Loki was not in love with Harry Potter.
Let's make that clear.
Love was fickle, useless, a distraction.
But possession? Loyalty? A connection that ran deeper than mortal comprehension?
That was something else entirely.
Harry was his.
Not in the way Midgardians claimed ownership, not in the way one might cage something fragile. No, Harry was not fragile. He was unstoppable. A force of nature, untethered by the constraints of life and death.
Loki understood that.
And because of that, he would not share.
Which is why Bucky Barnes was quickly becoming the most irritating man on the planet.
And that included Stark.
The Soldier's Obsession
Bucky had never been the type to fixate on things.
Not when he was young, reckless, and full of life. Not when he was broken, tortured, and turned into a machine.
But this?
This was different.
Harry was different.
From the moment he had felt him, something had clicked inside of Bucky. A long-lost part of himself recognized Harry in a way that defied explanation.
It wasn't just attraction. It wasn't just admiration.
It was possession.
A pull so strong, so absolute, that Bucky could no more resist it than he could stop breathing.
So he didn't try.
Which is why, over the last week, Harry had acquired a shadow.
Wherever he went, Bucky was there.
Harry would walk into the common area—Bucky would already be sitting there, waiting.
Harry would train—Bucky would wordlessly join him.
Harry would disappear to the rooftop at night—Bucky would follow, silent but watchful.
He didn't speak much.
But his eyes?
His eyes said everything.
And Harry let him.
No, more than that—Harry liked it.
Which only made things worse.
Loki was not amused.
At first, he had tolerated it. Let the soldier indulge his fixation. After all, mortals were weak. They obsessed over fleeting things—over beauty, over strength, over the idea of control.
But this was different.
Because Harry was responding.
And that was unacceptable.
"You," Loki announced one evening, stepping in front of Bucky like an immovable wall. "Are becoming a problem."
Bucky blinked, unimpressed. "Yeah?"
Loki's sharp green eyes narrowed. "You follow him like a hound. You linger in his presence like a shadow that does not belong. Tell me, soldier—what exactly do you think you are doing?"
Bucky smirked slightly, rolling his metal shoulder. "Whatever I want."
Loki's magic flared, crackling like lightning behind his eyes. "That is where you are mistaken."
Bucky just stared at him, completely unfazed. "I don't take orders from you."
Loki bristled. "He is not yours."
Bucky's expression shifted.
It was subtle. A flicker of something possessive, something ancient in his steel-blue gaze.
"You're right," Bucky murmured, voice dark. "He's not yours either."
Loki's fingers twitched.
Magic hummed between them, pressing against the air like a storm waiting to break.
And then—
"Enough."
Both men froze.
Harry stood in the doorway, his glowing emerald eyes sharp as glass. His magic curled around him, unseen but felt, pressing against their chests like an invisible force of will.
Loki immediately stepped back.
Not in submission. But in understanding.
Because Harry was not pleased.
Bucky, however?
Bucky took a step forward.
He didn't back down. Didn't submit.
Instead, he looked at Harry, his expression unchanged, as if he belonged at his side and nothing could convince him otherwise.
And Death?
Death approved.
Later that night, when the tower was quiet and the others had left them alone, Harry stood on the rooftop once more, staring out at the city.
And Bucky was there.
He always was.
"Are you ever gonna stop following me?" Harry asked, amused.
Bucky's voice was quiet. "No."
Harry turned slightly, studying him. "And why is that?"
Bucky exhaled slowly. "Because you're mine."
Harry's magic stirred.
It wasn't a claim, not in the way Loki tried to impose.
No, Bucky's words were something else entirely. A declaration. A fact.
A truth neither of them could ignore.
And in the darkness behind them, unseen but always watching, Death smiled.
Because for the first time in centuries—
The Master of Death had found something worth keeping.