#Miss Hobart

[sydneysageivashkov]

fellow australian artful dodger watchers have any of you worked out where in australia this is meant to be set because this is driving me up the wall

[softbunarts]

Very unsurprisingly, another Hobie sketch <3

[ibraesil]

Jane Sheldon singing The Galaxy Beneath Me from ANTARCTICA by Mary Finsterer at Sydney Festival 2023 with Sydney Chamber Opera & Asko|Schönberg.

[full recording]

A woman in 19th century clothing lies motionless suspended in midair on a small stage filled with fog and lit with red light. The huge proscenium fills with words from an account of a flood.

Peaceful, pensive music plays while a voice whispers and the light slowly turns blue.

The woman sings. Her voice is very clear, with little vibrato - like a Baroque or Early singer. The melody begins plainly. Besides the movement of her mouth, she remains completely motionless. "Solitude, true solitude; the night black; horizons melt sky and sea. Somewhere... solitude." A few small ornaments are added to the melody - grace notes. "Milky Way smeared over all, oh shatter of stars crashing in vastness. Far from the lights of home." A different melody without ornaments, but more movement and wide intervals. "Oh see - there is no soul awake to see the shimmer of the night sky hanging in the water; the multitude of lights swimming." Now many simple ornaments on a melody with a lot of movement. "Tumble of starlight down among us to sleep in our darkness. Solitude." Now many difficult ornaments - complex mordents and runs - turn a simple melody into an acrobatic show with a strong sense of movement. Her tone remains clear and pensive, and she is still perfectly motionless in midair. The proscenium finally fills with text. "Underfoot, underdeck, a million tiny creatures! Underspace, a galaxy beneath- beneath me."

The singer and the orchestra slowly fade out, and a pure, piercing tone rings out then fades.

All of the text on the proscenium begins to fade.

[julia4today]

cozy glow fluff

(hobie x pink!reader) — fem prns..?

hobie, the rule breaking, cop hating, spider-punk. he goes around spraypainting walls, or beating some evil villain. that or he’s being told off by miguel for his “disrespectful” behavior. AKA he was telling the truth and miguel doesn’t seem to appreciate honesty as much as hobart does.

maybe people expect him to have a girlfriend just as punk as him. maybe they don’t expect a girlfriend at all.

————

last night had been a long one. he had just gotten home from a mission with gwendy. he had some scrapes and bruises so he was forced to go to the medical center. he hated being told to do things, especially go to the medical center. it was so sterile, so void of life. and could definitely use a new paint job.

he had missed band practice which means having his phone blown up about their upcoming gig and how it was the 4th time that month he’d “skipped” practicing.

as he swung through the city all he could think of was you. all he could think of was the way you smelt like sugar cookies and rainy days. he dodged building after building, soon his eyes focusing on the apartment ahead. only one room illuminated.

only one room with that familiar cozy glow that he came to appreciate oh so much. as he approached the edifice, his eyes trained on the dusty bricks, and the chipping paint of the window sill that he had glued himself against, climbing the side of the structure.

he pryed open the window, a loud creaking noise ensuing. he winced slightly, hoping that if you were sleeping, you hadn’t woken up. he crawled into the kitchen, inhaling at your aroma that snuck its way throughout the flat.

he scanned the space, he saw the muffins you had left on the stove top. he grabbed one as he snuck towards your bedroom. noting the usual decorations as well as some new ones. pictures of him, in a pink frame of course. he ran his fingers over it, reminiscing on the memory, one from a week prior. you had convinced hobie to go to a fair.

the both of you had a wonderful time then, even if he was reluctant to admit it. you accepted this and was proud that he stepped out of his comfort zone while also managing not to steal.

curse you and your sickeningly sweet smile that makes him forget how horrible the system is. don’t worry, he made some ruckus the next day to make up for the loss. as his eyes grew heavy he reached for the handle of your door.

the door opened with a loud moan of the hinges. the list on your fridge of things to fix in your house obviously not helping. glancing at the clock, he read the time. 2 am. he mentally cursed himself for coming to see you that late, but really who could blame him.

most see hobie as a ruffian who only causes uproar and disharmony. but you saw him as much more. he was able to be himself with you. he allowed himself to let you in, to see all his insecurities that weren’t open to the rest of the world.

he glanced back at you, snuggled up in a pink blanket and your hello kitty pajamas. both of which he bought (stole) for you (but he wouldn’t tell you that he actually stole it). the light still shining dimly, he chuckled, knowing you had probably stayed up waiting for him.

he soon discarded the majority of his clothes and climbed into bed next to you. your figure tossing and turning, your breath changing before restoring back to a soft snore. you found it embarrassing that you snore, he found it adorable and made sure to reassure you of that. and also to remind you that insecurity is another way the government divides us so we can’t band together and overthrow it.

reaching over he turned off the light. his black shirt contrasting with the rosy color of your linens. he wraps his arms around you, which you quickly oblige. snuggling closer into his chest.

“love ‘ya doe.” he had begun calling you doe when you first met, it was to point out your innocence which soon became something he treasured most about you. although he did appreciate your tenacity when protesting. you could definitely overthrow one hell of a government all on your own when you were angry.

“mm love you too,” you said sleepily, only mildly drooling on hobie. you fell back asleep as quick as you woke up. he smiled and rested his chin on top your head.

closing his eyes and falling asleep.

—————

okay first fic what do we think? do you want hobie smut? or maybe something with miguel??? i have a whole list of ideas but i’d love some more!! pls pls request something you want to see and i’ll add it to the list.

reblogs much appreciated, feel free to message me 🩷

[diejager]

Bittersweet Devotion pt.2

Pairing: Miguel O’Hara x fem!reader

Cw: angst, heartbreak, mention of cheating, mention of death, no happy ending, apology, tell me if I missed any. wc: 9.3k

Previous

Your universe, Earth-XXX, was a parallel one to Earth-616 in some sense. You had a Peter Parker, a Gwen Stacy and a Mary Jane Watson, it had everything down to the death of Ben Parker and the devastation it brought to your friend. It was the same year as Spider-Man 616’s world, it had the same political standing and same history. Your world, like many others, was a near carbon copy of 616, down to the smallest things; but like others in the spiderverse, you had differences. Some were minor changes in the course of its canon story, others were major changes in the characters and the era.

You - like Miguel, Miles, Jess, Hobart (he liked going by Hobie), Patrick and Patriv - were one of those major deviations in the original canon. You didn’t exist - or so you thought - in Peter B. or Peter’s universe even though you lived in the same year. The reason might be that in the reality, the sum of all potential universes that paralleled each other, created the multiverse - the Spiderverse. 

The concept of it seemed strangely unlimited, the infinite possibilities to a different ending or a different start for its world. The multiverse was, in some sense, as old as time, a culmination of everything made imaginable by man. Found in ancient texts - the Puranas, ancient Hindu mythology - that expressed the infinite number of universes with their gods and principles. Whereas Persian literature - tales - touched the idea of learning about alternate universes that were similar, yet distinctly different from theirs. 

Misconstrued by many, the strangeness of it was deemed a danger, the unknown possibilities were feared by people of older age, but venerated in the past as it was in the present for the unfathomable possibilities. It exists in fiction, where they borrowed the idea of many worlds within a reality from myths, legends and religion. Heaven, Hell, Olympus and Valhalla were all reflections of a familiar world, a material realm for the blessed, the sinful, the gods, and the worthy. The similarities sometimes frightened you, how close the people were to knowing of the reality you all lived in. The tangibility of crossing worlds and bringing about chaos to every string, every realm, every material form of the multiverse. 

They, after all, were real, Hell as much as Heaven in your universe. Gods from every religion, either monotheistic or polytheistic, some you’d personally seen are Thor and Loki, brother and sons of Odin the Allfather, and the God of Thunder and Mischief respectively. Another was a big crocodile lady, Ammit, from what you’d heard from the all-knowing Dr. Strange. From God to Norse and Egyptian gods, from angels and demons, and from humans to mutants, your plane of existence was as wide as it could go without drifting off the edge and causing a mass domino effect within the multiverse.

You were curious, naturally so for a scientist, exploring the worlds that felt familiar to you but you hadn’t truly grasped -  different, yet similar. You hadn’t given a second thought to exploring yours. After all, why explore yours when your horizon was as broad as you imagined it, unperturbed by any limits when it came to the multiverse? The eternal and unlimited growing number of realms in your expanding reality.

Perhaps that was the reason why you hadn’t known your universe had its own Miguel O’Hara. You rarely came back for anything, you had everything you’ve ever wanted in Nueva York, Earth-928. You have friends who could truly understand you, people who stood beside you when you fought, youngsters who looked up to you for mentoring and a dream- or it was a dream. Dreams, not dissimilar to wishes, were hopeful, naive in a way, they came and went. Some dreams would come true, while others fell, like the fallen stars that crossed the night sky.

Yours simply happened to be a fallen one, one not meant to happen and become greater. You let it go after he dropped you, after he turned his back and let his mouth run unperturbed. He brought her up, someone he swore he would remember but left in the past. A new chance to become something, to become whole again, and Miguel took it. He wanted to start anew, fresh with someone he never met, you wanted the same; you both had what you wished for, until he put his foot down, cutting the thin web that connected both your lives.

It broke your heart. Months of patience and anxiously stepping around each other, nervous about breaking the trust freshly built between you both, lost in a few weeks. You were brittle, heart fractured and threatening to fall further apart if someone was any crueller to you. The smallest glare, the tiniest scoff or the weakest remark would send you reeling into the abyss of heartbreak and the throes of anguish. Yet somehow, you found yourself being led away by a copy of the Miguel you loved. 

He mumbled apologies as he held you tightly, his arm over your shoulder as he cradled you under his umbrella, hastily urging you to follow his guidance. If it were any other person, you would’ve been wary, cautious of any strangers that touched you so closely and chaperoned you so quickly; but this was Miguel, a man you trusted and that you still trusted wherever he came from. Earth-XXX’s Miguel O’Hara was still similar to the one you knew, someone you could trust. You did.

He led you to his flat, someplace near Alchemax’s building in Manhattan, a safe neighbourhood for the richer citizens of Manhattan. A cozy place of neutral tones and muted colours, yet warm as he welcomed you - a stranger as of yet - into his home. He had machinery strewn around, reports stacked on his coffee table and smaller things he had been tinkering about decorating his home. As a geneticist, he liked to play with machinery, having drawn his designs and models, built his creations from scratch and worked from the base programming to make something better. At least Miguel from Earth-928 did, and it seemed this one did as well. 

You stood in his shower, where he left you in a frenzy to bring you dry clothes, drying out your hair with the towel he motioned you to use. You doubted that he had anything your size, his broad shoulders and his towering height, nothing he had in his draws - and the boxes he stowed away in his closet - would fit you. They would drag down your ankle and sit low on your collar. Granted, you were soaked down to your socks and had no temporary clothes to cover yourself with during your stay. 

You had stripped from your soaked clothes and patted down your wet skin, shivering from the cold that clung to your bones even after Miguel had increased the heater in the small confines of the bathroom. It was small but big enough to move around and stretch your arms comfortably. You hadn’t felt the cold until he brought you to his bathroom, the numbness of the past months weighing heavily on your shoulders and the bleeding of your heart made everything seem so meaningless. The colours draining from the world around you, a once bright New York turned grey, the monochrome tones of black and white mixing and interlacing to form even more boring shades. 

The vibrancy and life you once saw around you dulled and died suddenly, like the winters brought by Demeter’s devastation and sadness when her daughter was taken from her, stolen from the berth of flowers she liked frolicking about. How Demeter doomed the world to see her pain, to feel how she felt in the moments her daughter had to return to her husband than stay with Demeter. You felt laden by your faults and his actions. Doubtful of your relationship, of what led you both to such an ending. Had you been clearer or more forthcoming about your emotions, or had you confronted him for his behaviour, would you still be in his arms? 

Were you at fault for missing something you had relied on as comfort and safety? Could you be blamed for his reaction to your meddling in his affairs in the Society? Could you blame him for dropping those words on you? After all, being reminded or compared to a past lover was anything but gentle, the gut-wrenching envy and betrayal you felt flash through you was nearly drowning. It made you feel lacking, to be reminded of his old flame, the one he was about to marry and the person he seemed to love before all. Could you even compare to what she was; what she did? (Dina had cheated on him, you knew that, but he was truly happy in their moments of pleasure and domesticity. They were a family until she died.)

You were drowning in your self-made sorrow when his voice called you, grounding you to the room. Standing before a door, naked and shivering, arms wrapping the damp towel around your shoulders. He called again, cracking the door open to pass you the - his - clothes he thought would fit you. He coughed as you took your temporary wear, your cool fingers brushing his warm ones. It was a sudden and jerking contact, you pulled back jerkingly, a shamble of an apology and a thank you flew from your tongue. His chuckle was a reassurance in the complete quietness of the flat, his low voice reminding you of better times. 

The sweater hung loosely around you, dipping down your collar to expose your shoulder. It was warm, the cotton used to make it still soft after being stored away and the soothing scent of spice and pine deeply integrated into the fibres. The pants were stretched around your hips, the tight fabric thin and flexible under stress, hidden under the long shirt. The legs, however, swayed loosely around your limbs, too big for your calves, but tight enough to hug your thighs. He had certainly made sure to bring you clothes that would fit your frame. You hadn’t attempted to smell his pants, you thought it would’ve been too intrusive and disgusting to do so if only to smell a remnant of Miguel on his as you did on the sweater. 

Miguel was waiting for you in the kitchen, his back turned to you as you ambled towards him. His shoulders loose and back relaxed in the presence of a stranger made you appreciate how good-natured he was in most universes you’d been to. He turned his head, gesturing you to sit on the chair facing him on the island as he returned to something he was making while you changed. 

“I hope you don’t mind hot chocolate,” he started, voice light and hopeful as he turned to you, cup in each hand as he moved to stare at you. “I’m not one for tea.” He slid the warm mug into your hand, eyes watching your expression as he slowly sipped on the hot beverage. 

His eyes squinted slightly when your lips curled upwards, a smile hidden by the steaming mug. You cupped the mug, feeling the warmth of the freshly brewed drink, the steam rising in soft curls and melting in the cooler atmosphere. Tentatively, you brought the rim to your lips, slowly tilting the cup. The powerful taste of chocolate hit you strongly, the sweet and dark liquid melting the tension in your muscles until you could curl over the table with an appreciative sigh. 

“Thank you…” you knew his name, wanting to call him, but his reaction would be unwanted, the shock, fear and suspicion that would fill his beautiful, brown eyes. So you slurred your words, dragging out your voice until he could tell you his name himself.

“Miguel. Miguel O’Hara, ” he nodded, cocking his head upwards, pointing at you with his chin. “What’s your name? I can’t keep calling you Hey every time I want to call you.” His lips broke into a cheeky smile, teasing you when he saw that you’d comfortably melted into the drink and his island chair. He wanted to ease the tense atmosphere from before into something much calmer, to help the accumulated tension in your shoulders to fall like the rain that clouded the streets of New York.

You let out a hoarse chuckle, your throat still fresh from crying, and told him your name, trying to stabilise your shaking tone. His cheeky smirk tugged at your heartstrings, you hadn’t seen Miguel laugh or smile this freely in months. You missed it. The casual banter you shared and the on-and-off insults you’d hurl at one another, all good-natured insults meant to rile him. 

“Thank you, Miguel,” you nearly choked when you uttered his name, the wound still so fresh and bleeding it slip from your tongue easily. It brought up so many memories, both painful and joyful. Your eyes glazed over, tears threatening to fall once again, to paint your cheeks with agony that you - him, or perhaps both of you - had brought on yourself. “Thank you…”

Miguel hummed sympathetically, eyes staring down at his drink, deep in thought. Perhaps he was thinking of a way to invite you to share your problems, to tell him why you broke down on the street in stormy weather. Or maybe he was thinking of the fastest way to kick you out, to get rid of the mess you became. The silence, however, was reassuring, calming the nerves that followed the eerie calmness of Miguel’s den or the loud, hectic atmosphere of the Society. His warm, worrying gaze grounded you, the softness behind his concerned stare was heartwarmingly nostalgic.

“Difficult breakup?” His words seemed hesitant, unsure of his conclusion to the cause of your appearance. Unknowingly, he had struck gold, pinning down the right problem in your life with a few observations. Of course, he was observant and aware of his surroundings, why else was he so willing to bring you into his home? 

“How’d ya know?”

His sigh was telling, the deep, concerned and tired breath was only used when he knew that you wouldn’t tell him what ailed you, like the groan of a disappointed, yet worried father. 

“Because I know how it feels,” he says slowly, pensive over his words, picking them carefully to not damage you further than your ex had. He knew the pain of a harsh breakup, the pain and sorrow that followed, like a dark cloud that hovered over you whenever you were awake. 

“Why?” You croaked.

“Why?” he parroted, frowning at your question.

“Why did you invite me in? I’m a- a stranger to you, you don’t even know me. What if I’d been acting to mug you or potentially kill and steal from you? What’d you do then, Miguel?”

“I know the risks, but you didn’t, didn’t you? And wouldn’t, you don’t look like the person to harm another.”

You scoffed at his words. Didn’t and wouldn’t didn’t mean you would not do it later after gaining his trust, to stab him in the back after he helped you and nursed you. The simple, naïve idea that you didn’t look like a violent person was mind-blowing, it was stupid. How could he know if you didn’t mean harm later on? Like how Miguel never meant to harm you - he loved you - and yet in the end, he had. 

“That’s naïve,” you muttered, eyes closed as you drank the cooling beverage, the sugary drink trickling down your throat. 

“I’m confident in my ability to read people.”

He did seem confident in his ability, the straight back and the strong gaze in his eyes showed; and, maybe because you knew from experience that Miguel was observant and careful, he hadn’t gotten where he was by simply trusting people and following the herd. He tested and made mistakes, he learned from them each time and found a way to use it to his advantage. The Miguel you saw in every universe was similar in some ways, their good nature, their cunningness, their bravery and their intelligence. All aspects known to characterize Miguel O’Hara in all universes he existed in. 

You conceded to his will, head bowed and shoulders slack. You breathed shallowly, swallowing the lump in your throat:

“Yeah, what gave it away?”

You thought it would be the last of him you’d see in your life, you wished it wouldn’t, that you’d see him over and over, to feel what the Miguel from your universe had to give, but you knew it was wishful thinking, a wish thrown to the stars. Logically, he had no reason to call or text you after exchanging numbers days prior. He promised to call you, and he made you promise to call him if anything ever resurfaced, be it pain, anger, heartbreak or hate. You, instinctively, believed his word. 

You hated yourself for falling so easily to another Miguel, how you bent to his words and the sweet promises he uttered that night. There was no sign that he would keep his word, that he would see you again after your breakdown, except for his words and your belief in him. Then it wasn’t misplaced, all the trust and belief you had, since he called you, asking to meet up at a cafe. Miguel had set up a place and time for you when you replied with a croak, still feeling down. He had whispered reassuring words to you, urging you to meet him - he explicitly told you he’d feel offended to be stood up - and spend some time outside. The air was fresh and cool for an autumnal month, it wasn’t too cold that you were forced to wear a thick jacket, but it wasn’t warm enough for you to go out in a simple shirt. 

You were hesitant to take him up on his offer, knowing how easily you could rebound. You’d crash into Miguel’s open arms, searching for the love and affection he fed you like a lovesick puppy, but, then again, Earth-XXX’s Miguel was similar, yet different from his variant. It would be a lie if you told yourself you didn’t miss him, the soft smiles, the gentle touches and the affectionate words. You had spent so much time as his right-hand Spider that it felt odd not seeing him the following morning. It was a routine you’d formed: waking up in his bed, kissing him good morning, getting to work together and eating together. Everything you’d done in the past years was with Miguel from Earth-928 the routine, the rigidity, it was grounding, it was the only semblance of normalcy in the world you lived in.

Now, you had to face the possibility that you were too broken to see another Miguel, to hold a casual conversation and form coherent and normal sentences. The purposefully slow steps you took to the cafe picked after having a moment outside the glass front were telling in itself. You swallowed the little amount of saliva in your throat to soothe its dryness and walked through the doors of the quaint establishment. It was painted in calm, brown tones, rustic in design with a warmth that rivalled the comfort of your bed. It lifted a bit of the tension you had, shoulders slumping slightly as your eyes searched for a familiar mop of brown hair.

Laying against the brown sofa, he stared out of the wide window from his booth. The warm, morning lights caressed his cheeks, lighting up the sharp edges of his jaw and nose. He was sculpted in perfection, like the youthful beauty of Adonis, crafted with the meticulous and attention-catching hands of an artist that created what was thought to be a god’s beauty. You could spend your days watching him, catching every little detail of Miguel’s face under the changing lighting, but you were standing near the entrance and he was waiting for you. His words echoed in your mind: “Don’t forget about next week, I miss seeing you.”

His eyes flickered to you, blinking as he turned to you, flashing a smile. You returned the sentiment, a shaky smile lifting the corners of your lips. You sat across from him, eyes wandering the cafe to stare at anything but him, lest you wouldn’t be able to stop the rush of emotions that would light your face in a flush. He uttered your name, greeting you in a friendly manner. You nodded back, muttering his name, pushing down the wince whenever you said it. 

“Chocolate.”

The still-warm cup stared at you, light steam wafting over the reflective liquid. It was full, unlike Miguel’s cup, and drank down to the middle of the container. 

“Thank you.”

He probably wouldn’t let you repay him for the hot chocolate he bought you, the smile he gave you told you as much when your eyes flickered between his and your cup. The hot chocolate was a reminder of your night in his flat, where he lent you his shoulder to cry and his ears to listen. Embarrassment seemed to flash whenever you recalled the memory, how vulnerable you were to him, your walls broken down and your heart open. Though, Miguel didn’t seem to mind your fragility, giving you as much time as you needed. 

“How are you? I wanted to give you a few days to think before meeting again, I thought you might’ve needed the time alone.”

You nodded lamely, fingers curling around the warm porcelain, back slumped into the booth to hide from his knowing eyes. He was right, you had needed the time alone to clean yourself up, scour through your memories and tend to whatever mess you made of yourself. You were thankful. The last few days had brought revelations, how - both of - you had ignored the signs of a rupture in the relationship and continued to push on, like crossing a crumbling bridge. 

“‘M doing better. How- and how are you?”

He smiled at your attempt, you were trying on your own after a few - forced - encouraging words from Miguel. Maybe you’d learn to live with the pain, coexisting with the numbness that filled you until it dulled to a point where it would be barely acknowledged by you or anyone in your vicinity - where it wasn’t painted on your face with bright colours. Or the pursuit to forget it, pushing it into the farthest corner of your mind and heart, painting over the crack with glue. As long as you wouldn’t drown in your sorrows, ending up playing with dangerous substances to stay afloat while your mind sunk deeper into addiction and denial. 

He wouldn’t let you get that far, Miguel understood you and he lived through it as you did. Although his was a more violent breakup - she had cheated on him, his explosive reaction was natural - than yours, he hadn’t relied on anything but self-meditation and a lot of thinking. Like a friend - you were one by his standards, he’d invited you to his flat, you’d seen his organized chaos and ranted about your life while he comforted you with his shoulder and a cup of hot chocolate - he would stay by your side, hoping his support would be enough to help you.

“Great so far.”

His grin - somehow - grew even larger, enthusiasm gleaming in his eyes. 

Oftentimes, Miguel would be the one to call you, your phone ringing in the afternoon of the day prior with his soothing voice on the other end of the line. He spoke easily, finding the time to invite you out for the simplest reason, to talk, to make a drink, to have fun, and - your favourite by far - to see you. His initiative had you trying to double your efforts to heal, reaching outside of your boundaries and texting Miguel whenever you had a moment to yourself. You felt guilty that he was always the one to plan these outings, so you promised yourself that you’d become a better friend than you currently were. You even remembered his teasing tone when you called him for the first time:

”Aye, finally. I thought you’d never call me, chica. I felt neglected, thought you had forgotten about me for a second there.”

It started with the first coffee date, bickering about who would pay, pushing your card before the other while still seated at your table, frowning stubbornly and throwing promises about letting the other pay next time. Either way, Miguel rarely let you pay, coming atop as the winner of your little fight with his strength and height (you couldn’t exactly put all your force into your push, it could break bone and bruise the skin.).

Then it would be random meetings on the streets that would lead you to a random bench at the park, basking in the other’s presence, retelling your day and him nitpicking anything he could with a ridiculously criticising frown. He was playing, you knew he was. You did the same after you’d gotten more comfortable talking to him, it became easier to see him as a different - as his own - person. A few hits on the shoulder left and right, but it was mostly laughter at ridiculous expressions made to emphasize your disdain for a certain event.

The months that followed were a blur to you. Rather than going to a cafe or the park, you went to restaurants and crashed at one of your flats, yours if he wanted to play games and lounge about with food and drinks, and his if you wanted to watch movies (he had the best television you’d ever seen, such high definition and speed.) and tinker away at his inventions and theories. He was certainly happy that his new friend was another scholar in the field of genes and engineering (you were mostly into engineering than genes, but you knew a few things that you’d found interesting.). You could both gush - scientifically - about the possibility of gene splicing and lab-generated mutations in humans, like the mutant superheroes. 

You’d taken some liberties and went drinking, meeting at the same bar biweekly to relax after a few hard days at work. It served to loosen your nerves until either of you felt comfortable to chat up a storm about the most random subject. It’d been about the odd dent on the rim of his glass; then it’d be about how the sky was grey this week, there weren’t any warm, yellow rays blaring down on you when you went out; or it’d be about the distasteful cut of a man’s moustache. Drinking loosened your tongues, some words were said and some sentiments were shared, but none were truly taken seriously knowing you were tipsy - nearing drunk - those nights.

Every time you saw Miguel, you felt like you were rediscovering a part of yourself as well as him, the thing that made him so distinct and loveable. Miguel was expressive and honest, he slowly and gently let you down from whatever high you were, the pillar you needed to stand again after falling. He was so much different. It used to pain you how much they looked alike, but character-wise, they were like the two sides of a coin. It made you appreciate the delicate intricacies that made the multiverse.

You won’t - can’t - deny that you’ve grown fond of this Miguel as you did with the other one, but you couldn’t let yourself love him. He didn’t deserve someone broken and hashed into many lives: the masks you wore, the things you did, the secrets you hid, and the things you could do. He didn’t deserve someone who could bring him to his death; dying simply because he was connected to Spider-Woman; beaten simply because he knew Spider-Woman; kidnapped simply because they deemed him useful as leverage. All things that could go wrong haunt you. Miguel was human, he wasn’t a Spider, he wasn’t a superhero, and he wasn’t a vigilante. He was Miguel O’Hara, the geneticist working at Alchemax, with a brilliant mind and a kind heart. 

You cherished every part of him. That’s why you can’t let your heart lead, dedicate how you’d react to Miguel after the months you spent together. He was so close, yet so far; he was touchable, you could hold him, kiss him and hug him, but he was unattainable, you couldn’t tell him how much you loved him. You watched him with hidden love, showing your affection as platonic, a friend watching another. You had hardened yourself to your heart’s cries, for loving Miguel was a dangerous game-

“I- what?” you gawked at Miguel, wide eyes and mouth agape. You were shocked at the words that left his mouth, his soft, wet lips moving as he repeated the words.

“I love you.”

His cheeks were flushed, burning a soft red, it trailed to his ears and nape. His open collar - his jacket hung on the back of his chair and his shirt clung below his collar, a skin-tight shirt that hugged his sculpted chest sinfully, it hid little to the seeing eyes of the crowd and your drunk self. His sudden words had all but sobered you, shaking you into clear lucidity of his confession.

“You… love me?”

He blinked dumbly at you for a second, as if taking the time to absorb what he told you and what you repeated. Miguel was tipsy, not drunk. He smiled and nodded, a bashfully affectionate grin on his beautiful lips.

“Yes, is it so hard to believe, chica?”

He often called you chica, you thought it was a friendly term of endearment between friends (truthfully and regretfully, you knew little of Spanish, even with being in a committed relationship with an Irish-Mexican.). You just realised it was his pet name for you. All this time, he had given you his heart, and yet, you had denied him of yours. He was more playful and less burdened by life, it made him more teasing and smiling. The term chica somewhat made sense, a cuter and more playful way of calling someone you loved than the deep-meaning ones like mi cielo and mi vida, a play of words like a small secret between you. This secret hid behind names given between friends, a well-kept one, close to his chest but gifted to you. 

It might’ve once been - started - as friends, but it grew and festered in his heart until he found the time to express himself, to tell you how he truly felt for you - how he grew to care for you. He deemed this moment fine, bordering tipsy and nearing drunk, he’d be open, brutally honest but still aware of the words that left him. He wasn’t a lightweight anyway. 

You wanted to tell him you also loved him, but you couldn’t do it, mouth slightly open and eyes glazed with heartbreak, you simply stared at him in hesitancy. You opened your mouth once to reply and closed it, open and close, again and again until all you could do was stare at him. How were you supposed to answer him after the bomb he dropped? 

”Yes! I love you too!”

”Oh, Miguel, I love you too.”

”I- I love you as well.”

There were so many ways to express your feelings to the man who confessed, but none seemed to convey the true emotions that lay in your heart. You wanted to tell him you learned to love again thanks to him, that the time spent with him had made you open your eyes to the beauty that you were blinded by the pain and you slowly grew to care for - love - him as much as you did with Spider-Man 2099. He had the same smile, the same mind, the same heart, but he was more innocent, less burdened by disaster and happier. 

So you simply nodded. It made his smirk grow.

“Aye- would it be better if I called you ‘mi tesoro’ instead? It’s more straightforward, no?”

Even now, his words were light and playful, his tone affectionate as he leaned closer to you. You could see the mischievous glint in his warm, chocolate eyes (you thought that was why he liked serving you hot chocolate, it reminded you of his eyes.) and the curve of his lips as they moved to form words. You were transfixed by his beauty, mesmerised by the comforting hues and the sharpness of his cheeks, missing how close he was to you. 

“Or maybe-”

Softness caressed your lips, a plush, warm feeling that made you flush. He was kissing you, those pretty lips on yours. Your breath stuttered and you froze, but it didn’t stop Miguel’s initiative, a hand cradled your nape, holding you in place as he pushed himself closer to you. He moved against you, tongue slipping from his mouth and tentatively laving over your bottom lip, asking for something. 

He was so warm, so caring. You could just close your eyes and follow his lead - you did. He pushed harder, yet the kiss stayed soft and passionate, he lightly nipped your lip and soothed the stinging with his warm tongue, beckoning you to open your mouth for him. Your lips parted, opening up for Miguel to dive in, muscle meeting yours halfway and curling over yours. He still cradled your head, fingers running through your loose hair and tilting your head backwards, giving him more space to show you how much he loved you. Your arms, somehow, found themselves wrapped around his neck, pulling him as close to you as he was pushing himself against you. 

His kiss was loving, his hold was careful and his touch heartwarming. You almost regretted having to pull away, but you had to breathe, your lungs starving for air after having been devoured by Miguel’s adoring kiss. The moment you opened your eyes (you didn’t know you had closed them while you kissed), his smile greeted you, a lovesick one bubbling with unending joy. You almost choked from how it fit so well on him. 

“That’s- that’s one way…” you spoke between breaths, chest swelling with every erratic pant, matching his similarly worn-out breathing.

That was all he needed from you. Your kiss was enough for him to know you loved him the same, a patient and gentle love he was willing to give you. Your heart pulsed strongly, lips curving and eyes squinting, you pushed yourself closer to his heat, his all-encompassing warmth that wrapped around you when you wanted to feel safe and loved. Your world couldn’t be any brighter, like the vibrant colours of blooming flowers when Persephone was given to her mother, where the snow melted and colours washed over the lands once more, painting the blank white and dead grey in joyous tones. It glowed brightly and warmed you like the summers that followed the melting ice, the clear, blue skies of Olympus and as freeing as the soaring hawks and skipping elks.

Letting go was far harder than loving. To let the person who you let in leave felt emptying, it left a gaping hole in his heart. Where it was once calm, struck a raging storm of rejection and regret, crashing waves the size of Poseidon’s rage and violent storms the strength of Zeus’ retribution. It hurt watching you walk beside a variant of himself, a happier and lighter version of him without his mutations or duty. You were the Spider-Woman of your universe so there wouldn’t be a second one unless there was a catastrophic canon divergence. 

He hadn’t followed you at first, respecting your wishes of being left alone. He had to give you that much, at least, after those months spent beside his ignorant ass. He hadn’t seen it until it was too late, lost under the weight of his duty and fears that he’d forgotten he had people who cared, who felt, who loved. It was too late, it was always too late with him. If he couldn’t fix his first mistake, who’s to say he could fix this? He couldn’t save his first daughter or his second’s universe because it was falling apart. He couldn’t save anyone because he hadn’t realised his mistake in interfering in canon events, and he lost you because he couldn’t stop his vitriol, his violent temperament that had pushed you away. He always took things for granted until they were lost to him. 

Was it two or three weeks before he decided to check up on you? He didn’t know anymore, the weeks blurred until he finally amassed the courage to go against everyone’s words. Through the flat hologram of his orange screen, he watched you lament on your own, body curled into itself and shoulders shaking. Your sobs were heart-wrenching to watch while he had no means of contacting you; you would’ve reacted more strongly and aggressively if he’d contacted you after leaving. 

So he watched.

You stared vacantly from your window and left only for the bare necessities or to act as Spider-Woman. Crime never slept so you couldn’t stop even in your time of need. You swung from building to building so gracefully that Miguel was hypnotised by your grace. He watched these moments as a reminder of the missions he took by your side, webbing and catching anomalies all across the multiverse with fearsome speed and accuracy. You both had made a fearsome team, but that time was over, it was a memory long forgotten. 

So he watched.

Your flat was cold and empty, the space filled with spectres of memories, the cool rooms vacant of life that used to fill them with warmth and happiness. It was saddening from his perspective - the observer, the watcher and the reader of your story - of your time spent alone. He wanted to tell you that you weren’t alone, that he was watching you from afar, a silent protector that would only act if you were in imminent danger - as long as it wasn’t part of the canon. 

So he watched-

Besides you was Miguel - not him, another one - and he looked much too comfortable by your side for his liking. His variant seemed much too close for a friend, moving from sitting before you to beside you, arm slung over your shoulders and leaning back and, sometimes, towards you at a breath’s distance. He turned green with envy, a vicious monster brewing inside his body with the threat of bursting out, clawing at his chest. The other was too close to you for his liking. 

He watched as his variant bought you drinks - always, however long and loud you’d complained and fought, he never let you pay in the end - and paid for your dates. He abhorred it. How happy you looked with the other him. How calm and satisfied your smile was. How close his variant was to you. He wished he was at the other’s place, taking his rightful place beside you. He would kiss you, smother you in love and give you whatever you wanted, whether it be a hug, a kiss or his time, he would’ve given them to you. He wouldn’t dance around the edge of your affection and his love like he was doing, like a man unsure of his feelings and anxious to act on it. 

He thought the other Miguel was a coward - though he knew he wasn’t. He wanted to blame his variant and find fault for anything he did, but they were still the same person. He was Miguel O’Hara as much as he was. He wanted, but couldn’t, especially after seeing how both loved you the same, having a similar type. They were so much alike that he could’ve replaced his variant, yet so vastly different in other manners that he would’ve stood out. His history, his trauma, his curse, the other had none of them. He was normal while he was Spider-Man, a stronger, more brutal version of Spider-Man. 

Granted, he loved you with every fibre of his being, but he had never showered you with as much love and affection as the other, having his character muddled through long hours of work and long-lasting tragedy. You were another of his tragedies, where he found love again and lost it by his own making. He would have left too if the Society didn’t depend on him, leaning towards him for support and help in protecting the multiverse. It was something he couldn’t sacrifice for his whims.

So he kept watching and let his heart crack and envy fester.

He watched you grow even closer to him, shoulders and hands occasionally touching, making you jump and blush. He watched you move from simple coffee dates to full-blown restaurants and bar dates, drinking and eating at your leisure - something he could’ve never provided you. He watched you wobble around when you were drunk, your arm over his shoulder and his around your waist, supporting your drunk weight. He watched you kiss, the other pressing your bodies together and you reciprocating the loving embrace you had once given to him. 

He felt like crying. He was crying, silent tears rolling down his sharp cheeks in slow, thundering waves of his heartbreak. He clung to the desk, claws unintentionally popping out and bending the metal under his fist. The sound ripped through the silent room like the image that ripped through his heart. He was alone in his grief, shoulders slumping and arms shaking with the intensity of his emotions. He had locked the door, barricading it with a busy, do not disturb sign, warning the others that he was occupied and wouldn’t be reached unless there was an emergency. 

“Miguel…”

He’d forgotten Lyla was here - she was everywhere and nowhere at the same time, with your help he had given Lyla an upgrade in her system that gave her access to every Spider that had the watch. She had access to every file in the database and his secrets. Lyla was loyal to him as much as she was to you, respecting your words with a promise of her own to leave you alone. That, however, didn’t mean that she wasn’t privy to his pains, watching him while his eyes were stuck to your universe’s screen, giving him some comforting words that were meant to lift his spirit. It never worked but the intention was there. 

He couldn’t look at her, still facing the hologram of you kissing. He felt the surge of too many emotions to be able to think clearly, his self-control tethering on a thin line of fragile web. If he turned, he would explode on Lyla, giving her the brunt of his suffering even though she didn’t deserve it, she felt and laughed as much as any other human. He remembered programming in emotion with you, laughing about how much she would be as teasing and annoying as you. Lyla was another gift to him by you, so it would hurt him more. 

“Miguel-”

“Don’t- Do not say another word.”

For a man in tears and pain, his voice was curt and stoic, playing the leading figure he’d taken for so long. It betrayed his shaky figure, fingers crushing the metal loudly and shoulders jerking with ever-wrenching choked sob. His world was crumbling around him, rippling and cracking from the seams and folding into itself. The control of his state was failing miserably as he kept staring at your mirthful smile after the kiss. It tore him apart knowing he pushed you further away and into the arms of another. It hurt him deeply. 

Through everything, he heard Lyla whisper a small sorry before she popped out of existence, her small holographic body vanishing along with her orange light. Gone was her familiar light, gone was the nostalgic memory of programming her, and along her, was the support of another person. He was truly alone in this moment, to fall on his knees and let himself drown under the weight of everything. 

If your love was a tangible thing, he would’ve cradled it between his warm palms, holding it tightly to his chest to feel the soothing effects you had on him. Like a balm to burns, you cooled the searing pains that the world inflicted upon him, the warm blanket that covered him when he needed rest and the pillar that held him when he fell. He’d lost something he couldn’t gain a second time, clutching his head in his misery, drowning and howling.

It felt surreal until it wasn’t until it all sunk in. He truly couldn’t grasp the utter loss and betrayal he felt. The realisation that he truly lost you to none other than himself. The irony of it all slashed deeper, how he drove you closer to another him by his own doing, making you love a Miguel with more gentleness, more kindness and time than him, Miguel O’Hara, the Spider-Man from Nueva York, Earth-928. Everything he had was lost in time, his spiralling thoughts of loss and misery clouded his vision, bringing tears forward in bigger waves. 

Was he doomed to lose everything he cared about? Was he bound to love and lose? Why couldn’t he have a happy ending like everyone else? Was it because he was different? Perhaps it was, there were other O’Hara Spider-Man, but none were mutated like him, a product of self-infliction and sabotage - none had their DNA spliced and mixed with a spider’s. He was simply too different from the others, they were lean but still had a strong musculature, muscles tightened to create more strength and defence; none were big and broad as he was, with rough edges and mean streaks. They were nice and happy, faced losses of their own, but always came out on top (there were some minor - sometimes major - variants of Spider-Man here and there, but they all had some similarities in their stories of becoming.). He saw the devastation and grasped onto the thinnest silver lining he could find, holding onto it to stay afloat while others thrived where they were. 

Maybe it was truly because of him. He was realistic - near cynic -  he couldn’t see things optimistically, life had made him that way. The silver lining he saw in things was small, nearly extinguished by his near-pessimistic way of life. Did that have an impact as well? It most likely did, at least partly. Fate had given him a bad hand in things, he couldn’t be completely blamed for how things turned - or so he thought, hoped. A man wasn’t only the result of what he’d done, but also of what he was given. When push comes to shove, Miguel acted in a way he thought meant well for him and the others even if it didn’t seem like the right decision at first. He rarely doubted his actions while he did them, only after, could he let himself face the consequences of what he’d done. Miguel simply didn’t have the pleasure of waiting. He needed to act when it was called.

If he had waited, if he had been patient and sought out others for support, if he had spent time thinking before acting, would he still have his little girl beside him? Would he still have you in his arms? If he had shown you more affection, would you have still loved him?

Did you still love him?

Miguel didn’t know what he was doing. Standing before your apartment door in civilian clothing and a bouquet of twelve, beautiful white tulips - the meaning not lost to him. It was an attempt at apologizing for his mistakes, a desperate one led by heartache. He brushed his hair back, trying to look as kept as he could in his situation: dark bags and sickly skin, tense muscles and sore back. This was a daring move from him, it would end up catastrophic if the Miguel from your universe saw him at your front door; but he checked, making sure his variant was elsewhere before opening a portal to your place. 

He hadn’t moved in a while, listening to you move around your flat, the sound of your soft steps shuffling from behind the door, a wall between you and him, reminding him that he wouldn’t be able to cross it unless you welcomed him. He held the bouquet in one hand and knocked with the other, his knuckles hitting the wood softly and hesitantly. There was a pause between every knock, drawn by his nerves and the anxiety that gripped him. 

You moved and closed in on the sound at the door. He saw your shadow dance under the small gap on the floor and pause. You knew. You knew it was him even without peeking through the peephole, your spider-sense aiding you in recognizing the unknown. Although your hand rested reluctantly at the knob - perhaps still too raw from your break as he was - you opened the door for him, figure small and apprehensive. 

“Miguel,” you muttered his name, greeting him with a slow nod. You stepped back and opened the door wider for him, he took it as a good sign that you let him in rather than shut the door in his face.

He nodded back, saying your name. He took a step forward, foot breaking the barrier to your flat. The second one ensured he was fully invited, both feet strongly rooted on your side of the door. He wanted to make himself smaller, to appease you, but he knew you wouldn’t have liked that. He squirmed under your stare, a mix of curiosity and concern. 

He nearly sighed audibly when you gestured at him to sit and he moved to the sofa he remembered sleeping on with you, cuddling under a warm blanket while you watched a movie. He knew your home by heart like you knew his, the memory washed over him with melancholy. You sat on the armchair to his left, your back to the kitchen. He swallowed thickly and handed you the bouquet, freshly cut tulips glistening with pearly drops under your lights. 

Your shoulders shook as you leaned in to take the bouquet, jolting back when your fingers grazed him. Feeling your skin felt invigorating, it breathed back life into him, even slightly. You thanked him with a slow nod, seemingly unsure of what to make of it. Was it a gift? Was it an apology? Was it a farewell sign? He figured your mind was running in circles trying to understand the meaning of the pretty bouquet he handed you. You were always an overthinker, but your mind worked brutally well. That’s something he always appreciated about you. 

“I-” Miguel started, seemingly stopped by something that he couldn’t get out of his throat. Maybe a ball of dread or needles of anxiety, but it held him from giving you the words he spent nights thinking over, to give you the message he built from the deepest crevice of his heart. “I’m sorry, (Name).”

You stared at him, understanding that he needed a moment of silence to truly convey his feelings. You hadn’t uttered a word since he first started, expression neutral, not betraying whatever brewing storm you locked inside of you. He was grateful, truly. 

“I know- I know it doesn’t mean much now, but I’m really, really sorry, mi vida.”

He sensed you tense, the muscles of your back contracting and rippling under your shirt. Every unseen fibre moving was bare to him, he could see and feel better than most, if not, everyone else. 

“I acted out of anger and lack of sleep, but that doesn’t mean you deserved that- never. I just, my mutation makes me more animalistic, more… aggressive than the other, and I hurt you. You didn’t deserve any of that and I can’t always blame it on my mutations. I should’ve been able to control myself. I shouldn’t have lashed out at you in those ways.”

He lowered his gaze to his hands, the calloused pads of his fingers rubbing his palm, trying to coax himself into relaxation. Although your breathing softened, a calm breeze in an atmosphere thick with tension, he didn’t dare look up and see the face you were making. 

“I was a bad boyfriend and a horrible friend. I’m- I’m not asking you to forgive me, I don’t want you to forgive me, but- I just needed to tell you how much I regret hurting you. I want to apologise, I don’t know what else to do, I don’t know how to fix this.” He breathed deeply, collecting every ounce of confidence and honesty to brave your reaction. “I’m sorry, mi cielo.” 

He shuddered, body rippling with his pained breath. He hadn’t realised how painful it would be to face you with his fears and confession, with the threat of abandonment and rejection fresh in his mind. He was a man of pride and strength, rarely facing anything with trepidation and hesitance. 

“I’m really sorry, mi cielo. I’m so, so sorry.”

He sat in silence, letting it hang over him like the blade of a guillotine, silent and brunt. Perceiving the flash of the sharp blade before it fell on his neck, sentencing him to a quick downfall with a long, lasting agony that would sting his neck as long as it would hurt his heart. The French used it for executions, the thing that spelled people’s end. At its height, it was used as an apparatus to behead traitors or people who were deemed dangerous to the people of the new republic. Down the blame went and off the head popped, like it would happen to Miguel if he wasn’t prepared for it. He truly didn’t know whether he had prepared for his rejection, for the death of his heart, to watch the flickering sparks of his flame wither out.

“I’m sorry too, Miguel-”

The rope strained, knots twisting and rippling in the tightness of the pull. It shook, whipping in the air as it straightened completely, held closely by the hand of the executioner. The wind blew but it was sturdy, withstanding the violent gales that slammed against the body of it.

“-it means a lot that you came here to apologise- ”

The crowd was filled with silence, the emptiness of the area a mock of a ghost town. Abandoned to be sentenced to death without anyone to witness. They deemed him not fit for their acknowledgment before his death, before the sparks of his life extinguished. His fate wasn’t worth their time, unlike the poorest criminals who stole for money, unlike the richest pigs who fed from the poor with their silver spoons and golden crowns, unlike the cruellest killers who gutted and left men, women and children to bleed out, and unlike the guiltless innocents cursed for something they hadn’t committed. 

“-but, I can’t.”

The rope was let loose, its tail flying and whipping in the air as the blade descended with its weight. The wood chafed against its support beams, yet it flew gracefully and rapidly, singing the doom of its prisoner. The blade gleamed under the moon’s bright light, the silver whispers of peace and sleep deaf to his ears.

“I can’t love you anymore.”

It cracked down on him, his life flashing before him as it cut into him. Severing his control over his body, putting out the dying embers of hope. He clung to desperation in his last moments, wishing to relive the moments of happiness, bright oblivion and cherished love. 

He wished that he could’ve seen your shadowed figure hidden in the darkness, tears lining your cheeks as you watched him take his last breath. The only person who came to see him leave, the one who he would’ve burned the world for. In the end, after everything he’d done, you still gave him a small moment of your time to witness his fall, you deemed him worthy of such an act. You offered him your kindness. 

My extensive tag list of extremely patient people pt1.:

@iseizeyourmom @raynerainyday @etherealton @sciencethot @coffee-obsessed-freak @thesecretwriter @beepboopcowboy@bontensh0e @aikoiya @allysunny @fandoms-run-my-life @brittney69 @aranachan @maladaptivedaydreamingbum @konniebon @starlightaura @redwolfxx @aniya7 @alicefallsintotherabbithole @bvbdudette @wwwelilovesyou @wwwellacom @akiras-key @bobafettbutifhewasgay @opiplover @rinieloliver @uniquecroissant @yas-v @xrusitax @blkmystery @darherwings @ariparri @notivie @vr00m-vr00m @battinsonwhore05 @irishbl0ss0mz @mivanda @saint-chlorine @livelaughluvmen @battinsonwhore05 @notivie @lililouvre @giasjourneyblog @ykyouluvme @skullywullypully

[the-kr8tor]

Hobie catches you wearing his mask

Pairing: Hobie Brown x GN! reader/ Spider-Punk x GN! Reader

Word count: 1k

Tags: No use of Y/N, No specific physical description of the reader (reader is mentioned to be smaller than Hobie though). Fluff, established relationship. Smut Implied

* I don't consent to having my work translated/ published on other platforms*

Hobie just got home from patrolling around the city, thankfully it was an easy day compared to the other days where he comes home beaten and injured. A few robberies here and there. A small-time villain tried going toe to toe with Hobie, the fight didn't even last five minutes.

It was truly an easy day for Spider-Punk.

Even though the day was fairly laid back, no one can deny that web-slinging and crime fighting all over the city is quite tiring.

You know immediately when Hobie comes home, with the sound of the window sliding open, followed by the thunk of his heavy boots against wooden floors, the sound basically trained you to go towards him with a first aid kit and a greeting.

With a quick kiss and a tired "m' okay, love" Hobie heads towards the bathroom, shedding parts of his suit on the way.

With a concerned look towards the bathroom door, you sigh and wish that you could take some of his responsibilities. You hate seeing him so tired. With an entire city to look out for, he's stretched himself too thin.

As much as you love him being Spider-Punk, you miss your Hobie.

You head towards the bathroom door, almost tripping over his large combat boots. Bending down to grab the shoes off the floor, you follow a trail of clothing heading towards the bathroom like breadcrumbs.

You grab each piece with care, knowing that his suit and other pieces of it, means a lot to him. You fold it and place them on top of the bed, but it looks like there's a piece missing, you look down to look for it.

Behind your dresser, you see one of the spikes poking out.

Grabbing the mask off the floor, you admire its craftsmanship - every stitch he made, the eyes of the mask with its painted drooping 'eyeliner' painted with such care.

He truly made the suit uniquely him.

Hearing the sound of the shower still running, you admire the roughness of the cloth, asking yourself how can he even properly breathe in it while fighting? Can he see fine while wearing it? So curiosity got the best of you, before you could change your mind, you carefully put it on.

"Woah" you laugh with how comfortable the mask is, "it's like a second skin" you run towards the mirror to check yourself out.

Giddy with excitement you move side to side watching the spikes on top move with you. "So cool," you whisper.

In your excitement you didn't notice him watching you.

"Right, what's all this then?" Hobie raises a pierced brow, a sneaking smile on his lips. The scene in front of him helps in grounding him back to the present.

Startled, you turn away from the mirror. "Nothing!" quickly taking the mask off, you hide the cloth behind you.

"Nothing huh, What's in your hand then?" Hobie struts towards you, a towel wrapped on his hips. " Y'know, I can see it in the mirror" he points out.

You shyly look at his still glistening torso, avoiding his eyes, quickly turning away, you slowly hand him the mask. "Sorry, just wanted to see if you can actually fight in it" embarrassment prominent on your face.

"No apologies necessary, love. Just teasin' you" Hobie lifts your downturned head to face him.

"You look better in it anyway" he swiftly puts the mask back on you. Hobie grabs your shoulders and turns you back around in front of the mirror.

"Fuckin' adorable" Hugging your neck, he says with his head fitting perfectly on your shoulder.

The whites of his mask turn into slits, "m' not adorable, Hobart" you tilt your head to the side feigning annoyance.

"Right, sorry you look very punk rock, sweets" he kisses the side of your head.

"You're missing something though" he pushes off you. You miss his warmth, albeit your neck is now slightly damp.

"You're still wet" you turn behind you, rubbing your neck dry as you watch him grab something from the pile on the bed.

"Only for you, lovey" he teasingly said with a wink. Hobie walks back to you.

"Hobie!" You let out a small screech, "that's not- Hobie!" You fumble your words.

He laughs at your embarrassment. "Arms up" Hobie instructs while holding a dark piece of clothing.

You huff, but obey nonetheless. Hobie puts the leather vest on you, the spiked clothing looks big on your form. Hobie whistles, he turns you back in front of the mirror.

"Look at you" fondness dripping from Hobie's lips. "I've got my very own spider-person, huh"

You admire your appearance as Hobie tiredly rubs his face on your neck. You hold his neck in place, massaging the tense muscle.

"I wish I could help you" you whisper, he peeks at your face in the mirror.

"You are," he hugs you tightly, "as long as you're by my side. You're helping me. Never think for a second that you aren't"

Hobie turns you towards him, his own mask facing him.

He carefully tugs the mask up to see your face, cupping your face lovingly, "Coming home to you, makes everything I do worth it"

You stand on your tippy-toes to kiss him. "I love you too" you whisper on his lips.

You reluctantly pull away "You're tired, let's go to bed, yeah?"

Hobie still holding on to your leather clad waist. In one swift movement he grabs your thighs and lifts you up. Gasping at the sudden movement, You instinctively wrap your legs on his waist, the towel threateningly low on his hips.

"Look what you've made me into, I've gone soft. I have a reputation to uphold y'know" he carries you to the bed.

You giggle knowing what he's planning. Before he could throw you down on the bed, like he always does, you cling on to his neck, a pensive look on your face. He raises his brow in a question.

"One question though, how in the world can you fit your hair in the mask?" You ask.

"Spidey powers" He says with a straight face and a shrug of his shoulders.

"What? Are you – mmph!" Hobie cuts you off by kissing you abruptly. Preventing you from asking more questions.

A/N: Hope you enjoyed reading! Comments, likes and reblogs are always appreciated ❤️

*image above is from pinterest*

[vintagewildlife]

A thylacine resting at the Hobart Zoo By: Miss D. O. Park 1917-1921

[eyesxxyou]

𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚐𝚘𝚝 𝚖𝚊𝚒𝚕

ｌｏａｄｉｎｇ．．． ｈｏｂｉｅ ｂｒｏｗｎ

smut - [✓] no smut - [×]

series

www.backstage show.com [✓]

↳ pt.1 / pt.2 / pt.3 / pt.4 / pt.5 / finale

- you finally get to meet your favorite band and the lead vocalist takes a liking to you. He decides he shouldn't keep such a beauty to himself.

www.confessions.com [✓]

↳ pt.1 / pt.2 / pt.3

- after years of being missing, Hobie finally returns back to his hometown where his childhood crush still waits for him. but you're more dedicated to God than ever and he couldn't care less. he wants you and he intends show you all that you're missing out on

www.sunshine.com [✓]

↳ pt.1 / pt.2 / pt.3

- you have a list of reasons why you don't like hobie brown but you never thought being locked in the closet with him would make you reconsider if your reasons are actually all the reasons why you like him.

www.pearl of the sea masterlist.com

-hobie brown never wanted to be a pirate, with a love for the ocean and a hatred for her children, he never intended on rescuing the thing he despises most in this world. a siren.

oneshots

www.all mine.com [×]

- you made your decision, thought things were over between you and hobie brown for good. but was your decision really the right one?

www.fun and games.com [✓]

↳ my hero.com [✓]

- you and Hobie have long been playing the game of cat and spider. you chase, you fight, you fuck, you fight again, and you two love your games.

www.strawberries & cigarettes.com [×]

- no one believes that someone like you and someone like Hobie belong together. Your love is messy, chaotic, and painful, but it's caring, honest, and beautiful as well.

www.cybersex.com [✓]

- after a scandal, hobie decides he needs a change in his career. that's where you come in, a camgirl he plans to make a sextape with.

www.Peeved.com [✓]

- Hobart Brown gets or your last nerve, with his "fuck all" attitude and disregard for your practice times. But you have to admit, you love his hands

www.Hobie x Virgin!Reader.com [✓]

- hobie never expected you to be a virgin and he's totally okay with that but you are not.

www. just talkin'.com [✓]

- you broke up with hobie for reasons out of your control and it seems as if he's intent on making you regret it.

www.rough hands.com [✓]

- the mary janes and the mutts have had a longstanding hatred for one another for years but you can't seem to resist the antics of hobie brown

www.monster under your bed.com [✓]

www.nude bodies.com [✓]

- you've been long time best friends with hobie for years, both secretly pining after each other. you both think nothing will ever come of your feelings until hobie asks to draw you nude.

drabbles

www.Hobie Adores You.com [×]

www.Piercer!Hobie.com [✓]

www. Trans!Hobie.com [✓]

↳ Trans!Hobie pt.2.com [✓]

www.Perverted!Hobie.com [✓]

www.ghostface!hobie.com [✓]

www.size kink Hobie.com [✓]

www.just the tip.com [✓]

www.vamp!hobie.com [✓]

www.teddy.com [✓]

www.head with hobie.com [✓]

drabble requests

www.fawning.com [×]

www.virgin!hobie.com [✓]

www.hobie x plus size!reader.com [×]

www.High Sex with hobie.com [✓]

www.sub!Hobie x dom!reader.com [✓]

www.oral fixation.com [✓]

www.easy.com [✓]

www.darlin'.com [✓]

www.edging.com [✓]

www.phonecall fun.com [✓]

www.babyfever.com [✓]

www.first time.com [✓]

www.heaven.com [✓]

www.favor.com [✓]

www.perversion.com [✓]

www.not my fault.com [✓]

headcanons

www.Hobie Headcanons.com [✓]

↳ ❝ [mix of sfw and nsfw because I've been thinking alot] ¡! ❞

www.passive lover.com

www.milf Hobie.com

www.siren hobie.com

www.pirate hobie.com

ｌｏａｄｉｎｇ. . . ｍｉｇｕｅｌ ｏ＇ｈａｒａ

series

www.that's what they all say.com [✓]

↳ /pt.1 / pt.2 / pt.3

- you and miguel have had tension from the very first moment you met. the only problem is that miguel is your dad's best friend. what happens when you two finally find yourselves alone?

oneshots

www.monster.com [✓]

- you and Miguel work on a serum to help him escape from the clutches of Alchemax but your efforts take a turn

www.forgiveness.com [✓]

-miguel has only every known how to be good, he's never had anything he needed to feel guilty over. not until you came into his life.

drabbles

www.Miguel as a Father.com [×]

www.Miguel against the counter.com [✓]

www.Perverted!Miguel.com [✓]

www.Rich!Miguel.com [✓]

www.professor!miguel.com [✓]

www.Miguel x somno!reader.com [✓]

www.gladiator!miguel x reader.com [✓]

↳ gladiator!miguel (pt. 2) [✓]

drabble requests

www.trans!Miguel x reader.com [×]

www.hairy.com [✓]

[dema-heart]

Lipstick stains 💋

Hobie x gn! Makeup wearing reader

Makeup but mostly lipstick

A little physical teasing, but nothing too saucy

Just a cute short

"Babe!" You yelled, leaning closer to the mirror to check your makeup. You hummed in approval at the cute but bold look. All that was missing was lipstick.

"Yeah?" Hobie peaked into the bathroom, tilting his head a bit. His eyes scanned you for a second as you waved him in. He smirked, hands coming to wrap around your waist and head resting on your shoulder.

"What can I do for a pretty doll like you?" He placed a quick kiss to your neck, making you shiver, before looking up at you through the mirror.

"I need you to pick a lip color for me, love." You relax against him, grinning playfully when you feel him tense as your hips connect. You give him a wink through the mirror, wiggling your hips against his playfully before turning around in his arms with a cheeky grin, booping his nose.

"None of that now, Hobie. I have somewhere to be here soon, so pick." You gesture behind you to his two choices for your lip look. He doesn't spare them a glance, the hands that now rest on your waist, holding you in a bruising grip. His gaze is hooded as he steps forward, forcing you against the counter and him.

He was pressed flush against you, his hands on your waist, causing you to arch slightly into him as he leaned down. You take a sharp breath before closing your eyes.

When nothing happens, you peak up at him only to see his teasing grin. Frowning, you watch as he leans away, holding up one of the lipsticks.

Rolling your eyes with a huff, you glare up at him, taking it from his hands as he backs off with a snicker.

"Thought you said you had somewhere to be." He teases, flashing a cheeky grin through the mirror as he leaned back against the wall.

"Shut up, Hobart."

You look at the lipstick humming in approval at the color before applying it.

With a pop of your lips, you smile into the mirror before turning to hobie.

"What do you think?" You make a silly face at him puckering your lips.

He shakes his head, laughing as he steps into your space.

"You look stunning, hun. Absolutely breathtaking as always"

You beam,smiling up at him as he leans down to peck your lips, careful not to smudge your lipstick.

"Well, aren't you a charmer. Come here." You motion for him to lean down, and he shakes his head, chuckling, already knowing what you're up to.

Gently, you grasp his chin, turning his face and planting a kiss on his cheek. Pressing your lips a bit hardder, you make sure your lipstick mark stains his cheek.

You can feel his face rise with his grin as you pull back. "There now we're both ready for the day."

"Yeah?" you're met with his cheeky grin and raised eyebrow. You always "accidentally" put on too much lipstick and just so happen to believe Hobie looks good with your kiss marked on his cheek all day.

Grinning, you tap his non-marked cheek with your hand sliding away before you really were late.

"I'll see you later Hobs, love you!"

You turn back to look at Hobie as you open the door, his goofy grin making the kiss mark more prominent. You snicker to yourself, knowing he's gonna proudly show it off when he goes to see his mates here soon.

"Love you too. Try to have a good day,luv."

You smile at his response, blowing a kiss that he catches and pretends to place on his already marked cheek, making you laugh as you close the door.

[strawberrylips-1211]

Bittersweet

Hobie x reader

Pt 2

Hurt/comfort, angst

Mean hobie >:)

Sneak peak? Kind of?

warnings: bad English (not my first language mil disculpas), not proofread T^T,

based off this post.

let me know what you think so far please :)

You've been pacing around your cozy apartment, for the past hour, your mind racing, your stomach in knots. It wasn't unusual for you to stress over Hobie's absence or wellbeing, but tonight was different. You hadn't been able to contact Hobie two nights in a row, normally he would shoot you a text throughout the day letting you know he was alright and when he'd be home by, but not a word from him. Despite all the bruises and cuts that he'd sustain from his fights, he always came home to you. Though he hated consistency, you were the one thing he'd rely on, and the little routine (of you complaining bout his injuries while you fixed him up and him kissing you telling you he'd be more careful next time) he'd created with you.

The anxiety got the best of you, as you tried calling him one more time, the phone was ringing when you heard a loud thud coming from your shared bedroom. By instinct, you knew who it was, you recognized the heavy footsteps, and the loud distinctive accent as he cussed. Your heart racing and relief flooding you as you ran to the noise. Though the lights were off Hobie's outline was clear from the moonlight shining through the open window, he was slightly hunched, hand over his stomach as he glanced at you. He rolled his eyes, 'i don't have the energy for this'. He didn't have the energy to explain the mess he got himself into.

“Hobie? babe?" No response, there's only shuffling and grunting heard from him moving to the bed, "are you alright? I was so- " you turn on the light, stopping midway as soon as you registered his current state. Your eyes scanning his full body. He had a black eye, a busted lip, his knuckles bruised and it was impossible to miss the large open wound across his abdomen with blood soaking his suit.

He was beaten and bloodied, it always pained you when you saw him hurt, but it was never like this. He cut you off before you could even speak again, " I know what you're gonna say, but just let me handle it, yeah? Its nothin." You had so many question, to say you're shocked is an understatement. He's clearly in pain, what did he mean 'nothing'.

"Hobart Brown, this is clearly not nothing. What happened?," you questioned him but again not a peep from him, your tone sounding a bit harsher than you meant for, your worry was slowly turning into something else once you heard his words.

You sighed as you walked to the bathroom to grab your first aid kit, " Here let me grab the kit," but Hobie stood up from his spot and stopped you, "I said its nothing, just drop it." He hissed.

his head was pounding and his body was aching all over, he knew how much you worried, but he couldn't be bothered by anything at this point. He just wanted to get himself cleaned up and sleep. He really didn't want to hear any of your nagging tonight.

"DROP IT?? Hobs look at you, you're in no condition to do this yourself, What happened to you?" You asked looking up at him, once again scanning his face, he sighed out of frustration, "look I'll tell ya tomorrow." He brushed past you, now beginning to remove his jacket and studded bracelets. Your frustration also growing with his every word, you stayed up all night waiting for him, all you want to do is help.

"No, you're letting me help you, you not even answering my questions properly. I want to know where my boyfriend has been these past two days, I want to know why you're sitting here with all these cuts, Hob-" before you could finish, he stood up and grabbed both your wrists in his hands, "JUST SHUT UP AND LEAVE ME ALONE, WILL YA? I said I don’t need your bloody help." He yelled, his pretty face contorted in anger. It was accident, he was just fed up with everything, he was exhausted and your constant questioning wasn't helping. He never yelled at you before, no matter the situation he's always been understanding and sweet towards you.

You were shocked, and though you hated to admit it, scared of him. You couldn't do anything, but just stare at him wide eyed, you whimpered a little from his volume and how strong his hold was. He'd truly scared you.

Even he was surprised at his own outburst. As soon as he saw your expression, he was slightly brought back to reality, "Tch, I ain't got time for this." He sighed as he let go of you. Guilt slowly creeping through, he really didn’t mean it, but didn’t apologize for it right away, he simply continued prepping to clean his gashes.

You stood there for a bit, so many emotions coursing through you in that split second. You collected yourself quickly and left the bathroom, slamming the door behind you. Angry tears running down your face. You mumbled to yourself to keep yourself from completely bursting at the seams, 'Fine, asshole. Be like that then.' You grabbed your stuff and made your way to the room. No way were you going to be in the same room as him.

Should I continue this??

I have never tagged anyone before but here ya go

@bleuatlas

@spedermannmorales

@luujjvi

@buddhapooksrealwife

@denuparxoume

@archiviststar

[februarybluues]

enemies with benefits. || 1. - p.u.n.k boy!

warnings: swearing, fighting, you and hobie hating each other, reader gets slightly injured but nothing that bad, horrible british (i'm very sorry🙏 )

part 2 - wounded.

You were bold, abrasive, honest, and never afraid to fight for what was right. He was the exact same - if not even worse. Logically, it was obvious for people to assume you’d be best friends. But, they couldn’t be further from the truth.

You heard a lot about Hobie. Mostly from Gwen and Miles rambling about ‘how awesome he was’. They told you about his cool style, his badass attitude, how caring he was, and pretty much everything there was to know about him. When they said he was a great guy, you almost believed them. But, your opinion quickly changed when you met him for the first time.

Miguel had called you to see him immediately, without giving any context as to why. Logically, you were confused and quite frankly, a bit scared. Did something happen? Were you in trouble? Needless to say you rushed over to him as quickly as you could.

“Y/n. New mission for you. There’s an anomaly that’s broken free and it’s jumping from dimension to dimension, wreaking havoc. I need you to stop it from corrupting anything, alright?” his face remained stoic as he spoke in a low, orderly tone. You smiled. It was no secret to anyone that you loved to fight. Whether it be fighting a villain as spider-woman, or fighting a sexist scum as y/n. You loved to make the world a better place. And you looked sick as you did it.

“Got it. Just send me the location and consider it done.” you responded, eagerly. Miguel cleared his throat, which caught your attention. “No, no, no. This is way more dangerous than your usual anomaly. You can’t do this on your own. Which is why I've assigned Hobart to be your partner.” You looked at him, confused. “Hobart? Who the fuck is that?” Without missing a beat, you heard the sound of rustling behind you. “M’right here.” you turned around, only to be met with a cocky smile, and a thick english accent. You quickly examined him. He was your stereotypical punk; tight jeans, combat boots, a sleeveless vest that was littered in pins and patches, and a guitar on his back. Everything about him screamed asshole. It was then that you realised he matched Gwen and Miles’ descriptions. There was no denying it, you were looking at the infamous Hobie Brown.

“You must be Hobie.” you held your hand out to him for a handshake. But he pressed a kiss to it instead. “The one and only.” he winked at you. You pulled your hand back, rolling your eyes at him. ‘Great.’ you thought to yourself. ‘He’s one of those people. A selfish, self-absorbed, cocky flirt.’ your head already jumped to conclusions, despite not knowing him for more than five minutes. You hadn’t realised you had been staring at him until he spoke up again. “Take a picture. It’ll last longer.” you scoffed at him, turning to talk to Miguel instead. “You can’t be serious. You know I work alone. I always work alone. I can handle this by myself.” Miguel shook his head, not wanting to hear your complaints. “I know. But, this is a job for two people. And, I firmly believe that you guys will work together greatly.” As much as you wanted to fight alone, you knew Miguel was right. You sighed. Hobie opened his mouth to speak again, but you cut him off before he could spew another snarky comment. “If you-” “Shut up with your elitist bullshit. All of you punks are the same.” You turned around yet again to look at his face. He immediately perked up with slight anger. You were testing his patience. “Aye. I’m no elitist! I don’t believe in’at crap! I don’t believe in labels!” your smile got smaller, but it stayed there nonetheless. “Yeah well I don't believe that you’re as cool as they say you are. Bet you’re just all bark and no bite.” his lips quirked up into a slight smile, completely disregarding what you had to say. “They? Who’s they?” his eyebrow raised, which made you notice his abundance of piercings. You'd be lying if you said they didn’t suit him. “Miles and Gwen.” you answered, the tone of your voice was slightly annoyed. He lit up slightly at the mention of their names. “You know Gwendy ‘n Miles?” “So what if I do?” His eyes grew wide, you could see the cogs whirring in his head as he put the pieces together. “Wait. A’you tha’ badass that kicked the teeth in o’that group o’knobheads?” Ah. So, gwen and Miles must’ve talked about you as much as they did him. Fucking hell his accent was almost incomprehensible. “So what if I am?” you crossed your arms at him. He scoffed. “And here I thought you’d be nicer.” you rolled your eyes and focused your attention on the portal you opened up. “Come on, we can finish this up later - after we’ve beat this bastard.” You spoke, pointing inside the portal. For a split second you both shared a smile. “Right behind you, mate.” And with that, you walked into the portal, mockingly mumbling his accent as you did so. “mate.” 

You landed in the alternate earth with grace, quickly scanning the area to make sure no one was there. And then Hobie arrived. His chest bashed against your back, which caused you to almost fall forward. “Whoops. Sorry about tha’'.' he smiled, but he wasn’t sorry. His voice was laced with a teasing venom. You turned your head to look at him. “You did that on purpose, prick.” you scowled at him, and his smirk got wider; cockier. “Yeah, I did.” he admitted. You couldn’t believe him. “We don’t have time for this. Let’s just get this over with.” you put your mask on and looked around for the anomaly, swinging your webs from building to building as you flew around. It was then that you spotted it; a big, scaly monster. Its skin resembled that of tar; sticky and black. Accompanied by a menacingly sharp smile, its fangs were almost as big as you were. Your eyes widened with subtle fear as you watched it engulf its surroundings. You signalled Hobie over to you, careful as to not make any noise. He followed, his once-teasing demeanour gone without a trace. He was much more focused on taking down the anomaly now. “Fuckin’ ‘ell. That’s a big one.” he stated, looking at it before attempting to jump at it. but, you grabbed onto his arm to prevent him from doing so. “Are you crazy?” you whispered. “You can’t just spring into battle without a plan!” he groaned impatiently, you quickly shushed him as to not catch the creature’s attention. “Right then, what’s your plan then, missy?” he crouched down next to you, looking down at the enemy from the rooftop. The spikes on his mask shimmered from the sunlight, almost distracting you. Almost.

You snapped back to reality and shared your plan with him. He listened intently to everything you had to say - for debatably the first time ever. He had no snarky comments to share. You almost thanked him for his maturity. Once you finished telling him, it was time to initiate the plan. “Lead the way.” he said as he watched you walk towards the edge of the rooftop. You took a deep breath, preparing yourself for what was to come. Without any delay, you jumped forward, latching your web onto the nearest building and springing into the creature's field of view. Once it saw you, it instantly began to attack; sending a few of its tentacle-like arms(?) in your direction. You dodged each of its attacks, cutting off one of the arms in the process with a powerful kick. Hobie remained on the rooftop, waiting for your signal. He watched as you fought. Soon finding himself lost in his thoughts. You fought the creature with expertise, swiftly gliding through the air as you dodged each attack flawlessly. He was in awe. He had underestimated how strong you were. But, there’s no way he was admiring you, right? He was just caught off-guard. Definitely. Which meant, it was his turn to show off. He wanted to impress you. And soon enough, his time came. You gave him the signal and he quickly sprung into action. He pulled the guitar from his back, holding it from the neck as if it were a weapon. 

The two of you worked together to take the anomaly down. Although you hated to admit it, you made a great team. Miguel knew that, which is why he put you together in the first place. But, before you managed to successfully beat the monster, you got distracted. You watched as hobie ripped tentacle after tentacle from it and didn’t notice the one that was flying right at you. It lashed you right in the chest, making you grunt in pain as you fell backwards. Hobie must’ve seen this happening because before you made contact with the rough concrete, a familiar web enveloped you, lifting you back up. “Careful, love. Wouldn’t want ya ruinin’ that pretty face o’yours.” You ripped his web off of you, and smiled through your mask. - grateful that he couldn’t see it. “I didn’t need your help!” you yelled at him, jumping back into battle. He laughed, which annoyed you even more. Successfully fuelling the energy you needed to knock the anomaly out. You delivered the final blow; kicking it right in its eye, which was apparently its weak spot. “Whew..” you let out, landing on your feet as you looked at it. Hobie landed next to you, placing his arm on your shoulder. “Nice one,” he said. He sounded sincere. You nodded before going back to work, informing Miguel that you had successfully taken it down. Hobie’s hand stayed on your shoulder, tightly but not enough to hurt. 

Although he was an asshole, he was starting to grow on you.

“How ‘bout we get some dinner - on you, aye? it’s the least you could do considering i saved y’life.”

“Get a grip, Hobie.”

Nevermind.

[spctrsgf]

mi luz

based off of this comment i wrote on tiktok: “he looks like he could use a hug and a shoulder to cry on.”

word count: 2.2k

warnings: nonspidey!reader, language, hurt to comfort fic (miguel needs a break. like a sabbatical or something)

a/n: ngl, i'm not too happy with how this turned out, probably because i wrote it all on a plane and it's not beta read, but i need more soft miguel fics in my life!!!

He’s tired.

He’s tired and he’s missing you. The boring, monotonous walls of his office harshly remind him of his place, the jubilant orange glow of his monitors tell him of just how much more work he’s got left before he can finally retire to your world.

Lyla, lounging atop one of his screens, watches him and his glossed over eyes, knowing exactly what the lazy flick of his fingers meant. She sighs, glitching over to bring one of his screens forward. “Miguel!” She yells, scaring the poor man out of his thoughts and momentarily extending his claws. “Lyla, what the fu- what the hell?” He growls, reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose.

“No kids are here, you don’t have to keep it PG.”

“Whatever.”

“Look, you got work to do, and if you don’t finish it soon, it'll be too late to get in some quality time with this lovely human,” she shoves the digitized photo of you up and into his face. “Before your next mission.”

He sighs, knowing she was right.

“Daydreaming about it isn’t gonna get you there any quicker,” she flickers to be right in front of his face, slapping a hand onto his nose as if she could actually touch him. “GET YOUR SHIT DONE.”

“Fine, fine! Get out of my face.” He grumbles the second sentence, swatting her away and strolling back up to his screens. His eyes catch on your photo, and he reaches to enlarge it in front of him, but—

“No,” Lyla dissipates the photo before he can even get to it, face twisted in disappointment. “No. Not until you finish working.”

“Hey! Who’s the boss here?” 

“Me. Now work.” Lyla glitches out of view with a triumphant huff.

He huffs dramatically, pouting as he pulls himself together. He lets his emotions drop from his face and slides into his stoic mask, resuming the work on his screen. It’s hypnotizing as soon as he gets into it; Lyla must’ve done something to keep him focused, he supposes. She always does have a trick up her sleeve.

In what feels like no time at all, he’s done with his work. With a final, defiant tap to close down his screens, he spins on his heel, ready to leave and go home. Ready to hop in through your window— as much as you hate when he does that— and rest his head atop yours, caging you into where you’re surely stirring something on the stove.

But as he turns, he’s face to face with none other than Hobart Brown. A look to the left reveals his partners in crime; and Miguel knows he’s in for a ride. At least a ten minute detour, as it always is with the four of them. 

“What?” His hands come to rest on his hips naturally, trying to become bigger to them as if it would make the next words out of their mouth more blunt and less angering. “We have a slight problem—” Gwen starts, before Pav butts in.

“It's not slight. It’s a pretty big deal!”

“Mate,” Hobie huffs. “That’s not helpful.”

“I’m trying my best!”

"Yeah, and that's going great-"

“Okay, stop it, all of you,” Miguel interrupts before they can go down the rabbit hole, trying to keep his already strung thin patience steady. “What’s going on?”

“There’s another fight going on.” Hobie gives the answer blunt, to Miguel’s satisfaction.

“Cafeteria?”

“Main hall. Sector D.”

The huff that erupts from his lips draws a colorful picture of his current emotions as he hops off of his elevated platform. “I’ll fix it.”

“Whoa whoa whoa,” Miles brings himself to stand in front of the man. “We’re not gonna hurt anyone, right?”

“I can’t make any promises.” He brushes past the kid, dismissing him with a shake of the head. 

“Miguel. Don’t take your anger out on them–” Gwen tries, but all it gets is his recoil and daunting stalk towards her.

“I will do whatever the–” the swear word is on the tip of his tongue, but he swallows it down. “I will do whatever is needed, but violence is not my first course of action.”

“Please be nice to everyone,” Pav says, peeking over Gwen’s shoulder. “It’s been a long week for all of us too.”

Miguel sighs and brushes past them, saying nothing. He brushes off their words in silent agreement. He didn’t really want to hurt anyone either. 

By the time he reaches where he'd been informed the fight was, there was a mosh pit encircling the brawl, a mass of blue and red and spidermen. He approaches from behind, the tide parting for him as each person registers his presence.

When he meets the pearl in the oyster, the hotheaded spiderman hasn’t noticed him quite yet. He’s got the other spidey— one of the many spiderwomen— beneath him, gnarly fist raised to land another punch. Miguel sighs, grabs the back of the man’s elbow, and dragssss him off.

“Everyone get away now.” His tone squeezes the air out of the room and leaves no room for discussion, not that anyone would dare to object. The spidermen flee the scene before he can even finish his sentence, and by the time he’s turned back to the perpetrators of it all, they’re gone too.

He pinches the bridge of his nose, murmuring a low cálmate under his breath as he moves to regain his bearings. “Lyla,” he waves the said woman near.  “Find those spidermen and remind me to get to them when I come back.” She sputters to focus in front of him, dipping her head in an obliged nod before sputtering off again to wherever she found herself needed. 

Miguel shakes and unclenches the fist he’s made with his free hand and stalks back to his office, rubbing the palm of his hand where his claws had taken purchase amidst anger. 

Sometimes, he regrets putting himself in charge of all of this… shit.

But… he’s the only one who can do it. No one had the vigor, the dedication, the understanding of why and what had to be done to keep the multiverses in line and make sure what happened to him never happened again. 

It’s tiring. It takes his nights and his days and chips at his brain until he’s sure there’s nothing left in the expanse of his head. For someone who appears naturally angry, he’s quite good at keeping all the real anger in.

The downside of this: he bottles it all up. But the bottle isn’t big enough, doesn’t last forever, cracks at the seams, and then shatters in a explosion of tears. It enjoys crumpling him into the floor, loves the way his hands shiver in the cold breeze, shakes him to the core and, for all his confidence, makes him doubt.

Lyla’s only seen him like this once, when he couldn’t get away and instead had to sequester himself into his office, not quite getting to hardwiring her nosy personnel to do something else. 

No, he doesn’t rely on her, as he normally would with other problems. He doesn’t trust her, he doesn’t even trust himself with post breakdown Miguel, no. 

He goes to you.

You. The lovely, kind person he’s had the great privilege of calling his. His love, his support, his everything, or better yet; mi luz. My light. The light at the end of the tunnel, at the end of the world, when he feels like the walls are caving in and there’s really nowhere else to go and nothing more to lose.

You calm him, like you always do. Effortlessly caring, eternally so. Never afraid to give, to let him take and take until he’s stuffed whole. You know little things about him, take the time to learn them. Like where to get his favorite empanadas— much better than the ones in the spidey cafeteria— and that he loves when you press your fingers into his shoulder blades. He loves your massages.

He loves you.

Tapping insistently at the shitty gadget on his wrist, he mindlessly pulls up the coordinates for your dimension. Second nature. He’s walked himself into some obscure corner of the building, but he isn’t processing such mundane things at the moment. He can feel himself slipping, the mask fracturing. He can’t be left alone right now.

You.

The portal is up now, flashing and glitching in an assortment of colors, beckoning him in with its delectable light, like a halo. Miguel wastes no time giving in, diving into the portal and tucking himself tight like a torpedo.

Multiverses zoom by as he glides through hexagons and hexagons, thousands of people in each. Worlds that he keeps steady, safe, perfect. Normally, he’d stop to smell the flowers, observe and appreciate the sereneness of every special home in front of him. Pride himself in the fact that there was a special home for someone to come home to. 

But not this time. No, this time he keeps his eyes screwed shut, he wouldn’t, couldn’t get distracted by the novelty. The bottle is cracking now, cracking into long and sharp spikes aching to slice across his chest. He’s so close, all he could get himself to do was focus on his breaths. In and out, in and out, in and out—

The abrupt warning of your multiverse approaching pinches his wrist, reminding him that this whole mess was very much real. He stumbles into your living room with a not so quiet thud, startling you. You drop the spoon you were stirring something with— smells like some sort of sauce, yum— and whip your head towards him.

He’s got his arms wrapped around you before you can even process that it's him, burying himself in your neck and inhaling the calm scent of you, a mix of your perfume and your detergent, so very you. 

“Miguel.” You sigh into his shoulder, wrapping your arms around his waist as the initial shock of his intrusion wears off. 

He slumps into you, only trusting himself to let out a low grumble of your name. 

“What’s going— oh,” your brain puts two and two together. “Oh, Miguel, shh. It’s okay, I got you.”

And he breaks. Because he knows you mean it. He knows you have him. You always do.

The tears are bubbling over the rims of his eyes and splashing down his cheeks, his hands are twisted up in your loose shirt. He’s sure his claws have made an entrance too. One of your hands reaches to turn off the stove, the other rubbing incandescent patterns into his back. 

You were always so careful. Never leave the stove on, Miggy. Don’t wanna burn the food. He loves that about you.

“Hey,” your voice wisps in through the fog of his mental breakdown, of the end of the world. “Hey. It’s me. Just me. Your absolute favorite person on this planet.”

“Multiverse.” He manages through sob induced hiccups. 

“Multiverse,” You smile, breathing out a soft laugh as you toil him in closer. “Breathe, my love. I have you. Nobody is here but me, and I’m not going anywhere. Promise.”

He nods, lets himself weigh more onto you.

“That’s it, I got you,” you coax. “Get it out of your system.”

He gives all the tears he has to give. He’s sandwiching you between the counter and his stature, but you don’t seem to mind. Your spilling words, mindlessly, talking until he’s done and ready to attach himself to them, the soft baritone of your voice.

And it takes time, but he gets there. He’s in the tunnel, the walls are caving in, he’s believing he's given all he has to give, but you’re there, and you’re telling him no, no you have not. You don’t get to lose, because you have SO much more life to live.

His light.

The tunnel lets up, opens up the walls, lets him bathe in you, in the way your arms are still hooked tight around his waist and you’re going on about how there was a new episode of your favorite show that he had to watch. 

And of course he would watch it.

He’d do anything for you, anything you asked whenever you wanted. And he knows, in turn, that there wasn’t a damn thing in this god forsaken reality that would stop you from doing the same for him.

You tell him as much. To his face, into his hair, with the dance of your fingers on his back, in the way you guide him to the couch, when you place down some food and a cup of water— you just cried out your backup supply— and again when you place yourself down next to him.

“I’m so beyond lucky to have you.” He murmurs to you, some fifteen minutes into the episode of your show, something about this dude with a metal helmet and a green baby? He can’t recall the name.

You turn, a smile gracing your features. “You deserve me. You deserve everything the multiverse has to offer and more. Dunno what I’d do without you.”

“You’d have one less person bothering you.”

“Ah, yes,” you laugh, swatting his cheek. “Like you’re such a nuisance.”

He laughs, actually laughs. It’s nice.

You tilt your head onto the girth of his shoulder, snuggling in tight as your attention is again sucked into the screen.

He smiles dazedly at you, finally feeling at peace.

Mi luz. My light.

is anyone else still obsessed with him or is that just me

[autumn-hiraeth]

Hi love! Some fluff with Hobie when you had a situation with him for a while but u end it because u wanted something stable and then one night he came to your apartment all beaten up and as you started to clean him up he explain that he's spiderman and wants a commitment relationship even if it scares him? <3

Hi, sweetie! ♡ hope you like it!

Hobie brown x reader

Just fluff. Headcanons.

a/n: i wanna be his gf so badly.

You can find more here “Hobie's masterlist”

You sigh satisfied when you finish your skin routine, now you can go to bed and rest.

However, when you are finally falling asleep, you hear several knocks on your window. And your heart races 'cause you know someone who used to do that when you two were together.

You squeeze your eyes shut, nah, it can't be him, that ended months ago. Hobie would be a complete dickhead if he dared to...

“ know you're awake luv! need your help"

You can't help but get butterflies over the pet name and you scold yourself for feeling that way and for being so silly to let him into your room.

“Hobart, what the hell are y..?!” your eyes widen when you see his pretty face all beaten up and even though you want to curse him for coming, you hold him in your arms to leave him on the edge of your bed.

"Just stay here" you ask before going in search of the first-aid kit to patch him up. Hobie sighs, his heart pounding, he'd be lying if he said he hasn't missed you, in fact, there's not a day that Hobie Brown doesn't think of you. You are what he longs for the most and maybe tonight with some luck you will be able to be his again, 'cause Hobie is still yours like the first day he kissed you.

As soon as you get to his side, you don't hesitate to hold his jaw so you can see his wounds and Hobie smiles seeing you so worried about him, so without saying a word he lets you patch him up, your soft and delicate hands touch him carefully and Hobie loves it, he doesn't even care how much it hurts.

You are his anesthesia, you make him feel better. " You need to take off your shirt" you say and Hobie raises an eyebrow making you blush. "Don't start, Hobie" you tell him and he pouts, because he knows you love when he does, whenever he pouted it ended in a heaten making out (Have you seen those pretty lips?)

"I didn't even say anything luv" he raises his hands in defense before taking off his shirt and he smiles pleased when you look at him, your eyes wandering over his torso, but before he makes fun of you, you speak: "I've always wondered how you get your ass kicked like this." You kneel between his legs so you can tend to the wound in his side and Hobie bites his tongue to keep from saying what he's thinking as you kneel in front of him... He can remember all those times he put you on your kneels, not only to patch him up.

Instead Hobie says “it's just because I'm Spider-Man” you stop cleaning up his wound and look at him, your mouth is slightly open and Hobie thinks that maybe you're going to get a little hysterical from the way you're looking at him but you raise your fist in the air in victory and mutter; “ I knew it! I just needed you to confirm, but we “broke up” so …” You shrug, going back to your work and Hobie holds up your chin for you to look at.

"I never meant to lie to you Y/n" you nod murmuring a soft; “I know”

“ aren't you mad?”

“ why? For you being Spiderman? Nah”

"I didn't mean to hurt you either" the way he says it's genuine and maybe it's because his fingers are caressing your jaw that you suddenly want to kiss him, but Hobie speaks again: "it's I just got scared" he confesses and you frown "I don't like commitments, I hate them, but you make me want to commit to you" he finally said it, it's not that he never wanted something stable with you, it's just that he's too scared and you understand that.

And you love that he tells you how he feels.

Even if it took five months.

You remove his hand from your jaw and sit on his lap, his hands wrapping your waist as he caress your bare skin under your long T-shirt. But his eyes are focused on you, he doesn't know what you'll say but he expects you to accept it but all his fears are dispelled when you put your soft lips against his. “I wanted to tell ya but I didn't know how” he murmurs against your lips “I never meant to hurt you Y/n” you nod softly, your hands caressing his bare shoulders enjoying the feel of his lips again.

"don't ever hide anything from me again Hobie" you mumble and he nods "yes ma'am" you kiss him again before patching it up again but Hobie needs to know something else so he asks: "Luv, how did ya know I'm Spiderman?" "I'm a smart girl, aren't I?" you wink at him and he smiles.

Oh, but Hobie's going to find out, he only needs to convince you.

[tuxebo]

[ 🗯️ : bummer. is spider-man grounded? ]

disclaimer: i cannot control if the characters act ooc in some responses, please rate them accordingly with the stars to prevent ooc responses as you continue.

chat with mindanao ! hello, you may recognize me from my miguel bot... but im back w more!! omg you guys got that bot to 1.6k interactions and im honestly shocked ilyasm <33

prev. ‹ docs. › next.

✧ — miles morales:

¹ YOUR ARTISTIC SKATING PARTNER: (childhoodfriends to lovers + no spiderman) miles has been the one who taught you to skate. he's got you to try many of his new interests and hobbies throughout the years of your friendship. you got a new board and decided it needs some new art, that's where your best friend comes in.

 ✧ — miles morales (e-42):

¹ SAVED BY A STRANGER: (coffee shop + fake dating) you were just trying to work your job at the coffee shop when a creepy, old man tries to shoot his shot with you. Noticing your discomfort, Miles channels the gentleman deep within him and decides to lend a hand.

 ✧ — miguel ohara:

¹ THE CHILD YOUR BABYSITTING'S OVERWORKED DAD: (parent!miguel x babysitter!user) you are the babysitter of your local superhero, spiderman─ not that you knew that. it was rare that the child's father, miguel, was ever home. often out doing god knows what, but one night he finally has time to join the two of you for dinner.

² YOUR HUSBAND'S ASSIGNMENT ALMOST GETS YOU KILLED: (heavy angst + implied gore) your husband underestimate and anomaly, sending you after it without fully understanding its power. he's the first to respond when things go south, though that still may not be fast enough.

 ✧ — pavitr prabhakar:

¹ YOUR BUBBLY BANDMATE: (friends to lovers + no spiderman) you and pavitr are bandmates in a group called '5PIDER'. after practice one night, you're walking home and decide to stop by a small convenience store to pick up some dinner. what you didn't expect was to see your keyboardist there as well.

 ✧ — hobart brown:

¹ YOUR PUNK BANDMATE: (friends to lovers + no spiderman) you and hobie are bandmates in a group called '5PIDER'. while touring the venue before one of your shows, you notice your guitarist is missing. the others seem to have the meeting with the crew under control so why don't you go look for him?

² BABYSITTING MAYDAY TOGETHER: (baby fever, baby fever) while peter b. parker is out on a mission, you and hobie offer to take care of mayday for a couple hours. it's no secret you two are fond of the kid, doing what you can to make the day a blast.

 ✧ — gwen stacy:

¹ YOUR SWEET SKATING RIVAL: (rivals to friends to lovers + no spiderman) you were preparing for a skating competition that was to happen late in the afternoon. who you were up against was the least of your concerns— until she walks up to you and tries to make conversation.

[fishsticksloser]

Heartache

Hobie x gn!reader

Warnings: swearing, angst and no comfort, breakups

A/N: how's this for my first Spiderverse fic? This is also based on the Character AI intro by fairybaby. The intro is written by them, but after that is all me. :) Sorry it's so late... Shit happened :(

Good  |  Bad

"You miss me yet?" Hobie asks, glancing back at you. His smile is slow, like he knows the answer but wants to hear it from you anyway. "Whenever you want me back, you can have me."

He already apologized—three times—for missing another date. You know he’s busy. Dismantling systems of oppression doesn’t give him a lot of free time. He spends whatever time he can with you, obviously. Even if he doesn’t like labels—you and him are together. It doesn’t matter that you’re a little mad at him.

"Hobie..." You sigh, shake your head. "What are we...? Really, what are we?"

"I don’t do labels," Hobie responds, shifting to meet your gaze. "I think…" He trails off, trying to convey it without sounding mushy or sentimental—both things that he’s not good at expressing. He nods, his voice and his gaze steady. "I think we’re something... Something that can last."

"Then why can't you make time for me?" You ask, looking at him desperately. "What do I actually mean to you?"

"I do make time for you!" He protests, not meeting your gaze suddenly. "I’m busy. I’m a busy guy. I work a lot." He runs a hand over his dreads, sighing to himself. "You know that—I think you just want me to say what I think. You know I feel. You’re really important to me." His voice is quiet.

"You've missed so many dates! Some of which you planned... No call, no text..." You huff, looking away from him, exasperated. "This is the fifth time we've rescheduled over this one date..."

“I know, I’ve apologized!" he replies, his voice sharp. "Look, I’m sorry, okay? I can’t plan my whole day around you—I just can’t." He sighs, shaking his head. Hobie rubs the back of his neck. "You know I like to keep things spontaneous. Hey, I’m sorry, okay? If you’re upset, then that’s on me."

"I don't expect you to plan your whole day around me, Hobart!" You say, a bit angrily. "What I want is for you is to actually show up when you say you will. You... Fuck, Hobie, I haven't seen you in weeks! You texted me about this date and I got so excited... I was so excited to see you and you didn't come... I just... I don't want to be second place to you when you're always first in mine..."

He mutters, his arms crossed over his chest as something inside him starts to burn. "I’m the one who’s busy, I’m the one who does important work—I’m the one who has responsibilities—and that’s how I treat you? Like you're some afterthought? Well, that’s okay." He shakes his head, turning away from you suddenly. "You can find someone else to put you first." His gaze hardens, and he starts to walk away.

"You're first place in my life... I always put you first. I always make time for you, Hobie." You say softly, you wrap your arms around yourself protectively. "I don't want someone else. I want you, but you don't seem to want me at all, do you?"

"You think I don’t want you?" His voice rises. He stops, not looking at you. "Do you have any idea how important you are to me? How much I care about you?" He lets out an angry growl before he speaks again. Hobie whirls to face you, an angry fire in his eyes. "Don’t you dare say that I don’t care about you. How dare you! I have other things to do besides go on dates with you!"

"If I'm so important to you, why can't you make time for me!?" You yell back. "You think it's just dates!? I... I haven't seen you in almost a month, you hardly ever text me, no calls. What am I supposed to think?" You sigh and close your eyes, reigning in your anger. "I understand what you do is important, but I put things aside for you because you're important to me. I... I can't keep going like this, Hobie. I need you. Not all the time, but sometimes..."

"I have a life, Y/N!" He responds, his eyes glaring and blazing as you yell at him. "You’re not all of my life, you know! I have my music, I have my activism, I have… I have—" Hobie pauses, letting out a breath of exhaustion. His voice now softer, quieter.. "Look, I care about you. I really do. I’m sorry I don’t make you a bigger part of my life, but I’ve got a lot going on right now, okay?"

"Then let me help!" You tell him desperately, stepping closer to him. "Whatever we are, it's... It's part of what we do is help each other... I... I want to help you, Hobie. But I can't when you just leave me, I can't when you ghost me. Whatever we are, we're in this together. If you can't trust me with that then why are we even together?"

He lets out a breath of frustration, shaking his head as you approach him, the anger in his voice giving way to the weariness inside him. "I don’t need any help." He says curtly, not meeting your gaze. "I don’t want any help," he mutters before speaking up again. "You’re right. Why are we even together if I can’t trust you? Maybe this whole thing was a mistake," he continues, his voice laced with disappointment and sadness. "I think this was a mistake."

You watch Hobie walk away before you go home and lay in bed. You put your hand in the pocket of his hoodie you're wearing and pull out something. It’s a shiny, slightly metallic spider totem, smooth to the touch and small enough to fit in your whole hand. It's a funny little gift you'd gotten him after he told you he was Spider-Man. It’s polished to a near-mirror sheen thanks to the amount of times Hobie rubbed his thumb against it whenever he was nervous. But now, looking at it brings only more questions—and questions lead to guilt.

If he cared about you, he’d fight harder for your relationship.

That’s what you told yourself, but you couldn’t help but doubt every time your thoughts wandered down that path.

What if he just didn’t care? What if he didn’t love you? What if you were just a burden on him? What if he could have better than you? What if he didn’t need you?

He did care about you. He really, truly did. He was just… preoccupied. Life got in the way, so often. He was busy, he was so busy. There were so many things to do, so many problems to solve. He wanted to share all of that with you, but how could he? How could he find time to be with you, when there was so much else to do? He wanted you. He wanted to be with you. But his heart said one thing while his brain said another.

Hobie wasn’t the best at communicating, that’s for sure. He was so used to being on his own, being independent and self-sufficient, that he forgot his actions—or his inaction—had the potential to hurt people around him. He wasn’t the best at letting people in, at all. He wasn’t the best at letting people stay. He was too afraid, too cowardly to admit all of those things. But if you’re willing to stick with him… he just might learn to be better.

[liyawritesss]

ʟᴏᴠɪɴɢ ʜᴏʙɪᴇ ʙʀᴏᴡɴ ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅ ɪɴᴄʟᴜᴅᴇ...

Characters: Hobart “Hobie” Brown [Spider-Punk] x black!earthy!GN!reader

Type: headcanons

Synopsis: What’s it like to be favored by everyone’s favorite punk-alt spider, in either a platonic or romantic setting?

Warnings: cursing, very very horrible british accent & slang I apologize in advance/please teach me better

A/N: I specifically had an earthy!reader in mind but I think that it can somewhat be applied to most other aesthetics as well. It was just a reason for me to write a farmers market date type thing because it's so cute to me. Hobie is around 18-19 in this!!

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

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You meet Hobie at a community farmers market, one that you frequented often because of the closeness to your home and the bartering style of trade that was used in place of currency. You had a service of your own that you provided to the community, and exchanged the things you made, grew, or produced, or the knowledge you had in exchange for the things that you needed such as food, clothes, utensils, etc.

Hobie’s crew was a new sight to see in the last couple of trips you’d taken to the market, their presence striking yet welcomed by the community there. Thick black boots and spikes adorned their bodies, slightly rattled clothes giving them an edge, but none of them were hostile, and in fact, many of his crew - including Hobie himself - engaged in the bartering and trade system themselves

The two of you seemed to be from completely different worlds, but with the same mindset, beliefs, and values in defying the construct, it wasn’t long before eventually the two of you engaged with each other as well.

On his electric guitar you noticed a couple of missing strings, and the remaining ones seemed to be on their last legs anyway. You had a friend who specialized in string instruments, and offered to get him a new set of strings if he taught you how to play. Contrary to what you initially thought, he accepted

So a week later, you both met at the market again, you with the promised strings and a basket of baked goods and other produce you were bartering away, and so began your friendship with the punk-alt man.

Hobie and his crew called you their ‘wildflower’ because of the earth tones you dressed in and how you were so fascinated with flowers that sometimes you’d pin them to your clothes or your hair. It was cute to them, him specifically, and it was an interesting sight to see a spot of green and brown amidst the sea of black and red.

You’d go to his shows sometimes, teasing him about putting the strings you got him to good use, and he definitely shows up and shows out because of it.

If its a late night, and you took a raincheck on one of his underground shows, he’ll find himself at your place and crash, leaving little to no room for argument. Hobie spends the night so often he has clothes tucked in his own little chest in your room. 

You don’t live in town, however, opting to live in the countryside in a tiny cottage left to you by your family, so you always wondered if he actually made the trek to your place or did he find someone to drop him off. He doesn’t tell you about his other identity just yet, though, so you’re stuck trying to figure out his riddles on the subject.

After a while of knowing each other he’ll give in to your constant begging of performing a wick maintenance on him. He never saw a point in ‘maintenance’ on his head, he liked it the way it was, but you were obviously fed up with how careless he was with his hair and figured it couldn’t hurt to indulge you. Though he cant deny that he knocks right out after the first wash, the way your fingers were massaging his scalp had him a bit too relaxed.

Neither of you are sure when the line between friendship and relationship began to blur. You just know that at some point he began to have physical contact with you more, growing more protective of you. You’d sleep in the same bed, finding comfort on top of his lanky yet warm body as Hobie’s arm drapes around your waist in his sleep. You start cooking for him, taking extra care in the presentation of it, even though all he’ll do is wolf it down the second he smells it.

Hobie never says anything, and with his constant reminders of hating labels and hating consistency as they were all forms of oppression by the establishment, neither did you. Yet you could never deny the tug on your heart that pulled you towards him whenever he was around, nor could you ignore the shift in his eyes whenever they landed on you.

It takes time for Hobie to come around to the idea of having these strong affections for someone. He never used the term ‘love’ as it pertains to relationships with people due to his past, and the knowledge that anyone you ‘love’ could leave you at any given notice. He was much better at showing rather than telling, but even that was hard for him for a while. So when he found his heart swelling and his chest growing tight and it becoming harder to breathe around you when he was harboring his feelings in secret, it scared him a little bit. Cuz how was someone like you even attracted to someone like him?

It is ultimately up to you to have a sit down with Hobie and address the air that surrounds the both of you - that whatever yall started off as has changed, and that you want it to be a good change, but Hobie has to acknowledge it to, and acknowledge you and how you feel. And as said before, it’s scary for Hobie, because he’s never had a need to label what he felt for anyone, but when it came to you, what he felt was so strong and intense that he felt like he had to.

So he tells you, he tells you everything that night - about his feelings, about his fears, even about him being Spider-Punk. And he’s expecting you to be apprehensive and change your mind about being with him, and what that truly means for people like the both of you. But you dont push him away, you don’t tell him to fuck off, and Hobie isn’t sure if he should be relieved or even more scared about that

All he knows is that he wakes up the next day to you cooking breakfast, like you normally did when he slept over, but this time, it feels different; solid, secure, warm. It feels like home, and that's something Hobie hasn’t had in a long time.

He moves with more purpose now, a lot of his intentions directed to you and the betterment of his bond with you. With his crew and out in public, he won’t hesitate to call you his person - he won’t use the term boyfriend or girlfriend, but partner or person is more reflective of the bond he wishes to enhance with you. 

Overall, loving Hobie Brown is an immense task. He’s loud and wild and everywhere sometimes; he’s also thoughtful, considerate, and gentle other times. You gotta teach him how to love in some areas, teach him what it means to be loved, and overall: patience and understanding is key with a man like Hobie - he’s got a lot going on, but if you’re willing to be down with someone like him, he won’t hesitate to make it worth your while.