I find the map and draw a straight line | Mildly NC-17
So am I speaking Swedish right now? Or are you speaking English?
Maybe neither. I'm... not going to try to figure out the mechanics of it.
Darcy was in that city for years. Six years, in fact. She was used to it by the second year. The weird occurences. The new arrivals. She had the "welcome to your new, freaky home" speech perfected. She was happy. As happy as someone can be, living in another universe. She had friends, a nice house, a good job, someone to come home to every night. She really was happy.
And then it stopped. People started disappearing. The Doctor was finished with her experiment. The lab rats no longer needed, were returned home, not aged a day. But they remembered everything. When it was her turn, Darcy was back in New Mexico, looking up at the rapidly clearing sky. Darcy remembered everything.
Thor was gone again. Loki was nowhere to be seen.
And Magnus.... Oh, Magnus.
The brothers Odinson were on another world. Magnus was a continent away. But that...that could be fixed. So Darcy saved her money. She got two jobs. In addition to her school work. And her work with Jane and Dr. Selvig. Darcy had a big jar in her bedroom that had a sheet of copy paper taped to it that said nothing more than "To Mags". Day by day, the jar grew fuller.
And then she flew to Europe. More specifically, Sweden. In hindsight, Darcy should have asked Dr. Selvig for lessons on how to speak his native language. But there just wasn't time, unless she was going to stop sleeping. And that definitely wasn't going to happen. So Darcy was just like any other tourist. She had her maps, her English-to-Swedish dictionary, and hope.
Darcy had landed in Malmo, then took a train to Ystad. Sweden was a beautiful country, what stories Magnus had told her of his country totally held up in real life. After checking into her hotel, Darcy asked, in halting, terrible Swedish, where the police station was. The elderly gentleman she'd asked was kind enough to trace her way on the map she'd gotten upon her arrival in the city.
It took a little time, but she arrived at the station with minimal backtracking. She stood outside for a while, fear flooding her heart. What if he wasn't there? What if his Ystad was in another universe? Optimism and a couple thousand dollars only got you so far. Certainly not to other dimensions. Darcy sat on a bench, chewing anxiously at her bottom lip, watching the entrance to the police station. People came and went, but not him. Not Magnus.
After several hours, Darcy moved to stand and stretch and return to her hotel room. There was always tomorrow. She lifted her map, and looked to the nearest street sign, making sure she wouldn't get lost on the way back. Darcy allowed herself one last glance to the door. And in that glance, she lost the ability to breathe. She knew that hair anywhere. She'd seen it dry, wet, covered in snow, in ridiculous little pigtails. His name rose to her lips but she couldn't find the breath to shout it. With a glance to the traffic, Darcy was off like a shot, running across the street. Halfway to him, she found the ability to speak again.
"Maggy!"
She saw his shoulders tighten and his face grow more alert. His eyes scanned the area ahead of him then focused on her. He mouthed her name then closed the distance between them. And then he was right there and his arms were going around her waist and hugging her tightly to him. He murmured against her hair but she couldn't understand what he was saying. But she found herself not caring. She knew what he would say. That he thought he was dreaming. That he didn't think he'd see her again.
"Oh, shut up." Darcy muttered and crushed her mouth against his. The surprised growl pleased her and she smiled against his mouth. He tasted like he always did. In the months before her trip, Darcy would lay in bed, touching her fingertips to her mouth, trying her hardest to remember how he kissed, how he tasted. But each time, she'd remember a little less, grow a little more frustrated with herself for forgetting.
The next few minutes were a blur of walking and hugging and kissing. Darcy felt something solid against her back and she broke the most recent kiss to glance behind her. A car. A look to Magnus as he fumbled for the keys in his pocket meant that it was his car. That universal *unlocked car* sound echoed in the parking garage. Darcy lifted an eyebrow at Magnus and he smirked back at her, pulling her against him as he reached forward to open the back door.
Bags were dropped into the front seat and jeans were removed to the point of no longer being in the way, then forgotten. Magnus put his jacket against the opposite door, so Darcy wouldn't bang her head against the armrest. Darcy's heart hammered against her ribcage and lightning seemed to tear through her where he touched her, leaving her nerves in a shambles in their wake. Darcy's hand circled around his erection and a string of what Darcy guessed to be swear words poured from his mouth. The detective panted softly as he reached down, fingers hooking into the waistband of her panties. "Screw it. Tear them," Darcy muttered. He lifted his gaze to her face, arching an eyebrow. Darcy chuckled, reluctantly releasing his hard on to mimic tearing. Magnus grinned and with a simple jerk, her favorite pair of panties were destroyed. But for a good cause.
He closed the distance between them once more, mouth slanting against hers. One arm slid under her back, pulling her closer as the other guided the head of his dick to her entrance. "Oh, please," Darcy whined softly, fingers curling in his hair, gripping his shoulder. His movement was steady and he didn't stop until he was fully seated inside of her. He whispered her name against her shoulder, his teeth grazing against her skin. The language barrier did nothing to hinder their moving. Darcy's legs hooked behind his, short nails raking against his back. Another string of Swedish swears, and Magnus rocked against her, beginning to pick up speed. It was like they'd never been apart. Darcy's hand tangled in his hair and gripped his ass, urging him to go faster. Magnus rolled his hip, arching them to just the right spot to make Darcy whimper and moan his name. His mouth latched onto her throat as one hand snaked between them, fingers seeking out her clit, needing to feel her come.
The fast, hard, circular moments of his fingers, mixed with the rocking of his hips, and the two were soon falling through what felt like oblivion. Shouting and grunting each other's name as they clung to each other.
Magnus rested his head against Darcy's chest and Darcy smiled blissfully. "I love you," she murmured, not caring of he understood what she said. He knew what she would say.
"Jag älskar dig."
Maybe neither. I'm... not going to try to figure out the mechanics of it.
Darcy was in that city for years. Six years, in fact. She was used to it by the second year. The weird occurences. The new arrivals. She had the "welcome to your new, freaky home" speech perfected. She was happy. As happy as someone can be, living in another universe. She had friends, a nice house, a good job, someone to come home to every night. She really was happy.
And then it stopped. People started disappearing. The Doctor was finished with her experiment. The lab rats no longer needed, were returned home, not aged a day. But they remembered everything. When it was her turn, Darcy was back in New Mexico, looking up at the rapidly clearing sky. Darcy remembered everything.
Thor was gone again. Loki was nowhere to be seen.
And Magnus.... Oh, Magnus.
The brothers Odinson were on another world. Magnus was a continent away. But that...that could be fixed. So Darcy saved her money. She got two jobs. In addition to her school work. And her work with Jane and Dr. Selvig. Darcy had a big jar in her bedroom that had a sheet of copy paper taped to it that said nothing more than "To Mags". Day by day, the jar grew fuller.
And then she flew to Europe. More specifically, Sweden. In hindsight, Darcy should have asked Dr. Selvig for lessons on how to speak his native language. But there just wasn't time, unless she was going to stop sleeping. And that definitely wasn't going to happen. So Darcy was just like any other tourist. She had her maps, her English-to-Swedish dictionary, and hope.
Darcy had landed in Malmo, then took a train to Ystad. Sweden was a beautiful country, what stories Magnus had told her of his country totally held up in real life. After checking into her hotel, Darcy asked, in halting, terrible Swedish, where the police station was. The elderly gentleman she'd asked was kind enough to trace her way on the map she'd gotten upon her arrival in the city.
It took a little time, but she arrived at the station with minimal backtracking. She stood outside for a while, fear flooding her heart. What if he wasn't there? What if his Ystad was in another universe? Optimism and a couple thousand dollars only got you so far. Certainly not to other dimensions. Darcy sat on a bench, chewing anxiously at her bottom lip, watching the entrance to the police station. People came and went, but not him. Not Magnus.
After several hours, Darcy moved to stand and stretch and return to her hotel room. There was always tomorrow. She lifted her map, and looked to the nearest street sign, making sure she wouldn't get lost on the way back. Darcy allowed herself one last glance to the door. And in that glance, she lost the ability to breathe. She knew that hair anywhere. She'd seen it dry, wet, covered in snow, in ridiculous little pigtails. His name rose to her lips but she couldn't find the breath to shout it. With a glance to the traffic, Darcy was off like a shot, running across the street. Halfway to him, she found the ability to speak again.
"Maggy!"
She saw his shoulders tighten and his face grow more alert. His eyes scanned the area ahead of him then focused on her. He mouthed her name then closed the distance between them. And then he was right there and his arms were going around her waist and hugging her tightly to him. He murmured against her hair but she couldn't understand what he was saying. But she found herself not caring. She knew what he would say. That he thought he was dreaming. That he didn't think he'd see her again.
"Oh, shut up." Darcy muttered and crushed her mouth against his. The surprised growl pleased her and she smiled against his mouth. He tasted like he always did. In the months before her trip, Darcy would lay in bed, touching her fingertips to her mouth, trying her hardest to remember how he kissed, how he tasted. But each time, she'd remember a little less, grow a little more frustrated with herself for forgetting.
The next few minutes were a blur of walking and hugging and kissing. Darcy felt something solid against her back and she broke the most recent kiss to glance behind her. A car. A look to Magnus as he fumbled for the keys in his pocket meant that it was his car. That universal *unlocked car* sound echoed in the parking garage. Darcy lifted an eyebrow at Magnus and he smirked back at her, pulling her against him as he reached forward to open the back door.
Bags were dropped into the front seat and jeans were removed to the point of no longer being in the way, then forgotten. Magnus put his jacket against the opposite door, so Darcy wouldn't bang her head against the armrest. Darcy's heart hammered against her ribcage and lightning seemed to tear through her where he touched her, leaving her nerves in a shambles in their wake. Darcy's hand circled around his erection and a string of what Darcy guessed to be swear words poured from his mouth. The detective panted softly as he reached down, fingers hooking into the waistband of her panties. "Screw it. Tear them," Darcy muttered. He lifted his gaze to her face, arching an eyebrow. Darcy chuckled, reluctantly releasing his hard on to mimic tearing. Magnus grinned and with a simple jerk, her favorite pair of panties were destroyed. But for a good cause.
He closed the distance between them once more, mouth slanting against hers. One arm slid under her back, pulling her closer as the other guided the head of his dick to her entrance. "Oh, please," Darcy whined softly, fingers curling in his hair, gripping his shoulder. His movement was steady and he didn't stop until he was fully seated inside of her. He whispered her name against her shoulder, his teeth grazing against her skin. The language barrier did nothing to hinder their moving. Darcy's legs hooked behind his, short nails raking against his back. Another string of Swedish swears, and Magnus rocked against her, beginning to pick up speed. It was like they'd never been apart. Darcy's hand tangled in his hair and gripped his ass, urging him to go faster. Magnus rolled his hip, arching them to just the right spot to make Darcy whimper and moan his name. His mouth latched onto her throat as one hand snaked between them, fingers seeking out her clit, needing to feel her come.
The fast, hard, circular moments of his fingers, mixed with the rocking of his hips, and the two were soon falling through what felt like oblivion. Shouting and grunting each other's name as they clung to each other.
Magnus rested his head against Darcy's chest and Darcy smiled blissfully. "I love you," she murmured, not caring of he understood what she said. He knew what she would say.
"Jag älskar dig."