hobies-gf

[hobies-gf]

˖🎸 ༘ ⋆˚₊⊹ his muse

hobie brown x fem!reader

this has been in my drafts for. forever. like it was summer when i wrote it on a whim. this initially started as a request for hobie with a reader that came from wealth. the vivienne westwood imagery picked up from there, and i just kinda had fun with it. and now im posting it- huzzah!

warnings: smoking (cigarettes). mentions of drinking. slight nsfw at the very end. meet-cute that leads to smut. hobie being a flirt. fem!reader.

hobie is in the midst of a creative rut that he can’t get out of, no matter how much he tries to. that is, until some inspiration walks through the door.

hobie was in a musical rut.

which never happened to him. never. if he needed a subject for a song, all he had to do was look outside for five minutes or watching the news for even less to have a subject.

that was the wonderful thing about hating the establishment: infinite cruelty, infinite song ideas.

but here he was, staring down at his guitar and picking at strings aimlessly. nothing came to him, no note or melody stuck out to him as song worthy.

he was sitting on the worn couch in his band’s makeshift studio, crosslegged and hunched over his guitar like a madman.

a soft knock came from the doorway, and he looked up to find one of his band mates hitting their knuckles against the doorway.

“you need to get out, man. you’re cooped up.” he said, stepping into the room to stand over hobie like a mother hen. “some fresh air will do you good.”

hobie scoffed, never one to take orders from anyone. but then he exhaled and leaned back, looking up at his friend with an exasperated expression.

“and where exactly do you intend for us to go?” he asked lowly, grumbling.

that’s exactly how he ended up here, in a music club full of bodies he didn’t want to touch and liquor he didn’t want to drink.

it wasn’t a traditional club scene by any means. It was a bit more artistic, leaning away from rave-style places that he’d gone to before. but it still wasn’t his preferred place.

he nursed a shirley temple, which his friend had shoved into his hand unceremoniously before disappearing into the crowd. hobie had decided that he would be the designated driver, and he understood that his band mates were going to take full advantage of that fact.

when they entered the place, his drummer had leaned over.

“maybe you’ll find a muse, hobes. i’m sure there’s plenty of pretty things in this place to give you ideas.” the boy wiggled his brows, and hobie promptly shoved him away with a chuckle.

now, he leaned against a counter and wondered what the hell he was doing. this wasn’t air. this was just distracting noise.

and said noise was becoming a little too much for his senses.

he made eye contact with one of his more sober mates, gesturing that he was going to go somewhere private. he sent a text to their group chat as well saying the same thing.

not a role model

-> heading to the back, text or call if you need me

little drummer boy

-> you’re no fun, man.

not a role model

-> 🖕🏿

he moved down a hallway, the sound of bass and electronic beats fading into a pleasant jazz sound that made its way through the speakers overhead.

the space behind the actual club was a kind of lounge, filled with warm ambiance and vinyl records and leather arm chairs. when his friends brought him here, he always inevitably retreated to this quieter space.

it was ironic really. the punk unable to handle crowds and noise. but this was a much different setting from his own shows, so he cut himself some slack.

he sunk into one of the armchairs in a side room, his head lolling back to look up at the ceiling. his head slightly throbbed, and he began to regret not drinking water.

he reached in his pocket to pull out a cigarette box.

he wasn’t a casual smoker, not by a long shot. it just helped to have something to drag on sometimes, something to burn his throat while he was thinking.

right as he put the cig to his lips, the door banged open and slammed shut once more, the lock sliding home.

his spider-senses told him to prepare, but when he looked up they stopped buzzing.

because a girl leaned against the wall across from him, her chest heaving and her eyes wide.

she looked afraid, scared. the way her fingers trembled alerted him to the sheer amount of adrenaline running through her veins currently.

and she hadn’t even noticed him yet. he took a moment to glance over her.

she wore a pretty little lace dress, black and short, with straps that barely cling to her shoulders. his eyes drifted down her bare legs to the black platform gogo boots on her feet, and he was impressed with the height she was balancing on. he knew from experience that those shits weren’t easy to master.

he had been a model once, and he knew enough to see that the girls clothes were expensive. like, wearing his rent expensive.

she took an anxious step, only to wobble like a baby deer, legs too long to stand properly.

maybe not so stable after all.

when she still didn’t notice him (too busy listening to the door), he opened his mouth to make himself known.

“runnin’ from something, little fawn?”

her eyes snapped to him, and she jumped slightly when she realized that someone else was in the room with her. her wide doe eyes did nothing to help disapprove the nickname. she opened and closed her mouth to speak, struggling to get the words out.

“i’m not running.”

he chuckled.

“no? do ya’ slam and lock doors at clubs often then?”

she scoffed at him, rolling her eyes. she took a step away from the door, though he could tell she was keeping track of any noise.

“i’m just…catching my breath.” she said, pulling at the necklace around her throat.

hobie’s eyes drifted down to it, surprised to find a string of pearls with an all too familiar saturn pendent.

his curiosity got the best of him. “real or fake?”

her eyes darted up to meet his, and she looked away in embarrassment as she said “real.”

he let out an impressed whistle. “that’s why you’re running.” he mumbled as the pieces clicked together.

she gave him an incredulous look, eyebrows furrowing in a way that he found adorable.

“my guess” he said as he stood from the chair, taking a step towards the girl. “is that you definitely aren’t supposed to be here. rich girl, pretty dress, innocent look. this place is practically forbidden for your like.”

her gaze hardened into a glare. “and what exactly is my like, hobie brown?”

he smirked. “you know my name.”

a statement. she deflated slightly.

“i’ve been to your shows.” she said, voice lowering. it was just enough to make him realize how close they were. he registered her body language quickly, noting how she didn’t shy away. so he didn’t either.

“interestin’, doll. does your daddy know?”

“don’t condescend me.”

he took a step back then, raising his hand in an ‘i come in peace’ gesture. “easy there. just askin.”

he went to grab a lighter to light his cigarette, reaching down into his jackets pocket. when he found nothing, he groaned softly.

a click made him look up, only to be met with the girl holding up a lighter of her own. he leaned forward to light his cigarette, and she held his gaze as the sizzling sound breiflu filled their silence.

“as you can see” she said softly. “i am not quite ‘my like’.”

he let out a puff of smoke, making sure to turn his head so that it didn’t flow into her pretty face. she coughed anyway.

he chucked. “what you doin’ with a light if you don’t smoke?”

she flipped the lighter in her hand, and it took a moment to notice that it was one of the silver heart ones that were popular.

“you like vivienne, huh?” he said, looking down at her with half lidded eyes as he took another drag.

“what can i say, i have a thing for punks.” she replied, looking up at him through her lashes.

oh, he was going to eat her.

“s’that so?” he asked, wanting to drag whatever admission she was holding in. he leaned close over her, and she stretched her neck to look right up at him. this close, he could smell whatever shampoo she used.

she was off limits. but he never really abided by rules, did he?

“what’re you runnin’ from, doll?” he asked, tapping his cigarette out as he waited for an answer.

“my father sent a body guard out to find me. i snuck out, and the man’s in the club right now.” she said, watching the way his lips curled around the cigarette.

the air kicked on, and the girl below him shivered. he shrugged off his jacket with a sigh, pulling it around her. she accepted it gratefully, practically nuzzling up against the collar.

fuck, he was a goner.

“better get you out of here, then.” he said, using the edges of his jacket to tug her closer. she smirked, allowing him to pull her against his body. “that would be great.”

he leaned down as he texted the chat, brushing his lips against the top of her ear as he typed.

not a role model

-> hey, i got someone i need to take home. anyone sober?

little drummer boy

-> the fuck are you on about, why would anyone be sober.

fresh meat

-> i am, go enjoy yourself hobes.

thank god for tyler, he thought as he pulled back the collar of his jacket to press his mouth to the girls jaw.

as she snuck him into her room later, the lyrics of a song began to write themselves in his head.

and as he thrust into her, her hands fumbling against her silk sheets and her moans in his ear, he realized that he had found his muse after all.

hobie’s masterlist

[hobies-gf]

❝ okay, but this is the last time. ❞

── hobie brown x reader

MINORS DNI 18+ WORD COUNT: 2.8k SUMMARY: after not speaking for an extended period of time, you didn’t like the idea of ever seeing hobie again. when he shows up to your door unexpectedly, things take a turn for the better. NOTES: takes place around the beginning of spiderverse 2 | hobie’s voice is hard to write for i tried my best | hobie is at least 18 they didnt specify in the movie but if hes not then hes aged up. WARNINGS: f!reader | established relationship (fwbs most likely but idk) | reader is a spider of her own universe | hobie has a nickname for you “bug” | no use of y/n | make out | some bickering | vag fingering | hand size difference (tried to make reader as ambiguous as possible) | praise | objectification (mention of being used and being used like a toy) | protected and explicit sex.

You hadn’t seen him. For months you hadn’t seen him. There’s nothing you share in common anymore. Your career had taken a dramatic shift, and you’d been different ever since, exacerbating his distance. With the way things ended, you didn’t expect to see him again. 

Yet here he stands, outside your door, his hood up to protect himself from the rain. 

“Gonna let me in, bug? Or should I've brought a permission slip from the old man?” HOBIE BROWN remarks, shrugging his hands in the pockets of his jean vest. Soundlessly, you step aside, and he invites himself in. He regards the entrance of your home, and that expression on his face always gives the impression he’s sizing up anything he lays his eyes on. Hobie is judgemental when it counts, but part of you is abashed that he’s about to spew nonsense condemning every artifact in your apartment. “Warm in here.” he muses, shrugging off his jacket to toss it over your coat hooks. “Smells good, what’s steamin’?” He gestures to the kitchen and after you lock your front door you return to your lunch in its pan. He checks out your ass in leggings as you pass him. 

“What are you doing here, Hobie?” you call over your shoulder from your position. Just outside of your field of vision, he slumps onto your couch. You hear every rustle of his layered clothes and mixed-media accessories. 

“Got some free time, figure I’d pop in.” he replies and you turn off the burner, having lost your appetite. “How’s it been since you got kicked?” 

“I don’t wanna talk about it.” 

“Fair ‘nough.” 

You exit, leaning against the doorway to the living room. Hobie looks over the back of the couch to gaze at you. His piercings glint in the soft lamp light and the rain outside picks up.  

An uncomfortable silence falls, and you avert your eyes to avoid how his bore into you. Quickly, you think up a question so you don’t suffocate. “So, what’s been going on with you? Anything new?” Is there a reason for your unannounced visit?

“Not much, to be honest,” he sighs, folding his leg to rest his ankle on his knee. He messes with the lace of his boot to fidget. “Gwendy’s got nowhere to go so she’s crashin’ at my place. Didn’t feel like goin’ ‘ome so I’m here.” 

You’d heard of Gwen back when Hobie’d first befriended her. Smart kid, tragic story. 

His charitable act softens you, and you round the couch. “That’s nice of you.” You relax, and sit at the armrest, as far from him as you can afford. 

“Why so far away? C’mon, I won’t bite,” he jokes, falling into that old familiarity that he's so susceptible to. His arm raises over his head, fanning out behind you, his fingers picking at your hoodie to capture your attention. 

You cock your head in his direction, a wry smile on your lips. “Don’t tell me you think everything’s fine after what happened.” 

In response, he’s taken aback, but his hand remains. “It’s been a while, bug, I know, it’s not like I meant to not see you. Got… swept up.” his tone of voice heightens with his excuses, “I’m not from around here, you get that, can’t show up just ‘cause I feel it.” You pivot your body towards him, tucking your legs to the side. 

“Yeah, but you operate that way with everything else.” you interject, “If you wanted to see me, you would’ve.” 

A knowing grin stretches onto his face, so handsome when he tries, hooking you with his surly attitude and reeling you in with his charm. “Ah, that’s not fair, love,” 

In an attempt to steel yourself, you cross your arms, and force the next words out. “I’m not trying to be.” 

Hobie purses his lips, and his eyes trail down your figure. “Yeah, I missed you, bug.” 

“Nicknames are reserved for friends.” 

He lulls his head to the side, a single finger strokes down your jawline. “Good thing we ain’t friends, huh?” A tap to your chin. 

A sharp inhale, and you press your lips into a thin line. Your anger and your frustration with him are at the forefront of your mind, but the passion he instills within you comes flooding in. All of those late night encounters, tangled in each other until well into the morning hours, hopping into each other’s universes just so you didn’t have to say goodbye for too long. 

You’d gotten kicked from the force— you couldn’t blame Miguel for his decision— but ever since, you and Hobie’s relationship had faded out. You missed him… terribly. It’s not like you’d promised yourself to each other, but you have yet to get over him. Maybe this is the way to do it? 

“No, no we’re not.” you concede, and you lean in. Your lips brush his, soft and slow, letting him accept you by meeting you. Mouths press together, parting each other to explore what was once so greedily devoured. This time it’s gentle, intimate, and careful. Tongues slide together, how he circles the tip of yours makes you shiver.

He speaks against you, “Knew you’d open right up to me, love,” You can hear his arrogance, and you fist his vest, drawing him back to you so you can shut him up. 

The energy shifts, desperation roots, and while you pull him to you, he maneuvers to hover over you. Successfully getting you on your back has never been a problem for him, and he uses his free hands to wander what he could not touch for so long. His thumbs graze the sides of your chest, and he handles your waist while he plunges his tongue deeper, eager to taste whatever he’s offered. A noise of surprise emits from you and he retracts to fix your legs for you. Your knees at his hips as he kneels in between them.

“Don’t be a jerk.” you breathe, and he scoffs. 

“Take your clothes off.” he tells you as he rips off his vest to throw it to the floor. 

“If you think this isn’t just a lucky, one-time only—“ you warn him while you do exactly as he’s asked: pulling your hoodie and shirt up and over, hooking your thumbs into the waistband of your yoga pants to tug them down. Hobie helps you by yanking them off, now shirtless and impatient. 

“Yeah, yeah,” he dismisses, collapsing onto you to bury his nose in your neck, nuzzling the skin to plant a trail of kisses. “You smell good… is that the perfume I bought you?” It’s emphasized with his teeth scraping against you, biting down onto your pulse point. You writhe underneath him. 

“So what if it is?” Your hands find their home on his shoulders, clawing him as he sucks onto you, and licks his marks. 

He hums, his hips pressing into yours until you feel the outline of his hardening length against your panties. “You’re mad at me, would’a figured you’d tossed it.” His hand traverses you, massaging your chest, rolling your nip between his fingers. He’d kept his cuffs on, and you rolled your eyes. 

The response you’re mustering died on your lips when Hobie latches his mouth onto your nipple, enveloping as much flesh as he can while his tongue reintroduces itself to your nub. Warm and wet, rolling it, and you whine. Your hips stutter, seeking out any friction as he works, both buds occupied by either his hand or his mouth, and he obliges you. His hand abandons you, only to shift for more room and palm your mound. The heel of his gloved hand grinds into your clit, granting you a fleeting sense of relief until you require more. 

“Already wet, huh? Can feel it through your thong,” his breath against his spit on your skin makes you shudder, and your patience wears thin. 

“Can you just do something already? Fuck,” You blindly reach for his studded belt, unbuckling it but Hobie’s deft fingers begin toying with your folds in a way that paralyzes you, halts you from any conquest because of how long it’s been since you’ve been touched. You exhale, and he holds your gaze as he draws your panties aside. A pinky finger swipes up your sex, collecting your arousal on the tip. 

“I’m doin’ it. Chill a second, yeah?” he tells you, and your cheeks burn red. “All this for a little kissing. Makes you wonder when’s the last time you got some.” He’s making fun of you, and your hips chase his touch instinctively. The pads of his fingers gather your essence to lube up your neglected clit, settling into a rhythm as he places sweet kisses wherever he can reach. Your tits, upper chest, and neck. He’s teasing you. 

“Are you trying to get me to beg?” you ask, exasperated and horny. 

He flashes a downturn of his lips, and dips down to lick the salty sweat off your skin. “Couldn’t hurt.” 

“Hobie,” 

“There it is. There’s my name out that pretty mouth,” 

“I told you not to be a jerk.”

Hobie regards you with a tilt of his head. “Suit yourself.” He brings his hand up so he can undo the cuff, tugging off the fingerless glove. Your stomach flips at the sight, a forefront as to what’s to come. Once he returns, his tact disappears; out of spite he dives not one, but two fingers into your hole. A stretch that stings causes you to hiss. “S’what you wanted, right?” The devious curl of his lips let you know he’s not going to make this easy for you. They remain rooted inside you to the hilt, and you lick your own digits to massage your clit yourself, loosening yourself. “Oh, I get a show too,” he muses and you wish you could shove him off of you. The fact is, this is an opportunity you can’t pass up. No one can do it like Hobie. Your sex drools around him, and he thrusts his fingers in tandem with your rocking. His hand is big, which reaches spots inside you you’ve never been able to find on your own. “That’s it, girl, just like that,” he praises, watching your hole suck his fingers up so greedily. When it’s not enough, he adds another one of his, and flicks your limb off so he can taste your clit with his tongue. 

You cry out. Three fingers and your eyes are rolling into the back of your head, chasing your high as he sucks your clit into his mouth. That coil in your belly tightening with each rock, and your walls clench around him, signaling your impending release. 

Hobie doesn’t dare speak a word, opting to watch you as you go through the cycle of an orgasm. Your toes curling, legs shaking, tensing up as he maintains the pace for you, until it washes over you and he slows to a stop. 

You drop your head against the armrest of the couch, staring at the ceiling as euphoria simmers within you, breathing hard. “Fuck.” Gingerly, he expels his hand from you, coated in your finish, and promptly sucks it off while it’s still warm. Your taste is something he never gets tired of. 

“You think you’re ready for me, bug? I’m aching over here,” he speaks while you listen to the shuffle of his jeans. Undoing them to tug them down. A thrills jolts you, and you beat him to the waistband of his boxers, scraping him with your nails when you yank them down so readily. His cock, hard and long, springs free and greets you leaking with pre-cum. An endearing patch of dark pubic hair at the base, like he trimmed for you in anticipation for this visit. 

“Did you expect this?” you inquire playfully, and he gives you a look, following your eye line to answer his mental question. 

“Just in case. Trying to be polite, is all.” he justifies and you snicker as he undresses your panties from you for a better range of motion. “C’mere, darlin’, let me have a look at’cha,” Words emphasized by the way he manhandles you, directing your limbs for you until you’re bent over in front of him on all fours. “Fucking missed this,” 

Involuntarily, a whimper spills from you. You’re obsessed with his voice, enchanted with the way he talks about you even if it’s foul. “Are you gonna stare or are you gonna fuck me?”

“My, you’re cheeky tonight.” he replies while he fishes a condom out of his jeans pocket. You listen to the familiar crackling of the wrapper, and the latex as he rolls it onto him. He gives himself a few pumps, and guides his cock to your entrance, easing it inside ever so slightly. Inching himself in to let you adjust. “Fuck, almost forgot how good you feel,” 

You forgot how big he is, surging forward until your cheek meets the armrest of the couch. “Easy, Hobie, easy,” 

“I’m trying,” By the strain of his voice, he’s telling the truth. “You’re sucking me up, love, she knows what she wants.” Your sex did have a way of drawing him in, and he had a way of referring to it with a pronoun. It does the trick, slickening you up, and he sinks in until he can bottom out. 

Finally, you’re filled— to the brim. The two of you bask in it a second, and he rests his hand on your tailbone. He leans back until the lip of his head catches on you, and settles back in. He bites his bottom lip, the metal of his piercing against his teeth as he quickens his pace to set a steady rhythm. Every cell in his body is already screaming after being inside you once again. He’s fantasized about it nearly everyday. Pondering his desperation, how he craved you for those months, adds to his restlessness. His palm on your tailbone pushes you back onto his cock, making you meet his thrusts. 

You’re practically liquid, allowing him to do what he pleases with you just to hear those heavenly groans spill from his throat. Once you’re able, you rock back, the tip of his dick kissing your cervix each time. 

“You feel that? I’m right there… at the end of you. Oh, fuck,” he simpers, palming your hips so he can control your movements. “You have the most amazing ass,” he praises in awe, watching the way your flesh ripples each time you make contact with his thighs. 

“Hobie, fuck me,” you whine, and he can’t refuse you. He seeks out your arms, snatching up your wrists to stretch them out behind you, your back arches from the position. Impossibly faster, he rails you and your head bobs as he uses your own body as leverage. Your jaw drops, every unintelligible noise bubbling up from inside you as pleasure courses through you at being used like a toy. 

He keeps his concentration where it ought to be: fucking you senseless. Ramming into you over and over again, listening to the symphony of sounds your conjoined bodies make. The wet, squelching noises that come with fucking your hole still full of your own cum. It drips down your legs. 

Attentively, he puts one of your arms down so he can free his hand up, bending over you until your hot skins are pressed against each other. He winds an arm around you, finding your clit to play with while he screws you. You rest your cheek onto the couch cushion, relaxing under his touch, and that coil in your belly tightens again. “You gonna cum for me again, princess?” he says against your ear, nipping at the lobe. 

You can’t even speak, whining your affirmations and nodding your head into the fabric. 

“Go on, let me feel it,” 

His permission opens the gates, and your walls flutter around him as you release. How you constrict makes his movements stutter, squeezing him in all the right places as your essence accumulates at the base of his cock. He twitches inside you, thick ropes of his cum spurts and paints his condom; a powerful shudder courses through him. Stammering to a halt, he rests his forehead against your shoulder as he basks in the feeling. For a second, you two just catch your breath together, until he unsheathes. “Can’t believe how much I love shagging you.” 

You wish you could do it more often. All the time, in fact, but it’s not something you can admit to him. So you hum in confirmation as he takes off his condom, and ties it off. 

“I’ll make it a point to visit.” Hobie promises, his hands tucked into his vest pockets. 

“Don’t push it, Brown, you were lucky this time.” 

He scoffs and glances away before wrapping you with an arm, drawing you into him to peck your forehead. “Yeah, well, I’m sure I’ll get lucky next time.” His cockiness makes you push him off playfully. His other hand pulls out the thong you were wearing earlier from his pocket. “So, I’ll keep these, then?” 

[hobies-gf]

❝ knuckle up. ❞

— hobie brown x reader.

MINORS DNI 18+ WARNINGS: gn!reader | dom!hobie | kinks: size | breathplay: choking | finger sucking

HOBIE BROWN's got big hands. For a guy his size it's natural to have, and you're fixated on them. You're entranced when he ropes his webbing around his palm; how his nimble fingers traverse the neck of his guitar; and you become weak when he puts them on you. Even a touch as simple as a stroke of his knuckles against your cheek elicits a whimper out of you. "You like that, eh?" he murmurs with amusement, tenderly cupping your cheek as you lean into it. Experimentally, his hand slides over until the pad of his thumb can stroke your jaw on the other side, tucking the webbing under your chin. It involuntarily pouts your lips, and he knows you're putty in his hold. He steals a kiss from your pliant mouth by inclining you towards him. So tall you have to stand on the tips of your toes to comply.

"Aren't you a pretty thing? Bein' so sweet f'me." he croons, yet it's said to call attention to how uncharacteristically agreeable you're being.

You squeeze your eyes shut as your delicate countenance skews. "Don't make fun of me."

"D'aw," he sympathizes in a feigned manner. "Wouldn't dream of it, bug." His thumb strokes at your skin, and you suck in a breath. "I like you like this." Curiously, his grip slacks to travel down until your larynx is against his palm. He idles, giving you time to expect it before his hand stretches around and flush against you. Your throat is enclosed in his grasp, your veins lovingly and expertly squeezed. In a merciful moment, he lets your feet relax, landing flat onto the ground as he raises his free hand to you. You keep your eyes closed, focusing on your heart beat, hearing your breathing. The pads of two fingers tap at your mouth, and obediently you part your lips, allowing him access inside. Eager tongue welcomes them by cupping them while your lips form around the first knuckle, until he pushes further in. Long fingers, long fucking fingers sliding over your tongue, narrowly avoiding your gag reflex as he pumps them in and out only halfway. You feel his grip around your neck tighten marginally, his own arousal getting to him as he makes you suck his fingers.

[hobies-gf]

Hobie's not the type to throat fuck you, to hold your head and brutalize your mouth. He thinks it's not pleasurable for either party. No, no, Hobie likes it nice and slow. He likes sitting down with you between his knees, stroking himself lazily before sliding into your mouth, gliding over the flat of your tongue as your lips wrap around the girth of his cock. He'll place his hand on the back of your head but let you make pace, just sit back, relax, and enjoy that pretty mouth of yours. He likes it when you look up at him with those eyes of yours, so eager to know if you're pleasing him. You always are. He likes the whole ordeal soft, when you kiss the tip, suckle on it, swirl your tongue then take him back into your mouth. He never pushed you. "Jus' take wha'cha can, babe." It's a bit of an ego boost knowing you can't take his whole length anyways.

And when he cums, he'll take it from there and jerk himself off over your face, tapping his tip against your cheeks, he'll ask you, "Ya wan' I' on ya tongue or ya face" between breathless pants. You'll stick your tongue out or rest your face on his thigh depending on which. He'll pet your head once you take his load and call you his good boy/girl.

Hobie likes his head soft, as it should be.

[hobies-gf]

On top 💭🕷️ hobie x fem reader

★ CW riding, cream pie, dirty talk, overstimulation, degradation, a little bit of praise ★ NOTES havent written anything in so long but im back now bbs, i promise ill post more

Riding Hobie always had it perks. You felt him deeper this way and he just loved to ogle at your breasts as you used him for your own pleasure.

Most times Hobie strayed away from this position, always preferring to give you what you want hard and rough till the bed shakes — but when you do get him into this position he can’t complain.

“Fuck baby, y’so wet all over me, nasty pussy can’ stop purrin’.” He groaned, throwing his head back and exposing his adam’s apple in the process.

You were bouncing on Hobie’s cock feverishly, palms on his chest and thighs burning. The constant sounds of wet skin clapping and clicking noises from just how much slick and cum had leaked out of your cunt filled the room and it was just so nasty that it only got you craving for more.

Hobie’s eyes were rolled all the way back into his skull, his hands shaking as he gripped you forcefully, pulling your hips down every time you lifted up. It was lewd, animalistic, but after cumming so many times neither of you cared enough to feel an ounce of shame.

You weren’t in any better state. You were drunk over the feeling off Hobie’s tip abusing the deepest parts of your pussy, clenching down on him just to feel the veins on his cock a little better. Drool leaking out the sides of your mouth, mind so fucked with pleasure that you didn’t even have the thought of ever closing your mouth. Yet you continued to bounce and bounce on his cock.

“Needy puppy, fuckin’ ‘erself stupid on my cock.” Hobie grunted. He planted his feet firmly on the bed and began thrusting up into you, his large hands holding you down by the hips. You cried out helplessly, your back arching painfully as you experience this entirely new wave of pleasure. It was too much, but with the way your tongue fell out from your mouth, Hobie only pounded into you harder.

“Like a bitch in heat.” He laughed. He laughed and it was really so annoying that he had the capabilities to make fun of you when you were a complete, fucked out mess on top of him.

"Ho — Hobie! S'too much!" You squealed.

You wrap your hands around his wrists and try to push him away because every sticky thrust had your thoughts fucked out of your mind and you wanted so desperately to keep yourself together somehow. But Hobie was so mean. So mean with the way he just laughs again and shakes his head. He flips the position and suddenly your back is on the mattress, knees right by your head and the squelching of his fat cock bullying it's way into your cunt only gets louder.

"Oh fuckfuckfuck — daddy s'too much, please please!" You look down and watch as Hobie continues to fuck into your messy cunt at a bruising pace. Lines of slick constantly breaking from his hips and your cunt every time he pulled away. His cock covered in your cum and it was all just so dirty.

"C'mon baby, cream on daddy's cock — mmh yeah, y'can do it, give it t'me nice and good." Hobie groaned. He slowed down a little but only to fuck you with deeper strokes. The tip of his cock pushed out parts of your belly and you could faintly see the outline of his dick through your skin. "Make a mess on this cock puppy — be fuckin' nasty with it."

Your breath was caught in your throat, head tilted back, back arched and eyes squeezed shut. It was too much, too many times did you come tonight — but were you really in a place to complain when your hips started to fuck back against Hobie's thrusts? Your body was so dirty, eager for pleasure when mentally you were completely gone.

The knot in your tummy quickly made itself known and you began thrashing on the bed, pathetic whines pushed out of you every time Hobie pushed his hips flush against yours.

"'M gu— gunna cum." You sniffle, and Hobie thinks you look all too pretty, all too angelic for a situation like this. Pussy fucked, filled and stretched with all his cum. Legs lewdly spread, and your cute breasts bouncing every time he pushed in. His dirtiest angel.

"Cum baby, 'n scream m'name when ya do."

Your cunt tightened up around his cock and with a few more thrusts you creamed all over his dick like he asked, "Hobie!" Your eyes rolled into the back of your head and you choke up a little, hands flying up to press your nails into Hobie's skin.

"Yeah, that's right pretty." Hobie moaned, his release soon following after as if your climax served as a catalyst for his own. You feel his warm cum fill you up for the last time for the evening, adding more to other loads Hobie had dumped into you. It was overflowing now and he clicked his tongue disapprovingly when he saw his cum spill out of your pussy as he pulled out.

“Bred y’so well hm?” Hobie brought up two fingers and fucked all the cum back in you slowly, your quiet cries do nothing to stop him.

You were tired out, exhausted and limp on the bed — only for your eyes to widen when you feel the fat tip of Hobie’s cock press up against your entrance, “One last round?”

[hobies-gf]

pornstar! hobie brown x pornstar! reader | (obviously nsfw)

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

☆ pornstar! hobie brown whose name you've heard floating around your feed since your first appearance. The one who you've been dying to get in touch with, but feared that your small following wouldn't interest him, like some of the others you've asked.

☆ pornstar! hobie brown, a veteran in the game, and by what you've heard is one of the best fucks some of the most seasoned creators have ever had.

☆ yeah, that same pornstar! hobie brown that just messaged you asking if you were down to collaborate with him one day.

☆ pornstar! hobie brown who had you screaming into your sheets and kicking your feet cause not only does he knows you exist, he wants to collab!

☆ pornstar! hobie brown who you immediately said yes to.

☆ pornstar! hobie brown and you then stayed up all night discussing the location, time, equipment, condoms, toys etc. you know the good stuff. he was surprisingly thorough, most people you've collaborate with just wanted to make sure you were clean and had a good camera.

☆ pornstar! hobie brown who when he showed up in the lobby of the hotel he booked, took your breath away. the man was ridiculously gorgeous. not to mention thay voice. god, fuck me sideways he's hot asf.

☆ pornstar! hobie brown took the initiative to started up some small talk as you made your way to the room. he could tell you were nervous, since you were much more talkative on the phone. and he could hear the excitement in your voice. but now you couldn't even look him in the eye. guess he's gonna have to do his best to ease your nerves.

☆ pornstar! hobie brown offered to do most of the heavy lifting like the setting up the cameras, lights, sanitizing the sheets, just whatever prep was needed. all he wanted from you was to get relaxed and ready.

☆ pornstar! hobie brown who started you off with a slow heated makeout session. he was a damn good kisser, and his lip piercing made the experience even better. he told you to guide his hands to wherever you wanted them. his hands were much bigger than yours, but still his palms were soft and warm to the touch.

☆ pornstar! hobie brown who's breath hitched once you directed one of his hands to cup your clothed cunt. you both stared at each other, both afraid to make any sudden moves.

☆ pornstar! hobie brown did his best to ensured you times that ""jus' say the word love, and all this stops. i won' be disappointed ok?" even though he said it with a half hearted tone, his gaze in his eyes was serious. the last thing he wanted was for you to force yourself.

☆ pornstar! hobie brown who was doing his best to ignore the mind numbing throb in his pants, as he waited on your response. you then moved his hand pass the waistband of your panties, so he could put his finger in between your folds. once he did, his eyes grew slightly wide. you were soaked.

☆ pornstar! hobie brown who you had to now ensure you were ready. "trust me I want this as much as you do, i promise i do". and with the simplest nod, he went to work.

☆ pornstar! hobie brown, that you found out was a real pussy drunk, had used his tongue to push pass your folds and was now tongue deep in your cunt. his hands pressed your hips further into his face anytime you even squirmed in the slightest. its not like you could help it. he sent the first few minutes searching your inner walls for the spot that made you cry out the loudest. and once he did it was hell to get him off it.

☆ the man, pornstar! hobie brown, was a messy ass eater. you could hear as he suckled hard on your clit. how whenever needed a break would just run his pressed tongue along your slit. and how he would groan whenever your walls tried to push out his tongue whenever you reached your peak.

☆ pornstar! hobie brown who reminded you to breathe as you struggled to ease in his length. he knew it would probably be a tight fit, that's why he made sure to coat your cunt with slick and spit before he tried. "don' worry jus' breathe love. shhh i know, but imma need you to relax for me. no it will fit, jus' stay with me now".

☆ pornstar! hobie brown who loved to give you face a light tap whenever your eyes would roll back or you mumbled to him when he asked you a question. he would most definitely grab your chin if he caught you staring at the camera instead of him. he knows it's for the optics, but hell he's the one fucking you dumb, so eyes on him. "don' focus on them. 'm right 'ere love. set thos' pretty eyes on me. trust me please baby. just you and me"

☆ pornstar! hobie brown that loves to run his fucking mouth. you almost told him to shut up, especially since he realized how your walls would pulse around him whenever he so much as let out a groan. what can he say, if he sees an opportunity to make you cum, he'll do whatever it takes.

☆ speaking of cum, pornstar! hobie brown who tell you to open your legs wider so the camera can get a good shot of the mess your cunt made of your inner thighs and his dick. "let 'em see baby, aw look at that. oh i kno' they gonna be so proud of you, but probably not as proud as me. good girl, lemme clean you off." yes he gave you a tongue bath.

☆ pornstar! hobie brown who just by fucking you to the edge in some random hotel room, helped you blow up practically overnight. don't be surprised if he hits you up for a part 2. (he would even if there was no camera)

[hobies-gf]

hobie overstim!! nsfw

Hobie had you pressed up against the mattress, your body limp with his big hands around your hips to keep your ass raised. He was fucking you roughly, he has been fucking you roughly for god knows how long. he’d been away for a while, too preoccupied with making music and performing with his band to come and visit — but he wanted to make it up to you. Show you how much you matter to him still.

It had been long since words were spoken. The only sound that assuaulted your ears were the consistent claps of your ass against his crotch and Hobie's groans. You easily drowned out your own sounds — with how often they came out from your puffy lips they were practically background noise now.

Soon you were approaching your fourth? fifth? release of the evening. The knot in your belly quickly making itself known. Your climax came as quickly as you realized it was approaching. Your entire body spasmed for a few moments, your eyes rolling into the back of your head. In the midst of your trip to heaven you hear Hobie grunt behind you before he somehow starts fucking you even harder, the stimulation of your walls tightening and fluttering around his cock had him hungry for more.

Overstimulated and overwhelmed you try to crawl away, your arms weak and knees even weaker — but you had to. The line between pleasure and pain was all too blurry and all you wanted was to have the opportunity to breath. Hobie notices and barely managed to stifle a laugh, his head titled to the side as he watched you with hooded eyes.

“Let’s see how far you can crawl.”

[hobies-gf]

kinks I think Hobie would have - nsfw (obvi)

definitely has a thing for eye contact. hes obsessed the way you clench down on his cock whenever his eyes met yours. always makes sure theres a mirror around if hes talking you from behind. and sometimes when hes fucking you so good that you cant help but throw your head back he’ll grip your face with his fingers, squishing your cheeks together as he roughly pulls your head back down, “Eyes on me lovely… Yeah, that’s right.”

has a thing for doing it in public. its out of control honestly because you two could be having a nice coffee and suddenly he’s mumbling in your ear about how he wants to fuck you so bad.. eventually he pulls you somewhere secluded, whether it be a small alley or a bathroom stall, and he’s already pushing his pants down and your panties aside.

no one’s said this but i’m so sure he has a daddy kink. there’s nothing much too it. he’s heard it in porn so many times and it never really did anything to him. but one day you two were going at it heavily.. had been fucking for at least 2 hours when you started to get into a headspace.. hobie had you on your knees, back arched and face stuffed into a pillow.. you turned your head to the side and ‘fuck daddy please’. Hobie almost didnt hear it with how loud the sound of skin slapping against skin was but he heard it.. and god.. shivers ran up his spine and he just straightened up, fucking you with some newfound fervor. just to hear you say that again.

loves choking (receiving)! especially when you’re on top of him. his legs will go weak and he’ll start shaking like a leaf the moment he feels your hand wrap around his throat. he just finds it so hot when you take what you want from him. he lowkey starts babbling whenever you do this cuz it feels so good. “got my dick so wet baby, jus’ keep fuckin’ me like that... so so good”

[hobies-gf]

missing him (hobie brown) - nsfw

you’ve been missing hobie. fighting against the unjust government and performing every few days doesn’t really give him much time to come home to you. usually you could wait, be the perfect little angel for him and sit pretty while he’s gone. but its just been so hard lately.

before you know it your humping at his pillow, whining cuz it smells just like him. you really tried to ignore the ache between your pretty legs but once you thought about Hobie it would always spiral to the last time you were underneath him.

so you grind against his pillow, eyes squeezed shut and lips parted as faint murmurs of Hobie’s name leave your mouth. you were too focused on the way you moved your hips to hear the heavy footsteps pounding out in the hallway. too focused on your approaching orgasm to hear the metal of a belt hit the ground. as you approach your high, thighs tensing and back arched, only then did you see Hobie in front of you.

he was smirking, of course. because his angel was really just the dirtiest little thing when he was away. he doesnt pay attention to the fact that you continued to gyrate your hips against the pillow despite his presence. instead he sits across from you and beckons you over with two of his fingers.

“c’mere pretty. I’ll treat you better than that damned pillow.”

[hobies-gf]

Sitting on Hobie’s lap, facing him, while he’s pawing your hips. The force behind them shifting you marginally back and forth. An invisible pull exists between the two of you, a magnetism you can’t deny. Your dampened panties gliding over the raise in his jeans.

“Can feel your heartbeat.” he informs you, a little too pridefully for your tastes. Dark eyes glancing from your seat on his crotch to meet your own gaze. It’s as if he’s gloating his power over you, his surreal physical affect on you.

It didn’t occur to you that your heartbeat is something he’d care to listen in on— didn’t realize it’s within his capabilities. Does that mean he’s heard how it pounds in your chest every time he looks at you? “What? Like, with your spider sense?” Now that he mentions it, your entire body feels the rippling affect of your blood pumping, rushing to where your bodies connect. Nerves combusting at the sight of him sizing you up.

Hobie’s taunting and maddening smile widens, biting down onto his glinting silver piercing to stifle his own excitement. He shakes his head. “Nope.”

[hobies-gf]

hobie’s such a pleaser when he fucks.

i swear. he’ll push his cock into your sopping wet cunt, throwing his head back as he bites his lower lip cuz god, you just feel so fucking good. he’s lost in it for a moment, fucking you fast and hard like a needy dog but when you cry out so sweetly hobie’s pulled back to his senses, his ears are ringing and his eyesight blurry.

“S’that love?” He murmurs softly, he pushes himself closer, pushing your knees up so high they’re practically hitting the mattress.

you’ll beg for more and hobie will give you just what you want. one hand by your head and the other rubbing circles on your clit. he’ll fuck you as fast as you want, have you crying on his cock and he doesn’t care if he doesn’t feel as good cuz all your sweet little sounds has his stomach tightening and his breath quickening.

“y’like that baby? Yeah? Fuck, yeah, y’feel so good fuckfuckfuck pussy’s so good baby. She fuckin’ wants me, no one else, sucking my cock in like she needs me. Christ above… keep crying like that ‘n i’ll fill you up.”

[hobies-gf]

come close; hobie brown

getting high and talking about anarchy with some old 90's shit playing is a crazy way to fall for someone. but it happens.

pairing hobie brown x Black!afab!fem! reader

contents lots of weed, different terms for weed (mary jane, cess), talks of killing politicians (y’all r both anarchists so.), masturbation (both you and hobie), making out, fingering, riding, missionary, mating press, creampie, unprotected sex (they're horny man dwbi), dirty talk, cervix kissing, lotsssss of praise, porn with plot (sorry i love plot 🙏🏾)

words 4.7k.. back on my longer fic shit!

warnings reader wears lipgloss, barely proofread so if you see any mistakes pls shoot me an ask!, umm i use the n word once!, i’m also,, not that great at writing his voice yet so.. hope it’s at least sorta accurate :3

extras the form i wrote this in is kinda,, unique igs but it flows rlly well i feel.

song shoutouts special thanks to lipstick lover by janelle monae, come close by common and mary j. blige, and green eyes by erykah badu! full playlist

signing off happy father’s day to hobie 🫶🏾

—

not quite plug!hobie, but hobie who always has weed, who you smoke with the first time you buy from him.

you usually don’t smoke with randoms, but you hear some old 90's rap playing from inside his car, and he invites you in when you comment on it.

"what you know bout this?" you ask with a smile.

"a lot, actually. you wanna smoke and listen?"

not quite plug!hobie who's fine as fuck as he sits opposite you in his ride, tall and darkskin with cool ass hair. wild ass accent and even wilder style, but he makes it work. his music taste adds on to his overall allure.

but his political views? god. the charm in the shape of a little 'a' surrounded by a circle hanging from his mirror lets you know that he ain't like these other niggas.

he's an anarchist. so far, you're the only anarchist you know. it's so rare to find someone who has the same values as you.

not quite plug!hobie who's car you leave with music recs clumsily typed into your notes, and someone to talk about politics with, though you're too shy to text the pretty boy with the good weed, so you're sure it'll never happen.

not quite plug!hobie who texts you when you get home to make sure you arrived safely.

"driving while high ain't safe, ya know? you at home?"

"i've done it before. i made it home."

not quite plug!hobie who's so nice to you, complimenting your outfits and hair, even noticing when you meet him the 3rd time with a new style.

not quite plug! hobie who you find out has been giving you discounts when your friends ask if you ever bought from him after their recommendation, and you run them in on the details. you think it’s just cause y’all smoked the first time you ever bought from him and you bonded over political views and music. you don’t think nothing else of it.

not quite plug!hobie who you find yourself thinking about more and more often, ever since that first time y'all smoked together.

not quite plug!hobie who finds himself in the same predicament.

not quite plug!hobie who answers the door on your 6th buy in a pair of red sweats and a tight white t-shirt that hugs his lanky frame, hair tied up with a blue shoe string. he invites you into his crib, citing reasons of having no one else to talk to about his views with. after all, it's the first time you both have time to sit and talk and listen to music instead of a quick deal since that first time.

not quite plug!hobie who you get faded as fuck with, this time sharing a joint on his janky couch, heavy hands brushing against each other with each pass. he tries to ignore the aching in his very core every time you speak your mind, your aligning politics driving him crazy.

you mirror him, shaking off the.. arousal?.. no, it can't be. you can't be getting all heated just cause a man is an anarchist. whatever. just ignore it.

not quite plug!hobie who laughs when you tell him straight up, “people aren’t killing politicians anymore. that’s our fuckin’ problem.”

"really? you're wild. but i get it."

"course you do." you nod, taking another drag of the joint. erykah badu's "green eyes" is playing quietly in the background of your convo. hobie starts laughing.

"what?" you smile.

"song's called green eyes, right? well we got red eyes." it's corny and wouldn't be funny if you two weren't high as shit, but you are high as shit, so it's fucking hilarious.

not quite plug!hobie who's eyes linger on you as he pulls laugh after laugh out of your chest with his snarky little jokes.

not quite plug!hobie who walks you to your car after your smoke session, telling you to get home safely. he passes out after his head hits the bed, that after smoke sleep being some of the best he's ever had. he tries to chase you out of his mind as he succumbs to the cess.

not quite plug!hobie who lights a joint and then pulls his dick out the next day, hard and heavy, and strokes it thinking about his pretty little client— friend? whatever — hips stuttering as he wraps his hand around his thick base. he's tried to shake you off, went all day distracting himself with this and that, but it's not working.

not quite plug!hobie who cums in white spurts splattering on his chest to the thought of making you cum in a room filled with smoke, some old r&b playin as he dicks you down the way he's been wanting to since the first time your pretty ass came to him asking for some weed. he wants you bent over on the end of his bed, eyes low and red while he fills you up and fucks you good, gives you his dick like he feels you so rightfully deserve.

not quite plug!hobie who you seriously can't stop thinking of. last night's smoke session has you on edge, so you light another joint, but weed always gets you horny, so when you slip your fingers into your panties and touch yourself to the thought of the pretty darkskin boy with the piercings and cool hair pushing his fat cock into your pretty hole, you blame it on the mary jane sitting pretty in your veins.

the fault lies in the mary jane for making you think about him laid on top of you, talking you through it as he damn near kisses your cervix, his wiry hands roaming your body. the fault lies in the mary jane for having your legs shaking, imagining your pretty plug folding you in half and ruining you, leaving you and your cunt sore and satisfied and dripping his cum.

not quite plug!hobie who cleans up while telling himself that he can't do this again, that you're not interested in him.

not quite plug!hobie who you block out of your mind as you shower. what you did wasn't right. it won't happen again.

not quite plug!hobie who you don’t buy from for a minute, cause you’re trying to stop smoking so much, for a while. you still keep in contact with him, though. daily texts, funny memes, and of course talks of anarchy. one day, you call him “bee” instead of hobie, and it sticks. he likes it.

not quite plug!hobie… who you fuck yourself to again, this time slipping three fingers inside your greedy cunt to satiate the need for him. it’s almost every night, and it’s a different fantasy every time. 

in the backseat of his car, bent over on his counter, pressed into his couch cushions. your head pressing into your pillows while visions of hobie’s lips pressed to your ear praising you endlessly for being his good girl and taking him so well torment you. you’re insatiable, but when you text you have to pretend like you don’t want his piercing scraping against your clit as he eats you like a man starved.

not quite plug!hobie who has the same dilemma as you.. he can’t even go a couple of hours without growing hard in his sweats, glimpses of you spread out on his bed with your thighs thrown over his shoulders, or you face down ass up, sobbing in pure ecstasy. it’s not made better by y’all’s constant texting, more and more of your personality being revealed to him each day.

you both share one brain, really. and that one brain finds each other attractive, of course, but it’s not just that. it’s not just pure lust. you two have more in common than anyone you’ve ever met, and that sinks ache and want so deep into you that every night and day is spent trying to rid yourselves of it.

not quite plug!hobie who you buy from again almost two weeks later, two weeks that were filled with funny conversations and deep discussions of politics through text. two weeks that solidify the growing feelings you have for each other. this time, he’s wearing a pair of blue sweats and a tight black tee, and his hair is tied up just like the first time you came to his house. this time, brandy’s playing throughout his crib.

you’ve only known each other for about two months, but it feels like longer, for the both of you. you take your seat on the couch as he grabs his stash and his papers, pulling out one paper to roll up.

not quite plug!hobie who sits a little bit closer than he did last time. he smells good. your head is swimming already. 

not quite plug!hobie who lights up and then lets you take the first hit, watching you wrap your glossy lips around the joint like he doesn’t wish they were wrapped around his dick instead. you pass the joint to him and settle onto the couch, raking your eyes over his lanky frame, and what you swear is a hard-on. no way. it has to be the weed. 

he settles back onto the couch too, extending his long arms on the back. his arm comes up behind your head, and you rest your head on it, smiling dopily when he directs his hazy gaze your way. his playlist must have ended. you're left with him and your thoughts.

“you’re funny, you know?” he says through a breath of smoke, passing the joint to you.

“yeah?” you reply, hitting it again. “everyone tells me i’m just corny.”

“you’re not corny. you’re pretty hilarious, if i’m bein’ honest.” 

and there it is again.

not quite plug!hobie whose words light that fire in you again, the fire that you’ve been dousing every night for the past two fucking weeks. fuck, not here. not now. you grab the joint from him in an attempt to push more weed into your system to flush him out, but you meet his pretty fuckin’ brown eyes and they’re low and his lips looks so good and he smells so good and suddenly you’re asking not quite plug who you’re two seconds away from fucking!hobie why he’s been charging you less than everyone else who buys from him and why he invited you into his car and into his house, twice.

and not quite plug who really wants to kiss you right now!hobie can’t even joke and twist his way out of this one. he’s tired of cumming alone to the thought of you. the worst you can do is leave. but the best? god, so many things.

“'s cause i think you’re pretty. n' i really wanna kiss you right now.”

“then do it.”

not quite plug!hobie who tastes like weed and chocolate. the hand that was resting on the back of the couch finds it’s way to the small of your back, fingers drawing nonsensical shapes into it. your hands find his knee and his neck as you press your lips into his. you slide closer to him, and then he’s using the hand resting on your back to push you into his lap, hands settling on your hips as you settle above him, your hands circling around his neck.

“how long?” you ask between kisses.

“since the day you walked up to my car.” he responds quietly, cheeks heating up with embarrassment. he’s quick to trap your lips again.

god, he is hard. and he’s big, you can feel him pressing against the inside of your thigh. you hold your tongue, figuring you could deal with that later. right now, you just need to get out what you’ve been keeping in since the day you two met and you spotted the little ‘a’ hanging from his mirror.

the kiss grows deeper and he grows a little less shy, starting to use his hands gripping your waist to grind you against him. heat floods you when you realize that he's pulling you onto his cock, pressing your cunt against him, separated by the fabric of his sweats and your shorts.

you find his rhythm, falling into the pattern of his soft pushes and presses, a gentle lull of bodies moving against each other that makes you even more comfortable than you already are. soft little groans escaping the both of you, mixing with the smoke and infatuation in the air.

he lets you move the way you want, lithe fingers tracing up your back, hovering over where your hair falls onto your neck. he keeps kissing you for a minute, seemingly frozen. but then he's pulling away to speak, "can i- can i touch your hair?"

you stop moving with a smile. you nod. "yeah. thanks for asking." you kiss him again.

"course, love." he nods, and then he kisses you again. his long fingers snake into your hair, gently and softly. he strokes his hands through your locks, in time with your kisses and the movements of your hips that have started again. hands migrating from his neck, sliding down his chest, laying flat-palmed. your fingers slide under his tee, curling and gripping to pull him ever closer to you.

not quite plug!hobie who could kiss you forever. you could too, but you want more. you need him. so you pull away just a little, murmur "can feel you against me." chills rack through him at your words.

"i know. 'm so hard, darlin'." he pushes his hips up just a little, drawing a muffled whine from you.

"been wantin' you so bad.." you trail off. hobie takes it upon himself to move his hands from your hair to the waistband of your shorts, eyes fixed on yours, watching your every move. you nod, giving him permission to snake his fingers into your shorts, fingers that are met with no resistance.

"no panties? did'ya plan this, doll?" he smiles, slim fingers exploring your wetness, doing what he can with the limited space.

"mhm." you shake your head. "'s more comfortable." he hums in agreement. he circles your clit with his middle finger, dipping towards your entrance to collect more slick. you push down against his fingers, causing him to have to crane his wrist to reach you.

"can we take these off? can't touch you the way i wanna." you blush, averting your eyes to focus on the hand that disappears into your shorts.

"yeah." you breathe shakily, standing up and letting hobie pull them down your legs, hands on his shoulders as balance. your shirt is long, and it falls down to give you some modesty. hobie throws your shorts somewhere behind you before he leans back, giving you space to sit back down.

he looks so fucking good, brown eyes staring at you like you hung the stars in the sky. he reaches out for you, pulling you back into his lap by your hips. his hand disappears under your shirt while his lips find yours again, exploring you more freely this time.

"so wet, doll." he murmurs between one kiss and another, smiling when you whine. his fingers move at different speeds, pressing in different areas and circling at different speeds until he finds a combination that makes you jolt against him, whining "bee."

"thaaaaat's it, love." this time, you don't return your lips to his, instead tucking your head into his neck as you hump shamelessly against his hand, his cock pressing hard and heavy against your thigh. "keep going, baby," he urges, "show me how it feels."

and you do. you shiver and shake and whine and groan in pleasure, pressing kisses in his brown skin as he touches you the way he touched himself thinking about.

not quite plug!hobie who presses his thumb into your clit, sliding his hand farther down to tease your drooling hole. "'s wet, love. g'na feel so good 'round me." you moan loudly at that, at the thought of your fantasies coming true. you cant your hips down, sliding down his fingers until they're seated inside you, stroking gently at your sensitive walls.

pulling them out softly, he curls his fingers, twisting his wrist as you whine and mouth at his neck. "'s okay. you can bite." he nods, catching onto what you were holding yourself back from. you still don't, resign to licking and sucking instead.

until his fingers catch the spongy spot inside you, and your teeth are sinking into the column. "fuck," you damn near shout, pushing yourself onto his hand. he groans in response, pleased to be pleasing you and indulging in the pain you inflict on him. thumb on your clit and fingers playing with that spot, he brings his other hand from your hip to your hair to soothe you, to ground you.

it's sweet, really, his hand in your hair while the other one touches you the way you've been dreaming of. coos and hums meet your ears, soft sounds of affirmation egging you on to let yourself get lost in the pleasure he delivers you. arousal steadily dripping out of your hole, hobie's fingers sliding easier and easier inside you until he can pull out and slip right back in.

"you're so pretty, dove, fuckin' dreamgirl." he murmurs, staring down at your pretty face, arched eyebrows turned down in ecstasy, lips parted. the praise takes you closer and closer to the edge, his deep voice reverberating throughout your entire being, the pangs of arousal in your clit growing harder and faster. you're close.

you're so goddamn close to cumming for a boy you just wanted to buy from. his long fingers reach deep, deeper than you could ever even dream of. “hobie- i- i’m g’na-” you stutter against his neck, hips stuttering against his fingers.

“‘s okay, love, cum. i’m right here.” the rubber band snaps, and you're tightening your thighs around his hand while you shake and shiver, eyes closed tight with soft whines of "hobie, god it feels so good" tumbling from your lips. you tighten around his fingers, too, squeeze him so tight he winces, cause he just knows you're gonna feel so good wrapped around him. he pushes that thought away, though, focused on helping you ride out your orgasm.

fingers pressing into your clit and that spot inside you, he makes sure to milk every last second of your climax, eyes fixed on your ethereal features. aftershocks still racking through you, you finally open your eyes, and he takes it as a sign to gently pull his fingers out of you and wipe them on his sweats, and you shudder at the feeling.

"that was. . so much better than i imagined. n' i imagined it being pretty good." you smile and giggle, placing a kiss on his neck. he laughs in response, raising his eyebrows at your confession.

"bet i'm a better fuck than you imagined, too." the air in the room shifts again, and suddenly you're aware of his cock pressed against your thigh through his sweats again.

"bet you are."

you raise up, kissing him again as your hands find the waistband of his sweats and invite themselves in, meeting his dick that's been hard since you first sat down on his couch. "and i'm the one who planned this? you're free-balling." you murmur against his lips, and he mirrors your words from earlier.

"'s more comfortable, 's all— fuck." he's cut off when you pull his cock out of his sweats and run your finger over his pretty brown tip, dipping into his slit. his hips thrust up, chasing your soft hand. "g'na drive me crazy." he almost whines, jerking against you when you swipe your thumb against his aching tip again.

"just returnin' the favor." you shoot back, raising up to hover over him, swiping his leaking dick through your wetness. he wraps his hand around his thick base, moving in time with your teasing strokes. "you're big." you groan, hesitating to seat yourself on him.

"i know, doll, you can take it though. we'll make you take it." he speaks into your clothed chest, muffled and horny, and you’re sure he means what he says. you drip even more at his words, sticky slick wetting his fat tip.

not quite plug!hobie whose hands are on your hips as you sink down onto his pretty dick, whining into his neck as he encourages you. “you got it, baby, you’re takin’ me so well. god, she’s so wet.”

"she— fuck that's so hot," you moan, eyes rolling back at his words.

"mhm?" he hums.

you don't respond, too busy focusing on his fat cock pushing into you, focusing on the way you both make it fit, exactly like he said you would. finally, he bottoms out, your thighs resting against his sweats.

"g' job, babe. knew you could take me." you jolt against him, his heady words sending another pang of arousal straight to where you two meet.

not quite!plug hobie who you tell to move, raising your hips up as he pulls out, meeting him in the middle as he fills you back up. his hips slot against yours again, and his big chocolate eyes are fixed on yours, gazing upon you in adoration, while your eyes are fixed on where he disappears into you.

"so big, feels s'good. ." you whisper, meeting his gaze. the look in his eyes has chills running down your spine as you raise your hips again, choosing to connect your lips with his again. hobie starts to find a rhythm, now, wrapping his long arms around your waist. you swap spit with him as his hips meet your ass, taking over.

body bouncing with each of his thrusts into your pussy, arms wrapped around his neck. his lips slipping against yours, plump and wet. you both take it slow, basking in the feeling of finally being like this with someone you've wanted since you first saw them.

he fills you up so nicely, thick cock nestled in your achy walls, leaking tip just barely kissing your cervix as he thrusts just a bit harder and you push down a little more.

"y'feel me, darlin? 'm all the way in, at the end of you, god, 'm g'na make you mine." he babbles in pleasure, pushing his hips up even harder. still soft, but firm, and deliberate.

you nod against his lips, hand resting on his cheek. "feel you, bee, feel you in my fuckin' stomach, i swear." you feed off of him and he feeds off of you, kissing and slapping your hips against the others, wild and wanting. "fuckin' me so good, bee, makin' me yours."

"makin' me yours, doll, pussy's squeezin' me like she don't w'na let go."

"don't wanna let go, wan' you so bad." you confess, bringing your ass down onto his cock again. "i— fuck," you sob. his cock curves just right, and with his tip pressing against your spot now, hobie's found new determination.

"that it?" he asks, making sure to keep hitting that spongy patch of skin with every thrust, sheathing his cock in your wet heat.

"'s it, hobie, feels so good, shit." the high has worn off by now, leaving pure emotions and desire driving you two. you get tight around him again, cunt pulsing with every slam of his hips against yours. you feel so good around him, so tight and wet.

"'m g'na—, you're gonna make me cum, bee."

he moves one hand from around your waist at that, sliding between you two to toy with your clit, thumb rubbing wild shapes against the throbbing bud.

"fuck," you cry, grinding against his thumb and down onto his dick.

"you close again, doll? wan' you to wet me up, ma'me a mess," he encourages, big brown eyes fixed on yours like they've been the whole night.

"'m so close, bee, wanna cum for you, wanna wet you up."

"then do it." he mirrors your words from earlier, and the pleasure pulsing through your veins and infatuation swirling around in your blood gets to be too much, and you cum on his cock, still slamming your hips down onto him, meeting his thrusts in the middle. "thaaaat's it, doll." you hear hobie praise through the fog in your mind, bounces turned to messy grinds as you get all tight around him, cumming hard.

"y'alright, love?" he asks, moving your hair out of your face.

"mhm. w'na go again, you haven't come yet." he chuckles at your words, wrapping both hands around your waist and kissing you again.

"lay back, love." he murmurs against your lips, flipping you onto the couch. your back meets the smooth fabric as he lays you down, pulling his tee and his sweats off. you follow suit, stripping your shirt off and throwing it somewhere behind his couch. his watchful eyes fall on your face, then your tits, then your cunt, taking your body in for the first time.

he finds his place on top of you, balancing himself on his elbows as he kisses you again. he reaches down, but you stop him. "lemme do it," you urge, replacing his hand. you line him up with your sopping entrance, nodding twice to tell him to push in.

the stretch is so fucking good, his cock bullying it's way into your tight cunt again.

"fuck, that's it," he curses, watching your face as he seats himself in your once again.

"so deep. ." you trail off, looking down at your stomach, and oh fuck, no way.

"hobie, hobes, look," you urge, and he points his gaze to where you're looking.

"oh, love, look at that. can see myself, right there," he presses down on the bulge he creates, ripping a broken moan straight from your throat.

"fuck me, please," you sob, squirming under him. he nods, understanding, and finds his rhythm easier this time, lean hips slapping against you. your body jolts up the couch with every thrust, choppy whines of nonsensical sentences leaving your mouth.

not quite plug who's absolutely pussydrunk!hobie can't get enough of your cunt, the way you squeeze him oh so tight, the wet squelches of your heat drawing him further into madness. he needs to go deeper, needs to fuck you harder, so he raises up, throwing your legs over his shoulders, leaning back down to bury his cock deep inside you.

"baby, fuck." it's a gritted groan, head rolling back onto the couch as he mouths at your neck, licking and biting at your heated skin. his thrusts are slow and firm, dick kissing your cervix, the slaps sounding out through his living room.

you're both quiet this time around, too blissed out to do anything but fuck, allowing yourselves to succumb to pleasure. every inch of his cock fills you, driving you crazy, driving him crazy too. it's intimate, his lips on your neck, your fingers palming at his back, limbs tangled together. and you can feel it building up in you again.

"'m g'na cum, hobes." he moves one of his arms, bringing his thumb down to rub at your clit, still mouthing at your neck. he lets it happen this time, doesn't urge you or change anything he's doing, and you coast into your climax so gratifyingly that you almost cry, squeezing him tight once again. now, your focus is on making him cum.

"wan' you to cum, hobes."

"gotta pull out, love. we ain' even put a rubber on." he realizes.

"no you don't. 'm clean. jus' fill me up, please." in your right mind, you wouldn't let him, but you're not in your right mind, and neither is he. so he cums with a groan, shaking as he spills pressed against your cervix.

the air's.. different now, satisfied and calm. you both lay there for a while, until hobie's picking you up and carrying you to the bathroom to clean you up.

after, he lights another joint that you two share tucked under his covers, hugged up like a couple.

not quite plug!hobie holds you as you both fall asleep.

[hobies-gf]

Ride me

🔞No Kids Allowed🔞

Hobie Brown x FEM!Reader

It wasn't common. But when Hobie wanted you to ride him he highly meant it, Grabbing your waist and not letting you get back up until you went limp in his arms. His pace far from human as he quivers out your name.

He wouldn't stop unless you both were weak, Trembling or even passed out. He wanted to feel every inch of you clenching around his cock, Milking him dry until he couldn't cum anymore.

He loved the feeling of your thighs slapping against his skin, how your cries got louder when you were close to your orgasm, Purposely hitting that delicious spot inside of you just to hear you scream.

He loved every ounce of you, Kissing down your cleavage just to see you unravel above him, Loving the way your words would crumble down into nothing but incoherent mumbles, Sweat tickling down your neck as control completely leaves you.

Your hands gripping on his wrists, trying to keep your consciousness from slipping from you. Your back bending as your whines become high-pitched whimpers. Your arousal seeping down your thighs as you'd orgasmed for a fourth time in a row.

Your soaked panties threatening too rip as he pulls them aside. Shallow breathing heightening his senses everytime he heard his name fall from your pretty little lips. Your legs trembling as he continues to abuse your swollen cunt.

Drool tickling down the corner of your mouth as you tilt your head slightly. It was all a beautiful sight in his eyes, Your pussy tightening around him, squeezing that nerve at the base of his cock, earning a breathy groan from him.

Only you could make him whimper like this. His nails digging into your hips, The sound of skin slapping skin once he finds that perfect rhythm again.

His cum coating your abdomen once his high caught up to him, Overstimulating the both of you by burying his cock deep inside of you once more, Grinding his hips until he was completely worn out, Your cunt continuing to grasp around his pulsating cock.

Your arms wrapped around his neck as you hold onto him, Legs shaking violently as your breath gets caught in your throat. Hobie whispering how good you feel wrapped around him before finally pulling himself out.

The palm of your hands resting on his shoulders as you snuggle up into his chest, too tired to even move off of him. Hobie placing a kiss on your forehead as he tells you to regain your strength, Lighting a blunt between his lips as he looks up at the ceiling.

That damn devilish smirk still plastered on his face.

[hobies-gf]

only you, my girl 🗯️ hobie brown x fem reader

★CW nsfw, possessiveness, virginity loss, obsessive tendencies, attachment issues, smut, breeding if you like it so, slight daddy kink if you SQUINT, mad jealousy ★NOTES hey guys take this 6k+ hobie fic. embarrassing i know. coping with the brainrot AHEM if u like it pls tell me bc silly jae spent days on this and and and 🥹 im still tryna figure out hobie’s characterization! all comments, reblogs and notes r so so appreciated, thank ya 🩵 tell me if u want more hobie and/or miguel!!

you get in fights sometimes.

some guy at the pub tries to cop a feel of your ass when hobie grudgingly agrees to bring you ‘round in those tight, black jeans, and then he gets angry and snaps and drags you back home and you refuse to face him for a day or two.

not ‘cause you’re angry. you’re too smitten with him and delicate for feelings like that;

‘cause you’re worried. confused.

hobie’s your first ever boyfriend, and you never knew relationships were like this, so it’s taking you some time to navigate. time that he’s tried to allow you, but it’s come as a surprise to him how deeply involved with you he’s become;

it’s hard to just… step away.

obsessive, you call him, lashes weighing uneasy over those pretty, artful eyes, i’m worried you get too riled up, hobes.

and he leaves a lot. out of nowhere, always- in the middle of unconventional, no less charming dates or profound chitchats over tea. he wants to stay, he tells you, and badly, but that just never seems to be a valid option.

(although, when both of your foreheads are pressed together during heated makeout sessions and you shyly accept his hands that grow bold enough to start manhandling you into his lap, it’s a really difficult decision- especially hard, if you catch his fly- to bounce…)

checking the window or his phone and muttering a quick, soured work before he peppers a kiss to the tip of your nose and bolts.

and you don’t ask, because he always seems to tiptoe around the word occupation and the jokes he lists off right after always inevitably distract you anyway.

…but when you wanna leave? whew. now that’s a whole different story.

going out with your girlfriends? can’t hobie tag along, too? he promises he’ll keep a healthy distance, won’t drape himself all over your shoulder like he has the odd penchant to, and when meg brings her boyfriend to boot and he starts asking how you’ve been, he swears he won’t interfere.

it’s just friendly words, is all- hobie knows that. or it’s what he tells you at least, but hobie’s been around and he’s seen enough to know how to read between the lines, thin as they sometimes are, so much so that he’s something of a pro at it now. (‘course, he don’t like dubbing himself an expert.)

and he knows damn well that lil fuckin’ twat wants to know more than just what you’ve been up to lately.

going shopping? don’t be long on the way home, now- else hobie will pop up around the block, seamlessly falling in step with you, tucking you close to his side and his hand in your back pocket. whispering a word into your ear, calling you sweetheart, calling you dove, calling you everything sugary-sounding that he hopes scratches at the surface of you.

slipping you the prettiest, faintest of grins- all under the illusion that you’ll forget how he even appeared in the first place. (it’s not an especially flawed vein of thinking. you do forget, a lot.)

he’s subtle with it, you know. possessive. barely there, barely a sound or touch or feel, but the warmth of his body pulling you in trumps all else, amplifies it all.

the little things get bigger. the nicks in his jeans stretch to holes. day by day, your resolute crumbles just a tad bit more- maybe you’re overthinking, you do that a lot, after all, hobie reminds you with a soft squeeze to your hip.

so… yeah. you get in fights sometimes.

well, if hobie had to label it at all he’d prefer lover’s quarrels, but that’s neither here nor there. they always pass over, though, like rainy, grey clouds drifting by, and sometimes they pour thicker but the rainbow always shines its face at the end.

it always turns out okay. it’s… supposed to.

but he and your daddy- the only other man in the universe who can compete for your affections- fight sometimes, too, and those bump-ins are always worser.

…dangerous, a little.

your pops calls him a real piece of work whenever he swings by, scowls at the lanky body hung between this doorway or that, engrafting himself on the sofa by his naive little daughter, hickory brown eyes trailing inscrutibly over your side profile as you talk about your day and that cute puppy by the park who yapped at you.

there, carving himself into you, always. it’s honestly quite ridiculous, how close he is at any given time.

would a bomb fucking explode otherwise?

he’s less of a boyfriend and more of a parasite, your dad mutters not long after he’s left, throwing on his jacket and adjusting the shimmering, captain’s badge over his chest.

but he’s never hurt hobie, no, because though your daddy may sooner give him the end of his boot before accepting his presence as a permanent one- accepting you as his- he wouldn’t go as far as doing anything unseemly.

when your boyfriend’s rallies get a bit out of hand in the streets, when lethal fumes thicken the air from fire crackers and other makeshift contraptions, and the crowd’s protests get a bit too rowdy- dangerous, even- and your papa’s men gotta lasso them all back in, he never quite… deals with him. not fully. hobie’s not guiltless, and he’s aware that he’s made some trespasses that warrant further action than just a light slap on the wrist, but even then, your daddy always withholds the cuffs, sending him off with a disapproving glare and a deep, sighing lecture for you later on.

that boy, he sits you down and tells you one evening, is signing you up for trouble, honey. he’s hiding something, he says with a sage shake of his head, and whatever it is- i’m afraid i won’t be able to pull you out in time.

there’s been slight mishaps here and there, yeah, and it’d be a lie to say that hobie doesn’t sometimes enjoy giving your old man a hard time, but… still….

he thinks what happened last week- the vulgar joke he quipped out over the somewhat tense family dinner you so graciously prepared (the humor was admittedly in poor taste, something about the many meanings of daddy or-…), and the enraged mess of your dad that briskly followed after, was a bit much.

over the top or not, though, hobie spared your teary-eyed, overwrought expression one owlish look as you corralled your daddy’s arm, and stepped out.

the next morning, after all the dust had settled and your boyfriend was long out the door, you’d learn that your father’s outburst was partly out of genuine, simmering anger finally pulled taut, sure, but primarily out of exhaustion.

his body’s not like it used to be. being a captain is heavy work, and an even weightier responsibility.

and he tries to be good and tolerable and reason with the two of you, you’re young and you think you’re in love, and perhaps you really are- but-

he’s just worried sick for his baby girl.

and that tired confession alone, paired with the imploring, slightly dejected yet no less loving look he sends you, cupping your hand in his as you hover beside the couch, is ultimately what spurs on the

i’m sorry, hobie

and hobie’s heard that before, sometimes. like when you accidentally tripped over the cord connecting his amp to the wall and interrupted the sick solo he was strumming, or when- in a desperate, heady sigh of your name- he curiously tried reaching for your panties, all of his attempts being shyly swatted away-

but oddly, it had never felt so final.

★

the two of you weren’t meant to be divergent.

hobie hates the am.

doesn’t stop him from swinging by yours at around seven in the morning though, sleep still in his eyes, wicks heavier on one end than the other.

rough night. (and soon, he’ll find, you’ll relate.)

he expects you to be curled up in your bed in a pair of undies, maybe one of your legs hanging off the mattress in a quintessential display of it’s hot but not enough to lay bare- slightly prepares himself for the bout of disdain he’ll experience at the baggy, not his t-shirt wrinkled over your middle- but every assumption of his is for naught.

he was only on the mark for a single thing: your whinging daddy’s gone to work, and the place is otherwise empty.

it’s hobie’s turn to be the man of your house.

his senses, always rippling and searching for the whispers of you, lead him to your kitchen, a bit small but cozy in its own right, and as if you’d half expected this, the sound of his footsteps padding in through the threshold don’t rouse you in the slightest.

hobie finds you propped behind the counter, hunched over a bowl of- what’s that, oatmeal, maybe (explains the smell of banana and maple that whacked him in the face upon entrance)?- wordlessly spooning lumps of it into your mouth.

blinking mildly concerned, he waits for you to meet his gaze.

when you do, you look sleepy, hair charmingly askew, shimmery eyes a little puffy from a fitful slumber- a fraction duller than they were last week- regarding him with a shuddering, long inhale.

preparing yourself, are you? or perhaps him? he’s never known that pretty face to sneer or that pink little tongue he taught how to swirl with his to roll words that cut, but you are ripe with surprises, and taking into account his last visit, he might just deserve it.

you share an intense, almost equally exasperated stare, and for a moment there’s an echo of a perhaps misplaced joke on the tip of his tongue, yet when the silence drops and you numbly glance away, he’s glad he bit it down.

maybe… he overdid it?

“hobie,” is all you manage in lieu of a greeting, cheeks hollowing before puffing out a forlorn sigh.

you prod around the porcelain bowl, spoon snaking through the by-now soggy clusters of your breakfast.

“that bad, eh?” he relies on the trace of auxiliary amusement curling in his chest, swatting a proverbial hand at the mingled, vaguely wounded feelings swarming there. and yeah, for your shared convenience, he overlooks his usual case of oh, she’s completely adorable, and swallows down that niggling wedge of ownership.

“for your sake, dove,” he says, “not mine- i’ll make this cute drop-by quick.”

one measured, brazen step forward with a long leg of his onto the crumby, ceramic kitchen tile and you lift your head.

“y-you should go, hobie- my dad-“

“isn’t ‘round to nag me, is he?” he interrupts, gesturing the lack thereof with a lazy jerk of his head that has you shutting your mouth.

“no, s’what i thought. just me n’ you,” your sort-of boyfriend assures, his lips curling playfully at one end, “and that bloody ugly vase your old man insists on keepin’, ought to throw it out sometime, yeah?”

you pout, and hobie’s inclined to believe it’s purely unintentional.

“…that’s a family heirloom, hobie.”

his stomach lurches a little before he realizes there’s no real consequence here, not now at least. and then he sniffles, languidly shrugs one broad, pointed shoulder forward and blinks.

“could always buy you a new one.”

that’s not really how it works, you contemplate saying- hobie anticipates that clearly- before apparently thinking better of it.

he otherwise ignores the limp, enervated little shake of your head you send him, instead choosing to close the gap all the way and prop himself against the marble plane beside you, palms flattening behind him on the counter.

he watches you cooly as you eat, back hunched as you nibble and stall on polishing off the remnants of cinnamon banana oatmeal.

“y’don’t even like that stuff, do you-?” he observes flatly, a slight raise to his voice when you don’t acknowledge him right away. “no point forcin’ it,” he shrugs with a purse of his lip, ”bet it tastes like rubbish, mm?”

you inhale starkly, spoon clattering dramatically when you slam it on the counter and face him.

“here we go.”

“hobie, you’re not supposed to be here!”

“and why’s ‘at?” he quips seamlessly, having the nerve to raise a single, bold brow.

you screw your eyes shut for one fleeting, quiet moment, birds chittering in the backdrop of the cars vrooming past the cityscape below, and he can tell you’re getting worked up.

not in a mean way, nah, you’re just nervous. dealing with the tsunami of all these relatively foreign, confusing, frightening feelings- you think everything is ten times worser than it really is.

hobie knows better.

learned to stop giving a solid fuck a while ago. ‘cept for you- he can leave room for any matter relating to you, big or small or so tremendous it sometimes feels like he might shatter under the weight of it.

because hobie needs a space for you. with you. and he’s sort of tired pretending like he doesn’t.

you capture your bottom lip between your teeth, glittering in the morning light filtering in through the kitchen. and when you will your eyes to open again, hobie’s surprised to see they blink a little clearer.

there’s an odd, inexplicable, almost panicked pang in his chest—

before he realizes your tiny fists are still balled at your side.

“hobie,” you try softly, giving him this imploring, dollish look that tugs at his heartstrings. he hums almost absently, smoothing his fingertips over the cool marble of the countertop.

your own reach for his jacket, hesitantly planting themselves there in his spiked vest. and something stirs inside of him when you say

“my dad- he doesn’t like us together. i can’t keep going around him with you like i do. i… i don’t wanna hurt him.”

the steely ring looped around hobie’s nose seems to flip in the light when his face- otherwise deadpan- twitches.

“what’s it gotta do with him- you and i? think that nosey old geezer needs to weasel his way out of our bloody business... probably doesn’t got much left now anyway.”

“hobie!” you shriek, your warmth whisking away as you tug on the peels of hair framing your face. and- as if deciding better of whatever you wished to say, or perhaps knowing your not-boyfriend would’ve likely enjoyed a mini tantrum- you turn on your heel and start scurrying off down the hall.

“what?” he snips, swiftly following behind you.

ducking under a too low doorway, trailing you like an oversized, parasitic lost puppy- harshly palming at the chipped paint of your bedroom wall when he’s inevitably got you pinned against it.

“just what is it with your pops, eh? i get it, if he’s worried sick you’re lounging ‘round with a dirty bloke or he’s got to watch his li’l girl go-“ he scowls, raising his palms up for dramatic effect, “but i’m not gonna lay a bloody finger on you,” he promises, gaze narrowing by a fraction.

“…n’ last time i checked, your home is right here.”

you’re experiencing your own respective whirlwind of emotions, trapped between hobie and the wall: confusion, doubt, a little bit of frustration mingled with growing, shy insecurity- but the unusually heated quaver to his tone paired with the almost wounded look he regards you with, has you second guessing it all.

and, yeah, that little spark of guilt kicks in, spreading like pitiful wildfire and next thing you know you’re shooting your eyes to the floor. watching your sock-clad feet twiddle over the hardwood.

“i-i’m sorry, hobie,” you murmur sweetly. it claws its way into his belly, too, cloying and sincere.

you muster a deer-like glance up, shimmery, sad eyes meeting his own pair of syrupy, almost insouciant ones, and suddenly the roof of his mouth aches like he’s spooned frosting into it.

“but i-“ you swallow the tail of those words down, giving your head a turbulent little shake. and, surprising perhaps you both, you lean in on your tippy toes and press a soft kiss to his lips, grazing the piercing there.

he debates deepening it; like sand you slip through his fingers, and you’re gone already.

“you hate my dad a little too much. and i just… don’t hate him enough to do this to him.”

a large, almost overeager palm clasps around your hip, then, a shallow breath loosing from his chest as he hunches over, his shadow sucking you in.

his nose scrunches, ever so slightly, and it’s almost hard to meet your eye.

“i don’t-… i don’t hate your old man, dove,” he represses a mildly amused huff, “i just don’t like him gettin’ in the way of us... nothin’ personal, really.”

you quirk a deliberate, questioning brow, and the frown etched over his plump lips deepens some.

“maybe you’re his daughter, but you’re my girl, n’ i reckon he’ll warm up to that fact soon enough,” he elaborates. “so let’s squash this pointless quarrel, hop into your bed, and ruff eachother ‘round a li’l bit, yeah?”

your face goes red.

and that bastard- a trace of a grin meets one end of his auburn lips, raising an expectant, cheeky brow.

you avert your gaze, crossing your arms over your chest. “you’re on thin ice, mister,” you tell him, shimmying out of his grasp and trudging to your bed, plopping on it face-first.

hobie joins you, preferring to land on his back instead, resting his head on his laced elbows, craning his neck your way.

“cracking all these jokes when we’re supposed to be done with each other…”

the guitarist offers a soft, musing hum. “so it was a joke to you, huh? and oi,” he doesn’t even bother fighting off the victorious smirk that pinches into his cheeks, rolling over on his side and propping his head up, his free hand reaching out to poke at your hair.

“we’re pretty far from over, sweetheart, don’t y’think?”

you huff with what he suspects to be sheepish mirth.

the faint muscles in your back jump with a soundless little giggle in the next second, and hobie knows he’s right.

“hobie?” you say. “yup,” he goes. his gaze trails over you still, dark lashes weighing you up carefully.

“please go easy on my dad.”

he takes a pause.

and, “sure,” is his simple reply, sharply inhaling as he maneuvers closer and rolls you over so you’re on your side, too, facing him.

your cheeks are a little flushed, he observes, absently caressing them with his knuckles and feeling the heat rise, and your lips are so tantalizing, so close, that hobie’s next words come very unreasonably, headily, slow.

“jus’ since we’ve got something in common, anyway,” he breathes carefully, steadily closing the gap between you.

his eyes flicker between yours, and he briskly spots a few different things there- patience, the genuine love you harbor for him that seems to glow and something else a little bit shyly eager- but when his nose bumps with yours and his tongue curiously darts out, he finds no unwillingness there whatsoever.

“…both’d do anythin’ for our pretty girl.”

you offer a soft sigh into the kiss, his mouth capturing yours as he thumbs idly at the fat of your hip. your teeth clink together when he starts growing eager, tongue looping around yours and sucking.

“oh, hobes,” you breathe, screwing your eyes shut as your small fingers find the tattered ends of his vest and clutch.

your skin is so hot beneath his, broiling and crying out for his touch when he slides his palm over the bare expanse of your thigh and kneads.

“‘at’s right,” he murmurs, hitching your leg over his hip, leaning into you and seeking those swollen, glossy lips out.

something prods at you, then, a tent in his jeans straining unbearably hard, his free hand snatching at your jaw to pull you into him.

you gasp when his index and middle get ballsy and travel further, teasing where the apex of your thighs sits. he lassoes you back in before you can retreat, tutting numbly- though his tongue feels like sand at this point- and regarding you with this smoky, slow, hungry glance between your eyes.

“suck on my tongue, love,” he whispers, “kiss me jus’ like i taught you to. ‘member?”

you shudder, yielding to him when he saddles himself over you- searching your eyes for a signal to stop (a signal that never comes)- the silvery collection of piercings scattered over his brow pinching together when he furrows it.

“bet you forgot after this week, though,” he murmurs, yet despite the content of his words, there’s a very blatant trace of fondness there: “ignorin’ all my calls, puttin’ me in bloody torture for a li’l joke that probably went right over your pretty head anyway.”

your lips purse together, jutting out in a pathetic display of simmering, latent arousal, and hobie gives you a small nod that goes unfinished.

“s’fine, though,” he says, folding your bodies together, his pinky tucking under the band of your rosy polkadot panties. “can teach you all over again. and this time ‘round…”

hobie’s thigh wedges between yours and nudges them apart, the front of his knee rutting against your clothed cunt- the place where you need him most, and he knows. yet it’s a motion you shy away at all the same, lashes splayed over the shimmery points of your cheekbones as you bite back a shuddering breath.

“i’ll throw in something new, yeah…?”

he knows you’re antsy about this sort of thing.

that you were raised to be good and modest, and before you hit a second growth spurt in high school and ‘glew up’ that you were tossed about the halls and picked on relentlessly by the girls deemed prettier. teasing words hurled your way by cruel teenage boys and their twat fuckin’ friends.

so hobie’s fully aware you’re a virgin for this reason or that, and he’s respected that simple fact for all these months you’ve been together. never tried to take it any further when you started squirming in his grasp, biting on your lip and confessing that you didn’t know what you were doing and wouldn’t be able to anyway.

‘cause you just can’t, you’d frown, untouched and yet wholly humiliated.

and though it thoroughly stings an inner part of the guitarist to unearth each and every insecurity lashed into you over the course of your life, it hits a spot very near and dear to his heart, knowing you’re so vulnerable and fragile beneath him.

genuine.

it’s hard to come across anything real these days. you’re something of a miracle, then, to hobie brown; he’s found a glimmering thing amidst the grimy, stone rubble and refuses to let it go.

he’s your first boyfriend, your first peck on the lips and hand to hold yours (beside your father’s) when you cross the street. he’s your stop sign, he’s your green light, sometimes he’s even the roadblock and the blinking yellow lights that tell you to slow down before you get hurt.

you blink when his bronze knuckles smear away an errant tear that teems over your lashline.

“oi, why you cryin’…?” he whispers, deep brown, heedful eyes coated in a soft sheen.

his hands dote on you, gently caressing your skin, thumbing over the plush dip of your parted lips- and you make a pleasant sound at that, but even when his slacks tighten in response, his gaze doesn’t sway from yours.

a dulcet, bashful smile carves into your cheeks, smaller palm enclosing over the wide back of his.

“‘cause i just love you so much.”

hobie blinks. and he knows that the temperature of his forehead is rivaling that of a fever.

as if that wasn’t cruel enough, his mind short-circuits when a tentative hand snakes down, clasping his other one that rests numbly over the frilly hem of your panties.

“so…” your eyes- bless your anxious soul- swiftly tap away from his, cloudy as you arch your tummy (that baggy shirt of yours is draping off your exposed midsection) into his lower abdomen.

“y-you can have your way,” you murmur, adding almost as a diffident afterthought-

“only if you want to, ‘course-”

his lips find yours in an instant, tongue prodding insistently before ultimately slipping inside your mouth with a muffled groan. and that ever patient pinky laced around your undies jitters, tugging ‘em down your soft thighs and helping them around your knees.

his kiss only relents when you’re gasping for breath, a delightful mix of your saliva dribbling down your chin- which you wipe away at with belated horror- your eyes colored with what he blissfully realizes to be want.

gorgeous, raw, want.

his own are tinted like that, too. just a bit more saturated, louder and unashamed. that’s okay, though, hobie can fill those selfish gaps for you.

you want him, that’s more than enough. (doesn’t ever stop a dreamer from dreaming, though.)

“are you-?” he scoffs breathlessly, “‘course i want to,” he confesses, trying his very hardest to not spin a heady gaze down to your nakedness below, brain fizzing with the blipping idea of swinging your calves over his shoulder and feasting.

then again, hobie really doesn’t think he can wait any longer- not now, not when you’ve just drove a hammer through the very last layer of ice.

“you’re not pullin’ my leg, are you?” (his words are slurring, his throat is fire, his body wants to cave and melt into yours and he realizes with silent dismay that he may look like a complete buffoon.)

“you’re not-…” hobie swallows thickly. carefully considering his next words, although reason comes very blotted.

“cause if you get me up then you won’t ever be able to get me back down, love, n’ the last thing i wanna do is make a sobbing mess outta you.”

well. maybe… depends…

a determined, adorable little pout crosses you. your fingers tug at his vest- not nearly enough to rock or even faze him, but you’re mindful still to not treat him rough when you give him a little shake.

hobie blows a shallow, quavery breath through his nostrils. and grapples at his ebbing composure-

but he needs to keep it, just for now, just until you tell him it’s okay to completely and utterly rebrand you. (and oh, fuck, he’s just getting himself more worked up. maybe you’re right, maybe hobie needs to edify his self control and his sometimes unreasonable imagination. it just gets so out of hand with you.)

“oh, aren’t you cute?” he rasps, “but i need big words, yeah? so look me in my eyes- hey,” he jerks his chin when your eyes loll away again- “hey, look me in the eyes- dead serious-… and tell me what you want o’ me.”

you gnaw on your bottom lip, and hobie can tell you’re fighting tooth and nail to keep your watery eyes trained to his hooded, burning ones.

his chest heaves an airy, desperate sigh, “i’m not teasin’ you, love, i swear it,” he promises, one hand tracing the gentle slope of your tummy while the other balances valiantly over your inner, naked thigh, his face hardly keeping a cool, apathetic glaze. “jus’ gotta help me out here.”

so you nod, meek and mild, chirping out a stammering yes, i really want you hobie, that widens his eyes ever so slightly, an unwitting, very pleased hum loosing from his chest.

he puffs out a low, wordlessly relieved breath.

“…easy, yeah?” he whispers sagely, eyes finally flitting down.

and his dick jumps in his trousers at the pretty cunt he sees resting between the legs speared either side of his knee, squirming and dripping wet when your definitely-boyfriend nudges at it and spots a stain on his jeans.

“oh, fuck,” he hisses, brows furrowing and he can’t help the curious, lustful wiggle of his knee against your bare cunt before he grudgingly meets your eye again.

and this time, his are far less rational, exponentially devoid of his usual, composed wit, and instead drenched in thick, unbridled yearning.

you understand perfectly well, then, that hobie meant what he said when he told you dissuading his made-up mind would be fruitless.

he intakes a sharp breath through his teeth, and the ring in his lip suddenly shines a little meaner.

“see? …jus’ needed a quick answer ‘fore i completely and utterly abolished that sweet, sweet pussy.”

and with that, he unbinds his chains.

his middle digit snakes down, dipping between your folds and basking in the hot slick he discovers with a heavy huff. chuckling softly at the near-insubstantial whine you make.

he ministers a good, tantalizing few rubs there to work you up while also to get a nice feel of you- by no means a thorough one, no, that’ll be for when he undoes his zipper, but it’s enough to sate an ounce of his demanding appetite- before withdrawing his hand with a squelch.

“listen to you,” he says, pearly teeth glinting in the soft light of early morning peeking through the curtains. “making a sobbing mess of your own, mm? that cunt of yours sure knows how to cry.”

“hobie!” a humiliated whine of his name coupled with an unwitting, desperate buck of your hips has hobie throwing cold water over himself.

“…don’t be mean,” you whisper delicately, and he offers a belated, tenuous nod.

that doesn’t stop him from popping his sticky fingers into his mouth, though, sucking on the bittersweet, feminine juices webbed between them- steadying his eyes on yours the whole time, even when they roll back a bit from the taste and he has to stifle a moan.

“sorry, dove,” he at least has the shame to apologize, settling himself between your thighs entirely, sitting up to start peeling off his holey shirt and vest.

“just somethin’ ‘bout you that makes me wanna riot, yeah? …throw everything and everyone who tries to tussle you into a fleapit.”

you sigh at the disorderly glimpse of his mindset he shows you, yet your cheeks burn and your fingers entwine with his when one hand curls into yours, pressing it beside your head.

“my bit of advice?” he raises a shrewd brow, “you don’t need any of ‘em,” he not so subtly assures, briefly leaning down to press a kiss to the tip of your nose.

leveling himself. quelling his lust.

“…too lovely for all those rotten, demeaning fuckin’ pigs.”

and his free hand untucks himself from his boxers, giving his hard, aching length a few cursory pumps- an action you dutifully look away from- and smearing the pre over it. his breath hitches as he lines himself up, mustering just enough rational thought to spare you one last steamy, imploring look.

“you good w’this?”

“yes,” you confirm again, a little antsy as he slots himself up.

a trace of a languid, hazy grin teases his lips.

“…w’me all up inside you…?”

in one moment, you’re pouting his name with chagrin and in the next, he’s sliding the angry tip through your folds. he regards your expression carefully, pausing maybe not even an inch in when your chest freezes and you paw at his forearm.

he sucks on his teeth, and realizes a beat later that he’s not breathing, either.

the punk sighs shallowly, a hint of amusement there. “y’gotta breathe, love. too tight like this- how else’ll i get through?”

so you try.

for his sake, because you love him, and he’s made it abundantly clear- what with all his patient kisses and countless drop-ins at your place or cute cafe job- that he’s head over heels for you, too.

you exhale deeply, lashes screwing shut and fanning frenetically over your dazzling cheekbones when hobie presses in closer, rucking up your shirt with an absent twitch of his nose to reveal your breast.

he murmurs something you don’t quite catch, and nuzzles his face between them after you wind your fingers over his hair- careful not to disrupt it- and nod.

“sorry,” you stammer quietly. but he kisses that away, too, lips peppering over your chest before moving to your neck- and it takes everything in him to not shove the rest of his cock in you right then.

“s’alright, sweetheart, no reason for ‘at,” he consoles, “it’ll hurt a bit-… you want me to go slow, yeah? can do that for you.”

you hum, so pretty, in response. it’s what inevitably spurs on the unwittingly sharp buck of his hips into yours- snuffing out the whine you make with a lingering, messy kiss, muting a feral groan on his end into the juncture of your neck.

he hisses, cautiously bullying another three inches in and managing to placate your latent cries with a babbling string of i love you’s and hey, eyes on me, jus’ keep ‘em on me.

“see?” he huffs, tossing a weighty look down to where the two of you connect beautifully.

there’s a glittering red ring of blood gathering around the base of his cock, one that his chest swells deliciously at, and a mix of your shared arousal that wets his pelvis and the smattering of hair there.

“we’re almost in. only hard part ‘bout it was me, mm?”

you belatedly nod, still gnawing away on your bottom lip, and bite back an unrestrained giggle.

“j-just hurry, hobie,” you suddenly say, lashes hazily fluttering open, pretty eyes flitting between the sharp lines of his face and then the lewd scene playing below.

his hands steady your hips, reminding him to take it slow, that you’re not ready for it all in one blinding, heavy blow.

“what’d you mean, dove? any more hurrying and i’ll jus’ put you in gorgeous li’l shambles. you’ll be beautiful, still, but…” he blinks. “don’t wanna hurt you- told you that, di’n i?”

“i know,” you squeak out, “i just wanna get it over with… i-it’ll start feeling better soon… right?”

hobie takes a moment to think, albeit his thoughts are all scrabbled and dotty.

a hesitant, slight smile crosses his face, his thumb rubbing circles into the fat below your hip.

not that the idea of ramming it all into your sweet, virgin cunt doesn’t sound fucking perfect- because it does- just that he means what he said about not wanting to hurt you, and he’s not so sure he wants to completely speedrun this romantic, memorable event anyway.

you’re something treasured to him. he doesn’t want to ruin you or muck up the wholly sincere, soft way you look at him in passing. hobie doesn’t want to scare you away.

“you sure? …over a hundred percent- you’d really want me to shove it all inside you in one painful, quick go?”

you bite on your lip, a bit teary though you try to hold it back, and nod.

so hobie takes a heavy second to lean over and indulge in a saccharine, sloppy kiss, consoling you as best as he can before wrapping his hands tight under your thighs and-

“mmph, fuck-“

ramming himself completely inside with one swift thrust.

your eyes go wide, a soundless shriek getting caught somewhere in your throat, and hobie heaves a shivering breath when he realizes he’s truly, fully, finally to the hilt within you.

your velvety walls, tight as they are, suck him right in. squeezing and suffocating and so fucking hot and gooey that he vaguely wonders if he’s deliquescing inside you.

melting, fusing together like one. losing all his little nuances to yours- trading beings, overtaking you.

it’s a beautiful surrender to which he succumbs.

“mm, hobie-“ you mewl, looping your arms ‘round his lean torso and clawing at his back. his skin is hot, broiling to the touch much like yours, and your nails dig unintentional scratches there that have his belly flipping.

he grunts, “that’s my girl, hold onto me jus’ like that. gonna pound y’into tomorrow. make you feel me even then- won’t even know what hit you, love.”

you yelp when his hips retreat some, only to smash back against yours with a heavy pap, something newfound and brilliant burning in his core.

“make you love me-” oh, fuck, he’s babbling, he thinks, making an utter fool of himself probably, but he can’t stop now, not when your cunt is so warm and gripping him like a vice, unwilling to release him.

he doesn’t want you to.

“jus’ me and you and nobody fuckin’ else, yeah?” a violent groan rumbles in his chest, his eyes scraping over every inch of you for something- some blinking green light to tell him to keep going, that you want him, that you fucking breathe him like he does you.

“not your friends or pops or those bastards on the outside tryna get a peek in at us- dead to us, all o’ em.”

and he drinks you up like that, bouncing and crying sweetly on his big cock, that tingling pain starting to forge into tiny, growing jolts of pleasure that have your walls clamping around him.

“so bloody tight f’me,” he muses, brows furrowed into lurid shadows. “makin’ it so difficult to push on through- you wanna kick me out or keep me in, love? y’gotta make the choice- shit.”

“oi,” he snips when your mouth parts open and you bury your watery gaze with a trembling wrist. “look at me while i love you, while i pull you apart like this-” and adding almost as an afterthought, a bit softer, a bit more depraved,

“please.”

you reluctantly shift your arm, eyes meeting his,

“obedient thing.”

-and time slows.

he sucks in a deep, shuddering breath. you’re beautiful beneath him, all his, only his. he can’t mind the way you utterly and irreparably devastate him.

your pussy envelopes him so tight and with one choked, lovely moan of his name, he can tell you’re really warming up to his services- you want more, even.

“so perfect,” hobie observes, stuffing himself into your clenching, needy hole like a man possessed, weaving his fingers with yours either side of your head.

“pleasurable, innit? she’s startin’ to like this cock, mm? enjoying the way i stretch and open her?”

he huffs, “to think she didn’t want me for a time- givin’ me a bloody warm welcoming gift now, don’t ya think?” he flashes you a half grin, gritting his teeth when he hits that spongey, soft spot inside you and you loose a wanton, whorish moan.

you’re embarrassed of it- and his vulgar words- scrambling to lower your head, taking your bottom lip between your pearly teeth.

“no need to hide, pretty. there’s no going back- you and i.”

he delivers a particularly harsh thrust, with full intention to drag another one of those gorgeous sounds from you, and your hands squeeze his tight, your back arching into him like a crescent moon.

“h-hobie-“ you gasp- “i’m- feel- i feel so-“

“full?” he smirks breathlessly, dropping his forehead to yours. your skin simmers, so does his. you manage a feeble nod. “good,” he says.

and with every pump of his hips he gets a little bit closer, and with every keening plea that falls from your shiny, swollen lips you inch towards a delightful precipice of your own.

yet there’s still an ounce of hesitance there- niggling and doubtful and so uneasy it might swiftly snowball into something ugly-

hobie’s the one to push you off.

babbling almost drunkenly against your lips, slamming into you like the world would collapse if he went any slower, breaths rippling with animalistic, heady infatuation.

“you’re my girl,” his words, rumbling, drip with something starkly possessive, “not my ex or anything else beside it, you get it? and what,-“

his grasp darts from your loosened, restless fingers and settles hotly over the curve of your waist.

“you thinking you could boot me aside-?” he forces out a delighted, mildly worrisome sound, a laugh mingled with a moan, fisting at your hips and burying himself deep in your cunt. so fucking deep you think you might split, like hobie really might break you, his cock bullying into your greedy, wet walls with such ignited, unbridled purpose that your head spins with pink and blue stars.

“’at’s all hogwash, pretty girl- and i’ll give you a proper good fuck so you never forget it.”

and with that, hobie ruts into you harder, and he feels every unique, bubbling sensation in exceptional quality. his balls, heavy and so unbearably ready, slap against your ass, tightening with need. his fingers twitch into your hips, his lips blowing out a strained, incoherent mess of passionate vows.

“-put my seed in your tummy, fill y’up with me, yeah? get you so fuckin’ full and sappy you’ll never want nothin’ else— jus’ me n’ you. bloody hell.”

and with one final violent, sloppy thrust, hobie stills inside you and moans.

loud, partly lost to your lips when he roughly captures them and digs into the meat of your hips- so tight he anticipates admiring the colorful bruises left there come tomorrow.

you come, too, lovely cunt squeezing his cock so tight a wild shiver rolls down his spine and he shakes, basking in the shameless cry of his name that washes over him.

he manages a few more spent, lingering thrusts into your abused, fluttering hole before collapsing atop you.

his whole weight envelopes you, lean, strong arms circling your middle as he shifts and presses you against him. you curl into him with a shaken, delicate heave, his chin resting over the crown of your head when you burrow into his naked chest.

he peppers a long, sentimental kiss there, hickory eyes finally finding the nerve to fall shut as he holds you against him, still buried deep inside your cunny.

the golden-grey light of early morning laves over you both, but hobie, after sparing you a cautious glance, shoots a small web and tapes shut that slivered curtain.

“did so well for me, love.”

you offer a sleepy, mumbling whine in return. and something unbelievably warm unfurls in his chest as you gently fall asleep against him, little hands clutching him like he was the red lifering thrown to you amidst thrashing waves.

“-n’ what’s your daddy gonna do now, eh?” he whispers eventually, nuzzling his nose against your slumbering head.

and, dark lashes splayed over his sharp cheekbones, hobie doesn’t fight back the smug, deeply satisfied smirk that takes over half of his face.

“…my dna’s swimmin’ in you, too.”

[hobies-gf]

Oh god oh fuck okay no anon option so we die like warriors. You said any hobie ideas so I'm going for it fuck it Witness me. (This is nsfw so if that isn't what you wanted feel free to delete this before you read further )

Hobie who loves to make you feel like his girl, just doting and constantly trying to please you, He just loves watching you take him and listening to you beg for him, it makes him feel so needed and it just makes him fuck you harder. He loves stretching you on him, loves making you gasp about how it won't fit, then making it fit anyways.

And he's the literal god of aftercare too. I mean carrying you to the bath after he's done cuddling you type beat.

(sorry again if this isn't what you wanted to read sorry sorry sorry)

oh i love this so much <3 im a firm believer that hobie is a borderline service top. dont get me wrong, he'll always be the dominant one in any scenario, but he just loves to please you. he fucking lives for it.

he gets so pussy drunk, whether he's eating you out or fucking you on his cock, he goes wild. Your moans and whines egg him on and he's a fucking talker. "feels so fuckin' good f'me baby, ya like that? Shit I like it too baby, feels amazing, pussy made for me, she can't let me go. fuck- fuck yeah, i'll come inside don't worry."

he's borderline babbling nonsense at this point, getting off on the way you squeeze him at his lewd words. Despite feeling so good he might pass out he loves to keep his eyes on you. he honestly looks crazy the way his eyes run over every single part of you when he pushes his cock in for the first time that day. but he can't help it the way his dick just hardens even more when you cry about his size. "I'll make it fit sweet thing, no worries about that." and when his hips are finally flush with you, he'll let out a long, guttural groan. "see? Told ya it'll fit, y'can even see me poking out."

he'll fuck you for as long as you want him to, doesn't matter if his dick is hurting or if he's so sensitive that hes shaking so hard on top of you, he'll make his girl the happiest she could ever want. and when its all over, hobie will kiss you in the sweetest way. brushing your hair out of your face before he gives you a quick peck on the forehead. he'll go off and get you some water and a towel, or if you really want he'll even help you take shower. <3

[hobies-gf]

hey !! sorry for being so DEAD (￣□￣|||) INBOX IS OPEN so plzzzzzz send any reqs for hobie 人´∀｀)

[hobies-gf]

yall pls help me out i cant find the miguel ohara sugar daddy au cai bot ƈ ͡ (ुŏ̥̥̥̥ ‸ ŏ̥̥̥̥) ुƈ ͡ (ुŏ̥̥̥̥ ‸ ŏ̥̥̥̥) ुƈ ͡ (ुŏ̥̥̥̥ ‸ ŏ̥̥̥̥) ुƈ ͡ (ुŏ̥̥̥̥ ‸ ŏ̥̥̥̥) ु