#yeah the bob brainrot is real

[marionsravenwoods]

RON LIVINGSTON as A.D.A. ALAN LOWE THE PRACTICE | 6.1 "The Candidate"

[kazutora-kurokawa]

Giving Kafka Head

♡ NSFW, fem reader, oral->male receiving, face fucking, cum swallowing, mention of oral->fem receiving ♡

note: supposed to be doing a request right now, but the Kafka brainrot is too real so yeah lol

note 2: Sza was right when she said "I need a big boy" 😮‍💨

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It's quite obvious that Kafka gives the best head of any of your previous partners, especially when he's in his Kaiju form and uses his long tongue to explore every inch of your cunt. And he wouldn't hesitate to say that you give amazing head, he'd go as far as to say it's the best feeling he's ever felt in his life. The way your soft lips wrap around his girthy tip, tongue teasing it as you devour him whole. He's practically in heaven when he's in your mouth, and he's very vocal about it.

"F-fuck baby, just like that...your tongue feels so good, so fucking warm. Relax that pretty little throat for me, can you do that?"

His large hands cupped your face gently as he pushed further into your throat, slowly fucking your face. You had been at for less than an hour, yet you were an absolute mess. There were tear stains on your cheeks and a mix of drool and precum running down your chin from his fat dick stretching your mouth out. But you were determined to please him, speeding up your head bobs to match his thrusts and inadvertently gagging on his cock.

"Fuck, baby don't gag...just relax f'me and take it slow alright? Don't want you choking."

Despite his concern, he couldn't deny how sexy you looked, all needy and gagging on him. It made his dick twitch in the worst way and it didn't go unnoticed by you. He gripped your hair tightly as he felt you continue your fast movements, pulling your head slightly so he could look into your half-lidded, lust-filled eyes. You just looked so beautiful, so perfect for him. Who was he to deny what you were doing?

To deny the pleasure that you wanted to give him, the pleasure that only you could give him. He grunted softly, placing his rough hand on the back of your head and pushing your head as far down on his cock as possible, relishing in the way you gagged on him. His dick throbbed and twitched in your mouth as he came, shooting his warm load down your inviting throat and smirking when he felt you swallow.

He pulled out of your mouth, patting your head as you coughed and wiped your face with the back of your hand. His hand moved to your face, caressing it softly before tilting your chin up so he could look at you.

"You did so damn good f'me baby,"

His thumb swiped across your bottom lip, before slipping in your mouth and rubbing your soft, wet tongue.

"Think you can handle a little more?"

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Taglist

@arlerts-angel @i-literally-cant-with-this @trevengersprincess @giugiette @katkusuo @happy-trenchcoated-impala @drunkcheesecake @darkstarlight82 @reiners-milkbiddies @manji-hoe @southside-otaku @xxchthonicreaturexx

[wannabehockeygf]

Florida!!! - Clayton Keller

“My friends all smell like weed or little babies,

And this city reeks of driving myself crazy,

Little did you know, your home’s really only a town you’re just a guest in?

So you work your life away,

Just to pay for a timeshare down in Destin.”

Summary: On a family vacation with your boyfriend, you find him stoned with his brother, and when he gets you alone, things escalate…

Word Count: 5k

Pairing: Clayton Keller x fem!reader

Warnings: 18+ NSFW! Use of drugs (marijuana), oral sex (f receiving), Clayton being an absolute munch.

Notes:

- been indulging recently (it’s perfectly legal where i live, don’t @ me…) so real life projection!

- munch Clayton is finally here for my girlies who enjoy him as much as I do!

- also I’m still not over ttpd. no skip album.

- not proof read <3

***

*EDIT 08/15/2024 @ 8:31pm PST : His brother’s name is Jake. Not Luke. Sorry if you read prior 😭 (hughes brother brainrot)

A vacation with your boyfriend’s family? Oh, this was uncharted territory. I mean, you’d survived Thanksgiving dinner at his parents’ house in St. Louis—barely. But that was just one night. One turkey. One slightly-too-long hug from his mom. You’d only been together five months, after all.

But now, here you are, basking in the relentless sunshine of Destin, Florida, sharing a timeshare with them. A timeshare. This is like Thanksgiving on steroids, with no escape hatch. The place is stupidly nice, though. Like, if Pottery Barn threw up on a beach house, this would be it. Sure, Clayton probably financed half of it, but you still feel like you’re tiptoeing through a very fragile house of cards. One wrong move and you’ll topple the whole “good impression” thing you’ve got going on. So yeah, “best behavior” mode is fully engaged, like a 24/7 surveillance camera on yourself.

But then, the moment of truth. After a blissful solo beach jaunt—because let’s be honest, sometimes you just need a break from all that “family bonding”—you wander into the garage, nose twitching at some weird smell. Is that...skunk? No, no. Please don’t be a skunk. You cautiously push open the door, and what do you find? Clayton and his brother, Jake, in full bro-mode sitting in flimsy lawn chairs, laughing like they’re at some frat party, sharing hits from a brightly colored bong.

Well, that’s definitely a new one.

Really, Clayton? You’re on a family vacation, not reliving your glory days as "Chad, the King of Sigma Nu." Is this his idea of “relaxing with the fam?” Plus, isn’t smoking bad for your lungs? Especially for a hockey player. You stand there for a second, frozen like you’ve just walked in on a murder mystery party and are trying to figure out if you’re the victim or the detective. Your mind is a hurricane of thoughts: Should I laugh? Should I be offended? Is this one of those “testing the girlfriend” moments? Because honestly, who packs a bong for a trip to a family-friendly beach destination?

You catch Clayton’s eye, and for a split second, you see the gears in his head screech to a halt. Jake, on the other hand, is blissfully unaware of your presence, too busy blowing a perfect smoke ring that floats lazily toward the ceiling. Clayton gives you this wide-eyed, deer-in-headlights look, which would be adorable if it weren’t so stupid. Oh, sweetheart, you are so busted.

“Heyyy,” Clayton says, dragging out the word like he’s trying to slow time. “You, uh, back already?”

You blink. “Yeah, funny thing, I actually live here too. With your family. On vacation. Remember?”

He shifts uncomfortably in his lawn chair—seriously, who uses lawn chairs indoors?—and suddenly, you’re struck by how much this scene looks like a low-budget college film. The only thing missing is a dorm fridge stocked with PBR and a poster of Bob Marley on the wall. Instead, it’s all beige walls and perfectly coordinated coastal decor that just screams, “Don’t touch anything.”

Jake finally notices you and breaks into a grin, lifting the bong like it’s a trophy. “Hey, you wanna join?”

Oh, great, you think, now I’m one of the bros.

But before you can respond, Clayton is already scrambling to fix this train wreck. “No, no, she doesn’t want to join! Right, babe?”

You raise an eyebrow. “Where did you guys even get that? I mean, isn’t smoking pot like… illegal in this state?”

Clayton, bless his clueless heart, is staring at you with wide, bloodshot eyes like a puppy that just realized it’s chewed up your favorite shoes. Meanwhile, Jake— who you’re now starting to think might actually be a golden retriever in human form—waves the bong around like he’s offering you a slice of pizza at a sleepover.

“Illegal? Pssh, not if you don’t get caught,” Jake says with a wink that’s meant to be charming but lands somewhere between “bad decision” and “future mugshot.”

Clayton clears his throat and finally sets the bong down on the cement floor, like he’s slowly disarming a bomb. “It’s just, you know, for relaxation. Family vacations can be...stressful.”

You tilt your head, considering this. Stressful? You’ve been trying to make sure his mom doesn’t hate you and his dad doesn’t think you’re a gold-digger. And he’s the one who’s stressed? You bite back a laugh, because now’s really not the time to remind him that you’ve been fake-smiling so much your cheeks are about to cramp.

“Oh, totally,” you say, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Because nothing says ‘stress relief’ like hiding in the garage with your brother, getting high while the rest of your family is out there expecting you to be getting ready for dinner.”

Clayton scratches the back of his neck, his go-to move when he’s trying to avoid a conversation. It’s endearing, really. In a way that also makes you want to strangle him. “I wasn’t— I mean, we were just—” He stumbles over his words, and you can practically see the gears in his head struggling to find a logical explanation that isn’t “We’re idiots.”

You take a deep breath, rolling your eyes so hard you’re worried they might get stuck. But, honestly, are you even surprised? In the last five months, you’ve learned that Clayton’s the kind of guy who accidentally dips his fries in your ketchup while trying to impress you with some half-baked philosophical theory about life. Which, admittedly, is part of his charm—when he’s not pulling stunts like this.

“Alright,” you say, crossing your arms, “let’s get one thing straight. I’m not going to narc you out to your mom since you’re actual grown adults, but you’re coming inside with me right now, and I’m going to help you sober up before we have to go to dinner.”

Jake’s still grinning like an idiot, probably already mentally planning the next bong hit, but you’ve got your sights set on Clayton. He’s trying to look contrite, but the bloodshot eyes are sort of ruining the effect.

“Come on,” you say, reaching out to take his hand, which, by the way, is clammy. Lovely. “I don’t think anyone’s noticed you’ve gone missing yet, but let’s not push our luck.”

Clayton gives you a sheepish smile, the kind that’s got you melting just a little bit. He stands up, wobbling slightly, and you have to resist the urge to laugh. Instead, you squeeze his hand, pulling him toward the door that leads back into the house.

You’re halfway there when Jake chimes in, “You sure you don’t want a hit? It’s good stuff. I mean, if you want to see, like, colors you didn’t know existed...”

You raise an eyebrow. “Colors? Really? I thought you were more of a ‘munchies and conspiracy theories’ kind of guy.”

Jake blinks at you, clearly having to work too hard to process that sentence, and you’re actually kind of proud of yourself. Two points for you, zero for the stoner brothers.

Clayton’s trailing behind you, still holding your hand like it’s a lifeline, and you can feel him trying to gauge your mood. It’s not anger, really—more of a low simmering exasperation. You drag him through the door and into the immaculate kitchen, up the stairs, until you reach the bedroom you’d been sharing.

Clayton finally releases your hand, flopping down onto the bed like a ragdoll. “Babe, you’re the best, you know that?” he mumbles, rubbing his eyes like a kid who’s been up past his bedtime. “I mean, seriously, the absolute best.”

You raise an eyebrow, perching on the edge of the bed. “Oh, I know. But that’s not going to save you from having to drink a gallon of water and eating something before we go to dinner with your parents.”

He groans, throwing an arm over his face like he’s in a bad rom-com. “Do we have to? I was kind of hoping we could just... stay here. Forever. In this bed. With no responsibilities.”

You smirk, reaching over to poke his side. “As tempting as that sounds, I’m not sure your mom would appreciate us skipping out on dinner after she called multiple travel agents to find the best restaurant.”

He peeks out from under his arm, giving you a lopsided grin. “Come here,” He urges, obviously still trying to get out of his responsibilities. His voice is teasing, but there’s something genuine in his eyes that makes your heart do a weird little flip.

You take a deep breath, trying to muster the willpower to resist the magnetic pull of that stupidly adorable grin. Clayton’s got this way of looking at you, all soft eyes and boyish charm, like he’s just discovered the best thing in the world, and it happens to be you. It’s the kind of look that could melt the Polar ice caps, and honestly, it’s not fair.

But you’re here for a mission, and that mission is to get this man sober enough to face his family without blowing your cover as the perfect girlfriend who isn’t remotely flustered by her boyfriend’s impromptu stoner session in the garage.

"Nice try," you say, raising an eyebrow and trying to keep your resolve firm, "but you’re not weaseling your way out of this one with cuddles."

“Come on,” Clayton says again, patting the bed beside him. “We’ve got, what? An hour before dinner? We could… relax for a bit.” His voice drops at the word “relax,” and you catch the hint of mischief in his tone.

You narrow your eyes at him, feigning suspicion. “Relax? Are you sure that’s all you want to do?”

He grins, and it’s that boyish, slightly cocky smile that usually precedes him getting his way. “I mean, we could do other things. Fun things. Relaxing, fun things…”

You’re already shaking your head, but you can feel the resolve weakening. It doesn’t help that he’s giving you that look—the one that’s equal parts puppy-dog eyes and shameless seduction. How he manages to pull that off when he still smells like weed with a hint of Febreze is beyond you.

“Clay…” you start, trying to maintain a firm tone, but he’s already moving closer, his hand finding its way to your thigh. The warmth of his touch sends a shiver up your spine, and suddenly, you’re a lot less focused on the whole “responsible girlfriend” thing and more on the fact that, despite his current state, he’s still ridiculously attractive.

“Mm-hmm?” he murmurs, leaning in to press a soft kiss to your shoulder.

Oh no. You know where this is going, and while every logical part of you is screaming “this is a bad idea,” the rest of you is pretty much ready to throw logic out the window.

“Clayton,” you try again, but this time it’s softer, less of a protest and more of a gentle reminder that maybe—just maybe—you should both be thinking this through.

He nuzzles his way up your neck, planting kisses as he goes, and when his lips reach that spot just beneath your ear, the one that makes your breath hitch, you know you’re done for.

“Mm-hmm?” he repeats, but this time it’s muffled against your skin, and the way his voice vibrates sends a delightful thrill through your entire body.

“Dinner,” you say weakly, though even to your own ears, it sounds more like a suggestion than a requirement.

“Later,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against your jaw.

You let out a breathy laugh, your hands instinctively finding their way to his hair, threading through the soft strands. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“Mm-hmm,” he hums again, clearly not caring in the slightest. His hands are roaming now, one sliding up your back, the other tracing patterns on your thigh. You feel him gently push you back against the pillows, his body pressing against yours in a way that makes it very hard to remember why you were resisting in the first place.

For a brief moment, you consider pushing him away, reminding him of the inevitable dinner with his parents where, let’s be honest, you’re still trying to score all the points. But then his lips find yours, and all thoughts of social propriety melt away.

His hand slides up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing your skin in that gentle, affectionate way that always makes your heart skip a beat. He pulls back just a fraction, his eyes half-lidded and glassy, but there’s a warmth there—a genuine sweetness that cuts through the haze of weed and turns your resolve to mush.

“You know I’m crazy about you, right?” he murmurs, his voice low and a little rough. It’s that tone that gets you every time, the one that makes it clear he’s not just messing around, even if he’s not entirely in his right mind at the moment.

Your heart does that weird flip again, and you find yourself smiling despite everything. “I know,” you whisper back, your fingers still tangled in his hair.

He grins, all boyish charm and mischief, and then his lips are on yours again, more insistent this time. The kiss is slow and languid, like he’s savoring every second, and you can’t help but melt into it. His hands are warm, tracing a path down your sides, and when he pulls you closer, pressing his body against yours, you let out a soft, involuntary sigh.

“Mm, I’ve been thinking about this all day,” he mumbles against your lips, his voice thick with desire. “Can’t stop thinking about you.”

You’re lying there, pinned under the warm, slightly too-heavy weight of Clayton’s body, and your mind is racing, trying to catch up with the situation. Clayton’s still high as a kite, and yet here he is, trying to seduce you with that damn lopsided grin of his. You’re supposed to be the responsible one right now, the one who keeps everything on track. The one who doesn’t let her boyfriend’s cannabis-induced haze derail a meticulously planned family dinner. But, as his lips work their way down your neck, you’re beginning to think maybe you’ve lost control of this situation altogether.

“Clayton,” you say, trying to sound firm, but it comes out more like a breathless sigh. His mouth is trailing hot, lazy kisses along your collarbone, and you can feel his fingers tugging at the hem of your shirt. It’s distracting, to say the least, and you’re struggling to hold on to any coherent thought that doesn’t involve how good his touch feels.

“Hm?” He hums against your skin, completely oblivious to the inner turmoil you’re experiencing. His hands slide under your shirt, the calloused pads of his fingers brushing against your bare stomach, sending shivers up your spine. He’s not making this easy, and you know that’s probably the point.

“Dinner,” you manage to say, though it’s a weak attempt at protest. “We’re supposed to be getting ready for dinner.”

“Mm, later,” he mumbles, his lips moving lower, kissing just above the waistband of your shorts. “This is more important.”

You can’t help the small, breathy laugh that escapes you. “Is it now?”

He lifts his head to look at you, and the sight of him—flushed, with slightly mussed hair and glassy eyes that are somehow both earnest and a little mischievous—makes your heart skip a beat. “Definitely,” he says, and there’s something in his voice, a kind of sweet, dopey sincerity, that almost makes you want to give in right then and there.

You chew on your lower lip, trying to stay focused, but it’s hard when his hands are skimming up your sides, pushing your shirt higher. “Clayton, you’re high,” you remind him gently, as if he needs the reminder. “We really should—”

“I know,” he interrupts, and there’s that lopsided grin again, the one that makes your stomach do funny little flips. “But I just... I really fucking want you. And I want to make you feel good.”

You let out a sigh, glancing at the bedroom door as if it’s the gateway to the world of “responsibility” that you’re desperately trying to cling to. But honestly, that door is looking less like an escape route and more like a blockade against the pure, unadulterated temptation that is Clayton, sprawled out on the bed, high as a kite and making it very clear what he wants.

You’re supposed to be the responsible one. The one who keeps her wits about her, who doesn’t let a family vacation turn into a complete disaster because her boyfriend decided to get high with his brother in the garage. And yet…here you are, feeling the weight of Clayton’s gaze on you, his hands warm and insistent as they trace the curve of your hips.

“Clayton,” you try again, but your voice is soft, more an invitation than a protest. You should be telling him to sober up, to get dressed for dinner, to think about the fact that his mom could come knocking on the door at any minute. But instead, you find yourself caught in the way his eyes—glassy as they are—still manage to look at you like you’re the only thing that matters.

He looks up at you with those dazed, love-struck eyes and gives you that adorable lopsided grin. “Again? Baby, you don’t understand. I’ve been dreaming about having you like this all day. I just want to make you feel good. I’m so fucking into you right now. Just let me take care of you. It’s all I want.”

Oh god, his eyes are making your heart race, and every rational thought you had is slipping through your fingers. Here you are, his fingers gently tugging at your shirt, his lips grazing your collarbone in a way that makes you question every life decision you’ve ever made.

He’s literally begging to go down on you. To make you feel good, not giving a shit about himself. You’d laugh if it didn’t sound like the absolute best idea in the world right now.

But still, you hesitate. “Clayton,” you start, and even you’re surprised by how steady your voice sounds. “We really, really shouldn’t…”

He doesn’t stop. In fact, he seems to take your half-hearted protest as encouragement because he’s already kissing a path down your stomach, his fingers expertly unbuttoning your shorts like he’s done it a thousand times before. “I don’t care,” he mutters against your skin, and there’s an edge of desperation in his tone that sends a shiver down your spine. “I just need to taste you. Please, baby, let me.”

You bite your lip, trying to keep a level head, but Clayton’s hands are roaming, his fingers curling under the waistband of your shorts, tugging them down with a slow, deliberate movement. You feel the cool air against your skin, and suddenly every nerve in your body is on high alert. He’s not stopping—he’s determined, and you know, deep down, that if you don’t stop him now, you’re going to lose this battle entirely.

But then he looks up at you, his eyes soft and pleading, his lips swollen from the kisses he’s trailed across your body, and you know you’re done for. He’s high, sure, but there’s something in his gaze that’s entirely genuine—a need to make you feel good, to lose himself in the act of worshiping your body.

You swallow hard, your breath catching in your throat as you nod, just once, and it’s all the permission he needs. He grins, and there’s that boyish charm again, the kind that makes your stomach flip in the most ridiculous way.

“Thank you,” he breathes out, and before you can even process what’s happening, he’s tugging your shorts fully down your legs, tossing them aside with zero care about where they land. His hands find your thighs, spreading them apart with a gentle insistence that makes your heart pound in your chest. He’s on a mission, and that mission is apparently you.

You try to brace yourself for what’s coming, but nothing—nothing—could have prepared you for the way Clayton dives in like a man starved. His mouth is hot, wet, and insistent, and the first swipe of his tongue against you has your back arching off the bed. He’s not wasting any time, his mouth moving with a kind of single-minded focus that makes your head spin.

“Fuck,” you gasp, your hands flying to his hair, fingers threading through the soft strands as you try to ground yourself. He hums against you, the vibration sending shockwaves through your entire body, and you know you’re in trouble. Big, big trouble.

Clayton’s always been good at this—like, freakishly good—but tonight? Tonight, he’s on a whole other level. Maybe it’s the weed, maybe it’s the fact that he’s so damn into it, but whatever it is, it’s working, and you’re rapidly losing any semblance of control.

Your mind is a mess of sensations, each flick of his tongue, each gentle suck driving you closer to the edge. You’re not even sure how long he’s been at it—time has lost all meaning, and all you can focus on is the way he’s making you feel. The heat is building, a coil of pleasure tightening in your core, and you know it won’t be long now.

“Clay,” you pant, your voice shaky and breathless. “Oh god, Clayton, I—”

But he’s not stopping. In fact, he’s doubling down, his mouth working you with an intensity that has you trembling, your thighs quivering around his head as he pulls you closer to the brink. You can feel the pleasure building, a tidal wave that’s about to crash over you, and there’s nothing you can do to stop it—not that you’d want to.

And then, just when you think you can’t take it anymore, he moans against you, taking such obvious pleasure in it that the sound vibrates through your entire body, and that’s it. The coil snaps, and you’re free-falling into pure, unadulterated bliss. You cry out, your fingers tightening in his hair as your orgasm crashes over you, wave after wave of pleasure washing through you in a way that leaves you breathless, trembling, and utterly spent.

Clayton doesn’t let up, his mouth working you through your climax with a kind of reverence that makes your heart swell in your chest. He’s not just doing this because he’s high—he’s doing it because he loves it, loves you, and that thought alone is enough to send a fresh wave of warmth flooding through you.

When you finally come down from the high, your body relaxing back into the bed, you realize with a start that Clayton’s still there, still between your legs, nuzzled up to your thigh. He’s breathing hard, his cheeks flushed as if he’s drunk on you along with being stoned, and when he looks up at you, there’s a smug, satisfied grin on his face that makes you want to smack him and kiss him all at once.

You can practically see the gears turning in his head, and despite everything, you can’t help but roll your eyes. The man just gave you the kind of orgasm that makes you question your life choices, and now he’s looking at you like a puppy who’s proud of himself for learning a new trick.

“Clay,” you start, but your voice is weak, more of a croak than the firm reprimand you were aiming for. You should be getting up, throwing on some clothes, and dragging him to dinner with his parents. You should be the responsible one. But you’re not moving. In fact, your legs feel like they’ve turned to jelly, and all you can do is lie there, staring at the ceiling, trying to remember how to function as a human being.

He hums, lazily kissing your inner thigh, clearly not in any hurry to move. You would take him a lot more serious if his lips weren’t glistening, with, well, you. “Yeah, babe?”

You close your eyes, taking a deep breath. He’s still down there, between your legs, like it’s the most natural place in the world for him to be. And maybe it is, but right now, all you can think about is the fact that you have dinner with his parents in, what, forty-five minutes? An hour, if you’re lucky? And here you are, half-naked on the bed, with your high-as-a-kite boyfriend nuzzling your thigh like it’s the most comfortable pillow he’s ever found.

“We really need to get up,” you say, though even you can hear the lack of conviction in your voice.

“Mmm, don’t wanna,” he murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to your skin. “Wanna stay right here.”

You let out a groan, not entirely sure if it’s from frustration or the lingering pleasure still coursing through your veins. “Clayton, we have to go to dinner.”

He finally lifts his head, looking up at you with those hazy, love-drunk eyes that make your heart do a ridiculous little flip. “But I’m not done,” he says, as if that’s a perfectly valid excuse for skipping a family dinner.

You blink at him, trying to process what he just said. “Not… done?”

He grins, that boyish, slightly cocky smile that usually precedes him getting his way. “I mean, I could do this all night. I really, really like doing this for you. Makes me feel all… I dunno. Good. Happy.” He’s rambling now, his words tumbling out in a way that’s both endearing and a little infuriating. “You taste so fucking good, babe. Seriously. It’s like… fuck. I don’t even have words for it. I just wanna make you feel good. Again. And again. Until you can’t even think straight.”

Oh, you’re definitely not thinking straight. In fact, you’re pretty sure all coherent thought has flown out the window the moment he started talking about how much he likes going down on you. And the worst part? He’s completely sincere. This isn’t just the weed talking—this is Clayton being his ridiculously sweet, overly affectionate self, and it’s making it really, really hard to be the responsible one.

“Clayton,” you say again, trying to muster up some authority, but it comes out more like a plea than anything else. You should be getting up. You should be dragging him to the shower, dousing him with cold water, and forcing him into some semblance of sobriety before facing his parents. But instead, you’re lying there, letting him nuzzle your thigh, his breath warm against your skin, and all you can think about is how good it felt to have him between your legs, how good it would feel to let him do it again.

But you’re supposed to be the responsible one.

“Babe,” he murmurs, his voice low and a little rough, “please let me. Just one more time. I promise I’ll be good after. I just… I can’t stop thinking about it. You. How you taste. How you look when you come. God, it’s like… it’s the only thing I want right now.”

Your breath catches in your throat, and you have to bite down on your lip to keep from moaning at the sheer desperation in his voice. He’s practically begging, and it’s doing things to you—things that are making it very, very difficult to stay focused on the whole “responsible girlfriend” thing.

You swallow hard, trying to gather your thoughts. “Clay,” you start, but before you can get another word out, he’s already leaning in, pressing his lips to the inside of your thigh in a way that makes your toes curl.

“I’m really good at it, right?” he mumbles against your skin, his voice muffled but still clear enough to make your heart race. “You like it when I do this?”

You want to say something—anything—to stop this before it spirals completely out of control, but all that comes out is a breathy whimper as he trails kisses higher, his tongue darting out to tease you in a way that makes you want to scream.

He grins against your skin, clearly pleased with himself. “Yeah, you like it. I knew it.”

“Clayton, we can’t…” You try again, but it’s a losing battle. Your body is betraying you, every nerve ending screaming for more even as your brain tries to remind you that there’s a dinner reservation looming over your head. But then he’s licking a slow, torturous line up your thigh, and any hope of rational thought flies out the window.

“Just one more time,” he murmurs, his voice soft and coaxing. “Please, babe. I just… I need it. I need you. Let me take care of you, yeah?”

And that’s it. Your resolve crumbles, and you find yourself nodding, even as your brain tries to scream at you that this is a terrible idea. But right now, with Clayton looking at you like you’re the most important thing in the world, you can’t bring yourself to care. This man is thorough, methodical, and once he sets his mind to something, he’s like a dog with a bone—or, in this case, like a stoned hockey player with a serious oral fixation.

“Okay,” you whisper, and the word is barely out of your mouth before he’s diving back in, his mouth hot and insistent as he picks up right where he left off. You’re gasping, your hands flying to his hair as you arch into him, all thoughts of dinner, responsibilities, and anything outside of this room fading into oblivion.

And as he works you over with a kind of focused intensity that leaves you breathless, you can’t help but think that maybe—just maybe—being the responsible one is overrated. At least, that’s what you’re telling yourself as he sends you spiraling into another earth-shattering climax, your mind going blissfully blank as you lose yourself in the overwhelming pleasure.

So much for being responsible. But honestly? You wouldn’t have it any other way.

[buriedpair]

a bunch of amias fans overnight? nah bro it was just me. i am THE amias anon. i will fight and claw my way to number one. cute pink haired demon boys have my whole heart. do not leave me alone in a room with him.

that being said what would he do if we were left in a room alone...... <3

(send help the amias brainrot is so real.)

nervous laughter. anyone accusing me of ever writing 18+ content for amias is wrong and a liar.

That being said...

Amias x GN!Reader (NSFW MINORS DNI)

TW for minor dubcon near the end

“You're so cute. I might just die.”

Amias’ voice is a soft purr, his breath fanning against your face as he presses you to the wall. The warmth of your skin through his clothes has him trembling with anticipation, his heart hammering away at his ribcage.

You've got only half a clue as to how you ended up here, and it started with Double Down insisting you go check on Amias. He had led you to a closet, which you'd barely had a time to question before you were shoved in and Amias was pressed against you.

The air in the closet is hot, or perhaps it's just Amias' breath against you as he slowly pushes you to your knees before him.

"You... You'll do it, right?" He mutters, suddenly nervous as he watches you suspiciously eye his tightening pants. "You won't leave me hanging like everyone else, right?"

His pathetic plea is met with your hands unbuckling his belt and pulling down his pants just enough to free his aching length. Who are you to refuse such a pathetic loser when he needs you the most?

Your silent reply is all he needed to rest his hands in your hair. He only has a second to think before your mouth is around his cock, and oh god-- It's unreal. Unlike anything he's ever felt before. His hand could never do this justice. He'll never be able to get himself off without you again.

Your mouth is wet and warm, and it has his eyes rolling back at the gentle movement of your lips around him. His fingers tighten in your hair, his hips moving involuntarily as he pulls you closer.

"Fuck, it's so good." He cries, biting his tongue as his cock is practically throbbing within your mouth, aching for release.

With your hands on his hips, you guide your head up and down. His hands in your hair are encouraging as he tugs you close. You run your tongue over his shaft, his eyes practically rolling back in pleasure.

"Yeah, just like that." He whimpers, his hips jerking with each bob of your head. The pace increases, sweat rolling off of his forehead as he struggles to keep his cool.

He lets out a growl from deep within his throat, shoving your head fully down his cock. His seed floods through your mouth, no warning and no opportunity to pull away before he cums down your throat.

His expression is unapologetic as he watches you choke. He releases your hair and allows you to pull away, coughing onto the floor as he stands nearby.

"You... Didn't swallow it," He murmurs, an observation you clearly didn't miss.

"Again. We're going again, until you swallow it." He grits his teeth, looking down at you with determination in his eyes.

Curse you, Double Down.

[leandra-winchester]

I'm wondering how there are people who think killing off Tommy would lead to Buddie. Like for one outside of Shannon the show hasn't killed off any other love interest to write them out of the show and two the show would get so much negative press for it. Like I do not take people seriously when the bring up Tommy dying or Buck cheating as a way to facilitate Buddie canon because it would not endear most of the audience to them as a ship (not to mention Oliver Stark specifically said he doesn't want to go down the queer trauma route here so like I don't get why some people cite these as possibilities)

Yeah, I don't even know man. Fanfic brainrot or something (not that there's anything wrong with fanfic, obviously, but when you consume so much of it and it being very specific to your very personal liking, and then can't separate the expectations you have for fic from those you have for the show).

And I guess in a way I maybe fell for it too, with my past expectations for Buddie canon, because, in hindsight, I'm not sure Buddie canon - especially now after so much time has passed - would have feasibly happened. Not just because of studio politics or limitations on how many canon queer characters you can have among the main cast, but simply because you cannot believably pull off a mutual pining/slowburn romance in an ensemble show.

Buddie would only have worked if Eddie had taken some time to unravel all that repression, bit by bit, and we would have to see it, and that would have taken up too much room and time in a show that has a pretty big main cast.

It might have worked at the end of s5 when he went to therapy and all that, planting some seeds there and then fully following up on it in s6, but now? AFTER the whole Marisol and Shannon/Kim stuff? It would take A LOT to sell it not just to the general audience but, frankly, to people like me as well.

So I dunno, but I'm pretty convinced it's never going to happen. Both Oliver and Ryan have said/hinted that they wouldn't want it to happen purely as fan service; it would have to really make sense and be true to the characters and their journeys, and I agree.

But the BoBs don't listen; they take fragments of sentences and interpret them to fit their own agenda.

And then some of the most unhinged ones of them go and think killing off a love interest is one way to get there. And a lot of those comments or tags didn't read like purely 'jokes' either; there was sheer vitriol and hatred behind them. Which has very little to do with genuine or in any way valid outrage at the 'daddy kink' joke, but everything to do with someone getting in their way of their ship, and this time being an actual threat.

With female love interests, you could always write that off as the show being cowardly about it and not daring to make any of them queer. But now we have that queer representation, Buck is officially bi, and has a boyfriend with whom things are getting really serious, really fast.

And I get being sad and disappointed about Buddie not happening, but the amount of toxicity that has been directed at a) other fans b) the fictional characters and c) the actors/writers involved is ridiculous. This is a fucking TV show, after all. It's not real life, it's not politics or activism. It's just fiction (that gives us an unusual amount of queer rep for a mainstream network TV show!). If it doesn't spark joy, take a step back, stop watching, read and write fic, but don't be a toxic asshole about it.

[lieutenantsluvr]

thinking about biker!simon ... brainrot

༉‧��˚✧

He's had the bike looong before you met him. At first it started off with a love of dirt biking in his childhood, and then it morphed into this crazy adrenaline loving addiction.

He's a simple man. But, has an absolute need for the adrenaline and stomach drop that comes from redlining your bike. A 300cc bike was never enough to satisfy him. No. A Kawasaki? He outgrew it. A Yamaha? Nah. He went straight through the pipeline and bought a Ducati. A shiny red that he soon wraps black, the fenders a dark forged carbon.

He's definitely the type to have never gotten his license, let alone get real plates for the bike. Cops wanna pull him over? Good luck, come get him. Sometimes he likes to taunt, gripping his clutch, and rolling the bike into a wheelie. Fuckers gonna get himself killed.

Usually calm, and collected - But, aware of everyone around him nonetheless. The only time you've seen him get angry is when you're on the bike with him, backpacking. A dude in a murdered out BMW had cut you off in an intersection - not surprising. To your dismay, your hands calmly patted Simon on the shoulder, a way of saying "Hey, we're fine!" Yeah. He didn't really give a fuck. As soon as the light turned green, his fist slammed around the side mirror of the car, almost taking it clean off. A warning.

Red lights with Simon are always fun. Bobbing your heads up and down to music. Warm summer air felt from all angles, the lack of protection the bike gives for easy access to the elements.

Two words. Helmet Confidence. Unlike his mask, the helmet doesn't feel like an extension of him. He'll often send you pictures of his outfits, the helmet making your gut stir in an unknown feeling. He'll take advantage of the anonymity, sending you videos at red lights of him pulling his shirt up a little. Fucking tease.

[tricoufamily]

I'm so curious about your personal Bob x Diego lore. Like, I can't stop thinking about it. Their dynamics, sexualities, and what they end up doing in the future. Ahhhhhh!! It's giving me sims brainrot. Do you have anymore crumbs of lore for them you'd be willing to share? If not that's okay too. I just love how you world build your sims.

yaa!!!! storytime!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

bob went to college because of his mom. she wanted him to, and he didn't know what he wanted to do w his life so he just went. he was an undecided major until he became a business major just because. shrug. he was also in a co-ed dorm where he met eliza, but they didn't start dating until the year after college. they were friends though

diego was an art history major and he was doing all kinds of odd jobs. he had really good grades, so he got in to college free, and his biggest goal in life was to move to nyc. he hated his small shitty town, he hated his college, he hated everyone there, and so on.

but yes, diego's gay, he was in drag when they met, he was coming home from a bar and just went to the dining hall late at night still in drag whatever he was hungry. and bob was there, he'd been doing an all-nighter, and he hit on him. diego thought it was funny but he also thought bob was hot so. long story short, bob is bisexual, and he had to figure that out in a small town in the early 2000s rip buddy

they started dating for real eventually, and it was a good relationship. for the most part. by this is the fall standards, they're the best couple (the bar is in hell). diego does have some...manic pixie dream boy tendencies though, and he's hot-headed, so they would have arguments, and diego's mood could change at the drop of a hat, but they did love each other.

graduation was getting closer, and diego was trying to convince bob that the city will be great and they don't need to get married or have kids and they'll be young forever. and bob just wasn't budging. they knew the end was approaching long before it came.

they were fighting a lot leading up to the break up, but when it finally was time, it was very quiet. and sad. and defeated. they kissed one more time, and diego packed a suitcase that night and left for the city with barely anything.

now, diego is a successful art critic and knows a lot of artists and influencer types like penny pizzazz and even established celebrities. he's kind of like a socialite. when we reach the tiktok era, i'm sure he'll start doing stuff there and get a following. he gets sad and lonely sometimes.

bob and eliza own a catering company together that does pretty well. their marriage is. well it's bob and eliza. she'll get pregnant w iggy soon.

i think sometime after iggy is born they'd go on vacation and bob and diego would meet again. you all know the christmas song same old lang syne? yeah that

[pondslime]

I've been absent from Tumblr for a couple of days and somehow my FYP is full of Sinclair thots??.?? Is this some national holiday?🥶🥶🥶🥶 I have so many that gnawl at my brain at night.

Imagine calling Bo Beauregard for the first time🤐🤐🤐 You're either trying to be serious and have a real conversation with him for the first time since settling in Ambrose (spoiler: this is impossible. He's misogynistic and a firm believer that there's nothing to talk about with girls🩷🩷🩷🩷 he gives off that TikTok vibe "Do girls even have hobbies?" Like bro, drinking bear and crying ain't a hobby either), or you're so exhausted with his neanderthal shenanigans that you just sigh "Beauregard...." while absolutely pissed off and annoyed.

I just KNOW mama Sinclair would call him Beauregard in that no-nonsense tone when he would rip a hole in his dress pants before church , he must have PTSD from hearing his own freaking name. He's so used to being just Bo, that the only times he even acknowledges his full name are when he's either being scolded by his parents or when he's arrested and sees it on the paperwork.

So yeah, long story short I doubt he'd be amused by anyone calling him Beauregard. RIP MC.

*bonus crack thought* I remember talking here with someone about how Fucking Funny™ would it be to call Bo Robert. I'm not a native English speaker and I honestly never heard of the name Beauregard before😭😭😭 I just assumed Bo is like Bob, which is Robert😂😂😂😂 I'd get smacked on the head with a wrench for trying to be cute and calling him Robert. End scene

omg jhdsjhfjd not the fyp being inundated w/my dumbassery 💀

I lowkey felt like I was spamming the dash last night. BUT idk what came over me, I've had a couple days off work and I'm in a chatty mood hjhdsjahjhsdjh like. I just wanna TALK about this goofy ass movie?? **note to all the poor souls that might be following me rn: pls feel free to block the tag "sinclair brainrot hours" if u would like to save urself from my shenanigans**

this ask is killin me dshjhdfsjhj DRINKING BEER AND CRYING AIN'T A HOBBY BOY

I'm unfortunately part of the Anti-Beauregard Sinclair Hater Nation. I am, after all, the graphic designer responsible for THIS abomination:

context for this can be found here, with poki's galactic big brain take

I also love this take on what his real actual name is 🐔🧊

I just CANNOT buy this guy as a beauregard hdjhdfjh I simply cannot

HOWEVER. I do this thing w/ppl I'm fond of where I'll lengthen their names in ridiculous ways. like just add in entire syllables and letters that just. wholly don't exist. and I could see one of two situations playing out w/bing bong

scenario one: u drop a "beauregard" out of the blue one day. maybe you're trying to be cute. maybe you're trying to piss him off. he looks over @ u. crinkles his brow and gives u the bitchest lil expression. u best be glad u make good pork chops, WOMAN. bc u can't even remember his NAME. who tf u think ur talkin to??? one of ur fancy shmancy city boys?? get outta here!! just grumblin' around the living room abt how if u want some prissy ass boy w/a genteel ass name like that, his brother's right downstairs grumble grumble mutter mutter

scenario two:

he's been slurpin up that good ambrose moonshine (some crazy ass shit that comes in a jug w/x's on it. u know the one. lester labeled it as "ambrosia" and walks around saying it's the "fruit of the gods" and slappin his knee. bo has no fuckin' idea what he's saying.) and despite his high tolerance, boy's a bit sloshed. so are u. u drunkenly crawl into his lap and call him beauregard. he thinks this is v heehaw funny. whatchu think I am girl?? some kinda royalty?? that pretty lil head of urs is all kindsa messed up!! figure I AM like a king here hehehehehe

both equally as annoying😔

[cangrellesteponme]

HI I SAW YOU MENTIONNING THEALTHAZAR AND YOURE SO REAL FOR THAT I WAS OBSESSED WITH AVENTURES IM MAD THERE ISNT A BIGGER FANDOM FOR IT (to me they were a polycule. Including Mani)

LMAO HI so glad my random mention of teenage brainrot brought you joy. i was so into aventures it literally got me into TTRPG, which eventually lead to my DnD special interest via critical role, so yeah. aventures is pretty important to me lmao. mahyar is still one of my game master inspirations (he's higher than matt mercer on the list! i'm so not objective about him).

and YES YOU'RE SO RIGHT they were a polycule to me too, i was just way more interested in the théalthazar aspect of things because. mr paladin and the half-demon he's supposed to kill eventually? i live for that kind of drama. also the fact that the demon side of bob was lowkey canonically into the light within théo's soul? homosexual activity. i still think about it sometimes.

but also i'm not that mad there isn't a bigger fandom for it because... season 5 just dropped and they had fucking matthieu sommet in there? what's next, linksthesun? i don't fuck with french youtubers man. aventures should have stayed in the past, where it belonged.

[hornime]

Um hi 👋🏻 for the lewd event, can i request for dom!Kenma with f!reader + ass play and fingering, please, if you don’t mind? Hope you’re taking good care of yourself sweetie ^^ thank you! *headpats* 😘♥️

MORE THAN ENOUGH | KENMA KOZUME X F!READER

part of my a whole lotta lewd event! [ details | masterlist | CLOSED ]

warnings: 18+, dom!kenma, f!reader, fingering (f!receiving), ass play, a leetle overstimulation, degradation but also praise so the head go weewoo

a/n: okay you see so i usually am very eh about writing for kenma but tbh??? the brainrot is real??????? like damn maybe i want to write for him more now?????????

“stop squirming, whore.” kenma’s voice is flat, and he doesn’t even spare you a glance, eyes focused on the screen of his phone. “you’re distracting me.”

you make a frustrated noise, wiggling your hips in hopes of getting his fingers to brush against the spongy spot inside you or the palm of his hand to hit your clit. he’s giving you absolutely nothing, his two fingers thrusting slowly—too slowly—in and out of your pussy, the stimulation almost numbing at how unhelpful it is.

“it’s not enough,” you whine, lifting your ass off the bed to get him a better angle. you groan, falling back onto the sheets when your forearms burn under your weight. “i want more.”

he thrusts his fingers in hard and you keen, even the hint of a pleasurable sensation making you cry out, your wound-up body buzzing with satisfaction. he bites back a groan as you tighten around him, forcing him to put in more effort when pulling his fingers out.

“needy bitch,” he snarks, dropping his phone to the side before laying on his stomach, eye level with your cunt, watching the way your arousal spreads along the petals of your pussy. “i’m barely even doing anything and you’re still dripping all over my fingers.”

kenma curls his fingers upwards and the breath is knocked out of you, a white hot pleasure spreading throughout your veins. you grab onto his wrist, eager to keep him there, and he chuckles darkly.

“c’mon, k-ken, please?” you pout, tangling your other hand in his hair. “make me feel good?”

he smiles up at you, amusement glinting in his irises. “yeah,” he acquiesces. “you deserve it, don’t you? for being such a good girl?”

“mm, yea—ah!”

a high-pitched noise is ripped from your throat as his warm mouth latches onto your clit, tongue rubbing perfectly against the sensitive bundle of nerves. his other hand presses down on your stomach, keeping you pinned to the bed as your hips buck up in vain.

his pointer and middle finger continue their assault on your gushing hole, making you see stars as they fill you up again and again, but in the midst of your pleasure-induced haze, you barely make out the feeling of another finger prodding… lower than it should.

“kenma?” you crane your neck up just the slightest to see him cocking an eyebrow at you, his mouth still busying itself in licking your slit and sucking on your clit.

“don’t worry about it,” he murmurs, the vibrations sending shocks up your spine. “you wanted more, right?”

“y-yeah, but—”

you choke on your words as he slides his drenched ring finger into your ass, the slick that had dripped down from your pussy and between your asscheeks making it an easy fit as your tight hole flutters around the intrusion. it’s a different kind of fullness that feels absolutely amazing, making your breath come out in shallow pants as you fight the urge to moan out loud.

“there you go,” he hums against your clit. “is that enough for you?”

you bob your head, the feeling of being pleased in three places at once making your mind go blank as you spiral towards your orgasm. 

“it’s—it’s so good, oh, fuck!”

he flattens his tongue against your cunt and that’s all it takes for you to cum, legs trembling as he continues to stroke his fingers along the walls of your pussy and ass, forcing your body to twitch in overstimulation.

“good girl,” he groans, the pretty noises spilling from your lips making his cock ache in his pants. “taking it all so well.”

he stops his movements as you sob before him, sanity holding itself together by a single thread.

“that was,” you gasp after finding your voice. “fucking insane. holy fucking shit.”

kenma smirks at you, crawling up until he’s hovering over your body, one hand next to your head and holding him up, the other running through his blonde strands. “more than enough for you?”

you smile in response, looping a hand around his neck to pull him in for a kiss. “never.”

if you enjoyed, reblogs + comments are appreciated!

© property of hornime 2021. do not plagiarize any of my writing and do not repost/copy my writing onto any other sites.

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

Bob & B(l)ob| FNF x Reader

A/N: Just a thing I wanted to write bc I got Bob and Bob/Bosip brainrot on the mind :) Also I did my best to clarify which Bob is speaking/being described so apologies if it's still confusing for some.

Also, although Bob Takeover week is an alternate timeline I tried fitting this into the canon timeline where they battle BF after the whole takeover ordeal.

Summary: Reader is a good friend of Bob (Onslaught), Amor, Bob, and Bosip. They can travel between the real world and FNF universe. But after learning of the trouble the blob caused in the Takeover week of the VS Bob & Bosip mod, they enter the game once more to sort things out and clear up some misunderstandings.

......

"Oh give me a break.."

"What's wrong? Are Bob and Bosip okay?"

Amor stopped clicking around the laptop screen as he sighed and leaned back in his chair, looking to you. "I dunno, I can't find them anywhere in this mod. One moment Bob was rap-battling some blob character also called Bob. Then the next moment it crashes during the cutscene and they like..completely vanished. Bosip's not responding to any of my messages about the game, either."

When he mentioned the blob character, your eyes lit up. "Oh! I know that other Bob."

"You do?"

"Yeah, I met him in his original mod. He's broken the game before so...I suspect he's the reason those two are missing."

"...now I feel really bad for sticking them in this game without their knowledge. They thought they were going to Minecraft." He sweatdropped, nervously smiling as he booted up the game again. "Well if you can go in and see what's up, that'd be great. Sorry you gotta fix my mistake because...I honestly have no clue what happened to them."

"It's all good." You chuckled. "He can be unpredictable but I know him best. I'll get your boys back."

"Thanks, [y/n].

..........

Once you entered the game, it took you a while to find your blob-shaped friend in the park. You asked around with no apparent luck, and you began to worry that Bob somehow moved on from this mod.

It was unusual for Ron not to be here either, though you did see a red stain on the road-

"Yo."

You turned around upon hearing the voice and saw Bob in front of you, wearing a disguise of the missing Bob, complete with a blue wig that barely fit over his head. And instead of a blue B on his sweater, there was the word "gloopie".

As amused as you were upon seeing this, you just folded your arms over your chest, looking down at him with a frown. "Alright, fess up."

"Wut?"

"Don't play dumb. Where's the other Bob and Bosip? Amor's worried sick about what happened to them and I suspect you're involved."

He frowned back at you. "That cube-looking bitch beat me in a rap battle."

"And that's a reason to kidnap them both and pretend to be him?"

"....yes?"

"No." You sighed, before looking around. "Where's Ron, by the way?"

"Dead but "in a cool way"," he mocked the folderhead. "He got ran over. Man you should've seen his guts all over the road-"

"I'd rather not. Just...tell me where you took them or I'm getting Opheebop."

Your threat made Bob's eyes widen in horror. While he was scary on his own, nothing terrified him more than invoking the wrath of his girlfriend. So he finally gave in, his disguise dissolving into black goop that was reabsorbed into his body.

And he disgruntledly teleported you both into a dark building, which had a single dim lightbulb hanging from the ceiling. It took you a minute to adjust to the darkness, but eventually you heard muffled cries of confusion and panic nearby.

"Mmmh?!!!"

"Mmmhff!!!!"

Looking to the source, you were horrified to see Bob and Bosip were on the floor, their hands tied by rope with tape across their mouths. "What the--oh god hang on, guys." You ran over and knelt down to untie them, ripping the tape off as well.

And here you were, afraid that they've been killed. Amor definitely would've been upset if that were the case. There were a lot of dangers in the games they traveled in, and unfortunately nothing warned them of the blob's evil powers.

The moment you freed them, Bob saw the blob-Bob and screamed, clinging to you tightly. "K-Keep that thing away from me!!" He cried. "I don't know what it wants or why it kidnapped us but--!!"

"Bob..it's alright. We're safe now thanks to you." Bosip smiled at you, before looking back at the blob with discomfort. "But uh..do you know this guy by any chance? Seems it brought you here willingly."

"Oh he's a friend of mine from the mod Bob's Onslaught. His name is also..Bob and...uh--Bob? Bob, please calm down." You had a hard time explaining with the blue-haired male babbling nonsense in your ear. But you just sighed. "I'm really ashamed of you."

Suddenly he shut up and looked at you with teary eyes. "Wh-What?"

"No, no. I didn't mean you. I meant him." You pointed at the blob who was standing there awkwardly. "He's got a penchant for killing people who insult him or beat him in rap battles. He takes shit way too personally."

"No I don't."

"Ah, so he speaks." Bosip mused. "But in our defense, he challenged us first without knowing what we were capable of."

"Yeah!" Blue-haired Bob spoke up, still hugging you but with a less constricting grip now. "I take pride in my amazing vocals and I wasn't about to let some silly knockoff Dre-"

You immediately slapped a hand over his mouth to silence him, giving him a stern glare. "Don't ever call him that unless you want absolute death."

His eyes widened with fear, but he nodded in understanding and you removed your hand. Then he let go of you. "A-Alright. Thanks for saving us. Now can we go? This place gives me the creeps."

Nodding, you looked to the blob Bob. He sighed and willingly teleported everyone out of the building, putting you all back in the middle of the park.

In that same moment, Bosip's phone blew up with frantic texts from Amor, and he reassured his creator they were alright. Then he talked about how, according to those texts, they had to beat a guy named Boyfriend in a rap-battle to escape the game.

While Bob pondered over who would name their own kid "Boyfriend", you and the other Bob decided to take your leave, bidding farewell to the Geometry Dash duo.

"[Y/n]?"

"Yeah?"

"...you like that Bob more?"

You stopped in your tracks and looked down at him, shaking your head. "Nonsense. I've known you since forever. No other Bob in this universe will take your place as my best friend."

Even so, he was still pouting. "Seems you like hugging him more.."

"Oh..is that what this is all about? If you wanted a hug you could've just said so." Kneeling down, you hugged the blob and picked him up, grinning. "You know, your cosplay of him was neat. But...maybe try not to kidnap people you wanna cosplay next time, alright?"

"Fine." He grumbled, though he felt a little better knowing he was your favorite Bob.

Not that he'll ever admit it, but his jealousy was a major reason he decided to kidnap them in the first place.