Missing
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.