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okay-babe · 2 months

Note

Imagine alastor thinks his wife is just the most perfect, angelic being he’s ever met, so he’s downright shocked to fight out she also ended up in hell going “yeah I killed a man once” (he falls even more in love)

A Good Thing, Indeed

tags: alastor x fem! reader, established relationship, alastor and reader are married, angelic reader, protective/possessive alastor, brief human alastor x human reader, fluff, very mild angst note: I went a little overboard with this one, but I hope you enjoy, anon <3 Find a sequel (of sorts) to this fic, here.

Alastor had never quite understood how someone like him had ended up with a woman like you.

You were soft and understanding, utterly ceaseless in your kindness and love of near anyone who crossed your path, a true saint to be sure.

Alastor on the other hand, had always been quite the opposite.

Where you were soft, your lover was unyielding, where you were understanding, he was impatient, and when it came to the capacity for kindness and love within his heart, many would have gone on record stating that there was much to be desired in that regard.

Yet, even still, you chose him, and he, you.

Every. Single. Time.

It was as if the two of you were meant to be.

The proud and charismatic up and coming host of a brand new radio show, and the modest and soft spoken kindergarten teacher that was ever present upon his arm.

To Alastor, you were everything and more, and whether he was willing to admit it aloud or not, he all but worshiped the very ground that you walked upon.

There was so very little worth caring for in a world like the one that he lived in, and yet there you were, a shining beacon of light and hope to keep him from losing his mind over it all (well, at least in part, though he knew deep down that a portion had been missing since long before you'd made your way into his life).

For all of this, Alastor praised you and your love ceaselessly, his appreciation for your union a vast and endless thing that filled him with a sense of pride stronger than any other he'd felt before.

And how could it not?

You were his wife.

You!

The beautiful kindergarten teacher who worked in the public school just down the street from his broadcasting station, the one with the smile that lit up a room and the laugh that could make a man blush.

The one with the students who sung her praises to their parents during pick up and the coworkers turned friends who would utterly gush about her at even the briefest mention of her name.

You.

The woman that no one believed had gotten New Orleans' most prominent radio host to settle down after only just a year of courting, and whose stunning church wedding had been the talk of the town.

You were perfect, you were lovely, and the sweetest part of it all was that you bore his last name.

And oh, what whiplash that must have caused for those who hadn't known of your courtship earlier on. It nearly sent Alastor into a tizzy just imagining it.

The sweet, adoring woman that your son calls his teacher is also the wife of the ever unreadable and notably cold radio host from just down the street that scarcely any could say they truly knew?

How scandalous! Whatever is a woman like her doing with a man like him?!

Well, the answer, quite honestly, was being doted upon nigh endlessly.

If you wanted for even the smallest of things, it would be yours in an instant, and if you desired even the most useless of luxuries, he would have spared no expense to have it in your hands by the end of the day.

And even beyond that, there was the persistent desire to stay by your side, his presence always guaranteed the very moment you mentioned want for it.

An ice cream social at the school where you'd be meeting your new students and their parents? Alastor was there, conversing politely with a few mothers on the difficulties of parenting (in spite of his notable lack of children), making nearly everyone wonder what the hell a famous radio host was doing at the local elementary school.

Visiting Mimzy at her slightly sleazy little lounge in the shadier side of the city? Alastor was there, dressed to the nines, looking immensely out of place as you danced the night away with your friends (and him of course) to your little heart's content.

His love for you was nearly as endless as yours was for the very world beneath your feet, and in spite of himself he couldn't help but fall deeper and deeper in love at every borderline naive action you took.

You want to buy that man a drink because he looks lonely? Certainly darling, your husband would be happy to scare him off all night as the fool tries to make unwanted advances at you that he thinks are warranted thanks to your kindness.

You want to pick a fight with the burly man whose house is on your walk to work because he's been shouting cruel things at his dog nearly every morning for the past several weeks? Oh of course, just let Alastor prepare to use his most unsettling smile while he reaches for the leather sheathed knife he keeps attached to his belt so he can wordlessly threaten the oaf without you ever even realizing.

And so, knowing all of that and having lived such a love-filled few years at your side, how could Alastor ever have believed he might one day see you again once he came to in Hell shortly after his demise?

The short answer was, he couldn't.

And though he would never have been willing to admit such a thing aloud, it utterly shattered a portion of his heart to know he would never see your sweet smile or hear your perfect laugh ever again.

And to imagine what your reaction may have been once the police had informed you of all that he had done?

Well, he tried his best not to.

Because while he couldn't bring himself to regret those he had killed and the things he had done, he did regret having been left with no choice but to keep such a thing from you and leave you with such a mess upon his death.

Certainly you had deserved better, that much he knew.

But there was absolutely nothing he could do about that now.

Or, at least, that's what he had led himself to believe.

Until one day, he'd been broken out of his typical morning routine of brewing his black coffee and digging into a freshly caught deer by the sound of knocking at his door.

There were very few people who knew of where Alastor lived at this point, with him being multiple years removed from life and having firmly cemented himself within society as a powerful and merciless overlord, so honestly it hadn't come as very much of a surprise when he opened the door and found an old friend waiting rather impatiently on the other side.

Mimzy.

Having arrived in Hell not very long after the radio host, the former flapper, (who he had actually met through you), had become a familiar face throughout the past few years as he'd tried to grow accustomed to life without his darling wife at his side.

It was nice, in a way, to have that reminder of you near when he wished for it to be, and so he allowed the sinner to call him something like a friend and offered her protection when it was convenient enough for him that it didn't prove to be a hassle.

Although, today of all days the overlord was certainly a little less than pleased to see Mimzy's familiar face at his doorstep, and he was reasonably certain that she knew why that was.

It was your former anniversary after all, and today would have been your tenth year of marriage had he only lived long enough to reach such a landmark achievement with you.

A smile, strained and thin, descended upon his lips, and, in spite of his feelings, Alastor remained as cordial as ever, albeit rather cold with his words.

"Mimzy, my dear! How wonderful to see you! Whatever could possibly be so important as to have you at my door on a day like today?"

There was a certain level of threat to his tone that no doubt left the woman standing before him floundering for a few seconds, before finally, she mustered up her reply, her smile ever so slightly less confident than before.

"Alastor, just the fella that I was lookin' for!"

The sinner began, placing her right hand upon her hip as she inspected the condition of the nails on her left,

"Now I know ya like to be left alone and all on days like this, but I've got a surprise for ya back at my place that I promise you're gonna wanna see a-s-a-p."

She said with her typical air of confidence, immediately causing the Radio Demon to roll his eyes in response, his facade of interest slipping ever so slightly before he seemed to catch himself once more, ever the gentleman.

"Oh do you now? Well, as utterly transfixed as I am over this little mystery of yours, I'm afraid that I just don't have the time to stop by today. Lot's of things to prepare for the upcoming broad-"

"Alastor."

Mimzy said sternly, cutting the overlord in question off rather uncharacteristically with a glare of her own.

"I know damn well that you don't got nothin' planned for the day, so don't you start fibbin', mista, I can see right through ya!"

She began, quickly changing the subject when she seemed to recall exactly who she was talking to at the increasing sound of static.

"Look, I didn't come here to argue with ya or nothin', so you do whatever it is that you wanna do. I just wanted to come over and warn ya that if you don't come by for a visit by the end of the day you're gonna feel like a real fool, okay?"

She emphasized her warning with a dramatized raise of her brow before she grinned rather wickedly and stepped down off of his doorstep, wiggling her fingers in a teasing little wave as she climbed into the back of the very same taxi she must have used to get to his dwellings in the first place.

"I'll see ya around dollface!"

She called out as the car pulled away, leaving Alastor with quite a few more questions than he'd had upon her already unplanned arrival.

What a fantastic start to one's day.

By the time that Alastor made the decision to actually stop by Mimzy's lounge, it was already dark outside, the subtle chirping of crickets reminding him briefly of home as he walked toward his destination, ever a fan of the more simplistic methods of transportation.

He thought of the sounds of crickets and all of the moments with you that their seemingly endless chirps had backed until their sounds faded away with the increasing sounds of the busier section of the city, wherein Mimzy's place was located.

Just as sleazy and sketchy as it had been above, so it was below, and Alastor felt a sudden sense of longing and familiarity as he stepped inside, the smell of cigarettes and the sound of ever so slightly out of tune jazz music reminding him of his days of swing dancing with you on the cracked dance floor of the place Mimzy had owned and operated in life.

The Radio Demon had only just begun to contemplate what you might have thought of a place like this one when suddenly, he heard a familiar voice call out his name, and he turned to find the lounge's owner walking quickly toward him, a wide grin that nearly rivaled his own splitting her cheeks.

"Well would you look who it is, Alastor the Radio Demon here in my lil' lounge, what a lucky lady I must be!"

Mimzy teased as she shouted over the obnoxiously loud music, immediately forcing the man in question to hold back another instinctual roll of his eyes.

"Oh, nonsense, I should think that luck has very little to do with it, my dear."

Alastor drawled, dragging his gaze downward to find his friend standing there, all but vibrating upon her feet, clearly excited by something, though he couldn't quite fathom what in Hell it could possibly be.

That is, until he heard another familiar voice pipe up from somewhere behind him, this one far less anticipated than the last, and by a rather significant margin at that.

"Mimzy?"

It called, an edge of stress to it that had the corners of the overlord's smile twitching downward ever so slightly for the briefest of moments.

Alastor watched as the ex flapper standing before him grinned widely in response to his barely noticeable reaction, her eyes shining as she allowed the person speaking to continue with their question.

"Who did you say the whiskey on the rocks was for?"

The lounge's owner hopped up onto a stool beside where she had been standing, gesturing to the space at the bar near where Alastor was still firmly planted, the ears atop his head twitching ever so slightly as they took in the sound of a voice he'd never thought he'd hear again for the very first time since he'd awoken with them camouflaged within his hair.

"Right here, doll. Speakin' of which, why dontcha c'mere and meet one of my regulars, huh?"

She asked as casually as she could manage, gesturing slightly for the still reeling sinner standing beside the bar to take a seat, which, to her surprise, he actually did, eyes seeking out the source of the voice he was hearing as if in utter disbelief.

And then, much to his shock, there you were.

Sure, you looked different as a sinner, but he would recognize you anywhere, and it certainly helped that your beautiful smile was the very same as he remembered it to be whenever he closed his eyes and found you there waiting for him.

Busy with what was likely a fairly large number of orders that your fellow bartender seemed to be doing very little to try and keep up with, you didn't seem to notice him at first, walking quickly toward your old friend with a glass of whiskey in hand, moving to place it down in front of the ever so prominent Radio Demon absentmindedly when suddenly, you froze, your hand still wrapped around the chilled cup.

The two of you stared at one another for several long moments, eyes widened and breaths halting entirely, until finally Mimzy spoke up from Alastor's right, her laughter obnoxious beside his ear, though he could scarcely bring himself to care with his gaze locked so heavily onto yours.

"Happy anniversary, ya lovebirds! Didn't expect that, didja?!"

She all but cackled, causing you to break eye contact with your husband to gawk at your friend.

"Wait a second, you knew he was here the whole time and didn't tell me?!"

You cried, hand flying to your mouth as Alastor began to regard the woman sitting beside him with a hugely threatening glare, the frightfulness of which was only increased by his unyielding grin, which was beginning to appear more and more malicious by the second.

"Woah woah woah, hold your horses!"

Mimzy shouted, waving her hands all about as if in surrender as she looked back and forth between the two of you nervously,

"She only just got down here this mornin' I swear!"

She explained hurriedly to the overlord beside her, causing the man's eye to twitch with effort as he struggled not to tear his old friend limb from limb while her entire bar watched on in horror.

Alastor tapped one clawed finger against the bar in front of him, his sharpened teeth appearing even more threatening than usual at his apparent anger over the situation at hand.

"And you didn't think, my dear,"

He began, his voice low,

"That I may have wanted to know sooner?"

The sound of static overtook the lounge as the sinner's anger increased with each word he said, causing everyone, including those hired to play the live music, to flee out the front door, leaving the trio to their own devices within the confines of the now empty space.

This fact worked extremely well for Alastor, who was only growing more enraged with each passing second as he considered the implication of Mimzy's actions further.

Not only had this woman, someone who had dared call him a friend for so many years, betrayed him by keeping your presence unknown, but she had also clearly employed you at her poor excuse for a lounge, and was now acting as if she had done him a favor by allowing him to be in the presence of the very woman he'd married.

The urge to rip the sinner to shreds with his very own claws was immense, and perhaps he even would have done so had it not been for a gentle hand coming to rest upon his forearm, the weight of it felt even through his shirt and coat.

Immediately, he stiffened, the familiarity of the touch so jarring that his previous thoughts of murder ceased within an instant as he turned his head to face you properly.

There, illuminated by the dim and yellowed lights of the bar, stood his wife, a woman who he had never expected to see again after all that he had done.

What good deed must he have committed in life to deserve such a blessing as this?

Surely there was some kind of mistake and someone would be descending from the heavens to collect you soon, an angel sent to Hell on accident by way of some great failure on Saint Peter's fault.

Your husband stared at you for a few moments, as if afraid you might disappear if he so much as blinked, before finally, you spoke up, your lips curving into a slightly nervous smile.

"Let her explain?"

You asked gently, taking up the very same tone you used to when asking your beloved to make an exception to one of his many strict internalized rules for your benefit.

'Stay home with me?'

'Give him a chance?'

'A slightly less violent solution, perhaps?'

(the latter of which he'd heard more often than he was willing to admit).

And this time, as always, he caved almost immediately, giving a rather stern nod of his head before looking toward Mimzy with an obviously strained smile on his lips.

She didn't have long, that was for sure.

If she wanted to explain, she'd better do so quickly.

And that much must have been clear, because the ex flapper started talking just about as fast as she could manage while still remaining intelligible.

And what a tale she spun, indeed.

With hurried words and a remarkably nervous expression the likes of which neither you nor your husband had ever seen Mimzy wear before, the sinner apologized profusely for not telling either of you sooner, promising that she had only been trying to make it a surprise in celebration of your anniversary.

Apparently, she had vastly overestimated how persuasive she could be, and had assumed (rather incorrectly) that Alastor would be much more urgent in his arrival to her lounge after she'd paid him a visit, meaning she hadn't exactly intended to have kept the two waiting so long for the "grand reveal" of her surprise.

And, slowly but surely, as Mimzy explained her thought process, your confusion and your husband's apparent anger all but melted away, both reactions coming to be replaced with something located somewhere between amusement and exasperation.

How very like your friend it was to meddle in such a manner, after all.

You'd missed this.

(Alastor wished dearly that he could say the same, but having been stuck alone with it for several years, he couldn't quite relate.)

Still, even he had to admit that Mimzy's actions were something far more similar to misguided kindness than intentional ill will.

Though, there was still one issue that was still bothering him...

"Mimzy."

Alastor interrupted the sinner in the middle of her ramble, watching as she immediately shut her mouth and looked up at him, a familiar bout of nervous laughter falling from her lips as she wrung her hands together.

Seeing that she was paying attention, the overlord continued,

"I understand what you were going for with your..." He trailed off for a moment before hearing you pipe up from where you stood on the other side of the bar,

"Efforts."

How amusing, it seemed that even after years of separation, not even death could sever the almost supernatural ability you had to understand what your husband was trying to say before even he truly did.

Alastor nodded,

"Exactly. But that being said, I struggle to understand one thing."

He leaned toward his old friend slightly, watching her eyes widen as he did so, clearly unsure of what was going to happen next.

"Why, pray tell, my dear, is my wife spending her precious time working at your lounge if you had every intention of returning her to me?"

The possessive tone to his voice made you blush, eyes moving to the ground as you awaited Mimzy's response.

She was quick to answer.

"Great question, dollface!"

She laughed nervously,

"I uh, I guess I kinda figured she'd know if she was down here then you would be too, so I wanted to give her a little bit of a distraction... and maybe get some extra help for a few hours in the meantime."

She admitted quietly, though by the time she was finished speaking, Alastor wasn't paying her much mind anymore, his mind now occupied with what he considered to be a far more pressing issue.

Because now that Mimzy mentioned it...

"Dearest,"

He began, immediately catching your attention as he turned to face you fully, allowing you to take in the sight of him and his new "look" for the first time since your arrival.

You would be lying if you said you weren't a fan, as different as it may have been.

"Speaking of 'down here',"

Alastor continued, amusement dancing within his eyes,

"What exactly are you doing in a place like Hell?"

Your gaze moved downward once more at that, and you cleared your throat awkwardly as you tried to find anything else to focus on.

Eventually though, you gave up, and forced yourself to meet your husband's gaze once more.

"I uh, I killed a parent..."

You muttered under your breath, immediately causing Alastor's eyes to widen slightly in surprise, one of his ears twitching slightly atop his head.

"Pardon?"

He asked in utter disbelief, unable to even begin to comprehend what he was hearing.

You, his beautiful and darling wife, had killed a parent of one of the children you taught?

Utterly unbelievable, perish the thought.

You sighed, crossing your arms in a mix of embarrassment and frustration,

"I killed a parent, Al. Lucy and Arnold's father. He was beating on them and their mama something fierce, and I saw the opportunity to put a stop to it one night when walking over to the station after work... He went down the alley between the grocers and the tailor to take a shortcut home or something like that, and I just followed him before I even knew what was really going on..."

You sounded hesitant as you spoke, eyes downcast once more until without a word, your husband pressed his gloved index finger to your chin, raising your gaze to his own once more so you could see the utter awe present there.

He was positively enamored.

"You killed Harry Wells?"

He asked, shock still coloring his tone as he watched you for your reaction.

Slowly, after a few seconds of contemplation, you nodded, cheeks still pink as you did your best to keep from trying to avoid Alastor's heavy gaze.

"I uh, yeah. I did."

The overlord sitting across from you chuckled softly, a sound that slowly grew in volume and exuberance until he was laughing outright, the familiar sound music to your ears even as he sighed and wiped a tear from his eye afterward, something he had done often in life.

He grinned even wider at you than before, the pride in his eyes obvious as he shook his head as if still in disbelief.

"And to think,"

He began, reaching across the counter to grab both of your hands so he could pull you closer, your forearms resting against the bar countertop.

"I hadn't thought it possible to love you any more than I already did."

You laughed at that, pressing your forehead against your husband's with a sigh,

"Well in that case, I suppose it's a good thing that I have all of eternity to prove you wrong, huh?"

Alastor chuckled softly, humming as he took in the sight of you, as if trying to commit each individual detail to memory.

"A good thing, indeed, dear heart."

#alastor x reader #alastor imagine #hazbin x reader #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel x you #alastor x you #hazbin x you #hazbin imagine #hazbin hotel imagine #hazbin hotel #.writes #requests

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cathkaesque · 1 year

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When it comes to understanding migration, this needs to be taken into account: if you are in a rural area in the global south, like Honduras, you have basically no access to social services, medicine, and education. In fact, the funding for those services is actually being cut, as the social security funds have been looted by corrupt politicans appointed by a military coup. Then you have to factor in that you likely have no access to the land, and no access to credit to buy seeds, and have to sell yourself for basically pennies to an agroindustrial giant. The peasants feed the local people; the agroindustries feed the Americans. In Guatamala, there is a neo-corporate fuedalism where you are allowed a patch of land if you are willing to work, unpaid, for coffee plantations which sell their produce to the German company Ritz. If you attempt to settle unoccupied land, a local businessman will claim it is his without any proof, and the police will take his side because the Agrarian Reform Institute, which issues land titles, is controlled by coupists whose main concern is squeezing as much wealth out of the country as possible. Thugs will murder a man and his wife in broad daylight, and the judge will respond by evicting you and your family from the land.

There is nowhere else for you to go but Tegucigalpa, where you can work trying to wash car windows or selling snacks to passing cars for a handful of lempira a day. Or perhaps you could work for a few dollars a day in one of the maquila factories making textiles for the American and European market, which are set up in special economic zones called Charter Cities where the constitution and labour laws do not apply, which can close down and spirit away whenever they like to another country when they are more willing to sell their people for even less. And then you have to factor in the hurricanes that sweep through the country, destroying everything, that the rains no longer come when they used to but when they do they come in flooding torrents. Much of the north of Honduras is currently underwater; most of the banana and coffee plantations have been destroyed.

And then you factor in when you tried to change this via electing a better government in 2006, he was overthrown in 2009; when you tried to get organised and resist the coup, your friends, your loved ones, your trade union leaders and peasant resisters all turned up mysteriously dead while the military and police worked with drug gangs disguised as agribusiness like the Dinant coproration to burn down villages that opposed them. For trying to change things in the way that you were supposed to, through non violently protesting, organising, and voting for something better, you were subjected to a decade of counterrevolutionary terror and violence that the “international community” not only ignored but gave its active approval to. All of the factors listed above have not only been ongoing for the last 10 years, they’ve been intensified, hothoused by the global counterrevolutionary terror that was the response to the 2011 wave of post-financial crisis uprisings and revolutions and accelerating climate apocalypse.

And at the same time, all of this is being done so more of the country can be turned into a massive cash cow for the benefit of foreign corporations and domestic oligarchs. The wealth of your country is siphoned off and flows around the American and European financial system, benefiting them and building a consumer disneyland that looks like paradise compared to your situation. That could, even if you are worked for nothing, give you a few dollars to send home that could build your abuela in the countryside a nice home for her to live out her days. What other option is left for you and your family other than joining the exodus of people heading north, to the countries where the wealth and profits and rewards of your homeland’s suffering are being kept. And after you cross mountains and rivers which freeze you to death and sweep you away, you are faced with a massive border wall of ahte and soldiers on horses which hit you with sticks. You are faced with an immigration detention centre that will chain you to your bed while you give birth and separate you from your baby who will be given away for adoption to a white couple. When you make a charge against the border fence in Melilla, fed up with being kept in shacks with nothing while the Northerners debate what to do about the problem people their greed has forced to move, the Moroccan police will beat 35 of you to death.

And then when you get there to that golden paradise, you end up doing work not dissimilar to the work you were doing back home, working for pennies (though pennies that are valuable enough back home to buy the family that remain the tiniest slice of comfort) for an agroindustrial giant that supplies supermarkets with cheap produce picked by cheaper people. While you work in the fields, a crop duster plane will spray you with paraquat; when support organisations try to raise this with OSHA they will ask for the plane’s number, and when this can’t be provided they will say nothing can be done. In fact, inspectors are ordered to stay away from the plantations on the Texas border. A member of the Border Agricultural Workers Project says she hasn’t seen a normal child born on the border in 20 years, such is the effect of agrichemicals. If you fuck up in the slightest, have any interaction with the state, you will be deported and sent back to square one. There are a 14 million migrants in the US in the same precarious state, effectively without any way of enforcing their rights. My aunt is a Mexican migrant in California. Her son was deported because he got a speeding ticket. It was 15 years before she saw him again, other than through the bars of the border fence, when she finally got her green card.

The situation in Honduras can be repeated for almost any other country. Syria, Venezuela, Iraq, South Sudan, Libya, all the headline countries are countries that have been subjected to a severe counterrevolutionary terror. The processes of dispossession and destruction of peasant economies and communities (primitive accumulation to use the Marxist jargon) have been hothoused over the last decade by war and violence. I just wish that relatively comfortable people in the imperialist countries realised that the “migrant crisis” is the result of policies that their governments forced on others. Violence that their elites made their fortunes off. What a monstrous, barbarous way of life we have.

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kelluinox · 2 months

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Oh are people mad at JKR again and calling out her antisemitism? That's funny. No, it is! It's funny when people suddenly care about antisemitism after these 5 months we've had. It's funny when people who threw a grand ol party on October 7th suddenly care about being antisemitic. It's funny when the people who called the kidnapping and rape and largest massacre of Jewish people since the Holocaust justified resistance... suddenly care about the Holocaust. It's funny to hear their "very angry very loud very righteous outrage against antisemitism" when they have:

1) said and done nothing about the hostages being held by Hamas, among which there is a baby and a 4 yo and women being subjected to sexual torture

2) done nothing to pressure the embarrassment called the Red Cross to pass vital medicine to the hostages and actually do its job

3) have gone full Holocaust denial with their denial of the 7th... despite eagerly sharing videos of Shani Louk and Naama Levy and Noa Argamani and the Nova Festival massacre as it was happening, asking Hamas to film their slaughter horizontally and calling victims "hipsters" as the massacre was actually happening

4) called for the murder and expulsion of half the world's jews from the Levant, labeling them all colonizers despite us being indigenous... which is ironic because they certainly don't seem eager to move their own ass and go back to wherever they came from (looking at you Americans, Canadians, Australians - shut the fuck up you hypocritical bitches)

5) attacked, and harassed, and bullied, and even murdered jews all over the world since the 7th. Jewish students were told to hide in the attic from an angry mob, have been unable to walk to class without verbal or physical attacks, have been unable to mourn the biggest massacre of jews since the Holocaust, have had posters of the kidnapped jews that they put up torn down, have had all their attempts at talks about antisemitism and peace derailed and have even been unable to wear their magen david without harassment. Jewish business have been targeted and defaced. And Paul Kessler and Samantha Woll were murdered. Murdered!

6) refused to listen to jews about antisemitism and have eagerly repeated antisemitic conspiracy theories as old as the middle ages like the gullible bigoted little idiots that they are: Jews control the media by distracting Americans from Gaza by using Spotify Wrapped, the Superbowl, and making a Stop Jewish Hate ad (wow do I 'love' it when Americans make fun of their own intelligence by admitting that they're so easily distracted). Jews poison wells - they poison Palestinian land. Jews steal Christian kids and drink their blood - Jews kidnap blond Palestinian children and steal organs from Palestinian corpses. Jews love killing and are bloodthirsty monsters - Jews intentionally target civilians, have killed 0 terrorists whatsoever, and are rubbing their hands in glee watching mass starvation unfold. Oh, and they also do all this on Ramadan because they're evil like that. Beyond that we also have had: Jewish doctors are not to be trusted - straight out Stalin's doctor's plot. And Zionists are racists - straight out of Imperial Russia's Protocols of the Elders of Zion. Wow, congrats on quoting Imperial Russia and the leader of the Soviet Union, fuckers. Though frankly you don't seem embarrassed about that considering your genocidal intifada posters display the hammer and sickle, do you?

7) have ignored literally everything Hamas has done. From the rape and brutal murders and kidnapping (videos of which they published themselves!). To the tunnels. To the theft of aid. To the execution of civilians following humanitarian corridors to safe zones. To using hospitals to hide weaponry, terrorists and hostages. To forcefully keeping civilians in said hospitals even as they try to evacuate, using them as human shields. To shooting at civilians who try to get some aid before it's stolen. To sending 4 yo children to Israeli soldier camps to assess their preparedness. To keeping weapons beneath a child's bed. To enlisting child soldiers. To programming children with Mein Kampf. To launching rockets from next to kindergartens and across the street from a building belonging to the joke we call the UN. To breaking the November ceasefire 15 minutes in because even an hour without killing jews was too difficult for them to accomplish. To separating families despite the hostage deal being that families will not be separated. To branding the Jewish boys they took hostage (sound familiar to you yet?). To forcing child hostages to watch their October 7 videos and threatening to shoot them if they cry. To raping female hostages. To depriving elderly and chronically ill hostages of life saving medicine. To forcibly converting female hostages. To not releasing the Bibas family despite the deal being that all children be returned. To executing hostages and then lying they died in air strikes despite the cause of death being a bullet. To creating sick games where they publish photos of hostages and dare psychopaths on the internet to guess which are dead and which alive. The list goes on and on and on and you lot stick your fingers in your ears every single time and go "lalala not listening".

8) Have supported the Houthis who literally have "a curse upon the jews" in their slogan

9) Have supported Bin Laden

10) Have supported Iran by supporting its proxy - Hamas.

11) Have shamed Ukrainians for trying to remind them that Russia is still attacking them, and told them that they should support Palestine when... Hamas and the Houthis have literally visited Moscow and Iran are Russia's allies. Good job, guys. Good job.

12) Have done everything to exaggerate what's happening, twist the facts and demonize Israel, all the while portraying it as "criticism". A war is suddenly not bad enough on its own - it has to be a genocide to get people to care. Displacement caused by a war is not bad enough - it has to be ethnic cleansing. Israel is suddenly a fascist Nazi state... despite being democratic and Jewish (where have all the people who laughed at Putin for calling Zelensky a nazi despite Zelensky being a jew gone? I wonder). The war in Gaza has to be the worst conflict on Earth, despite there being ongoing genocides in Sudan and China and the goddamn invasion of Ukraine.

And before any of you antisemitic goyim start furiously typing that it is a genocide and I'm a genocide apologist, please do keep in mind that jews know more about genocide than you ever will. And being a Russian jew I will know more about fascism than you ever will. So do us all a favor, shut up and listen to people more educated on the matter than you.

13) Have tried to define Zionism and Judaism and Jewish history to jews. Thanks for the goysplaining, I guess

14) Have mocked released hostages and their testimonies. Falsely claimed that they were not mistreated and actually written fanfics of them falling in love with the terrorists who murdered their families and kidnapped them

15) Have defaced the statue of Amy Winehouse

16) Have made lists of jews. Oh, sorry, "zionists"

17) Have devolved into race science

And to conclude my post, here are just a few photos of the shit goyim have done since october:

#jews feel free to add more bullshit that the goyim have done that I might've forgotten to mention #i hope this was as scathing and insulting as possible because i am done #i am tired of goyim pretending they care about antisemitism #they don't #and they never did #antisemitism #leftist antisemitism #jumblr

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aphroditelovesu · 3 months

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Hello. Yandere husband Aegon the Conqueror ?

❝ 🔥 — lady l: I love Aegon and I feel that lacks content for him, so I'm doing my part. I hope you like it and forgive me for any mistakes! ❤️

❝tw: obsessive and possessive behavior, mention of death and toxic relationships.

❝🔥pairing: yandere!aegon the conqueror x female!reader.

Even though Aegon already had two wives, he still chose to marry you. People often say he married Visenya out of duty, Rhaenys out of desire, and you out of love. But what few knew was how much in love he was with you.

Aegon the Conqueror dedicated his love to you intensely and silently. Amid the challenges of the newly unified kingdom, your presence was his strength. There was no doubt who his favorite wife was.

Some said you were chosen as his third wife as a way to stake a greater claim on Westeros, still fragile after the Conquest. You were a good choice, you came from a good family and you had honor, which was enough for others, but Aegon was in love, he was obsessed.

He fell in love with you quickly, being enchanted by your manner, your personality and your beauty. There was something about you that attracted him and he knew he couldn't let you go. He wanted you to become his wife and so it was done.

Some expected reservations from his sister-wives, but there were none. Visenya and Rhaenys liked you and supported Aegon's choice. The preparations were made and you quickly married him, becoming his third wife, Queen and the one he loved most.

Life with Aegon brought joys and challenges. His obsession flourished even in difficult times, consolidating a unique partnership between you. The court commented on the happiness that emanated from the king when he was at your side, and the union between you strengthened the bonds of the kingdom.

He was a loving and dutiful husband, Aegon would always make sure that you were happy and satisfied and if there was something that bothered you, you should talk to him without hesitation. Your happiness was the priority for him.

Aegon pampers you without limits, bathing you in gold, jewels and silks, everything worthy of a Queen. Your whims and desires were met immediately. If you just wanted to eat cake for breakfast, for example, you would have cake every day.

Your husband always sought your advice, confident in the wisdom and vision you brought, your opinion was always considered the most important. The complicity between you was evident, and although it aroused envy in some, Aegon would not let them harm you.

You played a vital role as the king's advisor and confidant, contributing to the stability of the kingdom. Aegon, in turn, never failed to express his gratitude and admiration for the woman he chose as his Queen. He adored you completely, from head to toe and would make sure you knew that every night.

Most nights, Aegon spent by your side. He shared a room with you, unusual for Kings, but he wasn't just any King. He loved you more than anything and wanted you to know that. He loved sleeping cuddled with you, your legs tangled together and arms wrapped around you. Aegon feels at peace by your side.

The harmony between you, Visenya, and Rhaenys solidifies the strength of the Triple Crown. The three of you, the Three Queens, work together to overcome political and social challenges, uniting the kingdom under the symbol of the dragon. Your presence, as the beloved Queen, triggers a period of stability and prosperity.

Aegon is extremely overprotective and possessive over you and this only got worse after Rhaenys' death. He knows he would go crazy if something happened to you and he can't allow anything to happen. He's suffocating and will be breathing down your neck for as long as he can and will kill anyone if they cross you, if they cross him.

You are the only person who can truly control him and Aegon will be happy to let you do so. There is no doubt about who holds all the power over him. Aegon would do anything for you, he would kill everyone for you, slaughter anyone for you. Yours and yours alone.

Once Rhaenys died, Aegon's obsession only grew stronger, Visenya's as well. They lost someone important and not all the destruction caused is enough to make up for it, they couldn't lose you too. Aegon cannot lose you. May the gods forbid, but if something were to happen to you... The world will know the true fury of the dragon.

Your love with Aegon not only stood the tests of time but blossomed into a deep connection that inspired songs and legends. In the halls of the Red Keep, where the flames danced, it was clear that your union was more than political; it was a bond intertwined by the most darkest feelings. It was a shame the bards didn't know about his obsession.

Aegon loves you, he truly does, and although he may be consumed by jealousy and anger, he would never lay a finger on you. He respects you too much to humiliate you in such a way. After all, you are his wife and his Queen and his favorite.

#asoiaf x reader #asoiaf #a song of ice and fire #yandere a song of ice and fire #aegon the conqueror x reader #yandere aegon targaryen #yandere Aegon the Conqueror #yandere aegon the conqueror x reader #headcanons #yandere headcanons #yan!husband #yandere husband #x reader #yandere asoiaf #hotd #yandere hotd #yandere house of the dragon #house of the dragon

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mostlysignssomeportents · 9 months

Text

When the app tries to make you robo-scab

When we talk about the abusive nature of gig work, there’s some obvious targets, like algorithmic wage discrimination, where two workers are paid different rates for the same job, in order to trick occasional gig-workers to give up their other sources of income and become entirely dependent on the app:

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

Then there’s the opacity — imagine if your boss refused to tell you how much you’ll get paid for a job until after you’ve completed it, claimed that this was done in order to “protect privacy” — and then threatened anyone who helped you figure out the true wage on offer:

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

Opacity is wage theft’s handmaiden: every gig worker producing content for a social media algorithm is subject to having their reach — and hence their pay — cut based on the unaccountable, inscrutable decisions of a content moderation system:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/12/10/e2e/#the-censors-pen

Making content for an algorithm is like having a boss that docks every paycheck because you broke rules that you are not allowed to know, because if you knew the rules, you’d figure out how to cheat without your boss catching you. Content moderation is the last place where security through obscurity is considered good practice:

https://doctorow.medium.com/como-is-infosec-307f87004563

When workers seize the means of computation, amazing things happen. In Indonesia, gig workers create and trade tuyul apps that let them unilaterally modify the way that their bosses’ systems see them — everything from GPS spoofing to accessibility mods:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/07/08/tuyul-apps/#gojek

So the tech and labor story isn’t wholly grim: there are lots of ways that tech can enhance labor struggles, letting workers collaborate and coordinate. Without digital systems, we wouldn’t have the Hot Strike Summer:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/12/02/not-what-it-does/#who-it-does-it-to

As the historic writer/actor strike shows us, the resurgent labor movement and the senescent forces of crapulent capitalism are locked in a death-struggle over not just what digital tools do, but who they do it for and who they do it to:

https://locusmag.com/2022/01/cory-doctorow-science-fiction-is-a-luddite-literature/

When it comes to the epic fight over who technology acts for and against, we need a diversity of tactics, backstopped by tech operated by and for its users — and by laws that protect workers and the public. That dynamic is in sharp focus in UNITE Here Local 11’s strike against Orange County’s Laguna Cliffs Marriott Resort & Spa.

The UNITE Here strike turns on the usual issues like a living wage (hotel staff are paid so little they have to rent rooming-house beds by the shift, paying for the right to sleep in a room for a few hours at a time, without any permanent accommodation). They’re also seeking health-care and pensions, so they can be healthy at work and retire after long service. Finally, they’re seeking their employer’s support for LA’s Responsible Hotels Ordinance, which would levy a tax on hotel rooms to help pay for hotel workers’ housing costs (a hotel worker who can’t afford a bed is the equivalent of a fast food worker who has to apply for food stamps):

https://www.unitehere11.org/responsible-hotels-ordinance/

But the Marriott — which is owned by the University of California and managed by Aimbridge Hospitality — has refused to bargain, walking out negotiations.

But the employer didn’t walk out over wages, benefits or support for a housing subsidy. They walked out when workers demanded that the scabs that the company was trying to hire to break the strike be given full time, union jobs.

These aren’t just any scabs, either. They’re predominantly Black workers who rely on the $700m Instawork app for gigs. These workers are being dispatched to cross the picket line without any warning that they’re being contracted as strikebreakers. When workers refuse the cross the picket and join the strike, Instawork cancels all their shifts and permanently blocks them from new jobs.

This is a new, technologically supercharged form of illegal strikebreaking. It’s one thing for a single boss to punish a worker who refuses to scab, but Instawork acts as a plausible-deniability filter for all the major employers in the region. Like the landlord apps that allow landlords to illegally fix rents by coordinating hikes, Instawork lets bosses illegally collude to rig wages by coordinating a blocklist of workers who refuse to scab:

https://arstechnica.com/tech-policy/2022/10/company-that-makes-rent-setting-software-for-landlords-sued-for-collusion/?comments=1

The racial dimension is really important here: the Marriott has a longstanding de facto policy of refusing to hire Black workers, and whenever they are confronted with this, they insist that there are no qualified Black workers in the labor pool. But as soon as the predominantly Latino workforce struck, Marriott discovered a vast Black workforce that it could coerce into scabbing, in collusion with Instawork.

Now, all of this isn’t just sleazy, it’s illegal, a violation of Section 7 of the NLRB Act. Historically, that wouldn’t have mattered, because a string of presidents, R and D, have appointed useless do-nothing ghouls to run the NLRB. But the Biden admin, pushed by the party’s left wing, made a string of historic, excellent appointments, including NLRB General Counsel Jennifer Abruzzo, who has set her sights on punishing gig work companies for flouting labor law:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/01/10/see-you-in-the-funny-papers/#bidens-legacy

UNITE HERE 11 has brought a case to the NLRB, charging the Instawork, the UC system, Marriott, and Aimbridge with violating labor law by blackmailing gig workers into crossing the picket line. The union is also asking the NLRB to punish the companies for failing to protect workers from violent retaliation from the wealthy hotel guests who have punched them and screamed epithets at them. The hotel has refused to identify these thug guests so that the workers they assaulted can swear out complaints against them.

Writing about the strike for Jacobin, Alex N Press tells the story of Thomas Bradley, a Black worker who was struck off all Instawork shifts for refusing to cross the picket line and joining it instead:

https://jacobin.com/2023/07/southern-california-hotel-workers-strike-automated-management-unite-here

Bradley’s case is exhibit A in the UNITE HERE 11 case before the NLRB. He has a degree in culinary arts, but racial discrimination in the industry has kept him stuck in gig and temp jobs ever since he graduated, nearly a quarter century ago. Bradley lived out of his car, but that was repossessed while he slept in a hotel room that UNITE HERE 11 fundraised for him, leaving him homeless and bereft of all his worldly possessions.

With UNITE HERE 11’s help, Bradley’s secured a job at the downtown LA Westin Bonaventure Hotel & Suites, a hotel that has bargained with the workers. Bradley is using his newfound secure position to campaign among other Instawork workers to convince them not to cross picket lines. In these group chats, Jacobin saw workers worrying “that joining the strike would jeopardize their standing on the app.”

Today (July 30) at 1530h, I’m appearing on a panel at Midsummer Scream in Long Beach, CA, to discuss the wonderful, award-winning “Ghost Post” Haunted Mansion project I worked on for Disney Imagineering.

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

https://pluralistic.net/2023/07/30/computer-says-scab/#instawork

[Image ID: An old photo of strikers before a struck factory, with tear-gas plumes rising above them. The image has been modified to add a Marriott sign to the factory, and the menacing red eye of HAL9000 from Stanley Kubrick's '2001: A Space Odyssey' to the sky over the factory. The workers have been colorized to a yellow-green shade and the factory has been colorized to a sepia tone.]

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

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

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missglaskin · 2 years

Text

Meant to be mine

Excuse me for the horrible smut

Tags: Soft dark!Jace OC, mentions & descriptions of parent abuse, character death (poison), childhood to lovers. EXPLICIT: Titty sucking, breeding kink (if you squint), creampie, tummy bulge (mention) Jace really taking after his parents

The dragon runs in his blood. Jace won't give you up for anything, even if your hands belong to another.

To marry well. A constant reminder of your obligations as a lady. Prepare to be disappointed. It's rare for love to blossom in such unions. Marriage is a trade more than anything-whether it's for a shipping fleet or an ally. How foolish of you to think your fate would differ from any lady.

How you've dreamed of having your 'protected' cloak placed around your shoulder to be the sigil of a three-headed dragon. Anticipating facing the man you've known for years. Instead, your 'protected' cloak's sigil is one of a golden lion and your wedding vows are exchanged with another.

Before the feast could begin, the doors opened, and everyone turned. Seeing the royal family ascend made your breath catch in your throat. They weren't invited. You were certain otherwise their upcoming presence would have been the talk around. Casting a quick glance over your shoulder, seeing your father's enraged face. Jakob Lannister, your newly husband, looked stunned.

Arriving with her husband Daemon by her side, Rhaenyra appears to be as gorgeous as ever. The rest of her children follow after. Your gaze is drawn to Prince Jacaerys.

Rhaenyra greets your father first, complimenting him on how lovely the wedding seems. She raises the corner of her mouth to smile, but her eyes remain cold. Her eyes warm when she turns to face you. “My dear Y/N.”

Her hand reaches for your necklace-an embroidered lion. "You look as beautiful as ever-we were so excited to have you in the family," she says as her eyes catch your father's. "But alas, I am sure Jakob Lannister is one lucky man to have such a lovely bride."

You mutter your thanks to her as she gives you a gentle kiss on the cheek. Leaving your side, her family follows her. Jace follows. His hand brushed against yours. Your eyes never leave him until your father grabs hold of your shoulder. Your father's hold grows tighter, reminding you of your position. Your duty.

The family had no seat as no one anticipated their arrival, still the servants rushed to grab seats for them. The other lords and ladies glare at the family when they choose the table closest to yours.

You and your husband are sitting next to one another. And you repress the urge to look over at the table. The ominous presence of your father serves as a reminder of the consequences if you dared to look.

When the two approach your table, you try to conceal your surprise. It's Daemon and Jace. For some time, Jace and you just stare at each other in silence. Daemon nudges him to reality. "I'm happy for the two of you," Jace finally speaks with a smile that stops short of reaching his eye.

“May your marriage be long and fruitful,” he says with almost clenched teeth. Your husband thanks him, oblivious to the tone of voice. With his hands behind his back, Daemon amusedly watches everything that was happening.

Jace looks in your direction and says, "I hope you don't mind, but I'd like to take your 'newdly' wife for a dance." Jakob nods. You wonder how gullible a man can be. Standing up and crossing over the table to accept Jace's hand.

You hiss at him, "What are you going?" as the two of you descend the hall's steps, but he feigns innocence, "I have no clue on what you're speaking of." You join the other dancing lord and ladies. "Don't play me the fool, Jace," but when you feel your hand on his waist, your words are caught in your throat. The jerk knows what his touch does to you.

"I'm a married woman now," you continue in a firm tone. Try to have him take this matter seriously. Yet Jace keeps looking at you with the same burning gaze. Stop looking at me like that. You wanted to tell him. Or else you'll crumble.

His face is much closer to yours than it should be, and his hands are placed much more intimately than they should be. Your gaze turns to your father, who appears indignant over what he is witnessing. It shifts to your newly husband, who is speaking with Daemon, who has now moved to his side where your seat once was. Daemon seems to congratulate him? Is this the same man you've met before.

'Focus on me, not them,' a hand reaches for your cheek, nudging you to look at him. With his breath nearing your lips, you try to warn him, "Jace.". Eyes widening. He wouldn't do it, would he? Certainly not in front of all those people.

He whispers, "You were meant to be mine, my wife, my sweet wife," one inch closer and his lips will touch yours. Everyone is too absorbed in their dancing, in their drinks, in their conversations to notice the intimate moment between the two of you. He was going to do it. In front of all those people. And the worst thing of it all. You won't try to stop him.

Then your father's voice booms across the court, signaling the start of the play. It was far too early; you frown. But you understood why your father had done it. The crowd starts to scatter, and it took some resistance to escape Jace's tight grip before anyone had the chance to focus on the two of you.

Upon seeing your father's rage, you hurriedly got back with your husband after tremblingly climbing the few steps. The play opens with a man who can allegedly spit fire and swallow a sword. The stunned crowd gasps, but your expression remains the same; unable to concentrate.

As per usual, your husband continues to be unaware of everything, too occupied with drinking his wine. Then it happens. Your husband starts to choke, but everyone is too preoccupied with watching the play to notice. Patting his back and trying to give him more wine, assuming he must have choked on his food.

The coughing, however, only gets worse, and soon he is spitting out the wine. Few around him begin to turn. Your husband is bending over, grasping the table. His cough grew louder and more started to notice.

He stands shakily, revealing his face. You couldn't help but shriek at the sight and now everyone's attention is on you both. His face is fully red now, and some sounds are heard, but he's unable to speak. Unable to breathe. He stumbles, knocking a few things off the table. Then he drops to the ground.

You hear Daemon shout, "Someone help him, you fools," and when guards and members of his family run to help him, you are shoved aside. Covering your mouth at the graphic and horrifying sight of Jakob trembling on the floor, grabbing at his throat, gagging, all the while trying to gasp for air.

An arm reaches out to you, leaning you on their chest to avoid looking at the scene. Having been in his arms so often, you recognize it to be Jace. Looking up at him-you see his gaze at the sight. A blank expression on his face. No shock. No worries.

Then you hear the cries of grief—Jakob is dead. All claim to be poisoned. Many cooks and servants have been interrogated, and some hanged. Jakob Lannister had few enemies, leaving the one who caused this to remain a mystery.

What a cruel joke the gods played on you—to marry and be a widow on the same day. You can see the pitiful looks of everyone in attendance at his funeral. And hear the murmurs when you turn away from them. The word "curse" said more than once.

The royal family was present at the funeral, as they were at the wedding. Jace is leaning against the wall with his eyes on you. He is near his great-uncle, or should you say, stepfather. Prior to your arrival, the two appeared to be speaking. Rhaenyra steps toward you, hugging and telling you what a tragedy it is, that if you need any help, Dragonstone will welcome you at any time.

As time passed, you grew tired of having everyone's sight on you. So you leave, descending the stairs. No one stops you. No one questions where you’re going. As you make your way outside a little further, you are now walking alongside the beach, feet near the water. Holding onto your shawl as the wind blows.

A touch is felt on your shoulder causing you to jump only to relax when turning to see seeing its Jace. There is a brief silence as the two of you stare; the longing in his eyes is still there. "You grieve for him?" he asks. In regards to the black cloth covering your shoulders. You shake your head.

"It's custom, Jace," you say, as if it were the most obvious thing. "There's no need for that with me," tugging on your shawl, letting the wind carry it. It falls into the water and is soon lost in the depths as the waves move it back and forth.

"Jace!" You reprimand him, already annoyed at him for that show he put on at your wedding. In the early morning, before the funeral, your father screamed at you for it. Many assumed your teary eyes were you mourning.

He grabs you as you try to move away. "You're terrified of him." He knows it's your father who opposed the marriage. Your father was a good friend of Lord Hightower, and you often heard his disdain for Rhaenyra. In some instances, you heard him even refer to Jace as "prince strong."

Despite knowing in your heart that you would have married Jace the moment he got down on one knee, you argue that it’s not just about father." Then what is it, he asks. "Jace, marrying you means one day becoming the queen," you tell him, hoping he understands. But the only response you got was an “And?”

Your father's words are now echoing in your head and you utter them word by word to Jace. How he deserved someone far more worthy, more strong-willed, more powerful. You were neither of those.

But Jace only shushes your words, holding your face in his hands. He speaks praises of you. How he believes you’ll make a good queen. You find it hard to believe. Then he says, "You're perfect," and it's difficult to accuse him of lying given the way he's looking at you.

He gazes at you with so much love, and before you know it. He kisses you. Oh, how you missed his lips, reaching your hands to the nape of his neck, returning his kiss with eagerness. This was wrong. But could you bring yourself to care when feeling his hands roam your body.

His lips leave yours soft and swollen. Grabbing your hands, kissing both of your knuckles. Then placing them on his chest, "It's beating for you," he says, "Only you." You found yourself inching near him, closing your eyes when your head lay against his chest.

You love Jace, truly love him. You love the smile he gives you when you enter the room. The way he surprises you with your favorite flowers. The way he pulls the seat out for you. The way he listens to all your rambles. The way he dries your tears. Would you have ever gotten that from Jakob or any other lord your father tries to marry you off.

On the other hand, you truly despise your father. Never understood and made an effort to learn the language of girls. So badly he wanted a son. Still, you thought you'd make him proud, being the ideal daughter, always obedient and polite.

So when you ask your father one thing-just one thing. To marry the prince and your father threw the offer in your face. Now you can rest easy, not caring about his disappointment any longer.

"Marry me." You finally utter the words. Whispered so low, but you could tell he heard them from his hands slightly tightening their grip on your sides. Opening your eyes to face him, "Take me to Dragonstone, make me your wife, Jacaerys." And now it’s you who leans in, grazing your lips over his while gently yet firmly holding his cheeks.

Jace returns your kiss intensely, desperately moving his mouth into yours; pouring his entire soul into it. His hands are back to exploring your body, holding you to him as humanly possible. A desire runs from your heart to your inner thighs.

He pulls away and you try to reach for his lips again, but he steps back. You're slightly perplexed when he starts to remove his cloak. Moving further away from the waves, he lays the cloak on the sand.

And the realization suddenly dawns on you. Here? Now? Even with the possibility of someone finding you. You cast your eyes over the distance where the funeral is still taking place. Still, you take Jace’s hand. Fuck it, you thought.

Laying your back on the cloak as he climbs on top of you. Feeling his nose nudging yours, you couldn’t help but smile and he returns it, kissing your nose. You tilt your head to allow your lips to meet again.

Then you sensed his hand reaching for the back of your dress as his fingers roughly pulled the strings holding it together. Your dress descends, revealing your shoulders to the prince. He presses a soft kiss to the skin exposed as he pulls the dress down further, barring your chest.

Your nipples harden when exposed to the cold air. Biting your lower lip at the way his eyes leer over them. No matter how many times he has seen them, he’s always entranced. With eyes closed, he takes one of your nipples in his mouth, tongue darting out to wet the bud before sucking lightly. Gods, sometimes Jace Imagines what your breasts would look like if your belly was round with his child.

You ponder what the people of the realm would think if their future king was ever found sleeping with a widow whose husband's funeral was only a short distance away. Discovered on top of her, his mouth on her chest.

He closes his lips around your nipple as you exhale a low moan and tilt your head back. You’ve always been so sensitive to his touch as he was to yours. Low moans also slip out of his mouth, seeming to enjoy the act. Possibly even more than you did. Jace would be content to die buried between your legs or with his face between your cleavage. Either way, it’s heaven to him.

Pulling away, his lips graze yours, clumsily reaching his hands down to untie his trousers. Hearing him curse while struggling to loosen the tight laces makes you chuckle. Reaching to help him, an embarrassed thank you is said under his breath.

Briefly sitting on his knees to pull the trousers to his knees; cock already hard. He pulls your dress up all the way to your hip, exposing your cunt to him. As he reaches down to take hold of the top of his head, slowly pushing it inward an inch at a time, his body rests on yours once more.

Synced moans escape the two of you as his cock slides fully into you. All while, Jace presses tender kisses all over your face. His thrusts are slow, trying to get you to adjust his size. Jace grunts aloud as your walls tighten around him.

You give thanks to the gods that the two of you are far away. You see him biting his lip to contain his loud moans. Still, they can be heard throughout the chilly air. His mind goes numb the moment his cock is buried deep inside of you.

There are all sorts of words said by him; declarations of love, but all come out slurred as if he's in a drunken haze. His face is buried in the crook of your neck. Thrusting his body, his heavy moans are heard feeling his cock surge through your hole.

His thrusts are becoming sloppy. He's close. His finger moves down, circling your clit, wanting you to feel the same euphoria alongside him. His cock is deep enough, you can feel the head touching your cervix.

His lip begins to bleed between his teeth. He’s close. Yet he’s holding himself back, twitching inside of you. He wants you to reach your high first. Then when he feels your walls squirming. How fucking tight you’re. Louder whimpers coming from you. He knows you’re close, too. His fingers fasten in their movements against your clit.

An almost scream erupts from you as you reach your orgasm, eyes rolling back. Removing his wet fingers, leaving your cunt to your hips. Not even moments later, Jace came. Harshly digging his fingers into your hips, you were certain any harder and it would start to bruise.

His lips parted in almost broken sobs, chanting your name as though it were a martyr. He releases a spurt of cum, stuffing your cunt to the brim. A few more thrusts and Jace's body collapses on top of yours. Both bodies drenched in sweat even in the chilly air.

The only sounds that can be heard are Jace's chest heaving and distant wave sounds. The side of his head is resting against your chest as you run a hand through his hair. I love you. He kept saying it almost as if it were a mantra until he became too exhausted to speak. For some time, the two of you remain in this position, soaking up the silence.

When it's time for you to leave, your thighs are trembling, sticky with dried cum. The two of you try your best to present yourselves as neatly and cleanly as you can. Your hands are intertwined with Jace's as the two of you approach Daemon and Rhaenyra.

The two knew everything they needed to know from both of your swollen lips, Jace's messy hair, and the sand stuck to some of the clothes and skin. As Rhaenyra beams a friendly smile your way, Daemon muses, "I can assume she accepted the proposal." Jace catches your confused look. Were they all on this.

When it's time for the family to depart, you climb up atop Vermax while Jace holds you fast as the dragon soars overhead. You can just imagine your father's fury, his screams of rage, and the furniture he'll probably destroy in his way. You pity the messenger who has to inform your father about the wedding.

As you soar through the air, you ignore all of your thoughts when you feel the prince's chin rest on your shoulder. With the sun behind you, the wind blowing in your faces. Jace presses his lips to yours as you turn to face him and you part ways while smiling.

After this, Jace is truly in debt to his stepfather.

#jacaerys velaryon x reader #hotd x reader #yandere hotd #hotd smut #yandere house of the dragon #house of the dragon x reader #house of the dragon smut #yandere x reader #yandere smut #smut #yandere headcanons #headcanons #dark!jacaerys velaryon #x reader #reader insert #yandere asoiaf #asoiaf x reader

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moonlightazriel · 2 months

Text

Chapter 1: Falling through the stars /// Azriel X F!Reader

Summary: When the four forces of nature are used at the same time in different places, their power resonates through the universe, connecting all of them together

Word Count: 3,1K

Warnings: Mentions of war, injuries and blood.

Notes: Welcome to the first official chapter of this weird crossover that came up in my mind, obviously this contains spoilers of both acotar and throne of glass, maybe a little crescent city spoilers but who cares? hehheheh

Main Masterlist

Worlds Apart Masterlist

Too much blood, so much that the metallic scent was making Nesta’s head spin. She watched the eerily silent baby in Morrigan’s arms, Rhysand’s pale face as he grasped his mate’s body. The silent plea in those violet eyes for someone to do something, anything to bring them back to him.

All the wasted chances of apologising for years of abandonment, for letting her fourteen year old sister wander scared and alone in those cold woods, for letting her be taken to this world the first time, for allowing her back and for all the resentment Nesta felt towards herself crossed her mind. She never told Feyre how proud she was for everything she had become. A warrior, a High Lady, a mother.

With a last glance towards the nephew she wanted to hold, the one she wanted to tell stories, the one she wanted to see grow and become a great leader just like his parents. The baby who had so much to live for, the baby who just needed a chance of a better life.

It was for them and for them only that Nesta invoked that ancient power, prickling against her fingertips as she held the harp, the other two troves cold against her face and heavy against her head. And it was for them that she used them, no fear consuming her body, just the wish of saving her sister. And with that, Nesta stopped the time.

⋆˙⟡☾𖤓☽ ⟡˙⋆

The universe felt as that wave of power crashed against the horn, and the other three troves sang in answer to that powerful call. A profane melody resonating throughout the stars, enveloping different worlds with its song. The females didn’t know what they had done, two strangers using the four items in unison, their power echoing, ripping the folds of space and time open.

The gaps started to form, growing in places long forgotten, lands no one has ever heard about, all of them connected by the troves. Alluring and calling like a siren song, the most curious beings crossed it, falling in between the worlds, just small glimpses of the vastitude of the universe they never dared to study about.

And it was through one of these gaps, staining the night sky of the Witch Kingdom in a bright light, that Y/N Blackbeak and Meraxes, her black wyvern fell. The winds roared, like an agonising screech trying to stop her, like they knew something she didn’t. Like they knew she would never return home.

⋆˙⟡☾𖤓☽ ⟡˙⋆

When she woke up that morning, rubbing her eyes and jumping out of the bed to start her day, she had no idea what was about to happen. After the war and all the centuries of damage in their home, the witches, both Ironteeth and Crochans working together, had a lot to do.

Everyday she would force her body out of the bed, keep going on autopilot ever since everything she loved was ripped away from her. She tried hard to keep going, like Asterin would’ve wanted her to, be there for Manon, like Asterin would. But Asterin wasn’t there anymore, she would never return with that grin of hers, never see the progress they made and the union of her people. Asterin was gone and she was left behind to try to mend her broken heart.

She blinked the tears away, resting her forehead against the cold tiles of her bathroom, the hot water making the skin of her back turn red. The burning sensation grounding her when the memories flooded her mind like a river. The sadness in her heart was an unwanted guest.

Asterin flew by her, a smirk on her face as her yellow eyes landed on her younger sister, Y/N atop Meraxes felt, deep within the heart that she didn’t even know she had. She looked in horror as the Thirteen aimed for the witch tower, their wyverns clearing the way for Asterin, she jumped from Narene, landing in the middle of the tower.

Y/N couldn’t see, but she tried to reach for her sister, reach for the only person that ever loved her, reach for that sisterly bond that lied within her soul ever since Asterin chose to keep Y/N under her wing, to train her and teach her what her duty was. Asterin, who despite everything they have been taught, chose to love Y/N like she was family.

Meraxes was tired, tired of fighting and flying, but she forced him to go to the Tower, to save Asterin. But she was too slow and too late, the light coming from the tower wasn’t dark, it was the purest shade of white, so bright that her vision got blurry, the impact sending her and the wyvern flying backwards, with such force that they hit the ground with a loud thud. Where the tower and the Thirteen once were, nothing stood.

Y/N wiped the blue blood that streamed above her eyes, a loud roar forming in the back of her throat, rumbling through her bones, she threw her head up, her lips parting as she roared to the skies, Meraxes roaring with her. Crying it was a weakness, witches didn’t cry, but Y/N braced herself, ignoring her arm bending in a wrong angle, the pain in her sliced face, thanks to a Yellowlegs that jumped on her and tried to slash her face open.

And she cried, cried and cried on that battlefield, cried as she got back on her feet, cried as she ripped a part of her riding leathers, wrapping her broken arm tightly against her body, branding her sword and marching towards the battle again. She would be strong, Asterin wouldn’t want her to give up. She would fight to protect what Asterin believed. She would fight for a better world, and die for it if she had to.

She fought until exhaustion, her body collapsing on the dirty ground. Claws caged her, lifting her from the ground, she gritted her teeth as pure agony flashed from her arm, her face was completely numb at this point and she fought to keep her eyes open. She blacked out when Meraxes reached the walls that kept Orynth intact, his claws letting her go, her body hitting the floor and rolling to the side.

Hafiza found her, ordering that other healers carry her bruised body inside. But her wounds were deeper than the ones marking her skin.

She allowed her tears to fall, mixing with the water, where no one could see her. An hour later she was wearing her riding gear, the red cloak hanging from her neck, part of the official uniform they had to use, to symbolise the union.

The witches watched her as she walked towards the Queen’s council room, as her wingleader and responsible for the remaining wyverns, she was always present in the morning meetings. As everything the Valg made was destroyed after Erawan died, they wondered how the wyverns belonging to the witches that decided to fight for Aelin Galathynius still remained, concluding that they were tied to this land by the bonds shared between them and their riders, not by the Valgs anymore.

“Good Morning.” Manon Blackbeak greeted, her commanders just nodded their heads in greetens to their queen. “How are the wyverns in the Ferian Gap?” The heads of the witches present turned to her, she held her head high at the sight of the eyes lingering in her scar.

“They’re being trained, I shall fly there today to see their progress, but I'm sure that soon they will be big enough to bond witches.” The queen nodded, her red lips smiling warmly at her, Manon was trying hard to be the best version of herself, the one her Thirteen believed she was before they sacrificed themselves for her.

“I’ll go with you. I want to see them too.” And Y/N wondered if that sudden interest of going too wasn’t because it was weeks since she saw a certain handsome King in Adarlan.

“Yes, my queen.” She dipped her chin in a silent bow of her head. Turning her mind off as the meeting kept going. Playing with her claws, scraping slowly the surface of the table, watching as faint lines marked into the wood. The morning meetings were boring as fuck.

⋆˙⟡☾𖤓☽ ⟡˙⋆

“Good boy.” She scratched the wyvern’s chin, the animal shaking its tail like he was just a very big dog. No wonder Meraxes and Abraxos were really good friends, they were two gigantic puppies, with mortal claws and teeth, just like her.

“You want to place a bet that these two will wait for us in a flower field?” Manon asked, the two females walked towards the entry of Ferian a few hours later. Y/N laughed, the skin of her scar pulling a bit as she did so.

“It’s not even something debatable anymore, those flowers sniffling addicts.” Manon smiled.

“You remind me of her.” The white haired witch blurted and Y/N came to a stop.

“We do not even look alike.” She tried to joke, with shoulder length light brown hair, dark blue eyes and the slightly more tanned skin, she couldn’t be any more different from Asterin, but she knew what Manon meant and she didn’t wanted to think about it, even if the witch just felt the need to speak it outloud.

“You could be twins.” She joked, but her expression turned to a serious one very quickly. “You have the heart just as good as hers was, and that’s where you two are equals to me.” She didn’t answer, the tears too heavy to carry. Manon didn’t demand a response when Y/N stopped, leaving the younger witch alone for a bit.

The Ferian Gap was as it usually was, damp and smelling like wyvern shit. The animals roared and flew around in the pit. Witches trained them and fed them. Not a single one chained, all of them free to go but they chose to stay. The younglings were still learning how to fly while the elders tried to teach them how, it was honestly really cute. She was leaning against a wall, Manon’s words still replaying themselves in her head, when a different scent filled her nostrils.

“Aelin’s delivery boy, what a pleasure to see you again.” She spoke, not even turning back to know that Fenrys Moonbeam was walking behind her, he let out a low chuckle.

“And here I was thinking I was an ambassador.” He stopped by her side. Eying the witch up and down, recognizing the grief lacing her features.

“Just a fancy name, I like to call it what it really is, delivery boy.” She snickered and Fenrys rolled his eyes.

“I hate you.” He nudged her with his elbow, his braid moving behind his back as he did it.

“Yeah yeah, mean witch and shit, I know that.” The male chuckled and she turned face to face with him. “What do you need?” After the war, she and Fenrys had grown really close, working together as Ambassadors for both of their queens. Wingleader her ass, Manon used her to gather resources and talk to important people.

“Actually, Aelin sent me here cuz she apparently has a very important meeting with the ladies of her court.” She knew what this meant, it was Aelin’s way to gather her friends and make sure they were alive.

“Am I invited this time?” She joked.

“Unfortunately no, but can I invite you for some beers?” He was the closest friend she had now.

“I would love to. Are you free to have one in the Witch Kingdom?” The male nodded.

“Just need to do my job real quick.”

⋆˙⟡☾𖤓☽ ⟡˙⋆

Fenrys held her waist, she could feel his shaking body against her back, caging her between him and the saddle. She smirked as she turned slightly to him.

“Can’t I go by foot?” He asked and she giggled.

“Too far away. You’re stuck with us, Meraxes will behave.” She promised and Fenrys nodded. She could feel his tense body during the three hour flight, the male squeezed his eyes shut, if that’s what Rowan had to deal with in his animal form, he was glad to be stuck as a wolf. Being that far away from the ground was a big no for him.

The wyvern landed, and Fenrys more than happily slid down his leg, grounding himself and thanking the Gods he was still alive.

“Are you alright?” She sounded genuinely concerned, but when he turned to her, he saw that smirk. “A certain Lord of Perranth would love to know about this.” Fenrys pretended to be hurt.

“You wouldn’t dare.” He started to follow her towards the tavern.

“Someone has to help that poor dude, with you and your queen constantly mocking him.” Fenrys held the door open for her, following her to a more secluded table.

“He deserves it.” He defended himself. “The usual?” The witch nodded, and he went to the counter ordering their drinks.

“How are you?” She asked, and Fenrys watched as a trickle of blood ran down her chin.

“I’m better, really.” He sighed. “How are you?”

“I’ve seen better days.” She joked, downing the goblet of blood in one go. “But I will be fine.” And for her sake, Fenrys hoped that she was right.

“I don’t know how you do that.” He changed the subject and the witch raised an eyebrow, the scar going up too with the move. “The blood, I mean.” He scrunched his nose.

“Don’t knock it until you try it.” She raised the goblet in his direction but he knew she was asking for another round.

The two sat there, for hours, talking. The sky was pitch black and the stars shone bright in the sky. He was telling a story about some drunk fae wanting to pet him when a witch burst through the door. Her cheeks were red and her cloak followed her like a river of blood.

“Bronwen needs you and your alliance to check something up, it’s important.” She stated, when Manon was away, it was her cousin that took care of things for her alongside Petrah Blueblood. Y/N turned to Fenrys, opening her mouth to apologise.

“Go do your duty, delivery girl.” He joked and she flipped him off, following the witch outside and whistling loudly to call Meraxes.

She was in the air before the witch had the chance to get on top of her broom. Flying towards the castle, where her alliance waited for her. She slid down, her feet hitting the ground with a loud thud. She glanced at Shearah, her second in command.

“What’s wrong?” She demanded, the witch locked eyes with her.

“The witches saw a gap to the west, they don’t know what it is, but we can hear its call.” Y/N focused her hearing, like a faint whisper being carried by the wind, she could hear, calling, lulling, inviting them to see what was waiting for them on the other side.

“Let’s go.” She adjusted her sword behind her back, hidden by the cloak, and the dagger resting against her thigh. Mounting Meraxes again, she was running towards the gap, following the melody.

⋆˙⟡☾𖤓☽ ⟡˙⋆

The gap wasn’t that big, just a few inches, a slit like a snake eye looking at her, daylight peeked through it, interrupting the darkness in the sky. She had never seen something like this before. A chill ran down her spine.

“Stay behind!” She warned, the alliance forming a wall behind her.

She got closer, the thing looked like it was getting smaller by the second, she clicked her jaw, iron teeth covering her real ones, and her claws emerged from the tips of her fingers. Ready to attack in case something dared to cross. Just a closer look

The wind stopped its song, she couldn’t hear it anymore. The terrified faces of her alliance were the last thing she saw before she was sucked into the gap, watching with horror the night sky fading as it closed. She felt like she was falling, clutching the reins in the saddle with an iron grip. Her voice lost in the folds of space as she screamed. Falling, falling and falling.

Until everything stopped, and she was dangling upside down, the parts of the saddle that held her in place caging her in, forcing against her skin, bruising the flash. Meraxes had fallen to the side, and she groaned as her head started to pound. She was struggling to get out of the saddle, but as she did, her body hit the floor. Pain started to appear from the point she had fallen on top of a rock and she huffed in annoyance.

She circled Meraxes, slapping its leathery nose, the wyvern was still breathing and she released the air she was holding, he opened its eyes, golden eyes meeting hers and she was never more thankful to see those big eyes curiously scanning her.

The wyvern slowly got up, pulling her closer with a wing. She looked around, removing the pellicule that covered her eyes as she flew, a city was standing nearby, mountains surrounding it, the sight was quite beautiful but all she could wonder was. Where the FUCK she was?

Things got even more confused when she heard the sound of steps against the fluff grass. Meraxes growled at the strangers approaching her. Stones shone in the two of them, one red and one blue.

“What the fuck?” The male with the red stones yelled, his sword looking like a foolish attempt to protect himself from the really long teeth and sharp claws of the beast in front of him. She reached for her sword, armed and ready to attack. She was about to jump on them when they got closer and she could see their faces now.

The air was knocked out of her lungs and she wondered if she had gone insane, the achingly familiar face looked at her, the male was tall, beautiful big wings spread across his back, his hazel eyes studied her, trying to distinguish where to attack the threat. She felt like she knew him, her heart exclaiming that yes, she did know him, but her brain didn’t remember him, it wasn’t ready to remember him just yet. She shook her head and fixed her instance, the two stopped at the sight of her teeth glowing in the sun, ready to rip their skin apart.

“Where am I?” The female snarled and the beast behind her furiously stared at them, ready to rip them to shreds.

⋆˙⟡☾𖤓☽ ⟡˙⋆

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jacevelaryonswife · 6 months

Text

You got me losing control

You looked at him again, anxious, watching him approach cautiously until he shortened the distance between your bodies. “I want you tonight... if you want me...”

pairing: aemond targaryen x wife!reader

warnings: smut, p in v sex, english is not my first language. 3,240 words

aemond targaryen masterlist

Your marriage to Prince Aemond of House Targaryen was a blessing to your family. No matter how noble a birth or reputation was before Westeros, the union with a representative of royalty is the summit of relevance, respect and sophistication that a house can achieve — and that's exactly how you and your family came to be seen and treated in Kingslanding.

After the announcement of the engagement, certain rumors about the behavior and appearance of your betrothed stirred some concerns about your future and safety. Prince Aemond was a robust, polite, healthy young man and a prodigy in the art of swords; he was also a lover of books, history, philosophy and very reserved, especially after the incident. On the other hand, he was also described as easily irritable, intimidating, serious, silent, ruthless and deformed.

None of you were presented properly before the engagement, which made the following weeks strange, tense and reluctant, even if the effort to alleviate such a situation was mutual — shy and slow as well. You had not yet decided if he didn’t approve of your choice as his future lady wife or if that (contained, cordial and impatient) was just his way. Courtesy was not a problem until it became excessive as a barrier and you begged the Mother for unhappiness to cross your path. You were a lady more than suitable for a wedding, you considered yourself beautiful, polite and affable within your own limits, any Lord would be more than graced to have you by his side, according to your lady mother, and so you expected your new husband to find it.

Everything seemed to go well in the following weeks after the wedding. Even reserved and mysterious, Aemond was kind, attentive and worried about spending some moments of the day with you beyond duty, the construction of intimacy and trust was still slow, but quite satisfactory — in addition, your dresses and jewelry were more beautiful and extravagant than those of the other ladies. However, there was something that terrified you and your husband from the tip of your toes to the last hair: bedtime.

It was infinitely the strangest and most tense situation that your relationship with the prince experienced. You learned that even in moments where his were nervous and not knowing how to act he would still try to maintain the imposing and ruthless posture, but with easy-to-read nuances that revealed that he hadn’t idea what was happening. The consummation of the marriage was the worst physical pain ever felt in your life, although fast, it was extremely uncomfortable and unpleasant. The second night he bed you was even shorter, as a knock outside the shared room in the service of the queen hindered the hardness of his sword. Already the third time his own virility failed and served to create worrying thoughts about your lord husband's lack of interest in you. What if your appearance didn't please he? Or your inexperience? He was also inexperienced, it couldn't be that.

Everything got worse when your moon blood came and the realization of not being able to generate a fruit with his seed left you highly distressed. What if everything got worse after that? Rumors would certainly circulate about the prince's unfit wife and your fertility would be put in check. Such moods were enough to keep you disturbed, sad and ashamed by the previous and present days of your moon blood, until things suddenly changed when the week passed and the way your husband looked so tempting during the sparing session with Sir Criston Cole made an avid heat bloom all over your body. It wasn't even that warm in Kingslanding but he has never been more handsome and virile before, with his silver hair flying through the courtyard and his clothes leaving his delicious defined body even more manly.

What was going on with you?

You knew that the only thing in your mind was that you couldn't wait to have him alone later.

And that's what you did when you left dinner earlier and have a bold and daring bed linen along with loose hair for your husband. The cream-colored dress was made of the finest silk of lys and fell slightly through your body with long sleeves that didn’t close in your arms and left them exposed when moving. You were with your back to the bed and facing the door, anxiously waiting for the arrival of your prince.

You felt a restlessness composed of warmth and desire to go through your body and focus on your femininity in the eagerness for his touch, from the hands exploring your body, your breasts, for the intimate and carnal connection to be consummated. The reason for that was strange to you, since the other times you were together were nothing short of uncomfortable, but who were you to define the plans of fate?

Therefore, when the door opened and Aemond came across his beautiful wife in exquisite and suggestive clothes, his good eye widened more than usual. He closed the door and remained still, impeccable posture and half-open mouth. Your gaze faltered and faced the floor in the following moments, keeping the room silent for long seconds until the courage inflated your lungs and a request for low approach escaped from your lips.

"Can you come here, husband?" You looked at him again, anxious, watching him approach cautiously until he shortened the distance between your bodies. “I want you tonight... if you want me...”

An intense look and a stronger pull of air were the prince's physical response, remaining almost static in front of him. Would it be reluctance or surprise? You didn't want to be pessimistic.

In fact, for a moment Aemond forgot how to pronounce any kind of words and form sentences, totally surprised by your newly discovered boldness. It was a fact that the least developed pillar of your union was the moment of bed, but he thought that time and reading on the subject would enrich the occasion. But not that way, not with his little lady wife looking so tempting in her soft clothes.

The prince was oblivious to what he considered depravity. His only experience with a lady wasn’t planned and appreciated by him and the option to protect himself for his future lady wife was chosen. Unfortunately, the negative side of keeping inequity out of his life was to arrive at the moment of bed without knowing how to give pleasure to his lady correctly. He hated to see the discomfort stamped on your beautiful face every time he pushed his member on your walls, especially in the first copulation. But here he was and there you were willingly giving yourself.

Your steps were smooth and decided in his direction — although there was fear of being renegade — stopping when your hands landed on the chest covered by the black layers of his tunic. "If you don't want to, I'll understand," no, you wouldn't, you would freak out, but it was your duty as a lady and wife to comply with your husband.

Meanwhile, breathing seemed more difficult every second when he noticed the intensity in the way you watched him, a warm and lustful intensity that no other lady ever directed him. He was being cooked inside his own clothes in an almost maddening fire.

"I want this, lady wife," his voice was a few octaves more serious than usual, his good eye so attentive to your gaze that it seemed to pierce your soul.

Only that confirmation made nectar leak from your flower in anticipation. You didn't want to waste any more time, leaning against him, one hand remained on his chest while the other went up the uninjured side of his face, not wanting him to feel cornered.

“May I kiss you, husband?” You asked in a lascivious voice.

“Yes,” he whispered, wrapping an arm around your waist and holding the left side of your face.

The meeting between your lips was calm (inicially), firm and intimate. There was no previous shyness whenever a kiss happened, no, it was incisive, dominant and became increasingly ravishing and warm. There was urgency in the physical search for each other, making the kiss last longer than any other ever exchanged. It was everything you ever wanted it to be, as natural and ardent as a real dream. But it wasn't enough to satisfy your desire for him.

Moving away from your husband's silky and pink lips, you were quick to announce your next wish: "take off my dress, please, I want to do it the right way today."

The usual blue iris was nothing but a memory dominated by the darkness of his pupil. Aemond's large hands landed on your shoulders to slide both straps of the dress to the sides, removing the fabric accumulated at your waist to the floor, exposing your body in full vision to him.

You were burning, longing so eagerly to be touched that you didn’t want to wait for the prince's excessive chivalry and anticipated unbuttoning his tunic without noticing the approach of his hands on your breasts, making you sigh pleasantly in the massage received. It took a lot of effort to keep undressing your husband and not succumbing to his touch on your soft flesh, almost tearing off the piece and throwing it on the floor.

It was not appropriate for a lady to be desperate for such an activity, so even though you wanted to give the same fate to the pants that hid the modesty of your husband, you restrained yourself by analyzing and strumming his delicious abdomen and chest, touching his sculpted shoulders and long arms. His appearence was ridiculously ethereal and perfect.

“Take me Aemond, I need you,” you begged before capturing his lips again, moaning softly when he growled at your mouth and squeezed your ass with one hand and held the part of your head with another, feeling a growing hardness pressing against his stomach.

“I need to prepare you first, my lady,” he whispered hoarsely, now holding on both sides of your hips and looking away shamelessly to your femininity.

Maybe if it weren't for your rush you would have enjoyed a different pleasure that night, with your husband's lips pressed on their petals, but you still didn't know that. However, what he referred to earlier was already understandable to a lady like you.

"No need, I'm ready," you took his hand and guided him to feel your sticky folds, rubbing your juices gently on his thin fingers. After that you didn't spare time to get on the bed and wait for him, who was very quick to discard his shoes and pants to reach you with ferocity. Gods, what was your misdemeaning behavior doing to him?

The prince breathed heavily as he reached your body only to be rotated on the bed so that you would assume him as a mount. “I would like to try otherwise,” you said it with even heavier eyes, putting your hands on his chest to settle above his groin, his virile and thick masculinity rubbing against your mound, making both moan and hands fly at your waist when you rubbed your folds on him.

You have never seemed more tempting than now, with your beautiful body to total contemplation and disposition and so needed by the union of a man and a woman. It was said by Grand Maester Orwyle that ladies usually behave differently after moon blood and can become demanding about their husbands. Aemond properly interpreted the connotation used by the older man, but did not imagine that it would be such a drastic and needy requirement.

And then, deciding to end your suffering, you sat on the bulbous and reddish tip of your prince's sword, ignoring the initial pain and closing your eyes as you felt him stretch your walls so well in an overwhelming and indescribable feeling. "Oh, Aemond!" A breathless moan escaped when it reached his groin after long seconds. The extraordinary pain recurrent at other times was nothing more than an old ghost when you slid easily on its axis, moving up and down in an experimental and tasty constancy.

Aemond tried to keep his usual stoic feature but it was absolutely difficult when your velvety walls made him feel so good. With his mouth ajar and a heavy look, Aemond squeezed his waist in his clamor for him, taking a deep breath with the sloppy and needy rhythm that you established next.

You didn't know if you were doing it the right way, but you really appreciated the feeling of his thick and soft sword brushing against delicious places in your soft flower. It was good enough to make you moan continuously and scratch the milky skin on his chest.

Hoarse and strangled sounds were released by him during the shock of your hips, closing the good eye to focus on not ending early. He was still stunned by the walk of things since his arrival at the shared cameras — positively stunned. He never imagined that fornication could be so delicious for both of you.

Your eyes opened when your body signaled fatigue from the exercise in question, causing you to reduce your jumps and lean against his abs, almost lying on Aemond when purring so that he would take a position above you. You are not sure if it was the fluidity of the movement or the pressure on your thighs that persuaded your senses to the speed with which he took control and stayed on top, face closer to yours than before, almost making your lips brush. Before he could think about moving away, your arms wrapped around his neck and maintained the proximity between your faces. You wanted to kiss him, or rather, you wanted him to kiss you passionately.

“Kiss me, my dragon.”

The restraint that imprisoned Aemond's wild nature broke with the nickname he received and made him capture your lips in a dominant and fierce kiss, the kiss you've wanted so much since you woke up that day. His hips began to move against yours in a much more fluid way than the other times, fucking you with deliciously intense impulses, without roughness or softness.

He started another wet and sloppy kiss, sucking your lips before sinking his face into your neck and growling against his skin, then planting kisses. “Are you enjoying it, my lady?”

“Y-yes, my prince, yes, go faster!” You moaned and supported your legs on his waist, letting out an almost small scream when the speed of your impulses increased, numbing your senses. The nervousness of bringing pleasure to his wife was dissipated when all he could feel was the constant friction and the way you squeezed him so well.

Flying in wet and pleasurable clouds, you gently held the back of his neck and sneaked to smell his soft and well-groomed silver hair, purring with the addictive and extremely refreshing musk. His heart warmed timidly with your intimate gesture, caving your beautiful face with one hand and touching his foreheads to make love to you in such a unique and vehement way that it made your toes curl and a feeling bloom inside, developing with each push of his hips.

"Beautiful," he uttered contemplating his face kneaded with pleasure, "you're fucking beautiful, my lady wife."

“Really?” You knew it was, but you wanted him to affirm it from his own belief.

“Yes, a lot,” He was fucking lucky to have you. He should say that.

The tingling inside increased with his confession, building something you hadn't felt yet. Was it your dreamed apex germinating? The feeling that your friends elected as the best of all Westeros? He captured your mouth again in a firm but sloppy kiss at the same time, swallowing your lascivious moans and whining intensifies with each roll of hips.

His pleasure also became difficult to ignore, although he was proud that the act was being more profitable and lasting than the other times. Profitable? No, I was delusional.

The connection between you became steamy every second, causing your future supplication: "continue husband, please don't stop."

There was a certain affected region that made your fingers squirm and gasps of pleasure fill your chambers (and maybe even out of them). The recurrence with which Aemond brushed against that point amplified your pleasure and anticipated the hot euphoria that took over your body, making your sight clear and legs cage him when your high came devastatingly good and strong, causing tremor in your limbs and an absolute squeeze in your cunt around his masculinity.

It was the best thing that has ever hit your body in fact, and that caused the release of his seed on your core in erratic movements and an erotic grunt. The nature of the sensation seemed primitive, it was primitive, as a need that needed to be satiated more often. Your bodies were sweaty when he fell to your side with his eyes closed from recent pleasure, bubbling in deep flames like the Old Valyria.

A more than satisfied smile adorned your face with how indescribably good you felt. Not only physically, but your husband's performance softened part of your fear, only one part, the other unfortunately ascended in equity and sowed doubts in your heart. What if the sweetness in his words was only in the heat of the moment? What if he doesn't think you're pretty?

After a moment of comfortable silence you decided to risk it in a low, almost weak voice "... did you really mean those things? About my beauty?" Gods, you didn't want to look pathetic.

And he didn't want to be an absent husband. "Yes," he confessed in a hoarse and soporific voice, almost ashamed of his attitude. "I'm sorry I don't say that as often as you deserve to hear. You're breathtaking, ma'am." His good eye filtered all the reactions from your face carefully. “I'm very lucky to have you by my side.

And nothing was more radiant than your smile when he heard such loving and beautiful statements, daring to snuggle against his chest even though he had a thin layer of sweat. "Your words are nothing more than kind, my prince, I am very grateful to hear them," you began, "you are also a very handsome man," you smoothed the bruised side of his face with the palm of your hand, not getting close to the scar to scare him. "Almost ethereal if I may say," your face was close to his, looking tenderly before leaning against his lips in a chaste and soft kiss.

Compliments directed at appearance were never true to Aemond. Not that he received them too much after the incident, but all the rare times were false, regrettable and uncomfortable. His abilities made him a man safe enough not to care mostly about his deformity, however, in his interior of steel and fire there was a fraction that longed for genuine kindness.

"You are very kind, my lady," he said softly, his voice almost breaking, "did you like what happened?" The thought was almost all verbalized at once, taking not only you but also him by surprise.

“A lot. I liked it a lot, Aemond," you purred against him, feeling your interior warm and vibrate again. "If it's not inappropriate, I wish we could do it again."

That would be a long night...

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taglists:

general: @chompchompluke @fan-goddess @kravitzwhore @partypoison00

ewanverse: @aemonds-fire @partypoison00 @schniiipsel @fan-goddess

aemond: @aemondsblog

#aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen smut #aemond x reader #prince aemond targaryen #aemond one eyed #aemond targaryen x you #aemond x you #aemond smut #aemond targaryen x wife!reader #aemond x wife reader #wife reader #smut

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verysium · 6 months

Text

『01』呪術廻戦: jujutsu kaisen recs

五条悟: gojo satoru

i know you still think about the times we had by @saetoru

satoru will always comes when you call him, he just never thought you’d stop calling. notes: satoru is so desperate and pathetic here it is just delicious; has the right amount of angst to cause tension but a good ending to soothe my poor heart; traditional rich boy and disapproving mother/father scenario but implemented relatively well; miscommunication and feelings of inadequacy; reader realizing the extent to which satoru loves them

pretty eyes by @quirklessidiot

in which the right eye is mine and the left eye is yours and when we meet for the first time, you see your own eyes staring back at you. notes: takes tragic star-crossed lovers to a whole new level; riddled with parallels and symbolism; idea of illness and loving someone at their worst; right person, wrong time at its finest; fate being unnecessarily cruel; surprising moments of humor

minazuki by @quirklessidiot

In which Y/N L/N is placed under a union she has no choice but to partake for the sake of her survival. notes: this series needs to be scientifically studied; it is just that good; halfway in and i fell in love with the reader instead of gojo; strong and somewhat morally grey characters; dark themes around femininity in a patriarchal society but concept was executed flawlessly

21: only by @tenjiiku

“What do you want, Satoru?” You do not use his last name or any honorific to address him despite his age. He was older than you by a few years — but certainly did not act the part — so you do not think he deserves your respect. Your host father told you he does — something about his being from a prominent private school as an educator, which you cannot possibly fathom being the truth — but only in front of you is Satoru Gojo an inane, odd man with a need for clean, dry-cleaned clothes that, for some strange reason he has conjectured in his equally baffling mind, that only you can provide. He smiles at you, placing his cheek in his hand. “You.” notes: this fic embodies the duality between gojo and satoru; he is easy-going until he isn’t and you realize he actually has a considerable amount of depth; the plot twist did it for me; satoru being a loud-mouthed tease but secretly harboring feelings

soulswap by @orphxus (impxria)

this is where the evening splits in half, love or death. grab an end, pull hard, & make a wish. notes: short but realistically describes everything wrong with jujutsu society; poetic voice; gojo being serious for once; disillusionment and tragic hero archetype; being the strongest yet being unable to save anybody; geto would read this fic and feel seen

両面宿儺: ryomen sukuna

nocuous by @quirklessidiot

“It’s ironic, isn’t it? I knew how this was going to end but I’m still terribly hurt by it.” notes: the heian era setting is so complex and established even through dialogue and subtle description; reader strikes me as older and able to deal with sukuna’s chaotic nature; sukuna being an absolute menace is sending me; tragic angst but almost didn’t notice it due to how beautifully the images are presented

avīci by @rotpeach

Several years ago, Satoru Gojo was involved in the exorcism of a uniquely stubborn curse. The official report states that one of Ryomen Sukuna's fingers was recovered from the scene, and nothing else. Only the two of you know the truth. notes: gore, gore, and even more gore; boy was this fic a wild ride; imagine a work that condenses the ugliest and most revolting parts of human nature yet presents them so elegantly you start questioning the blurred lines of morality; cannibalism, violence, and love triangles; japanese mythology & folklore; heian period references; cursed spirit reader tries to grapple with the idea of self after being created for the sole purpose of serving others; themes of existentialism, identity crisis, obsession

#fic recs #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jjk x reader #gojo satoru #gojo x reader #sukuna ryomen #sukuna x reader

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mrsmikaelsxn · 1 year

Text

Troublemakers

masterlist

pairing: regulus black x female reader

warnings: cursing, fluff, mr no nose

summary: you and reggie being the entertainment in voldemorts cult

a/n: this was funnier in my head, i kinda butchered the idea but oh well, hope you enjoy it !

song: mind mischief - tame impala

You and Regulus were at a Death Eater meeting. You sat next to each other, as always.

Your hands were under the table as the two of you played rock, paper, scissors.

Lucius was next to you and he watched you hit your thigh, annoyed when you lost.

Voldemort hits his wand on the table twice, waiting for you two to stop.

Caught up in the game, since you had gotten four ties in a row, you both hadn't heard him.

It wasn't until you felt both your heads being slapped in the back did you realize the Dark Lord was waiting on you two.

"If you two are done with your filthy muggle game, I was just about to mention..."

You and Regulus rested your heads on the table, eyes fluttering shut as you two tune out the boring voice of Voldemort.

You were soon awoken by a bang on the table.

"I hope you two enjoyed your beauty sleep," he glares.

"We did," you and Regulus say in union, then high five each other

You glance around the room and notice that everyone else has already gone.

"You two can be excused from this behavior if you teach me how to play that game, but you two mustn't tell a single soul," Voldemort whispers.

You look at each other, a grin making its way to both your faces. You glance back at Voldemort before nodding your heads.

This was the second meeting this week.

You two had been arguing about random stuff, getting things thrown at the two of you as you ran around shouting at one another.

You were sitting at the meeting, thinking about things that you are better at than Reg.

You suddenly feel a tug on your hair.

"The hell?"

"What?" Regulus shrugs. You turn your head back to the people at the table, but you feel another tug.

"Can you fucking not," you whisper harshly.

"Can you fucking not," he mimics you in a high pitch voice.

You kick his leg with your heel and he lets out a hiss of pain.

Voldemort slaps his hands onto the table, making you both jump.

"Stop this foolishness, now," he orders you two.

"Not until you get a manicure," you roll your eyes and cross your arms.

"I'm sorry?" Voldemort asks as Regulus covers his laugh with his hand.

"A manicure, you know... to fix your nails," you say as you look at the people around the table. Most of them are either scared for you, or just shaking their heads.

You feel another tug on your hair, this time harder.

"Ow! Regulus, what the fuck," you hold your head.

"Enough!" Voldemort shouts.

"He's just mad he has no hair for someone to pull," Reggie whispers in your ear.

"Make one more comment on the topic of my baldness-"

Sat next to Regulus, you two were gossiping about the Death Eaters.

Not everything you were discussing was true, but they were things you heard.

For example, Regulus heard some muggleborn girls laughing about how Lucius looks like something they call a "Barbie".

After you two found out what it was, you couldn't get that picture out of your head.

You two giggling like children while pointing at Lucius and whispering to each other.

"Are you both done laughing at me," Lucius stares at you both with a bored face.

"Whatever do you mean, Lucy."

"First, don't call me that. Second, you know exactly what I mean!"

"We really don't."

"Fine," you huff, "we were just comparing your looks you a Barbie Doll," you explain.

"A what?" Voldemort and Lucius asks.

"Let me show you," you take out your wand and conjure a Barbie.

Regulus takes it and holds it out to them.

To everyone's surprise, Voldemort himself starts laughing.

He points his finger back and for between the doll and Lucius as he laughs.

"You guys are right! He does indeed look like Barbara!"

"Barbie."

"Same thing."

"Not you too, My Lord," Lucious runs a hand over his face.

"Who the fuck did this!"

"Uh, oh," you and Reg sigh. You figured that after the conversation with hair at one of the recent meetings, Voldemort would want some.

But you two decided that was too nice for your liking. So you decided on clown hair.

Voldemort comes rushing into the living room, where everyone was on the couches.

Gasps of horror filled the room as people stared at the bright rainbow hair.

"You two," Voldemort snarls.

"You," you both grin.

"What have you done to my head!"

"We thought you could use some hair," you smile innocently at him.

"You call this rubbish hair?!"

"Hey! We think it suits you!" Regulus exclaims as you nod in agreement.

"Get it off of me, this instant!"

"Hmm-"

"Now!"

"Hmmm…"

He starts speed walking to you, you two tried so hard not to laugh at the sight, that your eyes started watering.

He is almost where you guys are sat when you two stand up and start sprinting out of the room.

"Gotta go!" Reg shouts as you rush out into the hall.

"GET BACK HERE! REGULUS! Y/N!"

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fairuzfan · 2 months

Note

(This got soo much longer than I meant for it to be omg... sorry about that!!)

American Holocaust by David Stannard is a flawed book with some dated language, but of everything I've read, I think I like its explanation/argument against this weird sort of... competitive genocide stuff. I'm gonna butcher it a little by cutting out a LOT in order to not nuke your inbox with a super long ask, but:

[…] To say this is not to say that the Jewish Holocaust-the inhuman destruction of 6,000,000 people-was not an abominably unique event. It was. So, too, for reasons of its own, was the mass murder of about 1,000,000 Armenians in Turkey a few decades prior to the Holocaust. So, too, was the deliberately caused "terror-famine" in Stalin's Soviet Union in the 1930s, which killed more than 14,000,000 people. So, too, have been each of the genocidal slaughters of many millions more, decades after the Holocaust, in Burundi, Bangladesh, Kampuchea, East Timor, the Brazilian Amazon, and elsewhere. Additionally, within the framework of the Holocaust itself, there were aspects that were unique in the campaign of genocide conducted by the Nazis against Europe's Romani people, which resulted in the mass murder of perhaps 1,500,000 men, women, and children. [...]

Each of these genocides was distinct and unique, for one reason or another, as were (and are) others that go unmentioned here. In one case the sheer numbers of people killed may make it unique. In another case, the percentage of people killed may make it unique. In still a different case, the greatly compressed time period in which the genocide took place may make it unique. In a further case, the greatly extended time period in which the genocide took place may make it unique. No doubt the targeting of a specific group or groups for extermination by a particular nation's official policy may mark a given genocide as unique. So too might another group's being unofficially (but unmistakably) targeted for elimination by the actions of a multinational phalanx bent on total extirpation. Certainly the chilling utilization of technological instruments of destruction, such as gas chambers, and its assembly-line, bureaucratic, systematic methods of destruction makes the Holocaust unique. On the other hand, the savage employment of non-technological instruments of destruction, such as the unleashing of trained and hungry dogs to devour infants, and the burning and crude hacking to death of the inhabitants of entire cities, also makes the Spanish anti-Indian genocide unique.

[…]

A secondary tragedy of all these genocides, moreover, is that partisan representatives among the survivors of particular afflicted groups not uncommonly hold up their peoples' experience as so fundamentally different from the others that not only is scholarly comparison rejected out of hand, but mere cross-referencing or discussion of other genocidal events within the context of their own flatly is prohibited. It is almost as though the preemptive conclusion that one's own group has suffered more than others is something of a horrible award of distinction that will be diminished if the true extent of another group's suffering is acknowledged.

Compounding this secondary tragedy is the fact that such insistence on the incomparability of one's own historical suffering, by means of what Irving Louis Horowitz calls "moral bookkeeping," invariably pits one terribly injured group against another […]

Denial of massive death counts is common--and even readily understandable, if contemptible--among those whose forefathers were the perpetrators of the genocide. Such denials have at least two motives: first, protection of the moral reputations of those people and that country responsible for the genocidal activity (which seems the primary motive of those scholars and politicians who deny that massive genocide campaigns were carried out against American Indians); and second, on occasion, the desire to continue carrying out virulent racist assaults upon those who were the victims of the genocide in question (as seems to be the major purpose of the anti-Semitic so-called historical revisionists who claim that the Jewish Holocaust never happened or that its magnitude has been exaggerated). But for those who have themselves been victims of extermination campaigns to proclaim uniqueness for their experiences only as a way of denying recognition to others who also have suffered massive genocidal brutalities is to play into the hands of the brutalizers. Rather, as Michael Berenbaum has wisely put it, "we should let our sufferings, however incommensurate, unite us in condemnation of inhumanity rather than divide us in a calculus of calamity."

The whole thing is available to read on the Internet Archive if you're interested. (This part starts on pg 149, if you'd just like to have the full context without the parts I chopped.)

Additionally, Carrol Kakel's book The American West and the Nazi East, while imperfect, too, is also very useful in getting at the core issue with these arguments and what makes them harmful--regardless of intent. I'm gonna spare you and not quote too much from this one, but the general gist of what it's about and argues in favor of is summed up like this in its conclusion:

In the case of the Holocaust and its contexts, the new ‘optics’ helps us see that – contrary to the prevailing image of ‘industrial genocide’ – many aspects of the Holocaust are akin to earlier ‘colonial genocide’. It is worth noting (and emphasizing) that the distinction I make between ‘colonial genocide’ and ‘industrial genocide’ is not to suggest some type of crude and arbitrary ‘partitioning’ of the Nazi Holocaust; it is, rather, to suggest and reassert the (settler) colonial roots, content, and context of the Nazi project in the ‘Wild East’ – a content and context linked, in Hitler’s and Himmler’s ‘spatial’ and ‘racial’ fantasies, to the ‘North American precedent’. And finally, the new ‘optics’ also allows us to understand that the ‘genocide and colonialism’ nexus holds the key to recognizing the Holocaust’s origins, content, and context; that the Nazi Holocaust is not a copy – but an extremely radicalized variant – of earlier ‘colonial genocide’; and that ‘holocaust’ is not a separate category from, but the most extreme variant of, the blight on human history we call ‘genocide’.

One of the more infamous examples of someone trying to argue against comparison (at least in the NDN circles I run in, anyway) was Deborah Lipstadt claiming that "[What the United States did to Native Americans] was not the same as the Holocaust" because, she says, "The Native Americans were seen as "competitors" for land and resources. There was, therefore, a certain logic-horrible and immoral as it was-to the campaign against the Native Americans."

Just for context, the full paragraph from her blog post:

What the United States did to Native Americans was horrendous. I have not studied it closely and it's not my area of expertise, however, it seems clear that the treatment of the various Native American tribes was revolting. However, it was not the same as the Holocaust. The Native Americans were seen as "competitors" for land and resources. There was, therefore, a certain logic-horrible and immoral as it was-to the campaign against the Native Americans. [Please note: I am NOT justifying the attacks.] The German campaign against the Jews had no logic and was often completely illogical. People who were "useful" to the Germans were murdered or exiled, e.g. slave laborers in factories producing goods for the Wehrmacht and scientists who were producing important technological advances for the Germans. In a prime example of illogic, in June 1944 at the time of the landing at Normandy, when the Germans were truly on the defensive, they used precious ships and men to go to the Island of Corfu and deport the 1200 Jews who lived there. They ended up in Auschwitz. Approximately 100 of this old Jewish community survived.

This is obviously a repulsive take, but the bizarre rationalization of abject evil isn't what I think makes this such a good example of the big issue at the heart of the constant emphasis on "uniqueness." There are plenty of people who hold these "exceptionalist" beliefs without taking it that much further and dismissing other genocides altogether. No, the thing that makes this such a perfect encapsulation imo is the very first sentence, where this historian, this professor of "Holocaust Studies," this woman who's ostensibly spent most of her entire life studying genocide openly admits she's never really bothered to look into what, exactly, happened to all those Indians way back when.

This is ultimately what I, personally, see as the main issue with this line of thinking. The harm doesn't necessarily come from holding the Holocaust up as "worse" than any other genocidal event, though that way of thinking definitely has its own problems, but from holding it up as fundamentally different.

It's the way this view holds it up as completely separate, in its own little bubble of history where we can study it and analyze it and teach about it all we want... all without ever having to broach the subject of colonialism. You can have entire classes where you study every single minute detail of this one specific genocide without ever having to mention or--god forbid--criticize the system that's driven pretty much every other instance of it.

Deborah Lipstadt has spent the better part of a century learning everything there is to know about the Holocaust, but in all that time, she's apparently never felt the need to look into the events that its perpetrators openly and repeatedly referred to as their inspiration.

This is what makes this sort of framing so dangerous imo. You can spend your entire life educating yourself about genocide, but if it's only in the context of one genocide and the belief in the uniqueness and incomparability of that single event is core to your understanding of both it and your worldview as a whole, you will still be completely incapable of recognizing the signs when it starts to happen again.

this is a really informative ask. thank you so much for sending this in (love the citations haha) i think it adds a lot to the overall discussion.

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naomeii · 5 months

Text

not... Heather.

—Pairings: Xiao x Lumine x Ex! Reader

Content : Angst to comfort(depends on how you see it), unrequited feelings (lumine's).

Synopsis : the bittersweet reality of being the one who was there but never truly the one he yearned for.

based on : Heather's Pov.

"Xiao… I don't think we could work out anymore. It's just too much for me to handle. You can't just push me away anytime you want and then come back to me? It hurts so much…" Y/n's words echoed in Xiao's mind, haunting him like a painful melody. That day, Xiao was consumed by the weight of his karmic debts, and it manifested as irritation. He never intended to hurt the one he loved so dearly, but that particular day proved to be exceptionally challenging for him.

For the first time, Xiao's usually composed demeanour crumbled, and he raised his voice at her, his words laced with a bitterness that surprised even himself. "Well, if you can't handle that, then we shouldn't be together. You should've known better than to be with me then." His words, though spoken in frustration, carried a venom that stung both of them.

Despite Xiao's difficulty in understanding human emotions, he was willing to learn for the sake of his beloved. Never before had his cold heart felt warmth, except when Y/n was near. However, that day was an exception. As he witnessed Y/n's reaction—her scoff, the tears teetering on the edge of her precious eyes—he realized the gravity of his actions. He failed to grasp how Y/n silently pleaded for him to stop her, to embrace her, and assure her that everything would be alright. But Xiao, in his misguided belief that she deserved better, let her go.

In that moment, as Y/n walked away, Xiao missed the chance to bridge the growing chasm between them. He failed to seize the opportunity to express the depth of his feelings and offer solace. Little did he know that Y/n, though hurt and emotionally torn, had lingered for a fleeting moment, silently yearning for him to halt her departure and provide the comfort she desperately sought..

As Xiao reminisced about that fateful day, the weight of his actions lingered in the air. The memory of Y/n's hurtful words echoed in his mind, and the realization of his own inability to handle emotions gnawed at him. He had pushed away the one person who made his cold heart warm, and the regret settled like a heavy storm cloud.

The months that followed were filled with a profound sense of emptiness. Xiao couldn't shake off the guilt and the haunting image of Y/n leaving with tears in her eyes. His understanding of emotions was limited, but he knew he had hurt her deeply.

In the midst of Xiao's internal turmoil, Lumine and her annoying companion, Paimon unexpectedly entered his life. Lumine, the gentle and kind-hearted Traveler, appeared before him with an unexpected confession. Desperate to move on from the pain of his past, Xiao hesitated but ultimately agreed. The news of their union quickly spread throughout Liyue, painting a picture of the Famous Traveler and the Vigilant Yaksha as a couple.

Meanwhile, Y/n, upon hearing about Xiao and Lumine, couldn't deny the twinge of jealousy that gripped her heart. The realization of Xiao moving on so quickly stung, yet she couldn't blame him.

"Sure, I've got his sweater, but you should know better, He holds my hands, thinking of you forever."

"Oh, your hands are almost my size," Xiao chuckled emptily, his mind involuntarily drifting to memories of Y/n. "Y/n's hands were much smaller."

Lumine, sensing a sudden shift in Xiao's demeanor, asked with genuine curiosity, "Who's Y/n?" She couldn't help but notice the fleeting horror that crossed Xiao's face.

In that moment, Xiao hesitated, his internal struggle evident. After a brief pause, he redirected the conversation, deflecting Lumine's question with a forced nonchalance. "Oh, my apologies," he said, veiling the pain behind his eyes. The untold story lingered in the air, leaving Lumine with a sense of unspoken sorrow that Xiao carried within him.

"cause u were his first, now you're jealous of the 3rd of December, screaming 'wish I were heather'"

Xiao took Lumine to the Lantern Rites Festival, a vibrant celebration of lights and colors. Coincidentally, Y/n was also there with her friends, immersed in the festive atmosphere. As fate would have it, Lumine and Y/n's paths crossed, resulting in an accidental bump. Y/n's expression shifted momentarily, revealing a hint of jealousy that didn't go unnoticed by Lumine.

Xiao, too, caught sight of Y/n in the crowd. His normally impassive features softened at the sight of her, memories flooding back. As he opened his mouth to address Y/n, she quickly excused herself, muttering apologies, and disappeared into the lively sea of festival-goers.

Lumine, ever perceptive, observed the subtle changes in Xiao's demeanor. She didn't miss the way his gaze lingered in the direction Y/n had vanished. It was a silent acknowledgment of the complex emotions that still lingered between Xiao and Y/n, the unspoken connection that Lumine could sense in the air. The Lantern Rites Festival, meant to be a joyous occasion, became bittersweet.

"you walk by, he stares with such heart eyes, wish he'd stare into my eyes"

Throughout the Lantern Rites Festival, Lumine couldn't shake off the unsettling feeling in her chest. Xiao's gaze, usually stoic and distant, carried a softness she had never seen before. Lumine couldn't help but notice the contrast between the way Xiao looked at her and the way he had looked at Y/n.

As the festival unfolded with its vibrant lights and joyful celebrations, Lumine couldn't escape the wish that lingered in her heart. She yearned for Xiao to cast his gaze upon her with the same tenderness and longing he had shown for Y/n, even if just for a fleeting moment. The unspoken desire for that connection, for Xiao to look at her with an emotion that transcended his usual reserve, weighed on Lumine's mind, creating a subtle undercurrent of melancholy beneath the festive atmosphere.

"I'm just a rebound in his life, gosh I've tried"

Lumine decided to surprise Xiao by preparing his favorite dish, Almond Tofu. With genuine enthusiasm, she presented the dish to him, hoping to bring a smile to his usually reserved face. "Mmh, it's good, but it's too sweet for my liking. You should ask Y/n how to ma—"

Xiao's words hung in the air, cutting through Lumine like a knife. She felt a pang of hurt as the sentence remained unfinished. The unintentional comparison stung, and Xiao's abrupt halt left Lumine with a mix of confusion and disappointment. Sensing the discomfort, Xiao awkwardly excused himself, leaving Lumine alone with her thoughts.

As she stared at the half-finished plate of Almond Tofu, Lumine grappled with the realization that, despite her efforts, there were lingering shadows from Xiao's past that continued to affect their interactions. The sweetness of the dish turned bitter in her mouth, mirroring the bitter taste of the unspoken emotions that hung in the air between them.

"Why are you jealous of me? You're talented, smart, and funny,"

While Xiao was away, Lumine decided to explore Liyue and stumbled upon the place where Y/n worked. As she approached, she witnessed a heartwarming scene – Y/n, surrounded by playful children of Liyue, her beauty accentuated by the genuine joy on her face. The infectious laughter echoed in the air, and Lumine couldn't help but understand why Xiao's cold heart melted in Y/n's presence.

Caught in the moment, Y/n noticed Lumine's presence. The warmth in her smile faltered, and an awkward silence settled between them. Y/n, unsure of Lumine's intentions, offered a tentative wave before excusing herself and moving inside.

As Lumine observed Y/n's interactions with the children, a mix of admiration and wistfulness filled her. The genuine connection Y/n shared with the kids and the way she effortlessly radiated warmth. Lumine couldn't deny the pang of realization that Xiao's heart belonged to someone who brought not only warmth to him but also to those around her.

"He loves you better, writing love letters, For you, not for Heather,"

In the evening, Lumine made her way to Wangshu Inn, ascending to the roof where Xiao often found solace. There, she found Xiao engrossed in watching a clip, seemingly of glaze lilies. Lumine connected the dots, remembering the similar pair adorning Y/n's hair earlier in the day.

Approaching Xiao with a heavy heart, Lumine took a deep breath before urging him to be honest about what his heart truly desired. Xiao, surprisingly sincere, met her gaze and offered a heartfelt apology. He admitted that his heart belonged to someone from the past – Y/n. Lumine, though hurt, understood the gravity of his confession.

With a resigned acceptance, Lumine acknowledged that she needed to let him go. Xiao's sincerity in acknowledging his feelings for Y/n made the decision clear. As Lumine stepped away from the roof of Wangshu Inn, she carried the weight of unspoken emotions and the bittersweet realization that sometimes, even with the best intentions, hearts yearn for connections that transcend the present.

"because I'm not his forever."

The next day, Lumine made the difficult decision to leave Liyue and continue her travels. With a heavy heart, she walked through the streets, grappling with the ache of unrequited feelings. As she passed by a familiar place, fate dealt another painful blow.

In a moment frozen in time, Lumine caught a glimpse of Xiao and Y/n in a warm embrace. The two lovers, finally reunited, shared a connection that Lumine had yearned for. The sight, though beautiful, shattered Lumine's heart into even smaller fragments. She felt the weight of her unspoken emotions as she silently observed the happiness that had eluded her.

With a deep sigh, Lumine continued on her journey, leaving behind the bittersweet love that wasn't meant for her. The road ahead seemed longer, and the pain of unrequited love lingered, but Lumine knew that her travels held new adventures and the possibility of healing a heart wounded by the twists of fate.

#genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin imagines #genshin oneshots #genshin fluff #genshin angst #genshin headcanons #genshin xiao #xiao x reader #xiao imagines #xiao oneshots #xiao headcanons #xiao fluff #xiao angst #reader insert #genshin impact angst #angst to comfort #lumine #genshin impact x reader

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darlingshane · 10 months

Text

Something Crazy

Pairing: Michael Berzatto x F!Reader

Summary: On Natalie's wedding day, life takes an unexpected turn when you learn that your former crush, Michael, might be interested in you.

Content/Warnings: 18+, Explicit, Smut, P in V, Vanilla, Alcohol, Eating, Fluff, Crack, Pet Names, Kissing, Dancing.

Word Count: 4,6k

— You can read below or at AO3.

Today is the big day for your best friend Natalie. She's marrying her long-time boyfriend, Pete, and you've come back to Chicago for only two days to celebrate this lifetime milestone with them.

They've picked a perfect Saturday in the middle of spring to celebrate their union. Flowers are in full bloom, gardens are lush green, wind has calmed, welcoming a balmy weather to allow having a wedding ceremony outdoors.

Bright Sun rays slip like gold ribbons through the sheer fabric of the curtains as you carefully hang Natalie's gown and remove the garment bag. It's a simple but stunning empire dress, strapless, with lace and pearls adorning the corset. Though you've never fantasized about your own wedding before, as your hand slides softly along the skirt, you can't help but imagine yourself as a giddy bride, wearing that same dress.

Tying the knot is not on top of your list right now. Settling with someone? That's more likely to happen. But there's nothing like being chosen as the maid of honor, especially if you're single, to find yourself trapped in that Disney daydream of getting to meet your prince charming and live happily ever after. Hopefully, that unwelcome, sudden longing will vanish after a few drinks at the reception. Until then, your top priority is making sure your best friend's special day is as magical as she planned.

You're in the designated dressing room of the hotel with the rest of the bride's party laughing, sipping rosé, telling stories while the beautician works against the clock, getting all four of you primped and ready.

While you help Natalie get into her dress, Gigi comes back with a tray of pastries to soak the alcohol before anyone gets too drunk.

“You guys gotta see Mikey. He's so fucking hot I could die. I've never seen him all dressed up and clean like that,” she announces loudly, going around the room like a whirling handing croissants and muffins. “I swear to god his pants are so tight, it’s like looking into an x-ray photograph… you can see everything. And I mean everything,” Gigi stares at you, raising an eyebrow, while you stuff part of a croissant into your mouth.

“Ew, that's my brother,” Natalie frowns in disgust.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” you say after swallowing part of your pastry.

“She's looking at you like that because, as we all recall, it was you who had a crush on him for the longest time,” the bride sharply indicates.

“She's got a point, babe.”

“I was like fifteen,” your tone pitches a little higher, as if you were still that age. “Why do you always have to bring that up?”

“Cause let's be honest, you were hung up on him for way longer than you said, and your face still lights up every time you see him. Why can't you just admit you're still love-struck?”

You open your mouth to counter her accusation, but words refuse to come out. You can't even lie for dear life cause admittedly, as fucking annoying as they are, they're also right. Michael was one of those crushes that was hard to shake off. Your friends quickly jumped from one infatuation to another, but you pinned for Sugar's cooler, slightly older brother for longer than you should have. And that's probably the reason every time all your friends get together, they use that embarrassing piece of information to tease you. Even if you ever wanted to forget, they'll never let you.

The last time you saw Michael in person was a few weeks ago for only a few minutes when you came to help Natalie with the last details of the wedding and barely exchanged a couple of words. You moved to Detroit for work three years ago, and the few times you've come back here, you haven't crossed paths with him that often. The soon-to-be married couple also forgo the rehearsal dinner altogether to save money, so you didn't get a chance to see him before the ceremony.

“All I'm saying is if you wanna take a stab at that, this is the perfect time. He's single, he has great hair, he's wearing a dope suit, and did I mention hot?” Gigi keeps cajoling. “Hell, I'll hit that, If you don't. So better act fast.”

“He always had great hair,” Samira agrees, downing the rest of her wine.

“And he asked about you the other day when I showed him the pics of our trip,” Sugar adds.

“Oh,” you try not to sound too pleased, cause you doubt he ever paid any attention to you. Why would he start now?

“Yeah, he was definitely checking you out, and loved that video of you at the karaoke bar,” Samira chimes in as she pours another glass.

“Okay, you're making that up. No more wine for you, missy,” you promptly snatch the bottle from your friend and put it away while they all laugh. “Wait… he saw the video of me singing?”

“Uh-hm.”

You file that information for later and once you are all dressed up, you hand Natalie a stunning bouquet of roses before leaving the room.

“Thanks,” she grabs your arm for a second as Gigi and Samira head out. “Sorry for making fun of you… again. You know we love you and that we just want the best for you.”

“I know,” you mumble timidly.

“Sweetie, you don't need my permission, but if you wanted to ask Michael out, it wouldn't be the worst thing in the world. He'd be lucky to have someone like you.”

“Why are you telling me this now?”

“Because… You've always been like a sister to me, and part of me wanted him to see how amazing you are, so I kept telling him about you. I showed him photos and videos, hoping that he would. And he did! He really loved that one of you vibing to TLC. Thought you were funny.”

“You told him, didn't you?”

“I plead the fifth.”

“I'd stab you if you weren't about to get married,” your serious tone makes her snort.

“Look, you’re not dating anyone. He’s not dating anyone… I could ask him if he's interested before Gigi swipes him up.”

“Nat,” you sigh into a heavy pause, looking into her clear blue eyes. “We’re not in school anymore, you don’t have to play matchmaker. And it's your day! The last thing on my mind is hooking up with someone. Let alone your brother. So drop it.”

“Just saying. It could really be a wedding present for me if you two were to…” you scowl at her, which makes her leave that thought unfinished.

“Okay, that's gross, let’s get you married, so I can kill you right after.”

“Alright, alright. I promise I won’t mention it again.”

In your lavender dress and matching heels, you wait for your cue as the wedding starts. The quartet starts playing. Once the officiant and the groom are in position, groomsmen, and bridesmaids walk down the aisle in pairs. You line up with the bridesmaids by the floral arch on the side of the bride in the lush garden and watch as Natalie walks down the aisle, escorted by both brothers, Carmen and Michael.

She looks radiant, but your stare darts slightly to your former crush. He’s dressed in a dark suit and royal blue shirt, no tie. His fluffy hair pushed back, shining under the sun like black licorice. His features are sharply defined as usual, but there's definitely a certain glow around him that makes him look more handsome than you remember.

Credit where credit's due, Gigi was right. They all were. He still manages to stir those intense feelings and butterflies in your stomach that you thought gone when your eyes meet for a split second as they get closer to the altar. There's also a glimpse of a smile in his lips, directed at you. Or so it looks like. Maybe you're making it up in the chaotic mess that is your mind.

Carmy and Michael kiss either side of Natalie's face when they reach the altar, and then they take their seats on the first row as she stands face to face with Pete.

The quartet stops playing, the officiant starts speaking, and you aim your focus to the ceremony.

Once Natalie and Pete are pronounced husband and wife, there's a time dedicated to take a few pictures of the wedding party in that very same garden before losing the natural light.

Despite promising she was going to let it go, your now-married friend insists on making sure you and Michael end up in several pictures together.

“Mmm… Marcus, is it?” you shake hands with him, pretending to have forgotten his name.

“Michael,” his grip is firm around your hand.

“Oh, sorry, Mario. I have a terrible memory.”

“Don't be cute. I know you remember,” he scoffs, amused, linking one arm around your waist per the photographer's instructions.

You swallow, nervously placing your hand on his firm back, trying to keep your cool. As the photographer takes a series of snapshots, Michael starts humming a familiar song. No scrubs. The one you sang in that famous video your friends filmed.

You press your lips together, and pretend you're not hearing it. It seems like they've all been scheming together against you, or in your favor. You're not sure. You know Sugar wouldn't do anything to make you uncomfortable, but this is getting ridiculous.

“Save me a dance later, would you?” he requests with a wink once the photoshoot session is over.

“I can't, Mitchell. I've already promised that to one of the groomsmen,” lie.

“You're gonna keep that bit the rest of the day?”

You shrug your shoulders, “it's not up to me, Marley.”

“Alright, come find me when you grow up.”

He presses his lips in a tight smile and walks away, leaving you dwelling in that awkwardness that washes over you, and wondering if he's messing with you or if he's suddenly into you. Those are good questions that you can't leave unanswered. If there's a chance that Michael Berzatto likes you, and that's a big IF, you really need to find out. The ball is in your court now. The question is… Do you want to throw it back?

The party moves to the banquet room in the hotel. There's plenty of food, drinks, music, and people in the room, but none of it can't distract you from the presence of Michael. This isn't how you expected to spend the day of your friend's wedding. And it's really going to bother you if you don't at least try to have a nice conversation with him. This is probably your last chance, so right after your heartfelt toast, you wipe your tears, throw back some liquid courage to walk up to his table.

He's nursing a glass of scotch, watching people on the dance floor, when you quietly take the empty chair besides him.

“No Richie today?” you break the ice.

“Oh, you remember his name but not mine?”

“Get over yourself, Michael. You know, I always got a little awkward when I was nervous. And unfortunately, it still happens.”

“Think you're doing pretty good right now.”

“Had a little help,” you tilt your glass in his direction.

“Well, I'm glad you decided to join me,” he nods and points at the bar where Richie is conversing animatedly with your friend Gigi. “I had to convince Sugar to invite him. Hope he behaves for my sake.”

“Oh no, you're a dead man. Nothing good is gonna come out of that.”

“How so?”

“They're both insane, divorced and desperate. That's a dangerous cocktail nobody wants to drink,” you point out.

“Yeah, you're right. I guess I didn't really think it through.”

“You're screwed, Berzatto,” you take a sip of your glass and turn your eyes from the bar to Michael. “You know I was just joshing earlier, right? It surprised me that you were so… Direct.”

“Men aren't usually direct with you?”

“No, I guess I haven’t been very lucky in that department… Or maybe I’m just a bitch with unreachable standards that scares away any potential suitors.”

“That would explain a lot.”

“Gee, thanks!”

“I’m kidding. I’m sure your standards are reasonable. And I don’t think you’re a bitch if that helps.”

“Yet you’re wondering why I came here alone?”

“Not really. I didn't bring a date, either.”

“Yeah? Why is that?”

“I dunno. Maybe I have really high standards, too,” he winks casually at you, knocking you out of your game.

You should have come prepared for this, but you never thought in a million years that Michael Berzatto would ever show any interest in you.

Still trying to figure out if you're picking up the right signals from him, you prop your elbows on the table and let out a sigh as he presses the rim of his glass to his mouth to take a swig.

You bite your lip and watch the guests swaying animatedly on the dance floor.

“So. Do you wanna dance?” he softly taps one of your arms.

“Why?”

“What do you mean, why?”

“Did your sister put you up to this?”

“Why would she?”

“Don't play dumb. I used to have the biggest crush on you, and if you didn't notice, I'm sure your Sugar has told you.”

His lips draw a lopsided smile. “She might have mentioned something a while ago, but she didn't put me up to this, I swear. This is all me. I only asked you for a dance. I didn't ask you to marry me.”

“I suppose a dance wouldn’t be that bad.”

“I'll take that,” he throws back the rest of his drink in one gulp, stands up, offering his hand up to you, “shall we?”

You were hoping to have some more time to prepare, but his sharp conviction is something you can’t reject. That’s part of Michael Berzatto’s appeal. He’s always been such a bold and outgoing guy, it's daunting. It’s good to see that hasn’t changed at all. The only thing that’s different is that now he’s wasting his charms on you.

With some apprehension, you follow his steps into the dance floor. There’s a mid-tempo song playing that you don’t recognize that makes you forget altogether how to move your body. So you just stand there, three feet away from him, like a deer caught in headlights, bobbing your head, avoiding his eyes.

Michael stares at you, slightly entertained by how uncomfortable you look right now, and throws you a lifeline by stepping closer, picking up your hands and placing them on his shoulders.

“What are you so afraid of, sweetheart?” he asks, planting his palms on your waist, guiding you slowly to move with him.

“I'm afraid that I'm not a very good dancer.”

“I doubt that.”

“Wait till I step on you,” you subconsciously look down at your feet.

“Follow my lead. You'll be fine.”

“Okay, Johnny Castle, but don't make me mambo, salsa, waltz… Or anything that requires taking my feet off the ground.”

“Who the hell is Johnny Castle?”

“Patrick Swayze? Dirty Dancing?” you question, as if it was the most outrageous thing that he hadn’t heard about that film.

“I’m more of a Road House kinda guy.” Of course, he is. “Was that another crush of yours?”

“Oh, big time!”

“Ok, got it, nothing fancy, we're just swaying. See?” His hands guide your body to move side to side, but it's impossible not to feel a little clumsy in your steps.

“Hey, what do you think of Pete?” He asks, using his head to point at the newly-weds.

“Uhh,” you glance to the side to see Pete wrapping an arm around Natalie, “he can be a total douche sometimes, but he's always sweet to her. I guess that's what matters. Why? What do you think about him?”

“Words out of my mouth.”

“Michael?” You glance up to his deep dark eyes.

“Yeah?”

“Be honest, why did you want to dance with me?”

“Do I really need to spell it out for you?”

Your lips pull up on the sides as your head nods.

“Cause I wanted to dance with the prettiest girl I've ever met.”

If this is a dream, you don't wanna wake up to find out that this was just a concoction of your mind. It's not. It feels real. If you weren't holding onto him, you'd fall to your knees after hearing his words roll past his beautiful lips.

There are so many questions you wanna ask, but you can only sigh, and smile wider under the sweet glow of his brown eyes fixed on you.

“You really think that I’m that pretty or interesting?” your mouth opens after a pregnant pause, at the same time the song switches to something incredibly romantic.

“I've always thought that. It just took me a while to realize it.”

“God, you have the perfect answer to everything. That's really annoying.”

“I don't. I swear. You just caught me in a good mood.”

“I don't remember you ever being in a bad mood.”

“I have my moments. Trust me.”

He unexpectedly picks one of your hands from his shoulder, lifts it in the air to have you spinning ungracefully under his elbow before quickly wrapping his opposite arm around your waist to dip you. He grins at the shocked expression on your face for a second before bringing your body upright.

“Please, don't do that again,” you brace your hands to his chest right after.

“Why? That was perfect, sweetheart,” he laughs, “Johnny Castle would be proud.”

Your lips curl softly, letting your palms tentatively slide on his blazer until they're caught on the warm surface of his neck.

“Am I making you nervous?” he dares to ask, knowing pretty much that he's driving you crazy.

“A little,” a lot, actually.

He whispers, – sorry – as you run your fingers at the hair at his nape. You observe up close how he licks his lips, noticing his hands clutching harder to your waist. His head leans closer, and you draw a breath, preparing yourself for having his lips colliding against yours. It feels like the world stops spinning for a second and just about when he's about to kiss you something, someone in this case, crashes against your back making you lose your balance. Michael anchors you to the floor quickly before you can fall, as a slurred-drunk voice apologizes at your back.

“Fucking idiot,” Michael mutters and checks on you, “you okay, sweetheart?”

You're not. The spell is broken, and your dress suddenly feels cold and wet from the drink that was spilled along your hip.

You excuse yourself, and rush out of the dance floor, so you can clean yourself up.

There’s a big surprise in the nearest bathroom you find, and that is your friend Gigi making out with Richie with such passion, they don't even notice you opening and quickly closing the door.

The tiny glimpse that you caught of Richie propping your friend on the sink and sliding his hands under her skirt makes your jaw almost fall to the floor. You wish you could erase that from your memory immediately, but at least it has made you forget momentarily about your dress.

When you turn around, you’re faced with Michael again. You ran out so fast you didn’t notice him following behind.

“What’s wrong?”

“Richie and Gigi,” smacking your lips, you point with your thumb to the door with no further explanation.

“Wow, they didn’t waste any time.”

“That's the thing about weddings. They make people do crazy things.”

“Tell me about it,” Michael looks down for a beat, licks his lips, and steps closer.

He holds your chin between his fingers, tilting your head up. As he leans to capture your mouth, you flinch, “what are you doing?”

“Something crazy,” the corners of his mouth quirk up, making another move, and you jerk your face a second time in reflex. It’s not that you don't wanna kiss him, you absolutely do. You just need another moment to process it.

“Damn, girl. Can you just stay still, so I can kiss you already?” He demands without an ounce of entitlement. Just driven by the desire to taste your lips.

“Alright, okay… just give me a second,” you yield to his craving, letting him slowly guide you, so your back is pressed against the wall.

There’s no escape now, this is the moment you’ve dreamed with many moons ago that seemed like a pipe dream back then. All those thoughts vanish the moment his lips are pressed against yours firmly, before letting them bounce a couple of times together. His alcohol-tainted breath mixes with yours as his lips part wider. He captures your lower lip with a light suck, followed by the tip of his tongue shamelessly drawing the curve of your mouth. It's deliciously sexy and sweet and everything in between. You close your eyes and follow his lead, opening your mouth and letting him slot his lips against yours. His tongue invades past your teeth without resistance. It challenges you to kiss him back. It takes you a moment to respond, but soon enough, you're fully immersed in the depth of his mouth, taking the reins of the kiss.

You haven't been kissed like this in a while. Maybe ever.

When your mouths separate, you realize your hands are anchored to his back, and he's fully pressed against you. His lips are covered in your saliva and vice versa.

“I'm going to change my dress,” you sigh, giving him a little push, so you can put yourself together.

“Oh… Okay,” there's a hint of disappointment in his tone.

You clear your throat and harness an ounce of confidence to ask, “do you wanna come? I might need some help. The zipper is a little tricky in this thing.”

Right.

His expression turns on a dime, eyes wide open, white edge teeth showing behind his slightly parted lips. Speechless by the implication of your proposal, he cleans his lips on his palm before responding, “I… sure.”

Proud of yourself for taking a gamble and hitting the jackpot, you go back inside the banquet hall first to collect your purse from the table and then head up to the elevators with him following closely behind.

A palm lands at the small of your back while you press the button. The anticipation makes your stomach flutter wilder than ever. Who would have thought you'd be taking Michael to your room on this day? It feels surreal. Absolutely bananas.

You don't say a word during the elevator ride up to the fourth floor.

When you reach your door, you notice his palms framing your hips from behind. His touch makes your pulse tremble while using the key card. It takes you a couple of tries to open the door.

There's a strange force, an electricity buzzing, that grows more powerful the second you're inside.

You hit the light switch, drop your purse on the chair and turn to face him.

Following that unstoppable whim, you place your palms on his chest and push back his blazer. He shrugs it off as you move to undo the few buttons he's fastened. Your fingers tremor anxiously as you uncover his defined torso. You want to stick out your tongue and trace those two lines forming a V oh his abdomen that leads to the outline of his cock behind the tight fabric of his dress slacks. It’s too bold of a move for you right now, so you let your fingers do your bidding.

When your hands reach his belt, they proceed to unbuckle it under the lust-filled shadow of that flame of his gaze that could scorch the surface of the earth if he wanted to in a second.

He’s already half hard when you unzip his fly, and that's as far as he allows you to go. Michael's dying to touch you, to undress you and fuck you. He quickly turns you around, making you gasp, and finds the zipper of your dress. Your skin rises into goosebumps when he pulls the tab down. He nibbles at the crook of your neck, pushing the top of your dress down to your waist. You shimmy your legs out of it as his hands invite themselves to your skin.

His all hands and mouth around you as he removes your strapless bra and guides you to lay down on the bed.

The fire that lights up his eyes sears through yours as he slips out of his unbuttoned shirt. He then props a knee on the bed, hovering over you, and lowers his head to kiss your stomach. His tongue darts out and draws a circle around your navel. Your head falls back on the mattress, as he leaves a trail of wet kisses up your torso. He nibbles once more at your neck, increasing your arousal up to eleven.

“Michael, please,” you groan as he presses himself between your legs, grinding slowly behind layers of fabric, coaxing your juices to stain your underwear and growing himself a hard-rock erection that can barely be held by his boxers.

Lifting lifts his head, he props himself on his elbows, and surveys the tortured expression on your face as his hips keep relentlessly moving.

“Fuck, you're goddamn gorgeous, baby,” he exhales, proceeding to swiftly rid you off your panties, and pushing his pants and underwear down.

He drives his hardness inside you with great care, pushing inch after inch of that monumental erection that stretches your slicked walls. You close your eyes as he experiments with his thrusting, molding your opening to its generous size.

“Is this how you imagined this?” he pants against the corner of your mouth.

“No. This is better… Much, much better,” you purr, palming his ass, encouraging him to move faster.

If you had a free hand, you'd pinch yourself to check if this is really happening right now. It still blows your mind thinking that Michael Berzatto is deeply buried inside you, wanting you, claiming every cell of your body for his enjoyment. You gladly surrender to his desires as the cadence of his hips drive you into madness. As much as you try to contain your moans, he does everything in his hand to force every moan, curse, and breath to fly out past your teeth.

He slams into you with passion, bites your skin, grips your tits, devours your mouth, setting every inch ablaze. It’s as mind-blowing as it is fast, but he earns himself a good squeeze of your walls when he brings you to orgasm. He comes undone just merely a second after, releasing a wild grunt that ripples all over your skin, and pouring all his warm seed into the depths of your pussy, having his hips jerking erratically until he’s spilled every drop.

His cum sticks to your walls as he rolls to the side of the mattress with a grunt. Your head is spinning out of its usual axis, overtaken by that powerful boost of endorphins, and your lungs struggle for a deep breath.

For a long minute, you both stare at the ceiling while you regain your breath.

When he composes himself, he turns to the side to look at you, sweetly letting one of his fingers brush your cheek, “do you wanna do this again tomorrow?”

“Can't. I'm leaving, remember?”

“Right.”

“But you can stay the night if you want. And repeat later. And maybe one more time even later. Would you like that?”

“I'd love to, sweetheart.”

#michael berzatto x reader #michael berzatto #the bear #the bear fanfiction #jon bernthal #jon bernthal fanfiction #jon bernthal smut #darlingwrites #smut #fluff

738 notes · View notes

lady-lauren · 1 year

Text

Heaven in Hiding

↣ Pairing: Kyojuro Rengoku x Fem!Reader

↣ Rating: Explicit, 18+ Only

↣ Word Count: 5.7k

↣ Warnings/Tags: modern college au, step-big bro!Rengoku, stepcest, a very slight yandere tone, a bit of enemies to lovers, use of “darling” and “good girl”, cuddling and flirting, the smut comes quickly because I can’t help myself, oral (fem!receiving), facesitting, hair pulling, a little biting/marking, unprotected rough/passionate sex, small belly bulge, creampie

↣ A/N: I’m not sorry. I needed to get this out of my system. I love this man and I have been a god damn emotional rollercoaster with this series, okay? He’s such a good big brother and I can’t stand it. 😭

Kyojuro takes delight in being a big brother. He’s a protector and provider by nature. So, when his father remarried, the union bringing a darling new step-sister into the fold, he found renewed pride and purpose in acting as your big brother.

Even though you don’t need a big brother—you’ve told him this a thousand times, insisted that since you’ve always been on your own, you can handle yourself. You’re only two years younger than him, a sophomore to his senior in college.

You’re independent, which Kyojuro appreciates. But you’re so pretty and always so alone. Alone at parties, smiling in the corner, fending off boys with impure intentions. Alone at the library, working tirelessly toward your degree. Alone in your apartment, sleeping in empty sheets.

He can’t stand the thought of you being alone. You need him. You’re a moon without a sun.

So Kyojuro determines the only way for you to let him in completely is to give you what all pretty, lonely girls desire—to be fucked stupid.

“Hello!” he announces at your door late on a Saturday night. He’s not surprised that you slam the door in his face upon recognizing his golden hair and flaming voice.

Persistent, he knocks again, telling the seam of the door that he’s brought food.

It takes a few moments, but your door creaks open again, slowly, hesitantly, as if you’re afraid he’s just going to rush inside. He does.

“Finals are just around the corner and I wanted to make sure you’re taking care of yourself.”

As he takes purposeful steps toward your kitchen, Kyojuro takes note of your apartment. Everything is clean, cute. There are scented candles burning and he can smell the remnants of a hot shower, steam and hints of vanilla and rose swirling in the air. Your television is paused on some Netflix show, a cozy blanket half strewn over the couch. Good, you’re indulging in self-care.

“I’m doing just fine on my own, thanks.”

“And that’s the problem!” He pulls fresh, hot food from the paper bag he’s brought as he speaks, setting containers of potato miso soup—of course he would bring you his favorite, you deserve nothing less—and various other comforting snacks on your countertops. “You don’t have to do everything on your own when you have me.”

You follow him to the kitchen, leaning against the doorframe with your arms crossed. You weren’t prepared for company, only dressed in a pair of soft shorts and a tank-top with no bra. He notices how you’re covering yourself, pressing your tits down and out of sight, hiding the sight of hard nipples. You’re alluring in the soft light; all smooth, dewy skin and sensual curves that would make any man weep.

“Thanks,” you sigh, “and sorry about trying to shut you out. I’m just not used to having a…a brother, or whatever you are.”

“Well, I’m happy to show you what big brothers are for.”

Even as you both sit to eat, you eye him like you don’t trust him. The problem is that you don’t know him. Even after a few years of being family, you’ve never given him the time of day to show you who he really is, how caring he is. Which is why he’s determined to sink beneath your skin tonight, open you like a parched flower to rain.

“You really don’t have to stay,” you mumble over a spoonful, still watching him with catlike perception.

“Why? Did you have other plans?” He looks around dramatically, long hair swishing as he makes the point.

“Kyojuro…I like being alone. It’s addictive, in a way. I like being able to do whatever I want, whenever I want. And I appreciate that you want to be some heroic big bro, but I don’t need you to do that.”

“Don’t you get lonely?” he says with a heavy knife’s edge of sincerity. The words slice through the calm and make you bristle.

“Everyone gets lonely. It’s human nature.”

“Well, you don’t have to be lonely,” he stands to begin cleaning, stopping next to your chair to pat your head softly. “Not with me around.”

He keeps his palm on your head for a moment longer, making you look up at him through your lashes with a concoction of emotion. Anger is present, anger that he’s here, once again attempting to push into your life. But there’s also a hint of adoration, a welling shine that gives him hope.

For you, it’s hard not to be sucked into the gravity well that is Kyojuro Rengoku. He’s blazing warmth and heartfelt smiles, with an eccentricity that is equal parts curious and lovable. He’s the promise of comfort, an assurance of safety. He’s big and strong and far too handsome for his own good—every girl at your university wants him and it’s hard not to fall prey to his blunt charm.

But you’ve always found solace in yourself, only ever trusted yourself. It’s hard to put your trust into anyone, even someone with such a pleasing disposition.

“What movie do you wanna watch?” There’s no question as to whether you want to do such a thing and spend more time with him. It’s a given for him. You’ve let him in, so now he’s going to stay.

“I’m not picky,” you rummage around the kitchen as he slinks into the living room, “just put on whatever you want.”

When you’ve taken enough time to steel yourself, taking deep breaths to calm your shot nerves of your expected alone time being overtaken, you return to him.

Kyojuro has taken residence on your small couch, stout legs spread across the cushions. He’s big in your space, muscular and barrel-chested as one arm hangs across the back of the couch. Like you, he’s casual tonight, gray sweatpants and a tight black t-shirt with the Slayer University emblem on his chest.

With a beaming, almost sheepish smile, he pats his stocky thigh in invitation.

“No,” you hiss.

“Oh, come on! I bet you haven’t had a good, old-fashioned cuddle in a long time.”

The startled look on your face confirms his thoughts.

He’s perceptive, it’s what has made him a great college athlete. He knows you well enough to be aware that you’re no fumbling virgin; you prefer one-night stands, in and out sexual gratification with no messy strings of feelings wrapped around your heart. But that means when it comes to gentle, caring human contact, you’re absolutely touch-starved. He wants to give you what no one else can—the warm, comforting embrace of a brother.

Like an offering, he holds his hand out to you. Palm up, big fingers barely curved and beckoning come here.

You mumble something under your breath, some curse against god, but you take his hand anyway.

Your bodies meld together easily. Your softness melts against his muscles, your ass settling between his spread thighs and your legs draping over one of his. Enthusiastically, he wraps an arm around your shoulders and squishes your cheek against his plush chest.

“See? This is nice!” He beams, proud and loud and practically stewing in happiness.

Shifting a bit to find comfort, you settle on having your hands against his chest, his steady heart beating against your fingertips, ringing in the ear he’s trapped against him.

“Yeah,” your voice is muffled against his brawn, “it’s alright.”

It’s more than alright. Kyojuro can feel the tension in your shoulders fade as he runs his fingers along your arm, up and down, back and forth, a gentle sweeping of touch. You sink deeper into him as he scrolls aimlessly through the streaming platform, nuzzling your head against his chest. You’re quiet, but that’s alright. He just wants you to feel comfortable and realize that you’re safe with him.

He decides on something simple to watch, some nature documentary he’s already seen before as background noise. He doesn’t care what plays; all his attention is set on you.

Fingertips trail up your neck, his thumb caressing your jaw. He expected you to squirm a bit, perhaps protest, but you are content to just curl up against him and hum.

“Feel good?”

“Mhm, yeah. Guess I could get used to this.”

Kyojuro takes the initiative of pulling you in even closer, big hand dipping to your waist and shoving you against his body. His fingers spread wide, his thumb presses against the fat of your breast, his middle finger curving against the underside. His instincts tell him to squeeze, but he presses his teeth together and flexes his jaw to stop himself.

You’re not naive. Your senses are on high alert being pressed against his big, warm body, and you’re acutely aware of his touch against your breast. Instead of slithering away from him, you coil yourself against him tighter. One of your hands slides up his chest, wrinkling his soft t-shirt as your fingers come to rest on his neck, right at his pulse.

“Kyo…” you whisper, turning your cheek to look up at him. He stares down at you a little too intently, honey and ruby eyes waiting, watching. “Why did you come here tonight?”

“To be a good big brother,” he answers immediately.

“So good little sisters just get food and cuddles? Nothing else?” You’re teasing him, one of your manicured nails tapping at the side of his full lips.

He’ll give you whatever you want, whatever it takes to open you to him, let him be part of your life, part of you.

“I’ll give you anything you want. Name it, and it’s yours.”

His heart is pounding in his ribcage as you move in his lap, straddling his waist. Your tits press against his chest, your cunt nestled against the ridge of his hardening cock that he can’t keep hidden in his sweats.

You play with the long hair that frames his face, twirling red tips between your fingers.

“We really shouldn’t…”

Your lips brush against his, just out of reach, hips rocking against him.

“But we definitely should, right?”

“We tell no one,” you warn.

“Our little secret.”

He takes the initiative, running his hot hands up your sides, feeling every dip and curve as he settles his palms on your tits. Thumbs roll over your already hard nipples, bushy eyebrows pulling up in delight as you give him your first moan.

One hand drags to your face, thick fingers squishing into your cheeks as he pulls your mouth closer to his.

“Let me show you what big brothers are for, darling.”

His kiss is like fire, all consuming, powerful. He slides his tongue into your mouth without prompting, cock growing fully hard when you respond in earnest. Your hands cup his face as you moan into his mouth, tongue tangling with his as you grind into his lap. He wanted you to be enthusiastic, but this—this is heaven.

Just a few touches and you’re already melting to his flames, ready to be burned.

He knew such a pretty, lonely thing just needed to be fucked. And he’ll fuck you just right, in all the ways you’ve ever desired. That’s what he’s here for—to provide in all the ways no other man can.

“Off,” you whisper into his mouth, fingernails plucking at his shirt. “Take this off.”

He breaks away from you for just an instant, grabbing his shirt behind his neck and ripping the fabric away from his heated skin. He does the same for you, tossing your tank top over your head so your tits can spill out in front of his face.

“You’re beautiful,” he says in quick reverence, leaning forward to lick one of your nipples into his mouth. His hands are rough, one gripping into your ribs and pushing you down into the couch cushions while the other kneads into the flesh of the breast in his mouth.

You moan and squeak at his actions, making room for him to settle between your spread legs. His weight is so heavy between your thighs. He feels like passion, like a promise.

“Have you been taking care of yourself?” he asks rather sternly, spit dripping from his lips as he moves from one breast to the other.

You flush hot; he can feel how your skin reacts to him.

“Wha…what do you mean?”

As his teeth delicately scrape against your nipple, he flashes his eyes up at you over the curve of your tits. You know exactly what he means.

“I…” you trail off, suddenly bashful even as you press your pussy closer to him, finding relief by rubbing your dampening folds against the hard ridge of his cock.

Kyojuro mumbles your name into your skin, “How do you make yourself cum?”

The question is genuine. He needs to know. He wants to know how to please you, he wants to know if you really do take care of yourself.

“Oh god,” you groan and throw your arm over your eyes, whimpering as he takes your tits in both hands and squeezes. “I…fuck, I have toys.”

“Do you? What kind?” He trails his mouth lower, relishing how your hips buck one last time, searching for his cock, as he moves himself down your body.

“I—” you suck in a deep breath as he hooks his fingers in your sopping little shorts, tugging the material down your thighs. “I h-have a vibrator, but mostly I j-just use a big dildo. I…I like to feel full.”

“I’ll make you feel full, darling. I promise.”

He spreads you open, one of your legs dangling off the couch and the other propped against the back cushion. Your pussy is already sloppy, slick and wet in anticipation of him. He shoves his golden head between your thighs, using his thumbs to spread apart your folds and just look at you. You’re perfect—such a perfect little step-sister indeed.

“It’s amazing how wet you are for me.” The praise makes you mewl, hips wiggling as one of your hands tangles in his long mane of hair. He can feel your temptation to tug him closer, nails pressing into his scalp.

But the sight of your plush thighs spread wide gives him such a tempting thought, one he can’t deny.

“I want you to sit on my face.” He pulls himself away from you, big shoulders rolling as he sits up onto his knees. He rubs his drooling, aching cock through his pants at the sight of you spread naked below him.

“But you were already right there,” you huff and sit up, shooting him that angry glare he loves so much.

“I know, I know,” he grins, “but I want your thighs smothering me. So, sit on me fully, yeah? No hovering.”

You nod in agreement as he sits on the floor, laying his head back and flat against the cushions, thick neck tilted back. You don’t hesitate to throw your leg across his pretty face, letting his lips ghost along your skin as you settle your hips above him. He locks his brawny arms around your legs, eager to bring your wet cunt to his mouth.

He groans in ecstasy as your weight presses down against him, your pussy sweet against his lips as he takes his time to flatten his tongue and draw one long, hot stripe through your folds.

Immediately his eyes flare open, catching your gaze from up above.

“Fuck you’re…tasty.”

His face feels too good smothered between the flesh of your thighs, lips and tongue hungry within your folds. Strong hands are careful not to bruise your skin, pulling your weight farther down onto his face until he’s drowning in you.

Your head hangs low as jolts of white-hot heat spread from where his mouth is working at you, playing with you, tongue painting long, broad strokes up and down your pussy. Your thighs begin to shake and he takes it as a sign of triumph, eagerly eating more and more. Your cunt is syrupy and hot, dripping down onto his tongue and his cheeks.

If he suffocated here and now, he’d die a happy man between your legs.

One of his hands falls to his lap, fisting at his dripping cock, red and angry and still begging for release against the blonde, downy hair of his stomach. Sticky pre-cum leaks from his flushed head, pooling into his skin and clothes as his cock bobs and twitches at the sounds of your moans. Quickly, he lifts his hips just enough to pull his cock free, hand wrapping around his throbbing skin to pump his shaft to the rhythm of his tongue inside of you.

“Oh, oh fuck,” you press your lips together, stomach pulling tight as his tongue thrusts up inside of you, “fuck, fuck, fuck that’s so good, Kyo,” it is all a messy whisper, just hot air blown into the dimly lit room.

Your hips jerk and roll from his ministrations, bursts of pleasure spreading over your nerves like hot, rippling webs beneath your skin. His tongue presses against your tight hole, gathering the mess of your slick onto his tongue and drinking like a man parched.

His tongue soothes over you, lapping slowly and pulling you away from the churning coil within your belly. He wants you to savor this, to beg for him, beg for your big brother to let you cum on his face.

“Please,” your voice is wavering as his lips move against your folds, “p-please, suck my clit, make me cum.”

His cock twitches with every plea.

You double over in pleasure as he heads your plea, nails scraping into the couch as you cling on for dear life. His tongue swirls over your clit quickly and with fervor, tight circles to make your vision go blurry. He’s always been proud of how well he eats pussy, and he’s never enjoyed one more than yours.

He squeezes the base of his cock to keep himself from cumming, letting his dick throb and pulse in anticipation of being inside your sweet cunt.

You’re getting closer to the edge with every curl of his tongue, the tip of it fast and hurried as he licks against your swollen clit. Kyojuro feels as if he is on fire and drowning all at the same time, lungs struggling to take in just enough air to keep himself above the surface of bliss.

The noises he makes are suppressed, being soaked up by your cunt. The vibrations from his mouth only add to your building delight, making your hips become more desperate. Continuous moans of your own spill down over your bodies, whimpers and a line of “please, please, please.”

He purrs into your flesh, “Who do you want to make you cum, darling? Say my name.”

Kyojuro can feel you sinking, each purposeful lick against your pussy sending you deeper and deeper into a pleasant abyss. His tongue is far too skilled; he knows exactly how to lap and kiss at you to keep your body shaking and wanting, all his attention centered around the tight bundle of nerves that has your belly tightening over and over again.

“Kyo–Kyojuro!” you all but scream, thighs pressing in closer to his head, his long hair sticking to the sweat of your skin.

“You can do better.”

The look on your face above him is priceless, nearly fucked out already and all you’ve had of him is his tongue.

“Fuck!” You squeeze your eyes closed as pleasure overtakes you, now riding his face as you chase your high. “Oh, oh Kyo, please, big brother please.”

Your orgasm spills onto his cheeks as you find your release, ecstasy blooming from where his mouth is still relentlessly licking between your folds. Your walls clench and unclench, looking for the fat cock that should be filling your needy cunt. Your sanity momentarily slips away, mind and body overwhelmed with the feeling of him, of your fucking step-brother between your thighs.

Then, you fall, chest pressing into the couch and hips lifting so you don’t actually crush Kyojuro’s pretty face beneath you.

Kyojuro laughs triumphantly as he slips from between your legs, wrapping you in his arms so you can cling to him in your post-orgasmic high. He pulls you back into his lap, grunting as your messy cunt brushes against his still aching cock.

“You’re so good,” he kisses your forehead, hand petting over your hair as you bury your face into his neck, “you’re such a good girl, you know that?”

He keeps you engulfed in his brawn as you whimper, naked chest pressed against his.

When you pull back to look at him, your eyes are blazing, full of passion that mimics his own.

“I need you inside me, Kyo,” you whisper, pulling his lips down to yours for a sloppy kiss. You moan at the taste of yourself in his mouth, nails gripping into his muscles.

“Your wish is my command!” He beams with pride as he stands, throwing your naked body over his shoulder as he kicks off the rest of his pants and marches for your bedroom.

“Kyo!” You cough at his broad shoulder pressing into your stomach. “We could’ve just fucked on the couch.”

“Absolutely not!” He slams open your bedroom door with perhaps too much enthusiasm, the doorknob wailing against the wall. “Not when there’s a perfectly good bed to take you in.”

With his unparalleled strength, he easily manhandles you onto the bed, flipping you onto your hands and knees.

There’s no pause, no moment to breathe. Kyojuro is fast and sure with his movements, pulling you back by your hips and sinking you down onto his thick cock.

It’s hard for him not to just slam into you, his need for you seeping out of every pore and tensing every muscle. But he refrains, using you slowly, letting you sink back inch by inch on his throbbing cock.

The sound you make is divine, one of pure relief and satisfaction of finally being stuffed full. Your cunt sucks him in tightly, a wet vice clenching against the pulsing veins of his cock.

He groans as he finally bottoms out inside of you, unable to tear his eyes away from the sight of your pussy spread around him. You’ve finally let him in, let him break down your barriers and open yourself up to him in the most vulnerable of ways.

There is a warm burn from the way he stretches your pussy, sending your eyes rolling back as you suck in a deep breath. He stays still. He keeps himself sheathed deep inside of you, letting you feel the thickness of his cock, the heaviness of his thighs against yours.

“Better than your toys?” he asks, hands sliding up your sides to toy with your dangling tits, plucking at your puffy nipples.

“So much better, Kyo. You feel so fucking good.”

He cants his hips gently, pulling out just a bit before bullying back inside your depths.

“Yeah? You like feeling full with my cock inside you?”

Your head nods against the pillows, your hips wiggling back for more.

Kyojuro leans over your back as he grinds into your gummy core, kissing your shoulder blades and rocking against you. The need to protect, to provide, swells in his chest as you mewl for him.

“Gonna make you feel so good, darling. Gonna take such good care of you, promise.”

Flaming hair falls into his face as he pulls back, hands anchoring to your hips. His appetite for you is raging hotter than any fire he has ever conjured in his soul; he is bewitched, the sinful arch of your back imploring him to go deeper, to forget any inhibitions and become enraptured by your body. But still yet, he wants to savor you, to etch the vision before him into his memory, to play the sweet professions your lips spoke earlier on repeat. Oh, big brother, please.

The mattress dips under his heavy weight, causing your knees to spread farther into the divots created by his wake. A strong hand steadies you, thumb petting over your backside with care. He begins a steady pace, eyes gleaming as he watches your ass cheeks bounce against the slap of his skin against yours.

Heavy balls smack against your clit, making your body twitch with little shocks of bliss with every thrust.

“That’s a good girl,” he praises, “you feel so good wrapped around my cock. So fucking tight, all for me, right?”

“For you,” you choke out between plunges of his cock. “All for you, big brother.”

He knows you’re saying it just to turn him on—before tonight, you hardly ever called him brother, but now you’re far closer than two step-siblings ever should be. That thought makes him ache, heart pooling with pride.

He’s the best big brother, he can give you more happiness than anyone else.

One of his hands abandons your hip. His thick arm reaches forward and tangles in your hair, jerking your head back as he doubles down on his pace. Curses tumble out of your mouth now, free falling into the air and encouraging him to fuck you more recklessly. The fingers in your hair pull and tug gently, twisting and making you moan.

He’s rutting against you like you’re a bitch in heat, like the only thing that can bring you absolution is your step-brother’s cock. Your lust spills over into garbled moans of his name.

He pulls you up higher, leaning forward to capture your shoulder between his teeth. The bite is soft, just enough to mark you and make your body shiver from gentle pricks of pain. His body rocks against yours, over, and over, and over again. His cock rams so deep inside of you that he feels as if he’s fucking into your throat.

“You like getting fucked by big brother, yeah? Like how good I make you feel?” He growls into your neck, his hand on your hip still crushing you against him.

“Oh my god!” you cry out, hands flying to your breasts as you begin edging up the mountain of climax.

“Fuck, you’re sucking me in so tight, you gonna cum for me? Gonna cum just from my cock inside of you?”

His cock is unforgiving, plunging into you with reckless abandon as he keeps a tight pull on your hair. You feel so weak against him, so used by his massive body and hands, your cunt throbbing with every push of his cock, begging for release.

Every fresh plunge of his cock inside of you is wet, sloppy, squelching out into the darkness of your room.

Your bodies are passionate flames burning against each other, skin against skin and flesh into flesh. He’s mesmerized by you, how soft you are when you’re vulnerable, how your hands reach back for him and your nails scrape against his skin like you need him.

Kyojuro begins thrusting harder, more erratic than before. The lewd sound of your slick coating his cock gushes with every plunge. God, he feels so good, so full of passion above you, taking you like you truly belong to him, like he’s spoiling you rotten like every little sister deserves.

He lets go of your hair, your upper body falling back against the mattress. Your fingers twist in the sheets, your hips finding his rhythm and bouncing back against him with every thrust.

“Fuck, fuck, Kyo, fuck don’t stop, please, wanna cum on your cock!” Your pleas are muffled by the pillows in your face.

His hand slides to the back of your neck, fingers pressing against the delicate sides of your throat. You groan into the sheets at the feeling of his thick fingers pressing against your pulse. He can feel the power within his thighs as he slams into you, his cock buried so deep that he’s sure you will feel its ghost lingering within you for weeks to come.

Your sensitive clit aches from his balls barreling against you, your legs nearly crumpling from his weight behind you. He is wavering, coming close to the edge. His movements are slowing, finding that perfect pace to finally feel you come undone around him.

And then he finally feels it, the intoxicating suction of your cunt as you orgasm. The world stops for you as you scream his name over and over again, the milking compression of your pussy nearly enough to have him bursting his load inside of you. But he holds himself back, not ready to be done with you.

“You alright, darling?” He runs his fingers down your back tenderly, smiling as he feels the aftershocks of pleasure racing down your spine.

Your cunt flexes around him, clamping down like you’re sucking the last thread of orgasm into your body.

“God you’re so thick, Kyo. You h-have no idea how good you feel inside me, holy shit.”

He chuckles, slowly pulling his cock out of you, only to slam back in to hear you scream.

“Wanna watch your face as I fuck you,” he groans, pulling at your body and slipping out of you for only a moment before sliding back in again.

Your face is blissed out, lashes wet and lips swollen. He brushes his thumb over the apple of your cheek as he begins a new pace, softer and deeper as he curls one of your legs against your chest.

“You still feel good? Cause you’re so fucking pretty like this, love watching you take my cock.”

He knows you’re a little too full, too fucked out to answer, cunt stuffed so snugly around his cock he can feel every drag of your inner muscles. Keen, multicolored eyes admire how your flesh parts for him, drags along his length, coats his heavy cock with fresh cream with every push.

He won’t last long like this. Not with you whimpering, your hands pulling at his hair, bringing him down to kiss you like the world will end if you don’t taste him right this second.

“You’re mine to take care of you, know that, right?” he mumbles against your wet lips as you nod in earnest.

“God,” you groan as he pushes in deep, “you can take care of me any time, please god, as long as you make me feel this fucking good.”

Kyjuro sits back and hooks both of your knees over his strong arms, practically folding you in half as your hips roll back on the bed to take the power of his thrusts.

“No more shutting the door on me, yeah? Big brother can have you whenever he wants.”

“Yes, promise, promise.”

“Good girl. Can I cum inside you, darling?”

For a moment you look fearful, like the realization has just slapped in the face that your step-brother is just moments away from creaming inside your tight cunt. But quickly your attitude shifts, your hands moving to the backs of your thighs to help keep yourself spread for him.

“Please, Kyo, fuck wanna you feel you cum inside me. It’s all I want.”

Your affirmation makes his chest burn, like the sun is getting ready to burst within him.

He has you. You’ll never be alone again, you’ll always have your big brother beside you, inside you.

He finds the perfect pace, the one that has your walls sucking him just right, the tip of his cock curving against the spongy spot inside you that feels so fucking good. Your tits are bouncing with every push of his hips, your head thrown back against the pillows and his name on your lips like a permanent stain.

You’ve been his heaven in hiding, haven’t you? So close but just out of reach. But now he has you, and he’s never letting go.

From this angle, he can see his length inside you, just barely. He can see his cockhead deep in your belly, bulging every time he plunges deep inside you. Fuck, he’s inside you, making your cunt his, pleasing you so well you can barely speak.

Something primal kicks in his chest, in his brain, and he lets out a final, long groan as he comes undone inside of you. Hot streams of cum fill your tight cunt, spurting down the sides of his cock where your pussy clings to him. His thick cock twitches and throbs at the sight. You moan into the sheets, back arching at feeling so fucking full, so satisfied to have his cum spilling out down your thighs.

After a few moments of shameless staring, he pulls out of you with a hefty sigh.

You whine as you finally get to release your own legs, body stiff from being curled against his.

He falls to the crumpled bed beside you, glorious arms stretching above his head as the swirls of lust finally dissipate. He can hear his own heart thumping in his chest, a steady pitter-patter of hot rain cooling inside of him.

“Mhm, you’ve made quite a mess, Kyo.”

But you don’t seem to mind it, looping one of your legs around his even as cum continues to drool against your skin, sinking into your sheets.

“This isn’t a one-time thing,” he states bluntly, blowing hair out of his face. “You’re far too tasty not to eat again.”

You giggle, leaning over to where you can kiss him lazily, taking the time to really taste him.

“I wouldn’t think so. Family is for life, I suppose.”

His ears burn as you call him family, that prideful, protective feeling welling in his chest again.

“Any time you want me to take care of you, you just call me, okay?”

“I promise, Kyo.”

And he was right. All pretty, lonely girls desire to be fucked until they lose their minds. Even you. You start to call him just about every day, let him walk you to class, even smile when he teases and praises you instead of glowering. You’re his now, his perfect little-step sister, his best kept secret.

Kyojuro couldn’t be prouder to be your big brother.

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linberlyy · 3 months

Text

Let's be honest: Criston's offense’s more than justified and well-reasoned. Another question is how much this very offense is, but everyone will judge this through their own internal compass. Let me explain Cole’s motivation and worldview, maybe I'll open someone's eyes.

Let’s simulate the situation: we have a son from a humble family (so low that his position was low even for an engagement), who, with sweat, blood, his skills and efforts, carved out a place for himself in the Kingsguard, taking into account that, thanks to the goodwill of a representative of the royal family, - who has a golden spoon in her mouth, we remember, was able to get a healthy assessment of her capabilities and skills without watered calculations.

- “I know what it’s like to fight for something that others don’t value.”

He owes his new position precisely to the favor of the princess, and we have no reason to refute Criston’s conscience, because BEFORE any traumatic and drastic changes/events, he manifests himself as a conscientious and devoted knight, with a clear worldview.

They spend a lot of time together, and already at Aegon’s name day we see that the level of trust between Rhaenyra and Criston is high, moreover, it is rapidly gaining momentum when she opens some part of her soul, shares things that can be called “personal”, laments his situation and outlines the problems he faces. Most notable:

— “My father is trying to sell me to Jason Lannister. I was named heir to the throne only to improve the position of Lord Casterly Rock.

— Should I kill him?”

This is literally a joke about killing the LORD that Criston makes in the presence of the princess, and it is remarkable that they both laugh without taking it seriously.

— “You can choose your own path, you are lucky. Many would gladly change places with you.

— “I am the princess of Dragonstone, but I am toothless.”

— “Once, not so long ago, you were able to write my name in the White Book. A position in the Kingsguard is the highest honor for the Cole family. I owe you everything. And I wouldn’t call it toothless.”

He provides her with sincere support, without greedy or hypocritical intent, and she accepts it with open arms.

The development of their relationship, on the initiative of the princess, follows immediately when, after some time, abandoned by Daemon (I condemn) in a brothel, she persuades Criston to have sex. Rhaenyra lures him into the room, plays with the helmet, kisses him, not allowing him to leave, and then tries to free the knight from his armor. Yes, Criston could more than experience romantic feelings towards his princess, but above all, it was a kind of admiration, sincere gratitude for what bestowed her favor on the rootless commoner. His representation of Rhaenyra may seem banal and naive, namely as “a poor princess, enslaved by her position,” we will note this in the future. But based on his pure motives, he faces a choice in which his feelings equally suffer, his vows and, of course, the wishes of his object of desire, in relation to whom Criston has never crossed the line before, are called into question. Many may underestimate the pressure that arises between the statuses and titles of total opposites, and only in the example of “maid - prince” do some realize the problematic nature of such a union, but not “princess - knight”. Please note: despite gender, it is still a class difference that breeds power with abuse. And, unfortunately, Cole cannot know and be sure that Rhaenyra’s need to get sex here and now has nothing to do with her love for him. He hesitantly follows the princess's lead, putting aside his white cloak.

Next we see and hear that Criston is ashamed of himself for violating his honor, neglecting his duty, although he listened to his heart, to his duty to Rhaenyra.

— “You occasionally confided in me... Over the years of acquaintance. And it seems to me that I know you. A little.

— “More than a little.”

Another imaginary confirmation in Christon’s eyes of reciprocity.

— “You have said many times how you despise your position. That you will be married off at the whim of your father, without thinking about the inclination of your heart. And this day has come."

He imbues her with the problem mentioned in the past; driven not only by his dilemma, but also by Rhaenyra's “confinement,” a literal shackle that equally binds and constrains them both.

— “I ask you to come with me. Away from all this, from the humiliations and burdens of your heritage. Let's leave all this and look at the world together. We will be free, nameless. We are free to go wherever we want, to love whoever we want. Will you marry me? Not for the crown. For love.

— “I’m the Crown, Ser Criston. Or I will be her. I can complain about my debt, but would I choose infamy in exchange for a barrel of oranges, or a ship to Asshai? It is my duty to marry a noble of a great house. But my marriage is not the end all be all. Ser Criston, Laenor and I have come to an understanding. I gave him the right to do what he wants. He granted me the same”.

— “Do you want to make me a whore?”

— “I want what started to continue.” You are my protector. My white knight”.

— “I made a vow, a vow of chastity. I have nothing but my white cloak, and I have stained it! I thought the wedding would cleanse him.”

Literally, Criston pours out not only his soul to Rhaenyra, but also to us, as viewers. He dictates the reality of his situation, assures that he can provide and protect the princess as much as possible. But, of course, for the blood of the dragon, for the heiress, for the father’s daughter, who was previously brought up in the conditions of “do you want it? Get it!” such a prospect is worthless. Naive of Cole? Yes, but not without reason.

After everything, he feels extremely vulnerable, as well as after a sincere confession to the Queen - which responds even more precariously and nervously to any conscience and confidence, despite her gratitude. Already at the wedding of Rhaenyra and Laenor, Cole, like a taut string, stands at the service, but restlessly and nervously looks at the princess.

— “I’m on duty, what’s your business?”

— “You don’t know me, Ser Criston, but this alliance is very important to both of us.”

— “If you have something to say, Ser Joffrey, speak.”

— “Ser Laenor is as dear to me as I know the princess is to you. We must swear to keep them and their secrets. We’re not in any danger yet... They are safe.”

Sounds like a threat to a pins and needles knight with a stained cloak and a sense of duty, don’t you think? Criston can only guess how Joffrey knows about his affair with the princess, and only one of the options may look convincing - Rhaenyra telling Laenor about this, who could notify his lover along the chain. Again, every possible inclination towards princess on his part is undermined when their secret is at stake. Yes, Criston succumbs to anger and panic, resentment and hopelessness, for which he commits a much more terrible act than calling a woman names. But even so, Cole feels guilt, boundless disappointment, and at the lynching he also feels remorse. He plans to voluntarily commit suicide and admits his every mistake. This scene is literally the rebirth of a knight in the rays of Alicent’s understanding and favor.

And as a result: people complain countless times and blame Criston for swearing towards Rhaenyra, for which he apologizes. Cool. Let's think critically and delve into the story and characters, and not spit hypocrisy.

#hotd #anti team black #houseofthedragon #rhaenyra targaryen #pro team green #team green #the greens #criston cole #alicent hightower

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