you write loki so well i am not completely convinced you AREN'T mr. hiddleston himself
FROM THE VOID, WITH LOVE | the cartharsis of venus
summary: petal-mouthed promises and mingling breath. whispers in the dark. there’s something romantic about the never ending void, isn’t there?
pairing: loki / f!reader, referenced & implied sylvie / f!reader
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.
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#1 for imagine with dads!best friend 😉
So y/n has a crush on her dads best friend, because he’s this big beefy man with charm that makes all the ladies swoon. He’s all she can think about when she is laying there awake at night.
It’s her graduation (or some event) and her dad throws a celebration. Bucky is invited and she’s excited to see him until he shows up at their house with a random woman hanging off his arm. She’s jealous and realizes he’s never going to like her the way she would wants and sneaks off to her room to be alone, until Bucky finds her and they are alone
The Graduation Party
@littlecanadianlani was kind enough to send me over some (immaculate) Dad’s Best Friend! Bucky ideas and I’m so obsessed I think I’ll make them a series of one-shots so I can keep up with my requests at the same time!! Each piece will be a standalone fic rather than a chapter but I’m super excited about this!! 🥰 #2 is also out now! Read it here
I went for a graduation party since I didn’t really get one yet 😅
Pairing: Dad’s Best Friend!Bucky Barnes x Reader
Word Count: 4.3K
Summary: Your parents throw you a graduation party but things take a turn when Bucky turns up with a new girlfriend
Warnings: Smut, oral sex (m and f receiving), vaginal sex, fingering, huge age gap (Bucky is maybe around 40, reader is 21), lil angst perhaps? Fluff, multiple orgasms, unprotected sex (behave yourselves pls), dirty talk, praise kink, degradation, pet names, coercion (but in the sense that Bucky knows he shouldn’t want his best friend’s daughter. All parties are enthusiastically participating), humping, riding, dumbification
Minors, do not interact
You weren’t sure there was a man more intimidatingly handsome than your dad’s college best friend and he knew it. If tall, dark and handsome was a person, it would be Bucky Barnes with his piercing blue eyes and soft, flushed, pink lips.
He was the definition of a bachelor. Unmarried, no kids, seemingly endless disposable income and from what your dad had told you, a new woman every week. And why shouldn’t he? Married life just didn’t seem to be his thing, settling down might never happen for Bucky and there was nothing wrong with that.
Plus the fact he hadn’t settled had kept your little crush alive. You couldn’t help wondering what it was like to be with a man like Bucky. A man with experience, a man who knew how to actually make love to a woman, rather just offer five minutes of painfully inadequate sex before rolling over and falling asleep, leaving you frustrated and unsatisfied.
It was terrible to admit but countless nights had passed with your hands delving between your thighs, a shiver running over your flushed skin as you imagined how his gruff little groans would sound when you offered yourself up to him. How it would feel to have him slipping into your tight heat until you weren’t sure where his body ended and yours began.
But your little fantasy was all crumbling down around you now, at your own graduation party no less. Bucky had just arrived with a girlfriend. You couldn’t have seen it coming, a tall, beautiful woman hanging off his arm as his dad introduced himself to her.
You couldn’t believe how jealous you were. You were only carrying a school girl crush after all, plain and simple infatuation, it was nothing serious but God, your chest had tightened with discontent seeing how he smiled at her, introducing her to the other guests at your garden party until those charming eyes locked with yours.
“Oh sugar, congratulations on the results! You did amazing!” He beamed proudly, crossing the whole garden to wrap you up in the tightest hug. His body felt huge and comforting, smelling fresh and woodsy and God it would be so easy to get lost in it, lost in him.
“Thank you Bucky!” You couldn’t help the tinge of heat burning in your cheeks as you pulled away.
“Oh angel, you make me feel so old. Can’t believe you’ve graduated college now! You’re so beautiful too, you’re all grown up! But hey, this is Sarah, she’s been dying to meet you!” Bucky grinned, his words making you tingle with longing right up until Sarah was thrust in front of you, your arms wrapping around her before you had a chance to stop yourself.
“It’s so nice to meet you honey, Bucky’s been gushing about how proud he is of you!” Sarah was so lovely. That was even worse. Never mind the fact she was pretty, she was painfully sweet.
“It’s nice to meet you too! Bucky hadn’t mentioned you before. How long have you two been… um…” you questioned softly, not really knowing their situation
“Dating? A few weeks now. No needa be shy honey, I don’t mind answerin’ your questions.” Bucky’s confident smirk made your stomach churn. The whole time you’d known Bucky, he’d never been this open about being in a relationship. In fact, Sarah was the first actual girlfriend you knew of. You could feel your smile faltering, your little crush being dashed before your eyes.
“Oh shit, we should go say hi to your mom, talk to you later okay?” Bucky grinned, gently lifting Sarah’s hand in his own once more and heading off to find your mother.
You needed to get away. You needed to get out of the crowd before the angry, frustrated tears that were prickling your eyes spilled over. It was stupid, childish and you knew that but it didn’t make it any easier, knowing you’d never compare to this beautiful woman in Bucky’s eyes. No one stopped you as you made your way to your room, the wooden door slamming behind you while you flopped onto the bed, face buried in the pillow.
You had no idea how long had passed before you heard the door creak open again.
“Baby, you in here?” The familiar voice sent longing straight through you, the sickly feeling nestling in your chest. At the sound of Bucky, you pulled your head up out of the pillow, thankful you had managed not to cry.
Bucky looked so damn concerned.
“Oh sweetheart, what’s wrong?” He questioned softly, sitting down on the edge of the bed, face flooded with worry.
“Nothin’ Bucky, just didn’t feel great. Where’s Sarah?” You asked, running a hand through your hair, the hem of your little sundress ghosting the top of your knees.
“Oh she went home.” Bucky laughed, the low chuckle erupting from his throat.
“What’s so funny?” You quizzed gently, watching his expression as he turned to look at you.
“Say nothin’ okay? Your dad and I made a bet a few years ago. Bet me fifty bucks that I wouldn’t have a girlfriend by the time you were graduating. Sarah’s my neighbour, she volunteered to play along when I was tellin’ her bout you last week.” Bucky’s admission made your heart swell for so many reasons. He wasn’t settling down. Sarah wasn’t his, he wasn’t taken and fuck, he told his neighbour about you?
“Oh…. So you’re not… Dating?” Damn your curiosity, the words tumbling out of your mouth before you had considered how they would sound.
“Not dating anyone, sugar. Why? Ya getting jealous of Sarah?” He teased, working out that he was spot on when you couldn’t meet his gaze. You were jealous of Sarah. You did want to be her. You could feel how your cheeks were burning ferociously, the room suddenly far too hot despite the evening breeze drifting in the open window.
“Oh angel, don’t tell me a delicate, innocent little thing like you wants someone like me.” His words made you impossibly hotter, your skin only getting hotter under his intense gaze.
“If I didn’t know better honey, I’d think you were jealous of Sarah. You wanna be my girl, huh? I’d only ruin you princess. Don’t wanna do that, wouldn’t be right.” Bucky could hardly contain himself. Your blush gave you away entirely. You did want him. You wanted to be ruined, pinned to the bed and fucked until you couldn’t cum anymore but he needed you to admit it. Needed to hear it out loud before he could give in.
“Tell me you want it angel. Tell me you wanna be treated right. Tell me how bad that little pussy needs a real man to take care of it.” Fuck, how had his voice dropped an entire octave? It was coming out as more of a low rumble, sexy and deep and delicious. The heat on your skin danced it’s way to your core, nestling in your tummy in a way that made your insides squirm.
“Fuck Bucky, I need it. Need you to t-treat me right.” You couldn’t even consider that he might be messing with you, so highly strung from need that it couldn’t even be a possibility. No, you needed this too badly now. Your fingers just wouldn’t compare to what you knew Bucky could offer.
“Fuck this is so wrong.” He hissed, hands fisting your bedsheets to hold himself back.
“Oh Buck, just once?” You suggested quietly, setting a hand on his clothed thigh. His eyes scrunched tightly shut at the contact, willing himself not to look. Not to feel you touching him. Your hand looked so tiny on his leg and you just wished he would open his eyes to see it.
“Careful angel, you don’t wanna do this.” He couldn’t bear to look at you. He couldn’t let himself. He knew that when the dam inside him broke, there would be no going back.
“Oh but I do Bucky. Wanted to do this for years.” His resolve was weakening, huge frame almost trembling at the thought of being buried so deep in your tight little body.
“Baby, it’s so wrong.” He was losing it as your fingertips trailed higher up his thigh. He could tell you had shifted closer without having to look at you, your breath tickling his neck from how close you were. He could smell your shampoo and your perfume but most of all, he could feel your confidence that was now seeping out of every pore, clearly emboldened by seeing the effect you were having on him and fuck, did he find it sexy.
“You know what’s ‘wrong’ Buck? How long it’s been since a man fucked me right. Bet you could change that though, couldn’t you? Bet you could make me feel so good. Two of my little fingers just don’t fill me the way I know you could. Such a tight squeeze, you have no idea. So warm and wet Buck, bet even you would struggle to last.” Where in the hell was all this confidence coming from? Half of you didn’t even care and after hearing the growl that came from Bucky, you knew he was loving it as much as you were.
“Oh fuck honey, you can’t say shit like that. Can’t fuckin’ handle it. Makes me wonder how filthy that little mouth can get.” His breathing was heavy and irregular, leaning into your lips on his neck, eyes still squeezed firmly shut.
“You wanna find out Buck? Wanna find out how good my mouth can make you feel?” Fuck he had lost it. The band inside him snapped, grabbing you by your thighs to pull you messily onto his lap, lips on yours in an instant. There was no finesse or practice to it, just two people, consumed by need, trying to relieve some tension but finding that making out had the exact opposite effect. You were both only becoming needier. Huge hands wandered over your body, the kiss becoming fiercer and more intense, fingers gripping hungrily at any exposed skin either of you could reach.
“Jesus, oh Bucky.” The little cry had slipped from your lips, muffled by Bucky’s own lips on yours.
“Oh god angel, we shouldn’t be doin’ this.” Bucky hissed quietly, removing his shirt nonetheless. He was so keen he could hardly keep up with himself but his head still told him he shouldn’t want this as much as he did.
“Do you wanna stop? Too old to keep up with me?” You teased him with a flirtatious roll of your hips over his crotch and you could’ve swore you heard an actual growl leave his throat.
“Was thinkin’ for your sake angel. Don’t think you’ll handle what I’m gonna make you feel. You won’t want anyone but me to touch you ever again. You ready for that honey? For your own fingers to not be able to give you the same relief I can?” God it all sounded so appealing falling from his mouth, his tone laced with nothing but sex.
The mewl that left your body was borderline embarrassing, Bucky gripping the hem of your dress and pulling it over your head in one swift motion. He hadn’t expected that one action to leave you bare in front of him. He could feel his mouth hanging open, drinking in the sight of you in his lap. The swell of your breasts, the curve of your hips, the endless expanse of soft skin, begging to be kissed and held and loved before you pressed your lips hungrily to his, ridding him of his jeans as quickly as possible.
“You’re fuckin’. Beautiful.” Bucky could only gasp the words out between kisses, both his hands charting a path up your naked body after you slotted comfortably onto his lap again. The skin on skin felt incredible, not to mention his cock lying between his legs, heavy and thick and begging for attention.
“Wanna be selfish for a second Buck.” You whispered, pushing him back flat on the bed. You couldn’t help yourself, reaching between your bodies, pressing his thick cock flush with his tummy before spreading your slick folds, setting yourself down on his bare dick. A strangled cry left the large man as you rocked yourself back and forth, spreading your wetness over him. Your clit dragged over his sensitive head, pulling a groan from both of you. His fingers dug into your hips, guiding your movements and fuck, you looked like a goddess above him, breathy sighs slipping from you, using his body for your own pleasure.
There was something about it, seeing you so bold and confident, taking what you needed from him that made him even harder.
“Oh God Bucky.” You whined, pressing yourself down harder ever so slightly.
“That’s it angel, keep goin’. Fuck you’re just gettin’ wetter. You look so pretty and dumb like this, ruttin’ on my cock. That smart little brain just turned to mush now you’ve got a nice big cock to play with? All that education but your pretty little head just stops workin’ when you needa cum, is that it?” You didn’t expect Bucky to be so vulgar in bed, especially not with you but you were loving it.
“Fuck you feel so good.” You gasped, taking in his lazy smirk as you worked yourself on him.
“Think you could cum like this honey? Or do you wanna come sit on my face for me?” His words pulled a gasp from you because yes, you really did want to sit on his face. How could you refuse an offer like that?
So you shuffled up the bed, settling on Bucky’s face.
“Put your weight on me honey, I won’t break.” Bucky laughed, noticing how you couldn’t possibly be comfortable just hovering above his face. Pressing down a little more, he chuckled at how you were still reluctant to put your whole weight on him.
“Like this angel.” He smiled before gripping your thighs to press you the whole way down on him, beginning to lap at your pussy with long, broad strokes of his tongue straight away.
Fuck his tongue worked miracles, slipping between your folds while his nose nuzzled your clit. You’d never been eaten so intensely before, whimpers escaping you while Bucky sucked and licked and bit at the most sensitive part of your body.
When his lips connected with your clit, you almost wanted to squirm away from the insane amount of stimulation. His lips wrapped around the swollen bud, tongue flicking over it while he moaned sinfully, holding you against his mouth with one arm wrapped around each of your thighs. There was no escaping his mouth, hot and wet and trained only on driving you into blinding pleasure. Your hands fisted in his hair, helping you to ride his face while Bucky devoured you.
The knot in your tummy was tightening, fuelled by Bucky’s moans at how good you tasted.
You were so close, curses and pants of Bucky’s name spilling from you like a prayer and when Bucky’s eyes opened, looking up at you, a content hum left his throat.
That hum shattered you, the vibration on your clit driving you over the edge and if Bucky thought you looked like a goddess before, you certainly did now. He completely admired you, taking in how your back arched, how your head flung back, hips grinding against his face while one hand left his hair to tease your own nipples and God, that cry of his name made his cock throb painfully.
“Oh oh, Bucky please.” You whimpered, struggling in his grip when your body told you he had given you too much.
“You sound so sexy when you beg, you know that?” Bucky smirked, letting you go so you could pull yourself from his face, tumbling on the bed.
“Not just as sexy as you sound when you cum, but close.” His dusting of stubble was shiny with your slick and you struggled to think of a more attractive sight than his beautiful man that had effortlessly dragged an orgasm from you, lazily stroking his own cock to the sight of you naked in front of him.
“I can do both for you if you want. I’ll gladly beg if you make me cum like that again.” One orgasm like that couldn’t satisfy you, not now that you’d had a taste of real pleasure. Besides, you hadn’t even had a chance to feel his cock inside you yet.
“Shit angel, I’d love that, havin’ such a sweet little girl on her knees beggin’ for me. Fuck, you might be the death of me, you know that?” Bucky fisted his cock a little faster at the thought up until you shuffled off the bed and onto the floor, kneeling at the edge of the bed. His eyes went wide as you looked up at him expectantly, perching himself on the edge of the bed to watch you.
“Is this what you want? Want this big cock angel?” He cooed softly, not taking his eyes off you. You couldn’t tear your attention away from his swollen tip, head slick with precum, begging to be lapped up.
“Please Bucky, please lemme take care of you.” You whispered, offering him huge wide eyes and plump lips, longing to be parted by his dick.
“You can do better than that honey. If you want this, you gotta earn it. Ask a bit nicer.” He had every right to be so cocky after eating you like that so you indulged him a little.
“Please Bucky, can’t think of anything else. Needa feel you.” You whined. “Just lemme taste you Bucky, please, thought about this for so long. Thought about gagging on your cock like a good little girl, thought about you fucking my face.”
“And did you touch yourself while you thought of me?” Bucky asked, leaning back on the arm that wasn’t stroking his cock, giving you a chance to take in his tight abs.
The shame almost make you feel light headed, admitting to your deepest secret.
“Good girl. This pussy belongs to me now, okay? You feel like touching yourself, you text me.” Want and need surged inside you at Bucky’s promise of this little arrangement continuing but you almost lost it when he leaned forward, pressing a hand to the back of your head, guiding you over and onto his cock. Your lips parted and wrapped around him of their own accord, letting him slip into your mouth. The slightly salty taste of his precum made your pussy throb, your tongue running over his slit, collecting every last drop.
“Oh Jesus.” Bucky managed to hiss, one of your hands wrapping around the base while you forced your head down further.
“Where did you learn this shit angel? Fuckin’ filthy, you know that? Thought you wanted to be a good girl but this mouth says otherwise. All mine now though, aren’t ya? This mouth only sucks my cock from now on.” You hummed in approval, dragging another hiss from Bucky, thrusting himself deeper into your throat.
You pressed your head down until he hit the back of your throat and God, the strangled cry that left him was pornographic, low and wanton and pained, like he was holding himself back, trying so hard not to fuck your face recklessly.
“Feel so good baby.” He whimpered, pressing you down until you gagged around him. The noise, coupled with the sudden tightening made him almost feral, a loud grunt from him inspiring you to work your hand faster on his base.
“Oh fuck, I can’t take much more angel, ‘m so close.” He whimpered, thighs trembling, ready to paint the back of your throat at any second. You sped up your movements, bobbing your head in time with your hand, tight and sloppy and noisy before Bucky pulled you off him, squeezing his hand tight around his own base.
“Can’t cum yet baby, fuck, needa feel that pussy first. Know you needa be taken care of.” You certainly weren’t going to argue with that. When he was sure he had held off his orgasm, he let go of his cock, arranging you on your hands and knees on the edge of the bed, stepping up behind you. His dick pressed to your entrance, gathering slick until he slowly began to press himself into you, inch by inch.
“God, you’re big.” You whimpered, fingers gripping the sheets, arching your back to allow him to push in with less resistance.
“Fuck, feels good. God, can’t believe I’m fuckin’ inside you. Can’t believe a sweet little thing like you is so cock obsessed. Gotta say, I’m lovin’ this side of you honey. Even lettin’ me fuck you raw? This little pussy jus’ wants to be filled. S’okay, I’ll fill you up nicely.” He had sank the whole way into you, allowing you a few seconds to adjust to the stretch before you took charge and began to move, inching forward, then back onto his cock, almost hoping he wouldn’t notice how needy you were.
“You that horny? Can’t even wait for me to fuck you so you gotta do it yourself?” His tone was condescending, almost dripping with pride that he had reduced you to such a mess so quickly.
“Bucky, so fuckin’ horny, please. Please give it to me. Just fuck me.” You couldn’t have possibly cared that you sounded like a whiney mess. It didn’t matter that you sounded obsessed, all that mattered was feeling Bucky finally start to move.
“Oh kitten, you’ve gone all cock drunk on me? Silly baby can’t think of anythin’ but cummin’ round me. Tha’s okay, guess I can forgive you this time. You were so worked up earlier after all, seein’ me with someone else. All yours now honey. Gotta make this pretty pussy feel special.” Your eyes nearly rolled back in your head when he gripped your hips and pulled almost all the way out before slamming back into you again, beginning to set a decent pace.
You hadn’t expected his cock to pound your g-spot right away but you guessed it helped to be with a man who knew what he was looking for, unlike anyone you’d been with before.
“R-right there Bucky, oh fuck, I can’t.” You whined, keening against the bed so he could press painfully deep inside you with each thrust.
“You can’t what honey? Can’t handle it? Can’t get enough? Can’t hold back?” His suggestions all came in that confident tone because he knew you couldn’t answer. He was fucking you senseless, each thrust driving every thought from your head.
“Can’t hold back, fuck.” You whimpered, knowing your orgasm would be seconds away. But on the next thrust, everything stopped. Bucky didn’t push back in, sinking to his knees instead with a groan, level with your pussy. Two fingers slipped effortlessly inside you, curling in a way that you could hardly handle while his lips sucked your clit. You were done for, pussy clenching around his digits while the dragged you through your high, tongue lapping at your clit for all he was worth. You were gushing on his face, you knew it and you didn’t care, mumbling little ‘thank yous’ and praises as you rode out your high. You could hear the slick noises of Bucky fisting his cock in his other hand, tight and relentless, still wet from your pussy.
“Good girl honey, bet that felt good.” He whispered when your high had ebbed away, pressing his cock back inside you, fucking you fiercely once more. The wet sounds of his thrusts into you were horrendously loud but then again, so were his grunts as he chased his own release. You were on cloud nine, feeling fucked out and euphoric but delighted that Bucky still wanted to finish inside you.
“Cum for me Bucky, please please fill me up. Wanna be your good little fuck bunny. Wanna feel your cum leakin’ out of me.” You knew he would love it if you used a little pleading tone but you didn’t realise just how effective it would be. A few more hard thrusts had Bucky’s hips stuttering, cum spilling inside you. The groan that left Bucky was mesmerising, clinging to your body while he spilled his seed inside you.
“Jesus I don’t remember the last time I came that hard.” Bucky murmured in more of a relaxed chuckle, kissing down your spine before pulling out of you slowly, grabbing a washcloth from your dresser so you could clean yourself up.
“I’ve never cum that hard before.” You giggled gleefully, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips, still faintly tasting yourself on them.
“We should get back to the party but we should do this again sometime. I meant what I said honey, you’re mine now.” It was such a change seeing Bucky so sheepish but it was quite pleasant at the same time. You didn’t even know this side of him existed up until now.
“And you’re… Mine?” You questioned softly after pulling your dress on again, straightening it out as much as possible.
“All yours angel. Maybe we shouldn’t be too open ‘bout it just yet though.” He laughed, admiring the little flush of your cheeks and the twinkle in your eye.
@babebr @sebsbrokentoe @justatirednightowl @harrysthiccthighss @stucky-my-ship @allydrabbles @white-wolves-and-grey-skies @jeremyrennerfanxxxx123 @littlecanadianlani @badgirlwolfy
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Walking on Dangerous Territory
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger! Reader
Summary: John Walker never knows how to keep his mouth shut, especially when it comes to you and Bucky’s had enough of it.
Warnings: angst/fluff, violence, cursing
A/N: Hey everyone! It’s been a while since I’ve written a fic about Bucky (that isn’t a request), so that’s where this came from. Wanted to show one of my favorite men some love. I hope you all enjoy and as always, feedback is appreciated :)
Walking along the dirt road, you’re situated in between Bucky and Sam.
Sam continues to stare at you and Bucky, his eyes burning holes through the side of your faces. Frustrated, you abruptly stop walking and place your hands on your hips. “Is there something wrong, Sam?”
Sam chuckles. The man really has the nerve to laugh in your face as you’re seconds from destroying everything around you.
“Is something funny?” Your voice is low, anger evident in your tone. Bucky reaches forward to grip your arm, holding you back from doing something you’d regret.
Sam continues to laugh. “I just can’t believe two super soldiers got their ass kicked by a little girl.”
Ripping your arm out of Bucky’s hold, you stomp forward. “Okay, first of all-”
Bucky wraps his arm around your waist, pulling you flush against the front of his body. “What Y/N is trying to say is we were up against five other super soldiers, one of those being that little girl. So yeah, we got our asses kicked. We were outnumbered.”
“And,” you speak up. “From what I recall, you also experienced a beating, so I don’t know why you’re calling us out.”
Sam walks forward and pats his hand onto your shoulder. “Just picking on you, Y/N. You know I love seeing that temper of yours coming out.”
Pushing his hand away, you storm off, out of Bucky’s hold. “I hate you!”
“No, you don’t! You love me!” Sam yells.
Continuing to walk ahead, you flip him off. Sam and Bucky laugh behind you, the sound of Bucky’s voice calming you down. You may have some unresolved feelings for him, as in you love him, but would never dare to speak on it. Sam knows and even though you’ve never explicitly said anything to him, he can see right through you. Thankfully, he’s kept your feelings a secret and you’re more than grateful for that.
The sound of an engine makes you turn around. A jeep comes to a stop in front of you, with Walker and Lemar sitting in the bed.
Sighing, you ignore them and continue walking. The last thing you need is to be surrounded by those two. You might end up punching Walker right in his face.
“Where you going, Y/N?” Walker calls out, his smug voice pissing you off even more.
“Far away from you!” You yell back, desperate to get out of this situation.
He doesn’t answer for a few seconds, but when he does, you scoff. “You don’t want a ride back, beautiful? It beats walking!”
Whipping around, you’re about to answer, but Bucky beats you to it. “I’d back off if I were you, Walker.”
Bucky’s tone takes you by surprise... and causes goosebumps to erupt over your skin. Why is he being so protective? Whatever the reason, it’s enough to capture your mind with some unnecessary thoughts.
“Just get in!” Lemar yells, wanting to defuse the tension before it gets out of hand.
Looking at Sam and Bucky, you sigh when Sam shrugs his shoulders, gesturing for the three of you to hop on.
Bucky gets in before you, extending his hand for you to grab as you jump up. You didn’t need the help, but you appreciate the thought.
When you sit down, you’re snuggled tightly in between Sam and Bucky, the bench being too short to comfortably accommodate the three of you.
Walker grins at you and it makes you want to punch his face even more. “So, Y/N, it seemed like you needed a little help back there.”
Bucky growls next to you. “Y/N can handle themselves. They don’t need help, especially not from you.”
“And, why’s that?” Walker presses. “They have their big guard dog to look after them?”
Bucky jumps forward and you immediately stand up, pushing on his chest to hold him back. “It’s okay,” you whisper as you look into his eyes. “He’s just a dick. Don’t let him get to you.”
Bucky lets out a deep breath before slowly sitting back down. You sigh out in relief, not really wanting to deal with another brawl on a moving car.
But, Walker just doesn’t seem to know when to stop. “I’m just saying that if you do need a partner, I’m always here. In more ways than one.”
Bucky bucks up again and you hold him down with a hand on his arm.
“Don’t you have a wife?” Sam asks, his voice accusatory. “I wonder how she’d feel to know you’re constantly hitting on Y/N.”
Walker looks away, his face red with embarrassment.
Bucky takes this moment to speak up. “The next time you so much as look at Y/N the wrong way, I won’t hold back.”
“Ah,” Walker responds. “So, you are the guard dog.”
In two seconds, Bucky is on him, punching him square in the face. It happens so fast, you don’t have the time to grab him beforehand.
“Bucky!” You yell, wrapping your arms around his waist to pull him backwards.
Walker spits to the side before wiping the blood that’s spewing from his nose. His eyes narrow at Bucky, shooting imaginary daggers at him. “This isn’t over.”
As the Jeep comes to a stop, Bucky jumps out before turning around to help you down. “Looking forward to the next meeting, John!”
Sam snickers at his response before jumping out himself. “Thanks for the ride! You should get some tissues for that nose!”
Stepping back into your safehouse, you place your stuff down before looking at Bucky. “Look, I know Walker’s a jerk, alright? But, we can’t just go around punching everyone who says something we don’t like!”
Bucky chuckles, his laugh dark. “Something we don’t like? The man is harassing you and I’m not going to just sit around and let him do it!”
Sam looks between the two of you, shock written all over his face at the sudden outburst. “I’m just going to go to bed.”
“Good!” Bucky yells over to him.
“See you in the morning!” You yell at the same time.
“Uh-huh,” Sam says, slowly nodding his head and quickly leaving the room.
Once he’s gone, you and Bucky compete in a staring contest, serious expressions plastered on your faces.
You cross your arms over your chest. “Wanna explain what’s wrong?”
Bucky mimics you. “I already did.”
You scoff. “Okay, and I get that, but you’ve never actually punched him before! You usually just say some harsh words back and then move on!”
“Yeah, well he deserved it and I don’t regret doing it, if that’s what you want me to say.”
Sighing, you decide to just agree with him. This conversation was going nowhere and fast. “Thank you for standing up for me. Next time though, could you hold back on the punches?”
Bucky laughs again, the sound sending chills down your spine. “He’s lucky I didn’t kill him.”
“O-kay. And, here we are. Back at square one.”
“What do you want me to say to you, Y/N? That I’m sorry for doing it? Because I’m not. I’m not going to just sit there and let some asshole say shit like that to you!”
“You know I can handle myself!” You’re starting to get pissed. You know he means well, but you can fight your own battles.
“I know you can, but I’m sick of fucking Walker and his numerous crude attempts to get in your pants!”
You walk away, heading into the kitchen to grab a bottle of water. All of this yelling is making your head hurt.
Bucky follows you, close at your heels. “I don’t even understand why you’re so mad. It’s like you don’t want me to stand up for you!”
“It’s not that! I just don’t want you punching people for no reason!”
“I had every damn reason to punch him! How many times do I have to explain it?!”
“Okay, Buck. Okay.” You walk past him, heading towards your room. “I’m going to bed.”
Bucky grabs your arm before you can walk any further. “Hey… I’m sorry, doll. I don’t want to fight with you.”
Turning around, you stare into his warm, blue eyes. He looks tired, strained from the beating all of you took today.
“It’s okay. I know you mean well and I appreciate it. I really do… I just don’t want to see you get hurt.”
He moves closer, trapping you against the nearest wall. “Don’t worry about me, doll. I’d do anything for you. You’re my main concern.”
“Not Sam?” You joke.
He chuckles and this time, it’s sincere. “No, not Sam. I mean, I care about him, but it’s not like with you.”
“And, what makes me so different?”
Leaning forward, his arms rest against the wall, his face mere inches from yours. “You’re the one that’s captured my heart. Not him.”
“Is Mr. Barnes implying that he has feelings for me?” You smile shyly, a contradiction to your confident words.
“You’re damn right I do, doll.” He’s staring directly at your lips, not even bothering to be discreet. “Tell me you feel the same way, so I can kiss you already.”
His eyes drill into yours and you bite your lip in response, your body heating up with desire. “Always have,” you whisper.
His lips are on yours then, devouring you whole. You moan into the kiss and he takes that opportunity to slide his tongue inside your mouth.
As he bites down on your lower lip, your arms slide around his neck, pulling him even closer. It’s addicting and you never want to-
A slow clap sounds next to you and the two of you jump apart. When you turn, you see Sam standing there, a huge grin on his face. “My, my, my. I thought the day would never come. Tinman and Y/N. What a sight!”
Bucky groans, dragging his hand down his face. “Seriously? Can you get out of here please?”
Sam laughs as he turns to head back into his room. “Make sure to send me an invitation for the wedding!”
You look down at the ground and laugh, shaking your head.
“He’s something, isn’t he?”
Looking back up at Bucky, you nod your head. “Yeah… Yeah, he is.”
Bucky puts out his hand, gesturing for you to take it and you do, letting him lead you to his bedroom. “So, when should it be?”
“When should what be?”
Bucky wiggles his eyebrows. “Our wedding.”
You playfully slap your hand against his arm. “I can’t with you. Let’s just get to bed.”
“Oh, I plan on taking you to bed, all right.”
As soon as he says that, he’s picking you up, carrying you bridal style in his arms. You let out a shriek as he starts to run, entering his room and plopping you onto his bed.
He gets on top of you, pining your arms above your head. “We’ve got a long night ahead of us, doll.”
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Voicemails to an Unmanned Inbox
Pairing: Bucky x reader
Summary: When Bucky takes an argument a little too far, you take off. All he wants is for you to come back home.
Word count: 3.3k
Warnings: Heavy Angst
a/n: I’m currently working on Flashing Lights part 2 and felt like I needed some angst in my life. So, enjoy the angst!!
The walk back to your shared room was excruciatingly quiet, the sound of Bucky’s angry footsteps the only thing reverberating against the halls of the compound. You jogged a little faster to keep up with him.
“Bucky,” you tried, breath labored from your pace. “Bucky, just wait a sec. We can talk about this,” he ignored you, jaw set and mouth fixed into a frown. You let out a sigh and continued behind him, not looking forward to the discussion to come.
You had just finished Bucky’s latest therapy session, the office across the compound. This week, his therapist had asked you to attend the session since you were such a major part of his life. Bucky had been hesitant to agree, but given that it was court mandated therapy, he didn’t have much of a choice.
Your boyfriend’s current mood was brought on by your participation in said session. You hadn’t given up sensitive information or anything. His therapist just asked if Bucky had been waking up in the middle of the night and you said yes. That response had snowballed and Bucky was now set up with a sleep therapy appointment next Wednesday.
You could tell immediately that he was upset about it. His hands balled up into fists atop his knees and his eyebrows shot up in silent disagreement. To be fair, he hadn’t told you beforehand if there was anything he wanted you to keep private. You didn’t think you would’ve been able to keep it a secret if he asked though; his nightmares were worse than ever before and he refused to get help for them.
Bucky threw open the door to your room, stalking in and promptly taking a seat on the bed. You sheepishly followed in behind him, clicking the door shut. The air in the room was tense and awkward, like a pressing fog that forced you into silence. You fiddled with your hands as Bucky’s eyes made patterns in the ceiling. After waiting a beat, you tried to dispel the tension.
“I know you’re angry,” you began, “But I think this is a good thing, Buck. You’ve been having such a hard time sleeping, you’re basically running on fumes. You can try the therapy and if it doesn’t work, no harm done,” he shifted his eyes down to you.
“No harm done, huh?” He sardonically replied. His tone confused you.
“I mean, I think so? I know you don’t like therapy, but if they can somehow help you sleep, even just a little, then I think it’ll be worth it,” you tried to keep your tone optimistic, like a juxtaposition to his.
He spent a while staring at you before he spoke, a near permanent crease in his brow. “How am I supposed to trust you?” His words sent you physically stepping back, confusion and hurt marring your face.
“What?” Your voice was a somber whisper.
“How am I supposed to trust you? You told her something private; something between us. And you—you treated me like a charity case,” he shot back.
“Charity case?” You questioned, bewildered. “Bucky, she’s your therapist. She wants to help you, but she can’t do that if you never share anything with her. And I didn’t even want to tell her! It’s just that your nightmares were getting so bad, Buck. When you kept coming back from field missions all torn up because you were running on no sleep, I got scared.
“You kept getting hurt, and nothing was helping. I want you safe! I didn’t give her any specific details, just that you were having trouble sleeping and it was affecting you in the field.”
“Oh, trust me, sweetheart. I know exactly what you said. Was sitting right there getting a front row seat to your pity parade,” his hands ran through his hair, frustratingly tugging at the strands.
“It wasn’t like that, Bucky! I don’t pity you, I love you! I just want you safe and happy and healthy. If you would just listen—”
“I did listen!” he cut you off, yelling now. “And all I heard was my girlfriend treating me like a child. Now every time you open your mouth, all I hear is that sympathy in your voice.
“I’m a grown man, y/n. I’m perfectly capable of making my own damn decisions. So I think I’ll make the decision and ask you to get out,” you jerked your head back, the hurt on your face increasing tenfold. Your fingers felt numb as you dropped your hands to your sides.
“If that’s what you really want.”
“It is. Door’s over there,” his tone was final. You backed up slowly, trying to give him time to change his mind. He had never yelled at you like that before, and he certainly had never asked you to leave. Tears built up in your eyes as you made it to the door.
“I’m, um, I’m really sorry, Bucky. I only wanted to help,” you didn’t wait for his response as you beelined it out of the room, desperate to hide your tears.
You didn’t know where you were going, but you knew you had to get out of the compound. The anger in Bucky’s voice was still sending shockwaves through your spine, and tears were still making heavy tracks down your face at the thought of him not trusting you. You had worked so hard to earn his trust when he first came to the compound, and now it seemed like that was all lost.
The engine of your car roared to life in the garage, the photostrip of you and Bucky sitting in front of the speedometer mocking you. You let a few more tears slip before you clicked your seat belt into place and peeled out of the compound. His words played through your head as you decided on making the trek to the city. It would take about 3 hours to get there, but it's not like you had anywhere else to go. In your flurry to leave, you didn’t notice you left your phone sitting on the therapist’s desk.
Once he’d cooled off, Bucky immediately regretted his words. He knew you meant well, he just hated when people felt sorry for him; it made him feel weak and incapable. Sleep therapy had been brought up multiple times in Bucky’s sessions, but he always turned it down due to the element of control. You gave him the push he needed to get it started and look where that got you. Alone and upset.
When he thought back to your argument, licks of vexation still found their way through his chest, but not nearly enough to warrant his reaction. His pride wouldn’t let him forgive you, but he knew he still trusted you. He trusted you more than anyone else in the world, maybe even more than Steve.
He guessed that you would take the hit the hardest if he brought up trust, and he had wanted you to feel embarrassed like he did in that office. But when he saw that look on your face and watched as you flinched back from him as if he struck you, he never wished to take something back more. His pride kept him going though; kept him from reaching out and holding you and letting you know that he loved you and everything was okay.
Bucky blew out a breath and flopped down onto the bed, throwing his arm over his eyes. He’d let the situation settle a bit before going to get you. You were probably in Nat’s room or off telling Steve how stupid he was acting. He definitely deserved it. Everything you did was for Bucky’s benefit, and he just acted like you betrayed him.
He started to get a bit antsy at the 2 hour mark, and made his way out to the common room. His stomach dropped when just about everyone in the compound was sitting there, watching a movie. Everyone except for you.
“Hey, robocop. Where’s your lady? Been trying to call her for a half an hour. We’re watching her favorite,” Tony gestured to the screen.
“She hasn't been with any of you?” Bucky pathetically asked. Steve perked up from his corner of the couch.
“What do you mean, Buck. Thought she was going to your session today?”
“She did. I kinda—” Bucky paused, scratching the back of his neck in a defeated manner. “I kinda yelled at her. Was hoping she came to one of you guys after.”
“You yelled at her?” Natasha sounded angry.
“Yeah, I know. Didn't mean to make her so upset. Look, can you lecture me later? I just wanna find my girl. Any of you seen her?” The shake of their heads was he all needed to move on. He went to the kitchen, the library, even the gym which he was pretty sure you’d never even stepped foot in on your own. The last place—the one he was dreading the most—was the garage.
If your car wasn’t there, he would have absolutely no idea where you were. Bucky’s palms started to sweat as the elevator took him down to the bottom level. He wiped them on his jeans and grabbed his phone from his pocket, pressing your contact just in case. Dread washed through him when he saw your usual parking spot completely barren.
You weren’t an Avenger, you were just on the medical team. Your car had no tracking devices on it, and Bucky was positive that you weren’t paying attention the day he dragged you to the gym to teach you self-defense. It was already 9pm on a Friday, and you definitely shouldn’t of been driving with how upset you were.
He frantically held his phone up to his ear. Where could you have gone for 2 hours? The compound was pretty deep in upstate New York, the closest grocery store nearly 45 minutes away. The phone rang 5 times before he got your voicemail.
“Hey, y/n,” he nervously said into the receiver, “I know you’re upset. I shouldn’t have said the things I did. I wanna talk to you so just—just please call me back. Or call anyone back, doesn’t have to be me.”
Back on the main floor, Bucky pressed everyone to call you, hoping that you’d pick up a number that wasn’t his. You didn’t answer a single one, and he was starting to panic. He sat beside Steve in the kitchen, passing his phone between his hands.
“You don't think—I mean you don’t think she’d leave me, do you, Stevie? I know I messed up, but she wouldn’t just leave like that, right?” Bucky kept his voice low. Steve passed him a sympathetic smile.
“She loves you, Buck. I don’t think she would leave you. Just give her some time to come around, I’m sure she’ll call you back.”
Bucky didn’t want to give you anymore time. It was reaching the three hour mark since you’d left, and worry was coursing through him. He made his way into your bedroom and picked up his phone once again, less surprised this time when it went to voicemail.
“Hey, sweetheart, it’s Bucky again. I know we're probably blowin’ up your phone wherever you are, but please. Call me back. I’m so sorry, I take back everything I said. I’m just worried about you, baby. I won’t make you come back to the compound, I swear.”
He gave it about 5 minutes of staring blankly at his phone before he called again. And again. And again. Each voicemail he left was more desperate than the last, fear building in his chest with each one.
“I know callin’ you again probably won’t do anything, but it's worth a shot, right? If you answer, I promise I won’t say anything. You can scream at me for however long you want and I’ll sit here and take it. Come on, sweetheart, you gonna pass up on a deal like that?”
“Just give me anything to let me know you’re safe. Send me a text? Or whatever those things are called. I know I said not to text because I don’t understand it, but I’ll take anything you’ll give me. Please, baby, you got me beggin’ over here.”
“Stevie said I should give you some space, and I’m more than willing. Just—I just need to know you’re safe. You can stay as far away from me as you want, sweetheart, but please at least call Nat. Tell her you’re okay. She hates me, so you can guarantee she won’t tell me where you are.”
“Shit, it’s raining. Call me back.”
“Is this you leaving me? Please, don’t do this. I love you. I’d do anything to take back what I said, just please don’t do this.”
Eventually, the phone stopped ringing, each call from Bucky immediately met by the answering machine. He found himself missing the shrill, monotone beeps; they meant there was a chance you would pick up.
“Did your phone just die? God, I hope not. I got Tony tryna track your phone, but no luck. You pull the tracker out or somethin’?”
“You’re tearin’ my heart out, sweetheart, I’m freaking out without you here. I know I messed up, but I need you. I need you to tell me when I’m wrong and when I’m bein’ stupid like how I was today. I need you to hold my hand and force me to take those meditation classes for my heart health or whatever you said it was for. I need—” he took a breath, tears falling down his face for the first time that night. “I need you here, loving me. Because that’s the only time I feel like Bucky. The only time I feel like me. Please, baby, let me—”
“The mailbox is full and cannot accept any messages at this time, goodbye,” the call ended abruptly. Bucky called back, one last time, but was met with the same message.
He stared down at his phone and contemplated chucking it at the wall. Was this really it? Had he screwed up so badly that you didn’t want him anymore? Or worse, were you hurt somewhere? Unable to pick up the phone because Bucky had forced you out of the safety of your bedroom.
Bucky was pulled from his thoughts by a vibration in his hands. Looking down, he almost didn’t believe his phone is ringing, somehow drawn to the conclusion that the stupid thing didn’t work at this point. But the screen clearly read some number he’s never seen before, and the vibrations were strong in his hand. Expecting the worst, he lifted it to his ear.
“Bucky?” your voice called, screaming over the rain. He immediately sat up and wiped the tears from his face, his full attention granted to you.
“Y/n? Sweetheart, where are you? Are you okay? I’ll come get you, where are you?” He was frantic, racing around the room to find his shoes and grab the blanket on the bed to wrap you in when he found you. He could hear your teeth clattering through the phone.
“Bucky, I can barely hear you! I’m at some call box in the middle of nowhere, I have no idea where I am,” your tears mixed with the rain beating down on your face. “I know you said you wanted me to leave, but I need help. I tried to get to the city, but my car completely broke down. Can you—can you find me. Please?”
His heart broke at your words. As if he ever wouldn’t find you. “You think I care about what I said, sweetheart? There’s only one callbox between here and the city, I know exactly where you are. I’m gonna come get you baby, you stay put. Your car nearby?”
“Yeah, Buck, like a few yards away,” He sighed in relief.
“Okay, good. Listen, sweetheart, I put a gun under the passenger's seat so—”
“You put a what!” You gaped. He ignored your interruption.
“— go grab it and wait in the car. You remember how to turn the safety off?” he asked, breath huffing through the speaker as he ran to one of Tony’s cars.
“I mean yeah, but I don’t think—”
“Good girl. I’ll be there as fast as I can. Anyone stops by your car, you shoot,” he tensed, sliding into the driver’s seat.
“Bucky, I’m not gonna shoot anybody,” you yelled, rain still distorting your voice.
“You shoot anyone who’s not me, got it? Go get in the car, I’m on my way. I love you. So much. I’m so happy you’re okay,” he hung up, the call box’s service too weak to hear your response.
Bucky was pretty sure he’d never driven a car faster in his life. Not even when he was sent on missions as the winter soldier. It didn’t matter that they had control over his mind, you had control over his everything and he’d be damned if he was going to leave you alone out there for one second longer.
When your car came into view, he skidded to a halt and practically threw his car door from its hinges. He had yours open a second later, and you were scooped into his arms before you had the chance to be scared. The rain was beating down on Bucky’s back as he held onto you for dear life, all of the words he put into those voicemails translating into his hold on you.
“Baby,” he stressed, words spoken into your shoulder. “I thought you left me. You weren’t answerin’ and I thought I sent you away for good. I didn’t mean it like that, sweetheart, I take it all back,” you pulled back from his protesting arms, gripping his face between your hands.
“Leave you? Bucky, you’re everything to me. Only reason I left is because you were so upset with me. And I’m sorry I told that therapist all that stuff, it wasn’t my place. You don’t have to do anything you don't want to,” Bucky was already shaking his head before you could finish, pressing you back into his chest as if it hurt him to not be close to you.
“‘Course it’s your place, sweetheart. I’m yours, and you’re mine. If you’re not looking out for me, then no one is. I’m sorry I got so upset. I do trust you,” his grip on your waist tightened. “I trust you more than I trust myself sometimes.” You took a brief pause to absorb the weight of his words.
“I only do the things I do because I love you, Bucky. Always,” he was the one to pull back this time, allowing the rain to drip from his hair onto your face. His gaze shifted from your eyes down to your lips, and then back up again. His thumb came up to brush your lower lip.
“Can I kiss you?” his voice was lost in the rain, but his eyes shone with clear, devastating adoration.
“You never have to ask,” and so he kissed you. He kissed you and he kissed you until you felt nothing but him. Rain mingled in with his lips and you were briefly reminded of all the romance movies you made Bucky watch when he first got to the compound. You weren’t sure if he was actually paying attention to them, but the way he was kissing you now made up for it and then some.
“Never do that again,” he stressed as you parted. “Never leave. Stay and scream at me and tell me I’m wrong and hit me, but never make me worry I’ve lost you. Not when I haven’t yet.”
“Okay, Bucky,” you whispered, still dazed from the kiss. “I’ll always stay.”
2K notes · View notes
the fact that every Loki variant has a doc is something that can be so personal like every one of them has a match that’s peak romance
FROM THE VOID, WITH LOVE | an ode to the void
summary: you wake up in a place you know, and you learn about yourself; you find loki.
pairing: loki / f!reader, referenced & implied sylvie / f!reader
a/n: this was fun. VERY fun. lots of doc world-building in this one, and some cherished moments from childhood. lots of doc variants, and we meet loki's variants, too. this chapter's gif is from @marvelheroes's lovely set here.
[ MASTERPOST ]
"Is she awake?"
"I don't know—"
"Poke her," comes another voice, whispered close, "Go on — yea, poke her!"
Ouch, ouch, ouch.
In the half-blacked-out haze of disorientation, pain is really the only solid thing you're aware of — the rest of your existence is just barely-there at this point. Like a wisp floating in the dark. Just there, but not really.
However, a persistent poke, poke, poke is quick to drag you out of the depths and solidify the fact that, shit, you're alive.
You inhale sharply as your head bobs back.
You snap your eyes open.
You suppose, now, that there's nothing in this universe that could have prepared you for the sight before you. No. No, not even a god damn funhouse of mirrors — because even then, each reflection was you. Not...
Not a gaggle of... you's? You plural? Us? We?
Horror is the correct categorization of facial expression. You can't help it, really, because as you look around the kitchen of your childhood home, you come face to face with the childhood visage of yourself.
You know the angles and curves of that face — you know the dips and valleys and imperfections, and you can see that face has remained untouched by late-nights in undergrad, and the burden of thesis work. At sixteen, you thought you knew more than you did. About life, about people, about the world... You can see the innocence clearly now, and the mischief, too.
She offers a girlish, toothy grin.
Your mouth parts and the horror remains. As you inhale, you try to stamp down a more immediate sense of panic and instead, swivel your gaze to the person beside you at the small, four person kitchen table.
Bad idea. Super, mega, huge, bad idea, actually. Like, the worst idea ever, because now you're staring at you but if you were some sort of extravagant billionaire? An heiress?
No, no, that's not it...
In that moment, you recognize the gilded trim of her dress to be Asgardian — it's the scripture alone that gives it away. And the dagger, too, strapped to her waist. She's wearing green and gold. Intricate plaits. She's a bit older, not by much, and seems keen to quiet down the kitchen as to not scare you.
Then, the man. You, actually, but if you were a lanky, tall man with a pile of curls on his head — and even he seems non-exempt from the mischief of the younger you; while he smiles at you, you can only squint critically at his lab coat. It's singed, torn, and his badge reads STARK LABS.
"Hi," he says warmly.
You blink. "Hi...?"
At first, honest to fucking god, you can't believe your eyes — and you almost jump seven feet off the chair you're strapped to. You thought, maybe, it was a raccoon that was waddling across the checkered kitchen floor towards Bing's ceramic food dish. But, no. Not a raccoon. Not at all.
"Is that a fucking capybara?"
"Language," comes the snide chirp from the young girl at the head of the table as she forks her sad looking microwave dinner — you know that purple tray well. It had been your constant companion during many family movie nights.
You blink between the trio — sorry, quartet — with growing horror. If that was even possible. But it is. Because this is...
This is a nightmare.
You tug at the straps on your wrists tying you down to the wooden chair as you swallow down a strangled groan.
"Ah," comes a quiet tut from the man, "Let me."
"Are you sure about this?" asks the princess, chin tilted critically in your direction as she looks down her nose at you — and you can't help but almost admire her cutting look.
"I believe," he starts as he leans to unbuckle the bottom, "Our dear doctor knows better than to try and hurt one of us — and logically, why would she?"
The teenager waggles her fork. "Stranger danger."
"Okay, okay," he raises a hand as he moves to the other and waves her down, "Yes, stranger danger, but we aren't really strangers—"
"You're all me."
"Or you're us," another rebellious smirk; then, she pushes herself out from her chair and moves across the well-lit kitchen your mother had loved — with it's good bones and white splash tile and Cooks Illustrated calendar.
The teenager drops her tray in the sink, rinses her fork, and loads both into a decrepit looking dishwasher.
Then, just like you had done a million times as a kid, she switches that stupid little magnet from 'clean' to 'dirty'.
Nostalgia rushes up like a sucker-punch.
The nights you'd spent here, locked elbow and elbow with your dad toiling over AP Calculus equations. The mornings you'd spent rushing out the door for the bus, followed by the smell of mom's hot coffee. The days you'd spent playing on the lawn just through the double-paned windows above the sink. The evenings you'd spent laughing with friends on the porch.
Sunrises and sunsets. Movie nights. Heartbreaks. Birthdays. Life and death.
This is your home.
This place and all the memories it holds had disappeared when college came, and when your parents inevitably sold the slice of suburban land.
"Where are we?" you know the answer, but you mean beyond this — beyond 89 Emerald Street.
"From what we can surmise," comes the regal woman's voice, "A null-time zone, just like the TVA. A void. Here, it seems we are exempt from the timeline."
You rub your wrists.
The teenager leans back against the counter and kicks a leg back, eyeing the capybara as it continues to snarf down it's lunch — and she spares you a slight shrug. "The TVA sent us here."
Your eyes catch on the glimmer of a car.
You stand up.
Confusion paints your face.
The man beside you seems to bubble up with enthusiasm at the piqued curiosity of what lays beyond the windows — and as you cross the kitchen floor, he speaks candidly.
"But here is also the cul-de-sac," he says as he stands, "But, we just call it H.O.M.E.; the Holographic Optimal Mirage Environment."
As you near the window, the greenery of the neighbor is nearly blinding — and so is the perfection. Even the most anal of homeowner associations would never be able to nail the near looped beauty of "Hey, neighbors!" and barking dogs and mowed lawns and trimmed shrubs. It's eerie. You run your eyes along the neighborhood and grimace.
"How the fuck—"
A slap on the arm. You cry out. The teenager grins. "The 'F word' is a $5 swear, you know."
You give her a look, and then flick her nose. "I think it's sort of warranted, alright?"
"Fair," says the man, "And as far as the Holographic Optimal Mira—"
"I designed H.O.M.E.," the young girl says off-handedly as she leans to pet the furry little animal on the floor, "And it was sort of easy, actually. Plus, I had time."
"But," you stutter, "Why?"
"Because it's lonely," the man chirps, "Incredibly lonely."
"Lonely...? No — hold on," you raise your hands as you close your eyes, "Are you guys the only people here?"
The capybara on the floor barks. Barks? God, you have no idea what sort of classification that sound warrants. Whatever. Moving on. Moving right alone.
"God, no," the princess says as she steps up beside you, crossing her arms, "There's plenty of people around... Pirates, cannibals, marauders, Lokis—"
Your eyes flash bright with realization.
Hold on. How did you get here? You remember the Chamber of the Time-Keepers, then Hunter B-15, and the Commandant, and then the head... And...
You've been pruned.
Had Loki been pruned? If this was the place where it all went, did that mean Mobius was here? Was Loki alive? Your Loki?
You're immediately kicked into action. You push past the man, step over the capybara, and move through the entry way. Hanging over the bench where you'd kept your shoes is the same family photo that had always been there, if not a bit weary to time.
"Where are you going?" calls out the teenager.
"To find Loki," you call back.
"You can't!" she shouts, converse slapping the wooden floors as she rushes up, stopping you — you pause, hand hovering over the door knob.
"Why not?" you ask.
Then, you hear it.
It's a rumble, low and long, that begins to morph into a horrible wail. It's almost like the roar of a thousand dying animals, and soon it begins to grow in volume. You flinch, and watch as the quartet begins a mad scramble.
Then, through the hallway and out kitchen windows, you see something fall from the sky.
All three heads snap to it.
Quickly, the teenager grabs your hand.
You're ushered quickly and you follow the man to that green basement door you'd always been so afraid of — he undoes the chain, then the bolt, and throws the door open. The three of you rush down the flight of wooden stairs into the unfinished basement as the capybara hurries underfoot.
The wailing has only grown louder, and now the window panes of the home have begun to rattle.
It reminds you of that one summer there had been a tornado a town over. Dad had barked at you and mom to get Bing and to get in the basement. As the world howled around you, you'd all stayed quiet in the dark. Bing had bitten and scratched at you, not at all content to be held for that long — that horribly grumpy cat.
It's like that. Except, uh, no cat. Only a big ol' semiaquatic rodent.
The teen throws the door shut, locks it, and quickly scrambles to kill the lights — all while rushing to a modified set of power breakers pouring from the wall. Each box seems to have been stolen from the neighboring houses and at the top, an address is written. She's fast to switch every box off, frantic in her actions.
There's no doubt in your mind that's H.O.M.E.
As you listen, she snags a make-shift data pad from Dad's workbench and hunkers down.
You take a deep breath as a horrifying roar pierces the home.
You slap your hands over your ears, but in the dark of the basement, the other versions of you seem more intent to stay quiet and low — all three are poured over the dim light of the screen.
You stay quiet, standing there in the basement, for a while.
The princess pets the capybara and shushes it.
There's a rattle, a cough, and the purple hue that painted the sky, beyond the little window leading to the ground floor, begins to let up.
You swallow down a thousand questions. One sticks.
"What was that?"
The younger-you speak quick and hushed. "A trans-temporal entity. I haven't named it yet."
"The Loki's have," comes the princess' remark as she looks at the screen, "They call him Alioth."
"Alioth, right," you mutter, eyes wide, "That's horrifying."
"Lucky for us, he made quick work of his lunch," the teen mutters, shutting off what you now realize is an improvised home security system, "That's why I didn't want you leaving—"
"We saved you from him once," says the man as he stands, "Best not try our hand a second time."
"What?" your brows knot, "You did?"
"You probably don't remember tumbling out of time," snarks the teen as she nudges you with her elbow, "But, yea. The big purple cloud from Lost goes for everything that the TVA sends here. It's sort of his job."
Your jaw falls open. You give a long blink. "I can't believe you just made a Lost reference."
"I love Lost."
"I know," you laugh in disbelief, "I'm you, remember?"
"Speaking of," says the older woman behind you, trailing you all as you venture back up to the kitchen — capybara intent on returning to its meal, "You mentioned Loki."
"Yeah," you nod vigorously, "Yes, I — I need to find him. And if that thing is out there, eating everything, I need to go now."
"He'll be fine," says the man, "He's a Loki."
"...I don't even know what that means."
"Loki's are like roaches," says the woman, "They never die."
You blink between the two of them as the gather around the kitchen table. You spare teenage-you a look.
"...I'm sensing a little animosity here..."
The teenager shrugs. "I've never met my Loki."
"I've met enough for both of us," says the member of Asgardian Royality with a bitter expression, "And none are like the one I loved. These Loki's are difficult. They've lasted this long doing what they do best. Lying and cheating."
"In all fairness," says the man with a raised hand, "We're also alive."
You point at him and look at the princess with a skeptical look. "True."
"Because we've isolated ourselves," she says with a groan, "We've hunkered down — we've stayed out of it. We've sacrificed for the sake of survival."
The capybara trills once more.
"I'm sorry, I feel like this still has gone unaddressed," you say flatly, maintaining eye contact with the rodent, "Why is there a capybara in the kitchen?"
The three speak at once. "She's one of us."
Your eyes go wider, your brows raise, and you just stare at the capybara for a little longer. Then, you pop your lips. You clap your hands.
"Okay. Right. Sure. Why not?"
The three stare at you.
The teenager beside you covers her mouth and leans to whisper to the princess. "Is she okay?"
"I'm fine," you say quickly, "Totally fine. Absolutely. Yea, no, I mean — it's not like I was pruned in the process of helping take down the TVA beside the man I'm starting to realize I might love, which, y'know, really puts a damper of the whole hot girl summer thing I had going on this year. Not to mention, he's Loki. Y'know, Destroyer of New York, God of Mischief, pain in my ass—"
"I don't think she's okay," the teen whispers again as you throw your hands and walk away from the table.
"No! No, I am, really — seriously, look at me. I'm fine, I'm so fine, everything is great and the world is ending and this is the third new reality I've been exposed to in, what? A week? A year?" you blabber on, "I don't even know! I don't even know how long it's been since that bastard crashed my summer research project—"
"Okay, okay, okay," comes the low timber of your male counterpart; he steps forward to plant his hands on your shoulders, "Breathe. Relax. It's a lot to take in. Just calm down."
"I can't," you shake your head with a wild look, "Because if Loki is out there—"
"I'll help you find him."
You, the man, and the Princess snap your gaze to the teenager.
Shock is written across the faces of all.
"You're not my mom," she says defiantly to the princess as she bends to scoop up the mound of rodent from the floor, "And she's coming with me."
"It's dangerous," warns the man, "Loki's are dangerous."
"I think it's about time I make my own informed choice about the validity of that statement," she postures as she steps closer to you. The capybara immediately tries to eat your shirt sleeve. The teen raises her chin, "Right?"
There's a moment on contemplative quiet.
Then, relinquished rules. The more regal version of yourself bows her head.
"Fine?" she asks, eyes brightening, "I mean — yeah, fine. It's fine."
You clap your hands. "Field trip?"
"Take the van," says the woman, moving through the kitchen, "And if you aren't back within two sun-falls, we'll come looking."
"'Sun-falls'?" you ask, face screwed up.
"Time is weird here," the teen explains away as she snags the keys from the princess; quickly, she hands them off to you, "You're driving. I don't have my license."
"I know," you groan, "How old are you?"
"Sixteen," comes the proud reply, "So, y'know, I would have started driver's ed—"
"Spoiler alert," you waggle your finger and swing the keys around your finger, "You don't."
The teen's jaw falls open.
The other two adults hum in agreement.
"Yea," you grit out, "We hold that against mom for a while, but it's fine. You get it the summer of sophomore year."
You have to laugh. "Yea, kid, of college."
"Please," she hollers as she drags her feet, following you to the driveway with that god damn capybara in her arms, "Tell me we at least go to MIT—"
You hiss out an oof as the man behind you laughs — the princess even manages a scoff.
You falter on the black top of the drive way. Mom's van is sitting there — the one she had for years, the one with the melted crayon in the back cupholders and the old Invader Zim stickers forever stuck to the upholstery behind the driver's seat.
"How do we find him?" you ask, squinting into the sun.
"Just find New York," calls out the man.
The princess nods. "Where there is one, there are many."
And they're right.
It seems as if the teenage-you has enough of a lay of the land to point you in the general direction — and though it takes a bit to wind through the hills, beaches, and desolation, there is eventually a tower on the horizon. You recognize it immediately, as well as the accompanying crumbling skyline.
In the back of the van, the capybara seems oddly at home.
You point the rear-view mirror at her.
The teenager in the passenger's seat scoff. Her red converse are on the dash, knees bent. Her hair flies around her in the wind, and she leans her arm out the open window.
"She's chill," she says, "Stop looking at her like she's gonna bite you. It's rude."
"I just — why a capybara?"
The rodent trills.
The teen shrugs. "Why a human, huh? We could be anything. We are anything. Human, Asgardian, Skrull... You name it, I've seen it."
"Yeah," she nods, "And usually they don't make it."
"Because they go out looking for their Loki's."
Your skin runs cold. You spare her a look, hands on the wheel.
"Great. That's awesome. Super good to know."
She shrugs, sitting up. "Stop looking like I just sentenced us to death — it's fine. We'll be fine—"
"That's some good ol' teenage invincibility you got there—"
"I can't live my whole life in that house!"
You shut your mouth as she leans back.
You wet your lips, swallow down the bubble of a retort, and nod. Because, in some way, she's right. She's a child, sure, but a child whose life has been stolen right from under her. One little mistake, and the TVA came along. And so, she won't have a life. Only... this.
"What brought you here?"
She's quiet for a while. She nots her arms around herself. Then, she shrugs.
"I built a time machine."
Your head snaps to her; your eyes are wild with confusion. "What?"
"It was an accident, okay?" she says, as if she's told this story a million times, "I didn't mean to—"
"Hold on," you wave your hands as the capybara watches from the backseat, "You accidentally built a time machine? That's so cool—"
"It wasn't — wait, cool?"
"Uh, yea," you say with a new sense of enthusiasm, "Because, listen, I'm not supposed to pull that shit until I'm, like, what? Thirty? And you're sixteen? That's... That's kick-ass. You're cool. What was it for? The Tri-State—"
"Tri-State Science Fair—"
"I knew it."
The girl laughs. Then, she laughs some more.
And then you laugh.
In the open windows, you ride along. And you laugh.
And, all over again, you miss home.
And oddly, you miss Loki.
Maybe not so oddly, actually.
Because, in truth, he was the closest thing you had to home. He was your friend — a friend tip-toeing closer to something more, but you weren't ready to admit that. Or, had you? In the kitchen? Had that flown out?
Sadness washes over your face, and the girl in the seat next to you notices.
"Do you love him?"
You swallow roughly as the van rolls by the crater outside Stark Tower.
You inhale, exhale, and then shrug.
"I will," you say, "Someday."
"You believe that?"
"It's easier now," you mumble, running your thumb across your bottom lip, "Now that I'm seeing the man he can be."
"I've heard Loki sucks."
The teen manages a smile.
"Sometimes," you say slowly, "But... He's believed he has to be the villain for the longest time. He's only now starting to understand he can be whoever he wants."
"Is that why you want to destroy the TVA, then?"
"Not exactly," you reply as you eye the horizon, "That's a longer story. With more Lokis."
"I've got time—"
You slam on the brakes.
The teen grunts, and the capybara in the back lets out a surprised squeak.
You lean forward over the steering wheel.
On a far hill, well beyond the ruins of New York, is a pack of people.
At the front of the pack, you spy a set of horns. Horns you'd know anywhere.
Teen-you gasps, pointing. "It's the great migration. The lasht dandelion..."
You snort at the reference, having nearly forgotten about that childhood favorite of a movie. "Shut up. Come on. We'll go on foot, try and see where they're off to — with any luck, maybe my Loki's freshened up his leadership skills..."
"Isn't that, like, the antithesis of a Loki?" she asks as she climbs out the passenger's side and throws open the back door for the capybara. The mammal plods along after her, "Leadership skills?"
You lock the van.
"You might have a point."
And she does.
Because you end up trying to catch up to the chattering herd for a while; long enough to get the gist — and that the group of people were trying to find some sort of underground spot where supposedly the ruling Loki resided. There were mutterings of a double cross, a triple cross, and plenty of boasting by the man in the horns.
You, the capybara, and the teenager watch as the group descends into some sort of hatch in the ground; and from behind the helicopter your'd both perched behind, you share a nod with the teen.
This sounded promising. Must be a hide-out.
So, the two of you haul it open.
Getting the capybara down the hatch does prove to be a bit of a problem, though.
"Ow, ow," yelps the teen, trying to wrestle the rodent, "Come on, relax—"
You're on the ladder, cursing, trying to reach for the leg of the animal — but you slip a little, only to watch the animal climb over the teen's back.
"She doesn't like heights!"
"Me neither," you hiss, "Come on, let's go—"
Finally, with one arm wrapped around the squirming animal and the teenager following, your feet find the ground.
The entire room has gone silent.
When you turn around from the ladder, your mouth falls open. You drop the capybara.
The teenager turns, bumping into you, and then promptly lets out a startled little "oh god, hello" as she raises both hands.
Before you is a sea of Loki's.
Christ alive. There are a lot of Loki's. And Loki's with knives. And spears. And suddenly, it seems as if you and your teenage friend have interrupted something.
Short Loki, Round Loki, Blue Loki, Goatee Loki—
And suddenly, there is a body connecting with yours.
There are arms around your waist, and those arms have dragged you upwards, spinning you — and almost immediately, you know it's him. It's Loki. It's your Loki, too, from the all too familiar brown of his TVA uniform. From the way he smells, from the way he holds you.
It kicks the air right out of your lungs, and your can't help the yelp that escapes you; but you hug him back and bury your face tightly into the crook of his neck. You know it's him. You know that touch, and that tepid breath, and that bated expression when he pulls away.
His hands find your face.
Blue eyes meet yours and it's like a hearth fire.
His breath escapes him.
"Hi," you offer, grinning.
"Hello," he says back, breathless; his expression is heavy with pain, and you can see the worry ebbing away, "I thought I lost you."
Your heart clenches.
"No," you whisper, "I found you."
"Plenty of me, it seems," he mutters, knocking his forehead to yours, "Arguably too many."
"Yea, well, me too," you pull away and raise your chin, "This place is weird."
Loki laughs. His eyes still hang on you, afraid to look away. Then, a trill little sound. Something nudges his foot.
Loki's face warps in confusion.
"What is that?"
"Oh," you wave it off, "Me. I think. But, as a capybara."
Loki blinks. He leans in. His face is set with child-like wonder. "There's an alligator me here, too."
And then the two of you laugh; quiet and honest, and drenched in care.
Then, a crass laugh from the peanut gallery.
"Well, isn't this sweet."
It's lower. Rough. Boastful and cunning. And, it comes from the one in the suit, the one in the horns. He looks like your Loki, but you take note of the... tasteful campaigning memorabilia adorning his lapels.
"I don't remember asking," you bite back as you step forward.
He narrows his eyes. "My, my, love. It's me. Mind your manners. Or, don't. I have no problem punishing you later."
You hear the teenager scoff behind you. "Gross."
You roll your eyes at her. "Don't make it weird."
"Me?" she asks, pointing at herself, "He said it—"
The man's face falls. "It wasn't weird, I was simply—"
"It was," both you and the teen confirm before you continue, "It was a lot, actually."
Loki clears his throat. It's a hidden laugh.
"Are we done here?" you ask loudly, ignoring the self-proclaimed President's shrinking ego, "What was even going on here?"
Frankly, you wish you almost didn't ask.
Because... Well, Loki see, Loki do.
The others weren't kidding when they said Loki's were dangerous — and as your Loki takes your hand, you can sense the white-hot embarrassment rolling off him, especially when aforementioned alligator ends up ripping off the aforementioned President's hand, and then the room of Lokis descends into chaos.
You reach for the teenage version of you who is watching, slack-jawed and half-impressed.
Your savior is an older man, one who looks at you long and sad, before creating a swirling, emerald portal.
And as girl carries her capybara, boy carries his alligator.
And for now, you're all safe.
Together and safe.
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#2 for dads best friend imagine 😉
Her family are going on vacation and they invite Bucky along.
There are two hotel rooms, one for her parents and one for her and Bucky because her dad trusts him of course, so what happens when they get to the room and realize there’s only one bed and a lot of tension between them?
This is the most slow burn I have ever written 🥵 I swear I’ve been at this for days but I really love how it turned out!! Thank you all for the love on #1 I’m so glad to see you all enjoying this series as much as I’m enjoying writing it!! 💗
This is a standalone fic but #1 is here!
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader
Word Count: 4.7K
Summary: Your father hasn’t noticed the tension that’s been building between you and his best friend Bucky. How much self control do you have when you’re sharing a bed on vacation?
Warnings: Smut, riding, grinding, protected sex, age gap (Bucky is in his 40’s, reader is in her 20’s), cream pie, sexual tension, needy Bucky, mutual masterbation, dad’s best friend Bucky, pet names, praise kink, lil bit of degradation, breakup mention, unsafe sun exposure (use sunscreen besties! Protecc that skin)
Minors, do not interact
Your poor, poor father. How could one man be so trusting and have his trust so misplaced?
But then again, he had no reason to doubt either of you. Bucky Barnes was your dad’s lifelong best friend, someone he had known even longer than he had known your mother.
And you were his daughter. His sweet, chaste, innocent little girl who couldn’t possibly harbour any feelings for Bucky, a man almost twice your age.
The painful truth boiled down to the fact that your father hadn’t noticed. He hadn’t noticed anything. Not the glances you and Bucky shared over the dinner table when he came over, nor the way you watched Bucky while he worked out, hot and sweaty, muscle bulging under taut, tanned skin.
You could’ve called your infatuation a harmless crush, but your father also hadn’t noticed how Bucky watched you back. You’d seen him taking in the sight of you in your little shorts, lounging in your garden without a care in the world, baking under the hot sun. You looked like a picture straight out of a sexy magazine or a naughty calendar he would’ve hung up in his college dorm room but you weren’t. You were a living, breathing, beautiful young woman, stretched out in front of him, looking so breathtaking it made him twitch in his jeans.
So he watched. Who could blame him? You watched too. It wasn’t creepy or unwanted, this was just the dance the two of you had become used to. Dangling yourself the other in the hopes that one of you would eventually snap. Give in to temptation. You were in your 20s now, nothing made you strictly off limits, except the fact you absolutely shouldn’t want each other.
You weren’t even all that excited for the vacation until you had heard Bucky would be coming, truth be told.
In all honesty, hearing Bucky was going was all that inspired you to agree in the first place.
How bad could it be? A week with your parents and Bucky in some All Inclusive resort somewhere in the sun.
You knew Bucky’s eyes would be on you, his gaze would be hungry, drinking you in like he owned you, fists clenched, holding himself back from taking what he really wanted. What you really wanted to give to him. Oh, it would be interesting by the end of the week. That is, if you both lasted that long.
“Hope you packed your swimsuit, honey.” Bucky teased quietly, his voice low and sultry, as the four of you made your way past the pool in the blistering, boarder line oppressive heat to the hotel reception area. He had been kind enough to carry your bag, as well as his own, eyes sparkling with mischief in the summer sun while families splashed happily in the water.
“Oh shit! I think I forgot it!” You gasped dramatically, clearly messing with him.
“Oh yeah? That would be a shame.” Did that confident, sexy drawl count as flirting? Or was it just more friendly banter? More of the same. Little notions planted in your head, leading to thoughts you couldn’t shake.
“If you wanna see me naked, you only gotta ask.” Your words were hardly more than a whisper. Bucky didn’t retort so you assumed he’d missed it.
The reception area was quiet, cooler than outside given that they had the air conditioning cranked up, your father chatting at the desk while your mother and Bucky sat beside you in the lobby.
“Okay so the hotel is running behind and checkin isn’t for another few hours. Seems they’re really busy this week but that’s okay! We can get changed and hit the pool, that nice lady at reception offered to keep our bags safe.” Your dad was in full blown holiday mode. Nothing could bother him apparently, pressing a kiss to your mom’s forehead, his smile never faltering. Despite how tired you were from the journey, the thought of heading down to the pool to sun yourself really did sound quite appealing, especially with your family in such great spirits.
So that was it decided, you got your favourite tiny little bikini fished out from your bag, along with a towel and some UV protect oil, running off to the bathroom to change.
The four of you hit the pool together, managing to find two free sun loungers beside each other.
Bucky felt like he was holding his breath in the crisp heat, hardly even daring to breathe. Seeing you with so little on while feeling so damn exposed in only his swim trunks was getting to him. Badly. Your body was a work of art in his eyes, no matter whether you saw it or not.
God he longed to be buried between your thighs, kissing at the soft skin, working you up until he was able to slip a finger into what would undoubtedly be the sweetest pussy he had ever tasted but he couldn’t afford to let himself dwell on that thought for too long, wondering instead if this vacation had actually been a huge mistake on his part.
You were finding yourself in the same, rapidly sinking boat, not even knowing where to look now that Bucky was wearing so little, feeling like heat was just radiating off his body. He was in fantastic shape, there wasn’t a single part of his body where the muscles were less defined than the rest. A real testament to his resolve, his patience and his dedication in the gym.
But then your parents bid their goodbyes, offering to be the first to dip in the pool and shit, you were alone together.
“Well honey, jus’ you and I now.” He smiled, hands tucked under his head, leaning back at a full stretch on the creaking plastic chair beneath him.
“Looks like it.” You laughed quietly, taking a seat beside him. Shifting your hair you uncapped the bottle of UV protecting oil.
Bucky’s heart leapt in panic. Shit. You weren’t actually going to oil yourself up right in front of him? But yes, you damn well were, applying some first to your arms, then down your legs, over your tummy and chest and he’d be damned if he wasn’t already half hard, stealing glances at you behind his sunglasses. Perky tits, oiled up and delicious, whole body slick and begging to be worshipped but then you started on your own ass.
Bucky told himself it wasn’t obvious. That you couldn’t possibly have heard the groan that slipped from him while you massaged oil onto your own ass cheeks, moving the skimpy little bikini up to ensure you covered as much of your skin as possible, right in front of his face.
“You wanna do me a favour.” You asked, turning around and biting your bottom lip. You could feel his eyes on you, even though he thought you couldn’t possibly have noticed behind the tinted glasses.
“Sure honey, what’d’ya need?”
“Do my back for me, would you?” Alarm bells rang in his head but clearly, no one had told his dick this was a bad idea. He could feel himself hardening just at the thought. He’d never actually touched you like that before but he sure wasn’t letting an opportunity like that pass him by.
Before he could even respond, you had plonked yourself down on his sun lounger, his legs shifted out of the way so you could nestle between them and it was now or never. He shuffled up to bracket your legs in his, strong, thick thighs lined up beside yours, your back practically pressed to his chest.
The little bottle of oil was passed back into his hand.
‘Please God, no’ seemed to be the only coherent thought Bucky could manage when you reached behind you, tugging on the little string of the bow holding your bikini together until it fucking unravelled. The cups were still held against your skin by your hands but that added security of the straps was now gone.
“Just making sure you don’t miss anywhere.” You knew exactly what you had done and although Bucky couldn’t see you, your bottom lip was still being nibbled on by your teeth.
You thought you had pushed him too far, thought that maybe this last request was just a little too much. Maybe he wasn’t actually into you like you were into him. What if this had all been some terrible misjudgement and Bucky was just being friendly these past few months.
But then the cap popped once more and you breathed a sigh of relief, Bucky shuffling behind you, rubbing the oil between his hands to warm it up.
And then his huge hands landed on your skin, beginning to spread the slick, slippy substance over the expanse of your back. A tiny moan escaped you at just how good his hands felt, sliding first over your shoulders and the back of your neck, oil dripping down over your spine and landing on your sweet little ass.
“Couldn’t’a brought your boyfriend? He should be doin’ this shit for you.” Bucky was doing his best to sound agitated, he really really tried but nothing could’ve hid his growing arousal, no matter how far back he tried to shuffle.
“Don’t have a boyfriend Bucky. Thought dad told you? We broke up a while ago.” Bucky hated how his first thought was overwhelming excitement followed quickly by a sinking feeling, recognising how badly he wanted this. How much he needed to get this out of his system. But how do you have a one night stand with your best friend’s daughter? Especially if you felt the way he imagined you would.
“Oh God angel, I’m sorry. I didn’t realise.” How had he managed to even convince himself that he was being sincere but deep down he’d been hoping you two wouldn’t last. He wasn’t right for you. Anyone could see that.
“Don’t worry Buck, I’m over it.” You laughed happily, chewing on your lip when Bucky’s hands moved lower down your back. Bucky chuckled in response, hot breath hitting the back of your neck, sending a tingle down your spine.
“Well I’m glad to hear that.” He grinned. Did that count as flirting? And how often were you going to ask yourself if Bucky was flirting over the course of the vacation.
“Gotta say, I’ve never oiled a beautiful woman up like this before. Not with innocent intentions anyway.” Shit, did he really just say that?
“And why do you only have innocent intentions?” Shit, did you really just say that? Somehow this was all so much easier when you didn’t have to look him in the eye and say it. He hands never ceased, working oil into your skin like there was nothing he would rather be doing.
“Oh, it wouldn’t be right to have any other intentions angel. You’re too young for me, far too sweet. And your dad would probably kill me in my sleep.” He breathed out a little laugh, knowing your dad definitely would kill him.
“Doesn’t mean I haven’t thought about it though.” His voice was so quiet you almost missed it. Want shot through your body, making you tingle pleasantly in the burning sun, a throb settling between your legs.
“You don’t mean th-“ you began, more flustered than ever before you were interrupted by your parents making their way back from the pool towards you, dripping wet and laughing heartily together.
“Meant every word baby.” Bucky whispered sweetly, taking the straps of your bikini and tying it back up quickly before your parents reached you, shuffling onto the free sun lounger.
Bucky’s words sunk in while you lounged in the hot sun, your body not taking the time to unwind and relax. How could you with Bucky offering you the one thing you had dreamt of most since shortly after you turned 18? And here he was, lying two feet away, wearing practically nothing.
It didn’t take long for the receptionist to fetch you, letting you know the rooms were ready so the four of you gathered up quickly, following after her.
“These two are yours.” She smiled happily, handing over the room keys to your father who opened the first door finding a double bed inside. The second room had the same. Shit.
“I’m so sorry, we needed one of the rooms with two single beds.” Your father had turned to talk to the receptionist but she was already gone.
“It’s okay I guess, I’ll room with Bucky.” Your dad offered.
“I’m not splitting you and your wife up on vacation for God’s sake. I’ll take the bath. Won’t make a difference to me.” Bucky was so damn nonchalant, setting his bag through the door before there was a chance for any more argument. Shit, this just kept getting better and better.
Dinner was lovely, the evening heat keeping you warm in your cute little dress, all four of you laughing and reminiscing happily together over a beautifully cooked meal.
You and Bucky left early, opting for a shower and an early night after a long day of travelling and your parents didn’t even question it. Thank god for that misplaced trust.
“You take the first shower sweetheart, I don’t mind.” Bucky offered happily, leaping onto the bed, lying back at full stretch. You weren’t going to argue, fishing out your pyjamas and a towel before heading into the bathroom, the door locking behind you.
The cold water felt like heaven on your skin, hoping it would wash away all the terribly inappropriate thoughts you were harbouring for the man just outside the door. Thoughts of him joining you, his chest to your back, his hands running over your body, fingernails digging in, desperate for purchase in your soft skin, rutting into you gently. You couldn’t think like that. You shouldn’t. You wouldn’t make it through the week if you did.
Turning the shower off, you stepped out and dried quickly, pulling your little thin cotton pyjamas on before brushing through your hair.
“Your turn Buck.” You smiled quietly, stepping out, chuckling at how he bounced off the bed and into the bathroom past you.
He seemed to take ages, far longer than you did but when he finally emerged, holy shit. He hadn’t dried himself at all, broad, toned chest and shoulders glistening with dripping beads of water, hair messy and abs tight. It did nothing at all to stifle the need growing between your legs. His towel was sitting so low on his narrow hips you thought you might just melt.
“You’re starin’ honey.” Bucky laughed cheekily, rummaging in his bag for some damn underwear. “It’s not like I’m wearing any less than you were earlier. That little bikini didn’t leave much to the imagination.” It was starting already.
“Coulda taken it off for you if you wanted.” You offered, his mouth watering at the thought. “Coulda oiled all of me up. Your hands felt so good.” You shouldn’t have been encouraging this but here you were. The heat had got to you. That was it. Sunstroke maybe? Either way, you shouldn’t have been this forward so soon.
“Careful honey, we’re stuck in this room together for a week. You don’t wanna know how good my hands could make you feel.” The worst part was, you didn’t doubt Bucky could back his confidence up.
“And what if I did?” You asked quietly, his head pulling from his bag to look at you.
“Wouldn’t be right honey. Your parents are next door.” Was that really his only objection?
“Guess you’re right Buck.”
The evening was more relaxed after that, Bucky dressed in a thin T-shirt and boxers, busying himself on his phone while you watched some mindless hotel TV.
At around 10, Bucky pulled himself up, taking his pillows with him.
“What are you doing?” You laughed incredulously.
“Jus’ makin’ up the bath angel, ‘s been a long day.” He did sound drained, exhausted between the travelling and the excessive heat.
“Bucky don’t be silly, you’re not breaking your back in the bath. Sleep in the bed. It’ll be fine.” He wasn’t even sure if he could trust himself. Could he really sleep beside you and not give in to the temptation? But his body was sore, achy and in need of somewhere comfortable to sleep so he gave in without argument.
You lay in silence when the lights turned off, side by side, staring at the ceiling.
“So goddamn warm.” Bucky sighed softly after a few moments.
“So warm.” You agreed. “If you wanna sleep naked, I won’t stop you.” You were only teasing but when he pulled his shirt off your heart fluttered.
“I’ll take the rest off if you do. Won’t look, promise. Jus’ cant sleep in this heat.” You could tell his head was turned towards you despite it being dark, eyes probably trained on you.
“Yeah, sounds fair.” You were gasping for it. You couldn’t help how your pussy throbbed just at the thought of being naked in bed beside Bucky.
Wordlessly, you both undressed, skimpy bed clothes discarded.
“Fuck honey, I don’t think the heat was the problem.” Bucky practically groaned after a few minutes of trying to get comfy. “I’m gonna have to go to the bath, ‘m sorry, this is so wrong.” He pulled himself up, making sure the duvet still covered him, hands running over his face in an effort to calm down.
“What’s wrong Buck?” You asked quietly, leaning over to turn on the little bedside light, keeping yourself covered.
“ ‘m fuckin’ hard. Can’t… can’t sleep beside you like this, not when the only thought in my head is burying myself deep in your little pussy.” He sounded boarder-line distraught. The thoughts had been in his head too long.
“Don’t go.” You whispered, noticing that he turned around to look at you. “I’ll take care of it for you, you don’t need to go.”
“Baby, don’t offer me shit like that. No idea how bad I want it.” You could see his eyes flitting over your face in the dim light. Studying you. Searching for any indication you weren’t serious.
“We don’t need to have sex, jus’ lemme take care of it for you.” How could he say no? Leaning back on bed, his head hit the pillow with a soft crinkle of the sheets.
“You sure you’re okay with this?” He asked quietly, pressing a little kiss to your forehead, loving how you hummed your approval. Your hands wandered, meeting the soft, hairy skin of his thighs, drifting upwards until they met Bucky’s length. The tiny groan that left Bucky sent a shiver running through your body, delicious little grunts escaping him as you stroked him from base to tip, flicking your wrist to concentrate on his tip.
“Oh Jesus fuckin’ -ah- don’t know who taught you that angel but I gotta thank ‘em some day.” Bucky’s eyes were squeezed tightly shut, a lazy smile plastered on his beautiful face while your tiny hand continued.
“Fuck sugar, you mind if I watch? Can’t miss this.” His cheeks were blazing, eyes burning with lust and how could you say no? After your little nod, Bucky pulled the covers back, exposing his aching cock in your hand.
“Looks good there doesn’t it? Looks even bigger in my tiny hand than it does in yours.” Your teasing had him groaning, trying to drink in every little squeeze and stroke without so much as blinking. He didn’t want to miss a single second.
“Fuck, feels so good. This isn’t fair angel, I’m havin’ all the fun.” His eyes reluctantly tore themselves away from your hand, looking instead into your eyes.
“Then touch me Buck.” Such a simple command almost made him cum on the spot. Your voice was far too innocent, hearing you finally ask for something he had waited so long for.
He couldn’t waste a second, fingers itching to touch you exactly how he had longed to earlier. Oh fuck. Earlier. The thought of your oiled up skin, slick and shiny and so begging to be kissed. The reason this had all started.
It didn’t take him long for his fingers to find the apex of your thighs, your hand never relenting on his cock. A heavy gasp dragged from both of your throats just feeling how wet you were. Pretty thighs coated with evidence of your lust and that’s when Bucky lost it completely.
“Oh baby, you need me that badly already? You even know how wet you are? Fuck, bet I’ve got your tight little cunt throbbin’ don’t I? Thought I was horny but damn, you’re more worked up than I thought. Dumb little girl just loves playin’ with a big cock so much you’re practically creamin’ on my fingers.” You weren’t sure if his words were making your insides twist or if it was the way his fingers found your clit effortlessly, even with your body still covered by the sheets. Tight, rough circles rubbed over your sensitive bundle of nerves before dipping further, sinking into your hole in one fluid motion.
“Ah Buck, Jesus.” Somehow through your own pleasure, you had the capacity to keep stroking him, precum beading nicely on his tip, beginning to run down his swollen head.
“God, you’re so tight, grippin’ my fingers. How the fuck’m I s’pposed to sleep this week knowin’ I’m sleepin’ beside the best pussy I’m not even gonna getta feel.”
“Oh Bucky, please. I’m close. So close.” You couldn’t help rolling closer towards him, one leg hitched over the top of his so you’d be more comfortable.
“Hardly even touched you angel, can’t believe a sweet little thing like you comes apart so easily. Would be embarrassing if it wasn’t so damn hot for me. Makin’ you cum in just a few minutes. Anyone ever done that for you before baby?” His gruff little whisper you painfully sexy, watching your face now instead of your hand on his cock.
“N-no Buck. Haven’t even cum this fast by myself before, fuck, rub my clit again, please.” You were whining, back arching off the bed and trying to fuck yourself down on his fingers all at once.
“Love when a woman isn’t scared to ask for what she wants.” His little chuckle was so sexy but he did as you asked, his fingers slipping from you, despite how your body tried to pull him back in. In less than a second, they were back on your clit, the little flicks of his fingertips over your sensitive bundle of nerves making you mewl and whimper. That knot tightening in your tummy couldn’t take much more, the pressure building, your walls clenching around nothing until oh.
Your body released, spasming and twitching, Bucky’s free hand clapped over your mouth to silence your filthy cries of pleasure.
“Baby you make such pretty fuckin’ noises when you cum but your parents are right next door. Can’t get caught. As much as I want this whole damn resort to know who’s makin’ this pretty pussy gush like that.”
Your orgasm subsided but the fire inside you hadn’t. Bucky removed his hand and almost the second he did you were on him, your lips on his for the first time, hot and electric. His hands grabbed at you the way he had always imagined they would. Eventually they settled on your hips, pulling you on top to straddle him, wet, aching core meeting his throbbing length. Both of you hissed at the contact.
“You still need more baby? That pretty pussy not had enough yet? You know we shouldn’t do this angel. Helpin’ each other out is one thing but I don’t know if we can come back from havin’ sex.” Shit, he was right. How could you possibly look at him again if you had sex now? How would your family dinners ever be the same again? How would you ever find someone that filled you the way you knew he could?
“Okay…. No sex. Just lemme…” You both needed something and this would just have to do. Reaching between your bodies, you pressed his cock flat to his tummy, settling yourself on top of the length, your slick folds parted so he was rubbing against the silkiest part of your core, not letting him inside, just using his girth to get yourself off.
“Oh, oh what the fuck. How does that feel so good.” Bucky was amazed, his body almost tricking itself into thinking he was inside you.
“Ah that’s perfect, right fucking there.” Your whimper came out breathy and blissed out, the head of his cock nudging your clit each time you rocked on him and damn, you hadn’t expected it to feel so breathtaking.
Speeding up, you could feel his cock drag over your hole with each little grind of your hips and shit, everything was perfect until the head started to catch on the rim of your little hole, your body begging for him to fill you. Bucky was lost in the feeling, one hand gripping your hips, the other gripping the sheets, focusing on not blowing his load too soon.
“You feel that Buck? Fuck, you’re so close to bein’ inside me, can feel my pussy trying to pull you in.” Every little catch of his head on the rim of your hole was fresh torture. “Fuck it Buck, I can’t. Need you ‘nside me.” Your whimpers were killing him.
“Ahh, baby we can’t. Please, I won’t be able to handle it.” You weren’t sure how Bucky had been reduced to such a mess but in truth, you weren’t far behind him. “Don’t wanna hurt you, I won’t be able to hold back, fuck, shit, ‘m almost inside you. Baby please.” Bucky didn’t know whether to stop this now or just thrust up into you. One grind of his hips would solve it all, he could be buried to the hilt inside you within a second if he could just let himself give in.
On the next grind, the drag of your rim on his head was just unbearable, the slick tip of his cock slipping in, barely more than an inch, both of you gasping at once.
“Oh yes, fuck baby, yes,” Bucky’s eyes were rolling back in his head, body almost trembling feeling the tight wet clench of your walls around him, taking all of him in one movement.
“Bucky, Bucky, ah please.” You couldn’t even hold it together anymore.
“Baby, you’re made for me, shit, tightest pussy I’ve ever felt.” He groaned so loudly before you lifted yourself up, falling back down quickly in a way that had you both crying out, keening against each other.
Your rhythm was slow and sensual, his cock spearing that sweet spot inside you with every fall of your hips.
“I can’t baby, ‘m not gonna last. You think you could cum for me, please baby.” He was so gone, hardly able to focus, determined to make you cum before he had to pull out. Your nod sent his two fingers back to your clit, rubbing with ease while you kept fucking him, building the uncontrollable need inside you back up again.
“Hurry up baby, ‘m gonna cum.” His little groan nearly finished you then and there but you weren’t just ready yet.
“Bucky please, jus’ cum in me. Needa feel it.” Your little plea shook him to his core, balls emptying into you with a loud cry. The force of Bucky’s release encouraged your own, his fingers not relenting on your abused clit, dragging you over the edge into blinding pleasure with a high cry.
“Oh God baby, shouldn’t’a cum in you. I’m so sorry, holy shit.” Bucky had finally come to his senses, helping you off him and onto the bed, ready to start Googling for a pharmacy to get the morning after pill.
“Bucky relax, I’m protected.” Your laugh calmed him deep in his soul, relief washing over his face when he realised you weren’t actually in trouble.
“Thank god.” He gasped. “Your dad would kill me.”
@justatirednightowl @babebr @stucky-my-ship @allydrabbles @white-wolves-and-grey-skies @harrysthiccthighss @sebsbrokentoe @jeremyrennerfanxxxx123 @littlecanadianlani @badgirlwolfy @igotmajordaddyissues @baebee35
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Peter: What's nostalgia?
Y/N: It's when you miss something that's really old.
Steve: I'm back.
Natasha: Hey! We missed you!
Peter, whispering to Y/N: Nostalgia.
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And it’s only the first episode
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I'm curious to know about variant! Doc, like I feel you've dropped a fair amount of hints about them. Are we going to see more than one soon? Like the other variants?
FROM THE VOID, WITH LOVE | one more almost
summary: he only wishes he could have told you.
pairing: loki / f!reader, referenced & implied sylvie / f!reader
listen to: prokofiev: romeo & juliet, op.64 / act I, dance of the knights
a/n: ha. ah... ahaha. yeah, yeah. you guys have been waiting for this one. and uh, its here. and so is doc's variant, sylvie's doc. she's here. she's mean. and loki is having a rough go of it. once more, the gif is from @kamalaskhans's lovely set here.
[ MASTERPOST ]
Sylvie has lost a lot in her life.
She knows losing well. She knows it horrifically well, intimately so, and she knows the cruel, knife-bitten pain that sinks into the heart with loss.
She's lost homes, she's lost safety and peace; she's lost lives, she's lost loves.
Friends are a rare loss, one she hasn't experienced much of — but the threat of such is responsible for her immediate relief upon seeing both you and Loki.
Her hair hangs in her face in damp tendrils of blonde and black, mingling who-she-was with who-she-is in a telling smear of haunting revenge. Though she has her own momentary victories to celebrate, she's dares not utter them in the presences of the viciously cunning Ravonna Renslayer.
No, and even still, her own plan is shoved far back in her mind at the sight of you and Loki.
She knows the looks on your faces well — it's as if she is looking in a mirror, etched with her own visage. While she isn't sure exactly what has transpired to claw such stinging surrender out of Loki and such desperate, venomous spite out of you, she knows.
She knows someone is gone.
"Get off of me!" your voice cracks with rage as your feet lift in an almost child-like, desperate attempt to break free; and for a moment, the guards falter and attempt to catch you, only to send one toppling to the ground. Sylvie watches as you plant a hard kick to the Hunter's chest and spin to try and yank your arm from the other's grasp.
You're as biting as a hellcat, hellbent on digging your claws into anyone near.
Sylvie hasn't seen this side of you.
Loki hasn't either.
And he knows, he knows, it's heartbreak. His only pushes him farther in an icy depth, all while you battle the raging storm within you — and perhaps that's the beauty of it. The beauty of you two. How different you are in the face of loss.
Renslayer is one step ahead of you.
Her baton is raised. It crackles dangerously at your throat. Your eyes level, and there's a flash of something there — and for a moment, a split second of frozen time, Ravonna is afraid.
You see it.
Through wet lashes, through gritted teeth, through a look so sharp it could cut her down where she stands.
But, her facade slips back into place, and the Judge holds you there with her weapon as the guards secure their hold on you once more.
They muscle you between Sylvie and Loki.
Renslayer leans, whispering in your ear.
"Best behave, Variant."
"Go to hell," you hiss as you stare at those golden elevator doors; but the dig aimed at Renslayer's throat lands, "Variant."
Everyone stiffens — but you don't move. Instead, there's a smug smirk on your face. Sylvie sees it, and she's almost proud. But, now isn't the time for gloating. No, over-confidence will be the end of the three of you.
After a moment too long, Renslayer clears her throat.
"I've got them from here."
Loki can feel the dread crawling up his neck, painting him pale — because the horrible truth of it is that this is the last dance. This is the final act, the end of the book. This is where he atones, where the full stop falls after he's told he'll never have those very things he yearns for; any inkling of hope was snuffed out with Mobius.
And now, he's got to watch his only other two die by the same fated hand. A swing of a baton, the fizzle of a thousand burning embers. Then, nothing. Silence.
His hands, balled in tight fists, fight the urge to reach out to you — and when Loki looks across to Sylvie, he sees her regretful look.
"You okay?" she whispers to him.
All he can do is nod. You swallow down another burst of anger; instead, you grit your jaw and settle back on your heels.
The guards release the three of you.
And so, you're marched to the elevator. Collared and trapped.
You'd never really considered how you'd die — no, that very human thing was something you'd stayed far from. As a kid, you'd had nightmares about it. They were sudden and terrifying. Death, to you, was the sort of thing that dragged you away and took you when you were alone. It was dark and it was quiet and it was nothing. The unknown.
Maybe that's why you grew up always trying to prove the existence of life beyond your own.
Time, despite always ticking on, always ends. For you, for Loki, for Sylvie. For the TVA.
You can't help but feel a bit of peace at the realization you'll die beside friends.
The haunting regret falls at the knowledge you'll die beside the man you'll one day love — the man you'll know as yours. Loki, too, admits this is a horrifically brutal truth. It has carved him out, hollowed him, and he can only hope it's quick.
The pomp and circumstance is nothing but frivolous.
He despises it.
The elevator doors close in front of you, and you watch the hallways of the Time Theaters disappear.
Somewhere, far away, the finale begins — and as the elevator plummets. Each floor passes in a heavy fwush, accompanied by the weighted beat of your hearts.
It's Sylvie who speaks.
Beside you, her voice wavers. "Do you remember me?"
Behind you, Ravonna speaks curtly. "I do."
Another floor passes. Another breath.
"What was my Nexus Event?"
"What does it matter?" comes the scoffed reply.
But, Sylvie bites back. "It was enough to take my life from me, to lead to all of this. Must of been important. So, what was it?"
You can hear her scowl.
And then, Ravonna.
"I don't remember."
"You're a liar," you spit on reaction, knowing full well the reply would gut anyone — let alone Sylvie, "And a coward."
Your eyes stay forward. Loki inhales sharply.
Ravonna's eyes bore a hole into the back of your skull. "Am I?"
"I saw it in your eyes," you drawl, almost tauntingly, "You're afraid of me. Of us."
"Oh," comes a laugh, "Not you. No, Variant."
Then, the elevator settles.
The doors open.
The world falls away.
Your veins turn to ice.
Standing there, in the grey, is you.
Not you — no, no this you is sharper. Vicious. Standing at attention, you see the flash of viper-like eyes narrow in on you. The uniform adorning her accentuates the brutal posture she maintains; rigid and cutting. Her uniform differs from Ravonna's. It's black. Accented only with smatterings of gold. Her boots glint like a knife in the low hanging fog. She is militant. Dangerous.
Sylvie feels as if the world has fallen away in that very moment.
All Sylvie can remember now is sun-kissed touches, enamored moments of quiet, your lips on hers as the worlds fell apart. Peace. Touch that felt like a home. You. You in all your wonder, in all your perfect eclectic chaos. Time hadn't kept you apart. No, now it's your minds.
Everything is gone. Everything flies far back, far away, and the focal point of her world is you — this version of you. Hers. Her Doctor. Her dear, sweet, lovely Doctor. Among the fog, swirling like horns about your tight plaits of hair, Sylvie swears she sees a glimmer of recognition.
It's in vain.
And it's horrifying.
It's like someone has clawed their way into her chest and ripped her heart out, adorning it as a broach. This version of you wears it proudly, and it shows when you step forward. Blood on your hands.
Protector of the Time-Keepers. Arbiter of Time. Architect of Alterations.
She casts one long look over you. The smirk there is disarming. Lethal.
Loki's breath catches.
Sylvie, beside you, flinches when the eyes of the Commandant fall upon her.
She does not move, only holds her posture with her gloved hands clasped tightly behind her back. The angle of her jaw is sharp. You see a flash of devilish amusement bloom at the sight of Sylvie.
"So we meet again."
Sylvie swallows. Her heart twists.
Her mouth feels as if it's been plied with cotton.
You step forward, out of that elevator, and come toe-to-toe with her.
You see nothing in her eyes.
They're cold, and they're dark.
She raises her chin, settles back in her boots, and almost scoffs. Then, she leans forward.
Her whisper is close.
"What a shame."
She steps aside. It's nearly mechanical. Your jaw is gritted tightly in anger. You slide a look to Loki — and he exhales. His eyes are sad. Sylvie is far-away. Not here. Somewhere in her mind.
You see your breath in the cold of the room.
You step forward. Loki and Sylvie follow. The echo of the chamber is off putting, and over your shoulder you watch as you, the Commandant, preside of this... execution.
"As promised, the Variants."
Your eyes lift, and in the haze, you see them.
Three of them, perched on their thrones, like kings of a stolen land. Usurpers in their own right. You can't help but scoff at the frivolity of it all. It's like your sophomore year dorm room. Y'know, with those strip LEDs? Yeah, yeah, that's the look. And some dollar store rubber masks.
Something is... wrong. Like a puppet show.
"After all your struggle, at last you've arrived before us..."
"What do you have to say for yourselves before you meet your end, Variants?"
When Loki speaks, your head snaps to him.
It's courage you see.
A flash of something pure and brave, and it brings an awe smile to your face as he speaks up.
"Is that the only reason you brought us here?" Loki goads, "To kill us? I've lost track of the number of times I've been killed. So go on, do your worst."
"You and your bravado are no threat to us, Variant."
You don't bother to hide your scoff.
Sylvie does the same. "Oh, no, I don't think you believe that—"
She moves, attempting to step forward, and behind you the Commandant's baton buzzes to life. The staff is long, double ended. But, it's Judge Renslayer that reins Sylvie back in. She phases back into place, swallowing her words.
But, her fire is only stoked.
"I think you're scared."
"No, Variant, you're nothing but a cosmic disappointment—"
"Look at them," you snide, "Turning to mockery, like dogs with their tails between their legs—"
"Oh, I'm not done with you yet," you snap, stepping forward, but the phase never comes. That spin of vertigo doesn't yank you back in time. Suddenly, you wonder if it's Renslayer — but one look backwards confirms she's horrified. Confused. Concerned.
Because, as the elevators part, a new player enters the arena.
Hunter B-15 slams her thumb down on the control pad, and the collars around you, Loki and Sylvie's neck fall away.
Suddenly, the finale doesn't seem so certain — especially not when she stands her ground.
"For all time," she breathes with defiance, glowing in a new sense of purpose, "Always."
Sylvie's blade flies through the air.
And then, as it lands in her hands, the room shifts.
Two guards, Judge Renslayer and the Commandant.
You find yourself back to back with Sylvie and Loki as the three of you are cornered in the center of the room — less like caged animals now and more like predators avoiding capture, promising revenge. The air has changed. The cold gives way to electric danger.
"Protect the Time-Keepers!" comes the barked order of the Commandant as she knocks her staff on the ground, then assumes a fighting stance. It's threatening, practiced, and challenging.
It makes your lip curl.
"She's mine," you breathe.
Loki takes a breath.
Then, it begins.
You rush to charge the Commandant, hands swinging to catch the end of the spear, just below the sizzling tip — and it seems to daunt the woman. Just enough that you're able to twist away and wrench the pike hard enough to cause her to stagger. But it only sends her into a lunge, one that you duck; the end whizzes by your head and you roll from her on the ground.
Meanwhile, Loki and Sylvie have their hands tied — yet the God of Mischief finds his concern bubbling at the sight of you tackling the Protector of the Time-Keepers. For a moment, he falters, and he takes a nasty cut to the ribs. He groans, buckles, and quickly wrenches himself back upright.
"A little help?" he grits out, and Sylvie nods — her own duel with Ravonna begins when her knife flies to Loki.
The blonde Goddess picks up a staff, clicks it alive, and grins.
Renslayer is scared.
After all, the two Gods are fending their own — once again, the mirrored dance of frenzied strikes and stabs is enough to overwhelm anyone, even the guards tasked with protecting those upon the thrones.
Above the killing floor, you grunt — and once more, you're struck with the kick of a boot. This time, though, your hands grapple with the strike as you send the Commandant backwards.
"Come on," you taunt, "If I'm such a shame, why can't you kill me?"
Her hair has gone wild, strands flying from the tightly woven braids around her head. Her eyes are bright with fury. She inhales, exhales, and swallows.
"She loves you, you know," you shout as you move, mirroring her as she beings to pace around you in a circle, "Sylvie does. You're the one, aren't you?"
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"You know her—"
"She's a wanted fugitive—"
"She's the love of your life—"
"Shut up!" she screams like a banshee, charging you with the baton high above her head. You step aside, avoid the slash, and try to keep your head level.
You find that Sylvie is, indeed, holding her own — and Loki, too.
Your eyes connect with his for a moment, and there's something there.
You don't have time to pin it down, though. Instead, you're slashed at once more with the warbling taser — and this time the speared end catches you hard in the jaw. The slice hurts and you cry out, but there's no cowering to be expected. No, you rally back as you snatch a fallen baton. You bring it down hard to the center of hers.
Her eyes are wide.
"Who are you?" she snaps.
The Commandant falters, staggering back, and she swings the spear to follow the line of her arm, tucked tight to her back.
"You're a variant," she spits, "An anomaly."
"So are you," you counter as you begin to circle one another once more, "You had a life. You had her — before the Time-Keeper's stole that from you."
You can see something like horror twist on her face.
You wonder if Sylvie, long ago, had tried this very tactic.
Had she enchanted her?
Had the dreams stuck?
Had it been enough to plant a seed of doubt?
It's enough of a hesitation to grant you the reaction time to strike her hard across the jaw, just as she had you, and then bring the middle of the baton down on her head, but not without a fight. She kicks and she screams and she drags you by the hair. Your baton becomes a point in the battle, and as she gets the upper hand, you feel the sleek piece of metal press hard against your windpipe.
"You love her," you choke as you struggle.
The Commandant's eyes are wild. "Shut up!"
She lets up, only a bit, but you're quick. You throw the weight of your hips up, roll her, and finally you manage to grab her in a chokehold — tight enough to subdue her, and when she finally falls limp, you're gasping for air.
She goes slack, and you tumble back onto the cool pavement.
Loki is by your side in an instant.
In the fray, it seems Renslayer has also been dealt with.
Loki's hands are gentle as he helps you up; he's careful to check your over with his eyes — and even more so, to offer you a pride-filled smile as his thumb graces the long gash across your jaw. Sweat mingles with blood, and yet, you feel beautiful in his gaze.
Sylvie huffs, eyes flickering across the fallen form of the Commandant on the steps.
You can see the hurt there. The worry.
Sylvie flinches when you reach for her hand. Nevertheless, she takes it and she squeezes.
Loki, on her other side, hands her back her saber.
And it's then, that the Time-Keepers sense they've lost.
And you feel proud.
You're sneering when the one in the middle speaks in an echoing timber of bargain.
"You're a child of the Time-Keepers, too, Sylvie. We can talk."
And with one perfectly aimed blow, her knife flies through the air and severs the head of the Time-Keeper straight off.
His head tumbles down the steps.
And, in the silence: laughter.
Your confidence melts away.
Something isn't right.
No, no, no — no. No, there's...
It falls to Loki's feet, between the both of you, and you both share a horrified look when the sparks glow in the fog. Kisses of electricity fly from the neck of the supposed Time-Keeper.
Suddenly, a sound of mechanisms powering down fills the chamber. You look up, and you see the other two slump in their thrones, Gods turned to nothing more than wires and batteries. Animatronics.
Sylvie rushes down the steps.
She moves to pull the head from the ground to Loki's dismay, but you cannot pull your eyes away — the jaw of the supposed-deity twitches as sparks fly from his throat; and Sylvie breathes out one word:
Loki comes closer and you lift your eyes to the both of them.
The head slowly slips from her hands.
Loki heaves a breath — his eyes fall along the line of thrones as he shakes away a feeling of crushing anxiety. No, this is bad. This is... This seemed too easy. This was supposed to be the end.
"It never stops."
He inhales again, and you can see fear in his eyes.
"Then who created the TVA?" he asks desperately, eyes flicking between you and Sylvie.
"I thought this was it," she spits as she throws the head.
You drop, squatting low. Adrenaline still mingles in your veins. You wring your hands. You take three breaths, then you stand once more.
"This can't be it," you say as your voice shatters, "It can't be."
"We... We have nothing," Sylvie's composure crumbles, "Nothing but lies and more lies."
The horror of it all is setting in.
You shake your head. "No."
"Doctor," Loki breathes out, "Please."
"This isn't how it goes," you say sharply as you spin around and look up at the levels and levels and levels of this place; you're frantic, "This isn't how the stories go — this isn't how they end."
"We aren't heroes," Sylvie spits at the head as she throws her hands, "We just don't get happy endings. And so the TVA will rule on. And people like us will be stolen and deleted. As it was, as it will be."
Your face falls. Sylvie can see your heartbreaking. Loki, too, knows the wobble of your chin well — and he sees the gutted expression swallow you whole.
Quietly, you whisper: "But, we deserve to be happy."
His heart clenches.
You reach for his hand and it all but seals his death in a neatly packaged letter — complete with a forlorn look that's enough to break him in two.
"I have to tell you something."
Your heart stills. It feels as if someone has gone and plucked the most harrowing love theme on your heartstrings. The sort that plays before the kiss, before the confession, before the blurry haze of hope.
He reaches for you, hands falling along your jaw.
He holds you, if only for a moment.
You can only try your best to battle back the tears.
His whole world slows down — and in it, in your eyes, he sees promise. Could-have-beens. Promises kept and promises lost. Love and life and death. He sees laughter, and kisses in the sun of the morning. He sees your smile, he sees life together, and then it's gone.
Gone, gone, gone.
You've slipped through his fingers like snow.
And, in your wake, the Commandant stands.
And, then, she strikes Loki down.
Somewhere, Somethin' Stupid by Frank Sinatra plays.
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A Glorious Purpose (Loki x Fem!Reader)
In which Loki watches his future and finds you play a much larger role than he had expected... SPOILERS FOR LOKI SERIES!!! Send any requests my way :) I’ve got some free time and I’m ready to WRITE!
The screen showed a pixelated version of the Avengers… and you. You who he had seen mere hours ago fighting against him, and then whom he had seen two versions of. He had smelled the cologne of the two Tony’s, just as he had beheld the two Y/N’s.
He hadn’t originally noticed you dressed as a guard until he had heard the subtle, yet sharp intake of breath, a breath not all that different from the gasp he had made moments ago when seeing his mother on this damned screen, a gasp of pain. You were clearly older, a scar on your cheek that hadn’t been there mere moments ago at the top of Avengers tower as you had nudged Romanoff with a grin as you settled into the elevator. This older you had locked eyes with him for a fleeting second until being broken apart by the commotion of the Hulk smashing through the stairwell door and sending everyone scrambling.
It had struck him as odd at the time, yes, but he had been preoccupied with other details (such as escaping) rather than wondering why the mighty avengers had decided to play around with time. He’d had only a couple of conversations with you until now, and none of them entirely delightful seeing as you were on opposing sides, and the recognition held in future you’s eyes had unsettled him more than he’d care to say.
Glancing once more at the table before him, Loki pulled out a chair and sat. The round device before him was no more complicated than anything else he’d seen before, and a twist of a knob later, he was skipping through his life on film.
Stop. His mother, dead on the floor. His doing, according to Mobius. A manifestation of the pain and suffering he had been supposedly born to cause. A shuddering breath escaped him.
Twist. Images of Thor and... you for some reason flickered past like voices on the wind, glimpses of some life he had never lived, some life he was meant to live. And Odin, his... well, the closest thing to a father Loki had ever known.
Stop. “I love you, my sons.” He saw himself, an older Loki, beside his father. Another shuddering breath escaped him. My sons… Odin had seen this Loki, this version of him, as his true son. He had not hesitated, had not made him an afterthought behind Thor. Tears welled up in his vision, and try as he may, Loki could not stop them. “Remember this place. Home.” He watched as his father died before his very eyes, saw himself stand beside Thor as brothers once more, united in their grief. He saw You, coming to his side and placing a comforting hand on his shoulder.
Stop. You, kissing him. His hands tangled in your hair. You pull away with a gasp for air, a smile playing on your lips as you trace a delicate hand across his cheek. “You are good, Loki Laufeyson, and you deserve good things.” His future self breaths a small laugh as he shakes his head, placing his hand atop your own. “You are the good in me, my love.”
Stop. Thor, his hair cut and trimmed short, staring at Loki with… love. “Loki, I thought the world of you. I thought we were gonna fight side by side forever.” Loki drew yet another shuddering breath and looked away. Forever.
Stop. You. You, on the Bifrost beside himself, Thor (missing an eye no less), and who appeared to be a Valkyrie from the stories his mother would tell them as children. You, weapon in hand and looking slightly worse for wear, sweat dripping down your face as you shot him a sly grin.
Stop.Thor, a newfound patch on his eye, turning. “Maybe you’re not so bad after all, brother.” A sly grin on his future self’s face as he replied, “Maybe not.” A thanks from Thor, his voice deep and true, “If you were here, I might even give you a hug.” Loki can’t stop the incredulous laugh from leaving his lips as he watches the scene before him. His soft brother, still soft. A quiet response from his future self, “I’m here.” A soft click indicating the opening of a door, laughter from offscreen. Your voice rings out playfully, “Oh please, don’t let me interrupt. I’d like to see this.”
Stop. Himself, panting and suddenly thrusting a knife upwards at Thanos… who makes no movement of defense, a glittering gold gauntlet already adorning his fist. Loki’s smile falls into a grimace as realization strikes him. “Undying?” The giant asks and he hears scraping from the sidelines. A glance of his future self’s eyes turns the screen on you, beaten and bloody, struggling on your knees with a hand of one of Thanos’ children’s clamped tightly over your mouth. Tears fall from your eyes as you flail against their grip, fighting. This future Loki merely nods towards you. Thanos’ voice cuts through the silence. “Undying? You should choose your words more carefully.”
Loki stands to his feet and watches as his future self is lifted into the air by the neck, choked forcefully. He sees himself struggle to no avail, his suffering long and drawn out. His words broken and strained, “You... will never be... a god.” The snap of his neck. His death. Gasping and taking frantic steps back, Loki watches as his brother and you grieve over his body. Thor crying silently while you frantically shake his body, begging him to wake up and come back to you.
An explosion marking the end of the tape. He scoffs, despair and regret boiling up in his chest.
A glorious purpose indeed.
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What Is and What Should Never Be
Pairing: Loki x F!Reader
Summary: Loki is forced to watch both his past and his future and only realises what he had once it's gone.
Word Count: 2,015
Warnings: Angst, major spoilers for 1x01 of Loki!
a/n: I had to write this because I am so not okay after episode one and I need to vent somehow so voila. Spoilers below!
“What is this?” Loki scoffed as the screen in front of him whirled to life.
“A sample of your greatest hits, if I may.”
Mobius flipped a switch on his machine and a clear image of the Avengers lit up the screen. Loki sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, his irritation reaching its limits. He didn't know how much more of this idiocy he could take.
Footage of the attack on New York and the death of Phil Coulson filled the screen and Loki watched on with a glare.
“Do you enjoy hurting people?” Mobius asked and the god raised his head to glower at the agent.
“Your games don't frighten me. I know what I am,” Loki replied calmly.
“A liberator,” he countered.
Mobius scoffed. “Of eyeballs maybe.” What Loki recognised as his attack on Germany replayed in front of them. “Look at that smile, you're enjoying it. Did you enjoy hurting them?”
Loki shook his head. “I don't have to play these games, I'm a god.”
Mobius reclined in his chair with a quiet chuckle. He looked Loki over and when his menacing glare didn't falter, he sighed. “Alright, looks like someone needs a little humbling.”
The tape began to rewind and Loki lowered his gaze to his hands, not bothering to watch. He noticed Mobius stopping the footage from across the table with a quiet ‘here we go.’
The new voice on-screen caused Loki's head to snap up and his eyes widened when he saw you. You were stood in front of him, a bright smile adorning your face. You looked so real he could almost reach out and touch you.
“You remember her don't you?” Mobius asked with a smirk. Loki didn't answer, his eyes still fixed on the screen. He recalled the memory. It was the day of Thor's coronation, the day he was supposed to become king.
“If you're late your brother is going to kill you,” you continued with a smirk as you lifted Loki's horned helmet from a nearby table and handed it to him.
Loki watched as his past self, younger and far less burdened, stepped back and allowed you to take in his appearance.
“How do I look?”
“All eyes will be on your brother, Loki. As much as I may appreciate it, there's no need for you to dress to impress.”
Loki's past self chuckled. “I know. But honestly,” his voice became slightly timider. “How do I look?”
Your smile didn't falter as you gently traced his jaw with your hand and placed a chaste kiss against his lips. “Like a prince.”
“Oh, that's sweet,” Mobius commented as he took a swig of his soda and Loki bit his lip, drawing his eyes away from the screen.
“Why are you showing me this?”
Mobius didn't answer, flicking a switch on the machine as the footage began to fast forward.
“Let's keep going,” he said plainly.
Loki immediately remembered the day that was now beginning to play on the screen in front of him. It was the day he discovered everything he'd known was a lie. The day that changed him and set him on the path that led him to this very moment. He watched as the version of himself on screen lifted the jötun casket and exhaled in horror when his hands and arms turned blue. After his confrontation with Odin, he watched as his past self fled to your chambers, barely keeping his composure.
“Loki,” you said as you opened the door to your room, knowing something wasn't right the moment your eyes landed on him. You ushered him inside with a gentle hand on his back. “What's wrong?”
The moment the door shut, his arms wrapped around you and he broke. Loki turned away from the screen, not particularly wanting to re-watch one of his most vulnerable moments. He heard the conversation that took place on-screen and recalled how you'd asked him to show you his true form. Loki kept his eyes trained on the table in front of him.
“Look at me,” your voice ordered quietly from the screen and Loki couldn't help but comply, it was almost instinctive. He glanced up at you and his hardened expression softened when he saw the memory play out. He stood shamefully in his true form, skin blue and eyes red. Yet you cradled his cheek, staring at him with no hint of fear or repulsion. A soft smile pulled at your lips. “Loki, look at me.”
His past self finally gave in and raised his head to look at you. You gently traced his cheek with your thumb and Loki's eyes slid shut.
“You're beautiful,” you said quietly and Loki felt his chest tighten as he watched on from his seat. “And I'm not afraid of you. I could never be afraid of you.”
He watched as you pulled him into an embrace, the image freezing on-screen as Mobius paused the footage.
“She really was the best thing that happened to you, wasn't she?”
Loki shook his head as he pointed to the screen. “That is private. And I don't see how it is relevant either.”
“You were different with her,” Mobius stated plainly. “You weren't the big and scary Loki that wanted to take over the universe and rule everything. You were happy, content even.”
“That's enough,” Loki bit out but Mobius didn't stop.
“So why didn't you listen to her when she told you to stand down and not attack earth?”
“That is none of your concern.” Loki hated how his voice wavered, knowing his emotion had given him away. He didn't have a choice. He attacked Midgard because there was no other alternative. After the Jötun attack he coordinated on Asgard, he was convinced he'd lost you. You couldn't possibly love him after what he'd done. That's why he'd let go of the Bifrost. He had nothing left to lose. And it was also why all the memories Mobius was forcing him to relive cut so deep. He didn't need a reminder of what he'd lost.
“Alright, let's skip ahead a little shall we?”
Mobius flipped the switch on the machine again and a new image filled the screen. You and Loki stood facing each other, hand in hand and smiling lovingly. The memory was unfamiliar and Loki couldn't pinpoint when it had occurred. He slowly stood from his seat and approached the screen.
“What is this?”
“That's the night of your wedding,” Mobius stated and Loki's brows creased as he watched the scene unfold in front of him.
“We never married.”
“Not you, not yet. This is your future, Loki. What would have happened had you stayed in your timeline.” Mobius explained, tinkering with the machine so that multiple other images were pulled up on screen. All moments Loki was yet to live. “She forgave you for what you did on earth, stood by you when Odin had you locked up, fought alongside you. And then,”
Loki's heart threatened to stop when the mad titan Thanos appeared on the screen.
“W-what is this?” Loki asked, watching intently. He watched in horror as you, bloody and beaten, stood your ground against Thanos, refusing to back down. Freezing you in place with the power of an infinity stone, Thanos accepted a blade from one of his henchmen and Loki shook his head, refusing to accept what he knew was coming. A horrified shout left his lips as the blade pierced your body. Tears fell freely from his eyes when he saw your terrified expression as you died slowly, painfully.
He stumbled away from the screen and turned to Mobius. “What have you done to her?”
“We haven't done anything.”
“Where are you keeping her? Where is she?!” Loki yelled, his voice straining and his cheeks dampened with tears.
“She's dead, Loki,” Mobius explained simply. “Thanos found the Asgardian ship and he killed her. She died defending you.”
“No, you're lying! It's not real, that's not real,” Loki growled, pointing at the screen that held the image of your lifeless body. “This is just another trick, a cruel illusion.”
“That is the proper flow of time. It's what was, what is and what will always be. Loki, she's gone. Had you not taken the tesseract from Asgard Thanos wouldn't have found you.” Mobius shrugged. “You lead him right to her.”
“Let me ask you again, do you enjoy hurting people? Do you enjoy killing?” Mobius pried, watching as Loki turned to him with a vicious glare. He was torn between anger and heartbreak, both feelings battling for dominance.
“I'll kill you.”
“Just like you killed her?” Mobius rivalled quickly and Loki grabbed his chair, throwing it across the room and through the screen. Mobius only barely dodged the piece of furniture.
“I don't believe you. She's safe on Asgard!” Loki yelled, still in complete denial. Mobius simply shook his head.
“She was in 2012. But either way, sooner or later, she dies because of you. And it happens over and over again because it's supposed to, it has to. The TVA makes sure of it.”
Loki's glare became murderous as he began to stalk towards Mobius, but one turn of the time twister and he was sent back to the desk, falling to the floor beside it. He glanced up at Mobius and then the screen, his anger melting into sadness. His breathing became laboured as more tears blurred his vision.
“You weren't born to be king, Loki. You were born to cause pain and suffering. Everyone you love dies. Your mother, Y/N. Do you think that's a coincidence? You breed chaos everywhere you go and others pay the price.”
“Stop it,” Loki begged quietly. “Please just stop it.”
Mobius stood by, slight guilt taking hold of him as he watched the once arrogant god sit broken in front of him. He offered Loki his hand and after a moment, he accepted the offer and pulled himself to his feet.
Mobius watched him sympathetically, realising he may have just pushed Loki a little too far.
“Are you alright?”
Loki didn't answer. He wordlessly looked back at the screen before the horrifying image he was met with caused him to quickly look away.
“You said that this is the future,” Loki started quietly and Mobius nodded. “But the Y/N from my timeline, she's still alive?”
“Right now, yes she's alive.”
Loki swallowed. “If I help you, you said that you'd get me out of here?”
Mobius' expression fell when he realised what Loki's plan was. “Loki, you can't change anything. If there's even the slightest chance I can get you back to your timeline and that a big if, she'll still die the same death. It's inevitable.”
Loki's words sent Mobius back on his heels slightly. He expected Loki's plan to consist of going back for you and then attempting to rewrite history. Breaking the timeline completely just so that he could live out his life with you. But he appeared to have accepted that it wasn't possible. He knew he couldn't save you. He simply wanted more time.
Mobius nodded as he realised just how much you meant to Loki. That you were the one thing that he was willing to do anything for. He didn't question him any further, instead, he gently clasped him on the shoulder.
“Okay, let's get to work.”
Mobius crossed the room and stopped at the door, patiently waiting. Loki took a moment to compose himself before clearing his throat and following the TVA agent. Before he left the room, Loki turned and glanced back at the screen. The footage had changed. It now played a memory from many years ago. Of both of you, huddled up in Loki's chamber, reading and enjoying each others company. You were grinning and laughing and despite the ache it caused in Loki's chest, he couldn't help but smile sadly at the sight.
He was going to do everything he could to get back to you. Regardless of what it would take.
tag list: @miraclesoflove @bakerstreethound @doozywoozy @leftperfectionmoon @nahthanks @the-queer-dungeoneer
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Y/N: Okay, so let’s go over this one more time.
Y/N: If something breaks?
Peter: We try to fix it before Tony finds out!
Y/N: Yes! And if that doesn't work?
Peter: We blame it on Loki!
Loki: Honestly, fuck you guys.
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— FROM THE VOID, WITH LOVE !
AO3 | SPOTIFY | PINTEREST
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
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What if Bucky and the reader are in a relationship and he finds out he’s really into being a pleasure dom and wants to try it with the reader? 👀
Pleasure Dom Bucky, yes please 😩 you just know that mf would take such good care of you after a long stressful week. Honestly, this one took me a hot minute to write because I had to do some research for it lmao, I hope it’s okay!
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader
Word count: 5.6k
Summary: You have a terribly long week at work so Bucky helps you relax
Warnings: Smut, unprotected sex (wrap it pls), PleasureDom!Bucky, sub reader, pet names, praise kink, degradation, size kink, breeding kink, multiple orgasms, forced orgasm, oral (f receiving), somnophilia (done with consent established previously), daddy kink, the dog tags make an appearance, mention of safe words, overstimulation, lil voyeurism (watching yourselves in a mirror), light humiliation
Minors, do not interact
What had started out as a week with very little in your calendar soon turned into an absolute killer. You weren’t quite sure how your time got filled up so quickly, wall to wall meetings scheduled into your diary, leaving you hardly any time to even breathe. The meetings themselves weren’t even the worst part, the worst was knowing that after your work day had officially ended, you had endless catching up to do for your other projects and then all the planning for the meetings the following day. Your sleep was limited, as was Bucky’s. He hated going to bed without you, tossing and turning in the sheets for hours until you eventually gave in and joined him. As the week went on you found yourself only getting more and more stressed. By Friday you were almost ready to lie in bed and not move all weekend, just hoping Monday wouldn’t bring more of the same torture.
When 5pm on Friday rolled around, Bucky was standing waiting at the door to your study, adamant that your laptop would be switched off and hidden from you all weekend, along with your work mobile. You huffed out a little tired laugh, rubbing your sleepy eyes as you surrendered your gadgets, not even wanting to put up a fight, just glad to see the back of such an awful week. Bucky had let you choose a takeout to order from, keen to get some real food in you before making sure you got a good long rest to combat those dark circles forming under your eyes. Within 20 minutes of finishing dinner, your sleepy eyes became too heavy to hold open. Bucky hated seeing you so worn out, scooping you up in his arms and carrying you to bed, thankful that you had changed into your pyjamas before the food had arrived so he wouldn’t have to disturb you too much. His heart melted at the sight of you clinging to his thin cotton pyjama top, craving the comfort his body afforded you even when you were sleeping.
But God, waking up the next morning, he was reminded of exactly how much comfort your body afforded him. Your hair was fanned out on the pillow gently, your face looking so relaxed compared to how it had been all week, long eyelashes casting shadows on your cheeks in the early morning sunlight. Your little snores were still deep but fuck, the sight of you in only his shirt and a thin pair of panties had him harder than he could’ve believed possible without being touched. Suddenly, the room felt stiflingly hot, his whole body itching to touch you, to make you forget all about that terrible week, fucking all thoughts from your head until you couldn’t think of anything never mind work. He put it down to the fact that he had hardly so much as kissed you goodnight all week, his body going into overdrive from the pent up longing and frustration.
He couldn’t help how he noticed everything about your body this morning, the way your nipples pebbled quickly when he slipped his cool metal hand under your shirt to gently grab at your breasts, doing his very best to contain his satisfaction at the way you tried to lean into his touch. He also didn’t miss how your body responded when he ran one flesh finger over your clothed core, a little groan falling from your parted lips when he added a little extra pressure to your clit. He loved how your body was just so intoxicating, always ready to take him. After a few more teasing glides across your core he pulled your panties to the side, finding your body was reacting to him nicely, wetness beginning to drip from your needy hole. Without thinking, he shuffled down the bed, his tongue poked out, lapping gently at the sweet nectar he had drew from your body. He was so hard now it almost hurt, noticing how even in your sleep, the wetness between your legs only grew. Tiny whimpers fell from your lips as he pressed a metal finger to your entrance, sliding in with ease, tongue lapping gently at your clit.
“So delicious toots, takin’ me so well.” He whispered, knowing you couldn’t hear him but still needing to tell you. Your hands grasped at the sheets, fingers gently bunching them, stirring from your sleep but not quite conscious yet. Your walls were fluttering around the single digit, your high not far away.
“Christ, Bucky.” You whined, eyelids flickering open, trying to adjust to the brightness of the room and make sense of the overwhelming sensations between your legs at the same time. “What are you doing?”
“Havin’ a little breakfast babydoll, jus’ let me take care of you. Wanna make you feel good all day, okay? You aren’t leavin’ this bed.” His voice was so low and seductive, lips latching back onto your clit and his finger curling inside you. You could only nod, whining as the pleasure became too much, keening against his face to ride your orgasm out against his tongue. “Tha’s it toots, gimme more. Good girl.” He encouraged, working his finger even faster, prolonging your high for as long as possible. God he got off on this, your needy moans nearly too much for him to handle. But no matter how much precum leaked from his swollen tip, no matter how badly he needed to cum, so long as you were getting off, his pleasure was only an afterthought to him.
“Well good morning to you too.” You huffed out a little laugh as his finger eventually slid out of you.
“Sorry baby, couldn’t resist.” He smirked, wiping his now glistening chin with the back of his flesh hand.
“No complaints here Buck, it was better waking up to that than an inbox full of emails.” You chuckled, stroking his hair lovingly.
“It had better be, if you’d rather have the emails I’d be offended.” He laughed softly stroking the inside of your thigh with his flesh thumb. “But if you talk about work anymore I’ll have to gag you.” His voice was light and teasing.
“Maybe some other time Buck.” You chuckled, running a hand gently through his messy bed head, your high ebbing pleasantly away as your feet hit the plush carpet of your bedroom.
“Ah ah ah toots, what did I tell you? You aren’t leavin’ this bed today. Gotta make you feel good til you can’t think of anything but me.” He reached out, grabbing your legs to pull you back onto the bed, lips latched onto the soft meat of your thighs, fingernails digging into your flesh gently as he kissed you, a fire burning fiercely behind his eyes once more. God he meant it. You really weren’t going to get a minute’s rest today.
“I was thinkin’ babydoll, how many meetings did you have yesterday?” He asked thoughtfully in between sloppy kisses to the sensitive skin of your thighs
“Eight honey, why?” You managed to choke out.
“Wanna give you that many orgasms.” He stated bluntly as if it was the most normal request in the world. You knew very often Bucky got as much pleasure from making you cum as he got from cumming himself but this suggestion was something else. His lips on your thighs felt amazing, the little dusting of stubble burning as his face drifted up the inside of your legs, his eyes never leaving yours
“There’s no way I can handle eight.” You whispered, losing yourself slightly to the pleasure of his mouth on your sensitive skin.
“Course you can little slut, that’s one down, only seven to go. That’ll keep you nice and busy won’t it? By the time I’m done, work will be the last thing on your mind.” He made it sound so easy, so lovely, like it was absolutely manageable, enjoyable even, but you knew better than to dream of gentle orgasms, soft touches and sweet kisses. You knew that when Bucky got into the mindset that everything he did was entirely for your pleasure, it was all about tearing you orgasms from your trembling body in the quickest succession possible, one barely ending before the next began. This was the first time he had ever suggested such an intense session. His kisses got sloppier, his wet mouth making you groan as it connected with you core once more, panties pushed to the side. Fuck, his tongue felt incredible, broad, firm strokes over the entire length of your dripping sex. You pressed your lips together to stifle your noises, your hands sinking into the soft, dark hair on Bucky’s head to pull his face closer to where you needed him most.
“If you’re holdin’ those pretty noises back toots, I’ll add another orgasm on as punishment.” He quipped, mouth creating a seal around your clit before sucking hard to pull the filthiest moan from you he had ever heard. He was in his element, hard and needy and damn near ready to hump the bed beneath him for some relief but determined to absolutely wreck you before he could even think of his own pleasure. Without saying much more, he slid two metal fingers into you, admiring how they slipped in with so little resistance.
“That’s it, oh God you take me so well. Know exactly what your body needs baby, need to be fucked like a whore don’t ya? Gonna make sure you can’t even think straight by the time I’m done with ya.” He was almost growling in between little kitten licks to your clit, fingers plunging in and out of you, rubbing your silky walls perfectly.
“Bucky, more, fuck.” You hissed out, grinding your hips against his hand. The vibrations from the little laugh he let out in response felt amazing.
“God doll, you’re not gonna be begging for more by the time I’m done with you. Gonna have you begging me to stop. But since you were a good girl this week, I’m sure I could play nice for now.” He laughed, lips and tongue crashing against your clit, fingers working faster and his eyes trained on your face as he tore another orgasm from your body. You groaned out, rutting against his face, your juices soaking his fingers and tongue as you rode out your high, panting and whimpering deliciously for him.
“Good girl honey, did so well. Want you to ride me now, yeah? Want that little body on top of me. You just gotta use me to make yourself feel good doll, don’t even worry bout makin’ me cum. Want as many of those pretty moans as you can give me before your legs give out.” His filthy plans had you whimpering, knowing that when your legs turned to jelly from too many orgasms, that didn’t mean you’d be stopping. It just meant he would take over. You did as he asked, hopping up onto your knees while Bucky undressed himself, giving his proud, hard cock a few lazy pumps watching you remove your pyjamas. You positioned yourself above him, his metal hand lined his cock up with your soaked, already abused hole. Sinking down onto his length tore groans from both of you, Bucky’s flesh hand gripping your waist to stop himself from pushing you the whole way down too quickly.
“Tightest fuckin’ pussy, you feel so good for daddy. God kitten, this pussy is so hungry isn’t it? Needs me, I can feel it. You need daddy’s cock to make you feel good? Gonna take such good care of you.” He was losing himself in the feeling of your silky walls gripping him, wetter than he could ever remember you being before. But god, you had six more orgasms ahead of you, how on Earth was he gonna make it if you got any wetter? The thick drag of his bare cock inside you was almost more than you could take as you pulled yourself back up his length again, sinking down quickly until he was entirely seated inside you.
“So so big daddy, I can’t.” You wailed, the sloppy sounds coming from your pussy fuelling you to keep going regardless.
“Yes you can angel, doin’ so well for daddy. So tight around me, can hardly move. Nothin’ feels as good as you do. Fuckin’ live to be buried in this little pussy, you know that?” His filthy pants had you rolling your hips faster against him, not really fucking him, more grinding your pelvis against his with his length fully seated inside you. It was such a different sensation to being fucked, it just made you feel endlessly full, the thickness of Bucky’s cock stuffing you, the head nestled deliciously against that sweet spot inside you. Every little grind of your hips had him nudging that spot inside you, making your eyes roll back and your head flop to the side. And Bucky was absolutely obsessed. He couldn’t find it in himself to tear his eyes away from you, not knowing whether he wanted to watch how your breasts jiggled as you moved, watch down at the mess you were making where your bodies were joined or watch the look of sheer pleasure on your face. He loved seeing you take what you needed from him, knowing that he was still in control but letting you use his body to satisfy yourself.
“So deep ‘nside you toots, bet you can feel me in here.” He pressed his metal hand to your lower tummy, the coolness making you gasp. Everything felt like it was too much but the grind alone wasn’t enough to tear your building orgasm from you and of course Bucky knew that.
“Tell me what you need, tell me and I’ll give it to you.” Bucky whispered softly, lips dusting chaste kisses on your shoulders, flesh arm wrapped up your back, helping you move against him.
“Fingers daddy, on my clit.” You pleaded, eyes squeezed shut and your mouth hanging open slightly.
“Magic word toots?” He teased with a little laugh, flesh fingers dancing over your clit torturously.
“Metal ones daddy, please.” Your whine would have been mortifying under any other circumstances but right now, you didn’t care. Bucky raised an eyebrow at your little request, secretly thrilled that you got so much pleasure from his metal digits.
“Filthy girl.” He whispered, replacing his flesh hand with his metal one, rubbing between your bodies in harsh circles. The cool fingers felt even better, the ridges in the unrelenting metal only added to the sensations threatening to consume your body. It didn’t take long for you to feel yourself tightening, Bucky’s movements never even faltering as you hit your peak.
“That’s it, cum for me, good girl, hump Daddy’s big cock. Know how much you need this, know you love daddy fillin’ you up.” His eyes were completely trained on your face, loving how it screwed up in response to the words he mumbled in the quiet, early morning air. Your gasps didn’t stop as your high started to subside, mainly because his fingers didn’t stop. You tried your best to pull away, becoming far too sensitive very quickly but Bucky’s flesh hand on your hip held you in place.
“Want another one out of you before I let you move.” He whispered, fingers only speeding up against your overstimulated bundle of nerves.
“Can’t take it daddy, it’s too much!” You sobbed, face buried into the crook of his neck as your body twitched around him, another peak fast approaching. You knew you could’ve said your safe word if you needed to but deep down you knew you could handle it.
“I know you want it angel, c’mon, stop holdin’ back.” He growled, rubbing you even faster, dragging you screaming into yet another orgasm. You couldn’t help but bite down on his flesh shoulder as you came, your body shuddering, wet nectar dripping out of you and down over his balls.
“Oh fuck, soakin’ me, you know that? Pussy is drippin’ everywhere. Such a wet little slut for daddy, aren’t ya cupcake? Such a good girl.” Bucky’s praise only made your walls flutter even more, pulling a growl from his throat. Before you even got a chance to register what was going on, Bucky had you flipped over, ass in the air, face down on the bed with his cock still inside you.
“Can’t wait anymore toots, need this.” He grunted, fucking into you recklessly. You could’ve screamed from the overstimulation, body trembling, walls still trying to milk Bucky’s thick cock. Again, your last orgasm didn’t even get a chance to ebb away before you were being worked towards another one. Your back arched into the bed of its own accord, letting Bucky fuck deeper into you. Your whimpers mingled with Bucky’s grunts, sounds of skin slapping on skin filling the house.
“Pussy’s still clenchin’ me so tight, you’ve no idea how good you make me feel. Body’s always so ready for me.” Bucky was almost growling, his own need almost entirely taking over, eager to cum so he could get back to focusing on giving you as much pleasure as you could handle.
“Thank daddy for fuckin’ you. Thank me for givin’ you my cock raw like this.” He groaned, fingers drifting between your thighs to play with your swollen bud once more.
God, this was humiliating and you were loving every single second.
“Thank you daddy! Love your cock so much, think about nothing else. Love how you fuck me, love how big it feels, love your cum, just need more daddy please.” Your words were only broken by little gasps, Bucky fucking into you harder than you even thought possible.
“Tha’s it, God yes, takin’ me like a good girl, my best girl. Little pussy so hungry for daddy’s cum. That never changes, does it honey? Should just keep you plugged and full of me all the time. Only thing that could keep your needy cunt happy, isn’t it? Just a little cum whore. Gonna give you a load now baby, okay? Keep that little face pressed to the bed and ass up, want it all drippin’ as deep ‘nside you as it can get. Don’t want a single drop spillin’.” Sometimes you wonder where Bucky possibly learned to talk so dirty but right now you didn’t care, teetering on the brink of a fifth orgasm as you lowered yourself the way he wanted, his cock nudging your cervix in this new position.
“So deep daddy,” you whimpered, muffled slightly by the thick duvet as he pounded into you. His fingers rolling perfectly against your clit was enough to tear you apart, your body shaking, fingers squeezing the sheets as you rode out the electric feeling shooting the whole way through your body. That was all it took to drag Bucky over the edge too, not able to hold back with how your walls were tightening around him, milking every drop of cum into your body.
“So tight toots, can’t even move.” He groaned, stilling his movements to stay pressed right at the deepest point inside you. The warm feeling of his cum exploding into you was almost more than you could handle, knowing every drop had to stay there to keep Bucky happy. His fingers didn’t stop moving against your clit though, tearing as many aftershocks from your over worked body as you could muster.
“Bet there’s so much cum in you now.” He whispered proudly, kissing down your spine despite the thin sheen of sweat, slowly pulling out and humming appreciatively when there wasn’t even the slightest indication of the mess he had made inside you. You felt absolutely boneless, knowing you were over the half way mark but still nowhere near finished yet.
“Three left honey, how ya feeling?” He cooed softly, taking a second to stroke your hair and dote on you. His cock hadn’t softened at all but it rarely ever did after only cumming once during such an intense session.
“Feel good Buck, sensitive.” You whispered, flopping onto the bed with your eyes closed, sucking in deep breaths to steady yourself.
“Think you can take some more for me?” He asked quietly, placing tiny kisses to your shoulders and neck. You could do nothing but hum contentedly, letting him give you as much affection as he wanted.
“Need you to use your words sweetheart. Didn’t make you, dumb already, did I?” He chuckled, making you open your eyes to see that dashing smile
“Want more daddy, I can take it.” You nodded gently, noticing how his smile only widened at your eagerness.
“I’m so in love with you, ya know that?” He beamed, giving you a gentle kiss that was all teeth and tight lips, his smile still so evident on his face. “Won’t mind though if you need to stop. Want you to enjoy this babydoll.”
“No Buck, I can keep going. But we can cuddle afterwards, yeah?” You asked, placing a little tired kiss to his knuckles of his flesh hand.
“Oh honey, when we’re done here, we can do whatever you like. This weekend’s about you, jus’ wanna make you feel good.” He agreed, heart aching at the sight of you looking so beautifully fucked out and still asking him for more.
“Thank you daddy.” You smiled lazily, knowing it would get him right back in the mood to fuck you relentlessly through the final three.
Bucky groaned hearing the title fall from your lips again when he was least expecting it, cock bobbing deliciously in agreement.
“Fuck princess, you’re gonna be the death of me you know that?” He laughed, metal hand falling to grip his aching cock. “Jus’ you lie there angel, lemme do the work this time.” You sure weren’t going to argue, pressing your head back on the soft pillows as Bucky positioned you how he wanted you, slotting neatly between your spread thighs. Despite how kinky Bucky was, missionary was still one of his all time favourite positions. It was simple, comfortable, uncomplicated and he loved being able to see your face contort as he takes you apart, not to mention the perfect bounce of your tits when he slams into you. Bucky lined up with your soaked pussy, taking the time to make sure none of his seed from the last round had spilled from your core. Once he was satisfied that it was only your own juices that were coating your thighs, he pressed in, revelling in the gasp you let out.
“So warm and wet babydoll.” He hissed, head thrown back as he set a decent pace, thrusting in and out with his metal hand pressed to your lower tummy. “Swear I can feel myself in here, just so deep ‘nside you, aren’t I?” You couldn’t really believe how your body was still craving him, still needing more even though you were so fucked out already. You couldn’t even find it in yourself to reply, almost every coherent thought having been fucked from your head. The soft clinking of metal had you opening your eyes. But when did you close them? You had no idea, and far less did you care upon seeing Bucky hovering on top of you, his dog tags swinging in front of your face. Somewhere deep inside your brain you registered that he must’ve pulled them from the nightstand when your eyes had been shut but there was something about them that just made the sex that little bit better. He knew how much you loved them too, smirking down at you as he continued his leisurely thrusts.
“Like what you see?” His voice was deep and seductive, close to only being a low rumble. His abs rippled with every push into your tight heat, little grunts slipping past his lips occasionally, a light flush on his cheeks from arousal. What was there to not like about Bucky Barnes? You could only nod, trying to press your hips closer to his pelvis, wanting to pull him deeper than even should have been possible.
“God, you can’t get enough can you? My cock that addictive honey?” He teased, flesh fingers toying with your clit. You cried out quietly at the feeling, not understanding how you could possibly still need more. Pushing yourself up on your elbows, you reached up, taking those jingling dog tags in your mouth, lips wrapping neatly around the chain. Bucky thought once more that he might cum then and there, just at the sight of your little pretty mouth enveloping his tags, the metallic taste covering your tongue.
“Need your slutty mouth filled too baby? Should’ve said somethin’, coulda had my fingers ‘nstead. But maybe you couldn’t tell me? Can’t get any words out now, can you? Daddy’s cock knocked all thoughts out of that little head, hm? That’s okay angel, daddy doesn’t need you to think, jus’ need you to cum. Think you can do that for me?” Your legs were shaking but you nodded you head regardless. As Bucky had been talking, he had dialled everything up a notch, fucking you faster, rubbing you in tighter circles, everything just felt incredible, your orgasm so close once more.
“Ah, daddy, please.” You pleaded, absolutely no idea what you were even pleading for anymore other than release. Bucky chuckled lowly from somewhere deep in his chest before giving you what you had begged for, pressing a little harder on your clit, rubbing in the same tights circles, dragging you through a painfully intense orgasm. Your teeth bit down on the hard metal in your mouth, trying to stifle the screams and whines that fell from you as every single vein in your body throbbed, desire washing through you violently. Bucky was completely and utterly obsessed with you, coaching you through your high with the same filthy grunts and promises that you had learned to expect from him.
As your high subsided, Bucky didn’t slow, if anything he just fucked you faster, not chasing his own release yet but loving how you looked like you had been fucked absolutely senseless, eyes rolling back, head crooked to the side, fingernails digging into his flesh, dog tags still in your mouth.
“You’re a fuckin’ picture like this doll, so beautiful for me. Can’t believe you’re all mine.” His thrusts had your tits bouncing back and forth, jiggling even more as you squirmed, trying to move away from him given how painfully overstimulated you were becoming. You screamed and yelled as his fingers picked up speed, slipping around from the insane amount of slick that had dripped from your hole.
“Come on little whore, cum for daddy, give it to me. Silly little slut can’t do anything but cum, can you? So fuckin’ good at it, no thoughts left in that pretty head of yours, daddy fucked them all out didn’t he? Love seein’ you like this, greedy pussy takin’ everything I give it. You’re an angel, you know that? My angel. Body’s always so ready for me.” Bucky’s voice was deep, strangled and needy, working you as fast as he could. Your legs couldn’t hold still as he pounded you, metal hand still pressing on your tummy so you could feel his cock even deeper inside you. It was all too fucking much, that ball of need inside you exploding once more making you scream, thrashing around under his huge body. Your rhythmic squeezing had him groaning, screwing his face up, unable to hide how good it felt.
“Last one princess, you ready?” Bucky asked softly, pulling out to give you a second. Christ, you looked wrecked but in the best way possible. His dog tags slipped from your mouth, spit trailing down your chin that you wiped away with the back of your hand.
“You sure you can take another? Need a colour toots.” Bucky probed gently, stroking your cheek lovingly, pushing your hair away from your sweaty face.
“Green daddy, just one more. I can take it.” You nodded weakly, fawning over the little gentle kiss Bucky pressed to your forehead.
“That’s my good girl.” He soothed. “I’ll make it quick, promise.” With that he hopped off the bed. You couldn’t really find it in yourself to care about why he had got up, taking the time to catch your breath and steady yourself but when he came back empty handed, you couldn’t help but be a little confused.
“Gonna move you toots,” he hummed quietly, shifting you onto your hands and knees at the side of the bed and that’s when you realised what he had been doing. Bucky had pulled one of the wardrobe doors open, specifically the door with the full length mirror, leaving it at an angle so you could see yourself from where you sat on the bed.
“Want you to watch yourself, see how pretty you look when you cum for me.” He groaned, harder than he could ever remember being in his life before. You whimpered even just at the thought, letting him slip inside you then pull your back flush to his chest. His whole body felt like it was surrounding you, probably because it was. His firm chest felt so comforting against you, both of his arms supporting your bare frame, casing you in against him. He pulled your hair out of the way, making sure he was able to kiss your neck and shoulders before beginning to piston his hips, fucking into you at a punishing pace. You were so glad he was holding you up, knowing if he took his arms away, you would be left to crumple onto the sheets. Your moans were so lewd you surprised yourself at how keen you were to just keep taking his cock. You knew you would feel empty without him inside you after such a long session but the emptiness might even be a blessing after this insane amount of stimulation.
“Look at yourself baby, you just came seven times for me and you’re still keen to go again. Still gonna give me ‘nother one. Cause you’re the best girl, aren’t you? So so good for daddy. Jus’ lettin’ me take and take from your body. You feel that mess sweetheart? You’re fuckin’ soaked right down to your knees, toots. All my cum from earlier drippin’ out of you. Don’t worry, got ‘nother nice big load to fill you with. Gotta give my best girl what she needs.” You hadn’t even noticed the sticky wetness between your thighs, the change in position letting it all seep out of you. You whined, high and needy as his fingers ghosted through the wetness, landing on your clit. His movements were smooth and methodical, rubbing you at the exact pace he knew you liked. He didn’t want to drag this out any more and he wasn’t even sure that he could last any longer.
“Cum for me babydoll, one last time. That’s it, good girl, hump daddy’s fingers. Excellent baby, doin’ so well for me, ‘m so proud of you, you know that? So so proud.” You felt your body clench harder than you had even thought possible, a strangled cry being torn from Bucky’s throat, his seed spilling so deep inside you.
“Ah, holy shit, can’t stop cummin’.” He panted against your neck, your head flung back onto his shoulder as the most intense high of your life took over. Your whole body was alight with pleasure and yet everything still felt so intimate in this position. Your bodies just felt connected in a way that you couldn’t even describe. Maybe you were just delirious with pleasure but it didn’t even really matter, chants of Bucky’s name falling from your lips like a prayer. Your pussy throbbed, aching and abused but not relenting in the slightest, if anything it only clenched harder around Bucky, milking every single drop of cum from him.
You practically collapsed onto the bed together, chests heaving, both spent and sweaty from the most exhausting morning of you life.
“Christ.” You whispered with a little content laugh, words not even connecting in your brain to form a coherent sentence.
“I agree.” Bucky laughed softly, pulling you practically on top of him, needing to feel you close and take care of you. “How ya feelin’?” He asked quietly, kissing your forehead and playing with your hair, being as delicate with you as possible.
“ ‘m good.” You hummed, giving him a little nod, taking in all the adoration he was offering.
“How bout a little nap, hm? You’re exhausted sweet pea. Then I’ll make us some lunch, yeah?” Bucky suggested, losing his mind when you snuggled yourself even closer to his body. You could only nod and give him a little smile, his fingers carding through your hair ever so gently. The hammering in Bucky’s chest was returning to a more natural thud, comforting you even more, your eyes closing of their own accord.
“My best girl.” He whispered, pressing more gentle kisses to your fragile body, little compliments and praises breaking the silence, lulling you into the best sleep of your life.
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Bucky: Captain Hook was such a joke
Bucky: Like “oh no a child that flies whatever shall we do!” Ever heard of a fucking gun?
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( 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—”
“I am not—”
“She is no such thing—”
“No?” Mobius leans forward, “You don’t believe me?”
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.
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Make It Up To Me, Barnes
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader
Word count: 4.3k
Warnings: Arguments, divorce mention, Bucky struggles with communication, alcohol consumption, unprotected sex (wrap it), edging, size kink, Daddy kink, fingering, we all know Bucky would be a hoe for his girl in a sundress let’s be real, Married!Bucky, good old fashioned makeup sex
Summary: Bucky and the reader have an argument and she leaves him, Steve convinces Bucky to talk it out with her. Complete smut but they work it out!!
A/N: I imagined this as hate sex with Bucky and turned out a bit softer than I expected, I just live for the thought of hate sex with Beefy Bucky omg. Also can’t believe I’m at over 200 followers now, thank you all so so much!!
Minors, do not interact
“Damn Buck, I still can’t believe you let that one get away.” Steve taunted as Bucky sipped his beer. Both men were sitting in the comfortable wicker garden furniture, drinking together and people watching the other guests at the party. It was your annual neighbourhood barbecue and truthfully, it was the perfect day for it. There was a light breeze but apart from that, it was stiflingly hot outside but that was to be expected in the middle of summer.
“Trust me, if you were married to her, you’d get it.” Bucky sighed, just a little hint of venom in his tone, downing what was left of his beer. Even Bucky had to admit, you were looking stunning. He couldn’t keep his eyes off you, the way that pretty little sundress made you look so modest and pure was killing him. You two had been married for a few years, with things getting rocky in the last few months. Bucky had been cold and distant, pushing you away, not answering your calls, giving you short answers and never turning up for dinner. Eventually things just broke down, despite your marriage councillor’s best efforts to get Bucky to open up. After one particularly bad argument a few weeks ago, you had packed up a bag and left, slamming the door behind you.
“You don’t fucking try anymore Bucky! I do everything around this house and you don’t even bother to show up for dinner! I don’t know what I did to make you hate me but God, you’re really punishing me for it, aren’t you?” You had spat, finally reaching your breaking point when he hadn’t shown up on time for dinner for the sixth night in a row, leaving you eating alone yet again. “You don’t even touch me anymore, you hardly ever look at me, what did I do wrong?” You yelled, throwing the dishcloth to the ground in frustration. It was horrible not even being acknowledged in your own home, while you still slept in the same bed, you didn’t speak after the lights went out. All the dinners you made with love for Bucky sat in the fridge until you had to throw them out and with no explanation as to what was wrong, it was becoming soul destroying.
“Nothing, leave it.” Bucky had hissed, still not even looking at you.
“For God’s sake Bucky, it’s not ‘nothing’. Talk to me.” You pleaded, running a hand through your hair, at an absolute loss for what to do next. You had this argument weekly for the last few months, with nothing ever changing. It was always the same with Bucky, he just wanted you to drop it and leave him alone.
“Leave it, I mean it.” He insisted firmly, not budging an inch. His huge frame had almost been intimidating as he got up to leave the kitchen, running away from the conversation yet again.
“Bucky I’ve had it. I’m at my wits end. If you leave this kitchen, so help me God, I’m leaving you.” You threatened, tears spilling down your cheeks, both from frustration and the soul destroying pain of seeing the love of your life shut you down, once again. Bucky hadn’t spoke, he just kept walking down the short hall to your living room, slamming the door behind him. Unshed tears spilled quickly and you felt your heart break in your chest. How had things got this bad? Your vision was blurry with tears as you packed a bag, stuffing some clothes into a duffle roughly, with little thought or care as to whether anything matched. You could hear the TV blaring through the living room door as you gave one last glance to the room your husband was in, before turning and heading out the front door and getting in your car.
“Still think you should’ve just talked to her. She was good for you Buck.” Steve offered, making the dark haired man furrow his brow even more than it was before.
“I spent enough of my life being controlled Steve, I didn’t need some nagging wife trying to control me too.” Bucky snorted with derision. Deep down, he knew he could’ve been more open and honest with you and he knew it would’ve saved both of you from a whole lot of heartache but he was in far too deep to admit his mistake now. The worst part was he knew everything you were doing had come from a place of love. You hadn’t been trying to control him but once he let his head get the better of him, there was no coming back from it.
“From where I’m sitting, it looks like she only ever tried to take care of you. The girl just wanted to make sure you ate properly for God’s sake. I don’t see why you let her leave you.” Steve’s disapproval of the circumstances of your breakup was more than evident. He didn’t even try to hide the fact he thought losing you was the biggest mistake Bucky had ever made. He would’ve been happy to keep his opinions on your separation to himself if it hadn’t been for the fact that he had witnessed first hand how miserable Bucky had been since you split, no matter how hard he tried to pretend he was fine. Bucky didn’t reply and opened another beer instead, pressing the cool rim of the bottle to his lips. His eyes hadn’t left you all evening, watching as you swayed happily with the hem of your sundress flowing around your knees. You had hardly even looked in his direction, truly seeming like you were thriving after your split. The thought of you moving on ate him up inside. He couldn’t help but wonder if you were seeing someone new, it had been almost a couple of months after all, you could’ve found someone else in that time. The thought of anyone else touching you was more than he could bear, making his knuckles of his flesh hand turn white from how hard he gripped the beer bottle.
You had made your way around most of the crowd at the party giving lemonade top ups before you decided you should probably offer some to your ex-lover to save face. The knot in your stomach pointed out exactly how you would rather do literally anything other than go over and make painful small talk with the man you had lost but you still loved with all your heart.
“Lemonade, boys?” You offered with a smile, only letting yourself look at Steve and not at the man who was still technically your husband.
“Yeah y/n, sounds great, doesn’t it Buck?” Steve encouraged, lifting his glass to let you fill it. Bucky only nodded in response, doing everything in his power to not look at your legs trying to stop wondering if someone else was spreading them these days.
“Here ya go Buck.” You smiled curtly, bending at the waist to fill his glass that he hadn’t even bothered to lift off the grass. Bucky drew in a sharp breath at how close you were to him and how your sundress rode up just a little, showing off those gorgeous thighs.
“Thanks.” He huffed when you straightened again, doing his best not to look at the little jiggle of your ass as you walked away, taking lemonade to another little group of neighbours.
“Christ Bucky, that was painful. You need to talk to her. Sort things out.” Steve insisted, noticing the little breath Bucky let out now that you were gone. In truth, he hadn’t even realised he was holding it.
“Yeah.” Bucky huffed out simply, leaving Steve unsure if he actually meant it or not.
The rest of the party was pretty uneventful, you relaxed on a picnic blanket, chatting to some of the other ladies about the books you were all currently reading before helping with the dishes and clearing up. Almost everyone had went home already when their kids had got tired, drained from running around all afternoon in the summer heat. You had spent the best part of the last hour stretched out on the picnic blanket alone, just enjoying the light evening breeze, reading one of the books your neighbour had let you borrow.
“Buck if you don’t go talk to her, I will.” Steve threatened, noticing how Bucky was staring at you yet again.
“You wouldn’t.” The dark haired man hissed, eyes never leaving you. It killed him to admit how lost he was without you but the fear of you rejecting him, confirming his suspicion that you were doing just fine without him was more than he could handle.
“Try me.” Steve replied curtly, watching as his friend’s expression became even more annoyed. Bucky’s jaw was tense as he pulled himself up from the wicker chair, crossing the short distance to where you sat on the blanket.
“Can we talk?” Bucky asked as calmly as he could, his huge frame blocking the sunlight.
“I don’t know? Can we?” You replied, being as short with him as possible, stomach flipping with nerves at having to make awkward conversation for the first time in weeks.
“Maybe somewhere more private? Back home?” He suggested, ignoring how difficult you were trying to be. He knew you had every right to make this worse on him, it was his own fault after all.
“Fine.” You huffed, closing the book and standing up, dusting down the little skirt of your dress. Bucky led the way back to your house, only a few doors up from the little park that you had just spent the afternoon in. God you wished your heart could slow down, praying that he wasn’t just taking you back home to sign the divorce papers. You both walked in silence, Bucky unlocked the door and held it open for you, letting you walk inside and then closing it behind him. The house seemed exactly as it had when you left it and you were thankful for that at least.
“How’ve you been?” He asked softly, getting both of you a beer from the fridge, popping the cap off with his metal thumb. That had always been his favourite party trick. You took the bottle from him gratefully, settling into a chair at your kitchen island before taking a sip.
“Been busy.” You offered quietly. You knew you couldn’t say you were good, Bucky would’ve seen right through the lie. He just nodded, taking a sip from his own bottle.
“Missed you.” Bucky admitted, looking anywhere but your face. You didn’t say anything in response, just taking another sip from your bottle. There was so much you could’ve said, you missed him too, he could’ve called, things didn’t have to be like this but instead you kept your lips pressed tightly shut.
“You look good. Happy.” Bucky had barely whispered the last word, making you question whether he had even said it at all.
“And are you? Happy? Enjoying life as a single man?” You asked, giving him a little smile, heart breaking into a million pieces and just praying your eyes didn’t show it.
“No doll, I’m not. Miss having you around.” He seemed so much smaller, leaning against the other side of the kitchen island, beer resting on the dark granite countertop. “Miss waking up beside you, miss kissing you goodbye when you go off to work, miss your cooking.” He continued, finally daring to look you in the eye. The lump in your throat felt like it might consume you, tears welling in your eyes.
“You haven’t done any of that in months Buck. Even before we separated.” You pointed out.
“You with someone else now?” He asked, voice more than a little broken.
“No Buck, there’s no one else.” You reassured him, noticing how he stood up a little straighter. “Never wanted anyone but you. Thought you knew that.” His eyes seemed to light up at your little admission. He still had a chance. He could still win you back and spend the rest of his life making up for the fact he had been so damn stupid. Before he knew what he was doing, he had rounded the island and captured your lips in a searing kiss, hands clinging desperately to your hair. His huge thumbs caressed your cheeks and you couldn’t help but lean into his touch. God you had missed this, the passion and need that came with loving Bucky Barnes. His mouth was hungry on yours, making up for months of longing all at once. He clung to you desperately, his mouth moving against yours like a man starved. You couldn’t help but melt into his touch, his huge frame warm and comforting and familiar against your own, making you feel tiny.
“Missed you. So much.” He panted between needy kisses, not even taking the time to pull his lips from yours as he uttered the words.
“Missed. You. Too.” You managed to mumble back, tugging on his belt loops to pull him impossibly closer. Before you knew it, Bucky had lifted you up, gripping your ass with his flesh hand before placing you gently on the kitchen island, his lips never leaving yours as he did so.
“ ‘m so sorry doll, for everything.” He whispered, his bright blue eyes showing just how sincere he was, slotting comfortably between your thighs.
“Make it up to me, Barnes.” You whispered with a little smirk, crashing your lips against his again, needing this just as much as he did. A low growl was ripped from his throat at how fiercely your tongue slid over his, the need to feel you again almost consuming him. His hands slipped under the skirt of your little sundress, grasping the soft skin of your thighs firmly, the metal one feeling cooler against your skin than the other.
“Shit baby doll, you’re absolutely dripping.” He hissed, snaking his flesh hand to the apex of your thighs, finding them slick already, your underwear had been soaked through long ago. You could only moan in response, holding the back of his neck, lips parted, as his finger tips ghosted over the soaked lace. “Look so pretty like this doll, so ready for me and I haven’t even touched you yet.” His fingers barely teasing the thin material.
“You’re not in any position to tease Bucky.” You hummed, voice barely above a whisper. Looking dead in his eyes, you could see how badly he needed this, how he was thriving off the little moans and sighs he pulled from your lips.
“You’re right toots, bet you’ve missed these fingers. No one makes you cum like I do, not even yourself, isn’t that right? Bet even when you touched yourself it didn’t feel as good as when I do it. Your fingers just don’t make you feel as full as mine do.” You hated how every last one of his words had been right. He could play your body like a violin, knowing exactly how to coax orgasm after orgasm from you when he wanted to, leaving you with shaking legs and that fucked out look in your eyes that he loved so much. He pulled your underwear aside painfully slowly, trailing just one finger from your clit to your needy hole, before swiping back up again. His touch was still featherlight, only teasing but it was enough to drive you wild. Ever so slowly, he dragged his finger down your pussy once more, slipping it in you up to the first knuckle, connecting his plump lips with your neck at the same time. The light dusting of his beard scratching against your neck as he sucked you brutally, finger sliding deeper was almost too much. After each dark hickey he sucked, he made sure to soothe the tender skin with his tongue, pulling moans from you that were nothing short of obscene.
“Need everyone to know you’re mine. My wife.” He half groaned against your skin, admiring the dark bruises forming. He couldn’t help but love how you rutted against his finger desperately, needing more of him.
“Bucky please.” You pleaded, looking at him with that soft expression that made his heart melt.
“What do you need baby doll?” Bucky cooed, holding your face with his metal hand, curling his flesh fingers inside you until he hit that sweet spot you couldn’t reach on your own. He was truly obsessed with how your face warped into the perfect vision of pleasure, mouth falling open, eyes squeezing shut as he tore a groan from your bruised throat.
“Need more.” You managed to huff out, keeping your eyes closed, grinding helplessly against his hand. The sight of your plump, wet lips, parted ever so slightly as you rode his hand could almost have made him cum then and there.
“Anything for you toots.” He smiled, plunging a second finger into you, groaning at the stretch of your walls as you accommodated him. “Even tighter than I remember baby doll.” He praised. You could only whimper as his fingers flexed and curled within you, the wet sounds coming from your pussy were nothing short of obscene but that only fuelled him, making him work your body faster. “You’re so close toots, you wanna cum for me? You gonna be a good girl and cum on my fingers?” He coaxed, bringing his metal hand down to rub your clit in time with his thrusts. You nodded weakly, letting him work your body in the way only he knew. “Who owns this little pussy?” He asked, feeling you reach your peak but stilling his fingers before you had a chance to fall over the edge, letting the sharp edge of you impending orgasm fade.
“You do Bucky! My pussy is yours!” You gasped, willing to do anything if it meant he would just let you cum.
“Damn right it is.” He growled lowly, lips finding his way back to your throat as he let his fingers continue bringing you blinding pleasure. It didn’t take long for him to send you spiralling into the most intense orgasm, your body tightening, clenching and gushing around his fingers. You practically screamed his name as you rode out your high, grasping his wrist and clamping your trembling thighs shut around his hands as he continued, tearing every last wave of pleasure from your body. “Fucking delicious baby doll.” He groaned, sucking the evidence of your orgasm from his fingers. You huffed out a little laugh, running a hand through your hair to steady yourself, leaning back on your other arm for support. “You’re like a fuckin’ wet dream sitting there, you know that?” He smiled, taking in the sight of his wife in her pretty little sundress, panties pushed to the side and thighs slick with arousal. “Hair all messy, cheeks flushed, pretty little pussy on display to the world.” His words sent a shiver down your spine, sparks of need shooting through your body. “Can’t believe how stupid I was to let you leave.” His tone got a little more serious, blue eyes full of regret.
“Hey, I’m back now. No harm done.” You soothed, opening your arms so he could slot himself between your thighs and hug you close. The scent of his familiar cologne was all you needed, little kisses peppered against your shoulder as Bucky buried his face in the crook of your neck. “Now take me to bed and fuck me like our marriage depends on it.” You laughed quietly, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek.
“No pressure then.” He chuckled, scooping you off the counter and carrying you gracelessly to the bedroom, both of you laughing together as he did so. “You know, half of me wants you to keep that pretty little dress on.” He smiled, setting you down on the bed gently, layering his body of top of yours so he could press needy kisses to your lips.
“Oh yeah? And what does the other half of you want?” You teased, fingertips digging into his firm back.
“To rip it off you.” He replied simply, fingers playing with the hem of the skirt. “Gently though, want to make sure it stays in one piece. Looks so damn good on you, gotta show you off some more.”
“Make up your mind Barnes, you can’t have both.” You laughed, unbuckling his belt and unbuttoning his jeans, pushing them down his legs.
“Take it off.” He decided, pushing his jeans the rest of the way down before pulling his shirt over his head. He watched hungrily as you rose to your knees on the bed, pulling the dress up over your head before letting it fall to the floor. “No bra? God, you really are a wet dream.” Bucky all but groaned, joining you on the bed, his lips sliding against your own as he pulled your underwear down your legs. You placed both hands on his firm chest, pushing him back onto the plush pillows, slotting one leg either side of him, leaving you straddling his waist. You couldn’t help but rut against him through his boxers. He felt absolutely huge, so long and thick, nestling perfectly between your folds. Little whines escaped your mouth as you lost yourself in pleasure, not even needing him inside you for him to make you feel incredible.
“Soaking me toots, you know that?” He growled in your ear and you gripped the headboard for leverage, practically humping his clothed cock. “Making such a fucking mess, little slut, you like soaking daddy’s cock like that? Like feeling how hard I get for you? Don’t you want more baby? Or is just Rockin’ against my cock like that enough to make you cum?” His hands gripped your thighs tight, helping you to slick him up.
“Need to fuck you.” You gasped out, finally pulling his boxers off and positioning yourself above him once more, sinking down onto his cock slowly. The stretch was almost unbearable, your eagerness to have him inside you conflicting with the pain of your walls fighting to accommodate him.
“Too big for you baby doll? Been too long since you took daddy’s cock, hmm? Promise you won’t ever have to go without it again. Daddy’s gonna take good care of you, promise.” His filthy growls only made you sink down onto him faster, despite the pain until he was fully seated inside you. “You wanna fuck daddy princess? Wanna see you use me. Use me to make yourself cum. Don’t worry your pretty little head about me, just want you to cum as hard as you can, you got it baby doll?” He asked softly, cradling your face in his metal hand as you began to rut back and forth, loving how his cock hit the deepest spots inside you.
“You feel so good, so big Bucky, you’re so big.” You sobbed out, feeling the head of his cock nudge that sweet spot deep inside you. Bucky thrust up into you harshly, making you yelp.
“Think you mean daddy, toots?” He teased, thumb placed on your chin to make you look down at him. He looked absolutely perfect underneath you, hair messy, wet tongue poking out to soothe the lips that you had assaulted earlier. His hand went back to your thighs, helping you grind messily on his cock.
“Need more daddy please. Need you to -ah- need to cum.” Your whines were practically cries at this point as Bucky slid two flesh fingers between your bodies, nudging perfectly against your clit.
“That’s it, good girl, get nice and full and fuck yourself against daddy’s fingers. Look so good like this for me angel, so so pretty. Stuffed full of cock and rutting on my fingers like a needy little slut. Such a pretty girl.” He praised, making you speed up. His fingers nudged your clit just right, making you mewl. Bucky began to press his fingers against your clit just that little bit harder, sending you reeling into your second orgasm of the night. Before you could even come down from your high, Bucky had flipped you, laying you on your back with him on top of you, fucking you roughly through the aftershocks. You were practically screaming for him as he thrust into you, making sure you felt every last inch of his cock. You were so overstimulated it almost hurt as Bucky fucked months worth of need into your body.
“Love you doll.” He whispered, not slowing down at all before sliding his tongue over yours, all passion and longing and need.
“Jesus, Buck, cum for me, please Bucky.” You whimpered, grasping at his back and shoulders, fingernails digging into his flesh.
“This pussy is mine.” He growled lowly, hips stuttering as he came with a long, drawn out groan, filling you completely. Cum dripped out of you before he could even pull out, marking you completely and utterly as his. After a few minutes, he flopped onto the bed beside you, pulling you close and kissing your forehead, despite the thin sheen of sweat.
“Shit, if the makeup sex is that good, we should argue more often.” You laughed lightly, still feeling like you hadn’t quite come back down to earth yet. He chuckled lovingly, stroking your hair.
“I don’t know doll, wasn’t nice being without you. Don’t think I’ll be rushing to argue like that again.” He admitted, stroking your bare back tenderly with his metal fingers, noticing your heart rate return to somewhere closer to normal.
“I guess you’re right, missed having you around.” You smiled quietly, pulling him into a gentle kiss.
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Your fellow chambermaids have often spoken about their experiences in the dark haired prince of Asgard’s sheets, but when you finally meet Loki in that way, it isn’t what you expected
fingering. 18+. reader is a virgin in this fic. enjoy!
Read the second part to this fic, ‘Harsh’ here.
It happens differently than you thought it would.
It begins with a simple proposition; a brush of Loki’s fingertips on your hip in the long hallways of the palace. He catches your eye as well, his glinting with excitement. It makes your stomach jump in anticipation.
The maids you’re walking with notice. Asta in particular seems the most interested. She is, after all, Prince Loki’s latest conquest.
“How will he make me feel?” You ask her later in the kitchens. Your hands smell of meat as you scrub the pots and pans from tonight’s feast. Night is approaching, and you know you’re expected at Loki’s door soon.
“Full,” Asta answers. “His fingers alone were more filling than any cock.” You flinch, the language she uses uncomfortable to you. The maids knew of your inexperience. You weren’t privy to conversations like this.
“He leaned me over a table in the library,” Brenna says from across the kitchen. “The one by the staircase. I still get dizzy when I think about it.” She’s smiling at the memory. Smirking, more like.
“Oh,” you answer. You wonder if Brenna was left with splinters.
“You ought to go now,” Asta advises you. “You don’t have to know Loki intimately to remember he is lacking in patience.”
Loki’s room is dark and heavy. The feeling isn’t all in your head - there are three candles lit in addition to the glowing fire place. You’re shocked to see there isn’t a bead of sweat on Loki’s brow.
He gives you a small smile as he presses you against the door, wrapping a lock of hair around his finger. Then he pulls away.
“Here,” Loki walks over to the table by the bed and takes a goblet. He gestures for you to follow him. You obey, and he hands the cup to you. “Drink.”
“What-?” Loki’s gaze fall towards your stomach, and then travels back up your body to give you a knowing look. You feel your face burn. Of course. A potion to prevent motherhood. You tip your head back as your drink, draining the cup in its entirety. Loki watches you the whole time. A bead of liquid escapes the corner of your lips and slides down your neck. Without warning, Loki pulls you towards him and licks it.
You gasp, dropping the goblet on the floor. Loki’s tongue is warm and wet as it travels down your neck. He scrapes his teeth over the muscle, and it makes you shake beneath him. Your hands have found Loki’s waist, and they clutch at it. Loki hums in turn.
“What’s your name?” He asks, peppering kisses down your jawline. You tell him in a breathy voice. The prince smirks against your skin. “It suits you,” he murmurs. Loki guides you towards the bed, and you sit on the edge of it. He laughs, a charming noise, and shakes his head. “You’ll have to lay down, sweetheart,” he tells you. You swallow. That’s an awfully kind title from someone so scrutinized.
You begin to lay back, your shoes falling from your feet, but Loki stops you once again. You begin to feel even more self conscious. You’re not good at this. You don’t know what you’re doing.
“Take off your dress,” he commands softly. You tense. You knew this was coming - but you already feel exposed. And Loki will be the first to see you like this.
He smiles at your uncertainty. “Fine,” he says. “I’ll go first.”
Loki strips silently, efficiently. His beauty becomes more obvious with every garment he discards. His skin is flawless, which you don’t quite understand. You often hear Thor regaling any willing audience with tales of battles, and you’re more than certain Loki is present at them. But his skin has no scars, no marks. It’s pristine.
You want to touch it.
You know Loki is strong, which might be why his smallness catches you off guard. As he grows closer, you can see his muscles moving. They’re prominent, but not in the same way Thor’s are. Loki’s muscles are lithe, for movement and use. Thor’s are for decimation and show.
You can’t help but reach out to run a hand over Loki’s milky chest. Your thumb catches his nipple, and the prince’s breath hitches. Your head shoots up, like you’ve done something wrong, but Loki says nothing. He puts his hand over yours, guiding it over his sternum and toned abdomen until it’s nestled in the coarse black curls of his groin. Your heartbeat quickens.
Loki’s... cock is turning towards you. It doesn’t seem to be fully erect yet, but then you wouldn’t know. You marvel at it, the reddened tip and heavy balls. You swallow.
“What do I... do to it?” You ask. Loki looks confused, just for a moment.
“You kiss it,” he explains, pressing your hand against it. You jerk as his cock grows under your touch, but Loki’s grip keeps you with him. “Stroke it. Take it into your body, if you’ll allow me.” Loki’s brow pinches together slightly. “Darling, have you never been with a man?”
Your face burns. You want to exclaim that yes, of course you have, how dare he suggest otherwise, but Loki is the god of lies. He’ll spot yours in a heartbeat.
“No,” you answer, looking away. This is humiliating. Even worse is the arousal growing between your legs, the wetness coating your thighs. You want this.
“Woman?” You shake your head. No one. You’ve been with no one. “Alright.” Loki says. “There’s nothing the matter,” he tells you. Loki releases your hand, tilting your chin so you look at him. “So long as you want it, that is.”
“Yes,” your answer is immediate. Desperate, even. Loki smirks.
“Then take off your dress,” he tells you.
You sit up straight, reaching behind yourself to untie the lace of your bodice. Carefully, you peel the article of clothing over your head, leaving you bare aside from your soaked panties.
Loki pulls you towards him. Your legs falls around his hips, his hardened self pressing against your clothed core. You cry out at the sensation - it feels electric. You like it.
“Shh,” Loki shushes you, then places his mouth on the curve of your breast. You let out a small oh. Goosebumps form all over your body, and you reach up to thread your fingers through Loki’s hair. He bites down on your nipple unexpectedly, and you yelp, harshly pulling on his curls. Loki grunts, then pushes you flat on the bed.
“Careful, girl.” He says mischievously. “You don’t know what you’re getting into with that.” Excitement thrums through your body. Maybe you’ll know someday.
Loki settles himself between your legs. You lift your hips, taking off your panties and tossing them aside. Loki sucks on the softness of your thigh in response.
“Good girl,” he praises you. You keen under the title.
Loki looks at the juncture between your legs with an intensity. He reaches out, stroking your puffy lips to see how you’ll respond. You jump at the touch.
“Relax,” he coaxes you. His fingers begin to slide over your slit, then circle your entrance. You whimper. “You’re fine. Your body wants this, sweet. Look.” He holds up his two fingers, shiny with your slick. You squirm.
Without warning, Loki thrusts his index finger into you, and you let out a cry. You grip the sheets between your fingers, squeezing your eyes shut. The feeling is overwhelming.
Loki says your name a few times, keeping his finger entirely still. You don’t move at all, or at least, you don’t think you do. Loki lays a heavy hand over your belly, moving it in soothing circles around your navel.
“Tell me how it feels,” he says. A second finger begins prodding at your entrance. You clench.
“I- I don’t know,” you manage. It’s new.
“Does it hurt?” You can hear something new in Loki’s voice. Concern.
“Do you want me to stop?”
“I have to move it to make it feel better,” Loki tells you gently. You look at him nervously.
Loki places a small kiss on your hip, then slides another finger in. Your face contorts at it, but you will yourself to relax. Slowly, Loki’s fingers begin to move, obscene sounds filling the air. Loki was right - with each thrust of his fingers, the feeling becomes less foreign. You can feel Loki’s steady breath on your clit as well, and it all soon becomes more pleasure than pain.
“How does it feel now?” You blink hazily.
“Not - Not what I thought.”
“Not what you thought?” Loki asks amusedly. “You just told me you were untouched.”
“The other maids,” you say, forgetting the possible insult of your words. Loki slows.
“And what did they have to say?”
You freeze. You’ve offended him. Palace gossip has no place in bedsheets.
“Just that... your fingers made them full.” You stumble over your words.
“And my fingers don’t make you feel that way?”
“No. Yes! I...” you try to straighten your thoughts. “That’s not the right word.”
“Then what is?”
“I'm not sure,” this is too new for you to describe. “They’re... long. Nimble. It’s like you already know me. I feel like you’re reaching inside my entire body, not just my... my...”
“Pussy?” Loki finishes for you. Your cheeks burn.
“Hmm,” you tilt your head, looking over Loki’s face. He’s pensive. “Sit up.” He commands suddenly. You do so with effort. Loki free hand snakes around you, resting on the small of your back to keep you steady. “Look at that, sweet.”
Your eyes drop towards your wet sex. You whimper at the sight. You can’t even see Loki’s fingers. They’re buried to the knuckle, disappearing deep inside you. His thumb flicks over your clitoris, and you let out a breath.
“Do you want that to be my cock?” He asks you. You nod, reaching forward to clutch his shoulders. “It’s going to hurt more than my fingers. You’re so tight, sweet, and I might be too big for you.”
“Try,” you rasp, looking your prince in the eye. “We can try.”
Loki brushes a few hairs from your face, and then leans forward to press his lips against yours. His tongue is wet and heavy, massaging your own. You moan.
“Well then,” he says, drawing his fingers out. They’re wet, and just barely tinged with blood. Loki brings them to his mouth, licking them clean. “Lay back.”
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pairing: dadsbestfriend!bucky barnes x reader
summary: you’ve always had a crush on your dad’s best friend, but it’s always been easy to hide. that is, until you accidentally send him pictures meant for someone else
word count: 2.5k
warnings: swearing, bra pictures, age gap, teasing, dirty talk, fingering, thigh riding, smut, unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, praise kink, minors DNI
“Thank you, Mr. Barnes. I’ll see you in an hour” you said, stepping out of the car. You grabbed your purse from inside the car and slid your arm through the strap. “I’ll see you then. Text me if you’re done early, and I’ve told you to call me Bucky. Mr. Barnes makes me feel old” he told you, slightly chuckling. You smiled and nodded, before closing the car door. You waved as he drove away.
Bucky was your dad’s best friend. He was always coming over to your house for barbecues and all sorts of parties. Over the years, you had grown fond of Bucky, but he was significantly older than you. You were only twenty four, but that didn’t stop you from admiring him.
You were visiting your dad for the next two weeks. Your dad was going to drive you to the mall, but he got called into work. So, he asked Bucky to drive you. After thirty excruciating minutes in the car, you were finally at the mall.
You never knew how to act around Bucky. He made your heart beat at a million miles per minute and always ended up turning you on. The brunette man was gorgeous, which made it hard to control yourself around him.
You walked into the mall doors. Forty minutes later, you were almost finished. You had returned the shoes that you bought in the wrong size and found a dress to wear to a party you were going to in a few weeks. All that was left was to buy a new bra.
You headed into Victoria’s Secret and headed to the bras that were your size. You instantly found a few that you liked and walked towards the dressing rooms.
You set down the few pairs of bras and felt your photo buzz. You saw a new text from Bucky:
“I finished my errands early. I’m waiting in the parking lot, once you’re done :) ”
You felt your insides tingle and felt a new rush to finish up. You quickly typed out a response and hit send.
“Okay! I’ll be out in a few minutes. I’m almost done”
You moved on to the bras that were waiting for you. You tried all four of them on and couldn’t decide between your top two. You quickly snapped photos in each of the bras. One was a dark red bra with lace, and the other one was a black bra that had some sheer panels.
You quickly sent the pictures to your best friend and asked which one she liked more. You looked into the mirror and looked closer at the bra, still trying to decide. You heard your phone vibrate, and you quickly grabbed it. You were eager to see your best friend’s response. You assumed it would make the decision easier.
Instead, you saw a text from Bucky that read:
“Fuck, sweetheart. You look hot in both of them, but I’m assuming you didn’t mean to send that to me”
You felt your blood run cold. Just to be sure, you checked and realized you had sent him the pictures. You didn’t know what to do. You wanted to run away and hide forever.
First and foremost, you wanted to never see Bucky again. You knew you would die of embarrassment. There was no way you could survive a whole car ride home with him.
You quickly decided to buy both the bras and headed towards the parking lot. You kept your head low as you looked for Bucky's car. You spotted it, and he waved you over.
You got into the front seat without saying a word. You couldn’t even look at him. “Hi, sweetheart” he said, softly. You muttered a quick “hi” and then looked out the window.
Bucky accepted that you didn’t want to talk about it and put the car in drive. He started the drive to your dad’s house, where you were staying.
After about ten minutes of silence, the car pulled up to a red light. Bucky looked over at you and saw you still looking out the window. “Sweetheart? Look at me” he said, tapping your thigh. You hesitantly looked over at him. He gave you a soft smile.
“I really don’t want to talk about it” you begged him. He placed his hand back on your thigh, rubbing circles into your skin with his thumb. You could feel your face heat up. “I know you’re embarrassed, but you don’t have to be. We can both pretend it never happened. You really don’t have to worry about it, love. By the way, those pictures were pretty amazing,” his soft genuine smile turned into a smirk.
You felt even more embarrassed. You couldn’t tell if he was being serious or if he was teasing you. You knew you had nothing else to lose. You grabbed the collar of his jacket and pulled him for a kiss. Before he could kiss you back, cars began to honk behind you.
You both pulled apart and realized the light was green. You were mortified. “I’m sorry” you muttered, wrapping your arms around yourself. Neither of you said another word to each other. You continued to drive. Bucky drove past the turn to get to your dad’s house.
“Bucky, you missed the turn” you said, finally willing yourself to look at him. Instead of turning around, he just smirked and kept his eyes on the road. “Relax, sweetheart. We’re making a pit stop” he said, moving his hand to rest on your thigh.
You could feel a fluttering feeling in your stomach as his hand inched up your leg. He was only inches from where you wanted him, and he stopped. You practically whined. “Patience, baby” he instructed.
You squirmed under his touch. You started to rub your thighs together, trying to get some friction. “You’re so needy, sweetheart” he said. His words practically made you moan.
He slipped his fingers into the waistband of your leggings. His fingers ran over your lace panties. “God, you’re soaked. Do you need me that bad?” He asked, not moving his fingers. You nodded while biting your lip. You started to grind down on his hand, trying to get the release he was denying you.
“Look at you, so desperate for my touch. The least I can do is help you out” he said, moving your panties to the side. He ran his fingers through your folds, collecting your wetness. Your hips bucked up and pushed against his hand.
He pushed two fingers into you at an agonizingly slow pace. He curled his fingers as he began to pump them in and out of you. “Does that feel good?” He asked you, quickening his pace. You bit down on your lip and eagerly shook your head.
“You don’t have to be quiet. Let me hear you” he commanded. His fingers hit your g-spot, causing you to call out his name. A cocky smirk grew on his face.
The car pulled up to a red light, and you could see a car creeping up next to you. “Look at me, sweetheart. No one gets to see this look on your face through the window. This is all for me. Only I get to watch how you squirm under my touch” he said, repeatedly hitting your g-spot. The light changed to green. He continued driving towards his house.
His thumb started to rub circles onto your clit. You threw your head back against the headrest. “Fuck—Bucky...faster please” you begged him, breathlessly. His fingers sped up, ramming into you as you clenched your thighs around his hand.
You could feel the coil in your abdomen begin to tighten. The pressure continued to build. “Bucky, I’m almost there” you moaned. Then, the pressure disappeared. You noticed he had completely removed his hand from you. You also realized you were in his driveway.
Bucky wiped his hand off on his jeans. “I was so close. My ex-boyfriend could never get me that close” you complained, the last part said more to yourself.
“That was nothing, sweetheart. I’m going to show you what it’s like with a real man” he whispered, before pushing a piece of your hair behind your ear.
He unlocked the car doors, and you both headed inside. He grabbed your hands and pulled you into his bedroom. He sat on the edge of the bed, keeping your hands in his.
You felt your nerves hit you like a brick wall. You realized how much this could change your life. There was no going back after sleeping with your dad’s best friend.
He moved his hand to cup your face. “Sweetheart, before we do anything, I want to make sure that you’re really okay with this” he said, gently. You pressed a light kiss against his lips. “You have no idea how long I’ve wished for this to happen” you said, looking into his eyes.
That was all the permission he needed. He grabbed at your waist and pulled you into his lap. Your hands were instantly in his hair as you connected your lips. You started to roll your hips into his, chasing all the friction you could get.
He pushed you off his lap, and then pulled your leggings down your legs. You stepped out of them and stepped towards him. “I’m sorry I didn’t let you finish before. I wanted to be able to watch you fall apart” he said, kissing your temple.
Then, his eyes lit up. He patted his thigh. “Sit right here for me” he said, gently. You straddled his thigh. “Can I?” You asked, softly. He eagerly nodded his head and placed his hands on your hips. You rolled your hips forward, grinding against his thigh.
“Cum on my thigh, sweetheart. I wanna watch” he said, watching you. You rested your arms on his shoulders as you slid yourself back and forth on his thigh. The harsh material of his jeans only added more friction.
A soft whine passed your lips. “That’s it, baby. You’re doing so well” he said, placing light kisses along your jawline. His words only turned you on more. You could feel a warm feeling in your stomach as you got closer to your peak.
“Buck—almost...there” you moaned, breathlessly. The coil returned and continued to tighten. He began to bounce his leg up and down, creating more friction. “Oh...Bucky, fuck” you called out, moving your hips faster. You shut your eyes, overwhelmed with the pleasure. You were reduced to a whimpering mess. “Such a good job, princess. Let go for me” he said.
You fell over the edge; your vision going white. Your hips slowed down, and you leaned against Bucky’s shoulders. You panted as you came down from your high.
“You are so beautiful” he said, peppering kisses up and down your neck. You noticed his bulging cock against your leg. “I want to make you feel good too” you said, starting to unbuckle his belt.
He grabbed your wrists and stopped you. “You don’t have to do that. I just wanna be inside of you, sweetheart” he told you. You pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it to the side. He used his metal arm to flip you over. He was laying on top of you on the bed now.
“Stay” he said, as he stood up and took off his jeans. You watched him as he stepped out of his boxers, and his cock sprung free. You heard it slap against his stomach. You clenched your thighs together as he thought about having his large cock ramming into you.
He stroked himself a few times. You whimpered to yourself, and your hand found itself inside your panties. “Sweetheart” he said, catching you. You quickly removed your hands and looked back into his eyes.
“I can’t wait to fill you up and have your pretty pussy wrapped around me” he said, crawling on top of you. You cupped his face and pulled him up to kiss you. He moaned into your mouth as one of your hands stroked his length.
He pulled your panties down your legs and carelessly threw them aside. He teased you, lightly drawing figure eights on your clit. You quickly pulled off your T-shirt. He stopped what he was doing as he realized you were wearing the dark red bra.
“Fuck” he muttered under his breath. You noticed that his cock was throbbing. “Your tits look so fuckin’ good” he said, cupping your breasts through the bra.
You reached around your back to unclip the bra, but he stopped you. “Don’t” he practically growled. You smirked as you watched the effect you had on him.
“Keep it on. I want to fuck you while you wear it” he said, not moving his eyes from the lacy material. Then, without warning, he pushed into you.
He watched as your face contorted in pleasure. “You’re so fucking big” you moaned as you wrapped your arms around his neck, holding on as he thrusted into you. He smirked down at you. He wrapped your legs around his waist. “You’re taking me so well, sweetheart” he moaned in your ear. You grabbed on to his shoulders, leaving little crescent indents. You moaned as he continued to stretch you out.
“Bet your ex never made you feel this good” he said, hitting your g-spot. Your walls clenched around him. Your eyes rolled back, and you threw your head back against the pillow. “I’m getting close, sweetheart. You’re so tight” he moaned.
You pulled him into a kiss. “Need you to—faster” you begged him. He listened, speeding up his pace and bringing his thumb down to rub circles on your clit.
You could feel the coil tightening in your stomach. “Close” you mumbled. He moaned out your name as he quickened his pace. “You gonna cum with me?” He asked you, and you quickly nodded your head. It was like he was in overdrive. He was ramming into you. The sound of your skin slapping together and the squeaking of the mattress filled the room. He kept going faster, chasing his high.
“Sweetheart” he moaned, and then you could feel him cum inside of you. It was enough to send you over the edge, and your orgasm hit you. “Oh shit” he moaned, as your walls tightened around him.
You could feel yourself pulsing. You both laid like that for a while, neither of you moving. You both tried to catch your breath.
Eventually, he pulled out of you and then cleaned you both up. Bucky crawled back into bed with you and began placing kisses up and down your chest. “Can you call your dad and say you’re staying over a friend’s house?” He asked, lightly kissing your lips.
You nodded your head. “God, you’re so beautiful” he said, pulling you in for another kiss.
“Bucky, that was amazing. That was the best sex I’ve ever had. No man is ever going to measure up to that” you whispered. He smirked to himself, proud of his work. “Well I guess it’s good that this wasn’t a one-time thing” he said, running his fingers up your arm.
You had a fluttering feeling in your stomach as you listened to what he said. “It wasn’t?” You asked him, raising your eyebrows.
“Hell no, sweetheart” he said, before pulling you in for round two.
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