a masterpost for the drabble series by yours truly. a revisitation of a well-loved story; watch two forever-lovers fall in love again. canon divergent, set during loki (2020).
READ ME !
1. the beginning of the beginning
2. apartment CMY9
3. dress code
4. pester pester
5. absolutely miserable
6. blunder #1
8. control variable
9. a time disguise
10. fingers entwined
11. half a sandwich
12. beauty sleep
13. the perfect storm
14. a million meteorites
15. keep on
16. home is the heart
18. rib of adam
22. one more almost
23. an ode to the void
24. the catharsis of venus
SCROLL ME !
1. the sacred timeline
2. the variant timeline files
3. the tag
4. the god & the scientist
5. fan art
( this lovely gif is by @janesfoster from this beautiful set ! )
FROM THE VOID, WITH LOVE | the beginning.
summary: torn from time, you have to navigate the t.v.a. with the one person who singlehandedly ruined the entirety of nyc’s week. turns out you & him have a future-past. time is weird. loki, god of mischief (disputed) is infuriating.
listen to while reading: “movies” by weyes blood
word count: 13.4k
pairing: loki / f!reader, references to established future romance
tags: enemies to friends to lovers, soulmates, we-are-in-love-in-the-future but how did that even happen, angst & comfort, redemption arc, lots of time travel, loki (2020) spoilers
a/n: so here it is — a revist to my well-loved series i wrote forever ago about these two idiots. nothing like an athiest and a god in love. this is so fun, and this fic will serve as a foundation point for the drabbles i’ll write throughout the loki series run.
this collection is based on my already-existing drabbles about this pairing, which operates as the basis of their sacred timeline. that masterlist is here, and once more, the biggest thank you to @kostovas for keeping a chronological masterlist over the years — with over 90+ pieces, this pairing is such a large part of my blog and my growth as a writer.
as always, let me know what you think — tick, tock, bitches.
MASTERPOST | AO3 | SPOTIFY
This is not how you thought your week would go.
No, this was a little much.
You started your Monday with Loki, God of Mischief, crash landing through the lab you’d been completing your summer placement at, brainwashing your boss (and the nice agent guy who watched over the glowing nuclear cube), and, finally, stealing the one thing you’d been studying for the entirety of summer 2012 for your first official research journal outside of undergrad while pursuing your doctorate.
By Thursday, Midtown had been reduced to debris, aliens were confirmed real, the Avengers were a household name, and you were desperately trying to wrangle a stir-crazy Erik Selvig off the rooftop terrace of Stark Tower in the aftermath.
“Erik, where are your pants?!”
“They were burnt.”
His eyes aren’t a milky blue anymore, so you suppose that’s a good thing — he is, however, off his metaphysical shits and you’re really trying to get him to calm down in the Stark Tower lobby when the aforementioned Avengers pull a glorified perp walk for the reporters clamoring outside.
You try not to stare — but it is a little bit hard when he stalks by.
It’s not because you’re aware of the future implications your friendship and, in turn, relationship will have on the proper flow of time. No, it’s because you’re lucky enough to say your previous encounter in the week with him left you unscathed (if not a bit traumatized), which seems to be the exact opposite case for the majority of Downtown.
As someone who knew Thor — and decently well at that — you found it difficult to see the two Gods being related at all. It’s as if one was born by the sun, and the other the moon, and while everything about Thor seemed like a thunder storm in July, his brother clearly lacked the warmth and gilded personality of his Avenging counterpart.
You suppose that, maybe, that’s the whole point.
Y’know, age-old storytelling and all that.
Swathed in the colorful team of superheroes, the infamous Loki towers over them all. His cape, emerald and tattered, follows him like a shadow and you have to fight the urge to snarl. He’s tall, a little bit like a shade, and regal in a way that’s totally different from the other Asgardian royalty you’re familiar with. He’s imposing and even when he’s muzzled, you can see the cunning flash of a smirk when he spots your manic, half-dressed boss by the lobby’s main desk.
Loki looks less sickly since you last saw him – he’s all sharp angles and split lip now, though.
It’s funny that, in about an hour’s time, everything about this moment will be different.
It’ll hold different weight, different context.
The God is smug.
Annoyance bites at your nerves as Erik begins to slip into a Norwegian diatribe directed at the fallen Silvertongue. You groan, deciding right then and there that you’re exhausted beyond comprehension and that today has been all too long. You move quickly. You let out a curse as you push yourself between the now stopped group of Avengers and the angry, pants-less astrophysicist.
“Erik, c’mon, why don’t we go for a walk—”
“Yep, go ahead, pal,” Tony Stark, clearly just as exasperated as you are, chirps, “Walk it out. Half a’ New York has a bone to pick with Hot Topic over here.”
“He is a disgrace! A-A cosmic buffoon!”
You’re pressed between Tony and Erik, feeling the eyes of the God bore into your skull as you try to save him from the delirious verbal smackdown your boss was looking to serve. You can pretty much confirm that Erik definitely has a head injury. Or… You dunno, he’s always been weird. But, in the last hour you’ve heard a little bit too much about Ufology to call this Erik’s normal baseline.
You plant a hand on his tattered dress shirt, pleading quietly with a mildly horrified look at the realization that people are staring, Erik.
“Can’t we do this somewhere else?” you grit out with a sense of urgency.
It’s at that moment that you do a double take at the doors of the lobby. There’s a bustle. You note the sudden appearance of Alex Pierce – the resident member of the World Security Council who, no doubt, had a bone to pick with Stark. Judging by the tightening of Tony’s grip on the briefcase in his hands, he’s aware. The man is parading through the doors of the lobby, surrounded by agents in crisp suits.
This is a nightmare. The clowns are running the show.
Right now, you could go for a glass of wine.
And ice cream.
And maybe some more wine on top of that. It’s a whole bottle kinda day.
You blink around Erik, deciding no, no fucking way, this is so above your pay grade, before exasperately groaning, “Why don’t we go get Starbucks — you like those frappuccino things they have, right, Erik?”
At this point, you’re just desperately trying to not discredit you and Erik’s research journal with his antics being broadcast by the Newsweek and CNN cameras lurking outside alike. All in front of the World Security Council. And S.H.I.E.L.D.
…This is bad.
Meanwhile, Loki can’t help but think this is all so very curious… Midgardians are quite cute.
He’d been made aware, from eavesdropped pieces of Romanoff’s and Barton’s conversations, that the hierarchical food chain is quite complex when it comes to cosmic interferences like the one he’d so wrought upon New York. So many acronyms… S.H.I.E.L.D. and S.T.R.I.K.E. and W.S.C., he’s sure there’s probably about six more, but he’d be lying if he said he’d bothered to listen.
Loki, absentmindedly, wishes he’d maybe done this whole world domination bit 200 years sooner – certainly there wouldn’t have been much stopping him then. No Iron Men, at least.
(He doesn’t know it yet, but if he’d done this 200 years earlier, he would have never met you. Not that it matters right now. He doesn’t know the future, that’s more of his mother’s bit. Somewhere in the stars, Frigga is painfully aware of you, a fiery comet, dodging her son's orbit at this moment.
But, Scott Lang’s verified Time Heist is about to send you both careening towards one another like a boomerang. And… well. The Time-Keepers won’t be happy about this part of your story.)
“Not to interrupt—”
“Great, more suits,” Stark chirps, “Here for the case? Too bad.”
“Mr. Stark,” Pierce begins, “This is a matter of global security. We’re here for the case and… the prisoner.”
Pierce is like a vulture. You decide quickly you don’t like him.
Erik, then, sees it as his turn to verbally maul the next person in line — the words that fly from his mouth don’t make sense and you’re trying to pry him away from Pierce as Stark’s voice escalates and Thor booms out a deep: “Woah, woah woah!” as Nat tries to step up and shove off the rogue S.H.I.E.L.D. agents clambering for the case. It’s a shit show, an absolute mess, and you’re being jostled in the middle, trying to pluck the agents away from your summer research project with an irritated look.
And then Tony Stark drops to the floor.
Panic quickly floods the space that anger had created and the case is long since forgotten. It clatters to the floor and skids away from Tony, and, consequently, the huddle forming around him as he convulses on the pristine tiles of the lobby.
Your eyes follow the case from your spot knelt beside Tony, mirroring Loki’s exact motion – you’re both trained on the case sliding across the room and... into the hands of a man posted by the door to the stairs.
Then, you see her.
There’s no words to describe the way it makes you feel — it’s like looking into a sad, broken mirror. It’s you standing there, albeit a little older and a little wiser. This other you is frozen at the sight of the towering God to your left. Her face is set in something mournful and there’s no doubt in your mind that that’s you. You know your face. Your cheeks, your eyes, your chin.
You go rigid, mind running 99mph down the interstate of confusion. The other you… Her hair is a little different, and she has glasses settled on her face. She’s posed in a lab coat and heels, looking like she belongs. Like… Like the path you’d set out had come to fruition. All your hopes and goals, staring you right in the face.
With a broken sound, she suddenly calls out:
She’s looking at him like she knows him.
Loki is… Well. He’s also confused. Not that he would readily admit it but — something else is happening. It’s clear from the chaos and the magical slide of the tesseract that someone is trying to write a different story entirely on this day.
This woman, however, is the most confusing part.
It’s rare to hear someone say his name so kindly.
Loki looks at her, then behind him. His brows raise, chained hands moving to gesture at himself.
You gawk. What the fuck.
“No, no,” calls the agent gripping the case; the voice is familiar and he moves to stop her – er, you – as she moves forward, “No, c’mon kid, don’t—”
From your spot on the floor, you blink, exchanging a look with the God of Mischief who’s currently also riding the mind-fuck train.
He realizes that’s… you. Not the current you, but you.
You jump six feet in the air when suddenly Hulk makes his appearance — he slams the door to the stairwell open with a ferocious roar. It clocks the agent in question, sending the other-you to the floor and shattering the briefcase on its hinges.
You watch it all with wide eyes.
The cube, hot and azure and pulsing, slides back across the floor like a terribly dangerous game of air-hockey and your breath catches in your throat as it collides with the towering God’s boot adjacent to you.
Another exchange of glances between the two of you.
And then, Loki bends to snatch it up.
You yelp, spitting out an embarrassing mosh of Thor and Tony’s name at once, and launch yourself after your summer research project. Your fingertips brush the cool, smooth surface of the stone and suddenly, everything is blindingly blue.
In a blink, you tumble into a roaring, glittering, dizzying tailspin through time and space.
Your yells mingle with Loki’s as the balance of the travel is thrown off, rocketing you both across the stars in a haze of panic.
✶ ✶ ✶
A breeze tickles your nose.
You don’t know how long you were out for — or even where you are. All you know is that your head is pounding and, from your spot on the forest floor, you can see hints of the blue sky through broken branches when you crack open your eyes.
It’s humid. There’s a slow roll of thunder calling out somewhere over the horizon.
… Is that a fucking toucan?
It takes you a second to wade through the mental fog, but… when it clicks, you sit up straight, and you’re greeted by a crackling batton being held at your throat.
You come eye-to-eye with a man in some sort of militarized armor — and three men surround you. One has some sort of spectrometer, and the others are posed to taze the everloving soul out of you. At least… Those things look like tasers.
Your breath catches and you immediately raise your hands.
The man eyes you for a long drawn moment, then looks down at a device in his hands.
“Standard split from the timeline. Slope is stable, the branch is strong.”
You blink at the people around you. Your head is pounding.
Hoarsely, you speak up.
“I’m sorry,” you ask gently with a bit of an anxious bite, “Who the hell are you?”
The bearded man spares you a look that mingles between pity and amusement. He pointedly ignores your question. So do the others. You look around at the lot of them with a biting sense of paranoia. Were they some sort of militant police force?
What the hell is ‘TVA’?
…Who designed those jumpsuits?
Before you can ask one of the seventeen questions floating around in your head, you’re being ushered to your feet. You comply — apologizing, even, when you accidentally stumble into one of the agents on weak knees. Your whole body hurts. Like you were stuffed into a washing machine with the spin cycle speed set to spin-me-right-round.
It’s like you were a goose and the tesseract was a Boeing 474 engine.
It had, rightfully, chewed you up and spit you out.
You have to admit Loki was sort of your last thought. Staying alive and not pissing off the armored men with jabby sticks was sort of at the top.
“Hands at your sides.”
Suddenly, there’s a strap in his hands. You stiffen.
He pauses and gives you a look that stills you completely — it means business. And it measures you up. You find, between your crippling headache and mental fatigue, you lack the capability to even possibly cop an attitude with this dude. You find, frankly, you don’t think you’d want to anyways.
You do, however, snap an angry sound out when a literal collar is strapped around your neck and you’re muscled around.
“Reset the timeline.”
There’s a low whir, a howl, and a satisfying little sound — then, what looks like a fogged glass door materializes in front of you.
You put the brakes on, digging your heels into the dirt floor of the forest, as the myriad of men begin to drag you toward this thing like it’s just a normal Thursday. But, today is not a normal Thursday and honestly, you’ve had your god damn fill of cosmic travel. If that’s even what this was. Could very well be a souped up guillotine for all you know.
So, yeah, it’s a little embarrassing when you’re shouldered through and — and, yeah. You’re standing there, wincing tightly and screaming, when you realize the acoustics have changed and you’re in… a lobby?
There’s a man behind a desk. Someone else in the same collar as you — a… not a human. That’s… Okay. Sure. Blue skin. That’s cool. Either way, everyone is staring and now you feel like a fucking fool — so you clear your throat and place your leg down, uncurling from your standing attempt at a fetal position.
You offer a sheepish look to the staring gaggle.
“Quiet,” sighs the man who has a grip on your shoulder, “Step forward.”
“Sorry to… y’know, keep asking questions, but,” you try your best to remain amicable as you look over your shoulder at him and the surrounding lobby, “Where the fuck am I?”
You can’t help but stare at the decor. It reminds you of… What does it remind you of? The 1960s? Mad Men? Grandma’s living room?
“Welcome to the Time Variance Authority!” comes a voice from behind the desk. It’s a man, younger, who is dressed in an outfit you’d place for a normal office job. He seems chipper enough and your terrified expression does little to dissuade his welcome, “Oh, hey, I know who you are...”
Your brows knot themselves in confusion.
However, before he can give an explanation or a directive on the paperwork being slid your way, the sound of boots on burnt-orange tile floor distracts you from the unsettlingly bright disposition of the man behind the desk. You stare, when out pops Loki on the opposite side of the room. He’s being muscled around by a woman in matching attire to your own personal guard — and he’s got a collar on, too.
Instantly, your jaw drops.
Loki’s eyes snap to you, recognition and fear dissolving for a facade of irritation — if only for a moment — before he’s ushered forward.
“Lovely to see you again, bug,” comes the sardonic drip.
Your eyes snap to the pen on the desk in front of you.
Quickly, and with a stale expression on your face, you unceremoniously throw the pen directly at Loki’s forehead.
“This is all your fault,” you hiss as Casey (as his name tag reads) groans, digging into his desk for another pen so your booking papers can properly be filled out.
“You’re being childish,” Loki gripes with mild surprise at your sudden outburst; he rubs his forehead before snarling at you from across the desk, “How dare you—”
“How dare I?” you snap back, “How dare I? Me?”
“You’re the one who got us into this mess—”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he battles back, “I don’t even know where we are!”
“That makes two of us!” you yell, only to be muscled away by the guard after he seems satisfied with the information he’s processed on your paperwork.
Loki, now, is beginning to feel a bit of guilt. Not an enormous amount. Enough, though, that it’s nagging at him. His eyes widen for a moment when he realizes you’re being whisked away to some sort of… elevator? You, his only reference point to where-you-were-before you were here. You, insignificant, but also his real only compatriot in this whole ridiculous charade.
His voice is tight with fear.
“Now hold on,” he steps forward, moving to follow, “Where are you taking her?”
You wince as you’re shoved, rather roughly, towards the door — and throw a look over your shoulder at Loki.
…Only to see him quite literally rewind through time.
Your eyes snap from him to his guard to him once more — and you watch as he tries to near you again, only for the same outcome. You spy a little device in the woman’s hands. The saaaaame one your guard is holding in his left.
Oh, today was weird but it just got weirder.
The doors swing open, you’re shoved into the tiny room, and all you see as the doors close is the panicked expression of the God of Mischief.
The next ten minutes (or, so you think? Time is weird here) are a complete and total blur. You, really, can only comply to the best of your ability — and apologize profusely along the way for every inconvenience your confusion begins to cause. You can’t help your curiosity because… well, normal was thrown out the window when you were signed onto the Avenger’s science roster, it seems.
Your jumpsuit isn’t exactly comfortable, and that stack of everything-you’ve-ever-said-ever was frighteningly small when you were confronted with it, and you’re still seeing stars from that temporal aura device the shorter man urged you through. The doors part, and once more you’re faced with another room in the never-ending pantheon of a maze this place is.
A little ticket holder with TAKE A TAB stares you in the face. There’s a maze of rope, two kiosks, and televisions on the same faux-wooden walls from the other lobby. You stare up at the sea of lights on the ceiling as you step forward and toss a frightened look at a stern faced guard in the corner.
There’s another man in here, making a fit, and you watch as you move around him to take a little, orange ticket.
God, this is one weird dream.
Then, the doors behind you ding.
You’ve never been more relieved to see Loki in the short span of minutes you’ve known him.
He stands there as you tuck your ticket neatly into your pocket — and stares with a deadpan expression. The guard nudges him, tells him to take a ticket, and he does so without breaking eye contact from you.
Loki ignores the kid weaving his way through, only to loudly proclaim halfway through the maze of rope: “There are only three of us in here! What’s the use?”
He meets you halfway through the maze. You cross your arms. His nostrils flare as he sizes you up.
Pointedly, he speaks. “Where are we?”
“Oh, let me just pull out Google maps — oh! I can’t, because the smiling robot melted my clothes and my phone with a plasma beam. So! Sorry!” you snark as you turn on your heel and continue to weave through the maze of rope.
Loki follows, starting after you with a confused look. “This has to be a mistake—”
“Oh, you’re perceptive—”
“It’s in your best interest not to mock me, bug,” he growls.
Loki is, frankly, a little surprised when you turn on your heel and rear right up in his face. He staggers backwards, startled by your tenacity. You follow him, backing him up against the ropes.
“It’s your fault we’re here,” you bite, raising your finger and prodding him roughly in the chest, “Honestly, I shouldn’t have even tried to stop you — then, maybe, I wouldn’t be stuck here with you. So, get over your massive, miserable ego and let’s just do what we need to do to get out of here.”
Oh, he misjudged you. You’ve got a bit of fire in your spirit.
Then, as he picks his jaw up from the floor, you turn back around and eye him haughtily.
“I also hate the color green.”
Loki’s brows twitch and you move through the ropes.
This is exhausting. This is… This is ridiculous. It has to be some cruel joke. Punishment, maybe? Is his mother at the root of this? No, no, maybe not. Why would you be here?
Frustrated and put in his place, the raven-haired God balls his hands tight and groans.
“This is a mistake! I shouldn’t even be here!”
Then, the PA chimes alive.
You jump, eyes widening.
“Hi there! You’re probably saying ‘this is a mistake, I shouldn’t even be here’—”
You turn, sharing a confused look with Loki as the televisions bloom to life.
“—Welcome to the TIme Variance Authority. I’m Miss Minutes, and it’s my job to catch you up before you stand trial for your crimes!”
Hold on… What?
“What?” you shake your head, looking panicked at the guard in the back, “Hold on, ‘stand trial for my crimes’?”
Loki moves past you, staring at the television as you loudly proclaim: “I was never even read my rights!”
The television program does little to quell your fear — in fact, it furthers the dawning realization that whatever happened with the tesseract was, in fact, worse than you initially thought. You had a basic understanding of the stone’s ability to alter space around it; and even more so, you had extensive knowledge of the subject at hand. But… concepts like this, like multiverses and time travel were all theory. Speculation. Unknowns ruminated about on lunch breaks with cohorts.
Variants, sacred timelines, and TVA, oh my.
Then, like the icing on the cake, that asshole yelling about how his dad works at Goldman-Sachs and wait until he hears about this is evaporated before you and Loki’s eyes.
You both procure your tickets at the same time, holding them in the air.
✶ ✶ ✶
As it turns out, Miss Minutes was being completely truthful about the whole ‘on trial for your crimes’ bit. The courtroom’s decor matches that of the entire TVA’s scheme — but over a single judge, beyond the pews and murals, are three heads of those supposed ‘Time-Keepers’. It’s imposing, and despite your hesitation, Loki seems keen on getting the ball rolling.
You’re both ushered up at the call of: “Next case!”
The judge, from her high spot overlooking the drab court, begins speaking as the two of you approach the bench.
“Variant L1130 and Variant X1131 — both charged with sequence violation 7-20-89,” she says, voice crystalline in the quiet room, “Approach the bench, please.”
You both share a look, then step into the small booth.
“How do you both plead?” she asks, flipping closed her notes on — apparently — your case.
“I’m sorry, there must be a misunderstanding,” you say quickly, gesturing between you and Loki, “We… We are not… Not pleading together, your honor.”
Loki leans over, waves you off. Quietly, he says: “Let me handle this.”
Leave it to the self-proclaimed Silvertongue.
And sure enough, he tries. You’ll give him that. It’s almost impressive.
Even trying to pin it on the Avengers impresses you — because his little quip about them time traveling somehow connects all the dots in your head about that other-you… But still leaves you feeling like you’ve picked up a book half-way through and begun reading. You’ve missed a few chapters.
Then, Loki tries to… conjure magic? In the middle of the court?
You watch, mouth falling open, as the folks in the pews watch with amusement and scoff.
When the judge questions it, and Loki’s guard explains he’s trying to use his magic, you’re quick to swat his arms down. You give him the millionth unamused look of the day, in a very pull-it-together way, and tilt your head to the side.
What the hell?
Loki’s face falls. He slams his hands on the stand. You shake your head as his outburst, like clockwork, begins — and then the threats, and then the yelling, and then the guards are muscling him away as you rub your forehead and try to find out a way you can recover this absolute blunder.
“I’m sorry,” you say tightly as you find her gaze, “This… All of this, to Loki’s point, was a genuine mistake — our intention wasn’t to... disrupt the Sacred Timeline.”
“As reassuring as that is,” she chirps as she moves to raise her gavel after sparing the now in-custody Loki a look, “Intention does not matter, Variant. It’s the crime itself.”
“That being said, that court finds you both guilty and I sentence you to be reset.”
“Reset?” you ask, eyes wild with fear.
“What does that mean? ‘Reset’? Is that bad?” Loki asks, being pulled towards yet another room, “Hey! You ridiculous bureaucrats will not dictate how my story ends!”
You step down, letting the officer who had originally apprehended you lead you to an opposite door from Loki.
“It was never your story, Mr. Laufeyson — It never was.”
“You have no idea what I’m capable of!”
Enter Mobius M. Mobius.
“I… I think I might. Both of them, actually.”
You don’t know it now, certainly not as you stare wild-eyed at the chaos unfolding with a creeping sense of doom, that he will become some sort of friend in this new world. But, when he steps up, file folder in hand, you’re not sure how you’ve managed to skirt yet another brush with whatever the end of this system has in store. Somehow, the mustached man with the crooked nose says the right thing.
The judge’s eyes soften when they land on him.
You watch, trying to parse through the hushed discussion but — then you’re released.
And this man waves you on with a smile.
✶ ✶ ✶
This man is kind — or, so far he is.
You aren’t exactly keen to trust him, nor is Loki from his apparent scrutiny of everything the man does and says.
And while he weaves you through the facility that has so many more rooms and elevators and doors than you can begin to understand, you’re in awe. Everything is… Complex. Intricate. Like woven-time itself.
Then… the skyline.
Loki finds himself staring at you.
You step up to the railing, face bathed in pure awe.
…It’s rather... cute.
Loki crosses his arms tightly. He grits his jaw, pulls his eyes from you and the skyline, and stares at the grey-haired man looking on at the both of you with a knowing smile.
“I thought there was no magic here.”
Mobius continues watching the two of you. There’s half a smile there.
“It’s not real,” you breathe out, “It can’t be.”
Mobius’ hand is gentle on your shoulder. “It is. And so is the paperwork. C’mon, both of you.”
“This place is a nightmare.”
You look back at Loki, measuring his palpable disgust for the place. “...I sort of like it.”
“I figured you’d say that,” Mobius says with a wink as he pushes open the door to another set of elevators, “It’s that science brain of yours.”
You try to hide the offputting feeling that knowledge strikes you with. How does he know you? You don’t even know this man’s name. You scoff. “...Well, I like magic, too.”
“As you should,” Loki deadpans with a displeased expression, “Magic is supremely powerful.”
“Not here,” you chirp back, “God of Jazz Hands.”
Loki ignores the jab — and, like he has for the last handful of hours, lets these people parade him around. Going from one custody to another has little to no appeal. Already, the God is trying to figure out how to leave this place… But, it isn’t an easy concept to parse.
The elevator dings.
“I’m Agent Mobius, by the way.”
While Loki ignores the handshake, you take it. It’s hesitant.
“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you,” Mobius says, nodding as he shakes your hand.
You’re uncomfortable. He’s the second person to act as if… as if he knows who you are.
“Are you taking us somewhere to kill us?” he interjects with his skeptical glare driving a wedge between you and the grey-haired TVA agent.
“No, no,” he exhales, shaking his head, “No, we’re going somewhere to talk.”
“Talk?” you ask, shifting on your feet in front of the two men. You eye the jumbled letter on the panel of the elevator and wonder what sort of system this place uses to organize their departments. This place, the TVA, is vast. The view outside the balcony proves that much. You watch the floors zip by on the overhead panel as you speak, “Sounds ominous.”
“Talking, and killing us, then.”
“No,” Mobius tucks his hands into the pockets of his slacks, “That’s where you just were. We’re going to have a little chat about some things I’m curious about.”
“Then what?” your brows furrow. You and Loki share a look of worry.
“I don’t like to talk,” Loki offers up, defensively.
You almost scoff.
Mobius, however, does. His amusement is clear as day. “But you do like to lie, which you just did.”
“—How long have you been here?” Loki asks quickly, derailing the introspection into his behavior like it’s second-nature.
Mobius sighs, looks at you, then the elevator floors. “I dunno know. It’s hard to say, y’know, time passes differently here in the TVA…”
“I noticed,” you mumble.
Mobius’ eyes light up.
“What does that mean?” Loki looks between the two of you.
You shrug. “Think about it, how long have we been here?”
Loki squints down at you.
“Hours? Minutes? For a place that’s keen on managing the proper flow of time, I haven’t seen one clock.”
Mobius waggles his fingers in the air as the doors slide open — and he’s smiling at you with a look that reminds you of professors you’ve had in the past. It’s a blend of pride and interest and… near affection. “Nice catch, doc.”
You snort quietly. “I’m not a doctor.”
You spin, and stare at Mobius.
“Don’t be,” it’s cheeky, “I’ll explain later.”
Loki distrusts this little interaction immediately. He steps between you and Mobius as the three of you enter a new floor. This place is the most crowded you’ve seen yet — and though the workers here are all fitted with the same monochromatic uniform schematics, you can understand that there are indicators for different roles. Officers, guards, office clerks, judges… A whole workforce bustling around you.
“So you’re a part of the TVA’s dedicated and courageous workforce?” Loki spits out as Mobius leads the way through the hall. His tone is mocking, and his swagger is pronounced with an annoyed slump of the shoulders.
“And you were created by the Time-Keepers—”
You fall behind, brushing past agents. You eye their armor, and those batons on their belts.
“—To protect the Sacred Timeline.”
You speed up, matching pace with the two men as they begin to round a corner toward some sort of amphitheater. Over the door, it reads Time Theater.
Loki lets out a cynical laugh as you eye your surroundings.
“You think it’s funny?” asks Mobius, holding his two stacks of manilla folders under his arm. His eyes are curious. You try to find any maliciousness there… But you fail to see anything other than genuine wonder.
“The idea that your little club decides the fate of trillions of people across all existence at the behest of three… space lizards? Yes, it’s funny. It’s absurd.”
Mobius, at the bottom of the stairs, squints.
“What about you, doc?”
Loki’s gaze turns to you at the top of the steps. You open your mouth, close it, then exhale tightly.
“Honestly?” you say, after a beat of a moment, “I don’t know what to believe.”
Mobius rocks on his heels.
“What about coincidences? Do you believe in those?”
You puff out a haughty laugh from your nose. “I prefer synchronicities.”
“Because they’re more analytical,” Mobius probes, tilting his head, “Right?”
“It depends who you ask,” you falter down the steps as you cross your arms, “To me, coincidences are random. Synchronicities hold logistical bearings. Purpose.”
“Sort of like fate?”
“If fate was a math problem,” you grin, “Maybe.”
Mobius nods. There’s a twinkle in his eyes.
“C’mon. Both of you. Come inside.”
Loki spares you a long look — one that’s laden with mild surprise and interest. For a Midgardian, you’ve proven to be able to handle yourself rather well. Again, you certainly aren’t his first choice to be trapped in this time-maze with, but he supposes you will do. You could prove useful.
You meet his eyes for a flash of a second. You ignore it. You follow Mobius.
“For the record, this does really feel like a killing-us kind of a room.”
Loki’s right. It does. You watch Mobius move to place his belongings on a table in the center of the room with three chairs gathered around it. There’s some sort of wall that begs to operate as a screen, and once more the patterned lighting choices make the space seem eerily symmetrical. It’s large, mostly empty, and your attention is fixed to the little device on the table that reminds you of an early Macintosh monitor.
“Not big on trust, huh?”
“Trust is for children, and dogs,” Loki scowls, stalking past you and moving to the table, “There’s only one person I can trust.”
“Her?” he asks as he gestures to you in a moment of genuine questioning.
Loki falters. Mobius smirks. You frown.
“No. No, myself—”
“Sure, sure,” Mobius smiles, “Come on. Both of you, sit down.”
But, Loki isn’t finished. “If the TVA truly oversees all of time, how have I never heard of you until now?”
“‘Cause you’ve never needed to,” Mobius says as he leans and turns on the projector, “You’ve always lived within your set path.”
Loki’s tone rises sharply. “I live within whatever path I chose—”
You interject, raising a hand as you step between Loki and Mobius. Your brows are knotted tightly as you shake your head. “Hold on… But, when Variants break from the Sacred Timeline — you reset the Variant, and the timeline. So, who’s to say we haven’t met you before?”
Mobius stands up straight. Again, another sly smile.
“Y’know, doc,” Mobius pulls his chair out, and presumably one he intends to be yours, “You’re impressive.”
“Time is impressive,” you volley back, sitting down, “And finicky. And... weird. And, if I’m being completely honest here? I have a headache.”
“Understandable. And, now I’ve gotta know,” Mobius says as he takes a seat and gestures, once more for Loki to sit down beside you, “How would you reason that repeated instances of the same Variants occur?”
“...As in the same person?” you ask as you cock a brow and lean back in the cold, steel chair.
“More like the same two people.”
Mm. There it is. You got it. Mobius sees it.
He inhales, and leans forward.
“You two are what we call Recurring Variant Anomalies,” Mobius says pointedly, “It’s rare that we find Variants that break from the Sacred Timeline twice — even rarer when it’s the same two people both times, at the same time. Causes quite the hiccup. Lots of mental math. Time stuff. It’s a lot.”
You and Loki connect gazes.
“RVA’s, or… y’know, you two,” Mobius continues as he waves between the two of you, “Are, uh… Think of it like soulmates. For whatever reason, you two are tied together in time. Variant or not. Sort of comforting, right?”
“Not at all—”
“Hardly,” Loki chirps as he crosses his arms.
“...Riiiiight,” Mobius says slowly, gaze dancing between you as he spins some sort of tuning dial on the monitor, “So… 2012… That’s… You two have just met.”
Suddenly, there’s an image on the wall. It’s conjured with delicate palettes of light building into a background, painting a picture you recognize almost immediately.
It’s the lab. It’s you, it’s Loki, it’s the Tesseract. It’s last Monday.
“What is this?” you ask, leaning forward in your chair as the projection begins to fast forward through the week, through each time you and Loki’s paths seem to cross — and in the lobby. It stops.
“Think of it as your greatest hits,” Mobius shrugs, “This tape is dedicated to you and him, and I’ve got two others here that are independent reels of your time alive.”
“This is all a load of bunkum,” Loki snaps with a scowl as sharp as a blade.
“... If looks could kill,” muses the TVA agent as he cracks open a cola can and takes a sip.
You let out a long sigh as Loki sharpens his gaze even farther. He speaks with the hissing vibrato you’ve come to know well in however long you’ve spent tied to his hip through this whole process. He’s irritated. “What do you want from us?”
“How about some cooperation to start?”
“Not my forte.”
“Speak for yourself,” you mutter, rubbing your face.
“I specialize in the pursuit of dangerous Variants,” Mobius says after another long sip. He moves through the manilla folder on top and you notice your photo there.
“Like myself?” Loki asks.
“No, no — particularly dangerous Variants. Like her, maybe,” he nods your way and you blink, “Not you, Loki, you’re a little pussycat.”
You can feel the anger rolling off the God beside you without even looking.
“I’m confused,” you say, cutting through the tension with a wave of your hand, “Why us?”
“Why you, indeed!” Mobius nods, scrubbing through time to… you’ve never seen this before. This is — well, it’s like watching a movie. A movie of someone you know.
“What is this?” Loki asks, squinting at the projection, “This never even happened. This isn’t real.”
“This,” Mobius explains, “Is what would have happened if the two of you hadn’t disrupted the Sacred Timeline. Loki, you’d be being escorted back to Asgard for imprisonment, and Doc, you’d be back to that tiny little apartment of yours — but, Loki, it’s this part that’s important.”
Suddenly, there’s a woman.
Your eyes widen by a mile.
Mobius sits back and crosses his arms.
Loki’s longing look is pulled from the screen and it drifts to you; you’re standing — the recognition that burns in your gaze is hard to ignore and Loki follows your figure across the room with his eyes.
“...Who is she?” you ask after a long moment.
“That,” Mobius says as he points, “Is Lady Frigga — right, Loki?”
“It’s my mother—”
You blink back at the screen.
You know her.
Not — I mean, not like you’ve met, but you know her from your dreams. You’ve had dreams about a woman with that face, with that voice, with that kind look for years; ever since you were a child, actually. You always assumed she was your father’s mother or a distant aunt you only had the bones of a memory of. You figured your brain had made the connection, filled in the gaps. But… That’s her.
The back of your head tingles.
“You’ve seen her before,” Mobius says. It’s less of a question, more of a statement of a fact.
“That’s impossible,” scoffs Loki with a roll of the eyes.
“In my dreams,” you whisper, far-away and taking in the beauty of the woman, “I have.”
Loki’s tone is sharp like a whip when he stands. “What’s the meaning of all this? To lie to us, to craft illusions?”
“I’m just trying to understand you two.”
“Why?” you ask, turning on your heel and shaking your head. It’s a bitter sort of anger that rises in your voice — and you can’t help but feel like you’re being toyed with, “There isn’t even an ‘us’. He’s a narcissistic, self-obsessed liar who thinks he was born to rule the galaxy in cheap leather—”
“—I beg your pardon—”
“Then beg!” you snap at Loki, throwing your hands at him before turning back to Mobius with a scowl, “What’s the point?”
“I’m trying to understand you,” Mobius says, “And how much you mean to him. And vice versa.”
Your gaze meets Loki’s. There is a shared irritation for this game Mobius is playing with the two of you.
“You don’t know anything about me,” Loki drawls, low and threatening, “And you’re proving such by insinuating I’d be emotionally attached to some lowly human. Midgardians are a pest. Ants to be crushed by a boot.”
You ignore the dig. You can’t really say you expected much more than that from him. It’s in character.
“Maybe I’d like to learn.”
You circle Loki, and plant your hands on the back of your own chair. You don’t sit.
“Listen, I’m not trying to make this difficult — for either of you,” the TVA agent in question leans back and looks between the two of you, “I am trying to understand what makes you both tick. Let me ask my questions, and I’ll show you why it’s so important for me to figure this out. Then, I can get you both out of here. After all, that’s what you both want, right?”
You exhale tightly.
Loki blinks. Dark lashes kiss his high cheekbones. He chews the inside of his lip, irritation bleeding into the bouncing of his leg.
You sit down.
“Let’s start there, Loki — should you return, what are you gonna do?”
Mobius puts his head down and readies a small piece of notepaper in a flipbook. You can see the tattered, yellowing scraps of past-notes flipped behind this one. The pen has the TVA logo emblazoned on it in that same burnt orange that followed you through every hall.
Across from him, Loki tightens his jaw and straightens his posture. He then leans back, with his arms crossed, and answers.
“Finish what I started.”
He wet his lips. “Claim my throne.”
Mobius nods. “You wanna be… king?”
Suddenly, there’s a sneer on the God’s lip. “I don’t want to be, I was born to be.”
Whether or not that admission was purposeful, you find your brows raising a bit in the tiniest of microexpressions. It’s surprise. The way he says it makes it seem like it’s the only right answer there is — like it’s been practiced.
“I know, but… King of what exactly?”
Loki, frustrated and clearly exhausted already with the line of questioning, scoffs.
“You wouldn’t understand.”
The veneer of irritation melts — if only a little bit.
You roll your eyes. He notices.
“AKA… Earth…” Mobius notes as his pen moves quickly across the paper, “Alright, now you’re the King of Midgard, then what? Happily ever after? All on your own?”
“I don’t need anyone to help me fulfill my purpose.”
“Must be lonely.”
“I can assure you,” Loki snaps like a wounded dog in a trap, “I do not care.”
“But, there’s the thing — you do,” Mobius raises a finger, “That’s one thing I know about you, Loki, that you do care. That being alone does bother you. I know that — and I’m not trying to belittle you. Listen, I’m a fan. I’m just trying to understand how this big picture falls into place.”
Suddenly, the tape is being scrubbed once more. Light and picture dances on the wall adjacent to the three of you, and suddenly it’s a still image of what looks like… a library? No. No, that’s not right. It’s an older building, and Thor is there, and you’re holding a spectrometer and looking horribly out of place.
Mobius presses play.
Suddenly, a black-clad Loki falls from some sort of sparking portal.
“I have been falling! For thirty minutes!”
The visage of you on the screen yelps; hand flying over your mouth at the sudden appearance of the man you now know well. He hits the floor with a resounding thud! and looks… less imposing now, flat on the floor with wild black curls flying about. He’s swathed in a well-tailored black suit and you can’t help but think he’s the exact opposite of Thor. The God of Mischief pushes himself upwards, eyes wild with anger.
Thor, on screen, hides a chuckle at his brother’s expense.
That future-you blinks with wide eyes between the unknown man and Thor, wondering why the hell no one seems to be as off-put as you are.
“Do you just…?” you make the same sort of gesture the… — wizard? Right, let’s go with wizard — had just done in order to open the portal Loki had fallen out of with a confused look on your face, “Do that normally?”
Your voice crackles from the speakers. It’s eerie.
The wizard shrugs.
He turns to Thor then, shaking hands and gesturing once more to sling open another portal.
“I trust you can handle it from here,” he says to Thor, “Good luck.”
This portal, unlike the one Loki had fallen through, overlooks the ocean. You feel a bit like you’ve opened a book in the middle of a chapter — you’re not sure what the hell is going on and before you can ask, Loki is honing in on you like a predator at his next meal. He’s standing before you, leering with an angry look that should have probably sent you for the hills.
Instead, you pull another face.
“What is this? A wretched little pest, here to help?”
“Have we met?” Loki sneers, lip curling as he hisses, “Or do you simply bear resemblance to every other disgusting worm on this planet?”
You push your glasses up again. Suddenly, you’re aware of the behavioral tango you’re locked in. It’s like a psychological game of chess. You decide to move your pawn.
“We have, actually,” you chirp with an uncanny amount of unamusement. Thor’s eye twitches behind you, “You tried to blow up my lab station…? But, uh, I doubt you probably remember that, huh? Yeah, you were, uh, kinda busy terrorizing my boss and half the other staff on call… No, no, I get it. I’ve gotten a haircut since, so—”
“Doctor, please, ignore him—” Thor tries, pinching the bridge of his nose.
“Oh, you’re one of Selvig’s wenches then.”
That doesn’t get the rise out of you that Loki had predicted. You frown, hands in your pockets. Your body language is guarded. Loki’s lip twitches.
“That’s an awfully misogynistic thing for you to say.”
There’s a glimpse of a recoil in his eyes at that. He takes a step forward, as if to challenge you – to which Strange clears his throat. The game is stopped, if only for a moment, and Loki’s anger is redirected towards the wizard with a new-found malice.
“And you must be the second-rate sorcerer—”
Mobius pauses the tape.
“This never happened.”
“Not to you, not yet,” Mobius says, “Had you not broken from the Sacred Timeline, yes. It happens and it happens again, and again, and again. You two meeting again is the proper flow of time. Everytime.”
“The TVA doesn’t only know what should happen. We know what does happen — on these tapes I’ve got both of your lives from start to finish, all according to what the Time-Keepers have willed to happen in accordance with the Sacred Timeline.”
“Do you believe this?” Loki asks you suddenly as he narrows his eyes, “This is completely and utterly ridiculous.”
“Is it?” Mobius asks, “Because, frankly, I think what is a little ridiculous is your frequent belittling of those around you. I mean, c’mon, you’re the God of Mischief. I’ve got hours worth of footage on here of you hurting others. Invading cities, killing innocent people, plucking eyeballs out. I mean that right there is a prime example. Why are you being so cruel to her? She’s done nothing to you.”
“She’s a human.”
“Is it because you think she’s pretty?” Mobius plucks at the God like he’s some sort of child, “She is — we all know it — but, c’mon, really? She’s very far from a worm… That’s just plain old mean, pal.”
You feel sheepishness prick at your cheeks. You stare ahead at the screen.
Loki growls. “Your commentary is useless.”
“Because I’m right,” Mobius battles back with a wave of his finger, “You know it. I can see it — between this, and the murder and the torture and the general atrocities? I don’t see anything mischievous about how you act, Loki.”
Loki’s lip curls.
“No, I don’t suppose you do.”
“And neither does she!” Mobius says, wagging his pen your way, “I mean, really, she’s the love of your life—”
It comes out of both your mouths, stressed and unamused.
So, Mobius scrubs again. This time, through a long stretch of time. There’s colors, people, space, and…
A penthouse apartment.
Suddenly, as the grey-haired man presses play, Loki’s voice fills the room. The cadence is warm and gentle. It’s unlike you’ve heard him speak before. There’s a timbre to his words that makes your heart involuntarily flutter.
“I haven’t been completely honest with you.”
On the screen, his voice rouses you mid-chew and you blink up at the dark-haired God over the dinner the servants had brought you mere minutes ago. You swallows, knotting your brows. You can see worry on your own face.
You’re not wearing something Earthly. It doesn’t look Asgardian either. It’s black, with a deep neckline and your hair is intricately done. You can’t place where this is. It… doesn’t seem like Earth. Not New York City, for sure.
“What is it?” you ask, eyes scanning Loki’s face. The lie-smith opens his mouth but nothing comes out. Your face falls. “You’re married already, aren’t you—”
“What?” Loki blinks, nose scrunching in distaste, “No, I’m not married—”
You seem to deflate with relief. Loki would have laughed had his chest not felt like Mjolnir was resting atop it.
In his seat in the TVA, Loki squirms.
“Then what haven’t you been completely honest about?”
He stands, disregarding his dinner and folding his hands behind his back. He then begins to pace. Your eyes follow him with every step.
“I… I have never found myself in a position where I have grown to trust someone as much as yourself. You have gained my affections in a way I had never seen possible,” he offers. It’s slow. The other-you smiles at him and it spurs him to continue, “And because of this, I must apologize for behavior at times. I can be rude and crass… and yet you still sleep beside me at night.”
“In all fairness, there is only one bed and I am not sleeping on the floor.”
On the screen, Loki laughs, quick and breathy, as he drops his head and sighs.
“But, I am… not who you think I am.”
You give him a look as you stand, abandoning your plate. “I am well aware of that much, Loki. You’re infuriatingly complex, and just when I think I have you pegged, you sock another wrench into my calculations.”
“I think I might be about to do exactly what you just said.”
“Spit it out, Loki.”
“You remember the story I told you of Jotunheim?”
“That’s… the ice planet?” your eyes fleet about as you rack your brain, “Jötunns were the frost giants, right? With blue skin and red eyes? That book you showed me had beautiful illustrations –”
And suddenly, the pale face of the God on the screen is gone and his skin has an icy hue. Those green eyes you know faded away to fiery red orbs. Markings of a foreign kind swirled about his skin and you couldn’t help but yank your hand away. He looks just like the illustrations from the book on Asgardian history Loki had given you. You regret pulling away nearly instantly.
In your seat, you wince. You feel like you’re watching some soap opera on daytime television and… you’re invested. For fuck’s sake, you’re the lead star.
The hurt is visible on his face.
“I’m sorry,” he mutters, “I should have not shown you—”
Suddenly, Loki to your left, speaks up.
His voice is rough.
“Shut it off.”
Mobius raises his hand. “Shh. This is the good part.”
You blink between Loki and the screen.
On the screen, Loki is trying to quell the growing rage in his chest. He turns and knots his fingers in fists. Curse Odin. Curse Frigga. Curse them all. He was a monster. They should have just let him die on Jotunheim as a baby.
Your voice is so warm it snuffs the anger in his chest out almost immediately.
You weave around him, eyes wide with a different type of admiration – one he hasn’t seen on you before (is this love?) – as your hands reach to ghost along his now pastel cobalt cheek bones. Your fingers feel like freshly smelted metal against his skin. He loves it.
“You look like sapphires,” you breathe, “I never thought blue was your color, and yet here I am. You’re – Why do you hide it? Why keep this beautiful secret hidden?”
“I am a monster.”
Your eyes are so full of affection he wants to cry. He drops his gaze to the floor only for you to pull it back to your own gaze again. Your fingers curl along his jaw.
“It hurts me when you say that, you know. I don’t think you’re a monster. Not before, not now. You cannot be so cruel to yourself, Loki.”
He’s silent. You speak again, your voice stern.
“You’re not a monster. You’re my husband, remember?”
Mobius pauses the Time Movie.
He’s smug. “That is love. That’s what I’m trying to figure out here. You two.”
You stare at the sight on the screen. The two of you curled close.
Loki, on the other hand, feels like crawling out of his skin.
This isn’t possible. This is — this is some cruel, cruel joke put on by the powers that be. Perhaps that punishment he considered earlier. There was no way this could possibly be true.
No, he can’t even look at you.
Anger, bitterness, and fury takes over his tone as he pushes himself back in his chair.
“I know what this place is.”
“Oh, yes, it’s an illusion.”
He moves to stand and you notice Mobius’ hands twitch on the Time Twister — however, the TVA agent remains interested in Loki’s reaction and less on reprimanding the sudden movement.
“It’s a cruel, elaborate trick conjured by the weak to inspire fear,” he hisses as he stalks about. Pointing at the screen, his voice runs hoarse as he shakes off the possibilities implied by the sight of the two of you, curled into one another, in love, “My mother taught me plenty of them.”
“Your mother, right,” Mobius says, raising a finger, “That’s a great point to circle back to — y’know, since you were the one who led the Dark Elves straight to her. Why?”
The woman with the kind eyes and golden hair is back once more, but this time she’s speaking to Loki — and immediately the God in the room steps forward. His expression is marked with confusion, with fear.
“The Dark Elves,” Mobius continues as he sips his cola, “You think you send them to Thor...—”
“—You might wanna take the stairs to the left.”
“But instead, you send them…”
“—I’ll never tell.”
Your heart stops when the dagger is run through Frigga, when she gasps, and when she crumples in a heap of gilded armor and skirts. The ache you feel in your heart is tight and sharp and vengeful.
You can see the tension rising in Loki’s posture. His breath shudders.
“Shut it off,” you snap at Mobius before Loki interjects.
“Where do you have her?” he is beginning to sound panicked, “Where is she?”
But Mobius stands, and with ill-timed nonchalance, he waves his hands as he shrugs and watches Loki.
“You lead them right to her.”
“I don’t believe you,” Loki’s voice rises as you stand, “You’re lying. It’s not true.”
“It is true. That’s the proper flow of time and it happens again and again and again because it’s supposed to. Because it has to. The TVA makes sure of it—”
“Where is she?” Loki is almost like a wild animal now, ignoring the way you completely block his attempts at nearing Mobius. He’s blinded to you completely.
“—Now, why don’t you tell me, do you enjoy hurting people?”
“—I don’t believe you,” he says as he stalks from foot to foot, “I don’t.”
“Do you enjoy killing people?” Mobius is nearly yelling now.
“I’ll kill you—” Loki snaps, as if a reflex.
“What, like you did your own mother?”
Then it all falls apart. Loki breaks for Mobius, and you’re shoved out of the way. You stagger back, catching yourself on the table as the God of Mischief unceremoniously whips the chair in the agent’s direction with a flick of his wrist. It sends the image of Frigga scattering in dancing particles of light that quickly rearrange. An image that cannot be erased.
Mobius flicks the Time Twister.
In a blink, you’re back in your chair and Loki has landed, hard, on the ground.
He hisses in pain and you press your fingers to your temple. The vertigo is brutal — only for a second — and then you resettle into the current flow of time.
“Sorry, the Time Twister loops the both of you — not the furniture.”
You ignore Mobius as he rounds back to the holoprojector in favor of offering up a worried glance Loki’s way. His gaze is far away from here. Shame and guilt have replaced his anger.
“You weren’t born to be king, Loki. You were born to cause pain and suffering and death. That’s how it is, that’s how it was, that’s how it will be.”
The agent presses a button, and the Avengers roll on into the room. They paint it all sorts of heroic colors as the Chitauri hiss in the background.
“...All so that others can achieve the best versions of themselves.”
There’s a beat of silence, and then you push to stand.
Mobius watches as you turn to the God on the floor and offer a tentative hand.
If you’re being honest with yourself, you don’t know why you do it. Maybe because you suddenly feel for the God — maybe because in this flash of a moment, you can see the downtrodden regret pouring from his eyes as he shakes his head from his place on the ground. He’s a fallen God; yet, so horribly human.
Loki’s eyes follow the delicate hand offered to him with genuine surprise.
He is, however, incredibly thankful. He can feel it in his heart. He will hide it, of course.
He takes your hand and you lean back, helping the tall God off the floor as the TVA agent watches. Mobius finds it curious how the two of you have natural inclination towards one another already despite strong opposition to nearly everything about one another. But, that’s fate he supposes.
And this little interaction tells him a lot about Loki, about you, and about what either of your Variants might do without the other.
Suddenly, the doors rattle open.
Loki looks down on you for a moment. You hold his gaze. Then, he nods, and you pull away from him.
“What are you doing?” comes a voice you recognize as one of the officers from before. She’s the one that had apprehended Loki — a tall, strong woman with piercing eyes.
Mobius deflates. “My job. Is it yours to interrupt?”
“We have a situation.”
“There’s always a situation,” he grumbles as he pushes off his feet and moves toward the doors. He turns back, raises a finger and gestures to the two of you, “Don’t go anywhere.”
He calls out over his shoulder again as he nears the doors.
“Take a look at those tapes. I mean — It’s all there. I’m not lying about any of it.”
Then, the doors close.
And you’re left alone with Loki, the holoprojector, and two lives worth of film.
The silence is heavy.
Finally, when you turn around from the door, you let out a long sigh and settle your attention on the God in the center of the room. He’s looking at his hands, back turned to you. The sharp angles of his face are lit with the image from the Time Movie. Golden and mournful.
Your voice is gentle. “Are you alright?”
“I’m fine, bug,” he snaps without even turning to look at you, “You need not busy yourself with worrying over a God.”
“I’m trying to be nice,” you explain as you cross your arms tightly over your jumpsuit and tug at the collar around your neck, “Or is that such a foreign concept to you?”
That earns you a calculated glare over his shoulder.
You watch, keen on measuring his reaction.
“Why?” he asks, voice hot like a knife held over a fire — it’s reactionary, “What does being ‘nice’ get you in the end, bug?”
When your face falls, however, Loki realizes that you just made a rather painful point. Your eyes go soft — and the God recoils in discomfort at the sight of pity. It makes him turn away once more and ignore the delicate frown that sweeps across your features.
Behind him, your tone is soft. “Nevermind then.”
Loki steals another glance. He watches as you begin to pace — your white sneakers follow the line in the tiles as you move back and forth across the room. His brows are twisted in a horribly curious way. He despises himself for it.
“...I am a God. Words of mortal men mean nothing to me.”
He says it like he’s trying to convince himself. You pause midstep.
“It doesn’t matter who says something,” you mumble before gesturing to the holoprojector, “Words are the oldest weapon in the book.”
“Oh, please,” Loki chirps, cocking his head to the side as he, like a snake, shows his fangs to deter a threat. His words are a desperate attempt at a stinging bite, “I don’t need your pity. You’re a pest. A soon-to-be-subjugate.”
There’s hurt, there. You can hear it in the subtle crack of his words.
“You’re the Silvertongue,” you shrug, “You’d know.”
He’s quiet for a while longer and you trade in your pacing for settling in on the steps before the exit to the theater. Your gaze is rooted on the film sitting neatly atop Mobius’ files. There’s one there with your name on it. The canister glimmers in the light.
“...Do you believe what Agent Mobius says about me?”
It’s a quiet question.
You watch Loki.
His posture is sharp. It’s the way he asks it that betrays his intention.
You fiddle with your fingers.
“...I don’t know if I believe anything Mobius says,” you begin, tucking your knees close and leaning forward, “But, I know you’ve done terrible things.”
“You think me to be a monster.”
“Is that a joke?” you chirp as you scoff, “Please, continue to berate me, and weave along your little manifest destiny monologues about ruling my planet — and do you want me to ignore the last week? The failed attempt at leveling New York? I thought you said you didn’t want my pity.”
“Enough,” Loki hisses as he is beginning to even regret pushing you for an answer, “You’ve said your piece.”
“No,” you stress, raising a finger to signify you aren’t finished; anger settles into your words, “I haven’t. But it doesn’t matter because you’re so self-absorbed you can’t even listen to what I’m saying.”
In truth, it’s shame that’s making the God’s fingers tremble, not anger. In complete honesty, it feels easier to let you believe it’s some self-aggrandized notion and not the dawning realization that he may not be able to keep up this illusion forever. He… He never meant for it all to end up like this.
His back is still to you. He’s glad. He doesn’t want you to see the crack in his stalwart composition.
“This is ridiculous.”
His whisper bears an inkling of his frustration. You watch him.
“Yeah,” you mutter to yourself as you stand and rock on your heels, “Worst Thursday of my life.”
That earns you a scoff.
He stops his fiddling long enough to trace your figure with his eyes and realize that, yes, that woman from before in the lobby of the Avengers tower was indeed you — and from the films Mobius had shown, he can see why you would have called out to him like that. It’s clear that in this other time, in the ‘Sacred’ flow of time, the two of you weren’t meant to find one another.
It’s… laughable, almost.
By Odin’s beard — not for lack of trying, his mother and father had never been able to find him a suitable match. Thor was easier; he wasn’t so critical of companionship. Loki yearned for intellectual connection even as a young boy, and found it harder to play with kids his age. Perhaps that’s why he so readily threw himself into magic, into Frigga’s teachings. She had insisted that fate was a beautiful thing. That it was wound like ribbons of silk in the stars, falling into place with every rise and fall of the moon.
He rather liked the image.
…And if you were being truthful about seeing his mother? In your dreams?
Well, she always did seem one step ahead of everyone else.
Was this how it was written all along? Did he not have any say in how his life panned out? Was this detour a part of his ascent, or… or was it all in vain? Was he supposed to find you now? Later? Has he gone and ruined what time had set in motion for him?
Suddenly, Loki finds his heart aching for something he cannot have:
That life. The one that rolled by like a movie.
And yet — he’s angry.
It’s not possible. No, he’d never find himself falling in bed with a human. Not for life, not for love, not for… some unending thing that has supposedly transcended time. You are beneath him. Unworthy of even the simplest of his affections. Frigga was wrong.
His mother was wrong.
Wrong, wrong, wrong.
He didn’t need this clouding his intent, either. He had one goal — the same goal that has remained since falling from the Bifrost. It’s glorious purpose, a burden he’s carried since he was a boy.
The burden of a forgotten son.
“If you don’t mind,” when he turns around, you notice that he wasn’t looking at his hands at all. Infact, he’s got a disassembled Time Twister in his hands. Confusion consumes you when you realize you have no idea how he even managed to snag that thing off Mobius — or when he could have — but… that’s mischievous, “This little talk has been lovely, but I’m not intending to stick it out.”
“Hardly,” Loki chirps as he takes a step forward, “I’m going to find the Tesseract and leave this place.”
You mimic his stride and step up beside him. “They’ll fry you before you even get the chance—”
“Oh, please,” the God croons with a horribly charming smirk, “Watch me, bug.”
And, just like that, he’s gone.
And you’re left alone with the tapes.
When Mobius M. Mobius returns to the Time Theater, he has to admit he’s a little surprised to find you there, sitting in a chair you’ve pulled right up the holoprojector’s screen. You’re alone. He watches you there, curled tightly in the chair with your knees to your chest, and Mobius realizes you look younger than before.
Hunter B-15 scowls. She moves to step forward but — Mobius stops her.
The scene unfolding before you clearly holds some sort of sentimentality.
Your father follows you closely as you begin to pedal, to push, to venture farther from his balanced grasp as you fly from the safe confines of training wheels and into the world of balance — it’s the first time you’re riding that electric blue bike he’d gotten you for your fifth birthday. It’s the brightest time in your life; before the academic pressure to keep up, before the ever increasing weight of expectations, before the denial to Cornell, before hearing the words ‘I am so proud of you’ became a rarity.
Mobius lets out a quiet sigh as the man on the tape booms with laughter and hauls you into the air.
“Great job, kid! Look at you!” he’s laughing, and Mobius notes the gentle quiver of your figure in that chair, “I’m so proud of you!”
Mobius pauses the Time Movie.
You don’t notice. You’re too busy furiously wiping away the tears, trying to regain your composure and sniff back the homesickness.
He speaks gently. “He is proud of you, y’know.”
Mobius isn’t making it easy.
You blink up at the ceiling.
Then, the grey-haired man rounds the chair and kneels.
“Look at me, doc.”
“I’m not a doctor—”
“You wanna know how I know who you are?” he asks urgently, before gesturing to the stack of paper, “And not because of this whole fiasco — I knew who you were before this.”
Oh, be still his heart. Mobius’ heartstrings tug at the sight of you, broken-hearted and alone.
“You,” he says, pressing a gentle finger to your heart, “Are one of the brightest minds to ever mark life on Earth. You are one of the ones that helps unlock the key to Time Travel. You’re — Look at me. You’re incredible. And I know that man is proud of you. I know he is.”
You swipe at your face with the back of your hand.
“Sure puts a bit of a wrench in our lives in the TVA,” Mobius jokes, “But… Yeah, doc, Time Travel.”
Your mouth falls open. Then, you laugh. “That’s impossible.”
“It’s not,” he chirps as his hand lands on your knee, “Actually, Loki plays a — hold on.”
Mobius’ eyes snap around the room.
“Loki… Where is Loki?”
You drop your face into your hand. “I wish I could say I tried to stop him but — honestly, it was just nice to be away from him for five minutes.”
Behind the two of you, Hunter B-15’s calm demeanour snaps as she snaps her taser to life. “You let him escape?!”
You exhale and let your eyes fall shut. “I know, I know — but, he’s going for the Tesseract. I knew he wouldn’t get far.”
Mobius is busy feeling his pockets, digging through and trying to find his Time Twister but… you offer up the one tied to your own collar with a regretful look. Mobius looks at it, then you, and turns back to Hunter B-15.
“No — no way,” the hunter says, “She is a liability. She’s extremely dangerous—”
You stand, and toss her the Time Twister. “Here. I step outta line, you get to — y’know. Do that weird time thing you do.”
She catches it, looks at you with a bit of shock, and then pockets the device. In one smooth motion, she’s radioed for back-up. Like clockwork, troops in the same outfit as her arrive outside the Time Theater. You slip Mobius one more apologetic look as he barks out orders to track Loki down.
“Prune on sight —”
“No! No pruning, no resetting!” he snaps, leading you back to a set of elevators, “He can still help us!”
As the doors close, you let out a sigh. “Where the Tesseract is, he’ll be. It’s his only plan.”
“How do you know?”
“He did the villain thing. Y’know, where they announce their plan before they do it.”
“...God damn debutant.”
You wave an unimpressed hand through the air as the elevator drops. Mobius snorts. He tucks his free hand into his pocket. The other holds that… scary baton. The elevator doors swing open and you follow Mobius as he begins to sweep the… storage rooms? Or, at least, that’s what you can gather from the rows and rows of shelves with marked TVA boxes. Some are glowing, some are tattered, some items catalogued are too big to fit in the boxes. You spy a set of armor, Hulk-sized and emblazoned with a red mohawk, on a back shelf in a room labeled H 1999-3000.
A man in a suit and tie carries by a box that hisses.
“You really don’t like him, huh?” Mobius asks, preoccupied with his search into each room but still keen on conversation.
You follow him closely. “Can you blame me?”
“Not really,” he shrugs, “But that’s not how it always is with you two. There’s, uh… a connection.”
“My fist to his face, maybe.”
You reach the end of the floor and Mobius ushers you up a stairwell to an additional floor labeled Storage, but this time it’s a narrower hallway with less people milling about. It’s quiet up here.
“Really, though, you’ve gotta see something in him. I mean — you do. Later on, maybe, but it still happens.”
You wince. “I still don’t believe you.”
“Oh, you think I went and wrote a winding tale of romance, huh? All for you and the God of Mischief? Seriously, doc, you see how busy I am trying to make sure this place doesn’t implode?” Mobius chirps with a smile as he flicks on the lights to a room, peaks around some shelves, then ducks back out, “You saw your life. That was all real. Why would I fabricate the rest?”
Mobius eyes you over his shoulder. “Did you see how it ends?”
“My life, you mean?”
You scowl. “No — I don’t want to know that.”
Before Mobius can reply, the radio on his hip crackles to life. You recognize the voice as the woman from before, the hunter. She sounds angry. Livid. Nearly unrecognizable amidst her tirade.
“He’s in Time Theater 5.”
You and Mobius share a look, and back you go.
She isn’t wrong — Loki is still there by the time you and Agent Mobius burst through the doors. But, this time, the reel that rolls by reads END OF TAPE. You can see that it’s the one Mobius had shown you before — the one where you and him and your lives have played out. It’s been finished, alongside the one with his name on it.
Mobius slows up. You linger behind him.
Against the far wall, Loki has his head in his hands. He doesn’t look up when either of you enter — nor does he reach for the Tesseract at his feet. Instead, he pushes his hands through his hair and exhales.
“Loki?” calls Mobius, “Nowhere left to run…”
“I can’t go back, can I?” he asks suddenly, looking up and clasping his hands together. He leans on his knees, posed on the tile floor, “We can’t. Back to our timeline?”
Mobius’ gaze lingers on Loki, then moves to you. There’s sadness there.
He doesn’t need to speak for you and Loki to know the answer.
You close your eyes and shakily exhale.
Loki presses his palms to his eyes.
There’s quiet between the three of you for a while then. You move through the room, settling in the chair Mobius had claimed in the beginning. You pick up your tape, inspect it, and then remove the one labeled with you and Loki’s names, with the start and end year, from the holoprojector.
He’d watched it all through.
When you look up, he’s staring at you.
His expression is mournful.
“I don’t enjoy hurting people,” he struggles out, head shaking as if to refuse the words coming out of his mouth. He sighs, “I… don’t enjoy it. I do it because I have to, because I’ve had to.”
He holds your gaze.
“Okay,” Mobius says quietly, nearly whispering, “Explain that to me, to us.”
Loki exhales. He gestures, then, with delicate hands to himself. “Because it’s part of the illusion. It’s the cruel, elaborate trick conjured by the weak to inspire fear.”
You place the film reel down carefully.
“A desperate play for control… You do know yourself.”
Loki’s fingers rub his lips. You see now the echoes of sadness etched into his face. He sniffs, rubs his cheeks, and then drops his hands.
He scoffs. He shakes his head with a cynical expression of frustration; all with himself.
Mobius frowns. “That’s not how I see it.”
You watch Loki reach for the cube. It warbles, shimmers and glitters with power — but does nothing. No puffs of smoke, no disappearing acts, no cosmic happenstance. No, Loki holds it up to the light and it simply glows.
Like an overrated paper weight.
“You try t’ use that?” Mobius asks with a smirk, lowering his baton.
“Oh, several times,” Loki nods as he turns it over in his fingers, “Even an Infinity Stone is useless here.”
He spares you a disappointed look, then tosses you the cube. Best to give you a chance to admire the very thing he’d stolen from up close before it’s, no doubt, reseized and tucked away. Maybe that Casey character will decide he’ll use it as a glorified coaster.
You catch it. Immediately you’re surprised at the weight.
You turn it over in your hands.
“The TVA is formidable.”
“That’s been my experience,” Mobius replies, “But, listen, I can’t… I can’t offer the two of you salvation, but maybe I can offer the two of you something better.”
Your attention turns to Mobius.
“Two fugitive Variants have been killing our minutemen.”
You push back from the chair, toss the cube in the air, and step forward.
“And you need the God of Mischief and a little scientist to help you stop them?” Loki cracks, tilting his head as he speaks.
Mobius smirks. “That’s right.”
“Why us?” you ask, for what feels like the thousandth time today.
“The Variants we’re hunting are you two.”
Loki’s eyes snap to you, and yours snap to him.
The look you share is one that, suddenly, makes sense.
Summary: While on a mission in the desert Steve discovers one of the few living Omega currently in existence. He decides that he will become her Alpha regardless of the fact that he knows so little about her kind.
Parings: Dark!Alpha!Steve x Omega!Reader
Warnings: This is a semi Dark story! While it isnt as dark as some of my other fics there is an underlying theme of Darkness that includes, sex during impaired judgment, and bonding without consent. This also features parts of Breeding kink and if that makes you uncomfortable you probably shouldn’t read.
Notes: this is my first a/b/o fic so I apologize if it’s like wrong or something, I’ve read a bunch but I don’t necessarily get all the rules and such yet. This is also my first fic that I’ve written as a request! So this is dedicated to @my-favorite-fics-and-imagines ! They gave me an idea and I just could not refuse, I hope you like it! I also decided to kill two birds with one stone and make this my @mcudarklibrary Dark Kink of The Month Entry :)
It had been weeks since Steve had seen the comfort of his apartment back home in New York. This recon mission was taking much longer than expected, though it should have been simple. He was meant to collect info on the target then relay it back to Fury. Simple.
The problem was that every lead that he got as to where the target had been hiding for nearly 20 years was a dead end. Then he’d have to start all over from scratch. Not so simple.
He just wants to go home.
The sweltering desert sun is harsh on the alpha’s skin, leaving him desperate for the soothing cool air of the AC or a sweet cherry icy to ease the burn. Steve may be a super solider, but even he gets too hot.
The sun is beginning to set and Steve swears he’s never been more thankful for a day to be over. At this point, he’s ready to return to his mediocre 3 star hotel, where the air just barely works and the sheets make him itch.
He’s been sitting in a practically dead bar for the last two hours, hoping for anything useful to fall into his lap. He didn’t expect it to be a woman.
Hs stares down at you with shock, a bit dumbfounded by the event that had just occurred. He doesn’t stay that way for long before he’s coughing awkwardly and helping you up.
“Are you okay, Miss?” He asks with concerned eyes scanning you, looking for any threat or sign of danger.
“Yes, I- I’m fine.” When your eyes look up and meet his though it’s like everything is different and it’s hard to breathe. Steve draws in a deep breath, catching on to the sweetest scent he’d ever smelled. It was a swirl of soft and gentle. Like sweet vanilla and calming lavender.
It made Steve’s heart pound and his body tense. He realizes it’s coming from you. You begin pulling away but without even noticing, Steve’s loose hold tightens and you can’t move.
“C-could you please let go? You’re hurting me.” You squeak, tugging away from him. Steve doesn’t want to let go. No, something is telling him that he should hold on, that he needs to hold on. But he doesn’t.
“I’m so sorry, sometimes I don’t know my own strength.” He offers you a dazed apologetic smile. You attempt to smile back but it doesn’t reach your eyes, its nervous and unsure and Steve can tell you’re uncomfortable. Your eyes dart towards the door and Steve knows that you want to leave. But he doesn’t want you to.
“I’m sorry for bumping into like that, I- I’m really clumsy sometimes. But I should be heading out now, it’s getting rather late-” You begins stepping away when Steve’s hand shoots out to grasp your own, stopping you from continuing.
“You wouldn’t care to stay, pay this lonely guy some company?” He jokes lightly, hoping you’ll stay close to him the way he wants.
“I really should be going, I have someone waiting for me.” You pull your hand out of his and the second it’s away he misses it. He looks down to where his skin touched yours and finds himself feeling much emptier without you. He looks up again and you’re gone.
He doesn’t know what the plan was, but his body began moving towards the door almost mindlessly. He follows your divine scent like you were the hunt and he was a bloodhound. It’s his mission to find you. So he searches for you. But like a ghost in the night, you vanish without a trace.
(づ｡◕‿‿◕｡)づ (づ｡◕‿‿◕｡)づ (づ｡◕‿‿◕｡)づ
The saying goes out of sight out of mind, but for Steve that just wasn’t the case.
Two weeks have passed since he saw you and you’ve been the main thing on his mind since you disappeared that night. He just couldn’t forget that innocent look in your eye, or how warm you felt against him, or that amazing scent that came from you.
You were like a walking dream, something so beautiful and delicate there was no way it could be true. There was something about you though, something that separated you from every other woman he’s ever known.
So he begins researching, looking anywhere and every where for an answer to what you were. And after three days of searching through ever data base he has access to, he has a revelation.
You’re an omega.
Even during the 40s, everyone knew that the omega population was hitting a decline. Only 1 of every 30 babies born were presenting as omegas later in life. He’d never even met one before. Things were even worse now. An average of 10 babies who will present as omegas are born every 5 years worldwide.
But here you are.
When all his thoughts click into to place, his mind shifts into overdrive. Something inside of him is screaming at him to find you. To find you, and take you, and make you his omega.
So that’s exactly what he does.
Of course he couldn’t entirely abandon his mission, even with all the hormones coursing through his body he knew that. Steve is a multitasker, he’ll just have to do both.
Each step he takes holds reason, it’s powerful and certain and Steve knows he’s getting closer to achieving his goal. Everything is coming together, that’s what he tells himself, believe it or not he’s right.
It’s been exactly six weeks since Steve originally came to this desert hellscape, clearly he’s still not a fan of the heat. It’s been three since he’s seen you. But during the time since your meeting, Steve’s been a busy alpha. He’d finally gotten a new lead on his target and nailed down a location. All that was left to do was scope the place out, do some investigating, get the info, then go home. Not before getting his omega of course.
So here he is, lurking outside of what seems to be an abandoned house late at night. It looks like someone hasn’t lived there in years, but the fresh tire tracks in the dust tells him otherwise. He climbs through a broken window in the back, somehow managing to work his large frame through the small space.
Inside the shack of a building everything is dark. With his enhanced sight, he can see that the old furniture and other belongings are covered in dust and falling apart. This place seems untouched. Each of his steps sound through the hollow space.
Steve is starting to believe he got another false tip when suddenly the thuds of his steps turn into a creak. He realizes that he’s stepping on a trap door.
He’s silently hoping that the hinges aren’t ancient and extremely creaky as he begins lifting the door open. He breaths out a sigh of relief when it is and he can open it enough to see.
At first glance he could tell someone was living down here, the evidence was in the faint light leading from the far side and the newer looking furniture that was in his line of sight. As Steve continues to examine the space below him a familiar scent caught in his nose.
A scent that set his skin aflame and made his muscles tighten. A scent so sweet it made his mouth water. It was your scent. His omega. But your scent was accompanied by other one that was a bit more faint, one that was much more heady and sour to Steve. It was the scent of another alpha.
The thought of another alpha anywhere near his omega makes a growl rumble in Steve’s chest. Every part of him was telling him to get his omega far away from here to a place where it was just the two of you.
His real mission is the last thing on his mind now, no he’s much too focused on how he’s going to bring you far away from this place. With a lack of caution he drops himself through the hole and lands nearly soundlessly on the floor below. He’s stealthy, silent and careful, a man dead set on completing his task.
Steve creeps around a corner and your scent grows stronger, he’s growing more impatient by the second and all he wants to do is go. But he holds it together.
Then he hears you.
“Please come home soon. My heat is coming, I can feel it. I hate beging here alone without you.” There’s a clear tone of fear and nervousness in your voice that annoys him. He doesn’t know why something so simple is bothering him, but he doesn’t want to hear you sounding so upset. He can faintly hear a voice coming from what Steve assumes to be a phone.
“I know Sweetheart, I hate leaving you too. I shouldn’t be gone longer than two more days. You know I only leave when it’s absolutely necessary, I wouldn’t be doing this if I didn’t have to.” The voice of a male, most likely the other alpha, probably the target he’s forgotten all about, comes from the door that separates you and him.
“Why did you leave then? What’s so important that you’d leave me at a time like right now?” He hears you whine in a tone that has him biting his lip to silence whatever sound is trying to come out.
“One of my sources told me that some special agents might be looking into me so I had to leave town for a bit. I think it’s been long enough that they’re cold on my trail and think I relocated. That’s why I’ll be coming home soon.” No wonder Steve couldn’t track this asshole, he’d ran away when he caught wind that someone was looking for him.
Well that answered one question. There was only one remaining. What was his relation to you?
“Promise you’ll be home in time for my heat?” There’s a hopefully lilt to your voice and the sound of it makes his heart race. The way just the sound of your voice could affect him is insane.
“I’m promise, honey. I love you, see you soon.”
“I love you too, goodbye Dad.” A breath of relief pours from Steve’s lungs. You’re his daughter. Not his lover. Not his omega. You’re Steve’s omega.
He hears the line go dead before you huff and sigh. At this point he’s just beyond the doorframe, close enough to see through the gap where the door was left open, far enough away that you still haven’t detected him yet.
He watches as stand from your bed and head over to the closet, leaving your back facing him. He knows it’s time to strike. Without a sound he slips through the door and sneaks up behind you, inching his arms towards you.
There is no hesitation in his movements. His strong arms wind around you, one firmly resting across your midsection and the other clamped over your mouth to silence your screams. Instantly you panic, your limbs begin trashing and you struggle against his hold on you.
Of course he’s having no trouble restraining you, but during your wild movements you don’t realize that your ass is pressing against Steve’s groin and giving him one hell of a problem. He manages to keep all his filthy thoughts a bay.
“Shh shh, calm down. I’m not gonna hurt you.” His voice is calm and cool, but it doesn’t halt your struggle. When you land a solid kick to the front of Steve’s shin he grows irritated very quick. “I said calm down!” And all at once your freeze, like someone pressed the pause button on the remote.
It almost scares Steve at first, how you could change from frantically fighting against him to being completely complicit.
“I’m going to take my hand from your mouth now. Remain calm.” His voice returns to its previous coolness as he slowly retracts his hand and turns to look at your face. In return you stare up at him with wide, fearful eyes.
“Thank you.” He starts, hoping to ease the mess of emotions he can feel radiating from you. “Now I don’t think you recognized me before, so I’m gonna tell you who I am-”
“I know who you are, Steve Rogers.” When he hears his name fall from your lips, the most devilish smile forms on his face. He wants to hear you say it again and again and again and again.
“Oh good. This makes this a lot easier. You’re coming with me.” He speaks with certainty, making it obvious that you didn’t have a choice or a say.
“Why?” You’re wide eyed stare shifts into something that resembles a glare.
“You’re father is the target of a Shield investigation. It’s imperative that I bring you in for evaluation.” Steve lies through his teeth, showing no telltale signs of being a liar.
“You don’t understand, I- can’t leave. Especially at a time like right now. My-My heat…” You trail off, tears springing to your eyes as your panic level raises again. You have never spent a heat anywhere else than your home. And never without your father.
Steve stares down at you with an arched brow of confusion. He’s never heard anyone use the term like that before. He decides to find out later.
“Come on we have to go. It’ll be daylight soon, it’s safer if we leave while it’s still dark.” Steve shifts his hold so that he was holding your hand and began pulling you towards the hatch.
“Wait! I need my things, I need to pack, I need-” Steve cuts you off before you can continue your rambling.
“Anything that you need, we can get later. For now we have to go.” Steve drags you out the room. Once the two of you are standing under the hatch he looks at you and watches as you reach out for something, a ladder.
“This is how we get up and down.” You speak without looking him in the eyes. Something about the submissive behavior that you display stirs up a hungry feeling inside of Steve.
Steve climbs up the ladder first and waits patiently for you to follow. Once both of you are back on the first floor Steve grabs ahold of you and charges through the front door that he originally avoided, pulling you along with him into the fleeting darkness of night.
Before the sun is completely in the sky Steve and you are on the Quinjet heading back to New York. Steve had informed Fury about the current situation and the fact that you were accompanying him. He did not mention the fact that you were an omega and that your scent alone was driving him wild, and that he was constantly fighting all the urges.
He attempts to make some conversation during the flight home, hoping to understand you a bit better.
“So you’re an omega. What’s that like?” Steve asks bluntly, not tiptoeing around anything. His directness takes you aback, leaving you speechless for a beat.
“Uh well I’m sure it’s not too much different than being an alpha. If alpha’s went into heats instead of ruts and were slowly going instinct.” You morbidly joke looking at your hands that were rested in your lap. There was that word again, heat. Was that the omega equivalent to a rut? Is that was you were nearing?
“Heat huh? Is that like an omega rut?” Steve’s eyes dart over to you for a moment before they return to his flying. He’d much rather stare at you though.
“They’re pretty much the same now that I think about it.” You mutter bashfully, keeping your gaze downwards.
“You mentioned yours was nearing soon…Do you need anything for that?” You freeze up once the thought crosses your mind. You’ve never spent a heat without your father and now you were miles and miles away from him.
“I-uh- It’s kind of complicated. Usually my father helps me through my heats but he’s not here now.” The thought of spending a heat without your father causes your anxiety to spike again and the air feels hot.
Steve can feel you begin panicking again and its setting little alarms off in his head. He wants to comfort you, to relieve your stress, to make you feel okay. But he doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do.
“If you need anything don’t hesitate to ask. I just want to help you, Doll.” He knows exactly what he’s offering. He hopes you know too. You’re his omega, and he’ll do anything for you.
After the two of you arrive at the compound Steve brings you directly to Fury. Fury tells him to stick around because he’d be in charge of supervising you during your time with them. He doesn’t want to leave you alone with Fury, another alpha. But Steve has faith in the man, even if there are times where he isn’t certain of him.
A hour later you step out with Fury at your side. There’s a mix of relief and anxiety on your face, and the stern mask that Fury always wears is a bit off too.
“There’s a room that’s already prepared for you, someone will be down in a moment to direct you there. I just need to speak with Captain Rogers for a moment then he’ll be not far behind you.” Fury informs you before stepping back into his office. Steve shoots you a small smile before following him.
“You neglected to share a very important detail with me Rogers.” Fury glares at Steve with his one good eye.
“Yeah? Which one was that?” Steve feigns ignorance, even through he’s pretty sure he knows exactly what Fury is relating to.
“Oh I don’t know, try the fact that she’s an omega! Not to mention that she’s an omega who was hidden by her alpha father for the past 20 years, and he’s done only god knows what to her!” Steve immediately picks up the underlying meaning if Fury’s word and his entire frame goes rigid. The thought of something so horrible and sickening made his skin feel hot and his blood boil. Steve is certain he’d kill any man who’d ever even think of touching his omega.
“She’s not opening up about it but she explained her heat situation to me. I offered to order her suppressants but I don’t think she was comfortable with the idea. So plan b is to get her some omega heat products and let her wait it out until we can move forward with our investigation on her father.” Fury crosses his arms and looks directly into Steve’s soul. “Your job is to keep her safe from every other alpha in the compound. I trust in your ability to keep her safe and keep control over yourself. Don’t let me down Rogers.”
And with that it becomes official. Steve is the alpha in charge of you. You are his omega.
The next three days run smoothly. Steve keeps you company while your heat slowly begins to set in, keeping you away from contact with anyone. Alpha, or otherwise. During the three days Steve is starting to notice how little he actually knows about omegas.
He doesn’t know that the days leading to an omega’s heat were filled with painful cramps and mood swings so unpredictable they could give a man whiplash. He doesn’t know what to do while you curl up into a ball of tears in the corner of the room. He doesn’t know what to do when you’re throwing things at him and aiming to do damage. He doesn’t know what to do when you’re sitting in absolute silence, for once showing no emotion at all. That one scares him the most.
But he’s trying so hard to be there for you and be the alpha you need him to be. It’s hard though, especially when all these thoughts are running wild in his head. Filthy monstrous things that have never even crossed his mind before. Not until he laid his eyes on you…
On another note, Steve is also surprised when he comes in one morning to see you piling blankets and pillows on your bed. He watches in silence for a bit, observing as you fret over the placement of each object, tweaking and adjusting as necessary. It fascinates him and he finds it satisfying to watch.
“What are you doing over there doll?” He finally asks.
“Nesting.” You answer simply, not evening looking up to answer him.
“And what purpose does this serve?” He questions, coming closer to inspect your little structure.
“It’s a place for me to be comfortable during my heat.” You look at him finally, carefully watching his reactions.
“It looks great.” He smiles at you, the approval of an alpha sending waves of pride and satisfaction through you.
“Thank you alpha.” The phrase leaves your mouth before you can correct yourself. “I’m so sorry! It’s a habit, I didn’t mean to call-”
“It’s ok doll. You can call me anything you please.” He winks at you and you feel your face flush. He watches as you react to him, finding your innocence adorable and wanting nothing more than to hold you down and fuck you into the very sheets that hold your nest together. That’s a first. He finds himself feeling ashamed by his thoughts and quickly shakes them from his head.
He could try to ignore them as much as he pleased. That didn’t mean that they’d go away.
The true test of Steve’s strength is the day that your heat finally arrives. The second he steps into the hall he can smell your scent swirling through the air around him. It’s the most tantalizing aroma to ever grace his scent receptors. It alone has his pants tightening and skin steaming. He has to keep it together.
Gently he knocks on the door, not wanting to disturb you if you happened to still be sleeping. He gets a moan in response that makes him clench his jaw.
“Doll is everything okay in there?” He calls through the door, using every ounce of strength in his body not to break the door down and take you right where you are.
“Alpha~” You moan breathlessly. “It’s so hot Alpha. Please help me.”
Keep it together Steve, he tells himself as he pulls a chair up outside your door. He knows that this is the only place he’ll be for the next 5-7 days.
“You have your toys doll. Use those.” He calls through gritted teeth. He’d much rather you impale yourself on him instead of some silicone fake.
“But Alpha-” You whine, high and desperate. “You’d make me feel so much better.”
Steve opts to ignore you. If he continues to listen to your pleas he’ll give in and let his dark side take over. He spends the next 10 hours listening to your moans and cries of pain and pleasure, digging his nails into his thighs and smacking the back of his head on the wall behind him. Eventually you quiet down and Steve assumes you must’ve fallen asleep. He takes the opportunity to stretch his body and walk around a bit. He takes a trip back to his room which is right down the hall. He’s gone for maybe 10 minutes tops.
When he returns something feels different and suddenly his skin feels hot. Your scent wafting through the air is amplified 10x and all he can think about is you. The hard-on in his pants, which had never fully went away, is now dripping precum, soaking through the front of his boxers. Steve is certain he’s never been this hard before in his life. And that’s when he realizes that your heat has triggered his rut.
Like a zombie he stalks, forcing the door to your room open. Your scent hits him full blast, raw and unfiltered. Even alseep the scent of you in heat, the smell of your slick and pheromones could make Steve pop a knot on it’s own.
He creeps towards your sleeping form, taking you in, staring at your beautiful nude body. You begin stirring, sensing his alpha presence around you. When your eyes open and you see Steve standing before you, eyes darkened with lust and pants tented in arousal.
“Alpha~” You call for him, your heat taking over once more. “-Need your knot, Alpha.”
Once he hears those words leave your mouth there is no longer Steve. No, there is only your Alpha who needs to satisfy the building urge to give you what you need. Without a second thought he rips the clothes from his body, wanting to feel your delicate soft skin against his.
He storms towards the bed and grabs you roughly, claiming your lips in a bruising kiss. You both moan at the contact, desperately touching and rubbing on the other. Steve’s hands roam your body, taking in every inch of heated skin. His large rough hands send shivers down your spine, causing to arch your back and press your chest against his. You moan at the sensation of your nips rubbing against his chest.
“Oh little Omega, you want your alpha’s cock don’t you? Want my knot?” Steve taunts you, trailing his hands down to your slick covered entrance, lightly teasing the sensitive flesh there. You frantically shake your head yes, you want him so bad that you felt like you’d explode at any moment if you didn’t have him.
“Please Alpha! Please let me have your cock.” You beg, thrusting your hips forward searching for any form of relief.
“Okay Omega, I’ll give you what you need.” A dark devilish smile appears on his face. He grips your hips and pins them to the bed to stop your squirming. He lines his throbbing member to you opening and slides home.
“Fuck, your sweet pussy is so tight.” Filthy moans fall from your mouths as Steve penetrates you. You can feel him pulsing inside of you. Once his hips are flush against yours he begins thrusting, rocking in and out setting a grueling rhythm.
His thrusts were rough and full of hunger, each one drew a cry of pleasure from you, stroking every bit of Steve’s alpha ego. He watches as your tits bounce with every snap of his hips, watches how your eyes screw shut as your overwhelmed with pleasure, watches how your hands dig into the sheets below you.
“That feel good, Omega? Is my Alpha cock making your pretty pussy feel good?” He coos, one of his hands grasping your jaw and forcing you to look at him.
“Yes Alpha! It feels so good!” You arch once more, placing more friction onto your swollen clit and causing you to squeal. He grinds his hips into yours, the head of his cock rubbing right against that special spot, your toes curl and your lips wrap around Steve’s slender hips to keep him right there.
He leans down and once again his lips are on yours. His tongue is in your mouth, tasting you, his teeth are nipping at your lips, drawing small bits of blood then swiping away the dots with his tongue.
“Mmm Alpha!” You cry once more, and he can tell your close. He can feel it in the way your walls a tensing around him. He wasn’t too far behind, the knot at base of his cock already starting to inflate.
Those filthy thoughts from before begin filling his head, demanding that he fuck her full of his cum. That he puts as many of his pups inside of you as he can.
“I’m gonna fill you with my cum and your greedy little omega pussy is gonna take it all.” His starts spouting off at the mouth mindlessly. “You’re going to look so full and round with my pups. Your tits will get so full of milk to feed my pups, to make them big and strong like me. I’ll have to take some for myself…”
“You’ll make such a good mother, such a pretty pregnant Omega. Once you have those pups, I’ll fuck some more into you. I’ll keep you helpless and pregnant for as long as I can. My pretty little omega. My pregnant little omega.”
You don’t mind his words, too lost in your own world of pleasure to hear them or their meaning. Little did you know that Steve meant it. Little did you know that Steve always kept his word.
Continuing his vigorous pace his lips trace a line from your mouth to your jaw, from your jaw to your neck. He’s suckling on your sweet skin there, tasting you. Splotches of red and purple litter your neck, acting as the map of the path he had taken.
When he licks a specific spot, right where neck meets shoulder, an especially breathy moan echoes through the air. And though Steve has no idea why, every fiber of his being is telling him to bite down.
So he does.
The second his teeth brake skin a feeling so euphoric passes through him that he immediately cums with a groan. His knot pops into place and locks him inside you as he sprays his seed within you, filling you to the brim. He knows that you came too because of how tightly you were gripping him and the overly satisfied look on your face.
He flips the two of you so that you could lie comfortably. He looks down at you, seeing that you are completely out of it and he wonders just what he’s done. You don’t look hurt. You look happy. And that’s all Steve has ever wanted to do.
Looking down at you Steve makes a promise to you and himself. For now on he’d never let you out of his sight. You’d never leave his side. Even if he doesn’t know anything about being an alpha for an omega, he’ll learn. Because you’re his omega, and he won’t let anyone else have you.
a/n: this anon made me laugh. so, have some watch mojo presents top 10 loki/doc moments. this chapter’s gif is from @marvelheroes’s lovely set here.
[ MASTERPOST ]
It's been years since he's seen your face.
...How many now? Thirty, maybe? But, then again, time moves different on others worlds and he's spent far too much drowning in his own to admit he has lost count the ever-growing gap between your souls.
In truth — in horrible, gut-wrenching truth — he'd forgotten what your voice sounded like. It was something he had never thought possible. Surely, he would remember warm whispers of honey-sweet I love you's for all time? Surely, the sound of your laugh, as melodically whimsical as wedding-day church bells, would never escape his memory?
Your eyes, too. As he looks at you, he realizes those eyes are not the ones he loved. Different, but still you.
His beautiful, cunning, witty, wonderful wife. His bug, his love.
He feels as if he's been gutted where he stands.
Loki, as he ushers you through the portal, can see this on his older counterpart's face. His own heart aches in a sympathetic sense — especially knowing now the isolation the man had wrought upon himself.
He didn't have the heart to ask about you then. He supposes now, gauging the older man's reaction, he will not have to.
The man watches you as you chirp at the teenagers on your heels, insisting they follow and keep up, but the urgency dies when you raise your head and meet his eyes.
You see the pain. And then, a glimmer of love.
It blooms as he takes a tentative step forward.
The portal behind you all closes with a swallowed gulp of green smoke; it spills out by your feet, and in the grass of the cold expanse of land, you stand.
"You're even more beautiful than I remember."
Your eyes soften.
When the man reaches out, you let him touch your face — and you frown at the heartbroken look he spares you. It only lasts a moment; and then, he's pulling back and away as if he's touched a flame.
...What color were her eyes, again?
Your Loki lingers over your shoulder.
As the older man turns and begins to lead the way, you turn to spare Loki a mournful look. Your eyes hold the weight of a thousand words — some curious, but mostly somber acceptance that this love-story of yours is a tragedy to some.
Loki touches your shoulder gently; his thumb follows the curve of your arm. His voice is quiet. "Come on."
You gesture for the two teenagers to follow — and catch a completely different sort of look between the two.
Loki catches the half-smirk you throw his way, and his eyes dart back to the two with feather-light amusement. He says nothing, only buries a smile deep as he tucks his chin and coughs. You nudge him with your shoulder as you walk. He nudges back.
"That was some show," you finally say, speaking over the bluster of cold wind that nips at your skin, "Seems like Loki's aren't in short supply."
It's the older one at the head of the pack that speaks. "Yes, well — that's what we do."
"Survive?" you ask, tilting your head.
"Lie. And cheat," he snaps as he moves along, "We cut the throat of every person we trust, and for what? Power? Glorious purpose? We simply cannot change."
"And every-time we do try to change, the TVA comes along," remarks the boy in the back angrily, finally letting down the alligator in his arms, "And sends us here to die!"
"We're broken. All of us. Forever."
"It's why we need to get out of here," Loki stresses, "To take down the TVA."
You blink. Concern washes over your features at the age old line — but Loki does not see it. Instead, he's intent on stopping the roving caravan in its tracks. You cross your arms.
"Nothing can change until the TVA is stopped."
"And you think you can do it?" asks the older Loki, turning to look at you both, "You trust this other version of us?"
"She's the only one I do trust," Loki insists, albeit gently, "Sylvie has been wronged by the TVA just like us. They orphaned her, they stole her Doctor. And even if I did not trust her, I trust her rage."
"That's the play, then?" you ask, leaning on your heels as you cock a hip; you're looking to him for guidance — for an honest line of communication, "To destroy the TVA?"
Loki's eyes turn to you as he inhales; his brows tighten in concern.
"You know," you speak over him, waving a hand as he closes his eyes, "You know why I'm hesitant—"
The eyes of the teenagers bounce between you.
"I don't... I don't want any of this. I want," he waves his hands, "I want the people in the TVA to know the truth."
"And what happens when there's a vacancy for King of Time?"
Loki's mouth snaps shut.
Your heart wanes. There’s a weighty moment that sits between the two of you, then. And as Loki swallows the catch in his throat and comes to realize he holds your judgement of his character in the highest esteem, he can only try to rationalize the lengths he’ll go — if not for you, then for himself.
For that scared little boy Mobius had so aptly called to action.
Quietly, you whisper.
"Please don't go where I can't follow."
And you push on. You have to — or else the hope that perhaps he has changed will strangle you in its roots. The seed is planted. You are keen to nurture it, but afraid of the trueness of its yield.
Loki, though, is ensnared in your orbit and suddenly desperate to prove the seduction of power no longer has a hold on his heart. It’s you, now, who plucks his heartstrings to moonlit sonatas — it’s you who has made a home of this once dark, icy place. Once, the walls of his heart were sick with something he believed to be infallible. It was glorious purpose.
He idea of betraying that, of betraying you? And then, losing you?
He sees what that would do to him. He sees it in the older version staring him down. If he lets himself feel it, for more than a moment, it stings. He pulls away from the thought like it burns.
“We,” he stresses as he steps forward to match your stride in a terribly boyish attempt at proving his point; but it works, and he notices the way you look at him as he speaks, “Won’t be going anywhere if we don’t find a way to kill Alioth.”
Your brows snap tight in confusion.
You don’t need to say a word — the young teen behind you, all lanky limbs and cherub-faced, beats you to it.
“Hold on,” she says, “Kill the big, cloud monster?”
“Precisely,” Loki breaths, placing his hands on his hips. He looks almost proud.
You pause beside his older counterpart and spare the man a questioning look. He seems to share your apprehension, and so does the younger version of Loki peeking over the God’s shoulder, shaking his head discreetly.
“Is that even possible?” you ask, squinting and finding your hands on your hips as well, “I mean, it’s a trans-temporal entity. It’s got no physical being.”
Loki blinks. He then look at his older self. “I thought you called it a shark.”
You blink at the older man.
Then, you turn to share a mistified (and frankly very doubtful) look with your teenage self.
Loki pinches the bridge of his nose. “Listen, we won’t know if we don’t try—”
“Or we die.”
You point at your teenage self, nodding along at her point. “Yea, or we die.”
“Or,” Loki sighs as he rolls his jaw and looks up to the sky, “Yes, fine, or we die — but, honestly at this point I think the benefits outweight the risks.”
You let out a long sigh.
“Approaching Alioth is a death sentence,” says the older man by your side, “We’ll get you three to it, but that’s as far as we’ll go.”
“Oh, I’m not with them—” pipes up the teenager, straggling over to your side as she offers the man a compliant little smile, “I have curfew, actually. So, y’know.”
You frown. “You sure about that?”
She shrugs. “Yea. I mean — if you destory the TVA, then you can come visit. Or maybe I come visit you. We’ll do a sleepover. Sorta like 13 Going on 30, but we’re two people.”
You laugh out loud, and each Loki smiles at it.
"Alright,” you say as you throw your arm over her shoulder, “So where to, gentlemen?”
The alligator at your feet hisses. You jump.
“He says it’s getting late,” translates the younger Loki, “And that we should move, find shelter, and hunker down for the night. And soon. I’d rather spare you ladies from the darker dangers that lurk about when it gets quiet out here.”
And so that’s what you do.
Time is awfully strange in this place — and while maybe the storm clouds overhead hide the sun or the moon from sight, you’re not even entirely sure either are even there. As you trek along, through wreckage and ruin, you find yourself always turning your eyes up to the sky.
The younger Loki seems to have fashioned some sort of anamoly alert system that tracks entry of objects in this realm — and each push and pull of the fabric of time rebounds onto the screen with a general direction of sorts.
Your teenage self seems pretty enarmored with the idea. And the boy behind it.
You find yourself watching the two of them; and the gentle smile that fleets onto your face is not lost on your own half.
As you wade through the tall grass, you pick apart a blade you’ve snagged, and pretend you’re no eavesdropping on their puppy-love laden chatter. You drop your head, hide your smile, and laugh quietly at the younger Loki’s attempts to lightheartedly rib your younger self over something stupid. She battles back with a toothy-smile and a laugh as bright as sunshine.
If he’s honest with himself, Loki finds it rather adorable.
His heart is soft at the sight of these two young souls, and as he ambles up beside you, he remembers the feeling of tumbling headfirst into something like a first crush. It’s lovely, really, and seeing it play out infront of him just reminds him of the woman just within reach.
He’s been in love before. Ever fleeting, always a fast burn.
But this? With you? It’s different.
The God shares a knowing look with you as the two teenagers giggle over something said — and behind you, a capybara and alligator trot along. An odd couple. But, you suppose so are you and Loki. A God and a scientist. It’s... endearing.
Your worlds slow down, if only for a moment. Somewhere, the love drone of a lovesong plays — and you beat it back with a bashful bat of lashes. Loki seems spurred by the sudden shyness that bleeds onto your face, and he chases it.
Ever the suitor, the prince offers up his own blade of grass; and when you meet his eyes with confusion, he urges you with a silent nudge of his chin. So, you take it. And, then, in your palm, the grass springs to life.
This magic is small, infantile, useless — but, by Odin’s beard, he’d do it his whole life if it meant seeing the smile on your face forevermore.
The blade swirls around in your palm, dancing and tumbling in ribbon-like motions. Then, the long blade begins to twist and knot and run around itself, and before you realize it, there’s a flower there in your hand. A blade of grass, contorted in a little daisy.
You smile up at him, and Loki soaks it up; he tries to remember the sight.
You nudge him with your shoulder as you walk, and you tenderling tuck that flower into the breast pocket of your blouse. Safe.
Loki nudges you back, smiling to himself.
Feeling as if... as if that gesture means something more.
And it does.
However, Loki and his reptile-self were very correct about it getting dark fast as you soon learn — and as the meager team of adventurers plod on, it eventually grows dark enough that you can hardly see a few feet infront of you.
It’s each Loki that remedies this problem.
Magic, once more, is gleaned from flicks of the wrist and emerald glows. This time, the lamps and lights procured emit a lighter blue light. You stay close to Loki’s side, tucked neatly against his chest as you both walk.
“I do believe this may be the best we find,” announces the oldest Loki when finally a small little home comes into view, “And let us hope no one else has had the same idea as us.”
As you, your younger self, the youngest Loki, and your mammalian and reptilian friends wait outside, the two older Loki’s move to check the building — only after your Loki hands you his lamp and procures his daggers.
It’s protective. An utterance of worry. You slide him a smile that oozes with recognition of the nature of the gesture — and you watch as the two check the one story home.
It’s sitting alone with little else around it but a dying garden and a single tire-swing hanging from a large, creaking tree. The wind cuts through you and as you shiver, the dead oak lets out a mournful cry. You pull your arms around you tigher, holding up the lamp. The younger two huddle closer.
“Come on,” comes the voice of the older man, “It’s clear.”
You bend to scoop up the capybara and climb the steps into the home.
It’s been gutted. By Alioth or by the habitants of this place beyond time, you’re not entirely sure. Little remains but peeling wallpaper and broken windows and faded places where photos once hung. This home was once lived in and loved in. Now, it’s but a ruin. A has-been, a now-haunt.
It makes you sad.
You gently place the capybara down, mirroring the young Loki with his friendly little gator, and squeeze your teenage self’s shoulder as she nervously meanders in. Loki has set a lamp on the ground in the center of the empty room — and the shadows dance on the walls.
“This is... terrifying.”
“It’s not exactly 89 Emerald Street,” you say as you sweep off some dust from the single table by the far wall, “But it’s only for the night. Settle in and get some rest.”
Loki is behind you. His hands are gentle on your shoulders. You turn and look up at him in the light.
“You should rest as well,” he says so quiet, you're sure you're the only one who hears it's softness. His words urge you on with warmth.
You, however, don't like the idea of sleep. Not with so much swirling in your heart. “What will you do?”
“I’ll take watch,” he breathes, nodding to the older Loki, “I’d rather not be taken by suprise by another band of Lokis, honestly. Not at this time of night.”
You reach and lay your hand over his own. “I’ll join you.”
Loki frowns. “You’re exhausted.”
“I have a lot on my mind,” you whisper gently, “I wouldn’t be able to sleep if I tried.”
Over your shoulder, the rest of them have already begun to settle in. Loki holds your stare for a moment, and then gives in. With a sigh, he drops his hands from his hips and nods.
For now, he opts on settling against the far wall. He can see everyone and the window and the door. Anyone traveling in this dark of night will need a light. He'll see them coming.
You settle down next to him. Your hips touch, and your knees knock. He’s warm, and you’re warm, and neither of you complain about the proximity.
The older Loki, in a chair in the center of the room, he pushed his legs out and crosses them at the ankles.
Then, with his eyes closed, he says one word:
You and Loki blink up at him.
“Her eyes,” he continues, looking up at the cieling. Through the floors there’s a hole. Beyond that, there’s a hole in the roof. In any other place, the stars would wink down. But here, it’s only black. He clears his throat, and closes his eyes once more, “They were brown.”
Loki’s gaze falls.
Yours remains on the older Loki.
“...What was she like?” you ask quietly.
The two teenagers watch on from their reclined positions.
“She was the most breathtaking soul in the entire galaxy,” comes the slow, patient breath as if he’s been waiting to be asked this question for years now; and then, the near smile, and the shake of a head, “She was incompariable. She was as if the stars had handed her their beauty... She loved the stars. We would sit and watch them for hours on Sakaar. But, I could hardly ever take my eyes off of her.”
His voice wavers. It cracks. Your eyes are heavy with sadness.
“I loved her with fiber of my miserable being,” he continues, arms crossed, eyes closed, “And I curse Thanos every with every beat of my heart. Watching her die... half of my soul died that day, too.”
You reach, almost instinctively, for Loki’s hand. You find he was doing the same. Your Loki watches you with a blip of surprise, and runs his thumb across your knuckles. You can’t look away from the man’s grief.
Because you've seen it before.
In that older you, plucking apart a gauntlet in the dark of night, hellbent on finding the other half of her soul once more.
“Without her — I knew,” he finally opens his eyes, “I knew I was nothing without her. She made me better. She gave me purpose. Glorious or otherwise, it mattered not. It was... It was us. And... And so I went on. Alone. I hadn’t realized I’d forgotten the color of her eyes.”
“Brown,” you mutter quietly, squeezing Loki’s hand.
“Brown,” he confirms from across the room, his eyes wet with unfallen tears.
“You have nothing to apologize for, my love,” he mutters, tucking himself into his cape, “I am just grateful I was able to see your face once more.”
And then, a somber quiet melts between the moments. Soon, it’s slipped into a tired quiet, and as you sit there and think, the merry band of mirrored images has fallen into their own forms of sleep. It’s not a restful one, but it will do the trick for now. The light in the center of the room dims with a gentle pull of Loki’s hand through the air.
The shadows make your face look sad.
“Are you alright?” Loki asks quietly after a while, hand still in yours.
You heavy a long, tired sigh. Your voice is a whisper. "I think so. Are you?"
Loki looks down, rolls his jaw, and nods. "I think so."
You inhale. And you nod. You take your hand and his into your lap. “Promise?”
"Well," Loki leans his head back against the wall; his voice is low as to not disturb the others, "Losing you certainly put some things in perspective. But... I found you. And you're here. And that's all that truly matters, isn't it?"
You hum. You lean your own head back, head turned to watch him. "I guess so."
"What about you?" he asks, turning to look at you, "Do you promise you're alright?"
Your eyes flick from his. You sit up. Then, you tilt your head.
"I've just been thinking."
“Penny for your thoughts?” he asks, tilting his head in idle curiousity as you turn his hand over and trace the lines of his palm. The gesture stokes a fire in his gut. He can't remember the last time someone touched him so gently.
You wet your lips. “I suppose I’m thinking about how... I don’t know. It’s like everytime I feel like I’ve finally got my footing in this mess... I get it pulled out from under me. I’m just... scrambling. Trying to... Trying to be okay.”
Loki nods slowly. His eyes flick across your face as he thinks.
You continue. “And — and I think I’m scared.”
His expression is soft. He urges you on with a gentle inquiry. “Of?”
“What happens when we pull back the curtain?” you ask quietly, turning your eyes up to him, “What happens when we find the devil in the details?”
“We kill him,” he answers easily.
“And then...” Loki’s mouth falls closed, realizing... well, he hadn’t really considered beyond that, “I don’t know. I... I don’t.”
“That’s what I’m afriad of,” you stress with the hairline crack in your composure growing, “I mean — what will we even do when it’s all said and done?”
Loki is quiet. He finds he doesn’t like the way this conversation feels. It looms over him — the sort of thing he hasn’t wanted to consider all this time. Will you stay by his side? Will the path this drags you both down allow this love?
“Mobius showed me how I die.”
Loki’s heart, then, feels as if it’s been twisted straight from his chest. His fingers twitch — and he inhales sharply as he pulls his hand away. No, no he doesn’t like this conversation. His own death he can surmise and handle. But, not you. Not his you.
The light in the room flickers out.
It hides his face; and he’s half thankful for it.
“Why would he show you that?” it’s full of hurt.
You’re quiet for a while longer; and when you finally speak, your voice is rough. Quiet. A broken, little whisper in the dark. It bleeds it’s own dark light.
“I saw what happens when I lose you.”
Loki’s eyes slide shut. His nostrils flare. There’s bitterness on his tongue.
“He did it prove something, I think,” your voice shakes, “That... That it’s in our nature to do whatever we can to find one another, to be with one another.”
Loki’s heart hurts. It hammers angrily; is it anger? A sudden flare of anxiety runs through his limbs and his fingertips tingle. The God can’t help but knots his hands together and worry his palms.
“Horribly,” Loki mutters pointedly, “I had the luxury of knowing I’d have you until my end—”
You reach in the dark, once more, and find his hands.
You’re words are slow. Purposeful. Honest.
“I’m beginning to understand it,” you whisper; horribly shy and wonderfully terrified, “How it all falls into place.”
Loki’s mouth snaps shut.
In the dark, he can hardly see your face.
But, he can make out the lines of a smile; he can see the bloom of affection, all for him — beautiful and warm and genuine. It makes him feel like a child again, unexperienced in the ways of true emotional honesty.
“Back at the TVA,” you whisper, leaning against him, “What were you going to tell me?”
The God inhales. He settles back against the wall. This time, it’s he who pulls your hands neatly into his lap. He fiddles with your palm. The touch is doting. Gentle. His fingertip traces the line of your ring finger.
“You told me,” he says slowly, “That we deserve to be happy.”
“We do,” you say, chin falling to his shoulder, “I meant it.”
“I was going to tell you,” Loki mutters shyly, “That you do make me happy.”
Your world stops.
Not in a screeching, horrible way. No. But, it is as if somewhere the crescendo of the sweetest love song you’ve ever heard has begun; that the strings have begun to waltz with the lovely hum of harps. Here, your heart is dipped in honey-sweet promise. You find the words coming from Loki’s lips pluck your heartstrings with terrifying capability. He could kill you with the way he speaks. It’s gentle. Quiet.
“You make me feel... as if I am enough,” he continues as he thinks out every honest syllable, brows pulled tight, “You are far too kind to me.”
"That’s not true,” you say, pressing your nose to his arm as you shake your head, “I’ve been... mean. And I’ve judged you. I’ve — I’ve said things I didn’t mean.”
“My head wasn’t mine,” he says gently, rubbing your knuckles, “It was my father’s critiscm’s. My failure’s. My head belonged to all the things I believed I had to be. But, I’m beginning to understand that... That those things are nothing. Unattainable. And... A-And I don’t want to bring pain and suffering. I want to — I want to feel love. Friendship. Joy. All these things I’d considered so... useless to the very thing I had to possess.”
“Power is a seductive thing,” you mumble, “Its beauty blinds us.”
Loki's stare is strong. He speaks fast. “It holds nothing in comparison to you.”
Your heart stutters once more.
He says it with such conviction — and you swallow down a sudden burn of pure attraction; the sort you’ve been fending off since Lamentis-1. Since he began to grow softer, since he began to be more than just the Loki you knew.
You lift your eyes and your head and find he’s staring.
In the dark, your proximity feels closer. Like it’s only the two of you, breaths apart, talking — the sort of talking that feels like the sort lovers do.
You’d like to kiss him like lover’s do, you realize.
Yes, yes, you would.
"Do you mean that?” you breath as your eyes roam his face.
And then, in the dark, he whispers back.
“With all my heart.”
And though, maybe this isn’t how those beyond the Void wrote your story the first time, it’s just as perfect — it’s just as gentle, and honest, and true. In the dark of the Void, both of your souls have tangled in the inevtiable way.
You kiss him.
It’s awkward and graceless. It’s craned necks and sighs of surprise and tangled fingers — and in the dark, it bleeds gentle and honest and true, just as this love story of yours does.
This place is not sacred, but this? This kiss is. And when finally the God gives way, turning himself to anchor his hands to your face? When he cradles your jaw, when you find yourself halfway in his lap? When he pulls apart, takes a breath, and kisses you once more with all the feeling in the universe?
It’s sacred. Holy. Reverent. Everything you’ve ever wished for — and when he says your name so sweet, so gentle in the space between mingling mouths? You almost break apart; you find your fingers winding into the fabric of his shirt, right over his heart. You anchor yourself.
He presses on; because this moment is one he’s never known to be possible — he’s never known this color of young love; he’s only known the darker parts, the lonelier parts, the lies and the pretending. He’s known urges and falisies and jealousy. This is none of those. This is beautiful.
It’s from the Void, with love.
Your nose bumps his, and finally you pull away to steal a breath; your forehead rests against his — and you bite back a girlish laugh.
Loki can’t help but do the same. It’s quiet, smothered into your cheek as he dots a tender kiss there as well.
“Silvertongue,” you accuse with affection.
His thumb runs along your bottom lip.
“If this is what I gain from sweet, little honest truths?” Loki mutters, “I fear my reputation may be up for scrunity.”
You laugh. It’s ducked into his shoulder.
He promises himself, then, that he will do everything it takes to never forget the color of your eyes.
Summary: Reader works with Sam & Bucky and has a moment alone with Zemo upon their arrival in Riga. Loosely inspired by this song.
Warnings: Kissing, heavy petting, minor TFATWS spoilers.
A/N: As if you couldn’t tell already when it comes to what characters I love to write for, I love a bad boy. This was meant to be a short, sweet fic and then I had to get all existential and invent an entire storyline around these two. I think there’s definitely room here for a multiple parts, if you’re interested. Let me know what you think!
“I’m going for a walk.”
Y/N didn’t argue with Bucky as he walked away stiffly. With anyone else, she would’ve been suspicious, but she knew Bucky well enough to know it was in her best interest to ignore any of his cryptic behavior. At the end of the day, she knew she could trust him.
Zemo’s flat was spacious and beautiful, and she wasn’t surprised by the ostentatious but minimalist decorating. Zemo excused himself into the bathroom to shower and freshen up. Sam eyed him wearily, but didn’t seem too concerned. Y/N sat down on a couch she guessed cost thrice as much as she paid monthly in rent.
“I’m going to grab some grub, want anything?” Sam asked after only a few moments of pacing around the apartment, seemingly checking to see if they were being set up.
Y/N shook her head no, the constant traveling over the past few days hadn’t been great for her appetite.
“Will you keep an eye on him?” Sam said, flicking his eyes in the direction of the bathroom, where she heard the patter of the shower running steadily.
“Of course,” she answered. Zemo had a reputation, she’d seen it herself. But she didn’t know him to the same extent that Bucky and Sam did. So far, he’d only been polite to her so she wasn’t exactly scared or intimidated about any sort of confrontation.
Plus, she was only here as a favor to her friends. She was hardly talented or important enough to be an Avenger. Bucky and Sam knew they could call her if they were in a pinch. And right now, they were definitely in a pinch.
Picking up a book of photography from the coffee table in front of her, she flipped through it absentmindedly, admiring the photos of ornate architecture and crowded city streets before the click of a doorknob caught her attention. Zemo emerged from the bathroom with damp hair in a bathrobe, slinging a towel over his shoulder and immediately making his way towards the kitchen.
Y/N heard the clink of glasses and ice, and she returned her attention to the book. All the traveling was catching up to her, as her eyelids began to feel heavy, and the quiet in the room allowed her body to finally settle.
“Have a drink with me,” she was startled when she realized Zemo was standing over her, a cocktail extended in her direction. Not a question, a command.
“I’m alright, thank you,” she said flatly.
“I have to celebrate.”
Sighing, and abandoning the book altogether she closed it, sitting it on the table and crossing her arms, looking up at him.
“Come on, It’s one drink,” he winked, and pressed the cocktail into her hands. Up close, she felt like she was seeing him for the first time, rather than just another means to an end for one of Bucky’s missions. Zemo was good-looking, there was no doubt there. Tall, Dark hair, handsome enough to turn heads, but not so chiseled to be unapproachable. She guessed he was maybe ten years her senior, and while she thought being locked up for so long might’ve taken a toll on anyone, there was no trace of it in his features.
Taking it reluctantly, but still not entirely sold, she raised an eyebrow as he slowly sat down next to her. “All right, what’s the occasion?” she asked.
He lifted his drink, and she sighed, shifting her weight so she was facing him, meeting his eyes and lifting her cocktail so it was level with his. “To being a free man.”
They clinked glasses and she took a sip, the bite of the liquor concealed by a sweet and smooth aftertaste. Whatever he’d made her, it was good.
“Temporarily,” she added after a moment, watching him take another sip of his drink.
“What?” he asked, turning to face her.
“You’re only a free man temporarily,” she said.
“Touche,” he answered, one arm stretching over the back of the couch, his hand nearly touching her shoulder. He gave her a devilish grin.
A surprising warmth fluttered in her stomach, and she turned away from him to sip her cocktail. She wasn’t ignorant. After all, she was the only woman in the group, she hadn’t missed his lingering glances and once-overs while they were partying in Madripoor. It would’ve been flattering, but she was probably the first woman he’d seen in years.
They sat in silence for a moment as Zemo leaned back to survey the room. She supposed she hadn’t done a good enough job of appreciating it the first time around, high ceilings, natural light, but just enough privacy to feel cozy and inviting. Another steely sip of liquor passed her lips. She hadn’t had a drink in god only knew how long.
“Tell me, doesn’t this work get exhausting?” his smooth, accented voice cut through the quiet. “Traveling all the time, getting beat up, the lack of sleep, or a routine, following orders…”
She shrugged, pondering a moment. “It’s not so bad. Plus, it’s not like I know anything else.” When she glanced over at him, his eyes were fixated intently on her, but he was unreadable. “I know you think I’m a monster, but I’m just doing what’s right.”
“What you think is right,” he corrected, and before she could bite back, finished his thought. “My people, my family. All gone because of what someone with too much power thought was right.” A sadness flickered across his visage, but disappeared as soon as she could register it.
“I’m sorry,” she rasped, earnest.
“And I don’t think you’re a monster,” Zemo said, shifting his weight so he was facing her dead on, tilting his head to the side and studying her. Something about his gaze felt sharp, like he could see through her. “You aren’t entirely sold on all this, I can see it in your eyes.”
His words cut deep, deeper than she was willing to admit to anyone, even herself. But what was normal? And could she ever be? “What makes you think that?”
“How often do you get to be selfish?” he asked. His robe gaped open a little at the top, revealing a dainty silver chain necklace clasped around his neck with a small charm dangling from it, pale skin and a smattering of chest hair. “When was the last time you got to sit down, relax, enjoy yourself?”
Glancing down at the drink in her hand, feeling slightly vulnerable, she felt a smiling playing at the edges of her lips. “I could ask you the same question.”
“I’m enjoying myself right now,” he said, and she raised her eyebrows. “What, can you blame me? Good whiskey, a beautiful woman by my side.”
Her jaw dropped slightly, holding back a smile. Warmth crept like vines up her neck, pooling in her cheeks. “You should be careful,” she warned. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were flirting with me.”
He leaned closer and she could smell the scent of his aftershave, smoke and musk, heat from the shower still radiating off his body. Maybe the whiskey was getting to her. The corners of his mouth turned up ever so slightly as he lifted the drink to meet his lips, pitching his head back to finish off the liquor before discarding the empty glass on the table in front of them.
“Would it be so bad if I was?”
Outside, the sun passed behind a cloud, and the room dimmed ever so slightly, casting shadows that caught along Zemo’s cheekbones, his jawline. The waning light made her all the more aware of how the energy in the room had shifted.
“It’d be unprofessional,” she said, voice low, and he seemed much closer than he’d been before. But he wasn’t the only one closing the gap, she realized she was definitely, inadvertently, meeting him halfway.
“Oh well,” he said, softly. “We wouldn’t want that, would we?” Her eyes adjusted to the light, and up close, he was mesmerizing, deep brown eyes filled with longing. His gaze made her stomach turn, and she knew she should be disgusted but she just couldn’t bring herself to feel anything other than intrigue.
Shaking her head no, she couldn’t find the words to speak. Maybe because she wouldn’t believe any last attempts at protest. Better to save her breath.
The Baron’s hand, cool from the icy glass, rose to cup her cheek, so gentle and tender, his thumb brushing over her bottom lip. Frozen, all she could do was breathe slowly as her heart raced. “Zemo-” she began weakly.
“Helmut,” he corrected. “Call me Helmut.”
Y/N gave no answer, unable to remember what she had been protesting when he leaned forward and pressed his lips against hers.
Goosebumps rose along her arms, ears ringing, as he kissed her. The arm he’d been resting on the couch behind her pulled her closer, and her own free hand rose to his neck, letting him take control.
Her lips parted and his tongue traced her bottom lip, deepening the kiss. He groaned into her mouth, the vibration raising every hair on her body. Oh, she knew it was bad, but she hadn’t felt so desired, so wanted in years. Wandering hands lazily slid down his neck, to his shoulders where her fingers pushed underneath the loose neckline of his robe, palms exploring the broad expanse of his chest.
Her skin tingled, every exposed surface aching to be touched, explored by him, and maybe he could tell as his hand left her jaw to coast down her torso, all the way to hook behind her knee and pull her leg across his lap, an invitation to straddle him that didn’t go unnoticed, but she’d need time to decide whether or not she was willing to go that far.
As for exploring, he wasted no time bringing his hand back up her stomach, to hover lightly over the curve of her breast, squeezing gently as to gauge her reaction, a request to continue, and her breath caught in her mouth, her body instinctively pressing against him. His thumb found the peak of her nipple even through the padding of her bra and thin t-shirt.
Her lips parted from his to let out a breathless moan, and his mouth trailed down her neck as her fingers tangled in his hair. His tongue and teeth passed over a particularly sensitive spot, which he discovered when she let out a strangled gasp, and doubled down, sucking and grazing over and over until she finally couldn’t bare it any longer and she pulled away.
Zemo’s face hovered inches from hers, and she wanted to give him some sort of excuse. That this was wrong, they shouldn’t be doing this, but she took in his equally unfastidious appearance and decided not to waste her words on something so cliche. He looked utterly breathtaking.
He didn’t move away, just smiled gently. “How does it feel...to do the bad thing?” he teased.
Y/N couldn’t help the giggle that passed her lips, feeling lightheaded and giddy. “Not so bad at all,” She should’ve been enraged, she should’ve wretched herself out of his arms, but she was engulfed in his scent and his comforting presence, unwilling to leave. It wasn’t so terrible to be selfish. It was her who closed the gap between them again.
He smiled against her lips, hand returning to hook behind her knee once more, and this time she obliged, shifting her weight so she could straddle his lap and his hands met both sides of her hips as she cupped his face, fingers in his hair on his shoulders, kissing him with unbridled passion.
She could feel his excitement through the fabric of the robe, and knew she was getting carried away, but every nerve in her body smarted for contact. He was impossibly warm and she couldn’t get enough of it. Rolling her hips forward to tease him, he let out a groan and arched upward. “Oh, liebling, I wish we had more time.”
As if on cue, she heard the scratching of the key in the front doorway, and was immediately jolted from her reverie. Before she knew it she was off the couch and halfway across the room, just as Bucky entered, looking perturbed as always.
“Hey,” she said, turning her back to him and pretending to look out the window, voice unsteady. She heard Helmut clear his throat and shift his weight on the couch.
Busying herself in the kitchen, she let the curtain of her hair fall over the side of her face, hiding her clearly flustered appearance, her face was still impossibly warm, her skin sensitive, lips swollen. “How was your walk?”
“Fine,” Bucky said, and she heard him walking towards her as she absentmindedly pretended to wipe down the countertops. When he brushed past her to use the sink she jumped, finally looking him in the eyes. Bucky frowned. “Are you all right?” he asked.
Staring back at him for a moment she nodded. “Yeah, I’m fine, why?”
“You just seem a little jumpy.”
“There was a spider,” the lie came out so easily, so quickly, that she was actually ashamed of it. “It was big and I….I don’t know where it went.”
Bucky snorted, and whether he believed her or not, didn’t respond. “Where’s Sam?” he asked.
“Out getting dinner,” she said, feeling her heart rate begin to turn back to normal. Bucky washed his hands and shook the excess water off in the basin.
“If you don’t mind, I think I’m going to lie down,” she said after a moment. “The jetlag is catching up to me.”
She turned around and left Bucky in the kitchen, returning to the lounge area where Zemo turned to look over his shoulder. “Allow me to show you to the guest bedroom,” he said, an ornery sparkle in his eyes.
“Fine,” she said flatly, wondering what exactly he was planning and just intrigued enough to resist an argument.
The bedroom was just out of Bucky’s earshot, down a short hallway. As she stepped over the threshold to the awaiting large, inviting bed, a hand on her waist halted her in her tracks.
“I’m not finished with you,” she could feel his breath on the back of her neck, the scent of his cologne overwhelming her senses once more. It took a great deal of control to pull herself away from him, as she turned around and grabbed the doorknob, dragging it towards her.
“We’ll see about that,” she said quietly, shutting the door in his face and letting out an exhausted breath. She’d awakened a monster, and now she had no idea what to do about it.
PART II out now!
If you’d like to be tagged in future parts, please let me know!
a/n: ANON I HOPE YOU ACE THAT FINAL. for all your hard work and a little extra luck, here's some... emotions. yet again, this beautiful gif is by @malyeoretsev from this set here, one i have referenced twice now! it's just so good!
[ MASTERPOST ]
The town has been abandoned.
Whole lives have been fled for the promise of safety — and as Sylvie shoulders her way through a locked door, barging into a closed bar, you can't help but feel the eerie creep of fear tingle your neck.
You scratch at the feeling as your expression drags your mouth down into a deep frown.
The watering hole was no doubt a source of life in this mining town — that much is apparent by the bustling, flickering wall of holo-photos at the far end of the bar. Every patron pictured is smiling; some in the embraces of friends, others rejoicing amidst kissed cheeks. There are photos of weathered miners, settled in after a long shift, and bright-eyed kids dreaming of better lives.
It's life. Frozen in time. Far from here.
In the dim quiet, you wander along the wall.
Loki watches the glow bathe your face in purples and blues and pinks. You amble along the wall, expression muddled with sorrow, pain and longing.
He's startled from his staring by his blonde counterpart.
"I'll be outside."
"No," she shirks, burying her hands in her robes as she watches you, "Giving you two time to talk."
Loki opens his mouth to bite back — but, Sylvie has disappeared from his side with a swirl of black fabric. True to her word, she hikes up the front steps, lingers a moment longer with a contemplative breath, and then seeks refuge on the bar's front porch.
With that, Loki is left alone with his thoughts and you.
His lashes flutter as he watches you reach out to touch a hologram of a gaggle of young girls. Electricity kisses your fingertips as soft as a rose petal. In another life, they could easily be your friends. They're laughing.
Loki clears his throat.
Your hand falls.
He watches you square your posture as you sink into closest stool, gaze still rooted to the far wall. To your left, that wall glows on.
Loki is slow as he approaches the end of the bar.
To his surprise, you're the one who speaks first.
"They look... happy."
He inhales through his nose. His hands root themselves in his pockets. Long legs carry him in a tired swagger closer and closer. Green eyes flash critically over your worried hands — something you and him share. He's noticed that. He fiddles with his palm when he's worried; it seems you do the same. Worry, anxiety, fear... All of it.
You and him are not so different, he supposes.
You both say things you don't mean.
"I suppose they were."
"Now it's all gone," you say as you finally look at him, sadness settled deep in your eyes as they roam about the place, "Or, will be."
He isn't quite sure what to say to that. But, in an odd way, he relates. Perhaps you do, too, to never being able to go back to the life you'd had before — to the happiness you'd had before. His life will never be the same either.
His... glorious purpose.
What a joke.
And even still, Asgard will be gone. So, what does he have?
...You. He has you.
Bound by whatever cosmic happenstance decided this, between you two, was worth whatever trouble it caused. At that moment, Loki thinks about the heartbroken stare of the woman in the Stark Lobby, before he'd fled with the Tesseract and dragged you along. You loved him in that life of yours.
Perhaps he wasn't so insufferable then.
...Is he truly the inferior version of himself?
Quiet settles between you.
You deserve the better version of him.
Then, Loki speaks. He knocks his knuckles on the bar.
You're fast to rush out your own words as you screw your eyes shut. and shake your head. "No — no, I... I am. I'm sorry."
"Why?" he asks, brows knotting as he leans back on his heels, "Really — at least you've been honest."
"I haven't been honest," you breathe, closing your eyes, "I've been mean. I didn't mean it. I don't hate you."
"That shouldn't be an excuse. No matter how much I want to go home."
Loki inhales once more, and as he drops to the stool beside you, he exhales. He tries to muscle away the earnest ache of softness that bubbles at your words.
"No, perhaps not," he says slowly as he leans his back against the bar and extends on leg. His other is crooked, foot propped up on the stool's support, "But it's an explanation. After all, I betrayed your trust."
"You did," you say, turning to him with a somber expression, "It hurt my feelings."
"And you reacted in kind," Loki explains, mostly to himself, before his mouth runs dry at the look on your face, "I am sorry."
"...You'll do it again."
"I'm sure I will," he says, eyes roaming across your face, "I can almost promise it."
"Why?" you ask, shaking your head, "Doesn't it get old? The backstabbing, the double-crossing, the lying?"
Loki leans back on his elbows. He wets his lips. He's quiet for a moment or two, and you watch the God's eyes pick apart a far bulletin board by the door.
He doesn't exactly answer. But, you can gather enough clues by his clear diversion. You've struck some sort of nerve.
"Let me see it."
He's talking about your cheek. So, you present it with a slow turn in your stool. It's when his fingers, long and slender, gently grip your cheek that your eyes blow wide with a new sense of interest. He touches you gently, like you're made of porcelain, and like he's trying to fix what he may have broken.
His fingers thrum alive with magic, and your eyes glimmer with emerald light as his thumb passes along the gash — from nose to cheek, the magic follows the trail. It tickles.
His mother taught him this years ago, and though healing magic was a bit more exhausting than the other schools of practice, a part of him feels at peace offering up a part of himself to heal you. Be it energy, soul, or strength, it doesn't matter. It's an olive branch if only he truly knows the weight of it in his hand.
You seem entranced with the act; you watch with big eyes as his hands pull away — and in their wake your own fingers climb your cheeks with sudden confusion at the suddenly absent ache.
It's gone. In it's wake, a fine, thin line run across your skin.
"Did you just—"
"I suppose I should have asked first." His reply is nearly cheeky.
You snatch at his hand. Loki blinks.
He has the hands of a God. Long, dexterous, strong. Lithe and rather beautiful. It fits him — the sort of man who is more rogue than warrior. Daggers do little to callous the hands.
You like them.
"You... it's gone," you say, poking at your cheek again as you turn his hand over in your own — curiosity and amazement have swallowed you entirely, "How?"
"Magic," he says plainly, and his fingers spark with a haze of green once more, "Healing magic, more specifically."
"Hardly," he mutters, suddenly overtaken with boyish bashfulness that spurs him to pluck his hand away and roll his eyes, "It was the first genre of magic my mother taught me. A child could do it."
"It's boring. Totally applicable. There's no showmanship involved."
Your lips quirk. "Right."
He steals a glance your way. You're smiling.
"Stop looking at me like that."
You laugh to yourself and continue feeling along the bridge of your nose. There's nothing there. No scab, no tenderness. Everything is gone. Your face feels warm, but not uncomfortably so.
It makes your eyes feel heavy.
"You ought to rest."
He's standing before you can disagree.
Shrugging his jacket off, he is quick to drop it across your shoulders — an act that reminds you of that day in the library. His fingers squeeze gently. Brief enough that you're not entirely sure it happened. The tenderness is absolved by his humor.
"Try not to snore too loud, bug."
It lacks bite.
You smile into your arm as you rest your chin in your hand. You speak slowly, nestling in at the bar. You turn to watch the faces of the wall flicker in and out.
warnings: angst, manipulation, reader is a Westview hostage controlled by Wanda, etc., 2.5k in length
notes: writing a piece that takes place in the WandaVision universe was such a challenging and fun experience, and I really tried to capture the same dark undertones of the show so I hope you enjoy!
summary: An innocent family dinner with Pietro’s new girlfriend reveals that life in Westview is not what it seems. Uncle Pietro introduces y/n to the family!
Y/n almost feels like she’s being watched as the warm hand of her boyfriend— since when do I have a boyfriend?— carefully guides her trembling figure up the front steps of his sister’s house and rings the doorbell. Her grip on the glass dish of brownies in her hands is so impossibly tight she fears she might just break it, and when the silver haired man swoops down to steal a kiss from her cherry gloss stained lips she can’t help but to feel nauseated. The sickness morphs into guilt immediately, and when he looks down upon her with a gaze so tender and fond she forces herself to bat her eyes and smile at him. What kind of girlfriend is horrible enough to be disgusted by a kiss from her own boyfriend? Something isn’t right here...
“Don’t even sweat it, babe, my little sis is going to love you!” Pietro comforts with an easygoing grin plastered on his features.
“I hope so,” y/n murmurs quietly, nervously chewing at her bottom lip. This is the audition, her one shot at impressing the boss, and if even one tiny minuscule detail is thrown out of place then there goes her new house and fancy wardrobe and y/n is written out of the show. Permanently.
“My girlfriend is such a worrywart,” he laughs fondly with a gentle pinch of her cheek. It’s as if a switch is flipped inside of her, and this time when she smiles at him it is genuine and full of unadulterated love.
“I just want everything to be perfect, I know how much this means to you,” she replies earnestly, too dazed to notice the soft aww that drifts through the air from the audience. Pietro smiles.
“Man, did I luck out on finding the most perfect girl in the world or what?”
“Well us being together certainly isn’t a coincidence,” she notes with a small smile. The uneasiness begins to wash over her again, but y/n isn’t given a chance to dwell on the feeling as the front door swings open and a vibrant looking young woman stands in the doorway, almost beaming at the two with pure glee.
“Thank goodness you made it!” She exclaims, hand delicately resting on her chest to showcase her relief before she pulls the stranger her brother into a hug.
“Like we’d really miss Sunday dinner,” Pietro jokes before pressing a chaste kiss to his sister’s cheek. His hand returns to the small of y/n’s back and the fond smile pulls at his lips again. “Wanda, I’d like to introduce you to a very special little lady, my girlfriend y/n.”
“Oh, she’s very special indeed,” Wanda notes with an overzealous wink, ignoring the way in which the brownie dish begins to tremble in the poor girl’s hands. Just a little stage fright, that’s all. “It’s very nice to meet you, y/n. I’m Wanda.”
“It’s an honor to meet you,” the girl replies earnestly, “Pietro has told me so much about you.”
“Well aren’t you sweet! Please, come in,” Wanda grins, ushering the two inside before shutting the door. “Boys, Uncle Pietro is here!”
“What a lovely place you have,” y/n compliments. Her eyes scan the perfectly decorated home in wonder, awe, and a third thing she can’t quite place for if she dwells on it for too long her head begins to ache and her surroundings begin to grow fuzzy.
“Oh, please, it’s just a little something I threw together,” she jokes, canned laughter echoing distantly in the background of y/n’s mind.
“Uncle Pietro!” Two voices exclaim, and y/n watches curiously as her boyfriend lets out an ecstatic laugh before rushing forward to scoop the twin boys in his arms.
“If it isn’t my favorite little trouble makers!” He grins, making sure to ruffle both heads of hair. “Billy, Tommy, say hi to your aunt y/n.”
“Hi, aunt y/n,” Billy greets politely. Tommy is at her side in an instant, movements so quick y/n can’t help but to let out a startled yelp as he lunges for the dish in her hands.
“Are those brownies?!”
“Tommy, where are your manners?” Wanda chides gently, shaking her head with a laugh and reaching for the pastries. “Boys will be boys. I’ll take these off your hands.”
“Oh, uh, yes, thank you...” y/n murmurs softly, brows stitched together in discomfort.
“You’ll have to excuse my husband’s absence, another late night at the office. You know how it is, don’t you?”
“I can’t say I do.”
“Hmm... Well, make yourself comfortable. Dinner will be ready soon, I’ll just go put these in the kitchen.”
“Oh, do you need any h-“
“No,” Wanda blurts out abruptly, startling everyone in the room. She plasters on a smile, “No thank you. How can I be a good hostess if my guest is doing all the work for me?”
“You’re right, I’m so sorry,” y/n flounders, panic clear amongst her features. “I-I didn’t mean to impose at all.”
“No apologies,” the woman murmurs quietly, a small smile on her lips and an admonitory glimmer in her eyes, “we’re going to have a nice family dinner, and everything is going to be just perfect.”
The tension in the air is suffocating, wrapping itself in a slow growing hold around y/n’s neck. Her eyes begin to water, bottom lip quivering in fear as she looks around the room that suddenly feels too big and too bright. She doesn’t belong here with these people, something is wrong, the man she came here with is not hers, and as Wanda’s figure retreats behind the kitchen door y/n makes a mad dash towards the nearest exit.
“Whoa!” Pietro exclaims with an uneasy laugh, and in a blue flash she suddenly finds herself being scooped up off her feet and tossed back down on the couch in between the apprehensive twins faster than her fried brain can even comprehend. “Not so fast there, missy. Just where do you think you’re going?”
“I... I don’t feel right,” the young woman murmurs, wincing at the uncomfortable dryness of her throat as she swallows. “I want to go home and lie down.”
“Don’t be like that, babe,” he chides with a disappointed frown, “this is my family.”
“But what about my family?” Y/n whispers, tears welling in her eyes as she realizes that whenever she attempts to picture the life she once lived not a single thing comes to mind. “I don’t have a family.”
“This is your family now. We talked about this, remember? We came to Westview to make Wanda happy, and you don’t want to upset her, do you?”
“No,” she replies meekly, shuddering when the calloused pad of his thumb swipes across her warm cheek to remove any evidence of tears. No, I don’t want to make her unhappy, because if I do then I’m written off the show and I don’t know what will happen to me if I am. “I want to spend time with my new family.”
“Atta girl,” Pietro grins as he cups her face with both hands and brings her in for a kiss.
“Yuck!” Tommy exclaims in disgust from beside the couple, and this time y/n can’t help the bubbly laughter that escapes her at the young boy’s antics. Any memory of her previous meltdown is quickly wiped from her mind, and all she can think of now is how utterly grateful she is to be loved by such a wonderful man and be taken in by his wonderful family.
She pulls Pietro in for another kiss and giggles uncontrollably when he responds by tickling her sides, all while Wanda watches carefully from behind the scenes.
“Dream of better lives, the kind which never hate. Trapped in a state of imaginary grace.”
Her voice is quiet and serene as she hums along to the Modern English song playing on the radio, a content smile on her face as she washes the dishes leftover from dinner. It was the least she could do after the lovely evening Wanda had hosted; her sister-in-law had been called upon by the neighbor Agnes for a task that hadn’t quite been specified, so y/n was happy to tidy up while her boyfriend spent quality time with the boys. She couldn’t remember the last time she had felt as happy and content as she did now— she couldn’t remember anything, really— and y/n knew then and there that moving to Westview with Pietro had been the right decision for the family, for his sister and themselves, and for the children, too. Yes, everything was just peachy keen.
The kitchen door swings open and in walks a man y/n has never seen before. He looks just as surprised as she is when their eyes meet, an awkward smile on his red face and the morning paper in his hands, and y/n slowly drops the dish she had been washing back into the sink.
“Hello,” the man greets curtly, “I don’t think we’ve had the pleasure of meeting before.”
“I’m afraid not,” y/n agrees with a bashful smile, quickly removing her rubber gloves so that she may extend her hand towards him for a shake, “I’m y/n, Pietro’s girlfriend.”
“Ah, yes...” he murmurs lowly, cautiously shaking her hand and sizing the woman up and down until she shrinks under his gaze. He means her no harm, but he isn’t sure whether or not she’s part of this cooky little play or just another victim cast under Wanda’s spell. He smiles suddenly, the gesture startling the girl. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, I’m Vision.”
“Oh, yes! Of course. It’s so nice to finally meet you.”
“May I ask where my wife is?” Vision asks.
“She went off to the neighbor’s,” y/n explains before promptly returning to her dish washing. The radio sounds distant and warbled now, the song she had been singing along to now nothing but static and jumbled up syllables, but to Vision’s dismay she doesn’t seem to notice in the slightest.
“How are you enjoying Westview?”
“I’m having the best time. Pietro and I have been talking and we might just have to hunker down in our own little place,” she says with a giggle. “It would be nice to be closer to you all.”
“I must say, having you and Pietro here was quite the surprise.”
“Not a bad one I hope,” she frowns. Vision guiltily refuses to meet her gaze.
“No, not at all. But, might I ask how you two came to be?” Vision asks apprehensively, adding on so that she doesn’t feel cornered, “I’m sure it must be a lovely story.”
“Oh, yes! I remember it like it was yesterday,” y/n swoons dreamily, a fond smile plastered on her face and her gaze casted out towards the living room where Pietro sits playing video games with the boys. She blinks once, twice, eyes never once leaving the silver haired stranger in the couch. A pregnant pause hovers over the two, the porcelain plate trembles in her hands, and Vision watches in silent horror as her eyes begin to well with tears.
“Y/n?” He calls gently, fingertips carefully brushing against her elbow in an attempt to bring her focus back to him. He removes the plate from her iron grip and sets it back carefully in the sink before turning the girl by the shoulders to face him; she still wears that same adoring smile despite the tears that silently fall down her cheeks.
“Forgive me,” she murmurs quietly, “I can’t seem to gather my thoughts properly.”
“Who did this to you? Was it Wanda? Pietro?” Vision press urgently. Y/n sways slightly when he shakes her by the shoulders in a desperate attempt to break her from her trance but still her smile remains.
“Pietro? Oh, he loves me, and I love him.”
“My dear, I don’t think you do,” the man utters sympathetically.
“Of course I do, silly. We were made for each other.”
“Perhaps you were, but not in the way you think. Y/n-“
“Please let go,” she interrupts in a soft, steady voice, looking up at him like a scorned child, “you’re scaring me.”
“If you would just let me,” Vision begins to say, fingertips reaching for her temple in preparation to break her from the spell only to be interrupted by another presence in the room.
“Whoa, what’s going on in here?” Pietro asks with a raised brow and uneasy laugh. “Hey toaster oven, you mind maybe letting go of my girlfriend?”
“Of course, my apologies,” Vision murmurs, stepping away from the girl and allowing her to run into the arms of her boyfriend.
“You okay, babe?” He asks with a raised brow. She isn’t, not in the slightest, but she has a job to do and a role to play, so she merely bats her eyes at him before leaning up and pressing a kiss to his cheek.
“Never been better. Hey, how does dessert sound?”
“I think that sounds lovely,” Wanda chimes, her sudden appearance in the kitchen doorway startling the already present trio. Vision looks like a deer caught in headlights when Wanda saunters over and gifts him with an innocent kiss to the cheek. “Why don’t you and Pietro get the boys settled down while y/n and I prepare the dessert?”
“What a lovely idea, darling,” Vision chimes with an easy smile— y/n isn’t the only one with a role to play. “Come now, dear brother-in-law.”
“Take good care of my girl, little sis,” Pietro calls on his way out. Wanda smiles, her eyes never once leaving y/n’s trembling frame.
“But of course. What is family for? Y/n, be a dear and grab the plates, won’t you?”
“Yes, Wanda,” the girl chimes obediently. She smiles.
“I noticed you seemed a little shaken up just now, is everything alright?” Wanda asks, feigning obliviousness.
“Oh, you know, just some friendly questioning from my new brother-in-law. I’m sure he just wanted to make sure Pietro had found the right match,” she explains with a passive wave of her hand. Wanda hums softly.
“Well we don’t need to worry about that,” she notes. “You’re here for a reason, y/n. Do you know that?”
“For Pietro, and for you,” she replies earnestly, smiling when Wanda takes her hands in her own and gives them a gentle squeeze. “You’ve always wanted a big family, a real family, one that would never turn its back on you or leave you behind ever again. You want a sister and nieces and nephews and love, and I’m here because I can do all of that and more for you.”
“Exactly right. Family is forever, y/n. Are you ready for the commitment that comes with being a Maximoff?”
“I’ve never been more ready,” y/n responds eagerly. Wanda smiles.
“I’m so relieved you said that,” she utters gently, pulling y/n in for a hug so that she may not see the way in which her eyes begin to glow red and waves of energy begin to emit from her fingertips as she carefully settles herself fully into the girl’s mind. She fills her head with thoughts of Pietro and family, with memories she’s never lived and feelings she’s never had, she fills her with love, and y/n is none the wiser.
“Congratulations, y/n,” Wanda utters quietly, comfortingly stroking the girl’s hair, “you’re a Maximoff now.”
a/n: you're all going to hate me i am so sorry, but the saga continues with these two and sylvie. happy pride month, thank u kate herron, here's some dynamics between loki + doc, and sylvie + doc but those are sad because she misses her version of the reader. as always, the beautiful gif for this chapter can be found here by @kamalaskhans!
[ MASTERPOST ]
Up until this point, you’ve been in one fight your entire life.
You remember it pretty vividly. Third grade, after lunch, it was almost June and you'd spent the whole year being tortured by that girl Jenny Gordon. You were everything she wasn't — and maybe that's why, when she'd pushed you off the swing, thrown your library copy of Our Solar System into the dirt and called you nerd girl, you'd swung like your life depended on it.
You clocked her good. Dad was proud.
Mom not so much — but the next two weeks you spent in the guidance counselor's office during recess gave you plenty of time to finish that book and start a handful of others. A win-win, really, because Jenny Gordon never dared call you mean names to your face again.
The fight in Roxxcart didn't really count, you guess.
This, though, his definitely counts.
As your back slams into the tile floor just outside the elevators, you wonder absently how they made it look so effortless in the movies.
The woman above you, as she dodges Loki's blows, offers an apologetic groan when the God catches her arm and twists it backwards. Her hair has gone wild, black and blonde curls hanging over her gilded horn circlet.
You kick at her feet, knocking her flat to the floor. Through gritted teeth, you haul yourself upwards. "Don't call me that—"
"I thought perhaps we could work together—" calls Loki, huffing as he ducks a kick from the downed Variant.
"Will you quit it with that?!" Your anger spikes and you shove him roughly by the shoulders in a moment of calm — only to be yanked backwards by your collar by the blonde woman behind you. "Ow!"
As you bounce off the elevator doors, she plants her boot on the center of Loki's chest and sends him staggering.
"Now I'm seeing the two of you simply lack vision!"
You try to catch your breath, shoved once more out of the way by the Variant as she rolls her eyes at Loki — but the God isn't finished. No, he lunges. "So either you'll come willingly—"
The Variant groans and swings her blade at him in a large arch.
But, she doesn't catch his flesh.
All you feel, for a moment, is white hot pain.
You cry out from your knees — and immediately the two flash their eyes to you, pulling bloodied fingers from the nasty gash running along your cheek; and while mortification seems to set into the woman's eyes, Loki's ignite with anger. He grapples with her quickly, swearing as he does, and you groan bitterly as the two tangle one another in a sparring match.
"Don't touch her—"
Suddenly, there's yet another knife to your throat. Loki, too, suffers the same fate.
The batons in the hands of the Judge and her two Hunters hum alive — like electricity, you feel the hairs on your arms lift. It's terrifying.
"Come any closer and I'll kill them."
"Go for it."
You snap your eyes to Loki, he snaps them to you, and then in one swift move, he grabs the TemPad and sends the three of your tumbling through the warbling, confusing, spin of space and time.
You've come to settle on the fact you hate using Time Doors.
Upside down, right-side up, whatever. It doesn't matter. It feels like being pulled through a vacuum chamber on a corkscrew rollercoaster. It's vertigo inducing, and no matter how many times you've used them in the last handful of days, you can't get used to it.
You land hard on top of Loki as your head spins — you groan as his elbow digs roughly into your ribs and you try to roll off of him, only to slide off whatever makeshift mattress the three of you had even landed on.
You pull your eyes open wearily, fight off the might need to vomit, and dig your fingers into... sand?
You snap up, spotting the blonde Variant crawling over Loki as you scramble on the ground to grab the device — only for her hand to latch itself on your leg as she drags you back. You yelp, screeching angrily as she unceremoniously throws herself over you and sends your bloodied face careening into the sand. You sputter, spitting out flakes of obsidian colored particles, as Loki then crawls over you.
His height is an advantage, but ow!
"Get off my leg!"
"You're crushing me—" you scream as the God snags the TemPad.
His victory is short lived.
The Variant unceremoniously bounces Loki's face off a metal chair operating as a bedside table. The God moans, TemPad flying from his hands, and you reason the two of you look pretty pitiful laying there groaning in the dirt.
"You're outta juice!"
Loki huffs. You moan as you push yourself up, bitter anger set into your features.
"It's not working...?"
The God pulls himself up, dodging a swing of the Variant's blade in an emerald shimmer of magic. You're thankful he throws her backwards; she tumbles with a sound of pain into a storage shelf in the far corner of the room. Crawling, you snatch up the TemPad. Above you, Loki offers a hand.
You take it with a genuine look of thanks.
Loki looks over your cheek quickly, worry eased when he notices it's not terribly deep. And it's missed your eye. All good things.
You stand up, coming face to face with the Variant.
Sylvie knows that look. She doesn't say it — but she knows you're angry. Pissed. Beyond fucking mad. She doesn't really blame you, honestly. Your cheek has stopped bleeding for the meantime, but the gash there runs laterally across your cheek, right under your eye.
Guilt washes over her.
She tries to hide it.
"Give it to me."
"What're you going to do, stab me?" you snap back, stepping forward.
Loki, though, steps up and drags you back to him by your collar. He squeezes your shoulders and you pointedly ignore him — you're still mentally skewering the Variant across the room from you.
"Let's not wish things upon ourselves, yes?"
"Don't even start," you bite his way, "King of Schemes himself—"
"You don't even know how to charge it—"
"I'm sure I can figure it out!" you wave it in the air before shoving it roughly into Loki's chest, "Or he can with his fun little magic tricks. I don't know, lady, you're not the only tech-savvy Variant around here."
Her lip curls into a snarl.
Loki's expression is... well. He hasn't exactly seen you this mad ever. No, no, this is new. Very new. You're seething — and the God shares a tentatively terrified look with the Variant.
Then, she lunges for the TemPad.
It disappears from Loki's hands with yet another dissipating wave of green magic. You smirk.
"Would you look at that."
"So he's just fully a magician, then?" she snarls as she circles the both of you; you mimic her movements, "That's cute."
"For my next trick," Loki offers up with an angry hiss, clearly offended at the remark, "I'll make you disappear."
But, before the Variant can brandish her blade, something pierces through the roof and lands right in the center of the three of you.
You have to think there's something ironic about the second fight of your life being interrupted by a literal meteor when the first one had started over a book on them — but, right now you're a little too busy staring confusedly at the smoldering hole in the ground to parse the existential meaning of it all.
Loki is quick to grab your arm, pulling you backwards and towards his chest — a gesture you're not exactly happy about because you aren't exactly happy with him. You yank your arm away as you try to catch your breath.
"Is that one of your powers?"
"Where did you send us?"
Turns out —
"You idiot! This is Lamentis-1!"
You stumble out into the world behind Loki, eyes wild as they turn to the sky. Sure enough, you remember reading about this apocalypse. Yeah, you remember because it was particularly terrifying. The whole moon collides with the planet and... well, like all the ones you read about, there are no survivors. Zero, zilch, nada.
More purple than you realized, though.
Purple, and bad. Very bad.
"Loki!" you shriek in disbelief, pulling at your hair, "Really?!"
"I don't know what that even means!"
Then, impact of a larger meteor sends the three of you scrambling. You cough, waving away more dark purple dust as the Variant moves to grab your arm and tug you away from the coming storm of raining debris. She grips your hand tightly.
"It's the moon that planet is about to crash into and destroy!"
As you run, you rip your fingers from her grip.
"Will you two stop grabbing at me!"
A meteor lands at your feet, sending you tripping backwards. Loki catches you, urging you forward once more.
"Of all the apocalypses saved on that TemPad, this is the worst! No one makes it off here!"
Another meteor, another skidding stop that sends you landing on your ass as you try to get purchase in the dirt. Both of them reach for you, hauling you up.
"I'm sorry, madam, I didn't exactly have time to scan the brochure—"
"I did!" you declare with a shrill cry, "I remember it really well—"
You let out a loud, scream of a groan as you follow the woman's lead through the open field — then break into a sprint towards cover beneath some sort of mining vehicle.
She lands beside you, and Loki follows. He skids beside you, chest pressed to your back.
He gasps, ducking out of reflex as another meteor lands close. His hand lifts, shielding your head from the scattering of debris.
You swat it away.
He groans. "I thought you wanted us both dead—"
"I don't know where he hid that TemPad," she huffs, eyes scanning the chaotic scene across the horizon as she tries to catch her breath, "But if he blows up, it blows up and then we end up blown up!"
Another impact startles a sharp yelp out of you as you duck beneath your own hands; but the Variant quickly ushers you up as she points to a shack across the mining field.
It's your best bet — and you're the first to throw yourself begrudgingly from the cover to race towards the shack.
"So we're a team now?"
"Oh, God no!"
"Can we just survive this first?!" you grunt.
You figure you've probably never run faster in your life. Arms pumping and legs burning, you inhale a sound of surprise as you skid once more around an impact — you pick yourself right back up, though, determined to weave through the raining meteor shower.
You trip, then, a hundred feet or so from the shack; and the blonde is fast to usher you up and onward — Loki overtakes both of you as the Variant snarls at him; screaming something about how she didn't need his help anyways!
"You're so weird!"
Loki is fast to unlock the door to the shack — and you throw yourself through the door with a pant of exhaustion. You collide with the machinery through the door and stop yourself. The other two follow, and the large iron door swings shut with an painfully loud clang as the meteor shower begins to let up around you.
You pant, hands on your waist, as Loki stalks by you towards the opposite end of the shack. You watch him catch his breath, then drop your head. You lean back against the machinery, plant your hands on the edge, and close your eyes.
In, out. In, out.
The sound of the meteors makes it hard to calm down.
After all, it is the end of the world.
...No, no, don't think about that.
In — out?
There are hands on your face. Two of them. Warm. Gentle.
You peel your eyes open fast only to have your breath stolen by the proximity of the woman standing before you; her exhales fans across your face, and you catch her cold, blue eyes slip along your expression.
Then, a tingle begins at the base of you neck as her fingers slip across your jaw.
You're just... itchy.
"Can I help you...?"
"I don't know, can you?" it's low. Like velvet.
"Are you trying to enchant her?"
Suddenly, the Variant steps back sharply, hands falling. Her then soft expression hardens and you move to itch the spot along your neck with a furiously violated look.
Sylvie doesn't really know what she was expecting. Her expression falls flat. She throws her hands. "I'm sorry—"
"Don't touch her again—"
And now the daggers. And then the blade. And now the two of them are back at one another's throats.
Irritated, you step between the two Lokis.
"Can you two stop for a minute?" you huff, throwing your hands, "Seriously — the world is ending around us and this is what we do? WWE Fight Night in an abandoned mining shack?"
"What do you propose instead?" the blonde snaps venomously.
"I dunno, a truce?" cries out Loki, throwing his arms to the side.
The Variant scoffs and tosses her head to the side in disbelief. You continue to scratch at your neck.
"Listen, none of us are getting off this rock if we can't turn that TemPad on," says Loki.
"Where do you have it hidden?!" she snarls, raising her blade. You press a hand to the top of it, urging it down away from you. You give her a look.
Loki dramatically whines back at her. "In my heart."
"Then I'll cut it out."
"Nice. Very droll. Lovely."
"God, this is the worst week of my life," you say as you throw your hands and turn in a circle; you plant your hands on the machine and drop your head once more, "There's two of you. Two."
"Do not talk to me about rude," you rear up in Loki's face, "We talked about the scheming — to think I genuinely believed you were past that!"
"It's in my nature—"
Sylvie watches, eyes wide.
You corner the God in the mining shack. "What happened to all that talk about being disillusioned, huh? Those ridiculous expectations? Did none of that actually matter?"
Loki gawks. You're referencing your conversation from the cafeteria. He moves to open his mouth but you're already cutting him off.
"You say all those things, then you turn around and vie for a throne again — if she had said yes, would you have crossed Mobius? Me?"
"I'm sorry, I don't need your approval—"
"You've never had it!" you shriek as you throw your hands, "I hate you! I have only wanted to go home this entire time a-and now I'm here, with two liars trying not to get vaporized by a planet!"
The meteor shower has stopped.
I hate you.
Then, your lip wobbles. Loki's heart clenches.
She hates you.
You can see it, can't you?
She hates you just like everyone else.
You're a scourge.
Sylvie's mouth parts.
She has no words, though. Her own heartaches at the sight of you sniffling angrily as you try and shove away the tears welling up on your cheeks.
Loki's expression, as he stands there looming over you, rolls through a number of emotions — hurt, though, is the most potent one. It flickers in his eyes as he grits his jaw, flares his nostrils and jams his hands in his pockets.
You try to catch your breath. You sniffle roughly.
You can see the hurt.
"Well, then we'll do as her highness wishes," he says sharply as he leers at you purely out of reaction, the ache of rejection and anger permeating his words, "And we'll get her home — back to her quaint little planet with her quaint little friends! Oo, look! The Avengers!"
Your tears continue to roll.
It's Sylvie who interrupts the pissing match.
"We're not going anywhere if we can't get that TemPad charged."
Outside, an explosion rumbles in the distance.
Your eyes find the ground, then you reach for the door.
Summary: you can’t stop imagining yourself on Bucky’s thighs...
Warnings: smut (18+), thigh riding, praising kink, cursing and somehow it got a little bit angsty at the end
Word count: ~1,2k
A/N: english is not my native language so I apologise for my mistakes and lack of vocabulary, I’m still learning
It’s not that you don’t want to stop. It’s that you can’t stop. Everytime Bucky walks into the room or just walks by, your eyes automatically falls onto his thighs and you find yourself imagining what it’s like to ride them.
What you didn’t know is that he noticed your strange behaviour but it took some time to understand what was going on.
Then he started noticing it all. The way your eyes immediately fall onto his lap when he’s near you. The way you start crossing and uncrossing your legs. Biting your lip. Sometimes you even drift off deep in your thoughts that someone needs to call you twice to get your attention.
And Bucky noticed every single thing.
You were tossing and turning in your bed, trying to fall asleep but after another half hour, you decided that there’s no use, so you got up and quietly left your room, going to the living room.
You sat down on the couch with just in your oversized shirt and panties, not caring because everyone is asleep anyways. You turned on the tv, trying to find something interesting but after what feels like endless searching you settled down with some kind of romantic movie.
“hey, y/n” you heard a familiar voice and shot your head to look at him. Bucky had a small smile on his face. “what are you doing?”
“oh I’m just watching a movie, why aren’t you asleep?”
“I guess the same reason as you, can’t sleep” he chuckled. “mind if I join?” he asked gesturing to the spot next to you.
“no please do, I feel lonely sitting here alone” you laughed at how desperate you sound.
Bucky plopped down on the couch next to you. Even tho the couch was big enough to fit about four people, he was right next to you, his arm was touching your shoulder and you could feel the warmth radiating from him which was very comforting.
“is everything okay?” you questioned looking at his face.
“yeah, just a little nightmare” he shrugged and spread his legs a little bit, making himself more comfortable.
You looked down where your bare leg touched his and gulped. You’re trying your hardest to resist the urge to touch his thigh. The image of you grinding on it popped up in your head had you thinking how good it would feel.
“you think I didn’t notice?” his voice startled you as he pulled you out of your unholy thoughts and your head shot back to look at him.
“notice what?” you asked as your voice shaked a little bit.
He didn’t answer and you yelped in surprise when you felt his hands on your waist as he lifted you up and with one swift movement you were straddling his thigh. Your breath hitched in the back of your throat and you stared at him with wide eyes. Your clothed area was pressing on his jeans that were perfectly covering his legs. He leaned in and for a second you thought he was going to kiss you but he went past your lips and his hot breath touched your ear making you shiver.
“the way you stare at my thighs all the time clenching yours at the same time. I know what’s going on in that little head of yours” his voice was deep and raspy and that didn’t help you from heating up down there. “I can’t feel how hot you’re getting” suddenly he flexed his muscles and you left a low moan and this just made him chuckle. “you want to ride my thigh, doll? Is that it?”
You didn’t trust your voice so you just nodded eagerly but that didn’t satisfy him. “use your voice, baby” he growled.
“yes yes, Bucky please. Please...” you were as surprised as him when you started begging. You can’t process what’s happening right now but you’re definitely okay with it. Your words only turned him on more. His metal fingers hooked onto your panties and quick enough they were ripped apart and tossed on the side of the couch.
Finally his lips touched yours as he kissed you softly tongue dragging across your bottom lip asking for entry which you let him. He placed his hands on your hips squeezing it. “go ahead baby, ride my thigh” he murmured into your lips.
You began to move against the fabric of his jeans and thanked him in your mind for wearing them. He bounced his thigh and you had to bit your lip to not moan loudly.
“jesus, you have no idea how much I want to hear your little moans right now” he groaned and cupped your cheek with his flesh hand, slowly dragging his thumb through your lips. “but I also want to be the only one who could hear it so you’ll have to stay as quiet as you can, okay baby?”
“mhm” you breathed out as you looked in his eyes, letting yourself get lost in them for a moment. "fuck" you moaned gripping his shirt.
“you’re doing great” he muttered and bit his lip watching you fall apart on his thigh. “if you keep looking at me like that I’m gonna cum in my pants” he gulped. Your pupils were dilated, lips red and swollen from biting it too hard. A view sent straight from heaven.
With the help of his hands on your hips you started moving faster as you kept hitting the right spot. You gripped his shirt even harder and he started bouncing his thigh again. “shit shit shit” you groaned as you felt yourself getting close. “fuck, Bucky” the way his name rolled out of your mouth with a moan took his breath away. He grabbed you by the back of the neck and pulled you into a kiss, this time it was more aggressive and needy.
“I’m close” you pulled your lips away for a moment to mumble out the words.
“come on baby, cum for me” he encouraged you and touched his lips with yours. “you look so good riding my thigh, princess. I could do this every day” he purred and softly bit your bottom lip. You left go of his shirt and cupped his cheeks with both of your hands, once again pulling him into a heated kiss as you felt a wave of pleasure hitting all over your body. You moaned into his mouth while Bucky moved his hands higher and wrapped them around your waist pulling you closer to him. You pulled your lips away after a few seconds and rested your forehead against his, trying to catch your breath.
“this was amazing” you murmured.
“just like you expected?” he nudged.
You scrunched your nose at him playfully. “oh you fucker. It was better than I expected but don’t flatter yourself too much”
“you’re so adorable” he kissed the top of your nose and smiled.
You giggled at his actions and tried to pull away but his grip tightened around you and you saw a glimpse of fear? worry?
“please don’t go, I don’t want to let go” his voice shaked a little bit and your heart clenched at the sound.
“Bucky...” your hands were on his cheeks again, stroking them softly. “I’m not going anywhere” you kissed the top of his nose just like he did to you. “let’s go to my room, yeah?” you gave him an encouraging smile.
He nodded and stood up, still not letting you go. He held you with one hand while he turned off the tv, that you just now realised was still on, grabbed your torn panties to clean out the evidence and carried you to your room with the biggest smile on his face while your hearts were beating faster than usual.