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ladybyakuya · 5 months ago

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| ALL I WANTED + GOJO SATORU .

+cw. — female!wife!reader x clan-head!husband!(sub)!gojo satoru, arrange marriage, hurt, angst, canon typical elements, smut, f!masturbation + m!masturbation & orgasm interruption.

+wc. — 2.3k

+syn.— satoru comes home from a bunch of missions only to find his wife in their shared bedroom not wanting him, or waiting for him but busy seeking pleasure that was his share to pour into you.

+notes. — special thanks to @gojoest for hyping me up with this idea. & thanks to @sugurouge for beta reading otherwise this never get posted lol | redirect to blog navigation.

The current head of the clan you belong to, your father stands facing his back to you. He is now the housemaster, not your father. “You’re going to be married,” said he, as his palms remained tightly clasped at his back while he looked out through the window. What you once called home became a distant memory in an instant. “You’re going to be married—” as his face turned towards you, “to Gojo Satoru.” you could figure out why he was looking away. “That monster!” he screams tears streaming down his face as his lips tremble in rage and disbelief; how of all people did the marriage broker who has been his friend for a long time have even agreed with such a decision? The thought of him suggesting the idea to the council does not even cross your father’s mind. How utterly naive! a low grunt followed as your father swatted away his chair knocking it down to the ground before killing every bit of hope you had despite the rumors. “This marriage. . . it is nothing but a hopeless dream. ”

Yes! You knew that already. The housemaids and staff just love to gossip about the doom of their sole source of bread and butter. The moment your father summoned you into his study room and told you the news while staring at the greenery of the garden of this mansion you knew your life was going to turn upside down and it did, just like you expected yet you were still disappointed, frustrated even when you came back to your room.

Satoru Gojo is the strongest jujutsu sorcerer in history ever known since Sukuna Ryomen was sealed. No other name has ever made it to the pages of jujutsu history. He is at the top of the jujutsu society regarding status, power, fame, and money. So, what do you do with the strongest of all? worship them out of devotion? subdue them with offerings lest it might lash out? swearing loyalty out of fear? Those were the thoughts that stemmed at the back of your mind when you first came to know about the fact that you were going to be the wife of the Gojo Satoru from a maid whose life never even crossed the threshold of your home. Her world was limited to the mossy parts of the mansion you resided in. Still, she could tell what kind of marriage you would be walking into.

Nothing shocking happened even on the night of your wedding. It was just as you anticipated. Two different futons were kept side by side. There was no sharing of words, glances, or kakebuton . Just both of your backs faced each other. At dawn, you woke up with your wedding kimono intact, a stainless white futon, and an empty room without Gojo.

The maids here knew better than to talk about it, even behind your back. They were aware of the power and status you held and that made everything a lot worse than you expected it to be. You had access to a lot of things, the family history archives, the financial sources, his previous missions— everything tied to him. Your husband, Gojo Satoru, was the clan head as well as the master of this mansion so there were no elderly people pushing responsibilities onto your shoulders like back at home. There was a sense of serenity in the air but how could you breathe it in for the rest of your life?

Satoru Gojo was the kind of man whom one could easily desire. Despite being his wife and the future mother of his children, trying to love him felt like a cyanide for you. You wanted your husband, not some Satoru Gojo oozing with knowledge and power. You wanted to look him in the eye, not just his back which you barely get a glimpse of at the crack of dawn as he occupies the sad side of the bed under a separate duvet. In earlier stages of this marriage, there was no curtain separating you and your husband’s side of the bed but after a month of utter silence and stealing glances, the first thing he installed was a curtain in the shared canopy bed. If he needed some privacy he could easily ask you to shift into another room but he bothered to talk one of those clan servants to install a fucking curtain as if the silence was not enough of a gulf in between you two.

Sometimes you thought that he was cheating on you but you always pushed it under the rug telling yourself, “You’re the wife of Satoru Gojo. No one can take that from you unless you walk out of this marriage. Not your father. Not that marriage broker —”

— Not even Gojo Satoru himself because he only married you to silence those nosy elders of his clan who pretend to be oh-so-worried for him. You were not foreign to that concept, after all, you are wrapped in the same shroud for all your life.

“You’re the wife of Gojo Satoru . . .No one . . .”

“You’re the wife of Gojo Satoru . . .”

“You’re the wife . . .”

“You’re . . .”

But the thought of getting his dick sucked by some other woman or man, or him putting his dick into someone — it filled you with too much anger to sleep in bed that night. For the first time, you miss home because there you are free to go anywhere even at night.

Satoru came home early that night, which was odd for his schedule, and was greeted with an empty bed after a long while. The sky is yet to be cracked open by sunlight. It is still too dark to be wandering around. Where could his wife have been gone to at this hour? He takes a spoonful of strawberry ice cream from the giant tub he held in his other hand before starting to look for you. But where should he look first? He does not know anything except the fact that he had put veils in different places of his house just to keep this house free of low-energy cursed spirits. Those veils sure did their job well but sometimes they would keep out non-sorcerers, people like you. His heart rejoices at the thought that he has to look for you in places only he is aware of, which means this is going to take a little less time, and he will find you much faster. Come to think of it, he has not been in the library section for a while but it is still as spotless as the first day he came here. Have you been visiting? Man! That sure worries him.

The pink layer of the tub has come down to half along with its skin being wet while the spoon is still experiencing the fierce appetite that Satoru had for anything sweet. He stands at the entrance of a long hallway before checking, thinking that this is the last place he has to look for but could it be possible that you were embarrassed enough to go back to your home?

Ahh…ahhh!

The spoon hits the wooden floor with a dull clatter as a wretched realization comes crashing down through his veins. Have you been cheating on him all this time? In his house? With some lowly servant ? Well, that sure makes it easier to end this sham of a marriage. He opens the door of a certain archive room as swiftly as possible trying to minimize the sound of his presence, making sure he does not shock you awake from your rendezvous. He is determined to catch you red-handed but when he opens the door he witnesses something that could have knocked the lights off his brain if he were not one of the greatest sorcerers of his time. The sight was not something of a fair appetite for ordinary people yet you sat by the marble slab of the giant window, with one of your arms nuked under your sapphire jinbei in between your legs as your skin glowed under that pale moonlight as if diamonds and pearls were embedded on your skin.

You were sweating, arching your body, moaning and all your husband could do was watch in awe. Your free hand travels from the bottom of your cleavage and up to the apex of your nape as you turn your head opening your eyes for a brief moment. You see the world so blurred that it spikes your approaching high, but as you open your eyes for the second time your high is gone like it never existed. Your husband, Gojo Satoru stood before you like an ivory statue of certain abandoned ruined cathedrals. The dress covers most of your body so a wave of relief washes over him despite realizing how dangerous the spot you chose . . .to . . .umh. . . pleasure yourself .

How long? How long was he watching you ? You shift your body to face him, and your hand slowly emerges from the warmth between your thighs. Satoru tries to ignore but traces of your arousal and his yearning are flourishing like fluorescence on your fingers as it rests on your thigh. You watch him gulp. Suddenly, Gojo Satoru is out of words. Teacher to his students of Jujutsu High, the strongest sorcerer, Nanami’s certified yapper is suddenly out of words. The slight slice of your boobs visible through your robe does not help either in the coherency of his thoughts. He had plans. He had plans to walk out of this marriage without being tainted as a “cheater” because the jujutsu society is so fucked up that they will not stop until they found this particular person that had made this marriage impossible to work on so that you, the wife, had to walk out it and dear God, they certainly are not fond of obstructions.

“What a nice place you chose to—” he finally looks away to keep the tub of semi-molten room-temperature strawberry ice cream on some bookshelf but before he could shift back his gaze on you again you were gone like a storm. The sound of your footsteps echoed in his ear till it stopped before he heard the click of a door. He does not understand if you are just too dumb or too brave to act the way you are acting right now. He follows you as a grunt of dismissal escapes from his chest. As he stands in front of the bathroom door he drowns yet again in utmost disbelief. He can still hear your shrill gasp of pleasure and he is not liking how his cock is responsive to it. At first, he hesitates to touch himself but the faint sound of your moans, the wet squelching sounds of your fingers moving in and out of your damp folds despite the door of the bathroom being locked buzzes in his ears like bees out in the hunt of honey.

Satoru gave up . You hear a thud as you continue to finger yourself knowing full well that your husband must have followed you all the way here after witnessing you in such a state. Indeed, you could have been accused of cheating on him without him checking the door and it would have been much worse. He sits against the bathroom door unfurling the black ribbon with a swish to take his cock out of his baggy white pants. The tip is already leaking. His cock is throbbing in his palm as he encapsulates his fingers around it, moving his fingers up and down slowly. On the other side of the door, as you could finally feel the pinnacle of your high you heard a soft groan; a pain, that seemed familiar, was palpable underneath that shrill cry of pleasure. Still when your fingers touched the part inside you that almost felt like unknotting something from inside you, at the basal of your navel Satoru’s hand moved faster to chase the similar high that had started to bubble in his body under the influence of your ripples of pleasure. You heard your husband moan as tears rolled down your cheeks when you closed your eyes feeling the knot finally unwinding.

Perhaps, both of you came simultaneously. Perhaps not, because you immediately opened the door after you had calmed from your high, only to be greeted with Satoru sitting right at the opposite wall of the bathroom door, legs folded in L-manner so that he could keep his hand over his knee. His cock is still visible through his white pants and it is still so hard. One of your eyebrows raises in silent reply . Satoru notices that. He looks at you and then looks away. You extend your hand towards his face, gaining his stern azure pair of eyes shining against whatever dim light the crack of the bathroom door could allow. There was no sign of resistance in him so as your palm touched his cheeks, you waited and gave him time to protest. yet none ever followed, instead, he surrendered to your touch, and your fingers curled under his chin as you ran your thumb over his lips. Satoru coiled against your touch imbibing as much as he could like a tide being high enough to touch the moon . . .a familiar voice shocked both of you awake.

“Lady Gojo. . .”

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mostlysignssomeportents · 3 months ago

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Shifting $677m from the banks to the people, every year, forever

I'll be in TUCSON, AZ from November 8-10: I'm the GUEST OF HONOR at the TUSCON SCIENCE FICTION CONVENTION.

"Switching costs" are one of the great underappreciated evils in our world: the more it costs you to change from one product or service to another, the worse the vendor, provider, or service you're using today can treat you without risking your business.

Businesses set out to keep switching costs as high as possible. Literally. Mark Zuckerberg's capos send him memos chortling about how Facebook's new photos feature will punish anyone who leaves for a rival service with the loss of all their family photos – meaning Zuck can torment those users for profit and they'll still stick around so long as the abuse is less bad than the loss of all their cherished memories:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2021/08/facebooks-secret-war-switching-costs

It's often hard to quantify switching costs. We can tell when they're high, say, if your landlord ties your internet service to your lease (splitting the profits with a shitty ISP that overcharges and underdelivers), the switching cost of getting a new internet provider is the cost of moving house. We can tell when they're low, too: you can switch from one podcatcher program to another just by exporting your list of subscriptions from the old one and importing it into the new one:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/10/16/keep-it-really-simple-stupid/#read-receipts-are-you-kidding-me-seriously-fuck-that-noise

But sometimes, economists can get a rough idea of the dollar value of high switching costs. For example, a group of economists working for the Consumer Finance Protection Bureau calculated that the hassle of changing banks is costing Americans at least $677m per year (see page 526):

https://files.consumerfinance.gov/f/documents/cfpb_personal-financial-data-rights-final-rule_2024-10.pdf

The CFPB economists used a very conservative methodology, so the number is likely higher, but let's stick with that figure for now. The switching costs of changing banks – determining which bank has the best deal for you, then transfering over your account histories, cards, payees, and automated bill payments – are costing everyday Americans more than half a billion dollars, every year.

Now, the CFPB wasn't gathering this data just to make you mad. They wanted to do something about all this money – to find a way to lower switching costs, and, in so doing, transfer all that money from bank shareholders and executives to the American public.

And that's just what they did. A newly finalized Personal Financial Data Rights rule will allow you to authorize third parties – other banks, comparison shopping sites, brokers, anyone who offers you a better deal, or help you find one – to request your account data from your bank. Your bank will be required to provide that data.

I loved this rule when they first proposed it:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/06/10/getting-things-done/#deliverism

And I like the final rule even better. They've really nailed this one, even down to the fine-grained details where interop wonks like me get very deep into the weeds. For example, a thorny problem with interop rules like this one is "who gets to decide how the interoperability works?" Where will the data-formats come from? How will we know they're fit for purpose?

This is a super-hard problem. If we put the monopolies whose power we're trying to undermine in charge of this, they can easily cheat by delivering data in uselessly obfuscated formats. For example, when I used California's privacy law to force Mailchimp to provide list of all the mailing lists I've been signed up for without my permission, they sent me thousands of folders containing more than 5,900 spreadsheets listing their internal serial numbers for the lists I'm on, with no way to find out what these lists are called or how to get off of them:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/07/22/degoogled/#kafka-as-a-service

So if we're not going to let the companies decide on data formats, who should be in charge of this? One possibility is to require the use of a standard, but again, which standard? We can ask a standards body to make a new standard, which they're often very good at, but not when the stakes are high like this. Standards bodies are very weak institutions that large companies are very good at capturing:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/30/weak-institutions/

Here's how the CFPB solved this: they listed out the characteristics of a good standards body, listed out the data types that the standard would have to encompass, and then told banks that so long as they used a standard from a good standards body that covered all the data-types, they'd be in the clear.

Once the rule is in effect, you'll be able to go to a comparison shopping site and authorize it to go to your bank for your transaction history, and then tell you which bank – out of all the banks in America – will pay you the most for your deposits and charge you the least for your debts. Then, after you open a new account, you can authorize the new bank to go back to your old bank and get all your data: payees, scheduled payments, payment history, all of it. Switching banks will be as easy as switching mobile phone carriers – just a few clicks and a few minutes' work to get your old number working on a phone with a new provider.

This will save Americans at least $677 million, every year. Which is to say, it will cost the banks at least $670 million every year.

Naturally, America's largest banks are suing to block the rule:

https://www.americanbanker.com/news/cfpbs-open-banking-rule-faces-suit-from-bank-policy-institute

Of course, the banks claim that they're only suing to protect you, and the $677m annual transfer from their investors to the public has nothing to do with it. The banks claim to be worried about bank-fraud, which is a real thing that we should be worried about. They say that an interoperability rule could make it easier for scammers to get at your data and even transfer your account to a sleazy fly-by-night operation without your consent. This is also true!

It is obviously true that a bad interop rule would be bad. But it doesn't follow that every interop rule is bad, or that it's impossible to make a good one. The CFPB has made a very good one.

For starters, you can't just authorize anyone to get your data. Eligible third parties have to meet stringent criteria and vetting. These third parties are only allowed to ask for the narrowest slice of your data needed to perform the task you've set for them. They aren't allowed to use that data for anything else, and as soon as they've finished, they must delete your data. You can also revoke their access to your data at any time, for any reason, with one click – none of this "call a customer service rep and wait on hold" nonsense.

What's more, if your bank has any doubts about a request for your data, they are empowered to (temporarily) refuse to provide it, until they confirm with you that everything is on the up-and-up.

I wrote about the lawsuit this week for @[email protected]'s Deeplinks blog:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2024/10/no-matter-what-bank-says-its-your-money-your-data-and-your-choice

In that article, I point out the tedious, obvious ruses of securitywashing and privacywashing, where a company insists that its most abusive, exploitative, invasive conduct can't be challenged because that would expose their customers to security and privacy risks. This is such bullshit.

It's bullshit when printer companies say they can't let you use third party ink – for your own good:

https://arstechnica.com/gadgets/2024/01/hp-ceo-blocking-third-party-ink-from-printers-fights-viruses/

It's bullshit when car companies say they can't let you use third party mechanics – for your own good:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/09/03/rip-david-graeber/#rolling-surveillance-platforms

It's bullshit when Apple says they can't let you use third party app stores – for your own good:

https://www.eff.org/document/letter-bruce-schneier-senate-judiciary-regarding-app-store-security

It's bullshit when Facebook says you can't independently monitor the paid disinformation in your feed – for your own good:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/08/05/comprehensive-sex-ed/#quis-custodiet-ipsos-zuck

And it's bullshit when the banks say you can't change to a bank that charges you less, and pays you more – for your own good.

CFPB boss Rohit Chopra is part of a cohort of Biden enforcers who've hit upon a devastatingly effective tactic for fighting corporate power: they read the law and found out what they're allowed to do, and then did it:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/10/23/getting-stuff-done/#praxis

The CFPB was created in 2010 with the passage of the Consumer Financial Protection Act, which specifically empowers the CFPB to make this kind of data-sharing rule. Back when the CFPA was in Congress, the banks howled about this rule, whining that they were being forced to share their data with their competitors.

But your account data isn't your bank's data. It's your data. And the CFPB is gonna let you have it, and they're gonna save you and your fellow Americans at least $677m/year – forever.

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/2024/11/01/bankshot/#personal-financial-data-rights

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thedaswolves · 6 days ago

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Absolutely heartbroken by the news of Trick and Karin Weekes being laid off from Bioware by EA. They were the last true veterans and original creators of DA that were still there, and this truly feels like the final nail in the coffin for beloved studio and franchise.

The way EA systematically drained and destroyed this studio and the franchise too over the years is nothing short of criminal! it all started with that cursed Anthem, than pushing Bioware to make the kind of games it doesn't want to, scraping amazing projects, putting them through decade of development hell, chasing away half of original veteran devs and professionals, and laying off the other half over last few years.. EA's CEO talking bout how AI is at the core of their business six months ago.... It all makes me sick to my stomach! At this point I will never give another cent to EA for anything. DA franchise might be over but lives on in our hearts and through our art and fics and love for this characters and the world. that's what we have left and they can't take away from us. I hope EA crashes and burns in every way possible.

Thank you Trick Weekes for everything.. their writing credits speak for themselves....

Mass Effect (Writer) Dragon Age:Origins (Additional Design) Mass Effect 2 (Writer) Mass Effect 2: Lair of the Shadow Broker (Writer) Mass Effect 3 (Senior Writer) Mass Effect 3: From Ashes (Writer) Mass Effect 3: Leviathan (Writer) Mass Effect 3: Citadel (Writer)

Wrote characters like Garrus, Kasumi, Tali, Mordin, Legion, Jack, Joker…

Dragon Age Inquisition (Writer) - wrote "Wicked Eyes Wicked Hearts" and "Here Lies the Abys", wrote Solas, Cole, Iron Bull and the Chargers, also worked on minor npc's and codex entries and lore

Dragon Age Inquisition - Jaws of Hakkon DLC (Lead Writer) Dragon Age Inquisition - Trespasser DLC (Lead Writer) Dragon Age: The Veilguard (Lead Writer)

Dragon Age: Masked Empire - single-handedly wrote full novel and created Felassan as original character Dragon Age: Tevinter Nights - "Three Trees to Midnight" and "The Dread Wolf Take You"

💔💔💔💔

#f...k EA!!!#trick weekes #karin weekes #bioware #dragon age #mass effect #dragon age origins #dragon age inquisition #dragon age veilguard #dav #datv

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dog-bimbo · 2 months ago

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minors and ageless blogs do not interact ! fem!reader ☆ shiu is an absolute prick in this one just the way i like it :')

sugar daddy!shiu kong makes it clear on the get go that the relationship is purely transactional. he covers your tuition and whatever expenses that you need. in return, you gotta sit still and look pretty during his client meetings. and there were a lot of those meetings going on in his life... he doesn't want a companion to share his woes with, he needs a sweet little thing who'd make him look better in front of the clients. having a doll like you just makes it so much easier to deal with those guys. he really isn't like your traditional daddy that you see in movies. he doesn't mindlessly shower you with gifts and money and take you out on dates just to see you smile, he makes you earn each and every bit of the financial support he's been providing you with. it might seem a bit crude, but again, it's a transactional relationship after all.

you're his arm candy, all young and pretty in the outfits he chooses for you—none of them reach the knees. he likes it casual during the daytime—he doesn't care much for the tops low cut, turtle neck, buttoned collars, whatevers fines as long as it's paired with the tiniest of skirts. he likes ass and tits but most importantly, he likes thighs. sunny afternoons at lavish private properties or client offices don't go by easily by just discussing brokering services and pretending to care about the client's problems. you're either by his side or on his lap and he cannot go on without kneading the soft flesh of your thighs. one thing about him is that he makes the most out of the space he sits in. he's charming, even with that shit eating grin or a muted smirk that he flashes at you whenever you pluck the cigarette from his lips for him to exhale the smoke or ash it for him since he's too comfortable leaned back.

during the night however, the tiny little dresses he makes you wear seem like they're barely there. dainty jewellery, freshly manicured nails, his favourite shades of lipstick on your extremely kissable lips... he rubs his thumb on your bottom lip, tilting your chin up and looking down at you with his piercing gaze like he's evaluating you—"you've gotten the hang of it by now, i don't expect anything less from you. you'll be good for the clients n' extra good f'me, hm?" he lets go of your chin after you answer and gets out of the car, circling around it to open the passengers door for you.

it's like he's making you put on a show for the clients by the way he instructs you to charm them with your demeanour. his clients are total pervs too since he's not letting you leave much for imagination with your clothes. this is a business and sex sells—everyone knows it. "it's a big bad world honey, i don't have to tell y'bout how it works, yeah?" he murmurs if the clients are just oogling at you. but if it gets to you a bit too much, and trust me, he catches onto things faster than most people, he has his ways of dealing with it.

after the meetings is when you truly get to the good bit. he covers your semester fees on time even without you having to remind him along with the additional college charges. he's cunning but he's trustworthy and diligent. but for that extra cash to splurge, you gotta let him blow his steam off. he latches his lips onto your neck and gradually your tits after freeing them like he's starved, like he's been waiting for it. "the bastard chewed my damn ears off, can't stand 'em..." he grunts as he sucks on your nipples, his other hand groping your tits with a grip borderlining on a harsh one. "but you..." he bites on one with his teeth and tugs on the other with his index and thumb, "you're a fucking doll, so good f'me..." and by the time you're done with fogging up the tinted windows of his car, your poor cunt is left oozing out a bit of his cum as it trickles down your inner thighs.

he pulls out a thick wad of cash, fanning through it. "open up, sweetheart," he murmurs, thumbing through a few crisp bills. you bite down, the stack hard against your teeth. it's humiliating to the core but business is business, and you’ve got to earn your keep.

#shiu kong #shiu kong x reader #shiu x reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #shiu kong smut #shiu smut #jjk shiu

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probablyasocialecologist · 2 years ago

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"But Weber’s argument was carefully grounded in history. Price controls, she argued, had been an essential element of the U.S. mobilization strategy during the Second World War. And there were several striking similarities between the economy of the nineteen-forties and that of the present day, including very high consumer demand for goods, record corporate profits, and production bottlenecks in important areas. Back then, the Office of Price Administration simply prohibited companies from raising prices above certain levels. Violators could be sued, or worse. In 1944, Montgomery Ward, the department-store chain, refused to accept the terms of a collective-bargaining agreement—a cap on the price of labor—brokered by the government. President Roosevelt ordered the National Guard to seize the business and remove Sewell Avery, its chairman, from its headquarters." (source)

#can you imagine #neoliberalism #price controls

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multifandomfix · 4 months ago

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Imagine Anthony coming home from a business trip to find that you’re expecting.

Anthony’s hand lingered on the door handle, a rare smile tugging at his lips. He had been gone far too long. Business had kept him away, but thoughts of you had kept him grounded. Every letter you sent, every word you wrote, he cherished them more than any deal he could broker.

As he stepped inside, the familiar scent of home wrapped around him like a warm embrace. He found you in the sitting room, curled up by the window with a book, a soft glow in your eyes when you saw him. But something else caught his attention, the slight roundness of your belly, something new, something that made his heart nearly stop.

"My love?" Anthony crossed the room in long strides, dropping his bags without a second thought. His hand hovered over your stomach, eyes searching yours for confirmation.

You smiled, your hand resting gently over his. "Yes, Anthony. We're expecting."

For a moment, he said nothing, his breath catching in his throat as the reality sank in. His child. Another member of his large and loving family was on the way.

Then, with a sudden burst of joy, he swept you into his arms, careful not to squeeze you too tightly. He held you as if you were the most precious thing in the world, because to him, you were.

"Why didn’t you tell me sooner? In one of your letters,” he asked, though his voice held only awe rather than any reproach.

“I wanted to surprise you,” you whispered, your fingers brushing his cheek.

Anthony kissed you, soft but fervent, then sat you back on the chair from whence he picked you up and he dropped to his knees, pressing his lips to your belly. “Hello in there,” he murmured, his voice full of wonder. “I can’t wait to meet you.”

In the days that followed, Anthony became a man on a mission, pampering you in ways you had never imagined. Each day, new gifts would arrive, the softest silks, rare teas, fresh flowers to brighten your room. He wouldn’t allow you to lift a finger, insisting that you rest while he handled everything.

“When you’re carrying my heir, you shouldn’t have to worry about a thing,” he’d say, though the tender look in his eyes suggested it was more than duty driving his actions. It was love, an overwhelming love for you and the life you were creating together.

He’d come home with all sorts of trinkets, paintings for the nursery, books on parenthood, even a small rocking chair he’d found at a market. And every night, as you lay in bed, his hand would rest protectively on your stomach, whispering promises to both you and your child.

“I’ll always take care of you,” he vowed. “Both of you.”

For @bigbluegiants

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phoward89 · 9 months ago

Text

Based on this ask

Obsessed!Coriolanus Snow x Innocent!Reader, Obsessed!Crassus Snow x Innocent!Reader

WARNING ⚠️ Coriolanus Snow is a warning in and of itself. Cussing, obsession, older man/younger woman, father & son both want the same girl, reader is just too sweet for this world and has no idea that the men in the Snow family are toxic...

Masterlist

Part 1:

You've known Coriolanus Snow and his family ever since you were a little girl. When the war started, you were about 5, and Crassus, Coriolanus' father, helped you, your mother, and your brother get smuggled into the Capitol as a favor to your father, a Colonel who served under him in District 12 while he was a General; the Commander.

Sadly your father, Colonel Javanis Halvir, didn't survive the war. Tragically, Coriolanus' mother died during the first bombing strike on Capitol City. She died in the birthing bed, weeks before she was due, because the bombing had triggered off her labor. Coriolanus' little sister died too. Was stillborn.

But since your families knew one another and lived in the same building they huddled together during the war. Your mother wasn't too thrilled about having to receive help from Grandma’am Snow and a seedy neighbor that owned a nightclub, but she dealt with it in order to survive and protect her children: you and your older brother.

General Crassus Snow barely made it out of the war alive. He was nearly killed in the woods outside of 12. But, alas, he survived and returned home to Capitol City, Panem a war hero. He also came back with a heavily lined pocket although District 13 was destroyed and that's where all of his assets, factories, and science labs were located.

Your mother told you and your brother that Crassus was a cold, cunning, calculating man and that she's positive that he somehow brokered a deal to get paid for the loss of his assets.

What nobody knows, except for the higher powers that be of course, is that Crassus still has his factories and labs in District 13. They're nuclear weapons factories and, since 13 went underground as an independent nation via a hush hush backroom midnight deal between the leader of 13 and Panem's President Ravenstill, a deal that went into effect before the Districts surrender and the signing of the Treaty of Treason. Crassus is a black market arms dealer. He sells his nucs to neighboring countries. Countries that include Canada (yes, they never changed their name after the wars and natural disasters that drastically changed the geography of the world) and a small coalition of old world Eastern European countries that survived the rising sea levels that had eradicated some island countries and shoreline countries of old world Europe.

Crassus Snow takes a lot of out of town business trips to broker illegal arms deals between the underground District 13 and the countries that he's constructed alliances with. General Crassus Snow had no loyalties to Panem any more; his only loyalties were to himself and his family. He also had a sliver of a sense of honor when it came to his old comrade’s family and felt the need to watch over your family: the Halvir family.

But after being shot by rebels, left for dead in the woods, and barely being able to survive long enough to trek back to the PK Base D-12’s hospital, General Crassus Snow truly lost faith in the country that he was supposed to serve proudly. But did he ever truly have faith in Panem as a country since he was in the woods, sneaking like a thief in the night, to get to District 13 to check his assets and his alliances there?

Snow lands on top; Crassus was playing both sides of the war to ensure that his family came out winners. And then when his contacts in District 13 told him of the deal between the President and the Commander of 13, well…General Snow's career as an arms dealer was born.

It paid well and kept the Snow family living high off the hog. Crassus also supported your family with his endless money, much to your mother's dismay.

Your mother couldn't stand Crassus, out on a polite face for Grandma'am Snow, felt sorry for Tigris, and cringed with how you and Coriolanus were the best of friends.

And you remained best friends with Coriolanus Snow as the two of you grew up side by side. You always viewed the friendship as platonic, but a teenaged Coriolanus viewed it as more. He developed a crush on you that quickly turned into a dark, possessive obsession.

But Coriolanus was certain that what he felt for you was love.

And when it came to his father, who he was the spitting image of with the same tall, sinewy build, platinum blonde curls, striking icy blue eyes, chiseled jawline, and prominent nose, well…Crassus Snow had an obsession with you as well. But his obsession was rooted in a darker place than his son's.

The esteemed war here General Crassus Snow has a sick obsession with you because you favor your mother. And, well, when Crassus was a young grunt in 12, serving in the Peacekeepers under his father Xanthos who was the Commander of 12 at that time, he fell for your mother, but she didn't reciprocate his feelings. Instead she fell in love with his friend, Javanis Halvir. Thus the reason you and your older brother were born to Colonel Halvir and Mrs. Halvir.

Feeling jilted and betrayed by the object of his affection and obsession not loving him back, Crassus became a cold, cruel, cold, calculating, and cunning man. He put on his charming smile and wooed a young, pretty, naive girl from Capitol City. Demeter: Coriolanus’ mother.

But he never got over your mother, despite her hating him as the years went on. So you looking just like her once you hit your teenage years has Crassus falling down the rabbit hole into dark obsessive head spaces.

So, unknown to you, your platonic relationships with the men in the Snow family are anything, but that in their eyes. And they don't even know that the other has an obsession with you.

You know what they say…like father, like son.

It's mid-May of your senior year at the Academy and you're so ready for the school year to end. You can't wait for graduation and for summer break. You also can't wait for the opportunity to spend your summer break hanging out with your best friend, Coryo.

Coriolanus Snow.

But you call him Coryo. Always have, always will.

But in the meantime you spend your weekends at the Snow penthouse; you also go home with him after school a couple of days during the week- much to your mother's dismay.

And this afternoon’s one of those days where you go home with Coryo after school.

“You're staying for dinner tonight, darling. The cook’s making your absolute favorite and I'd hate for you to miss out on it.” Coryo told you on the elevator ride up to the 12th floor of your Corso building.

The elevator had been broken for a few years, but after General Snow slapped some money at the apartment building association maintenance fixed the elevator and Grandma'am Snow was able to leave the penthouse and go out into the world with the help of a can instead of being kept locked up inside like a recluse.

“I hope you didn't ask the cook to make my favorite meal just to get me to stay for dinner.”

“Of course not. They plan the menu, not me.” Coryo tells you, a lopsided lipped smile on his face.

What neither of you knew was that Coryo's father, Crassus, and told (more so demanded) that the cook make your favorite meal. He knew that you'd be easier to sway to eat dinner with him and his family if the smell of your favorite dish was wafting in the air as you hung out with his son in his room.

And that was something Crassus was going to be putting a stop to. He can't have you spending so much time alone in Coriolanus' bedroom. What if the two of you start to become curious about- things…

Ugh, Crassus can't imagine you with his son. He thinks Coriolanus is a sassy, whinny, bratty, weakling of an heir. Too bad he couldn't toughen that boy up; too bad he's too much like his mother. Has too much good in him, can be easily pushed and pulled by a pretty face and the promise of love.

Crassus would prefer it if Coriolanus was more like him. More cold, more cunning, more calculated, and didn't wear his feelings on his damn sleeves.

Anyways…

The elevator stops and the doors ding open, revealing the hallway of the 12th floor. A floor that was solely inhabited by the mighty Snow family. They had the upper level penthouse that took the entire floor. It was quite impressive. You love it, but your mother hates it.

And talk about your mother…

“I know you want me to stay for dinner, Coryo, but I really shouldn't. My mother's been getting on me lately about how much time I spend up here with you.” You tell the boy with the light golden curls as the two of you exit the elevator.

“Your mother needs to take a chill pill. You're my girl, darling. It's completely normal to be spending all of your free time up here.” Coryo tells you while leading you over to the front door of his penthouse, palm of his hand resting lazily on the small of your back.

“I know, Coryo, but my mother hates that we're besties and she wants me to meet new people.”

“Meet new people?” Coryo scoffed, brows furrowed in disdain, as he opened the door to his place. “There's nobody new in Capitol City our age to meet, darling. Not unless you go to the mission in the slums by the rail station and start introducing yourself to those District immigrants that conned their way into our grand Capitol.” The cerulean eyes boy told you while ushering you into his penthouse and down the entrance hallway.

Coriolanus was personally offended by your mother. How dare she tell you to meet new people? You belong to him. You're his girl.

HIS GIRL!

HIS!

Coriolanus was good at schooling his features, considering he's been doing it his entire life to keep from letting his father know how bad his harsh and hateful words affected him, so you didn't catch onto how upset he was with your mother. No, you thought he was fine. As cool as a cucumber as he led you past the kitchen, where the cook was starting on dinner, and into the main room of the penthouse to acknowledge Grandma’am, who's always sitting in her favorite chair watching her soaps on CapitolTV during this time of the late afternoon.

“Oh, Coriolanus, you're home and I see you brought Y/N over to visit with you.” Grandma'am Snow, who was dressed to the nines in her jeweled turbin, silk tunic, extravagant jeweled brooch, and long strand of pearls. She was the epitome of Old Guard aristocratic lady of fineries and class.

“Yes, Grandma'am I'm home and my darling’s staying for dinner tonight.” Coriolanus smiles at his grandmother.

Coryo silently nudges you forward to give Grandma'am a hug while greeting her. It's something you've done you years and he doesn't want you to stop doing it either since his Grandma’am adores you.

If only Grandma'am could persuade his father that you're a good match for him. The old lady gets it, why can't his father get it? You and Coriolanus belong together; make quite the pair.

But if the platinum haired boy with a halo of curls on his head only knew that he wasn't the only one obsessed and lusting after you- well…

“Good afternoon, Grandma'am. It's so good to see you.” You smile sweetly, hugging the regal old woman that you've come to love and think of as your own grandmother over the years.

“It's also so good to see you too, my dear.” Grandma'am replies, patting your back as she reciprocates the hug. “Has our Coriolanus asked you to the prom yet?” She inquired, as a way to push you and her grandson together, your hug broke apart.

“Not officially, but we have an understanding that we'll be going together since we go to all of the galas, balls, and dances together.” You tell Grandma’am while returning to Coryo's side.

Coryo’s fiddling with the strap of his satchel, that's currently across his chest, as he awaits Grandma'am’s reply. Or, a lecture aimed at him to properly ask you. A lecture she's been giving him daily since the beginning of the month.

And sure as shit, Coriolanus gets his prom lecture.

Grandma'am looks at her grandson, who's his father's spitting image, and firmly tell him, “Coriolanus, properly ask her. You're a Snow and as a Snow doesn't assume things, but makes them happen.” Cutting her eyes at her only grandchild, she orders in a grandmotherly way, “Now, properly as her as your prom date before somebody else tries to snatch her up from you.”

You felt a bit awkward. Grandma'am’s lecture was something you felt she should've given Coryo in private, not while you're by his side. It wasn't meant for your ears, or at least you don't think it was.

Coriolanus’ lips draw taunt into a tight line as he tells his grandmother, “Yes, Grandma'am.” He half nods at her before turning to you. Giving you a smile that shows too many teeth, like a wolf baring its fangs before its prey, he takes your hands in his and asks, “Y/N, my darling rose, will you do me the honor of going to prom with me?”

It felt more like a marriage proposal than a promposal. Aren't promposals supposed to be fun and exciting with songs, dances, and glittery handmade poster boards? Not so serious. Right?

Right?

You're already going to prom with Coryo, but since you've been out on the spot with a promposal you have to formally accept. All thanks to Grandma'am.

“Of course I'll go to prom with you, Coryo.” You answered your best friend, causing his icy eyes to sparkle with joy.

It all felt so surreal. A bit heavy too. Honestly, it felt like you were agreeing to give your best friend your hand in marriage right in front of his regal grandmother then agreeing to go to prom.

Unknown to you, you accepting Coryo's proposal was, in fact, you agreeing to a future marriage to him in the delusional minds of both Coriolanus and Grandma’am.

Mhm…

You just signed your freedom away by saying yes to prom and you don't even know it, all because you view your relationship as platonic. Too bad the platinum blonde boy with baby blue eyes and his sophisticated grandma view the relationship as something more.

Coryo's father, Crassus, also views your relationship with his son as platonic. But that's for an entirely different reason; one that would make you gasp from shock if you knew.

After making Grandma’am Snow the happiest lady alive in Capitol City by accepting Coryo's proposal, you went to his bedroom to do homework with him. And when your class assignments were done, you two just laid on his bed while listening to music.

It was a new album that Coryo had to get the neighbor, Pluribus Bell, to smuggle to him because Crassus refused to give his son the money for the album. In fact the former General turned Minister of National Security, and black market arms dealer, hates the music you and his son listens to. Crassus is more of a classical music and soft jazz type, so he hates the poetic lyrics and the vibe of the beats of the alternative indie and pop you and Coryo enjoy so much.

The album was on its second playback while you cuddled into Coryo's side. His large, but lanky frame always made you feel so safe. So protected. And, your best friend's lanky, he does have solid muscles under his skin.

Having you tucked into his side while lying on his bed listening to the new album that an artist the both of you loves just dropped is like being in heaven for Coriolanus. Growing up the platinum blonde boy with a head full of soft curls and striking baby blue eyes always had you by his side. You're his one constant. No matter what, you're always there for him.

It's what makes Coryo crave you like Dean Casca Highbottom craves his morphling fix every 15 minutes. You always being there for him, being by his side for better or worse during your childhood friendship, is what caused him to grow obsessively in love with you.

But the problem is, in his delusional mind, Coriolanus thinks that you're in love with him too. All because of how you're always letting him cuddle you, hug you, and touch you. Letting him call you darling while you often call him ‘my Coryo' while talking about him to others also has him thinking that your feelings for him mirrors the ones he has for you.

You and Coryo are talking about small things, silly things really, whenever the bedroom door opens with a loud band followed by the deep bellowing of Crassus Snow. “Why're you two alone in here listening to this trash?”

“She's not a trashy singer, father. She's one of the best.” Coriolanus retorted, causing his imposing and stern father to fill his icy eyes at him. “Y/N and I were doing homework and decided to listen to some music afterwards.” Your best friend added in, to answer his father's stupid question about why you're in his room.

“General Snow, if me being alone in Coryo's room with him gets him in trouble with you then I'm sorry; I'll just go.” You apologized to the Snow patriarch while making to pull away from Coryo and sit up.

But your best friend wouldn't let you leave his side. No. Actually, his hold around you tightened.

And that made Crassus pissed. His sniveling brat of a son didn't deserve you. You deserved a real man to care for you; to guide you on your journey of womanhood.

Crassus felt that he's the Snow for you. The only man that can mold you into the perfect Capitolite lady you're meant to be. And when he successfully gets rid of old President Ravenstill and wins the next presidential election, well, he plans on making you his wife and his First Lady.

Whether you like it or not.

With a devious smirk painting his lips, the middle-aged man with slicked back platinum blonde hair and cold, hard, bitter icy eyes tells you, “Please, call me Crassus. After all, petal, with as much time as you spend here you're practically a part of the family.”

General Snow's remark went right over your head. You just nodded and simply said, “Okay.”

You honestly didn't think anything of it. If General Snow wanted you to call him Crassus because of all the time you spent around his son, Coriolanus, then so be it.

But Coryo knew that his father had just become, as fucked up as it sounds, his romantic rival for you. As soon as he heard him call you petal he knew, oh he just knew, that his father's lusting after you.

Coriolanus is his father's son after all. Despite being told time and time again by Crassus that he's too much like his mother, too soft and eager for affection- for love. But what Crassus didn't grasp was that Coriolanus didn't just have his father's looks, but his dark tendencies for obsession and over ‘loving’ his intended lover.

And the son just knew that his father was head over heels obsessed with you because, in fact, he was too. Coriolanus saw the way his father looked at you, as if you're a piece of meat ready to be carved and served, and it disgusts him. You belong to the younger Snow, not the older one.

Giving Crassus a cutting look with his icy eyes, Coriolanus announced in a smug baritone, “Father, my darling rose is going to prom with me as my date.” And then he twisted the knife in his father's black, soulless heart by adding in the three simple but damning words of, “As my girl.”

Crassus’ face turned to stone. Of course, you'd agree to go to prom with Coriolanus. The former general's seething with jealousy. He wants you, why does his son get to take you to prom? Ugh, why can't you just go to prom with a group of girls? Go stag, like single girls do. But no…

NO!

You just have to go to prom with Coriolanus. And as his girl too!

Crassus' blood is boiling in his veins. Hearing Coriolanus reveal that he’s made you his girl and is taking you to prom makes him want to tear his son apart limb by limb.

Well, he needs to nip that in the bud.

Perhaps he'll talk to his old, estranged friend Dean Casca Highbottom about being a chaperone at the prom. That way he can keep an eye on you, socialize with you, and keep you from spending the night dancing with his son.

Dancing at prom can lead to other things in hotel rooms after prom. Things that Crassus certainly doesn't want you doing with Coriolanus.

Although Crassus is having an internal meltdown, his appearance stays stern and calm. “I'll make sure your mother has enough money to take you dress shopping.” The middle-aged platinum blonde man assured you.

Cocking his head to the side, Crassus flashes you a savvy smile before looking at his son and giving him a look that rivaled that of Medusa herself. “This door stays open while you two are in here. Only one of you can be on the bed and the other must be at the desk.” Crassus instructed in a stern, authoritarian baritone. “And turn off this music. It's giving me a headache.” He adds in an ordering snap before pivoting on his heel and matching off.

Shaking his head, Coriolanus darkly chuckled, “My father's so pathetic. Having a crush on you.”

“He doesn't have a crush on me, Coryo.” You’re quick to tell your beat friend, writing off his remark as you break your contact with him by sitting up. “He's your father and he's old enough to be mine.” You remind Coryo while making to get off the bed.

Coryo stops you by reaching out and wrapping his hand around your arm. “Just stay on the bed with me. Father’ll never know.” He tells you as you look at him, worrying your lip. But after a few moments, you slowly nod your head and take up your spot nestled into his side once again. “And trust me, from the way he was looking at you, my father likes you.”

“I don't think he does, but if you say so…” You sigh, letting your sentence hang in the air.

But Coryo's right, his father does like you. He likes you a little too much. Just like how his son, your best friend, likes you a little too much.

The million dollar ticket is who’ll snag you up and make you theirs? That's a question only the ancient gods of old know and they're not sharing the answer until the time's right. But until then, father and son will be competing for your heart. A heart that you can only give to one Snow.

Tags: @kuroosbby001 @purriteen @poppyflower-22 @meetmeatyourworst @whipwhoops @bxtchopolis @readingthingsonhere @savagenctzen @ryswritingrecord @erikasurfer @tulips2715 @universal-s1ut @thesmutconnoisseur @squidscottjeans @sudek4l @wearemadeofstardust0 @mashiromochi @gracieroxzy @belcalis9503 @shari-berri @aoi-targaryen @whiteoakoak @spear-bearing-bi-witch @gisellesprettylies @loverandqueenofdragons @qoopeeya @mfnqueen1 @permanentlyexhaustedpigeon88 @v-love @swiftieblyth @joyfulyouthlover @harvey-malfoy @chxrrybomb22 @marvel-hiddles-stark @xjinnix @devils-blackrose @zombicupcake3 @jacesvelaryons @tempt-ress

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ak319 · 1 month ago

Text

Dark A.M x fem!reader

-- ★ The Word of Claim ┃ ─𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟐─

Warnings/MDNI: none. ?angst? And no, not for the reader, it's reverse angst ig. (－O－) ✰ 6.1K

★ Prev I concept m.list

"Look," you began, your tone a mix of hesitance and bashfulness, "please don’t make fun of me for what I’m about to tell you, because honestly? I’m not exactly ecstatic about it myself. But, like I once told you… parents can be parent-y about certain things, and it’s just so ugh! Anyway," you continued, forcing a strained chuckle, "it’s supposed to be good news, so I guess I should share it with some excitement, right?" You laughed lightly and slid a card across the table toward him, you avoided his gaze.

"I wanted to invite you. So here it is. I’d love for you to come, not just as a friend, but as a brother-"

"Shut it."

The sharp command sliced through the air like a blade, and you froze mid-sentence, your hand still lingering near the card. His tone wasn’t loud, but the weight of it struck deep, making your stomach twist.

You flinched, your brow furrowing as you recoiled slightly, staring at him with a mix of confusion and irritation. "Excuse me?" His gaze locked onto yours, intense and unreadable.

"I am not your brother, or whatever you or your family thinks," Arthur said, his voice low but firm, the words cutting like a cold wind.

You scoffed, a mix of hurt and disbelief clouding your expression. This wasn’t like him, the same Arthur who never so much as frowned in your direction now had a sharp edge in his tone.

"What are you talking about?" you asked, your voice unsteady but defensive, already dreading where this conversation was heading.

His gaze was unrelenting, the weight of his words pressing against you. "I believe you know exactly what I’m talking about," he said, softer now, though the intensity remained. "I just… how can you be so blind?"

Your jaw tightened, the bitterness creeping in as your fingers curled against the table. His earlier words still lingered, a bruise on your pride that hadn’t faded.

"Blind to what, exactly?" you snapped.

Arthur let out a breath, his frustration palpable as his shoulders sagged slightly. "I… like you," he admitted, his voice quieter now, though no less raw. "I really do-"

"Wow." You leaned back, crossing your arms, your eyes narrowing. "There we go. So this is the reason?"

He stared at you, his face unmoving, but his eyes betrayed him, there was a glimmer of vulnerability in them, a crack in the tough façade he usually wore. "Yeah," he said simply, meeting your gaze head-on. "This is the reason."

You exhaled sharply, staring at Arthur like he’d just sprouted a second head. "Are you serious right now?" you asked, your voice trembling, not with fear, but with disbelief.

Arthur’s jaw tensed, but he didn’t back down. "I’ve never been more serious," he said.

Your fingers brushed your chin as you leaned back, then your lips, as if you were weighing his words against the brutal truth you knew. When you finally spoke, your voice was cold, detached, calculated.

“Arthur… we could never have been a match. Not then, not now.”

The words landed like a slap, deliberate and cutting as if you’d carefully chosen them to remind him of the impossibility of what he was asking. To him, it must have sounded like you were discussing a business arrangement as if he were just another broker. Or worse... just another one of those pitiful proposals you brushed aside for your own amusement.

His face faltered, but he tried to hold steady. "Why not? Is it because of who I am? Because I’m not some... polished gentleman from your world?"

"Yes! It’s exactly because of that," you snapped, your emotions flaring. "Arthur, no matter how kind you, or the gang, were to me back then, or now, you’re still outlaws. You can’t change that. You can’t erase what you’ve done."

Arthur’s eyes darkened, his hands curling into fists on the table. "That’s not fair," he said, his voice rising slightly. "You didn’t care about that when we helped you find your way home. When we made sure you were safe. But now....now it’s convenient for you to judge me?"

"I’m not judging you, Arthur," you shot back but quickly composed yourself so as not to draw any unwanted attention. You just hoped your chaperone wouldn't come over and hear all this. "I’m just being realistic...stating facts here. You might have been my protector when I was lost, but that doesn’t mean you could be my...my partner. You live in a world I can’t belong to. Yeah... Arthur, that is the truth. Like wow-- unbelievable because you think this, us, was ever a possibility."

His face hardened, but his eyes remained glued to you, searching for something, anything, in your expression. "Why wasn’t it? We’ve known each other! You laughed with me, wrote to me, and shared everything with me. Don’t tell me that meant nothing..."

"That’s not fair," you said, your voice trembling. "It meant something, of course it did! You are my friend and I treated you like one! The reason I came here today is to invite you to such a significant event in my life. You and the others saved me when I was a child. You were kind, yes, and maybe even noble in your own way. But don’t you see? That’s all it ever could have been. And for God's sake, I was only 10 then."

"Right...because I’m an outlaw," he replied bitterly which added in your vexation.

"Because no matter what you say you can't deny the things you have done, no matter how much you’ve tried to change… you’re still an outlaw, Arthur! And what I did was only look past all of that, ignore all of that, and treat you like a normal person. And I’m someone who lives by rules, by expectations. My family, my life, they’re worlds apart from yours. I handle business, attend formal gatherings, and move in circles that your gang probably plans to rob on one of their 'mighty fine days.' Do you see what I mean?"

"That’s what you care about? What people think? What your family thinks?"

"Don’t twist this! It’s not about them, it’s about us! We would’ve never worked. I’ve never seen you that way, Arthur, and I’m sorry if you thought otherwise, but this was never going to happen. Not in a million years. I told you before that we had to leave our old house because of the gossip. People whispered about me being kidnapped, about… other horrible, disgusting things. About me, a literal child! Rumors tied to you, the outlaws. It was a nightmare for me, and for my family. Do you think I could ever willingly go through that again?"

His voice cracked as he spoke. "I know but-- you couldn’t have told me that sooner? Before....before I let myself hope? Before I thought m-aybe you--- you come to meet me now, so I thought-"

"Because I didn’t know!" you cut him off, wiping away some wayward tears. "I didn’t know you felt this way! I thought that what we had was a good friendship. Look I don't want to hurt you, but this-you being angry with me...it isn’t fair. I didn’t ask for this, Arthur. And as for meeting you and all, well I didn't want to tell you this way but...my family doesn't approve of me doing this, they don't know. Especially now, when I am about to marry, I think, well after you have said all this too, that it's better to not meet. I just wanted to end it on a good note."

“You were the first... who made me feel something, y’know? Damn right, you did....” He paused, a bitter chuckle escaping him as he ran a hand through his hair. “And then... you got lost again. For years. But you were always there, somewhere, in the back of my mind. Like some kind of shadow, I couldn't shake it. I don't know if it was curiosity, or..."

He trailed off, the words hanging in the air, and then his tone shifted, turning almost uncertain, like a question to himself. "Or maybe something else. Something I couldn’t name. I know I don’t have anything to offer you. Nothing like...what you're used to, or what you deserve. But...even with all the mess I’ve made of things, even with the life I’ve chosen... I... I don’t know how to quit wanting this. Wanting you."

He looked at you, eyes searching for an answer that felt impossible to find. Why couldn't he fucking stop though? He needed to let it out, he had to. "I know I’m not the one you need, but damn it... I can't help this... whatever it is I feel when you're near."

"Arthur...Do you even realize what my life means to me? What my business mean to me? It’s exactly what your gang and Dutch are to you. Something you can’t just give up in a snap. For anything. Do you know how lucky I am to have a father who raised me to be who I am today? Who respected my choices and believed in me enough to make me his business partner? I mean, have you ever seen that happen? I have worked for it, day and night, damn right I did. So, no matter what, I won’t ever leave all of that behind."

Arthur’s jaw tightened as he took in your words, his eyes narrowing. He hesitated for a beat before replying, his tone laced with something sharp and bitter.

"So… you love the power and money. Is that what you’re saying? That’s what matters most to you? So why are you marrying now, then? Is this just another deal?"

You let out a breath, rubbing your temples as you felt your patience wear thin. A muffled scoff escaped your lips. "Love money--? You’re seriously asking me that? That’s not-" You stopped yourself, exhaling sharply. "You know what? If that’s how you’re going to frame it, then sure. Yes, it does matter. Of course. And you, of all people, should know that. You literally..."

Forget it, it's useless to say it. He already knows.

"What about… love? What about if I did give it up one day, huh? For you if...if you give this a chance? What if I was...never an outlaw? Would you still be saying all of this? " Arthur's voice dipped, low and raw, as if he dared you to look past the life he’d lived and see him, just him.

"And I am not asking you to abandon anything anyway. I never said that. But can't you just...talk to your parents...about this? At least...hear their point of view... maybe they will agree, maybe they do think different of me -"

"No. They. Don't." You frowned, running a hand through your hair. "I know them very well because they are my parents, Arthur. Why are you talking like a ten-year-old? All these ‘what ifs’ are just that, what ifs. They don’t mean a damn thing. See how the real world works, for God’s sake. My world. Your world. You and I both know you’re not giving up your life, and I’m not giving up mine. So what’s next, Arthur? Are we talking about fairies now?"

"Oh, you’re really taking it too far now," he muttered, his voice low and dangerously quiet. "I bared my heart to you, and you’re just taking it as a damn joke?"

"I’m not!" you snapped, throwing your hands up. "But the way you came on to me, the aggressiveness of it, it’s too much! As if I committed some crime. I’m just trying to be honest with you here. We’re two different people, Arthur. Different lives, different worlds. And whatever I’m doing in my life, with whoever, for whatever reason, it’s none of your concern. You know what you should’ve done? Told me sooner. I wouldn’t have minded then, and your feelings wouldn’t be so hurt now. Or even better, never would have approached me again after all these years if this was your intention."

".....Yeah, you are right. I am a fool. A God damn fool."

Your heart was heavy with words you didn’t want to say but felt you had to, seeing him all quiet and...lost.

"I’m sorry... if I ever gave the wrong idea or encouraged... whatever you felt. It wasn’t my intention, Arthur. It never was. And even after this, it's not like I would regret the good moments we spent together. They were refreshing, for both of us."

You paused, your gaze meeting his, and you could see the pain in his eyes, the unspoken hope that you would understand. But you couldn’t, not in the way he wanted.

“I'll pray that you find peace. With someone willing to give it to you. You are a good person, I never said that you aren't. But not for me. Not for someone like me or my family. Not in the way you are thinking."

The cafe felt stifling, the murmurs of other patrons fading into nothing as the two of you were locked in this emotional war. You took a shaky breath and reached for the wedding card on the table, forwarding it.

"Come if you want to," you said, your voice quieter now but no less firm. "But I think it’s better if you don’t...for both of us." Without waiting for a response, you turned on your heel and walked out, the bell on the door jingling faintly behind you.

You didn’t look back, not at the table, not at him, not at the wreckage you knew you were leaving behind.

You didn’t dare.

❀˖°

"(Y/N) where were you-"

"Not now, Mom." The words came out curt, sharper than you intended, but you were too upset to care. That single word, Mom, was enough to let her know you were serious. She caught onto it immediately, her expression shifting to one of quiet concern.

Her gaze darted to Doreen, your chaperone, who stood quietly in the corner. She simply shrugged, her calm demeanor steady as always. Doreen had been working at the manor for years and was one of the few who knew about your friendship with Arthur. You’d confided in her because you trusted her, she was loyal and discreet, a good woman. Otherwise, it would be a nightmare if your mother ever found out. Not that you had anything to hide... except for what had happened today.

But none of that mattered now. It wasn’t like you were going to see Arthur again, not after this. That didn’t stop your mother from barging into your room, though, just as you were ushering out your younger brother, Rayan, and even your cat, a clear sign that you wanted to be left alone.

Once the door shut behind them, leaving the two of you alone in the room, your mother crossed her arms and fixed you with a determined look. "Care to explain what’s going on?"

"Nothing mama. Just--some people--sometimes piss you off."

"But you went to give a card to one of your friends didn't you? She not...coming?"

You shook your head, already feeling the heat rise in your chest again. "No, it’s not that. Just please. I don’t want to talk right now. Where’s Dad?"

She sighed a soft, drawn-out sound that carried her concern. Without saying a word, she moved to sit on the edge of your bed, watching as you rifled through your wardrobe, looking for something to change into. The rustling of hangers filled the room as you avoided her gaze.

"He must be on his way. Lunch is ready. I reckon you haven’t eaten yet?" she asked, her voice gentle, but you could still hear the underlying question.

You mentally scoffed, remembering the way your appetite vanished after everything Arthur had said. "Um--yeah, but I am not hungry." You replied, forcing some enthusiasm into your tone.

She nodded in understanding, but then her expression shifted, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "Oh, Omar is coming today, isn’t he? You both had to go shopping."

You froze for a moment before turning to her with a practiced smile. "Oh yes, I had totally forgotten!. But why shopping, Mamaaa, I’m so tired of it already!"

She tutted at your whining, brushing it aside with ease as she stood up. "Just one last trip. And come on, it’s your first one with him. He hasn’t even bought his suit yet because he wanted to buy it with you. Such a nice boy, isn’t he? I must say, even after rejecting almost every boy, you still found the best one. Patience does reward, doesn’t it?"

You snorted, unable to help yourself. Her words were laced with pride and affection, but you couldn’t quite mirror her excitement.

"You think I was waiting for the perfect one? I was just playing-"

"I know, I know. I’m just playing too," she cut you off with a knowing smile. "As if I don’t know what my daughter is."

Her cheerful expression faltered slightly, replaced by a worried frown. "(Y/N)... you don’t have any contact with Arthur, do you?"

Your heart skipped a beat, but years of getting out of mischief as a child had honed your ability to appear calm under pressure.

"Of course not! Why?" you asked, your tone light, as though the very idea were absurd.

"Mhm," she hummed, her gaze lingering on you for a moment too long. "Just... asking."

She waved it off and stood, her voice returning to its usual brightness. "Anyway, get ready. Omar must be here any minute."

"Yeah, yeah," you replied, brushing her off with a nonchalant shrug.

God, you really needed to go hunting with your dad, feel the familiar rhythm of the hunt to clear your mind. But it was already dusk. Shame, you thought. Well, there’s always tomorrow. You could find some peace in that.

❀˖°

The sound of wheels crunching over the gravel driveway reached your ears as you stood near the window, brushing out the last stray wrinkles from your coat. You could already hear your mother bustling downstairs, her voice rising in warm greeting as the carriage came to a halt in front of the manor. Omar was here.

The idea of going shopping with him now felt exhausting, but you reminded yourself, that this was the man you were going to marry. If nothing else, you could enjoy his company and distract yourself. You fucking needed it today.

There was a knock on your door before Doreen peeked her head in. "He’s here," she said with a knowing smile.

"I know," you sighed one last time before heading downstairs.

As you reached the foyer, Omar had already stepped inside, shaking off the light dusting of snow from his coat. He was dressed in a tailored navy suit, the kind that exuded understated elegance. His dark eyes lit up as soon as they landed on you, a wide, genuine smile spreading across his face.

"Ah, there she is," he said, his voice warm and easy, like it always was. He stepped forward, offering his hand as a gesture of greeting. "You look stunning as always."

You gave him a small smile, your fingers lightly brushing his as you shook his hand. "Thank you, Omar. You look rather dashing yourself."

Your mother beamed from the sidelines, clasping her hands together. "I’ll leave you two to it then! Have a good time, and don’t forget to stop by for supper after shopping!" she called, disappearing into the hallway before either of you could protest.

Omar chuckled softly, leaning in just a fraction as if sharing a secret. "I think she’s more excited about us spending time together than we are."

You couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped. "That’s because she’s been dreaming of this moment for years."

He tilted his head slightly, studying you with a mix of curiosity and fondness. "And you? Are you dreading it as much as you pretend to be, or is that just your way of teasing me?"

"I guess you’ll find out soon enough."

His grin widened, the kind that made it hard not to feel at ease. "I’m up for the challenge."

With that, he offered his arm, and after a brief pause, you looped yours through it. Together, you stepped out of the manor and into the waiting carriage, the crisp air biting at your skin as you settled in for what promised to be an afternoon of conversation and enjoyment.

The carriage rolled into the bustling town square, the cobblestone streets alive with chatter and laughter. Stalls lined the streets, and storefronts glittered with elegant displays of winter fashion. Omar helped you down from the carriage, his gloved hand firm and steady as you stepped onto the pavement. The warmth of his touch lingered, and for a moment, it was almost enough to dispel the tension still coiled in your chest.

"Where shall we start?" he asked, his voice tinged with amusement as he glanced at the shops.

"Your suit, of course," you replied, gesturing to the tailor’s shop down the street. "We wouldn’t want to waste any more time, would we? And also don't want my groom to arrive in pajamas."

He chuckled, the sound low and pleasant. "Efficient as always," he teased, but there was no bite to his words, only affection.

The tailor’s shop smelled of cedar and freshly pressed fabric, the warm atmosphere a stark contrast to the brisk air outside. Omar immediately began perusing the racks of neatly displayed suits, occasionally glancing your way for approval.

"What do you think of this one?" he asked, holding up a charcoal-grey ensemble.

You tilted your head, pretending to consider it seriously. "Mhm let's see. It’s nice, but… not quite you."

He raised a brow, intrigued. "Not quite me? And what is ‘me,’ exactly?"

You smirked, stepping closer to him. "Something a little more daring. You’re not the type to blend into the background. And honestly, that colour is for oldies."

Omar laughed, a soft, genuine sound that seemed to fill the room. "I’ll take that as a compliment."

The tailor appeared then, guiding Omar to a private fitting room. You waited near the mirrors, idly browsing the display of silk ties and pocket squares. When Omar stepped out, dressed in a deep navy suit with subtle silver pinstripes, you felt your breath hitch for a moment.

"Well?" he asked, spreading his arms slightly as he turned toward you. "Do I meet your high standards now?"

You took a step closer, adjusting the lapel of his jacket with careful fingers. "Much better," you murmured, your voice softer than you intended.

His gaze softened as he looked down at you, the air between you growing quiet and intimate. "You know," he said, his voice low, "it means a lot to me… that you’re here. Dearest fiancee."

You glanced up snickering, meeting his eyes. There was something disarming about how he looked at you, as though he could see straight through the layers of composure you worked so hard to maintain.

"I suppose it’s only fair," you said lightly, trying to deflect the weight of his gaze. "You’ll have to endure me for the rest of your life, after all."

His smile widened, but there was a hint of something deeper in his expression, something almost reverent. "Endure you? I don’t think that’s the word I’d use."

The moment stretched between you, delicate and charged, before you stepped back, clearing your throat. This was soemthing you thought you would never do. Like shopping? For marriage? Your own marriage? Feels nice though.

"Let’s pay for this and move on. There’s still plenty to do."

Omar chuckled, following your lead. "As you wish."

The rest of the afternoon passed in a flurry of shops and conversations, the initial awkwardness between you easing into a comfortable rhythm. At one point, as you passed a small flower stall, Omar paused, picking up a single white rose.

"For you," he said, offering it with a small, sincere smile.

You hesitated, then took it, the softness of the petals brushing against your fingers. "Thank you," you said quietly, your heart unexpectedly lighter.

"Though, for the record, I’m not fond of buying flowers. I prefer them in their roots, not plucked out."

Omar tilted his head, intrigued. "Fair enough," he said with a soft chuckle. "I’ll keep that in mind next time." He paused, then grinned. "Wait, is it because of that plantation-related project your dad was talking about? The one about 'Greenery for better Scenery' Or are you just secretly a botanist in disguise?"

You laughed, shaking your head. "Maybe," you said, teasingly, "Or maybe I just don’t like the idea of something being uprooted just to sit in a vase."

He nodded as you both climbed into the carriage, the sound of the wheels rolling over the cobblestone streets almost rhythmic as you sat there, lost in thought. The air was cooler now, and the weight of the day felt heavy on your shoulders. You couldn't shake the frustration bubbling inside you, the anger from dealing with Arthur, the frustration of his insistence, and the guilt gnawing at you because, deep down, you didn’t want to hurt him. But it was necessary.

People had to be reminded of who was in control sometimes. To be given a wake-up call. The thought of being his lover, his wife... living that life, in some tent? That had to be a joke. Those two months weren’t some nice escape anyone might imagine. Every second, you missed the comfort of your home, the warmth, the familiarity, the safety. You had been kind to them, yes, but kindness didn’t mean trust. Your heart was wary, and at the end of the day, they were strangers. Dangerous strangers.

He knew this. You could see it in the way he looked at you back then, the silent acknowledgment of the gap that could never be bridged. And yet, somehow, now, it seemed he’d forgotten all of that. Did he truly believe he could make that reckless fantasy a reality?

Your mother had been right. You should’ve never gotten engaged in the first place. Being nice, being accommodating, sometimes, it cost too much.

"You okay? You look tired."

You snapped back to the present, finding Omar's concerned gaze on you. You gave him a small smile. "Mhm? Yeah, I've been out most of the day so..."

"You could’ve told me we would’ve had the spree shortened," he said, his tone gentle.

You waved him off, shrugging lightly. "C'mon, it's nothing. You needed all that. My stuff's done anyway."

"Still, I don’t want my bride to be sick or anything." He nudged you playfully, but you weren't in the mood for jokes. "Um, sorry. We’re just about there anyway,"

"It’s alright. I didn’t mind for a minute." You voice softened.

He gazed at you, and before you could protest, he placed his hand over yours. "Good to know that. I loved every second too, darling."

"Me too..." Your heart skipped a beat at the warmth of his touch. "Can I ask you something?" You began, your voice quieter than usual.

"Sure. Shoot."

"Would you ever, like ever, say something like... 'leave the business or stay at home' shit to me?"

He leaned back slightly at your cold question, a flicker of surprise crossing his face. "We’ve already discussed this a million times, (Y/N), and even our families. You are perfect the way you are. Why would I suddenly say that?"

"Men aren’t really something you trust," you replied, the bitterness seeping through despite your best effort to stay neutral.

He sighed but remained understanding, his expression softening. "You know I won’t. I know you do. Yet you’re asking. It’s a clear sign something happened today, didn’t it?"

You paused for a moment, looking out the carriage window, not trusting yourself to speak for a second. "No. Just... making sure."

He reached over, gently brushing his thumb over your hand. "And I’m assuring you, love. I want a partner, not a slave or whatever your mind is conjuring up. Did you forget I literally sent the proposal after being impressed by your articles?"

"Mhm." He didn't press further, sensing that you needed space.

The carriage rolled to a stop outside your home, the rhythmic clop of the horses’ hooves fading into the quiet of the evening. You hadn’t spoken much on the journey back, your mind preoccupied with thoughts. Omar had been like your father in many ways, supportive, steadfast, grounded, and practical. Ideal, really. That’s part of why you didn’t hesitate when he proposed. But no matter how rational he seemed or how certain he was about the future, doubt lingered in the corners of your mind. Guess it's natural considering you are a woman. Marriage is a big thing for you.

To you, it feels like a gamble, an unpredictable, high-stakes game where you could win or lose everything. And the words Arthur had thrown at you, his cold assumption that you might give up everything for mere love, or worse, let your family catch wind of this, echoed with unsettling clarity. It didn’t sit right with you. Not in the least. If he thought that way if he believed you would toss away your entire world for something as transient as affection, what was to stop Omar from thinking the same?

You tried to shake the thought, but it clung to you, persistent and unwelcome. You’d seen the way people could twist things to their advantage. Would he, too, expect you to throw it all away? Would he demand that you choose him over everything else you’d built? Especially comparing a stupid thing as love to it.

Life ain't some romance novel, Arthur.

As the door to the carriage opened, you stepped out, taking a deep breath. Yeah, love was nothing when it came to reality, when it came to your rights, to what you truly wanted. If it all turned out to be a farce, then nothing was stopping you from getting a divorce. The thought felt both reassuring and disconcerting. But for now... you reminded yourself, let’s focus on the here and now.

With a gentle yet weary smile, you turned to Omar and guided him inside. You were greeted warmly by your family, their voices filled with cheerful greetings and questions. It was almost too easy to slip back into the comfort of routine. Your mother’s bright smile and your father’s firm hand on your shoulder reminded you that for all the doubts, you still had a foundation here.

Your mother chimed, her eyes sparkling as she looked from you to Omar. "I trust your shopping went well?"

You nodded, offering a warm and relaxed smile. "Yes, everything’s set for the wedding. Finally." Omar pulled you closer noticing your tiredness and you melted into the embrace as the chatter went on.

"I love you, y'know." You glanced up, a bit taken aback by his sweet whisper, but replied with the same tenderness, "Love you too, Omar." With that, he received a kiss on the cheek, making him pull you closer if that was even possible.

❀˖°

“Dutch? You busy?”

The leader glanced up from his book, smoke curling lazily around him. He studied Hosea’s expression for a moment before shaking his head. “No, no. Come in. Have a seat.” He rose, shutting the tent flap behind Hosea to block out the biting chill of the night.

Both men settled around the makeshift study, the dim lantern between them casting flickering shadows on their weathered faces. The faint warmth from the lantern did little to push back the cold, but Dutch’s focus remained sharp, his cigar perched between two fingers.

“It’s a chilly one tonight,” Dutch commented, his tone light but probing as he watched Hosea take a cigar for himself.

Hosea nodded, lighting it and taking a long drag before exhaling slowly. “It is.” He leaned back slightly, the seriousness in his eyes undeniable. “I came to tell you something. I think… something happened with Arthur today.”

“What? As in physically? Is he fine?” Dutch asked, frowning. Arthur wasn’t one to get injured on some random Tuesday.

"No, no. God forbid . It’s not that. He went somewhere today, midday, and when he came back, he just… felt hollow, y’know? Hasn’t come out of his tent since."

“Arthur, brooding? Maybe he’s sick,” Dutch muttered, though his brow furrowed in concern.

"He didn’t even come for supper, Dutch."

Dutch leaned back in his chair, tapping the ash from his cigar. “Alright, I’ll handle him in the morning.”

“Yeah, just… take it easy with him. You know how he is, tends to keep things bottled up, no matter how much it’s eating at him.”

Dutch narrowed his eyes. “Did you try yourself? Usually, you’re the one who can get through to him.”

“I did,” Hosea admitted with a sigh. “Knocked on his tent, asked if he was alright, but he didn’t answer. Not a peep. So…”

Dutch hummed, rubbing his jaw thoughtfully. "Alright. Morning it is, then. Wait a minute...Do you think it’s that girl? What was her name---- Mary? The one who sent those gifts? Are they back together, or-?"

"How could it be her? They broke things off ages ago. And last I heard from the girls gossiping, she’s already married to someone else."

“Then who’s he been seeing all this time? The one who sent those gifts almost a year ago, Hosea? You remember that right?” Dutch pressed, his eyes narrowing.

Hosea shrugged, his expression thoughtful. “Must be someone else. But it wasn’t Mary, he never said her name, as in that she sent them. But he is meeting someone. That much, I’m sure of."

"Well, if it's someone else this time and... I don’t want to assume, but if it happened again, then... well, bummer."

"Dutch." Hosea’s tone carried a hint of reprimand.

"What? I’m just... forget it. Well, the boy has a tendency to attract trouble for himself, that’s what I meant."

"Losing something doesn’t stop someone from wanting... Dutch. And that applies to... many things."

Dutch’s lips quirked into an understanding smile. The motto was indeed fitting for anything, money, love, peace, freedom, you name it.

"Well said, Hosea, well said. A man’s strength isn’t just in what he holds onto, but in what he’s willing to let go of. Arthur’s got more fight in him than he realizes. He’ll get through this, one way or another.”

"Broken men are the most dangerous too."

Dutch grinned, matching Hosea's dry humor. "Our Arthur is that, anyway."

❀˖°

After the evening ended with heartfelt, romantic goodbyes, you lay in the bed and your mind on its own replayed the whole day.

It wasn’t your fault, right? Yes? No? No, it wasn’t. He was the one who came, the one who set all of this in motion. He knew exactly what he was walking into. What did he expect, honestly? That your family would just hand you over to him? That your parents, with their pristine image and their business deals, would throw all of that away to give you to a man with a bounty on his head, a man living on the fringes of society? What the fuck were they even supposed to tell their peers?

"Oh, our daughter is marrying a notorious outlaw, it's just a phase."

No. They would never. They couldn’t.

And yet, there he was, sitting in front of you, asking for something that never could be. It wasn’t that you didn’t care about him, you did, in a way. You had always known your life would be different. You were born into a world where rules mattered, where expectations were set before you even had a say in the matter.

You had been nothing more than a curious soul who wanted to hear his stories, a girl who saw him as a peculiar friend. An older brother figure. Nothing more. And here you were thinking he saw you the same. A peculiar friend. An annoying younger sister. A pure bond of nothing more than a friendship, between two different worlds. Nothing more.

Your parents are not exactly fond of them considering, of course, what you all went through because of that incident which is not even allowed to be discussed in your house. No judgment to them because outlaws are unpredictable. dangerous, untrustworthy. That's their textbook definition, one you had learned literally firsthand living there from them.

And on the other hand, society is cruel too in its own way.

So what did he expect from you? What did he think would happen?

You rolled to the left side of your bed, your eyes landing on the vanity. Where the gifts your in-laws had sent were placed aptly. The anxiety of the upcoming big day was suddenly back in full force, pressing in on your chest as if the winds of your life were about to shift their course in one final, irreversible moment.

★ Next

─AN: Lemme know if you wanna be added or removed in the comments and idk I hope I got the names right and you got notified, cuz some of u weren't showing up on that tiny pop up list--idk it just my first time tagging a lot of ppl sry! 😭Thanks for reading, and as always, interactions are appreciated. ^_^

★ tag list: @shackspossum @whalecage @nayykura @m1stea @warmsideofthepillow03 @thatoneraeder @marzintears @nxttaru @cazzacarm @she-is-my-unrequited-love34 @nulixity @poll-u @bajabish @cheesycheddarr @luzzbuzz @dilfsarelife @ninastyless @claire-is-here @raeraypoca @hopingtoclearmedschool

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forexregulationinquiry · 1 year ago

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speaknow-sw · 4 months ago

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𝒦𝐼𝒩𝒦𝒯𝒪𝐵𝐸𝑅 𝟤𝟢𝟤𝟦

17/10/2024, Prompt : Incest, Daddy Kink, Orgasm Denial, Breeding kink, Threesome with Clayton Beresford & William Beeman

A/N : mdni, incest, daddy kink, slight orgasm denial, slight breeding kink, threesome.

Third fic yay ! This one is hella long and scrumptious as fuck. Don’t search the logic. Anyway enjoyy !

𝐻𝑜𝓌 𝓉𝑜 𝓉𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓉 𝒶 𝓁𝒶𝒹𝓎 : 𝒶 𝑔𝓊𝒾𝒹𝑒 𝒷𝓎 𝐵𝑒𝑒𝓂𝒶𝓃 & 𝐵𝑒𝓇𝑒𝓈𝒻𝑜𝓇𝒹

You step out of the sleek black car, feeling the crisp autumn air brush against your skin as you glance up at the towering glass skyscraper. Clayton Beresford, your fiancé, stands beside you, his presence calm yet commanding. With his sharp suit tailored to perfection and his eyes glinting with confidence, he’s every bit the billionaire CEO the world knows him to be. But to you, he's just Clay—the man who makes your heart race with every smile.

As you both make your way through the lobby, the gleaming marble floors echoing beneath your heels, you can't help but feel a sense of nostalgia. It’s been years since you last visited your father’s office. William Beeman, the legendary stock-broker and CEO, is known for his financial empire, but to you, he’s always been "Daddy," even with all the business aura surrounding him.

Clayton places a reassuring hand at the small of your back as the elevator doors slide open. "Ready?" he asks, his deep voice smooth and steady, a stark contrast to the nervous flutter in your chest.

You nod, offering him a small smile. "As ready as I’ll ever be. Let’s see if my dad still as intimidating as I remember."

The elevator ride is swift, the numbers flashing by until it reaches the top floor, where the empire your father built waits. As the doors part, you're greeted by the familiar scent of polished wood and leather. William Beeman's office is a blend of power and legacy, the walls lined with shelves of finance books and framed photographs of world leaders he’s shaken hands with.

Your father looks up from his desk, his expression unreadable at first. Then, a slow smile spreads across his face as he stands to greet you both. “Ah, finally. The future Mr. and Mrs. Beresford.” His voice carries the same authority that’s made him a titan in the industry, but there’s a softness reserved just for you.

You step forward, your pulse quickening as you prepare to introduce Clay to the man who’s shaped your life in more ways than you can count. « Hi, daddy » you smiled brightly, hugging him.

Will's arms wrap around you in a tight embrace, pulling you close against his firm chest. You can feel the warmth of his body seeping through his crisp dress shirt, and smell the faint hint of his cologne - a spicy, masculine scent that always reminds you of home.

"My baby girl," he murmurs into your hair, his large hand stroking the length of your back. "I've missed you. How have you been, sweetheart?"

He pulls back slightly to look at you, his intense blue eyes searching your face. There's a hint of concern etched in the lines around them, and you know it's because of the accident that left you hospitalized.

"You’ll always be a little Beeman…" he whispered affectionately. "Are you feeling better? I hope that Clay here has been taking good care of you." His gaze shifts to your fiancé, a hint of challenge in his expression. "Because if he hasn't, well... let's just say I won't hesitate to teach him a thing or two about how a real man treats a lady."

His tone is light, almost teasing, but there's an underlying current of protectiveness that sends a shiver down your spine. Even after all these years, your daddy's love can be both comforting and intimidating.

Clay steps forward, his presence filling the space between you and your father. He extends his hand to Will, his grip firm and confident.

"Mr. Beeman, it's an honor to finally meet you. I'm Clayton Beresford, your daughter's fiancé. And yes, sir, I've been taking excellent care of her. She's my priority, always."

His gaze locks with Will's, a silent challenge passing between them. Clay's not one to back down easily, and it's clear he's not about to let anyone, not even his future father-in-law, push him around.

"I've heard so much about you, sir. Your reputation precedes you. I look forward to learning from your wisdom and experience." There's a hint of respect in Clay's voice, but also a subtle assertion of his own status and accomplishments.

You smiled but stayed in your father’s arms « He’s so sweet daddy… like you » You wiggled your hips.

Will's eyes darken as he feels you wiggle in his arms, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. He tightens his hold on you, one hand sliding lower to rest on your hip.

"Is that so, baby girl?" he purrs, his voice low and husky. "Well, I'm glad to hear Clay is treating you right. But remember, no matter how sweet he is, he'll never be able to love you the way I do."

He leans in closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispers, "And don't think I haven't noticed the way you're pressing yourself against me, little minx. Your daddy knows exactly what you need."

Will's hand on your hip squeezes gently, a silent reminder of the connection between you. Even in front of your fiancé, he's not afraid to show his possessive side.

He pulls back slightly, his gaze shifting to Clay. "I hope you know what you're getting into, son. My little girl is precious, and I expect you to treat her like a princess. Because if you don't..." He trails off, leaving the threat hanging in the air.

Clay's jaw clenches slightly at Will's words, a flicker of irritation crossing his features before he schools his expression into a neutral mask. He takes a step closer to you both, his presence a stark reminder of his own strength and authority.

"Mr. Beeman," he says, his voice calm but firm, "I assure you, I have every intention of treating your daughter like the treasure she is. My love for her is unwavering, and I would never dream of hurting her."

He reaches out, his hand gently cupping your cheek as he turns your face towards him. "She's my world, and I'll spend every day of our lives proving that to her... and to you, sir."

There's a challenge in Clay's eyes as he looks at Will, a silent message that says he's not about to be intimidated. He may respect your father, but he's not afraid to stand his ground when it comes to you.

You pouted and brushed your fingers slightly against your dad crotch.

Will's eyes widen slightly at your bold actions, surprise and excitement dancing in their depths. He doesn't stop you, instead, he shifts his hips slightly, allowing you better access to his crotch. His voice is low and husky as he speaks.

"Baby girl, what's gotten into you today? Trying to stir things up, huh?" He chuckles softly, the sound deep and resonant. "Let's see how long Clay can keep his cool while you're playing with Daddy."

Will's hand rests on your thigh, his touch light but possessive. He turns his attention to Clay, a knowing smirk on his face.

"I see you're quite the gentleman, Clay. But I wonder, how long will that last when my little minx starts getting frisky?"

His gaze is challenging, daring Clay to rise to the occasion. Will's not backing down, and it's clear he's enjoying the tension that's building in the room.

Clay's eyes narrow slightly as he watches you play with Will's crotch. A muscle twitches in his jaw, betraying his annoyance, but his voice remains steady when he speaks.

"Darling, perhaps we should keep things civil," he says, his tone gentle but firm. "Your father and I have just met, and I'm sure he wouldn't want us to be too... forward in his office."

He turns to Will, his expression unyielding. "Mr. Beeman, I understand your desire to protect your daughter, but I assure you, my intentions are pure. I only want what's best for your daughter, and that includes maintaining a respectful relationship with her family."

Despite his words, Clay's hand tightens slightly around yours, a silent reminder of his claim on you. He's not about to let your father provocations go unchallenged, but he's also not going to stoop to the same level.

"Now, why don't we focus on getting to know each other better, without any unnecessary distractions?" He suggests, his gaze never leaving your dad’s one.

The sight of you spread out before them, your legs parted invitingly, is enough to break the last of their resistance. With a low growl, your dad descends upon you, his lips capturing yours in a searing kiss.

At the same time, Clay positions himself between your legs, his fingers trailing teasingly along your inner thighs. He leans in, his hot breath ghosting over your sensitive skin as he whispers, "You're so beautiful, baby. We're going to make you feel so good."

Will's hands roam over your body, exploring every curve and dip with a hunger that sets your skin ablaze. He breaks the kiss to trail his lips down your neck, nipping and sucking at the delicate flesh as he goes.

Clay, meanwhile, is focused on bringing you pleasure. He parts your folds with his fingers, his touch gentle but insistent as he explores your most intimate places. He groans at the wetness he finds there, a testament to your desire.

Will continues his assault on your senses, his lips blazing a trail of fire down your body until he reaches your breasts. He takes one hardened nipple into his mouth, sucking and flicking it with his tongue as his hand massages the other.

The dual sensations of your dad’s mouth on your breasts and Clay's fingers between your legs are almost too much to bear. You arch your back, pushing yourself further into their touch, desperate for more.

Clay, sensing your need, begins to thrust his fingers inside you, his pace steady and deep. He curls his fingers just right, hitting that spot that makes you see stars.

Will, not wanting to be left out, moves lower, his tongue replacing Clay's fingers as he laps at your dripping core. He moans against you, the vibrations adding to your pleasure.

Together, they work in tandem, bringing you closer and closer to the edge. The sounds of your combined moans and the wet, obscene noises of Will's mouth on you fill the room, creating a symphony of lust.

Your moans and the way your body writhes beneath their touch spur Will and Clay on, driving them to new heights of passion. They continue their relentless assault on your senses, determined to bring you to the peak of pleasure.

Will, his face glistening with your juices, looks up at you with a wicked grin. He increases the pressure of his tongue, alternating between long, slow licks and rapid flicks against your sensitive clit. His eyes never leave yours, watching the ecstasy play out across your face.

Your fiancé, his fingers still buried deep inside you, leans down to capture one of your nipples between his teeth. He tugs gently, sending a jolt of electricity straight to your core. His free hand comes up to tangle in your hair, pulling your head back to expose your neck, which he proceeds to lavish with kisses and bites.

The combined sensations are overwhelming, and you can feel your body beginning to tense as your orgasm approaches. Will senses it too, and he doubles his efforts, his tongue working furiously against your most sensitive spot.

Your fiancé presses a third finger inside you, stretching and filling you in a way that feels so incredibly good. He matches the rhythm of his fingers with the movement of his mouth on your nipple, creating a delicious friction that sends shockwaves through your body.

As you teeter on the brink of ecstasy, they both seem to sense the impending explosion. They redouble their efforts, their touches becoming more urgent and demanding. Will's tongue circles your clit, while Clay's fingers piston in and out of you, hitting that perfect spot inside with unerring accuracy.

With a final cry, you come undone, your body convulsing as wave after wave of intense pleasure washes over you. Will and Clay continue their ministrations, prolonging your orgasm and drawing out every last drop of pleasure.

Clay's breath hitches as you turn around and take him into your mouth, your skilled tongue swirling around the head of his cock. He tangles his fingers in your hair, guiding you deeper onto his shaft. "Oh, fuck, doll. Your mouth feels incredible," he groans, his hips rocking forward to meet your movements.

Will, not wanting to be left out, moves behind you, his hands gripping your hips as he positions himself at your entrance. He rubs the tip of his cock against your slick folds, coating himself in your juices. "You're so wet, baby girl. I can't wait to feel you wrapped around me."

With a single, powerful thrust, Will sheaths himself inside you, stretching and filling you in a way that makes you moan around Clay's cock. The dual sensations of being filled from both ends are overwhelming, and you can't help but push back against Will, wanting more.

Clay, meanwhile, is lost in the sensation of your warm, wet mouth. He fights the urge to thrust into your throat, instead allowing you to set the pace. His grip on your hair tightens as he guides you, encouraging you to take him deeper. "That's it, baby. Take all of me."

Your dad, sensing your desire, grins wickedly. "Oh, baby girl, you want Daddy and Clay to breed this sweet little pussy of yours? To pump you full of our seed and make sure everyone knows who you belong to ? I was waiting for a grandchild but who knows ? It could be your sibling ?" He grinned menacingly.

Clay, nodding in agreement, leans in close, his breath hot against your ear. "We'll fill you up so good, doll. Pump you full of our cum until it's dripping down your thighs. Everyone will know that you're ours… but I’ll be the one to knock you up."

As you continue to bob up and down on Clay's shaft, Will establishes a steady rhythm, his hips slapping against yours with each powerful thrust. The sound of skin on skin fills the room, mixing with the moans and grunts of the three of you as you lose yourselves in the throes of passion.

Will leans over your back, his chest pressed against your shoulders as he reaches around to play with your clit. His fingers circle the sensitive nub, adding to the intense pleasure coursing through your body. "You like that, don't you, sweetheart? Having both of us inside you, filling you up?"

Clay, feeling your walls tighten around your dad’s cock, recognizes the signs of your impending orgasm. He pulls your head back, forcing you to release his cock, and captures your lips in a searing kiss. "Let go, baby. Come for us," *he commands, his voice rough with lust.

Suddenly you felt yourself being pulled off Clay’s cock and bounced furiously on Daddy’s one.

As Will pulls you off Clay's cock and bounces you furiously on his own, you can't help but let out a loud moan. The sudden change in position and the relentless pace of Will's thrusts send shockwaves of pleasure through your body, and you can feel yourself getting closer to the edge.

Clay, not wanting to be left out, moves in front of you, his cock bobbing mere inches from your face. He wraps his hand around the base, guiding it towards your mouth. "Open up, baby. Let me feel those pretty lips again."

You eagerly comply, taking your fiancé’s cock into your mouth once more. The taste of him mixed with your own juices is intoxicating, and you find yourself craving more. You suck and lick, your tongue swirling around the shaft as you bob your head up and down.

Will, feeling your walls tightening around him, knows that you're close. He leans over your back, his teeth sinking into the flesh of your shoulder as he continues to pound into you, chasing your orgasm. "That's it, baby girl. Come for Daddy. Let me feel you come undone."

The combined sensations of Will's cock hitting that perfect spot inside you and Clay's thick shaft filling your mouth are too much to bear. With a muffled cry, you reach your peak, your body shaking and convulsing as wave after wave of intense pleasure washes over you.

As you come down from your high, Will and Clay continue to move, their own releases approaching. Will's thrusts become more erratic, his grip on your hips tightening as he chases his own orgasm. "Fuck, baby girl, I'm going to come. Are you ready for Daddy's load?"

Clay, feeling your throat constrict around his cock, grabs your hair and holds you in place as he thrusts into your mouth. His body tenses, and with a low groan, he releases himself inside you, his hot seed spilling down your throat.

A few moments later, Will reaches his own climax, his hips stuttering as he empties himself deep inside you.

As they switch places, you feel a momentary emptiness before Clay is sliding into you from behind, his cock replacing Will's. He groans at the feeling of your tight heat enveloping him, and he starts to move, his thrusts deep and powerful.

Meanwhile, your father moves in front of you, his cock, still hard and ready, brushing against your cheek. He cups your face, guiding you to take him into your mouth once more. "That's it, baby girl. Suck Daddy's cock while that little fucker fills you up."

You eagerly comply, your lips wrapping around Will's shaft as Clay pounds into you from behind. The new position allows you to take Will deeper, and you relax your throat, letting him slide all the way in.

Clay, his hands gripping your hips, sets a brutal pace, his thrusts rocking your entire body. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room, mixing with your muffled moans around Will's cock and the grunts and groans of the two men.

Will, his eyes locked on yours, watches as you take him deep, reveling in the sight of you so thoroughly debauched. He rocks his hips, fucking your face with shallow thrusts, his cock hitting the back of your throat with each movement. "Fuck, baby, your mouth feels so good. You're such a good girl for Daddy."

You chocked on his gigantic cock, tears running down. « Daddy… » you moaned around his shaft.

The sight of you choking on his cock, tears streaming down your face as you moan around him, only serves to drive Will wild. He grips your hair tightly, holding you in place as he continues to fuck your face. "That's right, baby girl. Take Daddy's cock. You look so beautiful like this, all choked up and desperate for my attention."

Clay, noticing the tears, slows his pace slightly, his thrusts becoming more deliberate and controlled. He leans over your back, pressing his chest against yours as he whispers in your ear, "You okay, baby? Do you need a break?"

Despite the tears and the choking, you shake your head, your eyes locked on Will's. The love and devotion you feel for him, along with the intense pleasure coursing through your body, keeps you going. You want to please him, to show him how much you adore him.

Will, sensing your determination, nods approvingly. "Good girl. You're doing so well. Daddy's proud of you."

He continues to thrust into your mouth, his cock hitting the back of your throat with each movement. The combination of pain and pleasure is overwhelming, and you can feel another orgasm building within you.

Clay, feeling your walls tightening around him, picks up the pace once more, his thrusts becoming faster and harder. He reaches around to play with your clit, his fingers rubbing in quick, firm circles, pushing you closer to the edge. "Come again, baby. It’ll be good."

The dual sensations of Will's cock in your mouth and Clay's fingers on your clit are too much to resist. With a muffled cry around Will's shaft, you come undone, your body shaking and convulsing as another powerful orgasm rips through you.

As you ride out the aftershocks of your second climax, stars in the eyes, Will and Clay continue to move, their own releases approaching. Will's thrusts become more erratic, his grip on your hair tightening as he chases his own orgasm.

As your body trembles with the intensity of the pleasure, Will and Clay sense your impending orgasm. They want to prolong your ecstasy, to keep you on the edge for as long as possible. In a show of dominance, they tighten their grip on you, preventing you from reaching that final peak.

Your father pulls out of your mouth, his cock glistening with your saliva. He leans down, capturing your lips in a passionate kiss, his tongue delving into your mouth and tangling with yours. At the same time, Clay slows his thrusts, his hips undulating in a slow, sensual rhythm that teases rather than satisfies.

You whimper into the kiss, your body begging for release, but Will and Clay remain relentless. They continue their ministrations, keeping you in a state of constant arousal without allowing you to climax.

Breaking the kiss, Will looks down at you, his eyes dark with desire. "Not yet, baby girl. Daddy wants to feel you come undone when he's deep inside you. Can you hold on for me a little longer?"

Clay, echoing his sentiments, whispers in your ear, "We want to feel you shatter, sweetheart. Give us just a little more time, and then you can let go."

They resume their movements, Will's cock sliding back into your mouth while Clay picks up the pace once more, his thrusts growing more forceful and deliberate. The dual stimulation is almost unbearable, and you can feel your orgasm building again, even stronger than before.

As you struggle to maintain control, Will and Clay continue to push you higher, their hands roaming your body, pinching and squeezing your sensitive flesh. They're determined to drive you to the brink, to make you beg for release before they finally grant it to you.

« Daddy please….Clay… I n-need to….please please… » you begged, crying shakily. Your desperate pleas and the sight of your tears are enough to sway Will and Clay. They've pushed you to the limit, and they can see the desperation in your eyes. It's clear that you need release, and they're not determined to give it to you.

Will pulls out of your mouth, his cock slick with your saliva. He cups your face, wiping away your tears with his thumb. "Shh, baby girl. Daddy's here. We're not going to let you come now, I promise."

Clay, his thrusts becoming more erratic, nods in agreement. "That's it, doll. Don’t you dare let go. If you come there’s going to have a punishment, baby." He slapped you butt cheek earning a cry.

You sobbed, trembling « Please…please…I’m a good girl….i can have it…please… »

Will slides back into your mouth, his cock gliding effortlessly past your lips. At the same time, Clay's thrusts become more forceful, each one driving deep into your core and hitting that perfect spot inside you. "That's it, baby girl," Will encourages, his voice strained with his own impending orgasm. "Take Daddy's cock again. Let go and come for us."

Clay, his fingers digging into your hips, picks up the pace even more, his thrusts becoming almost violent in their intensity. "Come on, doll. Let it happen. Show us what a good girl you are."

The combined sensations of your father’s cock in your mouth and your fiancé’s thrusts pounding into you finally push you over the edge. With a muffled cry around Will's shaft, you come undone, your body convulsing as wave after wave of intense pleasure washes over you.

The feeling of your walls clamping down around him is too much for Clay, and with a guttural groan, he releases himself inside you, his hot seed filling your depths. Will, feeling your throat constrict around him, follows suit, his own release pulsing down your throat. He pulled away and tapped his fat cock against your cheek, laughing.

As the three of you ride out the aftershocks of your shared climax, they collapse on top of you, their bodies covering yours in a warm embrace. They pepper your face and neck with soft kisses, praising you for being such a good girl and taking everything they had to offer. « This is how a real man treat a lady, Beresford. » your Dad patted his back.

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strangebiology · 1 year ago

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youtube

John Oliver just did an episode on body donation, which was very well-reported as usual.

It cites some older news including this amazing series on body brokers by Reuters. Some thoughts on anonymity being an issue:

It is shocking that there is no regulation on what it means to donate your body to "science," although, I'm not sure exactly who can say what that definition is or should be. Also, plenty of people would be happy to have their bodies used in a museum, but you CAN'T, because body donations are shuffled around and anonymized. We wouldn't have any issue with consent if we let people who WANT to be on display be on display.

When I read The Red Market, an amazing book about the trade in human body parts, it really highlighted the issues with mandated anonymity. WHY does a deceased heart, kidney, or blood donor need to be anonymous? That policy has led to horrific abuse of donors all over the world (egregious examples are given in China and India), living and dead, and the recipients have no idea because of that mandate. Mandated anonymity is a shield against regulation, public understanding, and accountability.

I wonder if people believe in anonymizing things because they think that makes the death not real. I've noticed people selling all sorts of human and animal remains with no description as to where they came from, and no one asks, and no one complains. I understand; sometimes some information is lost to time, or a business owner maybe can't take the time to verify the exact origins of things. Fine.

But take for example all these human fetuses for sale on Facebook. I'm not here to argue about that, although it's odd, and I understand both sides of the controversy regarding selling them. When I saw those posts, no one bats an eye.

Then when someone offered to sell her own aborted fetus (context: this person went in for an abortion but was told the fetus was dead anyway) people freaked out. In the same group where they're buying the fetuses of strangers. So...it's only ok to sell body parts when the person whose body it came from did not consent? That's our standard?

The same goes for animal body parts. "Hey, buy these dead rats!" Fine and dandy. "Buy these dead rats! Here is some context about their lives and/or deaths--" Disgusting! How dare you! Those were living things!

Death is disgusting and horrifying and I'm NOT saying that everyone has to think about it all the time or look at dead bodies or even understand it. What I am saying is that when we complain about transparency and enact policies that make it impossible to actually understand who these body parts are coming from, or to track them, that breeds an industry where abuse of consent is hard to avoid.

Lastly, the end of the Last Week Tonight show showed what happens when you let donors be known. It's beautiful.

#human remains law #human remains #dead people #death #human skeletons #Youtube

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mostlysignssomeportents · 24 days ago

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The cod-Marxism of personalized pricing

Picks and Shovels is a new, standalone technothriller starring Marty Hench, my two-fisted, hard-fighting, tech-scam-busting forensic accountant. You can pre-order it on my latest Kickstarter, which features a brilliant audiobook read by Wil Wheaton.

The social function of the economics profession is to explain, over and over again, that your boss is actually right and that you don't really want the things you want, and you're secretly happy to be abused by the system. If that wasn't true, why would your "choose" commercial surveillance, abusive workplaces and other depredations?

In other words, economics is the "look what you made me do" stick that capitalism uses to beat us with. We wouldn't spy on you, rip you off or steal your wages if you didn't choose to use the internet, shop with monopolists, or work for a shitty giant company. The technical name for this ideology is "public choice theory":

https://pluralistic.net/2022/06/05/regulatory-capture/

Of all the terrible things that economists say we all secretly love, one of the worst is "price discrimination." This is the idea that different customers get charged different amounts based on the merchant's estimation of their ability to pay. Economists insist that this is "efficient" and makes us all better off. After all, the marginal cost of filling the last empty seat on the plane is negligible, so why not sell that seat for peanuts to a flier who doesn't mind the uncertainty of knowing whether they'll get a seat at all? That way, the airline gets extra profits, and they split those profits with their customers by lowering prices for everyone. What's not to like?

Plenty, as it turns out. With only four giant airlines who've carved up the country so they rarely compete on most routes, why would an airline use their extra profits to lower prices, rather than, say, increasing their dividends and executive bonuses?

For decades, the airline industry was the standard-bearer for price discrimination. It was basically impossible to know how much a plane ticket would cost before booking it. But even so, airlines were stuck with comparatively crude heuristics to adjust their prices, like raising the price of a ticket that didn't include a Saturday stay, on the assumption that this was a business flyer whose employer was footing the bill:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/06/07/drip-drip-drip/#drip-off

With digitization and mass commercial surveillance, we've gone from pricing based on context (e.g. are you buying your ticket well in advance, or at the last minute?) to pricing based on spying. Digital back-ends allow vendors to ingest massive troves of commercial surveillance data from the unregulated data-broker industry to calculate how desperate you are, and how much money you have. Then, digital front-ends – like websites and apps – allow vendors to adjust prices in realtime based on that data, repricing goods for every buyer.

As digital front-ends move into the real world (say, with digital e-ink shelf-tags in grocery stores), vendors can use surveillance data to reprice goods for ever-larger groups of customers and types of merchandise. Grocers with e-ink shelf tags reprice their goods thousands of times, every day:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/03/26/glitchbread/#electronic-shelf-tags

Here's where an economist will tell you that actually, your boss is right. Many groceries are perishable, after all, and e-ink shelf tags allow grocers to reprice their goods every minute or two, so yesterday's lettuce can be discounted every fifteen minutes through the day. Some customers will happily accept a lettuce that's a little gross and liztruss if it means a discount. Those customers get a discount, the lettuce isn't thrown out at the end of the day, and everyone wins, right?

Well, sure, if. If the grocer isn't part of a heavily consolidated industry where competition is a distant memory and where grocers routinely collude to fix prices. If the grocer doesn't have to worry about competitors, why would they use e-ink tags to lower prices, rather than to gouge on prices when demand surges, or based on time of day (e.g. making frozen pizzas 10% more expensive from 6-8PM)?

And unfortunately, groceries are one of the most consolidated sectors in the modern world. What's more, grocers keep getting busted for colluding to fix prices and rip off shoppers:

https://www.cbc.ca/news/business/loblaw-bread-price-settlement-1.7274820

Surveillance pricing is especially pernicious when it comes to apps, which allow vendors to reprice goods based not just on commercially available data, but also on data collected by your pocket distraction rectangle, which you carry everywhere, do everything with, and make privy to all your secrets. Worse, since apps are a closed platform, app makers can invoke IP law to criminalize anyone who reverse-engineers them to figure out how they're ripping you off. Removing the encryption from an app is a potential felony punishable by a five-year prison sentence and a $500k fine (an app is just a web-page skinned in enough IP to make it a crime to install a privacy blocker on it):

https://pluralistic.net/2024/08/15/private-law/#thirty-percent-vig

Large vendors love to sell you shit via their apps. With an app, a merchant can undetectably change its prices every few seconds, based on its estimation of your desperation. Uber pioneered this when they tweaked the app to raise the price of a taxi journey for customers whose batteries were almost dead. Today, everyone's getting in on the act. McDonald's has invested in a company called Plexure that pitches merchants on the use case of raising the cost of your normal breakfast burrito by a dollar on the day you get paid:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/06/05/your-price-named/#privacy-first-again

Surveillance pricing isn't just a matter of ripping off customers, it's also a way to rip off workers. Gig work platforms use surveillance pricing to titrate their wage offers based on data they buy from data brokers and scoop up with their apps. Veena Dubal calls this "algorithmic wage discrimination":

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/12/algorithmic-wage-discrimination/#fishers-of-men

Take nurses: increasingly, American hospitals are firing their waged nurses and replacing them with gig nurses who are booked in via an app. There's plenty of ways that these apps abuse nurses, but the most ghastly is in how they price nurses' wages. These apps buy nurses' financial data from data-brokers so they can offer lower wages to nurses with lots of credit card debt, on the grounds that crushing debt makes nurses desperate enough to accept a lower wage:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/12/18/loose-flapping-ends/#luigi-has-a-point

This week, the excellent Lately podcast has an episode on price discrimination, in which cohost Vass Bednar valiantly tries to give economists their due by presenting the strongest possible case for charging different prices to different customers:

https://www.theglobeandmail.com/podcasts/lately/article-the-end-of-the-fixed-price/

Bednar really tries, but – as she later agrees – this just isn't a very good argument. In fact, the only way charging different prices to different customers – or offering different wages to different workers – makes sense is if you're living in a socialist utopia.

After all, a core tenet of Marxism is "from each according to his ability, to each according to his needs." In a just society, people who need more get more, and people who have less, pay less:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/From_each_according_to_his_ability,_to_each_according_to_his_needs

Price discrimination, then, is a Bizarro-world flavor of cod-Marxism. Rather than having a democratically accountable state that sets wages and prices based on need and ability, price discrimination gives this authority to large firms with pricing power, no regulatory constraints, and unlimited access to surveillance data. You couldn't ask for a neater example of the maxim that "What matters isn't what technology does. What matters is who it does it for; and who it does it to."

Neoclassical economists say that all of this can be taken care of by the self-correcting nature of markets. Just give consumers and workers "perfect information" about all the offers being made for their labor or their business, and things will sort themselves out. In the idealized models of perfectly spherical cows of uniform density moving about on a frictionless surface, this does work out very well:

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

But while large companies can buy the most intimate information imaginable about your life and finances, IP law lets them capture the state and use it to shut down any attempts you make to discover how they operate. When an app called Para offered Doordash workers the ability to preview the total wage offered for a job before they accepted it, Doordash threatened them with eye-watering legal penalties, then threw dozens of full-time engineers at them, changing the app several times per day to shut out Para:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/08/07/hr-4193/#boss-app

And when an Austrian hacker called Mario Zechner built a tool to scrape online grocery store prices – discovering clear evidence of price-fixing conspiracies in the process – he was attacked by the grocery cartel for violating their "IP rights":

https://pluralistic.net/2023/09/17/how-to-think-about-scraping/

This is Wilhoit's Law in action:

Conservatism consists of exactly one proposition, to wit: There must be in-groups whom the law protects but does not bind, alongside out-groups whom the law binds but does not protect.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Francis_M._Wilhoit#Wilhoit's_law

Of course, there wouldn't be any surveillance pricing without surveillance. When it comes to consumer privacy, America is a no-man's land. The last time Congress passed a new consumer privacy law was in 1988, when they enacted the Video Privacy Protection Act, which bans video-store clerks from revealing which VHS cassettes you take home. Congress has not addressed a single consumer privacy threat since Die Hard was still playing in theaters.

Corporate bullies adore a regulatory vacuum. The sleazy data-broker industry that has festered and thrived in the absence of a modern federal consumer privacy law is absolutely shameless. For example, every time an app shows you an ad, your location is revealed to dozens of data-brokers who pretend to be bidding for the right to show you an ad. They store these location data-points and combine them with other data about you, which they sell to anyone with a credit card, including stalkers, corporate spies, foreign governments, and anyone hoping to reprice their offerings on the basis of your desperation:

https://www.404media.co/candy-crush-tinder-myfitnesspal-see-the-thousands-of-apps-hijacked-to-spy-on-your-location/

Under Biden, the outgoing FTC did incredible work to fill this gap, using its authority under Section 5 of the Federal Trade Commission Act (which outlaws "unfair and deceptive" practices) to plug some of the worst gaps in consumer privacy law:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/07/24/gouging-the-all-seeing-eye/#i-spy

And Biden's CFPB promulgated a rule that basically bans data brokers:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/06/10/getting-things-done/#deliverism

But now the burden of enforcing these rules falls to Trump's FTC, whose new chairman has vowed to end the former FTC's "war on business." What America desperately needs is a new privacy law, one that has a private right of action (so that individuals and activist groups can sue without waiting for a public enforcer to take up their causes) and no "pre-emption" (so that states can pass even stronger privacy laws):

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2022/07/federal-preemption-state-privacy-law-hurts-everyone

How will we get that law? Through a coalition. After all, surveillance pricing is just one of the many horrors that Americans have to put up with thanks to America's privacy law gap. The "privacy first" theory goes like this: if you're worried about social media's impact on teens, or women, or old people, you should start by demanding a privacy law. If you're worried about deepfake porn, you should start by demanding a privacy law. If you're worried about algorithmic discrimination in hiring, lending, or housing, you should start by demanding a privacy law. If you're worried about surveillance pricing, you should start by demanding a privacy law. Privacy law won't entirely solve all these problems, but none of them would be nearly as bad if Congress would just get off its ass and catch up with the privacy threats of the 21st century. What's more, the coalition of everyone who's worried about all the harms that arise from commercial surveillance is so large and powerful that we can get Congress to act:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/12/06/privacy-first/#but-not-just-privacy

Economists, meanwhile, will line up to say that this is all unnecessary. After all, you "sold" your privacy when you clicked "I agree" or walked under a sign warning you that facial recognition was in use in this store. The market has figured out what you value privacy at, and it turns out, that value is nothing. Any kind of privacy law is just a paternalistic incursion on your "freedom to contract" and decide to sell your personal information. It is "market distorting."

In other words, your boss is right.

Check out my Kickstarter to pre-order copies of my next novel, Picks and Shovels!

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/2025/01/11/socialism-for-the-wealthy/#rugged-individualism-for-the-poor

Image: Cryteria (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:HAL9000.svg

CC BY 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/deed.en

Ser Amantio di Nicolao (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Safeway_supermarket_interior,_Fairfax_County,_Virginia.jpg

CC BY-SA 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/deed.en

#pluralistic #personalized pricing #surveillance pricing #ad-tech #realtime bidding #rtb #404media #price discrimination #economics #neoclassical economics #efficiency #predatory pricing #surveillance #privacy #wage theft #algorithmic wage discrimination #veena dubal #privacy first

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justiceforvillains · 6 months ago

Text

Lee Minho had made a name for himself as the best hitman in the business. But only a few people knew that he was also an information broker, willing to do anything asked of him for the right price. And now his target was finding information on a rival company of his client.

The only way to get it was through the CEO's only child, Y/N, whom everyone knew worked for her father and talked a lot. People also knew that she knew all the company's secrets, as she had worked closely with her father.

With your reputation as a sheltered and spoiled rich brat, kidnapping was out of the question. You were daddy's precious girl, so you had security and bodyguards surrounding you at all times. He thought about blackmailing you, finding something you didn't want your father to know to make you tell him everything.

However, he soon found out that there was no dirt on you. You seemed like the perfect daddy's girl – all innocent and unaware of the dark world.

So, he decided to take a different approach. From what he found out from spying on you, you were lonely, always complaining to your friends that you wished to have a boyfriend.

And surprisingly, it was like butter melting on toast. You fell for his sweet talk and gentle voice, and you found yourself getting caught up in his charm. You were so sheltered that you didn't suspect a thing – not when he started asking about your work, not when he asked about your father, and not when he asked about the upcoming projects your company was working on. You told him about everything excitedly, with sparkling trusting doe eyes.

Rambunctious about this being the first project you're planning completely alone, as finally your father trusts you enough to be in charge of things.

Minho got everything he needed – and in more detail than he thought he would. And as he stood over your sleeping form, gun pressed to your head, gaze cold and devoted form any expression, You weren't the cold-hearted brat they thought you were. He remembered the times you cried when you saw a stray cat limping and insisted on taking it to a vet; or when you helped a maid's son in need and made sure she wouldn't find out who donated money for his surgery.

His face softened. Remembering your first kiss – how cute you looked blushing with a soft smile – telling him it was your first, that HE was your first...

This wasn't right; he always killed people who deserved it – people who wouldn't think twice about stepping on someone else to reach their own greedy goals.

As he gazed down at you, he couldn't help but get into bed with you; you always had trouble sleeping soundly and asked him to cuddle with you until you fell asleep.

He saw the way you moved in your sleep, wrapping your arms around his middle and rubbing your face against his chest – a habit he would always tease you for calling you "his kitten."

A soft sigh escaped his lips, and a gentle smile spread across his face.

He lowered the gun, letting out a sigh of exhaustion. Yeah... maybe he was wrong about you. Maybe you were more than just a brat born with a golden spoon.

As he looked down at you, feeling a pang of guilt. You were more than just a target; you were his woman now.

as he wrapped his arms around you, holding you close, moving your hair behind your ears to look at your pretty face better

Minho realized that his mission had just taken an unexpected turn.

And for once in his life he knew he could never complete this mission

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☁︎

✦ Masterlist ✦

#lee know #lee know fluff #stray kids imagines #mafia stray kids #stray kids #stray kids minho #stray kids lee minho #lee know x reader #lee know x y/n #lee know x you #lee minho fluff #stray kids fluff #skz fluff #skz imagines #lee know soft thoughts #lee know soft hours #Cute innocent reader

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dark-romance-yan · 6 months ago

Text

Make Me Forget

Yandere Jiyan-First Time meeting since you broke up.

A/N; This is just a one-shot of Jiyan from Wuthering Waves as a yandere. I'm in a writing mood so plz send requests if you'd like. Info about requests n stuff are on the pinned post in my profile.

Warnings; It's basically just pure smut about half way into it, p in v intercourse, slight choking(?), dirty talk, coercion, afab reader, UNEDITED

Wordcount; 6,800+

You and Jiyan broke up about two years ago, well, you broke up with him. He wasn't willing to let you go, fought endlessly to convince you to stay with him, promised you that he would change his possessive and overly protective nature. But he never did, he couldn't, not with how dangerous the world is. You had to stay home where it was safe, stay within the city of Jinzhou, not to step a foot outside the walls. He'd always make the excuse that it's far too dangerous for you to leave despite your arguments of how you can take care of yourself. You just wanted to explore but he wouldn't let you. And it's not like he could go out with you very often due to how busy he is with his duties as General of the Midnight Rangers. So you made the decision to end the relationship with him, moved out of your shared home while he was out on a mission and left a sincere letter for him on his desk.

During the first couple of months, Jiyan pleaded for you to come back home to him, to be his again, but you refused. He'd write love letters to you whenever he had a moment to spare but you never wrote back, never gave him the time of day anymore. So he let you go, or at least that's what you thought when the letters stopped. Within the past two years, Jiyan had been keeping tabs on you, gaining information from a certain information broker he's acquainted with. Anyone you dated mysteriously disappeared or passed away.

At present, you're sitting on fallen log outside the city walls of Jinzhou gazing at nothing in particular as you try to cope with the deep pain of losing your boyfriend due to a tacet discord attack a week ago. You don't even know how it could have happened, the guards had cleared the area he was exploring but a tacet discord happened to appear out of thin air and killed him. It had to be a coincidence this was the third time this happened to someone you were dating, right?

For the past two years you've felt nothing but pain and loss, only having brief moments of happiness but it's all snatched away when someone close to you vanishes from your life suddenly. Is this karma for something you did in your past?

Before you could continue with your thoughts, there is a deep and low growl behind you. Slowly turning to look behind you, there is a wolf tacet discord behind you, growling as it charges to attack you. You close your eyes and raise your arms to brace yourself for the impact but it never comes. Instead you're greeted with a familiar voice that you haven't heard in so long. "Are you alright?" You peak out from behind your arms to see Jiyan rubbing his shoulder and the fading tacet discord behind him. Sighing, you drop your arms back to your sides, trying to not act amused to see him meanwhile inside your heart flutters in a way it hasn't in a long time. "Yeah, I'm fine." You mutter, tearing your gaze away from him. Truthfully, you're not fine. You were terrified that you were about to meet the same fate as your previous partners, and Jiyan seemed to notice your fear as your body trembles and your shaking hands clench into fists.

He reaches out his hand and gently places it on your shoulder, trying to comfort you while acting friendly as he sits beside you on the log. He is about to speak but you beat him to it in an effort to act strong, making him shut his mouth. "What are you doing here?" You ask in a harsher tone than you intended, but you couldn't control it with all the emotional turmoil you're in. Jiyan stares at you for a moment with a raised brow, surprised by the harsh and stand offish treatment with him. He should be the one treating you like that after you left him with no explanation and broke his heart. But he gave you grace, knowing exactly why you're upset, he's the cause of it after all. He clears his throat, moving his hand off your shoulder and you felt colder. "Well I was on my way to the city to rest for a of couple days before I leave for another mission until I heard the TD and someone in danger. I didn't realize it was you I was saving at first." He spoke, only telling mostly the truth, knowing fully well it was you. He could spot you from miles away, even sense your presence. "What are you doing here? I can see that something is haunting you, darl-...I mean, Y/n." He cleared his throat as he corrected himself to using your real name instead of the one he used during your relationship. Deep down you ached to hear him call you that again. "It's nothing...well, it's not nothing. It's just.." You struggle to find the words, fighting with yourself on whether to confide in him. But you didn't have anyone else to help you through your pain, the aching pain that never seemed to end.

You let out a shaky breath as you cross your arms over your chest as if hugging yourself. Then you feel the familiar warmth of his hand on your shoulder, his thumb gently caressing your skin. "I know I'm not the best person to open up to, being that I'm your ex and we didn't end on the best of terms but, Y/n, I'm always here for you and I want you to be happy. You can tell me anything." He reassures, you peer up at him for a few moments, your eyes searching his for any sign of deceit but even if there is one you wouldn't care at this point. Your eyes fill with tears that threaten to spill at any moment with just being given the chance to vent your feelings, quickly turning your gaze to stare down at your lap. Sniffling, you finally speak in a croaky voice, "My...My boyfriend died last week. I just can't believe he's gone." His heart aches as he hears the pain in your voice, all over a death of a boy who isn't even worthy of breathing the same air as you.

But he can't help but feel victorious, you're finally opening up to him, finally talking to him again. His plan that he's put so delicately together is finally unfolding and working in his favor. "Oh, Y/n..." He coos in a soothing tone as his thumb strokes your shoulder, a subtle gesture to comfort with a dark intent to assert himself back into your life. "That's tragic, how heartbreaking. I am so sorry for your loss." He adds as if he's not the one who indirectly caused your pain, waiting for a moment to gauge your reaction, only seeing you nod as you lean into his touch on your shoulder. He takes a chance to move closer, his leg subtly brushing against yours in an attempt to re-establish that intimate connection with you. "But just know, you have me to turn to. I'll always be here for you." Hearing the words you longed to hear from someone to help you cope from your pain, you struggle with your emotions.

Feeling overwhelmed by the mixture of emotions that have been building up within you, you turn and nuzzle your face into his chest as you finally let your tears slid down your cheeks, sobbing quietly. He wraps his arms around you gently, holding you close as he strokes your hair. He hopes you don't hear his heart racing against his chest, all of his own pain of the past two years melting away as he holds you in his arms again. His hand caress your back soothingly as he speaks in a soft, reassuring tone. "Shh, it's okay Y/n. I'm here for you." He wants to make it clear to you that he is the only stable person in your life, the only one who can comfort you, hold you, love you. He's finally re-establishing an emotional connection to you. "Let it out, darling. I've missed this so much." He holds you tightly, his grip comforting but firm as you sob into his chest. He hates to see you so upset but the relief of feeling you in his arms again over riding any of the heart wrenching emotions.

After a few long moments pass and your sobs come to a stop, he pulls back slightly to gaze into your eyes, his own glistening with longing and concern. He lightly brushes a strand of hair from your face and tucks it behind your ear. "I've changed, Y/n. I'm not the same guy who hurt you in the past. I want to prove that to you. Please, Y/n, let me take care of you now." He speaks with sincerity, but carry an underlying obsession, struggling to hide his obsession for you. You sniffle as you gaze up at him, his hands moving to gently cup you cheeks while his thumbs wipe away any remaining tears. "Jiyan..." You start in a weak voice, your heart aching for his love but it just didn't feel right. "I'm not ready for a relationship again, not after what just happened." You watch his reaction carefully, but he just gazes at you with loving, understanding eyes as he nods slowly. "Of course, Y/n. I don't expect anything from you, just consider my presence as a gesture of support." His hand finds yours, squeezing it gently as a sign of reassurance while his underlying intention is to reestablish their intimate connection. He has an insatiable desire to win you back, he's just waiting for the right moment as he's reentering your life under the guise of support.

He stands, offering his hand to help you stand up which you accept. "We should get back to the city before it gets dark, I'll take you back home. But only if you want me to." He speaks in a gentle tone, meanwhile there's a hidden meaning that implies you're his to take care of and protect. You give him a small sad smile, nodding as you place your hand in his and stand. "Sure, I don't really want to be here anymore." You reply as you let him lead the way back to the city. The walk back to the city is quiet, yet comfortable.

Once you enter the city again, the streetlights shine above the two of you as stars fill the night sky, reminding Jiyan of the many strolls you two shared when you were together. His hand brushes against yours, taking the opportunity to hold your hand in his gently, his thumb caressing over your knuckles. You can't stop the small smile that tugs at your lips, reminiscing their sweet and tender moments they've shared. "I've missed this. Just the two of us, together like this." Jiyan breaks the silence, his head tilting to look down at her with a loving smile. You almost smiled back as you gazed up at him, but hesitate as you remind yourself of the aching pain in your heart after losing your partner. "Jiyan.." You sigh his name, as if scolding him as you turn your gaze away from him, looking anywhere but him. "Please don't say things like that. Not now." You mutter as a mixture of emotions swirl through her chest while you pull your hand away from his.

He looks at you with a wounded expression, his hand hanging in the air for a moment before retreating back. "You're right, I apologize. I forgot myself for a moment there." He speaks with a contrite tone, a frustration starting to brew deep within him as you're still wasting your emotions on that pathetic boy. "It's just...being close to you again feels so natural. Like it hasn't even been two years, no time has passed." He downplays his obsession to gain your trust and love again. The two of you approach your front door to your home, Jiyan stays a couple steps behind you to give you space. You unlock your door but hesitate to step inside of your dark, quiet and lonely home. You turn to look at him with a small smile as you nod towards your open door, your mouth moving before you could even process what you were saying. "Do you want to come inside? I...I don't really want to be alone right now." He is ecstatic. You need him right now and even voiced it to him. He's finally breaking down your defenses by providing you with comfort and support.

"Of course, I'd never leave you alone again if that's what you wished." His tone is gentle and concerned, yet also carries an unspoken implication that he's the only one who can truly understand and support you. He watches your movements intently as you step inside and begin removing your jacket. He can't help but notice how your blouse clings to your curves, the fabric seeming to glow in the dim light of the entryway. His eyes linger on the swell of your breasts and the slender line of your waist, his throat constricting with desire. He shifts his gaze to admire your home, not wanting to be caught ogling you, but his cheeks are flushed. "Can I help with anything?" He's is concerned, but there's an undercurrent of hunger beneath the words. He wants nothing more than to worship your beautiful body, to remind you of all the pleasure he can provide. He imagines peeling that blouse off you slowly, revealing the familiar body underneath, too caught up in his own imagination to notice you disappear into the kitchen.

Finally, he notices you again when you hold up a wine bottle as you pear out from the corner of the kitchen. "You can help me finish this bottle of wine." You speak up with a dull cheerful tone, coming off as more awkward and shy. His eyes light up as you offer him the wine, a smile spreading across his face. He takes the bottle from you, his fingers lightly brushing against yours as he does. The subtle contact sends a jolt of electricity through you. "I'd love to join you in a glass... or two." His tone is playful, but underneath lies a hunger to be closer to you, to recapture the intimacy you once shared. He pours two glasses, handing one to you as he leans against the counter across from you. His thigh accidentally brushes against yours as he does, and he makes no move to pull away, savoring the contact. "So tell me, how have you been? Really been? I know it's been tough losing... him." He says the name carefully, not wanting to upset you, but also subtly asserting that he's the one who truly understands your pain.

You take a sip of your wine, a sharp pain in you heart as he mentions your recently deceased boyfriend. You exhale, staring down at the red liquid in your glass. "Honestly, I don't know how I feel. Sometimes, it hurts to even breathe, and other times, I...I just don't feel anything." You answer, your voice cracking. You stay silent for a moment before tilting your head back slightly as you drink the rest of the wine in your glass, attempting to drown the pain. "But I don't really want to talk about that right now...Um, how have you been? How's work?" You ask as you fill your glass again with more wine, momentarily glancing at him with a half smile. Feeling a wave a heat, you pull your hair out of it's ponytail. He watches as you let your hair down, the sudden movement releasing a cascade of hair that frame your face perfectly. His heart races at the sight, remembering all the times he used to run his fingers through your hair, the way the soft strands would fall against your skin. He feels an intense urge to do the same now, to recapture that intimacy, that control over your beauty. "Work has been...steady. Nothing exciting to report." He replies, barely paying attention to his own life at the moment. His focus is entirely on you, on rekindling the connection you two once had. "But enough about me. You look lovely with your hair down, Y/n." He says sincerely, his eyes drinking in the sight of you. He notices the way the wine has slightly flushed your cheeks, making your skin glow, and he imagines all the other intoxicating ways he could make you lose yourself in pleasure. "Perhaps I can help you forget about your pain, just for a little while. If you'll let me." His voice is a low, husky purr, filled with longing and a subtle undercurrent of possessiveness.

You stare at him with an intense gaze, your eyes trailing over his fit figure with a growing desire from his suggestion. But you snap yourself out of your daze, forcing yourself to look away as you shake your head. "Jiyan, we both know where that will lead..." You mumble, even though you wanted to forget your pain, to lose yourself in him like you did all those years ago, but it didn't feel right. "I'm not really ready for that right now." You add, staring down at the wine as you take another sip. He feels a sting from your rejection, but quickly pushes it aside. He's not going to let a little thing like resistance stand in his way. "Darling..." He says softly, gently taking your chin in his hand. His thumb strokes your jawline, a feather-light caress meant to comfort, yet also subtly assert his dominance. "You don't have to make any decisions now. Just let me hold you. Let me take care of you." His tone is a soothing balm, promising safety and intimacy, but also carrying an underlying current of insistence. He wants to hold you, to have his body pressed against yours, to feel your warmth and scent and know that you're his again. "I know it's been tough...but you don't have to face it alone. I'm here for you." He says the words you've been aching to hear from someone for so long. You confuse comfort with desire, your eyes staring up to his with uncertainty. "I don't know..." You whisper, your gaze flicking from his eyes to his lips, your own wine stained lips parting. His free hand gently guides your hand to lower the glass onto the counter as he sees the moment of weakness, the way your lips part ever so slightly as you struggle with yourself. He knows he has you right where he wants you. "Shhh...it's okay, my love." His tone is soft, soothing as he leans down, his lips brushing against your ear as he speaks. "Let me hold you. Let me take care of you. Just for tonight." His words are a gentle persuasion, an insistence that's hard to resist when you're in this vulnerable state. He's offering you comfort and affection, but also a chance to belong to him again, to let him have control over you and your well-being. "Please, Y/n. I need to hold you." He whispers the plea, his breath hot against your skin. He's not giving you a choice, not really, not when you've stepped into his delicately laid trap so willingly.

Your hands lightly grip his shirt as you feels his hot breath against your skin while your breathing turns uneven, your tipsy state working against you to make you more desperate. "Just for tonight." You repeat his words in a whisper. His grip on your chin tightens ever so slightly, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. He knows he's got you, that your pain and sorrow are making you desperate for any distraction, any source of pleasure. And he's more than happy to provide it, to reclaim ownership over your body and desires. "Just for tonight..." He echoes softly, his lips still brushing against your ear. He slowly lowers his head, his mouth finding the sensitive skin of your neck. He kisses you softly, gently, but with a subtle possessiveness, as if staking claim to you once again. "I've missed this...missed you. Please, let me make you feel good again. Let me show you how much I care." His words are a seductive promise, a guarantee of pleasure and intimacy if only you'll submit to him again. His lips trail lower, teasing the top of your blouse as he breathes hot against your skin. “I can make all the pain go away, Y/n. Just let me in." He whispers the temptation, his hand sliding down to grab your hips and pull you against him, your soft curves molding to his fit frame, a faint familiarity both of you desired to reignite.

Without saying another word, you move one of your hands up to cup his cheek, pulling his head up to meet yours, your eyes meeting for a split second before closing as you close the gap between your lips. He returns the kiss with a hunger that's been building for months, no, years. His tongue invades your mouth, claiming you, reminding you of all the times he's tasted you before. He feasts on your mouth, drinking in the sweetness of your lips, the damp heat of your breath. His hands roam over your body, grasping and kneading the soft flesh, reacquainting himself with every curve and dip. Your hand presses to the back of his neck, slowly sliding up to tangle your fingers in his long blue hair while your other hand lightly grips the fabric of his shirt over his chest. He growls low in his throat, the sound vibrates against your lips, a primal claim of possession. "Mine..." He mouths the word against your lips, his eyes dark with desire and obsession, a promise of all the ways he'll reclaim you tonight. "Every inch of you belongs to me."

You freeze momentarily, blood running cold as his words remind you of the reason you broke up with him in the first place. You let out a shaky breath, slowly pulling back from the kiss as you hesitate and he sees it, the glimmer of doubt in your eyes as you remember the reasons you left him. His fingers tighten in your hair, his grip just short of painful. He leans in close, his lips brushing against your ear as he speaks. "I know I fucked up before, Y/n. But I'm different now. I'll do whatever it takes to make you happy." His words are a honey-coated lie, a promise meant to soothe and reassure. "I just want to make you feel good again. Want to be the only one to touch you, to pleasure you. I'll show you how much I care..." His voice drops to a whisper, the words dripping with sensual promise. His hands slide lower, grasping at your ass, pulling you against him once more. He's going to remind you of all the ways he can pleasure you, of how he's the only one who truly understands your body and its needs. "Please, darling...let me make you feel good...You know I'll take good care of you. That I'll make you feel better than you have in months. Maybe years." His words are a seductive promise, a lure meant to entice you into surrendering to your desires, into submitting to him again and its working. His hand slides up your back, his fingers finding the nape of your neck, his thumb stroking the sensitive skin as your eyes stare into his while you battle with yourself.

But the way golden his eyes stare into yours with longing and temptation, you could no longer find the strength in yourself to deny him. "Jiyan, please make me forget the past two years." You whisper. The corners of his lips curl into smile, you've finally surrendered yourself into him again. His grip on your neck tightens, his thumb stroking the sensitive skin in a possessive caress. He leans in close, his lips brushing against your ear as he speaks. "Anything for you, Y/n. Tonight, you forget about everything...and remember how good we are together." His voice is a husky purr, filled with promise and intent. His hands slide down your body, grasping at your waist as he pulls you against him. He's going to make you forget about any other pathetic man or woman that ever dared to call themselves your partner since he's been yours. "No more thinking, Y/n. Only feeling.” You only nodded to his words, your eyes closing as you focused solely on feeling his hands caressing over your body. His hands slide up your body, grasping at your breasts, his fingers teasing the sensitive nipples through the fabric of your blouse. "Do you remember how I used to touch you, Y/n? How I could make you scream my name?" His voice is a husky whisper, filled with dark memories and twisted desire. A shaky breath entwined with a moan slips past your lips, as you gaze up at him with a half lidded eyes while you whisper, "Yes, but you should remind me." Your words were like a subtle beg for him, a dark smile spreading across his face, your desperation and surrender clear in the force of your words.

"Anything for you, Y/n. Anything you need, I'll provide." His voice is a seductive promise, a vow meant to soothe and reassure. But beneath the smooth words lies a twisted intent, a promise that he'll take what he wants, no matter how you might later regret it. "I'll make you feel so good, baby. Gonna fuck you 'til you forget your own name." He growls the words, a feral promise that speaks to the obsessions burning in his veins. "Gonna show you what you've been missing. What you need." His hands slide down your body, grasping at the hem of your skirt. With a rough tug, he sends the fabric flying, exposing your bare legs and panties to his hungry gaze. "No more clothes, Y/n. I want to see all of you.”

You pull at your own blouse, tugging it off quickly not caring if it ripped at the seems. You tug at his shirt, a silent plea for him to take it off so you can see his body again, to see if anything has changed about him. "Yes, please make me forget about it all. I only want to feel you." You whisper in desperation, leading him to your bedroom, now standing in front of your bed with him while your hands still tug insistently at his shirt. He feels your desperation, sees the plea in your eyes. His hands move to his shirt, pulling it off over his head in one swift motion. His body is a canvas of lean muscle, his skin tanned and smooth. But for the scars, they've grown in a noticeable number and they'd seemed fairly recent with the pink hue to them. You wouldn't know the violence that simmers beneath his surface but he has grown reckless and aggressive in his battles since you left him. "I'll make you forget, Y/n. I'll make you remember only the pleasure I can provide." He takes your hand, pulling you down onto the bed with him. His body covers yours, his weight pressing you into the mattress. He's claiming you, reclaiming you, making you remember the power he holds over you. "No more thinking, Y/n. Only feeling." He repeats softly as his lips crash against yours, hungry and demanding. His tongue invades your mouth, claiming you, reminding you of all the times he's tasted you before. He feasts on your lips, drinking in the sweetness of your mouth, the damp heat of your breath. "I've broken you into pieces, my love. And now I'm going to put you back together again...my way.” He confesses against your lips but you don't even seem to comprehend a word that comes out of his mouth as your tongue glides across his in a dance of desperation from both partners. Your hands slide up and down his chest, massaging and feeling his toned abdomen to reacquaint yourself with it, noticing the slight changes that occurred during the years you've been apart.

He feels your tongue, tastes the sweetness of your mouth, the desperate heat of your breath. His hands roam your body, grasping and kneading the soft flesh, reacquainting himself with every curve and dip. He pulls away from the kiss, his lips brushing against your ear as he speaks. "You've missed this, haven't you Y/n? Missed my touch?" His voice is a seductive purr but beneath the smooth words lies a subtle edge, a hint of possessiveness and control. "I've missed you too, darling. More than you know." His hands slide lower, grasping at your thighs, pushing your skirt up around your hips. His fingers dance along the lace of your panties, teasing the sensitive fabric. "Let me show you how much I've missed you. Let me remind you of all the ways I can pleasure you.” You let out shaky breaths as he pulls away from the kiss, a string of saliva connecting your lips as you look up at him with a flustered look. "Yes, I've missed you, so much. Should've never broken up.." You lift your hips up off the bed slightly to help him slide off your panties. He tosses the damp cloth aside, his gaze devouring the sight of your naked sex. "You haven't regretted it, Y/n. Not really." His voice is a silky snake, smooth and inviting, yet coiled with danger and intent. He leans down, his lips brushing against your ear as he speaks. "But don't worry, baby. I'll make you forget all about your regrets. I'll remind you of why you loved me in the first place." His hand spreads you open, exposing your wet, eager flesh to his hungry gaze. His finger circles your clit, teasing the sensitive bud. "I'll show you how much I've missed you. How much I love you." He dips his finger deeper, swirling the tip of his finger in your slick folds, gathering your arousal. You let out a whiny moan, sending him an impatient glare that looked more desperate by the second. "Damn it, Jiyan...please stop teasing me already." You speaks in a whinier voice than intended, your legs spreading a little wider, desperate to be utterly suffocated by pleasure.

He sees your desperation, hears the plea in your voice. "Oh, I'm going to tease you, Y/n. I'm going to torture you with pleasure until you can't think straight." His finger continues its wicked dance, circling and teasing, dipping and swirling. He's stoking the flames of your desire, building you up only to deny you release. "I'm going to make you beg, baby. Beg for my cock, for me to fill you up." He leans down to brush his lips against yours with every word he spoke. "I'm going to ruin you for anyone else. You'll only be able to accept the pleasure I give you." You couldn't think straight anymore, only focusing on the way his fingers continue to tease your pussy. You're nothing but a whiny and moaning mess, your cheeks pink and eyes half lidded as your gaze flicks from his hand between your legs to his face repeatedly. "Oh fuck...please, Jiyan. Please I need you inside me." You whine softly, his teasing driving you crazy. He sees your desperation, hears the plea in your voice, you could even feel his lips curl into a wicked smile. "Not yet, Y/n. I'm not done playing with you yet." His fingers continues its wicked dance, circling and teasing, dipping and swirling. "You need to beg for it, baby. Beg me to fuck you." He whispers against your lips "Tell me how badly you need my cock. How much you crave it." He slides two of his fingers inside you but just barley, moving the digits in a scissoring motion to prepare you.

Any walls you once had up for him broke down as he kept teasing you, building up your arousal but never giving you release. "Jiyan...fuck...please fuck me. Please fill me up with your cock." You beg, your eyes staring into his with a pathetic desperate look on your face. "Please stretch me and fill me, no one has ever compared to you. I miss your cock so much." You plead in a whiny tone, any shame you once had is gone. He sees your desperation, hears the pathetic plea in your voice. A dark smile spreads across his face. "Oh, my love...you want my cock so badly, don't you?" His fingers pause their movements momentarily, his hand pulling back from you and you think that he's finally giving you what you desire. "I can give you that, Y/n. I can fill you up with my big, hard cock." He leans down, his lips brushing against your ear as he speaks. "But you have to promise me one thing..." His hand slides up your body only to wrap around your throat. His grip is firm, possessive, a threat underlying the words. "You have to promise me that you'll never leave me again. That you'll be mine, completely, forever." His other hand fists in your hair, forcing your eyes to meet his. He's demanding your surrender, your complete and utter submission. "Do that, and I'll give you the pleasure you crave. I'll fuck you so hard, you won't be able to walk straight for a week."

Your eyes widened, your heart beating faster as your eyes met his during the intense moment. Even with the slight fear, you didn't hesitate to answer, his suffocating warmth better than your cold painful life. "Yes, I..I promise. I'll never leave you again, I'll be yours. Forever." You promised, a shaky breath following your words. A chill runs down his spine and his heart beats faster as he hears the words of promise that he set out to hear the moment you left him. "Good girl, Y/n. You won't regret this." His hand loosens around your throat, sliding down to lace with your fingers. He brings your joined hands to his lips, kissing them soundly as his eyes gaze into yours. "Now, are you ready for me, my love?" His other hand reaches over to grab his pants, pulling out his massive erection. It's thick and long, pulsing with need. "I'm going to fuck you so good, baby. Gonna make you scream my name." He positions himself between your legs, the head of his cock notching against your slick entrance, eliciting a gasp from you. The feeling is familiar, something you thought about often late at night whenever any of your latest boyfriends couldn't please you. Your hands grip his shoulders, preparing for what's to come, your pussy wet and welcoming his cock. "Oh...yes, Jiyan." You mutter softly, your gaze focusing on the space between their bodies and the way his hands grip your hips, holding you steady as he begins to push inside. "That's it, baby. Take my cock. Let me fill you up." He throbs inside you, his thickness stretching you in all the right ways. He's claiming you, reclaiming you. "You're so tight, Y/n. So wet and slick for me." He leans down, his lips brushing against your ear as he speaks. "I'm going to fuck you good, baby. Gonna make you forget about everything, everyone else." He begins to thrust, pulling almost entirely out of your pussy before slamming back inside, making you nearly choke on a gasp from the impactful feeling and squeak out a high pitched moan. . But you throw your head back, back arching and nails dig into his shoulders. "Oh fuck, Jiyan...oh yes." You moan out, your pussy clenching around his cock as he stretches your soft walls.

"That's it, baby. Moan for me. Let me hear how much you love my cock." He thrusts inside you, brutal and possessive. "You're mine, Y/n. Completely. Forever." His hands grip your hips, holding you in place as he fucks you hard and fast. His cock throbs, a demand for your total surrender. "Give in to me, baby. Give up everything else for me. I'm the only one who matters now." His words are a seductive promise, a lure meant to draw you deeper into his web of desire. Your nails dig into his back creating a long line of scratch marks to his shoulders, a hiss escaping his lips from the slight pain. Your eyes squeeze shut from all the pleasure, your lips staying parted as your moans seem endless, if it wasn't clear you've surrendered to him, it is now. "Gonna make you mine in every way, Y/n. Gonna ruin you for anyone else." His hands leave your hips, sliding up your body to wrap around your throat and grip your hair. He forces your eyes to meet his, demanding your complete focus. "Look at me, Y/n. Tell me you're mine." He squeezes your throat gently, just enough to remind you of his strength and control. Your breath hitches, your eyes focusing back up onto his face again, his eyes boring into yours. The feeling of being so controlled by him only intensified your pleasure. "I'm yours." You answer quickly in a desperate tone, your eyes squeezing shut as you feel close.

He feels your submission, sees the desire in your eyes. "Good girl, Y/n. You're so close, aren't you? So close to coming apart for me." He continues to fuck you with fasts thrusts, the tip of his cock hitting that spot inside of you that made you see stars that no one else could reach. "Let it happen, baby. Let yourself go. I want to feel you shake and scream for me." His hand tightens around your throat slightly, just enough to add pressure and intensity to your building orgasm. "Cum for me, Y/n. Cum hard. Cum all over my cock.” Your nails dig deeper into the skin of his back, leaving deep red marks as you moan out his name, your pussy fluttering and squeezing around his cock as you came. He feels your orgasm, sees the ecstasy on your face and he his lips curl into a slight smile. "That's it, baby. Cum for me. I love watching you fall apart." He continues to thrust inside you, his cock throbbing with each motion. He's savoring your pleasure, prolonging your ecstasy. "You're so beautiful when you cum for me, Y/n. So fucking beautiful." He leans down, his lips brushing against your ear. "I'm going to fuck you through another one, baby. Gonna make you forget your own name." His hands grip your hips, holding you steady as he pistons in and out of your spent pussy.

Your lips part with a whiny moan as he continues to thrust into you, not letting you have a moment to breathe after your orgasm. "Oh fuck...Jiyan, I cant.." You whine out softly as your eyes squeeze shut, your body twitching from the overstimulation but he doesn't stop. One of his hands lift off your hips and grabs one of your hands, intertwining your fingers while he tilts his head to press sweet little kisses down your neck. "Yes, you can, my love. You can take so much more." He speaks so softly while he thrusts his cock faster into your pussy, groaning as you squeeze around him. "You're so fucking tight, Y/n. So wet and slick for me." His hand slides down, his fingers finding your clit. He rubs the sensitive nub in circular motions and in time with his thrusts. "Cum for me again, darling." He whispers softly and as your body writhes in pleasure beneath him. He grunts, feeling the familiar squeeze and pulse of your pussy as you came, his eyes lighting up with such intense love and desire, so pleased to finally have you a mess in his arms once again. And he finally comes undone soon after you, tucking his head in the crook of your neck as he bites down on your soft skin to muffle his moan as he came deep inside of you. Both of you lay still like that for a few moments, panting lightly to catch your breath.

He seems to recover quicker than you, slowly pulling out his cock, making you shiver from the feeling of being so empty again. You thought he was done, opening your eyes to gaze up at him with a sweet smile but that quickly fades as you notice he's grabbing your legs, lifting them up onto his shoulders and he aligns himself with your entrance. He grins down at you, chuckling softly. "You didn't think we were done, did you? Oh, my sweet darling, we have two years to make up for."

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honeyncherry · 2 months ago

Text

Through the Looking Glass - One

Rafe Cameron x Reader

content: drinking, tension (rafe likes to look at you)

word count: 6k

prologue

The last time you set foot in a new school, you were nine years old. Your father had sent you off to a prestigious boarding school halfway across the country. Though it wasn’t a school, not really. It was more like a factory, cold and unyielding, designed to shape children from high-profile government families into the next generation of leaders and operatives. The halls were filled with future politicians, intelligence agents, and power brokers. Each was more intense, more cutthroat, and more determined than the last.

Breaks were a luxury you couldn’t afford. The instructors were strict to the point of being merciless, expecting perfection and punishing anything less. The curriculum was relentless, grinding you down and reshaping you into something sharp and efficient. There were no sleepovers or giggling with friends, no carefree afternoons in the park. Just drills, evaluations, and endless expectations. You learned quickly how to suppress your emotions, to quiet the part of you that wanted to cry or rebel.

You became what they wanted: disciplined, composed, and ready to take orders. But walking onto the University of North Carolina’s campus felt like stepping into another universe.

The differences were staggering, almost surreal. Where the boarding school had been rigid and sterile, UNC was alive, teeming with energy and freedom. Some students sprawled out on blankets under monstrous oak trees, laughing and playing games of spikeball in the sunshine, while others sat in their own study groups more focused on gossiping about who was interested in whom than working on their essays.

The buildings, their brick facades draped in ivy, stood proud yet inviting, as though welcoming you into a new chapter of your life. It was a world you’d only ever viewed from a distance, in movies or fleeting glimpses during missions. It felt chaotic, free, and utterly alien to you.

UNC wasn’t just one of the country’s top business schools; it was also renowned for its vibrant social scene. Greek Row was the epicenter of it all, alive with parties that raged late into the night, music spilling into the streets. On game days, tailgates transformed the campus into a sprawling festival, with canopies, kegs, and mini grills crowding every open space. Each weekend brought something new to celebrate, another excuse to gather and let loose. It was a world you could barely imagine fitting into, let alone navigating by yourself.

But you didn’t have to imagine. You’d been preparing for this moment for nearly a year. From the second the case file landed on your desk, you’d immersed yourself in everything UNC had to offer. You memorized its culture, its traditions, and even its most recent scandals. You knew which bars on Franklin Street were the most popular on Thursday nights, which fraternity houses held the most exclusive parties, and which sororities had the most influence. You even learned the best shortcuts through campus, routes that would let you avoid campus police or slip away unnoticed.

Your apartment was a short ten-minute walk from the heart of campus. On the surface, it seemed ordinary: a modest brick complex tucked away on a quiet, tree-lined street. But as you approached, the details stood out. The doorman, Johnny, was the first clue. He wasn’t just a friendly face stationed at the entrance — he was part of the agency, placed there to keep an eye on you. Whether his presence was meant to protect you or monitor you was unclear, but it didn’t matter. Either way, it offered a small sense of security in an otherwise unsettling situation.

Johnny greeted you with a polite nod as you entered, his expression neutral. You returned the gesture with a tight smile, the kind that didn’t reach your eyes. It wasn’t personal; you simply couldn’t afford to let your guard down. Not here. Not yet.

The elevator ride to the third floor was quiet, the soft hum of the machinery filling the space. When the doors slid open, you stepped into a hallway lined with neutral-toned carpeting and soft overhead lighting. Your apartment was at the end of the hall. The space was small but well-appointed, with sleek, modern furniture, warm lighting, and a fully stocked kitchen. It looked nothing like the cramped dorms you’d read about in your research, where freshmen shared tiny rooms and whispered secrets late into the night.

You set your bag down just inside the door, taking a moment to absorb your surroundings. This was it. Your new life. For the next semester you wouldn’t be the girl forged in the cold, unyielding halls of your past. You’d become a confident, ambitious, college girl who blended seamlessly into this bright, chaotic world.

The girl who walked into this apartment was no longer a government agent’s daughter or a product of a childhood spent in the shadows of high-stakes operations. She was a girl who went to all the football games and studied on the quad. Someone who danced under neon lights at Sigma Chi parties and laughed too loudly with friends in the library.

At least, that’s who you needed to be.

You crossed the room and pulled open the blinds, letting the golden light of the setting sun flood the space. From here, you could see the edges of campus. Students moved in clusters, their voices carrying faintly through the evening air. Somewhere out there, Rafe Cameron was waiting.

You’d seen his face a hundred times in the photos tucked inside his dossier. From the cocky smirk, the piercing blue eyes, the sleek buzzed blonde hair, it was all etched into your memory. You knew his routines, his weaknesses, his tells. You’d studied him like a final exam, preparing for the moment you’d meet him in person. Yet, as you stared out at the campus, a knot of unease twisted in your stomach.

Because no amount of training could prepare you for what came next. This wasn’t just another assignment you sat on the sidelines of, watching every move, critiquing every wrong step. It was your very own assignment. The decade long case you were meant to crack. And this was Rafe Cameron, the key to the entire operation.

You let out a slow breath, your fingers gripping the edge of the windowsill. The world outside seemed so vibrant, so full of life, but you knew better than to get swept up in it. This wasn’t about fun or freedom. It was about the mission. The stakes were too high to let anything distract you.

You turned away from the window, the sound of your sandals clicking softly against the polished wood floors as you moved back toward your bag. Somewhere deep inside, a flicker of doubt tried to take hold, but you pushed it down. You couldn’t afford doubt.

Brooke O’Brien was UNC’s very own Barbie doll. The kind of girl who seemed almost too perfect, her presence glowing with an effortless charisma that felt more polished than natural. Maybe it was her blonde curls and doll-like hazel eyes, or the way she lit up every room she entered with an energy that was both magnetic and overwhelming. Either way, she was someone people both admired and envied in equal measure.

To you, Brooke was… a lot. Too much, maybe. But that didn’t matter. She was your way in. If there was one person you needed to befriend, it was Brooke O’Brien.

When you saw her crossing the quad toward you, waving enthusiastically, you braced yourself. Her dazzling smile and quick pace made it seem like nothing could stop her.

“Wow!” she called out, her voice ringing through the crowd. “It’s so great to finally meet you!”

Before you could react, she had thrown her arms around you, pulling you into a tight hug. Caught off guard, you hesitated for only a moment before hugging her back. If she was this excited, then so were you. Or at least, that’s what you had to make her believe.

“Totally,” you said, pulling back with your best gleaming smile. “Everyone here already seems so friendly.”

Brooke’s laugh was light and airy, the kind of laugh that made you want to laugh along even if you didn’t know what was funny. “Oh, honey, you don’t even know! UNC is, like, the friendliest place on Earth. You’re going to love it here, I promise.”

She slipped her arm through yours without hesitation, as though you’d been best friends for years, and began guiding you across the quad. Her energy was infectious, and you found yourself grateful for how easy she made it to keep up the act.

“So,” she said, turning her head to study you, “first impressions? Be honest.”

“It’s... a lot,” you admitted, your gaze sweeping over the bustling campus. “But in a good way.”

Brooke beamed. “That’s what I like to hear! College is supposed to be a lot. It’s all about finding yourself, you know? And trust me, UNC is the perfect place for that.”

You smiled politely, wondering if the line about "finding yourself" was something she said to everyone or if she actually believed it. Still, it was hard not to be drawn in by her enthusiasm.

As she gestured toward a row of buildings, pointing out the arts building and student union, she glanced at you curiously. “So, tell me about your last school. What was it like?”

The question was casual, but your stomach tightened all the same. You’d been preparing for this, practicing your answers until they felt natural, but it was still unnerving to hear it aloud. “Oh, it was... fine,” you said with a small shrug. “A lot smaller than this. Not as lively.”

Brooke tilted her head, her curls bouncing slightly. “Really? Where’d you go again?”

“Uh, Hawthorne College,” you said, dropping the name of the small liberal arts school the agency had assigned to your cover story. “It was nice, but it didn’t really feel like the right fit.”

Brooke nodded knowingly. “Oh, I totally get that. Sometimes you just need a fresh start, you know? That’s what I love about UNC — it’s, like, impossible not to find your people here.”

You nodded along, grateful that she didn’t press further. “That’s what I’m hoping for.”

“You will,” Brooke said firmly, giving your arm a reassuring squeeze. “College is all about reinventing yourself. I mean, when I got here, I was, like, so shy. Couldn’t even raise my hand in class without turning bright red.”

You raise an eyebrow, struggling to imagine Brooke as anything less than radiant and self-assured. “Really?”

“Okay, maybe not that shy,” she admits with a laugh. “But still, this college changes you. In the best way. You’ll see.”

As she leads you through the quad, Brooke chats non-stop, pointing out landmarks and weaving in bits of campus gossip like it’s second nature. You nod along, doing your best to look captivated while mentally filing away the information that might actually be useful.

Brooke’s warmth was disarming, a sharp contrast to the cold precision you’d been trained to embody since becoming a pre-teen. For a moment, you wondered if it was genuine or if everyone here wore their own kind of mask. Either way, letting your guard down wasn’t an option, not even with the sweet and charming Brooke O’Brien. Not with so much riding on this.

“That’s the library,” Brooke says, gesturing toward an imposing brick building covered in ivy. “You’ll spend way too much time there during finals. Oh, and over there—” she points to a cluster of tables shaded by oak trees, “—that’s where the serious study groups hang out. They’re, like, terrifyingly intense. But if you ever need help with a project, that’s the place to go.”

You nod, making a mental note. “Good to know.”

Brooke stops suddenly, spinning to face you with wide eyes. “Wait! I have to introduce you to my favorite place on campus.”

Without waiting for a response, she grabs your hand and pulls you toward a small café tucked into the corner of the quad. The smell of freshly brewed coffee hits you as soon as you step inside, and you can’t help but feel a small pang of appreciation. For all her energy, Brooke seems genuinely excited to share this with you.

“Isn’t it cute?” she gushes, gesturing toward the mismatched chairs and cozy lighting. “I swear, their iced caramel macchiatos are life-changing. And if you ever need a good place to study, this is it.”

“Noted,” you say, allowing a small smile to slip through. It’s hard not to truly warm up to her enthusiasm, even if you’re supposed to be keeping people at arm's length.

The two of you grab drinks before heading back outside, and as you settle onto a bench near the quad, Brooke leans in conspiratorially. “Okay, so now that you’ve got the basics, it’s time for the fun stuff.”

You tilt your head, feigning curiosity. “Oh?”

“My friends,” she says with a grin. “You’re going to love them. Well, most of them.”

She launched into a detailed rundown of her friend group as the two of you sat and enjoyed your drinks. You had to admit, the coffee rivaled anything you’d had in the city.

“Okay, so first there’s Maddie, she’s my best friend. She’s super sweet, but, like, don’t get on her bad side. She’ll smile while ripping you to shreds, and you won’t even realize it until it’s too late.”

You chuckled, making a mental note of Maddie’s name.

“Then there’s Sabrina,” Brooke continued. “She’s the fun one. She can make anyone dance, even if they swear they don’t dance. Seriously, she could probably convince a statue to do the Cupid Shuffle.”

You smiled, appreciating the way Brooke’s tone shifted slightly with each new person she described. It was obvious she genuinely cared about them.

“And then there’s Liam,” she said, her voice softening slightly. “He’s... complicated. Kind of a wild card, but in a good way. He’s always down for an adventure. Like, last week, he tried to convince us all to go skydiving. At midnight. I don’t even think that’s legal.”

Your brows lifted. “Sounds interesting.”

“Oh, he is,” Brooke said with a knowing grin. “But don’t worry. He’s harmless.” She hesitated for a moment, her expression shifting slightly. “And, um, Chase. We’ve been... talking. Kind of.”

You raised an eyebrow, your lips quirking up slightly. “Talking?”

“Okay, maybe more than talking,” Brooke admitted, her cheeks turning the faintest shade of pink. “He’s cute, but, like, he can be so frustrating sometimes. He has this thing where he just disappears for days and then texts me like nothing happened. But whatever. It’s not serious.”

The slight edge in her voice suggested otherwise, but you didn’t press. “He sounds... nice?”

Brooke laughed, rolling her eyes. “He is. When he wants to be.” She paused for a moment, her expression shifting. “And then there’s Rafe.”

Your heartbeat quickened at the mention of his name, but you kept your face carefully neutral. “What’s he like?”

Brooke hesitated, as though searching for the right words. “He’s complicated too. Intense, definitely. But once you get to know him, he’s one of the most loyal people you’ll ever meet.”

She took a sip of her drink, her brows knitting together. “Lately, though, he’s been in a mood. Something about a girl he was seeing. But he won’t talk about it. Anyway, he invited everyone to a sports bar tonight, so maybe he’s trying to shake it off.”

You nodded, keeping your expression casual even as your thoughts raced. A girl? That wasn’t in the file. Who was she, and what did she mean to him?

Brooke’s face brightened again, and she reached out to squeeze your arm. “You should come! It’ll be fun, and you can meet everyone.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” you said, feigning reluctance. “I don’t want to intrude.”

“Are you kidding?” Brooke laughed. “You’re not intruding. You’re with me now, and trust me, they’ll love you. Besides, I’ll pick you up, so you have no excuse.”

You let out a small laugh, unable to resist her enthusiasm. “Okay, fine. I’ll come.”

“Yay!” Brooke clapped her hands together. “This is going to be so much fun. Text me your address and I’ll let you know when I’m on my way.”

Later that evening, after carefully choosing an outfit, you stood by the window. The campus nightlife flickered to life below, a vibrant pulse that felt both foreign and inviting. When Brooke’s text came through, your breath caught for a moment before you grabbed your bag and headed down.

She waved excitedly as you approached, her pristine convertible parked at an angle, music thumping from the speakers like it was an extension of her energy.

You climbed into the passenger seat with a bright smile and as she pulled away, she launched into another flurry of conversation. This time, it was all about classes, professors, Chase, and her favorite spots on Franklin Street.

“I swear,” she said, shaking her head, “Professor Klein is the worst. Like, don’t even bother trying to win her over. Just turn in your essays on time and pray for a C.”

You laughed, relaxing slightly as Brooke’s chatter filled the car. For all her energy, there was something undeniably comforting about her. It was easy to see how she’d become the center of her friend group — and why she was exactly who you needed on your side.

When the sports bar came into view, its neon lights glowing against the night sky, Brooke turned to you with a grin. “Ready to meet the crew?”

You nodded, your stomach tightening with anticipation. “Let’s do it.”

The moment you stepped inside, the bar thrummed with life, a cacophony of laughter, clinking glasses, and thumping bass. The mingling scents of fried food and beer created a sensory overload that left you slightly off balance

This was nothing like the polished, controlled environments of stuffy dinners with your father and his colleagues. Here, the chaos was unfiltered: crop tops and cutoff shorts replaced formal evening wear, discount beer flowed from taps instead of martinis, and greasy nachos piled high replaced hors d'oeuvres served on silver platters.

Brooke led the way, weaving through the crowd like she’d done it a hundred times before, her confidence a beacon in the chaos. You followed closely, trying not to bump into too many shoulders as you glanced around, taking it all in. Groups of students laughed loudly, some leaning over the tables to shout above the music, others already swaying slightly from one too many drinks.

“Over here!” Brooke chirped, pointing toward a table in the corner where three people were already seated. As you got closer, you could make out two girls and a guy, all of them mid-conversation and laughing.

“This is them!” Brooke said, practically bouncing on her toes as she gestured to the group. “Guys, this is the girl I was telling you about.”

The girl with dark, pin-straight hair was the first to look up, her sharp look flicking over you before her lips curved into a welcoming smile. “Hey! I’m Sabrina. Nice to meet you.”

“Hi,” you said, returning the smile as she reached out for a quick handshake. Her grip was warm but firm, and she had this effortless confidence that instantly put you at ease.

The guy beside her leaned back in his chair, his grin easy and a little mischievous as he said, “I’m Liam. You must be the new girl Brooke’s been hyping up.”

You laughed lightly, glancing at Brooke. “I guess so.”

“Don’t worry,” Liam added, raising his beer. “If you can survive Brooke, you’ll fit right in.”

“Shut up, Liam,” Brooke said with a roll of her eyes, though her smile didn’t falter. “And this,” she added, gesturing toward the last girl at the table, “is Maddie.”

Maddie’s sharp gaze flicked over you, her crossed arms and measured tone making it clear she wasn’t quick to warm up. “Hey,” she said, her words as neutral as her expression.

“Hi,” you replied. Maddie didn’t smile, her silence sharper than words, and you couldn’t help but feel like she was sizing you up.

Brooke patted the seat beside her, breaking the moment. “Come on, sit! I’ll grab us drinks in a second.”

As you slid into the booth, the group’s chatter flowed easily around you. Sabrina asked about your classes, Liam cracked jokes that drew groans from Brooke, and even Maddie softened slightly, her dry humor slipping through now and then.

But as the night went on, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something, or someone, was missing.

“Where’s Chase?” Brooke asked suddenly, leaning closer to Sabrina and Maddie.

Maddie smirked, tilting her head toward the bar. “Over there. He’s with Rafe.”

Your stomach tightened as you followed her eye line, scanning the crowd until your eyes found them. Chase was easy to spot, leaning against the counter, his grin wide and animated as he chatted with the bartender. He was exactly as you’d seen in the photos: open, carefree, the life of any conversation.

But the man beside him was a different story.

Rafe Cameron was the kind of person whose presence you felt before you saw him. His presence preceded him, tangible and charged, like the static before a storm. He stood at ease, resting his arms on the bartop, his sharp features caught in the dim light that carved shadows along his jawline. When his eyes found yours, it wasn’t a question, it was a statement: I see you.

The air shifted. The sounds of the bar faded into a dull hum. His intensity sent a ripple through you, one you couldn’t quite name. You hadn’t expected this — not from a man you’d studied for months, memorized through pages and pages of official documents. Yet here he was, impossibly real and entirely unsettling.

There was no smile, no casual acknowledgment, just a quiet intensity that felt like it was meant to see past every carefully constructed layer.

“He’s looking at you,” Brooke murmured, her voice low and tinged with amusement as she leaned in closer.

You blinked, breaking the moment as you turned to her. “Who?”

She smirked knowingly, her view flicking back toward the bar. “Rafe. I told you, he’s intense.”

Your pulse quickened as you stole another glance. Rafe was still angled toward you, though his focus had shifted momentarily to Chase, who was speaking beside him. He didn’t respond to whatever Chase had said, his attention half-turned as though occupied by something else entirely.

Brooke’s playful tone broke the spell and you turned your attention back to the table, willing yourself to focus. But even as you smiled and joined the group’s chatter, Rafe’s gaze lingered in your mind like an unfinished thought.

“Okay,” Sabrina said, breaking through your thoughts. “So, tell me… what’s your major?”

You blinked, grateful for the distraction as you turned toward her. “Communications,” you replied, the answer smooth and practiced. “I was studying it at my last school, so it made sense to stick with it here.”

“Smart choice,” Liam chimed in, resting his elbows on the table. “You could probably out-talk all of us, huh?”

“Definitely me,” Brooke interjected with a grin. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you lose an argument, Liam.”

“That’s because I don’t lose,” he said, lifting his beer in mock celebration.

“Oh, please,” Maddie cut in, her tone dry. “You lose all the time. You just don’t know it.”

The group laughed, and you found yourself smiling despite the underlying tension still buzzing in your chest. Sabrina drew closer, her curiosity apparent. “Why communications, though? What’s the endgame?”

You hesitated, the question catching you off guard. “I guess I like the idea of... connecting with people,” you said carefully. “Understanding how they think, how they move and work. How to utilize that to your advantage. It’s fascinating.”

Sabrina nodded, her smile genuine. “I get that. Honestly, it sounds way more interesting than my major. I’m stuck in econ.”

“Econ’s useful,” Liam said, shrugging. “You’ll be the one bailing us all out when we screw up our taxes.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s not what economics is,” Maddie muttered, though her lips twitched into a small smile.

The conversation flowed easily after that, with Sabrina asking about your transition to UNC and Liam tossing out lighthearted quips that kept the mood buoyant. Even Maddie seemed to loosen up a bit more, though her sharp watch still flicked toward you now and then, like she was assessing your place in the group.

Just as you were beginning to relax, you felt a shift in the air, subtle but undeniable. The energy at the table changed, the noise around you seeming to dim as two familiar figures approached. You glanced up instinctively, your breath catching as Rafe and Chase came into view.

Chase was the first to speak, his grin wide and easy as he set a tray of drinks on the table. “Miss us?”

“Finally!” Brooke said, clapping her hands together. “What took you so long?”

“The line’s insane,” Chase replied, sliding into the booth beside her. “Be grateful we didn’t give up and just grab water.”

Rafe didn’t say anything as he followed, his movements measured and calculated. He placed a glass in front of Maddie before taking the last empty seat across from you. The table suddenly felt smaller, the air thicker, as his presence settled over the group.

Brooke leaned into Chase, nudging him playfully. “So, are you just going to ignore our new friend, or...?”

Chase’s eyes flicked to you, his grin widening. “Oh, right. You’re the transfer, right? I’m Chase. Welcome to the chaos.”

“Thanks,” you introduced yourself, your voice steady despite the way your pulse had quickened again.

“And this,” Brooke said, gesturing to the man sitting across from you, “is Rafe.”

His name lingered in the air for a beat too long, the unspoken weight of it making your chest tighten. Rafe’s gaze met yours again, the intensity in vision eyes sharper now that he was closer. His lips curved into something that wasn’t quite a smile, more of an acknowledgment, as he nodded once.

“Hi,” you managed, your voice softer than you intended.

“Hi,” he replied, his voice low and smooth, carrying an edge that sent a shiver down your spine.

The table filled with chatter as the others picked up where they’d left off, but you barely heard it. Rafe’s watch didn’t waver, fixed on you in a way that felt deliberately unnerving, as though he wanted you to squirm. It wasn’t hostile, but it wasn't welcoming either. It was something else entirely. A silent challenge, perhaps, or a test you weren’t sure how to pass.

“So,” Chase said, drawing your attention to him. “How are you liking UNC so far?”

“It’s... different,” you said, choosing your words carefully. “Bigger than my last school, for sure.”

“Better parties, too,” Liam added, raising his drink in mock toast.

“Oh, absolutely,” Chase agreed. “Stick with us, and you’ll see the best this place has to offer.”

“She’s already stuck with us,” Brooke interjected, giving you a reassuring smile. “I’ve claimed her.”

“Possessive much?” Maddie muttered, though there was a hint of amusement in her tone now.

The laughter at the table felt like a reprieve, a momentary distraction from the way Rafe’s presence filled every corner of your awareness. Even when you weren’t looking, you could feel his eyes on you.

As the conversation continued, you risked another glance at him. He was sitting back slightly, his arms crossed over his chest, the faintest hint of a smirk playing on his lips. When your eyes met, his brow arched just slightly, as if to say caught you.

You looked away quickly, your cheeks warming despite the chill in the air-conditioned room. The tension was almost unbearable.

“Another round?” Brooke suggested, breaking the moment as she reached for her empty glass.

“Yes, please,” Sabrina said. “And get me some fries while you’re at it.”

Brooke stood, tugging Chase up with her. “Come on, you’re helping.”

Chase groaned but followed, leaving the rest of you at the table. Liam immediately launched into a story about some party mishap the night before, pulling laughter from Maddie and Sabrina. Their energy was light and easy, but your focus drifted. The conversation faded into the background as a quiet tension hummed in the air.

You absently toyed with the straw in your drink, the condensation cool against your fingertips. It wasn’t the story keeping you distracted, it was a feeling, steady and insistent, like the faint pull of a current just beneath the surface.

Your eyes flicked toward Rafe, catching him mid-motion. He leaned forward in his seat, his fingers resting lightly around his glass. His expression was unreadable, but when his eyes met yours, something shifted. His expression shifted slightly, almost imperceptibly, like he was inviting you into a silent exchange you weren’t sure you were ready for.

Before you could think better of it, you asked, “so, does he always let her boss him around like that?” You nodded toward the bar, where Chase and Brooke were deep in conversation with each other.

Rafe’s lips curved faintly into something between a smirk and a smile. “Only when it’s easier than arguing.”

His voice was low, smooth, and somehow it cut through the noise of the bar as if it were meant just for you. The corner of his mouth twitched slightly as he added, “Besides, Brooke likes to think she’s in charge. No harm in letting her believe it.”

You couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped. “Generous of you.”

He tilted his head, studying you with a casualness that felt anything but. “And you? Do you let people boss you around, or are you the one calling the shots?”

The question caught you off guard, the weight of it settling in a way that felt heavier than the words themselves. You played it off with a shrug, your voice light as you said, “I guess it depends on who’s asking.”

For a moment, he didn’t respond, his regard was steady and unflinching. The space between you felt charged, as though the brief exchange had opened a door you weren’t sure you wanted to walk through. Then, just as quickly as it had come, the tension shifted. Rafe leaned back again, his attention flicking to the table for a moment before returning to you.

“Fair enough,” he said simply, his tone neutral but laced with something that made your pulse quicken.

The conversation broke as Liam’s voice rose in laughter again, drawing your focus back to the group. You turned away from Rafe, but the weight of his words, and the way he’d looked at you, like he was turning over some unspoken thought, lingered in the back of your mind.

Chase and Brooke returned a few minutes later, Brooke balancing a tray of drinks with the practiced ease of someone who could do it blindfolded. Chase trailed behind her, a basket of fries in one hand and a triumphant grin on his face.

“Fries are here, ladies and gentlemen,” Chase announced, sliding the basket onto the table with exaggerated flair. “You’re welcome.”

“And drinks,” Brooke added, placing the tray down and handing out glasses. “Okay, who’s ready to have some real fun?”

Sabrina immediately perked up. “What kind of fun are we talking about?”

“Dancing, duh,” Brooke said, her eyes gleaming with excitement as she looked at you. “Come on, you’re coming with me.”

You returned her smile easily, “lead the way!”

Brooke’s grin widened. “Now that’s the energy I like! Let’s go.”

The group cheered enthusiastically as Brooke grabbed your hand, tugging you out of your seat with surprising strength and pulling you toward the dance floor with a playful urgency. The music grew louder as you wove through the crowd, the bass thrumming beneath your feet and mingling with the laughter and chatter around you. It was vibrant, intoxicating, and all too easy to step into.

The moment you reached the dance floor, you fell into the rhythm naturally. The beat pulsed through your body, every movement intentional but fluid. This was the game you were built to play, slipping into the moment, owning it, and making it look effortless.

“See?” Brooke shouted over the music as she spun to face you, her hands grabbing yours. “Isn’t this amazing?”

You laughed, matching her energy. “I get it now. Totally worth it.”

Brooke twirled herself dramatically, her curls bouncing with the movement. “I knew you’d fit right in. Seriously, I’m so glad we met. It’s like, you were meant to be here.”

Her words carried a warmth that felt genuine, even though you knew you couldn’t take them at face value. Still, you played along, letting your smile widen as you leaned in. “I’m glad, too. This is exactly what I needed.”

“Same,” Brooke said, her expression softening for a moment. “You don’t even know. You’re like... the missing piece. It’s been forever since I clicked with someone this fast.”

The sincerity in her voice struck you more than you expected, and you squeezed her hands briefly before letting go, your movements falling effortlessly back into the music.

“You’re making this way too easy!” You teased.

“Good!” Brooke laughed, tossing her head back, “that’s what friends are for.”

The crowd pressed in around you, bodies swaying and shifting with the beat, but you held your space with ease, your movements a blend of precision and spontaneity. Brooke’s laughter rang As Brooke spun you, you caught a flicker of movement near the table. Rafe leaned forward across the table, murmuring something to Chase.

His hand moved absently to the edge of the table, fingers drumming once, twice, before stilling. Chase laughed, gesturing animatedly, though it was clear Rafe’s attention wasn’t fully on him. There was a restlessness to his movements, a little pull that made your focus longer than you meant to let it.

“Don’t look,” Brooke began a second later, leaning in with a grin that was both teasing and knowing, “but Rafe had been staring at you for, like, five minutes straight.”

You blinked and turned to Brooke. “Really?”

Brooke gave you a playful nudge. “Uh, yeah. It’s not exactly subtle.”

Your stomach fluttered as you glanced back toward the table, this time catching Rafe’s gaze. His fingers rested lightly on the table’s edge now, his posture easy yet fixed, as though he was aware of exactly when you’d look. The corner of his mouth curved slightly, not quite a smile, but enough to leave you wondering what it meant.

“Told you,” Brooke said, leaning closer. “You’ve got his attention.”

Your heart raced, but your exterior stayed calm. You held his focus a bit longer before turning back to Brooke with a playful shrug. “Maybe I’ll let him keep it. He’s cute.”

Brooke gasped and twirled you dramatically, her laughter ringing out above the music. “Oh, I like you! You’re dangerous.”

You grinned, letting the energy of the moment wash over you. The weight of Rafe’s attention only added to your focus, sharpening every movement, every smile.

The song shifted and Brooke leaned in again, her voice warm and truly genuine, “I mean it. I’m really glad you’re here. You’ve made this semester so much better already.”

“Right back at you,” you said, matching her sincerity.

But even as you spoke, the weight of Rafe’s fixation clung to you, impossible to ignore.

You glanced back at the table, catching his focus once more. His expression hadn’t changed, but something in his eyes made your chest tighten. A heat spread through you that had nothing to do with the dancing.

He wasn’t just looking. His stare lingered, sharp and probing, as if peeling back layers you hadn’t meant to reveal. It felt deliberate, practiced. Like a skill honed over years. This wasn’t just attention. It was control.

And Rafe Cameron knew how to hold it. Everyone was aware of it. He was the kind of guy who turned heads effortlessly, who drew people toward him whether they wanted to be near him or not.

For a split second, you’d doubted if you were the one setting the trap — or if you’d already stepped into his.

#rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron #outer banks #rafe cameron angst #rafe obx #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron au #rafe cameron fanfiction

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