ad astra per aspera.

Stephen scoffed. You’d find out soon enough that he was the king of sarcasm around here. And you wouldn’t make it even close to stealing his throne.

He raised a brow. “You were joking about sharing the shower, right?”

“Unless you want me to punch you in the nose, do not open that fucking door.”

“I wasn’t going to just walk in there,” he snorted. “I just wanted to see what kind of sexual deviant Billy was offering up my home to.”

“I’m not a sexual deviant. I’m desperate.”

“Yeah, I can tell.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you asked, tracking shampoo suds to the corner of your mouth. 

“I think you know exactly what I mean. It’s really not that difficult to tell that it’s been a while for you.”

“Are your first impressions always this glowing?” 

“Don’t flatter yourself,” he sighed, leaning his head back against the wall. “You don’t even make the top ten. Worst or best.”

“I’ll give you an extra hundred if you let me shower in peace.”

“I really don’t care about your money.”

Stephen breathed deeply, waiting for your reply. But when the room filled with nothing but the sound of the water running, he cocked a brow.

“What?” he asked. “Are you already out for the day?”

Silence.

Furrowing his brow, Stephen leaned forward slightly. His eyes darted from the door to the floor, examining the light peeking through the crack and spilling onto the carpet of the guest bedroom.

“Everything…okay in there?”

“Yes!” you spat. “I’m just trying not to get shampoo in my mouth!”

“Oh,” he laughed, leaning back against the wall. “Sorry.”

“No, you’re not.”

“No, I’m not.” He grinned, relishing the triumph swelling in his chest. “So you just got dumped? He didn’t want to do long-distance or something? Three time zones is a bit of a stretch.”

“No, I moved out here to be closer to her. And then she dumped me.”

“Oh, shit.”

“Don’t worry yourself into feeling bad for me.”

“I’d never dream of it.”

With a smirk tugging at the corner of his lip, Stephen glanced at the ceiling. Alright, maybe it made a bit more sense why Billy offered his place to you. Then again, zero multiplied by one shred of sense was still zero.

“Peds, you said, right?” His eyes flitted to the door.

“Mhmm.”

“You’re lucky you got the job. They were trying to poach someone else for a while now.”

“Lucky me.”

“Yeah, I mean, it was long enough that even I eventually heard about it. I don’t know why everyone is so horny for fetal surgery right now.”

Pressing your lips together, you laughed and scrubbed your body down, scrubbed off this awful week. Even if the guy was a jackass, his shower was gorgeous.

“I skimmed one of his publications,” Stephen said. “He’s overrated. Everyone was losing their shit for his in utero MMC repair. But I don’t know. The removal itself didn’t feel particularly groundbreaking to me and the layering technique was common sense.”

The shower turned off.

You stepped onto the bathmat just long enough to determine—

“Where are your towels?”

“Where towels belong.” He shrugged. “Hanging on the rack.”

“Well, I’m looking at it right now and there aren’t any towels here.”

“Maybe you want to check again because—Oh.” His eyes flitted to the towels folded on the bed next to your open suitcase. “Let me, uh, let me grab those for you.”

Stephen swiped the towels off the bed, indulging in a half-second look at the innards of your suitcase. He couldn’t collect any worthwhile information aside from the fact that it looked like your clothes exploded all over the thing during that six hour flight.

With the lightest touch, he tapped his knuckles to the door twice.

“Do you want me to open or—”

You cracked the door wide enough to reach through with an open hand.

“Oh my God, your hands are tiny.” He leaned down to examine your fingers. “How do you get anything done with—”

“TOWEL.”

“Right, right.” He shoved the towels in your hand, holding on for one second longer than necessary when you yanked them from his grip.

A second later, the door flew open. As steam pelted Stephen’s face, he blinked firmly, skin prickling with condensation.

Wrapped in a towel, you gestured to the bedroom door.

“Do you mind?”

“What?” He looked you up and down.

“Can I get two seconds of privacy to get dressed before you continue telling me how utterly unimpressive you find my work?”

Stephen tilted his head to the side.

“Before I continue telling you—” But he pressed his lips together and nodded slowly. “Oh. So you’re…”

“Dr. Jackson St. Clair. Pleasure to meet you.”

“Okay, now you’re definitely climbing up the leaderboard for worst first impressions.”

“Get out.” You pointed to the door.

“Right.”

Stephen slipped into the hallway. 

The truth was that he was eager to meet Dr. Jackson St. Clair. Had been for a while now. He even lobbied for him to get the job because he wanted to see this in utero technique up close. But Stephen didn’t want to tell you that thinking you stole the man’s job. And he sure as hell was never going to tell you now that he knew you didn’t.

Once you were dressed, you opened the door to march into the hallway. But, with your eyes glued to your phone looking up hotel options, you ran right into Stephen.

“What do you want?” you snapped, holding up your phone. “I’m looking for a place. I will be out of your hair in—”

“Just—HERE.” He held out the set of spare keys. 

You knit your brow together, cocking your head to the side. “What’s the catch?”

“No catch. I got everything ready for someone to stay for a night or two anyway. You might as well take up on it.”

“I don’t need your pity.” You raised a brow.

“Oh, I pity you. But this has nothing to do with it.”

“And if you’re trying to apologize, you’re doing a piss poor job of it.”

“Definitely not an apology. I don’t really apologize…ever.”

Tentatively wrapping your hand around the keys, you narrowed your eyes.

“What’s this really about then?”

Stephen sighed, relinquishing the keys to your grasp.

“Honestly? Billy’s been getting other offers for years. And if I push my luck just too much, he might actually take up on one of them.”

“So this has nothing to do with me? And everything to do with your nurse?”

“Yeah, I couldn’t care less what happens to you.”

“Alright, fine.” You slid the keys into your back pocket with a shrug. 

Stephen exhaled, only to hold his breath again when you marched to the front door. 

“What’re you—”

“I need to eat something other than terrible airport food.”

“Do you…do you want help finding a place?”

“I can figure it out.” You spun around at the door and waved your phone.

“Okay, sure. But I’ve just one question.”

“Shoot.” You leaned on the doorknob and quirked an eyebrow.

“Didn’t you come from Children’s Philadelphia?”

“Yeah, what’s it to you?”

“Then why were you flying in from LAX?”

You scoffed, “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

You left him with nothing but a smirk and the sound of the door closing. Leaning against the back of the couch, Stephen watched the door lock from the outside. Well, at least your keys worked. That was pretty much the only thing he had going for him today.

He swiped his phone from the counter and proceeded to look up every shred of information he could find on Dr. Jackson St. Clair. The hospital was going to eat you alive. Firstly, because everyone was so horny for fetal surgery these days. And secondly, because you looked like that.

Whoever this ex-girlfriend of yours was…well, good for her.

And now, good for him.

-

The guy’s name was Jack. Stephen was pretty sure it was Jack. Started with a J something something rather. But more important than the man’s name was why on Earth did he need to stay at Stephen’s apartment when Billy’s couch was open and readily available?

Roaches.

For the first time in their professional acquaintance, Billy gave Stephen a one-word answer and refused to elaborate. But maybe that was for the better in this case. Either way, Stephen’s heart grew three sizes that day and he oh-so-benevolently agreed to let Jack snore it up in the guest bedroom that he never used (curse his Midwestern hospitality).

Stephen checked his watch with another sip of coffee. Here to make a stellar first impression, Jack was already late. If the guy couldn’t tell time, he was in for a rude awakening during his first interview. But that wasn’t going to be Stephen’s problem in three—no, seven…seven max—days. Because Jack would be gone and his sanctuary would be all his own once again.

And, of course, Stephen was giving Billy’s quarterly bonus with the stipulation that it had to be used for an exterminator. 

As he set down his mug with a dissatisfied sigh, Stephen raised his eyebrows at a knock on the door. Seven minutes late. Jack was seven minutes late. What the fuck did he do for a living? Billy probably mentioned it. But Stephen couldn’t be bothered to listen, let alone care.

He strutted to the door, eager for the ten-second tour of his loft to just be over with already. But after unbolting the lock, Stephen raised his eyebrows to see you standing on the other side of the threshold. 

With one hand on the handle of your suitcase, you smiled and offered the other for a shake.

“You must be Stephen. Hi, I’m—”

“You’re not Jack.”

“No. I’m—”

“I think you have the wrong apartment.”

Furrowing your brow, you pointed to the placard on the door then to Stephen.

“Apartment 21? Doctor Stephen Strange?”

“Yes…?” he asked, eyes widening at whatever witchcraft was going on here.

“This is the address Billy gave me. I’m sorry I’m late. I had a hard time getting a cab. But he didn’t give me your—”

“Are you Billy’s cousin?”

“What? No. I…I’m the new Peds surgeon. He said I could stay with you for a bit while I—”

Rolling his eyes, Stephen yanked his phone out of his back pocket and dialed Billy. You snapped your jaw shut, drumming your fingers on the handle of your suitcase while Stephen put his hand on his hip. He tapped his foot just long enough to get sent to voicemail. 

“William G. Pierce. You better call me back before I fire your ass—”

“Whoa, whoa! No one needs to get fired here.”

“—because my apartment is not a bed and breakfast for your strays. Find another place for this woman to stay. Tonight.”

He hung up.

You tilted your head to the side and sucked in a breath.

“So I’m guessing…”

“Yeah, yeah, you can come in until he calls me back.”

He begrudgingly stepped aside to permit your entry. Just as long as it was easier to get you out of the place than the non-existent roaches. Your suitcase caught on the threshold on your way in. But Stephen closed the door behind you with a sigh and shrugged.

“Can I get you anything?” he asked as if he was reading an autopsy report. 

(No, that might actually be interesting. Depending on the cause of death, of course. The E.R. files were more like it.)

“No. I’m just a bit confused as to—”

“So am I.” He threw his head back and groaned. After a deep breath, Stephen put his hands on his hips and looked you over. “Billy told me his cousin Jack needed a place to stay for the night for a job interview and you are clearly not Jack and—”

“Not here for a job interview.”

“When do you start?”

“Three days.”

“And the rest of your stuff?” 

“In storage. Back in—”

“Doesn’t matter where.” He shook his head. “I just need to—Actually, do you mind if I borrow your phone?”

“Um, sure?” You fished it out of your bag. After unlocking the device, you handed it to Stephen, who already had his coffee mug in his other hand. His eyes darted across the screen for an entire four seconds before raising the phone to his ear.

He rolled his eyes when Billy answered on the second ring.

“Hey,” Billy said. “Did your flight get—”

“William G. Pierce, you are—”

Stephen held out your phone and stared at the screen then stared at you.

“He hung up on me. On you. He hung up on you.”

Spinning your phone in his hand, he handed the device back to you. But before you could pocket it, Stephen jutted his chin toward you.

“Text him. He’ll help you find a place to stay.”

But instead of following his instructions, you put away your phone and pulled out your wallet. You riffled through your available cash, cocking a brow without looking up at him.

“How much will a shower cost me?”

“What?”

“A shower,” you repeated, emphasizing each syllable. “How much do I have to pay you to take a fucking shower here?”

“You want to use my shower?”

“Will two-hundred dollars cover it?”

“What are you—”

“Look, asshole. I was up at 3 a.m. Pacific to make it over here from LAX. And this lady was changing her kid’s diaper right next to me in the middle seat—”

“You work Peds.”

“Do I look like I’m wearing scrubs, dipshit? No! I have been stuck in a metal canister for six fucking hours. And to add insult to injury, I had to fly into LaGuardia. And I got dumped a few days ago, I just lost my living situation, I’m starting a new job and my first co-worker is a jackass, and—for the love of God—will you just let me take a goddamn shower so I can scrub this day off of me and find a place to go?”

You shook the cash in his face as Stephen’s eyebrows shot skyward. 

“I’ll even let you join me if you’re into that kinda thing,” you groaned. “I will do anything to just take a fucking shower and then find a hotel and we will never have to talk about this again.”

“I’m glad to see H.R. is improving its practices in screening for well-adjusted individuals.” Stephen scratched the back of his head before pointing to the hall. “That way. Two doors down. Make yourself at home.”

“Thank you.” 

You slammed the bills on his countertop next to his mug before strutting down the hallway with your suitcase in tow.

“I, um, I didn’t get your name,” he called out after you.

“Just call me Jack!”

Stephen flinched as the door slammed closed.

-

on superhero report cards:

on stephen's new report card:

Loki pressed his lips together, waiting for the incessant knock, knock, knocking to cease. With his eyes still transfixed on the page, he reached over to the nightstand to pour a cup of tea. As steam billowed from the porcelain—Asgard’s finest—the knocking, to his great surprise and unending relief, stopped.

And so did the shouting.

And the trickle of tea.

Even the steam from the cup remained frozen in midair—lost to the sands of time.

The corner of his lip upturned in a knowing sneer. He looked up from his book, utterly certain of whose face would greet him.

“My, my,” he hummed, “it’s been quite some time, hasn’t it?”

You lowered the hood of your cloak with a smirk.

“Why, it’s been ages.”

“And what did I do to deserve a visit from the great Mistress of Time herself?” 

Loki released the teapot from his hand, allowing it to hover in the timeless space. He rose to his feet and clasped his hands in front of him.

“How many times do I have to tell you not to call me that?” You rolled your eyes, fingers tapping along the staff firmly planted in your grasp. “You prick.”

“At least as many times until we meet the end of time itself.”

With the ghost of a smile on your lips, you took up his half-poured cup of tea. After a sip,  you returned it to its exact place in the timeline and shrugged.

“I’m collecting a family heirloom. Thought I’d stop by for a little chat. See how you’re fairing under these inhumane conditions.”

“But you already know how this story ends.”

“Yes, of course, I do.”

“Which begs the question...” He narrowed his eyes. “You’re from…when exactly? I can’t quite pinpoint…”

“I’ve spent some time on a world that’s, well, beyond time itself. So it’s hard to gauge. Even for me.”

“Oh, you’re in trouble.” Loki grinned with a raise of his eyebrows. “And you’ve come here for my help.”

“Don’t flatter yourself. I don’t need your help,” you scoffed. “But I certainly would enjoy it. A bit of good fun we could get into.”

“And what divine mess do you find yourself in this time?”

“I need to collect something of my father’s.” You placed your hand to the side of his face. “And kill a man.”

“Pray tell, what has this unfortunate soul done to you?”

Batting your eyelashes, you leaned on your staff with a melodramatic pout. 

“Why, he broke my heart, Loki. I’m utterly devastated.”

“Oh, you poor, poor thing,” Loki snickered.

“Well, that and he murdered my husband.” Flashing him a grin of pure mischief, you propped yourself upright. “He stole from my father…and me in a way. The fool never should have crossed the gods of time.”

“You’re married now?”

“Not now now. But one day, yes.” Your eyes flitted to the side before reuniting with his. “But don’t worry yourself into thinking I’ve completely changed, my darling. My marital bliss doesn’t last. Clearly.”

Tongue protruding from his lips, Loki ran his thumb over his jaw. The thought of you married was equally preposterous as it was expected. You could always count on a witch for a good paradox. With a deep breath, he nodded in intentional contemplation. 

“I presume you’ll have to send me back here after we’re done?” he asked.

“Of course. You know how this works.”

“And you know where your target is?”

“I know when. I know where. I know everything there is to know about him.”

“So you really don’t need my help at all?”

“No. And that’s exactly why I’m here.”

With a smug smile, Loki scanned you from head to toe. He stepped closer, narrowing the space between you. 

“You were a fool to expect love to last,” he spoke calmly. “It never does. Not for us.”

“And who says I thought it would?” You wrinkled your nose in disdain. “Now what do you say, Odinson? Care to make a man suffer with me or would you rather stay locked up here with this as your dinner theater?”

You nodded to the prisoners smashed against the glass. 

Loki chuckled lowly, “It’s about damn time you showed up.”

“I thought so too.” You offered him your arm. “Now, shall we?”

Like many a time before, Loki accepted your invitation. He linked his arm with yours with the satisfaction of mischief glowing from his face. 

“When are we going?” he asked.

“A bit over three years forward. Right after he saves the goddamn world.”

“Midgard, I presume.”

“How did you—”

“Call it a hunch.” Loki sucked in a breath. “And the deadman’s name?”

Clenching your teeth, you raised your staff and tapped in on the marble floor three times. The crystal nestled at the top glowed a bright, blinding emerald light. As a winding vortex of sand enveloped your bodies, your lip upturned in a snarl.

“The man we’re going to kill is Stephen Vincent Strange.”

-

when you first notice the sheer size difference, you blush, look away and try not to stare. of course, you fail spectacularly, so stephen's first thought is that the scars bother you - so he, being a grade a dumbass, starts hiding his hands.

except that makes you come up with excuse after excuse to look and touch them. the man is baffled and confused, but nonetheless relents - and that's how you find yourself (often) comparing your hand sizes. your palm looks indecently small in his shaky hand.

you pick up a habit of holding onto his thumb - just his thumb - when you're nervous, and stephen tries to convince himself it's just cute. it's just an innocent habit, it's you being comfortable around him.

yet, you, looking up at him, biting your lip - it makes him absolutely feral in a way he has never felt before. it makes him want to throw you over his shoulder and run off into the closest empty room to have you then and there, caveman style.

one night, you two are already in bed, sitting, reading. you ask him to pass you a glass of water and he, being absolutely engrossed in his book, ignores you, leaving you to sigh and climb over him to get the liquid your throat is aching for.

it lands you right over his lap, perched like a curious cat, eyeing him looking at you over the top of his book.

"what?" you comment on his eyeballing, grasping his glass with both hands and taking a long gulp, licking stray drops os water off your lips afterwards.

stephen puts down his book and your glass, too, once you're done, pulling you closer to his chest. even when you're sitting down in his lap, he's still bigger than you. most of your field of view is taken up by his broad, bare chest.

he reaches out to brush a stray hair out of your face and you find yourself unable to tear your eyes away from the way he does it: reaching out two of his long, thick fingers, silver scars adorning the flesh, he shakily brushes over the skin of your cheek, causing a trail of goosebumps to run down the side of your neck.

"what's the matter, baby?" stephen asks, a low amused rumble.

"n-nothing," you mumble, heat immediately flooding your face. "um."

"yes?" he prompts, studying the direction of your stare before bringing up that very same hand to your chin, tilting your head to face him, thumb resting on your bottom lip. "what's the matter, pretty girl?"

your mouth parts involuntarily. before you even comprehend your actions, the tip of his thumb slips between your lips. your tongue touches the rough skin of it, tasting tea, tobacco and leather.

you shudder, blinking once, twice, to stephen's amusement.

he pushes the finger deeper, until he's pressing comfortably into the meat of your tongue. saliva gathers in your mouth: there is no option but to swallow around the digit.

as you do so, you become aware of the pulling throb in your abdomen. the cotton of your shirt strains against your nipples and the skin covered by your underwear feels suffocated and tight.

stephen's other hand effortlessly grasps your waist, pulling your cunt directly onto the meat of his thigh.

"like this?" he asks, damn well aware you're unable to answer him with your brain gone all fuzzy with lust.

the beginnings of a mess between your legs glide over his thigh. you shudder and gasp wetly, wrapping your lips around his thumb in a gesture utterly subconscious.

stephen inhales rapidly, his grip on you tightening. his pupils are blown and his lips are parted as he watches you lose your mind with his fingers in your mouth and your cunt on his leg.

"I'm not even touching you, baby, and you're begging," he says, because you don't even need the words right now to convey your deeply aching need for him to have you right there, right now.

"mmm," you agree absently, drool gathering in the corners of your mouth.

within seconds, you're on your back and he's looming over you, covering what meager light the bedroom lamp provided completely. all you can see is caramel skin and freckles, stretching on for what feels like miles.

stephen's toothy smile meets your wide eyes as he waves his hand about and makes both fo your clothes disappear in an array of gold sparks.

your chin is once more held securely in his hand, thumb parting your lips and effortlessly sliding home. the thick, hot meat of his cock slaps your pubic bone, his balls brushing against your slit. top to bottom, his cock pulses against your mound.

"now," he says, equal parts curious and determined. you like to call this his doctor voice because it gets a little cheeky, too, like he knows that what he's about to do will leave you amazed and breathless. "will it fit?"