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ovaryacted · 10 months

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Insoportable

Summary: Miguel O’Hara x fem!reader. Miguel couldn’t stand you, the more you refused to listen to him and his orders, the closer he got to snapping. After another failed mission, he’s had enough, and takes it upon himself to put you in your place.

Warnings: 18+/MDNI. NSFW. Porn with plot. Dom/sub elements, throat/face fucking, degradation & praise, slight size kink, slight choking, rough sex, bare backing, mention of fluids.

WC: 5.2k

A/N: Took me a while to write this but I hope it’s enjoyable. Originally was an enemies to lovers plot but it’s more of a passionate stress relief type thing, I’ll do actual enemies to lovers/hate sex another time. For the record, I speak Spanish, so the Spanish you see in this piece is how I’d personally speak. Title is also in Spanish lolz. :)

You were insufferable, a nuisance every time you walked in the room or were in close proximity to Miguel. A firecracker that hated following orders or being told what to do. He didn’t even know how you managed to last this long as a spider-person or why you were chosen to become one since you behaved so recklessly. In his mind, you were a hazard to have on his elite strike force, but Jess was the one that convinced him you would be a good addition to the team. That was a few months ago, and he continues to figure out whether or not having you around was a good or bad thing. So far, it was definitely leaning towards bad.

You never listened to him, often going off on your own on missions or making small mistakes that would throw him off. It was almost as if you enjoyed seeing him upset, making it harder to tolerate you and leading to more arguments. The constant bickering and fighting was a daily occurrence, a game of pull and push to see who would make the other crack, and usually, it was you pushing Miguel to his limits.

This was how your relationship was, if he can even say you guys had one, and he still remembers how your eyes gleamed with mischief when you were introduced to the Spider Society. At first glance, he comes off as intimidating, even scary with his size and demeanor alone. But with you? It was the complete opposite, like your ego was as big as him and then some. He couldn’t understand why you didn’t take him seriously.

Of course, today was no different.

“This isn’t how we organized this!”, Miguel yelled at you from the other side of the street, climbing up one of the buildings to catch up to your rapid swinging.

Currently, you were tracking down a lizard variant that Miguel had ordered you to capture and bring back to HQ. It was intended to be a solo mission, but instead of listening to him the first time around, you brought your newest friend Hobie to keep you company. As if the brunette’s stress couldn’t get any worse, seeing you two together creating havoc across the multiverse blew his blood pressure through the roof. The second you joined his team, you and Hobie instantly clicked, becoming almost inseparable when you met each other. Two rebels, two people who hated authority were brought together by fate. If Hobie’s anarchist tendencies were bad then, they’re worse now, and it only wore poor Miguel out knowing that headache number one found its match.

The variant from Earth-374 was tracked down in the sewer system, both you and your favorite rockstar managing to slow it down and trap it in one of the underground tunnels using your webbing. In celebration, you stopped by to get hot dogs, feeling you deserved a break and cheering at a job well done. Excitedly, you reported back to Miguel of your successful capture, hoping that maybe for once, he wouldn’t look at you with such dismay. Only when it was time for him to come to retrieve the anomaly, he was dumbfounded to see traces of webbing and no lizard. It escaped right under your grasp, your clumsy mistake of not securing them properly and forgetting to set up the sensors caused this to happen. You could practically see the tick in Miguel’s jaw as he all but looked at you in vexation.

Now you were attempting to amend your mistake with Miguel and Hobie alongside you, chasing the creature down through the streets of an alternate New York City. Despite both of them being there to help you, you still managed to go off on your own.

“I almost have it! Just let me get this!”, you called back to Miguel, distancing yourself from the other two as you launched your body towards the reptile underneath you. Miguel constantly called you out on this, how you always put yourself in danger instead of actively trying to get away from it. Your spider-senses were the same as everyone else’s, yet you behaved as if you didn’t use them half of the time, enjoying the thrill of being put in such precarious situations.

Hobie followed your lead while Miguel continued to grumble under his breath. You landed on the lizard’s back, shooting your webs to cover their eyes and blind them momentarily. They thrashed around the bustling streets, scaly skin rough against your feet and sharp claws reaching out to grab you.

A backflip here, another dodge and curve of your body there, you landed on top of the lizard’s head. They snarled when you shot another array of webs at their jaw, creating a makeshift lead and pulling upwards. In the mayhem of the chase, Miguel shot his own red webbing at its feet, yanking backwards and watching the mutated reptile slam into the concrete face first. Hobie mimicked the larger man’s actions, the both of them working in tandem to bring the lizard down to the ground and secure it thoroughly. You busied yourself with webbing its mouth shut, taking extra care to ensure you wouldn’t repeat your initial mistake.

Even if this was considered a personal redemption, you didn’t have the time to recover your breath before Miguel was on you again, his tone harsh and condescending.

“Do you have any idea what the hell you just did? How many times do I have to tell you to do things the way I say?!”, Miguel spat out, scolding you as if you were a child that lacked common sense.

“We still caught them no? The damage isn’t so bad”, you said stubbornly, putting your hands on your hips and looking up at Miguel defensively. From the way the outline of the eyes on his mask curved downward, you could tell he was irked. Perhaps this was his last straw with you.

“You destroyed half of the damn city! Are you really this stupid and hasty?”, he said almost exasperatingly. No matter how hard you tried to talk to him, Miguel never listened. He always wanted things done his way, and he just couldn’t stand the fact that you never saw him through.

“I wouldn’t be this hasty if you would just get off my back! You’re always so uptight!”

“This conversation isn’t over, you hear me?”, he hovered above you, not wanting to prolong this argument any longer. Messing with the buttons on his watch and opening a portal back to H.Q., he entrapped the lizard variant and threw them through the bright colors of the interdimensional opening. He took one last glance at you before walking through, leaving you and Hobie behind as you sighed and looked down at your feet.

“I messed up, didn’t I?”, you asked Hobie, who started walking towards the portal with you close behind.

“Nah, it’s not that bad. The big man will get over it”, he said with a shrug, tone of voice slightly teasing and doing nothing to calm your nerves.

You only silently hoped that Hobie was right.

Miguel exhaled with his fingers pressed against the bridge of his nose, breathing through his nostrils as he tried to regain some peace of mind. After today’s fiasco of a mission, he called you and Hobie back to his lab to discuss it. Whether it was just to talk or simply yell at you again for your failure, you were about to find out.

“Miguelito, you’re going to pop a vein at this rate with the way you’re stressing out,” you teased, looking over at the very agitated Spider-Man.

Oh, he hated that. He loathed how easily the nickname slipped past your lips whenever you antagonized him. You always found more ways to get under his thick skin, and this was one of the things you did from your long list that seemed to upset him the most.

“Dios dame paciencia”, Miguel muttered under his breath, huffing and puffing as he paced around.

“I lied before, he’s definitely pissed at you now”, Hobie said next to you, smugly glancing between you and your mutual boss from the corner of his eye.

“It’s not so bad, I swear”, you put your hands up in fake innocence, and Miguel just chuckled dryly under his breath.

“You’re joking right? You let the anomaly go because you weren’t paying attention, and I have to clean up after your mistakes, again”, Miguel turned his back to face you, red eyes looking at you fiercely.

“Okay, I may have done that, but we caught them right after. What’s the big deal?”, you said, shrugging, which only seemed to tick Miguel off more, feeling his shoulders tense and his left eye beginning to twitch.

“And that’s my cue to leave. Good luck, mate”, Hobie says, saluting you and leaving you to face Miguel’s wrath alone.

“What’s the big deal? You just don’t get it, do you? You’re always so careless, you never listen to me, and then you act oblivious when you mess up. How the hell are you even a spider-person?”, Miguel retorted, stepping closer to you as an act of intimidation, but it didn’t affect you much. You held your ground while he walked forward until he stood right in front of you, looking down as if you were merely a pest.

“I still do my job, don’t I? You’re stressing out over nothing, and you don’t have to be breathing down my neck all the time if you’d just let me do my own thing. The multiverse is still safe Miguelito, lighten up!”

“Stop fucking calling me that! God, you annoy the shit out of me I can’t stand you.”

“I’m aware of that, you remind me every day!”, you countered defiantly, and Miguel was on the brink of losing his last nerve.

“Coño, for once, will you just shut the fuck up!”, he yelled now, reaching an arm out to wrap his hand around your throat, holding you in place instinctively as you gasped.

He wasn’t choking you, his fingers not daring to tighten around your neck but acting as a placeholder. He bent down the slightest bit, whispering in your ear with a tone of voice that was borderline threatening.

“You’re a pain in my ass, an ungrateful brat, and I don’t know if you get on my nerves on purpose, but you’re going to learn to stop fucking with me like a plaything. ¿Entiendes?”, Miguel snarled, his lips grazing the outer shell of your ear. This you weren’t expecting, your mind short-circuiting as your breath hitched at his words.

Miguel pulled away, his hands still around your neck while he stared down at you. He was taking in your reaction, watching how your breathing increased, your eyes were filled with a curiosity he hadn’t seen from you, and he could practically feel your pulse pounding against his thumb that pressed into your skin.

He was trying to figure out the sudden change in your demeanor, half expecting you to say some sassy remark back to him, but nothing came out of your mouth. If anything, you seemed to like this.

“Ah, so that’s what it is? You’re a brat on purpose?”, he smirked then, finding your sudden silence amusing. “You think you’re hot shit, acting all defiant around me when in reality, you need to be put in your place.”

Your cheeks blushed, both confused and aroused at the sudden change in the dynamic between you two. Have you thought about Miguel like this? Sure, once or twice. But the big scary Spider-Man was a tough nut to crack, so instead, you compromised for teasing. There was no way he would act out on those very sudden desires, right? Right?

Oh how wrong you were.

“You put up a show all the time when you just want some attention. Ain’t that right, muñeca?”, Miguel said, leaning his face closer to yours so the tips of your noses barely touched. He was teasing you, playing with the idea of giving you something you didn’t even know you would crave. His grip tightened around your neck the slightest bit, bringing your attention back to him when he spoke again, “I asked you a question, answer me.”

“Y-Yes”, you stuttered, the neurons in your brain working just enough to formulate one word. At this rate, you could feel your body warming up with how Miguel spoke to you. It felt taboo to be in this situation right now, but some part of you wanted to indulge in this small fantasy.

“Hmmm, maybe I’ll remind you where you belong so you can stop acting out. You want that?”, Miguel’s voice was playful now, noticing how your blush intensified the closer he leaned down. One of his hands reached for your hip, bringing you closer to him while the other stayed on your neck, your jaw tilting up towards him. It was an invitation, a calling for a kiss, or whatever else he may have in mind.

“Fuck, yes”, you found yourself saying a bit too quickly, your brain telling you to just shut up and listen to him for once, to relieve whatever tension the both of you have developed for so long. Miguel took one last look into your eyes before he closed the distance between you two, his mouth meeting yours with force.

Your lips meddled together in a flurry of need, a mess of tongue and teeth as you both forgone all sense of professionalism. These weren’t the lovely, soft kisses one would expect from someone they’d been pining after. They were possessive and dominating. Miguel’s grip on your hip tightened, pinning you to his body as you stood chest to chest. He practically loomed over you, needing to crane your neck up to kiss him properly. You moaned when his tongue slipped between your lips, grazing the roof of your mouth and curling around your own. The hand wrapped around your neck slipped from its grasp to cradle your jaw, stroking your cheek in a way that opposed the harsh kisses he gave you.

When Miguel pulled away for a breath, your face was slightly flushed with plush lips to match. His thumb caressed your bottom lip, pressing into it and looking at you with newfound desire. He sighed when your lips closed around it, sucking it into your mouth gently and tracing the bottom of his digit with your soft tongue.

“You just need something in your mouth to be good right?”, he smirked, pressing the pad of his thumb on the middle of your tongue as you hummed against him with a nod. The red in his eyes darkened, watching you stare at him in desire. Miguel chuckled, taking his thumb out of your mouth and stepping away from you slightly with a toothy grin on his face.

“Let’s see if you can do more with your mouth than just piss me off”, he grunted, his voice dropping an octave as he pushed you down to your knees in front of him. If you thought Miguel looked big before, he looked much larger in comparison now, the shadow of his body swallowing you whole.

You looked up at him needily, your attention diverting to the bulge hidden underneath his spider suit. Mouth watering at the sight, your eyes widened when part of his suit disappeared in pixelated bits, his hard cock bouncing towards your cheek. An unintentional gasp slipped out of you, biting your bottom lip and rubbing your thighs together as your lower gut bubbled in warmth. Now you know why Miguel acted the way he did, why he was so hard to handle at times. His words and size matched the rest of him, big and intense all around.

“Don’t be scared of it”, you heard Miguel say mockingly, bringing you out of your admiring trance. You could tell despite his dominating demeanor, he wanted to be touched, his cock almost pulsing in front of you.

“Who said I was scared?”, you taunted back, grinning when you saw the same annoyed look Miguel does that seemed reserved for just you.

“You want to prove me wrong? Go ahead then”, his hand went to your hair, grabbing it in his fist as he felt you caressing his tip in light kisses. He sighed when your lips moved under the base of his shaft, kissing the prominent veins that pulsated against your warm mouth. It took everything in him not to thrust into your face, but he knew what you were doing, playing with him even when he was the one in control.

Your breath hitched again when your head was yanked back, ogling him as you saw how pent up he was, how badly he wanted you.

“Don’t fucking tease me. Now open wide baby”, he muttered, putting both of his hands on your head to get any flyaway hairs out of your face. He wanted to burn this picture into his memory, taking in the view of you having his dick down your throat for the first time.

Slowly, your lips wrapped around his member, encasing him in your hot mouth as you relaxed your jaw to take more of him. You didn’t know if you would be able to take all of him at once, but you sure as hell were gonna try. Breathing in through your nose, you moved further down, feeling more of him resting against your tongue before deciding that was enough for now.

With a gentle tug of your hair, you pulled back, moving your head over him while one of your hands went to his thighs for support. Your other hand held him at the base, jerking the rest of his cock that couldn’t fit. He groaned shamelessly, letting you have a small bit of control as your tongue traced over the underside of his length. It felt good, better than he imagined, and he couldn’t help but close his eyes to immerse himself in the pleasure.

You hollowed your cheeks out, bobbing your head harder while taking more of him into your mouth. Tasting the saltiness of his precum against your tongue, you moaned around him, his fingers tightening around your head as you kept working over him, not caring for the slight tingling in your jaw.

“Knew you were good at this”, Miguel mumbled, his fangs digging into his bottom lip as he watched you. You looked almost precious to him, your hand growing slick with saliva along with the rest of him, your lips pinker than usual. He couldn’t help himself, grabbing the top of your head and thrusting towards your face.

You choked a bit at the action, the sudden intrusion forcing him all the way down the base of your throat until he pulled his hips back. He did it again, pushing your face against his pelvis until your nose rubbed into the soft brown curls against his skin.

“See how pretty you look when your mouth is shut? Just get your throat fucked like the slut you are, taking me so well”, he lost himself to the sensation of you deep-throating him, struggling to take all of him at once. But you tried, your hands on the top of his thighs as you happily let him fuck your face.

Tears started to gather on your lash line the more forceful Miguel got, an audible gagging sound filling the room every time he plunged deeper into you. Spit was coating your chin and cheek, his balls hitting your face with every drive of his hips. Blowing someone wasn’t new to you, but the way Miguel used you to get off intensified the burning heat in your gut. Hearing the sounds he made, feeling how he throbbed and twitched in your mouth, how his thighs slightly shook the closer he got to his climax. It was arousing seeing him like this, and you enjoyed it like it were your favorite movie.

“I want to cum down your throat, you gonna let me?”, Miguel asked, sweat starting to build up on his hairline as he looked down at you. Your eyes were hazy, pupils dilated and almost lost as they met his. He could feel your harsh breathing against him, the drool pooling in your mouth, and the vibration of a pleasurable hum as you answered him with enthusiasm.

“Mierda, swallow it all for me, I don’t want you to waste a drop”, he said hastily, thrusting up into you a few more times before he shuddered with a loud grunt. Miguel’s hips stayed flush with your face, tears dropping down your cheek as you choked around him and felt him cum down your throat. You clutched his thighs, breathing shakily and trying to remain calm to the best of your ability. He felt you constricting around him, taking everything he had to give while his fingers dug into your scalp.

With ease, Miguel pulled his hips back, watching you catch your breath. You moved your head up, opening your mouth to show him how you followed his directions, no traces of his release left behind. Not a single drop was wasted. For the first time since you’ve been in the same room with him, there was a smile on his face.

“I should give you a treat for being so good to me just now”, Miguel purred at you, bringing you back onto your feet and kissing you deeply. He could taste himself against your tongue, groaning into your mouth as he chased the flavor of his release. You clung to him, gasping when you felt a claw on your back tearing at your spider suit as he slipped it down your body, leaving you bare before him.

“Fucking hell Miguel”, you whined against him, the brisk air of his lab making your nipples hard, biting your lip when a rough thumb caressed a perked nub. He was handsy and impatient, lifting you up by the bottom of your thighs and bringing you to a spare desk on the other side of the room. You sat on the cool surface, legs instantly parting for Miguel as his hips pressed against yours.

With hungry lips, they wrapped around your other nipple, sucking lavishly and humming around it as his hands explored over you. His other free hand trailed down your stomach, gracing your bare hip and reaching towards your warmth. Your hands went to his brown hair, running through the strands and arching towards his touch as a thick, calloused thumb ran circles on your clit.

“You always get this wet when you have dick down your throat?”, he chuckled, releasing your nipple to kiss your neck, nipping the soft skin while he continued his rubbing. You couldn’t even answer him, throwing your head back to grant him more skin to touch and crying out when two of Miguel’s fingers slipped inside you.

The soft squelching that filled the room was almost embarrassing, feeling your arousal drip onto his skin with every plunge of his digits. You were already so wet and pent up from the earlier usage of your throat for Miguel’s pleasure, sending you that much closer to the edge. With a flick of his wrist, his fingers curled into the soft spot inside you, your thighs twitching under him and pulling another whimper out of you.

“Please, fuck please”, you gripped onto his bicep, grinding your hips against his hand to chase your own pleasure. Miguel’s sharp eyes observed you, watching every stutter you gave him and how your eyebrows creased the closer you got to your climax. He was mesmerized by your soaked heat, knuckles deep into you and hitting every sensitive spot he could find.

“So needy, fucking into my hand like a whore. You want to cum on my fingers muñeca?”, he said against your ear, biting on the lobe as you shook underneath him and weakly nodded. His thumb came back into the mix, rubbing fast circles on your clit that made you keen. You were dripping down his wrist, your hot walls fluttering around him and your nails leaving indents in his biceps from where you held on to him.

“Cum for me so I can fill your pussy up just right”

It didn’t take long for you to reach your peak, closing your eyes and mewling out Miguel’s name in the crook of his neck. He groaned at how tight you got, sucking his digits deeper into your body as you flexed around him with trembling legs. He didn’t stop moving his hand against you, making sure to milk your orgasm as much as he could. With a soft kiss to your lips, he pulled his touch away from your center, marveling at how your fluids glistened in the dim light of his lab. Staring at you lustfully, he slipped his fingers into his mouth, savoring your taste with a lewd sigh.

“I’ll get a better taste of you later, but for now let me fuck that defiant attitude out of you”, Miguel said, his hands going to your thighs and lifting them up. He put one of your legs on his shoulder, bending down closer to you as your back was resting on top of the desk. You could feel how hard he was for you again, grinding his length against your wetness, his tip bumping into your clit deliciously every time.

“Just fuck me, please Miguel”, you begged, clenching around nothing and feeling how badly you needed to be filled with something. You expected some sly comment from him, but he surprised you, positioning himself above your entrance and pushing forward.

“You’re so fucking tight. No wonder why you act the way you do”, he hissed at the way you throbbed around him. He didn’t stop moving until his body was flush with yours, reaching the deepest parts inside you and stretching you so deliciously you whined. It would be an exaggeration to say you felt him in your chest, but you swear you could.

A choked moan left your throat when he pulled his hips back to pound into you again, setting a rough pace from the start. The smell of sex started to fill the lab, Miguel’s face digging into your neck and biting the skin as he huffed under his breath. He leaned forward towards your body, your leg that he had on his shoulder bending towards your chest, making him slip deeper into you. You yelped at the action and fucked back into him, your hips meeting his with an audible slap.

Miguel was unrelenting, his hands digging into the plush skin of your thighs and hips as he looked down at where your bodies met. His pelvis rubbed into your clit with every stroke, tilting his hips the slightest bit to hit your g-spot every time he plowed into you. The annoyance he once felt towards you evaporated from his mind, now only focused on screwing you into the desk. It was a lot, he was a lot, but all you could do was be good and take what he gave you with no complaints, holding on to the edge of the desk so tightly your knuckles turned white. He was also silently thankful his lab was farther away from everything else, his ears taking in every delectable sound that came from your bruised lips unabashedly.

“You’re so loud. Do you want the entire HQ to hear how much of a slut you are? Letting your boss fuck you like this for being a brat”, he teased in your ear, feeling you clench around him as he increased the intensity of his thrusts against you. You liked the mix of his degrading and praise, common sense so far gone from your current mind that it left you stuck on cloud 9.

The sneaky hand on your hip moved down your body again, rubbing the pulsing nub as you rambled incoherently against him. He could feel you getting close, doing everything in his power to ruin you for any other person, if that were even an option. You didn’t have it in you to warn him of your impending release, your thighs shaking against his body. But he already knew, slamming harder into you to the point where the desk underneath you screeched against the floor. He was getting close too, his eyes trailing down your body and seeing the white ring at the base of his cock.

“You’re so close baby. Need you to cum around me so I can fill you up, let everyone know who’s fucking you so good”, Miguel grunted against your ear again, your arms wrapping around his broad shoulders and clinging to his body. Your nails dug into his back, scratching down the firm planes of muscle and leaving angry red streaks in their wake. He shuddered at the touch, growling into your skin and biting at your shoulder.

Head thrown back in ecstasy, the tension in your gut snapped as you spasmed and wailed under him, the pleasure overwhelming you the second time around. Miguel held on to your hips to keep you from jerking against him, whispering praises into your ear and telling you how good you were, how good you felt squeezing around him. His pace grew sloppy, pumping into you a few more times before his release hit with a guttural moan. Cursing in Spanish under his breath he came inside you, filling you to the hilt with some of his seed spilling out of you.

The both of you panted against one another, Miguel’s body slowly relaxing as he placed one final kiss against the new marks he left on your neck. He lifted his head back to look at you, your eyes half-lidded and face flushed as you caught your breath. Your heart was going a mile a minute, knowing your body would feel sore, but you felt satisfied beyond measure. With a hiss and much protest, Miguel pulled his softening length out of you, watching his cum slip out of your slit and run down your thigh.

“You okay?”, he asked, his voice no longer laced with anger or irritation. You nodded, licking your lips as you tried to find words for him, but your mind was still fogged with the high you just experienced.

“You should listen to me more often you know. I don’t want you causing any more trouble”, Miguel told you, voice softer than usual as he caressed the soft skin of your quivering thigh.

“And what’s the fun in that if this happens when I piss you off?”, you told him, a dopey grin on your face as your eyes met his. The same mischievous glint he always found was there again, something he initially hated now being something he wanted to see more often.

“Then I’ll hold you to it. Don’t be surprised if I put you in your place again”

“I’m looking forward to it, Miguelito”

He found himself chuckling at that, the nickname that made the hairs at the back of his neck rise in aggravation now felt like a blanket of comfort. He knew down the line this wasn’t the end of your antics, that you would continue to get on his nerves. Only this time, he found a way to get something out of it.

Maybe just maybe, having you around wasn’t so bad after all.

©️ ovaryacted 2023

#miguel o’hara #miguel ohara #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o’hara smut #atsv miguel #miguel spiderman #miguel x reader #miguel spiderverse #miguel ohara x reader #miguel ohara smut #spider man: across the spider verse #atsv smut #atsv x you #spiderman 2099 #itsv #ovaryacted fics

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flamingo-writes · 10 months

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A/N: i am back from the dead after months. And it should’ve come as a surprise that I absolutely loved Hobie. Looks like a rockstar and is an absolute punk. My type in a nutshell.

I’m gonna be using some of these headcanon for future

Gal in The Chair — Hobie Brown x Artist!Reader

I think Hobie would be the kind of guy to fall for someone who he’s known for a long while, that being said, you’d perhaps known him all of your life

Having grown together, the two of you shaped a lot of each other’s beliefs. So no wonder the two of you were so compatible.

After the spider bite, you saw the whole journey from Hobie freaking out at first, to him figuring out how to use his new abilities.

He designed his web shooters, being the genius he is with technology. You helped him with his suit, specially his mask.

You became his Gal in the Chair

You liked to fix up and personalise clothes. All of your pieces of clothings came from second hand shops and you gave them a make over doing all sorts of stuff on them to make them unique and yours.

You also did this with a lot of Hobie’s clothes. As well as teaching him how to use your sewing machine.

After graduating high school, you opened a small alternative clothing shop in with unique pieces, doing the same thing you did for your clothes on this one. As well as doing hand made jewerly like bracelets, necklaces and earrings. You also had a talent with plants, managing to almost magically bring plants back to life and reproduce them like crazy, you added selling plants into your small business.

As Spider-Man gained traction, he low key promoted your work to his followers and people who agreed with him. This in order to keep negative attention from falling on you, and keep bad guys from thinking and theorising that maybe you knew Spider-Man.

As a side gig, you educated yourself on coffee making, and learned about the different processes and types of coffee beans there were. It started as a hobby, but soon you also implemented that into your shop.

The fact that you were so versatile, made Hobie feel incredibly proud of you. You seemed to be so independent, and creative and that never ending curiosity and passion made him harvest feelings for you.

Eventually, the close friendship, and companionship grew into affectionate and romantic feelings.

Hobie was always flirty, but it wasn’t until now that you started behaving differently. Normally he played his electric guitar but now you found him playing his acoustic guitar more.

He showed you a song he wrote. And while it was unusual —however, not imposible— to hear a romantic song coming from him, it wasn’t until the first minute that you realised the song was about you.

That’s how he chose to tell you about his feelings.

He didn’t intend for it to be this romantic, he simply one day word vomited the song and used one free afternoon to add the music.

After hearing his song, it was actually you who grabbed him and kissed him.

More than satisfied with the outcome, he kissed you back, put his guitar down and pulled you over his lap.

You two became inseparable since. You already were, but now it was more evident.

You worked at home, doing all the creative things you did, selling them, helping Spider-Man with art shows and gigs.

Those who paid close attention, they were able to determine you were some sort of associate to Spider-Man. However, all of them were also punks and anarchist so of course they kept their mouths shut. Spider-Man was always looking out for those in need. They were going to help a brother back and not tell anyone whenever any authority or weird-looking threat asked if anyone knew Spider-Man, or someone close to him.

You became widely known between Spider-Man supporters, although none of them would ever dare to snitch on you.

After Hobie met Gwen, she brought her over, you two became close friends right away. Letting Gwen crash at your place more often than not. She even offered to help you with the dishes and the groceries as thanks for letting her stay.

“You’re Hobie’s friend, you’re welcome whenever you want,” You’d told her.

Pav was also a frequent visitor. He loved your coffee, he taught you how to make chai. And you had chai ready for whenever Hobie told you Pav was going to be there.

Pav also bought plants from you all the time. Most of them for his mom. He once asked you if you could make a set of earrings and a necklace for his mom.

The set was a success and Pav always told you how much she loved them,

Eventually Miles also came around. And it wasn’t until Miles met you that his suspicions of Hobie and Gwen dating dissappeared.

Miles saw the absolute pure love with which Hobie looked at you. He still made the same sarcastic and cheeky jokes while talking to you. But the way he looked at you was completely different to the way he looked at anyone else.

Hobie convinced Miles to buy a plant and some earrings for his mother.

“Listen mate, this is what my girl does for a living. Plus the world needs to learn to appreciate the handiwork of an artisan,”

Miles was even surprised at how Hobie still looked cool while being mushy and cheesy with you as he hugged you, kissed your head, or played with your hands or hair.

Hobie had zero fucks to give about what people think about him, he doesn’t give a shit about PDA. Gwen thinks it’s gross, Pav thinks it’s adorable, Miles is simply puzzled as to how he is still cool when seeing his parents doing the same thing would make him cringe so hard.

Hobie is amused by the different reactions he gets. Especially Gwen’s grossed out face.

He still loves kissing you every chance he gets. Whether if it’s kissing you passionately. A subtle peck. Sweet kissed on your cheek or your forehead.

#hobie headcanons #hobie x reader #hobie brown x reader #hobie brown #hobie brown headcanons #hobie brown fanfiction

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urdinosaurs · 7 months

Note

Ok. Ok.

Here's my 3am idea:

Mary Janes band. But the members are all Hobie variants. They're all simply concept-art-Hobies.

So main-Hobie (our Hobie) introduces his new girl to his band.

All this obviously ends with groupsex.

╰┈➤ ❝ 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐑 ❞ | 𝐇𝐎𝐁𝐈𝐄 𝐁𝐑𝐎𝐖𝐍

PROMPT: when hobie takes an interest in you and brings you backstage after his concert to fuck you silly, you're interrupted by the other members of the band, who seem keen on joining in on the fun

WARNINGS: afab reader, voyeurism, exhibition, unprotected p in v, nipple play, blow job, throat fucking, cum eating, not a fivesome bc they aren’t all fucking at once, more like a threesome, anal fingering, anal sex, double penetration, degradation, praise kink, a bit of aftercare, this is the filthiest thing I've ever written, 7.7k wc (my longest post ever)

A/N: ily bc the concept art of hobie's band members was what i was going for in my last post. i gave them names to differentiate, so i hope you don’t mind. i've been working on this for two months, there's just so much in here that i've never written, so it took a long fucking time to finish this. idk why i hyped this up as much as i did in this post. it's not that good

It wasn't supposed to end like this. Brought to a Mary Jane's show by your friend who adored them was supposed to be a good way to reconnect after your busy lives separated one another and see the band they've been raving about for months.

Not this. Not Hobie fucking Brown, the guitarist with a captivating presence, rocking out in his own little spot on stage, noticing you. Not him handing you his guitar pick at the end of the show with a sloppy, sharpie heart on it, telling you to meet him afterwards with a sly grin.

Not this waiting for him after the show, your heart in your throat, only for him to find you and reignite the flame of lust you previously held.

Not any of this. Yet here you are, allowing his wiry arm to drape across your shoulders like it's the most natural thing in the world. Pulled backstage with the pick tucked in your pocket, you remained in a state of awe at him, taking in the way he walked to how lankly he is up close. It's hard not to with his height and tight-fitting patched pants, dressed with belts to accentuate his long torso. He's the pinochle of beauty, a model for the standard, and you're having trouble doing anything other than gawking.

It's how you end up bent over an old sofa, fingers scraping the worn fabric as your hips buck with the force of his thrusts.

"First time 'ere? Never seen a pretty 'hing like you before," he grunts, hands wandering from your love handles to your ass, kneading the flesh in his palm before pushing you further into the side of the sofa.

"Yeah-" you're cut off with a whine, slumping into the armrest digging into your ribcage. "F-friend brought me."

He whistles, his chest rumbling with a soft chuckle. "Lucky me 'hen, yeah? First punk show?"

His cock feels too heavy inside you to respond, so you shakily nod instead.

"Qui'e 'he welcome, innit? Ge''in' fucked by the guitarist on your first night. Unless you do 'his often? Do you le' every guy you meet wi'h a guitar dick you down, luv?" The low baritone of his voice is cocky and, oh so sure, patronizing tone teetering off into something more curious. Perhaps testing your motive? You're not sure, but amid your sex-filled haze, it adds to his charm.

Shaking your head, stars explode behind your eyelids when he slows his thrusts, leaning over you, his lips a hair's breadth away from the shell of your ear. "Well, don'' I feel special? Wha''s your name, huh?"

Gasping for breath on a particularly rough thrust, you have to scavenge your vocabulary to find the words to eventually tell him. Grinning, his pelvis grinds against your clit roughly, causing another wave of pleasure to crash over you, vocally too. His lips brush your neck, his nose nudging a spot behind your ear as he murmurs. "Name's Hobie."

You nod frantically, and his head tilts, lips trailing down the column of your throat. "You know me? Thought ya' said i''s your first time?"

His curiosity is authentic, slowing to an almost stop as he waits for a response. "My friend talks about you a lot, and y-your--" You try to distract yourself from how much he fills and stretches you, how the humid skin sticks to yours while you gather your scattered thoughts. "--Reputation is infamous at protests."

He stills, leaning back as his hand glides up and down your side while putting the pieces of your story together, gathering more of the puzzle that you are.

"You go to protests?" Genuine excitement coats his speech like a kid in a candy store, and you wish you could turn around to see that shift in him as he takes you for something more than he initially thought. A drawn-out whine vibrates your vocal cords as you wiggle your hips, earning a comforting rub to encourage patience.

"Didn't 'ake ya for a punk."

"Don't like the label."

His chuckle reverberates through his ribcage, amused. "'f course, ya' don't. Too cool for it, aye?"

Finding the strength to mewl, your toes curl as you try to move your pelvis back into him to gain friction in your pulsating pussy, but his fingers dig into the fat of your hips, unamused by your antics.

"Careful now, impatien' girls don't get wha' they want, do 'hey?" He warns, the underlying threat is not lost on you. The question is apparently not rhetorical because his hand strikes your ass with a loud slap, not enough to be uncomfortably painful but enough to leave your skin stinging. The precarious control of strength he seems to show suggests there's more power hidden in his angular frame than what you first picked him for, and the thought alone sends pleasurable butterflies fluttering in your stomach.

"I asked you a question, didn't I? Or 'ave you gone 'at cock dumb already?" His condescending fills you with the urge to prove him wrong, and you shake your head, something akin to a 'no' formed on your lips. Much to your dismay, he arrogantly smirks like he proved himself right, and his next words are said in a complacent simper, "'ts okay, luv. Didn't say it was a bad thing, I don't mind my whores a little dumb."

And with that, he slams back into you with a burst of energy, sending you reeling forward as he resumes his punishing pace, yanking you back and forth and reaching new points of dangerous thrill in the bruising grind of his hips.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck" he repeatedly moans, hands fumbling to tilt your abdomen upwards to ram you further down his cock obscenely. The breath is punched out of you, and you choke on the inhale, tears beading your waterline at the intensity of it all. You can't remember the last time someone pounded you with reckless abandon, filled you to the brink where nothing but their dick has clouded your mind. You don't think anyone ever will, and maybe that's the point. Of his groupies, of his fans, nobody will ever be like Hobie Brown.

Suddenly, the sound of voices grows closer, and you freeze underneath him, your head whipping around to face him. The makings of an orgasm dissipate the longer your full attention is captured by the people outside. Hobie, however, remains calm, maintaining a steady rhythm despite the jingle in the door knob. His eyes soften, and his grip loosens to give you a silent out without any form of judgment.

But he knows you.

You've only been in his presence for two and a half hours, yet he knows what you will choose; your unspoken limits and boundaries are like it's the most obvious thing in the world. It should mess with you how he already knows your next move before you make it, how inhuman his sense of perception is, and still, you find yourself saving the Nancy Drew within you for another time. Throwing caution to the wind, you embrace him with blind faith just as the door creaks open and voices filter in.

"And so I said to the cunt, he better have…" They stop all at once. The only sound besides the buzzing silence is Hobie's lazy thrusts in the wet squelch of your pussy, loud enough to make you cringe. "Didn't realize you were here, mate, my bad."

Yet they don't make a single move to leave. Instead, they stare at the back of your head where you're facing away from them, down to the curve of your figure, and then their eyes drop to your shorts somewhere beside the chair and trace the stretch of your legs until they stop where you two are connected.

"Nah, i''s alright, we're just ge''in' acquainted, is all." Hobie reaches down, his hand sliding over the apex of your thighs and reaching around the front, where his fingers ghost over your clit after being neglected for so long. You jump in surprise, grinding into his fingers, searching for more of the sweet rapture burning its way to your toes.

The chuckle, whether from Hobie or the men in the doorway, blends in with the static in your ears, and the next second, he moves past the bundle of nerves to the wetness leaking from your stuffed hole. Gathering the excess with his fingers, he brings it to the light, running his tongue over the digits, humming in delight and practically purring, "I think she likes me."

One of them sucks in a breath, and with your head craned the other way, you can't tell who. "Reckon, she's up for somethin' more?"

Well, that's the question, wasn't it? Whether or not you wanted to take the plunge into unknown territory, relinquish your control to the four men burning holes in the back of your head, unable to stray from the alluring promise of pleasure.

"What do ya think, luv? Think you can 'ake it like a big girl?"

Your cunt drools around him. The answer is embarrassingly easy. Maneuvering your head to the side to face the other men, you look at them, and they're looking at you and sharing the same expression: desire. A notable bulge strains their pants the longer they stand motionless, their chests rising and falling in an uneven pattern. They're more attractive than you remember, the situation and proximity alone adding to the sexual appeal they chase with ease.

In the name of all things holy, you pray there not be a God or deity staring down upon you, weighing your slipping soul like the Christians tell you he is. Being condemned for sins of such great pleasure has little importance in your sexual appetite, damning you if you do or don't seize the opportunity in the name of the powers that be.

"Yes, please."

In the blink of an eye, they're on you, hands brushing and running across your skin in virgin admiration. "Shhhittt, man, she's beautiful." Someone's fingers hold your jaw, moving your head around in laudation and inspection, whistling.

"'ear 'ha,' swee'hear'? Pre''ies' girl I've seen in a long while."

"Definitely," the other agrees, tracing your exposed skin with a single finger. "You're somethin' special all righ'."

A smile unwillingly breaks across your face at the praise. Warm and sentimental feelings churning in your chest the longer they shower you with it. The one closest to your head catches your reaction and laughs, lifting your chin with a single finger. "You like tha,' don't you? I didn't realize you 'ad such a good girl on your mitts, 'obes."

It's impossible to see Hobie's reaction, but you guess it's something akin to pride when he adds, "Even be''er pussy, mate."

There's a hum, and you feel his hands tickle your spine. "Then you might wanna give us space, yeah?" He, the other guitarist, points out chunky red and blue headphones hanging around his neck. "Y'know…since you haven't made her cum yet."

Hobie still lodged deep inside your guts, twitches and not in a sexually aroused way or im-almost-cumming kind of way, it's an irritation prickling at his skin, raising the hairs on his arm kind of feeling.

"Oh yeah?" he challenges, hands tightening over your body.

"Mhm, if you give me a chance I'll have her begging in no time."

For a second, there's silence, then his lips quirk into a mischievous grin, spreading across his face and reaching to his eyes that light up. Hobie leans in, eyes locked on the man in front of you but addressing you all the same, his tone low and amused. "What do ya' say, sweets, hmm?"

It's disguised as playful, but you know what he's confirming, and you clench around him, swallowing the lump in your throat as a breathless form of agreement forms on the wet muscle licking your lips. It's hard to believe that just a few hours ago, the thought of fucking someone you just met would be off-putting, wrong even. Yet, with the right push and pull, here you are, letting these men have free reign over every ounce of desire coursing through you.

Selling your soul to the devil never felt so good.

Hobie, still throbbing inside you, tugs on your walls as he pulls out, drawing a low gripe contorted by your outcry. A ring of white collects at the base, and he taps his tip on your clit before stepping to the side. His hand glides underneath your shirt, tender fingers stretching out across your spine to console you and calm down the emotions he's pulled to the surface. "Shh, I know, you're feelin' all empty without ol' 'obie yo fill tha' greedy hole ov yours, but don't worry yer pretty head sweets, you won'' be empty for long."

And with that, he takes a step back, and the rest surround you like predators. Multitudes of arms reach to caress your skin, running lines of admiration down and across your body. Now more at ease around them, you find your shirt comes off easily, with four hands aiding you in the process, the others hungrily diving at your torso for a taste of forbidden flesh.

To your left, Hobie stands there, his cock hard and bare between his legs while he watches the scene unfold before him. You rip your gaze away from him just as a pair of hands cup your tits and pulls you back into his chest, your spine arched and your ass hitting the rough denim.

"Prettiest li''le thing ion ever see, ain't that right?" The man behind you purrs in your ear, tilting his head to slot it in the juncture of your neck innocently. "I'm going to take right care ov ya', darling."

Thick, calloused fingers squeeze your breasts like a bra, enclosing them in his broad palm. Classifying yourself as flustered would be an understatement as you feel your face heat up, your body trembling with barely contained excitement. "Fuck– please."

You can feel his smirk against your neck, letting his lips linger in a kiss until his hands retract and the distinct sound of a zipper fills in the gaps. The cold air against your now bare nipples makes them harden, but not before another set of hands replaces them, fondling your cleavage with a skilled hand.

The bassist's fingers roll your nipples, earning a choked sigh as the singer behind you slaps his leaking shaft against your ass, precum dribbling onto your skin. He rubs himself over your slit teasingly, groaning at the feeling of your combined juices. The bassist, Glen, even pulls on your tits with a filthy grin, feeding off your reactions and the yelp you emit like a starving man.

Calem, the singer, guides himself through your folds and hums in approval. "Hobie's fuckin' lucky he found you first. I wouldn't share a lick of this delicious cunt with them if it were me."

The chunky locs framing his face swing as he shakes his head, the rest tucked behind his ear, lines his length with your pussy, slamming in a single devastating thrust. Your torso slumps against the couch, unintelligible noises singing from your mouth while you adjust to the size. He's big, much more than you anticipated, and although the girth isn't the same as Hobie's, it's damn near close.

"Mother fuckin'– Mary mother of Christ, how are you this tight?" Calem hisses, short jerks comparable to thrusts testing and teasing your limits. The taste alone of what's in store for you has added wetness coating his shaft, and not wasting another second, he starts a steady rhythm, building up momentum and speed with each jab. Moans intermingle with your cries, and his hand's fumble to find your waist in an effort you believe to steady himself rather than you.

Though you were initially unsure about the idea, hesitant even to allow others access to such a sacred place, you've found that letting go, trusting in Hobie and those by extension, feels good. Chemistry crackles like a live wire between you and the five other people in this room, temptation leading you into unspoken territories of newly found trust. There's no pleasing others or expectations here, just carnal lust spiking the blood rush to your brain. Worries of the world outside melt away, giving you the taste of life without inhibition under circumstances you can see yourself getting addicted to, all because of Hobie.

The others, the names you try to remember, stand in some combination to the side and out of your peripheral. Glen, who was playing with your nipples earlier, has pulled himself out of his pants, experimentally giving himself a couple of tugs as he watches the wanton display. Sid, the backup guitarist and vocalist, does the same, though the way his hands linger in your hair, you have an inkling of where he wants to use you.

Use. It's such an odd thought to let someone manipulate your body and control you without restraint or care for their pleasure. An idea that you're starting to come to terms with the longer you are surrounded by them and the electrifying energy that follows.

"You think that mouth is as good as her other holes?" The question shouldn't surprise you, nor should the vulgarity of it. Still, your head inclines towards Sid, running his hands over your scalp. "Dunno if the slut can handle it."

Your eyes widen, and you shake your head yes frantically before you can comprehend what you're doing, so eager to prove, to serve. A smirk returns your enthusiasm, his pupils dancing with something sinful. Chuckles reward your resolve to please them, but you're too honed in on his hand's increasing pressure on your skull to feel embarrassed. Then his fingers grip your hair and pull in one sudden motion, your neck straining in an awkward position until he kneels on the sofa, his cock bobbing a couple of inches from your face.

From this angle, your backside is spread out further on the armrest, and coincidentally it allows Calem's dick to curve and prod even deeper inside your belly than you thought possible. Cries flow like an endless stream of water from your raw throat, the sensitivity increasing tenfold and threatening to draw tears from how good it feels. No one has ever taken the time to learn the right pull and press to scramble your thoughts and turn everything you knew about sex upside down, but now you're sure there's no way you can go back after this.

"Pretty girl," he croons, "Bet you would do just about anything, huh?" Sid's lack of accent surprises you, though you don't dwell on it, and a tug redirects your attention to his imposing figure like a misbehaved puppy. "That's what I thought. Now be a big girl and open up wide."

Calem has slowed to a manageable speed, more languid than before, set on watching the scene unfold in front of him. Your lips part to accommodate as much of him as possible. Sid grins, lip piercing, stretching with it as he guides the tip to your outstretched tongue, tapping the bulbous head leaking precum on your taste buds. The saltiness and his musk swarm your head, the weight of it on your tongue and the silky smooth skin leaves you deliriously euphoric.

He glides himself in carefully, opting for you to decide how much you can take before he pushes your limits, and you've gotta admit, he's more attentive than you gave him credit for. When his cock hits the back of your throat, and a suppressed gag tightens your esophagus around him, he quickly loosens his clasp. Taking him at your own pace, you bob your head up and down his shaft, slacking your jaw further the closer you reach the base in a more controlled manner.

The wet heat of your mouth invites a twitch of his leg, and he yanks you down to his base, your nose buried in his public bone where short, prickly hair from when he last shaved scratches your skin. Gagging obscenely and earning a low, throaty groan from the recipient, you shut your eyes to better focus on each inhale while adjusting to breathing through your nose.

"Dirty girl. Taking two cocks at once like a proper slut. Just a bunch of holes for us, right?" Sid harshly spits, fucking your throat with the vengeance and aggression of primal need. Calem picks up speed to match the tempo of the man in front of you, prodding at your nerve endings, sparking with sex, and the reality of the situation settles in. Your hands scramble to his thighs, anchoring yourself as Sid fucks your mouth, leaking drool with an intensity you've never experienced before. Calem has no trouble setting a ruthless pace, kissing your cervix at an angle that has your back arching and your toes pointing.

"Keep doing that, gorgeous, yeah– fuck! You love it, don't you? Being filled on both ends like a fuckin' cum slut." A mewl scratches at your throat in response, vibrating your vocal cords in an apparently satisfactory one by his choked moan. It's ruthless and degrading being tossed around, but then the thrill, the rush of submission, has you rethinking everything you know about the word.

Everyone else watches, and that could be the most terrifying part because they aren't just watching; they're observing, regarding, and examining. You can see it in their eyes as they pump their hard dick with precum as their lube like they're preparing to be next. Glen, Ramone, Hobie, all ridden with jealousy and a yearning to be inside of you instead of him who is, and honestly, it's fucking hot.

Sid bullies his cock down your crowded windpipe, a groan hitched in his. He grows more frantic the closer he is to his release. Tears burn your eyes, and drool dribbles down the corner of your mouth, surely adding to a sight that could only be described as pornographic.

The coiled knot of pleasure in your gut twists, the onset of a climax finally in reach. The first tears break and stream down your flushed cheeks, creating tracks in which they have fallen. Calem notices this, his hand fumbling around your sweaty bodies to the spot between your legs.

"Yeah, yeah. Using you so well and you just can't get enough-" he grunts, a strangled and strained sound "–shit! Let go, f'me."

He pinches your clit between his middle and ring finger, and the world spins like a top, blackness dancing at the corners of your vision as an orgasm tears through your shaking limbs. Ropes of his ejection fill up your twitching pussy, liquid euphoria rushing through your veins and suffocating your brain with an unspeakable sense of bliss. It takes a second to register Sid pulling out and a stream of cum painting your face, as well as the noises of satisfaction that follow.

Calem sags against your bent-over figure, your lungs clawing for air during the comedown of such an intense release.

"Didn't do too much of a number on you, did I?" Sid, who has been uncharacteristically quiet since his orgasm, murmurs softly, his bracelets jangling as he reaches over to run a careful hand down the side of your face in assurance.

"No…it was good, really good." He smiles at that and flicks his fingers over your cheek. Eyebrows raised, your face furrows in confusion before he brings his hand to eye level, letting you see the milky white substance gathered at his fingertips. He taps them to your lips, a silent question to which you abide and open your mouth obediently, closing around his digits. Seemingly satisfied, he lets you suck the cum off his fingers, only retracting his hand when you've licked them clean.

"Good girl."

Sid brushes the back of his hand on your face to wipe the tears from earlier. Leaning into the innocent touch of another, you close your eyes to savor this bit of contact you don't often feel. However, it doesn't last long, and he taps your cheek in a goodbye, leaving the rest of his essence to dry on your skin, heading towards the leather recliner nearest you. An empty longing builds a lump in your raw throat, one you quickly shove down.

"Think you can 'ake ano'her?" For a moment, you blink dumbly at him, taking a couple seconds to understand the meaning of his words, and when you do, you whip your head around, your jaw loose. The drummer Ramone's, whose spiky red streaked hair and wild makeup that demands attention, smug question leaves your tongue feeling heavy in your mouth, the idea turning you on more than you would like to admit.

"Fuck man, you can 'ave her, 'm done for the night," Calem shakes his head, stripped headband damp with sweat, ignores the vulgar sound of your joined bodies to pull out. His lips barely touch your ear when he whispers, "You did amazing, darling."

He stands to his full height, and the air is pulled from you when he does while you lie limply on the couch, Calem flopping into a bean bag chair.

"Mhm," Ramone pulls you back by your hips, the rough material of his pants scratching your skin. "Can'' get over how pretty ov a sight 'his is."

The arousal from before returns slowly, dripping over your skin like honey as you're awakened underneath his touch. "Please." Pathetically, your toes curl to keep you patient, though it's running out faster than you can make sense of.

"There's no need to worry. You'll get a fill," Glen pipes in, taking a step forward. Your eyes widen, taking in the towering men with smirks so wide they could devour you.

"Now…" Ramone trails off, smoothing his hand adorned with rings over your backside before dipping to your crack and applying a slight pressure to your asshole. "Question is... you goin' to let me take you the way I wanna?"

Oh. You weren't expecting that.

The silence left in the wake of his question has Ramone pausing, his following statement softer. "Say 'he word, and 'his stops."

Despite how daunting the reality of the situation is, you were never much of a quitter.

"It's just… I've never…" You're unable to close your legs with Ramone in between them, but if you could, you would. Humiliation creeps up the back of your neck, and you cringe away at the uneasy tension you've created. An apology hovers over the tip of your tongue, but before you can get the words out, warm laughter soothes your flustered expression.

"Can'' imagine someone as lovely as ya' hasn't, but I can 'ake care of you. If 'at's wha'chu want," he offers without rebuttal, and really, the notion is appealing. You've seen it only on porn, and until now, it's been a festering fantasy you've stuffed away, motivated by the assumption guys didn't like that kind of thing. The prep and time spent to achieve a pleasurable experience turned most men away, or so you've heard, but seeing how wide his smile stretches and the anticipation in his dark pupils only solidifies what you want.

"Just go slow, please." Your voice is weaker than you would have liked, meaker, and he bends forward to press a kiss to your spine in what you can only imagine as gratitude. He jesters behind him for something, and a moment later, a plastic lid flicks open.

"Don'' go''a worry abou' a 'hing, princesss." Ramone preps your ass with practice ease, his fingers making quick work of stretching you out, squirts of cold lube coating your insides. He must do this a lot, you think mindlessly to yourself while a crook of his fingers inside you has you arching back deliriously into him. He adds more the more you loosen up around him, twisting and scissoring your entrance to encourage it to relax further around his ministrations. He grins, patting your backside when he deems you ready, peaking around to check your face for reassurance. "Ready?"

By now, any reservations you harbored have dissolved, your pursed hole winking at him while you adjust to the newfound emptiness. Only you catch movement out of the corner of your eye, the flash of black clothing and jewelry adorning dark skin, before a voice speaks up, one you quickly identify as Glen. "Before ya' do… think I squeeze in and fuck that pretty pussy of yours, dove?"

Surprise overtakes your features, your mouth gaping at the idea. You've just about slutted yourself out to the whole band, and with Ramone behind you, who doesn't seem keen on waiting to share you. Meaning…

"A-At the same time?" you squeak, raising your eyebrows in shock, horizontal wrinkles appearing across your forehead.

"What else?" he shrugs, unperturbed by your shock or thinly veiled hesitation. It's not that you're opposed to it, just the unknowing and unfamiliarity of such an act has you overthinking every possibility. Your mind works on overdrive, your thinly veiled fear forcing you to swallow the wad of spit congealed in your throat, searching the pattern on the couch for an answer. "We'll go slow," he adds, sensing your anxiety. "If it's too much, we can stop."

Well, when you put it like that…

"Slow," you establish, glancing up at him for confirmation.

His lips twitch in the ghost of a smile. "That's my girl."

You release the breath you didn't know you were holding, the praise like a warm, bubbly consistency to provoke a specific neurological response while he unbuckles his belt, the sound of metal clinking filling the buzzing silence.

"Upsy-daisy now, let's ge' ya' in a more comfortable position." Ramone doesn't protest when Glen helps you out of your precarious position, standing by when your wobbly legs threaten to give out on you. He lies on the couch first, guiding you by your hips until you're settled on top of him, your head nestled in the crook of his warm neck. Ramone follows behind, kneeling on the cushions with his dick in hand, stroking himself while Glen guides the tip of his own flushed head to your dripping entrance. His thickness pops through with barely any resistance, and you both moan in unison.

The feeling of being crowded to the brim again is more familiar than you would have ever thought. Glen starts without inhibition, grabbing your bent legs and tugging them further upwards to spread out your sensitive cunt. Your nose nudges his collarbone, crying out with each rotation of his hips, his shirt bunching around your fingers. It doesn't stop there when Ramone prods your asshole once more, and you gasp, unconsciously clenching hard around them both. You've been full before, first crammed with dick meat by Hobie, then Calem, and now Glen, yet this is entirely new.

"Ready?" he asks once more, and this time you're more unsure than before. If you had trouble taking one, how were two supposed to fit? Still, your reply gives away the lingering anxiety about exploring something new. "As I'll ever be."

"I'll go slow," he reminds you, watching your head bounce in a yes, your thoughts too scattered to form a verbal reply. Carefully, he unhurriedly pops through the ring of tight muscle, the lube he generously applied, making it easy to ease himself through your previously virgin hole. "Gorgeous fuckin ass. She's just strangling me, is that it?" Being referred to by your sex shouldn't make the apex of your thighs ache like it does or a whimper to escape your parted lips so easily. The stretch is overwhelming, so much so you forget to breathe until your lungs scream and you're panting indignantly.

"Breathe," he urges, a palm settling over your back while you get accustomed to the burn and fullness like no other. You gasp, tears pricking your eyes at the unfathomable stretch. You can feel every twitch and throb, every vein and pulse shooting up his cockhead to mix his pre with lube. His lip is tucked between his teeth the longer he waits for you to get used to the sensation, your stuttering breaths evening out into a normal rhythm.

"I'm goin' 'o move now." He announces, and his pelvis slams into your ass the next second. You're propelled forward, sliding up Glen's body as Ramone sets a brutal and unforgiving tempo. Ramone's dog tags clink above you with every impale, and the sound of skin slapping rings in your ears, filthy in every way possible, especially when Glen thrusts gather speed again.

There's a threshold you must have crossed, some otherworldly body taking hold of every sense and multiplying it times ten. It's inexplicable, the fullness, the weight of their cocks, and the synchronicity they move with that you were sure would be impossible to feel. But now, experiencing such a thing, having your brain turn to mush, and any form of self-preservation literally fucked out of you. You're unsure if you could ever come down from the high or even want to.

"Fillin' ya up so good, ya can barely think." Ramone grunts, spreading your cheeks to get a better look. He leans forward and spits directly on his moving cock, saliva joining the profane mixture. You're zoned out, perfectly content to let them use you as they please.

"Fuckin' trippy to feel you while I'm dickin' 'er down," Glen notes, grabbing fist fulls of your thigh. "Bet if it's weird for me, you're probably goin' mental, dove. Ain't that it?"

Shaking your head is the best response you can think of, weakly moving your hips back and forth while moaning into his skin. Glen's cock shoves and scrapes at your inner walls; already raw from your first encounter, you'll be marked with bruises for days. Although, guessing by the people around you, you're sure they won't mind.

"Yeah, you like tha'? Like my mates using you like a fuckin' toy?" Hobie interjects, his voice whipping your head to meet his hungry gaze. His dark pupils have been engulfed by the black of his irises, dewy skin glowing under the yellow fluorescent lights. The sight alone is filthy, his hand rapidly jerking at length, emitting a wet sound from the copious amount of precum.

The action is similar to those behind him: Calem and Sid, who do the same. You catch the moment Sid notices your gaze because he swipes his hand over the tip and arches beautifully in his rapture. They're all watching you like a prize to be had, Hobie most of all, whose movements are fast and sloppy, and you can't take your eyes off it.

"So good," you slur, so far removed from any thought process to give an intelligent response. You hope those two words will encapsulate what your scrambled mind can't.

"I be'… you're bein' fucked better than most whores." Grabbing your chin, he focuses your previously unfocused eyes on him. "Where's your manners, luv?"

"Thank you," you sob, your eyelids squeezing shut to relieve the burn behind them, but it's too late, and you're crying for the second time tonight. With makeup surely ruined and your appearance messy and unkempt, you have no modesty left to lose. That luxury has been stripped away from you like the clothes now lying in a crumpled mess.

"Not to me." He clicks his tongue in annoyance. "To my mates makin' sure you won't be able to walk out of 'ere."

Forcing your neck back, you stare at the upside-down image of Ramone, sweaty and crumpled features finding yours.

"Thank– you." A hiccup interrupts you, but he shrugs it off, taking it in stride.

"My pleasure." His behavior is playful, merging with something wicked that captures his bright and alive facial features, gleaming with a lust for life.

"Now him. The bloke makin' sure your insatiable pussy is stuffed." Your head is thrown forward, staring uncomfortably close into the eyes of Glen, but before you can express your gratitude, he says, "I know." And kisses you.

His lips are soft, experienced, and filled with a hunger he chases with his tongue. You long for it, the raw feeling and taste of another, the emotions spilled in the simple touch of your lips, yet you're ripped away by Hobie manhandling your hair.

"Ah, ah, ah," he tuts disapprovingly, pulling and twisting your swollen nipple roughly. Yelping in pain, his vision hardened, fixed on the space you and Glen were in. "I didn't say ya could do that."

"'M sorry," Tears slip freely down your face, the vulnerable head state you seem to have fallen into, making you more susceptible to insecurity. The rational part of your mind is baffled by the meekness that has come forth, the apologies and insecurity you've never embodied before now dictating your actions, and maybe if you had reached this type of submissiveness before, you would recognize it or the jealousy steaming off Hobie in waves in anger.

Alas, you don't, but Hobie does, and he softens, rubbing circles along the back of your neck. "Awww, so cum drunk, all you can do is babble, huh?"

He nods his head along with what he's saying before adding, "I bet." Hobie steps back to his spot, fingers finding his cock with ease. Jerking in sharp bursts from the force of their thrusts, the side of your face presses into Glen's chest, short punctures of moans and whines escaping. Being fucked by just Glen was one thing, but having two at once was another. The fullness you feel is borderline painful.

Hobie fucks his fist with even more vigor, pushing the limits of his own body by staving off another orgasm, determined to reach the edge with you.

Their dicks push out parts of your belly, the faint outline of them showing through your skin in a lecherous way. Strings of slimy release break and connect you to them through every pull-out and thrust back in. Your full-on crying, the pressure, the stimulation borderline too much heaved a choked-out breath from you.

"'s too much, too much," you sob, clinging to Glen like a lifeline while Ramone pumps into your gummy sensitive spots like he owns the part of your body, determined to show you that no one can do it better than him.

"Givin' it to ya so good, your fuckin' cryin' on i', Jesus," he hisses, grabbing a handful of your ass and squeezing it roughly. Each of them jackhammered into your holes like their life depended on it, adding to the lewd symphony they were orchestrating in the snap of their hips, pelvis against pelvis, a chase for the impeding edge you're dangling off of.

"Gonna cum, gonna cum, gonna cum," Glen chants like a mantra, his vision tunneling on making you both taste sweet release. Ramone wasn't any better while you writhed underneath him, the stimulation of his mushroom tip brushing previously untouched areas proving a greater reward than you could have imagined.

"Where?" Ramone growls, breaking you from your trance, and for the first time, you notice a phantom sensation in your throat, as if their thrusts reached your lungs, violating you from the inside out. You can feel them everywhere, the places they reach, yet you crave more of the fullness, needing everything they can give you like nothing before. You're not sure how you do it, but amidst the haze, you sob a ruined cry of "Inside," and it's all either of them needs.

All at once, Glen's sticky body stutters, sheathing himself entirely inside, chest Heaving as bursts of his seed fill you with a filthy moan. His mouth parts in a silent cry, broken sounds of pleasure auditable through the ringing in your ears and the obscene sounds that follow your apex. You can feel Ramones eyes watching your creamy entrance spit out bits of Glen’s cum and finish inside you at the pace of an erratic animal. His absurd amount of spend is plugged into your contracting, velvety walls.

Soreness fills your joints with lead, resigning yourself to lay on him while you regain your lost oxygen. You lose yourself in the aftershocks, the feeling in your limbs slowly coming back while Ramone pulls out.

"There ya go, atta girl, good girl. You did so well for us, gave us the night of our lives." Glen cooes, and Ramone returns with a rag to clean you up, his deliberate movements making sure to clean any traces of his cum painted on your face, along with the mess between your thighs.

Wearily, you find Hobie's gaze and drop your sight to his hand, covered in a drippy white substance. He seems almost embarrassed as he cleans himself up with a handkerchief, refusing to meet your eye until he tucks himself back into his jeans. You glance at him for a moment longer, intent on deciphering his behavior before you take in the rest of the room, the mystery of Hobie lost on you.

The yellow-tinted lights cast a sheen around the room, the faint thump of the bass from the stage reverberating through the poster-stained walls. Old recliners and bean bags surround the couch, and a coffee table overflowing with belongings like weed that hangs in the air like smoke. The lived-in feeling it brings is not lost on you or the familiarity of which they share it.

"Good as new," Ramone proudly announces, kissing the top of your head and patting your back. Somehow you manage to stand and pull your clothes on despite the boos he receives from Sid. You dare to examine the splotchy bruises starting to take shape around your hips, between your thighs, and decorating your chest. However, the band is happy to shower you with praises and compliments, all in a somewhat smug mood after seeing their impact on your body. Not that you mind it. You like knowing you matter, at least to these people.

Each of them begins to find some contraband to help themselves to while making it abundantly clear you are welcome back anytime. It's meant to be reassuring, but it doesn't explain how it soothes a deep ache inside you, a quell to the torn voice picking apart everything about yourself. Going through the motions in a haze, you're having trouble registering what had just occurred.

You enjoyed it, but now you're left, a hollow and empty shell doused in dry sweat and bruises, and you don't know how you're supposed to feel. The post-orgasmic high has worn off, leaving you detached from your body in an odd separated state. Refusing to cry over these conflicting emotions, you thank them, though they seem more keen on thanking you.

Ramone doesn't seem bothered by how you subtly grasp his arm to support your unsteady legs. Hobie was right. You can barely stand without feeling the ache they all left behind. You awkwardly manage your way to the door, saying the last of your goodbyes before coming face to face with the man who started it all.

"Um, thank you." Lip caught between your teeth, and you tried formulating some makeshift plan. The tension lingers, the unasked question of what's next hanging in the air like a dark cloud. What was supposed to be a one-time thing, sex with an attractive band member, had spiraled into something uncontrollable and unpredictable in mere minutes.

The attraction still hovers in the space between you. Despite everything, you still wanted him the moment he stepped on stage, and while you thought you knew even a fraction of what was racing around his busy mind, his behavior and motives remain an unsolved clue. He's unlike anyone you've ever met before, and you long to assemble the pieces and figure out who he is under all the makeup, piercings, and rockstar persona. And the longer you stand here, the more the opportunity slips away. Hobie notices the tension in your shoulders and places his hand over it, lip piercing and stretching with his mouth.

"You're 'he one who did all 'he work. No need to thank me." He grins, his hands cupping your face to keep you from looking away in the embarrassment burning your cheeks.

"I'm not…" You start, and you're about to dismiss your line of thought; so sure, he wouldn't want to hear it, but his fingers apply a bit more pressure to egg you on. "I didn't really do anything. Just glad I was worth your time, is all."

He doesn't take your shrug well, the slope of your frown, or your sagging posture because his expression loses its laid-back demeanor and goes cold. "You always were."

His lips collide with yours hard, devouring you, your taste, every curve that forms the smile he loves so intensely. You reciprocate, trying to replicate the same passion you feel for him in the messy mesh of your mouths feeding off each other's reactions, but he pulls away, panting and wild before going back in before you can even catch your breath.

This is what you were missing, you think. All this time, you two fit together easily, and a feeling you quickly ignore rises to your chest the longer you indulge in this. You know Hobie doesn't want more than sex, more than just one night, doesn't want you the same way you find yourself needing him. You can't expect more when there is none, but that doesn't matter right now.

His tongue flickers against your mouth in an invitation, pushing past your lips greedily when you whine into the spontaneous make-out session neither of you can get enough of. His wet muscle explores your mouth, dancing with your tongue in a way that has you melting into him, intoxicated and delirious with the lack of air.

Soon, however, you're forced to remove yourself when your lungs burn and scream for air. You try not to choke on air as you catch your breath, your head spinning all the while. Your hand smooths down his collarbone, dipping underneath his shirt, and instead of finding thin, a latex sort of material hugs him like a glove.

You frown, tugging a bit of his collar down in one swift movement, revealing red and the edges of a white spider web. Hobie's hand gently encloses yours, and you whip your head up, mouth agape, staring at him with the utmost astonishment. Your fingers tremble and clench harder around the fabric. His behavior, his unreal senses, and his affinity for reading people all fall in the explanation of the conclusion right in front of you.

TAGLIST: @alicefallsintotherabbithole

Hobie's Spiderman.

if you've made it this far, this is my official announcement that part 2 of this drabble is in the works and will not be another drabble (it's gonna be a true fivesome unlike this)

#🦕 ⊹ ࣪ ˖ 𝓁𝓎𝓁𝒶 𝓌𝓇𝒾𝓉𝑒𝓈 #hobie brown #hobie brown x reader #rockstar!hobie x reader #hobie x reader #hobie brown x you #hobie spiderverse #rockstar hobie #hobie brown smut #atsv hobie #hobart brown

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eyesxxyou · 7 months

Text

Backstage Show pt.4

★🎸 {} .. hobie brown x groupie!reader

rating. m

word count. 3.5k

synopsis. hobie needs a subject for his next album cover and he decides that he wants it to be you but things quickly devolve into obscenity.

hobie takes pictures while fucking you

🍒・．❕warnings. voyeurism, taking pictures during sex, cunnilingus, Hobie's kinda conflicted with his emotions, clothed sex, praise, spitting, hand riding, hobie has a bit of a god/ superiority complex, y/n is a groupie who'd do anything for her idol, bit of a power dynamic fr, really toxic in here, angst towards the end.

Backstage Show Pt. 3

I want you to be on the new album cover

Hobie texted you for the first time in three days and you’ve suddenly come back to life. The days when he didn’t text you seemed to be the bleakest and most boring, those when he did proved to be the best for your psyche, and that special little text when he’d tell you to come meet him somewhere because he needs you was a feeling wholly otherworldly. You needed him like a junkie needed a hit to feel functional. You had withdrawal symptoms without him. And maybe he knew that and that’s why he kept you on the hook for so long.

Hobie was not dumb. He knew the effect he had on you, knew exactly in which ways to take advantage of your devotion to make sure you remain entirely obsessed with him. Because he could not bear to lose you because you finally realized that he wasn't worth all of your time.

Either way. He wanted you on the album cover. He wanted you of all people on the album cover. You felt as though your heart could simply combust out of your chest and go to confess its undying love to him. He wanted you on the album cover of anyone in the world.

Then he texted again before you got the chance to respond.

I’m coming. 5 mins away.

5 minutes gave you very little time to get ready. You lept out of bed and began rummaging through your closet for something nice to wear. You eventually found a nice, silken slip to wear with a leather jacket Hobie had given you (anything Hobie gave you became your most prized possession) and some boots to match. It was oddly innocent, like a delicate girl in her innocent dress wearing her boyfriend's clothes. The only difference was you were not a delicate girl and Hobie was not your boyfriend.

Hobie was already at your door in what seemed like seconds after his texts. Had you spent that much time choosing an outfit? You hadn’t had any time to do your makeup.

“One sec!” You called out once he began knocking a little harder. “Ion give a damn wha’cha look like, woman. Jus’ lemme in!” He called back and reluctantly you went and opened the door for him. He’s never seen you without makeup on. Sure, he’s seen it streak down your face in tears after he was done fucking you but never completely barefaced.

You opened the door to find him leaning against the frame waiting on you. He was on his phone, then he wasn't, turning it off and tucking it away upon seeing you standing before him.

His pretty eyes scanned over your outfit and nodded in approval, reaching out to slip his hands beneath your jacket to place his hands on your silk-adorned hips. “I like it. Perfect. Don’ worry ‘bout the makeup ‘n all tha’. You won’ need it for the photoshoot. Your face won't be on the cover.” You hadn’t known you were doing it today but you should have. Hobie was the sporadic type like that, getting ideas in the moment and wanting to run with it then and there without any prior planning. That was him and you were along for the ride.

That’s when you noticed the camera hanging off his side. A little less than professional grade but still a great quality camera.

“We’re doing it here?” You ask, moving to the side as he made his way in. You closed the door behind him, beginning to remove your shoes since you wouldn’t be needing them. Hobie looked around your flat, surprised by how neat it was despite your wild interests. But neat did not mean boring. It wasn’t plain by any means, just more organized than his. “Yeah, though’ you’d be more comfortable here.”

It was considerate of him and you felt your heart swoon at it. You bit your lip to contain a smile as you slipped off your jacket and tossed it onto the couch. “Yeah, thanks.”

“I want to do it on your bed.”

It caught you off guard. He’s straightforward but not usually that straightforward. “Huh?”

“The photoshoot, luv. I wanna do it on your bed.” Hobie chuckled, tossing an arm over your shoulders to pull you in as he began walking towards your bedroom. He knew the layout of your flat well enough from all the times spent carrying you to your bed between kisses and the removal of clothes.

You went and sat on your bed while Hobie prepared the camera. “I want something sweet and sexy. I like the slip, it looks innocent.” He comes over with his camera in one and and his other free to pose you as he pleased.

He began with simple poses, you lying on your bed with one of the straps falling down your shoulder in a seductive kind of way. Hobie knelt above you, taking pictures from above before dragging you up to sit with your legs in a w-shape and your hands between your knees.

“So pretty, baby.” Hobie murmured as you did your own thing, each pose captured by his camera for later review over which would be best. He’d keep your face out of the cover, just to protect your identity. He was a bit of a dickhead but he wasn’t a complete asshole. He wasn’t out to ruin your life.

Hobie stood at the foot of your bed. “Come’ere.” He motioned you over and without hesitation, you came to him and sat in front of him. His hand caressed your face, fingers sliding across your cheek before using his thumb to brush along your southern lip. You offered no resistance as he pushed his thumb into your hot, wet mouth and snapped a picture of it.

“You eva though’ ‘bout me fuckin’ you, takin’ pictures wit’ that polaroid of yours? Imagine how good we’d look wit’ a camera like this one.” He pushed his thumb further and you opened your throat to let him push against it. You nodded slowly, looking up at him through hooded lids, drunk on arousal. You kept glancing at the growing tent in his pants, his bulge pressing against the restriction of his jeans. You needed him badly.

He snapped more pictures of you, pulling his thumb from your pretty, saliva-glossed lips. He took pictures as he pushed your face into the bulge of his pants and made you worship it, worship him.

"Lemme see tha' pretty cunt of yours." Hobie eased you back, made you open your legs to reveal the wet patch on the panties you wore just for him, that matched the creamy, white silk or your slip. He aimed the camera at you as you pulled the off and tossed them away, taking pictures of your glistening arousal before placing the camera on the bed and kneeling down between the heaven of your legs.

Her had your knees hinged over his shoulder, his large hands gripping the chaste flesh of your thighs as he pulled you close and spat on your pussy. Hobie looked at your cunt as if he were in love, with a gaze so intense you could practically feel the heat.

Fingers spread the glob of spit across your clit and down to the entrance that was more than ready for him. He looked up at you in the eyes at he licked into your pussy, his broad nose nudging your clit enough to make you shudder.

Hobie feasted upon you, all tongue and wet fingers pushing in and out of your greedy pussy, switching places from time to time because a pussy like this deserved all the praise and appreciation in the world. His tongue caresses your clit only to be replaced by the rough pads of fingers pinching and stroking a second later.

He had you on cloud nine and only he could. Your fingers wrung the sheets of your bed in a grip so hard you thought you might tear them. Then your hands were in the wilderness of his hair, grasping at his wicks and holding his head to you so that he might never stop.

Through a bleary-eyed gaze your eyes managed to land upon the camera sitting idle beside you and in a moment, you grabbed it and began taking pictures of Hobie. The shutter of the camera caught his attention as he paused and looked up to see your face covered by the lense of his camera.

"Don' stop," you told him breathlessly. "Keep going, you look so pretty, Hobes." You snapped another picture of him.

"I look pretty? Babe, you should see my view." He used the tip of his tongue to tease between your folds. He maintained eye contact with you through the lense, letting you give him his moment to shine as kitten licked your swollen clit and murmured obscenities into your core.

Your back arched, your pussy pulsated, muscles spasmed with the threat of your orgasm. He had you singing his name, your finger weighing on the button until shutter after shutter of the lense taking rapid photos of your descent into madness.

Hobie took the camera from your hands before reaching to release himself from the confines of his pants. He needed you. He needed you like he needed food, water, air.

He let you cum on his tongue, took everything you had to give and more. He ate until your pussy spasmed and you began to push his head away. "Hobie, Hobes please." He just couldn't help himself. He could taste the slight twinge of sweetness from all the fruit you've been eating recently and he's enamored with it. He could do this all day if not for the hard-on he had aching between his legs.

Hobie stood up and pulled you further up onto his bed to make more room for himself. He rolled you over onto your stomach and grabbed a pillow to place your hips upon. He made sure the camera was within reach before pulling his pants down a little further and stroking his cock in his hand.

He pressed the length of it against your ass smearing precum against your slip without a care. You shivered beneath him, anticipating the moment when he'd push himself into you. Not slow or gentle, but swiftly with the speed of someone who's desperate for something.

You pushed yourself towards him as he tapped his length against your ass, revealing where you needed him the very most. Your pussy was clenching around nothing, asking so politely to be filled up and taken advantage of. You enticed him into pressed the thick head of his dick against your hole and push in with one solid motion that left you gasping for air and whining his name.

He had his hands on you, pressing you into the mattress as he drew his hips back with his tip just barely still inside before driving himself back inside you.

He fucked you like he's been waiting for this, like you were the one who left him on delivered last time you spoke. It was fast, rough, but gentle where he needed to be. His hands traced the slopes of your body as you moaned beneath him and trembled under his touch.

Oh— the things you let him do to you, the way you let him take pictures of him defiling you and never raised a single protest. The way he took advantage of you loyalty and earnesty, your undying love for him. He made you feel so good with his cock touching places you would have never known without him.

Hobie whispered in your ear how good you felt, how he's gonna cum on your pussy just because he knows you'll let him.

The sound of your creamy cunt getting fucked and your moans mingled in some sort of lewd symphony. The bedframe slammed into the wall over and over again, your mind was hazy with a second orgasm waiting to happen.

Hobie fucked you like a dog in rut, with the primal want of an animal with not much more on his mind beyond "fuck". On his lips, he sang a beautiful melody of moans. He could no longer focus on taking pictures, his hands were grasping at you like a wild animal attempting to maul you.

The way he moaned was like hearing heaven, like hearing his truly sing for the first time. It was rough, feral, sensual, it matched his hands with their desperation. He was reduced down to a man with a need.

His hands pinned your wrists to the bed as he leaned over you. His hips snapped, skin meeting skin in a harsh, sticky clap. Sweat layered your bodies in a thin film over your skin.

"Ngh— ah~ Hobie, please. Right…there. Just like that." You were crying out from him, writhing beneath his touch. He fucked you nice and hard and kept you dumb and agreeable. You drooled into your bed, squeezing your eyes shut as you concentrate on the feeling of a second orgasm brewing in the pit of your stomach.

"You gonna make me cum, pretty girl. You wan' me to cum on ya pussy. Take pictures of it and put it on ma album." Hobie hummed into your ear, glancing between your fucked out face and the way his cock slid between your nether lips and sheathed itself into your hole.

His abdomen curled and tightened with the sheer weight of his orgasm as the pace of his hips became more and more erratic. And oh, those pretty moans became something far more feral than just singing. He was losing himself inside you and he had half the mind to pull out before he came, cum coating your ass in dribbles of white spats that crest the round of your ass and pooled at the dip of your spine.

Hobie grabbed his camera and captured a few photos before he realized something. "Aw, babe. Did I ruin ya second orgasm?" He had left you high and dry without even thinking about it.

You nodded timidly, not wanting to inconvenience him with your own pleasure. You had already had an orgasm and you shouldn't be entitled to a second one but Hobie seemed intent on finishing you out, finished what he started.

"Come'ere, luv." Hobie turned off his camera and set it aside before motioning you over. You crawled over to where he sat on your bed and let him pull you into his lap facing him with your knees on either side of his waist.

"Can' leave ma girl hangin', can I?" He wiped up some of the cum off your ass with his fingers and slid the two messy digits between your soaked folds. You shuddered, wrapping your arms over his shoulder and around his neck as you stared at those pretty eyes of his.

He pushed his cum-slicked fingers into your greedy cunt that let him in without even an ounce of resistance, palming at your clit that aches for him with the heel of his hand.

Hobie's lips were on yours, teeth nipping at your bottom lip before his tongue met yours. "Go 'head and take wha'cha need." He offered up his hand for you to use as your own person sex toy. Those long fingers of his caressing your walls while his hand rubbed your clit.

You braced your hands on his shoulders for leverage before rocking your hips against his hand. Grinding, bouncing, rocking, fucking those fingers of his like no tomorrow.

Hobie watched you lull your head back with pleasure. You rocked your hips with a fluidity he finds himself hypnotized with. Your slip hid just enough to make the action all the more lewd, like something forbidden. You were gorgeous when you were about to cum, gorgeous all the time.

If he wasn’t so fucked up, he might just fall in love with you. He might actually be in love with you. But he’s too afraid that they’re finally going to figure out he wasn’t worth all your time and leave him.

Hobie kissed you again, deeper this time, softer, with a sort of tenderness he’s never kissed you with before. It’s the kind of kiss that makes you fall even harder for him. You couldn’t bear the thought of living your life without him. You can’t even remember what your life was like before you fist got fucked by him. He left your mind in a dizzy.

You’ll bask in this moment because you can’t be sure when he’ll get bored of you, when one text will be his last and he simply ghosts you. It’s not an outlandish possibility.

“‘M gonna cum.” You murmured against his lips in a daze. “‘M gonna cum, Hobie.” He could feel it, the way your walls rippled and clamped around his fingers. You were so close, so high on him. Your orgasm washed over you easily, like the caress of his hand against your back or a wave washing up on a beach. It rippled through your muscles and left you feeling warm and airy.

“You did so good, ma pretty girl. You feel good?”

You nodded, whimpering as he slipped his fingers from your hole and grabbed your hips to lift you up. “Where ya rags at? I need to clean ya up.” He set you down on the bed beside him and stood up to clean you up. You looked up at him, twiddling your thumbs like an idiot. “We could just take a shower.”

“If you want to. I’ll be waiting out here.” Hobie adjusted himself, fixing himself up and tucking himself away. He was completely clueless, not a care in the world nor a clue for the embarrassment of the person sitting on their bed trying to get him to shower with them.

“I meant the two of us…together.”

“Oh—” He paused for a moment, thinking, considering it. “I don’ know, luv. If I go in wit’ ya, I might no’ be able to keep ma hands to maself.” The disappointment set in quickly. You pursed your lips softly, embarrassed that you even asked. Suddenly there was a world of difference between the two of you. Distance placed between the two of you set by Hobie because he didn’t want you getting to familiar. He couldn’t risk attachment but he knew deep down that it was already too late. He liked you. He liked you a lot. In another world, he’d be in love with you. But love just wasn’t for him.

“I’ll be out here waiting for you.”

You grabbed your things and made your way into the bathroom, closing the door swiftly before slapping yourself in the head. You felt like a bit of an idiot. Of course, he wouldn’t want to shower with you. The two of you were nothing but fuck buddies. Hobie made it clear he wasn’t looking for anything more than to hang out and get his dick wet from time to time.

By the time you got out of the shower, Hobie was in the living room, lounging on your couch while reviewing the pictures the two of you had taken. He was smiling that effortlessly gorgeous smile of his. “Come look at this shit. You look amazin’, luv.” He motioned you over and transfixed by how suddenly he pulled you back in, you came and sat down beside him to look at the pictures taken.

You did look good. You looked sexy, so did Hobie, in the multiple pictures you took of him eating you out. But you were so embarrassed by the obscene nature of the photos that you covered the screen and looked at Hobie. “You’re not gonna use any of these as the cover, are you?”

Hobie shrugged. “Maybe, maybe not. Why? I think we look great.” You slapped his shoulder and he chuckled in response. “I’m jus’ pullin’ ya leg, baby. These pictures are jus’ fa me.” He cupped your face in one of his hands and kissed you with his tongue pressed against the seam of your lips. It was an apology. He knew that he had hurt you earlier by refusing you but he’d never apologize for it verbally.

Maybe one day, you could get him to feel for you the same way you feel for him.

#across the spiderverse #spiderman atsv #hobie brown #atsv #spiderman #hobie brown fic #spider punk #hobie brown smut #backstage show #hobie brown x reader #rockstar hobie #rockstar hobie is so 😩😩😩#rockstar!hobie x reader

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messylustt · 10 months

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( nsfw ) thinking about punk rockstar!hobie and his perfect girl. with his wild hair, ringed fingers, and leather jacket. his guitar would be covered in stickers, some randomly placed there over time, others hand picked by you. the only person he’d listen to in regards to his music. because god did you just look so pretty when you would compliment him on his performances. in your short skirt, and knee high boots. such a cute thing surrounded by a bar full of leather clad, inked hard heads. how well you stood out for him and how attentive you always were. hobie’s quick fingers would be strumming and picking at his electric guitar, a slight sheen of sweat coating his forehead, mutters of the song’s tune leaving his lips. but not as many mutters as what you could pull from him. though everyone would eye you and your perfectly applied lipgloss, only he would be able to slip his fingers under that pretty little skirt, mutters falling onto your collarbone along with sloppy kisses. back pressed against the wall backstage, you’d help him exercise those long fingers, your small sounds keeping him to the tempo he needs, your body’s reactions telling him his accurate pace. what a helpful girl you were to him. because as the distant chatter and exclaims from the crowded bar reached your ears hobie would mutter what a “cute lil’ helper ma girl is.”

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murdrdocs · 11 months

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hobie is so rockstar bf idk how to describe it 🤷🏽‍♀️🧍🏾‍♀️

no he literally is a rockstar boyfriend.

but not in that generic tiktok way like he’s an actual rockstar boyfriend. scrawny, all limbs and piercings and ripped clothes that have rips not just because they’re cool, but because hobie’s just gotten them while going about his day. he smells like smoke and laundry and strong deodorant and just a little bit of a musk that smells good more than it does bad. his hands are rough but the skin on the back of them is soft, in the parts where he doesn’t have scars that he tells you about after a show, back against the outer-brick walls of the pub and a cigarette loose from his lips.

he’s all “don’t care what you wear, babe” because he can fight. and he can. and he will. he’s mellow, not short tempered, but he will step in the middle if he needs to. he knows a guy who knows a guy. and everyone knows him, always shouts of his name from different directions when you two walk into rooms.

he’s popular, loved, slightly feared, told about in an almost mysterious way. but he’s all yours.

#hobie brown x reader #hobie brown x you #hobie brown #celeste writes mcu #hobie brown fluff #spider man: across the spider verse #rockstar!hobie brown #hobiesworld!

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the-kr8tor · 2 months

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In Pursuit of Blood: A trip down goblin lane.

Pairing: Vampire! Hobie Brown x fem! Vampire hunter! Reader

Word count: 5.6k

Synopsis: You, an amateur vampire hunter, find it really hard to kill the one vampire you were tasked to kill.

Tags: Use of Y/N sparingly, no specific physical description of the reader (except for her clothing), same universe as the WWDITS series, CW blood, TW violence, CW suggestive, Mockumentary AU, established relationship, Fluff.

A/N: Special thanks to @al1x00 (ly fr) for the idea! Happy 1k! 🫶 (Enjoy my attempt at humor lol)

Navigation

Hobie's Masterlist

The camera focuses on a leather clad man sitting on a patchwork armrest. His long leg is crossed over the other, metal clinking against each other when he moves. He places his elbow on the armrest, hand under his chin, ringed fingers tapping on his cheek—bored and clearly disinterested. Red eyes lined with dark eyeliner, piercings glimmering under the camera lights, sharp nails painted, he makes the crew suck in a breath.

He's the perfect picture of a rockstar.

The dimly lit gothic home provides the perfect backdrop to the ‘confession booth’, various books, knick knacks from far flung places are littered all over the living room. A grand piano stands proudly to his left, dark oak polished and well taken care off. Tapestries from the sixteenth century are tacked on the walls next to seventies and eighties band posters. His coat rack is full of jackets that look like they come from different times in history.

The producer nods at him, asking for the man's name, his voice just above a whisper so that the microphones don't catch the sound.

He sighs, jaws tighten for a second. “Name's Hobie, Hobie Brown.” His voice shakes the crew's bones. The blond haired producer clears his throat and Hobie rolls his eyes like a spoiled celebrity. “And I'm a vampire.” he says flatly.

The blond gestures for him to continue, asking him how old he is. “Fuckin' hell.” Hobie says under his breath. “Were you not taught manners? Come off it, you don't ask a vampire their age.”

The clipboard holding man, who pretends to be important, asks him why he agreed to the interview if he's so disinterested.

“Fine,” He smiles, showing his sharp fangs, the simple act makes the documentary team's heart skip a beat. “Before you say ‘m following a trend of vampires givin' interviews and a ‘peak behind the cape’ like the wankers in staten island or the lovebirds in dubai. ‘m not, ‘m only doin' this because,” he points dramatically at the clipboard holding man. “Your director told me all proceeds from this goes to charity. And it better be—”

Something thumps outside. The camera sharply turns to the closed floor length curtains.

“Oi, eyes back ‘ere.” Hobie exclaims, the camera whizzes back to his figure. “Again, vampire, been alive for…” he inhales, “a long bloody time. Been a pirate, a cowboy, hell even a rockstar. But always an anarchist.” He says proudly. “I've been rebelling against the one who bit me for centuries,” the camera zooms in on his scowl. “Hate that knobhead.”

Something falls right outside his windows, a groan and a curse sounding out, voice muffled by the walls.

The crew expects Hobie to hiss or even deal with the intruder but he smiles, posture loosening up.

“That,” he points at the source of the ruckus. “That’s a vampire hunter.” Smiling, the crew could hear a muffled ‘fuck you’ behind the walls. “She's been hunting me for a few years now. She—eh, hasn't been close.”

The cursing was louder, camera swishing towards the source, your angry face peeking out from the curtains. The boom mic captures your annoyed growl clearly as you place your face as close as possible on the glass.

“Fuck you, Hobart!”

He chuckles as the crew's face grows with concern. “Don't worry, she's—I guess bad at her job. She's interestin’ though. Y’know what, let me just show you.” He stands up, the cameras and the entire crew follows him through the hallways of his home.

The cameraman almost trips on a stray guitar on the floor. “Careful now, that was a present from some rockstar in the seventies. That's why I leave it on the floor, it works best as a boot scraper.”

Hobie stops in front of double doors, scenes of a love story are carved on the wood.

“It was a gift.” He addresses the doors, “not my first choice but where else would I put the bloody thing?” With a small push, hands braced on both doors, he reveals the expansive room lined with hundreds of paintings and photographs.

He sucks in his teeth. “The entire house is a gift, I'd rather live in a boathouse honestly but this works fine I guess.” Shrugging, he points at the oldest looking wood carving hanging on the wall. A man kneels in front of a woman, rose in his hand as she looks down at him with glee.

“Yes, that's me courting. The wood carver fucked up the scene though, it was more like me ravaging– uh” he clears his throat “…this won't show in pbs right?”

The people behind the cameras shrug as Hobie looks to them for an answer.

“I'll tone it down then, for the children, just in case.” He continues down the lineup of pictures.

Stopping by a large painting of what looks like Hobie in medieval clothing. The painted version of him is surrounded by flowers and trees. His antlers protruding from his head, webs clings to his arms.

“This was when people thought I was fae.” He makes a face, “everyone was tripping on shrooms back then.” walking towards the middle of the room, passing by a few more paintings and tapestries, He pauses on a yellowed painting of a woman who looks similar to you, only less angry.

“Look at her,” sighing, the vampire has heart eyes while looking at the painting. “this was before she was cursed by that bitcharse jealous witch. Now every descendant of hers is cursed to never harm me or any of my spawns, which is bad because they all think I killed their ancestor, and all they want is to kill me. A consequence of dating a vampire hunter during the fifteenth century, I guess.”

“The curse is a two way street, they can't kill me, I can't hypnotize them. It's not that I want to anyway.” he continues.

Another ruckus echoes throughout the house. Hobie smiles again. “I believe she doesn't know about it, so hush, yeah?” He does a double take. “Wait, can you cut that part out?”

—

The second crew runs towards you as you climb the tresses of the house. The camera lens zooms in on your clumsy climbing. Looking down, hearing leaves crunch underfoot, you yelp in surprise.

“What—?!” Losing your hold, you fall on a bush, landing directly at his wild flowers. “Ow! Who the fuck—?!”

—

Now sitting down on a lawn chair, leaves stuck in your hair, face and clothes covered in dirt, you scowl at the producer behind the camera.

Sighing, clicking your tongue, you answer their questions with another question. “Who the fuck are you guys?”

You raise an eyebrow at the words ‘documentary crew’ uttered by the producer.

“Seriously? Who would want to interview Hobart? Scratch that, is it because of those fuckers in staten island?”

A cameraman answers, ‘for charity.’

You blink in surprise, “charity? You fuckin' kidding me? Well if it's for the kids then.” sighing, you resign, looking directly at the camera with disdain, you say your first name. “And I'm a vampire hunter, I mean obviously I am just looking at all the stakes and holy water strapped to me. I look like I'm very fun at parties.” You say jokingly, “and church, probably. Dunno never been.”

The camera cuts back to Hobie still in the large room full of paintings and memorabilia.

“— I didn't do anythin’ wrong. They're absolutely mad at me for no reason—” he stops, thinking. “But I guess I was the reason their family was cursed innit?”

He changes subjects, showing the camera a painting near the end of the room.

“Oh this? This is when her great great great great grandfather almost got me, memories huh? He was mighty fit.” The crew zooms in on a gorgeous painting of a man trying to put a stake through Hobie's heart while he smiles up at him like he's smitten.

“Good times.” He chuckles.

—

“Fuck this.” You say, standing up from the chair, grabbing the mic off from your shirt abruptly. The camera follows you as you grab the lawn chair that you were just sitting on. You then proceed to throw it at a stained glass window. Giving you entry to his abode.

“It was gaudy anyway.” Entering the house, your shoes crunch the broken glass.

—

“Huh, she's inside. That's a record.” Hobie says almost excitedly. “I'll show you the rest of the room after this—.”

The double doors burst open, the camera swivels to you and the camera crew behind you. Holding a stake, you scowl at Hobie.

“Hello, darling, how was your commute?” He genuinely smiles.

“I have a car now, fuck you!” You lunge at him.

Lightning fast, he grabs your wrist right before the stake kisses his chest. The camera crews film on the sides, avoiding getting hit themselves.

“Good for you, finally saved up then?”

Lifting your legs, you kick his chest, you tumble, landing on your feet, staring at him menacingly. “Yes! It's a kia!” you scream before you run full speed at him.

“You got a good deal on it? Automatic or manual?”

“No!” You swing at him, he dodges. “I think I got swindled!” Kick “And it's a manual!” Punch “I’m not a pussy!”

Hobie clicks his tongue, avoiding the pointed edge of the stake. “Point ‘em to me, love, maybe I can get you your money back.”

Stepping back further away, you pause while he stands at the end of the room. Changing your hold on the sharp wood, you throw it at him, he leans slightly, dodging the projectile. it hits the wall right next to your ancestor’s portrait.

“You'll just drink him dry like the last guy!”

He shrugs, making a face that makes you want to punch him harder. “Not my fault he was a knobhead.”

You bounce on your feet, pouncing at him. “He was my dentist!”

He moves to the side, seeing you running towards one of the paintings, in danger of getting smashed by you. In his panic, he raises his arm to stop you, accidentally clothes lining you. His wall-like arm hits you right on your face.

Falling harshly on the floor, you're completely unconscious.

Hobie looks at the cameras with concern. “Shit.”

—

You wake up on an ancient looking couch, it's soft despite its appearance. Lifting your head with a groan, headache punching through the back of your head, you grimace loudly at the camera crew still filming in the corner.

Falling back on the couch, you hide your flustered face with your arm, pulling the blanket further up your chest.

“I promise I'm not that bad at fighting.” You murmur, still hiding your face from the cameras. “You just caught me at a bad time.”

Hobie suddenly appears with a whoosh, he holds a metal tray with tea and a hot compress placed on it.

“Who's giving you a bad time?”

You audibly groan. “No one.”

He places the tray on the coffee table, sparing a quick glance at the camera. “I caught you lackin’ you're not always that bad. Tea?”

Wordlessly reaching up, you flip him the bird. Hobie smiles softly, tapping your legs to give him space on the settee. The documentary crew is surprised that you actually move to give way to him.

He sits by your legs, preparing your tea just like how you always take it. Two sugars and a dash of milk. The entire production staff is perplexed to say the least.

With a clink of the tea spoon against the cup, you sit up, wincing slightly. “Can I get another sugar cube?”

Hobie raises a brow, “it's that kind of day huh? What's bothering you, love?”

You scoff, taking a cube for yourself then plopping it in your tea cup. “Nothing.”

He flicks his eyes at the camera with a knowing glance. Resting his elbow atop his thigh, chin placed on his hand, he pokes at your leg using his foot. Wordlessly having a conversation. With a sigh and a frown, you sip at your tea.

“Ex kicked me out. Now I'm living with the family again.”

Hobie's nonchalance drops, hand instinctively reaching out to you until he realizes what he's doing, he retracts his hand back.

“Shit, ‘m sorry. Their loss.”

“Mm-hmm, consequences of living with someone you've only dated for three months.” You finish your drink in one gulp. “‘sides, I don't have to pay rent anymore.”

“You've got shitty taste in partners.” You snort, half agreeing with him. “But you have to live with your psycho family so there's that.”

You laugh, the camera zooms in on Hobie's pleased expression.

“They're tolerable now, mellowed out after they took out count Belois.” You look at Hobie, copying his position like a mirror.

“He was an arse, did all of us a favour.” he stares at your eyes while the camera continues to film, yet you two don't seem to notice them anymore.

“Yeah, wish I was there though.” You say in a small voice. “They never invite me to those hunts. Always left watching outside.”

Hobie reaches towards you again, this time he actually holds you. Long fingers curling around your wrist, his thumb rubbing gently. “If only they know how hard you could kick.”

“You barely moved when I kicked you.” Chuckling, your eyes sparkle under the dim lights.

“Well it's me,” he inches closer to you in the seat, knee brushing against yours. “But if it was any other vampire out there they would have flown.”

You scrunch your face. Laying your hand down to your thigh, Hobie intertwined his fingers around yours properly this time. The camera captures the confusing scene.

“Because they turned into a bat?”

He grins, showing you his teeth, you don't even flinch. “Nah, because you kicked ‘em too hard. Did you hit your head that hard?” Knocking his knuckles against your temple softly, you move back like lightning has struck you.

“No, I'm actually okay, thanks.” You take your hand away, eyes flitting nervously at the camera then to Hobie. “I gotta go, dinner with the psycho family.” Standing up, you take your belongings from the floor. “You know how it is.”

He looks up at you with an unreadable expression, “yeah, I know how it is.” He says forlornly.

Patting his shoulder awkwardly, your hand lingers for a half second. “Bye,” you stare at the crew in the corner, “bye to all of you, I guess. Don't get eaten.”

The camera pans towards Hobie who just shrugs, fangs poking out of his lips.

—

Hobie eats alone in his empty dining room. The table is long, made of strong narra, designed to sit a dozen or so people. He sits in the head of the table, utensils scraping against the bloodied plate. His goblet is full, untouched.

He looks up at the camera on the other side of the table, observing his every move.

“The table's a gift too.” He says before continuing to eat silently.

—

The camera follows Hobie throughout his day. Roaming aimlessly around the house, he floats above the ground, hand and feet sticking on the wall while he dusts pictures that's placed on the highest shelf.

In the afternoon, he writes music on his piano while he flashes back and forth towards the drums and guitar, testing the music he wrote.

The crew captures Hobie burying something in the backyard. Jacket off, tank top and bare arms in full display. Moonlight illuminating his skin. His necklaces clink together as he shovels in dirt, packing the hole in tightly. The producer asks something about familiars and Hobie scowls at the word.

“No, just no. ‘m fully against havin’ familiars, it's fuckin' wrong.” He sticks the shovel harshly on the soil when the producer questions him again. “Ask me again and you'll be the one ‘m burying next.”

The camera shuts off abruptly.

—

The small supermarket's repetitive jingle from the nineties irks Hobie as he shops for some meat. But what irks him more is the documentary crew finding him especially after he went out of his way to hide from them.

He tosses a box of your favourite tea in the basket, annoyed at the team behind the cameras and boom mics. “Do the lot of you have a tracker on me or somethin’?” Shaking his head, he stomps down the aisle, heavy boots thudding loudly on the floor.

With his leather jacket plus all the metal and spikes on him, Hobie looks like a regular punk shopping for groceries. But if you looked closer, stayed too long in his presence, your flight or fight response kicks in, rendering anyone frozen on the spot.

His ruby eyes scan around the soap display, trying to ignore the cameras and people trailing after him, he gets a whiff of a familiar scent: strawberries and cream, it's you.

Hobie's feet move on its own, carrying him towards your direction. He spots you standing in the fruit section, weighing a watermelon in your hands, knocking on it then listening to the sound closely like you're trying to eavesdrop.

“What's the watermelon saying?”

“Christ!” You jump, dropping the watermelon.

Thankfully he catches it before the fruit splatters on the linoleum. “Just me, love.”

Clutching your chest, you take deep breaths. “I thought I smelled something rotten.” He raises a brow at your comment. “What are you doing here? This is far from your place.”

“First of all, I smell like sandalwood and fresh linen, fuck you.” You snort, rolling your eyes. “And ‘m tryin' to avoid them.” He points behind him, towards the cameras.

“Augh, they're still following you?”

“Apparently I signed a contract, it's not a one time thing.” He places the watermelon back to the crate, taking one that is riper and sweeter just for you. He then gently drops it in your cart, you nod a thanks.

“I told you before don't sign anything when you're drunk off of alcohol filled blood.”

“You're right, lovie, should've listened to you. Can't blame me when I only hear music whenever you open your pretty mouth.” He leans on your cart nonchalantly, giving you his signature smirk that has people falling over themselves for centuries.

“That's not much of a compliment.” You grimace, unaffected by his charm. “Listen, since we're in a public place I'm not gonna try to kill you so please get off my cart, I've got some shopping to do.” Shaking the trolley, he leans away, dismayed. “Also, the owner seems to like me, which is rare enough, so I don't want to ruin my relationship with the old lady. Shoo, Hobart, I'm off the clock.”

“You've got two people who like you now. One more than the other, I suppose.”

You narrow your eyes towards the vampire. “Who's the second one.”

Hobie walks backwards, arm wrapped around his basket, smile blinding everyone in its vicinity. “Me, darling, isn't it obvious?”

The bright fluorescent lights shouldn't do him any favours but by god, he looks amazing under it.

You don't answer, the camera zooms into your hands gripping the handles of the shopping cart, chest heaving, swallowing thickly.

He leaves, going towards the cashier to pay for his groceries. And you spot a sign that's labeled ‘50% off on garlic!’ you glare at the camera, pushing the cart towards the display.

—

Hobie sits on his work table, pieces of a TV are jumbled out on the table as he tinkers with them. His hands shake slightly, he should really feed.

“—‘m pretty good with technology, not like the other vampires. I've adapted well with—” he sniffs, “wait, what's that smell?”

He opens the door to find thousands of garlic circling around his house, “what—?”

“Tada!” You pop out from the side, hands carrying bushels of garlic, no doubt smelling like it too. “Wait, no, not tada, that's in poor taste because you hate them.”

Hobie gags at the smell, eyes watery and irritated. “This is a bad idea!” He rubs at his eyes, tears fully streaming on his cheeks.

“Why? Because it's working?!” You cackle, throwing the vegetable like confetti, one lands right on top of your head.

“Because it attracts—!”

You screech when you feel a sharp tug at your coat. A little green creature shrieks at you, the sound rings your eardrums, almost breaking the boom mic. Its eyes are dark and glassy, ears pointed, teeth sharp.

“A Goblin?!” Falling on your ass, you crawl backwards, watching as more and more of them appear from the bushes.

“I'm a goblin.” The one with a worn out party hat says, voice cracking like foil.

“What are you a Pokémon?!”

Hobie runs after you as fast as he can with the garlic hindering him. “Get inside!” He yells, dragging you towards the door. His hands sizzle atop your arms, the garlic searing his skin.

The creatures skidaddles towards you, towards the smell of garlic. Waves upon waves of green skitter and crawl on all limbs, eyes hungry, mouths agape.

“Hobie!” You hold on to his wrists as the ground scratches your back. Kicking an incoming goblin, you yelp as the door closes at the nick of time.

Claws scratch at the windows and walls. One of them even bangs its head hard on the glass just to get to you.

Hobie hides you behind him, eyes still stinging and skin aflame. “Get to the basement!” He screams when one breaches the house with glass shattering. “Go!”

Running down, Hobie lets you and the crew go first. He grabs a cutlass from the wall, chopping one that comes a little too close to your leg.

You look back at him with worry. “Hobie!”

“I'll be there! Just go!” He grabs one by the neck, throwing it away haphazardly.

It yells a faint ‘whee’ as it sails through the house.

Reaching the large basement, you search for the light switch, a cameraman beats you to it and you yelp at the sudden brightness.

The basement is full of things from different centuries. An iron maiden lays discarded on the corner, its steel rusted and brown. A sculpture of a woman sits on a shelf, it looks like it's a long lost work of Rodin. There's a large tapestry depicting a vampire war that is now collecting dust on the wall.

But the thing that catches your eyes is the massive metal cage that sits in the middle of the room. You would gawk but the swarm of goblins are nearing the basement. The familiar thumping of boots shakes you with relief.

“Cage!” Hobie grabs you effortlessly, you have no time to react as he carries you like a duffel bag by your waist.

The crew follows frantically, closing the metal doors shut behind them just as the swarm gets close. They shriek and bang on the bars, little arms trying to reach towards you.

He lays you back to your feet, dropping the drenched sword on the ground, palms still healing. He cups your face, searching for any injuries.

“You alright?” He heaves, out of breath, legs covered in goblin bites and palms searing but he looks at you like you're the one who's bleeding.

Staring at him with your irises blown out, mouth slightly parted, you embrace him to his surprise and the crew's.

“I'm okay,” you lean away before he could hug back. Hands placed on his shoulders, nails digging into him like he's about to be yanked away from you. “Are you?”

Hobie forgets about the other people inside the cage and the goblins trying to nibble at him. It's only you in his hands, even though the pungent smell of garlic makes his nose itch. Eyes tender, touch gentle, he could only nod.

“Yeah, I'm good now.” His voice lacks the usual charm.

You can finally breathe. “I thought…I'm the only one that's allowed to kill you.”

Chuckling, he traces your jaw with his thumb. “I know. You're first in line, darling.”

The crew stands near the sides awkwardly.

—

The goblins are trashing Hobie's basement, and based on the sounds from upstairs, they're also wreaking havoc in the entire house.

You sit back to back with Hobie in the middle of the cage, away from the bars, hands braced to your sides, his own are mere inches away from yours. He's glad that the garlic smell has wafted away from you, but not enough to get rid of the goblins still hankering for your flesh.

The crew stays away from the openings of the cage whilst a handful of the creatures try to grab at their equipment. It's been hours since the initial attack and everyone's getting hungry and thirsty, including Hobie.

“Why do you even have a dungeon in your basement—? Wait, scratch that, don't answer.” You try to pass the time.

“It was for your great great uncle—”

“Ew!”

“Get your head out of the gutter.” He says flatly, hands shaking from hunger. “I got it so he has a safe place to transform every full moon.”

“What? Huh, so that's why that branch of the family is so hairy.”

He changes the subject. “What were you thinkin’ with the garlic?” Hobie lays his head right on your shoulder, craning his neck to face you, he uses the closeness to memorize your face. His crimson eyes are dimmer than you're used to.

“I dunno, I thought it was a genius idea back then. Y’know, trap you inside, starve you then when you're weak enough I'd put a stake through your heart.”

“It's a good thing you're bloody fit.” He murmurs, chuckling quietly. “You almost got me though.” Your ears pick up the fatigue in his voice.

“And here I thought you fancy me for my amazing personality.”

“That too.” He smiles weakly, feeling the ache in his bones. “We need to get out of here.” His jaw visibly tightens, wanting to get away from you and your scent. Unfortunately it's not so easy when you're trapped.

“I know,” You sigh, Hobie sits up, covering his ears with the heels of his palms. “You okay?”

“I can hear your blood rushing through your veins.” He bites the inside of his cheeks. “Fuck, we really need to get out of here.” Standing up on wobbly feet, you help him up while the crew stands as far as they can without getting slashed by goblin claws.

“You're hungry.” You state the obvious.

“Starvin’” his red eyes flick down to your neck, already feeling guilty from the simple look.

You swallow thickly. “When was the last time you drank?”

“A couple days ago.” His vision blurs.

“Why are you starving yourself?” Scolding him, you guide him back down on the cold granite. “Hobart.”

“Why do you keep callin' me that?” Cold hands against your own, his eyes zeroes in on your face, avoiding the veins in your neck. “You sound like her when you call me that.”

Your eyes soften, warming him with your palms atop his cheeks, you worry. “You haven't answered my question.”

He groans, head lolling backwards. “Got busy, forgot what day it was.”

“Busy with what?” You click your tongue, lifting his head back up with your hands under his head. You search his hungry eyes, making a decision you could regret in the long run.

“If I let you feed, will you be able to get rid of the goblins?”

That has him picking his head back up, waking him up from his hungry stupor. “What—?”

You reiterate, voice determined. “If I let you drink from me can you get your strength back and get rid of the little fuckers?”

“Y/N, I can't let you do that.”

“I know what happens if you don't feed and judging by how the goblins are devouring your entire house like some frat, they aren't leaving soon enough.” You ball his shirt in your hands for emphasis. “I'm letting you drink, just this one time so we could all go home.”

“Are you really sure?”

“Just don't turn me into your spawn, deal?”

Hobie cracks a smile, fangs glinting off the basement lights. You suddenly feel your nerves kicking in.

“I promise I won't. Just tell me if it gets too much, yeah?”

“Okay,” you inhale deeply, tugging down the collar of your shirt, showing him what he needs. “Don't drink me dry.”

“That depends, for all I know you taste brilliantly.” His joke alleviates your fear a little. You're both unaware of the cameras watching, recording everything. Even forgetting that they were there in the first place.

His hand is on the back of your neck, the other is gripping on to your arm like his life depends on it. Eyeing your skin, lips brushing along it, fangs barely piercing, he gives you enough time to lean away.

“Hurry on with it, I need to pee.”

With a deep chuckle, he sinks his teeth in you.

Gasping, you bite down on your bottom lip, stifling any sounds. But Hobie can hear them from your chest, feel how your body quivers with every suck and nip from his teeth.

You whimper and he holds on to you tighter.

He wants to devour you whole, his instincts tell him to ravage you until you're dry and limp in his arms— to rip you apart with his bare teeth. But he doesn't, he's careful and gentle like he's drinking nectar straight from a flower.

“F-fuck…” you let out, hands shaking, sliding down to the back of his neck, pressing him closer.

He turns warmer with your crimson flowing through him, not letting a single drop of the precious liquid dribble from his mouth.

Hobie feels like his dead heart beats once again after centuries.

Eyes closed, you feel like you're on cloud nine. You look like it too, eyes hazy, lips parted, hand holding on to him weakly.

Before he could drown in you, Hobie carefully eases his teeth out from your pierced skin, maw covered in your blood, thumb pressing down to your wounds to stop the bleeding.

It will scar, but you're alright with that thought.

He feels anew. His eyes are sharper, adrenaline coursing through him like your blood in his system. His ears perked at every breath you let out. Eyes blown up like the size of dinner plates, his warm breath fans your cheeks.

Half of him regrets doing it, now that he has gotten a taste, he can't go back to biting random rich assholes. His other half delights in your after taste, so sweet and nectarine that makes him crave more.

You crane your neck slowly like molasses to look at him sweetly through your half lidded eyes, and a soft yet tired smile on your lips. Still clinging into euphoria, vision swirling and heart beating a thousand times per second. You feel like you've ascended and you'll never go down from it.

Licking his teeth, Hobie resists the urge to dive back in. But he's more than that, you're more than a blood bag.

“You alright?” He whispers, he smells like you.

You hum, smiling giddily like a child who just got what she wanted.

“‘m gonna go and kill some goblins now. Stay here for me?”

You hum a tune that sounds like a rendition of ‘happy birthday.’ Giggling, you pat his cheek.

“Yeah, you'll be alright. I'll get you some orange juice after this.”

“Orange sounds nice… such a pretty color. And cookies, yum.” You chortle like you just heard the best joke. “Oh handsome, so handsome. I'm gonna bite you back one day.” Staring up at him, your eyes roll back, falling unconscious.

“Lookin' forward to it.”

Hobie gently lays you down on the floor, standing up, ears listening to your fast heart beat, but it's not enough proof for him. Eyes observing your chest, watching it go up and down, making sure he didn't go too far. Satisfied, he points at the crew cowering in the corner, their cameras still rolling. The documentary won't air anywhere at this rate.

“Watch her.” He says sternly, eyes glaring.

They all nod frantically.

With a swift kick to the metal door, he strikes down every goblin he sees.

—

You sit on the same patchwork armchair, sipping on a warm cup of tea, comfortable and content in your seat. The two pin prick scars on your neck peeks under your collar. The camera has you in the spotlight, zoomed in on your freshly washed face.

“Do you know about the curse?” The man behind the camera asks, his voice wavering with every word like it's taboo to mention it.

“What curse?” You watch as their faces morph into panic. “I'm fucking with you,” you laugh at their expense.

“Of course I know about it. Why do you think I hunt him down? For fun? Well, partly because of it but we broke that curse like five generations ago when my ancestor figured it all out and made friends with the witch.”

Smiling fondly, you continue. “She's my godmother now. Don't tell him.” You warn. “Hunting him down is an initiation for us really, a tradition to try and kill him, just really doing our best to cause damage. He's pretty powerful.”

Laying your elbows on your knees, you look directly at the camera.

“I mean you've seen the room right? He's fucking obsessed, someone has to off him or just—I honestly think he should just move on.” shrugging you sip your tea that he made for you.

“Is that why you're living with him?” They ask unabashedly. The camera zooms out, showing you still in your pajamas, complete with fluffy slippers.

“Uh—”

Hobie appears in the corner, leaning on the doorway casually, a similar pajama pants hanging low on his hips.

“Darling, have you seen my good jumper—?”

You take your crossbow from under the chair, twisting in your seat, you aim it at his head, shooting, the arrow whizzes past him, he ducks down as the arrow imbeds into the oak.

Hobie laughs on the floor, lifting up a black and red jumper. “Found it!”

“Goddamnit.” The word is laced with endearment. You turn back towards the crew, eyes narrowed at them. “Wait, why are you guys here so early?”

Support banner by @/cafekitsune

A/N: Thank you for reading! And happy 1k! 🎉

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