward,” Loki said cooly, spitting at the floor next to Strange’s feet.

“In a hostage situation, strategy—”

“I need you to understand,” Loki said quietly. “And I mean this in the most serious way I can express to you, how close I am to actually killing you. In real life. Dead. You will not be alive. There will be a funeral for you. Your soulless corpse will be in a casket. Listen to me. You’ve lost your opportunity to control the situation, so now it’s my turn. You’re going to sit in her mind as long as it takes. As long as it takes. If she kicks you out, you go back in. Her wanting to be alone is unfortunately going to have to take the backseat so that we can recover her. It’s a consequence of the circumstance, but I doubt a woman who’s been tortured to this extent will have the energy to fight you on this for very long. I’m going to give you ten minutes to fuel up and if you still insist on defying me, you will not be alive anymore. That’s the final say. Are we clear?”

Stephen swallowed and nodded his head.

“You’re a man. Speak with your mouth and confirm that you and I are on the same page,” Loki said.

“Yes,” he breathed.

“Try again. Properly.”

“Yes sir, we are on the same page,” Stephen croaked, defeated.

“Excellent,” Loki said, suddenly all-too-chipper as he slapped his hands against his thighs. “I’m in the mood for a granola bar.”

Approximately five energy drinks, one peanut butter sandwich, and a box and a half of granola bars later, Stephen Strange clenched his jaw as he prepared to betray the wishes of his darling Peach in the most necessary way. He sat cross-legged on the floor, strewn snack wrappers and crushed cans lined like a moat around his body. Loki leaned back in an armchair, his legs wide, face and shoulders finally drooping, relaxing, as he nestled into the familiar sensation of being in charge. He watched Stephen intensely, prepared to pounce at the slightest indication of insubordination and, as promised, literally murder him. Stephen drew another precious strand of hair from Peach’s brush, admiring the sheen, and cast his spell.

…

…

…

                                    …

                                    Is someone there?

…

                                    I can feel you. Are you going to answer or just hide in here like a coward?

…

                                    Hello? Seriously?

Hey.

                                    What do you want? Was I not clear with you?

Boy you and Loki are two peas in a pod, huh?

                                    Don’t be nasty. I know how to get rid of you now.

I just thought I’d keep you company.

                                    What are you playing at?

Has anything happened since we last talked?

                                    No.

Is that true?

Stephen heard the door to Peach’s cell jostle as it opened. She opened her eyes, and he could see through them as if they were his own. It was the guy with the bird on his wrist. Stoki. He was alone. Holding something behind his back. Stephen felt Peach’s pulse thrumming in the sides of her throat. She was panicking. The energy in her mind had gone from hostile towards Stephen to completely blank on all fronts. Numb.

“Oh, hi, beautiful girl,” Stoki said warmly. He tilted his head in a charming way, approaching her slowly. “You’re awake.”

“Hi,” she said softly, scooching imperceptibly against the wall behind her. He sat on the edge of her cot and the muscles in her back went rigid.

“Hmm, you look tired. Why don’t you come here and get a little shoulder rub and we can talk?”

Stephen’s stomach tensed. He watched the emergency flares shoot off inside Peach’s brain as she tried to think her way out, but was blanking.

Tell him he’s right and ask him to go to bed, Stephen instructed.

“Umm, you’re right, I am actually very tired. May I please sleep?” Her voice had taken on a docile, fawn-like quality.

“If you don’t c’mere, I’m going over there to you. Think, girl,” Stoki said.

“Maybe you could come to me and we can lay down? So I can sleep,” Peach said carefully, nodding. She scooched to the far-left side of her cot that met the wall, immediately wondering why she would corner herself in, but couldn’t find the courage to move. Stoki moved up close and pulled Peach onto his lap, cradling her like a baby. The ease he was able to maneuver her with was unnerving.

“Boy, your heart’s just a going, isn’t it?” He pressed the side of her head against his chest, petting her hair as he rocked slowly back and forth. “It’s okay. You’re safe.”

That’s rich, Stephen thought to himself.

Peach stayed quiet, focusing on keeping her breath even.

“You didn’t tell nobody about our little fun earlier, now did you, Pretty?”

“Unh uh, I didn’t.”

“That’s a promise?”

“I promise I didn’t.”

“What a good, sweet girl you are. I got you a present for being so nice and quiet and keeping our secret. I know it’s a little past suppertime, but I thought you might like this. It’s a real delicacy around here,” Stoki said. He pulled a small glass bottle from behind his back. Inside was a burgundy cola. The red label around the waist of the bottle had a white oval with white lettering in the center that read “Cheerwine.” Stephen recognized it instantly, his heart skipping a beat in his chest, but he said nothing.

“Wine?” She asked innocently, clasping the bottle in both her hands. She wondered to herself whether getting drunk might help her face whatever Stoki had planned for their visit.

“No, Pretty. It’s a sweet soda, sweet like you. I thought you might like some dessert,” Stoki murmured, dragging his fingers across Peach’s scalp. “Drink up. You’ll like it.”

She sighed and reluctantly popped the cap off her bottle, quickly pulling a large swig to get it over with. What Stephen tasted along with Peach was like a cherry nectar, a soda so thick and saccharine it was almost like syrup, with heavy carbonation. Stoki had told the truth, despite the name, Cheerwine was not alcoholic. Peach could see why it was a local treasure. Absurdly delicious. Like a starving vampire taking a sip of blood, Peach turned ravenous over her Cheerwine. She gasped into the bottle, tightened her grip, and chugged about three quarters of it before realizing she might want to savor her rations.

“There you go,” Stoki hummed, petting her back. He kissed Peach’s temple as she panted into her drink, catching her breath. “My brothers and I used to walk by the Cheerwine factory on our way to school, not far from here.”

“So good,” she huffed, running her tongue across the rim of the bottle to keep any stray dribbles from escaping. “I like this.”

“I know. You earned it.”

“Can I get more when this one’s gone?”

“I’ll think about it. You’ll need to be a real good girl. Might have to give you a special job to make that happen.”

She shrugged and took another pull of soda, letting it sit on her tongue until the carbonation fizzled out before swallowing.

“You ready for bed, Pretty?”

She nodded.

“Finish up your drink now. I’ll be at your door until morning.” Stoki ladled Peach off his lap and placed a thin sheet over her body. “I’ll start working on getting you a real blankie tomorrow, how about that?”

Peach smiled at Stoki as she glugged down the last of her treat before handing the bottle to him.

“That’d be real nice, thank you.”

Peach had completely forgotten Stephen was lingering in her mind, watching this entire ordeal through her eyes. He didn’t say anything to give himself away, choosing to lurk in the pink haze that was her sleepy, contented, sugar-rich brain. When she finally fell asleep, Stephen pulled himself out and revealed his findings.

“They’re in North Carolina,” he said. “It’s just past dinnertime there, apparently, so she’s in the same time zone as us in New York. At least one of the guards has a southern accent and speech pattern. Calls dinner time ‘suppertime.’ And he gave her Cheerwine.”

“Cheerwine?” Tony asked, perking up.

“It’s a soda that was sold almost exclusively in North Carolina until the nineties. He told her it was ‘a delicacy around here’ and hinted that they are stationed near the factory. All we need to pin them down is a little more information, but we need to get there fast. I think they’re trying to induce Stockholm syndrome.”

Chapter Text

A thumb grazed your temple as you woke with a start, inhaling sharply. Your body hadn’t felt this well-rested since you’d been abducted. Stoki squatted on his calves as he leaned over you, his right hand filtering through your hair in tender strokes. He’d nursed you awake.

“Hey sleepy girl,” he cooed. “You look so pretty when you’ve got a full night’s rest.”

“Mm, thank you,” you grunted, the sleep lingering in your throat. “What’s wrong?”

“Not a thing. Al made you breakfast. Think you’ll be ready to eat soon?”

I was worried you’d never ask, you thought. You could feel the hollow pit in your stomach curling in on itself. Starving.

“Al?”

“Allen. The other guy,” Stoki said.

Oh, he means ‘Tony,’ you thought, picturing the limping blond guard.

“Do you have a name?” you asked. His brows pinched as if your question was a punch in the gut. There was a pregnant pause.

“I’m Cyrus,” he finally mumbled.

Huh. Who would’ve thought he had a real name? You couldn’t understand what was with the sudden nice treatment. The revealing of identities. There was something they weren’t telling you.

Maybe they… No. No. It couldn’t be… They weren’t going to kill you, right? Had you run out of time? If they’d discovered the password on their own, that was very possible, or… Or maybe they just realized you weren’t going to crack, so it was time to give you a nice meal before ushering you out of the mortal plane. What if they poisoned the food?

Suddenly, you were a lot less hungry than before.

If you were going to die, would it be the meal or by their own hand? How slow would it be? The frantic panic made your mouth dry. How could you contact Stephen? You needed Stephen now. He would know what to do, and if your ticket had just been punched, you needed him to know what was going on. So you wouldn’t die alone. So he could say goodbye for you. Clearly he knew how to get in touch with you, so what was the trick? You started yelling in your mind.

Stephen? STEPHEN?! Stephen Strange?

Stephen Strange in my mind NOW.

 …

                        I summon Stephen Strange.

                                    …

                                    I summon “Doctor” Strange?

                                    Doctor Stephen…uhh… Cornelius Strange, manifest in me!

                                    Wait, no, it’s Vincent.

                                    DOCTOR STEPHEN VINCENT STRANGE, I CALL YOU FORTH!

                                    Can you hear me? This is a real emergency, I need your help.

                                    Please don’t leave me alone in here.

                                    I know I yelled at you and I kicked you out before. I’m sorry. I take it back.

                                    I take back everything mean that I said. Please help me.

                                    Stephen?

                                    Is no one there at all?

                                    Please.

                                    I don’t know what to do.

                                    I can’t do this by myself.

                                    I don’t want to die alone.

Radio silence. You steeled yourself as Stoki—Cyrus—lead you from bed into the bathroom. There was a cream-colored mid-length linen dress hanging on the shower rod. As Cyrus pulled it over your head, you adjusted the poofy sleeves around your arm, and as he zipped the back, you watched the shape of your body reveal itself from under the form-fitting bodice. It was very comfortable, the perfect summer dress with a sweetheart neckline and flowing skirt. Angelic.

“Today, I thought it might be nice if we went on a little walk and then maybe chat after,” he said, sounding uncharacteristically perky. “Breakfast first, of course.”

Oh yeah, you were definitely going to die.

                        Did you hear that, Stephen?

                        It’s getting worse over here. I don’t know what to do.

                        What do I tell him? How do I get out of this?

                        Aren’t you going to help me? I know you can see in my mind.

                        Why aren’t you answering?

“Why are you shaking so much, Pretty?” Cyrus was running a comb through your hair. The bristles made your neck and scalp tingle. You swallowed thickly, trying to imagine what your favorite doctor would say if he were here right now.

“Um, just hungry,” you said, internally cringing at how phony the answer sounded. Also, if they had poisoned your food, telling him you were hungry was not helpful.

“Well we can fix that real soon,” Cyrus said, handing you a toothbrush.

After you’d gargled and spit, he took a warm washcloth and wiped it over your face and arms. Cyrus had you sit on the edge of the tub so that you wouldn’t fall as he fitted a pair of sandals on your feet. Not worth much as walking shoes, but you were grateful to be fully clothed, at least. Then, the two of you walked to the dining room.

Most days you were blindfolded as you travelled between rooms, and if not, the windows had blackout padding and foil shades taped over them. This way, you’d never know what it looked like outside or what time of day it was. Today, however, you strolled through a bright, happy-looking home. The windows were not only uncovered but cracked open, allowing a light breeze to freshen the air inside. As you walked towards the smell of hot bacon and the sizzle of eggs being dropped into an oiled pan, you looked outside to see a luscious, healthy field, the grass rippling like waves as the wind ran over it. It seemed you were in a farmhouse. Out back you could see a well-loved barn, haphazard piles of debris and wood that looked like unfinished projects, and a few chickens scurrying around one another as they pecked the earth.

There was a chair pulled out for you already as you entered the dining room. The table was set with some lovely floral porcelain. In the center was a clear glass carafe, akin to an old-school milk bottle, full of orange juice. The room was connected directly to the kitchen, so you were able to watch Tony—sorry—Allen hobble from the stove to the counter before placing two more pancakes from his skillet to a waiting stack.

“Smells good,” Cyrus said casually. He plucked a piece of bacon from the bunch and ripped into it like it was a piece of jerky. Cyrus offered you the half left between his forefingers, but you shook your head ‘no.’ He shrugged and tilted his head back, mouth wide open, before tossing the bite in. It was like you were peeking behind the curtain, feeling like an outsider in this inexplicably not-hostile room.

“Classic Americana,” Allen explained, running a hand through his thick blond locks before grabbing the plate with pancakes on top and another plate with fried eggs and walking over to set them in the middle of the table. “Bacon, Cy.” He sat down so hard in his seat that it creaked under him. You gulped, watching him with wide, astonished eyes, your mind unable to grasp the situation.

Cyrus obliged his partner, munching on a second stolen piece of bacon as he carted the remaining plate from counter to table. Allen stabbed two pancakes with his fork before plopping them on your plate without a word. He used his elbow to nudge a bottle of syrup and a stick of butter towards you and then hurried to fix his own plate. As they talked, you took a small portion of each item and began eating.

“You’d better not drink the juice straight out the jug this time, man,” Cyrus grumbled. “Darren wanted to fire you just for that.” Allen snickered before stuffing an entire fried egg in his mouth in one bite.

“He couldn’t afford to get rid of me. It just tastes better when everyone else is pissed off,” Allen said as he chewed. A couple small flecks of egg flew from his mouth and splat against the table, but Cyrus either didn’t notice or was so used to it that he didn’t care.

“Where is Darren?” you said. Both men’s faces whipped around to look at you, as if they’d forgotten you were there. Cyrus stopped mid-chew, his jaw clenching, and Allen smirked.

“He’s with his lady friend,” Allen said. You snorted and blanched, shaking your head in disbelief at the idea that a man could spend his days torturing a captive and go home to a woman that wanted him. Who could ever want that little sleaze? “Oh don’t look so surprised, Dummy, you’d love her.”

“I doubt that,” you scoffed, cutting your egg in half with the edge of your fork.

“What if I told you—”

A fist slammed against the table.

“Drop it,” Cyrus barked. Allen rolled his eyes.

“She probably already suspects—”

“She probably doesn’t. And I said to drop it.” Cyrus flashed a stern look towards you. “Darren’s whereabouts and private life aren’t your business. Eat.” He gestured towards your plate, face scrunched into a scowl as he dug back into his own food.

You dissected that interaction in your mind through the entire meal. Why was Allen so tickled by the idea that Darren’s girlfriend would mean anything to you? As far as you were concerned, anyone willing to give that man a second glance was a half-rate woman. No one you knew could ever be that lowly, hairbrained, or cheap.

“Full?” Cyrus asked as he took your plate away, not making eye contact. The rest of the meal had been tense thanks to Allen’s comment. Cyrus was on edge, bristling.

“Yes sir,” you said, using that submissive doe-voice to try and ease the tension. It didn’t do much good.

“Time for a walk. Thought the sunshine and fresh air might do you some good. Make you a bit more…pliant.” He ticked his jaw, using his tongue to loosen the leftover breakfast from between his teeth.

As you entered the field, Cyrus trailing behind, you felt the sunshine oozing like wax over your skin. It was your first time outside in…too long. Breeze caressed your face, your freshly cleaned hair floating over your shoulder. You breathed in. Breathed out. Breathed in, deeper, trying to suck as much of this ultra-fresh air into your lungs as possible. The dress fluttered as you traipsed through the tall grass. The property went so far back that you couldn’t see the rear fence, but you knew it was there based on the barbed-wire lines that penned the front yard from the back. It could’ve spanned a hundred acres.

You looked behind you, flashing a wide, grateful smile to Cyrus, and felt a breath within your own mind. A second set of eyes opening behind yours. Another consciousness filling the crevices between your temples, the same way oil coats the surface of water.

“You’re welcome, Pretty,” Cyrus said, understanding your grin was meant as a ‘thank you’. Just as quickly, he noticed the hitch in your breath, the flicker in your eyes as you stumbled, your expression faltering. “What’s wrong?”

Where are you?

“Stephen?” You said, not meaning for it to be out loud. A look of concern washed over Cyrus’s face as he rushed to you and put the back of his hand over your forehead.

“I’m Cyrus, remember? Are you feeling okay?” He held your shoulder with one hand and cupped your cheek with the other, drawing his face close to yours to search your eyes. You shook your head at him, utterly confused and unsure how to explain yourself. Your eyes looked behind Cyrus, back to the house, without your permission. You fought, looking back to Cyrus, only to have your eyes seize and look back to the house again. Studying the dark shingles, the large yard with no road in sight, the creamy white exterior. It was as if someone was thumbing the joystick in your brain without your permission.

“Don’t do that,” you growled, again not meaning to speak out loud.

“Hey,” Cyrus snapped, yanking your chin, “Look at me. What happened? We were having a good morning. What’s this about?”

Finally your eyes behaved. Your “guest” took his thumb off the controller.

“S-sorry. I just got a little headache I think,” you lied sheepishly.

“Are you too hot?”

“No,” you said too quickly, not wanting to be forced inside again. You scoured your mind for an easy excuse. “I think I ate too quickly.”

“Alright…” Cyrus said, clearly suspicious, before releasing you. “Why don’t you go play? Check out the yard, explore a little bit. I’ll keep an eye on you.”

You didn’t need to be told twice.

You took off at an easy jog, your tight joints singing at the familiar sensation.

What, are we not friends anymore?

                        Let’s not. I called for you all morning and you ignored me, only to show up now and almost get me in trouble.

Oh, baby. I’m so sorry.

You can’t…it…I should have explained sooner.

You can’t get to me this way, only I can reach out to you.

                        You couldn’t hear me looking for you at all?

No, honey. Are you okay?

This is why I didn’t want you kicking me out.

I have to be here, I need to monitor so I can help you, protect you.

What happened?

He was frantic, rushing from one thought to the next without giving you room to interject. If he were here in person, he’d be pacing, tugging the grey tufts of hair by his temples until you popped his cheek just to make him shut up. His concern was endearing, but it could’ve been avoided if he hadn’t been so hellbent on keeping things from you.

                        Nothing worth fussing over now. I’m fine.

Are you?

                        It was a false alarm. Quit freaking out, you’re killing the mood.

I can scan your memory, see if they did anything—

                        Good grief, man, have you no sense of privacy? Why don’t you trust me?

Please stop trying to fight with me, Peach.

It’s safer this way, with me here to watch over you.

                        Why don’t we cut the melodrama and agree that you don’t need to puppeteer my body from now on?

Fine, but next time, answer me quicker.

                        Excuse me?

I asked you where you were. You’re outside.

                        It’s the same house I’ve been in. Cyrus is giving me a nice outing in the yard.

That must be…nice. What a guy.

                        It is.

You stood at the entrance to the barn. The paint was once firehouse-red with white accents, but over time the paint had yellowed and the red had sun-bleached and chipped. There were holes in the sagging roof, allowing the sun to burst through like spotlights on a stage. You took a step forward, peering in even further.

You shouldn’t go in there.

This doesn’t look safe.

                        Quit ruining my fun.

As you stepped in, there was a supply closet to the right that had bags of chicken feed, buckets, and various farming supplies scattered about. As your focus narrowed, however, you noticed some familiar tools. The cow-prod, for example. Clamps. Rope. Handcuffs. The riding crop. A pronged dog collar. All things Darren had used on you in the past. You also noticed a small handgun on the workbench and a rifle hanging on the wall. Your pulse quickened.

You know what to do.

C’mon. Go get it, baby.

You licked your lips. Gulped. Peered over your shoulder at Cyrus, who smiled at you and waved from his post. He hadn’t moved since you left, standing far away.

What are you waiting for?

You waved back at Cyrus and returned the smile.

Peach. Get the gun and get yourself out of there.

Do you need me to take over?

You stepped towards the supply closet against your own volition. You stomped, regaining control of your legs.

                        If you do that again, I’m going to kick you out. I mean it.

Go get that gun and get yourself out of here.

Why are you hesitating?

You didn’t bother answering the question. Truthfully, you didn’t know why. You just wanted to enjoy being outside right now. You stepped deeper into the barn, noticing the abandoned stalls that lined the inside walls. Feed buckets, surely riddled with cobwebs and dust, hung off the front wall of each stall next to the swinging gate that would open them.

You wondered what happened to the livestock that used to live here. You swallowed, flickering your gaze up to the swiss-cheese ceiling. Inadvertently, you’d stepped into one of the large “spotlights” that jutted through.

“There you are,” Cyrus cooed. You spun on your heels to face him. He stood at the entrance of the barn, hands stuffed into his jean pockets. Why don’t you come out here and get some more fresh air? It’s pretty dingy in here.”

Shoot him, Peach.

“Good idea,” you said, jogging to meet him. You felt Stephen’s presence grow hostile, frustrated.

“You know what I was thinking? Your feet might really love the feeling of the grass and the dirt. I can carry your shoes for you while you walk around.” He worded it like a suggestion, but something in you knew it was more of a command, and you immediately complied, unzipping the heels of your strappy sandals and passing them off. Cyrus allowed them to dangle from the hook of his pointer finger as he led you back to the field. He used his body like a sheepdog, angling his broad chest to herd you towards the “junkyard” segment of the yard full of logs and wooden planks. Mid-construction chaos.

“Go play,” he echoed, pressing a firm palm to your lower back, leaving no question about the matter. He was absolutely right—with every step you took, sun-warmed grass and cool, sweet earth under your soles was rich and calming.

“Is your headache getting better?” Cyrus called out as you arrived at the woodpile.

“Yeah, thanks,” you hollered over your shoulder. “The fresh air is helping.”

Careful, here.

You never know what’s tucked itself between logs and such.

                        Stephen, seriously, chill out.

Looks like this stuff has been untouched for a while.

                        I’m sure it’s fine. Cyrus is here. He’s literally my bodyguard.

I’m sure I don’t need to remind you what he thinks of you, Peach.

                        Please don’t go there. Not right now. Just let me enjoy this.

Peach—

“Hey Pretty, if you stand on that log there, you can get a good stretch in your calves.”

“This one?”

“Yeah, that one there.”

As you hoisted yourself onto the log, tuning out Stephen’s hysterical protesting, you felt something pop and heard a crunch. Your leg went through the log. As you fell, an explosive, searing pain charged like volts from a car battery into your calf.

Your elbows braced your fall. The effects of your pain were immediate, the blaze in your calf surging higher and higher, a thick, sticky ember infiltrating the rest of your blood. You sucked in a breath and watched a thick haze bloom over your vision. Your lungs then locked as if your mouth was blocked by a plastic bag, making it nearly impossible to breathe. The harsh rasp of your lungs fighting for breath sounded far away, inhuman, not your own. You tried to lift yourself but your arms collapsed underneath you. Your face went numb.

“That’s more like it,” Cyrus said, lingering somewhere behind you. Then he shouted towards the house. “ALLEN! AL! Call up the doctor. She’s down. Yeah, it bit.”

PEACH?!

They calling a doctor?

You betray me?

PEACH, WHAT HAPPENED?!

                        I fell.

Your stomach churned. You’d scream if you had the breath to spare.

Through the cloudy vision, you watched as a snake slithered away through the grass. The chickens scurried away from it, shrieking and cawing. It was a thick, brown-gray serpent with a dark diamond pattern running along the center of its back. The end of its tail had a light brown nub that looked like a miniature corn on the cob. A rattle?

Cyrus was talking but you couldn’t see him.

“That, my dear, was an Eastern Diamondback Rattlesnake. The venom sets in quick, doesn’t it? They sleep in hollow logs. What, no one ever taught you that?”

One of the chickens pecked your ankle. Another one pecked your shoulder.

You’d never felt your heart pound this fast. The faster it pounded, the more the pain spread. The venom.

                        I’m sleepy.

Don’t go to sleep. Peach. Stay with me.

Come on, Little Patient.

Eyes open—HEY. Eyes OPEN! That’s it. I’m not losing you that easy.

It’ll be okay. Listen to me. Follow the sound of my voice.

                        Stephen?

Can you hear me?

Peach?

Loki wants to talk to you.

                        Hmm?

There we go. You hear me? Focus on my voice.

Loki’s here. Loki. Loki wants to talk.

                        Loki…

Yes, Loki misses you.

Say something to Loki.

Peachy girl, what do you want to tell Loki?

…

            …

…

…

…       

Chapter Text

“Oh good, you’re awake,” Darren said.

Could a villain get more cliché?

The effects of the snakebite were still running rampant through your system. You were woozy and had labored breath, among other symptoms. They’d propped you in a chair but didn’t even bother strapping you down. The venom would have you down for the count until…oh.

“Are you ready to talk?”

“I don’t see the point if I’m going to die anyways,” you said honestly. You eyed Allen and Cyrus, who leaned against the wall behind Darren. You felt ashamed of how foolish you were to relax when they were treating you nicely. Especially Cyrus, who’d painstakingly dressed you up, combed your hair, and helped serve you a delicious breakfast before luring you into a snake’s nest. You didn’t notice the other person who sat in the corner next to a small circular table until she pretended to cough.

“Doctor Leslie?” Your astonishment kept you from holding the question back as you recognized the woman who had given you the most trouble when you were still in Stark Tower. Dr. Scoursburgh, your nemesis, who wanted your job, who’d slept with Stephen. You didn’t need another reason in that list—she’d done enough with so little. She wore casual clothes aside from a pair of rubber gloves. There was a small glass vial and a couple smaller items you couldn’t quite make out set on the table.

“I was getting to that,” Darren said impatiently, though you weren’t sure if it was directed at you or the doctor. “You could die, sure, but you don’t have to die. The snake only bit about twenty minutes ago. You’ve got four hours to make the right decision before the real damage starts taking place. After that, if you’re still being a brat, it will be a slow and painful death over the next two to three days. The window to start talking is now, and the moment you give us what we want, Doc will patch you up with that antivenom there and you’ll get to go home like the strong little cowboy you are. How’s that sound, kiddo?”

You didn’t answer. He knew how it sounded. It sounded great. Obviously. Your mouth practically watered at the sight of the antivenom, now that you knew what that little glass vial was. And now, you realized, the other items on the table was an injection kit. Doctor Leslie was prepared to heal you the moment you submitted to them.

“So she must be the girlfriend, then, right?” you asked.

“Her? No, no. You can guess better than that. Who else in the world could have given me your identical security clearance until I was caught? Who could have disabled the cameras and alarms so we could raid your apartment? Who could have helped me slip undetected through Stark Tower with the body of its champion hanging in a duffle bag off of my shoulder? I’ll give you three tries.”

You didn’t need a second guess. You realized the moment he started talking. There was only one woman who let people in the front door, one person who gave security clearances, one head of security masquerading as a receptionist. Your very best friend in the world, Margot. You suddenly remembered when Tony called her a ‘seat warmer’ when she was caught duplicating your keycard for Darren. You knew now that it hadn’t been a mistake like she swore it was. The only question now was how far back did her treachery stem?

“Margot,” you breathed. Darren nodded, beaming with pride.

“Have you made your choice, then?” he said.

“I think so.”

“Let’s hear it,” he said, waiting for you to recite the codes for the flash drive.

You shrugged.

“Nah, I’ll just die.”

Chapter Text

You didn’t think they saw that coming. It wasn’t that you necessarily wanted to die, but there was no way to guarantee they wouldn’t kill you anyways once it was all said and done. Not to mention the thousands of lives that depended on the information in that drive staying safe. When you explained your thought process to Darren, he was incredulous, and for once, instead of taunting you or threatening more torture, he revealed a piece of his heart to you.

“Peach, this whole operation is about getting even. The plans for the hospital in that drive only exist because Tony wanted to ‘make things right’ when he blew up another hospital. He killed my dad in that accident. He was all I had left. You can’t let Tony get to be the hero.” He even had tears glossing his eyes. Not enough to fall down his cheeks, but still. How touching.

You’d heard the same story from dozens of people on talk-shows, newspaper headlines, even podcasts nowadays: “The Avengers let my mee-maw die,” or “Tony Stark destroyed the city for the eight hundredth time,” or “The Hulk scared my dog, now you should pay my vet bills.” You were numb to the logic of a villain, but your heart felt for his loss. You’d always longed for a family worth missing, but Darren had the misfortune of actually missing his. He always would. That hole in his heart would never be full again, no matter how many people suffered or died or even loved him. You couldn’t find it in yourself to tell him any of this, though. You asked him to find some good movies you could watch from your chair for the upcoming days while you waited for the venom to complete its job. He said no and left you in the room alone, taking the antivenom with him.

“Call for us if you change your mind,” Cyrus said before gently closing the door behind him. The deadbolt went shuck as it fell into place.

Chapter Text

Between bouts of sweating, cramps, and catnaps, you tried to find pictures hidden in the swirls of spackle on the ceiling, like cloud-watching or stargazing. Strange to think that would be the last “sky” you’d ever see. You didn’t have the strength to even look out of the window behind your head, but knew it was there by the light shining past your shoulder and occasional clucks and chirps of the roaming chickens.

Based on your own mental clock and the angle of the sun glinting through the window, it couldn’t have been more than three hours since the snakebite, so your time to change your mind and accept their antivenom (if that’s even what it was) was winding down. But you’d made up your mind. It was over. Your suffering needed to end. It was nice, you supposed, that you didn’t jump off the roof at Stark Tower so long ago. This death would be much more peaceful. At first, you’d kept your arms crossed over your chest, but now they hung limp at your sides with your legs slung wide. You didn’t try to lift them, to take a dignified pose.

Suddenly, you noted a motorized purring, a whirring sound. You spent a few minutes trying to decide if it was the AC crapping out or part of a movie that the crew had put on in the living room. It got louder and louder and louder—tka tka tka tka tka tka tka—so you concluded they’d been gradually turning up the volume by the minute. Taunting you with the movie you’d asked for but couldn’t watch. Sounded like a pretty lame movie if you’d asked yourself.

Thud, thud, thud. A crash. Shouting. More shouting. You couldn’t make out the words.

Then, gunshots.

They actually sounded pretty real.

The doorknob to your room was jiggling. More shouting. The lock on your door finally gave. Cyrus was running towards you. Slid on his knees and crashed into your chair. It almost fell backwards, but he caught you, then hurriedly tended your ankles, searching for ties, swearing under his breath to himself. His hands were trembling.

“You didn’t tie me this time. Got venomed. Remember?”

He hissed another swear. Off in the living room, a dense whacking sound, like someone had been slammed against a wall. That sound was a familiar friend in the memory bank of your mind. Cyrus whipped around, checking the doorway, and wiped his forehead as he turned back to you. The color had drained from his face, leaving him wide eyed and ghostly pale.

“Just shut up and don’t make a sound and be very, very, very quiet and do exactly what I tell you, okay?”

He didn’t wait for your answer, lifting you in his arms bridal-style before taking off at a crouch-run down the hall, the opposite direction of all the noise. Quick and quiet. You fisted the collar of his button-up fishing shirt. Your eyes lifted, just barely peeking over his shoulder, but all you could make out in that short moment was a bright red splatter across the wall. There was so much yelling, but an inexplicable sense of calm laid thick like a fog inside your mind.

Cyrus, in a panicked frenzy, locked the door behind him, and then closed the two of you inside of a closet. Lots of men’s shirts and pants hung about. A little shoe rack with a few sneakers and a couple of leather loafers.

“Who’s room is this?”

“Shhhhhhhhh!” He wrapped one hand tightly around the back of your head and the other over your mouth so tightly your teeth could crack. He whisper-screamed. “I said shut up. Just shut up. Not another sound, got it?!”

You nodded.

He then situated the two of you in the back left corner of the closet, semi-shielded by the lengths of some slacks. His back was pressed to the wall and you were between his legs, your back flush against his torso. He nudged your head to the right so you were peeking out at the door, while his face was blocked by a pair of pants. His powerful limbs were like boa constrictors, locked so tightly around your body that he might crush you. He still kept a hand over your lips, fingertips pressing the bottom of your chin like a muzzle, not trusting that you’d stay quiet. You didn’t blame him. Cyrus shuddered from head to toe. With every pow or thump outside, he startled like an unbroken colt. The feral rush of his heart practically vibrated against your back. Whatever was going on out there, he was petrified. In that moment, you realized he was using you as a human shield. This was probably his room.

The heat of his breath took no time to make sweat roll down the side of your neck.

A gravelly voice roared in the hallway. The tussle was getting closer.

“WHERE IS SHE?!”

“I said I don’t know!”

“THAT’S A LIE.”

You easily identified the screech of a chair being dragged across tile before a loud clattering. You imagined someone hurling the chair in your cell into the wall. Cyrus’s body wracked with a silent sob. There was murmuring in the hallway, someone being tenderly reprimanded.

Another gunshot.

“No, no, no, wait—!” Allen’s voice. “Cy! CYRUS! HELP—!”

A wet crunch.

Silence.

A whimper squeaked in Cyrus’s throat. Gentle footfalls creeped down the hallway, closer and closer. The door handle jiggled. You counted three, two, and then heard a bang as the bedroom door burst open. Through the slits in the closet door, you saw a few large figures roaming. One crouched where the bed was, you assumed to look underneath it. Then, the silhouette of broad shoulders blocked the light coming through the slits. Someone was at the closet door. Cyrus’s hand wound tighter against your mouth, his breathing all but stopped. You felt a very dark coldness, knowing as an irrefutable fact that he was staring into his own death. Counting his final moments.

“Amateur hour,” the voice at the door said, low and rough. The Asgardian accent stuck out to you immediately, so similar to that of an Earthly British one. A voice you’d heard often and could easily recognize. It belonged to Loki Laufeyson.

The closet door swooshed open. Loki’s eyes immediately locked on yours, but they lacked their usual warmth. If you could have, you would have gasped at the severity of his gaunt features. Without being told, you knew at once this was a consequence of your disappearance. He was wearing all black, but his clothes had a heavy, wet sheen and iron-like smell that you instantly recognized as blood. He was soaked. His eyes drifted down to your mouth, which was covered by Cyrus’s hand. Loki had taken note of your quivering boa constrictor, nodding at the other men in the room to come and see. Tony Stark, also dressed in black, and Stephen Strange in his sorcerer’s regalia, seemed to materialize behind either of Loki’s shoulders. You held Stephen’s gaze—a long, meaningful wash from his crystalline blue eyes—he’d been the only one who’d truly witnessed your torture, lived it with you, as much as a person conceivably could.

“Is it him?” Loki said. Cyrus went rigid.

“I don’t know,” Stephen said, his voice distant, trailing off, as he kept his eyes on you.

“Show me your wrist,” Loki said, his authoritative voice booming.

“I WON’T BE SOME WEASEL YOU’VE TRAPPED IN A BURROW,” Cyrus screeched, face tucked into your shoulder, his voice quavering and hoarse. “YOU WON’T SMOKE ME OUT. ONE WRONG WORD AND I’LL SNAP HER NECK.”

“All we want is to take the girl and go,” Tony said, his voice measured and cautious. One look at Loki’s face and you knew by the glimmer in his eyes and the flared veins in his neck that his wants would be much different than Tony’s.

“HOW WILL I KNOW YOU WON’T JUST KILL ME AS SOON AS I LET HER GO?”

“You can’t know.” Stephen said, “But you can probably imagine by now that the girl is very valuable to us, so we want to do everything we can to get her out of here safely and in one piece. Help us do that.”

Cyrus was hyperventilating as the cogs in his mind turned, seeking a way out. There was a long silence.

“WE WILL WALK TO THE DOOR. I WILL BACK OUT OF THE DOOR AND LEAVE IN PEACE. BUT I’M NOT LETTING HER GO UNTIL I’M OUTSIDE.”

“So you want time to run away when we collect her,” Stephen confirmed.

“THAT’S THE ONLY WAY. YOU LET ME GO, I LET HER GO.”

“We can do that,” Stephen said.

“That’s a fine deal, very fair,” Tony said, nodding. “Men, let’s back up, give them some space.”

As Tony, Stephen, and Loki lined up at the back wall of the bedroom with their hands folded civilly, Cyrus lifted you up and continued using you as a human shield. This meant you were both facing your rescuers the entire time he backed out of the house. You’d gone limp like a ragdoll, your bare feet skidding along the floor, but it didn’t impede him. You looked at your three favorite men for a few seconds at a time, switching from one to the other at random. Pure joy radiated from every nerve in your body. It was almost over.

Cyrus wouldn’t remove his eyes from the men, not even for a moment to check behind and see where he was going, leading him to bump into walls and fixtures as he gradually worked his way to the back door. Your ankle knocked against a corner as you rounded a turn, making you grunt, and Cyrus quickly shushed you. Force of habit, you guessed.

“What did I say about being quiet, Dummy? Don’t you want to get out of here alive?!” His fit of rage caused him to jostle your head, whether accidentally or not. The sudden manhandling made you groan. You witnessed an almost imperceptible shift cross over Loki’s face. His jaw ticked. If there’d been a chance at mercy before, it was now completely gone. Stephen sensed the mood shift as well and placed a hand on Loki’s shoulder, a reminder of patience.

He stopped when his backside hit the doorknob.

“Now,” he hissed, “I’m going to back out of this door and one of you will take her. The other two stay on the wall so I can trust you to let me go.”

Tony started to give him the go ahead, Stephen pushing forward to receive you, but Loki cut him off.

“One last condition. I asked you once already to show me your wrist. I hope you won’t make me ask twice,” Loki said.

“What does my wrist matter to you?” Cyrus spat, sounding an awful lot like a five-year-old pushing their boundaries.

“I will eat you alive if you don’t,” Loki said matter-of-factly, clicking his teeth together to prove a point. Cyrus breathed roughly, contemplated the offer for two seconds, and then pulled his hand away from your mouth, revealing the fluttering bird on his wrist. Loki smiled at the sight, nodding to himself. The smile sent goosebumps over your skin. You’d never seen a look so sinister in your entire life, worse yet from a lover. “That will be all.”

Stephen came to you as Loki and Tony fell back, moving tenderly as if not to startle a wild animal. Cyrus reached behind his back, unlocked the door, and twisted it open.

“We good?” Cyrus said.

“Ready when you are,” Stephen said coolly, his hands at your armpits to keep you from falling whenever Cyrus let go. He knew your legs were feeling particularly weak today. Cyrus took one step back, still supporting you, then a second, and by the third he’d let go and was sprinting towards the woods.

Stephen enveloped you in his arms in a millisecond, petting your hair, smelling your temple, mumbling sweet nothings and praise Gods. Your eyes were wet as you crumbled against his chest, not making a sound but shuddering as you took in his scent, the musk of a man fresh out of battle. Tony muttered something that you couldn’t hear.

“Already on it,” Loki said, cracking his knuckles as he stepped around you and Stephen. “I just like the chase.”

“Please don’t be mad…I told Loki about what that man has done to you…The incident in the tub sent him over the edge,” Stephen explained.

You heard behind you as Loki took off in an animalistic sprint in the same direction as Cyrus. There was a hollow laugh. An awful scream. Stephen put one large palm over your ear and spoke into the other, loud enough to drown out whatever wretchedness was taking place outside, “I’m going to put a little sound bubble around your head while we load up in the chopper, okay? You won’t be able to hear anything else but I promise you are safe. It’s over, Peach. You made it.”

You nodded briskly, trying to drown out the sounds behind you. Squeezing your eyes shut, suddenly your ears were ringing as they adjusted to the complete absence of sound. Stephen lifted you into his arms and took off through the back door as well, Tony following close behind. You opened your eyes. There was the sky.

Looking over Stephen’s shoulder, you couldn’t peel your eyes from a most mesmerizing sight: Loki lifted Cyrus by the chin far above his head with just one arm, Cyrus’s legs kicking, struggling to find purchase, before Loki slammed him to the ground. He wheezed, the force of the drop knocking the wind from his lungs. Cyrus’s face looked swollen and battered. Stunned, you wondered how Loki managed to beat his nose into such a grotesque shape so quickly. Your eyes widened as Loki mounted his right foot on Cyrus’s chest, wielding a large, pointy-ended stick over his head. From the corner of your eye, you saw Tony look at you, then back at Loki, and then to the back of Stephen’s head, his mouth moving. Tony was saying something to Stephen, who quickly covered your eyes before you could see the weapon coming down. But you’d already seen where it was aimed: Cyrus’s face.

At last, you understood where that motorized whirring had been coming from, as Stephen loaded you into a helicopter and removed the sound-block from your ears.

“—said he was going to rip it off, balls and all, one piece at a time, so I just assumed he would save the eyes for last,” Tony said, shrugging.

“She can hear you,” Stephen grumbled as he began fumbling through a medical bag. There was a small setup of fluid bags and tubes next to your seat. “Peach, you’re going to feel a pinch, but we have to do this now. You’re almost at hour four which is the cut-off for antivenom. I’m going to take care of that nasty bite, okay?” He wasn’t looking at you, though, immersed in his element as he used a fine needle to draw a clear serum from its vial and worked on prepping the cure. He held the needle in front of his face, assessing, as you said okay and gripped the seat. You closed your eyes and breathed. You felt a cold spot on the crook of your elbow as he sanitized the injection site, stinging, pressure, and then more cold as the fluid in the bag rushed into your veins. “Good girl, there we are. You’re going to start feeling better really soon, okay?” His hand cupped your cheek.

“How long do you think loverboy will need?” Tony said, chuckling to himself.

“As long as it will take for him to think the score is even,” Stephen replied, fiddling with the IV stand. He couldn’t help himself, fidgeting like a nervous parent despite knowing all was well.

“But it can’t be made even,” Tony said.

“Right,” Stephen said.

“So we could be here for hours…” Tony scratched the hair beside his temple, squinting.

“If you’re so worried about our timeline, why don’t you go ask him for an itinerary?” Stephen bristled. Now that you were able to get a better look at his face—grimy, slightly bloodied—you noticed how much more gray his hair had gone. The stress took its toll on each man in a unique way, it seemed. For Loki, the weight, Stephen, the hair, and Tony…When he rolled his eyes and made a face at Stephen, you saw new wrinkles in the corners of his eyes and two between his eyebrows. All for you.

It only took about twenty minutes before you started feeling relief from the fluids. A fuller breath in your lungs. Energy in your veins. Clarity returning to your thoughts. Nausea fading. Stephen checked on you frequently, easily conforming to the role of doting caregiver, as the three of you waited for Loki’s return. In the meantime, Stephen cleaned you up with baby wipes. You didn’t realize how dirty you were, but one wipe after another turned a dingy brown or red or gray, until eventually they were coming back untarnished. You were clean enough for a ride home right on time, it seemed, as you watched Loki walking up from a distance.

No.

Something was wrong.

Loki was…slow. Hunched. Stumbling as he walked, favoring his left leg. One arm wrapped around his stomach. Face pinched, straining. Stephen noticed your worry and looked out the window. He cursed and seemed to forget that his favorite little patient was sitting next to him, jumping out of the helicopter and rushing to meet Loki. Stephen propped his shoulder under Loki’s armpit, wrapped an arm around his waist, and helped him with the rest of the walk. As they got closer, you could see Loki was gritting his teeth, sputtering, as he choked on agony. Dark, greasy locks of hair fell in his face. Stephen was mumbling something in his ear as he loaded him into the chopper; you could tell by the tone it was a word of comfort. Giving him dignity. The doors closed. Stephen gave the clear for liftoff.

“Eyes up front,” Stephen ordered. It was as if a completely new doctor had entered the helicopter. The deep, concentrated scrunch in Strange’s brow as he riffled through his medical kit once again put you on edge. Despite your better judgement, your eyes went to Loki. His back was arched as he panted like a dog tied to a post in the middle of summer, fighting against the seat-straps. A low grunt caught in his chest. Spit flung as he gasped with rasping sobs. Loki’s head was knocked back, teeth bared, with one lone tear cutting through the mud and blood splattered across his cheek.

“What happened to him?” Your eyes were on his body now, one hand violently clutching at his own stomach, trying to rip his shirt open but failing as it kept slipping through his fingers. The rest of him was ominously wet. How much blood belonged to the victims he met today? How much belonged to him? “Stephen, what happened?” It was impossible to tell through all that black clothing how damaged he was. His right leg convulsed. “STEPHEN!”

“Eyes up front, Peach. I’ll check on you soon.”

“Stephen—”

A mangled cry ripped through Loki’s chest. It turned you into pudding.

“I told him he needed to keep the weight on,” Stephen said to no one in particular as he began cutting Loki’s pants away. “I told him to keep eating until we got her back so he’d be prepared for a fight, but no, what does the neurosurgeon know about the body? Look at us now.”

“No longer a neurosurgeon,” Tony corrected.

“Loki, I’m here,” you squeaked, reaching for his arm. You tried not to flinch when the wet of his shirt met your hand.

“Darling,” he managed to choke out. Like a zombie, desperate, Loki snatched your wrist with his free hand, his nails digging into your soft flesh as he fought against the tremors rolling through his body, before finally kissing the back of your hand and releasing you. A shockwave of pain caught him off guard, shoving a noise of anguish through his throat that sounded like a dry-heave as his head slammed against the back of his seat. He spoke to you through gritted teeth. “If I die now, hearing the life remain in your exquisite voice was worth it.”

Sitting next to him, unable to help, felt as painful as someone trying to pry the nails off of your fingers. You drummed your fingers against your thighs and whined, lip quivering, as Stephen finally cut Loki’s shirt off. It took a few cleansing passes from the wipes before the damage was finally visible.

Loki had been shot towards the outer side of his upper right thigh, in the right shoulder, and finally in the outer left side of his torso. There was a slit in his right deltoid and below his bellybutton, to the left. The sight of Loki’s glistening wounds made your throat tight. You’d never seen him harmed, thought of him as invincible. When he thrashed, you saw a hole on the backside of his shoulder—an exit wound. You’d heard gunshots when they raided the house, you’d just made the error of assuming they came from the good side. Neither Stephen nor Tony appeared injured. Only Loki. He must have been on the frontlines the entire time, taking the brunt of the fight. Stephen glanced over each gash, taking no time at all and an eternity all at once.

“Weapon?” He asked, thumbing the gouge in Loki’s deltoid.

“Pocketknife,” he spat. “He stabbed me. Little snot could’ve slit her throat, but somehow you missed that during your little brain-raid parties. L-lucky she’s alive. He didn’t whip it out until the end.”

“Ah.” Stephen moved to the bellybutton one, pausing as his thumb rested over the area, asking a silent question.

“Same knife. Can’t you just scan my brain and get on with it?” His chest heaved, spittle flinging out every which way as he groaned and rolled his head back again.

“I’m respecting your privacy as my patient,” Stephen said lowly.

“You’re being a sadist,” Loki snarled.

“Peach?” There wasn’t an ounce of annoyance in Stephen’s voice.

“Yes.” you answered instantly.

“Hold his hand. He needs some moral support.”

In seconds, you and Loki had your foreheads forced together, his fingers twisting like the roots of an oak tree through your own.

“I’m here,” you kept whispering. “I’m here, I’ve got you.”

It was about a three-hour ride by helicopter back to Stark Tower. The first half of it was spent with your hand being crushed in Loki’s vice grip while Stephen dug bullets out of his body and stitched him up. The smell of Loki’s face and the warmth of his sweet breath as he panted and grunted through the pain brought you more comfort than you wanted to admit. It meant you were still alive, that he was still alive.

“That right arm will be out of commission until it heals,” Stephen said. “Might have some nerve damage.” He droned on, giving Loki instructions about the stitches and how to take care of himself until they could be removed. Neither of you listened. Loki, with his eyes half-lidded, busied himself with exploring the blessing of your life. Kissing the backs of your hands, turning them over, and kissing again along your palms, wrists, forearms. Pressing your hands against his cheeks, forehead, and eyes. Pushing your hair back and running his fingers through. Gingerly grasping your lower lip between his thumb and forefinger, tugging it. Holding your cheeks, tilting your head this way and that. Hovering his pointer finger below your nostrils so he could feel your breath. Watching, awed, at the sight of your chest rising and falling with each exaggerated inhalation. Syncing his breath with yours. He was like a caveman discovering the existence of a human woman. Despite all this, you still got the sense that he was displaying restraint. You’d never seen affection simultaneously temperate and untamed like this. It was his own personal little lovefest.

Loki had missed you.

He thought he’d lost you.

You tried not to think about what he would’ve done with himself had you died.

Meanwhile, Stephen had to continually pull you away from Loki’s attentions to check on your vitals and symptoms, make sure the antivenom was doing its job. Spoiler alert—it was. You’d be just fine. Just like with Loki, you noticed Stephen holding himself back. He wanted to pour his relief and love and excitement over you but knew that would mean taking something dear away from Loki, ruining a precious moment, which he simply wouldn’t do. Not while Loki was in such a state, at least. Stephen picked at the extra skin around his nails, his eyes moving up and down your frame over and over again. His nostrils would flare or mouth would curl into an almost-snarl whenever his gaze lingered on your bruises or cuts and you couldn’t stop yourself from wondering what he was thinking in those moments. He'd swallow, breath shallow, and continue evaluating. Watching you with a barbarous intensity. Not strictly medical. Occasionally, his eyes would meet yours, his face softening and lips twitching as if stopping himself from speaking. Then, Loki would steal your attention again in some way or another.

Eventually, when your hind was getting sore from sitting for too long, the helicopter perched on a landing pad atop Stark Tower. Medical staff rushed the door like a herd of bulls before efficiently yanking you out and hauling you away on a gurney, not realizing that the near-naked Loki was in more need of a checkup than you were. You screamed for help, overwhelmed and ill-prepared for the sudden explosion of attention. Some non-functional part of your brain knew this was a necessary precaution, that it should be no surprise that the company would have a team examine you before sending you back into the world, but you were unable to stop yourself from fighting them. Tossing violently and reaching with all your might for your men as the gurney dragged you off.  Tony ordered them not to sedate you, saying you were just in shock, and that’s about the same time that you were strapped down, unable to move. In an act of defiance, you continued tossing your head around until someone stopped you from doing that too. When they finally got you inside, the familiar smell of the building, the smell of home, coaxed you to into relaxation. You stopped fighting.

A couple hours later, after being cleaned and cleared by doctors and having been formally introduced to the resident psychologist as his newest patient, you were free. Finally. Stephen Strange was waiting for you in the hall as you stepped out of the therapist’s office. He looked clean, his salt and pepper hair damp from a recent shower. He was dressed in a white tee shirt and grey sweatpants that smelled like they had just come out of the drier. You both opened your mouths and started to say something, stopped to let the other one speak, and then laughed.

“You first,” you said warmly, squeezing his bicep. There was an empty, forlorn look in his rich azure eyes despite the half smile he gave you. He searched your face desperately, stammering on his thoughts before finally settling on what he wanted to say.

“I’m just glad you’re home.”

“You could try to sound more convincing.” You hooked your arm around his as you both turned and began walking back to your apartment. Stephen must have really wanted some extra time with you, taking you the long way that would pass the reception desk instead of going straight to the elevators.

It was nighttime, now. Your nurses had mentioned some talk of Tony throwing a party to celebrate your homecoming. You imagined fireworks sparkling against the flat black sky through the windows you walked past.

“I just know things are going to be different now, that’s all. It’s the end of an era.”

“It doesn’t have to be,” you said. You felt your back beginning to tense, not wanting a confrontation.

“But it is. I don’t mean in a bad way. It’ll just be different. I’m mourning the way things were between us before and we can’t go back to that. Not after what we’ve been through.” Stephen’s face was totally neutral if not drooping. You sensed that he was holding something back, hiding a piece of information.

You tripped over your own feet when the reception desk was in sight. In your ex-best-friend’s seat, there sat a petite woman with long, dark brown coils of hair, a couple rings on her finger, and a pair of smart-looking tortoiseshell glasses. She looked young, stable, and serious with her full lips tucked to the side in a concentrated pout. She was still learning the ropes, you guessed. Margot had left big shoes to fill. When the woman heard you and Stephen enter the room, her back went straighter than a lamppost. She offered you a dignified nod. She was wide-eyed, nervous.

“This is Charlotte,” Stephen murmured in your ear. “She already knows you plenty well, though. The building has been buzzing.”

“I can see that,” you said with an airy laugh, wondering just how much they’d told her about you. “It’s nice to meet you, Charlotte.” You waved politely and continued on, finally making it to the elevators.

“She’s not going to have access to Tony’s phone like the last receptionist did,” he assured you.

“That was Margot texting me that night at my parents’ house? She lured me away?” You were bewildered. Stephen nodded. You scrubbed the back of your hand against your forehead as you both stepped in the elevator. “I just don’t understand. She was my best friend. It doesn’t make sense.”

“No one will ever have a reason good enough to justify being a villain. From what we understand, Darren just promised her a lot of money and strung her along with enough sex to make her believe him. Our guess is she wanted to be your friend because your high rank in the company. Thought that would help her climb the corporate ladder. Simple. Happens every day.” Stephen shrugged as he pressed the button for your floor. You tried not to acknowledge to yourself how much that thought made your heart sink, but you couldn’t blame Strange for being so cavalier. Being sorcerer supreme, he’d seen horrors much worse than a friend with loyalty issues.

“Where is she now?”

“She was in the living room with the rest of them when we came for you. There were no survivors. You know, without them letting you outside just that one time…without me seeing the outside of the home when I took control of your eyes, I don’t think we would have found you in time.”

You gulped and decided you’d process your feelings some other time. Lucky you had a therapist now. You’d have to remember to thank Tony later for arranging that.

“How about the flash drive?”

“Recovered safely and a new method for storing and securing the files is in progress as we speak… The kid had just been keeping it in his pants pocket. He was so young, I don’t think he thought it all the way through… Are you okay?” He turned to you, brows furrowed in concern. “Don’t you want to talk about something happy? There’s this new Chinese takeout that opened up a couple blocks away—”

“Where’s Loki?”

That same lopsided smile from before clouded Stephen’s face at the mention of Loki’s name.

“Medical finished with him about an hour ago…I guess you’ve made your choice then,” he said, tilting his head at you. The elevator dinged open. Stephen lead you into the hallway.

“What choice?” You shook your head, not understanding. He swallowed.

“When I came to your parents that night before you left—before you were taken, I mean—I told you I wasn’t going to share you, that I wouldn’t live warring with him over you forever. And now you’re home and… It’s not like you don’t already know. You cry for him when you’re in danger, he was all you wanted to talk about when you were away, he’s all you’ve thought about since the moment we picked you up. You could barely take your eyes off of him in the helicopter. Even in the beginning when you and I were in our most intimate, vulnerable moments, you thought of him. Don’t do that to me. Don’t string me along.”

The breath was nearly knocked from your lungs.

“Stephen, I just got home, I haven’t even stepped in my front door yet. Can’t we talk about this another time? Once I settle in?” Your voice rattled.

“If you have an ounce of affection towards me, you’ll get it over with. You’re in love with him, Peach.”

He was right.

“I am.” Your eyes welled with tears.

“I won’t hate you. You will still be the most precious, special person to me. I will always be your friend. Maybe not his. Actually, yeah, never his. But always yours.” He was holding your shoulders, rubbing soft circles into them with his thumbs.

You choked back a sob.

“Stephen, I’m sorry—”

“Don’t be sorry.” He wrapped you into a hug, tucking his chin over your head as he smoothed his palm over your back. “I know it’s not on purpose. I know that.”

“Thank you.” You said, sniffling. You wiped your eyes as he pulled away. “I love you.”

“I love you too. That’s never going to change.”

“I have to be with him,” you croaked.

“He’s waiting on your couch. He agreed to let me walk you home if he got to help you settle back in. I guess that will be the last time I ever share you.” He gave you an odd, melancholy smile. Stephen Strange hugged you once more, planted a goodbye kiss on your forehead, and watched you bolt the rest of the way down the hall. You wouldn’t wait a second longer than necessary to see Loki. Your Loki.

He must have heard you coming because when you stepped inside, he tackled you to the floor. Loki, unable to lift you in his arms like he’d wanted due to his injuries, encased himself around you like a swarm of bees: thousands of stinging kisses, a feverish horde of arms and hands that couldn’t decide where to touch, and his eyelashes and long, smooth nose like soft wings brushing over your cheeks. You were unable to see through the dark, massive net of his hair that shrouded your face, but you weren’t scared. You were safe. Finally. He said everything you’d ever needed to hear and everything you’d ever want to hear again. All he could say was darling.

“Darling, darling, darling.”