#pastel punk tag

[punkeropercyjackson]

A punk male character can the on par with mfing Princess Peach in terms of femininity and y'all will call him 'positively masculine' because he wears pants and has a backbone and a sense of humor and basic decency towards women

[kittycatfan1000]

Here are the little punk hello kitty plushies from hot topic together! I happened to go to the mall two days in a row with my friends and I originally got the one on the right and totally had to go back for the one on the left! They also had my melody and kuromi, but hello kitty is my favorite!

[floof-ghostie]

I love you black punks, I love you black goths, I love you black metalheads, I love you earthy black people, I love you black gyaru/kawaii, I love you black emos, I love you pastel black people, I love you black alternatives, I love you vintage dressing black people, I love you black people who mash different looks together and have a completely original sense of style, I love you black people who don't adhere to society's stereotypes of how we "ought to be". May everyone who says "black people can't be ___" get stung by a million hornets <33

[the-down-upside-finch]

Absolutely zero brain cells

I saw this meme (photo set?) and just. had to draw it.

Anyways, back to grading papers.

[dognonsense]

a portrait I did of my sweetheart Luna <3

Shes the prettiest and so nice to me and a cool punk who takes me to punk shows and she takes care of me and wowwowowow girls <33 <3333

dyke for dyke love realness is in this drawing

[punkeropercyjackson]

@floof-ghostie

Ramona Flowers vol. 2/3

💗 💗 💗

🖤 🖤 🖤

💗 💗 💗

[astrolotte]

when your dad owns a scummy and shady large business but your gf turned you (pastel) punk like 3 months ago so you're not about all that anymore

kind of a doodle kind of a proper piece, who funkin knows. i put too much effort into this. also the shirt is a VIAL shirt i just think u should know that

bonus doodle of the gf in question (Mx. Cassidy Fitzgerald) sorry it's even more pixelly uh. like i said these were supposed to be doodles

both of them are older teens here btw lmaoc

[pluto-sims]

PRETTY IN PUNK - Pastel Punk Rock Posters

YES i am posting more simlish posters YES i very much hope you're not super bored of me NO i will not stop doing them. ANYWAY a very lovely anon asked if i could do some pastel punk posters, and that sounded like a genius idea, sooooo here we go! as always they're bgc and use purely simlish text. these were really fun to do, so thank you for the suggestion anon!

@maxismatchccworld @emilyccfinds @mmfinds @mmoutfitters

details, full swatch preview and download under the cut >:)

Details

BGC pastel punk rock music posters

Original poster designs sourced from Freepik, recoloured, edited and Simlish-ified by me

20 swatches (preview below)

Custom thumbnail, correct colour tags and all that jazz

Swatch Preview

aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaand I think that is it! Like I said, these were super fun to do. I love doing wall art cc, so if anyone ever has any requests/suggestions, please do let me know >:) any issues at all, please lmk, but if not, i hope you enjoy them!

Download: Curseforge / Patreon (both 100% free to everyone, always)

[hauntedtrait]

BUILD YOUR OWN VAMPIRE (a cas challenge by hauntedtrait)

I looove cas challenges, and I've been particularly enamored with these where you roll or pick attributes based on something about yourself, I also love vampires so I combined the two! The only rule is to have fun! Also, you don't HAVE to pick attributes based on yourself, you're entirely welcome to randomly roll for those too! Use the tag #ht: vampcas to showcase your creations!

The same list that is on the image is under the cut for accessibility.

birth month = color scheme

1-2: bloody red

3-4: demure pastels

5-6: earth tones

7-8: dark and moody

9-10: black & white

11-12: bright and colorful

favorite mythical creature = hair color

dragon: ginger

sphynx: brown

phoenix: blonde

unicorn: white

chimera: multicolored

hydra: fantasy colors

hellhound: black

favorite animal = eye color

snake: blue

spider: black

bear: brown

wolf: purple/pink

tiger: yellow/orange

shark: white/gray

hawk: hazel

fox: red

alligator: green

favorite hobby/ies = extras

cooking: scars

fiber arts: piercings

gaming: prosthetics

painting/drawing: tattoos

sculpting: body horror

programming: glasses

outdoor activities: freckles/beauty marks

playing an instrument: weird eyes

randomly generate a theme

romantic

gothic

emo/scene

victorian

1920s

1950s

1960s

1970s

1980s

1990s

y2k

modern day

historical

rockstar

dark academia

futuristic

urban

punk

hippie

minimalist

maximalist

out of this world

western

animalistic

[punkeropercyjackson]

Please i'm so sick of Batfanon stans acting like Jason is the token alt of the Batkids😭Tim is explicitly skapunk,Stephanie is implied to be pastel punk,Cass was written with tradgoth elements in mind and Duke is afropunk by definition.Also token alts aren't a thing......Alternative people don't fw aggressive normies unless we're forced to and when we become friends with the good ones they invetably end up going alt thanks to us.You say Jason listens to punk music and dresses goth punk(correct),well canonically Tim listens to Green Day and Stephanie listens to Metallica and took Tim on a date to an underground show and was isolated from other kids for her autism and gendernonformity and Duke grew up getting kicked out of schools and beating up bullies and joined a gang and Cass' entire Batgirl run is her being an offputting off the shits macabe ahh girlfreak with a black costume with no mouth hole or visible eyes and stitches.What if they all just hung out at Jason's apartment to eat significantly different edibles each and diy junk and dance to Mcr and then stole a bunch of Batburger food to eat together at the skatepark and finished the day off with hunting down fascists to beat up and splitting money between themselves to donate to charities.What if you all just shut up and read comics instead of Jayr*y/Batcest/Dannyjason for some white reason fics

[birdietrait]

🎲birdie's random cas challenge🎲

✿ This challenge is all about mixing different prompts together to get interesting results! 

✿ Sometimes rolls can be redundant or conflict with each other, so if that's the case, just re-roll!

✿ If you don’t roll an occult type in The Main Theme, you are free to choose! I didn’t include human because it’s the default. 

✿ Use the tag #birdie.rcc and tag me so I can see your sims!

Use this to create a new sim, make over a townie, or make over one of your own sims!

Here is a random number generator that may come in handy

Rolls under the cut 🕺

The Main Theme 1-58 (Roll 1-3 times)

Your favorite movie

The forest

Your favorite decade

Cyberpunk

Western

The ocean

The first song in your favorite playlist

A myth/fairy tale

Your favorite TV series

Emo

Goth

Grunge

Punk

Skater

Pastel

Rainbow

Boho

Hippie

Streetwear

Vampire

Alien

Spellcaster

Plant Sim

Werewolf

Fairy

Ghost

Zombie

Mermaid

Horror

Your favorite video game (other than the sims)

Preppy

Retro

Your favorite book

Your star sign

The moon

Apocalyptic 

Fantasy

Medieval 

Winter

Spring

Summer

Autumn

Your favorite flower

Your birthstone

Your favorite cryptid

Sporty

Rocker

Glam

Dark academia

Royalty

The sun

Monochromatic 

Barbie

Bratz

Your favorite color

Primary colors

Prom

An iconic townie (from any sims game)

Details 1-40 (Roll as many times as you like)

Bald

Buzz cut

Short hair

Medium length hair

Long hair

Black hair

Brown hair

Blonde hair

Red hair

White hair

Grey hair

Colorful hair

Warm skin tone 

Neutral skin tone

Cool skin tone

Fantasy skin tone

Blue eyes

Brown eyes

Green eyes

Black eyes

White eyes

Grey eyes

Hazel eyes

Colorful/Fantasy eyes

Freckles

Eye bags

Scars

Body hair

Piercings

A hat

Glasses

No makeup 

Minimal/Neutral makeup

Colorful makeup

No eyebrows

Fangs

Dimples

Gap teeth

Tattoos 

Acne

[kittycatfan1000]

Absolutely screaming at this punk rock hello kitty plush from Hot Topic. Got her at the mall today with @jezzebbel and some say you can still hear my gasp echoing through the store.

[joannasteez]

sweet things

pairing: cm punk x black reader warning: filth. me indulging myself. minors dni pls. explicit content blow. authors note: he's gotta stop it with the donuts during the press conference. like i can't deal. word count: 1300 tagging: @333creolelady @harmshake (if and when i write more punk in the future, let me know if you'd like a tag!!!!)

his indulgences are born from bouts of mischief. sweetening his blood after his actions sour another's. doling out his rewards and punishments on the basis of who he thinks worthy of them. and drew tore is fucking arm. delighted in his suffering even. a fire lit in the straightedged superstars eyes thereafter. so he believed this mischief, this little evil to be true. the scottish wrestler deserved every bit of that nasty, tart, sour taste of incompletion. and punk would celebrate with his little show of confectionary treats every time. nonchalance riddling his tone as the cameras recorded and flashed. questions thrown and waved away as he reveled in the taste of victory. because the donuts would always be a show of strength. a teasing performance of indulgence only taken after the exercise of his hatred. a spoil after battle. the tips of his fingers meeting his tongue to suckle and lick the remnants of sugar off his skin. 

but his indulgences never ended. even after the doing away with of cameras and questions. bright lights and the roaring scream of fans chanting his name. his urge to be rewarded for his mischief flowed over, boundless and rushing and possessive. finding himself worthy of reward. 

his tongue, his palate seeking other things. a desperation clinging to his bones evenly as he rushes to make the trip back home. your skin supple and sweet smelling. waiting to be indulged in. 

text message| in coming: im almost to you. be ready please

text message | outgoing: ready for what exactly?

text message | in coming: for me. 

the gentle marriage of silk and lace. a shimmering powdery pink pastel over warm brown skin. something indicative of the sweetest treat. thats what he meant. and his requests were always given so pleasantly, never wanting to taint the air even as revenge sullies his blood. hot tongue slipping into your mouth fast, with a clear cut urgency. lust in his blood pure enough that it fills him to the brim. his movements quick and near brutal. touch on the precipice of nailing into your skin. hungry eyes taking in the beauty of his latest reward. taking a knee into the push carpet as he pulls you to the edge of the bed. hands warm as he goes. digging into the sensitive skin of your inner thighs. 

lips wet as they kiss. a hint of a lazy sort of lust as they bleed into the skin. time illusive. slowing for him and his desires. tongue slipping up to lick. nipping with teeth and his fingers kneading. blood sweetened, rushing before it boils headily. light little tremblings flaring up your body, knowing of this sort of touch. the possibility of pleasure enough to spark the beginnings of becoming undone. your fingers taking rooting in his not so slicked back hair. gentle and soothing, an encouraging touch that incites him to run his nose along the lace of your panties. daring teeth pulling, teasing. his grip tightening on your thighs, spreading them. 

he groans. the breath of it dusting over hot. body working to nestle into the sheets as it trembles in the wake of anticipation. a whimper breaking up soft. the tune of it pliant and asking. nails curling into his scalp. the point of his nose running faint over your clit. 

your body working on its lonesome. off the strength of lust and the beautiful ache imbedding its way under your skin. "if he keeps you coming home like this, then maybe i owe drew a thank you". a hiss playing through your teeth and he sinks into the skin. nipping and tugging at your inner thigh enough to feel the threat of pain.

a kiss there at such supple flesh, in the wake of a show of his little grudge. wet and tongue led. a silent punishment and apology. "he's an obsessive little bitch. letting him hear your voice won't do me any favors. it'll just encourage him to fuck with me more". 

you giggle. reveling in the placement of his lips on your skin. fingers pressing over your panties. a firm go against the lace that works to keep the steady rise of your arousal. hips canting forward into the teasing done by your own hand. "obsessed? you flew out the country on some petty shit. i think the feeling is mutual no?" 

a simple truth he can't afford to attest to, you're sure of it. invested too heavily in the pleasure mounting the temperature of your body. a sweet radiating heat that draws him forward. wetting his tongue anew and setting a twitch about his hands. hunger ready to be remedied.

"he deserved it", he cuts out. his lips brushing over your fingers as you sooth against the lace still. anticipation dressing his tone. "let me see you". 

"say please". 

his eyes bold and dilated. peering up and slipping over your face. over the plush of your lips. "please". 

and the reveal aches his teeth. livens his penchant for sweet things once more. your fingers deft as they peel your panties to the side. a slow, ceremonious unveiling. your greed for such consuming attention great as it flows about your skin. touch dipping to collect your arousal. coating prettily along your fingers. sinking in to the heat of your pussy before it retreats to rub against the pulse of your clit. a throbbing little thing of a pearled nub, slick and pink and glistening as it calls to him. calls to the work of his tongue. a moan dripping off your mouth, his eyes bewitched. the heaviness of his gaze pressing in to a suffocating degree. "c'mere", words slipping sweet into the air before it floods his ears. your fingers pushing tenderly into his mouth. touch stroking on his tongue. allowing him the opportunity to taste. 

a little action that only seems to weaken him well. lost and groaning as he savors your fingers. impulse shaping lax and patient. that urgent spirit of mischief broken down to the bone till he falls into something new and subduing. 

the gentle work of your fingers slipping away to trail up the fever of your body. nudging and tweaking at the sore awful ache of your nipples. a heady, intoxicating swim of a sensation rolling about your head. throat singing, drawing out something lovely as it moans, his tongue laying over to lick through your folds. tasting to savor deeper. to indulge. another little spoil after victory. his tongue curling thick as it presses in, deft and working patient. stroking along a heavy clench, arousal collecting messily as it drips and steeps along his palate. 

"fuck me". a thin little cry. a plea that breaks over his skin. fingers impatient, holding your thighs to keep them open for him. for that sugary violence he doles out so easily. your body greedy for release, hips working to form a rhythm against the heat of his mouth. pleasure holding over your bones so good it forces you to tremble. clit aching and desperate for more. "...love how sweet your tongue gets for me...", delicate words passing over the thick air. like kindlings for a fire meant to burn the mantle in his belly. 

your body damp, sticking to the gentle cool sheets. words melting to nothing. reduced to fragile, high pitched chanting phrases. "yesyesyes", and the cutting gasp of a breath before it trails out and draws deeper. coarse and sultry. hips rutting forward. his tongue steady and invasive. a sharp "fuck", cutting up harshly before it dissipates. his lips suckling at your clit. tattooed fingers slipping in to have their fill of feeling how good and tight the clench of your pussy is. a curling, experienced touch that works to give you a delicate stretch. 

the spilling over of his reward. the richness of it tonguing over and sweeping messy. drunk off the headiness of your arousal. off the broken song of your pleasure. skin soft to the touch and smelling sweet still. a perfume staining the skin that encourages the work of his mouth. a performance made to satisfy his penchant for sweet things. 

[simsdaughters]

GOTH LEGACY CHALLENGE

Making this for myself and any of you guys who wanna tag along to this little experiment with me!

The goal of this challenge is simple: get to 10 generations, with each one representing a different goth subculture and fashion, starting with the Goth family. I hope that through this, you guys can see the love I have for the goth culture :)

For extra drama: none of the Goths of the main family line may die of old age.

RULES PER GENERATION BELOW:

GEN 1: Aristocrat Goth

The founders of the Goth legacy, their aristocratic air lends credence to their importance. Drawing from historical periods such as the Victorian and Edwardian eras, this subgenre of goth fashion features tailor suits, cravats, waistcoats, corsets and hats.

Master the piano and violin skills.

Reach 500,000 simoleons in savings.

Master the business career.

Make enemies with at least one Landgraab.

GEN 2: Witchy Goth

Drawing inspiration from their parents' lifestyle and beliefs, Cassandra and Alexander adopt a more spiritual approach to the goth aesthetic. This fashion subgenre is characterized by esoteric and spiritual elements in the outfit, such as moons, stars, skulls and maybe black cats if you want to be on the nose with it, while the cultural approach to it is inspired mainly by, of course, witchcraft.

Become a spellcaster.

Master the medium skill.

Learn all potions.

Reach lvl 5 in the gemology skill.

GEN 3: Traditional Goth

The "original" goths, who find their roots in gothic rock born in the post-punk era, the traditional goths are what you first think of when you hear the word goth: ripped, black clothes, dark makeup and wild hair. As a punk offshoot, traditional goths prioritize self-expression, individuality and challenging traditions.

Join any artistic career, and reach lvl 5 in it.

Master the guitar skill.

Volunteer at least once a week.

Befriend any occult.

GEN 4: NU Goth

A slightly controversial subgenre in the goth culture, NU or "new" goth is a more modern approach to the goth genre. More lenient in their view of what "makes" a goth, they are known to be more welcoming to mall goths and baby bats than trad goths (though that does not mean traditional goths are hostile to the two, simply that there is a prominent debate in the goth scene on what consists "a true goth"). This fashion type is what you'd probably find on pinterest or tiktok, with the more current fashion trends influencing the style.

Sell at least 5 thrifted outfits.

Join the social media career.

Film fashion tutorials at least once a week. (Get Famous)

Have at least 500 followers on any social media.

GEN 5: Cyber Goth

The cybergoth subculture and fashion mixes industrial, 2000s and rave aesthetics in one, featuring leather, neon colors, futuristic looks and a love for electronic music. They embrace philosophical discussions and imaginations of a dystopic information society future.

Master the DJing skill.

Reach lvl 5 in the dancing skill.

Go clubbing at least once a week.

Master the programming or robotics skill.

GEN 6: Pastel Goth

Mixing the kawaii aesthetic with gothic ideals and themes, pastel goth makes it's mark by ... well, being pastel. Often seen dipping into lolita or fairy kei fashion, this style can accessorize with sometimes cutesy details. This style is more focused on the fashion and aesthetics of the gothic look rather than the music, and on having fun with their self-expression.

Have an all-pastel home !

Join the Style Influencer career.

Make 5 friends.

Thrift clothes at least once.

GEN 7: Romantic Goth

As expected, romantic goth subculture focuses on romanticizing death, the macabre and the dark. They find beauty and appreciation in things like withered roses, skulls and more. Their fashion is characterized by flowy, ethereal silhouettes, and a feminine touch to their outfits. Its the embrace of beauty.

Have a gothic wedding ceremony.

Master the writing skill.

Have a cemetery.

Romance a vampire at least once.

GEN 8: White Goth

The white goths reverse the traditionally dark and ... well, black palette of the gothic genre for white, and other such colors you shouldn't wear at a wedding. Their clothing taste often includes silks, ethereal garments, ornate jewelry and parasols.

Master the organ skill.

Master the painting skill.

Serenade someone at least once.

Wear white at a wedding.

GEN 9: Victorian Goth

The Victorian Goth subculture pays homage to the elegance and refinement of the 19th century. Their fashion sense borrows from the Victorian era, with silhouettes evocative of the era, top hats, lace and corsets. They mix the aesthetic of a bygone era with the ideologies of all goths, that of individualism and self-expression through art and fashion.

Do not own any electronics, lights included.

Master the writing skill.

Own at least one horse, and travel to lots with it.

Paint at least 20 paintings.

GEN 10: Vampire Goth

Inspired by vampire lore and horror, the vampire goth fashion scene includes elegant, intricate designs, corsets, capes, vampire fangs (real or otherwise) and bloody, macabre themes. Like the romantic goths, they find beauty and allure in the dead and the deadly, and would probably love owning a fainting couch.

Master the charisma skill.

Master the vampire lore skill.

Turn at least 5 sims into vampires.

Become a Master Vampire.

[the-kr8tor]

COMPLETELY FORGOT TO CHECK UP ON YOUR WELL-BEING I'M ASHAMED OF MYSELF

How are you Katy?

I have another twins request (surprise surprise)

The twins being sick (my poor babies 🥺)

And Reader being so tired after trying to look after them because they're so clingy for Mummy and they won't stop sniffling (nooooo my poor children)

And Hobie coming back from patrol as early as possible after sensing his girls' discomfort and taking care of the babies (my eyes are filling with tears)

Awwwww, they're already my kids in my head, that sounds so sad but I love them 😭🥺

Hello, ml! I'm fine, thank you for asking ❤️ I hope you like this one!

Pairing: Hobie Brown x fem! Reader/ Spider-Punk x fem! Reader

Word count: 1.4k

Tags: No use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader, description of illness, brief mention of vomit, Billie and Ramona AU, twin AU, Dad AU, Dad! Hobie, Mum! Reader. Fluff.

Dad AU Masterlist

ʕ⁠·⁠ᴥ⁠·⁠ʔ

Your shirt is covered in a combination of toddler snot and a hint of throw up. You would've changed by now but with the twins clinging onto you like you're their lifeline has you practically glued on their sides. Billie refuses to let you go with her tiny hands balled around the collar of your (Hobie's) old band shirt. She sniffs relentlessly, lashes wet with unshed tears. Meanwhile, her sister, Ramona has finally fallen asleep on your shared bed. She holds onto her baby blanket with the little guitars embroidered on it like it's the last cookie in the cookie jar. Still, even in her sleep she still refuses to let you go with her other fist enclosed around the hem of your shirt.

Sighing, your eyelids grow heavy and your stomach grumbles from hunger. You've only had sips of their chicken noodle soup you made a few hours ago. They wouldn't even have a little sip if you don't try it before them like a taste tester for a couple of princesses afraid of getting ‘poisoned.’ You have to start telling them the usual fairytales instead of actual history. You guess it was your fault when you accidentally left the telly open on the history channel instead of teletubbies like you were supposed to do. You kind of blame Hobie and his relentless kisses whenever he gets home, effectively distracting you from changing the channel to a more toddler appropriate one.

But thanks to the cooling weather, not even history lessons could calm them down from their fever and sniffles. This is the first time they've gotten this sick since you've brought them home from the hospital when they were just newborns. Everyone was right when they told you that when one kid gets sick, the other will surely follow. You can handle it, but with your growing hunger and fatigue, you really need Hobie to get home now.

You can't blame him for leaving while they're sick, the city needs him when he heard from his radio that goblin’s wreaking havoc downtown and the team couldn't handle it all on their own. He promised he'll be back quickly with meds and hot soup to quell their illness. It's been a few hours since then, now you're starting to worry. Add that with the girls' sickness acting up, your nerves are through the roof.

Mona gurgles in her sleep, her tiny fists unfurling around your shirt for only a brief second before clamping back down. Patting her back, you feel how clammy she is under her pastel pink pajamas.

“Mummy?” Billie lifts her curly head up from the crook of your neck, lips pouting, and snot dripping from her nostrils. She pats your cheek with her sweaty hand, an indication that her fever's going down so as her sister's, thank goodness.

“Yes, baby?” You whisper to her sweetly.

“‘m hungry.” Her frown deepens, eyes similar to Hobie's are staring back at you through wet lashes. “I want biscuits.”

You remember when she could barely keep the noodles down, moreso if it's cookies instead. But if cookies are what she wants, then cookies she shall get. Maybe it'll magically cure her. “Okay, but you have to let mummy go so I can get it for you—”

“No!” She immediately shoves her face back in the crook of your neck, then the sniffles follow. “Stay!”

You rub her back up and down to placate her. “Mac, your sister's sleeping.”

Billie kicks her tiny socked feet about, hands tugging relentlessly at your shirt. “Mummy, stay!” Cue the tears.

“Okay, okay, mummy will stay.” You coo at her, wincing when Ramona stirs from her slumber.

“I want biscuits.” She once again lifts her head up, sobs quieting down to a soft sniffle. “...Sorry.”

Your heart softens at her adorable apology, she definitely reminds you of her father. “It's alright, promise you'll be quiet for Mon-mon?” Billie nods, arms enveloping around your neck as you begin to sit up. Now for the daunting part, you have to escape from Mona's hold without waking her up.

Hand holding onto Billie, while the other gently unfurls Mona's fingers around your shirt, you take your time lest you have another grumpy and sick kid in your hands. With her pinky finally letting go after you tug at it, you smile victoriously while fixing your hold on Billie.

The bed squeaks as you stand up, wincing at the sound, you look back at the still sleeping Ramona curled around her baby blanket. Sighing, you stare at Billie, who has her index on her lips in a shushing motion. You tamp down a chuckle at her antics.

With one step at a time, you tiptoe around the messy room. The twins' clothes and towels are littered around the floors, same with tissues that have managed to miss the bin when you threw it haphazardly.

“Mummy, quiet?” Billie whispers or tries to when she still hasn't figured out how to actually whisper.

“Yes, baby, we need to be quiet.” As you get to to the door, the cold doorknob is stinging against your palm, the bedroom window squeaks open and before you could whirl around towards the sound— Hobie's heavy boots are already thumping loudly against the hardwood. “Hobie—”

“I got the meds and the soup—” Mona's sudden wailing stops him in his tracks. Tears roll down her chubby cheeks as she kicks her feet under the blankets, her rough coughs hurting your chest. “Ah shi—” you give Hobie a look. “— sorry.” He winces just as when Billie joins the cacophony of crying.

—

The sheets have been changed, the girls are showered and fed. Their temperatures are completely normal now, and their coughing and sniffing is down to a minimum. You're also fed thanks to Hobie's famous sandwich he made specially for you. And thanks to the shared effort and teamwork, both girls are sleeping and you've finally cleaned yourself up.

As you get out of the shower, you catch Hobie pressing gentle kisses atop Billie and Mona's heads. He pecks them both equally, adding one to Billie and Mona simultaneously before repeating it when he thinks that the kisses aren't equal to one another. Billie's cheek is squished on Hobie's side while Mona curls around his other side sweetly.

“They won't grumble if you don't give them the equal number of kisses.” You whisper to him, wet hair still clinging to your cheek as you put on a clean shirt. Fully dressed, you see him tilt his head with a playful smile tugging at his pierced lips. You smile back, admiring him in his soft clothes with your socks on his feet. You cross the small distance towards him whilst he tries to reach out towards you with his arms full of sleeping toddlers. “But I will.”

He makes grabby hands at you. “Kiss?”

Sitting down next to him, he scooches as much as he can while the girls are clinging to him in their sleep. “How could I say no?” With your soft lips on him, you kiss him back gently until he's satisfied that you got an even number of kisses. His eyes are still closed when you pull away. “You sure you're okay?” You reach over Billie to fix his windblown eyebrow, index laying it down carefully.

Hobie leans tiredly against your hand, and in turn you cradle his cheek, thumb running along his jaw. “‘m fine, nothin’ I couldn't handle. Are you?”

“Well, I don't smell like sick anymore.” You shrug, beaming down at him. He chuckles softly, neck craning to kiss the pads of your fingers. “And you're home safe and sound, I'm okay.”

He sighs, eyes completely soft for you. “I'll stay with you this time, and the next, I promise. ‘m sorry I left you alone.” The warm light of the lamp shines on his apologetic face.

You lean closer, careful not to wake either of the girls nestled in each of his arms. “I know, but you can't promise that. I knew what I was getting into when we had them. And I'm perfectly fine with that as long as you come home to us…” Your nose nudges his own, he hums slowly, like a cat purring in content. “...Preferably in one piece.”

Hobie chuckles, heart eyes blinking slowly at you, and pursed lips reaching towards the tip of your nose. “Thank you, love.”

Your palm rests on his warm chest, feeling his heartbeat through his (your) shirt. “Part of the job, Hobie.” With a smile, you feel him tug at your collar, pulling you down towards him further to meet with his lips. “Careful, we might wake them up—” A sneeze rises up your throat, suddenly releasing it on Hobie's shocked face. The girls barely stir. “Shi– sorry.” You sniff, throat feeling like it's full of spikes.

“Ah shit.”

[liyawritesss]

ᴄᴏᴍꜰᴏʀᴛᴀʙʟᴇ ᴡɪᴛʜ ʏᴏᴜ

Characters: Spider-Verse!Hobart “Hobie” Brown [Spider-Punk] x Black!Fem!College!Reader

Type: Drabble

Word Count: 1.4k

Synopsis: Hobie’s got a habit of letting himself into your dorm room. Thankfully, you’ve got your own suite, and tonight isn’t any different.

Warnings: cursing, very very horrible british accent & slang I apologize in advance/please teach me better, brief nudity (he’s taking a shower chill you horndogs), I perceive Hobie to be around 18-19.

A/N: Was listening to a 90’s playlist while writing this so yeah there’s a couple of 90’s songs references in here.

Song Suggestions: “comfortable” by H.E.R., “So Into You” by Tamia, “Brown Skin Lady” by Black Star, “I Wanna Be Down” by Brandy, “Be Happy” by Mary J. Blige

Tags: @6-noir @babyboiboyega @badass-dora-milaje @jacuzziwaters @venusdraco @mbakuetshurisprincess @shuriszn @verachii @writingintheshadowsforever @cafehyunji @niyahwrites @pantherheart @marsfunzon22 @movie-enthusiast22 @famedrs-blog @honeybleed @briology @pnkweb

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Hobie can see the pretty lavender color seeping from your window about a block out from your dorm building. It’s the color you use to signify that your window is open for him to come through, and he has to admit, in times like these, he’s glad that the both of you decided on the bright, pastel-like hue that shines from your LED strip lights.

To say the hero was tired as an understatement. His body was screaming for rest; has been for the past week. But one can’t rest in the face of oppression, and Hobie Brown never turned down any action that would cause unease and unrest for the elitist politicians of his society - and neither did Spider-Punk.

Said action was the reason why Hobie hadn’t gotten proper rest or taken care of himself like he knew you’d want him to in the past week. He normally didn’t care for the repercussions his actions would have on himself, always telling himself that it was a risk well worth since it brung him and his people closer and closer to the freedom they desired, no matter how small the steps were.

However, upon meeting you, and subsequently falling for you, and subsequently taking on the label as your partner, he’d come to understand that you just wouldn’t have any of that. Although begrudgingly at first, Hobie began to take your advice and constant nagging on taking care of himself better, but now it had gotten to the point where he simply couldn’t do those mundane tasks of self care without you. Even sleeping became hard without you, or at least, something that reminded him of your presence.

Hence why he was swinging from building to building to reach your dorm hall, because while Hobie wasn’t in the right mind to admit it to himself, he was in need of your love and care, and only you could ease him in the way he needed.

He hangs off the wall as he gazes into your single suite dorm, the muffled melody of Mary J. Blige’s “Be Happy” reverberating through his body. You’re doing a little dance in your desk chair, pretty hair wrapped up in a headscarf, the maroon hoodie you had on swamping your upper body. You had a writing utensil in hand, and with the books opened on your desk, it appeared like you were doing assignments for class. Hobie smiles to himself under his mask, wondering how he ended up with such a smart and intellectual person like yourself.

He has no problem raising up the window and slipping inside, his practiced movements quiet and agile as he pads across your hardwood floors. He pulls the mask from his head, freeing his face and wicks from the stretchy material, taking a deep breath. Your room smells like home, traces of lavender sage trailing in the air, and he can feel the headache that had been plaguing him for the longest finally begin to subside.

Hobie begins to search through your drawers, trying to find the stash of clothes you insisted on him keeping at your place since the first few times he’d crashed there. In the midst of doing so, he feels a pair of arms trail around his midsection, and not long after, your voice floats to his ears.

“I love how you never look in the bottom drawer,” you say with a teasing lilt in your voice, “y’know, where your clothes have always been.”

“Hello to you, too, pretty.”

Hobie allows himself to be shooed off to the shower, as you tell him you’ll worry about getting his clothes and some food together, He can’t resist the lopsided grin that spreads across his lips as he follows your orders. The hot water against his sore muscles and stinging scratches and other injuries feels like heaven, and when he emerges from the bathroom, he smells like it, too. The lavender body wash is his favorite out of your collection, and he chuckles when he sees you’ve got two tall bottles of it stored under your bathroom rink, almost anticipating that he’d use it anyway. He loves how well you know him.

Hobie dresses in the gray sweatpants you left out for him, opting to remain shirtless for the comfort of it. Definitely not to see your flustered face as you walk back in your room to him sitting on the edge of your bed, ready to be taken care of.

When you walk back in, the song on your speaker switches to the easy one-two step tempo of Brandy’s “I Wanna Be Down”, a container of food in one hand and a first aid kit in the other. “Tell me where the knicks are.” You say, setting the food down on your nightstand, and Hobie proceeds to show you the various scratches and bruises on his body that desire your gentle touch and attention.

They’re not so bad, which is surprising considering how wild and reckless Hobie usually is, so you figure some ointment and muscle cream for the soreness will help for the night. Calloused hands hold the container of food that you’ve so graciously warmed up for him, and as he eats, you encourage him to talk about his day.

“Bloody prick wouldn’t shut up,” he grunts after a few bites of food, and you assume the ‘prick’ he’s referring to is one of the members of the local government that, for lack of better words, did not have the support of the younger generation when it came to his reign in office, “wan’ed to knock his head off his shoulders so bad. King dick arsehole.”

You laugh at his choice of words, and it's the best sound he’s heard all week.

He’s done eating faster than what he anticipated and with the food in his system, his body begins to feel more heavy, the exhaustion beginning to seep deep into his bones and become visible on his face. Your heart swells at the sight, his lidded eyes and slight head-nodding to your music more than enough to tell you just how tired Hobie was. 

You take the empty container and place it on your dresser, taking Hobie’s head into your hand and pressing gentle kisses against his cheeks, his forehead, his eyelids, his lips. He all but relishes in the feeling, each peck of your lips leaving a burst of comfort in his wake, and it causes him to nearly melt in your hold. His large hands make their way up your biker shorts, riding up your thighs into the crevice of where your pelvis and thighs met, and under your hoodie to feel the warmth of your bare skin. You stand in between his legs here, though Hobie decides that this isn’t close enough, and reaches to the back of your thighs to pull you onto his lap.

It quickly becomes addicting, the feeling of your lips on his face and your skin under his hands. It’s not long until you’re laying on your back and Hobie is settled between your legs, his head tucked into the crevice of your neck, his upper body resting almost completely on top of your own. One large hand rests on the curve of your ass, the other is under your hoodie, resting on the side of your ribcage, thumb subtly swiping under the curve of your breast.

Your touch brings him just as much comfort as just the simple skin-to-skin contact he enacts on his own. One hand roams the surface of his back, tracing figures into the dark skin littered with even darker blemishes and scars. The other rests at the nape of his neck, holding him close as you continue your kissing assault on the punk-alt boy. Hobie sighs into your neck when he hears you begin to hum the tune of the new song playing. Even though you’re barely above a whisper, he hears you clearly and the wave of comfort that floods his form is indescribable.

It doesn’t take long before his breaths start to even out, and the weight of his body begins to sink into your own. Pressing one final kiss into the crown of his head as “Brown Skin Lady” begins to fade down into a low hum, thanks to you turning down the volume through your phone. With Hobie fast asleep, it leaves you no choice but to your own slumber. It’s not like you can go back to your homework, after all.