#bit long innit luv

[mischievousmoony]

Hiiii!!! i absolutely love your writing and i wonder if you wouldn’t mind writing a james potter x fem!reader thingy. Basically where she is out with some

friends that are absolute dicks and basically they ‘dare’ her to walk home in the dark alone whilst she is drunk and she agrees became se she just wants them to like her but she realises how much of an idiot she is and so she walks to James’ house where he comforts her and stuff.

if not don’t worry

love you!!!!

changed the prompt up a little hope it's okay lovie <3 i also made it a bit long for my definition of a drabble but thats ok hopefully u think the more words the merrier luv u

𝚜𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚝 𝚜𝚎��𝚎𝚗𝚒𝚝𝚢

⟢ james potter x fem!reader ⊹ 2.3k ⟢ warnings/tags: hurt/comfort, intoxication, social anxiety briefly mentioned, implications of how dangerous the situation was, for some reason i used this as an opportunity to practice writing imagery so sorry if it's too much

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

The sharp, crisp wind nips at your skin as you walk down the shadowy, deserted London streets, the echo of your heels clicking against the pavement being the only sound that punctures the eerie silence.

A misty breath passes your lips and you hug yourself a little tighter, your hands making futile attempts at smoothing the goosebumps that dot your arms. You mentally curse yourself for listening to your "friends" when they said a jacket would ruin your outfit, wondering if this was their plan all along.

More tears fall as your mind wanders back to the friends you thought you were making and the bitter wind swiftly dries them against your cheeks, leaving your skin tacky with the salty residue.

What was supposed to be an opportunity to forge new friendships with some girls from your class took a devastating turn when they all crammed into a taxi without you, leaving you tipsy and stranded with their parting taunts ringing in your ears.

"Wait, we won't all fit," you had jabbered facetiously, the gravity of the situation not yet apparent to your drunk mind as you clumsily stumbled towards the car, your heel catching on a crack in the pavement.

One of the girls snickered as she wrenched the door of the black cab open, "That's a shame, innit?"

"I suppose you'll have to find another way home," another girl remarked, the others laughing along, barely bothering to suppress their amusement.

The carefree smile you sported faded from your face, feelings of dread and alarm creeping up your chest as you murmured, "My phone is dead, I won't be able to call a car."

"Sounds like you'll be walking home tonight," one of them sneered with a cruel edge.

"W-what?" you stammered, your chest rising and falling with a frantic rhythm as the sobering situation sinks in, "Walking back to my flat would take close to an hour."

The last girl to pile into the car— the one who originally extended the invitation to their night out with warmth and enthusiasm— looked up at you from her seat in the taxi with a mix of feigned sympathy and cruel delight. Her eyes gleamed with sly satisfaction as she leaned out of the car and took the door handle into her grasp.

"Well, then you better start," she declared, her tone punctuated by a mocking laugh and the slam of the car door.

You wish you could say that there was a sudden flip in their behavior the moment the taxi pulled up, but the abrasive way they conducted themselves around you all night should have had you running ages ago. But your naivety and desperation to make friends clouded your judgement, you supposing that it might simply take more than one night for the girls to warm up to you.

The sound of the car screeching away still rings in your ears as you brave the streets alone, trudging in the opposite direction of your flat. The hour walk to your home— more if you walked along the safest path you could think of— was too daunting on your mind. Your desperation to get off the streets steered you to your boyfriend's instead, his flat being half as far as yours.

If it weren't for the overwhelming unease you felt, you might have been too embarrassed to face James tonight. But your nervous edge was enough to send you hastily fleeing to his flat, it being well into the A.M., and you being alone— dressed in an outfit you were only comfortable wearing around a swarm of girls you thought had your back— and barely able to hold your own after medicating your social anxiety with a few too many cocktails.

When you finally arrive at the familiar stoop to James' place, you feel a wave of relief wash over you as you stagger up the stairs, leaning heavily on the iron railing for support.

Your knocking is incessant as you mutter pleas under your breath, desperately hoping James is sleeping lightly tonight. It feels like more time has passed than it actually has by the time the door creaks open.

James appears in the doorway, clearly just out of bed. His hair is tousled more than usual, stray strands sticking out unevenly over his forehead, and his clothes are wrinkled from tossing around in his sleep. He straightens out his glasses that lay crooked over the bridge of his nose as he processes your presence, his face a blend of sleepiness and alarm.

You utter his name weakly, a fragile quiver that reveals your vulnerability and distress. James' heart breaks at the sound and he wordlessly pulls you inside and envelopes his arms around you. You let him pull you in and your hands find the plush cotton of his jumper, gripping onto it like a lifeline.

James' mind races with worry, trying to piece together what could have happened to put you on his doorstep, tearful and distraught, in the middle of the night. He knows that you had gone out for some drinks at some bar downtown. He also knows that you weren't supposed to be alone and that you were supposed to take a taxi home— these being the answers to questions he asked earlier to ensure your safety.

The possibilities of what could have went wrong fill him with a profound sense of dread, and he tries not to let himself get carried away with the nightmares that swirl around in his mind.

Wrapped in his arms, you kick your heels off to the side somewhere. The shoes were killing you, and one more second in them and you might have collapsed into a heap on the floor.

James can feel you tremble against him when you settle, a result of the cold and lingering fear from being outside, inebriated and alone.

"You're freezing," he whispers, his voice hoarse from his recent slumber and edged with worry as his large hands come to rub your arms. He frowns at the iciness of your skin.

It's James' first instinct to break the embrace and tug at his collar, pulling the jumper from his own back to drape its warmth over you instead, leaving him only in his joggers that hang lazily from his hips.

The cotton is still warm with his body heat when it cocoons you and the scent of him on the fabric brings you comfort. You sniffle pathetically when you meet James' large, sorrowful eyes that brim with concern as your head pops free from the jumper's collar. He smoothes the fabric over your body quickly before his hands climb up to your face.

The pads of his thumbs sweep away stray tears as he cups your face, his fingers brushing softly along your jawline as he tilts your head to meet his troubled eyes.

"What happened?" he asks, notes of concern in his voice as his thumbs trace soothing shapes into your cheekbones.

An anguished whimper sounds in your throat and more tears begin to spill. You shake your head, unable to find your voice to explain.

"That's okay," he murmurs, pulling you back into his chest as he cradles your head in his hands, "It's okay, my love, I'm here. You're safe."

He coos tender words of comfort and reassurance in your ear, his voice steady and soothing. One hand lowers to gently rub your back until the tremors in your body gradually subside and you begin to feel a sense of security build back up.

James only pulls away when the rise and fall of your chest slows to a steady rhythm. Brown eyes meet yours and he offers a reassuring smile. He murmurs words of beckoning and leads you deeper into his flat. He doesn't take you far, just to his sofa so he can get you off your feet. You're thankful, the blisters from your heels becoming almost unbearable to stand on.

Your boyfriend sits first, gingerly pulling you down onto his lap, both craving your closeness and understanding just how much you need him right now. You curl up with your legs folded in front of you and your knees drawn close to your chest, your side pressed snugly against his torso. One of his arms wraps around your back for support, while the other rests casually over your legs, his large hand comfortably settling on the back of your thigh.

His head lulls forward until he can nuzzle into your hair, his breath warm against your ear as he softly prompts, "Think you can tell me what happened now?"

You sniffle once, letting your lungs fill with air before you stammer into a hesitant explanation. Still embarrassed over the whole ordeal, everything comes out in a small, quivering voice, starting with the awkward tension at the bar and ending with the way they laughed as they cruelly left you on the curb.

A whirlpool of emotions rages in James' chest. He doesn't understand how anyone could be unkind to his lovely girl, and he certainly doesn't understand how anyone could be so heinous to leave a person alone on the street like that.

James swallows hard, his next question living on the tip of his tongue until he has the strength to ask it. His tone is unwaveringly serious, low and intense in its level of concern, when he finally does.

"Baby, please tell me you walked straight here. No one gave you any trouble?"

"No," you shake your head, "no trouble."

James feels his whole body relax at your words, and a noise hitches in the back of his throat as he releases a breath he didn't know he was holding. The overwhelming flood of relief and emotion threatens to bring him to tears, but he manages to hold them back. His eyes close briefly as he presses closer, his nose smooshing against the side of your head as he presses kisses behind your ear.

Your eyes flutter shut too as you allow James to cradle you in his arms. You think about how you almost tripped a few times, but you know that's not exactly what James is worrying about. Although, you can imagine he'd fuss over that too, checking your knees and palms for scuffs and kissing the skin there just because you could've hurt it.

As you feel the tension drain from his body beneath you, you think about how his fears mirrored your own.

"I was scared there would be," you admit in a small voice.

"I know my darling girl. I'm so sorry," he leans back, tilting his head to the side so he can meet your gaze. You don't miss how his eyes are glassy when they lock onto yours with calming intensity, "You're safe now, I've got you." He presses his lips to your forehead, lingering there as he mumbles, "I'm sorry this happened."

"I thought I was making friends," you choke out, the words cracking with the weight of the betrayal.

James feels his heart break all over again.

"Those girls don't deserve to have you as friend."

"But I want friends. It was so easy in secondary school. I've always had you, and Lily, Sirius, Remus. Everyone."

James listens intently, his sympathetic eyes gazing upon yours once again.

"I'm all alone at uni. And I don't why nobody likes me," you finish in anguish.

James promptly moves his hand from your thigh to cup your cheek, "Listen to me. You're lovely, so lovely. Anyone would be lucky to have you as a friend, alright? You're going to find people who think so too."

"And you have me," he corrects. "You still have all of us. I know things are different now, and I bet you're missing having friends in your classes, yeah? But uni's only just started. You're gonna find your people."

"You think so?"

"I know so, lovely girl," he says, his thumb flicking the tip of your nose endearingly, "I was already a goner the first time I spoke to you. And if I remember correctly, you and Lily were thick as thieves after one day of knowing each other. Right?"

You hum affirmatively, remembering the first days of friendship with the people you now call family.

"See? You're good at making friends. It's 'cause you're amazing, anyone with a brain can see that. Those girls are just bloody idiots." James' features take on a sour look when he thinks about them, but with you in his arms, he can't sustain his irritation for long— especially not with you smiling prettily at his words.

"There's that smile," he mumbles fondly, and your giggle is music to his ears. You stay like that for a moment, trading smiles and tender caresses.

Eventually, James' expression shifts, his brow furrowing as he becomes stern.

"Next time you go out, I'm gonna pick you up. I don't care how late, I don't care who you're with. And I'm buying you a portable charger for that phone."

"Okay, Jamie," you agree softly, recognizing the firmness in his voice that leaves no room for argument, and finding it a bit endearing how fiercely he cares for you.

He relaxes again with a sigh. His hand, which still remains cupping your cheek, pulls you a fraction closer.

"I'm happy you're safe, love. I'm happy you came here." Each of his words is wrapped with sincerity and affection. "I love you," he says earnestly.

"I love you too," you whisper, the same depth of emotion laced in your words.

He guides you even closer, meeting you halfway with a tender kiss to your lips. It's a beautiful blend of sweetness and innocence, a soft brush of lips that envelopes you in a blanket of sweet serenity, making you forget what it was ever like to be scared.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

[ghostedbunnie]

training with tf141

tw: dubcon-ish?, everyone is nasty but gaz

(nsfw under the cut!)

GHOST barks orders and expects you to follow and when you don't follow them fast enough he makes you -- kicking your feet further apart so your stance is more solid, breathing down your neck while his big gloved hands cover yours to adjust how you're holding the gun. he can hear the hitch of your breath, feel the tremble of your body when his body comes into contact with yours and you can't see the wolfish grin under his mask. you can't see all the downright filthy thoughts he has about the curve of your ass when you bend down.

but you'll know soon enough, after your training ends and you excuse yourself to go shower, he follows watching you take off your clothes showcasing his willpower not to jump you right there but that all vanishes as soon as he hears you groan after the water hits your sore muscles, manhandling you into a corner.

"spread y'r legs just like I taught ya. practice makes perfect, luv."

JOHNNY was waiting to get you on the mat for ages now. finally he can have his hands all over you without worrying about boundaries (not like he ever really does). you could swear he groped your ass few times when you were rolling around on the mat trying to get the upper-hand over the Scot who is thoroughly enjoying your struggles, who let's you push him over few times just to grab your thighs and roll his hips up into yours to see your eyes widen. after he's riled up enough he ends up pushing you down onto the mat from behind holding on your hands down, his other arm is wrapped around your throat not really putting any pressure on simply pushing you back into him where his hard-on is straining against your ass.

"ye put up a good fight, bonnie, lemme treat ye a bit, aye?"

PRICE can hold his own really well, wouldn't be alive for so long if he couldn't but his expertise has always been tactics so he drills the basics into you. sitting you down at a table to give you some possible scenarios and see how you deal with them, making you sweat when he stands behind you hands crossed over his barrel chest with his sleeves rolled up over his forearms. your heart almost jumps out of your chest when he leans over you, hand resting on the back of your neck the other on the table next to you to see your marks on the map and suddenly you can't think about anything else but the woodsy smell that washes over you. after he's satisfied with the lesson, he looks into your eyes with the irises blown out from the need building up in you and he let's out a soft almost mocking laugh before he pushes the map and other documents off the table to make space for you.

"good thing the walls are soundproof, innit? let it all out, that's a good girl."

GAZ is pretty much a tech whiz, he knows his way around and he is a really good teacher. he can explain even the most complicated issues with easy, making it actually make sense so you can feel the progress you're making by working with him. but when he scoots the chair closer to yours with the excuse of not seeing the code well and his thigh is touching his own and he throws you a charming smile your concentration vanishes. you can feel his stare on your face instead of your computer screen but when you turn your head you can never catch him looking but you can still feel the stare almost as a touch caressing all the way to your exposed collarbones. it gets worse when you absentmindedly chew on your pen and Gaz ends up resting his hand on your thigh high enough that your heart rate spikes.

"let's take a break? little distraction might be nice, no thinking involved."

[tenaciousduckpoetry]

Accidents Happen

Hobbie's medusa piercing gets stuck on your septum after a more heated make out session

Warnings: Hobie being a silly billy, mention of claustrophobia, Hobie has a medusa in this cause I think he'd look hot with one <33

"Oh my god.. Hobie. Hobie it's stuck." You words came out rushed and almost slurred, lips swollen and bruised from the harsh kisses your boyfriend had given you just seconds before. The once passionate moment was beginning to fizzle into nothing more than a dying ember at the bottom of a fire pit. You knew you should have flipped up the jewelry embedded in your septum and now, here you were with Hobie Brown literally stuck to your face.

"When people joked about you being stuck to me, didn't think you'd take it seriously, luv." His words came out teasingly, hands still gripping your hips. With a gentle squeeze of his hands he leaned in the slightest bit to close the small gap between your lips. "No. Hobie- it's.. it's actually stuck." As much as you loved the intimate way in which he was so close, you were also beginning to feel claustrophobic.

Your face heated up, cheeks going red and breathing becoming the slightest bit more rapid than your previous panting. Hobie's thumb caressed your cheek. "Lovely, it's okay. Take a deep breath for me, yeah? I'll get you out of here." His words were comforting.

You took one deep breath in, held it for four seconds and slowly exhaled. He glanced at your eyes and then to your nose, seeing just how tangled you really were. The slightest movement would tug on the silver jewelry between his tip lip and nose.

"m just gonna bring my hand up to your face, 'kay?"

He knew it wasn't going to help your panicking, but now that you were slowing your breathing he was more confident in his decision. Long fingers came between your noses. He brushed against yours, smiling a little when he noticed that sweet look in your eyes. In a few swift movements he had unscrewed the ball of his medusa, catching it in his free hand. He pulled back slightly and was quick to put the ball back on, not wanting it to get lost.

"That's better, innit luv?" He grinned mischievously.

"Much better. Thank you, Hobie." You sighed softly, feeling a lot more free than a few seconds ago. His hands began to move back to your hips. You flipped your septum ring up into your nose and giggled quietly at the gentle strokes of his thumb against your waist. "Let's get back to what we started, hm?" Hobie suggested, leaning back into your lips.

[ave09]

moon boys head-cannons: amusement parks

note: this is MY personal opinion, MY headcannons, do not judge, por favor

steven

“bit dodgy, innit? i mean—it could run right off the track-“

“steven, it’s perfectly safe. there’s a track, it can’t fly off.”

“anything could happen, luv.”

steven would honestly have the time of his life, although he’d refuse to go on the big rollar coasters. 

he’d adore the carousel.

“lookit! the little ponies—aw and a giraffe-come here darling, let’s ride matching ponies-“

finds bits of history in every attraction. 

“this here—see the design—? it reminds me of these egyptian ruins-“

constantly distracted.

“we should get some food—or candy—or candy floss—is it called cotton candy here? ooo, luv look-“

he would last a couple hours before wanting to go home.

“the crowds-the loud noises-nope-no more-“

“you want to go home?”

“yes-“

marc

“i dare you to go on this ride with me.”

“no.”

“come on-“

this man, as grumpy as he seems, wants to do everything. 

“big roller coaster? loop de loops? upside down shit? hell yeah-“

but then he tends to also be very motion sick. 

“ya know what—never again-“ 

at first he was skeptical of this sort of vacation.

“amusement park? sweetheart, when you said, ‘vacation,’ i thought you meant me, you, and the bedroom-“ 

but in the end, he enjoys it more then you do.

“that ride was wild! let’s do it again-“

“you just said it made you want to puke-“

“all part of the thrill baby-“

food. food. food.

“okay-here’s the plan-two lunches, two dinners, and one post dinner meal-“

“marc-“

“have you seen how much food there is”

“you’re gonna puke it up later.”

“okay and-?”

refuses to do any water rides… for some obvious reasons and some internal.

“i’m not getting wet. nope. nada.”

his social battery outlasts yours surprisingly.

“marc, it’s dark now-“

“all the rides are lit up now—let’s ride ‘em all again-“

“you’ve thrown up three times-“

“it’s the experience-“

only when he realizes how exhausted you are does he give in to leaving.

“we should do this again.”

“and i thought this wasn’t your type of vacation?”

“shush-“

jake

this man does everything. 

and i mean everything.

you thought marc was crazy—jake lockley is crazier.

“cariño. come—bumper cars—“

bumper cars are his favorite, and he gets so aggressive with it.

“beep beep hijo de putas” (motherfuckers 💀)

he then proceeds to ram into a group of kids.

“jAke-“

“what? it’s the point of the ride-“

he enjoys the water rides, unlike someone, but hates getting wet.

“Maldita sea, mi sombrero está mojado.” (dammit my hat is wet)

“i told you to take it off-“

“i like this hat-“

a bit picky when it comes to the food.

“why is everything deep fried?”

“what did you expect?”

“not deep fried mierda.”

he hates the long lines.

“amor, i could stab everyone here and we could go on the bumper cars right now-“

“you’re not stabbing anyone-“

“but-“

“no.” 

his social butterfly wings die quickly.  

“Estoy harto de esto.”

“you ready to go home?” 

“sì… but.. un paseo más en los carros chocones. (one more ride on the bumper cars)

[mchlgayser]

heeey could u write about mason’s family finding out he has a girlfriend because she shows up at his door (when he answers she kisses him and everyone is shocked) thank u

OH MY GOD: : mason mount x female!reader

author's note: this is, by far one of my cutest fiction I think?! but lemme know what you think anon!! luv xx

contents warning: none // not proofread

'You got me a dress? ...In my closet room? ...Mason when did you even get here?!' He chuckles through the phone 'I'll tell you about that later alright? Just get dolled up for me angel!' He hung up the phone and you sigh, exasperatedly.

Mason told you today he wanted to bring you to a dinner date at his house, and you as a person who could't said no, you agreed to. What could possibly go wrong anyway?

Everything

You jog upstairs to your room and the linked closet room to see a black box with gold ribbon laid before you on the accessories drawer. You carefully pull open the box to see a long and elegant pink maxi dress neatly tucked

You present the dress in front of you feeling giddy and bubbly to wear it for today's special occasion.

You did your make up not too long after, putting on the dress and get your 'M' initial necklace and a pair of eggshell white pearl dangling earrings. After that you put your hair on a neat low bun and strands of hair at the front curling it a bit.

Satisfied with the look, you grab a purse along with a few of your necessities and then left the house.

Mason on the other hand started to grow more anxious, his polo-collared shirt is beads with sweats, his hands is shaking, too scared for your reaction and his family but he knows none of it won't be too negative but he'll get nagged from both parties.

His family are still preparing the dishes while his father and his brother in law on the hall talking business, him on the other hand has been quite nonstop looking out the window to see if your car had parked outside his residence.

'Guys, dinner's ready!' His sister, Chloe announced 'Mason come on--'

'I invited--'

The front door bell chiming, the whole family turns up to Mason 'Friends coming over?' He gulps, his mom head shake at the weird behavior of his son and gets up 'Let me get the door!'

'I'll do it, mom,' He rush to the door, his whole family is still eyeing him, he could see it from the corner of his views

He opens the door welcoming you, you squealed giving him a long chaste kiss on the lip and his cheeks. A series of 'What?' and a shrieking 'Oh' comes after that, you peep from his shoulder seeing his whole family looking at you both, well partially you...

You gapped in surprise, eyes going back and forth between Mason and his family. The mother came up to you first 'Gosh dear, you must be Mason's girlfriend,' She laugh immediately easing the tension, you gulp eyes burning holes into Mason as she drags you over the table and strike an immediate convos. His father joined in and soon his sister

'So how long you to've known each other?' She questioned you, you awkwardly chuckle 'It was't long, eight months I think? We met during an award show, I was the host and we had short interview together..' You blurted out, Mason beside you smile along and confirming it.

It was like that for the next past hours, his family opening up to you, especially his mom, she's very supportive, very reliable and caring too, easy for a timid person like you to even talk to her.

The day went by fast, and soon they left, you rolled your eyes at Mason and went back inside the house 'Wait babe--'

'What?! You got me meeting your family while I'm like this..' You pouted at him and he laugh, clasping one hand over your waist 'Like what..? You look decent.'

'Am not, I would've put more effort if I know it would be a dinner date with your family... I know I said that I'm ready to meet them whenever but not surprising me like Mase!' You complained, hand crossing over your chest getting sulky

He crooks a small smile and kiss your hand 'Well it went well innit?'

You suck your teeth and dismissed the topic 'Whatever but next time you gotta tell me first so I can prepare gifts or something...' He hums and followed after you inside the house

'You could say that all my family are fond of you, especially mom..' He admitted with a toothy grin, you mirror his expression and nods 'I think so, not too bad am I? Do you think they'll approve me to be part of the Mount family?' You joked sending a giggle his way, he froze for a second before he wraps both arms around you 'Yeah, they won't mind that, I think mom will definitely say this "the sooner the better" don't you think?' You flush down to your neck as Mason laughs at your unexpected reaction 'So cute!' He cooed scooping you up and bringing you to his bedroom

'Stay for the night, yeah love?'

[random-thot-generator]

Better Not to Know + Pt. 2

KYLE GAZ GARRICK x FEM READER

-

Summary: It's been months, but you've not been able to forget the stranger you hooked up with in a night club bathroom. Then again, it hard to forget someone who left such a lasting impression.

Warnings/Tags: no serious warnings, mild profanity, no smut this round, no use of Y/N

(Notes: This one wouldn't leave me alone either, so here's a second installment. Bit of a cliffhanger at the end. Yeah, I'm a literary sadist.)

banners & dividers by: @saradika-graphics

-

March comes in a like a lion, the wind and rain making it a misery to step foot out-of-doors. Small wonder that your boss decides to send you to pick up his dry cleaning for him instead of doing it himself. Why risk ruining his tailored suits and Italian shoes, when he could just send you, who bought your clothes off the clearance rack?

Umbrella clutched in your fist, you hurry along the sidewalk, dodging puddles and people as you make your way to the dry cleaners. You're relieved to see there's not a line, counting your blessings as you step through the door. An automated chime announces your arrival— bing-bong.

"Hullo. Can I help you?" A young woman with colorful tats sleeving her arms and teal hair gives you a customer service smile from behind the counter.

You pull the ticket from the pocket of your raincoat and slide it over with a tight smile. "Just a pick-up."

The young woman picks up the slip of paper, heavily lined eyes scanning the ticket before flickering over your damp, bedraggled form. "Be just a tick, luv," she murmurs, disappearing through a curtained doorway.

With nothing better to do, you drift over to a display of travel-size stain remover sticks, not bothering to turn around when the door opens, a gust of wind fluttering the hem of your coat. The automated chime sounds, drawing Tattoo Girl out of the back with what you assume is your boss' dry cleaning held aloft in one hand.

"Well, hullo, handsome!" she greets her new customer with a wide, toothy smile. "Got your uniform ready. Just need to take care of this lady first."

You don't look back to see who she's addressing, all your attention focused on fishing your boss' credit card out of your pocket. You do absently notice that the new customer smells nice. You catch notes of sandalwood and pine, a hint of musk, definitely masculine and strangely familiar. You also don't fail to notice how Tattoo Girl keeps glancing over your shoulder as she rings you up, the remnants of her wide smile still lingering.

"Here you go," she says, handing over the dry-cleaning bag and receipt, her eyes already focused on her more desirable customer.

"Thanks," you mutter, drawing the bag over the counter and draping it over your arm. Pulling the sides of your coat together, you turn, curious eyes flicking up to catch a glimpse of the man who has so distracted the pretty cashier, then almost trip over your own feet as you stumble to a halt.

"No bloody way," you breathe in a shocked whisper, staring up at the face that's been haunting you for the last five months.

His eyes widen at the same time yours do, recognition clear in his expression. "Christ, I don't believe it," he mutters, a mystified smile curving his sensuous lips. "It's really you."

You feel the same way. You can't believe it's really him, the gorgeous bloke from the club, Mr. Tall, Dark and Dangerous himself. "Um— wow. H-Hi."

His soft brown eyes register surprise but also pleasure as they lock with yours and his mega-watt smile appears. "Long time, no see, pet. How ya been?"

You gaze up at him dumbfounded, shaken all the way down to your sensible shoes. It's really him. Holy shit! "I, uh... I'm g-good. And you?" Christ! When did you develop a stammer?

He steps closer, his smile turning into something softer and intimate. "Been doin' alright." His eyes dart over your face, taking you in as if he still can't believe you're real. "This is bloody mad, innit? You wouldn't believe how many times I've..." He lets his words trail off, shaking away his dazed expression. "Ah, never mind. 'M just beyond chuffed to see ya again, pet. You look— lovely."

At least he's pleased to see me again, you think. That's a good sign, isn't it? You adjust the dry-cleaning bag in front of you, suddenly feeling self-conscious.

Tattoo Girl clears her throat, drawing your attention back to the counter. You glance over to see a perturbed little frown on her face, her eyes bouncing back and forth between you and the gorgeous man standing by your side.

"Oh! Sorry," you apologize, stepping away from the counter. You glance back up at him, feeling flustered and more than a little overwhelmed. Gripping the dry-cleaning bag closer to your body, you ignore the fact that you're probably wrinkling your boss' clothes.

"Ha. Making a right nuisance of myself, aren't I?" you murmur with a nervous titter. "It was, um, nice seeing you again, uh..." You give him a sheepish little grin, feeling terribly awkward and thoroughly embarrassed. "I-I'm so sorry. I don't think I ever got your, uh... name." God, how embarrassing...

He shuffles his feet and grins, looking a bit sheepish himself. "It's, uh, it's Kyle," he answers in a soft voice, holding out his hand. "Kyle Garrick." He dips his chin down to meet your eyes, giving you a teasing little smirk. "I don't think I got your name, either."

Taking his hand, you utter your name with a dazed expression as his touch sends warm tingles of awareness shooting up your arm. Neither one of you let go until the Tattoo Girl clears her throat again and sniffs in irritation.

Kyle's brows tick together in mild irritation as he shoots a quick look in her direction, then flicks his gaze back to you. "Would ya mind waiting while I take care of this? It'll just take a moment," he says, sounding anxious. "I'd really like to catch up with ya, maybe buy ya lunch or a coffee?"

Your head bobs in eager agreement. "Yeah, sure. I've got time."

Honestly, you didn't, but to hell with your boss. This is far more important to you.

Stepping out of the way, you wait by the door for him, your mind racing. As you stare at his broad back, your teeth worry at your bottom lip, wondering what he will have to say, then fret over what you're going to say to him. Is he just hoping to hook up again or does his interest go deeper than that? The way he's acting, it seems like it's more than that, but who knows? It's not like you really know him that well. Or at all, really. Jesus, this is nerve-wracking...

By the time Kyle has paid for his dry cleaning and is turning around, you have worked yourself up into a jittery mess. His smile dims as he takes in your nervous expression, concern plain on his face.

"Ya alright, pet?" he asks, stepping close to grasp your elbow. "You look like you're about to be sick."

Shaking your head, you offer him a weak smile. "No, no, I'm fine. I just feel a bit peckish," you lie, not wanting to make a scene. You can see Tattoo Girl staring daggers at the two of you, a petulant frown on her face. "Could we go ahead and get that coffee now? I think I need to sit down."

"Yeah, of course, love," Kyle murmurs, caressing your arm with a worried look. "C'mon, let's go."

He takes your umbrella from your numb fingers and opens the door, holding it for you as he snaps the brolly open over his head. Lifting his arm, he lays it across your shoulders, pulling you into his side as he shifts the umbrella to shield you both from the rain. Casting another worried glance down at you, he leads you to a nearby sandwich shop and quickly ushers you inside.

"Here we go," he murmurs, guiding you over to a table. He takes the dry-cleaning bag from you and drapes it over the back of a chair with his own. "Here, love. Let me take your coat," he offers as he steps behind you, and you're so flustered that you let him slip the coat from your shoulders before realizing your mistake. Quaking in your shoes, you turn to face him.

Kyle stands frozen, his mouth open to say something, his eyes now riveted on your waistline. You glance down as well then stare up into his shocked face, your hands going to your stomach to splay over the gentle swell of your baby bump.

A pained grimace twists your features as you whisper in a shaky voice, "I suppose I should explain."

-

part 1 part 3

[qaxqxd]

Kinktober 4

♡: Marc Spector x f!reader

Genre: Smut/fluff

Warning: smut, overstimulating, some somnophilia (with consent ofc), little bit of cock warming, oral 69, British slang, mention of Steven and Jake, aftercare <3

Word Count: 0.9k

A/n: MY BELOVED MOON KNIGHT 🫶

Summary: After a long day the boys come home seeing that you couldn't sleep, he helps you.

It was midnight, and they were still not home. You should have gone to sleep but you just weren't able to.

Ever since you met them. Marc and his other alters, you love very much. It's been different. You couldn't sleep alone anymore.

All the night you sleep with him, huddle up close. The warmth you missed. Missed too much to the point you couldn't sleep without him.

You knew he was working doing his duty and he had the suit. The suit of Khonshu's avatar. The Egypt God of the moon.

So there wouldn't be a way he would badly get hurt or die.

But still you couldn't help but worry. All the missions he has to go through, and all the sinful lives he has to get rid off.

You knew it was for the greater good, but if the greater good was months of no sleep, you would have preferred the greater evil.

And God your body was exhausted but you couldn't sleep. It's just been like that for a few weeks.

You sat on the couch watching TV to kill time. There wasn't anything great on the channel, or maybe because it was midnight.

You just finished a shower, so you threw a t-shirt and underwear on. Since you were too lazy to actually put on pants.

Jake sent a message a while ago, saying that they were gonna come home. A while ago was a day ago.

Not too long, but he has been gone for a good three months.

Click.

You looked over to the front door. There was a crack light and a figure, shaped like your boyfriend.

You didn't know who fronted, but you were too tired to find out.

"Luv?" A sweet British accent was heard. It was Steven, nonetheless. "You're not asleep yet?"

"Nope… Was waiting for you guys." You laid your head on him, you mumbled. "Can't sleep, luv?" Steven kissed your forehead, he held you.

"Nuh uh." You spoke. Steven giggled, "s'that my shirt innit?" He dug his face into your neck, inhaling your scent.

You felt a change of grip. That's when you realized Marc fronted. His hold on you tightens.

"Sorry for keeping you waiting hun." He mumble, pecking you on the lips. That peck turns into a lustful kiss.

Marc laid you down on the couch, his legs in-between yours.

"I'll help you fall asleep to make it up, okay?" He softly whispers to you. You nodded. "Just lemme do it for you."

His kiss trailed down to your thigh. He smirks, realizing you were just in your underwear. He rubs his thumb over the wet spot you had.

You let out a small whimper. He slips off your underwear smoothly. You were wet already under his touch.

He lifted your thigh seeing your wet cunt, he stuck two fingers into your puffed cunt. You let out a lustful moan.

Marc knew you and your sensitive spots. He'd pump his fingers into your small cunt, along with rubbing your clit.

He got you to climax all over his fingers. You rode his fingers to ease your orgasm. Your back arched as you rolled your eyes back into your skull.

Marc chuckled, "Feelin' Good, m?" He kissed your thigh, tracing down to your cunt. You felt his tongue carve into you.

You look down at your cunt. Seeing his eyes connect to yours. He looked hungry, but was willing to share his pleasure.

He knew you too well, all the spot that pleased you the most. His tongue flicked in and out.

You were building up to your second orgasm, as his tongue grinds against you. Your body was exhausted already but it still held on.

As you quickly arrive at your second orgasm. Marc pulled out after, and you heard shuffling around his belt.

Before you felt a warm heat inserted through your slit. You felt a hard cock penetrate you. He slipped in easily to how wet you were.

Your aroused built up, but the body exhaustion wasn't too happy. You closed your eyes.

Marc asked, "Are you tired?" You nodded, "Uh huh… you could continue…" you drift to your slumber.

Marc smiled at you, he kissed your forehead.

He got in positions and started slowly pounding your cunt. You let out moans for every thrust.

Marc let out a string of curses, "Baby, you're so tight." He whispered, knowing you couldn't hear him.

He felt your orgasm, as your pussy squeezed around him. You were so sensitive In your sleep. You moaned.

He carried you to bed to continue. 

Marc thrust into you until he got to his orgasm. He pulled out emptying his seed onto you. He thrust back in.

Nesting his cock into your cunt, spooning you. He laid right beside you, and slept.

He was too tired for this.

Jake on the other hand, wanted to clean you up. He fronted and got up.

He ran a bath for you, picking up your fragile and exhausted body. He also goes into the bath. 

He brushed your hair out and washed your body as well as his own.

Once he finished cleaning you up, he dressed you in comfortable clothes, and placed you down in your bed gently.

Jake wraps his arms around you, holding you in a tight hug.

[enigmatist17]

Joyce and Spike are besties, that's it 🤷‍♀️

--------

" - and there's no way she hasn't cheated on him!"

"Thats what I've been saying!" Spike's giggle is the first thing Buffy and Dawn hear when they return from a long day out.

"You know it's going to be a point of contention for like, the next week innit." The vampire snorted, halfway to raising a mug to his lips when Buffy and Dawn peeked into the living room with matching faces of shock and curiosity.

"....what are you doing here?" Dawn broke the awkward silence, Joyce having lowered the volume as Spike sat up straight on his spot on the couch.

"Watchin' Passions, wots it look like?" Spike grumbles, the blood in his mug a bit obvious when Dawn moves further into the living room.

"Buffy, what did I say about threatening Spike in my home?" Joyce shakes her head, Buffy looking at her with a slight pout.

Spike just gave a smug grin as he relaxed back, sipping his blood as he stared down Buffy.

"Someone messed up my crypt, and I like telly time." The vampire sniffed, and Buffy has the decency to look a bit guilty as he reaches forward to add some marshmallows from a small bowl on the coffee table to his mug.

"What is it with you two and Passions?" The Slayer finally moves to set her bag down by the door, Dawn slowly reaching over to snatch her own marshmallow before going to take up a free chair.

"It's a great soap!" Joyce shook her head as she raised the volume a little, not blind to the way Buffy kept her guard up. "Not a lot of people appreciate it here, and Spike has been lovely enough to join me."

"Figures he'd enjoy a soap with a haunted doll." Buffy grumbled as she went to the kitchen, and Spike only cackles as he places his socked feet back up on the table in front of him.

"Love me a good drama, luv, and yer mum has a great appreciation for art." Spike drawled, Dawn biting back a squeak when he lounged against her mother with a soft chuckle.

"That's very sweet of you to say." Joyce put a hand over her heart for a moment, a bit embarrassed yet touched. "While I wouldn't say a drama is art, that's still very sweet."

"All forms of media tend ta be art after a while." Spike shrugged, trying not to look pleased by the praise he'd received.

"I have work to do, I'll stake you if you try and kill my mother." Buffy called as she rounded up the stairs, honestly too exhausted for the normal verbal sparring match.

"Oooh I'm so scared." Spike rolled his eyes, muttering something as Joyce shook her head.

"I live with too many teenagers."

"Oi! I am not acting like a bloody teenager." Spike whined dramatically as Dawn giggled, pulling out some of her homework as Passions resumed in the background.

"The way you and Buffy bicker, you sure do." Joyce watched as Spike sat up to take a sip of his blood.

"I can only imagine how hard Angel'd laugh hearing that." Spike shook his head, Joyce watching him drink in thoughtfulness. "Still acts like I'm a fledge sometimes instead of the master I am."

"Well, that's his loss, dear." She patted his knee with a soft hum, wondering when she'd accepted the supernatural world as if she'd always known. "I think you make a great, uh, master, despite everything that's been forced on you."

"Think so?" As much as Spike had always put on airs, Joyce had always been able to catch sight of the more human side whenever she praised him, this time a small twinkle in his eye when he looked over.

---

He used to be known as William.

He'd confessed one drunken night one night that Buffy and Dawn were both out of the house, Spike sitting on the floor in front of the couch while Joyce propped him up. He'd told her how stupidly weak he'd been, how Cecily had broken his heart and practically drove him into Druscilla's embrace, voice trembling when he trailed off with his first undead breath.

She'd listened without a single interruption, one hand running through his dyed blonde hair while the other was firmly clamped over her mouth.

"Do you still remember your poetry?" It was a simple question, the drunken vampire tearing unfocused eyes from the carpet he'd been staring at.

"Some of it, yea." He didn't want her to stop touching his hair, leaning back with a pop of his back.

"You should recite it to me sometime, I'd love to hear it...William."

Blue eyes focus at the name, searching the woman's face for something she couldn't place, finally looking into her eyes.

"Not many people call me William." The statement is both a threat and pure vulnerability, and Joyce leans down to kiss the top of his head.

"Consider me honored."

---

"I know so." The vampire hums at that, reclining back on the couch and leaning against her.

"So, let's see if she really did cheat on him."

"Callin' it now!"

[dreamsgazer]

Day 2 - Presenting Presents

12 Days of Christmas

Warnings: slightly NSFW

“Luv?”

The penthouse is in complete darkness. Tangerine frowns, taking off his jacket and carefully hanging it on the mahogany coat rack.

The frown does not last long, not when he hears your voice from somewhere in the house “Tangerine, can you come in the bedroom?”

“Wait, everything alright?!” he inquires with sudden alarm, quickly obeying the gentle request.

There is a twinkle of laughter in your voice “Yes, my dear, I just have something for you.”

“And what is it?” he chuckles. When he finally enters the main bedroom, however, he is rendered speechless by the sight that greets him.

You are standing in the middle of the room and for once he wishes he is as good with words as his favourite writers were while putting on paper love declarations and written portraits of their beloveds.

He is not a poet, though, he’s a bloke from London and the “Fuck, love!” he exhales must do the job.

You are wrapped in a lingerie set, a tiny little thing all silver ribbons and dark red lace straps running along your arms, thighs, breasts.

“It’s a bit early for Christmas presents, innit?” he smirks, laying against the doorframe. He realizes you are trying hard not to blush under his ardent gaze, and the thought sends a spark of tenderness in his chest. 

However, the tentatively coquettish smile you sport while twirling one of the ribbons tied dangerously close to your breasts sends a very different spark down his stomach “Oh? Does that mean that you do not want to unwrap your present, T?”

He barks out a quick laugh. You, delightful, little minx!

Sometimes you forget that in his line of job you need to be fast, to be the one who wins a fight. And you need to be strong, to be the one who goes home on your own legs. And now it’s the perfect time to remind you of that. 

Your thrilled squeak when he fills the distance in three long strides and lifts you up makes him laugh again.

He gently pins you down on his gigantic bed, taking you in his arms.

Peppering your face with light kisses that make you giggle and his heart flutter, Tangerine rans a hand along one of your legs, until he reaches the red and white garter wrapped around your soft, luscious thigh.        

Hooking his fingers under it he slowly pushes it down your skin “I never said I don’t like unwrap early presents, darling. Would you like for me to be... naughty or nice tonight?”

[mykuup]

Wildest Dream

Summary : Tangerine can't belive you are real even tho you're in his bed. Again, to make sure you're not an angel or something, Tangerine decides to treat you right.

wc : 1,2k

Warning : graphic smut // minor DNI 18+ // fluff and smut // unprotected sex (piv) // language // fingering // mutual masturbation

A/n : This is names after Majid Jordan's song. I'm in love with them and all their songs are giving me ideas to write some Tangerine material (help me please I don't have time TwT) Again, english isn't my native language and it's not beta'd / proof read so all the mistake u spot are my own

Tangerine never thought he could have found someone like you. As a professional contractor, he couldn’t even imagine that he could be loved for what he truly is. But there you were, waiting for him in your loft in London he bought for both of you.

After the mission in Japan, Tangerine decided to have a break. Well, Lemon decided as his brother almost got killed in this stupid fuckin train. You were shocked by Lemon’s words knowing that he loves trains (Thomas especially) but as soon as you saw him and Tangerine tire and badly wounded, you knew their mission didn’t get well. Even tho the Twin never had proper “holidays”, Tangerine secretly enjoys being with you and doing nothing all day long in your arms.

“This is lovely,” Tange mumbles against the skin of your neck as he tightens his hug. You hum, caressing his skin and scars on his back. You loved the way he was so calm and peaceful around you.

He shuffles the bed sheets and moves around so he could face you, looking straight at you. God knows you would always dive into his clear blue eyes and get lost forever. You cup his face with both hands, your thumb brushing lightly his lips and stache.

“All my wildest dreams got nothing on ya luv.” He adds, very solemnly. Tangerine was in love. Deeply in love with you. But you never thought he would say something like that. Before you could even respond to him, his lips are on yours. A very soft kiss that you gladly deepened to show him how much you love him too.

You can feel his hands softly caressing your skin, his body's hot and heavy on yours. But that’s what you like about Tange. You always have this feeling of being protected by his large chest and his strong arms. His lips leave yours to trail kisses from your cheek down your neck. One of his hands finds its way to your bare tits and gently starts to knead it. Your inner walls flutter as some sweet heat grows in your belly. As one of your hands gets lost in his curls, the other one slides its way down his chest. Your fingers find his happy trail before landing on his half-hard length. 

“So eager f’me innit luv ?” You chuckle at the thick British accent you adore. “You know I love the way you feel inside of me.”

Tangerine could feel some shivers down his spine. How could he deserve you? You are perfect for him in any way.

“Fuck luv, you’re not real I swear !” Tangerine dive deeper into your neck, marking your skin. You can feel him as he’s grinning his body against yours, his breath a little bit heavier at every stroke your hand does on his hardening cock.

As his hand leaves your breast, you open your legs to let him fully access where you need him the most. Tangerine’s fingers slide on your folds and starts moving his fingertips on your clit.

“Already wet for me huh. Dammit, you’re so hot darlin.” You moan at his touch. “Tange pl- please.” You were already losing your mind under his expert movement. You start pumping him faster as he put one digit into you. You arch your back to let him access your deepest spot. You moan again.

“Oh, I love this sound of ya.” Tangerine starts peppering kisses all over you, adding another digit to stretch you out. Your breath is heavy and you can feel your orgasm building. “Babe I need you.” You beg, craving to feel him closer.

“Ok darlin, wrap your legs around me,” he asks, taking his fingers out of you. You watch him swirling his tongue to clean his fingers that were covered by your slick. “God you taste so good.” He hums. “I want you to take it nice and slow honey. Could you do that for me ?”

You nod as you feel the head of his cock teasing your entrance. Tangerine caress your cheek before kissing you as he pushes himself s l o w l y.

You can feel his large cock stretching you out, your walls kissing every vein, every inch of him perfectly. You rose a bit to see where your body connect, mouth drawing an “o” as you accommodate to his body. Tangerine lightly kisses your forehead before he starts to move in and out. A very slow pace so both of you could feel every millimeter of skin. At every back and forth, you can feel him diving deeper and deeper into you, hitting that sweet spot inside of your cunt.

“Tange please.” Your nails dig into his skin as you grab his biceps to anchor yourself. You needed more. “Huh huh, luv, nice and slow. I wanna feel every part of you,” he adds before kissing you hard, his stache tickling your nose. You let him in, your tongue dancing with his and drawing the line of his teeth.

You can feel one of Tangerine’s hands tracing one side of your body, caressing your ribcage, your hip, and then your thigh to lift you a bit. At his movement, you can feel that -oh- he found the right angle to fuck you properly. It feels like a slow-motion dance where your hips are moving at the same rhythm. And even tho you liked your quickies, that new way was very interesting. You could see and feel his kindness, how he cares about you and your pleasure. He wanted to please you, to fuck you slow and hard, to make you cum. His slow pace get a bit faster as Tange felt his orgasm building too. Being between your legs and inside of you was the only place he wanted to be for the rest of his life. Both of you moan as you give pleasure to each of you. You start clenching around him as he thrust into you a bit faster. He detaches himself to look at you, your breast bouncing as he’s moving back and forth. Your breath grows heavier and you start to moan louder and louder.

“Oh fuck.” you hear him groan. And his British accent aroused you even more. This man was definitely too hot to handle. “Please don’t stop now,” you order as you can feel your orgasm growing.

Without any other words, he bites your neck before kissing you deeply as he fucks you harder, diving into you up to his hilt. The sound of his skin slapping yours. Tangerine couldn’t help himself and moved faster again as he feels you were coming. He keeps kissing you hard as he cums into you in a guttural scream, painting your walls white. Your legs are shaking as your orgasm comes out. He tries to catch his breath for a moment before kissing you softly.

“I’ll never let you go y’know luv?” his voice was soft. “I love you,” you add, cupping his face again.

You both fall asleep a few minutes after and all Tangerine could dream of was you under him again, taking him again and again and again.

You are definitely his wildest dream.

[l0starl]

⌗﹒𝑴𝒊𝒔𝒔 𝒚𝒂 ﹒🎸

‼️I’m not used to writing British slang so this might be bad IM SORRY😭‼️

‼️CONTINUATION OF THE TEASER‼️

I think this song fits this really well 👏🏾👏🏾

❗️Warning❗️:This don’t really count as a warning but there’s a bit of making out 🤷🏾‍♀️

𝗬𝗼𝘂 𝗱𝗶𝗱𝗻’𝘁 𝗲𝘅𝗽𝗲𝗰𝘁 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝘁𝗼 𝗵𝗮𝗽𝗽𝗲𝗻 𝗮𝘁 𝗮𝗹𝗹… You were at a party with a group of friends, mostly laughing and having a good time while others gossiped and snickered most of the night. Music was blasting through the house as you can almost feel the vibrations, as you spoke to your close friends and managed to chat with some olds friends to catch up on things.

You honestly weren’t feeling like yourself after hobie just vanished without telling anybody where he went, he could’ve at least left with a goodbye…. Remembering that moment made your heart sink, it always brought tears to your eyes remembering his sweet smile, and his guitar he always played for you, as his voice echoed through your mind.

You found a nearby chair and sat down, you really weren’t enjoying yourself no matter how hard you tried, the only thing that was in your mind was hobie…..

His voice continued to echo in your mind, you honestly weren’t paying attention to your surroundings, You were to distracted to notice someone was calling your name…

You turned around and saw a familiar face that almost made you tear up

“Hobie?” You muttered on the verge of tears

“Long time no see love” He says in a light hearted tone

He walks over to you and kneels down to eye level with a genuine smile

“Sorry luv, that I had to leave”

You were in a stage of shock, why the hell does he decide to leave with no explanation and come back like nothing has happen? It made you a bit upset and he noticed pretty quickly

“Please don’t be upset luv”

He smiled reassuringly, his smiles were always contagious as you managed to crack a smile, he embraced you in a hug, giving your forehead a peck before you notice.

“Where did you go hobie?! You didn’t even let anyone know! You could of at least left a note or something”

You ranted in a frustrated tone as you pull away from the hug and cross your arms in a stubborn manner.

He chuckles amused

“Well I can’t say for reasons but you’ll understand soon enough innit?

“What?! After all this time you can’t even tell me!” You responded irritated

“How about I make it up to you?” He responded in his usual cocky tone with a husky tone

“Oh really?” You responded skeptical

“Course darling, just enjoy the moment”

He stood up as he wrapped his arm around your waist giving you a passionate kiss as he pushed you to a nearby wall, the kiss got more intense, you missed him a lot but you would never admit that, your pride always got in the way.

He pulled away kissing your neck leaving love bites while he worked his way down to your collarbone, as his lips collided with yours once more devouring your taste as you both pull away out of breath. As he spoke above in a husky voice

“god you don’t know how much I missed you” he muttered as his lips crash against yours in a passionate way, as it got more aggressive his fingers digged in your waist holding you firmly against the wall, his cologne was intoxicating as the kiss got more intense and passionate.

He pulled away as you both were breathless as he stared into your eyes, as he spoke in a husky tone.

“Does that make up for everything darling?”

[imaginepostingonsideblogs]

THE OFFICIAL (WELL, UNTIL I NO DOUBT ALTER ALL OF THIS COMPLETELY) GUIDE TO WRITING CASTIEL TOWNSEND BOFA TOWNSEND(????)

alright :) so.

first of all, i refer to him quite frequently as ‘cas’ in this. technically, its not a good move on my part, that, considering every iteration of castiel technically has a name that shortens to ‘cas’, and so if i go around taking about ‘cas’, i could mean, basically, uh… anyone. but through this guide alone, every reference to an entity called ‘cas’ is the one and only ‘castiel townsend(???)’ from the title of the text. that’s the guy in question. got that? great!

this focuses primarily on his dialogue and actions during said dialogue, in five sections ive labelled 'vocabulary', 'amount said', 'accompaniment', 'style', and 'tone', but that's just because he talks a whole bunch. anything additional about how he thinks and acts is in a last section called 'additional' (self explanatory name, innit) but i will probably add to that bit as we go!

so. without further ado, because this is already long enough:

VOCABULARY

cas's vocabulary is... like i've said, a weird mix between normal, comprehensible, though millennial-esque slang and more archaic or nonstandard terms and words. he's a big fan of 'remiss' and 'brogue', but will in exactly the same breath, call someone a boomer. the archaic side of his vocabulary leans more to the shakesperian, but anything poe-esque is absolutely not off the table. just go ham. sprinkle the longest and most complicated words you know into his vocabulary, and you'll be set. don't even worry about using them correctly.

he also uses lines like 'the jig's up' and then immediately gets bullied for it. as he should honestly.

he is also...frequent with his amount of pop culture references. basically, anything you know, you're absolutely entitled to make him know too. go wild. bonus points if it's a shit piece of media. books, films, tv shows-- whatever! go for it.

oh that's another thing. frequent user of 'whatever'. 'whatever' traditionally means 'this thing is impacting me but i can shrug it off enough to ignore it'. he's 'whatever'd murders. and the existence of the compound. basically, unless it causes him to break down on the spot, it's 'whatever'.

you can never use it too much. go wild.

he also uses a LOT of british terms. he's not a 'luv' kind of a man- he's not reached that far- but 'lawks' (exclamation of surprise? ish? somewhere between surprise and oh god) and 'git' and 'goit' and 'wanker' (all insults. we brits are an contentious bunch.) are very much on the table lmaoo

honestly anything goes! he is actively abusing these terms, so don't worry abt getting anything wrong you got this!

AMOUNT SAID

a lot. all of the time.

cas talks like its an olympic sport and he's going for gold. if you're ever sitting there thinking 'is this enough castiel dialogue??' the answer is no. write more. he rambles, he elaborates, he doubles back, he goes off on tangents- and it's ten times worse whenever he's nervous, which is more than he usually lets on. nervous? him? he'd never be nervous. not at all. honestly, it's ridiculous you'd think that. why would he be nervous? what would that possibly be about? don't be silly. he's never been scared a day in his life. except for that one time. with the crocodile. and that had really just been a log, so that one didn't count. <- like that. but ten times more.

oh, that's the other thing! he frequently trails into random stories about his past that have just. never come up before and never will again. make those up as you will. be wild! his backstory up to the age of 18 will never be fully ironed out i think, so you have total free rein.

cas will and does abruptly switch to very...clipped dialogue- like, 1-2 words max. this is a powerful tool, because its an indication that something is Very Very Horrifically Terribly Wrong. this is when he's terrified out his mind, or exhausted beyond reason, or has been through something absolutely abysmal. it is traditionally very rare, and a Very Bad Sign. unless you're trying to get him to do what you want, in which case this is the ultimate way of indicating that you're well on the way there.

this is the reason why fully docile compound cases will maybe say 1-2 words a year if they're feeling particularly chatty-- and the reason why that's a very big thing.

ACCOMPANIMENT

castiel is a man who cannot and will not stay still for long, particularly when talking. sometimes he paces, sometimes he gestures, sometimes he unscrews things or tries flipping items (books, knives, pens- anything in reach really) with varying levels of success. sometimes (if hes behaving or acting more nonchalant) he'll just go 'okay whatever' and go on tumblr mid-conversation. point is, even if you tied him to a chair, he's not staying still, particularly with his hands. go for it. make him do whatever. i will cheer you for it.

STYLE

when I said that 'he elaborates, he doubles back, he goes off on tangents', i meant he often does so m- i mean- thaaaat he often stops himself partway through a word or an idea just to start a new one. or he'll stop mid sentence just to-- just to reconsider the sentence and then continue going with it.

his mouth moves faster than his brain, and so often he'll say something like a lie or a comment or an analogy and have to decide whether or not to try and go back on it or stick with it to the end.

as i described it once to my good friend @heshemikey, 'if he's in a situation where he needs to not joke or not lie he'll often joke or lie and then immediately double back on it he can't ?? not say things? if you get what i mean??'

which is basically. just. cas in his purest form tbh.

TONE

i left this one til last because its the most(??) variable of the lot?

there is constantly a nonchalance, a lack of caring, a projection of being in control to what he says. he's not scared, he knows what he's doing, he's in charge. those kind of vibes. even though its highly unlikely any of the three are true, especially all at once. but depending on where he is in the timeline- where he is in his life, even- the actual terms of that can differ quite a bit. early cas- pre wbg cas-- honestly, pre OVER cas-- does this by acting like a little bit of an arsehole. he's not exactly a touchy-feely guy, he's not exactly open with his affections (though he does have them, and does show them. in his own ways.) and tends to act anywhere from a manipulative asshole to just a dude who Does Not Give A Shit Abt What You're Saying.

as my dearly beloved friend @felixcosm (expert of the early stages of cas) points out, when i say hes 'acting like a little bit of an arsehole', what i mean to say is that he is an extremely bratty, petulant kind of guy. he is…very frustrated, at w.bg, at his husband, at himself, and everything he says mirrors that. the manipulation he exerts is his own attempts to grasp some kind of control over his situation. though when that is inevitably not enough, or it slips through his fingers, he's prone to being a pissy little bastard about it <3

he argues frequently with a wide variety of people (particularly his husband, though anyone who opposes him is probably going to get an earful)- a little hot-headed, a little overconfident, and a lot in denial about it all.

i can feel him in the back of my brain denying it right now. that's how in denial he is. he's constantly in denial and he never stops– at any point in his life, really. if in doubt: make him in denial. great trick. works every time.

through OVER (which is where he's actually quite awkward, especially around people who're nice to him, like hunter) and experiences with the compound, and the flinchites- this begins to transition into the other end of the scale. which is a part of his life i call the pw era. pw era cas is... completely opposing. he's smug, he's amused, he's constantly finding things that Are Not Funny to be funny. he doesn't take anything- or anyone- very seriously.

he's also very, very touchy. he frequently puts his arm around people's shoulders, or pats them on the back, or offers to keep them warm at night, or basically anything that could border on being annoying or discomforting. that's the other thing- he- pw era, especially- delights in causing people discomfort. not horrific amounts, but anywhere from annoyance to pure upset is somewhere he's willing to stoop to. if he thinks something is going to hurt someone's feelings, he'll say it. there's a possibility, depending on their reaction, that he might double back and apologise, but first and foremost he's going to come out with the smugly snide comment in question

i think he's constantly trying to get under people's skin? if he causes them to have a flat-out breakdown, then he'll tune his annoyance levels down quite a bit, but his main goal is still always to get under the skin of the person he's addressing, and he'll stop at nothing to succeed.

ADDITIONAL (yayyy!)

so. this is a little about how he behaves, a little how he thinks and acts. ive been reading through how i write him and realising i really? do not dwell on those much? but let's see what we can do here :)

okay. so.

one of the first things you're ever going to know about cas is that he has a crap marriage. this is never not true, and he will never not bring it up if he finds an opening- honestly, no matter what point in his life he's at.

it gets to the point where he will follow various comments- 'they were not exactly being punctual', and 'the fact he might have been lying didn't once occur to me' are the two i can think off the top of my head, but it's a frequent occurrence- with 'story of my marriage', or something of the sort. sorry. that was dialogue again. point is, he's never not really thinking abt his marriage and how crap it was. you can ALWAYS make it abt his marriage. yippee. no matter how wild the line previous is, chances are he'll compare anything to his husband. he's like a character from a boomer comic but slightly less divorced. not by want of trying, though.

certain details of said marriage are things i still need to iron out but uhh. come to me for more on that baby. or ask felix. whatever you will.

in the same vein, he regularly fidgets with his wedding ring. never takes it off, no matter what- no, he'd sooner lose the whole hand than the ring itself- but he's a constant fidgeter. all of the time. he probably does it in his sleep to be honest.

that being said: VERY deep sleeper. usually goes to bed at a stupid hour of the morning and can't actually be woken until. noonish?

and i mean, like. deep. deeeppp. capable of sleeping through an entire tornado kinda deep.

he also drools :). funfact. probably snores too. loser.

OH! also. pw era cas especially has…weird levels of what he considers a friend (or, for that matter, a romantic partner). like. if you converse with him civilly for about three seconds, you're his best friend and he'd die for you. if you're someone who's skin he wants to get under (whether he succeeds or not), its about on the same level as a marriage proposal. that, and a few other factors. he's once offered to marry enigma simply because he didn't murder castiel in his sleep- the bar is like On The Floor Here.

he also defines marriage as a platonic ideal too. like he's fully capable of having a platonic relationship with someone and being like hey we're married now actually <3

basically? you have free rein on that one too. i don't know the exact standards of how he develops this relationship or why or what the difference is between who he considers a friend and who he considers a Possible Spouse. uh.

go nuts. show nuts. whatever. don't show nuts, actually. put your nuts away.

thank you. now, continuing.

has a knife on him. at all times. always.

okay, he doesn't have a knife on him at certain points, but we don't count those. just presume he has a knife on him. amazing. i keep presuming he has a knife on him and then realising he probably doesn't and having to hope nobody notices my mistake. so really you should be all good.

does not frequently shower. sorry. he's a bit of a greasy mess at any given moment. somewhere between it not being his top priority and not having enough money to pay for the water bill involved. SAD!

actually i will bribe you; whoevers reading this? please god make a fic in which he gets forced to shower. he won't listen to me and someone needs to get his ass in line here.

please. i'll give you my lifes savings. a whole twenty pence.

on that note (there's been a LOT of notes, hasn't there? sozzles.) he will do pretty much anything for money. if you can pay him a living wage, he'll stick with you. whether that involves the risk of bear attacks or, like, human experimentation or whatever, just offer him a couple of quid an hour and he'll probably go along with it.

there's rent to pay, man. you gotta.

sorely lacking in the moral compass department. freaks out about killing people, freaks out while killing people, but acts like he's totally fine with and good at murder- almost well enough for it to be convincing. the freakouts are more about the act of having to watch someone die over the implications it has on his moral standing, anyway.

okay, hes not sorely lacking. he's actually kind of a morally upright guy, if you ignore the murder and the being an asshole.

he doesn't steal, he doesn't, like– what's another crime? he doesn't do a lot of crime. that's the point.

he doesn't care, he's not morally impacted by any choice he makes, but he doesn't do illegal shit without a real, actual, genuine reason about it.

likes kids. unironically. he's a little awkward around them, but he's kind of a little awkward around everyone. definitely the kind of guy who speaks to and treats kids like they're just adult human beings, and honestly doesn't do too bad a job of it either.

he's actually never interacted with a child in canon yet. goddamn. right, another twenty pence for whoevers willing to do that. oo and it's a lovely shiny twenty pence too ooooooooo

he's canonically good at sleight of hand! mostly it's just stupid little tricks he's taught himself when bored- like vanishing coins, or cards, or anything small enough to realistically do that with- but he's proud of himself for getting so good at it, and honestly? so am i. maybe someday he'll learn how to do a whole magic trick. we can only imagine.

EXAMPLES:

i lied.

extra section, boys and girls. extra section. let’s goo!

basically, i'm realizing i've written an imposing amount of stuff to remember- none of which is really necessary, mostly just small details!- and it’s kind of going to feel like a right task now to put it all together.

not to fear though, because my most amazing companion tumblr user @heshemikey (who I constructed this guide at the behest of, though they know how to write castiel technically better than myself and do an amazing job of it (and are generally just a wonderfully cool dude!)) has been so kind as to provide me with examples of their depictions of pw era cas, which i’ve been able to annotate with comments about how much i love their ocs- er, i mean, pull apart to show some of these qualities i’ve been discussing and how it all fits together.

note the colour coding :). now. i am a lil colourblind, so you might have to correct me if i get any of these wrong, but let’s see…

orange is a quality i didn’t bring up yet, which is his tendency to place emphasis on more words than technically necessary– to make his words sound a little more dramatic, or flourishing, or emotional.

or, particuarly in the early days, to get a point across (fig 1. & 2.)

astounding. shut up, castiel.

moving on! light?? blue???? you’d call that a light blue, right?

that’s actions specifically to do with body and limbs– because castiel is very expressive with those, frequently when speaking- usually, almost more notably than he actually is facially. he isn’t a man to do anything by halves, yknow? he doesn’t stay still often, and he makes a point of the fact.

green is his weird, nonstandard terminology, or extended vernacular. like heshemikey says, he’s the kind of dude who ‘knows a lot of super obscure fancy words that he uses in normal conversation’, which is honestly so true. look up a list of fancy words and just sprinkle em in and you’re set.

PINK! pink is blatant denial of emotions. it’s not a pw cas fic without it! basically, every time he feels an emotion that isn’t ‘being a smug bastard’, he’s actually never felt that feeling before, never will again, and frankly, is not feeling right now. emotions? he doesn’t do emotions, babeyy.

teal is for his ramblings, his tangents, his going off-on-a-little-spree-iness. if you’re not sitting there writing his dialogue and going oh my GOD castiel shut the HELL UP!! then you’re probably missing a tangent or two down the line. they’re fun to write! they’re just also A Lot.

gray-bluey-purple is ‘whatever’. if someone ever writes castiel dialogue and uses the word ‘whatever’ i let out a little whoop whenever i read it! like YEAH thats his thing!! its a very important word x3

red is also something i haven’t brought up before, which is his habit? occasional frequent practice? of asking questions- whether that’s at the other person, himself, or the universe in general. he’s, uh, basically a big fan!

i WOULD pull apart a piece of text from his pre-wbg, pre-pw days, but alas i don’t have a snippet quite big enough or right enough to do this with– trust me, i’ve checked x(

i plan to keep this document up to date though so if i do get anything adequate enough ill give it its own little section and colour-coded notes and everything too! mUAHAHAHA. anyway. gnight. sleep well. good luck.

[samstclair]

Aaron Taylor Johnson’s Butter

Aaron Taylor Johnson Imagine

Anonymous Request - "Could you please do an imagine where the Y/N knows Aaron has a food fetish, so she puts some on but maybe gets an allergic reaction? So maybe Aaron can take her to the hospital and save her? Thanks! Love your stories, Sam!

~~~~~~~~Imagine ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

" Yew wont go on with it, will ya! Ya silly ol geeza yew!" He laughed, but little did he know - you would do it.

You first started with a small portion, just enough to cover your dome, but, it wasn't long until those scoops got heavier and thicker and oilier. The more you lathered across your skin, the more his face contorted from a joking, sly grin to one of a predator - who's perfectly in sight of his next prey.

"Yew really outdone yourself now, innit?!" he spat.

You chuckled mockingly at his disbelief.

"Oh what, now you've gone on and given me that silent treatment, innit? You silly ol thing you, I oughta teach you a bit of a lesson now, just like me mother would! Or, me first wife, that silly ol hag thing!"

If only he knew.

Though the silence you had given him seemed to work, as you saw the buldge in his jeans arise, making you, too, feel a sense of warmth and arousal down there, he hadn't known that the peanut butter's effects had started to settle. The more you layered on, the more you felt your throat swell, and the more he shuffled in his seat, aching for you, the more you kept adding.

More. More. More.

"Dont cha think that's enuff now, luv! You've gone and used up all me butta! I guess I'll have ta lick it clean off ya!" And just like that, he rose from his seat, making his way to you. He grabbed the jar and hurled it against the wall, a faint "yeet" he mumbled.

"Yeet."

He grabbed you, gripping hard, as the butter had become a makeshift lubricant and caused his fingers to slide on your skin, sliding like those big slides at the fair.

"Wait, luv, why - you've seem to gone a bit red? Perhaps a bit too much rouge, innit? Luv? Luv!"

And then you died of asphyxiation.

Hope you enjoyed! xoxo, ~Sam St. Clair

[eldrai]

I posted 3,472 times in 2022

That's 2,012 more posts than 2021!

353 posts created (10%)

3,119 posts reblogged (90%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@jaspxr

@spacecowboyhotch

@masterwords

@maschotch

@its-the-autism-innit-luv

I tagged 1,701 of my posts in 2022

#hotch - 501 posts

#cm - 456 posts

#eldrai.txt - 248 posts

#favourite - 190 posts

#gifs - 151 posts

#morgan - 129 posts

#pretty - 110 posts

#cm fanfic - 101 posts

#ibs shit - 66 posts

#hotchgan - 55 posts

Longest Tag: 138 characters

#that exact expression immediately precedes someone saying a really bitchy thing but polite enough that it takes you a minute to figure out

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

Could you write autistic Hotch who hides his autistic traits and gets confused when Spencer joins his team and does not do that one bit as in he is barely masking around his new colleagues?

Thank you in advance, no problem if not!!💗

Can you write autistic Hotch - yes, yes I could. Thank you for the prompt, it was fun to write!!

3.8k (somehow). There's some unintentionally ableist comments and internalised ableism in here, about what you'd expect from the prompt. But otherwise, enjoy a dash of mild angst for Reid & Hotch.

ao3 here

Spencer Reid is most definitely something.

He hadn’t wanted to presume and, as Jason hadn’t elaborated other than the man being a genius, hadn’t asked. The flustered manner in most conversations can easily be a result of being fast-tracked through school; the confidence overwriting it when he begins to talk about a subject that interests him – Aaron’s quickly realising that constitutes most topics – is hardly irrational. Keen to prove his worth, no doubt exacerbated by his young age, Reid’s eager to make a good impression.

The exaggerated edge to his facial expressions and the little movements Reid’s forever engaged in – never can he sling his bag over his shoulder without fiddling with the strap, nor sit straight on a chair without spinning, and that’s what Aaron has picked up on just a fortnight in – are harder to explain without wishful thinking. Sure, maybe he’s anxious and it’s the accumulation of nervous energy and Aaron is overthinking it here. It wouldn’t be the first time.

The signs start to really stack up after they’ve been on their first few cases with him. Reid misses the sideways glances from the others when he’s been speaking for a long time. Jokes go over his head, not all the time but enough for Aaron to notice. He catches himself focusing on Reid and kicks himself each time. Reid is eccentric because he’s a genius. He talks so much because he knows so much and talking with his hands is simply a product of trying to get it all out so fast.

There’s nothing more to it and, frankly, he can’t help but feel a little guilty for considering it; it’s not his business. Aaron has almost convinced himself of this by the time an unsub mentions the autistic leanings of Dr. Spencer Reid.

The insult (as it undeniably is) isn’t even directed at him but Aaron’s heart skips a beat. Not a good thing to be called in front of everyone. Reid frowns. As soon as he notices Aaron looking at him he dips his head and breaks the eye contact, staring down at the pencil he’s spinning in his hands. Embarrassed is his best guess.

And it begs the question whether that’s because he isn’t autistic or because he is.

As he watches the team carefully for any kind of disdain, disgust, Aaron pushes the question to the back of his mind and focuses on the case. They have an unsub to catch and a teenage girl to find—the rest is secondary.

Jason hangs up on the man and from there things are a practiced blur.

“…think he is?” JJ says.

“Nah, he’s awkward,” Derek says. “He’s a genius, he’s bound to be a little out there.”

Aaron moves to let a local officer through the door and stays where he is, barely within earshot. There’s a quiet unease in his chest.

“Would he—” Elle hesitates. “Would he still have a 187 IQ if he was?”

Why would it matter?

Derek shrugs. “They say it’s the brain wired differently. He’d still be like that, just more different.”

“Shyer doesn’t even know him,” JJ says. “And he can’t be, anyway.”

“Why not?”

“You’ve seen how much he feels things.”

Well.

At least it’s not intended maliciously, though the intent does little to dull the sting. It’s a shame he can’t correct them, not without coming across as suspiciously defensive. Aaron puts his hands in his pockets and goes to find Jason; if anyone does know, it’ll be him. The conversation quiets down as he walks past and he doesn’t care to stick around to hear if they continue.

-

They continue. They’ve at least got the grace to wait for Reid to fall asleep – Aaron’s almost certain he’s genuinely asleep – before they pick it up again.

“How are you supposed to profile if you don’t understand facial expressions?” Derek says. “It doesn’t even make sense for him to think that.”

You learn, Aaron doesn’t say, because you’re neither clueless nor able to survive without learning. Instead he tries to blot out their discussion as he works on the paperwork. The jet’s a privilege, yes. It’s also very small.

“It would explain why he reads so much,” Elle says.

See the full post

129 notes - Posted July 26, 2022

#4

Can we as a fandom stop infantilising an autistic adult man with multiple PhDs please and thank you.

188 notes - Posted April 2, 2022

#3

BAU screenshots as ao3 tags (but mostly Hotch and Morgan)

screenshot credits @maschotch + @masterwords

See the full post

199 notes - Posted September 3, 2022

#2

Derek, during a case: Well, you're the Catholic who knows all about the weird religious days.

Hotch, defensively: I'm not a Catholic!

Hotch: I grew up in a Catholic area, my dad was raised Catholic, and I talk about guilt a lot to my therapist.

Hotch: It's close to being Catholic but not quite.

Source: many a true nerd livestream (27:00)

211 notes - Posted January 9, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

The BAU as types of fanfic writers

Reid  – incredibly accurate AUs. All kinds, from mythology to historical. This guy knows what he’s talking about. You come away from his fics feeling like you’ve learnt something. Drops fun facts in the ending notes and comments.

Morgan – the single most amazing fic you’ve read in your fandom. It’s got everything. Perfect dialogue, perfect characterization, perfect grammar and all your favourite tropes. The only other fics on his profile are Men’s Hockey RPFs.

Garcia – makes use of the tooth-rotting fluff tag. So sweet. These are the kind of fics you go to when you need cheering up. Ends all her comment replies with <3 and reminds you to drink water and take your meds in the end note.

Hotch – 400K+ incredibly detailed and meticulously planned longfic. Every loose end is tied up and not a single word wasted. The twists make sense but you never see them coming on your first read through. Better than some novels. Goes on an unexpected hiatus and returns six months later with an author’s note apologising for the absence because his wife died and he got stabbed. Does not elaborate.

Prentiss – WLW ships. Everything from fluff to smut. All stunning oneshots. Posts rarely but you get excited every time you get that email.

JJ – follows canon and usually writes the canon F/M ship slice-of-life. Any angst is mild. Her fics are similar but reliable and if you don’t know what to read, you usually end up rereading one of hers.

Gideon – crack and bizarre AUs which shouldn’t work, but somehow do.

Seaver – posts the best F/F fluff fic you’ve ever read and posts nothing else. Her profile is a dead end. You hope she’ll post again but when you check her profile, you don’t really expect there to be anything new.

credit to @chaotic-librarian for Seaver

530 notes - Posted August 14, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[urdinosaurs]

Ok. Ok.

Here's my 3am idea:

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

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

All this obviously ends with groupsex.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Don't like the label."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But he knows you. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yes, please."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Selling your soul to the devil never felt so good. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Good girl."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh. You weren't expecting that. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Well, when you put it like that…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

TAGLIST: @alicefallsintotherabbithole

Hobie's Spiderman. 

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

[heliosoll]

hi sorry if this is bothersome but u inspired me to make a winx dr and flora is my gf in my winx dr and i wanna know more about her 👀 just please tell me all about what she’s like in your dr as much as possible if ur up for it!! any storytimes? what is she like in general? what’s her aesthetic like? her likes and dislikes? interests omg

- 🪄 anon, i’m still here sorry i haven’t sent an ask in a while! i was trying to stop overconsuming info

OMG HIIII ugh i could talk about her all day please 🥰

I would definitely recommend watching the show or even comps on youtube! And reading the comics if you're up for that! Both of my DRs were a mix of the cartoon, movies, and comics so her personality in them is 1 to 1!

I would say in general, Flora can be very shy but she isn't as shy as people think! In a weird way, I think she's shyer with people she knows rather than people she doesn't. She's absolutely not afraid to stand up for herself and she can be very opinionated, especially if it's about something very important to her (she often advocated for things!). She's shyer when it comes to people complimenting her, but not so much with getting to know people or talking to strangers! Literally there are times when she complained about people not being social enough aljdghljahg. Although she was very shy with Helia so since you're dating her you might see that side of her more 🥰

Flora can be very chatty when she's in a good mood :) And she can talk forever about the things she loves (if you let her, she will absolutely talk to you for hours about plant care). And speaking of plants! Flora loves it when people help her with her plants! She doesn't expect it and she can feel bad asking because she doesn't want to force anyone or feel like a burden, but she does really like it when people spend time with her while she's gardening, especially if they're participating.

She can get very protective and mother hen like too! Her parents were relatively good at raising Miele and not making Flora do too much to help, but Flora kind of naturally wanted to help out with her and often acted a bit motherish. Now she gets like that with all of us, although it has gotten better over the years! She's not overbearing or anything but there were times when we would want to do something and would say something like "you can't, that's too dangerous". And she's not trying to be controlling or dismissing but it did occasionally feel like she didn't trust us. But again, it got a lot better and now she's just protective instead of overprotective.

In my DRs, Flora was very careful about what she ate! Not in a dieting way, but in an ethical way. She didn't mind eating meat as long as she knew exactly where it came from, how the animal lived, how it died, etc. Same with any vegetables or fruits! She outright refused to eat food if she knew it was unethical in any way (that includes a bad working environment). Thankfully, we didn't really have to deal with that a lot but certain planets weren't as strict with their rules so there were times like that.

Flora is very smart! She consistently had all A's and all her classes are advanced. She's also surprisingly good at managing her time! There were plenty of times when she would hang out with us but she still managed to study for all her classes, finish her homework/projects, take care of her plants, make time for dates, etc. And she slept at night! Girlie is insane actually I still don't know how she can do that

But speaking of school, she enjoyed all of her classes but she really liked Potionology! I'm pretty sure that was in the show at some point? But anyway, Flora loves potions! She enjoys making them, studying them, creating new ones. The whole thing! She has a bit of a chemist vibe honestly she really likes experimenting with things :)

Likes and dislikes... she likes romantic comedies, walks through Lynphean forests, cooking and baking, cuddling (!!!), holding hands, really any kind of casual intimacy, upbeat music, sun hats, fruit (!! she loves fruit, especially strawberries and watermelon), flowy dresses, and obviously gardening and other things related to nature. She likes dancing too but she can get really nervous if it's just her and no one else dancing so make sure to dance with her! For dislikes, anyone who shows their anger through yelling, anyone who hurts or disrespects nature, people who hurt or disrespect her loved ones, horror movies, she's not great with things that are too spicy, popcorn (because it gets stuck in her teeth), when people don't take serious situations seriously enough, and writing essays (she's good at it, she just finds it boring).

I wouldn't usually do this but since I don't think a lot of people are going to read this far, here's a link to a pinterest board I made with outfits she wore and things that are very similar! A lot of them she wore during our time on Earth :) And a board I just made for her bedroom aesthetic! It's not completely accurate of course but it does get the general vibe across.

If you want to know more let me know! I've said this before and I'll say it a million times!! I love my winx DRs so much and I could spend hours talking about them :') So def don't get worried about bothering me or sending too many questions about them!