#࣪✮🕷✮⋆˙

[fariesoiree]

it’s completely normal to have a disagreement with your boyfriend but hobie cannot understand why you’d resort to the silent treatment.

caution! mdni 4.5k wrdz, angst to smut pipeline, brat reader, oral ( r. receiving ), fingering ( r. receiving ) pet names, gwen makes an appearance, hobie smokes weed reference, partially unedited pls do not spam like my blog if you enjoyed it, feel free to tell me in the reblogs

you’re not entirely sure how it happened. or rather, you’re just not ready to admit it, yet. you suppose it really started before you met up with hobie, having woke up on the wrong side of the bed.

everything pissed you off today. the way the outfit you planned looked terrible on you, showing up late to class, getting yelled at by customers at work. every event just piled right on top of each other and made you feel a thousand times worse.

you only made it halfway through the day before a grimace etched itself on your face and your words became short and curt.

the cherry on top was when you planned to lay in the comfort of your bed, only to find yourself whisked away to hobie’s houseboat.

he seemed so happy with his proposition for you to meet a friend of his who just happened to be in town. you couldn’t say no despite so desperately wanting to. when would there ever be a chance that his friend would be back and he’d be this happy to tell you?

and with your terrible mood, your usual demeanor was replaced with something much colder. instead of engaging in the conversation between hobie and gwen, you sit silently in the corner.

your knees are pulled into your chest and you fiddle with the seams of your socks. each sonorous laugh has your teeth grinding. you haven’t uttered much more than a few sentences, wondering when you’re going to be able to make your escape back home.

you miss hobie’s curious peeks. it’s so blaringly obvious that you’re not feeling like yourself. if your silence didn’t give it away, your lack of affection definitely did.

you didn’t squeeze him tight in a hug the moment he showed up at your door. there was no rambling of your day, no kisses and giggles that follow. all the usual bits he loves and look forward to never came and on top of that, he gets the odd feeling you’ve been avoiding his touch since you got there. it makes his stomach twist in knots.

“gwendy,” he says with his eyes darting towards you.

you’re oblivious, nails scraping against the divets and curves in the fabric of his small sofa.

“i’m off to get a drink. want somethin’?”

“i’m good. thanks, though, hobes.” gwen shakes her head with a smile. she’s also just as clueless. having this being her first time meeting you, she just assumes you’re always like this and there’s nothing wrong with being quiet, albeit the way you do it makes her feel a bit uncomfortable.

you press your lips into your knees to hide your scoff. “ ‘hobes’,” you mouth, picking at a thread. it’s such a minuscule detail, one that you’ve repeated overlooked in the past. never has it been anything but a friendly nickname but in your miffed state, it’s a sign of betrayal.

hobie doesn’t need a sixth sense to know there’s an obscure issue. he’s known you long enough to know when you’re irked and how he has to force it out of you.

for your sake and not wanting to draw attention to the situation, he strolls into the kitchen. his slides scrape against the floor. the sound is like nails on a chalkboard and has your face scrunching up.

with just you and gwen left, the silence is deafening. most of the conversation had been with hobie and nothing changed your unwillingness to talk. still, gwen felt the need to try. whether she wanted to relate to another girl or make a good impression is unknown.

“so . . . you and hobie, huh?”

you consider ignoring her but guilt blooms across your skin. even if your worst mood, a small remnant of your manners remain. not enough to make you pleasant, though. “mhm.” you hum, not bothering to look in her direction.

next to you, your phone vibrates to reveal a text. you sit up just enough to lean over it and the screen unlocks after recognizing your face. you’re not dumbfounded that it’s the topic of the conversation himself, requesting your presence.

at some point he’d say something, that you know. doesn’t exactly make you feel any better about it. “i’ll be back,” you mumble, legs unfolding until you’re standing.

you’re not looking forward to the upcoming conversations but you shuffle forward, regardless. your arms are already crossed when you stand in front of him. this is the first time you’re truly looking at him since you got here and your expression is so frigid.

“what’s up with you?” hobie leans against the counter, his arms crossed and mirroring yours. “been pissy all day.”

you know he’s seriously waiting for an answer when he’s unaffected by the eye rolls that follow. “nothing’s wrong. i’m not anything.”

“you’re really goin’ to stand there and tell me there’s nothin’ goin’ on when you’re actin’ like that? come out of it.”

you dodge his narrowing gaze by staring at the kitchen sink instead. your lips are pressed together and your thoughts move at a hundred miles an hour, searching for the perfect method to dissipate this conversation. “i’m fine. there’s nothing going on.”

“then that’s worse,” hobie eyes you down. it makes you feel small, the way his head is tilted and bordering a correctional glare. “then you’re jus’ being mean for no reason.”

“i’m not being mean. i just don’t feel like talking.” it’s not completely a lie. you don’t feel like talking, that’s true, but you’ve also purposefully been abhorrent so you’d have an excuse to leave.

he looks at you incredulously, scrambling to stand and motioning towards gwen’s direction. “you’re not being mean? so you haven’t said a word to gwen and barely two words to me because you ‘don’t feel like talking’.”

“yes. exactly.” you can already tell this isn’t going to end well. not with the way your chest burns with an angry fire. “that’s what i just said.”

hobie feels like he’s talking to a wall with the way you dismiss everything he says. “darlin’, i’m really, really trying not to cause a scene right now but you’re makin’ it harder than it needs to be.” with a hand on your shoulder, he guides you farther back into the kitchen. his patience is wavering, he can feel it. it’s becoming progressively more difficult to maintain his cool. “it doesn’t take fuckin’ einstein to know there’s somethin’ up.”

“you’re trying not to make a scene but you just cussed at me.” you grumble, dragging your feet until you’re stationed next to the glass door.

“i did not – ” he has to stop and take a breath, noticing the crescendo in his voice. “ ☆ , what is wrong with you? your mood is poor and you aren’t even speaking to gwen, which is the whole reason i wanted you to come.”

you glare off the porch, watching the water lap and crash against each other. between everything he said, all you got is he’s prioritizing another girl over you. in your spoiled brain, he should never be scolding you about this. “oh, i’m sorry if i’m making you and gwendy uncomfortable. maybe it would be best if i go.”

“do not do that.” he points at you, thumb facing the ceiling. “do not turn this into something it isn’t.” his restraint officially snapped, words dripping with venom. “everyone is being nothing but nice. you’re the only one here that has an issue. i only asked you what’s wrong because i care about you. stop acting like a – ” hobie pauses again, eyes closing in frustration. “whatever. i’m over it. do what you want.” he waves it off and turns on his heel. he would have considered that a win, had you not stopped him.

“no, say it. call me what you were going to call me.” you dart in front of him, hands on your hips. you should have stopped, let the argument vanish into nothing but you couldn’t help yourself. you had already committed yourself to it.

“just let it go.” hobie attempts to side step you, only for you to stand in front of him again. he has no interest in playing your games so he waits at a standstill. “i don’t want to hurt your feelings and i don’t want to argue. let it go, ☆ .”

“say it,” you insist. you have your head tilted up, basically pressed all up against him. you’re daring him, as if he won’t do it and you don’t expect him to. not once can you remember hobie ever calling you anything but endearing names.

he sucks his teeth and takes a step away from you. you’re unhinged, he decides. daily stress has finally gotten to you and you’ve gone off the rails. “i’m going to say this once and i mean this when i say it. you need to go the fuck home and get your shit together. honestly, love, this is unacceptable and i’m not takin’ this disrespect in my house.”

you wanted to go home. you wanted to go home a while before this but you wanted to go on your own accord. you weren’t supposed to go back and forth like this and he wasn’t supposed to kick you out. “you’re joking, right? hobie, you brought me here. how am i supposed to get home?”

it’s a well known fact that hobie prefers to take the unconventional routes. he’d rather swing than walk and walk than drive. even when it comes to you, he’s always willing to be your transportation so you aren’t driving or being driven around. so when he pulls out his phone and promptly sends you enough money to get an Uber, it truly cements how sincere he is. “go home, lovely. i’ll come by later and we can try this again.”

“ ‘bie,” you sniffle, eyes welling with tears. not only is he kicking you out but he’s also sending you home.

“go home,” he repeats. his parting gift is a pat on the head before he walks past you. you’re unsure whether or not he really saw how distraught you felt but you doubt it would make a difference.

you’re too embarrassed to show your face so you take the back way, exiting through the porch by the kitchen. you circle the boat until reaching the dock and step off, wiping the tears from your cheeks.

it’s unbelievable that your sweet, darling hobie would do this to you. granted, you deserved it and technically got what you wanted.

still, you can’t stop your tears from flowing the whole way home, even up through the lobby of your apartment and into your room. the warmth of your bed is just as you imagined, although now bittersweet.

your eyes are puffy and hurting. you fight the urge to let them close and scroll through your phone. most of the reasoning behind was to see if hobie would text you at all but your notifications remained empty. it stings more than you imagined. he’s always always texted you to make sure you’ve gotten in your room safely.

“whatever,” you toss your phone onto the other side of the bed and roll over. “i don’t need you. enjoy your date with gwendy, hoe.” you mumble into your pillow. you huff, pulling the covers up to your chin. if hobie wants to be like that then fine. he can do what he wants.

LINE BREAK

you stir awake to the sound of your bedroom door clicking shut. you’d be worried if the familiar smell of pine and weed didn’t fill the air. it’s subtle but you know him too well to be wrong.

you reach for your phone, feeling around in the bed until the cool glass meets your palm. the bright screen reads midnight and entirely too far past his normal arrival time.

“you stink,” you mumble when he gets into bed beside you. he has his own bed but he’s so accustomed to you and your warmth, hobie can’t help but make his way to wherever you are.

“don’t kill my high.” his gruff whisper fills your ear. he slips his arm between you and the mattress to pull you into his chest. “sent gwen off and came here. didn’t have time to enjoy it, yet.”

you purse your lips, flashbacks of earlier in the day coming flooding in. your nap nearly wiped all those memories away. he just said to bring it up, again. and right on cue —

“feelin’ better?” he splays his over your tummy and brushes his thumb back and forth along your skin. “we can talk about it, again.”

you don’t respond, too busy feeling crossed. it would be best to reopen the discussion now that your emotions aren’t running as high but you’re too petty to do that. hobie wronged you. he started an argument and kicked you out. he didn’t even check to see if you made it home safe.

“lovey? you okay?” he taps his fingers against you. maybe you fell asleep on him.

nothing.

hobie sits up. you can feel his weight shift as he peers over your body. your eyes are open and he can see you looking at him, you’re just not speaking. he raises a brow and pushes your shoulder over until you’re on your back with a clear view of each other. “do you hear me talkin’ to you or what?”

he’s peeved when you roll over without even acknowledging him. “absolutely fuckin’ not.” he pushes your shoulder down again and holds it there. “you givin’ me the silent treatment?”

you shrug.

you fucking shrug.

hobie considers himself a rational person. if he’s upset, he’ll talk about it. if he’s not ready to talk about it, he’ll let you know. if he notices you’re too upset to communicate efficiently, he’ll give you space. what he will not tolerate is bullshit like this. you’re ignoring him, purposefully not saying anything and he’s expected to take it?

“i’m talkin’ to you.” he squishes your cheeks is his hand until they pucker, eyes narrowed into slits. he doesn’t know what your problem is but he’s sure if you continue like this, he’ll snap the world in half.

you pull away from him, reeling your head back until it’s out of his grasp. with you’re newfound freedom, you roll over and tap your phone. it’s now half past midnight and you’re losing hours on sleep.

hobie watches, enraged, as you slide it beside your pillow and snuggle deeper into the comfort of your bed. he doesn’t move, still processing his emotions. what he wants to do is pull you into his lap and keep you up all night until you speak to him but he figures it just make you more irritable.

so he scoffs and lays back down beside you. “okay. throw your tantrum. we’ll talk in the morning.” he pulls you into his chest, regardless, fingers curling around your waist. his lips are pressed together and by your ear.

he’s hopeful that in the morning, this mood you’re in will pass. that’s the notion he holds on to while he drifts off into his slumber and the same one he wakes up to when he’s reaching for your missing body.

the sun is up and beaming through the sheer layer of curtains. you must have opened the blackout layer behind them. he can hear the shower water running to a stop. hobie rubs his eyes and pulls his arm over his head for a stretch.

it’s a bit odd, he thinks, that you’ve woken up without him. he doesn’t think you’ve rolled over and pressed soft kisses on his face until he’s waking. maybe you did and he went back to sleep.

his legs carry himself into the bathroom where you reside. he’s operating off your normal schedule, getting ready together. he’s surprised when he turns the handle, only for it to fall short. “the door is locked, sweetheart.”

hobie leans against the frame. he’s tall enough to take up the entirety of the space. his hand comes up to rub his face once before he realizes the amount of time that’s passing right now. he can hear you in there, hear the water in the sink running but you don’t open the door.

his first thought it maybe you just can’t open it right now.

he, however, comes to his second thought when you do open it and scroll right past him without one glance in his direction.

you’re still ignoring him.

“oi duck, here’s what’s going to happen.” hobie knows you’re listening when you pause, hand freezing at the lotion pump. “i’m going to go brush my teeth, yeah? and you’re going to get over this thing you’re in and when i come back, we’re going to sit down and talk about this like adults.”

what he doesn’t know is the insinuation you’re not acting like an adult sends you farther into you stubbornness. to be truthful, he’s not wrong. you’re only doing this to make a point, to stick it to him that you didn’t appreciate what he did to you

you scoff to yourself and have a seat at your vanity. “who does he think he is?” you mumble, unscrewing the lid to your toner. “telling me what i’m gonna do. i’ll talk when i want to.”

you can see him in the mirror. with the bathroom door wide open, you get a perfect view of him slowly turning his head towards you, toothbrush dangling from his mouth.

it dawns on you that he heard you when he’s hastily rinsing out his mouth. you jump to your feet so quickly, the chair nearly topples to the ground. you’re darting across the room on the way out.

you only make it halfway before a sticky web is wrapped around your waist and pulling you back to the center of the room.

“what’d you say, sweetheart?” hobie turns you around, hands planted firmly on your hips. his fingers dig into your skin as if ready to pull the answer out of you.

you persist with your silence even while your heart beats out of your chest. you avoid looking at him, instead staring at the the gleaming silver hoop pierced through his nose.

your refusal to say anything has him ticked off. you haven’t said a word to him since last night and the only time you’ve even acknowledged him is to talk shit.

hobie isn’t having that.

he doesn’t bother to ask you again. he picks you up easy, a hand wrapped around your waist. he considers himself to be patient, letting you have your fun. he didn’t say anything to you last night, he forgave you for trying to incite an argument, he was even giving you another chance and was willing to work through it.

it’s you who’s making it difficult, uncooperating like a unreasonable person. you won’t even tell him why. how is he supposed to mend the situation if he doesn’t know what the problem is?

“you’re pissin’ me off.” he drops you on the edge of the bed. his talk could be mistaken as directed towards you but in actuality, he’s ranting to himself. “so spoiled y’know? throwing a fit for no reason.”

you freeze when he hooks his fingers inside the waistband of your shorts. your instincts are screaming at you to whine and complain but your intransigency is too focused on making a point.

“i’m so gentle with you and you take me for granted. showed up mad and that’s my fault? should have just told me but that’s too much to ask.”

a sharp gasp is ripped from you when hobie rips your panties off you. the seams pop and snap under the stress of his rapid tug.

he pushes you back and down on the bed with a large hand on your chest. “to be frank, i don’t want to see you. i don’t want to hear you either unless you’re gonna tell me what the fuck is wrong with you.”

you’re tempted to protest, already preparing to draw away from him but hobie beats you to it. he pins your waist down and peels your folds apart. he licks a stripe up your cunt, spit dribbling and mixing with your juices.

you keen, back lifting off your bed. it’s sickening how his knowledge of your body is affecting you this time. usually, it would entail the best orgasm of your life but now it meant you’d be eternally suffering.

he pushes your back down with a grunt. it’s as if every little movement you did only sent hobie father off the edge.

he pushes your leg up by the underside of your thigh until your knee is pressing against your chest. hobie’s nose bumps against your clit and his tongue probs at the walls of your slit.

“fuck! that’s so – ” your scream is cut short by a gulp of air. your hand reaches down to grasp hobie’s wicks, only for him to swat you hand away.

you cum rather quickly, pussy throbbing from the stimulation. by the time you’re sitting up, hobie is staring at you with half lidded eyes. he has yet to remove his grip, lips glistening from your arousal.

neither of you speak, the air growing thicker with tension. your gaze darts between both of hobie’s peering brown eyes before you turn your head away with a huff.

the smack of hobie’s hand against your thigh rings in the air. his demands for your attention has you whining. your skin blooms with a stinging pain, only for it to be followed by another. you’re not moving fast enough for him.

only when your eyes lock does he lightly trace his fingers over your skin. hobie, however, has no plans in letting up with his lesson. he thumbs at the hood of your clit, pulling it back until the puffy bundle is nerves is revealed.

so badly does he want to coo his praise but every time he thinks about how you treated him, his heart burns just the same.

you struggle against his grasp to clamp your legs shut when he wraps his tongue around it. thanks to his hands anchoring you in place, you’re forced to endure all of it.

you twitch and tweak, hands curling around the fabric of your shirt. this is wild, you think, all to get an answer out of you. the deep, docile part of your brain is ready to do whatever he asks to get the soft touches and sweet names, again.

“ ‘bie,” you mewl, reaching out for him again.

“ready to talk?” hobie lifts his head, replacing his tongue with his thumb, performing tiny circles. he’s disappointed when he’s listening to your moans and hums instead of a explanation. how long will you continue to do this?

he drives his fingers into your cunt, a sigh fanning over you skin leaving it hot and sticky with your cum. “you’re being such a brat today. how hard is it to open your fuckin’ mouth?”

he’s relentless with it, routinely pressing his fingers against the spot that has you crying. he tunes out your warbling, sucking in a breath. “can’t believe you tried to make it about gwen knowing damn well this is your problem.”

his words go straight to your cunt. it’s unexpected, the way you tighten and gush. you’re humiliated and even more so when hobie scoffs. “no chance you’re getting off on this.”

your body tenses, coiling in on itself. your chest rises with one final heave before your cunt is spasming around his fingers. hobie doesn’t cut back, head tilted as you wail.

“why aren’t you talking to me?” he fingerfucks you past your orgasm. he’s unaffected by your squirming to get away from him, pulling you back by your waist.

“it’s too much,” you sob, hand pushing at his.

“that’s not what i asked,” hobie shoves your hand away for the second time that morning. he’s fed up. his hand pops down on your cunny, ogling at the shining cream pouring out.

“ ‘cause,” the tears spill over your waterline and cascade down your face.

“ ‘cause what?” hobie finally removes his hold on you and takes his place next to you in the bed. he pulls your putty body into his lap, a hand on your chins to direct your attention.

you sniffle, lips trembling. you’re hesitating, already knowing how he’s going to react. forming a verbal reason makes you realize how immature you’ve been.

“angel,” his voice is heavy with a warning. you can feel the heat of his fingers slot their way beneath you.

your expression immediately contorts at the feeling of your sensitive nerves being stimulated. “ ‘cause,” you scramble for words, shifting until you can no longer feel him. “i don’t know.”

his fingers find their place again, this time pushing back into you with seething annoyance. “you . . . don’t know? so you did all that ‘cause you don’t know?”

they move slowly. slow enough to draw out soft pants and keep you talking. “i –,” you hiccup, “was upset.” you find yourself chewing on your bottom lip. there is no reasonable excuse. he’s about to that find out.

“mhm,” hobie hums, still dissatisfied with your words. “and did that have anything to do with me?” he feels the answer is obvious but there’s always some gratification in hearing you say it.

your head shakes in a tiny swivel. your hands clench into fists and quiver. having being toyed with for so long, hobie could spit on your cunt and you’d cum. when he’s pressing your spot like this, you’re nearly spilling out your arousal.

“didn’t think so.” hobie pressed his lips into a firm line. he takes pity when you lean your weight against him at the feeling of his digits pump in your tight hole.

his poor girl can’t even sit up on her own. she’s having to resort to using him to hold her up. of course it’s entirely your fault but at least you admitted it.

“that’s all you head do to, love. all this is unnecessary,” hobie mumbles underneath your whimpers.

there’s a soothing hand circling your hip through your orgasm. he listens to your babbling with soft shushes and promises of relief.

all he really wanted was to get the explanation out of you. to begin the start of conversation. hobie knew he could do it. after all, you’re his sweet girl. his ray of sunshine.

when your pants turn into into soft heaves is when hobie lifts your head, held in the palm of his hand. “listen to me, ducky.” he’s firm, eyes narrowed. “never ever do that again, you hear me? you have a problem, you talk about it.”

your half lidded eyes are full of passivity and you nod. you’re resting against him, pleased when hobie’s long arms envelop you in a warm embrace. “ ‘m sorry, hobie. i really am. i didn’t mean it.”

his hands run along your spine and be pressed a kiss atop your head. “i know, dolly. i know.”

#࣪✮🕷✮⋆˙ #another bad ending ughhh #but it’s done so there’s your gift c: #come get yall juice #hobie x black!reader #hobie smut #hobie brown #x black fem reader #astv hobie #x black reader #hobie x reader #x reader #hobie x y/n

[tyunniez]

golden retriver... bttm male reader

!!.. golden retriever bsf, yn is slightly tipsy but still fully aware, rough sex, creampie, grinding.

if your best friend is a dog type he would be a golden retriever.

he's quite literally the embodiment of it. everywhere you go he follows behind, a happy smile plastered on his face. he was almost like a lost puppy.

he also loves taking care of you and doing things for you every chance he gets, even things you could do yourself!

" yn, good morning! here, i got you your favorite drink. " he practically shoved said drink into your hand, your half-asleep state still trying to comprehend your surroundings.

" huh.. oh hey. thanks... " you groggily said, stepping away from the door and heading towards the bathroom to freshen yourself up. he let himself into your place, already familiar with it.

you came back to see him cooking your breakfast, humming a soft tune while placing your eggs on the plate. " yn, come sit down. "

you sighed while taking a sit on the stool of your island, your eyes boring into his back as you watched him lightly sway to the song he was humming.

" you know you don't need to cook me breakfast almost every day right? " you cracked open the drink he bought you and took a big gulp, already feeling rejuvenated by the drink.

he hummed and placed the breakfast in front of you, sliding his own portion next to yours. " eat up! "

after the delicious breakfast, came the time for you to do your house chores. you got up and grabbed both of his and yours plated, bringing it to the sink to clean it.

only for him to snatch it from you and wash it himself. along with the stacks of dirty dishes in your sink. you only rolled your eyes and walked away to do other stuff, knowing fighting against him would just be useless.

" so any plans today? " you asked him while folding your remaining laundry, him soon joining you. " ..mm nah. what's up? " he folded the last article of clothing and lay beside you, opting to place his head on your thigh.

your hand found its place in his hair almost immediately as if it was muscle memory. " well that one show that I've been wanting to watch finally dropped so.. beer and chicken tonight? "

he snickered below you, " you already know my answer, of course! "

and so, cans after cans of beer later and some delicious fried chicken, the both of you lay in each other embrace. the two of you weren't all that drunk because of your high alcohol tolerance yet you find yourself struggling to focus on the show.

were you actually drunk or is it because of the way your best friend is holding onto you right now?

you knew it was pretty common for best friends to cuddle but the way his big hand is cradling your waist right now along with his other hand right under your ass, his finger slightly touching it, is making your head spin.

not to mention his growing hard-on that you could literally feel since you were on top of him!

and you didn't know if there was something in the air last night or if tipsy you were just bolder but you decided to slowly grind against him causing him to have a full-on boner.

he on the other hand decided to ignore it and tried to focus on the movie in front of him.

you pouted at this and decided to continue grinding on him, trying to chase your own climax and also attempting to drive him over the edge.

but a firm hand grabbed onto both of your thighs, causing you to stop. " what do you think you're doing, yn? " he asked you, his voice way deeper than usual.

" i think you know what i'm doing. so stop playing dumb and give me what i want. " your voice is adamant, as your hands roam his chest.

he smirked and flipped the two of you, him now on top of you. both of his hands caged you in, making you more turned on than you already were.

" you better not regret saying that. "

" ahn! s-slow down! " you mewled out while gripping his biceps. your eyes rolled to the back of your head as your dick twitched. your release finally comes soon after. the milky white substance staining your already cum stained stomach.

" again? we've barely just started, yn. " he chuckled above you. he loved seeing how overstimulated you look right now. he's been dreaming of making you a mess for a long time now.

when you first started grinding into him you didn't expect to get dicked down immediately by your own best friend and after experiencing just how rough he actually is, well, you're not complaining.

just seeing the desperate look on your face is making him go crazy. he's been dreaming about this moment for a long time.

he wondered just how you look like when he's on top of you, making a mess out of you. how do you look when you're overstimulated beyond your limit all because of him. just what type of sounds will pour out of you while he's deep inside of you.

and oh, this exceeds his expectations.

" mmh, yn. you look so pretty right now. " he sighed into your ear, his voice sending shivers up and down his spine. " i'm sure you can handle a few more rounds, yeah? " he gripped your hips again, getting ready to abuse your already puffy hole.

" no! i-i can't cum anymore-! " your whining was cut off by his harsh thrust, your tired voice seeming to be the cause.

you hooked your arms around his neck as a way to support yourself. loud moans escaped from your mouth, this only leading him to go faster. " fuck.. i-im cumming soon yn. "

your hole tightened as you heard his husky voice next to you, the hint of whining in his voice making you shake. " come inside me! p-please! need you in me so bad! "

he grunted out loud, his thrust soon stuttering and slowing down. " yn, fuck. you don't know how long i have been waiting for this.. "

with one last thrust, white soon painted your inside. his warm cum kept flowing more and more into your hole, making your own cum squirt out of your cock.

he immediately devoured you in a kiss, saliva dribbling everywhere. wet squelching sound enveloped the room accompanied by your heavy breathing. the movie that was long forgotten acting as white noise.

he separated himself from you to admire you and the mess he made of you. he smiles as he sees all the bite marks and hickeys littering around your body. the cum seeping out of your hole only made his dick hard again.

" shit.. i don't think i can let you go after this, yn. "

#tyunniez 🕷 #tyunniez asks 💌 #x male reader #bottom male reader #bttm male reader #male reader #uke male reader #male x male smut #amab reader #is my writing still comprehensible

[frog-thief]

#across the spiderverse #there are too many spiders here but I will only say that there is Tobey Maguire Andrew Garfield and Tom Holland🕷

[frogchiro]

I might just be literally insane but this is a thought thats plagued me for days, hear me out:

König's dick is so big and heavy even when he's totally hard it doesn't stand up all the way against his lower belly or anything it still kinda hangs down. It'd drip on your face while you're sitting under him and he has a huge thing for letting it rest on your face while you're running your tongue over the under side or kissing all over his balls <333 he 100% has a pic of you somewhere with his cock resting on your face covering half of it lmao

- 🕷🕸

NONNIE THIS IS NOT INSANE AT ALL IT'S TOO FUCKING HOTTT

König is just so fucking big all over :(( his huge body, big and well developed muscles, those strong, broad meaty hips and a layer of fat over his body creates the perfect image of masculinity, maturity and strength and his cock is just the same♡

It's just to heavy :(( thick and long, the multiple veins standing out beautifully, uncut with an extra sensitive tip and huge heavy balls coated with a layer of fine ginger hair, usually hanging low and full and fat especially after a longer mission where he was pent up all the time with no time off to jerk off to the one candid photo of you he carries with him :((

He definitely gets off on the sheer size difference between you two, it literally doesn't matter what size you are, he'll still tower over you and use his big burly body to his advantage. Loves when you suck him off, your small mouth obviously can't take him all in and the tears in your eyes combined with the wet shine of your lips making him growl and his cock twitch with impatience :((

Will make you suck at his heavy balls and will lay his heavy cock on your face and take a picture 'to remember'. You can whine all you want but with your mouth full of his balls you can only do so much besides watching as König smirks and takes another pic while commenting how his dick is literally covering half your face♡

#kin speaks #asks #interactions #cod mw x reader #cod x reader #konig x reader #könig x reader #könig cod #🕷🕸 anon

[halloween-sweets]

#valloween #halloween #valentines day #valentines #spiders #bats #ouija #ouija board #pink #hearts #art #2024 #💘 #💝 #🦇 #🕷

[darlingofvalyria]

❝Dragons do not seek permission, niece of mine. Dragons take.❞

[ Betrayal clouds your judgement, for when Jacaerys' indiscretion takes the form of a child, your anger lands in the palm of the Rogue Prince. ]

[ +18 MDNI ] [ 3,412 ] | Daemon Targaryen x Targaryen Niece!Reader, Jacaerys Velaryon x Manipulative Aunt!Reader | this set in an au inside of in hightower green. | this is able to be read as a oneshot.

contains— canon divergence to the second power - an au of an au - targcest, use of 'bastard', infidelity, profanity, revenge, violence, pureblood Valyrian bullshit - thinking about death as a revenge but no suicide/suicidal ideation- angst, smut - two wrongs apparently make a right - mentions of children, pregnancy, childbirth - nsfw: rough sex, biting, degradation, breeding kink, smidge dacryphilia, creampie - no kinslayers, no kings, no betas.

a/n— special thanks to @ahristata and @hiraethrhapsody for kicking my pursuit of this thread!! i woke up (almost literally) to this line of inquiry, & though writing for daemon is difficult, i had a way, way too much fun with this one m'fraid. Ihad so much fun I started laughing at the absurdity. + comment, reblog & like at will, mi luvs, mwa!

You can't breathe.

You stand there, your daughters by your sides, no more than five or so name days, dutiful as ever, the princess of the realm— the heir's wife, blindsided. Betrayed. Lied to. And you can't show them your grief, your anger, your shock— you smile, not betrayed, not realised, stupid.

Your act of stupidity protects you, for you can just tell that others, sharp-eyed as they are owning of sharper tongues, calculate the similarities between your husband and the child he is cooing at, at the arms of the Warden of the North's sister.

His bastard fucking sister.

You can't blink away as the facts, the threads, make a beautiful web in front of you. The conclusion is unmistakable. Jacaerys' consistent travels to the North, despite the campaigning for his mother's seat had not required the frequent stretches of long travels. How Aemond had remarked that the bastard is doing twice as much work in doing so, "as he should," Aemond murmurs darkly. "He casts a disgusting shadow on the Iron Throne, 'tis the least he can do."

The insistent of personally greeting the delegates from the North, you thinking it is just his wondrously formed friendship with the Lord Stark, had you dressing up and bringing your girls with him. So that your daughters can meet their father's fucking friend, one that occupied his time when he could have been at home, tending to his duties, his heirs.

And the woman who follows after the Wolf, the bastard Snow, his beloved sister. Dyanna had told you beforehand, as Lord Stark adores his only sibling. Their parenthood is unmistakable, dark hair and sharp chins. A Northern Beauty.

And then you stop, as there is a babe in her arms, no more than two name days at least.

And you see Jacaerys in his gaze.

His beautiful, warm brown eyes in the child in her arms, and as he stands there, your Prince of the Realm, too close for comfort, too close for platonic friendship, a familiarity one cannot deny— and that fucking, sweet-edged, tender smile on his face...

The same one he wore when you had given birth to his daughters. Soiled sheets, bloodied babes— it didn't matter. He held them to his arms with the very same smile, thanking you for birthing his babes.

A gut punch, a sharp inhale, an anger that coils and burns and roars.

Your bastard of a husband had fucked another bastard, and made himself a bastard little fucking family.

Life can ever be so cruel as it is humorous.

Daemon could have laughed at the prediction you found yourself in.

He sits to the left of his wife, the Queen who— in enough of itself, the evidence of the turmoil the court is about to get under, amusingly is talking quick with her Lord Hand; Corlys and Rhaenyra had not stopped pointedly looking at her heir, words too fast but unmistakable what the topic is if their gestures, the knot between their eyebrows, and unmistakable sighs and determined noises.

He, on the other hand, is pointedly staring at you.

You, who tries so hard to piece together an armour of stupidity, an air of nonchalance. As if there is no anger in your visage at your husband's attention completely stolen by Wolf's little sister and her son... who looked completely like him. Dark colouring, the First Men blood thick in his nose, his hair, at the curled edges of his baby-cheeked giggles.

When standing so close, faces to each other, there can be no doubt a mirror.

Or the lovesick smile on the mother's face, watching the Prince of the Realm interact with her son.

Together, the trio of them don't hint as much as a bead of Targaryen blood. One is able to pretend they are nothing more than a small... brown haired family.

Daemon presses his lips, trying desperately not to laugh so loudly.

He admired the boy, truly. Rhaenyra loved each child from her bosom with equal fervor, and Daemon was prepared take him as purely one of his own... but after he broke the betrothal with his daughter (though Baela could give lesser of a shit, though mildly dissatisfied as she was to become Queen, and the girl held her duties between canines) to marry a Hightower cunt... he had distanced himself from the boy.

Daemon viewed it as a sign of weakness, for he knew you. You were just like your mother, prodding into softened parts of his family— that green whore with his brother, young as she had been, his good sister Aemma had not been cold in their memories before she had found herself weightily pregnant with new heirs, and then Jacaerys, new to womanly spells, new to cunt, and you had him making vows in the ways of the dragonlords.

Though he can surmise that much of your mother's movements had not entirely been her own... Daemon knew that calculative look you got in your eye. Blink and it's gone, but your gaze sharpens, your mouth curls in a winning, prideful little smirk.

You were Otto Hightower's granddaughter alright, and you had wanted the Heir's Heir.

But now, it seems like, once a vow broken, it didn't really matter if it was a betrothal or a marriage to Jacaerys.

It brings a sick pull of satisfaction in him, that tugs him to look at you. Every time.

You laugh, tither, still evermore the gem of the feast— a feast you organised with the Lord Hand for your husband's absolutely exceptional diplomatic achievements in the North, truly, Daemon is laughing in the sidelines as the jests and songs make themselves — but Daemon is overtly familiar with dragons. And anger. And you simply stink of it. The way your eye twitches, the occasional grind of your jaw to how your fingers dig crescent moons into your palm. He catches blood in one blink then smeared, then gone, in another.

Your hold onto your armour— the Darling of the Realm, curated so painfully by a young, sly girl moving about the cesspit they call a crown's court — is breaking in pieces and tatters at each hour the feast went on.

It snarls. Like a dragon locked in the pits, tugging at reins, wishing to burn cities.

Maybe you aren't just another Hightower cunt after all.

Not purely at least, he thinks in distaste, staring at the dark green of your gown.

It is a childish tantrum, more than anything, for what is your Hightower green will do now? A bastard has been made, worse, a son. And though Jacaerys himself has muddied blood, he is still a Targaryen. His mother is Queen, prepared to make him an Heir to the Iron Throne as he had been legitimised as Laenor's son. A Velaryon. He bears the name, the crest, and the support of its house.

What is stopping him from marrying the Snow Bastard, legitimising the boy as his own, surpassing your own daughters?

Targaryens marry siblings, they also marry multiple wives.

It is a thought that he can see it dancing in your head— raw, enticing rage and bloodlust that tightens his breeches.

It is an interesting thing.

The green is disgusting, but Daemon can appreciate a young, fertile, Valyrian beauty.

Something your mother had ingeniously provided you and your siblings with, reining in her muddied blood to produce unmistakable Valyrian children. And as a smart little tart, you understood what to do with it.

When Daemon first met you, you were just one of the Hightower spawns that his brother had made to further his line. His brother's daughters—apart from Rhaenyra — were quiet things as babes and children. Odd the two of you were, but not really hostile. When you were introduced to him, your fat babe of a twin brother was teary-eyed and clinging to you, a quiet child with round eyes, staring at him inquisitively, as if challenging.

Then and there, Daemon disliked you so.

Even as you grew, the little of what he could see as he paid no mind of Viserys' other children, you grew up a fine royal, a princess of every word and sung note. Mentions of your progressive fight for the small folk, your charitable heart, your sweet nature that even his brother had made a note once or twice—

He thought it had been Otto Hightower who put you up to such machinations. Wouldn't be below him.

The night you bedded Jacaerys Velaryon, he was pleasantly surprised to find out it had been you all along.

And now here you are, betrayed as you had betrayed his daughter, delicious in your righteous anger and ripe (two babes before the year ended, Jace is an inglorious fool) for the taking. And youthful still. Smooth, soft skin, pretty lips and bright-eyed.

All your scheming, going as far as throwing your grandsire to Oldtown, it is obvious no one has wrangled the clever, spoiled little brat out of you.

As he sips his wine, amused and pleasantly hungry, he muses he might do a job or two of being the strong arm to do so.

He snorts, eyes straying back to the little First Men family.

There it is again. The jest that keeps on giving.

It was pride, truly, that kept you for most of the feast. That kept your gritted teeth to yourself, ducking into corners whenever your anger burned at your eyelids, stubbornly brushing stray tears away.

All is not lost, you stubbornly thought. You just had to plot.

But when Jace had taken your daughters, your Daenera and Aemma, gently tugging them to his bastard whore and his actual bastard to meet— finding your eyes, at that very moment as Daenera's precious, pureblooded hand shyly took the hand of her bastard brother, a fool's tender fucking simpleton of a smile on your husband's face —

Something in your head had snapped. A clean break.

And your armour had fallen. Like limestone from a fortress. Caved in ruins at the pool of your feet. Dark, furious loathe unfurled in your chest. Unable to handle it anymore, you had taken your dress and got out of the feast, for you could feel the urge of unsheathing a sword and going on a bloodied massacre, crowns and titles be damned.

You may not have a dragon, but you have its bloodlust.

Just as you are rushing to your chambers, you stop and make a different turn, knowing that if your husband had caught wind of such an ugly expression on your face, he would try and find you, talk to you, and you don't have the patience to cater to him at the moment— you find what you know of is an empty chamber, reserved for guests at the Keep.

It is a simple room with all the usual accruements. Most of the fanfare, the sheets, are in storage.

You start with a candelabra.

Raise it high before you are violently smashing it against the dresser, shrieks and guttural screams out of your mouth as you tear through the room like a typhoon, cursing Jacaerys, the North, and bastards to the Seven Hells.

None will be the wiser, for you had built your network well. Your spiders will pivot guards and strangers from this area, ensuring you a reprieve where your anger and grief can unfurl and manifest.

So you lose yourself, a dragon untethered. You get so into your rage, quiet in your thoughts, that you don't hear an intruder entering until there is a low, amused laugh too close for comfort.

You whirl around, tear-stained and rage-filled, and though the Rogue Prince expects you to fall into stutters, your eyes slit and you grip— when had you picked up a tome? — the tome tighter to your chest, snarling, "Get out."

Instead of surprise, or even offense, Daemon laughs as if you are the most amusing thing to him all night. Jesters and whores alike.

"I shall not." He makes a noncommittal hum around the dark room. "I rather like it here. It seems this chamber holds a much better entertainment than anything beheld at the feast."

You let out a dark, incredulous laughter. "I have no time for your toying, uncle, get out!" You toss the tome with fervour, but he's a warrior and he anticipates your anger, sidestepping easily before he's back to casual prowling.

"I do not have time to play jester for your entertainment," you hiss, unable to stop the hateful tears from spilling, brushing them away harshly as you watch him watch you.

He raises an eyebrow. "I am not asking you to."

"Are you here then for my humiliation? Press a bitter wound while it's still bleeding, is that it? Is that what would make the glory of your night?"

He snorts. "What would make the glory of my night is a warm body and a tight cunt."

Your face scrunches. "You are disgusting."

He barks out a laugh. "Not as disgusting as your brother."

"Aegon is no longer—"

"— or as stupidly naive as your husband."

A sharp intake of breath before you're once more cracking in broken rage and ghastly pain.

"Of course you would notice, who would not, he looks so much like his fucking bastard."

"Watch yourself, girl," he barks. "You are still talking about the Queen's heir."

A beautiful guard dog, you think, you snort. You push past him, gasping into the crisp, cool air, holding onto the balcony for dear life.

"His already diluted blood makes this conversation entirely hilarious to me I'm afraid." You look down and wonder how fast you will fall. How messy would such a death be? How much care there is left in your wake? Will your husband even care, now that he has his heir? Borne out of true love no doubt, despite such bastardly blood— or is that what makes it thrilling for them?

Mangled bone, spread thin blood— if you die such a way, it should be pretty. You hope it haunts the Keep of so many before you.

But if you die now, you will be replaced so easily. So prettily.

And your daughters—who will care for them? Will Jacaerys even care, if his bastards soon no doubt fill your once home, your mother, your brothers— your daughters pushed aside to make way for fucking dogs.

There is no satisfaction in such a plan.

There are many others.

The Rogue Prince makes his presence known by standing close to your back, close enough that you can smell him, that his heat is your own, as he hums, peering below as you have.

"Have you been drinking, zaldrītsos little dragon?" he whispers, tangling his fingers through your hair, running a lone finger down your neck, up and down in a tantalising movement. You can't help it, it feels comforting, leaning close to it despite such a breathy huff out of your lips.

"Since when am I dragon, kepus uncle? Haven't you always likened us muddied blood, filthier than dragonseeds?"

"I see that I am wrong," he says, almost idle as if he isn't devouring you in his gaze. How you feel soft, pliant under one finger after weighted in wine and the ruins of your anger, how you're almost purring and sweet like this, your fire alive but consistent. "Aōha perzys burns jehikagrī. Nyke hae ziry. Your flames burn bright. I like it."

"Hm. You've had sons, don't you uncle?"

"I have," he replies, amused.

"And many a children." You reach for his chin, your thumb rubbing his bottom lip. He's old, sure, but men don't have the same bodily issues as women. You know he could reach your father's age and be able to produce five more brats.

But his shoulders are strong, spry only as a swordsman can be.

And he isn't like he's loyal to Nyra, turning fully to you with a hand caressing your side.

His hand comes for your neck, halting your movement as he tests a squeeze. There is only much hatred as there is lust. And his cock is winning over his mind, for when your free hand, watching him intently, reaches for the hardness straining against his breeches, giving it a stroke, his breath stutters into a groan whilst his hips push into your hand.

"Dragons do not seek permission, niece of mine," he hums darkly. "Dragons take, or do you have too much of your Hightower cunt of a mother that you—"

You curl your hand over his cock until his breath hitches.

"I want a son. Surely you'd rather want for your true blood to sit on the Iron Throne? Your wife would remain Queen, her and her heir none the wiser. Any son of mine would be King regardless." Your voice is barely above whisper, stroking him as your squirm in his hold, his breath heavy by each promise, each tale you spin so tall. "Wouldn't you like that better? I am a Targaryen, as are you. Our blood would be pure."

"I have pureblooded sons, riñītsos little girl."

"But will they be king? With my husband as your wife's heir?" When his hold softens on your throat, you push yourself forward, pressing yourself against him. "Wouldn't you want your family's legacy, your legacy, unsullied with prettier blood?

"I want a son, uncle," you whimper, thickened with need and desire, willing him to bend and fold because men like Daemon are easy, because a loving marriage is one thing, a man who holds his house as his pride in another fist is another. "I want your seed to take root in me."

And it isn't like you're asking him to betray his Queen.

Daemon is surprisingly a soft lover, prone in a way to worshipping you even as you had gotten impatient and tried to get your way. His punishments are quick and precise, a hit on your thigh, a tighter squeeze in your throat, a firm bite in your breast enough to draw blood. He's soft but by choice, almost as if he is amusing you in each caress while one hand is holding you by your hair, fucking you down into the sheets.

His words aren't better, spun in hisses and spits, mocking laughter and groans.

"Do you want my seed, you little whore?"

"What would your husband say now, his pretty wife mewling for another? Or would he even care?"

"Your tears are pretty, if you want my seed, I think you need to be sobbing, hm?"

When he finally spills inside of you with nothing less of a broken, guttural roar, hips chasing the high, meeting your sensitivity once, twice, again— you are shattered in pieces and contradictions, floating and wide awake, pleasured and in pain.

He slaps your face gently after he's cleaned himself up, tucked his flaccid cock back in his breeches as he comes to your eye line. "Come to me again when you want my seed, hm? I shall prioritise your wants for the good of the realm but I dare say—"

He cocks his head with a smirk, feeling stirrings at the sight of your fucked out state, his seed spilling from your pretty hole that he can't help himself as he chases it with a finger, forcefully pushing it back in while your body trembles and twitches.

"— you may be with child soon enough, niece. I shall congratulate you and my son with the happy news."

Your eyes flutter close at the echoes of his disappearing footsteps.

Nine moons later, through a hearty, blood-soaked birth that rocked the keep with your wails of pure pain— much more painful than when your girls had come into the world — a baby boy is born of pure Valyrian colouring.

A fat babe who cried murder in his first seconds of life, and it is Caraxes who snarls and screeches into the high noon sky.

"I shall name him Daemon," you say to your husband beside you as you beheld the babe with a wondrous smile and a full heart.

"After your brother and my father," Jace says, smiling. "That is wonderful, my wife. He does look much like them."

Your smile curls, a finger rubbing your babe's fat cheek. "He does. And he will be strong swordsman." Your lashes flutter to Jace, poisoned vowels in each word that he blinks, startled. "Just like his father."

TAGGED @inkareds @marihoneywk @caterina-caterina @ahristata @xxvelvetxxxx @but-i-write-so-i-must-count @bunbunbl0gs @yazzzmints @bellstwd @hiraethrhapsody @watercolorskyy @fulla02 @menaosama @cookielovesbook-akie

#daemon targaryen x reader #daemon x reader #daemon targaryen fanfiction #daemon fanfic #daemon smut #daemon targaryen smut #hotd fanfiction #hotd fanfic #hotd smut #daemon targaryen x you #elle writes !! ꒱ ↷˗ˏˋ🍒 #₊˚ପ⊹ hightower green 🕷 #-ˋˏ ༻addendums & extras 💮༺ ˎˊ- #🌼━━･❪ requested ❫ ･━━🌻

[yawnderu]

sex pollen!Miguel ohara (axhlex worker) x fem!worker!nerdreader

where reader and miguel were testing an experiment with something,reader.said she needed to use the bathroom,when she come back she saw miguel breathing become more heavy,and saw that the experiment bottle exploded and glass piece on the ground (idk how to explain any scientific at all😭😭) then she ran Up to him and ask if he ok,she was checking his face and body if anything happened,if any wound,but then miguel just look at her like an prey,which made reader feel worry,but she she the feel away,and still ask him if he feeling alright to only get pin on the ground with her arms above her head, dawn 🗯 (the nfsw part cuz I suck ass at writing that😔✊✊)

I love this!! ♡

Sex Pollen — Miguel O'Hara x Reader

CW: Feral!Miguel O'Hara, dubcon, Miguel's claws come out during sex, rough sex, creampie, breeding, mentions of blood, Miguel using your cunt to jerk himself off.

"And then Hobie said—" You stop dead on your tracks, seeing Miguel's surprised expression as he looks down. You follow his gaze, noticing the shards of the now broken vial you both found inside a villain's HQ to examine it. It was supposed to enhance physical performance and resistance— though it hadn't even been tested yet to ensure what it truly was. And oh boy, you're in for a treat.

"Oh my God, are you okay?" You immediately walk up to him, avoiding the glass shards as you check his body and face for any possible injuries. Miguel doesn't say anything, yet you're there to see his shift. His long fangs are slightly bared, venom dripping down the corners of his lips as his breathing became heavier and sharper. The same red eyes that used to look down at you with patience now look like something else— Miguel looks like a feral beast, ready to pounce on its prey, and how unfortunate for you that is. He takes a step forward and you take a step back. This repeats until your back is almost hitting the wall, your hands going up to his chest to weakly try to make some distance between both of you.

"Hueles delicioso." He mutters in Spanish, not affected by your pathetic attempts to make some distance between both of you. He leans down, getting in your face as he forcefully makes you turn around and gently pushes you against the wall, his breathing hard on the back of your neck as his strong arms wrap around you. You can feel something hard pressing on your back.

"What did you do to me?" His husky voice whispers in your ear, bending his knees as he begins to rub his clothed hardening dick up and down your ass. You're too flustered to speak— the rude and snarky Miguel O'Hara is grinding against you like it's the most normal thing ever. What the hell was in that vial...?

"Miguel, st—" He covers your mouth with his large hand, successfully shutting you up as he manhandles you into the floor, his free hand pinning your arms above your head as he finds solace between your legs, his suit disengaging just enough to have his massive dick out. You can feel it over your stomach, the sheer size of it weighting itself down slightly.

"Cállate." He barked, though his words didn't have much bite on it, tone completely overtaken by his sharp breathing and soft grunts as he kept grinding against you.

"I think... I've heard of this. Some drug that makes your heart go faster and faster until it stops, unless you..." He seemed slightly hesitant to say this, as if he wasn't lowering your pants and underwear with one hand while your legs showed some struggle out of embarrassment. "Unless you cum." He muttered, completely enamored by the sight of your cunt. His suit disengaged on his fingers, immediately playing around your cunt as he looked up at you with furrowed eyebrows.

"Ayúdame, por favor." He asked for permission as if his cock wasn't already lined up to your cunt, moving the tip around it to soak into the wetness. Though you were nervous about this and utterly confused... Miguel was always hot in your eyes, and there had always been some tension between both of you. You nod your head and he responds by spitting into your cunt, soaking his dick with the saliva before he begins to slowly sink into you.

"Dios mío... you're so tight." He's holding himself up with his arms while he's on top of you, eyes closed and brows furrowed as he feels your warm pussy swallow him up. It takes all of his self-control to not ram himself balls-deep, knowing your much smaller body couldn't take it. He bit his lip softly, muffled groans coming out of his plump lips as he finally bottomed out.

He gave you a few seconds to recover before he began fucking into you faster and faster, desperate to cum once he was aware on how much his heart rate was going up. If his guess on the drug was correct, he have that much longer before his heart would stop. Your whiny moans were reassuring, though he could barely hear over the sound of his own breathing and his meaty thighs slapping against your ass. He looked down at you with a predatory look, grabbing the back of your thighs and pushing your knees to your chest, hissing at the feeling of your tight cunt.

"Mierda... así." He groaned out, not realizing his claws came out and were digging into your soft thighs. He was far too into his own head to even realize, ignoring the blood trail coming down to your pussy as he simply focused on slamming his dick into you as fast and as hard as he could, using you like you were nothing but a sex-toy he was using to jerk himself off. And quite honestly, that's what you were in that moment. He doesn't want to die.

He pushes your thighs together, holding onto them with his burly arms as his hips start to stutter, demeaning non-sense mixed in with praise in Spanish coming out of his lips as he pushes all the way inside your abused cunt.

"¿Quieres ser una mami?" He asks teasingly, not even waiting for your reply as his cum thick cum spills directly into your fertile womb. He's finally able to take deep breaths and regain his regular breathing after a second, still all the way inside you, keeping the cum in with his half-hard cock.

#miguel spiderman #miguel ohara #miguel smut #miguel 2099 #miguel o'hara #across the spiderverse #miguel x reader #atsv miguel #miguel spiderverse #spiderman 2099 #spider man 2099 #sex pollen #smut #atsv #miguel atsv #spiderman atsv #🕷 miguel

[dark-sappho]

it's the first of August happy Halloween everyone

#🎃🍭🕷🕸🍂🍬💀 #halloween

[httpseiki]

Hello! Can I please request the prompts:

Keep moaning my like that

Let me see your pretty eyes

For lee know please!

I would love something soft and fluffy where the reader is a bit shy and nervous, I just think he'd be so sweet!

shy and horny.

soft!dom!minho x shy!sub!reader

note: hi hi ofc and yes minho IS a soft dom. as soon as I read this, I teleported to one of my drafts from 2 nights ago. he might like hard kinky shit but he's soft af, especially for his s/o, I think we deserve a minho in our life :(

·˚ ༘₊· ͟͟͞͞꒰➳ the prompts!!

Let me see your pretty eyes

Keep moaning my name like that.

tw: NSFW mdni, afab!reader, mentions of orgasm denial, reader is very needy in this hehehe, thigh riding, clit play, masturbation. (and I think there's more but)

song choice: Reckless Serenade - Arctic Monkeys.

"minho..." you squeal when his lips leave yours.

he walks away, sitting in the couch. your confused gaze studied his actions, not understanding, wasn't he tryna fuck?

he sat down, legs spreading on the soft material of the comforter. his head lulls back, a groan escaping his throat in relaxation,

"it was so tiring..." minho complains

you take a step closer to him, is he willing to leave you hot and bothered like that? you pull at your cuticles, unsure of what to do next. though, as exhausted as you were, you wouldn't be able to keep standing up for long. you take a seat next to him, bringing your knees to your chest and leaning into his chest.

you were turned on to the maximum. minho's fingers rubbed your clit through your skirt the whole ride home. no, he didn't let you cum, why would he? and when you got home, he was kissing you as if you were the last meal on Earth. then, he goes and sits down and almost falls asleep on the couch.

even now, his eyelids were closed and mouth slightly parted... why was he like this?but oh, he was gorgeous, he looked so good. you wish he was awake to continue what he started. your mind couldn't keep straight, all you were imagining was how his skilled fingers would twist inside you, how his warm tongue would feel sliding against your soaked folds, how his dick would throb against your spasming walls...

"hmmghh... " you sigh, squeezing your thighs together, trying to relieve the ache.

"what's wrong, kitten?" minho asks, eyes still closed.

you don't respond, only a small gasp leaving you. how could you ever tell him what was in fact wrong? it's just too embarrassing...

"hmm? what is it, pretty?" his head turns to your direction.

you look up at him, his hand moving away a strand of your hair lovingly, as he always does. a small smile creeps up on his face. you bite your bottom lip, feeling so close to him, but not quite the close you need,

"c'mere, pretty," minho pats his lap.

you sit on your knees, ready to straddle his waist. but he stops you, pulling you on his thigh and-

fuck, you weren't wearing panties.

minho decided you don't need them in the car, throwing them somewhere in the backseat. now, your exposed cunt was rubbing deliciously against his rough jeans.

and not just that, his thick thigh was so firm and soft at the same time under you. a rush of heat traveled in your body, puffy clit throbbing,

"so you're just gonna edge yourself or...?"

"w-what?" your voice trembles.

"don't you wanna cum?" minho raises a brow.

your mouth opens, but you can't say anything. you thought he didn't notice, but you were basically leaking through his pants.

"aww," he coos, "you're shy, aren't you?"

he pouts and rubs your waist. you were about to cry, not sure if because he makes you feel so small in his hold or because you needed to cum immediately,

"let me guide you then, honey."

you nod and place your hands on his chest, ready to get off. that wasn't your boyfriend's plan, though. he places your legs back around your thigh, shooting you an upset glance.

his hands move down to your hips, pushing them down and grinding them against him. you moan the friction, back arching. you wanted to die in that moment. but you couldn't help the sweet sounds from stopping, no matter how hard you tried.

after a bit, you understand the pattern he was drawing - back and forth, circle, back and forth - and you move yourself on his thigh.

it felt divine, so good you forgot about anything around you. at this point, you weren't even able to follow the pace he started, you improvised it yourself, a chaotic attempt to pleasure yourself,

"you're doing so well, baby."

you felt your cheeks heat up at his praise, head turning away. this was so embarrassing, but it's not like he never made you cum before, so why were you this shy?

"let me see your pretty eyes," minho whispers, hand grabbing your chin and turning your head.

your glossy eyes stared at him, hips stuttering when you saw him jerking off. you whine, feeling his thumb press upon your clit,

"minho!!!" you gasp, pace quickening up, your high approaching you unexpectedly.

"yes, kitten, what is it?"

"hnngh, I-I..." you struggle to speak.

"what does my pretty girl wants, hmm?" he groans, squeezing his cock harder.

"minho- ahh~" you moan when his thumb started drawing eights on your clit.

"yes, princess, that's right," he chuckles, "keep moaning my name like that."

"minho..." you whimper his name, tears falling down your warm cheeks.

"why are you crying, kitten, what's wrong?" he says, tone gentle. "does she needs to cum?"

you mewl, desperate. minho starts moving his thigh as well and you felt the knot inside you break.

"speak up, sweetie, don't be shy," he adds.

"c-cumming, m-minho, mmhhgg~" you grab his shoulder for dear life.

"it's okay, love, come for me, hmm?" he moves his thumb faster. "there you go~"

you fall on him, body trembling as your orgasm washes you away. you breath hazily, tears wetting minho's shirt,

"shh, I'm here, I'm here..." he rubs your back.

"feels good... so good..." you whisper, your core burning from the intensity.

"and you've done a mess," minho giggles. "get on your knees and help me clean it."

©️ httpseiki, all rights reserved.

#seiki's prompts 🕷 #that was hot #claps for me #skz x reader #stray kids x reader #skz hard thoughts #skz hard hours #stray kids hard thoughts #stray kids hard hours #stray kids drabbles #stray kids scenarios #skz drabbles #skz scenario #skz smut #stray kids smut #lee know hard thoughts #lee know hard hours #lee know smut #lee know drabbles #lee know scenarios #lee know oneshot #lee know x reader #lee know x you #lee know x y/n #skz x you #skz x y/n #stray kids x you #stray kids x y/n

[luvyeni]

[🕷] … LUVYENI’S 2023 FREAKTOBER !

a month long of different halloween inspired fics. 18+ read content warnings !!!

(OCT. 2). SIREN CALL - SIREN!HEESEUNG

(OCT. 6). LOVE N’ DEVOTION - YANDERE!JEONGIN

(OCT. 9). HOT N’ COLD - GHOSTFACEKILLER!SHOTARO

(OCT. 13). DON’T GO INTO THE WOODS - FAIRY!FELIX

(OCT. 16). A BOY AND HIS DOLL - YANDERE!JAKE

(OCT. 20). NICE GUY - STALKER!HAECHAN

(OCT. 23). MY DOG ROOMMATE - HYBRID!JENO

(OCT. 27). RUN LITTLE LAMB RUN - WOLF!BANGCHAN

[🕷] … HALLOWEEN SPECIAL

(OCT. 31). LOVE POTIONS - WARLOCK!WONBIN

©LUVYENI

#[🕷] … luvyeni’s freaktober #kpop x reader #kpop smut #stray kids smut #nct dream smut #enhypen smut #riize x reader #heeseung smut #heeseung x reader #yang jeongin smut #yang jeongin x reader #shotaro smut #shotaro x reader #lee felix smut #lee felix x reader #lee haechan smut #lee haechan x reader #bang chan smut #bang chan x reader

[yesimilkdamilkman]

about your francis x baker!reader

what if he brings milk for the reader's pastries ><

that would be so cute

···➯ 𝐈𝐧𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞; All Francis and Baker!reader requests are like a warm-up for me, which most likely will be in the actual series once I start writing it!! (Sorry, this took so long to get to!!)

04.26.24 | 𝟏𝟏𝟖 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬

✂〰〰〰〰〰

Walking down the sidewalk, milk carrier in hand the sound of the bottles softly knocking against one another. The smell of fresh pastries filled Francis's senses, as he pushed open the door, to your bakery—the bell you had above the ringing. Announcing Francis's presents, he flashed a soft smile, watching you flash one back. "Mm, special delivery for a special girl." watching you walk around the counter toward him. Taking the carrier, he held, placing it on the table, before standing on your tippy toes and wrapping your arms around his neck. Being extra careful not to touch his clothes, with your apron. Francis was a little hesitant to return the gesture, but wrapped his arms around you.

You step back first, knowing that Francis wasn’t a touchy person, even though he allowed you to hug him; A privilege that took you many months to earn. “Thank you, so much for stopping by, I know you probably have a busy schedule and what not” You babbled on grabbing the milk carrier, and motioning Francis to follow you back. Entering the kitchen you took a milk Jar out of the carrier Francis held, Pouring it into the batter you have already made. “Mm, aren’t you.. Suppose to measure it?” Francis questioned break, the comforting silence you both shared. “You should, but I bait so much I don’t feel to the need too.” you answered, setting the jar down before grabbing your whisk and mixing the milk in the batter.

Lightly hitting the whisker on the rim of the bowl, “Fran, could you grab a pan from the cabinet for me?” You question, licking off what's left of the batter, from the batter. Francis didn’t say anything but your heard his shoes against the wooden floor, and soon his chest flushed against your back as he grab a pan, just as you requested. 

He handed you the pan, and watched as you spray butter into it, before evenly pouring the batter into it. And placing it the oven and putting on a timer, “Oh, here I made these for you!” You piped, walking over the fridge and open the freezer and grabbing a box of strawberries dipped in chocolate, with powdered sugar sprinkled over them. “I made these as thank you.” You spoke smile plastered on your face. “Mm, Thanks,” Francis murrued taking the box with a small smile spreading across his features. You knew his favorite fruit, and one of his favorite things he liked to order when he stopped by. 

Loading the rest of the milk he intended to drop off, into the fridge. He tipped his hat at you, before you walked him back to the front waving him goodbye.

#𝐍𝐨 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐠𝐞🕸️🕷 #𝐜𝐫𝐲𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐢𝐞𝐬𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐬🗒📃🕯️🧾 #milkman #baker!reader #francis mosses #the milkman #thats not my neighbor #thats not my neighbour milkman #milkman x black reader #milkman smut #milkman x reader #tnmn milkman #x black fem reader #black reader #black fanfic writer #x black reader #francis mosses x black reader #francis mosses x reader #milkman x you #milkman thats not my neighbor #milkman that's not my neighbor #milk man #not my neighbor

[fariesoiree]

ever since you’ve became friends with hobie, he makes your insides feel all weird. he’s got to know what this feeling is. he can probably help you with it, right?

caution! mdni 6k wrdz, mentions of religion, reader is super sheltered, set in a college setting, black fem reader, fingering reader receiving, oral reader receiving, corruption kink mayb just barely, hobie is real gentle, everything happens on a desk, blushing is described but can’t be physically seen, unrealistic description of coochie juice we all know it doesn’t actually taste like that hobie is just obsessed, the smut section is a littleeee bit short but i def think i could expand on this in the future pls do not spam like my blog if you enjoyed it, feel free to tell me in the reblogs

hobie has been a good friend of yours for a few month now. it all really started at a party at the college you attend. with it being your first year, every experience is a new one. your sheltered childhood only further added to it.

it was easy, hobie always claims, to tell you didn’t belong when you stood in the room, eyes wide and frantic. not to mention, you were fully dressed in jeans and a sweater. he didn’t understand how you hadn’t passed out, yet.

he walks up to you that very same night. your panic only became more evident when he’s introducing himself. “you alright, love?” and he’s truthfully concerned. you’re nearly shaking, hands clasped together.

you explain to him what happened. that the group of girls you came with disappeared, that you don’t know anyone here, that you’re extremely overwhelmed.

it’s hobie who leaves the party early, despite enjoying himself. he escorts you back to your room and stands outside your door until it’s clicked shut and locked. he also leaves his number in your phone that night with the innocent promise to help you with whatever you need.

the reaction from your parents is expected when you tell them what happened. you receive a scolding for going to the party and indulging in secular music and sin, as well as trusting a man and allowing him access to your room. you can argue that you didn’t invite him in but your parents won’t and don’t listen.

you’re used to it, used to their lectures that you actually heed their warnings. all your life you’ve been living by their rules. no boys and no parties. church every sunday, home at nine. you’ve even accepted the routine phone checks every night with no back-talk. this has been your way of living since forever.

so of course the big, gentle, temptation himself intrigues you to no end when you’re presented with such an open gateway. you’re sure if your god-fearing parents saw him, they’d have a heart attack right on the spot.

six five and exactly what your parents warned you against. piercings galore, stick and poke tattoos decorating his skin. his hair is assorted into wicks, which you don’t mind but your relatives would have called him sloppy. not to mention the clothes he wears, decorated in spikes and chains. sometimes the gems in his belt catches the sun in just the right way and he glows like an angel.

hobie gives you butterflies and not just in your stomach but in other places as well.

you don’t know what to do about the fluttering in your pussy when hobie’s had grazes your thigh when he bends to pick something up. even the word pussy has your face warming up.

at first, you thought it would be a one time, unrelated thing. the wet mess in your panties shocked you after spending your evening with hobie. you made a mental note to stop by the doctors in case it was something serious and went about your night.

and then it happened again and every night since. coincidentally, you’re with hobie every night, only to return to the safety of your dorm and deal with the same heated feeling.

that’s exactly how you find yourself in this dilemma tonight. you’re as quiet as a mouse, strewn across his bed. the strip led lights cast a blue shadow on the room. hobie is across from you at his desk, clicking around in some music making site you wouldn’t even try to comprehend.

his headphones are over his head, stretched to the biggest setting to accommodate his hair and his fingers, nails painted black, tap against the wooden desk. hobie can’t hear you with the noise filling his ears. he hums softly to the beat.

you’ve been staring at him for a while, now. originally, you were working on some homework due that night but your gaze found him and his sharp jawline that’s just barely visible from the diagonal angle he’s sitting.

before you know it, your eyes have wandered downwards until you’re looking at his legs, wide and manspreeding. your downstairs area does that weird pulsating thing.

you lips form into a pout and you shift to remove the discomfort. you never actually made it to the doctor, having realized this is only something you experience around hobie. despite this unusual situation find yourself in, distancing yourself from him wasn’t an option. oddly enough, he’s one of the few people that didn’t make you feel other.

“come listen to this.” hobie swivels in her chair to face you. he pops the headphones off his head and waves you over. “was thinkin’ about submittin’ it as my project.”

you sheepishly shake your head. your cheeks burn at the possibility of him catching you. “oh, i don’t think you want me to.” it makes you nervous to partake in the creation of something so vividly can nonreligious. you're already laying in his bed, unsupervised and alone with him. all your teachings let you know it could lead to other things.

he tilts his head, dangling the headphones off his fingertips. you can hear the punk rock melody blaring from where you’re stationed. “you never wanna listen to my music. scared or somethin’?” he doesn’t wait for a response, already slapping the bluetooth headphones back over his ears and turning back.

hobie already knows the answer but he’s uncaring, regardless. he’s become accustomed to your thinking and even though he feels it’s distorted with reality, he doesn’t judge you for it. nor does he blame you.

you’re back to staring at him and the way his hands dance across the keys. his hands are so big, you think. each finger is slender and long and could probably swallow you whole.

you take your lips in between your teeth with a disgruntled sigh. all these impure thoughts are driving you up the wall. you can’t even blame him because he’s doing nothing to provoke it. you, apparently, just can’t control yourself.

with hobie’s back to you, you’re able to silently pack your stuff up. your laptop is tucked away into your bag and you grab your spiral notebook. he doesn’t notice you’re preparing to leave until you softly slide off his platformed bed and shove your feet into the soles of your matte mary janes.

“where are you going, duck?” he pushes the left side back until it’s no longer covering his ear, rapidly glancing at you.

“my room.” you grab your hello kitty lanyard off his desk. “i’m going to do my work in there. can’t do it here. i’m too distracted.” you sling your bag over your shoulder.

“shit, is it me? hobie pauses his track. he’s rapidly hanging his headphones on the stand and jumping to his feet. “at least let me walk you back.”

hobie stuffs his feet in his traditional black boots. he doesn’t care enough to tie the blue, ladder laced laces. he’s already grabbing that loud, extravagantly pinned vest before you have a chance to blink.

“no, you don’t have to do that.” you nervously fiddle with the blue ribbon tied at the base of your braid. “i don’t want to inconvenience you and it’s not the far from your room.”

he merely tsked and rests his hand atop your head, right in between the pigtails. “darlin’ there’s no chance i’m lettin’ you walk your little self back alone. you of all people? fuck no.”

“hobie!” you chastise, hands flying up to cover your ears. the keys dangle and bump again your cheek. your mom always told you that anyone who says adverse words is going straight to hellfire. you didn’t want to be apart of that.

he opens the door and motions you through, a hand on the small of your back. “you’d follow a man to his truck just ‘cause he said please.”

the warmth from his fingertips spread throughout the nerves on your spine and you feel like you’re on fire. you pout and it can easily be mistaken for your opposing opinions on your naivety.

“sorry but it’s true.” the door clicks shut when both of you have stepped outside it. hobie shoves his keys inside his pocket and begins down the hallway to the elevator. he hasn’t noticed you trailing behind him, teeming with explanations as to why your core throbs at the sight of him.

you do this all the way until you’re out the door of the men’s dormitory. you haven’t uttered a word, thumb rubbing against the warming metal of the cross dangling around your neck.

it’s not like you’ve ever felt this feeling before. not even around the other boys you’ve been around. granted, your hangouts were never like this. it was always under adult supervision, even in your older years, and you mostly saw each other during youth groups and summer camps. this, what you’re feeling now, is an entirely new and uncharted territory.

“hobie,” you start. the warm summer breeze ripples across your skin and leaves behind a chill of the promised winter to follow.

hobie lifts his head. the rock he kicked scattered off the sidewalk and into the grass. he hasn’t spoken to you. either. that’s the best thing about him. he doesn’t ask questions, letting you process things your own way. hobie is all too aware of your differences and has no problem letting you take your time.

“i have a question. it’s kind of personal, i think.” you take a brief pause before each word, meticulously picking them to match your uncertainty.

hobie is still silent. at some point, you would have begin to question if he’s even listening to you if it weren’t for the way he lazily shifted his gaze over to you.

“are you . . . have you ever gotten this feeling in your stomach? like a hot one.” you wet your lips. your heart is about ready to stop beating. how do you explain this to him? are you just supposed to tell him he makes your no-no square all fired up? do people say that?

“what are you goin’ on about, lovely? has my stomach ever burned? yeah, if i eat enough dairy.” he chuckles with a small shake of his head. unbeknownst to him, that is not at all what you’re referring to and you are too ashamed to ask him again.

“never mind,” you say with your head hung low.

it’s your parents fault and the way they neglected to teach you about your body. it’s not like you’re a complete idiot and you know sex can lead to children. however, you were taught that sex is bad and children are blessings so it’s fair to say you’re a bit clueless on the contrasting beliefs. not to mention this weird feeling a boy invokes. the boy that might as well be the son of satan himself.

you sigh, heavy and drawn, pulling your keycard out your lanyard. it scans and the lock beeps, allowing you both entrance into the girls dormitory.

hobie lifts an arm and holds the door open over your head. he’s confused. it’s obvious you’re mulling over something, putting so much energy into it that you don’t notice the weight of his eyes boring into the back of your head.

it isn’t until you’re standing in front of your door does he speak his mind. “what’s keepin’ your head so busy?”

your hand is steady on the handle but you have yet to turn it. you can feel the heat from his body standing so close to yours and just once you wish for him to reach forward and put his hand — oh no.

“m – maybe you should just come inside.” you yank your door open and pull him behind you. it’s a drastic decision on your part. never have you ever invited any man in your room, not even hobie. at best, he got glimpses of the shared living space but never of your room down the hall. he’s always walked you back, stood at your door until you were safe inside, and made his exit. always.

even when he’s come to walk you to class, your roommates would open the door and invite him in but he’d stay planted right at your welcome mat. hobie knows you, knows what silly boundaries you have but he follows them strictly because as long as you’re comfortable, he’s comfortable.

“hold on, look at me.” hobie finds himself abruptly stopping in your living room. he yanks his arm until you’ve spun back around and settles his hands atop your shoulders. his eyes fall on your lips, caught between you teeth and nearly knawed raw. he doesn’t miss your hands clenched into tiny fists by your side. “are you okay? this isn’t like you to act so . . . erratic.”

he has to stop his curiosity from getting the best of him and drink in the interior decorations you’ve done. out the corner of his eyes, he can tell just what you contributed, different nooks and crannies filled with pink trinkets and round eyed figurines. you’re the sweetest thing all worked up and making rash decisions. he doesn’t like where this is leading.

you give him a small nod of your head, eyes downcast and on the tops of his worn boots. the grime is welcoming. better than looking in his eye and having him see how unnerved you are.

as if you aren’t shaking under his grasp.

“dove, don’t lie to me. if there is somethin’ wrong, you need to let me know and i need to hear you say it.” his hands drop to your elbows, fingertips just barely touching your skin. hobie knows you’re avoiding him, avoiding addressing something big but welcoming him in your personal space. the contrast is enormous and it’s especially a big deal for you.

“i’m f – fine. i just . . .” you timidly shift your feet, sweatered arms going to wrap around yourself. you’re clutching your cross again, attention boring into the floor. “. . . can we please talk about it in my room. it’s not something i want to say here.”

he’s hesitant to let you go, drawing in a breath. you’re going to be the death of him, he decides, with the way you concern him but he’ll take your word for it. maybe, maybe just maybe you know exactly what you want.

he allows you to take him back to your room, pushing the door open. immediately, he gets a good whiff of the clean linen wax you have burning in your wax warmer.

your space is tidy, but not necessarily clean. you’re a bit of a maximalist, soft blankets and frills draped around your room. you have posters and paper hearts hanging on your wall, a my melody rug laying in the floor beneath your chair.

there’s a couple flower cushions strewn about and plenty of stuffed animals to go around. you have fairy lights across the wood of bed, casting the room in soft yellow lighting. there’s a rack in the corner full of lacey clothes that he assumes you’re planning on wearing soon.

you look so comfortable, fitting right in. of course you do, considering you decorated it yourself. hobie lingers at the edge of the room while you go through your routine of taking off your shoes and putting your bag by your desk. you’re putting your earrings in the strawberry shaped jewlery holder when you finally address him.

“you don’t have to stand there like that. you can take your shoes off and stuff,” you speak with your back turned to him. you know it’s weird, having him in here. it’s weirder when hobie acts as if his presence in your room will turn it into an active landmine.

hobie licks his lips, hands deep inside his pockets. he doesn’t even want to let his eyes linger too long on anything in fear he’s taint your purity, full of innocence and hope. “what am i here for?”

you rest your hand against the cool, light colored wood of your desk. you feel feverish, the topic making your palm sticky with sweat. the room suddenly gets hot and you’re clearing your throat while motioning for hobie to close the door. “um, well . . .” you trail off, tapping your manicured fingers loud enough to fill the silence with quiet clicks and clacks. “i have something to ask you.”

“ ‘nd you needed to bring me here to ask me?” his head tilts in deep skepticism. hobie leans against the white wall next to your door. he doesn’t want to go any further. he doesn’t belong here.

you’re irked, hands flying to wrap around yourself. the ruffles at the bottom of your dress rub against each other like flower petals in a spring breeze. “just listen! i have something serious to ask you and you’re being awkward. it’s making me awkward.”

hobie lifts and drops his shoulders. he’s tense when he crosses the threshold of your room and takes an uncomfortable seat at your desk chair. “sorry doll but we both know i’m not supposed to be in here. what do you want to talk about? make it quick so i can go.” he leans back as far as the chair will allow, eyes up and on you.

his question demands a straight forward response, one that you cannot provide. you don’t know what is happening, yourself. you’re back to your silence, grasping for words to form an explanation. “remember when i asked you if your stomach ever burned before?”

“not this again. i thought we already talked about –”

“no! listen.” you’re shouting at him again, lips pressed into a pout. you’re just barely working up the courage and you need to get it out before it goes away. “lately, i’ve been feeling like that but not in my stomach.”

you’re speaking so fast, hobie can barely understand you. he just catches your words, suddenly sitting up with his brows knitted together. “are you okay? sick?” he presses his hands flesh against your cheeks and forehead but your skin isn’t warm to the touch.

“n – no. not that i know of.” you nearly whine when his fingertips brush along your waist as they’re lowered back to his side. “it’s a little uncomfortable.” you rub your knees together in an attempt to satiate the ache between your thighs.

hobie has enough experience to recognize the little shuffle you do, accompanied by the needy glint in your eye. it startles him. not you. anyone but you, miss purity herself. he’s seeing things. “then what?”

he’s terrified of the way you look at him, eyes glossed over. the cherry colored blush dusted across your cheeks appeals to your cherubic state. this is his worst nightmare and best dream, that you would entice him like this.

it isn’t easy to ignore the chub of your ass that you’re unaware you carry and the softness of your breasts when you grab his arm and press your body against his. it especially isn’t easy to ignore the sweetness in your voice when you plead and chastise him for his vulgar words and behavior. oh how badly does he want to twist your brain but he won’t. he can’t allow himself to. you’re too good for that and that’s the problem.

“i feel weird inside around you, hobie. only you and . . . i don’t know.” you’re meek and quiet, face advert and back in the ruffled hem of your white socks. you cross and uncross your ankles to satisfy your need to stir and wriggle. “i wasn’t going to say anything but i don’t know how to make it stop and sometimes it hurts.”

you look so pitiful and pretty like this, almost begging for his help. it doesn’t take a genius to understand what you mean but hobie can’t bring himself to act on it. it feels so wrong on so many levels. he can’t take advantage of your unawareness like this.

“aw baby,” he has to curl his fingers into his palm to prevent himself from reaching out and grabbing you. that’s why you were so insistent on coming to your room. “you don’t want my help with that.” he keeps telling himself he has to be the bigger person, the one who thinks clearly.

“i do,” you insist, daring to take a bold step closer until you’re slotted between his knees. it’s a lot for you, coiling in on yourself to find comfort despite acting out your comfort zone. “i can’t take it anymore. you don’t understand.”

his hand comes up to rest against your cheek, following an empathetic shake of his head. “no, you don’t understand. you don’t even know what you’re talking about. what am i supposed to do if you can’t even tell me what you’re talking about?”

hobie stands, presumably to take his leave. he pushes you away from him by your waist. he’s stopped when you wrap your hand around his slender wrist, staring up at him with big, entreating eyes.

“please? anything? please, hobie. i’ll take anything just help me do something. tell me what to do, i don’t care. it’s terrible and uncomfortable and i can’t bear it anymore.”

he takes one look at you and is met with your waterline, gathering in tears of desperation. all his resolve slowly breaks until he’s cupping your cheeks with a soft sigh. “you’re gonna be the death of me, you know that? babblin’ about shit you don’t even understand.” he’s gentle, backing you up until your knees are knocking against your desk. he sits you up there, hands resting on either side of you.

“hobie,” you reprimand him again for his words out of habit, hands going to cover your ears again.

he stops them, much larger ones enscasing yours with a tut of his tongue. “don’t even. you don’t get to complain about me sayin’ shit and fuck and whatever else. not right now.” he presses your palm against his lips, piercings warm against your skin.

your mouth falls open, only to wordlessly shut. you don’t know what to say, what to do. all you know is you’re slightly overwhelmed with the future possibilities. what’s about to happen? what is he going to do?

“i don’t even know what to do with you. you sure this is what you want?” hobie doesn’t feel he needs to ask with the way you were begging him but he can’t help it. you’re such a sweet thing, asking him to do something about your aching cunt. you don’t even know what you’re asking him.

you nod, eyes widening when his hand falls over your knee. it’s a respectful distance but you’re anxious, already wiggling under his gaze. “you keep asking me.”

“i know darlin’ but can you blame me? just gotta make sure.” hobie ever-so-swiftly slides his hand up your thigh until his thumb is brushing against the front of your panties. he isn’t interested in beating around the bush and quite frankly, it would be so much better to just get the first touch done for. break the ice just enough.

your body immediately reacts, legs pressing closed as far as you can get them. your eyebrows knit together as your nerves crackle and pop with a sudden desire you haven’t felt before. “i’m s – sure.”

“never had this pretty pussy played with before have you? ‘course not. you’re a good girl.”

you hate the way he’s talking to you. it’s not quite derogatory but it makes you feel otherworldly in a negative way. as if you have no clue what he’s talking about. you don’t. and his words are so unclean.

“not gonna fuck you tonight. you’re not ready for that, yet.” he aids your legs back open with a firm grip, holding them in place. “you know what that means, yeah?” hobie doesn’t mean it as an insult, circling his thumb around your already puffy clit.

“mhm,” you’re wiggling again, lip caught between your teeth. you’ve heard the phrase in passing, understanding the word and its context. never have you used it, yourself. you’re clueless, not dumb.

hobie bunches your white dress up by your hips. he’s greeted with a view of your black panties, dark enough to conceal the dampening spot but he can still feel it beneath the pad of his thumb.

your glittery lip gloss has begun to spill over your plump lip and dribble down your chin with how much you quiver. he swipes the excess off, lightly chuckles at the way you fawn and fall over.

just over the clothes touching has you like this, mewling and hiccuping and doing your best to conceal it. it’s endearing, the way you try to maintain his level of composure.

he continues toying with you, a bit hesitant. it’s not like him but hobie knows he has to take his time with you. he can’t rush. he has to prep you thoroughly, get you used to his touches. this is what you want.

“and you’re not gonna act all shy when i take these off, are you?” his finger hooks through the leg hole, snapping the fabric back until it pops against you when it’s released. “or are you still trying to be a little angel?”

the thought of hobie pulling your underwear down and seeing what no one, let alone a man, has seen. your private jewels that you’re sure are soaping wet the way they are every other night. your cheeks heat up and you squeeze your eyes shut, knees trying to do the same. “no, i’m not.” you’re trying to be so brave, it’s cute.

“don’t worry, dolly. not yet. just gonna rub your cunt, just like this.” he pushes and pulls on your clit, hot underneath the pressure of his thumb. it has your hips shuffling in an attempt to rut against him. he doesn’t know if you’re aware, the way you stare at him like he hung the moon himself. “could make you cum like this, i bet. you ever done that before?”

a particular jerk of his finger has you gasping and grabbing whatever part of him you can get to first, his forearm and his shoulder. “i never –,” your chest heaves with a broken moan, partially restrained, “n – no. i don’t.”

as far as you know, premature sex and masturbation is a sin. you have never been tempted before even meeting hobie. not only would he be the first to touch you but he’d be the first to make you cum.

his boxers get increasingly more tight at the thought. you’re so pure and he’s so lucky, being the first, even before you, to dip his fingers between your folds. he can barely restrain himself.

hobie plants himself in your hair, his gruff groan vibrating your scalp. he can’t help the way his thumb jostles your clit. it’s nearly primal, how badly he wants to draw an orgasm out of you and he knows you’ll do it so easy with how pent up and inexperienced you are.

“you don’t gotta hide it, baby. let me hear you, dove. tell me what you like so i can make you feel good.” your hair smells of vanilla and shea butter. it makes hobie want to devour every part of you, his long cock leaking with precum but he has to remember to take his time. he has to.

“hobie . .” your weak whine fills the hazy spot in his brain that’s indulged so deeply in every part of you. you don’t have to tell him for him to know, it’s obvious in how you’re unable to be still, nails stabbing into his skin. “i f – feel weird.” you’re so wound up.

hobie pulls his head back. he feels heavy with need as he tilts your chin towards his face. he just wants to see you, that’s all. he just needs to see the expression you make the first time you cum. “don’t fight it, sweet girl. just let it happen. it’ll feel real good.” his thumb strokes your jawline, coaxing you to give in to the growing lust filled pit in your stomach.

hobie knows you cum simply because he can feel it. your pussy spams so hard, he swears he can hear it. he doesn’t even have to put a finger up to your entrance to feel the pulsating. it’s almost as if your hole is searching for something to suck in.

your mouth has fallen open in a tiny o, working your body into hobie’s through your experience. he was right. it felt so good, satiating the need and burn of your body. it’s almost addicting, the way your body reacts to his touch. your brain is becoming mush with each throb. “oh my goodness.” you speak in between breaths, finally releasing hobie and drawing back your nails.

he only chuckles, rubbing at your thighs. “that was good, wasn’t it? did it help your little problem?” he plays with the bottom of your dress, conflicted between pulling it down to set you free and suggesting another round. you offered a starved man a seat at the table.

you smile shyly at him. you don’t know what to say now, what to do. your friend just made you cum after you begged him to. how do people do this casually? “yes, thank you. i’m deeply sorry for being so forceful.”

at this, hobie laughs out loud. it’s genuine and booming against the walls. it seems he has yet to break you in but he supposed he was too hopeful. of course he couldn’t turn you into something like him just from rubbing on you a little bit.

“you’re all good, duck. you weren’t being forceful, at all.” he pulls out the desk chair and takes a seat, getting comfortable in the flower shaped cushion. his limber fingers are back to picking at the side of your panties. he’s a bit hungry, he thinks.

his eyes, dark and narrowed, do something to you. you don’t understand. you can still feel the sticky mess in your underwear but something is stirring inside you, again.

you both stare at each other in a heated silence, thinking the same thing but waiting for the other to say it first.

“you want me to eat you out?” hobie is the first to speak with his head tilted. he’s far more impatient and bold to play around. when he wants something, he’ll take it.

at first, you believe you heard him incorrectly. “do i want you to what?” you feel stupid having to ask but you’re truly at a loss. “i’m sorry. hobie, i don’t know what that is.”

hobie is the luckiest man in the world. if he could whip his cock out and slide it inside you, he would but having you on his tongue would be the next best thing, especially when you’re asking him what that is. “you’re about to find out.” he murmurs, pulling you to the edge of the desk.

you’re surprised when hobie yanks your underwear down, lifting up a hip at a time to get it down your legs and tossed across the room. both the cool air and his dark gaze has you snapping your legs shut. there’s too many things to hide from and you’re unprepared.

“no, no. don’t shut me out like that.” he has his hands hooked under your knees and props them on your shoulders. his excuse is that it would be better for you to manage but truthfully, he does it to get an eye to cunt view. he pulls you even closer until your lower body is dipping into his lap and you’re relying on him to hold you up. “you’re gonna like it, i promise.”

“oh, i don’t know about this.” you grip the edge of the desk, still sitting up and getting a perfect view of the carnal look in hobie’s eye. he actually licks his lips, flicking his attention up to you for only a second.

“just once. just try it once and if you don’t like it, we can stop. you have my word.”

you don’t know how much you can trust him like this but his warm breathe is just tickling you in all the best ways. it’s hypnotizing enough to have you nodding in agreement before you know it. “o – okay.”

hobie has enough sense, what little he has left, to put a hand in your tummy and pushing you down until your back is against the cool wood. he doesn’t have to tell you to stay there. he just knows you will, especially when you’re gasping at the feeling of his hot tongue on your cunt.

your sap is sweet and unbelievably so. like cherries and strawberries and mangos on a warm summer day. he’s delusional, drunk already and nose deep in your cunt.

his tongue finds your entrance as the source of the sweetness all to easy. he’s addicted to it, each suckle and slurp persuading more of your cream to pour out your hole.

it doesn’t take you long to start writhing, hand all in his hair, tugging in every direction. each swipe of his tongue and bump of his nose in your clit has your back arching. it’s better than you could have ever imagined. you can’t believe you were about to turn this down, or the fact that you didn’t allow yourself to experience such pleasure simply because of your parents fears.

you cry and sob, legs shaking on his shoulders. you can’t decide whether or not you want to tighten your legs around his head or open them wider to accept more of him. “hobie, p – please!”

hobie almost doesn’t hear you. almost.

your words just barely float around his brain but your pleas stick just enough for him to push your legs up by the bottom of your thighs. he keeps you hooked there so strongly, he’s able to grasp your hand and maintain his hold.

it sounds so wet that it’s humiliating. you can’t believe these sounds are coming from you, that hobie’s tongue is deep in you, that he has you folded like this. you didn’t know this was possible.

your body is all warm all over again. you’re fortunate there’s no excess clutter on your desk with the way hobie has you. your hands fly to the metal structure holding your bed together, mouth drying from how long you’ve held it open.

you swear it comes faster than it did before. it occurs to you that you’re a ticking time bomb. the previous orgasm has your clit feeling like each touch is a hot stone.

it’s as if hobie steals your breath with your growing cries at your approaching release. you don’t know what to do with yourself, where to put your hands. it’s overwhelming, your second orgasm and the first time anyone has ever “eaten you out”.

“feel weird again!” you say through broken sobs. you’re met with hobie’s acknowledging hands massaging into your skin. he’s coaxing, encouraging you without having to remove himself from his new favorite spot in the world, right between your thighs.

it gives you whiplash with how quickly your orgasm comes, pushing out of you as if the first one never happened. it’s just as strong, if not stronger. your body trembles with your spurts of cream. it’s weeks worth of sexual frustration to know end and a confusing search of a solution, all washed off you in one night.

you’re so sensitive, you have to push him off with your feet at his chest and chest heaving for air. “fuck, that was good.”

“did you just say fuck?” hobie leans over you, bringing the bottom of his shirt up to wipe your sheen off his face. he’s well amused, almost snorting at your response. that had to be his influence.

“did i?” you cover your mouth with quick regret. you didn’t realize it rolled off your tongue so easy.

hobie grins, pulling you to seating and then to your feet. he tries not to ogle at you too much. it’s difficult when your lower half is completely exposed and he’s still so desperately horny but he puts your needs first, closing his eyes and clearing his throat. “you got somethin’ to clean you up with? wipes or somethin’ until you shower?”

you open your desk drawer and pull out a pack of baby wipes. you present the package to hobie, who pops it open and takes one out.

he doesn’t ask you to move, merely just lowers himself to the ground and with gentle hands, wipe up the mixed mess of saliva and your juices.

you whine, presumably from the unavoidable ache that accompanies your sensitivity.

“i’m sorry, lovely. have to,” hobie tries to be as quick and harmless as possible, soothing you with kisses to your inner thigh. they’re well mannered and innocent, until you’re clean enough and he’s throwing the baby wipe away. “are you okay, though? you don’t regret it, do you?”

you watch hobie straighten out your dress again. his gaze is as polite as it can get, avoiding any look at your pussy, although its right in front of him. instead, he meets your eyes until he rises to his feet. “um, no.” you’re back to being quiet, hands clasped and fumbling with each other.

you’re suddenly aware of how close he’s standing but it’s short lived when hobie is making his way back to the door to put his shoes on.

“i’m gonna go because i’m sure you want to process that and get your space and whatever else, yeah? but don’t worry, i’ll answer your texts and your calls.” he does feel bad, as if he’s fuck-and-dashing you but in reality, if he doesn’t get out of here, he’ll be too tempted to try and actually fuck you. “i’ll be back tomorrow to walk you to class, doll.”

you’re speechless as you watch him gather himself to leave, grateful for the space because you could probably explode right now. you also miss your panties just barely peeking out of his pocket.

“and feel free me to ask me again if you ever need my help.” and with that, he’s gone with a soft click of your door.

#࣪✮🕷✮⋆˙ #hobie x black!reader #hobie smut #hobie brown #x black fem reader #astv hobie #x black reader #hobie x reader #x reader #hobie x y/n

[tyunniez]

look at yourself, pretty... bottom male reader

!!.. amab reader, reader wears makeup, reader has a high ego, his bestfriend knocks that ego down lol, mirror sex, top likes to tease...

you stared at yourself in front of the mirror for the hundredth time today, admiring yourself and your choice of outfit for the day.

you twirled around a little checking how your shirt perfectly accentuated your waist and just how nicely your pants hugged your ass.

" i just picked the perfect outfit for today! " you yelled out while still checking yourself out in the mirror while your best friend eyed you.

" you done yet? " he asked, his voice unamused as he's already used to your behavior. you hummed while grabbing your things, already out of the room while yelling at him to hurry up.

he rolled his eyes, " i really don't get your obsession with mirrors.. " he murmured while catching up to you.

the both of you arrived at the cafe and finally managed to get a spot to sit at.

" i can't believe how crowded this place actually is.. the food better be good! " your best friend nodded while looking through the menu, already confused at some of the menu names.

while waiting for him to finish with the menu, you use the mini mirror you always bring with you to fix your hair and look at yourself.

after getting your fill and taking lots of insta worthy photos, you dragged him towards a nearby clothing store, already excited to try on new clothes.

you unlocked the door and showed yourself off to him, " so, how about this one? " you asked while twirling around to show it to him.

he looked you up and down before lazily replying. " yeah sure it looks great. can you hurry up? im getting bored. "

you tsked and closed the door again, opting to judge your outfit yourself. " ugh, you've been saying that for the past three outfits! honestly, why do i even bother asking you! " he rolled his eyes at you, even if you couldn't see it.

" though this other top might look cuter with these jeans... "

" hurry up and stop being so picky! "

after that whole fashion fiesta, you ended up buying all of it anyway, you started dragging him back and forth from place to place.

a satisfied hum escaped your lips as you suck on the spoon that contained gumball-flavored ice cream. you feel refreshed as the cold treat goes down your throat.

" ah.. this place is the best, isn't it? " you said while scooping up another spoon, already missing the taste of the sweet treat.

he hummed while licking up his strawberry ice cream, some of it already dripping down his fingers.

he watched as you set the ice cream down and pulled out your phone camera to look at yourself. " why do you keep looking at yourself on every reflective surface around you? no offense or anything.. " he suddenly asked.

you shut your phone and pick your ice cream up again while shrugging him off. " sometimes when you're just that pretty— "

a groan interrupted you, your best friend obviously annoyed at your response. you laughed at him, satisfied at annoying him again.

" i swear yn, i'm going to knock down that ego of yours. "

" i'd like to see you try. "

you shut your eyes as you tilt your head to the side. " oh no no no, don't you dare look away. " he says while forcing your head to the giant mirror in front of you. " open your fucking eyes, yn. "

you whine while forcing your eyes open to look at him, refusing to look at yourself getting dicked down in the mirror.

" come on, look at yourself pretty. don't you just love doing that? " you look down and shake your head, denying him even if he's actually right.

" i said look at yourself. it's really not that hard of a request right? " he whispered in your ear all while spreading your legs wider for you to see in the mirror.

you finally look at yourself and your dazed expression in the mirror. you glance down to look at how his dick is entering your hole, drool seeping out of your mouth.

he then slides his way onto your cock, rubbing and playing with the tip to tease you.

he laughs in your ear and lets go of your red cock, hoisting your legs up making his cock reach deeper in you and hitting that one spot.

your own best friend had you seated on him with his cock deep inside you. his two hands holding both of your legs up by grabbing under your knees.

he begins slowly, sliding you up and down his cock while enjoying your moans. he watches as your own cock twitch, begging for release already.

" hah look at you, drool down your face just because of this cock. " he taunts you causing you to shoot a glare at him using the mirror.

" s-shut up! if my makeup isn't ruined then are you even fucking me good? honestly, if you— " before your sentence could even finish, he slams you down on his dick making a loud moan escape your mouth.

" not fucking you good? oh, i'll make sure you're fucking crying after this, pretty. "

you whined out loud while trying to bury your face into the sheets, your makeup already long gone, smeared into said sheets.

he pulls your hair up to make you look up into the mirror, not even bothering to stop thrusting into you. " look at yourself pretty. see how your makeup is ruined now? " he mocks you.

you tried to look at yourself, trying to see how your mascara runs down your face because of your nonstop tears, your tears almost wiping the mascara clean. your lipstick smears itself all over your lips with drool and moans escaping from it.

but your eyes keep rolling up from the pleasure, your tears making your vision blurry.

he laughs as he watches your attempt at focusing on yourself, loving the way your eyes kept rolling upwards from how good he's fucking you.

" come on pretty, just look at yourself. don't you love to do that? " he forces your head back down into the sheets, muffling your moans and whines all while cumming into you for the third time already.

he then starts rubbing your cock, your previous release acting as lube for it.

you moan out loud into the sheets as you shoot your load for the fifth time already. "mmh.. no more! " you beg him, your voice muffled.

" ehh..? but im just starting to have fun! "

#tyunniez 🕷 #tyunniez asks 💌 #bottom male reader #bttm male reader #male reader #uke male reader #x male reader #male x male smut #amab reader #male reader smut #x male reader smut

[reveluving]

the bump in the night ; rick flag x reader

summary: someone made Mrs Flag cry, and her family is not having it.

warnings: tooth-rotting fluff, shadow-magic f!reader, reverse comfort & humour!

a/n: this AU is based on this piece I made a while back, 'cause you already know I can't do this special without hubby Rick and the kids! hope you enjoy it & don’t forget to leave some sugar! ᐠ( ᐛ )ᐟ

» wanna know what I have in store this fall? come & check out my m.list for 'reve's quirky reverie 🕷️'!

'For now, they had a plan, hoping it could bring a smile to your face.' ;

Coming home to his daughter's hugs had become an everyday thing if Rick didn't have to work overtime, but if the flicker of sadness in her eyes was anything to go by, something had to have happened while he was away.

“Mrs Bedford was saying bad stuff to mama while we were at the park.” 

It was the same thing she told her brothers when they got home from school, and just like them, it was enough for Rick to get the whole picture.

Ah, Mrs Bedford. Or as the neighbourhood youngsters, children and teenagers alike, like to call her 'the modern witch of the road', and not in the cool way. Her husband was no better, always bugging you at any given opportunity. The worst part was Mrs Bedford always antagonized you for it, even if she knew you didn’t entertain her husband’s behaviour. It was also extremely hypocritical of her, considering she herself has tried to make her move on Rick. A lot. Only to be met with disappointment each time. 

Her children were just as bad, too, to put it lightly.

“What did she say?” It was the green light Irene needed before she explained what had happened to a T, courtesy of her father’s eagle eye. Unlike most days, it was just you and Irene visiting the park since your sons had football practice. 

The two of you were feeding the ducks when Mrs Bedford came up to you.

“You on your own?” Was the first thing she asked you before you questionably said ‘yes’, despite Irene being there too, and the little girl realized Mrs Bedford wouldn’t have gone off on a tangent about you and your ‘possibly tainted history’ if her father or brothers were around in the first place.

“I don’t know what you did but I can see it in your eyes, Flag. You’re no saint. You can fool the others with your little flower shop and your so-called angelic kids, but not me.”

Though Mrs Bedford knew nothing about your powers or your time in Belle Reve, instead, spewing hate out of jealousy and hatred for you for being the favourable neighbour, she wasn’t completely wrong. You have hurt people, you’ve even killed some, but they were for the greater good. Since your freedom from hell on earth, you’ve barely used your umbrakineses. It wasn’t until the birth of your children, to which all three of them gained your abilities did you realized you couldn’t run from who you really were—it wasn’t right nor fair to them.

Then, telling them your story as a criminal and how their dad was once your enemy was another thing. You weren’t sure what reaction you were expecting, but it was certainly not amazement and sparkles in their eyes. As they grew older, they began to make sense of how their parents somehow knew people like Aunt Harley, Uncle Robert and hell, even Nanaue.

And at that point in time, Mrs Bedford reminded you of Waller, turning you into submission as you could do nothing but listen to her make a mockery out of you for turning over a new leaf. Irene had to watch your face drop as the woman insulted you, and she knew she had to tell her family about it. 

Irene insisted that she was fine about heading home early, even if you tried to convince her otherwise. She wanted nothing more than to do something about that glazed look in your eyes.

As soon as you stepped foot into the living room, a tear rolled down your cheek. You couldn't help but apologize to her, to everyone if they were with you then. You weren’t entirely sure if it was because you seemed weak over a bunch of words or their fate of ending up with you as the wife and a mother of their family.

Irene shook her head, hugging you with her face in your tummy.

"You're not a mean person, mama. You're the nicest and coolest mama we could ever ask for, and we love you." 

It was simple, something you've heard of thousands of times in your lifetime, but you very much needed it today.

Ever the sweet girl, she accompanied you as you lay in your bed, telling you random stories about what she painted during art class or what she ate at lunch, anything but the time Mrs Bedford’s son, Kyle pushed her off the swing while his older brother, Blake laughed and praised him for doing so. You didn’t need to know that. 

Not yet.

You listened with a warm smile, embarrassed but nonetheless thankful for how observant she was of your feelings before eventually dozing off. 

Irene was careful yet quick to jump off the bed, running downstairs to shush Richie and Ethan as they returned home. 

The more she explained, the brighter their eyes unnaturally glowed. Richie was starting to look like their father as he crossed his arms, listening to her like a police officer, while Ethan seemed like he was already thinking of ways to counter the Bedford’s undignified acts.

Basically, the Bedfords were not the greatest people. Each and every one of them. 

Though they had a myriad of ideas, they weren’t sure how much their father would appreciate it, even if it was for your sake. Still, they thanked Irene for being there for you, promising that something would be done, no matter what it would be.

For now, they had a plan, hoping it could bring a smile to your face.

After an unexpected nap, you came down to find your kids huddled on the couch, whispering and hushing each other. Curious, you approached them.

Ethan was the first to notice you, offering you a grin before showing you what was in their hands, “Look, ma, I think we got it.” 

You leaned in to take a closer look, only for your breath to hitch at the sight of life on their palms. There, they showed you the differing mass of shadows they conjured, a tougher one you just taught them about a week ago. You have always loved this trick as a kid, and it only aided your sanity when you were by your lonesome in the penitentiary. In a way, you were replacing what life truly was by making your own, even if they were temporary because there was no telling when or if you’d ever be free. 

Yet, here they were, prompting joy and pride as they held the wispy animals of their choice; Richie with what seemed to be an adorable little puppy, Ethan creatively emulated a bioluminescent jellyfish and Irene…

Oh, Irene.

She scarcely remembered how much you loved making her laugh by conjuring butterflies when she was still very little if not for the twins confirming it. 

The butterfly was as small as her hand, but the wings were majestic, idly flapping before flying over to you, leaving cloudy black trails and landing on your outstretched finger. 

You stared at their creations ever so lovingly, already on the brink of tears. You were just as mad at yourself for doubting your worth, and your potential, just because of the things you had to do in the past, for the sake of the person you were now.

You embraced Irene in a tight hug before pulling your boys in as well. You sniffled, absolutely joyous and blessed to be surrounded by the most loving people. Nothing could deter you from this, not even as the shadow puppy yipped and chased the jellyfish and butterfly in excitement. Your cat, Tofu, must’ve heard the commotion, too, as she came from the kitchen to check, only to be frightened and jump on the couch with you as the puppy came running to her.

Rick finally arrived about two hours later, coming home to hear laughter before he saw Irene running across the room, followed by Tofu and the shadow puppy in tow. The jellyfish laid on Richie’s head like a nest whereas the butterfly decided to make Ethan’s shoulder its home as they hung out with you on the couch.

“Daddy!” Irene greeted him before running over to him. He didn’t question the questioning look she gave him just yet and instead, hoisted her up, laughing as Tofu and the puppy pawed at his bootlaces.

“What’s going on here?” He raised his brows, amused by what could be described as a fever dream of a sight.

“The kids learnt how to make little lives.” You giggled, allowing Rick to sit next to you as you scooted over.

“And I got a new hat,” Richie gestured to the jellyfish, who he has now dubbed as Jelly. As if it understood, Jelly immediately floated away, leaving Richie’s hair flattened, “Never mind.”

You shared a laugh as he deadpanned before you turned to Rick, “Was work okay?”

“Yeah, the usual. Decorated the place today, actually.” He took his phone out of his pocket, opening his gallery and showing you and the kids the spookily tacky decor that furnished his workplace.

“Did you really paint ‘dead inside, don’t open’ on the entrance door?” The twins gawked.

“Fitting, ain't it?” Rick joked, prompting smiles and chuckles from you once more before falling back on the couch, “But at least I’m off tomorrow, so I was thinking we could eat out for dinner.”

“Oh! We should head to Pop’s since they’re also offering their apple betty.” Ethan suggested.

“Well, I think that’s a good idea, so,” Richie trailed off, raising anticipation from the rest of you before jumping off the couch and running up the stairs. Ethan and Irene simultaneously gasped before the former took his sister out of Rick’s arms to chase their brother together. You and Rick could only watch with delight as Tofu and the shadow creatures followed them too.

“Everything okay?” He wanted to know, but he wouldn’t pry if you weren’t ready to tell him.

“Yeah,” You nodded, gazing down for a moment before continuing, “Something happened earlier but…”

“Richie! You better not lock the door or I swear to God!” Ethan’s voice rang out from upstairs, followed by Irene’s ‘language!’, and you couldn’t help but shake your head in amusement. 

“It’s all good now.” You reassured him. You knew you could’ve told him, but it wasn’t worth dwelling on. You had children to nurture and a husband to take on the world with.

“The Bedfords?” He guessed. If it wasn’t them, then it had to be Mr Walker.

“The Bedfords,” You confirmed with a tight smile, “I’m just more upset that Irene was there to hear it.”

You didn’t explain any further and Rick took it as a sign to drop it. If they were able to make you this upset, then it was best to ask the kids instead. 

“I’m sorry,” He pulled you to his chest, planting a slow and gentle kiss on your forehead. He rubbed your back, sighing at the very mention of that family. Rick loathed that they were influential enough to be one of the higher-ups of the school’s PTA, though he was confident that money was involved in it too. He hated that they were reasons why you’d come home ranting about how Mrs Bedford bugged you again, or when he had to make sure Mr Bedford knew he was making a promise and not an empty threat whenever it involved their kids and his, "You know I can talk to them." 

It would do no good, but it was worth trying. 

"No, you know how the Bedfords are. Don’t worry, okay? Not now,” You kissed the inside of his palm before pressing your lips against his, soft, sensual and safe. Rick moved forward, deepening the kiss as held the nape of your neck. You pulled away but not before nuzzling his nose, “We should be celebrating.”

He nodded, though he knew it would only linger in his mind for a while. Still, he adhered to your wishes, standing up before offering you his hand to get ready, “Right, right. Shall we?”

You snorted, placing your hand in his the way a princess would when a prince asks for a dance. Unexpectedly, he twirled you around, wrapping his arms around you he pulled you in, chest to chest. You playfully smacked him, though it did very little to wipe off the pleased look on his face as the two of you headed to your room. 

You and the boys were the first to head out to the front yard, chatting and evaluating the decors of the houses while waiting for Rick and Irene. 

“What happened today?” He asked his daughter quietly as they stood at the front door, helping with her shoes while she slid on a jacket. 

“Mrs Bedford was saying bad stuff to mama while we were at the park.” She whispered back, swinging her arms as she watched her father tie her shoelace, “Like, really mean stuff. No one was around except us so she was kinda loud, too.”

Rick fumed, clenching his jaw as he could already hear and picture whatever nonsense she loved to spit out. 

“Mama got kinda quiet when we came home, and then she started crying. About how she’s sorry she was a criminal and how we’re ‘stuck’ with her powers.” She added. If anything, she and the boys thought your abilities were the coolest thing to have ever happened to them. 

He shook his head—who wouldn't crack after being subjected to their ways for so long? He hummed, hiding the seething resentment by ruffling Irene's hair.

"Can you help me distract your mother while I talk to the boys for a bit?" She nodded diligently, skipping over to you before Rick called out to his sons, "Need some help, boys." 

They rushed over, glancing at you before Ethan spoke up first, "She told you?" 

"Yeah." Rick replied as he locked the door.

"Can't we do something about it?" Richie asked with a frown.

"You boys are not punching Blake again." Rick reminded them with a small smile. 

"You didn't seem to mind it," Ethan mirrored his father's amusement, "He was yelling at our teammate and encouraged his troll brother to push Irene off a swing." 

"I'm mad, too," Rick was more than mad, but he couldn't let his emotions run wild, "Look, we'll think of something, alright? For now, just make sure she's happy." 

That's all they ever wanted.

The drive to Pop's was a lively one, and so was the dinner itself. Though you knew you'd be thinking about Mrs Bedford's words every once in a while, the smiles and laughter of your family were already a welcoming distraction as it is. 

Midnight rolled around, and everyone had returned to their rooms with sore cheeks and a full stomach. You were the first to slip under the covers after a shower, hoping you wouldn't be too tired as you waited for Rick, though it didn't work.

By the time Rick got out of the bathroom, you were peacefully asleep, your face just a breath away from your husband's pillow as his scent soothed you like no other. 

Rick smiled to himself, changing into his PJs before sitting on your side of the bed. The dip roused you from your slumber just a little.

"Rick?" You murmured, fluttering your lashes tiredly.

"Forgot to get some water," He caressed your cheek before bending down to kiss it, "I'll be back." 

You mustered a closed-eye smile and before you knew it, you drifted off once again, lulled by the way he patted your back.

Once the coast was clear, he moved off the bed, silently slipping out and closing the door before heading over to the twins' room. He knocked on the door, just enough for them to hear before doing the same with Irene's door and headed downstairs.

Rick sat down at the dining table with a glass of cold water, arms crossed and lost in his own thoughts before hearing light footsteps approaching.

Richie, Ethan and Irene carefully pulled their chairs back before taking a seat, and just like that, the discussion began.

But it didn't seem like they were getting anywhere and at some point, they just started shit-talking.

"Man, I wish coach would just kick Blake out." Ethan groaned, his head falling back. 

"Tell me about it. He's shit at quarterback." Richie clicked his tongue.

"Boys." Rick warned them, partially because his youngest was listening.

"Sorry." They apologized but Irene didn't seem to mind.

"How about…" She chimed in, tapping her finger on her chin, "We scare them?" 

"Like…?" Richie cocked his head, hoping she'd say more than just that.

"I don't know, I just thought it'd be cool since it's Halloween and stuff. And, well, maybe we could use our powers, but I know mama and daddy wouldn't want that." She shrugged, pouting because she hadn't thought it far enough.

"It would be a miracle to scare them without using our powers in the first place," Richie sighed, looking over to his father, "What do you think, dad?" 

No reply.

"Dad?" Ethan followed suit as the three of them raised their brows.

“How far are you in your shadow puppet practice?” Rick asked out of the blue, staring ahead as though imagining whatever idea he had played out. 

“Uh, pretty far, I think? Ma taught us how to merge our shadows into one if we wanted to make a bigger animal.” Richie answered, earning affirmative nods from his siblings. 

“How big?” 

“Like, this big!” Irene opened her arms wide to let him know just how big of a monster they would be able to make if they wanted to. They haven’t, there was no reason to, but the more their father asked, the more it piqued their interest.

Rick thought it through for a moment. It has been a while since he has seen you make that one particular lifeform, but it was worth a shot. If it were able to render Waller speechless, then it’ll definitely make the Bedfords piss their pants. 

No actual attacks, and definitely no killings. But he’ll make sure they shudder at the mere thought of Halloween. Put the fear of God in them. They had it coming, too, stomping on other neighbours’ happiness for years just for the fun of it. 

He just had to play it safe. 

He slowly broke into a sinister smile.

“You three ever heard of a hellhound?”

˚ · . f i n . · ˚

» a/n: ahh hubby rick &lt;3 ;; gorgeous rose divider by @firefly-graphics ♡

#reve's quirky reverie 🕷 #— reve's reverie 🌹 #rick flag #rick flag x reader #rick flag x female reader #rick flag x f!reader #rick flag x you #rick flag imagine #rick flag fanfiction #colonel flag #colonel rick flag #colonel rick flag x reader #tss 2021 #tss #joel kinnaman #husband rick #hubby rick

[yutapet]

VAMPIRE

she says again: "there's no sacrifice without blood".

#𝆤࿙⃛࿙⃛࿚⃛࿙⃛࿙⃛࿙⃛࿚⃛࿙⃛ ᬉٞ 🕷 ᬉٞ ࿚⃛࿙⃛࿙⃛࿚⃛࿙⃛࿙⃛࿚⃛࿚⃛𝆤 #yujin le sserafim #yujin moodboard #yujin layouts #yujin packs #yujin icons #le sserafim icons #le sserafim layouts #messy icons #messy headers #messy moodboard #messy layouts #kpop layouts #kpop packs #gg messy icons #gg layouts #gg icons #gg moodboard #random

[red-rover-au]

Friends, fans, freaks, help me out. Share EVERYTHING about how you think the Battle Nexus and Big Mama’s businesses work

Any headcanons about the structure/technology (like about her door that looks Very Krang-Like and what that might mean), your fanfic or your favorite fanfic that has the nexus as a significant plot point and/or goes into detail about how the place is managed, stuff you picked up from canon that gives hints on how Big Mama operates (like that chest covered in bones that her turtle assistant handed her), literally anything and everything you can think of!

If you know anything about economy that would be super helpful too, you should infodump about that as far as its relevant to Big Mama (pleeease)

#almost everything Big Mama does has the end goal of “THIS WILL BE PERFECT FOR MY BATTLE NEXUS 🕷🕷🕷” #but then there was that episode where Leo says her business is obviously on Tough Times #she even said so herself when she stooped to forcing one of her hotel staff into fighting in the nexus #sidenot: she traffiks ppl right?? like when she straight up kidnapped Lou Jitsu and then the turtles #or is it more likely that they were outliers and she usually blackmails ppl into participating or something?? #anyways yeah how is she in business and how does she keep it running #rottmnt #rise of the tmnt #big mama #big mama tmnt #rottmnt big mama #battle nexus #rottmnt battle nexus #rottmnt fandom #rottmnt fanfiction #turtle thoughts