It's You.

“It's you.

It’s from the Void, with love.”

you write loki so well i am not completely convinced you AREN'T mr. hiddleston himself

FROM THE VOID, WITH LOVE  |  the cartharsis of venus

summary: petal-mouthed promises and mingling breath. whispers in the dark. there’s something romantic about the never ending void, isn’t there?

pairing: loki / f!reader, referenced & implied sylvie / f!reader

a/n: this anon made me laugh. so, have some watch mojo presents top 10 loki/doc moments. this chapter’s gif is from @marvelheroes’s lovely set here.

[   MASTERPOST   ]

It's been years since he's seen your face.

...How many now? Thirty, maybe? But, then again, time moves different on others worlds and he's spent far too much drowning in his own to admit he has lost count the ever-growing gap between your souls.

In truth — in horrible, gut-wrenching truth — he'd forgotten what your voice sounded like. It was something he had never thought possible. Surely, he would remember warm whispers of honey-sweet I love you's for all time? Surely, the sound of your laugh, as melodically whimsical as wedding-day church bells, would never escape his memory?

Your eyes, too. As he looks at you, he realizes those eyes are not the ones he loved. Different, but still you.

You.

His wife.

His beautiful, cunning, witty, wonderful wife. His bug, his love.

It's you.

He feels as if he's been gutted where he stands.

Loki, as he ushers you through the portal, can see this on his older counterpart's face. His own heart aches in a sympathetic sense — especially knowing now the isolation the man had wrought upon himself.

He didn't have the heart to ask about you then. He supposes now, gauging the older man's reaction, he will not have to.

The man watches you as you chirp at the teenagers on your heels, insisting they follow and keep up, but the urgency dies when you raise your head and meet his eyes.

You see the pain. And then, a glimmer of love.

It blooms as he takes a tentative step forward.

The portal behind you all closes with a swallowed gulp of green smoke; it spills out by your feet, and in the grass of the cold expanse of land, you stand.

"You're even more beautiful than I remember."

Your eyes soften.

When the man reaches out, you let him touch your face — and you frown at the heartbroken look he spares you. It only lasts a moment; and then, he's pulling back and away as if he's touched a flame.

...What color were her eyes, again?

Your Loki lingers over your shoulder.

As the older man turns and begins to lead the way, you turn to spare Loki a mournful look. Your eyes hold the weight of a thousand words — some curious, but mostly somber acceptance that this love-story of yours is a tragedy to some.

Loki touches your shoulder gently; his thumb follows the curve of your arm. His voice is quiet. "Come on."

You gesture for the two teenagers to follow — and catch a completely different sort of look between the two.

Loki catches the half-smirk you throw his way, and his eyes dart back to the two with feather-light amusement. He says nothing, only buries a smile deep as he tucks his chin and coughs. You nudge him with your shoulder as you walk. He nudges back.

"That was some show," you finally say, speaking over the bluster of cold wind that nips at your skin, "Seems like Loki's aren't in short supply."

It's the older one at the head of the pack that speaks. "Yes, well — that's what we do."

"Survive?" you ask, tilting your head.

"Lie. And cheat," he snaps as he moves along, "We cut the throat of every person we trust, and for what? Power? Glorious purpose? We simply cannot change."

"And every-time we do try to change, the TVA comes along," remarks the boy in the back angrily, finally letting down the alligator in his arms, "And sends us here to die!"

"We're broken. All of us. Forever."

"It's why we need to get out of here," Loki stresses, "To take down the TVA."

You blink. Concern washes over your features at the age old line — but Loki does not see it. Instead, he's intent on stopping the roving caravan in its tracks. You cross your arms.

"Nothing can change until the TVA is stopped."

"And you think you can do it?" asks the older Loki, turning to look at you both, "You trust this other version of us?"

"She's the only one I do trust," Loki insists, albeit gently, "Sylvie has been wronged by the TVA just like us. They orphaned her, they stole her Doctor. And even if I did not trust her, I trust her rage."

"That's the play, then?" you ask, leaning on your heels as you cock a hip; you're looking to him for guidance — for an honest line of communication, "To destroy the TVA?"

Loki's eyes turn to you as he inhales; his brows tighten in concern.

"I know—"

"You know," you speak over him, waving a hand as he closes his eyes, "You know why I'm hesitant—"

The eyes of the teenagers bounce between you.

"I don't... I don't want any of this. I want," he waves his hands, "I want the people in the TVA to know the truth."

"And what happens when there's a vacancy for King of Time?"

Loki's mouth snaps shut.

Your heart wanes. There’s a weighty moment that sits between the two of you, then. And as Loki swallows the catch in his throat and comes to realize he holds your judgement of his character in the highest esteem, he can only try to rationalize the lengths he’ll go — if not for you, then for himself.

For that scared little boy Mobius had so aptly called to action.

Quietly, you whisper.

"Please don't go where I can't follow."

And you push on. You have to — or else the hope that perhaps he has changed will strangle you in its roots. The seed is planted. You are keen to nurture it, but afraid of the trueness of its yield.

Loki, though, is ensnared in your orbit and suddenly desperate to prove the seduction of power no longer has a hold on his heart. It’s you, now, who plucks his heartstrings to moonlit sonatas — it’s you who has made a home of this once dark, icy place. Once, the walls of his heart were sick with something he believed to be infallible. It was glorious purpose.

He idea of betraying that, of betraying you? And then, losing you?

He sees what that would do to him. He sees it in the older version staring him down. If he lets himself feel it, for more than a moment, it stings. He pulls away from the thought like it burns.

“We,” he stresses as he steps forward to match your stride in a terribly boyish attempt at proving his point; but it works, and he notices the way you look at him as he speaks, “Won’t be going anywhere if we don’t find a way to kill Alioth.”

Your brows snap tight in confusion.

You don’t need to say a word — the young teen behind you, all lanky limbs and cherub-faced, beats you to it.

“Hold on,” she says, “Kill the big, cloud monster?”

“Precisely,” Loki breaths, placing his hands on his hips. He looks almost proud.

You pause beside his older counterpart and spare the man a questioning look. He seems to share your apprehension, and so does the younger version of Loki peeking over the God’s shoulder, shaking his head discreetly.

“Is that even possible?” you ask, squinting and finding your hands on your hips as well, “I mean, it’s a trans-temporal entity. It’s got no physical being.”

Loki blinks. He then look at his older self. “I thought you called it a shark.”

“Metaphorically.”

You blink at the older man.

Then, you turn to share a mistified (and frankly very doubtful) look with your teenage self.

“Right...”

Loki pinches the bridge of his nose. “Listen, we won’t know if we don’t try—”

“Or we die.”

You point at your teenage self, nodding along at her point. “Yea, or we die.”

“Or,” Loki sighs as he rolls his jaw and looks up to the sky, “Yes, fine, or we die — but, honestly at this point I think the benefits outweight the risks.”

You let out a long sigh.

“Approaching Alioth is a death sentence,” says the older man by your side, “We’ll get you three to it, but that’s as far as we’ll go.”

“Oh, I’m not with them—” pipes up the teenager, straggling over to your side as she offers the man a compliant little smile, “I have curfew, actually. So, y’know.”

You frown. “You sure about that?”

She shrugs. “Yea. I mean — if you destory the TVA, then you can come visit. Or maybe I come visit you. We’ll do a sleepover. Sorta like 13 Going on 30, but we’re two people.”

You laugh out loud, and each Loki smiles at it.

"Alright,” you say as you throw your arm over her shoulder, “So where to, gentlemen?”

The alligator at your feet hisses. You jump.

“He says it’s getting late,” translates the younger Loki, “And that we should move, find shelter, and hunker down for the night. And soon. I’d rather spare you ladies from the darker dangers that lurk about when it gets quiet out here.”

And so that’s what you do.

Time is awfully strange in this place — and while maybe the storm clouds overhead hide the sun or the moon from sight, you’re not even entirely sure either are even there. As you trek along, through wreckage and ruin, you find yourself always turning your eyes up to the sky.

The younger Loki seems to have fashioned some sort of anamoly alert system that tracks entry of objects in this realm — and each push and pull of the fabric of time rebounds onto the screen with a general direction of sorts.

Your teenage self seems pretty enarmored with the idea. And the boy behind it.

You find yourself watching the two of them; and the gentle smile that fleets onto your face is not lost on your own half.

As you wade through the tall grass, you pick apart a blade you’ve snagged, and pretend you’re no eavesdropping on their puppy-love laden chatter. You drop your head, hide your smile, and laugh quietly at the younger Loki’s attempts to lightheartedly rib your younger self over something stupid. She battles back with a toothy-smile and a laugh as bright as sunshine.

If he’s honest with himself, Loki finds it rather adorable.

His heart is soft at the sight of these two young souls, and as he ambles up beside you, he remembers the feeling of tumbling headfirst into something like a first crush. It’s lovely, really, and seeing it play out infront of him just reminds him of the woman just within reach.

He’s been in love before. Ever fleeting, always a fast burn.

But this? With you? It’s different.

The God shares a knowing look with you as the two teenagers giggle over something said — and behind you, a capybara and alligator trot along. An odd couple. But, you suppose so are you and Loki. A God and a scientist. It’s... endearing.

Your worlds slow down, if only for a moment. Somewhere, the love drone of a lovesong plays — and you beat it back with a bashful bat of lashes. Loki seems spurred by the sudden shyness that bleeds onto your face, and he chases it.

Ever the suitor, the prince offers up his own blade of grass; and when you meet his eyes with confusion, he urges you with a silent nudge of his chin. So, you take it. And, then, in your palm, the grass springs to life.

This magic is small, infantile, useless — but, by Odin’s beard, he’d do it his whole life if it meant seeing the smile on your face forevermore.

The blade swirls around in your palm, dancing and tumbling in ribbon-like motions. Then, the long blade begins to twist and knot and run around itself, and before you realize it, there’s a flower there in your hand. A blade of grass, contorted in a little daisy.

You smile up at him, and Loki soaks it up; he tries to remember the sight.

You nudge him with your shoulder as you walk, and you tenderling tuck that flower into the breast pocket of your blouse. Safe.

Loki nudges you back, smiling to himself.

Feeling as if... as if that gesture means something more.

And it does.

However, Loki and his reptile-self were very correct about it getting dark fast as you soon learn — and as the meager team of adventurers plod on, it eventually grows dark enough that you can hardly see a few feet infront of you.

It’s each Loki that remedies this problem.

Magic, once more, is gleaned from flicks of the wrist and emerald glows. This time, the lamps and lights procured emit a lighter blue light. You stay close to Loki’s side, tucked neatly against his chest as you both walk.

“I do believe this may be the best we find,” announces the oldest Loki when finally a small little home comes into view, “And let us hope no one else has had the same idea as us.”

As you, your younger self, the youngest Loki, and your mammalian and reptilian friends wait outside, the two older Loki’s move to check the building — only after your Loki hands you his lamp and procures his daggers.

“Stay here.”

It’s protective. An utterance of worry. You slide him a smile that oozes with recognition of the nature of the gesture — and you watch as the two check the one story home.

It’s sitting alone with little else around it but a dying garden and a single tire-swing hanging from a large, creaking tree. The wind cuts through you and as you shiver, the dead oak lets out a mournful cry. You pull your arms around you tigher, holding up the lamp. The younger two huddle closer.

“Come on,” comes the voice of the older man, “It’s clear.”

You bend to scoop up the capybara and climb the steps into the home.

It’s been gutted. By Alioth or by the habitants of this place beyond time, you’re not entirely sure. Little remains but peeling wallpaper and broken windows and faded places where photos once hung. This home was once lived in and loved in. Now, it’s but a ruin. A has-been, a now-haunt.

It makes you sad.

You gently place the capybara down, mirroring the young Loki with his friendly little gator, and squeeze your teenage self’s shoulder as she nervously meanders in. Loki has set a lamp on the ground in the center of the empty room — and the shadows dance on the walls.

“This is... terrifying.”

“It’s not exactly 89 Emerald Street,” you say as you sweep off some dust from the single table by the far wall, “But it’s only for the night. Settle in and get some rest.”

Loki is behind you. His hands are gentle on your shoulders. You turn and look up at him in the light.

“You should rest as well,” he says so quiet, you're sure you're the only one who hears it's softness. His words urge you on with warmth.

You, however, don't like the idea of sleep. Not with so much swirling in your heart. “What will you do?”

“I’ll take watch,” he breathes, nodding to the older Loki, “I’d rather not be taken by suprise by another band of Lokis, honestly. Not at this time of night.”

You reach and lay your hand over his own. “I’ll join you.”

Loki frowns. “You’re exhausted.”

“I have a lot on my mind,” you whisper gently, “I wouldn’t be able to sleep if I tried.”

Over your shoulder, the rest of them have already begun to settle in. Loki holds your stare for a moment, and then gives in. With a sigh, he drops his hands from his hips and nods.

For now, he opts on settling against the far wall. He can see everyone and the window and the door. Anyone traveling in this dark of night will need a light. He'll see them coming.

You settle down next to him. Your hips touch, and your knees knock. He’s warm, and you’re warm, and neither of you complain about the proximity.

The older Loki, in a chair in the center of the room, he pushed his legs out and crosses them at the ankles.

Then, with his eyes closed, he says one word:

“Brown.”

You and Loki blink up at him.

“Her eyes,” he continues, looking up at the cieling. Through the floors there’s a hole. Beyond that, there’s a hole in the roof. In any other place, the stars would wink down. But here, it’s only black. He clears his throat, and closes his eyes once more, “They were brown.”

Loki’s gaze falls.

Yours remains on the older Loki.

“...What was she like?” you ask quietly.

The two teenagers watch on from their reclined positions.

“She was the most breathtaking soul in the entire galaxy,” comes the slow, patient breath as if he’s been waiting to be asked this question for years now; and then, the near smile, and the shake of a head, “She was incompariable. She was as if the stars had handed her their beauty... She loved the stars. We would sit and watch them for hours on Sakaar. But, I could hardly ever take my eyes off of her.”

His voice wavers. It cracks. Your eyes are heavy with sadness.

“I loved her with fiber of my miserable being,” he continues, arms crossed, eyes closed, “And I curse Thanos every with every beat of my heart. Watching her die... half of my soul died that day, too.”

You reach, almost instinctively, for Loki’s hand. You find he was doing the same. Your Loki watches you with a blip of surprise, and runs his thumb across your knuckles. You can’t look away from the man’s grief.

Because you've seen it before.

In that older you, plucking apart a gauntlet in the dark of night, hellbent on finding the other half of her soul once more.

“Without her — I knew,” he finally opens his eyes, “I knew I was nothing without her. She made me better. She gave me purpose. Glorious or otherwise, it mattered not. It was... It was us. And... And so I went on. Alone. I hadn’t realized I’d forgotten the color of her eyes.”

“Brown,” you mutter quietly, squeezing Loki’s hand.

“Brown,” he confirms from across the room, his eyes wet with unfallen tears.

“I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to apologize for, my love,” he mutters, tucking himself into his cape, “I am just grateful I was able to see your face once more.”

And then, a somber quiet melts between the moments. Soon, it’s slipped into a tired quiet, and as you sit there and think, the merry band of mirrored images has fallen into their own forms of sleep. It’s not a restful one, but it will do the trick for now. The light in the center of the room dims with a gentle pull of Loki’s hand through the air.

The shadows make your face look sad.

“Are you alright?” Loki asks quietly after a while, hand still in yours.

You heavy a long, tired sigh. Your voice is a whisper. "I think so. Are you?"

Loki looks down, rolls his jaw, and nods. "I think so."

You inhale. And you nod. You take your hand and his into your lap. “Promise?”

"Well," Loki leans his head back against the wall; his voice is low as to not disturb the others, "Losing you certainly put some things in perspective. But... I found you. And you're here. And that's all that truly matters, isn't it?"

You hum. You lean your own head back, head turned to watch him. "I guess so."

"What about you?" he asks, turning to look at you, "Do you promise you're alright?"

Your eyes flick from his. You sit up. Then, you tilt your head.

"I've just been thinking."

“Penny for your thoughts?” he asks, tilting his head in idle curiousity as you turn his hand over and trace the lines of his palm. The gesture stokes a fire in his gut. He can't remember the last time someone touched him so gently.

So tenderly.

You wet your lips. “I suppose I’m thinking about how... I don’t know. It’s like everytime I feel like I’ve finally got my footing in this mess... I get it pulled out from under me. I’m just... scrambling. Trying to... Trying to be okay.”

Loki nods slowly. His eyes flick across your face as he thinks.

You continue. “And — and I think I’m scared.”

His expression is soft. He urges you on with a gentle inquiry. “Of?”

“What happens when we pull back the curtain?” you ask quietly, turning your eyes up to him, “What happens when we find the devil in the details?”

“We kill him,” he answers easily.

“And then?”

“And then...” Loki’s mouth falls closed, realizing... well, he hadn’t really considered beyond that, “I don’t know. I... I don’t.”

“That’s what I’m afriad of,” you stress with the hairline crack in your composure growing, “I mean — what will we even do when it’s all said and done?”

Loki is quiet. He finds he doesn’t like the way this conversation feels. It looms over him — the sort of thing he hasn’t wanted to consider all this time. Will you stay by his side? Will the path this drags you both down allow this love?

Suddenly:

“Mobius showed me how I die.”

Loki’s heart, then, feels as if it’s been twisted straight from his chest. His fingers twitch — and he inhales sharply as he pulls his hand away. No, no he doesn’t like this conversation. His own death he can surmise and handle. But, not you. Not his you.

The light in the room flickers out.

It hides his face; and he’s half thankful for it.

“Why would he show you that?” it’s full of hurt.

You’re quiet for a while longer; and when you finally speak, your voice is rough. Quiet. A broken, little whisper in the dark. It bleeds it’s own dark light.

“I saw what happens when I lose you.”

Loki’s eyes slide shut. His nostrils flare. There’s bitterness on his tongue.

“He did it prove something, I think,” your voice shakes, “That... That it’s in our nature to do whatever we can to find one another, to be with one another.”

Loki’s heart hurts. It hammers angrily; is it anger? A sudden flare of anxiety runs through his limbs and his fingertips tingle. The God can’t help but knots his hands together and worry his palms.

“That’s cruel.”

“Is it?”

“Horribly,” Loki mutters pointedly, “I had the luxury of knowing I’d have you until my end—”

You reach in the dark, once more, and find his hands.

You’re words are slow. Purposeful. Honest.

“I’m beginning to understand it,” you whisper; horribly shy and wonderfully terrified, “How it all falls into place.”

Loki’s mouth snaps shut.

In the dark, he can hardly see your face.

But, he can make out the lines of a smile; he can see the bloom of affection, all for him — beautiful and warm and genuine. It makes him feel like a child again, unexperienced in the ways of true emotional honesty. 

“Back at the TVA,” you whisper, leaning against him, “What were you going to tell me?”

The God inhales. He settles back against the wall. This time, it’s he who pulls your hands neatly into his lap. He fiddles with your palm. The touch is doting. Gentle. His fingertip traces the line of your ring finger.

“You told me,” he says slowly, “That we deserve to be happy.”

“We do,” you say, chin falling to his shoulder, “I meant it.”

“I was going to tell you,” Loki mutters shyly, “That you do make me happy.”

Your world stops.

Not in a screeching, horrible way. No. But, it is as if somewhere the crescendo of the sweetest love song you’ve ever heard has begun; that the strings have begun to waltz with the lovely hum of harps. Here, your heart is dipped in honey-sweet promise. You find the words coming from Loki’s lips pluck your heartstrings with terrifying capability. He could kill you with the way he speaks. It’s gentle. Quiet.

Honest.

“You make me feel... as if I am enough,” he continues as he thinks out every honest syllable, brows pulled tight, “You are far too kind to me.”

"That’s not true,” you say, pressing your nose to his arm as you shake your head, “I’ve been... mean. And I’ve judged you. I’ve — I’ve said things I didn’t mean.”

“My head wasn’t mine,” he says gently, rubbing your knuckles, “It was my father’s critiscm’s. My failure’s. My head belonged to all the things I believed I had to be. But, I’m beginning to understand that... That those things are nothing. Unattainable. And... A-And I don’t want to bring pain and suffering. I want to — I want to feel love. Friendship. Joy. All these things I’d considered so... useless to the very thing I had to possess.”

“Power is a seductive thing,” you mumble, “Its beauty blinds us.”

Loki's stare is strong. He speaks fast. “It holds nothing in comparison to you.”

Your heart stutters once more.

He says it with such conviction — and you swallow down a sudden burn of pure attraction; the sort you’ve been fending off since Lamentis-1. Since he began to grow softer, since he began to be more than just the Loki you knew. 

You lift your eyes and your head and find he’s staring.

In the dark, your proximity feels closer. Like it’s only the two of you, breaths apart, talking — the sort of talking that feels like the sort lovers do. 

You’d like to kiss him like lover’s do, you realize.

Yes, yes, you would.

"Do you mean that?” you breath as your eyes roam his face.

And then, in the dark, he whispers back.

“With all my heart.”

And though, maybe this isn’t how those beyond the Void wrote your story the first time, it’s just as perfect — it’s just as gentle, and honest, and true. In the dark of the Void, both of your souls have tangled in the inevtiable way. 

You kiss him.

It’s awkward and graceless. It’s craned necks and sighs of surprise and tangled fingers — and in the dark, it bleeds gentle and honest and true, just as this love story of yours does. 

This place is not sacred, but this? This kiss is. And when finally the God gives way, turning himself to anchor his hands to your face? When he cradles your jaw, when you find yourself halfway in his lap? When he pulls apart, takes a breath, and kisses you once more with all the feeling in the universe?

It’s sacred. Holy. Reverent. Everything you’ve ever wished for — and when he says your name so sweet, so gentle in the space between mingling mouths? You almost break apart; you find your fingers winding into the fabric of his shirt, right over his heart. You anchor yourself. 

He presses on; because this moment is one he’s never known to be possible — he’s never known this color of young love; he’s only known the darker parts, the lonelier parts, the lies and the pretending. He’s known urges and falisies and jealousy. This is none of those. This is beautiful. 

It’s you.

It’s from the Void, with love.

Your nose bumps his, and finally you pull away to steal a breath; your forehead rests against his — and you bite back a girlish laugh. 

Loki can’t help but do the same. It’s quiet, smothered into your cheek as he dots a tender kiss there as well. 

“Silvertongue,” you accuse with affection.

His thumb runs along your bottom lip. 

“If this is what I gain from sweet, little honest truths?” Loki mutters, “I fear my reputation may be up for scrunity.”

You laugh. It’s ducked into his shoulder. 

He promises himself, then, that he will do everything it takes to never forget the color of your eyes.

close call | jhs x reader

🗝️summary: hoseok comes home in the middle of the night and it doesn't take long for you to realize something is wrong. very, very wrong.

🗝️pairing: reader x mafia!hoseok

🗝️rating: mature, 18+

🗝️genre: smut, mafia AU, guarded AU drabble though it can be read as a standalone story

🗝️warnings: standard smut warnings, feelings because apparently i know no other way

🗝️word count: 1.7K

🗝️notes: i've had in mind to write a series of these drabbles for the guarded AU involving all of the original story characters. all returning home from the same terrifying night on the job, each processing the trauma a bit differently. as always, thank you for reading and please talk to me about it! of course, i couldn't have written or posted this without the help and guidance of @ladyartemesia @btsarmy9593 and @hobi-gif thank you so much ladies. also a big thank you to the very sweet @diorggukie who was so kind to answer my questions!

He comes to you in the dead of night.

The bed dips under his weight as he slips quietly beneath the covers, pressing the length of his body to yours. You start to rouse when he wraps himself around you -- firm chest at your back, strong forearm banded over your waist -- and you open your eyes to darkness, disoriented.

“Hoseok?” You call out to him, not quite awake and not quite asleep.

No answer.

“Baby?”

Still no answer.

The fear comes over you slowly, pulsing from your legs to your chest to your arms. Finally then to your brain, sounding the alarm inside your head as the pieces start to fall into place.

He’s warm, far too warm, skin feverish and damp from what must have been a scalding hot shower. He’s breathing hard like he’s just gone for a run, his shuddering breaths ragged and rough behind the soft shell of your ear. And he’s holding you so tight he’s practically crushing his body to yours.

That’s when you realize he’s trembling.

That’s when your own heart starts to rattle inside your chest.

“Hoseok,” you call his name louder now, clearer, trying to suppress the panic in your voice. “Baby, please. Tell me you’re okay.”

He doesn’t.

You wrench yourself out of his stranglehold to turn over and curl into him, searching for his face in the dark. Beneath the lone sliver of moonlight that peeks through the blinds he looks blank, eyes open and unseeing.

“Hoseok -- “ you cup his face in your hands, grip firm as you try to rouse him from his stupor. “-- You’re scaring me. Tell me what’s wrong.”

He stares back at you, quiet for a long time before he answers.

“Bad night, baby,” he whispers at last, “Real bad night.”

The words alone would be enough to make your heart seize, but the brittle, hollow sound of his voice is your undoing. He’s right in front of you, in your arms, but he sounds a million miles away.

“You want to talk about it?”

He doesn’t answer. He doesn’t have to. Your answer is in his vacant expression, the shuttered look in his eyes. You know damned well the terrible things he’s seen -- the terrible things he’s had to do in this line of work. And you know that most nights he’s able to absorb that trauma, to contain and defuse it before he comes home to you.

This is not most nights.

“It’s alright, baby,” you whisper, leaning in to press kisses to his warm temple, his flushed cheeks. “You don’t have to say anything. You don’t have to do anyth--”

The words die on your tongue when Hoseok turns his face to capture your mouth with his.

The adrenaline lying dormant in his bloodstream roars back to life in an instant. In one swift movement he’s on top of you, pinning you down with his lithe frame, mouth and hands everywhere at once. His touch is rough, desperate, teeth scraping against the hollow of your throat. Fingers digging into the soft curve of your ass. He kisses you like he’s trying to consume you, filling the air in his lungs with the breath he steals from yours.

“Hoseok -- “ you pull away from him long enough to gasp for air, digging your fingers into his hair when he buries his face between your breasts. “ -- Baby, you’re okay. It’s over. It’s over.”

He’s not ready to listen.

He’s still too keyed up, too wild from whatever he endured out there tonight. He sucks bruises into the column of your throat as his unsteady hands grasp at the satin barrier between you, shoving the thin nightgown up your thighs. You draw in a sharp breath when he slots one leg between yours, pressing the hot, hard length of his cock to the soft curve of your stomach.

“I need you,” he chokes out, heart hammering wildly inside his chest where it’s pressed against your own. “Please.”

There will be none of his trademark finesse tonight. None of the sexy words he loves to whisper in your ear, none of the practiced touches he loves to tease you with until he’s certain you’re ready for him. And none of that matters in this moment.

His hips jerk when you slide a hand between your bodies to take hold of his rigid cock, guiding the blunt head to your entrance. You slide it against the moisture gathered there, pressing your lips to the shell of his ear.

“Take me, baby,” you whisper, “Take whatever you need.”

The words are barely out of your mouth before Hoseok is surging forward, fusing himself to you in one devastating stroke. He’s so damned hard -- impossibly hard -- and you can’t help but whimper at the sudden, sharp intrusion.

“Shit,” he swears under his breath, head dropping low between his shoulder blades. His arms shake with effort as he forces himself to hold still above you. “I didn’t mean -- “

You swallow his apology with a kiss, tearing a pained groan from him as you squeeze your thighs tight around his slim legs and skate your hands down his back to cup his ass. You tilt your hips up, rolling them against his in invitation.

“It’s alright, baby,” you promise, speaking the words against his lips. “I can take it.”

It’s like pulling the pin on a grenade. Once you speak those words out loud, he abandons what little control he had left, fucking into you with utter desperation. His fingers dig savagely into the cushion of your hips, pulling you in to meet each one of his unforgiving thrusts.

“Thought I was never going to see you again,” he pants, mouth latching to one stiff nipple through your nightgown. He sets his teeth to it despite the barrier, dragging it into his mouth through the damp satin.

You’re glad he can’t see the tears that spring to your eyes. You squeeze them shut, trying to push his words out of your mind, trying to think only about the steady rhythm of his hips against yours and the feeling of his cock buried deep.

“You’re here, baby,” you soothe, running your hands up his back. You can feel the faint tremor that runs just under the surface of his skin. “Here with me. You’re not going anywhere.”

At that, he fucks you harder. Hard enough that you have to press one hand to the headboard behind you to keep him from forcing you up the length of the bed. Hard enough that you know you’ll feel him everywhere tomorrow, know that you’ll see the evidence of his agony all over your skin.

He groans your name into the crook of your neck when he comes, shuddering as he empties himself inside of you for what feels like an eternity. And then he collapses onto you, shivering despite the warmth emanating from his skin, despite the heat that’s been generated between you.

You hold him close and trace your fingertips up and down his back until the shivering stops.

He’s still sleeping deeply when you slip out of bed.

The apartment is peaceful at this hour, the blue hue of the early light comforting in the quiet of the kitchen. You’re not much of a cook, never have been, but this morning that doesn’t matter.

You are going to make this man some fucking breakfast.

It’s easier to focus on brewing the coffee and buttering the toast than it is to think about the way he looked at you last night. The things he’d confessed to you in the dark. The way he held you like he was afraid you’d vanish.

You crack the last of your eggs into a bowl and walk to the trash can, prepared to drop the empty carton inside.

But when you press down on the foot pedal, the lid comes up and the carton in your hand falls to the floor below.

At the top of the trash pile sits Hoseok’s white dress shirt -- the one you’d bought him in Gangnam a few months ago. The one he was wearing when you’d kissed him goodbye before he left last night.

The blood smears splattered across it are a bit rusty now, oxidized and dull.

It’s so much blood that for a moment your heart stops before your brain steps in to remind you that this can’t be his blood. That you’d had your hands and mouth on every inch of his skin last night. That he’s sleeping safe and sound in your bedroom just a few feet away.

You’ve seen so many sides of Hoseok by now, his happiness and his passion and his melancholy and his fury. But you’ve never seen him terrified. Not until now.

You stare down at that shirt, willing yourself not to imagine the gruesome scenarios that come to mind. Willing yourself not to panic over events that are already said and done. Willing yourself not to collapse with grief.

He’d asked you to marry him.

He’d done it in that low key way of his, of course -- on a drive home from dinner, stopped at a red light. He’d cut the radio and reached across the gear shift to take your hand and he’d asked you to marry him. And you’d said no.

You’d argued that trauma begets trauma. That hearing the stories about your own parents’ volatile marriage had poisoned you against any hope for one of your own. That you still didn’t fully understand the damage done by years at the hands of an alcoholic father in the absence of a dead mother. That being a Kim at one time nearly destroyed you, but now it defines you.

And he’d accepted it.

In that low key way of his, of course -- stone-faced and jaw tight. He’d never made mention of it again, though you could sometimes feel it heavy in the air between you. Though at times you could feel the weight of it pressing down on your chest when you relived the memory of that night in the car.

This morning, you stare down into that trash can -- down at the ghastly red-orange stains that mar what used to be a pristine white canvas -- and your excuses echo through your mind, pathetic and small.

Hoseok would give his life for you. For your brother. For any man in this organization without second thought.

This is the life you chose and this is the man you chose.

And it is time you give him this.

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Me: Wow I can’t believe it’s canon that Natasha and Tony both survived Endgame :)

MCU: That’s not canon though

Me: You just made every possible timeline real with the Loki season 1 finale so aCTUALLY—

its something eren might do ngl 😭

white lies | jjk | m

— summary; in which Jungkook lies his way out of and into trouble. But he can’t tell white lies when it comes to you. 

— contents and warnings; smut, fluff, very minor angst, poor attempts at humor, athlete!jungkook x reader, childhood best friends, fake dating, idiots to lovers, far too many movie references, a tiny bit of jealousy, jk is a football/soccer player, mentions of alcohol and drugs, the catastrophic event that is a frat party, jk is kind of a himbo, so much sexual tension, mutual pining, a lot of touching, dirty talk, fingering, grinding, jk has a big dick, praise, body worship if you squint, unprotected sex (don’t.), pulling out, very mild possessiveness, mid-sex confessions, the L word…, Jungkook wants to fuck you in his team jacket because his tastes are very singular and you wouldn’t understand it 

— words; 13,3k

— author’s notes; I know what you’re thinking… and yes, every bad movie mentioned is real. Also, this is a self-aware cliche and 100% self indulgent. Have fun!

When people first found out that you and Jungkook were friends, you received a very predictable, repetitive sequence of reactions.

First came disbelief. It was the most comprehensible one, at least from your perspective, taking into consideration that you and Jungkook were completely different people. He was loud (sometimes too loud) and outgoing, probably knew at least ninety percent of the campus population by name and city of origin. Jungkook was warm, friendly, the type of guy that you’d confess all your worries to if given enough time. You, on the other hand, was more on the “colder” side — you weren’t as inviting with strangers, and didn’t mind going through moments of awkward silence. Jungkook was a talker and you were a listener; he was a daydreamer and you were a brute realist: maybe that was why your friendship worked so well. But most people couldn’t really get it. 

Second came the questions — the doubts, the sideway glances, even a few bitter comments if you were unlucky enough. Jungkook had kind of a reputation when it came to sleeping around, so most people jumped to the conclusion that either you were his favorite plaything (which might have been the most offensive thing you’ve ever heard) or that you were simply the rare one he had friendzoned because he didn’t want to fuck you (a big runner-up to that prize). Eventually, though, you settled their anguishes simply by saying that you knew each other ever since you were kids. 

Which took you to the final phase: relief and acceptance. The ones who saw you as a threat instantly relaxed, and the ones who couldn’t understand why he would “waste his time” with “someone like you” quickly understood that it was a deep, innocent connection that he was just “too sweet to let go.” Obviously, that didn’t make you feel any better. 

Truth was, it was kind of hard being friends with Jungkook. Mostly because the boy casted a light so strong that it was almost impossible not to stay in his shadow, but also because you always felt like you had to justify your existence every time he chose you instead of anyone else. You were the person he ran to hug once his team won; you were the one he ditched other people for, just to hang out with you. It made you insecure. And, yeah, there was also the fact that you had been madly in love with him for some time now, but that was unimportant. 

Well, until he asked you to be his (fake) girlfriend, that was. 

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