#Lower Price Target

[reportwire]

Credit Suisse Group Trims Fulgent Genetics (NASDAQ:FLGT) Target Price to $45.00

Fulgent Genetics (NASDAQ:FLGT – Get Rating) had its price objective trimmed by Credit Suisse Group from $50.00 to $45.00 in a research report report published on Thursday morning, The Fly reports. The firm currently has an outperform rating on the stock. Several other research analysts also recently weighed in on FLGT. Piper Sandler downgraded shares of Fulgent Genetics from an overweight rating…

[davepaste]

ordering items from an AliExpress store, almost commit to the awful price, remember I wanted to add a cheap wooden handle, return to checkout, suddenly total is inflated an extra 40%

I'm glad to be saving money by not buying anything at all, but taking away the sale prices because I briefly left checkout is incredibly annoying. And also I don't get the thing I want

[isdalinarhot]

QUIT SAYING THIS PHONE!!!!!!‼︎ I DELETED THIS ADDRESS FROM MY CONTACTS YOURE JUST MAKING ME UNSPEAKABLY SAD :( :( :( :(

[soft-serve-soymilk]

excuse me????????

[melonthesprigatito]

*Laughs in Local Retailers*

But seriously, this is why I never buy digital. The only way to get a digital copy is via the e-Shop which has Nintendo's standard non discounted prices

Anytime there's a new game release I just go down to Asda, Argos, Smyth's Toys, Tesco etc and I've never seen a game that wasn't £36-£45. (Tears of the Kingdom being the exception at £47 because that game is always overpriced)

Don't order online either if you can, Amazon and Gamestop uses Ninendo's prices too.

Nintendo games be like

[foone]

Does anyone remember what happened to Radio Shack?

They started out selling niche electronics supplies. Capacitors and transformers and shit. This was never the most popular thing, but they had an audience, one that they had a real lock on. No one else was doing that, so all the electronics geeks had to go to them, back in the days before online ordering. They branched out into other electronics too, but kept doing the electronic components.

Eventually they realize that they are making more money selling cell phones and remote control cars than they were with those electronic components. After all, everyone needs a cellphone and some electronic toys, but how many people need a multimeter and some resistors?

So they pivoted, and started only selling that stuff. All cellphones, all remote control cars, stop wasting store space on this niche shit.

And then Walmart and Target and Circuit City and Best Buy ate their lunch. Those companies were already running big stores that sold cellphones and remote control cars, and they had more leverage to get lower prices and selling more stuff meant they had more reasons to go in there, and they couldn't compete. Without the niche electronics stuff that had been their core brand, there was no reason to go to their stores. Everything they sold, you could get elsewhere, and almost always for cheaper, and probably you could buy 5 other things you needed while you were there, stuff Radio Shack didn't sell.

And Radio Shack is gone now. They had a small but loyal customer base that they were never going to lose, but they decided to switch to a bigger but more fickle customer base, one that would go somewhere else for convenience or a bargain. Rather than stick with what they were great at (and only they could do), they switched to something they were only okay at... putting them in a bigger pond with a lot of bigger fish who promptly out-competed them.

If Radio Shack had stayed with their core audience, who knows what would have happened? Maybe they wouldn't have made a billion dollars, but maybe they would still be around, still serving that community, still getting by. They may have had a small audience, but they had basically no competition for that audience. But yeah, we only know for sure what would happen if they decided to attempt to go more mainstream: They fail and die. We know for sure because that's what they did.

I don't know why I keep thinking about the story of what happened to Radio Shack. It just keeps feeling relevant for some reason.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

The one weird monopoly trick that gave us Walmart and Amazon and killed Main Street

I'm coming to BURNING MAN! On TUESDAY (Aug 27) at 1PM, I'm giving a talk called "DISENSHITTIFY OR DIE!" at PALENQUE NORTE (7&E). On WEDNESDAY (Aug 28) at NOON, I'm doing a "Talking Caterpillar" Q&A at LIMINAL LABS (830&C).

Walmart didn't just happen. The rise of Walmart – and Amazon, its online successor – was the result of a specific policy choice, the decision by the Reagan administration not to enforce a key antitrust law. Walmart may have been founded by Sam Walton, but its success (and the demise of the American Main Street) are down to Reaganomics.

The law that Reagan neutered? The Robinson-Patman Act, a very boring-sounding law that makes it illegal for powerful companies (like Walmart) to demand preferential pricing from their suppliers (farmers, packaged goods makers, meat producers, etc). The idea here is straightforward. A company like Walmart is a powerful buyer (a "monopsonist" – compare with "monopolist," a powerful seller). That means that they can demand deep discounts from suppliers. Smaller stores – the mom and pop store on your Main Street – don't have the clout to demand those discounts. Worse, because those buyers are weak, the sellers – packaged goods companies, agribusiness cartels, Big Meat – can actually charge them more to make up for the losses they're taking in selling below cost to Walmart.

Reagan ordered his antitrust cops to stop enforcing Robinson-Patman, which was a huge giveaway to big business. Of course, that's not how Reagan framed it: He called Robinson-Patman a declaration of "war on low prices," because it prevented big companies from using their buying power to squeeze huge discounts. Reagan's court sorcerers/economists asserted that if Walmart could get goods at lower prices, they would sell goods at lower prices.

Which was true…up to a point. Because preferential discounting (offering better discounts to bigger customers) creates a structural advantage over smaller businesses, it meant that big box stores would eventually eliminate virtually all of their smaller competitors. That's exactly what happened: downtowns withered, suburban big boxes grew. Spending that would have formerly stayed in the community was whisked away to corporate headquarters. These corporate HQs were inevitably located in "onshore-offshore" tax haven states, meaning they were barely taxed at the state level. That left plenty of money in these big companies' coffers to spend on funny accountants who'd help them avoid federal taxes, too. That's another structural advantage the big box stores had over the mom-and-pops: not only did they get their inventory at below-cost discounts, they didn't have to pay tax on the profits, either.

MBA programs actually teach this as a strategy to pursue: they usually refer to Amazon's "flywheel" where lower prices bring in more customers which allows them to demand even lower prices:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BaSwWYemLek

You might have heard about rural and inner-city "food deserts," where all the independent grocery stores have shuttered, leaving behind nothing but dollar stores? These are the direct product of the decision not to enforce Robinson-Patman. Dollar stores target working class neighborhoods with functional, beloved local grocers. They open multiple dollar stores nearby (nearly all the dollar stores you see are owned by one of two conglomerates, no matter what the sign over the door says). They price goods below cost and pay for high levels of staffing, draining business off the community grocery store until it collapses. Then, all the dollar stores except one close and the remaining store fires most of its staff (working at a dollar store is incredibly dangerous, thanks to low staffing levels that make them easy targets for armed robbers). Then, they jack up prices, selling goods in "cheater" sizes that are smaller than the normal retail packaging, and which are only made available to large dollar store conglomerates:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/03/27/walmarts-jackals/#cheater-sizes

Writing in The American Prospect, Max M Miller and Bryce Tuttle1 – a current and a former staffer for FTC Commissioner Alvaro Bedoya – write about the long shadow cast by Reagan's decision to put Robinson-Patman in mothballs:

https://prospect.org/economy/2024-08-13-stopping-excessive-market-power-monopoly/

They tell the story of Robinson-Patman's origins in 1936, when A&P was using preferential discounts to destroy the independent grocery sector and endanger the American food system. A&P didn't just demand preferential discounts from its suppliers; it also charged them a fortune to be displayed on its shelves, an early version of Amazon's $38b/year payola system:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/11/28/enshittification/#relentless-payola

They point out that Robinson-Patman didn't really need to be enacted; America already had an antitrust law that banned this conduct: section 2 of the the Clayton Act, which was passed in 1914. But for decades, the US courts refused to interpret the Clayton Act according to its plain meaning, with judges tying themselves in knots to insist that the law couldn't possibly mean what it said. Robinson-Patman was one of a series of antitrust laws that Congress passed in a bid to explain in words so small even federal judges could understand them that the purpose of American antitrust law was to keep corporations weak:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/14/aiming-at-dollars/#not-men

Both the Clayton Act and Robinson-Patman reject the argument that it's OK to let monopolies form and come to dominate critical sectors of the American economy based on the theoretical possibility that this will lead to lower prices. They reject this idea first as a legal matter. We don't let giant corporations victimize small businesses and their suppliers just because that might help someone else.

Beyond this, there's the realpolitik of monopoly. Yes, companies could pass lower costs on to customers, but will they? Look at Amazon: the company takes $0.45-$0.51 out of every dollar that its sellers earn, and requires them to offer their lowest price on Amazon. No one has a 45-51% margin, so every seller jacks up their prices on Amazon, but you don't notice it, because Amazon forces them to jack up prices everywhere else:

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

The Robinson-Patman Act did important work, and its absence led to many of the horribles we're living through today. This week on his Peoples & Things podcast, Lee Vinsel talked with Benjamin Waterhouse about his new book, One Day I’ll Work for Myself: The Dream and Delusion That Conquered America:

https://athenaeum.vt.domains/peoplesandthings/2024/08/12/78-benjamin-c-waterhouse-on-one-day-ill-work-for-myself-the-dream-and-delusion-that-conquered-america/

Towards the end of the discussion, Vinsel and Waterhouse turn to Robinson-Patman, its author, Wright Patman, and the politics of small business in America. They point out – correctly – that Wright Patman was something of a creep, a "Dixiecrat" (southern Democrat) who was either an ideological segregationist or someone who didn't mind supporting segregation irrespective of his beliefs.

That's a valid critique of Wright Patman, but it's got little bearing on the substance and history of the law that bears his name, the Robinson-Patman Act. Vinsel and Waterhouse get into that as well, and while they made some good points that I wholeheartedly agreed with, I fiercely disagree with the conclusion they drew from these points.

Vinsel and Waterhouse point out (again, correctly) that small businesses have a long history of supporting reactionary causes and attacking workers' rights – associations of small businesses, small women-owned business, and small minority-owned businesses were all in on opposition to minimum wages and other key labor causes.

But while this is all true, that doesn't make Robinson-Patman a reactionary law, or bad for workers. The point of protecting small businesses from the predatory practices of large firms is to maintain an American economy where business can't trump workers or government. Large companies are literally ungovernable: they have gigantic war-chests they can spend lobbying governments and corrupting the political process, and concentrated sectors find it comparatively easy to come together to decide on a single lobbying position and then make it reality.

As Vinsel and Waterhouse discuss, US big business has traditionally hated small business. They recount a notorious and telling anaecdote about the editor of the Chamber of Commerce magazine asking his boss if he could include coverage of small businesses, given the many small business owners who belonged to the Chamber, only to be told, "Over my dead body." Why did – why does – big business hate small business so much? Because small businesses wreck the game. If they are included in hearings, notices of inquiry, or just given a vote on what the Chamber of Commerce will lobby for with their membership dollars, they will ask for things that break with the big business lobbying consensus.

That's why we should like small business. Not because small business owners are incapable of being petty tyrants, but because whatever else, they will be petty. They won't be able to hire million-dollar-a-month union-busting law-firms, they won't be able to bribe Congress to pass favorable laws, they can't capture their regulators with juicy offers of sweet jobs after their government service ends.

Vinsel and Waterhouse point out that many large firms emerged during the era in which Robinson-Patman was in force, but that misunderstands the purpose of Robinson-Patman: it wasn't designed to prevent any large businesses from emerging. There are some capital-intensive sectors (say, chip fabrication) where the minimum size for doing anything is pretty damned big.

As Miller and Tuttle write:

The goal of RPA was not to create a permanent Jeffersonian agrarian republic of exclusively small businesses. It was to preserve a diverse economy of big and small businesses. Congress recognized that the needs of communities and people—whether in their role as consumers, business owners, or workers—are varied and diverse. A handful of large chains would never be able to meet all those needs in every community, especially if they are granted pricing power.

The fight against monopoly is only secondarily a fight between small businesses and giant ones. It's foundationally a fight about whether corporations should have so much power that they are too big to fail, too big to jail, and too big to care.

Community voting for SXSW is live! If you wanna hear RIDA QADRI and me talk about how GIG WORKERS can DISENSHITTIFY their jobs with INTEROPERABILITY, VOTE FOR THIS ONE!

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/2024/08/14/the-price-is-wright/#enforcement-priorities

[rileyslibrary]

This or That

A/N: It’s been a while since I made Ghost flustered. Fluff. Self-indulgent. (Render by @gamergirlbonestaskforce141riot)

———————————————————————

“Movies or series?” You ask.

“Movies.” He replies instantly.

“Why?”

He shifts his gaze from the scope of his sniper rifle and looks at you.

“You said the game is called this or that,” he states with a low voice. “You didn’t mention anything about me having to justify my choices.”

“Just curious.” You reply, shrugging.

He turns his attention back to the scope and shuts one eye. “Because you finish them within two, maybe three hours max.” He explains.

“Efficient, even in your leisure time, eh Lt.?”

He clicks his tongue. You wait for him to ask you back, but he doesn’t say anything. He’s too focused to bother.

“Well, I prefer-”

“Series.” He interrupts you. “I know.”

“How?”

“I know you binge-watch them late at night.”

“How do you kn-”

“And then struggle to stay awake the next morning.”

You widen your eyes and inhale through gritted teeth. “That obvious, huh?”

He chuckles and murmurs a ‘mhm’ while looking at the distant building.

A message pops up on your laptop’s screen. Kate.

“Laswell says your target is on his way; she’ll let us know when he’s getting closer,” you inform him. “Vanilla or strawberry ice cream?”

“Neither.” He replies sternly. “Boring flavours.”

“Touché.” You agree, tilting your head to the side and shrugging one of your shoulders.

He lets out another chuckle, this time shorter and readjusts his grip on the trigger.

“Any other movement in the area?” He asks, making a subtle head nod towards your laptop.

“Negative, sir,” you reply. “Drone feed is clear.”

“Good; give me another,” he orders.

“Alright,” you say and clear your throat. “Soap or Price?”

He rapidly shakes his head and turns to look at you. “What in the world is that question?” he asks with narrowed eyes.

“If you had to spend a day with either of them, not on a mission,” you explain. “Would you prefer it to be with Soap or with Price?”

He rolls his eyes and exhales slowly. “Price,” he finally mutters.

“What about Gaz or Price?”

“Price.”

“Me or-”

“Price.”

“Why?”

“For the same fucking reason I said Price the first two times,” he replies, annoyed, and resumes his surveillance through the scope.

You both fall quiet. You absently fiddle with the straps of your tactical vest, monitoring the drone’s feed on the laptop in front of you.

“What about yourself?” He asks, breaking the silence. “Soap or Price?”

“You.”

“That wasn’t the question.”

“That is my answer.” You murmur, shrugging.

You catch him out of the corner of your eye as he slowly turns to look at you. You don’t dare to meet his gaze. You feel your cheeks burning; you must be as red as a beet now. You reach for a strand of your hair, untucking it from behind your ear and letting it fall to the side of your face, using it as a curtain to hide your embarrassment. You inch closer to the laptop, but he follows your every move.

“Target spotted four kilometres away,” you state, hoping to divert his attention. “We have approximately fifteen minutes.”

“Fuck,” he swears and punches the roof you are both perched on. He shuts both eyes, lowers his head, and takes a few deep breaths.

“What’s wrong?” You ask, urgently. “Everything alright?”

“Be quiet for a moment, will you?” He murmurs and checks his watch.

“Lt, target’s not supposed to be here for the next fifteen min-”

“You shouldn’t be doing that.” He states and taps the digital screen.

“Do what?” You ask puzzled.

“Playing games while we have a target to eliminate,” he snaps and shakes his wrist.

You peek at the watch; he’s measuring his heart rate.

“How much?” You ask.

“145 beats per minute,” he replies as he takes a few more deep breaths to refocus. “Now cut the games, and let’s finish the job.”

———————————————————————

[delulujuls]

i'd give you the whole world if i only knew its price | ls18

am i a lance's girlie? no. am i becoming a lance's girlie? dont look at me

he seems so sweet idk why people hate on him

summary: lance's love language is giving gifts and when it came to giving something in return he'll accept only one way

warnings: none

pairing: fem!bffreader x lance stroll

The little girl sat on the curb, tears streaming down her rosy, tear-stained cheeks. In her tiny hands, she held her shattered helmet, unfit for further use. The girl wasn't crying because her father had scolded her for accidentally damaging the helmet. Instead, it was because, until she could find a replacement, she wouldn't be able to race with the other kids. That is, if there were any funds available for a new one.

Seeing the seven-year-old in tears, a slightly older boy, aware of the reason behind her distress, approached her with his newly purchased helmet in hand, crouching down in front of her.

"Here, you can have mine."

The girl stopped sobbing as he sat beside her, handing her the helmet, which she hesitantly accepted.

"I can't take it, my dad doesn't have any money left."

"You can take it, I always have two helmets with me."

The boy smiled at her, but uncertainty still lingered on her face. He glanced toward his father, who stood under one of the tents, observing the children a few meters away. Seeing the tearful face of the girl and the joyful expression on his son's face, he also smiled slightly and nodded.

"See?" he said, squeezing her hands that held the helmet. "My dad agreed. You can take it as a gift."

"Really?"

While her face was still wet from tears, her eyes no longer radiated sadness. Looking into the brown eyes of the boy, he nodded and he stood up, extending his hand.

"By the way, I'm Lance. Now, come on, it's about to start!"

"Please, Y/N, don't be like that."

The boy slumped onto the hotel bed, closely watching the girl's face on his phone screen.

"I'm sorry, Lance, but I can't."

She replied, her phone propped up against a coffee mug, engrossed in browsing job listings on her laptop.

"Why can't you just take it as a gift?"

Y/N scoffed and shook her head.

"Every month you give me some gift, Lance. Last month, as a 'gift,' you bought me a Birkin bag, and I don't even want to know how much it cost."

"You said your bag was falling apart, I wanted to make you happy."

She sighed and shifted her gaze to her phone. Lance looked at her attentively with his puppy eyes, visibly concerned. He wasn't seeing any problem here.

"The bag is gorgeous, and you have no idea how much joy you brought me," she said with grattitude in her voice. "But even a simple Target bag would make me happy, you know?"

"Yeah, probably. But this one is okay too, right?"

She laughed and shook her head.

"It's beautiful. Thank you very much."

Hearing her words, Lance breathed a sigh of relief. Seeing her smile, he did the same.

"So, if you want to repay me, let me fly you to Bahrain."

She lowered her gaze, and the smile faded from her face. Barely scraping by on bills and struggling to find a new job, spending her remaining money on plane tickets was the last thing on her mind. Even if, it could cover just one ticket.

"I can't afford to visit you, Lance."

"That's why let me take care of it. We haven't seen each other for so long, and I want to finally see you and start this season together," he said, looking at her worried face. Money meant nothing to him; he could send a private jet to pick her up, just to have her with him. "Please, Y/N."

She sighed and shook her head.

"I feel so embarrassed. I'll never be able to repay you for all of this."

"So, is it a yes? Can I book the tickets?"

He asked, hope in his voice, and a smile slowly crept back onto his face.

"Fine, but no more gifts this month, okay?"

"I'll try to meet that condition."

Lance and Y/N had been friends since the day he noticed her crying next to the carting track, holding her damaged helmet. They remained friends through all the years of go-karting, and their friendship persisted even when Y/N had to give up racing due to financial reasons.

At first, though she shudders at the thought even now, she hated Lance with every fiber of her being. It wasn't him she despised, but the obscene amounts of money his father had, providing him with everything he could dream of. Y/N was aware that Lance had both many fans and critics, so every time she came across unfavorable comments about him online, she felt embarrassed. After all, she used to cry and curse him every night, even though deep down, she didn't hate him; she just disliked the situation he was in, which she was not allowed to have.

Lance himself knew that without money, he would never have entered the serious world of motorsport. Numerous training sessions, expensive lessons, academy tests – Lance knew that money secured his current position, but talent couldn't be bought. He knew he could drive, and even the people who hated him online knew it too, disliking him simply because he succeeded. Being in Formula 1 cost the Canadian a lot, as he constantly felt like he didn't belong there. Even in the paddock, despite rarely facing personal comments, he knew many saw him as the boy with his daddy's big money. Lance often felt lonely, so he deeply appreciated every moment he could spend with Y/N. No one was as important to him as she was.

However, Y/N focused on being an ordinary teenager after giving up her motorsport career. She finished high school, got into college, even found a job and rented an apartment. Although her life didn't unfold exactly as she wanted, she stayed connected to motorsport through Lance, whom she supported as much as she could. Now things were getting complicated again as the season was about to begin, meaning she could only cheer for him from her couch. But for Lance, there were no such limitations. If he could solve a problem with money, he would. Furthermore, Lance found immense joy in showering Y/N with various gifts. Giving her presents was his love language, something that Y/N had no clue about.

"There she is."

Lance smiled at the sight of his friend, who stepped out of the taxi in front of one of the Bahrain hotels. She returned the smile, hugging him.

"I was talking about the bag, but it's nice to see you too," he teased, pointing to the Birkin she was holding, prompting her to playfully nudge him. Lance chuckled and embraced her, taking her suitcase and leading her inside the hotel.

"I hope the flight was okay and you're full of energy because we're going to a team dinner tonight."

"So, basically your dad is inviting us to dinner?"

She asked jokingly, looking at him as they entered the elevator.

"Technically, yes, my dad is inviting us to dinner."

Y/N laughed, "Well, Lawrence Stroll can't be refused."

Shortly afterward, they were on the right floor where both of them had their rooms. Lance handed her the key card and when she entered her room, she noticed a bouquet of roses and a small package on the bed.

"Lance..."

Turning around, she saw him biting his lip, trying to hide his smile.

"Yes, yes, I know, we had a deal. But these roses were practically free and the little gift next to it is, let's say, a shared one."

He explained, putting aside her suitcase. She also placed her bag down and approached the bed, picking up the bouquet of white roses. She smelled one and smiled, feeling their pleasant fragrance. Lance smiled too.

"You're impossible, you know that?"

"Open the gift."

He encouraged her, leaning against the wall.

She smelled the flowers once more and put them aside, taking the small package wrapped in black ribbon. As she untied it and unwrapped the light-colored paper, she discovered the familiar shade of green. It was a long, satin dress with thin straps, in the characteristic color of Aston Martin. She smiled to herself.

"I guess this is for tonight's dinner?"

Lance nodded, "Do you like it?"

"It's beautiful," she ran her fingers over the fabric, "I hope you have a shirt in the same color."

He chuckled.

"Don't worry, I won't disappoint you."

Indeed, at the agreed-upon time, Lance showed up at her door, wearing a shirt in the same color, black jeans, and matching shoes. He smiled at the sight of his friend, who opened the door ready to go.

"You look gorgeous. The color suits you."

Y/N laughed and closed the door behind her.

"That's good because otherwise, I would have to wear the white dress I brought with me, and someone might think I'm supporting Haas."

Lance laughed at her words, pleased to spend these few days with his friend. Honestly, he only stopped feeling lonely when she was around or when they had the chance to talk on FaceTime. Of course, it wasn't the same as having her physically by his side.

The evening passed in a pleasant atmosphere and time flowed effortlessly. Lawrence invited everyone who had arrived with Aston Martin to Bahrain, so instead of reserving a specific number of tables, Lance's father rented the entire restaurant for the evening.

Celebrating the team's excellent work during the winter months, the tables were adorned with champagne and white wine. Y/N had forgotten how weak her head could be, so after two glasses of wine during dinner, a slight buzz started to occupy her mind. Apologizing to Lance under the pretext of going to the bathroom, she stepped outside, sitting on the balcony. Despite being February, Bahrain offered pleasant temperatures, and even after the dark, a warm breeze caressed her exposed arms.

"Here you are."

The girl jumped, hearing his voice.

"You weren't around for half an hour, and I had the waitress check if something happened to you in the bathroom."

"I needed some fresh air."

Y/N replied, smiling at him. She noticed Lance's steps were a bit unsteady and a blush adorned his cheeks. When he sat next to her, she giggled.

"I can't believe we got tipsy."

Lance chuckled and rubbed his face with his hands.

"I won't lie, I'm feeling a bit dizzy."

Still giggling, the girl rested her head on his shoulder. Lance wrapped his arm around her waist and rested his cheek on her head.

"I'm glad you came."

"I'm glad you invited me."

"I'd give you the whole world if I only knew its price."

Hearing his words, Y/N raised her head and looked at his face. His brown, gentle eyes gazed at her affectionately and a faint smile played on the corners of his lips. Lance tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, gently caressing her cheek with his thumb.

"I hate that I can't give you anything in return."

Lance smiled, "Actually, there's something you could give me in return."

The girl raised her eyebrows inquisitively.

"You could be my girlfriend."

Y/N blinked several times, unsure if her slightly intoxicated mind was playing tricks on her or if she understood Lance correctly.

"Do you want me to be your girlfriend?"

"Oh, God, you have no idea how much."

The girl smiled and, without saying a word, cupped his cheeks in her hands and kissed him. Lance hugged her even tighter, returning the kiss, feeling a burst of fireworks in his stomach. He could bring her joy with money, and she could do it in just one way.

"I love you, Lance."

With love.

[flowerandblood]

The Price of Pride (10/?)

[ canon • Aemond x Royce • female ]

[ warnings: loss of virginity, dubcon, sex content, unprotected sex, oral sex, targcest stuff, smut, the angst, sexual tension, imprisonment, abuse of power, manipulation, violence ]

[ description: Prince Aemond finds a solution to the disproportion in the number of dragons between Dragonstone and King's Landing: he decides to find dragon blood and, like his half-sister, train dragon riders. He takes as his target the daughter of Daemon Targaryen and Rhea Royce, whom he abducts and imprisons in the Red Keep. Slow burn, darkish, insolent, arrogant Aemond. I have combined several requests here: (dragon blood female & prisoner female). ]

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

"Where are you?" She asked, looking down at the large family tree spread out in front of her face, lying comfortably between his legs, leaning against his hard torso. They were both bare; to her surprise, she quickly got rid of the feeling of embarrassment when he exposed her body.

The evenings in King's Landing were hot, so they were both relieved to be lying in the cool evening breeze on his bed, the back of her head resting against his shoulder. She heard him hum under his breath as he pointed his finger at one of the last lines which, indeed, was signed with his name.

Aemond Targaryen.

"And you are here." He added, moving his finger sideways to another line.

"Unbelievable." She said surprised, feeling for some reason joy and pride that she was included in this great lineage, somehow thinking that since her father had forgotten her, so had everyone else.

"You are a Targaryen. This is your heritage as well." He said lightly, leaning in, his full lips placing a soft, gentle kiss on her bare shoulder.

She swallowed hard, feeling pain at his words.

"My father would disagree with you." She said regretfully, tracing a line with her finger down from herself, to her father, to his father, and then to his grandfather.

She blinked, seeing that almost every one of them had married their sisters.

"Good gods." She muttered, going lower and lower, seeing that the pattern repeated surprisingly often.

She heard him chuckle behind her, his arms embracing her tighter around the waist.

"Brothers love their sisters. It's natural." He murmured, the tip of his long nose sinking into her soft cheek, his free hand slowly rising higher to squeeze her plump bosom.

He loved touching and looking at her breasts – his hands and mouth kept returning to them. He wouldn't let her cover them in his presence – they were clearly the most perfect example of femininity to him.

Their shape, their softness, the way they melted between his fingers in the morning when they slept in each other's embrace and he involuntarily sought them out with his hand made him purr like a cat.

She was also involuntarily learning other things that he clearly enjoyed with each passing day, though he never spoke of it aloud.

When they were outside, he liked her hair to be braided the way Visenya wore it according to legends, when her body was framed by a riding, leather garment, emphasising her girlish curves.

It stimulated his imagination, but also gave him a sense of closeness by the fact that they looked so similar.

As long as they were among other people, she never approached him or spoke to him first – even when she was practicing archery in the same courtyard where he and Criston Cole were sparring, she didn't disturb them.

She knew he didn't wish it – the example of Lady Floris had shown her what happened when someone kept invading his space and forced him into a proximity he wasn't comfortable with.

She felt his gaze on her, saw in his healthy eye that he was thinking only of what he had done to her during the night and what he would do to her in the evening, that he would summon her again, unable to deny himself the warmth of her body in his bed.

The situation changed completely when she crossed the threshold of his chamber and they were left alone behind a closed door.

He liked to sink his hands into her curls, so her hair had to be loose, on her body only her nightgown and a thin robe – he knew that no one but him had ever seen her in such a negligee, slowly slipping off all parts of her attire, leaving her bare and exposed at last.

It wasn't long before he was joining her, though then he was always vigilant and tense – most notably when she pulled off his eye patch. He watched her then with a stony face, as if for some reason he was afraid to see a smirk of mockery or anything else that would be proof that she was deceiving him, she, however, was entranced by the beautiful blue sapphire shining in his eye socket in the candlelight.

She loved untying the black ribbon from his long white hair.

"– you look like a demigod –" She whispered once without thinking as they lay side by side on his bed, looking at each other, panting heavily after their intense closeness.

She saw that he froze, his eye grew large in disbelief, his lips pressed into a thin line in shame.

"– what do you mean? –" He asked, lying on the bedclothes on his stomach as she did, their heads lying so close together that their noses were almost touching.

She lifted her hand and combed gently through strands of his smooth hair.

"– when your beautiful snow-white hair is loose – you look like some kind of heavenly being with your bright eyes – your face and muscular figure remind me of sculptures of ancient warriors carved in marble –" She muttered in shame, wondering what had occurred to her to say such a thing, her fingers ran over his cheekbone, her gaze fixed on his jaw.

She heard him swallow loudly, looking at her in a way she rarely saw, only when he was surprised and completely vulnerable – his pupil was large, his gaze warm, his expression gentle, his full lips parted slightly in disbelief.

She moved closer to him and cuddled her face into his shoulder, feeling like a fool after what she had said, thinking that he must surely have felt embarrassment at her words, that he would never let her stay in his bed again.

He, however, embraced her and snuggled her into his body, stroking her soft dark curls, her back and her buttocks with his broad hands, gently kissing the top of her head again and again.

He answered her nothing, but that night he did not allow her body to move away from his even a little, keeping her locked in his embrace – she smiled involuntarily feeling that each time he awoke he checked that she was covered in fur and brushed her shoulder with his fingertips, returning to sleep.

Although she had to get through the thick, high wall he had created around his heart each evening, their mornings were sweet and tender.

She was always awakened by the touch of his soft, moist lips on her forehead, his thumb stroking her cheek, his warm breath indicating that he had been awake for some time but wasn't going to get up for a while yet, wanting to enjoy her closeness.

"– hāedar –" He murmured at last, running his hand down her bare back, gliding his fingers as if he were treading water with them.

"– no – just a little longer –" She whispered pleadingly, and he merely hummed under his breath and cuddled her tighter into his chest, allowing her to remain in his embrace.

She usually left before the servants brought him his morning meal – she knew that he would probably let her eat with him if she so wished, it even seemed to her that a part of him would enjoy it, however, she did not want to cross the line.

There was more gossip about them than both of them would have liked anyway.

The fact that news was spreading through the Red Keep like the wind she saw in the displeased look Criston Cole turned towards her as she passed him in the corridor.

"Is the Prince hurting you, my Lady? He is frightening and cold in manner, I am afraid to look at him." Said Lysa, weaving her hair into a braid, her riding attire on her body as it was her turn to fly on patrol around King's Landing.

She involuntarily smiled at her words, feeling a pleasant pulsing between her thighs at the memory of what she had done to him the night before.

The sweet, boyish moan he had let out when he had come deep in her mouth.

She was convinced that she would eventually vomit or suffocate, shocked by the sensation and how much pleasure it gave him, his gaze full of disbelief and fulfilment, his tender arms that embraced her, his lips kissing her forehead.

Gōntan nyke ōdrikagon ao, zaldrītsos?

Did I hurt you, little dragon?

Little dragon.

She liked it when he called her that.

Little dragon, little sister, sweet girl.

He did it to reward her, when he wanted to be tender and gentle, when, satisfied and fulfilled, he fell asleep beside her in a warm bed.

"He doesn't hurt me. On the contrary, I enjoy the time spent in his company. Unlike Ser Criston Cole, who, it seems to me, despises me." She said lightly, casting her a meaningful glance in the reflection of the mirror.

Lysa blinked and furrowed her brow.

"Ser Criston should despise himself above all. He and the Queen only pretend to be humble and full of virtue by day, spending all their nights with each other." She said disapprovingly, and she involuntarily burst out laughing.

"How do you know such things?"

Lysa smiled mockingly.

"Servants know everything, my Lady. You at least don't pretend to be someone you're not." She said and paused as the door to her chamber opened suddenly.

Prince Aemond stepped inside with a confident, lazy stride, erect and proud, not even bestowing a single glance on Lysa.

"Leave us." He commanded, towering over her figure seated in a chair.

Lysa bowed to him, pale, and left quickly without a word.

She blinked, looking straight into his face without fear, waiting for him to convey to her what he had come to her with.

"Today I will be patrolling the skies. We have received reports that a dragon has been seen nearby. It will be safer if me and Vhagar check it first." He said calmly, and she nodded, thinking he didn't need to explain himself to her or come in his own person to tell her this.

He could have simply sent his servant to her.

But he decided otherwise, and she didn't mind.

"Very well. So I will stay and repeat what you taught me last night." She said softly, smiling involuntarily when she saw that his pupil had turned dark, his lips parted slightly at the memory of what she had done to him.

He knew she had teased him.

He took a step towards her, and then another, making her have to lift her head higher to look at his face. She swallowed quietly, feeling a pleasant shiver run through her warm cunt as he ran his thumb over her cheekbone, looking at her as if he was thinking about something.

"Alone? How will you know you're not making the same mistakes? Who will guide you?" He asked softly, cocking his head to the side, his breath deeper and louder.

She looked down and saw that even though the material of his tunic covered that part of his body, his erection had swollen all over, forming a bulge.

She swallowed hard as she saw his hands slide down to his belt, which he undid with a loud click and then did the same to the buckles of his tunic, causing her to breathe louder and louder, feeling both terror and arousal at the same time.

"– do not fret – easy – I acted a little exaggerated last night – you surprised me –" He gasped, untying his breeches with his long fingers, releasing his hard, swollen manhood.

It seemed absurd to her, but his words soothed her.

For some reason, she knew he regretted letting his emotions take over.

She leaned in, gently grasping the base of his throbbing cock, the skin of it soft and delicate, placing a warm, gentle kiss on the pink head of it.

He sighed, sinking the fingers of his hands into her hair, holding her close to his lower abdomen, rubbing his length against her face – she slid her tongue out, running the tip of it over the skin of his fat erection, and he swallowed loudly, trying not to make any humiliating sound.

She closed her eyes, concentrating on his scent, thinking in the back of her mind that he had taken a bath before he came to her – she felt the pleasant, warm throbbing of her womanhood coming to the satisfying conclusion that he had planned this.

He was unable to last into the evening.

"– mmm – yes – just like that – take your time –" He whispered, as if how gentle, slow and tender her caresses were gave him even more pleasure, the thought that she wasn't doing this out of obligation, that she wasn't disgusted by him or despised him.

No.

Her feelings for him were complicated, but deep.

She opened her eyes as her lips traveled up his erection, squeezing it at the root with lazy, sure strokes from which it hardened like rock – she met his eyes, his gaze hot and misty, his lips parted wide in an exasperated breath.

He wanted it, she could feel it in the soft roll of his hips, begging wordlessly for her to let him inside her.

She closed her eyes and spread her mouth wide, leaning lower – she heard his loud sigh as the tip of his length hit the back of her throat. His fingers clenched tighter in her hair, responding to her movements as she began to suck on his manhood, following his advice breathing loudly through her nose in an attempt to control her gag reflex.

His hips began to force his erection deep between her moist lips with slow, steady thrusts, as if he wanted to savour what he was just looking at, her tongue trailing lazily over the delicate structure of his manhood full of his pulsing veins.

"– yes – oh, gods, hāedar –" He exhaled, tilting his head back, speeding up involuntarily with a loud grunt of delight, his thick cock throbbing all over in her mouth, disappearing between them again and again with loud clicks of her saliva.

She could have hurt him, she could have bitten him, squeezed him harder and caused him pain, humiliated him, destroyed him as a lover and a man.

But she didn't.

She was wet.

Her hand began to stroke the base of his manhood harder when she felt it begin to pulse aggressively deep in her throat, clearly close to fulfillment.

"– fuck – fuck, don't stop, don't stop –" He muttered, panting loudly, chasing his peak, his hips with sharp, fast thrusts slamming between her swollen, wet lips with her moan of exertion.

She felt tears run down her cheeks, one of her hands clenched on his cock and the other on the material of his tunic, thinking that she would endure this, that she would give him what he desired and fulfill his fantasy.

"– y-yes – yes, gods, swallow, swallow, swallow –" He commanded with a loud groan of pleasure, and she felt his seed spill over her tongue – this time she knew what to expect and immediately swallowed his spend, and then again and again, breathing hard through her nose, feeling her heart pounding like mad.

His release was sticky and slightly salty, like nothing she'd ever tasted before.

It tasted like sin.

His hips stilled between her lips, his half-hard manhood throbbing greedily deep in her mouth while they both breathed hard, trying to calm themselves. She heard him swallow hard and then he gently slid his length out of her with a loud smack.

She didn't know why she tightened her hands on his back and hugged herself to his stomach, why she felt warmth when he froze and then embraced her slowly, snuggling her into him, stroking her hair with his fingers.

"– I haven't wasted a drop this time –" She cooed, smiling with amusement and she heard him snort with laughter, surprised apparently by her directness and the fact that his approach didn't scare her at all.

"– indeed – I'm afraid I'm going to make more use of those moist lips – and in return –" He gasped and didn't finish, running his fingertips over her bare neck making her leaking, twitching cunt pulsate around nothing.

"– I'm wet –" She whispered and felt his manhood respond before he could react in any way, throbbing hard, pushing between her breasts.

"– how much? –" He breathed out, clamping his fingers down on her flesh, as if her words meant he couldn't just leave it like that.

"– very much, lēkia – my womanhood is all soaked and pulsing with pain –" She mumbled, snuggling into him tighter, feeling her nipples harden all over at her own words.

In a moment, he lifted her from her seat and pushed her onto the table, forcing her to lie down on it – it wasn't a comfortable position, but she didn't think much of it when she spread her thighs in front of him and let his hands undo the ties of her breeches.

He leaned over her, looking down at her with his lips parted in lust, his gaze dark and filled with something that both terrified and attracted her at the same time – she moaned involuntarily, writhing before him and as he rested one hand against her head and slid the other under the material of her trousers, sinking his fingers into her leaking, swollen cunt.

"– quiet – good gods – so wet just from sucking my cock – you have no fucking shame –" He hissed coldly, and she threw her head back as his fingertips immediately pushed against her quivering slit, invading her insides, hitting her sweet spot again and again with aggressive, sharp thrusts.

"– oh gods, oh gods, ah, lēkia, yes –" She whimpered, clamping her hand on his arm wanting more, more, harder.

"– shut the fuck up –" He growled through clenched teeth, quickening his pace – she saw out of the corner of her eye, looking down, that his manhood was thick and hard again, sticking out from between the fabric of his breeches.

"– lēkia – help me – save me –" She mewled, feeling her hot, fleshy walls begin to tighten around his fingers, his sigh of satisfaction and desire making her feel that she was close, so close.

"– come on – soak my fingers – please your brother –" He breathed out and she came with a loud, girlish cry of delight, feeling tears of relief run down her face as wonderful waves of fulfilment shook her body, a pleasant tingling in her fingertips, her lips, her nipples and her throbbing, greedy cunt.

"– that's it – easy now – easy –" He hummed, just looking at her, holding his two fingers deep inside her, focusing on the way her warm flesh pulsed around them, soaking his whole hand.

She knew he would leave; she knew he had to, and perhaps it wasn't his desire at all but still the way his fingers slid out of her body, his look turned away as he knotted his breeches testifying that he was back in the fortress of his mind made her feel an uncomfortable ache in her heart.

"Come to my chamber tonight, as usual." He said, forcing himself to be indifferent, and left, leaving her lying on the table.

She closed her eyes and exhaled loudly, for some reason feeling tears under her eyelids.

She covered her face with her hand and burst into silent sobs.

Who was she?

His whore?

His lover?

His pet?

His object?

His whim?

She couldn't decide.

Whatever she did she would not be his sister.

Not really.

She swallowed hard and breathed deeply, wiping the warm wetness from her cheeks, trying to calm herself, thinking it didn't matter.

She was what he wanted her to be.

Nothing more.

Just when she was deciding she didn't care, the evening came, and then the night, and with it his hungry mouth sunk into her throbbing cunt, his tongue thrusting again and again deep inside her, building her way to her fulfilment.

His face above hers, his sapphire and eye fixed on her, soft strands of his hair teasing her cheeks before he leaned lower and his lips clung to hers in a sweet, soft, wet kiss.

They lay on their sides facing each other, cuddling their bodies into each other's in a tender, thirsty embrace, their lips finding each other in new, deep, soft caresses almost as if they cared for each other, almost as if they missed each other, almost as if they were happy.

Almost.

His broad hand ran over her hair and face, the tips of his fingers trailing over her cheekbone, jaw and neck, his gaze fixed on her, his lips slightly parted.

"– aōha laesi issi hae zōbrie hae lī hen iā myrdys (your eyes are as dark as those of a doe) – gevie (beautiful) –" He whispered, and she felt a squeeze in her heart and burning tears under her eyelids.

Don't do this to me, she thought.

Don't give me hope.

She snuggled into the hollow of his neck, drawing in the air loudly, not wanting him to see the tears running down her cheeks, and he simply kissed her bare shoulder, enclosing her in his embrace.

"– ȳdra limagon daor, zaldrītsos – aōha lēkia iksis kesīr –" He whispered, but his words only made her whoop with her own tears.

Do not cry, little dragon.

Your brother is here.

Gods, how she wished she could love him.

But she couldn't.

She couldn't offer him her heart because she knew he would crush it the moment he ripped it from her chest.

And then she unintentionally told him his mother's secret and saw his real face for the first time.

His tears, his despair, his figure curled up as if he were a infant in her arms.

She was horrified by how vulnerable he was.

How fragile he was.

She realised that the rider of the greatest dragon in the world was a scared little boy.

Some part of her wanted to protect him.

When the King summoned her to a meeting of the Small Council she wondered what had happened – she guessed it had something to do with Cole's and their army's march on Harrenhal, praying that it would turn out that his brother had told him everything, as she had requested.

As she stepped inside, her one-eyed cousin gave her a quick glance, a serenity in his healthy eye.

They both knew that she would spend this night in his bed too.

"What is this important matter that could not wait any longer?" The Queen Mother asked, and everyone's gaze turned to the King.

Aegon grunted and nodded, spreading himself comfortably in his chair at the head of the table.

"I wish to relieve our subjects who live in hunger. This fucking blockade has gone on for too long and I have decided to take measures to remedy it. Greyjoys are tactically avoiding choosing sides in this conflict, and only their fleet could face the Velaryons. In such situations, things are usually resolved through marriage. Lord Greyjoy has two sons, Toron and Rodrick, who are looking for a suitable candidate to marry. My mother and I believe that our beautiful cousin and her dragon will meet all of their father's requirements."

She felt her heart stop for a moment as she looked at him dully, not believing that this was really happening.

My mother and I believe that our beautiful cousin and her dragon will meet all of their father's requirements.

No.

No. No. No. No. No.

Here was her home.

Here, with him.

Alicent looked at her son, who was as shocked as she was, his eye and mouth wide open in panic.

Help me, she thought in her head, feeling her body begin to tremble.

Protect me.

"You knew it would end like this. Your irresponsible behaviour forced us to take the right steps." Queen Alicent said, and she clenched her hands into fists.

You are fucking your guard.

You're as much a whore as I am.

She swallowed hard and looked at her king-cousin, feeling her eyes glaze over with tears.

"– here is my home, my King – please –"

"It would happen sooner or later. Better sooner, given the rumours that reach our ears about where you've been spending the last nights. My brother did not deny it, conversing with me today, that he is taking advantage of your…kindness. I want to put an end to this sinful practice." He interrupted her and she was already about to answer him, but they were interrupted by another, familiar voice.

"No." Her lēkia said. "She is a Targaryen. 'Tis I, as your younger brother, who, by all rights, have precedence to her hand."

She is a Targaryen.

'Tis I, as your younger brother, who, by all rights, have precedence to her hand.

Good gods, he wanted to marry her.

He wanted to marry her to protect her, so that she would not lose her home or him.

I will care for you, and your place will always be by my side.

Aegon only smiled at his words.

"You can bed whomever you want, brother. But it is I, as King and her protector, who will decide who she marries, and sooner Vhagar will fit into the Dragon's Pit than I'll give you her hand." He said, causing heavy tears to run down her cheeks one by one.

Why?

"Why?" Asked her cousin at the same moment in a way that made her feel a squeeze in her heart, his voice breaking as if he was really in pain, his eyebrows arched in despair.

"Good gods. Since when can the Kingdom afford marriages out of the need of the heart? Your subjects are starving. This agreement can make us break the blockade. Are your desires more important than the sake of the Realm?" Aegon sneered, and she burst into a loud sobs, hiding her face in her hands.

They will send her away.

She will lose everything again.

She'll be a nobody again.

She will become another man's toy.

"My decision is final. I will have the crow sent to the Iron Islands with our generous offer later today. That is all."

Her lēkia came to her chamber despite the fact that the evening had not yet dawned and she was always the one to visit him – she threw herself into his arms and cried out loud, overcome by complete hysteria, his hands clamped on her body.

"– no – please, don't let him do it, don't send me away, don't send me away, don't send me away –" She begged him and heard him swallow hard, his lips placing warm, tender kisses on her face.

"– shhh – shhh, sweet girl – I won't ���" He assured her.

"– you're lying – you're going to sell me, you're going to abandon me like he did –" She sobbed, choking on her own tears, tightening her fingers on his back.

Don't leave me, don't leave me, don't leave me.

She sighed as he grabbed her by the hair and gently tilted her head back, forcing her to look at him.

"What did I tell you? Back then, when we were lying under the stars. What did I promise in return for you taming a dragon?" He asked quietly, and she swallowed hard, looking at him with big eyes.

"– that my place will always be by your side – that you will protect me – that I will be your little sister –" She mumbled out with difficulty, and he closed her face in his hands and pressed his forehead to hers, exactly as he had done then.

"– and you are –" He hissed, his fingers clamping in her hair. "– you are fucking mine –"

You are fucking mine.

For the first time, it was he who stayed in her chamber – they just lay together in her bed, taking off all their clothes beforehand and kissed, stroking their naked bodies with their hands.

She fell asleep in his embrace drenched in tears.

She didn't believe him.

She did not believe a word he said.

She knew he was just telling her what she wanted to hear, so that she wouldn't panic and run to her father, changing sides at the last moment.

During the night she dreamt that despite her cries and pleas he had stabbed a dagger into her heart, telling her that after the war was over she had become a threat to him, that she and her dragon were no longer necessary to him.

"Did you really think I would let you live?" he asked, and she awoke with a cry of despair, clutching at her heart, on which she clasped her hands.

"– gods – what is it? – what happened? –" She heard his sleepy muttering beside her, his hand touched her shoulder, and she pulled away from him as if burned, thinking that he really wanted to do this to her.

He really wanted to kill her.

He looked at her with big eyes, the pain of rejection in his gaze, as she pulled away from him despite him extending his hand to her.

"– breath, hāedar – a bad dream? –" He asked and she nodded, whooping, unable to catch her breath.

"– yes –" She mumbled out.

He swallowed hard, making a renewed attempt, this time touching her calf, stroking it reassuringly, and she didn't move away.

It was only a dream.

"– Daemon? –" He asked further, and she shook her head.

"– you –" She mumbled, his eye big in shock. "– you stabbed me in the heart – and asked if I really thought you would let me live –"

She mouthed with difficulty and burst into sobs, hiding her face in her hands.

She heard him freeze in disbelief, breathing loudly, his hand clamped down on her ankle.

"– gods, hāedar – no – no, come here –" He muttered, grabbing her arm, and she shook her head, wanting to pull away from him.

"– please – don't deceive me anymore – we both know that when this is over you will kill me –"

"– no –" He exhaled, pressing his forehead against hers, clasping his fingers in her hair. "– I wanted to do it – then, in the Vale – but I wasn't able to – I won't hurt you – after the war you'll stay by my side – as you are now –" He gasped out, pressing his lips, swollen with emotion to hers in loud, aggressive, desperate kisses.

"– warming your bed while you're married? –" She breathed out into his throat, responding to his caresses, melting with him into one in greedy, passionate dance of their slick tongues, their hands enclosing them in their tight embrace.

"– you are the one I will marry –" He growled, as if her words enraged him, turning her onto her back, his knee forcing her aggressively to spread her thighs apart.

They both sighed and froze when she felt the tip of his swollen cock push against her throbbing slit.

"– A-Aemond –" She mumbled out terrified and aroused, feeling the movement of his hips push his hard erection deeper into her with their loud, surprised moans.

She felt she struggled to catch her breath, stretched to the limit on his throbbing manhood, strangely filled, at his mercy.

Her hands clenched on his naked, muscular arms as he lay on top of her and pressed her to the bed, her plump breasts pressed against his torso, the fat head of his cock deep inside her.

"– I can't take it anymore –" He breathed out, and she whimpered, tilting her head back, feeling him thrust deeper and deeper into her, pushing against something inside her that made her feel discomfort and stinging pain. "– I crave you –"

He said and covered her mouth with his hand when finally with one, violent push he ripped something deep inside her, making her squirm in pain, tears of exertion and horror running down the sides of her face, her whole body quivering.

Gods, he had taken her maidenhood.

If part of her had wanted this for so long, why was she so terrified now?

"– shhh – shhh, little sister, the worst is behind us –" He exhaled tenderly, pulling his hand away from her mouth, allowing her to take a deep breath.

"– I'm scared –" She mumbled in a voice trembling with fear and his eyebrows arched in pain at her words.

He made no movement, looking at her as if worried and concerned, stroking her cheek with his fingers, trying to soothe her, his swollen manhood throbbing hard deep inside her.

"– do you want me to stop? – I will if you want me to – forgive me –" He whispered at last in a voice breaking with shame, as if he was horrified by what he had done and how he had achieved it.

She swallowed quietly and shook her head, thinking that if he did this, something would end between them – he would feel rejected and not want to touch her again, and she needed him, craved him and what he was giving her.

He sighed, pressing his face against hers, kissing her plump, hot cheek with some kind of gratitude, as if he appreciated her effort, understanding that she was doing this for him.

"– don't be afraid, zaldrītsos – we'll do it slowly – I won't hurt you –" He assured her, stroking her head as if she were a small child, his forehead pressed against hers.

She sighed as he gently slid out of her before sinking unhurriedly back deep into her body, making a sound stuck in her throat – this experience, of another body deep inside her, filling her to the brim, was so foreign and strange that she didn't know how she should react or what to feel.

He pulsed aggressively inside her and he was hard – a quiet moan rippled out of her throat each time he opened her wide again and again on the thick part of his cock with quiet clicks of her wetness – she closed her eyes as she felt him begin to hit the sweet spot he always sought with his fingers with each thrust, and the first waves of pleasure flowed along her spine like a tingle.

"– ah –" She mewled, opening her eyes, meeting his heated gaze, their breaths heavy and raptured – she dared to let go of his shoulders and slide her hands down his back, to his buttocks, clamping her fingers on them, emboldening him to move inside her faster.

"– does it hurt? –" He breathed out, thrusting into her a little more confidently, stroking her hot face, wet with tears, with his thumb, kissing the tip of her nose again and again, brushing her puffy lips with his own.

"– n-no – not anymore – but – how should it look? – how have you done it with other women? –" She gasped in a trembling voice, and he stopped moving, looking at her with his mouth wide open.

"– do you want to see for yourself? –" He asked, and she nodded.

"– fuck me –" She whispered.

Fuck me.

She gasped and closed her eyes, throwing her head back when he pounded aggressively into her core with a throaty groan of pleasure, as if he himself was surprised at how pleasurable it was, slamming into her with loud, sticky splats of their bodies against each other.

He moved inside her so fast that she could only spread her thighs wider, crossing them over his sweaty back, their moans pathetic and high-pitched as he hit the same wonderful spot deep inside her tight cunt with each push, himself clearly taking immense satisfaction from this wet, intimate act.

Their hands clenched helplessly on their bodies as their hips began to meet – she felt that what he was doing to her dulled her to pain, instead arousing tension in her loins that grew and grew in her lower abdomen, making her leak all over, soaking his cock with every sharp thrust he made.

"– fucking mine –" He hissed through clenched teeth, locking her moans between his lips, which he pressed against hers in an aggressive kiss – she felt his tongue invade between her teeth, repeating the movements of his hips, forcing itself deep into her throat just as his swollen erection burst between her fleshy, throbbing walls.

She was unable to take a breath between his one thrust and the next, panting hard along with him, her core slick and warm, despite her initial resistance accepting him now with ease.

He pressed his fingers against her bare skin, pounding into her with low grunts of pleasure so fast that he no longer slid out of her, his gaze fixed on their joined bodies.

"– vok syt nyke (perfect for me) – ao se aōha byka orvorta (you and your little cunt) –" He praised her, and she spasmed in euphoria as she felt something approaching – she seemed to howl his name as the aggressive, overpowering pleasure shook her body, loosening her completely, pulling a sigh of relief from her throat, tears of emotion and exertion rolling down her red cheeks.

"– oh gods – oh gods, yes, yes, yes, hāedar –" He gasped out and closed his eye, coming so hard that he cried out along with her, a convulsion shaking his body, and then she felt something warm spill inside her in waves.

His seed.

He came inside her.

Good gods, she thought, lying with closed eyes completely without strength, her hands placed numbly on either side of her head.

She sighed as his body fell against hers, their breaths heavy and hitched, their bodies hot and sweaty, his half-soft manhood still pulsing deep inside her.

It was such an intimate sensation, so strange and sticky – two bodies being one, him, filling her to the brim.

"– I will take you as my wife as soon as I return from the battlefield – I promise –" He breathed out into her ear, and she closed her eyes and swallowed hard, wondering why he was saying that.

"– your brother will never agree to this –" She whispered, feeling that she was a different person now.

She was no longer a maiden.

She twisted restlessly in her place hearing that his silence answered her, his face nestled against her temple, the tip of his nose sinking into her cheek before he whispered the words into her ear as if he was telling her his secret.

"– leave it to me –"

[the-californicationist]

The Window (Ch. 03)

Ch. 01 // Ch. 02 // Ch. 03 --- AO3

TW: breeding kink, reverse harem

You were sweating buckets in this brush cover, waiting for the enemy to pop their head over the fence. Beads of salty perspiration ran down your face in thin rivulets, threatening your eyes and soaking into your keffiyeh. 

“You alright, little bird?” Price whispered down to you breathlessly, passing you his canteen. 

You nodded, drinking from the plastic container, slaking your thirst. You shouldn’t have been having such a hard time with the Urzikstani heat, but you were. It didn’t help that you’d gotten sick yesterday off of a bad MRE. You were just ready for this mission to be over with. 

“I didn’t hurt you last night, did I, Spar?” Ghost asked, checking his sights again, not taking his eyes off of the target. 

“No,” you shook your head, “I’m alright.”

Ghost’s comment made your memory of your night together rush back, bombarding you with ghosts of your mens’ tantric sensations all over again. 

Price had read another book about fertility, some ancient text from a few centuries ago, translated into English. And he’d been convinced that tantra was the way to go. 

“Slow down, Simon. Keep your breathing up, yeah just like that. From your belly. Tha’s a good lad,” the captain coached. 

John’s setup was very specific. All of their bodies were sandwiched around you as you lay with your back on Price’s chest, propped up into a lounging position, and Soap and Gaz were glued to your sides, each worshiping a breast at their commander’s instruction. 

Soap’s hand was glued to your belly, just above your mons, pressing down gently, squeezing you. Gaz’s hand was on your midsection, hopefully covering the right chakra, and Price’s hands were on your chest and forehead, holding your eyes up, staring into Simon’s struggling face. Meanwhile, Ghost was sheathed deep inside of you, rotating his hips without fully removing his cock, churning himself inside of you like a big, burly engine, breathing like he was running a marathon. 

You, too, were breathing. In when he breathed in, out when he breathed out. All of you were rubbing and massaging and inhaling and exhaling. It was overwhelming. You’d never been so wet in your life. You were so soft and pliant inside of your core that you could feel every micro movement that Simon performed. If he had actually been pounding into you like he normally did, you would have been a screaming, crying mess. 

“Alright, little bird. Don’t forget your exercises,” Price reminded you, kissing your neck. You could feel John’s drooling cock as it lolled against your lower back, twitching as he watched his lieutenant work you into a froth. 

You did as you were told, completing the ritual by squeezing your smooth, internal muscles around Ghost’s impossibly fat dick on every down breath. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck…” Ghost grunted through his teeth, baring them like a wounded wolf, “I can’t…”

You raised your hands to cup his cheeks, feeling the jagged scar that cut across his mouth, and you guided his lips to yours, kissing him as gently as you could, barely letting your tongue dart out to taste him. 

Between your throbbing pussy and his soft kisses, that was all it took to push you both over the edge. He came in hot, thick bursts, more than you’d ever felt from him, and he ground his hips into yours almost menacingly. 

“Alright,” Price kissed your cheek, his face so close to Simon’s it made your head spin, “You ready?”

You didn’t respond. You just felt your legs being spread apart by six strong hands. Then, each of Price’s men began to finger you, slowly pressing their longest digits into your come-filled hole. They began to gently — ever so gently — rub Ghost’s thick cream into you, as deep as it would go, stretching you and playing in you in a life-altering way, bringing you beyond the point of orgasm and into some sort of other-worldly bliss. 

For the cherry on top, your captain began to swipe long, wet circles over your clit. You were screaming so loudly that he had to use his other hand to cover your mouth, shushing you but not stopping his ministrations.  

“Tha’s a good girl. Let it out, little bird.”

You passed out from the overstimulation before you could witness Price’s orchestrated tantra come to a close, and you wondered if you would survive round two. 

Now, as you crouched behind these scratchy bushes, you weren’t sure how much more effective tantric sex would be at getting you pregnant, but it didn’t matter. 

You already were. 

You hadn’t told them yet. From everything you’d read, these first few weeks were a toss-up. Anything could happen, and the last thing you needed was to get everyone’s hopes up. You were also being deeply selfish. What would your relationship be like when you finally found out who the father was? You didn’t want to lose out on the incredible bond you’d built with them over these last three months. 

Your eyes saw movement. Then, you heard the cracking and popping sound of bullets striking the side of the building you were huddled against. Suddenly, a loud bang rang out overhead and all was silent once more. Soap came on the radio and said, 

“Target down.” 

“I’m hit,” you whispered, staring down at your leg with disbelief. A bullet must have ricocheted and struck you in the calf. In and out. A clean wound. 

“What?” Price said breathlessly, staring down at you as the blood began to stain your pants. 

“Oh, fuck!” Gaz scrambled over to you and scooped you up, rushing you back inside. He put pressure on the wound and wrapped it up tight, opening up his comms, “Hey! We need med-evac right fucking now!”

Johnny came down from his crow’s nest and knelt in front of you, holding your hand, 

“Those fuckin’ bastards,” he looked furious, “I wasnae fast enough.”

“It’s not your fault,” you shook your head, feeling your blood pressure rise, “I think it was a stray shot.”

You heard Price’s low growl as he came over the radio, screaming at Laswell’s extraction team, 

“Where’s my fuckin’ helo?”

You watched as Price and Ghost stripped the makeshift base back to its bones, stuffing all of your gear into the bags. Gaz and Soap were on you like glue, forcing you to elevate your leg and to drink water. Rubbing your forehead, trying to relieve the pain. 

It was a long thirty minutes back to the base. Price held you in his arms all the way through the building, pushing everyone out of the way. You were flanked by the others, like one big, sweaty bodyguard squad, just for you. 

The medics took you from Price, ushering your team out of the infirmary, fighting their protests to stay with you.

“It’s a GSW to the leg, captain. I think she’ll live,” the doctor rolled his eyes and shut the door. 

After that, the only thing you could remember was coming around, still groggy from the anesthetic, listening to the doctor’s voice just outside the room, muffled and murky,

“...no complications. Should heal up in a few weeks. The baby’s lifesigns are all norm—”

“Baby?!” 

The door to the infirmary shuddered like a bomb went off, and all four men poured into the room, still dressed in their gear from your mission. They hadn’t even gone back to their quarters, worried sick, pacing the hallway. Now, here they were, wide-eyed and staring at you for some explanation. 

There was a long pause as you tried to figure out what to say. But then, Soap said it for you, a hint of hurt in his voice,

“You knew.”

It wasn’t a question, so you didn’t answer him. You simply put your hands over your belly, protectively, stammering an excuse,

“I didn’t — You shouldn’t get your hopes up. It’s too soon.”

They all spoke at once, an eruption of emotion in the tiny room, 

“...should’ve told us at once! We…”

“...you felt you had to hide it…”

“...could’ve been killed on this mission! How could…”

The doctor came back inside, huffing at the scene,

“What the fuck is this? Mamma Mia? Get the hell out! She needs rest. Get! That’s an order, Captain.”

Price and his men were silent, sorely cowed by the doctor’s orders. Soap came to your side, kissing your forehead,

“See you soon, bonnie.”

Ghost gave you a soft smile and followed him out. Gaz brushed the hair out of your face and put his hand over yours as they lay across your belly, waiting for flutters and kicks that weren’t there. His full lips found yours and he left you wordlessly.

John was the last to leave. He looked like he was at war with himself, fighting over what to say and how to say it. His boonie hat was twisted in his hands, rolled in his palms, crushed by his immense strength. He didn’t kiss you. He didn’t even say goodbye. But, those bright blue eyes bored into yours, telling you everything you needed to know. 

You were released with a pair of crutches the following morning, and while you didn’t need them there, none of the boys showed up to help you like you thought they would. You made it all the way back to your quarters before you ran into Laswell. 

“Hey, Sparrow. How are you feeling?”

“I’ll live. Where is the 141? Is there a training or something?”

“No,” Laswell knitted her brow, not wanting to share her news, “You’ve been… temporarily reassigned. They have redeployed on another mission. Three days in Aqtabi. I’m sure they’ll touch base when they get back.”

“Reassigned?” You couldn’t believe it. You knew Price was protective, but this was going too far, “I’m… He took me off the team?”

“It’s temporary. Just until…” You watched in disbelief as her eyes trailed down not to your wound but to your belly, “Well, anyway, congratulations, soldier.”

She gave you a soft smile and left you standing in the hallway, experiencing every emotion at once, and landing on anger. No, not anger. White-hot rage.

[darlingdekarios]

hide and seek.

rating: explicit. 18+ only. length: 5,555 content: Simon "Ghost" Riley x f!reader, reader is referred to as a codename "Freya" and related nickname from Ghost, smut [fingering - receiving, unprotected p in v, mentions of stomach bulge, creampie, oral - receiving], kink(s) [size, outdoors, slight degradation, praise, squirting, cum eating], not beta/proof read deal w/ it

during a training exercise, the lines between hunter and hunted become blurred, and the feelings that have been buried inside claw their way to the surface.

"You can't hide forever, Freya."

Eight hours and fourteen minutes into a training exercise with Taskforce 101, and the two men who remained were starting to question if the words rumbling through their ear piece were correct. Dropped in the mountains within a ten mile radius of one another, it was a game of hide and seek … each of you taking on both roles simultaneously as you tried to remain hidden while taking out your opponents.

It was an honor system - survival of the fittest. Price, of course, at a camp at the base of the mountain, sending a team out to retrieve those who were picked off. Now it had dwindled - only the three of you remained, and the comms channels had been particularly quiet as time ticked by, each of you convinced you'd prove yourself top of the food chain eventually.

But Ghost's voice had interrupted the quiet, your focus broken for a moment as you halted all of your movements, waiting for the forest to respond to his voice. When nothing close to you alerted you dropped your own voice lower to quip back at his taunting, adjusting your position where you currently crouched.

"Just have to outlive you, LT."

"And Gaz. Don't forget about Gaz."

A smile spread across your lips, backpack sliding off your shoulders and to the ground quietly in an effort to increase your movement radius. Your target was well within sight now, the figure hunched over a jet boil that was working to make him a hot meal without smoke.

"Oh, don't worry. I didn't forget about Gaz."

"Well, I'm still here, so you've still gotta worry about me finding you first," the named man finally responded, his voice echoed from the earpiece and from the figure in front of you, carried between the trees as he gave no effort to hide himself, thinking he was without company.

You were moving forward now, using trunks and bushes for cover, stalking toward prey that remained blissfully unaware that its downfall was close enough to see puffs of cold breath from them.

"Not for long."

From there, it was silence from you, any further conversation a threat to giving away your location the closer you drew to him. You could hear the uptick of worry in his voice immediately when he responded, his focus on dinner shattered as he stood again. There was no possibility of him fleeing now, not with hot equipment to turn off and put away. Instead, he'd have to wait for the inevitable.

"What's that mean?" he questioned, head searching around his perimeter desperately in hope to find you before you could reach him. When his question went unanswered the frustration in his voice increased, a subtle shake indicating he was aware of his mistakes. This game was over for him … now he only needed to wait. "Hey, what's that mean?"

"That doesn't sound good, Gaz."

You were trying to ignore the tone Ghost used now as he spoke … the subtle amusement lingering under his tone only spurring you along more. It was over for Gaz before he had a real chance to react.

"Freya, what does that … FUCK!"

His shout was muffled into your hand as you slid up behind him and covered his mouth, a victorious smirk covering your face. Reaching into the pocket of his jacket you activated a GPS tracker to signify his pickup location, moving around him to look him face-to-face. He gave you a nod of respect before you hurried back to the trees, replacing your equipment and setting off on your next target.

"That's Gaz out," Price's voice was smooth in the comms, ready to set the match into its final round. "Ghost, Freya, you're all that's left. Try not to play with your food too much."

"Hmm."

You wondered if Ghost had an advantage position now, if he was looking to the trees for evidence of Gaz's retrieval, perhaps hopeful for a tip toward your location. You were eager to ensure he'd receive none.

"No promises."

"Once the sun goes over the mountains, you're alone for the night. No comms. It becomes true survival. Understood?"

"Copy," the two of you spoke in unison and Price dropped out again, returning the two of you to your isolated setting. As you hiked forward you found an eagerness filling your stomach … butterflies fluttering around as the prospect of facing Simon in this setting as the victor for this game set in on you. He could hear the smile you wore on your face as you all but purred into the comms.

"See you soon, Ghost."

The confidence in your voice sent a shiver down his spine - something he found becoming a common occurrence whenever you were around. From behind his mask his lips curved into an amused smile, though his tone indicated no such thing when he spoke.

"We'll see about that."

"It'll get cold soon, Frey. Once the sun drops over those mountains …"

It had been just under two more hours since you'd taken Gaz out, and things had mostly been silent. Neither of you wanted to outright give away your locations by something as easily avoidable as not remaining silent, so for the most part you had, only responding to Price quickly when he provided time updates.

"If you're worried about a little cold you could always forfeit, Ghost."

The laugh that rumbled in him came through even lower through a microphone like the one you wore now, and while the sound still set all of your nerves ablaze, you wished you could hear it in person. It was a ridiculous offer - Simon Riley had never forfeited in his life and he wouldn't start now, even if it meant sleeping beneath a layer of snow tonight. It was something about him that pulled you in like a magnet, his proven results time and time again securing your unspoken feelings for him.

Feelings you now couldn't afford to focus on with bragging rights of this size at stake. You were well aware of the possibility that Ghost had an eye on you through a scope - he could already be tracking your every move. You were certain that, knowing him, he would be close - he wouldn't allow his last remaining enemy to stray too far.

You still hoped to use that to your advantage, opting to ignore the cockiness in his words.

"Not a chance."

It was only an hour later that the sun was no longer offering any amount of warmth, the last of its gold and orange hues diluted by the beginnings of the night sky.

"Price did say if we're out past sundown we're out for the night."

"You sound scared, Frey. Don't tell me you're afraid of the dark?"

"Not a chance."

Really, you weren't…not now, anyway with every inch of your body burning with the desire to win. You echoed his earlier words to initiate a playful banter the two of you ever really enjoyed alone, inviting him in to another game with the reminder that now, only the two of you remained on the line. Thankfully he took the bait, catching on quickly to what you silently offered.

"You should be…never know what's lurking about…hiding behind a tree, in the shadows."

To his own internal pleasure, the quiet laugh that he allowed to rumble through his chest was joined with your own, the soft sound sending a rush of warmth through his body. Though he'd never admitted aloud - maybe not even fully to himself mentally, in truth - he craved moments like this with you, where your laugh and your casual tone fell easily on his ears like the chirp of birds in the morning.

Instead, he enjoyed his time with you selfishly, the need he felt within him to enjoy more of you buried inside where it would never see the light.

"Could say the same to you, big guy. What's lurking in the shadows around you?"

There was something in your voice that made the hair on his neck stand, something to the tone that piqued his interest further. You were almost purring - he was starting to wonder if Price's request not to play with food was directed entirely at you now. As he focused on your tone, on his surroundings, on taking in the trees around him and desperately trying to ignore the new tightness in his pants, your eyes were on the finish line.

You had slipped free of your boots and socks again, suffering through the cold ground in an effort to quiet yourself further as you stalked your way to him slowly under the cover of darkness. When you could begin to make out details - the pockets on his jacket and pants, the glimmer of zippers as they caught the remaining light, every curve his silhouette offered…you stilled, enjoying the moment.

His breath was visible - heavier than usual. You couldn't help the rush of pride that filled you at even the slightest hint that you had his nerves alight. How many people could say that about Simon Riley? It was a feeling so fulfilling you were almost tempted to bask in it longer, to savor every microsecond it lasted.

But the promise of his reaction was far too enticing to stay hidden for too long, a fact you succumbed to as you silently took more steps toward him.

"Hey, Simon?"

"Hmm?"

"Boo."

Fortunately the ground was soft enough to aid in the jump you sprung into to wrap your legs around his waist from behind, your arms wrapping around his neck and giving the slightest squeeze to accentuate your point. He'd lost.

"Fuck."

"Concede."

When the order was not immediately fulfilled you squeezed ever so slightly harder, only enough to drive it home. This was a fair win. One you'd earned.

But he wasn't hesitating to find a way out…he'd taken an intentional moment to allow you time to bask in your glory - at least, that was better than admitting he just wanted to feel you closer for a moment longer…for as many moments as you'd allow. Regardless of his own wants and completely focused on what would make you happy (though he could already feel it radiating from you), he forced himself to not, a deep breath filling his lungs as you released him.

When you climbed down and he turned to face you, the grin that had spread across your face fell open. In preparation for the dark Simon had already removed his glasses, leaving his sparkling eyes bare for you to see, more of his face exposed now in his balaclava than you'd ever been treated to before.

(Though it was hardly enough. Your curiosity about what would greet you beneath the black fabric grew by the day…by the second now as you made eye contact like you'd never been able to before.)

In the depths of his eyes your own pride was matched, telling you enough about his thoughts on your win that the words could truly go unspoken. He studied you carefully, enjoying the curve to your lips as a coy smirk and how somehow still, despite the pride, a neediness flooded behind it all, something as primal and feral as the forest's inhabitants.

"How long have you been on me?"

"Right after I picked up Gaz, he was trailing you from the southeast."

The mask's fabric shifted confirming the light smile that played on his lips, his eyes burning into yours now. As intense as his gaze was (it always was, why should now be any exception?) you were lost it in, searching for a hint of what he was thinking…what he was feeling. He was an expert at this - at hiding, at interrogating, he could easily pick you apart and have the answers he wanted flowing from you with only a little more effort.

With you, however, it required no intimidation to coax what he wanted from you.

"You could've caught up before sundown, then," it was a simple statement, his eyes not leaving yours as he took a knee on his sleeping pack before you, digging in his bag for a small towel and a fresh pair of socks. He motioned for you to take a seat on the rock he'd set up camp next to, nodding in appreciation when you adhered. "Your pace is faster than that."

You hadn't known him very long - you weren't even technically part of the task force as it stood. It has been almost a year, however…nearly twelve months of knowing the man who now knelt before you, carefully wiping mud from your feet and handling you like you would shatter if he wasn't softer than a hummingbird's feather. You didn't know what to expect of physical contact from him…but this degree of gentleness was certainly not it until this moment.

You thanked him for his delicacy by ensuring your eyes never left his face, eager to meet his gaze again whenever his found you again.

"Could've, yeah," you confirmed when he started to slip the warm socks onto your feet, his attention now nearly fully returned to maintaining eye contact with you. You were aware that with each passing moment your heart was beating faster…even more aware that you couldn't stop it even if you tried. "You could've tried to track me."

"Could've done."

"Why didn't you?"

He was still on his knees in front of you - in fact, there was no sign he intended to move now.

"Wanted to see how long it took you to find me. Wanted to see how you'd approach."

You'd never heard his voice like this - so quiet it offered no disruption to the peaceful mountains around you. Not quiet like he normally was to avoid an enemy, quiet to pinpoint that the words were only for you. As if you needed another reason to be attracted to him - as if the very definition of perfection could get any better.

"Did you find my methods satisfactory?"

The longer his eyes burned into yours the easier it was to ignore the dropping temperatures in the air around you.

"I did."

His praise - even just that was enough to be considered such - struck you to your core. You found yourself speechless, your face burning. Unaware for a moment as one of his hands rested against your knee, uncaring that you probably looked foolish as all you could do now was stare. He was willing to hold your gaze for as long as you offered it - a dangerous fact.

"If you're trying to prove yourself to Price, you don't need t' put yourself at more a risk of injury to do it. Proper footwear is important."

"I'm not proving myself to Price. I'm proving myself to you."

He'd been choosing to ignore the signs from you - opting for the safety of denying what was transpiring between the two of you now for the security it provided. It seemed those days were gone - even the air around you seemed to be pushing the two of you together.

Still, this was a territory he'd convinced himself was forbidden, and in his internal fight as to how to move forward it allowed you a moment of doubt. It was you who spoke again before he got the chance, eager to explain your actions further.

Not that you owed it or he expected it…you needed it now to fill the silence.

"I wanted to hear it from you…that I bested you," he could hear the doubt blossoming on the back of your words - it wasn't like you to share like this, it was much safer to keep things to yourself. But if you did that forever, he would as well…and the reality was, you were more willing to break the unspoken rule with yourself before he was. "I wanted to hear the pride in your voice. To see it in your eyes."

His eyes found yours again as he reached a hand toward your face, hesitating for a moment just centimeters away to give you the chance to slap his hand away, waiting for any action from you that confirmed the doubts ever-present in the back of his mind. Instead, ever so subtly your head leaned closer to his hand, inviting the distance to be closed.

All the signs were there, and now he just had to read them.

He grasped your chin between his fingers and held you gently as he drew closer to you, his free hand reaching up to push the bottom half of his mask up. His lips were more inviting than any you'd seen before - it was a cruelty that he covered them, a gift at the same time to your focus.

(For the record - you'd gladly sacrifice your focus if it meant watching his tongue run across his bottom lip. A momentary lapse of your attention was well worth witnessing the way he invited you in now.)

"Who knew you could be so needy?" he questioned, his tongue swiping across his lips again, finger tapping your chin playfully. That alone sent you clenching around nothing - just that taunting question was enough to fully spiral you into desire. "Why don't you tell me why you kept us out here after dark first?"

Your face was burning - every inch of you was burning. Simon was an intelligent man - your plan to string the game along longer hardly a secret now. It was your turn to concede - he'd found you out. Somehow, you couldn't even begin to remotely care.

"For this. This moment alone."

He had come so close now that the distance between your lips could hardly be considered decent. With the smallest movement either of you could have closed it - a kiss both of you had long awaited in silence a promise now.

"Are you hoping for a reward?"

Your mouth had never been this dry and you could only nod, savoring the way his free hand now ran up your side, urging you forward slightly. He began to lean closer, slower than you'd ever seen him move before, to demonstrate where he intended to go, hoping you would follow his lead - hoping you could be the one to initiate what was to come.

"Use your words."

"Yes."

Like a flock of birds startled by a sound too loud cracking in the night like thunder you came crashing together like lightning, his lips finding yours like they'd already done so a thousand times before now. With his strength he had you on your feet and against a tree in the time it took for a gasp to fall from your mouth. He paused, dark gaze softening briefly as he waited for you to give any sort of show that you wanted him to stop. When you didn't, his lips finally claimed yours as your hands pulled him in firmer by grasping his collar.

It was heated - both of you had waited for this moment while simultaneously avoiding it since you'd met, but now that it was here it demanded everything from you - the kiss itself was all-consuming. As your lips and tongues danced together both of you allowed your hands to explore under shirts as best you could. His hands engulfed you - any part of you he grabbed was with as much as he could possibly get his hands on, noticeably holding himself back from grasping tighter in an effort to spare you from bruises.

Until your nails ran down his abs hard enough to leave red trails in their place and he took the unsaid words as further permission, his finger tips digger into your hips harder as he leaned more of his weight against you, truly pinning you to the tree. He gave you a moment to breathe - your vision blurred as you blinked up at him, eager to see the swirls of color in his eyes this close but still hopelessly wanton for his mouth on you some more.

A light smirk played on his lips at your expression - pupils and eyes wide and your already swollen lips remained parted, desperate and shallow breaths falling from your lips. He pressed a kiss to the corner of your mouth before trailing his lips to your jaw, dragging them back until he reached your ear with a gentle nip at the lobe.

"'s this what you wanted, dove?"

You could hear the desire fueling his words and could only whimper and nod in response as his lips connected to your neck, one of his hands releasing its hold on your hip to unhook the button of your pants. His lips reached lower, beneath where a collar would normally sit on you to suck a spot that raised goosebumps all across your skin as your zipper was undone. You realized you'd yet to give him the verbal response he probably required and it came from your chest as a broken moan as his hand slipped into your pants, pushing your underwear to the side.

"Y-yes, sir."

It was his turn to groan now, his fingers spreading your folds to spread the slick that had already started to leak from you. He bit into the spot he'd been paying attention to, uncaring if it left a mark for others to see in more casual settings, savoring the gasp and moan that fell from your lips and the way your hands desperately clawed at his sides to hold you to earth as your hips bucked forward, his fingers teasing your entrance as they did.

"Fuckin' soaked already, eh, love?" his taunt was directly below your ear followed by a loving swipe of his tongue, uncaring of the sweat that had gathered on your skin throughout the day and cherishing everything you had to offer. His fingers traced your hole slowly, teasing you with the slightest entrance several times before he continued. "I've barely touched you, y'filthy girl…"

You could once again only whimper as two of his fingers slipped inside of you with a quiet 'tsktsktsk' sounding against his teeth, his muttered words of praise and degradation muddled by your hazy mind as he stretched you open. He was well attuned to what your body responded to, pumping the thick digits into your tight sex with the perfect speed, rubbing against the most sensitive and velvet part of your walls perfectly each time to pull more moans from you.

His lips found yours again when he was satisfied you'd finally caught your breath enough to meet you in another bruising kiss, his hand that wasn't focused on fucking your cunt reaching to work his own pants partially down his thighs, freeing his throbbing cock with a grunt. You could tell by the speed to which his fingers entering you picked up and the rough grasp on one of your hands that he needed you just as desperately, guiding your hand to his cock and groaning again into your mouth as you wrapped your hand around his thick shaft, stroking his length tenderly.

As you continued to ensure your hand paid attention to every inch of him available he worked your pants down, making sure to quietly ask you if you were too cold in doing so and rewarding you with a gentler kiss and pressing closer to you when you shook your head. You could feel an orgasm building in you heavily and he picked up on the cues your body provided like it was something he'd been doing for a long time already, pumping his fingers faster as he continued to relentlessly kiss you.

"Go on, then," he coaxed against your lips, still not pulling away enough to give you a chance to suck in a full breath. You were dizzy, vision blurred already as every cell in your body focused on finding release. "Get nice and messy for me to fuck you."

It was that promise that sent you over the edge, the first wave of euphoria crashing over you and blinding your vision as you gushed around his fingers, the sloppy sounds of them entering your spasming repeatedly bringing a smile to his lips. He gave you the chance to breathe finally, releasing you from his kiss as his fingers abandoned your white hot core, hands grasping your hips to lift you upward. You realized your hand had fallen away from his cock as you'd worked through the initial hit of your orgasm and reached for it again, guiding it between the folds of your pussy and guiding it back and worth as he situated you between him and the tree, encouraging you to wrap your legs around his waist.

You were closer to his face now and could see the emotions in his eyes more - the hunger and need that filled him pouring from his expression and accentuated by a groan as your slick was spread over his cock. His words were barely more than a growl - the conflict deep behind each one only evident because you understood him. "Shouldn't…fuck you raw, dove. Such a bad fuckin' idea…"

You whined to communicate your dissatisfaction, already desperate to feel every inch of him buried in you and logic chased from your mind this soon after one orgasm had rushed through you. You reached between your bodies to rub your thumb over the pre-cum leaking from his swollen cock, grinding against him more. He was coated in your slick already - the fact he could slip into you with enough aid from just that unfocusing his mind.

"Need you, Simon…"

Of course it was his name on your lips that silenced his worries - that completely erased them. He adjusted quickly and with one swift movement his cock was stretching you, splitting you open on inch after inch as his lips found yours again. It was a fact that his length was too much for you to take in full, one you ignored happily and in a moderate state of drunken bliss until he'd bottomed out in you, tip pushing against your cervix. One of his hands remained attached to your hip and the other reached to press against your stomach and the bulge, adding to the pressure seated in your core so much you already started seeing stars again.

"Y'okay, princess?"

Any other time you'd have snipped at him not to call you that, but now as he muttered it in a slightly higher pitch, his whisper desperate and light against your lips you couldn't bring yourself to mind the name - with his cock buried in you you only nodded in response. His eyes met yours again before he leaned his forehead against yours, giving you a moment to focus on the feeling of his pulling his cock out from your velvet walls slowly.

He waited for a moment, teasing you with a delicate kiss to your bottom lip before he sheathed himself into you fully again with one swift thrust, hand pressing down against your stomach again. The sound of your pussy accepting him in with a squelch combined with the moan that ripped from your chest was pornographic and addicting, and he immediately entered a bruising pace to repeat it as much as he could - greedily working for another release from you.

You were thankful that his resolve had completed melted away as he got lost in the feeling of your cunt squeezing his cock on each entry, moans and grunts repeatedly falling from his lips as he fucked into you. While most of his hand stayed pressed against his own bulge inside you he reached his thumb down to your clit to rub the swollen nub, eagerly claiming your mouth again with his tongue when a moan erupted from it.

He continued his efforts relentlessly but gave you another break to breathe to lower his head to your neck again, kissing a trail down to your collarbone where he nibbled lightly, testing how the added stimulation would effect you. Despite the repeated moans and whimpers falling from your lips - it wasn't enough from him, the need to push you over the edge and prove to you the months of this building was worth it fueling his movements with primal need.

His hold on your hip became harder as his speed increased, thrusting into you desperately and rough. Distantly you could hear him praising you repeatedly as your walls began to squeeze his length tighter, mumbling quiet words of appreciation into your skin interchangeably between biting and licking and sucking. When your legs began to shake around him, he knew you were close and while he could've continued on just how he was he pressed for more, fucking into your harder with bruising thrusts into you.

(In the morning you'd remark that he could've taken it easier on you considering you had a hell of a hike back to camp and it would only be worse with a bruised cervix and hips. He'd only offer you a smirk as he remarked the pain would be good for you.

But he'd carry you for however long you asked him to if it was too much.)

"That's it, dove," he cooed, adjusting to look into your face again. "Want you to cum on my cock…want to see how messy we can make you, yeah?"

You nodded, vision blurred as you met his eyes again, eager to see the gaze of adoration he was now offering to you. His lips twisted into a smirk at the sight of your mouth hanging open, a bit of drool running down your chin - something you hadn't noticed and would've felt embarrassed over if he hadn't leaned forward and greedily swiped at it with his tongue, kissing you deeply again.

It was then that a second orgasm was pulled from you - but between the stimulation of the head of his cock rubbing against the perfect spot inside you, his thumb circling your clit, and his lips kissing you as though it was life sustaining this time your release squirted from you, your release coating his cock, waist, and thighs. A low groan rumbled in his chest and his speed picked up again, savoring the feeling of your walls clenching around him and milking his own release from him.

He opened his mouth to try to warn you it was coming - a lost cause when you abandoned his kiss to attach your lips to his neck and jaw, lightly nipping and licking at several sensitive spots that were typically covered to the world. He grasped your hip tighter and stilled his movements otherwise as he filled you with his release, his hot seed creating such a large load that it was already leaking from you around him.

You continued to kiss on his jaw as you both came down again, Simon waiting until he was certain you wouldn't fall before he removed his length from you, gently lowering you back to the ground. His eyes remained transfixed on your combined releases leaking down your thighs for a moment, conflicting emotions once again flooding his expression as he gazed at you. Just as you opened your mouth to ask if he was okay he dropped to his knees, using one hand pressed against your stomach to pin you to the tree again as the other lifted one of your legs over his shoulder.

He leaned forward to lick each of your thighs clean - you wished he'd removed his mask briefly so you could tangle your fingers in his hair, the thought was abandoned when he leaned forward fully to connect his flattened tongue to your folds, licking a slow stripe through them gently. You gasped and grasped at what you could, landing on holding the hand over your stomach and the back of his head, anchoring him to you.

He was happy to accept the way you pulled his head forward, burying it into your cunt more until his nose was pressed to your clit. His tongue found your hole and fucked into it, greedily slurping in as much of your releases as he could. It was entirely too much the way he swirled his tongue and sucked against you hungrily, but you still couldn't silence the loud cry of disappointment when his mouth abandoned you only to stand and kiss you again, silencing your whine with his tongue sharing what he hadn't swallowed for himself already.

When he released you again he leaned his forehead against yours, a lazy smirk spread across his lips that matched the smug energy radiating from him. With a shaking voice you quipped at him, unashamed of what he'd reduced you to and completely pleased with how your plan had come to fruition.

"Price told us not to play with our food."

The way his laugh huffed from him in his breathless state was intoxicating, his tongue swiping over his bottom lip briefly catching your gaze and transfixing you again.

"What Price doesn't know won't hurt him.

masterlist. call of duty masterlist.

[dmitriene]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤthis scene, but with captain john price

john's blue eyes, just like a storm, glare into yours while a mixture of desire and possessiveness burned in them.

he holds your chin tightly, pressing your head back into the softness of the pillows and fragrant bed linen so that you meet his gaze.

your moans and mewls fill the room, matching the rhythm of your bodies colliding and his low growls as your eyes threaten to roll back before they can, the husky and rough tone of john's voice echoing through the room like a thunder

— “come on, darlin', look into my eyes while i fuck you„

his thrusts become more and more powerful, the slap of his hips against your plush ass echoes through the air, each deep, powerful thrust plunges you deeper into a haze of pleasure, your cunt throbbing and weeping with need.

the dimly lit bedroom is filled with the intoxicating aroma of sex, mingling with the sounds of your passionate cries, the heat between your legs becomes almost unbearable, and the slickness covering john's meaty cock makes each thrust even more intense.

you're completely at his mercy, giving in to the primal desires coursing through your veins as he mercilessly claims you, his cock plundering your depths with unyielding zeal, relentlessly pounding into your spongy spot, sending pleasure shooting up your spine and pushing you ever closer to orgasm, each thrust knocks the air out of your lungs, followed by unintelligible babbling and whining

— “j-john, nnghh!! john, gonna c-cum, wanna t'cum„

john's grip on your chin tightens as he feels and hears the telltale signs of your impending release, allowing a smirk to tug at the corners of his lips, stretching his mustache as his blue eyes sparkle with satisfaction.

he deliberately adjusts the angle of his thrusts, targeting your sweet spot with each powerful thrust, and each sensation sends shockwaves of pleasure through your body, your walls clenching around him in a desperate attempt to hold on to the swirling sensations.

your babbles and mewls become more and more passionate, words fly out of your mouth incoherently from a heavy tongue, the pressure in your lower abdomen reaches almost unbearable levels, the need to free yourself consumes your every thought, engulfing your body in small convulsions.

his thrusts become more measured, his cock thrusting in and out of you with a wet, sloppy rhythm, and his gaze meets yours, john's eyes are burning with intensity, through your wet, fluttering eyelashes you see the raw desire in his gaze, urging you to let go

— “cum then, come on, cum for me, sweetheart, cum on my cock„

he growls, a low rumble that echoes through your body, urging you to give in to the pleasure that threatens to consume you, keeping you pinned to the bed and impaled on his throbbing cock, john pushing you closer to the edge, his primal dominance driving you to a dizzying climax , leaving you completely limp and fucked out

— “there she is, g-good fucking girl, wait for me, yeah? good girl„

blue eyes become almost dark, possessive from the intensity of the current encounter, while your body tightens around him, your cunt contracts and spasms in the throes of orgasm, not hearing his words at all, but still nodding stupidly

your moans ring against the walls of the room and john feels the grip of your walls around his cock, milking him as you reach your peak, with one last, powerful thrust he lets go of your chin, letting your head fall back onto the pillow, your back arches, your body trembles with the force of the climax that brings with it slight spasms

his cock slides in your spasmic heat, as the wetness of your cum and slick acts as a lubricant, intensifying the sensation, he grunts, his slightly softened abdominal muscles clenching as he finds his own release, practically growling over you like an animal, clenching his dripping with sweat bearded jaw, his gaze is focused on your eyes that are either closing or rolling back

thick ropes of his cum fill you, pumping you full of his hot release, john watches your dazed reaction with a mixture of satisfaction and tenderness, your eyes are barely open and look at him completely relaxed, as if you are not here, softly, he wraps his arms around you, pulling you close and chuckling hoarsely, still buried deep within your wet pussy, plunging his cum in

— “did so good for me, so good„

he presses a gentle kiss to your forehead, his features that are rugged by age are softening momentarily, thick arms and warm palms envelope your slightly shaking body, rubbing up and down your warmed, sweated skin, when you just snuggle closer to him intuitively, hiding in the curve of his neck, gradually coming to your senses, although it definitely won't be soon.

[idyllcy]

"secret relationship ghost" "secret relationship price" SECRET RELATIONSHIP GAZ.

No one expects it from him. He's wonderful, yes, and lovely and sweet and the team is kind of surprised that he isn't dating someone or whatever, but Gaz just never talks about you because, well, no one really brings it up.

No one pays attention to his dog tags either. No one bothers. It's not like he has a whole-ass ring on it or anything. No way.

No one asks why he's always first to go when they're off from deployment or whatnot.

No one asks anything until Laswell is introducing a new one to the team to Price and they watch as Gaz pulls you to the side and scolds you up and down as you give him a look that has him shutting up.

"Friends?"

"Datin', maybe."

You make sure he falls out the helicopters so much less, and the two of you work really well, kicking at each other under the table in the mess hall and chatting during downtime, and Soap swears he sees you squeeze Gaz's arm at least once.

Fifty bucks you're friends (Soap) and another for dating (Ghost) and Price tosses in a five that the two of you are already married or whatnot since Gaz had "lost" his dog tags at one point. You youngsters are crazy. Maybe he just used 'em for something.

The answer doesn't come right away (no one thinks to ask Gaz or you) and eventually you just assume that people know you're married so you start visiting him at night (Ghost catches you once. You don't even blink at him) and then Price spots the two of you tucked together resting while camped out.

Ghost is the one to ask — the two of you camped out on a roof to snipe, a lower-stakes mission, and you think you hear him wrong when he does.

"So. You n Gaz?"

"What about us?"

"What are y'?"

You blink at Ghost like he's just asked you what color the sky is.

"Married, Ghost. Married." You spot the target below, bullet flying through their skull as you click to open comms.

"Yer WHAT?"

"Boys, hand over them fifties."

"Thought y'knew." Gaz raises a brow.

"So no one bothered reading my file?" You keep watching through the scope as Ghost pulls the trigger. "No questions on my last name, huh?"

"What is—"

"Garrick. Come on, boys. Get movin'"

"Yes, Captain."

You end up handing Kyle a ten because they didn't know.

[prodigal-sunlight]

I don’t think the Watcher TV move is being made out of greed. They have high production costs, and artists do deserve to be paid for their work. I do, however, think it is a monumentally stupid decision.

First of all, who in their right minds thinks the best way to announce a paywall is a hyped up countdown to a “big surprise”? They literally set themselves up with that.

Second, this is not sustainable. People have been comparing it to other creator-run streaming services like Dropout or Nebula, but those services have bigger audiences, bigger casts, and way more frequent uploads. In Dropout’s case, its more than three times the content (at least) for the same price.

I’m not gonna argue about how it sucks for people who can’t afford it. Unfortunately “artists deserve to be paid” and “everyone deserves art to bring them joy” are both contradictory but true. I will however point out that the majority of Watchers’ audience is young or lower-income. Pricing has to be decided with your target audience in mind.

This didn’t happen because Watcher got insanely evil and greedy, and its true that artists deserve to be paid.

But this was an objectively bad decision no matter where you stand. If Watcher doesn’t change course I will not be surprised to hear them declare bankruptcy in a year or two.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Private equity rips off its investors, too

I'm coming to DEFCON! TOMORROW (Aug 9), I'm emceeing the EFF POKER TOURNAMENT (noon at the Horseshoe Poker Room), and appearing on the BRICKED AND ABANDONED panel (5PM, LVCC - L1 - HW1–11–01). On SATURDAY (Aug 10), I'm giving a keynote called "DISENSHITTIFY OR DIE! How hackers can seize the means of computation and build a new, good internet that is hardened against our asshole bosses' insatiable horniness for enshittification" (noon, LVCC - L1 - HW1–11–01).

It's amazing how many of the scams that have devastated our economy and everyday people owe their success to the fact that we assume that rich people know what they're doing, so if they're doing something, it must be real.

Think of how many people lost everything by gambling on junk bonds, exotic mortgage derivatives, cryptocurrency and web3, because they saw that the largest financial institutions in the world were going all-in on these weird, incomprehensible bets.

Then there are the people who are convinced that online advertising is built around a mind-control ray, because tech companies claim that's what they have ("I am an evil dopamine-loop-hacking wizard and I can sell anything to anyone!"), and because huge, sober blue-chip companies hand billions to these soi dissant svengalis. Sure, online ads are a swamp of clickfraud and garbage, but would these super smart captains of industry spend so much on online advertising if it didn't work super-well?

http://pluralistic.net/HowToDestroySurveillanceCapitalism

From our worms'-eye-view here on the ground, it's easy to assume that rich people and the people who sell them stuff are all on the same side. "If you're not paying for the product, you're the product," right? If Facebook is tormenting you with surveillance advertising, it must be doing so on behalf of the surveillance advertisers, for whom Mark Zuckerberg has bottomless reservoirs of honest, forthright impulses.

The reality is simultaneously weirder, and obvious in hindsight. The reason Zuck is tormenting you is that he's a remorseless sociopath who doesn't care who he hurts. He rips off everyone he can rip off, and that includes advertisers, who have seen steady price-hikes and lower-fidelity targeting, even as ad-fraud has skyrocketed while Facebook draws down its anti-fraud spending:

https://www.404media.co/where-facebooks-ai-slop-comes-from/

This is not to say that Facebook advertisers have your best interests at heart, that they aren't engaged in active deception in order to better themselves at your expense. Rather, it's to say that there's no honor among thieves, and Zuck is an equal-opportunity predator. Moreover, both Zuck and his advertisers are credulous dolts, so the mere fact that they are pouring money into something (advertisers: FB ads; Zuck: metaverse) it doesn't follow that these are real or important or the coming thing.

For me, the Ur-example of "rich people are dumb, even when it comes to money" is the private equity sector. I've written a lot about PE, and how destructive it is to the real economy, from Toys R Us to pet grooming:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/08/05/rugged-individuals/#misleading-by-analogy

How they killed Red Lobster:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/05/23/spineless/#invertebrates

And how they actually created the death panels that Sarah Palin warned us about (it's OK, though: these death panels are run by the efficient private sector, not government bureaucrats):

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/26/death-panels/#what-the-heck-is-going-on-with-CMS

The devastating effect of private equity on the real economy is increasingly well understood, and a curious side-effect of this is that people assume that if PE is destroying their lives, they must be doing so on behalf of their investors, who are making bank.

But – like Zuck – PE bosses are just as happy to steal from their investors as they are to to steal from the workers and customers of the businesses they acquire on those investors' behalf. They swaddle this theft in performative complexity and specialized jargon, but when you strip all that away, you find more fraud.

All the misery that PE inflicts on workers, communities and customers are just a convincer in a Big Store con, a bid to make the scam seem credible. For a certain kind of investor, any economic activity that destroys communities and workers' livelihoods must be a good bet. This is the dynamic at work in the pitch of AI image-generator companies, who spend tens of billions on technology that there is no substantial market for:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/07/25/accountability-sinks/#work-harder-not-smarter

AI image generators represent a high-profile, extremely visible example of "a job that AI can do." Nevermind that AI illustration went from a novelty to a tired cliche in less than a year. Even if you think that AI illustrations are a perfect substitute for commercial illustrations, that still won't come anywhere near making AI companies a profit. Add up the entire wage bill for every commercial illustrator in the world, hand it to Open AI, and you're not even gonna cover the kombucha budget for Open AI's staff kitchens.

Hell, all the wages of every commercial illustrator that ever lived won't pay back even a fraction of the money the AI companies spent on image generators. The pauperization of an entire class of creative workers is just a canned demo, a way to fool investors into thinking that there is a whole universe of similarly situated workers whose wages can be diverted to AI companies. This is the logic of small-time spammers, scaled up to the scale of the entire S&P 500. Smalltime spammers looked at AI and thought, "OK, I can generate as much botshit as I want on demand for free. Science fiction magazines pay $0.10/word. So if I generate a billion words, I'll get $100 million." But that's not how any of that works: sf magazines don't buy botshit, and even if they did, the entire market for short fiction adds up to what Sam Altman spends on a single designer t-shirt. The point of destroying these beloved, useful things isn't to make a lot of money by taking their markets – it's to convince dopey, panicked rich people to give you lots of money you can steal, because they think you can do this to every market and they don't want to miss out on the opportunity of a lifetime:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/01/15/passive-income-brainworms/#four-hour-work-week

Take "divi recaps": after a private equity firm acquires a company (by borrowing money against its assets), it typically declares a "special dividend," emptying out the company's cash reserves and pocketing them. A "divi recap" is when PE then takes out another massive loan against the company's (remaining) assets and pockets that:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/09/17/divi-recaps/#graebers-ghost

All of this happens under an opaque cloud, thanks to the light-to-nonexistent disclosure rules for PE. A public company has to open its books for the SEC, its investors, and the world. PE is private – and so are its finances. It is absolutely routine for PE bosses to put their spouses, kids, and pals on the payroll and hand them millions for doing little to nothing, all at the expense of their investors:

https://www.nakedcapitalism.com/2022/02/sec-set-to-lower-massive-boom-on-private-equity-industry.html

PE bosses charge huge fees to their investors – not merely the usual 2-and-20 (2% of the funds under management and 20% of any profits) – but also a wide variety of special one-off fees that pile to the sky. They also dip into their investors' funds to issue themselves massive loans that they use to make side-bets, without telling the investors about it:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/02/10/monopoly-begets-monopoly/#gary-gensler

PE investors are chickens ripe for the plucking: take "continuation funds," which allow PE bosses to soak the rich people and pension funds who supply them with billions:

https://news.bloomberglaw.com/mergers-and-acquisitions/matt-levines-money-stuff-buyout-funds-buy-from-themselves

Remember 2-and-20? 2% of all the money you manage, every year, and 20% of all the profits. You'd think that these would be somewhat zero sum, right? If you use some of your investors' cash to buy a company, and then sell off that company for a profit, you get the 20%, but now the pot of money you're managing has gone down by the amount you used to buy the company, and so your 2% carry goes down, too.

But what if you sell your portfolio companies to yourself, using your investors' own money? When you do that, you continue to hold the company on your PE firm's books, meaning you continue to get the 2% carry, and you can pocket 20% of the sale price as a "profit":

https://pluralistic.net/2023/07/20/continuation-fraud/#buyout-groups

This is straight-up fraud, wrapped up in so much jargon that it can successfully masquerade as "financial engineering" ("financial engineering" is really just a euphemism for "fraud"). PE bosses keep coming up with new, exotic ways to steal from their investors. The latest scam is "tax receivable agreements":

https://archive.ph/RczJ9

On its face, this is a tax scam. When a company goes public, early investors generally hold stock in the original partnership or LLC; this company ends up holding a ton of shares in the new, public company. When they sell those non-public shares in the LLC, this creates a (potentially gigantic) tax credit.

A TRA hustle involves tracking down these LLC shareholders and convincing them to sign off on dumping the LLC's shares, which generates a huge tax credit for the public company. The hustler offers to split these credits with the LLC holders.

All of this is especially attractive to PE bosses, who often take a company private, do a bunch of "financial engineering" and then take it public again, leaving the PE firm as the owner of those LLC shares that can be converted to a TRA and a huge windfall – which the PE bosses pocket, because they (not their investors) are holding those credits.

This scam is really doing big numbers. KKR – the monsters who killed Toys R Us – just diverted $650 million in TRA loot, prompting a lawsuit from Steamfitters union pension fund, which had handed these jerks millions of its members' money to gamble with:

https://archive.ph/kqQvI

This highlights another very weird aspect of the PE scam: they are absolutely dependent on pension funds. To add insult to injury, PE funds are notorious union-busters – they use union money to buy companies and destroy their unions:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/10/05/mr-gotcha/#no-ethical-consumption-under-capitalism

People who try to understand the PE business model often give up, because it seems to make no sense, leading many to assume that they're too unsophisticated to grasp the complex financials here. For example, PE is absolutely dependent on massive loans as a way of looting its businesses, but it also often defaults on those loans. Why do banks and investors keep making huge loans to PE deadbeats? Because – like the PE fund investors – they are credulous dolts.

The reason PE seems like a scam is that it is a scam. It is a fractal scam – every part of it is a scam. You might have heard about the "carried interest" tax loophole that allows PE bosses to avoid billions in taxes on the money they steal from their investors, creditors, workers and customers. Most people assume "carried interest" has something to do with "interest" on a loan. Nope: "carried interest" is a 16th century nautical tax rule designed for mercantalist sea-captains who had an "interest" in the cargo they "carried":

https://pluralistic.net/2021/04/29/writers-must-be-paid/#carried-interest

But rich people and other "sophisticated investors" (like pension fund investment managers) are no smarter than the rest of us. They are herd animals. When they see other rich people piling into some scheme or asset class, they rush to join them, which makes the asset price go up, which makes them think they're smart (until the inevitable rug-pull). When one plute jumps off the Empire State Building, the rest of them jump, too.

Which is why there's more money flooding into PE than at any time in history, $2.62T in "dry powder," handed over to greedy, thieving PE bosses in a poker game where everyone is the sucker at the table:

https://www.institutionalinvestor.com/article/2di1vzgjcmzovkcea8f0g/portfolio/private-equitys-dry-powder-mountain-reaches-record-height

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/2024/08/08/sucker-at-the-table/#clucks-definance