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vixenpen · 5 months ago

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Rapper’s Delight Hobie X Black Fem Reader (1970s coded)

This is for my biggest fan @kyankyannnn

This is what a Black girl from the Bronx talks like @ohsanghoe and @kyankyannnn since it was so confusing before! 😂 anyway, this was HELLA fun to write! Hope y’all enjoy 😉

You gazed around at the brick faces of Camden’s shops and the graffiti peppering random surfaces with awe and fondness.

This was your first time in Hobie’s hometown, and it felt at once familiar and foreign. From the grey and brown square buildings to the peeling, painted signs adorning their façades, the neighborhood was so distinctly working class; you half expected to see a hotdog vendor or a bodega.

“Y’alright, America?”Hobie asked, quietly. His large hand rested on your arm.

“Oh! Yeah, I’m cool.” You replied.

“Not scared yet are ya?” Smiley, the dimpled bassist of Hobie’s band asked. His signature toothy grin lit up his medium brown face.

“Not at all,” you laughed. “Feels like home.”

“Let’s see if you’re still singin’ that tune when we take you to The Sub.” Silas, the perpetually stoned drummer, added.

Despite its name, The Sub, was in fact not a late night spot to get sandwiches. According to Hobie it was one part basement club, one part speakeasy. Not unlike the warehouses the DJs threw dance parties in back in your hometown of the Bronx New York.

It was beyond trippy having another spider friend in the same timeline as you. The Spiderverse often either felt vast and disconnected or—whenever you were in the spider society— claustrophobic and overwhelming. So it was a major relief when you’d met Hobie, aka Spider Punk, another spider from Earth-138. The two of you had immediately hit it off being the same age, nineteen, and major music lovers.

The punk scene was practically non-existent in the Boogie Down Bronx and the same was true of the brand new hip-hop/rap scene of your home. But you were curious to see how these London cats got down, so when Hobie had invited you to Camden for an extended stay, you’d enthusiastically agreed. Hopefully New York could behave itself for a few weeks while you were gone.

Being that you weren’t a full time member of the spider society, Hobie had mopped some tech to make you a watch giving you the opportunity to transport to his place with the press of a button.

As you and the band headed to The Sub, you took note of the rest of the crowd, who were mostly dressed similarly to Hobie and his bandmates. Ripped skinny jeans, leather vests studded with silver spikes, chunky stainless steel jewelry and so much spiked up hair you were almost certain you could see a trail of hair spray and pomade in the air. There were a few people who were more casual in band tee’s or Jean vests, but you in your sparkly bell bottoms and matching top certainly stood out. Especially with your bouncy afro compared to the—mostly white—girls with their immobile Mohawks.

The Sub was actually a record store called: ‘Subwoofer Record Shop.’ It was closed to the public, but a trail of punks were all rounding the side of the building to the alleyway.

“Man, I’m psyched for tonight!” Smiley enthused. “Y/n, you gotta be front row and center cheerin’ us on, yeah?”

“I gotta be front row and center to see around these people’s hair.” You joked.

“Hey, that fro a’yours ain’t exactly flat, innit?” Hobie grinned, tweaking a tight curl near your ear. The motion made your cheeks burn.

“Picked to perfection.” You countered, playfully, ignoring the way your heart revved.

The boys led you down a flight of crumbling, concrete stairs where a handrail wrapped in multicolored Christmas lights and a surprisingly bright street lamp led the way. At the base, grungy looking characters in black leather clothes and heavy eyeliner smoked and chatted in tight circles. Their scary expressions immediately brightened when they saw Hobie and his crew.

“Oi, dickheads! ‘Ow the ‘ell are ya!” A tall, rail thin guy with an electric blue mohawk exclaimed, slapping hands with the band as they crowded the floor by the doorway.

“Ah, ya know! Nother day nother disaster.” Hobie greeted him.

“Right ‘bout that, mate.” The blue haired guy chuckled. “Oi, Si? Ya still on earth with us?” His accent made the ‘th’ sound like an ‘f.’

“Always an never.” Silas waved a joint between his ringed fingers. You had no idea when or where he’d gotten it.

“Can’t wait to hear you blokes blow the house down t’night.” A girl with fire red hair that matched her kilt exclaimed.

“S’gonna be one helluva a show, that’s for sure!” Smiley replied.

“See you all in there.”

The exchange had been so snappy you’d gotten whiplash just listening to it. The boys let themselves in with Hobie holding the door for you, a soft smile on his face.

“Welcome to The Sub, America.”

You gawked around the shockingly huge room. It had a black floor, a wall to wall stocked bar, darts at the far end and an elevated stage at the other. The walls were decorated with band posters advertising past and future shows. Some had been ripped off, others looked freshly tacked on. A wall of records hung from a shimmering curtain behind said stage and a gaggle of musicians were tuning up in a discordant symphony of riffs and scales. Colorful stage lights bathed them in hues of red, blue, and purple.

“Holy shit.” You marveled.

“Pretty cool for a group of weirdos, right?” Hobie whispered beside you. You could hear the casual excitement in his voice— clearly pleased at your reaction.

“Dynamight!” You exclaimed.

“C’mon, let’s grab a seat up front.” Smiley suggested.

Being that mosh pits weren’t uncommon in the space, “up front” actually meant at the end of the bar closest to the stage. The space surrounding the stage, was clear of tables and chairs in case of moshing.

The band on stage currently began playing and you were immediately impressed with their sound. They were a tight unit.

“Who are these cats?” You asked, Hobie.

“The singer’s name is Chris and the drummer is Byron.” He replied.

“I mean what’s the name of their band?”

“Oh, they ain’t a band, love. Chris sings folk music and Byron usually plays keyboard with a jazz quartet.”

Your head swiveled toward Hobie.

“You mean they’re not a band? And they sound that good together?”

“The drummer’s a bit slow on the pickup, but they’re all solid.” Hobie shrugged, swiveling in his stool until his knees kissed yours.

“Ok, Mr. Musical Savant.” You mocked a posh accent. “But you have to admit, they’re pretty tight together.”

“No doubt, but they won’t compare to our sound.” Hobie replied matter of factly.

“Ohh? Big talk, Slim Jim.” You smirked, giving his shoulder a gentle punch.

“Yeah,” Hobie’s hazel eyes danced with amusement as he fixed you with his humorous half smile. The one that secretly made your heart race. “With the flavor to match.” He winked.

You thought you’d melt off the stool. Your mind raced as you tried to conjure up a response, but before you could Smiley interrupted.

“Oi, when you kids’re done whispering sweet nothin’s, the stage is clear.”

The pair of you swung your head in Smiley’s direction. You could swear you saw a bashful, almost embarrassed expression flash across Hobie’s chiseled features, but he was smirking in a blink.

“Sure, sure.” He replied, standing along with his bandmates. Before he made the short trek to the stage he turned to you. “Be right back, yeah? Dun let any creeps try an pull one over on ya.”

“London,” your voice lowered as you leaned forward on the stool. “You took the girl outta the Bronx not the other way around.”

Now it was Hobie’s turn to look stunned. He scanned your face and seemed about to say something before Silas tugged him away.

“Let’s go, Romeo!” The stoned bassist quipped.

You giggled as Hobie shrugged.

“Don’t talk to strangers, y/n.” He playfully warned.

As the band climbed on stage a piercing wolf whistle sounded in the crowd along with a loud smattering of applause. It was clear Hobie’s band were well known amongst this crowd.

“Ri’,” Hobie chuckled. “Look, we got a friend here, yeah? She came all the way from America so you blokes better make us look good!”

“Even if we suck!” Silas added, sitting down at the drum set.

The crowd laughed. So did you, a fond smile lingering on your lips.

With that introduction out of the way, the boys began tuning up. Immediately, you noticed a different between their sound check and the slapdash ensemble that’d gone before them. You sat up, admiring your friend bathed in hues of blue and purple that seemed to caress his high cheekbones and emanate from his deeply melanated skin. The sight was enough to make a flush rise up your neck. You crossed your legs and propped your chin on your fist. The boys started out the gate swinging with a piercing guitar riff that hyped the crowd, followed by Silas’ bombastic drums.

The crowd went crazy, and you lowered the drink you’d gotten in awe. Wow, so this was what Hobie got up to in those unpermitted shows? Back where you were from, there were black rockstars, certainly. Jimi Hendrix, Betty Davis, Prince, but you only knew a couple cats who played rock like Hobie. Bad Brains and a little band out of Detroit called Death.

Still, you couldn’t deny, the band’s sound was tight. Loud, but tight. Hobie’s fingers were flying. The rest of the band was amazing too, but you couldn’t take your eyes off your fellow comrade. You’d never seen him so in the zone. His expression was relaxed, but his entire body was locked into what he was doing. His head bobbed with the rhythm of his guitar.

“Woowoooo!” You whooped, bouncing in your seat. The cheering got Hobie’s attention and he glanced at you with a smile.

When the band was done, the room practically shook with applause and cheering. You jumped from the stool to join the noise.

“Jeez, how’re you blokes gonna act when we really start playin’?” Smiley joked, making the crowd laugh.

Hobie lifted the hem of his shirt to dab his forehead, and you could have sworn you heard the entire female demographic of the audience swoon. Not that you weren’t one of them.

“Ri’,” Hobie spoke up, “but I wanna introduce our girl. A friend of ours who came all the way from America to visit.”

“Gwen!” Someone shouted.

You snickered. You almost forgot Gwen hung out with Hobie on a regular basis.

“No, not Gwen.” Hobie chuckled. “This is another friend. She’s in the music scene too.”

I am????

You thought.

“An’ I think she should come up here an’ join us, how bout you lot?”

The crowd cheered again. Your eyes widened.

What. The. Fuck?!

No way were you going up in front of this crowd. Everyone in there looked like they could kill you with their bare hands. Was Hobie crazy?

You sank down in your seat, but Hobie gestured to you broadly.

“Y/n, come up’ere. You know we ain’t gonna let ya off the hook.”

You looked around as if trying to find who he could be talking about, but all heavily made up eyes were on you as the punk crowd cheered you on.

“Yeah, c’mon y/n!”

“Be a sport!”

“Show us how they do it in America!”

Then the crowd began chanting your name. A thousand British accents practically singing “y/n, y/n, y/n!”

You could only gawk at Hobie whose pierced brow was quirked as he smiled slyly at you.

‘Come on’ he mouthed, holding out a ringed hand.

‘Seriously?’ You shot back?

‘Seriously.’ Hobie confirmed.

You prayed the moment would pass, but with everyone cheering you on and Hobie smiling gallantly at you like some knight in shining armor, you didn’t think you were getting out of this one. So with a quick ‘Ima kill you,’ to Hobie, you downed the rest of your drink and slid off the stool.

The applause got louder as you joined the band on stage, grabbing Hobie’s hand.

“Wow, umm, ok.” You chuckled nervously. “Look, I’m not from here, so my music probably isn’t gonna be you guys’ speed.”

“Try us!” Someone shouted from the crowd.

Alright. You would. You turned to Hobie with a half baked idea in mind. Time to bring a little Boogie Down to Camden.

“Yall know Rapper’s Delight?” You asked the boys.

All three members scoffed, almost offended at the notion that they didn’t.

“Yeah, love, we know Rapper’s Delight.” Hobie replied.

“You lead the way, y/n, we got ya covered.” Smiley winked.

“Alright, I guess ima kick yall something outta my hometown. Cool?”

The crowd responded favorably. You turned to the band, heart hammering nervously, and nodded.

Silas counted the band in.

“One.. two… one, two, three!”

Silas picked it up with the drums and Smiley quickly came in with the bass. Hobie was last.

God you were nervous, but man, the beat was way too funky to stay still so you bounced along. And when the beat gave way you started with the unmistakable intro of: “I said a hip hop the hippy the hippy to the hip hip hop and ya don’t stop the rock—“

But instead of biting Sugar Hill’s flow completely you decided to freestyle like the cats back home.

Now I know that you know that you ain’t eva heard this befo’, but layback and relax and let me kick you this flow.

Cuz in the boogie down, groove comes naturally to us and if you wanna be down and get down wit’ me now, you need proper influence. Boogie down B-town is where it really be happenin’ and I’m deliverin’ from Bronx and straight into Camden.

“Oooohhh!” The crowd chanted.

You laughed through your freestyle. Surprised by how much fun you were having. The crowd was jamming and the band was grooving right along with you. By the time the dance break came along, everyone was grooving along with you.

With an outro you thanked the crowd and were practically drowned out by their applause.

You slotted the mic back onto the stand only to be scooped into a hug by Hobie who spun you around. You laughed.

“That was amazing, y/n!” He exclaimed.

The rest of the boys joined you turning it into a group hug.

“Still wanna kill me?” Hobie asked.

“Yes!” You tried to glare at him, but your smile was too big. “But you made me sound good so I guess I’ll let you off the hook.”

Hobie laughed.

“I’ll take it.”

#Hobie #hobie brown #soundcloud #hobie is from the 70s please stop forgetting that #across the spiderverse #hobie x reader #hobie x black!reader #x black fem reader #black fanfic writer #x black reader #x black y/n #fanfiction #vixenpen is back and yall are welcome for jt #Spotify

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