I waking up in the middle of the night to take a piss or something then just coming back to Bie like this because spider senses turns him into a light sleeper... 😭🖤
a/n: i'm in a fluffy mood but full polished fics sound lame as fuck rn, so you eat my bare bones. Also experimenting with headers because I really like making them. :^) gn!reader of course, i want everyone to be able to experience hobie fluff.
Hobie loves flaunting you so much. Not like a prized possession, he just loves flaunting how close he gets to be with you. He won't hesitate to smooch you or hold your hand or hug you in public. People never have to ask "are you two together" because all your friends jump in to gripe about how you're constantly stuck together like glue.
There's really no doubting it— anyone can immediately see how much he trusts you with his things, his feelings, and just about anything behind the scenes.
Whenever you're out, Hobie "cool, outgoing and always put together" Brown will lean on you sitting & standing, use hugs as an excuse to hide in your shoulder, ask if you brought The Thing He Forgot (you did), sneak away with you... all while smiling the whole time. He does these things subconsciously but he also secretly hopes people envy what you two have going on.
In rarer, more private cases... he'll allow you (he's working on that) to sit through big feelings with him while he recollects himself, and even consider going back home to hang out with you once he's had his fill.
(I like to think he's always kind of forced himself to linger in social interactions and does it sort of subconsciously, but with you around grounding him in the moment, he's a LOT more aware of how draining that is for him AND you basically became his safety net so he doesn't bother to push himself just to save face...)
Lay All Your Love (body weight) On Me // autistic!reader x hobie brown
Oh, to have someone who isn't totally freaked out at the request of crushing you like a bug... I mean, spoiler, he does freak out but whatever.
Word count: 1600-ish
Tags/warnings?: Lazy. Lots of dialog. Gender neutral reader. Quite self-indulgent. Reader implied to be smaller than Hobie. Autistic(/adhd?) coded reader (pressure-seeking). Silly arguments. Hobie's identity as spider-man very implied to be unknown. Narration is actually so dumb
It had been a strange day; or not — but now, in the peace of sitting in your thoughts, it was. You felt... like some sort of thick, electric fog (also known as anxiety) lived beneath your skin, taking up every empty corner, every crevice between your organs, and pushing outwards with insistence. You felt like something bad was building up inside your being and you just hadn't catched up on it yet. Or in shorter words, you felt like one very tired and soggy sponge.
Maybe you just didn't sleep enough. Maybe it was the stimulant drinks you had had to keep you energized. Maybe it was having been out, and having talked to or been around too many people, and having had to bear the motherfuckers guys that pass by you on their unnecessarily loud motorbikes on the street, thinking that somehow accelerating right past you is in some way impressive or funny. Oof. Shuddering at the memory.
Typically, you'd be unsure of what is to be done about it, this feeling of density in your nerves. You could try and ignore it, let it ferment in silence in the back of your mind as you do whatever mundane task keeps you busy and stimulated without being too much. Cleaning, making a snack, walking around the house with no set motives.
The moment you have to sit still, though, it becomes a little too apparent, and very much annoying. And you know something, that isn't faking it (pretending you're fine) until you make it, has to be done about it.
You, soggy sponge full of a ridiculous amount of some deeply bothersome, psychologically rancid substance, YEARNED to be squeezed. To be freed from the mental sensation of being a struggling balloon over-filled with helium. To be, essentially, grabbed by a giant pair of hands, and have them squish you slowly, mercilessly, until you deflate.
Of course, none of those were viable solutions if you wanted to avoid being an outlaw to this universe, and abide by the laws of physics. Bummer, no? So you had to go for the next most liberating thing,
with the help of your ever-willing (...crickets...) and loving partner.
Hopefully.
“Hobie,”
“Yeah?” although Hobie's hands did not pause the tuning of his guitar, his eyes did dart up to your form standing across the living room, just by the doorway.
“Can you like... Uh.” You tried to gain some time, walking to sit on the couch next to him (he wasn't sitting on the couch, but on the carpet), and let it sink in his mind that you were gonna ask something.
“Lie on me?”
There was a beat of silence. That did have his hands stopping, though not him looking back at you for a second.
“Lie on you?”
“Yeah.” a nervous laugh escaped you when he turned to you with a skeptical frown. You didn't feel like overexplaining yourself today; that'd just delay results. It wasn't easy to explain, anyway.
“Man, like. Can you lie on me? You know.”
“Bruv. Do I? Do I know? Why'd...” his head shook while a slightly amused, although confused expression spread across his face.
You gestured around, “It's... I like when people lie or sit on... Like.” Hobie raised an eyebrow. “Not like that! I just like to have someone on me. Come here?”
His shoulders rose as he sighed, looking at you thoughtfully with a posture that did not indicate compliance. “Oi, I know sometimes I look like I don't weight much, but that... it ain't true.”
“No but that's the point—”
“I'm not going to squash you.”
“Oh come on. Listen, just—” you gestured your hands for him to keep his attention on you and lied on your back on the couch. To which he, (not) putting it nicely, he laughed at your face. Standing up and abandoning his guitar on the floor. “Are you serious?”
“Bring it in!”
“Look at me!” he spread his arms and would have twirled in place to emphasize his size if he wasn't so shocked. “Love—”
There was mild laughter amidst your following words, but you truly had to try everything until something stuck, “If you love me you'll—”
“Nah, don't even try that!”
“Pizza later? You pay though.”
“You trynna bribe me with me own money?.” he smiled with disbelief.
“What if I died tomorrow without you having lain down on me?!”
That had his smile faltering and jaw clenching for a moment. Struck a nerve?
“Nope. Not there, baby.”
“Hobie, please.” he stared at you whining while trying to beckon him closer with your hands. You were starting to consider giving up and waiting until he left to, who knows, disassemble furniture and see if something is heavy enough. «You could hurt yourself»? To be alive is to be in danger anyway... or something.
“I need this. I promise it won't hurt me.”
He seemed to meditate the request for a moment upon seeing the real anxiety that hid under that pout of dubious genuineness. You were being a little too insistent to be joking. Poor attempts at emotional blackmailing were just not your thing with him and yet here you were.
Whatever. Who was he to question the kind of things that calmed you down? It's true that, as he was a tall guy, he was always extra careful with other people to not crush them like insects, but if your sake, that of the very favorite of his heart, was for him to do precisely that then, well.
Sigh.
“You're a funny one.” he said and started trying to find a way to do what you asked. A big grin of victory found its place on your face, and your energies were briefly renewed. He thought of it to be adorable.
“Okay, okay. Wait. Like this.” you turned around to lie on your belly and give him a more stable surface. Your back. “Now.”
Hobie maneuvered himself around, getting close and moving away intermittently. Was he that distrustful of his own, what, strength? Weight? You're not made of glass and it was starting to seem dramatic.
“Scary shit.”
“Imagine I signed a contract where I'm responsible for whatever happens.”
“You said it wouldn't hurt you. I am keeping your word.” he decided to start by positioning himself to sit on your bum. A soft and cushioned beginning, although more for his own peace than anything.
“And I stand by it...!” you reinforced.
Then your now even more beloved and handsome partner sat entirely without holding back and, uuuugh. Immediate relief in your lower body. Like being decompressed. The couch was probably about to try and swallow you.
“Ouh just like that. Like that. All over.” you pressed your forehead against the surface beneath with your face in between your elbows.
Hobie rotated himself on your behind so his back was facing yours. Luckily enough, he had been barefoot so you didn't have to worry about his big ass sexy clown boots leaving dirt nowhere on the furniture or you. You expected him to grip the backrest of the couch and lower himself in a very awkward manner, because unless you plop down carelessly onto someone else in this position how would you end up back-to-b... what.
Your head turned to the side just to see how the heck he was lowering himself so smoothly with nearly no support whatsoever. Core strength? He has a great affair with her, apparently.
“Hobie. Hobie, how are you doing that.” you said with an increasingly choked tone as his body weight distributed throughout your back.
“Doing what?” You couldn't answer, because heaven seemed to literally just have fallen upon you.
You lowered your arms with difficulty to lay them limp beside your body and turned your head to rest your cheek on the cushioned surface. Then you wheezed, feeling all of his dead weight on top of you.
“You good?”
“Perfect.” you choked out quickly. “I am so happy. Will you do this every day for the rest of my life.”
“'m keeping my last name, but I accept.”
You forced your constricted lungs to take the deepest breath possible, which heightened the overall experience of feeling like you were in a safe recreation of where those dang cave divers with a loving wife and 3 kids go in their free time. You were securely held-between slash being mashed-by 2 absolutely unmovable objects and it was great.
The urge to either scream or moan as you exhaled was strong, but unfortunately that is not socially acceptable. Alas, you and Hobie are not socially acceptable in general, so you just loosened up and practically roared like you were trying to scare off a bear.
“Bloody hell. Unbelievable.”
“Stop judging me—”
“'m not judging!”
“This is extremely liberating—” strained breath, “oh I'm so happy.”
“God. I love you,” Hobie paused, playing with your hair. “yer bloody strange.”
“I love you too, and fuck you.”
Then in some way it became a sort of routine. Or a habit. He didn't take long to warp his head around the fact that it relieves you in the same way a massage does, and it takes less effort than a massage, so now when Hobie notices you're 'passively anxious' or oddly tired, he just offers you quick treatment. If you don't ask first. He simply enjoys seeing your reaction. You hang out sometimes and, since he now knows you adore this, you can spend hours just shifting around tangled in each other with him on top of you. You're damn lucky. You know he loves you to the moon and back, through the small little things.
One of my mutuals, a gay man in a refugee camp in Sudan, reached out to me to tell me about a fundraiser started for him by one of his friends. Please consider donating! He is homeless and in desperate need of money for medical treatments for himself and the child of one of his friends as well as to buy tents. Any amount helps.
This is what Brayo told me when we first started talking: My name is Bra… Amira Ward needs your support for Urgent Aid for Brayo and Friends
I googled 70's radio hosts for a fic, put on a morning show just to hear how was it...Tell why it SLAPS so hard?!?!?! this is so good, I would love to hear this on early morning
turnnoffyourmind
gummygunk
blakekathryn
jacobvanloon
