#touch-tone inputs

[haloocomm]

Inbound vs Outbound IVR: Which One Does Your Call Center Need?

www.haloocom.com

IVR technology plays a crucial role in modern call centers. In this article, we'll cover inbound vs outbound IVR and compare their features, usage, and benefits to help you determine which one is best for your business needs.

#VR technology #inbound IVR #outbound IVR #call centers #customers #businesses #voice commands #touch-tone inputs #pre-recorded greeting #departments #agent #information #customer experience #wait times #marketing #survey #automated calls #pre-recorded message #questions #sales #customer support #customer satisfaction #scalability

[incendiorum-arch]

because I am curious, tell me more about how io's magic would feel to someone because I have an idea but like for science purposes--

          I would like to start off with saying that there is a huge difference in feeling iovita’s magic in the air due to it’s use or escape due to heightened emotions, and feeling it in their hands. to experience in io’s touch is very close to feeling it how io themself feels it. that is to say, without the layers. the raw thing. and to understand how intimate that is, I will just say that io has called their magic their second heart before, and still does on occasion. 

          io tries to hold back their magic during flings and one-night stands because of this.

          I would also like to add that to experience io’s magic in their touch is not just a thing reserved for sex, but... for intimacy in general? they’ll let the warmth of it soothe a lover. work it into the skin and muscle during a massage. or let it permeate the air when they themself are comfortable, like a cat’s purr.

          but... for sex -

          io is good with their hands, yes. good with their mouth, too. but there’s something more... fine-tuned about their magic. they can rest a palm on someone’s skin and let the tingling heat of it build under the skin. pool in place. then let it spread through the body - a delightful heat that borders on too much and not enough. an electric warmth that trickles along every nerve. and io can be in perfect control of how intense that feels. they like to keep it light at first, then make it stronger, hotter, blazing in that too much, not enough way when their partner gets close to orgasm. even better if they can keep it going after. work someone into two different kinds of overstimulation. but that... that is usually reserved for long-term romantic partners. people who have said they want it and can handle it.

          but io can also not be in control of their magic. when they’re desperate and teased and whiny, it makes an appearance too. zapping along the back of someone’s neck when they wind their fingers into hair. skipping along the spine with the trace of their fingertips. pounding like a heartbeat in every press and grab and grip of their hands. hot and electric like a summer storm when io is utterly desperate for their own end. io’s magic is only controllable to an extent - it gets more like this when their partner is in a dominate position. otherwise, it remains as carefully managed as the paragraph before this.

          the bottom line, really, is that at some point during a sexual relationship, iovita’s partner is going to feel something that burns in such a delightful way. wildfire under the skin. and that is very close to how io feels their own magic. there’s a... release to it. a desire for more. io finds their own magic intoxicating for a reason. that is to say there are certainly people who wouldn’t enjoy it, but io would most likely be fundamentally incompatible with those people, because their magic is going to make it’s presence known in the bedroom sooner or later.

#◜❝ 𝙰𝙱𝙾𝚄𝚃. ⟩⟩ i’m losing myself to rage. ❞◞ #◜❝ 𝙼𝙰𝙶𝙸𝙲. ⟩⟩ i’m not the old town crier i’m the one who sets it all on fire. ❞◞ #ty ty ambie #I think that. at some points. it could easily become too much #u know? #bc that's a lot of sensory input #and io is always more than willing to back off when someone tells them too #or tone it down #tbh. tbh I think there would have to be a lot of experimentation with io and their partner #just to figure out how much is too much and what feels good #especially when io is using it heavily #bc io likes to use it a lot! it feels just as good to them to /use/ it like that #but like with all things. conversation is required #kind of how i touched on earlier #partners who can handle it and want to handle it #etc. #when it starts to get a little...... m o r e intense than it might have been before #n.sfw /

[bunny584]

OBSESSED: YUTA (PT. II)

A/N: Special grade lover boy finally has you, his dream girl, in his hands. Surely he’ll be able to handle it…right?

S/N: This one is for the anon(s), the Yuuta girlies. I hope this means I get to rush Yuta Phi Alpha next year!! 🤭 (you can read part I here )

C/W: Yandere themes, aged up characters (21+), Mature, 18+

Any minute now.

You should be calling, any minute now.

Yuuta rolls his favorite pair of your underwear into a cylinder.

Even. Perfect.

He tucks it next to the 14 other perfectly even cylinders he’s taken from you.

An impressive collection, considering that it’s been only 3 months since he’s been back from Morocco.

3 months since you eviscerated the barrier between fantasy and reality.

You touched him. You kissed him. His building blocks came crashing down at your feet.

And yet, you still don’t see him.

It’s been torture.

Purgatory.

Falling back into the platonic, easy insteps of friendship. Breathy giggles. Air tight hugs. Feather light kisses.

On his cheek.

Friendly gestures as thin as the air on the summit of Mount Everest.

Leaving Yuuta the same way, every time.

Desperately tugging his cock.

Filling your stolen lingerie with his seed. Marking you. Branding you as his over and over again. In the confines of his quiet, sterile apartment.

Sullied by his lewd coping mechanisms. Babbling your praises day in and day out. The paintings on his walls know you by name.

Because you’re his.

Yuuta has chosen to love you every minute between sunrise and sunset and sunrise again. Ever since his cold met your warmth.

From afar. In the dark. Meticulously crafting the blueprint of your future together. Where you love him, freely. Openly. Without input from your friends or exes.

You need him.

Why else would he be the first person you call after every date?

Agonizing about whether you said the right thing. Or wore the right thing. Leaving a long list of people Yuuta has to take care of.

Not that he minds. He loves helping you.

Beautiful, silly girl.

Can’t you see?

He’s already created a gorgeous life for you two. He’ll give you the stars. The moon. A whole galaxy if you want it.

True, mutual love.

He just has to make you see it.

See him.

“There you are.” Your ringtone is his personal call bell.

Yuuta was starting to think you were going to use your girlfriend’s shoulder to cry on instead of him.

You were supposed to be out on a third date tonight. But you’re not. When it comes to picking up the pieces after your frivolous little flings — Yuuta is always your go to.

“Hey you.”

His palm caresses the heavy bulge in his pants. Tone is steady. Unassuming.

“Yuuta?” Soft sobs intertwine with his name, and it’s decadent.

“Hey. Hey.” Yuuta’s fingers impatiently tug down his zipper. Adams Apple sliding down the column of his neck, swallowing a moan.

You sound so pretty like this.

“What’s wrong, beautiful?”

“Can I…can I just come over?”

“Yes..of course you can.” Each word rolls off his tongue carefully. A stark contrast to the storm winds rattling his heart around its cage.

Broken, teary whines kiss his ears and glide down his spine. Yuuta pulls his cock free. Smearing pearly beads of pre cum around his swollen head. His body is so well trained for you. Primed to your voice. Your touch. Your gaze.

“You’re the best, Yuu.”

A satisfied grin blooms across Yuuta’s face. He uncurls his long fingers from around his base.

No more self indulgence. Not yet.

Tonight is about you.

“See you soon.”

—-

Is this wrong?

This is wrong.

…right?

Your fingers plait together. Shifting weight between your feet.

Staring at Yuuta’s door, knowing your dark-haired, sleepy-eyed friend is probably watching the clock. Anticipating your arrival.

Maybe you shouldn’t vent to him about other guys.

Maybe you shouldn’t use him to soothe your broken heart.

But he’s so soft with you.

Patient. With open ears, open arms. His capacity for you seems limitless.

Always peering at you with those deep set, graphite eyes. Opaque, winter fog. Quick to muddle your sense of direction if you look into them long enough.

Kind, but so, so unsettling.

Before you can reason yourself away from his apartment, Yuuta pulls open his front door.

“Hey pretty,” his mellow greeting is a warm weighted blanket around your shoulders.

“Hi Yuu,” your arms snake around his neck. Because it’s comfortable. He’s comfortable.

His toned arms sink into your lower back. As if your waist was tailored to the contour of his muscle. A low sigh breezes against your neck.

“Come in.”

Yuuta is hushed. He always is. Perpetually whispering secrets for your ears only.

You follow the gentle sorcerer into his apartment. Low lit. Shadows from the candle wicks dancing along his walls. Beckoning you into his lair.

“I made you some tea, is that okay?”

Yuuta’s lithe fingers fidget against his thighs. Almost 4 years of friendship and he still hasn’t shaken his nervous ticks around you.

Sweet boy.

“Yes please,” your smile is already less gloomy.

Yuuta mirrors you with a lopsided smile of his own. Small dimples dusting a boyish charm over his otherwise haunting features. He shuffles to the kitchen. And you take in his broad shoulders. Lean, muscular physique.

He really is handsome.

Eerily beautiful.

Effervescent porcelain skin, deepened from the Moroccan sun. Acute, angular jaw line. High cheekbones. Thick, raven hair that’s always a little storm-tossed.

A crescent moon against a clear night sky. Watching over souls trapped in their own personal graveyards.

There’s something about him that always seems…heavy.

Constantly balancing the weight of the world on his back.

Or something.

You settle in the couch just as Yuuta materializes into the living room. Stealthy, quiet footsteps. If he wasn’t the one who let you in you could be convinced that you’re alone in his apartment.

“Be careful, it’s still hot.” Yuuta warns. His eyes linger on your lips. Memorizing each pucker.

He’s so close.

Sweet steam kisses his face with each blow. And he sits there. Perfectly opposite of your mug.

Unphased. Unblinking. Still.

Close enough to take a sip of his own.

“Thank you for letting me come over on short notice, Yuu.”

Your thighs startle beneath his wintry touch. Both palms, larger than you remember, knead the fleshiest part of your hips.

“Don’t thank me. I’m here for you.” His tone descends. A deep drawl laced with conviction.

“I’ll always be here for you.” Yuuta repeats, pads of his fingers indent into your skin.

Your eyes metronome between his.

Slowly evanescing into his firm, glacial touch. Hazy from his half lidded gaze. There’s no time space continuum between you two.

“Yuuta—“

“Tell me what happened.” Shards of glass rain down his dry windpipe. Willing with every cell in his body to remain neutral.

The gates open.

You’re so animated. It’s captivating. How you feel so many things.

The way your eyes flutter while telling him about how you were stood up. A call came out of the blue. A short, unsatisfying cancellation of your dinner date.

And Yuuta leans in. Nodding. Petting your mouth-fucking-watering thighs. Forcing himself to remember to move his eyebrows. And blink. And look away from Aphrodite every so often.

He knows the story.

He wrote the story.

And for the record, gorgeous. Your crush sounds pathetic when he’s begging for mercy.

Weak.

A man like that is beneath you.

Yuuta’s jaw loses tone.

Pretty crystals line your eyes. Your bottom lip is swollen. Red like Merlot stains on a bottle cork. Your mini skirt rides up a quarter inch higher by the second. Mostly from his fingers. Every time you gesticulate he caresses just a bit higher.

White noise fills the space between Yuuta’s ears. He’s inebriated. Incapacitated by the honey that seeps from your mouth every time you speak.

And he can’t keep ignoring the way his cock is thrashing against its barrier. Begging. Pleading for reprieve.

The Apple in the Garden of Eden.

And the consequences of his inevitable bite mean nothing to him.

“Please,” Yuuta interrupts. Barely above a whisper.

Your eyebrows crawl together at the center of your barbie doll face. So oblivious. Blissfully unaware of how you fuck his brain to nothing but smooth, empty, mush.

“I’m sorry I’m rambling—“

“No. No.”

Yuuta’s body moves before his mind can catch up. He slides off the couch to his knees. Nudging his hips between your legs. His muscular arms hook beneath your legs at lightening speed.

You have no time to gather words when he pulls you to the edge of the couch.

“Yuuta?” Delicate hands fly to his shoulders. Steadying yourself in this new, sudden position.

You’re heady. Shocked. Glassy eyed. Fully flushed from your button nose to ears.

You have no idea how addicting you are. Working sticky heat out of Yuuta’s needy length without even touching him.

He presses his lips into your inner thigh. Instinctively gripping your hips forward when you reflexively jump back.

“So perfect,” Goosebumps cascade along where his moist mouth traces.

“Y-yuuta, we...we’re friends.”

Yuuta drags his drunken gaze to meet yours. Resting his head in your lap. Feathering his icy hands up your butter soft skin.

“You’re so pretty.” He murmurs. Purposefully evading your observations.

He has some observations of his own.

Yuuta doesn’t miss the way his praise affects you. How your breath hitches. And your nails dig into his shoulders. Pupils blown to a full moon.

And the slow growing damp spot at the apex of your pink cotton panties. Yuuta can’t bring himself to stare at your precious rose. Not yet. He’ll cum in his pants if he looks now.

His slender nose traces up your quivering leg. And you bloom. Thighs drifting further apart. Making space for him. Inviting him in. Rewarding him.

“I can make you feel better.”

You gift him a pitiful little whine in response. Timid fingers travel into his nape. Yuuta’s heavy eyelids curtain his vision.

The room is spinning.

And Yuuta is kneeling at the only alter he will worship at. The only alter that will ever receive his devotion.

Those years of waiting. Wanting. Watching. Unsent love letters. Saved texts. Practiced conversations in the mirror. Stolen trinkets. Pieces of you he’s kept along the way.

It was all worth it.

Because the love of his life is spread open for him. Vulnerable. Needy. Melting beneath his touch like your body knows it belongs to him.

Yuuta couldn’t hold back if he wanted to.

“D..do you know how perfect you are?” Yuuta asks the warm, sore flesh beneath his lips. Admiring the trail of bruises he’s left up your inner thigh.

“Yuu, you don’t mean that.” You mewl and squirm like a brand new kitten. Mousing his hair between your fingers.

“I mean it. Y..you’re so…” his voice trails off when his trembling, pale digits finally press into your wet heat.

“S-soft. You’re so soft.” Drool pooling in his mouth chips away at his coherence.

Yuuta’s stormy eyes find the meeting point of his hand and your sex. The sight alone bucks his diamond hard shaft off of his leg. The friction from his damp boxers and rigid jean blurs his vision.

“Oh pretty girl.”

“Mmghhhh Y-Yuu..ah god.”

Both of your husky musings collide. Yuuta drives his long two fingers into your accepting, driveling opening.

He immediately curls up into your pleasure point. Eliciting the most dreamy, listless curve to your back. Tossing your head into the pillows behind you. Gripping his roots into your hand.

“Y-yuu, I need…please.”

Whimpers wrap around Yuuta’s cock and jerks him out of his fucked out state.

He didn’t realize he was open-mouth staring at how your cunt squeezes and tugs on his fingers. Leaking your dew onto your thighs. His fingers. His couch. Saliva streams down the corner of his mouth like he’s a starved animal.

He blinks up at you. Debauched. Lusty. Filthy in the way your hips are undulating against him. Taking your pleasure right out of his hands.

“I need…I need to hear you say it baby.”

Yuuta swipes his tongue against your clothed pussy. And you nearly buck off the couch.

“Please, y-yuu,” diamonds line your eyes again. So much pleasure in the pain of being teased.

“Say it, baby.” His breath kisses your swollen clit. “T-tell me what you need.”

“Lick..please, suck…Yuu,” He’s never heard a more beautiful plea. And his restraint was already teetering on a hair string.

Yuuta’s other free hand rips your panties away from your dewy folds. And his spine is set on fire.

The dull ache in his pelvis crashes into him like he’s at the deadly meeting point of the Atlantic, Pacific and Southern oceans.

“So..so pre..god.” Nonsensical words. Unintelligible noises.

Then his tongue circles your bud and he is gifted a taste of your elixir.

Somewhere between his pathetic sobs into your pussy, your gorgeous melody filling the room and how you grind your pretty petals along the length of his tongue — Yuuta isn’t sure he’ll be able to survive this.

At some point he pulled his cock free from its restraint. Spearing high and heavy in the air. Constant needy dribbles of pre cum staining his shirt, rolling down the length of his shaft. One or two drops even escaping to the floor between his knees.

He hasn’t stroked his length once. And he is this close to release.

And it is infuriating.

Yuuta hates how closely he is riding his peak right now.

Because he is not nearly done with you yet.

He wants you on his tongue. On his cock. For hours. He needs to coax orgasm after orgasm out of his one true love.

“Y-yuuta,” your right hand pulls at his head with all your strength. Yuuta has to bite back a whine.

His murky gaze meets your darkened one.

“Inside.” A clear, high-pitched command.

And Yuuta couldn’t dream of denying you. Of saying no to you, ever.

“O-okay, yes baby.”

He stumbles to his feet. Shakily working his jeans and boxers into a pile around his feet.

Your wide eyes and oh shaped mouth stains his face cherry red.

Why are you looking at him like that?

Is he not enough?

Were your other lovers bigger?

He’ll get rid of them if—

“Yuuta…will it fit?”

You shatter his spiral to stardust. He can breathe again for the first time since you came over.

Yuuta eagerly chases you up the length of the couch. Until he’s nestled comfortably in your legs. Your heat kissing along his drenched rod. Mixing your arousal with his.

“It’ll fit, because you’re made for me”

Yuuta rasps through tight lips. Burying his head into the gentle slope of your neck.

How is everything going exactly right and completely wrong at the same time?

He is more disciplined than this.

He is supposed to be in control.

But your warm, sweet petals sheath his length.

And you begin to circle your hips underneath him. Rubbing your nectar along his cock like you are marking him as yours.

Yuuta loses his sense of reality.

Unrelenting waves of heat ram into his groin. His cock stutters and beats against your precious cunt. He can’t bring himself to look you in the eye. Because everything dampens.

“No…n—no no wait!”

Yuuta smears protests into your neck. Hips rutting against your opening. Pressing you deep within the cushions. Rabid, uncontrolled movements. Ascending in pace faster than you can keep up.

“Fuck, fuck..”

“Yuuta? Are you cu—“

You have your answer the moment his hips hover over yours. Cupping his thick, blushing tip.

He fails to contain his explosion. Yuuta is mortified when stark white globs contrast your black mini skirt.

Air settles thick between you.

Circulating breaths between his clipped and your shocked ones. Decades pass between you before silence is broken.

“Don’t worry, Yuu! This doesn’t change anything.” Your smile is light and playful. Kind in the way that makes him fall in love with you again.

But…what do you mean?

Of course this changes everything.

He can please you.

He knows that.

This was just…

This was just one time.

The first time.

Amidst the cyclone of thoughts decimating Yuuta's brain, you’ve managed to wiggle around him. Currently lacing up your strappy heels.

Yuuta’s mouth lolls open but words fail to materialize.

Once you’re satisfied with your appearance, you prance over to his side. Still frozen on the couch with a handful of his cum. In the messy remnants of his unwanted peak.

Your lips meet his cheek. And your next words run his blood subzero.

“We’re still friends! We’ll always be friends, Yuu.”

Yuuta’s steely eyes laser into your retreating figure with sniper precision.

Beautiful, silly girl.

You two will never be just friends.

#jjk fanfic #jjk fanart #jjk smut #yandere yuta #yuta okkotsu #jjk yuta #yuta x reader #yuta smut #okkotsu yuuta #obsessedseries #okkotsu yuuta smut #yuuta okkotsu smut #yuuta okkotsu x reader #jjk yuuta #yandere #yuuta okkotsu x you #jjk x reader #yuuta smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #yuuta x you #yuuta headcanons #yuuta x y/n #jujutsu kaisen yuuta #yuuta x reader #yuuta fluff #jjk x you #jjk drabbles #jjk season 2 #jjk x y/n #geto smut

[kombuuuu]

Omg I just saw that u write for atsv!! So I was wondering if u could do one with a female reader x hobie where the readers quite reserved to everyone in public (maybe she’d been a spidey longer so she’s lost more people? Idk why she’d be reserved bc I cannot write for shot lmao) and people think she’s super cold but then they like?? Walk in, and she’s like open and warm with Hobie (it doesn’t matter if she’s loud or not) and they kinda just look at the scene in shock like wtf and Pav is sort of smug bc he knew all along and then it comes out that they’re dating?

It Sounds Nice coming from You.

Hobie Brown x Fem!Spidey Reader

“I totally called it.” “Don’t even speak, Pavitr.”

kisses him cause he my bf (-compulsive liar)

People whispered about you. Spider people and the general public alike. Your city spreading gossip, rumours and misinformation to try and figure out who you were, but that was a Spiderwoman affair, every one of them dealt with it.

But having people same as you talk in hushed tones, glancing at you as you walked past. That’s a new kind of feeling.

The Spider Society didn’t exactly favour you, per se. There was nothing inherently wrong with you either, so no reason to get rid of you. But you were just so silent. No one knew a thing about you.

You mostly kept to yourself around base, never really trying too hard to make friends, you were well known enough not to be questioned. A loyal fighter was what you were recognised for, not your personality, your abilities.

There were still some people that managed to creep their way in though, their hearts so full of love, you didn’t know how to refuse them.

So you conceded. You let them in, and begged to any deity that would listen not to take them from you.

—

Hobie knew you as someone who could listen. Who understood him rather than challenged his beliefs. Not that he had any, but that was the point.

Your lack of input made him feel accepted in going on tangents of why he thought the way he did. And you just sat, and listened. A kind heart and an open mind.

Which eventually led to him falling for that kind heart. Tripping over his own feet to please your silent self. To get those small smiles or amused huffs out of you.

The occasional time you spoke to him, under hushed breaths and fond tones. God, he couldn’t take it.

The way your accent forms over each and every word, how your voice was akin to honey malt, sweet and addicting. Only giving him small doses, but he was the only one who got those doses. Only him, and you, and the words you spoke or times you listened.

He knows that people thought you were cold, or unloving. And maybe you were at first, maybe he thought you were. But he figured you out fast. Where you couldn’t talk, you could touch. Brushing your hands over his arm to get his attention. Linking your hand through his and dragging him away from people you don’t want to be near, he would smile down at you and follow along like a lost puppy. How your brows would crease a certain way, or nose would scrunch a little when you found distaste in things. He was a fool for you.

Where you lacked in verbal communication, you strived in every other category. So when some Spider-people decided to come to him, urging him for answers about you.

Telling him that he wasn’t sure you even wanted to be here—, Hobie would shut down the conversation quicker than thought to be possible. Giving a simple “She’s just quiet.”, and ditching the moment the words are out of his mouth.

It’d worked—, for a while. Ignoring the demeaning or conspiratorial comments made about you by spider-people a-kind. But eventually it got the better of him. Having him borderline snarl at the people who would talk shit right in front of his, or your, face.

“She’s silent, ain’t she?”

“Yeah. Peter 48 said she was like that ‘cause she killed her parents, made ‘er real quiet.”

“Jesus christ. Wouldn’t surprise me, she’s a freak.”

“Dude—“ One of the two spiders, the first one, turned to Hobie. Spider-senses ringing. Hobie stated back at them, deadpan and unblinking. “Don’t.”

The younger spider paled, quickly trying to backtrack.

“Hey— Hobie. I— Didn’t mean it. Was just repeating what I heard, ykno—“

“Cut it, mate.”

He squeaked, head tilting down in respect, the other spider following.

“Stop spreading shit rumours like ‘at. It ain’t fun when you’re the subject. ‘S it?”

“No.”

“Mm.”

Hobie walked past them smoothly, brushing shoulders with the kid just to scare him a little more. When he was far enough away, he heard them start to whisper to one another. “Fuck man, that was close. He could tell Miguel, and then we’d be out.”

“Jesus..”

He felt rather accomplished that day.

—

It was days later where you were brought up around him again. He’d been texting you, the upper half of his body hanging from Miguel’s platform, his wicks shifting every time he moved.

Miguel and Lyla were talking amongst themselves, clicking through holograms and sorting things out for potential anomalies.

Jess, Pavitr and Gwen had walked into the room chatting, Pav and Gwen expressing their excitement rather loudly.

He glanced up at them from his phone, you were still typing.

immm gonna b homein ten just be patient >:(

I’m patient 🦑

u werent 2 seconds ago

I don’t subscribe to consistency.

Or this slandering talk

ur consistently lame

also why squid

I’m never lame. Also, he’s cute

hes not real

Don’t do this me

reeeeeal tasty tho

What is wrong with you.

numnnum crunchhhh crrcchhh numnum ( > _ <)

Inhumane.

mmmmmm yummyyyy

He can’t die, he’s immortal

The ‘Texting’ bubble popped up on his screen.

“Hey, Hobie!”

Pavitr was running up to him, looking from his lowered position below the elevated platform.

He slipped further down the platform, slumping slowly as he greeted Pavitr upside down.

“Pav, my guy!”

Pavitr bounced on the balls of his feet, smiling wide at his friend.

“What’chu doing up there?”

His eyes darted to Miguel and Lyla, ending their conversation.

Smirking, he whispered to Hobie, “With the grump.”

Hobie snickered, gaining a disapproving look from Jess.

“Textin’ [Name].”

Just then, the next message from you showed.

immortal ??? how consistent of him to live

He grinned, typing back quickly while Pavitr eyed him knowingly.

He’s a squid, he’s more fluid than anything

ihu

terrivle joke

No, you don’t

And it was great

wtvr >:P

Hobie grabbed the ledge of the platform and swung down, landing softly in front of Pavitr and pocketed his phone.

“Glad ya ‘ere. Those two can’t keep it quiet, aye?” He said, pointing back towards Lyla and Miguel.

“They do argue very often.”

“Nah, Lyla don’t argue, mate. Just the hardass.”

Pavitr snorted and Hobie softly punched his stomach in jest, earning one from Pav to the chest, and starting a round of playful punching. Pavitr laughed as Hobie brought him into a headlock, scrunching his fist over the shorter man’s hair and rubbing it in.

They let up when they heard Lyla teasing Miguel for something again, giggling to each other at his expense.

He threw an arm over his fluffy haired friend and leaned his weight on him. Pav smiled up at him once more, brighter now. Before he could speak, Gwen’s voice echoed through the barren room.

“Same reason as you, I’m guessing.”

Hobie turned his head towards her, dropping himself off Pav and standing up straight again. Smiling at her as she reached him, and went in to hug her briefly. When they disconnected, he spoke again.

“Yeah—, No clue then, mini-punk.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Neither big bad has said nothin’ to me yet.”

“Seriously, are we going to skip over that?”

“Maybe they’re waiting until [Name] is here!” Pavitr chimed in.

“What does mini-punk even mean!”

“Not exactly, Pavitr.”

Jess, who now was standing next to Miguel, spoke.

The trio turned to face the two elder spider-people.

“Huh?”

“We wanted to have a discussion with the three of you—.” Miguel put his hands on his hips, authority that Hobie only saw as a challenge emanating from his figure.

“—Away from [Name], she’s already been consulted.”

Hobies eyes narrowed, the atmosphere in the room suddenly shifting to something a lot less unfriendly, and a lot more cautious.

Jess caught wind of the younger man’s tense stature and shuffled forward a step, not unwilling to intervene.

“Nothing too bad, just—,” He paused for a moment, the dense light from the reflective floors making the contours of his face pop.

Hobie watched with batted breath, posture only slightly relaxing from the statement. The crease in his brows begging to be drawn, yet his pokerface was something to be beat.

“,—Addressing her.. lack of communication.”

A shiver raked down the brit’s body, physically restraining himself from chewing this man out with a rebuttal.

“Wha’ ‘bout it?”

His gruff voice was a stark indicator of his annoyance.

“Well, ignoring the rumours following her—,”

Hobie, the usually rather sensical man, was getting more agitated by the minute.

“,—We’ve noticed a certain independence that she holds. Something not many others do.”

The punk quirked a brow.

“So?” Gwen was the one to talk now.

“That doesn’t seem very serious, ‘f you ask me.” She laughed lightly, trying to lighten the mood. Something Pavitr seemed a tad scared to do. There was a lot of competition in the air right now, he wasn’t very competitive.

“Exactly, it’s not.”

Jess cut in, seeing how terribly Miguel started this conversation made her cringe.

“It’s not—, but,” She shook her head, hair falling prettily with every move. “,Her ‘independence’, has been more akin to ‘lack of teamwork’. In some cases.”

Gwen started to speak again, her eyebrows furrowed, just as Hobies now were. He was right about brewing with offence.

“So!—,” Jess cut her off before she could begin.

“So there’s no need for her to have distractions anymore. From now on, she will not be going on team missions. Just solo’s.”

“Wha—! You’re cutting her off?!”

“Gwen, it’s not like that.”

“Like hell it isnt! She’s a part of us!”

“Doesn’t this mean she’s going to be in more danger?” Pavitr spoke up, concerned.

“No— well, not unless—,”

“Unless!? You’ve gotta’ be kidding!” Gwen choked out.

“And what does ‘consulted’ mean! Did she agree to this?!—“

They continued to argue, Gwen and Pavitr advocating for your teamwork skills while Miguel and Jess had made up their mind.

“No communication,” He pinched the bridge of his nose “,Fuck off.” Hobie scoffed under his breath, turning to leave and storming out.

The voices of Miguel, Jess and his friends following him through the portal to you.

—

“You agreed to this?”

lIts not like they’re wrong, I just hold you all back.”

He huffed, exasperated. Not only were you putting yourself in danger, you were doing it alone. And letting some guy who has a borderline vendetta against teens be the call for it.

“Now, you know that’s not tr—“

His stern voice was cut off by the frown on your face quivering. A due sign of you nearing to cry.

“Oh, shit— C’mon dollface, c’mere.”

He sat down on your shared bed, scooting against the headboard and bringing you into his lap. A soothing hand ran over your back as you tried to reel in your embarrassment.

“I really didn’t mean to agree.”

Hobie sighed, pushing your head into his neck and watching how the rings adorning his fingers rose goosebumps in their path. “I know, sweet’eart.”

And he did know, the moment that it had been a meeting addressed solely with just Jess and Miguel, he knew that Peter had been excluded for a reason. That Miles had been sent after an anomaly as an unknowing distraction for Peter to chase after. He knew those two intimidated you. And the fear of parental disappointment was something they used on you—, young, sweet you. That only ever got hurt because she didn’t want her problems to hurt others, or herself.

You had opened up to him once. Told him what everyone twisted when they whispered sickening words. A story unlike the rumours crowding your reputation.

How no, you hadn’t killed your parents, or siblings, or whatever messed up thing people claimed of you.

You told him how you hadn’t been bitten yet. How, when your family was killed, you hadn’t had any powers. So you couldn’t save them. And it wasn’t even canon. Nothing could’ve stopped them from dying, but it didn’t have to happen. And that was the guilt that weighed on you. How no matter the hardships your parents put you through, a kid neglected of attention. You still would rather die a million times for them to live once.

And it’s all “would”, and never “can”.

Other spider-people don’t have to live with the fact their parents died for nothing. Was what you said. A messed up thought, no doubt. And one you felt guilty for. But the sole continuer of this sorrow-filled silence. Which has worked well enough to protect you so far, why is Hobie one to break that?

Because you love him, you guess.

His hands slid further down your back, resting on the curve of your waist in his lap.

His breathing soothed yours. The shuddering breaths you had been giving to stop your tears, also stopped.

“You wanna talk about your day instead, luv?”

“Yeah, thank you Hobie.”

“Love when you say my name, Babydoll. So pretty and sweet like that.”

Wrapping your hands around his lithe waist, you hummed. Beginning your recount of the day in the honeyed, reserved tone you’d always held.

—

Around half an hour had passed with Gwen arguing against Miguel before Peter showed up, Moles in tow.

“What’s all this about?” His slippers flopped when he walked and the baby carrier strapped to his chest shifted every time a sleeping MayDay squirmed to get comfortable.

“This—, This asshole!”

“Gwen.” Jess chastised her.

Gwen ignored it, pointing at Miguel accusingly. “—Kicked [Name] off the team!”

“Not kicked.”

“You said she wasn’t going with us anymore.”

Miles looked offended by the prospect. “Why?”

“She’s not kicked, she’s simply better off solo.”

“Oh, so it’s our fault then!”

“Gwendolyne.”

“All of you, stop.”

Peters voice ended the bickering, having learnt since fatherhood exactly how to use said voice. “We are not sending an 18 year old on solo mission against anomalies.”

“Since when did you have a say—“

“Miguel. You’re an idiot if you think i’m going to let that happen. That’s a kid.”

“She’s an adult.”

“When it’s convenient to you.”

Miguel pinched his nose bridge, growling under his breath. Jess spared a glance at him before wincing and backing down from the conversation.

“She doesn’t talk to people.”

“I’m sure she does, just not to you.” Gwen cut in.

“Yeah, her and Hobie talk a lot.” Miles prepped up on his toes. Pavitr smiled and hummed an agreement.

“Not that I’ve seen.”

Peter gave him another disapproving look. “Disregarding that. The fact you decided to not consult me on this decision is another reason that it’s not happening.”

“Consult? Like some council, please.” Miguel scoffed at him, rolling his eyes and turning to open a holographic tab.

“Yes, like some council. Someone’s gotta be the brains ‘round here.” The father joked, coddling MayDay as she cooed.

“I’m going to go inform [Name] the retraction of this decision.”

“Don’t you dare.”

“Oops too late, portals open.”

“Can I come with?” Miles jogged after Peter, hopping quickly through the portal, Peter, Gwen and Pavitr following. Not without Gwen flipping Miguel off as she went. “We’ll sort something out, she can go duos with Hobie.” Jess put a hand on his shoulder, watching as he stared off to where the portal had previously been with a sided expression before sighing.

“Yeah..”

“That went great.” Lyla dragged, popping up on Miguel’s shoulder.

“I’m a second away from shutting you off.”

The AI blew a raspberry at her companion, and disappeared.

—

He had went off on a tangent about some movie he saw, or song he’d heard. Hobie honestly couldn’t remember, he was too focused on you. The way your voice sounded, how open you were being with him when every now and then you would respond to him. The hearts in his eyes were probably from how heavy his own was beating. Staring at you like a sinner to a prophet.

You had moved down from his lap, now curled against his side, head leaning on his shoulder and hand resting on his chest. At some point, the movie you had been watching before Hobie showed up was unpaused, and serving as background noise for his quiet rambling.

Both of you pressed under a blanket to beat the cold, and the darkness outside your window being killed off by the lights strung across your room. He doesn’t think he’s ever felt this cozy, this utterly comfortable.

Sparks of colour strung out of nowhere, neither of them really seeing it at first, up until it spat out Miles. He stumbled forward a little and went to greet you before taking on the scene. You and Hobie cuddled up on a bed, blanket wrapped around you both, fire going, people singing. He was exaggerating the last parts, but it felt necessary for something so unexpected.

“Hey—, guys.” The awkward teen managed, before Peter walked through the portal with the other two in tow.

“Woah, no mean to interrupt.”

Peter put his hands up in surrender. Hobie snorted, it wasn’t like you were incapable of affection, It just seems he was the only one who got it.

“I totally called it.”

“Don’t even speak, Pavitr.”

He pouted, before giggling and waltzing over to sit next to the both of you. Flopping down on the bed and turning to watch the TV.

“Oh my god, I love this movie!”

“Favourite character?” You inquired. A collective raise of eyebrows was shown throughout the room.

Gwen shuffling over to sit down as well, a baffled look on her face.

“The horse.”

“Pff- Max?” Hobie snorted at Pav. Giving the still rather confused Miles - Peter duo a reassuring smile. And greeting Gwen with a fist bump, she smiled wearily at him before her smirk filled out and she punched his arm in congrats.

Pavitr nodded and laughed, gasping excitedly when the scene on the lake showed up. “Perfect timing.”

You glanced up at Hobie, Miles and Peter finding somewhere to sit as well, talking quietly amongst themselves.

He smiled at you, bringing you in closer while Pavitr sat smug.

The air of confusion slowly dissipated into something accepting, none but Pavitr had really expected you to be so.. Open. But they came to find they didn’t exactly mind it.

—

Everyone had left by now, the knowledge that you didn’t have to go on dangerous missions alone anymore leaving Hobie satisfied and you comforted.

“You doin’ right, babe?”

“Yeah, Hobes.”

You gripped his shirt a tad tighter and yawned, eyes drifting more shut as the minutes ticked down. “Wanna go t’ bed?”

“We’re in bed, dummy.”

He shot you a playful look.

“Don’ ge’ smart with me, young lady.”

You smiled at him before he made the decision to shuffle you both down in bed to get comfortable, switching off the lights by the outlet. He moved back to you, letting his whole body rest near yours, and letting you initiate any contact wanted.

A leg wrapped around his, and your arm still picking the fabric of his shirt.

“Sleep, sweethear’.”

“Mhmmph.”

Hobies breathe lulled you to sleep, white noise against your racing thoughts. He watched you fall, your trust in him to keep you safe was enough to make a man weak. He smiled, looking out your shared window at the city life below.

No crime, no anomaly or misshaped villain could possibly drag him away from you.

—

BAMBAMBAM 🦑‼️

#hobie my beloved #astv hobie #hobie spiderverse #hobie x you #hobie x reader #hobie brown x reader #hobie brown #spider punk x reader #spider punk #across the spiderverse #spiderman across the spiderverse #spiderverse x reader #pavitr my beloved #atsv gwen #miles 1610 #peter b parker #miguel spiderverse #lyla spiderman 2099 #jess atsv

[hairmetal666]

Everyone in the league knows about Eddie Munson. He has the makings of a great pitcher, except for the fact that his slider has a 75% chance of sliding too high and his fastballs mostly end up in the dirt. His technique is wild, flailing, unrestrained. Which is why Steve is beside himself when he learns about the trade.

The owners, they think that Steve being the best catcher in the league means he can work with Eddie, settle him, make him a real prospect. Steve's input isn't needed with the decision already made, but Munson--with all his tattoos piercings and leather--looks like he'd rather hock a loogie at Steve than take directions from him.

And Steve is the best in the league, the glue that keeps the team together. They're a well-oiled machine, and Eddie is--Eddie is a squeaky wheel.

They meet for the first time, briefly, in the locker room. He's seen the guy before, of course, but now, like this, he can't help but be intrigued by his pale skin and long curls and brown doe-eyes, his lightly muscled frame. And they're in the locker room, Eddie with just a towel around his waist, exposing his toned chest and stomach and the black swirl of his tattoos.

"Steve Harrington!" Eddie reaches out a hand. "Great to meet you, man."

"You too. Excited to have you with us." The handshake is quick and firm and Steve is trying not to be surprised about how excited and genuine the guy sounds, keep his mind away from thinking of how Eddie is naked aside from the towel.

With only a few weeks until the start of the regular season, Eddie starts pitching to Steve. And Steve, he so expects Eddie to fight and grumble and refuse, that his head sort of spins when, on the first day, Eddie claps him on the back with his glove, says, "where do you want me, cap?" and that's that.

He wants to say that they dislike each other, that they're a bad fit, that Eddie is full himself and refuses constructive criticism.

Instead.

Instead it's easy.

Eddie doesn't complain, doesn't argue, just watches Steve, learns him, takes his advice and notes and implements them as much as he can. They like each other, have an easy rapport, get each other. He's tight with all the pitchers, but Eddie is different. They settle each other.

They're best friends. They hangout constantly. And he doesn't have a crush; he doesn't. It would be unprofessional. They're best friends.

But sometimes, sometimes he thinks he catches Eddie looking at him. It's impossible. Of course it's impossible. Eddie couldn't be into the guy Sports Illustrated called "baseball's Ralph Lauren model" in the intro to Steve's Body Issue photo spread. And it doesn't matter one way or the other because Steve won't make a move. He won't jeopardize the team like that.

They don't touch. He touches everyone on the team, often, and Eddie particularly is a physical guy, but aside from that first handshake, he keeps his distance. Steve's afraid--even though it's silly, he's afraid--that once they start touching, he won't be able to stop, and he can't let that happen.

The team is good, competing for first place in the National League. Eddie's success has made everyone else better.

It's late July, they're in first place in the league, and Eddie's pitching a perfect game. There's only been 24 perfect games thrown in the history of Major League Baseball, but it's the eighth inning and Eddie's doing it.

A pitch goes wild, veers high over the umpire's head. Eddie's shaken, Steve can tell with how his fist tightens compulsively around the ball. The next pitch swings wide, towards the batter's knees.

The count is at 2 balls, no strikes, and he can see, even from behind home plate Steve can see, that Eddie's losing it. He heads for the mound, refuses to let it end like this. He closes the distance between them, has a quick internal debate before he puts his hand on Eddie's lower back. They've never touched, this is it, this is--warmth bleeds from Eddie's skin, through the fabric of his jersey, goes straight to Steve's head.

Eddie frowns. "I don't think I--"

"You're going to do it, Ed. I know. I can feel it." He pats his chest, over his heart. "It's gonna happen."

Eddie's breathing settles and it's only then that Steve realizes he's rubbing circles into Eddie's back with his thumb. He's not sure when he started, doesn't want to stop, loves being able to feel.

"Okay," Eddie says.

"Okay."

Steve removes his hand, heads back to home, still tingling with the warmth of Eddie's body even as he crouches behind the plate.

He closes out the inning with three definitive strike outs. The crowd goes wild.

They take the field for the top of the 9th, the crowd is screaming, ready for this, the energy zipping through every player on the field.

It goes by in a blur. Nine pitches. Eddie's perfect game is wrapped up in nine phenomenal pitches.

As the ump calls the last out, there's a moment of complete and utter quiet in the stadium, Steve's heart a pounding hum in his ears, before pandemonium breaks loose. There's screaming, fireworks, someone is crying--

All he can see is Eddie. Eddie's who's thrown his glove to the dirt, is barreling towards him with a triumphant smile bright on his face. Steve stands, runs to close the distance. He sees the moment that Eddie decides to jump into his arms, catches him easily--will always catch him--but his legs are tired and the momentum gets him, sends them tumbling back into the grass.

They're both yelling, laughing, smiling hard enough to hurt. Eddie's hair has fallen out if its tie, tumbling around his shoulders, and Steve gazes at him, can't help it, in this moment can admit that he's so, so astronomically in love.

It's only then Steve realizes that the laughter's stopped, that Eddie's gazing back. Brown eyes shining bright with happiness, cheeks flushed pink, lips parted. Thoughtless, he reaches up to caress Eddie's cheek.

The team reaches them, streaming around them, yanking Eddie and Steve to their feet. The celebration stretches around them, the moment slipping away. He wants to finish what they started but there are interviews, champagne showers, congratulations, that keep them apart. Sometimes, from across the room, their eyes meet, and there's heat there that's new, that sparks something low in Steve's gut.

Hours pass, and finally he finds himself alone in the locker room. He's just pulled on his t-shirt when the door shuts behind him. He spins, finds Eddie, waiting, watching.

He crosses the room without a word, can't not, not now, not after everything. They grapple for a second, the wanting so strong that it takes a second to settle, to find each other. They kiss hard, desperate, seething with desire.

Steve hopes it never ends and it doesn't, just tapers into soft kisses, gentle nips. He can't bring himself to step away.

"Is this for real ?" Eddie whispers.

"I've been insane about you since the trade."

Eddie's smile is blinding. "I used to have those pictures of you--the ones with the little red shorts?--in my locker in the minors. Feel like I'm living in a dream right now."

It lights him up inside, knowing that Eddie wants him, has wanted him. "Let me take you home and show you just how real it is?"

He snorts, but his dimples deepen, eyes shining. "What a line, sweetheart."

"Yeah well, the baseball field isn't the only place where I hit home runs."

#steddie #steve x eddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #baseball au #teammates to lovers #ficlet #fluff #first kiss #feelings confession #steve thinks he'll hate eddie but he just falls in love with him instead #pitcher eddie munson #catcher steve harrington #i had this idea a month ago and forgot about it #dom/sub undertones in the way that what if steve gently doms eddie into pitching better #what if steve modeled for SI's body issue and what if eddie is obsessed with him the whole time #really playing fast and loose with how major league baseball works

[sehtoast]

Forget Me Not (Homelander x Reader)

1.4k words | gender neutral reader

Ask Prompt: HL x gn reader. Where hl loses his memory and runs away to another state where he meets the reader 🙏

You were totally prepared to swing first and ask questions later. Of course, that was before you saw him. Standing there drinking from your milk carton at three in the morning, fridge light illuminating him against the darkness of your kitchen, was The Homelander himself

You hide the baseball bat before he turns to you, a droplet of milk dribbling down his chin. 

“You should really invest in whole milk,” he says, sloshing what little was left inside the carton. “Tastes way better.”

You could hardly believe the night had been real when you woke up the next morning.  But, sure enough, he was still there.

“So, how did I end up with The Homelander of all people in my house,” you’d asked nervously. Reality had finally set in and you both sat at the table to talk.

He looked at you like you had seven heads.

“What’s a ‘Homelander?’”

Yeah… That really did happen. If not for the fact he looked entirely serious with such a genuine curiosity in his tone, you’d have thought he was bullshitting you.

Somehow, some way, he’d lost his memory.  Ran away from wherever he was, showed up at your house out of all possible others.  He said it seemed more inviting, but he couldn’t quite explain why.  

You’d tried to explain to him how to find his way back to New York, how to find Vought Tower so that he could go home and get some help, but he seemed too afraid to leave.

“What if I get lost?”  He’d asked, eyes twinkling with nervous energy.  “You said it’s north-east, but aren't there a lot of things north-east? What if I get the wrong place?”

You don’t know what possessed you, but you decided to let him stay.  Let him borrow some spare clothes that made him look much less… well, like a superhero.  You’re sure Vought would come looking for him eventually, so you might as well keep him safe and sound, right?

After helping him out of that suit, you can’t help but wonder if all super suits are total death traps.  If most heroes are padded up to look larger than life, but are really just plain as can be underneath.

Before he falls asleep in your spare room, he tells you the one thing he can remember.

“My name’s John…”

The next day, he follows you around everywhere.  You work remotely from home, and he sits next to you on the couch while you do.  The TV plays in the background while you cycle through tasks and emails, but his attention seems fixed on you entirely.  The clickety-clack of your keyboard fascinates him and he ends up curious as to how you type so fast, what you’re doing, what your code inputs mean.

He’s an interesting fella, curious by nature to the point he’s a total snoop.  You catch him in your bedroom on the third day, fingers trailing over your blankets as his gaze pans around the whole room.  It seems innocent enough, and he’s given you no reason to feel he’s out to hurt you.

When you ask him what he’s up to, he just shrugs, saying something… interesting.

“I wish I would've had a nice room when I was little…”

It conflicts with what you know to be true about him, but also makes you wonder if he’s starting to remember things.  You ask him to elaborate, but he can’t.  He presses his palm to his forehead as if he’s in pain and just shakes his head.  

“I don’t know. I just know I didn’t…”  He trails off, and you’re there to press a soothing touch to his shoulder.

You tell him not to worry too much.

You take him out grocery shopping one day.  He’s like a fish out of water.

He doesn’t know the first thing about navigating a store and doesn’t do much more than follow you like a lost puppy.  Hell, at the end, he doesn’t even know how to help the cashier with bagging.

He is, however, incredibly helpful when it comes to bringing everything in.  He is quite literally the one trip wonder, dangling every single bag from his arms and walking in as though they weigh nothing.

You could get used to that.

You cook a proper dinner that night and he helps.  Well, ‘help’ is a strong word.  More like he watches and hands you the occasional ingredient.

You’re fascinated by him.  He seems oblivious to normal living skills, but a part of him seems to genuinely want to learn them.  More than that, he seems so… peaceful.  You recall his recent erratic behaviors in the public eye, his meltdown on his birthday, his snippiness with interviewers…

But he seems so much less tense now.  Maybe it was the memory loss.  Maybe he just likes the quiet.  Who knows?

What you do know is, by the second week, you hope he never leaves.  You’re almost praying that his memory never returns despite knowing that's selfish.

It’s nice to share your space with someone.  It’s nice to have him around.

He’s sweet despite his dramatics.  Helpful and eager.  He’s company, and it’s been… a very long time since you’ve felt like you weren’t alone.  You didn’t quite live in bumfuck nowhere, but it was close enough that he was a blessing.

Your heart sinks on the day he comes downstairs wearing his suit.

He looks at you with those big blue eyes, but within them is a sadness. 

There is recognition floating around in there, swirling with that determined fire that you’ve seen on so many screens before. Yet he still looks so melancholy.

You offer him his morning coffee, a shared routine between you both for the past two months, and he sips at it quietly.

He used to hate it, but now..?

“Are you going back?” You ask after some time, not daring to meet his eyes.

Your heart sinks when he tells you he is.

“I’ll miss you…”

He struggles to reciprocate the words properly, but… he leaves you with a tight hug before his departure.

You don’t know why you cry so hard when he goes.  No, no…

That’s a lie.  You do know.

You miss him terribly.  

You miss him for days, for weeks.  

You watch the celebrations for his return.  You touch the screen of your laptop, wishing he was still at your side, still peering over your shoulder, still riding alongside you in your car.

But he isn’t.

And you don’t think he ever will be again.

You learn to breathe again after some time.  You feel good enough to crawl out of bed, collected enough to clean up the house a little.  You fall into your hobbies again, but nothing feels right.

It’s all just… dull.

And you hate that you know why.

You hate that you pray every night to hear your fridge door shutting, to hear the clinking of glass in your cabinets, to hear him step on that creaky floorboard on the steps.

But you don’t.

You don’t hear any of it.

Eventually you just stop listening.

Which means you don’t hear what slips through your window.  There are no footsteps, no creaks or cracks.  You don’t hear his nervous breaths.

You only feel when he lowers himself onto the other side of your bed.  You about jump out of your skin, ready to reach for the bat by your nightstand until you realize just who has come to see you.

You throw yourself at him entirely, hugging him tight, arms and legs wrapping around him to squeeze and squeeze and never let go.  He holds you close, nuzzling into your neck.

He tells you how much he’s missed you.  That he misses the quiet of your life together, that it was the nicest thing to happen to him in… well, his whole life, really.  He thanks you for taking care of him, tells you he wants to do the same for you.

Over the next few days, you have a visitor every night.

Within a few weeks, he kisses you for the first time.

After six months, you are a resident of Vought Tower, living with him in his penthouse.

He is different in this environment.  More demanding, more intense, but not to you. 

No.

When he comes back, when he comes home, he falls into your arms much like you did the night he came back to you.  He leaves his burdens at the door, safe and sound with you.

The peace didn’t necessarily come from losing his memory. It didn’t come from the solitude of your old home, nor the routine of domesticity.

It came from you.

He found his peace with you.

#homelander #homelander x reader #homelander fanfiction #antony starr #request #i couldn't let this one end on a sad note ;_; i'd cry

[killerpancakeburger]

Another Headache

SUMMARY: You get another one of your chronic headaches, and the meds don't don't work. Soap's by your side though.

PAIRING: Soap x F!Reader (Soap calls Reader "pretty girl" once, that's the only mark of gender)

TAGS: Hurt/Comfort, fluff, suggestive at the end, Soft!Soap, Established relationship, Civilian!Reader, Reader works as Price's assistant.

WARNINGS: The suggestiveness at the end, mention of chronic pain.

WORDS COUNT: 1.8k

A/N: Lots of Soaps I like in there... pouting Soap, drawing Soap, needy Soap, Human calculator Soap (because of that one post that I KNOW I REBLOGGED BUT CANT FIND!! CURSE U TUMBLR!)

“1245.87… minus 56.43… divided by 98.62….” you mumble out loud to yourself, painstakingly inputting each digit into your calculator.

“12.06,” pipes up Soap without missing a beat, not looking up from his sketchbook where he's drawing.

You look up from the device and throw him a mildly annoyed glare, assuming he concocted a random number to confuse you. It's the first explanation that comes to your mind, the most logical one, even though it would be out of character for Johnny to make your work harder, even as a joke. 

“Very funny.”

Then you press the result touch and your eyes widen as the machine provides the exact same answer.

“How in the hell…?”

You look at your boyfriend again, irritation gone out the window, replaced by amazement and a dash of admiration.

“Do you have a calculator for brain or something?”

“S'basic stuffs for sniping and demolition works.” 

The explanation is way too abrupt for anyone who knows how much Johnny enjoys his job, rambling, and rambling about his job. You raise an inquisitive eyebrow.

“Can you develop?”

An amused smirk stretches his lips as he still persists in not looking at you.

“Bonnie, ye need tae focus oan yer work, or ye'll git us in trouble.”

You groan in protest. Being lectured about trouble by Soap “Troublemaker” Mactavish out of all people, you couldn’t make it up. That doesn't make him less right unfortunately. 

Your supervisor, John Price, only allowed his Sergeant to hang out in your office during his free time on the express condition that it would not impact your tasks. You initially couldn’t imagine that blue-eyed menace sitting still for hours only for your sake; to do your own thing in your own side of the room in silence, without any physical contact, nor any other sign of acknowledgement? That was Ghost's idea of a good time, but Soap's idea of torture.

However, it turned out you underestimated his willpower, and his determination to take advantage of every moment that could be shared with you. The intimate knowledge that he was holding back this whole time, and that the minute the clock would strike the end of your workday, he would be all over you like usual, warmed your heart and sent pleasing tingles everywhere in your body.

Sympathetic to your plight, Johnny adds with indulgence and cheekiness in his tone: 

“Ah ken how much ye like mah voice, but we'll make up fur lost time after.”

You roll your eyes at the suggestive taunt, still recognizing the comment for what it is - a consolation to compensate for his refusal to extend earlier. You bite your tongue to keep yourself from retorting about how distracting he's actually being even when drawing in silence, his biceps bulging with his posture, and the mix of concentration and serenity on his face strangely captivating. 

The expression he wears when sketching is one you're particularly fond of. It reveals a different kind of intensity than the one he usually displays, when eager for battle or indignant in front of injustice. It is one not many are privy to, since he tends to favor the solitude of his bedroom to scribble, making this scene all the more special and giving it an intimate tone that's enough to make your heart race.

A loving smile on your face, you throw yourself into your work.

You can feel it coming from miles away.

That accursed headache. Pushing behind your forehead, between your eyebrows and sneaking behind your temples.

Its reasons could very well be everything or nothing; the mix of cold weather and your own tiredness, the acute light from the winter sun blinding your eyes in the absence of sunglasses, the long hours spent in front of a screen.

It is light yet harsh all at once. Muffled pain always felt worse than a sharp one. Yet you know from experience it is only going to hurt more from here on.

Gritting your teeth in a grimace of discomfort, you press your hand against your forehead. The coolness of your fingers provides a respite, albeit a short-term one.

Is there even any painkillers left in your bag? You can’t remember the state of your stock-

A familiar box is suddenly moved in your line of sight. Your usual brand of aspirin.

You look up to see Soap staring at you expectingly. You take the medecine with a grateful smile.

“You really are full of surprises today!”

He pouts as he hands you your water bottle.

“Wi’ how often ye git those bloody things, a'd have tae be a bloody eejit for nae knowing how tae deal with ‘em.”

He sounds like your chronic migraines offended him, personally, and it's both adorable and hilarious.

“That's still very sweet,” you insist after swallowing the treatment.

He brings a lock of hair behind your ear before tenderly kissing your forehead.

“That's me, “Sweet Soap” Mactavish.”

That drags a giggle out of you.

An hour later, as the meds miserably failed, you’re not laughing at all anymore.

At least your work is done for the day, granting you the luxury to suffer on the rec room's couch. Laying on your back, head on the armrest, you’re pressing the heels of your hands into your closed eyelids while groaning in agony. Any bright light or screen increases the pain, so keeping your eyes closed is the only protection conceivable.

Seated right by you, your legs laying over his lap, Soap squeezes your tigh in support, itching to bring you relief but unsure how.

“What can I do?”

You remove your hands from your face to peek at him. If the ache behind your temples wasn’t occupying all space in your thoughts, you would have fussed over his chagrined expression that wasn’t without reminding you of a worried puppy. He was torn between concern for you and frustration of not being able to do anything. Johnny absolutely hated not being capable of remedying a problem. It made you want to cover his face in kisses, not only to placate his frustration, but also because you were filled with cute aggression.

“Well, I have this theory that if someone hit me really hard in the head with a baseball bat, it would help…”

“How the bloody ‘ell would it help!?”

“The pain from the blow would replace the headache.”

“How does replacing pain with pain helps…?”

“I prefer the acute pain of a strike than the dull one of a headache. It's way more bearable.”

“M not hitting you with a baseball bat,” he exclaimed, clearly convinced that the pain had made you go insane.

“I'll just ask Simon instead.”

At this point, you’re insisting more to rile him up rather than out of seriousness.

“Nae yer not,” he retorts vehemently, voice bordering on a growl.

You're about to laugh when he suddenly gets up, still taking care to not send your legs flying off the sofa. Worried that you managed to actually piss him off, you half pick yourself up, raising on your forearms, but he exits the room before you can catch his expression, ordering you to not go anywhere. Not like you were planning to anyway.

You flop back on the couch, closing your eyes and massaging your temples. A moment later, deliciously cold fingers rest on your forehead. You hum in appreciation.

“Better?”

“I love you,” you declare boldly.

The husky laughter Soap emits in response is almost as soothing as his touch.

You suddenly open your eyes as a realization dawns on you.

“Johnny, why are your hands fucking freezing?”

“Put ‘em under cold water,” he retorts casually, like it was evident.

You sigh, closing your eyelids, endeared by his behavior but also a bit fed up.

“You're crazy.”

He chuckles again.

“Crazy in love maybe.”

You don't need to look at him to know the smug smirk he's displaying with that comment.

“Wipe that goofy smile off your face, Mactavish.”

“Make me.”

You playfully slap whatever part of his body is nearby, then sigh once more.

“It's only a temporary solution, though. Unless you intend to spend all night turning your hands into ice cubes.”

“Ah could try-”

“Johnny, no.”

“Johnny, yes.”

“Don't be silly.”

“Will have tae be, unless ye've got a better option.”

“Laying in the dark with a wet cloth could help… or at least it's supposed to.”

This is how you ended up in Soap's bedroom with the lights off, both of you laying on his bed, you nuzzled on his torso with his arm around your waist, a washcloth soaked with freezing water on your forehead.

“Is it working?” he asks, barely a few minutes after settling down.

You cannot contain a smile at the impatience in his voice.

“More or less. But what sucks the most with this method is.. “

“Aye?”

“I'm so freaking bored. Cannot read, cannot use my phone, cannot fall asleep either. And with no distraction, I cannot focus on anything but the pain.”

“Ah could distract ye... If ye wanted.” he immediately suggests.

“What are you thinking of, pretty boy? Surely nothing… inappropriate.’

Despite your playful words, your fingers start idly running down his chest, and the shiver that travels his skin in response doesn't leave you indifferent. You hear him suck in a breath, and he grasps your wandering hand only to press it flat against his pectoral, even raising his breast to deepen the contact. Meanwhile the hand holding you tightens its grip on your flesh before traveling lower to grab your ass. 

“Now that yer mentioning it, ah read online that it could help wi’ headaches…”

“That what could help, Johnny?”

“An orgasm, bonnie,” he rasps.

You let out an amused sigh at the bold statement, trying to hide how much effect the rasp of his voice has on you.

“Hear me oot-” he pleads, apparently worried that you’re taking him for a perverted loser obsessed with his own pleasure over your comfort. “A'm not bullshitting ye-”

“I know, baby,” you appease him. “I know about the orgasm being a thing.”

“Ye know?... wait, ye knew this whole time? Why didn’t ye say anythin’?”

“Let's just say I'm skeptical of that method.”

“Did ye already try it?”

“Nope. But I'll believe it when I see it.”

“Then let me make ye a believer, pretty girl. Please? Pretty please? Will make ye feel so, so good, promise. Lemme take away yer pain, hen.”

He punctuates his begging by burning kisses, on your temple, your cheek, your jaw, your neck. His fingers sneak under your shirt, tickling your waist. The neediness in his voice and his touch makes you whine his name helplessly.

“Johnny…”

He echoes your whimper with a moan of your name.

“Alright, alright,” you capitulate. “For the sake of experimentation.”

#mine #soap x reader #soap x you #john soap mactavish #johnny soap mactavish #john soap mctavish x reader #john soap mctavish x you #johnny soap mctavish x reader #johnny soap mctavish x you #soap mactavish #soap mactavish x reader #cod fanfic #cod x reader #call of duty x reader #soap cod #cod mwii #cod mw2 #cod mw3 #soap fluff #cod fluff #soap squad™️ #soap squad

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Dirty Work 32

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as bullying, familial discord/abuse, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You start a new gig and find one of your clients to be hard to please.

Characters: Loki

Note: Well, this escalated in a way I didn't plan.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

Mr. Laufeyson’s voice is a low drone. You can hear his curt tone as he comes through the front door. His slither is met by a booming timbre that makes you jump. Thor speaks loudly, enough for some of his words to thunder through the walls that divide you.

Your ears pulse as you try not to listen. You know you shouldn’t. By Laufeyson’s reaction alone, you know his brother is less than welcome. Thor’s presence brings you little peace yourself as the memory of his creeping touch crawls up your spine.

You sit behind the laptop and try to focus on the screen. If you can distract yourself, it will be over soon enough and Thor will be gone. Maybe then, you can figure out why Mr. Laufeyson has turned to ice.

“...is she?” The two words echo and jar you from your failing battle.

Laufeyson’s response is short and sharp. You fill in the blanks of his deflection; ‘none of your concern’.

“...busy cleaning up your messes, eh?” Thor’s taunting question rolls upwards as footsteps hammer up the stairs, stopped halfway as another pair shuffle after them.

“I did not welcome you in,” Laufeyson is clearer now. You assume they are on the staircase with how their voices waft airily.

“Always the gracious host,” Thor counters.

“Do not lecture me on grace. Say what you’ve come to say and go. I’m busy–”

“Oh, yes, if I had a little maid like that, I’d always be busy as well–”

“Get on with it,” Laufeyson snarls.

Thor laughs heartily, “brother, one day you will see we are more alike than you care to accept. Maybe then you would see that it is the crux of our problems. You might even appreciate our shared tastes–”

“If you’ve only come to ramble, I’m not interested. I’ve spent enough time entertaining you lot–”

“You speak as if we are enemies,” Thor accuses, “you cannot waste time on family.”

“Ah, because kinship has always been sacred in your heart,” Laufeyson scoffs, “you are like a storm, you bluster but only make a mess. Say what you came to say and leave me be. I’ve work to do. Real work.”

“Well, if I am to deliver my message, I think both recipients should receive it, don’t you?”

“Say it,” Laufeyson hisses.

“But it is meant for both of you. The little maid as well–”

You sit up straight and tweak your head. You shouldn’t listen but you’re caught now. You cannot keep from overhearing.

“House manager,” Laufeyson girds, “I’m certain I can efficiently communicate whatever nonsense has drawn you here.”

“And they say I am stubborn,” Thor snorts, “Walpurgisnacht.”

“Walpurgisnacht?” Laufeyson echoes the single word.

“Surely you recall the old ways.”

“Don’t,” Laufeyson warns.

“Mother is having a celebration. Like when we were young. Father’s agreed to it.”

“She didn’t mention.”

“Ah, yes, well, you’ve much going on. She sent me to inquire after the little maid– house manager. She would require help with arranging the festivities.” Thor explains, “oh, and you’re invited too, I suppose.”

“She has her staff, does she not?”

“Frida is too old. She only serves tea and Gertrude’s never been very strong-minded. Mother needs input, not an empty vessel.”

“Charming,” Laufeyson remarks, "well, I will consider it. Next time, tell mother to call.”

“There will be many old faces. Many may even be happy to see you,” Thor goads.

“I wouldn’t expect so,” Laufeyson retorts, “must I ask you to leave anon?”

Another rolling guffaw fills the house. You hear a grunt from Laufeyson and a muted thump. Thor quiets with a sigh, “ah, fine, fine, I shall leave you to your little– house manager. You will tell her I say hello.”

Silence roils through the air. A scuff cuts through the tension and footfalls clamour down the stairs. The front door opens and closes, leaving you to wallow in the dark cloud left behind. Mr. Laufeyson’s long exhale blows up the staircase ahead of him and you listen to his approach.

You look at the door, expecting him to come through any moment. But it isn’t that one he opens. It’s the study door that slams with a terrible force. His growl permeates through and the adjoined door clicks as the lock is flicked into place. You stare at it and frown.

You don’t suppose his mood will thaw any time soon.

✨

Mr. Laufeyson does not emerge for supper. You barely eat anything yourself as anxiety tortures your stomach. You clean up after yourself and retreat upstairs. 

You near the study, lingering before the door as you pluck up your courage. You tap softly on the wood. There’s no answer. You didn’t hear him go but maybe you missed it.

“I made dinner, Mr. Laufeyson. I’ve left you a plate in the oven,” you speak through the wood, to the ghost on the other side.

You traipse away in defeat. You’re entirely confused. What did you do so wrong? Even before his brother’s unprompted visit, Mr. Laufeyson was coolly apathetic. Yet that morning, in the shower, he’d been on fire, consuming you like flames.

Maybe you’re not good enough. Maybe you didn’t kiss him just right or make the noises he liked. Oh, but how are you supposed to know what to do?

You sit at the writing desk and tap your fingers on your chin. You squirm in your chair as the scene in the shower replays in your head. You tear it apart, trying to pick out the exact moment of your offense.

You shift on the seat and the throbbing pressure in your core ripples through you. Just the thought of his touch has you alight. You touch your hot cheeks and flutter your lashes. You shouldn’t be worried about all that, you should be working on that spread sheet.

You glance over at the study door. The house is stagnant once more. Just like those early days when you made your slow progress with a broom and mop. Something’s gone terribly wrong. Maybe… you should just leave.

You put your fingers mindlessly to the touch pad of the computer. You swirl around the cursor mindlessly. You blow out through your lips and sit up, another fraught peek towards the door.

You bring both your hands over the keyboard. No, you shouldn’t. 

You need to figure this out. You need to know what you did, or didn’t do. You can be what he wants you to be, you have to. You have nothing else.

You type, then backspace, then type again. After several times, you hit search. You click through to a site with a black background and gasp at the obscene ads that fill the margins. 

You bite down as you try to focus past the small thumbnails. You key into the search bar ‘shower’. You hover your finger over the enter key before you will yourself to hit it.

The search results are just as chaotic. You don’t know what you’re looking for. ‘Best Shower Scenes STEAMY’. Your insides tickle and you squeeze your thighs together. Invisible flames lick at you and cluster in your chest.

You mute the computer as the video loads. The house is so quiet that you’re aware of every creak and crack. You fidget as you sit through the ad of a woman giggling over a URL for meet-ups. You press your hands to your thigh, sitting forward so your weight rests on your pelvis, dampening the tingly heat.

The video begins. A woman with caramel coloured hair and a curvy body. You admire her figure and peer down at your own. Maybe that’s it, maybe you’re not hot enough? You remember how Mr. Laufeyson touched you all over, almost as if he was examining you. Did you disappoint?

You flick your eyes back up as a man enters and they step into the shower booth. You chew your lip as you fixate on his large dick. He’s very big but you think Mr. Laufeyson is too. You’re not sure. This isn’t helping, you still don’t understand anything.

They kiss and fondle each other. You lean forward, watching with a stitch between your brows. The woman drags her hands down the man’s body and gets to your knees. She pumps him with her hand and licks his tip, dragging her tongue down his length. He grabs her head and forces himself into her mouth.

She takes him greedily. Oh. That could be it. Last night, you were so afraid, and you got all teary, and you didn’t know what you were doing. 

You watch her as she touches his sack, squeezing then works her hand in tandem with her mouth on his dick. You put your hand to the side of your neck and hold your breath. You wiggle on the chair, the friction making your own arousal more obvious.

Finally, the woman stands, the man lifting her by her hair. He spins her and bends her forward. She braces the wall and as he slaps her ass several times before gripping her hip. He’s so rough. You don’t know if you could handle that.

He slides into her and your mouth falls open. Her thighs quake and your own give a tremble. Your walls clench as the pressure knots in you. The thought of doing that with Mr. Laufeyson both frightens you and excites you.

You twiddle your fingers and blink at the screen. The furrow in your forehead deepens as you lean forward. You put your fingers along the touchpad but don’t press them down.

“Ahem,” Mr. Laufeyson startles you as he clears his throat.

You sit up and quickly hit the X in the corner. Your throat closes as you struggle to breathe, caught but not entirely. He stands in the doorway between the study and library. From that angle, he can’t see what’s on your screen.

“You are working hard,” he muses as he strides in with crossed arms.

“Yes, sir,” you answer breathily. You stare him in the face, too afraid to look anywhere else as your mind dares to imagine the shower again, both of you naked, this time, you’re bent over and he’s behind you. “Um, did you get your dinner?”

You close the laptop as you stand. You wince as the fabric of your panties clings to your wet cunt. You feel like he can see right through you.

“I’m not hungry,” he stops on the other side of the desk.

“Okay,” you swallow and your eyes flit side to side.

“I never told you to come out,” he drops his arms, placing his hand on the desk as he leans over it.

“Pardon?” You blink furiously.

“I said to remain in here until I told you it was safe. If you made my dinner, then you did not obey me.”

“I… Mr. Laufeyson, your brother’s gone–”

“And how could you know for sure if I did not confirm it?” He challenges with a wry tilt in his head. “I’ve been patient, pet, but I think you may require a different sort of discipline.”

“Mr. Laufeyson?” You babble, “I’m sorry–”

“Your apologies grow tiresome,” he huffs and stands straight. “Come here,” he points between him and the desk.

You put your head down and swiftly walk around the desk. He swirls his finger in the air and you turn your back to him. He backs away and rounds to the side of the desk.

“Hands down,” he nods to the desktop.

You press your palms flat, bent slightly at the waist. He considers you and strokes his chin with a hum. He circles the desk and you in a single, patient lap.

“Stay as you are.”

“Yes, Mr. Laufeyson,” you utter.

“Ah, no talking,” he warns, “remember your rules, pet.”

You gulp as he turns and struts away. Is it okay again? You can’t tell. He’s still rigid and painfully formal. He hasn’t touched you, he seems to be avoiding getting close. You stare at the wood beneath your hands and shiver.

You hear him in his study. You glance over as he appears in the door frame, his hands hidden behind him. He tuts. “Head forward.”

You look ahead and focus on the wall. He nears, his shadow skewed in the lamplight. He stands behind you, a foot away and he hums. He clucks and strolls around the desk to face you.

He pulls his hands from behind his back, revealing a thick leather strap. The brown leather is faded and cracked. Your eyes round as you stare at it and he brings it taught between his hands.

“Flogging is historically a long held practice. For the monk in his self-flagellation, for the heathen in his cell, and… for the woman in her disobedience,” he explains as his lips curl. “Spare the rod, spoil the child…” He takes a breath, “and you, pet, are growing spoiled.”

Your lips part but you don’t speak. You must follow the rules. This is the test. If you fail this, then it’s over. If you fail, you have nothing.

He walks along the desk and rounds the corner, brushing by as he purrs, “remember your rules. Not a sound.”

He comes up behind you and you hold your breath. He tugs at the back of your skirt and shudders. He pulls the fabric above your ass, his hand trailing along the back of your panties. He hooks his finger in the elastic and tears them down to your thighs. You quiver and clench your jaw tight, fighting back a squeak.

He stretches the leather across your ass. It’s cool and smooth. You twitch as bumps rise across your skin. He pulls back and you lower your head. You wait. Nothing. 

You cautiously raise your chin and look back. He snaps the whip across your ass as you do and you spasm with the hot flash of pain. He points to the wall in a wordless demand. Eye forward. You turn your attention back to the grey blue paint as your eyes glisten. He strikes you again, the agony scalding across the swell of your ass.

Your thighs shake as he pulls back again. You await a third but it never comes. You don’t dare move. He paces behind you. You watch his shadow cast before you and he moves abruptly forward. You bite your tongue as he lashes you again. Harder as he lets out a thick grunt.

Your hands slip and you fall forward. You plant your palms more firmly as you push yourself straight. A fourth comes and sends tendrils down to your toes. You hiss through your teeth, quaking, fighting not to collapse.

You deserve this. Whatever you’ve done, you’ve earned this. 

A fifth and your knees knock together. You barely keep afoot as the sixth lands with extra bite. Seven, eight, nine… He lashes you in quick succession, as if he cannot stop himself. The tenth has you heaving, about to vomit with the pain.

He stops himself, his shadow holding up the stap. He lowers it and steps back. He sighs and turns away.

“Tomorrow you will pack for our departure,” he declares, “we leave on Friday.”

We? So you are to go with him. You don’t dare ask or say a single word. You stay as you are, shaking as you roll your eyes back against the flood.

“You will be on your best behaviour,” he warns as he nears the study door, “I trust this lesson will not be forgotten.”

He passes into the study and the door closes harshly. Your legs fold and collapse beneath you. You land in a heap, holding yourself off your ass as you whimper. You won’t ever forget.

#loki #dark loki #dark!loki #loki x reader #dark fic #fic #dark!fic #series #au #maid au #dirty work #mcu #marvel #avengers #thor

[genericpuff]

ok listen right

please don't take the implication of what i'm about to say the completely wrong way, there's a point i have to make here

there's this gross thing that happens in LO that's been definitely talked about numerous times (by many people) where fashion is used to label a character's like, "alignment" between "good" "bad" "pure" "tainted" etc. this is something that comes up a lot when discussing Minthe and Persephone because there are a LOAD of double standards in how Minthe was treated and viewed for dressing like a "slut" but then Persephone wears the exact same fit and suddenly she's a queen-

(image courtesy of @anoldplace on Instagram, I'll be showing a couple of their posts in this because they show off a lot of the great - and frankly disturbing - parallels in LO, whether intended by Rachel or not)

-but can we talk about how the "bad ending" version of Persephone where she ends up with Apollo slaps WAY FUCKING HARDER than anything we've seen her dressed in since she got with Hades ??

fucking hello?? where's THAT fit ??

you're telling me this girl is queen of the underworld and the best she can do in the fashion department is looking like a color-swapped version of Hera ???

and I WANNA MAKE THIS PERFECTLY CLEAR, this isn't me trying to say "Persephone would have been way cooler if she got with Apollo", that is FAR from the point, more so just pointing out the pattern of Rachel aligning "bad" with "dresses with more flavor than an extremely out-of-touch conservative boomer". Even when she tries to draw Persephone in more "out there" clothing it just comes across as ... tacky? And only at her own detriment?

Like, how the fuck is this supposed to be Persephone being drawn through a literal male gaze (Apollo):

And THIS is supposed to be Persephone being drawn from a female gaze (her own because she dressed herself):

Like literally how? How does this happen? Especially when the latter is STILL being framed from a male perspective (the green guy behind her, "Jeffrey") but we're supposed to believe it's some "boss babe" moment for Persephone to just be walking down the street while getting oggled inappropriately by a male onlooker? How could these scenes be any more different and yet more alike? She's still being objectified for the characters around her and the audience, but we're supposed to believe the second is better than the first one because... she chose to wear that?

Sure, one could argue that at least she dressed herself and that definitely gives her agency, but it's really Rachel telling on herself where her priorities are in trying to write a "feminist comic" that she had Persephone dress herself and then STILL have its only purpose be for men on the sidelines to stare at and objectify her. When you just know this same outfit would have undoubtedly been used to slut shame characters like Minthe or Thetis or Leuce.

I don't even know, man. The intentions in LO's writing are so confused, contradictory, and ultimately pointless. It's trying so hard to be "feminist" and a "deconstruction of purity culture" but then it turns around and reinforces all that same shit it's claiming to be fighting against anyways. Persephone would be an evil slut if she was with Apollo, look at her outfit! But not here, not the banana purse dress being oggled by strangers on the sidewalk, not now that she settled down with her old rich husband who she only knew for a couple weeks before being separated for 10 years but their love was just so strong and the thirst for dick so real that she and him loyally waited for one another until she was old enough to make it "not be creepy" anymore for them to hook up, but only after marriage. She's definitely not a gold digger like Minthe or a vapid slut like Thetis or a homewrecker like Leuce, nah.

I just wish she'd dress herself, for the love of god. Let her dress herself with her own input and not the influence of the people around her or the tone of the comic's own internalized misogyny that demands "woman must always be objectified for better or for worse, that is The Rule!"

Of course she can't "dress herself" though. She's an extension of Rachel and Rachel herself writes like an out-of-touch boomer who will and has gladly gone about how men are just clamoring at the bit to stare at her and get to her... but then claims she "didn't realize sexism was all that bad" until she started working on LO.

Sorry, this post got very long and very mean, I initially just wanted to make the comparison in a very silly haha "wild how bad ending Persephone has way more visual personality than good ending Persephone" way, but then I thought about it too long and pissed myself off LMAO

And no, I don't want to go back to beating the dead horse of "banana dress bad" because honestly, I think in any other context or comic, sure, it would be very cute to see her walking around in an outfit she chose herself even if it's "objectively" not a great outfit, it shows agency and not caring what other people think which is VERY freeing. But we're not reading that comic, we're reading LO, where a woman's worth and value is only determined by how the men around her react to her and only Persephone is allowed to be empowered by wearing outfits that would otherwise be treated as "slutty" if worn by anyone else.

I don't want the message to be "Persephone looks like a dumbass bimbo" or, on the flipside, "Persephone looks boring and out-of-touch", I want the message to be "Persephone is valid for dressing how she wants, just like how the women around her are valid for dressing how they want regardless of whether or not they're protagonists or antagonists."

Quit using women's fashion as an alignment chart, quit using these "not so sly for a misogynist guy" dogwhistles as a way to "other" the women around the power fantasy main character. Women deserve to dress how they want without shame or objectification - all women, not just the women you like.

#lore olympus critical #anti lore olympus #lo critical

[ssahotchnerr]

hey, i just broke my wrist today so i was wondering if you could possibly write some fluff about aaron taking care of reader with a broken wrist.

btw i love your writing!! 💓💓

fractures

omg oh no i hope you recover quickly!!!!! & you're so so sweet thank you <33 cw; bau!reader, reader gets hurt, descriptions of injury, established relationship, cute banter, aaron being concerned and a dork <3

it wasn't uncommon for you to do paperwork in aaron's office. you would never deprive yourself of being in his company - that was the first obvious reason you opted to work in there - but the occasional change of scenery was nice. it was much easier to tackle files, especially when caseloads were demanding and high in quantity, alongside aaron; making small talk, getting his seasoned input, a kiss or two if you were lucky. the setting also prevented the inevitable distraction of derek's humored remarks, usually leading into a conversation that was far from productive.

aaron sat behind his desk, while you were seated opposite of him. in the instances the two of you stayed behind after hours, your chair would join his, or you would simply end up on his lap. it wasn't very convenient with the limited space; it was uncomfortable yet comfortable at the same time. but just having aaron close, being able to hear his soft breaths and sighs as he worked, the warmth radiating off his body, sneaking more than just two kisses. it gave you a feeling you couldn't quite put into words.

it was crazy to think, that when you stepped into this office for the first time, ages ago, that you would end up here. with your boss of all people, who you loved more than anything.

a man you used to think had no emotion, but were granted the gift of being the only person he chose to reveal that side to.

however, and sadly, this wasn't after hours, so your current position was across him, scribbling away. as you finished writing a statement your pen quirked, slipping out of your fingers onto the floor. and while leaning over to the side to retrieve it, you and the chair completely tipped over.

your hands fanned out to break your fall, but unfortunately you reacted a bit too late- you still landed onto your right hand. hard.

intense pain shot right up your arm, the impact hot and immediately throbbing at your wrist, causing you to let out a small yelp, both from pain and the surprise.

"shit." aaron was on his feet just as fast as you fell, a few papers toppling off his desk in effect. "honey, are you alright?"

you didn't answer as you peered up at him, the expression on your face saying it all.

like him, you were stubborn. when injured, you would downplay it- insist you were fine, it wasn't as bad as it looked, all the usual excuses. but aaron knew you, so he knew the pain in your eyes.

he crouched besides you, reaching out for your hand hesitantly, raising his eyebrows in a silent question, may i?

you nodded your head in confirmation, and aaron picked up your hand at your wrist. his touch was gentle, but it still resulted in an immediate wince from yourself. the burn caused also tears to fill your eyes.

"can you move it?" aaron asked, his brown eyes lifting to meet your gaze.

"i think so?" you lied, not even bothering to try, your hand remaining limp in his. the swelling had already begun, your skin flamed with a vague blue faintly mixing in.

"shit." aaron swore again, a breath exiting his nose as your wrist changed colors right in front of his eyes. "well, it's best we get this looked at. and quickly. c'mon."

after helping you to your feet, holding onto your wrist firmly, but softly, aaron escorted you out into the bullpen.

"don't move it."

you began to quip back, "i'm not moving it-"

his tone was insistent, light. "yes you are."

"no, i'm not."

the exchange was on the playful side, but still weighed with concern. to aaron', you could get a paper cut and he'd be just as worried.

a few concerned heads poked up from their desks as the two of you passed, aaron pausing momentarily at the bullpen's kitchenette, still supporting your wrist. he stopped in front of the refrigerator, which luckily contained an ice pack in the freezer.

"keep this on, okay?" aaron quickly grabbed a paper towel, wrapping it around the frigid pack, slowly placing it against your wrist.

you winced again at the contact, but nodded as your hand laid overtop of his, taking over. the chill with the contrast of your hot skin was uncomfortable at first, but soothed the ache just a bit. the throbbing didn't falter, though.

-

at the ER, an x-ray confirmed a minor fracture, and soon enough, your wrist was bound and secured in a cast. the doctor mentioned physical therapy to restore motion and to regain strength, but that was a matter for the future.

"so i guess this means no hand to hand combat for me for a while, huh?" you stated once the two of you were in aaron's car.

"you got that right." aaron chuckled softly, reaching over you to buckle your seatbelt for you himself. "for the next five to six weeks," he pressed a kiss to your temple, "you're desk-ridden sweetheart."

"and can spencer do my paperwork?" you joked, but your right hand was your dominant one.

he started the car. "we'll see."

"morgan?"

"oh, definitely."

you laughed, "then one thing needs to be in order."

his arm rested on your seat briefly as he peered behind, backing out of the parking space. the sight caused butterflies to erupt in your stomach, he truly was too attractive for his own good. "and what's that?"

"you'll sign my cast, won't you?" you teased, your lips tugging into a smile.

aaron snorted a laugh. "sure. how about, aaron with some hearts?"

his suggestion was all play, teasing you right back. but in all honestly, if that's what you wanted, he'd do just that.

you rolled your eyes, his laugh making you forget any pain your hand still withheld. "just humor me, hotchner."

aaron grabbed onto your left hand, bringing it to his lips and placing a kiss on the back of your hand. "always."

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fluff #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotchner imagine #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds drabble #aaron hotchner drabble #criminal minds fanfiction #hotch imagine #criminal minds x you #criminal minds imagine

[contentloadinggg]

January Blues - Hozier

Author’s Note: Y’all I finally did it. We’re going to pretend it’s still January so this fits. But it’s finally here 🙏. Thanks to my bestie lunaritessane Who’s input made this fic a whole lot better. I love you💚. (Literally, like their beta reading was just delicious.)

Summary: Andrew is feeling down, you make him feel better. Gender neutral!reader. (3k words)

⚠️Warnings⚠️: Smut! Smut turned weirdly poetic sometimes?. Kinda Switch!Andrew, sub vibes at the beginning, soft dom vibes later. Descriptive descriptions of Andrew’s long dick. (I have a problem)

This is a work fiction and is not a reflection of who Hozier is.

Inspired by:

“Well you cured my January Blues, yeah, you made it all alright.”

Fic under the cut💙, 18+ only, you’ve been warned.

The further Ireland dipped into the depths of winter, the more Andrew’s mood dropped. Reflecting the rainy, washed-out climate outside the frosty windows of his house. It hardly even snowed this winter, just a cold rain that somehow made his mood worse. Logically, he knew it was likely that the lack of sun on his already pale skin was what had him wallowing. But alas, no amount of tea and books seemed to make him feel any better. So that’s why he’d given up by this point. Gaze zoned out past the pages of his novel and tea now cold on the coffee table. His mind clouded like the gathering storm outside.

“Andy?”

A gentle call of his name had Andrew startled. Usually he would’ve noticed your presence by the sound of your footsteps, but he’d been too far into his head to notice.

“Yes, darling?”

He asked, the tone of his voice reflecting yours in its quiet manner.

“I’m just wondering if you’re alright? I’ve called your name a few times and you haven’t answered.”

You replied. Despite keeping your voice light, he can tell by the slight frown and the furrow of your eyebrows you’re more concerned than you're letting on. Sighing deeply with resignation, he closes the book with a soft snap and sets it aside. 

“I’m just feeling… I’m not sure. Down, I suppose.”

He answers, voice tainted with melancholy. You look even more concerned. A part of him wishes he didn’t worry you over trivial things. But how could he ever resist your questioning of his well-being?

You walk over to him and sit down on the arm of the chair. Running a hand into the long curls of his hair to scratch at his scalp. He hums and closes his eyes, leaning back into your soothing touch.

“Anything I can do to help?’

You ask and he breathes out through his nose with a shake of his head.

“Not sure there’s much you can do, but… stay?”

Andrew replies, aware his tone sounds dangerously close to needy. But you only smile and nod. Sating any insecurities he has as you continue to massage his scalp. 

He hums contently once more, letting his head rest against your hand. The warm light of the room throws shadows over his face and the pale lines of his neck. Shrouding the valleys in darkness and the highlights with warmth. Turning the sharpness of his cheekbones all the more prominent if that's possible. 

Leaning down, you leave a few kisses over his cheekbones. The feeling of warm breath against his face forces a smile to his lips. He turns his head, capturing your lips against his. Your kiss is like a balm on his apathy, replacing it with passion. Your free hand cups the side of his face. Feeling the gentle scratch of facial hair against your palm that’s also felt on your chin. The feeling lures you closer. Pressing into the space between his and your bodies until you’re straddling one of his legs. Lost in the velvety sensation of lips and tongues against each other. You break it off first. Ignited with one simple idea. 

“Let me make you feel better, yeah?”

You prompt, in a lowered, raspier voice. He looks up at you with blown pupils, green irises dark. Shining hot in the orange light from the lamp. He breathes out. Like he can’t believe you’re real. And nods eagerly.

“Please… do what you’d like.”

His breathless agreement makes you smile and melt a bit, moving his head to get access to his throat. A soft sound leaves his mouth as you kiss over the thin skin. Breath hitching when your tongue follows along the groves of his veins. He’s so goddamn sensitive. He has to hold back a few noises, the heat of your breathing brushing over his neck. Goosebumps appear over his arms. He’s becoming more and more aware of your every move.

Andrew lets out a loud groan that he quickly cuts off in embarrassment. A response to the dragging of your teeth over the base of his neck where it meets his shoulder. The skin beneath your lips flushes a pink color. You snicker in response to the noise, and he huffs in irritation.

“It’s okay, I wanna hear you. I wanna know you’re enjoying it. You sound absolutely gorgeous, but that’s no surprise.”

You murmur to him, rubbing his side to subdue his unease. You know he’s listening because the muscles relax beneath your hand. He lets out another moan as you nibble, turning the skin a pale red.

It’s not long before you’ve scattered similar-looking bites over his neck. By the time you’re getting his sweater off Andrew is breathing a little heavier, sweat building on the back of his flushed neck. 

His chest stutters watching you sink to your knees in front of the armchair. Eyes hooded and darkened.

“Just lie back, baby, and I’ll cure all those blues.”

You direct, and he does as you say. His mouth is too dry to try and come up with a sassy reply to your somewhat cheesy line. Not like that would matter anyway. All thought disappears from his head when your mouth lands on his chest. Kissing, licking, sucking down his sternum. Your lips wrapping around one of his nipples has him debating whether or not to beg for mercy. Airless moans slip from his lips without time nor thought to stop them. 

“Fuckin’ Hell, darling. That’s so good.”

Andrew hisses, voice rough, Irish accent thickened, words a little slurred. His hands running into your hair. Using whatever is there to try and get a grip. Large palms grasping at the back of your skull. He can’t help but pull when you tug on his nipple, forcing a quiet moan from your lips.

“Shit, sorry.”

He apologizes in a way that would sound regretful if it wasn’t husky with arousal. You laugh in response to him jerking under your mouth when you suck softly. Your way of telling him it’s okay. 

After giving Andrew’s nipple a bit more attention, just to hear him whine a few more times. And then start slowly kissing down his stomach. Feeling every little twitch and breath beneath your mouth. 

“Darling, please, please, stop teasing.”

There it is, the pleads for mercy. He’s practically whimpering. His voice becomes tight. A struggle for control. You grant his wish, hands moving to his belt. There’s a large bulge beneath his jeans, straining against the fabric. God, that must be uncomfortable, you can feel the heat from here. 

Eventually, with a bit of moving around, you manage to pull his jeans and boxers off. Freeing his cock from the confines of his clothes. It arches up towards his stomach with a surprising stiffness, considering you haven’t even been touching him for that long. He’s decently above average in length. To the point it burns a little to take, but not ridiculously so. The tip is a deep red, swelled with a desperation to be touched. 

Andrew shoots a hand from your hair to the arm of the chair. Gripping it with a hiss when he feels the brush of your breath over the sensitive skin. His cock twitches, the two prominent veins along the bottom throbbing. You decide not to make him wait any longer. Wrapping a hand around the shaft. Andrew looks down at you with hungry eyes alight with reverence, studying your every move. 

“God- fucking, yes.”

Andrew gasps in pleasured relief, a moan quickly following when you start stroking the length of his shaft, giving every inch an equal amount of attention. Just barely touching the tip to tease him. To watch his cravings become unbearable. At first, he accepts the simple touch, relishing in finally having friction on his cock. However, it soon becomes too little and he starts rocking his hips into your hand, eager for more. Slender thighs flexing with the movement. Light shining over his jutting hip bones. He’s absolutely stunning from this angle, chest heaving as he squirms. A thin sheen of sweat glistening over the bridge of his nose and high cheekbones. A stark contrast to the darkness of his neatly trimmed beard. 

“Babe-”

Andrew starts, his words sounding more like a gasp of breath. 

“Fine, I’ll be nice.” 

You relent, not wanting to torture him too much. Dragging your hand over the weeping head, Andrew moans and sinks his fingernails into the arm of the chair. His other hand cupping the back of your neck, trying his best not to grip or pull. You circle your thumb around the very tip of his cock, over the most sensitive glands. Andrew practically whimpers because of it. Legs jerking, he throws his head back. Eyes squeezed shut. Showing off all those pink love bites you left over his throat.

“Yes, just like that. Keep going.”

Andrew manages in that sweet, unsteady voice. It’s like he can’t get enough air into his lungs, caught between moaning and whining. He thrusts his hips into your hand which moves up and down the entire length of his dick. A focused attention with a twist of your wrist over the head. Andrew isn’t the only one getting impatient. You’re interested in doing much more than just a handjob. 

So, when your impatience gets to be too much, you duck your head and take the tip of his cock into your mouth. Causing a high-pitched noise of surprise from the man above. There’s an even sharper noise as you press your tongue against the bottom and suck. Pulling precum from his eagerness. The tangy and sharp taste coating your tastebuds, sticking to your tongue. It fills your senses, nearly overwhelming the musky scent of Andrew’s arousal. 

“Let me see your eyes, please. Look at me.”

Andrew urges, his voice higher than normal. Looking up at him, his eyes meet yours. And he responds like you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen in his life. His lips parted, looking down at you with warmth in his eyes. His entire dick throbbing with your gaze on his. 

“God, you’re so gorgeous, sweetheart.”

He gasps out. His hand letting go of the armchair and brushing the hair away from your face. So he can see all of you properly. 

“So, so pretty down there.”

Andrew continues in a murmur, the pleasure of seeing you drives his ecstasy even higher. He gently moves slightly further into your mouth, hungry for more of the warm pleasure, more than what your hand is giving him. You welcome him, slowly working his cock deeper into your mouth. Jaw stretching to accommodate until it nearly aches. Your tongue cradles the underside. 

He moans lowly, running fingers over your scalp. The warm and wet feeling of your mouth wrapping around his cock causes his entire body to shiver. Pleasure bolting up his spine. He nearly becomes lightheaded with the rush of blood, cheeks flushing a bright red against the paleness of the rest of his skin. 

The more you take, the more difficult it is to breathe. Andrew stops you for a moment,  letting you take a breath. He caresses your jaw with the backs of his fingers, helping it relax out. 

“Just go slow, breathe through your nose.”

He speaks in a calmly commanding voice. Forcing you to stay in your moment of pause for a few seconds longer before letting you continue. You follow his introductions and breathe through your nose, taking measured breaths as you sink further. Until tears gather in your eyes when the tip of his cock brushes the back of your throat. Pushing at your gag reflex. 

A pleasured rumble sounds in Andrew’s chest. Vibrating back through your bones. He continues stroking your jaw, making sure you can take every inch.  

“That’s good. You’re doing so well, baby. Start moving if you want.”

Andrew says, trying his best to keep his composure so his desire doesn’t get the better of him. It nearly does when you start moving achingly slow up and down the length of his dick. Your mouth is so consumingly tempting, hot and wet and just perfect. Both a gift and a curse. Luring Andrew to near madness with how good it feels. He’s speechless, wordless. Stuck in this version of heaven. You’ve got him absolutely hooked. Even more so when you start to move faster. Suck harder. Letting saliva drip down your chin and glisten on your skin the way it does on his cock.  

“Fuck, I’ll never get enough of this. Your so skilled, so absolutely, fucking wonderful.”

He groans behind his clenched teeth. Resisting the urge to bury himself even deeper into your mouth. You struggle to move faster. Gagging on his cock when it hits your reflex. Andrew looks down at you, noticing your struggle. He gently pulls on your hair. Guiding you off his cock.

“It’s alright, let me help you, okay?”

He asks, but it’s less of a suggestion and more of a command if you want to keep going. You nod in agreement. 

“Yeah, okay.”

Andrew takes a careful hold of your hair, holding your head in place as he brings his hips closer to your mouth. The tip of his cock brushes your lips, it’s so red it’s almost purple. Eager and more than ready to slip back into your mouth.

“Ready?”

He asks one more time and you answer affirmatively again. He accepts this and nudges his dick slowly past your parted lips. Guiding himself back into the heat of your mouth. It’s wet, soft and very, very hot. He waits a moment for you to get used to it once more. Before starting to move. Using your hair to move you up and down. His hips rocking forwards into your mouth. His breath hitching as he feels your teeth gaze him. His thighs clasp either side of your head, knees almost on top of your shoulders.

“That’s it, let me help you. Just like this.”

Andrew praises in a tone that does nothing to conceal how good it feels. Carefully thrusting his cock in and out of your already sore throat. You’re so sweet, letting him do this. Willing to take apart every piece of him and put it back together. It’s something only you can do for him. Yet he’s sure you could do it for anyone. 

“God, that’s just right. You’re doing such a good job. You’re an angel.”

He manages, voice trembling. He rocks his hips faster. Guiding you to suck harder. Feeling every ridge moving back and forth across your tongue. The head is just barely nudging the back of your throat. Andrew is gasping, moaning above you like he’s never experienced something quite so amazing in his life. Something beyond any man’s wildest dreams.

His cock twitches in your mouth. His ecstasy reaching higher and higher. To the point his thighs are trembling, skin highlighted pink with exertion (is that how you spell it? idk). You look up at him. Admiring the way his features are painted with pleasure. His eyebrows furrowed and his eyes squeezed shut. His long hair is messy and falling into his flushed face. There’s strands sticking to the sides of his face and neck with the thin sheen of sweat on his skin. Droplets slide down his collarbones and disappear into his sweater. 

He jerks his cock a little deeper on accident. Coming closer and closer to his finish. Causing you to gag. He opens his eyes with an apology on his lip. But you grasp his hips, pulling him closer. You shove down your gag reflex so you can take him all the way. Tears gathering on your waterline. He takes the hint with widened eyes of surprise and adoration. Carefully thrusting his cock into the depths of your throat, he groans loudly with pleasure. Both hands sinking into and grabbing on your hair. 

Your nose brushes his pelvis. The smell of musk filling your nose. An almost sweet, earthy scent coming from him. You make eye contact through blurry eyes. Andrew’s breath stutters, his legs tensing by the sides of your head. 

“Fuck- darling, so good. I’m gonna- shit. I’m gonna cum in your mouth. Do you want that? Do you want me to cum into your mouth?”

He asks, his words broken and stuttering. Almost failing at forming a sentence entirely. You nod the best you can. Tears and spit running down your face. He moans at your agreement. Somehow feeling hotter and even more aroused by it. 

Andrew thrusts his hips into your mouth. Pushing how much you can take as he chases his high. It’s not more than a minute of nearly reckless movements before he’s cumming into your mouth just as he said he would. His back arching into it as his legs shudder. He moans loudly from the bottom of his chest. His mouth hanging open. Head thrown back with his eyes rolled back into his skull. Shooting warm, thick cum into your mouth. The salty and bitter taste overwhelming your senses, but one you could taste over and over again. You groan around his cock. Causing his legs to jump as he feels the vibrations. 

He pants, remaining motionless in his recovery. His brain needed a moment to recover before piecing itself back together and pulling out of your mouth. There’s a lopsided, still half-gone smile on his face as he looks down at you. Humming happily as you swallow his cum. 

“You’re so amazing, baby.”

Andrew compliments breathlessly. Moving his hands to cup your cheeks and brush the tears away.

“I’m so, so proud of you. Come on, get off your knees.”

The tenderness of his voice is so beautiful. His actions even more so, helping you up off the floor. And positioning you on one of his thighs. 

“Are you okay? I wasn’t too rough with you?” 

He questions, his worries calming when you shake your head. Still recovering yourself.

“Good… can I return the favor?”

Thank you so much for reading my first fic 🫶, any constructive criticism is appreciated. I’m going to go do the school work I’ve been procrastinating over to do this instead now. Hopefully, the next fic won’t take over a month to write and I’ll be more active.

-Thad 💚

#fanfiction #andrew hozier byrne #Andrew Hozier Byrne x reader #Hozier x reader #smut #fluff #rpf #I wrote this with one hand #if you know what I mean #Andrew is a sexy little shit #Spotify #Hozier smut

[bugs1nmybrain]

Mommy's Boy: Shigaraki x Fem!Reader~Mommy Kink~☆•°♡☆°●♡

As always, Minors do NOT interact!

I remember saying how I thought writing Shigaraki fucking you in front of Dabi was out of pocket, but I've pretty much thrown all humility out the window at this point. Upsidaisy.

Updated: Nov 26th, 2023

Traits about the reader: Medium to big boobs, curvy, thick thighs, implied to be either shigaraki's age (20 in this) or older, implied to be on birth control, bad at playing video games

Notes: NSFW/smut, mommy kink, sub/switch Shigaraki, fem reader, shy and moody Shigaraki???????, Shigaraki loves boobs, awkward reader and Shigaraki interactions, spanking (reader receiving), tit sucking, vulgar language, mutual masturbation, slight degrading, a sprinkle of praise, hair pulling (Tomura receiving), no condom, reader and Shigaraki play GTA 5 in the beginning, kinda cringe tbh, season 4 era Shigaraki

I know each of my fics always end right after sex I'm so sorry. I'm going to have to get better at some plot after sex because I feel like it's so cliché.

"You suck!"

Unfortunately for you and Shigaraki, there was only one controller for the PlayStation. He had wanted a gaming date but there wasn't much you two could do together, so you had compromised by taking turns on GTA (story mode by your request).

Tomura watched as you continued to knock into every car in your line of view. You'd back out of a car you had hit only to knock into another. When you finally made it to a mission that required shooting, you were doing halfway ok, but only because of the auto-aim mechanics to be completely honest. However, the cops just showed up, and now it was you (Trevor), Franklin, and Lamar against a shit load of police. Shigaraki hoped and prayed you'd start catching on, but you just kept on dying.

"GTA 5 is easy! How are you fucking up this bad?" Shigaraki ponders in a near-genuine tone.

"It's been a while! I haven't played for maybe over 6 months."

"It's not even hard whatsoever, I don't get this. Give me a turn."

"You played like 4 minutes ago."

"Yes, but you're bad at this and it's making my head hurt. Give me that stupid controller," Tomura, without your input, snatches the controller out of your hand and plows through the mission for you with ease. You slouch on his shoulder and mope, your feelings hurt by your own pathetic gaming abilities.

"Maybe we should do something that we could both do. Why do I want to just sit here and watch you play GTA all night?" You whine. Shiggy responds with an annoyed groan.

"Take it then! It's not my fault you're shit at this. Maybe try a strangers and freaks mission," Shigaraki drops the controller on your lap. You breathe in and set your waypoint to Vinewood Boulevard. Tomura observes you drive so cautiously that it's almost worse to watch you drive so slow than to smash into cars.

Tomura sighs in agitation and slumps his chest against your back, wrapping his arms around your soft tummy and burying his face in the crook of your neck. He hugs you tight as he watches you fuck up your game and turns his attention away from your awful playthrough to something that he'd consider you to take more pride in.

Tomura glances at the v-neck of your black shirt that looked like his, only short-sleeved. He allows himself to look at your tits while you're distracted. He's had some pretty good self-restraint today, he'd say, as the push-up you were wearing was driving him fucking crazy. They looked so hot and the complexion of your skin gave them a lovely glow. He felt like a pathetic little bitchboy, wanting nothing more than to touch them and bury his face in your tits. It was a good thing you were so distracted by GTA because he was scoping the terrain out to plot his next move.

He felt embarrassed. The two of you have had sex many times, but he still felt annoying to want to appreciate your tits. Would he seem like a little bitch with mommy issues or something? Oh well, you were his girlfriend, right? If you didn't like it then you'd need to find a better toy to play with, though the thought fueled his blood because Shigaraki hadn't ever found anyone that took interest in him like you did.

There was no helping it. He was already growing a boner and you were already feeling it press against your ass as you sat in his lap.

"Tomura?"

He felt a shock surge through him, knowing full well why you were calling his name. So he didn't answer.

"Tomura, are you okay?" You giggle teasingly.

Don't do this to him, he thought. This was supposed to be a simple gaming night. But who was he kidding? 9 times out of 10 your dates ended in kind of sex.

"What gives you the impression that I'm not?" He says in an embarrassed tone. Was he feeling flustered? Cutie.

"Because something's poking me."

"Haha."

You laugh, a little surprised that he's not trying to come back with some cocky monologue like he always does. You turn around to face him to see the cutest scowl on his face. He's clearly frustrated and the boner in his pants only makes it cuter. You take it upon yourself to straddle his lap, resting on his thin frame with your thick thighs. The outline of your crotch presses against his bulge and he grunts in response.

"What's wrong, Tomura?" You coo at him and begin stroking his hair tenderly. You're going to kill him, he swears. His gaze stays stuck on the TV screen as your player stands outside of the Los Santos hospital, but you turn his face to look at you instead. "Why are you being so moody?"

"Your tits have been distracting me all day," he pouts with a flustered face, his eyes now making their way toward your cleavage.

The immediate cackle you respond with almost softens Shiggy's cock all the way, feeling insulted.

"I'm serious," he says with a grumpy voice.

"Really? Is that all, baby?" You smirk with a nurturing voice.

"Pretty much."

Taking Tomura's neck, you kiss his nape gently. He cups your hips with his hands, leaving some fingers up so as to not harm the only person who has both shown him love as well as not piss him off to no end (well, for the most part). You begin grinding on his cock which creates heavy, frustrated sighs from him.

You continue to play with Tomura's hair, messaging his scalp in between your fingers. He tilts his head backwards with a drawn-out whine as if he hasn't been touched in his whole life. That notion wasn't entirely false, before you Tomura hadn't received physical affection like this from anyone and assumed he never would because of his quirk. You were such a lucky catch for him. Maybe it was why he was hesitant to say his needs, he was scared he'd weird you out and that you'd ditch him.

Damn, when did he start caring about how somebody else would feel about his actions?

"What's wrong?" You ask caringly.

"I told you what's wrong."

"Oh, right. What can I do to make it better?"

"Mm.." Shigaraki stares at your chest and back up to you, hoping that you would pick up on his desires without him having to say it. He felt so cringy right now, like a little subby boy begging for access to your tits.

He gives up on trying to be nice when you continue to play dumb. You were doing it on purpose, for sure. A part of you loved seeing Tomura shy and polite like this, as he was usually so abrasive. He tugs on the V of your shirt and whispers in your ear, "are you too numb to get the idea?"

"And what's that?" You banter.

"Bitch. What am I supposed to tell you? That I want to suck on your tits?"

"Is that what you want?"

"Shut up!!"

"It's okay," You laugh. "You don't have to be embarrassed. I know you've got mommy issues."

"What of it? Is that a problem for you?"

"No," you giggle. "Do you need me to spoil you, baby?"

"Ew."

"I'm trying."

Tomura cackles, his broody demeanor. He squeezes your love handles and buries his face in your neck again.

"It's not my fault that you've got the body of a MILF. How am I supposed to react?"

"Wow, what a compliment."

"It is a compliment," Shigaraki snickers as he begins kissing your neck and down your chest. His hands travel from your love handles up to your waist, gripping like his life depended on it. "So, are you going to let me indulge or what?"

You giggle are stroke his long hair as he hums in question, embarrassed by his request, but somehow honored.

"Knock yourself out."

"Mmm, thank you mommy.."

"Oh my god you didn't just say that."

"Just roll with it."

Shigaraki takes a finger and tugs at your V-neck, but is disappointed at your bra. He reaches underneath to unclasp the back and yanks it out from your shirt. His attention focuses back on your tits. Tomura pulls your collar down to reveal one. He wastes no time and begins sucking tenderly. You can feel his cock growing more inside his pants, so you start grinding on the fabric, causing him to grunt while your tit is in his mouth.

Tomura pulls the other breast out from your shirt, taking a moment to gawk at them before going for the other. He teases your other nipple with his fingers. You hadn't realized how sensitive your tits really were as his tongue was flickering against your nipple causing a dripping arousal to seep through your underwear. You whine at the pleasure.

"Is this making you feel good baby?" You ask sultrily to Tomura. He responds with an eager "Mhm" and continues sucking. After what seemed like forever he lifts his head up and pulls your face down to kiss him, his saliva-coated mouth being a lovely adhesive between your lips.

"Your tits are so cute, mommy.."

"When did I consent to this mommy treatment?" You giggle.

"You're literally the one who told me I have mommy issues! Don't make me feel like shit for this."

"I'm not!" you laugh. "I'm just teasing."

You kiss him and continue to tug at his hair, "Does my baby boy need mommy to take good care of him?"

"Yes please.."

"Please, who?"

"Please mommy.."

"Mm.." You lift off of his lap and take your leggings and shirt off, leaving your full figure out for him. He puts up a finger to signal "wait" and reaches over to his bag on the floor and pulls out his special gloves. Fuck what would he do without them? He needs his hand condoms if he's gonna thoroughly make love with you.

"You're so sexy," he says, trailing his fingers to your wet cunt as he begins stroking your clit. You whimper in excitement and begin to pull down his pants. His cute cock slips out, standing proud with pre-cum already leaking out from the tip. As he continues toying with your pussy, you stroke his sensitive cock which creates lovely scratchy moans from his throat.

"God..that's it...," Shigaraki his horny, pulsing cock out on your clit, rubbing circles on it rapidly. You moan out lightly, grinding your clit against his fingers to create more friction. You rub his dick in fast as he submissively cries out in pleasure. Your clit twitches in familiar waves of pleasure once he begins sucking on your tit again.

"Is mommy gonna cum?" Tomura teases, releasing his mouth from your breast to only go to the other.

"Mhm!"

The look on his face when you began falling onto him as you came was unlike him. Tomura snickers in pride, pulling you in for a kiss while you kept stroking his cock.

"I think you deserve some privileges," you coo at him, and you sit on his lap yet again.

"I do? Have I been a good boy?"

"Mhm. Very good boy."

You circle your groin around Tomura's leaking cock as he whines out in pleading.

"Please, mommy..."

"Please mommy what?"

"Fuck me. Fuck me mommy, pleaaaase...."

With a pleasant hum in your throat, you reach down to rub Tomura's cock, then inserting it inside of your dripping cunt. Tomura groans loudly at your gooey, wet walls and attempts to push his cock deeper into you, begging for you to fuck him. To his satisfaction, to begin to bounce on his cock in rhythm, and Tomura swears you're going to drive him insane.

"Mm..does my baby boy like this? Does he feel good?"

"Fuck, yes...," Shigaraki moans. He watches intently as your tits bounce while you fuck him. He smacks your ass in frustration, shocking you.

"I guess I'm a bad boy, then. Are you gonna punish me?" He chuckles maniacally.

"Tomura, that wasn't very nice of you," you squeal, pulling at his hair in response.

Without speaking you begin bouncing on him in a quicker pace than before. Shigaraki holds around your waist tight as he thrusts, trying to savor every inch of your pussy. You were so fucking tight, but so wet too. Your cunt always made him leak, but tonight it was driving him mad.

"..fuck me...fuck me harder, mommy!"

"MmmMM! Fuck! God, mommy, you're gonna milk me.."

You oblige, hopping on him while you clench your walls, purposely trying to milk him.

"That's it, baby. Cum for me. Cum inside of mommy's pussy."

You definitely didn't have to tell him twice. Tomura sufficates himself into your neck as he holds you tight, fucking you until he finally cums deep. His orgasm is intense and long, as he continues to pump you full of cum for many seconds.

Panting and sweating, Shigaraki kisses you once more before you lift your pussy off of his cock, cum oozing out onto his lap. He snuggles in your arms and you stroke his hair. He whines from his cock that's still throbbing after his orgasm.

"Did that feel good, baby?" You ask with a nurturing tone, kissing his scrunkly forehead.

"Uh-huh...I don't know if I've ever came that hard."

"Mommy told you she'd take good care of you."

"Okay stop it. That shit is over and done with," he laughs and flicks your forehead. You rest your head down on his chest while he holds you tight, breathing heavily as he pets your skin.

"I love you," Tomura says and kisses your head as he yawns, sleepy from his orgasm.

"I love you too, Tomura."

"Next time Daddy's gonna have to do something special for you."

#shigaraki tomura #Shigaraki #shigaraki x reader #shigaraki smut

[muddyorbsblr]

a sizing mishap

See my full list of works here!

This story (and in turn this entire collection) wouldn't have happened if I weren't inspired by this comment from the amazing @lokischambermaid. Thank you for the thot!! 💖🫡

Summary: You hand Player #6 his uniform but it's the wrong size…

Pairing: Tom Hiddleston x Reader

Word Count: 4.1k

Warnings: 18+ | smut-ish at the end (minors & pearl clutchers, don't try me. not today); language; side-eye worthy behavior from less than minor character at the beginning [let me know if i missed anything!]

Things to be aware of: trust the process, and let me know if you caught on to the hints 😉

It was slowly and surely getting a touch too stuffy in this tiny room you were stationed in for the day. You knew that it was the misfortune that would befall the newbie on the crew but it didn't ease your frustration any. No amount of guzzled water or time spent holding your handheld fan down your shirt could help the fact that the entire room felt like you were slowly being cooked sous vide.

And as if your predicament wasn't uncomfortable and mentally taxing enough, you had to do an inordinate amount of moving about from scouring through the piles of jerseys and shorts to hand off to the various players because most of them hadn't even bothered to fill out the order forms with their size weeks prior to today. To make things even more interesting, some of the men thought themselves charmers and attempted to flirt with you while you were already under enough undue stress.

Your therapist was definitely going to hear about your exchange with that former tatted up boybander who answered your question of "Size, Sir?" with an overconfident "More than big enough for you, luv."

At least you were proud of your deadpanned response of "Somehow I highly doubt that" that made him grumble out his actual answer of "Medium". Another uninterested look that carefully examined his torso and legs and you made the executive decision to hand him some sets in a size XS instead.

"This isn't a Medium. Can you even read?" he snapped at you, waving the uniforms in his clenched fist.

"It's your size, sir," you shot back, your tone still deadpanned and unwavering despite the temper he was showcasing. "If you don't believe me you're more than free to try it on behind that curtain there. If I'm wrong then I will gladly assist you and hand you a set in the next size up."

It only took a few minutes for him to stomp behind the curtain, try on the uniform, and then stomp all the way out of the tiny room without another word. Guess you handed him the correct size after all.

You had a few minutes to breathe after that first wave of players walked through, allowing you to prepare yourself for the sweat-inducing task of moving about the piles once again when the next batch came in and told you they didn't input their sizes, either. At this point, you jokingly told yourself that you'd outright kiss the first one who actually had a size next to their name on the sheet.

"Name?" you called out when you heard the door open again, already facing the surplus of extra unlabeled uniforms to thumb through the piles.

"Douglas," the woman answered, chuckling when you let out a sigh of relief finding a size next to her name on the chart. "I take it some of my teammates didn't give you their sizes in the form?"

"Try nearly all of them so far," you huffed to confirm. "It's been so bad that I was telling myself that I'd kiss the first person who actually had a size next to their name on this damn thing." You waved the printed papers of the chart around to punctuate your point, making her laugh at the absurdity of it all.

"Well I think you'd be better off saving that promise for the one coming after me, assuming that he filled out the sizing form. Trust me, you'll probably want to pass on lil ol' me. Then again he might not be up for it considering he does have a very pretty lass that--come to think of it, from what I know about her, kind of looks like you…?"

"Now I'm intrigued," you teased, turning around to the comparatively small pile of labeled uniforms and handed her the one with "DOUGLAS" written on the top. "There you go. Good luck out there."

"Thanks. And good luck to you too it's like a brazen bull in here, bloody fuck."

You waved her off, already holding your tiny fan down your shirt again and just trying to take deep, slow breaths to try and lower your body temperature somewhat. The sound of the door opening again nearly had you whining to any deity listening to give you at least fifteen minutes to cool down before having to deal with another conveniently forgetful soul. "Name?" you all but sighed out.

The effort it took for you to fight back a face splitting grin at the name and buttery smooth voice that reached your ears should have gotten you some form of accolade in the realm of sheer Herculean level restraint. "Hiddleston."

You perused the charts, pursing your lips to keep yourself stoic upon seeing that the field beside his name was, in fact, not blank. "Just a moment, Sir." There was a very faint mumbling coming from the towering man a few feet from you while you retrieved his uniforms from the pile of labeled bundles, an expression nearly as stoic as your own on his face when you handed him the parcel. "There you go."

He gave you a soft smile, holding you captive in an oceanic gaze that you had to practically pry yourself away from and at least pretend to busy yourself with the paperwork on the little desk.

Suddenly all the bravado you had facing all those hubristic men from earlier melted away, as if karma had literally deflated it out of you as some warped retaliation for your earlier behavior. He didn't even have to do fuck all anything and you could feel your pulse skyrocketing and your body overheating that had nothing to do with the current climate of the even more seemingly cramped and overcrowded room.

But then he spoke.

"Erm…I truly hate to be a bother but…this isn't the correct size."

Your eyes snapped up to meet his, showing him your visible shock. "That--That can't be. This came straight from the suppliers, they're the ones that labeled these all."

"I understand that but…these are a size Small. I distinctly remember leaving instructions for y--For my partner to input a Medium."

Another look through the chart had the hairs on the back of your neck standing up. "It…it says Small," you choked out, visibly struggling to meet his eyes again. "I'm--I'm so sorry, let me see what I can do, I'll make a few calls and-and--"

"No no no, hey hey…" he called out, placing the parcel back on the table before placing his hands on your arms in a gentle hold. "Calm down. It's alright, just breathe." He started running his hands up and down your arms, the motion calming you almost instantly, before sneaking a glance at your little nameplate on the table. "Y/N, just breathe for me, sw--Breathe for me, alright?"

The motions of his hands began to guide you through your breathing, feeling your racing pulse begin to mellow down. "I'm--really sorry about that, it's just I'm new here and this is gonna get me in some serious trouble if I end up fumbling and blundering like--"

"You're going to be alright, it's not that big of a deal, really," he told you in a reassuring tone, squeezing your shoulders lightly before letting go and picking up his jerseys and shorts again. "It's only one size down, I'll make it fit." His free hand twitched toward you briefly, some bizarre part of you instinctively itching to reach for him in turn, but your more rational mind decided against it and sat back on your little seat.

"There's something off about you," you rambled, shuffling the papers of the chart once more and reaching for a pen. "You're way too understanding and mild-mannered for this industry."

He hesitated before taking the pen from you, holding your hand in his as he asked, "Would you mind if I tried it on? Just to be sure." There was the slightest twitch in his eye, as if he was about to wink before he made the split second decision not to, and all you could do at that moment was look up at him with the most foolishly dumbstruck look on your face.

"N-Not at all. Go--Go right ahead, there's a curtain over--Ohh okay then that…works…too," you mumbled to near incoherence as he proceeded to undo the buttons on his thicker overshirt, shrugging the garment onto the floor before giving his light blue button down the same treatment.

Get a hold of yourself. Pick your jaw off the ground you're embarrassing yourself, you hissed inwardly, reminding yourself that you were about to be in the presence of a lot of shirtless men this entire weekend throughout all the practices and promotional events, not to mention the game itself on Sunday. But none of those guys look like this. Look like a literal god among men.

All the while he never broke eye contact with you, holding you hostage in a stormy gaze as if daring you to look away while he effortlessly pierced through the plastic that contained the jerseys. You did your best not to fixate your eyes on the sinewy, well-defined muscles that were moving fluidly with every minute movement of his hands, holding his gaze with all the confidence you could muster.

He made a show of unfolding the shirt in slow, deliberate movements, the corner of his mouth twitching upward in a smirk when he noted the visible movement of your neck from a strained effort in swallowing and calming yourself. It was only then that he put the shirt over his head in one fluid motion, the fabric stretching taut across his chest and threatening to burst at even the most minute flex of muscle.

The internet is about to have a field day and I am about to get kicked out of this committee, you thought to yourself. And on your first year, no less. You should've known it was a bad idea to agree to the invitation just because your boyfriend encouraged you to.

"It's not too bad, is it?" He swung his arms around to test his range of motion, before raising his hands above his head in a stretch, causing the borderline illegally tight fabric  to ride up on his abdomen, exposing his lower stomach.

You could barely hold in your composure as you choked out, "It looks…manageable." You held out your pen in his direction again. "You just uhm…need to sign on the chart."

He approached you with a certain sway to his step that vaguely reminded you of a wolf stealthily assessing its prey, fingers slowly brushing across your skin as he took the pen from your hand and uncapped the pen by placing the cap between his teeth. When he finished signing his name on the chart, his eyes never left yours as he recapped the pen and placed it back into your hand, his large palm engulfing your entire hand in a warmth you couldn't even bother to complain about despite the stale humid air of the room.

"There you are, darling," he rasped. "No harm done. You won't get into any trouble with your superiors because of me, don't you worry your lovely little head." You watched with bated breath as he turned around and bent at the waist to pick up the discarded shirts, putting that ass that the internet shamelessly thirsts over and stares at for hours on end mere feet before your naked eyes.

I have no idea if my job is cursed or if it might just be the best thing that ever happened to me, you thought helplessly to yourself, watching as he stood back upright and turned again to face you, giving you a small wave as he exited the room.

You fought the urge to hold your tiny fan down your pants after that exchange.

The sound of your phone chiming with a new message brought you out of your stupor, a smile finding its way onto your face as soon as you saw your boyfriend's name on the screen.

"Are you alright? Have you eaten since you got there? Make sure you're drinking lots of water, I hear it's going to be sweltering today. I love you and I miss you already, goddess."

Just the mere thought of how he'd taken the time to type out the message despite how busy you knew he was had you biting your lip to try even slightly to prevent yourself from letting out a stream of giggles like you were back in school all over again. You could feel the ache in your heart as you began to feel your own yearning beginning to intensify after his message.

"I just have a few more people to hand off their uniforms to and then I'll go get some food. Thank you for checking in on me. I love you and I miss you more than you know."

The rest of the day was thankfully a bit more merciful towards you. Once you'd handed out all the uniforms and put all the surplus jerseys and shorts into a merch pile for audience members to purchase before entering the stadium proper and perhaps have the players sign at the end of the game, the hours up until training was over were spent outdoors coordinating with press photographers, making sure that security was on peak alertness in case anyone managed to sneak through the cracks, and confirming that everything was in place for some hot sauce challenge that would take place tomorrow.

You also made a note to take one of those bottles home since you were running low. Only if you could, of course.

When the fields were empty and you were locking down the press room for the night, you heard someone walk into the otherwise quiet room. "I had the most interesting conversation with some of the other players today." The sound of the man's rich, velvety voice had your heart violently pounding in your chest. "About you."

You took a few steadying breaths before you addressed your unexpected visitor, your back still turned to him as you finished writing down the names on the media passes for tomorrow morning. "And what is it that I can do for you, Mr. Hiddleston?"

The sound of his footsteps slowly approaching you had a thrill running up your spine, making you abruptly stand to attention when you felt large hands rest on your waist. "One of them told me about how you were tempted to…what was it again? Ah yes…you said something about kissing the first player that actually had their size on the chart?" You bit back a smile, looking out the window to double check that nobody was lurking and trying to peer into the room as he wrapped his arms around your waist. "Now Douglas told me that allegedly it was her, and she passed it on to whoever came next. And if memory serves me right…I believe that would mean that immensely fortunate player was…myself."

He'd leaned in so close at this point that his lips were grazing the shell of your ear. "This is highly unprofessional," you mumbled, barely able to contain your smile now.

"I don't care. I've been thinking about you all day." Fingers ghosted up the length of your spine while his nose traced a line from the shell of your ear down to a very specific weak spot on the juncture between your neck and shoulder. You went nearly limp in his hold the second you felt him press a soft kiss to that same spot, his free hand deftly undoing the ribbon you had holding your hair up before weaving his fingers through your hair. "Take this as me officially breaking character. I've missed you, goddess."

The groan he let out against your skin turned you into putty in your boyfriend's arms. "One day," you giggled out. "You lasted barely one day."

Over the last few years since you'd gotten together, whenever you were both signed on to a project, you tried to commit to this bit of "staying private and professional" throughout the course of the project, so as to not draw too much attention to the fact that you were involved. It had come to the point where it collectively slipped the mind of the general public that you two were actually still, in fact, happily together and borderline maddeningly in love. And it also granted you both a comfortable enough sense of privacy, which you were immensely grateful for and neither of you ever dared take for granted.

On previous projects, he would 'break character' within the course of a few hours, and you had a feeling that the only reason it took him nearly a day this time around was that you two weren't around each other as much due to him practicing for the game, and you running around the entire facility.

"I have to be honest, though," you started, letting out a squeal as he abruptly turned you around in his arms to face him, pulling your body flush against his. "For a second there I thought this would be a first and I would break character. This afternoon." It was a good thing that he was currently holding you upright with the way he was looking at you through hooded eyes, his chest heaving through that one size too gloriously small shirt; if you were left to stand on your own, your knees would've buckled the second he touched you. "If you kept up that goddamn striptease for even two more seconds I might have caved."

He smirked at you when you a tiny yelp slipped through your lips as he placed his hands on the backs of your thighs and easily lifted you into his arms. "I'll have to try a bit harder next time," he whispered, walking until you felt your back make contact with the wall. "I believe you owe me a kiss, sweetheart."

You crossed your hands behind his neck, leaning in to give him the quickest peck to his lips. "There you are," you teased, letting out a stream of giggles against his lips when he grabbed the back of your head and pressed you against the wall before pulling you in for a deeper kiss. He let out a desperate sounding moan into your mouth as his arm around you tightened and his fingers tangled into your hair. As if he couldn't possibly get enough of you. Or as if you hadn't seen each other for months.

"Where are you staying?" he rasped when he pulled away, resting his forehead against yours as you both caught your breath.

"I have a room that I'm sharing with 2 more members from the committee--"

"That won't do," he cut you off, pressing his lips to your jaw and kissing a trail down your neck. "You're staying with me. I already despise the mornings that I wake up away from you, it's cruel and unusual punishment if I go to sleep tonight alone knowing full well that you're here in another room." You stifled a moan when he proceeded to suck a bruise onto your neck, already anticipating the questions from your fellow committee members in the morning when they catch sight of it.

"I uhh--ohh fuck--I'll need to get my things," you stammered, leaning your head back and arching into his kiss to expose more of your neck to him. "My clothes--"

"You won't need them, darling," he retorted, smirking against your skin when you let out a squeak trying to feign protest against his words. "Say yes," he pleaded between kisses. "Stay with me." He kissed his way up to the corner of your mouth. "Don't deny me the simplest joy of getting to wake up with you in my arms."

Those were the words that did you in. "Okay, okay yes," you breathed out, your moan muffled by him once again capturing your lips in a kiss that threatened to steal you of every last breath you had left.

Neither of you seemed to care in the slightest if you crossed paths with anyone on your way to his suite, Tom adorably refusing to let your feet touch the ground as he carried you down the halls. "There was one more thing that some of the players mentioned…Something about you being able to assess their sizes and giving them their correct fitting instead of the size that they told you they were?"

Dammit, the boybander told on me, you grumbled to yourself, meeting your boyfriend's gaze with your worst attempt at an innocent smile. "Aaaand…what about it?"

"You've known my measurements since they sent in the roster form," he started with a knowing smirk, causing you to purse your lips and basically out yourself that you knew exactly where he was going with this.

"I did…"

"Did you intentionally input the wrong size?"

Biting your lip before letting out a fit of near uncontrollable giggles told him more than a spoken admission ever could. "I might have…"

"And I would also be right to assume you had everything to do with the swapped out trousers in my bag?"

Your giggles got louder, practically giving the entire floor a homing beacon signal to where you were, take one look at your current positions, and give them a vivid idea of what type of noises they would expect to hear throughout the night.

"I had to do it," you managed to say between laughs. "For Tumblr."

You held on to him a bit tighter when he went to unlock his door, pressing the keycard to the scanner and balancing you on a single arm, and giving him the perfect opportunity to kiss yet another particularly sensitive spot behind your ear. He let out a seductively dark chuckle against your skin when your giggles had morphed into moans.

"Naughty little goddess," he rasped, tracing his lips along your shirt's neckline as he laid you down on the bed and then proceeding to kiss a path down your clothed torso until he reached the hem of your shirt. His hands traveled up your body, working the fabric up and over your head, kissing and licking and biting at a leisurely pace at every sliver of skin that was exposed to him.

Once the shirt was up to your raised hands, he hovered his face above yours, capturing your lips in another languid, decadent kiss that had you sighing against him as a warm contentment washed over you. You'd only realized now how much you actually missed him since having to leave your home yesterday to come here and begin preparations with the rest of the committee. All day you were so caught up with finalizing every meticulous detail you had control over it was almost like your mind didn't allow you to feel how much you were yearning.

"What am I going to do with you, my darling little menace?" he murmured against your lips, your combined moans filling the room as he licked into your mouth, your tongues meeting in a tangle long practiced and perfected over the years. You quickly tossed your shirt aside to free your hands and pull him closer, giving him the perfect leeway to unclasp your bra.

"Whatever you want," you gasped once you both pulled away, the silliest grins on both your faces as your hands fumbled for the hem of his jersey. "I love you and I've missed you more than you know."

"Shouldn't have said that, my love," he growled, pushing you back down on the bed so that your back was flat against the mattress, a near filthy moan escaping you when he hooked your legs around him and rolled his hips into yours. "There's a lot of pent up energy in me." He proceeded to summarize what he'd spent the day doing, punctuating each item with a thrust of his hips. "Running." Thrust. "Dribbles." Thrust. "Shooting drills." Thrust. "Endorphins are running amok. You understand, don't you, darling?"

"Let me repeat myself," you said breathlessly, crossing your ankles and pulling his hips to yours and making him let out the most delicious stuttered moan. "You can do whatever you want."

A/N: Suddenly those reblogs I did of 'one look and they'll know' are making sense, huh? 😉😈 Welcome to the Soccer Aid 2023 Hiddles collection! As of writing this Author's Note, there are going to be 5 stories in this collection, the next one being 'a tale of ice baths and hot sauce' which covers the Elementals challenge video, and I'm already working on it as we speak. 🫠

everything taglist: @simplyholl @loopsisloops @unlucky-number-13 @imalovernotahater @coldnique @loz-zie @huntress-artemiss @salempoe @vickie5446 @athalialaufeyson @lokiprompts @sarahscribbles @kats72 @kikster606 @evelyn-kingsley @lokixryss @thomase1 @mischief2sarawr @peaches1958 @lovingchoices14 @lunarnights95 @goblingirlsarah @iamlokisgloriouspurpose @creationsbyme @maple-seed @mjsthrillernp @ladyofthestayingpower @mygfloki @sititran @glitterylokislut @ozymdias @fictive-sl0th @lovelysizzlingbluebird @lokidbadguy @mochie85 @silverfire475 @joyful-enchantress @dangertoozmanykids101 @elizabethmidnight2017 @holdmytesseract @lokidokieokie @lunarnights95 @superficialdomina @anukulee

#tom hiddleston x reader #tom hiddleston x female reader #tom hiddleston fanfic #tom hiddleston fanfiction #tom hiddleston imagine #muddyorbs writes

[writingquestionsanswered]

Hi how are things! I wanted to know how I could improve a marriage discussion scene. I feel like it's very monotonous and I would need more body language, I just don't know how. Thank you so much!

Creating Interest in Conversation Scene

There are a number of things you can do (besides just adding body language...)

1 - Consider Character Emotions - Before you can really add body language (posture, gestures, and facial expressions), you need to have a good understanding of how your characters feel about what they're discussing, how they feel about each other, how they feel about the environment, and just how they feel in general. How they're feeling will come out not just in their posture, gestures, and facial expressions, but in the tone of their voice, what they say, and how they say it. The Emotion Thesaurus by Angela Ackerman and Becca Puglisi is is a great resource for how to portray emotions using both external and internal cues.

2 - Consider Sensory Description - Sensory description can be a great way to add interest to a conversation scene. Think about what you characters see, hear, touch, smell, and taste during this conversation. How does this sensory input affect their mood, their relationship/interaction with the environment, and their relationship/interaction with one another? How does in influence what they say, think, and do? How does it affect their body language? How can you convey this to the reader?

3 - Consider Interaction - We talk about using body language to avoid "talking head syndrome"--where the conversing characters seem to be just talking heads without bodies--but another way to do that is by having the characters interact with themselves (smoothing out a wrinkle in their skirt, twirling their hair, scratching their arm, taking a sip of a drink), with other characters (handing someone something, giving someone a pat on the shoulder, taking someone's hand), and with the environment (setting something down on a table, picking something up to look at it, moving something aside, utilizing a tool or object). This not only adds realistic action to the moment, but it also brings movement and visual interest to the conversation.

4 - Consider the Subject Matter - One last thing to consider, though, is that even without these things, your characters' conversation shouldn't feel "monotonous." If that's the case, you may need to take a closer look at what they're talking about. Why is this conversation important for them to have? Does it move the story forward or contribute to character development? Does it tell the reader information that they need to know in order to understand the plot? If not, you may need to consider trimming this conversation or figuring out how to make it pull its weight in the story.

I hope that helps!

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

I’ve been writing seriously for over 30 years and love to share what I’ve learned. Have a writing question? My inbox is always open!

LEARN MORE about WQA

SEE MY ask policies

VISIT MY Master List of Top Posts

COFFEE & COMMISSIONS ko-fi.com/wqa

#wqaadvice

[nahoney22]

Hey I just hopped onto the bad batch fan wagon and I absolutely love ur blog! <3 I was wondering if I could request a little something about tech x reader who lost a limb/arm during battle or on a mission and he makes her a robotic prosthetic and routinely does maintenance or upgrades on it and each visit brings them closer until they realize they love eachother?

Optimisation

Tech X F!Reader

word count: 2.8k

When you lost your arm,you almost gave up hope. No longer feeling like yourself, you didn’t know what to do. But, when Tech introduces you to a prosthetic, both of your relationships take a turn for the better.

warnings: fluff and slight angst, friends to lovers, mentions of anxious and emotional reader, loss of limb. Reader is a little reluctant at first to having a prosthetic and is standoffish. Talks about feelings. Subtle cutesy glances and touches etc. female reader. Not proofread.

authors note: I’m so sorry for the delay. Lost in my inbox 😭 enjoy. Also notices you said ‘her’ in the request so assumed it was female reader??? Anyway, enjoy! 🤍

Your mind was swirling in a sea of thoughts. Most churned with memories of the mission that had forever changed you and some thought being nothing at all.

Perched on the edge of a small cliff, your gaze swept over the picturesque landscape, offering a fleeting moment of respite.

The loss of your arm had been an abrupt, harrowing experience, a fragmented blur that you could scarcely piece together. With one arm gone, a pervasive sense of uselessness had crept into your existence. You questioned your relevance in the squad – what purpose did you now have? How could you possibly help anyone?

Suddenly, a voice disrupted the chaotic maelstrom of your thoughts. You didn't turn to face him, but you recognised it was Tech.

"Ah, there you are," he remarked as he approached, standing beside you, his presence felt more than seen.

"Here I am," you mumbled, not particularly interested in conversation. It wasn't that you harbored any ill feelings toward Tech or your comrades for that matter; you were simply weary of being treated like fragile glass. Tech however, in his own characteristic manner, had always been rather direct in his approach.

"I'm here to assess you," he stated matter-of-factly.

Your brows furrowed in mild confusion, and you turned your gaze toward Tech, who was engrossed in his datapad. "...For what?"

"Just an annual routine check," he replied, raising his eyes from the screen. "But, given your recent loss of limb, it's essential to make this assessment more comprehensive."

You heaved a heavy sigh, momentarily glancing away. This was the last thing you felt like dealing with, but deep down, you understood it needed to be done. You pushed yourself to your feet and turned to face Tech, who began to examine you, asking questions about your health and emotional state. Your responses were typically laced with bluntness and sarcasm, which seemed to go over Tech.

Yet, his examination was momentarily halted when he noticed you involuntarily flinch as he approached the space where your arm had once been, now left hauntingly vacant.

Tech observed your flinch and remarked, "You're flinching, yet you have nothing to flinch for."

You responded with a deadpan stare, then shifted your gaze to where your arm used to be, saying with sarcasm, "Oh no, where did that go?" This earned you a disapproving frown from Tech.

"I will note that down as sarcasm," Tech said, inputting data into his device, while you rolled your eyes in response.

"Are we done now?" you inquired, eager to be done with the examination.

Tech nodded, replying, "Yes, for now. I want you to come find me in a few hours. I have an idea." His words held a hint of mystery, leaving you curious. Before you could inquire further, Tech had already turned and left. You couldn't help but feel a twinge of regret for your earlier tone, but you were indeed worn out. Nonetheless, you couldn't help but wonder what he had in store for you.

As the hours passed, the rest of the squad departed for a supply run, and though Wrecker had offered you the opportunity to join them rather enthusiastically, you weren't quite up to it. Not just yet. But Tech had stayed behind so instead, you decided to explore Tech's request.

"Hey," you called out as you entered the Marauder's cockpit. Tech had his back to you, but he swiveled the pilot chair around to face you. Your heart skipped a beat when you saw what he held in his hands – a prosthetic arm.

"What's that?" you inquired, feeling a surge of nervousness.

"I've created an arm for you," Tech replied in his usual matter-of-fact tone, seemingly unaware of the reluctance evident on your face.

Your stomach twisted uncomfortably, and your palm grew clammy. "Oh, Tech... I'm not sure about this," you admitted, hesitating.

Tech lowered the prosthetic arm and arched an eyebrow at your apprehension. "But you are evidently unhappy about missing an arm, yes? Having a new one should be a suitable replacement."

You were torn. Undoubtedly, you yearned for your arm, but the idea of an artificial one felt invasive. Tech finally picked up on your reluctance, reading the uncertainty in your eyes.

"I suggest you take a seat, and we can discuss this together. It's just a prototype for now. Once we secure more income from Cid, I can enhance it," Tech reassured, adopting a more empathetic tone.

You silently took a seat across from Tech, perched on the edge of the chair as he scooted a bit closer. "I took the liberty of assessing Echo's cybernetic as a base plan," he explained.

"Are you going to give me a scomp link too?" you questioned, your voice tinged with uncertainty.

"That is a choice that is up to you," Tech replied, very gently rolling up your sleeve to assess the area. "Would you like one, similar to Echo's?"

"Is it bad if I say no?" you muttered, apprehension evident. Tech glanced up at you briefly and then shook his head. "Like I said, it is primarily your choice."

With efficient precision, Tech attached the prosthetic arm. You couldn't bring yourself to look at it. "Inform me on how it feels," he requested.

You remained in silence, feeling the weight of this sudden change press upon you. The experience felt unnatural, and you weren't prepared for the emotional shift it brought. Tears welled up in your eyes, and your throat tightened.

"You need to speak for me to—" he began to say, but then stopped as he saw a single tear slowly roll down your cheek. "Is it hurting? Uncomfortable?" He asked, panicking slightly.

You sniffled and confessed, "No, I... I don't know. I don't know how to feel, how it should feel."

Tech clicked his tongue as the realisation dawned that he might not fully comprehend your emotional state. He considered what Hunter might do in this situation and then carefully reached out, placing a somewhat awkward yet comforting hand on your knee. "If it's too much, we can revisit this another day. I should have been more transparent during the assessment earlier."

Wiping away a tear, you looked at his hand on your knee and then up at him, a mix of gratitude and regret in your eyes. "I'm sorry. You put in so much effort—"

"This was actually relatively straightforward," Tech assured with a hint of fondness, acknowledging his own exceptional skills. "But after twenty-two rotations of you missing your arm, I should have waited a bit longer or offered you this solution earlier."

This time, you managed a smile and watched as he carefully removed the prosthetic. As he packed it away in its case, you said nothing more. However, when you stood to leave, you hesitated and turned back to him.

"Tech?"

"Yes?" he responded.

"Can we try again? Maybe tomorrow?"

He turned to you and offered a faint, reassuring smile. "Of course. Come and find me whenever you are ready.”

Late in the evening, much later than anticipated, the following day, you mustered up the courage to face Tech. Wearing a sheepish smile, you found him alone in the cockpit. "I must say I wasn't expecting you to show up today," he greeted you as you took a seat across from him.

"I have to admit, I wasn't sure if I was going to show up either," you confessed. "I had to psyche myself up."

"Very well, let's get to it," Tech replied, reaching for the prosthetic arm that he had tucked away under a control panel. You quietly observed that he had been clearly tinkering with it today as it looked slightly different from the last time you saw it – this time it had a hand.

"May I?" Tech gestured to your sleeve, and with a nod, he rolled it up. You glanced away as he manually attached the prosthetic, still not fully comfortable with looking at the stump that remained. It was a bit fidgety this time, but you felt no pain.

"Now, how does it feel?" Tech repeated the question from yesterday. Slowly, you turned your attention to the new addition to your body.

"I don't know," you admitted.

He raised an eyebrow. "Can you enlighten me about the weight? Is there a perfect counterbalance, or...?"

You attempted to move the arm, but it was just a small, feeble motion. Deep in concentration, you struggled to get your brain to sync with your new limb. This time, Tech noticed your disappointment. "A simple alteration will do the trick, I assure you."

"Don't worry, I trust you," you reassured him softly, causing Tech to pause at your words.

"You do?" he asked, sounding somewhat surprised as he turned his attention to you.

You nodded, your sincerity apparent. "Well, yeah? Of course, I do. I'm... I'm very grateful for you doing this. You didn't have to."

A warm smile graced Tech's face as he fidgeted slightly with his tools. "No, but I wanted to. You've done a lot for us since you joined our squad. It's only fair that I give you something in return." He leaned in to assess the arm once more, ensuring the measurements were precise.

As Tech's deft fingers worked on your new arm, you couldn't help but feel something different. The proximity was unusual yet not unwelcome, and you found yourself intrigued. Has he always been this handsome? Breaking the silence that had fallen between you, you asked, "Have you always been good at this kind of stuff, or do you have expertise in other areas?"

Tech replied quietly, "I've always been good at everything. But statistics and data have always been what I've excelled in the most. This isn't second nature to me, so don't worry. You're in good hands."

"I can tell," you responded softly. This time, he looked at you, and the proximity between your faces caught both of you off guard. His eyes searched yours as he tried to decipher your thoughts and feelings, while he felt a strange fluttering feeling in his chest, “you've always been good to me.”

He gulped but he held your gaze a moment longer before turning his attention back to his work. Tech cleared his throat once more and tried to refocus on the work at hand, yet the distraction had left its mark. "I see that some of the measurements are a little off, so I will have to a-alter it again," he explained, sitting up and looking at you. The subtle stutter in his words caught your attention, and you found it surprisingly endearing.

You nodded in agreement, your heart racing a bit faster than you'd anticipated. "That's fine."

As the prosthetic was removed, you stood up, and to your surprise, so did Tech. The closeness was undeniable, and your breath hitched as you looked up at his tall, slender frame. Was he always this ridiculously handsome? Was it merely a fleeting feeling because of his help with the new arm, or had there been something underlying all along?

You intended to thank him, but in that moment, you caught him looking at your lips. Or so, you thought you did. Was the lights playing tricks on you or were you that delusional? But as the awkwardness lingered, Tech quickly realised his gaze had strayed and cleared his throat. "Same time tomorrow?" he suggested, avoiding direct eye contact.

You took a step back, creating some much-needed space between you, and nodded. "Uh, y-yes, sure." Your own stutter surprised you, and to avoid any further awkwardness, you retreated to your bunk. What on Kamino was happening?

Tech had worked miracles in just a few days, tirelessly devoting every waking moment to helping you adjust to your new prosthetic. And today was no exception as he had you practicing with various types of equipment.

"Tech, I think I've got the hang of it. I don't need to hold a holopad every five minutes," you protested.

"Repetition leads to full optimisation. So, do as you're told," he instructed, his gaze fixed intently on you through the rings of his goggles.

"Yes, sir," you replied, playfully rolling your eyes. You both avoided addressing what had happened the other day when you caught him gazing at your lips. Nevertheless, your attraction to him had grown, and he had become more than just a friend in your heart.

Spending so much time together, you had picked up on each other's quirks, likes, and dislikes. You had a genuine camaraderie, and you both had fun in each other's company. Tech made you feel normal, and it wasn't just the feeling of a comrade giving you an arm; it was the warmth of a friend, and perhaps something more, offering you some hope and happiness.

"What are you thinking about?" Tech asked, interrupting your reverie.

"Honestly?" you asked, your new prosthetic arm flexing up and down as your fingers tapped absently at a datapad, giving you an air of importance. "You."

Tech had picked up some tools as he continued to monitor your progress with the prosthetic. He was working on other projects simultaneously, but your words caught him off guard, and he stumbled slightly, dropping the tools to the floor. "Oh, well, is that a recurring thought… or something new?" he asked, his response laced with awkwardness as he fixed his clumsiness and pushed his goggles up his nose.

You shrugged, your nonchalance masking the true depth of your feelings. "I guess it's new... I'm just enjoying your company." Your heart pounded with a meaning that transcended the words. "And I don't know where to start on how to repay you for the arm."

"Nothing to repay," Tech replied sincerely, his voice a touch shy. He added, "I suppose,” he pauses for a second, hesitant for the first time in a long time, but goes ahead, “being in your company is enough for me, too."

Much like the other day, and sometimes throughout the days in between him fixing your arm, you both find yourself looking at each other. Really looking. Your eyes meet and it’s as if words were slowly being exchanged over, expressing how both of you were feeling in that moment.

However, Tech grappled with his feelings, unsure how to express them. He wasn't well-versed in emotions, and these thoughts about you were entirely new to him. He questioned if these inclinations were normal, the desire to kiss you, and the mere notion felt alien because he had never encountered such thoughts before. His brain was designed for well, anything but this. Not for pondering if a girl liked him.

"Have you ever felt scared before?" The question caught Tech off guard, making him think deeply.

"Yes, yes, I have actually," he admitted, surprising you. You raised a curious eyebrow.

"Mind telling me?" you asked gently, watching as his knee began to bounce restlessly.

He shifted his position and turned slightly away from you, an uncharacteristic shyness creeping over him. "It was quite recent. To be more precise, it was the mission in which you lost your arm."

You whispered a soft "oh" in response, feeling a mix of emotions as he continued to speak.

"You've always been a strong presence in this squad. Although you might not be as intelligent as I am, you're smart. You're well-trained in combat, you're good to Omega, and you're good to all of us," he explained, focusing on a small task in his hands rather than looking at you. "I feared that with you losing your arm, you would feel at a disadvantage. I suppose I was scared of you losing yourself. That's why I created the arm."

Tech's confession left you somewhat speechless, and his avoidance of eye contact spoke volumes. "You really care about me?" you asked, seeking confirmation.

He stilled, and you could see him swallow hard. "I do. Though, I feel that I care about you more than just a comrade. More than a friend." His words were careful, yet they carried a depth of meaning that you understood. He loved you, and you felt the same way.

With tenderness, you leaned closer, your new arm raising to gently turn his head to face you. There was a small gasp at the touch, but as he looked at you, his gaze focused once more on your lips.

You closed the gap, your lips pressing softly against his in a tender kiss. It was brief, but as you pulled back, Tech surprised you by dropping his tools to the floor once more and cupping your cheeks with both hands, bringing your lips back to his.

In the tender embrace of your kiss, your fingers lightly trailed along the contours of Tech's cheek, eliciting a soft sigh from him. His hands cradled your face, his thumbs tenderly stroking your cheeks as he whispered softly between your lips, "I believe that I… love you."

The warmth of his breath against your skin sent shivers down your spine as your kiss deepened. Your arms found their way around his shoulders as he used one arm to pull you across and into his lap, his fingers tracing the curve of your jaw with a gentle caress. "I believe that I love you too.”

Masterlist

More Tech Works

Tags and those who I think may like : @andyoufollowyourheart @littlefeatherr @kaitou2417 @eyecandyeoz z @captxin-rex @jesseeka @ashotofspotchka @theroguesully @ladykatakuri @jambolska-grozdova @arctrooper69 @padawancat97 @rain-on-kamino @either-madness-or-brilliance @staycalmandhugaclone @ko-neko-san @echos-girlfriend @fiveshelmet @dangraccoon @plushymiku-blog @chrissywakingup @kixs-husband @pb-jellybeans @nunanuggets @sleepycreativewriter @erellenora @zippingstars87 @tech-aficionado @grizabellasolo @therealnekomari @tech-depression-inventory @brynhildrmimi @greaser-wolf @tinyreadersmur @seriowan @kaminocasey @marvel-starwars-nerd @ladytano420 @ladyzirkonia @raevulsix @imalovernotahater @id-rather-be-a-druid @the-bad-batch-baroness @zoeykallus

#the bad batch tech x reader #tech x reader #bad batch tech #the bad batch #bad batch tech x reader #nahoney22 writes #tech bad batch

[softrozene]

Reacting to Dutch Wanting a Night with Their Girl

Anonymous requested: Okay, so, I’ve had this in my head for a while. Dutch is a gross old guy who likes pretty young ladies, right? Well, Arthur/John/Javier has this real cute and super affectionate little thing on his arm. What? They’re married/engaged/dating? No, it’s fine. He taught that boy how to read! Giving up his girl for a night isn’t that big of a deal, he’s sure asking them in the middle of camp will go well. 

rdr2 masterlist

ALJSFDASKL This is so long omg. Let me know if you wanted something specific or anything- Wasn’t too sure if it was a request but I had to give my input. This is how I thought they would react and lmao this was super fun. 

Originally published on January 5, 2021

Arthur, Javier, John x Female Reader

Warnings: Dutch is super gross in this - We don’t stan, we do stan the three who stick up for their girl, Dutch is vulgar - I really did Dutch dirty in this but it was bound to happen eventually.

Words: ~900

Okay, one thing they all share in common is if it were you saying that Dutch said something to you, they would all be hesitant. Like “Nah, he didn’t mean it that way” or “Are you sure he said that?” or “I’ll go talk to him”- Then they end up doubting you as Dutch lies his way out of it (Yes, they would sadly be the dudes that apologizes for their friend’s behavior too)

They are hesitant only because Dutch did offer them a chance as part of the family in the gang- He did give them a decent chance at life and as anon said- Taught them to read and write. They see him as someone they owe a great lot to- so if you suddenly talk bad about him, they will want to defend him, or he will point the blame at you

In other words, their loyalty to Dutch will for sure make them not believe you at first

However- If they witness it that is an entirely different story:

Charles wasn’t asked for, but I will say since he is not that close with Dutch other than respecting him for being treated well in the gang, he will straight-up knock out Dutch the second he hears anything vulgar- Or whether you inform him. You matter more than the gang and he will defend you

 Arthur Morgan-

You have been skittish lately. That does not sit well with Arthur since you are only skittish with Dutch around- He thinks it is just because you are shy and nothing else until-

Dutch- Sweet, old, crazy Dutch comes up to the both of you, more so looking at Arthur in an expecting way and asks for a night with you- With others as witnesses nonetheless?

All of you would be stunned-

Dutch has a fucking serious tone- Arthur will be frozen then just stare at him for the longest time

“Dutch- You drunk?”

“What? Son, I would never- I was simply asking a hypothetical ‘what if’ question since you have such a divine being hanging on your arm all the time. You can’t deny the chemistry we have when we look- Hey now, don’t give me that look, Son. You know I would only ask if it would benefit you-“

He would keep saying creepy things along those lines and Arthur just snaps

Either by straight-up punching him in the face- Tackling him- Anything, no one can pry him off of Dutch until he good and satisfied that this once honorable man he looked up to will never gaze upon you again in that creepy face

He loses all respect for Dutch and Dutch’s confidence with how he thought he could get Arthur’s girl for a night

Everyone is wary and on edge, but it is for the better

Molly probably opens up her eyes

 John Marston-

Dutch does not even have to say anything- John notices the looks he has been giving you and he does not like it one bit

Dutch would not go to him first- Instead, John would confront him in the middle of the camp and be like “You serious right now Dutch? Eyeing my woman when I am right here, and Molly is over there?”

Dutch will respond: “I ain’t touching- I am just looking.” Or “Can you blame me? Look at her.”

“That is low- Even for you Dutch”

If Dutch even tries to defend himself, be fancy with his words, or place the blame on you- You can bet John will not hold back- The boys will have to pry him off Dutch (after letting John get a few hits in because Dutch ain’t as sly as he thinks he is)

This really is one of the worse things John has seen and he won’t stand with it (depending on how much he cares about you tbh) Like if he sees you as his wife you bet, he is ready to ditch the gang again but with you this time

We’re pretending Abigail and Jack are in a healthy place- Not this universe lamflasd

 Javier Escuella-

I really hate to say this guys but the way Javier reacts depends on what chapter you are in- In the gang.

Before Chapter 5+6 he would react on your behalf-

“Dutch- Did you really ask if you can borrow mi amor?”

He is pissed- He is beyond livid, he will try to be calm and collected but that will not last long and he will act on your behalf demanding Dutch respects you

If this happens after 5 and during 6- He will really think about it

He already betrayed Arthur and John, the gang is falling apart, all he has is Dutch and you- So he will really consider it (but I doubt he would let Dutch go through with it)

After Chapter 6 though- He will not hesitate to cut a bitch Dutch

He realized that he really lost the family that had his back, and it is all because of Micah and Dutch so if Dutch has the gall to ask him after everything you all went through- It is on- He will fight for your honor and he will apologize constantly afterward for helping to ruin the family you both loved and shared

#softrozene writes #rdr2 x reader #red dead redemption 2 x reader #arthur morgan x reader #john marston x reader #javier escuella x reader #female reader #rdr2 character reactions