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eyesxxyou · 10 months

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Backstage show

★🎸 {} .. hobie brown x groupie!reader

rating. m

word count. 5k

synopsis. you finally get to meet your favorite band and the lead vocalist takes a liking to you. He decides he shouldn't keep such a beauty to himself.

hobie fucks you in front of his bandmates

🍒・．❕warnings. exhibitionalism (sex in front of bandmates), p in v sex, unprotected sex not advised, clothed sex, oral (m receiving) drinking, smoking, save a horse ride a cowboy, public sex, hobie has a bit of a god complex, y/n is a group who'd do anything for her idol, bit of a power dynamic fr, this is a bit toxic but gets sweet at the end y'all so hold on

Backstage Show pt.2

This was your dream. Ever since coming across a small underground punk rock band, The Mary Janes, you've dreamed of attending one of their concerts. Now you were here, your body pressed up against the side of the stage of the small venue, so close to your idols you thought you might faint. Your body was clad in leather, from your skin-tight skirt to the oversized jacket you had draped over your shoulders. Your shirt was torn, black, lacy bra exposed, a beg for attention really.

All of the members of the band were attractive and all had their individual groupies but by far the fan favorite was Hobie-fucking-Brown. Lead singer and bass guitarist. A tall, lean fellow with the most beautiful voice you've ever heard in your life. He was a charmer, a flirt, known for giving the occasion groupie a chance and the night of their life or dating one from time to time.

Your hands grabbed at the edge of the stage as the lights dimmed and everyone in the building began to scream including you. It grew even louder when the band came on stage, the girl next to you was screaming her head off, hoping to grab the attention of Hobie as the thick soles of his boots made the very stage vibrate under your hands.

You stopped screaming when you saw him. Your breath simply stolen away from you but you supposed that might just be the people behind you pressing as they tried to get as close to Hobie as possible. He was breathtaking. All his features were so sharp, from his cheekbones to his liner-framed eyes. You liked the lean muscle of his body, the way his spiked armband pressed into the muscle, how his torn up, sleeveless crop top revealed the valley of his abs and low-waisted pants revealed his happy trail.

You obsessed over the way he smirked at the crowd and sent them absolutely buck wild. He grabbed his microphone and adjusted it, raising it to his height so he could speak into it comfortably. "'Ow's er'ryone doin' t'night?" His accent is thick but not aggressive to the ears nor incoherent. The crowd goes absolutely wild including you, you scream until your voice is raw, hoping that maybe those pretty eyes of his will land on you.

"Er'ryone lookin' good t'night." His eyes scan over the crowd, making their way back to front, side to side. Then Hobie’s eyes landed on you, in all your fishnet, leather, and spiked collar glory. He paused for a moment, his tongue dragging across his pierced lips before the corner curled into a smirk. “Some lookin’ real good.”

And from then on, he had his attention on you. Sure, he certainly had everyone in the room on a leash and the few people in the front were able to hold hands with him for a few milliseconds and get a few acknowledging glances. But he made it clear that you were the one on his mind. He bent down and caressed your face with his silver decorated fingers while singing before moving on.

You grabbed your polaroid camera you had hanging off your side like a bag, using it to snap pictures of what you could only describe as the best day of your life. Everytime Hobie neared, another picture was taken and printed out on the spot. You barely let them develop before placing them in your bag.

Hobie noticed this and came back to you, sitting down with his legs hanging off the edge of the stage, pressed against your chest. “You havin’ a good time, luv?” He asked as his band began to play the intro to the next song. You were so mesmerized, so starstruck, that you couldn’t even formulate words. You didn’t trust yourself to speak because you knew if you tried, you’d say something stupid like you’re in love with him, you’d do anything for him. So you nod like you’re completely braindead, fawning over him.

“Might I see ya camera?” He pointed to the device in your hand and immediately, you handed it to him without thought. You melt when he grabs you by the back of the head and pulls you in. Hobie kissed you, his tongue pressed against the seam of your lips. It was a moment you never thought would ever happen to you. His lips were on yours and you knew this was your chance.

You kissed him back and let him slip his tongue past your lips. His tongue pressed against yours, a little ball piercing meeting the soft flesh of your tongue. With a little bit more confidence, you grabbed his shirt, slid your hands up his collared neck, felt his skin because you might never get to have this chance again.

He took this chance to snap a picture of the two of you kissing, letting it print out as he placed it back between your hands.

“Hobie! Stop fuckin’ around an get up here, mate!” His drummer called from across the stage with a hint of impatience. Hobie broke away from you with an annoyed sigh as he glanced back over his shoulder for just a moment. When he looked back at you, he offered one of his pearly white smiles. “You min’ stickin’ around aft’a the show fa me, luv?”

You nod, still not trusting yourself to say the right words just yet. Hobie pecks your lips, a goodbye kiss with the promise to see you again soon, before he stands and grabs ahold of his guitar to finish the show. You swore, if you weren’t in love before, you definitely are now. You were in love with the way he drew all attention to himself without even trying, so confident because he had nothing to prove. Undeniably sexy in every single way,

So once the show came to a close and the crowd slowly dispersed across the venue, most finding themselves at the bar for a drink. At first, you had no idea where Hobie was. The place was absolutely packed and the thought of anyone being able to take a single step without bumping into someone else was laughable. But it soon became clear when people began flocking in one direction, girls screaming out his name as he came around, asking for autographs on any part of their body they had to offer and he was happy to oblige. He went around signing people’s chests just above their tits and the bottom of their backs like his name was their tramp stamp.

He saw you between the swaths of people and smiled, wading himself between people to get to you. “There ya are, luv. Been lookin’ fa you.” Hobie tossed an arm over your shoulders and pulled you into the side of his body. He smelled of sweat and the musk of his cologne and you thought you might just cum from the smell alone. You looked up at his towering stature as he greeted other fans. His jawline was sharp, adam’s apple prominent in his throat, his lips thick and kissable.

Hobie looked back down at you. “You wanna go backstage wit’ me and my mates?” A long, slender finger came and wrapped around a single one of your braids. He was so charming, so easily able to persuade those around him to listen to him. He made those around him feel like they’ve known him for years, like you’ve spent your whole life together.

Finally, you were confident enough to stop acting like you didn’t have a lick of intelligence. You slid your arm around his waist to return the same kindness of intimate closeness. “Of course.”

Hobie raised his pierced brows in slight surprise. “So you speak.” He teased you lightly, placing his hand on top of yours as you held his waist and pulled you closer. He began to lead you towards a door that led to backstage.”Wha’s ya name, doll?” He leaned in to you so he could hear you better as you say, “Y/N.”

He hummed softly. “Suits you. Pretty name fo a pretty girl.” He kicked open the door so he didn’t have to let do of you. He kicked the door closed behind him, making sure it was closed al the way before bringing you around a few short, winding halls until you reached their little hangout spot. All three others of his band were already lounging about, feet kicked up, with some bottles of whiskey and a joint being passed between them. The room smelled heavily of weed and booze but the aggressiveness of it didn’t bother you. You’ve spent your entire life in environments like this.

“Yo er’ryone, this is Y/N.” Hobie introduced you, finally letting you go once you were in an environment he was more comfortable in. They all nodded and greeted you cooly, probably already high. They were all friendly, complimenting you on your outfit or telling you they thought you were pretty in a way that didn’t make you feel uncomfortable while Hobie went to sit down in a dingy recliner next to a messy coffee table.

“Com’ere, pretty girl.” Hobie motioned you over to him and without hesitation you came, placing your things down on the table. He grabbed a bottle of liquor from the table and took a large swing of it as he grabbed your hand gently and pulled you into his lap. His hand was on your thigh, fingers slipping beneath the webbing of your fishnets. God, he was so sexy looking up at you like that. The way he gripped your thigh already had you growing wet at the thought of his fingers sliding beneath your skirt.

“Gotta be ‘bout the prettiest girl I done ever seen. Right boys?” He doesn’t look over the side of his recliner at them, just takes another swing of his bottle while staring up at you with eyes telling you exactly what he’s imagining now. You’re imagining the exact same.

They all agree with various sounds of approval, knowing not to tread too much on Hobie's obviously marked territory.

You shift in his lap, the wetness between your thighs growing evermore uncomfortable. Hobie leans forward and begins kissing along the side of your neck, his hand still possessively gripping your thigh. His lips graze your supple skin so lightly it sends shivers through every nerve in your body. "Hobie."

"This can stop. You just say the word." He made sure to let you know that you had no obligation to do anything with him. You appreciated the gesture but you would do anything short of murder for him. This was a moment you've been dreaming of for so long, you were scared that this very moment right here was a figment of your delusional imagination and you'd be waking up in your bed any second now.

But his lips kissing you was very real, his hand stroking your hip now was the realest thing in your world right now.

“You wanna drink, luv?” Hobie asked you, shaking the bottle in front of you. You were never much of a drinker but you didn’t mind a few sips here and there and you were sure you’d need some liquid courage for a moment like this. You reached out for the bottle but Hobie quickly pulled it out of your range and clicked his tongue in disapproval. “Lemme do it. Get on ya knees fa me, doll.”

You don’t even think about refusing. Not an ounce of hesitation plagues you as you slide off of his lap and onto the floor in front of him. You get on your knees, leaning forward, back arched as you positioned yourself between Hobie’s legs. You thought you were probably flashing your panties to his bandmates but you didn’t care. How could you when Hobie drabbed your chin with those beautiful fingers of his, nails painted a solid black. “Open ya mouf.”

You do so. You part your lips and let your jaw hang open as he tips the bottle against your lips and lets the bitter liquid pour down your throat. He’s sure not to give you too much so you won’t choke. You close your mouth and swallow, looking up at Hobie through hooded eyes and long lashes.

“Go’ myself a good girl, didn’t I?” Hobie pet your head as you placed it on his thigh much like a pet who worships their owner. “You’d do anythin’ fo me, wouldn’t you?” He asks because he knows that you’ll undoubtedly say yes. You love the way he pushes your hair out of your face to get a better view of you as you look up at him like he’s more than just a man.

‘You’d do anything for your god too, wouldn’t you?” You ask him, making it very clear how you saw him and that there was very little you wouldn’t do for him. He was your god, your religion, your everything. You were a devout disciple, on your knees ready to worship.

Hobie smiled at your words. He liked you, knew from the moment he saw you that you’d be entirely worth his while. “Why don’t you show me how much you love ya god then.” He relaxed into his chair, slouching as he took another sip. His hand was in your hair, pulling you closer to the growing bulge in his pants. “Would you like to be the sta’ fo a bit, put on a lil’ show fo the rest of us?”

You glance behind you at his bandmates, all of them staring at you, waiting to see where this would all go. When you look back, Hobie’s staring at you with a raise brow. A question. Do you wanna? I won’t make you, luv. You drag your tongue over your lips, wiped clean of your lipgloss from his kiss earlier. You bit your lip and reached towards his belt to undo it. How could you turn down a moment like this? The thought of them all sitting there watching as you suck off their leader made your pussy tremble. You’ve always played with the idea of people watching. Tonight had to be a dream.

You undid the buckle of his belt and pulled it from its slot before moving into his pants. Hobie assured you to take your time as you reached into his pants and pulled him out of his restraints. He was already half hard in your hand, weighing heavy against your palm as blood rushed into the appendage.

You wet your lips again as you began to stroke him. Your delicate fingers wrapping around and pulling at the smooth, satin skin of his cock. He had to have the prettiest dick you’ve ever seen, nice, long, and veiny with a Prince Albert’s piercing sitting pretty and shiny at the tip of his cock. You salivated at the sight of it as it grew harder in your hand. You bite your lip and glance up at Hobie who’s already smiling at you. “Like what ya see?” You love what you see, wanted him to shove it down your throat.

Hobie takes over for you, grabs his cock and jerks it a little harder. Little beads of pearly precum dripped from his slit and rolled down the underside of his cock before meeting his hand. He takes his time, staring at you and that pretty face of yours that caught his attention in the beginning.

He tapped his length against your cheeks in a way that was almost degrading but you leaned into it, stared into his eyes as his bottom lip caught on his teeth. You let him smear his precum across your plush lips before parting them to let him drack his tip against your tongue.

“Got yourself a proper lil’ slut, didn’t you Hobes?” One of the other band members chuckle as you part your lips further and stick out your tongue. The others laugh with him including Hobie who takes up your hair in a makeshift ponytail and presses your head down, sliding his cock into your mouth as far as you could take him. “Gotta nice lil’ wet patch on ‘er panties.”

You found a guilty pleasure in the way they talked about you like you weren’t even there, an object of pleasure. Hobie used your mouth as his own personal toy, controlling the way your head moved up and down his cock, pressing to your limit, until you’re gagging and choking on him. He slapped your cheek lightly. “Eyes up here sweet’art.” You look up at him, eyes swelling with tears each time his length slid down your throat and triggered your gag reflex.

His head hell back against the cushion of his chair as he moaned lowly, “Relax tha’ throa’, doll.” His eyes never left yours no matter how good that pretty little mouth of yours made him feel. Hobie let his own mouth fall open as you took him in down to the hilt, your nose pressed to his pelvis. “Gooood fuckin’ girl.” He holds your right where you are, watching with a sadistic smile as you gagged. Your hands gripped his thighs to brace yourself, tears streaking your cheeks.

Hobie let you go after a few seconds and you fall back, panting for air with your lips slicked with saliva. The moment you caught your breath, you had your lips wrapped around him again, bobbing your head with an eagerness to please, to put on that show he was talking about. You are your back more, the outline of your pussy revealed behind your panties for his bandmates to gaze at.

“Keep goin’ jus’ like tha’.” Hobie was practically falling apart beneath you, his breathing hitching and his eyes barely open while he watched you take him down like a champ. “Fuck…ya killin’ me, doll.” His voice was breathy yet tireless and came out like a low rumble that only made you wetter. “Drivin’ me fuckin’ mad.”

But Hobie wasn’t ready to cum just yet as pretty as you’d look swallowing his cum. “Get on up fo me.” He pulled you back by your hair and you released him with a sticky pop of your lips. He made you to stand up between his knees and held you by the waist, his hands so large it made you seem small by comparison.

“Le’s put on a real performance.” He whispered to you with a smile that could only be described as devious. His hands were suddenly hiking up your tight little skirt to circle your waist, fingers between the netting of your stockings, tearing them open enough to create a whole right at your cunt. “Turn ‘round.” And you did, following every movement of his hands as they positioned your body. Until you were sitting on Hobie’s lap with your legs spread, feet on the armrests of his chair, panties pulled to the side so everything you held so dear was on display for his bandmates to oogle at.

Hobie wrapped an arm around your waist and used his free hand to slide his saliva-soaked cock between the equally soaked lips of your puffy little pussy that’s been screaming and begging to be fucked. You tremble as his piercing dragged across your sensitive little clit. “Already nice and wet. Din’t even needa touch ya.” He chuckled into the shell of your ear before kitten-licking it.

It was easy to slip in, hardly an resistance at all. You whimpered at the way he could so easily push that thick cock of his into you, at how he stretched your walls. You turned your face in some feeble attempt to hide yourself from the prying eyes of the men sitting on the couch across from you. They all watched intently, something predatory sparkling in their eyes at the sight of you.

“Uhn-uh, luv.” Hobie hissed out as he bucked his hips up into your little cunt that so eagerly accepted him. “Look at ‘em. Look at wha’ you’re doin’ to ‘em.” You turn your head to glance and find them all palming themselves through their pants. Shameful and embarrassed, you hide your face again and attempt to close your legs but before you can, Hobie’s are already pinning them apart, keeping you just how you are.

“Start bouncin’ then.” Hobie forces you to move your hips, rocking them against his cock as your greedy little pussy takes in more of him. He slaps your exposed pussy red and raw when you take too long to move, leaving you sensitive and teary-eyed. “I said start bouncin’, or are you stupid now?” His voice bites a little with a command but just between the two of you in a hushed whisper, “Jus’ tell me to stop if you don’ wanna go on, sweet’art.”

You shake his head at your offer, bracing yourself as you begin to flex your thighs and lift yourself up before dropping right back down on his cock. You let out a broken little moan as he plunges back in, the curve of his length pressing into your walls just right. That wonderful piercing of his only amplifies the pleasure. “Hobie~” You whine his name as he soothes his the rough pads of his fingers against your aching clit as a reward. “Keep goin’.”

You ride like your very life depends on it, crying out his name like he might be your only chance at salvation. You don’t care that your thighs are burning as you push them to their limits. You’re cock-hungry and everyone in the room knows it. The sound of your creamy, wet pussy being fucked and your whiny moans mingle with Hobie’s deep, guttaral ones. He hisses out his words like he’s barely holding on to sanity. “Bes’ fuckin cunt ‘ve had in a long time.”

And when you simply couldn’t keep going as you were, your legs exhausted from carrying up and down and back up again, Hobie grabbed you, held you up, and fucked you just like that. The way he fucked you was borderline cruel, abusive even. He bullied his cock into your pussy and played with your clit like the strings of his guitar, leaving you so wet that your thighs were slick with it. Skin clapped against skin, your faces’ shimmering with sweat.

“Pull up ya shirt… let’ em see your tits.” Hobie let out between breathless pants. You did just that, pulling up your shirt enough to let your breast free. They bounced with his harsh thrusts, the peaks of your nipples pebbling at the cold air coming in contact with them. You could tell they were all trying to restrain themselves, swallowing harshly at the sight of your near defiled body.

“H-Hobie…I’m– cumming!” You could feel it falling upon you much like a tsunami. It seized your body and held you, drowned you. Your pussy clamped down around him and trembled with it as Hobie played with your pussy and dragged you through it. It had no mercy on you, left you feeling dizzy and your mind foggy. Your back arched, muscles twitching against your will, and your pussy left white streaks of cream against his cock.

Hobie wasn’t done with you though. “Turn ‘round, doll.” You hardly even removed yourself from his cock as you turned around on his cock, now facing him. Instinctively, you began to ride him, your hands grasping his shirt for leverage as he leaned back and enjoyed the show for himself.

“Lookin’ all pretty and fucked out, aren’t ya luv?” He reached across you towards the table for a joint. He placed it between his lips and grabbed a lighter to light it, still watching you as he took his first drag and tossed the lighter to the side. He loved the way your tits bounced in his face, the way there wasn’t a single thought in that pretty, empty head of yours. Like his mates said, a proper slut for him.

He blew the smoke into your face and slapped your ass before grabbing your waist. “Should keep ya ‘round. Nice way to relax after a show, yeah men?” Hobie looked at his mates already rubbing one out themselves, too sexually frustrated not to do anything. He took another drag and let out the smoke in a breathy moan. “Fuckin’ me up here, doll.” He gritted out while grinding his hips into you. “Migh’ haveta keep ya ‘round. Can’t get good pussy like this nowhere else.”

Hobie pulled you in to kiss you, his teeth nipping at your bottom lip. You could still taste the remainder of your cherry lipgloss mingling with the alcohol and weed in his breath. You wondered if it was possible to sew two people’s lips together because you never wanted to stop kissing him ever again.

He began to smile into your kiss, a wicked idea coming to mind. “Lemme give you a autograph, luv. Get up and get on ya knees again.” You didn’t understand at first until you felt his cock twitch with the telltale signs of an orgasm on the horizon. So you got up, a string of cum leaving you two connected before breaking. You got on your knees again.

“Gotta nice pair o’ tits there.” Hobie wrapped his ringed fingers around his length and began violently jerking himself. You look at him, slick lips parting to speak. “Can you sign them for me?” You ask like one of his fangirls only hoping to get a moment like this one.

He held his joint between his fingers and sat up a bit more as his stomach tightened, abs revealing themselves even more. “How can I refuse a fan?” His brows furrowed with concentration as you push your chest forward in front of him, pressing them together with your hands.

Then his face relaxed all at once, his lips falling open with a single moan as he came. His cum came out in ribbons of white, landing on your chest in intervals as he twitched. Hobie was the prettiest when he came, every muscle in his face relaxing except his brows that seem to tense. You like how he coated your chest, how his cum rolled between the valley of your breasts as down your naval.

You felt owned now, possessed, marked. And you swore you’d never be able to have sex with another man again after tonight. You watched Hobie in utter admiration as he placed his joint back between his lips and reached back to the table to grab your camera. He snapped a picture of you. Your defiled body, your owned body, immortalized in a picture.

Hobie grabbed the picture as it printed out and waved it about through the air until it developed then placed it down on the table. “Come on, less get you cleaned up, doll.” He made himself decent before helping you up onto your shaky feet. He glanced at his mates as you two passed them, them all still wanking off, and he scoffed. “Pervs.”

“Fuck you, Hobes!”

He took you to the bathroom, used some wet paper towels to clean his come from your body and fix up your outfit as best as he could. “Sorry ‘bout the stockin’s, luv. I’ll buy ya new ones.” You didn’t expect him to be so sweet, no one has ever cleaned you up afterwards. Your face was hot as you looked at him. “Can I… have a second?” You asked softly.

“Yeah, ‘course.” Hobie shrugged, leaned down and kissed your cheek right at the corner of your lips. He offered a sly smile before leaving you to yourself to go back and joins his friends. You could hear him behind the door, “Could you wankas put ya…well…wankas away?”

You turn on the faucet and splash your face with cold water. You tell yourself that this isn’t real. You tell yourself you didn’t just have the best sex of your life with your idol. The more you splash your face, trying to wake yourself from thai dream that can only end in disappointment, the more you realize this isn’t some pathetic figment of your imagination.

When you come out of the bathroom, everyone’s hanging around. Hobie’s back in his chair with his joint and the polaroid he took in between his fingers. Your things were in his lap meaning you’d have to go to him to grab them.

He stands for you, putting out his joint in the ashtray much to the dismay of the others. He takes your things and brings them to you. “There ya go, sweet’art.” Your fingers brush when you grab them from him and he gives you the picture too. His eyes sparkle as he looks at you. “Hope to see you at our next gig.”

You think he must say that to all the fangirls he hooks up with. You’re nothing special you tell yourself. You glance at the other members wearily. “It was nice meeting you all.”

“You too, darlin’.” They’re all sweet despite watching you get fucked by their friend and jerking off to it. Do they do that kind of stuff often? Was this not an uncommon occurrence for them?

You’re almost humiliated as you leave, stalking towards the nearest exit to take a cab home. You look at the polaroid of yourself, on your knees with cum on your chest. You rub your thumb over it and when you shift it into your other hand to put it in your bag, you see ink smeared on your fingers.

Your brows furrowed and you flipped the photo to find a number scribbled down on the back. Your fingers smeared the ink but not enough to make it incomprehensible. All the numbers were clearly readable, carefully placed like he wanted to ensure you’d be able to read it.

You almost had a heart attack right then and there. There was absolutely no way he was just giving out his number to anyone who came across his path. This meant you were special, something out of his ordinary. You squealed, jumping right there on the cracked sidewalk, gaining the attention of those around you.

Holy Shit.

#hobie brown smut #hobie brown fic #hobie brown #rockstar hobie #black!reader #spider punk fic #spider punk #spider punk smut #hobie brown x reader smut #hobie brown x black!reader

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liseytopia · 6 months

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───★

pairing: rockstar!hobie x bandmate!fem!reader

contents: fluff, very slightly suggestive

warnings: cursing

read pt. ii here!

───★

𝐭𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 - 𝐩𝐭. 𝐢

- 𝘩𝘰𝘣𝘪𝘦 𝘣𝘳𝘰𝘸𝘯

you & hobie are in a band together, along with his other bandmates. your band decided to go on tour, so hobie reserved a tour bus for you all to use. you weren't super fond of driving around from city to city to perform concerts, but you had to admit, it was exhilarating to be on stage in front of a crowd that's singing along to the lyrics you're spouting out your mouth. you and hobie on guitar, your fingers gliding themselves freely along the neck of your guitar, pressing frets and strumming freely. and with the rest of your band in the background on drums and background vocals, your band sounded surprisingly fucking cool.

the first night of your tour, you played at a pub in london. the crowd was noisy but seemed encouraging. you were nervous about this moment, actually, every time you've ever been on stage you'd been nervous, but regardless every time you feel scared you might mess up a solo or people might boo at you for amounts of reasons you couldn't even count. the thoughts started to get to your head and you didn't realize it was visible how scared you were until your boyfriend hobie popped up next to you and tapped on your shoulder.

"hey luv, everythin' okay?" hobie gave you a meaningful look. "yeah.. yeah, everything's fine. just.. eh, scared." it was obvious you weren't fine. "wha' for? you don' needa be scared about messing up. music's shit without you, y'know that." hobie really means it when he tells you how good you sound and look when you rock out on that pretty pink guitar you wield every performance. nevertheless you were still unsure about performing and show started in nearly ten minutes.

hobie dragged you by the hand backstage and gave you a talk encouraging you to get out there and be the hot girlfriend you are and play that music for everyone to hear and be jealous of. "doll, i swear, you're the sexiest, most talented girl i've known n loved. how do you think i felt when our band first started?" it's visible that you're holding back tears. you choke out a "confident like how you always are." "i ain' always been like this, luv. i was scared." you start laughing. "no way you were scared." "i was, tellin' the truth, mate." "you, the rockstar hobie brown was scared? i don't believe you."

once hobie can assure you're feeling okay, he checks the time.. everything's set up and ready to play and you still have five minutes.. so hobie pulls you into a nearby dressing room and smirks at you for a second before completely covering your face in kisses. "hobie!! come on, we have like five minutes until the show starts!" you're laughing when hobie pauses to say "tha's five minutes for me to show you how much i love you." hobie continued leaving kisses on your face & neck, giving you hickeys (that were concerning you because you knew everyone would see them with the tank top you were wearing), and kissing your lips passionately. he checked the time again.. two minutes. hobie kept kissing you over and over until at one minute you two ran out to the stage. your bandmates throw you and hobie a side eye and when one of them realizes the hickeys on your neck, they say, "we got one minute and you dipshits have been back there making out this whole time? nuh uh." you turn to look behind you where hobie stands, he shoots you a wink, and the show starts.

of course this whole time you'd just had jitters, because once you got to start singing and playing, it was majestic. the way you hypnotized the crowd with your surreal voice and quick hand movements was immaculate. the crowd probably noticed the hickeys with the looks on their faces. and you know hobie was staring at you that whole show and wondering how this beautiful and badass girl could be his. you perfected your solo, crowd cheering and clapping for you as you released a mesmerizing tune from your guitar. and right after the show was over, hobie wasted no time to flip you around to face him and press his lips all over yours. and no, he doesn't give a fuck that it's right in front of a whole crowd. he's hobie, your rockstar boyfriend, and you're his rockstar girlfriend.

───★

ʚ © this subject is copyright to liseytopia. : do not copy, translate, or steal my writing. ɞ

#: lisey's fics!#hobie brown #hobie brown x reader #hobie brown x you #rockstar boyfriend hobie #rockstar hobie #spiderverse #spiderman across the spiderverse

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messylustt · 7 months

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v.15.10.23 day eight: dry humping ( nsfw )

hobie brown brainrot

hobie is all sweaty as him and his band finish their performance. you had been in the crowd, smiling, clapping and nodding your head along to the music. girls beside you, all in clusters, were cheering while lowering their tops, some even with hand-made shirts that said ‘my boyfriends in a band’. quite a few of the girls had hobie’s face on it. you had learnt not to be jealous, knowing that they were just groupies, no matter how loud and provocative they could get. you focus on hobie, his ringed fingers tapping slightly at his guitar as he then scanned the crowd. stopping on you, he smiled, removing his guitar and jumping down from the stage. as he heads in your direction, you can hear a girl beside you say “i told you he’d notice me.” she brushes her hair behind her ear as she watches hobie near. you slightly shift your gaze to her, watching as she shimmied her tube top lower, waiting for hobie to arrive. that’s when you feel a hand grab your chin, turning your head back and towards your boyfriend, hobie. he doesn’t waste a second before kissing you, grinning against your mouth as he slips his hand into your hair, drawing you closer. hoots and hollar’s come from somewhere, while girls gasps and annoyed huffs come from right beside you. “hobie — ” you manage briefly against his mouth, but he just grabs your arm, not even noticing the other girls glances as he takes you back stage. he really doesn’t waste any time as he pulls you down onto his lap making a small squeak leave you. “hobie, what are you — ” he kisses you again, moving your legs to straddle him “move your hips” he mumbles against your mouth, his grip tight on them now. “i’m so fucking hard because of you, so move your hips.” at his tone you slowly begin to grind against him, his own hands guiding you as he nods, breathing heavier. “jus’ like that, luv” he kisses you again, as his own hips slightly lift up into you as you grind. his hands move under your shirt as he moves his lips to your neck, muttering about how you looked too pretty, and that next time you should wear a hood if you don’t want him to drag you back stage and make you ride him again. because the sight of you supporting his music always goes straight to his cock.

taglist below

@spiderst4rgirl @buttertubz @nayylas @cultrise @miguelsslut @eddieslooneymoonie @duckyduck25 @chysalxsm @lusttszn @lemonlotem @siidmm @Horror_sl*t @urmotherlvr @carlixa @jackdawwaquarium @vampsired @kaitoliu @diyag @shadowarchon @zabac69 @alucards-no-life-queen @certified-stargirl @andrealuvsmiguel @freehentai @vic0dyn @raexy @awniie @slut4drudy @ramiiroll @briefrebelfanalmond @kuujo @LittleAbyssGirl @oyaapeach @matchayuii @zaunsin @pinkghost222 @kodzuminx @iite-cool @urabotlmao @missbeverlyhills @winteringfalls @rostarblog @chocolatechiipsworld @mcinava @br0ken--ruby @burningpeace @myrcella-maximoff @shadowarchon @coffie-witch @die4niyahhh @oilfics @hawunts @i-do-be-vibinn @2099rk @notasadgirlipromise @Littlemissdilfloverr @3xclusive_.y0ni @killvaswrld @lynnxnnyl @hk11 @oharasmommymilkers00 @ttlynotme @mindscape123 @danikirbs @herefor-tojis-tits @m0tiveee @pixiesbored @ilikedragons09 @Connieslivrgyal

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murdrdocs · 10 months

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Lol imagine flashing Hobie during one of his concerts 👀🚶🏻‍♀️ just saying dem 70s bands and their fans where sum else

STOPPP

this is giving groupie!reader to me. being barricade, already wearing a revealing top that lets hobie see right down it and at your cleavage. he’s signed your tits before, a few weeks ago at another show where you were in the exact same spot. just a fleeting interaction that’s stuck with you since then.

and the song is coming to an end, a more calming tune playing out in comparison to most of the melody before, and hobies eyes scan the crowd, taking in the pleased faces, before he lands on you. he intends to look for only a split second, maybe a full second just to admire how pretty you are, but then your hands are going to the hem of your shirt and hobie just knows what’s coming. which, he’s right, because a second later your shirt is lifted and hobie brown, the guitarist for your favorite band right now, is presented with your tits.

sitting pretty and bare now that your shirt has uncovered them, colorful lights gliding across the surface, and he remembers how nice his name looked signed on the left tit. he thinks he should resign them, and maybe add a few more permanent marks, too, just for good measure.

#i’m talking hickies btw #nothing too crazy #hobiesworld!#rockstar!hobie brown #hobie brown x groupie!reader #hobie brown x reader #hobie brown x you #celeste writes mcu #hobie brown smut

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visions--of--collisions · 6 months

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miles opening up to hobie like he can't help himself "how are you even cooler under the mask?" "we got in a fight, but ... they just want what's best for me" "i want to be in a band; i wanna see my friends, and i need a watch to do that" when he knows him all of 30mins and is convinced the guy's his Rival For Gwen's Affections would be so fucking funny if it didn't make me so emotionaL

#spiderverse #miles morales #hobie brown #punkflower #i'm sorry but the tiktok with their isolated/captioned dialogue in spidey hq got me #i'm gonna need a mandatory 5mins of hobie and miles speaking in hushed tones while being needlessly physical per movie ty #the spot really tried to paint this boy as arrogant and flippant when he'll give literally anyone the time of day. bonkers #mans sat politely for his worst teenage nightmare's rockstar intro/lore dump lmfao #hobie x miles #🎸🌻

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caicrisis · 10 months

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Rip me out the comic

IG CaiCrisis

#me #hobie brown #marvel #sony entertainment #across the spiderverse #spider #spider punk #hobie spiderverse #black alternative #alt black boy #rockstar

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the-cat-and-the-birdie · 10 months

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everyone knows Hobie as ‘the punk one’ at HQ and I hc that most people just associate that with the style and music mostly especially cause of the guitar

but Noir has no idea about any of that and only knows the political side

so whenever ppl see Noir they’re like ‘omg ur bf is a rockstar!!’

and Noirs like ‘fella i dont know what the hell that is but let it be known my lover is a comrade first and foremost-‘

#He’s like ‘idc about all this fame business we are here to kill nazis are we not #also i don’t think the term ‘rockstar’ existed back then #spiderman #marvel #punknoir #noirpunk #hobie brown #peter parker #peter parker x hobie brown #hobie brown x peter parker #spider noir #spidernoir #spider punk #spiderpunk #atsv #across the spiderverse

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weirdo09 · 10 months

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thinkin’ about trans femme miles as rockstar hobie’s infamous girlfriend who’s behind his album covers and co-songwriting.

@rashadliveson @royallydivinelesbian

#cade’s things #cade’s thoughts 💭#this is seriously makin me wanna go back to my rockstar era #trans fem miles #transfemme miles #hobie brown #punkflower #flowerpunk #atsv #across the spiderverse

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caeeesar · 9 months

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ㅤㅤㅤ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ㅤㅤㅤ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Hobie Brown. ㅤㅤㅤ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ㅤㅤㅤ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎The one and only Spider Punk. ㅤㅤㅤ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ㅤㅤㅤ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎୨ ꒱⸝ ⸝˚✦ ‧˚₊ ୧ ・ೃ꒱ ੭ ⁾⁾

#spider punk #hobie brown #hobie spiderverse #earth-138 #terra-138 #punk rock #punk #rockstar #headers #icons #moodboard #header #red moodboard #crimson #crimson red #crimson moodboard #across the spiderverse #icon

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love-edits · 11 months

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j-hope; "comes from his desire to represent hope for fans, as well as to be "the hope of BTS"."

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urdinosaurs · 7 months

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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 · 8 months

Text

Backstage Show Pt.2

★🎸 {} .. hobie brown x groupie!reader

rating. m

word count. 3k

synopsis. after a show, you and hobie fine yourself an an alley for a little fun. little do you know, you have an audience

hobie fucks you in an alley in front of paparazzi

🍒・．❕warnings. exhibitionalism (sex in backalley of venue), p in v sex, unprotected sex not advised, clothed sex, anal fingering (f receiving), ass eating, fingering, public sex, degradation, little bit of a size kink, hobie has a bit of a god) superiority complex, y/n is a group who'd do anything for her idol, bit of a power dynamic fr, this is a bit toxic but gets sweet at the end y'all so hold on

backstage show pt.1 | backstage show pt.3

If you told yourself a couple of months ago that you’d be the Hobie Brown’s fuck buddy, following him around while he tours, always there with open arms, open legs, and an open mouth, you would have called yourself delusional and admitted yourself into a mental hospital. But here you were, in the backstage VIP section watching the show from the best seats in the venue.

You had no idea why Hobie’s kept you around for this long. Compared to others, in your own opinion, you weren’t all that unremarkable. You were pretty, but not the prettiest, good at sex but not the best. But you could only truly narrow it down to your devotion to him. You worshiped him like a god, kissed the very ground he walked on. Maybe he liked the attention, the way he could always be sure that you’d do absolutely anything he asked of you.

You met up with him at every one of his shows, both before and after and depending on whether you fucking him before or after the show (usually before so he could steal your panties and keep them in his pocket while on stage as a "good luck token"), you'd hang out with him and his bandmates, smoking pot and throwing back shots while they recall stories of their earlier days on the road, just the 4 of them and their old van.

His bandmates took you in as an unofficial member of the band without so much as a hitch. A band member they all took turns flirting with but a member nonetheless.

After the show, The Mary Janes came backstage and you rushed to Hobie to praise him over his performance. You wrapped your arms around his neck and his hands came to support you by grasping your waist. He kissed you feverishly, the rush and exhilaration of the concert still coursing through his veins and screaming to get out in any way possible. The way his tongue stroked yours told you neither of you would get far before his cock would be bullying its way inside your greedy pussy.

“You did so good.” You murmured against his thick lips, your tongue pressed against his lip piercing. “You looked so sexy.” Hobie nipped at your bottom lip and set you down. “I would’ve gone betta if I saw tha’ pretty face of yas out in the crowd.” It it was decided then that there would be no watching from backstage from you, you’d sit at the front of the crowd because Hobie couldn’t perform his very best without seeing his girl.

“Fuck the rest of us then.” Eli, the drummer, muttered snarkily under his breath as a joke. You turned around to look at him in his heterochromatic eyes and slapped his chest as he towered over you. “Not fucking you, am I? I can only handle one pretty face at a time.”

Another band member, Cass, with his locs up in a ponytail and fiddling with his guitar, hummed. “Ya could be though.” They often made jokes about Hobie letting them share you and each time he had the same response. “I don’ like to share wha’s mine.” He’ll eat in front of them but they’ll never get any of the food.

Hobie tapped your ass in the booty shorts you were wearing. “You ready to head out, luv? We gotta go through the back or one of us is gonna get trampled.” He grabbed you by the waist with a possessiveness that told his mate to back off or someone’s head is getting bashed in with a guitar and pulled you into him. He didn’t even have to ask, you were willing to go whenever he was, wherever he was. “Yeah, let’s go.”

The two of you said your goodbyes to his bandmates and made your way through thebackstage to get to the back exit. Hobie kept teasing you along the way, walking with his fingers dipped beneath the waistband of the slutty little shorts you had on, his teeth nipping at the soft, supple flesh of your neck, leaving small bruises where his teeth violated your innocence.

Once you two breached out of the door, Hobie spun you around and pressed you up against the heavily graffitied wall with his lips on yours and his tongue in your mouth, coaxing moans from you which he swallowed as if it were the only sustenance in the world.

“Ma pretty girl.” He cooed into your mouth as he nipped at your tongue . “Always righ’ there fa me. Always down fa anytin’.” His fingers fiddled with the button to your shorts for a moment before undoing them and pulling the useless piece of fabric down just enough to gain access to your pussy. “‘M gonna fuck you righ’ here in this alley, all’em fans just down the way. Anyone can see us. And you’re gonna let me, aren’t ya?”

You nod feverishly, looking up at him as you tucked your bottom lip between your teeth. You could hear people walking by, chanting Hobie’s name in hopes that it might coax him to come out and greet them. Anyone one of them could walk right by and see him fucking you stupid and you didn’t care. Not as long as you were the one he was fucking.

“Turn aroun’.” He grabbed you and forced you to turn around. You braced yourself against the wall with your hands, your ass perked out and your back arched, revealing your pussy and asshole to him to use as he pleased through a brand new set of nylon stockings.

Hobie slapped your ass hard, the sound of skin meeting skin echoing off the walls loudly. He wanted to see how much noise he could get away with before someone noticed, not caring if anyone rounded the corner and saw the two of you fucking under the flickering light of the alley. He wanted someone to see your depravity, the way you were so irrationally dedicated to him, the way you’d do anything for him.

He brute forced his way through your stocking, tearing a hole big enough for him to get to your pussy. “No panties? Wha’ a bad girl.” He spanked you again and you yelped at the sting of it, his hand undoubtedly left a print against your ass.

Hobie got down on his knees in behind you, his large, calloused, rough hands spreading your ass to further expose your delicacies. Your pussy was slick with your arousal, no need for preparation. "So wet already, baby. My performance go' you all hot and bothered, then?" His voice was warm against your core and you whined and whimpered with choking words of something of agreement. His performance always got you hot and bothered. There was something both so chaotic yet sensual about the show he put on. If anyone could give Hobie anything, they'd say he certainly had stage presence.

Hobie coaxed his fingers between the warmth of your cunt before easing a single long, slender finger into you. Your silky walls clamped down around the digit in desperation for any stimulation. "Hobie~" you sang his praises as he fucked his finger in and out of you. He wish he had something to record this so he could put it into a song but alas, something like that would have to wait.

Then he added another finger, curling his fingers against your silken walls. "'m pretty girl." He almost sang, fingering you nice and hard with his tongue and lips against your asshole, eating you out in a far different way than you ever expected. He ate your ass easily, languidly, all lips and tongue breaching the tight rim of your ass just a little. "Relax, babe, relax."

You listen to his command despite the anxiety of the crowd whose edges were slowly crawling it's way nearer to the alley as more people added themselves to the awaiting crowd. You took a deep breath, closed your eyes, and forced your body to relax a little for him. You loosenedd up in accordance, making it easier for Hobie to finger fuck you and sloppily make out with your second hole.

His fingers massaged that soft spot within you, his tongue on your ass sending soft jokes of pleasure to your core as he abused your spot mercilessly. He spat on you like you were nothing but an object of her pleasure, making it known that he was doing all this for him, not for you. Hobie paused a moment and pulled his face back, watching a glob of his saliva run down from your ass to your pussy before being pushed in by his fingers that splayed your pussy open in preparation for his much larger cock.

You whined for him, nails clawing at the concrete walls. "Keep going. I'm almost there. Please, Hobes." You needed it like you needed air in your lungs to breathe or you'd simply die without it.

Hobie scoffed at your plea for some semblance of kindness from him. "Desperate whore." He murmured and went right back to eating you. You were so close your legs trembled with the mere idea of cumming on his fingers and face and the more you thought about it, the closer it came to coming true until your walls were pulsating around his fingers and your ring of muscles clenched with the intensity of the orgasm that washed over you.

Your knees buckled into each other and you would have fallen down if not for you being braced against the wall. "Hobie…please fuck me. Please– I'll do anything, please." You wanted him to extend the kindness a human gives to another and fulfill your ask to the fullest degree.

You'd come to regret that.

You listened in anticipation as he stood back up onto his booted feet and undid the buckle to his belt. He unzipped his pants to let himself free from the restraints of his clothing. He was already so hard just at the sight of you splayed open for him without so much as a shred of dignity in sight. You pushed your ass out further until your checks framed his cock and you began rubbing yourself on him. “Please Hobie.” You whined softly, looking back down the alley to ensure the two of you weren’t seen.

The risk of it made your anxiety all the greater but the sexiness of the moment greater than even that. The risk made him harder and made you wetter.

“Tha’s i’. Dirty lil’ slut can’ help haself.” Hobie grasped your hips and forced you to keep going. He couldn’t help but rut his cock against your ass, slipping it in the hole he made so he could feel his skin against yours and the heat and slick of your pussy against his balls. He grunted into your ear, spitting lewd obscenities at you while nibbling at your lobe.

“Put it in fa me, luv. Since you wan' I'm so badly.”

You whimper softly and reach behind you to grasp him at the base of his cock. You stroked his length a bit, dragging a few moans out of him along with it before directing the tip of his cock towards your dripping cunt. You prepped him the way he always did himself, dragging the leaky head of his dick between your swollen pussy lips so that your shared juices intermingled against your clit.

Hobie slapped your ass once more and this time you cried out at the pain. “I said put it in, didn’ I?” You nod in compliance and quickly positioned the head of his cock against your entrance. You tried to guide him in by he was simply too big for you to do it on your own. “I– I can’t, Hobie. Plea— ahh!” He forced his cock into you with one solid, fluid thrust into your tight hole, forcing out something of a moan and a scream from you. You slapped your hand over your mouth to keep yourself quiet, looking out down the alley once more.

Hobie didn’t seem to care not one bit as he held your hips still and fucked you nice and rough. He let out noise running parallel to huffs, growls, and groans. “Bes’ cunt ou’ there. This pussy gonna be the death of me.” There was something primal about the way he fucked you. There were no niceties, no pleasantries, no manners. Just rough fucking in the dark backalley of a venue he was just performing inside of. You weren't some girl he had to wine and dine before he could get into bed. You were just some slut he could convince to do anything. And it didn't even take much to convince you to let him fuck you in an alley.

He fucked you dumb, stupid, half brain-dead with your face pressed into the wall, lips parted and drooling while you moaned. He fucked you at an angle, ensuring that if someone did happen to come down there, they wouldn’t be able to see your face. Hobie towered over you, his body completely consuming yours while his hips fucked up into you, each thrust lifting your a little more off the ground until he was supporting your complete weight in his hands as your feet no long touched the wet, littered ground.

You let out muffled squeals and screams. He’s never fucked you like this, fucked you so animalistically. You should be scared all things considered but it only made you wetter, your pussy leaving a creamy ring around the base of his cock. “Shut up and take it.” He muttered, looking down at the way his cock split your hole open with each brutalizing thrust he delivered to your weeping pussy. Each stroke of his cock forcing you to accommodate his size, each thrust forcing your walls to memorize each groove, each vein, each stretch of him. He fucked you like you were his own personal sex toy and there was absolutely nothing you could do about it

His cock touched places that, before him, you never even knew existed. You could feel him bulge in your belly, you could feel him in your throat. You could feel him everywhere, that sweet, thick head of his just barely kissing your cervix, undoubtedly coating it in pre-cum.

“You wanna lemme try sometin’?”

“Anything.”

Satisfied with your answer, Hobie took one hand from your hips— still supporting your weight somehow— and spat on his fingers. You shivered as he placed them on your puckered asshole and spread his saliva across your second hole, prepping you, you realized. You had never done anything anal related before but you kept yourself clean down there just in case a moment like this arose. You were nervous however, as anyone would be if they were getting the shit fucked out of them in an alley with a slew of people just on the cusp of witnessing an actual crime.

“‘S jus’ a finga, okay? Jus’ ma thumb.” He assured you that he wouldn't be doing anything crazy. No here at least. He kept fucking you as he eased his thumb past the tight ring of muscles and immediately you moaned and shuddered as the feel of it intruding into your body. “Hobie…Hobie please.” It was all so much. You felt that you might simply pass out if he continued like this.

He fingered your asshole while fucking you, pressing and messaging the even tighter walls of your ass while your pussy greedily swallowed his cock with each of his thrusts. You were seeing white, crying out so loud that someone has had to hear you by now but you simply couldn’t care at this point. Hobie was fucking your too good for you to care, the rest of his fingers splayed across the small of your back as he uses his new grip on you to fuck you even harder.

This was the kind of fucking that made you revere him, worship him like the sex god he was. You kiss his feet if he wanted, lick his boots, let him degrate you, spit on you, use you as his own personal cum dumpster if he so chose because the orgasm ravishing your body right now was makinging you see white, your gaze lose focus, and your ears ring.

“Hobie, Hobie, Hobie!” You chanted his name as if calling upon a deity to help you, like a prayer on your lips to a god who wasn’t there and you just needed him to hear you. You came a second time, creaming all over his pretty dick, leaving the dark skin glistening in white from your cum.

You could hear Hobie come down from his own high, fucking cum into you with a low, gravelly groan into your ear. His final thrusts were spaced and rough as he emptied his balls into your pussy and once he was done he removed all appendages from you and quickly made you decent before someone could see you stuffed like a thanksgiving turkey.

You could feel his cum leaking out of your pussy as Hobie helped you out of the alley, tossing an arm over your shoulder and pulling you in close to protect you from the paparazzi’s intrusive photos. You thought about how later you were going to finger yourself again with his cum still inside you, hopefully able to get him on the phone to help you through it.

Later on that week, you saw a tabloid magazine about Hobie and smack dab as the front picture was you and Hobie in the alley fucking. You couldn’t see either of your faces but it was very clearly Hobie from his wild hair. In a panic, you called Hobie, babbling on and on about how you shouldn’t have done that and that you might lose your job.

“Is your face in the photo?”

“Well…no.”

“Then how will they know it’s you?” He made a good point. As long as no picture showed up with your face in it, you had nothing to worry about. You took a deep breath to calm yourself. “You’re right, sorry. Okay, I’ve gotta go but I’ll see you tomorrow, right?”

“Of course, luv. Have a good night.”

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