#and there's a spider ring that is. Gorgeous.

[sincericida]

Andrew Garfield (in 2019)

[playingplayer2]

I've had 4 hours (almost exactly ajejejzhhhhhndbiznskansbz) of sleep since around 4pm on Sunday... It's almost 6:30am on Tuesday. Please end me :)

[k4lenz]

"poor baby.." ✮ hobie brown x fem!reader

a/n: what is up!!!! this is my first fic, AND IT IS NSFW. but i've had this idea stuck in my head and it literally won't go away so basically it's hobie being gone for a while from his universe because of a mission, and his reunion with reader (his gf) when he comes home very affectionate!! reassuring, and just hobes n reader being cutesy and in love nsfw will be below the cut!!! if you like this, pls interact and my reqs r open <3 word count: 1.6k!! notes: smut, scratching, riding, fingering, praise, eye contact, heavy affection, soft turned rough, established relationship, no protection, pussy eating (hobie is a munch n nobody can change my mind), subspace, aftercare

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 Hobie was tired. Exhausted, really. Pulling his mask up in the dead of night as he slipped into his apartment through his bedroom window. Throwing it aside. He was just happy to be back in his universe after a draining mission, because it was somewhere where he could properly relax. With his beautiful girl. Speaking of his girl, you laid on his bed unstirring. Wearing one of his hoodies and wrapped up in the blankets, sleeping peacefully. He had been afraid to leave you all by yourself in this shithole of a universe for a week, but you'd reassured him that you'd be okay. He chuckled fondly to himself at the sight of your peaceful sleeping face, stripping himself out of his Spider-Suit and into a pair of sweatpants instead. You quietly stirred, eyes slightly opening and blinking awake. Sitting up with a soft gasp when you realized what, or rather who, was in your house. "Hobes!" You squealed, getting up and latching onto him the minute you recognized the silhouette of his wicks. Always excited to see him. This mission had been extra long, and you'd missed him. Hobie grinned, gently wrapping his arms around you and placing you back onto the bed. Climbing on top of you, the dark moonlight barely illuminating his face. "Ay, luv. Missed me?" You pressed a kiss to his lips, nodding with a cute little smile and eagerly looking up at him. Settling back under the covers with him. "Mhm. How'd the mission go?"

He grumbled at the thought of that mission, kissing you back before muttering. "Fuckin'ell, was a handful dolly. Miguel never fails to get on me nerves. Just satisfied to be back here with ya." You pulled him down and cuddled up to him. He cooed, realizing what you wanted. "Poor baby. Must've been s'lonely." He teased, moving so he was sitting up in the bed with his back against the headboard, and you were straddling him. He peppered kisses all over your face. You whined in response to the affection and teasing, pouting. He grinned, leaning your forehead against his own and noticing how pent up you seemed. "Awww. What is it? Use ya words, I know ya can. Got somethin' to tell me?" "Need you 'Obie." You mumbled under your breath, and his eyebrows raised. "Oh, 's that it? Sweet lil' ting, been worked up all the time 've been gone? Huh?" He gently started to pull up your hoodie over your head, he'd already noticed you hadn't worn anything underneath earlier.

He cooed as you whimpered in reply, you didn't even need to use words. His hands slowly slid up your thigh all the way to your already glistening cunt. "Christ, y'really do want me. Don't think I even need to prep you. Gettin' wet at just the sight of me now?" But he did decide to prep you anyway, finger circling your clit before gently sliding down and into you. The cool metal of his rings on his hand making you shudder, a sigh escaping you. Nuzzling your face into the crook of his neck as your body tensed, breathing heavily against his skin. Squirming as his finger curled inside your dripping entrance. He let you adjust to being stretched out, taking it slow before adding a second finger. Listening to your shaky moans as you got overwhelmed. The sound of your noises filling the room. "Takin' me fingers so well. Knew this gorgeous pussy craved me. You were the only thing on my mind." You loved him, and this moment. Those calloused rough fingers you'd seen him use to play guitar about a million times now stroking your g-spot. You were his 'warmup' as he called it, sometimes using you before a show to get his fingers ready. His thumb came up to rub your clit again, making you squeal. You grinded your hips down, and he took that as a sign you were more then ready. Pulling you into a passionate heated kiss as he slipped his fingers out of you, to quickly pull his sweatpants and boxers down. His throbbing erection springing free, hard and already leaking with precum. The sight of it almost made you want to get on your knees. "See what 'y do to me, baby?" He nudged your legs further apart with his hand, then lined himself up. You writhed as you felt his tip press against your aching slit. He moved to gently gripped your hips, slowly sinking you down. "Ffffuck, Attagirl." You let out a soft whine, always struggling to take him because he was just so big. You swore it felt like he was impaling you, and he liked it. He left a hand on your hips, the other hand wandering up to your chin to force your doe eyes to look at who was fucking you. "Eyes on me, doll. You know the rules." He spoke sweetly, a surprise, considering most of the time it was done harshly in a destroying-your-insides kind of way. This was soft, instead. He purred when you managed to look at him and his thumb soothingly rubbed your face. Starting to slowly thrust up into you as you sputtered out a cry. "Ssshhhh, that's it. Good girl. You can do it." He reassured, as you wrapped your arms around his neck to cling to him. Wanting him to be as close as possible, the sound of your wet cunt slapping against his dick only serving to make you both more turned on. You slowly started riding him on your own, but his other hand on your hips stayed to help lift you so you wouldn't get too tired too quickly, his own hips thrusting up to meet yours as well. "Missed you s'much.." You slurred desperately and he chuckled, observing your eyes as they clouded with lust. "I know, I know you did, sweet thing. Don't worry, I gotcha." Grinding yourself down onto his cock like your life depended on it. Clawing at his back and moaning when his tip hit that perfect spot, sending shudders through your body. He let out a soft grunt, as you clenched around him like a vice. With each piston of his dick, you became more of a mindless thing. He let out a hiss as you continue to weakly lift yourself up and down, and he decided to switch your positions. Quickly pinning you underneath him on the bed and starting a deep pace. "S alright, baby. Relax. You did so well, j'st gonna take care of you now." He whispered into your ear as you wriggled and cried out. "God, your pretty little pussy is so tight. Tryna fuckin' milk me." He kissed down your neck, both hands now gripping her waist.

Your glossed over eyes stared up at him as he pounded into you, feeling him twitch. "Good fuckin' girl. Huh? Gonna let me fill you?" He laughed as you nodded eagerly, too fucked out to form a single thought. He gave one last push, before spilling his seed deep inside you. Panting as he let his head droop against yours, his grunts and groans slowly stopping. You pouted as he pulled out, managing a soft- "Obie? What're you-" as he settled between your legs with a 'Shhh'. Quickly getting to work. You wrapped your legs around his head, pulling him imminently closer to the spot you desperately needed him. His tongue lapped at your wet heat like he was a starving man, unrelenting and desperate. Mewls quickly spilling from your mouth as your slick and his cum dripped down your slit, now mixed with his saliva. You arched your back, already close from just how quickly Hobie had gone from railing you and abusing your cervix to eating you out like nothing else mattered. His tongue, pierced, circled your clit making you practically scream. Your hands scrambled to grip the sheets tightly beside you. "Hobie!" Your eyes rolled back into your skull as you reached that climax, letting out a loud whimper. You could've sworn you were seeing stars as white hot pleasure rushed through you. As you slowly came down from the high, you mumbled gibberish, tears streaming from your eyes. Hobie quickly gave your cunt one last lick before wrapping his arms around you and pulling you in close, realizing you'd slipped into subspace. Pressing kisses to your sobbing face. "S alright my darlin'. You did so good for me today. So 'appy to be back wit'cha." He whispered in a soft reassuring tone, as you cuddled up to him. Craving his warmth. "I love you so much." He keened and nuzzled into your neck, showing you all the appreciation he knew you needed. He liked nothing better then seeing your little face so out of it. He gently picked you and a water bottle up and carried you to the bathroom, sitting you on the counter and grabbing a cloth. Running it under warm water as he cleaned both him and yourself off. Your lips managed to find his, and he smiled and kissed you back. Filling up the water bottle in the mean time and pressing it to your mouth. "Drink." He commanded, though it was gentle. Your boyfriend loved you, and taking care of you was always his priority. "Good. Y'want to go back to bed? 'S pretty late now." "Mhm." You replied quietly, and next thing you knew the water bottle sat on the bedside table next to you and you were wrapped up under the thick fluffy blankets and Hobie. Shutting your eyes as they drooped and silently appreciating having your Spider-Man back home.

[ultravioletrayz]

a request? what about your edging miguel and so you let him cum since he begging it however we continuing to do it? and so what about this but with cumplay ? you know,and he.....like into it,like you playing with he cum, on his body.thigh. abs, idk anywhere and just licking it idk?

so a kinda dom/sub!miguel x fem!reader

yea im crazy for a whiny men whos loves anything we do and espically whimper and beg

you with me girlie?

Yes yes yes, totally with you.

The plot for this was inspired by this ask, btw!!

@ce3stvu tagging my bby girl <3

Pairing: sub!miguel o’hara x dom!f!reader

Warnings: 18+, handjob, edging, cumplay, cum eating, dacryphillia if you squint, themes of jealousy

Summary: you remind miguel who he belongs to

A/N: i love dom!migs, but something about imagining that big man all whiny and crying is sooo hot

Word Count: 1K

It’s all that stupid bitch’s fault. The thought is swirling around in Miguel’s head on repeat as his hips pathetically twitch and spasm upwards to try and loosen the grip you have around the blushing tip of his cock. Still, you merely apply more pressure, squeezing his poor head so hard your fingers act as a makeshift cock ring, making it impossible for Miguel to acquire any sense of relief as your other hand fondles his heavy, aching balls with little skill, your only goal being to tease him. 

This was a much better way of reminding Miguel of your loyalty to one another than talking it out. Frankly, you didn’t even know how to approach discussing the topic. You were supposed to be Miguel’s angelic, bubbly little girlfriend. You didn’t want to cause a fight over some random spider-woman from work. 

Instead, you smile from ear to ear as you watch the beads of tears that cling to Miguel’s gorgeous, thick eyelashes as he sobs and begs to cum, after you’ve denied climax after climax with your possessive grip around the thick circumference of his dick. 

There’s no doubt in your mind that other spider-people can hear Miguel’s unapologetic whines from outside his office, and the thought makes your mind a hazy fog of lust and pride. Hopefully, that new girl that Miguel was training, the one that kept running her grubby hands all over his arms and back like you were an idiot and wouldn’t notice her blatant flirting. 

You had initially felt guilty when you pulled Miguel away from his sparring session with the girl, leading him to his office with one goal in mind: reiterating that Miguel is yours and yours alone.

But now that he's been forced into becoming this mess of desperation and sticky pre-cum, your worries and shame have vanished. Only your touch can make Miguel feel this way, making him lose all of his self-control and dignity. And he does the same thing to you. Sure, an outsider would probably say all of this jealousy and possessiveness is toxic or overbearing, but you and Miguel can't help but cling to one another. You're each other's soulmates. That new girl could never compare.

"Hah- ah, fuck! M-Mami, por favor… need- ah! need to cum. Please, please l-lemme cum-!" Miguel begs, his tear-stained cheek squished against the smooth material of your spider suit that conceals your tits, but the warmth of his face seeps through the fabric, his breath causing your nipples to perk up at the subtle contact as you lean over him and giggle. 

You keep your fingers squeezed around his tip, rubbing his swollen head in circular motions as your other hand cups his balls in the comfort of your palm. The tension around Miguel’s tip is almost torturous, making him curse and thrash around in his office chair as he desperately attempts to make your hand slip even slightly so that his dick can breathe again. 

The thick, chocolate-brown hair that adorns the tan flesh from his belly button down to his base caresses your forearm each time Miguel fails to push through the restraint of your fist and thrust into your closed hand. 

You feel bad for taking your insecurities out on your poor, unsuspecting boyfriend, who was just trying to be a good boss and do his job, so you decide to give him a break.

"Yeah? You gonna cum for me, guapo?" You coo teasingly, releasing the pressure around the leaky head of Miguel's cock and instead starting to pump his shaft, your pace fast and sloppy as you make up for the time spent prohibiting Miguel from having any kind of release. 

Miguel's climax hits him like a freight train, his back arching drastically and his claws digging into his seat as his rock-hard cock spurts bucket loads of cum up into the air, the gooey strands of his devotion to you hitting his toned abs and coating the hair on his thighs and stomach, creating a pooling mess of semen, sweat, and tears as he slumps back in his chair and splutters.

You watch with wide eyes as Miguel's cum decorates his tan skin, like an abstract painting of your composition. And you couldn't be more proud of yourself. In a hypnotised state of desire and devotion, you scramble to your knees in between Miguel's spread thighs. 

With a smile on your face, you lick a fat, sloppy stripe from Miguel's pelvis up to his juicy pecs, gathering his cum on your flat tongue and swallowing. He tastes divine.

No other bitch would treat him like this, using her hands and mouth to worship him like you do. You lap up every thick glob of shimmering cum from Miguel's panting body, not even able to savour it due to your desperation to taste all of him.

"You taste so good, Mig." You moan, eyes fluttering at the salty, decadent flavour of Miguel's cum flooding your senses. Your hand keeps pumping him slowly, milking every last drop of his delicious cum from his cock as you worship his body and devour his essence as it glistens on his stomach and thighs. 

Your free hand scoops up some of his mess to watch how the strings make your fingers stick together, before shoving your digits in your mouth and sucking the cum off your fingers. 

Miguel chuckles and moans at the sight of his pretty girl so desperate to please him, all to ensure his loyalty. The fact that you're more willing to drag your wet tongue up and down his cum-covered, shivering body than have a conversation about your feelings is a little odd, but Miguel's not complaining. It's sweet to see how much you love him, and how much you hate that new bitch for thinking she stands a chance against you.

Miguel holds your chin in his hands and stops you from feasting on any more of his cum, directing your gorgeous face upwards so that you're staring into his eyes. You rest your tacky hands on his thighs, making him tremble ever so slightly at the way your skin sticks to his, binding the two of you together. 

Breathlessly, Miguel whispers to you, his girl, his one and only, the love of his life, with a crooked smile on his sweaty, fucked-out face.

"Sólo para ti, hermosa."

sick and tired of miguel being depicted as the “jealous and possessive” one in the relationship. If I had a man like that, I’d be just as crazy

[all444miles]

can you do miles with and earthy black girl! Like I can see him wanting her nose rings, and accessories but don’t get me started on how he SIMPS for her waist beads. He loves seeing her at school with her hair wrap and locs and her lavender and coco sent, she’s a calm person to!

thank you so much for your AMAZING work God bless❤️❤️❤️❤️

— DOWN TO EARTH

— pairing: both miles' x black!earthy!fem!reader — genre: fluff — summary: what its like for both miles' to date an earthy girl ‹3 — a/n: quick note, the reader calls 1610 miles "bambi" as a nickname becuase he reminds her of a baby deer ‹3 (credits to my pookie for that !!) — a/n 2: I didn't know which miles you meant, so i just did both 😭 also pretend that brooklyn visions academy doesnt have a uniform.. i was tired writing this so im rlly rlly RLLLY sorry if this is bad but, i hope you like this, and enjoy !! ‹3

E-42 MILES

Miles loves being in your room. the smell of burning coconut incense, the look of your fairy lights, the small plants, it felt so chill, so peaceful. he liked that.

he always knows which incense you've used, and will pick up if you've changed them. He'll buy you some if you need any more.

"You got rid of the coconut incense? Mami, that one was my favorite." "Baby, I only have one pack left." "Oh? Aight, i'll buy you some tomorrow."

he'll never tell you, but if he misses you, he'll listen to your favorite songs that you'd always hum to yourself when you two are alone.

does he like Erykah Badu? Yes, yes he does. he'll listen to Green Eyes on his missions with his uncle whenever he gets the chance.

his uncle caught him once; one of the most embarrassing moments of his life.

"Kid, you listenin' Erykah Badu? Ian know you into allat." "Yo chill, it's only cuz my girl like her." "Mhm. You sure you my nephew or am I trippin?" "Tio, let's just roll."

he's loves to cuddle with you, especially cause you always smell like lavender. he won't let you go either.

"Miles, I gotta get some food." "Nuh, in a minute." "Hun, you done said that 2 minutes ago." "Exactly, in a minute. I like being here."

absolutely in love with your waist beads. he loves the jewllery you were (you both have matching necklaces), but your waist beads? goes absolutely crazy whenever you wearing a crop top and you have them on.

one time you two were at a beach and you wore them with your bikini, he might as well have fell in love with you all over again. bro has his hands on your waist the whoooleee time.

"Princesa, never take off your waist beads." "Why? You like 'em?" "¿Gustarme? Chica, Dios mío, estoy enamorada de ellos." (Like them? Girl, my god, i'm in love with them.) "Miles!" "What? I'm just appreciating my queen n her style, ion see no problem."

E-1610 MILES

Miles is obsessed, like, obsessed, with your style.

if you two live close, he'll style your locs and do your head wrap for you before school.

if not, he'll come to school excited to see your ootd. that is, as if you don't send them to him everyday before school.

"You look gorgeous in your outfit, amor." "Thank you Miles. You do know i already showed you it before school, right?" "So? It's always better to see my wife's outfits in person." "Bambi, you so corny."

he draws you, all the time. look through his sketchbook and you'll find drawings of his friends from the spider society, his uncle, and thousands of you.

Instead of doing what his twin does, when he misses you, he'll draw you. He misses you a lot.

"Baby, can I see your sketchbook?" "..Uhm, yeah! Sure." "You draw me? Awwe, that's so cute."

he loves how calm you are, he actually thinks of you as an angel the way you're so peaceful.

he thinks your nose rings are so gorgeous. if you let him pick which nose ring, he'll be so honored.

adores the fact you smell like lavender. he'll always lay his head into the crook of your neck because he loves your scent sm.

like his counterpart, he's so fascinated to your waist beads. like, he just thinks you look so beautiful with em. One time, you put his hands on your waist, he honestly didn't know what to do with himself.

"Mami, did you know I love your waist beads?" "Yes, bambi, i know." "Nah, but I loooovvveeeee them!" "Baby, i know!" "Like, I looooooooooooovvvvvvvveeeeee them!" "Love, please."

© all444miles 2023. do not plagerize, copy, or repost my work in any way shape or form, without my permission.

likes, reblogs, comments and asks are always appreciated !

[the-kr8tor]

I just saw that your requests are opennnn. Would you be so kind to write something with alt/goth/heavy lipstick wearer r kissing Hobie's face and leaving kissing marks?? Maybe Hobie kisses r back and since he's also a lipstick wearer he leaves marks on r face too! And mayyybe they're not fast enough (or they just don't care to be seen like that) and their friends are just like, damn those lovebirds

As always, only if you feel comfortable to! Or in case that you have a similar prompt I'd love to read it! Take care and drink water bb love ur brain 🖤🖤🖤

Aisbwijsjwjsjs so cute!! Thank you for requesting! 🩷

Pairing: Hobie Brown x gn! Reader/ Spider-Punk x gn! Reader

Tags: No use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader (except they're mentioned wearing makeup), lots of smooches, lovestruck Hobie, Fluff!

ʕ⁠·⁠ᴥ⁠·⁠ʔ

You're incredibly glad that Hobie made this long vanity for you and him because now you can enjoy the view of him sitting next to you while he puts on his show makeup complete with dark smudged eyeshadow and black lipstick. Your hand is paused around your own lipstick, (a deep wine shade to compliment the same colour of his guitar) eyes ogling his own expert hand as he glides the lipstick on his lips.

Hobie notices of course, he flicks his eyes over to you, mirroring your position, smiling at your lovestruck gaze. “Careful,” he rubs his thumb across your bottom lip, “you're droolin’”

You gasp, feigning offense but you don't move away from his touch even though he has smudged your own lipstick. “No I'm not.” Shaking your head, Hobie rubs the slight red tint from his thumb to his own lips. You swear your brain short circuited right there. “You…” you practically sigh the word, “smudged my lipstick.”

Hobie, being the menace that he is, hops his chair closer to you. Head on his palm, face leaning close, eyes that are illuminated by the vanity lights roam all over your pretty face that you've painstakingly made up for his show. ‘for inspiration while you're on stage,’ you said, but you'd be a distraction for him, the best kind of distraction. He can see your breath stuck in your throat. “I think I made it better actually.”

“No you didn't.”

He now has his arm looped around your waist. Metal bracelets and rings clinking against each other. “How'd you know? You haven't seen your face yet.”

You tilt your head, mimicking his position, smiling as he rubs the small of your back. “I can see myself perfectly in your eyes, Hobie.”

“Yeah, and it's a bloody good sight.” You already know what he's about to do before he even leaned close. Your hand is on his chest as he peppers your face with quick affectionate kisses, your giggles echo around the bedroom, fingers curled around his belt loops to pull him closer, making him peck you more fervently.

“We're gonna be late—!”

“I–” kiss, “don't,” he smooches the tip of your nose. “Care.” With his lips puckered over to the corner of your lips, he finishes with finesse by kissing your lips, mixing in both dark shades, a perfect combination of the two colours. “There, I never thought you'd look more gorgeous, but ‘ere we are, eh? I love that colour on you.”

You inhale for air, peripheral vision looking at the mirror, showing you your face that's covered in black kiss marks in various opacity. “I think you're right,” you nod with a mischievous glint in your eyes. “But I think we gotta match for this look to work.”

Hobie laughs wholeheartedly. “Hit me, love, make me look bloody fit.” His eyes are already closed, bracing for your kisses.

“That's impossible, you're the fittest man alive. Anymore than that you'll kill the crowd.” Your hands cradle his face, lips puckered, smooching him to hell and back.

—

Ned checks his watch for the umpteenth time, groaning impatiently at the empty space in the green room where Hobie is supposed to be already sitting with you lounging next to him.

“Where the fuck are those two?” He stomps his foot, “we need to be on stage in five!”

Yuri sighs, mindlessly playing with an imaginary drum to keep her hands occupied or she might end up eating the whole bowl of green skittles. “Don't know, let's hope they don't show up with hic—” the door creaks open. Yuri and James’ loud laugh echoes around the space. “Fucking hell! That's a lot worse than I thought!”

Ned twirls in his swivel chair, groaning, head in his hands. “What the hell am I supposed to do with you two? We're supposed to be punk!”

You grin at the band, hand holding Hobie's, squeezing him giddily. “What?” You both say simultaneously, looking oh so innocent. You look at Hobie who's covered in your kiss marks, lopsided smile on his lips, eyes shaped like hearts for you.

Hobie's heart is full at the sight of you covered in his own kiss marks, from your forehead to your neck, you're covered in it. He looks back at his band, Yuri's on the floor laughing with James who has his camera taking dozens of pictures, and Ned just shakes his head at the two of you. “C’mon now, before the crowd gets antsy, yeah?” They're gonna like his new look.

[smooth-perceval]

“I didn’t hear the no gift rule.”

Lando Norris x Reader

Summary: Lando ignored the no gift rule and made a promise he swears to keep.

Warning: Fluff, Lando being Lando.

Key: Y/N (your name) Y/L/N (your last name)

Word count: 526

A/N: Sorry it’s a little late, I’ve been busy basically every day 🥲 This is a little rushed my bad…

“Lan we need to sort these presents out, who is who’s family.”

Rushing in with large Christmas bags, he nearly stumbled over his feet. “I’m on it-”

“Careful… don’t want to be sitting in A&E on Christmas.” Laughing a little I started piling up presents, Lando’s family on my left and my family on the right.

“Slow down-” glancing over my shoulder Lando was hurriedly packing each present in hands reach.

“I’ve got to hurry your family are expecting us in the next hour!” He was working in overdrive.

“Lan- we can be a little late it’s okay…” laying down on the floor I reached my arm behind me, rubbing his knee soothingly.

“But we made an arrangement for that time…” pouting a little, he leaned forward head hovering over mine. “And you know I hate being late… especially for your family.” Smiling up at him I rolled my eyes. “I forgot the whole golden boy persona.” Poking his cheek, he finally broke out in a smile leaning down pressing our lips together.

Laughing a little he pulled away, rubbing my cheeks gently. “We just done the iconic Spider-Man kiss.” Humming with a roll of my eyes I sat back up sorting the presents out. “You really are a comic nerd Lan.”

“And you love me for it.”

“Fortunately yes.” Mumbling once again I leaned forward grabbing a small-ish box from the back.

“Say it.”

“Say what?” In a teasing tone I pulled the box out observing it. “Say you love me.”

Glancing at the tag I turned and looked at him over my shoulder.

“We had a no gift rule…” turning around fully I shuffled closer to him on my knees.

“I didn’t hear the no gift rule.” Smiling cheekily, he also moved closer. “Open it.”

“Lan… why did you-” pausing he reached forward ripping the wrapping apart for me.

“Open it.”

Sighing, with a small smile on my face I ripped away the wrapping, opening the box in hand.

“Oh- it’s gorgeous lan…” smiling I looked up at him, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Let me help you.” Smiling wide he took the bracelet out the box fastening it around my wrist.

“Look at that, lovely fit- does it feel comfortable?” Nodding to him I observed the bracelet, grinning like the Cheshire Cat.

“Y/N…” hand under my chin, moving my head to look up at him, he kissed me softly. “One day there’s gonna be a ring…”

“There is…?” face blushing red I wrapped my arms around his neck. “Not under the tree, on a day you will never expect.”

“I don’t need a ring lan.”

“I’ll get you a thousand.” Both laughing quietly, I kissed him once again. “Just you is more than enough.”

“We’re so gonna be late…” groaning he glanced at the watch on his wrist.

“And you just ruined that moment.” Patting his head I stood up off the floor heading towards the hallway to grab another bag. “Oh Lan-” turning in the doorway to look at him I smiled ever so gently.

“Thank you for the present, I love it.”

“I love you.”

“I love you even more.”

[mmhcs]

Miguel O'Hara x Tall!Reader

A/N: (I haven't seen many fics covering this topic so I thought that I'd throw my hat in the ring today). This is dedicated to all the tall girls out there! Y'all are beautiful and amazing!

Warnings: Slightly suggestive, but mostly SFW focus on legs, reader is female(if you'd like to see a gender-neutral version, please let me know!), reader is described as having a curvier lower body (only at one point, though), Miguel is absolutely head-over-heels for reader (pun-intended!)

Okay, y'all. Look at this man. He is 6'9". Big. Very big. Often times, he's the biggest person in the room. Tall and intimidating. And while he likes that (he is the big, scary boss. Hear him roar!), there are times in which he wishes that there was somebody who could relate to him. Like, do you know how hard it is to find shoes at 6'9"?

Now, don't get him wrong, Miguel loves women of all shapes and sizes. Short, tall, average height, skinny, chubby - he doesn't care. But when he saw you? It was like he had a spiritual awakening. Seeing you walk down the hallways of the Spider Society, suit hugging your curves...It did something to him.

Especially when he saw the mold of your legs. For the first time in a long time, Miguel felt himself getting a little nervous. Never had he seen another Spider dominate the room like you did. During your first few days, people used to stare whenever you entered the room - not out of fear as they did with him - but out of awe. You were gorgeous but your height - it just took you over the top.

From your first day forward, all Miguel would hear about is you.

"Did you see the new Spider?" "Yeah, she's really tall! What do you think she does in her professional life? Model?" "Oh my gosh, look at her! She looks good in that suit!"

Whenever you and Miguel would have conversations, he found it hard to focus. First, you have a stunning face but those legs? Oh, he was a goner. Though he had only seen you with in your Spider-suit, Miguel couldn't help but take a liking to your legs. Your thighs, though comprised of muscle - jiggled when you walked, and your calves looked as firm as his demeanor on a bad morning. Miguel had never had a thing for legs before (or at least not to his knowledge) but now he found himself fascinated by your legs and their length and angles. He could spend days worshipping the curvature between your calves and thighs.

When Miguel finally does see you out of uniform? He needs to leave the room. Don't ask why, he just does.

When you two finally start dating, Miguel can't take his eyes off of you. All he can do is stare (mainly at your legs) and thank Padre Dios that he managed to pull you into his life.

But, while what initially made you stand out to Miguel was your height, it actually doesn't play that big of a role in your relationship. As time goes on and lust simmers into love, you and Miguel are just a regular couple.

Though he doesn't spend much time in his home (or didn't until you), Miguel's space is tailor-made for him. Meaning chairs, couches, tables, and shelves big and high enough to accommodate him and his height. While a small thing to note, he's glad that he finally has someone doesn't find issue with it all.

Miguel is aware of the of the stereotypes and jabs thrown at girls of your stature and so he does his best to constantly remind you that you are beautiful, attractive, feminine, etc.

If you're shorter than him (doesn't even matter if it's an inch), he likes to crack short jokes with you here and there.

"Bebita, come look at this!" Miguel yells from his in front of your bedroom's television. "What is it, Miguel?" you ask, peaking your head out of the bathroom. "They say it's going to be windy today," He juts his chin towards the TV screen before refocusing on tying his tie. "Take precaution." "Miguel," you scoff. "What? I don't want you getting swept up by the wind." "Okay, firstly, you know damn well-"

If you're taller than him, Miguel also has jokes for that.

"Bebita, could you please pass me that plate over there?" Miguel asks, pointing his chin at a cabinet shelf that is directly at eye level with him. "Miguel," you give him a pointed look. He shrugs at you, continuing to wash the dishes. "Hey, don't put things up so high if you don't want me to ask you to get them." (For the next week, you started putting all the dishes in the bottom drawer)

The jokes, however, are only reserved for him. If anyone else makes a joke about your height, Miguel gets upset. Just ask Hobie. One time, Hobie asked you how you couldn't tell him what the weather was like from up there (all in good fun) and Miguel, who had no context of the conversation and walked in at the wrong time almost crucified him.

Miguel secretly loves how you two look together. As the head of the Spider Society (again, he likes to be the big, scary boss man), he enjoys the presence that you two create together. Domineering, commanding. Whether you two are in uniform or formal clothing - when you two talk, people listen.

If you work out, Miguel loves to go to the gym with you. Not only because he likes to see you in workout gear (though trust him, that is a very, very, very big plus) but because he finally has somebody who understands the struggle of putting on (visible) muscle.

Miguel loves kisses with you. He's always been very big physical touch in relationships but never before has it been so easy to just steal a kiss. And so, it has been become his favorite pastime.

Miguel loves to see you in dresses and shorts and heels. Anything that accentuates your height. Sometimes when you come home, you see a dress or a new pair of shoes that you've been wanting. However, other times, you find an article of clothing or shoes from a brand that you didn't even know existed. But if it's jeans or a maxi dress, they always cover your legs, if it's a regular shirt, your stomach isn't exposed, and whatever it is always looks good on you.

Sometimes when cuddling, Miguel will just start tracing and/or kneading random parts of your body because there's just so much of you to love and he doesn't know where to start.

At the end of each and every day, no matter if you're taller or shorter than him, Miguel likes to make you feel safe and protected. He likes to play the role of protector/provider and makes you feel taken care of and comfortable.

Bonus: "Your children are going to be some stallions, ain't they?" Hobie says, looking between you and Miguel. You laugh but Miguel glares at him with a scowl that would make most start running for the hills. "Stallions, eh?" you repeat later that night, in bed with him. While not a fan of you slowly assimilating to Hobie's humor, Miguel chuckles dryly and pulls you closer to him. "Indeed," he says, placing a kiss to the top of your head.

[hobiebrownbrowser]

Date Night

Hobie Brown x FEM!Reader 💜

Summary: Hobie takes you out on a date, A small skating ring tucked away in the crevice of a tall building inside a pub.

It was late at night. The bright lights of the city shining through your window. It was around 11PM. The sound of cars driving past your window as you play some soothing music, Scrolling through your phone to spot something that would clear your everlasting boredom.

You eventually gave up, Letting out a sigh and tossing your phone on the bed. It was a quiet foggy night. Cold air seeping through the crack in your window. You poked your head out, memorized by the stars that lit up the night sky.

You couldn't help but close your eyes, Listening to the music that played from your speaker that was tucked away on your desk, Tapping your finger against the cold window headboard. Not having to deal with any kind of problems tonight.

"Pretty lil thang aren't ya?" You look up a bit startled. A smile soon beaming on your face as a certain punk spider makes his way down towards you. It was Hobie, Hobie Brown that is. The famous punk who happened to also be your boyfriend.

"Only for you Hobs~" Hobie took off his mask, placing his scarred calloused lips on your soft ones, His lip piercing clinging against your teeth. You pulled him closer, a chuckle leaving his throat as he slowly pulled away.

"Seem' like someone's been missin me." You smiled, Opening your window wider for him, Letting the tall 6ft man climb through. You took time staring at his gorgeous eyes. The same smug smirk still plastered on his lips.

You couldn't help but return the look, Placing a peck on his chin. Hobie wrapped his arms around your waist, turning you around until you were face to face with a wide opened window.

You looked up at him a bit confused. A cheeky grin on his face as he tells you to get ready for a special night. You wanted to know where he was taking you but he kept quiet, Teasing out a few hints but you were still stomped. You eventually gave up trying to get it out of him, Looking through your closet to see what you had.

You ended up just picking out something random. Hobie putting a thumbs up even if he wasn't looking directly at you. You rolled your eyes, a chuckle coming out after. You got dressed, Hobie making a few quick glances before you'd caught him staring.

"Like what you see baby?" Hobie raised his brow, grabbing your hand and twirling you around so he could get a good look at you. You could hear him agreeing before a gasp left your lips. The palm of his hand making contact with your ass.

"Yea I do actually luv~" You playfully punched him in the arm, getting the rest of your things and letting Hobie take the lead out the window, Taking your hand in his as he waits for you to get a firm grasp onto his vest, Intertwining your legs with his.

"Ready beautiful?" You nodded, a gust of wind hitting your face as he swings above the alarming city. You leaned in on his shoulder, clinging onto him until his feet had hit the ground. You slowly peeked around, A purple neon sign catching your eyes as Hobie leads you down a small stairway tucked in a back alley.

He swings the door open and steps aside, Dozens of people skating with loved-ones. Genuinely having a good time. You gave Hobie a questioning look that was replaced with laughter, Letting him lead you inside and towards a small bar in the corner.

"Ayo, what up young chap!" The bartender greeted Hobie with a handshake. Hobie returning the favor by giving him a high five.

"This my gal I've been talkin' bout. She the sweetest person I've eva met." You shyly wave, the bartender greeting you with a salute before handing Hobie a few drinks he ordered. You take a small sip, your mouth curling as he'd ordered tequila.

"Too strong luv? I can get sum' else for ya." You shook your head, swallowing the tequila like it was nothing. He praised you for your brave actions, Placing a gentle kiss on your forehead. You couldn't help but feel flustered.

He smirked, placing a finger under your chin and pulling you closer to him. You hummed as you can taste the bourbon on his tongue. Wrapping your arms around his neck, trying to get as close as possible to him. You whined once he pulled away, chugging the rest of his drink down before leading you to the skating course.

Hobie helped you put on your skates, slowly leading you to the ring. He immediately wraps his arms around you, Matching his rhythm was easy, placing your head against his chest as you both let the music tingle your ears.

You could feel the alcohol starting to kick in, Closing your eyes and letting the man you love lead you anywhere. Shivers sent down your spine as he praised you every now and then.

You could feel your body temperature rising, The feeling of his hands touching your body going straight to your arousal. You intertwined your fingers, looking in his eyes. You were practically pleading for him to touch you. His hands wondering towards your hips, caressing them.

He could feel how desperate you were, Your back arching away from his chest as you purposely grind your hips. One of his hands in your back pocket while the other rested on your abdomen.

"You alr' luv?" He whispers softly. Occasionally biting the top of your earlobe to bring you back from euphoria. Your body burning as his hand glides down towards your thighs.

You wanted him, Watching as he squeezed your thigh in his large palm, The clothes blocking him from touching your skin fully. You gasped as he slid his hand across your chest, Teasing the sensitive buds under your shirt.

"Hobie..." You could feel his chest heaving, The song slowly coming to an end. Hobie leading you off the skate ring and towards a door that was tucked behind the bar, The music being cut off once you both were inside, Hobie locking it behind himself.

Moans escaping your lips as he pressed you up against the wall, Showering your neck in kisses. Your lips quivering as he gently pulls on them. You plead out his name again, His hands roaming under your shirt until his palms made contact with your breasts.

Your body trembling under his touch once he pinched your nipples between his fingers. You wrapped your legs around his waist, Feeling his cock twitch underneath you. You clasped your finger on the rim of his belt, wanting him to desperately take them off.

You wanted nothing else but his cock buried inside of you, Shimmering out of your undergarments until they rested on your ankle. A shaky sigh leaving you once he trails his fingers inside your mouth. You cry out as he spreads your folds, Pushing a finger inside of you before adding another.

Incoherent mumbles falling from your lips as he teased your clit with his thumb. You buried your face into his neck, the scent of charred wood and bourbon coming into contact with your nostrils, Your arousal seeping down your thighs.

You whined from loss, Hobie pulling his fingers out and hosting your body up. His cock catching your eyes before he pushed himself inside of you.

You cry out in pleasure, Wrapping your arms around his neck. He whispered how good you were for him, your legs trembling as he devours your body.

Your cried drowning out the muffled music from outside, Every thrust making your body grow weaker. You begged Hobie to go deeper. His chest putting pressure onto yours. Your arousal coating his cock, Your mind in a complete daze, His groans getting louder every second that's passed.

You tightened your grip, Your moans turning into high pitched squeals as you cum all over his cock, so fucked out of it until you were seeing stars. Hobie's orgasm sending you over the edge as you scream out his name.

Hobie gently placed you down, Making sure you don't slip or fall. He kissed your temple, Showering your face in kisses. He waited for you to calm down, Cooing you out of your fucked state before picking you up bridal style and leaving out of the bathroom.

Your sweaty body shivering as the cold air pierces your skin. You slowly come back from your senses, Still a bit cock drunk from what just happened. You watched as Hobie took off your skates, To worked up to say anything.

You both finally looked at each other. Lovable smiles on both of your faces as he takes you home for tonight. Hand in hand as you both decided to walk.

"So how was it?" You looked at him, narrowing your eyes with gleaming eyes. You rolled your eyes, not wanting to reward him with such praise.

"I had fun tonight.." You look away clearly flustered, Hobie placing a kiss on your cheek before hosting you back up towards your apartment room. You bit your lip, not wanting to leave his side just yet.

"Please stay with me Hobie.." All he had to do was say yes, His brow arching slightly before climbing in the window and closing it behind him. He laid down on your soft comforter, Patting his lap for you to come closer.

You happily obliged, Sitting between his legs. His eyes softened once he got a closer look at you, Pulling you closer by your hand until you sat on top of him. You placed a kiss on the tip of his nose, His hands caressing your hips as he closed his eyes.

You placed a hand on his chest, Gliding your finger across the scars that were on his stomach, Placing one last kiss on his lips for a good night's sleep before putting on some pajamas and climbing by to his side.

"Goodnight Honeybun~" You placed a kiss on his forehead before following suit. Closing your eyes as you lay down on his bare chest.

Damn I write a lot. Hope y'all enjoyed lol

[helplesslypurple77]

Day 13- Step Bro!Dazai/Reader/Step Bro!Fyodor

Notes: I think it's a little ooc, but i really couldn't decide which characters to go with so yeah.

also, uhm, that fyodor header picture has nothing to do with the actual story, i just though he looked so fucking hot with that gun(also yes, ik im using the step silbing/dad concept twice but its just so sexy to me yaknow*)(*and also, if your wondering, i actually have a wonderful relationship with my father)

Ever since you can remember the house had been cold. You didn't call it your house, even though you had lived there all your life. No, it was more akin to a creature unto itself, a perfect reflection of your childhood. You were born in this house, the only child Mother, or Cecilia as she insisted upon, didn't abort. You spent your younger years with a nanny, who cared for you the best she could. She taught you to read and write, and you excelled especially at math. But Cecilia didn't care. She never cared. And the house reflected her disinterest.

The nanny, a kind woman named Martha, had been disposed of when you turned eight. Cecilia decided you were old enough to function on your own and fired the waste of money. You spent your years after that in the library, absorbing information, reading fanciful stories with mothers who loved their daughters. You wondered why Cecilia never loved you. 

When you turned ten, Cecilia brought home a man. She introduced you, and you stood like instructed, pretty and well behaved. He patted you on the head, but never spared you a glance. He was tall, blond and very, very young. Much younger than Cecilia. And he was much too enamored to care for you, Cecilia's little child. Cecilia encouraged this behavior, and although the number of people in the house had grown, you were all alone. You were always alone. But it was ok, you were used to the silence. You sat in your large playroom, and cried into your pillow, muffling your feelings in the silk. Cecilia didn't need your burdensome feelings. 

The summer you turned eleven, Cecilia brought another man home. And this man was kind to you at first. He gave you candy and treated you with kindness, luring you into his trap like a spider. The first time he hit you, you had cried defiantly for Cecilia. And of course Cecilia had not come, for she would rather believe her boytoys over her own flesh and blood. Humans were cruel things, ready to hurt others at the drop of a hat. And Cecilia was the cruelest. Nothing comforted you for ounce as you cried into your comforter, as unloved as before. 

The summer you turned fifteen it was clear you had inherited Cecilia's peerless beauty. You spent the rest of the summer mastering makeup and when you arrived at your private school you were instantly popular. The makeup just elevated your already peerless beauty and people, both boys and girls fell at your feet. You reveled in the popularity, the love. A different kind of love, but love all the same. The house congratulated you, but Cecilia didn't care. She never did, after all.

Your grades never fell however, you simply could not let them. If you were proud of anything, it was your intelligence. It was wholly yours, unlike your beauty, inherited from Cecilia. You hated that you were her creation, hated it with your entire very being. You loved your intelligence, however. It came from your father, you were told briefly by Cecilia, and because you had never met him it was easier to accept his qualities. The house was from your father, his money at least. A gift to Cecilia. 

And the one gift he had ever gotten you was a ring, a gorgeous piece of silver and emeralds that Cecilia had taken, stoll right from your pudgy two year old hands. You had never even gotten to hold it as an adult. You didn't miss it, not really. But you hated the trait you shared with Cecilia, a sense of selfishness, and a love for jewelry. 

 It was on your sixteenth birthday, sitting at a table alone as you were blowing out the birthday candles, that you truly cried without the comfort of your pillows. Cecilia was out, and as you eat your cake, you soon come to realize that you had grown up too fast. You had been an adult since the moment Martha was fired and you had sat in the cold walls of your beige playroom, crying and crying for comfort, something that would never find you again. You were a shell, a puppet, a beautiful china doll empty of  love. You were Cecilia. The house laughed at your plight, as you sobbed into your pillow, muffling your feelings into the comforting silk. 

It was a hot summer day, a few weeks after you turned seventeen when Cecilia broke the news. You were sitting by the pool, sunbathing in your swimsuit. Cecilia simply walked in, spared you a glance, and informed you she was getting married. You felt a small shiver of surprise run up your spine. Cecilia had had many boyfriends, yes, but she never married them. This man had to be different. Or maybe it was her age, and her fading looks. You hated the spike of happiness that pillaged though your heart, you hated how feelings of hatred turned you into a spiteful shrew, just like Cecilia. Cecilia had cracked open a beer, flipping through her magazine, sparing you one last glance. “He has sons, two of them.” She had said, closing the screen door behind her. 

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“There you are, Name. You're late.” Cecilia said, giving you her usual faintly disapproving stare mixed with disgust. You still quail under it, even though it's the same one you’ve seen for years and years and years. You still fear her disapproval, even after all. 

“I'm sorry Cecilia.” You say, straightening your spine. You're still in your school uniform, and the bus was late but you know better than to give excuses. Cecilia doesn't care for those. The little skirt and blazer combo is one of your favorites, and the only thing you truly love about St. Catherine's private school for young ladies. The walls of St Catherines are barren and cold, but not as cold as your own. Cecilia flips her hair, looking perfectly put together as always, although her age is beginning to show around her eyes. She hates it, you know, and you love it. You can't wait for Cecilia to wither away, her personal worst nightmare. 

“Don't embarrass me, Name.” Cecilia says, her cold eyed stair rooting you to your place. “Just smile pleasantly and entertain your step brothers, alright Sweetheart?” She says. The pet name reeks of disinterest but her disinterest is preferable to her anger. For when Cecilia angers the foundations of the very house shake. You nod, and Cecilia takes that as enough. A knock sounds on the door, and any ugly expression is gone from her face as she flies for the door, opening it and hopping into the arms of the man behind it. 

He’s your mothers usual type, tall and handsome, but several years older than you would have guessed. He spins her around, and they kiss. You look away. There are two boys standing behind him on the doorstep, and to your surprise they also look away from the torrid display. Their strange boys, both around the same height, but that is the only thing they share in common. They don't even really look related, but who are you to judge? Done with their display, Cecilia and her new husband step through the door, still attached at the hip. Cecilia throws you a glare, and you put on your customary smile, a smile so fake you feel like a barbie doll. 

“My daughter, Name.” Cecilia almost imperceptibly grimaces at the word daughter, gesturing at you. You smile. “Hello.” You say, feeling like a fake. The man gives you a smile, gesturing at his sons, who have stepped through the door, and now stand on either side of him and Cecilia. “My sons, Fyodor and Osamu.” The one on the right smiles at you, the other one simply gives you a nod. They're so different, you’d almost think them adopted. But you can see their features in their father. 

The smiling one, Osamu, has short wavy brown hair and sparkling brown eyes. He gives you a tiny wave, and you feel your smile become genuine for a second, before you catch yourself. The ones who smile are more dangerous, you had learned long ago. They lure you with kindness and hit you with force. He’s dressed in a wrinkled button down and uniform pants, his posture casual with his hands in his pockets. A matching tie hangs crooked on his neck. It's the uniform for your school, or the boys school across the street. St. Catherines school for young ladies and St. Andrews school for young men share a single campus separated by a metal fence. 

The one on the left side is pale, almost sickly pale, with dark circles to match his long dark hair. It looks soft, his hair, and brushes just below his jaw. H’s eyes are dark, and they run over your face, almost as if they're checking for cracks in your composure. He’s dressed in the same uniform, but his appearance is more neat. His tie is tied correctly, and he wears a black jacket over the rest of his uniform. They are strange boys, but you are very used to strange after all. 

“Name? Entertain your new brothers, Sweetheart.” Cecilia says. You wince at the nickname. You hate that nickname, you hate it so much. “Yes Cecilia.” You bite out, smile still in place. You feel empty, like a porcelain doll. A tool Cecilia can use and discard at any moment. You feel disposable. You hate it. 

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Your new brothers are kind, if a little strange. The quiet one with pretty hair, Fyodor, is a year older than you. He plays cello and dislikes Cecilia, which makes you like him a lot. Fyodor treated you with an amount of distance at first, but slowly warmed up to you when he found out you play piano. He had informed you one day, when he was helping you with homework, that his mother was a Russian supermodel. And he’s handsome, you're not really surprised. He’s kind in a quiet kind of way, less teasing than his younger brother. You also notice how he subtly moves forward, shielding you whenever Cecilia is angry. You love him for it, that protectiveness. 

Osamu is younger than you by about six months, and loud. He quite clearly makes it his goal to be the loudest person in the room and you love how it annoys Cecilia every time he steals her thunder. He’s a very touchy person as well, unlike his brother. He would comfort you with jokes when he saw you were down, and could not cook for the life of him. His reaction to Cecilia was the most reactionary. He taunted her, shot smart alec remarks in her direction, or just plain ignored her. And every time he got a reaction. Cecilia’s face would flush red with anger, and she would strike out, just to be dodged with a snarky little comment. And the more angry she got, the more pleased Osamu became

And they hate each other, the brothers. At first you had thought they got along well, but then you noticed the snarky little comments they would trade back and forth, the glares behind their parents back. Everything is a constant competition, be it a board game or report cards they make it their goal to beat the other each time. And you don't really mind, the house feels warm and full of life, and you feel included. To them, life seems a game, and the people who live it merely pieces, to be moved to and fro to their pleasure. You must assume yourself a spectator, not a piece, but if you were a piece you would like to be the queen. Cecilia didn't like your new brothers, that much was obvious. But she still used them to belittle you every chance she got.  

“Your brothers got all A+.” She would say, pinning you with that faintly disgusted expression she used as default. “And you got an A.” You would surrender to your room to cry in peace, away from Cecilia's proud eyes, and the prying ears of your much to perceptive brothers. 

But if they shared anything, it was a sense of mystery. Because each of them never allowed you to get too close, keeping you forever just a length away. You tried not to take it personally, but you still shed a tear or two. 

But for the first time in many years, you were happy. The house congratulated you, as its hallways filled with laughter to replace to silence, its rooms with color to replace the beige. Cecilia was as unpleasant as ever, but she was busy with her husband, and left you and your step brothers to their own devices. But still you feared it would all go away. That soon, they would tire of you, that they would never let you close, that Cecilia would grow tired of her husband and toss out the trash as she always did. It was a nagging fear that came back to haunt you in dreams, until you woke up in a cold sweat. 

And there's an odd tension that hovers in the air, whenever you and the brothers interact. A strange tension that makes your blood sing with excitement, that leaves you on your toes with anticipation. When Osamu slings his arm around your shoulders, pulling you into a loose hug of sorts. When Fyodor pulls your hair behind your ear, his cold fingers brushing your face, leaving goosebumps in their wake. It's a tension you’ve felt before, a tension you don't want to give name to, a tension that scares you. But then, you're sure it's just you, that your new brothers simply treat you as a sister, like how you should treat them. You should not desire your step brothers, Cecilia had told you the night before they moved in. But then again, Cecilia had never been a very good role model. 

⋆｡ °✩

It's raining, big fat drops pattering against the roof, wind splattering the droplets against the window panes. A faint clatter can be heard from outside, as if the wind itself is crying, banging at the doors. The wind sounded lonely. It banged on the doors of the world, begging to be let into the light, much like you had when you were young. You wanted to comfort the wind, to hold her in your arms with the warmth you had never been given, but everyone knew you could not hold the wind. So you simply told her to stay strong, and let the night and rain embrace her for you. 

You would always read when it rained. You remembered a book you had read long ago. It had been the one to solidify the wind as lonely, and had been oh so impressionable to your young mind. ‘Keep strong wind’ it read, ‘keep strong and soon the rain and night will hold you in their comforting embrace, will keep you warm and happy…’. You had always seen yourself in the lonely wind, and had dreamed of your rain and night to comfort you. The library had long been your only comfort, and you begged for human comfort, human warmth.(You didn't dare to hope that your step brothers could be your night and rain, because you knew god would hear you and laugh in your face. Because god loved Cecilia, not worthless you.)

Cecilia and her husband are gone, on a weekend trip to Hawaii. You were not invited, because of course not, and neither were your brothers. 

The house is almost silentand with Osamu out at book club the house seems to sigh in relief, giving itself time to relax before the loudness returns. 

You are curled up on the couch with a book, listening to Fyodor as he practices his Cello. It's a cozy evening, the fire crackling in the grate, the strains of the first movements of Brahms – Cello Sonata No. 1 floating through the cozy atmosphere. You hear the piano part along with him unconsciously, fingers tapping your things in rhythm. You can never quite beat the musician out of you, it's embedded into your very being at this point. 

Brahms – Cello Sonata No. 1, the first movement is a deep piece, and slightly depressing if you're being honest. But you love the melancholy that surrounds it. It creates a certain air, allowing the instruments to tangle together beautifully almost as if the melodies are dancing together. They twist like lovers, the parts, dipping one then the other, a beautifully teasing medley of pure emotion, something you could never truly give in life. It would be nice to dance with Fyodor, he was such an elegant human being, from the way he walked to his looks. You imagined the two of you would sail across the floor of the ballroom, his gloved hand on your waist, twirling you and spinning you and only looking at you. You wanted him to gaze upon you with reverence, much like the men your mother married gazed upon her. You want to be loved.

The Cello part comes to an end, and you sit silently for a moment, hesitant to break the spell. Then Fyodor's accented voice, still slightly hushed, breaks through the atmosphere. “How was it?” He says. You love his accent, it feels all full and warm. “Good, good as always.” You say, putting a finger in your book and looking up. “You were a bit sharp on the first note of measure twenty seven.” You're reading Pride and Prejudice, again. You’ve always loved it, and have read it some many times you’ve simply lost count.

Fyodor sighs, leaning back in his chair and resting his cello back into its case. “You always catch my mistakes. What would I do without you, Name.” He says with a small smile. Your heart warms at the praise, your smile threatening to break out of its confinements, all together and split your face in two. You tamp it down, putting on a face of disinterest you're not sure he believes. You always get the vague feeling that your brothers know you better than you know yourself.

You flip through the channels on tv, happy to have control of the remote. It's all the usual, sports games and real housewives and spanish game show episodes. You put on a random movie, which sounded interesting. ‘Essential object of enjoyment,’(is a title that to anyone else would scream softcore porn film, to you, still a sheltered girl of seventeen years old, it seemed as innocent as a daisy. You were not a virgin, but inexperienced and somewhat oblivious, so at odds with your calm adult attitude.) Fyodor plops himself on the couch next to you, a tedious foot away. He seemed too far away but all at once to close, the heat of his body a tease beside you. You clench your legs together, pulling in on yourself.

The film is about a young woman named Maria, who is taking a vacation on a very sketchy manor in a strange small town. It's a low budget film, with crappy acting and even crappier scares, but it's entertaining and you find yourself settling in against the couch, slowly leaning closer and closer to the warm human beside you. And soon, as Maria decides to ignore all the advice of the locals and enter the abandoned church late at night, you're so close your shoulders are almost touching, and finally, you dare to lean into him. 

He lets you, slinging an arm around your shoulders with an excuse none of you are listening to anyway, and pulls a small blanket over your bare legs. “You're cold aren't you?” he says, voice hushed in your ear. You shiver, with a nod. You arent that cold, but you want to be close to him, to feel his heat, his warmth. You're sure he knows this, and you let yourself feel hopeful for once, curling into his body like a pedigree cat. 

And as you watch the movie, heart pounding in your throat, it dawns on you that something is very clearly wrong. The budget is too cheap, but the camera work is too advanced, the camera’s to expensive. The acting is too bad, but the actress has professionally done makeup and hair. And then, as you watch Maria get tied up by the clean masked man, it all makes too much sense. It's softcore porn. You move for the remote, fishing around for it on the couch, desperately. You're already flushing, your thighs rubbing together as you reach around for it. The idea of watching a porn film with your step brother is humiliating and embarrassing and frustratingly arousing. 

“Do you need something?” Fyodor says, rubbing little soft patterns in your shoulder, pulling you closer to him. You nod. “The remote, gonna switch channels.” You're already flushing, but have stopped your frantic fishing for the remote. He frowns in disappointment and you automatically tense, so used to Cecilia’s disappointed or angry stares. “Can we leave it, I'm actually enjoying it.” He says. You glance at the screen, where Maria is now being threatened by a knife. You desperately want to say no, but the people pleaser in you insist you agree. And so, you sink back into his touch, flushing. 

‘Where is it? Where is it?’ The masked man is saying to Maria. The film takes a moment to focus on the actress’s bountiful chest, and you try not to writhe with embarrassment and jealousy. You bet Fyodor likes big boobs, Cecilia said all men like big boobs. Her’s are fake, but you don't feel the need to protest and get a slap. 

The bad guy of the film is a man in a purple mask. He’s thin in stature, and tall, overwhelming Maria’s small frame. He reminds you distinctly of the man sitting beside you, with his face hidden like that. He has a russian accent in the film as well, just like the man beside you, and as he whispers in her ear it does stuff to you. 

‘Tell me where it is or there will be consequences.’ the man in the mask says. 

‘I will never tell you!’ Maria says definitely. You watch in horror as the masked man's thin fingers slip between her thighs. The camera cuts to her face of surprise. It's clear that this is where the actress’s true chops shine, as her mouth drops open in a little oh of surprise. 

You feel hot, biting back a whimper as you press your thighs together, hoping that your step brother doesn't notice. 

‘Your such a slut for my fingers aren't you?’ The man in the mask bends Maria over a table, the camera now showing a cut of his hands pulling her thighs apart. All you can picture in your mind is you as Maria, and the man in the mask as Fyodor. When the man in the film speaks all you can hear is Fyodor’s voice, his teasing lines, him all him all him. 

And then, the other bad guy of the film appears. And honestly it should shock you out of your dirty fantasies, but the other man, this one in a teal mask, sounds very similar to your other step brother. 

You can imagine yourself in Maria's place, bent over a table like that, fingers shoved up your cunt, dick keeping you silent. And most of all, pretty praises falling out of your step brother's mouths. ‘Such a pretty girl, such a smart girl, so good for us, such a slut for us—’

Fyodor’s eyes are on you, you can feel them even as you focus resolutely on the screen. He speaks near your ear, a pur, a whisper, a tease ment for seduction. “What are you imagining, darling?” He says. He speaks like he already knows, and through your haze of arousal clouding your brain you let the words escape before you can stop them. 

“Fingers in my cunt.” You say, your voice a whimper. Maria on the screen begins to moan, loudly. The volume goes down on screen and you're too lust clouded to question why Fyodor had the remote. 

“You want fingers in your pretty cunt baby?” Fyodor purrs in your ear, his long pale fingers teasing the edge of your uniform skirt. “You want my fingers stuffed up that tight cunt of yours? Would that feel good?” You whine, head falling back against his arm, eyes falling closed. 

“Oh yes, please.” Your voice is embarrassing, all breathy and whiny. This whole situation is illogical, and if you were able to see through the haze of lust in your brain you would have backpedaled immediately. But you're horny and in love and he’s encouraging you. 

His fingers caress the edge of your panties, teasing you with glances of touches, driving you crazy. You grip his arm, the one teasing your pussy and shove the hand against your drooling cunt. The man beside you bites back a groan, muffling his pleasure, but you hear it. It reassures you that he wants you too, but also drives you insane, craving sweet relief with his touch. 

Fyodor’s fingers find purchase, clever musicians' hands pulling back the crotch of your panties. He chuckles as you clutch his arm, still clothed in his loose white turtleneck and jeans. “You're so wet darling, your little cunt is absolutely drooling.” he says, his accent doing things to your brain, to your pussy. Your eyes catch on the dirty picture. He drags his fingers through, collecting a fair bit of wetness and popping his fingers in his mouth. The picture is nasty. He keeps eye contact all throughout, sucking his fingers wetly, the dirty slurping sounds filling the room. 

“Here darling.” He holds out his wet fingers, dripping with a mix of saliva and your own arousal. “Suck.” He says. You take them in your mouth obediently, tasting the mix of arousal and saliva. The very idea that you're tasting him, that you're tasting his very being, makes your abandoned cunt clench around nothing, the nasty slurping sounds you make only fueling the arousal perfuming the air. At some point Fyodor had turned off the porn, and now the only sounds that fill the room are from the two of you. A different kind of music than that you're used to, a symphony of debauchery. 

His fingers leave your mouth with a pop, and you open your eyes. He smiles at you, all hazy eyes and spit slicked lips. “Good girl.” He says, and then shoves both fingers in your cunt. You arch off the couch at the abrupt intrusion, clenching down hard around his fingers with a scream. ‘Oh, oh god Fyodor!” You say, panting. He looks vaguely proud as he scissors you open, watching as you thrash around on his fingers, bucking desperately. 

The sound of the door slamming penetrates the haze, and you grip Fyodor’s fingers, trying to stop him. He just continues to fuck you open, grining all the while. 

“Man, fuck you Fyodor.” It's Osamu, looking less surprised and more annoyed. Fyodor just continues grinning as you moan on his fingers, drooling pussy on display. “I consider this a win then?” He says, smirking. Ah, another one of their competitions. You would pay more attention but your being fucked open by Fyodor’s long relentless fingers. You keen as he adds another one, gripping his arm with a nasty whine. 

Osamu speaks to Fyodor, but his eyes are fixed on you. “It's not over yet, you fucker.” He says, slamming his backpack down on the floor and sauntering over to you. “Name declares the winner. Deal?” Fyodor, now rubbing a thumb on your clit nods, holding out his other hand to shake. “Deal, that sound good darling?” You nod around your moans, not truly comprehending what that means. Osamu sends you a rather scary looking grin and pounces. 

They move you into a doggy position first, Fyodor replacing his fingers with his cock. You're already so close, and as you feel the large intrusion bully your walls apart you cum right there, your head falling against the couch cushions. “Oh, oh, oh god, ‘m coming!” You scream, drooling onto the couch. Fyodor grunts behind you. “You're tight.” He coos. Osamu grips your jaw, draggin you off the ouch to look at him. “So pretty too, just perfect aren't you.” His dick is already hard in his jeans, you can see the bulge as Fyodor begins to move, fucking you through the overstime. You whine in pain, the sharp pains of overstimulation mixing with the blinding pleasure they give you. Dazai chuckles. 

“We’re going to fuck you do good darling.” He says, running a gentle hand through your hair. “Make you feel our love.”

⋆｡ °✩

It's when you're three orgasms deep, and you're hung over the couch backwards, a dick down your throat and cum dripping from your pussy, that you maybe start to have second thoughts. Their stamina seems endless, and they bring to the edge relentlessly, their competitive natures making them drive you to orgasm after orgasm. The world is hazy at this point, and all you feel is pleasure, all you hear is their voices, all you want is them, them them. 

“Switch her around Osamu.” Fyodor says, his accent rough though the haze. You feel yourself hoisted up, and now you're folded into a mating press and Fyodor’s fat cock is bullying your walls again. Cum leaks out of all your holes, the loud squelching sound letting you know that you're thoroughly ruining Cecilia's favorite couch. You're covered in sweat, completely naked and makeup ruined, and to the boys you’ve never looked so pretty. They tell you at length, compliments showered on your exhausted form. 

And as you cum yet again, clenching around Fyodor’s dick with a weak cry, you feel so loved, so appreciated, and so optimistic. 

And then you bended into another position, Dazai’s dick lodged into your ass, Fyodor’s in your dripping cunt.

⋆｡ °✩

“So, which of us won anyway?” It's Dazai, and he sounds plenty exhausted. You sigh tiredly, holes dripping cum onto the carpet and exhausted. “Draw.” Is all you manage to pant out. 

Fyodor beside you chuckles. “I guess we’ll have to have a rematch then.” You're exhausted, but you feel your pussy clench tiredly at the mention of that. “Yeah.” You sigh out tiredly. The boys chuckle beside you, each pressing a kiss to your cheeks. 

“Love you Name.” You hear them whisper in your ear. You smile as you drift off the sleep. 

End Notes: I am actually a piano player, and every time I listen to classical pieces nowadays I feel really bad because I haven't been practicing lately because my piano teacher is taking a break because she had a baby. 

[cannebady]

The worst thing by far about all the fuckin' fur was how hot it was when he'd get properly nervous. It was mostly annoying, Husk thought, because he never used to get this fuckin' nervous, but these days he feels like he sweats through his fur at least every other day.

It's a byproduct of exposure to Angel Dust, he thinks (and fuck is the spider aptly named). Initially, it was anger that got him heated, being subjected to the spider trampling on his painstakingly constructed boundaries, then it was the realization that under the performance, Anthony was a spitfire with a vulnerable streak a mile wide and legs even longer. In other words, Husk's fuckin type, both topside and in Hell.

Which brings him to now; sweating through his fuckin bowtie as he paces outside Angel's room, hands so damp that the fuckin' paper wrapped around the stupid bouquet that he couldn't not buy for a certain leggy demon was getting damp and who the fuck wanted to open their door to see a sweaty, anxious, drunk failure of an overlord handing them damp shitty flowers?

Probably not the prettiest guy Husk has ever laid eyes on. His best guy, even if only in his own head.

But he'd heard Angel and Vaggie talking about her plans for her anniversary with Charlie and how much Charlie loves getting flowers. Angel's eyes had sparked up a bit, mentioning that he used to bring those home for his mother and sister, back when he'd been alive, but hadn't ever received any.

Husk knew how to spot a weak spot, and Angel was projecting to anyone paying attention, "I'm a hopeless romantic that would burst into heart shaped confetti if someone gave me flowers" and the thought hadn't left Husk's mind since.

So on his way back to the hotel, when he'd spotted a white and blush bouquet that reminded him of fur he wanted to dig his claws into and-

Well.

So he bought the stupid fuckin' flowers and now he's being a big fuckin' coward again as he's still pacing and sweating and definitely not knocking on the door and saying, "You deserve only the best, baby", and handing the (sweaty, damp, probably embarrassing) bouquet to the guy he spends every waking moment thinking about.

It's not that he even expects anything to come of it. He has nothing to offer besides a well mixed drink and an ear to bend, so he hasn't got any expectations, he just thinks that maybe someone should make Angel feel a bit less like he exists only in service to others. And sure, maybe in his drunkest flights of fancy lately he thought that maybe, just maybe, he could be the kind of guy to get a gift like Angel and care for it. Care for him.

Stupid.

He should just leave the flowers against the door.

Yeah.

But as he drops them against the door, cringing at the sweaty paw stain against the soft pink paper, the door moves inward and there he is.

Nine feet of the most gorgeous man Husk's ever been so close to, ever been lucky enough to be close to, staring at him with wide eyes and fuck, he's gotta get out of here.

"I-" he starts, but his coward voices fucks off to parts unknown, leaving only his rapid breathing and the distant sounds of the Pride ring to fill the space.

"Heya Husky," Angel says, sounded a little breathless himself.

Don't think about that.

"What's all this?" he finishes and is staring right at Husk as he tries to figure out an explanation that doesn't turn him into a pathetic creep with a hopeless crush. Fuck he's too old for this.

"Saw 'em, thought you might like' em," he settles on. True, but vague.

Coward.

"Ya got me flowers, Whiskers?" Angel says, voice a bit high, tight. His eyes are blown wide, and his mouth is open a little, like he can't get enough air in and Husk understands because he stopped breathing himself the moment the door opened.

He doesn't respond right away. Husk's been a gambling man since before Hell. Maybe this is worth gambling in, because Angel looks about a second from collapsing in his own doorway and there are only so many things that could mean.

He stands, pressing the bouquet into Angel's second set of hands, damn the fuckin' sweat and anxiety. The only way forward is though and it's the only honest way to go.

"You deserve beautiful things, sweetheart." he says, channeling a man he once was, that had the right words and tone to make someone look his way, to make them feel seen.

Those mismatched eyes go huge and glassy, and Husk is about a quarter of the way to a panic attack before he's pulled into the tightest hug he's ever experienced.

"Ya can't say things like that and expect me not ta squeeze ya, Husky," Angel murmurs into his neck, sets of arms wrapping Husk up entirely, fingers dug into his fur (he hopes he isn't too sweaty, hopes he's nice to touch).

"You deserve to hear nice things too," he whispers, and his voice is low and strained, fuckin' obviously besotted.

He feels all those lanky limbs tremble a bit (oh fuckin', Christ his knees are weak, I did that, fuck), before he decides to give into his impulse to drag his claws through that fluffy hair that's always falling into Angel's (gorgeous, incomparable, hypnotizing) eyes.

"Husk," Angel nearly whines, breathing going a bit funny at that and Husk decides to roll the dice one last time.

"Fuck it. Can I kiss you, Legs?" he says, aiming for sexy and ending up closer to desperate.

There's a shit starting grin creeping across that beautiful face when he pulls back to wait for Angel's response.

"I dunno Husky, can you?" Angel snarks and oh fuck him (literally, figuratively, any fuckin' way).

"Brat," he breathes before he pulls down to align their mouths and oh fuckin' fuck that's good.

Angel's lips are syrupy soft and sweet, tasting of vanilla and peaches and all of the good things pieces of shit like Husk shouldn't get to taste. He makes a perfect huffing whine right into Husk's mouth and he has to pull back before he loses his composure entirely.

He wants Angel, wants to show him what it's like to have someone only aim to please him, and he will, he thinks. Just not yet.

He cups the side of Angel's face, giving him one last kiss before pulling back.

Angel's eyes are half lidded and he looks like every wet dream Husk's ever had. This isn't Angel Dust, the porn star. This is Anthony, and he's fuckin' perfect.

He reaches down and tangles his claws with one of Angel's hands, rubbing a thumb along a soft cheek bone.

"Have dinner with me," he says.

"Ya wanna have dinner," Angel says, "after a kiss like that?"

"I want to do a whole lot more," he replies because he knows Angel wants to hear it and, fuck it, he wants Angel to know it. "But I want to do this right. So, dinner tomorrow?"

Angel is looking at him like he's trying to solve a very difficult riddle. It goes on long enough that he wonders if he should apologize for overstepping. Fuck knows he's not in his right mind (how could he be, standing so close to Angel like this).

But then it's like the sun breaks through and he gets one of those rare, fuckin' stunning, smiles.

"Yeah, I'll have dinner with ya, kitten," he says, breathless and playful.

"Alright then, it's a date," he says, just so that Angel knows what he's offering (so he knows it's being accepted), "Wear something nice. I ain't takin' you to any kinda dive." Because he wants that to be clear too.

He can be a gentleman, when he's fucked to be.

"Oh," Angel says and he's blushing high up on his cheeks and Husk can fucking feel the heat of it.

He raises up onto his toes to kiss one of those honeyed blushes, before bestowing another kiss to the back of the hand he's still holding.

"Goodnight, sweetheart," he says before forcing himself to walk away (lest he never leave at all).

He only looks back once he's ready to turn the corner down the hallway, and sees Angel brushing his cheek where Husk's lips had been and cradling the flowers to his chest as gently as he does with Fat Nuggets.

Maybe Husk's onto something here. Maybe caring for (loving, because that's what it is whether he's ready to name it or not) Angel is something he'll be good at. Fuck knows the spider makes it easy.

If he weren't a very jaded, former overlord he'd be skipping back to his room on a fuckin' cloud.

As it is, there's just a little pep in his step, like some of the weight of the world's been lifted from his shoulders.

[sincericida]

Andrew Garfield from Netflix's 'Tick, Tick... BOOM!' attends the Deadline's The Contenders Film at DGA Theater Complex on November 14, 2021.

[pinksugarscrub]

Ruby

Hobie Brown! x fem! black cat! reader

Am I basic? Yes, yes I am. I tried to keep the physical description vague but I had fun with adding Felicia's iconic attributes.

Event by the lovely @the-kr8tor and banner by @mushroom-graphics-allotment 💙❤️

Word count: 882

"And—"

One of the many monitors on Miguel's desk clattered to the ground. The screen of course cracking under the intense pressure.

"There goes another one," Hobie grins. Nudging Gwen as his eyes trailed over the remains. He rolled a stray bolt under the bottom of his boot before kicking it away.

Gwen promptly shushes him. Smiling awkwardly as soon as Miguel sets his eyes on them. Before she can open her mouth to hopefully ease the tension in the atmosphere a voice interrupts. A foreign voice.

"Heyo!" You laugh, eyes full of mirth as you strut into Miguel's base of operations.

Gwen may have thought Hobie was cool but she’s pretty sure he’s met his match.

Your silver hair bounces with every step and she swears pieces are almost shaped to resemble cat ears. There are yellow tinted glasses that rest on the bridge of your nose, cat eye frames. Gwen can see a pattern.

You stop short. Pointing a ringed finger in Gwen’s direction. “Cute hair.”

You can't help but relish in the various looks the Spider variants were giving you. Well, excluding Miguel O’hara, your dimension's Spider-Man.

The man has a special place in your heart regardless of the amount of worlds out there.

"Miss me Bossman?" You cheer. It isn't until you feel a hand tug on your collar that you tone down your normal eccentricities. For less than two seconds.

Tilting your head back you face Jess Drew. You offer her the least apologetic smile. She sighs, pushing you forward with a roll of her eyes.

“Thank you.” Clearing your throat you brush your hand along your shoulders. Like her touch was unwelcome.

“You must be Felicia, yeah?” Hobie interjects.

He’s studied you long enough to deduce you’ll be a fun way to further torment Miguel and Hobie will take what he can get. Although, he has the strangest feeling the two of you have already met because he knows Felicia isn’t your name.

It must be all the digging he’s done to find loopholes around Lyla and other security measures.

You whistle the moment you set your sights on him. Resting your arm on Gwen’s shoulder and glancing down at her. “Is he new-? He must be new. I would have remembered him.”

“My name isn’t Felicia,” you answer. “But pretty boy you can call me whatever you’d like.” Clicking your tongue and winking at the man. You take this time to extend your right hand.

Gwen cheeks burn for Hobie. She isn’t quite sure if anyone has ever been as outspoken as him.

“Is that right?” He chuckles. Accent thick, thicker than normal.

Is he…flirting back?

Gwen groans and she wants to die of her secondhand embarrassment.

You’re still holding onto his hand as you tap your pointer finger on the face of his watch.

“Oh, English.” You purse your black stained lips. Batting your lashes underneath your lenses. “Dreams do come true.”

Hobie is slightly taken aback. Who is he kidding- your fingers are tugging at his gloves of course his heart is fluttering like a bird but he doesn’t show it.

Instead he grins and leans down. Aware his height is the greatest intimidating factor he possesses. “Funny, I was thinking the same thing when you walked in love.”

His mind short circuits. What did you just do with your eyes? It’s bad enough you weren’t fazed but to openly oglie him. Is your hand on his chest? Can you feel his heart beating?

“What a charmer. I think I’ll keep you.”

Internally you’re laughing at how easy it is to charm him. It really must be in your dna.

You release him only to tap your palm on his cheek. With what little sympathy you had you decided to spare him with a warning.

“I have business to attend to gorgeous. You should wait out in the hall, things could get messy.” Your voice a hush whisper as your eyes glint with what can only be described as mischief. “For your own good.”

Subtlety is your strong suit when you want it to be.

With a careful gesture you expose the blinking red bug you had placed on Miguel’s monitor. The one that had undoubtedly latched onto Hobie’s watch while he witnessed the destruction with Gwen earlier.

With a confident stride back you prepare to head up to meet a seething Miguel. Playing with the bug that had returned to your finger disguised as a ruby.

Gwen is perplexed as Hobie takes her by the arm with the lamest excuse known to man. She wants to ask ‘what about the mission?’ but only receives an excited grin.

“We don’t want to miss the show,” he counters.

A second later the alarms blare before the building slowly shuts down. Lights flickering and chaos ensuing. A total blackout.

Hobie now recalls seeing you in a white cap adorning a janitor’s uniform. Another day in the cafeteria. The next in one of the training simulators. Wearing the same ruby ring.

You hum happily as you skip through your planned escape route. The power of the multiverse in the palm of your hand but most importantly, files from Alchemax.

You’re going to miss bantering with Hobie. The poor guy.

[maddie7writes]

EXS AND OHS

summary : y/n and harry are recently engaged, but in y/n’s line of work, she runs into lots of his exs and their not all happy for the couple

warnings : just bitter people

harry’s dating history wasn’t exactly a secret, but the list of exs would come to a hault, as the 50,000 dollar diamond sat on y/n’s ring finger with pride. but y/n wasn’t exactly a nobody, she had two vouge covers and three world tours under her belt along with opening and closing fashion week malin, paris, and new york, and not to mention several blockbuster movies.

she was kind of a big deal.

but in her line of work, she had lots of run ins with her loves exs, and they weren’t always pleasant.

—

y/n was booked for victorias secrets comeback show, and she was a nervous wreck. her strict diet made harry worried sick, and her coworkers were starting to worry y/n.

“and you’re sure you want to come? i understand if you don’t—.” “—y/n i love you. i’m goin’ to be at everything for the rest of your life. even if my ex is there.” he assured with a kiss to her forehead. she sighed, and a week later found herself in hair and makeup getting ready to strut out like she was on top of the world.

“make sure to flash that ring okay? it’s been on covers for the past month.” her agent said, as she stared down the poor hair and makeup crew. y/n heard a distant scoff in the background but she chose to ignore it. “i thought for the show it had to come off?” y/n asked, she didn’t exactly want to part with it but she didn’t want to break any rules. “not when the one who gave it to you is harry styles. trust me, the show will be memorable because of the ring.” her agent scoffed with a few taps to her phone then back to insane staring.

just then, the busty, perfectly thin blonde, with small bronze chrome wings came walking around in lingerie. “the reason he never proposed to me is because his taste in rings never met my standards.” camllie gossiped to a fresh faced girl, clearly new-ish to the modeling world. y/n rolled her eyes and kept her thoughts to her self.

when y/n got out of hair and makeup she was draped in gold lingerie with diamonds dripping from the bra. it was for their anniversary line, and the bralette would only be sold to select clientele. the matching panties were gold as the metal brushed the modesty garment she wore. then large gold wings were applied, weighing less then she has anticipated.

“she’ll open, then jenner and rowe will follow ten paces behind, wait at the top of the runway and walk back before them.” a manager explained to y/n and her agent. y/n nodded before being moved to were she was directed, greeting kendall with a smile and hug.

“i haven’t seen you in forever!” kendall smiled and embraced her, the two went on a brand trip together before she got engaged and at the start of her and harry’s relationship and ended up sipping on margaritas and gossiping on a yacht the whole time. privileged and elite? sure, but they had a great time.

“i know, we have to do a trip just us.” y/n smiled, kendall was already grabbing her hand to see the ring. “god! he’s always had good taste but y/n this is gorgeous.” she gasped and looked between the ring and y/n. camille scoffed beside her. “please, the diamond has a blue tint. i doubt it’s even real.” camille rolled her eyes.

“it’s tinted blue because he chose to not stain it. he went water mining when we were in bali, someone helped him find it, and he chose to not stain it.” y/n clarified, just like that the lights cut and ariana grandes unmistakable vocals of dangerous woman was heard, y/n was counted off and she strutted out.

—

y/n would definitely say her least favorite job was acting. there was so much drama in almost every romance movie she’s filmed, so when she was casted as gwen for the fourth spider-man movie to bring a love triangle into poor spider-man’s life, she was excited that it would be an action movie even if she was playing a love interest.

that was of course until she figured out who would be working on the movie with her.

olivia wilde.

y/n tried to remain professional, tho it was difficult with tom seeing as he was so giggly about everything, and zendya was laughing about how forced tom looked. everything was more natural with tom and zendya tho, so to switch between his girlfriend and his friend must have been weird for tom, so y/n tried to keep that in mind and remind her it wasn’t her fault the scenes weren’t working the way she wanted them to.

however one of the directors did not agree.

“y/n, can you step off set for a moment.” olivia’s voice sounded, tom looked confused as did y/n before she stepped off set as she was asked and followed oliva nervously.

“is there an issue?” y/n asked. oliva scoffed, “of course there is. this scene should have taken four takes, max. we have over forty of you and tom laughing. if you can’t play a love interest we will have to find someone who can.” she scolded, y/n was slightly offended.

two actors that have never worked together, taking on a role in a movie where they’re meant to be navigating love together, is not easy. and their first kissing scene might take a few try’s, but that’s not enough to threaten y/n’s contract over.

“unfortunately you might want to check the contract marvel signed, this is not cause for termination, and you cannot terminate my contract period. but if you would like to submit a claim that i am unable to preform my required task, i will happily take that battle with management. i really don’t want to waste anyone’s time so should i head back to set or?” y/n looked at oliva innocently with a smirk, brushing her hair back so her ring caught the light.

“watch you back, l/n.”

“styles. but close.”

safe to say y/n reported that threat and oliva wasn’t heard from again.

—

“you look absolutely divine.” harry came up behind her, kissing the exposed skin on her neck from her half slicked wave, old hollywood hairstyle. y/n laughed as she looked at them in the mirror. harry, in his colorful sparkly patch work jumpsuit, and her in her all black,

a-symmetrical neckline of the all black floor length dress she wore. their two personalities showing on their faces. she was so excited for tonight, she had a good feeling about harry’s changes of the trophy.

“you ready to sweep tonight?” she asked, he blushed. “don’t jinx me, the grammys don’t tend to like me.” he said in a hushed voice, y/n rolled her eyes and kissed her husbands cheek deeply. “not this year. i can feel it.”

her words ended up being true, with harry’s complete sweep. he was overcome with emotion, and y/n sat with him through all of it. holding his hand and even kissing him when he induced it, which was rare seeing as he hated pda especially when cameras were around.

they had plans to skip the after party and go get a pizza with the band and team, then go home and celebrate like old people with sleep. however their plans were put to a hault when taylor swift approached. y/n, ever the swiftie, was sure she was about to pass out as she squeezed her fiancés hand.

“congratulations harry.” she smiled and hugged him briefly before turning back to y/n. “and your performance was amazing, i had no idea your range was so good?” taylor said, y/n’s eyes went wide and she nodded. “oh yeah- yeah thanks.” she tried to laugh it off and leaned into harry’s comforting touch, he tried to hold back a laugh and taylor could tell.

“i have a few ideas and i want you to be a part of it, here’s my number— new number—.” she glanced at harry. “—and call me, so we can start scheming.” she winked at y/n, who was definitely dead. “congrats again harry.” she patted his shoulder before turning around and going to find her other friends.

“holy shit.” y/n whispered as she clutched taylor swifts number. harry chuckled and kissed her, “we can call her in the morning yeah? pizza and sleep okay?” he said, only to be welcomed with a large kiss and a i love you.

four months later, here y/n was, doing her one night only with taylor fucking swift.

harry was sitting in the 1989 friends and family box, with gigi, zayne, and their daughter as they caught up. gigi made sure to comment on how harry’s all access pass said ‘STYLE MUSE’ instead of harry styles.

the concert was perfect, everything was amazing. after all, taylor was considered the one of the best performers of all time. then as she stayed on stage after her two surprise songs, fans cheered even louder than usual.

“i actually have something i want to give you guys.” fans bracelets began flashing blue as screams could almost shatter the stadium, taylor laughed.

“i think you guys noticed i skipped style tonight.” she smirked, louder screams were heard and y/n stood backstage in her light blue wide legged pants, and white satin top. waiting nervously for her cue as they adjusted her headset and in ear microphone.

“i also want to throw in just one more surprise song, just for you guys!l she said excitedly, but didn’t wait for the crowd to quiet as she used the mic to talk over them. “please welcome miss y/n styles!” she screamed, and the stadium screamed back as the beat to style began to play.

harry recorded like a proud husband and sang along to every word as he watched y/n dance around on stage, in her element to a song he inspired.

“you got that long hair slick back white t-shirt.” both the girls flicked part of their hair over to imitate harry back in one direction, and ran a hand from their neck down to their pelvis as they sung, then tossed one shoulder and strutted down the diamond like models. which y/n was, harry thought to himself.

style passed, the loudest cheer in the whole room came from harry. so happy to see the woman he loved getting to work with her idol and be so happy doing it.

“i think there’s one more that goes to perfectly with us, don’t you think taylor?” y/n asked, fighting back the happy tears in her eyes. taylor bit back a smile and nodded, “what do you think Los Angeles?” she asked, they screamed. and the beat to i think he knows began to play.

the girls sang and danced along with the crowd, harry didn’t know this song very well so he was hyper focused on making sure to get all of y/n’s performance while also watching her.

“he’s got that boyish look that i like in a man.” y/n sung, and stopped dancing as she looked at taylor.

“i am an architect i’m drawing up the plans.” taylor copied the movements.

“he’s so obsessed with me and boy i understand.” y/n flipped her hair jokingly, making sure to flash the ring before both girls turned to face each other taylor grabbing y/n’s hand to look at the ring before screaming the line; “boy i understand!”

harry’s heart was skipping around 13th avenue.

[sh4wty18]

hi! can you write a Johnnie x fem reader fluff where they get high and confess feelings?

confession.

pairing: johnnie guilbert x reader

summary: same as request.

cw: fluff, mentions of smoking 🍃 & getting high, language

word count: 1.2k + barely edited tbh

---

The low orange glow from the burning end of the joint flickers as Johnnie inhales. You were sitting on the floor in front of your open window, sharing a joint. He didn’t smoke often, but when he did it was usually only with you, Jake, or Carrington. You knew he often felt paranoid while high, so you never pressured him to join your late night smoke sessions, but you were always sure to offer. He usually accepted, just to spend time with you. 

He passes the joint back to you and you take another hit, your eyes lingering on him as he exhales the smoke out your bedroom window. His head rolls back and you admire his neck tattoos, wondering what he’d do if you leaned in and kissed them. 

Tara’s always said his feelings for you were evident from the first night you met him, six months ago. You had been visiting Tara (one of your high school best friends) for a long weekend, and it was that weekend when you met Jake and Johnnie for the first time. Of course you knew who they were, Tara talked about them all the time, and you’d seen the three of them interacting in Tara’s youtube videos. When Tara asked if you wanted to move in with her a couple months ago, you happily agreed. It was only after you’d moved in that Tara had told you about how Johnnie couldn’t stop talking about you. He brought you up in conversation often, since your first visit, wanting to know when you’d be back in town. When he’d found out you were moving to LA, he tried to mask his excitement, but Tara could see right through him.

He brought you flowers when you moved in, with a note in his swirly cursive handwriting that read “I’m glad you’re here” with his phone number. Since then you’d been hanging out often. You must’ve been better at hiding your feelings than Johnnie, because you’d felt the same way about him, only Tara had never brought it up. 

“What?” Johnnie asks, smiling at you, a hazy look in his droopy eyes. 

“Nothing… you’re just pretty.” You say, smiling, taking yet another hit from the joint before passing it back to him. 

He smiles softly and says, “One more and then I’m done,” before taking a long hit and letting out a loud, obnoxious cough. “Holy shit! Oh fuck! That was stupid, why did I do that??” 

You giggle, the wave of calm fully settling over you, “You okay, pretty boy?” You ask, which only causes Johnnie to cough harder, caught off guard at the nickname. 

What was coming over you? You’d gotten high with Johnnie before, but this time you felt a sense of confidence you weren’t used to. Maybe it was Tara’s words ringing out in your mind— He likes you, y/n, it’s so obvious. But he’ll never tell you. Johnnie’s not the kind of guy to open up to a pretty girl— but for some reason you just wanted to tell him everything you’d ever felt for him. 

“You’re staring again,” Johnnie says, after his coughing fit finally ended, “do I have something on my face or what?” 

You giggle again, “No! I just like your tattoos. You’re so cool.” 

He smiles, and his cheeks turn a rosy pink, “Oh yeah? Which ones are your favorite?” 

You scoot closer to him and bring a hand to his chin, tilting his head toward the window, “I love these,” you say, tracing a finger over his moon and bat tattoos on his face, “they bring more attention to your eyes, and your eyes are gorgeous.” 

He swallows hard as you lean in closer to him, your lips only inches away from his. You tilt his head back a bit and run your finger lazily down his neck, “And I love these. They’re just…” you trail off, and suddenly you make a decision without thinking. Before you know it you’re leaning in, kissing his spider tattoo and dragging your lips up closer to meet his jawline. He gasps and you pull away, mentally cursing yourself for doing something so reckless. 

“You… you’re kissing me.” Johnnie states, “You kissed me. Why did you do that?” 

“I don’t know! I-” you shake your head. “No. I do know. I… I like you, Johnnie.” You cringe at the childishness of it all. “Jesus, I sound like a five year old.” You turn away, all of your newfound confidence suddenly dissipating when you see Johnnie’s confused face staring back at you. Embarrassment takes over and you hide your face in your hands, which is arguably more childish than the confession itself, but you weren’t thinking clearly in your current state. 

The corners of his mouth upturn at your words and clear embarrassment, “Hey, look at me,” you look up he rests a hand on your cheek. “I like you too.” He cringes, but then lets out a giggle, “Oh God, we really do sound like children.”

Your laughing slowly stops and you take in the sight of each other. Truly looking at each other, indulging in every tiny detail of each others’ faces. 

He pushes a strand of hair behind your ear, the old movie cliche, before leaning in to kiss you. You kiss him back, scooting forward to straddle his lap where he sits. He wraps his arms around your back, pulling you into a sweet embrace. You drape your arms over his shoulders and bury your face in his neck, kissing him again. He laughs and you break away, giving him a mischievous smile, “What?” You ask him.

“I just… can’t believe this is finally happening, and the only reason we even had the balls to say anything is ‘cause were high.” He lets out another embarrassed giggle.

You smirk and kiss his cheek, “Are you saying you’ve had a crush on me all along, Guilbert?” 

“Maybe,” he blushes. 

“I’ll tell you a secret,” you whisper, leaning in close so your lips brush against his ear, “So have I.” 

You smile at him, and one of his hands moves from your back to your neck, pulling you down to kiss him again. Just as you slip your tongue into his mouth your bedroom door flings open, and Tara comes barging in.

“OMG, you’ll never guess who I saw at—”

“Shit! Tara!!” You scream, flinging yourself off Johnnie’s lap, but it’s too late, she’s seen it all. 

“Fucking finally!! I was getting tired of the constant yearning.” 

“You knew??” You ask, completely in shock that she had any idea of your feelings for him. 

“Duh. You’re not good at hiding your feelings. Neither of you are.” She giggles and backs out of your bedroom, closing the door with a quick “Goodnight.” 

You and Johnnie turn to each other, both your jaws hanging open. Then Johnnie bursts out laughing, and you can't help but do the same. His laugh is contagious. You climb back into his lap and replace your hands around his neck. He grips your lower back as your laughs simmer out. 

“Where were we?” You ask. 

“I think I remember,” Johnnie quips, and leans in to press his lips to yours once more.

---

sorry this took forever. i hope u liked it :)

[the-kr8tor]

Imagine the twins grow up a little let’s say 5 years old and they ask the most random questions it would be so funny? Like “why happens if the earth stops spinning?” “Why is the water blue?” “How does snow happen” and obviously “how are babies made?”

Cuteeee!!! Thank you for requesting! 🫶

Pairing: Hobie Brown x fem! Reader/ Spider-Punk x fem! Reader

Tags: No use of Y/N, No specific physical description of the reader, Dad! Hobie AU, Twin AU, Billie and Ramona AU, Mom! Reader. FLUFF

ʕ⁠·⁠ᴥ⁠·⁠ʔ

The twins have gotten good at sneaking, scarily good. You have no idea how they've gotten this great at sneaking and bypassing Hobie's spidey senses but you have a hunch that they heard your conversation with Hobie during what was supposed to be their nap time. With his head on your lap and your fingers scratching at his scalp he dishes out a complaint to you, well you both thought it was just you.

Hobie was complaining that his spidey senses can't feel when the three of you approach him from behind. Citing that it has probably been ignoring you and the girls because it's used to your presence and dubs you and his girls a non-threat. He has also grumbled that it only activates for you three when there's danger; like the girls almost falling from the playground or you almost burning yourself from a hot stove. He's deeply annoyed because he misses the little tingles that never fail to make him smile whenever you or his girls are near.

You take this new information into consideration, when you enter a room he's in, you always call his name or knock on the wall so he still gets that warm feeling when you're in his presence. Unfortunately for him, the girls have better ideas.

Both girls keep popping up from somewhere when you least expected it, their footfalls silent, guess they've learned from the best. Then suddenly you hear their voices asking about life's greatests mysteries.

Once, while you were preparing their bath, Billie appears behind you, asking why water in the pool and ocean are blue but not in the tub. You almost fell in the water back then.

A few times the girls have materialized in Hobie's workshop, scaring the crap out of their father. Again asking him a barrage of questions that has Hobie answering promptly of course.

The sun is just about setting, the backyard looks gorgeous in the sun's rays. The metal bench is cold underneath you but with Hobie's arms around you, you don't seem to mind the chill.

You and Hobie cuddle outside in the garden, laps covered in the same patchwork blanket you've gifted him all those years ago. The breeze picks up and you snuggle closer to him, he presses sweet kisses on your temple as his hands rub up and down over your arm. The girls are in the living room watching their cartoons, the telly's light shines in the backyard, illuminating the flowers and veggies all four of you planted.

It's quiet, too quiet.

“How does the telly work?” Mona’s sweet voice rings out in the silence making you and Hobie jump in each other's arms.

“Fu–blo–what?!” Hobie saves himself from accidentally swearing right in front of Mona.

She peeks out from the arm rest, too small to fully reach up, her eyes are curious, hair disheveled from lounging on the settee.

“How does the telly work?” She repeats.

“Oh, lovely, you scared us a bit. Come here” you pat the seat in between you and Hobie. He lifts her up, placing her on his lap.

“Curious, eh?” Hobie pokes her side, she giggles, snuggling closer to her dad.

—

“I've finally got them to go down” you flop yourself on the dining chair, eyes growing heavy. “Remind me not to give them ice cream before bed.”

Hobie wipes his hands on a cloth, the last bit of dishes all cleaned and drying on the rack. He flings the towel on his shoulder, knowing what the imagery does to you.

Before he could throw a witty remark, you're already making grabbing hands towards him, lips pouting from impatience. He obliges, crossing the small gap between you.

You grab him by the ribbon of his sweatpants to get him impossibly closer to you. He's situated in-between your legs, knees knocking with yours. He chuckles lowly, hands placed on your jaw to look at you fully, his thumbs rubbing softly at your tired eyes.

“Missed me? I was home the entire day, lovie”

“Shut up and kiss me, Hobart”

Hobie rolls his eyes, already bending at the waist to meet you halfway.

“How are babies made?” Billie and Mona suddenly appear by the kitchen doorway, holding hands in their blue pajamas. They remind you of a horror movie.

Your soul and Hobie's left your bodies for a second.

“Girls–you scared us!” you clutch your non-existent pearls.

Hobie's head is on top of yours, trying to calm his racing heart.

“Sorry,” Mona apologizes, “Annie said they came from storks but Shane says they came from fairies.”

“And Ricky says they come from parents sleeping together. Daddy always sleeps with you mummy, why isn't there a baby yet?” Billie continues.

Oh childhood wonder. Your brain is already trying to find the right combination of words to answer their burning question.

Hobie chokes on air, you slap his arm as a warning. He lifts his head up with a lopsided smile.

“If you sneaky sneaks didn't interrupt there'd be a baby soon enough—”

“Hobie!”

“We don't get it” they simultaneously say.