#since the sentiment sort of follows on from this one

[dribs-and-drabbles]

The Thai Communal Wardrobe item #123

Our Skyy 2 x My School President ep 9:

Wandee Goodday ep 5:

friendship involves a lot of love

[rinbylin]

圣人有情而无累

dihua + 情 | 莲花楼 mysterious lotus casebook

[sinsofsummers]

sensational; part ii

6.8k | joel miller x f!innocent!reader follow-up to sensational

summary: you've tasked joel with teaching you about all of the things you missed. he's back for more...teaching moments. warnings: smut (duh), 18+, mdni. softdom!joel vibes in this one, joel gives reader an anatomy lesson, pet names (lots of dollface) fingering, praise kink to the gods, masturbation (f and brief m), reader gives joel a hand(y), grinding, bit of a corruption kink toward the end, jesus there might need to be a part 3 note: well. look at what you guys did. you went and loved on sensational so much and asked for a part 2 so often that i just had to grant your wishes. i hope you’re fckn happy✌🏼🥹 (this is all jokes i’m so excited to write more of this dynamic teehee)

You'd never counted yourself as a dreamer of any sort; when sleep clouded your brain at night, every thought faded along with it. Aside from the occasional nightmare, reminding you of your parents' absence, you hadn't had an actual dream since you were a kid.

Of course, that night in Joel's house had changed everything, in every possible way. In just an hour or so he had taken your world into his hands, shaped it, flipped it, and returned it to you, unrecognizable. His name was carved into everything you saw and touched, and this included your dreams.

He was everywhere in your head when you slept. So much so that you'd begun to forget which was reality and which was a figment of your imagination, which made your patrols with him all the more humiliating.

Your hands were cold. It was all you could focus on as you followed Joel along your normal patrol route. Just twelve hours had passed since that night in his house, when he'd touched you with rough hands and what taught you what it meant to feel desired. His words still rang clear in your head days later:

Trust me, doll. I've got so much more to teach you.

It sent your head reeling just to think about it now. The memory of his fingertips grazing the side of your face as he'd said it, those brown eyes sparkling with desire for you—a vision of contentment.

You had leaned into his touch subconsciously, reaching a hand up to trace the line of his wrist. His eyes had darted to where your fingers pressed to his skin, a soft grin replacing his satisfied smirk. "I'd better get you home, then," he'd whispered.

It had taken everything in you to ignore the small pang of disappointment that had bloomed in your gut, but it was an easier task when he'd dropped his lips to your forehead.

"No one'll miss me at home," you'd protested quietly, trying not to relish too much in the feeling of his beard scratching at the space between your eyebrows.

This sentiment was true. You still didn't know how things had worked out so well, but after arriving in Jackson, Tommy (the fact that it was Joel's younger brother made this seem all the less coincidental) and Maria had been more than accommodating. They'd offered you your own space, a house to yourself. Granted, it was much smaller than Joel's, but it was your own. It had become home in the four short years you'd lived in Jackson.

No one was waiting for you at home. It was a fact that used to make your throat close up, memories taunting you every moment they could. Now it was a welcomed thought, if it meant that you could remain in the heady presence of Joel Miller.

But he'd only shaken his head, his brown eyes flitting down to your lips before returning to your gaze. "I'm sure they'll notice when you don't come strolling out of your own place in the mornin'," he'd insisted gently. His thumb traced your bottom lip when your shoulders slumped. You hoped you didn't look as pitiful as you felt, your lip threatening to push outward in a pout.

"Might not be able to keep my hands to myself tonight if I let you stay," he'd breathed. You didn't care if he said it as an apology, or if it was actually true.

Because who were you to disagree with him? It was Joel.

So without more than a lingering hand on your wrist, he'd walked you to your door. When you'd teased him for such a chivalrous act, he'd cocked an eyebrow, glancing sideways at you. "Can't just let you walk home alone after that," he'd scoffed, his voice rough again in the outdoors. A few people were still milling about despite it being darker than pitch after nightfall. "M'not a complete scoundrel," he said with a wry grin.

Your front door always looked so inviting, a place for you to take a breath and relax after a long day. In that moment, it was taking everything in you to put one foot in front of the other and return to your own place.

"Scoundrel," you'd mused, hoping the amusement in your voice covered the way you leaned back with every step, as if you could claim one more touch of his body—arm, chest, shoulder—to send you to bed with nothing but him on your mind. "Kind of a big word, wouldn't you say?" you'd teased him, just as he'd done to you. "Sure you know what it means?"

The twitch of his jaw was enough of a reward for your attempt at humor, but your satisfied smirk had been wiped clean off your face when he'd darted a glance around before leaning in, hovering just centimeters from your face.

It occurred to you in that moment that you'd truly only kissed him once. A shame, a voice in your head sighed. His lips were devastatingly plump, even in the darkness.

Joel had stayed there, his eyes tearing down to your mouth before warning you in that deliciously low baritone, "I know what it is. Best get inside," his jaw twitched once more and you caught him clenching and unclenching his fists, "'fore I show you what it means to be a scoundrel."

You'd gone inside with a shaky breath and the return of that familiar pulse that, it seemed, only he knew how to ignite.

—

Joel chose not to look in the mirror when he'd gone home that night. He wasn't sure he'd be able to stand the way his hair was undoubtedly wild, his eyes hard with desire, and his hands still aching with the memory of her squirming body in his lap.

After four years of near silence, this girl had unraveled him. After all those days on patrol with her, nothing to do except look at her when she wouldn't notice, Joel Miller had been undone.

The next day, waking up early with the stiffness in his boxers begging to be dealt with, Joel spit on his palm and wrapped it around his cock, releasing a sigh. Fuck's sake, he thought with a groan. Can't hardly get a full night's sleep anymore.

It should have annoyed him; it was certainly an inconvenience. But if it meant that he'd get to spend more time thinking about her body and her lips and her eyes when she asked those incessant questions, then so be it. He'd never sleep another wink and be glad for it.

It didn't take long for his release to come, not when the memories of her whines were so fresh in his mind. To think that he'd had her on his lap, hips squirming in that way that only she knew...it was enough to make him—"A grown fuckin' man," he reminded himself—spill into his hands and draw ragged breaths into his lungs to recover.

With an arm thrown across his face, he latched onto the image of her in the heat of ecstasy, her eyelids fluttering shut and her lips wet from constantly biting them.

For a moment, he tried to rein himself in. Can't be doin' this, he'd thought while getting ready for patrol that morning. Don't wanna take advantage of her, or fuck her up cause of my inability to control my own desires.

In reality, he'd considered, did she really know what she was getting herself into? With little more knowledge than the mechanics of reproduction, it had been evident with the events of the previous night that she knew nothing of what pleasure could be. Did he really want to be responsible for her discovery of such things?

But when he went to the stables an hour later and saw her standing in the snow with an extra twinge in her grin and her eyes sparkling despite the echoes of fatigue in her irises, every doubt dissipated immediately. He pretended not to notice the way her eyes lingered on his back when they saddled up, heading out of Jackson for the day.

Joel Miller was never one to deny a woman in need. Why should he have stopped now?

—

"How'd you sleep?"

When you looked over at him, almost shocked that he'd broken the silence, your eyebrow quirked up. "Fine," you answered.

It wasn't that this patrol had been disappointing, it was just...ever since you'd left Jackson that morning, you'd been waiting for him to look at you like he had the night before, or to even acknowledge you in the way that you could still remember him doing.

Maybe it was because Tommy was nearby at the time, or maybe he'd changed his mind after all. Maybe you'd overstepped, asking a man so much older than you to teach you all of this. Maybe it hadn't happened at all—your dreams were rather convincing these days.

If it hadn't been for those girls, hell-bent on making you feel ostracized, perhaps you wouldn't have landed yourself in this position. You probably wouldn't have had any reason to be curious about what it all meant, and you could have gone on in comfortable silence with him on your patrols.

With a heavy mind, you blew out a breath. If it hadn't been for those girls, though—you never would have known the creases that sank into the corners of his eyes when he grinned at you.

Beside you, having held back to come up shoulder-to-shoulder, Joel huffed. "Bullshit, darlin'," he scoffed, casting a sideways glance in your direction.

You tightened your hands on the reins. "Excuse me?" you said sharply.

His chuckle was a soft rumble in his chest, and you ached to feel it against your back. "I saw those sleepy eyes at the stables," he crooned, the corners of his eyes crinkling just like you remembered. "Looks like someone didn't get a good night's sleep."

"Oh, and I'm just supposed to believe you slept like a damn baby, then?" You couldn't help the incredulity in your tone, but you blushed when you noticed him smirking, his lips twitching as he fought a smile away.

"'Course not," he shook his head almost dismissively. "Couldn't tell my brain to stop conjurin' pictures of you shakin' in my lap." He adjusted the way he was seated on his horse, and you couldn't help but wonder if he was getting hard at the reminder of the memory.

You, in a similar vein, were trying to ignore the unmistakable feel of heat puddling between your legs. Keeping your eyes forward, you asked, "Is that a good thing?"

Joel nodded. "A very good thing, dollface. You were so good for me last night."

Any air that had been in your lungs left in a rush, and you put a hand to your cheek, warm despite the winter's wind. You thought you heard yourself whine at the sound of the pet name.

Thankfully, he didn't say or do anything to show that he'd noticed. Instead, he tugged his horse to a stop. "Let's get down here," he said. "Walk and talk, yeah?"

The thought of walking beside him after all that had happened the night before was enough to make you freeze in your saddle, suddenly unsure of how to get down. "Yeah," you mumbled, if only to fill the silence.

You could hear the crunch of snow under his boots as he came up beside you, thick gloved hands reaching for your waist. "C'mon, darlin'," he'd insisted, "I won't bite."

There was a note of irony in his tone, and you let him pull you from your saddle, landing in the snow in front of him. Your jacket snagged against his, and you stood there for a moment, letting your frosty wisps of breath coil and furl with his. "What do you mean?" you asked, cursing your ever-present confidence when it came to asking him questions. It seemed that you'd never learn to hold your tongue.

"Hmm?" he hummed in response. "What's what mean?" He stepped away from you to grab the reins in his hand and began to walk forward in the snow.

You shook your head and pushed on, stumbling after him. When did the snow get so deep? "You sounded rather..." you trailed off, searching for the word.

"Oh, here it comes," he mused in that serious tone, hardly covering the teasing lilt that rang clear in his eyes. "Bet you're coming up with a big word right about now, huh?"

You couldn't help it when you rolled your eyes and swatted a hand at the back of his arm. "I was going to say you sounded smug," you finished. "About how you won't bite?"

There it was again. That look of slight surprise at your questions. You waited for a few moments, the two of you trudging along in the snow, before he answered quietly. "We're jumpin' ahead of ourselves, but I s'pose it won't hurt." He shrugged. "Some people like it. Biting."

You furrowed your eyebrows. "Like it?" You looked down at your hands, covered in thick gloves. "Doesn't it hurt?"

Joel smirked. "It can," he considered, "if the person gettin' bitten wants it like that." He brushed your arm with his. "But some people don't like it at all. Just depends."

You braved a look up at his face and swallowed roughly, feeling your core pulse at the sight of his rosy cheeks. "Does it have to hurt?" You didn't mean to sound so desperate; you were just curious. "I mean, is it like...like a real bite?"

It happened so quickly that you hardly had a moment to process. Joel stopped in his tracks, pulled you near, and dipped his head down to your ear. "Don't have to," he murmured, and you were just starting to quiver at the feel of his voice next to your ear when he was brushing your hair from your neck and grazing his teeth against your skin. "Can feel good, if the person doin' the biting knows how."

You couldn't help the hand that shot out to grab his arm, as if it were the only thing that might hold you up. "I'm assuming you know how," you said thickly, eyes wandering on his weathered face. Funny, you thought at the sight of his grin, he looks quite young like this.

Joel shifted his arm so he could squeeze your hand once with his before letting it go. "Don't boost my ego too high, sweetcheeks," he warned, but you could hear the humor in his voice. "Might never let go if you do."

You knew he was kidding, but the prospect that he was being serious made your stomach flutter and forced you to clench your thighs together, bringing the forefront of your attention back to the frustration that was pooling between your legs. "Joel," you muttered in a whine, not quite realizing you'd said it until he was looking at you with a twinge of concern.

"What's up, doll?" he asked, slowing to a stop. "Somethin' wrong?"

A curly tendril of his graying hair was blown into his face with the winter wind, and you wished you could brush it away with your fingers like he'd done just moments ago. "I..." you inhaled deeply, and shifted your weight. "I'm..."

It took him a moment to understand, and when he did, his eyes sparkled. "Oh, doll," he cooed, reaching forward to tug you closer to him. "Need something', huh?"

You leaned your head forward until your forehead rested against him, breathing in the scene of pine and old leather and that heady musk that was utterly Joel. Nodding into his strong chest, you brought your hand up to his wrist and tugged it down, down, down...there.

Joel's large hand cupped the mound between your legs and you swallowed harshly as it pulsed again, begging for the sweet release he'd given you the night before. "Fuck," he breathed, the vibrations of his voice rolling against your skin. "Shoulda told me you were this bothered, baby," he hummed.

You lifted your head. "I've been trying," you said in a pitiful whine, although this wasn't entirely true, and he knew it. "Why does it...why do I ache so bad?"

His smirk quivered, and his pupils were suddenly huge as he withdrew his hand from where it covered your heat, exposing it to the frigid winter air once more. "I think we've gone far enough, don't you?" he winked. "Think we may as well head back."

The implications of what would happen when you got back to Jackson made your head spin. Nodding feverishly, you let go of the twinge of embarrassment at your eagerness. "Yes, please," you hiccuped.

His tongue darted out to wet his bottom lip. "Good," he murmured.

—

This was the worst possible outcome.

Just when you'd worked up to exactly where you wanted to be with Joel, with his hands on you and his intentions leading you back to his house (and hopefully his couch), Tommy stopped you at the stables.

Well, not you. Not you at all, actually. He stalked up to his older brother and said, Meeting at my place, Joel."

He'd just gotten down from his saddle to help you do the same and was letting his hands linger on your waist when the interruption happened. With his hungry eyes locked on yours, he'd been leaning into your touch and hovering his hands just inches from your heat.

You could have sworn he jumped out of his skin at the sound of Tommy's voice; you just hoped it was because of his infamous hearing loss on his ride side and decidedly not because he'd been caught standing so close to you.

"We just had a meeting last week," he said gruffly, his eyes still searching yours. For what, you weren't sure—but you were quickly growing addicted to finding those rare flecks of gold buried in the espresso brown seas reflected back at you. His hands clenched involuntarily, and given the fact that they were resting around your hips, you got a delicious lick of pleasure that shot through your pelvis at the sensation.

Tommy didn't seem to be in the mood for dawdling. "And now we're having one this week," he insisted. "My place. Maria and the others are waiting."

You lifted your chin to see him close his eyes in annoyance. His mouth opened once; he closed it. When he opened it again, his eyes flashed along with the movement. "Alright, I'll be there in a minute," he said tersely, and you pretended not to notice the way his gloved thumb rubbed a slow circle on your hip. An apology, perhaps.

When he didn't move, you blushed with smug satisfaction. It had never been more clear that he didn't want to move.

"Joel, it's important." Usually, you'd never had an issue with Tommy. Now, of course, the sound of his voice clawed at your every hope for tonight.

With a soft look at your lips, Joel jerked his head to look at his brother. "I said give me a fuckin' minute," he said, his words clipped. "Fuck's sake," he muttered as he turned around. "Just answerin' a goddamn question," he finished, soft enough that you were sure his brother couldn't hear.

Tommy grumbled his fair share of disapproving words, but you couldn't help the grateful bubble that bloomed in your gut when you heard the shuffle of his boots as he left you alone in the stables with Joel.

He waited a moment or two before letting out a soft sigh. You couldn't have known how disappointed he was, but the way he lifted a hand to your cheek was clue enough. "New lesson, dollface," he said.

A pang of regret hit your stomach and you found yourself shaking your head. "Please?" you asked in a quiet voice. "I don't want a new lesson."

Joel grinned and sucked in a sharp breath. "I know, baby, I know." The familiar phrase threw you back to the night before, when he'd had his hands all over you, reassuring you with those exact words. But now, it wasn't a comfort. "But if I'm not around and you need to feel good..." His hand trailed down your cheek, brushed against your chest and returned to its previous spot between your legs. "I want you to practice touchin' yourself, yeah?"

His voice had become a near-painful whisper, just loud enough for you to feel rather than hear his words caress your skin. "This of me all you want, darlin'. God knows I'll be thinkin' of you at this damn...meeting," he practically spat the last word, but it didn't take away from the pressure that was building and causing you to blink rapidly. "Think about me," he repeated, "but I want you to explore this pretty body for me so you can tell me all about it when I get back."

The sound of his voice enveloped you, that heady sensation nearly making your knees give out. With a slow nod, you couldn't see yourself ever disobeying him. Not when he asked such sinful things of you.

"Okay," you whispered. "I'll try."

His mouth was in a hard line, his irritation at Tommy's interruption still prevalent. But it softened for a moment when he slid a gloved thumb over your bottom lip, letting it get pulled from its place before bouncing back. You darted your tongue out, wetting your lip in a desperate attempt to taste his leather on your skin; to taste him.

"Good," he said softly. Something new pulsed at the sound of his praise, but you fought it down. "I'll see you soon, doll."

—

Despite everything you tried when you got home—despite squeezing your eyes shut and picturing that dimple in Joel's cheek when he smirked, or the way his arms felt when wrapped around you—nothing helped. The pressure remained, the ache between your legs was ever-present, and yet...

You couldn't give yourself the release you craved. Not like Joel could.

There was no telling how long you tried, hand shoved down your pants in a sour attempt to replicate the feeling he'd given you. Your fingers were clumsy, untrained, and entirely new to the task, leaving you desperate and unsatisfied. A strangled whine left your throat when your mind flashed with the memory of his face near yours, his lips on your own, and his rough hands rubbing that small bud at your center. It was maddening.

He'd asked you to do this one thing, and you couldn't deliver. Of course, you'd never even realized this was a possibility; you'd only ever heard of men bringing themselves to the plummeting precipice of pleasure. You never considered that you could do the same.

But you didn't want to make yourself feel good. You wanted Joel to do it.

After what felt like hours, stuck in your house alone, Joel nowhere to be found, and with your hopes slipping into despair, you gave up. Your fingers would never be as rough or as thick as his. You didn't know how to explore your body when you couldn't tip yourself over the edge to ecstasy; it was impossible.

Weary and defeated, you went to bed with a groan. Joel still hadn't shown up. Either it was a long meeting, or...you didn't want to entertain the thought that he'd possibly forgotten about you. About your task to be completed.

You actually did drop off into a dreamless sleep, but when you woke to the sound of a knock at your door, you were almost positive the dreams had begun again. Swinging your legs out of bed, you trudged to the door with sleep oozing in every movement. The door opened with a click, and you blinked.

"Sorry I'm late, sweetcheeks," Joel breathed. A distant streetlamp, the only one in Jackson, was the sole source of light that illuminated the edges of his broad body on your porch. He looked near-angelic.

You didn't say anything for a moment, only crossed your arms to keep yourself warm in the face of the wintry outdoors. The relief and anticipation at seeing him here paired with the disappointment and fatigue that it had taken so long warred with each other, creating a dangerous mix as you managed to say, "Are you...hungry? Or something?"

He swallowed, and your head swam with the desire to lay your tongue flat on his neck where his Adam's apple bobbed. "Starving," he groaned, and in one step he was not only in your house but he was all over you, and you were wearing nothing but your thin pajamas.

He'd apparently already taken off his gloves, and when his hand came up to cup your cheek your body registered the chill of his fingers with a shock, despite leaning into his touch all the same. He took a moment to look at you before touching his forehead to yours, pressing his lips to yours gently. You could practically taste the restraint on his mouth, and you wanted nothing more than to beg him for everything.

Something about your face must have given it away when he pulled back because he tapped a finger against your cheek. "You look like you need somethin'." He darted a look down to your legs. "Did you do what I asked?"

You weren't sure what made you lie, but you nodded nonetheless. "Uh-huh."

Even in the dark, he was so close to you that you could see his eyebrow lift in question. You didn't know how he knew, but why wouldn't he? This was Joel. "You didn't come," he concluded, and you ducked your head. "Why not, dollface? I thought I told you to."

The implication that his request was, in fact, a command, didn't slip your mind. Your cheeks burned when you forced yourself to look at him. "I couldn't. I don't know how."

"Sure you do," he whispered. "You did real good last night for me, remember?" His lips ghosted your jaw.

You shook your head. "I don't know how. I've never...made myself come."

When Joel looked at you, you could have sworn his lips twitched, betraying the desire in his movements. "I'm sorry, babydoll," he cooed, bringing his other hand to your cheek. He slotted his lips over yours once more, and it was all you could do not to sink to the floor right there. "We'll have to fix that, won't we?"

You nodded. "Show me? Please?"

Without another word he bent to brush his lips across your hairline—you could have sworn you felt him inhale with his nose in your hair—and murmured, "In the morning, yeah?"

You pulled away to complain but he only gave you a soft smile. It was then that you could see the exhaustion in his face, eyes downturned despite those creases winking at you in the darkness. "But—"

"Told Tommy you need a day off," he clarified. "'Cause you're...sore..." he splayed his hand on your back and tugged you near, voice low. "Ya know, from all that horseback ridin'."

An anticipatory chuckle bubbled from your chest. "No way he bought that," you said breathlessly as he nipped your jawline with his teeth (you were almost sure it was supposed to be a kiss). "I've been patrolling on horseback for years."

Joel shrugged and looked down at you with a smirk. "Who knows? Maybe I should have told him you were waiting for me to come home and make you fall apart on my fingers," he said dismissively, but his tone did nothing to stop your stomach from flipping.

"Oh," you said dumbly, cursing yourself inwardly for how easily you were rendered speechless in his presence. "He'll...he'll really let us take the day off?" Your mind swam with the possibilities of what you could do with an entire day.

He shook his head. "Not us, darlin'. Just you." Tracing the line of your jaw, his lips twisted into a dry smirk. "I'll have to go tomorrow. But," he whispered, squeezing a hand on your hip and cocking an eyebrow at the way your legs wobbled," I'd gladly go every morning all by myself if it meant you were in your bed all day, daydreamin' about me."

It was a heavier confession that you'd expected out of him, and you let out a breathy sigh. "In the morning then," you asked. You swallowed roughly in an attempt to push down the lump of pure need that had risen in your chest, but to no avail.

Joel nodded firmly. "Trust me," he hummed, "in the morning."

So you'd led him to your bed with no more discussion. It hadn't occurred to you that he might not stay the night; he'd come to your place after the meeting like he'd said, and it was the middle of the night. Why wouldn't he have stayed the night?

Despite everything in you fighting to stay awake, the second you returned to your mattress and pulled the covers up, your eyelids drooped. Joel stood at the end of the bed and shed his jacket slowly. "Sleep, doll," he said, his voice echoing in the otherwise silent room as he bent to kick off his boots. "I'll be here when you wake up."

—

Was he getting too close? Was he pushing the boundaries too far, too soon? Probably.

Selfishly, Joel didn't much care.

—

Sure enough—when morning came, when the dull winter sunlight crept into your house and draped the floor in soft yellow, you felt the dip of your mattress beside you and betrayed Joel's presence. He'd stayed. Like he said.

Quite the dedicated teacher, you thought to yourself with a satisfied warmth. You'd felt him climb into bed last night, but despite your every wish for him to press himself to your back and hold you tightly the whole night, he'd kept at least a foot of space between your bodies. Always close enough to touch, but never giving in.

You rolled over and swiped a hand over your face, a few stray strands falling into your eyes. The breath left your chest when you saw him there, eyes open and waiting for you. "Hi," you said, your voice rough with sleep. Again with the monosyllabic responses, you scolded yourself.

Joel hummed, the deep rumble of his voice reverberating through the mattress and into your body. "Looked so sweet like that, darlin'," he mused, his rough hands tucked under his head. He reached one of them toward you and tapped your bottom lip, plump with sheep, with two of his fingertips. "Didn't wanna wake you up."

"You didn't." You weren't sure what made you do it, but you moved closer, shifting your entire body until your nose almost brushed his. Your eyes flitted up to look at the way his graying hair laid messily around the crown of his head, haircuts neglected for who knew how long. "Can we...I want to start now," you mumbled.

His jaw ticked, and he looked like he was swallowing down a grin. "Look at you," he cooed, "so eager. Aren't you hungry, doll?"

You bit your lip and you could have sworn you saw his eyes widen. "Starving," you fumbled over the word, imitating his response to you the night before on your porch.

Joel let go of a chuckle and his eyes danced with mirth. "Always turnin' my words back on me, aren't ya?" When you nodded sheepishly, he slid his hand around to cup the back of your head and he pulled you in, connecting his lips with yours. "Okay, pretty girl," he said. "We'll start. Since you asked so nicely."

His lips were chapped from the cold weather but they were still soft as he pressed them to yours, moving lazily as the two of you blinked away the last clutches of sleep. "Always so soft, these lips," he murmured, and then his hand was moving from your neck to your chest. "Everyone's different, yeah? There's these spots on everyone's body," he said, absentmindedly drawing swirls along the expanse of your chest, making you shiver. "Let's call them...pleasure points."

"Pleasure points," you repeated breathlessly, your stomach fluttering as he rolled a nipple between his thumb and forefinger. "Is that—"

He grinned with a nod. "Think I just found one of 'em, doll." He rolled you onto your back and bent his head down, his breath fanning over your chest and warming you through your thin pajama shirt. "This is how we get you all ready for me, when the time comes."

You nodded quietly and let out a shaky sigh as his hands wandered. He pressed a kiss to your forehead and you practically preened at the feeling of his lips against your skin while his hands squeezed and caressed your breasts, moving over your stomach. "Joel—"

He paused, hand hovering over the hem of your shirt. "What, babygirl?"

You couldn't help the whine that fought its way out of your throat. "Please," you whimpered, squeezing your eyes shut at the pressure that writhed in your core.

Joel's fingers lifted the hem of your shirt, his mouth widening in a grin at the way that your stomach rose and fell in spattered pants. "Come on, darlin'," he crooned, "open those pretty eyes for me. Gotta see you, doll."

It was all you could do not to take his hand in your own and shove it to your core where you needed him desperately, but you did as he asked.

"That's it, baby," he breathed, good girl."

You'd become familiar with the way your stomach clenched at his use of pet names, but this was new. You had done well for him. You wanted to stay that way. "Will you touch me please? I need—"

"So eager," he murmured, leaning in with his lips to your earlobe. "Lemme take my time with you, dollface." And then his lips were wrapping to the soft part of your ear, his teeth grazing at your skin. Paired with this sensation and the heady feeling of his hand on your waistband, fumbling to push his hand beneath it, you arched your back and released a series of high-pitched whines.

"JoelJoelJoelpleasepleaseplease," you were overcome with the pure, unbridled need that was speeding through your body like a tidal wave on a summer day.

"Alright, darlin', alright," he acquiesced, pushing his hand into your waistband and pulling it down over your hips. You didn't even have the mind to be shy about being laid bare to him this way; you just needed him to touch you.

Before you could beg him again, he had his fingertip on your core, sliding it gently through your slick heat. "Oh, baby," he groaned, rutting his hips against your side. His bulge pressed into your hip and you flexed your fingers to reach for it. "M'never gettin' used to how wet you are for me," his voice shook.

One finger became two, and then his fingertips were rubbing sweet circles to your sensitive bud, drawing near pornographic moans to tumble past your lips. "Can I touch you, please?" you begged, your hand fisting your bedsheets. "Wanna touch you, Joel, please."

He hummed against your ear as he swiped another finger against your bud and lifted your hand to his lips. "Sure thing, doll," he said, and placed it in his hair. Your fingers instinctually carded through the coarse strands, and you blushed when his eyes fluttered closed. "Hold on tight if you need to, pretty girl," he grinned, and lemme know if it's too much."

You were going to ask if what was too much, but then he dipped his finger further down your core, notching it at the small opening. You hadn't even thought this far ahead, that things would eventually lead here. Something pulsed and you whined, tugging his hair in your hand.

"Look at you, so ready for me," he murmured against your neck. His tongue swept out to lick a small stripe along the sensitive skin there and when you let out a stuttering breath he chuckled. "You are ready for me, aren't ya, pretty girl?"

You couldn't nod fast enough. "Please," you choked out, and then he was pressing his finger inside you.

It was a small intrusion, but overwhelming all the same. In all your years, you'd never had the thought that it could feel this good to have him close to you like this. He was only as far as the first knuckle, but with the way that his bulge was nudging your hips, he wanted much more. "Good girl," he breathed, "such a good girl, openin' your legs like this."

"Wanna touch you," you whimpered again, vision blurring with the desperation that coursed through your veins. "Please, Joel, let me touch you."

He kissed you, but you could hardly focus enough to move your lips against his. "Already touchin' me," he said. "You want more?"

"Yes," you nodded feverishly, releasing your hand from his hair. "I wanna..." you looked down at his bulge and licked your lips.

Joel's eyes were wide as he whispered, "For fuck's sake, darlin', when you're cryin' about it..." he swiped a thumb across your cheeks, collecting a teardrop you hadn't even known was there. "How could I say no?"

Thankyouthankyouthankyou were the only words in your mind, a jumbled mess as you reached for him. Your finger traced his length and before you knew it, you were reaching inside his boxers to release it from its constraints. "Holy fuck," you whined, bucking your hips into his hand as you saw just how big he was, long and thick and heavy in your hand. "Need it," you found yourself whispering. "Need you."

It was all you could do before he pushed his finger further, then out, and then in, just enough to throw you closer to that addicting edge of ecstasy. Once again, you found yourself enveloped in the thick pressure of pure desire in his arms.

He pressed the pad of his thumb to your bud and swirled circles in your heat, his lips connecting to your ear once more. "Alright, baby. Alright, baby," he practically chanted in a low tone, nibbling on your lobe just hard enough to pinch the skin. "C'mon now, squeeze my finger like that, that's it," he groaned, drawing out the final two syllables, "good girl."

With his hand in the crux of your legs and his mouth connected to your ear, whispering the filthiest things you'd ever heard in your sheltered life, you threw your head back into the pillow and curled your legs toward him, your hand squeezing his cock tightly as you continued your strokes.

The sounds that erupted from your throat as you burst in a state of pure pleasure were the most pitiful (and yet electrifying) noises you'd ever heard yourself make, and you couldn't help but continue rolling your hips into his hands, chasing the feeling until it became more intense and your legs began to twitch again. "Joel," you mewled, voice breaking, "I need you."

A teasing chuckle sounded, and your cheeks warmed as he removed his hand from your slick. "So much you don't know, dollface," he crooned, tracing his index down the line of your nose. He pushed another, shining with your release, into your mouth. The sweetness nearly made you fall apart again. "Don't know if you're ready for that."

Your body was on fire, nearly throbbing with the insatiable need to be wrapped in his arms, with his hands everywhere, his lips anywhere. Your hand had been moving on his shaft, but his hips stuttered with your next words. "I am," you insisted, "I need you, please. I wanna feel you everywhere."

Joel's pupils went wide and he shuddered out a breath, mumbling a string of curses with his eyes shut. He thrusted his hips into your hand and then your skin was sticky and warm with his own release, some of it landing on your stomach where you lay beside him.

"Shit," he groaned with a rueful smirk. "Maybe I'm not ready for that yet." His breath fanned deliciously over your skin as he continued. "Can't hardly last long enough with the thought of stretching you out like that, baby."

You grinned, and you didn't mind the fact that he could definitely see the flush in your cheeks. "No?"

He shook his head. "Fuck no. I don't wanna think about how quickly I'll come if I were to be inside that pretty pussy yet," he said with a short and gentle tap to your mound. When your hips arched off the mattress and you whined at the sensitivity, he cooed apologetically.

"Isn't that a good thing?" you frowned slightly. "I thought I was making you feel good."

"Makin' me feel too good," he mused, bringing his hand up to hold your face toward him once more. He winked. "Can't have me comin' before you do, sweet girl. Not very gentlemanly of me."

You couldn't help the pang of doubt that clouded your face, and it must have been obvious, because then he was cupping the back of your head and pulling you to his chest. Humming into your neck, he smirked. "Besides, I want to be able to take my sweet time with you. To see you squirmin' beneath me like you do, baby? S'enough to make the pope leave the goddamn church."

tysm for reading, i can't believe you guys convinced me to write MORE filth for these two. u made it to the end, lemme know what you thought!

[amourrs]

you're such a fucking tease, you know that? with ellie williams pretty please 😭😭🙏🏻🙏🏻

thank you angel!! — one where you wear ellie’s flannel and neither of you actually end up leaving the house (fem!reader, smut 18+, ai audios at the end, 2.2k)

You’re supposed to leave by nine, so of course Ellie gets out of the bathroom at quarter past.

It’s not the first time she’s made the pair of you run late. You’ve learned not to let it bother you like it used to though, because it’s not personal so much as it’s just shitty time management. Anyway, it’s not like you’re going anywhere fancy- just to the local Starbucks because you really want your first pumpkin spice latte of the season- but like, still. Surely everyone knows the rules: obey the timings of the pumpkin spice latte, or get cursed by the latte gods.

The sound of the toilet door clicking shut has you springing off the bed, eyes zeroing in on Ellie’s car keys on the bedside table as she bounds into the room, feet springing with every step.

“Pumpkin spice latte day— can I get a woop woop?”

Truthfully, you both know that Ellie couldn’t really care less about the seasonal drinks at Starbucks. It was more about making you happy- just like all the times she bought an iced brown sugar oatmilk shaken espresso because you were going through the Starbucks drive through and refused to get anything unless Ellie did too, because you “didn’t want to drink alone”, a sentiment she rolled her eyes at but still never challenged (which may have something to do with the fact that she orders her drink in a venti and adds two pumps of vanilla, because she secretly loves the silly little coffee just as much as you do— not that you could torture that information out of her, of course.)

You turn around with a smile, smoothing out your skirt as you look into your girlfriend’s eyes for the first time since she’s entered the room. The checkered black and red button up over your shoulders shifts as you move and you suddenly notice Ellie’s smile drop as her eyebrows arch to the very top of her forehead. Instantly you’re overtaken by a sense of complete bewilderment. That is, until you catch the glint in her eye as she slowly takes in your outfit, an expression of utter lovesickness working its way onto her face.

“Is that my flannel?”

It’s hard to bite back a grin as your girlfriend’s hand comes up to cup your face and she presses a kiss to your forehead, but you manage to do it anyway. You’ve borrowed Ellie’s clothes before— usually sort of ratty t-shirts you tend to sleep in, or oversized hoodies that smell like home— and yet every time she sees you in something that’s hers, it seems to melt her heart into a gooey puddle just as quickly as if it were the first time.

“Yeah, but I can take it off if you want,” you tease, hands sliding down until your arms are looped messily around your girlfriend’s waist and you can tug her in closer for a proper kiss. What starts off slow quickly turns messy as Ellie’s enthusiasm begins to shine through in her technique or lack thereof as the kiss deteriorates into a chaos of tongues and teeth and clashing (not that you mind, of course).

“Eh, maybe you should take it off. Red isn’t really your look,” Ellie jokes, eyes glinting at her own terrible attempt at humour. You go to roll your eyes but you’re caught off guard as an overzealous movement causes her leg to nudge hard into yours and you both fall backwards onto the bed, you trapped underneath her as you try in vain to extricate yourself from the tangled mess of her gangly limbs. Ellie makes no effort to help you— in fact, she seems to relish in the fact that you’re caged in by the lattice of her muscled arms as she gently reaches down to peck you on the lips. That one peck is of course followed by another, and another, and soon Ellie’s peppering kisses all over your face as you squeal and kick your legs.

“El, stop it. Thought we were gonna go to Starbucks and get pumpkin spice lattes,” you rebuke, head twisting until you can see the large clock over the door. You gasp as you catch sight of the long minute hand’s position. “It’s already half past! They’re probably all out of the pumpkin scones—” your complaints are cut off as Ellie returns to kissing your face again, lips smushing against yours in an almost aggressive display of affection.

“Fuck the pumpkin scones.”

Instantly your face takes on a mock-hurt expression that’s really only half a joke— not that Ellie seems to care. Her lips are already back at your temples and she’s smearing a little kiss on each side before she moves to pepper your cheeks.

“Don’t speak against the pumpkin scones. That’s blasphemy, El,” you remind her sternly, although it’s hard to keep your focus when her mouth is slowly sliding past your jawline and leaving little love bites along the column of your neck.

“M’sorry, babe. Let me make up for it, yeah?” Ellie teases, and that’s when you realise that somewhere in the midst of all the kisses Ellie’s hands have ventured under your shirt, running a hungry path from your waist to explore the expanse of your upper back. It’s impossible to contain the whine that’s begging to escape from your throat at the sensation of her warm fingers drawing circles against your skin, so you don’t. It spills into the air and Ellie laughs against your clavicle as she smears a kiss there. There’s something almost holy about the way she makes contact with you, the unbridled affection lathered in every touch as her fingers travel further upwards. You can tell when it registers in her brain that her hands had been able slide smoothly up your back with no obstruction, because she pulls back from where she’s been attacking your neck to let out a groan.

“Fuck, really? You were gonna go out without a bra on— and not tell me?” Mock betrayal saturates her words and you giggle, heart swelling about a trillion sizes as Ellie contorts her expression into a goofy frown. “S’not funny, baby,” your girlfriend complains, petulance colouring her words as she continues to keep up the facade of genuine annoyance, “what if some stranger decided to eye up the girls?”

“Oh my God, Ellie. I told you to stop calling them that.”

“They’re my girls!” she defends, eyes narrowing. “What else am I supposed to call them?”

“Thought I was your girl,” you say loftily, eyes flicking to Ellie’s panicked face.

“You are— I mean, they are— oh, fuck it,” she grumbles, hands coming up to slip the flannel right off your shoulders. There’s a pop as she pulls at the neckline impatiently and a few buttons launch themselves off of the shirt and hit the opposite wall. Your mouth falls open in shock.

“Ellie,” you admonish, “you really shouldn’t— oh, fuck!” A broken moan tears itself from your throat as you look down to see Ellie’s mouth circling your tit. She looks up for a moment in satisfaction at the sound, preening at the little gasps that continue to fall from your lips as you clutch at the sheets for purchase, before she buries her face back into your cleavage. Her hand comes up from your waist to pinch at your nipple as you whine, back arching up as you chase the stimulation.

“You’re such a fucking tease, you know that?” Ellie groans, head popping up like a jack-in-the-box as her lips chase yours, tongue forcing its way into your mouth as you kiss her back with just as much passion. “You know I can’t resist you in my clothes. Think you planned this on purpose, baby. If you wanted me to fuck you, you shoulda just told me, yeah? Don’t have to act like a little slut to get my attention.” The meanness in Ellie’s words has you keening, hips rocking up into her thigh of their own accord as warm arousal kindles in your belly.

“M’sorry,” you practically sob, hips still rolling upwards in desperate search of relief. “Ellie, please.” Your doe-eyed pleading expression clearly has your desired effect because suddenly Ellie’s hands are tightening around your waist and you find your positions flipped. Now the auburn haired girl lies beneath you, your legs wrapped directly around either side of her muscular thigh as she raises her eyebrow expectantly.

“Well, go on then,” she prompts, jolting her leg slightly to send a wave of pleasure through you as the rough denim of her jeans grazes at your clit through your panties. You wriggle your hips around slightly but you can’t find a rhythm that works, your legs growing painfully stiff within about two minutes of moving. “C’mon, babe,” Ellie tuts, hands reaching for your waist. “Tired already?”

“Hurts,” you moan, the puppy dog eyes coming back out in full force again. “El. Need you to help me, Ellie, please, I can’t and—”

You’re cut off by Ellie’s snide laugh. Dragging your eyes up to her face, you notice for the first time just how turned on she really is. Her pupils are blown so wide that her green irises are more like tiny, paper thin borders around the dilated black circles, her hair slightly dampened to her temples by sweat as she continues to chuckle at your dilemma. There’s just something about how fucking desperate you look that gets her going, makes her long to sink her canines into your neck and then tongue gently over the mark left behind, lips peppering up the column of your throat as an apology— and so she does it. It’s a nice juxtaposition to her recent meanness, reminiscent of the earlier affections which got you into this predicament in the first place, the sweetness of it making you let out a little whimper from the hollows of your chest. The sound tugs on Ellie’s heartstrings and she begins to relent, hands sliding down from where they’re snaked around your waist to find a home at the base of your hips instead.

“Okay, pretty girl, I know,” she soothes, mouthing gently at your neck still as you keen in anticipation of her movement, “I know, Ellie’s got ya. Gonna make you feel so good, yeah?” She doesn’t give you a chance to answer before she’s rocking her thigh in even motions, her hands helping your hips to tilt with the movement as your clothed cunt slides back and forth across the muscled surface. A sigh of relief spills from you as the long-awaited friction finally begins to build and you wrap your arms around Ellie’s neck, smushing your lips against hers. A pretty strawberry toned blush creeps up from your girlfriend’s neck to colour her cheeks, freckles highlighted against the surface of her skin as she attempts to hide the dopey smile that wants to make itself known on her face.

“What was that for, huh?”

“Love you,” you pant, Ellie’s hands moving faster as she bounces her thigh now, racing to give you the release you’ve been craving for the past half an hour. You shift your weight slightly and suddenly there’s a delicious pressure on your clit as it catches against the seam of Ellie’s jeans through the soaked fabric of your underwear. You moan out instantly, head tipping forward to crash into the curve between her shoulder and her neck as your hands rake across the rippled expanse of her back.

“Love you too, honey. How much d’you wanna bet that you’ll cum in the next five minutes?” You look back up to glare at her, mock offense painted across your tired features. “Or not,” Ellie rectifies quickly, a guilty look on her face as she tries not to laugh at your (quite frankly ridiculous) expression.

True to Ellie’s suspicions, it only takes you three more minutes to announce that you’re close, nails digging crescent moons into the pale skin of her shoulders.

“Ellie—”

“I know, baby,” comes her strained response, trying her hardest not to come in her pants at the way you’re whining her name. Instead, she settles for dropping her hand down to the point where your pussy drips all over her thigh, deft fingers flipping up your skirt and applying the perfect amount of pressure to your swollen clit. “Gonna cum for me, honey?”

“Oh, fuck—” you’re sobbing as your high crests over you, legs shaking as Ellie’s thumb continues to draw tight circles onto your sensitive bud until you have to physically push her away, body flopping down onto the bed in sheer exhaustion as Ellie leaves the room. You remain in that position until you hear your girlfriend call your name, your head swivelling up to meet her soft smile as she gently begins to clean you with a damp washcloth, taking extra care as you hiss when she bumps against your still overstimulated clit. You can tell there’s something on her mind as she grins to herself, and you can’t help but ask, even though you know you’ll probably regret it. “What’s up with you, weirdo?”

She looks up at you. “Huh?”

“You’re smiling like you just won a contest.” Ellie hums noncommittally and returns to her gentle ministrations with the flannel between your thighs until, finally, the question that she’s been holding back since the second you came spills out of her:

“Bet you’re not thinking about that fucking pumpkin scone now, huh?”

(You were, in fact, thinking about that fucking pumpkin scone. Not that you could torture that information out of you, of course.)

[marzipanandminutiae]

I have a question, where would gnc/trans people get their clotges in the days before the selling of premade clothes? I assume some was stealing from relatives, and that soem of them did know how to make clothes, but that doesn't seem at all likely to be the most common method

That is an amazing question!

Unfortunately for a lot of people, we don't really know- many trans folks flew under the radar and as such details of their lives are unclear. Legendary stagecoach driver Charley Parkhurst, for example, left no sort of record as to where he got his clothes (especially since he lived in a cabin in the middle of nowhere for many years of his life). And figures like Mary Jones, a Black trans sex worker from the early 19th century, flit into and out of the pages of history so quickly that there's barely enough info to get their vital statistics, let alone shopping habits.

However, my guesses would be as follows:

Secondhand shops. These have existed for a very long time, and if you already have at least one outfit that makes you read as the correct gender, nobody would question you going through that section of the store/market/whatever.

Sympathetic conventional tailors or dressmakers. This is almost certainly where middle- and upper-class GNC or trans people got their clothing- one can hardly imagine legendary writer George Sand buying her suits secondhand, after all. And since humans have always been human, and Let People Dress How They Please; They Aren't Hurting Anyone is a sentiment I've seen at least as far back as the 19th century, I suspect there were far more of these than many people might think.

Clothing workshops catering to the demimonde- that is, to theatrical companies for costumes, or to sex workers. Certainly this is where drag performers got their stage gear, and one imagines people for whom gender variance crossed the line from performance to identity- like Fanny Park and Stella Boulton -might have turned to their costumers for everyday attire, too. And catering to sex workers probably got all sorts of requests that were seen as outre for the time (in a roleplay capacity- most sex workers dressed conventionally while not actively Doing Sex), but their money was as good as anyone else's.

Friends and relatives. Some families knowingly supported their crossdressing or trans loved ones. Even partners who married the person in question as the binary opposite gender could fall into this category- Lili Elbe (though she lived after premade dresses began to rise in popularity) first experimented with feminine attire in dresses and jewelry loaned by her enthusiastically supportive wife Gerta Gottlieb. In fact, Gottlieb was bisexual, and their marriage was only annulled because Lili was a woman now and same-gender marriage was illegal in Denmark at the time.

Also yes stealing from your relatives was also an option, of course. if they were less than sympathetic

The king of France???? this is the wildcard, and my absolute favorite: the Chevaliere d'Eon, when she transitioned in the 1770s, got the king to not only formally state that she had been assigned female at birth (there had been speculation about her physical sex for years at this point) but to pay for her new wardrobe of gowns. Absolute Queen.

"but didn't her mantua-makers notice Some Physical Things?" she's believed to have had some form of gynecomastia, based on her autopsy, and they'd never have cause to see her in less than her calf-length chemise. if they did see anything, they kept their mouths shut, and rightly so.

[gumjrop]

You might be forgiven for thinking it’s been a very quiet few months for the Covid-19 pandemic. Besides the rollout of new boosters, the coronavirus has largely slipped out of the headlines. But the virus is on the move. Viral levels in wastewater are similar to what they were during the first two waves of the pandemic. Recent coverage of the so-called Pirola variant, which is acknowledged to have “an alarming number of mutations,” led with the headline “Yes, There’s a New Covid Variant. No, You Shouldn’t Panic.”

Even if you haven’t heard much about the new strain of the coronavirus, being told not to panic might induce déjà vu. In late 2021, as the Omicron variant was making its way to the United States, Anthony Fauci told the public that it was “nothing to panic about” and that “we should not be freaking out.” Ashish Jha, the Biden administration’s former Covid czar, also cautioned against undue alarm over Omicron BA.1, claiming that there was “absolutely no reason to panic.” This is a telling claim, given what was to follow—the six weeks of the Omicron BA.1 wave led to hundreds of thousands of deaths in a matter of weeks, a mortality event unprecedented in the history of the republic.

Indeed, experts have been offering the public advice about how to feel about Covid-19 since January 2020, when New York Times columnist Farhad Manjoo opined, “Panic will hurt us far more than it’ll help.” That same week, Zeke Emanuel—a former health adviser to the Obama administration, latterly an adviser to the Biden administration—said Americans should “stop panicking and being hysterical.… We are having a little too much [sic] histrionics about this.”

This concern about public panic has been a leitmotif of the Covid-19 pandemic, even earning itself a name (“elite panic”) among some scholars. But if there’s one thing we’ve learned, three and a half years into the current crisis, it’s that—contrary to what the movies taught us—pandemics don’t automatically spawn terror-stricken stampedes in the streets. Media and public health coverage have a strong hand in shaping public response and can—under the wrong circumstances—promote indifference, incaution, and even apathy. A very visible example of this was the sharp drop in the number of people masking after the CDC revised its guidelines in 2021, recommending that masking was not necessary for the vaccinated (from 90 percent in May to 53 percent in September).

As that example suggests, emphasizing the message “don’t panic” puts the cart before the horse unless tangible measures are being taken to prevent panic-worthy outcomes. And indeed, these repeated assurances against panic have arguably also preempted a more vigorous and urgent public health response—as well as perversely increasing public acceptance of the risks posed by coronavirus infection and the unchecked transmission of the virus. This “moral calm”—a sort of manufactured consent—impedes risk mitigation by promoting the underestimation of a threat. Soothing public messaging during disasters can often lead to an increased death toll: Tragically, false reassurance contributed to mortality in both the attacks on the World Trade Center and the sinking of the Titanic.

But at a deeper level, this emphasis on public sentiment has contributed to confusion about the meaning of the term “pandemic.” A pandemic is an epidemiological term, and the meaning is quite specific—pandemics are global and unpredictable in their trajectory; endemic diseases are local and predictable. Despite the end of the Public Health Emergency in May, Covid-19 remains a pandemic, by definition. Yet some experts and public figures have uncritically advanced the idea that if the public appears to be tired, bored, or noncompliant with public health measures, then the pandemic must be over.

But pandemics are impervious to ratings; they cannot be canceled or publicly shamed. History is replete with examples of pandemics that blazed for decades, sometimes smoldering for years before flaring up again into catastrophe. The Black Death (1346–1353 AD), the Antonine Plague (165–180 AD), and the Plague of Justinian (541–549 AD), pandemics all, lacked the quick resolution of the 1918 influenza pandemic. A pandemic cannot tell when the news cycle has moved on.

Yet this misperception—that pandemics can be ended by human fiat—has had remarkable staying power during the current crisis. In November 2021, the former Obama administration official Juliette Kayyem claimed that the pandemic response needed to be ended politically, with Americans getting “nudged into the recovery phase” by officials. It is fortunate that Kayyem’s words were not heeded—the Omicron wave arrived in the US just weeks after her article ran—but her basic premise has informed Biden’s pandemic policy ever since.

Perhaps even less responsibly, the physician Steven Phillips has called for “new courageous ‘accept exposure’ policies”—asserting that incautious behavior by Americans would be the true signal of the end of the pandemic. In an essay for Time this January, Phillips wrote: “Here’s my proposed definition: the country will not fully emerge from the Covid-19 pandemic until most people in our diverse nation accept the risk and consequences of exposure to a ubiquitous SARS-CoV-2, the virus that causes Covid-19.”

This claim—that more disease risk and contagion means the end of a disease event—runs contrary to the science. Many have claimed that widespread SARS-CoV-2 infections will lead to increasingly mild disease that poses fewer concerns for an increasingly vaccinated (or previously infected) population. In fact, more disease spread means faster evolution for SARS-CoV-2, and greater risks for public health. As we (A.C. and collaborators) and others have pointed out, rapid evolution creates the risk of novel variants with unpredictable severity. It also threatens the means that we have to prevent and treat Covid-19: monoclonal antibody treatments no longer work, Paxlovid is showing signs of viral resistance, and booster strategy is complicated by viral evolution of resistance to vaccines.

But these efforts to manage and direct public feelings are not just more magical thinking; they are specifically intended to promote a return to pre-pandemic patterns of work and consumption. This motive was articulated explicitly in a McKinsey white paper from March 2022, which put forward the invented concept of “economic endemicity”—defined as occurring when “epidemiology substantially decouples from economic activity.” The “Urgency of Normal” movement similarly used an emotional message (that an “urgent return to fully normal life and schooling” is needed to “protect” children) to advocate for the near-total abandonment of disease containment measures. But in the absence of disease control measures, a rebound of economic activity can only lead to a rebound of disease. (This outcome was predicted by a team that was led by one of the authors [A.C.] in the spring of 2021.)

A pandemic is a public health crisis, not a public relations crisis. Conflating the spread of a disease with the way people feel about responding to that spread is deeply illogical—yet a great deal of the Biden administration’s management of Covid-19 has rested on this confusion. Joe Biden amplified this mistaken perspective last September when he noted that the pandemic was “over”—and then backed that claim by stating, “If you notice, no one’s wearing masks. Everybody seems to be in pretty good shape.” The presence or absence of health behaviors reveals little about a threat to health itself, of course—and a decline in mask use has been shaped, in part, by the Biden administration’s waning support for masking.

Separately, long Covid poses an ongoing threat both at an individual and a public health level. If our increasingly relaxed attitude toward public health measures and the relatively unchecked spread of the virus continue, most people will get Covid at least once a year; one in five infections leads to long Covid. Although it’s not talked about a lot, anyone can get long Covid; vaccines reduce this risk, but only modestly. This math gets really ugly.

The situation we are in today was predictable. It was predictable that the virus would rapidly evolve to evade the immune system, that natural immunity would wane quickly and unevenly in the population, that a vaccine-only strategy would not be sufficient to control widespread Covid-19 transmission through herd immunity, and that reopening too quickly would lead to a variant-driven rebound. All of these unfortunate outcomes were predicted in peer-reviewed literature in 2020–21 by a team led by one of the authors (A.C.), even though the soothing public messaging at the time called it very differently.

As should now be very clear, we cannot manifest our way to a good outcome. Concrete interventions are required—including improvements in air quality and other measures aimed at limiting spread in public buildings, more research into vaccine boosting strategy, and investments in next-generation prophylactics and treatments. Rather than damping down panic, public health messaging needs to discuss risks honestly and focus on reducing spread. Despite messages to the contrary, our situation remains unstable, because the virus continues to evolve rapidly, and vaccines alone cannot slow this evolution.

In the early months of the pandemic, many in the media drew parallels between the public’s response to Covid-19 and the well-known “stages of grief”: denial, bargaining, anger, depression, and acceptance. The current situation with Covid-19 calls for solutions, not a grieving process that should be hustled along to the final stage of acceptance.

[claraswritings]

Reader opens a bookshop opposite the Bear. Her and Carmy meet and she holds back cook books for him and he cooks her food 😭

Omg cute 🥰 I put a bit of a twist on this one I hope you don’t mind but blurb btc

No TW just fluff

You’d been in the city for a little over two months when had met him. Carmen Berzatto.

He’d stumbled in, slightly pink in the cheeks looking for a book about a ‘magical pony’.

You’d given him a smile, small and tweaking at the corner of your mouth and pointed off to the colourful section down around a corner

“First display in the kids section. If you get lost it’s directly under the inflatable unicorn”

“Thanks” he ran a hand through a mess of curly hair and took off.

“It’s not for me” he told you when he’d returned with it in hand, some of the glitter from the cover now stuck to his patchwork jacket.

“I’m not one to judge.” You stated matter of factly. Even if it was for him, a grown man buying a unicorn book would not be the weirdest thing you’d seen.

“I promise it’s for…my cousins kid. I mean he’s not actually my cousin…but he’s…”

You looked amused.

“Okay, I believe you. Thousands wouldn’t” you teased as you slipped the pink sparkly book into a bag and handed it over.

“Is this place new?” He asked as if it had just dawned on him this was no longer the carpet shop it used to be and you raised your eyebrows.

“About two months.”

He let out a low whistle and nodded “I’m…Carmen, Carmy…I own erm…” he stopped and gestured out of the window hoping he sounded better out loud than he did in his head.

“The Bear?” You asked and when he tilted his head in confusion “I know. I’ve seen you come and go. It’s a big window.”

He winced even though it didn’t sound like a dig.

“Sorry, I would have said hi sooner, I’ve not…I’ve not been with it. Busy getting ready to re open.”

He winced again. You’d obviously not long since opened too.

“It’s okay” you said in the same way you’d said ‘I’m not one to judge’ and Carmy weirdly liked that. “I had a sandwich there a while back…when I was viewing this place. Maybe I’ll come in sometime.”

The way you said it was genuine. Not in the placid, token sentiment way people said it. You sounded like you mean it

“I’ll, uh, lemme know and I’ll sort you a table.”

****

It went on like this for a little while.

He’d started coming in every few days, mostly following Eva and Richie in.

“Ah, the cousin and his daughter are real.” You’d quipped the first time. “See I held back the new unicorn book thinking this guy was a secret fan…” you winked at Carmy before pausing “Guess I’ll have to give it to this little lady!” You passed Eva over a book which she ran off excitedly with

Richie had given you a nod and a “Thanks sweetheart” before slapping Carmy on the back and following his daughter off to the kids table.

The look he gave Carmy did not go unnoticed by you. Almost as soon as they were out Richie had turned to him with this shit eating grin

“Wonder why you wanted to go in. Real obvious cousin.”

“What? Was I?? Do you think she noticed?” Suddenly Carmy felt about sixteen and awkward again, as he glanced over through the window at you.

Richie clipped him around the head with the book “Just ask the nice lady out, fucko”

***

“Carmy!” You’d grinned when he’d come in a few days later. “I kept you a present”

He raised an eyebrow “Uh, yeah, you mentioned something about…” you paused not wanting to butcher the French pronunciation. “A French evening? At your place?”

You ducked behind the counter and picked up the hardback book, placing it on the counter with a dramatic drop.

“Here.” You pushed it towards him

It was a famous chefs latest book. Full of recipes and inspiration from his upbringing in Marseille and about his three star restaurant in Nice. “This is signed.” Carmy’s eyes widened

“Yes. I know” you tilted your head to the side and watched him flip through it. “Is that like…against some kinda chef code or something.”

“Chef code?” Carmy raised an eyebrow “Like scouts honor?”

You shrugged “I dunno. Just you look confused by the prospect of a signed book.”

“No…it’s just…I can pay for it” Carmy started looking around in his wallet and you raised your eyebrows

“Don’t worry about it”

“Are you sure? It’s signed. This is like having a…book signed by…”

“By him?” You tapped the cover.

“By like…Tolkien or something” Carmy continued “Shit analogy I know.”

“No I get it. He’s like some type of chef Tolkien”

“Yeah.” Carmy nodded

“So he’s good?”

“He’s one of the best. This is the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me. You know he never signs right? I think he’s uh… like a recluse?” Carmy held up a hand“Hold on okay? I’ll be right back”

Right back was twenty minutes later. He entered holding out a plastic carton

“It’s the… I brought you some?” He ran his hand through his hair wondering if it was weird. “It’s not how I’d usually plate it.”

“I know. Thank you” you said and he noticed your slow reassuring tone and in his mind he heard Richie again, berating him for not asking you out

“Uh next time…How about I don’t bring you food. How about I take you out. Properly.”

“I think I’d like that”

[mingis-orangejuice]

Asking the L&Ds boys "What are we?" Part 2: Xavier

Summary: MC and her boy have been in a sort of situation-ship but MC wants to know why they haven't officially called her their girlfriend

a/n: This ended up being much longer than I thought so I'm making it into 4 parts (one for each boy) here's part 2 with Xavier. you can request who you want me to post next if you want

Genres/Warnings: angst, fluff, kinda slow burn

Word count: 1250

Other parts: 1, 3, 4,

After another long day of battling wonderers, you and Xavier head back to the office to change out of your hunter’s uniforms. A whole day of combat makes you very sweaty and you don’t want to be smelly for your date with Xavier. But was it a date? You and Xavier had been going out for dinner almost every night since you found out you both lived in the same apartment complex. But they never really felt like dates, and he’s never really called you his girlfriend. You told yourself It was just more convenient since he couldn’t cook without potentially burning down the apartment and after a long day, you were just too tired to. Was that all it was, just a convenient way to have a meal? But what about all the dirty looks he gives the other male hunters when you get paired with them for assignments, were you just seeing things or was he jealous? But what does he have to be envious of if you’re not truly his?

“Are you ready to go?” a soft voice breaks you from your thoughts. You turn around to see Xavier standing behind you. You’d been waiting outside the changing rooms for him for a few minutes. “Sorry it took so long there was a problem with one of the showers, I had to rinse off in the sink” 

You give Xavier a small smile as you both start to walk down the empty hall “How do you always end up in these situations? Are you cursed or something” you laugh “Don’t stand too close I don't want your curse to rub off on me” you say jokingly as you dramatically step away from him.

Following your joke he dramatically steps towards you and tries to put his arms around you. “But I don’t want to be the only one that's cursed hold me and we’ll be cursed together for the rest of our lives” he pulls you into a big bear hug as you both laugh while you pretend to escape. You both are having too much fun to notice the janitor glancing at you from over his shoulder while he cleans the windows “Ah, young love” he said with a sentimental sigh, quite enough that you two could just barely hear it but enough to make you realize that you’re not the only people in the building as you had initially thought. You can feel your heart race a little at the janitor's words.  Xavier lets go of you and you continue to walk out of the building. 

Trying to break the awkward silence Xavier finally speaks up. “You know, I heard wishing on a star can break a curse, and since we’re both cursed now you have to help me find a wishing star tonight to undo the curse. What do you say?” he asks looking at you expectantly

“Well yeah now since you’ve cursed me I guess I have no choice but to help you break the bad luck with showers curse” You feigned annoyance. “But first we need food! Where were you planning on taking us tonight?”

Xavier smiled, happy that the awkwardness from earlier was gone. “I saw this new pizza place a few blocks away from our apartment, it's like a DIY place they give you the dough and toppings and you get to bake it in the little ovens at your table” Xavier basically had stars in his eyes when he mentioned baking.

“Uh… maybe we order in tonight, you don’t want to have to pay for repairs when you destroy their oven now, do you ?” you look at him with a sarcastic grin.

“I promise I won’t burn down anything this time, plus I’ll have you right there with me, there's no way you’d let me burn our dinner right?” he chuckles and puts out his hand to grab yours. “Let's go, those pizzas aren’t going to DIY themselves”

Later at the pizza place you and Xavier are having fun making tons of fun, and in Xavier’s case, weird pizza combos. You two spent so much time having fun that you almost forgot you promised to go stargazing tonight before you went home. Xavier gets the attention of the waitress so that he can pay the bill. 

The waitress was a sweet old lady who, when she wasn’t busy helping other tables, made it her mission to make sure you guys hand everything you need. “Did you two have a great time?” she asks handing Xavier the check.

“Yeah it was great, I love the concept it's so fun,” you said with a big smile. Xavier pays and looks up at the waitress “Yeah we’re definitely going to come back here”

“Oh, I’m glad,” The waitress says as she starts to grab your empty plates off the table. “You two are definitely the cutest couple I've seen here in a while, I hope you stay together forever. 

“Um.. we’re…no…” you started to correct the lady but she just kept going.

I heard if you wish on a star by the fountain down the street you’re 100% guaranteed to have that wish come true. Maybe I’ll make a little wish for you two”

You were about to correct the lady again but Xavier cut you off “Thank you that's very kind of you ma’am” Xavier politely bowed as she stacked the last of the dishes and walked away. Xavier puts out his hand to help you out of your chair. “Well let's go find a wishing star to break this curse”

At the fountain, you and Xavier sit quietly for some time just looking up at the sky trying to find a star to wish on. Still feeling a little awkward about what the waitress said, you wanted to say something to make it less awkward but the words that spilled out were anything but. “What are we? 

Xavier, without missing a beat answered “We’re just two people looking up at the stars”

“Just?” you questioned

Before you can say anything more a shooting star passes overhead, Xavier clasps his hands together and starts to wish “ Oh great wishing star please let me and my wonderful girlfriend be together forever, even though she doesn't trust me to use an oven by myself but that just means I get to take her out on more dates. And sometimes it may take her a while to notice things but she’s mine and I want to be with her forever, even though we might be cursed” Xavier finishes his wish and looks to you “What was it you wanted to ask me?

“Uh… nothing … never mind” You looked up to see him staring at you his eyes sparkling like stars a slight blush on his cheeks. This made your heart skip a beat so you looked away quickly and turned your head up to look for more stars.”I hope your wish comes true” you stated bashfully.

Xavier chuckled and also looked up “ Well since we’ll be together forever now, I guess we don’t really need to wish away the curse right ?” 

“Yes, we do! I don’t want to be washing off in the company sinks every day, let’s hurry up and find another wishing star I'll stay here all night if I have to” You say in a joking tone

Xavier places his hand over yours “Well then, I’ll be glad to accompany my girlfriend on her quest to lift our curse.” 

[trungles]

Cross-posting an essay I wrote for my Patreon since the post is free and open to the public.

Hello everyone! I hope you're relaxing as best you can this holiday season. I recently went to see Miyazaki's latest Ghibli movie, The Boy and the Heron, and I had some thoughts about it. If you're into art historical allusions and gently cranky opinions, please enjoy. I've attached a downloadable PDF in the Patreon post if you'd prefer to read it that way. Apologies for the formatting of the endnotes! Patreon's text posting does not allow for superscripts, which means all my notations are in awkward parentheses. Please note that this writing contains some mild spoilers for The Boy and the Heron.

Hayao Miyazaki’s 2023 feature animated film The Boy and the Heron reads as an extended meditation on grief and legacy. The Master of a grand tower seeks a descendant to carry on his maddening duty, balancing toy blocks of magical stone upon which the entire fabric of his little pocket of reality rests. The world’s foundations are frail and fleeting, and can pass away into the cold void of space should he neglect to maintain this task. The Master’s desire to pass the torch undergirds much of the film’s narrative.

(Isle of the Dead. Arnold Böcklin. 1880. Oil on Canvas. Kunstmuseum. Basel, Switzerland.)

Arnold Böcklin, a Swiss Symbolist(1) painter, was born on October 16 in 1827, the same year the Swiss Evangelical Reformed Church bought a plot of land in Florence from the Grand Duke of Tuscany, Leopold II, that had long been used for the burials of Protestants around Florence. It is colloquially known as The English Cemetery, so called because it was the resting place of many Anglophones and Protestants around Tuscany, and Böcklin frequented this cemetery—his workshop was adjacent and his infant daughter Maria was buried there. In 1880, he drew inspiration from the cemetery, a lone plot of Protestant land among a sea of Catholic graveyards, and began to paint what would be the first of six images entitled Isle of the Dead. An oil on canvas piece, it depicts a moody little island mausoleum crowned with a gently swaying grove of cypresses, a type of tree common in European cemeteries and some of which are referred to as arborvitae. A figure on a boat, presumably Charon, ferries a soul toward the island and away from the viewer.

(Photo of The English Cemetery in Florence. Samuli Lintula. 2006.)

The Isle of the Dead paintings varied slightly from version to version, with figures and names added and removed to suit the needs of the time or the commissioner. The painting was glowingly referenced and remained fairly popular throughout the late 19th and early 20th centuries. The painting used to be inescapable in much of European popular culture. Professor Okulicz-Kozaryn, a philologist (someone with a deep interest in the ways language and cultural canons evolve)(2) observed that the painting, like many other works in its time, was itself iterative and became widely reiterated and referenced among its contemporaries. It became something like Romantic kitsch in the eyes of modern art critics, overwrought and excessively Byronic. I imagine Miyazaki might also resent a work of that level of manufactured ubiquity, as Miyazaki famously held Disney animated films in contempt (3). Miyazaki’s films are popularly aspirational to young animators and cartoonists, but gestures at imitation typically fall well short, often reducing Miyazaki’s weighty films to kitschy images of saccharine vibes and a lazy indulgence in a sort of empty magical domestic coziness. Being trapped in a realm of rote sentiment by an uncritical, unthoughtful viewership is its own Isle of Death.

(Still from The Boy and the Heron, 2023. Studio Ghibli.)

The Boy and the Heron follows a familiar narrative arc to many of Miyazaki’s other films: a child must journey through a magical and quietly menacing world in order to rescue their loved ones. This arc is an echo of Satsuki’s journey to find Mei in My Neighbor Totoro (1988) and Chihiro’s journey to rescue her parents Spirited Away (2001). To better understand Miyazaki’s fixation with this particular character journey, it can be instructive to watch Lev Atamanov’s 1957 animated film, The Snow Queen (4)(5), a beautifully realized take on Hans Christian Andersen’s 1844 children’s story (6)(7). Mahito’s journey continues in this tradition, as the boy travels into a painted world to rescue his new stepmother from a mysterious tower.

Throughout the film, Miyazaki visually references Isle of the Dead. Transported to a surreal world, Mahito initially awakens on a little green island with a gated mausoleum crowned with cypress trees. He is accosted by hungry pelicans before being rescued by a fisherwoman named Kiriko. After a day of catching and gutting fish, Mahito wakes up under the fisherwoman’s dining table, surrounded by kokeshi—little wooden dolls—in the shapes of the old women who run Mahito’s family’s rural household. Mahito is told they must not be touched, as the kokeshi are wards set up for his protection. There is a popular urban legend associated with the kokeshi wherein they act as stand-ins for victims of infanticide, though there seems to be very little available writing to support this legend. Still, it’s a neat little trick that Miyazaki pulls, placing a stray reference to a local legend of unverifiable provenance that persists in the popular imagination, like the effect of fairy stories passed on through oral retellings, continually remolded each new iteration.

(Still from The Boy and the Heron, 2023. Studio Ghibli.)

Kiriko’s job in this strange landscape is to catch fish to nourish unborn spirits, the adorable floating warawara, before they can attempt to ascend on a journey into the world of the living. Their journey is thwarted by flocks of supernatural pelicans, who swarm the warawara and devour them. This seems to nod to the association of pelicans with death in mythologies around the world, especially in relationship to children (8). Miyazaki’s pelicans contemplate the passing of their generations as each successive generation seems to regress, their capacity to fulfill their roles steadily diminishing.

(Still from The Boy and the Heron, 2023. Studio Ghibli.)

As Mahito’s adventure continues, we find the landscapes changing away from Böcklin’s Isle of the Dead into more familiar Ghibli territories as we start to see spaces inspired by one of Studio Ghibli’s aesthetic mainstays, Naohisa Inoue and his explorations of the fantasy realms of Iblard. He might be most familiar to Ghibli enthusiasts as the background artists for the more fantastical elements of Whisper of the Heart (1995).

(Naohisa Inoue, for Iblard Jikan, 2007. Studio Ghibli.)

By the time we arrive at the climax of The Boy and the Heron, the fantasy island environment starts to resemble English takes on Italian gardens, the likes of which captivated illustrators and commercial artists of the early 20th century such as Maxfield Parrish. This appears to be a return to one of Böcklin’s later paintings, The Island of Life (1888), a somewhat tongue-in-cheek reaction to the overwhelming presence of Isle of the Dead in his life and career. The Island of Life depicts a little spot of land amid an ocean very like the one on which Isle of the Dead’s somber mausoleum is depicted, except this time the figures are lively and engaged with each other, the vegetation lush and colorful, replete with pink flowers and palm fronds.

(Island of Life. Arnold Böcklin. Oil on canvas. 1888. Kunstmuseum. Basel, Switzerland.)

In 2022, Russia’s State Hermitage Museum in Saint Petersburg acquired the sixth and final Isle of the Dead painting. In the last year of his life, Arnold Böcklin would paint this image in collaboration with his son Carlo Böcklin, himself an artist and an architect. Arnold Böcklin spent three years painting the same image three times over at the site of his infant daughter’s grave, trapped on the Isle of the Dead. By the time of his death in 1901 at age 74, Böcklin would be survived by only five of his fourteen children. That the final Isle of the Dead painting would be a collaboration between father and son seemed a little ironic considering Hayao Miyazaki’s reticence in passing on his own legacy. Like the old Master in The Boy and the Heron, Miyazaki finds himself with no true successors.

The Master of the Tower's beautiful islands of painted glass fade into nothing as Mahito, his only worthy descendant, departs to live his own life, fulfilling the thesis of Genzaburo Yoshino’s 1937 book How Do You Live?, published three years after Carlo Böcklin’s death. In evoking Yoshino and Böcklin’s works, Hayao Miyazaki’s The Boy and the Heron suggests that, like his character the Master, Miyazaki himself must make peace with the notion that he has no heirs to his legacy, and that those whom he wished to follow in his footsteps might be best served by finding their own paths.

(Isle of the Dead. Arnold and Carlo Böcklin. Oil on canvas. 1901. The State Hermitage Museum. Saint Petersburg, Russia.)

INFORMAL ENDNOTES

1 - Symbolists are sort of tough to nail down. They were started as a literary movement to 1 distinguish themselves from the Decadents, but their manifesto was so vague that critics and academics fight about it to this day. The long and the short of it is that the Symbolists made generous use of a lot of metaphorical imagery in their work. They borrow a lot of icons from antiquity, echo the moody aesthetics from the Romantics, maintained an emphasis on figurative imagery more so than the Surrealists, and were only slightly more technically married to the trappings of traditionalist academic painters than Modernists and Impressionists. They're extremely vibes-forward.

2 - Okulicz-Kozaryn, Radosław. Predilection of Modernism for Variations. Ciulionis' Serenity among Different Developments of the Theme of Toteninsel. ACTA Academiae Artium Vilnensis 59. 2010. The article is incredibly cranky and very funny to read in parts. Contains a lot of observations I found to be helpful in placing Isle of the Dead within its context.

3 - "From my perspective, even if they are lightweight in nature, the more popular and common films still must be filled with a purity of emotion. There are few barriers to entry into these films-they will invite anyone in but the barriers to exit must be high and purifying. Films must also not be produced out of idle nervousness or boredom, or be used to recognise, emphasise, or amplify vulgarity. And in that context, I must say that I hate Disney's works. The barrier to both the entry and exit of Disney films is too low and too wide. To me, they show nothing but contempt for the audience." from Miyazaki's own writing in his collection of essays, Starting Point, published in 2014 from VIZ Media.

4 - You can watch the movie here in its original Russian with English closed captions here.

5 If you want to learn more about the making of Atamanoy's The Snow Queen, Animation Obsessive wrote a neat little article about it. It's a good overview, though I have to gently disagree with some of its conclusions about the irony of Miyazaki hating Disney and loving Snow Queen, which draws inspiration from Bambi. Feature film animation as we know it hadonly been around a few decades by 1957, and I find it specious, particularly as a comic artistand author, to see someone conflating an entire form with the character of its content, especially in the relative infancy of the form. But that's just one hot take. The rest of the essay is lovely.

6 - Miyazaki loves this movie. He blurbed it in a Japanese re-release of it in 2007.

7 - Julia Alekseyeva interprets Princess Mononoke as an iteration of Atamanov's The Snow Queen, arguing that San, the wolf princess, is Miyazaki's homage to Atamanoy's little robber girl character.

8 - Hart, George. The Routledge Dictionary of Egyptian Gods And Goddesses. Routledge Dictionaries. Abingdon, United Kingdom: Routledge. 2005.

[dollyyun]

𝐝𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐥'𝐬 𝐤𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬' 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐲 | 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐟𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞𝐫

RELEASE DATE: Friday, 7th June 2024 (subject to change)

PAIRING: non!idols enha hyung line x fem!reader, heeseung x fem!reader

GENRE: 18+ (mdni), semi-college au, adulthood, reverse harem, dark themes.

WARNINGS: mentions of christianity, smoking, mention of drugs, alcohol consumption, violence, blood, profanities, obsession, yandere, manipulation, corruption, toxicity, dubcon, unprotected sex (no!), mean&softdom!hee (he’s unpredictable), name calling (slut, sweetheart, baby), degradation, car sex, possible voyeurism, slight bondage, gagging, choking, dry humping, blowjob, pussydrunk!hee, fingering, edging, manhandling, spitting kink, orgasm denial, crying, squirting, creampies, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, hee is very much obsessed with reader.

TEASER WORD COUNT: 1.5k

PART 1, PART 2, PART 3.1, PART 3.2, PART 4

✘ SERIES MASTERLIST ✘

The unsettling tension feels oppressive as it tethers your neck, while the fear that resides in your heart manifests in the uneven rise and fall of your chest. Every fibre of your being is telling you to flee him, but it is as though you are rendered immobilised under his piercing gaze that is fixed solely on your transfixed figure.

Goosebumps arise on your skin, and you swear that the cold temperature in the room has dropped to subzero. The longer the penetrating silence that shrouds the foreboding atmosphere in the room persists, the more reason for you to grasp the opportunity to escape, especially since he is further away from you and most probably unable to catch up to you.

“I asked you a question, sweetheart.” His once honeyed-dripping tone sounds eerily dark, with a rasp projecting in his husky voice, evoking involuntary yet familiar lust amidst the palpable terror. “Did you, or did you not trespass on my office?”

“I─” Just when you finally find your voice, it disappears again, prompting you to smack your lips shut and swallow the frightful lump in your throat. Your nails digging into your palms form the shapes of crescents as you clench your fist.

Confusion finds its way to plunge into the whirlpool of torrential emotions within you. You were certain that he was the anonymous guy who had been sending you all those texts, and you even followed his instructions. Could all of these be some sort of twisted test he decided to experiment on you?

Of course, it could be. After all, Lee Heeseung is as detrimental as his comrades.

You mentally nod your head to yourself, firm in your suspicion that Heeseung is indeed the anonymous guy, but you’re not about to let it be known to him.

“I didn’t─”

Heeseung scoffs out a chuckle at your audacity, his lips upturning a smirk while his eyes gleam dangerously with explicable sentiments that have you fully grasping the severity of your situation.

“What did I say about lying? Hmm?” He leans away from the table, his hands remaining tucked in his pockets, as each step he takes towards you is deliberate and stalking, while his dark, piercing eyes penetrate into your frightful ones.

Run! Your mind screams at you to run away from your predator before he devours you.

“T-That you hate liars.” Your timorous voice shakes as you finally regain mobility, now taking steps back. You see it in his eyes—how he finds great delight in your patent fear while the smirk on his wicked yet charming countenance remains.

“And yet you dared to lie.” He tuts, unceasingly stalking towards you, to which you grasp the courage and dash for the door. “Oh, sweetheart, why bother trying when you know you can’t escape?”

You ignore his taunting words from behind as you grasp the handle and try to pull it open, but the familiar sound of ‘ding!’ brings a dreadful realisation to you at the high probability that in order to exit, you must enter the correct passcode on the keypad, the same way when you two entered earlier.

Your pulses drum loudly in your ear as soon as you feel his ominous presence from behind, prompting you to make a run to the side, but his hands manage to seize you.

“Heeseung! Please!” You frantically implore him, struggling against him as the danger in the heat of his touch on your skin intensifies the churns in your stomach.

“Shhhh, sweetheart, look at me.” Heeseung attempts to calm you down as his grip on you tightens due to your persistent attempts to push him away from you.

A whimper leaves your lips as you shake your head, turning away from him, but his patience is running thin. “I said, look at me.” He roughly grabs your chin and forces you to meet his hauntingly beautiful eyes while his tone resonates down your core as it has you in a tight grip.

“I’m sorry for entering your office without permission.” You finally deliver your heartfelt apology to him, hoping that he will show you some clemency. Tears begin to accumulate in your eyes as you pleadingly stare at him. “I’m sorry, Hee. I won’t do it again.” 

“I know you are.” He says softly as he caresses your cheek, but even you can discern his hauntingly affectionate gesture. “Why are you crying, my love?”

You only whimper in response as a teardrop slides down your cheek, prompting him to gently wipe it away. “You’re terrified of me.” He states, his tone remains eerily soft while a sinister grin smears across his lips before he leans down to kiss your tear-stained cheek. “Mmhmm, as you should be, baby.” He rasps against your skin.

“H-Heeseung.” You weakly utter, attempting to push him away, but the trails of kisses on your cheek down to your neck enfeeble you as you find yourself succumbing to his dark allure that threatens to engulf you wholly.

“Now, tell me, what was your purpose for snooping around in my office?” He asks in between kisses before stopping at where his mark on your skin is. You shiver at the sensation of his sharp teeth grazing on your skin, a silent warning for you to choose your options wisely.

“I was just curious, I swear.” You try your utmost to tell him earnestly, despite knowing that it isn’t the entire truth. Heeseung seems to believe you as he presses a soft, lingering kiss on his mark before withdrawing from you. A hiccup emerges from your throat, and you stare at him remorsefully. “I’m really sorry, Hee.”

“I know, I know.” His hands descend to your thighs before grabbing them. “Jump.” He forces you anyway, which has you reflexively wrap your legs around his waist with his hand holding your waist while the other grips your thigh for more security before carrying you across the room where the centre table is.

It is as though he has bewitched you with some sort of spell, as you are unable to look away from his eyes. His dark allure continues to pull you into him as he sets you down on the table. His hand deftly supports your back from falling behind while your palms are pressed on the surface behind you.

“Heeseung.” You utter his name breathlessly, your mind fogging with lust and perturbation as his touch on your body feels igniting.

“Oh, sweetheart, you shouldn’t have lied to me, and even worse when you tried to run away from me.” He says softly, kissing the back of his mouth while his eyes drink in at how beautiful you look being trapped by him.

Your breath hitches in your throat. “But I told you I was sorry.” You whimper, hating how your desire for him is strong despite your fear.

Heeseung ignores your words as he takes you by surprise when he roughly pulls you to him until your legs go rooted to the floor. A gasp leaves your lips at how deftly he is manhandling you as he turns you around, one hand on your waist tight and fingers curling around your neck in a threatening manner.

Your heart pounds harder against your chest as you feel his hot breath fanning your earlobe. “It doesn’t change the fact that you made me angry, my love.” His honeyed-dripping voice lulls at you, akin to a siren serenading its victim.

“Oh, yes. I’m still very angry at you.” He whispers darkly into your ear before he forces your pliant body to bend down until your stomach comes into contact with the surface of the table.

“Heeseung, please.” You have no idea why you are pleading with him. For him to show mercy? For him to fuck you?

His dark chuckles send shivers down your spine as he presses his palm firmly onto your back while the other affectionately rubs your butt cheek. “Plead all you want. By the time I’m done with you, you know better than to cross me again.” You feel his hand moving underneath your skirt before his fingers hook around the string of your underwear. “What’s the safe word?”

“P-Pink.” You utter, flustered at the fact that you actually do want this. At once, he pulls down your underwear as it falls to your ankles. Your heart races in anticipation as you hear shuffles behind you.

“Sweetheart's been bad. You shouldn't have gone around snooping.” He drawls his words out, and you feel your cunt clench at the degradation that belies his tone. His fingers tangle in your hair before grabbing it in a makeshift ponytail and pulling your head with your neck strained.

“Hee….” You whisper fearfully, yet your cunt remains anticipating his cock.

“My pretty sweetheart,” He presses a deep, affectionate kiss on your cheek before murmuring, “You’re going to be good to me, yeah?”

“Yes!” You nod your head frantically, wincing as his grip on your hair is hurting your scalp.

“You’re not going to make me angry anymore?” He asks, humming while your pussy throbs when the tip of his cock rubs up and down against your folds.

“Yes, I won’t make you angry anymore.” You babble, needing him inside of you right now before enticing him with a soft, whimpering voice you know he won’t be able to resist, “Seungie, please─Ah!”

[yandereworlds]

MILESTONE + NEW POLL!

First off, I want to say you guys are AWESOME, the continued support I’ve received over the two years this blog has been up has been absolutely amazing and I appreciate every single one of you, seriously! This has actually been the biggest I’ve ever grown on Tumblr and I really didn’t think this account would go far, so thank you to legit everyone for making this experience so amazing and worthwhile!

Now.. Sentiments aside, I’d like to do a celebration of sorts for this 3000+ milestone, for one, since I know a LOT of you have been asking, I’ll attempt to implement some voice/music channels in the server, I’ll also be adding new pings possibly!

Second, I’m planning to make a yandere drawing with all the boys in an outfit of my follower’s choice! Shortly, I’ll be holding a poll and whichever outfit gets the most votes, that’s what I’ll do! The poll will last for at least 24 hours, so vote while you can! (The poll can be found in the Discord server)

Lastly, I’ll be holding YCH yandere commissions. There will be at least three of them and will likely be first come, first serve. Once I have that finished, I’ll be posting it to Tumblr as soon as possible. Keep an eye out!

Thank you guys again for everything and I couldn’t be more grateful for this community, with love from kiki xoxo <3

[geraskierfanficprompts]

Prompt 39

Geralt is standing above the unconscious bloodied body of his beloved, Jaskier. The mage Geralt was tracking down to kill had meant to blast Geralt, but Jaskier had tackled the mage and things got ugly. The mage chuckles, eerily, and prowls closer. "So the mighty witcher has a weakness after all. Perhaps it'd be best if I do let you both live. Eternal sorrow is far more delicious than a passing trifle." And Geralt falls unconscious. He relives his entire life through flashes of memories, though they're all cruel and wrong. Things happen differently, skewed and twisted. The first time he meets Jaskier, he punches him in the stomach. Jaskier is standing beside him, near a body of water, as Geralt insults his voice. His passion, his livelihood, his reason for living. Jaskier standing outside awkwardly as Geralt fucks Yennefer. Geralt can see him in his peripheral, and yet he doesn't stop, nor even have the decency to pull the curtains, he just continues. Soon enough, the blur of colors at the edge of his vision disappears as Jaskier runs into the distance. Geralt however thinks that the worst memories are the quick three-second flashes of him just endlessly needlessly insulting Jaskier throughout their decades of companionship. It's not banter, it's not teasing, it's just abuse. Then Geralt is suddenly on a mountain, and he's yelling at Jaskier. "If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off my hands!" ... Nevermind. This is the worst one. Geralt is sick to his stomach. Jaskier's eyes widen, and begin to tear up. His face pales of blood, he looks like he's about to faint. His lip even quivers, the way it does when he's well and truly devastated. And Geralt did that to him. "Right.. Uh.. I'll get the rest of the story from the others. I'll see you around Geralt." But then he wakes up in Yennefer's hut. "Where's Jaskier?" he asks immediately. "That bard you hated? The one that followed you around for a few years? I don't know. It's been years since you've even thought about that wretch." He explains that this is wrong. That he loves Jaskier. He adores him. And she tuts sympathetically before explaining that it was a spell the mage put him under. Fake memories of a life where he paired up with the bard. She mimes gagging at the sentiment and he feels hot with anger. As if Jaskier is such a bad choice of romantic partner. He storms out of her place and races off to find his bard. He needs to know for sure what their standing is, and even if he has been cruel, he can at least apologize to the poor bard. "I don't know what to do, Yenna!" A bandaged Jaskier shrieked as the afformentioned witch examined Geralt for the fourth time that hour. Geralt lay comatose in her guest bed, under some sort of spell. Every once in a while, Geralt frowns or winces in his sleep, but that's all they can get from him. "He hasn't woken up since we were fighting the mage." She has a feeling she knows what sort of spell it is. A very cruel trick to play. The mage was smart enough to trust Geralt's self-flagellation. That upon waking from a fake world he perceived as real where all he did was harm Jaskier, he'd most certainly distance himself from the real Jaskier in fear of becoming the version of him in the curse. The mage was dumb enough however, to not think of how far Jaskier would go to save his beloved.

[madamedramatics]

I think of Mass Effect, and the brain train reroutes me to Shakarian thoughts. I don't make the rules. I just follow them.

Now then,

Hear me out. Plz. I'll only be a second of your time.🩷

Turians are sort of a homogeneous society that likes predictability, rationale, integrity, honesty, and all that jazz. Since they have to be selfless, always putting the whole before one's self, they are more than likely not very materialistic meaning whenever they do give or receive gifts, it's a rare moment and probably something that reflects quality or some sort of sentimentality.

Now imagine the beginning of Shakarian's relationship. We have Garrus reading up on human cultures where a large chunk of human societies have gift giving sometimes all year round, which varies in price and other factors. Then imagine Shepard being stumped on what to get Garrus as a gift because she doesn't want to cross cultural boundaries and get something that isn't meaningful to him. The first date happens, and Garrus gets Shepard something super sweet and cost efficient, like a handmade card, so he doesn't come off as desperate (according to the forums he's read) and Shepard gets Garrus the most expensive gun money can buy. Neither knows the other has done their research. Garrus thinks he looks like an asshole by not sticking to his values, and Shepard thinks she looks desperate for such a new and budding relationship since Garrus got her something small but sweet.

They both loved the gifts they received, but they felt internal turmoil about the gifts they bought. Then it comes down to the awkward confession that they both looked up what to do when it comes to gift giving. They both decide they should probably just ask each other from now on about any questions they have since their relationship is neither strictly turian nor human. It's human AND turian, meaning they should just do what feels right for each other and no one else ❤️

[purinfelix]

gorgeous ˚* ੈ✩‧₊˚

pairing: reader x joao felix summary: when a new player joins the team you manage media for, you're eager to make a good impression - that is, until you actually catch a glimpse of him warnings: none! w/c: 1k

a/n: i've actually had this fic in the works ever since i started this blog but never managed to finish it ... i had planned for it to be longer but i like this idea too much to spoil it through overwriting so here you go <;33

♪ now playing: gorgeous by taylor swift ♪

“I just,” you pause for a bit, eyes wondering around the empty locker room as you search for the right words, “I just don’t like him, alright?”

“Yeah, you’ve made that very clear by the fact that he’s all you’ve spoken about for the past fifteen minutes,” Pedri said sarcastically as he slung his bag over his shoulder.

You could only huff in response, fiddling with the ‘media advisor’ pass hanging from your neck. You were leaned against the doorframe of the locker room entrance, waiting for him as he did the final checks to make sure no one had left anything behind.

“What’s it to you anyways?” you piped up, trying your best to sound nonchalant as you did.

“He’s one of our newest players, and you’re part of our media team. It would certainly make things easier if the two of you got along.”

“Look, it’s not like I’m making a big deal out of it. I shook his hand, I smiled, and I took his pictures like I was supposed to. But that isn’t going to stop me from getting bad vibes from him, okay?”

“Alright, whatever you say,” Pedri said, though the slight upturn of his lip told you otherwise. Catching a glimpse of this expression prompted you to smack his shoulder playfully as you followed him out of the room and down the dimly lit hallway.

The ‘him’ in question was none other than one of Barcelona’s newest loan players: Joao Felix, to whom you had just been introduced to during an afternoon training session, and Joao’s first with his new team. Of course, the media crew had spent most of it following the pair of Joaos around, taking an endless slew of pictures and videos to commemorate their arrival.

The ‘him’ in question was no other than one of Barcelona’s newest loan players - Joao Felix, to whom you had just been introduced to during an afternoon training session, and Joao’s first with his new team. Of course, the media crew had spent most of it following the new pair around, taking picture after picture to commemorate their arrival, much to the dismay of the other players. You could’ve sworn you overheard Gavi mumbling to Fermin about how ‘unfair’ it was that the two newbies were getting so much attention and you couldn’t help but partially share his sentiment.

Even so, as a member of the team’s media crew you were determined to do your job to the best of your ability and make the best first impression possible. After the session itself had ended, you found your opportunity when you spotted Felix sitting alone, sipping from his water bottle. You walked over as casually as you could manage, and as non-awkwardly as a first-interaction between ‘coworkers’ could be. You only managed to get a few steps in his direction before he was alerted of your presence, causing his attention to turn from his bottle onto you, gaze locking onto yours.

You couldn’t describe the feeling as anything but pure shock. The greeting you had been planning in your head all afternoon seemed to disappear into thin air as soon as his eyes made contact with yours, and all that came out of your mouth was a soft, sort of strangled-sounding noise. You were frozen in place, fists clenching at your sides as your mind raced for something, anything to do.

Something to do about the embarrassing blush spreading across your face. About the quickening of your heart as it pounded in your chest. About the fact that he was looking right at you, and the fact that he was so … gorgeous. So insanely gorgeous and insanely smug, once he realised that your reaction was in fact his own fault - evidenced by the smirk spreading across his face.

“Can I help you?” his tone was low, teasing almost. He seemed to notice that you were frozen in place, standing up from his spot on the bench and deciding to meet you halfway, with smooth, easy movements. It all seemed to annoy you so much, that he could stand there and look so gorgeous, and be so seemingly aware of it too.

“Ah- well,” you began to struggle, internally cursing yourself for how flustered you sounded, “I just wanted to introduce myself, you know, since I’m part of the media crew here.”

You extended a shaky hand out to him, which he took, and you tried not to focus too much on the way his much larger hand enveloped your own.

“I’m Joao, but I’m guessing you already knew that,” the slight peak in his tone and raise of his eyebrow as he ended his sentence prompted you to return his firm grip as the two of you shook hands.

“Yeah, I did,” you say, a little sterner than you intended, all facade of civility having melted away and been replaced by pure irritation. Something about this guy, and his stupid smirk, and his dumb hair, and sparkling eyes, and strong hands and-

“Hey, Joao!” came the voice of one of your coworkers, who waved the player over with a clipboard in hand, likely to snap some more photos for the team’s social media. You felt his hand pull away from yours, ashamed at the momentary feeling of reluctance that struck you as it did. His gaze was still on you though, which you were so harshly reminded of as you locked eyes for a couple more excruciatingly difficult seconds.

“I’ll see you around then, nice to meet you.” One last flash of that smug smile was all you got before he was jogging off to your coworker, leaving you standing there, slack-jawed, cheeks flushed, hands a little sweaty yet clenched in frustration.

[muddyorbsblr]

would've could've should've pt3

See my full list of works here!

Part of the 500 Follower Celebration Requested by: Anonymous

Summary: Loki makes things right with you and your relationship, and Shuri makes a heartbreaking discovery about your past

Pairing: Loki x Reader

Word Count: 8.5k [prepare drinks & snacks accordingly]

Warnings (spoilers ahead but y'all need these) : 18+ | heavy themes (dubcon hinted at in log reports; a whole portion detailing human experimentation involving drug-induced mental and emotional subjugation); Loki committing crimes (in the name of his bb); angst; Thor's mega-himbo behavior; language [let me know if I missed anything!]

Things to be aware of: established relationship; soft bf Loki hours

"I do not understand why we must be the ones doing such a menial task, Brother," Loki grumbled, walking through the large aisles of the marketplace that Thor all but dragged him to. "We are Asgardian royalty, and we are gods, we should not have to procure our own supplies."

"Stark says it is important that Midgardians perceive us as more than gods and heroes, Brother," the blond explained. "We do have staff in the Compound tasked to perform these duties for us, yes. But every now and again, there is a rotating schedule wherein we perform them. So that we may lessen the perception that we are a sort of enigma to them that only makes our presence felt when there is crisis. They can see us living our respective lives when we are not saving theirs."

While he could see the logic somewhat, he still wished that he would have been assigned to do this with you instead. It had been a few days since you two got back from your mission in California, and since then he outright refused for you to spend a night alone. And all he wanted at this moment was to finish with this drudgery and make his way back to you.

"This may be menial to you, Brother, but let me offer you the same advice that Jane once gave me when I expressed a similar sentiment on my first time," Thor continued on, walking down an aisle filled with those Pop Tarts that he favored munching on and tossing a half dozen boxes into his cart. "Find a semblance of fun in the exercise. Personally, I see this as my opportunity to include more my favorite Midgardian snacks, since staff don't put nearly enough and they expect me to share them. I get some of Jane's favorites as well."

Loki mulled over the seemingly basic advice, grabbing some of your favorite drink and tossing some extra into the cart. "I think I can begin to see the appeal," he conceded, he was still relieved when they finally crossed off all the items and brought the carts to the register, however.

"And another appeal for the unattached…" his brother murmured, not so subtly nudging him in the direction of the cashier. "This is a prime place to meet some stunning Midgardians who are also performing their own duties."

"Well hi there!" the woman greeted him. "I'm Sandy." She started ringing up the items with a peculiar stance that had him quite uncomfortable where he stood, always angling her body to offer him a few of her breasts down the wide neck of her shirt. "Thor's told me all about you."

"Brother…" Loki hissed the word through gritted teeth. "What in Norns' name are you doing?" Was this oaf trying to play matchmaker with him? Fully knowing that he was already happily committed to another? To you?

"Oh come on, Brother. It's clear that your current entanglement with your mortal will go nowhere if she refuses something as basic as laying with you. You've had many lovers back on Asgard, so I am not mistaken in assuming that this is her issue, and not yours."

"And may I say what. A. Shame," the clerk Sandy interjected. "In my opinion anyone that doesn't know and appreciate what they have don't deserve--"

"Hold your tongue," he snapped at her. "It is not your place to impose your opinion on me, you vile woman." She began to cower where she stood, suddenly becoming shifty in her stance. "You know nothing of her and yet you stand here pretending as if you have the higher moral ground. And you." He turned to address Thor now. "You call yourself my brother and yet you attempt to mastermind me away from my beloved and you haven't the slightest clue who you dare to offend--"

"Brother she is not your beloved. This woman isn't even willing to--"

"This woman's name is Y/N Y/L/N. You have regarded her as someone brilliant and fierce and yet you disrespect her so sickeningly." He gave his brother one last sneer before handing over the little plastic card that held Stark's money. "Not another word from you. I wish to be done with this task as soon as possible."

The clerk nodded wordlessly, the faintest hiccup coming out of her as she tried to temper her fear.

"Brother, my deepest apologies I did not know you and Lady Y/N had been--"

"Not a word from you, either," he hissed. "Lest you have forgotten the extent of my rage, Brother, allow me to put it into perspective. I would repeat my actions from over a decade ago in a heartbeat if it meant making her happy. Worse even, if she asked it of me. And of the two of us, she is the one that deserves your apology. She is the one you so flippantly disregarded with your words and your actions."

His oaf of a brother stayed silent the entire way back to the Compound, only uttering a simple sentiment that attempted to convey the remorse that he was trying to process.

"This time I might actually deserve you stabbing me, Brother."

That got him a singular mirthless chuckle. "I will do much worse if I ultimately lose her."

"Morgan, sweetie, be honest with me and your Auntie Nat. You're not doing your homework, are you?"

The little girl looked up at the two of you from her side of the table with wide eyes feigning innocence, looking the spitting image of her father. "I am, Auntie Y/N. Promise…"

"You sure, baby? Because…I know it's been a while since I went to school. You know, in the Bronze Age?" She let out a tiny bubbly giggle at your antic of placing your hand on your back and hunching over, pretending to hold yourself up by an invisible cane. "But baaaaaack in my day, my teachers would've smacked my hands clean off my arms if I was doing my math homework in crayon."

"This isn't my Math homework, silly Auntie Y/N," she giggled again, putting the crayon down and turning the paper around to push it in your and Nat's direction. "It's for Art class. We're supposed to draw our family. Look it." She threw her little body across the table, reaching out with the eraser end of her pencil to start pointing at the parts of her drawing. "There's Mommy and Daddy, and then Auntie Nat and Gruncle Bucky--"

"Wait hold on, Morgan, what did you call Bucky?" the currently platinum blonde assassin asked Morgan, trying so hard to hold back her amused smile. And failing.

"Well, he's an old man but he doesn't look it, so I got confused if I should call him Uncle or Grandpa, so now it's both. Gruncle."

Nat pursed her lips, her body beginning to shake from the laughs begging to escape her."That makes so much sense, sweetheart," she said, holding her hands up as if in surrender. "Keep going, baby Stark, who else you got in there?"

Morgan pointed to the next couple. "Auntie Wanda and Vision, and then Uncle Thor and Auntie Jane, then me…and right next to me." She pointed her pencil at a final couple, the drawing of her holding the woman's hand. "There's Auntie Y/N and Prince Loki."

A lump formed at your throat, combing back through all of your memories in recent months if there was something that the child might have seen that revealed your relationship to her way too perceptive eyes. "Uhh…why'd you pair me up with Mischief, sweetie?"

"Oh…well, because you're alone all the time, and Prince Loki's alone all the time, and if I drew you both alone it'll just look kinda sad so…I drew him next to you."

You had to fight against the urge to sigh in relief. "That makes sense. That's really thoughtful, baby."

The ding of the elevator effectively stopped the conversation, Morgan bringing the piece of paper back to her side of the table so she could finish coloring in everyone's hair. "We've returned!" Thor's voice bellowed as soon as he stepped into the common area.

"Welcome back," you droned, typing a reply to Shuri's message that just came through. My friend, I found something on these reports that I think you should see first. "Wonder what Shuri found…"

Nat leaned over your shoulder to see the message, her brows furrowing together after giving it a few passes. "You want, I could come with you when you go see her in case it's something real bad, Babes." All you did was nod at her, giving her a soft smile before tilting your head to lean against hers.

She had no idea what went down with you when you were in your late teens, in those years roaming the halls of that campus. Nobody except Loki knew, and if you were being completely honest with yourself, part of you regretted being so vulnerable with him because now he treated you like you were so fragile the tiniest little poke could break you apart.

And you'd spent so long doing everything in your power to make yourself stronger, more guarded. So that no one would ever be able to hurt you again.

"Y/N?" You sat up straight at the sound of Loki's voice filling the common area, the three of you at the table looking at each other with questions in your eyes.

"In here, Mischief," you called back, giving both Nat and Morgan a signal to act normal and stop watching like they were sat in front of the TV with a soap opera playing. You tried to finish up your reports from your mission in California when a familiar large hand placed a can of grape soda next to your water bottle. "Oh…Thanks, Loki." You looked up at him, giving the god a tiny smile before going back to your reports.

What he did next had both the assassin and Stark's daughter dropping their whole schtick of 'acting normal', taking your hand in his and gently tugging you to your feet. He didn't seem to care that there were very curious eyes intently watching on, brushing your hair back to tuck it behind your ear.

"What's wrong?" you blurted out, your heart at your throat from his actions. Before you could say anything else, he closed the remaining distance between you, pressing his lips to yours. You melted into his embrace, the gasps and squeals around you blurring into the background.

When he broke the kiss, he pulled you into an embrace, tucking his face into the crook of your neck and taking a deep breath, as if he was grounding himself. "I'm so sorry, darling. I've been a terrible partner to you, treating our relationship as if it were a secret to be hidden away. I never meant to--"

"Hey hey shh it's okay…" You wrapped your arms around his neck, doing your best to not sound like you were on the verge of tears. "It's okay, sweetie, you didn't know. And I didn't tell you, so that's on me, too."

"Absolutely not," he grumbled. "No part of this was your fault." He pulled away to frame your face in his hands, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "Nothing that ever happened to you was your fault. I love you, little mortal."

"I love you, too, Mischief--"

"Hold up, you're Reindeer Games' girl?"

You pulled away just enough to look over and address Stark, placing your hands over Loki's. "Yeah, Stark…I'm 'prim and prissy'." His face visibly paled at your confirmation, remorse immediately coloring his features. "You got some more genius barbs to throw at me for not sleeping with my boyfriend?" You gave Nat a signal to cover Morgan's ears, which she quickly followed much to the child's visible pouting dismay. "What've you got this time? Tits sagged up? I'm probably dry like the goddamn Sahara in the nether regions? What if there's actually nothing down there and I'm built like a goddamn Barbie doll?"

"Goddammit, I really put my foot in my mouth this time, huh?"

"More like you decided to put all that yoga to good use, bent over and gave yourself a rimjob and then started running your mouth, but sure, Stark. Let's go with that." 

Tony flinched at your words, visibly biting his tongue from what was undoubtedly his instinct to dish out some snark just as good as he just got it. "You know what, I totally deserved that. I'm really sorry, jellybean, I never should have said anything."

"As am I, Lady Y/N," Thor spoke up as he joined the rest of you. "I never should have imposed in on your and Loki's life together. He has told me in numerous ways on our way back that my careless actions have jeopardized his happiness, and for that I beg for your forgiveness."

You and Loki shared a look, both of you arguably right for questioning the sincerity of both apologies. Neither of them had any hesitation subjecting either of you to their opinions when they didn't know that they were throwing verbal darts at your head.

Ultimately you decided not to double down on your own barbs. At least until Thor apologized some more for his mega oaf behavior. "And I sincerely apologize for attempting to introduce another woman to my brother in hopes that he'll be lured away from his current partner, truly I had no idea it was--"

"Hold the fucking phone there, Blondie, you what?!" You could feel your blood rushing to your head, all your irritation toward both imbecilic men bubbling all the way up to the surface after Thor's confession.

"It was moronic and--"

"You're damn straight it was moronic," you seethed, your hand itching to risk potentially permanent injuries just to take a swing at the god that pulled the buffoonery. "I get that you want the best for your brother and all that, trust me I want that, too. But you were all the way out of line for that one."

"Yes, I know," he mumbled, his head turned down in visible shame. "Loki if you wish to stab me for my idiocy you're than welcome to--"

"Fuck that, I'm gonna stab you," you seethed, the god next to you holding you a touch tighter and trying to rub small circles into your skin to calm you down some. "This was none of your business. Even back when you didn't know it was me, you were both out of line for the jabs you took at Loki's private life. And honestly if you're so remorseful about it, you owe Bucky an apology, too. Y'all were dogpiling on his girlfriend way before you started going in on me."

With every word that came out of you, it felt as if there was still something completely blocking you from the truth. A question that went unanswered even by you and the memories you held ever since college. Ever since Simon.

"I don't…I don't know why I'm like this," you said more softly this time, turning to Loki and trying to find the words that could convey at the very least what you showed him a few nights ago. "It's been like this since I was a student in that damn campus. I don't know why but every time I've been in a relationship since then, if things start moving…physically, I--"

"Shh darling…" He pulled you into an embrace again, placing a kiss to the top of your head. "You need not elaborate. You were wronged, none of this was your fault."

"Your god is right, my friend," Shuri spoke up, announcing her presence, a grim look on her face as she held her tablet. "I have combed excessively through the reports for the compounds you found in your college building, and I have…distressing news."

"Yeah…Nat and I were about to come find you, Shuri. What'd you find?"

"This will be…quite an uncomfortable question, Y/N, are you certain you wish to discuss this with all this company?"

"They'll find out anyways. Most of them are nosy like that." You threw a pointed look Stark's and Thor's way, both men immediately looking away in shame. "But I suppose we can spare some innocent souls. Morgan, sweetie, go find your mom, we have to discuss bad guy things now."

The little girl pouted but followed your request, making her way to the elevator to go and find Pepper.

"My friend, what can you tell us about your former relationship with Simon Richardson? Only what you remember and what you are comfortable with sharing. We can start there."

Loki led you to sit on the couch, keeping his arm around your shoulders and rubbing up and down your arms to ground you as you started to recall. "He was…kind and sweet. Until he wasn't. It started with him offering the faculty lounge for me to hang out in during my free periods, then…coffees…lunches. The days when I had a class during first period, he'd be there and we'd grab breakfast together. Then came the first dinner together and he kissed me, told me he was falling in love with me."

"Hold up there, jellybean, this Richardson…he was your professor, right?" You nodded at Stark's question. "Add that comment I made about saying hi to your old professors to my list of things I have to make up for then, I'm so sorry, Y/N."

You just shrugged. "As with most of the things you're gonna have to apologize to me for, Stark…you didn't know." You took a sip of your soda before continuing your story. "The next few months after that were…confusing to me. Every time we had a moment alone he was so sweet and doting, always staying close to me, kissing me, regular degular boyfriend things, you know? And then the second someone else would come in the room he…pulls away. Becomes distant and…almost clinically professional. Drops my hand, immediately puts three feet of distance between us. Tells me it's to protect our relationship. That if people found out, they'd take him away from me and I'd be punished somehow. Told me he was protecting me."

Loki placed a soft kiss to your temple, keeping his forehead pressed to the same area as he spoke. "My love, I'm so sorry. My actions toward you in our time together have brought your memories of your time with him up to the surface."

"You didn't know," you sighed, leaning in to his embrace. "I never told anyone and…nobody ever really bothered to stick around to find out what was actually going on with me the second they realized they weren't gonna 'score'." You took a few deep breaths, finally finding a bizarre sort of relief now that you were talking about the memories that plagued and taunted you for so long.

"And when did you two end things?"

You let out a sound between a scoff and a chortle at Shuri's question. "Generous of you think there was a concrete 'end' to things, sweetie." There was a faint whoosh somewhere to your right, the new silhouettes in your peripheral alerting you to Jane's  and Wanda's entrance. "Hey, Babes."

They both offered you some form of greetings before pulling up a seat, the Sokovian speaking up first. "Morgan mentioned something about you looking angry and hurt. Something about Thor doing something idiotic?" She addressed the blond god next. "I mean, a bit on brand for you, but really? Introducing Loki to someone that's going to start bad mouthing his partner? Shouldn't you know your brother well enough by now that that'll get you a stabbing? You know…after a thousand and a half years?"

"Wait hold on, you what?" the scientist spoke up, swatting her boyfriend upside his head. "You know that just got you kicked off the prospects on wedding officiant, right?"

"Well considering my brother is no longer King of Asgard, I surmise that the Valkyrie would be the one that performs that particular duty regardless," Loki shot back before turning back to face you, a soft smile gracing his features. "One day, I mean. When you're ready."

"You sure you want that, Mischief? Considering I might just be a lousy non-existent lay after all this?"

"About that…" Shuri spoke up again, prompting you to continue your story.

"Right, sorry. The ending…I suppose that started when he suggested we'd go away for a weekend. Somewhere farther away from campus where we could actually be a couple outside his apartment. We got a hotel room and…I'm sure you can all fill in those particular blanks." Everyone grimaced at the mere thought, looks of sympathy thrown your way from every direction. Loki pressed another kiss to your temple, his embrace pretty much the only thing holding you together. "We spent a few more nights like that over the next few weeks. Then the academic year ended, a new batch of students came in, and one day I got to campus and…someone new was at his arm. He stopped answering my calls, my texts weren't even left on Read. One day I asked him point blank what happened and all he said was I don't know what you mean, Miss Y/L/N. You're not my student anymore."

"Bastard," Wanda hissed. "He should be locked up. Maybe have Strange throw him in one of those mirror dimensions so all he'll see for the rest of his miserable life is his own ugly lowlife mug."

"And even worse, he's still doing this. We saw him in that reunion. Fucker even had the brass balls to exchange words with me like it was no big thing. He had one of his current students clinging to him like a barnacle. Chances are he's gonna do her what he did to me and that girl from so many years ago. And who knows who else. Anyways ever since then, something always felt kind of…fucked up with me. Every time things got too physical with someone it's like my body recoils. Even when I don't mean to it's like…it closes up shop without consulting my heart. Or my brain."

"I may have an explanation for your body's behavior, my friend." Shuri tapped away at her tablet, projecting the screen's contents into a larger holographic rendering in the center of the room, showing you all a photo of one of the compounds you'd come across in the lab. "This is PM-19, a substance that can mentally and emotionally enslave a subject to the closest source of pheromones and leave them more open to be controlled. Manipulated. When the connection between subject and administrator is severed, the effects…well, the reports all say that the effects are varied."

"Varied on what?" Nat spoke up, moving to sit on the other empty seat next to you and grabbing hold of your free hand.

"Potency of the compound in the subject's system," Loki answered through gritted teeth. "They experimented with dosage, form of administration, wear-off time…"

"O-Okay but what does this have to do with my shitty predatory ex?" you butted in, your voice shaky with the fear that you knew exactly where Shuri was going with this.

She flashed a set of log reports next on the screen. "I isolated the reports that took place while you were in your relationship with Richardson," she explained, waving a hand at the screen. "Going on to the reports that reference all test subjects from this period moving forward. I will let you all read at your own pace."

Nat handed you a large glass of water, telling you to down it before going into the reports. Thankfully you heeded her advice, or else your body might have forgotten how to function reading through the various statements.

April 15, 2013 -- Potential test subjects found. Administrators have been granted permission to pursue and administer PM-19 at their own discretion.

April 20, 2013 -- Test Subject 13-31-A initiated into PM program. Mode of Administration: aerated by means of cologne. Precautions were taken to ensure that Test Subject 13-31-A and Administrator BG were at a safe distance from bystanders that could have been exposed to aerated PM-19

April 22, 2013 -- Test Subject 13-31-A exhibited signs of withdrawal from engagement. Subject has been administered aerated PM-19 again. If pattern continues, dosage for aerated PM-19 should be every 24-36 hours to sustain potency in Subject's system.

April 30, 2013 -- Test Subject 13-31-B initiated into PM program. Mode of Administration: ingestion by means of beverage. Administrator MP notes instant shift in 13-31-B's receptiveness and an increased eagerness to comply with Administrator MP's suggestions regarding trivial lifestyle choices.

May 2, 2013 -- Administrator SR has attempted administering PM-19 to potential Test Subject 13-31-C via aerated form through body spray, but 13-31-C has shown no tangible effects. Will administer stronger dosage via ingestion if effects are still negligible.

May 5, 2013 -- Administrator SR has successfully initiated Test Subject 13-31-C into PM program. Mode of Administration: ingestion through beverage and food. Shift in receptiveness is incremental. Will observe effects through continued dosage.

May 7, 2013 -- Test Subject 13-31-A actively seeks out Administrator BG and displays an obeisance toward him. She seems to rely on his approval of her decisions. Administrator MP has considerable control over Test Subject 13-31-B's food and clothing choices by means of simple suggestions and the slightest form of positive feedback. Administrator MP to proceed with furthering connection with 13-31-B.

May 9, 2013 -- Administrator SR has been continually administering PM-19 to Test Subject 13-31-C via ingestion. She has begun to gravitate toward him during free periods. Administrator SR to proceed with furthering connection with 13-31-C.

May 13, 2013 -- Administrators BG, MP, and SR have been granted permission to administer more potent dosage by means of injection. Will use the campus' free vaccination as the means of delivery.

May 15, 2013 -- Test Subjects from batch 13-31 have been administered PM-19 directly into bloodstream and collectively show visible ardency toward their respective Administrators.

May 20, 2013 -- Test Subjects 13-31-A and 13-31-B showing more agitation when respective Administrators BG and MP are not by their side. Test Subject 13-31-C appears visibly calmer but shows significant internal disquiet when away from Administrator SR.

May 21, 2013 -- Administrator SR has officially begun to engage romantically with Test Subject 13-31-C to observe if she will exhibit the same signs of agitation that Subjects 13-31-A and 13-31-B possess when away from their respective Administrators.

May 25, 2013 -- Administrator BG has severed the connection with Test Subject 13-31-A after significant increase in agitation after having PM-19 introduced to her bloodstream. 13-31-A created a spectacle in Science Building cafeteria and was escorted by Administrator BG to campus clinic. Subject displayed alarmingly elevated blood pressure and was immediately admitted to nearest hospital to be put under HYDRA monitoring until subject recovers.

May 26, 2013 -- Test Subject 13-31-A has been terminated after waking in hospital and repeatedly threatening to pursue all avenues of action against Administrator BG and put PM project at risk of being brought to public awareness. Action sanctioned by all active Administrators. Administrator BG now evaluating new potential test subjects.

May 27, 2013 -- Test Subject 13-31-D initiated into PM program. Mode of Administration: ingestion through food and beverage. Administrator BG has been instructed to keep careful watch of 13-31-D and tasked to increase dosage every 3 days and observe waning time. Administering via injection no longer viable due to window closing to guise under free vaccination.

May 30, 2013 -- Test Subject 13-31-B shows little regard for caution and attempted flagrant display of affection when crossing paths with Administrator MP whilst surrounded by both colleagues and other students. 13-31-B has been thoroughly admonished for her actions.

June 1, 2013 -- Administrator MP began distancing from Test Subject 13-31-B. Subject is now displaying visible signs of distress and is aggressively seeking him out even outside of campus grounds. Increasing frequency in initiating correspondence. Administrator MP expresses concern that 13-31-B's behavior will require intervention if no improvement shows in next 30 days.

June 1, 2013 -- Administrator SR notes increased obeisance in Test Subject 13-31-C since compound PM-19 was introduced to her bloodstream. Administrator SR has been granted permission to proceed with next stage of relationship: Consummation

June 3, 2013 -- Administrator MP has placed a request for the termination of Test Subject 13--31-B after a spectacle in the campus parking lot where subject was shouting at MP for not answering texts and calls. Administrator MP will remain inactive for batch 13-31 and will resume his duties when evaluating for Test Subjects for batch 13-32.

June 6, 2013 -- Administrator BG notes that Test Subject 13-31-D is more aggressive and attempts to initiate contact with BG. Administrator has placed a request to speed up timeline to romantic engagement to observe if 13-31-D will become more submissive and deferential.

June 7, 2013 -- Administrator SR has begun final stage of PM program for Test Subject 13-31-C. No other task will be assigned to him other than observation of 13-31-C's behavior once connection is fully severed. He will resume his duties along with Administrator MP when evaluating for Test Subjects for Batch 13-32.

June 8, 2013 -- Test Subjects 13-31-B and 13-31-D have been simultaneously terminated after 13-31-D disclosed details of relationship with Administrator BG and both subjects agreed to report this behavior to campus faculty board. Only remaining active Test Subject is 13-31-C.

June 13, 2013 -- Frequency in Test Subject 13-31-C's initiation of correspondence after Administrator SR has begun final stage.

June 15, 2013 -- Administrator SR has fully severed the connection for Test Subject 13-31-C

June 20, 2013 -- Test Subject 13-31-C has been notably absent in classes. Administrator SR has placed a request to send a HYDRA representative to check on 13-31-C's status.

August 20, 2013 -- Test Subject 13-31-C shows signs of detachment from her peers and current relationship. Potential side effect of PM-19 after severance of connection between subject and administrator seems to be physical recoiling upon implication of intimacy. Subject's body seems to perceive this either as a threat or as a breach of her loyalty to Administrator SR.

April 15, 2014 -- Test Subject 14-34-E initiated into PM program. As mentioned in preliminary notes for batch 14-34, test conditions from Test Subject 13-31-C's case will be replicated in hopes of replicating the only surviving case of batch 13-31.

April 22, 2014 -- Unexpected and unaccounted for circumstance occurred. Test Subject 14-34-E shares a class with Test Subject 13-31-C and has asked questions on how to gain better favor with Administrator SR. It seems that test subjects that were connected to the same Administrator are also drawn towards each other.

April 24, 2014 -- Administrator SR initiated contact with Test Subject 13-31-C to extract information about what she may have told Test Subject 14-34-E. 13-31-C remains adamant that no details of their prior involvement were divulged and answers remained strictly academic. Administrator SR's feedback for her elicited positive reaction. It seems even after prolonged period since severing their connection, submissiveness and deference to Administrator SR remains. Hypothesis: If connection is severed at peak potency of PM-19, Test Subject's actions post-severance are subconsciously geared to seek the approval of their Administrator.

April 25, 2014 -- Administrator SR has been instructed to hasten timetable for Test Subject 14-34-E after subject witnessed SR's interaction with Test Subject 13-31-C and created a spectacle demanding to know what his history with 13-31-C was. Noting that subjects may be prone to increased irrational tendencies and paranoia while connection with Administrator is active.

May 1, 2014 -- Administrator SR has placed a request to terminate Test Subject 14-34-E after threats of her escalating him to the faculty board for their involvement. SR notes that 14-34-E has mentioned the existence of video and audio recordings containing indisputable evidence of their interactions. Directors of PM program have considered close monitoring of Test Subject 13-31-C to determine what differs in her case compared to the rest of the test subjects from Batch 13-31 as well as the replication attempt with 14-34-E.

May 2, 2014 -- Test Subject 14-34-E successfully terminated. Her belongings have been incinerated. All potential evidence of involvement with Administrator SR destroyed. Test Subject 13-31-C once again the only surviving test subject under this specific set of test circumstances. Replication of scenario will not be attempted again until further studies have been conducted on 13-31-C. Actions to be taken to closely monitor and intercept hospital records, therapy session notes and/or recordings, and all other documentation that will provide better understanding of 13-31-C's physiological and mental make up.

March 10, 2016 -- Administrator SR has expressed concerns regarding Test Subject 13-31-C becoming a SHIELD Agent. He has been reassured that there is no cause for concern as long as she stays a low to medium ranking Agent and does not become involved in high level operations.

September 16, 2019 -- Test Subject 13-31-C has been put on High Alert List. Her status as an Avenger warrants the action of capture on sight.

August 10, 2020 -- Multiple mentions of jilted former entanglements of Test Subject 13-31-C have surfaced online, detailing a 'frigidness' that the team is confident in surmising is due to the amount of PM-19 in 13-31-C's system when connection between her and Administrator SR was severed in 2013. It would seem that Test Subject 13-31-C's physiological reactions are tethered to Administrator SR's pheromones and can only successfully sever the connection on her end when the source of the pheromones ceases to exist. Or when she does.

November 16, 2023 -- Administrator SR expresses grave concern given Test Subject 13-31-C's current status of being romantically involved with highly dangerous individual Loki, Asgardian God of Mischief.

Your vision began to blur from the tears flooding your eyes as you read the reports over and over again, your mind stubbornly denying what you were seeing on the screen. Test Subject 13-31-C. You'd seen numerous log reports about her when you first perused the files a few days back but it never occurred to you that you knew her much better than you could have ever expected.

She was the girl in the mirror. The one with the haunted gaze and the smile that struggled to reach her eyes no matter how hard anyone tried.

You'd been so haunted by your worries that history would repeat itself and what Simon did to you, discarding you as soon as someone even incrementally younger came along and not giving you a second thought, would happen again the second you gave yourself fully to Loki. And now it turned out that your refusal to let the dark thoughts that plagued you when Simon left you all those years ago take over your life…turned out you haunted him right back.

"There is one more thing," Shuri spoke up, flashing a message on screen that came from Simon himself. "Our duplication of their machine seems able to receive their correspondences in real time. Simon Richardson has begun to explore requesting for termination of Test Subject 13-31-C. He wishes to see you dead, Y/N."

"Over my putrid rotting corpse," Loki seethed, tightening his hold on you. "He won't be able to touch you, my love. I swear it."

"Could you…" you tried to speak through the sobs you were trying to hold back. "Would you be able to send a message back? Make it seem like it's coming from his bosses?"

She nodded enthusiastically. "Child's play, my friend. What do you wish to send?"

"I want you to arrange a meeting." You adjusted your hold on Loki's hand, lacing your fingers through his. "And I want you to come with me."

The god raised your joint hands to his lips, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. "Of course, my love. I would have come with you regardless." He pressed his forehead against your temple again. "I'll never leave your side."

"Okay am I in a position to say that seeing Reindeer Games being affectionate is giving me fucking whiplash?"

"No," everyone collectively said in unison.

"Personally I think it's adorable," Jane quipped. "And I know your brother has a real crappy way of showing it, but we really are happy for you."

"'Tis true, I am happy for you and Lady Y/N, Brother--"

"No no, Macho Barbie, you don't get to talk, either," Nat spoke up, throwing a balled up piece of paper at his head. "If Tony deserves the time out on the steps, you deserve the goddamn dunce cap for your antics."

If there was ever a moment that could solidify beyond a shadow of a doubt that you were practically tailor-made by the Norns for Loki, it was this precise moment here. Watching in the shadowy corner of a room as the culmination of your flair for the theatrics almost eerily mirrored his.

You were sat at a desk situated in the middle of a dark seemingly empty warehouse, with only a single hanging lamp serving as a light source. Positioned in a way that your face was still mostly shrouded in the darkness until you wished to make your identity known.

And in your respective positions, you two waited in silence for Simon Richardson to arrive. The unsuspecting pathetic bastard thinking he would be meeting with the higher ups at HYDRA to rectify the situation that he'd been raising with them regarding the safety of their project now that your status on their watchlist has been raised to the highest alert level due to your relationship with the god.

Loki's enhanced hearing allowed for him to hear the shaky breathing and the faltering steps before the wretch pounded his fist at the entrance. "Showtime," you sighed under your breath, taking a moment before calling out in an accent that vaguely resembled the Valkyrie's, "Enter!"

The professor looked around the warehouse, visibly irritated upon seeing that almost the entire place was pitch black, and made his way slowly toward your desk. When he got close enough, another light switched on, illuminating a rather uncomfortable looking stainless steel chair.

"Sit." He did as you told, nervously running his hands up and down his thighs. A quick whiff in the air told the god that the weak mortal was already sweating bullets and barely any words have even been exchanged yet.

Good, he inwardly seethed. You don't deserve to know peace after the lingering damage that you'd dealt to the woman I love.

"Speak," you commanded, the faintest creak of the leather from your hand gripping the armrest being the only indicator that betrayed your facade of "cool and level-headed".

"Have the council agreed to a course of action regarding Agent Y/L/N? You told me before that you allowed for her to continue on with her life due to being the only survivor of batch 13-31. That her situation fascinated you. But now I fear that she is too dangerous to let live given her current romantic associations with the Asgardian that tried to raze New York."

"You never stated on the request your reasoning," you told him through gritted teeth. "How come you are so intent on the expedience of Subject 13-31-C's termination?"

The fidgeting man let out a nervous chuckle. "All due respect, ma'am but are you new? Maybe you didn't hear me? Her boyfriend tried to lay waste on New York! I don't wanna give her the time to open up to him and realize that the reason she can't get with him in the sack is because of PM-19! Who knows what he'll do to me?"

"Well we can start on breaking every joint in your body as an appetizer," you answered back, dropping your accent and leaning forward to let the light illuminate your face. "And from my understanding, the only way to sever the connection from my end is for the source of the pheromones to cease existing. All I have to do is kill you."

Richardson visibly relaxed in his seat, letting out a haughty chuckle as he tsk'd at you. "Silly girl, you didn't actually think it's that simple, did you?" He stood up, making his way to your desk and slamming his hands down on the tabletop, making you flinch at the sound. "Should've known you really were more beauty than brains. Then again it looks like even that is fading away. You really should use some of that Stark budget to take care of those lines on your face because aging does not become you, sweet thing."

"Whatever remnants of PM-19 I have left in my system physically inhibit me from killing you myself, is that it?"

"Maybe there's still some brain left in you after all," he mused in a condescending tone. He grasped the bottom half of your face harshly, your face twisting in horror as you tried to twist his hand off you, finding that you couldn't. "You can't harm me, sweet Y/N, let alone kill me. You literally don't have it in you." Your form began to visibly tremble in his hold, disgust now coloring your expression as he gave you a once over. "It's just you and me here. Maybe we could take a walk down memory lane. For old time's sake."

"Go to hell," you spat at him, jerking your head away from his hand with a sickening crack that Loki took note of to heal once everything was taken care of here. "And I'm not alone, you sick fuck." Richardson turned around, terror finally entering his eyes once he caught sight of the god's silhouette.

"You can't kill me," he tried to threaten. "You kill me and they'll come after you. All of you."

"HYDRA coming after us?" you quipped, giving Loki a tiny nod as he stepped menacingly closer. "Sounds like a regular Tuesday, doesn't it, sweetie?"

"To quote my brother, at least make it a challenge for me." He couldn't help but let his mouth stretch into a wicked grin as he watched the pathetic man start to shake where he stood.

"You kill me and that won't stop the project," he blurted out, most likely in a final desperate attempt at some form of a bargain. Or a threat. "Aren't you hero types all about the greater good and all that shit?"

"Normally we are," Loki answered, a dagger materializing in his hand in a flash of green. He grabbed the back of Richardson's head, poising the blade at his throat. "But I'm not a hero. Not today. Not for you." He pressed the blade harder against his throat, looking to you for his cue to follow through. You gave him all the answer he needed with a little nod of your head, wincing from the minor injury you'd given yourself just moments earlier. "As far as you're concerned, I'm the god you made an enemy of the moment you laid your grimy hands on the woman I love."

He could have made it quick, almost relatively painless, but after the prolonged impact that his vile actions had on you, it would have been a mercy if he were allowed to shuffle off this mortal coil with little suffering. And Simon Richardson was undeserving of mercy. He ensured that he felt every agonizing second that the blade dragged across his neck, and that he stayed lucid until the last possible moment that the light faded from his eyes.

When the late professor's body went limp and fell to the ground, you doubled over in what seemed like shock, bracing yourself by slamming your hands down on the tabletop, your arms shaking with the effort of holding yourself up. The god was by your side in a heartbeat, wrapping an arm around your waist to hold you upright.

"What is it, my darling? Are you alright? What are you feeling?"

"I feel--" you tried to say between shallow breaths. "It's like…I just won tug of war."

"Is that…is that good, sweetheart?" He found it rather difficult to tell with the panic setting into him from your shortness of breath. He rubbed circles on your back, trying to guide you to take deeper breaths and standing upright on your own.

"It's like I got all the air knocked out of me from being flung to the ground because the other side finally let go, and I'll probably have a few battle scars, but at the end of it all…Yeah. It's good. So good." You suddenly stood up straight, turning to face him and throwing your arms around his neck. "It feels like I can finally breathe."

You pulled away, pushing back locks of his hair and looking over the blood that spattered across his features. There was such an innocent, almost disoriented look in your eyes. Something that eerily reminded him of how he felt when he was finally free of the mind control the mad titan Thanos had him under. As if he was trying to find his footing again. Learning how to live in his skin and mind without the presence of another lurking in the darkest corners.

Freedom, he realized. You were free.

"Come on," you told him, smiling as you reached for his hand, your whole hand engulfed so easily by just his palm. "Let's get you cleaned up."

"You need not trouble yourself, little mortal. I can simply wave it all away--"

"I want to," you insisted, starting to tug on his hand. He relented rather quickly, a fond smile tugging at the corners of his mouth from your suddenly playful nature. Was this what you were like before you were shackled by that repugnant drug?

And just when he thought he couldn't possibly fall even deeper in love with you.

You led him to the car where Hogan was waiting for you both. Loki gave him a singular nod and he spoke into an earpiece calling for someone to dispose of Richardson's body. When you were both settled in to the back seat, you tore a strip off the shirt you were wearing, dousing it with water to start wiping away at the blood on his face.

"We have rags here for exactly that purpose, Y/L/N," Hogan quipped. "You didn't have to go all book boyfriend."

"Okay first, what have you been reading that you know that reference because I want recs. And second, I have no idea how Tony organizes stock in this car, and I didn't wanna wait. You're more than welcome to put the divider up if it makes you uncomfortable, Happy."

The bodyguard put his hands up, as if conceding in the exchange. "Fair enough, fair enough. I'll send you a list of those books when we get back. Right now I'm just gonna put up the divider, let you two get some rest. I'll let you know when we're at the Compound."

"Thanks, Happy. Maybe send it through FRIDAY. Just to my tablet. Morgan likes playing with my phone and I don't want my goddaughter near those books until well after drinking age."

You'd finished wiping away the blood from Loki's face moments after the divider fully went up, giving the god a playful satisfied little smile before giving him a quick peck on the lips.

"There you go, all done." You settled easily into his embrace as he wrapped his arm around you, his hand finding yours and lacing your fingers together. "I know that…now that he's dead, the PM-19 doesn't have a hold on me anymore but…mentally…" Your brows knitted together, your frustration visible as you struggled to find the words.

"It still feels as if there's a lingering presence in your mind," he offered, his heart aching for you when he heard your sniffle as you nodded against his shoulder. "I'm all too familiar with that feeling, my love. I wish I could tell you it goes away completely with time but…I cannot be too sure. Some days will be better than others, as if the presence has been kicked into the farthest darkest corners of your memories but…they remain."

"Right now it feels like it's in a car just behind us so…doesn't feel too far." You tilted your head to look up at him, relief flooding him when he saw in your eyes that you no longer seemed as distant. As if whatever journey you would embark on towards healing the wounds that Richardson left you, you knew and you welcomed the notion of not going through it alone. "I hate to say it, Mischief but…killing him didn't kill the fears he left behind."

You did not need to say more; he could surmise which fear you meant. The one he saw when you allowed him into your memories. The fear of being replaced as soon as you laid with him. The fear of leaving him dissatisfied and forcing his hand to look to another to fulfill what you couldn't.

Perhaps even a fear of being touched altogether.

"I want you to know that I am here for you, little mortal." He pressed a kiss to the tip of your nose, and another to your jaw, using his seiðr to heal the slight fracture from your altercation with that wretch of a professor. "Always." Another kiss, featherlight, to your lips. "You need never worry of pressure coming from me, I swear it."

"Maybe a little pressure wouldn't be too bad," you mumbled against his lips, kissing him back a with a touch more passion than he'd ever seen coming from you. "Maybe just…baby steps?" Your next action stole every bit of breath from his lungs, keeping his gaze while you moved his hand, placing it on the bared skin of your stomach. There was only the slightest tremor in your breath as he tentatively caressed your skin, but you no longer flinched away.

"Baby steps," he breathed out, pulling you closer to his side. You nestled your head into the crook of his neck and he felt you steadily succumb to your exhaustion, relaxing against him.

Loki finally allowed himself a moment of rest, pressing a kiss to the top of your head before closing his eyes and leaning back against the headrest. It would be a long and arduous journey as you healed from the prolonged damages that your time with Richardson wreaked upon you, but he would be with you throughout every step. Through every nightmare, every frustration, and ultimately every victory.

And then perhaps one day you both would wake and the step to be taken would be toward an altar.

But for now the god was more than content exactly where he was, holding you close with his hand on your skin, following at whichever pace you would be comfortable taking.

A/N: Another request from the pile done! 🎉🎉 Next up is gonna be a fluffy lil thing that I'm gonna turn into an outtake for one of the first stories I wrote, 'a heart like yours' 🥹

But before we get to that, we've got a good bit of RTC and OLTK and 'the final Lady Sharpe' coming…and whatever else my silly lil writer brain decides to start on 😳👀

'everything' taglist: @simplyholl @loopsisloops @imalovernotahater @coldnique @loz-3 @huntress-artemiss @salempoe @vickie5446 @athalialaufeyson @lokiprompts @kats72 @kikster606 @asgards-princess-of-mischief @lokixryss @thomase1 @mischief2sarawr @lovingchoices14 @lunarnights95 @goblingirlsarah @iamlokisgloriouspurpose @creationsbyme @maple-seed @mjsthrillernp @ladyofthestayingpower @mygfloki @sititran @glitterylokislut @ozymdias @fictive-sl0th  @lokidbadguy @mochie85 @silverfire475 @joyful-enchantress @elizabethmidnight2017 @holdmytesseract @smolvenger @gigglingtiggerv2 @lokidokieokie @superficialdomina @kmc1989 @november-rayne @goddessofwonderland @buttercupcookies-blog @peaky-marvel @lokiified @tom-hlover @dryyoursaltyoceantears @cabingrlandrandomcrap

[kairiscorner]

omg ... it's time. (please forgive me if the idea is shitty, it was inspired by this masterpiece rghhh it was too cute not to do)

you were always special. — miguel o'hara x reader (2099 followers special).

"hey... you awake?" miguel asked you in a hushed, yet sort of uncharacteristically lingering, voice. you stirred in your half-sleepy daze, humming your response to show that, somehow, you were awake; well, barely. miguel nodded and wrapped his toned arm around your waist, bringing you closer to him as his plush lips pressed against the soft crook of your neck. the feeling sent jolts up your spine, though it wasn't enough to wake you up. you were used to miguel being a little clingy and handsy, so this was nothing new to you—until when he began to ramble and whisper some things you were surprised he had even thought about for the past few days.

"when i was on a mission one time... i had a brawl with a real bad villain, a real tricky anomaly." he began, holding you closer as he narrated to you, his eyes all on your neck and backside as he continued. "...they were really tough to beat, they did quite a number on me when i tried taking them on by myself. reinforcements came, which, thank goodness they did, but... while they were helping me into the portal, since i was, y'know, mangled up a little, i... i just kind of thought of you." he confessed, his whisper softening even more as he said that last word with such emphasis, you could feel his sentiment coursing through your veins.

miguel's free hand ran through your hair, letting his fingers stay a little longer through the threads of your hair as he sighed, lamenting a little. "and i just worried, would you be okay without me? like... i couldn't help but just apologize to you, even if you weren't there at the moment." he murmured with an ironic chuckle in his voice, a few tears stinging at the corner of his eyes. he blinked them back, but he knew more were to come eventually if he kept them bottled up. with a ragged breath, miguel decided to finish his sentimental talk up. "what i'm trying to say is... i'm sorry i make you worry about me. i wish that... we lived in a reality where we're assured a tomorrow, where neither of us have to worry so much, and we can... be happy." his grip on your waist tightened a little, not so much that it hurt, but significantly so that you could feel the genuine hurt in his voice, the true concern, guilt, and pain miguel felt by confiding his deepst feelings to you while you were half asleep.

miguel shakily sighed as a few tears rolled down his chiseled cheeks, this time, he didn't hold anything back anymore, because what was the point? he'd make himself well up with tears if he confronted all this too you anyway, might as well face it head on. "but... even if we don't live in a reality where we get everything we want... i'm more than happy to end up in a universe where i'm with you. that alone is enough, mi vida. that alone is enough." he whispered as he brushed the stray hairs away from your face, smiling to himself as glistening tears formed in his eyes; his vulnerability showing in the dark of night, for only you to hear, hopefully, for you to remember and sink in as your fatigue overtook you and you had finally drifted off to sleep, not being able to reassure miguel, but miguel didn't need you to speak—as long as you knew, in that moment, how he truly felt... it would all be okay.

as long as he has you, in his arms, just like tonight; as long as you love him still no matter how dangerous his life is or how different he can be when tested, he has no other reason to be dissatisfied. because you are all he wants and will come home to, you are his reason, you were always special to him.

tags !! @miguelswifey04 @araneol @hisachuu @wreakingmarveloushavok @simsrandomstuff @luvstarrstruck @popeheywardssecretgf @meeom @arachnoia @melovetitties @fable-library @ophanimgold @smokeywhalee @capnshtfce