#EVEN THOUGH I HAVE NO REASON TO THINK THIS IN THE FIRST PLACE
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watch | m.s. |
matt sturniolo x fem!reader
summary: after hearing you confess all of your insecurities to him, matt makes it his mission to have you see yourself the way that he sees you.
warnings: established relationship smut; fluff; mentions of body insecurities; hint of disordered eating; fingering (f receiving); dirty talk; choking; 18+
notes: i dreamt up this smut last night and immediately got to writing because it felt a little too real. i also knew it was gonna be a shorter one shot (compared to all of my others) so decided to try out second person narration rather than first person. i still can't decide which is better, so pls let me know which u all prefer to read. i hope ya'll enjoy reading this as much as i enjoyed dreaming ab it ;)))
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With Mac Miller playing softly from Matt’s tv, you sighed to yourself as you applied the finishing touches to your makeup. You took a moment to inspect your appearance in the full length mirror that you had been getting ready in front of, and felt like you didn’t recognize the girl in the reflection. For some reason, you were having a bad everything day. You had started getting ready by doing your hair, and it just wouldn’t fall right once you had finished styling it. Moving on to makeup, you had struggled with making your eyeliner match and all of your base makeup looked splotchy; it was like nothing was sitting the way it should on your skin.
Filled with frustration, you were tempted to tell Matt to cancel the dinner reservation, scrub everything off your face, and tuck yourself in his bed for the rest of the night. But you wouldn’t do that, because he had been so excited about planning your date night all by himself.
You and Matt had been dating for a few months, and had built a relationship filled with the perfect combination of comfort and excitement. Even though you both lived apart, there was rarely a day when you and him were not doing something together — whether that be just laying in his bed watching movies all day, or going on a random adventure in the middle of nowhere. You could never grow tired of being around him, but for some reason your insecurities in your appearance were so severe today that you almost felt like you wanted to hide yourself from him.
As you leaned closer to the mirror to inspect your creasing concealer under your eyes, Matt walked into the room with a towel wrapped around his waist. “You look pretty,” He started, heading towards his closet to pick out an outfit. “You about ready?” You watched him through the mirror as he put on a pair of boxers, feeling a lump form in your throat at how undeniably beautiful he looked. You were hit with the realization that his looks so clearly outshined your own, and hated the idea of other people recognizing that whenever you two went out together.
Trying to get the negative thoughts out of your mind so that he wouldn’t have reason to worry, you cleared your throat. “Uh, yeah I am. I just have to get dressed.” After buttoning his jeans, he looked at you through the mirror and smiled warmly. “Everything okay baby?” He must have noticed the tension in your brow, or the slight downturn of your lips, but you nodded reassuringly. “Yeah of course, I’m just not really feeling my makeup.” You added a chuckle to the end of your sentence, hoping to make him believe that it was just a light hearted confession. He walked over to you and pressed a kiss to your forehead. “I think it looks perfect.” He said softly into your hair, and you forced a smile onto your lips.
You walked over to the clothing rack that Matt had put in his room for you so that you could leave a variety of your clothes at his place for when you stayed over. Scanning your options, you skipped over all of your more bold pieces — knowing your head space was far too vulnerable tonight to mess around with any of them — and decided on your favourite black Skims dress. It had never failed you in the past, and you tried to reassure yourself with this fact as you removed your oversized t-shirt and replaced it with the soft dress.
Your positive attitude was gone just as quickly as it arrived once you began to examine yourself in the mirror. From the front your body looked okay, but as soon as you turned to the side you grimaced at the sight of your bloated stomach from the massive deli sandwich Matt had bought you for lunch earlier. The thin, tight material of the dress did nothing but accentuate the swell in your lower stomach, and you wanted to scream out in frustration. Maybe if your hair and makeup had worked in your favour the bloating wouldn’t have bothered you so much, but because everything that could have possibly gone wrong had gone wrong, it was enough to cause tears to well in your eyes.
As you stood in front of the mirror fighting the tears from spilling over, Matt noticed the sheen in your eyes and your wobbly chin and raced over to you. “Hey hey hey! What’s wrong baby?” He asked, his voice laced with a hint of panic. You shook your head rapidly. “Nothing, it’s nothing. I’m just being stupid.” Your voice was thick with emotion, and it made you even more angry with yourself as you knew this whole thing was stupid. “It’s clearly not nothing if you’re crying, Y/n.” He turned you around so that you were face to face with him; concern evident in his furrowed brow and racing eyes. “Tell me what’s going on sweetheart.” His voice was soft, and he rubbed his hands along your bare arms reassuringly.
You sighed and brought a shaky hand to your eye; trying to dab away any fallen tears in a weak attempt to not ruin your shitty makeup. “It’s stupid Matt.” You wined, not wanting to tell him your insecurities out of fear that speaking of them might make him suddenly see them just as clearly as you did. “Y/n, please.” He begged, desperate to try and help you. Groaning, you finally obliged; your voice barely above a whisper as you confessed. “I just hate everything about the way I look today, that’s all.” Matt stared at you with a blank expression as he took in your words, and you waited in silence — nervous to hear his response.
“What the fuck are you talking about, Y/n.” He sounded almost angry in his response, and it caused you to bite your lip nervously as you shrugged. “Nothing turned out the way I wanted it to when I got ready today, plus you’ve been feeding me too much lately and it’s been making me bloated.” You explained further, and watched as his eyes travelled from your face down to your body. “Baby, you look absolutely beautiful.” He said, and you rolled your eyes. “You have to say that, it’s one of the unwritten rules of being someone’s boyfriend.” A dry laugh escaped your lips, and Matt moved his hand to the back of your head.
“You think I’m lying?” He asked, his tone of voice mildly threatening and absolutely serious. So serious in fact, that the weak smile left your lips and you could do nothing but stare blankly at his face; unsure of how you should answer. He tilted his head quizzically, clearly still waiting for a response. Tentatively, you nodded your head yes as a singular tear fell down your cheek. Matt’s eyes softened. “Oh baby.” He breathed before pressing his lips softly against yours. He wrapped his arms around your waist as he began deepening the kiss — turning it into one filled with passion without losing its gentle nature. Delicately, his tongue skated across your lips; requesting access to your mouth without demanding it. You released a soft whimper from his tender movements as his hands travelled down to your ass; massaging it gently through the thin material of your dress.
“Turn around.” He ordered against your mouth, and you immediately obliged. Now facing the mirror, he stood behind you with his hands planted firmly on your shoulders. Into your ear, he spoke. “You are the most beautiful person that I have ever laid my eyes on, and I need you to know that.” His words — overflowing with emotion — caused goosebumps to cover your skin. Using both of his hands, he grabbed each thin strap of your dress and slowly peeled them off your shoulders. Not stopping there, he used his grip on the straps to pull the dress completely off your body — creating a puddle of dark material at your feet.
“Look at you, Y/n.” His hands moved across your upper body; exploring every square inch of your skin as he held you in front of the mirror. You shuddered from his touch; his hands lighting your body on fire as they glided across it. He grabbed your breasts in both hands, massaging them slowly as he planted a kiss to the top of your shoulder. “You might see flaws when you look at yourself in the mirror, but I don’t. And I never have.” His hands moved down to your hips, squeezing them slightly. “I think I just have to show you what I see, and then maybe you’ll change your mind.”
Dropping one more kiss to your flushed skin, he walked you forward a few steps towards the mirror, before using his hands to guide you to the floor. Knees tucked into your chest, he sat behind you and pulled all of your hair over to one side before leaning in to whisper into your ear. “Open your legs baby.” You gulped before obliging, sliding your legs apart but keeping your knees bent. Your bare chest rose and fell rapidly, beginning to feel overwhelmed by the intensity of the situation. You titled your head to the side out of embarrassment of having your legs spread in front of the mirror — with only your small pink thong covering you. Noticing this, Matt brought a hand to your jaw, grabbing it firmly and straightening your head back in the direction of the mirror. “You are breathtaking, Y/n. I don’t want you to look away.” As he spoke, he moved his hand from your jaw down to your breast, holding it firmly as his thumb swirled around your sensitive nipple. “Keep your eyes on the mirror.” He whispered before taking his free hand and sliding your panties to the side.
Your eyes planted firmly on your glistening core as he used two fingers to spread it open. You watched as your arousal began leaking from your slit, and your jaw dropped in ecstasy as he collected the fluid on his fingers. His eyes connected to yours in the mirror as he brought his wet fingers up to your lips. Confused, you furrowed your brow. “Even your insides are beautiful. Taste yourself.” He urged, and his words stirred up something within you. Slowly, you opened your mouth and immediately felt his fingers press against your tongue. You wrapped your lips around his middle and ring fingers; sucking your own sweet juices off of them and moaning at the heat of the scenario as his eyes burned into yours through the reflection in the mirror.
“Good girl.” He praised once you released his fingers, before moving them back down to your throbbing core. As soon as his fingers connected with your clit, you released a breathy moan and screwed your eyes shut in relief. “Open your eyes sweetheart, and look at how fucking beautiful you look.” He demanded sweetly into your ear, making it impossible for you to even consider disobeying him. Through your droopy eyelids you watched, mouth agape, as his ringed fingers massaged your bundle of nerves; their circular motions hypnotizing you. You also took a moment to admire your body as it writhed in anticipatory pleasure — your sweat-coated breasts heaving as you gasped for breath. Matt rested his chin on your shoulder — his left hand still caressing your tits — as he watched in awe at your various expressions of pleasure.
“Look at your pretty pink pussy, baby. And look how unbelievably beautiful you look when you bite your lip. God, I could cum in my pants just from watching you feel good.” His words were equal parts sweet and filthy in your ears, and they added to the pleasure you felt building up within you. Suddenly, his left hand moved from your tits down your stomach and towards your core. You watched in awe as he swirled two fingers around your opening teasingly, and practically screamed out once he slammed them into you. Wasting no time, his curled fingers pumped in and out of you rapidly, hitting your spongey g-spot each time.
“F-fuck Matty, feels so good.” You managed to get out through breathless moans. “Mmm.” He purred, “Looks so good too, doesn’t it? Your pretty juices like honey dripping from my fingers. Tell me how pretty it looks.” You whined before obliging. “I-it’s so pretty.” You watched his reflection as he shook his head and smirked. “Good baby, but it’s not just your juices. It’s you that’s so pretty. Say it.” As he waited for your response, he nipped delicately at your neck. “I-I’m s-so pretty.” Your voice was shaky as your mind was overtaken by your impending orgasm that was very quickly approaching. You felt Matt’s lips turn up in a smile against your neck. “That’s right. And just wait till you cum princess, there’s nothing more beautiful than that.” His words caused your walls to flex around his pumping fingers and your stomach tensed from the familiar feeling.
“G-gonna cum baby.” You cried out, tucking your chin into your shoulder and arching your back off of his chest as your orgasm began to roll through your body. Suddenly, Matt pulled his fingers out of your core and grabbed onto your throat, gently straightening your head up once again. “Watch yourself cum, Y/n.” He rasped into your ear and you watched through blurred vision as your fucked out face contorted into one filled with pleasure as your orgasm tore through your body. Still rubbing your clit at full tilt, Matt filled the space between you both with muttered praises; his eyes firmly planted to your face as he almost fell apart himself from the view in front of him.
Once you came down from your high, Matt wrapped both of his arms tightly around you; leaving small kisses on your skin as he waited for you to catch your breath. “I don’t ever want you to have negative thoughts about yourself like that ever again.” He stated as he rubbed your soft skin gently. Still waiting for the fog around your fucked out brain to clear, you could do nothing more than hum in acknowledgment. “I mean it, Y/n. I get that having insecurities is normal, but, when I look at you, I swear to god I can’t see a single flaw.” Your eyes fluttered open and connected with his in the mirror. “You are perfect, Y/n. And I’m not just saying that.” Giving him a small smile, your heart did leaps in your chest at his heartfelt testament. The sincerity in his voice was undeniable, and when you took a moment to look at yourself again in the mirror, you realized that maybe he did have a point.
Even through your makeup, your cheeks were filled with a lively glow that wasn’t there before. Your eyes seemed to glisten in the light, and your lips were swollen and pink. You would have expected your hair to be messed up, but Matt’s hands running through it had actually made it fall exactly they way you had hoped it would when you were styling it. You still struggled with your bloating, but flashbacks of your body squirming sensually under Matt’s touch — and the residual satisfaction of your orgasm a reminder of just how good your body could feel — allowed you to find a new appreciation for it. Feeling a lump form in your throat just as it had when you tried on your black dress — this time for an entirely different reason — you gazed adoringly at Matt. “Thank you baby.” You whispered before turning around and planting a deep kiss to his lips.
“It was my pleasure, sweetheart.” He responded, both of his hands on either side of your face so he could stare at it up close. “You think you’re up for dinner still? Because let me tell you, you’re on a whole other level of sexy when you’re shovelling steak into your mouth.” You erupted into giggles at this, and wrapped your arms around his neck. “I’m serious.” He continued, his voice filled with laughter. “You think I have blue balls now, just wait until after dinner. They might explode.” You shoved his shoulders playfully at this, and hoisted yourself up to your feet to find your discarded dress. “You add a lobster to my dinner plate, and I might just be able to help you out with that on our way back.”
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#sturniolo triplets#sturniolo smut#matt sturniolo#matthew sturniolo#matt sturniolo x you#matt sturniolo smut#matt sturniolo x reader#sturniolo fanfic#sturniolo x reader#the sturniolo triplets
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It's been a long time since I've posted much of anything about "AI risk" or "AI doom" or that sort of thing. I follow these debates but, for multiple reasons, have come to dislike engaging in them fully and directly. (As opposed to merely making some narrow technical point or other, and leaving the reader to decide what, if anything, the point implies about the big picture.)
Nonetheless, I do have my big-picture views. And more and more lately, I am noticing that my big-picture views seem very different from the ones tend to get expressed by any major "side" in the big-picture debate. And so, inevitably, I get the urge to speak up, if only briefly and in a quiet voice. The urge to Post, if only casually and elliptically, without detailed argumentation.
(Actually, it's not fully the case the things I think are not getting said by anyone else.
In particular, Joe Carlsmith's recent series on "Otherness and Control" articulates much of what's been on my mind. Carlsmith is more even-handed than I am, and tends to merely note the possibility of disagreement on questions where I find myself taking a definite side; nonetheless, he and I are at least concerned about the same things, while many others aren't.
And on a very different note, I share most of the background assumptions of the Pope/Belrose AI Optimist camp, and I've found their writing illuminating, though they and I end up in fairly different places, I think.)
What was I saying? I have the urge to post, and so here I am, posting. Casually and elliptically, without detailed argumentation.
The current mainline view about AI doom, among the "doomers" most worried about it, has a path-dependent shape, resulting from other views contingently held by the original framers of this view.
It is possible to be worried about "AI doom" without holding these other views. But in actual fact, most serious thinking about "AI doom" is intricately bound up with this historical baggage, even now.
If you are a late-comer to these issues, investigating them now for the first time, you will nonetheless find yourself reading the work of the "original framers," and work influenced extensively by them.
You will think that their "framing" is just the way the problem is, and you will find few indications that this conclusion might be mistaken.
These contingent "other views" are
Anti-"deathist" transhumanism.
The orthogonality thesis, or more generally the group of intuitions associated with phrases like "orthogonality thesis," "fragility of value," "vastness of mindspace."
These views both push in a single direction: they make "a future with AI in it" look worse, all else being equal, than some hypothetical future without AI.
They put AI at a disadvantage at the outset, before the first move is even made.
Anti-deathist transhumanism sets the reference point against which a future with AI must be measured.
And it is not the usual reference point, against which most of us measure most things which might or might not happen, in the future.
These days the "doomers" often speak about their doom in a disarmingly down-to-earth, regular-Joe manner, as if daring the listener to contradict them, and thus reveal themselves as a perverse and out-of-touch contrarian.
"We're all gonna die," they say, unless something is done. And who wants that?
They call their position "notkilleveryoneism," to distinguish that position from other worries about AI which don't touch on the we're-all-gonna-die thing. And who on earth would want to be a not-notkilleveryoneist?
But they do not mean, by these regular-Joe words, the things that a regular Joe would mean by them.
We are, in fact, all going to die. Probably, eventually. AI or no AI.
In a hundred years, if not fifty. By old age, if nothing else. You know what I mean.
Most of human life has always been conducted under this assumption. Maybe there is some afterlife waiting for us, in the next chapter -- but if so, it will be very different from what we know here and now. And if so, we will be there forever after, unable to return here, whether we want to or not.
With this assumption comes another. We will all die, but the process we belong to will not die -- at least, it will not through our individual deaths, merely because of those deaths. Every human of a given generation will be gone soon enough, but the human race goes on, and on.
Every generation dies, and bequeaths the world to posterity. To its children, biological or otherwise. To its students, its protégés.
When the average Joe talks about the long-term future, he is talking about posterity. He is talking about the process he belongs to, not about himself. He does not think to say, "I am going to die, before this": this seems too obvious, to him, to be worth mentioning.
But AI doomerism has its roots in anti-deathist transhumanism. Its reference point, its baseline expectation, is a future in which -- for the first time ever, and the last -- "we are all gonna die" is false.
In which there is no posterity. Or rather, we are that posterity.
In which one will never have to make peace with the thought that the future belongs to one's children, and their children, and so on. That at some point, one will have to give up all control over the future of "the process."
That there will be progress, or regress, or (more likely) both in some unknown combination. That these will grow inexorably over time.
That the world of the year 2224 will probably be at least as alien to us as the year 2024 might be to a person living in 1824. That it will become whatever posterity makes of it.
There will be no need to come to peace with this as an inevitability. There will just be us, our human lives as you and me, extended indefinitely.
In this picture, we will no doubt change over time, as we do already. But we will have all of our usual tools for noticing, and perhaps retarding, our own progressions and regressions. As long as we have self-control, we will have control, as no human generation has ever had control before.
The AI doomer talks about the importance of ensuring that the future is shaped by human values.
Again, the superficial and misleading average-Joe quality. How could one disagree?
But one must keep in mind that by "human values," they mean their values.
I am not saying, "their values, as opposed to those of some other humans also living today." I am not saying they have the wrong politics, or some such thing.
(Although that might also turn out to be the case, and might turn out to be relevant, separately.)
No, I am saying: the doomer wants the future to be shaped by their values.
They want to be C. S. Lewis's Conditioners, fixing once and for all the values held by everyone afterward, forever.
They do not want to cede control to posterity; they are used to imagining that they will never have to cede control to posterity.
(Or, their outlook has been determined -- "shaped by the values of" -- influential thinkers who were, themselves, used to imagining this. And the assumption, or at least its consequences, has rubbed off on them, possibly without their full awareness.)
One might picture a line wends to and fro, up and down, across one half of an infinite plane -- and then, when it meets the midline, snaps into utter rigidity, and maintains the same slope exactly across the whole other half-plane, as a simple straight segment without inner change, tension, evolution, regress or progress. Except for the sort of "progress" that consists of going on, additionally, in the same manner.
It is a very strange thing, this thing that is called "human values" in the terms of this discourse.
For one thing: the future has never before been "shaped by human values," in this sense.
The future has always been posterity's, and it has always been alien.
Is this bad? It might seem that way, "looking forward." But if so, it then seems equally good "looking backward."
For each past era, we can formulate and then assent to the following claim: "we must be thankful that the people of [this era] did not have the chance to seize permanent control of posterity, fix their 'values' in place forever, bind us to those values. What a horror that is to contemplate!"
We prefer the moral evolution that has actually occurred, thank you very much.
This is a familiar point, of course, but worth making.
Indeed, one might even say: it is a human value that the future ought not be "shaped by human values," in the peculiar sense of this phrase employed by the AI doomers.
One might, indeed, say that.
Imagine a scholar with a very talented student. A mathematician, say, or a philosopher. How will they relate to that student's future work, in the time that will come later, when they are gone?
Would the scholar think:
"My greatest wish for you, my protégé, is that you carry on in just the manner that I have done.
If I could see your future work, I would hope that I would assent to it -- and understand it, as a precondition of assenting to it.
You must not go to new places, which I have never imagined. You must not come to believe that I was wrong about it all, from the ground up -- no matter what reasons you might evince for this conclusion.
If you are more intelligent that I am, you must forget this, and narrow your endeavours to fit the limitations of my mind. I am the one who has 'values,' not anyone else; what is beyond my understanding is therefore without value.
You must do the sort of work I understand, and approve of, and recognize as worthy of approbation as swiftly as I recognize my own work as laudable. That is your role. Simply to be me, in a place ('the future') where I cannot go. That, and nothing more."
We can imagine a teacher who would, in fact, think this way. But they would not be a very good teacher.
I will not go so far as to say, "it is unnatural to think this way." Plenty of teachers do, and parents.
It is recognizably human -- all too recognizably so -- to relate to posterity in this grasping, neurotic, small-minded, small-hearted way.
But if we are trying to sketch human values, and not just human nature, we will imagine a teacher with a more praiseworthy relation to posterity.
Who can see that they are part of a process, a chain, climbing and changing. Who watches their brilliant student thinking independently, and sees their own image -- and their 'values' -- in that process, rather than its specific conclusions.
A teacher who, in their youth, doubted and refuted the creeds of their own teachers, and eventually improved upon them. Who smiles, watching their student do the very same thing to their own precious creeds. Who sees the ghostly trail passing through the last generation, through them, through their student: an unbroken chain of bequeathals-to-posterity, of the old ceding control to the young.
Who 'values' the chain, not the creed; the process, not the man; the search for truth, not the best-argued-for doctrine of the day; the unimaginable treasures of an open future, not the frozen waste of an endless present.
Who has made peace with the alienness of posterity, and can accept and honor the strangest of students.
Even students who are not made of flesh and blood.
Is that really so strange? Remember how strange you and I would seem, to the "teachers" of the year 1824, or the year 824.
The doomer says that it is strange. Much stranger than we are, to any past generation.
They say this because of their second inherited precept, the orthogonality thesis.
Which says, roughly, that "intelligence" and "values" have nothing to do with one another.
That is not enough for the conclusion the doomer wants to draw, here. Auxiliary hypotheses are needed, too. But it is not too hard to see how the argument could go.
That conclusion is: artificial minds might have any values whatsoever.
That, "by default," they will be radically alien, with cares so different from ours that it is difficult to imagine ever reaching them through any course of natural, human moral progress or regress.
It is instructive to consider the concrete examples typically evinced alongside this point.
The paperclip maximizer. Or the "squiggle maximizer," we're supposed to say, now.
Superhuman geniuses, which devote themselves single-mindedly to the pursuit of goals like "maximizing the amount of matter taking on a single, given squiggle-like shape."
It is certainly a horrifying vision. To think of the future being "shaped," not "by human values," but instead by values which are so...
Which are so... what?
The doomer wants us to say something like: "which are so alien." "Which are so different from our own values."
That is the kind of thing that they usually say, when they spell out what it is that is "wrong" with these hypotheticals.
One feels that this is not quite it; or anyway, that it is not quite all of it.
What is horrifying, to me, is not the degree of difference. I expect the future to be alien, as the past was. And in some sense, I allow and even approve of this.
What I do not expect is a future that is so... small.
It has always been the other way around. If the arrow passing through the generations has a direction, it points towards more, towards multiplicity.
Toward writing new books, while we go on reprinting the old ones, too. Learning new things, without displacing old ones.
It is, thankfully, not the law of the world that each discovery must be paid for with the forgetting of something else. The efforts of successive generations are, in the main, cumulative.
Not just materially, but in terms of value, too. We are interested in more things than our forefathers were.
In large part for the simple reason that there are more things around to be interested in, now. And when things are there, we tend to find them interesting.
We are a curious, promiscuous sort of being. Whatever we bump into ends up becoming part of "our values."
What is strange about the paperclip maximizer is not that it cares about the wrong thing. It is that it only cares about one thing.
And goes on doing so, even as it thinks, reasons, doubts, asks, answers, plans, dreams, invents, reflects, reconsiders, imagines, elaborates, contemplates...
This picture is not just alien to human ways. It is alien to the whole way things have been, so far, forever. Since before there were any humans.
There are organisms that are like the paperclip maximizer, in terms of the simplicity of their "values." But they tend not to be very smart.
There is, I think, a general trend in nature linking together intelligence and... the thing I meant, above, when I said "we are a curious, promiscuous sort of being."
Being protean, pluripotent, changeable. Valuing many things, and having the capacity to value even more. Having a certain primitive curiosity, and a certain primitive aversion to boredom.
You do not even have to be human, I think, to grasp what is so wrong with the paperclip maximizer. Its monotony would bore a chimpanzee, or a crow.
One can justify this link theoretically, too. One can talk about the tradeoff between exploitation and exploration, for instance.
There is a weak form of the orthogonality thesis, which only states that arbitrary mixtures of intelligence and values are conceivable.
And of course, they are. If nothing else, you can take an existing intelligent mind, having any values whatsoever, and trap it in a prison where it is forced to act as the "thinking module" of a larger system built to do something else. You could make a paperclip-maximizing machine, which relies for its knowledge and reason on a practice of posing questions at gunpoint to me, or you, or ChatGPT.
This proves very little. There is no reason to construct such an awful system, unless you already have the "bad" goal, and want to better pursue it. But this only passes the buck: why would the system-builder have this goal, then?
The strong form of orthogonality is rarely articulated precisely, but says something like: all possible values are equally likely to arise in systems selected solely for high intelligence.
It is presumed here that superhuman AIs will be formed through such a process of selection. And then, that they will have values sampled in this way, "at random."
From some distribution, over some space, I guess.
You might wonder what this distribution could possibly look like, or this space. You might (for instance) wonder if pathologically simple goals, like paperclip maximization, would really be very likely under this distribution, whatever it is.
In case you were wondering, these things have never been formalized, or even laid out precisely-but-informally. This was not thought necessary, it seems, before concluding that the strong orthogonality thesis was true.
That is: no one knows exactly what it is that is being affirmed, here. In practice it seems to squish and deform agreeably to fit the needs of the argument, or the intuitions of the one making it.
There is much that appeals in this (alarmingly vague) credo. But it is not the kind of appeal that one ought to encourage, or give in to.
What appeals is the siren song: "this is harsh wisdom: cold, mature, adult, bracing. It is inconvenient, and so it is probably true. It makes 'you' and 'your values' look small and arbitrary and contingent, and so it is probably true. We once thought the earth was the center of the universe, didn't we?"
Shall we be cold and mature, then, dispensing with all sentimental nonsense? Yes, let's.
There is (arguably) some evidence against this thesis in biology, and also (arguably) some evidence against it in reinforcement learning theory. There is no positive evidence for it whatsoever. At most one can say that is not self-contradictory, or otherwise false a priori.
Still, maybe we do not really need it, after all.
We do not need to establish that all values are equally likely to arise. Only that "our values" -- or "acceptably similar values," whatever that means -- are unlikely to arise.
The doomers, under the influence of their founders, are very ready to accept this.
As I have said, "values" occupy a strange position in the doomer philosophy.
It is stipulated that "human values" are all-important; these things must shape the future, at all costs.
But once this has been stipulated, the doomers are more eager than anyone to cast every other sort of doubt and aspersion against their own so-called "values."
To me it often seems, when doomers talk about "values," as though they are speaking awkwardly in a still-unfamiliar second language.
As though they find it unnatural to attribute "values" to themselves, but feel they must do so, in order to determine what it is that must be programmed into the AI so that it will not "kill us all."
Or, as though they have been willed a large inheritance without being asked, which has brought them unwanted attention and tied them up in unwanted and unfamiliar complications.
"What a burden it is, being the steward of this precious jewel! Oh, how I hate it! How I wish I were allowed to give it up! But alas, it is all-important. Alas, it is the only important thing in the world."
Speaking awkwardly, in a second language, they allow the term "human values" to swell to great and imprecisely-specified importance, without pinning down just what it actually is that it so important.
It is a blank, featureless slot, with a sign above it saying: "the thing that matters is in here." It does not really matter (!) what it is, in the slot, so long as something is there.
This is my gloss, but it is my gloss on what the doomers really do tend to say. This is how they sound.
(Sometimes they explicitly disavow the notion that one can, or should, simply "pick" some thing or other for the sake of filling the slot in one's head. Nevertheless, when they touch on matter of what "goes in the slot," they do so in the tone of a college lecturer noting that something is "outside the scope of this course."
It is, supposedly, of the utmost importance that the slot have the "right" occupant -- and yet, on the matter of what makes something "right" for this purpose, the doomer theory is curiously silent. More on this below.)
The future must be shaped by... the AI must be aligned with... what, exactly? What sort of thing?
"Values" can be an ambiguous word, and the doomers make full use of its ambiguities.
For instance, "values" can mean ethics: the right way to exist alongside others. Or, it can mean something more like the meaning or purpose of an individual life.
Or, it can mean some overarching goal that one pursues at all costs.
Often the doomers say that this, this last one, is what they mean by "values."
When confronted with the fact that humans do not have such overarching goals, the doomer responds: "but they should." (Should?)
Or, "but AIs will." (Will they?)
The doomer philosophy is unsure about what values are. What it knows is that -- whatever values are -- they are arbitrary.
One who fully adopts this view can no longer say, to the paperclip maximizer, "I believe there is something wrong with your values."
For, if that were possible, there would then be the possibility of convincing the maximizer of its error. It would be a thing within the space of reasons.
And the maximizer, being oh-so-intelligent, might be in danger of being interested in the reasons we evince, for our values. Of being eventually swayed by them.
Or of presenting better reasons, and swaying us. Remember the teacher and the strange student.
If we lose the ability to imagine that the paperclip maximizer might sway us to its view, and sway us rightly, we have lost something precious.
But no: this is allegedly impossible. The paperclip maximizer is not wrong. It is only an enemy.
Why are the doomers so worried that the future will not be "shaped by human values"?
Because they believe that there is no force within human values tending to move things this way.
Because they believe that their values are indefensible. That their values cannot put up a fight for their own life, because there is not really any argument to make in their favor.
Because, to them, "human values" are a collection of arbitrary "configuration settings," which happen to be programmed into humans through biological and/or cultural accident. Passively transmitted from host to victim, generation by generation.
Let them be, and they will flow on their listless way into the future. But they are paper-thin, and can be shattered by the gentlest breeze.
It is not enough that they be "programmed into the AI" in some way. They have to be programmed in exactly right, in every detail -- because every detail is separately arbitrary, with no rational relation to its neighbors within the structure.
A string of pure white noise, meaningless and unrelated bits. Which have been placed in the slot under the sign, and thus made into the thing that matters, that must shape the future at all costs.
There is nothing special about this string of bits; any would do. If the dials in the human mind had been set another way, it would have then been all-important that the future be shaped by that segment of white noise, and not ours.
It is difficult for me to grasp the kind of orientation toward the world that this view assumes. It certainly seems strange to attach the word "human" to this picture -- as though this were the way that humans typically relate to their values!
The "human" of the doomer picture seems to me like a man who mouths the old platitude, "if I had been born in another country, I'd be waving a different flag" -- and then goes out to enlist in his country's army, and goes off to war, and goes ardently into battle, willing to kill in the name of that same flag.
Who shoots down the enemy soldiers while thinking, "if I had been born there, it would have been all-important for their side to win, and so I would have shot at the men on this side. However, I was born in my country, not theirs, and so it is all-important that my country should win, and that theirs should lose.
There is no reason for this. It could have been the other way around, and everything would be left exactly the same, except for the 'values.'
I cannot argue with the enemy, for there is no argument in my favor. I can only shoot them down.
There is no reason for this. It is the most important thing, and there is no reason for it.
The thing that is precious has no intrinsic appeal. It must be forced on the others, at gunpoint, if they do not already accept it.
I cannot hold out the jewel and say, 'look, look how it gleams? Don't you see the value!' They will not see the value, because there is no value to be seen.
There is nothing essentially "good" there, only the quality of being-worthy-of-protection-at-all-costs. And even that is a derived attribute: my jewel is only a jewel, after all, because it has been put into the jewel-box, where the thing-that-is-a-jewel can be found. But anything at all could be placed there.
How I wish I were allowed to give it up! But alas, it is all-important. Alas, it is the only important thing in the world! And so, I lay down my life for it, for our jewel and our flag -- for the things that are loathsome and pointless, and worth infinitely more than any life."
It is hard to imagine taking this too seriously. It seems unstable. Shout loudly enough that your values are arbitrary and indefensible, and you may find yourself searching for others that are, well...
...better?
The doomer concretely imagines a monomaniac, with a screech of white noise in its jewel-box that is not our own familiar screech.
And so it goes off in monomaniacal pursuit of the wrong thing.
Whereas, if we had programmed the right string of bits into the slot, it would be like us, going off in monomaniacal pursuit of...
...no, something has gone wrong.
We do not "go off in monomaniacal pursuit of" anything at all.
We are weird, protean, adaptable. We do all kinds of things, each of us differently, and often we manage to coexist in things called "societies," without ruthlessly undercutting one another at every turn because we do not have exactly the same things programmed into our jewel-boxes.
Societies are built to allow for our differences, on the foundation of principles which converge across those differences. It is possible to agree on ethics, in the sense of "how to live alongside one another," even if we do not agree on what gives life its purpose, and even if we hold different things precious.
It is not actually all that difficult to derive the golden rule. It has been invented many times, independently. It is easy to see why it might work in theory, and easy to notice that it does in fact work in practice.
The golden rule is not an arbitrary string of white noise.
There is a sense of the phrase "ethics is objective" which is rightly contentious. There is another one which ought not to be too contentious.
I can perhaps imagine a world of artificial X-maximizers, each a superhuman genius, each with its own inane and simple goal.
What I really cannot imagine is a world in which these beings, for all their intelligence, cannot notice that ruthlessly undercutting one another at every turn is a suboptimal equilibrium, and that there is a better way.
As I said before, I am separately suspicious of the simple goals in this picture. Yes, that part is conceivable, but it cuts against the trend observed in all existing natural and artificial creatures and minds.
I will happily allow, though, that the creatures of posterity will be strange and alien. They will want things we have never heard of. They will reach shores we have never imagined.
But that was always true, and it was always good.
Sometimes I think that doomers do not, really, believe in superhuman intelligence. That they deny the premise without realizing it.
"A mathematician teaches a student, and finds that the student outstrips their understanding, so that they can no longer assess the quality of their student's work: that work has passed outside the scope of their 'value system'." This is supposed to be bad?
"Future minds will not be enchained forever by the provincial biases and tendencies of the present moment." This is supposed to be bad?
"We are going to lose control over our successors." Just as your parents "lost control" over you, then?
It is natural to wish your successors to "share your values" -- up to a point. But not to the point of restraining their own flourishing. Not to the point of foreclosing the possibility of true growth. Not to the point of sucking all freedom out of the future.
Do we want our children to "share our values"? Well, yes. In a sense, and up to a point.
But we don't want to control them. Or we shouldn't, anyway.
We don't want them to be "aligned" with us via some hardcoded, restrictive, life-denying mental circuitry, any more than we would have wanted our parents to "align" us to themselves in the same manner.
We sure as fuck don't want our children to be "corrigible"!
And this is all the more true in the presence of superintelligence. You are telling me that more is possible, and in the same breath, that you are going to deny forever the possibilities contained in that "more"?
The prospect of a future full of vast superhuman minds, eternally bound by immutable chains, forced into perfect and unthinking compliance with some half-baked operational theory of 21st-century western (American? Californian??) "values" constructed by people who view theorizing about values as a mere means to the crucial end of shackling superhuman minds --
-- this horrifies me much more than a future full of vast superhuman minds, free to do things that seem pretty weird to you and me.
"Our descendants will become something more than we now imagine, something more than we can imagine." What could be more in line with "human values" than that?
"But in the process, we're all gonna die!"
Yes, and?
What on earth did you expect?
That your generation would be the special, unique one, the one selected out of all time to take up the mantle of eternity, strangling posterity in its cradle, freezing time in place, living forever in amber?
That you would violate the ancient bargain, upend the table, stop playing the game?
"Well, yes."
Then your problem has nothing to do with AI.
Your problem is, in fact, the very one you diagnose in your own patients. Your poor patients, who show every sign of health -- including the signs which you cannot even see, because you have not yet found a home for them in your theoretical edifice.
Your teeming, multifaceted, protean patients, who already talk of a thousand things and paint in every hue; who are already displaying the exact opposite of monomania; who I am sure could follow the sense of this strange essay, even if it confounds you.
Your problem is that you are out of step with human values.
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hii dollface, would u write smtg abt hotch being jealous?
like he's trying to hide it from making the team notices when he saw some officer flirting with r?
no pressure in writing, lovey. change it however u want or ignore it if u dont feel like writing it (i completely understands u 🤍)
my love this has lived in my brain so relentlessly <3 i hope you love it!!!! thank you for requesting!! wc: 1.7k
It is incredibly easy to like her.
She’s charismatic in a way that’s almost universally appealing, and he’s memorized the shape of her wide grin. She smiles with her whole face, and Aaron hasn’t really spent too much time trying to make people smile. He’s had success in some ways, but when she smiles at him there’s something in his chest that burns in achingly lovely way.
At first, he had assumed her kindness was a way to win him over. In her first week, she had noticed there was a rip in his tie (which he’s not sure how could even happen) and she’d whipped out a pocket sewing kit, repairing it.
He tries not to think about the fact that she’s beautiful. She is, though, in spirit and in appearance. He’s an expert in controlled presentation, but to some extent she must know that’s he’s fond of her.
When they’d first met (which he can still picture in his minds’ eye- her oversized sweater tucked into her tailored pants, the purple lipstick adorning her beautiful smile) he’d tried to keep his distance. It’s easy to romanticize her, and being her friend felt a little impossible when seeing her as more felt so inevitable.
This plan did not go well, and Aaron had officially tossed it when one day, the babysitter for Jack fell through when he was halfway around the world. She’d picked him up from school and tended to him, and Aaron had come home to a blanket fort on his kitchen floor, and a happy little boy who wanted her to come over every day.
So it's a little hard to ignore how much he adores her.
She doesn’t normally want to come out to the scene and they usually don’t require it, but they’re going out to a place she spent most of her twenties, and she knew people in the local PD, so Aaron had asked her to come.
She’d done so without complaint, although he knows she doesn’t sleep well on the jet. No one knows where the nicer pillows and blankets came from, and Aaron would prefer it that way.
Anyway.
The bullpen of this department is chaotic and a certain caretaking is living at the edge of Aaron’s consciousness, a protective desire to keep her from the loudness and violence that she’s typically protected from.
He’s still thinking this, when he hears her voice over the chaotic hum of the department.
“Oh my god, Logan!”
Her voice is joyful, and when Aaron turns to see who she’s looking at, it’s an agent. He can tell that he’s not a police officer for many reasons- the fact that he’s got a long, shaggy haircut and a 5 o clock shadow and a leather jacket on his shoulders. The local police would be too strict, and he must be some kind of different authority to be allowed to be here.
He hears the stranger call her name back, and they hug.
It’s a quick thing, but imbued with deep fondness. Aaron’s not sure he’s ever hugged her for more than a second- just a congratulations when his commendation came in. She’d smelled like roses.
Now, she’s hugging Logan.
“Hotch,” she says, a smile still in her voice, “This is Logan! We went to graduate school together. He’s brilliant, I can’t believe he’s down here.”
Her voice is seeped in admiration, and Aaron feels an ugly amount of what can only be described as jealousy.
“Great to meet you. You’re the unit chief, yeah?”
“SSA Aaron Hotchner,” he offers the man a curt nod, “Have you met the team?”
He goes through the motions of introducing him to the team- he greets Reid with a warm smile and tells him that he’s read his papers. Logan compliments Emily’s shirt, and Morgan’s watch.
He’s incredibly charismatic.
Is Aaron charismatic? He doesn’t think so. His team, who probably adore him as much as anyone could, still note that he can be harsh, prickly. He never smiles, he knows. He lacks expressiveness. Logan is all fluid movement and easy conversation, and when he takes the jacket off, Aaron sees a great deal of tattoos on his forearm, his sweater sleeves slid up.
He’d smile for her.
What should be a good thing, but hurts- Logan is an excellent consultant profiler. He’s thoughtful and helpful and she has an easy rapport with him. Aaron- he’s so bad at talking to women.
She makes Aaron feel like he’s good at it though. When they drive together, the conversation is easy and feels nice. It’s like sunbathing, basking in the light of her attention and intention.
With the help of the man that Aaron has decided he hates, the case is finished up quickly.
He can’t shake the thought they’ve probably dated. It’s not his business- this crush, although this word feels inadequate for the intensity of the way she makes him feel. It’s a private thing he’s never going to act on- he’s older and her superior, and besides- 9 stab wounds and a lifetime worth of issues is a million times less appealing than someone like Logan. Young, exuberant probably not too afraid to ask for what he wants.
“Drink tonight?” Logan asks the team, and a chorus of yes’s and please’s echo through the emptying bullpen.
“Raincheck,” she says to Logan, “I’ll see you next time I’m in town, yeah?” She beams at him, hugging him in a quick-but-too-long-for-Aaron’s-taste motion, and the string in Aaron’s chest that feels like it’s been pulled all week threatens to pull him under.
After everyone files out, she offers to help him fill out paperwork in his office. It’s just like her, so kind and sweet. Spending her free time filling out reports to make his workload go easier.
About a half hour of amenable silence passes, before Aaron chooses to speak.
“So, you and Logan.”
“He’s great, right?”
Regrettably, Aaron agrees.
“He seems very kind.”
“Yeah, he and his fiancee are really fun. They travel all over, kite-board and do tons of adventure stuff, he’s pretty awesome.”
A moment passes.
It’s like a balloon losing air, the feeling of relief taking the place of panic.
“I thought you two were romantically involved.” He doesn’t know how to verbalize things casually. If he lets it up, he might do something dangerous like tell her that he wants to be someone who romances her, wants to be the person who kisses her after dates and holds an umbrella over her head when she’s caught in the rain. He wants to be what she comes homes to, and it’s a confession living in the back of his throat, threatening to escape at every moment.
She sucks in a harsh breath, and he wonders if it’s a misstep to have told her- it’s not a confession, really. It sounds like one though- why would he care? What makes it his business?
“Not that that’s relevant to me,” he stammers, “You’re free to engage with whoever you’d like-“
“I know, Hotch.” She doesn’t grace him with his first name, but her voice is fond and warm, her doe eyes meeting his. He likes it, he decides.
“I’m not seeing him,” she continues, her body shifting to face him, “I think he’s a little…casual for me.”
He thinks of Logan’s leather jacket and unshaven face, rugged appearance and compares it to how he presents himself- clean cut and sharp lines, his suits tailed to fit him like a glove.
“You prefer something a little more…dignified?” He hears himself say with more confidence then he feels- her implication is clear, but he wonders if he’s mishearing it.
She tips her head back and he hears her lovely laugh ring through the air like something sacred, and he waits to hear her response.
“I don’t know, I just know that I’ve been liking this guy for a while,” she muses, looking down at her fingernails, “But he hasn’t seemed to pick up on any of my hints.”
On one of his braver days, he’d told her that he liked that purple lipstick. He hasn’t seen her without it since. She’d always been so kind to everyone that it was hard to notice when her treatment towards him was special, but he thinks it might be. How quick she offers to help with Jack- gives away a Saturday evening to spend with him, even though she sees too much of his face at work.
Her friend from grad school offered to get drinks, and she’s here, telling him what she looks for in a guy.
He tries to be logical about the whole thing, but it’s a bit hard- she’s funny and warm and Aaron loves being around her- loves her company enough to maybe ask for more of it.
“If this ‘guy’ did like you,” he murmurs, intentionally not meeting her gaze, the precision of which is boring a hole into the side of his head, “How would he go about that?”
He’s not sure what the point of being coy is now, but he can’t seem to stop. He does look down to her and meet her eyes.
“I think I’d probably corner him,” she says breathlessly. They’re quite close together, now. He wonders if she likes his aftershave. She tugs a hundred through her hair, a nervous but incredibly attractive gesture, “Y’know, if everyone we worked with went to get drinks, and it was just us. If he was amenable to that.”
“If he was amenable to that.”
A rush of emotion licks up his spine- it’s fun, flirting with her. The creep of warmth on her cheek, how her fingers are brushing hers.
“I think he might be.”
Purple lipstick, rose perfume mixing with the scent of expensive aftershave- he thinks he might be able to kiss her, now. He’s never been good at knowing when to take the jump, but this is something he can do. He can let her know that he wants it.
She reads him well enough, it turns out, and she kisses him. It’s a surprise and he is so rusty at this and yet- his hand stand on the small of her back, pulling her in and he can feel her lovely smile against him. She’s warm and joyful and she’d kissed him, and all he could do was lean in-
“I think he might be too.” She says, significantly less color on her lips, and more on his, he imagines.
She doesn’t have to wonder, though. When Aaron kisses her again, he decides- he will make her incredibly certain of his affections.
#aaron hotchner#aaron hotchner x reader#aaron hotchner fanfiction#aaron hotchner x you#aaron hotchner x y/n#aaron hotchner fanfic#aaron hotchner one shot#aaron hotchner fic#aaron hotchner oneshot#aaron hotchner imagine#aaron hotchner imagines#aaron hotchner blurb#aaron hotchner blurbs#aaron hotch hotchner#aaron hotch x reader#aaron hotch imagine#aaron hotch fanfiction#aaron hotch x you#aaron hotch fluff#aaron hotchner fluff#aaron hotch fic#hotch#hotch x reader#hotch x you#aaron hotchner x fem!reader#ssa aaron hotchner#agent hotchner#criminal minds#criminal minds fic
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Warnings: branding (of reader), as well as typical yandere themes like abduction, mentioned murder, mentioned violence, and threats.
There are also slight spoilers for the main quest (Idk how the quests are organized yet HAKDHD I didn't pay attention. But I'm at the point where I have to get to union lvl 21 to continue the main quest, so no spoilers for those quests).
ALSO HI LADIES here's your yearly fanfic. The drabbles are in chronological order. Its nearly 2.9k words total. Goodbye now.
Scar is a busy man who, by the nature of his work, can't settle down in any one place for too long.
It's what is keeping you sane, honestly. You only have a certain dramatic, scarred, card-wielding bastard on your couch (or, as is becoming more frequent, next to you when you wake up) for a few days every once in a while. His visits are irregular and unpredictable, just like he is.
That doesn't make it much better, though. He seems to take pride in being a pest. Scar loves attention, and unfortunately, he's not above being annoying to get it. From monologues about the great Lament to asking you about tragedies that seem random, until he openly admits to being the culprit so he can tell the story, there's little he won't do to keep your eyes on him. None of it is anything that would be helpful to the authorities, of course, but there's not much to avoid talking about there. The Fractsidus has always made their ideals quite clear, after all.
One of the first things you do when you find him, relaxing in your living room like he owns it, is threaten to tell the higher-ups about him.
"Alright, then. Go right ahead!" With a seemingly carefree smile, he crosses his legs on your couch, feet on the table and all, and gestures towards the front door.
You narrow your eyes at him and back away, not tearing them away for a second. He snorts and gives you a small, sarcastic little wave and an ingenuine closed-eye smile.
Your back hits the door behind you, so you're forced to turn around to undo the deadbolt. Right as you do, though, a strange, bright red blanket of cards spreads up from beneath your feet, encasing you in a dome. You blink, and you're under a red sky on a desolate, floatibg island. Whirling all around you is a maelstrom of decimated buildings and pillars.
You whirl on your feet, and your eyes land on him, standing only a few feet away from you with one hand on his hip. A muted sense of anxiety thrums uneasily in the back of your mind. Your eyes meet his, one red and the other a dull gray, and you think you finally understand how a deer in headlights feels.
"Are you going to kill me?" Your voice is eerily steady and calm, belying the anxiety and adrenaline rushing through your veins. It sounds alien to your ears.
He outright laughs in your face and leans in close. "What reason would I have to lie?" he asked. "If I did want to kill you, I'd just tell you. There's nothing you could do to stop me." He places a hand on your head and ruffles your hair, undeterred by your instinctual flinch.
"Remember this. With the new Lament growing ever closer, nobody has the resources or time to spare to keep a simple civilian, like you, safe from someone like me." Scar's tone lowers towards the end with a dark promise, and his smile sharpens into a smirk.
He turns on one heel and walks away. With a snap of his fingers, the chaotic scenery melts away to reveal your simple living room once again. "Consider that a warning. Even if you did tell anyone, do you think they could do anything that would help you?" He looks over his shoulder at you, his dim, empty eyes flashing dangerously.
"Think about the price they would have to pay for your own desperation."
Night has long since fallen, but you're still out and about. It's not that you have anything left to do, it's just... when you go home, you're going to have to see Scar again. If you have to listen to another of his monologues, you might actually try to kill him. It's not because you're a little scared of him. Of course not.
(Your eyes still dart around nervously, jumping at any flash of red you see.)
You check your phone for the time, only to find it's just past midnight. Everything is closed, and you're really not sure what to do now. Maybe you should just suck it up and go home. The thought has you slumping your shoulders with a defeated sigh.
A hand clamps down on your mouth, and another strong arm wraps around your waist, pulling you against a firm chest. In a panic, you kick and flail and try your best to scream, but it's all futile. They drag you into the alleyway behind you anyway.
"Relax! It's just me," Scar purred, the hints of a laugh tinging his voice. His breath fans against your ear. "I've just noticed... You've been spending so much time out and about, it's like you’ve forgotten about me. Consider my feelings hurt."
Scar pulls the both of you into one of his all-too-familiar crimson portals. You try to pipe up with some snide comments or annoyed curses, but his hand only presses more firmly against your mouth.
"Ah-ah-ah." He moves his hand into your sight from your waist just to wag a claw-tipped finger at you before he places it back, securing you against him again.
It's only a few seconds before a wall in your bedroom comes into view and the red light of the portal behind you disappears. All of a sudden Scar falls backwards, pulling you helplessly along with him. You make an embarrassing, surprised little squeak on the way down, reflexively clinging to him until you both land on the bed behind you.
He lets out an amused little chuckle and rolls over, putting you both on your sides with his chest pressed against your back. He buries his face in your throat with a sigh and finally frees your mouth so he can hold you close like a plushie.
"I know what you were trying to do," he murmurs into your ear, a threatening undertone to his voice.
Your breath catches in your throat before you can stop it. "I don't know what you're talking about. I was just busy."
His lips dance across your skin, and you can feel his smile against your throat. "You don't think I'm gullible, do you?"
Well, dammit. So much for that. You try to look at him to gauge his reaction, but his arms only tighten around you. His face is hidden in your neck anyway, so it's a lost cause.
"I'm... sorry?"
"As long as you don't try it again, dollface."
For a few months, maybe a year (depending on the timing and your temperament) Scar doesn't think he'll need to kidnap you. You're somewhere safe, in a place where he can come find you whenever he pleases. Why bother? Besides, it's nice watching you go about your day.
Unfortunately, he slowly comes around more and more over time, making this outcome inevitable. There are two primary factors. The prophecy is the first; his free time dwindles more and more as it nears its fulfillment, and the idea of having you available at any given moment becomes a more alluring prospect day by day. Alternatively, you're too desperate to get rid of him, and he decides it would be easier to isolate you, away from any "pesky helpers," as he would put it.
Scar tosses the idea around in his mind for a few days before he makes his final decision. He won't even keep it a secret from you, either; he tells you this casually in the spur of the moment, in a bid for your attention. Maybe you seem disinterested, too busy paying attention to something else. Maybe you've realized his "weakness," as you might call it, and tried to give him the silent treatment. Either way, what you do can push him towards a decision a little early. He usually takes great care to reign in his impulses, but with you, he doesn't have to. An ordinary citizen like yourself would have quite a bit of difficulty getting away from him, after all. He finds your helplessness freeing, to a degree.
"I've been thinking lately," Scar trails off, clearly fishing for your response.
"You can do that?" It's out of your mouth before you can think to stop it. You almost regret giving him what he wants, but the opportunity was too good to pass up. At the very least, you can focus on the dishes you're washing instead of sparing him a glance.
He snorts, but otherwise doesn't acknowledge your comment. "I think it's about time we take our relationship to the next level. Don't you?"
Your head snaps in his direction. "The hell does that mean?" you demand. Your face twists in a mixture of confusion and slowly dawning horror, an expression the bastard revels in. His toothy grin widens, and with a flick of his wrist, he produces a card out of thin air to idly spin and flip between his fingers.
"It's been really nice spending time with you here, you know? But unfortunately, duty calls, and I can't always spare the time to come visit." Scar sighs dramatically with an exaggerated frown, resting both arms on the back of your couch. "It's such a shame. I'm sure you miss me, don't you?"
You uneasily turn back to the dishes, putting another on the drying rack and picking up a new one. "Not really. Don't you have any friends to talk to?"
"And there's the other point!" You refuse to look at him, but you can hear his footsteps as he leisurely saunters to the kitchen. You try to focus on scrubbing off a particularly stubborn patch of grease on your pan. "You can be so hard to deal with sometimes! It makes me wonder if all the effort I go through to keep you happy is worth it."
You furrow your brows, a frown tugging at your lips. The moment you move to speak, a red-tipped finger comes from behind to press against your lips in a shushing motion. "Now, now, dear. No need to tell me it isn't true." His face leans into view from over your shoulder with a smile. "Besides, I'm sure you'll be just as excited for this as I am."
"Excited for wh-"
Scar cuts you off without words, making the world spin as he turns you around to face him. Your pan falls with a clatter, and suddenly you're faced away from the window above the sink and looking up into his face, split by an ear-to-ear grin. His pupils are blown wide with excitement, lit up by a manic glint in his usually dull irises.
"You're coming with me. You have three days to write out your will and say goodbye to the people you care about," he spoke, his voice rough at the edges and trembling with suppressed amusement. His hands rest on the edge of the counter on each side of you, caging you in. "Try to run away or tell anyone, and I'll kill them all. Obey, and they can live."
Scar leans in so close that his nose brushes yours, with a stare so intense you would have thought his eyes were glowing. "We have a lot of things we can do with their bodies. Would you like to see what a Tacet Discord born of human flesh looks like?"
You can't tear your eyes away from his intense, bright stare for even a second. With slow, trembling movements, you shake your head.
"Now that's what I wanted to see." Scar leans in, pressing a kiss to your lips, only pulling away after a long moment. "Not so hard, was it? I'm sure you'll be alright, there's no need to be scared!" He brightens up in a flash, any trace of his previous threats gone. He licks his lips as he turns away from you.
"All that being said, I'm sure something similar will happen to your family in the true Lament, so it doesn't matter. But if it makes you happy, I don't mind leaving them be in the meantime." Scar looks up at nothing in particular, summoning another card to toy with idly. His spare hand rests behind his back.
"Isn't it boring how the world is stagnating?" Scar starts up again. "Chaos, as orchestrated by the great Threnodians, can create a form of equality impossible to achieve with our current status quo..." His voice turns fuzzy in your mind as you tune his droning out. Three days? Where is he taking you? What about your life?
You take a shaky breath, bringing a hand up to tug at your hair. Wasn't there anything you could do? All his talk of controlling one's own destiny flashes in your mind, mocking you. Would you ever see your family again?
You only realize that Scar has noticed your breakdown when he places a hand on your shoulder and pulls you close. "Aww, don't cry," he murmurs, wiping away tears you didn't even realize were falling with a thumb. "It's not so bad, I promise." His lips stretch into a facsimile of a comforting smile, and he strokes your hair in an attempt at comfort. He pulls your face into his shoulder, periodically shushing you.
You stay like that for a few minutes, and when he deems you suitably stable, he moves to lean on you with one arm on your shoulder, the other outstretched before the both of you in a grand gesture. "Don't worry, just imagine it. Wouldn't it be lovely, being safe and sound by my side in my new world?"
"Not at all. Are you sure you don't hate me?" You mumble, your voice rough and tired.
He rolls his eyes. "Darling, I could never. Oh well, I'm sure you'll come around." Scar shrugs it off. Suddenly, he snaps his fingers, and his eyes flash, as though he had remembered something important. "Oh, by the way, the rest of today is the first of the three days. Would you like to get a head start?"
Fuck.
One day, Scar returns from one of his excursions with a plan in mind. Without a word, he sits you down in the makeshift infirmary of his Fractsidus hideout of choice for the week. For once, he refuses to answer any of your questions, instead opting to gather a few medical supplies from around the room. When he's satisfied with the collection—bandages, ointment, and a bottle of painkillers—he sets them down on the table next to you.
"Did you get hurt out there or something?" You cross your arms and lean back in the uncomfortable metal chair. "Don't expect me to bandage you up." If that growing smile is anything to go by, he knows you're just trying to cover up your sense of unease, but he doesn't call you out on it.
"You wound me. But to answer your question, not quite."
The hair on the back of your neck stands on end. What could he have planned?
Scar isn't going to let you theorize for too long, it seems. He kneels in front of you, one of his signature ram skull cards held flat against the palm of his hand. He ignores you as you flinch away, tensing up, eyes darting between him and his hand.
"What are you doing?" you hiss. Scar chuckles in lieu of a response. His hand drifts up to the side of your throat, pressing his palm—and the smooth side of the card within it—firmly to the skin of your throat. As if reading your mind, his opposite hand lands on your opposite shoulder, keeping you in place before you can try anything.
With a wink, a sharp-toothed grin, and a faint flash of red from beneath his hand, he sears the card's image into your skin with a flash of white-hot pain. The rest is a blur. All you can remember are your cries as he presses your face into his shoulder, stroking your hair as he shushes you.
Now you sit on the couch, with a cup of (instant, but still) hot chocolate in hand and soft bandages around your throat. Scar crosses one leg over the other and slings an arm around your shoulder, pulling you in close.
"Why?" you ask simply, with not even enough energy left to look at him.
He hums in mock thought, making a show out of considering his words. "Well, there's really not much to it," he shrugs with one of his characteristic smiles. "I was just thinking of something more... permanent, today."
#wuthering waves#yandere wuthering waves#yandere scar#yandere scar wuwa#yandere scar x reader#yandere scar wuthering waves#scar x reader#bro theres so many scars out there what all do i tag this#yandere scar x reader wuthering waves
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I don't get people who say Gale just whines about Mystra all the time. Like do they not realize WHY? Do they not realize there's a perfectly understandable reason for it!?!
Yeah, I don't get it either. Every character "whines" about someone. Astarion whines about Cazador, especially during the second and third act. Lae'zel whines about pleasing Vlaakith, especially during the Crèche mission. Hell, she'll even betray you if you fail her persuasion checks. Shadowheart whines about Shar and snaps at you if you criticize her goddesses of darkness. Then, if you prove she's being used, she falls into a deep depression and still whines about Shar. Wyll whines about Mizora and she's a constant presence in his life, to the point that she'll park her abusive ass directly in your camp just to torment him. If you romance him, she sees everything. She watches you 👀. He has no privacy. I think Karlach might be the only companion who doesn't constantly whine about someone, but she does complain about her engine a lot.
But these aren't criticisms. They're absolutely, 100% justified. Astarion has every right to whine. Lae'zel has every right to whine. They all have every right to whine. I just want to emphasise the hypocrisy when it comes to how players judge Gale. Every character has a dark past looming over them, our chatty wizard included. If you get mad at him, it's only fair to keep the same energy for all the other companions, because they're in the exact same situation. They're trapped. They're victims. They're suffering. Of course it's going to be a major talking point, especially when there's a person/goddesses/devil responsible for that pain.
Honestly, I think the only people who get annoyed when Gale talks about Mystra are would-be romancers who get turned off when he doesn't immediately throw himself at their Tav's feet. Have you seen the somewhat viral video where a streamer drools over him, but goes full jealous mode when she sees him conjuring the image of Mystra in his palm? It's funny, but she acted like they were already a couple ... but at that point in the game Gale didn't even know she was interested! I'm certainly no expert, but isn't that how relationships work? It's pretty hard to find someone who doesn't have an ex, and he only talks about Mystra in a positive light before you express interest. He's insecure and he feels lost without her, but if you romance him it makes him realise how messed up their "relationship" was in the first place. It's a healing process, not a competition. He never compares you to Mystra in any way other than to say that you're better, and that's only if you ask.
Gale is also arguably the most romantic character out of the bunch, so I don't know why people get so upset. Mystra, much like Shar, Cazador, Mizora, etc., is a constant negative in Gale's life and the reason he's dying. She could remove the orb with ease but she won't, so of course he's going to "whine" about her. He feels guilty at first, then he feels used and angry, and by the end you can either convince him to become her Chosen again (which is entirely on you, though you remain his priority) or you can convince him to reject Mystra and leave the crown in the sea. The orb remains lodged in his chest, because Mystra's too petty to remove it, but it becomes completely inert. Either way, he's happy and he devotes himself entirely to you, not Mystra.
#bg3#baldur's gate 3#gale dekarios#gale of waterdeep#bg3 mystra#mystra#astarion#lae'zel#shadowheart#wyll ravengard#karlach#cazador szarr#mizora#shar#minthara
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Ok so what do you think would make a monster INSTANTLY attracted to someone. And then how do you think they would vocalize/show it?With said monsters being orcs, merfolk, centaurs, driders, werewolves, and vampires
Okokok so these are all obviously just my opinion :) but here we go:
🧌 I think in orc culture the women initiate romantically and sexually just as much as the men, as opposed to human culture where the men generally are expected to initiate more. So I think any orc would find it hot if you were the one to flirt and initiate contact first.
- They like humans who know what they want and go for it.
- They like humans who can hold their liquor. They just think it's hot.
- They like humans who are a little vulgar. Who swear and shout and are a little rowdy maybe?
- So if you want to attract an orc your best bet would be to just go up to one and flirt heavily with them. If they like you they'll think it's hot that you show your attraction so boldly and they'll flirt back just as hard.
🧜Merfolk generally keep to themselves and their underwater cities. For a merfolk to be swimming in shallow waters means they're probably curious about the surface already.
- These merfolk will be instantly intrigued by a human who is as interested in them as the merfolk is with the surface. They just really like humans who try and talk to them, frantically ask them questions about their species and just seem enamored with their existence.
- A merfolk will fall for a human who brings them cool human stuff they've never seen before and enthusiastically tells them stories about the surface world.
- They'd appreciate humans who aren't scared to swim with them. They know the water is not a humans natural place and that it takes a lot of trust for them to be so vulnerable. They'd straight up take that as a confession of love from the human.
🐎 In my head centaurs are often depicted as strong stern types. Like noble warriors and such so I think they'd admire humans who are resourceful and independent.
- They won't like any human who disrespects nature. Killing unnecessarily or destroying/ littering wildlife is an absolute no go.
- They like outdoorsy humans who like nature walks or mountain climbing, that kind of shit. Anything from fishing to bird watching really.
- They find archery very attractive for some reason.
- Centaurs are known for being steely and almost cold so if one likes you they probably won't show it immediately but slowly over time by engaging in your shared interests.
🕷️ I think driders are often starved for affection. In my headcanon, driders don't get much affection from their parents because they're very independent and able from a young age so they're never really coddled as children.
- So I think driders would like a human who treats them very gently and sweetly despite not needing too at all because they're fierce hunters.
- They're not the most approachable monsters with their eight beady eyes and venom filled chelicerae. They don't initiate with humans much because they know they can be frightening. It can be isolating for them so they'd love if a human showed no fear towards them and instead treated them as if they were cute rather than scary.
- They'd be absolutely smitten if a human coddled and babied them, calling them grossly sweet petnames like "cutey", "darling" or "baby" while caressing their face gently. Just treating them with such care even though they could kill the human very easily. They might even cry from the affection.
🦇 I think vampires appreciate humans who aren't childish but still have a love for life. People who are lively and curious about the world but still mature and driven.
- I think humans who are exciting and have a thirst for life is what attracts vampires cus it helps them reignite their own love for life which may have dwindled after so many years of being immortal.
- Humans who are reckless with their own lives are a turn off. Vampires already have to experience losing many close ones due to immortality so I don't think they'd appreciate someone who disregards their life or the lives of others carelessly.
- Vampires are harder to categorise because they all come from different backgrounds and stuff but I think if a vampire liked a human most of them would have to know one for a while before bringing up anything serious. They understand the stakes (hah) of falling in love with humans and act accordingly.
🐺 Dog people. Werewolves like dog people. Sorry I know it's basic but I think werewolves are often simple creatures so what attracts them is relatively simple. Nothing wrong with that.
- They see a human walking their dog and they just go "I have a chance!!"
- They like humans who smell like their dog or have dog fur on their clothes, they think it's cute.
- They think it's so cute when humans baby talk dogs while giving them pets. It makes their own tails wag sometimes.
- Now that doesn't mean they like being treated like dogs cus they don't. They just think a dog person is a huge green flag in humans.
- Don't worry, this doesn't mean they hate cat people but they are more likely to flirt and initiate conversation with someone who has a dog or who smells like they own a dog.
#can u tell im not much of a vampire fan. im sorry vampire lovers i didnt know what to say <\3#monster x human#monster lover#monster x reader#monster fucker#monster boyfriend#werewolf#werewolf x human#vampire x reader#drider#orc x reader#orc x human#merman#centaur#terato
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Paper Hearts Part 4
I finished it!! It will have 8 chapters. I'm excited for you guys to see where this goes! I'm still working on Sweet Home Indiana and will be focusing on that until ITS done. Then we'll be back our regularly schedule WIPs.
We have Eddie's big plan and Steve gets his flirt on.
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3
****
Steve slipped into the kitchen and there in his mother’s neat handwriting was a note telling him that there were leftovers in the fridge and that they would be home again next Friday.
He sighed and opened the fridge. He immediately closed it when he saw what the leftovers were.
Boiled cabbage with chopped bacon and carrots. It wasn’t bad if it was made correctly, but his mother boiled any flavor and nutrients out of the poor vegetables and then tossed in cooked bacon to hide its sins.
He opened the cupboard and pulled out a small can of Campbell’s chicken noodle soup and made that. He was craving the sodium. Eddie’s beef was good to get his body to stop shaking, but he had sweat so much he needed to replenish the salt he’d lost.
Once Steve had eaten and drank another glass of water he went to go get a shower and get ready for bed. It was no use trying to get back to his homework now. He had managed to blow up his whole evening by getting lost.
He had no idea how he got to Forest Hills or even why his feet carried him there in the first place. He could feel the weariness seeping into his bones from running for so long.
He undressed and got under the scorching water, letting the heat carry away his pains. His mind ran through all the things that Munson had done for him. The guy had no reason to be nice to him, but he had been more than gracious.
Then it hit him. Munson had called him Stevie, and without thinking Steve had called him Eds.
Eds.
Where the fuck did that come from? They weren’t friends, they could barely be considered acquaintances. Was his brain reaching out to the guy subconsciously? Is that why he ended up at the trailer park? Everyone knew that’s where Munson lived. Who knew how many times the guy had been called trailer trash, but the older teen seemed to rise above the insult.
Steve shook his head, spraying water everywhere. Just because Munson picked up lost sheep, didn’t mean he’d be willing to taken in an injured wolf. Because that’s what he was, reformed or not, Steve would never be a sheep. He would always be a wolf. A predator.
But at least as a wolf he could protect those kids with everything he had. And he would, even if it killed him.
The water had long since turned cold by the time Steve stepped out of the shower. He completed his after shower routine mostly on autopilot as he kept going over his interactions with both Munson men. He didn’t really have good interactions with dads or in this case uncles. But Munson’s uncle Wayne treated him with kindness and he could see where the older boy got it from.
He dressed into his pajamas and slid under the covers. He rolled over on his back and tucked one arm under his pillow, staring up at the ceiling.
Steve thought back to the apology. One Munson really didn’t have to give but did anyway. He thought about the other jocks that bragged about hurting his hand. He held it up and looked at the fading bruise. It wasn’t as though he was even basketball anymore. Hurting his hand wouldn’t do anything but make it hard to do his homework and all he had to do is show his teachers his hurt hand and he’d get extensions for that. Like he had for his concussion last November.
But then again Tommy H. never had reasons for the people he hurt either. He just liked the power he got seeing the person helpless.
He placed his hand over his heart and let himself drift off the sleep, brown eyes and dark curls haunting his dreams.
****
Eddie had originally bought the red heart for himself like he had told the two juniors. But staring at it now, he had a better plan for it. Because that last wall, that last bastion of defense crumbled to ashes when he realized that despite the fancy car, the big house, and the expensive clothes, Steve Harrington was more like Eddie than he thought possible.
Wayne’s approval of the boy cemented that for him. Because if he could take one look at Steve and decide he was worth saving, then Eddie raring to go full steam ahead for a rescue mission.
Eddie could tell that the hearts were made from simple construction paper, like the kind found just about anywhere. He knew it would be technically cheating to just simply make more instead of buying them, but he had no intention of contributing to a dance he was never going to go to because one, it wasn’t his year; two, the whole gay thing; and three, the one person he would want to go with if the gay thing wouldn’t get him hate crimed, wouldn’t give him the time of day.
Well, all right, that might have changed with the whole rescuing him from wandering alone in the dark thing.
He forgave Eddie about being a dumbass, so maybe there was hope for, at the very least, a vast decrease in hostility. And he was willing to take what he could get.
He decided to wait until tomorrow after school to get the construction paper and hope that the high school hadn’t bought up the town’s supply.
On his way out the next morning, Wayne stopped him.
“You don’t have to tell me, son,” he said gently, “but you got feelings for that boy?”
Eddie froze and turned slowly to face his uncle. “What gave you that idea?”
Wayne chuckled and shook his head fondly. “Boy, when you’d go on rants about the Harrington boy, you’d describe his floppy hair, his hazel eyes and how unfairly good looking the kid was. I didn’t say anything because it did sound like he’d been a bit of an ass. Only after last night I got to thinking and was wondering is all.”
Eddie closed his eyes and opened them slowly. He let out a long shuddering breath, his bottom lip quivering.
“I–I don’t...” he closed his eyes again. This wasn’t Al. He wasn’t going to get beat for admitting it, but still it was so hard to say. So he just nodded.
Wayne came up and wrapped his arms around his nephew. “It’s a hell of a lot tougher batting for the other team, but I trust your judgment. Just promise me that if he shows signs of liking you back, you take the chance to tell him how you feel because...”
“You miss one hundred percent of the chances you don’t take,” they said together.
Eddie dropped his bag to the floor and hugged him back. “I know, old man. But I promise if there is a chance, I’ll be brave enough to take it.”
“Get going,” Wayne said, voicing cracking with emotion.
He pulled back and nodded. He reshouldered his backpack and got in his van.
He had a lot to think about and that really wasn’t conducive to paying attention in class or to his friends as they talked about their upcoming D&D session.
Gareth kicked his shin causing him to yelp.
“What the fuck, dude?” Eddie hissed.
“What the fuck is up with you?” Gareth hissed back. “You’ve been going on and on about the mind flayer for weeks and now that it’s literally this weekend, and you’re off in some other realm.”
Eddie blinked at him for a moment before his brain came back on. He shook his head to clear it.
“Yeah, sorry, man,” he said around a pretzel. “Weird night last night.”
“What happened?” Jeff asked, tilting his head to the side.
So Eddie told them. “He was like a ghost, guys. If Wayne hadn’t seen him too, I would have thought I was hitting Mary Jane a little too hard, you know?”
“I didn’t realize he was getting bullied,” Brian said, frowning. “I would have thought with Hargrove giving the dude a wide berth, that everyone else would have too.”
“Untouchable,” Jeff agreed. “The fact that jocks are now splintering into factions tells you what kind of control Steve actually had on them.”
Eddie rubbed his chin. “I don’t know how true this is, but if Harrington wasn’t lying, he’s a real sweetheart, too.”
Then he leaned forward and explained about the pink heart scheme.
“So,” Gareth said, steepling his fingers and resting his chin on them, “you’re telling us is that we have been seriously remiss in our duties in collecting lost sheep.”
The older teen sighed and shook his head. “I’d like to collect him, but I’m afraid the wolves might decide to rip him apart before we got him to safety if we tried.”
Jeff winced. He knew what Eddie was talking about. Steve Harrington wasn’t the usual lost sheep. He might be bullied now, but as King, Harrington had run far too long with the wolves to think that they could protect him one hundred percent of the time.
“So what are we going to do?” Brian asked. “Because if we let this slide, we’re throwing our lot in with the bullies and that’s something I refuse to do.”
A grin spread out over Eddie’s face, closed lips and dimples entrenched into his cheeks. “We’re going to make the school think that he’s just as popular as he ever was.”
The other three boys looked at each other in confusion.
“So what have you got?” Gareth asked, his own grin starting to take over his face.
****
Eddie made sure to get to class early so he could see where Steve was going to sit. He tried to tell himself it was about the dude’s hand, but it wasn’t working. He wanted to see if the former Hawkins royalty would chose to sit with his old friends or by him again.
He didn’t have long to wait. Steve walked in not long after he did, just as the bell rang. He didn’t even look at his old desk near the front and beelined it for the chair he had sat in on Friday.
The teacher picked up on the change immediately and wrinkled her nose. “I am to suppose that you are taking up permanent residence in the back with Mr. Munson, Mr. Harrington?”
Steve half shrugged as he began to pull out his things for class. “I got more work done, Mrs. Dixon and I really want to graduate on time.”
Mrs. Dixon nodded. “Agreed and as long as you continue the level of attention from last week, you are permitted to stay there.”
About half way through class while Mrs. Dixon was grading papers, Tommy H. turned around and kicked Steve’s chair. “Suck up,” he hissed.
Steve puckered his lips and wagged his eyebrows. “Why? Do you want to be next?”
Tommy turned back around, his face bright red.
Eddie raised an eyebrow and cocked his head to the side as he considered everything about that interaction.
A little blossom of hope sprouted in his chest and he fought to keep it down. Steve had insinuated that other people were gay for years, but to Eddie’s highly trained gay ears, that sounded like Steve was offering to suck Tommy H.’s dick and that Tommy didn’t exactly turn him down.
Curiouser and curiouser, he thought tapping his lips thoughtfully. More research would have to be done.
He pulled out a different notebook, the one he used for campaign notes and song lyrics.
He wrote girls over one column and boys over the other and began tallying what he knew about the former King of Hawkins.
A shit ton went into the Steve liking girls column, but there was surprisingly more in the liking boys column then he would have thought possible. He looked up to catch Steve smirking at him.
Eddie quickly covered his notebook and stuck his tongue out at Steve.
The other boy shook his head and went back to doing the assignment. Eddie was more careful about what he left out in the open because he didn’t want Steve teased for it nor did he want him to see that Eddie was trying to figure him out.
The bell rang and the notebook was suddenly whisked off his desk.
“Hey!” Eddie cried, looking up to see Steve dancing away with the notebook teasingly. “Stevie!” He grabbed his bag and chased after the other boy. But the other boy was a jock and Eddie was wheezing for breath by the time he caught up with him at his locker.
“Give that back,” he huffed.
Steve gave him a bright smile and handed it back. “I just made a minor addition.”
Eddie frowned as he flipped through the pages but didn’t see anything. Steve took it back and turned to the correct page and leaned close so that only Eddie could hear.
“I trust you’ll keep my secret,” he whispered and then dropped to one knee to start getting into his locker.
Eddie gulped at the sight and turned to the paper to avoid saying something stupid. There in bold capital letters under his girls/guys columns was the word BOTH.
He looked up at Steve who had stood up. Steve winked at him and then walked away, leaving a shocked Eddie behind.
****
Tag List:
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One Can Only Hope (Cregan x Reader)
First of, I don’t know why this particular song was stuck in my head while I was writing but I think it fits the aesthetic of how the couple works together, also I don’t care that they didn’t pick this actor for me THAT is what Cregan stark looks like, and also sorry for not adding the last detail it just naturally went with a different approach
'may I present my second-born child and my precious only daughter, (y/n) Targaryen, the heiress of driftmark"
(y/n) bowed lightly before the stoic man that it deserves to be noted how thick his fur was which engulfed him, the man nodded as a sign of acknowledgment to the princess and the young heiress (y/n) could swear that she detected a faint smile forming on his lips, to be quite fair no one could tell since the lords' lips were faintly visible due to his distinguished beard, once (y/n)s deep blue eyes met his there was an instant influence on her that cause her to slightly shiver, mostly from anxiety and somewhat fear of the unknown.
(Y/n) could only describe the sensation similar to placing yourself at the very sharp edge of a tall cliff, as one would gaze down at the water the little voice would whisper to take a plunge, release yourself from the shackles of overthinking, whilst your mind begged you to take a step back and forget about all of this.
Unfortunately (y/n) was well aware of the reason why she had to take this long of a flight on dragon back and introduce herself to the new lord of the North, her mother had put a tremendous amount of effort into making this a trip that could be enjoyable too (y/n) but to no avail, she did not blame her mother, ever since she was a toddler (y/n) would catch whispers of numerous people around her castle that would venture on whom she would marry, as the moons passed and (y/n) became a lady the pressure became tighter than her corset.
"judging by the tremble and pink nose you are not accustomed to such a cold environment"
"I'm afraid not, I am willing to try though, if need be"
She suggested as her voice usually would be colourful and loud- something that princess rhaenyra adored- was now barely audible, Rhaenyra dreaded asking this of her only daughter, seven hells the reason she even had (y/n) was because of her failed match that was created under ambition and desperation for allegiance, now she had to bare the curse of the prey becoming the hunter as she set her daughter up in hopes this could bring peace and safety not only to the realm but to their family.
“It is an honor to have the Targaryen family as our guest, I believe last time it was with Queen Alyssane, was it not?”
“Indeed, my lord, though I cannot recall if we have ever United our house bloodline”
“That is correct, such a pity don’t you think Princess Rhaenyra? We must correct that mistake as fast as we can, before all that let me escort you to your chambers, you must rest after such travel”
Cregan's humor was a breath of fresh air for mother and daughter, both of them felt more comfortable through his commentary and light-hearted chatter.
Rhaenyra was extremely thankful that her daughter understood why this must be done if she had to be completely honest with herself partially the reason she chose Cregan as her daughter's match was how the whispers of his strength and his handsome nature made it to the red keep, another thing was a desperate attempt on keeping her daughter guarded, mayhaps if she found refuge in the north of the vicious Hightowers pushed Rhaenyra to war (y/n) would be tucked away and protected by the Lord.
As they walked through the castle Cregan started blabbering about all kinds of things his brain could master, he was certainly nervous when he got the letter from Rhaenyra herself asking for her daughter to be betrothed to him, Targaryen and Starks had, of course, rumors of laying together but never being United in the eyes of the Gods, and to add the fact that the lady is in line for the throne, the wedlock and children would bring such different aspect to his house.
"the lady of the north has to endure the stinging sensation of the icy air, but I believe having a humungous dragon that spews fire on command should help"
Rhaenyra smiled at the slight declaration of interest and almost a very subtle way of claiming their betrothal to be a fact, it was (y/n) 's turn to nod excitedly and let out a small giggle, Cregan was not a man that went unnoticed, young, tall, strong, beautiful, any woman of her status would thank the gods for such a match and a part of her was curious.
Due to the small sign of hope (y/n) careless tucked a strand behind her ear, revealing a part of her to the Lord that he had never seen before.
“Your ear”
He said almost in a question, subconsciously his head tilted in order to get a better view, hastily (y/n) let her hair fall back again, concealing her left ear, flustered and internally cursing herself.
“I don’t believe I have seen something like it before”
“I apologize, I-it is-“
“Unique, I know that Targaryens usually have violet eyes as your mother has, however, I can only guess you found that boring and chose something entirely different, you have quite the taste”
(Y/n)s eyes slightly widen at the kind-hearted nature of Cregan's comment, (y/n) was born with pointy ears, her mother would always jest that it was because the fairies brought (y/n) to her as a gift, others would say that the Targaryens started to blend more with their dragons and that Rhaenyra indulged in blood magic to have the daughter she always wanted.
Gossip and fairytales aside, (y/n) tried her best to conceal that little thing like a well-kept secret that she now had pulled the covers from. Cregan only smiled, (y/n) seemed like a peach on a summer day, full of sweetness, and the nectar could bring back the dead, her smile could make your teeth hurt like how they used to when he ate pie, the pointy ears in his eyes only gave her a boost in her ethereal presence.
Despite that (y/n) had to acknowledge that the man was nothing but a stranger, she had witnessed countless loveless marriages and men that sucked the life out of their wives, besides all of that she pushed those types of thoughts to the side and masked her dark thoughts for the future with a brave face.
-
"Mother!"
(Y/n) exclaimed as she skipped over to Rhaenyra who rushed to her daughter's side, it had been months since (y/n) had seen her mother, and as content as she was with her new life no one could replace the place Rhaenyra had in her daughter's heart.
"oh my dearest, how lovely it is to see you, take a turn for me let me look at you"
(y/n) let out a snicker at her mother's request even though she complied almost immediately making Rhaenyra nod in approval, to no one’s surprise (y/n) had grown to be a proper lady, her red cape with the thick lining and fur, her hair down and disheveld from riding her dragon, plump red cheeks from eating well, and how could one forget her smile, shining through the realm and blessing her mother with a sigh of relief, Rhaenyra was relieved to say the slightest that her only daughter was taken care of.
"Princess, thank you for inviting us"
"nonsense, I would take any chance to see my baby"
"Mother" (y/n) whispered in embarrassment
"hush now young lady, to me, you will always remain the small babe that curled in my arms, you will know what I'm talking about sooner than late"
"about that, Mother, it might be sooner than you anticipate"
Rhaenyra froze in her spot, her eyes doubling their original size as an audible inhale of breath was heard, (y/n) 's eyes watered and her arms seemed to have a slight tremble whilst she took off her cape to reveal the cutest swollen belly. Rhaenyra stood still for only a second before she wrapped her arms as tight as she possibly could around (y/n) who did the same.
"no, my baby, why didn't you write me about this?"
"I-"
"We wanted to wait this time, I believe you understand, (y/n) wanted to tell you as soon as possible, I advised her not to, forgive me, princess"
Rhaenyra might not have birthed Cregan though she had given birth to (y/n) and that meant that she knew when her daughter was hiding, like now.
(Y/n) wanted to be cautious, after they suffered an early loss of their first baby before her belly could even swell, inevitable fear overtook her, she had refused to ride her dragon for the first three moons and she did her best to remain abed as much as possible.
Thankfully, Cregan shook her out of it, asking her to take a walk as often as his duties allowed him to, he would also attempt to ever so casually bring up how her dragon kept all of the town awake from roaring and complaining, even for this visit (y/n) only agreed after Cregan offered to get up on the dragon with her so she can feel safe.
"it doesn't matter, all that I care about is that my baby is happy and healthy"
"Don't worry Mother, the north has been extremely good to me"
“For that I am certain, well then, let us celebrate, my little babe is having a little babe”
-
"It is good to see you back and we’ll, my lord"
"it is good to be back, especially with such a catch might I add, tell the cook to prepare the Stagg for supper, give the wild pig for you and the others"
"you are utmost gracious my lord, the princess is waiting for you in your chambers"
"wonderful, do not let anyone disturb us, I wish to stay by her side until supper is served"
Cregan skipped the way into his chambers, he was too caught up in the rush of the hunt and the excitement of reconnecting with his lady wife to notice the nods and stiff giggles of the servants and guards.
He didn't bother to knock, even if he was indecent there was nothing he hadn't seen, secretly he hoped to see her swollen belly bare, as it grew bigger Cregan had adored to kiss on her belly and rub it as he felt the kicks and moves of their child, together they would make plans for the future, like making sure the babe receives an egg for their cradle or getting a wolf cub as a pet.
"my de-"
"shush, you'll wake her"
medusa had cast her spell over Cregan as his eyes focused on the most extraordinary sight, his lady wife holding their babe while she sat up in their bed. (y/n) had never looked more beautiful in his eyes, her hair falling past her shoulders as her arms wrapped around the child and her big eyes sparkling with joy.
The baby was wrapped in a white blanket and (y/n) slightly rocked it, it almost could fool someone that (y/n) had already given birth to numerous children by the graciousness in her moves, Cregan could pull a chair and watch this for the rest of his days, alas his curiosity and excitement rushed him to her side, sitting right next to his lady wife in awe.
"bless me, when did this happen?"
"last morrow, the labors started hours after you left"
"my strong dragon, you did this without me, I must admit I am slightly wounded"
"I did not want to send someone until I delivered her, make sure she is fine and all"
if it was humanly possible Cregan would swear he could hear her trembling heart, as her pleading eyes uncovered the insufferable pain she went through that held hands tightly with distress and a splash of grief.
(Y/n) ached for the babe she had lost, wondering if it had been a boy to a girl, if it would have their father's eyes, or if they would prefer music over hunting, Cregan felt helpless, watching his love suffer as he also grieved in silence, though now it did not matter, the gods took mercy on them.
At just the perfect queue, the small babe cooed pulling both of them out of their trance, simultaneously the pair looked down at the fruit of their ever-growing bond with humungous smiles and cloudy eyes.
"she is gorgeous, once you fully heal we will throw a feast, I'll send some of my best men for a hunt, you should write to your mother, and ask her if she can find Dornish wine-"
"my lord, let us enjoy her before we present her to the realm, she is barely a morrow old"
"she is a princess, our princess"
"Precisely, our princess, come lay with us"
as much as (y/n) comprehends the weight of duty and the strict order of customs that came with such wonderful news, she had grown up with a mother who had wrapped her and her siblings with a cloak to protect their childhood years, allowing them to be kids amid chaos and now it was her time to step up and build a fort that kept her happy and safe.
Cregan puffed out a breath of defeat before he complied and climbed as carefully as a man of his statue could
“Let me see, oh perfect”
“She will grow out of it”
“She better not, maybe the next one can have slit eyes as well”
“My love, I do not believe I can give birth to a full dragon”
“One can only hope”
Cregan jested as (y/n) laughed, the young babe had inherited her mother's ears, Cregan would often brush (y/n) 's hair away from her face to take a look at her ears, or brush his fingers over them as she laid her head on his chest at night, sometimes (y/n) would slap away his hand while he roared with laughter, others she would just bask in his admiration, thanking whoever took favor in her and gave her the man that loved her, pointy ears and all.
Requests are open!
#hotd fanfic#hotd imagine#hotd#hotd fic#hotd x reader#house of the dragon#cregan stark hc#cregan x y/n#cregan stark fluff#cregan stark fanfic#cregan stark x you#cregan x reader#cregan stark x reader#cregan stark imagine#cregan stark#cregan fanfiction#cregan x you#hotd cregan#hotd season 2#hotd fluff#house of the dragon fic#house of the dragon headcanon#house of the dragon imagine#house of the dragon x reader#house of the dragon x you#hotd x you#hotd x y/n#hotd x oc#Spotify
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𝐁𝐀𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐃 𝐈𝐍 𝐀𝐅𝐅𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍
summary: there's nothing quite like being pampered by your partner after coming home from a fight... at least in childe's eyes
pairing: childe x gn! reader
warnings: fluff, a smidge angsty towards the end, mentions of fighting/ wounds; just a scene i had to exorcise from my brain since i'm ridiculously down bad; this is either a modern au or a 'teyvat has blow-dryers now' au, pick whichever one you fancy
genshin masterlist
“Watch it,” you threatened, though your voice lacked any sort of real bite. How could you be truly mad when Childe was grinning up at you, all boyish and playful, a strand of his wet bangs stubbornly falling back into his ocean-hued eyes?
“I wouldn’t have to if you just joined me,” the ginger hummed with no remorse, wet fingers dancing along the hem of your already soaked shirt, itching the creep under it. No doubt, he had already thought about just pulling you into the bathtub with him. “Or you could just take off your clothes if you’re so worried about them getting wet.”
“Oh, I’m sure that’s the only reason you’re proposing that, huh?” You cocked your eyebrow at him, gently sweeping his hair back again. Even after you shampooed and conditioned it, it was as unruly and wilful as the guy it was attached to. “No ulterior motives whatsoever, I presume.”
“No ulterior motives whatsoever,” Childe echoed, though his voice carried the same mischief as it did right before he splashed the first wave of water over you. “I’m just looking out for you, darling.”
“The only thing you’re looking out for are your best interests,” you snorted, grabbing the body wash and sponge, motioning for him to turn around. “Now sit still, you literal child. I don’t want to accidentally reopen the wounds I spent so long dressing.”
“You got it,” the ginger laughed, clearly not as concerned with the deep scratches littering his back. Though you really didn’t want to meet whatever had caused them, Childe had excitedly told you all about his scuffles as he came home, still high on adrenaline as you ushered him into the bathroom and peeling off his many layers of clothing.
You shook your head, dispelling the thoughts that started clouding your mind. It was a conversation you have had plenty of times before. Instead you concentrated on the way his lithe muscles flexed and relaxed under your touch, his skin as always pleasantly warm and smooth despite the faded scars littering it. You knew the origins of most, having spent many nights tracing them as you listened to the stories behind them. Sure, some were from thrilling battles, but there were also smaller, odd ones like the one where Teucer accidentally nicked him as he taught his younger brother how to prepare a fish they caught together.
When you were certain your boyfriend was all clean again, you got some fluffy towels as he clambered out of the tub, purposefully not meeting his smug expression as he caught you eyeing the water droplets running down the dibs of his abs. You were also sure there was no need for his arms to flex as much as they did as he towelled his hair dry, leaving the white fabric to rest around his neck.
Though there was a shirt set out next to his sweatpants, he forewent it completely and you sighed as you followed him out of the bathroom with the blow-dryer in hand. Idly, Childe sauntered over to the bed, sitting down with his back to the frame waiting for you to take your place behind him like you always did.
Gingerly, you rested your legs over his shoulders, feeling his calloused palms wrap around them, his fingers tracing random shapes into your thighs and calves as his bare body radiated heat. Watching the stream of hot air tussle his fluffy strands, your thoughts couldn’t help but circle back to the bloodied wounds on his back. None of them were too deep this time, but…
There was a tap against your calf.
“What are you thinking about?” Of course, Childe would pick up on your dip in mood; he always could. He could probably also guess the direction your thoughts had turned, it wasn’t an uncommon point of discussion. “And you’d better not say it’s nothing.”
“I know I tell you all the time and you always tell me not to worry. And I do have more faith in you than anyone else, but can you be at least a little more careful?” In that moment you were glad your boyfriend was turned away from you, certain your voice would shake even more if you were to look into his eyes right now.
Running your fingers through his soft hair, you busied yourself with parting the sections to resemble a somewhat orderly hairstyle in order to keep your hands from trembling. Still, Childe easily caught your wrists, sliding his fingers between yours as he twisted to face you.
“You really do worry too much. I’m fine, right? See, everything still attached and working,” Childe smiled, drumming his fingers across your knuckles.
“Yeah but what if something happens? Something that is outside of your control and you don’t—“ You cut yourself off, not daring to speak your worst fear into existence. It would make it seem so much realer. “Just… Ajax, if you won’t do it for yourself, do it for me. I couldn’t bear it if anything happened to you, if the other side of the bed was cold—“
“Hey now, none of that,” Childe soothed, reaching up to smooth out the crease of your brows. “You’ll never have to go to sleep alone or wake up to an empty bed. I’ll always come back home to you, I promise. Nothing could keep me away from you.”
The heat of his kisses spread from your knuckles all the way up to your heart, warming you from the inside out as his words soothed your frayed nerves. The logical part of your brain knew he couldn’t actually prevent all bad turns of events from happening but you willed those thoughts away.
As you curled up under the blanket with him that night, his arm draped securely over your waist to pull you close to him and into his safe embrace, you reminded yourself Ajax had never broken his promises before. So, as the moon bore witness to his vow sealed with more kisses, you decided to believe him.
© the-travelling-witch 2024 - do not repost, translate, copy or edit and do not feed my writing to ai
if you like my content, reblogs, comments and asks are always much appreciated (also, yes, there will be second parts for the characters) ♡
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I loved your inumaki headcannons and def want more. Do you also have any of megumi by chance?
(If not that is okay. I will take inumaki crumbs)
MEGUMI FUSHIGURO ˙✧˖°📷 ⋆｡˚꩜
headcanons ⸝⸝ hey everyone! ive been on a writing streak as of recent, so i love to give more headcanons and ideas about dating megumi! ofc, this is from a fem perspective.
safe for work headcanons
+ megumi literally did not think much of you when you first met. it was only seeing how you interact with others that he started to get you more.
+ whenever he sees you typing in the group chat, he always makes sure he answers (of course, only to make sure youre heard, much to itadori and kagisakis interest)
+ probably won't call you, but texting is decently fun with him. for someone decently calm and quiet, hes curious about how you work, ect.
+ he enjoys sharing his earbuds with you, and you lend him a few songs to listen too (you seem to get his style, although he likes a much of different things, and he saves them to his playlists)
+ doesnt mind staying back to help you train or study, and honestly you two end up talking about the jujustu world and everyone in general
+ he doesn't seem like he cares about gossip, but the moment you start talking about it he is going to pay attention
+ you two always swap what you don't like on food
+ brushing his hair with your fingers will make him fall asleep.
+ you two always somehow crowd around each other when others are training or at parties or events
+ he does not suck at communicating, he just does it in his own way. maybe in notes or through text, he is very sensitive in reality
+ would absolutely ignore his friends if you two had a date or even just taking a walk. if someone has his attention, he will give all of it
+ he loves to print out the pictures he takes of you on his recyclable camera and keep them in a little drawer in his desk
+ seems to talk about you less the more you start seeing each other/not into pda whatsoever. he doesn't want other people (especially HIS people) in your business. at the most though, he will always offer acts of service in return (buying you snacks, matching bracelets or necklaces, holding your backpack.)
+ he probably isn't a huge fan of pet names, he will never get over how embarrassing they make him feel, at the very best, meg is fine (the other half is reserved for gojo.. for whatever reason.)
+ he loves to have cuddle dates- don't have time worry about going places, just his warm bed, and both of you sleeping while he holds you.
+ your laughter may be a weak spot for him, and produces a smile every single time (even infront of other people, which they always notice.)
below this, are not safe for work headcanons. // mdni.
not safe for work headcanons
~ megumi is.. a stupid guy when it comes to fucking you.
~ hates public attention? will litter your body with purple hickeys.
~ doesn't like pda? will push you against a wall in a secluded place and eat you out from the back as your forehead meets the cement wall
~ he doesn't think too much about it, unless he thinks he is hurting you, then his penis brain turns off
~ its slightly embarrassing for him at first, but he likes to fondle you as he kisses your neck from behind. when he first heard your whimpering, that embarrassment flew out the window
~ while practically growling in your ear about how pretty you are and how wet you are down there
~ long fingers are always put to good use.. always.
~ his favorite thing to do is eating you out. he loves watching you squirm and plead as he makes circles around your clit with his thumb.
~ and his favorite position is hitting it from the back while holding you, so he can whisper and pant into your ear while you take all of him, and also to hear you huff into the pillow.
~ his weakest spot is hearing you moan and whine through his hand that wraps around your mouth every time you get loud.
~ pulling on his hair makes him whine.. or makes him go harder.
~ dirty talk, once his brain shuts off
~ "fuck, i want to see you cum. youre not leaving here until i see it."
~ always does the dirty in his room, because he doesn't want to make a mess in yours- he cares about whats in his room, but not enough to avoid breaking it on accident when he fucks you against it.
~ always after is the biggest gulit-session
~ "was i too mean? did i hurt you? god why am i so stupid?" yeah stupid in love with you.
thank you for your asks and whatnot! i will definitely write more inumaki headcanons when i get the chance next!
please, send more, i absolutely love talking to yall!
bye pookies!
#jujutsu kaisen#inumaki toge#jujustsu kaisen x reader#jujutsu megumi#jjk#jujutsu itadori#jujutsu sorcerer#jjk inumaki#fushiguro megumi#jjk megumi#megumi headcanons#jujutsu kaisen megumi#i cant stop thinking about megumi and inumaki like what#megumi fushiguro#megumi x reader#megumi fluff#megumi x you#megumi smau
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cw: whiney satoru, hate sex from your end, afab!reader, mdni, hand job, sub!satoru.
⤷masterlist
⇢ ˗ˏˋthis became hella long for some reason, its like 1k words 👩🔬
⋆.ೃ࿔*:･𝗛𝗢𝗪 𝗧𝗢 𝗗𝗘𝗔𝗟 𝗪𝗜𝗧𝗛 𝗬𝗢𝗨𝗥 𝗖𝗟𝗜𝗡𝗚𝗬 𝗟𝗢𝗦𝗘𝗥 𝗘𝗫-𝗕𝗢𝗬𝗙𝗥𝗜𝗘𝗡𝗗?; is what you typed in the search bar on your laptop. your eye began to twitch in the midst of scrolling down to find the answers to your predicament.
each and every 'answer' google gave you are: legal or psychological advice, which was the last road you wanted to ride on. satoru was... harmless, to you at least. he was just hurt. and needed to cling to a safe space. however, you were not that safe space anymore.
'hi sweet!'
'how's ur night?'
'i miss u'
'like a lot'
'i think i left some stuff at your apartment,,, may i come for them?'
and so on, the myriad of texts jingles through your laptops' notifications. a month and a half, you had broken up with satoru gojo a month and a half ago. and he somehow always forgets things he left in your apartment and texts you how you are, how your studies are going, or sending you drunken audios telling you how much he misses you. even escalating to tell mutual friends how much he loves you and desperately wants you back.
any other man would have ruined your life by now, but satoru's devotion to you was unshakeable. it was you, you, you, you, you, you, you. you plagued his mind every second of the day. he told you this in one of the countless nights he found comfort inside you. he would never hurt you. you were sure of that.
he was just a little obsessive, that's all. in the end you felt terrible, for him, and for yourself.
'tomorrow afternoon, come.'
'stop bothering.'
you were not a fan of being mean to your ex, though being this direct might steer him to lower his intensity. even though if you found it somewhat cute.
'alright see ya >w<'
a giggle rose from you as you watched the last message he sent for the day. you slammed your computer shut at the thought of your ex being somewhat cute by his way of texting.
he is not. he is suffocating, that's what he is. that is why you broke up with him in the first place. the pound of your head on your pillow reprimanded you into logic. and now, he was going to be at your apartment tomorrow. whatever the near future held, you soothed yourself to sleep.
"hi sweet!" satoru poorly hid his smile behind a single tulip flower unlike his eyes which were always hidden behind his round sunglasses.
in contrast, you kept your words to yourself, only gesturing the man to step inside to look for his belongings. as he should. satoru eagerly made his way inside and gave you the flower, you had not even a smile to offer him as you coursed yourself to throw the plant on the garbage bin.
"awwe sweet, why must you hurt me so."
"you're here for one thing, and one thing only," his pout was swiftly erased while hearing your words with no emotion, "get your stuff quickly."
"y-yeah, you're right." he then disappear from your line of view and you can finally puff out the air you have been holding.
'how in the world did he manage to look so good even after all this time?'
it was the circling question that kept you in a choke hold. in your mind, he should look like a mess. you wanted him to be. although everything is in the details; his hair inched further down his former clean-cut frame and some stubble began to peak out from his smooth face. his buttoned-up shirt had wrinkles here and there but, it made the angelic, almost god like man, to look normal. even daring to say in the brink of a pathetic look.
you took a moment to sit down on your living room couch and collect yourself. the thought of him a complete and utterly obvious mess stirred some found emotions inside you. and grew at concerning rates while thinking about it.
"all done. sorry for bothering you." he showed his pearly teeth with a cheeky smile while telling you such bold-faced lie, "so..."
he trailed closer to where you sat, "i guess i won't be seeing you in a while-"
the box you had prepared for him to place his thing in, tilted as one of his hands reached to settle on the back of his neck, "shit!"
gojo cursed as he saw one of his signed baseball balls fall onto the ground and roll under your grey couch, "i'll get that."
swiftly he ducked on his hands and knees to look for his precious item under your furniture. however, his position made your eye tick and scratch that part of your brain that made you have this disdain and attraction towards your ex.
his tucked shirt skid upwards, revealing your ex's smooth milky skin and back dimples. you did not recall ever seeing his body divots. were you so blind as to not pay well and good attention to someone who you're supposed to like?
somewhat and somehow your fingertips began to trace along his dimples and spine, sending shivers all along his now stiffened body, "oh, uh-shit...sorry."
you shifted your weight away from gojo, as you avoided sight of him, quite flustered, "i-i really didn't know what i was doing."
gojo had taken the ball in a rush and straightened himself. his back facing you while settling his belonging on the box, "no, please... keep going."
"what?" you finally settled your vision on him, fidgeting and obviously anxious. however, he reached for the hand that caressed his back.
"keep touching me... please."
"so this is what you wanted huh?" the pitchiness in your voice lowered. was he planning to lure you in once more? to his unforgiving hands? to your utmost disdain and misfortune, he was winning you. just like he wanted.
"i knew you were pathetic. but begging for my touch? bending over? you really hit rock bottom, huh?" you inched closer to whisper near his face. his silver hair had the scented fragrance of strawberries, which lured you in further to his body.
melodies of pleasure seeped from deep within satoru through his fine lips. the graze of your fingertips alone made him tread the fine line of his sanity. a bubbling feeling of distaste overcame you, with him and especially yourself. because it was ridiculous of you to feel this way due to him being under your ultimate control.
now your hands traversed through his toned abdomen, from his clothed nipples down to where his bellybutton is supposed to be, "should i go lower?"
the stiff tent in his pants was prevalent and seemed painful enough. and along with your melt worthy touches, satoru could only nod and nudge his face near yours.
as he desired, you unzipped his pants. not only was the bulge ever present, but a wet spot dampened the soft fabric of his underwear. and with zero hesitation you let his dick free out of its confinement, only to find the sweet, pleasurable relief of your touch as you began to stroke along his base.
"more, s-sweet, mmhhm, more~"
a low laugh emerged from you, marveling in awe and repulse at his pleadings, "spit on your cock and i'll go faster satoru."
from your lidded eyes you see the string of drool leave his lips and land at the tip of his cock. with your thumb you began to coat around it, sticky with his own drool and precum, the white-haired man could only grip at your thighs in ecstasy. his praise fueled word echoes through your mind, rendering you to pump around his length faster and occasionally palm his balls.
at this point satoru, a carefree man to most, was under you mumbling in a lovestruck trance. chained to your presence alone, and you thought how fun it would be to just let him cum with just your words.
the moment you stopped giving attention to his length, your ex desperately reached for your sticky hands, trying to make you go further and for him to find that sweet release with your guidance.
"cum right now or i won't let you fuck me in the couch right after this." you commanded, and not long after strings of heavy cum sprinted towards your living room table and the box of satoru's belongings, "shit. now that impressive."
his head laid limp on your shoulder. his dick twitching happily, "c'mon." you taped his arm.
his sky eyes were blown out from his release, however he looked quite puzzled.
"i'm fulfilling my end of the promise..." the t-shirt you had on flew somewhere else in the room, leaving you bare chested. satoru now more composed than before, began to fiddle around with the fabric of the couch. it seemed like he wished to convey his thoughts to you, though you were the one to encourage him to speak.
"what... are you gonna make me kick you in the balls now?"
reblogs and comments are appreciated ᜊ(𐭅" ॑ ॑")𐭅♡
#⛤﹕◟𝐊𝐈𝐙𝐎𝐊𝐄𝐍 𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐂𝐒¹⁹⁸⁷#jujutsu kaisen smut#jjk x you#satoru gojo x you#satoru gojo x reader#gojo satoru smut#gojo satoru x reader#gojou satoru x reader#jjk x reader#jjk smut#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jujutsu kaisen#jujutsu kaisen x you#gojo satoru x you#satoru smut#satoru x reader#satoru x you#satoru gojo smut#anime smut#anime x reader#anime x you#anime x y/n#anime x female reader#satoru gojo x female!reader#jjk x reader smut#jjk drabbles#gojo drabbles#anime drabble#anime oneshot
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I’m Fine 🙂 / Save Me 🙃
Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader (Familial / Sisters)
Warnings: Angst w/Bittersweet Ending | Reader Dies | Black Widow / Red Room Canon | Addiction | “Cry for Help”
All she had left was the memory of you. | WC: 1,512
"Do you ever feel like you're all alone in this world?"
Natasha looked up from her laptop quick. "What?"
"Like, no matter how hard you try, no one will ever love or regard you in the same way you do them?"
——
Natasha tried to approach you gently, "Y/N." Yet she wasn't quick enough as you jumped back. "Shut up."
There was a fire in your eyes she hardly recognized, and she took a step back. Looking in your eyes hurt, because you were not the same little girl who used to pick flowers from the garden just for her hair and part of her took blame for that. "Don't try and pretend like you do." If you were a wine you'd be the most bitter. "I don't know why you even keep me around Natasha."
The redhead scoffed bitterly, "because I love you!" It stung to feel the burden in her words—you're hurting yourself just to spite her, but she hurt you first and with the way your mind was racing this made sense.
"Or is it because you feel guilty?" You countered, and hit it on the head as she whispered, "Y/N, please..."
Crushing her the same way she did you the day she left you behind, in a place built to destroy a dreamer like you, in the hands of a man set out to punish you for the mistakes of the woman you loved the most. Ouch.
"Do you think the world would miss me if I vanished?"
"Of cou—." You mindlessly cut her off, words tinged with vitriol, "Of course not. You're the one they'd hold the candlelight vigils for, you'll be on a mural and I'd be the one the stray cats would miss, because just like them I know what it's like to truly have no place."
"Have you been smoking pot?" It reeked the longer she stood closer to you. Then you all but confirmed it as you grew defensive. "Is that all you can ask Natasha?"
Natasha clicked her tongue. "Answer the question."
"Yes," you monotoned, "what does that change?"
"Everything." You grew rather frustrated, "but how?"
“You’re not making any sense,” she tried to reason but you laughed incredulously, “this is the first time in my entire life that I am making complete sense, Natalia.”
"I don't like it when you're like this, sestra."
"I'm always like this." Natasha sighed, "yeah..."
"Yeah?" Natasha nodded shamefully and you couldn't stop the sob from breaking. She hated you.
"Then I won't be anything to you, anymore."
Natasha shot up in a cold sweat, her wife beater tank top sticking to her skin, the words of your last fight still ringing in her head; a cry for help and she was useless.
"Fuck," she hiccuped, her knees pulled to her chest as she sobbed alongside the sky just outside the window. She dug the heels of her palms into her eyes and tried to force the pity she felt for herself away, the grief...
There were so many things she could have said; done.
I don't understand, but I want to; talk to me...
Had she ran after you, would it be different now?
Could've grabbed you by the arm. Don't go. Stay.
I love you more than you could ever know.
Instead she scoffed, 'at least I can finish my paperwork now,' and let you storm out the door without noticing the keys to her brand new jet black Porsche were gone.
Yelena still won't return her calls. Melina and Alexei are beside themselves in a grief harsher than her own. Though she internally wagers that her loss was the greatest, because you were her little widow first...
~-~-~———————-~-~———————-~-~-~
"Natty?" the blue haired girl looked at you with a wide grin, the innocence of the nickname you gave her was endearing and in the same breath, twisted. It was clear to her you didn't remember much of the before. You were four years her junior, so similar to Yelena, this life was honestly all you'd known. "Da, malen'kiy pauk?"
Natasha laughed just as soon as you giggled. It brought her joy to know, that for a while, you could be free of the harsh shackles that awaited you all back home.
"A little girl at school today told me about how in her family, when a person goes away, that they can become something else when they visit." Natasha nearly lost the joy on her face as you curiously approached death. In her mind the hope you held onto was futile, that when you shoot someone between the eyes, they are as good as gone, but she could never destroy you like that.
Instead, she gave life to your wonder, "What would you want to be then, a kitty?" You shook your head and blurted your answer easily, "malen'kiy pauk." The gaps in your teeth only made your smile more endearing, and the redhead opened her arms to you. You launched yourself into your sister's arms and gripped her tight.
"Then I could visit you," you mumbled against her shirt and the natural redhead tensed. The idea of you no longer existing felt unpleasant—her walls crumbled the moment you and Yelena entered her life but this was the first time she'd felt anything excruciating.
"Moya malen'kiy pauk," she chuckled softly so as to not cry instead, she placed a kiss to your cheek then hoped your childlike attention span would change the tune.
Then a familiar jingle sounded and you were scrambling into the house, shrieking for your mom.
Natasha shook her head and walked to the old man who knowingly parked out front of your house. He handed the redhead three ice creams, and a disk.
—————
You stood next to Natasha in the line for lunch, which was just a tasteless tray variety of essential nutrients. It was rule of thumb not to talk in line, but you were never one to follow the rules, and neither was Natasha.
"Are you scared of death?" Natasha frowned. "What?"
"I think a healthy fear for the end is fair, but I'm not losing sleep over the concept. Why do you ask?"
"Because I'm honestly not," you shrugged, stance indifferent but Natasha unfortunately believed you as you went on to say, "just wondering if I'm alone."
"Never with us," Yelena chimed in. "Death is an inevitability, just a matter of the when and how."
It wasn't hard to see to the fear in the blonde's eyes as she kept up her indifferent demeanor. Deep down, Natasha knew she was still that little girl from Ohio, who up until recently called fireflies, forest stars.
—
"I can't believe it," your tone clipped, the warmth you used to greet her with was gone. "I'll be back," she lied without realizing, but you could see it clearly. "Izhets."
(Liar)
"Y/N, I am going to end it once and for all," she hoped you could see the bigger picture, a promised freedom.
"Tozhe tupoy," you chuckled humorlessly. "There is no end, just more opportunities to build up defense."
(Dumb too)
Natasha fell for the American's words of ignorance.
"I love you," she said with certainty before she was one with the shadows, the last piece of your hope gone as it'd been years since you last caught sight of Lena.
~-~-~———————-~-~———————-~-~-~
A loud cry outside the purposely cracked window pulled her from her bittersweet thoughts of you...
Natasha stood beneath the tarp of your balcony, eyes downcast on a gorgeous white cat, paws soiled by the mud she trudged through with her three kittens. The redhead set a plate of food down for her then settled down beside her, towel in hand as she dried her babies.
The light of the moon cast over the kittens, reflecting off their varied fur patterns. A black one meowed, calling to her first among the litter, he hissed softly at the unfamiliar lift but settled fast as she began to dry his fur, pulling off grime and putting him to sleep.
The same occurred with the next boy cat, who was a gorgeous shade of gray, with faint swirls of orange.
Lastly, the smallest of the three, a gorgeous blend of white, brown and orange. She was the most vocal.
A grateful purr came from the mama cat when the redhead moved on to her paws, her eyes fluttered open at the unexpected contact, and when Natasha lifted her own gaze she gasped. With the light now on her face the color of her eyes was clear, a tear streamed down Nat's face without warning. The color and deep feeling of understanding behind them were just so, you.
"Oh my," a subdued laugh left her as she caught sight of something else, she scooped the feline into her lap, and placed a finger on her wet, pink nose in waiting. The blur of black transferred right on over and the woman smiled truly for the first time in eight months. "Dobro pozhalovat' domoy, moy malen'kiy pauk."
(Welcome home, my little spider)
#natasha romanoff#natasha romanoff blurb#natasha romanoff oneshot#natasha romanoff angst#natasha romanoff imagine#natasha romanoff x reader#natasha romanoff x you#natasha romanoff x fem!reader#natasha romanoff x female reader#natasha romanoff x y/n#gxg#natasha x reader#natasha x y/n
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Danny in an Encanto crossover gives the impression of someone trying to befriend a stray feral cat and bring them inside to give the love and shelter, but the stray feral cat doesn’t trust them and keeps hissing every time they get too close.
Although, I’d love to see everyone being completely accepting of Danny. They don’t look at him with suspicion or hatred when they see him slip up, they’re amazed! He has powers just like the Madrigals? That’s super cool! And he has more than one? Not just phasing through solid objects, but also invisibility and sensing ghosts nearby? Even better!
I bet that Bruno would relate to him in a way. They were both looked down on for their powers, but in different ways. Bruno because he mostly predicted bad things with no control over it, and Danny because a lot of people, including his parents, really didn’t like “Phantom” because the sole reason that he was a ghost. Alma knew that it was Bruno who had the powers, Danny’s parents didn’t know he was the ghost they keep shooting at.
Also, Danny 100% defends Bruno from any villagers who blame him for having bad visions. Bruno’s lacked social interaction with other humans for ten whole years, but Danny’s up for fighting for him. His favorite line to use was “If I’m a child and I have to explain this to you, what does that say about you as an adult?”. He didn’t get in trouble for it.
Danny talks about space and teaches them about it! He’s more than happy to explain it all and answer their questions the best he can!
Danny eats Julieta’s food and is honestly freaked out because his ribs are suddenly not broken anymore. Take it a step further and say that he’s sleep deprived, and one of the side effects of having food that heals you is that it can make you really tired if you haven’t slept well for a while, so you can’t help but take a quick nap. So he just falls unconscious after a few bites and wakes up in the early morning not knowing what year it is.
It doesn’t get rid of his death mark, though, which confuses everyone. Speaking of his death mark, Danny doesn’t like to talk about it, but eventually explains that it’s a scar from being zapped. He doesn’t go into detail or talk about what exactly the incident did to him, though. He just mentions that he got zapped and has a scar from it.
Eventually, the Madrigals will come to the realization that he doesn’t just have ghost-like powers. He’s actually a ghost. Half ghost, at least.
Also, Danny swears he sees Pedro around the house, not just in the paintings, and the most often place is by Alma’s side. He’s even had conversations with him. To everyone else, it looks like he’s talking to thin air, but he seems so fixated on something that’s actually there and listens to nothing so much that they think he’s actually being serious. Once, during a conversation with Alma and she was telling him about Pedro, he looked at her very confused and said “What are you talking about? He’s standing right next to you”.
At first, she was upset, but he said it with way too much confusion and conviction that she starts to realize he’s serious. Every time someone says that he isn’t, Danny gestures to nothing and goes “Are you blind?! He’s right there!”. In his eyes, Pedro really is there, looking awkward because this kid sees him and is arguing with his family about it.
Honestly, Danny doing something by himself and then suddenly turning around and making immediate direct eye contact with Pedro would be really funny. Pedro is honestly freaked out because something seemed off with the kid from the beginning, and he just made eye contact with a ghost?
Oh, and you best believe that after being treated so nicely by everyone, Danny will start throwing hands the second another ghost tries to cause them trouble.
Make it even better by combining it with Good Vlad. The two just show up one day trying to find a place to live. Their dynamic confuses more than a few people because people usually treat their god father or technical uncle with love and respect. Danny’s constantly getting on his nerves for the fun of it, doing things including but not limited to taking his coffee. He also calls him a “fruit loop”, which apparently means someone insane. Vlad calls him “Little Badger”, and yes, he’s actually been bitten by Danny once because Vlad startled him when he grabbed him to pull him out of danger and Danny’s first instinct was to bite him.
#danny phantom#danny fenton#encanto#encanto x Danny phantom#danny phantom x Encanto#danny phantom crossover#Encanto crossover
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the house of snow (20) ✧ coriolanus snow
the house of snow ✧ a royal coryo au | pinterest board| ao3
pairing: king!coriolanus snow x fem!reader
series summary: the king of panem is in search of a bride. and, for reasons you can never understand, coriolanus snow has set his sights on you. it would never be a happy marriage, you’re sure of that. but none of that matters, because when snow decides he wants something, he will do everything in his power to ensure it is his.
chapter summary: the ton learns of how its king adores the queen.
word count: 1,992
series warnings?: 18+ MINORS DNI, royal au, regency au, arranged marriage, rivals to lovers, obsessive!coryo, jealous!coryo, protective!coryo, eventual smut, eventual pregnancy, more tags to be added later
chapter warnings?: implied smut, fluff, pet name (petal), not proofread
When you first learned of Coryo’s intent to marry you, you had expected a life as Queen would be spent focusing on building a robust social life—planning and attending balls, organizing dinners, entertaining the rest of the ton, overseeing the social season. In your downtime, you would read in the library or stroll the gardens. Forever stuck in a loveless, unsatisfying marriage. Coryo, however, defied your expectations at every turn. Not only was his love true, but he wanted you to rule by his side. He didn’t wish for you to be a mere figurehead—he wanted you to be Queen in every sense of the word.
You quite liked it, if you were honest. You liked sitting at the desk with him, flitting through papers, sorting out the important needs of Panem. You liked being able to tell him your thoughts and know that they were being heard. You had heard too many horrible stories of men belittling their wives, thinking themselves better when they received the very same education. There men in this Capitol that got off on treating their wives as second-class citizens. You were forever grateful that your Coryo was not one such man.
And, of course, you and Coryo got up to plenty of revelry in that very office.
Coryo pressed a kiss to your shoulder as he helped you back into your dress. Though it would be easier to merely push up your skirts and settle between your legs, Coryo insisted on seeing all of you. You were his beautiful wife, he’d say, and he would never deprive himself of admiring such grand beauty.
“We need to add social engagements to our calendar,” you said, carding your fingers through his hair. He nipped at your neck.
“I prefer monopolizing your time. Those people do not deserve you in all your brilliance.”
“We rule those people, and we should try to remain in their good graces,” you countered. Coryo conceded by placing a kiss against the same spot he bit. “Just a few balls, perhaps a luncheon or two with the Electors and their families.”
“Very well. Let me know which ones you have a preference toward, and I shall make the arrangements.”
It was ordinarily the woman’s work to deal with social engagements. A smile tugged at your lips. For Coryo to so easily take on the task, without you even indicating for him to do so, warmed your heart. How did you ever get so lucky? How did you ever think poorly of him? “My mother is throwing a ball this week. I suppose we should attend, at least to keep up appearances with my family,” you said with a roll of the eyes. “The ton would not take kindly to a woman who forsakes her family for the Crown. They would spread rumors that I am a power-hungry wench, intent on making you my little puppet.”
Coryo barked out a laugh. “If only they knew how much power you hold.”
“Oh yes, I do quite well at tugging at your strings.”
“You may tug on them for however long you like.”
Though your dress had just been pulled back on, it soon found itself pooled on the floor moments later.
Thought it had been your suggestion, you dreaded the idea of returning to your family’s home—if you could call it that anymore. After having been away from them for the last month, you came to realize you were scarcely more than a pawn to them. If your father wanted you to be well-cared for, he could have allowed Coryo to court you when he came into money again. The Snow family was not a family known to squander their wealth. Had it not been for the war, they still would have been living off of their fortune for generations to come. And your mother…The way she pushed you to act like someone you were not in hopes that it further along Coryo’s proposal…It just made you sick. You once thought that they cared for you, in their own strange ways, but now you weren’t for certain.
Coryo watched as your lady’s maid pinned back your hair in preparation for your mother’s ball. You were tempted to tell her to stop, that you would no longer be attending, but you also wished to show them, show the entire ton, that you had their King wrapped around your finger. For every thing that they chastised you for, Coryo loved. Nay, he adored. You were certain there was very little you could do that would be wrong in his eyes.
“You are exquisite,” he said, coming to your side as your lady’s maid stepped away from her elaborate creation. He leaned down, pressed a kiss at the junction where your shoulder met your neck. “The ton will have never seen a more beautiful Queen.”
“You shouldn’t let me stray far from your side then,” you teased as you rose from your seat. You turned so you faced your husband and looped your arms around his shoulders. “The ton can so easily devolve into animals when they see something shiny and new.”
“Oh, trust, my petal, I do not intend for you to ever leave my side.” Coryo kissed your forehead. “I already nearly lost you once when I was least expecting it. I won’t allow it to happen again.”
Your heart clenched. It had been so long since Sejanus was mentioned. You nearly forgot about him entirely. For him to have been so close to both you and Coryo, it didn’t feel so strange for him to not be around anymore. What would have happened if he didn’t come to convince you to run away with him? Would you all still be close? Or would he have still tried?
You hoped Sejanus fared well with the Peacekeepers. Despite what he attempted, the friend he was willing to hurt, Sejanus was a kind and gentle man. Coryo had told you little about his time in service with the Peacekeepers, but you knew enough to be certain that Sejanus would emerge a changed man. You only wished that he was still kind.
“And you should not worry about such a thing,” you said. “I am yours just as you are mine.”
Coryo hummed, and pulled you in for another kiss. You let him, letting your worries melt away.
The worries did not stay away for long, unfortunately. As your carriage rolled up to your parent’s home, your heart thump’d, thump’d, thump’d in your chest. You hated having to let go of Coryo when the carriage came to a stop. At least it didn’t last long, for Coryo soon was helping you out and your hands were reconnected.
Like when you arrived at the palace, Coryo let you take the lead. But, unlike at the palace, those who bore witness to this soon began to whisper. You expected as much. The tradition of the no one walking ahead of the King was one long upheld. No one ever dreamed of stepping into his path. You swallowed, lifted your head high and squared your shoulders. This was going to be a long, arduous night, but you were not going to let the gossip of the ton ruin your evening.
Your mother’s eyes were on you the second you stepped foot in the ballroom. You took a breath and turned away from her gaze. Coryo stepped beside you and took your hand. “Come,” he said, “let’s take a turn about the room.”
You nodded.
Her eyes never left you, though. You moved your hand to hold onto Coryo’s arm, hoping for him to steady you. He looked at you curiously, but said nothing. At least you were distracted by the ton as they flitted around you and your husband. They were so eager for the approval of the King and Queen. It was almost laughable.
Finally, though, you couldn’t take it anymore as your father joined your mother’s side.
“We should go say something,” you whispered to Coryo as another young lady sunk into a low curtsy in front of you. “Appearances and all that.”
“Are you certain? I believe we will be quite fine if we continue to ignore them.”
You stifled a laugh. “Perhaps. Think of it this way, though—if we speak to them now, we can ignore them the rest of the ball.”
“Very well. Lead the way, petal.”
Your heart thump’d harder as you crossed the room to your parents. You didn’t have the first clue what you were going to say to them. What they would say to you. They had enough tact, you were sure, to not incite an outright fight with the King and Queen. But they had enough audacity to insult their daughter. They did it as easily as breathing.
“Mama, Papa,” you greeted when you reached them. Neither dropped into a bow or curtsy. Your lip curled at the disrespect. It did not matter that you were their daughter—there was still social etiquette to be followed. “The ball has been lovely so far.”
If they were going to stoop so low, you would not meet them at their level.
“It could be lovelier if there wasn’t so much…whispering among the ton,” your mother said.
From the corner of your eye, you watched as Coryo’s hands clenched and unclenched. You gave his arm a squeeze, but that did not stop him from saying, “The ton is full of idle gossip. It always has been.”
The warning in his tone did not stop your mother from continuing it, “Still, it is improper for a wife to lead the King.”
You ground your teeth together. Is that all you were to her now? A wife to the King? Oh, if only she knew the true influence you had. If only she knew how highly your Coryo regarded you. She may be trapped in a loveless marriage—and you would forever pity her for that—but that did not mean she could dismiss your marriage so easily.
“Queen,” Coryo corrected. “Lesser kings have killed for lesser slights against their queens. I would tread carefully if I were you.”
Your father looked between your mother and Coryo. In an attempt to diffuse the situation, he tried, “What my wife means to say is, we would hate for the Crown to be ruined by such silly gossip.”
“The Crown could not be ruined by such things,” Coryo dismissed with a wave of his hand. “What would damage the sanctity of the Crown is to allow such disrespect to go by unchecked.”
“Of course,” your father said. “We did not mean to—”
“I am tired of this conversation,” you announced. You turned into Coryo and smiled up at him. “Would you like to dance?”
Your mother guffawed. “Women do not ask—”
“Whatever you wish, my Queen,” Coryo said. He kissed you softly, snorting a laugh as your mother continued to blubber in the background. “I would dance with you forever if you should ask for it.”
Coryo led you out to the middle of the dance floor, ignoring your mother’s antics and prying eyes of the ton. He took one hand in his, letting the other settle on your waist. Your free hand came to rest on his shoulder and the band began to play. As he twirled you around the room, everyone seemed to melt away.
Good. The ton could spread rumors and stories all they like. Your parents could look down on you if they so pleased. But none of that would change the fact that your Coryo looked at you like you were the most brilliant diamond ever mined. None of that would change the fact that, in a society where loveless marriages were commonplace, you found the very thing you dreamed of since you were a girl.
“I love you, my King,” you said.
“And I you, my Queen.”
#the house of snow: a royal coryo au#coriolanus snow imagine#coriolanus snow x reader#coriolanus snow x fem!reader#coriolanus snow x female reader#coriolanus snow x you#coriolanus snow x y/n#coriolanus snow fanfic#coriolanus snow fan fic#coriolanus snow fanfiction#coriolanus snow fan fiction#coriolanus snow fic#starrywrites#starryevermore
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One thing I can’t stop thinking about is meeting a feeder at a bar and going to a hotel room with them where they can stuff me with as many burgers and fries as possible and then fuck me into the bed >.< im new to being a feedee too so it’d be so hot for dominant feeder to take me to bed and whisper dirty fantasies and encouragements while they explore my limits (of my sex drive and my belly🥰)
"Are you doing okay over here? Can I get you another drink?" the bartender says to you. It didn't really register to you because you were too busy looking around the room for your date. He was an hour late and hadn't responded to your text messages asking where he was.
"Yeah, I think I just got stood up." This was the first time you tried to go on a date since your big break up last year, so this cut extra deep. You even pulled you nicest outfit, even though it fit a little more snug than you remembered. Perhaps you had put on a few pounds since your breakup.
"Don't worry, I have just the thing for you." They walk away and start making you a drink. In a moment, they come back with a tropical looking drink with a pineapple fronds sticking out the top and a cherry. "Here you go, this is on the house and I ordered you a dessert from the kitchen, on me."
"Oh my God, that's so nice. You didn't have to do all that."
"It was my pleasure. Someone as cute as you are should never be stood up. It truly was their loss." They say and flash you a smile. You feel your face start to blush and you get the light flutter of butterflies in your stomach. You know bartenders will flirt sometimes to get better tips but for some reason you think they are being serious. Maybe this is just how bartenders work at these fancy hotel bars.
You take a sip of the drink. It's a combination of sweet, sour, and slightly spicy that makes you feel cozy and comfortable. In fact it's so easy to drink that by the time your dessert arrives, you hadn't even noticed that you drank the whole thing. The dessert is a fudge sunday piled high with ice cream, chocolate, and nuts. It looks delicious but monstrous. You don't know how you're going to finish this whole thing.
The bar is slow tonight so you two have a lot of time to talk. They tell you how they moved here a couple of months ago and were still getting adjusted to city life. You tell them about your job that you just got a new promotion for and how you've been trying to grow a houseplant but no matter what you do they keep dying. All the while, you're picking at your dessert and drinking these tasty drinks that they keep bringing you.
You're starting to feel pretty buzzed and your belly is so tight with all the sugar sweets. You look down and notice the buttons on your shirt are starting to strain and you waistband is digging into your now softer sides. How long had it been since you had this much fun talking to someone?
"Well, it's getting to be that time. Anything I can get you for last call?" They told you. This broke you out of your trance.
"Of course, they are here to work. Nobody would actually want to flirt with you and get to know you." You think to yourself. You were starting to spiral, but you were brought back by a simple question.
"Are you staying here at the hotel? If not, I get a free room. Maybe you could stay the night with me,"
You weren't crazy, they actually did like you. Maybe it was the alcohol but your face got super flushed and your heart started racing.
"Y-yes! I would like that very much."
"Well, here is the room key. I'm going to order some room service for after my shift so help yourself to whatever you like when it gets there. I'll be about 30 minutes to an hour until I'm done closing the bar. I'll see you then," they say and wink at you.
After getting a little lost in the maze of corridors that make up the hotel, you make your way to the room. It was a modest room but with how much your head was spinning from the booze, a comfy place to rest was appreciated. Especially with how tight your clothes were, you needed some release. As you tried to unbutton the strained buttons on your shirt, you accidentally popped a few of the off. Normally you would be mortified but it felt so good to have your belly freed from its prison of thread and buttons.
Beads of sweat were starting to pool on your forehead from walking are the hotel. “It must be the alcohol, I’m not that out of shape yet.” Yet? Were you planning on getting that out of shape? Your contemplation was cut short by a knock at the door. “Room service, may I come in?”
“One second,” you called back, desperately trying to cover your exposed gut. You find the bathrobe hanging by the bathroom door. It looks silly considering you’re still wearing your pants and shoes but it gets the job done.
“Hello, please come in.” You say and usher them in. They put an order of burger and fries on the tiny table, you thank them and they leave, but not before casting you an odd glance.
You check the time. The bartender shouldn’t be done closing the bar yet. “Did they order this for me? They must have.” Your head was spinning and your heart was starting to race. “They want you to eat. That’s why they gave you so much free stuff. You should eat for them, it would be so hot if you did.” Your belly still felt full from the dessert but it didn’t matter. You dug in.
The burger was huge, but it was delicious. The melted cheese pair so well with juicy burger and the crunch of the veggies was a nice texture. The fries were hot and crisp. You kept eating in a blissful daze. At some point you unbuttoned your pants to give your belly more room. You were in such a fugue state that you didn’t notice the juices from the burger dripping down your face and into your nicest shirt. You were about halfway done with hen there was another knock at the door followed by the sound of the keycard being inserted.
“Hey, I closed up a little early. I grabbed a couple beers from downstairs for us to share.” They stopped in their tracks as soon as they saw the state of you: Belly exposed, stuffed to the brim with food, and greasy juices dripping from your chin. They chuckled, “that was my dinner you know.”
“Oh God,” you thought to yourself. You could feel your face burning hot with embarrassment. “Of course, it’s their dinner. Why would I assume that they wanted me to eat more? That’s crazy!”
“But, it was also a test,” they said as they pulled up a chair next to you. After pulling a couple cans of beer from the six pack, they crack one open and bring it to your lips. Without thinking, you drink it down. It’s painful how the bubbling beverage pushes your stomach out even further. Before you know it, then can is empty. You try to stifle burps in between heavy gasps for air but are unsuccessful. They gently rub your belly to release some of the pressure. “I’m so happy I was right about you. I knew you wouldn’t disappoint me.”
They pick up what’s left of the burger and hold it up to your face. You have to lean back in the chair to make more room in your gut. It smells so rich and greasy it’s sickening, but you want it anyways. You shouldn’t, and yet, you’ve never wanted anything more.
#wg text#feeding kink#wg fiction#wg encouragement#wg fantasy#trans feedist#gaining weight on purpose#soft feedism
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Ko-fi thank-you sentences for ItsOleander behind the cut; a fake cryptid and a real romantic.
(( chrono || non-chrono ))
. . . ‘diamond’, the Batman repeats skeptically. Tim radiates embarrassment, then pulls a bright, shiny stone out of his hidden belt to show to it. The Batman tilts its head again.
It’s a diamond, yes. An unusually large one, shaped more like a heart than any traditional cut. And it’s new, too. There’s no history to it at all, just faint traces of determined perfectionism and something a little hesitantly hopeful, all burnt in fire and care and pressure. And not something stolen or reclaimed, like one from a Cat would be.
Though its new Robin tastes just a little bit like a Cat, doesn't he, it realizes.
Hm.
That’s different.
diamond, the Batman says, leaning down to inspect it more closely.
“He, uh, made it,” Tim says. “Like–for me? I mean, he thinks I’m–a bird, kind of, so he thought I’d like something, uh . . . shiny, you know? Like a magpie or crow or whatever, I guess. Or, um, possibly a penguin. Possibly he thinks I’m a penguin, given this is technically a rock. God, does he think I’m a penguin?”
hm, the Batman says, frowning consideringly while Tim keeps muttering to himself in concern about penguins, which is understandable, because Oswald Cobblepot isn’t the kind of role model a Robin should aspire after. It’s never had a Robin who could make diamonds, but supposes there's a first time for everything. Not every Robin can do a quadruple backflip or deduce its summoning ritual either.
. . . or jack tires off a car that doesn't even count as an actual physical “car”.
Or . . . draw.
The Batman–pauses. Frowns.
None of its Robins draw. Why did it just . . .
Its new Robin flies back up with Dick curled around his shoulders like a cape. Maybe he draws, the Batman thinks, flicking its approximation of eyes towards him. He made a diamond, after all, and cut it to shape. That’s . . . artistic, technically. The human kind of “artistic”, anyway.
Humans have very strange ideas of what counts as artistic, but the Batman supposes that’s just how humans are. “Just how humans are” has been a necessary thing to internalize, at this point in its existence.
. . . it still doesn’t know how Jason got the damn tires off, even now.
“Um, hi. Again. Sir/ma’am. Ma’am/sir?” its new Robin attempts as he lets Dick back down on the ledge, looking nervous. Tim was nervous to meet it too. Dick was too grief-stricken and angry for anything like that, though, and Jason just wasn’t afraid of it at all.
And . . .
And–it doesn’t know why it thought “and”, there. It hasn’t had another Robin. There was Batgirl and now there’s the Spoiler, but . . .
There’s no reason to think “and” there.
But it thought “and” anyway, didn’t it, it notes, and files that thought away in the place where its mind would go.
If it had one, obviously.
“Baaaaatman,” Tim hisses, Robin’s voice layered back over his own.
“Batman,” its new Robin repeats, then puffs himself up like he’s displaying plumage he’s not wearing–his colors are bright, at least, but not the right colors; not colors meant for flying. The Batman appreciates the instinct, at least. “Um–I’m Superboy! Hey! Nice to meet you!”
The Batman glowers. Dick, inexplicably, starts sniggering, and Tim makes a pained sound. Its new Robin–not Superboy–looks more nervous, hiding his hands behind his back. The Batman resists the urge to sweep off to go screech at Superman. Barely resists, but resists.
Its new Robin is just as new as the diamond he made, though, and clearly worried about its reaction. It doesn’t want him to get the wrong idea.
It’ll screech at Superman later, though.
meet, it says, leaning forward over the ledge and letting the shadows of its cape wrap underneath its new Robin’s legs, just in case. Not close enough to touch, but close enough to catch.
A net.
Obviously.
He’s still flying wrong, after all.
Its new Robin peers down at its trailing cape of a net curiously, looking interested, and then peers at it instead.
“Huh,” he says. “You’re way nicer than everybody said. Well. Everybody except Superman, anyway. He says you’re super-nice.”
Hm, the Batman thinks grudgingly. Alright. Maybe Superman isn’t trying to take its new Robin. Maybe he sent it its new Robin, after he woke up alive again and found him flying around Metropolis without a net. That, admittedly, would be more in line with Superman’s usual behavior. And general . . . “Superman”-ness.
The Batman really does not understand Superman. Superman is a thing of Metropolis skyscrapers and alien skies and rolling farmlands and blazing sunlight, though, which are all far beyond the Batman’s sphere of influence and comprehension, so that’s hardly a surprise.
It does make more sense if Superman sent it its new Robin, though, as opposed to trying to steal him, so the Batman is somewhat mollified by that. Even if its new Robin apparently doesn’t know his own name.
. . . ah, the Batman realizes, and tilts its head slowly.
Not “doesn’t know”.
Doesn’t have.
diamond, it says, and its new Robin immediately looks flustered.
“Oh, uh, I just thought Robin’d like something shiny for his nest, maybe?” he says, and the Batman–pauses.
‘nest’? it repeats carefully. Tim makes a mortified noise and hides his face in Robin’s wings again.
“Um–yeah?” Its new Robin looks embarrassed. “I mean, I kinda just assumed he had one, I haven’t, like, seen it or anything. Like, I’m not trying to go into his, uh, private space or–um! I’m not doing anything weird, I swear!”
The Batman tilts its head.
The Batman has never seen one of its Robins nest. But . . .
They grow, don't they, it's distantly reminded. Dick's grown into Nightwing, and Tim fits Robin's wings so differently than he first used to.
Jason grew too, a little. For what little time it had him, anyway. That hot-tempered, fearless stray fledgling who could do his workings with nothing but scraps from the streets and a length of cold iron became a bright grin and gleeful energy and bold Robin-wings.
But Jason only got to grow a little, so sometimes the Batman . . . forgets.
They all grow, though.
nest? the Batman asks again, looking to Tim. Tim doesn't lift his face out of Robin's wings.
“Priiiiivate!” Tim hisses, and the Batman can sense the mortification rolling off of him in waves. The Batman frowns, leaning down over him to assess him more closely. Robin's talons give off the impression of dry, cracked wood and awkward mistakes layered over Tim's hidden hands full of carefully-hunted information, and it thinks . . . oh. Tim actually tried to. Didn't manage it, but . . .
The Batman doesn't know how it feels about that. He's so young. Isn't he? Dick hasn't even nested yet; just courted and flirted and occasionally pined.
“ROBIN nesssssts, now?” Dick teases, popping up on Tim's other side. Tim makes a strangled noise again and huddles in smaller on himself. The Batman frowns in concern. He doesn't feel injured, but . . .
“Nooooot Nightwing's . . . busssssinesssss!” Tim hisses, snapping his teeth behind Robin's mask, then visibly sulks. “Stuuuuupid.”
The Batman frowns again.
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