HEYY BAE!!! its been a while!!! How are u? I hope ur good!! I was just wondering if u liked creepypastas?? It may not be your thing but you never know😝 heh also saw that ur requests are open🥹 PLEASE I WILL GIVE YOU MY KIDNEY AND LUNG FOR A FIC OF GOTH READER TAKING THIER MAKEUP OFF AND HOBIE IS LIKE HUGGING AND KISSING THEM AND THEY GET DISTRACTED pretty please🥹🥹 anyway ilysm katy ur such an amazing human and I hope that u have an amazing day!! BYE💗💗💗
Hiii bestie!!! I'm okay how are you? I do like them! I used to be really into creepypastas way back when! I even have a slenderman keychain which is probably a relic now lmaoo I was also into scp! Does the backrooms count? Bc I'm obsessed with that now lmao I hope you like your request! ❤️ Now gimme lung and kidney 🤗
Pairing: Hobie Brown x Reader/ Spider-Punk x Reader
Tags: No use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader, reader can be read as any gender, established relationship, Goth! Reader, lovestruck! Hobie, fluff!
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Third anniversary celebration 🎉
The shower runs in the background as you start to take off all your accessories. The silver rings clink against the vanity table whilst you hear Hobie’s humming stop from the bathroom. You immediately hurry up, knowing that you’ll never be done before your eyes grow heavy with sleep.
Hobie has the habit of distracting you whilst you’re getting ready for bed. Whether you’re brushing your teeth, his arm would be around yours whilst he joins you by your side, brushing his own teeth to the rhythm of yours. Sometimes when you’re showering you’d see his silhouette behind the curtains, just standing still, waiting for your permission to join you. Whenever you open the curtains and give him the green light, his whole face lights up like a kid in a candy store. Then there’s you taking off your makeup, just sitting in front of the vanity with the day shown on your tired face. And yet somehow, Hobie sees you as the hottest thing in the whole world, even when your eyeliner is all smudged around your eyes, or even when you look more like a panda than a goth.
It’s not just before bed either, he’s the same while you’re getting ready for the day. He trails after you like a duckling has imprinted on you. You ask him to pick an outfit and he chooses the best one for you after getting distracted by you in your underwear of course. Then he’d help you get ready, whether to help with your hair or with your makeup, he’s always a part of your routine. You don’t remember a day where he wasn’t a part of it. He distracts you to no end with kisses and soft touches, of course who could complain when you love it too. He’s clingy, but that’s because he doesn’t see you for the rest of the day when you’re both apart from each other.
For today though, you really want to get into the shower quickly to wash off the day’s gunk and burrow under the covers with Hobie cuddling you. But alas, you’re not quick enough when he gets out of the shower, a towel hanging loose around his hips, water droplets sliding down his bare torso and a face that lights up the moment he sees you.
You’re only halfway done in wiping off your makeup when he sidles behind you, chin resting on the crown of your head as his arms wrap around you. Hobie smells like citrus and your coconut shampoo as he takes a whiff of your hair. He’s the best kind of distraction.
“You smell like smoke, lovie.” He says tiredly, voice gravelly than usual as his hands squeeze your hips.
“I went on a walk today to go to the shops, and a smoke belching car fucking billowed smoke all over me.” Sighing, you lean against his damp chest, looking up at him briefly through your lashes.
Hobie continues to knead at your sides, easing you further against him. Distracting you even more with his warm touch. “D’you remember the plates?”
You chuckle, tilting your head at him through the mirror whilst you wipe the lipstick off of your lips, “you gonna key his car, friendly neighborhood Spider-Man?”
“Maybe.”
“Well, that’s not very friendly of you.”
He hums, smiling softly as he takes a new make up wipe from the table to gently wipe away at your under eyes. “Spider-Man cares for the environment too. If keyin’ the bloke’s car helps stop the smoke then that’s jus’ me bein’ a hero.”
Smiling, eyes closed, you feel his feather light touch all over your face. “That makes sense.”
“I’ll write your name on the car for you as my declaration of love.” His index and thumb on your chin keeps your head in place, a touch so gentle and loving you could fall asleep right there.
You chortle, whilst he wipes at your jawline. “Please don’t do that.”
“Too late, already planning on it.” Once he gives you a much needed peck to your lips, you know that he’s done with wiping your make up off. “You off to shower?”
“Thank you, baby.” You chase his lips as he leans back down for another quick kiss. Taking the dirty make up wipes, you throw it in the trash whilst his hand never leaves your skin. “Yeah, a quick one, I just want to cuddle in bed.”
“...can I join?”
Your brows furrow as his thumb presses in between your brows. “You just showered.”
“Who says I can’t shower again? I fought the Lizard in the sewers today, y’know.”
“No, you didn’t, I saw the news, you fought Mysterio today.” You poke his lean stomach.
“Fuck the news,” Hobie’s nose scrunches, fluttering his lashes at you. “they don’t care about my lesser achievements.”
“You just want me to lather you up.” You coo, reaching over to cup his face as he leans down for you.
“That’s not a crime.” He answers smugly with a scoff.
“I didn’t say it was.” Kissing the tip of his nose, you could still smell the soap on him. “Just keep your hands to yourself inside the shower, Spider-Man.”
Grinning from ear to ear, he heaves you off the seat. “C’mon then so we could properly snog in bed.”
Okay so I'm writing my technically SECOND fanfic but it will be the first I actually publish. It will be goth!Reader x post sabbatical!Robby. I would love to have someone to talk about ideas with/beta read before it gets published so if that is something you are interested please DM me. I would love to be friendsz!
warnings/content: harassment, mentions of sexual harassment and bullying, established relationship, idiots in love, reader is shorter than spencer, reader gets called a bitch but not by spencer, pet names (silly girl, baby, pretty boy, angel), kissing, kinda insecure reader
wc : ~ 3k
author's note : my 2nd tumblr fic now that im getting the hang of it! this is literally just a cute fluffy fic because i want to and every day i dream of alternative spencer reid 🙂↕️ not really any specific season in mind but i pictured longer hair spencer for this, maybe season 4 or 5 :)) sorry if this is ass i got lazy because i so much prefer writing angst ijbol
Being an alternative woman in public is one thing, but being an alternative woman whose boyfriend is practically the complete opposite of you is a whole different issue. You're used to the comments that get thrown at you — after all, you've dealt with that for years, since you started dressing "unconventionally" in middle school. You've learned to ignore the sexualising comments from teenage boys and old men alike, and you can easily tune out the disapproving glares from middle aged women. However, what you aren't as okay with is when people bring your boyfriend into it.
You and Spencer are sitting together on the train home from a museum date, your knees touching as he holds your hand, fidgeting with your rings. You feel the gazes of a group of young boys — no more than fifteen — not far away from where you sit. You decide to ignore them, like you usually do, and you just hope that they don't decide to yell at you like you sometimes have had people do.
Your gaze traces over your boyfriend, and you find yourself unable to suppress a smile. As the days are getting colder, he's been wearing more layers, and it's just so cute. You love the way his scarf is wrapped around his neck and tucked into the dark brown jacket he's wearing. The soft waves of hair that frame his face are even more adorable when they're brushing over the rosiness of his cold cheeks.
Feeling you looking at him, Spencer looks away from your hands and up to your face. "What?" he asks with a smile of his own as he sees your grin.
"Nothing," you reply, nudging your knee against his. "You're just cute."
He smiles shyly, a pink tint creeping across his face. "No, I'm not," he responds. He's never been good at accepting compliments.
Raising a teasing eyebrow, you let a joking scold taint your voice as you say, "Don't argue with me, Dr Reid."
"Yes, ma'am," he chuckles breathily, his thumb brushing over your knuckles.
Spencer's eyes fall to the floor, where your chunky platform boots rest beside his battered converse. He always loves it when you wear these boots, he thinks they're pretty with the silver studs you had glued onto them and the maroon laces you'd threaded through the eyelets. He's always admired how crafty you are, how you can make any basic item of clothing into something much more extravagant. Something else he loves about these boots is that they make you a little taller — still not as tall as him, but it makes it easier for him to kiss you.
Moving away from your boots, his gaze follows your legs, clad in two pairs of thermal tights beneath the long black skirt you're wearing. He'd watched you embroider the pattern of roses into the fabric a few weeks ago, practically in a trance. The way your eyebrows had been furrowed in concentration as your fingers swiftly worked was a beautiful thing to watch. He's convinced you could craft the galaxy with your bare hands if you wanted to.
Hazel eyes trace over your thighs and up your torso, flickering across the many layers you're wearing. He counts four — maybe five? — layers, which isn't surprising considering how prone to getting cold you are. The neckline of a lacy purple long-sleeve peeks out from beneath your Bauhaus T-shirt, which is partially hidden by a black zip-up that you had painted a pattern onto in bleach. Over the zip-up sits your baggy leather jacket, something you rarely leave the apartment without. A few necklaces decorate your neck, most of them ones that he had given you.
As his gaze finds yours again, he smiles. A cheesy, cute, I'm-so-in-love-with-you smile. When you smile back, his heart skips a beat. He loves the way the eyeliner cobwebs attached to the thick wing on your eyes shift with the movement of your pretty, black-painted lips.
"You're so pretty," Spencer tells you softly. He looks at you as if you'd just reached into the sky and handed him the moon.
Heat rises to your cheeks at his words — even after almost two years of dating, you still feel butterflies whenever he compliments you. You don't think that feeling will ever go away. You don't want it to. "So are you," you respond, giving his hand a squeeze.
As you say the words, the train slows to a halt at your stop. The both of you wait until it has fully stopped before standing and heading to the doors. As you do, the boys you'd caught staring at you earlier decide it would be amusing to yell at you.
"Emo bitch!" one of them shouts, his voice cracking embarrassingly. It almost makes you crack a smile.
Spencer squeezes your hand, a silent way to tell you it's okay and to not say anything back, but you're already glancing back at the laughing group with a cold glare. You part your lips to retaliate, but decide that your boyfriend is right. You stick to simply flipping them off as the two of you exit the train.
As you look back at Spencer, he gives you a pointed look. You shrug and say, "What? I didn't say anything." But you know you wouldn't have stayed silent if anything had been said about him instead.
You switch sides with him, slipping your hand into his as you adjust the strap of your bag on your shoulder. The walk home is quiet and peaceful, thankfully void of any more cruel comments from strangers. Spencer's hand is somehow warm in yours, despite the frosty air and cold breeze that bites at your skin. Fallen leaves crunch beneath your shoes as the wind nudges them across the ground.
When you reach your shared apartment, Spencer quickly turns up the thermostat as you both step inside. As you both shrug off your jackets and hang them up, he presses a quick kiss to your forehead — likely trying to determine how cold you are.
"Do you want a drink?" he asks whilst tugging off his converse. "Tea?"
"No, I'm okay," you reply, plopping down onto the floor to take off your boots. Unzipping one, you let out a little grunt of effort as you tug it from your foot. "You know what I do want, though?"
"What?"
"I want..." You pause as you pull off the other boot, biting your lip. "I want to put make-up on you. My kind of make-up."
His eyes find yours as he tilts his head slightly. "You do?"
You hesitate, unsure if his response means that he is repulsed by the idea and would rather lick the floor of your building's elevator than let you do that. Looking away, your voice falls quieter as you reply, "I don't have to. It was just an idea. Sorry. It was stupid."
"Hey, silly girl." He sits in front of you on the floor, moving your boots out of the way as he shifts closer. "It's not stupid. Look at me," he says gently, tilting your chin up with his index and middle finger so that he can look into your eyes. "It's not a stupid idea. And you don't have to apologise. If that's something you want to do, I'd be more than happy to let you, okay?"
The slight pout on your lips is so adorable he feels like his heart might explode.
"Are you sure? You don't have to say yes," you mutter shyly. "It doesn't matter, really. You can say no, it's—"
"Baby," he cuts you off in a gentle voice, his tone one that makes your stomach flutter. The motherfucker always knows what to say and how to say it to shut you up. "I'm sure."
Your lips twitch into a nervous smile. He thinks it's so incredibly cute how you're so shy and sweet when most people would assume other things about you based on your appearance. He thinks it's silly how people make assumptions on others based on how they dress. He thinks a lot of things, but his mind goes blank when you lean in and kiss him.
Immediately kissing you back, he smiles against your lips and rests his hands on your waist to pull you just a bit closer. Knees knocking together, you break the kiss with a giggle and tuck his hair behind his ear.
"Do you want to do it now, or later?" he asks.
"Now. Is that okay?"
"Of course," Spencer says, smiling as he kisses you once more before standing up and pulling you to your feet.
So you head into the bathroom together, but you decide he's too tall for you to be able to do it properly when he's sat on the counter. He laughs when you tell him that, and disappears into the bedroom while you gather the rest of your make-up. Once you have everything, you follow after him into the bedroom.
"Sit on the bed," you instruct.
"Yes, ma'am," he replies with a laugh, sitting down with his back against the headboard.
Giggling softly, you walk over and set the various items in your arms on the nightstand. As you move to sit on the bed, straddling his lap, you shrug off the zip-up and drop it onto the other side of the bed. Even while you're doing something as simple as reaching over to grab a headband, Spencer still looks at you like you are the eighth wonder of the world.
You smile at him as you gently push the headband into his hair, keeping it back off his face. It's gotten so long recently — not that you're complaining. You love running your hands through the soft strands, curling them around your fingertips. "You're so cute," you mutter. "My pretty boy."
You can feel the heat of his skin beneath yours as you cup his face between your hands and press a sweet kiss to his lips. Lips parting, tongues teasing each other's, his hands running up and down your sides, pulling you closer by the small of your back.
You break the kiss with a giggle, a string of spit attached between you. "Okay, we need to get started," you say through laughter as he licks his lips.
"One more kiss," he murmurs, leaning in and pecking you gently.
Smiling, you stroke his cheek for a moment before straightening up and reaching over to grab your moisturiser from the nightstand. Spencer watches you intently as you flick open the cap and squeeze some out onto your fingertips.
"It's cold," you warn him before you swipe the moisturiser onto his cheeks and gently rub it into his skin.
He doesn't mind the coldness of the liquid, just focusing on the feeling of your hands on his skin. He is pretty sure that your touch could make anything better.
He isn't sure if he is supposed to have his eyes open or shut as you dab some more onto his face, but he keeps them open so that he can look at you. The look of concentration on your face is so pretty.
He also isn't sure what to do with his hands — should he be touching you, or would that be a distraction? He keeps them lightly resting atop your thighs, knowing you'd tell him if you wanted him to stop touching you.
As you finish moisturising his skin, letting it sit for a few moments, you wipe off your fingers on a tissue and say, "You have really nice skin."
"That sounds like something a serial killer would say," he comments teasingly, a smile on his face.
"Shut up!" you giggle. "It's just a fact. Your skin is nice."
Swapping the moisturiser for a bottle of primer, you fall quiet as you flick open the cap. Soft hums of concentration vibrating through your lips, you rub it into his skin so that the make-up will actually stick to his face. His fingertips lightly trace rub circles onto your thighs as he watches you with nothing but awe and love in his eyes.
As you're blending out the white foundation onto his face with a damp beauty blender — he thinks that's what it is called — he wonders if he will look silly when you're done. Of course, he has never thought that you look silly when your make-up is all done, but he isn't you. To him, you look beautiful whatever you wear, however you present yourself. He's just not sure if this will suit him. Although, even if it looks bad on him, he'd let you do it over and over again until the end of time if it would make you happy.
Now that there is foundation spread evenly across his face, his skin feels kind of weird, but not exactly in a bad way. It almost feels tight, like something is pulling on it. It is a strangely nice sensation.
Spencer tries to stay still as you pat in the concealer beneath his eyes, his eyelids twitching slightly.
"Stop moving," you scold playfully, pausing your actions for a moment.
"I'm trying," he replies, his voice a breathy chuckle.
"Try harder."
"You're so bossy."
"You know you love it."
He smiles, amused. You're right, he does love it. He loves anything and everything that you do. Since the moment he met you, he has been completely whipped. Obsessed. In love.
After finishing the grey-ish contour on his nose and beneath his cheekbones, you start on the eyeliner. You decide to do something simple, rather than the more elaborate designs you sometimes do on yourself. Beginning to draw a wing from the corner of his eye, you will your hand to not shake like it usually does; you don't want to end up getting overly frustrated and having to redraw it fifty times.
Somehow, it goes smoothly, and you finish both wings without a problem. You use a black eyeliner pencil on his waterlines and add a smidge of dark purple eyeshadow to his lids before curling his lashes. How come men always have such luxurious eyelashes? you think.
"Okay, I'm not gonna put on false lashes, I'll just do mascara," you tell him, leaning over to grab one of your unused mascaras from the nightstand.
As you do, you shift too much weight and almost fall off the bed. Quickly, Spencer leans forward steadies you with a hold on your waist. "Careful there, angel," he laughs in a teasing tone. "You're so clumsy sometimes."
"Well, says the one who spilt coffee on the counter twice in one day last week!" you reply, giggling.
"I never claimed to not be clumsy," he counters, patting your thigh. "JJ is right when she says that my coordination drops off when I'm thinking."
"A wise woman," you muse.
"Very."
You smile, kiss his forehead, and grab the mascara. As you twist it open and wipe off the excess, you say, "Okay, just blink when I say to, okay?"
"Okay."
So you apply mascara to his stupidly nice eyelashes, dab a tiny bit of highlighter onto the apples of his cheeks and the tip of his nose, and put a simple lip combo on his beautiful lips.
"Okay, there. I think it's done," you say. Quickly, you take it back. "Wait, I need to do your hair."
"Alright," he chuckles as you take the headband out of his hair, discarding it onto the nightstand.
You head off into the bathroom to grab your hairbrush, returning a moment later with it and a few hair ties. You manoeuvre him into the position you want — sitting more in the middle of the bed — and sit behind him on your knees.
"Your hair is so soft," you murmur as you gently run your fingers through it.
"You say that every single time you play with my hair," he points out, a smile in his voice.
"And it's true every single time," you reply as you start to brush his hair.
Spencer hums contentedly, his eyes falling shut as you brush his hair. He's always loved when you touch his hair, whether that is stroking it, twisting it around your fingers, or pulling it. He loves it all.
As you brush his hair, taking your time, you wonder if he will like it. You wonder if he's enjoying this. You wonder if he liked letting you put make-up on him.
"I would, maybe, dress you up in my clothes, but I don't think any of them would fit you."
He laughs softly. "Yeah, probably not."
"And my boots certainly wouldn't fit your gigantic feet," you tease.
"Maybe your feet are just tiny," Spencer counters jokingly.
When you're satisfied that his hair is thoroughly brushed, you part it down the middle, separating it into two even-ish sections. You braid each half, something you have always wanted to do with his hair but never asked out of fear of him saying no. But right now, he isn't protesting, which you take as a good sign.
"Okay, all done," you chime happily, letting the braids fall onto his shoulders.
"Done?"
"Mhm, done."
Hopping off the bed, you take his hands in yours and lead him into the bathroom. Before you step inside, you make him cover his eyes as you tell him, "Okay, you can't judge it because I'm not used to doing make-up on other people."
Spencer nods, practically itching to see his reflection. "I won't judge. I promise."
"Good. Okay, you— you can look now," you reply, standing beside him and looking at his reflection in the mirror as he moves his hands away from his face.
His reaction is hard to decipher, but at least he does not look repulsed. After a moment of studying his face, his lips twitch into a smile.
"It looks good."
"Really?" you ask, rocking back and forth on your feet as you fidget with your sleeves.
"Yeah. I— I mean, it's obviously not something I'm used to, but it's... cool," he says with a soft laugh, turning to face you.
You smile, biting your lip. "Good. Okay, good. I'm glad you don't... you know, hate it."
Smiling back at you, Spencer wraps his arms around you and kisses the top of your head. "I could never hate anything you do."
Hey! are you still accepting requests? If yes, could you write some fluffy and funny headcanons for Jacob Frye with a goth s/o? Thanks🖤🖤🖤
notes: based on Evie's Victorian Legends outfit, I wanted to keep this as canon time period Jacob even tho goth wasn't really a subculture until the 1980's (yeah, I know it's a music based subculture but I thought that the misunderstanding of Victorian Jacob with a goth partner would be fun to write lol). I think I've ended up leaning more towards making the reader a romantic goth bc it's my favourite gothic subculture lol
☾ ⋆ﾟ MASTERLIST / RULES / TAGLIST FORM
Ok so this is the Victorian era so, to begin with, Jacob had this huge crush on you but he made no advancements because he thought you were mourning and it would be highly disrespectful of him to do so
So he simply befriended you in the meantime and he just adored your company
You never brought up your 'loss' so he never asked about it or made any mention of your all-black clothes
He's never been much of a reader (that was always Evie's job) but your love for this new trend of gothic literature made you look so happy whenever you spoke about it so he would read all of your favourites on the train while Evie teased him
One day she asked him why the two of you weren't courting yet as he so clearly liked you and he explained that he was waiting for your mourning period to be over first out of respect
Evie had laughed at him and explained that your clothes were merely a reflection of your interests and traditional mourning fashion was a key part of it
Jacob honestly could have kicked himself - he could have asked to court you weeks ago!
Knowing your love for the more morbid things in life, he took you on a stroll through an old graveyard, the two of you stopping on a bench outside the church. It was cold and mist was rolling about the place while clouds dappled the starry sky
While you were admiring the place, Jacob set his coat around your shoulders to try and keep you warm and you leaned against his shoulder, fingers slowly creeping to take his hand in yours
The silence between you two was comfortable but Jacob broke it by brining up the new set of poems that you had recommended to him
He needed your help in understanding their meanings below surface-level but that's what he liked about reading them: he liked the way you looked at the world, the things you could gather and see that he would never think of, how you treated these darker aspects of life with a fascination and sought beauty in them whereas many others would simply wish to shut it out altogether
You only removed your hand from his to push your black veil back and look up at him, your faces so close and seeing the clouds of your breaths mingle before you leaned up just that little bit more to press your lips to his
His arms wrapped around you and pulled you so close, a hand cupping your clod cheek while his other one went down to try and pull his coat around you more, wanting to keep you warm
The way that you smiled up at him afterwards made his heart soar and, like a gentleman, he walked you home when the two of you were done and left his coat with you
He claimed it was so he would have an excuse to come and visit you the next day
He practically ran all the way back to the hideout with this huge grin plastered on his face, eager to tell Evie all about it
