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.
A/N: this is me bored :) pls don't let the fandom die ࣪ ִֶָ˚꩜｡
Warnings: 🔞 smut!
༘˚⋆𐙚⋆𖦹.✧˚༘˚⋆𐙚⋆𖦹.✧˚༘˚⋆𐙚⋆𖦹.✧˚༘˚⋆𐙚⋆𖦹.✧˚༘˚⋆𐙚｡
Hobie and you have been dating for a while. He hates labels, yeah, but Hobie is over the moon for you — so this is a formal, monogamous relationship.
At least, that’s what he said while you and he were making love for the first time.
So… Hobie could never break his promise about being yours, right?
But lately, you can’t help but feel insecure about his friendship with Gwen.
God, you like that girl. But you dislike how well she and your Hobie get along.
Hobie lets her stay on his canal boat. You thought it was nice of him, but then he lends her his sneakers and even his vest.
Next thing you know, Gwen is joining his band. That’s great.
So now she spends more time with him than you do.
In your defense, it’s kinda logical that you’d feel insecure about this whole situation. What if Hobie likes her more than you? No, that’s not possible.
You’re so lost in your own thoughts and insecurities that you forget Hobie is also there with you, in your bedroom.
He comes over most nights after his patrols — you patch him up, and then the two of you make love.
“A penny for your thoughts, luv?” His Cockney accent bursts your bubble.
“Uh…” You tilt your head and smile slightly. “It’s nothing, Hobie.”
Hobie raises an eyebrow. He knows you so well. “C’mon, luv. You know you can tell me anything.” He cups your cheeks and rubs your cheekbone with his thumb.
You love when he touches you like this — so careful, so tender. “Talk to me, Y/N,” he asks, his nose brushing against yours, making you weak.
“I just… can’t help but think you’re better with Gwen.” His body tenses and after a few seconds that feel like an eternity, he asks, concerned, “Why d’you think that, luv?”
You sigh. “You know why. You two get along so well. It’s kind of hurtful to see how good she matches with you. I mean, she’s a member of your band and a Spider-Person — both of you have so much in common. And I…” You look away and whisper, “She’s got everything that I don’t have. How could I ever compete with that?”
Your words are cut off when Hobie kisses you — passionately, hungrily — making you gasp in surprise. But you kiss him back, exploring his mouth, seeking more.
“Gwen’s just my friend. You’re my lover,” he says, looking straight into your eyes. “You got it?" He asks bluntly, and you nod — but that’s not what he wants.“Say it, Y/N.”
“I'm your lover.”He smirks and says, “That’s a good girl,” before kissing you again. His free hand squeezes your breast, —this man loves palying with your nipples— and before you know it, he’s thrusting into you — raw, but soft.
“H-Hobie, right there.” Your pussy flutters around him as his hips move in a quick, fast rhythm. He goes as deep as he can, making you whimper every time the blunt head of his cock rubs that lovely, deep spot inside you — the one that makes you weak. It becomes repetitive, almost desperate.
You moan into the kiss.
You can't never get enough of him.
Your pussy tightens around his hard length as he kisses your neck, and you whimper loudly when he rubs your clit, making you clench.
God, Hobie knows how to touch you. He has spent many long nights exploring your body.
His balls slap against your skin, the wet sound of flesh meeting flesh is sinful.
Hobie grunts and groans as he buries himself deeper inside you. Fuck, he loves making love with you. In fact, he loves you.
And he can’t believe you thought he would be better with Gwen.
“Fuck… y/n… I’m not gonna last if you keep clenching me like that.” Your fingers intertwine with his.
“Don’t mind—cum inside me, Hobie,” you whimper.
And well, let’s just say that after Hobie fills you up with his seed, he goes again, over and over, until you’re dripping his seed and begging him to stop.
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.
hello goat ! Maychance could I get a hobbie brown mention 🙏🏾
"SO NOT PUNK ROCK"
Spider-Punk!Hobie Brown x neglected WB!reader
It’s safe to say your father doesn’t like your boyfriend at all. His reasons sound valid to everyone else in the house, but to you, they’re just a bunch of jibber-jabber.
“He’s always causing mayhem,” Bruce says, like he doesn’t do that almost all the time himself running around in that ginormous bat suit while hiring orphaned children to do his bidding.
“His methods are a bit too much,” Dick adds, which isn’t even an answer. You’ve seen the kind of crap he pulled in Blüdhaven stuff that would make the most seasoned criminals repent, swear off crime, and check into rehab.
“The kid seems fine to me,” Jason thinks, but he can’t say that out loud. Instead, he mutters, “He’s… not muscular?” You know he said it with that questioning look while everyone else at the table glared at him.
And so what if your boyfriend’s a bit on the skinny side? He still has muscles just a sleeper build. One time, after coming out of an underground punk show, a villain attacked, and Hobie picked up a Ford F-150 with his webs, slamming it into the vandalizer. So yeah, your boyfriend is anything but weak. Hobie’s the strongest man you know.
“I mean, he’s a rockstar. Wouldn’t he, like, cheat on you with some broad from who knows where?” Tim asks. Typical. He’d know a thing or two about cheating. But every girl knows to stay away from your man. Why? Because on his spider suit, he painted it with your favorite colors his way of telling the world he’s already taken. Even when he’s far away, he’s still repping you.
“He’s a threat to everyday society,” Damian mutters, like he has any room to talk. You can count on both hands how many times he’s bitten a socialite at a gala. And when he first came into the manor, he was on his John Wick murder spree. But Hobie smashes a couple of dumbasses’ heads in with his guitar, and suddenly he’s a public threat? Come on.
“I don’t know, [Name]. A guy like him just seems like a player,” Duke says. You want to glare at him so badly maybe even wring his neck for that nonsense. Because Hobie? He would never.
Sure, he’s not consistent he’s happily inconsistent. He DIYs his favorite shirts twice, but inconsistency doesn’t mean complacency. It doesn’t mean he’s uncaring. He’s just a little ADHD, and that’s exactly how you like him. Just because his schedule doesn’t always line up doesn’t mean his heart doesn’t. You two are one and the same if not more.
And yeah, he might look like a player, but that man is a total lover boy. He literally stopped by the manor with roses beat-up ones, sure, because he had to stop mid-mugging but still, roses.
He literally has three songs named after you. If that isn't love or commitment, I don't know what is. Also, why are you getting romance advice and romantic comments from these dweebs?
Bruce likes to date mentally deranged women who like to steal from museums, or whose fathers want to literally destroy and reshape the entire world.
Dick hasn't been in a stable relationship since the 90s, and no, Barbara does not count that's basically a work relationship if anything.
Jason's probably just forever celibate, either by choice or by his face. Not only that, but in his words, "romance books are better than the real thing." Can't wait to see him catch a girlfriend.
Tim has not been in stable relationships and Steph? Even then, he shouldn't be talking. He literally fumbled too many baddies. He should not be speaking on your love life.
Duke says anything about his relationships. He keeps things under tight wraps and lock and key. You wouldn't be surprised if he has an entire family all the way up in Calabasas that he doesn't even speak about.
Damian? Well, he's just like Bruce. He's into women who like to kill him, who are also very much into leather and fishnets and dark eyeliner. Need I say more?
"I'm still going to date him."
And all you hear from the room is exasperated sighs. That's what they get.
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 ;)
