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thewintersoldierdisaster · 11 months ago

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a/n: a little festive mat fic! written fairly quickly and minimally edited, but i wanted to get something out for the holiday! not too much more to say except i hope you guys all have a wonderful holiday and i’ll be quiet for the rest of the year, writing and stockpiling fics lol

word count: 4.8k

tw: a little innuendo, nothing crazy

summary: after spending the day hanging out with the team, you have some news for mat

“The snow was a nice touch,” you grin at Holly Horvat. A light dusting of snow is falling outside, the grass in the Horvats’ backyard already white.

Holly laughs, “oh, you know me. I have a connect to make sure even the weather is perfect for our events.” She pours M&Ms into a few small ramekins that are going to be placed around the kitchen island and dining room table where the kids will be decorating gingerbread houses.

The house is bustling with people and noise and you can’t help but love it. You miss having huge family gatherings, ever since your parents moved off Long Island and down south. The rest of your family is scattered to the winds, so it’s nice to be folded into the big team family get togethers. Joining a group of women who love any excuse to throw a party has been one of the biggest benefits from your relationship with Mat.

Half a dozen kids run past you - you spot the Bailey boys and Brock’s two oldest kids in the group as they blur by - holding jackets and their sneakers. “Mini sticks is getting moved outside,” Noah grins as he breezes past you, swiping a handful of M&Ms from the little bowl.

“Stay warm,” you tease, watching him follow the kids out the back door. A parade of adult men follow him - Wahlly, Casey, Josh, Brock, and finally Mat, who stops to give your waist a little squeeze.

“Kiss for luck?” He asks, puckering his lips at you in a dramatic duck face. You giggle and plant one on him, pulling back before he can slip his tongue past your lips.

Mat leans slightly against you, his face a little flushed already from the twenty minutes of mini sticks that’s been going on in the basement. “What do you need luck for?” You ask, carding your fingers through his hair.

“Jacky’s got a wicked wrister,” Mat grins, referring to Casey’s oldest, “and no idea how to aim. Do you know how many pucks to the head I’ve dodged?”

A snort of laughter makes Mat’s lips turn down in a frown. “Oh, I guess you just don’t care about my health,” he sighs dramatically, pulling away from your side. “It’s fine. I’ll take a slap shot to the head and then you’ll see how much you miss my charming personality.”

“Dramatics,” you murmur affectionately, hooking your fingers in his belt loops. “He’s five and you guys use a Nerf ball. I think you’ll live.”

“Maaaat!” Jack comes barreling through the room and crashes into your fiancé’s legs. “C’mon! Everybody’s outside.” The little boy looks adorable in his puffer coat, a little beanie pulled haphazardly over his blonde hair. He wrinkles his face up at Mat in an impatient frown and you can’t help but egg him on.

“Yeah, Mat,” you prod him in the side, looking innocent, “everyone’s outside already.”

He rolls his eyes at you, but grins down at Jack and swoops him into his arms, making Jack shriek with laughter. You prop your chin in the palm of your hand and watch Mat tickle Jack’s belly while he carries him outside. Jack’s little sneakered feet are kicking in the air, narrowly avoiding Mat’s head.

“He’s really good with the kids,” Kristy Cizikas comments, coming into the kitchen with baby Cole propped on her hip.

You scrunch up your face at Cole to make him laugh, “it’s because he’s a big kid himself, right Coley? Huh? Is Matty a big kid?” You giggle at your own baby talk and warmth blooms in your chest when you’re rewarded with a gummy baby smile. “Ooh, you make cute babies,” you tell Kristy.

She shakes her head affectionately, “I swear, they’re all Casey. It’s like my genes didn’t even try.”

“Hey, in like six months you and Mat can start catching up to the rest of us,” Sydney Martin teases, easily passing Alice to you when you reach out for the one-year-old. Alice immediately grabs a chunk of your hair and you wince, untangling chubby fingers from the strands.

You hum noncommittally as you work. “We’ll see what happens,” you shrug. “Might be nice to just be the two of us for a bit.”

“But don’t you want that all the time?” Syd laughs, gesturing to you now that Alice’s fingers are hooked in your mouth. You pretend to nibble on them, making her shriek with laughter. She finishes helping Holly set out the candy, knowing the rest of the kids will start wandering their way into the kitchen.

“One day, definitely,” you nod, settling Alice more securely on your lap, one arm looped around her stomach. The little girl slaps her palms happily on the countertop and you giggle, resting your chin on her head. “No rush though.”

As you settle at the table with the kids, the other guys trail in and out of the backyard, the noise of mini sticks floating inside.

You get to be in charge of Alice during decorating, sitting in between Syd with Winnie and Ashlee with Luca while the kids decorate their pre-made houses. You squirt a line of frosting onto the roof and Alice uses her little pincer grip to place M&Ms on the line. “Oh, good job,” you tell her in a bright, encouraging voice. She rewards you with a half melted piece of candy smushed against your cheek.

“Mommy,” Winnie’s little voice pipes up, “Ali’s makin’ a mess.”

“So are you, Win,” Sydney laughs, wiping up a smudge of frosting off of Winnie’s sweater. “Everyone is going to make a little bit of a mess and that’s okay.”

From your spot at the island, you can see right out the back door and you watch the mini sticks tournament that’s happening. Kids versus adults and honestly, it looks like the adults are having a rough go of it. Mat’s on the ground, a pile of children fighting him. Whally has Cal’s oldest on his shoulders and you honestly wonder how that ended up happening. Sticks have been discarded and the Nerf pucks are strewn around. You watch Casey pull Jack out of the pile on top of Mat, his little arms and legs kicking. From the ground, Mat jokingly sticks his tongue out at Jack and you shake your head. Of course he has beef with a five-year-old.

Bo and Gunnar join the fun outside and Mat slaps the little boy’s hand in a high-five. Your stomach swoops a little. It’s always such a turn-on when Mat interacts with kids, but it’s a little different now.

Alice pats your hand and grumbles a little. “Whoops, sorry, Al,” you squeeze more frosting onto the house for her to decorate.

“Distracted?” Ashlee asks, pulling Luca’s frosting covered hand away from his hair. She wipes his fingers off with a napkin and gives him a pretzel to stick onto his little house. She pops another pretzel into her own mouth.

You hum. “Just making sure he’s not being totally steamrolled by a pack of kids,” you laugh lightly. While Alice works on the roof of her house, you put a few Starburts in place to act as a little pathway going to the door.

In the backyard, Mat stands up, Mack and Wyatt Bailey hanging from each arm. He shakes them gently and you can see both boys’ heads fall back with wild laughter. Meg looks up from where she’s helping Blake with a pattern of Smarties on her roof. “Honestly, if he wasn’t busy with, you know, his actual job,” she laughs, “I’d hire him as a babysitter. The kids loved when he lived with us.”

The entire kitchen of women laugh when the back door slides open and Mat steps back inside, shaking melted snow from his short hair. He stops and looks up, scanning the room full of laughing women. “What?” He asks, eyebrows drawn together. “I interrupt something? Want me to leave so you ladies can keep talking about me?” He laughs brightly, flashing his teeth.

“You can stay,” you offer generously, tilting your head up as he passes for a kiss. Mat’s hand is freezing when it cups your jaw and you flinch a little. He mumbles a ‘sorry’ against your lips before kissing them. When he pulls away, to a soundtrack of ‘awww’s from the women and a joking ‘get a room’ from Sydney, you continue, “but you have to take orders from toddlers, if you do.”

“Like I’m not already doing that,” he laughs, swiping a thumb over your cheekbone and sucking it into his mouth. “Frosting,” he explains, smirking. Your cheeks flush.

Winnie stands up on her chair and leans into you, poking at your cheek with her fingers. “Red, I wanna be red!” She bounces a little and looks over at Mat who scrunches up his whole face at her and tickles her sides, making her shriek with laughter and flop back into Sydney’s arms.

Sydney laughs and tickles Winnie’s side, “girlfriend, you’re collecting boyfriends around here like they’re Pokémon cards.”

Satisfied by the chaos he caused, Mat backs into the hallway, explaining, “I was sent to get more jackets and gloves and sh-stuff,” he course-corrects before letting the curse slip. “It’s freezing out there.”

He’s gone, rummaging through the massive hall closet, before reappearing wearing his own coat and holding an armful of the other guys’ outerwear.

“Who’s winning?” Holly teases, while you all watch Mat struggle to pull a beanie on without dropping anything. He fails spectacularly and gives up when he realizes that everything’s slowly falling to the floor.

Mat scoffs. “The kids, obviously. They’re unhinged,” he grins widely and you can tell he’s having a blast. There’s a chorus of his name being shouted from outside and Mat scoops up the dropped outerwear before dashing off to rejoin the fun.

Sydney leans in and nudges your side gently. “He’s going to be a great dad,” she whispers, smiling knowingly.

You chew at the inside of your cheek and manage a barely convincing smile. “One day, definitely,” you reply, holding an Oreo for Alice to chew at.

She shoots you a little side eyed look and you studiously ignore her, focusing on telling Reese Cizikas how great her house looks. Things start to get messy - well, messier - after a while and the kids get antsy until they’re turned loose from the table to run off around the house. While you clean up the candy, the guys come back inside with the older kids and you can’t help but laugh at how the three youngest men, including your fiancé, have kids hanging off of them.

“If you kids let go of the guys,” Holly says warmly, “I’ll pass around some hot chocolate.”

It’s a mad scramble for the kids to abandon Mat, Noah, and Oliver - and they actually look mildly offended when the kids just toss their jackets back at them in their dash for hot chocolate. You take some of the gear from Mat and lean up on your toes to kiss his cheek, “don’t look so sad, you can have another play date with your friends soon.”

“Menace,” Mat grins, reaching around to pinch at your ass.

“I’ll text Kristy,” you giggle, continuing the joke, “Jack can come over and beat you at mini sticks again.”

“I’m gonna toss your phone into the ocean,” Mat deadpans.

You lower your voice and lean closer to him to whisper, “how will I send all those pictures you like?”

“You can keep the phone,” Mat replies immediately and you laugh, tugging at the open edges of his jacket. He pulls you close and you wrap one arm around his waist, his body warm even though his hands and face are cold. You bury your face in his chest and stifle a yawn. Mat’s hand is warming your back where he rubs it up and down your spine. “Still feeling gross after that bug?”

“Not gross,” you tilt your head to look up at him, still cuddled against his chest, “just tired. Haven’t been sleeping well.”

“We can head home, if you want,” Mat offers, but you shake your head again. You like it when the whole group is together and you want to keep enjoying the time with your friends.

You pull back slightly from Mat’s arms, his hands still resting on your back. “I just need a little bit of sugar and I’ll be good to go,” you smile at him. His eyes twinkle before he leans down and plants a smacking, dramatic kiss on your lips.

“Good to go?” He teases when he pulls back.

“Not that kind of sugar,” you giggle, delighted by him always.

“You guys are disgustingly cute,” Ashlee says, breaking into the Mat Barzal bubble that you’ve been enveloped in for the last few minutes. You startle a little and some of the other wives laugh.

“Oh god, she forgot we’re even here,” Sydney shakes her head, an exaggerated frown on her lips.

Meg smirks, “thank god we interrupted them before it went too far.”

Your cheeks are warm from the teasing and Mat just turns on the charm, grinning widely at his teammates’ wives. “It’s all part of the Barzal charm,” he wiggles his eyebrows.

“What charm?” Bo chirps, coming into the kitchen with Tulsa on his hip. “All you’re good at is league mandated iPad time.”

“Don’t forget all the time he spends sitting on his ass on the ice,” Noah grins wickedly.

“Tell us,” Casey asks you, “is it part of his charm when he messes up common sayings?”

You giggle, sucking your lips into your mouth when Mat glares down at you.

“You guys suck,” Mat flips them off, immediately apologizing when he realizes some of the kids are still in the room. “Sorry, Holly, Meg.”

They waive off his apologies, sending him into the den with a tray of snacks for the kids. They’re watching a movie, Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer if the familiar music is to be believed, and you know half the dads are also in the den, napping on the couches. Mat disappears for a while too and you leave him to the movie, knowing he’s exhausted. You get to hang out with the girls for a few more hours, interspersed with hugs and drawings from Gunnar and Winnie, before the party starts to break up.

Everyone’s gone slowly and then all at once, and you and Mat are walking the three blocks towards your house. He bumps your hip with his as you walk, his fingers laced with yours. “You coming to the game tomorrow?” He asks, getting a sense of what the week ahead will look like.

“Mhm,” you hum, “I’m going to go with Syd, so I’m not sure if I’ll end up staying the whole game. So make sure you do all the good stuff in the first.”

Mat bumps your hip again and you laugh, the sound echoing in the cold air. “I save all my best stuff for you,” he retorts, unlocking the front door and letting you step inside before him. He winks at you, his entire face scrunching up in his terrible attempt.

You scoff at him and flip the switches to turn on the Christmas lights, bathing the whole house in the warm glow of multi-colored string lights. You sigh happily, loving the over the top decorations you’d insisted on and the way the entire house smells like pine and cinnamon from diffusers and candles left open but unlit. Mat crowds your space and kisses the back of your neck.

“Couch time?” He mumbles against your skin.

“Couch time,” you agree, muffling another yawn.

You race to the bedroom, changing out of your clothes as quick as possible to get into comfy sweats and sweatshirts. Mat tosses a pillow at your face to distract you, but you swat it out of the air, nearly getting your foot stuck in the leg of your sweats.

“You like when I’m a weighted blanket,” Mat says, voice muffled by the sweatshirt he’s pulling over his head. “Why are you racing me to be on top?”

You don’t waste time pulling on your sweatshirt in the room and instead dart back out to the hallway and skip down the stairs, flopping onto the couch in just your sweats, completely topless. Mat’s hot on your heels and grumbles when he sees you yanking the fabric over your head. Smugly, you reply, “I don’t wanna be squished today. I want to use you as a body pillow.”

He submits to his fate and flops down onto the couch, oversized enough that the two of you could lay side by side and be comfortable, and opens his arms for you to crawl onto his chest. The both of you love the soft pressure of the other person laying on top of them so you’ve had to come up with a contest over the course of your relationship - first person on the couch gets to be on top. More often than not, you end up sprawled over Mat since it’s an easy way to transition into couch sex.

Now, you’re so tired you definitely will be keeping all of your clothes on. But you hum happily when you settle on top of him, your knees tucked nicely against either side of his hips, straddling his lap. When you curl up against his chest, your lower back stretches pleasantly and you wiggle a little, wrapping your arms around his torso and tucking your head under his chin. Mat’s arms wrap around you, one hand covering the back of your head so his fingertips can stroke against the shell of your ear.

He pulls the decorative blanket off the back of the couch with his other hand and arranges it over your bodies, making sure his feet stick out on the end so he doesn’t overheat. “You good?” He asks, his jaw bumping against the top of your head when he speaks. You nod against him and close your eyes, settling into his warmth. Mat turns on the TV, flipping it to ESPN before letting his hand rest low on the curve of your back, fingers grazing the top of your ass.

Mat’s heart beats steadily under your cheek and his hand is warm where it rests on your head. Couch time is exactly what you needed today. Your eyelids flutter shut every so often and you must fall asleep for a little nap because the next thing you know, it’s darker outside and Mat is running his thumb over your cheekbone.

“Hey,” he whispers and you lift your head to look at him blearily, momentarily confused.

“Hi,” you mumble sleepily, brushing your nose against his chin. “What time’s it?”

“Just after 4:30,” he replies and now the TV’s playing a rerun of The Office. He chuckles at a joke and rubs his fingertips against your scalp in a little massage. “You’ve been out for like forty-five minutes and I would’ve let you sleep, but I’m starving.”

Your heart skips a beat and you’re fully awake now. “Oh, same,” you say casually, rolling off of Mat and tucking yourself against his side. “I actually would love a piece of that gingerbread house that I ordered.”

“Gingerbread house?” Mat raises an eyebrow. “When’d you get that?”

“It was delivered the other day,” you explain. “I wanted something cute for our first engaged Christmas.”

Mat sits up, taking you with him and you wiggle around so you’re sitting cross-legged on the couch, facing him. “I totally forgot to show it to you,” you shrug, proud of yourself for being so normal. “But why don’t you go take a look and bring me back a piece?”

“Yeah, okay,” Mat shrugs, scratching your scalp once before getting up. “Dessert before dinner usually means eating you out, but gingerbread is cool too.”

He says it so casually that you don’t really process what he says until he’s already in the kitchen. You bounce up on your knees to look at him over the back of the couch, yelping his name when it finally sinks in. He’s laughing as he pulls the new box down from where it’s been sitting on top of the fridge. “Took you long enough,” he laughs, popping the top of the white cardboard. “That nap really must’ve taken it out of you.”

You scowl at him but don’t reply, anxiously waiting to see his reaction to the gingerbread house. He pulls it out of the box and his lips quirk up in a little smile. “It’s cute,” he says, looking at the house, professionally decorated. “Way better than the ones the kids made today.”

A laugh works its way out of your mouth as he studies it, taking in the details. “Huh,” he mutters, more to himself than anything else, “three people. Must’ve read your order wrong, Squeaks.”

“Oh?” You breathe. “There were supposed to be me and you…” You trail off.

“Yeah, they’re here,” Mat reads the little names iced onto the gingerbread people. “There’s you and Mat and…” he falters, squinting at the third figure, bringing it closer to his face, “Baby B?”

He looks over at you, forehead creased and eyebrows drawn together over his nose. “Baby B?” He repeats the question and you smile carefully at him, hand sliding across the back of the couch so your fingertips rest on your stomach.

“Baby B,” you confirm shakily. Tears well at your lower lash line and you watch Mat for his reaction.

He blinks at you, eyes darting between your face, your stomach, and the gingerbread figure held in his hand. “Wait? Seriously?” He sounds dazed and you can’t blame him. You were freaked out when you took the test a week and a half ago. It’s been the hardest secret you’ve ever had to keep. “You’re…there’s a baby?” His eyes are wide and his jaw hangs open a little.

You nod. “It’s, um, been hanging out for like six-ish, seven weeks,” you whisper, flattening your hand over your stomach. Mat’s eyes track your movement and he exhales a shaky breath.

Mat breathes your name and crosses the room in a few large strides. He cups your cheeks in his hands and studies your face, wiping at the tears that drip from your eyes. “Hey, c’mon, why’re you crying?” He asks, panic edging his tone.

“I know it’s earlier than we planned,” you shrug, “I’m going to be insanely pregnant at the wedding. We won’t get to be, like, newlyweds at all and the honeymoon’s going to have to change or be cancelled altogether.” You ramble on, all of your stress releasing in run-on sentences. You already love the baby, but getting pregnant before the wedding definitely wasn’t the plan.

Mat chuckles a little and you realize it sounds a little watery, like he’s trying to hold back his own emotion. “We’ll figure it out,” he says gently, squatting down so he’s closer to your eye level. “I’m gonna be a dad?”

“Yeah,” you confirm again. “Are you freaking out? Because I’m freaking out.”

“I’m definitely freaking out,” Mat confirms on a hysterical little laugh. His fingers tremble a little against your cheeks. “But it’s a good thing, right? Like, we’re gonna make the coolest babies.”

You nod. “They’re going to have amazing hair,” you giggle wetly.

Mat leans forward to kiss you softly, tasting the tears on your lips. When he pulls back, he rests his forehead against yours, quietly breathing with you. “That, uh, wasn’t a stomach bug last week, was it?”

“No,” you shake your head against his. “I’ve had some pretty aggressive mid-morning sickness this past week.”

“How the hell did I miss that?” He asks and it’s mostly rhetorical because Mat is not the most observant of men on a good day, let alone during a week and a half period where they’re playing a game every other day.

You lean back and tap at your stomach with your fingers, “baby’s already pretty good about not inconveniencing you. It was bad after you’d already left for practice.”

“I kind of can’t believe our baby’s in there,” Mat says, looking down at your stomach. His hands fall to the back of the couch and his fingers twitch, like he wants to reach out and touch you, but he doesn’t.

“Me either,” you admit. “And I’ve had a week to get used to the idea.”

“Shit, Squeaks,” he shakes his head again, a little smile playing on his lips, “a baby. We’re gonna be in charge of a real baby.”

Your answering laugh is a little hysterical. You’re obviously not the first of your friends to have a baby, but it feels insane that you’re here, especially before the wedding. Your parents are going to be so annoyed. “Good thing we have friends who know what they’re doing,” you murmur, covering Mat’s hands with yours and lacing your fingers together. You look at your joined fingers and your heart lurches in your chest. Quietly, you ask him, “we’re going to be good at this, right?”

“Hell if I know,” Mat admits. You frown at him - that was less than reassuring, but at least he’s honest. He jolts a little, his eyebrows lifting into his hairline, and you cock your head at him in a silent question. “I realized,” he says, a little sheepishly, “that I never said I was happy about this, but I am. I’m excited, scared as shit, but excited.”

“Me too,” you let loose a relieved laugh. You hadn’t realized how much you needed to hear Mat say he was happy about the baby. It’s been a weight on your shoulders ever since that positive pink line appeared on the test. “Um, there is one thing you could do for me right now though.”

Mat perks up and nods, “yeah, whatever you need, babe. You’re going to be so sick of me and how attentive I’ll be.”

You have no doubt about that, but for now - “can you get me a piece of that gingerbread? I’ve been craving it since the stupid thing was delivered yesterday.”

Mat laughs and stands up to retrieve the cookie, much to your delight. It’s been taunting you for more than twenty-four hours now and you nibble at the gingerbread version of yourself happily. Mat flops down onto the couch next to you and you tuck yourself up against his side. His hand absently runs up and down your arm, his eyes focused in the direction of the TV, but not actually paying attention.

You’re quiet at his side, knowing he needs to process the news. You were lucky in that you were alone when you found out so you could freak out without Mat seeing just how scared you were. Now that it’s been a week of knowing and Mat’s reaction wasn’t a total meltdown, you can relax a little, even start to get excited about having a little summer baby. Mat will get to spend time with you and the baby since you’re due in late August, by your admittedly shaky math.

Subconsciously, Mat’s hand wanders down your side, splaying on your waist, fingers stretching to cover part of your stomach. He rubs his thumb against your ribs and a little huff of disbelief leaves his throat. “Too bad you’re not due before the wedding,” he says, looking down at you with a little smile, “she could’ve been in the wedding, like Gracie at Bearsy’s wedding.”

Your throat clogs with emotion, thinking of your baby being at the wedding, and you bury your face in Mat’s side so he can’t see how tears well up in your eyes again. “You can’t say cute shit like that to me right now,” you mumble, “my hormones are in overdrive.”

Mat pulls you onto his lap so you’re straddling his thighs. He kisses the corner of your mouth and you sigh, resting your arms on his shoulders. “Let me know when I can start saying cute shit,” his grin is shit-eating, “because I just realized that there’s a chance we could put the baby in the Cup this summer.”

“Gotta win it first,” you counter, teasing him. He rolls his eyes and lets his hands drift over your stomach, broad palms covering the expanse of the still flat area.

“Got a new motivation now,” Mat replies and even though he still looks stunned, you can see how excited he’s getting about the baby.

You look down at where his hands cover your stomach and it’s all too easy to picture his hands holding a newborn baby with his eyes and your nose, a little shock of Mat’s dark hair on its head.

You can’t wait.

#mat barzal #mat barzal x reader #mat barzal x you #mat barzal fic #mat barzal imagine #nhl fic

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f1minist · 8 months ago

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Feminist Youtube Videos for Every Topic

A collection of feminist content, organized topically for ease.

Separatism:

on separatism and heterosexuality

why separatism is good

we're gonna die sometime. might as well be separatists.

stop choosing patriarchy

separatism is a choice

biggest impact, but most won't do it

on vetting men

the benefits of separatism are endless

men cannot be rehabbed

of course the slave is full of rage for her slave master

Lesbian Stuff:

who can use the word 'lesbian'?

on defending gay rights and spaces

what are lesbians supposed to do about het women?

gender critical lesbophobia

the constant rage for gold star lesbians

Political Lesbian Critique:

a simple breakdown of political lesbians

political lesbians... are you ok?

political 'lesbians' are not actually lesbians

i didn't 'come to lesbianism'. i was always here.

homosexuality is not a choice

for those who confuse polilez vs febfem

Comp Het Critique:

comp het isn't a thing

lesbihonest-art (RIP) on comp het

on lesbian experience, by @sunlight-beauty

on comp het, by @rakastiikeri

sespursongles (RIP) on comp het

Preferred Pronouns:

on 'cis' and other language

pronouns are rohypnol

preferred pronouns? no.

what are your pronouns?

Anti Make-Up / Beauty / Femininity:

3 years without makeup: 5 benefits i've experienced

sephora girls: why are ten year olds wearing make-up?

marked women

makeup isn't empowerment

why i stopped wearing makeup

bimbofication: a dangerously idiotic trend

empowerment? no.

give the middle finger to patiarchy

radfems in eyeliner

makeup infinity

on makeup and radical feminism

maintaining the status quo hurts all women

the audacity of the bare-faced woman

critiquing is not shaming

why do women do beauty?

choice feminism is a lie

actually gender critical

Anti Surogacy / Natalism / Procretion:

about mothers

forced pregnancy is involuntary servitude

egg "donation" is exploitation

on sperm giveaways

motherhood is not untouchable

homosexuality does not include reproduction

why i don't want kids

why i'm childfree

on procreation and patriarchy

Porn / Sex Work Commentary:

instagram vs porn

'sex-positive feminism' benefits men (and hurts women)

the influence of porn on the trans trend

on 'sex work'

speaking out on prostitution

'sex work is work'? no, not really.

let's stop acting like 'sex work' is empowering

is porn 'for women' okay?

porn is apocalyptical

'ethical porn' cannot exist

stop glamourizing 'sex work'

porn is the pinnacle of evil

is r/antiwork pro exploitation?

Trans Critical:

mainstream, revisionist, queer nonsense

why transwomen don't have 'female brains', from @ilistened2transwomen

why the hate?

why i decided to stop using the term 'transwoman'

on trans rights activists

TRAs loooove white men

the untouchable male creep - AGPs on parade, from @ilistened2transwomen

'intersectional' does not mean 'trans inclusive'

non-binary is deeply rooted in misogyny

25 questions for trans activists

women's sports are not a dumping ground for mediocre men

on "identifying as" women

stacia samaya on 'non-binary'

why sex is binary

trans rights, or trans privileges?

always chasing the dragon

27 ways in which trans activism is harmful

the actual human rights law

on 'trans women are women'

is transitioning ever 'the best' option?

autogynephilia - a brief overview

the rise of the heterosexual queer

phobia indoctrination

transing away the gay

5 tips for talking gender critical, by @runawaysiren940

the transing of language

autogynephilia, not dysphoria

rainbow-washed progressivism

transwomen are not women

how i became gender critical

autogynephilia explained

#feminism #youtube #transgender #lesbian tag

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mostlysignssomeportents · 1 year ago

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The moral injury of having your work enshittified

This Monday (November 27), I'm appearing at the Toronto Metro Reference Library with Facebook whistleblower Frances Haugen.

On November 29, I'm at NYC's Strand Books with my novel The Lost Cause, a solarpunk tale of hope and danger that Rebecca Solnit called "completely delightful."

This week, I wrote about how the Great Enshittening – in which all the digital services we rely on become unusable, extractive piles of shit – did not result from the decay of the morals of tech company leadership, but rather, from the collapse of the forces that discipline corporate wrongdoing:

https://locusmag.com/2023/11/commentary-by-cory-doctorow-dont-be-evil/

The failure to enforce competition law allowed a few companies to buy out their rivals, or sell goods below cost until their rivals collapsed, or bribe key parts of their supply chain not to allow rivals to participate:

https://www.engadget.com/google-reportedly-pays-apple-36-percent-of-ad-search-revenues-from-safari-191730783.html

The resulting concentration of the tech sector meant that the surviving firms were stupendously wealthy, and cozy enough that they could agree on a common legislative agenda. That regulatory capture has allowed tech companies to violate labor, privacy and consumer protection laws by arguing that the law doesn't apply when you use an app to violate it:

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

But the regulatory capture isn't just about preventing regulation: it's also about creating regulation – laws that make it illegal to reverse-engineer, scrape, and otherwise mod, hack or reconfigure existing services to claw back value that has been taken away from users and business customers. This gives rise to Jay Freeman's perfectly named doctrine of "felony contempt of business-model," in which it is illegal to use your own property in ways that anger the shareholders of the company that sold it to you:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/11/09/lead-me-not-into-temptation/#chamberlain

Undisciplined by the threat of competition, regulation, or unilateral modification by users, companies are free to enshittify their products. But what does that actually look like? I say that enshittification is always precipitated by a lost argument.

It starts when someone around a board-room table proposes doing something that's bad for users but good for the company. If the company faces the discipline of competition, regulation or self-help measures, then the workers who are disgusted by this course of action can say, "I think doing this would be gross, and what's more, it's going to make the company poorer," and so they win the argument.

But when you take away that discipline, the argument gets reduced to, "Don't do this because it would make me ashamed to work here, even though it will make the company richer." Money talks, bullshit walks. Let the enshittification begin!

https://pluralistic.net/2023/11/22/who-wins-the-argument/#corporations-are-people-my-friend

But why do workers care at all? That's where phrases like "don't be evil" come into the picture. Until very recently, tech workers participated in one of history's tightest labor markets, in which multiple companies with gigantic war-chests bid on their labor. Even low-level employees routinely fielded calls from recruiters who dangled offers of higher salaries and larger stock grants if they would jump ship for a company's rival.

Employers built "campuses" filled with lavish perks: massages, sports facilities, daycare, gourmet cafeterias. They offered workers generous benefit packages, including exotic health benefits like having your eggs frozen so you could delay fertility while offsetting the risks normally associated with conceiving at a later age.

But all of this was a transparent ruse: the business-case for free meals, gyms, dry-cleaning, catering and massages was to keep workers at their laptops for 10, 12, or even 16 hours per day. That egg-freezing perk wasn't about helping workers plan their families: it was about thumbing the scales in favor of working through your entire twenties and thirties without taking any parental leave.

In other words, tech employers valued their employees as a means to an end: they wanted to get the best geeks on the payroll and then work them like government mules. The perks and pay weren't the result of comradeship between management and labor: they were the result of the discipline of competition for labor.

This wasn't really a secret, of course. Big Tech workers are split into two camps: blue badges (salaried employees) and green badges (contractors). Whenever there is a slack labor market for a specific job or skill, it is converted from a blue badge job to a green badge job. Green badges don't get the food or the massages or the kombucha. They don't get stock or daycare. They don't get to freeze their eggs. They also work long hours, but they are incentivized by the fear of poverty.

Tech giants went to great lengths to shield blue badges from green badges – at some Google campuses, these workforces actually used different entrances and worked in different facilities or on different floors. Sometimes, green badge working hours would be staggered so that the armies of ragged clickworkers would not be lined up to badge in when their social betters swanned off the luxury bus and into their airy adult kindergartens.

But Big Tech worked hard to convince those blue badges that they were truly valued. Companies hosted regular town halls where employees could ask impertinent questions of their CEOs. They maintained freewheeling internal social media sites where techies could rail against corporate foolishness and make Dilbert references.

And they came up with mottoes.

Apple told its employees it was a sound environmental steward that cared about privacy. Apple also deliberately turned old devices into e-waste by shredding them to ensure that they wouldn't be repaired and compete with new devices:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/09/22/vin-locking/#thought-differently

And even as they were blocking Facebook's surveillance tools, they quietly built their own nonconsensual mass surveillance program and lied to customers about it:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/11/14/luxury-surveillance/#liar-liar

Facebook told employees they were on a "mission to connect every person in the world," but instead deliberately sowed discontent among its users and trapped them in silos that meant that anyone who left Facebook lost all their friends:

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

And Google promised its employees that they would not "be evil" if they worked at Google. For many googlers, that mattered. They wanted to do something good with their lives, and they had a choice about who they would work for. What's more, they did make things that were good. At their high points, Google Maps, Google Mail, and of course, Google Search were incredible.

My own life was totally transformed by Maps: I have very poor spatial sense, need to actually stop and think to tell my right from my left, and I spent more of my life at least a little lost and often very lost. Google Maps is the cognitive prosthesis I needed to become someone who can go anywhere. I'm profoundly grateful to the people who built that service.

There's a name for phenomenon in which you care so much about your job that you endure poor conditions and abuse: it's called "vocational awe," as coined by Fobazi Ettarh:

https://www.inthelibrarywiththeleadpipe.org/2018/vocational-awe/

Ettarh uses the term to apply to traditionally low-waged workers like librarians, teachers and nurses. In our book Chokepoint Capitalism, Rebecca Giblin and I talked about how it applies to artists and other creative workers, too:

https://chokepointcapitalism.com/

But vocational awe is also omnipresent in tech. The grandiose claims to be on a mission to make the world a better place are not just puffery – they're a vital means of motivating workers who can easily quit their jobs and find a new one to put in 16-hour days. The massages and kombucha and egg-freezing are not framed as perks, but as logistical supports, provided so that techies on an important mission can pursue a shared social goal without being distracted by their balky, inconvenient meatsuits.

Steve Jobs was a master of instilling vocational awe. He was full of aphorisms like "we're here to make a dent in the universe, otherwise why even be here?" Or his infamous line to John Sculley, whom he lured away from Pepsi: "Do you want to sell sugar water for the rest of your life or come with me and change the world?"

Vocational awe cuts both ways. If your workforce actually believes in all that high-minded stuff, if they actually sacrifice their health, family lives and self-care to further the mission, they will defend it. That brings me back to enshittification, and the argument: "If we do this bad thing to the product I work on, it will make me hate myself."

The decline in market discipline for large tech companies has been accompanied by a decline in labor discipline, as the market for technical work grew less and less competitive. Since the dotcom collapse, the ability of tech giants to starve new entrants of market oxygen has shrunk techies' dreams.

Tech workers once dreamed of working for a big, unwieldy firm for a few years before setting out on their own to topple it with a startup. Then, the dream shrank: work for that big, clumsy firm for a few years, then do a fake startup that makes a fake product that is acquihired by your old employer, as an incredibly inefficient and roundabout way to get a raise and a bonus.

Then the dream shrank again: work for a big, ugly firm for life, but get those perks, the massages and the kombucha and the stock options and the gourmet cafeteria and the egg-freezing. Then it shrank again: work for Google for a while, but then get laid off along with 12,000 co-workers, just months after the company does a stock buyback that would cover all those salaries for the next 27 years:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/09/10/the-proletarianization-of-tech-workers/

Tech workers' power was fundamentally individual. In a tight labor market, tech workers could personally stand up to their bosses. They got "workplace democracy" by mouthing off at town hall meetings. They didn't have a union, and they thought they didn't need one. Of course, they did need one, because there were limits to individual power, even for the most in-demand workers, especially when it came to ghastly, long-running sexual abuse from high-ranking executives:

https://www.nytimes.com/2018/10/25/technology/google-sexual-harassment-andy-rubin.html

Today, atomized tech workers who are ordered to enshittify the products they take pride in are losing the argument. Workers who put in long hours, missed funerals and school plays and little league games and anniversaries and family vacations are being ordered to flush that sacrifice down the toilet to grind out a few basis points towards a KPI.

It's a form of moral injury, and it's palpable in the first-person accounts of former workers who've exited these large firms or the entire field. The viral "Reflecting on 18 years at Google," written by Ian Hixie, vibrates with it:

https://ln.hixie.ch/?start=1700627373

Hixie describes the sense of mission he brought to his job, the workplace democracy he experienced as employees' views were both solicited and heeded. He describes the positive contributions he was able to make to a commons of technical standards that rippled out beyond Google – and then, he says, "Google's culture eroded":

Decisions went from being made for the benefit of users, to the benefit of Google, to the benefit of whoever was making the decision.

In other words, techies started losing the argument. Layoffs weakened worker power – not just to defend their own interest, but to defend the users interests. Worker power is always about more than workers – think of how the 2019 LA teachers' strike won greenspace for every school, a ban on immigration sweeps of students' parents at the school gates and other community benefits:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/23/a-collective-bargain/

Hixie attributes the changes to a change in leadership, but I respectfully disagree. Hixie points to the original shareholder letter from the Google founders, in which they informed investors contemplating their IPO that they were retaining a controlling interest in the company's governance so that they could ignore their shareholders' priorities in favor of a vision of Google as a positive force in the world:

https://abc.xyz/investor/founders-letters/ipo-letter/

Hixie says that the leadership that succeeded the founders lost sight of this vision – but the whole point of that letter is that the founders never fully ceded control to subsequent executive teams. Yes, those executive teams were accountable to the shareholders, but the largest block of voting shares were retained by the founders.

I don't think the enshittification of Google was due to a change in leadership – I think it was due to a change in discipline, the discipline imposed by competition, regulation and the threat of self-help measures. Take ads: when Google had to contend with one-click adblocker installation, it had to constantly balance the risk of making users so fed up that they googled "how do I block ads?" and then never saw another ad ever again.

But once Google seized the majority of the mobile market, it was able to funnel users into apps, and reverse-engineering an app is a felony (felony contempt of business-model) under Section 1201 of the Digital Millennium Copyright Act. An app is just a web-page wrapped in enough IP to make it a crime to install an ad-blocker.

And as Google acquired control over the browser market, it was likewise able to reduce the self-help measures available to browser users who found ads sufficiently obnoxious to trigger googling "how do I block ads?" The apotheosis of this is the yearslong campaign to block adblockers in Chrome, which the company has sworn it will finally do this coming June:

https://www.tumblr.com/tevruden/734352367416410112/you-have-until-june-to-dump-chrome

My contention here is not that Google's enshittification was precipitated by a change in personnel via the promotion of managers who have shitty ideas. Google's enshittification was precipitated by a change in discipline, as the negative consequences of heeding those shitty ideas were abolished thanks to monopoly.

This is bad news for people like me, who rely on services like Google Maps as cognitive prostheses. Elizabeth Laraki, one of the original Google Maps designers, has published a scorching critique of the latest GMaps design:

https://twitter.com/elizlaraki/status/1727351922254852182

Laraki calls out numerous enshittificatory design-choices that have left Maps screens covered in "crud" – multiple revenue-maximizing elements that come at the expense of usability, shifting value from users to Google.

What Laraki doesn't say is that these UI elements are auctioned off to merchants, which means that the business that gives Google the most money gets the greatest prominence in Maps, even if it's not the best merchant. That's a recurring motif in enshittified tech platforms, most notoriously Amazon, which makes $31b/year auctioning off top search placement to companies whose products aren't relevant enough to your query to command that position on their own:

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

Enshittification begets enshittification. To succeed on Amazon, you must divert funds from product quality to auction placement, which means that the top results are the worst products:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/11/06/attention-rents/#consumer-welfare-queens

The exception is searches for Apple products: Apple and Amazon have a cozy arrangement that means that searches for Apple products are a timewarp back to the pre-enshittification Amazon, when the company worried enough about losing your business to heed the employees who objected to sacrificing search quality as part of a merchant extortion racket:

https://www.businessinsider.com/amazon-gives-apple-special-treatment-while-others-suffer-junk-ads-2023-11

Not every tech worker is a tech bro, in other words. Many workers care deeply about making your life better. But the microeconomics of the boardroom in a monopolized tech sector rewards the worst people and continuously promotes them. Forget the Peter Principle: tech is ruled by the Sam Principle.

As OpenAI went through four CEOs in a single week, lots of commentators remarked on Sam Altman's rise and fall and rise, but I only found one commentator who really had Altman's number. Writing in Today in Tabs, Rusty Foster nailed Altman to the wall:

https://www.todayintabs.com/p/defective-accelerationism

Altman's history goes like this: first, he founded a useless startup that raised $30m, only to be acquired and shuttered. Then Altman got a job running Y Combinator, where he somehow failed at taking huge tranches of equity from "every Stanford dropout with an idea for software to replace something Mommy used to do." After that, he founded OpenAI, a company that he claims to believe presents an existential risk to the entire human risk – which he structured so incompetently that he was then forced out of it.

His reward for this string of farcical, mounting failures? He was put back in charge of the company he mis-structured despite his claimed belief that it will destroy the human race if not properly managed.

Altman's been around for a long time. He founded his startup in 2005. There've always been Sams – of both the Bankman-Fried varietal and the Altman genus – in tech. But they didn't get to run amok. They were disciplined by their competitors, regulators, users and workers. The collapse of competition led to an across-the-board collapse in all of those forms of discipline, revealing the executives for the mediocre sociopaths they always were, and exposing tech workers' vocational awe for the shabby trick it was from the start.

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/2023/11/25/moral-injury/#enshittification

#pluralistic #moral injury #enshittification #worker power #google #dont be evil #monopoly #sam altman #openai #vocational awe #making a dent in the universe

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still-searching-for-something · 25 days ago

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What gets me is not that Donald Trump won. It's that he won the popular vote. It's that a majority of American voters said, "Yes, I want this guy as my president."

They deliberately, knowingly decided the fascist, felonious, antidemocratic candidate who'd organized a coup attempt and got away with it needed the presidency. No American voter doesn't know who Trump is. They have no excuse. They knew he stood for antidemocracy.

But he also stood for a stronger economy! Lower gas prices! Cheaper groceries! Lower taxes!

And most Americans decided those things were more important to them than democracy. They've, as a majority, decided democracy < convenience.

"But the real problem was voter turnout and apathy!"

Okay, so then most Americans--85.7 million--either voted for the fascist or couldn't be assed to lift a finger to save democracy, compared to 68 million. 55% of Americans either deliberately chose cheaper groceries over democracy or were too pathetically lazy to give a fuck either way. Much better. It's a human choice to make, to vote for their wallet than their grand abstract ideology, but it's one that hurts all of us, including them, including Ukraine and the EU (and Palestine, for the record!) and all future generations to come. It's a selfish, short-sighted decision that betrays a deep rot in our priorities.

I thought we understood that sometimes, we have to take a hit as a nation to preserve our democracy and our freedoms. Is the same nation that took rationing during the Second World War to defeat the Nazis and the Japanese Empire? That lost hundreds of thousands of men to put down an illegal, treasonous rebellion?

And today, we've decided our rights can be exchanged for cheaper eggs, milk, and butter?

"Oh, Harris ran a bad campaign. She tried to appease everyone which pleased no one. She didn't appeal to the right demographics on the right issues. She dodged questions, she was entitled, she was--"

Yeah, I don't care.

In fact, I agree with you, but frankly, the economic policies and foreign policies and immigration policies and social policies of either candidate are completely fucking irrelevant if one of them doesn't adhere to the basic democratic rule of accepting that democracy's validity and existence. If a vote for one candidate threatens the democratic health of that nation, and a vote for the other--regardless of what other consequences it may have--doesn't, then morally, you have to vote for democratic one.

Is that unreasonable? Maybe. Yeah, Democrats should have run a better campaign more focused on the bread and butter issues people care about. Like Clinton said, 'It's the economy, stupid!' Democrats had a responsibility to run the best campaign they could have, given the stakes.

But that still doesn't justify a vote for antidemocracy. Call me crazy, but I think a vote for authoritarianism is unreasonable. "They were a little patronizing and I want to shave a few bucks off my grocery bill, so I'll vote for the fascist!" is still an unhinged and indefensible conclusion to arrive at, regardless of how valid your claims of being hurt at the cash register or being patronized are.

I've lost any and all faith in Americans. I honestly thought we were better than this. I really did. And I don't know how or if a democracy can function if a majority of its electorate are willing to sacrifice democratic norms for short-term benefits.

Fuck Republicans and every single person who voted against democracy because their grocery bill was too high. May you get exactly the kind of government you deserve and voted for.

#us politics #us elections #politics #american politics #kamala harris #donald trump #2024 presidential election #2024 election #democracy #election 2024

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rabid-catboy · 11 days ago

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You there! Tumblr user! Explain how trans men (particularly stealth/passing trans men) benefit from male privilege but eggs/ pre transition closeted trans women don't

*i would actually like an explanation

edited to clarify: I don't think trans women have it easier because they can stay in the closet and be seen as men. That's ridiculous and anyone that believes that is a fool

#transphobia #transandrophobia #transmisandry #transmisogyny

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neptuneiris · 1 year ago

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for the crown (01/02)

what is more important in prince aemond targaryen life, the crown or you?

pairing: prince!aemond × lowborn!reader

summary: you gave yourself to him, you love him, he said that despite your low status at court, he will still marry you, because you are his, the woman who was his friend since childhood, until the war comes.

next part • series masterlist

here with another story my beautiful people, where I have more warnings for you regarding this story hehe🤭 here aemond is mean and reader is very naive. this is not a story with happy moments and a happy ending, be warned.

this is something I came up with because I apparently love writing angst so much, so here it is, enjoy!

warnings: sex content, angst, denigration, abusive behavior, possessiveness.

It all started as a children.

Him being a lonely child and judged for not owning a dragon as all Targaryen are accustomed to from birth by having a dragon egg placed next to them in the cradle so that eventually the egg will hatch and a dragon will be born.

And you being a child learning from an early age to become a woman and attend to the duties for your future husband.

Your mother died of a serious illness, your two older sisters eventually married men from the Vale and in the end your father, despite his house coming from a low status, got a place on the King's Small Council in King's Landing.

Having no one to take care of you, and seeing this as an opportunity to find you a future husband with more benefits and definitely more convincing, he decided to bring you with him and introduce you to the sons of noble men.

You remember since you were ten and twelve that even men who could be your father or even your grandsire, asked for your hand. But your father always politely turned them down.

You were not ready yet, you were still attending your lessons with the Septa and your father asked Queen Alicent if she could give him the opportunity to have his youngest daughter join as a lady-in-waiting for her daughter, Princess Helaena.

The Queen fortunately accepts and you soon find yourself making friends with Princess Helaena.

Although Helaena didn't really show any interest in you, she was still grateful to have some company. But in the end, no strong bonding happened between the two of you because the princess preferred to whisper to herself and get lost on her own thoughts.

When you were ten and three years of age, one night on your way to your chamber after attending your lessons with your Septa, you turned down one of the hallways and bumped into someone else and saw that it was Prince Aemond.

You could tell, not everyone had the silver hair characteristic of the Targaryen nor did anyone else have that eye patch.

You instantly apologized, when in the middle of your apology, he lowered his gaze and avoided looking you in the eye at all times, you instantly realized that something was wrong as you noticed his eye was red, swollen and watery.

"Are you all right, my prince?"

You had asked him politely and willing to help, but he wouldn't let you.

"If you will excuse me," he says to you in a low, serious tone without much emotion to step around you and continue on his way, leaving you behind.

You watch him walk away, noticing his wrinkled clothes and also the cloak on his shoulders, as if he had wanted to go undercover a few moments before. You don't know what happens to you that night, but the prince catches your attention, curiosity invading you.

You have never exchanged words with him before, nor with Prince Aegon, the future husband of Princess Helaena, of whom your father has warned you to be very careful if you meet him.

But your father has told you nothing of Prince Aemond.

You know a little of his history, such as that he lost his eye at the age of ten and eleven and that he claimed the largest dragon in the world on the exact same day he lost his eye.

You also hear around the Court how the prince at his young age is becoming an excellent knight and an impressive swordman. That is all you know.

But you wonder at that moment what has happened to the prince to make him cry. That night you can't really know anything and you resume your way to your chamber.

It is not three days later that you decide to flee your responsibilities even for a day and you take refuge in the library of the Keep, quickly entering the place to avoid being caught by your father, his guards or even your Septa.

When your movements draw the attention of someone already in the library.

A seated figure also instantly catches your attention and you are surprised to see that it is Prince Aemond, who is clearly watching you intently for interrupting his reading.

His presence makes you nervous but you quickly remember your manners and how you should behave before royalty.

"Prince Aemond," you bow your head to him, "Forgive me for interrupting you, my prince."

The prince immediately recognizes you, that girl who saw him crying after that horrible night that he still can't stop thinking about.

"Are you running away from someone?" he asks you attentively and curiously.

You lower your gaze, beginning to twist your fingers on your hands, nervous.

"No, not truly, my prince," you observe him, "I just wanted to let my lessons pass for a day, nothing more."

The prince continues to watch you attentively and curiously for a few moments without saying anything, while you don't know what to do, whether to stay or leave for having interrupted him.

Although the library is public and not reserved only for the royal family, you still decide to leave since you don't want to disturb him.

"I won't interrupt you anymore and let you continue to enjoy your time, my prince," you give him a small smile despite still feeling nervous and turn to leave the way you came.

Aemond lets out a long breath and doesn't think long to call out to you and stop you.

"Wait," he says and you stop before touching the doorknob.

Again nerves overtake you but curious, you slowly turn to him and show yourself at his disposal, where the prince now shows a more relaxed posture but continues to be attentive on you.

"Enjoy the reading, my lady?"

His question takes you by surprise, since women are not supposed to waste time on things that are not related to learning how to be a good wife in the future and how to please their husbands.

And along with that come everything that is expected of them after marriage, as loyalty, devotion and the heirs they are supposed to give birth to.

And yet with all this, in your four walls, where no one sees you and where no one can tell you what to do and what not, you secretly enjoy reading. But before you can answer the prince, he points to the book in your hands.

"You know the history of my family?"

"Not much, to be honest with you, my prince," you confess.

"And what do you read?" he asks you attentively.

"I enjoy reading a lot of everything, my prince. But lately I have been reading the stories of the First Men."

The prince continues to watch you intently, thinking about your words, then lets out a "hmm" and makes himself more comfortable in his chair, reopening the page of his book in his hands to resume his reading.

"Come. You can hide from your responsibilities here."

And from that moment, your friendship with Prince Aemond began.

Both he and you could not always avoid your responsibilities, but on the days that you did or in the small moments of the day, you both found each other and spent time together, whether it was in the library or in the gardens taking a walk.

Just as Prince Aemond expected, you learned more about the histories of his house and he learned a little more of yours, though there truly isn't much to learn coming from a small house that the truth is almost irrelevant.

You never left Helaena's side, but you began to accept that you enjoyed spending more time with Prince Aemond as you shared a taste for literature, so you distributed your time well to spend time with both of them.

As the years passed, the prince began to demand that you privately call him Aemond, as you began to be present at his training, watching as he gradually became a truly feared knight with impressive brutal skills.

Trust began to grow, so you dared to ask him to tell you about how he claimed the largest dragon in the whole world and he did, feeling proud of his story even though he lost his eye that very night.

The trust was there but he still wouldn't open up to you about how he lost his eye and you didn't bring up the subject either.

You were curious about it but you didn't want to make him upset by asking him something so personal, thinking that Aemond himself would talk to you about it when he felt ready and confident.

The friendship between the two of you did not go unnoticed by your father and Queen Alicent, nor by Otto Hightower, who were disinterested in the matter, knowing very well that Aemond could never marry you, a lady of such low status.

Prince Aemond is only a few moons older than you, so by the time he is ten and seven years of age, he begins to feel the pressure of his mother and grandsire to take a wife and fulfill his duty as prince of the Realm.

And that duty is to form alliances so that when the time comes and his father dies, they can put Aegon on the Throne since that is the right thing to do instead of his half-sister succeeding the Throne, after her succeeding his bastard nephews.

But for Aemond it is a constant war he has in mind. He doesn't want his half-sister, a woman, to succeed the Throne so that his bastards do as well, but he also knows that Aegon is not fit for the Throne.

But he is.

And he resents more the fact that his grandsire sees more for Aegon than he does for him, he who is more fit than Aegon to rule but no one sees that, not even his mother, supporting her first son more and seeing her second as support of the first to further secure his Throne.

And he hates that, hates it very much.

But when his grandsire starts putting on the table the ladys he could marry, all Lannister, Tyrell and Baratheon, Aemond hates it even more.

"I do not wish to marry yet," he tells him serious and disinterested.

"It is not a matter of whether you wish it or not, Aemond. You must do it because this is your duty to secure Aegon's throne," his grandsire reproaches him.

"And Aegon is fit to rule?" he inquires expectantly.

Otto lets out a long sigh.

"He is the king's first born son and that is all that matters," tells him annoyed, "Or is it that you wish Rhaenyra to sit on the Throne instead of him? So that later her bastard son sits next and Gods knows if the boy who took your eye sits as well?"

Aemond didn't know it at the time, but his grandsire's words were beginning to make him think eventually, and began to let himself be carried away by it.

But not only that, Aemond began to have a strong temper and to feel a pressure that made people fear him even more. You never feared him when you heard the rumors about his missing eye, let alone as the two of you began to grow up together.

But unfortunately, Aemond began to take his bad temper out on you.

You were walking through the hallways of the Keep, when a drunken Prince Aegon intercepted you and touched you to take you by force in a dark and lonely hallway. Fortunately you immediately reacted and hit him in the crook of his leg with your knee, quickly running away from him, crying.

You didn't want to cause a scene with the Queen nor was it a good idea to tell your father, who would probably go mad with the thought that his daughter could have been ruined when her maidenhead is the most indispensable thing to be able to marry you off.

So you seek comfort and help from your most trusted person in your entire life, Aemond.

As you enter his chamber, you know it's a bad idea since you can't be here, but your sobs and your body trembling with fear make you take courage and seek reassurance from your dearest friend.

But sadly Aemond didn't feel the same way.

When you explain to him what happened, Aemond watches you almost disinterested, still listening to you attentively.

"H-he touched me but h-he didn't manage to do anything," you tell him through your tears.

Aemond says nothing, rather he continues to watch you attentive and serious. And when he finally speaks, it was not what you expected him to say.

"Hmm."

That's all he says.

You watch him painfully, not understanding his behavior when your state is proof enough that you're not lying, but Aemond thinks further, not truly realizing it, having the meetings he's forced to attend with his grandsire more on his mind than what just happened to you.

"So what did you do or say to my brother to make him take such a liberty with you?"

You look at him confused, trembling and with tears falling down your cheeks.

"E-excuse me?"

"You provoked him, didn't you?"

"N-no, Aemond," you look at him hurt, "I-I would never—

"I would not be surprised."

He interrupts you serious and this makes you look at him confused and in despair.

"Coming from such a low house with your father extremely desperate to marry you off, an event like this would make my mother reward your father with a convenient husband," he tells you watching you badly, "But if you want so much to be taken as a common whore, try the Street of Silk. But don't involve my brother to affect my family and our image Y/N."

His words are like a dagger to your heart, while you look at him completely hurt and bewildered by his words, that being your sign that you are alone in this and Aemond does not support you as he considers them to be vile rumors against his brother.

Humiliated and crying now because of the insensitivity of the one who supposedly is your dearest friend, you run out of his chamber, not even having the strength to look him in the eye because of his cruel words.

At this Aemond does not even flinch when you run out of his chamber and continues with his duties, unbothered.

It is not two days later that Aemond comes to his senses that he himself looks for you after you spend most of your time avoiding him as much as possible.

His words has deeply hurt you and are constantly repeating in your mind, feeling a sharp pain in your chest. And when he finally finds you, he apologizes for his behavior.

You thought you couldn't forgive him for what he said and how he made you feel, but inevitably you melt at his touch as he leaves a soft kiss on the back of your hand and hugs you to comfort you as he should have done at the beginning.

Aemond then goes to look for his brother, where he finds him in his bed with a Silk Street whore and all of him and his chamber stinking of wine.

Abruptly he pulls the sheets off him and he along with the woman wake up startled, but before Aegon can react, Aemond grabs him tightly by the collar and pulls him dangerously close to him watching him with the most menacing and deadly gaze.

"Try to touch Y/N again and I swear I'll cut off both of your hands myself, you fucking cunt."

Aegon does not understand anything, beginning to feel discomfort, but before he can say anything, Aemond releases him abruptly against the bed, to finally leave the chamber.

The weeks pass quickly and you turn seven and ten years of age, not being something that truly catches the attention of all the people in the Court, but for your father and Princess Helaena, yes.

The princess presents you with a pair of beautiful gold earrings and eventually Aemond also has something for you but he wait until the two of you are alone.

He enters your chamber and presents you with a beautiful silver necklace with a drop-shaped gem of an ocean blue sapphire, also a beautiful dress of the same color, letting you know that this is his favorite color.

That night, almost at the end of the night of your name day, Aemond is the one who claims your first kiss and also claims your maidenhead.

That same night you realized that you have always loved him, basically since you were children, since you started spending time together, getting to know each other and sharing the same tastes.

Besides, how could Aemond not be to your liking?

Prince or not, he is absolutely handsome, paying no attention to rumors, if he doesn't have an eye or that he is extremely brutal in combat, it doesn't matter to you, you don't care about anything but you and him and that's why you give yourself completely to him.

A forbidden action and that you should not have done, since your maidenhead is important to be able to get married, but you think that if you marry a man you do not love, why not give yourself to someone you truly do love?

You didn't care that this would bring serious consequences for you, that if your father found out, everything would probably fall apart.

You didn't care at least that night when you were in Aemond's arms and felt his caresses all over your body. He made you feel completely desired and made you experience in the act of lovemaking things you couldn't even imagine, wanting more from him in the moment.

"You're mine, aren't you?"

He murmurs huskily against your lips, as he enters you again with a firm, hard movement that makes you see stars and makes you cling completely to him, moaning.

"Yes, Aemond," you sigh, "I am yours. Completely yours."

"You will never leave my side, not when I have already claimed you, do you understand?"

"Yes."

You sigh again, dropping your head back, moaning.

"Say it," he demands, starting again with his back and forth, more steady and harder, "Say you understand."

"I understand," you say as best you can as you are being completely carried away by the pleasure.

Aemond smirks and begins to thrust in and out of you faster and harder, as you moan and try to be no too loud, as he brings his lips to your neck and begins to mark your skin, area by area.

Then he bites and sucks on your breasts, while you place your arms around his shoulders and pull him further into you, avoiding screaming loudly from all the pleasure, biting his shoulder, being more motivation for Aemond as he continues to fuck you hard.

That night he spills all his seed inside you with a grunt, filling you completely, as he wipes the tears from your eyes from the overstimulation and how he brought you to the peak several times.

You watch him with complete adoration, just as satisfied as he is, but terrified of what just happened.

"If the Queen finds out…" you tell him fearfully, "If my father finds out—

"Don't worry about that, my love," he murmurs to you, beginning to gently pull out of you, "You're never going to leave my side, remember?"

"But…

"No one's going to find out."

And you believe him, you truly do. And fortunately his word is kept.

The next morning no one notices the night you shared with the prince, not your maids by acting careful and certainly not your father by sharing breakfast with him.

You cover Aemond's marks on your body with dresses a little more covered in the collarbone area, hoping they will disappear soon and looking forward to sharing more nights with him despite being very risky.

And that same day in the library you meet Aemond, he makes you drink moon tea, telling you that this will be indispensable every time you both share a bed, as he doesn't want to sire any bastards and you certainly don't want that to happen either.

And the nights with your prince are a little more constant, with no one knowing about that little secret you share in the darkness of your chamber to the fortune of both of you.

And as a result of Aemond claiming your body, his behavior towards you becomes more… possessive.

On the name day of little Prince Jaehaerys and little Princess Jaehaera Targaryen, Queen Alicent prepares a grand feast in honor of the twins where the entire Court attends and other members of important houses in Westeros.

Your father sees this as a great opportunity for you to finally meet the sons of the nobles and asks you to wear your best dress and exaggerate your beauty to attract the attention of some of them.

And you do so even though you don't want to.

Once at the feast, you find Aemond at the table that belongs to all the royal family, while you share tables with all the other nobles. He also finds you among all the people and that is all that happens between you.

Immediately your father introduces you to the sons of the nobles and when the dance begins, you can't refuse their offers and very soon you find yourself dancing with some of them.

All the time you feel a piercing, burning gaze in which you don't need to try to figure out who it is, you know it's him. But you can't be rude to all those men, just like him, you must also do your duty and you don't want to make your father angry.

But you wouldn't have to do this if he asked for your hand.

You don't understand what keeps stopping Aemond from asking your father for his blessing, but for now, you must do this.

When on one of your trips for some fresh air and to stop feeling overwhelmed, wanting to calm your pressure with all those sons of nobles, suddenly a hand grabs your waist and another on your neck to slam you hard against one of the walls of the balcony, leaving you motionless.

You open your frightened eyes wide, about to scream but the hand on your waist goes up to silence your mouth, while you watch in surprise, in terror and without understanding at Aemond with a deadly and more than furious gaze towards you.

When he brings his lips to your ear.

"Next time I see you acting like I'm not in the same place as you and enjoying the company of other men right to my fucking face, I'm not going to be gentle with you Y/N, at all," he warns you, "Don't forget your place and who you belong to, or else I'm going to have to start beheading heads and your father's will be the first."

And without another word, Aemond releases you without tact and walks away leaving you behind, not even flinching at his behavior, while you watch him completely shocked and in horror, tears starting to want to spill out of your eyes.

After that night, your father begins to arrange an betrothal between you and a man from Highgarden, but you, thinking correctly, refuse the request for your hand and that of several other nobles.

Your father was furious, but you didn't care much, only thinking of Aemond, who again came in search of you after a few days, asking your forgiveness for his behavior.

"You must not make me angry again, Y/N. It wasn't smart at all what you did that night and you won't do it again, will you?"

You just nodded and again he claimed your body, as he is wont to do almost every night, claiming everything from you, because you are his, completely.

Again the years pass without any change and now both ten and nine years of age, all over the Court it is rumored that Princess Rhaenyra and Prince Daemon are returning to the capital along with all their children to attend to the matter of a succession.

Immediately this causes Aemond to have an almost insufferable humor and behavior, especially with you.

But at the end of the day he comes back to you and apologizes even though you don't understand what it is that bothers him so much.

You don't ask him anything about his half-sister, and when the day comes and you don't meet Aemond anymore because he has to attend to all that matter, you wait for him to come back to you, not truly wanting to disturb him.

It's not until one night when you find yourself heading to your chamber after spending some time in the library that you accidentally overhear the conversation of some maids down the hallway, unnoticed by them.

"That was an intense fight."

"Yes."

"I don't think things between the princess and the Queen will mend after this."

"They never will," one of them says in a whisper, "Peace between the two families was never meant to happen after Prince Lucerys was the responsible for taking Prince Aemond's eye."

"And now the fight between Prince Aemond with Prince Jacaerys has made everything more difficult."

Such words leave you completely paralyzed and breathless, listening to it all with your lips parted and your eyes wide open, unable to believe what you are hearing.

Aemond has never told you about what happened that night, but you never ever imagined that his own nephew was responsible for that horrible event that marked his life forever, now also finding out that there was a fight now with prince Jacaerys.

And that is why you decide to go to him, instantly worrying and wanting to know if he is well and if you can help him in whatever he needs.

You make sure there are no important people in sight and after that, you make sure the guards don't see you and you quickly and carefully enter his chamber, where you see Aemond sitting near his fireplace with a tense posture and his back to you.

"Aemond?" you call softly to him, slowly approaching towards him, but he does not move an inch, "Are you alright?"

Instantly you reprimand yourself, since of course he's not alright.

With what you heard, you now understand his behavior since it was announced that his sister would be returning to King's Landing with her entire family, including the boy who took his eye.

You let out a long breath, observing him with some pity and understanding and then continue your slow walk towards him, observing him attentively.

"Do you need to talk?"

You watch as his hands make them into fists, continuing to watch the fire in the fireplace intently, his jaw clenched and his whole posture screaming danger.

"Get out," he orders you low and threatening.

But you don't want to leave him alone, you care about him.

"I just want to make sure you're all right," you insist softly, trying to convince him.

"I'm not going to repeat myself, Y/N."

You let out a long breath again, still not obeying his word.

"I know how you must be feeling," you tell him in understanding, finishing moving closer towards him, "But if you need to talk, I'm here to listen," you assure him, "I care about you and I just want….

Your words are suddenly interrupted violently when Aemond stands up in a quick movement that you don't have time to anticipate and surprisingly grabs your neck with one of his hands in a strong and brutal way to look at you more than angry and threatening.

All the fear consumes you and you watch him in horror, all your air in suspense, your eyes wide open and bringing your hands to his to try to free yourself with tears starting to run down your cheeks.

You try to speak to him, to tell him anything, desperately asking him to let you go, but Aemond continues to be blinded by his own madness and his own anger at what happened at that dinner.

You tap weakly at his chest, trying to breathe, but he won't let you, slowly making his grip tighter.

"I don't know where you heard it, but I don't need your pity nor do I need your sympathy."

He tells you serious and menacingly while you continue to try to free yourself from him

"I am the prince, the rider of the largest dragon in the world and the next time I order you to do something and you don't obey me… you're going to start learning the hard way and no one is going to save you, Y/N."

He squeezes your neck a little tighter, hard and watching you almost as if he dislikes you, while you can't take it anymore, not acknowledging him, basically not understanding anything.

When he finally lets go of you and you fall completely on the ground, gasping and catching your breath with tears streaming down your cheeks, feeling bad about yourself, feeling a sharp pain in your chest as you catch your breath and strength, watching him for a second completely scared.

Aemond doesn't dislike seeing you at his feet, but still the anger continues to consume him and he continues to stare at you as if you were nothing.

"'Get out. Now," he spits at you without any tact.

And you don't need him to repeat it one more time, you quickly get up and run away from him completely horrified, crying and feeling like a complete fool.

You want to tell yourself that it's all right, that he didn't mean it and will ask for your forgiveness, just this being another one of his bad days where he made the mistake of taking it out on you, as he always tells you.

But now… you expect nothing from him.

His action leaves you completely scared and terrified, not even wishing to see him nor wishing he would come to your chamber to ask for your forgiveness once he returns to himself.

This time it takes Aemond a full week until he does indeed search for you and finds you in your chamber, where taking your distance, with your face muffled and without much emotion, you greet him and continue with your embroidery, beginning to tremble slightly for fear that he will explode at you again.

This Aemond notices immediately and lets out a long breath, resignation overtaking him. Then he takes a step towards you and you stand very still, alert, not trusting and fearing for his next move.

Aemond at this stops and looks at the marks on your neck that are just beginning to fade, marks that you hid very well with your clothes, but considering that he has come in the middle of the night, you are wearing your night gown.

So he doesn't come any closer and instead extends one of his hands towards you, looking completely harmless and wanting to fix this, but you don't trust him at all yet.

"Come," he asks you kindly, waiting for you to take his hand.

You don't say anything to him, you continue to stare at his hand fearfully, trying to hide how terrified you feel, but you can't, considering you're both alone here and there's no one who can save you.

"I won't hurt you, I promise," he tells you again in a soft voice.

But you continue without moving and he doesn't press you, wanting to give you time until you feel comfortable and safe with him again.

Until eventually you too resign yourself, thinking that you must obey your prince's word and finally you take his hand, shaking but you do. Aemond immediately slowly begins to pull you closer to him, showing you that it's all right.

Until he finally has you in his arms and starts kissing your cheeks, comforting you, asking for forgiveness over and over again, caressing you, while you slowly start to let yourself be carried away by him.

You shouldn't, but you love him in spite of everything.

That night Aemond tells you everything, everything that happened that night after he claimed Vhagar and the years that followed after he lost his eye, everything he had to face and learn on his own at such a young age.

He tells you about his bastard nephews, about the danger Rhaenyra is to him and his family if she sits on the Throne and also what happened at that dinner that made him react in that brutal way against you, asking for your forgiveness over and over again.

Now you understand Aemond's side and let him once again take you, feeling just as wanted as ever, feeling how much Aemond needs you, just the same way you need him.

And that night, after he spills his seed inside you, you confess it to him, you tell him that you love him, not being able to go another day without him knowing it and not knowing how much he means to you, in spite of everything.

Aemond doesn't say anything to you after your confession, he just watches you and smiles softly, then kisses you and locks you in his arms, that being distraction enough to make you believe that he doesn't need to tell you that he loves you too when the actions speak for themselves.

And one day after another of the nights you share with Aemond, King Viserys dies and Prince Aegon is crowned as his successor.

Your father has no choice but to bend the knee to King Aegon while everyone knows that war will break out at any moment after Princess Rhaenys escapes from the Red Keep on her dragon by destroying DragonPit and bringing the news to Princess Rhaenyra.

Exactly that is what happens and then two sides are formed, the blacks and the greens. And you belong to the green ones.

Queen Alicent and the Hand begin to form their alliances, where these alliances is the duty to fulfill Aemond who in the end chooses to marry one of the daughters of Lord Borros Baratheon.

And he has no choice but to let you know what happens next.

"This is necessary. Securing this alliance for Aegon will give us more opportunity against my half-sister's forces. I cannot fail my family. I will win the loyalty of Lord Borros and I will win all of Storm's End."

You can't help but be filled with complete disappointment, feeling your heart shatter into pieces at Aemond's very firm and willing words.

"What about me?" you can't help but ask him in your weak, sad voice.

But he looks at you confused and uncomprehending.

"What do you mean?"

"You're never going to ask for my hand, are you?" you stare at him with tears beginning to fill your eyes, "You don't want to fail your family and in order not to fail them you have to marry one of Lord Borros' daughters."

He avoids looking completely annoyed by your behavior, annoyed that you don't understand that they are at war, that this is his duty and that it is necessary.

"We are at war, Y/N. I cannot afford to choose you over my duty. Besides this is nothing more than a marriage for political purposes to form alliances and strengthen my brother's Throne."

His words hurt you, completely, but still, you don't want to feel more humiliated than you already are and you nod slowly in his direction, lowering your gaze and holding back your tears, because it's not like you can do anything about it.

He's the prince, he has the power to do something about it, but in the end he won't do anything.

"Then I wish you a safe journey and good luck to your brother's cause, Prince Aemond."

Prince Aemond, not Aemond, just his title.

You continue embroidering, trying to make yourself forget his presence in your chamber, still holding back much as you can your tears, understanding that this is the end of what you had and that it can be no more.

Let alone that he will not ask for your hand as he has to marry for political purposes as is his duty.

But Aemond is not tolerating your attitude and behavior at all, so in an instant he stands in front of you and takes your chin with one of his hands, making you raise your gaze to him in a demanding manner and observe him.

At first you feared he was going to hurt you again and scare you like last time, but he continues to make you keep your gaze on him, him with his serious and determined look.

"I don't know what you're thinking Y/N," he tells you in warning, "But don't even believe for a moment that I'm going to leave you for a girl and for a marriage I don't even wish for."

He lets you know and your heart flips, watching him in surprise and definitely not expecting this, as he smirks and delights in your reaction.

"Or what? You truly thought I'd give all this up between you and I for an arranged marriage?"

"B-but—

You try to speak but he won't let you.

"Oh you silly little thing," he mutters without wiping away his amused grin, "You really thought about that? You should know better." he makes his grip on your jaw tighter, "You're mine, remember? And you're never going to leave my side, ever."

He tells you and then lets you go and walks out of your chamber while you are surprised and bewildered. You want to believe he didn't mean it, but he's right… maybe you should know better, because Aemond wasn't messing around at all.

And that same night, Aemond flies to Storm's End.

You found it hard to find sleep, all the time thinking about Aemond and what is going on with him on his journey, thinking about the daughters of Lord Borros, which one of them he chose to marry and how he must have gotten that alliance.

But not only you think about that, you also think about the war, about your father and how desperately he is trying to find you a good husband, telling you that the best thing would be for you to leave the Keep, wanting to put you safe for everything that is happening.

But you reject him at every turn, knowing full well that you cannot leave Aemond and fearing that if you obey your father, Aemond will do something against him and their secret relationship will be revealed.

When in the midst of your thoughts, suddenly your secret door opens and a drenched Aemond enters your chamber, completely pale and with an expression on his face that you have never seen on him before.

You quickly get up and go to him, asking him if he's all right, what has happened, asking him to tell you something, anything.

But he doesn't, he's thinking too much.

When he finally speaks up and tells you… he has killed his own nephew, Lucerys.

You freeze completely, listening in shock and disbelief to everything he tells you, as he really intended to scare him, not kill him. But Vhagar didn't obey him and lost control, killing his nephew, the boy who took his eye.

The first thing you instantly think of, is to comfort him and that's exactly what you do.

This time Aemond lets you be there for him and you let him vent, knowing full well that you could never judge him and that you understand, you understand what really happened despite the full gravity of the matter.

Because now the war has really begun.

Her action later leads to taking responsibility for the brutal murder of her nephew, Jaehaerys, all orchestrated by two people sent by Prince Daemon, taking revenge for the death of Lucerys.

Revenge that the now Queen Helaena has to pay for, slowly slipping into madness after witnessing the murder of her own son, where not even her mother could comfort her and be there for her.

During all these events, Aemond can't truly do much, only bear the consequences of his own actions and continue to support his brother to gain more allies, at all times seeking comfort in you.

Now Aemond takes his anger and frustration out on you by fucking you, not even being able to get enough of you while you let him by wanting to make him feel good and make him forget for a moment about everything that is happend outside.

But the war continues, more battles on the ground and also in the sky with the dragons, resulting Aemond and King Aegon victorious in the battle of Rook's Rest.

They brought with them the head of the dragon Maleys and announcing the death of an important ally of Rhaenyra, Rhaenys Targaryen.

But King Aegon is severely wounded with burns from the battle, as well as his dragon Sunfyre is wounded, which leads to someone else sitting on the Throne until the King's recovery and Aemond is the chosen one.

With the crown of Aegon the Conqueror on his head, Aemond becomes Prince Regent and Protector of the Realm.

This gives you hope, especially because now Aemond's word is law and everything he says has to be done.

Which results in you thinking about Aemond possibly finally asking your father for your hand, since his marriage to Lady Baratheon hasn't happened and it's a possibility that it's not going to happen soon because of the war.

But with you it could happen.

All the while you watch proudly as Aemond's desire for the crown happens, as he delights in all the nobles kneeling before him, him being the great voice of the whole Realm and the King for now.

Considering that Aegon is gravely ill, perhaps his drunken brother will not make it and so he will become the King. It is not as if he would wish death on his own brother, but there is no better person to rule than him, seeing on the side of the Realm.

As a consequence, the war still continues after the strong response of the Blacks to the loss of the great Rhaenys Targaryen. And this is why you begin to spend less time with Aemond due to his new and important position.

With so much to think about and plan for, Aemond is truly dedicated to his duty as Prince Regent, knowing that he can't even give himself a day off from leading his entire Small Council and the entire army at his disposal.

When you are finally able to spend even a moment alone with him in the middle of the night in his chamber, clearly without your father's knowledge.

He has asked you to run him a bath and you comply, always wanting to help him in whatever he needs, assisting him.

You finish helping him wash his magnificent silver hair while Aemond relaxes completely at your touch and feels that peace he needed so much since the crown was placed on his head.

You then help him dry off and dress him in his sleeping clothes, deciding to subtly bring up the subject.

"I know that matters about the war don't concern me, but what are you going to do now?" you ask him softly, "I have an intuition that you won't stay here forever."

He lets out a long breath, finishing pulling on his most comfortable pants.

"The blacks are gaining more ground than we are. I will have to move if I let them get too close to the capital. I have already sent a raven to Oldtown, my brother Daeron should be here soon to protect the Keep while I am gone."

You watch him intently, listening very carefully to his words.

"And will you take your entire army with you?'

"Certainly not. I will leave a part at Daeron's command. Only Cole and the Lannister army will have to come with me."

You let out a long breath, already hating the thought of Aemond leaving again like last time for battle.

All the while you lay awake until the Hour of the Wolf praying to the Seven for him, for his safety and health, that he would return to you.

And now you will be just as worried about him again, hoping for his soon return, fearing and thinking that you may never see him again. And that's what you fear the most.

"And where will you go?"

"I don't know yet, we're considering several important points on the map. But I shouldn't be too long with it, we can't give my half-sister nor my uncle any more time and chance."

"And will you also take Lord Borros' army with you?" you observe him attentively.

"No. They will stay here, protecting my family and you."

He tells you softly to then lift one of his hands and hold your left cheek, while you finish with his clothes and let yourself be completely carried away by his touch.

You close your eyes and let out a sigh, all of him completely invading you and feeling good, but at the same time fearing for his life as you really don't want to lose him.

Then you look at him again with some hope and longing, not wanting this to end so thinking of worst case scenarios, needing him to be yours and you to be his by law, before the Seven.

"Then your wedding to the Baratheon girl won't happen, will it?"

Then all that peace Aemond was feeling vanishes and you stop feeling his touch.

"And what does that matter?"

"It matters to me. You can marry me now. You are Prince Regent, no one could oppose the idea, least of all my father."

He lets out a bitter laugh, shaking his head.

"Of course no one could oppose it, Y/N," he tells you serious, "But still I can't afford to lose Lord Borros' entire army to please your whims," he tells you annoyed, "The betrothal to his daughter assures me of having him and all his men on my side and that is what matters."

His words again hurt you, hitting you hard to understand that you are no more important than an army of a thousand men.

You truly understand that there is a war, but you are not a man and you still have to do your duty, not having the time or the same privileges as he does.

You try not to dwell on his words too much and continue to insist.

"I am not telling you this to make you angry Aemond, truly," you clarify softly and pleadingly, "I am telling you this so as not to anger my father," you explain, "His patience is running thin and he is already upset enough with me for turning down very good suitors who asked for my hand."

"As you should."

He tells you serious and disinterested, while you say nothing for a few more seconds, watching him as if you don't know him and his comment not being able to make you more upset, also his attitude about it and how he doesn't care at all.

Because he does want you to understand his point, his position, his army and the war, but he can't understand yours.

"We are not all princes, Aemond!"

You exclaim to him annoyed, catching him off guard, instantly watching you attentively.

"It is my duty to marry too, that is what is expected of me and my father might even come to an agreement without consulting me first out of his desperation and wanting to keep me safe for all this, while I am here, wishing you to finally react and do something about it."

"You want me to do something about it?" he repeats to you serious, "Then what I will do is threaten your father not to give your hand to anyone and that you stay by my side until I wish otherwise. That is what I can do Y/N, but I cannot marry you."

He makes it clear to you as you feel him again breaking your heart without even caring, his words not being in any sense the right ones, while you want to yell at him and make him react, ask him if he even cares a little bit about you.

"You can't do that," you tell him as you hold back your tears, "Everyone will know about us and you'll put my maidenhead in question."

He lets out a sniffle, hurting you again to see how he truly doesn't care about you at all.

"That I can't do it? Just watch me."

And without another word to you, again completely disinterested, he heads out of the chamber to his bathroom, while you continue to hold back your tears and try to hold on to your dignity, following him and watching him completely firm with your words.

"If you do not wish me to leave your side, then marrying you is the only way," you tell him with a lump in your throat.

He looks at you in a curious, but still serious manner.

"Are you threatening me, love?"

"No! I'm doing no such thing, I'm just warning you!" you exclaim to him wearily and needing him to finally act.

"Then what the fuck do you want me to do, Y/N!?"

He finally reacts, but not in the way you expected, walking towards you annoyed and with all the frustration and anger, as well as again that weight feeling it again on his shoulders, looking at you really annoyed and tired of you.

"What don't you understand? For you it would be a great benefit but for me? Will your father give me a thousand men to fight and win the war or a fleet of ships?" he asks you again expectantly, "Your father cannot give me what I need, you are not convenient for me and that is why I cannot and do not wish to marry you!"

Then that is when Aemond again breaks your heart into pieces without even him realizing it and where all the realization hits you like a wave.

Now you truly understand the role you play here because of his words. And now you just feel an emptiness in your chest and watch him with total indifference.

You really don't want to regret having chosen him over your duty, to have risked giving yourself body and soul to him, because he doesn't lose anything, but you do and yet you did it because you love him.

But now by telling you those cruel words… now you no longer feel the need to make him react.

For him to let you know that you mean more to him than just warming his bed and supporting him in his bad moments as well as his good ones.

In times of war… you are not important to him and certainly not convenient. And even if the war wasn't on your mind, you wanted to believe that perhaps he would choose you over his duty, just as you did.

But how wrong you were.

And Aemond doesn't notice any of this because in an instant he again comes towards you and holds your chin with one of his hands firmly and tightly.

He makes you not dare to look away from him, while you do so with no expression on your face and your eyes completely empty.

"You're going to stop with this fucking foolishness, do you hear me? I don't need to also carry you on my shoulders when I already have enough."

He warns you between his teeth and extremely annoyed,

"You're going to stop harassing me with your fucking little girl whims, because I assure you that I have more important things to take care of, have you understood me?"

And you once you also have enough of all this, you have no choice but to hold back your tears and swallow the lump in your throat to answer him in the same way; without emotion.

"Yes, your Grace."

This takes him completely off guard, while you hold his gaze for only a few seconds longer, until you waste no more time and turn away from him to head out of the chamber, while Aemond watches you at all times attentive and even curious about your behavior.

And when the doors close, he finally lets out a long breath as he runs one of his hands over his face, deciding not to do anything else for the day and decides to sleep.

The next morning, Aemond doesn't see you all day, nor the next one, nor the next one after that, and continuously until a considerable number of days pass without your presence.

Still too occupied to do anything about it because of all the meetings he has to attend, yet he notices your absence and finds it strange that by the end of the day it is the maids who assist him when you used to do everything necessary for him.

Until one morning he asks one of the maids to discreetly look for you and let you know that he needs your assistance, threatening the poor girl that no one will listen to her when she says his orders to you and that you will be all alone.

The maid successfully carries out the order, but only to return to the prince and let him know that Lady Y/L/N is apparently unwell.

This immediately catches his attention, but again he is too occupied to attend to the matter.

While you… was not a lie what you told the maid who sent for you on Aemond's orders. After that night when you left his chamber, you never again felt even the desire to stand around him and look him in the eye.

It hurt.

Everything about him hurt.

You lost your appetite completely, preferring to stay in bed all day, not having the energy or the courage to face the world, let alone him. And that led you to start feeling the same way the next few days.

You didn't want to get out of bed, you didn't want to eat, you didn't even want to see daylight through your windows, you just wanted to lie there, thinking about Aemond's words that hurt you more and more.

This behavior was not allowed to pass by your father, who instantly ordered you to eat, not allowing that he would see you all the time pale, without energy and without any food in your stomach, always locked in your chamber.

Until one day, your behavior only got worse when your father let you know the unexpected news.

"I have accepted the offer to give your hand in marriage to a nobleman of House Redwyne, Sr. Ralph Redwyne, son of Rowan Redwyne."

You instantly look at him in complete surprise, your eyes wide open and your lips parted, as your father looks at you serious and firm with the news, making it clear to you that this decision is truly going to happen.

"I have already sent a raven to the Arbor where I have agreed to all of their terms. It is only a matter of time before they can let me know when you will be able to meet your betrothed."

"But why didn't you let me know before about this?" you ask him completely bewildered and alarmed.

"And for what? So that you could avoid your own betrothal?" he asks you serious, "I don't know what has happened to you in all these years Y/N, nor do I know what you were and are thinking, but I've had enough and this union is going to happen, do you understand?

You watch him silently, still shocked and incredulous at the news, while he watches you completely steady and determined, attentive to your reaction.

"We are lucky that a good man like him has asked for your hand," he tells you with a certain bitter tone, "His offer is generous and beneficial."

"But—

"I don't want to hear it," he interrupts you instantly, "This will happen, you understand? I'm already tired and I'm certainly not going to waste such an opportunity, just as it's in your best interest to not waste it either."

As Aemond had told you one day, he would have to leave with part of his army and leave the Keep protected by his brother Daeron and his dragon Tessarion.

The blacks gain more and more ground, so the time comes to act and impose to win the war, where the final piece is positioned in Harrenhal.

Aemond orders days before that his army begins to prepare, taking Sr. Criston Cole with him to take the black castle, where according to his assumptions he will have more opportunity to attack his uncle Daemon.

With the death of Rhaenys Targaryen, killing her uncle may also be a possibility and Rhaenyra will lose another even more important piece of her chessboard and her life.

The news that the Prince Regent is leaving to go to battle reaches your ears, but still you continue locked in your chamber, trying not to let this news make you think too much, although in the end it is impossible.

You don't want to worry about him, you know he doesn't deserve it.

But at least you can pray for his safety, which is the only thing you allow yourself to do, and as much as you want that to give you some peace of mind, it still doesn't.

Then the day comes and you find yourself watching the army ready to march through your windows, all Lannister banners and you also recognize one specific group with that dark green on their banners, the color of the Hightower.

Then you assume that very soon you'll see Vhagar flying away across the skies.

When suddenly your doors open firmly and unexpectedly, to which you jump and are surprised to see Aemond enter with his armor on ready to leave, this drawing the attention of some maids passing through the hallway to see their Protector entering your chamber so suddenly.

You watch him completely bewildered, not understanding what he is doing here when he should already be leaving by now, while he walks towards you in that majestic way as only he knows how to do and determined, his firm eye set only on you.

This matters to you, but it also matters to you and alarms you more that he has just walked into your chamber through your front doors without any discretion at all, still leaving the doors open and in full view of anyone.

"What are you doing?"

You don't even greet him after so many days without seeing him, you just ask him directly what you want to know, attentive and alarmed, but of course he can't blame you because of his own behavior.

"Why haven't I seen you in days, my lady?"

He asks you strangely in a soft voice and watching you intently, to which you can't help but feel nervous about this,

"The maid said you were unwell. But I get the impression that besides that, you're avoiding me, aren't you?"

You swallow hard, remembering what had happened with him, again feeling that sharp pain in your chest and that sadness and disappointment invading you.

But again you hide it as you don't want to upset him again with your little girl whims, as he had told you.

"Aemond, what do you think you're doing? You should be leaving by now. And you shouldn't have come in like that, in fact you shouldn't even be here."

"You didn't answer my question."

You swallow hard again, nerves invading you at his words and his presence.

"If your mother or my father found out—

"They don't matter," he says without much ado and all the confusion and panic sweeps over you, "I'm actually here to take you with me to Harrenhal. Take everything you need, quickly, we should be heading to DragonPit by now."

You look at him completely flustered, bewildered and confused even though he is being more than clear with you, although you do understand.

What you don't understand is why he is doing this, that's why you start to panic, because of his determination to really take you with him.

"What? B-but…I-I don't understand—

He lets out a long breath, showing that he is beginning to lose his patience.

"Take whatever you need, Y/N. We should go now."

"But I can't leave," you insist with worry.

"I wasn't asking."

"You don't understand, my father has given my hand in marriage."

You knew that sooner or later Aemond would know, mostly because news among the Court spreads fast. But honestly you are relieved that he found out from you than from someone else.

However, Aemond's gaze changes completely to a hard, dark and utterly annoyed one.

You flinch a little at his reaction, fearing his behavior about it, but surprisingly Aemond remains still, though his look totally tells you that he's far from feeling good about it, not at all.

"We are waiting for the wedding discussions," you tell him rather fearfully and at this Aemond's gaze only darkens more.

Then you begin to alert yourself the moment he takes a step towards you, his posture completely tense and his whole look showing you that he was not at all pleased to hear this unexpected news.

"We?" he repeats to you in a deadly, low, threatening tone.

You let out a long breath, then swallow hard and watch him still a little nervous.

"My father did everything without consulting me, like I told you he probably would," you remind him in a soft voice so as not to upset him further.

"So you were waiting for the perfect opportunity for me to leave and not let me know about this," he tells you annoyed.

You bite your lips, holding back the real words you want to say to him, but which will probably only make him more upset; I told you so.

You practically warned him, but he didn't care because you're not convenient for him and now he wants you to go with him to Harrenhal, as if that wouldn't make a huge scandal and not only at Court, but also with his family and your father.

"And what could you do about it?" you ask him without much emotion, "I'm not convenient for you, you said it yourself. Or is it that you don't want me to marry anyone else but I'm not going to marry you either?"

Still annoyed, Aemond has no choice but to avert his gaze from yours for a moment as he lets out a long breath, resignation beginning to invade him, for which this gets your attention.

When suddenly he comes fully towards you and holds you by the waist, pulling you fully towards him, closing his eye and bringing his forehead together with yours.

"Forget what I said that night, my love."

He asks you in a soft voice, now his demeanor more than anything else completely getting your attention, not expecting it to go from one completely annoyed to this one more sympathetic to your words.

And though it surprises you, you really don't want to fall at his feet again because of his soft behavior after how he made you feel the last time you saw each other.

You don't want to be that weak, which is why you're neutral and don't hug him back, nor do you melt at his touch like you would have.

"I was angry and under a lot of pressure at the time, but you know you must not make me angrier when I find myself that way, that's why I said those cruel words to you."

He reminds you softly.

"Though I was honest on some matters Y/N," he tells you a little more serious, "I cannot lose Lord Borros' men nor his support by breaking off my betrothal to his daughter."

So there it is again…that pain and that feeling that you are not important to him than a thousand men ready to fight his war, that he has never really felt the same way you feel about him.

Instantly you try to subtly pull away from him, with the pain in your chest, but he quickly holds you firmly and prevents you from moving away, not letting you go.

"Listen to me Y/N…" he asks you, "I can't do it now but I can do it later, when the war is over."

So that's when you slowly stop putting up resistance and slowly begin to let yourself be led by him, listening more attentively to his words, watching him intently and almost curiously, as Aemond continues.

"I don't want any other man to take you, I want you all to myself," he murmurs to you, leaning down to your face, as you watch him intently and with your lips parted, "When the war is over, that's when I can marry you, I promise."

You continue to watch him completely attentively, almost not believing his words, with your heart beating very fast and all that hope being reborn within you, for those were just the words you wanted to hear so badly.

Still, you don't know if he is saying them just to convince you to go with him.

Then Aemond, just to be a little more convincing, leans in and leaves a soft kiss on your lips where at first you thought you wouldn't reciprocate, but you can't resist and melt under his touch.

He glues your body completely to him just in that way where he makes you feel completely desired by him, where you are his and he is not willing to let you go.

"You promise?" you repeat in a murmur against his lips, letting yourself be completely carried away by him, absorbed.

"Yes, I promise," he assures you softly.

He kisses you again, in a firmer, needier way, as you gasp into his mouth and place your arms around his neck, pulling him closer to you if possible.

And when they pull apart and you look directly into his eye, you see only the honesty and how terribly serious he is being with you at that moment, almost watching you in a loving way, bringing one of his hands to your cheek to gently caress you.

Still, even though he has practically convinced you already that this is all you have ever wished for, you still think of your father and your marriage to Lord Beesbury.

"But what about my father and my marriage? He won't let me go with you," you say beginning to worry, "So will your family, your mother and grandsire, what will they think? The news will reach Storm's End if you take me with you."

"Don't worry about any of that. I am the Prince Regent, remember?" he says softly as he looks at you expectantly, "Now take what you need. We need to go now."

#aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x y/n #aemond targaryen x you #aemond fanfiction #aemond x fem!reader #aemond x oc #aemond x reader #hotd aemond

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chaifootsteps · 5 months ago

Note

just a warning - this is slightly nsfw

so back in season one I assumed the show was actually doing something smart with the way Stolas, despite being the more sexually aggressive one, was the bottom and Blitz the top

I thought it was supposed to be a reflection of the relationship - that Blitz has to put in all the work to please Stolas while his own needs go ignored. that it was reflective of Stolas being a prince and wanting Blitz to serve him, merrily ignoring Blitz's own preferences or comfort the entire time

but looking back on it I notice that while Stolas did still say things that imply he was the receiver in the early episodes of the show (Murder Family rant down the phone) there were also lines suggesting some level of force from his side, too - in Loo Loo Land Blitz says 'wait til her dad tries to diddle your holes' and tells Stolas directly 'if you try fucking my ass in that park', which imply they were switches at some point in time and that Stolas certainly molested him in addition to demanding Blitz sleep with him

but the minute the writers decided Stolas was the good guy, he basically became the bottom in the relationship and nothing else. what had looked like a sophisticated portrait from Viv about how the 'submissive' or bottom partner can be the abuser and the top/dominant one can be the one being used turned into her trying desperately to imply that because Blitz is the one who's 'in control' in the bedroom it can't possibly be coercive on Stolas' part; it's a friends with benefits deal and she'd like everyone to stop reading into it, thank you very much.

as far as the show seems to be concerned, only the active participant in sex can be the abuser! now let's sit back and watch the fandom apply this exact logic to Stella because she was proactive about having one egg so she didn't have to sleep with Stolas anymore whereas Stolas was just passive

all of this gets even grosser considering Barbie's human form has brown skin, effectively coding Blitz as a POC and Stolas as his rich white master. And it's not uncommon even today for black men to be treated like sexual fetishes, just 'studs' for the pleasure of white women (or white twink owls as is the case w/Stolas) which certainly seems to be the case with Stolas reading 'imps in the sheets' books. but the show doesn't really want to engage with the fact that fetishization is just a different kind of degradation on Stolas' part.

Glad you pointed this one out, because it's easily overlooked and usually is. It's also pretty telltale...the period of time in which Stolas was unambiguously an antagonistic figure and nobody argued this point was synonymous with the period of time in which he played a more dominant role sexually.

"If you try fucking my little ass..."

"Wait 'til her dad tries to diddle your holes."

The belief that passive, penetrated partners are more submissive and can't be abusers is one that should have died over a decade ago, but here we are.

#Anonymous #helluva boss critical #vivziepop critical #viv stuff #actual blog post #Small historical footnote: Instagram Stolas was also implied to top once in a while.#He was probably very good at it.

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qveerthe0ry · 9 months ago

Text

If You're Crazy Too

Summary: It isn’t the weirdest thing that’s ever happened to you, helping your friend with benefits confess his love for his longtime friend and roommate. But it’s definitely in the top ten. Word Count: 8,600 Pairing: Santi x m!amab!reader x Frankie Rating: 18+ Explicit Warnings: 18+ mdni, mutual masturbation, watching porn together, threesome, handjobs, ass eating, oral sex (m receiving), anal fingering, anal sex, unprotected sex (pls wrap it up), dirty talk, dom/sub undertones, polyamory Betas: @for-a-longlongtime and @perotovar thank you both so much, you're angels for helping me through this <3 A/N: Special thanks to the author of this post for making an excellent resource for writing Spanish in fics, it came SO in handy. Also thanks to @triplefrontier-anniversary for inspiring me to finish getting this brainworm all written down before the deadline!

Santi is an incredible fuck. Also, he’s a fairly sweet guy.

You met him at your favorite club. He’d been dancing with men and women all night long, graceful and respectful, and you itched to get your turn with him.

When you finally got the chance, his body was solid and sweaty and sure against your own.

You could barely hear him over the music when he told you, lips brushing over your ear, that he was hoping you’d seek him out.

He kissed you, after a few songs, and you met it with an eagerness you didn’t even know you had in you. It wasn’t long before he asked you to come back to his place, and he made you fall apart underneath him.

The morning after wouldn’t have been awkward, either, if his roommate hadn’t been cooking breakfast for the both of you.

Santi introduced him as “Frankie, or Catfish, or Fish.” He was gorgeous, too, in a softer way than Santi. His brown eyes were wider and less menacing than Santi’s, and his curls peeked out under a well-worn trucker’s cap.

He said it was nice to meet you, and asked how you liked your eggs, and if you were way too loud the night before with Santi, he didn’t mention it. You did, however, catch him sneaking glances at Santi while the three of you ate, and wondered what they meant.

It didn’t matter much at the time when you thought you’d never see Santi again. But he walked you to your Uber after breakfast, and asked if you maybe wanted to do this again, no pressure, no strings attached. And you did. So you exchanged numbers and he kissed you on the cheek before sending you off.

You’ve met up with him a few times now. Each time Frankie makes himself scarce. You either hear the TV in his room, or you pass him on your way in, telling you he’s got errands to run. What errands he’s running at 10pm, you’re not sure you want to know, but you don’t think much of it.

Until now. You knock on the front door of their apartment and hear voices, too muffled to make anything out clearly.

Santi answers before too long with a smile, and you follow, intent to trail him to his bedroom like you usually do.

This time, though, Frankie’s sat on the couch in the living room, a beer in his hand, and he looks like someone just kicked his puppy.

“Am I, uh, interrupting something? We can rain check.”

Frankie looks to you, and then to Santi, and you feel like you have your answer before either of them speak.

“No, no, you haven’t interrupted anything,” Santi starts, “it’s just our favorite OnlyFans guy released a new video a few days ago and we haven’t had the chance to watch it yet. Fish is a little eager.”

“Fuck you, I’m not. Just thought we were watching it today is all. No big deal.”

It’s a lot of information to process, that these two not only share a favorite OnlyFans creator, but watch his videos together. And— not to assume, but you’re sure they probably do other things together too.

“Oh… I mean, I don’t want to ruin your plans.”

“It’s fine—“

Frankie’s reassurance is cut off by Santi though, something that seems like a common occurrence by the way he settles back into his seat and closes his lips when Santi begins to speak.

“You wanna watch with us? First orgasm of the night, but I promise I’ll make it up to you after.”

And fuck it, you think. It isn’t quite what you imagined when you left your place, but it doesn’t sound like a terrible way to spend your Friday night.

“I’m down,” you shrug, and Santi’s eyes crinkle when he smiles and winks at you.

He turns the lights off while Frankie casts the video to the TV. You settle in the armchair, as Fish looks a little uncomfortable, but he assures you he isn’t when you check in with him.

Santi takes the opposite side of the couch as Frankie, and then he’s ordering him to start the video.

The bar on the bottom reads 45:06. Longer than you expected. The video is well-edited with soft royalty-free music over a logo that fades when the man appears on screen.

You chance a small glance at the couch. You aren’t really sure what the etiquette is here, but neither of them seem to be making any moves yet, hands resting on their own thighs. You mirror them, subtly shifting to do so, and avert your eyes to the television once more.

The man on the screen is a wicked dirty talker. He spends a good five minutes telling the viewer what he wants done to him. He’s also quite submissive by the sounds of it, which shouldn’t come as a surprise to you. Santi loves the way you submit to him, tells you so every time you hook up.

You find yourself wondering what Frankie likes in the bedroom, if he’s also just as dominant as Santi, if he’s more sweet or hardened, if he would be vocal like Santi or more reserved like he seems to be in his daily life.

Before you realize it, the man on the screen is stripping down into a skimpy, lacy set of underthings. His cock is on the smaller side but rock hard and leaking, tenting his little lacy briefs in a deliciously obscene display. Your cock stirs at the sight, and you peek over at the couch again.

Frankie’s palming the bulge in his sweatpants, eyes glued to the screen so diligently that you think it’s calculated. Santi, in contrast, has his hand under the waistband of his gym shorts already.

But you don’t miss the way his eyes flicker from the screen, and not to you, but to Frankie, flitting up and down quickly from his face to his lap.

You try not to sigh too loudly as you cradle your own package, half-hard in your own skimpy briefs you wore just for Santi. You watch as the man on the screen turns his back to the camera and bends over, allows the camera to get a full view of the outline of the plug nestled between his juicy ass cheeks.

The air in the room feels humid, almost too hot as the video goes on. You definitely get why this guy is their favorite OnlyFans creator. He’s gorgeous, first of all, all lithe muscle, soft in the perfect places. And he’s an incredible performer. He talks to the camera like he’s talking to you, desperate and breathy. It doesn’t take long for your prick to fully fill out in your briefs.

The camera angle changes on screen. It cuts to him on all fours on the bed, his hole gaping from removing the plug, his pretty pink cock leaking between his legs. A rough grunt from your left has your eyes wandering to the couch again.

Santi’s cock is out, and the sight alone makes your mouth water. Thick and glistening in his big hand, his balls sat atop the waistband of his shorts. Your own throbs under the pressure of your palm, and you let yourself sneak a look at Frankie, too.

He’s finally got his hand down his pants, and you almost feel bad for wondering what his cock is like, too. If it would mirror the differences between he and Santi’s bodies, longer but thinner. You wonder if he’s uncut like Santi is, and you wonder what he’d taste like.

A loud whimper makes you peel your eyes away from the couch and look back at the TV. The guy is three fingers deep in himself, fucking them in along with the messy amount of lube he’s used. It’s fucking hot, and you throw all caution to the wind to unzip your jeans and pull your cock free from its confines.

“He’s fucking hot right?”

You turn your head to Santi at the sound of his voice. Your heart picks up at the sight of him, one hand stroking his balls while the other works slowly up and down his shaft.

You squeeze your own in response.

“Yeah, not exactly my type but he’s still doing it for me.”

Santi chuckles, nods his head back to the screen. But before you turn back yourself, you see Fish glance at Santi out of the corner of his eye. He starts to shuffle his waistband down his hips, but you turn away before you see anything you think you shouldn’t.

The guy on the screen is limber. On his back now, knees pressed to his chest, he’s whining and whimpering while he fucks himself with a big, realistic dildo.

It’s massive, much bigger than any real cock you’ve taken, but you guess that’s some of the appeal. You try to quietly spit in your hand, then spread it up and down as you lazily stroke yourself off to the video.

It’s loud. The obscene squelching and consequential moans fill the living room, but not enough that you can’t hear the strokes from both Santi and Frankie on the couch next to you. Occasionally you hear a muffled curse, or a stilted gasp, and you can’t be sure which man they’re coming from but you want to hear more.

You glance over again. Your eyes land on Santi first, of course, who’s almost shamelessly staring at Frankie’s crotch, the way he lifts his hips to fuck into his fist every few thrusts.

Frankie’s cock is longer, and thinner, and you’re delighted to find that he isn’t circumcised either, the fat head of his cock disappearing and reappearing from under his foreskin.

He turns his head, and you stop stroking your cock all together, afraid of Fish’s reaction to you sneaking a peek. Only, when you meet his eyes to shoot him an apologetic look, he’s not looking at you.

He’s looking at Santi, staring, eyes roaming up and down his body, lingering where he fists his prick, then back up again. You’re stunned still at how intimate it feels, the heat in Frankie’s gaze as he licks his plush lips.

You turn your eyes back to the video with a pounding heartbeat. Your erection begins to wane as you stare through the TV. You can’t get it out of your mind, the way they look at each other. You’re surprised they haven’t caught each other looking yet. The heat from both of their gazes looked tangible, hungry and yearning. It’s as plain as day to you, on the outside looking in.

“Ah fuck—”

The curse is not from Santi. Your eyes trail over just in time to see Frankie pull his shirt up and spill across his stomach. His eyes are closed, head thrown back against the wall behind the couch, and you see Santi’s fist speed up, a blur of tan skin.

You watch him watch Frankie, unabashed now as Fish’s eyes are shut in bliss, and Santi comes too with a deep hum, closing his own eyes just in time for Frankie to open his and look at the both of you.

He quickly averts his gaze when he sees you staring, reaches for the tissue box on the coffee table in front of him. In a move that looks so familiar, he pulls out two for himself, and then two for Santi, handing them over with practiced ease.

Santi pants out a gruff gracias and uses one to clean up with, then holds out his hand to offer you the other.

“Oh— no thanks, I’m good. Didn’t quite get there.”

Santi hums, uses the extra tissue to finish wiping himself up.

“What’s wrong, hermoso? Have I ruined you for all other men?”

His grin is cocky when he asks, tucking himself back into his shorts.

“Yeah Santi, that’s it.”

You roll your eyes and look over to Fish as if to say this fuckin’ guy, but he’s busy boring a hole into the paused TV screen like his life depends on it.

Your dick is hanging fairly limp out of your underwear, so you stow it away, pull your jeans back up.

“Don’t bother,” Santi tells you, nodding his head toward his bedroom, “let me make it up to you now.”

So with your fly undone, you stand on weary legs and follow Santi to his room. When you make it, you turn back to Frankie, to say thank you or sorry, you can’t be sure, because he’s already closing his own bedroom door behind him.

Santi makes good on his promise, though. He eats your ass for what feels like hours, until you’re shaking and begging for him to fuck you. And then he does, somehow riding the perfect line between rough and tender, holding your back against his front with one big hand on your chest as you both kneel on the bed. His other hand works your cock so perfectly that you come unglued in a grand way, like you always do with him.

He cleans you up after, gentle. He’s a huge cuddler, so it doesn’t phase you anymore when he spoons you close and presses his mouth along the little love bites he’s left.

“You really aren’t into subs, are you? Not even a little bit?”

You know he’s referencing your lack of interest in the video. You could agree with him, or you could tell him the truth. You’re not sure what to do, and so you sit in silence for some time before you decide to bite the bullet.

“It isn’t that. I mean, I am more into doms but— that wasn’t it.”

You feel him go stiff behind you.

“Shit, was that too weird for you? I didn’t mean to force you into—“

“No! No, Santi, it was fine. I just— you’re into Frankie, right?”

Air escapes his lungs in something akin to a sob.

“What!? Why would you say that?”

He’s not denying it, which is a good step.

“C’mon man, you were watching him more than you were watching the TV.”

“Pendejo, no I wasn’t.”

“Pendejo” you mock him, “don’t gaslight me. I don’t care. This isn’t, we’re no strings, right? I’m just saying, I don’t wanna come between this thing.”

“There’s no thing to come between. Even if you were right, which you’re not, Fish isn’t into me like that.”

You laugh.

“O-kay.”

“Don’t ‘okay’ me. How would you know? You’ve known him for a grand total of an hour and a half.”

“He was looking at you, too. You know that, right? You’re just in denial?”

“I would’ve seen if he was looking at me.”

“Because you were looking at him.”

“Fine! Okay, I was looking at him. He wasn’t looking at me so what’s it even matter?”

“He was, Santi. He was looking at your cock and licking his lips like he was starved. I saw it.”

Santi huffs behind you, and it tickles your neck.

“I’m not lying to you. I’m not in love with you or anything but I care about you a little bit.”

His arm around you tightens for a beat.

“Awww, so sweet, querido.”

“Shut up,” you huff, “you’re changing the subject. He was looking at you, like he’s always looking at you. I’ve watched him moon over you every single breakfast I’ve eaten here. You know how bad that makes me feel, eating the breakfast he made me while your cum drips out of me?”

“Fuck, why’d you say it like that? That’s so hot.”

“Because it’s true. If you guys have feelings for each other you need to figure that out before I die of a guilty conscience.”

You can practically feel Santi’s eyes roll behind you.

“Dramático,” he groans.

“You do have feelings for him. It seems like he does too. Get your poop in a group about it, man.”

“Will you still stay over? I’ll need a morning fuck if this is the way my weekend’s gonna go.”

——

I can’t do it. Frankie’s visiting his kid this weekend

The text comes a few hours after you shared your now routine, dysfunctional family breakfast, where Fish was indeed making googly eyes at Santi, and Santi’s cum was indeed leaking out into your underwear.

Likely story

No really. I don’t want to mess with his vibes, his kid is super important to him. It’s cute.

Oh my god just fuck him already

I’m TRYING okay? Can you help? I need moral support.

And look, it isn’t the weirdest thing that’s ever happened to you, helping your friend with benefits confess his love for his longtime friend and roommate. But it’s definitely in the top ten.

So the two of you devise a plan. It’s convoluted as all hell, but also fairly simple. The next time their OnlyFans guy posts a video, Santi invites you over to watch again. Conveniently, just before you arrive, he spills a glass of red wine all over the seat of the armchair, and soaks the cushion trying to get the stain out of the beige fabric.

You show up, ‘none the wiser.’ Still, the vibes are absolutely weird in their two bedroom apartment. Frankie’s fidgeting on the couch, and Santi misses your cheek and plants a kiss to your eyelid. You have to get these boys together.

The plan goes off without a hitch from there. Santi flicks off the lights, and Frankie casts the video to the TV, just like they did last time, just like they’ve probably done dozens of times before. But now, the armchair is out of commission, so you all squeeze together on the couch. Santi’s in the middle, of course, his thick thigh pressing against your own as you all point your attention to the flatscreen.

You’re kind of excited. It’s a weird thing for you to be excited about, but you weren’t lying all those days ago. You do care for Santi. And Fish too, really, if only for the delicious breakfasts he makes, and for making Santi happy.

This time, you don’t wait for any of their cues. You pull your cock out as soon as the OnlyFans guy starts stripping his clothes. Santi grabs your hand, and for a second you think you’ve ruined the plan. But then spits into it, and Frankie groans from Santi’s other side as he watches the display. You moan a little too, partly for show, partly for the way Santi never fails to make your dick rock hard in record time.

You stroke yourself, and it goads the boys into pulling their pants down, too. The guy on the screen is doing things a little differently this time, fingering a see-through fleshlight as he lubes it up. This is hotter to you, anyway. It doesn’t take long at all for pre-cum to gather at your slit and slick your strokes even more.

By the time the guy is fucking into it with timid strokes, whimpering through the speakers, Santi still hasn’t made a move. You elbow him in the side, and he flinches, then elbows you right back.

You turn your head toward him, make like you’re kissing his neck, because Frankie’s eyes are about to pop out of his skull with the way he’s got them trained on Santi.

“Go on. You already have an audience,” you whisper.

Santi shudders, and Frankie looks away. Just in time, too. Santi eyes the way Fish is stroking himself, and then you hold your breath as Santi lifts his hand and wraps it around the base of Frankie’s cock.

“Ohmyfuckinggod.”

Frankie’s head thunks against the wall behind him, and his hips jolt up into the touch. You’re watching without any hesitation now, and Fish’s eyes are closed anyway. Santi squeezes and Frankie whimpers and scrambles to find Santi’s cock without looking.

“Fuck, Fish. Yeah?”

Santi’s voice is dripping with arousal, low and gruff, his cock twitching in Frankie’s grasp.

“Please, please.”

Frankie finally opens his eyes, lets his head loll to the side to look at Santi. But his eyes quickly flutter to you, his expression twisting up in confusion.

“Santi, what—“

“Shhh, hermano, s’okay.”

You lean forward, and for a moment you’re having an out-of-body experience, watching yourself cradle into Santi’s side, not knowing if you’re helping or hurting their cause, but wanting to reassure them both that this is a good thing.

Frankie takes the encouragement for what it is, allowing himself to fuck up into Santi’s fist and look at him with hooded eyes, mouth gaping open.

Like a fish, you think, and chuckle against Santi’s neck.

“What’s happening? Why?”

Frankie looks between the two of you for an answer, and you bite down on Santi’s earlobe to goad him to answer.

“He caught you looking, last time. Caught me looking at you, too. Put two and two together for me. This okay?”

Frankie shudders and closes his eyes, but nods his head.

You watch both of them, their hands on each other’s pricks, their hips meeting the thrust of foreign fists.

“Waited so long,” Frankie whispers.

“Lo sé, me too.”

Their faces inch toward each other, and you nuzzle the curls at the nape of Santi’s neck. To encourage him, or maybe to shield your eyes from the intimate moment, or probably both.

You feel the kiss, the way Santi’s neck cranes and flexes, and you hear the ragged moans from their lungs, and you are rock hard.

But your work here is done. You may need to jerk off in Santi’s bathroom before you leave, lest you tumble down the apartment stairs since there’s hardly any blood flow to anywhere other than your dick.

But as you make to get up, Santi’s free hand plants firmly on your thigh. You still behind him, a rush of awkwardness flushes through your system.

His head leans back when he pulls away from the kiss, and you watch the way Frankie physically recovers from it, takes a big lungful of air and slowly opens his eyes, licks the taste of Santi from his lips.

“What do you think, Fish? Should we thank him?”

Your cock throbs where it’s pressed against Santi, and you feel him chuckle, but Frankie’s nodding his head fast and looking straight at you.

“Yeah, yes,” he answers, breathless.

“My bedroom or yours, hermano?”

“I couldn’t give any less of a shit.”

They both laugh, and you find it in you to huff, but it’s anything but authentic when all you can think about is having these two men in bed with you, thanking you.

“Go get comfy, yeah? We’ll be there in a minute,” Santi tells you.

You’ve never moved more swiftly in your life, and you’re sure it looks so graceful, walking to Santi’s room with your hard prick swaying in the wind. But you, like Frankie, couldn’t give any less of a shit.

You undress in the now familiar bedroom, lie back on freshly washed sheets as you hear Santi and Frankie mumble, incoherent all the way out in the living room. Your heart rate picks up when you hear footsteps, but only one pair, and Santi struts in. You can hear rustling from beyond the door, a kitchen cabinet opening and closing.

“He‘a grabbing us some waters. I wanted to check in, make sure this is all okay? I know it wasn’t the plan.”

Now you laugh.

“Is it okay? Do I want two gorgeous men thanking me for squishing their heads together like Barbie dolls? It’s more than okay.”

Santi clicks his tongue at you.

“No need for the sass.”

Your blood runs cold at his tone shift, even as his lips quirk up just the tiniest bit at each corner.

Frankie walks in, then, and almost looks startled by the staring match happening. Still, he wades further into the room, sets a few glasses of water down on the nightstand.

You’re suddenly feeling self-conscious, naked and spread out on the bed in front of these two men, fully clothed and practically leering at you. Frankie’s not so shy now; you can feel his eyes on you as they roam across every inch of exposed skin. It’s a heated, tense moment that only breaks when Santi tugs Frankie to him by the hem of his shirt.

Christ, is it hot to watch, the way Fish’s body goes lax as Santi’s tenses, grabbing the back of his neck. His strong arm flexes as his hand gets lost in Frankie’s curls. They share a kiss that looks like less lips and more teeth. Then Santi’s sliding his hands under Frankie’s shirt, along his flanks, exposing smooth, tan skin.

They part to fling their shirts off, and you can’t help it, you reach down to touch yourself. You’re watching something beautiful. Their dance is stilted with novelty but still looks so easy, familiar in an unfamiliar way.

Their noses bump together awkwardly at times, but their hands map out patterns across each other’s bodies that look practiced, like they’ve done this thousands of times before, if only in their dreams.

And they look incredible together. Santi’s thick and bulky, skin so taught over his frame. And Frankie is leaner, corded muscle covered in softer flesh. It looks so squeezable. It is, you find out, second-hand, by the way Santi grabs him by the hips and pulls him closer, just to push him away to get his pants down.

They don’t part for long, and you’re stuck in this haze, a participant only by the way you’re sliding your hand lazily up and down your shaft while you watch them. Santi hasn’t waxed since you first met him, and now all that chest hair is growing in, a stark contrast to Fish’s hairless one. And you know it feels incredible, to be in Frankie’s position, getting scratched by all that wiry hair. You know his own hairless chest will be red and splotchy by the time the night ends, like yours has been countless nights before.

Finally, they come up for air, naked and heaving breaths across each other’s faces as they share a look. Santi raises his strong brow, tilts his head in your direction, and you’re snapped out of your voyeuristic state.

“Let’s show some gratitude, yeah?”

His voice is all low and hoarse, and you watch it affect Frankie in the same way it affects you, cocks jumping. And fuck, Fish does exactly as he’s told once Santi coaxes him with a playful slap to his ass. He crawls up between your legs, and his full lips are even more so now, bitten and slick and deep red. Glancing up at you with those long, pretty, fluttery lashes, his sweet brown eyes are all heavy-lidded and hesitant.

“This is okay?”

His voice is small, and he’s so goddamn perfect.

“Yes, Frankie. Please.”

You both exhale at the same time, and then he gets to it, immediately. His tongue hangs out of his mouth when he opens it wide, and he wastes no time sinking down on your prick.

“Jesus Christ, Fish.”

You damn near give yourself whiplash to look over to Santi, frozen in place next to the bed, eyes glued to where you and Frankie connect. The latter moans around your cock, encouraged to bob his head faster already, take you deeper.

“Knew you’d be such a good little cocksucker with those pretty lips. Fuck.”

It’s so hot, it’s too hot. You’re going to blow in record time with the warmth of Frankie’s mouth and the filth Santi is reciting.

He must see it in your face, the panic of this all being over way quicker than you want it to be. He kneels on the bed beside you both, gets a hand in Fish’s silky curls and you see the shudder that cascades down his body.

“Not a race, hermano,” Santi says, tugging at his hair to get him to lift off of your leaking prick.

Fish stares, wide-eyes and ragged breathing, as Santi arranges himself to lie beside him, both of their faces now inches from your throbbing cock.

“Control freak,” Frankie mumbles, but the smile on his face makes any heat from his words dissipate.

Santi punishes him with a bruising kiss anyway. Your hips jolt as Frankie’s hair brushes across your dick, so on-edge that even that whisper of a touch sends you reeling.

Santi chuckles around Fish’s bottom lip that he’s got between his teeth.

“He so sensitive, Fish. Gotta take it slow, alright?”

It makes your entire body burn, the way he’s talking about you like you’re not even there. The way he’s been guiding Frankie through everything so far, and the way Frankie follows so obediently.

Santi shuffles a bit, and Fish does too, so in-sync that you almost laugh. Their unplanned choreography has them both straddling one of your legs respectively, arms in between, their hands finding each other just close enough to your heavy sac that you can feel the heat coming off of them.

They both look up at you, and for a moment everything is so eerily perfect that it feels like you’re in some sick, twisted Truman Show remake, and this was all a ploy to get you into bed with them.

But then Santi looks at Frankie, a soft bueno? uttered toward him, and Frankie nods. Santi leans in, for what you assume is to kiss him more, but his nose brushes the base of your shaft. And then Fish leans in too, his own strong nose nuzzling just under your head.

Your hands find purchase on the backs of their necks, a light touch to ground yourself as you watch. It’s so fucking intimate, and you’re the catalyst for their exploration, and it’s driving you up the goddamn wall. Your curse and watch twin grins break out on their faces.

Shitheads, both of them.

They continue on with this dance, breathing in your scent as they nose up and down your cock. Their eyes open and close, but their gazes always seem to land on each other at the same time.

And then Santi leads, licking a long stripe up the side of you. Frankie follows eagerly once he catches on, meeting him for a sloppy dance of tongues all over the head of your dick, your frenulum, lapping up the pre-cum that’s been steadily leaking from your slit.

It jerks wildly under their loose attention, and Frankie chuckles deep and low as he chases your cock and Santi’s mouth at the same time. Your nails start to bite into their napes, the burning in your gut becoming far too intense.

“Guys,” you gasp, “I— fuck. I can’t.”

Santi hums, leaves a playful nip at the base of your prick that nearly sends you over the edge. Fish lets up, intent to lick up every last drop of your taste from Santi’s mouth, and groans when he succeeds.

You’re all left panting for a minute. You can’t decide who to look at. Santi’s head has fallen onto your thigh, and Frankie’s propped up on an elbow, staring down at him, all along the dips and curves of his tan skin. Santi gets a hand around Fish’s cock, thumbing under the head in slow circles, soothing and relaxed.

“Everyone still having a good time?”

Santi’s tone implies he already knows the answer. A weak Jesus, yes huffs out of your vocal chords, just as Frankie nods his head eagerly where it rests in his palm.

Santi cranes his neck to look up at you, and already you know you’re in for it, a wicked glint in his eyes.

“You want Fish to fuck you?”

Your cock throbs near their heads, and Frankie snorts.

“Think that’s a yes, huh?”

You answer Fish with a nod. It’s been a while since you’ve taken anyone but Santi. The thought shorts out all the wires in your system as you realize you get to learn him this way, what he’s into, what he’ll want to do to you, and how different it is from his counterpart.

“All fours, both of you. He’ll let you eat his ass for hours, Fish,” Santi instructs.

“Jesus.”

If it weren’t for the way Frankie scrambles to get into position, you’d ask if he was alright with it. But once he’s hovering on his hands and knees between your legs, he’s manhandling you to do the same, and you love it.

Your cock sways and leaks between your thighs, and Fish pulls and tugs to get you exactly how he wants you. You feel even more exposed than usual like this, with these two men behind you. He spreads you open for him, and you feel your hole clench and relax as it’s exposed to the humid air of the bedroom.

Then he spits, perfectly aimed, and you feel his saliva trickle all the way down your taint, tickling your balls as it drips onto the sheets.

A puff of hot air is all the warning you get before his tongue is following that same trail in reverse, all the way up to where your crack meets your back, and then back down, and your elbows buckle and so does your resolve.

You moan a mix of curses and Frankie’s name, and it only eggs him on, gets him to zero in on your rim with his tongue, circling then flicking, over and over.

You try to crane your neck enough to see Santi when you hear him swear.

“You really fuckin’ like this. Don’t you, Fish?”

All you can see is his tight curls behind Frankie’s own arched back, and his big hands wrapped around Frankie’s slender hips.

You feel Frankie answer him, an incoherent groan into your asshole as the tip of his tongue breaches you.

You’re on fire. Your cock is leaking a really pathetic stream onto Santi’s bedding, neglected, and you know you won’t come without any friction, but you also don’t want to. Not for a while, not until you get to feel Frankie’s cock inside you, get to see Santi watch him fuck you.

You’re anything but impatient, though. Santi was right, the smug asshole. You could keep Fish here for eternity, especially with how fucking diligent his tongue is, lapping you up and pressing inside of you, over and over. It’s dizzying, especially when he begins making desperate noises against you.

You know he’s in for the time of his life. Santi, as smug as he is, loves eating your ass ‘for hours.’ He’s fucking sloppy with it, and he does this thing with his thumbs that drives you—

“Fuck! Ay dios, Pope, what the fuck?”

Frankie falls lax into you, his nose against your hole and his lips brushing your taint as he curses.

“Yeah, you like that? Want me inside this cute little ass?”

Fish whines, shifts his face so he can bite the tender flesh where your thigh and ass meet, and all you can do is groan and push back into him as he gives Santi his answer.

“Damelo, need you, please.”

Santi hums, and you can tell by how it’s muffled that his mouth is once again occupied. Frankie recovers, though his tongue is much less coordinated now, a messy flurry of licks as he prods at your entrance.

Then you hear it, the click of a bottle opening, bouncing off the bedroom walls in a familiar way. You clench around Frankie’s tongue, a Pavlovian response, and he groans and fits his lips around your hole and sucks.

You’re babbling now, strings of nonsense, begging, and praise in the otherwise silent bedroom. You know the exact moment Santi sinks his thick finger inside of Frankie, because you feel him stiffen and shake against you, feel his nails dig into the meat of your cheeks where he’s spreading you open.

His mouth retreats, and you whine, but he’s tugging on you again to get you to lie on your back.

It’s a fucking sight when you’re finally able to watch. Fish has his back arched like a goddamn cat, presenting his ass to Santi, mouth gaping open at his skilled fingers.

Santi’s looking over him, one large hand splayed out on his back to keep him still as he fucks into him with what you assume is at least three fingers, the way Frankie’s drool is dripping from the corner of his mouth. Santi’s eyes are glued to his ministrations, where he’s slowly thrusting in and out, his big bicep flexing as he goes.

He manages to tear his eyes away, though, to look at you and wink.

“How’d he do? Think he deserves to fuck you, papi?”

You whimper at the mere thought of it, finally feeling him inside you.

You shake your head, but Santi tuts.

“Yeah— Yes, Santi. He did so good.”

Santi’s lips tilt up into a wicked smirk.

“There he is, that’s it, tell Francisco how good he is for us, huh?”

You see Frankie’s cock throb between his legs, hear a pathetic little noise fall from his lips. You and Santi both get a curious but delighted look on your faces at his reaction.

“Did so good, Francisco.”

He shivers, hides his face in the bedding between your thighs for a hot minute. A lungful of air escapes him, slow and methodical, before he tilts his head back to Santi.

“Lube?”

Santi huffs, tosses the bottle next to Fish’s head.

“Doesn’t take long for him. He likes the stretch, don’t you bebito?”

You huff, and your face feels hot and prickly as both men look at you. You squirm, and you don’t want to answer, you want at least a tiny bit of pride going into this, because you know you’re bound to come out the other side with absolutely none.

“He asked you a question,” Frankie says.

His gruff voice makes your breath catch.

Santi hums his approval behind him.

“Yeah, yeah, just— just two, give me two and I’ll be good.”

“What do you say, papi?”

And Jesus, this is the most Frankie’s said all night and it has your toes curling.

“Please, Frankie.”

He makes a patronizing, satisfied noise that makes you want to hide but also expose yourself even more. You want to give him everything, him and Santi, let them use you to get their pleasure however they want.

But then Fish groans, and you see Santi’s arm twisting behind him, reaching for that perfect spot. He makes a mess squirting lube out onto his fingers, and you at least have enough control of your faculties to lift your sac out of the way so Frankie can spread it across your hole.

It twitches under his fingers, begging, and so are you, just incoherent babbles as he teases you, toys with you. You think you maybe could wait him out, knowing he doesn’t get his until his cock is pressed inside you, but you don’t want to.

“Fuck,” you whimper, “please fuck me.”

“Yeah, good boy, there you are.”

You open your eyes at Santi’s voice.

“Give him what he wants, Fish. Give it to him so I can fuck you.”

Two fingers, right off the bat, pressed in slowly but surely in one swoop to the knuckle. You cry out, reaching for purchase and finding the bedsheets to twist into your clenched fists.

“You’re okay, you can take it, right?”

And it’s so goddamn mind-blowing, Santi talking you through it with Frankie’s fingers deep inside you.

You nod, opening your eyes again to look up at him. His eyes are so dark, and he’s stroking his thick cock as he continues stretching Fish out, and he looks hungry. He licks his lips and watches where Frankie’s fucking into you, boring holes where you’re connected. You have to reach down with your free hand and squeeze the base of your prick to get yourself together.

It doesn’t take long for you to adjust, to relax around his digits with a few deep breaths. He praises you, that’s it, take ‘em so well, wanna be fucked so bad don’t you? Your head spins with it as he works you open. Little by little your legs spread wider for him, hips canting up to direct him to the spot inside you that you want him to reach so desperately.

But he doesn’t. Once it’s obvious you’re ready to take him, he slips his fingers out and wipes the residue on the inside of your thigh.

“Gonna take me now?”

It’s a rhetorical question, obviously, as he grips behind your knees and pushes them to your chest. You answer anyway, your own voice so foreign to your ears as you plead for him.

Santi shushes you, and that familiar noise is calming enough to bring you back down to Earth, where he’s resting behind Frankie, one hand caressing his chest while the other grips his waist.

“Wanna be inside you, Fish,” he mumbles, nose pressed behind his ear, lips teasing his earlobe.

Fish’s eyes close, but he guides the head of his dick to your entrance and sinks in, blinding pressure as the head of him stretches you wide. When it slips past, you both gasp, and Santi groans into Frankie’s neck as he watches.

It feels like years, waiting for him to seat himself all the way inside you. It burns in the best way, friction that has goosebumps dotting every square inch of skin.

But then his thighs reach the backs of yours. He curses, moves your legs out of the way so he can cover your body with his own. Santi’s gaze is heavy where it falls, the place you and Frankie are fused together, as he spreads a healthy dollop of lube over his prick.

“Ready for me, baby?”

It’s palpable, the way the energy of the room shifts when Santi presses closer behind Frankie. Like he’s about to step off a ledge, Fish’s eyes widen and he looks at you with his brows drawn up tight. You reach for his curls, run your fingers through them, scrape your nails across his scalp in hopes that it evens out his breathing a bit.

Past Frankie’s shaking form, Santi’s expression is nearly identical. His bottom lip is caged between his teeth, brow furrowed, shoulders squared. His eyes flicker to you, and his features soften just a fraction before his hips begin to press forward.

Frankie sobs at first contact. His sweaty forehead falls to your chest. His cock is jerking inside you, rhythmic pulses as you watch Santi’s hips slowly inch forward.

“Relax for me, Fish. Deep breaths, baby. I’ve got you, take it for me.”

Santi sounds so wrecked. His voice is wispy, and so deep you can hardly hear from the bass in it. He’s never really sounded this way before, and the reality of this entire situation makes you clench around Frankie’s throbbing cock.

Santi curses in whispers, and you watch the sweat from his forehead drip down, between his eyes, down his nose, and drip onto Frankie’s heated skin. And then Frankie shifts, pulling out of you. And then, you realize, pressing Santi’s cock deeper inside himself.

You groan at the revelation, chase Fish’s hips with your own, a domino effect that sets both of them off as well. It doesn’t take much at all for them to find the right pace, like this is just as natural as everything else they do together. For a while you just take it in, let Frankie get his pleasure from you, let them discover the feeling of being so close to each other after a long while of only imagining.

Santi’s signature filthy mouth doesn’t make an appearance. Instead, he looks stunned silent above the both of you. His mouth hangs open like he wants to say something, but all that leaves his lips are grunts and groans that Frankie echoes into your sternum. His eyes don’t know where to look, so they float between where he’s fucking Frankie, and your own roaming eyes, and finally land where your hand grips Frankie’s hair.

He lets go of one of Fish’s hips to tangle his fingers with your own, tugging on those chestnut curls. Frankie slams his hips into you at the sensation, bites down on the meat of your pec and keens before he lets Santi’s grip pull his head back.

His eyes are completely fucking black, no iris to be found when his heavy eyelids open to look at you. And it’s a very strange thing, when you watch him look right through you and call out Santi’s name.

Strange, but fucking hot.

“Let it happen, Fish.”

“No. I– I can’t.”

“You can, fuck, don’t hold it. Come inside so I can fuck it out of him.”

Frankie crumbles. You watch it happen, his eyes snapping shut as he chokes on a high-pitched sound. His face twists up, and you feel his hips stutter against you as he starts chanting Santi’s name, over and over. His cock jerks with every wave of his release, and he’s shaking, collapsing dead-weight on top of you.

“That’s it, did so good. Feel so fucking good squeezing me Fish.”

You’re momentarily squished by the weight of two grown men when Santi rests against Frankie’s back. He kisses where he can reach, soothing the place on his scalp where he was tugging at the hairs.

“Mierda, Santi, get off you fucking oaf.”

And it’s cute, the way Frankie gets so grumpy even after he’s just come his brains out. You ruffle his hair, when he’s finally not sandwiched between you two, let him collapse beside you instead with a sweaty arm draped across your middle.

You only have a few moments to appreciate the tenderness before Santi’s lifting your leg onto his shoulder pressing his thick fingers inside you. The noise is obscene, and Santi swears as Frankie’s cum trickles out of you.

You know you’re in for it now. Santi sets his jaw and arranges your hips so he can slide right into you. You moan at the feeling, and the knowledge of where his cock has just been, noises tumbling out of you as he picks up the pace where Frankie left off.

And you almost forget about Fish, caught up in the pleasure of Santi railing you just how he knows you like. But then a warm, trembling hand wraps around your cock, even though Santi’s own are gripping onto you tight, and it’s heaven.

“Let me see you come,” Frankie says, voice all hoarse and worn out.

You whine, loll your head to the side to look at him.

But this time Santi’s hand is grabbing you, just shy of too rough when he takes your chin in his hand.

“You look at me. Look at me when I make you come, papi.”

And you take it as an order, because Frankie’s hand speeds up and squeezes tighter, and Santi’s fucking into you deep and fast like he does when he’s about to come.

You shake with it when it finally happens. Your spend splashes down Fish’s knuckles, up your stomach, your chest, christ some of it even lands on your chin. And you know you’re babbling but you don’t know what words you’re using, only know that they come from high in your throat as you gasp for air.

Santi follows you so closely, burying himself impossibly deep as he releases. You hear Frankie encouraging him, but the sound is miles away as your head swims in that familiar, blissful place.

When the ringing in your ears settles, and your vision unblurs, and all your nerve endings don’t feel like they’re on fire anymore, Santi’s cock has been replaced by his tongue. You give a weak protest at the overstimulation as his greedy mouth licks the mess out of you. It doesn’t matter, he comes up for air just as soon as you realize where he’s at.

Your bleary eyes watch as Santi leans over you, grabs Fish’s face in his hands and tugs at his bottom lip with one of his thumbs. Frankie opens his mouth, obedient as ever, and then a mix of Santi’s cum and his own is tumbling from Santi’s lips into Fish’s mouth.

Once the damage has been done, an image that will forever be burned into your mind, Santi lets his lips press against Frankie’s. He kisses him deep but slow, savoring the concoction of tastes, until Frankie has to lean back for air.

And then it’s silent, and still, and a pit of dread makes itself known in your gut in record time.

“I’ll grab us some towels. Don’t either of you move a muscle.”

Frankie huffs but stays put. You shake out some of the tensed-up muscles in your legs, grasping for something to say to break the tension.

Turns out you don’t have to.

“Bossy little prick,” Frankie mumbles.

It makes a giggle bubble up out of you, even though it’s not even that funny. You suppose the nervous energy needed out somehow.

“Don’t know what you see in him,” you agree.

Frankie hums, tilts his head like he’s contemplating it.

“I’m kidding. He’s sweet. You’re a lucky guy, so is he.”

You’re interrupted when Santi reenters, two fluffy towels in hand. You tidy up as best you can, then sigh when you no longer have anything to occupy your hands with.

“Stay the night?”

And this time, those familiar words are uttered by Frankie. It surprises you. For a moment you think he’s just being nice, appeasing you. But his brown eyes do that same thing that Santi’s do, where they get all wide and watery and it’s impossible to say no.

So you snuggle under the covers, and it’s a bit awkward at first with an extra set of limbs. Santi takes his coveted position as big spoon, but this time behind Fish. Then Frankie coaxes you closer, a hand at your back to urge you to rest your head on his outstretched arm.

The three of you talk about how hard you’re all going to sleep, and you close your eyes and listen to two other sets of breaths. You let it lull you to the edge of consciousness. Just before you slip under, Santi’s voice is deep and smooth.

“Te amo.”

And Frankie’s whisper is just as silky.

“Te amo.”

—

In the morning, you all wake up slow, and take care of business, and mosey out into the kitchen. It’s natural to watch Frankie make eyes at Santi over his eggs, but you know that Santi’s routine walk to your Uber will be anything but.

Their apartment door slams heavy behind you two as you head to the normal pick-up spot.

“So this is probably it, huh?”

You have to force yourself to look at Santi’s face, squinting in the mid-morning sun.

His brows draw up, and you really hope he doesn’t make this anymore awkward than it needs to be.

“It doesn’t have to be, no.”

His head shakes back and forth with his declaration, and you almost flinch when he reaches for your hand.

“Listen. Give us some time, you know? Let us… figure… this out. Once we settle, I wanna see you again. Fish does too.”

You’re sure your face is doing something funny, because Santi laughs and pushes you.

“Not gonna get rid of us that easy, cabrón.”

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ride-thedragon · 10 months ago

Text

NETTLES AND RHAENYRA, CHARACTER FOILS.

Because I'm not an English teacher

So the question is, How is Nettles Rhaenyra's foil?

1. Appearance .

Rhaenyra is a pretty standard Valyrian beauty. Silver locks, purple eyes, quite pretty, later on in life we get the change that she didn't lose the wait after giving birth to her kids and becùase of misogyny, her beauty has faded. Features like her long hair worn in the style of Visenya and so on are also mentioned. It's giving the Realm's delight in a real sense (not the weird sense).

Nettles, on the other hand, is juxtaposed as 'ugly'. She's brown, is skinny, has crooked teeth, a nose scar, and has short hair.

The maesters like to play to damn much, basically. But they are described as almost exact opposites. Short and long hair, skinny and fat, white and brown skin, purple and brown eyes, etc.

The narrative purpose is to ultimately show their different upbringing and places in this society.

2. Status

Rhaenyra is shown to be the princess, heir to the throne and queen throughout the book. No matter what happens with her, the security and privilege she has almost always goes over what other women have. Her only real threat is the men (and book Alicent) who have personal stake in her not ascending her throne. She's also entirely spoilt as princess and heir by her father and more so her uncle.

Nettles, on the other hand, is introduced to us as an orphan from Driftmark. We're told she could've been a thief and a sex worker by the time we met her. She has no name, lands, titles, or family that we are presented with in the narrative and her backstory for better or less is a patchwork of what her life was possibly like on Driftmark.

Unlike Rhaenyra, we don't follow every salacious rumour and really don't know much about her past.

3. Dragons

Rhaenyra’s dragon Syrax was a cradle egg hatched to her, a Targaryen custom. She's also the youngest dragonrider at 7 I believe.

Nettles claims her dragon at no older than 16 years old. He is a wild dragon (a distinction given to hatched Targaryen dragons that haven't been riden and live away from the keep) and slaughters many before she claims him.

4. Virtue

The notion of virtue in asoiaf is extremely complex, especially with these two women and the vastly different backgrounds. But virginity and speculation also develops both their characterizations in the narrative.

Rhaenyra allegedly "sleeps" with Daemon to practise what she wants to do with Criston (she's 15-). In the show, it becomes obvious that she almost sleeps with Daemon and officially sleeps with Criston. Either way, promiscuity and naivety are written into her character. The only point of conflict is who is involved with what happened in these instances less than what happened. Later on her promiscuity is brought up when Ser Harwin Strong is said to be the father of her first three children.

On the other hand, Nettles' sexual promiscuity is given to her in the narrative. The claims of her being a whore or sleeping around with shepherds are claims made by men who don't know what she was doing at that time. Men who made similar claims about Rhaenyra and their involvement in her loss of virtue as well. Where these stories differ is in Maidenpool, where the assumption of promiscuity is given a different voice.

This time, maids are alluding to an inappropriately close relationship between Daemon and Nettles (yet again, he finds himself here).

5. Daemon

Speak of the devil, and he will appear.

His dynamic is important to these women and their place in the narrative. Saving one dooms the other, leaving with one isolated the other. His decisions ultimately affect one while benefiting the other.

The cruellest example of this dynamic is him letting Nettles go after being the reason she is trapped in the narrative and ultimately dooming Rhaenyra by choosing to kill Aemond instead of going back to her.

His dynamic with both was also comparable with gift giving and quality time and even inappropriate relationship he developed with both of them, notably around similar ages. ( Both these relationships have significant power imbalances).

Between them both, his affection to one affects the other detrimentally.

6. Jace

Specifically in reference to his death, it's notable that within the narrative, while Nettles is described as crying by herself in response to his death, Rhaenyra is hardened by it.

Also, as symbols for legitimacy and legacy, Jace is the reason Nettles is recognised as a dragonseed, and Rhaenyra's line is secured as her first born, but in his absence, Nettles is delegitimised and said to be not a dragonseed. Around that time, Rhaenyra is beginning to be questioned by all the men around her as well, whereas before, Jace was a notable voice in decisions.

7. Dragons in the End.

They both meet their 'end' in the narrative with Dragons. Rhaenyra is killed by her brother's dragon Sunfyre burns and eats her, killing her in front of her son.

Nettles, however, escapes the narrative on dragonback, with the stories that follow explicitly explaining how dragon fire protects her and leads her to become a deity for the burned men.

8. Children

In the narrative, Nettles has no children. Children would explicitly be a burden in her described circumstances as a mouth to feed and someone else to care for. Effectively, children would trap Nettles in a cycle of poverty and inability to experience ethe freedom presented in the narrative.

Rhaenyra is expected to have children to secure her legacy and reign. Children, especially sons, would be her greatest benefit to ensure her ascension to the throne. They are her biggest strategy and losses throughout the war because of that reason.

This dynamic carries out to a head with the death decree for Nettles. The possibility that she would have a child by Daemon is a definitive reason that her 'treason' calls for her head. A child would give her a claimant but also be proof of infidelity by Daemon. It would be a slight to Rhaenyra’s pride and grief as she at this point has lost 4 children during the war.

9. Loyalty of men

This is one of the most interesting for me because the disloyalty of men for Rhaenyra meant the loyalty of men to Nettles. When the Mootons decide not to kill her, they are traitors to Rhaenyra. When Daemon lets her leave, he's a traitor to Rhaenyra. When Corlys stands up for both her and Addam, he's treated like a traitor. Furthermore, the Mootons turn to Aegon’s side directly after because they did not obey her for two reasons, Nettles being accused and sentenced without trial, and Rhaenyra wanting them to break guest right.

Within the narrative, at that point, loyalty to Rhaenyra was a sentence on Nettles' life, and loyalty to Nettles was treason to Rhaenyra.

Conclusion.

In other ways, like the impact of their legacy, the symbols of their identity (dragons), other ways that their narratives with Daemon (the stories) play out and so on juxtapose these women against each other in the narrative. Age and innocence in both a meta and narrative sense also play into Nettles being a foil for Rhaenyra’s character. Personally I think the reason ts written that way is for Nettles to cause a Stark difference in behaviour with men like Daemon and the Mootons as well as to show the contrast of what is expected and what is to be done and what actually happens.

Hope this helps 🩷🤎

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cacti-are-like-flamingos · 1 year ago

Text

Enter Sandman

Gojo Satoru x Reader x Geto Suguru

The Cursed Trio | Lover is a Day

**poor Gojo. what did he do to deserve this hehe

**so sorry for the tardiness, I had a hyperfixation on CoD men and physically couldn't continue until it went away 💀

...

Gojo couldn't pinpoint exactly when he sensed the change, but it was undeniably there. It wasn't a glaring transformation; instead, it manifested subtly through the way you and Suguru interacted. He had always recognized that the two of you were cut from the same cloth, born of the same feather - you could use any analogy, but the essence remained the same.

Even without the benefit of his Six Eyes, Gojo couldn't overlook how close you and Suguru had become. Initially, he didn't mind it, or at least he convinced himself as much. He attempted to brush off the feeling as best as he could, but he couldn't help but notice how you slightly tensed under his touch yet effortlessly melted into Suguru's warmth. He observed it in the way Suguru openly expressed his emotions to you, and how you reciprocated, all while Gojo remained in the dark.

The ironic part is, he couldn't harbor resentment over it. Especially not when both of you made sincere efforts to include him in every aspect.

Whenever you ventured around with Kento and Haibara, you'd return with an assortment of captivating trinkets, gifting them all to Gojo. Each one somehow reminding you of him. Your manner of bestowing these gifts had a certain nonchalance to it, as if the act was more of a hassle. Yet, Gojo could easily discern the genuine satisfaction that flickered in your eyes each time he accepted your offerings with a smile.

(Side Note: His room, once relatively bare within the mansion, had now transformed into an overabundance of these seemingly insignificant items you had collected during your travels. Few were privy to this fact, but he had explicitly instructed the servants not to disturb these items, opting to personally tend to their cleaning whenever the dust settled. However, based on how frequently he handled them, barely a speck of dust managed to find its way onto them.)

Each morning, on his way to Jujutsu High, Suguru would purchase konbini delicacies for Gojo. The bag would be packed with an assortment of ready-to-eat foods, including an egg salad sandwich, three garlic and mayonnaise-laden pork sausage onigiris, a variety of puddings, and a couple of those sparkling water drinks that Gojo was obsessed with.

(Side Note: Suguru, naturally, would purchase some food for you as well. However, just to ruffle your feathers, he'd opt for items you'd never laid your taste buds on before. Since your arrival in Japan, you'd ventured into trying a variety of new cuisines and managed to identify some go-to favorites that you indulged in regularly. Yet, this man had a peculiar penchant for introducing you to peculiar flavors that either awakened your palate or left you traumatized by their taste.)

(Add-On: Not to imply he didn't also buy your beloved comfort foods. Those were discreetly stashed away in his backpack. Given how often he pulled this trick, you usually had to wrestle his backpack off his shoulders just to access your treats. And then, Gojo would swoop in and grab them before you, playfully holding them above your head, taunting and teasing you.)

Either way, Gojo couldn't shake the feeling that something transpired between you and Suguru last week. The exact timing eluded him, but what he does know is that both of you were absent from school for two consecutive days before eventually resurfacing. There were no messages in either group chat, no responses to Gojo's texts—just an absolute wall of silence.

When the duo finally returned, it was almost as if nothing had occurred. They deftly evaded every inquiry with well-practiced nonchalance, much to Gojo's exasperation. And then came the shift in Suguru's and his behavior towards you. Well, if being honest, it wasn't entirely novel. Suguru had always displayed a protective streak when it came to you. Think back to the time Gojo accidentally hurt you during a footsie game beneath the table. If looks could kill, Gojo would've been six feet under by now.

Nevertheless, his protective instincts towards you had become subtly more pronounced. He hovered closely, always a step behind, though it might be attributed to your joint missions together. It appeared the higher-ups had taken pity on you, transitioning you from solo missions to partnered ones.

Throughout the week, the two of you had been dispatched on various missions. Occasionally, when Gojo completed his assignments early (he had been partnered with Kento, and their compatibility was less than stellar; Haibara had been granted a day off due to a mild illness), he would swing by to check in on you and Suguru. And he had to confess, watching the two of you collaborate to vanquish curses was truly a remarkable sight.

So, with your cursed chains, you've got this knack for putting curses in a tight spot, just enough time for Suguru to work his magic and send them packing. But, you know, you two aren't into keeping things simple. Nope, you like to go all out and make curses' lives a little more interesting.

Picture this: you set up traps that are like a spider's web, and the curses are the unlucky bugs that end up stuck right in the middle. The real brilliance? Suguru's the maestro who guides these curses right into your web of chains. It's like teamwork made in heaven.

What Suguru truly values about working with you is your unique ability to alter the core of curses. Your chains aren't limited to subduing; they possess the exceptional capability to absorb and transform. Through this absorption, you wield the power to modify various aspects of curses, turning their own energy against them and granting Suguru an edge in his exorcism efforts

When Suguru takes in curses, he's devouring the darkest fragments of humanity. So, when you saw him extend his hand toward a writhing mass of malevolence, you couldn't help but offer to share the load.

He hesitated, his doubt hanging in the air like a fading whisper. It was almost as if he feared believing in your words, as if hope itself was a fragile thing. Yet, in that unspoken trust you both held, he conceded. So he stood there, silently watching your graceful dance of spiritual chains, invisible to all but the likes of Gojo.

When it was time, you handed it back to him, and he consumed it, slowly, cautiously. It was like witnessing a smile returning to his eyes, a spark reigniting in the depths of his being. The taste was...nothingness. And the pain, the relentless ache he usually carried, dissipated dramatically.

You'll forever hold onto that memory, of his dark green aura lightening, his eyes turning toward you with a glimmer of hope and something deeper, something you dared not name.

Nevertheless, the shift in dynamics among the three of you left Gojo with a bittersweet taste, like the remnants of a fading dream.

He had nurtured a hope, delicate as the petals of a cherry blossom, that the fortress guarding your heart had begun to crumble, revealing the vulnerability he had longed to see mirrored in your eyes.

Yet, like elusive stardust slipping through his fingers, something veiled him from fully breaching the walls surrounding your soul. He wondered in the quiet hours of the night if it was an oversight, a missed note in the melody of your intricate life story.

Memories of that September night hung in the air, suspended like the phases of the moon, each one a query without a response. How had you ventured into the labyrinthine embrace of the Jujutsu world?

It was Ieiri who found herself in the unusual role of comforter—or at least, her unique brand of comfort. If you could even call it that. She had a knack for subtly peppering him with teasing and sly remarks, cleverly diverting his attention from the shift in dynamics. It was her way of dealing with the situation, her way of saying, "I've got your back, even if it means poking fun at you."

Amidst this unspoken tension, their gazes occasionally flicked to catch the fleeting frowns that played on Gojo's lips whenever he observed the interactions between you and Suguru. It was as though they were all tiptoeing around the elephant in the room, leaving Ieiri as the bold soul who chose humor as her weapon of choice in navigating the uncharted waters of this evolving relationship.

(Side Note: Although Kento wasn't particularly fond of Gojo and his often infuriating antics, he couldn't stand to see his...well, let's just call him a "companion," frown. So, from time to time, when Kento was aware that Gojo was in the vicinity, he'd pick up something sweet. He knew Gojo had a soft spot for these treats, so he'd casually toss one in Gojo's direction. Most of the time, it would collide with Gojo's Infinite Void, but occasionally, on those rare moments, the confections would find their way to the back of his head.)

Ieiri had never been one for beating around the bush. So, when the two of you found yourselves once more beneath the weathered embrace of the wooden bridge on campus, stars winking overhead and smoke spiraling around you, she confronted you. Her approach was careful and cautious, an acknowledgment of the gravity that hung in the air.

"Something happened with Suguru, didn't it?" Ieiri inquired, her gaze fixed on the water trickling through her black socks. The nonchalant action struck a dissonant chord within you.

You squinted your eyes, considering briefly the path of feigned ignorance. However, the weight of truth beckoned, and you decided that the burden of falsehood was far too heavy.

With a casual shrug, you admitted, "You could say that."

As she exhaled another plume of smoke, the brunette posed another question, shrouded in the gentle cloak of uncertainty, "And what about me?"

At this, you hesitated, the lines of your brow etched with genuine perplexity.

"I don't follow."

In response to your words, the young teen let out an irritated click of her tongue, a spark of fading fire in her golden-brown eyes. She frowned at her own reflection rippling in the water.

"Of course, you don't."

For a time, the quietude settled between you, punctuated only by the celestial dance of stars above. From your vantage point, nestled beneath the bridge's embrace, you had a perfect view of their shimmering freedom, despite the barrier before you.

They twinkled with a grace foreign to your own world.

"Gojo's sulking."

"I know."

"So, you're ignoring it?"

"...Yeah."

"You're unbelievable, you know that?"

"So, you keep telling me."

Another stretch of silence enveloped you both before you posed a question of your own.

"How exactly... did you find out about the deal?"

Ieiri reached for another stick from the box, drawing closer to you, seeking your assistance in lighting it.

"Overheard it from the Zenin's when Yaga took me over for something."

What?

The atmosphere thickened with tension, a sensation that didn't sit well with the young Shoko. Shifting uncomfortably where she sat, her brunette locks framing her face, she observed you through the rippling reflection in the water.

"Why were you near the Zenin household?" The chill in your voice unsettled her, but she could discern the restraint in your tone, an effort to temper the sharpness.

She offered a nonchalant shrug, attempting to downplay the unease that had settled over the conversation.

"They asked if I could help with a cursed technique gone awry. They didn't divulge many details."

Here we go, mind your words. Ieiri thought.

"What specifically, though?" Ieiri had always placed her trust in you, even after uncovering the layers of your past. Yet, in moments like these, your intensity still sent shivers down her spine, a blend of composure and wrath.

"I...don't know. It's hard to put into words. I mean, I never really saw it clearly — I think it was a person, though. But...it's all so confusing."

In that very moment, it was as if the harmonious symphony of nature — the crickets, the birds, even the whispering wind — had been swallowed by an eerie silence. Even the water, for the briefest of moments, seemed to take on a murky, uncertain hue.

"How come?" Your voice came slowly.

She clicked her tongue, eyes squinting at the ripples, "I swear... it was half-human, half-curse."

Ieiri's revelation hung in the air, a half-human, half-curse entity — a concept so enigmatic it seemed to defy the laws of their world. She had ventured into uncharted territory, and you couldn't resist exhaling a relieved sigh much to her surprise.

"And here, I thought you were going to say something else. Not gonna lie, feels like you're being a bit paranoid, no?"

Perhaps it was the way you suddenly regained your composure that cast doubt upon her words. Your eyes returned to their usual nonchalant demeanor, accompanied by that ever-charming lazy smile she adored so much.

Taking the cigarette from Ieiri's mouth, to her surprise, you allowed the burning end to dance playfully between your fingers, leaving them adorned with soot and a hint of injury.

"I don't think that's possible, Ieiri," you chimed in a sing-song manner. "Though, I must admit, it would be quite the intriguing twist if it were true — as fucked up as that may sound."

It was Ieiri who had to intervene, flicking the burning stick from your fingers, unwilling to witness further harm.

A soft chuckle escaped your lips at her gesture, and your hand reached out for hers. Her skin was smooth, unmarred, in stark contrast to your own. With your thumb, you traced gentle circles upon the back of her hand.

Ieiri found herself almost melting under your touch. It was a rarity, your tactile contact. You allowed a few into your personal sphere — Nanami, Suguru, and Satoru — but even then, physical closeness was a privilege extended sparingly. Ieiri nodded, finding solace in your warmth.

She unveils the box, and with your assistance, a slender stick finds its way into your fingers. You delicately place it upon Ieiri's awaiting lips, a small smile gracing your features as you ignite the tip. Your eyes remain locked onto her warm, brown gaze.

An addiction.

She leans into you, her head resting gently upon your shoulder. Together, you both peer down at the tranquil stream below, while your gaze finds solace in the expanse of the night sky above.

Kindred spirits.

The closest of confidants.

For she is your dearest friend, and you are hers, right?

Right?

Still, a question lingered in the recesses of her thoughts.

Despite the burning desire to give voice to her question, she'd rather keep the peace.

Perhaps, in that moment, it was her silent acquiescence that marked her eventual undoing.

...

(A/N): Nothing in the Jujutsu world is healthy, so don't expect healthy relationships and friendships. Toxicity all the way 😁

Nah, as soon as I saw Idalia heading up to Florida I said nope. Canceled everything. Luckily, I got my concert tickets fully refunded so now I'm a few dollars richer than before. However, for all of my Florida fans, hope you're safe!

Is Ieiri in love with you? That's a good question that I'm willing to explore. (I was in a mood lol)

This is the beginnings of Suguru's and your's unhealthy co-dependency. And I'm not sorry whatsoever.

What Gojo didn't quite grasp was that it wasn't a matter of trust. Instead, it was a deep-seated, almost inexplicable shame that held him back from touching the very edges of your soul.

Your eyes often gravitate towards the night sky, quietly marveling at the stars' freedom, your expression almost content but tinged with a hint of bitterness. It's a testament to your ability to conceal your true feelings.

Conversely, Ieiri's gaze tends to be drawn downward, fixating on the flowing waters below with a solemn demeanor. Witnessing the relentless flow of time as each ripple becomes a reminder of moments slipping away. It's the cruel paradox of her life, forever tied to the present while yearning for the elusive permanence of the past.

The irony lies in their contrasting perspectives, for while you yearn for the freedom of the stars, you remain tethered to your earthly burdens. And Ieiri, who gazes into the depths of time, is paradoxically trapped in the present, unable to escape the relentless flow of existence.

Irony: The act of looking up at the sky has always been viewed as a hopeful action.

Irony: Sitting by a river, holding hands, is an intimate act. Almost romantic. (This is one-sided.)

Some people use pain as a way to ground themselves back in reality. Such as snapping a plastic band on their wrist, pinching themselves, and what-not. But burning yourself is a dangerous and unhealthy method. I only use this is to show your more unhinged side.

The only reason 'Satoru' is used in this episode is because it was written in Ieiri's POV. You have yet to say it yourself.

You are not against gaslighting your friends in order to get what you want. You're not a good person just as you aren't a bad person. You're just a slave to circumstance.

You also know that Ieiri is a fan of physical touch so you use it against her. Confusing her with incredibly intimate actions to distract her.

Just as I was finishing this up, I realized I hadn't turned in an essay that was due the 30th and everyday it's not submitted is 20 points less. Please manifest with me 🥹

Guilt, imprisonment, and something else are your current running theme.

Originally:

I had absolutely no idea what did episode was going to be about.

Initially, this episode was intended to bear the title 'Cirice.' The plan was for it to be chock-full of lore, unveiling some significant, long-held secrets. However, during a call with my bestie, I experienced a breakthrough and made a radical decision to overhaul it entirely. Some of you might have witnessed the chaos I caused with the TCT Masterlist and the TCT Timeline - that was actually me attempting to find the most suitable pacing for everything.

Initially, Suguru was meant to dodge your attempts to retrieve your snacks and dangle them above your head. However, I wanted to incorporate a more trio-based interaction into this scenario.

Ieiri was initially meant for a brief appearance, but fate had other plans.

"...his eyes turning toward you with a glimmer of hope and something deeper, something you dared not name..." The emotion you dared not name is adoration.

"...left Gojo with a bittersweet taste, like the remnants of a fading dream." Is a direct reference to Gojo waking up from his dream. His dream is the Hidden Inventory Arc.

"And what about me?" This is Ieiri's way of asking you if you've not is how your actions impact her personally. When you respond, "I don't follow." You are lying. You do know, you're just ignoring it.

"An addiction..." This line concealed not just her nicotine craving but also her yearning for your undivided attention.

"For she is your dearest friend, and you are hers, right?" It is a direct reference to how Suguru and Gojo are Ieiri's best friends yet she isn't their's.

"...Despite the burning desire to give voice to her question, she'd rather keep the peace..." I'm a firm believer that had Ieiri taken a bit of initiative in creating a more intimate connection with the boys, they might've considered her a best friend. At the very least, a close one.

"...Perhaps, in that moment, it was her silent acquiescence that marked her eventual undoing..." Foreshadowing.

Cursed technique gone wrong? Half-human, half-curse? The fuck?

Also, how the fuck do you know the ZENIN CLAN? Like yeah, you play the game but even then, what exactly is this so-called game?

The question you should be asking yourself, as a reader, is simple --- on which side are you? Are you on the winning side with Gojo and Ieiri? Or are you on the losing side with Suguru, Haibara, and Kento?

And what did you mean by 'Deal'? It's like the second or third time we hear this.

Oh, Halloween's coming!

Drop a comment!

Feel free to donate me a 🦩

Hope you enjoyed!

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