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microtheory · 8 days ago

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If the Nuremberg Laws were Applied…

-Noam Chomsky

Delivered around 1990

If the Nuremberg laws were applied, then every post-war American president would have been hanged. By violation of the Nuremberg laws I mean the same kind of crimes for which people were hanged in Nuremberg. And Nuremberg means Nuremberg and Tokyo. So first of all you’ve got to think back as to what people were hanged for at Nuremberg and Tokyo. And once you think back, the question doesn’t even require a moment’s waste of time. For example, one general at the Tokyo trials, which were the worst, General Yamashita, was hanged on the grounds that troops in the Philippines, which were technically under his command (though it was so late in the war that he had no contact with them — it was the very end of the war and there were some troops running around the Philippines who he had no contact with), had carried out atrocities, so he was hanged. Well, try that one out and you’ve already wiped out everybody.

But getting closer to the sort of core of the Nuremberg-Tokyo tribunals, in Truman’s case at the Tokyo tribunal, there was one authentic, independent Asian justice, an Indian, who was also the one person in the court who had any background in international law [Radhabinod Pal], and he dissented from the whole judgment, dissented from the whole thing. He wrote a very interesting and important dissent, seven hundred pages — you can find it in the Harvard Law Library, that’s where I found it, maybe somewhere else, and it’s interesting reading. He goes through the trial record and shows, I think pretty convincingly, it was pretty farcical. He ends up by saying something like this: if there is any crime in the Pacific theater that compares with the crimes of the Nazis, for which they’re being hanged at Nuremberg, it was the dropping of the two atom bombs. And he says nothing of that sort can be attributed to the present accused. Well, that’s a plausible argument, I think, if you look at the background. Truman proceeded to organize a major counter-insurgency campaign in Greece which killed off about one hundred and sixty thousand people, sixty thousand refugees, another sixty thousand or so people tortured, political system dismantled, right-wing regime. American corporations came in and took it over. I think that’s a crime under Nuremberg.

Well, what about Eisenhower? You could argue over whether his overthrow of the government of Guatemala was a crime. There was a CIA-backed army, which went in under U.S. threats and bombing and so on to undermine that capitalist democracy. I think that’s a crime. The invasion of Lebanon in 1958, I don’t know, you could argue. A lot of people were killed. The overthrow of the government of Iran is another one — through a CIA-backed coup. But Guatemala suffices for Eisenhower and there’s plenty more.

Kennedy is easy. The invasion of Cuba was outright aggression. Eisenhower planned it, incidentally, so he was involved in a conspiracy to invade another country, which we can add to his score. After the invasion of Cuba, Kennedy launched a huge terrorist campaign against Cuba, which was very serious. No joke. Bombardment of industrial installations with killing of plenty of people, bombing hotels, sinking fishing boats, sabotage. Later, under Nixon, it even went as far as poisoning livestock and so on. Big affair. And then came Vietnam; he invaded Vietnam. He invaded South Vietnam in 1962. He sent the U.S. Air Force to start bombing. Okay. We took care of Kennedy.

Johnson is trivial. The Indochina war alone, forget the invasion of the Dominican Republic, was a major war crime.

Nixon the same. Nixon invaded Cambodia. The Nixon-Kissinger bombing of Cambodia in the early ’70’s was not all that different from the Khmer Rouge atrocities, in scale somewhat less, but not much less. Same was true in Laos. I could go on case after case with them, that’s easy.

Ford was only there for a very short time so he didn’t have time for a lot of crimes, but he managed one major one. He supported the Indonesian invasion of East Timor, which was near genocidal. I mean, it makes Saddam Hussein’s invasion of Kuwait look like a tea party. That was supported decisively by the United States, both the diplmatic and the necessary military support came primarily from the United States. This was picked up under Carter.

Carter was the least violent of American presidents but he did things which I think would certainly fall under Nuremberg provisions. As the Indonesian atrocities increased to a level of really near-genocide, the U.S. aid under Carter increased. It reached a peak in 1978 as the atrocities peaked. So we took care of Carter, even forgetting other things.

Reagan. It’s not a question. I mean, the stuff in Central America alone suffices. Support for the Israeli invasion of Lebanon also makes Saddam Hussein look pretty mild in terms of casualties and destruction. That suffices.

Bush. Well, need we talk on? In fact, in the Reagan period there’s even an International Court of Justice decision on what they call the “unlawful use of force” for which Reagan and Bush were condemned. I mean, you could argue about some of these people, but I think you could make a pretty strong case if you look at the Nuremberg decisions, Nuremberg and Tokyo, and you ask what people were condemned for. I think American presidents are well within the range.

Also, bear in mind, people ought to be pretty critical about the Nuremberg principles. I don’t mean to suggest they’re some kind of model of probity or anything. For one thing, they were ex post facto. These were determined to be crimes by the victors after they had won. Now, that already raises questions. In the case of the American presidents, they weren’t ex post facto. Furthermore, you have to ask yourself what was called a “war crime”? How did they decide what was a war crime at Nuremberg and Tokyo? And the answer is pretty simple. and not very pleasant. There was a criterion. Kind of like an operational criterion. If the enemy had done it and couldn��t show that we had done it, then it was a war crime. So like bombing of urban concentrations was not considered a war crime because we had done more of it than the Germans and the Japanese. So that wasn’t a war crime. You want to turn Tokyo into rubble? So much rubble you can’t even drop an atom bomb there because nobody will see anything if you do, which is the real reason they didn’t bomb Tokyo. That’s not a war crime because we did it. Bombing Dresden is not a war crime. We did it. German Admiral Gernetz — when he was brought to trial (he was a submarine commander or something) for sinking merchant vessels or whatever he did — he called as a defense witness American Admiral Nimitz who testified that the U.S. had done pretty much the same thing, so he was off, he didn’t get tried. And in fact if you run through the whole record, it turns out a war crime is any war crime that you can condemn them for but they can’t condemn us for. Well, you know, that raises some questions.

I should say, actually, that this, interestingly, is said pretty openly by the people involved and it’s regarded as a moral position. The chief prosecutor at Nuremberg was Telford Taylor. You know, a decent man. He wrote a book called Nuremberg and Vietnam. And in it he tries to consider whether there are crimes in Vietnam that fall under the Nuremberg principles. Predictably, he says not. But it’s interesting to see how he spells out the Nuremberg principles.

They’re just the way I said. In fact, I’m taking it from him, but he doesn’t regard that as a criticism. He says, well, that’s the way we did it, and should have done it that way. There’s an article on this in The Yale Law Journal [“Review Symposium: War Crimes, the Rule of Force in International Affairs,” The Yale Law Journal, Vol. 80, #7, June 1971] which is reprinted in a book [Chapter 3 of Chomsky’s For Reasons of State (Pantheon, 1973)] if you’re interested.

I think one ought to raise many questions about the Nuremberg tribunal, and especially the Tokyo tribunal. The Tokyo tribunal was in many ways farcical. The people condemned at Tokyo had done things for which plenty of people on the other side could be condemned. Furthermore, just as in the case of Saddam Hussein, many of their worst atrocities the U.S. didn’t care about. Like some of the worst atrocities of the Japanese were in the late ’30s, but the U.S. didn’t especially care about that. What the U.S. cared about was that Japan was moving to close off the China market. That was no good. But not the slaughter of a couple of hundred thousand people or whatever they did in Nanking. That’s not a big deal.

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charmedreincarnation · 2 years ago

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Hi Maya I was one of your first anons back in March and I manifested my dream life. i just wanted to share some things that helped me, and hope we can all pass some knowledge so we all get our desires life. I did, you did, and everyone reading this can and will so let’s all try to help out by sharing a little of our journey. I’ll never create a blog because tumblr is a mess, so I’ll just share them here bc I trust you as a creator and I hope you agree with what I’m saying. Even if you don’t these are my assumptions and my truth

il get into my methods in one second but users of tumblr there are only 4 THINGS YOU NEED TO KNOW ABOUT THE LAW (Inspired heavily by you bc I used your blog religiously) I will say you’re kind of too nice and I wish I had someone to yell at me like this, and tell me to stop being a victim!!! So if it sounds aggressive it’s because it is in the best loving way possible.OKAY SO.

★you need to understand that you want to fulfill yourself in imagination because you don’t care about the desires only how you feel about it. Bare with me it sounds stupid I know. But I don’t care about men or how they feel about me. I just want to feel worshiped and love, and I could fulfill that in my imagination. I don’t care about money??? It’s fucking paper !!! I just want to feel secure and financially free and want the feeling of buying my favorite clothes without looking at the tag. I GOT THE SAME FEELING FROM PINTREST EVEN WHEN I WAS POOR GODDAMNIT. I didn’t care about getting all As in school when I’ve always believed school is not a representation of intelligence. I wanted to feel recognized adored and respected which I had to feel for myself in my mind before it projected. I don’t care about looking skinny, I just wanted to feel snatched, I wanted to be envied, and feel pretty. And in my mind everyone wanted to be me even when I was ugly and fat. BUT I DIDNT FEEL FAT. Even with no change in the 3D I had my desires. This applies to all your desires, and you really need to understand that.

★you can affirm,visualize, understand states, understand non dualism, use the Bible or Torah m, wall twerk and say “I AM THAT BITXH,” use sats YADADAA . No one cares it doesn’t matter. you don’t have to feel anything or, even believe in wth you’re doing. As long as you think that having it in imagination means it’s yours that’s all that matter. I’ve read so many teachers, Neville, Abraham, Abdullah, Edward art, paid coaches, and they all do different things but say the same thing. FAITH IS KEY. That’s all that matters. Don’t let anyone you otherwise or tell you what you have to do. All teachers were once students, all success stories were once struggled failures, all masters were once lost okay. You are god so have some faith in yourself.

★YOU ARE GOD. You know what a god is, you know how a god works, you know god can do anything with a snap of a finger, kill anyone with a thought, look anyway it wants, have anything everything and create whatever. You are an omnipotent loving creator so create and give yourself everything.

★you can’t over consume, you can think from lack of whatever, and doubt can’t hinder you unless you think it does. Having a desire does not mean you’re lacking or else having the wanting for it would mean that too no? When creators say that I want to slam my head against the wall. Even now I have all my desires and I still think about them constantly. Thinking of new clothes to buy with MY WEALTH, I think of new food to eat that won’t even affect my SNATCHED BODY, i find new places to try and explore bc MY SOCIAL CIRCLE IS HUGE AND IM SO LOVED, I think of new makeup up to try to enhance my GORGEOUS PRINCESS FACE. I think of it in the same way from when I didn’t have my desired (I always had them in imagination but you know what I mean.) so there is no thinking from lack, or else you’re always lacking it lmfao the fuck. Anyways I doubted my abilities up until I manifested my dream life. I was okay with it in imagination and whether it reflected or not it was my escape I was content with. DID YOU SEE THAT. I had doubts up until the very end, and it doesn’t mean shit unless you think it does. Just affirm having doubts and obsessions only speed up your results. That’s really all it is.

Now to my story if anyone cares. I won’t make a blog for reason number 2 and 3 listed above. That’s all you need but if you want more info for curiosity go for it. I know I was curious and that didn’t stop me from getting my dream life. Anyways I have the same story as about everyone else here. My life sucked, I found the law, and it worked! HOORAY!!! But how did I do it???? Easy peasy, in a couple of steps.

☞ I tattooed my four rules above in my mind. When fear and doubt emerged I sunk that shit like the titanic and went with my laws that I created. It’s literally called the law of assumption like come on, stop fighting with yourself when you assume and create reality.

☞I ignored anything that I didn’t agree with. Sometimes I’d get so mad and be like WHAT NO WHY WOULD THAT BLOGGER OR COACH OR ANON or whoever say that?? But am I dumb ??? each of us have our own reality our own bubbles. The fact that it works for them and not for me started to only motivate me more. It doesn’t work bc I assume sooo… sooo why not just assume the opposite and focus on my rules like they did. The law is always in effect and working. Either it’s in your favor or it’s not. It’s up to you

☞I used affirmations bc repetition is the only thing that works for my logical brain. Anything can change with repetition. It’s basic science. So in the morning and night time I would affirm. ONCE. Repetition meant for me doing it everyday and not wanting. The rest of my day was lived in my imaginations. And the affirmation was to remind me in my vulnerable state that I already have my desires. That’s why my affirmation was “I have my desires no matter what, and everything I do brings them to me faster than the speed of light” it was kind of funny and made me chuckle but I accepted it as facts. Look guys…

☞I didn’t repress myself. If I cried or yelled or told myself “FUCK YOU” it wasn’t me tf. It was the devil or something. Be like those Christian fuckers who when their child comes out as gay…it’s the devil within them or whatever. I would talk to myself, yell when doubt emerged and when my thoughts weren’t the ones I wanted. It wasn’t fucking me so get the fuck out I have my desires so who tf are you ??? It will feel weird but you’ll get used to it trust me. If you’re uncomfortable it’s working. Getting rid of bad habits and your comfort in dwelling in bad thoughts is uncomfortable but it’s worth it.

I manifested my dream life back in March. I LITERALLY WOKE WITH MY DREAM LIFE. A complete 180. I won’t talk about my past life bc I completely revised it and I’m the only one who remembers so for the most part it feels like a long nightmare that has past. I’ll just talk about what I changed instead because that’s the stuff we all want to hear. Anyways I’ll just post some of my list here.

♥ my life feels like the song rich kids by freak ocean

♥I’m a pretty spoiled princess who gets everything I want but I’m still kind

♥I revised my entire family from looks to personality to zodiac to religion and etc. i rewrote my story which included my family

♥I have natural admired intelligent

♥my family has a net worth of 500 million dollars, and my entire family stems from old money. (Think aristocrats not slave or colonization money)

♥I can play many instruments and speak many languages

♥ I am 5’2, 100 pounds, I have natural stunning vixen beauty, and the most desires body in the world. I’m the beauty standard and people either want to be me or date me. I am naturally skinny and have no worries about my weight, I have clear skin that only gets clearer with my skincare routine, and I have my desired personality where I’m kind but also don’t put up with any shit from anyone because I know I’m that bitch. I also have great style and embody a princess !

♥my life is a combination of my favorite watpadd stories, Gilmore girls, gossip girl, and mean girls.

♥ too many people pursue me I have too many options

♥I have a perfect school life, social life, family life, friend life, and people always wonder what I did to be “so lucky it’s unfair”

♥my family has multiple mansions in America, monoco,Australia, france, and China.

♥I’m a daddies and mommies money girl

♥I put myself first (I HAD SUFFERED TOO LONG I NEEDED A SOFT LIFE)

♥everyone’s purpose it to make my life easier and make me happier

♥I’m spoiled and privileged in every aspect of my life

♥I’m a master shifter, and manifester

♥I revised my age to 14. I was 18 and graduating but I wanted to redo high school how I had envisioned it all my life

♥I have a “cool mom” people are always jealous how lucky I am

♥I have my main estate in Hollywood hills with my family that’s in a gated, gorgeous, gate kept neighborhood. It is 30,000 sq feet with my dreams decor, dream cars, dream pets, dream house help, dream room with all my stuff saved on Pinterest including decor, furniture, clothes, shoes, makeup and skincare.

♥everything good in my life I have manifested and it’s too much to list. THERES NOT REASON FEAR OR WAIT. Do what you want and assume it still works and it will.

You honestly said it better than I could have. Literally every single one of these points are so valid :)!! I’m glad you think I inspired you love but all I did was allow you recognize your own godly abilities. I’m very proud of you, and have fun girl 🥹❤️

Also. “All teachers were once students, all success stories were once struggled failures, all masters were once lost okay. You are god so have some faith in yourself.” This one million times !!!!! Invest your faith into yourself more than anyone else and you’ll see how fast your reality conforms. I also adore your point about the state of lacking bc I never believed in that. If wanting your desires insinuates it’s not yours, we would have no thoughts since that’s where it all originates from. In fact Edward explains it pretty well.

When Edward looks at lack, he sees it as being something that is only brought about by the individual. He believes that your own actions, thoughts, and attitudes will bring about an artificial scarcity of resources. Edward says that this artificial lack of resources is not actually real—it exists only in our minds, as we focus on the things that we don’t have rather than the things that are available to us.

He believes that true lack only exists when someone has no access to resources—whether those resources be financial, physical, mental, or emotional. When someone has access to resources but they squander them or don’t use them to their advantage, it isn’t a lack of resources that is at fault—it is the individual’s personal choices and attitudes that create the feeling of lack. Same way we see attractive people feel ugly though they have women or men chasing them, modeling opportunities, and experience many examples of pretty privilege lol. You’re a hot girl.. you’re just not using it to your advantage, same way you have everything in imagination and access to anything yet… nothing bc of your own perceptions. That’s not lack. Simply inappropriate usage of recourse. A waste for better use of words.

#law of assumption #manifesation #manifesting #my asks #reality shifting #self concept

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buckets-and-trees · 28 days ago

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Cracking Locks

Characters/Pairings: soft!dark mafia Andy Barber x female!reader Word Count: 5k Summary: A tense meeting with Andy's lawyer illuminates more of the gilded cage he's constructing to hold you. You consider a bold decision that will test the tethers of your new life. Takes place directly after Burned Off The Haze.

Content/Warnings: power dynamics and emotional manipulation; forced engagement; use of pet name (sweetheart)

Author Note: This is not a stand alone section! You can find the previous parts here.

A/N 2: I had literally no intention of giving IYM!Andy another feature in the Countdown to Chris-mas, but if we know anything about this man, we know that he moves on his own agenda and makes things happen the way he wants them to! So, really, should we be at all surprised he stole another week?

In your bedroom, you take a moment to lean against the closed door, trying to calm your racing heart and cool the fire still burning in your veins. You're angry at Andy for his manipulations, for involving your team without your knowledge, for the way he can so easily dominate you.

The mix of fear, anger, and arousal leaves you feeling off-balance and confused. You quickly change into a sleek black pencil skirt and a silk blouse, adding a pair of classic pumps and simple pearl earrings. Professional, but with an edge of sophistication that you know Andy will appreciate. As you're applying a fresh coat of lipstick, your eyes catch on the engagement ring glittering on your finger. It's a constant reminder of the situation you're in, of the choices - or lack thereof - that have led you here.

Taking a deep breath, you steel yourself and head back downstairs. Andy is waiting by the door, looking impeccable in a tailored suit. He must have suits in his home office since he didn’t follow you upstairs to change in your shared room.

His eyes rake over you appreciatively.

"Beautiful as always," Andy says, his voice low and intimate. He reaches out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering on your cheek. "Ready?"

You nod, not trusting your voice. Andy places his hand on the small of your back, guiding you out the door to where his Aston Martin waits, someone having brought it around from the garage.

You frown slightly, not expecting his car to be back in mint condition less than forty-eight hours after you had done your best to smash away at it.

Then again, you’ve never had the kind of money and power Andy has, so you suppose it’s not out of the question at all. If he doesn’t employ someone, or even a team, to look after his vehicles, it’s likely he owns a business that can and would accommodate his requests at any time since they reside squarely in his portfolio.

But as you get close, you see there is one dent left on the passenger side door just above the handle.

Andy sees that you see it before he opens it for you. “A reminder,” he explains.

You don’t want to hear what he thinks the reminder is for.

The black Range Rover you typically ride in without Andy pulls up behind you as you begin to drive down the lane of the estate, and you see Mark and Shep in the front.

“I have some business I need to take care of, so your detail will be following us to take care of you after the meeting,” Andy explains.

You don’t converse more than that on the way to the meeting with the lawyer. He spends most of the journey on his phone, conversing with whoever is on the other end of the line in what sounds like Italian.

When you arrive, Andy helps you out of the car, his hand once again finding its place on your lower back as he guides you into an imposing glass and steel building. The elevator ride up is silent, the tension between you palpable.

The law offices are sleek and modern, all glass and polished chrome. A receptionist greets you with a polite smile, her eyes lingering on Andy with a hint of fear.

"Mr. Barber, Ms. Klein is ready for you," she says, gesturing towards a conference room.

Andy nods, guiding you forward. Inside, a striking woman in her late fifties or early sixties rises to greet you. Her dark hair is overrun with silver, and the sharp eyes behind her black-rimmed glasses take in every detail as she shakes your hand.

"Pleasure to meet you," she says. "I'm Joanna Klein. Please, have a seat."

You settle into a plush leather chair, Andy's hand resting possessively on your thigh beneath the table. Joanna opens a folder, pulling out several documents.

"Now, let's discuss the prenuptial agreement," she begins, and you’re struck by how utterly at ease she is around Andy. You wonder how much she knows about him and how long she’s been one of his lawyers.

"It's quite comprehensive," she says as she slides a thick document across the table. "It covers all aspects of your union and potential dissolution, including asset division, spousal support, and confidentiality clauses."

Your eyes widen as you take in the sheer volume of the document. Andy's hand tightens slightly on your thigh, a silent warning.

"I... I haven't had a chance to review this with my own lawyer," you say, your voice smaller than you'd like.

Joanna's eyes flick to Andy, then back to you. "Of course. We can schedule another meeting once you've had time to go over it thoroughly with your counsel."

"That won't be necessary," Andy interjects smoothly. "Ms. Klein will be representing both our interests."

You turn to him, shock evident on your face. "But-"

"It's all standard, sweetheart, but if you would prefer, I can choose another lawyer from my retainer and Joanna can represent your interests.”

“No, it’s…” you sigh. You worked with a lawyer when you expanded your company, but you don’t have a lawyer for something like this, and you doubt you would be able to afford someone at the caliber Andy can. You assume it would be useless anyway.

He trapped you into marrying him, after all.

“It’s fine.”

Joanna clears her throat, drawing your attention back to her. "Let me summarize the key points for you," she says, her tone professional but not unkind. "In the event of a divorce, you would receive a substantial settlement, including a lump sum payment and monthly alimony. The exact figures are detailed on page 17."

You nod numbly, trying to retain as much as you can while you process the information.

"There's also a clause about children," Joanna continues. "Any children born during the marriage would be entitled to a trust fund, accessible at age 25. Details are on page 23."

Your breath catches in your throat. Children? You and Andy have never discussed having a family. The thought sends a chill down your spine.

"The confidentiality agreement is quite extensive," Joanna says, flipping to another section. "It covers all aspects of Mr. Barber's personal and professional life.”

You swallow hard, your mind reeling. The prenup seems to cover every possible scenario, binding you to Andy in ways you hadn't even considered. Your eyes scan the pages, catching phrases like "infidelity clause" and "social media restrictions." It's overwhelming.

Andy's hand remains on your thigh, his thumb tracing small circles that are both comforting and distracting.

As Joanna continues outlining the prenup, you feel a growing sense of unease. The document is clearly designed to protect Andy's vast wealth and interests, while offering you a comfortable but controlled existence. You realize with a sinking feeling that this prenup is just another way for Andy to exert his power and control over you.

"And finally," Joanna says, "there's a fidelity clause. Any infidelity on your part would result in forfeiture of all financial benefits outlined in the agreement."

Your eyes snap to Andy, who meets your gaze with a calm, almost predatory smile. "Just a precaution, sweetheart," he says smoothly. "I'm sure it won't be an issue."

You wonder why you feel a barb of betrayal. Even if this wasn’t the scenario you wanted, how could he think you would be the type of person to cheat on her husband?

“What is your infidelity clause?” you ask.

Andy's eyes narrow slightly at your question. "What makes you think there isn't one?" he asks, his voice low and dangerous.

You meet his gaze steadily, refusing to be intimidated. "Because you didn't mention it, and I doubt you'd agree to such restrictions on yourself."

A tense silence fills the room. Joanna clears her throat and stands. “I’m going to give the two of you a few minutes and then come back.”

“Thanks, Jo,” Andy nods, though he’s still looking at you.

Once the door closes, he speaks again. "You're right, sweetheart. There isn't an equivalent clause for me." His hand tightens on your thigh, almost painfully. "But let me be clear - I have no intention of being unfaithful. You'll find I'm quite... possessive of what's mine."

Your eyes flash with anger and hurt. "So you expect complete fidelity from me, but won't offer the same in return? That's not a partnership, Andy. That's ownership."

Andy's jaw tightens, his eyes darkening. For a moment, you think he might lash out, but then something in his expression shifts. He leans back in his chair, regarding you with a mixture of irritation and... is that respect?

"Most would simply accept what I offer without question."

"I'm not most people," you retort.

"No, you're not." A small smile plays at the corners of his mouth. “It’s part of why I wanted you.

He's silent again for a long moment, his piercing blue eyes studying you intently. You can almost see the gears turning in his mind, weighing options, calculating risks and benefits.

Finally, Andy leans forward, his eyes locked on yours. "Alright, sweetheart. You want fidelity? I'll add a clause. If I'm unfaithful, you get double the settlement outlined in the current agreement."

Your eyes widen in surprise. You hadn't expected him to actually agree. "And the monthly alimony?"

"Triple," he says without hesitation. "For life."

You swallow hard, processing his offer. It's more than generous, almost absurdly so. But then again, for a man of Andy's wealth, perhaps it's a small price to pay for your compliance.

"And the confidentiality agreement?" you press, emboldened by this small victory. "It seems rather... extensive."

Andy's expression hardens slightly. "That's non-negotiable. My business requires discretion, and you may be privy to sensitive information. The confidentiality agreement stays as is."

“But what am I allowed to talk about with my parents? My friends? I can’t simply ignore that you exist and that you’re my husband. They’ll expect me to discuss normal things about you.”

Andy considers your words for a moment, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Fair point," he concedes. "We'll add a clause specifying what information you can share about our personal life - basic details about our relationship, our home life, things of that nature. But anything related to my business dealings or our finances remains strictly off-limits."

You nod slowly, feeling like you've gained at least a small victory. "Okay."

"Anything else?" Andy asks, his tone suggesting this negotiation is nearing its end.

You take a deep breath, steeling yourself for one last request. "I want to maintain my own bank account. One that you don't have access to or control over."

Andy's eyes narrow slightly, a flicker of surprise in them before his expression returns to its usual mask of calm control. "And why is that necessary?" he asks, his voice deceptively soft.

You meet his gaze steadily. "Because I need to maintain some independence. Some part of my life that's still mine, and my business earnings - they’re mine. I want to keep it separate."

For a long moment, Andy just stares at you, his blue eyes unreadable.

"You can keep your existing account, and I'll set up a monthly allowance to be deposited into it. But I want full visibility on all transactions."

You open your mouth to protest, but Andy holds up a hand, silencing you.

"This isn't negotiable," he says firmly. "I need to know where our money is going, for both business and security reasons. But I won't interfere unless you act against me, and then my allowance contributions will cease immediately.”

You nod, realizing you've pushed as far as you can for now. It's not perfect, but it's something - a small piece of autonomy. "Alright. I accept those terms."

Andy's eyes gleam with satisfaction. He leans in and his hand cups your face. "Good girl," he murmurs, before capturing your lips in a searing kiss.

You melt into the kiss despite yourself, your body responding to his touch as it always does. When he pulls away, you're left breathless.

"Now," Andy says, his voice low, "let's call Joanna back in and finalize this, shall we?"

You nod, still slightly dazed from the kiss. Andy raises his hand, signaling to Joanna through the glass walls of the conference room. She re-enters, her expression carefully neutral.

"We've come to an agreement on some modifications," Andy informs her, then goes on to explain what the two of you agreed to.

Joanna's eyebrows raise slightly, but she takes down the notes on a laptop. "I'll have these drafted immediately," she says. “We can have the adjusted agreement delivered for your signatures later this afternoon.”

“You should bring them yourself,” Andy suggests, “join us for dinner.”

Joanna gives him a wry smile. “I think perhaps another time. Now, are we ready to jump into the business deal?”

"I'm going to excuse myself," Andy says, standing up quickly. "I have other matters of business that require my attention."

“Andy?” You look up at him, confusion etched across your face. This is supposed to be an important meeting about your future together, isn't it? And now he's just leaving?

He leans down, placing a gentle kiss on your forehead. "Don't worry, sweetheart. Joanna will take excellent care of you." His eyes meet Joanna's, a silent communication passing between them. "I trust her implicitly to negotiate on my behalf."

Joanna nods, her expression unreadable. "Of course, Andy. We'll take care of things from here."

“I'll review the terms of any final deal with the updated prenup," he says as he leaves.

As the door closes behind Andy, you turn to Joanna, a mix of curiosity and confusion swirling in your mind. Joanna's sharp eyes study you from behind her black-rimmed glasses, and you can't help but feel like now you're truly being evaluated by her.

"So," Joanna begins, her voice crisp and professional, "we have a business proposal to discuss."

You blink. "A business proposal? I thought we were here about the prenup."

Joanna's lips curve into a small, knowing smile. "That was just the first order of business. Andy has another proposition for you." She pauses, letting the tension build. "He wants to become a silent partner in your event planning business."

The words hit you like a physical blow. You lean back in your chair, mind reeling as you process Joanna's words. A silent partner in your business? The business you've built from the ground up, poured your heart and soul into?

"I... I don't understand," you stammer. "Why would Andy want to invest in my company?"

Joanna's sharp eyes study you over the rim of her glasses. "Your company has shown impressive growth over the past few years. Andy sees great potential in your business, and he wants to help it grow."

You shake your head, trying to process this new information. "But why? My company is successful, but it's small. It can't possibly be of interest to someone like Andy."

"On the contrary," Joanna says, opening a folder on the table. "Andy has been very impressed with your work, particularly the gala you organized for him. You could say that was a bit of an audition. He believes that with the right resources and connections, your company could become a major player in the high-end event planning industry."

The implication hangs heavy in the air. You know Andy moves in powerful circles, both legitimate and otherwise. Is this his way of pulling you further into his world?

"But it's my company," you say, your voice smaller than you'd like. "I've built it from nothing."

"And it will remain yours," Joanna assures you. "Andy would be a silent partner. He'd like to make some suggestions for infrastructure growth to set up a framework for the future, but once the terms are settled, he would provide capital for expansion and leave operations to you.”

You sit in stunned silence as Joanna outlines the proposal. Andy would provide a significant influx of capital, along with connections to society he’s cultivated - like the Vanderbilt wedding he put you up for.

But at what cost?

And since he’s arranged to have you here, do you even have a choice?

You take a deep breath, trying to calm your racing thoughts. "I'm not sure I'm comfortable with this. My business is... it's personal. It's mine."

The older woman sighs. Joanna regards you with what almost looks like sympathy and her response surprises you. “I understand your hesitation. I advised him against this, but he’s insistent.”

You chew on your bottom lip for a moment. “So, he wants a deal.”

Joanna nods. "Yes. But Andy anticipated you might need some time. He's prepared to give you a week to consider the offer."

A week. It feels both too long and not nearly enough time to make such a monumental decision. You nod slowly, grateful for at least this small concession.

"In the meantime," Joanna continues, sliding a thick folder across the table, "here are the details of the proposal. I suggest you review them carefully on your own, but I’d like to take you through some of the finer points.”

For the next hour, you listen intently as Joanna walks you through the intricacies of Andy's proposal. The numbers are staggering - the infusion of capital he's offering would allow you to expand your business in ways you've only dreamed of. More staff, cutting-edge technology, access to an elite clientele that would catapult your company to the top tier of event planning.

And with each benefit Joanna outlines, you feel a growing sense of unease. This isn't just a business deal - it's Andy further entwining himself into every aspect of your life. Your company has been your safe haven, the one thing that's truly yours. And now he wants a piece of that too.

He wants you to set up physical offices somewhere in the city, giving a list of five locations that have already been evaluated and scouted by his business team whose leasing costs would be waived either because he owns the buildings or has existing contracts with their owners. He wants you to shift your role and title to executive director and name one of your three as the new operations director so you can maintain oversight and strategic direction but be able to be remote for periods (like your upcoming honeymoon) without it affecting the team.

As Joanna wraps up her explanation, you sit back in your chair, feeling overwhelmed. "This is... a lot to take in," you say quietly.

Joanna nods sympathetically. "I understand. Andy’s offer is certainly comprehensive. It's a significant decision, and not one to be taken lightly." She pauses, studying you for a moment. "If I may offer some advice?"

You nod, grateful for any insight at this point.

"Take the week. Really think about what you want for your business, separate from Andy's proposal. Then compare that vision to what he's offering. See where they align and where they differ." Joanna leans forward slightly. "And remember, you have negotiating power here. If there are aspects of the deal you're uncomfortable with, we can discuss modifications."

You're surprised by her candor. "Thank you," you say sincerely. "I appreciate that."

You’re about to stand, but then you decide to take advantage of this potentially rare opportunity. "Can I ask you something, off the record?"

Joanna hesitates for a moment, then nods. "Of course."

"You've known Andy for a long time, haven't you?" At her nod, you continue. "What's your honest opinion of this? Of him wanting to be involved in my business?"

Joanna removes her glasses, rubbing the bridge of her nose. For a moment, she looks older, more tired. "Off the record? Andy Barber is a complicated man. He's brilliant, driven, and can be incredibly generous. But he's also used to getting what he wants, and he doesn't like loose ends."

She pauses, choosing her words carefully. “He's... complex. I've seen him do things that would shock you, and I've seen him show unexpected kindness. But make no mistake - everything Andy does serves a purpose."

Her words send a chill down your spine. You think of the duality you've witnessed in Andy - the charming, attentive fiancé and the cold, calculating businessman.

"And what do you think his purpose is here?" you ask quietly.

“You’re incredibly smart. You already know.” Joanna puts her glasses back on, her professional demeanor returning. "Remember, you have a week. Use it wisely. If you have any questions, don't hesitate to contact me directly," she says and hands you her card.

You nod, gathering your things. As you stand to leave, Joanna speaks again.

"One more thing," she says, her voice low. "Andy values loyalty above all else. Whatever you decide, make sure you can live with the consequences."

You take the folder with slightly shaking hands. "Thank you, Ms. Klein."

“I think you can call me Joanna.”

You leave the law office with your head spinning, clutching the folders containing Andy's proposal and the updated prenuptial agreement Joanna’s staff had been able to finish revising just as you left. As you step out of the office, you see Shep waiting in the lobby. He opens the door for you and follows a step behind as you make your way to the elevator.

"Everything alright?" he asks, his tone carefully neutral but his eyes showing a hint of concern.

You force a smile. "Fine, thank you, Shep."

The elevator dings, and as you step inside, you can't help but wonder how much your security detail knows about your situation with Andy. Are they just doing their job, or are they reporting your every move back to him?

As you step out of the building, you see Mark waiting by the Range Rover. He opens the door for you, his expression neutral as always.

"Where to, miss?" Mark asks once you settle into the backseat and he and Shep have taken their seats in the front.

You pause, realizing you're not sure where to go. The idea of returning to Andy's house - your house now - feels suffocating. You need space to think, to process everything that's happened.

"Could you... could you just drive for a while?" you ask hesitantly. "I'd like some time to think."

Mark nods without question, pulling away from the curb. As the city passes by outside your window, you try to organize your thoughts. The prenup, the business proposal, Joanna's cryptic warnings - it's all overwhelming.

Joanna had heavily advocated that you take the full week to go over the proposal and negotiate your terms. How possible would that be in Andy’s house, with Andy essentially right over your shoulder? Or with him possibly throwing you over his shoulder and taking you to his bed to wreck you with pleasure, occupying far too much of your mind and your time to think?

You desperately wanted to talk to someone you trusted, someone who knew you, who could help you sort through… maybe not everything, but perhaps some of it.

If only…

You sit up a little straighter and look at Shep and Mark.

Andy had said they were your men, but how true was that? And to what extent? If they had to choose loyalty to you or Andy, could they even choose you over him?

You lean forward. “Can I ask you two something?”

“Of course, ma’am,” Shep says.

You raise an eyebrow. “I don’t love when you ma’am me.”

His eyes twinkle just slightly. “I know.”

“After you get married, we’ll be able to just call you Mrs. Barber instead,” Mark adds.

Now you scowl. “Okay, that’s weirder.”

Mark grins, but Shep at least keeps his face neutral. “What did you want to ask?” he prompts you to continue.

“I know you two are assigned as my permanent detail. Andy explained everything when this started, but what would you say your responsibilities are?”

“My job is to monitor threats whenever you leave the house and keep you safe,” Shep says easily. “Mark’s job is to transport you safely and provide back up.”

You’re careful as you continue.

“The private jet…” you think of the TikToks you’ve seen recently of Kolin Jones arranging flights for rich people on Amalfi Jets. “Hypothetically how long would it take to charter a flight to Europe?”

The two men exchange a look.

You look between them.

“You don’t need to charter a flight,” Mark finally answers. “Mr. Barber is the sole owner of his plane, and I’m a licensed and experienced pilot.”

Your jaw drops slightly, and excitement flickers in your chest.

“Before you get carried away, ma’am,” Shep interjects, and you know he’s ma’am-ing you on purpose. “Where are you going with this?”

You weigh how much to test and tell them, but if they’re not fully behind you, it won’t matter anyway - they’ll prevent you or rat you out to Andy if they don’t agree to your emerging plan.

“I want to get away - just for a few days,” you say.

Shep and Mark exchange another look, this one more wary.

"Get away?" Shep repeats carefully. "You mean like a vacation?"

You take a deep breath, steeling yourself. "No, not exactly. I need some time and space to think, away from Andy and everything here. Just for a few days, to clear my head and figure things out."

There's a heavy silence in the car. You can practically see the wheels turning in their heads as they process your request.

Finally, Mark speaks. "You know we can't just whisk you away without Mr. Barber's knowledge or consent. That's not how this works."

Your heart sinks slightly, but you press on. "I understand that. But you're my security detail, right? You're supposed to protect me and look out for my wellbeing?"

Shep turns and looks at your face directly, studying you. "We weren't assigned to be your babysitters or prison guards. Our job is to keep you safe, yes."

You lean forward, your voice low and urgent. "I'm not running away or trying to escape. I just need a few days to process everything that's happening."

Mark and Shep exchange another long look, seeming to continue a silent conversation.

Shep sighs. "We can't just disappear with you. But we can arrange something."

Your heart leaps with hope. "Really?"

Mark nods slowly. "Our primary job is to keep you safe at all times, and we can’t keep you safe if you don’t trust us.”

He may be telling you what you want to hear, but you think there’s genuine sincerity in what he’s saying. You desperately hope you’re right.

“We will need to report your location and future plans to Andy’s head of security, but I’m willing to hold off until we’re on our way, and I will negotiate us into a good place with taking this trip. Mr. Barber won’t be happy, but I will take the heat if it means longterm you will know you can lean on us.”

You open and close your mouth, searching for the right words. This was the best case scenario that you didn’t know would actually be possible.

“Anything to add?” Shep asks Mark.

Mark shakes his head. "I think that covers it.”

You nod, feeling a mix of relief and nervous excitement. "Thank you both. I... I really appreciate this. So what now?"

“If you are content without a flight crew for the cabin, we can leave almost immediately,” Shep explains, “but if you want a full staff, it would probably be two hours.”

“Oh, no, that’s not necessary. I have Andy’s black card, so I can get anything we need so we don’t need to raise any suspicion by going back to pack, but I will have to get my passport… and you two will-”

Shep raises his brow. “We travel with our passports at all times, and you should know we have a secondary passport for you.”

Your jaw drops.

“In case we ever need to get you out of the country for your safety and don’t have time to go home,” Mark explains.

The thought had never occurred to you.

But the reality that this was apparently a potential reality being part of Andy’s world chills your bones.

“Europe is familiar territory for us security-wise. Where did you have in mind?" Mark cuts into your thoughts.

“Oh,” you muse for a moment. “I have a friend who took a job in Stockholm a few years ago, but I should check with her first.”

You pull out your phone and consider what to even say to the best friend you haven’t seen in almost four years. Then you type out:

What would you say if I got engaged to a rich mafia man who had a private jet and told you I wanted to show up on your doorstep out of nowhere for a few days?

You grin as you hit send. Checking your watch, you know it’s late for her, but hope she’s still up.

“We'll need to file a flight plan and make some quick arrangements,” Shep says, pulling out his own phone, “but we can be in the air within two hours."

"Perfect," you say, feeling a mix of nerves and anticipation.

Your phone buzzes almost immediately with a response:

HER: I’d say you’re living one of my fantasies and ask WHEN and HOW LONG?!

YOU: How serious are you?

HER: Wait… How serious are YOU?

YOU: Maybe 10-12 hours from now and 3-4 days?

HER: You get here immediately! I have so many questions!

You can't help but laugh at your friend's enthusiastic response. It feels good to have something to smile about after the emotional rollercoaster of the past few days.

"Looks like we have a destination," you tell Shep and Mark.

Shep nods, already tapping away on his phone. "I'll call ahead to file the plan. Mark, head to the airfield."

As Mark changes course, you feel a mix of excitement and anxiety bubbling up inside you. You're really doing this - escaping, even if just for a few days, to clear your head and figure things out.

Can you believe I gave you a chapter for them without any smut?

What do you think? What does Andy think? How will he react?

↠ Main Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

I do not do tag lists, but FOLLOW @buckets-and-stories and TURN ON NOTIFICATIONS to be updated any time I publish a new work!

#andy barber #andy barber smut #andy barber x reader #andy barber x you #chris evans characters #female reader #i'm your man collection #countdown to chris-mas #aspen wrote something

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eamour · 2 years ago

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dare to assume it.

when we find out about the law and that we can manifest anything — literally anything — we often feel overwhelmed and don’t really know what to do with that. our entire lives, we‘ve been told that hard work pays off and now a guy like neville goddard is trying to make us believe that we can have anything we desire by simply… assuming that we do?

crazy. and i can imagine that many people have applied this knowledge and immediately changed themselves and therefore their entire world. but some people… some people still seem to be in disbelief. they know what to do, they know that it’s possible, but they cannot dare to assume. but you? you aren’t one of those people.

shamelessly claim your desire.

you are god, this is your desire, you know what you need to do — what is holding you back? you want this desire and you are allowed to have it, you are deserving of having it. you don’t need anyone to give you permission to manifest it. you don’t need anyone to tell you if you should manifest it or not. you don’t need anyone to tell you whether you can have it or not. this is your world, your rules, your assumptions. you can have it and you will have it!

forget about the outside world.

you shouldn’t care about what the world likes to think of your desire. you shouldn’t care about your current circumstances either. they do not determine if you can have your desire or not, you do! it doesn’t matter if you don’t know how, when or if it will manifest. all you need to do is going within yourself and, in your imagination, giving yourself your desire. and you can do that. you are supposed to do that.

nothing can stop you.

fear shouldn’t stop you, disbelief shouldn’t stop you, doubts shouldn’t stop you. you want it? you can have it. and your goal is to fulfill yourself, to experience your desires and to feel the joy that comes along with it. so, do not hold yourself back!

do not reject your desires.

but you want this? you want to have this? you want to feel happy? you want to be relieved? you want to experience having it? you want to accept it? you want to know it? — then want it. want to have it. want to feel happiness. want to be relieved. want to experience having it. want to accept it. and want to know it. why would you reject your desire? why would you not grant yourself that wish? exactly.

you can do it.

this is your world. you create everything — even the circumstances that you worry about, even the fear that is lying somewhere within you, even the things that depict a barrier for you in your journey. you are in control of everything, in charge of whatever is happening around you. why don’t you own this? you are god, not just the title, but THE god himself. the god of YOUR reality. act like it! dare to assume it! shamelessly claim your desire and forget about all the outer things that seem to bother you. there is nothing that can stop you, no one to hold you back but you! you don’t need to reject your desires because if you want them, you are the only one who can get them! it’s your world, do whatever you want with it.

with love, ella.

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astroninaaa · 11 months ago

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wtf is going on with cellbit - by a brazilian law major student

hey besties ever since the day cellbit released that PDF i’ve been keeping up with his shit bc as a law student (only two years to go!!!!) in brazil it’s kinda really interesting to see how it goes, specially since i don’t think we’ve ever had this sort of judicial action taken by an internet celebrity, like, ever. so i’ve decided to kinda explain what’s going on. if anyone has any questions after this i’d be really up to talk about it i love talking about law 🫶 xoxo let’s start. also sorry if anything reads weird english is not my native language okay

for those who don’t know, very recently, a judicial action taken by cellbit has made public. in this action, he’s suing over 200 people for the crime of defamation.

the action was taken to court in january, but it was under what we call “secret of justice”, which means only cellbit himself and twitter’s lawyers had access to it. now that there have been decisions by the judge and everything, the process’s been made public.

basically, cellbit started an action against twitter (NOT THE PEOPLE WHO COMMITTED THE CRIME YET), citing a little over 200 tweets that accused him of crimes like SA, psychological abuse, pedophilia, and others. all of those are real crimes in brazil — and accusing someone of committing crimes (specially as awful crimes as those) without proof is a crime in itself (defamation). he claimed that the tweets were harmful to his honor, mental health, and reputation, besides categorizing as defamation, since there’s no investigation going on against him for all these infractions he’s being accused of.

with that, he asked twitter to delete all the tweets, and to provide him with the personal information of said twitter accounts so he can sue them directly for defamation. he did these requests through something called “tutela cautelar”, which means the judge gets to decide whether or not twitter has to do these things before proof production and proper investigation, since, if twitter doesn’t do those things, the damage to his honor and reputation will be ongoing + he won’t be able to sue the proper people in time.

the judge conceded to his requests, and twitter has already deleted all the tweets. the main discussion going right now is wtf do they do about the international accounts — does our law apply to them? what’s gonna happen? we don’t know yet. that’s being discussed in court for the moment and, considering brazilian courts, it might take quite a while.

so, yeah, all those people aren’t being sued YET. but they will, probably somewhat soon.

it’s also important to mention that this lawsuit is from january and was only now released to the public. there’s probably a lot more coming after the whole fiasco that led him to releasing his statement, including a lawsuit against his ex herself.

now, other topics — could he sue other twitter accounts for cyber bullying or death threats? probably, but my personal opinion is that suing for defamation and focusing on accounts that were accusing him of having committed crimes was a much better move because it’s a much stronger case.

there’s very little room for discussion when a person has outright said “cellbit committed this crime”. death threats have more room for discussion: “oh, but they’re hundreds of miles away, it wasn’t a serious threat”, “they didn’t mean it”, “it was a joke”. same thing goes for cyberbullying: it can get too subjective.

defamation isn’t subjective. you accuse someone of a crime they didn’t commit? boom, defamation, at least according to our laws. so, to me, personally, it makes a LOT of sense for his lawyers to focus on that: he’s a LOT more likely to win than if he was suing for cyberbullying, threatening, insult, or any of that. also, he’s a lot more likely to win FASTER.

when he gets to sue the actual people who committed the crime, that is. for now, he’s only requested twitter to give him the necessary information to get to these people, which i think they’ll very likely be obligated to do. there are digital data protection laws in brazil, but a crime is a crime. digital data protection isn’t gonna protect you from the court.

another thing: LGPD (brazil’s general law of personal data protection) forces all social media companies to keep records of all the content posted by their users for AT LEAST six months. many companies keep it for way longer. that’s a law created for judicial purposes, in case something published to twitter, facebook, or instagram needs to be analysed by a court. that’s why even tho twitter has deleted the tweets, they still have them, and why it doesn’t matter if the people responsible are deleting the tweets, the accounts, the fucking app itself. the records are still there, and they will be used judicially.

i think that’s the overall for the situation, but i’m willing to answer any questions and to discuss it if anyone wants to! i’m a big law enjoyer. also personally i think cellbit is so fucking right for this like YEAH people don’t get to commit fucking crimes on twitter and get away with it. really interested in how this is gonna go law-wise, but in general also really glad to see someone take action like this.

#cellbit #qsmp #cellbit qsmp

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crunchyroaches27 · 9 months ago

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”You’re safe, pet.” | TF 141 x omega!reader

OKAYYY BEAR WITH ME! I just released a pt2 of the ghoap post I made but I could not help but write this one. It’s fluff and angst and the same time.

omega!reader is rescued from a Omega trafficking ring by TF141

BACKGROUND INFO

everyone has lil tails and ears (🥺) + Omegaverse AU + they/them pronouns used; Gender neutral + Alphas have pointed canines for marking

there are more characters, like Alejandro but he doesn’t play too much of a major role. He doesn’t deserve to be here

Price is the pack leader. He is an Alpha— the most dominant out of his other mates. His word is absolute law. He likes to regularly scent his pack, it makes him feel reassured that his pack is safe. Price is essentially their cigarette-smoking dad

Ghost is next in line in this chain of command, he is also an Alpha. He is more impulsive than the others and often has to have many restraints, leading to him often being aloof and angsty. Soap likes Ghost, but Ghost is too fucking slow

Gaz is third in line, also an Alpha like the ones before him. He is cool and collected, yet he also is a bit of a rebel— here and there he will challenge Price’s authority and be snarky

And finally, Soap. Poor Soap is at the bottom, being a Beta. Despite not being an Omega, he still carries out monotonous tasks. As the “peacemaker” of his pack, he ensures that all is well between them. That doesn’t mean he isn’t a jackass sometimes. His body scent is fainter, but his scenting abilities are better than the rest bc he is a Beta

In this cruel world made up of Alphas, Betas, and Omegas, there is bound to be danger lurking in every dark alley, every shady nightclub. Over the course of three days, you had seen and felt things you thought would never end. You were used and passed along like a joint. One particular Alpha paid a good fortune for you, and you found yourself dressed in skimpy clothes and drugged with aphrodisiacs. Your pheromones leaked like a pipe. There’s no hope. Why even bother? you thought angstily as you were transported to a new location.

You’d heard of the tragic trafficking of Omegas, but you didn’t expect to experience it firsthand. Omegas have to know every tactic to defend themselves. Your ears drooped in disgust and a sort of disbelief as your body began to enter some sort of stupor; the drugs meant to make you extremely docile and languid were starting to kick in. The sudden sensation of a sharp turn and the screech of wheels snapped you out from your haze. Instead of hearing the usual excited chatter, you heard gunshots. You were too lethargic to even move, so you passed out in your seat. When you awoke, four men surrounded you; three Alphas and one Beta.

You found yourself on a small cot. Three Alphas and one Beta were sniffing your pheromones to deduce your mental, physical, and emotional state. “Aye, Omega’s ‘woken up,” the Beta with the warhawk mumbled. The bearded Alpha hummed. “Hmm. Let’s start with introductions. What’s your name, Omega?” Another Alpha, clad in a skull mask, trilled, seemingly pleased at your arousal (arousal as in the waking up sense!!). “You’re safe, pet. We don’t bite, at least, not unless you want us to.” He jibed with a British lilt once he sensed your fear. His dark-skinned pack mate snorted, rolling his eyes. You could smell he was an Alpha, too.

All of their ears were perked high in expectation, their eyes watching your every move, sniffing every pheromone released into the already stuffy air. “Y/N,” your response made them nod in acknowledgment. “Mm, ‘Kay. We already knew that. Jus’ wanted to see if we got the right person.” The bearded Alpha sighed before continuing. “Well, I’m Price. This ‘ere is Ghost, Gaz on my right, and Soap’s the one in front of ya.” Soap promptly bent down and twinkled at you, his tail wagging. You didn’t even have to ask for their ranks, you could smell it in the bodily fragrances they released— that applied for them too. You could tell that Price, Ghost and Gaz were all Alphas, while Soap was a Beta.

You wondered how they weren't dying to breed you, your pheromones were uncapped and flowing out into the air freely. They must be taking some kick ass suppressors, you surmised. You were, for the lack of better words, glad they weren’t groping your body ravenously. Yet, despite their composed demeanors, glints of wolfish desires were expressed through their eyes. Their tails were rigid and raised.

“We saved you from that trafficking ring— shouldn’t you be more grateful?” Ghost earned himself an elbow pinch from Price. Ghost lowered his ears and grumbled as Gaz snickered. “Omega’s pumped full of drugs. Damnit, they’re barely alive,” Price grunted, his brows knitted— not in regards to Ghost— but at your deplorable condition. “Don’t expect much yet.”

“Soap, call in exfil, we need to go back to base. We need to get this Omega treated.” At Price’s order, Soap’s ears flicked and he soon got to work. “Don’t worry, Omega,” Price murmured, his thick fingers tracing circles on your sunken-in cheeks. He practically melted at the sigh you soughed. “You’re safe, pet.”

One half of you loved his touch, the Omega side that constantly craved the touch and comfort of an Alpha; the other half wanted to flinch back and snarl at it. You’d been touched, and not in a nice way— you didn’t want to bear that again. Yet because Price’s touch was refreshingly compassionate, the former side won.

At the hospital

When you arrived at the base, you were stirred awake by a splitting headache, an after effect of the narcotics. Your vision was bleary but you could tell that you were in an infirmary— and that you were not alone, either.

Ghost and Soap were seated on the chairs adjacent to your little mattress. Their tails were curled curled together as they waited for your awakening. When you finally announced it by clearing your throat, both of their ears shot up in attention and whipped their heads around to face you.

Soap was the first one to detach from the tail-curling and walk towards you, a gentle concern painted onto his face. “Ye feelin’ any better, Omega?” He chuckled at your reply, a tired no. His hands neared to replace the tape covering your scent glands, but then he stopped, seemingly remembering his manners. “Mind if I change ‘em? Not gonna try anything slick,” Soap asked, his icy blue eyes warming themselves for you.

“No,” you croaked. Slowly, he started to strip the tape off, clean your gland, and patch a new piece of tape on. Obviously, your scent had been carried in the air, exciting both Soap and Ghost. You knew Soap had a better nose than the rest. Soap’s pupils had dilated, making you a bit uneasy, “not gonna try anythin’,” he assured you again, smelling your distrust.

“Where’s Price and Gaz?” You questioned, hoping you remembered the name of the two Alphas right. “They’re in Mexico. With a friend; they should be back soon.” Ghost replied, rising to his feet to join Soap. They both assessed you with such focused attention— especially Ghost— making you feel like a piece of meat again. Your ears pinned themselves against your head.

Ghost’s inhaled deeply through his mouth, his breath trembling. He leaned closer towards you, his head tilting to try and whiff up any of your heady pheromones that still lingered in the air from the tape-replacing. Ghost's ears were angled towards you.

Ghost realized what he was doing and promptly gave you your space, as if to prove his salaciousness was kept under control. Or maybe he did it as an apology. "Sorry, just, you smell nice."

Soap hummed in what could be expressed as skepticism.

"Well, I think we should leave 'em to their own devices." Soap said, giving your hand a quick squeeze. He ordered for a glass of water to be delivered to your room before he left with his packmate.

You were left alone with your thoughts. You realized how much of a windfall this was. Out of hundreds of millions, you were saved. You had quite possibly the aid of God by your side. What an occurrence.

Sorry. Didn't really know how to end it, but pt2 will come out fs 😚

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saphronethaleph · 5 months ago

Text

Applied Maya

“Your overconfidence is your weakness,” Luke said, calmly.

“Your faith in your friends is yours,” the Emperor replied.

Vader shook his head. “It is pointless to resist, my son.”

“It is pointless to control the galaxy,” Luke retorted. “I’ve learned things about the Force that mean I understand that now."

He waved his hand, and Vader tensed, but it turned out to be for emphasis instead of telekinesis. “The Force is everywhere. In everything. There’s… a level of reality which is far beyond what we care about. It’s around us, everywhere. Even in us.”

“What are you talking about?” the Emperor asked, thrown off his argument about how everything was futile.

“The Force,” Luke explained. “And… us. And everything, because the Force is everything. And we’re the Force. We’re… luminous beings, and our bodies are only crude matter that outlines them and gives our spirits somewhere to be.”

“What are you on about?” the Emperor demanded. “Vader! What is he on about? Is this some kind of Jedi nonsense?”

“It is possible,” Vader mused. “But I do not recall hearing it before.”

“I can explain more, if you’d like,” Luke said, earnestly. “The way that it works is that there’s more than one layer of existence, and this is a layer of reality but compared to the Force it’s just an illusion. Which means that – yes, you should do everything you can to make things better in this world, but – no, this world isn’t all there is, and you aren’t your body. Your body is just an approximation.”

He looked at his hand. “I lost this on Cloud City and… it didn’t make me any less of me. I’m still me, because I’m not my body, I’m the one who lives inside it. And the Force is like proof of that.”

That drew a blank look from the Emperor, and what would probably have been a blank look from Vader.

“Elaborate,” Vader requested.

“Well, we all know that the laws of physics exist, right?” Luke asked. “They define exactly how things work. How things fall, or they don’t. How orbits work. And yet, I can stretch out my hand and pull something into it. Which means the laws of physics aren’t laws, they’re just very persistent illusions.”

“I believe the interaction is mediated by midichlorians,” Vader said. “They are like mitochondria for the Force.”

“So?” Luke replied. “That simply means that part of how we are outside physical reality can be measured. I’ve heard the explanations, I’ve seen it – all that the explanation really does is put it into words, and give it a framework.”

He made another expansive gesture.

“This is trite nonsense,” Palpatine said. “Your friends on the Sanctuary Moon will not survive.”

“And if that happened, I would be sad,” Luke said. “Of course I would. But I came here willing to die, because death is not all that there is.”

Palpatine glowered at Vader.

“This one is broken,” he said. “Do you have another possible new apprentice for me?”

“The supply is a bit low, my Master,” Vader said.

“And I know about your rebel fleet,” the Emperor went on. “They will be ambushed by my fleet, just as an entire legion of my best troops is waiting for your friends.”

“That’s a shame,” Luke said. “But it’s not the same as something being unrecoverably bad.”

Palpatine blinked.

“...what?” he said. “You make no sense.”

“You can think of it like a shadow,” Luke said. “Or a hologram. It looks real, but it’s not the most real thing. It’s illusion, just a very persistent illusion which is why so many are taken in by it.”

“This doesn’t sound very empirically sourced,” Vader muttered. “Did you come up with all this yourself? If not, who taught you?”

“Yoda,” Luke replied, and both the Emperor and Vader flinched slightly.

“Yoda’s alive?” Vader asked, sounding horrified and fascinated.

“Not since… about three days ago, I think?” Luke answered. “I could be off by a day or two on that, I spent a lot of it in hyperspace.”

The Emperor tried very hard to stifle a sigh of relief, and didn’t quite manage it.

“You know Yoda?” Vader said. “You met Yoda?”

“Yes,” Luke agreed. “I was there with him at the end. Obi-Wan told me where he was living.”

“What?” Vader asked, now sounding baffled. “...how?”

It was his turn to wave his hand to make a gesture. “Because I remember Cloud City, and you were reasonably talented, but you seemed self taught. You did not fight like you’d had two and a half years of Ataru lectures from the death gremlin… there weren’t nearly enough backflips for it.”

“...oh, I see,” Luke said. “No, Obi-Wan told me on Hoth.”

“On… Hoth,” Vader repeated, slowly. “He’d been dead for several years at that point. Hadn’t he?”

“Oh, yeah,” Luke confirmed, readily. “He’s a ghost. He’s still around.”

The younger Skywalker shrugged. “Kind of proves what I was saying, right? Death isn’t the end of existence. A person lives on after the death of their body. They become one with the Force, and the Force is one with them, but they still exist.”

Vader was silent for a long time.

“...huh,” he said, eventually.

“Anyway, as I was saying – Father – Your Highness,” Luke went on. “I don’t fear death because death is the loss of the crude flesh, which is just a cloak for our true selves, who are luminous beings of light. To ask others to accept suffering of the flesh is unfair, because they feel it as real, but I understand it for the illusion that it is and so I’m willing to suffer and die for my beliefs – in a very real sense, it doesn’t mean as much to me as it would to anyone else. Because I know the truth.”

“This is all the ramblings of a senile madman, translated through the mouth of a naive boy,” the Emperor said. “What kind of proof could you possibly have?”

“...what, apart from the fact that I communicated with my dead mentor, and he gave me information that I did not know before?” Luke asked, curious. “That was sufficient for me to accept it when Yoda told me, but there’s also the extent to which understanding the illusive nature of reality amplifies my understanding of what the Force truly is.”

“I have to admit, it would explain why Obi-Wan vanished,” Vader mused, sounding like he was talking to himself more than the others.

“You don’t know about the Force,” the Emperor said, snidely. “Certainly your understanding is not as deep as mine!”

Luke examined him.

“You actually believe that,” he said. “But you think what I’m saying is nonsense?”

“If you understood the Force better, you would not be my prisoner!” the Emperor retorted.

“I’m not,” Luke said. “That’s an illusion as well.”

“You cannot just declare anything you don’t like to be an illusion!” Palpatine raged.

“I can if it is,” Luke replied, still calmly, and reached out his hand. His lightsaber slapped into it, then he let go and it floated back across the room to where Palpatine had put it.

He shrugged. “I’m here because I want to save my father. I surrendered because I thought that would be the best way to do it. I’m standing here on a battle station I fully expect to be blown up, because I am committed to saving my father. From you. That’s why I’m here, and it has nothing to do with you having any power over me. You don’t.”

The Emperor attempted to prove Luke wrong by electrocuting him, which lasted about ten seconds until Vader threw him out the window.

The air, on the other artificial hand, stayed put.

“You might be right, son,” Vader said, sounding scientifically fascinated as the room didn’t depressurise. “Accepting this really is helping me understand and use the Force.”

“I’m glad to have helped,” Luke replied, reminding himself that electrical burns were also illusions no matter how persistent they were. “What do we do now?”

“Leave the room, probably,” Vader suggested. “Then we can see about deciding whether we want to keep this station or destroy it.”

He made a curious noise with his respirator. “Are the Empire’s succession laws real or an illusion? I am fairly sure I could abdicate in your favour if you would like.”

“Mon Mothma would be better, I think,” Luke said, after some consideration. “Or Lando. Lando might work.”

#star wars #palpatine #another bad day for palps #luke skywalker #darth vader

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guiltyasdave · 10 months ago

Text

i can see the end as it begins

chapter 1 • series masterlist

pairing: Dave York x f!reader

summary: You meet your father’s new friend for the first time, but he’s a lot different than you expected.

word count: ~5k

tags/warnings: explicit smut -> 18+ mdni, dbf!Dave, unhealthy relationship dynamics, dom/sub dynamics, angst, daddy issues (reader’s dad isn’t a nice person), able-bodied reader, reader has hair, no use of y/n, divorced Dave, unprotected p in v, semi-public sex, fingering, dirty talk, praise kink, degradation kink, spanking, pet names, let me know if i missed anything 🫶🏻

a/n: my favorite person on this app @joelscurls planted the idea of dbf!dave in both our heads and after many many feral dms, porn gifs, plotting and just generally freaking out, we have finally managed to put the first chapter together :) we’re currently planning with 4 chapters in total that we’re gonna take turns posting, so go follow jess if you don’t already (criminal behavior tbh)! i’m beyond excited to be able to do this with someone whose writing i adore sooo much, we’re both beyond excited about this story, and we hope that you enjoy it 🫶🏻

follow @joelscurlsupdates and @guiltyasdavenotifs for updates and find jess’s masterlist here and my masterlist here :)

dividers by the lovely @saradika-graphics!

“I want a divorce.”

It’s been almost a year since Carol spoke those words into the tense silence of their dining room and they still echo in Dave’s mind as if it happened yesterday.

He doesn’t mourn the marriage, doesn’t miss Carol, not in the way he probably should. But he mourns the life that he had, the perfect suburban family, the stability. A little boring maybe, but safe, calming. Predictable.

And he misses his girls. He misses the sound of small feet on the hardwood-floor greeting him as soon as he opened the front door, giggly exclamations of “Daddy’s home!” and tiny hands grabbing at him, begging to be picked up. Now he opens the door to an empty, silent apartment. He has them every second weekend, which he rationally knows makes the most sense with his often irregular working hours, but it’s simply not enough. It’s like time is constantly running through his fingers and he just can’t make it stop, can’t bring his life back under control.

He’s doing what he can to keep himself busy, anything to keep his mind occupied and his thoughts from spiraling into that pit of loneliness that he’s found himself in. He started reconnecting with friends, going out with his colleagues and contacting people from his army days that he hasn’t spoken to in years, trying to build a social life outside of his family and the neighbors that he no longer lives next to.

It’s tedious, making him realize that he really doesn’t like people all that much, but it’s better than spending his evenings by himself and wondering where things went so awfully wrong.

He spends a lot of time with Jim, one of the guys that trained with him and that he always got along with rather well. Jim was delighted when Dave called, promptly inviting him to join him at golf the next day, which somehow turned into a weekly event on Dave’s schedule. It’s nice enough, giving him some sense of routine and he finds that he’s rather good at it. Jim runs his own company by now, the thing that he invests all of his time in, which got him a lot of money, but also a divorce.

It’s all he talks about, too, but it’s fine with Dave, not being forced to contribute that much to the conversation – because really, there’s not much worth mentioning happening in his life anyway – and he’s content to just nod along and hum in agreement most of the time.

Jim has a daughter too, a lot older than Dave’s though, already out of the house, attending law school. He can tell that Jim is proud when he talks about her, but it always seems to be connected to achievements, an underlying pressure to their relationship that leaves Dave a little uneasy and he silently vows to himself to never apply any sort of conditions to his love for his daughters.

But he's never met the young woman and he probably never will, so he doesn’t dwell on it, because what does it matter to him, really?

You huff a sigh as the familiar sight of the country club that your father loves to frequent comes into view and hand the Uber driver a tip before sliding out of the car.

You had thought you’d be getting a night out with your Dad, just the two of you, a rare occurrence. Not that you had been particularly looking forward to being grilled about law school, your grades, networking and internship opportunities, but at least he would be listening to you, paying attention. Joking that he was making sure that the money he put into your education was well invested, a joke that felt less funny every time you were reminded just how financially dependent you were on your father.

If the topic of conversation wasn’t school, it was what kind of acquaintances you’ve made, if maybe you’d met a guy with good connections, someone who could introduce you to the right people. Cautionary warnings not to get involved with the wrong sort, not to get on the wrong track.

Just once, you would like to talk about if you were enjoying school, what living on your own was like, how you got along with your roommate, the fun times you had with your girlfriends, anything about your life that wasn’t somehow connected to success or keeping up appearances. But your relationship wasn’t like that. He didn’t care about these sorts of things, he never had.

You continuously swallowed down the heavy feeling of envy in your stomach when your friends talked about their parents, painting a picture of unconditional love and support that was foreign to you, telling yourself that everything was fine the way it was.

“I invited Dave to join us tomorrow,” he then told you yesterday morning, offhandedly, sipping his coffee and his eyes already glued to his phone. You nodded silently, forcing your lips into something that resembled a smile. He had mentioned someone named Dave before, an old friend from his army days that he had recently reconnected with, if you remembered correctly. It didn’t matter, really, your father’s countless acquaintances blurred into a mix of vaguely familiar faces in your head anyway. If you had mixed feelings about the evening plans before, this new development made it clear that you wouldn’t partake in the conversation much, just smile politely, sit pretty and let the grown ups talk.

Steeling yourself, you walk in, your heels clicking against the floor. After spotting your dad almost immediately and waving in his direction, you make a beeline for the bar. He was sitting alone, you think, furrowing your brow in thought. You’re running a little late yourself, maybe that Dave guy couldn’t make it? You don’t hate the idea of that.

Dave had been reluctant to come out tonight, couldn’t help the feeling that he was intruding on his friend’s father-daughter time, something that he was desperate to have more of, but Jim had insisted.

“Lots of women you could meet there!”

He had scoffed under his breath, not able to picture himself meeting someone new, going through the motions of getting to know them, opening up, adjusting his routine to someone else’s again. He could much less picture himself meeting a woman he’d be interested in at a fucking country club of all places. Eventually, the thought of another evening in his silent and empty apartment with nothing but his thoughts to keep him company made him accept anyway.

He’s drumming his fingers against the polished wooden bar, waiting to pick up the second round of beers for Jim and himself, when someone slides up to the counter beside him. He glances over, eyes focusing in on the woman who is studying the drinks menu.

He feels an inexplicable pull towards her, couldn’t look away again even if he tried. She’s beautiful, he thinks as he takes in her features in the soft warm light, lingering on the shape of her lips, before his gaze trails down her body, over the short black dress that’s clinging to her in the most enticing way. She’s also younger than him; too young, the responsible part of his mind argues. Not the kind of woman that he should be interested in meeting. He still can’t look away.

“Evening.” The greeting comes out before he can stop himself. She looks up, a hint of annoyance on her pretty face, but her gaze softens as her eyes meet his. A smirk plays on her lips.

“Hi.” Her eyes flicker down his own body and up again, something akin to excitement taking over her expression. He’s rusty, hasn’t done this in ages, but her interest is palpable, and it shoots a thrill of pleasure through him.

“I’m David,” he introduces himself. No one has called him David in… god knows how long, but it feels better than Dave in this moment, right somehow. Like he can be a different person, just for a little while.

“Pleasure,” she grins, tells him her name and shakes his hand, her eyes glinting in the warm lights of the bar. Her touch on his skin, even just his hand, is like electricity is flowing through the air between them. She feels so soft and his life has been so devoid of softness lately that he has to force himself to let go of her hand again.

Something tugs at the back of his mind, like this name should ring a bell, but he shoves the thought aside. He’s too busy picturing himself taking her home this evening, imagining how soft her skin would feel in other places, how she would look splayed out underneath him on his sheets, how her breath would sound when he–

“I’ve never seen you around here before, are you new?” her melodic voice interrupts the vivid daydream playing in his mind. She has taken a step towards him and hints of the sweet notes of her perfume are beginning to surround the air around him. It’s getting a little hard to think straight.

“I– yes. First time actually,” he laughs and delights in the way her face lights up at the sound. “You come here a lot, then?” The cliché line makes him want to cringe, but she doesn’t falter, only shrugs and lets her eyes slowly trail down his body once more, obviously wanting him to notice.

“Depends. I might be here more often if it means I get to see you.”

She reaches out until her fingers softly graze his wrist and it demands a great amount of willpower not to take her home right this instant.

The heartbeat in your chest is thrumming along to the butterflies that are erupting in your stomach. You’ve never been this bold, too shy to flirt at all most of the time, but the stranger in front of you is clouding your sense of judgment and has your insecurities flying right out of the window. His interest is written over his face clear as day and you feel an immediate pull towards him that you can’t explain.

He’s so handsome that your hands are itching to touch him more, to find out if he’s as broad and solid as is large frame suggests, if that jawline would feel as strong under your fingertips as it looks, and if his deep brown eyes would soften before you press your lips against his. No wedding ring either, you note in the back of your mind, sending another surge of excitement through you.

The fact that he seems old enough to be your father, something that your therapist would probably have a few words to say about, is only adding to the arousal that’s coursing through your veins. You want him.

You almost jump when your drinks arrive in front of you; you had all but forgotten where you are, and that you’re very much in eyesight of your actual father. Suddenly, you feel silly, reality catching up to you. Surely he was just being nice and you read way too much into it, making a fool of yourself.

“Well, I–I’ll see you around then.” You hastily grab your glass and are ready to make a run for it, when his large hand wraps around your elbow.

“Looking forward to it,” he purrs, before he takes the two beers off the counter in front of him.

Awkwardness slowly sets in when you start walking in the same direction, but it doesn’t fully hit you until you both stop at the same table, your father beaming up at you.

“Sweetheart, you already met Dave I see, that’s great. Come, sit!”

You’re frozen, stupidly blinking between your father and the man beside you a few times. The man who introduced himself as David.

David. Dave. Oh. Oh.

“Y–yeah,” you stutter out eventually and plaster a smile on your face as you take a seat beside your dad. David looks just as dumbstruck as you feel when he slides into the chair opposite from you, quietly handing one of the beers over to your dad. His friend.

Your father launches into a story about their army days together and you’re nodding along, but not one word actively registers in your brain. The conversation eventually moves on to your dad’s recent work projects, the majority of the talking done by him, with the occasional question from David, while you’re silently sipping on your drink.

The initial embarrassment of the whole situation makes you want to sink down into the ground, but still you can’t keep your eyes from flicking to David again and again. They linger on his lips, constantly in a pout that you would give anything to feel against yours, the slight shadow of stubble on his cheeks at the end of the day that you know would scratch against your skin so deliciously, the way his hand dwarfs his beer on the table, thick fingers that could stretch– No. No, you’re not going there.

Your cheeks are burning and you stare down at the tabletop in front of you.

When your gaze lifts back up, David’s eyes are already trained on you, glinting like he knows exactly what you’ve been thinking about. You reluctantly look back at your father, who’s still rambling on about some big client that he’s currently dealing with, completely oblivious to the charged energy between his friend and you.

David shifts in his seat and his leg bumps against yours under the table. You grasp your drink tighter, forcing yourself not to react in any way, but you don’t move away either. Neither does he. You shoot him a look and the hint of a smirk plays around his mouth. He looks too damn good like this, so excitingly wrong in a way that makes your pulse flutter.

It feels like you’re burning up from inside and as little attention as your dad is paying to you, you’re certain that he’s gonna notice that something is off with you eventually. You hastily scramble to your feet and excuse yourself to the bathroom. You feel David’s eyes on you as you walk away until you’re out of sight.

The cool water that you run over your wrists and splash onto your cheeks does a poor job of calming you down. Stupid, stupid, stupid, you admonish yourself. It’s certainly not more than a tiny bit of flirting to him, if at all, just some harmless fun to amuse himself probably, and you’re getting this worked up about it.

No. You need to get out of this situation. You’re gonna walk back out there, make something up about a headache and catch a cab home. It will probably earn you a lecture about politeness later in the evening, but you’ll gladly take that.

When you approach the table again, your dad is just getting off his phone, his expression already far away. You know that look all too well, being subjected to it almost daily.

“Work emergency?” you ask, without a real question behind your words.

“Yeah,” he grumbles, getting up, barely looking at you, already all business. “Sorry, I gotta get to the office, Dave will drive you home. Right, Dave?”

Your eyes fly to David and you catch him swallowing hard, but he nods regardless, lips quirking up in a forced smile. “Of course.”

You both silently watch your father’s retreating back, already speaking into his phone again. The fabric of Dave’s pants ghosts against your bare leg below the table once more. You wish it were his fingers instead.

You hadn’t anticipated to be alone with him and all the reasonable thoughts that you’ve come up with in the privacy of the bathroom are wiped from your mind. It feels like you’re buzzing, a rush of excitement thrumming through your veins, like your body knows that you’re on the brink of doing something really stupid and really fucking tempting.

“I’m sorry, about earlier,” you murmur, looking up at him through your lashes. He smirks, a knowing glint in his eyes as he takes in your expression. He still hasn’t moved his leg.

“I don’t think you are.”

Your stomach swoops at his words. You bite your lip. He wouldn’t be acting like this if he didn’t want you, would he? His eyes dart to your lips at the movement and darken. Fuck it.

“No, I’m not.” You pray that he doesn’t catch the slight tremble in your voice. He’s fucking intimidating and this is wrong on so many levels and you want him so badly to want you.

The tension between you is a palpable thing, almost making it hard to breathe when he leads you out of the club, his hand at the small of your back and causing you to shiver. Will he really just drive you home? Will he say something, do something, touch you more? You don’t know how to ask for any of it and desperately wish that he’ll take the reins, that somehow he already knows what you want. You have a feeling that he does.

He opens his car door for you, another thing that really shouldn’t affect you this much, before he walks around the vehicle and gets in beside you. You catch a hint of his cologne in the confined space and press your thighs together before you can stop yourself. Your heart is racing and you just know that he knows exactly what he’s doing to you.

He clears his throat. “We gotta stop at my place, I have some paperwork that I’d like your–” He interrupts himself, his grip on the steering wheel tightening until his knuckles are white, “that I’d like Jim to look over for me.”

You nod, a small hum leaving your throat. The implication of going to his place has you reeling. He nods back, stealing a glance at you before he starts the car. You can’t help watching him as he drives, the subtle control that he exudes, the way the muscles on his thighs are flexing underneath the fabric of his pants. He looks over at you a few times, and you don’t have it in yourself to pretend that your eyes aren’t glued to him.

“See something you like?” he asks eventually, the corners of his mouth twitching.

“Yeah,” you answer, so breathless it’s embarrassing and you shift a little in your seat. Your dress rides up at the movement, revealing more skin, and his eyes fly down instantly.

“Me too,” he rasps.

When he stops the car in front of his building, you decide that it’s time to be brave.

“Do you want me to come up with you?”

“No,” his answer comes instantly. His tone isn’t cold, but determined, not to be argued with.

“Oh.” Your cheeks are heating up again. You hate how small your voice sounds. “I thought–”

He sighs, rubbing a hand over his face, avoiding your gaze.

“I can’t. You’re– You know why. You know I can’t.”

“I don’t care. I’m an adult, I can do what I want.”

He shakes his head, still not looking at you.

“Sweetheart, stop. Trust me, I want to, but–”

“Please?” You’re begging, no dignity left in you, only want want want. “Just one time. Please, David?”

His eyes fly up to your face at that. You can see the shift, the way his expression hardens, turning into something feral that has heat growing between your legs.

“Just one time,” he repeats, his voice dark with desire, no longer trying to conceal it.

His hands find your thighs, grabbing at you roughly, moving you until you’re in his lap, legs spread wide, his breath fanning against your lips. One hand is in your hair, the other gliding under the hem of your dress, his touch turning you into a trembling mess.

“This is what you want?” he growls, the grip in your hair tightening. You don’t think that you’ve ever wanted anything as much as this.

“Please,” you whine again, and he presses forward, lips clashing against yours, the kiss all tongue and teeth and desperate need and you’re melting into him.

“Fuck,” he breathes, his hands all over you now, grabbing at your dress, your skin, any place he can reach.

Your mouth travels over his cheek and down to his neck, sucking kisses and bites into his skin. The stubble scratches against your face just like you thought it would and you start working on the buttons of his shirt with trembling fingers, rolling your hips, desperate for friction. His grip steadies you, pulling down the neckline of your dress, kissing along the lace of your bra before he pulls the cups down too. A groan rises up in his throat as he cups your tits, thumbs circling over your already hardened nipples before he leans forward and sucks one into his mouth.

“Fucking perfect,” he rasps, breath hot against your damp skin. You arch into his touch and he chuckles, sucking on the bud again before he bites down, eliciting a loud moan from you. His touch travels up your thighs, leaving a burning trail behind, until his fingertips rub over the soaked fabric of your panties and you gasp at the barely-there touch.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he coos, pressing down harder. “Already dripping for me, huh? You want it that bad?”

You nod eagerly, pushing down onto his fingers.

“Alright.” He sounds just as wrecked as you feel. He starts undoing his belt buckle and his pants and you lift up just enough to allow him to shove them down his hips.

At the first glance at his cock, your mouth falls open, a silent breath escaping you. He’s big, certainly the biggest you’ve ever had, and maybe you should think about how you’ll take all of him inside of you, but you find yourself craving him, craving the stinging stretch, craving the feeling of being as close as possible to him.

“Don’t worry.” He seems mildly amused, catching your lips in another kiss. “We’ll make it fit.”

Another shudder runs through your body at this. “I’m not worried,” you admit in a whisper.

He laughs at that, a breathless sound that you instantly want to hear again.

“Good.”

He pulls your underwear to the side and thrusts one thick finger up into your slick heat without warning. His thumb rubs around your clit and you already feel an orgasm creeping up on you. He adds a second finger, his rhythm relentless, and you cry out, grabbing his shoulders, trying to steady yourself, but it’s pointless. You’re already clenching, so close to the edge, when he pulls out of you and fixes you with a hard glare.

“Not yet. You’re only gonna come on my cock tonight, understood?”

You want to scream, want his fingers back, but you realize that you also want this authority, want him to take control, to take whatever he wants from you. It’s a heady feeling, one that you’ve never experienced before, but you’re already desperate for more.

“Okay,” you agree, and his responding smirk is enough for another wave of wetness to gather between your legs.

With one steadying hand securely on your hip, he leans over to the glovebox, mumbling about protection, but you stop him, fingers looping around his wrist.

“I’m on the pill, and I’m clean, I promise. You don’t need–”

He leans back, the grip on your hip tightening again.

“Fuck sweetheart, are you sure?”

You nod quickly, another “please” falling from your lips.

The grin on his face is downright feral as he hikes your dress up higher, eyes raking over your body. You’re sure that you look a mess, all intimate parts of you on display, your skin damp with sweat, your hair a wild nest. You curl in on yourself a little, but David won’t have any of that.

“Hey,” he growls, fingers digging into your thighs. “If I’m gonna do this, you’re gonna look at me and beg for it, are we clear?”

You lift your head, wide eyes searching his. Desperate to do what he asks, desperate for his approval. He’s gorgeous in the low lights, his cheeks flushed, a thin sheen of sweat covering his face and chest.

“Please,” you whine. “Please David, I need you.”

His movements turn frantic at your words, moving you around until you’re positioned just above him, your panties pulled to the side, the head of his cock nudging at your entrance, already soaking him.

“Just one time?” he rasps once more.

“Just one time,” you agree. You’d agree to anything right now.

He pulls you down slowly, beginning to part your walls. You whine loudly at the stretch. It burns, but you relish in the feeling of getting filled by him, and his responding groan has your lips pulling up in a smile.

You keep sinking down, moving until he’s completely sheathed inside you and your eyes fall shut at the overwhelming sensation. His fingers are on your chin in an instant, giving your head a light shake.

“Nuh-uh, eyes right here, sweetheart,” he reminds you, gritting the words out. He twitches inside you and you force your eyelids to open again.

“Feels so good,” you whine, your voice reduced to a broken, breathless thing, but then he starts moving and you’re not able to form words any longer.

He rolls his hips up into you and you meet his thrusts with your own movements, clinging to his shoulders for dear life. His hands are everywhere, digging into your hips, pinching your nipples, gripping your chin whenever your eyes are starting to slip closed again.

So you keep your gaze obediently on him, your eyes locked, delighting in the way his face scrunches up in pleasure, in the sounds that are falling from his lips, matching your own.

“Good girl, taking me so fucking well,” he groans, his hand connecting with your ass in a light slap. An obscenely loud moan escapes you in response and you clench around him, more wetness covering his length and your thighs.

He stills and leans back to take in your heated face and blown pupils, an amused smirk forming on his face. “You liked that, huh?”

You nod, once again unable to meet his eye.

“Hey,” he demands, his fingers grabbing your face again. “Eyes on me, remember?”

Your gaze reluctantly trails up and his smirk grows.

“So…” he drawls, slowly picking up his thrusts again, “what exactly did you like, huh? When I called you a good girl… or when I did this?”

He smacks your ass again and you grind down onto him almost instinctively. You’re burning up in shame, but you obediently hold his gaze.

“B–both,” you whisper, in disbelief that you’re admitting this to him, but you feel too good to hold back now.

“Fuck,” he growls, his movements speeding up and his grip on your hips bordering on painful, “knew you were a dirty little thing.”

Another slap lands on your skin, harder than before, at the same time that he thrusts deep into you. The combined sensations are enough to throw you over the edge that you had been teetering on since he first touched you and you scream out his name as you fall apart.

He holds your shaking body close, cock grinding into you as you pulse around him and he groans, burying his face in your neck, spilling his own release deep inside of you.

“Fucking perfect,” he whispers, mouth pressing against your skin. “Can’t believe that you let me–”

You barely make out the words, ecstasy still coursing through your veins, but you lean into him, holding onto his broad shoulders, feeling like his body is the only real thing in your world right now.

You stay like this, entangled in each other’s embrace until your breaths even out and he carefully lifts your face, pressing one more kiss against your lips. It hits you suddenly, that this might be the last kiss that you share with him. Just one time, right?

He helps you to properly put your clothes back on, supporting your weight as you slink back into the passenger seat, before he pulls his pants back on and jogs up to his apartment to gather the paperwork for your father.

Your father. His friend. Fuck. Now that the lust-induced haze has lifted a bit and you’re able to think more clearly again, the weight of tonight’s events starts crashing down on you. He would kill you. He can’t know, no one can.

Dave returns within minutes, his brow furrowed as he takes you in. You think that he clocks the growing panic that is probably written all over your face. He reaches for your hand, slowly enough that you could retract it if you wanted to, but you long for his touch, for the reassurance of it.

“You alright?” he asks softly.

“Yeah.” You nod, trying to convince yourself as much as him.

He nods back, not prying, which you are grateful for, and starts the car, making his way over to your house. Your hand still clasped in his. Both your release and his pooling in your panties.

You only let go of him when he pulls into the driveway and kills the engine. You don’t think that your dad checks the footage from the security cameras regularly, but it’s a risk that you’re not willing to take.

“Thank you,” you mumble, once again unable to meet his eyes. “I– I had a great night.”

He smiles, appearing more relaxed than he’d been all evening.

“Me too, sweetheart. Good night.” You feel his eyes on you as you walk up to the door.

You shower, reluctantly washing away all traces of the evening and crawl into bed. You still feel his hands on your skin, the sensation following you into your dreams.

When the morning comes, hushed promises of just one time echo in your head, but the desire to do it again, for more, is burning through your body, consuming your thoughts.

“Hey Dad,” you ask, stepping into his office where he’s brooding over documents, “I think I left my jacket in Dave’s car, could you give me his number? Maybe I can go pick it up.”

if you liked this, please consider reblogging, leaving a comment or sending in an ask – it’s really the thing that keeps writers going :)

#fic: wildest dreams #dave york #dave york x reader #dave york x you #dave york x female reader #dave york x f!reader #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fandom #pedro pascal fanfiction #dave york smut #pedrostories #dave york fanfiction #dave york fic #dbf!dave york

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whalesforhands · 4 months ago

Text

what’s yours is mine (10/?)

previous masterlist next

pairing: geto suguru x reader x gojo satoru

You don’t know a lot of things, and you readily admit that. What you do know, is that the friends you’ve made aren’t something you will ever regret. Until your physical body weakens and becomes nothing, you’re more than happy to give your all until you wither away.

What’s yours can be theirs, too. They’re your friends, after-all. (Omegaverse AU)

“Betas, as we all know make up the main bulk of our world,” A circle is drawn around the ‘β’ sign, chalk flaking off as it taps against the blackboard. “But what about Omegas? Does anyone remember what the sign for it looks like?”

Silence. The lead of a pencil cracks when it’s unceremoniously dropped onto the floor, inciting the complaints of students that wanted to do anything but study.

“Amachi-sensei! Please don’t give us another surprise quiz…!” A student whose name escapes your mind sounds out, their hand raised into the air and a pout on their cheeks.

(You’re not really that close with any of your other classmates. Not even acquainted enough to remember their names…)

“Oh my, if you’re asking me like that I really don’t mind making one for all of you right now.” She huffs as she crosses her arms, shaking her head at the room full of her own students.

“Students must be prepared for anything, you know? A quick reminder doesn’t hurt!”

A collective groan and whines of complaints form a chorus of exasperated children.

“Always so excitable, aren’t you, kids?” Her tone is stale as her flats click against polished wooden floors, standing before the class as she adjusts her glasses. “But I’m reviewing this topic again for your sakes! This is your final year as an elementary student and now that you’re all 12,”

A clap of her hands together as she smiles, the apples of her cheeks blushed pink and the mole by her lip stretching out with her expression.

“It’s the year you present your secondary genders! I’m sure you’re all quite excited, are you not?”

Unfortunately for you, you didn’t quite catch any of that. Not one word managed to float into your attentive ears as Suguru flips through your textbook in your stead, inconspicuously making sure that it looked like you were at least following along.

You would be, if you weren’t so distracted.

“Today’s curse is cute too.” It really is. With flappy wings that looked too small for its body, a smooth, round and squishy body with wide, wide eyes that barely blinked—And the way it kept making little ‘chu!’ noises as it floated all around you. “It looks all blobby and chubby.”

(It’s a real wonder how it even flies. Maybe the laws of gravity don’t apply to cursed spirits.)

“You like it, right? I caught it just cause I thought you might.”

“Mhm. I like all the cute looking ones.”

Because Geto Suguru was one of those ‘cursed energy’ users, and Gojo Satoru had deemed him ‘capable’ enough, given what he had claimed to see through those pretty eyes of his that you’re too familiar with.

“Suguru’s different!” He’s huffing at you as he pokes at your cheek, jabbing the pads of his fingers into them as your head steams with all the information he had just dumped onto you in one fell swoop.

“He’s born with a technique and stuff. Real potential and everythin’.”

(Technique… The thing that people are born with and are supposedly meant to gain better control of as they grow older.)

“Bwut yuuu sfaid—“ He finally releases you. “Shoko doesn’t have a technique either…?” Or did you hear wrong? Was she able to officially learn this ‘Jujutsu’ because she did in fact have one? Or is she just special like Satoru because she’s rich too? Your head is really starting to feels like it was desperately trying to work cogs that haven’t been oiled in far too long.

It’s just not clicking.

“She’s different cause she’s like…” His eyes squint at you as your cheeks go back to being abused by hands that took too much interest in them. “Like a Band-Aid in Digimon.”

“But like a really, really weak Band-Aid and stuff. So she’s not a cure all like a Medicine. If ya go crazy in the head she can’t help.” You can see his grin grow all the more when he pulls at your cheeks and squishes them together.

“Hmph! Now she’s not as cool as ya thought, right?” He’s back to that proud smugness in his expression, eyes sparkly and so full of pride. “I still got the best one out of all of ‘em!”

(“So… She’s a like a Hyper Potion in Pokemon?” Just to put it in terms you understand better, anyway. Digimon’s tough.

“Hyper Potion’s too powerful. Treat ‘er like one of those super useless small purple ones that barely heal anything.”

“Those are supposed to only be good early game, though.”)

“Remember to ask your parents to sign your acknowledgment form for the checkup! Did everyone receive a copy?”

“Yes, Amachi-sensei!”

“Then class is dismissed— Don’t forget!”

It looks like Satoru wasn’t coming today either, it seems. Not even when third period rolled about and you were huddled up next to Shoko’s side as her head leans against your shoulder under the shade of the tree in the school courtyard, chatter in your ears and a yawn escaping your mouth.

(You think he must be really busy with his particular rich people stuff. You hope he’s at least eating well.)

Physical education was never your most favourite of classes. Partly because you just couldn’t seem to be good at anything that had to do with sports, and mostly because of all the sweat.

(And also, they separate the boys and girls. At least Suguru’s having fun playing basketball.)

“You have a pretty bad sense of smell, (last name)-chan! Maybe you’ll be a Beta?” Hayashi Yume is one of the few names that you actually do remember. A loud personality and openness to talking to everybody making it a breeze for her to get along with absolutely anyone.

Even you.

(When Gojo Satoru isn’t around, anyway. Suguru seems to think of her of a friend. Shoko too.)

There’s no fighting the most popular topic amongst the final year elementary students. No helping in the fact that this was all on each and everyone’s minds… But you just can’t really bring yourself to care.

“…what do you wanna be, Hayashi-san?” Just to change the topic away from you, away from this sudden spotlight that you don’t want. It was hard making a choice on this already… You don’t want to be ambiguous about it all over again should you be swayed.

“Oh, oh! I wanna be an Alpha, of course!” She gushes and squeals, hands on her cheeks and face alight with a blush so adorned with excitement. “My mother says it’s a one-way ticket to being successful in life! That’s why all the lead roles in movies are always played by ‘em!”

“Ehhh? But that’s just movies, though. Ya wanna be an actor or something?” Nishikawa Emi— You think. Hayashi-san’s best friend and possibly one of the few people in this school willing to talk to you despite your social circle.

You like her. She does the talking for you when you don’t know how to carry on— And you really like her nose bridge because it reminds you of your Saya-chan.

“N-No—“ A sigh, and crossed arms that finally loosen. “Fine, y-yea! I wanna be a famous movie star one day!”

(Hayashi Yume is really easy to read.)

“Pfft—“

“Stop laughing, Emi-tan!”

“I don’t know about you guys, but I’d rather be an Omega.” Nishikawa Emi nods to herself, her head tilted to the side, strong gaze flickering from her best friend to you and Shoko as her arms cross. “They got it really easy, no? Look pretty and they got any Alpha or Beta wrapped around their finger.”

“Eh…? Emi-tan, I thought fair-o-mones only affected Alphas and Omegas…?” Yume scratches at her head, her expression in clear confusion as she tries to recall the lesson they just had— Social Studies was always so difficult for no reason.

“Omegas are pretty enough to charm anyone, duh. My sister gave me a magazine and it was just full of pretty Omegas, and not even one of ‘em was ugly, so it’s gotta be true.”

“Huh…? Really…?”

(“(last name)-chan agrees.”

You think Nishikawa is right. Your Mama is super, duper, extremely heart-stoppingly beautiful. The prettiest around, even your Saya-tan would pale in comparison, and the old couple that lives across your home agree whenever you pop yourself through their gate to get the snacks they keep offering you.

“Mhm.”)

Only two out of three were mentioned to be positive. This must be what Amachi-sensei must have been talking about when she was going on about how there was a ‘bias’ and that ‘people don’t think everything can be equal’.

(Kinda makes sense now, you guess. But you’ll still keep true to your Beta favouritism. What’s so bad about being the most common? You would be able to fit in with lots and lots of people. Common interests save relationships! According to the daily advice channel, anyway.)

“Shoko, what do you wanna be?” It’s whispered and soft— Mindful of how she was quietly snoozing away on your shoulder as you feel her shift, hear her breaths shorten and her see her eyelashes flutter.

“Dunno…” She replies with a tone sluggish and tired, yet somehow able to perfectly comprehend your question. So she was listening despite being asleep. “Everything sounds like a pain to deal with. Don’t wanna choose…” And she’s back into dreamland.

An ambiguous answer.

“Ehhh? Ieiri-chan,” Yume shakes the sleepy girl’s shoulder. “You gotta at least like— Aaah!”

Maybe it’s your weird sense of heroism, the odd feeling of responsibility that came with being the person you are that you’re lunging towards the classmate that you didn’t know all that well, forcing her head down before the basketball could make direct impact with her face.

At the very least, you hope you don’t get a nosebleed. Please don’t let the hit be too hard, please don’t let it break your nose and require you to have emergency surgery like in that one movie Geto-papa played for everyone because Geto-mama didn’t allow you all to watch that one horror movie—!

Your eyes squeeze shut, teeth clenched and jaw tightened. Please, please please please please…!

And— Nothing. Just air in your face, a breeze in your ears and the familiar, panicked sound of a ‘chu!’ as you hear something akin to a spring bouncing. The basketball rebounds off of the poor curse, making it take the brunt of the impact and a surprised squeak escaping it—

Before you watch it get recalled back.

Suguru.

“Ahh! Sorry, sorry! We didn’t mean ta let the ball get so far out of court!” You hear the stampede of feet, the smell of sweat and the feeling of your heartbeat trying to recover from all that adrenaline. “You girls al’right?”

“(last name)-chan almost got hit in the face saving me! Do you boys have no manners at all?!” It’s Hayashi that’s clinging onto you, her arms around your neck as her eyes are teary and her nose was starting to run— A clear show of how touched she was by your actions, before she’s standing up to match the boy’s height to ensue an argument.

(She was always the overdramatic kind. But it works out for you ‘cause heroes always love a good damsel in distress.)

“I said I was sorry!”

“You can’t even keep a single ball in court! What would’ve happened if (last name)-chan wasn’t here and Emi-tan didn’t catch Ieiri-chan?!”

(Mama did once say that people who argue like an old couple may get married one day. Best of wishes to Hayashi-san and… The boy that you can’t seem to remember the name of.)

“You didn’t get hit, right?” A hand settles on your head from above, before helping you to stand up from your tumbled position on the ground. Your eyes flicker up to meet droplets of purple reflecting spots of sunlight, noir hair hastily tied into a miniature ponytail and strands blowing in the wind, whilst the sweat on his furrowed brow was frowned into a panic.

He’s patting your face, your hair, cheeks, eyes, nose— “I’m just checking for bumps. You sure you didn’t get hit?”

“Mn.” You have to assure him as you take out your handkerchief from your pocket, dabbing at the sweat on his forehead and trying to soften the deep furrow. “Of course I didn’t. You’re the one who saved me.”

And you have full trust in him, no matter what. Shouldn’t that be expected? Suguru’s the coolest person you know.

(And Ieiri Shoko remains asleep, even when Suguru is checking you over once more and had to begrudgingly leave with the rest of the boys whilst muttering something under his breath— With the ball tightly clenched in his hands.

Shoko’s now snoozing on Nishikawa’s shoulder as she stays deep within her dream… That drama she was talking about must’ve been really nice.

“Wow… Ieiri-chan must be really tired.”

“…she was studying really hard for the math quiz all night.” Anything to save your dear Shoko’s reputation.

“What?! We have a math quiz?!”

Suguru’s team won the match, by the way. You saw a lot of the opposing team members practically drag themselves to class with bruised faces and sore arms.)

——

“Remember,” Her hand smooths down the messy strands of your bed head, your toothbrush hanging out of your mouth and your eyes groggily blinking at your blurry reflection in the bathroom mirror.

“I’ll love you no matter what you are, okay?” The hairbrush gently combs through locks of your hair, her breathing soft yet just that little bit breathless.

You don’t need much to discern that she was nervous, don’t need superpowers to be able to tell that your Mama was scared. The slightest tremble in her hands, the way she was picking at every strand of your hair that was seemingly ‘out of place’.

But you don’t— Won’t share the same sentiments. Because you don’t care much for this kind of thing. It’s just like taking a test, right?

One that you can’t study for or any of your friends to tutor you for, but still a test all the same.

“It doesn’t matter which one you turn out to be. You’re still you no matter which one, and that won’t change.” A minty exhale accompanied by her very evident stress, her hands fussing over every strand of your already very brushed out hair.

(Was it bad that you didn’t think this was that big of a deal?)

“Mhm…” You’re awake enough to know not to talk with your mouth foaming with toothpaste, awake enough to be aware of how there was just something in the air that had your Mama acting like this today.

(Maybe it’s one of those Heat things you heard Amachi-sensei go through a few weeks ago. Now you wish you paid more attention instead of playing with Suguru’s curses…)

Your eyes meet hers in the foggy mirror of your bathroom; her hair is only slightly messed up, her face ever so pretty, yet so worried as she bites her lip and hugs you close.

“I’ll bwe fwine, Mwama.” (“I’ll be fine, Mama.”) You know better, yet you just can’t help but want to comfort her right now— Even if it’s spat out through a mouthful of minty toothpaste foam and a toothbrush that nearly drops out of your mouth.

“Iiiee profwise.” (“I promise.”)

And that was that. Though, you can still feel her slight uneasiness even when she smiles at your attempt of tying your own shoelaces, can feel that the air just hasn’t settled into the usual calmness that you were used to even when you waved her goodbye at the gate.

(You hope it all goes well today. If not for you, then for your Mama. At the very least, just for her.)

“Satoru.” You smile, a hand going up to wave as you climb into the unassuming, yet extremely fancy vehicle waiting just outside your home.

“Good morning.”

It was like clockwork. Backpack onto the carpeted floors of the car, a moment to catch your breath and your hand reaching towards a head of fluffy white to pat—

Your wrist gets caught.

“Hmph.” He looks pouty, irritated. Like he was going to erupt into a tirade of angry rambling and start comparing you to the ugliest Digimons that he knew of.

“Why’d ya always do that? I-I’m not a kid, ya know?!”

Why? Because you’ve been doing it since… Forever, you guess. He’s never stopped you before, never stopped you until now. So why? Was it the change in the air today? The odd pressure in the atmosphere? It should be obvious, all because he’s—

“Because you’re cute, Satoru.”

He doesn’t look satisfied with that reply. Not at all, especially when he narrows his eyes at you into a glare.

(Cute.)

“What, like a puppy or somethin’? Ya making fun of me?”

“No.” You shake your head, watch as his fingers tighten themselves ever so slightly against your wrist. That’s definitely not how you see him at all, not at all what you feel when you look at him, no matter how cute he was. “That’s not it.”

“Then what?” He had a huff to his tone, irritation and exasperation as he pulls on your hand and forces you to lean closer towards him— To meet his awaiting blue glare.

“Because… I like you too much?”

Silence follows. The air changes, and you catch the shoulders of the nameless driver that usually never said much stiffening—

Did you say something wrong? Something that offended him? You… Didn’t, right? You’ve always called him cute, and he’s always been fine with it. With reddened tips of his ears and eyes that looked like they were gonna bulge out of his head as he covered his face with an angry swing of his arm—

“T-Then I don’t wanna be cute!”

Oh. That’s… Kinda sad. Is it because he doesn’t like you back? That can’t be it, can it? You’ve both been friends since 4, he can’t possibly say that he hated you for all that time, could he?

(But even if he did, you think you’d be at peace to know that he did used to like you. That would be enough.)

“Why not…?” You don’t have a mirror right now, but you’re pretty sure you just can’t help the look of deposed, kicked puppy look in your eyes as you frown. “Satoru, do you not like me…? Did I do something wrong—“

“C-Cute doesn’t mean super attractive! And n-nobody likes to be called that! Hmph!” And he turns away, his hand splayed out on your face and effectively blacking out your vision as he makes sure to keep this distance between you and him.

(So… It was an insult? Have you been insulting your dear Satoru all this time?)

“Sorry, Satoru…”

“Stop apologizing, you stupid dummy!”

“Sorry.”

“Times are always changing, isn’t that right, Saya-san?”

“Indeed, Mr. Reporter! It’s speculated that because of the shift of the moon into its next lunar phase, everyone will be experiencing a change in their life to come.” Her hands wave around, her smile ever so blindingly adorable as you stare up at her pretty face upon the television screen.

Her fingers delicately make a heart, a charming, moe-filled wink towards the camera as you nearly feel your heart stop. “So always expect change, even if it’s ambiguous! You never know if it can be a blessing or a curse if you don’t go and experience it for yourself!”

Maybe change can be a good thing too, if your Saya-tan embraces it.

(“Good… ‘orning…” Geto Suguru was never an early riser. Not even on a day as ‘important’ as this was as he groggily drags himself into the car.

“Suguru.” A turn of your head towards the boy as you shift further inside to make room for him, pressing shoulder to shoulder with your white haired friend as he continues the little ramble about a boss he was fighting. “You look handsome today.”

“Wha—“ And his purple eyes are now blown wide, cheeks growing warm and red splashing onto his face as he freezes midway through— Nearly falling back had it not been for Kimiko-san supporting him from behind. “What— Wha?”

“Hey—! That’s reserved just for me! Don’t go calling Weird Bangs that too!”)

——

“(last name)-san, right?” Her eyes scan over the your sheet of paper as you tiptoe over the counter to meet eyes with the nurse lady.

(You also think it’s funny she’s referring to you in such a formal way despite being so much older than you.)

It’s unfortunate that you had to be separated from your friends… Even Shoko had to wave you goodbye as she was taken away by a personal doctor, whilst you were whisked away and separated from the other girls after brief height and weight measurements.

“No abnormalities in the past few months, correct?”

“Mn.” Not that you know of, anyway. Mama usually answers these types of questions for you at the doctor.

So it is kinda weird answering for yourself. On your tiptoes and with your eyes barely making it over the oddly tall counter. You swore your Mama told you that you’ve been growing a lot lately.

“Please proceed behind the curtain.”

And you did, poking your head in to check for enemies hiding in a corner only to meet with a smiling lady. With a cool lab coat and the— Setho-something scope. Heartbeat reader thingy.

(You know because you saw an episode of Saya-chan roleplaying as a doctor once for a special episode of her zodiac sign forecast. Just because you’re 12, doesn’t mean you need to know the names of everything yet.)

“Hello there.” Her smile is kind. Soft and gentle… And makes you less scared of the fact that she’s a stranger as you slowly, shyly step into the makeshift ‘room’ surrounded by curtains.

“…hi.”

She laughs. “Don’t worry, I don’t bite.” A hand over her mouth as she tries to stifle her laughter and the crow’s feet around her eyes making themselves all the more prominent as you… Relax slightly.

“Ho… Mura-sensei,” You think that’s what the name tag says as you sit down on the very soft, very plush seat. “Am I a Beta?”

(You need to check the brand for this chair. Maybe Satoru will buy it and let you have one of the old, weirdly comfortable chairs he’s got at his house. Mama has been pretending that her back doesn’t hurt lately.)

“Hm.” Her eyes trail over to her computer, before flickering back down to you with an amused chuckle. “Straight to the point, aren’t you?”

“Mhm.” You wanna get out and get done. Then, you, Shoko, Suguru and Satoru are all gonna gather, open up the little envelope they give you with your assigned secondary genders, look at it and be done forever.

(Because nothing will change between all of you no matter what.)

“Smell this.”

And you do, bringing that little tin up to your nose and taking a big, big whiff of— Some sort of powdery substance inside?

“Powder…?”

The next didn’t seem to be any different, more of that stuff that smelled like nothing no matter how many big whiffs you took and exhaled out.

(Maybe it was some odd test for your nose. You hope you didn’t fail.)

“Form a fist with your hand and show me the underside of your arm, please.”

“…does the needle hurt?”

“Mm…” She thinks for a little bit, as if debating on the question that you gave her as she adjusts the thin needle. “I’d be lying if I said it didn’t, but only for a little bit.”

Well… Good. At least she isn’t lying to you. You don’t like liars. Liars would be like that doctor your Mama called an ‘old coot’ once because he ‘didn’t know what he was doing’ as she carried you out of his examination room.

“I’ll give you a lollipop afterwards.”

“Deal.”

(It did hurt. Kinda. You definitely think it did. Your eyes were squeezed shut so tightly during the process so you don’t even know if it went in or not.)

“It seems that your question has to be undetermined today, (last name)-san.” Her right hand fingers tap against the keyboard as she types sentence after sentence, left hand penning up a messy string of words that you blink at least 3 times at— Before giving up.

“You’ll be receiving your results a little later than everyone else.”

——

“It’s rare.” Eyes trail over another sheet of paper filled with too many hard words and numbers. “But not out of the ordinary. It just means she needs to take extra precautions.”

“What about medication? Is there anything that can be prescribed? It’s dangerous for—“

“(last name)-san. I understand your concerns as a mother, but there is little I can do when your daughter is unable to differentiate the primary scents.”

Middle school is when things get serious, they say. Exams, social lives, more exams, club activities, even more exams… And the high school entrance exams that will determine where you’ll go.

(You don’t even know who ‘they’ are. Who are ‘they’ even to say that? You don’t agree. Mama always tells you that you should enjoy being in the present, no matter how old you get.)

“It’s okay.” She pats your head as you both walk out of the stuffy doctor’s room, her words breathy and clearly stressed. “You’ll be the same as you are now…”

“Mama just needs you to take some medicine everyday from now on, okay?”

But, the first week of middle school is probably the first time that you realize… Geto Suguru is extremely popular.

“Geto-kun! Do you mind teaching me this part?”

“Geto-san~ Ame-chan and I are gonna go to the movies later! Do you want to—“

“Oi! Geto! Come join the Kendo club! Coach said he’s heard about you in elementary!”

More so than the white-haired counterpart that you’re pretty sure even the most grumpy, most abstinent of people would find attractive.

(Mama says it’s because looks can sometimes make up for a lot of brash personalities.)

“U-Um— Gojo-san, if you don’t mind, you can eat some of my bento…!” She’s bowing, shaky hands presenting her cutely wrapped lunchbox as she keeps her shy gaze towards the floor. “I-It would be an honour for you to eat it…!”

Awkward silence and Gojo Satoru staring down your poor classmate with eyes that shone with an extremely proud, azure twinkle.

“Heh.” There’s a pleased, shit-eating grin on his face and barely held back disgust in those pretty eyes of his that flickered to and fro from Suguru to the girl still standing before him. “An honour for you, huh?”

(As if he was trying to show off.)

“But you’re not suggesting that I should be eating that trash in your hands, right?”

(So, it was then that you realize it’s not just your Suguru’s handsome looks that made him so popular with the girls.)

“Satoru.” Suguru’s hand gently dabs a handkerchief against the snowy-haired boy’s face, pressing the soft cloth against his skin and imploring the boy to clear his nostrils lest he somehow infect the rest of you with his germs.

“Your nose is leaking.”

“It’s that damn dusty ass classroom’s fault! How the hell do you both withstand that place?” He sniffles before blowing his nose, pressing the cloth embroidered with Suguru’s initials against his face to wipe up his snot.

“If you knew you should’ve wiped it up sooner. You trying to be the grossest kid in school or something? Tired of being the perfect golden boy?”

“Cry about it and use those ugly bangs of yours to wipe your tears.”

They get along well now. As well as… Getting into spats about games, the weather, why the takoyaki stall you all frequent suddenly used a different brand of bonito flakes, how the inclination of the umbrella Satoru threw did not purposely hit that poor student, why there were badly drawn doodles of Suguru’s face everytime he lent his notes to the both of you— Seriously, how was it possible that they could argue about anything and everything?

It was like a talent in itself. One that you have taken as an everyday occurrence as you chew on another spoonful of rice and enjoy the peace of eating lunch together on the school rooftop.

(You’re pretty sure you’re not allowed up here, but you’re also pretty sure the Gojo family pulled some strings again. Must be nice being rich and powerful.)

He leans in, quickly stealing the bit of food from your chopsticks as you stare on in confusion.

Eh?

“…?” With your head tilted to the side and blinking at him 3 whole times to really make sure.

“What.”

“I thought you didn’t like commoner food?” Especially yours that you and your Mama had made together last night. It’s exciting to be able to bring your own lunch to school once every month. It’s kind of like having the sports festival you used to have in elementary.

Just without the sports.

“Don’t feed him. Let him starve because he forgot to bring his own food today.” Suguru retorts with a huff, stuffing another riceball into his mouth as he angrily chews— Despite the fact that Satoru literally had half a riceball that definitely did not belong to him in his hands.

(It’s nice that they’re nice to each other.

“Hey! If y’er gonna punish me for forgetting, at least remind me with a call or something!”

“No way. You’re just gonna complain that I interrupted you whilst you were in the middle of eating an entire jar of sprinkles.”

“Satoru, is the meatball any good? Kimiko-san gave the recipe to my Mama only recently so we didn’t have much time to practice.”)

“Oh yea!” Rice is on the corner of his lip as he talks through a full mouth. “Kimi-chan says ya need to eat y’er medicine afterwards too or whatever.”

“(name)-sama.” Her slender, calloused hands are gentle as they lift up and off of your face, revealing the 3rd eye on her forehead blinking down at you as you stare back in awe.

(Cursed techniques can be so cool looking.)

“It’s simply a case of equivalent exchange.” The sparkling iris of her eye studies you intensely, staring so vividly into you that it felt like it was peeling back layers of your skin and boring deep into your flesh.

“It looks to me like your body had exchanged your strongest sense in favour of being able to house your current amount of cursed energy…” She sucks in a breath as her face starts to turn blue, her hands turning pale before her special eye disappears— And her face returns to normalcy.

“So your current senses are now akin to a Beta despite your genetic makeup.”

“Satoru’s right, for once.” Suguru’s reaching into his pocket, pulling out a little notepad with specific timings written down. “You gotta take your medicine on time.”

But it tastes really bad—

“I’ll be upset if you don’t.”

And your shoulders slump in defeat just as Satoru takes hold of your chopsticks, stuffing a meatball into your mouth before plopping one into his own.

“Yea, Suguru’s got a point. It’s tough bein’ what you are and stuff, ya know? Even worse if you can’t even feel how ya affect the area.” He swallows. “It’s like putting up a barrier against ya ownself while everyone else already knows what’s going on.”

And you just have to wither on the bench in defeat, back against the wall and letting out a sigh as Gojo continues to help himself to your lunch.

“But Shoko’s got it easy, though…”

“Ieiri?” Suguru’s shoulder brushes against yours as he leans back to stare up at the same sky as you. “That’s cause she’s a Beta. She’s can’t be affected or affect anyone with pheromones.”

Sigh. It must be nice to be like that.

“I wish I was a real Beta.”

“So? What is it?” Satoru’s splayed out on your futon as he stretches his limbs, his backpack hastily thrown to your floor as Suguru watches you hold the letter in your hand.

“You nervous?”

A little bit.

“I’ll open it if you don’t want to.” Shoko pipes up from your side as she peeks over your shoulder at the still unopened letter. “I’ll even read it out loud from the start and stuff.”

“Don’t give it to ‘er. She’s gonna skip out on the important bit accidentally and not realize it cause she can’t read as good as me.”

Just do it, right? You’re going to have to tell your Mama sooner or later when she comes home. So you ignore the light chatter throughout your bedroom, hold your breath as you tear through the envelope and slowly read—

Ah.

*Your child has presented as an Omega.

*As this result came with abnormal observations with your child, (name) (last name), we invite you to make an appointment with Dr. Homura for further evaluation at your earliest discretion.

previous masterlist next

nvy’s aftertalk;

sch has started again for me so i won’t be able to keep to the semi-regular schedule i’ve been updating this 🙂‍↕️

i’ll try to get my wedding fic up if possible if ykw that is and some other stuff too 😭

#jjk x reader #gojo satoru x reader #geto suguru x reader #satosugu x reader #gojo x reader #geto x reader

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