#tysm for sending & i hope this is okay !

[thatdeadaquarius]

Imagine creator reader but no divine presence or aura that makes people crumble at the knees.

Reader just spawns in at wolvendom like a fly and meets diluc for no important reason i just love diluc then pow we can alter character builds then discover that my husband has the bell and instructors set on 😲

Creator freaks out cause wtf this is NOT the build i put on my diluc and hes standing there like ‘what psychopath did i just meet..’ so wow what no way creator reader just happens to have a 2 piece crimson witch in their inventory.

Reader: ‘You’re probably gonna leave me here but theres a hillichurl camp near by you dont want the knights of favonius to get to it first right’

Dilucs mad suspicious but hes a good civilian and puts his vision to use and absolutely destroys the hilichurls

Hes doing like 19x the amount of damage he normally would and word gets around that theres some random lady that makes people uncomprehendingly strong

BRO (genderneutral) I SAW A FIC LITERALLY ABOUT THIS SCENARIO UNDER THE SAGAU TAG AWHILE BACK- ACK-

FIC REC ASK!!

I CANT FIND IT- THEY WERE ACTUALLY THE OG INSPO FOR ME KEEPING A READER WHO COULD STILL ACCESS PLAYER FUNCTIONS

LIKE, DUDE THEY DID DILUC AND EVERYTHING

THIS IS SO CREEPY WTF R U SECRETLY THAT AWESOME WRITER??!!! DID U SNEAK INTO MY ASKS, BC IF SO HELLO I LOVE THAT FIC SM <3 ANYWAY-

I don’t know how to write this without plagiarising that person!!

Because this is such a specific scenario, I don’t see a way around writing this or at least I don’t have the skill for it lmao, as this is the same situation as that fic, so here you guys go!

My first fic rec!! Thank you so much @myrainycollectorpizza for finding this fic!! You're a peach tysm,

Here's pretty much a cooler longer version of what anon said by Muraar on ao3!

☆

Safe Travels Anon,

💀♒️

☆

Fic rec sorry my beloveds! Another ask will be uploaded in an hour or so! :] I lied i forgot to tag u guys in the new one hold on

@karmawonders / @0rah-s / @randomnatics / @glxssynarvi / @nexylaza / @genshin-impacts-me / @wholesomey-artist / @thedevioussmirk / @the-dumber-scaramouche

[chalkrub]

a few more doodles! wish I had more time for these, sorry to all the people I couldn’t get to - I’ll see if I have time to revisit the other requests next week!

1) torny for @dire-vulture ....i love mad scientists i cannot lie

2) cute lil otter dude for @skelgayton

3) normal sheep for @ambassador-blip (hope this is sorta what you had in mind orz)

thanks again for the support! :^)

[audipiu]

auwi.. my humble suggestion.. my selfish request

fowewh.... I see you, and I hear you.,,, my humble offering...

[lucassinclaer]

3 or 11 + hellcheer, please? 🥺🤲

helloooo!! okay, so this was a delight! i did 3 for now but probably gonna circle back to 11 once i've done the other ones still in my inbox bc gd but they're soft.

send me a things you said prompt

3. things you said too quietly

Chrissy has never been good at making herself be heard. Looked at, yes, admired for her narrow stature and her pretty face (or criticized for her stature not being narrow enough and her face showing any sign of life that wasn’t a fragile, porcelain smile.)  

Even now, leaving expectations behind, she still isn’t a loud person. She knows. The evidence is all over. 

Eddie is occupying the kitchen when she emerges from her study session. The timer went off and she's done for the day. There's times when she'll force herself to go over but the better days are when she can call it quits when she planned to.  

On her fuzzy socks, she's quiet and Eddie is absorbed in D&D prep. So she pauses in the doorway to sneak a look at him. 

He's sat in the way that'll make his leg fall asleep and biting his nails. There’s ink stains all over his fingers. And she just says it quietly into the air, “I think I might love you.” 

Her heart sinks the first second after it’s out there. Certain and fragile. Wobbling. 

Eddie doesn’t react. 

“Mh?” he says, looking up from his maps and his notes. His eyes are glazed over. He's in a different world, somewhere where dark wizards reign but are always eventually toppled. 

It's perfectly innocent and a complete disaster. If she thought about this happening, imagined it, she would want to disappear off the face of the earth. A nightmare scenario and shameful and so unsuited to all those perfect love stories she was meant to fit into like a cut-out and… And Chrissy finds, she doesn’t mind.  

She hates the thought of being perfect when that’s what she was raised to be. She hates the way guilt caves in on her every time she takes up more space than what people want to assign her. She hates it with an aching, syrupy kind of anger that sits deep in her chest and can’t ever see the light of day in its entirety. 

And it’s Eddie. 

He doesn’t like perfect, either. He likes her clumsy and full of mistakes. Not so bad when you see it in others, too, he told her once.  

She's over being scared that he won’t look at her the same way if she puts a foot wrong. She'd survive it even if he did.  

Chrissy's never been good at making herself heard and she might never be. But maybe that’s okay. 

They have time.  

She smiles. “Nothing. Do you want some coffee?” 

A brief flash of recognition in his eyes, “Coffee!” which means yes.  

As she passes Eddie, she cards a hand through his hair and he leans into it with a sigh, automatic and without intention. She knows him and he knows her and when she needs him to hear her, she'll make him. There’s time. 

[hehosts]

"don’t let me disturb you, i’m only saying goodnight." // for goro! gaia is maybe visiting before going back to her garden for the night uwu

the sunny side of franz kafka. accepting. @vonerde

his office is a singular building, something comfortable, yet clear in its luxury. it would seem he is a minimalist; an expansive desk, a grand chair, a small bar against the right wall facing the window. whatever the view really is, it is instead the view he wants to see. the couch on the left is small, and the chair in front of his desk that faces him when there is talk of deals and debts even smaller. outside, the rain pours heavily. red lights bathe his inner sanctum. those who know where to look can always find him. some by accident, but that is rare, and always welcome.

she is not here by accident. no, she is at the beginning of her deal, cementing her routine, and coming to her nightly rounds.

❝ i'm not disturbed, ❞ he answers, and he sounds so cool. he's smoking a cigar, thick and brown. smoke inhales / exhales easily. the drink on his desk sits still, the exterior sweating. a singular ice cube, circular in shape, takes up the center, and the liquid is a rich caramel. the same each time. even creatures like goro, as unpredictable as they are, possess habits. ❝ in fact, i'm glad you're here. ❞

he beckons her closer. ❝ come. sit. ❞ he denies the chair in front of him, instead leaving his already lax posture open to her. ❝ not there. ❞ legs are spread, heavy feet planted on the ground, and he bounces one knee idly. ❝ here. ❞

[destaeti]

the moon had thinned to a thread at the manor,      the woods at its timberline beastly and skeletal.      he had stood through the eve until harvest dawn was the colour of metal,      the trees stiffened into place like burnt nerves.      and in the morn’s silver flush,      damon is a murky blend of ill-lit dusk,      masquerading in a place devoid of a pale moon.      only his brother could be sanctioned through the tusk - white smog of his conjure,      fissuring haze as heavy as a lake with an oyster of light.      the glass of his eye darkens as he turns,      like something old and tired that has soiled the sight of its possessor.      not even the white fire of stars,      the softness from their light that fills to the bone can brighten the iris.      if not for the amiable tilt of his mouth he would be armoured only in nightmare,      harbouring fangs pointed for tearing gashes,      a red tongue for raw meat and the hot lapping of blood.

their father had been a savage force of nature,      a grim god of death wielding a keen blade made to sever tender throats      —      and later his sons.      what the late patriarch had formed between his heirs was a hardened knot of muscle braced against the past.      new blood over old scars.      but damon’s distaste had become cold and bloodless,      a white wound made to fade like hoarfrost in spring.      centuries had stripped the pain from him,      etching a smile that curves his lips almost feline in place of a sharp red mouth,      delighting in amusement too blatant not to perceive.      ‶ just your lectures,      brother. ″      tendrils of mist twine between the strands of his hair,      shifting with the incline of his head,      embellished tonality dissolving into a raw firmness that imparts something more familiar between them.      ‶ your concern is very touching,      i’ll admit,      but we both know you aren’t here for our usual back and forth. ″

@salvatoraes asked : you've been avoiding me. / prompts .

[dsrtrose]

@gunslingcr  said:    you're  running  a  fever.

eliza’s  pushing  arthur’s  hand  from  her  forehead  before  he  even  has  a  chance  to  finish  speaking;  “i  am  not!”  stubborn  as  a  mule  till  the  bitter  end.  though,  this  is  hardly  the  end  -  this  is  the  tail  end  of  the  unfortunate  ailments  that  strike  eliza  as  cooler  weather  impedes  upon  their  travels.

a  breath  passes,  and  minor  guilt  strikes  eliza’s  features  once  her  outburst  settles  between  them;  he’s  only  trying  to  help  (she  hopes  -  she  knows).  momentary  defeat  causes  eliza’s  bones  to  rest,  posture  slouching  some  as  she  bites  her  lower  lip,  hanging  her  head  &  extending  a  hand  to  brush  against  his  forearm  in  silent  apology;  “i’m  sorry,  i  jus’  -  …  i  can’t  sit  around  anymore.  i  gotta  get  outta  here,  arthur,  or  i’m  gonna  suffocate  myself  with  one’a  my  own,  god-damned  blankets.”  ever  the  complacent  patient.  “can’t  we  go  somewhere?  i  need  fresh  air.”

*      MEME,    still  accepting    🤍

[ofcrossrcads]

@nightvow sent: [ curse ] your muse cursing at / cursing mine out.

all in all, she had to admit: if she'd been something a little closer to human, she would have found all of his threats and bluster intimidating. as it was ? he was providing her with an interesting diversion for the evening. though she wasn't stupid enough to write him off entirely. . . he had yet to hit on anything of note. he'd get there, she was certain; batman had a reputation that had reached even the more literal corners of the criminal underworld.

“ while I'm sure this whole thing normally works WONDERS on the ladies. . . there's nothing I can do for you -- the details of my contracts are confidential, just like the names of their signees. ”

[draconscious]

[ @mnstcrbnll ??? ]

it's dark when they come. The Unowns - six of them, calm, collected, float inside the room, glaring down.

They have a message.

Why send that message? Who knows. Maybe out of boredom. Maybe just to stir the waters. Maybe, just maybe - because they're having fun.

Because they know that even if they prepare all of Johto, nobody could stop them.

Nested deep within the Dragon's Den, resting in the long-hidden hideaway that she's created for herself, Clair awakens with a start, bleary eyes widening at living, ominous message floating before her.

They have returned. The Unown do not blink, do not look away, as if the collective is waiting expectantly for the Gym Leader's reaction. And yet, Clair doesn't yield any ground, returning their curious gaze with a steely glare of her own, despite the nervous adrenaline thrumming in her veins.

The dragon tamer prides herself on staying grounded, yet the visiting Unown seemingly want to shake that resolve, their forms flitting within the Den's deepest recesses like otherworldly flies, pests, only becoming visible in half-asleep visions or deep-slumber dreams. Clair blinks again, if only to further ground herself in reality. The Unown remain. This is really happening, for now. Who on earth could help resolve this...unique situation?

Fumbling with her well-worn Pokegear, Clair keeps one eye on the strange Pokemon gathering while messaging Lyra, her anxious fingers struggling with the keys. A frustrated sigh leaves her lips as the Pokegear returns error message after error message. Of course there's no signal down here, where the Den swallows people whole. Worthless technological trash.

[to: Lyra @kotoyin] they're back with another message [to: Lyra] the Pokemon you told me about before

<message could not be delivered!> <message could not be delivered!>

[lucidrims]

˖ ࣪ . ࿐ ♡ ˚ . ❛ today isn’t your day, is it? ❜ (@meantome)

         " this is embarrassing, truly. " well that's one way to make a first impression, she thinks to herself, all while dabbing the thin pieces of tissue over her soaked lap. " i cannot believe this happened to me. first, i almost broke my ankle on the way here and now, spilling iced latte all over myself. " as someone who is most of the time in a cheery mood, she was just not herself that day. " i know this is our first time meeting, but is it alright if we move it to my place ? i'm sorry, i just don't know how long i can sit here with this mess on my lap. " quite comical to say - as if she needed to embarrass herself further in front of a stranger. jiali then briefly wonders why she even agreed to a set-up like this.

[lightsiided]

❛ why can’t you just let it go? ❜ - kylo

* angsty question starters | accepting

     her eyes flash, but for a moment, she says nothing. it's what she SHOULD do, after all. she knows that. he has made every attempt to show her who he is, to push her away, to make her regret opening herself to him. he has done his best to get her to stop, to leave, to let it go.

but she won't. it isn't just the stubborn streak within her that refuses to turn its back on him -- it is a CHOICE. a choice she made not once or twice, but repeatedly. CONSTANTLY. a choice she's making even now: to wait, and to fight.

she knows, with the sense of clarity that's come to her since they were together last, that it is the right thing to do. that all will be worth it when her visions come to pass. that he deserves someone who will choose to keep pushing.

"i thought you knew me better than that," rey says finally, her voice even. she holds his gaze steadily. "do you really have to ask?"

the moment between them feels weighted. it always does, even when they're lightyears apart. she wonders if he feels the same sense of relief she did when he'd materialized in front of her. she wonders what his CHOICE is, when it comes to her. would he let it go, or will he continue to push, like she does? they've avoided talking about it plainly for so long.

rey finds she can't read the look in his eyes the way she thought she once was able to. still -- "you must know." even if he won't admit as much to himself.

@godstrayed

[rslashrats]

🪰 housefly734 Follow

just a reminder that flies rubbing their hands together =/= plotting a nasty scheme

🪰 r0tt1ngm3at Follow

FINALLY SOMEONE SAID IT!! I HATE THE STEREOTYPE THAT US RUBBING OUR HANDS TOGETHER MEANS WE ARE PLANNING SOMETHING DUBIOUS!!

🪰 crane-fly-wives Follow

^^ Boosting! I constantly get non-flies giving me death glares whenever I wash my hands in the restroom. Like, that's what you're supposed to do after going to the bathroom! Sorry for being hygienic I guess 🙄

🪰 diptera-doll Follow

Reasons why flies might be rubbing their hands together:

It's chilly out and they're trying to warm up

They just put hand sanitizer/lotion/hand cream on

They're rolling a ball of clay together

What you should do if you see a fly rubbing their hands together:

Leave them alone! It's none of your business

Hope this helped! :)

🪰 flyhlghh Follow

people also forget that hand-rubbing is a very common stim!! neurodivergent flies constantly get stigmatized for showing any traits of their neurodivergencies in public!! please don't forget that!!

🐝 iamrealflytrustme Follow

I dont know about you losers but i like to rub my hands together because i am planning the most heinous and villanous crimes in my head

🪰 crane-fly-wives Follow

Wow, most obvious troll I have ever seen in my life. Get a life, dude 🙄

🪰 compoundeyehaver Follow

> claims to be a real fly

> has bee as their profile pic

dude couldn even get the right insect for their shitty troll account LMFAOOOOO

🐝 iamrealflytrustme Follow

No i am real fly and i am plotting to land on someones pie rn and ruin it with all my real fly germs. rubbing my hands together as i do it too

🪰 crane-fly-wives Follow

Anyone wanna bet this guy is some amphibian from 4frog typing this nonsense from their lilypad right now? Just me? Okay-

🐝 iamrealflytrustme Follow

I am buzzing around people's ears now

🪰 crane-fly-wives Follow

Yep, that pretty much confirms my theory. The nerve of some non-flies, I swear 🙄

🪰 batsianmimc Follow

@venus-fly-trap-hater

🪰 venus-fly-trap-hater Follow

this post is so real!! tysm babe for sending it to me 💞 ilyy

🪰 batsianmimc Follow

ILY too sugar cube 😘

🐝 iamrealflytrustme Follow

Can you guys stop kissing on this post its ruining my evil scheme planning

🪰 crane-fly-wives Follow

Can't believe this guy is still at it, honestly. @staff @tumblr Please take action against fake fly troll accounts such as these ones!

🐝 iamrealflytrustme Follow

Staff cant kill me i rubbed my hands on them too hard and they dieded sorry

🪰 crane-fly-wives Follow

🤣🤣🤣 Oh the excuses this fake is making, LOL! I haven't been this entertained since the Bombylius major discourse last year!

🪰 compoundeyehaver Follow

why are you still arguing with the troll instead of just blocking

🪰 crane-fly-wives Follow

Just think it's entertaining to see the lack of logic that bounces around in the brains of these non-flies sometimes 🤷‍♀️ Every response this so called "I am a real fly, trust me" user has given me has just made me crack up and flap my wings together.

🐝 iamrealflytrustme Follow

I am gonna rub my hands and plan more evil schemes involving you next

🪰 crane-fly-wives Follow

Heh, just try it, kid. Go on, I'll wait. 🥱

🦗 chirpingboy Follow

things are getting heated in the fly community

🪰 crane-fly-wives Follow

Of course a Grasshopper has the nerve to comment something insensitive on this post. Honestly, just mind your business 🙄

🦗 chirpingboy Follow

okayy

🦗 hopping-along-the-bank Follow

Hey, you can't really preach for not discriminating against flies and then discriminate against a grasshopper, dude. Not cool.

🪰 crane-fly-wives Follow

I think I certainty can, with my past experiences of Grasshoppers always finding the ways to say the most uneducated and baseless takes on my previous posts and discussions. Plus, after the Fly-Grasshopper War of 247 BC (in which my ancestors fought in, mind you) and the consequences that followed it, I think I am well within my rights. But go ahead, frame me as the bad guy here. 🤣

🦗 hopping-along-the-bank Follow

Yeah, you say this and conveniently ignore the socio-economic struggles that grasshoppers have been facing for the past century, many of these issues which were spearheaded by fly conservative politicians in office at the time.

So, yeah, it is rather hypocritical for you to pull out these cards when grasshoppers have also been punished and gotten the short end of the stick throughout bug history.

🪰 crane-fly-wives Follow

The implication that all flies are responsible for a few greedy politicians is quite comical, really. 🥱 Not to mention that many Grasshopper politicians in Bugland and Bugtopia have also had histories of introducing laws that have severely affected communities majorly made up of Flies. But sure, keep arguing with me about this, buddy. I got all day 🤣

🐝 iamrealflytrustme Follow

I am still rubbing my hands and planing schemes btw

🪰 flythatlovestogethigh Follow

anyone smoke bug weed in this thread

[vladsbride]

you realize… you’ve put me in a very bad position.

          a  scornful  scoff  is  heard  before  her  eyebrows  shoot  up  in  amazement .    "  i  put  you  in  a  very  bad  position ?  you  are  a  werewolf ,  i  can  smell  you ,  don't  tell  me  you  think  i'd  fall  for  your  trap ,  you  clearly  want  to  kill  me .  "    a  lot  has  changed  and  she's  had  no  way  to  know  due  to  the  long  years  imprisoned  in  that  castle .  purposely  backstabbing  isaac  to  ensure  her  survival  is  what  she  thought  she  was  doing .

↪ 𝙸𝙽𝙱𝙾𝚇 𝙿𝚁𝙾𝙼𝙿𝚃𝚂 . ( 𝚊𝚕𝚠𝚊𝚢𝚜 𝚊𝚌𝚌𝚎𝚙𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 ) — @lahiey

[futureman]

hi idk if u remember me but i literally love u okay anyways

so literally just dbf!joel saying “sweetheart i need you to be quiet” and ”baby i’m gonna cum if you don’t shut up” and maybe covering her mouth at some point 🤭

have a wonderful day and thank u sm for ur time 🙏🏾

hii love, ofc i remember you! tysm for sending this in ♡ accidentally got inspired by my dinner last night, oops. hope you enjoy!!

does your mother know?

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

warnings: 18+ MDNI, no outbreak, close family friend!joel, language, smut, rough sex, unprotected piv, age gap, mild exhibitionism, old man joel can't keep it in his pants at family dinner

word count: 1.7k

Friday night dinner wasn’t supposed to go like this.

One hand buried in your hair and the other slapped over your mouth, muffling every moan and sigh you make while Joel fucks you against the sink in the upstairs bathroom of your family home. 

He'd arrived late with a charming, drawled apology and immediately made the mistake of taking the seat across from you. If he'd sat literally anywhere else, he might've been able to ignore the perfect curve of your tits in the lowest-cut shirt he'd ever seen you in, or your constant need for the salt and pepper shakers, conveniently placed right in front of his plate. 

Every time you leaned over the table, he was reminded of the fact that you’d decided to forgo a bra. Whether that was for his benefit or yours, he was doing his best not to find out. 

Not after your parents had taken the time to invite him here, insisting that he eat a home-cooked meal for once, knowing full well he's been surviving off TV dinners ever since Sarah left for college.

“That’s kinda rude of me, huh?” you smiled sheepishly after giving him a particularly revealing peek, but the look that followed was downright sinful. "My bad, I just didn’t wanna keep interrupting your dinner by asking you to pass the salt. Figured it’s been a while since the last time you ate."

And you were right. It had been a while since he’d tasted anything as sweet as you, that satisfied him the way you do, but you already knew that. It’s why you were baiting him—because you know he can’t resist you.

Still, he tried. He really did, but the Southern gentleman in him couldn't refuse dessert or the hefty glass of wine your mom poured after he'd finished helping her clear the table. So, when he'd found himself trapped between your familiar warmth and the armrest of the couch, he should've known there'd be trouble.

When you'd casually gestured a little too widely during the story you were telling and splattered half the glass across his flannel and jeans, he should've gone to the bathroom to treat the stains alone instead of accepting your apologetic offer to help.

He should’ve known better. 

But the second your doe eyes lock with his, roving over his body like the lovely dinner your mom made wasn’t nearly enough to fill you up, he realizes he does know better. He just doesn't give a shit.

And that's why you're bent over the sink, taking his cock like you were made for it, and making the sweetest sounds he’s ever heard. You either don’t care enough to stop, regardless of whether your parents can hear you or not, or you’re too blissed out to notice. But he does.

“Sweetheart, I need ya to be quiet,” he grits out tightly, barely audible over his hips slamming into yours and the filthy squelch of your pussy around him. “Don’t want us gettin’ caught, do ya?”

You can’t respond, or even nod, with his hand still held firmly over your mouth, so you whine your acknowledgment into his palm, squeezing your eyes shut as you try your best to do what he asked. 

You’re clearly struggling. Those muted, stuttered whimpers grow louder every time he buries himself to the hilt, and he almost wants to remove his hand and let the sounds of your pleasure echo around the room, so everyone in this house knows just how good he’s making his girl feel. 

“I know, baby, I know. Feels good, don’t it? S’hard to keep all those pretty noises in when you’re takin’ so much, but I need’ya to try,” his lips graze your ear with each growled word. 

Another pained whimper passes your lips through the cracks between his fingers, and he accidentally bucks into you harder than he means to. Christ, he’s never heard you sound like this before. So needy. He shouldn’t, but he wants to hear more. To feel your chest vibrate with it, watch in the mirror as your mouth parts around even just one perfect, drawn-out moan.

The hand buried in your hair trails down your neck, beautifully elongated as your back arches to take him deeper, and snakes around your body. He tugs down the front of your shirt—that flimsy fucking tank top that's been teasing him all night—to cup your breast and, fuck, you like that. Your pussy grips him in response, clenching intermittently while he roughly tweaks your nipple between two calloused fingers. 

You’re tight, almost too tight for him to keep up his merciless pace if he wants to last much longer, and so goddamn wet. You’re seeping right into the wine-stained fabric of his jeans, making an even bigger mess than you started with.

“Look at ya,” he mumbles, slowing to watch in awe as his cock drags against your entrance, reappearing slicker with every thrust. “So fuckin’ tight...and sloppy. You’re makin’ a mess of me, sweetheart."

You shudder under his rapt attention, at the sheer want in his voice, but despite the obvious effect of his words, you’re still staying quiet, just like he told you to. You’ve been such a good girl, so he decides to take a risk and reward you. 

“M'gonna let go, alright? But ya gotta keep bein' good for me," he leans down to press his lips between your shoulder blades, his hand dropping from your mouth to settle on your waist. "Don't need'ta be silent, just need'ya to keep it down. Can ya do that?"

You gasp as his slow, deep thrusts still and he presses flush against your ass, grinding into you languidly as he waits for your answer. 

"Y-yeah...yes, yes," you reply weakly, cold ceramic digging into your breasts as you pant heavily into the sink. "Keep going—p-please, just fuck me."

"That's my girl," he breathes raggedly, and he's a little ashamed at how quickly his balls start to tighten at the soft timbre of your voice. 

His pace abruptly picks up, and then he's forcing you onto his cock again, his hips slamming into yours with a steady, wet thock-thock-thock that's probably louder than you've been all night. But he doesn't stop—you feel way too fucking good to stop, and he likely couldn't even if he tried.

In the back of his mind, he tells himself that your parents are probably doing dishes by now, and whatever he's doing to their daughter upstairs is getting drowned out by running water and clattering dishware. 

He continues to repeat the shitty lie to himself as he yanks you up, pulling your back flush against his chest and wrapping an arm around your stomach to hold you in place. The abrupt shift changes the angle of his hips so he’s fucking up into you instead, and it feels...indescribable. 

He's hitting something he wasn't able to reach before, a sensitive spot impossibly deeper inside you that has your pussy squeezing him, gushing down his cock, and he's—

Fuck, he's not going to last long. 

"Mmph...fuck—there, Joel, there. So, so fucking close, please, need it harder."

Christ, and you begging him to fuck you harder isn't helping. His hand drops between your legs to your swollen clit, slipping through the slick mess to rub tight, insistent circles into the hardening nub, and the heady friction has your thighs quaking almost immediately. 

"S'good...feels soso good," you slur deliriously, teetering on the cusp of your orgasm. "Wanted you so fucking bad all night...ngh, should've fucked me right there on the table—"

Joel cuts you off before you can finish, pushed a little too far past his limit.

"Baby, m'gonna cum if ya don’t shut up," he grits through his teeth, still pounding into that spot, still rubbing hard and fast swirls into your clit, and he can feel how close you are.

"F-fuck, me too—m'so close. Fill me up, please."

That sends him over the edge. You barely have time to gasp in a breath before he shoves you back down, lifting one of your legs up to the side so he can sink even deeper as he practically mounts you on the edge of the sink.

"Fuck yeah, I'll fill ya up," he groans, drawn-out and wrecked, as he empties inside you, thick spurts coating your convulsing walls. His hands greedily roam your body, caressing every inch of bare skin he can reach. "Send ya back downstairs to your momma and daddy with my cum leakin' out of ya. Filthy fuckin' girl."

Three more achingly deep thrusts, and then you're cumming hard, exploding hot and wet around him, already feeling him start to drip out of you and down your thighs. Your entire body seizes, desperate not to make a single sound while he fucks you through your orgasm, but then Joel meets your eyes in the mirror.

The warm chestnut of his eyes has been completely overtaken by his blown-pupils and he looks a little wild, like he's about to do something you'll both regret. Then, he does. Without warning, he buries his face into the crook of your neck and bites down hard, sucking a bruise into your skin he knows you won't be able to hide, and the squeal that erupts from your chest is high-pitched enough that you know everyone in the house heard it.

The thought alone stokes the heat already starting to build in the pit of his groin again, and the sight of his cum leaking out of your pussy in thick globs when he pulls out only fans the flames.

"M'takin' you home, sweetheart. Gonna fuck ya the way you deserve," he mumbles into your marked skin, and you tremble in his arms, whimpering softly through an aftershock. "Then, you can scream as loud as ya want—"

"Everything alright up there?" Your mom's voice filters up the stairs. "What, did one of y'all fall into the sink?"

Joel noses into your hair, chuckling before he responds.

"Just finished."

[love-bitesx]

I loveeeedd the last story Tysm ❤️❤️❤️ Keep up the amazing work 🌈

I have another request

Hobie x fem spider reader

Reader has a weird stalker ex-bf, and the reader tries to keep it a secret from Hobie but he finds out and deals with the ex.

: ̗̀➛ STALKER. hobie brown x fem!reader

any criminal minds fans out there … i hope u see the parallels of my baby spencer also i'm so sorry, i didn't see until after i wrote this entire thing that you said 'fem spider reader' so it's a fem normal reader, so sorry! i hope it's still okay, tho!! thank u sm for ur support angel !! summary: hobie & y/n have been doing long distance for months, but she never told him exactly why. words: 2.8k (the words just kept coming, sorry its so long lmao) warnings: fem!reader, pronouns not really used but "my girl", "lady", etc. are, read at your own risk! weird stalker bf, creepy fella, hobie n y/n are long distance, very very soft hobie

“when can i call you next, darlin’?” hobie’s voice was laced with longing, bass distorted by static at the other end of the phone.

“if you’re quick, we can call tomorrow after 5,” you smiled, and if you were in an 80’s romcom, you’d be twisting the phone cord between your fingers.

“5pm it is, don’t be late,” you can hear his smirk, and a bolt of guilt strikes your chest.

“look, i need to ask something, and i think i already know the answer,” hobie speaks, and you bite your lip in anticipation, “the band and i are playing at a new venue tomorrow, it’s the biggest we’ve played, we’re all dead excited, and…”

a sigh.

“well, it won’t feel the same without you there, pretty.”

if the first bolt wasn’t enough, then the second one lived up to it, striking you into the dead center of your heart. it had been well over 6 months since you met hobie. well, “met”. you’d accidentally called the wrong number one day, meaning to contact a friend of a friend, but typing the last number wrong. picking up at the other end was a deep, almost mesmerising voice, telling you; “no bother, darlin’. it happens, just make sure not to lose this number, wanna hear more from ya.”

“hobie, you know i can’t,” your voice is brimming with remorse and you look to the ground.

“i know, shit with your parents, i get it," he tried hard to hide the disappointment, but his heart twanged with neglect and it creeped through into his words.

parents. strict, all-demanding 'parents'. that's what you told hobie when you first started dating, that the reason you aren't able to see him was because your mother was overbearing and extremely protective – it was a lie. a lie that was eating you up from the inside out. the truth was slightly more grim, however.

years ago, you got involved with a guy at work. a couple brief conversations turned into dates, and dates turned into anniversaries, anniversaries turned into toxic, violent arguments and after a long time of dating, you broke up with him. to say he took it badly, was a criminal understatement. threatening phone calls, showing up at your work, sending you gifts and menacing letters – his signature move was scaring off, and even once harming, any man or potential love interest that you interacted with. it was exhausting, and terrifying.

and hobie was different. he was sweet and kind, but rough around the edges, and his voice dripped in passion no matter the topic of conversation. his promises were never empty, and most importantly – he loved you. and you loved him. the last thing you wanted, was your ex to pop up and scare him off, so you kept it from him. limiting your relationship to phone calls at arranged times incase your ex was keeping tabs.

“i’m sorry, hobie,” is all you could muster, not even scratching the tip of the catastrophic iceberg that wedged the back of your throat.

“it’s okay, darlin’, don’t worry that pretty little head over it,” and just like every phone call, you melted into his words, “i love you, yeah? i’ll call you tomorrow at 5.”

“i’ll be waiting,” you smiled, cheeks flushed at his gentle affirmations, “i love you.”

with a ruckus of movement, and what sounded like a kiss, the call ended, and you stared at the screen silently for a moment. not much longer could you avoid it, and the malten bubble of dread spilled into your gut.

sending him a quick text:

‘good luck tomorrow, handsome. what’s the venue called again? you’ll do amazing x’

you turned off your phone, discarding it on the bed as you climbed into the hole of guilt you’d dug yourself.

“oi, you ready, blud?” hobie’s band mate yelled above the bustle and cheers from the crowd before them. large, bejewelled hands poised onto his guitar strings, he smirked.

“always.”

with a nod to the roadie, the lights went up, illuminating the stage and instruments, hobie's glowing with a harsh red tint. immediately, his sepia eyes digested the crowd. seeing the flushed, excitable faces staring back at him sent a shot of confidence to his bones, and they moved, strumming the guitar with such vigor that the stage floor shook beneath his feet. cheers erupted, and yet felt oddly empty. it was missing something, and he knew what it was immediately.

he'd truly give his all to have you there, front stage in his eyeline, screaming his songs like gospel. not that he'd ever seen you properly, only seeing teasing selfies you'd sent him over the months you'd been together. he didn't care, inherently, he'd fallen head over heels for your personality; a pretty face was only just a bonus.

however, he did yearn for your touch. to feel his hands in your hair, to kiss your cheek, your nose, your neck. he longed to have you with him, even just doing stupid little tasks, having you by his side through the domestic side of life.

his gall spurred him on, his passion surging through his fingertips, spilling out into the sound waves. the audience were lapping it up, screams and chants only barely audible under the booming power of their set. song, after song, after song his talented blood seeped out onto the strings, and his feet were almost numb from the vibration of the bass.

the final song arrived, and his chest was burning, vision blurry, heart pounding against his chest – and he loved it. it was their biggest crowd, their most excitable achievement so far, and his blood pumped with adrenaline as he finished off the set, falling to his knees as he strum his guitar with one final chord. lights falling, his chest was heaving and his eyes scanned the audience one final time – you weren’t there. he had to accept that.

“that was fuckin’ sick, blud!” his bassist yelled as they exited the stage, palm slapping hobie’s shoulder blade and elicited a wide, ecstatic grin.

“you smashed it, mate,” hobie shouted back over the booming stereo that took their place.

“nah, man, you stole the show,” his bassist shook his head, patting him again in appreciation, “good that your lady’s here to see it, too, she must be proud.”

“i wish, mate,” he sighed.

“did you not see her?” his ears perked up, and at his confused expression, his bandmate continued, “over at the back, by the bar, i didn’t know what she looked like, but she was asking after you. ‘er story adds up.”

"shit," he mutters, feet solid on the ground. his heart pounds, skeptical of your presence, but chest bursting with hope that it just might be you, "look, bro, i need to–"

"go! go, man, go see her," his bandmate pushes him in the direction of the bar, and he almost stumbles over his own feet to push the stage door open, met with the chaos of the crowded bar.

dark eyes scanning the aimless faces, he searched for anyone who could look like you; his stature brought him above everyone else, only by a little, but gave him an advantage to seek you out.

"sorry, i need to get past," he repeated, over and over to unassuming bodies, setting through the chaos to find his peace. pushing out at the back, a wave of light met him, shining through empty pint glasses and illuminating the bar.

there you were.

standing quietly, head nodding along to the blasting instrumentals, drink in hand; you were heart-stopping. and he was pretty sure his did. even if he’d never seen you face-to-face, he’d memorised the soft plump of your lips, alluring light in your eyes, even the way your hair fell against your skin from the photos he'd seen. there was no doubt it was you, and my god, you were beautiful. he couldn’t even stop his legs if he tried, as they carried him over to you.

"y/n?" his voice barely travelled through the sound waves, but it hit your ear like a familiar embrace.

turning to him, eyes wide and bright in the twinkling of the bar lights. you drunk him in, warm eyes swallowing every part of him. you'd seen pictures, again, but it could never compare to him. dark brown skin, soft to its complexion, hugged his bones in every perfect way; folding at the creases of his handsome face. he was tall, very tall, and the detail of the curves and indents of his muscles, altered by the shadows of the dim bar light, made your head fuzzy. god, he was beautiful – nothing that a digital screen could ever portray with justice.

"hobie," your voice was crisper than he was used to, and he would bottle it if he could, "hey, handsome, you got a–"

"come 'ere," he interrupted, essentially scooping you into his tense embrace, melting into your scent, the feel of you in his arms. his heart was pounding against his chest. you wrapped yourself around him, running your hands along his leather jacket, ghosting the skin below it.

"you interrupted my introduction," you pouted against his shoulder, "had a whole little joke planned and everything, you know."

"go on, hit me, love," he pulled back a tiny bit, his arms still glued around your waist, looking down through his lashes. you faltered under his intense gaze, giddy smile bursting onto your face and you buried your head in his chest.

"nuh uh, not anymore," you shook your head against him, "you ruined it."

his hand came up to touch your face whilst you spoke, following the edge of your hairline and tucking your hair around your shoulder. he was in awe, having you here, having you with him. tightening his embrace, he didn't want to let you go – ever.

"mhmm," his voice vibrated his chest, and you pulled away, "i'm sure it was hilarious, love."

"it really was," you chuckled, giddy in his presence.

the air grew thicker, your laughter dying out and left with just his strong gaze, his dark brown eyes following yours. you could barely comprehend him being here, in front of you, around you, and he was so much more than you had imagined. feeling his calloused hand caress your cheek, you leaned into his touch, inviting him into your world. cupping your face, hobie bought himself to you, leaning down until his pierced lips were ghosting your own. months he'd dreamed of this, imagined how it would feel to kiss his girl, to taste your lips and feel your love. he could feel your breath, and you were about to give in, until you pulled away.

"wait, i–" you swallowed thickly, pulling your touch from him.

"what's up, darlin'?" his eyes scanned your face for any sign of reason, "did i do somethin'?"

"no! no, you," you sighed, "you're perfect, it's not you."

he'd be lying through his teeth if he denied the pit of anxiety building deep in his stomach, bubbling up his throat.

"what is it?"

"i–" you stuttered again, and fought to get your words out of your brain and into the thick air of the bar, "i haven't been telling you the truth."

silence. just for a second. hobie's brain working over time.

"look, if you've got another fella, or somethin', just get it over with–"

"no! no, hobie, i'm yours, i promise," your words settled him for a second.

"my parents don't care about us, they aren't strict, in fact, they were happy when i told them about you," you begun, opening the dam.

"they know about me?" his voice was smaller than you were used to, and if your brain had a spare synapse to process it, you'd probably have melted.

"yes, and i'm sorry i haven't told you," you avoided his eyes, "it's my ex."

"oh, fuckin' 'ell," he sighed, dropping his arms to his side, and he's about to speak, until you interrupt.

"we broke up years ago, but he's never left me alone," you ring your wrists with your hands nervously, and hobie notices – you looked terrified, "i've tried everything; i've tried the police, i've moved countless times, i've changed jobs, made new friends, met new people – he won't leave me be."

tears welled up now, and his heart reached for you, but his arms stayed stuck by his side.

"every guy that i meet, he's, i don't know, calling them telling them i'm someone i'm not, or following them home and slashing tires, or roughing them up outside pubs," paranoia enveloped you, and your eyes darting around the crowd, "i was so scared, because you're the best i've ever had, and probably will ever have, and i don't want him to scare you off."

"y/n–"

"and i understand if this has done exactly what i'm scared of, because i get that keeping it from you was awful, but i was only trying to protect you and–"

his lips cut you off, warm against your own, capturing your words and pushing them back down your throat. hands on your cheeks, body flush against your own, you melted into him completely. it felt like heaven, like months of tension and longing unravelling like ribbon into the wind. it was safe, gentle, like a promise – a promise that it didn't scare him, and that he was yours.

"is he here?" his voice was low, lips hovering yours.

"i-i don't know," you were flustered, your brain trying to make sense of it all, but his hand on the small of your back stopped any cognitive thoughts, "i haven't seen him."

watching him, hobie's dark eyes floated around the crowd, before falling back onto you. smirk on his lips, he placed a quick peck onto your cheek.

"hmm, i hope he enjoyed the show," he chuckled lowly, and you couldn't help but mimic it, relief flooding off your shoulders, "how about we go somewhere a bit safer?"

"like where?" you questioned, intrigued by the coaxing tone of his voice.

"well, i only live around the corner," he shrugged, before offering his hand. blushing, you slipped your hand into his, the soft skin of his fingers pulling you towards him, until he threw his arm around your shoulder.

"nothing could scare me off, you know," he whispered, placing a kiss to your hair, "i'm 'ard as nails."

"oh yeah?" you giggled.

"mhmm."

clothed eyes glued to the suspicious figure, hobie stood on a rooftop, footsteps silent as he follows the man below. tailing him through the cobbled back lanes of london, hobie's back tingled with apprehension – he'd been following him for at least a mile, waiting for a perfect opportunity.

and he'd finally found it.

pausing his heavy stroll, the man dug into his pockets and pulled out a slightly crushed pack of cigarettes, fumbling further for a lighter. a small orange glow lit up the air around him as he puffed away, smoke fluttering to meet hobie's nose.

silently, hobie swung to a platform below, pulling his guitar tighter against his back and dropped to the hard ground. the sound of his leather boots colliding with the cobble made the man turn in his direction, eyes wide at the sight.

"spiderman?" the man breathed between puffs, voice hoarse, "can i help you?"

"you know what, i think you can," hobie strutted, hands stuffed into his leather jacket, lanky stance towering him, "are you y/n's ex fella?"

"who's asking?" he questioned stupidly, and hobie let out a laugh.

"bruv, who's– are you stupid or somethin'?" hobie punched him lightly in the shoulder, "do you not see the whole get up?"

"the fuck have you got to do with y/n?" he spat, defensive stance taking over his body.

"none of your business," hobie knew that would sting, "but you're gonna leave her alone, fella."

"you don't know what you're talking about."

"i'm not askin', mate," hobie stepped closer, "and i'm not givin' you a choice."

before he could even utter a response, hobie had swung his spike-studded arm in his direction, knuckles colliding against the pathetic man's jaw, knocking him to the ground below.

"tha's my girl you're messin' with now."

[luveline]

Badass!reader in the verge of crying but still pretending like she isn't? Spencer doesn't even try anything and he just lets her be until eventually she cries? Just some hurt/comfort :)

If it's a no please feel free to ignore this! Have a lovely day jade <3

tysm! hope this is okay angel ♡ fem!reader, 1k

"Irresponsible, sloppy, and pig-headed." Spencer winces. "I expected more from you. I'm extremely disappointed." 

Spencer winces worse. You can take a scolding. You can take a beating. But disappointing the people you care about, and disappointing Hotch? His chest hurts for you.

He pretends to have been reading as the door to Hotch's office opens and you step out, glancing up as you take the stairs down into the bullpen. Your desk is adjacent his and Morgan's, crowded by case files you nearly send flying as you hurry into your chair. 

Spencer takes his computer mouse and clicks on the work contact page. Your instant messaging is still open, the last message he sent you glaring and awkward, hey, think hotch is going to call you in for cincinnati. don't stress. 

You'd opened it but not answered. He peeks around your monitors to analyse you. You're staring hard at a single spot. The longer he looks, the glassier your eyes become. 

He sighs and cracks his knuckles, thinking. The last thing you want is for him to make a big deal of this, he knows that, but he needs you to know that he's here for you. 

"Did you want to get dinner tonight?" he asks without raising his head. 

You respond eventually, two seconds too slowly, "Where from?"

Your voice is fraught with the weight of your upset. Spencer ignores it for now. "Luh Bem?" 

"If you want to." 

"What I want is a cup of coffee." He stands, still without staring at you —an impressive feat of self control— and begins toward the office kitchenette. Predictably, you follow him. He's already putting a second mug beside his own when you step into his reach. 

"So, did you want to go?" you ask. 

Spencer nudges your hip with his gently. "Duh. What else would I wanna do on a Friday?" He makes your coffee exactly how you like it without asking and leaves it billowing steam by his own as he adds his five sugars. 

Bringing his coffee to his lips and turns, he leans on the counter. You do as he does, murmuring a thank you as you pick up your mug. Spencer lets his arm rest on yours, ever so slightly taller, more as your back begins to slouch unconsciously. There's no point in asking you if you're okay, because you'll say that you are. There's no point in trying to comfort you, because, despite your affection for him, you're not someone who cries easily in front of others. It would have you pushing him away. 

You're a nice girl under all your hardened exterior, and Hotch's disappointment hurts. You try very, very hard not to cry, swallowing and taking little sips of your hot coffee. 

You press your coffee into his hand and turn your body toward the cabinets, away from the office. Spencer waits, and waits, his relief immeasurable as you finally hide your face in his shirt sleeve and sniffle. Even though his heart breaks for you, he's glad you're giving in. You need to let stuff out before it eats you alive. 

He puts the coffees down behind him one at a time so as not to disturb you. Hands free, he lifts the hand furthest from you to your arm. If you were somewhere more private he'd hug you to him by the small of your waist. For now, he rubs a short line down to your elbow. Up, down.

"He was being harsh," Spencer says quietly. 

"Sorry," you whisper. 

He can't imagine how mortified you are. You won't sob or even shake, but these hot and fast tears aren't unfamiliar to him. Theyll be followed by an abundance of remorse.

"What are you sorry for?" He pulls you in closer, a squeeze of a hug. "You're okay. It's okay, he's just– he's mad about other stuff, he's upset about Beth. It's not just you." 

"He's right, I messed up," you say, your breath hitching. 

"You messed up," he agrees. "It was an accident. You'll be better next time." 

You sniffle rough and lift your face, wiping your tears with a cruel hand. Spencer takes your wrist in his hand to stop you, turninh to cover you from any nosy eyes. His fingertips are as soft as his voice wiping the rest of your tears away as he laments, "Please don't cry, don't get upset." Your face is hot to the touch. "Don't be embarrassed." 

"I'm not crying," you say, a last teardrop streaking from the corner of your eye. 

He wipes it away. "Okay." 

You pout at him like you want to cry more, and Spencer wouldn't mind, he'd stand here wiping your tears for hours if you needed it, but that's your worst nightmare. 

"Are people looking at me?" 

"Nobody's looking," he answers honestly. "You're only making a scene for me." 

You laugh but quickly cough. Spencer takes his opportunity to hug you and pats your back, considers kissing the side of your head but can't make himself commit to it. 

"Do you still wanna get dinner?" you ask weakly. 

"Yeah, I do. I really do. I'll get you whatever you want." 

If it were Morgan offering, you'd step on his foot. For Spencer, your clear and evident favourite, you nod into his chest, your hand slinking low on his back. 

He hugs you so hard he feels his ribs. 

"Wanna sleepover and watch Golden Girls?" he asks, prepared for rejection. You're the type to lick your wounds alone. 

But maybe in the privacy of Spencer's apartment you'll let yourself be upset properly, so he can comfort you appropriately. It aches how badly he wants to rub the tight space between your shoulders, tell you it's fine, you're fine, and one mistake doesn't define you, it never could. 

It's evidence of your affection for him that you agree. "Could we get the dinner to go?" you ask. 

Spencer tries not to look to triumphant. He's going to coddle and comfort you half to death, and by the looks of you, you're happy to let him. "Absolutely. Whatever you want."