Peter B Parker And Mayday. Happy Father’s Day!

continuing to suck on him after he cums so you can listen to him whimper as he tries to get away>>>

I'm not ready to see Miguel O'Hara on my screen once the new Spiderman movie comes out how am I expected to stay calm when there's a feral 6" something man making growling noises and speaking in oscar Isaac's voice it's just not fair guys

dlz ; jake lockley.

track ten of DEAR SCIENCE.

pairing ; jake lockley x gn!reader

synopsis ; jake lockley wasn't your husband. steven and marc were. jake was just... he was just there. a ghost living in your house.

words ; 3.5k

themes ; angst, mild fluff, married au

warnings / includes ; suggestive, implications of sex, jake is a rough kisser e_e, mentions of injury/blood, mild cursing, marc and steven both have appearances, jake is emotionally constipated, jake calls reader peach !! reader is a sweetheart <3

main masterlist.

Jake Lockley didn’t like your perfume—it was almost nauseatingly fresh and its smell permeated through his own clothes so that he’d often walk out smelling like he had doused himself in Febreze. 

He didn’t like the way you’d hum to his favorite songs while doing the dishes. Nirvana, Muse, Nothing But Thieves, Radiohead—were you singing them on purpose just to annoy him? Nearly every night, he could hear your faint voice drift into the living room, where he was reading the same three sentences of the daily paper over and over and over again because he couldn’t concentrate on anything but your endearingly inconsistent mutters to the music.

He especially hated when you’d walk out of the bedroom in nothing but Steven’s shirt loosely draped over your form, rubbing the last remnants of sleep from your heavy-lidded eyes. There was just something about seeing you at your most vulnerable. You were comfortable around him, and that made Jake uneasy.

When Jake fronted, he slept in the guest room. Marc had convinced him not to blow more money staying at a hotel—and Steven was trying to persuade him to at least sleep in the same bed as you. After all, they were married to you. 

But Jake wasn’t your husband. Steven and Marc were. Jake was just… he was just there. A ghost living in your house.

The very thought of sharing a bed with you made a chill dance down Jake’s spine. He could never. As appealing as the thought of having you slotted between his arms, sleepily recounting how your day went to him, sounded, he couldn’t ever have that. Jake Lockley wasn’t a domestic man.

His hands would always be dripping with blood that wasn’t his, no matter how hard he tried scrubbing it away.

There were times Jake felt a morsel of regret. He was nowhere near nice to you, and yet you still spared him that infuriatingly patient, sweet smile, always telling him to stay safe before he left to drive his cab around (or do Khonshu’s dirty work), and never failing to whisper good night before slipping into your bedroom. 

Sometimes he had a queer, niggling feeling scratching at the pits of his stomach one would commonly refer to as jealousy. He knew that Marc and Steven got to hold you, kiss you, tell you they loved you as they pleased. 

Jake couldn’t do that. Jake wasn’t even entirely sure he was capable of loving someone. 

What made it even worse was that Jake learned about you through them—not because he ever actually tried to get closer to you.

He knew you loved apricots, but not as much as peaches. He knew you loved lighting scented candles whenever it rained. He knew you named each one of your house plants. He knew you were only slightly ticklish. He knew you had a tell; your nose would twitch and your eyebrows would quirk upwards whenever you lied. He knew from Steven to kiss just above your pulse point against the column of your throat to make you melt into him. He knew you had a birthmark between your thighs from when Marc—

Yeah, he’d rather not think about that one.

Jake knew you cried a lot—that one he learned on his own. He could hear you through the walls, but you probably weren’t aware of that fact. 

One night, Jake sat in the living room, staring into nothing, heart twisting angrily at himself until he couldn’t take it anymore, storming out of the apartment after shoving his hat onto his head and grabbing his cab’s keys. Steven and Marc had yelled angrily at him the whole time, but he learned to block their voices out. 

He wasn’t very good in the emotional department, that was abundantly clear.

When he came back home hours later, having driven around the city several times to clear his head, he tried to be as quiet as possible. At an hour as late as this, you were bound to be asleep, right?

But alas, there you were, curled into the corner of the couch, head uncomfortably lolled onto your shoulder. The house was entirely dark save for the dim glow of the television, casting a blue luminescence over your dozing form. Long shadows kissed the slopes of your features, softened with sleep. He noticed that there were tear tracks faintly outlined over the skin of your cheekbones.

Jake froze at the doorway for a moment. Were you waiting for him to come home?

He pushed down any and all intrusive thoughts, begrudgingly shrugging off his coat and hanging up his hat. A calloused palm carded through messy, coffee-hued curls. 

Heart dipping heavy within his chest, Jake stalked forward to turn the TV off, setting the remote down on the coffee table. He stood over you for a moment. A frown twisted at the corner of his lips, drawing his brows together.

Jaw clenching, Jake stepped away from you, slipping into the hall. He leaned against the door to the guest room for a moment, huffing out a low groan. Gods, what in the hell was he doing?

After another minute of frustrated hesitation, Jake willed himself to make his way back into the living room. You were twitching in your sleep, eyelids fluttering with what he could guess were the beginnings of a harsh nightmare. 

Gently—or, as gentle as a highly-skilled mercenary could be—Jake hooked an arm beneath the crook of your knee, the other looping over your shoulders and neck. When you stirred, Jake could only quietly make hushing noises, wincing at himself. Thankfully, you didn’t fully awaken, a soft noise falling from your lips as your nose turned to press against the fabric of his shirt obscuring his chest, just above where his heart scratched at the walls of his ribcage.

He kicked the door to your bedroom open none too silently, eager to set you down. Get as far away from you as possible. The sound of the doorknob thwacking against the wall behind it made your lids shoot open, and you groggily mumbled incoherent phrases under your breath before peering up at him with confused, watery eyes. He cursed internally.

“You’re back,” you said, voice hoarse with disuse. “You okay?”

There were lots of things Jake wanted to say to you at that moment.

No, I’m not okay. Were you waiting for me to get home? I’m sorry if I made you worry. I’m sorry I’m such an asshole. Am I an asshole? You shouldn’t ever wait for me again. What were you dreaming of? Was it a nightmare about me?

Instead of any of that, Jake merely set you down onto the mattress with a grunt, dusting his hands onto his pants. He glared down at you as if he was angry—and he was, but not necessarily at you. 

But wasn’t he, though? He was angry that you were just so… so kind to him. He was angry that you were patient. He was angry that you were so easy to love. 

“Go to sleep, peach,” he gruffed. A hot flush coursed over his face at the nickname that had unintentionally slipped out. To his relief, you didn’t seem to notice.

Your sleepy expression seemed to cave in on itself and you dazedly nodded, head falling back into the pillow. 

If only he could slip in beside you, entangle his legs with yours as you kissed softly over his tense face, call you his.

Jake nearly slapped himself to get his head screwed on straight. He spared your already-sleeping form one last glance before trudging out of your room. Hurriedly, he threw himself into the guestroom, ripping off his shirt and pressing a palm flat against his chest to quell the racing thunder of his heart.

You were not good news for him. 

You didn’t see Jake for weeks after that incident. 

A part of you was glad—you were beginning to miss the sound of Steven’s sweet voice, his tender touches, his passionate kisses. You missed Marc’s back hugs, his strange fixation with your bare legs, his lopsided smiles.

The other part of you, however, wondered about Jake.

“Does Jake ever… say anything to the two of you?” you asked Steven one day, stirring sugar into your steaming tea as you leaned against the kitchen counter. Your husband looked up from the novel he was reading, pushing his glasses up his nose while considering your question. 

“Sometimes. Mostly stays to himself—quite the quiet bloke, innhe? Why, love?”

Your bottom lip trembled as you glared into your tea, as if it was the source of all your troubles. Steven was immediately out of his seat, tugging you close until your forehead rested upon his clavicle bone. You sniffled into him, crushing your eyes shut with shame. 

“Does he hate me?” you asked, voice cracking. “I don’t… I don’t know what I did to make him—”

Steven immediately held you all the closer, crooning out, “No! No, of course not, silly. He’s just… he’s just having trouble with himself, that’s all. Doesn’t really talk to us much, either. It’s not you, love, I promise. In fact, I’m nearly certain he fancies you.”

“You’re not just saying that?” you said, scrutinizing him with wide, glassy eyes. “I don’t need him to love me like you and Marc do. I just… it’s hard when it feels like a man with the same face as your husband hates you.”

Steven’s expression crumbled, and he kissed over your left eyelid softly. “I know. I’m sorry, darling, I can’t imagine what that’s like.” Rubbing soothing circles over your back, he urged you to take a seat next to him, leaning over to move your mug of tea from the counter to the kitchen table. “Come on, I’ve got an amazing poem I want you to read.”

It was only two days later that you saw Jake again. You strode through the door, juggling grocery bags in one hand and a stack of books you borrowed from the library in the other. With a huff, you set the groceries down in the kitchen, turning around to see Jake quietly observing you, leaning against the fridge. You bit down a startled scream, flinching at his unexpected presence. 

“Oh,” you said after a second of flustered silence. “Hi, Jake. Didn’t see you there.”

He was observing you with such a sharp gaze that it felt like his irises were cutting straight through your flesh. Finally, he pushed away from the fridge, slowly moving towards you until he stood just in front of you, about an arm’s length away.

“Jake, what are you—?”

“I don’t hate you, peach,” the man said, all gravelly and brusque.

It took you a moment to fully register what he was saying. “Oh,” was all you said, parroting yourself from five seconds ago in a rather poignant manner. “Well… I don’t hate you, either, Jake. Far from that.”

You could see the struggle in the dark depths of his irises. Turmoil raged behind those narrowed lids, and you couldn’t bring it in yourself to look away, not even if you tried. 

Feeling bold, you shuffled forward to slowly raise your hands, cupping Jake’s face within your palms. His glare seemed to harden at first, always so angry at things for not going the way he expected it to go, muscles tensing beneath your touch—but when your fingers gently scraped over his stubble, he could feel himself letting go, practically liquefying into you.

“Why are you like this, Jake Lockley?” you murmured, thumbs stroking over his cheekbones. The action made his eyelids flutter shut. He’d never let himself be this vulnerable in front of you before. He wasn’t prepared for his walls to come crashing down around him so quickly—so easily. “Did I do something to upset you?”

All previous inhibitions thrown out the window, Jake grumbled out a small, “Yeah. All the fuckin’ time, peach.”

You quirked a brow. “Go on, then.”

One of his eyes opened before sliding closed again. “Where do I start? You smell too good—I can never concentrate around you. You’re always singing my favorite songs and it’s buggin’ the hell outta me. You’re always so nice to me—even though you know I’m not like your precious Steven and Marc.”

Something akin to a guffaw fell from your lips. “Well, first of all, thank you? Somehow you managed to compliment me in the rudest way possible, and I commend you for that. Second, I know you’re not like Steven and Marc. But I still love you all the same.”

The kitchen grew so quiet, Jake could’ve sworn he’d be able to hear a pin drop.

His heart began tripping over its own gallop of a pace. You’d said it so easily, so swiftly, as if loving him came as naturally as breathing. 

Jake found his eyes falling to your mouth, slightly puckered to the side in thought. 

Noticing his sudden change in demeanor, you started saying, “Jake—?”

“Can I kiss you?” he interrupted, glowering at you with a newfound fire crackling behind his eyes. 

You blinked once, then twice. Then you nodded.

A small sigh of content that made Jake far too excited for his own good escaped your lungs as he dove forward and melded his lips with yours, dipping you backward ever so slightly in the midst of his vigor. 

He kissed differently than Steven or Marc did. Steven was languid, careful, and tender whilst Marc was feverish, calculated, and explorative.

Jake Lockley, however, kissed like a mad man. He was all tongue and teeth, desperately furious with his motions, kissing you as if it was the very last time he’d have the chance to do so. His nose slotted against yours, brushing against your cheek as you caved into him, arms winding over his neck to pull him ever so close. 

His fingers immediately clutched at your waist, one moving upwards beneath your (Marc’s) shirt to lightly scratch over the skin of your ribcage and the other shifting lower to tug over the back of your thigh. 

Gods, you just felt so right. 

“Mmh, peach,” Jake growled into your skin as he traversed down your neck, biting at the spot just above your pulse point, which made a low, desperate noise scratch at the back of your throat. He’d do anything to hear that noise over and over again.

“Why do you call me that?” you panted out, fingers threading through his haphazard curls to haul him away from your neck and back onto your lips. 

“You like peaches,” he breathed into you, a groan of agony rumbling from his chest when you nipped at his bottom lip with a hum of approval. “Don’t you?”

A choked sound was all you could let out when he shoved you none-too-gently against the counter, bending over to accommodate for his eager lips over yours.

“I love them,” you whispered once he parted away to catch his breath. 

There it was again. The L word. 

Fuck, he couldn’t do this.

Suddenly, as if snapped back into reality, Jake halted any and all ministrations, nose only a hair's breadth away from your neck. You smelled so damn good, so tantalizingly tempting, lips raw-bitten and skin flushed with heat.

But Jake couldn’t. You didn’t belong with a person like him. With Steven? Yeah, of course. With Marc? The idiot loved you too much to ever let you go, even if he tried to. 

Jake would bring you nothing but pain and misery and the thinly-veiled threat of danger. 

“This is a mistake,” he said, voice rough with tremendous restraint.

He thought that if he kissed you, all these stupid feelings would wash down the drain, as if you’d be able to suck it all out of him like a goddamn love vacuum. But, no, it was as if just having a taste wasn’t enough. He needed the rest of you. He needed all of you.

But he couldn’t.

“Jake…” Your voice was quiet, breaking off slightly when he let go of you, stepping back while glaring a hole into the ground. 

With the maturity equivalent to that of a prepubescent teenager, Jake stormed out of the kitchen and into the hall, slamming the guest room door behind him so hard that the picture frames of you and Steven and Marc on the walls rattled. 

A week passed by until you saw Jake again.

You were in bed with Marc, shivering as he ran his palms down your waist, swatting his hands away while gritting out, “That tickles, Marc!”

He hummed noncommittally, pressing kisses down your shoulder, nosing your cheek affectionately. 

“Tell me about this one,” he whispered into you, taking your hand to trace a thin scar over the inside of your wrist.

“I was seven,” you whispered. “This boy pushed me off a swing in the playground. I threw my hands out and a rock got me bad—fractured my wrist, too. I don’t remember much, but I remember there was a lot of blood. I’m pretty sure the poor kid was the one that ran screaming for a teacher to come help.”

Marc regarded you with a look of pure adoration, thinly laced with amusement. “Did you really just call the bastard who pushed you a ‘poor kid’?”

You barked out a laugh and he pressed a lasting kiss over your faded scar.

“Alright, your turn. Tell me about this,” you playfully pressed your thumb between his brows. “You got a little divot here. Been furrowing your eyebrows too much, huh? And you wonder why I call you the grumpy eagle muppet.” When he rolled his eyes, you chuckled out, “What? Listen, it’s not my fault Khonshu got rid of all your scars! I gotta work with what I’m given, here!”

“That’s enough out of you,” Marc bit out, though you could tell he wasn’t really being serious with the smile that pulled at the corner of his mouth. “Okay, turn around. Sleep time, baby. Love you.”

You hummed in mild contentment, turning around so your back molded perfectly against his chest. “Love you, too, Marc.”

The rise and fall of his chest was deep, rhythmic, so calming that you were just on the brink of sleep—

Until it stopped.

You could feel the body wrapped behind you stiffen. Immediately, you knew this was Jake.

With a lump lodged in your throat, you hesitantly turned around, only to be met with Jake staring back at you, wide-eyed. It was dark, so you could just barely make out the upset tautness of his features.

Jerkily, he started moving to clamber off the bed, all but shaking you off of him like you were a pesky insect.

No. No, you wouldn’t stand for this.

“Jake,” you said firmly, reaching out to wrap your hand around his wrist. “Stay. Please.”

Mute, the man shook his head, legs slipping out from beneath the blanket. 

Desperate, you sat up, wrapping your arms around his midriff and pressing your cheek into his back as you said, “You deserve love, Jake. You deserve my love. Please, stay.”

For a moment, you wondered if he’d just push you off again. Disappear into that guestroom you were too scared to venture into when he left for work. Just when you were on the near precipice of relinquishing any and all hope, you could feel Jake’s shoulders sag. His head hung low as he sighed.

Wordless, he shifted around and you let go of him so he could slip back under the covers. 

Tentative, you laid down next to him, shifting so your head could rest over his chest. His arm jostled around to rest comfortably beneath your neck. 

Jake held you differently from Marc and Steven.

Jake held you as if he was afraid you’d break apart. Jake held you like he had to be ready to let you go at any moment. Jake held you like he was afraid to show you just how much he loved you.

You craned your neck upwards to press a light kiss to his stubbled jaw, then settled back down.

You heard Jake sigh, but this time, it was one of pure relief—utter bliss. It was quiet, but it was there.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered finally, nose tucked into your hair. “I’ll try to be better with you. I’ll try, peach.”

Nodding minutely, you intertwined your hand with his free one, playing absentmindedly with his fingers. “I know.”

Just before your breaths evened with sleep, Jake could only barely hear you drowsily mumble out, “I love you, Lockley.”

He knew you were already asleep, which made the feat of saying it back somewhat easier for him.

“Love you, too, peach.”

guys gals and pals if you’re ever feeling that maybe you should just settle remember hozier wrote the words “when my time comes around/ lay me gently in the cold dark earth/ no grave can hold my body down/ i‘ll crawl home to her”. if they wanted to they would ok.

No, no I’m fine really I’m fine it’s just sometimes Poe Dameron gets in my head and I can’t stop thinking about him?? I mean I can feel the stubble on that jawline, he’s a guy who wants to take his time but gets a little carried away he just can’t help himself, and I know that he loves the double entendre of a cockpit-But really I’m good I swear.

MARGOT ROBBIE "Barbie" Celebration Party (June 30, 2023)

Thoughts on Miguel having a breeding kink??

I feel like because of him being part spider he would have moments where he needs to breed you because it’s just part of his DNA, begging and asking you if he can cum inside you.

Needy Miguel who gets taken care off because he can’t control himself <333

I actually wrote a full fic based on something similar coming out later this week! but I just had a few HCs I felt I needed to share 👀👀

Miguel O'Hara Breeding kink HCs

(AO3 Mirror), Main Masterlist

pairing: Miguel O'Hara x fem!reader

summary: Breeding kink HCs + more :)

warnings: slight fdom, masturbation, breeding kink, marking, slight size kink. 18+ Minors DNI

wc: 1.6k

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Before you started dating, he hid it pretty well. 

It's not a rut per se (violent flashback to my ABO phase) but his changed DNA makes him susceptible to being more animalistic. 

Before meeting you, it was less of an issue. His instincts would be more aggressive, manifesting mostly as Spiderman. 

A little more violent, proactive, and stony-faced on the streets. Sure, his libido was higher, but he could satisfy himself fine - opting for quickies in the shower. 

When he first meets you, and you grow closer he finds them getting worse. 

Hot flushes, possessiveness, and god, he's head over heels for your scent. 

The first time you sleep together, he's more forward than he usually would be. After a date, and you look stunning, he just can't think straight. 

After a couple of beers, Miguel floats down the street next to you. You've got your hand in his, click-clacking down the sidewalk in boots and those jeans that make your ass look good. He would know, of course, he's spent the past 5 minutes staring at them. 

He's ashamed to admit it, but he can't concentrate, the story you've been telling goes straight over his head. All he can see is your bubblegum pink gloss, and that perfume you've been wearing goes straight to his cock. You're beautiful , the sweetest thing he's ever had the pleasure of taking out, and all he can think of is what you'd feel like underneath him. 

He walks you up to your apartment door. When you stop outside, he can't help but put a hand on your waist and cage you against the door. 

"You look beautiful, baby." He breathes. 

Your whole face lights up, and it's all he can do to not kiss you right there. You look up. Miguel is tall, broad and handsome. His eyes are low, dangerously raking over your face and body. 

"Do you….. do you want to come in?"

~~~

You don't notice at first. You and Miguel have great sex: he's attentive, handsome, and he's got a pretty healthy appetite. 

He's into a lot of things you didn't think you'd like: marking you up with hickies and admiring you after. 

It's a possessiveness you're not used to, and it turns him on to no end. 

For that reason, he's very verbal; talking you through it just to see you blush. 

" Fuck, Miguel." 

He traces the fresh hickies he's made on your chest as you're splayed out below him. Obscenely, he slaps his dick against your clit, wet noises resounding through your bedroom. 

"Aren't you pretty, mi vida ?" He likes the way you writhe against him, hips flush against his and bucking up for some relief. He's been pawing at your pussy and whispering filthy shit in your ear; using his senses to chase every twitch and pulse of your body. 

"S'what happens when you walk around the house in those tiny shorts, baby. Hmm? Ass out, bending over like I can't see how wet you are. Like I can't taste it in the air." You whimper and he bucks into your hole, catching on your clit before stretching you out. He takes it slow, caging you in with his arms. 

He buries himself in you from the hilt. And he humps your clit, just the way you like it. He takes your hands and holds them above your head, picking up the pace. You writhe and strain, but he holds you still dragging his hips in and out of your sopping hole. Warm, wet, he moulds you to the shape of his cock: rhythmic pounding filling your ears. Your head lolls and he licks up your moans; angling his hips just right and deepening the kiss. 

" ¿Más duro? Harder, baby?" You whine in response, watching where you bodies meet intently. 

" Need your cum, Miguel ."

He cries out, his pace sloppier and less controlled. You wrap your legs around his waist, pushing him closer, impossibly deep. 

“Can I cum? Please, mami, can I cum?” 

Your answer comes in the form of a harsh tug at the nape of his neck, wrenching his lips onto yours. He stills, spurting hot, sticky cum; painting your walls white. 

~~~

Ohhh and he definitely has a size kink.

He likes to knead your body with his big hands, rubbing your thighs completely absentmindedly, after finishing. 

Aftercare is important to him, often plugging you up with his cock, or toys, or pushing his cum back in with thick fingers after spilling inside you. 

He likes multiple rounds, making sure his cum takes: he wants to see you plump and round and pretty with his baby. 

Irony is, he's not even sure if he wants kids, but the idea lights him on fire - fuels countless nights with you and nights when he strokes his cock to the thought of you. 

He becomes obsessive and a slight perv; taking your panties from the laundry to wrap around his nose, to rub against his cock when he touches himself. 

When Miguel gets like this, he is shameless, overstimulating himself to chase the perfect high.

You find him, back turned in a tight little tank top, on the bed. You heard him first, of course. The rhythmic slap and groaning that creeps into the apartment. You’ve had a long day at work, body sore and aching. The only thing you want to do is kick your heels off, and collapse into bed. And you would’ve - if not for the Miguel-shaped lump perched on the edge of your mattresses. 

You lean on the doorframe, eyebrow raised. “...didn’t know it was so soon, Miguel.”

He doesn’t even glance your way, only moaning and clutching at the sheets. You walk around for a better vantage point, to look him in the eye when he finally spills into his palm. And there, you see the deep red of a pair of panties you had put in the laundry a while back.

“Can’t help it, mi sol. You know I can’t help it.” 

"Fucking perv ." You hiss. He stops, hips jerking up. You sink down to your knees, dainty hands wrapping around his cock. All he can do is watch as you rub his length, squeezing his tip so precum pours out like a leaky shampoo bottle. 

"What were you thinking of that's got you so desperate to hump your hand?" You press a sticky kiss to his balls. 

He doesn't answer at first, too lost in the back and forth of your fingers, other hand pressing the gusset of your panties against his nose. Cruelly, you stop, and he cries out as you squeeze his tip."Asked you a question, Miguel."

"Sorry, mami. C-Can't help it. Only thinking with my cock," He whines, until you start up again. Your face is right next to his length and it is all he can do not to cum all over it. "Thinking about you. Fucking you hard. Deep. Filling you up with my cum again and again-" 

"You want to fuck a baby into me?" 

He nods desperately. "Wouldn't you look so pretty? Plump and round and waddling around with all my cum? Mine, always mine," You speed up, snaking a hand downwards to put some pressure at your clit. Ever perceptive, he notices and grabs, pulling you upwards. Like paper, he rips through the stockings, biting and soothing the bites with his tongue all over your thighs. 

"You want my tongue, first? My fingers?" 

You shake your head. "N-No, Miguel. Long day jus'.... need your cum. Fill me up. Breed me."

He doesn't need to be told twice. You help him get rid of his clothes, and strip down to your bra and panties. He looks hungry, eyes raking over the peaks and troughs if your body. You know what he's like when he gets like this; little self control, reckless abandon. He'd actually fuck a baby in you if it weren't for your birth control. So when you sink down on his length, he isn't tender or sweet, like he usually his. He's an animal , fucking up into your hole and kneading the globes of your ass apart for better purchase. 

"Give it to me, mi vida ." You clench around his thick dick, the burn and stretch of him just right. "Oh fuck, just like that. M'gonna cum, baby, straight into this cunt. Gonna fuck a baby into you, okay? Dámelo, dámelo…"

He stutters, hips flush against your clit and giving you the most delicious throb at your pussy. With a cry, he cums into, deep, as promised. He wraps his fingers in yours, holding you through your own impending orgasm. You fall through the sky, together, coming down from your high. He kisses your forehead with a lazy smile. 

"Not enough, mi vida. Gotta make sure it takes." 

_

_

_

OSCAR ISAAC as SANTIAGO “POPE” GARCIA in TRIPLE FRONTIER; (2019)

hey love!

i was wonderin' if you can do a soft poe hc? your last request got me all soft. i just wanna see him & reader pining for one another, all fluff! thank you ᥫ᭡ 

hi dear! you got it :]

⭑ before he leaves for a fight/mission, he'll kiss your head and whisper reassurances that he'll be okay and that things will be alright. he'll also remind you of how much he loves you. when he's truly about to go, he gives you the tightest most loving hugs ever. he loves you more than anything in the galaxy.

⭑ he leaves sweet notes around where you guys are currently staying (you guys move around a lot due to the fight with the first order) for you to see when he's gone. you've found them on the bathroom mirror, on your blaster, in your shoes, really just everywhere. he wants to do what he can to make sure you feel loved while he's away.

⭑ he carved your guys' initials into your blaster before he gave it to you. he felt better knowing he was the one who gave it to you and that you'll be safe.

⭑ he's very possessive and loves kissing you when someone is eyeing you. you're his and he wants people to know that. he always holds your hand when you guys are out, he wants everyone to know you're taken, taken by him.

⭑ he loves cooking together, he's always down for trying new recipes when you guys have the time. he likes to come up behind you and tickle your sides (as long as you're not holding something sharp or hot) when you're not expecting it. he enjoys messing with you but it's never anything too serious.

⭑ he brings you up to finn and rey a lot, he will talk people's ears off going on about you. he's so proud that you're his.

⭑ if he hears that there's something you want, he'll do whatever he can to try to get you that thing. he loves seeing you happy and surprising you with thoughtful gifts.

⭑ big spoon alert! he's so protective over you and loves spooning you, he feels secure knowing you're safe in his arms.

⭑ when he's home, he cannot keep his hands off of you. he's constantly pulling you in for hugs, kissing you, massaging you, all of it. he's big on physical touch.

hobie x fem! reader

thinking of hobie brown rn…!

hobie who knows you love the height difference between you two and uses it to his advantage. is constantly angling his head upwards, which causes him to purposely peer down at you through his thick eyelashes. you always get flustered each time he narrows his eyes and tilts his chin, and him being the ever so perceptive spider he is, takes notice of your heated cheeks and continues to do so.

whenever he’s near a doorway or a thick frame he lovesss to lay a palm on the top of it, trapping your body beneath his as you ramble on about whatever it is you’re rambling about. he makes sure to nod along while effectively moving a hand towards your plush waist, bringing your figure flush against his own. he plays with the seam of your shirt, and urges you to keep going when you stutter from the sudden change in position.

hobie who loves to annoy you with his British slang. it’s not necessarily because he uses it often that irks you, it’s the fact that you have no idea what he’s saying and he never makes an effort to help you understand. (he actually finds it amusing each time you attempt to guess what he means and is completely off base every single time).

“babe, I’d love ta get ya that shirt you’ve been beggin’ for, but I’m skint right now. try me next week, yeah?” he hummed, kicking his feet up on the railing next to your bed.

“skint? I feel like you’ve used that one before..” you muttered, huffing in irritation by the smug look on hobie’s face, his lips quirked in amusement.

“told ya what it meant last week. thought ya said you could ‘se context clues?”

“whatever bee, maybe you should speak english.”

“‘aint that what ‘m doin’?”

hobie who always has a blunt neatly rolled on his dresser, his ash tray placed gently to the left of it. he often smoked before running off to whatever it is he did when he wasn’t home (he was very unpredictable as he switched it up weekly to “fuck up consistency” whatever the hell that meant).

hobie inhaled gingerly before tilting his head towards his peeling painted ceiling, his fingers lingered tightly on the wood before lifting it to your lips, “want a go?”

you shook your head, nuzzling further into his shoulder, “mhm no, too tired.” hobie chuckled before greedily puffing the joint, shuttering at the burning feeling it left.

“suit yourself love, more for me.”

hobie who you introduce differently to your friends each time you bring him up. one day he’s your boyfriend, the next he’s your significant other, and the next he’s your ‘close friend’. they always question the constant switch ups, but you don’t ever seem to mind. you know where you stand with the man, and to him that’s all that matters.

“so what’s up with you and…..” your friend trailed off, stirring the ice in her drink.

“hobie?” you questioned.

“yeah him, so is he your boyfriend or what?”

“it’s complicated, he hates labels, makes him feel confined.” you replied, shrugging your shoulders as you lay your head on your palm.

“that doesn’t bother you? is he like scared of commitment or something?”

you scoff, lightly shaking your head, “no, he just doesn’t want to contribute to the system.” you answered bluntly, taking another sip of your lemonade.

“the system?” your friend asked, eyebrow raised at the quip.

“nevermind, don’t worry about it.”

hobie who subtly brags about you to his people. loves to show you off, and has no problem admitting he does.

“yeah bruv, my girl jus’ got into her dream fuckin’ college. been workin’ hard for that shit all year, man.” hobie boasted, pushing his hands out in order to bounce off the wall next to him.

“oh my goodness how wonderful! when do we get to meet this companion of yours?” pavitr questioned, flinging his body upwards to keep up with the male to his right.

“eh, don’t know yet, when I feel like it, yeah?”

all in all hobie is so cute and I literally am in love with him!!