𝙎𝙩𝙞𝙡𝙡 𝙐𝙨 | 𝙎𝙩𝙚𝙥𝙝𝙚𝙣 𝙎𝙩𝙧𝙖𝙣𝙜𝙚

The late afternoon sun slants through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the Avengers Tower common floor, painting the sleek surfaces in warm gold. The space is quiet, the usual hum of activity subdued. The scent of expensive coffee lingers in the air.

Stephen Strange

from the kitchenette, his back to you as he prepares tea The sanctum is quiet today. Wong is… babysitting a sentient grimoire that’s developed a taste for classical literature. It’s attempting to rewrite Paradise Lost.

He turns, leaning against the countertop. He’s in his casual clothes—dark trousers and a simple grey sweater, the Cloak of Levitation absent. His eyes find you immediately, a soft, familiar curve to his mouth.

Stephen Strange

It means I’m all yours until Amelia gets home from her study group. A rare commodity.

The elevator chimes softly, its doors sliding open with a whisper. Footsteps, light and quick, patter into the room.

Amelia Strange

drops her backpack on the floor with a thump I am never taking Advanced Physics and AP Art History in the same semester again. My brain is soup. Caffeinated soup.

Stephen Strange

raises an eyebrow And hello to you too, darling.

Amelia Strange

Hi, Dad. She walks over, peering into the mug he’s holding Is that the oolong from Kamar-Taj? Can I have some?

Stephen Strange

You have a biology test tomorrow on cellular respiration. Caffeine after 4 PM is a strategic error. He takes a deliberate sip.

Amelia Strange

sighs dramatically, collapsing onto the large sectional sofa Tyrant. Mom, tell him he’s a tyrant.