#time husbands

Not sure if I've ever done this style of game before, so thanks for tagging me, @loki-is-my-kink-awakening! The words given to me were: cushion, smile, light, skin.

Cushion: Didn't have this word in a WIP, so found it in one of my published fics. The most recent instance was from Free, a Lokius fluff fic

In his periphery, he saw Mobius set down his small stack of supplies on the coffee table in front of the sofa, then the couch cushion beneath Loki shifted as Mobius sat beside him.

Smile: WIP - All the Bedroom's a Stage (Eddie/Volt/Reader smut)

"Yes, that's it," he praised, the wolfish smile audible in his voice, "Drink me in. Do you like the slow reveal, darling? To know that this body—" He pushed the fabric apart to expose his full, bare chest only partially contained by one last button. "—is all for you? Nobody but you and our Eddie."

Light: WIP - a future chapter of Who Holds the Power

Something to cover up the memories of what had happened, to get people talking about the house again in a new, more positive light.

Skin: WIP - What a Lovely Way to Burn (Eddie/Volt/Reader smut)

The longer you lingered, the more affected you became: your heart skipping several beats, your face filling with betraying heat, phantom touches from your memory tracing all along your skin and sending arousal rushing through your body.

Next words: loose, middle, power, empty

Lokius x Runaway

The filing cabinet drawer stuck, as TVA filing cabinet drawers always did, and Loki had to yank it twice before it screeched open with a protesting metallic groan that echoed through the empty archive room. He was supposed to be looking for case files from the early Sacred Timeline branching incidents—Mobius had asked him to grab them before their meeting with B-15—but what he found instead made him stop cold, his fingers freezing halfway to the folder marked "Nexus Events: 1977-1982."

It was a photograph, yellowed at the edges and tucked between two manila folders as if someone had meant to file it away and forget about it. A personnel photo, by the looks of it, with that characteristic TVA beige background that made everything look slightly dystopian and vaguely depressing.

But it was unmistakably Mobius.

Except... it wasn't. Not the Mobius he knew.

This Mobius was younger—much younger—with sun-lightened blonde hair that fell in shaggy, wavy layers past his ears, almost touching his shoulders. The kind of hair that looked like it had a natural wave to it, the kind that would curl slightly at the ends when wet. No gray at the temples. No silver threading through it. And no mustache. Just a clean-shaven face with that same gentle smile, those same warm eyes that crinkled at the corners, but framed by golden hair that looked like it had been tousled by wind and salt water and sunshine.

The Mobius in the photo looked like he'd just walked off a beach in Southern California, like he should have been holding a surfboard instead of TVA personnel documents.

Loki's lips curved into a wicked smile that would have made his brother groan in preemptive exasperation.

"Oh, this is *delicious*."

He carefully extracted the photograph, holding it up to the fluorescent lighting to get a better look. Yes, that was definitely Mobius—same nose, same gentle curve to his smile, same way of looking at the camera like he was sharing a private joke with whoever was behind it. But so young. So... sun-drenched. The TVA suit looked almost wrong on him, like someone had taken a beach bum and shoved him into bureaucratic clothing against his will.

Loki tucked the photo carefully into his jacket pocket, a plan already forming. He grabbed the files Mobius had actually requested—boring temporal incident reports that he'd look at later—and headed out of the archives with a spring in his step.

This was going to be fun.

---

He found Mobius in the break room, hunched over a stack of reports with a cup of that terrible TVA coffee that somehow never got cold or hot, just remained at a perpetual lukewarm temperature that defied the laws of thermodynamics. His reading glasses—a recent addition that Loki found unreasonably attractive—were perched on his nose, and he was frowning at something on the page in front of him, silver hair falling across his forehead.

Loki took a moment just to look at him. His Mobius. Gray-haired, mustachioed, cardigan-wearing Mobius who looked like he should be teaching literature at a small liberal arts college rather than monitoring dangerous temporal variants. The man who'd seen past every lie, every deflection, every mask, and had decided Loki was worth the trouble anyway.

"Hello, darling," Loki purred, sliding into the seat across from him with the grace of a cat who'd just spotted an unsuspecting mouse.

Mobius glanced up, and immediately his expression shifted to one of fond suspicion. "You have that look."

"What look?" Loki arranged his features into something approximating innocence, which only made Mobius's eyes narrow further.

"The 'I'm about to make your day considerably more difficult' look." But Mobius was smiling despite his words, the corners of his eyes crinkling in that way that made Loki's chest feel inexplicably warm and tight. "The 'I found something I'm going to use to torment you' look. I know all your looks by now, Loki."

"Do you now?" Loki leaned back in his chair, the picture burning a hole in his pocket. "And here I thought I was still mysterious and unpredictable."

"Oh, you're plenty unpredictable. But you have tells." Mobius set down his pen, giving Loki his full attention now. The reports could wait—they always could when Loki walked into a room. "So what did you find? And please tell me you also got the files I actually asked for."

"Of course I got your files. I'm not completely unreliable." Loki gestured vaguely to the stack he'd set on the edge of the table. "Though I must say, your filing system is absolutely atrocious. How anyone finds anything in there is beyond me."

"It's alphabetical by temporal designation and then chronological within each—never mind." Mobius shook his head, fighting back a smile. "What did you find, Loki?"

Loki placed the photograph face-down on the table between them, his long fingers drumming on its back with exaggerated casualness. "I was simply retrieving the files you requested when I stumbled upon something... *fascinating*. Something that has raised several very important questions."

Mobius's hand moved toward the photo, then stopped. "Loki..."

"Questions about TVA hiring practices, primarily." Loki was enjoying this far too much. "Questions about personnel grooming standards. Questions about what exactly they put in the water here that causes such dramatic physical transformations—"

"Loki, just show me the damn photo."

"So impatient." But Loki flipped the photo over with a flourish, revealing it like a magician revealing the final trick.

Mobius's face went through several expressions in rapid succession: recognition, embarrassment, something like nostalgia, resignation, and finally, fond exasperation. "Where did you find that?"

"Filing cabinet, section seven, tucked between incident reports from 1979." Loki leaned forward, studying the photo with exaggerated interest. "But don't change the subject. Mobius M. Mobius. Blond. Shaggy. Distinctly... beachy. Looking like you just walked off the set of a surfing documentary."

"I wasn't—" Mobius reached for the photo, but Loki was faster, pulling it just out of reach.

"You were absolutely a surfer," Loki declared with utter certainty. "Before the TVA, I mean. On the timeline. Wherever you came from."

"You don't know that." Mobius protested, but his ears were turning pink in that way they did when Loki had hit on something true. "Could've been a... a beach volleyball player. Or a lifeguard. Or just someone who lived near a coast and had unfortunate hair."

"Unfortunate?" Loki pressed a hand to his chest in mock offense. "This hair is magnificent. Look at these waves! This is sun-bleached, salt-damaged, 'I-spend-my-days-riding-waves-and-living-in-board-shorts' hair. And this?" He gestured to Mobius's face in the picture. "This is the face of a man who said 'cowabunga' unironically. Multiple times. Possibly while giving someone a thumbs up."

"I did not—" Mobius stopped, laughed despite himself, a real laugh that made his whole face light up. "Okay, I probably did. If I was that person. Which I'm not saying I was."

Loki felt a surge of victory. "I *knew* it! You were a surfer. A California beach boy. Probably had a van. Definitely had a van. One of those ones with the wood paneling on the side. What did you call it? Did you name your van, Mobius? Please tell me you named your van."

"Even if I was—and I'm not confirming anything—it doesn't matter." Mobius's voice softened slightly, some of the playfulness draining away. "That wasn't really me. Just... whoever I was before. Before the TVA. Before all this meant something."

Loki knew this deflection, recognized the careful way Mobius was redirecting the conversation. Mobius had been offered his memories back after the TVA's revelation, after they'd learned the truth about the Time-Keepers and the variants and everything that had been a lie. After they'd discovered that everyone at the TVA had been someone else, somewhere else, before they'd been taken and pruned and rebuilt.

B-15 had taken her memories back. So had several others. But Mobius had declined. Said he'd rather be the person he'd chosen to become than the person he'd been assigned to be by birth and circumstance. Said that knowing he'd had another life was enough—he didn't need to remember it to validate who he was now.

Loki respected that. Loved him for it, actually. Loved that Mobius had looked at the chance to reclaim his past and had chosen his present instead.

But that didn't mean he couldn't have a little fun with the evidence in front of them.

"Well," Loki said, picking up the photo and holding it next to Mobius's face for comparison, tilting his head as he studied both versions, "I must say, the gray suits you. Very distinguished. Very 'handsome professor who all the students have a crush on.' Though..." He paused dramatically. "I have to admit, blond Mobius is rather appealing. In a 'beach movie heartthrob' sort of way. Very 'Frankie Avalon meets The Endless Summer.'"

"Are you seriously comparing me to 1960s beach movie stars right now?"

"Would you prefer 'Point Break'? Because I could go with 'Point Break.' You have that whole Keanu Reeves surfer thing going on here. Except blond. And more—" Loki waved his hand vaguely, "—sunshine-y."

Mobius dropped his face into his hands. "I can't believe this is happening."

"Oh, believe it." Loki was grinning now, fully committed to the bit. "I'm imagining you with a surfboard. Teaching people to hang ten. Saying things like 'radical' and 'tubular.' Wearing board shorts with palm trees on them. Did you have board shorts with palm trees, Mobius? Be honest."

"I'm not answering that."

"That's a yes. Definitely a yes." Loki leaned back in his chair, still holding the photo like a precious artifact. "And the hair! Mobius, this hair. It's glorious. It's like spun gold. It's like—"

"It's like hair that required way too much maintenance and got everywhere," Mobius interrupted, finally looking up. But he was smiling now, shaking his head. "Hypothetically speaking. If I had hair like that. Which I'm not saying I did."

"If you'd looked like this when we first met," Loki said, and his voice shifted slightly, less teasing and more genuine, "I might have fallen for you considerably sooner. Would have saved us both a lot of trouble. All that time wasted on mutual pining and stubborn denial."

Mobius's expression shifted—something softer, more vulnerable replacing the embarrassment. He took off his reading glasses, setting them on top of his reports. "Yeah?"

"Oh, absolutely." Loki was still smiling, but there was truth underneath the humor now. "I'd have taken one look at these sun-kissed locks and that baby face and thought, 'Now *that's* the TVA analyst I want to be trapped in an apocalypse with. That's the man I want watching me be glorious and terrible and occasionally save the timeline.'"

"You're impossible," Mobius said, but his voice was warm, affectionate. "Completely impossible."

"And yet you chose me anyway." Loki slid the photo across the table, surrendering it finally. "Current mustache and all. Which, for the record, I'm rather fond of. Extremely fond of, actually. It's very—" He gestured vaguely at Mobius's face. "—you. Distinguished. Handsome. Slightly authoritative in a way I find compelling."

Mobius picked up the photograph, studying his younger self with something like bemused detachment, like he was looking at a stranger who just happened to share his face. "You really think I would've caught your eye sooner like this?"

Loki reached across the table, lacing his fingers through Mobius's free hand, thumb brushing over his knuckles. "Darling, you caught my eye the moment you sat down across from me in that interrogation room with that ridiculous salad and told me you specialized in dangerous variants. The moment you looked at me like I was a puzzle worth solving rather than a problem to eliminate. The hair color was always... incidental. Though I'll admit, the blond is striking."

"But the mustache—"

"Is extremely attractive, yes." Loki smirked. "Very 'distinguished gentleman with a wild side.' Very 'I look responsible but I also steal TVA equipment for joyrides through time.' It suits you. Though..." He paused, considering. "I wouldn't object if you grew the hair out again. Just for variety. Just so I could see if it still goes wavy like that."

"Not a chance," Mobius laughed, the sound warm and rich. "Do you know how long that would take? Besides, gray is low-maintenance. I can roll out of bed and go. No fussing required."

"You already do that anyway," Loki pointed out. "I've seen your morning hair situation. It's not exactly styled."

"Exactly. And it works. Why mess with a good thing?" Mobius squeezed Loki's hand. "Besides, you just said you liked it."

"I like you," Loki corrected. "The hair is merely an attractive accessory."

"Wow. Romance isn't dead after all." But Mobius was grinning, eyes crinkling in that way that made Loki's heart do stupid, fluttery things he was still getting used to after centuries of keeping it locked away.

Loki stood, leaning over to press a kiss to Mobius's temple, letting his lips linger there for a moment. "Though I suppose I can content myself with the current model. Even if you did rob me of years of potential flirting with Beach Boy Mobius. Think of all the surfing puns I could have made."

"Pretty sure Past Me would've had you in holding within ten minutes if you'd started making surfing puns."

"Past You had no taste, clearly. Present You has excellent taste." Loki straightened, grabbing the files he'd retrieved. "Present You chose the God of Mischief as a romantic partner. That shows remarkable judgment."

"Or remarkably poor judgment, depending on who you ask," Mobius countered, but he was still smiling. "B-15 has some opinions."

"B-15 is jealous she didn't snatch me up first." Loki started toward the door, then paused. "Oh, and Mobius?"

"Yeah?"

"If you find any other photos from your early TVA days, I expect full disclosure. I want the complete visual timeline of your transformation from Beach Boy to Bureaucrat. For research purposes."

"Research purposes."

"Strictly academic interest in TVA personnel development over time."

"Right. Of course." Mobius shook his head, picking up his pen again. "Get out of here before I assign you to archive duty for a month."

"You love me too much to do that."

"Don't test me."

But Loki could hear the smile in Mobius's voice, could see the way his shoulders had relaxed, the way he was looking at the photo one more time before tucking it into his jacket pocket.

As Loki walked away, files finally in hand, he heard Mobius call after him: "You're keeping copies of that photo, aren't you?"

Loki glanced back over his shoulder, grinning. "Oh, absolutely. I'm having it framed. Multiple sizes. One for the bedroom, one for my desk, possibly one to carry in my wallet for quick reference when I need to remind myself what you looked like before the TVA turned you gray."

"The TVA didn't—I'm not that old—" Mobius sputtered. "You know what, never mind. Of course you are."

"I might also have it printed on a mug. Really commemorate the moment."

"Don't you dare."

"Too late, I'm already composing the order in my head. 'Beach Boy Mobius: Before the TVA Took His Waves.' It'll be perfect."

"I'm breaking up with you."

"No you're not."

"You're right, I'm not." Mobius laughed, shaking his head. "But I'm thinking about it."

"No you're not," Loki repeated, and blew him a kiss before disappearing around the corner.

---

When Loki passed the break room again twenty minutes later, he saw that the photograph was no longer on the table. Mobius had pocketed it—kept it close. And if Loki's heart did something stupidly sentimental at that realization, something warm and bright and entirely too vulnerable for a god of mischief, well. That was between him and the Timeline.

He found B-15 in the hallway and tried to walk past without engaging, but she stopped him with a raised eyebrow.

"You look pleased with yourself."

"I'm always pleased with myself. It's one of my most consistent qualities."

"More than usual," she clarified. "What did you do?"

"Found evidence that Mobius was potentially a surfer before the TVA," Loki said, unable to keep the grin off his face. "Sun-bleached hair, baby face, the whole California beach boy package."

B-15's eyebrows rose. "Seriously?"

"Would I lie about something this delightful?"

"Yes. Frequently." But she was smiling now too. "Did you show him?"

"Of course. His reaction was everything I hoped for and more. Lots of deflecting, some blushing, eventual admission of probable surfing terminology usage." Loki paused. "He kept the photo, though. Put it in his pocket."

Something shifted in B-15's expression, a softness that rarely appeared. "Good. He should keep it. Even if he doesn't want the memories back, he should know who he was. That he had a life, had things that made him happy."

"Surfing made him happy, do you think?"

"If that's what he did?" B-15 shrugged. "Yeah, probably. Can't imagine them taking someone from the Sacred Timeline who was miserable. They wanted people who had things worth leaving behind. Made them easier to control, easier to convince this was better."

Loki hadn't thought about it that way. "That's remarkably dark."

"That's the TVA." B-15 said it matter-of-factly, like she'd long since made peace with what the organization had been and was still reckoning with what it was becoming. "But hey, at least you two found each other anyway. Even if he had to get pruned and lose his entire timeline first."

"Yes. Very romantic. Real fairy tale material."

"Hey, I've seen your relationship. You two are weird enough that this probably counts as a fairy tale for you." B-15 clapped him on the shoulder. "Don't torture him too much about the hair."

"I make no promises."

"Loki."

"Fine. I'll limit myself to only occasional torture. Weekly at most."

"Daily, knowing you."

"Twice daily if the mood strikes."

B-15 shook her head but was smiling as she walked away. "You're terrible for each other."

"And yet it works!" Loki called after her.

He made his way to the office he shared with Mobius—a perk of being in a relationship with someone who'd been at the TVA long enough to accumulate some seniority. The space was small but theirs: two desks pushed together, filing cabinets full of case files, a couch that had seen better days but was comfortable for afternoon naps, and a collection of Mobius's jet ski magazines that Loki pretended to find ridiculous but secretly enjoyed reading.

Loki pulled out the copies he'd made of the photo—because of course he'd made copies, he wasn't an amateur—and spread them out on his desk. Five identical Beach Boy Mobiuses stared up at him, all shaggy hair and sunshine smiles.

He picked up one copy, studying it more closely now that he didn't have an audience. Mobius looked so young. Not just younger, but... unburdened. Like he hadn't yet spent decades hunting dangerous variants, hadn't yet learned that everything he'd believed about the Sacred Timeline was a lie, hadn't yet carried the weight of knowing that somewhere out there, he'd had a whole life he'd never remember.

But there was something in the eyes, even then. That same gentleness, that same way of looking at the world like it was worth understanding rather than just controlling. TVA Mobius hadn't created that quality. It had been there all along.

"Found you," Loki murmured to the photo. "Even then, I would have found you. Maybe not as quickly, but eventually."

It was a strange thought, comforting and melancholy at once. The idea that in any timeline, in any version of themselves, he and Mobius would have gravitated toward each other. That some connections transcended temporal mechanics and predestination and all the careful pruning the TVA had tried to impose on reality.

He tucked one copy into his wallet—he hadn't been entirely joking about that—and left the others on his desk. Let Mobius find them later and roll his eyes and smile that private smile he saved just for Loki.

Later that evening, in the quiet of their shared quarters—another perk, and one that had required some creative interpretation of TVA housing policies—Loki found Mobius sitting on the edge of their bed, still studying the photograph.

"You're really never going to let this go, are you?" Mobius asked without looking up, but his voice was fond rather than annoyed.

"Not even slightly," Loki confirmed, closing the door behind him and crossing to the bed. He sat down beside Mobius, close enough that their shoulders pressed together. "Though I am curious about something."

"Just one thing? That's restraint for you."

"Don't push it." Loki bumped his shoulder against Mobius's. "I'm curious about why you kept it. The photo."

Mobius was quiet for a moment, thumb brushing over the edge of the photograph. "I don't know. Maybe because you're right. Maybe I was a surfer. Maybe I had a van and said 'cowabunga' and had board shorts with palm trees." He smiled slightly. "Maybe I was happy, out there on the water. Maybe I had a life I loved."

"And you don't want to remember it," Loki said softly, not a question.

"I don't need to," Mobius corrected. "There's a difference. I know I had a life before this. I know whoever I was mattered, had people who cared about him, had things that brought him joy. That's enough." He finally looked up, meeting Loki's eyes. "But seeing this... It's nice. Knowing I smiled like that. Knowing I was that person before I was this one."

Loki reached up, running his fingers through Mobius's silver hair, pushing it back from his forehead. "For what it's worth, I prefer you exactly as you are. Gray hair, mustache, terrible taste in jet skis and all."

"My taste in jet skis is impeccable, thank you."

"You want one with flames painted on the side."

"I want one with stylish flames painted on the side. There's a difference." But Mobius was leaning into Loki's touch, eyes starting to close. "And you like the mustache?"

"I love the mustache. It's distinguished. It tickles in interesting ways. It makes you look like you have your life together even when we both know you absolutely don't."

"Rude but fair." Mobius set the photo on the nightstand, turning to face Loki properly. "I mean it, though. You really would have liked me back then?"

Loki cupped Mobius's face in both hands, thumbs brushing over his cheekbones. "Mobius. I like you now, when you steal my blankets and leave your terrible coffee cups everywhere and drag me into increasingly dangerous temporal investigations. I like you when you're being brilliant and when you're being stubborn and when you're being insufferably optimistic about fixing the multiverse." He leaned in, pressing his forehead to Mobius's. "I would have liked you then. I would have liked you in any timeline, at any age, with any color hair. Because it's not about how you look. It's about... you. The essential you-ness that exists regardless of temporal mechanics or TVA grooming standards."

"The essential me-ness," Mobius repeated, and he was smiling now, real and warm. "That's very poetic for someone who just spent an hour making surfing puns at my expense."

"I contain multitudes." Loki kissed him then, soft and slow and thorough, until Mobius made a small sound in the back of his throat and pulled him closer. When they broke apart, Loki added, "Though I do still want to know about the van."

"Oh my god."

"Did you live in it? Did you have a hammock? Did you park it near the beach and fall asleep to the sound of waves? These are important questions, Mobius."

"I'm not answering them."

"That's fine. I'll just make up my own backstory for you. Let's see... Orphaned surfer raised by dolphins, perhaps? Discovered by a talent scout for a surfing competition but chose a life of freedom over fame? Secret marine biologist who could also hang ten?"

"None of those sound remotely plausible."

"Which is why I'm having so much fun with them." Loki pulled back slightly, studying Mobius's face—the laugh lines, the gray at his temples, the mustache that he genuinely did find attractive, the warm eyes that had looked at him like he was worth saving even when Loki himself wasn't sure he was. "Thank you for keeping the photo. For letting me tease you about it."

"Like I could stop you," Mobius said, but his expression was soft, open. "Besides, it made you happy. Seeing me like that. Imagining who I might have been."

"It made me happy because it's part of you," Loki corrected. "Even if you don't remember it. Even if you never want to. That person in the photo became you. And I quite like who you became."

Mobius kissed him again, deeper this time, and Loki let himself sink into it, into the familiar warmth of Mobius's hands on his waist, the scratch of his mustache against Loki's lips, the solid presence of him that had become Loki's anchor point in an increasingly chaotic multiverse.

When they finally settled into bed—Mobius in his terrible TVA-issue pajamas that Loki kept threatening to burn, Loki in one of Mobius's old shirts that was far too big but comfortable—Loki found himself staring at the photo on the nightstand.

"What are you thinking?" Mobius asked, already half-asleep, arm draped over Loki's waist.

"That somewhere in the multiverse, there might be a timeline where you're still surfing. Where you never got pruned, never came to the TVA, never met me." Loki laced his fingers through Mobius's. "And I think that version of you is probably very happy. But I'm glad I got this version instead. The one who chose the TVA and chose to stay even after learning the truth. The one who chose me."

Mobius made a sleepy sound of agreement, pulling Loki closer. "Me too. Even if you are going to torture me about that photo forever."

"Only because I love you."

"That's not how love works."

"It's how my love works," Loki said, and pressed a kiss to Mobius's shoulder. "Now go to sleep. We have a briefing in the morning, and you're going to need your rest when you see what I've done with the photo."

"What did you do with the photo?"

"You'll see."

"Loki."

"Sweet dreams, darling. Try not to worry about it."

"I'm definitely worrying about it."

"Good. Keeps you sharp." Loki smiled in the darkness, feeling Mobius's heartbeat steady against his back. "I love you. Gray hair, mysterious past, probable surfing history and all."

"Love you too," Mobius mumbled, already drifting off. "Even when you're being impossible."

"Especially when I'm being impossible," Loki corrected, but Mobius was already asleep.

Loki lay awake a while longer, thinking about timelines and photographs and the strange, wonderful improbability of finding someone who saw all of you—past, present, and future—and chose to stay anyway.

The photo on the nightstand caught a sliver of light from the hallway, and Blond Surfer Mobius smiled up at him like he knew exactly what was coming: the TVA, the variants, the god who would walk into his life and turn everything sideways.

And maybe, Loki thought, maybe on some level he had known. Maybe that smile was the beginning of something that was always meant to happen, in every timeline, in every possible version of their lives.

Or maybe it was just a photo, and he was being sentimental because love made people foolish and soft.

Either way, he wouldn't change it.

Even if he was absolutely going to keep teasing Mobius about the hair.

Forever.

The next morning, Mobius found the photo framed on Loki's desk with a small placard beneath it reading "Beach Boy Mobius: The Early Years."