#hobie brown x trans reader

[kortsitron]

Corruption

✮ PARING Hobie Brown × Trans Male! Reader

✮ WARNINGS/TAGS reader realizes he's trans, pre-transition reader, religious themes, christianity, fluff, angst, supportive! hobie, reader is referred to as a girl/daughter in some moments, hobie and reader are both young adults, gender dysphoria, toxic parents, abuse, transphobia, cursing, reader is referred by she/her by his parents, happy ending

✮ SUMMARY A stranger comes to your town and helps you realize who you are

✮ A/N  If you know me, you probably know my opinion on Christianity and religion in general, but I won't lie, I kinda like the religious themes. Especially when it's about being taken out of it and realizing that the world has so much to offer once you leave it. I guess it's my type of thing since I have been raised as a catholic little ‘girl’ and now I hate religion with pure passion after having it shown down my throat for years when I was younger. One more thing, if you're not comfortable, please do not read this. I am aware there are people who can be triggered by any of the things mentioned in the warnings/tags. If you decide to read this, I hope you're going to enjoy it! <3

In a way inspired by confessions by @eyesxxyou

ao3 masterlist requests

You were such a perfect girl in everyone's eyes. Always so nice and polite, obedient towards your parents, in church every Sunday. You were so feminine, so lovely. Always wore those pretty dresses and skirts of yours, along with the necklace with virgin Mary on your pretty neck. And your gorgeous long hair. You were a perfection to everyone around you.

But you didn't feel perfect in the slightest.

You felt so wrong for some reason you couldn't quite name. Your body felt like a cage you couldn't get out of and you didn't know why. All you knew was that you wanted to cut your hair, hide your body under some baggy clothing and yell at everyone who called you a girl. But obviously you couldn't do that, no matter how much you wanted to. You didn't want people to look at you weirdly, to call you a freak. 

So you decided to stay quiet, knowing that nothing was going to change because you were too scared to do it on your own. Scared of judgment and scared of being abandoned. 

All you did was pray that your sinful fantasies would simply go away. But instead of them going away, something else happened. Like the prayers from the depth of your heart have been heard and finally answered.

You saw him after the Sunday mass, as you were standing next to your mother while she was talking with someone else. He was nothing like you've ever seen before. Those piercing glistening in the sunlight just like the spikes on his vest. The distressed pants with patches and chains. And those heavy boots. He was the definition of perfection, definitely not to those around you, but for you without a doubt.

You have caught eye contact with that beautiful stranger. His stunning brown eyes stared into yours as he smirked at you. He probably thought you were just a pretty girl, you assumed. After all, why would he think differently?

“Do not look at him.” Your mother scolded you, grabbing you by your shoulder and turning you to face her. You could see the disgust on her face. You’ve never seen her with that kind of grimace on her face. “I do not want to see you near him. I can already tell he's no good.”

She didn't say it, but you could already tell she saw him as the embodiment of everything that was sinful. And the last thing she wanted was her precious daughter to stray from God's path.

You glanced at the punk for the last time before your mother said that you were going home. He still watched you. He wasn't sure what it was about you that made him want to get to know you. But something inside him told him that you needed him.

Since then you saw him around the town, but you didn't dare to come close to him. You felt a rush of excitement in your stomach every time you saw him, saw that smirk of his. You didn't have anyone who excited you the way he did. But he indeed did excite you, but you couldn't even talk to him, being scared your parents might yell at you.

Everything changed when you were peacefully reading the bible on the bench next to the church. It was so warm and sunny, so you picked a spot under a tree. Your hair was made into a long braid that was getting more loose without you noticing. 

You then heard someone sit next to you. You looked up from the bible to see him. That beautiful punk, smirking at you shamelessly. He looked even better up close. 

“Hello, luv. I'm Hobie.” His voice was lower than you thought it would be. But it sounded so good, so smooth you could almost melt. His eyes looked from your face to the bible you held your hand, then back to your face. You started wondering what was on his mind. “What's your name, hmm?”

You bashfully told him your name. You weren't sure how to act. Was he expecting you to pretend to be this perfect girl everyone perceived you as? Or maybe he was finally someone that could let you be yourself? Either way, you were scared to find out.

He chuckled at your bashful reaction. Your cheeks got pink so quickly. You were just so adorable. And so… innocent. But you had a feeling he could see right through you. See that all of this was just a facade and under all of it, there was a real you, trying to get to the surface. Trying to be free.

“Have you ever listened to punk rock?” Hobie asked out of nowhere. You blinked. You? Listening to loud, unapologetic music? You could never do that. At least not without worrying about being judged.

Finally you shook your head and his smirk widened. “Darlin’, we have to change that immediately.” He saw you shake your head even more. 

You heard about punk rock. The unapologetic and loud music for brutal men who have abandoned God's ways and all the rules. At least that's what you have been told by your mother. “They are good for nothing but corrupting the minds of pretty girls like you. And I cannot let that happen.” She told you and you wondered if Hobie was that type of punk. The type to ruin you and corrupt you.

“I-I can't. I am not allowed to listen to that kind of music.” You looked down at the bible in your hands, you couldn't look Hobie in the eyes. You expected him to think you were weird for not being allowed to listen to what you wanted. But all you wanted was to avoid conflict.

Hobie's face went from confusion to smirk again. “Oh please. I can see that there's a little rebel hidden behind those pretty innocent eyes.” So he indeed could right through you.

You nervously played with your hair, wanting to both agree and refuse. And in a quick moment, your beautiful braid was untied. “Oh no.” You watched your hairband fall onto the grass. Hobie noticed it too. He moved and grabbed it, quickly cleaning it off from all the dirt. “Allow me.” He spoke so softly. You weren't sure if you should allow him to touch you in any way, but he just wanted to help you tie your hair, right? 

You decided not to overthink it, sitting with your back facing him, so he could tie your hair. You didn't expect it, but he was so gentle with your hair. No harsh hair pulling. His fingers parted your hand so nicely before he began to braid it. You almost melted.

And soon, you had your pretty braid again. Not as perfect as you could have done it, but it was still really nice. “Thank you so much, Hobie.” You said quietly before excusing yourself and saying you had to go. His eyes softened, he only nodded, asking if he could talk to you again. “I hate to say it, but I can't be seen with you.” 

Hobie sighed, his fingertip tapped at his lip ring, he seemed lost in thoughts. “And if we meet in secret?” He looked down at you, you were so short compared to him. “You can come over to my place, no one will know you were with me and I could show you some of my world.” He spoke so proudly when he mentioned introducing you to his world. And even though you technically shouldn't be meeting him, you were more than curious. So you agreed at last.

Obviously, someone saw you with Hobie. Your parents weren't proud of you for talking to him. You had no other choice than to lie, just like you did when it came to who you really felt about yourself. 

Yes, I like this dress. 

Yes, I like those shoes.

Yes, my hair is so pretty when it's so long.

Yes, I am a girl.

You had to lie, even though you wish you didn't have to. But you hoped that at the end of the day, when you were praying before going to sleep, God would forgive you for lying to everyone around you. He would understand, right?

So, as always, you lied, telling your parents that Hobie asked for some help because he was a newcomer and didn't know the town very well. Your parents weren't happy you talked to him, but knew, or at least believed, you were too good and polite to refuse to help him. They didn't think twice about it, allowing you to go to your room. They didn't mention Hobie braiding your hair, so you just assumed they didn't know about it, so you decided not to mention it either. It was better to keep your mouth shut.

You were careful when the day of visiting Hobie came. You told your parents that you went to study the bible at your friend's house. They didn't suspect a thing. You made sure no one could see you as you made your way to Hobie's apartment. And soon enough, you were in front of the door of his apartment.

You knocked lightly, heard the sound of locks being unlocked and then the door finally opened. You saw Hobie and he looked at you with that same softness like the last time. But this time he rubbed one eye with a cotton pad. You had a look of confusion on your face when you saw that.

“Come in, luv.” He moved so you could come inside, but instead of looking around, you watched him.

“Are you… wiping off your makeup?” The question sounded so stupid in your mind. Men weren't wearing makeup… right?

Hobie chuckled softly before going to the bathroom to wipe the makeup off more precisely in front of the mirror. You saw a few small eyeshadow palettes with bright eyeshadow in them, along with eyeliner and even two lipsticks. Even you didn't own that much makeup, you barely had any makeup since your parents didn't want you to paint your face like a whore.

“Yeah. I have been to a small party outside the town, so I wanted to look me best.” Hobie explained, before throwing a dirty pad into the bin. He then turned to you, it was obvious that you never saw a man wearing makeup before. You've never seen someone like him before. He allowed himself to check you out, you had a long skirt and a cute top that matched the skirt so well. “I am guessing you never wore the kind of makeup I usually go for?”

His hand grabbed one of the eyeshadow palettes and gave it to you, so you could see the inside better. You didn't think much and opened it. You hand one makeup palette and it was mostly light browns, one a little more glittery eyeshadow and two light pinks. But Hobie’s? It was so colorful. Red, blue, green and yellow. All of them so bright and pigmented.

He smiled when he saw your reaction, he felt excitement in his stomach. You looked stunned. “Why don't I finally show you that punk rock?” He left the bathroom and you followed him. His apartment was a little messy. Posters on every wall, some chokers and other jewelry scattered in some places and some clothes laying around. But his room was even better. It was so… him. You could see the room scream Hobie. Even more posters, a guitar. It might have been a little messy, but it had so much character.

Hobie moved to the old cd player and in the matter of seconds, the loud music played. Black Flag on full volume. At first you weren't sure what to think, but soon, you started loving it. You stopped caring about anything when the music played, banging your head to the rhythm. At first a little shyly, but then you were more confident about it, not caring if you were going to mess up your hair. You looked so happy, you felt so happy. It has been since you felt like that.

Even since Hobie came here, he finally saw your smile, the real and sincere smile on that face of yours. But he saw it falter when Can't Decide by the Black Flag started playing.

Sun's coming up and I can't decide

To spill my emotions or keep them inside

Go for a drive, go to the store

I'm looking for something that can't be bought there

I always wear a smile

Because anything but a smile would make me have to explain

And they wouldn't understand anyway

And they wouldn't understand anyway

I conceal my feelings so I won't have to explain

What I can't explain anyway

It hit so close to home, you almost started sobbing. Hobie saw it immediately and turned the music off. He sat next to you, one arm around you while he rubbed your arm with the other to comfort you. He barely knew you, but he was so concerned about your well being already. “What happened, dove?” He asked so quietly, almost as if he was scared he might make you start crying just by asking.

But you weren't ready to admit what has been going inside your head for months. And he could see that so well. A few tears went down your cheeks so you asked for a tissue. You smudged your makeup a bit, but luckily Hobie was able to fix it with the only brown palette he owned, the one had forgotten about since he never used it.

You gathered your things and apologized. “Don't apologize, luv. Just know you can come and talk about what's going on in that pretty head of yours.” You only nodded before leaving. 

Your parents weren't home by the time you came back, they were probably in the neighbor's house, talking and eating how they did once in a while. Probably praising you how good and obedient you were, and how they were happy to have a daughter like you.

And after that situation at Hobie's place, it became harder to pretend. It became hard not to cry when you were called a perfect daughter, pretty girl and beautiful woman. You couldn't wait any longer, you had to talk with someone about it. And the only person who would not judge you was Hobie. 

It has been a while since you talked to him. But you came back, trembling, looking like you were about to start crying at any given moment. Hobie didn't think twice, he just let you in, sat down on the floor while he seated you on his bed. His calloused hands found yours and he caressed them gently in order to comfort you.

And finally, after all this time, you opened up about what has been on your mind for all those months. You explained how you felt trapped in your own body, how you hated being seen as a girl and how much it hurt when you were called and seen as one. How much you just wanted to be yourself.

Hobie's eyes softened, his hand touched your delicate cheek as his thumb stroked it. You didn't flinch away from his touch, instead you leaned into his hand, enjoying the way he touched you. “Darlin’, I think you might be trans.”

“I might be what?” Your nose was already stuffed from all that crying, making your voice sound funny. Hobie sighed before his lips curled into the soften of smiled. 

“Trans, hun.” You still looked confused, but he wasn't going to blame you. You've been living in a place where you were too scared to be yourself, you couldn't name your feelings even though you have been feeling them for months. It was obvious these people weren't talking about things like that, at least not in the way that would make you want to explore those feelings.

“It's uh, it's when your body doesn't match how you feel on the inside. Like you, you have been born as a woman, but you don't feel like one, don't you?” You shook your head, of course you didn't feel like a woman. Thinking about yourself as a woman didn't feel right. 

Hobie got an idea. “Why don't you go to the bathroom and take all of that off? I'll bring ya some clothes and then you'll tell me how you feel.” He helped you with making your way to the bathroom and closed the door after you. You took off the dress, standing in nothing more than your underwear. It felt a bit less suffocating to not be wearing that stupid dress.

Soon, you heard Hobie knock on the door. “I have some stuff I think might look good on you.” You covered yourself with the towel that was near you, not wanting for Hobie to see your body. But he didn't even peek in, instead he held the clothes for you, letting you grab them before he quickly closed the door behind him.

You looked down at the clothes. Some distressed jeans with patches and studded belt, white shirt with some graffiti, which you assumed was decorated by Hobie himself and even some hand warmers to match the outfit.

You had put on the outfit and left the bathroom, only to see Hobie waiting for you. His eyes sparkled when he saw you. And he could see it in your face that you felt better. He looked so excited for you.

But you still had that long braid. “Let me…” Hobie murmured before you felt him touch your hair again. You weren't sure what he did exactly, but when you stepped in front of the mirror, your hair looked so short. It wasn't perfect, but you loved how your hair looked, way more than it looked in a braid, ponytail or any other hairstyle you were used to. You looked like a boy, and you were so happy.

At that very moment, you knew you couldn't go back to how your life was before. You couldn't go back to wearing dresses, praying to the God that probably never listened to you and did not care about you. You could no longer pretend that you were the perfect girl you were seen as until now.

Hobie's hands grabbed you by your shoulder. “Do you want me to call by a different name?” He asked, glancing at your reflection in the mirror as he rubbed your shoulders. You thought about it for a moment, before looking up at him and speaking up. “Do you think [Name] would suit me?”

Hobie chuckled and nodded. “Definitely, luv. Definitely.” He couldn't help himself and softly kissed your cheek. You were surprised by the sudden affection, but you enjoyed it.

“I want you to cut my hair. I want it short..” You said so suddenly, your voice was a little shaky, but you couldn't wait anymore. You have wanted to cut it for a while and you didn't want anyone else other than Hobie to do it. He was surprised by you. He didn't expect you to want to do it now.

“Are you su–” 

“Yes, I am sure.” You cut him off, you didn't want to be mean, but you couldn't wait any longer. “Please… I don't want to go back to what was before. I don't want to pretend to be someone who I am not.” You begged, you sounded so desperate. He couldn't say no to you when you sounded like that.

“Okay.” He said, giving your shoulders a squeeze before he took you to the bathroom. He brought a small stool and seated you on it. He grabbed a scissors, untied your hair, looking at it for the last time before he started cutting it. You squeezed your eyes shut, your stomach swirling with anxiety, as you listened to the sound of the scissors cutting your hair.

Snip! Snip! Snip!

You felt your hair, your hair that you got so many compliments on, tickling your arms and neck before it fell down on the bathroom floor. “Done.” Hobie said, his voice was flat. It made you worry. Did you look bad? Did he mess up your hair? Was it a mistake?

He brushed the cut hair off of you, before you stood up and looked in the mirror. It was not perfect, but it still made you feel good. You started sobbing immediately. “Dove? Are you alright?” Hobie asked, worried and a little panicked.

“I've never felt better.” You sobbed out and he sighed, relieved that you liked it. He hugged you tightly, being so glad to see you happy with who you were.

But it couldn't go on forever. You came home pretty late, still wearing the clothes Hobie gave you earlier. And in the hoodie he gave so you wouldn't be cold while coming back home. You knew confrontation wouldn't be something you were able to avoid . And you knew it wouldn't be a light confrontation either.

Your parents were sitting in the living room. As soon as you closed the front door behind you, you heard your father call you by the name you no longer wished to be called by. You took a deep breath, pulling a hood over your head before you entered the living room. Your parents eyes were immediately on you, your mother gasped loudly.

“What the fuck is that!?” Your father yelled, he stood up and grabbed you by the hood and yanked it off your head. He intended to grab you by your hair, but there was nothing to grab. Your lovely long hair was long gone and there was nothing they could do about it. In a way, that made you proud.

“What have you done to yourself!?” Your mother shouted with tears in her eyes. You've never seen her crying and you didn't expect her to get so emotional. She always seemed so cold. “Where's your hair? Your dress?” She's never been so panicked. “What will we say to the others once they see that your hair is gone? What will they think of us? What will they think of you?”

There was this need to apologize, turn the time back and never let yourself explore who you really were. But you weren't going to let this need win. You have been obedient for way too long. You were pretending for way too long and now? You were tired of it.

“I don't fucking care what are they going to think of me!” You shouted back. Both of your parents were startled by the fact that you just cursed. They never heard you curse, nor did they hear you sound so confident. “I have been pretending to be someone who I wasn't me for way too long. I am not going to let you decide about how I am anymore!” 

Slap!

Your father slapped you so hard you fell to the floor. Your cheek was all red already. You and your mother were both shocked. Your father was about to take his belt off and start beating you, but your mother stopped him. “I am sure there's something we can do instead of beating her up. People will notice and they might think we were the one to cut her hair off. We can buy a wig until her hair grows back.”

“I am not growing it back and I am not putting the dresses back on.” You hissed. Maybe you shouldn't have done that, but you ripped off the virgin Mary necklace off your neck and threw it.

Your parents were more than shocked at your action. “She must have been corrupted by that punk!” Your mother cried out. “What are we going to–” Your father lost his temper. Instead of beating you up like he initially planned, he grabbed you and threw you out the door. “I no longer have a daughter!” It was the last thing you heard before he closed the door.

Soon, your father started throwing your things out the window. All those gorgeous dresses and skirts flying out the window. Before you were terrified to even slightly rip them and now? You didn't care that they got dirty, they stopped mattering to you. You only waited for your father to throw your phone. You wanted to catch it, but it fell onto the concrete, the phone screen broke, but luckily for you, you still were able to use it. You grabbed some more important things that your father had thrown and then made your way to Hobie's apartment.

He was concerned, but both of you knew it was better that way. If you stayed, nothing would change and everything would go worse. More praying, more femininity, more pretending. But you weren't going to stay with your parents, luckily Hobie said you could stay with him.

You were laying with Hobie in his bed. You were so lost in your thoughts and he could see it clearly. Hobie laid on his side to face you, the tips of his fingers brushed against your jaw to get your attention. You turned to look at him. “You okay?” You put your hands on your face and sighed.

“I'm fine. It’s just… I've wanted to be myself for a while and I…” You paused for a moment, not looking into Hobie's eyes. In a way, it all felt unreal. Usually, you would now be in your bed, reading the bible or praying. And now, you were laying with a man you didn't know very well, but he gave you everything you could have asked for. Acceptance, help and hope. 

Your eyes finally met his again. “I didn't expect that it would actually happen. I thought I was going to be everyone's perfect girl until I die, but you came into my life and changed everything. Thank you so much for that.” You smiled at him, you were so grateful he came into your life. He smiled back at you and leaned to kiss your cheek.

“You're very welcome, luv.” 

You both left the town as quickly as you could since that happened. Now, it has been 6 years since the day you met him. Everything has been truly perfect since then. Your transition was going well and you recently had your top surgery.

And Hobie? He was with you the whole time. During the first appointment at the doctor, he helped you take your first testosterone shot and he held your hand both before and after the surgery.

Life couldn't be more perfect and you never felt more perfect.

taglist: @sk3llly

[prismuffin]

i plan to be ur #1 spiderverse x transmasc reader requester, esp for Hobie 🙏🏽 I had this idea in my head for a bit and was honestly nervous to ask again 😭 but, could you do a Hobie x ftm!reader askfic where Hobie just kinda remind him to stop binding since he had been saving peole all day in his binder? im so stimmy for this kinda stuff 😸‼️

Sorry it's finals week for my summer classes so I've been ignoring certain asks! Still, now that I'm (almost) finished with them I think that-

He has a specific time set in the day where he thinks you should stop binding. From the hypothetical time you get up to around now. If you were on patrols together he'd remind you to remove the binding device as soon as you were done fighting the most recent bad guy. Stopping on a nearby roof to tell you, saying that you should probably go home and rest as well. He knows it's not the most comfortable thing for you to be binding while swinging through the city all day and night and he doesn't want to passing out on him. If he wasn't patrolling with you that night he shoots you a text to remind you. Then sends another a few minutes later and then another until you respond saying that you did. If you still don't he'll call you and you better pick up or he's coming out there himself. Reminds you that it's not your appearance that makes you male and tells you to forget about the capitalists that say otherwise.

———

Directory

[strawbeelemonade]

Okay, but Hobart Brown would 1000% be the best S/O to a trans person

HE WOULD.

Wear whatever you want, he can fight. No matter what transitioning looks like for you he will accept you no matter what. If you're a transman who likes wearing dresses and makeup. A transwoman who has a beard. If you take testosterone/estrogen, wear a packer, wear a binder or do none or all of the above he will accept you for who you are.

When it comes to identiy and sexuality some peoples experiences might be different to others or even seem contradictory to an outside point of view. But only you know what feels accurate to describe your identity. He does not care. Do whatever the hell you want, He thinks your stunning either way.

He respects your rejection of comformity and even more so your COURAGE to be who you are. No one has the right to tell you you're wrong about who you choose to be. If anyone gives you trouble he'll be in your corner, fighting along side you, with you, for you.

He'll have your back when it comes to the little things. He's not scared to correct anyone if they get your name wrong. With an arm slung around your shoulder he'll remind them- no matter how many times he has to say it he will.

If your open about being trans or feel comfortable for him to he will wear the trans/nonbinary patch in your name. He's proud of you and who you are.

HOBART PUNCHES TRANSPHOBES SAY IT WITH ME NOW.

[minnieshrine]

Hobie brown x trans!masc!reader hc

(THE GIF IM CRYINGGGG)

(this was requested but i can’t find the request sooo..)

omg omg this man is the most supportive bf ever

you were a spider-man. and quite frankly, nobody knew you were trans. nobody could tell.

once you joined the multiverse organization, you managed to catch hobies eye.

but before you even knew about it.. pav found out before you. he always tried to get you two together after that.

once you found out your crush, hobie, liked you back, you wanted to have a private conversation with him as you grew closer.

the first time he asked you out, you said no.

this was because you wanted him to be okay with you being trans BEFORE you started dating.

you told him it was all happening too fast.

so you went on dates a lot, and he asked you again.

you said no again.

you told him that you wanted to get to know him better, trying to figure out his sexualities, preferences, etc.

once you found out that he was in fact perfectly supportive of the gay, lesbians, AND trans people, you got the courage to tell him.

after you told him, he was so supportive but actually a bit hurt that you would think he didn’t support transgender people

you both started dating and he put a trans pin on his sweater and guitar case.

it got out you were dating, but he never told a soul.

he would fuck up anyone that would say anything about trans people. especially in front of you.

he didn’t tolerate that shit.

when he feels insecure, he’ll explain some super complicated trans-rights shit. that nobody should care, it was no one’s concern, fuck everyone who says anything, etc.

he absolutely loves your body and will smother your chest and private areas in kisses when you get comfortable around him.

this man will love you no matter what.

[weebwholovesuchihasasuke]

Hobie brown x transfem!reader let's goooooo!

I'm not trans but y'all ladies deserve inclusion in fics like the rest of us

Hey I was wondering if you could do a hobie x trans!reader mtf kinda like the ftm one you did, and if so please tag me in it

His Girl.

★Hobie Brown x Mtf!reader <3

☆You're feeling insecure of something you know you can't get rid of any time soon. At least Hobie would never mind.

★ ; Angst, misgendering mentioned, descriptions of crying, pre-bottom surgery, fluff.

☆ Transphobia = Blocked 849 words.

_______________________

You look at the woman in the mirror you’ve worked so hard to maintain, making you feel like you inside. After years of taking hormone therapy to kill off the misplaced testosterone and replace them with as much estrogen you could.

Little bitties grew, thinner hairs to shave, and finally being the girl you’ve known you were ever since you saw your friends wear dresses, Hardly anyone could tell; You’re always told ���You don’t look trans?’ as if trans girls looked any different from the ones assigned as such at birth.

All was good except for one thing.

One thing that could have been good if you were cis.

Of course it's convenient whenever you and your boyfriend, Hobie, are having intimacy, but beyond that: It’s difficult to try and tuck every hour of the day spent in public and you can only dream of wearing thin dresses without that incorrectly positioned dick.

Except you had found a summer dress at a thrift shop while on a date with Hobie and bought it because of it’s cutthroat price and at how it would seem to hug your body perfectly once its being worn, the color would be breathtaking against your skin and ‘on the floor of my bedroom’ as Hobie put it.

That impulsive buy ended up having its repercussions, you were in the bathroom and you almost felt like you were gonna cry.

It wasn’t that the dress didn’t fit, You tried it on when you were buying it, But you were tucked then. Usually when you re-enter the comfort of your own home you get comfortable on the couch or in bed and quit worrying about being tucked or not.

But promptly forgetting about it, your default of having your sex free in the confines of your underwear. That bulge peeking through the soft fabric which made you frown, whining with your hands over your face with frustration.

It’s so hard to try and be as womanly as possible, if it’s not hormones it’s the clothing. If it isn’t clothing, It’s the people and homophobes. If it isn't any that bullshit; It’s the one thing you’re fully stuck with until you can afford the surgery.

Your body.

Hobie had heard the whines from the other side of the door and soon began knocking on it. “Sweethear’?” He asked as the door opened slowly, being greeted by you quickly wiping your eyes free of the fallen tears.

“Hey hey hey..” He said with his voice being gentle and soft as if speaking to a baby, his hands moving towards you to pull them away from your face, soon wiping your tears himself. “What’s wrong?”

You frowned more as you looked up at him, you felt your throat grow an unforgiving lump, and not wanting to talk because you knew your voice would crack with your words.

“The dress doesn’t look good on me..” You mumbled after being able to find your voice, looking down at the dress adorning your frame and straightening it out by your hips to express what you mean.

“What are you talking about? You’re beautiful..” he responded softly as he looked down at you and your body with his eyes gazed at you as if you were the only woman in town, in the city, at all. 

“The dress is too thin- and I’ll have to always be tucked and it’s annoying how I’m literally just a girl but born in the wrong body.” You cried, to which hobie wrapped his arms around you with one hand cradling the back of your head.

“Shh.. Shh.. You’re alrigh’, You’re going to be fine. Soon you’ll have the surgery, soon you wouldn’ even recognize the boy that was once there.” He tried to reassure before you cut him off.

“Soon! I don’t care about soon I need Now, I don’t want to have to wait-”

“Exactly, You’re stuck like this. Things may look bad but look on the brighter side. You have me that will support you along the way, You have the access to hormones and you have something to look forward to. I bet this day in two years will breeze on and by then the only thing about you that wouldn’t be accommodated to the girl you are is a letter in a birth certificate.”

You felt yourself get less tense at his words and melt a bit more into his comforting touch and his words soothing your ears to your brain.

Once the atmosphere calmed down, Hobie kissed the top of your head and leaned over a little more in order to whisper in your ear, “Besides, we can have so much fun in said two years.”

You roll your eyes playfully and soon feel his lips close over yours, and your beating heart pumping downwards in a familiar way. And he slowly eases you against the bathroom sink and hands lowering to the ends of your dress just below your hips, and his voice a low raspy siren call.

“Lemme show you how much fun I can ‘ave wit’ my girl..”

____________

Stopping right before the smut because feminism or something (/j)

I'm not a trans woman so I'm sorry if I got anything bad or wrong! Commissions = open

[eyesxxyou]

❝ sweet lips ❞ (rough hands pt.2)

｡ﾟ･ ¡ content. rival bands hobie x FTM!reader, conflicting emotions, a lot of sexual tension, light exhibition, lots of kissing, humping, pussyjob, accidental penetration, save a horse ride a cowboy, no orgasm (womp womp). you and Hobie agree, nothing can happen between you two, feelings would make things too complicated. but when you go further than expected, you find that you two like each other far more than you realize.

wc: 3.7k

↳ pt.1 / pt.2 / pt.3

“They make me sick.” Your guitarist grumbled under her breath as you and The Mutts lounge on a mangy, beat-up couch backstage of a shared venue. You all watch, glaring at the Mary Janes as they pass by. They don't spare their own glowering gazes at your Mutts, like two packs of dogs growling and snapping at each other where territories meet.

You catch the leader of the Mary Janes’ gaze. His eyes flicker at you and yours narrow with a biting hatred you've always had. Hobie Brown curls his lip up at you and turns away as his band rounds the corner to make their way to a separate lounging area backstage. Your own secret language, two birds and their indecipherable mating rituals.

It’s easy to pretend you still hate each other, between quick glances and lingering touches. A charade of band rivalry made to keep up the act for your respective bandmates. They’d never understand the way you always find him before or after performing and let him touch you in ways that would bring shame to the lot of them.

“Why Hobie Brown?” They'd say. “He’s the worst.” “I thought you hated him.” “He’s a fucking dickhead.” All of which are true. He is the worst. You do hate him. And he’s the biggest dickhead on this planet and the next. An arrogant, cocky, insufferable asshole with lips that taste like mint and beer and fingers that reach places inside you that you never even knew existed.

“There’s that battle of the bands competition coming up.” Your drummer chuckled snidely. “Wouldn't it be great to show them up? Fuckin’ posers.”

You got up from the couch, murmuring something about going to find a bathroom in this labyrinth of a venue. Your bandmates didn't question it, telling you to hurry back as you guys would be performing soon. You waved them off. “Yeah yeah, lemme go piss in peace.”

Your boots thudded against the old rickety floors of the venue, your eyes shooting from side to side looking to see if anyone would bear witness to your sin. Hobie told you to meet him just beyond the dressing rooms after he was done performing. He always needed a way to let off some of that built up adrenaline afterwards and you needed to rid yourself of your anxieties. It was a mutually beneficial relationship.

It was simple really. No strings attached, not emotions, no sappy, meaningless feelings to get in the way. And most importantly, no actual intercourse. It was too messy, too intimate, it meant too many things. Because if this all went to shit, it would be easy to transition back into hating each other without missing the way each other's body felt on the inside.

Hobie was hiding from you, lingering in a dark corner, while you looked aimlessly for his lanky figure. For a moment you wondered if he stood you up and was all together ready to write him off as the asshole you always believed him to be and go back to your bandmates.

You turned your back to him and he stepped out of hiding to grab you by the waist, turning you around to press his lips to yours and back you against a wall. You didn't kiss him back, instead you punched him in the shoulder and pushed his face away. “Asshole!” You tried not to be too loud. “I hate you.”

Hobie’s lips curled up into a grin as he snickered. “If ya hated me ya wouldn't be ova here, would’ja?” He laughed as you pushed against him again, forcing him to release you as he stumbled back. “Fine, I won't be here then.” You wouldn't entertain his jokes, if he wouldn't help with your stage jitters then you didn't need to be here in the first place.

But as you expected, as you wanted, Hobie took you hand and pulled you back to him. “Hey, hey, hey, I was jus’ messin’ ‘round. Stop bein’ such a prissy, stuck up bitch, eh.” He trapped you in his arms again, your back against the wall, bodies flush against each other with just your clothes to keep you apart. His pants were tight, you could feel his bulge against your tummy. A useless appendage, never to feel the gummy insides of your cunt.

You turned away from him. “Fuck you.” You grunt. His hand snaked up your front, feeling up your chest and your throat before grabbing your chin and forcing you to look at him. “You wish, don’cha?” He chuckled, leaning in to kiss you once more. You don't resist this time.

Your kisses are feverish, urgent. You'd never call them passionate. Passionate is for lovers, for people who care about each other beyond the fling you two have going on. Your kisses demand each other's full, undivided attention. It asks, always, “will we go there today?” The answer is always “no”.

No fucking, nothing too intimate.

But your kiss is deep, his lips are sweet, and his hands are swiftly unbuckling your belt to get into your pants. He knows you want his fingers, long and skillful and pretty, readied with the intimate knowledge of what makes you tick, what makes you shudder and roll your hips into his palm, what makes you curse his name while kissing him all the same.

You’re panting breaths into each other's mouths, the essence of your beings on each other’s tongues. Your mind grows dizzy with the taste of him, delightful and tangy. You want to savor him on your tongue between your sloppy kisses.

“Hobie,” you sighed into his mouth as his hand snuck beyond the waistline of your pants and dove into your underwear to touch you where you ached most for him. And just as his fingers began to rub between your wet folds, you heard someone call out for Hobie.

Quickly, you two retreated from one another in fear of being caught in such a compromising position. Hobie snatched his hands from you and you swiftly began to make yourself decent once again. You glanced at each other, knowing this was not done. You'd have to come to his boat later in the night when you were both away from your bandmates. It was the only semblance of privacy you two had.

Without a word, you two went your opposite ways with the mutual understanding that you’d come to his boat later and happily sit on his fingers and drag orgasm after orgasm out of your pants up body.

But you couldn't help but glance over your shoulder at his retreating frame, only to find he was looking at you already, walking backwards. When he noticed he was caught, he raised his hand as if to concede he had been found out and smiled, winking at you.

You rolled your eyes at his and turned back around, only to nip at your bottom lip which where the taste of him still lingered like a ghost.

You performed with a hazy mind and wet between the legs, every motion reminding you of how you had been left needy and desperate. You hated feeling desperate. The sweat lingering on your forehead, the way your lips kiss the mic as you had kissed him, pushing yourself against the stand like it was his body. You needed him, bad.

You went to his boat that night with a single thing on your mind. Cumming until you forgot your name. Hobie was keenly skilled at that, teased you relentlessly for it when your dazed gaze comes back into focus and you look as though you don't know where you are.

Hobie was on the deck of his houseboat when you arrived, strumbing at chords on his guitar while scribbling down on the notepad beside him. He had left the plank down so that you could board on your own. He was keenly aware of your presence as soon as you arrived, only pretending that he wasn’t to ensure he didn’t seem too eager to see you.

You came up behind him, squatting down to look over his shoulder at his lyric book. “Writing lyrics about me?” You teased. Hobie snapped his book closed before you could any good grasp on his indecipherable handwriting. He looked back at you, a bit nervous but playing it off well. “Tryna steal ma ideas, now? ‘Specially wit’ tha’ battle of the bands comin’ up.”

Little did you know, he was writing about you. The chords he strummed on his stickered guitar were taken from the sheet music of his heart. He’s been trying to fight it, the feelings he had for you. You both agreed there would be none of your sticky, bloody heartstrings exposed for one another. And he was determined to keep it. It made everything much, much easier.

You pushed his head lightly and stood up, looking down upon him with a rather unimpressed expression. “I wouldn’t want your lyrics if you wrote the next “God Save the Queen”. I’ve got my own stuff. We’re gonna put you in the ground.” You really hadn’t come to talk about your competition.

Hobie stood up to a height that made you stagger. He was shirtless. His lean body on display for you to admire. He was close to you, so close you could smell his musky body wash and a faded whiff of his cologne. He smiled at you and reached to tap your chin. So pretty you could have dropped dead right then and there, your breath stolen away from you, your heart beating loudly in your ears.

Sometimes you wished Hobie wasn’t so nice to look at. It would make things a whole lot easier for you.

“Le’s go inside, yeah?” Hobie nudged you, grabbing his guitar and his lyric book and walking through the door he had left open that led into his home, a place you have learned to know all too well. You followed him inside and immediately made yourself comfortable. You kicked off your boots by the door and made your way over to his bed.

This was all just formalities. Going through the motions of your usual niceties of snide remarks and biting laughter at the other’s expense. The ‘hello, how are you’s before you two get down to the gritty stuff. You learned to enjoy this moment. The suspense of “when” made it all the nicer when one of you would eventually have enough of it and walk over to kiss the other.

You sat on his bed, messily made in some haphazard attempt to make it seem like he had a morning routine outside of walk up and go out on the deck for a cig to clear his head of the dreams he’s been having of you. He’d dig the heels of his palms into his eyes and groan at the thought of you lingering behind his eyes.

Hobie wasn’t sure if he’d be comforted with the fact that you’ve been having dreams of him too. Touching you, kissing you, pushing into you with his lips mouthing words of praise against your neck. You’d wake up flustered, face hot with the idea, heart palpitating in your chest. You’d be a little meaner to him that day just to balance out the way the thought of him made you feel things that you were forced to call “want”.

You watched Hobie as he put his guitar back on its stand and tossed his lyric book down on a small couch he had to the side. His pants hung low on his hips, the dimples kissing his low back are something you’ve never noticed before. You wanted to press your fingers there, kiss them even. You shut the idea down before you even had the chance to linger on it.

Hobie went into his fridge and pulled out two beers. He used one to pop the other open and then did the same with the other, the beer frothing in their bottles as he came and handed one to you.

“You think I want your shitty beer?” You took it anyway. Hobie stood over you, taking a swing of it all while keeping his eyes trained on you. With a sigh, he said, “No, I think ya want my tongue on yer cunt but I figured ya wasn' gonna ou’ ‘n say tha’ much.”

Blood rushes to your cheeks. You hated that he made you get so flustered. You hated his crudeness. You hated that he leaned down and held your chin so gently and kissed you with his mint and beer stained lips and you so blissfully let him. He’s sweet to the senses, sweet on your tongue as you press yours to his.

Then he pulled away, a string of saliva connecting you, panting. “Drink.” He guides your hand to press the rim of your bottle to your lips. You do drink, you hope that at the bottom you might find your will to leave before things get too heated. You know you won't. You’re too addicted to the way he moves, his rough hands and sweet lips.

You drink the whole bottle and he does the same and after you two kiss again. Hobie takes your bottle from you and sets both of them down on the floor beside his bed. Doing this, he parts your lips once more. And you cry a little. “Just fucking kiss me, you asshole.”

“Aww,” He poked at you. “Needy aren’cha?”

You grab him by the shoulders, pull him in, and kiss him viciously, like you’re trying to eat him whole. Consume him and make him one with your body. Hobie chuckled at this, his smile wide against your lips as he rubbed soft circles into the plush of your thighs. Your tongues find each other in the mess of teeth, lips, and piercings. Noses mashing against the other as you press your faces into each other. You desire to melt into him. He wants to mold your body with his hands.

“We should try somethin’ different t’day.” Hobie purred against your tongue that licked at the seam of his lips so thoughtfully asked permission. He let you in, let you explore every tantalizing crevice of his tender mouth. You hummed mindlessly, still kissing. “What’s that?”

Hobie snickered softly at his idea and broke your kiss into a string of thin saliva that held you two together. It broke apart when Hobie leaned back and lied flat on his bed. You you were still on top of him, his pulsing cock before you, aching with a few small jumps. It was a pretty thing for sure, with veins like the stems of flowers and a tip that was slightly bigger than the rest of the shaft. It curved slightly and for some reason you liked it. It never did anything for you. You never allowed it to enter your body.

Hobie pulled your hips forward until you were sitting on top of it, leaking pussy pressing down on the warm length of his dick. Immediately, you pulled away. “Hobie, we said–”

“Jus’ calm down, luv. We’re no’ goin’ there. I’s jus’ a lil’ humpin’.” Hobie assured you, pulling you back down to sit on top of him. His fingers rubbed your thighs and hips in a comforting manner. ”Come on, we’re both grown men. We can ‘ave some self control.” You settled down. You assured yourself nothing more would happen. Hobie seemed confident of the same. 

With permission, Hobie tightened his hold on your hips and began to guide your movements. His length was trapped between your pussy lips which rubbed him up and down while your clit caught on his tip. You both let out fluttering moans, occasionally looking at each other but mostly focusing on the pussyjob you were giving him.

“I hate you.” You muttered between soft moans, your hips rutting on their own now. You watched Hobie smirk and let a deep chuckle pass his succulent, kiss-swollen lips. “Ya say i’ so much I almos’ tink ya like me.”

Oh, how right he was. You had barely even known it yourself, the way you overcompensated for the way you long to be near him by telling him constantly how thoroughly you despise him. You were startled by how accurately he read you. You hated being an open book.

You snarled at him, pressing your hips down harder, rocking your hips faster. “Fuck you.”

Hobie let out a shaky sigh. His cock leaked out pre into his hairy navel. “So close, baby.” Your pussy was dripping on him, the sticky wetness between your legs making your path along the tail of his cock slippery. You were playing a dangerous game and you both adored it beyond reason.

Hobie looked up as you rolled your head back, exposing the chaste flesh on your throat. He admired you, your broad shoulders, your pretty waist, the crescent scars along the underside of your chest. His hand caresses your thighs, up your hips and your sides. Your skin was soft and supple under his rough touch, God, to be like this was like having Heaven in his hold.

You were so eager, so zealous, so daring with your movements. Neither of you noticed how far you had gone forwards, further than normal. You felt his wet tip against your entrance and before you could stop your momentum, you rocked back into it and let him plunge himself into your love.

Immediately, both of your eyes snapped to each other and you paused. He was inside of you, raw. Never before had you trekked into this territory, too fearful of what it may mean. But you were here now, his cock snuggled nicely between your walls that you involuntarily massaging him.

You stared at each other for a long time. Your gazes melting from fear to something far, far more terrifying. Without a word, you two agreed. You’d do this once. Only once. And it would mean nothing. With the slightest nod, you agreed that you two wouldn't become addicted to the feeling of him stretching your entrance open and he wouldn't find himself thinking about how soft and wet you were.

You stared him in his heterochromatic eyes as you sat fully in his lap, your fingers splayed out over his chest. His hands gripped your hips as you rolled them timidly into his and let out a soft cry as the feeling of him filling you, stretching you out, molding you.

Hobie sat up. Your chests touched. Your hands settled on his shoulders to brace yourself as you sat up. This was your chance to stop this, you both know where this road leads. But instead of completely coming off of him, you came back down on his length. You both moaned something guttural past your tender lips.

Hobie felt his mind grow dizzy with the feeling of your soft, wet walls gripping him like a vice, and addiction he just can’t shake. For a moment, he thought that your rough exterior — your crude cursing and biting hatred — was all an act to hide the fact that you were so tender and beautiful on the inside.

You found a steady rhythm. Each plunge of his length into you dragging out moans from you both. You wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him close with your eyes closed. You couldn't bear to look at him. You knew that if you looked at him, looking him in his pretty eyes, he might snatch your soul from you and never return it.

Hobie terrified you. Every moment you spent in his presence was a moment that you found yourself enjoying despite all your grunts and groans at his expense. You liked him and that horrified you. Now you were here, taking the best dick you’ve ever gotten in your life. His dulcet moans echoing in your ears as his hands pull you ever closer.

His tip kissed your cervix with each bounce and your back arched into him at the feeling. Your chest were rubbing, your bodies moving and melding together. It was intimate, too intimate for your liking.

You were about to tell him you hated him again, to crush this feeling you had blooming within the bloody, stringy workings of your heart, but as you opened your eyes to do so, you found that Hobie was already looking at you, his eyes rather soft for comfort.

You couldn't. You couldn't do this. Your heart was beating too fast, your pupils were dilating, you could feel an orgasm quickly approaching. You couldn't do this. It was too much too fast. Too many feelings all at once that you were sure you weren't ready to handle.

You got up swiftly, so fast you almost toppled over. You were quick to start collecting your clothes and slipping them back on. “I– I can't do this.”

“You ‘ave feelin’ fo’ me ‘n yer too scared t’admit i'.” Hobie bit at you, watching you pull on a shirt that wasn't yours in your haste to leave. You shook your head, fingers trembling, the ache of him still pulsing between your legs. “No, no, shut up! You don't know anything about me!” Your voice quivered. You couldn't bear to bring your eyes to look at him because you know if you did you’d crumble. You had to leave. 

Hobie didn't bother to convince you to stay. If you were set in leaving, who was he to stop you? Maybe he wasn't ready to confront his feelings either. You were two sides of the same coin, neither ready to handle these soft emotions you’ve grown callous to.

You left into the night without looking back at him and he slammed the door behind you on your way out, tears swelling in your eyes as you let out a sob and kicked the door. “Fuck you, Hobie! I hope you rot in hell!”

“I'll meet ya there, arsehole!” He sneered back through the door. Weeks of your tumultuous affair gone down the drain all in one fell swoop.

Your heartstrings torn as you bleed all over each other.

[marimology]

LUFFY with a spiderman! s/o headcannons because one piece and spiderman are my biggest interests

warnings : none just luffy being luffy , mentions the spider society.

— when he found out that it was from a spider bite and not from a devil fruit he was lowkey jealous

— fym you can still swim??

— definitely asked if you shoot webs out your butt

— if sanji is wondering why the meat is suddenly disappearing more it’s cus you had grabbed them with your webs

— if you get into an argument he definitely says some corny shut like “ enough of you and your web of lies”

— chopper was the first one to know but it makes sense

it makes spidey sense

— SPEAKING OF SPIDEY SENSE he likes to throw random objects at you to try to activate them

“did you just throw a carrot at me?”

“maybe”

*throws it back*

— please don’t let him find out the spider society or the multiverse

— but if he does he’d get a day pass and look at everyone with starry eyes

— once he found out about canon events … poor baby

— you had pretended to be doflamingo when law pissed you off… luffy found it funny

[the-cat-and-the-birdie]

The Hobie fandom has a lot of smut, and with a character so accepting on so many fronts, it means so much to me to see trans!readers being taken into consideration.

As a trans guy myself, I love seeking out ftm!smut. But often times, I often can't read them. Many times I'm left feeling unseen, reduced, or even feminized.

And I wanna talk about that a bit, if it's okay.

My take and feelings on FTM!smut - As a Trans Guy

Ngl as a trans guy myself I do feel a bit alienated by a lot of FTM!reader.

I'm gonna be honest - I feel like most ftm smut is written exactly as it would be a cis woman, just with the pronouns changed. Which is understandable, but not really how it works.

Cis women and trans men don't have sex the exact same, just because they're AFAB.

And I feel most smut writers haven't gone out of their way to research the sexual experiences of trans men and how we navigate the world.

Hobie smut is pretty vulgar, and I won't complaining! As a character, he has a high volume of smut, and probably the most diverse range, with Black!reader, ftm!readers, and male!readers being more common than most fandoms.

Black!Reader focuses on the unique experience of black people when in a relationship together. This unique experience is at the basis of black!reader.

But when we approach Ftm!reader - very often, our unique experience isn't reflected.

It's just assumed that because we are AFAB - there's no need to look deeper at the closer unique sexual experience trans men have - or to read up about it.

Most ftm!reader fic does not attempt to use affirming sexual language for trans men at all.

T-dicks - ie, natural clitoris enlargement you get after taking T - is a thing a lot of transitioning Trans men have.

But they're never called T-dicks in fanfiction. Only clits. It's very rare that a ftm!reader is described as having a dick - because so often the only dicks cis people recognize are natal dicks, and surgery-constructed ones.

Many cis writers may never even considered referring to a trans man's clitoris as a dick - pre or post T. They may see it as confusing to the reader, when it's not.

T-Dicks are dicks. Bottom growth didn't give you a full 3-4 inches, but you absolutely have growth and there are trans men that can penetrate with T-dicks - without surgery - if with the right partner.

The words pussy and cunt are used liberally in nearly all ftm!smut, and while many trans men are okay with these terms, I think a lot of cis writers ignore or do not know that often, terms like those can cause heavy dysphoria in a lot of ftm readers.

I don't think cis writers ever question if they might be making readers dysphoric - or showing them in a non-affirming way.

I feel like some writers believe that changing pronouns and calling the reader 'handsome' is really all it takes. Just write usual fem smut, change the pronouns - and done!

In reality, a large part of the ftm community feels uncomfortable with the word 'pussy' - and would much rather stuff like 'front hole'.

A poll on 'What do you call your downstairs?'

And I'm not saying that you can't call a trans man's genitals a pussy. And I'm not saying that a trans man calling his genitals a pussy is wrong.

I just feel like cis writers do not consider the dysphoria of their trans readers, when writing trans smut.

I feel like most cis writers don't actually seek out accounts of trans men and their sexuality.

I don't think they ever consider that these terms, talking about wetness and penetration (which many men on T can have problems with because of vaginal atrophy and dryness), breast, clits, cunts, pussy -

I don't think cis writers ever question 'Is this accessible for ftm readers that might have dysphoria? How can I make this accessible or easier for trans men who have bottom dysphoria?'

Or

'How can I make this more affirming of them as men?'

It's the assumption that, because we're all AFAB, because we have vaginas like cis women - then naturally we must all fuck the same regardless of gender, the only thing changing being the pronouns.

That's not true.

And also - Trans Men are never really written like gay men.

Trans men having sex with men is gay sex.

And even though most writers write trans men with male OCs - they hardly ever write their sex as if they are gay men.

99.9% of the time, it isn't written that way. Its always written as if it's 'straight sex'.

The experience of how gay men have sex is never really taken account into these fics, which makes me feel like a lot of writers don't see it as gay sex at all.

At most, the ftm reader may be described as a bottom - but never as an otter or twink or bear or cub or leather or anything.

They see it as AFAB sex.

Cause If I'm getting strictly candid - I feel like if a writer wrote mtf!smut and kept focusing on the girls 'hard throbbing cock and balls' - we'd all be like 'oh wow that's very intense centering on genitals that may alienate some trans women-'

But in ftm!smut focusing on 'wet tight juicy pussy and thriving clit' is standard. It's never really questioned.

And this is not to say 'oh trans women have it better they get better smut-' No. They really don't. I'm just bringing this up to highlight the fact that we should be making sure that trans!smut is accessible and affirming to the trans people they're about.

Seeing a fic in which a gay trans man prefers to use his asshole, like most gay men fuck, is VERY VERY rare.

I feel like most cis writers never consider the fact that gay trans men may want to perform sex in an affirming, clearly coded, masculine gay way.

It's always assumed we use our front hole, are okay with it being called a pussy, have no problems getting wet, or that we don't have dicks (T-dick is a dick).

And because of that - the lack of affirming language and the lack of affirming transmasc experiences makes it very hard for me as a FTM person to read smut about ftm!readers.

I feel like most of them don't actually take our comfort - or our experiences in mind.

I feel like most don't attempt to actually read accounts of trans guys having gay sex, and what that's often like.

If you're a writer who feels guilty of any of this - you're not a bad person or a bad writer. And I genuinely thank you for including us in your work - from the bottom of my heart.

But I want to highlight this -

Trans men having sex is not a 1:1 of cis women having sex. The same way trans women having sex is not a 1:1 of cis men having sex.

Or experiences are unique - and our dysphoria does affect our sex lives, and how we navigate them.

Please, do not let this put you off writing trans men. But please keep in mind that our experience is unique.

So often I read ftm!reader and feel reduced down to my pussy. Without breasts in the equation, so much ftm!smut focuses solely on the pussy.

If you write ftm!reader please please do not let this put you off, but here's some tips I can give as a trans guy

Please do slight research of ftm anatomy, read an article about gay trans men, or go on r/ftm (subreddit) and read some posts about trans men, read some nsfw posts where trans men tell hookup tales.

Advocate has an great article called '16 things I learned from having sex with Trans Men' - which details and dispels 16 myths about trans men in bed. It's written from the POV of gay men who have been with trans men in affirming ways.

This post is in no way meant to be an attack or subliminal at any one writer. If it was one writer, I wouldn't care.

But this is something I've experienced and seen across fandoms and across writers in this fandom too. I feel the urge to write this because searching for affirming ftm!fics - I often come away feeling even more dysphoric.

Not because of the word pussy or cunt or anything -

But because of the erasure of my experience, the idea that my gender doesn't influence my experience of sex - only my AFAB genitals do.

If you write ftm!smut, I thank you from the bottom of my heart, truly.

But I feel like I had to say this.

If you read this far, thank you! This is one of my more personal venting posts but I'm also trying to raise a point and start a discussion. And you reading through this and giving me your time and understanding is already helpful enough, so thanks!

Here's Hobie.

Bye.

[broken-glass-puppet]

Ok so jumping spiders love to people watch, so I imagine the reader hiding somewhere either rin a different dimension or at HQ and just watching their favorite spider people.

Just thinking about maybe Hobie or Miguel giving a toru to a spider person and just "and in the corner is (reader), he doesn't do much, he just likes to watch.

If someone comes too close they skitter awax. Also, since the reader behaves like a jumping spider, I think he also looks a bit more spider-ish, like maybe a set of small eyes next to their big ones, their not that noticeable, and just small

LETS FUCKING GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO-

Miguel was giving some new spider people a tour throught the HQ, everyone was really quiet and trying to keep at Miguel's explanation ''So, any questions?'' Miguel asked looking at the new spider people one of them looked a bit freaked out

''yeah, why is he looking at us like that?'' one of the people said pointing and [redacted] that was hanging from a spider web looking at the group with his eyes

''oh, he is [redacted] dont worry, he its really nice, he justs like to watch'' said Hobie walking pass the group of people followed by Gwen and Miles

''thanks hobie for the explanation'' said Miguel a bit annoyed '' [redacted] quit giving the rookies heart attacks and make sure any anomalies are in their belongin places'' Said Miguel as [redacted] hooped back to the floor

''got it Mig'' [redacted] said smiling Miguel sighed and looked back at the group ''lets...get going'' ▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄HEADCANONS▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄

╰┈➤Everyone is a bit scared and freaked out by the fact that you dont really make any noises and just stare at theire souls

╰┈➤Except for Miles, Hobie, Gwen, Pav, Miguel and Peter

╰┈➤Hobie likes your eyes, he finds it really interesting and badass ╰┈➤Miguel finds you...really nice, you dont go to do a big fuss or make any trouble, you just sit there and watch, he finds you interesting ╰┈➤Miguel doesnt mind you staring at him, he finds it cute that you are curious abouth your surroundings ╰┈➤staring contest with Pav and Hobie

[jo-hannes]

Eating Hobie out after finding his hood piercing

Tw below cut

-------------------------------------------------------

TW: mentions of the words dick and clit,

it's not the first time you are intimate with each other. but, there's been a few months since you've done anything because you both have been having constant missions and meetings with Miguel. Hobie had planned this for a while and waited for a few days where you both could enjoy eachothers company.

both of you were in his bed, spooning (hobie little spoon). hobie ran his hands over your arms and grabbed one to kiss it. your other hand was on his hip, going down, and reaching over his pants to his t-dick, stroking it.

he bit into your hand while you rubbed harder his dick and stopped, reaching inside his pants and boxers. touching his clit between your fingers you felt something.

"you've gotten a hood piercing?" you asked, stroking his clit and making him moan.

"ah…..yes, you like it?" he answered, trying not to close his legs too much.

"is it healed? i don't want to hurt you hobs" you wishper

"yeah, don't worry, got it like a month ago" you start touching it, making him bite his lips and arch his back. you get your hand off and start taking both your clothes off, starting to touch him again.

you get your hand off him and, putting yourself above him and getting your head close to his dick, you start licking and sucking it, making him yell. his hands go to your head and he pushes you more towards his opening. lifting your right arm, your fingers find his mouth

"lick them babe, i want them wet" he answers by engulfing your fingers as you continue to eat him out, taking turns between licking his folds and thrusting your tongue inside him. He bites your fingers and, after a few minutes, you pull them out of his mouth. 

Kissing his lips, you insert one digit inside him making him tremble and moan. stroking his piercing and clit with your other hand, you kiss his nipples. knowing the sensitivity of those, you lick and bite one, watching him squirm and moan. inserting another two fingers you start thrusting them in and out of him. 

he opens his mouth and, to stop him from yelling, you start kissing him, biting his lips, you both moan after he bites you.

"please…. please" he begs between kisses

you kiss him once on the cheek and descend to his neck, biting and sucking on it, giving him hickeys and making him buckle into your fingers.

reaching his finishing point, hobie gasps and closes his eyes moaning and panting while he cums. kissing his belly button, you pull your fingers out of him and you lick them.

he grabs your hair and pulls you for a kiss

"you like how you taste hobs?" you whisper, he hums in response and lightly nods. closing his eyes he snuggles into your neck. you hug him and you both sleep.

-------------------------------------------------------

im so sorry, i didn't know how to end this fic, i hope this "ending" was decent :)

[aliorsboxostuff]

hi V3 I am so sorry i am BLOWING UP YOUR INBOX OMGGG but I totally forgot the character Id like is Hobie, I think cause I was talking about him I thought I said his name but i forgor ty bae ily 🤗🤗🗣️‼️‼️‼️‼️

HOBIEEE gotta be my fav 2nd to Miguel, i’m working on a fanart of that cool mf too. He’s such an interesting character to write, i’m honestly pretty sad i only thought something so short for this HC’s T-T I hope you enjoy this though big man, Hobie is definitely the type to hang out with you when youre going through those rough times <3

"Anythin' you wanna be."

Tags: Hobie Brown & ftm!Reader, fluff, dysphoria, Headcanons, going through those tough times, Hobie being the Homie he is, Reader is implied a Spider-person, But also up to interpretation, Comfort and Fluff, no angst

Hobie Brown headcanons for anyone that’s going through those dysphoric episodes <3

first of all, let's get one thing straight here: Hobie FULLY SUPPORTS you being trans

He doesn't see you as anything fem aligned unless said otherwise

lets you crash in his universe, especially when you need it

he thrifts a lot of big and baggy jackets and sweaters, only to give them to you saying he "bought the wrong size"

There's definitely a couple of sweaters from his own wardrobe that you've stolen

you've definitely worn his jacket that he usually wears over his spidey suit, it makes you feel as cool as him

he made you your own jacket, with a trans pin and another with his Spidey logo

lets you borrow anything you want because he knows it makes you feel good 

the type to check in on you if you've been binding the whole day

When things get too much and you feel bad in your own skin, Hobie would spend time with you in his universe

he makes you a comfy fort blanket where you can stay and watch anything you please while he plucks the strings of his guitar on the floor

definitely, the type to get you anything you wanna eat when you've lost your appetite 

stays by your side, letting you lean on him when you seek comfort

If it gets too much as tears start to fall, he’ll hold you through it, brings you into his arms while you let all those feelings out

Rakes his fingers through your hair or just likes softly petting you if it helps you calm down 

completely understands if you need some alone time when dealing with dysphoria, making sure you have enough snacks and water before he leaves to hang somewhere else

he's the spokesperson whenever you wanna be left alone, making sure the others won't bother you too

Says "You're cooler than me mate, cooler than Miles too,"

says dumb shit like; "You are the manliest man to ever man," or "No one does a better job being a boy than you," Just to make you feel better

his side-eye game STRONG 💪dont look at you weird or he'll give them a bone-chilling, soul-crushing, ‘wish I was dead’ side eye

He and Pav is the type to make little trinkets for their friends tbh, he deff makes pins from bottle caps and gives them to you

His favorite spot to bring you when you feel down is near the top of any tall building, bringing snacks and a blanket. He says it makes him feel better knowing everyone is so small, and the world is huge, so in the end, nothing really matters and so be whatever the fuck you wanna be.

Requests are open! Reblogs are appreciated <3

[rightous-int]

Trans rights or punch in the face

[badchoicesworld]

Hi i was wondering if you could do a male s/o that gets super insecure and uncomfortable when people look at his top surgery scars and he hates it when people miss gender him and Miles Morales Miles 42 Hobie Pavitr Prabhakar and Spider-Noir are there to defend or shut the people that miss gender him or glare at them to the point where the other person gets uncomfortable and stop looking at the male reader I'm sorry if it doesn't make sense i just type really fast and don't re-read it at some points

Anyways I absolutely love your writing work I really enjoy it and everything, have a lovely day or night ❤️💕

hobie, 1610!miles, 42!miles, pavitr and noir defending their transmasc partners

ok this took me a while i admit but i hope you enjoy !

established, separate relationships

warnings: i’m sleepy

pairing: hobie brown x transmasc!reader, earth-1610 miles morales x transmasc!reader, earth-42 miles morales x trans!mascreader, pavitr prabhakar x transmasc!reader, spider-noir x transmasc!reader

requests: check out the blog-guide for info !

he’s rapidly approaching

★⋆ ⋆☆⋆ ☠︎︎ ⋆☆⋆⋆★✧

punk personified

you two were getting ready for a sick concert you’ve been looking forward to for a small while now, moral is high and all’s good

ofc it’s punk, and hobie will be damned if you don’t dress the part with him

he started diying you guys outfits for this specific concert a few weeks beforehand, and he’s super proud of them ! very happy to show you and he hopes you like them

you like them . because i said so

however, it did include a shirt that looks like it had been torn up in every way possible

depending on what ur comfortable with, it can either be a crop top that rides up just a little too much when you jump about and stretch OR it’s one of those tank tops where the sides of your torso simply aren’t covered, very low cut sides

so yeah, your top surgery scars are in the breeze

intentional ? who knows, this is hobie we’re talking about

maybe hobie’s tryna get you to step out of your comfort zone and feel more comfortable in ur skin in an environment where he knows you won’t be judged

perhaps he simply did not take this into consideration because he doesn’t even think twice about ur scars

regardless, they’re out, you both look sick, im forever furious that we were deprived of tank top hobie in low riders PLEASE (he exists in my dreams)

the concert isn’t the problem- don’t call urself punk if ur a bigot we all know this

it’s the walk there that really sucked

you and hobie got some intense stares from people as you walked hand in hand to this thing

naturally, hobie ate that shit up, kept his head high the whole time and doesn’t bat an eye at this people

you’re not as confident, unfortunately . catching people looking at your scars makes you feel all sorts of insecure, which is valid man

hobie also gets this, and god knows he looks for every excuse to antagonise those closed minded people so he’s very content to start a fight

cant care less when it comes to people judging him, he knows who he is and he’s proud asf, not gonna waste his breath on that

but when hobie sees his boyfriend curling in on himself because of strangers in the street that aren’t shit, that’s when he can be bothered to pay some mind to them

it’s subtle, for your sake . doesn’t wanna draw any more attention and risk getting caught up in this when you’ve both been looking forward to this concert for so long

so instead of outright starting a fight, he uses that scary privilege he knows he has and just stared them down in such a disrespectful way

the way that you’re both dressed too, i’m sure that it works

doesn’t relent either, will stare until the other people stop staring

ideally ? he wants to make them walk away and stop bothering you, but he’s alright with exchanging a scowl for the person to look away instead, preferably in shame

when they’re taken care of, that’s that . he wants you two to forget about that and have fun at this gig, sound good ? he wants to see you genuinely enjoying yourself in your own skin, surrounded by the people that make him feel more like himself too

besides, scars are nothing to be ashamed of or to hide

the walk home is a lot more peaceful

★⋆ ⋆☆⋆ ☠︎︎ ⋆☆⋆⋆★✧

i’m sorry u were ever hurt

you two are off to the water park (using the american word, sorry fellow brits :() together, enjoy ur youth

imagine how cool you two are rolling up in ur swimming trunks

i wholeheartedly believe that miles is an absolute sap and would wanna match- i die on the hill that he’s a born to “hi ( ´ ▽ ` )ﾉ” forced to “wsg”

anyway, go have fun at the baths

that’s what miles expects anyway, fun with no strings attached, as most would

but that’s not how the world works, unfortunately

some people live to be hateful and have sad, empty, boring, gloomy, pathetic, waste of space lives, and you have to go through the misfortune of enduring some really vicious stares . all because you’re a guy with a few scars on his chest

people talk, you might overhear some stuff about ur character that makes you really insecure and upset

takes miles a little minute to clock the way you’re trying to fold your arms to hide your scars, but he catches on pretty quickly that it’s because of the people around you

is immediately by your side and looking concerned as hell

initially assumed that you might be in some pain, maybe the chlorine is fucking w ur scar tissue

sympathetic and checking in on you in the gentlest way when he notices that sadness

“w-hey, what’s happenin? you good?” standing really close and tilting his head to make eye contact with you if you’re looking down or away, hands are grazing your elbows to hold you

miles cares, a lot

speak ur mind man, tell him what’s going on

looks over your shoulder and at the people making you feel uncomfortable with that determined look

ushers you away, doesn’t want you around those kind people . bad vibes, he doesn’t fuck w it

probably goes snitch to staff lmao

and that’s how much he cares, he’d get stitches for u (ﾉд`)

but miles isn’t about to let the day be ruined by transphobes- god forbid

so he’s gonna try hard to make you forget about that interaction, it’s like a switch when he suddenly becomes all energetic again and is basically dragging you back towards the water

wants to hear you start laughing real fast

if miles venom striked the pool would everyone fucking die ?

★⋆ ⋆☆⋆ ☠︎︎ ⋆☆⋆⋆★✧

cat

GYM BABY

PE class gotta suck with all those bitchy teens being closed minded for no good reason and thinking it’s funny to openly judge and mock the things they don’t understand

miles is very mature and knows that bullying just isn’t cool, downright stupid and bullies should honestly be embarrassed to show their face

but because the changing rooms are so small, he can’t even attempt to ignore the comments he’s hearing, all directed at his boyfriend who’s just trying to change for class

you’re minding your own business, why can’t they mind theirs ?

is another person that doesn’t wanna give you a worse time by antagonising those freaks and picking a fight, will instead just stare over his shoulder

works, miles 42 has a mean side eye, straight up vicious

he knows that won’t resolve the issue, people are so resilient w their hate and

gets insanely irritated if someone suggests you changing somewhere else . honestly would just prefer for there to be some tension in the locker room instead of isolating you away while you changed, couldn’t stand that idea because it’s flat out not fair . on top of a number of other things

can ignore the tension, doesn’t know about you

talks to you about not backing down, you have every right ro be in there and you shouldn’t feel in any way negatively about it

don’t give those closed minded people the satisfaction of making you feel bad about yourself and accommodating to them

makes an excellent point one day

“why are you watchin’ my boyfriend change..?” says it so slowly and it got real awkward after that

won’t tell a teacher unless you want to, then he’ll be moral support and be waiting for you outside the office

anyway, man’s got a killer deadeye to keep people in line and tries to not antagonise people too much

just get changed, that’s what you’re there to do people

stop being weird abt it

★⋆ ⋆☆⋆ ☠︎︎ ⋆☆⋆⋆★✧

please don’t die

i’m a huge fan of those people that see a trans flag and immediately try to pull a “you’ll never be a real woman >:C” to a trans man

like yeah, thanks man, really appreciate it

it’s happened to you once or twice in the street, you or pav have some kind of pin or smthn and you’re literally just approached by strangers who have nothing better to do with their day

the most meaningful thing abt it is talking to you two honestly, ur just that cool

i can see him reading people just to point out their insecurities because violence isn’t the answer

it’s a last resort, but imagine you two simply minding your own business and this blank slate of a person decides to make a comment on your masculinity

“it’s okay sweetie, they’re just trying to overcompensate for their lack of a personality ! (๑˃́ꇴ˂̀๑)” huh 👁️👁️

pays literally no mind to them, pretends nothing happens and keeps walking with you

it’s like an invisible force field, bounces right off of him and somehow hurts the other person more

walking embodiment of that “i am rubber you are glue, what bounces off of me stick to you” and he probably recites that, too

but yeah, so insanely unbothered that i would maybe check up on him from time to time ? how is he always so chipper ? is bro good ?

but it’s infectious, so you can’t let it get to you either, it’s hard to feel sad around pav

he will somehow coincidentally always find something to immediately take ur mind off if it

after a shitty interaction with someone talking about pronouns and how theirs are an inanimate object, he miraculously spots a food stand you guys haven’t tried yet

does that Σ(ﾟロﾟ) face of his while gasping and drags you over, no questions asked

interrupts the person with the longest gasp, one would assume he hadn’t had a breath of fresh air ever

“look look! we have to try it!” pointing like that fuckin Soyjaks meme and ur gone, bigot is left in the dust

i’ve heard food is great therapy, and he believes so too

so scran down on some good street food while pavitr looks like a beam of sunshine despite just ruining a persons self esteem for the rest of their lie

it’s deserved though, so you can both sleep well

yknow what else slaps ? some chai, go home and have some w his aunty who thinks you’ve a very handsome young man

★⋆ ⋆☆⋆ ☠︎︎ ⋆☆⋆⋆★✧

why the fuck is he so broad hang on

she/her a he/him and get shot, idk mans got a whole firearm for a reason

it’s takes him a little while to understand trans slander, but eventually it becomes like a fine art to him because i think he has a tendency to hyperfixate on things until he understands them in violent detail (autistic. he’s violently autistic coded. cant read a room, hyperfixated on his favourite colour, struggles to express himself through his tone.. yknow)

so if one day someone happens to catch sight of your scars and starts to talk shit in whatever 30’s slang from his dimension and modern slang from your own, he is so ready to give this speech on discrimination

theres a power point slide too but he doesn’t know how that works

gives up not even half way because he got frustrated and started cursing them out instead

“look, you seem like lovely people- no, no you don’t”

he has anger issues

there’s a lot of “and my boyfriend!” followed by a compliment, he managed to throw a few in there for good measure

says something about the colour purple at one point, i don’t know how that happened

please steer him away before someone gets shot over colour theory (surprised it hasn’t happened yet, ammarite fellow artists ? 😀 )

apologises for getting carried away, has to stop himself from talking about colours again he’s just such a peter and so unserious

“i’m sorry i- that must have been hard for you” clearly it was harder for u dear god

is likely the most insistent on doing anything and everything to make you feel better, is open to suggestions and is basically begging for them

while everyone else is low-key for ur own sake, this man’s about to buy you the world with his 4 dollars which is pretty impressive in his dimension

insists on doing your favourite things, is suggesting this and that, left right and centre

is convinced it’s the end of the world, this is reinforced since you seemed so upset and uncomfortable being misgendered by some people on the street

if you’re plenty happy to settle doing something, he’s thrilled and is giving it his 110% just for you

go watch a movie, careful not to point out the colours of noir will then realise that movies are no longer in black and white and starts asking you if everything is purple

“what a lovely purple :]” pan to like a whole pyramid

★⋆ ⋆☆⋆ ☠︎︎ ⋆☆⋆⋆★✧

anyway, can you tell that hobie is easiest for me to write for and that i was running out of ideas ?

let me know how you feel about it !

if this flops i’m gonna have to go on a long stroll

[zoro-chwaan]

So this was something I started last year, but never finished (cause I forgor) buy here ya go.

Ooc Hobie probably, but boo hoo, I don’t care

» [ Hobie (Spider-Punk) x trans!reader ] «

─── ☾

You and Hobie always had a weird friendship. Where whenever one of you saw the other, you would scream at each other about how great the other is. The other spider-folks would either find it adorable or annoying. Miguel thought of it as annoying since the both of you are ‘too loud’ for his taste. But why does it matter to him? Maybe he’s still sour due to the fact that he lost his daughter, personal issue if you ask me.

Though Hobie and you are close friends. You still neglected to mention to him some things about you, but you didn’t have the need to tell him anything any time soon. You’d know he’d be fine with the fact of who you are.

Oddly enough, today you decided to install Pokémon Go. Just for the heck of it (and because you really wanted a specific Pokémon). You spent roughly a couple minutes on it, starting to question if it was the right choice. You opened the portal to where all the spider-folks are at and walked in. You looked around to see if you can spot a certain punk.

“You looking for someone?”

Startled and turned to see it was just Lyla with a smirk on her face. You chuckled and nodded, “Do you know if Hobie is in here or if he’s in his dimension?” Lyla just laughed and told you that he was here. “He’s on top of one of the buildings” She said as she disappeared. You smiled and went on your way. After a while you found him where Lyla said he would be. He seemed to just be relaxing, you smiled and looked at him for a bit before you decided to ruin his day. “HOBIE!!” Hobie turned around and saw you and smiled. “Yeah Y/N, it’s me. What’s up?”

“I THINK I MADE A MISTAKE!”

He looked at you with a confused expression “WHAT kind of mistake?!” You paused for a moment and muttered, “So I decided to reinstall Pokémon Go..”

“Y/N, DON’T PLAY THAT GAME FOR YOUR OWN SAKE!!”

“BUT I NEED (Favorite Pokémon)!!”

“THEY ARE FICTIONAL CREATURES! YOU DON’T NEED THEM!” You gasped at his statement and gave him a look of betrayal. “YES I DO!!” You responded. “WHY ON EARTH DO YOU NEED THEM?!”

“BECAUSE I RELATE TO (Favorite Pokémon)!!” You yelled back.

“WHY DO YOU RELATE TO (Favorite Pokémon)?!”

“NO COMMENT”

“DON’T YOU HAVE FRIENDS?!” He blurted out. You paused once again giving him a look that said ‘Ayo chill’ He saw that and chuckled awkwardly, “I was just asking..” He scratched the back of his neck.

“This is why I need (Favorite Pokémon)”

“YOU DON’T NEED (Favorite Pokémon)!!”

“YOU DON’T KNOW WHATS GOOD FOR ME!!”

“I ACTUALLY DO KNOW WHATS GOOD FOR YOU!!”

“NUH UH!!”

“YUH HUH!!” He retorted

“SAYS WHO??” You fought back

“SAYS ME” He countered

“WHY?!”

“BECAUSE I KNOW YOU BETTER THAN ANYONE ELSE DOES” He stood up and walked towards you. He’s not wrong, he really does know you better than anyone else in here does. You two were close, and it shows. “I KNOW” you screamed.

“YOU DON’T KNOW!! IF YOU KNEW, YOU WOULDN’T BE PLAYING POKÉMON GO!!” Damnit he’s got a point.

“BUT I NEED IT”

“YOU DON’T NEED IT!!”

“WHY?!”

“BECAUSE ITS BAD FOR YOU!” (NUH uh)

“Damn..” you said, acting a bit dramatic for the affect. He sighed and shook his head, “What am I going to do with you?” He questioned, mostly to himself while smiling. “Honestly, I don’t even know myself” you replied. You both stayed silent for a bit, till he thought of something. “Hey Y/N… I think I know why you relate to (Favorite Pokémon) now..” You gave him a puzzled look and quirked up an eyebrow. “Oh yeah?”

“You just need a friend”

“…”

“…”

“…”

“Okay we’re done with this conversation” you said as you facepalmed. No need to call you out like that.. geez..

“BUT I WANNA HELP!”

“NO!!”

“I’M GONNA HELP YOU WHETHER YOU LIKE IT OR NOT!!!”

“WHY?!”

“BECAUSE I’M YOUR FRIEND AND YOU NEED ME TO HELP!!”

“DO YOU KNOW WHAT I NEED??”

“A FRIEND??!” “Damn I get it… no need to remind me that I’m lonely..” You mentally said to yourself

“NO!! A CHEST BINDER” You replied without thinking. Shit.. did you just really put yourself?

“A CHEST BINDER??!!” Now it was his turn to look puzzled.. Fuck

“YEAH!”

“WHY???!!!” “Well it’s now or never..”

“CAUSE I’M TRANS!!”

“YOUR TRANS?!”

“YEAH!! WHAT OF IT?!!” You would be lying to yourself if you said that your kinda scared shitless

“I’M JUST SURPRISED!!”

“REALLY?” “Dumb reply”

“YEAH, I DIDN’T KNOW YOU WERE TRANS!!!” Even if you never told him, he still would’ve called you a guy since you passed really well. You were happy.

“WELL SURPRISE!!” You were scared shitless, yet you knew he would still be supportive of you. That’s just how he is, but it was your turn to be surprised by what came out his mouth.

“I HAVE TO GET YOU A CHEST BINDER NOW!!”

“THAT’S SO SWEET OF YOU!!” Your heart beat a happy tune.. man he made you feel such love and happiness

“ANYTHING FOR YOU!!” Yeah.. he really made your heart skip a beat

“WHY ARE WE STILL YELLING?!”

“BECAUSE WE’RE LOUD PEOPLE!!” You paused once again and nodded. “Fair enough”, again silence came over you two again.

“…So, about the chest binder..” Hobie started up. You turned to him, “What about it?”

“I REALLY NEED TO GET YOU ONE!!” Man, he really is sweet. But sometimes, you just want to buy something’s for yourself. As a reward.

“I CAN GET IT MYSELF, BUCKO”

“NO YOU CAN’T!! IT’S MY JOB TO GET YOU ONE!!” He’s more than aware that you are more than capable of getting yourself one, but he really cares about you and wants to give you one as a gift. How sweet

“WHY?!”

“BECAUSE YOU NEED IT!!”

“YEAH I DO!! I CAN GET ONE MYSELF!!”

“I’LL BUY YOU ONE!!!!” And when you thought he couldn’t get any sweeter..

“YOU DON’T NEED TO”

“I’LL BUY IT AND NO ONE CAN STOP ME!!” Times like these, you’re really thankful that you’re on top of a building. Sure, if some folks are close enough, they would hear your guy’s scream fight. But would they understand what the two do you are talking about.. probably not.

“LET ME BUY IT FOR MYSELF!!”

ੈ✩‧₊˚ ————

Will I finish this? Probably not, but hey, you just gotta do what you gotta do

[spidey-x-male-reader]

Into the Spiderverse Masterlist

Hobie Brown

Hobie introducing you, his boyfriend, to his friends, after they asked about his "MJ"

Hobie giving you a stick and poke tattoo after you got top surgery

Headcanon: Dating Hobie Brown

Hobie comforting you when you get gender dysphoria

Vampire!reader, getting ready for mission

Hobie being worried and staying at your bed after you almost died on a mission

Miguel O'Hara

Miguel getting help from you after a mission

You coming home to Miguel having cleaned your (very messy) apartment

The Spot

Meeting the Spot as spiderperson and finding his powers really cool (non-binary reader)

To be continued...

Click here to find my Blog Guide and Masterlists for other fandoms

[eyesxxyou]

❝ bleeding hearts ❞ (rough hands pt.3)

｡ﾟ･ ¡ content. rival bands hobie x FTM!reader, conflicting emotions, a lot of sexual tension, bleeding, lots of kissing, masturbation, oral (reader receiving) p-in-v sex, creampie. you let things go too far. now, you deny anything ever happened. with the final days of the competition coming up, you find yourself reconsidering your feelings for Hobie Brown.

wc: 4.5k

↳ pt.1 / pt.2 / pt.3

“Again. We need to go again.”

You’ve been at this for hours, practicing your songs for the battle of the bands until your voice was stripped raw of all pleasantness. Now you sounded rough, callous, a scratching against your vocal chords that left you wincing. But you needed to go further, harder, faster. You needed to go until your voice abandoned you.

It was your drummer who said something. “No, I think we should call it a night. You’re gonna lose your voice and we have a competition in a few days.” He was firm, gruff, overriding your demand to keep going with a slapdash period at the end of it. There was no room for argument, especially when all of your bandmates murmured with vague sounds of agreement.

You huff almost like a child who didn’t get his way. “Fine, whatever. You can leave. I’m gonna keep going.” You turn back to the mic, fiddling with the strings of your bass. Your fingers were skinned raw like your throat, you weren’t sure you could use it even if you wanted to. You strummed it while your band packed up, all of them telling you to get some rest. They all noticed something was terribly off about you but whenever asked, you would just grumble and turn away.

Alone, you slowly began to strum your bass and wince with pain as you hummed out the lyrics you’ve been working on. It’s been two weeks since you’ve spoken to Hobie. You’ve seen each other at the venues where the competitions were taking place but would walk right by each other as if the other didn’t even exist. Sometimes you would shoulder check, he would glare. It was as if nothing had changed from the beginning.

But your mind had been swimming with him. He lingered just as you had been trying to avoid. Every time you sat down to scratch down some lyrics, you’d always find them fading into songs about him. How much you love him, how much you hate him. Love and hate are simply the same emotions, you find yourself more and more convinced of it everyday you spend apart from him.

You only stop practicing when your fingers start to bleed onto the wire strings. You look at it, the blood seeping from your fingertips, hot and wet with your desire. You wished your heart would burst and blood would fill your throat, your lungs, your chest. And you would collapse, suffocating on the sweetness of your love.

You put bandages on your fingers and hoped the blood wouldn't seep through in the night. Collapsing onto your bed in only your underwear, you let out a weary sigh. You gazed at the cracked ceiling of your flat, your mind swirling with thoughts of Hobie against your will. You wanted to rid yourself of him, expel him from your body like vomit. You needed him out and away for fear you might decay into your affections for him.

You thought of him. His face, his hands, his cock. The baritone of his voice rang in your ears, singing out notes of pleasure for you. His hands worshiping your waist, his lips pressing kisses to your throat.

Your days usually ended like this, with your body suddenly nude of all clothing, your fingers viciously rubbing your hard t-dick. You imagined Hobie's fingers, stroking through your sweet slick, gathering it on his fingers before slipping one into you with little resistance to be had.

You let out a gasp and whimper as you slid in a second finger. Though it felt good, it didn't feel good enough. It wasn't the same, a poor replication of all you wanted. Your fingers weren't quite long enough, too short and stout to be his long, slender appendages, but they would make due as it were. After all, your days sleeping with Hobie were over and you’d have to quickly become used to your own fingers again.

You hated that you missed him even beyond the sex. It would be one thing if you missed his fingers, his tongue, the sweet stretch of his length inside you. But you missed him. You simply didn't know how to handle it. The notion that you liked him, feelings boiling to the surface against your will, it terrified you.

Your orgasm was unsatisfactory and left you feeling far worse off than before. You looked to the fingers of your other hand and found a few splotches of blood on the bandages.

The battle of the bands spanned 3 weeks. Bands from all over would compete against each other for the prize of a record deal. So far, The Mutts have beaten 3 others. As it turns out, the Mary Jane's were performing today after beating 2 others.

Your bleeding heart in your hands.

You were uninterested. Or– you were pretending to be at least. Roaming the venue packed full of bands of friend and foe, you make your way to the bar to get a drink. It was deserved you thought. You had caught sight of Hobie from across the way, talking to a guy. It could have been something innocent but he was smiling too much, his fingers fiddling with something on the guy's jacket like he used to do to you. He had moved on so quickly.

Something jagged lodged itself in your throat, anger simmered to the surface. You wanted to go over and punch him but to everyone around, that would be uncalled for. You pretended to be unphased by the sight but you weren't sure if you were doing a good job of hiding your seething anger.

Hobie glanced to his side and caught your gaze. Immediately, he retracted his hand from the stranger and his smile fell. He looked away, you did the same as your drink came. Fuck him. Who needs that kind of drama in their lives?

It was The Mary Janes’ turn to go on. You didn't bother to turn around to look at the stage as they came on. It was loud, people chanting and cheering, intermingled with sharp whistles and booming claps. You nursed your drink and kept your head low.

“One, two- One, two, three, four!” With the count, the band started playing, loud and fast and so messily chaotic it was cohesive. You expected something anti-authoritariant in nature, something you had heard from them in the past. But as Hobie began to sing, you found that the lyrics were rather lovely in nature, hidden behind gruffy, loud vocals and louder instrumentals.

The lyrics were for you. Or rather– about you. You could tell it so clearly. In a perfect world, you would have swooned and met him backstage with a passionate kiss, declaring your love for him. But all you could feel was the sinking pit opening up in your chest to swallow you whole.

“My hands rough with your love

Sweet lips like a dove

Please don’t say goodnight

To the one thing that brings me alight”

You got up from the bar, slapping down a few quid and ducking out into the crowd. You waded between clammy bodies, grimacing at the humidity and scent of fresh sweat in the air. You needed to get out of here. How could you possibly listen to the retelling of you relationship sung out before a bunch of unknowing strangers?

“To be or not to be

With sweet release we come to see

The way we stand in the debris 

Of our fallen tragedy”

His voice was beautiful. You couldn't stand it, the way the notes slithered around your throat and tightened into a choking hold. With a lump in your throat, you felt the need to sob, to scream, to tear your hair out bit by bit.

“What is this all for

And endless swirl of fresh gore

Why did we even start

When all we’d be left with is bleeding hearts”

You made your way backstage where his voice faded into vague murmurs and you found a secluded area to let your tears flow freely.

You hadn't even noticed when Hobie and his Mary Janes' finished, their end marked by unanimous cheering and whistles. If only you had known the way Hobie rushed off stage to find you. He had seen you while performing, the distressed look upon your pretty face as you frantically looked for a way out. He wondered if he had gone too far. He hadn't meant to upset you. It was intended to be an apology.

People were congratulating Hobie as he made his way by. He didn't care for them. He just wanted to find you. And he did, he found you in the corner, your shoulders trembling. He could tell instantly that you were crying and felt all the more terrible about it. “Luv–”

You stood up straight from your hunched position and whipped around to look at him. Your cheeks were glossy, tears streaking your flesh like fresh cuts. His lyrics had carved a gory wound in your chest. You quickly began to wipe your cheeks with the backs of your hands.

He never meant to hurt you, never meant to make you cry. It was just vague enough for no one but you to understand it. It was for you. It was all for you. How could you not understand that.

You sniffled and crossed your arms over your chest as if to hold yourself. You turned away from him, ready to walk off and leave it there. But he grabbed your arm before you could leave. You attempted to shake yourself free but his grip was too tight. 

He looked at you without a word, brows pinched, eyes desperate, an apology. It was as much an apology as a beg for things to return to how they used to be. A declaration that he missed you.

You were shaking, staring at him with wide eyes and trembling lips. You shoved him away from you. You didn't know how to handle feelings, tenderness, gory wounds and bleeding hearts. You did not want his heart, you told yourself. You did not want it beating in your palms, bloody and full of love. You could not kiss it the way he wanted. You could not love it the way one needed.

Can't you see that he loves you? Can't you see that he’s laying himself in the middle of the road and letting you run him over? He’s placed his wounded heart in your hands. You shook your head and left him without a word, tears like rivers down your face. Hobie watched you retreat, his heart at his feet.

Oh, how love terrified you. The messiness, the gore, the tears of it all. You had every reason to avoid it. But it had seized you so viciously, so suddenly, and left you gasping for air. A cavity in your chest where your heart should be, left somewhere in the clutter of Hobie’s houseboat.

But a part of you hopes he sleeps with it, holds it in his arms and caresses it with his hands that once protected you.

Rough hands, sweet lips, bleeding hearts.

You avoid Hobie and he avoids you. It’s a mutual thing. Your sneers at each other return from a distance. Shoulder checks and glowering glances between the love songs Hobie sings during the competition. Your minds run in a parallel, still lingering on each other in the dead of night.

And by the grace of some higher power, like a sick joke for the amusement of others, it seems as though for the final round, The Mutts and The Mary Jane's are being pitted against each other. Both bands came to life with the idea of being superior to the other in an official setting. Whoever lost would never live it down.

“We’re gonna crush them.” Your drummer twirled his stick between his fingers, his eyes narrowing at the sight of the Mary Janes passing through. You and Hobie caught each other's gaze, a silent pact to never speak of what happened between you two. It would be something of the past, a fling, a brief blip in history. No one had to know of the way your chest lunged for him.

It was the night before the final day of the competition. The night before your Mutts faced off against the Mary Janes. You had told your band to get rest while you played well into the night, scribbling down Hobie’s name into your lyric book before times than you were comfortable with, scratching them out just as fast.

You glanced at your house phone in the corner, your fingers thrumming against your guitar strings aimlessly. You knew Hobie’s number by heart, your fingers already typing out the numbers against the flat of your bass. You wanted to call, to hear his voice to ease your anxieties. How ridiculous would it be to call your competitor before your competition?

But before you could have the will to stop yourself, you had set your bass down and walked over the the phone, taking it up off the stand and punching in the specific pattern of numbers to call him. The phone rang, once, then twice, giving you just enough time to regret your decision just as Hobie picked up.

“‘Ello?”

You were silent for a long moment. You could still hang up if you wanted to…If you wanted to. But you cleared your throat of the sudden hitch of your breath and let out a shaky sigh, “Hobie?”

You could hear him cough across the line. “Luv.” His voice was tender in your ear and soothed you more than you would have liked any other time, but you needed it. Needed him. Your heart pulsed, your fingers swirled the coiled wire of the phone line. 

There was silence for a long while. The two of you listened to each other's soft breathing and found comfort in the sound of the life within you. So many words to be said, so little will to say it. Your brows pinched, you caught your bottom lip between your lips.

“I’m sorry.” You babbled out. You were sorry for everything. For being a coward, for running away, for tossing his heart right back in his face when all he wanted was to make things right with you. “I'm such a fucking coward, aren't I?” You let out a weak chuckle.

Hobie chuckled with you, the low sweet rumble of his voice making you shudder. “A lil’, but ain’t we all?” There was something oddly comforting about his words. He soothed his fingers over your cheek and told you sweetly that it was all okay. A flaw that wasn't a fault of your own.

“I'm scared.” 

“O’ what?”

You held the receiver against your face, holding it with both hands, holding it as if it were him in your arms. “Of you.” You’re terrified by him, the feelings he stirred up in your chest you weren't sure you were ready to handle. You don't know why you’re doing this, why you’re telling him this. Did you hope to hear him say he loved you and he was scared of it too?

“Would i’ make ya feel better y'know ‘m scared o’ ya too?” It was a tender admission. Two people, in rival bands, so scared to love each other, in love. What a sick joke. “But who isn' scared? I never let bein’ scared stop me.”

“Why are we doing this?”

Hobie hummed. You could almost hear him shrugging through the phone, his smile. “Why shouldn' we be doin’ this?” He was so lighthearted and sweet through the grain of the phone speaker. You kept curling the phone line around your finger, curling and uncurling, curling and uncurling. “Our bands-”

“Fuck ‘em.” Hobie scoffed. “‘M no’ gonna let ‘em get in the way of wha’ I wan’. They need t’ grow up.”

You chewed at the soft inner flesh of your cheek. “Can I come over?” You almost whisper into the phone. Your voice pleaded for him not to deny you of your request. How cruel could he be to deny a lonely, lovesick man his simple ask? You’re lucky that Hobie was not as much of a dick as you always believed him to be. He hummed. “Ya know ya can come over wheneva ya wan'.”

You said your sweet goodbyes and hung up the phone before going to put your shoes on. You left your flat in a run and caught a cab down to the docks where Hobie’s houseboat resided.

The salty wind whipped at your face as you boarded the boat, your shoes thumping against the hardwood as you made your way to the door. The nights were on from the inside, you could hear Hobie’s rummaging behind the door. He had been waiting for you.

He opened the door as soon as you knocked, standing before you in just a pair of sweatpants hanging lowly on his hips. He was beautiful and tragic and your stomach churned upon seeing him standing there before you. You stepped forward and wrapped your arms around his neck without as word, pressing your lips to his. The kindness one man extends to another. 

Hobie’s hands were on your hips, dragging you so close you body pressed to his. Tender kisses shared between timid lips and wet tongues, Hobie pulled you into his home and closed the door behind you, pressing you gently to the wall with all his body. He wanted you to feel him, his desire, his need, his want, his love.

His fingers sunk into the plush of your flesh. His lips caressed yours, his tongue lapped into your mouth and teased at the sweetness of your mouth. Your desire spilled out all over each other, but you were gentle, your hands tenderly roaming. You sighed into his mouth and he swallowed it as if it were the only sustenance he'd ever need. 

You placed your hands on his arms and broke your kiss to look up at him with soft, scared eyes. You both knew, if you did this, there was no going back.

“I’ll take care o’ ya.” Hobie assured you, leaning down to kiss the corners of your sweet mouth. You caught his lips, the taste of him making you delirious.

You peeled each other's clothes off piece by piece, your fingers tracing, your eyes admiring. “Yer beautiful.” Hobie murmured dizzily between kisses against your throat. He had never complimented you like that before. It came out like he had been waiting so very long to say that. Your face was hot, you purred with satisfaction. “You’re beautiful too.”

Hobie led you over to his bed, messy as if he had just been laying in it. He had you sit at the end and asked you to lay back as he began to kneel down before you. You understood what he wanted to do. Every time before, it had been a hasty matter. Frantic, as if you were running out of time. But he had gone slow now, lowering to his knees and carefully parted your knees. He brought them up over his shoulders and with tender lips, began to kiss your inner thighs.

His breath was warm, fanning your thighs delicately. His lips traced a path along your supple flesh, fingers gripping into the meat of your legs. You fluttered where you needed him most as his breath kissed your clit. “Hobie, please–” You gasped as his tongue licked you where you were wet and open.

He was sweet. Tonguing at your open cunt gently. He dragged the tip to your hardened clit where you shuddered and moaned as he traced stars across the bud. He kissed you there like they were your lips, like they could kiss back, drooling and suckling where he knew you liked it most. 

He tasted you. Your musky sweetness, the sweat from practicing all day. He liked your tanginess. You didn't taste like something artificial. He laid broad strokes against you, spindling dulcet mewls from your trembling lips. Your fingers curled into his sheets, back arching away from his bed.

He sucked at your clit, rolling the rosebud between his lips. Long ringed fingers pressing into your thighs, keeping them from claiming down on his head. Your legs trembled with every messy lick of his languid tongue.

“Yer so good f’me.” Hobie hummed against you. You cried out. Suddenly you found yourself eternally grateful you were on a boat, completely removed from other people. You would have been embarrassed by how shamelessly you moaned for him.

Your fingers were pulling at his wicks. Suddenly feeling sappy, you wanted his lips against yours and his length filling you to the brim. You wanted to press your hand on your tummy and feel him place his love there. ‘Pour yourself into me and I will give you the same kindness,’ you wanted to say.

Hobie understood you wanted to go further by your needy tugs and began a tender path up your body with his lips. Your pelvis, navel, diaphragm, sternum. And when he reached your mouth, he had been nestled neatly between your legs with his heavy cock lying against your tummy as if to demonstrate how deep he would be once inside.

“Be gentle.” You told him, murmuring against his lips, your arms around his neck, eyes glossy and hazy. Hobie kissed you again, neat and sweet. It did not lack passion but it was contained. He did not want to scare you off with it, let it loose like a dog off a leash. You could tell he was holding back and kissed him deeper, coaxing it out with your tongue and teeth. He laid his passion out before you as if to say, ‘here is my heart, take it or leave it, but it will always be yours’.

As Hobie eased his way into your wanton opening, you gasped into his mouth and your entire body shook with the sweet stretch. Your moan was high and shrill with pain and pleasure and all the things that make them one. Hobie's hands grasped your hips to keep you still, his lips pressing to your throat blooming with roses of hickeys.

You held each other as if to hide yourselves. You felt terribly vulnerable and bare with him so snuggly inside you. It didn't help when he got up and sat on his haunches for a better angle. Your hips were raised, back arched, your body laid, splayed out for him to admire.

Hobie rolled his hips into yours and you felt him brush your cervix. It made your walls flutter. You watched him falter a bit at the feeling of your soft wetness. Yes, he was right, all your rough edges and biting words was all a plot to hide how you truly longed for — and feared — the gentleness of love.

Hobie did as told and was rather gentle with you. He had never been so before, always in a rush, always fingering you until your body did things it had never done before, never leaving you until he had thoroughly satisfied himself with your orgasms and crying. But he looked as though he struggled to be gentle, as if it was something so foreign to him. He had never been gentle before but he wanted to be for you.

Two bodies and their struggle at love-making, you rolled your hips into each other, whisper-like moans and shuddering breaths fill the space between you. Hobie thrusted into you with a slow push of his hips, groaning at the way your greedy hole welcomed him. “So good.” He murmured lowly.

You were purring with heavy, hazy eyes, gasping as you’re filled to the brim. You felt terribly close to him. Yes physically, but also emotionally. Your moans laced in with one another, mingled in the air with your humid sweat.

Everything was quite soft. Your skin stuck together due to the thin layer of sweat accumulating on your flesh. It was as if your bodies did not want to part, the feeling was too sweet. Your toes pointed and your legs shook. Hobie soothed a hand up and down your thighs. “I’s okay. Go ‘head ‘n take i’.”

“Hobie~” You sang for him. Long gone were the days of heavy petting and questioning if you’d ever have the courage to go further with each other. The torture of will you won't you ended by the sweet relief of intercourse.

You grasped at Hobie’s hands on your house and pressed your hips down until you could feel him pressing into your intestines. You pressed your hand there and felt him move in and out of you. “God!” 

“Does I'm hurt?” Hobie slowed to a paused, holding you close, ready to adjust if it did. You viciously shook your head and reached out for him. “No…come kiss me.” Your voice was bare and full of a vulnerability you would have otherwise been embarrassed by. But he had stripped you of your humiliation and left you needy and wanting for love.

Hobie was eager to do as told, his heart swelling at your neediness. He came and he kissed you and you purred some more. Lips press, tongues push, the gentle sighs and moans into each other's mouth make you giggle softly against his lips. You hook your legs around his hips and pull him in.

There's a building in your lower abdomen, the beginnings of an orgasm tightening in your tummy. “I'm close.” You whisper between kisses. Hobie’s hands caress your body, sliding between your legs to rub at your aching clit. “‘Ow romantic would i’ be if we came together?” Hobie could feel himself approaching as well.

You squeezed him tight and held his face as you kissed him hard to shut him up and to hide the fact that you did want to cum with him.

It was a gentle affair, a building of pressure, heightened moans into each other's mouths. Your felt warm on the inside, the spilling of white goo inside of you, painting you white. Your walls pulsed with the feeling of your orgasm ravishing your body. A kaleidoscope of colors hazed your vision, stars dotted your gaze as you tossed your head back against the pillow and clutched Hobie tight. Your toes pointed, back arched, body shuddered. Your world collapsed and came back together all in one breath.

Hobie struggled to keep himself from collapsing on top of your lovely body. His hands gripped the sheets beside your head. His body trembled. He pulled out swiftly because he knew if he spent any longer inside of you he may cum again and fall even deeper in love.

Heavy panting as Hobie falls on the bed beside you, uncharacteristically pulling you close. After your rendezvous, you’d usually put your clothes back on and make your own hasty exit before things can get too sappy, too emotional, but you’re long past that now.

Hobie pressed kisses to the side of your neck. “Sleep here t' night.” He almost pleaded with you but Hobie Brown would never be caught dead begging.

“So we can wish each other good luck tomorrow morning?” You ask, looking down at him as he rests his head on your chest and looks up at you. Hobie smiled a bit, chuckling.

“‘O course.”