#hobie brown drabble

[keisobe]

all i can just think of are fluffy hobie headcanons w reader who has glasses 🗣️🗣️🗣️ like they would be making out and hobie would be complaining about reader's glasses just keeps knocking on his face (definitely did not think of this because i wear glasses)

— okay as a fellow glasses wearer, i loved this idea sooo much (// ^ ^ //) ♥︎

hobie thinks your glasses are adorable. he has these moments when he’s admiring you and noticing the tiniest details. his favorite one is when your glasses slowly slip to the tip of your nose and you huff in annoyance— pushing them back up. hobie thought it was funny, but he came to find himself adjusting them for you.

with delicate fingers, hobie pushes up your glasses by the hinges until they perfectly frame your face— softly brushing a knuckle over your cheek as a way to ease your irritation.

“wha’ me to get you some goggles instead?” hobie quipped under his breath, brushing your hair behind your ears.

you simply rolled your eyes with a cheesed smile, to which hobie would playfully pinch your cheek as you continue to work.

blessed with perfect vision, hobie had no concept on what it’s like to be forced to wear glasses.

“how many fingers am i holdin’ up?” he would extend three fingers in front of your face, dragging his arm in different directions and distances.

when you tell him that’s not how it works, hobie would simply shrug his shoulders with a lazy smirk.

“wrong. the answer ‘s two.” he would obnoxiously bend his ring finger and wave it on your heated face— earning him a smack to the chest.

and yes, making out with your glasses really gets on hobie’s nerves.

a soft sigh would spill from your lips as hobie grazes his teeth along your neck— his mouth coming back to slot themselves back into its place. he leans in for another kiss and immediately comes contact with the foggy lens of your glasses.

“for fuck’s sake.” he hisses in exasperation, snatching them off your face but still being mindful not to touch your lens, he tossed them on the nearest soft surface.

before you could whine about him handling your glasses like a madman, hobie cups your cheeks and briskly pressed his lips against yours— knocking all the wind out of your lungs. you nearly tipped over by his desperate advancement until hobie wraps a firm grasp around your waist, pulling you closer with a satisfied hum.

“y’know nothin’ can keep me away from you.” he would breathe out in between heated pecks.

but sometimes, hobie doesn’t know the extent to his own strength.

“‘s just a dent babe…” hobie would look apologetic when you patch the temple with lousy tape— your pout making him feel guilty.

he nervously grasped the lenses from your hands and placed them on your face. cringing at the way the lenses slowly tilted to the side as a deep frown settled onto your face.

“see your specs still look… fine.”

don’t worry, he got you a new pair afterwards.

KEISOBE © 2023. please do not copy, translate, or modify any of my work. all of my works are not permitted to be posted on any other sites.

[fleurfiles]

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

OOPS, WRONG PERSON! | h. brown.

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

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

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

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

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

sent to my brit boyfriend 🤍.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

you: HOBIE.

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

you: no problem handsome… come over?

my brit boyfriend 🤍; On my way.

[hanasnx]

knuckle up

MINORS DNI 18+ WARNINGS: gn!reader | dom!hobie | kinks: size | breathplay: choking | finger sucking

HOBIE BROWN's got big hands. For a guy his size it's natural to have, and you're fixated on them. You're entranced when he ropes his webbing around his palm; how his nimble fingers traverse the neck of his guitar; and you become weak when he puts them on you. Even a touch as simple as a stroke of his knuckles against your cheek elicits a whimper out of you. "You like that, eh?" he murmurs with amusement, tenderly cupping your cheek as you lean into it. Experimentally, his hand slides over until the pad of his thumb can stroke your jaw on the other side, tucking the webbing under your chin. It involuntarily pouts your lips, and he knows you're putty in his hold. He steals a kiss from your pliant mouth by inclining you towards him. So tall you have to stand on the tips of your toes to comply.

"Aren't you a pretty thing? Bein' so sweet f'me." he croons, yet it's said to call attention to how uncharacteristically agreeable you're being.

You squeeze your eyes shut as your delicate countenance skews. "Don't make fun of me."

"D'aw," he sympathizes in a feigned manner. "Wouldn't dream of it, bug." His thumb strokes at your skin, and you suck in a breath. "I like you like this." Curiously, his grip slacks to travel down until your larynx is against his palm. He idles, giving you time to expect it before his hand stretches around and flush against you. Your throat is enclosed in his grasp, your veins lovingly and expertly squeezed. In a merciful moment, he lets your feet relax, landing flat onto the ground as he raises his free hand to you. You keep your eyes closed, focusing on your heart beat, hearing your breathing. The pads of two fingers tap at your mouth, and obediently you part your lips, allowing him access inside. Eager tongue welcomes them by cupping them while your lips form around the first knuckle, until he pushes further in. Long fingers, long fucking fingers sliding over your tongue, narrowly avoiding your gag reflex as he pumps them in and out only halfway. You feel his grip around your neck tighten marginally, his own arousal getting to him as he makes you suck his fingers.

[aweina]

ᥫ᭡. absent appetite , hobie brown ( 17 + )

tags fem reader. clit rubbing. unintentional edging. cum eating.

not one coherent thought goes through hobie’s head when he’s touching you.

hobie can never keep his hands to himself. you can say he’s somewhat restless, especially when he tenses up as he drags a hard look along your body. the ache of touch was hardwired into his brain that it somewhat became a routine.

during those voiceless hours, in the comfort of mutual silence, hobie becomes automatically distracted by whatever he currently has his hands on.

the usual rules to physical affection come with tender snuggles or tracing light, mindless brushes on the surfaces of soft skin. their cheeks, forearms, maybe even the swell of their thighs.

but hobie prefers to drag his hands past your waistband and nudge your clit with gentle taps with his fingers, before rubbing slow circles like he’s been sedated. this could go on for nearly an hour — his eyes heavy as he hums along the muffled music playing on the radio.

it’s only when your low whine and the sudden buck of your hips sends him back to his senses. the white noise in his head fading away — he looked around the heated room with a confused blink, then he caught a glimpse at his hand. wait, you said you wanted to finish?

“finish? hmm… yea sure.” hobie didn’t realize that he’s been doing this for the past thirty minutes — especially with you quietly withering under his distracted touches.

with his senses fully back, the calluses on his fingertips suddenly felt soft with slick warmth. the lewd noises that spilled from your lips buzzed in his ears. your shaking palms were sweaty against his aching wrist. hobie circled your clit with a quicker cadence, eyeing your unraveling body through his dark lashes.

suddenly, you let out a loud cry as the nerves from your stimulated bud quickly bursts an overwhelming warmth throughout your body — whimpering his name repeatedly under your breath.

slowly retracting his hand, a clear string of arousal coated his fingers like a spider web. he lazily cleaned it off with his pierced tongue, drawing out a dramatic hum to tease you.

“mm… ‘re sweet.” he mumbled lowly with pursed lips, suckling on his fingertips before wiping off the remnants of stickiness on his distressed jeans.

hobie stood up and stretched the arm that was down your pants. he peered down at you with heavy eyes — expression completely neutral, like he wasn’t just tasting your arousal a moment ago.

suddenly there’s a playful grin on his face as he tilts his head towards the door.

“wan’ to go eat out somewhere?”

of course, he’s a total bastard.

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

[nubsdolls]

nth much.. jus thinkin about mean, flirty, unbothered hobie with vry much annoyed, angry reader.

like hes over here alwaays, and i mean always. absolutely trying to get a rise out of you.

your going on about this villian and how he was absolutely aggravating? hes pulling out the "hm? wha? 'm sorry lovie, cant hear ya from up 'ere." knowing damn well he can hear you just fine, leaning down to face you eye to eye, faces almost touching as you shove him away, annoyed and flushed as he backs up, chuckling.

your already mad at his dumbass for something stupid, course, not serious. and hes out here joking with you in his low raspy voice with his hands running alllll over you talking bout some "cmon please? dont be like tha.. i ain' mean it." mumbling into your ear, breathing down your neck. and you know damn well he doesnt mean a word.

miguel called for a team meeting? hobies already next to you, so close you can almost feel his body heat. his lanky fingers lingering onto your hips, playing with the spandex of your suit, feeling right through.

and your so mad. not because you dont like it, but because his plan always works, hes always got you where he wants you. so, so worked up. as you try to ignore or scold him, hes just giving you this devilish grin. he knows he won. he always does with you.

can you tell i like this trope or nahh.. anyways, i might expand on this in the future, so watch out!!!

[konigenblobbity]

Drabble: Hobie Finds Out He Likes Being Choked

Hobie Brown x F!Reader

Warnings: Smut, riding, mutual orgasm, p in v, tits, mention of bondage, choking ofc

A/n: Kindaaa similar to the Hobie with a Leash one but I wanted to post something :p Still on vacation at the moment

—

Hobie has always been in love with watching you ride him, whether he ordered you to and guided you through it, or you wanted to take charge and became more dominant.

In this case you wanted to be more dominant, riding Hobie with your hands braced on his shoulders to help you while his hands were tied to the headboard. His eyes never left you once, not even daring to blink at fear of missing the sight in front of him.

The way your head was tilted back meaning he could only imagine the way your eyes were rolling back and how your lips were probably parted slightly to allow your moans to flow past effortlessly. He wouldn’t complain though, more than happy to watching your tits bounce instead, or how his cock disappeared repeatedly into your cunt.

Just like all the other times you ride him, he can hear your shaky breathing, see how your back arches, how your movements become more inconsistent, how you begin to grind more to make up for your soreness… all tell tale signs you were close.

Since his hands were tied back he couldn’t help much, deciding to grind his hips up slightly to help you in your efforts. Through soft moans he began to shower you with encouragement, wanting to help you fall over that edge.

“I can tell you’re close love. Don’t stop, I wanna feel you shake on top of me” he’d say, his own voice shaky. “Even with your thighs sore you don’t stop~ It feels too good doesn’t it? How my cock presses against your walls just how you like it” the whole time his eyes half-lidded with pleasure.

You didn’t respond, only able to moan out softly and occasionally tremble from the pleasure. “Cmon love, tell me how I can help” you’d just whine at those words, why he thought you could answer him lost on you. “What should I do hm?” He repeated, waiting for a response. It was so sweet how he was trying to help but your tongue was numb.

You didn’t even try to respond, focusing only on the movement of your hips, the way his cock pressed against your g-stop over and over, how when your hips met his- “Cmon love, tell me.” He’d say again and your brows furrow.

Unable to speak and his questions dragging your attention away from what you desperately chased. What you desperately needed. Much to your dismay, Hobie goes to speak again “Should I-“

Without thought you did something you’ve never done before, something he definitely didn’t expect.

Suddenly your hands moved from his shoulders to his neck, silencing him instantly with your grasp. You tilted your head forward again and met his eyes with a half-lidded yet somehow pointed look. “Shhh. H-Hobie, just shush” you mumbled. It was both demanding and pleading.

He was frozen, but as he felt your fingers gently pressed against the sides of his neck he nodded… completely speechless. You’ve been dominant before, but never like this. It unnerved him how much he liked it. He could feel how the pressure from your hands against his neck sent a jolt of pleasure straight to his cock.

You felt how Hobie throbbed inside you, the head of his cock managing to abuse the spot inside you that had you seeing stars. Practically throwing you off the edge of ecstasy.

He watched how your head fell back again, your walls clenched down tight around him. He could feel how your hands gripped his throat tighter when you came. Their grasp not suffocating but restricting enough to have him taking deep inhales. He was falling apart beneath you.

The feeling enough to thrown him over the edge abruptly. His head fell back onto the bed and his hands gripped at the belt holding his wrists to the headboard. “F-fuck… yes, god thats-“ a low groan breaks apart his words, unable to finish his statement.

You continued to grind your hips, no longer bouncing up and down. His hips did the same, both of you riding out your highs. Your head still thrown back and moaning again softly at the warm feeling of Hobie cumming deep inside you while you continued to drain him with your pulsing walls.

Once you both recovered from your post-orgasmic haze your bodies naturally relaxed. Your hands loosening around his neck and he whimpers softly at the feeling. You tilt your head to look down at him and then finally registered what you did.

The red marks on his neck weren’t very dark or apparent, but you could clearly see where your nails dug into the skin of his neck. “S-shit Hobie! I’m sorry, I-I didn’t realize” you say, letting go of his neck entirely, gently cupping his cheek with one hand to tilt his head to the side for a better look at his neck.

He watched your movements and expression of concern with amusement; half-lidded eyes and a lazy smirk on his lips. “Can you untie me?” He asks softly and you immediately reach your hands up. “Y-yeah of course! I-I really am sorry, I feel awful Hobie, I should’ve been more careful” you begin to ramble.

The second his hands are untied, you place your hands on his chest and go to move off of him but his hands immediately grip your hips like a vice “Don’t move. And don’t you dare apologize love…” his voice slightly raspy but still the low baritone it usually was. You look back up into his eyes, not seeing any pain or regret in them.

“I loved it…” you blushed at his words, there wasn’t an ounce of sarcasm or teasing in them. In your shock you only manage to stutter out a soft “r-really?”. When he nods, you can’t help but bite your bottom lip.

You’d be lying if you said you hated doing it to him. He placed a hand on top of one of yours, pulling it up to his lips before placing a tender kiss on your palm.

“Feeling these soft hands against my throat… fuck love the things you do to me” he groans out and moves your hand back down to his throat. You sit in silence, completely taken aback by this discovery. Hobie smirks at your state of shock and decides to use it against you.

“You’re so cute when you get all flustered…” he mumbles teasingly. His other hand reaches up and gently grabs your throat, pulling your face down closer to his own. You didn’t even fight back, at his bold action you instinctively gripped his throat with your hand.

“Fuck… just like that” When he groans lowly you blush, “What? Didn’t think I was boring did you?” He mocked and you chuckled at his teasing and then lightly shook your head adding “Not at all…”

“Good” he leans up and kisses your lips softly. Unable to contain your smile as he did. He gives your throat a quick squeeze and he can hear how your breath hitches “Guess we have one more thing in common now...”

-

Small note: being vanilla or not liking this type of stuff doesn’t make you boring. Whatever gets your rocks off ;)

[risingoftime]

“Hobie!” You moaned. The sound of your wet pussy and Hobie’s whimpers filled the room. His hips stuttered, but his movements didn’t subside while he continued to push you further. Hobie bit his lip at seeing you undone on his dick. He wouldn’t be able to get the image out of his head. His eyebrows drew together in deep focus. He was holding back. “Let it out. Come inside me.” Hobie’s eyes met yours before his lips came over yours again, fierce and thorough. Pushing forward towards his own pleasure, beyond his own control. The sound that escaped his mouth could only be described as lewd. Hobie buried himself inside you, filling your pussy with his cum. The warmth of him dripped inside as you rode out the final waves like an aftershock. It never mattered how many times you fucked. You always craved him even more than the last time. To hear him sigh your name like a dying prayer.

naviagation

[love-bitesx]

what would hobie do in a situation where reader, who’s a new spider person (like pavitr, like they got bitten by the spider few months ago or smth) had just went through their canon event?? whether it be what he would do after the event or during is completely up to you, im just curious and i have hobie brainrot rn LMAOAOAO

ofc if u don’t wanna do this request thats completely fine, have a good rest of ur day/night!!

hobie x gn!reader

warnings: death, family member dying, very (very) brief description of a dead body, but nothing graphic at all. hobie just wants u to be safe n happy :( he’s been through that grief and his heart hurts knowing you’re abt to go through it too :(

you couldn’t move.

your watch emitted a blaring, shrill alarm, miguel desperately trying to make contact, but you were frozen. bones aching, numb, all you could do was stare at the scene in front of you with watery eyes.

“i-,” your body betrayed you, catching your words as they try to escape, clawing at the walls of your throat as they get dragged back down into the growing pit in your stomach. falling to your knees, numb to the feeling of rubble against your bones, you picked up a slab of concrete and threw it to the side.

“uncle ben.”

it was all you could muster, voice small and hoarse, and if a mouse had squeaked at the same time, you would’ve lost in comparison. shaking hands rising to touch his face, a strangled choke broke out at the cold, lifeless skin that met your trembling fingertips. he looked strangely peaceful, sending a bolt of pain directly to your heart.

“no-no, please, uncle ben,” your thoughts unravelled, grabbing at his shirt, as if you could shake the life back into his bones, “please, i can’t do this– i can’t do this without you.”

you’d only been a “spider person” for 4 months. only 4 months of navigating the most isolating, terrifying journey with no one but your dear uncle by your side. he’d grown with you, seeing you muster from dangling off climbing frames in playgrounds as a child, to scaling buildings and saving lives. not a day went past when he wasn’t there with you, holding your hand through the unfathomable changes.

it all happened so quickly. one moment, you’re fighting an anomaly, bashing around the streets of your earth, leading the monster further away from the crowds – until it threw itself, headfirst into a neighbouring building, office blocks, you think to yourself, nothing too serious. that is, until you trap it, ready to send it back to miguel with ease, and lay eyes on the scene it left behind. people crushed under concrete, glass shattered the streets, and a familiar face unconscious on the pavement.

“y/n,” a voice sounds from behind you, but your soul is too busy trying to claw it’s way out of your chest to notice, or care. you laid on his unmoving torso, heart ripping at the vacancy of its usual heaving.

“y/n,” it sounded again, and a twang of familiarity shone its way through the darkness.

“he’s–” you sobbed, reluctantly lifting your head, “i couldn’t save him, i– it’s all my fault, hobie.”

“shh, come ‘ere,” you barely felt his arms wrapping around you, your body was numb. it’s like you were a ghost, haunting your own skin – a poltergeist in the wind.

regardless, you fell into him, gripping his leather vest until your knuckles were white. sobbing into his chest, his ringed hand came up to calm you, running it softly over the curves of your spine, voice low as he whispers into you, “it ain’t your fault, love.”

“you two, you need to get back—” miguel’s voice came booming from a growing portal, spider-people spilling into your dimension, ready to bring the anomaly home, until hobie cut him off sternly.

“fuck off, miguel,” he spat, pulling his arms tighter around you, feeling as though if he held you close enough, he could shelter you from the grief. maybe, if he kept you in his arms, he could carry the burden of your loss on his own studded shoulders. but, he knew he couldn’t, he’d been there before – they all had. all he could do was be there for you, a hand to hold and shoulder to cry on.

and so that’s exactly what he did.

“love, gonna come stay with me for a bit, yeah?” he whispered into your hair, and you nodded weakly, his heart surged, “just ‘til you feel a’ight.”

he placed a kiss – gentle, safe – to your forehead.

“i’ll look after you, darlin’.”

[merowkittie]

Very bad lack of atsv content so let me help out. I see too many ppl pouting about no more hobie fics so here you go <3

“Baby, I’ve got a migraine and you’re not helping! Cállate, por favor, B!” Your distressed voice was heard through the quite loud apartment.

For the last week you’ve been having bad migraines and usually Hobie would understand that but today? He just can’t seem to take a fucking break!

Your head is pounding and it’s only getting worse with the loud strumming of his guitar.

“Wha’ was tha’ love?” He stopped for a second and as you were about to speak he began again.

This time, you didn’t stay in bed kicking and moaning, you got up and marched straight to the room he was in and barged through the door.

He looked at you and smiled, jamming out in his own little world.

He still didn’t stop as you glared at him so you walked Into the room around his amp and pulled the plug right out of the wall.

His eyes bulged out of the sockets and for a while you two just stood there. You glaring at him and him shocked.

“Hobart Brown.. if I have to tell you one more fucking time, to turn it down, give it a break, or turn it off! I swear to god, I’ll throw your guitar out of the window!” You exclaimed with a huff. Everything coming out rushed and impatient.

The guitar strap came off over his head and he sat his guitar down on the stand. His long legs walked over to you in short steps and his arms circled your hips.

“Don’t think this’ll help your situation..” You glared up at him but he thought you looked like a little cat.

He sighed and kissed the crown of your head and smiled again. “My bad, princess. Won’t happen again, promise.” He held his pinky up.

“Promise?” Yours linked with his.

“I promise.”

He kissed your forehead and waved you off, back to the bedroom. Instantly you sunk into the bed, the quietness taking you in.

But nothing ever lasts forever, let’s just say he broke that promise and is investing in a new guitar.

[junewritesstuff]

watching movies w/ hobie!! ✧.*

pairing: hobie brown x gn!reader

cw/tws: none!

a/n: headcanon style, established relationship, reader and hobie live in an apartment/flat/wherever u want together

he's very big on physical touch when watching something together. his favorite is when you have your head in his lap and he gently runs his fingers through your hair

he really enjoys horror movies!! if youre someone that gets scared easily he wont hesitate to hold you in his arms to ease your fear

if hes really into the movie/show, he will verbally react. he will laugh, gasp, yell, anything to show his opinion on what’s happening

if he comes home late at night to you watching something on tv, he’ll promptly join you until one or both of you fall asleep

might write a lil drabble on this idea in the future but this is it for now!! also my reqs are open :)

[messylustt]

KAJXJSJX HOBIE WITH “ you look like you’ve got something to say ” & “ kiss me again ”

talk to my cold lips — hobie brown. heheehe. i need him. like need him. bad.

you were pressing your lips together, tucking your knees up to try and create some warmth for yourself. the air was chilled, your closed window not doing as much as you'd hoped. "you could at least let yourself have a blanket." hobie's voice drifts into the living room, him having crashed the night before.

you lean your head back, rubbing the goosebump covered skin of your shins with rolled down sleeves, creating some much needed friction. "couldn't be bothered." you mutter back, eyes now closed as the cold air tinges your cheeks and nose.

hobie scoffs. and that's when you feel something large and fluffy land right atop your body. opening your eyes you caught sight of the blanket now draped over you, making you shift your gaze to hobie. he's taken a seat beside you. "is that my jumper?" you ask, brows furrowing.

hobie looks down at his body before looking to you. "and is tha’ a blanket i so kindly got for ya?"

despite his words you hug the blanket tighter, looking away, and making him chuckle. "yeah, hobie, thanks mate." he sarcastically states for you.

"i don't say 'mate'." you reply. "yeah ya do." hobie shoots back, shifting slightly on the couch, as he faces you, fingers tapping at his knee.

"when have i ever said 'mate'?" you scoff. "jus' yesterday." hobie's lips curve up in a lazy smirk. "yesterday, really?"

"yeah...in ya sleep." hobie shrugs, hand now having moved to fiddle with the edge of your blanket. "oh." you mockingly say, faking understanding. "right, of course." you lean back against the couch again, shutting your eyes.

"you do realise that would mean that you watched me sleep." you mutter, only earning his lazy tone of denial.

"nah. you just happen to be a very loud talker." when you look back over to him unimpressed his smirk has widened as he looks up at you from under his lashes.

you're caught momentarily, your gaze taking note of his own. you don't mean to let your eyes drop but they do, also taking note of his creamy looking skin, almost glowing in the chilled air, the grey sky outside only forcing him to stand out more. soon your eyes stop on his lips, freshly coated in his spit. you find yourself gulping, unsure.

unbeknownst to you, hobie's gaze also had begun to wander. the only difference being that it had begun all of last night too. things were normal. you offered your place, he accepted, so on, so on. but he'd caught himself staying trapped in eyeing your legs...your waist...your chest...only brief moments could he look at your face until you felt his gaze and turned. leaving him to act distracted in something far more bland than you.

but now, as you met his gaze, he didn't look away, his fingers fiddling with the blanket slowly drawing it closer. "you look like you’ve got something to say." he says, as you notice the blanket's shift.

"you're stealing my blanket." you say a little too quietly. but thats when you feel something else getting tugged. along with the blanket, hobie's fingers found the edge of your shirt. your breathing hitched as you were forced to move along the couch towards him.

soon he's draped part of the blanket over himself, both your legs touching. you gulp, licking your dry lips. you blame the cold. "well? do ya have something to say?"

you go to shake your head, feeling the slightest brush of his fingertips under the blanket, but you stop. "i do actually."

"oh?" his gaze has been a little too focused lower down on your face, him now taking note of your freshly wet lips. "i was going to keep the blanket. for myself."

hobie lazily tilts his head, clear amusement evident in his fluttering gaze. "uh huh."

"and now you've...taken it. so, if you don't mind i'll just..." you go to grab the edge of the blanket that rests over his hips, but this forces you close, hobie's back and forth mind halting as his senses heighten at the proximity.

you go to say something more, along the lines of "even if you did get me the blanket, you are wearing my nice jumper — " but you can barely finish the sentence before hobie's fingers are gripping your shirt tighter, using his free hand to bring you in by the back of your neck, as his lips meet yours.

your body reacts in a mix of a jolt and a stiffen, shock emanating from you. but hobie's tongue glides along your lower lip eagerly, drawing you in impossibly closer as he moves against your mouth.

you find yourself slowly kissing back, his persistent hands creating warm friction against your body, as he grins against your lips. you have to catch your breath, but as you draw back a fraction, mind dazed and core heated, muttering a "hobie..." he's drawing you back in, murmuring against your now open mouth "kiss me again," as he wraps his full lips around your bottom, sucking. teeth and tongues, eager and oh very willing.

© messylustt.tumblr please don’t steal, copy or translate my work onto other platforms.

[bloomingdog]

𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐑𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐬 — 𝐇𝐨𝐛𝐢𝐞 𝐁𝐫𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐱 𝐅𝐥𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐭!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

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

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

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

You recognise him the moment he walks in.

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

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

“Do you want the classic roses then?”

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

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

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

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

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

“How much do I owe you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And what were you thinking of getting?”

“I was hoping you could recommend me something.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Sure.” 

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

And it sounds like proper fun, really.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No worries, it’s Y/N.”

“Pretty.” It’s flirty. 

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

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

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

“Seems hard.”

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

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

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

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

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

“What, like me?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“My bad. Do you like food?”

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

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

“Where?”

“What do you fancy?”

“Thai?”

“Sure.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuck off.”

“Hi pet.”

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

“Bloody hell Hobie.” 

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

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

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

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

“You don’t have to, I’ll be fine.”

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

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

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

“I don’t care.”

“Don’t say that.” He pleads. 

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

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

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

“You can’t.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[cheralith]

hi i went on a boat today after rewatching atsv for the third time and all i could think abt was hobie and his canal boat instead of enjoying the view of the city 🧍

like just constant thoughts of him mindlessly steering the thing around the hudson river and just finding the contrast between his very decorated, very outlandish boat and the sleek and modern ones rather amusing considering it harbors rather some attention—both good and bad.

also the consistent thought of him showing it off to you like the coolswagmaster69 he is, and you marveling at all its details just fuels his ego. i’d imagine he’d let you add on your own graffiti onto the hull of it or essentially anywhere that it can be seen—just somewhere that shows off your special place in his life.

“you can use the tires as floaties,” he’d say and gesture to the two massive tires just hanging lazily on the side of it. “all i ask o’ ya is that you don’t use ‘em on the hudson, yeah? don’t want your pretty l’il head gettin’ toxic shock and allat junk. pretty sure i saw a dead body floatin’ there the other day.”

it never stays in one place for too long, much like himself. hobie often switches from place to place to give himself good environment changes so he doesn’t grow bored, though his favorite spot is in the bogs of the bronx river because of how soothing it gets at night.

he threatened to throw you overboard one time because you jokingly call it the “hoboat” in the same manner you tease him about being “spider-punk,” both titles making him wrinkle his nose in evident disgust because of their corniness.

what he won’t tell you though is that to others, he’ll secretly reference his abode as the “hoboat” as an homage to you huhu

[pluto-supremacy]

Can I add to the Hobie dating an autistic person ideas based on my experiences? I'm autistic, my girlfriend isn't but neither of us would be shocked if she was.

Hobie understands that he has to be ultra specific when asking or explaining something to you. He can't be vague about it and say something will take a while, he knows you prefer a specific time.

He finds your stimming cute as fuck, but he's learned quickly to step out the way when you do stim lest he wants to be in the line of fire and accidentally get hit.

Same applies with hands. You gesture a lot with your hands and it gets more animated and crazy when you're excited and you wave then about. The cutest shit ever, not so much when you're eating or prepping food and you have a knife in your hand. A gentle reminder that its okay to stim, but maybe not with a knife or something stabby or fragile in your hand is all that's needed.

Yes, you and Hobie are on the same page 99 percent of the time, but occasionally there'll be miscommunication and what he says and means will be different to what you thought it meant. This is based on me and my girlfriend a few weeks ago. I suggested we "chill out" in her room, hoping she gets the hint. We go to her room and literally chill out whilst watching Bluey. Many laughs and kisses after, it was adorable

Hobie Brown Drabble: cooking rambles with a gn!autistic!reader

➼ I absolutely love these additions to the headcanons! I also talk a lot with my hands and at work and when I’m cooking that includes gesturing with very sharp knives, so- yeah I’m forcing that on our beloved gn!reader. Enjoy this little Drabble based on some of your lovely additions!

➼ I swear I did try my best on the accent-

➼ Sorry that this took a bit longer than I promised! Work has been kicking my ass

➼ No beta we die like uncle Aaron

➼ No warnings! Just fluff here

GIF doesn't belong to me! All credits to the original owner

You treasured nights like these, nights when Hobie wasn’t needed back at Spider HQ. Or just decided not to go. Either way, you enjoyed just being able to lounge around in your shared flat together, bitch about coworkers, turn on a cheesy movie, or your favorite: cook together. Nothing beat a homemade meal in Hobie’s opinion, he just…wasn’t the best at cooking. Wasn’t terrible either, more middle of the road, so he usually stuck to stirring and prepping the vegetables.

Tonight’s menu was grilled cheeses and tomato soup, some nice comfort food. Hobie was buttering up the pan for the sandwiches while you were chopping up some onions, going on about your day. “So then I’m at the counter just trying to ring up her order. Something complicated because of course she just couldn’t have the drinks how they come, each has at least three modifications” you rambled on. You always talked with your hands, gesturing wildly that you sometimes hit people. This was no different.

Apart from the fact that this time you had a knife in your hands.

“Like she wanted no whip on this one, double whip on that one, sprinkles on the other other one” you listed off, tapping the tip of the blade against your fingers without a second thought. Hobie was of course listening, but he had his back turned. At least it was until his Spidey-sense went off. But what could be causing danger-?

Cue you still gesturing with the knife, none the wiser that Hobie, who was once by the stove, had webbed up onto the ceiling and was standing there like a bat. Your eyes had been trained down as you went on. “I was losing my mind! I wanted to scream!” You raised your hands in frustration, and when you lowered them, the knife was gone and in its place? A wooden spoon. “What-?”

“Sorry luv, but I can’t ‘ave you swingin’ that ‘round. Can’t ‘ford a trip to the hospi’al” Hobie said, still hanging upside down on the ceiling but now with your stolen knife in hand. “I fancy ya a bi’ too much to let you ‘urt yourself.”

You could only laugh, setting the spoon down as Hobie finally jumped off of the ceiling, spinning around to land on his feet. “I didn’t even realize I was doing it” you replied, holding your hand out to get the knife back. He shot you a mock skeptical look before handing it back over, now sitting on the counter. “‘S alright swee’heart. Now watch where you’re cu’ing. I wan’ you ta keep all your fingers” he hummed out lowly, watching you get back to work. He always loved watching you talk with your hands and when you would stim, sometimes he just needed to step in to keep everyone safe. Anything for his luv.

[fightingsnails]

I see a lot of ppl hc that Hobie isn't a good cook and I. just don't believe that??

like he lives alone, and has for who knows how long.

and original Hobie (not comic spider punk, Prowler comic Hobie) was the youngest of nine with absent parents, so I imagine his sisters definitely taught him how to cook.

especially when he joined the spider society, I imagine when Gwen started staying over more he took time to figure out how to cook foods she liked and show her more foods (if her dad cooks anything like my dad does it is BLAND)

and I imagined he did the same thing when he became friends with Pavitr and Miles (especially with Pavitr)

we've already established that Hobie has skinny boy metabolism, so he eats A LOT. and I'm sure he eats a lot of different things and isn't very picky so he just has a lot of food and cooking stuff in his kitchen because he is ready to just start whipping something up

[hobiebrownbrowser]

🖤Part -5🖤. ⚠️ Angst. Lots of it.⚠️

Cheating Hobie Brown x Miguel O'Hara/Human FEM reader

Summary: A spider has bit you, The spider slowly absorbing your life. In a last feeble attempt to survive you harbor your life in a heartless android body.

Time Tumble: 🖤 Miguel is now your lover.

You ignored him for what felt like eternity, Not laughing at his jokes, not paying attention to his annoyance. You were there for a reason, Getting the job done and reporting back to Miguel.

You awfully spend more time with the tall 6'9ft man, it was obvious by just how it takes you hours to leave his headquarters. You've moved on, you felt free.

Somehow you'd pulled such a lowlife ignorant self-esteem bastard of a man who couldn't keep his hands off of you. Miguel knew how to push the buttons of a woman, he'd shown that pretty clearly.

You remembered how the feeble relationship started, His kisses still pressed against your skin. The thought sending a shiver past you. You'd slowly doused yourself in him, interest catching your eyes the more you'd spend time with him.

The warmth of Miguel's skin tingling your own once you'd let him explore what you owned. The tension between the two of you crumbling apart the more he'd shown his true gentle colors.

You weren't supposed to fall in love, Even if you swore you never would fall again, Miguel simply swept you off your feet. Maybe it was the way he'd complimented your beauty, or how he wanted to hear how you'd become a full human-being.

Everyone around the entire society wanted to know how you were human. "You were an android once? How much intelligence did you have?"

It wasn't really much of a deal, after all you still had your corpse confined in your basement. It was difficult to explain how you became an android, It was mostly because of the spider that had bit you.

It was absorbing your brain, so in one last attempt to survive you'd transferred yourself in a cold-hardened body. You tried to turn back, but you'd lost your memory on how to do so. So you were an android for what felt like eternity.

You should be thankful after all, Hobie helped you remember with such dedication, Maybe falling apart was a canon event, What you needed to remember what you once were. The thought pushing a smile on your face.

It's not like they have ever seen your humanoid figure until now. They didn't even know you were human once, now they do. It felt amazing to be the talk of the HQ, Making friends left to right with everyone you knew.

But what felt truly amusing, was seeing how the man you once loved kept falling apart. It had been a few months since you came back. You were haunting him at this point, breaking him down until he'd finally stopped chasing what he lost.

I guess the show was over, It was pretty pitiful what you did. You know it was the wrong thing, But it felt so right, He could finally get a taste of his own medicine, How you felt all those unspeakable years.

You were happy, You were still getting used to emotions, But love kept you on your feet, Loved by a man that you thought was just ignorant and selfish. He was swooning your heart, Healing it with the gentlest of touches.

In the end, everyone went separate ways. You and Hobie never got back together, Not even as friends. He was completely gone from existence.

"Hobie reaped what he sowed."

THE END.