id-rather-be-in-middle-earth

[id-rather-be-in-middle-earth]

[id-rather-be-in-middle-earth]

Oh my god!!! Thank you so much!! I love it! I love it! And I fucking love it!!

This is more than a sick love story.

Cooper Adams x fem reader.

Your obsession with Cooper Adams takes a turn when you purposely set yourself up as his next victim.

This is sort of an introduction to a universe with these two and answering two requests. Cooper with someone who doesn’t care he’s the Butcher and age gap!

Warnings! Age gap! Reader is mid 20s and he’s in mid 40s Stalking! Cooper is a serial killer obviously lol. Cooper kidnaps reader even though she sets it up! Oral! Bondage! Fem receiving! Short and to the point!

Being twenty years younger than your crush was complicated. Your crush being married, two children and unaware of your existence was complicated but rather predictable.

Your crush being twenty years older, father of two, married and a famous serial killer?

That was one for the books.

It was fucked up. Your obsession with him. It started when you moved into the neighborhood last year. Caring for your elderly grandmother until her passing.

Figuring out he was the butcher was more of an accident. You had followed his wife, watched her go to make an anonymous tip to the police and overheard what she said.

You felt angry and confused. But then madness overcame you shortly afterward.

You intercepted and pointed the police in the wrong direction. Proving her wrong but they divorced. She couldn’t handle the paranoia and you watched from the sidelines as it fell apart with sick pleasure.

However, winning his heart was impossible.

You were only a neighbor who he waved to when he went off to work. He didn’t know what you’d done for him. Gladly. So, you didn’t have a choice but to set yourself up as maybe a potential victim of his crimes.

That brought you to tonight.

Cooper had snatched you up easily. Using a ruse of his car having an issue as you sat outside on your porch at night and you eagerly wanted to help him.

He drugged you, held something over your nose as you expected and you drifted to unconsciousness.

You woke up in the basement, your wrists tied and ankles chained as you were on a chair. You blinked to gauge your surroundings and you saw Cooper standing in front of you. His fingers twitching. He wore a black shirt, matching pants with the sleeves pushed up to expose his muscular forearms and his brown eyes took you in like a predator.

“I didn’t think you’d be this dedicated.” His words made you tilt your head and he swallowed. Coopers jaw flexed.

“I’m good at a lot of things. Bad at a decent amount. Yet, I’m still underestimated. You are so…” He walked over you in two steps and knelt down. Your gaze widened as he reached up and gingerly stroked your face.

“Adorable.”

“You knew-“ You began and he gave you an almost gentle smile.

“Women your age always think they’re one step ahead. I knew you were infatuated but to go to these lengths to be close to me. It’s endearing.” Cooper leaned in, his forehead resting on yours and your entire body awakened as his head dropped to rest on your waist.

“For everything you’ve done for me, I think you deserve to be rewarded, don’t you?” You were mesmerized as Cooper’s massive hands and thick fingers massaged your hips. He focused on pulling down your pants, eyeing the lace panties you were wearing covering your cunt.

“I’m going to keep these on for now. And then I’m going to take you upstairs,” He paused and grazed the front of your underwear. Cooper looked fascinated by the design and he glanced up at you.

“Has anyone ever done this to you before?” You knew his implication and you inhaled sharply.

“Just shitty fingering. That’s it.” You whispered and he shook his head.

“Such a shame. Young men don’t appreciate women the way they deserve. I can assure you that won’t be the case with me.” He slowly pushes your panties to the side, exposing your wet clit.

Cooper dipped his head down, sinking lower on his knees as he kneaded your bare thighs and pressed a light kiss on your inner leg. You shivered and your nipples hardened as he ghosted his lips along your skin. He came to the top of your pelvis, nipping the skin and you gasped.

Finally, Cooper granted your wish and pressed his mouth against your pussy. His tongue came out, flattening and he groaned. His deep voice vibrated as he became more intense. He swept his tongue underneath your clit, forcing your eyes to squeeze shut and then he went down. Fucking your entrance with his mouth, he pressed your thighs apart harder as you whined.

He breathed heavily and returned to the center of your cunt. Sucking in the bud between his lips, he felt you tremble and shake. Cooper went back to his previous notions by lewdly licking your clit. He seemed lost as your skin was on fire. It was agnoy not being able to touch him but he was devouring you. Cooper’s wide shoulders shifted and he moved his face harder against you.

“Mhm, you taste so fucking good.” He wasn’t one to speak that way and you moaned. “Not doing this just for you.” He was eating you out because he also enjoyed it.

You didn’t expect to tip over the edge so quickly, but your lack of inexperience came into play as your vision went white and you shrieked.

“I’m cumming, I’m cumming, oh fuck. Oh god,” You chanted and Cooper continued his motions with his tongue.

He sucked in your arousal and slowly pulled back. You looked at him with a slightly parted mouth, glassy eyes as Cooper’s chin was damp. He sat up and stood. He bent down, gripping your cheeks. “Swallow it.”

You open your mouth wider, sticking out your tongue a little and he spits the remnant of your cum inside your lips. Something snaps in him as he watches you swallow and he smears it in.

“For a fucking virgin, you’re a goddamn slut.”

“Fuck me, please. Please, I’ll do anything. I’ll do anything you want. I’ll kill for you. I’ll be anything you want me to be.” You were begging him with watery eyes and Cooper started laughing.

“Oh, I know that, sweetheart. This is just the beginning.”

Tagging @redhead1180 @rosaleelovesdilfs @coopers-bunny @xbimboxbunnyx @id-rather-be-in-middle-earth @stillwjk-channie-lixie @cellophane-wasp @rubyfruitjungle @hereforthehitsbaby @cryobabyy @cattt777

[id-rather-be-in-middle-earth]

JOSH HARTNETT photographed by Venetia Scott for Interview Magazine

[id-rather-be-in-middle-earth]

Come get ya’ll juice. You know you’re thirsty!!

[id-rather-be-in-middle-earth]

I’m obsessively in love with this man

TRAP. (2024) dir. M. Night Shyamalan

[id-rather-be-in-middle-earth]

IM STUCK!! I need help!

I’m trying to write a Cooper Adams fic but I can’t figure out which one I wanna do. I have so many ideas and stories in my head.

First one: Babysitter reader. I didn’t know if I should write it with reader getting hired as a babysitter and while watching the kids, she figures out cooper is the butcher or if she should be a escaped victim that his family finds and she quickly lies and says she’s a babysitter cooper wanted to consider hiring before walking out the door (it’s open ended so reader knows who he is but is still apart of his life and just doesn’t care)

Second one: (one that I can see a lot of fic writers doing) Lady Raven reader, but instead of the concert being a trap, it’s just a normal concert. Maybe reader is obsessed with The Butcher (trying to figure out a plot for this one) but basically it ends with smut and I really like the idea of him being pressed up against you and he whispers in your ear, “sing for me” 🫠 (kinda wanna do just a singer reader, maybe someone singing with lady raven)

Third one: I feel is a pretty basic one, but the reader is working at the concert and Cooper uses her to try and get out (maybe reader and him have a relationship)

So I’m gonna do a poll for you guys to choose or if you have any ideas send them in

[id-rather-be-in-middle-earth]

RAHHHHHH I LOVE TRAP 2024

[id-rather-be-in-middle-earth]

I need slasher fic writers to get started on writing for Cooper in the new trap movie coming out. Because HOLY SHIT!!!

[id-rather-be-in-middle-earth]

😍🥰😍🥰

the ghoul / cooper howard | wallpapers

please consider liking or reblogging if you use! 💖

[id-rather-be-in-middle-earth]

Aragorn sped on up the hill. Every now and again he bent to the ground. Hobbits go light, and their footprints are not easy even for a Ranger to read, but not far from the top a spring crossed the path, and in the wet earth he saw what he was seeking.

THE TWO TOWERS

[id-rather-be-in-middle-earth]

‘Thoth and the Chief Magician’, 1925. Evelyn Pau

[id-rather-be-in-middle-earth]

😍🥰😍🥰😍🥰

[id-rather-be-in-middle-earth]

[id-rather-be-in-middle-earth]

I love him so much!! 🥰🥰😍😍

"Higher Purpose" - Feyd Rautha x Atreides!Reader

a/n: i went a lil crazy with this one idk dawg. based on several anon requests + one from @the-shadow-queen02 🩷

Summary: The Reverend Mother always told you that you were meant for a higher purpose. What happens when your brother throws that into jeopardy?

TW: dubcon (reader uses the voice but not to solicit any sexual acts), profanity, innuendo, she/her pronouns, AFAB reader, PUBLIC sex, mommy kink tbh, switch!feyd and switch!reader, cannibalism (the harpies ofc), blood kink, knife kink, breeding kink, oral f receiving, choking, handjob, p in v sex, inkpie, death/murder/violence

Word Count: 3,500

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Dune characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

Comments, likes, and reblogs are never required but are immensely appreciated 🩷

All your life, you have been told you were born to serve a higher purpose - a cause greater than yourself. That you were meant to birth the Kwisatz Haderach, the Chosen One, who could see through time and space. For this higher purpose, you were taken from your home when you were barely weaned from your mother, though she did not care. She would soon be with child once again, this time? A male heir as a testament to her love for your father. You often thought about your family, wondering if they also thought of you. You saw them in your dreams, often calling out to your mother and your little brother, though if they heard you, they gave no indication.

And after some time passed, your longing for family grew into bitter resentment. Your anger toward your mother and father and younger brother grew and grew, and instead of missing them, you threw all your efforts into your training, wanting to become the most powerful Bene Gesserit in existence. You took all the sisters’ teachings to heart, working longer and harder than any of the other novices. And it was noticed. The Reverend Mother gave you praise she afforded no one else, stating that you were the most skilled Bene Gesserit she had seen since your mother. But that wasn’t enough for you.

You wanted to be better than her.

Your hatred, your anger, your bitterness… It all fueled you. Molded you into the woman you are now. Some of the other sisters voiced their pity for you, having to marry and procreate with a barbarian Harkonnen like Feyd-Rautha. But you? You have no qualms about it. After all, you were always meant to serve a higher purpose.

A purpose that is put into jeopardy when your mother begins calling your younger brother the Kwisatz Haderach, the Mahdi. The One. The Reverend Mother pulls you aside after visiting Caladan, admitting her doubts about Paul’s worthiness to be given the esteemed title. Rather than waiting until your twenty-first birthday to send you to Giedi Prime, she wishes to send you now. She wishes for you to seduce the na-Baron and bring forth an heir - the true Chosen One - as soon as possible.

As far as you’re concerned, this is the perfect form of revenge against your family. So you agree without hesitation.

Feyd waits at the landing platform to welcome you as you step under the light of Giedi Prime’s infrared sun. He is tall, his presence looming and threatening as he walks toward you, with all the grace of a lion about to attack a gazelle. What he doesn’t realize is you are no harmless prey. In fact, it is the law of the jungle that the lioness is fiercer than the lion.

He circles around you, twirling his crysknife in your hand, as if evaluating you before remarking, “You are… Shorter than I expected.”

Your lips curl upward at his words, “Is that a problem, na-Baron? Perhaps I can ask them to send someone taller.”

Rather amused by you, he steps closer, using his blade to tilt your chin up toward him, “They say you Bene Gesserit are to be feared. That you’re witches. But there is nothing intimidating about you, little witch.”

“I warn you, my lord,” you reply coolly, meeting his gaze without any reluctance - something that seems to surprise him, “You should not underestimate me.”

He chuckles, staring you down, his blade pushing off your hood and revealing your face in its entirety to him. His expression seems approving as he comes even closer, tracing the contours of your cheeks, your jaw with his knife, reveling in the fact that you do not so much as flinch.

“I suppose we’ll find out whether you have as much fire in your veins as you say you have,” Feyd presses the blade to your throat, his breath hot against your skin as he demands, “Show me that you do not fear me, little one.”

You let out a soft laugh, resting your hand over his, pushing the blade even harder against your neck, nearly enough to leave a cut, “It is a fine blade, na-Baron. But I do not fear it, nor do I fear pain. But…” You pause before impressing him with your mastery of the Voice, ordering him, “Tell me what it is you feel.”

A chill runs down Feyd’s spine, his words tumbling forth in spite of himself, a low groan erupting from his throat as he admits, “Excitement. Fear. Confusion. Arousal.”

You lean in, your lips nearly brushing against his as you whisper, “Good.” And just as quickly, you pull away, gesturing toward the three women standing behind him, “Would you mind having one of your ladies show me to my room? I’d quite like to freshen up before dinner.”

Feyd nods, watching his Harpies flock to you, cooing their admiration, while you soak it all in. He watches them lead you away, thinking how much he looks forward to dinner.

Perhaps wedding an Atreides won’t be as horrid as he thought.

Your husband-to-be summons you to the training room rather than his chambers, where the two of you are meant to dine. However, you know what this is. His attempt at exerting dominance over you, forcing you to watch a display of his strength. Amused, you go to the training room, happy to play along with this little game. Feyd is lethal, in the most beautiful of ways. You watch the way he easily brings each one of his opponents to the ground. No mercy, just sheer brute strength with an effortless sort of grace. You watch with interest, something that seems to please him, smirking as he delivers the killing blow, his face coated with the blood of his felled opponent.

“Well done, na-Baron.”

Feyd walks toward you, “Thank you. I needed to take the edge off my… Appetite.”

“I’d have been all the more pleased if you had kept that edge, my lord.”

He chuckles at your words, and the fact that the blood does not seem to bother you, moving to grab you by the hips, tugging you closer toward him, “Be careful, Lady Atreides. You might entice me into acting out my desires here and now.”

Your future husband notices the way your eyes grow cold at the mention of your family name, the ice in your voice as you reply, “I do not go by that name, my lord. I quite preferred ‘little witch’.”

Feyd nods, “As you wish, my lady.”

The two of you walk toward his private chambers, the mood soon returning to the playful flirtation of before as you comment, “To answer your earlier statement… Let’s file that idea away for later, shall we? I heard that public displays are not uncommon here.”

“And here I was thinking the Bene Gesserit were pure and proper.” You come to a stop in front of his chambers, Feyd’s front pressed up against your back as he opens the door and whispers in your ear, “Do you know what kind of thoughts you put in my head?”

You turn your head slightly to face him, so close that your noses brush as you murmur, “Unless that is a knife you have pressed against my backside, I have a decent idea of what those thoughts are, na-Baron.”

“Oh, you really are a little temptress, aren’t you?” Feyd grins, those darkened teeth of his doing nothing to deter you as he leads you inside.

You take a seat at one end of the table, crossing your legs, resting your chin on your palm as you lean forward. You notice the way Feyd’s eyes are drawn to the exposed skin of your thighs, your cleavage, your neck… He has fallen for your wiles, hook, line and sinker. You brush your foot along the inside of his calf as you sip at the wine one of his slaves brings forth, smirking at the low groan he lets out.

“Do you have any idea how hard you’re making it to control myself?”

“Patience is a virtue, na-Baron. You’re a great warrior. I am sure you already know the value of waiting for the opportune moment to strike.”

He shakes his head, dragging his chair to sit beside you, his forwardness and eagerness to be near you being somewhat endearing, bringing a smile to your face as he rests a hand on your thigh, “Indeed. But sometimes, a warrior must also let go of his inhibitions.”

By the time the slaves return with your meal, you have seated yourself in your na-Baron’s lap, your lips moving against his in a messy, heated kiss. Feyd’s hands tangle in your hair, tugging eagerly as you move to whisper in his ear.

“You’re not half bad at this.”

“This…” Feyd pants, moving one hand to squeeze at your breast, “This is still the appetizer.”

Since he seemed to enjoy your use of the Voice on him before, you do it again, staring into his eyes as you question, “Tell me what it is that you desire…”

He shivers, eyes nearly rolling back at the sensation of surrendering himself to you, inhaling tremulously before he replies, “I desire you. All of you. Like I have never desired anything else in my life.”

Your tongue trails along the shell of Feyd’s ear, a grin blossoming on your face as he lets out a ragged breath, pulling you even closer to him, his face nearly buried between your breasts as you tease, “And as your wife, you will have all of me.” You pull back slightly, fingers caressing his throat before wrapping around and squeezing, ever so gently, “You are a complex man. With the desire to dominate as well as to be dominated.” You move to kiss his Adam’s apple, nipping at it and reveling in the way he hardens against your thigh, feeling you grinding against him, “It is a desire I share. To both receive and to give. I think this partnership will work out quite well in that regard.”

He grunts, panting slightly as you move to palm at his cock over the fabric of his leathers, his entire being screaming at him to bend you over the table right now and make you scream his name for all of Giedi Prime to hear. But, on the other hand, the delicious torture you are currently inflicting on him is equally as desirable. His hands move to squeeze the flesh of your ass, letting out a shuddering moan as you nip at his earlobe.

“You are the perfect wife for me, my na-Baroness.”

It does not take long for Feyd to realize just how much the two of you have in common, something that endears you to him all the more. You grow closer and closer with each passing day, your wedding approaching. You share the same bloodlust, the same desire for power, the same cunning, the same drive to do better than your siblings.

Something which has brought you to where you are now, reveling in the glory of Rabban’s defeat at Feyd’s hands, your husband having now taken command of Arrakis. You watch as he slits the throat of one of his slaves before shoving the poor thing at the Harpies. He brings the blade to your lips, cock straining against his pants as your tongue darts out to lick the knife clean.

“Arrakis is just as you described,” you muse, “Quite entertaining.” Feyd takes a seat beside you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders, feeling the way you lean into his touch before murmuring, “Shall I tell you about my relationship with my own brother?” Feyd turns to you, slightly surprised that you are willing to open up to him about the topic, but nods. “My mother had me for only one purpose. To assuage the Bene Gesserit. She said I was meant for a higher purpose, and sent me to them when I was barely weaned from her breast. It was Paul she wanted. So arrogant, thinking she could bring forth the Chosen One when it was I who was meant to bear him.” Feyd listens to your story intently, the pieces falling into place as you explain the reasons behind your bitterness toward your family, “My brother… I have seen him in my dreams, calling himself the Mahdi. He is nothing more than an arrogant child. I eagerly await the day you meet him in battle and will cheer your name louder than anyone as you strike the killing blow.”

Feyd moves to rest a hand against your cheek, his voice a low rasp as he whispers, “I will kill him for you, my na-Baroness. I will lay his body at your feet as a wedding gift.”

He kisses your neck, his arousal only growing as you murmur, “I want you to wed me as he lays dying. I want him to breathe his last breath, watching as you fill me with your seed. Knowing he is not the Chosen One, but rather it will be the child you sire, the one that will grow inside me. Is that acceptable to you, my lord?”

Oh, it is more than acceptable.

The day where your husband-to-be and your brother meet in battle comes sooner than anticipated. You are surprised by Paul’s audacity in challenging the emperor for the throne, but even more so at the gall he displays after learning who you are.

“Brother,” you welcome him with an icy smile, your arm looped in Feyd’s as he arrives at the Arrakeen palace, “Welcome to our castle.” He stares at you in confusion for a moment, looking between you and Lady Jessica - the woman who gave birth to you but you will never acknowledge as your mother. You let out a bitter little laugh, sneering, “Don’t you recognize me from your dreams, little Paul? Or am I meant to call you the Lisan al-Ghaib now?”

Paul’s lips part in shock at the realization, but he quickly recovers, meeting your gaze, “You have changed, sister. But I must ask why you stand at the side of those who killed our father. Do you have no loyalty to your family?”

“Your family. Not mine,” you cut him off sharply as Feyd pulls you closer.

“You are not just a Bene Gesserit, sister, you are an Atreides-”

“That name means nothing to me. Nor do you nor our father nor mother.”

Paul stares at you, completely taken aback, his voice and eyes turning to steel, “If you and our cousin bow to me and swear your allegiance, I will spare you.”

You shake your head, resting a hand on Feyd’s chest, “We would die before bowing to you, little brother.” You turn to your mother next, eyeing her disdainfully, “You truly thought you could rob me of my birthright? My purpose? It is I who will bear the Kwisatz Haderach, Lady Jessica. Your son is little more than a pretender.”

It does not come as a surprise when the Emperor chooses Feyd as his champion. You stand beside your betrothed, taking his hands in yours, an ancient proverb of House Harkonnen crossing your mind, one you read about when you learned it was a Harkonnen that you would marry, Giedi Prime that would become your home. You pull Feyd into a passionate kiss, one that has him gripping you by the hips as if to ground himself in reality.

“Come back to me with your shield,” you whisper against his lips, “Or on it.”

Feyd lets out a low growl, holding you even tighter, your commitment to him and his house affirmed. Then, he turns from you and begins the battle in earnest. You watch with admiration as Feyd leaps into action, every movement purposeful, with the singular goal of defeating your brother. Your heart pounds against your chest, eyes gleaming with excitement as Feyd manages to stab Paul once, while Paul has not even landed one hit. Your brother, in all his arrogance, will never be half the fighter your betrothed is. The fight continues, and though Paul does his best, Feyd defeats him with relative ease. You walk toward his fallen body, listening as he gasps for air, blood pouring from his wounds. You stand before Feyd, wiping the blood from his face with a smirk.

“Well fought.”

“I have kept my promise to you, little witch,” he chuckles, pulling you into a kiss, “And now I will make good on the other promise I made.”

Paul clings to life long enough to watch as Feyd holds the Reverend Mother at knifepoint, demanding she proclaim the two of you as bound in holy matrimony. Feyd wastes no time in pinning you to the ground beside Paul, your arms wrapping around him, lips crashing against each other’s in a desperate, feverish kiss. Feyd pushes your dress up just enough to reveal your bare cunt to him, groaning as his fingers trace your slit, feeling the wetness that has pooled between your thighs.

“I had no idea seeing me fight would arouse you so,” he chuckles darkly.

“Everything about you arouses me,” you reply playfully, glancing over at Paul who grows weaker with each passing moment, though the anger on his face remains as Feyd moves to lap at your slick folds, preparing you for his cock, “My husband, let me bear your heirs. Let us bring forth the Chosen One. Let us serve the higher purpose we were meant to.”

Feyd moans against you, mouthing at you eagerly, the sloppy, wet kisses he lands on your bare core, the way his tongue delves inside of you, his bloody hands staining your thighs crimson as he tastes you… It doesn’t take long for you to reach your peak, pulling him closer, wrapping your limbs around him as you palm at his cock. You undo his pants just enough to free it, giving it a few quick tugs, guiding him inside you. Feyd lets out a low hiss as he feels your wetness squeezing around him, rutting against you like some sort of depraved beast.

You grin as your eyes meet his, Feyd’s lips capturing your own in yet another hungry kiss. You know that Feyd belongs to you, his body, his soul, his heart. And in the same vein, you do not mind allowing yourself to belong to him. Not when he has given you the justice you have so desperately craved all your life. Not when he is about to give you what it is you have always wanted. Each snap of his hips fills you once more, making you moan his name in ecstasy, the two of you enjoying the eyes of all those present on you as you make love right there in front of all of them. And the both of you smirk to yourselves as Paul lets out his dying breath, the last thing he sees before he dies being Feyd spilling himself inside you, his black seed coating your thighs.

That night, you lay in bed beside your newlywed husband, the two of you completely bare having just consummated your union once again, a wicked smirk playing on your lips as you muse aloud, “The False Prophet died watching the true Chosen One to be conceived.”

Feyd barks out a laugh, watching as you move to straddle his hips, letting out a satisfied groan as you sink down onto his cock, letting him fill you once more, “Poetic, almost.”

He loves the way you admire his chest, his toned stomach, your hands running all over him, smearing his battle paint, before your tongue follows the same pattern. You roll your hips against his as you take one of your nipples between your teeth, nibbling slightly, making him groan as his hips buck up desperately against yours. Never has he felt so desired, so wanted in a coupling as he does with you. Though your marriage may have been arranged, it would seem the two of you cannot live without the other now.

“Why stop at Giedi Prime and Arrakis?” You ask him, his eyes transfixed by the sight of your breasts bouncing as you ride his cock, “The emperor is old and weak. He has no sons. The seat is ripe for the taking.”

Your words strike a chord in Feyd, and he gives you that blackened grin, nodding as he holds your hips in place, desperately thrusting up into your warm, wet cunt, “Yes… Emperor Harkonnen and Empress Harkonnen…”

“Our reign will be one to remember,” you moan against his ear, “And our son… The Chosen One… He will take the throne after us. A higher purpose. The world is ours, my love. If we only reach out and take it.”

And as your hands squeeze his throat gently and he spills himself inside you again, he realizes just how right his little witch is.

His empress.

[id-rather-be-in-middle-earth]

THEY'RE BACK!!!! 🤩🥰

BEYOND THE VOID — !

1. THE BEGINNING OF THE END.

( MASTERPOST   |   AO3  |    SPOTIFY ) summary: torn from time yet again, it's thursday. six months pass. while you grapple with a newfound uncanny ability to premeditate, loki grapples with the fact he's slipping back into his old self without you. enter brad wolfe. now playing:  a whole lots gonna change by weyes blood word count: 3.3k pairing: loki / f!reader, established in from the void, with love 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 season 2 (2020) spoilers a/n: finally, they return in "beyond the void". i can't thank everyone enough for the unending enthusiasm for this little project of mine. it's fitting to have the first chapter release with an eclipse. this is for all of you :) the beautiful gif for this chapter is from this set by @tomshiddles.

"Okay."

"Okay."

There's a long stretch of silence between Darcy Lewis and Jane Foster. 

In the liminal stretch of the apartment building's hall, there's little sound except the loud drone of some horribly, desperately sad song beyond the door of Unit 1131. The two women share a long look with one another, and then Darcy gestures urgently to the door.

"Go ahead," she nudges her colleague. 

"What?" Jane asks in a harsh whisper, "No, you knock." 

"You were the one that said we needed to do an intervention—" Darcy argues back in an equally low tone.

"Oh, so now this is on me?" Jane fires back, "She's our friend—"

"Our friend who has been babbling nonsense about things that have not happened and has been seriously obsessing with that Low-key dude—" Darcy rushes out, bringing her face closer to Jane's, "I don't even know what we're walking into here!"

Jane inhales. She pinches her brow. With a long rub of her face, she exhales. Then, she knocks.

She gives Darcy a 'happy?' look before stepping back and crossing her arms.

Almost immediately, the music stops. There's the sound of a shuffle. A meow. And then, the door opens only wide enough that one exhausted eye can peak through the chained gap.

"Heeeeeeeeeey, girl!" Darcy chides, waggling her hands in the air, "Surprise!"

On the other side of the door, your heart clenches. 

It feels a little bit like a cruel joke, y'know?

All that wishing, begging, clawing to go home and — well... you are. You're home. You've been home. For six months, you've been home in New York City. You're back in that little studio apartment, with Sigurd, with your research, with your doctorate. 

ALL I WANT  TO DO IS  GO HOME.

You try your best to give both Darcy and Jane a smile, but it comes out mangled and exhausted and not quite right. You've been crying. Sort of par for the course these days.

"Oh, uh... Hi guys."

Sigurd meows.

"You got a sec?" Jane asks, raising a folder in her hands, "We, uh... Erik gave us some new anomaly data to look over and we figured... you're the one for the job! Y'know? It's... kinda... your thing... have you been crying?"

Your eyes dart between them both. You wet your lips.

"No. Nooo, no. It's..." your mouth hangs open as you search for a reason, "...Allergies."

There's a beat of embarrassing silence, and then Darcy moves fast as lightning. She wriggles her arm through the gap and unlocks the chain — almost as if this is definitely something she's mastered before — before pushing her way through the doorway of your apartment. Jane follows close behind, and Sigard squawks as he scurries away from underfoot. 

The infiltration is almost immediately regretted because... woah. 

Like, big woah.

Darcy has seen crazy. Like, she has an Uncle on her Dad's side who is totally in on the whole "they're coming for our thoughts" thing and does not leave the house without at least six layers of Great Value tinfoil stuffed under his baseball cap. She knows crazy. She works for Erik Selvig. 

But this?

This is, like, soooooo above her pay grade. 

Jane's jaw is slack. The folder is immediately forgotten on the kitchen island in favor of the wall-to-wall documentation of... whatever the hell this was. 

LOKI MISSING? in the center of it all, with string and equations and runes and news articles and tabloid pages. There's an alarming amount of photos of the God in question pinned up beside ramblings on... Time? And... Quantum mechanics...? 

There's another loooooong stretch of silence. And then, Darcy and Jane both turn slowly to look at you pressed against the door.

You swallow.

Your face is set in horror.

"It's not what it looks like—"

"Uh, dude, it totally is what it looks like—" Darcy starts, stepping closer to the board and pointing a black, manicured finger at a paparazzi photo of Loki being carted off from the now-Avengers Tower, "What's with all the Loki paraphernalia?! Need I post a lil' throwback Thursday to when he tried to kill us all?"

IT'S THURSDAY AGAIN.

You wince. "You wouldn't understand—"

Then, it happens.

The same thing you've experienced dozens upon dozens of times these last six months happens again: A rush of chatter in your mind, a cacophony of whispers that claw at your thoughts and flood them with has-beens and will-be's. A million things all at once, a little bit of everything from all of time, and then— one thread. One thread that stands out against them all. 

"Jane, don't."

Across the room, Jane's fingers pause on the contact number for that pretty S.H.I.E.L.D. agent they've met once or twice now — the one who is managing the Asgardian anomaly cases. With Loki missing, S.H.I.E.L.D. has been desperate to track him down. If this is a lead... If you know where he is...

Jane's face freezes.

Her brows knit.

Your face is split in panic. "I know you think calling Agent Hill is the right thing to do, but—"

"...How did you know I was...?" Jane's voice falls off, her eyes searching your face.

Your voice splinters as you step forward. "If you call Agent Hill, she is going to section our entire division within the week. Thor will be exiled from Earth on conspiracy four days later. We will sit in a cell for five years until they decide we have nothing to do with Loki's disappearance from Asgard."

Darcy's eyes bounce between you and Jane.

"Why are you saying all that like you know it's going to happen?" Jane asks slowly, putting her phone down and closing the gap between you. "Doc, what's going on?"

Your eyes flicker with fear. 

And then exhaustion. The walls you've built to keep this away from the others crumble with one worried look from Darcy, and you crumple against the kitchen counter. 

Your voice is far away.

"It all started that Thursday."

You thought it would be better now that someone knows. 

Truth be told it might be more trouble than it's worth if not to soothe the burden of secrecy — because Darcy keeps treating you like a Magic 8 Ball that, when shaken, is going to spit out readings on the future. 

It isn't that easy. I mean, if it was, you would have definitely done everything in your power to avoid the commute traffic this morning. 

You don't know why it happens. Or how. You have a theory it has something to do with Alioth, but... without any sort of control, there's no way of knowing. All you know is that in those moments, you're presented with a weave of potential sequences. And in those moments, you can choose to act. Or not. 

So far, acting seems to be the best course of action. 

But, yea, no. No fortune-cookie-level stuff. No crystal ball, no tarot cards. Just... weird time-whispers. And a migraine that seems to never go away. And dreams. Really vivid dreams. Dreams that happen? And dreams that don't.

If it was a horoscope sort of thing, maybe you wouldn't have missed your morning bus after waiting in line at that coffee shop three blocks down. They always make your coffee a little too bitter, but the girl behind the counter is an NYU grad student you recognized from a mechanical engineering lecture you sat in on three months ago. You've got a soft spot for her. She's always nice to that guy in the baseball cap who seems unhoused. 

You hope it all works out for her in the end. 

But, Christ this coffee is bitter. 

You buzz into Stark Labs at 9:37 am, and you're setting your stuff down at R&D by 9:43 am. 

Bruce Banner looks up briefly from his work to slide you a welcoming smile. You return it gently as you settle down on your stool and reacclimate yourself to last week's work. 

Mondays, man.

Tony is, as always, later than anyone else. His entrance is followed by the usual boisterous chatter meant as a morale booster. More often than not it's a genius-level comedy routine built on absolutely torturing Dr. Banner. You opt, more often than not, to refuse to enable the bad behavior. 

Any laughter is buried deep into these readings from the Tesseract. 

And so this has been home for the last four months. 

Avengers Tower. R&D. Erik Selvig's Research Team. Theoretical Physics and Quantum Mechanics. Day in, day out.

No TVA, no TemPads, no Sylvie, no Mobius, no Capybaras. 

...No Loki.

But, plenty of whispers. 

It rocks you out of your focus, iced latte halfway to your lips as you're rooted in this little pocket of voices and threads and whisps of time. There's a thousand, then a hundred, then one. 

Your voice is soft.

"Bruce, try the equation again."

From across the room, Tony's voice dies down and Bruce's eyes rise to meet yours. He points to himself, with a questioning raise of the brows.

You nod, then continue to take a sip of your coffee.

And so Bruce does. Wordlessly. And, after a minute, he looks up with a grin.

"So it was right."

"Woulda never known if Iron Dick over here didn't shut up for one second."

Tony's grin is bigger than Bruce's as he meanders over to your lab table and throws an arm around your shoulder. He squeezes you gently. You avoid his eye contact — and in doing so, you miss the momentary grace of concern. 

(Tony has known you for a few months now. He knows you adequately enough to gauge that your triple-shot espresso should have been a sextuple. The bags beneath your eyes are dark. There's an edge there. Something jumpy. You're exhausted.)

"Now, that was mean."

"You're torturing him," you fire back lightly, non-the-wiser to his scrutiny. 

"It's called exposure therapy—" Tony croons, leaning back and thumbing through some of the notes on your desk. You allow it. 

Good. Still sharp. Still better than anyone else at what you do. 

"Exposure to workplace terrorism?" You rib back with one cocked brow, "No offense, Bruce, but I like you better not green. Okay, Tony?"

"None taken!" Dr. Banner calls lightly from across the room. He's working on the second part of that equation now. 

"Sure, sure, alright, Doc," Tony heads your words, raising both hands and stepping back, "I guess someone hates fun."

"Absolutely," you say blankly, chewing your straw; you point at him, "No laughter."

"None," Tony waggles a finger.

"Not a peep," you remark causally as you spin in your stool and snag your pen from the drawer behind you. 

"Any news on the other green guy we hate?" Bruce asks slowly, eyes bouncing between you and Stark. 

Your blood goes a little cold. Just like always. It's hard not to react — especially when that other green guy is all you think about day and night.

WHEN YOU LOSE HIM YOU WILL DO ANYTHING TO GET HIM BACK. 

You wordlessly shake your head. You shrug. Bruce turns to Stark. Tony is hunched over his bench. His words are a bit muffled by the soldering project he's turned his attention to. 

"None. According to Thor he just up and poofed. He was in the middle of atoning before the Buckingham of Asgard and... just warped on out."

So you've heard.

"Hill has been working every lead she can but... the Asgardians are a little touchy-feely on the whole 'earthlings in the domain of the Gods' thing."

"Understandable," you mutter absently.

Tony sits up. "Only time will tell."

...Indeed.

Home.

Unit 1131. 

Lonely.

It wasn't before all this... It was full to the brim with contentment. It was comfort, it was bliss. It was indulgent mornings slept beneath the covers and bright music in the kitchen. Cheap wine from the liquor shop on the corner and homemade meals. It was "I finally made it". 

Now, it's none of that.

Because he's out there — and you know that you don't belong here anymore.

You drop your bag by the door. 

Your boots follow in a trail. 

Sigurd mews expectantly, and you scoop him wordlessly into your arms as you weave through the chaos of papers and books. Your carpet is hidden beneath a layer of obsession masquerading as research.

But, there's one thing that pulls you back in each time.

It's that photo. 

The one Darcy had pointed at earlier.

Loki is being carted off from the now-Avengers Tower. He's looking back at something, and his expression is broken.

It's you.

You know he's pleading with Thor at that moment through a muzzle, desperate to call your name. He's looking at you, being whisked away by S.H.I.E.L.D. as they clear the area, and your voice is silenced by grief. 

You wish you had called out to him then — told him you'd find him again. 

Regret is a hell of a thing.

Grief, too. 

How do you mourn something you never really had? Not here, not in this timeline. 

So you stand there, in the dim lights of your apartment, staring at the photo. And you cry. Just like every night, for the last six months.

In your desk, that magical little daisy made of grass waits.

If they find Sylvie, they find you.

That's the mission.

Mobius M. Mobius thinks it's funny — back then, man if only he would have known that lil' hunch of his was right. Maybe a part of him did. And... Now? Things are different. I mean, everything is different. The TVA is different. 

Loki is different.

They say to be loved is to be changed an' all that. 

The first thing out of Loki's mouth was your name when Mobius finally saw him again — and then a word vomit of panic, induced by the death of He Who Remains and... time-slippage as OB called it. Lotsa moving parts. Lots to keep track of. But, ultimately, they're in a better spot than they were yesterday. 

1.) Loki is no longer falling through the metaphorical cracks in time. 

2.) Mobius did not get toasted alive when standing before The Loom.

3.) He never, ever, ever has to do that again.

And now!

They're in London. 

1977, huh. Zaniac. 

If they find Sylvie, they find you.

...Unless you find him first.

Loki isn't exactly thrilled. 

No, Loki knows better than to get his hopes up. Sylvie isn't here. He already told Mobius that. It's too safe. It's a damned movie premiere. There are no radiation burns, no falling stars, and no rampant gunfire. It's too quiet. 

It's a movie premiere and you're out there, somewhere, alone. You're... you're lost. He can't protect you here. He can't protect anything. You... You're all he has and you're gone. 

And he's here, wasting his damn time. 

Brad Wolfe is about to waste more of his time. 

Loki's gaze is sharp. His strides are long, and as they approach the fray, the God stands amongst the tallest of guests. He cuts a mean profile. It's times like these that Mobius remembers he is a God.

(It's times like these that Mobius can also see the ever-increasing edge in his partner-in-time. It's a little... worrisome. But understandable. I mean, rip a God's soulmate from his hands and see what happens, right?)

"So, he's an actor now?" Loki comments off-handedly, his irritation grating his heartstrings in a way that reminds him of who he was before all this. He hates it. But, he's angry. He will get you back. Without you...

Without you, he doesn't know what he'll do.

"Or he's undercover."

As they weave, Loki's brows knot in distrust. "Looks pretty real to me."

It smells like cigarettes and perfume, and the flashbulbs bite sharply into Loki's peripherals. The raven-haired trickster winces, tucking his hands into his slacks. 

On the red carpet, X-5 moves from interview to interview. Occasionally his laughter rises above the clamor. Each time, Loki's nostrils flare and he rolls his eyes. 

It's when he reaches the end of the line that Mobius moves in. 

"Will there be a Zaniac Two?" 

The look on Brad's face says enough for Mobius to know there's more going on here than just an undercover bit. Brad's laugh, as equally pained as his smile, just cements the fact. 

"Mobius! Woah!" A clap on the shoulder, a big hug. "I used to work with this guy!"

Still a show. Still a weasel trying to survive on his little slice of time. 

"We're going to need to catch up," he begins, backing up slowly, "You know, why don't we chat after the show?"

"How about now, maybe?" Mobius counters just as Brad turns on his heel and comes face to face with Loki. 

The God sneers.

"Woah. Okay, ha, whole gangs here!" he chirps, "Isn't that... great? Wow. I mean, you look — you look great, Loki."

"Why thank you, Brad."

Brad's eyes are manic, and he's searching the crowd quickly — no doubt looking for an exit. Then, they catch something. When Brad claps his hands together and pats them on both Loki and Mobius' shoulders, the two TVA agents pause.

"Everything alright?" Loki asks, head tilting in faux concern.

"Everything is great, actually, because when I was here," he begins, words quick and anxious as he tries to weave some sort of story, "I met a mutual friend!"

"Sylvie?" Mobius asks tightly.

"No, no, uh, better—"

Loki's jaw tightens. Enough of this. "We have some mutual friends back at the TVA who would like a word, as well—"

"Doc!" calls Brad after finally finding her in the sea of people, turning on his heel and calling out over his shoulder, "I got people I need you to meet!"

And just like that, it's like Loki's whole world splits wide open again.

In the fray of photographers and journalists, in the fray of drinks and the haze of smoke, there's you. You're smiling at Brad, positively beaming. You're bright as a star and Gods, there's no one in the room when you step forward with a laugh.

Your dress is green. Your hair is different.

There's a beauty mark on your left cheek. His version of you has a scar that lies there. A mistimed gift from Sylvie before their period on Lamentis. 

"Doc, these are some of my friends from work," Brad points, his hand falling along your waist in a way that makes Loki's blood boil; the ex-TVA Hunter leans close to your cheek, "They're the real deal."

You laugh into your drink, then extend your hand to Mobius. He's trying his best to hide his growing dread. "It's a pleasure."

Mobius takes it and shakes it gently. "And how do you have the pleasure of knowing our starlet, Brad?"

Damn it. He's losing Loki in real time here.

"Doc here did all the practical effects on set for Zaniac," Brad's eyes connect with Loki's — but the God is focused on only you... Her. Until Wolfe digs in with a low murmur meant to do just what it does, "She's a real wiz with her hands."

The God's face snaps. He will kill Brad, he decides. But, then this other-you moves to offer her hand and he can't help but melt. 

His fingers are trembling when he touches her skin. 

"Have we met before?" comes the soft lilt of her voice — this Variant's eyes are brown. They search Loki's face for a shred of recognition but all that's there between the two of them is raw attraction. A law of time and space unhindered by meddling hands. No matter where, no matter when, you will find one another.

Loki's mouth is dry. Your lipstick shade is a dark rogue. He thinks about that kiss back in the Void. He's stuck there, with your hand in his, when Brad bolts.

Her face contorts in confusion. She pulls away. But, Loki lingers. 

He has to... He...

He needs you back. 

Now. 

[id-rather-be-in-middle-earth]

Does anyone write or know someone who writes fanfiction for Mad Men?! I need Don Drapper smut fics like it's my air to breathe!!!!

[id-rather-be-in-middle-earth]

Giving House of Wax vibes

THIS TOWN WILL SWALLOW YOU WHOLE