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cleo-fox · 6 months

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Overtime

Summary: Sometimes, working overtime isn’t all that bad.

Pairings: Loki x Female Reader

Warnings: Smut, 18+ minors DNI, sex, cunnilingus, teasing, light bondage, office romance.

Series: Overtime (I don't have a masterlist for this, but if you enjoy these idiots, check out Daylight, a sort of sequel).

A/N: This was largely written prior to season 2 and posted right before episode 4, so it’s not entirely canon compliant and the parts that are may be compliant by accident.

Also, @give-me-a-moose and I were on a similar wavelength about Loki angrily reading romance novels and I would strongly recommend checking out her fic The Imagine Nation if you too are enthralled by this idea.

You don’t think that Mobius intended to keep Loki’s desk behind yours.

“It’s temporary,” he tells you apologetically. “He just needs somewhere to go for now, until I figure out what to do with him.”

“You’re talking about him like he’s a stray cat that you found,” you say.

“You won’t even know he’s there, I promise.”

“You’re still doing it.”

Mobius sighs and puts on his most sincere, earnest expression—the one that he always uses when he’s about to ask you for a stupidly massive favor.

And it’s only because you almost never, ever see this look from him that you back down.

“Okay, fine,” you say. “But he’d better be on his best behavior.”

Mobius puts his palms together and tips them toward you. “Thank you. You will not regret this, I promise.”

You sigh and shake your head. “Just remember this next time you’re budgeting for raises.”

But then—in a move that you certainly don’t expect—Loki ends up sticking around. And, in the subtle way that the stray you’ve been feeding slowly turns into your cat, Loki’s temporary desk becomes his permanent desk. And strangely enough, Mobius’ assurances turn out to be more correct than not: Loki does a lot of fieldwork and is often away; when he is at his desk, it tends to be because he is working on more complicated missions, the ones that require poring over mountains of files looking for patterns and trying to untangle the slippery mess of time itself.

Your work is decidedly less glamorous than Loki’s—almost no fieldwork, lots of files. Endless files. Some days you feel as though you must have seen every file in the TVA’s extensive library and then you’re immediately proven wrong by another wing of filing cabinets that you swear wasn’t even there before.

Although he is generally well-behaved as your desk neighbor, Loki’s presence has a way of distracting you. Even if you didn’t know who he was, your gaze would still naturally drift his way, lingering on those regal cheekbones, that ink black hair, that cunning smirk. The way that the fabric of his dress pants clings to his thighs certainly doesn’t help, to say nothing of how his forearms look with his shirtsleeves rolled up. He can make your heart start to race with no more than a casual glance in your direction and god help you if he gives you one of those devastating smiles. Luckily, you don’t think he takes that much notice of you. You have the sort of pleasantly dull exchanges of coworkers who don’t really know each other and he is almost painfully polite to you. It’s a strong departure from the way he interacts with others—with others, he is bold, charming, sarcastic, talkative, a far cry from the more subdued, almost courtly tone he strikes with you. It’s a difference that is so stark that you can’t help but attribute it to some sort of negative feeling on his end.

“How’s it going with Loki?” Mobius asks you during a one-on-one meeting a couple of months after Loki’s temporary desk becomes his permanent desk. “He’s behaving himself, right?”

“It’s been fine,” you say, “though truthfully, I don’t think he likes me all that much.”

“What? Of course he likes you,” Mobius says. “Why wouldn’t he like you? You’re lovely.”

You shrug. “I dunno, he’s just different with me than he is with everyone else. Like…overly polite. It’s like he thinks I’m going to send him to the principal’s office or something.”

“Let me get this straight,” says Mobius. “First you were worried that he wouldn’t behave himself and now you’re worried that he’s too well-behaved?”

Privately, you realize he has a point. Outwardly, though, you’re not going to admit it. The sardonic tilt of Mobius’ mouth suggests that he knows this.

“No, I just…I don’t think he likes me all that much,” you say. “And he’s entitled to that. People don’t like each other all the time, it’s not a big deal.”

This is also a little bit of a lie—you do wish he liked you. Loki is so magnetic it’s hard not to want his attention. And with the matter of your silly little crush, well…that doesn’t help either.

Mobius sighs. “I think you’re overthinking this. He likes you, sometimes it just takes him a little time to warm up. He’s a bit of a prickly guy.”

You bite down the urge to point out that you’ve seen him warm to other people almost immediately. This conversation has already gone on longer than you want and you are edging dangerously close to having to admit that you care so much because you have a big stupid crush on him, which is obviously unacceptable.

“Well, the point is that it’s fine,” you say quickly, trying to project an aura of cool confidence. “I don’t have any complaints, he seems like he’s settling in, so let’s move on. Did you have any feedback on my recent report?”

The furrow between Mobius’ eyebrows deepens just slightly, the only indication that he doesn’t fully believe you. But for whatever reason, he decides to let it go and follows your change in topic without further comment.

This is one of the reasons you like Mobius as much as you do: he always seems to know the right moment to push and the right moment to bend.

You’re not sure if your relationship with Loki would have changed had it not been for the problem of Charles Berlitz.

The joke around the office is that after Mobius convinced Loki to work for the TVA, he needed something new to obsess over and Charles Berlitz was the next best option. It’s hard to say exactly who Berlitz is, as he has a tendency of showing up, well…everywhere. He is quite literally in every timeline, at least as far as anyone can tell. Sometimes he is an author, penning serious, scholarly essays on outlandish theories like the Bermuda Triangle and the Philadelphia Experiment. He seems to have a fondness for all manner of schemes—he was responsible for introducing both homeopathy and multi-level marketing to no fewer than sixty different timelines. His ability to peddle bullshit naturally led him to politics—pick any rebellion, coup, or campaign on any given timeline and there’s a good chance you’ll also find Charles Berlitz.

Scammers and con artists are not atypical in your line of work, but what makes Charles Berlitz an enduring mystery is that he has never been found. You can have reputable documentary evidence that Berlitz was present at a certain time and location, but if you show up to investigate, he is never there. There have been some glimpses over the years—a shadowy face in the back of a crowd, the hem of a cloak disappearing behind a corner—but nothing concrete or substantive.

“Our ghost in the timeline,” Mobius had said in one of his more poetic moments at an all staff meeting, his voice overly hushed and dramatic. You had seen Loki roll his eyes and you had to fake a coughing fit to hide your laugh.

Time moves differently at the TVA, so it’s hard to say how long Mobius has been working on this case when he makes a breakthrough, but it’s not terribly long after your conversation about Loki. A campaign button had been found in an apartment that Berlitz rented for two years in the French Quarter. That particular campaign button could only have existed in one specific timeline and its distribution was limited. You aren’t entirely clear on all of the details, but Mobius seems to have a plan.

And unfortunately, that plan involves you giving up most of your weekend to work.

It’s near quitting time on what passes for a Friday at the TVA. Loki has been in today and you can hear him starting to pack up. Technically, he’s got twenty minutes of work left, but you’re not about to tell him that.

You doodle absently on your notepad. Technically, you’ve also got twenty minutes of work left, but realistically: nothing is happening.

“Oh, great, you’re both still here.”

In general, this phrase has never meant good news for you and when you look up, you see Mobius with a sizable armful of files.

Also not a great sign.

Mobius plunks the stack of files directly on your desk. “There’s been a development with Berlitz. I need you both to review these now.”

“It’s Friday,” says Loki, affronted. “Surely it can wait until Monday.”

“No can do. I need this done by Sunday at the latest,” says Mobius. “This is an all hands on deck situation.”

Loki glances pointedly at the office around you, which has already started emptying out for the weekend.

“All hands on deck, but most hands are already in the field,” Mobius concedes. “Which is why I need the two of you—” He points to you. “You because you’re good—” He gestures to Loki. “And you because you’ve got desk duty.”

“I beg your pardon—” begins Loki.

“He’s grounded,” Mobius says to you in an exaggerated stage whisper.

This is not surprising to you: you had heard a rumor last week about an incident that had occurred on a mission to the inauguration of Richard Nixon and you suspect that these two events are likely connected.

You look at the pile of paperwork on your desk. You could probably get through it on your own in a couple of hours, but if Loki’s helping, maybe you still have a shot at having Saturday to yourself. You bite back a sigh. “What do you need me to find?”

“Anything that mentions anyone from the Lucchese crime family or Nero Variant N2815,” says Mobius. “I’ll go get the rest.”

Your heart sinks. Farewell, Saturday. “There’s more?” you say.

“It’ll be triple overtime, I already got it approved!” he calls over his shoulder

You sigh and glance at Loki who is scowling at the pile of files as though they’d wronged him personally.

There’s a long moment of silence before you speak. “Is there any truth to the rumor I’ve been hearing about the Nixon inauguration?” you ask.

“If it involved a hot air balloon, then yes,” he says rather tonelessly.

“Well.” You pause as you stare at the pile of papers. “At least it was worth it.”

That at least earns you a hint of a smile.

Several hours later, your stomach is growling and you’ve developed a rather impressive crick in your neck.

You lean back in your chair, stretching your neck to the side and rubbing the knot that is pulsing in your upper trapezius. Office work has done nothing positive for your posture in general, but tonight’s work has you hunched over more than usual and your neck is aching.

You and Loki have made good progress, but your pile of finished and sorted files is scarcely comparable to the full cart that Mobius had brought in. Back when the evening was new and you weren’t quite so tired, you’d been optimistic about possibly having half a Saturday free from work; that hope has slipped away the longer the evening has dragged on. Now you’re hoping that you’ll still have a bit of Sunday to yourself and even that feels unlikely.

Your stomach growls again. You should probably eat something—you’d worked through your regular dinner hour in a fit of misplaced optimism. The cafeteria is closed this time of night, but there’s a vending machine not far from your office that has shitty coffee and mostly edible sandwiches.

You stand and stretch, stifling a yawn as you turn around. “I’m gonna grab a coffee and some dinner,” you say. “Do you want anything?”

Loki looks up at you from the file in front of him, blinking somewhat dazedly and running a hand through his messy curls. “I’d like to stretch my legs a bit, if you don’t mind the company.”

You honestly didn’t expect him to want to join you. It’s a pleasant surprise, certainly, but also a little nerve wracking in the way that interacting with Loki always is. He’s so handsome and aloof and you’re not quite sure how to talk to him without acting like a total fool.

But you’re also not about to say no, either.

“Of course,” you say, “I don’t mind at all.”

The TVA is unusually quiet at this time of night—the steady hum of fluorescent lights and the murmur of distant voices is all that accompanies the tap of your shoes on the linoleum. It only heightens the jittery, nervous feeling you get from Loki—like your stomach is filled with drunk, lightning struck butterflies.

“Are you finding much?” asks Loki as you enter the hallway together.

You shrug. “A bit. Mostly on the Nero variant. I’m not having as much luck with the Luccheses.”

“I’ve got all of their property transfers, I think,” he says. “Renato Lucchese never met a vineyard he didn’t like.”

“Or racehorses, from what I understand,” you say. “I think that’s how he lost most of his money.”

You arrive at the vending machines. Loki looks at the vending machines and then back at you, a somewhat puzzled and troubled expression on his face.

“This is what you meant when you said you were going to get coffee and dinner?” he says.

You shrug. “Yeah, what’s wrong with this?”

He points at the coffee machine. “Mobius calls that machine Satan’s coffeemaker, does he not?”

“Yes, but I know how to trick it into giving me something that’s almost palatable,” you say.

Loki gives you a rather dry look. “Something that’s almost palatable?”

“I mean, I’m just trying to manage your expectations. It’s still pretty shitty coffee, it just tastes less burned.”

He looks at you for a long moment before tilting his head toward the hallway. “Come on, let’s go.”

It’s your turn to look skeptical. “What are we doing?”

“We’re going out for dinner.”

He takes you to a twenty-four hour diner called Frank’s that’s maybe a five minute walk from the TVA. It’s one of those places with yellowing Formica tables and big booths covered in red faux leather patched with the occasional square of duct tape. It smells like coffee and grease with a faint odor of cigarette smoke despite the prominent no smoking signs.

“I wouldn’t have thought this kind of place was your style,” you say as you sit down in a booth next to the window.

“I’ve expanded my horizons,” he says, sliding into the seat across from you.

An older woman with greying blonde hair approaches your booth. She wears a nametag reading “Connie” in big capital letters, a sticker of a pink cat stuck on the space next to her name.

“How y’all doin’ tonight?” she says as she hands you each a laminated menu. She looks at Loki. “You want your usual?”

“Please,” he says.

“You got it.” She turns to you. “How ‘bout you, hon, can I get ya started with something to drink?”

“Coffee would be great.”

“All right, I’ll be right back with your drinks.”

You raise your eyebrows at Loki as she walks away. “You eat at diners and you have a usual order. My expectations are being completely upended.”

He returns your pleasantly amused expression. “And you have vending machine coffee for dinner. It’s a revealing night.”

“I mean, I don’t actively seek it out,” you say. “It’s a convenient option that I exercise only when I have no other choice.”

“No other choice?” A sly smile curls at his lips. “Do you not have the entire array of space and time at your fingertips?”

“Well, first of all, we aren’t supposed to use TemPads for personal errands without a supervisor’s approval.”

“Technically.”

“No, actually. It’s in the personnel manual. Like verbatim.”

He raises an eyebrow. “You would put yourself through the egregious physical suffering of vending machine coffee simply to appease the capricious whims of our cruel overseer Miss Minutes?”

You bite back a laugh. “You know she’s not actually our boss, right?”

“I can’t discount that possibility. She wields a concerning amount of power within the organization.”

Connie is back with your drinks—coffee for you and tea for Loki. “Sunday Special?” she asks Loki as she sets a metal teapot and empty mug in front of him.

“Please,” he says.

“You got it.” She looks at you. “Didya get a chance to look at the menu or do you need a minute?”

You’re feeling a little daring. “I’ll try the Sunday Special as well.”

“All right, two Sunday Specials comin’ right up,” she says, collecting your menus.

“So, what’s in a Sunday Special?” you ask Loki as you take a sip of your coffee.

“Boiled fish eggs, mainly,” he says, pouring the hot water into his tea mug.

“Liar,” you say promptly.

He raises an eyebrow. “You didn’t even look at the menu, how could you know?”

“Places like this don’t serve fish eggs,” you say. “Way too unusual and definitely the wrong price point.”

“I suppose you’ll just have to see,” he says with a playful glint in his eyes. The easy charm that you’ve seen him use with the others is on full display and it’s enough to make you giddy. Maybe he doesn’t dislike you after all.

“Well, if it’s fish eggs, you’re picking up the bill,” you say, “and I’ll be getting something else instead.”

“You’d really hold me responsible for your impulsive dinner selections?”

“Yep. And I don’t even feel bad about it.”

He raises an eyebrow. “I didn’t realize you could be so unforgiving.”

“Well, you don’t know me all that well.”

“To be fair, you keep to yourself quite a bit.”

“A little bit,” you say. “But also to be fair, you haven’t really asked.”

“On work time?” he says, widening his eyes in mock horror. “That would mean write ups for both of us, I couldn’t let that happen.”

“I think I know enough about you to know that getting in trouble is not one of your primary concerns.”

He gives you a sly smile, like you’ve caught him out and he likes it. “That’s a diplomatic way to put it.” He takes a sugar packet from the dispenser on the table and tears it open before pouring it into his mug. “Well, we’re on break now, so you can safely tell me something about yourself.”

You drum your fingers on your coffee mug. “What do you want to know?”

“Well, this can’t be the only part of your life. Who are you outside the TVA? What did you do before this?”

That giddy feeling comes to a screeching halt and you take in a long, slow breath. It’s a simple question, one that most people can answer to some degree. For you, though, it’s a bit more complicated.

“Well,” you say. You take a sip of your coffee, mostly to give your hands something to do. “I don’t actually know—I chose not to remember when they gave me the option.”

You’re surprised by how gentle his eyes are when you look up. “My apologies,” he says, “I didn’t realize.”

“It’s okay,” you say and you really do mean it. “You couldn’t have known.”

Usually, you say something like this and then gently redirect the conversation, but something about the way he’s looking at you makes you want to continue. Like maybe he understands difficult things and doesn’t mind hearing about something that others would shy away from.

“When they told us everything and said they could fix our memories…” You clear your throat and focus your gaze just above his shoulder. “It’s weird, but I just had a feeling that it wouldn’t be good for me to know…that something really bad had happened. So I asked Mobius to check for me, just to be sure…” You swallow, blinking hard.

You remember how sad Mobius’ eyes were, how he’d gently placed a hand on your shoulder and said, “I think you’re making the right call, kid.”

“It’s not really okay, is it?” Loki says softly.

You shrug. “I mean, it’s…it is what it is.”

“You’re a terrible liar, you know.”

“It’s not a lie—”

He raises a skeptical eyebrow and you remember that he is, in fact, the god of lies.

“It’s more like…I can’t really miss what I don’t know, but at the same time, the reality of that absence hurts a little. So maybe not exactly okay, but not exactly not okay, either.”

There’s a lot of kindness in his gaze and you have to look away because it makes your head spin and your breath catch in your throat. “I’m not really sure if that makes sense,” you say.

“It does.”

There’s a silence between you, but it’s not uncomfortable.

“Do you…do you think you’d want to forget if you had that option?” You’re not entirely sure what prompts the question and you regret it almost as soon as it leaves your mouth. “I’m sorry, that’s probably too personal.”

He shakes his head and there’s a warmth in his eyes that you don’t expect. “I rather think I owe you one.” He pauses, running a finger around the rim of his mug. “Sometimes I do,” he says finally. “It can be quite painful remembering.” He worries his lip between his teeth. “But I’m not sure who I would be without the knowledge of my past, either.” His gaze flicks back to you. “What’s it like for you? Do you feel like you know who you are without those memories?”

It’s a good question—one you’ve never been asked. “I mean, it’s hard to say for sure. I think I do,” you say. “Sometimes I wonder if I was different in my timeline. Maybe I was kinder because I had different experiences that made me more empathetic. Maybe I wasn’t—maybe I was worse. Maybe I had a villain arc.”

He chuckles. “That doesn’t seem likely.”

“I dunno, maybe it explains the vending machine coffee and my fish egg related threats,” you say and you feel almost giddy when he returns your smile. “Or maybe I’m the same and all those experiences that shaped me are just scars I can’t see.” You shrug and take a sip of your coffee. “At the end of the day, though, that timeline is gone. I’m all that’s left. It’s sad, but it’s also freeing, in a way.”

He nods. “Mobius has said much the same.”

You smile slightly. “Our philosophies are similar, I suppose, though I think there are probably more bits of his past self in his present self than he realizes.”

Loki grins. “It’s the jet skis, isn’t it?”

“I mean, I just don’t think most normal people spend that much time expounding on the reliability of the Yamaha engine versus the pure, raw power of the Kawasaki.”

Loki holds up a finger. “But have you gotten the lecture about Yamaha’s braking system?”

“I think I have that memorized at this point.”

“‘The perfect choice for families.’”

“‘You just tap the brakes. Just tap them. Perfectly smooth stop every time.’”

“‘Reliability meets affordability.’”

“‘You can’t say no to that.’”

You think you probably could have riffed on this for a bit, but you’re interrupted by the arrival of Connie with your dinner.

The Sunday Special turns out to be a fairly traditional breakfast—eggs, hash browns, two fluffy pancakes, sausage, toast, a little bowl of strawberries.

“Definitely lots of fish eggs in this meal,” you say to Loki after Connie leaves.

His smile is small, but genuine. “You haven’t looked under the pancakes yet.”

You feel it then, but you don’t fully understand until later that this dinner has unlocked something important between the two of you. After months of awkward, stilted conversation, it’s like you finally understand how to talk to each other. And you’re surprised to find that even outside of your big stupid crush, you actually like Loki. You like his sly smiles and his dry humor and how easily the two of you fall into a routine of playful banter. You click in a way that surprises you, in a way that makes you mourn the lost potential of all those awkward, stilted months and feel giddy about the possibilities ahead.

Dinner is over too soon and you walk back to the TVA feeling revived from the coffee and the conversation.

Disaster awaits you back at the office, though: you’d left a stack of the Nero variant files on your desk and evidently the construction was too precarious, as the entire pile had tipped off your desk and spilled to the floor, contents scattered everywhere.

“Fucking hell,” you sigh, running a hand through your hair. You’re not sure whether you want to laugh, cry, or scream. Possibly, it’s all three.

“Here.” Loki is bending down on the floor to gather the files. You studiously try to not ogle his ass or thighs. Or at least not obviously. “Clear off some space on your desk—I’ll help.”

Twenty minutes later, you’ve set up an entirely new system—Loki has dragged his chair over to your desk and the cart of unsorted files sits between you, like a surly metallic chaperone. And even later when you’ve sorted out all of the files from the floor, he remains parked at the end of your desk, a stack of new, unsorted files in front of him. Admittedly, it’s a lot more efficient for you to work like this: privately, though, it gives you a warm glow that has nothing to do with workplace efficiency.

“I’ve invented a new game,” he says some time later.

“What’s that?”

“Every time either one of us finds documentation showing Renato Lucchese losing money on a racehorse he was told was not a good investment, I get to have a drink.”

You look up at him. “Look, I know you’re a god and everything, but I am pretty sure that will kill you.”

He sighs and tosses the file into the Lucchese pile. “I think it would add a little excitement to the evening, don’t you?”

You raise your eyebrows and look back at the file in front of you. “You mean this isn’t your idea of a fun Friday night?”

“My idea of a fun Friday night includes far fewer files and a lot more debauchery,” he says, taking a new file from the cart.

You glance at the clock. “Well, it’s only eleven. I don’t usually start body shots until after midnight.”

“What are body shots?”

For one horrifying moment, you think that you’re going to actually have to explain this to him, but then you get a good look at his expression.

He’s teasing you.

“You’re an ass,” you say, swatting him on the shoulder with the file you’re holding.

He wags a finger at you. “That’s workplace violence. I’m going to have to report that.”

You lean back in your chair and return to your file. “I’m pretty confident that you’ll be put off by the amount of paperwork that process requires.”

He shakes his head as he returns to his own file. “Uncontrolled bureaucracy is how bad actors escape accountability.” There’s a brief pause. “And…there’s another racehorse.”

You continue on like this for the rest of the evening, occasionally chatting and Loki proving definitively that the Renato Lucchese racehorse drinking game could not be played without resulting in a fatality. It’s nice, though. Yes, it’s sorting files and yes, it’s not the most intellectually riveting task you’ve ever done, but spending time with Loki is nice. It’s because of this that you find yourself trying to stay awake, pushing past your looming exhaustion.

But around two, you can’t quite fight the heaviness of your eyelids any longer and you doze off in the middle of a report on the sinking of the Lusitania.

“Hey.” Loki is gently shaking your shoulder. The way he says your name in that deliciously deep voice makes you want to swoon and you’re glad that you have the ready made excuse of sleepiness to explain any embarrassing behavior on your end.

“I think you’d better call it a night,” he says gently. “Get some sleep and come back with fresh eyes.”

“What about you?” you say. “Are you going to do the same, or are you just all talk?”

He smiles at you and it warms you to the very tips of your toes. You could bask in that smile like a cat in a sunbeam.

“I’m starting to fade a bit myself,” he says

“Very convenient,” you say and he grins at you.

“Come on, I’ll see you back home.”

Part of you wants to protest—there’s really no need for him to walk you home—but a larger, louder part of you wants to let it be, prolong the magic of tonight for just a little longer.

There’s a comfortable silence between the two of you as you walk out of the office together.

“What time do you think you’re going to come in tomorrow?” he asks as you approach the residential wing. “It’s probably sensible to coordinate our efforts a bit.”

“Yeah, that’s a good point,” you say. “I was thinking nine, but that will be dependent on how much coffee I have.”

“Yes, about that,” he says. “I cannot stand idly by and watch you torture yourself with vending machine coffee.”

“Well, the cafeteria will be open, so I was going to torture myself with cafeteria coffee, which is at least thirty percent less over brewed.”

He clicks his tongue. “You’re not making a compelling case for yourself.”

“To be fair, it’s quite late and I’ve been staring at files for hours.”

“All the more reason to get decent coffee,” he says. “We’re going out for breakfast.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Oh, we are?”

“Consider it an intervention,” he says. “I’ll come collect you at eight.”

You’re not quite sure if this is just his natural confidence and swagger coming through or if he’s flirting with you and this counts as a date.

“Where are we going?”

“I know a place.”

The place in question turns out to be a food cart in Central Park in 1998.

“Should I even bother asking if you have supervisor approval for this?” you say, looking skeptically at the time door glimmering before you.

Loki scoffs. “I don’t have a supervisor.”

“You do. It’s Mobius.”

“That can’t be right, we’re peers.”

“You’re absolutely not. Did you read any of the onboarding materials?”

He ignores your question. “I don’t see why I’d even need a supervisor, honestly.”

You snort. “Need I remind you of what happened at the Nixon inauguration?”

He spreads his hands in front of him. “It’s not my fault that I’m the only one with a sense of humor.”

“I’m not entirely sure that was the problem,” you say. “Gerald Ford is never going to be the same, from what I understand.”

Loki waves a dismissive hand. “He’ll be fine, the tail isn’t permanent. Now, are you coming or not?”

You roll your eyes at him and make a halfhearted complaint about proper protocol, but you know that you’re walking through that time door and not looking back. You knew that before he even posed the question.

The food cart is owned by a man named Samir who has a wide smile and booming laugh. He talks to Loki like he’s a friend and he tells you that you have the prettiest eyes he’s ever seen. You are fairly certain he’s exaggerating, but you stuff a few extra bills into the tip jar anyway.

“I can’t believe you fell for that,” says Loki as you walk away, each carrying a coffee and a brown paper bag with a breakfast sandwich.

“Fell for what?” you say, batting your eyes at him. “I do have beautiful eyes.”

“I’ve heard him say that on at least thirty separate occasions.”

“Yeah, but this time he really meant it. I could tell.”

He rolls his eyes and leads you to a park bench overlooking a wide, grassy field. The leaves are just starting to change and the air has a little bit of a bite to it.

You sit down on the bench and take a sip of your coffee.

“It is good coffee, I’ll give you that,” you say.

“See,” says Loki, “you can’t go back to that vending machine sludge after this.”

“I mean, if it’s eleven o’clock at night and I’m on a deadline, I can.”

“Darling. You have a TemPad.”

“Loki. Read the personnel manual.”

He wrinkles his nose. “It’s not really my genre.”

You roll your eyes and take out your breakfast sandwich. “What is your genre?”

He raises an eyebrow. “Is that a serious question?”

“Of course it is,” you say. “I love talking about books.”

He gives you a slight smile and takes a sip of his coffee. “A little bit of everything, honestly,” he says. “Philosophy. Magical theory. History. Politics. Anything from Asgard, really, though it can be a bit more challenging getting some of those titles.”

“I’ve had pretty good luck with the Library of the Sacred Timeline—have you checked there yet?”

He frowns. “I’m not familiar.”

“Oh, you’d like it—it’s on the eighteenth floor. It’s intended to be a collection of the greatest works of literature from as many branches of the timeline as possible,” you say. “It started as a research project, but people liked it and it just kind of evolved into this huge collection. They’ve actually got a pretty sizeable collection of books from Asgard.”

It’s like you’ve told him that his personal paradise had been located on the eighteenth floor this entire time. “Will you show me?”

He is practically vibrating with the sort of anticipatory, manic energy that you typically would associate with Christmas morning right before you tear into presents. It’s sweetly endearing.

“Of course.”

Ten minutes later, you’re leading him through the winding hallways on the eighteenth floor. You’re not surprised he hasn’t heard about the library—it’s a bit out of the way and the eighteenth floor is so poorly designed that it’s not terribly easy to find.

The design of the library is a sharp departure from the rest of the TVA. The shelves and floors are made of the kind of dark mahogany that you typically see in the kind of estates that look like something directly out of a Jane Austen novel. Worn oriental rugs muffle your footsteps on the creaky wood floors and the air smells faintly of dust and paper.

There’s a subtle change in Loki when you walk through the doors—almost like a muscle in his shoulders finally relaxes and he seems truly at home for the first time since he arrived.

You touch his hand. “This way.”

You lead him into the stacks, back to the far corner, right after the books from Alfheim.

“You can borrow whichever ones you like,” you say softly. “There’s a sign out sheet at the front desk.”

He nods, though you don’t think he really hears you—he only has eyes for the shelves, his gaze sweeping across the spines like they’re old friends. You’re about to excuse yourself to give him a little privacy when his brow furrows and he exhales sharply. “Oh, you can’t be serious.”

“What is it?”

They have the entirety of the finest Asgardian literature at their disposal. Untold centuries of the writings of our greatest minds—” he plucks a book off the shelf, “—and they choose to include this?”

The title looks fairly innocuous—a red, leather bound book with the title The Cloistered Heart embossed in gold script on the front. You take the book from him and open it. “What’s the problem with this?”

“It’s inconsequential fluff, literary pablum of the highest order.”

This is the Loki that you’re more familiar with and a smile curls at your lips. Almost on cue, you flip the book open to a chapter titled “The Wedding and Bedding of Aloisa.”

You bite back a laugh and look up at him. “It’s a romance novel.”

“Precisely my point,” he says. “To think that this is on the same shelf as Nielsen and Auber.”

“That’s kind of how libraries work,” you say, flipping further into the book. The phrases “throbbing length” and “eager moans” draw your eye and you have to tamp down another laugh. “Oh, and it’s a sexy romance novel.”

“It appeals to the lowest common denominator, yes.”

“What, so you’re too good for a bodice ripper?”

He scoffs. “I prefer to do the bodice ripping myself, not read some overwrought description of it.”

You are glad you’re looking at the book because you’re pretty sure you’d disintegrate if you had to make eye contact with him while he delivered that line. “Oh spare me,” you say lightly, snapping the book shut and drawing it to your chest. “I’m gonna read this.”

He blows out a puff of air. “It’s a waste of your time.”

“I’ve got lots of time, I can afford to waste it,” you say cheekily. “Besides, I’m curious to see what kind of book turns the god of mischief into a pearl clutching prude.”

Loki sputters. “Prude? Darling, let me assure you, I’m no prude—”

“I’ll leave you to browse,” you say with a grin as you turn away from him. “Come find me at the front when you’re ready to go.”

You’re a few chapters into the book when Loki rejoins you at the front of the library, a small stack of books tucked under his arm.

You close your book with a snap. “This book is a delight. I think your real issue is just that you’re no fun.”

He scoffs. “I’m very fun.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

You bicker playfully back and forth as you check out your books and leave the library. A quick glance at your watch tells you that you spent much more time there than you’d planned. You can’t quite bring yourself to worry about that, though, not with the memory of Loki’s wonderstruck expression burning so bright in your mind.

There’s a bit of a lull in the conversation as you wait for the elevator.

“Thank you,” he says softly.

“For what?”

“For showing me that.”

“Of course. I’m sorry you didn’t know about it sooner.”

He looks at you, lips parting slightly like he’s about to say something. His tongue swipes briefly over his bottom lip and you would swear that his gaze drops to your mouth for just a second.

For just a second—one heady, slightly irrational second—you think he might be about to kiss you.

The ding of the elevator arriving breaks the spell, startling you just a little. You run a hand through your hair, trying to give off the impression of composure even as your heart beats wildly in your chest.

Loki gestures to the elevator doors. “After you.”

There is a group of analysts in the elevator already, chatting animatedly and completely obliterating any chance you may have had at recapturing that moment.

You try not to dwell too much in contemplating what ifs or timeline branches—often, it feels too much like work, something Mobius might assign you.

But you know that the possibility of that moment—what if the elevator had been a hair slower, what if those analysts had taken a different route, what if you were braver—you know that’s something that’s going to haunt you for a while.

You wouldn’t give up that time in the library for anything—it’s one of those moments that feels formative, something that you’ll return to again and again for one reason or another.

But it’s also true that it’s time that you probably could have used for sorting files and as Saturday ticks on, you can’t help but wish you had a way to pull another hour out of somewhere.

“We’re not going to be able to make this deadline, are we?” you say with a sigh.

It’s getting late into the evening and the cart of files still to be sorted still remains depressingly full, despite the fact that you’d brought both lunch and dinner back to your desk so you could continue working.

Loki eyes the remaining files. “I think we might. We made good progress today.”

You rub your eyes. “My brain feels like it’s about to leak out my ears.”

Loki takes the file you are working on and sets it back in the stack of unsorted files. “I think that might be a sign it’s time to turn in,” he says.

“There’s still so much left.”

“There’s still tomorrow.”

You reach for the file. “Well, let me just—”

He pulls your hand away from the pile. “You can come back to it in the morning. Besides, if you’re this tired, you’re not going to do good work anyway.”

He squeezes your hand and drops it. It’s brief enough to still be friendly, but unusual enough to make you wonder and send your mind racing back to that moment by the elevator.

You shake the thought away. It’s late and you’re tired.

You heave a world weary sigh and slump back in your chair. “I hate it when you’re right.”

To his credit, he only smirks a little. “Come on. I’ll walk you back.”

Once again, there’s no reason for him to do this, but once again, you’re inclined to let him.

You pack up for the evening and walk out of the office side by side. You’re trying very hard not to think about the fact that this is likely the last night that you’ll do this, that tomorrow the assignment will be over.

As you near the residential wing, you start to hear distant shouts. If you inhale deeply, you catch a very faint whiff of explosives—you’re not sure what kind.

“I think someone brought work home,” you say with a sigh.

This happens from time to time—things get out of hand in the field or something happens when retrieving an asset or a target and all hell breaks loose at the TVA. Mobius had once referred to it as “bringing work home” and the name had stuck.

“Wasn’t there an incident in this wing not long ago?” asks Loki.

“Yes.” You sigh, running a hand through your hair. “I had to call off the next day—I got no sleep that night.” You listen carefully, trying to determine the source of the noise and the status of the problem. “But maybe it’s almost over,” you say with an optimism you don’t fully feel. “Sometimes these things are resolved really quick.”

Your heart continues to sink the closer you come to your home. The acrid burn of explosives only increases and you think you catch the low, dull roar of something not quite human.

And indeed, when you turn the final corner, you are immediately stopped by an electric blue barrier being monitored by a hunter. G-21–you’ve worked with her on a couple of missions before.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” slips out of your mouth before you can stop yourself.

“There’s an ongoing incident in this area,” says G-21 and you almost want to laugh because no shit.

“How long do you think it’s gonna be closed off?” you ask.

She shrugs. “We’re at a code 54 right now, but it’s probably gonna escalate.”

With pitch perfect timing and before you can even try to remember what a code 54 means, there’s an almighty crash and a low bellow.

“Go!” she yells before running toward the commotion amid frantic calls for backup.

Loki is grabbing your wrist and pulling you into a run.

Your standard issue work shoes are comfortable enough on a day to day basis, but you certainly want to have words with whoever decided that leather soled shoes with absolutely no grips were a good choice for a building floored almost entirely in linoleum. In a low stakes situation, it’s meant occasionally you wipe out in the cafeteria and hurt nothing but your pride. In this situation, it means that Loki’s firm grip on your hand is the only thing keeping you upright.

But there’s a small mercy in that while you can still hear distant crashes and shrieks, whatever is happening down that hallway doesn’t seem to be following you and eventually, you both slow to a brisk walk and Loki drops your hand.

You haven’t even had a chance to consider where you are going to sleep tonight. You could probably curl up on that terrible couch in the office and just plan on getting up early enough to run back to your place for a quick shower and a change of clothes…assuming the incident resolves by then—

“You can stay with me,” says Loki, as though he can hear you trying to sort this out.

“Oh, that’s okay, I’ll just—”

“If you say you’re going to sleep on that terrible couch in the office, I will personally take you to the most boring governmental proceeding I can find and leave you there until you come to your senses.”

“Sounds like a great place to fall asleep,” you say.

His eyes glint, but his tone brooks no arguments. “You’re staying with me tonight.”

You sigh, but you can’t think of a counterpoint. “When did you get so bossy?”

“Darling, I’m a prince,” he says with a bit of a wry smirk. “It’s my birthright.”

Loki lives on the opposite end of the residential wing and his place looks quite a bit like yours—he’s got an extra window in the kitchen but the floor plan is otherwise the same. A lot of his furniture is standard issue, but there are little details that make it seem more personal: an area rug with a bit of fraying on the edges, a painting of what you think is an Asgardian landscape, a vase filled with dried flowers so delicate they look like they might disintegrate if you were to touch them. And books—so many books. Books on shelves, stacked on the coffee table, tucked into the little rack that you know is meant to hold magazines. Hardbacks, paperbacks, leather bound, dog-eared, well-worn and brand new. It’s no wonder he was so excited about the library.

“Have a seat,” he says, gesturing to the couch. “I’ll get some things for you.”

You sit down and he disappears down the hall. You idly examine the books stacked on the end table next to you. Many are quite clearly from Asgard and it sparks a pang of sympathy—it’s like his homesickness is on full display in his living room and there’s something sweet and sad about seeing that vulnerability laid so bare.

He returns a few minutes later with a pair of pajamas, a toothbrush, and a hand towel.

“Here,” he says, handing you the pile. “Bathroom’s just down the hall. I’ll make up a bed for you.”

“Thanks.”

In the bathroom, you realize that the pajamas he’s given you aren’t the standard set you can order from the TVA. These are made of a dark emerald silk that ripples over your skin like water, and somehow, that makes it feel a thousand times more personal than if he’d loaned you a standard set. They don’t fit quite right on you, but they’ll work well enough for tonight.

You brush your teeth and attempt to get through as much of your evening routine as you can before collecting your clothes and exiting the bathroom.

When you return to the living room, you expect to find that he’s made up a bed for you on the couch. These living units only have one bedroom—it would be quite reasonable to have you sleep on the couch.

You do not expect to find a pajama clad Loki stretched out reading on the couch, a blanket over his lap and his head propped up on a pillow like he intends to sleep there.

You exhale slowly. “Please tell me you are not giving up your bed.”

“Don’t be absurd, of course I am,” he says without even looking up from his book. “The point of this was to prevent you from sleeping on a couch, not simply put you on a couch in a different location.”

You wish you had something to throw at him. “You don’t even fit on that couch.”

“Luckily, my knees bend. Besides, you’re a guest,” he says, as though that settles it.

You roll your eyes and plunk yourself down in the armchair across from the couch, setting your pile of clothes on the floor. “I’m not moving until you give up the couch.”

He finally looks up from his book. “You’re really going to do this?”

You examine your fingernails, flicking away an invisible speck of dust. “I’m not the one being unreasonable. I’m simply meeting you at your level.”

“If you think that I’m being unreasonable and you’re also saying you’re meeting me at my level, does that not mean you are admitting that you are being unreasonable?”

“It’s nearly one o’clock in the morning. I’m not arguing semantics with you.”

“Fine.” His eyes glimmer as he sets his book down and slowly rises to his feet. “But you’re still not sleeping on the couch.”

“Oh, you’re going to be so disappointed when you realize how wrong you are,” you say. You think you see your opening and you try to play it cool.

He’s walking toward you, leaving your path to the couch wide open. In your head, you can see exactly how this works: you’ll spring from your chair and dart around the coffee table before diving onto the couch like a baseball player sliding into home plate, soundly defeating Loki. Easy peasy.

Instead, what happens is that you spring to your feet and Loki moves with inhuman speed, grabbing you around your waist and pinning you to the front of his chest, stopping you in your tracks almost immediately.

“I suppose I should have expected that,” he says. Your back is facing him, but you can almost hear the dry, sardonic look he’s giving you.

“Probably,” you say. “God of mischief and all.” You struggle fruitlessly against his iron grip. “You can let me go now.”

He laughs. “I’m afraid I can’t. It was clearly a mistake to trust you. I won’t be making that error again.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you say, trying again to squirm away from him. “Let me go.”

“The interesting thing about all of this is that you’ve made a rather substantial tactical error,” he says, continuing as though he can’t hear you.

“You’re bluffing,” you say with more confidence than you feel.

“Fascinating theory,” he says, “but I don’t think it’s going to work out for you.”

With that same ridiculous speed, he’s suddenly spinning you around and lifting you, tossing you easily over his shoulder.

“Hey!” you shout in protest.

“I warned you,” he says, his voice full of mirth as he carries you toward the bedroom.

This is not exactly how you’ve imagined being carried off to bed by Loki.

Though, admittedly, you do have a nice view of his ass.

“This is ridiculous,” you say.

“You brought this upon yourself.” He’s walking into the bedroom and a moment later, he’s lifting you from his shoulder and tossing you unceremoniously onto his bed.

You scramble to your feet and try to lunge toward the door, but he’s clearly expecting that. Before your feet even hit the floor, he catches you around the waist and hauls you back to the bed. Your back hits the mattress and you try to leverage the momentum to propel yourself back onto your feet.

He catches you immediately and you find yourself back on the bed again.

“I don’t mean to be patronizing,” he says, failing to bite back a laugh, “but it’s adorable that you think you can outmaneuver me.”

That is deeply offensive and the only way you can earn my forgiveness is by letting me take my rightful place on the couch.” You can’t quite keep the laugh from your voice.

He grins. “Not a chance.”

You attempt to dive off the opposite side of the bed, only to have him grab you by the ankles and pull you back. You manage to dislodge him and lunge in the opposite direction, only to be immediately thwarted.

It becomes increasingly hilarious the longer it goes on and soon your sides are aching from laughter. Loki is laughing too, but it doesn’t seem to affect his strength or speed at all.

Eventually, he wrestles you back down onto the bed and you are fairly certain there’s no way out of this one—he’s got your wrists pinned above your head and his legs locked around yours. You’re both a little out of breath.

“Yield,” he says.

You shake your head. “Never.”

His gaze flicks to your lips and back to your eyes. “Yield.”

“No.”

Something has changed. There’s an electricity and intensity that crackles in the air between you, possibilities blooming in both of your gazes. It feels a little like that moment by the elevator, but you’re afraid to hope, afraid to even wish because the idea of him wanting you still feels as impossible as capturing smoke with a net.

But the way he’s looking at you, the way his gaze keeps drifting between your eyes and your lips…that’s not nothing.

“Yield.”

You lick your lips, your heart beating wildly. “No.”

Is it just your imagination, or did his breath hitch when you licked your lips?

“Yield.”

God, he’s so close and you want him so badly.

“No.”

He looks again at your lips and this time, he closes the distance between you.

They call him Silvertongue—you’ve heard the jokes, you’ve rolled your eyes at all of them. But as he kisses you, you realize that there’s an element of truth there because only seconds in and you’re ready to sign away your soul to live under the power of Loki’s tongue. The slow, warm slide of it against yours, the way he guides your mouth against his, the way he lets out a soft sigh as he tastes you—you would give up everything if it meant you could stay like this.

“Yield,” he breathes against your lips.

“No,” you say.

He deepens the kiss, catching your lower lip between his teeth and gently tugging until you whimper and arch against him.

He still has your hands pinned against the bed, his grip unyielding when you try to wrestle them away.

“Let me touch you,” you say when he draws back. You want to touch him everywhere—run your hands along every muscle you’ve admired from afar.

“Then yield,” he says with a grin, his eyes flashing with devilish intent.

You consider this for a moment. You could give in—there aren’t really any stakes at this point and you’re pretty sure you’re both going to end up sleeping in his bed tonight anyway. But that glint of mischief in his eyes also promises some intriguing possibilities if you stand firm.

“No,” you say.

“Such a pity,” says Loki, though his expression is one of hungry delight.

His hands slip free of your wrists then, but they stay pinned to the bed by some invisible force.

“Cheater,” you say.

“I think this is only fair,” he says, his hands sliding to your hips. “I’m clearly the victor, am I not entitled to my prize?”

You shiver. “Your prize?”

“Yes.” He kisses down the column of your throat. “My lovely, lovely prize.”

“How can I be your prize if I’m also your competitor?”

“You think too much,” he mumbles against your neck.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“Generally, it’s not.” He sits back on his heels between your legs, looking you over with satisfaction. “But in this case, it’s distracting you from more pressing matters.” His hands creep under the hem of your shirt, stroking the small of your back, thumbs tracing teasingly along the waistband of your pajama pants.

“Have I mentioned how much I enjoy seeing you in my clothes?” he asks. There’s a husky depth to his voice and a hunger in his eyes that sends a flood of arousal to your cunt.

“You have not,” you say.

“A casualty of too much thinking,” he says solemnly, his thumbs gently grazing the skin at your hipbones. “You look utterly delectable. I almost want to leave them on.” His eyes glitter with mischief. “Almost.” His hand strays to the bottom button on your pajama top. “May I?”

You nod. “Yes.”

He slips the button free and slowly makes his way up until your shirt is open. He carefully pushes the fabric aside, baring your breasts to his sight and touch.

You’ve never felt more beautiful seeing Loki stare at you, lips slightly parted, eyes wide and hungry. He trails one hand up your stomach and rib cage and slowly brushes a thumb over your nipple. You gasp and the sensitive skin puckers and stiffens as he palms your breast, rolling your nipple between his thumb and forefinger.

“Gorgeous,” he murmurs as he lowers his mouth to your breast, his tongue and lips taking up the role of his hand, while his other hand moves to cup your other breast. You whimper, wishing you could run your hands through his hair. “That’s it,” he purrs, “I want to hear all the sounds you can make, my love.”

You rock your hips forward and arch your back as he lavishes attention on your breasts. It’s the most delicious kind of torture, having him so close, but not being able to touch him.

He’s taking his time, which you both love and hate. He feels so good, but you need him to touch you, you need to touch him, you need him inside of you. You wait until you can’t take it any more and breathe his name like it’s a prayer.

You wonder if this is what he was waiting for because with little more than a brief smirk and a wicked look, he starts kissing his way back up your chest and neck. You whimper when his lips meet yours and you can feel him grin as he kisses you. He fits his hips against yours, angling himself so that his cock rubs up against your clit just right and you moan into his mouth. You can tell that he’s big and part of you wants to savor the anticipation even though you feel like you might go mad if he doesn’t fuck you now. You rock your hips against him, trying to feel that friction.

His large hands frame your face, one hand sliding to cradle the back of your head so he can draw you deeper, the other trailing from your cheek to your throat.

Both hands soon stroke down your sides, lingering teasingly at the waistband of your pajama pants. He hooks his thumbs underneath the waistband and you lift your hips. He slides your pants down maybe an inch and you can feel him smiling as he kisses you. You lift your hips again and your waistband creeps down another inch.

“Loki.” His name falls from your lips with a sigh.

“What is it, my love?”

“Touch me,” you breathe. “Please.”

You lift your hips again and this time, he pulls the fabric fully down and off your legs. He guides your legs apart and stares appreciatively at your bare cunt, his teasing expression replaced by a rapt awe.

“Beautiful,” he murmurs.

You believe him.

His hands stroke your thighs, seemingly in no hurry, despite your pleading whimpers and the way you arch against the mattress. He draws his thumb gently along your slit, barely grazing your clit.

“Do you know what an utter distraction it’s been sitting behind you?” he asks, tracing your clit in the slowest, lightest circle.

You arch upward, hands still bound by his magic. “Tell me,” you breathe, your hips rising to chase his hand.

“Every time you stood up, I could only think about bending you over the desk.”

You manage a sly smirk. “And here I thought you didn’t like me much at all.”

His thumb presses a little more against your clit and you moan.

“I’ve wanted you from the moment I saw you,” he says, rolling his thumb in a slow circle. “I kept you at arm’s length partly as a matter of protection.”

For who?”

“You,” he says. “I’m not fully redeemed in some eyes and you being involved with a dangerous variant—”

“You’re not,” you say.

“Some would disagree.”

“Well, they’re wrong,” you say. “You’re not a dangerous variant. You’re Loki Laufeyson and I want you just as you are.”

There’s something unreadable in his expression and it makes you wonder how many people have told him that he can just be himself.

“You should be careful saying such lovely things to me, you know,” he says solemnly.

You raise an eyebrow. “Oh really? And why is that?”

“Because it makes me want to do very wicked things to you.”

You’re surprised you’re not shaking, you want him so badly. “What kinds of wicked things?”

“Oh, all manner of wicked things.” He presses a kiss to the inside of your knee, his tongue swiping briefly against your skin. “Things with my mouth...” His thumb rolls over your clit again, his index finger teasing your entrance before retreating. “…my hands…” He drags his gaze over your naked form before locking eyes with you. “My cock.”

A shiver works its way up your spine. “So if I talk about how I think you’re really clever and funny and I find it unbelievably sexy, what sort of wicked thing would that merit?”

The intensity of his gaze makes you shiver again. He crouches down and presses another kiss against the inside of your knee, slowly moving upward. “If you keep talking like that, I’m not going to let you leave my bed for days.”

“You know that’s not a disincentive, right?” you say, sucking in a sharp breath as he nips at the soft skin of your inner thigh. “I’ve wanted you for such a long time, Loki.”

“I’ll make it weeks if you’re not careful.”

“Again, not a disincentive.” You gently tug at your bound wrists and find that they’re still firmly secured. It’s exhilarating, even though you really wish you could run your hands through his hair, especially if he ends up where you think he’s going.

“What else should I tell you?” you muse as he continues his agonizingly slow path along your thigh. “You know, half the reason I kept to myself was that I wanted you so much I was certain that I’d make a fool of myself.”

That earns you a few circles of your clit with his thumb, but his progress up your thigh remains slow. You have a theory about what might move the needle, though.

“I know you like to act like you’re this sort of barely reformed villain, but I think there’s more good in you than you’d like people to believe.”

This time, he moves up to the crease where your thigh joins your hip, close enough that you can feel the heat of his breath ghosting along your labia. His tongue traces a line along your skin and you briefly wonder if you’ll be able to hold it together enough to deliver the last part.

“And,” you say, trying to keep your voice steady, “yesterday and today made me want you even more because I feel like I finally saw who you really are and you’re even more wond—”

Your words abruptly give way to a breathy moan because his perfect, skilled tongue has finally found its way to your clit.

You had a plan from here, but whatever it was has dissolved into nothing under the skilled caress of Loki’s tongue. You suspected he would be good at this from the way that he’d kissed you earlier, but you could not have imagined that it would feel like this.

“Oh my god, Loki.” Your thighs are already quaking. You tug again at the invisible bonds on your wrists, but they hold fast. Something about the way the bonds are keeping you gently stretched along the bed combined with how his large hands have your thighs spread open seems to heighten every sensation. There’s no wiggling away from him or adjusting yourself so that you feel more or less of the onslaught of his tongue on your cunt. You are completely at his mercy and you’re not entirely surprised that you fucking love it.

He slides a finger into your aching channel and your cunt shudders around the thick intrusion. The warm, roiling center of your orgasm starts builds in your hips with every stroke of his tongue, spinning faster and faster, like ocean winds whipping up into a hurricane. Your back arches and his tongue presses flat against your clit, and suddenly you know that this is going to be what takes you over the edge.

Loki seems to know it too, at least from the way that he presses his tongue more firmly against you, one arm slung across your hips to hold you in place. His other hand slides two fingers inside you, rocking and curling against that aching, tender spot.

You whimper, your hips bucking wildly. It’s so good and so much and you are almost there.

You look down at him then, his hair wild, hollowed cheeks flushed pink as his tongue works you over, his eyes closed like he couldn’t imagine anything more blissful than being in between your legs while you come undone.

This is ultimately what tips you over the edge. The storm that has been forming inside you is finally let loose and you arch your back and cry out in a wordless scream as your climax crashes into you.

Only then do the bonds around your wrists release and your hands fly down to grab his hair as your body shakes with pleasure.

It takes a moment for you to get your breath back and reacquaint yourself with the concept of speech, but when you do, you find Loki looking up at you, his expression pure mischief.

“And to think you wanted to sleep on the couch.”

“It wasn’t that I wanted to sleep on the couch, it’s that—” Your voice cuts off as his tongue starts stroking your clit again.

“It’s what?” he asks in between strokes, his smirk obvious in his voice. The lingering ripples of your orgasm are coalescing around the path of his tongue, tightening that coil in your belly again.

“Fuck—you’re not playing fair, you can’t just—” You lose your sentence to a low moan that rises up from your chest. “You can’t just—fuck, yes—you can’t…oh god, yes, just like that.”

His laughter rumbles against you as your hips start rocking against his mouth. How are you already so close?

“You can’t just—fuck—win an argument by—”

You’re trying to say that he can’t expect to win an argument by making you come and you think he might understand this based on how determined he seems to be to prove you wrong. His fingers curl again until he finds that soft, tender spot that is so often the key to your unraveling.

You have stopped trying to complete that sentence—you moan, your hands tangling in his hair, urging him on as the swell of your climax rushes up, inevitable as a tidal wave looming over a seaside village.

You cry out as it crests and breaks, falling down over you in a rush of tingling pleasure that feels like champagne and fireworks all at once.

“Now, what was it you were saying, my love?” he asks as he releases your clit a moment later. “Something about how I can’t just win an argument by making you come? I couldn’t quite hear you over the sound of you coming completely undone on my tongue.”

“Oh, you think you’re so smart,” you say, giving him a stern look as he crawls up your body.

“You know what I think?” he says, settling himself on his side next to you. “I think you liked submitting to me.”

You shiver before you can even think about hiding it and his smile turns decidedly vulpine.

“You did, didn’t you? You liked having your hands bound and being completely at my mercy while I licked your pretty cunt until you came undone in my mouth.”

“You are enjoying this far too much,” you say.

“I am enjoying it the correct amount.”

You realize your hands are now free to explore his body and you tug at his pajama shirt. “I think you’re wearing too many clothes,” you say.

He gives you a wicked grin as he lets you pull his shirt over his head. “Yes, perhaps it’s time we even things up.”

You pull the shirt away and rake your eyes over him greedily, your hands following the path of your gaze. He is as perfect as you imagined, unfairly beautiful in the dim light of the bedroom.

You hook your thumbs into the waistband of his pajama pants and lower them an inch, a cheeky parallel of how he teased you earlier. His lips curl into a sharp smile when he realizes what you’re doing.

“Interesting strategy.” There’s a bit of a growl in his voice, a rough desperation that makes your cunt clench. “But I think you forgot that I have the upper hand here.”

He raises his hand and with a twist of his wrist, his remaining clothes dissolve in a shimmer of green and he is bare before you.

Your breath catches in your throat. His cock commands your immediate attention, nudging up against your thigh—he’s big, as you suspected, but completely bare and rock hard, he somehow seems longer and thicker than he had when he was grinding against you.

He pulls you into a slow kiss as you reach for his cock. You wrap your hand around him, delighting in the silky hardness of him, the way he throbs in your hand and the low groan he makes as your hand moves from base to tip and back, the way his hips thrust along with you. Your cunt clenches in anticipation.

After a moment, though, he places his hand over yours, slowing your movements.

“I need to be inside you,” he rasps.

“Yes,” you breathe.

He rolls on top of you and you’re not sure that you’ve ever felt anything quite as wonderful as the heat of his bare skin and yours pressed together. This feeling means intimacy, a closeness that you’d longed for but never expected even in your wildest daydreams.

He pulls you into a kiss, slow, soft, and languid, like you have all the time in the world and he intends to take it. It’s decadent and dreamy and perfect.

But the heavy weight of his bare cock resting against your stomach combined with the ache between your legs—an ache that would be so perfectly soothed by the hard column of flesh currently throbbing against you—proves to be a force too powerful to resist for very long.

You cant your hips against him, snaking one leg around his waist, hoping he’ll get the hint.

He does.

He braces himself on one hand, the other sliding between your bodies to rub his cock along your slick folds. He positions himself at your entrance, waiting for your breathy plea to begin to ease himself slowly into you.

He fills and stretches you in the most wonderful way, but even more than that, he feels like home. The thought strikes you quite suddenly and you’re not entirely sure about everything it means, but you know it’s good and right.

He pauses for just a moment, seeming to savor the feeling.

“You feel better than I ever imagined,” he says.

You quirk an eyebrow at him. “You imagined?”

He gives you a hungry smile as he leans in to kiss you. “Like I said: it has been an utter distraction sitting behind you.”

His rhythm is slow and easy, like he wants to take his time learning every inch of you and memorizing how you react to his touch. His mouth moves over yours in a slow kiss that’s somehow both languid and demanding, his tongue gliding in and out of your mouth in the same rhythm of his hips rocking into you. His cock bumps up against that sweet spot inside of you that his fingers had teased earlier, each stroke inching you closer to bliss.

He shifts the angle of his hips so that his pubic bone grinds against your clit and it feels so good you almost see stars. You can feel your orgasm building, your cunt growing slicker and tensing around his thrusting cock.

He draws back to look at you, eyes hazy with a loose, dreamy kind of pleasure.

“Do you have any idea how good you feel?” he breathes.

You are shaking. “Loki, I’m gonna come.”

“I know you are,” he purrs. “Let go for me, let me feel you, my love.”

With two more thrusts of his hips, you unravel.

He groans as you tremble around him, but mostly, he watches your face, rapt by the way you throw your head back against the bed and gasp his name like it’s the only thing that will save you.

“You’re beautiful when you come,” he breathes. “Absolutely stunning.”

He waits until you catch your breath before he kisses you again, slow and sensual. His hips are still rocking in that beautifully slow rhythm and you don’t know how it can still feel so good.

He keeps moving against you, his touch and his low murmurs of praise invoking a symphony of sensations. He presses deeper and your body sings with every thrust, your muscles tensing and tightening around him like you never want him to leave. Your climax swells again and you come with a whimper, your whole body shaking as he fucks you through it.

You want him to come, want to hear the sounds he makes and feel his sweet, hot release burning inside of you.

“I want you to come for me,” you breathe.

He grins at you. “Oh, I will, but not yet. You’re not done yet.”

You whimper. “Loki—”

“Two more, my love, two more and then I’ll come for you.”

Somehow, you give him three. By the second one, he’s panting and his words have become rough, his voice a growl as he utters some of the filthiest praise you’ve ever heard. The third builds quickly after that and you know instinctively that you’re going to take him over the edge with you this time.

You fight to keep your eyes open against the tidal wave of pleasure blooming again in your hips. You need to see him come undone.

As in everything else he does, he’s unfairly beautiful—he throws his head back, letting out a low groan that you can feel all the way to the tips of your toes. His cheeks are flushed, a few ink dark curls plastered to the light sheen of sweat on his forehead. You can feel him emptying himself inside you, his release hot and hard won.

It seems to last a long time and it’s another minute before his hips slow to a halt. He kisses you, so soft and sweet it would almost seem chaste were it not for the fact that his cock is still throbbing inside of you.

After a moment, he slowly eases out of you, rolling over onto his back, his arm snaking around your waist and pulling you to him like he can’t bear to be parted from you even for a moment.

You curl up against his side, your legs tangling with his. He takes your hand, lacing his fingers with yours before resting your clasped hands on his heart.

You could fall in love like this, you think sleepily to yourself.

You don’t know it then, but you’re right.

Time moves differently at the TVA, but a couple years later, there’s a ring in a box on your desk.

Loki likes a spectacle and you’d daydreamed about a traditional wedding, but when you talk it over, you both agree that you want to do something different, something quiet, something just for the two of you.

“I do think we should tell Mobius beforehand,” you say to Loki.

“Isn’t the point of eloping that no one knows until after it’s done?” says Loki.

“Yes, but I feel like we could make one exception,” you say. “If we’d done a full wedding, I would have asked him to give me away.”

Loki’s gaze softens a bit then and he pulls you close. “All right. But we only tell him right before we leave. The man can’t keep a secret.”

But Mobius doesn’t seem terribly surprised when you tell him—in fact, he seems far more concerned about your wedding gift.

“I didn’t have a chance to wrap it yet,” he says. He’s retrieved a large picture frame that had been propped against his desk, though he keeps it turned away from you. “So…this also requires a bit of an overdue confession for context.”

You raise your eyebrows. “A confession?”

“A confession,” says Mobius.

“Will I be angry about this?” asks Loki at the same time you say, “Is this like a go to jail confession or a misdemeanor confession?”

Mobius gives a good natured chuckle, shaking his head slightly. “God, the two of you. Always so dramatic. No wonder you ended up together.” He takes what feels like an unnecessarily long drink from the coffee mug on his desk. “It’s not bad, I promise.” Another sip of coffee.

Loki sighs. “He always does this,” he says to you. “Have you noticed? Whenever he has something that you want to know, he stalls and drags it out just to torment you.”

“Okay,” you say, “but you jumping in to bicker with him probably doesn’t help.”

“I’m not bickering,” says Loki. “I’m simply pointing out that he’s stalling—”

“What was it you were saying, Mobius?” you say brightly, nudging Loki with your elbow.

Mobius’ eyes twinkle. “See,” he says to Loki, “I always liked her. It’s a good match.”

You don’t have to look at Loki to know he’s rolling his eyes, though he also makes a point of surreptitiously pinching your ass, a detail you hope Mobius doesn’t notice.

“Anyway,” says Mobius, taking a deep breath, “it was pretty clear to me from the start that you liked each other. And you also seemed absolutely determined to get in your own way.” He points to Loki. “Especially you with your whole stilted Asgardian prince thing.”

Loki frowns. “What are you talking about?”

Mobius sighs. “Anytime you like someone, it’s like your brain gets a factory reset and you get all overly polite and courtly.”

Loki scoffs. “I don’t do that at all.”

“You do. It’s deeply weird. You’re like a mannerly robot.”

Loki turns to you. “Darling, tell him he’s being absurd.”

You reach over and squeeze his hand. “You did call me ‘my lady’ a couple of times in the early days.”

Loki sighs and looks back at Mobius. “What was your point in mentioning this?”

“Well,” says Mobius, “you seemed pretty determined to get in your own way, so nothing was happening. And eventually I got sick of all of the pining, so I decided to take matters into my own hands.”

“What do you mean?”

Mobius pauses, a hint of a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. “There wasn’t a breakthrough with Berlitz that weekend. What there was was a surplus in the overtime budget and a high priority indexing project for Archives.”

Your lips part as your brain slowly puts the pieces together. Mobius’ eyes twinkle.

“Wait,” you say, “you lied to us?”

“I did not lie,” says Mobius, his demeanor suddenly becoming very serious. “That would have been wrong.” He nods at Loki. “Also, it would’ve tipped him off and that would have ruined the whole thing. I simply failed to mention that the cart of files that I gave you needed to be sorted for indexing for the Archives department and I peppered in a couple of unrelated things about Berlitz.”

“But the office was empty that weekend,” says Loki.

Mobius snaps his fingers. “Right. I did make some adjustments to the schedule that weekend.”

“And the disturbance that prevented her from returning home on Saturday night?”

Mobius spreads his hands wide and grins. “All me, buddy. Paid G-21 five hundred bucks for that one.”

Loki pauses for a moment and then looks at you. “I don’t think I can be mad about this. I’m genuinely impressed.”

“I mean, I can’t argue with the results, but Jesus, Mobius, you could’ve just set us up on a blind date,” you say.

“Ah, but that’s not as fun,” Mobius says. “Plus, it wouldn’t have made for as good a wedding gift.” He turns the frame around and hands it to you both.

It’s both your timecards from that pay period, neatly framed side by side. Your eyes well with tears and Mobius smiles.

“Honestly, I’m just relieved it’s not a jet ski,” says Loki.

“He's deflecting,” you say to Mobius in an exaggerated whisper.

“I know,” he whispers back.

But you can’t help but notice that Loki’s eyes are brighter than normal.

“Okay, now get out of here,” says Mobius. “You’ve got a wedding to get to.”

Twenty minutes later, you’re wearing a simple white dress and standing with Loki in front of a time door, your hand clasped in his.

“Technically, we don’t have a supervisor’s approval for this,” you say with a wry smile.

He looks at you, eyes dancing with mirth. “I had Mobius sign off on the paperwork while you were getting ready.”

Your heart swells and your smile is so wide that you feel like your face might split in two. “Then hurry up and marry me, Laufeyson.”

He grins and tugs you through the time door.

-------

But wait! There's more: I don't have a masterlist for this, but if you enjoy these idiots, check out Daylight, a sort of sequel.

#loki smut #loki x reader #loki x reader smut #loki laufeyson smut #loki x female reader smut #loki x female reader #loki laufeyson #loki fanfiction #loki fanfic #tva loki x reader

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mostlysignssomeportents · 2 months

Text

Amazon’s financial shell game let it create an “impossible” monopoly

I'm on tour with my new, nationally bestselling novel The Bezzle! Catch me in TUCSON (Mar 9-10), then San Francisco (Mar 13), Anaheim, and more!

For the pro-monopoly crowd that absolutely dominated antitrust law from the Carter administration until 2020, Amazon presents a genuinely puzzling paradox: the company's monopoly power was never supposed to emerge, and if it did, it should have crumbled immediately.

Pro-monopoly economists embody Ely Devons's famous aphorism that "If economists wished to study the horse, they wouldn’t go and look at horses. They’d sit in their studies and say to themselves, ‘What would I do if I were a horse?’":

https://pluralistic.net/2022/10/27/economism/#what-would-i-do-if-i-were-a-horse

Rather than using the way the world actually works as their starting point for how to think about it, they build elaborate models out of abstract principles like "rational actors." The resulting mathematical models are so abstractly elegant that it's easy to forget that they're just imaginative exercises, disconnected from reality:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/03/all-models-are-wrong/#some-are-useful

These models predicted that it would be impossible for Amazon to attain monopoly power. Even if they became a monopoly – in the sense of dominating sales of various kinds of goods – the company still wouldn't get monopoly power.

For example, if Amazon tried to take over a category by selling goods below cost ("predatory pricing"), then rivals could just wait until the company got tired of losing money and put prices back up, and then those rivals could go back to competing. And if Amazon tried to keep the loss-leader going indefinitely by "cross-subsidizing" the losses with high-margin profits from some other part of its business, rivals could sell those high margin goods at a lower margin, which would lure away Amazon customers and cut the supply lines for the price war it was fighting with its discounted products.

That's what the model predicted, but it's not what happened in the real world. In the real world, Amazon was able use its access to the capital markets to embark on scorched-earth predatory pricing campaigns. When diapers.com refused to sell out to Amazon, the company casually committed $100m to selling diapers below cost. Diapers.com went bust, Amazon bought it for pennies on the dollar and shut it down:

https://www.theverge.com/2019/5/13/18563379/amazon-predatory-pricing-antitrust-law

Investors got the message: don't compete with Amazon. They can remain predatory longer than you can remain solvent.

Now, not everyone shared the antitrust establishment's confidence that Amazon couldn't create a durable monopoly with market power. In 2017, Lina Khan – then a third year law student – published "Amazon's Antitrust Paradox," a landmark paper arguing that Amazon had all the tools it needed to amass monopoly power:

https://www.yalelawjournal.org/note/amazons-antitrust-paradox

Today, Khan is chair of the FTC, and has brought a case against Amazon that builds on some of the theories from that paper. One outcome of that suit is an unprecedented look at Amazon's internal operations. But, as the Institute for Local Self-Reliance's Stacy Mitchell describes in a piece for The Atlantic, key pieces of information have been totally redacted in the court exhibits:

https://www.theatlantic.com/ideas/archive/2024/02/amazon-profits-antitrust-ftc/677580/

The most important missing datum: how much money Amazon makes from each of its lines of business. Amazon's own story is that it basically breaks even on its retail operation, and keeps the whole business afloat with profits from its AWS cloud computing division. This is an important narrative, because if it's true, then Amazon can't be forcing up retail prices, which is the crux of the FTC's case against the company.

Here's what we know for sure about Amazon's retail business. First: merchants can't live without Amazon. The majority of US households have Prime, and 90% of Prime households start their ecommerce searches on Amazon; if they find what they're looking for, they buy it and stop. Thus, merchants who don't sell on Amazon just don't sell. This is called "monopsony power" and it's a lot easier to maintain than monopoly power. For most manufacturers, a 10% overnight drop in sales is a catastrophe, so a retailer that commands even a 10% market-share can extract huge concessions from its suppliers. Amazon's share of most categories of goods is a lot higher than 10%!

What kind of monopsony power does Amazon wield? Well, for one thing, it is able to levy a huge tax on its sellers. Add up all the junk-fees Amazon charges its platform sellers and it comes out to 45-51%:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/25/greedflation/#commissar-bezos

Competitive businesses just don't have 45% margins! No one can afford to kick that much back to Amazon. What is a merchant to do? Sell on Amazon and you lose money on every sale. Don't sell on Amazon and you don't get any business.

The only answer: raise prices on Amazon. After all, Prime customers – the majority of Amazon's retail business – don't shop for competitive prices. If Amazon wants a 45% vig, you can raise your Amazon prices by a third and just about break even.

But Amazon is wise to that: they have a "most favored nation" rule that punishes suppliers who sell goods more cheaply in rival stores, or even on their own site. The punishments vary, from banishing your products to page ten million of search-results to simply kicking you off the platform. With publishers, Amazon reserves the right to lower the prices they set when listing their books, to match the lowest price on the web, and paying publishers less for each sale.

That means that suppliers who sell on Amazon (which is anyone who wants to stay in business) have to dramatically hike their prices on Amazon, and when they do, they also have to hike their prices everywhere else (no wonder Prime customers don't bother to search elsewhere for a better deal!).

Now, Amazon says this is all wrong. That 45-51% vig they claim from business customers is barely enough to break even. The company's profits – they insist – come from selling AWS cloud service. The retail operation is just a public service they provide to us with cross-subsidy from those fat AWS margins.

This is a hell of a claim. Last year, Amazon raked in $130 billion in seller fees. In other words: they booked more revenue from junk fees than Bank of America made through its whole operation. Amazon's junk fees add up to more than all of Meta's revenues:

https://s2.q4cdn.com/299287126/files/doc_financials/2023/q4/AMZN-Q4-2023-Earnings-Release.pdf

Amazon claims that none of this is profit – it's just covering their operating expenses. According to Amazon, its non-AWS units combined have a one percent profit margin.

Now, this is an eye-popping claim indeed. Amazon is a public company, which means that it has to make thorough quarterly and annual financial disclosures breaking down its profit and loss. You'd think that somewhere in those disclosures, we'd find some details.

You'd think so, but you'd be wrong. Amazon's disclosures do not break out profits and losses by segment. SEC rules actually require the company to make these per-segment disclosures:

https://scholarship.law.stjohns.edu/cgi/viewcontent.cgi?article=3524&context=lawreview#:~:text=If%20a%20company%20has%20more,income%20taxes%20and%20extraordinary%20items.

That rule was enacted in 1966, out of concern that companies could use cross-subsidies to fund predatory pricing and other anticompetitive practices. But over the years, the SEC just…stopped enforcing the rule. Companies have "near total managerial discretion" to lump business units together and group their profits and losses in bloated, undifferentiated balance-sheet items:

https://www.ucl.ac.uk/bartlett/public-purpose/publications/2021/dec/crouching-tiger-hidden-dragons

As Mitchell points you, it's not just Amazon that flouts this rule. We don't know how much money Google makes on Youtube, or how much Apple makes from the App Store (Apple told a federal judge that this number doesn't exist). Warren Buffett – with significant interest in hundreds of companies across dozens of markets – only breaks out seven segments of profit-and-loss for Berkshire Hathaway.

Recall that there is one category of data from the FTC's antitrust case against Amazon that has been completely redacted. One guess which category that is! Yup, the profit-and-loss for its retail operation and other lines of business.

These redactions are the judge's fault, but the real fault lies with the SEC. Amazon is a public company. In exchange for access to the capital markets, it owes the public certain disclosures, which are set out in the SEC's rulebook. The SEC lets Amazon – and other gigantic companies – get away with a degree of secrecy that should disqualify it from offering stock to the public. As Mitchell says, SEC chairman Gary Gensler should adopt "new rules that more concretely define what qualifies as a segment and remove the discretion given to executives."

Amazon is the poster-child for monopoly run amok. As Yanis Varoufakis writes in Technofeudalism, Amazon has actually become a post-capitalist enterprise. Amazon doesn't make profits (money derived from selling goods); it makes rents (money charged to people who are seeking to make a profit):

https://pluralistic.net/2023/09/28/cloudalists/#cloud-capital

Profits are the defining characteristic of a capitalist economy; rents are the defining characteristic of feudalism. Amazon looks like a bazaar where thousands of merchants offer goods for sale to the public, but look harder and you discover that all those stallholders are totally controlled by Amazon. Amazon decides what goods they can sell, how much they cost, and whether a customer ever sees them. And then Amazon takes $0.45-51 out of every dollar. Amazon's "marketplace" isn't like a flea market, it's more like the interconnected shops on Disneyland's Main Street, USA: the sign over the door might say "20th Century Music Company" or "Emporium," but they're all just one store, run by one company.

And because Amazon has so much control over its sellers, it is able to exercise power over its buyers. Amazon's search results push down the best deals on the platform and promote results from more expensive, lower-quality items whose sellers have paid a fortune for an "ad" (not really an ad, but rather the top spot in search listings):

https://pluralistic.net/2023/11/29/aethelred-the-unready/#not-one-penny-for-tribute

This is "Amazon's pricing paradox." Amazon can claim that it offers low-priced, high-quality goods on the platform, but it makes $38b/year pushing those good deals way, way down in its search results. The top result for your Amazon search averages 29% more expensive than the best deal Amazon offers. Buy something from those first four spots and you'll pay a 25% premium. On average, you need to pick the seventeenth item on the search results page to get the best deal:

https://scholarship.law.bu.edu/faculty_scholarship/3645/

For 40 years, pro-monopoly economists claimed that it would be impossible for Amazon to attain monopoly power over buyers and sellers. Today, Amazon exercises that power so thoroughly that its junk-fee revenues alone exceed the total revenues of Bank of America. Amazon's story – that these fees barely stretch to covering its costs – assumes a nearly inconceivable level of credulity in its audience. Regrettably – for the human race – there is a cohort of senior, highly respected economists who possess this degree of credulity and more.

Of course, there's an easy way to settle the argument: Amazon could just comply with SEC regs and break out its P&L for its e-commerce operation. I assure you, they're not hiding this data because they think you'll be pleasantly surprised when they do and they don't want to spoil the moment.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/03/01/managerial-discretion/#junk-fees

Image: Doc Searls (modified) https://www.flickr.com/photos/docsearls/4863121221/

CC BY 2.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0/

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robertreich · 2 months

Video

youtube

Who’s to Blame for Out-Of-Control Corporate Power?

One man is especially to blame for why corporate power is out of control. And I knew him! He was my professor, then my boss. His name… Robert Bork.

Robert Bork was a notorious conservative who believed the only legitimate purpose of antitrust — that is, anti-monopoly — law is to lower prices for consumers, no matter how big corporations get. His philosophy came to dominate the federal courts and conservative economics.

I met him in 1971, when I took his antitrust class at Yale Law School. He was a large, imposing man, with a red beard and a perpetual scowl. He seemed impatient and bored with me and my classmates, who included Bill Clinton and Hillary Rodham, as we challenged him repeatedly on his antitrust views.

We argued with Bork that ever-expanding corporations had too much power. Not only could they undercut rivals with lower prices and suppress wages, but they were using their spoils to influence our politics with campaign contributions. Wasn’t this cause for greater antitrust enforcement?

He had a retort for everything. Undercutting rival businesses with lower prices was a good thing because consumers like lower prices. Suppressing wages didn’t matter because employees are always free to find better jobs. He argued that courts could not possibly measure political power, so why should that matter?

Even in my mid-20s, I knew this was hogwash.

But Bork’s ideology began to spread. A few years after I took his class, he wrote a book called The Antitrust Paradox summarizing his ideas. The book heavily influenced Ronald Reagan and later helped form a basic tenet of Reaganomics — the bogus theory that says government should get out of the way and allow corporations to do as they please, including growing as big and powerful as they want.

Despite our law school sparring, Bork later gave me a job in the Department of Justice when he was solicitor general for Gerald Ford. Even though we didn’t agree on much, I enjoyed his wry sense of humor. I respected his intellect. Hell, I even came to like him.

Once President Reagan appointed Bork as an appeals court judge, his rulings further dismantled antitrust. And while his later Supreme Court nomination failed, his influence over the courts continued to grow.

Bork’s legacy is the enormous corporate power we see today, whether it’s Ticketmaster and Live Nation consolidating control over live performances, Kroger and Albertsons dominating the grocery market, or Amazon, Google, and Meta taking over the tech world.

It’s not just these high-profile companies either: in most industries, a handful of companies now control more of their markets than they did twenty years ago.

This corporate concentration costs the typical American household an estimated extra $5,000 per year. Companies have been able to jack up prices without losing customers to competitors because there is often no meaningful competition.

And huge corporations also have the power to suppress wages because workers have fewer employers from whom to get better jobs.

And how can we forget the massive flow of money these corporate giants are funneling into politics, rigging our democracy in their favor?

But the tide is beginning to turn under the Biden Administration. The Justice Department and Federal Trade Commission are fighting the monopolization of America in court, and proposing new merger guidelines to protect consumers, workers, and society.

It’s the implementation of the view that I and my law school classmates argued for back in the 1970s — one that sees corporate concentration as a problem that outweighs any theoretical benefits Bork claimed might exist.

Robert Bork would likely regard the Biden administration’s antitrust efforts with the same disdain he had for my arguments in his class all those years ago. But instead of a few outspoken law students, Bork’s philosophy is now being challenged by the full force of the federal government.

The public is waking up to the outsized power corporations wield over our economy and democracy. It’s about time.

#youtube #corporations #power #Robert Bork #economy #history #video #videos

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zvaigzdelasas · 3 months

Text

[NewYorkTimes is Private US Media]

Over the past month, we’ve watched an astonishing, high-stakes global drama play out in The Hague. A group of countries from the poorer, less powerful bloc some call the global south, led by South Africa, dragged the government of Israel and, by extension, its rich, powerful allies into the top court of the Western rules-based order and accused Israel of prosecuting a brutal war in Gaza that is “genocidal in character.”

The responses to this presentation from the leading nations of that order were quick and blunt.

“Completely unjustified and wrong,” said a statement from Rishi Sunak, Britain’s prime minister.

“Meritless, counterproductive and completely without any basis in fact whatsoever,” said John Kirby, a spokesman for the United States National Security Council.

“The accusation has no basis in fact,” a German government spokesman said, adding that Germany opposed the “political instrumentalization” of the genocide statute.

But on Friday, that court had its say, issuing a sober and careful provisional ruling that doubled as a rebuke to those dismissals. In granting provisional measures, the court affirmed that some of South Africa’s allegations were plausible and called on Israel to take immediate steps to protect civilians, increase the amount of humanitarian aid and punish officials who engaged in violent and incendiary speech. The court stopped short of calling for a cease-fire, but it granted South Africa’s request for provisional measures to prevent further civilian death. For the most part, the court ruled in favor of the global south.[...]

The court was not asked to rule on whether Israel had in fact committed genocide, a matter that is likely to take years to adjudicate. Whatever the eventual outcome of the case, it sets up an epic battle over the meaning and values of the so-called rules-based order. If these rules don’t apply when powerful countries don’t want them to, are they rules at all?

“As long as those who make rules enforce them against others while believing that they and their allies are above those rules, the international governance system is in trouble,” Thuli Madonsela, one of South Africa’s leading legal minds and an architect of its post-apartheid Constitution, told me. “We say these rules are the rules when Russia invades Ukraine or when the Rohingya are being massacred by Myanmar, but if it’s now Israel butchering Palestinians, depriving them of food, displacing them en masse, then the rules don’t apply and whoever tries to apply the rules is antisemitic? It is really putting those rules in jeopardy.”[...]

The military campaign has “wreaked more destruction than the razing of Syria’s Aleppo between 2012 and 2016, Ukraine’s Mariupol or, proportionally, the Allied bombing of Germany in World War II,” the report quoted researchers as saying. The researchers, hardly some raving left-wing activists, are experts cited in one of the most respected news organizations in the world, The Associated Press.[...]

The International Court of Justice issued a nonbinding opinion in 2004 that the security barriers Israel was erecting in the West Bank violated international law, but that ruling has had no effect. The walls still stand.[...]

Indeed, what is a rules-based system if the rules apply only selectively and if seeking to apply them to certain countries is viewed as self-evidently prejudiced? To put it more simply, is there no venue in the international system to which the stateless people of Palestine and their allies and friends can go to seek redress amid the slaughter in Gaza? And if not, what are they to do?

For the cause of Palestinian statehood, every alternative to violence has been virtually snuffed out, in part because Israel’s allies have helped to discredit them. The most recent example is the boycott, divestment and sanctions movement that has, in many places, been successfully tarred as antisemitic or even banned altogether. Efforts to use the United Nations Security Council have drawn U.S. vetoes for decades. Is seeking redress at the appropriate venue for alleged violations of international law also antisemitic, as Israel’s defense minister said on Friday? Does no law apply to Israel? Are there no limits to what it may do to defend itself?[...]

The Biden administration has made the shoring up of the international rules-based order a centerpiece of its foreign policy but, unsurprisingly, has struggled to live up to that aspiration.[...]

Occasionally straying from your principles because circumstances require it is very different from being seen to have no principles at all, and that is precisely how much of the global south has come to regard the United States.

It seems especially shortsighted in these times that the Biden administration elected to wave away the carefully documented case prepared by South Africa. One of the biggest threats to the rules-based international order is the growing consensus in the poor world that the rich world will apply those rules selectively, at its discretion, when it suits the powerful nations that make up the global north, such as when Russia invaded Ukraine.[...]

As far as the rules-based order is concerned, when it comes to crimes like genocide and ethnic cleansing, it simply does not matter who started it. [...] The best way to shore up the rules-based order is to be seen, in word and deed, as committing to the institutions and moral commitments of that order.

28 Jan 24

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mrpenguinpants · 1 year

Text

Low Battery Warning - Touch Starved HCs

— If he goes too long without you by his side, he starts to get irritable and too frustrating for anyone to deal with. For the sake of everyone, please remember to recharge your battery before leaving for extended periods of time.

— Tartaglia, Kaveh, Ayato, Alhaitham, and Dottore

[Masterlist]

I JUST WANT TO WRITE WHIPPED MEN OKAY? What do you mean I have to write a part 2 for two different fics??? I'm honestly surprised I managed to finish this. Also, ALHAITHAM NATION REJOICE, YOUR BOY IS HERE AND I CAN FINALLY MAKE A BANNER. I wasn't going to write him (I'm a kaveh stan) but now that he's here...

Tartaglia

While Tartaglia is the most favored to work with compared to the other Harbingers, that's only by a very slim margin. The closest you'll get to death is when the man gets bored and randomly picks someone to fight, but they usually make it out alive. Maybe a couple weeks in the medical bay and a few broken bones but they aren't dead for the most part. He's also the youngest and therefore the most easy-going even if he's a bit childish. He's a soldier first so he knows the pain of listening to someone verbally beat you down and not having the power to do anything back. But he's still a person at the end of the day and after so many people messing up and delaying his work, he's starting to get irritated. First, it was someone spilling tea onto important documents that he just finished signing, then the Fatui agents stationed near Jueyun Karst being defeated by some no-named treasure hoarders, and then finally being held hostage in his own office because the Liyue Qixing wouldn't leave him alone. God, he slumps over his desk, he just wants to go home and see you!

By the time he finally stumbles through the door, you're already passed out on the couch. He can't blame you, it's very late into the night and he would probably be more upset if you forced yourself to stay awake just to welcome him home. But he can still pout that he was taken away from you for so long, he didn't even get to see you all day. That's borderline torture. But he supposes he can forgive you since you look so cute bundled up in his red shirt. If he happens to take a picture or two that's for his knowledge and eyes only. So he easily scoops you up into his arms, taking a couple seconds to just stand there as he basks in the comfortable weight before he takes you to bed. Just for tonight. This will be the last time work takes him away from home for so long.

It lasts for two weeks. Usually, Childe could hold himself together, he's been away for far longer, but the fact that you're right there and he can't hold you is driving him insane. By the 14th day, Childe is ready to snap his pen in half and hurl it at the next person that comes through that cursed door. He doesn't though because it's usually Ekaterina, the only one that has the balls to talk to him right now, and she deserves far more than she's paid to deal with. But he's touch-deprived and tired. Even Zhongli with his infinite amount of patience advises him to sort himself out before inviting him out to lunch next time. He tried to deal with it on his own, this isn't the first time he's felt claustrophobic, but after the fifth Hilichurl camp he doesn't feel any better which only makes his mood sour further. He might even beat Scaramouche in how short-tempered he is right now. There's heavy air wherever he goes and whatever carefree persona he usually has on is thrown out the window.

It's Zhongli who clues you into how bad Childe's demeanor has gotten, the rascal looks horrible both physically and mentally. Despite the consultant and Childe being on friendly terms, you don't really know the man that well. But he doesn't seem like the type of person to lie so you thank him for the information and make your way to the Northland Bank. To be honest, you've been feeling the effects of not seeing Childe as often as you usually do. You know his work can get so hectic that it keeps him cooped up in his office but it's been a while since you've even seen that fluff of ginger hair. He usually doesn't want you near his work considering how it might put you in danger, but if he isn't taking care of himself then what kind of partner would you be if you didn't help?

Even outside the building, you can feel the effects of what Zhongli talked about. All the agents look like they're on their last legs, there's a gloomy atmosphere surrounding the building even though the sun shines brightly across Liyue harbor, and you can vaguely hear an annoyed Harbinger scolding someone. As soon as you set foot into the building Ekaterina nearly tackles you off your feet. Desperately thanking you for coming and looking at you as if you're the Tsaritsa herself.

As soon as Ekaterina says your name, Childe whips his head around at such a speed that you're afraid his head might fling off as his eyes lock onto yours. You know Childe wouldn't hurt you, never you, but he's looking at you like he's about to devour you and you're suddenly very glad you've never been on the receiving end of his anger. He shoves the papers in his hands into the agent's chest he was probably reprimanding and marches over to where you are.

"C-Childe?" "S-Sir?"

Ekaterina mirrors the wary call of his name until he's finally in front of you and without a word, throws his arms around you. You stumble a bit under his weight but you quickly circle your arms around his back and hold on tight so you don't trip over your own feet. You can only imagine what it looks like for Ekaterina to see her stiff boss suddenly deflate in your arms. A pleased groan escapes from him as he basically lifts you off your feet just so he can hug you closer to him. You almost feel like a child's teddy bear with your legs dangling in the air trapped in a crushing hug. You know that your relationship with Childe isn't a secret but you both don't show any displays of affection, you don't even really interact in public in general, so this is pretty open for the two of you. Well, for you at least. You don't even think Childe is registering anything around him except that you're here.

"Are you okay милый?" you whisper into his ear, nuzzling into the side of his head that's nestled into your shoulder. Your snezhnaya is a little rough around the edges but from how he seems to purr you think he enjoys it nonetheless. "Although I'm happy to see you too, don't you think we should move so we aren't blocking the main entrance?"

He sleepily blinks awake and slowly starts to acknowledge that you're both very much standing at the bank's entrance with everyone shamelessly staring. He frankly looks like he doesn't care, people have working legs, they can walk around you both. But he also doesn't want anyone to find another reason to take him away when he's very comfortable.

"If you need me, don't," is the clipped order that rings out through the bank. You know he's heavily censoring what he actually wants to say but from how everyone cowers away, they can probably tell what would happen if they disobey him. They all give him a nod and a salute before he's picking you up, cradles you into your arms, and swiftly walks upstairs. With a kick of his boot, the door slams shut and he sinks into his chair, you seated pretty on his lap.

"Please never leave me, I think I might die," he groans, re-wrapping his arms tight around your waist. You can only sigh fondly as you gently run your fingers through his hair, rubbing small circles into his scalp and he melts into goo. As if you would want to leave.

Kaveh

You know Kaveh is a bit...eccentric to say the least. He always says what's on his mind and most of the time his thoughts are things he should keep to himself. Even you're not totally immune to his blunt honesty despite the fact he tries to watch how he phrases things when directed to you. He doesn't want to accidentally hurt your feelings, regardless if you know he means no harm. It's rather cute that for someone who doesn't care about what others think of him, he's a bit insecure around you. He likes you, really likes you, and he often finds himself plotting out what he's going to say hours before your lunch date with him. But as soon as you greet him with that charming smile and a brief hug, he turns into putty and whatever flowery language he conjured in his mind is swept away. The confident architect that graduated with honors is reduced to a red-faced mess of stumbling words. It doesn't help that you find it adorable enough to press a chaste kiss to his red cheek and he swears that he's going to pass out from a heat stroke.

He's both extremely glad and terribly conflicted that your love language seems to be touch. He loves it when you brush your fingers through his hair but it always lulls him into sleep so he doesn't get any work done. He loves it when you hug him tightly but then he never wants to leave so he doesn't get any work done. He loves it when you cup his cheeks and pull him into a kiss but then he goes in for seconds, then thirds, and so on that he doesn't get any work done. If he went into alchemy rather than architecture he would dedicate his life work to studying why you have the touch of an Archon that compels him so. But he didn't and now that he's drowning in debt, he really needs to concentrate and finish his work before the deadline.

So now he has the painful task of trying to find an extremely polite way of asking you to leave him alone without you taking offense and breaking up with him. He would be devastated if he couldn't see your loving gaze on him again. But the situation is dire because as soon as he sees you, all he wants to do is curl up in bed with you in his arms. Preferably forever but he'll cross that bridge when he gets there. But every time he tries to bring it up it only takes one look from you for him to stutter and wave off his words. He tries to pep talk himself and every single time he claims that this will be the day that he, very politely, pushes you off, it ends with him melting into goo and waking up the next day with all his untouched work judging him from the table.

It gets to the point that he begins to air his grievances to Alhaitham of all people. To be fair, he doesn't expect the scribe to listen to a word he says and if he did, it would only be because Kaveh needed to pay his share of the rent. But he's pleasantly surprised when you pop up with a guilty smile and that Alhaitham explained his circumstances to you. He tries to clear up the situation, he has no idea what Alhaitham said specifically but it must have been put in the worst way possible, but you take his hands and he shuts up immediately. You give him a light giggle that melts his heart and you tell him to call for you once he's completed his work.

It was the worst decision he's ever made. Second to moving in with Alhaitham. Maybe his judgment of you being an angel was a lie and you were secretly the devil from how often his thoughts were plagued by you. He could draw a circle and think of your eyes. He knows that he's smitten in your presence but he didn't expect that to double when he's suddenly alone. His only motivation is that as soon as he's finished, he'll be able to see you again. But his mind and his work bleed together and he ends up drawing your face instead of buildings and pipes.

He ends up locking himself in his studio and slowly deforming into slime with how awful he's taking care of himself. Alhaitham has to pry him from the table only for Kaveh to flop in his arms that the scribe gives up and hauls the corpse over his shoulder and makes his way to your home. Kaveh still needs to pay his share of the rent so he's not allowed to die before then.

When you opened the door you weren't expecting Alhaitham at your doorstep with Kaveh over his shoulder. He doesn't seem to want to be in this situation either because it looks like he's two seconds away from throwing your boyfriend across the room. But he manages to reign everything in front of you and quickly explains Kaveh's situation, dumping said man into your arms, and telling you to fix it. You shoot him an apologetic smile that he waves off, it's not like it's your fault, before turning around and making his way back to his own home.

"Kaveh?" you whisper gently against his ear to not startle him. It only takes him a second to register your voice before he's perking up and beaming at you. He easily shifts positions so you're in his arms instead. Twirling you around and using the momentum to tuck an arm under your knees and smoothly picking you up, somehow supporting your entire weight in one arm while the other closes the door. Sometimes you forget that Kaveh is really strong despite his lean stature. He is a claymore user after all.

"Darling! What are you doing here?" Kaveh questions while he makes himself at home. If only your living space was big enough for him to store all his work otherwise he would have moved in with you by now.

"Alhaitham mentioned that your recent commission was taking up all your time and you weren't taking care of yourself. Are you alright?" you ask, wrapping your arms around his neck to steady yourself while Kaveh takes his shoes and coat off. In these types of moments, no matter what you do or say he'll refuse to let you out of his arms. If he has to live with one arm then he'll gladly do so just so long as his other hand is wrapped around you.

"Never better," he replies with a smile. He's obviously lying given the dark circles under his pretty red eyes but the soft look he sends you is enough to tell you that right now, he's never been more comfortable. It makes you a bit flustered to have such an intense gaze on you but Kaveh is always forward with his affections and this isn't any different. With you in his arms, there's nowhere for you to run to when he tilts your chin down and brushes his lips against yours.

"Be still for me..." he whispers, the vibrations of his voice tingling against your skin as both of your eyes slowly close. Only for the moment to shatter by loud knocks on your door. You both jerk apart and turn to the disturbance with varying expressions. You're a flustered mess while Kaveh scowls as if the door offended his entire life's work. He finally sets you down on your feet and gives you a quick peck on the cheek. Before marching to the door, flinging it open, and telling the man on the other side to shoo before slamming the door in his face. Unless the world is ending, don't knock.

Ayato

To say Ayato works hard is an understatement. There are several nights when he's glued to his desk rather than resting in bed. Such are the woes of him being forever dedicated to his duties as the Yashiro Commissioner. On days when there are big events and everything needs to be perfect, he's nearly inconsolable that Thoma weighs how much he can get away with if he knocks Ayato out with a frying pan. His pondering doesn't go far because even though Ayato looks like a corpse from the lack of sleep, he'd probably knock Thoma off his feet before the housekeeper could even raise his arms. Ayaka has better luck but she's only able to drag him away for a few minutes before he points in a random direction to divert her attention before disappearing as soon as she turns back. It's just something everyone is aware of and they try their best to support Lord Kamisato. But if it starts to look really bad, like Ayato might drop dead at any second, then you're called in. The last defense and their ace up the sleeve. Not to brag or anything but you have a spotless record and you intend to keep it that way.

It only takes one word from you to have the dignified and cunning Ayato turn into a scared rabbit. His name. None of the wary calls of Lord Kamisato, a dismissal of his titles, and certainly not your affectionate terms of endearment. It always brings the temperature of the room to zero and Ayaka has to double-check that her cyro vision didn't accidentally activate. Unlike Thoma and Ayaka, you're not soft on him and you set your foot down when it comes to his extremes. One of the many reasons he fell in love with you but it's coming back to bite him now. He hates seeing you unhappy, doing anything possible to wipe that frown off your face, but when it's him that's making you so displeased he can't help but look like a scolded puppy.

It doesn't take much for you to know that Ayato has overworked himself to the breaking point again. You understand his duties mean that he's going to be riddled with work but you're his partner first and foremost. You're there to care about Ayato, not the Yashiro Commissioner. And Ayato looks like he's falling apart at the seams. Heavy eye bags, pale complexion, and his body swaying back and forth before he catches himself from falling over. It pains your heart to see him like this and yet still push himself to keep going. So you take one, two, and three steps towards him to delicately take his hand in yours, rubbing soothing circles into his palm before intertwining your fingers together.

Unlike Thoma and Ayaka, he doesn't disappear as soon as you take your eyes off him. Just stands there and stares dopily at you while you issue orders to take over his work. God, you look so attractive when you're in control. It's been a while since he's seen anything but paper and ink but did you always look this beautiful? He's so glad he's going to marry you. Maybe he can force the elders to move the ceremony date up. Everyone in the room politely ignores the fact that Ayato is saying these thoughts out loud and how red your face has gotten.

He doesn't object when you pull him out of the room with you, blindly following you wherever you happen to lead him by the hand. As long as your hand is in his, he'll follow you to the ends of the earth if you'll allow it. It's a bit comical how the dignified Yashiro Commissioner recedes into himself and crumbles away into a love-sick man just by a simple touch. At much as it makes you feel a bit shy, it's nice to know that Ayato won't try and weasel his way out of your grasp and return to his work.

If anything he clings to you like an onikabuto on a tree. You have to waddle your way to the baths with an oversized blue-haired man refusing to let go and draping himself over your back. You know he's making this as hard as possible on purpose, just do you can dote and pamper him a bit longer before he succumbs to slumber and has to return to work. It dampens his mood thinking of the future but it's quickly ushered away by the warm water poured over his head. It's fitting that his vision is hydro because he fits himself into the space you provide as you begin to scrub his hair clean.

There's something meditative about having his hair washed by your hands that no one else can replicate. It's a luxury that he only receives when he works hard enough that his arms hang uselessly at his sides and his body slumps into itself. Soft and malleable, completely willing to bend and mold in whatever shape you wish. But your hands scrub through his hair gently, rubbing all the stress out of his body and never complaining. Right now there's nothing else that matters more than being here with you and you with him.

"I'm going to rinse your hair out. Close your eyes now," you softly say and he follows your instructions. The rush of warm water is soothing to his ears although it sparks something in his memory that momentarily takes him out of this romantic moment. He reaches blindly behind him to take your hand, rubbing circles into your palm to halt your actions.

"It's just occurred to me but aren't you supposed to be on a trip to Watatsumi island?" he opens his eyes to peer up at you, his long eyelashes tipped with water droplets reminding you of just how pretty Ayato is. It's almost a good enough distraction for you to forget why exactly you're here rather than speaking with Kokomi right now. Almost.

"I was but someone had to go and work himself to death again. You need to take better care of yourself Ayato. I don't want to see Thoma running across all of Inazuma just to drag me back because you can't seem to sit still for a few seconds," your frown deepens with each sentence. Your free hand that's not in his grasp is knocking against his forehead, albeit not hard enough to cause any actual pain. He only chuckles before pulling you into the water with him until you're sitting on the edge of the bathtub. His head lay comfortably against your thighs.

"Apologies." He's not sorry at all. "When you're not beside me I have to throw myself into my work or else I may go insane."

"Oh so now all of this is my fault," you huff exasperated but he can hear the undertones of how happy that sentence makes you. "Come on, you'll catch a cold if we stay here any longer."

"Mmm, indulge me," he mumbles into your skin, his eyes closing once again with a content smile on his face. He doesn't need to see to know that you have an equally fond expression.

"Oh, so now my lord wishes to relax?"

"Only because you're here."

Alhaitham

You know that your relationship with Alhaitham is unusual to onlookers. You're both polar opposites and yet somehow stumbled into a rather healthy and committed relationship. To others, Alhaitham is a talented and intelligent man. The perfect bachelor if it wasn't for his "extraordinary sense of individualism" that he doesn't pay attention to people around him. He's notorious for being hard to get along with that not even his handsome face is enough for people to sit around for too long. Meanwhile, there's you. A wandering traveler who takes work whenever anyone needs an extra pair of hands. You're a bit well-known for accepting any job that pays well regardless of how dangerous or weird it might be. But unlike Alhaitham, you're more than happy to make conversation and you're often seen conversing with scholars from every one of the Six Darshans.

To everyone's knowledge, it's you that's the clingy one. You always have a hand around his arm or throw yourself at him shamelessly. Everyone assumes that Alhaitham tolerates it because he never pushes you off but he doesn't reciprocate affection to the degree that you do. If only those nosy scholars could see him now. Your newest job has you traveling to the Chasm to help collect and study the newly opened area. While the Chasm is close to Sumeru, a series of mysterious accidents led the entire mine to be closed. With the Liyue Qizing gradually reopening the area there's a lot of ground to cover. Alhaitham doesn't care much for the details except that this means you'll be away from him for a few years rather than a few weeks. As soon as you told him the expected date you'll return his face instantly soured. It was so cute that you couldn't help but press kisses to the corners of his mouth until they lifted. But one thing led to another and you're now trapped underneath his strong figure for the past couple of hours with no signs of him letting go. Every day you're gone equates to one minute he gets to keep you here.

No matter how much Alhaitham wishes to make you stay, even going so far as to bribe you, you eventually gather your things, press one last kiss to his lips, and leave him in his too-quiet house. He doesn't want to admit it but as soon as he closes the door he already feels lonely. But he'll learn to cope and continue with his life. He's been through more challenging obstacles and made it through. It's only two years, 3 months, 14 minutes, and 58 seconds. Alhaitham sighs and leans against the door. He's not going to make it.

Everyone else is content to whisper behind their hands about how the scribe seems to be more hostile. While Alhaitham doesn't have the most friendly personality, he's still somewhat polite until someone gives him a reason to exit the conversation. But now Alhaitham can barely get two sentences in before insulting someone. He doesn't even mean to do it on purpose, it just slips out. A girl who happens to share your eye color is met with a backhanded compliment that she should eat more fish. A man whose skin color is just a shade lighter than yours is met with an irritated scowl before he could even say anything. It's only now that people start to miss your presence because anything is better than a walking warning sign.

It only takes a few weeks for him to crack. He's not usually this starved of attention but the knowledge that he won't see you for another two years has him itching at his wrists. While on the outside there doesn't seem to be any changes, he's perfectly calm and collected, but his facade breaks when he starts making rash decisions. When he heard that his senior Kaveh needed a place to stay due to his financial situation, he offered to live with him much to everyone and his own surprise. Even Kaveh suspiciously asks why Alhaitham is being so generous. He doesn't dignify it with a proper answer, only that he better get his situation fixed within the next two years or the scribe is kicking him out.

As the second year rolls past, it's Kaveh who brings up Alhaitham's sudden mood change. He seems...excited. Kaveh chalks it up to Alhaitham being happy that Kaveh is finally moving out but that'd be kind of low even for someone like Alhaitham. As someone who cares about the arts and romance, there's a certain care in how Alhaitham cleans the house. Every systematic movement is laced with a longing gaze. His wrists are rubbed raw that Kaveh has to physically step in or he might rub so hard he reaches the bone. But above all the dangerous aura around Alhaitham is replaced with something Kaveh can only describe as restless patience.

"Honey, I'm home!" your happy voice is accompanied by the loud slam of the door crashing against the wall. Kaveh is startled by a random stranger entering their house but mostly at the term of endearment. Alhaitham only lowers his book at your voice before going back to reading. A bit rude in Kaveh's opinion but he can see the small smile that Alhaitham tries to hide behind the pages of his book. It's not like you aren't a bit devious yourself. So you retaliate by plucking the book out of his hands, taking a quick glance at his page number before placing it on the desk.

"Welcome back. I assume your job went well?" Alhaitham sighs as you kick his legs apart, plop yourself down into his lap, and rest your head against his chest. If you weren't so enthralled by the masterpiece that was Alhaitham's physique, you would have laughed at how the blond-haired man seemed to stare owlishly at the scene. His eyes almost fall out of their heads when Alhaitham doesn't push you off, doesn't throw you over his shoulder, or even make the slightest hint of being irritated or embarrassed. He just places his hands around your waist, rests his chin on your head, and sends an icy glare to which the blond-haired man scoffs before excusing himself. It's not anything different from what he usually does to onlookers although this is you and you can tell just how weary he is. How deeply he relaxes in your hold as the tension melts from his shoulders. How his eyes search over your body for any injuries that you might have gotten. It does look like you got a bit roughed up during your stay at the Chasm. Your hair is cut shorter than he remembers, you've put on some muscle, and there are a few nicks and cuts running along parts of your skin that are visible. But none of that matters because you're here. You're finally here.

"Aww, Haitham did you miss me?" you tease only to quickly eat your words when he manuever's you sideways so he can pin your back against the couch. You're hit with a sense of deja vu back to two years ago when you were about to leave for this trip.

"The next time you take a commission that lasts longer than two weeks, I'm coming with you or you're not going at all," he grumbles as he tucks himself into the crook of your neck with no signs of leaving. You laugh now but he's dead serious.

Dottore

You aren't sure when it started but at some point, you've been labeled as "Dottore's Favourite". He always seems to be the slightest bit nicer if you happen to be there, his voice a smidge less aggressive, and a lot more touchy. He's a Doctor first so he doesn't want to be contaminated by whatever bacteria people have gathered. But with you, he always seems to have a hand on you. Either harshly pinching your cheeks like a child with a crazed grin whenever you mumble something he deems stupid or pulling your arm of out its socket as he yanks you through the hallways of his lab. You act almost as his shadow, permanently glued to his feet and forced to follow wherever he goes.

You wouldn't consider yourself exceptional at your job but you did know how to listen. Perhaps it was your blatant disregard for your lack of safety since your head was always in the clouds that let you do your job with a steady hand. You don't blame your college's, it's hard to work under so much stress. If you had to do quantum physics and whatever the hell smart people do with someone who could, and would, kill you on the spot if you couldn't tell him what 3567 x 438 was on the spot, you think you could have exploded and crumbled on the spot. But you were just the ditzy receptionist who twirled a pencil on her nose more than on a paper. The only thing you were required to do was make sure Dottore was never bothered and let him know if anyone important needed his attention.

You've seen the Regrator the most compared to the rest of the Harbingers. You don't know what a banker needs from a doctor but you're not about to ask. It's not your business and you aren't paid enough to care about what your boss does. Besides, for such a handsome face his presence creeps you out which is saying something considering there's a maniacal doctor that treats human lives like numbers on a stats page. But since you are his "receptionist" you have to make conversation with him. Most of your interaction extends to him asking if the Doctor is in and you politely saying that he's out. You both pointedly ignore the loud crashes and angry yelling from one of his segments behind the closed steel door.

Once again, you don't consider yourself exceptional at your job. You're just a lousy receptionist at a place that doesn't require it and who spends all their time spinning in the office chair than doing actual work. You're just as replaceable as any grunt in this hell hole. So when Tartaglia waltzes through the doors, blinking at you with his dead fish eyes, before nodding to himself and hauling you out of your chair you can only hope that Dottore manages to remember that he has a meeting with Pantalone at noon.

You're hardly gone for an hour. Tartaglia was just bored, bored enough to come to Dottore of all people, that he happened to spot you who looked equally as bored. He just roughed you up a little before he deemed you completely useless and a horrible fighter before sending you back on your way. Seriously, if he wanted a fight he should have just picked one of the skirmishers instead of a damn receptionist. Although you may have to reconsider your position because as soon as you walk back into the lab, a girl is throwing herself at you and demanding where you've been.

You don't get the chance to answer before she's hurriedly running down twisting hallways, down the stairs, and punching in codes so complicated it looked like she was trying to make music out of them. Whatever questions you have are ignored in favor of getting you somewhere as fast as possible. It begins to make sense when you're finally shoved into a room, the girl who dragged you all this way throwing herself onto her knees and begging for forgiveness for letting you wander off.

The lab is an absolute disaster. This isn't the organized chaos you're acquainted with but the aftermath of a manic episode you're familiar with. Glass shards dripping with fluorescent liquid, research notes torn apart that flutter around the room as faux snow, and one mad doctor in the middle.

"Where have you been?"

For someone who destroyed years worth of progress, he sounds oddly calm and collected. His deep voice is firm while he fiddles with a test tube of blue liquid, watching it slosh around before placing it onto a broken table. He barely pays any mind to the girl currently on her hands and knees, forehead pressed to the ground while she glares at you to say something.

"Out," is your reply. A casual shrug of your shoulders even though the Dottore's back is to you. He's not wearing his usual white coat. That's too bad, you think it looks kinda cool. Really goes with his bird aesthetic.

"Out...out you say. Out. Out. Out," he mumbles softly, each time he say's the word "out", he taps the test tube harder onto the table. The lull in conversation only makes the pressure of the room drop lower before the tension snaps and he hurls the test tube at the girl still on her knees. It's only thanks to your reflexes that you manage to grab the collar of her uniform and throw her back just as the test tube collides with the floor, the liquid melting away the concrete where her head was. You can only give her a nudge and a look towards the door for her to scramble to her feet and flee as far away as she can. The slam of the door behind her acting as the nail in the coffin as Dottore's body seems to slump in on itself.

"Where have you been?" he asks again, running a hand through his messy hair. He sounds and looks far more tired, his fingers twitching to reach out and hold you but his pride stopping him. So you push yourself and step forward into his space, reaching your hands out to cup his face and rubbing soothing circles into his porcelain skin. He doesn't lean into your touch but he doesn't push you away either.

"Getting tossed around by Tartaglia. He came by saying he was bored and I just so happened to be there," you say absentmindedly, twirling the long lock of blue hair that hangs off the sides of his mask. He responds by snatching your wrist, squeezing hard enough until your bones creak. "Were you worried? Did you think I ran away?"

He doesn't dignify your question with a response. Simply shrugging your hands off his face before he reaches up to pinch your cheeks, a familiar cackle vibrating from his chest.

"As if you would have anywhere to go."

———

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worldsover · 3 months

Text

Iff ft. Yujin

length ✦ 10.9k

genres ✧ breeding, as in breeding breeding, as in actual pregnancy kink; degrading petplay; NEVER underestimate my lack of sanity; super subby puppy gf with baby fever!Yujin

✦✧✦✧✦✧

It is necessarily true that there exists an ideal number of offspring for each human female from a purely genetic standpoint. Our distant ancestors who survived countless millennia of famine, warfare, and disease were those whose genomes encoded a certain target number for offspring; this number was close enough to just above two children that random fluctuations in fertility could never deviate much below or above that figure. For these women, at least, natural selection would penalize having either fewer or more children than their genes desired, as this would diminish the proportion of their offspring in subsequent generations. This principle extends even today: A 2021 study by Hutchings revealed significant variability in the number and size of offspring among species, driven by genetic and developmental factors. This suggests a non-fixed ideal number of offspring, adapting to societal changes and living conditions.

Even after tens of thousands of years, we are still these animals. That is, Homo sapiens sapiens does not differ greatly from its parent species Homo sapiens when it comes to such biological imperatives as sex and reproduction. Yet only a fraction of people maintain a lifestyle that mirrors contingent strategies favored by evolution, resulting in a massive imbalance between evolved psychology and modern life. Although humans may no longer face the constant threat of starvation posed by an unforgiving wilderness, problems evolve in the same way—we do not have nearly enough children to replace the adult population, at least in many developed countries. The United States, Canada, Australia, and many European countries are experiencing population decline, but nowhere is this phenomenon more exacerbated than in East Asia, with particularly acute examples in China, Japan, and South Korea. Our subject for examination lies within the context of the latter nation, wherein perhaps a solution may be found through the example of Ahn Yujin.

You and Yujin are going to work toward fixing this new, evolved problem by starting a family. With her fervor and your virility, you just might do this single-handedly—if not, at least you two will leave that target number in the dust. The world will thank you, and you, the world, for yielding you Yujin. The future is assured, so long as you can satisfy your breeding needs.

Yujin fits the archetype for having large numbers of offspring: there must have existed designs for Yujin's body as the template for prolific breeders. Even the most conservative anthropologist would admit Yujin's hips are ideal for childbearing, especially in proportion to her height. Her breasts are not the largest, but they are certainly sufficient enough for breastfeeding—and if not that, at least your own tit-sucking pleasures. Her lithe body was built to breed, and above any physical attributes, the mind within only confirms that impression.

She is eager, insatiable, and obedient. You tell her to strip, and she is naked in seconds. You tell her to go on all fours, and she is on all fours. You tell her to put her lips around your cock, and she is deepthroating you in an instant. And when you tell Yujin that she's now your little puppy to train and use as you please, she follows your command gladly.

Her greatest fantasy is being bred hard and often, and this is the fantasy most oft fulfilled by you, her master. It starts with the collar around her neck: an innocuous thing, leather and black, with a silver buckle in the front, and a ring in the back through which you put a leash. When she has that collar on, she is not the confident, witty, ambitious woman who commands everyone's attention—she is your pet, "Puppy", as so engraved in delicate silver script on the black leather.

The collar rarely leaves her neck at this point, a couple of years into your relationship. By now, she's your live-in pet.

You don't even remember the last time you used a condom. That was months ago, at least—a year? Ever since she moved in, you've been savoring Yujin's raw, slick walls on your cock, and she gets off on the all-filling feeling of your semen seeping into her fertile womb. If it weren't for the pill, Yujin would have been knocked up long ago. Despite that, each time you make love, you talk about breeding, playing at dreams of impregnating her with plenty of pups. She moans "please" on each thrust, and you know exactly what she's begging for when she whispers that "Master's cum is gonna be Daddy cum any day now." When the two of you are ready, there is no doubt that Yujin will become the mother of your children.

You and Yujin have many ways of making love, ranging from rough hair-pulling to gentle adoration. But one element always remains the same: the collar that transforms her into a wild, lustful creature, erasing all thoughts as soon as it's clasped around her slender neck. Her urgent pleas for you to release your load deep inside her are often met with little resistance, but occasionally you like to make her work for it—teasing and edging her until she whines and begs, this desperate bitch in heat. Then, you offer her a choice: continue being edged for another hour or allow yourself to impregnate her with your potent seed, guaranteed to result in triplets. Which will it be?

The answer, of course, is that both are correct. Why should we deprive ourselves of what nature gave us? If one woman loves being bred, why not breed her constantly? If another wants to be edged, why deny her? False dichotomies like these remain pervasive. Be sexually dominant or submissive; enjoy sex or romance; fuck like rabbits or make love tenderly—these can all exist together, if we so allow them to.

For example, there are always two women at play with your girlfriend: the Yujin who is a vibrant social butterfly, curious and never satisfied with sitting still; and the Yujin who lives and breathes your cock in daily routine, the Yujin who will happily let you lock her away in a dark room if you promised to give her your cum. You love both Yujins: a charming conversationalist, always cool and collected; a horny, obedient slut, who you train to do tricks in exchange for cum, who will only bark if her master so demands. There is no need to choose between these two Yujins, and you would not dream of doing so.

Or, consider the most misleading of dilemmas, being a young couple with kids, or being a young couple that stays together. Humans have grown rich enough and powerful enough to craft a society where the worst thing that could happen to a young couple—pregnancy at an inconvenient time—no longer threatens them in the same way. Now that people no longer have to marry their first stable match or die alone, now that everyone has gotten a little bit smarter and more independent, the universe is filled with possibilities for love and affection. This future child you make with Yujin could grow up in an environment where they would want for nothing, especially not siblings, for you'll give them plenty to spare. Thus, to knock Yujin up is hardly the disaster it would have been in our primitive past. Rather, you both should celebrate it.

This is not to say that every single person is the same. Not many women are as dedicated to the goal of impregnation as Yujin, and not many men are as driven to fill a receptive body with their progeny as you are. The series of coin flips and card draws that led to your personalities, to this relationship that binds you, is quite unlikely to repeat itself.

Yujin recognizes the rarity of the match. Even in the first meeting, she was as astute as a hunter dog, scenting prey, noting all the signs in the forest that you were the one. That night, after your friend invited Yujin to the bar, small talk quickly became deep conversation. Yujin asked your opinion on something. You gave it. Yujin replied, "Oh, I like a guy who takes charge." A few minutes later, she said she had to use the bathroom. She left her purse with you. Yujin did not return for another ten minutes, and when she did, it was with flushed cheeks and sweat on her brow. You asked her what took so long, and she answered, "You're so hot. I might have… been doing something naughty."

"Bad girl," you said.

At this point, your friend knew to leave.

You understand that Yujin is still the same girl, only with more of herself exposed to you—not just literally. She's been hinting at the concept of properly mating for weeks now, but she needed you to make the first move. It's a bit like old times, the nights after you met, the weeks you danced around each other's desires. Whenever she hinted at her interest, you weren't stupid enough to be oblivious—every word dripped with innuendo, every glance a flirt, every movement an invitation. But you built tension with purpose. She was too special to sleep with on the first date. In much the same way, what was once mere fantasy, empty talk of impregnating Yujin during sex, is starting to take on the shape of reality. In this sense, here returns Yujin the hunter dog, searching for a new quarry: your future family.

However, this is not lust alone. The chemicals that control desire can't do all the work in this relationship. When Yujin asks you more frequently about your opinion on having kids, you don't ignore it as simple pillow talk; she is gauging your willingness to commit. Because you love her, because she's right for you, past the sex and the fantasies, you take her seriously. Yujin speaks with infectious enthusiasm about her friends who have recently become mothers, all of whom are convinced that you two would make fantastic parents. Casually, she mentions she's not taking birth control anymore.

"I might be ovulating soon." "The doctor said I'm in my prime right now." "Do you think I'd be a good mother? You'll be a good daddy, for sure."

To that last question, you assure her, over and over, with the certainty that Yujin deserves. "The best mommy. I promise."

You find her researching baby names. Starts looking up parenting tips and ideas for nursery decorations. She's even helped you plan out your dream family home. There's something different about how Yujin looks at you. She's thinking about pregnancy, not just as a topic of conversation, not just as a fetish, but as a goal.

Concerns and fears, worries and hopes, you discuss them thoroughly, sometimes after sex, when Yujin is too tired to move and she lies in bed with your cock still inside her, cum on her lips, your hands around her belly feeling her body and dreaming of what it might become. Talks of plans become more and more serious as you set aside money and time for this future family, thinking about moving out from this modest apartment to a proper house. But ultimately, here is Yujin, in your arms, by your side, an angel's face, eyes stolen from the stars as they twinkle.

Like when you first fell in love, everything lovely about Yujin becomes magnified, so how could you deny her? You hold her close and promise that you'll do anything to make her happy, to make her dreams come true. She whispers back, "I know. I've never felt so loved."

It isn't long before Yujin becomes more brazen. As you try to fall asleep, you hear wet sounds next to you as Yujin's fingers dive in her pussy, presumably to the idea of you impregnating her. The next morning, she confirms your suspicions, this time sending you a video from the bathtub as she masturbates and talks dirty about how much she worships your cum. She sends you amateur porn of women taking three creampies three times in a row, or pregnant women squirting milk onto the camera lens while riding a man.

Then, there's the actual sex between the two of you. "Do you want to knock me up? Come on, let's just do it now. Please? Can't you tell I need it?"

You're glad to continue teasing and edging Yujin until her desire is too much to bear, her eyes watering and face contorted with desperation. Her raw pussy tightens around you even more, begging for release. You tell her it's up to Master before pulling out and spraying cum over her stomach. Obedient as ever, she cleans it up and swallows it down but her frustration is clear—she wants to be filled completely. You're truthfully equally as ready to impregnate Yujin, sooner rather than later; you want to watch your seed blossom within her, want to see her stomach swell, her tits fill up with delicious milk, and her nipples grow fat with lust. The smell of her slick sex is intoxicating whenever you slip a hand down her pants, or spread her pussy wide open to taste.

After settling all the necessary financial and personal matters, Yujin stays busy with buying pregnancy tests, making lists, and studying every bit of advice on how to conceive. You each tell your families that you're trying, which is a funny way of saying "I'm going to fuck enough sperm into your fertile daughter that she's guaranteed to bear our children, and we're going to do it so often that she might as well never leave my cock," but you suppose that "trying" is the more polite way of putting it. Yujin's mother has already started preparing the nursery, and your parents are talking about visiting to help watch over her when she gets farther along in the pregnancy. You're ready to move into your new place, but not before this apartment where you first made love has its proper send-off.

You thought you'd witnessed the limits of Yujin's vulnerability. However, you've never seen your girlfriend quite as desperate, needy, and pathetic as you do on the morning you decide it's time to breed Yujin.

For days, you've teased her relentlessly—marked her bare neck with bruises and bite marks, denied Yujin her collar until she's earned it, edged her with your fingers and mouth, fucked her fast and rough, used her as a living fleshlight, edged her more with toys. Made her watch as you jacked off onto her abs, fed her a throatful, or plugged up her ass with a thick load.

"Master, please," she begged, over and over, as her pussy clenched on nothing. With her body painted abstract expressionist—soaked in cum like you're marking territory—you needed multiple towels to clean the slumberous Yujin so that the sheets weren't too sticky. Left one towel under her legs to catch her dripping arousal. By the time she went to sleep last night, her guts were full of your cum, while her mind was void of all thoughts except for one: the place your seed had yet to reach, aching to be fulfilled like the rest of her body.

When you wake early and find Yujin's body pressed against yours in bed, her sleep is fitful, due to this very lack of semen inside her womb. She tosses, turns, her body hot. You touch her forehead with your hand to check for a fever, but it's just the heat of her arousal making her sweat. You run your fingers down her spine. Her skin feels flushed. Looks it too, how red her cheeks are. The sun has barely begun its ascent, so its color makes her glow further. Your fingertips reach her tailbone, then slip lower, where you press against her clit. Her breathing quickens as she rouses awake, and you pull your hand back.

With each breath, her tits rise and fall; they feel heavier than usual in your hands. The mingled scents of sweat and sex surround you, but beneath it all is an added note that stirs your arousal. It's a familiar smell, one that always drives you wild. You recognize the telltale signs of Yujin's hormones going into overdrive, intensifying her already insatiable desires. Her nipples, already normally sensitive, become almost painfully hypersensitive to every touch. She can't get enough of your scent, pressing her nose against your chest, armpit, neck, and groin—anywhere she can inhale your intoxicating musk.

It's time. Yujin is ovulating today.

Yesterday, you checked the calendar and the apps and the notes; however, none of the charts factor the most important variable: your instincts. Yujin looks so damn adorable when she wakes up, eyes bleary, hair disheveled, mouth still sticky with drool, legs spread, and a wet spot in the towel from where her pussy has been leaking—this was always going to be the day.

You gently stroke behind your puppy's ear, brushing her cheek with affection. "Morning, my love" comes out as your softest whisper.

Yujin stirs in response, nuzzling her head against your shoulder as she slowly wakes from her slumber. She yawns and blinks several times before finally locking eyes with you, a sleepy smile spreading across her face. "Good morning, Master," she says, shifting closer to give you a gentle kiss on the lips. Then another ten kisses. Twenty. "I had the weirdest dream."

You smile against her lips as you run your fingers through her tousled hair. "Do tell."

She seems to remember that you've been edging her for days, her thighs rubbing together, the scent of her slick arousal thick in the air. Yujin giggles and buries her face in your chest. When she finally looks up again, her cheeks are tinged red, and Yujin avoids your gaze. "I dreamed… that you were fucking me—"

"Of course," you interject, grinning. You reach down between her legs, returning to her folds, feeling how hot she's gotten overnight. It takes no effort to slide one finger inside your girlfriend.

"—and then you came inside of me, and it was so warm, and I was so full, and…" Yujin trails off as you add another finger. "And then the next day, I felt different. Like something inside of me changed."

"Oh?" Your hand moves steadily in and out of her tightness as she speaks.

"Yes," Yujin murmurs, her breath coming out in short gasps. "It felt like there was a weight in my stomach, but not physically. It was hard to explain, but it just felt off."

You continue to pleasure Yujin with your fingers, watching as she writhes beneath you. She lets out a whimper at the sensation and spreads her thighs wider for you. As her body responds to your touch, she whispers with breathless urgency:

"So I put my hands on my tummy, trying to figure out why things felt so off, and then... Oh! I can't believe I'm telling you this!" she exclaims, hiding her face in your chest again.

"Everything. I want to hear the whole dream." You push deeper, curling your fingers inside her, searching for her G-spot. She moans, and you hear the faint squelching of her slick leaking out.

"Master!" she says, panting, louder, gasping for air. "I—oh god—I just knew it! I had your pups inside me. I knew, because my belly felt heavy, and my body felt strange, and there was a pressure on my chest, and, and my nipples were so, so sensitive, and when I touched them, milk came out, and—" Yujin cuts herself off with another sharp yelp, your fingerfucking reaching a crescendo. "Master! Please!"

You chuckle. "That was quite vivid, puppy." Withdrawing digits from your girlfriend's warmth, you sit up and position yourself behind her, pressing her soft curves into your body—she's always been such a perfect fit, in your lap, in your arms, in your life. On your cock too, as it nestles comfortably between her round, plump buttocks.

She shivers at your touch, and you know from the tremble that Yujin's close to her peak.

"Today."

Yujin's eyes widen in surprise as you utter the single word. It's almost magical, the way that one word can turn a dream into a reality more than any other before it. You understand her desires and share them with equal passion—although, at this moment, could anyone want anything as much as Yujin right now? Her breathing hitches even more as desire floods through every inch of her body. Her glazed eyes stare back at you with pure love, the dilated pupils barely showing any trace of color.

You nod, confirming what she already suspects. "Yes, Yujin, today is the day."

A single tear gathers at the corner of her eye, threatening to spill over. Her voice quivers and trails off as she struggles to speak. "Master..." Her breath catches in her throat. "Are we really... going to—"

You lean in and capture her lips with a deep, passionate kiss. "Yes," you whisper against her skin, sending shivers down her spine. "We are going to have a baby. Babies."

She moans loudly against your lips, unable to contain her excitement, as she grinds her body against yours. "Nngh, oh my god, yes, yes! Yes, I want to have my Master's puppies! Please, please, fuck my pussy, breed me, I love you, make my womb yours, breed me, breed me, breed, m-me, mmmh—" Her babbling dissolves into a series of incoherent noises, her mind lost to the lustful haze of your touch.

You reach up and grasp Yujin's nape firmly but gently, pulling her closer to you. "You'll be a good puppy for Master today, won't you?" You raise an eyebrow expectantly.

Yujin murmurs and whines, sounding like a dog who has been chastised, though she nods quickly.

"Good. We'll have all day today, and the whole weekend to fuck, to fill you with my seed. You can be as loud as you want. I don't want you to restrain anything. I want to see you lose yourself completely, and I don't care who hears. Fuck the neighbors. We'll be leaving soon anyway." Your smirk widens.

Stroke her cheek, then pat her head and point to the floor next to the bed.

"On the ground, puppy."

Yujin slides off the edge of the mattress and kneels, her eyes never straying from your length, soft and hanging between your legs. A small gasp escapes her lips as she leans closer to your cock, her tongue slipping out between her teeth in anticipation. She releases a soft hum, murmuring, "I adore your scent, Master." With reverence, she snuggles against your cock with her cheeks and forehead, inhaling deeply as if testing the notes of a fine wine. Her lips part and her tongue darts out to cover your balls with her saliva. She finds pleasure in drooling on them, feeling their weight, and hearing you moan with enjoyment when she takes both in her mouth. As she feels the tension building between her thighs, she rubs them together for some relief.

She wraps her arms around your thighs and pulls herself closer, burying her nose in your crotch. As Yujin looks up at you, between big and pleading eyes, your shaft lays on her face, covering her mouth and nose. Every expression of submission, lust, and desperation hardens your cock. None match her unflinching smile while she lathers your sack in attention and spit.

Though her voice is muffled by your sack, she whimpers anyway, "Pwease, Master, cahn, I suck yow cock? So… yummy, mmnh." She lets each ball pop out of her mouth slowly, lines of drool connecting them to her glistening lips.

On this small hunt, Yujin's hand snakes towards your groin, but you don't plan on letting Yujin wring your balls dry so easily; you swat her hand away. "Ah-ah. You said you'd be a good girl."

Yujin's head drops in shame, her apology barely audible.

"What was that? Speak up," you demand.

She takes a deep breath before speaking louder. "I'm sorry, sir."

You place your palm gently on top of her head, relishing the softness of her fur beneath your fingertips. "What a good little puppy!" You say it with a hint of scorn, just the way she likes it - you can tell by the way she shivers in anticipation. Your voice turns serious. "If you want a treat, you have to earn it, right?"

Yujin nods eagerly, her eyes still downcast.

"Let's make sure you remember your tricks first."

With hopeful anticipation, she looks back up at you. It has been months since you've gone through this routine, the times the two of you delved deeper into this kink. When you first broached the subject, Yujin had played coy, but she took to it so naturally. And now, she's back in character perfectly. You run your hand through her hair, scratching behind her ear like an indulgent owner would for their well-behaved pet. Yujin leans into your touch, panting softly in contentment as she nuzzles against your hand.

"Sit," you order.

Your obedient pet Yujin complies at once and sits upright on her haunches. Her posture is impeccable, with knees pressed together, hands neatly resting on her thighs, and back straight as a rod. You hold out your hand with the palm facing up, and she eagerly places her chin in it. As she gazes up at you with adoration and trust shining in her eyes, you can't help but feel a sense of pride and ownership over this beautiful creature. It's moments like these that make you believe she was truly made for this canine role.

"Stay," you command, your intense gaze bearing down on Yujin. She fights to remain motionless, every muscle in her body trembling. But she is not a perfectly trained robot; sometimes a bratty, needy side emerges from within her. Rising from the bed, sheets rustling underneath you, you hold out your cock in front of her face. As if to say, look, here's the toy, puppy, as if daring her to lick it. You could thrust it into her mouth like a gloryhole and she wouldn't even flinch. But that's not why you're here. You're testing her. As if sensing your thoughts, she parts her lips slightly and you can practically smell the saliva building up in her mouth. Not good enough. In response, you smack her face with your hard length, the sound reverberating through the room. "Stay means stay," you remind her firmly.

She takes a deep, shuddering breath and squeezes her eyes shut, fighting to regain control over her body. After a few moments, she steadies herself and stares straight ahead, ignoring the throbbing member in front of her with impressive discipline.

You run your fingers through the soft fur of her head and praise her, "Such a good girl." With your other hand, you hold out your palm and command, "Paw." Yujin doesn't hesitate; she places her paw gently in your hand and allows you to shake it. A small smile tugs at the corners of your mouth as you see how easily she follows your commands. "And now, roll over."

Yujin's cheeks flush a bright shade of pink as she gets onto all fours before she rolls onto her back, fully exposing herself to you. The warm morning sunlight streams through the bedroom window, highlighting every curve and dip of her flawless skin. Her wet pussy is on full display, inviting and tempting you further. Every subtle movement of her hips captivates you as she meets your gaze with adoration and devotion shining in her eyes. A shy grin plays on her lips, but there is no doubt: Yujin loves being your devoted puppy, always eager to please and serve you in any way possible.

Yujin lies sprawled out on the cool, hardwood floor of your bedroom, her body aching with desire. Her thighs are parted wide, exposing her glistening, craving pussy to you. The scent of arousal fills the air as she squirms impatiently, her clit protruding from its hood in a swollen and red state. You can see the evidence of hours of teasing and foreplay in the puffy, engorged state of her labia. As you lean down and run your fingertips over the softness of her inner thighs, Yujin shudders under your touch, her muscles tensing and trembling with pleasure.

"Such a good girl. Just a few more, then you get your treat," you whisper, your voice low and seductive. "On your feet, puppy," you say, accompanied by a finger gesture.

Yujin rises gracefully, her arms lifting high above her head and crossing at the wrists. As she arches her back, pushing out her chest, she bites her lip and gazes at you with an intense longing. You come closer. As you cup her breast gently in your hand, Yujin shudders under your touch. To your caress, she arches deeper while she presses herself into your palm. Her body silently pleads for release from the building tension within her—she's not so silent. You continue to massage and explore her soft flesh, feeling the heat radiating from every inch of her skin. When you pinch her nipple between thumb and forefinger or knead the pliant tissue beneath your fingers, Yujin lets out soft whimpers.

Her nipples are hard as diamonds, and a hair's trigger away from causing another orgasm so soon with their sensitivity. They look delectable and you can't resist giving them the attention they deserve. It's also practice for when Yujin is pregnant, as you plan on sucking on them regularly then. Your lips start at her collarbone, eliciting moans from Yujin, before moving down to dive into the valley of her cleavage. You kiss and nip at the pale, sensitive skin of her tits before finally reaching her buds. You lose track of time as you lavish attention on Yujin's breasts, slicking them with your saliva until she looks like she's about to pass out in pleasure—the puppy truly is so sensitive there. But she stands strong for you, eager for more.

"Oh, god," you murmur huskily, your voice dripping with desire as you imagine Yujin's full, milk-filled breasts in your hands. "I can't wait to see them when you're pregnant. So much milk, so juicy and ripe." A smile spreads across Yujin's face at your words, her eyes shimmering with a combination of desire and love for you. You clear your throat. "Now, bow."

With practiced grace, she drops to her knees and bows her head in submission, her forehead touching the ground. Her long hair tumbles around her face, tickling her flushed cheeks. As she lifts her head to peek up at you through her thick lashes, a slight smile plays on her lips. She is proud of herself for remembering all the tricks, but her expression is still pleading for more.

"Mmm, turn around. All fours. One last time."

She complies, getting onto all fours and arching her back to present her ass to you. Her legs spread wider, revealing the slick pink folds of her pussy, glistening with moisture and awaiting your touch. For further measure, with one hand on each cheek, she pulls apart the mounds of her ass to expose her tight puckered asshole. Her juices flow freely down her thighs, leaving a trail on the hardwood floor beneath her as she quivers with anticipation.

"Well done," you praise, lowering yourself to the cool floor to caress Yujin's head, back, and firm ass. You run both your index and middle fingers along her slick slit, feeling the heat emanating from her core. With two fingertips against her entrance, you spread open her folds to inspect how ready she is for you before pushing in. Yujin moans and grinds her hips against your hand, craving more of your touch. You chuckle and withdraw your fingers from your girlfriend's dripping pussy; they glisten with her sweet nectar as you hold them up for her to see, like delicate strands of silk. You'd say she's ready.

She whimpers at the sudden lack of touch and watches intently as you lift your slick-covered digits to her nostrils. She inhales deeply, bites her lower lip, and squirms, her breathing ragged and quick.

"Does my little pup enjoy the scent of her own arousal?" you ask, a smug grin on your face. "That's the smell of a fertile bitch, eager to be bred."

Yujin eagerly nods her head, her eyes shining with desire as she opens her mouth, inviting you to let her lick your fingers clean.

You smirk at the display of submission; it sends a thrill down your spine, a jolt straight to your cock. "Beg like a good dog," you command, "then you can have my fingers to suck on."

After a deep breath, she barks like a loyal canine, then whimpers in need. Her voice is barely audible as she pleads for what she desires. "Please," she begs, her words coming out in soft whines like a dog begging for scraps. "Master, can I please suck on your fingers? I need it so badly." You let out a small chuckle at her plea, knowing that Yujin has been eagerly awaiting this moment. You smear some of her juices onto her cheek, causing her to instinctively try and lick them off but she quickly restrains herself.

You shake your head and tut disapprovingly, making a mental note to be stricter with Yujin during her training sessions. "Not quite good enough," you reprimand her lightly. Tears begin to prick at the corners of Yujin's eyes at your rejection and she sniffs back a sob. "Master..." she starts again, only to have her voice break off into whimpers and heavy breathing. "P-please let me taste myself on your fingers. I know I've been a dirty whore but you take such good care of me and my needy pussy. And I-I'm sorry for making a mess on your fingers but please, please let me clean them." Her words are rushed and desperate as she begs for your approval.

You're amazed at how well Yujin can act in these moments, pulling out all the stops to get what she wants. You suppose the intense teasing and edging you subject her to only adds to the sincerity in her words. Finally, you hold your fingers out to her, tracing teasing circles on her lips. Yujin obediently parts her mouth and takes your digits inside, her tongue swirling and dancing along the surface with eager diligence. She sucks harder, hollowing her cheeks and drawing your fingers deeper, until a low moan escapes from deep within her throat, causing a pleasurable vibration against your skin. Her gag reflex kicks in when the knuckles of your fist brush against the soft palate of her mouth, but she pushes through it, determined to please you.

As you slowly withdraw your fingers from her quivering, red lips, a slick sound echoes throughout the room. Your eyes are dark with hunger as you gaze down at Yujin, who looks up at you with adoration and submission. "How does your sweet pussy taste today, my little puppy?" you ask in a low, commanding voice.

Her breath hitches at your words, her eyes fluttering shut before she responds, "It tastes so good, Master, thank you, thank you. My pussy is always fresh and sweet for you."

You take a moment to taste her yourself and confirm her words—she's right. You continue. "You don't look satisfied. What is it that you really want?"

Her hand trembles as she reaches out to touch yours. "Please, sir," she begs in a hushed tone, "knock me up. I want your cum inside me so badly." Her cheeks flush with arousal as she continues, "I know I can be a naughty puppy sometimes, but my pussy is dripping wet and begging for every drop of your seed. I need to be bred by your big and thick cock... by my perfect Master's cock. It's unmatched and I couldn't even imagine wanting anyone else."

Yujin's grip on your hand tightens and her entire body quivers with anticipation, her eyes widening and mouth slightly agape as she takes deep breaths. She may look like a mess right now, but she's your mess and you love every inch of her in this moment.

Her breath catches in her throat as she confesses, her voice trembling with raw desire. "You're all I ever think about when I touch myself," she admits, the words pouring out of her in a torrent of pure desperation. "And I always pretend it's you who brings me pleasure, not my stupid toys when you're away at work." A deep blush spreads across her cheeks as she continues, "You own me, Master... and you own my pussy. Please cum inside me and make it yours forever."

Yujin falls silent after her confession, her face beet red. But she can't tear her gaze away from yours, as if seeking your approval and permission for her deepest desires.

"Yujin, puppy, are you sure? Once I breed you, I don't think I'll ever be able to stop breeding you." A wicked smile crosses your face as you continue, "I'm going to fuck you raw every single day and make sure to get you pregnant with my pups. It's going to be nonstop baby-making from now on. Do you understand?"

Yujin nods, her messy hair bouncing around as she lets out a small bark of excitement. Her big eyes are wide and pleading, begging for your touch.

You coo softly, a smile playing on your lips as you stroke Yujin's head with affection. You reach over the side of the bed and retrieve the familiar black leather collar, adorned with the word "Puppy." Yujin's eyes light up at the sight of her reward, and she sits patiently as you slip it around her neck, locking it in place.

"From now on, you're not just wearing the collar at home anymore," you explain. "But that doesn't matter right? You're my breedslut, so I might as well keep you leashed to the bed."

Yujin shivers at the idea, and you can feel your desire growing as your fingers brush against her skin. Gripping her hair firmly, you yank her head upward, making sure her gaze remains locked on yours.

"This means you belong to me at all times, Yujin," you growl. "You are mine, and no one else's. Do you understand?"

Release your grip, and Yujin sinks back down to her knees in front of your erection standing tall. You've never seen her so nervous about giving you head, but her determination is evident. She opens her pretty, plump lips to reveal the pink interior of her warm mouth, but all you feel is warm breaths.

Yujin moves closer to you, her body radiating heat and anticipation as she guides your throbbing cock toward her lips with a gentle hand at its base. She gives the head a teasing kiss before taking it into her mouth, eliciting a deep, primal moan from deep within your throat.

As she sucks you off, you can feel her soft, wet tongue swirling and spiraling around your shaft, coaxing every last drop of pleasure from you. Every now and then, she comes up for air with a gasp, before eagerly diving back down to continue pleasuring you. Yujin is a true cocksucker, and she loves every second of it. Her eyes water as she deepthroats your cock with determination, refusing to stop even as it triggers her gag reflex.

"Such a good girl," you say, running your fingers through her hair as you thrust deeper into her throat. "You're my obedient little puppy, aren't you?"

Yujin's eyes roll back in ecstasy as she feels your cock filling her mouth and pushing against the back of her throat. With strings of saliva connecting her lips to your cockhead, she looks up at you with a mix of desire and submission.

"Yes, I'm your good puppy," she says in a raspy voice, still gagging on your cock, a few nervous giggles, a few woofs for good measure, even as tears run down her cheeks. "I'm your slutty little puppy girl, and I love your cock and I need your cock and I'm going to suck it forever." And she's back to work, sucking and licking and gagging on your dick as if this is the only thing that matters to her in life.

Yujin's technique is nothing short of impressive, utilizing all of her skills to bring you closer to the peak. Every move is calculated and precise, expertly designed to pleasure you in ways you've never experienced before. You firmly hold her head down, using her as your own personal fleshlight as you give rough thrusts into her warm, welcoming mouth. Yujin struggles for air but never pulls away, fully submitting to your desires. Her delicate hands reach up to massage your balls, adding an electrifying sensation to the already intense experience.

You can feel yourself getting closer and closer to the brink, ready to explode down her throat at any moment. However, despite your animalistic instincts, every neuron firing within you is focused on breeding rather than covering her face and tongue with your seed. You know that it would be a waste to release such high-quality, potent cum anywhere other than inside her womb. Your rational brain understands this logic, even as your body screams for release.

Yujin will have plenty of time in her life to service you with her mouth; for now, her womb is more valuable in housing your powerful seed. Both your mind and body are in agreement on what they want - and right now, it's nowhere near Yujin's throat. As she continues to suckle on your throbbing member, you pull away from her grasp. Your hips ache with desire and a sense of incompleteness without Yujin's perfect mouth pleasuring you, yet the rush of power coursing through your body is almost intoxicating.

"Puppy, on the bed. Now."

Yujin scrambles to her feet, climbs onto the mattress. "What position, Master? Where do you want me?"

"On your back," you growl, pulling Yujin by her hair onto the bed so that her body is flat against the soft sheets. Her head falls onto the pillows behind her as she looks up at you with wide, waiting eyes."Good girl. Now lift your legs and spread them wide for me."

She immediately obeys, bending her knees and exposing her wet slit to you. You take her ankles and bring them behind her head, folding the girl in half so that you can truly mate-press her, pin her down with your body weight. Her pussy lips are engorged and puffy, and her clitoris protrudes from beneath the hood, throbbing with arousal. She opens her pretty labia wider with two fingers. The pink hole looks small enough that you would be unsure how you'd fit, even though you've fit in there plenty of times, more than you can count.

"L-look, at it, D-Daddy," Yujin stutters. "You're not just my Master, you're gonna be m-my Daddy, too."

With a low growl, you press your aching cock against Yujin's slick entrance. "You want it that bad? Beg for it."

Yujin whimpers and bucks her hips, trying to get more of you inside her. Yujin's voice fills with needy pleading. "Daddy, please, I'll do anything for you. Please, I need your cock more than anything."

"Anything?" you ask, your smirk widening.

Yujin nods eagerly, her hips bucking against yours. "Yes Master, anything! I'll do whatever you want. Just breed me like the slutty little puppy I am."

A wicked thought crosses your mind as you watch her squirm beneath you. "What if I tie you up like this and leave you here, completely at my mercy? You'll be spread open and exposed, unable to move until I decide to fill you."

Yujin gasps and moans at the idea, her body trembling with excitement. "Oh god, yes! Please do that! I'll be your fleshlight, whenever, always, please, just cum in me right now!"

An evil grin spreads across your face as you thrust into her harder, reveling in the power and control you have over her.

You slide your cock into her slowly, savoring every inch of her tightness. Her warmth envelopes you and it feels like heaven subverting God in its perfection.

Yujin's breath catches in her throat as she feels you finally sink deep inside of her, a long, primal moan escaping her lips. Her body trembles with pleasure and relief as she cries out, "Yes Daddy, I need to be bred!" With each thrust, she lifts her hips off the bed in search of more depth.

But you take control, refusing to let her dictate the pace. Your movements are strong and forceful, slamming into her again and again, igniting screams of ecstasy from her throat. "You're a breeding slut," you growl as you continue to drive into her slick heat. "My breeding slut. Mine." Her body quivers with each powerful thrust, unable to resist your dominance.

With a firm grasp on her ankles, you pull Yujin's legs down to either side of your body, opening her up completely for your pleasure. Her tight pussy squeezes around you with each thrust, driving you wild with desire. "When your breasts are swollen and full," you whisper in her ear, "I'll milk them like a cow and make you drink your own cream."

Her mouth falls open in bliss as she listens to your dirty talk. "Oh god yes!" she cries, her eyes rolling back in pure ecstasy. "Master, please breed me! Milk me! N-need it, so, so bad, mmfh, fuck!"

With each forceful thrust, the sound of flesh slapping against flesh echoes throughout the room. Waves of pleasure course through both your bodies as you ravage her cunt without mercy. The sight of her spread open and vulnerable beneath you is almost overwhelming. To distract yourself from the intensity, you roughly slap and squeeze her breasts, relishing in the satisfying jiggles and leaving red marks in their wake. "Puppy loves being punished, doesn't she?" you taunt, reveling in her screams of pleasure mixed with pain.

As her moans crescendo and transform into frenzied screams, you instinctively cover her mouth, despite earlier boasts of being as loud as you both want. Seeing your girlfriend in such a state of ecstasy (eyes rolled back in pleasure or perhaps lack of oxygen) ignites your own desire. Determined to prolong this moment, you abruptly pull out and flip her over onto all fours. For a puppy like Yujin, what other position would be more fitting?

Without hesitation, you plunge back inside her from behind, causing her to cry out in a mixture of pleasure and pain. The new angle allows for deeper penetration, her walls constricting around you in a tight embrace. With one hand gripping her hip and the other tangled in her hair, you claim her as yours by bending over and sinking your teeth into the soft flesh of her neck. Her skin turns from its usual pale hue to a rosy pink or fiery red as you mark her with rough fingers and sharp slaps to her ass. A mixture of sensations floods Yujin's body as she arches against you in submission.

Yujin meets your every movement with equal passion, pushing back against your length, as much as it may split her in half. Her arms give out and she collapses onto the bed as multiple waves of orgasm wash over her, until the metaphor spills out of her pussy in squirts. You have to pause for a moment and pull away from her tight heat to let her fully experience the intense pleasure engulfing her. Her thighs tremble and she struggles for breath, completely undone by your touch. And yet, this surrender to primal desires is nothing short of magic or art or beauty. She falls. Unwound, on her stomach, you give her as many moments as she needs. As she looks back at you through heavy-lidded eyes, a contented smile graces her lips.

It is necessarily true that humans have evolved a set number of genes that govern their physical form, and this number remains fairly consistent across different populations. However, there are exceptions: A 2015 analysis of DNA sequencing data found that the total number of human genes is not fixed, but varies depending on population, age, sex, diet, and other environmental factors. This finding is consistent with recent work that has demonstrated that the genetic code of a given cell is not static—instead, it changes slightly over time, as new mutations occur and older ones fade away. These mutations can affect the expression of certain proteins or alter the structure of certain RNA strands, thereby affecting how the gene is expressed and what function(s) the protein encoded by the gene fulfills. In short, our genomes evolve over time, and the process is not entirely random.

Humans have been around for thousands of generations, and yet they still exist today. Why do we believe that this pattern will continue for the foreseeable future when in reality, nothing is guaranteed? Evolutionary biologists have proposed a number of hypotheses regarding this question, including that humans are uniquely adaptable to environmental challenges and thus able to survive longer than many other species, and that our brains allow us to create tools that protect us from predators and disease. However, it is possible that these explanations are simply wrong. Perhaps humans were always meant to live forever. Maybe evolution made it so that we never grow old and die, and that death itself was merely an illusion created by our minds to keep us focused on surviving rather than procreating. Or maybe we will simply cease to exist someday. As long as chance determines our fate, we may never know for certain. But what remains clear is that relying on natural selection or external forces is not enough—we must actively make decisions in accordance with our individual interests.

This is not just abstract philosophy. This is the mindset you adopt as you forcefully drive your raw cock into Yujin's dripping-wet pussy, her body responding eagerly to your every thrust. With her submissive form lying beneath you, legs wrapped tightly around your waist, you have complete control over the pace and depth of your lovemaking. And as much as you enjoy taking her from behind, this is the best way to ensure the creampie takes. It's in your best interests. For the future's best interest.

We do not dwell on hunger pangs or fatigue, nor do we dwell on the satisfaction of satiation; we do not dwell upon the emptiness we feel after a good orgasm, because we assume that it was merely a temporary state, one which we must return from eventually. This mindset is what allows humans to achieve great feats, but also holds us back from reaching our full potential. When we fail, we often place blame on ourselves and our own perceived inadequacies, rather than acknowledging external factors. And when we succeed, we often underestimate our own abilities and attribute it to mere luck. This is the complex nature of human existence—the ability to push past pain and discomfort, to push ourselves beyond our limits without fear of consequences. It is a gift bestowed upon us by our biology and has enabled countless achievements that would otherwise be deemed impossible.

As you enter Yujin's tight and hot pussy, it feels as though it was custom-made for your cock. The fact that such a small and delicate thing can fit perfectly around you is a gift in itself. And despite having been with many women before, none have been as willing or enthusiastic as Yujin. Her moans fill the room with each thrust, her cries of pleasure echoing off the walls. You no longer care about being discreet. Let them hear. This is your bond, the mother-to-be of your children, irrevocably yours.

Yujin's voice, strained and desperate, begs for you to breed her. Her arousal is evident in the way she teeters on the edge of climax so soon after her last. But you know all the ways to push her over the brink, and this is your favorite. Slowly, deliberately, you draw out each pump of your hips, driving her insane with anticipation. With one hand, you reach between her legs and toy with her clit, rubbing circles over the swollen bud and teasing it relentlessly. Your other hand wraps around her smooth neck, squeezing just enough to restrict her breathing as you pound into her desperately. She whimpers and whines, struggling for air, her wide eyes staring up at you in shock.

"I'm going to knock you up, puppy," you growl into Yujin's ear. Her body trembles with ecstasy as your cock thrusts deep within her, giving no mercy as wave after wave of orgasmic pleasure racks through her, legs kicking wildly.

Humans are social creatures, defined by communication, which most commonly takes the form of exchange: exchange of ideas between individuals—we invented language for it—exchange of goods or resources, even exchange of genetic information through intercourse. This is the fundamental mechanism by which our species has survived and thrived for thousands of generations. Of course, exchange itself begets more exchange. For instance, offering food to someone may result in them giving you food back the next day, while giving advice can earn you gratitude and offers of assistance. In sexual relationships, this reciprocity can take the form of mutual pleasure and sharing intimacy. However, at times, the balance of power can become unequal and one-sided. You tighten your grip around Yujin's neck, cutting off her air supply as she gasps and wheezes beneath you with wild eyes. At that moment, you have complete control over her and plenty of DNA to put inside her. Less girlfriend, more of a mere receptacle, Yujin lays limp in your arms. You feel closer to her than ever before while you build towards your own release.

Releasing your hold on her neck, she takes in deep breaths—her chest heaving with each labored inhale. Yet even these breaths are taken from her as you steal them back with kisses before finally consummating the act. Through it all, Yujin smiles against your lips—the roughness and love intertwining in a beautiful dichotomy that continues to prove false in practice. No need for words as she tells you how much she loves you, how much you love her. It is an unspoken bond between lovers, solidified in moments like these.

As you feel yourself reaching the edge of climax, your body tenses with anticipation. The sweet ache in your loins intensifies as you know that Yujin's womb is aching to be filled with your potent seed, yearning for your offering, your gift to her. The scent of arousal fills the air, mingling with the sound of heavy breathing and skin slapping against skin. You are on the brink of eruption when suddenly, without warning, you feel her body spasm violently beneath you—exchange begets exchange—and her walls clench as though she's out for every last drop of your load. And if she's not out for that, at least she's out—there is not a thought left on Yujin's face, eyes crossed, her lips curled into a blissfully stupid grin as the euphoria of her climax consumes her completely, washing away all rationality and replacing it with pure ecstasy. Try as you may to hold back, there's no stopping the freight train. Your own mind burns with the image of her face, knowing that this is the moment your child will be conceived. With one final thrust, you surrender completely to the waves of pleasure crashing through you both.

Yujin's body continues to ride out the aftershocks, her walls clenching tightly around you as you fill her with your hot load. Your seed coats her insides, painting them with thick jets of sticky white liquid. She milks every last drop from your shaft as you convulse violently, lost in the throes of pure bliss. All other thoughts fade away as her pussy becomes your entire world, drowning out everything else.

In this moment, you imagine a future where Yujin remains your devoted pet forever. The thought fills your heart with joy and you know it will soon become reality. You will breed her until she is heavy with pups, and then do it again and again until… there is no until. This is your destiny, and nothing could make you happier.

As Yujin whimpers and nuzzles against you in post-orgasmic bliss, you cradle her close, stroking her hair and whispering soft words of comfort into her ear. "You're going to be such a good mommy," you groan, a swell of pride washing over you like the sunrise. And in this moment, you imagine a future where you could stay inside Yujin forever.

Before she relaxes, Yujin gestures towards the nightstand drawer and you rummage through it until you find a small dildo. She takes it from you and pushes it into her still-quivering pussy alongside your softening cock. It's a tight and intense sensation, but one that you enjoy knowing that you are still locked inside her. You smile down at Yujin lovingly, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead.

"Good thinking," you murmur, "we need to keep your pussy plugged tight so my seed can take hold."

This detail may not have been mentioned in any books about conception, but you find yourself laughing and going along with it anyway. As your mind wanders to how important this is for Yujin (and how turned on she must be), you consider taking advantage of her other free hole despite your body tingling from the most intense climax of your life. But you decide to save that for another time.

As your shared exertions begin to subside, your bodies relax against each other. Yujin's breathing slows as she drifts off into exhaustion. You finally pull out, but keep the toy in place to ensure none of your precious semen escapes. Finding a pair of panties nearby, you use them to secure the toy before covering Yujin with the blankets. You slip beneath the covers as well, pulling her close and holding her protectively until she falls asleep.

"I love you so much," you whisper, planting a gentle kiss on Yujin's temple before drifting off beside her, basking in the warm glow of the morning light. In this moment, you feel fulfilled and content in ways that words cannot express. You've never been happier or felt more alive. And wrapped in the arms of your perfect puppy girlfriend, soon to be your wife and the mother of your child, you know that this is where you belong, with many more days like this yet to come.

With that comforting thought in mind, sleep claims you both.

✦✧✦✧✦✧

As consciousness slowly seeps into your mind, you are greeted by the sound of slurping and wet warmth between your legs. Your eyes flutter open to see Yujin kneeling beside the bed, her lips wrapped around your cock. In her hand is the smaller dildo from earlier in the morning; on the floor underneath her is a larger silicone dildo with a suction base, which she's slowly bouncing on. The scent of sex fills the room, accompanied by the soft moans coming from Yujin's lips, received in vibrations by your member.

She sucks back and forth between the smaller dildo in her hand and your cock, as if cleaning both with fervent desire. Her taste buds must be bombarded with the flavors of dried cum and her own nectar, yet she continues to suck on both like candy. Despite having barely been asleep for two hours, your girlfriend seems to possess boundless energy.

"What are you doing?" you murmur groggily, rubbing sleep from your eyes. Glancing at the clock, you realize it's not even noon yet. You must have only drifted off a couple of hours ago—but it seems like Yujin was too aroused to let you get any decent rest. The consequences of keeping her on edge for so long.

Setting aside the smaller dildo, Yujin pulls her lips away from your member momentarily, a strand of saliva connecting her mouth to your glistening cockhead. Her eyes sparkle mischievously as she says in a bratty tone, "Master, you promised me that you were going to breed me!"

A smirk crosses your face as you reply, "I did."

"Nuh-uh," she retorts. "I won't believe it until I feel your baby growing inside my belly." A devilish grin spreads across her face. "So until then, I'm not letting go of your cock!" With a playful giggle, she resumes pleasuring you orally while riding the dildo at the same pace. As her mouth goes down on your cock, she takes the toy deeper into herself.

You can't help but agree with her logic—even with all day and all weekend, breaks for basic needs like eating and using the bathroom are inevitable. Might as well start now. Plus, Yujin looks so damn cute with her mouth full of your meat. It makes you want to cum in her throat just for being so adorable.

Your hand reaches down to stroke her hair, gently guiding her movements. "That feels good, Yujin. But just so you know, I plan on cumming in your pussy again, not your stomach."

She nods with your shaft still between her lips, murmuring, "Yes, Daddy," before returning to fervently sucking and stroking your length.

A content smile spreads across your face as you lean back against the pillows. Watching Yujin pleasure herself on your cock reminds you that this is exactly how things are meant to be between the two of you: Her worshiping your cock with her skilled mouth; you reveling in the sight and sensation. There is, of course, one more hole you'd like to fill while you're still in bed, but it can wait till after breakfast. For now, you're happy to let your girlfriend suck away.

The blowjob feels incredible—her mouth is so soft and hot that you can hardly stand it. Your fingers thread through her hair as you encourage her to bob down further and further onto your length each time. Even with the intensity of your last orgasm, you're renewed by the sheer force of her devotion, ever a smile curling up at the corner of your lips as her eyes water with the effort of taking more of you into her throat. Yujin gags, her body convulsing as the tip of your shaft hits the back of her throat, but she refuses to stop, determined to swallow your entire length into her mouth and beyond—she loves it, craves it, needs it.

In a way, oral sex is evolutionary cheating: A female's reproductive tract is optimized for conception, which requires a relatively high amount of energy to maintain, but oral stimulation doesn't result in pregnancy; it's a waste of energy. Thus, it makes little sense biologically for females to enjoy giving oral sex, but at least in the example on her knees, they love it more than the world. You watch in awe as she sucks you off, her eyes closed in concentration as she focuses all her attention on pleasuring your manhood. She moans softly, her tongue caressing the underside of your shaft while she continues to suckle, licking every inch of you. Her technique is flawless, and she knows it—she knows that every movement, every flick of her tongue sends shivers of pleasure up your spine, and she relishes the fact that you can barely contain yourself from cumming right in her mouth. She wants it badly, too—you can tell by the way she keeps looking up at you with those wide puppy eyes, pleading silently as if to say "please cum in my mouth, Daddy, I want to taste it, to eat it. We can keep breeding later, but I need this right now."

You can tell that she's not going to let up until you finish in her mouth, so there's no point in trying to hold on. You let yourself fall over the precipice, and you groan loudly, your hips jerking forward involuntarily as you erupt, shooting hot jets of your semen straight down into her stomach, as her own orgasm hits her hard—she's already so turned on that the feeling of your seed splattering into her stomach sets off her own climax immediately after yours, and her body shakes and trembles.

You pull out from her mouth with a wet pop, your cock slick with saliva as it slips free—it's hard again already. Yujin is panting heavily, her body flushed pink from arousal and exertion. Her eyes are wide and bright, and they're locked onto you, watching every little motion you make as if afraid to miss a single thing.

"Yujin. We're getting lunch. Then we're fucking in the kitchen." She beams and jumps up, excited to follow your orders. You smile to yourself; she's such a silly girl sometimes. But you wouldn't trade her for anything in the world.

You get out of the bed. "Come on, pup."

Yujin follows after you eagerly, imagine a wagging tail behind her, and you both head downstairs to the kitchen.

✦✧✦✧✦✧

AFF, AO3

This final ending section is incomplete and reasonably should just be cut or completed, but it's what you're getting.

#ive smut #kpop smut #reader insert #male reader

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orcelito · 2 years

Text

Tfw i avoided dealing with applicants for like 2 weeks so I had to play catch up today. Stayed like 2 hours late reviewing all 20 ish applications we got in this time, contacted 12, and I have a confirmed 4 interviews for this week with a prospective 2 more

Look at me being all manager-y lmao

#speculation nation #most of them r on tuesday bc thats my set long manager shift n lmao #confirmed 1:30. 3. and 4 on that day. prospective 2 and 2:30 (waiting to hear confirmation)#with One on wednesday! bc the person isnt available until then #lmfao i really am playing catch up big time but THAT is okay. We Good #god tho i really understand that one class that addressed resumes now. how they were like Keep It Short #bc recruiters dont have time to read big massive resumes lmao. & god thats so real #zipped down to education to know what i was dealing with. Then looked at prior work experience. Then availability.#education relevant Primarily so i can know when/if theyve graduated high school #bc not graduating isnt an automatic deletion. but it's good to know Especially for if someone's a minor or not #we already have a lot of high schoolers rn lol so im kinda leaning more towards Not in high school for this stuff #aside from that it's mostly assessing capability based on what little evidence there is. + how long they would be likely to stay #there really is so much going into reviewing all this lmao. & oh god i really am the obnoxious kind of employer kind of #like not Really. im giving everyone a chance should they fit within the criteria we require for hiring.#but a few ppl messaged us asking up on their applications n those ppl get mental points in their favor for caring about our position #caring enough to ask after it at least lol #ultimately im reserving judgement for interviews. but tbh theres a few ppl im on the fence about contacting #that r in the vague status of 'will pursue if they contact us first'. which is SO obnoxious of me actually but like #there r way too many ppl i have to consider for this. if im not sure how well a person will fit here then them putting that extra effort #is a great way of convincing me that theyre worth my time #that kind of thing of like. if They show they care then i'll end up caring more too #theres actually a high schooler i Probably wouldnt have considered but bc she messaged very actively im interviewing her too #reserving judgement. still have my doubts. but bc she put in that effort im gonna give her a chance.#ah. thus is the life of a fucking recruiter i guess lmao. god i hate it

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velaryon-seahores · 9 months

Text

Eclipsed Love.

Pairing : Aemond Targaryen x Fem!reader ( Modern au )

synopsis : You and Aemond shared a romantic bond during your high school years. However, your relationship took a turn when an unexpected pregnancy altered the dynamics. Aemond, driven by aspirations of pursuing a career in medicine, struggled to reconcile his dreams with the newfound responsibilities. Meanwhile, the financial constraints and fear of revealing the situation to your strict parents left you without options, making abortion unattainable. When Aemond chose to end the relationship, you made the difficult decision to vanish, seeking a fresh start. Years later, your son fell seriously ill, necessitating medical attention. The twist in the tale was that the doctor who held the key to your son's recovery happened to be none other than his biological father, Aemond.

Warning: for this chapter nothing but fluff between mother and son and the father that stepped up ( not aemond ), angst and Aemond realizing he made a mistake.

Word count : 2.8k

A/n: comments likes and reblogs are highly appreciated ❤️!

Part II Part III

Last night was a tapestry woven with joy and togetherness. You and your closest friend, Qoren Martell, celebrated your son Lucerys' tenth birthday—Qoren wasn’t just a friend, he was your family.

His friendship wasn't mere camaraderie; it was a lifeline. He'd stood by you when your home became a cage, helping you break free and find your footing. Securing you a job within his father's company wasn't just a favor—it was an expression of solidarity. But it was during your pregnancy that his support shone most brilliantly, never wavering even when the world around you seemed to.

Last night wasn't just about candles and cake. It was about making dreams come true. You and Qoren had planned a surprise that felt like magic: a trip to the national space station. Lucerys, your son, had always dreamed of being an astronaut, and you could practically see his eyes shining like stars as he walked in.

With an astronaut helmet that looked like it was plucked from a sci-fi movie, Lucerys was the happiest kid ever. The space station astronauts treated him like a superstar, and he couldn't stop thanking both of you for this amazing gift.

As you explored the space station together, Lucerys was like a comet, zooming from one cool thing to another. He chatted with the astronauts like they were old pals and soaked up every bit of space knowledge. The station felt like a playground of stars just for him.

The best part was when Lucerys got to hop into a spaceship's cockpit. With that helmet still on, he was like a commander on a galactic mission. Qoren, being the fun guy he is, joined in on the fun, pretending to be Lucerys' sidekick.

But then, like the shadow of a passing satellite, everything changed. Lucerys' jubilant expression contorted in pain, his hands clutching his chest. The joyful symphony abruptly dissolved into cries laden with agony.

"Heart... hurts... can't breathe!" Lucerys' pleas pierced through, the very air heavy with the weight of his pain, and it felt like a sudden lightning bolt in the middle of a clear day

Your heart raced, and everything turned a little fuzzy. Qoren's eyes mirrored your shock. The space station, which moments ago felt infinite, suddenly felt like a tight squeeze.

In that wild moment, all the cool space stuff didn't matter. What mattered was Lucerys, your boy, in pain. You scooped him up, holding him close, trying to soothe him as he trembled. Qoren's voice cut through the panic, calm but urgent, as he called for an ambulance.

Suddenly, you find yourself standing in a sterile hospital bathroom, the clock stubbornly ticking away the early hours of the morning.Tears stain your cheeks as your mind races to grasp the harsh reality you've just been confronted with—your son, your sweet boy, has a heart disease.

Lucerys has been diagnosed with Hypertrophic Cardiomyopathy. The weight of the words hangs heavy in the air, suffocating you with a mix of fear and helplessness.

"Y/n!" Qoren's voice called out. "Come on, don't make me come inside."

Stuck in a whirlpool of tears and thoughts, you found it hard to move, your heart heavy with worry for your son.

"Seriously! They'll think I'm some kind of pervert now," Qoren quipped, a faint attempt to lighten the heavy atmosphere. Your response remained subdued, the weight of the news too immense to shake off.

Qoren's arms enveloped you, his embrace a comforting cocoon. "Everything will be alright," he murmured, his words a lifeline in the midst of your turmoil.

Looking up at him, tears glistening, you let out a sob. "I can't lose him, Qoren," your voice wavered, raw with emotion. "He's all I have... my only family, my son."

Qoren met your gaze, unwavering resolve in his eyes. "You won't lose him. Luke is a fighter, and he's stronger than you think. He's going to pull through, I believe in him."

His arms tightened around you, providing a steady presence as your tears flowed. "My son... my baby," you murmured through tear-streaked cheeks.

"Let's go see him," Qoren suggested gently, his voice a soothing balm. "He'll wake up soon, and I'm sure he'd want his mom right there with him." He used his thumb to gently wipe away your tears, his touch tender and comforting. "I promise you, everything is going to be fine. Let's try to get some rest for now, and when we wake up, we will talk to the doctor and discuss the treatment plans "

The gentle morning light seeped into the room, casting a soft glow that illuminated the space where you and Lucerys were sitting. His eyes blinked open, fatigue evident, but a small smile curved his lips. "Good morning, Mom."

"Morning, sweetheart," you replied, your voice holding a mixture of relief and tenderness. The night had been long, filled with worry, but seeing Lucerys awake and looking at you was a comforting sight.

"What happened?" Lucerys' voice carried a hint of curiosity, his gaze fixed on you as he sought answers.

You reached out and brushed a strand of hair from his forehead, your touch gentle. "You had a little health issue, but the doctors have taken care of everything. You're safe now."

His gaze wandered for a moment before returning to you. "Where's Uncle Qoren?"

A reassuring smile graced your lips. "He's gone to get breakfast, my love. He'll be back soon."

Lucerys shifted, attempting to sit up a bit. His purple eyes met yours, and his words carried a depth of gratitude. "Thank you."

A small tear welled up in your eye, emotions swirling within you. "For what, sweetheart?"

His smile widened, a glint of playfulness dancing in his eyes. "For last night. It was awesome. Can we do it again sometime?"

Your heart swelled, and you blinked back the tear. "Absolutely, my love. Anytime you want.

Lucerys furrowed his brows, genuine concern etched on his face. "Why are you crying, Mom?"

You chuckled softly, wiping away the tear. "Because you fill my heart with so much love and happiness, my brave boy."

Just then, the door swung open, and Qoren walked in, a tray in his hands and a smile on his face. “ Hey there sleepy head! “ he walked towards Lucerys and kissed his head “ Good morning little astronaut!”

"Good morning, Uncle Qoren!" Lucerys greeted him, his eyes shining with a mix of sleepiness and excitement.

Qoren flashed a warm smile as he handed you a coffee cup and a turkey sandwich. "Here's your morning pick-me-up."

Lucerys eyed the cup in Qoren's hand. "And what do you have for me?"

Qoren grinned mischievously as he handed Lucerys an orange juice in an astronaut-themed cup. "Here's your orange juice in your very special astronaut cup. I had to wrestle with it a bit to get the juice in there," he said with a wink.

Lucerys glanced around. "Where's my sandwich?"

"Sorry, buddy, you'll have to wait for your hospital meal," Qoren replied, sharing a playful pout with you.

"What? Ew, no way! Hospital food tastes like garbage," Lucerys retorted, making a face.

Qoren burst into laughter. "You're not wrong, Luke!"

"Lucerys, language," you chided him, your tone playful.

He shrugged, smirking. "Well, it's the truth. Oh, and where's my astronaut helmet?"

You rose from your chair and headed to the closet. "Right here."

He eagerly took it from you, placing it on his head. "From Earth to Mars, do you read me?" he declared, his voice a mixture of excitement and seriousness.

Qoren chimed in, pretending to communicate on a radio. "Loud and clear, Commander Luke. You're ready for takeoff!"

Lucerys leaned in, his expression comically stern. "I demand a turkey sandwich, or I'll have to invade your home!"

You gasped dramatically. "Oh no! What shall we do in the face of such a threat?"

"Well, for starters, you could give me your sandwich," Lucerys suggested, a playful glint in his eyes.

You shook your head with mock seriousness. "I'm afraid I can't comply with that request."

Lucerys didn't give up. "How about half?"

You pretended to ponder, then shook your head again. "Sorry, no can do."

"One bite?" Lucerys persisted, a hopeful smile tugging at his lips.

You finally relented, breaking into a grin. "Alright, one bite."

"Victory!" Lucerys exclaimed, taking a triumphant bite of the sandwich. "Yes!"

Suddenly, a doctor walked into the room, a warm smile on her face. "Hello, astronaut. How are you feeling today?"

Lucerys took off his helmet and smiled back at her. "Better, thank you."

She turned her attention to him. "Do you feel any pain?"

"In my chest, but it's not too bad. I can handle it," Lucerys replied.

You bent down and planted a kiss on his forehead. "Why didn't you tell me your chest hurts?"

"You should tell us from now on, sweet boy," Qoren chimed in, leaning down to kiss him as well.

"You were crying, and I didn't want you to worry more! But I'm fine, I can take it," Lucerys explained, his voice earnest.

The doctor interjected gently, "Your parents are right. If you feel any pain, even if it's not severe, you should let someone know."

Awkward glances were exchanged between you and Qoren as the weight of the situation settled in.

"He's not my father actually, but I wish he was," Lucerys said, prompting you to pull him into a tight embrace. You knew the void left by his absent father still lingered, despite your best efforts and Qoren's unwavering presence.

Your gaze softened as you watched Qoren shower your son with affectionate kisses. "I will always be here for you, little kid."

The doctor cleared her throat, her professionalism prevailing over the tender moment. "We have already formulated a medical plan for your son. We've got two options."

Both you and Qoren turned your attention to her, your hands intertwined for support.

"What are they?" you inquired, your voice steady despite the whirlwind of emotions.

"As of now, we'll attempt to stabilize his heart with medication. If that doesn't yield results, we might consider a heart transplant," the doctor explained, her tone compassionate yet matter-of-fact.

Your heart clenched as you absorbed the gravity of the choices before you.

"We have a skilled heart surgeon assigned to monitor the little astronaut's heart. He'll determine if a transplant is necessary," she continued, her assurance offering a glimmer of hope.

Qoren leaned forward, his concern evident. "Is he trustworthy?"

"Absolutely," the doctor affirmed. "He's one of the best. He moved here from Oldtown a year ago, and all of his heart transplant surgeries have been successful."

"Can we meet him?" you asked, holding your son a little closer.

"Yes, of course," the doctor replied. "He's currently in the operating room, but once he's finished, I'll arrange for him to visit you."

"Thank you, doc," Qoren said appreciatively.

"It's my pleasure," she replied, offering a reassuring smile before leaving the room.

Stepping out of the operating room, Aemond's weariness settled over him like a heavy shroud. The surgical procedures had drained him, and he longed for the comfort of his own bed. With just thirty minutes left in his night shift, he yearned for the precious five hours of sleep he would get before the cycle started again.

In moments of quiet reflection like this, he couldn't help but question his decisions. The same question that had echoed in his mind for the past ten years resurfaced: What if she had stayed? What if she didn’t get an abortion? What kind of life would they have built together?

Sitting down on a nearby sofa, Aemond allowed himself to drift into that familiar daydream, painting a vivid mental picture of a life with you. In this alternate reality, he could almost see a daughter, too—a little one with your eyes, a color he could only remember in fragments.

Regret gnawed at him. He hadn't anticipated how much he would miss the life he could have had. The warmth of your embrace, the sound of your laughter filling the air—it all haunted him in moments like these.

As he replayed the same scenarios in his mind, he suddenly found himself interrupted. Frustration etched across his features, he bit out, "What?"

"You're all done. Great job in there," she commended, a hint of admiration in her voice. "The family of Lucerys Sand would like to meet you." With a nonchalant gesture, she handed him a chart.

Aemond's irritation flared, not because of the case itself, but because of the name. If he had known that the patient was named Lucerys, he wouldn’t agreed to take it.

"I hate you " he muttered under his breath, his tone a mix of irritation and fatigue.

The doctor's lips curled into a knowing smirk. "What you should be saying is 'thank you'," she quipped, raising an eyebrow in playful challenge. "Lucerys Sand is like a son to Qoren Martell, who is, if I need to remind you, the mayor's son. This could be a chance for recognition and promotion " she added with a wink.

Aemond rolled his eyes, "I still hate you," he muttered, though there was a trace of a smile tugging at his lips.

Aemond left his room and began walking down the corridor, his steps measured and his mind seemingly focused. The familiar hum of the hospital's activity surrounded him, blending into a symphony of routine. It was just another day, another series of tasks to complete.

Once he got closer, Aemond opened the chart and began reading its contents intently. He wanted to be fully informed before stepping into the room, ensuring that his professionalism remained intact.

Pushing the door open with his focus still on the chart, Aemond's voice emerged in a practiced tone. "Hello, I'm Doctor Aemond Targaryen," he introduced himself, his gaze remaining on the paper in his hands. “I’m the heart surge—“

“Aemond?”

His eyes widened and his head snapped towards you. The word had slipped from your lips with a mix of disbelief and recognition, and it hung in the air like a thread connecting the past to the present.

For a split second, Aemond's mask of professionalism wavered. The world seemed to contract around you, and all you could see were his eyes, filled with a jumble of emotions he struggled to contain. It was as if the mere sound of his name had the power to unearth the history you had both kept buried.

Aemond was accustomed to his emotions being under tight control, his heart guarded behind a fortress of detachment. But in that moment, as his gaze locked onto yours, he felt something crack within him. It was a sensation he hadn't experienced in years—an unexpected rush of memories and feelings that threatened to overwhelm him.

The years melted away, and he saw not the accomplished surgeon he had become, but the boy he used to be. The boy who had once loved you with a depth that still haunted his dreams. The boy who had walked away from the life he had envisioned, carrying a regret that had never truly left him.

Your eyes held a storm of emotions, a mix of anger, hurt, and a haunting familiarity that struck him like a lightning bolt. His lips parted as he searched your gaze, realizing in an instant that he had walked into a room that held more than just a patient.

As his mind raced to catch up with his emotions, he saw the features of the boy who lay in the hospital bed—the purple eyes that mirrored his own, the hint of silver hair that he had inherited. The pieces fell into place, the truth hitting him like a wave crashing onto the shore.

Lucerys was his son.

The realization hit him with a force that stole his breath away. It was as if the universe had conspired to bring him face to face with the consequences of a choice he had made so long ago. He felt the weight of years of absence, of missed moments, of a love that had been silenced.

Aemond's heart raced as he tore his gaze away, his chest tight with conflicting emotions. He took a step back, his mind a whirlwind of thoughts he couldn't process. He turned and walked away, his footsteps echoing the tumult within him.

The door closed behind him, and he leaned heavily against the wall, his chest heaving with the realization that he had a son—a son he hadn't known existed until now, a son who had been growing up without him.

With a heavy sigh, Aemond's hand pressed to his chest, feeling the pull of the emotions that tugged at him.And then, with one final glance back at the closed door, he turned and walked away.

A/n: This is just an introduction chapter but more drama between aemond and reader in the next one.. do you guys want a happy ending or make aemond more miserable then he already is?

Taglist :

@helaenaluvr @namelesslosers @misspascalpunk @docmartinis @trshngyn @echos-muses @multiple-fandoms-girl @at-a-rax-ia @Iloveallmyboys

#aemond x fem!reader #aemond targaryen #house of the dragon #aemond one eye #aemond targaryen angst #aemond targaryen smut #aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond au #modern au #hotd aemond #hotd au #aemond x you #aemond x reader #hotd fanfic #aemond targaryen x female reader

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