#cash secured puts

[cinematicnomad]

i gotta fly to delhi today on my own from chennai and the way i am already preparing for the security check to pull my carry on bag into secondary inspection...

[cat-tranzer]

ugh i kinda wanna get back on tumblr and rot my brain out some more

[islandtimeinvestments]

Today's Trades: $CUBE, $BCAT, $WTRG

My buy price target for $CUBE was hit today. Bought 100 shares @ $40.09. I have many REITS, but none in the self-storage space. 5.17% dividend yield Added $1000 worth of $BCAT, BlackRock Capital Allocation Term Trust 22.47% dividend yield My buy price target of $33.25 for Essential Utilities $WTRG was hit today. Instead of buying shares, I sold a February 30 strike cash-secured put for…

[a-soft-fluffy-girl]

TL;DR: Steam just made library sharing so much fucking easier and so much fucking better. Instead of login-trading, it's just a simple goddamn invite.

Read this. Really. It's a good read. Because it shows that, full-stop, Valve isn't just doubling down on their stance to make sure that people can and should be able to share their copies of digital goods as easily as they can physical ones, but they're making it better and easier than ever.

But you know how Steam allowed you to, with either friends or family, link accounts with another person to be able to establish an ability to share game libraries with one another? The general gist of Steam Family Sharing was that, with a limit of five people plus you (six in total) on a limit of ten computers total could share account access to willingly mix your libraries. You could play theirs. They could play yours.

This was a huge boon. It was meant to emulate sharing a physical copy of a game. A way to allow children to play games their parents or siblings had bought without having to fork over double the cash to buy it a second game. But it had some major limitations and drawbacks, and was archaic to use.

If a person did not share the same computer, you had to manually log into that computer to give it and the accounts on it access. This wouldn't be a problem if both accounts were used on the same computer, but many households (and astronomically more family and friend groups) had multiple computers, all used by different people.

If that computer, at any point, was hard reset to any point before the sharing occurred, you lost access. And had to do the whole process again. This was also an issue with computer transfers. The whole kit and kaboodle needed to be redone on upgrades. On top of that, the old computer is now just dead weight that you may not realize you have to manually revoke access to.

Putting your account information on another person's computer opens up security issues. They could, intentionally or accidentally, land themselves on your account if the login information was stored. Which could easily lead to purchases or bans you did not want to happen.

If anyone was, at any point, playing any game on their own library, you had no access to their games. Even if it was a totally different game, you had to wait your turn as if waiting for their computer to be freed up to sit at. (Admittedly this is kind of like the "mom said it's my turn on the xbox" meme, but hey, kinda archaic.)

You could not choose whose library you accessed a game from. Not at all. It always prioritized the first library it gained access from, DLC access and multiplayer be damned. If another friend you were accepting games from had more DLC? Too bad.

And yet here we are. Steam Families Beta fixes EVERYTHING about the above issues. By just going through Settings > Interface > client Beta Participation and clicking onto Steam Families Beta? You get:

No more login sharing. No more computer links. You can now choose which person's library you borrowed from. And you can play any other game from someone's library, even while they're in-game. It just needs to be a different game than what they're playing.

Pick five people. Invite them to your family. And now everyone has access to everyone's library. My goddamn library went from 150-ish to almost a goddamn thousand in ten minutes of setup.

Account sharing and password sharing are dirty words that "lose" billions of dollars. Netflix, Hulu, Amazon, Max. They aren't game storefronts, but they still allow you to access massive libraries and scream like you murdered their firstborns for daring to share your password with your mother after you moved out.

Microsoft tried pushing to demonize and undercut used games sales and borrowed copies of physical games. Remember the first attempt to reveal the Xbox One? People forget, but these vultures tried to make an always online console that checked to see if you were the account that owned the game, even if you had a physical disc, and prevent access to the disc's contents if you weren't the original downloader.

Valve walked the fuck up. Valve tapped the mic. And Valve dropped the fucking thing right onto the ground with one feature's revamp.

About the only issues I can see with this are twofold:

If someone sharing your library gets banned from a game's servers... so do you. No one else in the family does, but the both of you do. This is... rather unpleasant, because banhammers can be dropped quite frequently by mistake. I'd urge Valve to rethink this one, but I see the logic: don't cheat and effectively bite the hand feeding you. Still making me side-eye that, though.

If you leave a family you've joined? You have to wait a YEAR to join a new one. It's to prevent people form jumping ship to another group and screwing over who's in the former one in the process, but a YEAR? OUCH.

Problems aside, though... it's probably the biggest fucking power move I have ever seen a media distributor make in the current economic climate. It's the kind of thing that would let so many new games be available in a way that's easier than ever. Just a few clicks to send or accept an invite, and bam. Permanent access to dozens or even hundreds of new games with so much more freedom than earlier drafts of the system.

It's the kind of thing that slaps you in the face with positivity after so many Ls from the games and media industries. And I'm all the fuck for a W like this.

[yourlocalbreadenthusiast]

Kindly take a break from scrolling to read this, it's important.

Take your time to grieve and come to terms with the election results, but once you've done that, it's time to get to work. We have two months. And a lot to do in that time. We have to prepare, to be ready.

Be careful about what you post or say online. Anything potentially incriminating should be avoided. Threatening language, even if clearly a joke, can be used against you.

Know someone who's trans? Someone who's had an abortion? Someone who's LGBTQIA+? Someone who's an immigrant? Someone who attends protests? Someone who's disabled? Someone who might in any way be at risk due to laws being put into place? No you don't.

Move away from social media platforms and browsers that require you to use your real identity or input a large amount of personal information. Now's a good time to find alternate means of communicating online. Tails, Element, Tor, Mastodon, Firefox, and Lemmy are all decent options.

Find a community. Someone you can talk to, either online or in real life, that you'll have reliable contact with. We need to try and create a network, but one that's as anonymous as possible.

Start scrubbing your trail as much as possible. Get rid of old accounts that can still be traced to you but are no longer used, delete personal data off the internet. There are websites out there that will freely remove your data from the internet, but be careful about which one you use, make sure it's safe and legitimate first.

Change any usernames that you can that contain any personal information. Names, birthdays, anything.

Plan B has a four year shelf life. Stock up, but don't take more than you you'll need. We don't want a COVID repeat where everyone buys an excessive amount of things and leaves none for everybody else.

There are doctors that will sterilize you, if that's the way you want to go.

Stop using online period trackers right now. Delete all data from it if possible first, then delete the app itself. If you must, write it down, but in a subtle manner and on something you keep at home. Don't label it, just put the dates. If you're really worried, discard older records and only keep the most recent few, and label the dates as other random events, like "go to mall" or "chicken salad for dinner this night"

Get your vaccines now.

Save money.

Archive. We have to start collecting records, media, data, books, and articles now. On racism, on fascism, on homophobia, on gender, on self-reliance, on survival, on safe travels routes, on equality, on justice, on anything that may be useful and/or censored soon. We can't let them erase it.

Collect those online resources. Bookmark them, copy files into your storage, Screenshot pages. Create a decentralized library where everyone is working to be part of a whole, storing what they can individually and sharing it between one another. Again, be careful about doing this.

Second-hand bookstores are your best friend. Books are usually very cheap in them, and they often have a decent stock. See what you can find.

When buying ANYTHING I have mentioned above, or anything else that maybe put you in danger, try to use cash to reduce your spending trail.

Check your car information online, many newer models can be remotely tracked.

Turn your phone completely off if you may be at risk due to your location and current activities. Turning off your GPS also helps.

Take note of where you are. Who are your friends? Who's a safe person? Where can you go besides your own home that you know you'll be safe? Establish these connections now.

Who around you is not safe? Who and where do you need to avoid? Do you need to move? If you cannot afford moving but need to, there are fundraisers that can help you. If even that is not an option, at least try to make sure your home is secure. Have someone who can help you. Have a fallback safe place.

And finally, I want anyone with resources to put them in the replies. Flood it with useful links, information, tips, anything. We're in this together. Do not panic. Organize.

EDIT: Please be civil in the replies.

[pricetagged]

Idk how to label this. Wifehunter John?

The idea of possessive/obsessive John manipulating a situation and stealing a wife for himself struck me, so just coughing the idea up while I sneak away for a coffee before I actually have to start work in 20 mins 💖 entirely unedited, abrupt ending

Masterlist l Part Two

________

For someone married to his job, he has put quite a bit of thought into what he is looking for in a wife. Namely, that she's already married.

His reasoning is threefold. He can admit to himself, firstly, that it satisfies his need for control. Competency. He's a busy man with a demanding job. Not quite retired yet, no time to build his own from scratch. With this, he gets a wife boxed up and ready-trained. Broken in.

Secondly, the need for control bleeds into his saviour complex. She'll need a shoulder to cry on, someone strong and capable to get her back on her feet. She'll be feeling a little fragile. Needy. Perfect.

And thirdly, it does something wild to his jealous, possessive streak. The idea of taking something precious, of breaking her bond to another man and tying it to him? Delicious. The idea that she used to be someone else's, that he has to imprint himself onto her knowing that in doing so he is erasing the imprint of another man? It has his teeth aching, grinding even as heat rises in his belly. Stirs at him.

The idea swirls lazily in the back of his mind, never quite finding the right time or right partner. He bats at it a few times, lazy cat playing with the notion, seeing how far it can stretch before it snaps. Eyes up pretty things everywhere he goes, glancing down at their left hands just to check, but nothing quite tugs on that string. Until one day it does when he's outfitting the security system at your house.

It's side work. Cash in hand, word of mouth. Something to keep him busy when on mandated leave. Something to keep in mind as his retirement from active duty creeps closer. And your husband is a real piece of work, all blustering braggadocio energy. Young buck, not knowing his place in the herd. Not knowing that he'd be better scratching his antlers off on a tree than going head-to-head with a gristled thing like John.

It's like John's energy, his presence in the house, sends alarm bells ringing in your husband's mind (Be the man. Don't back down. Puff up your chest and strut). And it plays so perfectly into John's hands because your young buck doesn't realise that what he's really doing is fawning. To John. (Look at me, be impressed by me!) He makes his biggest mistake in putting you down in front of him, trying to sidle up to John and create some kind of desperate camaraderie. Ordering you to bring tea to the men at work. Rolling his eyes at your attempts to talk, to ask questions about the work being done. Waving you off so he can stand and watch the proceedings. Like he could supervise. Like he has any clue what he's doing.

Only the promise of the long game keeps John from levelling him with a hard look, from calling him outblike he'd love to.

He hears you both in the in the other room, having swatted the young buck off like a particularly virulent pest. Noisy and bothersome. Not needed - or wanted- in this home. And entirely too stupid to realise that John wasn't being jocular in his dismissal.

You've been scribbling away for the past few days, something occupying your time, keeping you happy and hidden away in the kitchen.

"You're not serious, are you?"

"Well, yes," he hears the slight quaver in your voice before you find your footing. You've got at least a bit of spine. Good. "You said that I should find an occupation. Not just 'laze around the house playing housewife'. This is what I-"

"Oh come on, I didn't mean- You don't think that this is viable, do you?"

"Well... I love gardening. And I'm good at it. And there's no reason that it can't be more accessible for people, especially with the current economic-"

He cuts you off with a scoff. "Dear, just- I don't want you to be disappointed. I think you don't quite understand the time and effort this will take. And you know nothing of marketing, publishing. Why don't you put that away and start on dinner?"

And oh, isn't that delicious. He can taste it now, that idea that has been swirling. It's thick, almost tangible on his tongue. The tension in the house, the bitter lacryma of stifled tears. The slight acidity of words you left unsaid. It has his mouth watering, pupils dilating.

And when he's packing up that evening, tools and materials tucked in to the heavy workman's case, he swings by the kitchen on his way out. Catches the way something is jutting out slightly from the bin, lid slightly askew. When he pulls it out he realises it's some kind of notebook, carefully (lovingly) bound. Pictures pasted, mindmaps and notes and plans scribbled in the margins. Your gardening tips. Kitchen scraps, window boxes, rooftop plots. Urban gardening. It's deeply thoughtful, well researched.

A labour of love, lying in the rubbish.

Sweet, clever little thing. That just won't do.

He leaves your house with a little piece of you tucked away in his toolkit and a nice plan forming. He'll be back, of course, not quite finished with his work. He'd planted a few little links into the system he'd almost installed, projecting not just to the monitor in your home but also in his. Got to keep his eyes on you, keep you safe and cared for in ways that your useless husband can't.

Finding that book was a boon. He'd say it was divinely ordained if he believed in all that. It weighs heavy in his toolbox as he whistles out the door.

Now, how to get you alone and return it to you..

________________

This idea may have been done before? I'm not sure, sorry! I've seen a lot of possessive John floating around. Tagging @stellewriites because I said I would last time, and you've been so encouraging of my nonsense.

Anyway I've got like 4 long-form WIPs that I'm working on, so I may never actually write this one but thought I'd share since that image set I just reblogged made me feral 💖

[hyucksos]

after rain, comes sunshine — huang renjun

pairing: huang renjun x f!reader genre: coffee shop au, grumpy x sunshine, fluff, romance, slow burn-ish wc: 6.7k synopsis: a thunderstorm leaves renjun stuck with his relentlessly cheerful, ever-optimistic coworker— you. you're the embodiment of everything he hates, but as the night stretches on, renjun starts to realise that the things that irritate him the most may not be all that unbearable after all. at least, not if it involves you.

There are three things in this world that Renjun hates.

Early mornings, small talk, and thunderstorms.

He must have done something super horrible in his past life, because it's barely even 3pm, and Renjun has had to go through all three of the aforementioned in that exact order.

He wasn't even supposed to come in to work today, but Donghyuck had called in sick (Renjun finds that hard to believe) and he was the only other person on the roster who knew how to make a Toasted Caramel Cloud Latte. Obviously, that wasn't a good enough reason for Renjun to willingly sacrifice his much-needed sleep, and it seemed that Donghyuck knew that too, because not only was he quick to promise Renjun to cover him for his next shift, the boy had also vowed to chip in to buy the new set of gouache paints he had been eyeing for so long.

That was what got Renjun out of bed, albeit begrudgingly.

The last thing he needed was an extra factor to contribute to his already-terrible mood, but that was what he got anyway when he stepped into the café, only to be met with you.

"Morning, Renjun!" You chirped from behind the counter as you dried down a mug, the café already prepped for opening— you liked to take your time when doing the opening duties, and you found that coming in earlier helped avoid any unnecessary rushing on your end.

Renjun didn't say anything, opting to shut his eyes as he tilted his head to the ceiling. You didn't miss the tick of his jaw as he trudged towards you wordlessly, letting his bag fall from his shoulder to the shelf beneath the cash register.

"You know how to make a cloud latte," he muttered under his breath as he put on his apron, securing it tightly with a double knot behind his back. "Why am I here?"

Despite his less-than-enthused response, you grinned. You've been working with Renjun long enough to know that he's a little bit of a grump, so you didn't take his moodiness to heart.

"Hyuck's your best friend. It would make sense for him to ask you instead of anyone else," you reasoned lightly. "Plus, having company isn't so bad, is it? You'll be out the door before you know it!"

"Citizens are advised to stay indoors..."

Renjun lets out a groan as he lets his head hit the cabinet behind him. It hurts, but not as much as the migraine that's already beginning to form in his temples. And as if to add insult to injury (no pun intended), the sky lets out yet another guttural rumble, reminding him once more of his ill-stricken fate.

"I don't think Seoul's had a downpour this bad in ages," you remark from somewhere at the dining area. Renjun couldn't tell where exactly you are; he had slid down to the floor when he decided to accept his fate fifteen minutes ago, and his only view since are the bottles of syrup and unopened bags of coffee beans under the espresso machines.

And as if to add even more insult to injury, the two of you are the only ones left in the shop. With it being a Tuesday afternoon, most of your regulars are either at work or school. Renjun has never liked working during the rush hour, but God does he wish for that to be the case now.

He looks up when he sees your head pop above the counter, raising a brow at the smile on your face. He knows how awfully cheery you are, but even in a time like this? You must be crazy, he thinks.

"Isn't this nice? I never knew this café could get any cozier."

"Nice?" Renjun scoffs as he finally gets to his feet. "What about this is nice? We're stuck in, I don't know, what might as well be a Cat 5 hurricane, and you think it's nice?"

You roll your eyes, seemingly unbothered by his sharp tone. "You're so dramatic! I've been in one, you know? While I was on vacation in the States. It was a Cat 2, I think, and I promise this doesn't even come close to that! I mean, as long as we're not asked to evacuate, we should be fine-"

Renjun lets out a loud tsk, cutting you off as he unties his apron rashly, the fabric crumpling in his hand.

Your eyes widen when you register his movements. "You're not actually planning on leaving, are you?"

Renjun scoffs dryly in response. "You think I have a death wish?"

"Honestly? I could never tell when it comes to you."

He glares at you.

You quickly round the counter, successfully trapping him before he could escape to the break room. "Look, I'm sure it won't be too bad! Let's just continue to wait for updates. Coffee?"

"I hate coffee," he deadpans.

"You literally work in a café!" You laugh airily, moving to the teabag jars beside the espresso machines. Despite the heater being on, the coolness from the outside is starting to seep in, and you're sure Renjun could feel it too.

He doesn't say anything but huff under his breath as he leans against the cabinets behind him, taking out his phone from his back pocket. You take it that he's done with the conversation.

For a while, it's silent, the only sound apart from the tinkling of your metal spoon the harsh crashing of raindrops against the window panes outside. You think it's calming, but Renjun seems to think otherwise when you see him flinch from your periphery at the sudden flash that illuminates the room, soon followed by a loud boom of thunder.

Instinctively, you turn to him, but Renjun keeps his eyes fixed to his phone, his lips downturned into his usual frown.

"Did you know that lightning is hotter than the surface of the sun?" You remark, crossing the distance towards him with the mug of tea in your hands. Renjun looks up from his phone at your question, his stare blank, but his right brow raises slightly when he realises what you're offering.

He doesn't make the move to accept the mug as he pockets his phone, opting to cross his arms instead. "What are you doing?"

You tilt your head. "Huh?"

He nods towards the steaming mug in your hands. "What are you trying to do?"

"You said you don't like coffee, so I made you tea instead! It's Lemon Balm, known to reduce anxiety. It could also improve one's mood-"

"Yeah, so long as I'm still trapped in here, that's not gonna happen," he mutters, turning to face the window outside.

The rain is still as relentless as ever, the skies dark and gloomy despite it being daytime. If it was any other day, Renjun would have already been out the door, making his way home. A regular eight-hour shift is already treacherous enough on it's own— an eight-hour shift with you, while it's raining, on top of that, has got to be one of the worst things that's ever happened to Renjun in a while, which says a lot considering he's literally living in the same timeline as Lee Donghyuck.

Renjun turns to steal a glance at you, no longer at his side as you busy yourself with doing the dishes. As if just now never happened, you're back to humming to yourself, the song only sounding vaguely familiar to his ears. The cup of tea you made him is left abandoned on the counter, and for a split second he feels guilty for having not accepting it earlier.

You see, it's not like Renjun hates you. He's just indifferent, and that makes a huge difference. He's someone who prefers to keep to himself, a concept that you can't seem to fathom for some reason, and he finds your overtly-positive attitude equal parts annoying and draining. Renjun doesn't hate you— he just hates everything you embody, and that's enough to make him stay away.

"Look what I found!"

The last time Renjun heard your voice has to be around a few hours ago, when he decided to move from the counter to one of the couches in the dining area. It wasn't the most ideal considering the floor-length windows still gave him the perfect view of rain that he hated so much, but his legs were beginning to hurt from standing for so long and he didn't really want to sit on the floor and deal with your small talk any longer.

You must have gotten the hint when you decided to leave him alone, retreating to the break room to do God-knows-what— based on the grin on your face now, Renjun has a feeling that he's going to find out very soon.

You bound towards him, settling next to him with something in your hands. Your eyes instantly land on the sketchbook on his lap, but before you could say anything, like utter out a compliment on his drawing, Renjun snatches the pad away from your sight.

"What?" He grunts, cheeks feeling slightly warm for some reason. He had abandoned his phone some time earlier, deciding to peruse his sketchbook to pass the time. It was a good thing he brought it out everywhere he went— as awful of a situation he's stuck in, at least he has something familiar to keep his sanity in check.

Your grin grows wider (Renjun wonders how that's even possible) before you set a box between the two of you.

"I was bored, right? So I figured I'd clean out the break room to pass the time, and I found this! Johnny must have left it here and forgot about it."

Renjun studies the blue box, the words HALLI GALLI staring back at him in bold, yellow font. Oh, hell no. You're the last person he wants to play a card game with— not just because you're you, but also the fact that he just doesn't fare well with games in general.

It's not like Renjun is bad at them— if anything, it's quite the opposite, but the last time he played Halli Galli, he had almost gotten into a fistfight with his friends (he had to receive a kiss penalty from Donghyuck even though he won because Mark kept making up rules as they went along). Needless to say, all their game nights now require the presence of a moderator (not like that has done much anyway considering Jaemin hates intervening in literally anything ever, so Renjun doesn't know why they still try).

"I'm not playing this with you."

"Aw, why not? It's fun! Even for serious people like you," you tease, but Renjun doesn't laugh. Ignoring him, you continue, "we could make the most of this quiet time together."

"Nothing about today has been quiet," Renjun mutters. He's pretty sure you heard him, but you simply brush it off as you open the box, letting the cards fall on the sofa while you place the bell in the middle.

Renjun huffs, knowing he isn't left with a choice. You're adamant, he realises, and even if he weren't to give in now, he knows he'd have to eventually, and he'd rather deal with this now than later on.

You start the game, putting down a card of two coconuts before you glance at Renjun, waiting for him to complete his turn. He does the same (albeit much less enthusiastic than you), his card flipping to the other side to reveal four strawberries.

The game continues on that way, with you practically at the edge of your seat as you anticipate every next move. You had just put down three bananas, and your eyes are fixed on Renjun's hands as he slowly flips his card to reveal... two bananas.

You yelp, palm quickly outstretching to hit the bell, and despite Renjun's obvious disinterest in the game (or so you thought), you're surprised to learn that he's just as quick, his hand clashing against yours as you fight to ring the bell at the same time.

"I definitely got that one!" You proclaim proudly, to which Renjun scoffs.

"No way, you're barely even on the bell!"

"Nuh-uh, look! Your hand is literally on top of mine!" You wriggle your fingers for good measure, causing Renjun to look down at your hand— both of your hands, which are still on the bell. You were right; while most of your palm is covering the bell, only the tips of his fingers are touching the metal surface, the rest of his skin resting idly on the back of your hand. He's never really noticed how tiny your hands are— it's not like he's that huge of a guy to begin with— and the thought somehow brings an unexplainable flush to his face.

He quickly removes his hand, carding through his deck for the sole purpose of having something to do before passing you a card. "You just got lucky," he mutters, clearing his throat.

You giggle. "No, I'm just that good," you sing, waving the card mockingly in front of his face before putting it together with your deck.

Renjun rolls his eyes. You remind him so much of Donghyuck; it's a wonder how he isn't your best friend.

"I used to play this game a lot when I was younger," you quip randomly in the midst of the next round. You do that a lot, Renjun realises, stating facts he didn't ask for when it gets too quiet. It used to leave him not knowing how to react, but if there's anything Renjun has learnt about you in this limited time you've spent together, is that you don't need a response from him to continue talking, so he doesn't say anything.

"I'm an only child, so visiting my grandparents in Jeju was the only time I'd get to hang out with my cousins. We'd do everything together— even stay up late and wake up early the next morning so no time would be wasted. It was a wonder how we never ran out of things to do," you chuckle to yourself, fiddling with the cards in your hand.

"One time, it started to rain super heavily— kind of like right now, actually— all while we were cycling outside. Instead of seeking shelter, we decided to play in the rain. We got home freezing our toes off and I fell sick the next morning, but it was so worth it. I wouldn't trade that moment for anything else," you trail off softly, and Renjun doesn't miss the twinge of longing in your voice. At this point, the game had been long abandoned, your attention now fixed on the rain outside and Renjun on you. You turn to him, the fond smile still playing on your lips, and that is what causes him to look away, only then realising that he had been staring.

"What about you?"

Renjun's brows knit in confusion. "Huh?"

"You don't seem to like the rain very much."

"Yes, because it inconveniences people. Kind of like the situation we're in right now, don't you think?" His tone comes off as a little snappy, but before Renjun could regret it, you're already beaming at him in response. He wonders if you're ever capable of any other emotion apart from happiness.

"Sure, but look at where it brought us! Two friends, bonding, towards becoming even better friends!"

Nevermind. He doesn't feel bad anymore, not when he remembers that this is who he's dealing with right now. Plus, the term friends is a little bit of a stretch, isn't it? He doesn't know anything about you apart from the fact that— well, you're an only child and that your grandparents live in Jeju. He doesn't even know your last name, and he'd like to think that that should be the minimum requirement before considering someone a friend.

He rolls his eyes as he lazily throws his last card, ready to wrap up the game, only to perk up when he sees his lone strawberry face-up with four of yours. Quickly, he reaches forward to ring the bell, grinning in triumph when he realises you hadn't gone head-to-head this time.

"A-ha! I win!" Renjun smirks proudly, too caught up in his victory to realise that he's smiling. It falters when he notices you staring at him— not in defeat, but something much... softer. It looks similar to when you were recounting your memories with your family in Jeju. It looks like Jaemin when he's scrolling through pictures of his three cats in his gallery. It looks like Mark... when he's on FaceTime with his girl whenever they do long-distance.

Suddenly, Renjun could no longer hear the rain thumping harshly against the window next to him. He could no longer see the lightning that comes in flashes, nor does he flinch at the thunder that follows. Only two words form in his head:

Oh, shit.

lee donghyuck [3:41pm] yowww 🔥🔥🔥 [3:53pm] r u alive? lol [4:02pm] wait no like actually r u???? [4:22pm] pls tell me ur sfae omg im gonna start sobbinf and cryin rn dont evne [4:46pm] HUANG RENJUN [5:12pm] NAWWW we really lost an angel today.... jun i hope ur looking up at us 🙏🙏🙏

huang renjun [5:24pm] UP???

lee donghyuck [5:24pm] oh hey lol [5:24pm] wyd

Renjun utters a curse under his breath as he switches to his phone app, bringing the device to his ear immediately after he dials Donghyuck's number. It rings twice before the boy picks up.

"Injun-ah!" Donghyuck's voice is hoarse— so he wasn't lying about being sick. That doesn't make Renjun any less annoyed, though. "I was so worried-"

"Cut the shit, Hyuck. Did you know?"

Donghyuck is silent before he replies, as though carefully choosing his next words. "... Know what?"

"That she likes me."

"That who likes- oh my God. Did she tell you already?" If it's even possible, Donghyuck's already-naturally nasally voice sounds even more annoying now that he's excited while sick.

"What?" Renjun hisses into his phone, glancing around the room to make sure he wasn't too loud. Granted, he's currently alone in the men's room and he's 90% sure you aren't outside eavesdropping, but he could never be too careful. "So it's true?"

"I mean, only because she was so fucking obvious," Donghyuck snickers before he breaks out into a fit of coughs. "I'm surprised it took you this long to notice."

Renjun groans. "How the hell was I supposed to know? She talks to everyone the same way!"

"Dude, have you seen the way she looks at you? It's like when Jaemin looks at Luke, Lucy, and Lu-"

"Yeah, yeah. I got it, alright?" Renjun grumbles. "Shit, what should I do now?"

"Um, nothing? It's not like you're even supposed to know that she likes you," Donghyuck quips plainly. "Dude, why are you even freaking out? Wait- do you like her back?"

"No!" Renjun exclaims, a little too quick for his own liking. Maybe it's because he could practically see the teasing smirk on his friend's lips, or maybe it's just the suggestion that sounds so fucking absurd he had to shut it down immediately. "It's just- look, I've been nothing short of mean to her this entire time so I kinda feel bad, alright? Why would she even like me like that? I mean- is she some sort of masochist, or something?"

Donghyuck guffaws, clearly not about to let his embarrassing stuttering slide. "Okay? And why are you so worried? Since, you know, you don't like her like that and all."

"You're hopeless," Renjun mutters, not bothering to bid Donghyuck goodbye before he hangs up. He should've known that the boy is the last ever person he should seek advice from; Jaemin would have made for a better candidate.

But calling Jaemin now would only be suspicious, and Renjun knows it would only be a matter of time before you would knock on his door to ask if he's doing alright— because that's just who you are as a person.

Huh, maybe he does know you better than he thought.

Renjun has long given up hope that he'd be going home tonight. The thunderstorm is still as relentless as ever, the skies growing even darker now that the sun has set. The café is bathed in a warm light, and under a different circumstance he would've found it cozy.

You're situated behind the counter now, probably having moved there when he was in the restroom. Instead of going back to the couch, Renjun finds himself heading towards you. He doesn't know why.

"Forecast says the rain won't stop until morning." You don't look at him as you say this, and Renjun quickly notices the two cups of instant noodles you're currently busying yourself with, the rising steam swirling lazily in the air. You only turn to him once you're done mixing the noodles, a sympathetic smile on your face. "Looks like we'd have to stay the night."

"You sound oddly sad for someone who claims to love the rain." Against his better judgement, the words slip out of his mouth. Renjun thinks it must have something to do with his conversation with Donghyuck earlier, because why does he feel like he's being weird all of a sudden?

You merely shrug, handing one of the cups to him. This time, he accepts it, and Renjun tries not to flinch at the feeling of your fingers brushing against his.

"Well, I still do! If I could, I'd run outside right now and play in the rain, but the news just issued a lightning alert and I'd rather not risk getting struck, you know. Besides, staying inside isn't all that bad," you quip lightheartedly, a small grin on your face as you bring your chopsticks to your lips, blowing on your noodles lightly.

Renjun doesn't say anything, his brows only furrowing at your response. How is it that you're still so cheery even after everything that's happened? It's as though you didn't just find out that you're literally stranded here with no way home until the next morning.

The room illuminates momentarily when thunder strikes, and this time, Renjun does flinch. If he wasn't already holding on to his cup of noodles so tightly, it would have already spilled all over him. Clearly, you notice, and you don't look away quickly enough to act like you didn't.

"You know, I've learnt recently that a lightning bolt is only as wide as your thumb, but it could stretch on for miles," you say as you swallow your food, showing a thumbs-up as you grin at him playfully. "It's kind of crazy, right? How something so small could be so powerful?"

Renjun clenches his jaw, shutting his eyes momentarily. "Alright," he mutters, placing his cup on the counter. "Why do you keep doing that?"

You raise your brows, lowering your hand. "Doing what?"

"That. Every time it gets loud and I- I startle, you tell me some random fact, as if it's going to magically drown out the thunder."

"Well, it works, doesn’t it? It’s my secret technique to distract you! And think about it this way: every time it thunders, I get to share a cool tidbit with you. Like how lightning can strike the same place twice!”

"Yeah, because that makes me feel so much better," Renjun mumbles, though he finds that the edge in his voice has softened.

"Oh, relax." You roll your eyes jokingly. "Lightning only often hits tall structures like trees or skyscrapers, so you’re safe here with me.”

He scoffs. "Tall? Is that a jab?"

You gape, and you fear that you've struck a nerve within him. "N-No! I mean, I'm just saying! You're probably just not tall enough to worry about it, unless you're like, I don't know, Yao Ming or something," you start to ramble. "Even then, did you know that the tallest man in the world is a whole foot taller than him? I guess he would have a higher chance of getting struck by lightning, then, wouldn't he? Or not, considering, well, you know, he's dead. I don't-"

You're cut off when you feel a palm cover your lips, and your eyes widen at the contact. Renjun stares at you, unimpressed.

"You," he starts. "Talk too much. You know that?"

With his hand still over your mouth, you're unable to reply— even if it wasn't, you doubt you could, anyway. His skin against yours brings a warmth to your neck and cheeks, and you could only hope he couldn't see how bright red you're sure you are.

You nod your head slowly.

Renjun scoffs, finally dropping his hand as he glances to the window behind you. If you weren't already staring at him so intently, you would've missed the slight upturn of his lips. "Wow. So not only am I terrified of the storm, I'm short, too?" He shakes his head, half-amused.

"Hey, you said it, not me!" You exclaim defensively, feeling much more relieved now that you've seen him smile. You wonder if he's aware of how pretty his smile is. "Though for the record, I think you're the perfect height!" You pause, "f-for dodging lightning, of course!"

Renjun didn't like how the first half of your sentence made his heart beat faster. If only he were any closer, he'd hear your heart beating just as fast, too.

"You kids hang on tight, alright? There are blankets in the break room if you need them— and keep me updated!"

You've been in contact with your boss since the lockdown announcement hours ago, and despite your last message telling him that you and Renjun are alright, it seems that it's just in Johnny's nature to be overly-concerned as his worried face now flashes on your screen.

"We're alright, Boss, we promise!" You say for the umpteenth time. "This shop's stable enough to withstand a strike or two I'm sure, so we'll see you tomorrow morning!"

"Don't joke about that," Renjun hisses, nudging your arm with his elbow. He turns to the screen again. "We'll be sure to give you hourly updates."

At this, Johnny seems a little more at ease. You bid your boss goodbye, and the café soon falls into a silence, with only the humming of the lights and distant rumbling in the skies to keep you company.

"So... should we get ready for bed?" You ask, slapping your thighs as you stand up from the couch. For some reason, it feels awkward. You've long grown accustomed to Renjun and his lack of words, but somewhere along the way today, it seems that the air between you two has shifted— for better or for worst, you couldn't really tell— and you're not sure if you could salvage it.

You've always liked Renjun— of course you have— but today, it feels more impossible to contain your feelings with nobody else around. You like to think that you were good at hiding it all this while (despite what Donghyuck says), but right now, you're not so sure if you could spend a second longer with Renjun without accidentally blowing your own cover.

"I'll go grab the blankets," he says quietly, snapping you out of your reverie before ushering away to the break room. You let out a breath you didn't realise you were holding, turning around to face the couch. Surely, your feelings could wait, because right now, there's only one thing that matters more: your sleeping arrangement.

You bend down to grab the couch by the armrest, pulling it further towards the middle of the dining area. With it being originally situated right by the window, you figure it wouldn't make for such an ideal (or safe) makeshift bed.

"What are you doing?"

You huff, returning to your original height to see Renjun by the door of the break room, a bundle of plaid blankets in his hands. He has a brow raised— you notice he does that a lot when looking at you— and you laugh meekly.

"Just, you know. Wouldn't wanna get struck by lightning, or anything like that."

He rolls his eyes (again, something he does a lot when it comes to you) as he makes his way towards you, letting the blankets fall on the sofa. "You can take the couch. Probably should lay one of these out first, though. Not sure how many butts have been on there."

Usually, you would have laughed at his comment, but this time, you find yourself tilting your head in confusion instead. "Where are you gonna sleep?"

Renjun shrugs. "The chair works fine for me."

You frown. Taking one of the blankets, you spread it out before letting the fabric fall over the couch. "The chair? There's no way you'd be comfortable like that! Look, the couch is big enough for the both of us. We'd have to stay seated, of course, but that's better than sleeping in a chair, right? Or would you rather we take turns?"

Renjun scoffs. "What? We're not in an apocalypse. There's no need for night watch."

Still, you stall, and it causes him to sigh. Renjun steps towards you, gently planting his hands on your shoulders before guiding you down onto the sofa. "Gosh, you're stubborn. Just take the couch, alright? It's not like I'm planning on sleeping, anyway."

The last part of his sentence comes out in a low murmur, but you still catch it.

"What do you mean you're not planning on sleeping?" You echo, and based on the flash of panic that crosses his face, you're sure he hadn't mean to let that one slip.

"I mean, with the storm and all," Renjun explains stiffly, glancing away. "I'm just saying, there's no way I'd be able to sleep with all that noise."

You gape slightly before your lips transform into a grin. "Could I interest you in another fun fact, then?"

Renjun groans loudly, and you find yourself giggling at his response. And when you hear the low chuckle that escapes his lips, you find your heart swelling at the sound of his laugh.

"Seriously, let's just share, alright? Look, I'll even stay up with you! I won't talk if you don't want me to, though."

Renjun finally gives in, sitting at the other end of the couch. "When has that ever stopped you?"

Noting the lack of bite in his voice, you grin. "Touché."

Eventually, the two of you fall into a comfortable silence, and for the first time in a while, you don't feel the need to make conversation. You've never been one to be able to stay quiet for very long; clearly, Renjun is someone who does, and today, you learn that it really isn't all that bad.

Renjun steals a glance towards you, but you have your eyes fixed on the rain outside, a small smile still tugged on your lips. It looks like you're watching a movie, the floor-length windows a giant movie screen, and the flashes of lightning the different scenes bouncing off your features. He must have missed the thunder that comes afterwards, only realising it when you turn to him with that stupid, pretty smile still on your lips.

"Uh," Renjun stutters, having been caught off-guard at the sudden eye contact. He quickly looks away. "You don't have to do this."

You tilt your head. "Do what?"

"Stay up with me. You should get some rest."

You laugh, and Renjun wonders if it's always sounded this beautiful. "Don't be silly! I don't mind. I know you're gonna chide me for saying this, but it's kinda nice. I can't remember the last time I stayed up to watch the rain," you pause before turning to him. "You're probably gonna hate me forever for making you endure both a thunderstorm and my chatter in one night," you say teasingly.

"That's not true," he says quietly, only belatedly hoping that you hadn't heard him. Clearing his throat, Renjun turns to his right where his messenger bag lies, taking out his sketchbook he had haphazardly stuffed inside earlier. He flips it open, feeling your curious eyes on him as he looks for the page he had been working on.

"The rain looks better on paper for me," he explains awkwardly. "You know, since we're on the topic of likes and dislikes."

Renjun feels you scoot towards him, and he hates that he could feel the warmth emitting from your side even despite the blanket that envelops your shoulders.

"That's so pretty," you say in awe as you study the drawing. Despite it being so simple, nothing but a rough sketch of a window pane covered with rain drops, you still find yourself marvelling at the intricacy of it all. You could barely even write a whole essay legibly, yet here Renjun is, crafting a whole masterpiece with nothing but a blue ballpoint pen. "I wish I had an ounce of your talent. You're amazing, Renjun."

Even though he's no stranger to getting compliments for his works, it somehow feels different coming from you. It's probably because of how intimate it is— you and him, cramped on a couch in a barely-lit café with your arm pressing into his side— that's all there is to it, right?

But as he turns to you, taking in the stars that seem to dance in your eyes and the pink hue that dusts your cheeks even in the dark, Renjun starts to wonder if maybe, it's more than that. If maybe, the way his heart is stuttering isn't because of the setting, but you— only you.

With the way Donghyuck's question from earlier still plays in the back of his head like a broken record, Renjun knows that it's the truth.

✦ ✦ ✦

With it being late into the night, the two of you lapse into silence, too tired to keep a conversation going, but still very much awake— as though under an unspoken agreement to not fall asleep.

The rain has reduced significantly and the thunder has lessened, nothing but an occasional low rumble in the distance, but every now and then you'd still feel Renjun tensing from next to you.

“You know, statistically, you’re more likely to get struck by lightning than win the lottery,” you mumble sleepily, barely able to keep your eyes open.

Renjun lets out a soft chuckle. “Comforting,” he replies, though there’s no real edge to his voice. “So, basically, I’m doomed.”

“Not while I’m here,” you say through a yawn. “Consider me your good luck charm.”

Renjun shakes his head, but there’s a softness in his expression now, something warm and unspoken passing between you. The couch creaks slightly as you both shift to get more comfortable. Your cheek brushes slightly against his arm, but Renjun doesn't pull away. In your half-conscious state, you barely feel his arm circle behind you, pulling you closer towards him as he guides your head to rest on his shoulder.

"Then I guess I'd have to keep you around for every storm."

Click.

That's the sound you wake to, the sun that hits your eyelids being the second thing to rouse you from your slumber. You stir, your cheek brushing against something soft that only makes you want to sleep even more, but the sound of suspicious giggling causes you to open your eyes.

Your bleary vision lands on Donghyuck, who's currently standing before you with a cheshire-like grin, his phone in his hands.

"Don't you two look cozy?" He coos, tapping on his screen once more before his phone produces another click.

Finally registering what's happening, you jolt awake, only belatedly realising the oh-so-soft material to be Renjun's clothed chest. You must have fallen asleep on him sometime during the middle of the night, and you can't figure out what's more embarrassing: that, or the fact that Donghyuck has proof of said... intimacy.

"Lee Donghyuck! You better not post that!" You yelp, jumping off the couch to reach for his phone, only to fail as he waves his arm in the air, cackling manically.

Renjun finally stirs at the noise. “What’s going on?” he mumbles groggily, only to frown when he registers what you and Donghyuck are doing.

You whip to turn to Renjun, almost tripping in the process, throwing him an apologetic glance. “N-Nothing! Just- uh, a little misunderstanding!”

Donghyuck lowers his arm, tongue poking out of his lips as he types rapidly on his phone. “Oh, I’m definitely sharing this. Aw, you two are so adorable!”

Renjun groans. "Fuck off, Hyuck, seriously." He stands up, picking up his bag before stuffing all his belongings inside. "Ignore him. Let's go."

You giggle, your own embarrassment seeping away when you realise just how flustered he is. "Renjun, wait-"

"Nope, not waiting," he mutters, the tip of his ears noticeably pink as he slings his bag over his shoulder. "We're leaving before this asshole gets anymore material." He shoots Donghyuck a glare, who only waves a hand mindlessly.

"I may be an asshole, but at least I'm not delusional. Seriously, guys, it's painful watching you pretend like you're not into each other!" He cries dramatically, and Renjun's eyes widen before he forces another warning stare to his friend.

"Thanks for the unsolicited advice, Hyuck," he mutters, hoping his voice didn't waver too much, before quickly grabbing your arm and leading you to the door. "We're leaving."

"Have a good day, lovebirds!" Donghyuck sings, and Renjun flashes him a middle finger with his free hand without turning around.

You couldn't help but to laugh as you let him drag you out to the sidewalk, the cold outside air hitting your skin for the first time since yesterday. It's no longer raining, but the streets are still wet from the overnight storm, and it helps in cooling your own burning cheeks.

Renjun finally releases you when you're a little further away from the café, turning to face you with a sigh. "Sorry 'bout that," he mumbles, his cheek still painted red, and you wonder how it's possible for him to be this cute, grumpiness and all.

"It's okay." You bite your bottom lip to suppress a grin, and Renjun smiles at you weakly.

There's a moment of silence between you two before Renjun clears his throat awkwardly. "He's right, you know?"

"Hm? About what?" You ask, slightly taken aback by his sudden soft tone.

Renjun shifts his weight from one foot to the other, his voice quiet. “About… me being into you. Wait, that came out weird." He stumbles over his words, and you merely beam at him as you give him time to compose himself.

"It's just— I know I haven't been the nicest to you, and I know it may sound crazy, but I had this whole revelation yesterday that I do have feelings for you— and I promise this isn't just a fleeting thing because of the storm— I genuinely think you're really cool."

You don't say anything, only a soft smile playing on your lips, and that causes Renjun to panic.

"I mean, I know I've been a jerk to you, and I know this isn't an excuse, but I just didn't know how to-"

You cut him off by leaning in and pressing a soft kiss to his cheek, effectively halting his words. His mouth hangs open slightly, eyes wide as he stares at you in disbelief, his face flushing.

When you pull back, you couldn't help but laugh softly at his stunned expression. “You're rambling,” you tease with a playful smile.

He coughs out a small laugh. "Yeah, sorry. Guess I was." The smile stays on his face this time as he meets your eyes. "So... does that mean you're not compelled to the idea of going on a date with me?"

"Nope. Not at all." You rock between your heels and toes, already feeling the excitement bubbling in your chest. You like to think that you're doing a much better job at keeping your composure, but you're sure anyone could see just how bright red you are. "I think I'd really like that, actually."

Renjun's eyebrows raise before his expression eases into one of relief, and for the first time, a large smile graces his lips. You think you might just have a new favourite thing now— one that easily tops the rain.

"Yeah? Good. Because I think I'd really like that, too."

[zyafics]

PLAY FAKE | 05

MASTERLIST (Series)

Pairing — Rafe Cameron x Female Reader .ᐟ

Summary — When Rafe needs to secure a girlfriend for his father to see him as a viable candidate for Cameron Development, he enlists the help of a bartender who wants nothing to do with him.

Content — 18+, smut, angst, depictions of jealousy + aggression, emotional turmoil, mild descriptions of violence, and usage of drugs.

You weren't a cuddler.

At least, not with Rafe. When you fell asleep on his bed last night, he scoffed at the sight. How tired you were. How you immediately fell off post-orgasm. He had other plans, to make you come more, but it was obvious it wasn't going to happen. Instead, he helped you get under the comforter, and when you did, you instinctively pulled to the edge of the mattress, like you knew to put as much distance between you and him.

Rafe thought it would change by morning. That you would find yourself in his arms and he would be able to tease you about it. You didn't. Your hands tucked under your head, you faced the wall, laid on your side, and you did everything possible to avoid contact with him.

For some reason, it pissed him off.

Like he was mad at your subconscious when you didn't do anything wrong. He thought—assumed—you would let him in. When he poured a bit of himself last night, letting himself be vulnerable with you, he thought it was a gateway for you to return the sentiment. But, somewhere, deep down, you still didn't trust him.

He was the one who got out of bed first.

He went to the ensuite and took a shower, washing away his sweat and subtle case of hangover. Surprisingly, it wasn't that bad. He doesn't know if it's because, halfway through the night, clarity dawned on him or because he was crossed with a different drug than his usual high. Either way, he was grateful.

Until the ringing started.

It happened once. It was your phone; the ringtone too obnoxious to be his. Then, it ended. And started again. This happened a couple more times until Rafe got annoyed and stepped out of the bathroom to check on who the fuck was calling you so early in the morning.

It was your job.

He softens for a moment. He forgot that you had shit to do, that the two of you were on opposite sides of the economic spectrum. He may have luxury and all the time in the world but you had work. You weren't kidding when you said you needed to pull doubles just to stay afloat.

He wanted to wake you up and give you the phone to handle it. But, something about your sleeping position makes him hesitate. You look so peaceful. Calm. Like you haven't had a good night's rest in a long time and he wasn't going to ruin that.

So, he did something he probably shouldn't.

He turned your phone off.

He went back to the bathroom to finish the rest of his routine and when he came out, you were starting to stir. Your hands were rubbing the sleepy haze out of your eyes and you were searching around the room to figure out where you were.

"You're up." He acknowledges, stepping out into his room. "Get ready. We're heading out."

"Go where?" You mumble drowsily, trying to remember your own name right now, much less try to get ready. "Wait, what time is it?"

Rafe doesn't say anything, glancing at the present that sits on his desk. He grabs it, throwing it onto the bed, which you manage to catch in the nick of time. "Here, before I forget." He declares, going to his closet to exchange his sweatpants for some outside attire.

You look inside the bag, more thoroughly this time. You counted a total of fourteen Plan B packs, the stems of the tulips were slightly-wilted from lack of water, and the envelope isn't a letter but rather a thick wad of something—like cash.

"I'm not taking this." You pull out the envelope and slide it across the bed. Rafe glances down at it, then back to you, a scowl forms on his face.

"You don't know what it is."

"It's money," you say, easily. "That wasn't part of the deal."

"So what?" He steps forward, closing in the distance as he stands before the bed, grabbing the envelope and holding it out to you again. "You need the money. Take it."

"No." You cross your arms, stubbornly.

God, this fucking early in the morning?

He clenches his teeth. "Why the fuck not?"

You take a beat before you answer. "You wouldn't get it."

"Try me."

He looks genuinely serious about knowing your answer. Not just another way to pick it apart and fight back, but to be willing. It makes you consider telling him the truth. Sighing, you explain. "It's just... it means that whenever you fuck up, you get to put some money in it and it fixes everything. I refuse to let you think that you can wave some cash in front of my face and everything will be forgiven."

There's more reasons why you don't accept the money, not for the exchange you're doing, but you rather not get into that right now. That explanation, in this context, was the most appropriate.

"That's not... I..." Rafe trails off, his mouth slightly slack from the confession. That's not what he meant to do, but there's some merit behind your words, nonetheless. It is easier to flash his wallet than apologizing for any misdemeanor he committed. It's something he does. It's something he learned from his father. "I'm not."

You chuckle. "Say that more convincingly and I might believe you."

Rafe swallows, watching the gentle smile light up your lips. He didn't realize how much he didn't appreciate it before. Not until you gave him the whole silent treatment and called him out.

"It's not," he starts again with a clear of his throat. "I do that. I'm not gonna lie about that. But, in this case... It wasn't just that. You needed the money. I took it out of your paycheck to buy Plan B. It cost nothing to me."

You don't answer him, glancing back at the bag. "You already bought me Plan Bs."

"Yeah, but that doesn't mean you can cover rent with fucking contraceptive pills."

Pulling your bottom lip between your teeth, you take his words with some consideration. You admit, this is a version of his apology, no matter how pretentious it may seem. With that, you accept the envelope out of his hand. "Thank you."

Rafe is pleased at that. That you finally didn't give him such a hard time to help you. That you just accepted it, even if it was done with some initial hesitation.

Pulling himself off the mattress, Rafe turns back to his closet, only for your voice to stop him.

"You know, it's a bit presumptuous of you to assume we'll be having sex this much."

He looks at you, seeing you tilt your head at him in a challenge. The bag lifted off your lap to demonstrate the amount he bought.

"It's so I'll ever have to hear you complain about spending money again."

You chuckle. There it is, the cover of assholery to make up for the vulnerability he exposed just moments ago. "If this is the rate we'll be going, you should've just bought me birth control."

"Fuck off, it's not going to be a regular thing."

You laugh. "I guess I'll just use these with my other boyfriends. Since we won't be needing them."

Rafe stills. He knows you're teasing him, to get a rise out of anything you can find yourself on. But something in his blood runs hot as those words escape your lips. At the idea of you with others. He turns back to the bed, lowering himself to your level before grabbing your cheeks in one palm.

It wasn't done roughly. That's the reason why your smirk is so fucking conceited right now. He wants to do something to make you take back your words.

But nothing came to mind. Not this morning. Not after last night.

Instead, he mutters, "you play too fucking much."

He releases you with a light shove, enough for you to fall back against the pillows. Rafe grabs the first thing out of his closet and walks back to the bathroom, and just when he's about to close the door, he hears your laughter erupt from behind.

—

After getting ready, by wearing whatever you could find in Sarah's closet—which Rafe made you use because she hasn't been home in over two months—you called to check in with Sailor. Your phone was off, for some odd reason, and when you called to make sure the place is running regardless of your absence, you agreed to go to whatever the fuck Rafe planned.

It was shopping.

You feel out of place the moment you arrive at the outlet downtown of Figure Eight. It's mainly for Kooks to come and shop, the boutiques and storefronts are out of your price-range for so many reasons. You thought it was a cruel joke for Rafe to give you some money, only to expect you to spend it in places like here.

"No," you shake your head for the umpteenth time, moving onto the next space. For the past twenty minutes, Rafe's been trying to get you to stop and try on clothes. You've been declining all of the options. You know you won't be able to afford them so there's no real point. You hope you reject enough of them that the both of you can leave.

"You have to pick a place at some point."

"I don't see why we have to shop here." You turn to him. "There's plenty of places near The Cut we can go to. It's cheaper."

His expression is sharp, as if the suggestion disgusted him to consider. “I'm not going to The Cut for their cheap-ass clothes."

"Well we're not going here either because there's no way in hell I can afford these clothes, Rafe," you retort, crossing your arms. He said he needed to get you some new clothes because your dress was too short, and since you don’t have many options in your closet, you agreed. You just didn’t expect to file for bankruptcy in order to afford it.

You're about to walk off again, furthering the sidewalk to preview the other shops you can't afford, when Rafe grabs your arm.

"You're not paying, alright?" He asserts. "Now, get into the shop before you piss me off."

You don't move. Not with that attitude.

"What's the magic word?"

"Fuck off."

You imitate a buzzer. "Wrong."

Rafe closes into you until he's right in front of your face. "If you are trying to get me to say please, think again, sweetheart, because there's no way in hell that I'm going to beg you for this."

You aren't intimidated. Glancing down at his hands, you ask, "how's your wrists, by the way?"

He rolls his eyes, forging annoyance, before pulling you to the nearest boutique. He knew it wasn't done without some willingness on your end, that your comment satisfied some power trip, and the two of you slipped through the glass doors of a fancy establishment.

An older woman welcomes you. She asks what you were looking for and Rafe answers before you get the chance to. When the saleswoman gathered the directive, she headed off to grab a couple of dresses from the store.

Rafe requested a private room. Since they had no such thing, this agitated him. However, since the store is mostly-empty right now and no one is using the fitting room lounge, Rafe’s mood slightly lightens. Sitting on the designated waiting couch, you head into one of the fitting rooms to try on the first item.

"What is this going to be for?" You ask, tugging on the strapless dress against your braless chest.

"There's a gala next week for Cameron Development. We're going."

You hum in response, acknowledging that this isn't a spontaneous trip done out of the kindness of his heart but because of your deal. The ploy you're fronting for Ward to see Rafe as reliable. You can't help but feel a small dose of disappointment.

Glancing at the mirror for a final check, you step out to find Rafe leaning against the long cream couch with his legs spread apart.

Rafe watches as you exit from the stall, reluctance pouring into each step you take. When you stop in front of him, you stretch your arms out to let him see the full details, before dropping them mere seconds later. "Good enough?" You ask.

"Turn around." He commands with a whirl of his ringed finger, making you roll your eyes but doing as he says. He studies the back. "Try another one."

Without another word, you head back to the room to pull off another dress from the rack. It became a routine for you: trying on one, doing a little spin for Rafe to see the completed look, waiting for his decision, before returning back to your stall to repeat.

None of the dresses have been a good fit, meaning you liked them, but Rafe found enjoyment in the process. This surprised him. He always hated going shopping for Wheezie or Sarah—especially the latter—but something about going with you, making you try clothes on for him, getting his opinions, stirs something primal in him.

He had to adjust his pants on the fourth dress you tried. That one revealed too much of your ass.

Despite your initial reluctance, you were starting to have fun. You never got the chance to be this girl—the one who spends their days dressing up, acting like a princess getting ready for her first ball—and it makes you excited. A little happy. But, you'll never admit it to Rafe.

However, your options are quickly dwindling. The saleswoman had to go to the front to gather some more dresses for you. As you pull the last one off the rack, you step out of the fitting room.

"Fuck." Rafe swears under his breath, watching you come out with a new piece. A long satin dress that clings to every curve of your body, showing off every impressive inch of your cleavage while leaving more to the imagination and a high slit that cuts up mid-thigh. It might be his favorite.

It was definitely yours.

"What do you think?" You prompt timidly, the lack of outright comment about your attire made you a bit antsy for his thoughts.

“I…” Rafe trails off, his eyes lifted to find yours. “What do you think?”

"Well," you spin, demonstrating with the little twirl that Rafe always makes you do. "I like it. I think it fits me."

"Then, let's get it."

You shake your head, laughing at the idea. "It's outrageously expensive. I can't afford it in this lifetime."

His expression shifts to an unreadable one. "I said I got it."

"And I don't think that's necessary. I can take care of myself." You say, which is true. You know Rafe has money, and you know he wouldn't feel a dent in his wallet if he bought it for you. However, the idea makes you uncomfortable. Not because he was spending money, but because you're letting someone else take care of you. Have power over something you spent your entire life controlling. It feels... wrong.

His jaw locks, his words sharper than before. "I took you here, that means I pay."

"No." You stand firm, shaking your head. "It's fine. I'll just try on something more affordable."

You go back to the dressing room without allowing Rafe to get another word in and he slumps back into his seat with mounting agitation. Rubbing his tense jaw, he can't seem to understand why you won't let him do things for you.

He's capable. He has money. All of this rationalization leads to one infuriating conclusion: why the fuck do you act like he has none of that?

It's simple.

You don't trust him.

"Rafe." You call out. It pulls him out of his spiraling thoughts and he turns to the closed door of your stall. "I can't get the zipper out. Can you help me?"

He was on his feet before you finished your sentence. Knocking, he hears the soft click of the lock as he pushes the door in, stepping inside the limited space. Standing in front of the large mirror, your back is turned to him.

Glancing over your shoulders, you offer him a sheepish look, "just pull it down. I think it's stuck."

He wordlessly steps forward before grabbing a handful of your hair and pushing it to the side. His large hands descend from your neckline to the tiny zipper tucked behind the fabric.

You watch him through the mirror, his expression is hard but his eyes are completely focused on the task at hand. A small smile rises to your lips.

When he lowers the zipper down to the end of the teeth, just at the midsection of your dress, he turns back to you. "Done."

"Thank you, boyfriend." You hum with a grateful grin, holding onto the front of your dress as it started to spill over from the lack of restraint. When you turn around, you’re surprised to find Rafe remaining. "I need some privacy to change—"

"Drop your arms."

The demand startles you. "For what?"

Rafe has the strongest urge to rip off your crossed arms himself, your questions delaying him of what he deserves, but he knows you. At least, he's getting to. Even if his mind is caught in a turmoil right now and he just wants to do something to prove to himself that you bare some semblance of trust in him, he can't force you. Not when he has an inch of restraint left in him.

He wants you to be willing.

Swallowing hard, he confesses. "Because I want to see you."

You can tell it took everything in him to say that. The corner of your lips finds your smile again. "You could've asked nicely."

"That is me asking nicely."

You chuckle, your arms still guarded over your chest. His eyes glance down. "Strip."

"Is this part of the arrangement?" You tilt your head, teasing out the moment a little longer. "An inspection for your girlfriend?"

He cups the underside of your jaw, almost in a chokehold. His eyes are hard on you, his patience wearing thin. "Stop playing with me, sweetheart."

You look up to him, doe-eyed and innocent. "Remove your hand, darling."

His jaw clenches at your own command, his grip around your throat sends a pleasurable sensation straight to your core. With great reluctance, he drops it.

"Who knew you'd do well with instructions?" You grin, taking a step back, closer to the mirror. Your heart is hammering with anticipation.

"If you don't remove them in five seconds, I'm ripping them off."

Excitement stirs in you. At the way he looks at you. The way he wants you. Rafe watches as you slowly drop your arms to your side, the flimsy satin glides off your body into a puddle by your ankles.

His breathing hitch in his throat as his hungry eyes take in your naked body, complete from head to toe, saved for a pair of panties hung around your hips that he's positive won't be there in the next few minutes.

There's a palpable silence. His eyes are intense but his words are obsolete. You needed something from him, some vocalization of his thoughts. Placing a hand on your hips, you ask, "did I pass?"

"You have a fucking nipple piercing."

You laugh at the astonishment in his tone, glancing down to your full tits and seeing the metal barbells lined through your nipples. "Is it not worthy enough of a Kook?" You ask with a tease, running the pad of your thumb over the sensitive bud, biting back a moan. "Am I going to get punished?"

He groans. Having enough, Rafe steps forward and captures your lips with his. His force pushes you against the cool mirror.

"I can't fucking stand you." He murmurs, his hand traveling down to cup one breast in his palm. "You were hiding these from me? The whole fucking time?"

The way he's handling you feels so good. "Didn't know I had to share everything with you."

"You do." Rafe asserts, his fingers pinching your sensitive tip and causing your whole body to arch. "God, they're sensitive, aren't they?"

You nod, needy. His hot mouth descends and his tongue swirls around the metal bar, eliciting a whimper from you. It's very sensitive, and you steady yourself against the mirror as Rafe lowers his other hand over your hips, pushing your panties down.

Rubbing your clit with one hand, teasing you with his mouth, you can't help but build towards a climax at the double sensation.

"Do you know what you do to me?" He whispers against your bare skin, his eyes flickering up to meet your heavy-lid gaze. "Parading around in dresses all day, trying them on for me?"

You feel yourself getting closer, but you can't help but tease him. "They weren't for you—"

His hand covers your mouth, the one slick with your arousal, and the removal of his touch leaves you empty and aching. You regret it instantly. "I don't want to hear you mouth me off again. You had your fun." He warns, his expression hard and resolute. "Now, here's what we're going to do. You're going to pick up that dress, fold it neatly on that chair, and I'm going to buy it."

A protest forms in your throat, but he catches it, deepening the pressure of his palm against your mouth. "Then I'm going to fuck you against this mirror. Remind you who you're with. Is that enough instructions for you, sweetheart?"

Desperate for a finish, you nod. Rafe watches as you pick up the dress and fold the fabric over the chair, before returning back to your previous spot.

"Turn around." He commands. You face the mirror, seeing your bareness in the reflection and the eagerness on your features. "Spread your legs."

You do, obeying him, and he chuckles darkly at the sight. "God, you're so fucking obedient now, aren't you?" He taunts, his eyes flicking to your face in the reflection as his hand lands a slap against your ass. "If I told you to touch yourself right now, you'd listen, wouldn't you?"

You would. The realization makes your face burn, your arms instinctively went to cover your chest. His expression hardens. "Not so fast, sweetheart," he grabs your wrist. "Do I need to tie them up for you too? Drop them."

Your pulse sputters, you lower your arms to your side, tucked. "I knew there was a good girl in there somewhere."

"Rafe." You whimper softly, the ache between your legs becoming unbearable. "Please fuck me."

He grins at your plea, removing his slacks and briefs in one swift motion. You watch his swollen cock spring free, the tip running beads of his precum. Your mouth waters and you resist the urge to squeeze your legs together.

"You want this dick, sweetheart?" He teases, approaching you from behind. "You want me to fill that sweet, tight cunt?"

"Yes," you beg, "yes, please."

"Put your hands on the mirror." He instructs, his hand grabbing a handful of your hair, tipping your head back to meet your gaze in the reflection. "Look at yourself when I fill you."

Lining his erection against your entrance, you watch as he slowly enters your pussy from behind. The image is so gratifying and sensual. "So tight for me," he groans, a hand grabbing your hips to steady him. "Feels so fucking good."

Your eyes roll back to the back of your head as Rafe pumps in you, finding a pace, the angle from behind allowing him to hit deeper spots. You hold onto the mirror tighter, trying to contain your moans and the pleasure coursing through you.

"Look at you," he mumbles against the shell of your ear, causing you to meet his gaze through the mirror. "Taking me so fucking well."

You nod desperately, moaning at his thrusts roughly slams against your walls. "You fill me up so good."

"Just for me, right, sweetheart?" He lands a sloppy kiss against the side of your neck, to which you respond with a mewl. "My fucking girl."

Nodding, your eyes flutter at the way he rocks inside of you, your walls clenching around his length.

"Rub your tits for me." Rafe demands roughly, his pace growing more fervent as he watches your body through the reflection. You do as he says, using a hand to pinch and pull your pierced nipples between your fingertips, the sensitivity of your buds adding to the quickly-rising climax. "Fuck, I love watching you do that."

The praise unburdens something deep inside of you and your goal becomes to make him feel satisfied. Steady yourself with one hand on the mirror, your handprint greasing the clean silver, you play with your nipples further, twisting and moaning in your own pleasure. "Like that?" You ask sweetly, watching as he nods heavily, his chest sheen with a thin layer of sweat.

"Fuck." His rhythm goes faster, the sound of his balls hitting the back of your ass echoing in the empty lounge and overwhelming pleasures causing your eyes to close shut.

Rafe catches that. Pulling you into him, with your arched back pressed against his chest, he roughly grabs your throat and forces you to open them, staring right at your reflection. "You're going to watch me fuck you, sweetheart," he pants into your ear, the sight before you driving flips into your stomach. "And you're going to fucking remember this."

Your hair is a complete mess, his hand wrapped around your throat as the other gripping your hips harshly to steady his sloppier thrusts, and you're being fucked in a public dressing room and loving each second of it.

Both of your moans and his grunts echoes. Your peak rising.

"Oh, fuck," you whimper, your thighs burning from the intensity of Rafe's pumps and your position. "I think I’m going to come—"

Someone calls your name.

Rafe stills.

"Are you in there?" The old saleswoman asks, her voice soft and delicate. You know she would die of a heart attack if she looked inside this room. "I brought more dresses for you. Where did your boyfriend go?"

"I—" Rafe begins to slowly rock against your body, his smile devilish in the reflection. "I–I'm here." You choke.

"Where did your boyfriend go? Did he leave you alone?"

No, you answer in your head, but your words are muddled as Rafe quickens his pace. Not enough where you can hear the sound of your pussy squelching, but enough for you to feel the returning buzz of your orgasm.

"Answer the nice lady, sweetheart," Rafe mumbles into your ear with a smile, pushing your hair to the side, as you send him a glare. Which quickly turns into a look of ecstasy as he hits your g-spot. You slap a hand over your mouth. "Don't be rude."

You had many words for Rafe, but none of them were coming out. You could only do so much. "He's–he's fine," you declare shakily, "I think he went to—" you let out a small whimper. Rafe's hand is now rubbing your clit in unison to his penetration.

You want to kill him.

You want to come so badly.

"He went where?" She prompts sweetly.

"The bathroom!" You shout with a half-moan, Rafe chuckling as he lays kisses on your backside, against your shoulder blades, increasing his thrusts. Your walls twitching around his cock.

"We don't have a bathroom."

Rafe tsk against your burning skin, shaking his head in forged disappointment. "Bad little liar."

"I'm going to kill you," you croak. Your climax builds so fast, you're trying hard to hold it off as long as possible.

"How are you going to come, then?" He taunts through the reflection, watching the way your body rocks with each drive. Your legs are weakening. "Do you want me to stop?"

You shake your head desperately, almost to tears, gripping the mirror edge for the life of you. "Please, don't."

"Then answer her."

"Hello?" The woman calls out, her voice pitched with a slight annoyance from your lack of response. "Do you want to try on the dresses? Should I bring them to you—"

"You can just le–leave it out there!" You moan with abandon. There was no way to avoid it.

"Are you sure—"

"Go away, please!" You plead, Rafe landing a hard thrust against you and causing your knees to finally buckle. He catches your waist with one strong arm, holding you upright.

The old woman huffs at your brusqueness, her little footsteps padding across the floor and exits from the lounge. With that signal, Rafe slams into you, with harsh desperate beats, to make up for the lost time. You come within a matter of seconds.

Worn out, he holds you up for a few more pumps before he spills into you. His hot cum filling your cunt. You're catching your breath, your face is completely flushed, and Rafe holds you tightly as the both of you come down from your high.

With enough strength, you pull yourself up and lean against the mirror for support.

"That was rude of you," Rafe declares with a tease, going to grab his discarded clothes.

"I hate you." You pant, your legs wobbling from your own weight. "I hate you so much."

He chuckles, redressing himself. Watching him as he collects himself, his eyes glance over to the chair before finding your exhausted face. "Now, are you going to let me buy that dress or are we going to have to do this again?"

—

Rafe ends up buying the dress. You were no energy to argue, and when he pulls you to the register to purchase the expensive satin, the old saleswoman gives you a withering glare—either at your rude outburst or the product of your image being a clear indication of you being throughly-fucked in the dressing room—that you quickly exit the boutique.

It didn't stop at the clothes. Rafe also pulled you to a nearby jewelry store too. He got you a gold necklace; your argument was completely futile with one glance.

"The necklace was unnecessary." You complain, pulling out the gift-wrapped box in the passenger seat of his car. Rafe is driving you back to your house.

He glances at you from his peripheral vision. "You need to look the part."

"But did you have to buy the most expensive one?" You retort, glancing over to him. "There were cheaper options. There's even fake ones I saw at the end of the display."

His hand, resting on your thigh, squeezes the flesh. "You think I'll let my girl walk around with fake gold? Do you know what they'll say about me?"

"That you're financially responsible?"

He scoffs, pinching the inside of your legs. You giggle. "That I can't afford to give my girlfriend some nice things. I'm not fucking broke."

You roll your eyes, opening the box. Your fingers trace the gorgeous details of the necklace, landing on the pendant at the center. "R, huh?" You say with a tease, looking over to Rafe again.

He shrugs. "Had to let everyone know who you belong to."

You know this is a fake relationship, that this is nothing more than to keep his image clean, but you can't help but feel a buzz at the possessiveness of his words. It almost makes you feel like you’re his.

Rafe pulls up to your neighborhood and is about to pull up to your house, when you stop him. "Right here is fine," you announce, holding your hand over the clutch to make him park. He does, his brows furrowed at your abrupt reaction.

"I could drive up—"

"No, it's okay." You wave him off with a small smile, unbuckling your seat and gathering your things in the leg compartment. "The walk is good for me."

It isn't that far. It's just off the edge of your driveway, enough where it doesn't look like Rafe is coming into your house but close enough where he can see the front porch.

Grabbing your bags, you bid him a farewell. You close the door of the passenger side and rush up to your porch, Rafe waits until you make it into your house.

This is the second time you've done this. You never let him go further up your driveway. Don't let him meet you at the door. It was like you were hiding him—embarrassed of him.

His hand grips the steering wheel as he watches you ring your own doorbell, waiting a few moments before the door swings open.

And it was fucking Heyward and Maybank.

They set out to greet you, pulling you into a side hug while pointing at the bags in your hands, to which you shyly tuck behind your back to hide from them with little avail. Rafe tightens his grip against the wheel, his knuckles whitening, as he watches you step inside, closing the door—with them.

He should leave. He knows he should. That's what he promised himself he would do. But, knowing you’re in there, with two men, drives him to stay. He can't go up to your doorsteps, you wouldn't allow it, so he waited. And waited. And waited.

It was over an hour and neither Maybank or Heyward exited from your house. It drove Rafe furious. Deciding that was time, he turns off the engine and marches up to your porch, banging on the door.

You open it in a matter of seconds, afraid that you were getting raided by the cops. Your outfit had switched into a baggy tee with shorts—too fucking short, he decided—and your expression etched with surprise.

"Rafe? What–what are you doing here? I thought you left—"

"Where is he?" Rafe declares, glancing over your shoulders with tightened fists. Trying to gain control of himself before he snaps. "Where the fuck are they?"

"Who? JJ?"

"Is that it?"Rafe snaps, his anger rising in waves. "What the fuck is he doing here?"

"I...I was helping him...?" You answer hesitantly, watching his expression shift from rage to fury.

"Helping him with what? Fucking him?"

You blink back in surprise. Your words caught in your throat by his outrageous accusation that it renders you speechless. Rafe, catching it as hesitation, had enough. His last string of restraint snaps. Finally, he steps inside, forcing you in and slams the door close behind him.

He grabs you by the throat, his fingers gripping the sides, causing a pleasurable sensation to your core. "Maybe you're right," he declares lowly, his darkened gaze lowered to you. "You do need to be punished."

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Navigation — Part 04 | Part 05 | Part 06

[incorrectbatfam]

I need unhinged gen alpha Damian with the fam

Dick: *spills his cereal*

Damian: Womp womp.

———————

Jason: *lights a cigarette*

Damian: You smell like you're being cremated.

Jason:

Jason: *puts it out*

———————

Damian: I'm done with my part of our mission report.

Tim: That was fast. Let me see.

Tim: *reads it*

Tim: Did you write it with an AI? Damian, I know you're perfectly capable of doing it yourself.

Damian: But Jon's Twitch stream is about to start.

Tim: I don't care, I'm telling Bruce.

Damian: Not if I do it first. FATHER, DRAKE WROTE HIS MISSION REPORT WITH AI!

———————

Duke: Remember Subway Surfers?

Damian: Remember when your bones were silent?

———————

Steph: *eating a burger*

Damian: All mammals are related to a common ancestor on the evolutionary tree so eating meat is basically cannibalism.

Steph: *takes out a paper bag*

Steph: *puts it over Damian's head*

Steph: *continues eating*

———————

Cass: I need cash.

Damian: Imagine using paper currency in 2024, couldn't be me.

———————

Barbara: I'm undergoing routine security checks. Can I get your computer?

Damian: *hands her his iPad*

Barbara: ...You don't have a PC?

Damian: What do I need that for?

———————

Kate: *enters*

Damian: Is it just me or did it suddenly get geriatric in here?

———————

Alfred: Master Damian, could you kindly enlighten me on what this "Skibidi Toilet" the children are talking about is?

Damian: *pulls up a slideshow with the full lore*

Damian: You may want to sit down.

———————

Selina: *doing her makeup*

Damian: What's your skincare routine? My friend Maya wants it.

Selina: Come back in eight years and I'll tell you.

———————

Gala guests: *milling around*

Damian: You must be my father's NPCs.

Bruce: I apologize about my son.

Bruce: *drags Damian away*

[mostlysignssomeportents]

China hacked Verizon, AT&T and Lumen using the FBI’s backdoor

On OCTOBER 23 at 7PM, I'll be in DECATUR, presenting my novel THE BEZZLE at EAGLE EYE BOOKS.

State-affiliated Chinese hackers penetrated AT&T, Verizon, Lumen and others; they entered their networks and spent months intercepting US traffic – from individuals, firms, government officials, etc – and they did it all without having to exploit any code vulnerabilities. Instead, they used the back door that the FBI requires every carrier to furnish:

https://www.wsj.com/tech/cybersecurity/u-s-wiretap-systems-targeted-in-china-linked-hack-327fc63b?st=C5ywbp&reflink=desktopwebshare_permalink

In 1994, Bill Clinton signed CALEA into law. The Communications Assistance for Law Enforcement Act requires every US telecommunications network to be designed around facilitating access to law-enforcement wiretaps. Prior to CALEA, telecoms operators were often at pains to design their networks to resist infiltration and interception. Even if a telco didn't go that far, they were at the very least indifferent to the needs of law enforcement, and attuned instead to building efficient, robust networks.

Predictably, CALEA met stiff opposition from powerful telecoms companies as it worked its way through Congress, but the Clinton administration bought them off with hundreds of millions of dollars in subsidies to acquire wiretap-facilitation technologies. Immediately, a new industry sprang into being; companies that promised to help the carriers hack themselves, punching back doors into their networks. The pioneers of this dirty business were overwhelmingly founded by ex-Israeli signals intelligence personnel, though they often poached senior American military and intelligence officials to serve as the face of their operations and liase with their former colleagues in law enforcement and intelligence.

Telcos weren't the only opponents of CALEA, of course. Security experts – those who weren't hoping to cash in on government pork, anyways – warned that there was no way to make a back door that was only useful to the "good guys" but would keep the "bad guys" out.

These experts were – then as now – dismissed as neurotic worriers who simultaneously failed to understand the need to facilitate mass surveillance in order to keep the nation safe, and who lacked appropriate faith in American ingenuity. If we can put a man on the moon, surely we can build a security system that selectively fails when a cop needs it to, but stands up to every crook, bully, corporate snoop and foreign government. In other words: "We have faith in you! NERD HARDER!"

NERD HARDER! has been the answer ever since CALEA – and related Clinton-era initiatives, like the failed Clipper Chip program, which would have put a spy chip in every computer, and, eventually, every phone and gadget:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Clipper_chip

America may have invented NERD HARDER! but plenty of other countries have taken up the cause. The all-time champion is former Australian Prime Minister Malcolm Turnbull, who, when informed that the laws of mathematics dictate that it is impossible to make an encryption scheme that only protects good secrets and not bad ones, replied, "The laws of mathematics are very commendable, but the only law that applies in Australia is the law of Australia":

https://www.zdnet.com/article/the-laws-of-australia-will-trump-the-laws-of-mathematics-turnbull/

CALEA forced a redesign of the foundational, physical layer of the internet. Thankfully, encryption at the protocol layer – in the programs we use – partially counters this deliberately introduced brittleness in the security of all our communications. CALEA can be used to intercept your communications, but mostly what an attacker gets is "metadata" ("so-and-so sent a message of X bytes to such and such") because the data is scrambled and they can't unscramble it, because cryptography actually works, unlike back doors. Of course, that's why governments in the EU, the US, the UK and all over the world are still trying to ban working encryption, insisting that the back doors they'll install will only let the good guys in:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/03/05/theyre-still-trying-to-ban-cryptography/

Any back door can be exploited by your adversaries. The Chinese sponsored hacking group know as Salt Typhoon intercepted the communications of hundreds of millions of American residents, businesses, and institutions. From that position, they could do NSA-style metadata-analysis, malware injection, and interception of unencrypted traffic. And they didn't have to hack anything, because the US government insists that all networking gear ship pre-hacked so that cops can get into it.

This isn't even the first time that CALEA back doors have been exploited by a hostile foreign power as a matter of geopolitical skullduggery. In 2004-2005, Greece's telecommunications were under mass surveillance by US spy agencies who wiretapped Greek officials, all the way up to the Prime Minister, in order to mess with the Greek Olympic bid:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Greek_wiretapping_case_2004%E2%80%9305

This is a wild story in so many ways. For one thing, CALEA isn't law in Greece! You can totally sell working, secure networking gear in Greece, and in many other countries around the world where they have not passed a stupid CALEA-style law. However the US telecoms market is so fucking huge that all the manufacturers build CALEA back doors into their gear, no matter where it's destined for. So the US has effectively exported this deliberate insecurity to the whole planet – and used it to screw around with Olympic bids, the most penny-ante bullshit imaginable.

Now Chinese-sponsored hackers with cool names like "Salt Typhoon" are traipsing around inside US telecoms infrastructure, using the back doors the FBI insisted would be safe.

Tor Books as just published two new, free LITTLE BROTHER stories: VIGILANT, about creepy surveillance in distance education; and SPILL, about oil pipelines and indigenous landback.

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

https://pluralistic.net/2024/10/07/foreseeable-outcomes/#calea

Image: Kris Duda, modified https://www.flickr.com/photos/ahorcado/5433669707/

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

[starseedpatriot]

From X: I am an unaffiliated voter who will be voting for Donald Trump for the first time this November.

I’m not your “stereotypical” Trump voter. I’m college educated. I’m part Latino. I’m gay and married. I speak three languages. I am a classical liberal.

And I believe that a vote for Trump is a critical stand against an illiberal, corrupt, and ineffective government system.

The Biden-Harris administration continues to attack its political opponents, censor critics and threaten free speech, bail out violent criminals, put men in women’s spaces, and allow unvetted millions of illegal aliens to enter the country. Its foreign policy is a nightmare resulting in billions in cash and weapons given to terrorists and involvement in numerous wars. Kamala Harris has failed to show effective leadership on a single issue of national importance and continues to prop up a cognitively impaired Biden.

As unattractive as Trump is as a person, his first term oversaw an incredibly peaceful foreign policy, real wage and economic growth, and didn’t threaten my rights to self defense and free speech.

I believe in freedom over force and in our Constitutional Republic that protects individual rights from government abuse. Donald Trump is the best option to secure those.

[islandtimeinvestments]

Today's Trade: $IIPR

Sold 1 $IIPR Feb $65 strike put option for $3.70 ($370), representing a 39.96% annualized yield. If the stock gets put to me, I get to buy it at a great price and earn 11.62% dividend yield.

[ecstarry]

@jegulus-microfic / fee / 341 words / a bit of an age gap jeggy

“How much for an hour?”

Regulus was gathering his things when he heard a deep voice behind him. 

“I’m afraid my schedule is full.” His tone was dry, he didn’t care about taking on more clients and quite frankly, he was tired of the day and just wanted to go home. 

“I’ll pay double your fee.”

He paused, considering the offer. The extra cash would be helpful—he had just moved out and could use the money—but his schedule was packed. Regulus turned around to put a face to the insistent man and found himself wishing he had an available slot. The man was handsome, probably in his late thirties, with broad shoulders, beautiful skin, a few strands of gray hair in his front curls, and again, incredibly attractive.

"It doesn’t work like that." Regulus zipped up his bag, securing his racquet and tennis balls, and leaned against the table that separated him from the other man.

“What if someone cancels, will you accept me then?” 

“No one cancels on me.”

“I bet.” The man’s smirk deepened. “What about after hours practice?”

Regulus could potentially work out a late practice time for the weekend, but he already had plans—it was just too complicated. “There are other instructors who I’m sure—”

“I want you. I promise I’m a good student. So tell me, do I have to keep increasing my offer or will you find a spot for me?” The words were assertive but the tone was utterly charming. Regulus couldn’t tell if his cheeks were red from being under the sun all day or the attentive gaze of the man in front of him. 

“Okay. Friday night. Triple my normal fee.” 

“It’s a date.” The man gave him a warm smile, reached for something in his wallet, and handed it to him. “Here’s my contact.” Regulus stared at the business card with the name James Potter embossed on it.

Okay, he might be older than late thirties.

“Remember to stretch before our class, Mr. Potter. We wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself.”

[inbabylontheywept]

can we get more security clearance stories? they are amazing

Yeah, sure. Remember how getting contractors in to perform regular to the maintenance is basically impossible? One of the issues that we have is that the roof is kind of fucked. Like, in the newer sections, it's fine, and in the older sections, it leaks and we just have big barrels to catch the rainwater, and in the oldest sections there are actual holes. Which is crazy, because the oldest sections are where a lot of the tests happen. Those are almost always the most important parts of the facility. And the holes have been a problem for a while, but it is only "recently" (the last ten years) (yes, that is recent in government time) that the holes got big enough to fit birds.

So we have been getting birds into our secret facility.

This causes several issues.

The first issue is that, surprisingly, the people here are gentle, and they don't like seeing birds die. Some of the old hands are pretty jaded about it, and they have tennis rackets that they used to use for uh... bird removal. But the newer batch threw a fit when they suggested that, so now we have to make a big ordeal out of getting the birds out of the building. And if I sound bitter about it, I'm not - I am one of the people that said absolutely no bird smashing. But it is much easier to catch a bird than it is to just smack it out of the air.

(Another layer of difficulty is the whole "working in a labyrinth" thing. The birds have a lot of places to run.)

The second issue is that sometimes we can't get the birds out, and they die in weird places. This isn't just sad - it makes the test areas smell bad for weeks afterwards, and a lot of us spend the majority of our working hours in those locations. So it's sad and gross and stinky.

And the third issue, which is actually kind of the worst, is that government knows about the "perimeter leaks" (IE, large holes in the ceiling) and instead of fixing the holes, they put extra security measures in place. You know, in case spies climb in through the holes. Which means that, unfortunately, instead of getting the holes fixed, we got a state of the art alarm system, complete with motion detection lasers.

So the birds get in, and we actually can't leave until they get out, because they will, and have, and frequently do, trip the alarms. And when the alarms trip, people get called in to check the site and confirm for the 10,000th time that no, it's not Russians: It's birds.

It's always birds.

(Some of the techs actually kind of enjoy those calls during the weekends, because it means free overtime where there's literally nothing asked of them. Getting the "bird alarm" call is just 4 hours of OT where you check the test cell and confirm, no spies, just birds, then sit there and play checkers or read or whatever until the airforce base calls back and says that it seems safe enough for you to go home.)

(Engineers like those calls less, because we don't get time and a half, and we also don't need the cash quite as much as the techs do.)

Anyway, the crazy scenario is when it's like, 30 minutes to quitting, and a bird gets in. Because now we can't leave until we get the bird out. And the scene that happens is actually quite pretty.

So, the first thing that will happen is that there will be yelling downstairs. The downstairs people are always irate about birds getting in close to quitting. The anger is directed vaguely at the bird, and vaguely at the government, and more specifically at whatever absolute fuckhead bought us an alarm system instead of fixing our roof.

The majority of the crowd of grousing engineers and techs will then move into the upper offices. A couple will break off to grab the floodlight and shine it down the stairs, a few more will prop the doors open, and someone will venture back into the basement to turn off the light.

Click, the light goes off, it's dark, there's this big, warm, yellow pool of light just dripping down the stairs like a river of melted butter, and there's a crowd of tennish people + whoever is poking their heads out of the office to watch. No one will be breathing at all... and then, 9 times out of 10, a little bird will flit out of the basement, up the stairs, towards the light, and trigger the apocalypse.

Everyone chases the bird.

The goal at first is not to catch the bird. That's very difficult, and none of us have very good hand eye coordination. The goal is to thunder along and keep the bird from sitting down and having a breather.

We are there to exhaust the bird.

It is just accepted that this thundering herd will go wherever the bird goes. If your office door is open, and the bird flies in, it doesn't matter what reports you're filling out, or what phone call you're on - you are expected to deal with the panting and scrambling and general primal chaos of the hunting party until the bird goes somewhere else. Eventually, the bird will slow down enough that someone can catch it. This is a semi-coveted position, because, yes, you do get to hold a bird in your hand. And holding a bird is a wonderful thing. They are so soft, and so small, and you feel so careful with the poor thing. But also, it will bite you. Always. And the birds out here bite like needle nose pliers. It hurts so bad. I have been the guy holding the bird before, and it's this kind of beautiful scene again - to be standing there, hands cupped gently around this thing that is chewing the fuck out of the squishy webbing between my thumb and my palm. Tears streaming down my cheeks, surrounded by my little hunting party, that is telling me how much further until the nearest exit, opening all the doors for me. Hushed in the silence as they acknowledge my sacrifice. Inspecting the chomps afterwards and giving their opinion on how long it will be until it stops hurting.

I'm getting a little lost in the sauce here and don't really know how to end this. It's a really good job. Wouldn't be half as fun if it was run in a sane and competent manner.

I'll make this into a post at some point.

[ffaelix]

bruce wayne absolutely keeps every single drawing, card, and handmade gift his kids have ever given him. like, every single one. no matter how messy, weird, or even accidentally insulting (looking at you, jason’s “world’s okayest dad” mug from when he was thirteen), he keeps them all.

he has a drawer in his desk with the “important” ones—like the first time dick called him dad in a scribbled crayon card, or the weird but endearing origami bat tim made when he was sleep-deprived.

but the real collection? it’s in a reinforced, locked safe in the batcave.

alfred found out once when he caught bruce carefully putting away a pile of random childhood drawings. when asked why he had an entire safe dedicated to them, bruce just muttered something about “sentimental value” and refused to elaborate.

but really, he just can’t bear to part with them. his kids may not always say it, but those little gifts? they were proof that, in their own way, they loved him. and no matter how much time passed, no matter how rocky their relationships got, he never wanted to forget that.

..

years later, damian finds the safe.

he’s not even trying to snoop—he was looking for something important, something mission-critical, and instead, he finds this. a locked safe, hidden behind a shelf in the batcave, coded with one of bruce’s personal encryptions. naturally, he assumes it holds classified files, maybe contingency plans, or something worthy of all the security.

he hacks it in under five minutes.

when the door swings open, damian stares.

it’s not secret mission files. it’s not weapons or emergency cash. it’s… drawings? old birthday cards? a lopsided clay model of a bat (which he immediately recognizes as drake’s terrible handiwork)?

his eyes narrow as he pulls out a faded crayon drawing—one of his, from when he was younger. it’s him, a wobbly little stick figure, standing next to bruce in an oversized bat symbol. he vaguely remembers making it, but he definitely doesn’t remember bruce keeping it.

“tt.” he huffs, shoving it back in the safe. ridiculous. sentimental. pointless.

and yet…

when bruce walks into the cave later that night, he finds the safe locked again, nothing out of place—except for one new addition. a freshly drawn sketch, carefully folded and placed on top of the pile.

it’s of the whole family. him, grayson, todd, drake, cain—everyone. standing together.

bruce doesn’t say anything about it.

but the next morning, damian notices that his drawing isn’t in the safe anymore. it’s framed on bruce’s desk.

[harrywavycurly]

Worst Mob Boss Ever: Mafia!Harry One Shot

Pairing: Mafia!harry x Rowland!reader

CW: Language, slight mentions of threats of violence

A/N: I got hella inspired by this post, the accidentally kidnapping a mafia boss one and this is where my mind took it. I wrote this in one sitting sorry if it’s shit I had to get it out of my head!

Summary: Harry gets into the wrong car when your brother Mitch picks you up from work and you just want to go to book club✨

Harry let’s out an annoyed sigh as he reaches over to grab his suit jacket, giving the man behind the coat check a tip before he looks down at the watch on his wrist. In all the years he’s worked for him, Harry can’t remember a time when David has ever been late to pick him up from his Monday lunch meeting. After putting his jacket on he quickly reaches in one of the pockets for his sunglasses before stepping outside the restaurant, Eric the head of his security detail already standing outside waiting for him.

“He got held up at the red light the construction on the new apartment complex down the block it’s causing some issues.” Eric informs Harry as the two men walk down the short staircase in front of the restaurant. Harry just nods as he slides his sunglasses on, Eric stands to his right and looks around to see if he can spot the black suburban anywhere.

“You’re looking to the left and to the right when the car is right in front of you.” Harry snaps harshly as a big black suv pulls up in front of the restaurant. Eric quirks a brow when he notices a disco ball hanging from the rearview mirror, he takes a step to the side to try to get a glimpse of the license plate. “Why do I even keep you around?” Harry questions mostly to himself but he says it loud enough Eric can hear him as he takes a step towards the car.

“Wait boss that’s not-” before Eric can do anything Harry is already climbing into the suv and shutting the door. Eric watches in horror as the suv begins to drive off and all he can do is reach into his back pocket for his phone and begin making a few phone calls as the head of one of the most powerful families in New York disappears around the corner.

Harry doesn’t hear what Eric says as he sits down and gets comfortable in the leather seat and lets out a sigh as he brings a hand up to take his sunglasses off and place them back in his jacket pocket. That’s when Harry notices a pink fuzzy pair of what he can only describe as slippers next to a bright purple backpack on the seat next to him. Now if he was a normal person this is when he would probably begin to either panic or get anxious because Harry doesn’t own any fuzzy slippers nor does he own a purple backpack, but Harry isn’t exactly built to panic so he just reaches over and picks up the backpack and brings it over to sit in his lap. He opens it up and rolls his eyes when the first thing he sees is a romance novel with a book mark half way through it, he reaches in and moves a few things around and finds it’s just mostly filled with clothes but then he spots a wallet. He picks the wallet up and to his surprise when he opens it all he finds is a library card with “Rowland” written on the back making him assume that’s the card holder’s last name and some cash, he finds it a bit odd because he wasn’t aware people even still used library cards anymore. He lets out a disapproving tsk when he doesn’t find any form of identification having hoped he would at least find out whose car he was in.

“Who the fuck are you?” A loud startled voice causes Harry’s gaze to move from the tacky silver glittery wallet in his hands to the man in the driver’s seat that’s turning to glare at Harry over the console that sits between the two front seats.

“I could ask you the same thing.”

“Well I asked you first so…who the fuck are you?”

“I’m Harry Styles.”

“Cool so what the hell are you doing in my sister’s car?” Harry looks at the wallet in his hand and then to the slippers in the seat next to him and nods his head upon learning these items don’t belong to the long haired man driving the vehicle but possibly his sister, not that he’s one to judge but the slippers are god awful no matter who’s wearing them.

“Why did you stop in front of me in the valet line?” Harry questions as he looks out the window and notices they are parked in what just looks to be the back of the restaurant he was just inside of.

“I stopped because that’s what you do when the car in front of you stops. What did you want me to do? Ram into them? It’s basic driving manners you dick. Now get the fuck-”

“Oh thank god that shift is over it was hell in there.” The door beside Harry opens briefly as a jacket and apron are roughly tossed on top of him before the door is slammed shut. He feels his jaw clench slightly as he tosses the items to the seat next to him making them land on the slippers before sliding to the floor. The man in the driver’s seat turns his attention away from Harry as the passenger door opens so who Harry can only assume is the man’s sister can climb inside.

“What’s with the face? Mitch are you-”

“So your name is Mitch?” You slowly turn your head to face the backseat as Harry’s deep voice fills yours ears, it’s one you’ve heard many times seeing as he’s a regular at your job having a set reservation for every Monday at noon with four other guests.

“Uh Mitch why is Harry Styles in my backseat?” Your eyes meet Harry’s and for a moment he feels the corners of his mouth twitch as if he wants to smile but he fights it. Your eyes travel down to the wallet in his hands and the backpack that’s open and sitting in his lap and without thinking you turn your body so you can reach into the back seat and snatch the wallet from his hands with a glare.

“Where are your manners? Why are you going through my stuff? Are you some kind of weirdo?” You fire off questions as you close your wallet back up before reaching for your backpack and pulling it to sit in the front with you by your feet.

“You know this guy?”

“I don’t know him like we’re friends I just know his name and that he eats here every Monday.”

“I don’t eat here I just have a meeting here every Monday. The food here is-”

“Why are you still in the car? Just get out.”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that.” Harry watches you and Mitch both turn to look at him with raised brows making him let out a sigh. “If I get out of this car without informing my guys that you’re not a threat then the moment you drive on any open road I’m afraid it’ll only be a matter of hours before I hear about how your car is now a flaming heap of metal on the side of the road.” He explains calmly as he reaches down for your jacket that fell off the seat and places it neatly on top of your slippers.

“Listen the only threat in this car seems to be you and I’m sorry did you say-”

“Flaming heap of metal? Like what you’re-you’re going to blow my car up? You can’t just blow up people’s cars that’s so rude.”

“I can. Because I have. Many times.”

“Dude I’m gonna have to ask you again. Who the fuck are you?” Harry glares at Mitch because he hates repeating himself as you let out a sigh of frustration while running a hand over your face. Harry takes a moment to consider how much he should actually divulge about who he is but when he looks over at the pink fuzzy slippers, he decides that since he now knows your last name and where you work he can subtly keep tabs on you so if he ever needs to pay you a little visit you won’t be hard to find, so what he says next doesn’t seem risky at least not to him.

“I’m Harry Styles the current head of the Styles family and before you ask-”

“Say no more man. You said you’re head of a family that has to mean mafia and I’ve seen the god father so I don’t need the run down on how your little family works.” You look at your brother with wide eyes as he talks a mile a minute and runs his hands through his hair as an attempt to calm himself down and Harry has to hold back a chuckle because so far he was having a pretty shitty day and oddly enough ending up in the wrong car with the two of you has slightly begun to turn it around.

“You’ve got to be the worst mob boss ever then because how did you even end up in my car? Don’t you have security or something?” Mitch shoots you a glare as you turn to look at Harry who can only shrug because honestly this was all his own doing since Eric did seem like he was trying to warn him before he got into the car.

“I thought he was my driver because he stopped right in front of me in the valet line outside the restaurant.” Harry answers honestly making you roll your eyes, an action Harry usually doesn’t tolerate when it’s directed at him but for some reason watching you do it makes him smirk at how annoyed you are.

“Oh right because every black suburban must be for you is that it? That’s so narcissistic of you.”

“Please stop insulting the mob boss in the backseat.” Mitch mumbles as he reaches over and gives your shoulder a light shove, you just smack his hand away and let out a huff as you go back to facing the front.

“I’m sorry but he’s ruining my plans.” You inform your brother who then turns to look at Harry.

“So can you call your dudes and tell them we aren’t a threat so you can get out of the car?” Mitch asks as nicely as possible and Harry licks his lips before giving Mitch a small smile because he knows the long haired man isn’t going to like his answer.

“I can’t do that.” Mitch lets out a groan as Harry runs a hand through his hair. “I don’t have my phone. Phones aren’t allowed at family meetings.” He explains as you lean your head back so it’s resting on the headrest and close your eyes and take a few calming breaths. Harry seeming to be so unbothered by the whole situation has you on the verge of causing a full on scene in the back parking lot of your work because you just got off a hellacious shift and all you want to do is go to your book club and change into your comfy clothes with a glass of wine while taking about the steamy scenes of the romance novel in your backpack.

“See what I’m saying? Worst mob boss ever. He doesn’t even have his phone.” Harry can’t help but laugh and that seems to not be a reaction you find acceptable because all of a sudden your glaring at him and Mitch is looking at Harry through the rearview mirror with an apologetic expression on his face because he knows his sister is about to let him have it. “Listen Mr. Mob Boss I have plans tonight. I’m only off nights one day a week and that’s Monday when I work the morning and lunch rush and tonight is book club and if you get in the way of that then I might actually become a real threat to your safety so if you refuse to get out of my car then fine how about I get out? Because-”

“If you get out of this car I will not be able to protect you from the men inside that truck over there.” While Harry is impressed with your willingness to stand up to him and even borderline threaten him, he knows you have no actual clue who you’re dealing with in terms of what lengths his men will go to in order to get him back. You watch as he motions to a black truck that’s parked near a beat up minivan a few cars over from yours in lot, the windows are blacked out and you know it wasn’t there when you left through the back of the restaurant just ten minutes ago.

“How do we fix this if you don’t have a phone and no one can get out of the car? We can’t just sit in here forever.” You argue as Mitch just rests his forehead on the steering wheel with a huff officially hitting his limit and letting this be his sign that he’s giving up.

“Let me see your phone.”

“Let me hear some manners. Even the worst mob boss ever needs to have manners.”

“May I please borrow your phone-wait I still don’t even know your name.” Harry states as he quirks a brow at you and he can’t help but smile when you tell him your name with a roll of your eyes as you hand him your phone.

“But just type in the number and I’ll do the talking because I really don’t have time for any beating around the bush okay?” Mitch sits up as Harry begins typing in Eric’s phone number and he can’t help but wonder how this conversation is going to go because he’s not even sure if his head of security will answer or not since your number won’t be one of his contacts.

“His name is Eric and-”

“Hello? Eric? Hi yes I have your mob boss in my backseat and I need you to come get him please—what? No I didn’t kidnap him he’s the one who got into my car on his own—Uh excuse me sir do you kiss your mother with that mouth? Yes I’m being serious I have things to do and he’s got to go so come fucking get him—no no no I do not have any demands besides for you to come get him from my backseat!—He’s not the one being held hostage! I am! He won’t leave my car and I have book club!—what? Signs of life? What like you think I killed him in my backseat? Do you know how hard it is to get stains out of floorboards of a car? As if I’d murder someone in my own car-” Harry has to admit he is very entertained and only a little shocked at how you’re speaking to Eric over the phone, given how you just kinda threatened him only a few moments ago but he can only imagine what his security is saying to you because your cheeks are turning red and he can tell you are slowly beginning to reach the end of your patience. That’s when he decides he needs to step in as he reaches over and gives you a small smile before he gently takes the phone out of your hand and puts it up to his ear.

“Eric.” Harry hears the other end go quiet for a moment before he hears a sigh of relief.

“Oh thank fuck I thought she was some seriously sick and twisted psycho or someone one of the-”

“I’m fine. I’ll be home later. Do not follow or mess with this car do you understand?”

“Yes sir.”

“And no one is to touch them. Ever. Understood?” Harry isn’t dumb, he knows he has to pick his words wisely or Eric will “accidentally” do something to one or possibly both of you and use the excuse that Harry didn’t say he wasn’t allowed to hurt the people in the car just that he wasn’t allowed to mess with the car. He also knows that with the amount of time this car has been sitting in this back parking lot one of the men in that truck have gotten all the information they need on you from your licenses plate.

“Understood.” And with that Harry hangs up and hands you back your phone.

“We can go to book club now.” Mitch doesn’t hesitate to put the car in drive and begin to leave the parking lot, noticing a few ominous looking black trucks are also parked in front of the restaurant as well. “Don’t worry they won’t do anything.” Harry says in an attempt to sound reassuring when he sees Mitch look a little nervous when the truck from the back parking lot pulls up next to them at a red light.

“We can go to book club? You’re not invited.” You explain once Mitch is further down the road and the truck has turned off a side road letting Mitch feel a wave of relief wash over him as he loosens his grip on the wheel.

“Even if I’ve read the book?” He asks making you raise an eyebrow as you twist around in your seat to look at him. Harry just chuckles as he clasps his hands together in his lap, twisting his S ring around a few times. “The Hating Game right? That’s the book in your backpack? It’s not the best but it’s not the worst the movie is horrible but the banter is-”

“You read romance novels?” Harry just shrugs as he looks down at his hands. “You read smut instead of horror or like crime novels? How lame.” He smiles at your teasing and he feels like for as long as he’s in the backseat of your car he can just be the guy who reads romance novels, doesn’t keep his phone on him, gets into cars just because they look like the one his driver usually picks him up in and most importantly he can just be the guy who thinks the girl in the passenger seat is cute especially when she’s annoyed with him. Or to put it simply when he’s around you, Harry feels like he’s okay with being the worst mob boss ever.