#hobie brown blurb

[bruisedboys]

looking after hobie brown with a split lip and an almost black eye and he won’t stop touching you. it’s extremely distracting and you’d tell him so but you’d hate to see the look on his face when you admit he’s flustering you. so you let him be and scrub at the stream of blood trailing from his lip to his chin. you shuffle up his lap (yeah, you’re in his lap, and what about it? he was the one who put you here. he hadn’t given you much of a choice. insisted it was easier to reach and pulled you into him before you could protest) to get a better angle and his fingers press harder into your hips, his grip on you tightening as he tugs you up his lap, somewhat helpfully. you try to ignore the way it makes you feel. the way you’re now practically chest to chest and he can probably hear your heartbeat, it’s so damn loud.

and then, the very tips of his fingers dip underneath the hem of your shirt and brush your warm skin, and you decide you just can’t take it anymore.

“hobie,” you chide, soft and entirely too flustered.

“what?” he says back, dripping with ignorance, and you’d think he was genuinely clueless if you didn’t know him so well. he pushes his hand further up your back, his rough calloused fingers practically burning a mark on your already hot skin.

“quit it”, you say, though you don’t sound very convincing at all.

“quit what, babe?” hobie presses his palm to the small of your back, forcing you ever so closer. you gasp, pressed up against him, your hands braced on his shoulders, but he only smirks knowingly. “m’only helping you out.”

[moralesluvr]

hiiiii can i pls request something where the reader accidentally sends hobie her lingerie pics? or her bikini pics? look at claudia tihan’s instagram pics for what i’m saying. thank you <33

OOPS, WRONG PERSON! | h. brown.

“no…doesn’t look right.” you sucked your teeth with a frown, picking apart the images you just took of yourself, clicking delete hastily with a sigh. you wanted to like the photo, but the way you were posing wasn’t really to your liking, and you were trying hard to feel confident in the brand new lingerie you had just bought.

you had went out with your girlfriends, browsing throughout the mall as you blew your recent paycheck on clothes and makeup, your knowledge of the repercussions being ignored as you swiftly swiped your card for whatever items your heart desired. it was ecstasy to you, buying things that you actually liked, and you were really starting to crack out of your comfort zone when you found a beautiful lingerie set from victoria’s secret. it was accented with pretty white trimmings, little pink ribbons on the top, the panties silky and comfortable. you purchased the set with no regrets, walking out of that mall with a dirty smile wiped on your face.

posing in front of the mirror now was your biggest challenge. every way your body turned didn’t seem to look right to you, and your frustration started to grow inside of you until an idea sparked in your head.

you dropped to your calves and sat back onto your thighs, hips twisting to the left slightly as you flipped your hair to the side, pouted into the mirror and clicking the photo button.

the picture came out adorable, so you decided to press send to one of your girlfriends so they could see how it looked on you, and that’s when your eyes widened.

sent to my brit boyfriend 🤍.

you gasped, rapidly clicking the message in an attempt to delete it.

you and your lovely boyfriend had only been together a month. it wasn’t that you weren’t comfortable with him seeing you like this, but it was all so soon, and it wasn’t even on purpose. but it was too late, your frantic tapping was deemed useless when you saw that he had read the message, and now he was typing.

he quickly typed back, and your eyes gleamed with embarrassment as you texted him.

my brit boyfriend 🤍; Love, did you mean to send that to me?

you: i’m so sorry hobie….i didn’t mean to send you that, i was trying to send it to one of my girlfriends. you can ignore it.

my brit boyfriend 🤍; You want me to ignore it? I’ll delete it if you didn’t want me to see it, it’s no problem darlin

you: no no, you can keep it if you like it…i don’t mind…i just didn’t mean to send it ugh this is embarrassing

my brit boyfriend 🤍; You look gorgeous..wasn’t gonna say nothin because I didn’t know if you wanted me to, but you look good as shit

you: ☺️ are you serious?? i just bought it & and i didn’t know if it looked nice…

my brit boyfriend 🤍; Thinkin’ it’ll look better on the floor but that’s jus my opinion

you: HOBIE.

my brit boyfriend 🤍; You asked for my opinion and I gave it to ya love, is there a problem?

you: no problem handsome… come over?

my brit boyfriend 🤍; On my way.

[autumn-hiraeth]

Long time no see ya

Hobie Brown x reader. smut.

✰ hobie's masterlist!

Your man is back.

Hobie is kissing you like a starved man. God. He has not seen you in weeks and the only things he wants right now is fucking your brains out.

So he cups your core with his large palm as he kisses and nibbles the skin of your neck.

" hobie...the dinner" you whisper as he puts aside your panties and his digits rubs yours wet folds.

" hush..luv..i'm gonna feed you.."

You arch your body when he positions beetwen your legs and sucks and licks your nipple as you squirm and moans quietly.

You can tell he is so needy. He is always like this when you two are far apart more than a week. He comes over and makes sure to fill you up for hours until you are so overstimulated.

You let out a loud moan when he thrusts into you deep, jesus, he is so hard right now.

" ah..mph..hobie" you whimper and hobie kisses your mouth as he bucks his hips into you, his fat cock letting in and out from you as his tongues explores your mouth and his free hand plays with your nipple.

" it's ok, luv..i got you...let it go for me..." he grunts against your mouth.

You are a complete mess of moans and whimpers like usual and hobie is so proud to see you fall apart just for him.

[pearlsinmyhair]

˖⋆˚₊⊹ his muse

hobie brown x fem!reader

this has been in my drafts for. forever. like it was summer when i wrote it on a whim. this initially started as a request for hobie with a reader that came from wealth. the vivienne westwood imagery picked up from there, and i just kinda had fun with it. and now im posting it- huzzah!

warnings: smoking (cigarettes). mentions of drinking. slight nsfw at the very end. meet-cute that leads to smut. hobie being a flirt. fem!reader.

hobie is in the midst of a creative rut that he can’t get out of, no matter how much he tries to. that is, until some inspiration walks through the door.

hobie was in a musical rut.

which never happened to him. never. if he needed a subject for a song, all he had to do was look outside for five minutes or watching the news for even less to have a subject.

that was the wonderful thing about hating the establishment: infinite cruelty, infinite song ideas.

but here he was, staring down at his guitar and picking at strings aimlessly. nothing came to him, no note or melody stuck out to him as song worthy.

he was sitting on the worn couch in his band’s makeshift studio, crosslegged and hunched over his guitar like a madman.

a soft knock came from the doorway, and he looked up to find one of his band mates hitting their knuckles against the doorway.

“you need to get out, man. you’re cooped up.” he said, stepping into the room to stand over hobie like a mother hen. “some fresh air will do you good.”

hobie scoffed, never one to take orders from anyone. but then he exhaled and leaned back, looking up at his friend with an exasperated expression.

“and where exactly do you intend for us to go?” he asked lowly, grumbling.

that’s exactly how he ended up here, in a music club full of bodies he didn’t want to touch and liquor he didn’t want to drink.

it wasn’t a traditional club scene by any means. It was a bit more artistic, leaning away from rave-style places that he’d gone to before. but it still wasn’t his preferred place.

he nursed a shirley temple, which his friend had shoved into his hand unceremoniously before disappearing into the crowd. hobie had decided that he would be the designated driver, and he understood that his band mates were going to take full advantage of that fact.

when they entered the place, his drummer had leaned over.

“maybe you’ll find a muse, hobes. i’m sure there’s plenty of pretty things in this place to give you ideas.” the boy wiggled his brows, and hobie promptly shoved him away with a chuckle.

now, he leaned against a counter and wondered what the hell he was doing. this wasn’t air. this was just distracting noise.

and said noise was becoming a little too much for his senses.

he made eye contact with one of his more sober mates, gesturing that he was going to go somewhere private. he sent a text to their group chat as well saying the same thing.

not a role model

-> heading to the back, text or call if you need me

little drummer boy

-> you’re no fun, man.

not a role model

-> 🖕🏿

he moved down a hallway, the sound of bass and electronic beats fading into a pleasant jazz sound that made its way through the speakers overhead.

the space behind the actual club was a kind of lounge, filled with warm ambiance and vinyl records and leather arm chairs. when his friends brought him here, he always inevitably retreated to this quieter space.

it was ironic really. the punk unable to handle crowds and noise. but this was a much different setting from his own shows, so he cut himself some slack.

he sunk into one of the armchairs in a side room, his head lolling back to look up at the ceiling. his head slightly throbbed, and he began to regret not drinking water.

he reached in his pocket to pull out a cigarette box.

he wasn’t a casual smoker, not by a long shot. it just helped to have something to drag on sometimes, something to burn his throat while he was thinking.

right as he put the cig to his lips, the door banged open and slammed shut once more, the lock sliding home.

his spider-senses told him to prepare, but when he looked up they stopped buzzing.

because a girl leaned against the wall across from him, her chest heaving and her eyes wide.

she looked afraid, scared. the way her fingers trembled alerted him to the sheer amount of adrenaline running through her veins currently.

and she hadn’t even noticed him yet. he took a moment to glance over her.

she wore a pretty little lace dress, black and short, with straps that barely cling to her shoulders. his eyes drifted down her bare legs to the black platform gogo boots on her feet, and he was impressed with the height she was balancing on. he knew from experience that those shits weren’t easy to master.

he had been a model once, and he knew enough to see that the girls clothes were expensive. like, wearing his rent expensive.

she took an anxious step, only to wobble like a baby deer, legs too long to stand properly.

maybe not so stable after all.

when she still didn’t notice him (too busy listening to the door), he opened his mouth to make himself known.

“runnin’ from something, little fawn?”

her eyes snapped to him, and she jumped slightly when she realized that someone else was in the room with her. her wide doe eyes did nothing to help disapprove the nickname. she opened and closed her mouth to speak, struggling to get the words out.

“i’m not running.”

he chuckled.

“no? do ya’ slam and lock doors at clubs often then?”

she scoffed at him, rolling her eyes. she took a step away from the door, though he could tell she was keeping track of any noise.

“i’m just…catching my breath.” she said, pulling at the necklace around her throat.

hobie’s eyes drifted down to it, surprised to find a string of pearls with an all too familiar saturn pendent.

his curiosity got the best of him. “real or fake?”

her eyes darted up to meet his, and she looked away in embarrassment as she said “real.”

he let out an impressed whistle. “that’s why you’re running.” he mumbled as the pieces clicked together.

she gave him an incredulous look, eyebrows furrowing in a way that he found adorable.

“my guess” he said as he stood from the chair, taking a step towards the girl. “is that you definitely aren’t supposed to be here. rich girl, pretty dress, innocent look. this place is practically forbidden for your like.”

her gaze hardened into a glare. “and what exactly is my like, hobie brown?”

he smirked. “you know my name.”

a statement. she deflated slightly.

“i’ve been to your shows.” she said, voice lowering. it was just enough to make him realize how close they were. he registered her body language quickly, noting how she didn’t shy away. so he didn’t either.

“interestin’, doll. does your daddy know?”

“don’t condescend me.”

he took a step back then, raising his hand in an ‘i come in peace’ gesture. “easy there. just askin.”

he went to grab a lighter to light his cigarette, reaching down into his jackets pocket. when he found nothing, he groaned softly.

a click made him look up, only to be met with the girl holding up a lighter of her own. he leaned forward to light his cigarette, and she held his gaze as the sizzling sound breiflu filled their silence.

“as you can see” she said softly. “i am not quite ‘my like’.”

he let out a puff of smoke, making sure to turn his head so that it didn’t flow into her pretty face. she coughed anyway.

he chucked. “what you doin’ with a light if you don’t smoke?”

she flipped the lighter in her hand, and it took a moment to notice that it was one of the silver heart ones that were popular.

“you like vivienne, huh?” he said, looking down at her with half lidded eyes as he took another drag.

“what can i say, i have a thing for punks.” she replied, looking up at him through her lashes.

oh, he was going to eat her.

“s’that so?” he asked, wanting to drag whatever admission she was holding in. he leaned close over her, and she stretched her neck to look right up at him. this close, he could smell whatever shampoo she used.

she was off limits. but he never really abided by rules, did he?

“what’re you runnin’ from, doll?” he asked, tapping his cigarette out as he waited for an answer.

“my father sent a body guard out to find me. i snuck out, and the man’s in the club right now.” she said, watching the way his lips curled around the cigarette.

the air kicked on, and the girl below him shivered. he shrugged off his jacket with a sigh, pulling it around her. she accepted it gratefully, practically nuzzling up against the collar.

fuck, he was a goner.

“better get you out of here, then.” he said, using the edges of his jacket to tug her closer. she smirked, allowing him to pull her against his body. “that would be great.”

he leaned down as he texted the chat, brushing his lips against the top of her ear as he typed.

not a role model

-> hey, i got someone i need to take home. anyone sober?

little drummer boy

-> the fuck are you on about, why would anyone be sober.

fresh meat

-> i am, go enjoy yourself hobes.

thank god for tyler, he thought as he pulled back the collar of his jacket to press his mouth to the girls jaw.

as she snuck him into her room later, the lyrics of a song began to write themselves in his head.

and as he thrust into her, her hands fumbling against her silk sheets and her moans in his ear, he realized that he had found his muse after all.

hobie’s masterlist

[fiendishfables]

feel like Hobie Brown is the type to never shut up, even with his dick in your mouth.

bro is either praising you to the max, ranting about his day, or just asking stupid questions for the sake of annoying you, knowing you can't answer without deviating from his own pleasure, which he also knows you hate to do

the consistent little smirk on his lips can't be helping either...

[just a thought...]

[nervousgardenerkid]

So anxious

a/n: LMAO hey yall this is my first fic after a LONG time and it's from across the spiderverse😭i can't help it i love that movie sm. ANYWAYS i was listening to so anxious by ginuwine and i got this idea sjjsisj i hope you all enjoy it bc it was so fun to write! happy reading and credit to the gif owner!! <3

warnings: none really, some cursing ofc, hobie lowkey teasing you, not proofread (bc that's a warning itself), and me not knowing how to write with a british accent in mind (i'm so sorry)

this fic doesn't have any gender specific pronouns or any specific racial qualities so it's free for EVERYONE to read! <3

You were staring. You knew you were staring too, but how could you not? Your eyes fell onto Hobie’s hand as he did god knows what with the technology that was spread out in front of his desk. Your eyes trailed up his toned arms, blushing you remember how easily he could lift you up no matter what.

“You're staring again, love.” his voice broke you out of your thoughts, your eyes flicking over his face.

God, he's so pretty. Your heartbeat speeds up when the sun shines on him just right. The golden light reflecting off of his piercings nearly blinded you but not in the same way his beauty was. Your eyes fall to his sharp jawline, up to his lips as they sit in a small frown. God his lips. Heat flows throughout your body as you imagine his lips pressed against yours, leaving gentle (and not-so-gentle) kisses all over your face. Before you have time to admire the rest of him he turns to you, a smirk replacing the frown that was on his lips.

“I got something on my face? Why you staring so much?”

A familiar warm feeling falls over your cheeks as you reluctantly tear your eyes off of him and nervously look down at your hands.

“Nah, Nah,”

His hand reaches out and gently grabs your chin, making you look at him again.

“Don't go acting all shy now. Why you staring at me so hard, hm?”

A soft whine leaves your lips as you hide behind your hands, peeking at him from the spaces between your fingers. Your heart is racing a mile a minute and you feel like you can't breathe with the way he's staring at you. As if on instinct you shrug your shoulders, clearing your throat nervously as you calm your nerves.

“You're a shit liar,” he chuckles. He gently grabs your wrists, prying your hands away from your face, as your eyes look everywhere except at him.

“What, you not gonna stare anymore?”

“Hobie…” you whine throwing your head back with a giggle.

“That's my name. Don't wear it out now, yeah?”

Finally, your eyes land back on him and his beautiful face.

“Ah, there you are,” he says softly as he brushes a piece of hair out of your face.

You feel yourself getting lost in his facial features again before he snaps his fingers.

“Oi, don't go off in your own little world now. What's going on with you?”

A smile stretches across your lips.

“You're pretty,” you say quietly, almost as if you've never told him this before.

He smiles at you, his hands gently gripping your waist as he brings you close to him.

“Yeah?” he asks, a teasing tone lacing his deep voice.

You nod your head as your hands rest on his cheeks, gently caressing the skin.

“Should see yourself then. A real piece of art is what you are.”

Your giggles fill the room making him smile. He could listen to you laugh all day and never get sick of it.

“‘M serious Hobie!”

His brows furrow.

“Yeah, I am too. ‘M not one for labels but you're easily the most beautiful person I've ever seen. Besides myself of course.”

Your laugh fills his ears once more and he swears he can feel his heart skip a couple of beats, he's not sure how he's still alive right now. He places a kiss against your lips, smiling into the kiss when he feels you sigh happily and wrap your arms around him.

He pulls away looking at you with hooded eyes and gives you one more peck before he returns to the broken device that’s sitting in front of him.

“Just keep admiring me for a while, ‘m almost done here, love.”

You sigh happily, relaxing on the couch as your eyes scan over him once again. You're staring again. You know it, Hobie knows it too but he doesn't mind.

He never even had a problem with it in the first place.

[scarthefangirl]

A fix ~ Admit it Pt 2

Hobie Brown x fem!reader

Description: You and Hobie can't be together, its not canon. But he is determined to find a way. Part 1

Warnings: Language, Hobie breaking into your house lmao

Story type: Series

A/N: Sorry this is so short, comment or request if I should do a part three!! I know its not that good I'm sorry

Part 1 |

Masterlist | REQUESTS OPEN

I feel so small as Miguel stands here in his office, telling me off. I wish I could shrink away and disappear. I already know what a screw up I am.

"How am I supposed to fix this Y/N?" He screams and I let my warm tears stream down my face as I hiccup the tears away.

"I'm sorry." I whisper, unable to say anything else. He just stares at me with so much rage it makes me cry harder.

"I tried to help you! I tried to tell you. Now what am I to do?" He shouts but instead of yelling back, telling him I already know, or storming out I just run into his arms and cry into him. He is taken aback and doesn't reciprocate the hug.

"Y/N-" he starts but I just hug tigher. He sighs and loosely puts his arms around me, patting my head gently. Although he's very tense, I appreciate the pity hug.

"It's all my fault." I hiccup and pull away from him. I can't look him in the eyes, so I stare at the floor in shame.

"Listen, I like you kid. That's why instead of kicking you out I warned you again and again. But you messed up, I can't save you now." He says sharply and I try to suck in my sobs.

"There has to be something we can do." I tell him while breathing rapidly to keep in the sobs. "One kiss can't make my universe collapse." I try to convince him, but really myself. I love Hobie, but I didn't mean to end my life. My shoulders slump as I remember the kiss. It was so amazing, and I kick myself for getting butterflies just thinking about it.

"It can." He growls. I feel myself slump even further, sniffling.

"Please, I just want to date a boy and have my universe. Can't I have both?"

"No." He snaps. "I'm sorry but I'm going to have to ask for your watch Y/N."

"Please, don't! I promise I'll end everything with him. I won't do anything to jeopardize the arachno-humanoid poly multiverse," I say the name slowly, having a hard time recalling his name for it. Then I just plainly add, "Please,"

"Don't make this harder kid, hand me the watch and I'll walk you to the device that'll send you home. I have to figure out how to clean up your mess so you are now under an extended break.."

"Please Miguel, I need this job. This is like, all I have," I cry.

"You should've thought of that. Now hand it over, you are relinquished from your duties here."

I just stare at him for a bit. I can't do it. I can't give this up, it's my life. Saving people is what i do, and with this job I could save even more.

But, despite myself, hand over the device on my wrist and he sends me home.

I didn't even get to say goodbye to anyone.

~

I sit up in shock and jerk to the corner of my bed, having been suddenly woken up by someone shaking me. I pant, trying to catch my breath as I slowly register who is lurking around in my room in the dead of night.

Hobie Brown.

"What are you doing?!" I exclaim, still breathing heavily. My racing heart isn't just from surprise anymore, but also from his presence that I've been lacking for the last few days. Avoiding him was easier when I still saw him and worked with him.

"You haven't been at work for four days," He says blankly. He is looking right into my eyes and I look back, but I don't know how to explain. A cool breeze blows through the window that is open from Hobie's entry way. He's been to my apartment before, so I suppose he knows his way around.

"Wow, how observant," I roll my eyes but immediately feel a pang of guilt in my chest for the attitude. It is meant to be sarcastic but it just makes me sound bitchy. He glares at me and I feel myself melting under his stare. "What are you doing here? In my room, in the night time, scaring me half to death?" I ask. He shouldn't be here. We can't do this anymore, and really we never should have.

"You owe me an explanation." He replies plainly. I stare at him for a moment, eyes widened, before looking down at my lap and nervously play with my blanket.

"I know," I grimace. I scoot to the side of my bed and sit up completely then cross my legs so I'm sitting criss cross. He sits down next to me with his feet to the floor, staring at me. I feel my heart beating rapidly and a sinking feeling of guilt in my chest down to my stomach.

"I'm listening," He chuckles but something about it makes the sinking feeling worse, my stomach doing summersalts. I open my mouth to speak, but I can't find the words to explain. How can I make him understand? "Okay, I'll recap for you. You pretended not to like me than finally we kissed, than all a sudden Miguel is dragging you away and you're crying then you stop coming to work. Miguel told me to forget the kiss ever happened. But I can't. I love you Y/N, I'm sick of having to not say it. I can't forget and I don't want to so I'm not gonna."

I try poorly to hide my surprise at his sentiment. I want to tell him I love him back, and that I will find a way for us to be together. But I dorm want to prolong the suffering, I might as well rip the bandage off now. For both our sakes. So, I try my best to give a frank explanation.

"I broke my canon when we kissed, and I had been trying to avoid you because I knew that if the opportunity presented itself I wouldn't be able not to. And I was right. I wasn't able not to. Because I love you, but I'm not allowed to. Its not canon."

"Who gives a fuck about canon events?" He snorts and my eyes flicker up to meet his.

"Miguel says it'll destroy my universe. He wants to help me."

"If he wanted to help ya he wouldn't kick you out of the spider society for one bloody kiss," He says but I look at him wearily. "Look around Y/N, your universe is fine!"

"I messed up, I shouldn't have kissed you. I'm such a screw up," I say, tears threatening my eyes. I notice Hobie's gaze soften and he puts his hand on my leg, unintentionally sending electricity throughout my body.

"No you're not. Nobody cares about 'canon events' love. Your universe will be just fine no matter who you date or marry or kiss or whatever," He smiles in a comforting way. Did he say marry or did I just hear what I wanted to hear? But regardless, no. He's wrong. If you mess with the canon than the multiverse will suffer, and it's selfish of me to think I could be the exception. I push his hand off gently, even though it breaks my heart.

"I'm already on an 'extended break' from the spider society, and we all know what that means. I can't just throw my life away! My job is to protect these people, the people of my earth, not to risk their lives for personal gain." I explain, desperation filling my voice as I plead him to understand. "it's better to love each other from a distance."

"I refuse to accept that!" Hobie exclaims, crossing his arms against his chest. I can tell he had been in bed before coming here because of his ninja turtle pajama pants and a blue shirt with clearly home-cut cut off sleeves that reveal his toned arms, not that I noticed..

"I'm sorry," My glossy eyes fall to my fidgeting hands, and I jerk slightly in surprise when Hobie's hand grabs one of mine.

"I'm going to fix this Y/N, and we're going to be together. Trust me darling," Hobie says, placing a swift kiss on my forehead before standing up.

"Hobie-" I start but he cuts me off with a shake of his head. With that, he leaves out my open window and I stare at the window for at least five minutes. I don't know if I want him to come back and hold me and promise me everything will be okay, or leave and never come back so I can move on. I don't know if there's a way to fix things. I don't know what he can possibly do.

All I know, is I really want him to find a way.

~

I spend three excruciating weeks wondering, worrying, and wishing. When the one month mark hits, I finally give up most of my hope. He didn't find a way, or maybe he just moved on.

I have painfully carried on my responsibility of being spider woman around my city. I can't lie and say I do so joyfully, I do it begrudgingly. I know i should love my job, helping people and keeping my city safe, but everything reminds me of not just Hobie, but the whole spider society.

No spider people have contacted me, which I tell myself is for the best. Its hard to convince yourself that something so painful is the right thing, but whay else can I do? If I give myself time to sit and think about things, I'd be even more angry, sad, bitter, and I'd go into a funk. So instead, I spend hours and hours doing anything I can to distract myself. If I'm not going to lay in bed and immediately fall asleep than I'm not tired enough, because I'll lay and begin to think. When I start to think, I start to shut down.

Tonight was particularly exhausting. I yank my mask off, throwing it in my hamper. I take off the rest of the suit, leaving it on the floor as I sleepily stumble to the bathroom. Somehow I manage to shower, my hair thrown in a knotted and tangled messy bun. I throw on some fresh underwear and an oversized t-shirt. I brush my teeth lazily and then get into my bed. Immediately my eyes droop, falling into slumber. Before I can be deep asleep, my window is opened loudly and someone steps inside. I can hardly open my eyes I'm so sleepy, but I can make out Hobie Brown. His tall frame sends my heart plummeting and I roll over in bed, burying my face in my pillow. Maybe if I ignore him he'll leave.

"Y/N, im sorry its been so long." He apologizes and I just groan, still attempting to tune him out. I don't want to deal with this, as selfish as that seems it's true. I've spent a month trying not to think about him but really I have thought about it, and I love him and I think I always will. The longer we try to salvage it the worse it is for us.

"There was a lot of work stuff, and I didn't want to come see you without a fix," He says and all although I couldn't see him, he was grinning at me. Something about his words sparked the hope that I had tried to give up and I roll over so I'm staring up at the ceiling.

"But you're here, so do you have a fix?" I ask, my voice raspy from exhaustion. He jumps onto the bed next to me, laying down next to me on his back. We both gaze at the ceiling and I try not to be too hopeful.

"I do, honestly I can't believe you'd ever doubt me." He chuckles and my heart begins to beat quicker.

He found a way.

~

Part three?? Sorry this one was short!

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[gh0stsp1d3r]

Heyo! This may be a bit cringey but could I please please please request comparing hand sizes with Hobie Brown? Tysm if yes

so sorry it took me 3 months to finish this 😭 I’m trying to finish sum of my old stuff ): and i rewatched atsv and remembered how much I missed writing for Hobie

ℛ𝒾𝓃𝑔

“You wanna do what now?” He asked you with a quirked eyebrow, the corners of his mouth turned up slightly.

He laid on your bed, with his arms behind him.

"Please, Hobes," you whined. And how could he ever resist that?

He smiled, sitting up right across from you now.

He held his hand out, his large fingers and palms looked huge compared to your smaller ones when you put yours up.

He chuckled at it, and you smiled at it. It was cute, as much as he didn't wanna admit it.

He moved his fingers to interlock with your own, you both held hands and they fell in the middle of you both. Your fingers fiddled with the ring on his.

“So what was that whole thing for?” he asked, his voice interrupting the comfortable silence.

You shrugged. “I saw some other people doing it and wanted to see.”

“Mm. Got it.”

[eternalslover]

Can someone please tell me is Hobie Brown pronounced

[messylustt]

thinking about best friend?hobie who always has an arm looped around your neck, putting his whole body weight against your side until you’re forced to shove him off you. but he’d manage to tug you back by a grip to your clothes, his chin now resting against your shoulder, your back partially pressed against his front, as you’d chuckle, muttering “hobie, get off me”. he would choose not to hear you as his calloused fingers would move to play with hair. friendship pda would describe you both — just hobie — rather well. his sly touches he claims as ‘friendly’. it’s normal for a friend to kiss a friend on the neck. it’s normal for a friend to have you sit between his legs. all things normal, that are in fact far from it. that guy who had asked you out, suddenly can’t make it? hobie shrugs it off, saying what a dick he is, while simultaneously linking your fingers with his. he needs you close, especially after a hard mission. you’re his friend, you should kiss his cuts better. that’s what friends do. and if his hands begins to slip down to your inner thigh, your brows shouldn’t furrow like that, he’s a friend comforting you. and shh, yes his hand is moving lower, and yes he’s now leaving marks on your neck. marks everyone else can see. but no he doesn’t have a crush, and neither do you. you’re just best friends. and there’s nothing wrong with hobie’s touches. there’s nothing wrong with his lingering gazes. your best friend hobie. your close friend. don’t pay mind to labels even as his lips are nearing yours…

[bruisedboys]

thinking about hobie brown catching you staring at him … and then just being an absolute menace about it …..

he’s doing something so ordinary, just sitting on the couch, long legs spread in front of him (he manspreads all the time change my mind!!), watching some band play on tv while his fingers tap out the rhythm of the song on his thighs. you’re sitting across the room, supposedly watching tv too, but hobie can feel your eyes on him like two laser beams burning into the side of his head. he keeps his face neutral so you don’t know you’ve been caught until he pipes up,

“do I got somethin’ on my face, doll?” without pulling his eyes away from the tv.

he can sense your embarrassment from all the way across the room. from the corner of his eye he sees you whip your head round to face the tv as if you weren’t just ogling at him shamelessly. he guesses if he was to touch your face right now you’d be hot as a furnace.

“no,” you say weakly, guilty.

hobie laughs, a low teasing chuckle that he knows makes you flustered beyond measure. “really? ‘cos you’re lookin’ at me like’ve grown two heads.”

you stay silent and hobie finally pulls his eyes away from the tv to look at you. he’s rewarded with a very shy-looking you, sitting there with your hands all muddled in your lap and your eyes zeroed in on a patch of floorboard.

hobie grins. “c’mere, babe.”

you look up at him (finally), confused. “what?”

hobie knows you heard him just fine but says it again anyway. “c’mere,” he prompts, patting his thigh. “wanna talk to ya.”

you obey, maybe because you’re really bad at saying no to him. and anyway, hobie can’t talk, he never says no to you, either. you get up and cross the room sheepishly, stopping much too far away from his knees for his liking.

“closer,” he murmurs, lifting his torso off the couch cushions to reach forwards and take you by the hips, pulling you closer so you’re standing in between his legs.

hobie keeps his hands on your hips while you stare at a rip in his jeans and don’t say a word. hobie doesn’t mind. at least now you’re close enough he can see your pretty face clearly.

he sits up straight, almost eye height with you now, even though you’re standing and he’s sitting. he removes his hands from your hips in favour of your face, palms cupping your cheeks. he drags his thumbs under your eyes, your skin soft under his guitar-induced callouses.

“you’re so pretty,” he murmurs, cos you are, and he wants you to know he’d stare at you for hours if he thought you could take the attention.

you make an embarrassed sort of noise that makes hobie laugh. you’re adorable. he needs you closer immediately.

without giving you any warning he hooks one hand underneath your thigh and pulls. you fall not so gracefully into his lap, your weight pressed against him, almost chest to chest. you squeal at the sudden change in position. hobie just smiles, satisfied.

“hobie!” you gasp.

hobie ignores your scolding, if you can even call it that.

“that’s better,” he says, using one ringed finger to trace your jaw. he ends at your chin and hooks his finger under it to get you to look him in the eye. you’ve visibly melted under his touch, your body lax on top of his, eyelids fluttering, and it’s so lovely hobie almost regrets what he says next. “now, you wanna tell me why you were starin’ so hard, love?”

you groan and drop your forehead to his shoulder, hands gripping his waist for dear life as if that will save you from his teasing. it won’t. but hobie knows you don’t really mind it as much as you let on.

[moralesluvr]

Ok but hobie being reaaally whipped for his gf 😩😩

attached at the hip ft. hobie brown

♡ pairings & aus: clingy!hobie brown x black!fem!reader ♡ summary: just our fav boy loving on us ♡ warnings: none! just fluff ♡ a/n: thanks for your request!! it’s a little short though! ♡ got a request? | masterlist ♡

HOBIE BROWN WAS OBSESSED WITH YOU.

There was honestly no other way to put it.

He didn’t even mean to fall for you, much less have such an attachment to you— but he couldn’t stop. Ever since he had met you and you started hanging around him and his mates more, he found himself falling harder and harder each day.

It started off with simple ‘Hello’s when you saw him at his shows. Sometimes you would be in the crowd, watching him passionately play his guitar. A smirk would be etched on your face as you watched him, his gaze catching yours every once and a while.

Other times he would see you sitting at the bar with a drink in your hand, talking to one of the waitresses sweetly. He knew he was falling hard for you when you came in one night in a little black dress with one your friends, dancing in the crowd. He eventually mustered up the courage to come up to you and ask you out, and ever since, you have been completely inseparable.

Which, even if you wanted to, it would be nearly impossible to get away from your boyfriend. He loves spending time with you even if it’s just a walk in the park or taking a nap in his bed after one of his shows.

In real time, he was cuddled up on your chest while you read one of your favorite books aloud. He was playing with the hem of your shirt as you spoke, looking up at you occasionally when a word would roll nicely off your tongue.

He loved the sound of your voice. You could literally say just about anything and he would swoon— he just felt as if he was at home when he heard you speak. Especially when you spoke about him.

“You’re so pretty, love.” He told you, his eyes glossed over with affection as you rubbed his back. He liked to be vulnerable with you and you let him, but what you loved even more was that he was comfortable enough to be like that for you.

You giggled at his statement as you closed your book,”Thank you handsome. You wanna grab a bite to eat? Maybe go out?”

“I was thinkin’ we just stay home, eat some Chinese, and watch a movie, yeah? That sound good?”

“Very good.” You smiled, kissing your boyfriend on his cheek as you pulled him closer to you in your embrace.

You were so very lucky to have him.

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦 ☻ thank you for reading!

𝐒𝐏𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐑-𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐄 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓🕷️: @queenesther996 //@sukunas-slutty-bitch // @c3f21 // @wydney // @rinnyisnothere // @brieryann // @moisttowllet // @Dee-m-cee // @liliummz // @starhrtz // @daisydark // @randomhoex // @solanawrld // @whore4hobie

𝐇𝐎𝐁𝐈𝐄 𝐁𝐑𝐎𝐖𝐍 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 🎸: @lipstickstainedshells // @Dee-m-cee // @euphorichappiness10 // @adoree-kaelynn // @leycondones // @allex560

[autumn-hiraeth]

All I Want ( after the canon event)

Hobie brown x reader

Angst. Headcanons. Slight fluff.

Summary: If Hobie could see you once more, he could die a happy man.

a/n: You can find more here “ Hobie's masterlist”.

Hobie forget how to breathe when he sees you again, well, he's not really seeing his Y/n , but a variant from his own universe that he didn't even know existed. It's been two years since he lost you, the guilt he carries on his shoulders is so heavy that he can hardly live.

He still remembers Lyla saying "Canon event completed", Miguel trying to get him away from your cold body and the screams of his friends. Everyone says home is where his heart is, but his is buried. So if anyone were paying attention would know by the way he's breathing at any moment Hobie is going pass out

And luckily, you are that person, you see that he's about to breakdown and Hobie is so confused and wants to throw up that he doesn't realize that you're approaching him.

"Are you alright mate?" as soon as he hears your voice, he swears he might pass out, but once again you're there to hold him, just like your version of the other side of the universe did. And the feeling is so intense that Hobie swears the world has stopped.

Hobie looks at you, he wants to memorize your face in case this is one of his many dreams where you are with him, alive. The way he's looking at you doesn't scare you 'cause it seems the handsome stranger you're holding the hand of knows you, but it's impossible because you'd never forget such a pretty face.

"You look like someone I knew" his voice cracks when he speaks. "And where is she now?" “died” a tear falls from his cheek and your heart breaks for the stranger crying in front of you, you've never been in a situation like this, so you awkwardly wrap your arms around his long body, your head is against his chest and he sobs before wrapping you, pulling you closer to his body, wanting to feel your warmth once more, your body alive against him.

"I'm sorry" you lament his loss, whispering against his chest and he hums. Hobie holds you in his arms for what seems like an eternity, but as soon as he lets you go he wants to have you back against his body.

He looks at you with such intensity that you can't help but feel warm. "I'm Hobie, Hobie Brown" "I'm Y/N L/N" you say smiling and Hobie bites his tongue to keep from saying out loud "I know."

[bloomingdog]

𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐑𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐬 — 𝐇𝐨𝐛𝐢𝐞 𝐁𝐫𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐱 𝐅𝐥𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐭!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

data: your basic florist au, bit of angst, identity reveal, all that stuff. 4k words, no use of Y/N.

You know him, you know what the looks like at the very least. Once a week—the day never stays the same—him and a group of other instrument-carrying people go into the small venue in front of your shop at nine in the evening, an hour after closing the shop, when you’re about to head home. One early morning, out of curiosity, you checked the schedules adhered and covering the roller shutter in a poor attempt to find who this mysterious guy was. You found no useful information in that regard, you did foind, however, that the club opened at ten and most concerts held there started at least half an hour later. With that new gathered intel your best guess was that they came early to get everything set or a rather quick sound-check.

The venue is on one of the corners that limit the four way pedestrian crossing, the two corners on either side both hold pubs, and diagonally there’s you. “For the Roses” is a name given by its old owner, a sweet lady—and Joni Mitchell fan—you had worked for since you were seventeen, and four years later she had decided it was time to retire. For the last five months it’s been just you, it was easier to take care of it when you were two people working, that much is true, but having to close the shop has given you staring privileges. Years ago, when you first started working here the placement of the shop seemed rather odd, between clubs, pubs and the many other forms of amusement, this, however, was a strategical position. A big part of the clientele consisted of repenting boyfriends and enamoured halves of a first date, and they kept the business afloat.

You recognise him the moment he walks in.

“Hello! How may I help you?” The clock ticks away the last minutes before closing as you try to put on your cheeriest voice.

“Hi, sorry about comin’ in so late. My mate’s playing a gig, I just want some flowers to throw on stage, whole dramatics and all.” His voice is smooth with only the slightest rasp to it. He’s a fun last client.

“Do you want the classic roses then?”

“Nah don’t bother, give me the leftovers.” There are one or two extra cuttings and a bouquet that never got picked up you wouldn’t mind getting rid of. 

You excuse yourself to pick out the best leftover flowers you could in an attempt to make a half-decent bouquet. He’s oggling your shop, he’s particularly eye-catching inside your light coloured, slightly old-fashioned establishment. He likes it there, it’s cosy, the floors are filled with different types of flower arrengements and the walls display an amalgamation of different decorations gathered throughout the years, his inspection is only interrupted by your coming back behind the counter.

“Here, I tried to make it as cohesive as I could.”

“It’s alright, love, it’s gonna get thrown anyway.” Oh, that pet name went straight to your chest.

“It felt unprofessional not to give you at least a small sample of my usual, better, quality.” He gave a side smile as a response.

“How much do I owe you?”

“It’s on the house, no worries, I wouldn’t make you pay for only scraps.”

“That’s quite nice, take this as a tip, then.” He slid a twenty pound note on the counter, right before turning around a saying his goodbyes with a single wave of his hands.

Spinning the sign at the glass door so it reads “Closed” you turn to sweeping the floor and leaving your workplace as neat as possible, you hum along to the song playing from your phone on the counter. The 20 dollars he gave you felt a bit too much, not that you’re going to complain, not with the cost of everything, a flower shop isn’t a luxurious job to have, so it’s much appreciated. 

Drawing the curtain-like metal you spot a group of people walking into the club, one of them must be his friend.

A mere day later, he’s back, making the dainty bells above the door chime.

“Hello! Got another show you need to throw flowers at?” You quip and he chuckles.

“Nah. Only wanted to get actual flowers to have a good reason to ask you out.” He’s confident, maybe overly so, and Hobie is well aware of that, it’s not often that his confidence fails him, though. You look surprised before laughing, it’s ridiculous.

“And what were you thinking of getting?”

“I was hoping you could recommend me something.”

“Roses are usually the go-to flower, although I much prefer freesias.”

“Sick, I’d like a single freesia, please.” He says it in an overly polite manner, the whole situation is laughable.

“That’ll be two pounds.” You say as you hand him the flower.

“Here you go.” You mutter a thank you for an answer. “My band’s playing tonight, at ten, just on the other street, you could come and we could get a drink after.”

No way you’re attending a club on a Wednesday night, with a stranger nonetheless. 

“Sure.” 

“Sweet, I’ll see you. My name’s Hobie by the way.”

And it sounds like proper fun, really.

You’ve managed to avoid the biggest wave of people going home during rush hour and, thankfully, your ride home is as pleasant as the tube allows it to be and yet, you’re restless. His invite plays around in your mind. He’s handsome, that’s for sure, and it would satiate your curiosity on the other side it would also make you tired for work the next day, you’re too old for that, you think and softly laugh at your own joke. The walk home gives you time to ponder on wasted opportunities and the best years of your life, your flat instead greets you with the promise of a reheated dinner and an eight-hour-long sleep which for a moment makes you think about ditching him. 

The commute back feels longer than it usually does. You ate in a rush and got ready far too fast after your flatmate complained about needing to use the bathroom. Your phone marks 10:05PM, fashionably late. You’re thankful the show hasn’t started by the time you sit by the bar, ordering a beer. You still haven’t decided if it’s brave or cocky to ask someone out to your own show.

The whirring of a guitar being plugged signals the beginning of the show.

“Hello, we’re The Spider-Slayers! One two three!” Is your only warning before they start playing. They’re quite good, you have to admit, Hobie, as you’ve recently learned he’s named, exudes power and confidence while on stage, he’s rather skilled. It’s enjoyable, half of the audience is too plastered—it's only ten in the evening—to pay attention to the actual music and are merely glad to have a loud noise playing for them, but they’re well-liked, no doubt an established part of the community. It passes faster than you had anticipated, not even an hour later he’s walking your way while another band prepares to play.

He’s sweaty as he sits down and orders a rum and coke, he looks at you questioning if you also want one. “Make it two.” He indicates the bartender. “Did you like it?” 

He’s tall but not intimidating in the slightest, the metal in his face a contrast to all of his warm side smiles. 

“Yes!” You’re quick to answer. “It was really nice, you guys are good.” He fully smiles at the compliment, he’s got a pretty smile.

“Thanks. I forgot to ask your name earlier, sorry about that.”

“No worries, it’s Y/N.”

“Pretty.” It’s flirty. 

“Did your mate like the flowers?” You ask as the man behind the bar hands you your drinks.

“Totally, made a mess on stage and everything. She was grateful, seriously, funny and praising in equal parts, the bouquet was beautiful too, such a shame it ended like that.” You laugh at that. “How’s it working at a flower shop?”

“Good, actually, better than one good expect, I’d say it’s one of the better retail jobs out there.”

“Seems hard.”

“It is at the beginning, you should’ve seen some of my first arrangements, they were bloody awful, I’m still wondering how we didn’t get any complaints.” It’s Hobie’s turn to laugh.

“You’ve made some improvement then, your shop’s beautiful.” You beam and thank him, you’re proud of the way it’s looking these days. “How’d you end up working there? Do you need a degree to be a florist?”

“Not really, no. I’ve taken a couple courses but for the most part I was trained by my old boss.”

“Hm.” He nods. “Strange place to set up a flower shop, innit? I see you closing all the time and wonder who in their right mind would think of opening it at a nightlife epicenter.” Good to know you’re not the only observer.

“You’d think so! We get a lot of our clientele thanks to that, not all flower shops open until eight either way. Flowers make both great apologies and gifts, you can only imagine the kind of people who walk in there.”

“What, like me?” 

“No way, I’d put you in the normal bunch.” He quirks an eyebrow, an invitation to tell him more about yourself. And that you do. You talk for the two hours that the club remains open, he’s fun, you’re both chatty, you’ve got a multitude of things in common, he tells you about his bandmates, you exchange numbers, he’s a cat person by the way. 

“You want me to walk you home?” The underground closed an hour ago, it wasn’t that big of a trek to your place, you could say yes if not for the stranger—acquaintance—danger middle school talks flashing in your memory. The bus, though taking longer than the tube, was still an option.

“It’s fine, really. I’d rather take the bus.” 

“Got it, I can wait with you if you’d like.” Yeah, yeah, you’d like that. The two of you walk close to each other to the nearest stop. The pavement is damp, it gives you another reason to be glad that you wore your trusty old, slightly dirty, converse instead of a more sophisticated option.

“Thank you for inviting me, I had a nice time, you’re fun.”

“So are you, love.” How could an overused term like that have such a big effect on you when he says it remains a mystery.

You sit in a comfortable silence until the right bus gets there and as you bid your goodbyes you’re unable to contain the big smile you give him, blame it on the drinks. You send him a quick text noticing him that you got home safe and sound before falling into deep sleep.

Your phone rings and vibrates from the bedside table, it always goes off at the same time and yet today it manages to scare you awake. The trip to the bathroom and coffee making is accompanied by a string of curses: music, bad choices, the opening hours of your business and pretty boys all fall victim to your vulgarities. The lack of proper sleep makes your day go by twice as slowly, nodding off and almost missing your stop and doomscrolling during work hours to pass the time, even turning to reading an article from The Daily Bugle, it’s laughable, it’s says something something Spider-Man, something juvenile delinquent something menace for the city.

The chime of little bells half an hour before closing wakes you up better than your alarm had done earlier in the day. Looking up from your phone you spot the same bright eyes and confident stroll that kept you company last night.

“You need to stop coming in right before closing.” You scold him. You’re confident he’s aware that it’s an invitation for him to keep showing up.

“My bad. Do you like food?”

“I-What?” Indeed, what? “I like food, yes.”

“Peng. You want to grab dinner?” And he also needs to stop proposing last-minute plans.

“Where?”

“What do you fancy?”

“Thai?”

“Sure.” 

“I close in half an hour, you can stay here if you want.” Not that you’re expecting any more costumers.

He asks if he can help with anything and you hand him the broom and dustpan that hangs in the back of the shop, he laughs and takes it as payment for having you get out earlier. The floors aren’t dirty per se, it’s mostly leaves and bits of cutting that have fallen. He sweeps while you get everything ready for tomorrow and put away what’s been used today. Half an hour later you hang your work apron and close the shutters. 

There’s a nice restaurant a couple blocks away you’ve got food to-go from before. You order a spicy noodle soup, khanom jeen nam ngiaw, and he settles for stir-fry noodles. It’s good, warm and comforting, you take a bite from his plate and he follows suit with a spoonful of your broth. The conversation picked up while cleaning and it has yet to die down, he tells you about his hobbies—you can't help to make fun of him by saying Hobie's hobbies—and you share your love for museums with him, ‘We should visit one.’ he says to which you agree in excitement. 

You don’t let go of his hand until your bedroom door is closed and you softly push him into bed. Taking only a short break to take off both of your shoes you don’t waist time in straddling him, his hands on your hips as you return to kissing. Soft moans mark the tempo for your exploring hands and you stare at his bare abdomen with much less shame than you think you should have. His hands are slightly calloused and scarred, it doesn’t matter with how skilled they are. It feels like you’re drowning in him, you hope he feels half as good as he’s making you feel, if his breathless mutters of ‘fuck’ and ‘good girl’ are any indicator you can pat yourself on the back after it’s over.

The dinner is paid for, the night chilly compared to the warmth inside the restaurant. He offers to walk you home again, this time you agree because you’re no longer strangers, right? You make it half of the way before puts his hand on your lower back, you don’t make an effort to move it, it’s comfortable.

You make it three quarters of the way until you start kissing, your back against the wall of a mildly busy street, you feel like a horny teenager. You climb up the stairs to your flat two-steps at a time, your hand holding his and praying that your flatmate has confined herself to her room so you don’t have to introduce one to the other, not right now at least.

The morning after your alarm not only scares you awake but it also makes him sit up in bed with a jolt.

“Sorry.” Sleep is still evident in your voice.

“S’okay.” He replies before giving you a chaste kiss on the lips, you don’t think either of you wants to deal with each other’s morning breath, it’s a tad early for that.

You offer him breakfast. Your flatmate has left for work but she won’t forgive you if you don’t tell her of last night’s events. At least it won’t make this morning awkward, or more awkward than it already is, it happens with first breakfasts: sleepy, a mess, cranky from waking up, it’s not anyone’s best look. 

You take the underground while he chooses to walk home, it’s not crazy far away from yours, apparently. In the meantime, the work day is spent looking up frantically every time the bells over your door chime, hoping that it will be him at some point. He does come over, at ten past eight, and he has to knock on the door to catch your attention. Your strange arrangement goes on for the better part of the next two months, he comes over when you’re about to close, you eat together multiple times per week, he’s quite a skilled at making exactly seven different dishes, he invites you to his shows and you’ve met his bandmates, you’ve had every cliché date imaginable: the park, the cinema, the natural history museum, markets, the full deal. You don’t call them dates though, you’re not a couple even with all the kissing and sleeping together—literally and figuratively—he’s told you he doesn’t like labels, but he’s being exclusive with you so you’re okay with it. 

He shows up with little cuts and bruises, you attributed to being clumsy at first but it’s become more common lately, he excuses it as a protest that went south, a moshpit or just a friendly scuffle with his mates. It doesn’t ease your nerves. But you're soon to forget all about it once you’re outside, walking hand in hand and sharing headphones, he’s incorporated bits and pieces of your music to his playlist and he makes sure to show you the songs he thinks you’ll like first than anything.

Your phone lights up with a text notification from Hobie, he’s coming over soon. It shouldn’t be, but it reads as ominous, he doesn’t usually tell you in advance and would rather showing up unannounced.

“Hey pet.” He greets, it’s his latest nickname for you, you’ve always thought it ridiculous but he’s making you grow fond of it.

“Hi Bee” An animal-related nickname you gave him after he tried calling you ‘duck’ that has stuck. “You want to do something or should we head home?”

“Home’s fine, I’m tired.” It’s fair, he’s always running around doing things, you’re okay with a night in. 

He sweeps the floor, it’s his assigned task, you feel bad but he says he doesn’t mind and likes helping you. The ride back to your place is quieter than usual, he seems pensive. You’re about to open the door to your building when you notice him stuck a meter away.

“Are you okay?” Your heart is picking up speed.

“Listen, love.” Oh no. “I don’t know if it’s a good idea for me to come up.” You’re on the second and final step of the stairway while he’s at ground level, he looks smaller than he’s ever been. “I’ve had a lot of fun, really, but I don’t think I can go on with our thing, you know? I’m not good at commitment anyway.” Your lack of a response get’s him speaking again. “I’m truly sorry, I just don’t wanna go on with this and end up hurtin’ you.”

“Okay.” Is the only thing your brain is able to formulate.

“Okay.” He replies. “I’ll be leaving now.” He says as he kisses your temple, turning around and giving you a single wave of the hand for a goodbye.

You feel the tears beginning to fill up your eyes, your vision blurry, at least you were able to hold them until he left, it’s already embarrassing as it is. You don’t bother re-heating dinner that night, choosing to go straight to bed and waking up with puffy eyes in the morning. For the first time in a while you’re sure you won’t have any visits at work, it’s terrible. You feel stupid. He told you enough about himself to know that the two of you weren’t in for a long-term relationship and still you held onto some sort of hope of being an exception. 

That was two weeks ago. You’ve seen him two times since, while leaving for home. He waves your way and you wave back, out of politeness more than anything. Two weeks of radio silence that break your established routine and fill you with a sense of expectation during the last hours of work. 

It’s nine-twenty on a Sunday, it’s usual for you to stay until late at the end of your work week, Hobie knew that and would make sure to keep you company and take you home those days. The early November weather has made it so it’s already been dark for hours, the city is rather calm, you don’t suppose there’s much to do on a cold November night. A series of knocks on the door alerts you of the presence of someone outside, it startles you as you hold the broom you were using against your chest.

Nothing could have prepared you for the sight outside the door. Spider-Man was doubling down and leaning against the glass of your shopfront, electric guitar strapped across him and hanging in his back, clad in his usual metal decorations while his suit had been torn. You let him in a hurry, it’s not ideal to have an idol of the working class dead on your welcome mat. He limps to the back of the shop, in your current state of panic you don’t stop to wonder how he knows the way so well, until he’s sitting on the floor and leaning against one of the walls, guitar forgotten besides him. You follow him and crouch at his side just in time for him to take off his mask. 

“Fuck off.”

“Hi pet.”

You were so excited to be done with work and head home to watch a film, lucky for you, your ex-situationship still has a habit of coming in right before you leave. 

“Bloody hell Hobie.” 

“Please don’t be shocked right now, we can talk about it tomorrow.” He can’t be serious. “I’m knackered.” I wonder why, you think. He looks like proper shit.

“Hobie you’re bleeding.” You’re trying your best to be helpful and not panic.

“It’s fine love, it’ll heal in no time, I kinda have superpowers.” You’re choosing to ignore that and get up to retrieve your first aid kit, it’s far too basic to be useful right now, only equipped to help with cuts and minor injuries.

You can feel his eyes on you and your whole body is shaking as you kneel by his side. You try your best to keep your hands steady while pouring rubbing alcohol into a cotton pad.

“You don’t have to, I’ll be fine.”

“Let me clean it, please, so it doesn’t get infected.” He lets you, wincing at the alcohol making contact with his open injuries. He knows you're doing it more for yourself than him. “Sorry.” He shakes his head as a way of saying ‘no worries’.

You reach for his face with your bare hand once you’ve considered him clean enough, you cradle his cheek and can’t hold your tears from spilling.

“This is why I cut thing off with you, you know? Don’t wan’ you getting hurt.”

“I don’t care.”

“Don’t say that.” He pleads. 

“What about you getting hurt? Does that not matter?” He laughs and winces right after.

“You’re a sweet thing. I don’t have a choice but you do.”

“And what if my choice is to stand by your side?”

“You can’t.”

“Yes I do!” You’re reaching tour breaking point and can’t help but raise your voice. “I didn’t know I loved you as much as I do until these last weeks without you. It’s been torture.”

“It’s been torture for me too.” His words soften you, and it’s only then you realize what you said, you don’t dare acknowledge them, maybe he didn’t notice or the head trauma will make him forget it.

You’re crying now and it feels awful because you should be the one comforting him, he’s hurt not you. He holds you as you shake and places a kiss to your head.

“Can we sleep here?” He asks once you’ve calmed down. The tile floor is anything but comfortable and still you nod yes.

You fix a make-shift bed consisting of your bunched up jumper and apron for pillows and your big coat, that barely covers his upper body, for a blanket. Not that it matters, you chose to turn the radiator up and it’s hard to get cold while curled up to a human heater. You’re careful while laying with him, both out of fear of hurting him and prudence of this hurting you even more. He doesn’t care and brings you closer, your head on his chest and his hand drawing shapes on your back over your clothes, you can’t help but worry about the state of his back in the morning. 

You find sleep easier than you have since your “break-up”, his rhythmic breathing lulls you and his caresses calm you down. You’re in the before-falling-asleep-limbo when you hear his voice, he says “I love you too” like a confession secret, you’re not sure if you were even supposed to hear it. It’s too late for you to react, his words mix with the beginning of your dreams into a spiralling nonsense.

🕷 i really enjoyed writing this! i was thinking of maybe doing a part 2? tell me your thoughts if you dont mind too! i haven't written anything that isnt academic in years and i feel rusty

[b0n3sa11d4ll]

Hobie with praise kink 👌👌👌

He's the go to babysitter for Mayday as well, a role he takes very seriously. He teaches her to say funny things with a British accent, he reads her stories and he creates her own mini battle jacket with acab on the back in building blocks!

*Hobie reading to Mayday and pointing to the pictures*

The cow says moo!

The butterfly don't say nuffink'

The pig says you have the right to remain silent.

this would happen for sure. And we all know Hobies the go to babysitter, he’s just so good at it!

The battle vest he made, Peter was not too happy about it, but he found it cute.

“Wha- Did you seriously put acab on my child’s jacket?”

“What of it?” Hobie threw her up and down.

“Hobie.. she’s like 2. She’s not calling anyone a bastard-“

Anyways he still found it cute, he just let Hobie keep it for whenever he watched her.

“You wanna read a story, May?” He asked her one day when she handed him a book. It had a bunch of pictures of animals on it.

He flipped through the animals.

“The rooster says cock-a-doodle-do, the cow says moo, the buttafly don’t say nothin” he flipped the page to a pig.

“And the pig says you have the right to remain silent!” He said, loudly, slightly scaring mayday. She jumped and then she giggled at Hobie, making him smile.

[aweina]

suggestive warning !!┊more spiderverse content.

hobie after sex was always a sight to see. his chest glistening with sweat, rising up and down from his ecstatic heartbeat. silver body piercings that are usually hidden are now in full display, glittering under the dim lighting. his rhythmic panting playing like a intoxicating song. the neat, black eyeliner that was drawn under his eyes now melted down his cheeks. “looks li’ we’re matchin’ babe.” hobie would lazily mumble, gently wiping off the ink-stained tears off your flushed face. he’s gracefully sprawled on the bed, limbs long and aching. the silk covers draping over him like he was a nude painting. and the thing is, hobie knew he looked good — rightfully so. “still starin’? i was jus’ on top of you, the view not good enough?”

© aweina : please do not copy, repost, or modify any of my content.