One thing I’ve always hated is where you search up a tag for an underrated character and think you’ve found a really good fic only to realize the author tags the entire cast.
hobie’s lanky arms are your favorite thing ever. they wrap around you like a seat belt. he can reach things you can’t quite get. but the best part? without as much fat on his arms, they bruise a lot easier.
“wot you doin’ love?” he asks. staring down at you with admiration in his eyes. maybe you could fall in love all over again if he looked like this all the time. he shook his shoulder—the one you were latched onto. oops. did you zone out again?
“i’m gnawin’ on you.” you answered flatly, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.
“why?”
“cuz’ i feel like it.”
“yer eatin’ me!”
he flicked your forehead. this caused you to let go of his shoulder, but not without admiring your work. teeth marks indenting his now glistening skin, covered in your spit. not that he minded. a very faint purple began to bloom. hobie looked at the mark as well.
“‘nother one?”
your eyes traced down his arm, purple and maroon splotches littering his arm. the corners of your mouth twitched upward. his fingers gripped your chin and lifted your head to meet a gorgeous deep brown pair of eyes. his lips was curved into a smug grin.
Tags (suck at this): Smut. Pillow plushie humping. Hobie gets off to your clothes? Minimal reader appearance — though very present. No description of reader *at all* — gender neutral reader. Hobie's so damn desperate. Established relationship. English is not author's first language (scapegoat for grammatical errors). Hobie is terrible at getting flirty hints.
Word count: 1071
A/N: This is not the little autistic!reader x hobie I promised, I got derailed okay 😭 but I can keep working on that one now. Have this as a snack.
Humping and pumping, pummeling and jerking, repeatedly slamming. That was Hobie's pelvis against that big ass plushie you gave him for valentines quite a while ago.
The blue bunny was about half as big as himself, so one of his toned arms just had to be holding onto it; sneaking under his humid torso to grip it in place even if it destabilized him a little.
Half an hour ago he might have said, «Nah. I'm not that desperate.».
Half an hour ago he might have thought that this was a ridiculous idea, not the kind of thing he'd do.
Half an hour ago he might, or not, have gotten a little too infatuated with some used clothes of yours that you'd forgotten at his place — at first he just took a shirt and thought, oh? How comforting; sniffing it really feels just like giving you a great hug, he might borrow it.
Then he saw your underwear mixed with his, and some cables started crossing in his mind. And the musky smell he pretended not to care about, even with no one else at home, started affecting his body in an almost embarrassing manner.
“Fuck. Hah- shit.” his heated breath became a heated fog in the cold space, hitting the mattress.
But he didn't have to hold back now, did he? It's not Iike... you would mind... he's your very new partner after all, you know he loves you, it's just expected that he finds you so fucking attractive that it makes him do things. Things like rubbing and sliding his hardened dick on a plush. A plush with some clothes. Maybe your clothes, or maybe not... Thinking about, taking into account, that the almost invisible stain on the inside of your underwear was your juices that he was rubbing against. Who knows why it was so wet, precisely when you'd been at his place too and took a particularly long shower — he felt dizzy at the possible implications.
He imagined, with a considerable amount of conflict sitting in his stomach, that it was you he was thrusting from behind. Gosh, he was that desperate wasn't he? For you, for some attention, love, and specially for proper friction. It's not that these kind of things ashamed him in general, hell, total opposite. It was more of the fact that it was you, somehow managing to flip his heart upside down whenever he thought about you, and the fact that he was picturing you in this way without your knowledge.
If he could, he'd be biting the sheets, trying to convince himself they're the soft skin of your shoulders and neck. He'd done that before when cuddling, he knows it makes you shiver.
Would you sigh if he whispered sweet-things right behind, maybe a little under, the shell of your ear? Would you moan at that? He'd probably discover soon anyway.
He thought about the soft, pink cushion in your mouth; your cheeky and not-at-all slick attempts at trying to get his attention; how nice you were to him. Fuck, were you nice to him. Would you be so nice in bed? He let his mind wander further.
Could you ask kindly, seductively for him to thrust into you from behind like he was doing to that inanimate object? Maybe you'd be nervous as you did? Or as he tasted and felt you squirming in his mouth? Perhaps there'd be a contrast in how you were in bed to your every-day lives — bolder, assertive, a little mean. Shit.
Would you dare speak dirty to him?
Riiiiiiiiiing. Riiiiiiiiiing.
His pace faltered. Just as he was getting there, the phone rang from the living. He let it.
Riiiiiiiiiing. Riiiiiiiiiing.
He clicked his tongue and paid it no mind. His heavy breathing began to grow into pants, and his panting amounted into irregular whimpers. His heart picked up significantly.
His breath cut-off abruptly and the single drop of sweat on his temple fell to the mattress. His grip on the fake fur of the bunny clenched intermittently; and when he had finished staining your clothes as he slid with force one last time and spilled himself onto them, his nose couldn't help avoiding a sharp intake of air to compensate for the prior lack.
Funny shapes ran away from the darkness behind his eyelids, Hobie controlled the gasps for air his lungs urged him to take to slow down. He took a deep breath, rested his temple on the bed, and let go of the poor bunny which was beginning to resemble the crumpled paper sheet of an academically frustrated student.
He kneeled upright, zoned out while he stared at your clothes still making contact with his, now softened, dick. His hands rested on the 'hips' of the plush, it could very well be the plush of your own.
Riiiiiiiiiing. Riiiiiiiiiing.
“Bloody hell.” he slid off your impersonator and walked over to the phone, not even caring to put on some clothes. It's not like anyone would see him.
Who the fuck was being so insistent? He hoped it wasn't anything crime related, though that'd be unlikely, he wasn't in the mood to kick ass right now, just kiss it. He picked up the phone from the wall, preparing to rub off a possible spam call.
Riiiiiiiiii— “What? Who is it?”
“Caught you in a bad mood?” your slightly distorted voice echoed from the other line. His eyes widened.
“Babe! No, hell. No. It's... Not at all. What's happenin'?”
“Nothing, really. Just missed you. Are you doing anything?”
Hobie looked back to his bed from the living room; the wrecked bunny had a barely discernible streak of white dripping from the back.
“... No. Why? Wanna have a chat?”
“I was thinking we could hang out at my place, maybe. Like, right now.” you spoke casually, though there was a noticeable measuring in your cadence. “Have some fun. I miss you.”
His heart skipped a beat. “Ah. I miss you too, love.” he looked around and walked around picking up random clothes scattered on the floor, trying not to get too far from the wall the phone was connected to. “Should I, uh, bring anything? Ya tell me.”
“Mm. Protection?”
He blinked. Was his brain still fogged up?
“Didn't catch that?”
“Bring some protection.”
“...I don't think I'm deepin' it.”
“I wanna fuck, Hobie.”
Oh, duh. He mentally slapped himself right across the face.
Would you write a fic on aftercare with Hobie please?
☆Hobie × GN!Reader ☆Word count: 700 ☆CW: Fluff. No use Y/N. Hobie being cute and caring. No mention of reader's appearance
Masterlist Hobie Brown Masterlist
Aftercare
Hobie’s mouth was still on yours when everything had gone quiet, slow and lingering. His hand slid up the side of your neck, thumb brushing your cheek as he kissed you then rested his forehead against yours. You were both breathing hard. He looked at you for a second, studying your face then he murmured.
“C’mere.”
Before you could question it, one arm slipped under your knees, the other around your back.
“Hobie…”
He lifted you like it was nothing. You laughed, startled, clutching his shoulders. “What are you doing?”
“Abducting you.”
“You’re ridiculous.”
“Yeah.”
He carried you through your flat barefoot, stepping over the clothes you tore off each others bodies earlier.
The bathroom light was warm and dim. He set you down on the edge of the tub and turned the taps.
Then he started rummaging through your cabinets below the sink.
“What are you looking for?”
He held up a bottle. “Bubble stuff.”
He poured some in, testing the water with his wrist, adjusting it until it was just right then he looked back at you.
“Come on.”
You stepped into the bath together, careful in the small space, until you settled with your back against his chest, legs tangled beneath the water. Hobie pressed a kiss to your shoulder then the side of your neck. You melted against him.
His hands moved lazily over your arms, thumbs tracing your skin under the water. After a while he reached for soap, worked it into his hands, and started washing your shoulders with care.
You turned to look at him. “You’re being very sweet.”
“Don’t spread rumors.”
You smiled. He leaned forward and kissed you again, softer this time, almost sleepy then rested his chin on your shoulder.
“You comfortable?”
“Mhm.”
He nuzzled closer. “Good.”
And when he finally helped you out, wrapped you in a towel, and led you back towards the bed. He put his t-shirt over you and he pulled his boxers on before he crawled back into bed with you. The room was quiet except for the buzz of the amp in the corner, still left on low, and the faint patter of rain tapping against your window.
You were half draped across his chest, skin warm, breathing still trying to settle. The sheets were twisted around your legs, and Hobie’s fingers were lazily tracing circles over your shoulder, absentmindedly.
Without warning, he shifted, making you whine when the warmth of him moved away.
“Where are you going?”
“Hydration,” he said seriously, like it was a political principle.
He came back in mismatched boxers with a chipped mug of water for you and one for himself, plus a packet of crackers.
You laughed. “Crackers?”
“Revolutionary recovery snack.”
You nearly choked laughing as he held the mug to your lips anyway, making sure you drank.
“Move over, trouble.” He sat next to you taking a sip of his water.
“You don’t have to do all this,” you murmured.
“Yeah, I do.”
Once he was satisfied, he tugged you back against him, pulling the blanket over both of you. Your head rested in the crook of his arm while he tucked your leg over his. His hand rubbed slow lines down your spine.
You were nearly asleep when he spoke again.
“Tell me if anything hurts.”
“It doesn’t.”
“You sure?”
“Yes.”
“You want tea?”
You laughed into his chest. “Are you gonna make tea?”
“Tea solves most things.”
“That is such an old man thing to say.”
He kissed the top of your head. “Shut up.”
But ten minutes later, he actually made tea.
You sat at the edge of the bed while he handed you a mug, then crawled back beside you, stealing half your blanket. The rain kept falling.
“You know I like taking care of you, yeah?”
You turned toward him. “I like when you do.”
He smirked. “Good. Means I can keep crashin out at your place yea?”
Then he pulled you down until you were tucked against him again, your head over his heartbeat, his chin resting on your hair. And long after the tea went cold, Hobie kept absentmindedly stroking your back until you fell asleep.
Disclaimer: I don't own Rights to any characters mentioned nor do I consent to plagiarism of any kind. Thankyou for reading loves ;)
Hobie & reader x Hobie headcanons I think about (not exclusively romantic, SFW):
I bet he only sits/perches on any surface that isn't a chair. When it's a chair he will not sit like a normal person, he will always kick his legs up or rock on it but that'll usually end in him toppling backwards and having mini heart attacks so he avoids them. He will sit on anything else like tabletops, floors, shelves the wall, the ceiling (spider core) but if he can't lean back on it he's not sitting on it for long and finding other options
Hanging out with him consists of either doing nothing or doing everything. Sometimes both. Loves roughhousing and bothering you and being part of your life actually
Will rope you into one of his 5 million sporadical hobbies like knitting a blanket or fixing a car or *cough* making his own bootleg version of the dimensional gizmo *cough*
Takes full advantage of his spider powers, even in his everyday life without giving a fuck about who sees (okay, maybe a little. Doesn't do it much in public as much as he does when you're hanging out privately or in small group settings)
Likes being upside down. Hanging upside down, walking upside down, swinging upside down. Likes not using the floor in general, refuses to be sedentary if it's not with you cause life gets boring and unsafe, but you don't
Is a Jack of all trades (master of none, but often better than a master of one) cause you'll need that type of versatility and flexibility in punk anarchy. Literally look at this guy and tell me that he doesn't cook the finest fried rice and season his convenience store noodles with home spices and top them with protein and greens. (You can't)
When he needs to do something he's never done before he proudly gains the AUDACITY to wing it (with proper research and instructions)
