Astv Hobie - Blog Posts

Rotten || Part 2

Summary: Second chances only come to those who deserve it. You aren't sure if your husband should be considered as a deserving person. Characters/Pairing: Miguel x GN!Reader Word Count: ~900 Warnings: angst, A/N: This was asked to be turned into a part 2 by @bat1212 a while ago and I completely forgot :(( sorry for keeping you waiting!!

Ever since you had walked out, a bitter taste had left its permanent place in Miguel's mouth. He had done nothing but watch the love of his life walk out of their house as if they were nothing to him. He had already lost his old life, and then there was the one he stole from his alternate self. An alternate version of him who was happy, who lived with you and your daughter... up until the incident. When he met you in this world, he swore he wouldn't let anything hurt you. Yet here he was being the soul reason that your chest ached and heart broke.

Your phone was hot, ready to blow up with the number of calls and texts that your husband had been spamming you with. Most ranged from 'call me', to extensive apologies and begging for forgiveness. It would never be worth it.

How could you forgive him after he threw away everything he promised to you?

As your phone rang for the tenth time that night, you finally decided to answer. it wasn't an easy decision, already knowing that the sway in your silent treatment would break your faux confident demeanour. "What is it?" The sigh that slipped past your plump lips was pathetic, a giveaway to how upset you truly were. You could sense Miguel's hesitation before he even spoke.

"I am sorry," he began, "I wasn't fair to you.."

That pathetic excuse of an apology wasn't enough for you. You shook your head, standing in the street as the cool air dug its cold claws into your skin. You shivered and had to fight off another sigh. "Miguel, sorry doesn't cut it anymore. I have had enough of your treating me as if we aren't a team, as if we aren't literally married!" Your voice began to raise, the rush of emotions forcing you to pause before you say anything else that you would regret. Typically, Miguel would have scolded for you for raising your voice at him in his own brash way. Tonight, he chose not to. He was too hard on you, too distant and it was eating away at your once beautiful marriage.

"You're right.." He sighed softly, leaning his back against the headboard of your bed, "Sorry doesn't cut it anymore." He admitted quietly. His eyes shut and his hand came up to pinch the bridge of his nose. He'd neglected his partner for too long. "Come home, my love.. Let me apologise in person. Even if that isn't enough, you deserve to hear it." His words sounded sincere, but they still made your stomach churn. Were you seriously about to go back on your own words and crawl straight back home into his arms? It had only been a few hours since you left and yet you already missed the warmth of your shared bed.

"I can't, Miguel." Your words were stern, even as your bottom lip quivered. If you were to come home, fall into his strong arms and listen to his words you knew exactly what would happen. You would listen to his apology, the sweet little words of your lover professing his undying need to have you in his life as if it was the last thing he'd ever do. You would break, falling back into the cycle of leaving and crawling straight back at the drop of a hat.

Perhaps that's why you found yourself in the cab, still talking to Miguel. You heard his sigh of relief as you muttered your address to the driver, smiling shyly as you sat in the back seat.

"So, you are coming back?" His voice was borderline teasing, poking at your buttons until you'd huff and tell him to be quiet.

"I won't if this is how you're going to be," your grumbled. For a moment you paused, closing your eyes as the car began to move. "Will you run me a bath? I'm cold..." You admitted, only to hear the gentle rumble of his laughter. Although you were both still on edge, neither of you could deter yourself from the need that panged your chest.

It wasn't long before you were home, clothes thrown to the floor as you sunk deep into the bath that Miguel had drawn for you while he impatiently waited for you to come home. His fingers rubbed against the top of your calm, caressing your knuckles as he leaned his head against the edge of the bath. While you basked in the warmth of the water, he settled in your presence outside of the bath.

"Let me make things right.." he whispered, kissing your palm. As you looked down at him, you couldn't help but nod.

"Okay.." you sighed, finally forgiving your husband.

it's your decision! Both will be updated evantually<33

intro !!

blue || 13/03 || PCOS & POTS || masterlist

My blog is intended for those who are 6teen and above. Some topics that I write about can and will be triggering at times, so viewer discretion is always advised!! I will have warnings on all posts that I believe need them!

I'm open to most ideas and am always accepting requests!! (pls im desperate to write). All of my fics are x reader and gender neutral unless stated otherwise!! I also write on wattpad under @blue-sky336 however I post more on here!!

pls be aware that I am a full-time uni student studying a very content heavy degree so I will only be posting when I am able to!!

love y'all x

Mountain

Summary: You're sick of being Peter's therapist Characters/Pairing: Peter x Fem!Reader Word Count: 420 Warnings: light angst, use of the word mum once A/N: why are all my old fics so short :((

"I cannot keep doing this for you." Your words started soft. The conversation was inevitable. The lost sleep, stolen from the spider itself, the trauma and consequences that followed were catching up to the both of you. Peter knew it was coming sooner or later.

"I can not keep taking care of you every night. You can't expect this from me." You placed your bag down on the kitchen counter, the contents beginning to fall out.

"I never expected it from you-" He tried to say. Your hands gripped the counter, knuckles white in pure anger.

"But you did! Every single night you came through my fire escape, bleeding out and sobbing, delirious! And single every night I would fix you up. Even when I was sick, or in pain or hurt, I always patched you up. It isn't fair that you expect this from me." Your words came out rushed, heart hammering against your chest. Rough hands touched your shoulders, trying to calm you down but you pushed them away. Your words were finally caught in your throat, a sob bubbling in your chest like an unruly potion in a cauldron.

"I am not your fucking therapist!" You yelled, "I am not your own personal nurse, or your mum!"

Peter stood dumbfounded at your words. There was no going back from this argument, and he knew it. Besides, you were right. He had expected you to help him. He believed that since you were his forever loving and caring partner that you were willing to risk your own mental health over his physical health. Yet, you couldn't. There was no universe where this would end well.

Attempting to reach out once again, Peter exhaled shakily and gently touched your shoulder. "Please..." He spoke, squeezing your joint through the fleece jacket, "I can fix this. I promise, I can fix all of this. Just give me another chance." The brunettes' words were beginning to sound panicked, yet you couldn't care anymore. He was the cause of your emotional turmoil for the past year. You were no longer willing to be the one to bear the consequences of his actions, especially when you were on the brink of your own emotional demise outside of your relationship with the man.

"No," you shook your head, "I'm done."

The corners of your lips turned up in a hateful and tight-lipped smile. Seeing his distraught expression made you feel powerful, your decision to leave now set in stone. Peter felt you slip through his fingers, watching with nothing but helplessness now as you walked towards the front door. Reaching for your keys, you turned back once more.

"Goodbye, Peter."

Partners

You need a break and Gwen is determined on making you see that.

Warning: mentions of fainting, tingling sensations, slight angst, school just sucks tbh, tooth rotting fluff at the end <3 this was a request that I put off for way to long 😭

"You need to stop at some point." Gwen's voice rang through your ears.

The conversation you had gone through days before had stuck with you, a constant sense of dread at the thought of it jinxing you. School had started just a few weeks ago and you had already decided to take extra credit classes, working harder to achieve the grades that you had missed by a few marks the last term. You knew the consequences of your actions; the insomnia that would follow. Yet, you didn't think it would be this bad.

This was your third sleepless night. You had layed in bed, tossing and turning until ultimately giving up on any slither of hope you had about sleeping. Instead, you turned to your phone and decided to watch the latest binge worthy show until dawn rolled around.

Your alarm rang yet you were still awake, dark circles under your eyes that gave away just how you felt. Your head was pounding and your eyes itched with how dry they were. You didn't bother with breakfast and just got dressed in your uniform, wanting nothing more than to get the day over and done with. Besides, all you had were a few classes (one of them being AP chemistry which held a certain dreaded spot in your heart) which would be easy enough to get through... Or so you thought.

You had barely made it to your first class without tripping over at least twice. Your legs felt weird... to say the least. There was a dull throb in your ankles and a slight tingling in your feet. You could barely hear Gwen calling out to you from behind you. An echoing ring filled your ears, one that didn't sound like the school bell at all. Your arms grew heavy. Whatever books you were holding clattered against the floor. It wasn't long until you were beginning to find that the floor was coming closer.. or maybe you were falling down. It was hard to register, eyes fluttering shut in a matter of seconds. Yet you never touched the floor.

Gentle arms wrapped around you, catching you just before you completely hit the floor. Gwen's eyes had widened and she attempted to swallow back all thoughts of worry. "I knew it.." she muttered. There was a tingle that ran down her spine just moments before you fainted, a tell tale sign that something wasn't right, but it wasn't the only reason she knew. As she scooped you up, pushing your books into the corner of the generally empty hallway to retrieve them later, she thought back to your previous conversation just days prior.

Gwen spoke your name softly. "You're pushing yourself too much.. school has only just started." Her words came off a little more rough than she'd liked. The way you rolled your eyes rung through her memory. You flattened your hair, turning back to look at her. "I'll be fine. I have to anyway." You weren't wrong. You thought you would have been fine, but you must have forgotten just how your mental and physical health was affected when you piled school on top of your home life. The blonde only shook her head. "You know what happened last semester..." She sighed.

It seemed to be at least an hour of slipping in and out of consciousness before you came to. Your head was throbbing, but your legs didn't tingle anymore and your arms didn't feel as heavy. The room blurred for a moment before your eyes fixed on one particular thing.

Gwen was sitting next to you. She had stayed there throughout her last class just to make sure you were okay. You could tell by the way she anxiously bounced her foot and fiddled with the anxiety ring you had bought her last Christmas. Her gaze softened at the sight of your less ghost like paleness. You swallowed hard. "I know.. I should have listened to you.." you said with sincerity, brows furrowing.

"I'm not mad at you." Was the first thing Gwen said to you, reaching for the water that rested on the small table beside the bed you were laying on. It took you a moment to realise you were in the nurse's office. She held the bottle out towards you. It was her own, covered in colourful wrist bands from music festivals and concerts. "I wished you listened to me. You know you can't take on that much.." she said softly, no matter how ironic it was.

"I do know." You sighed.

"I'm here to help you. That's what partners are for." Gwen swept a stray peice of hair from your face. "Drink up okay? Then we can truly talk."

The corner of your lips turned up in a sweet smile. "Thank you, Gwen." You spoke, taking a small sip of the cold water. You felt more like yourself than you had in a while.

"It's my pleasure.." Gwen smiled, speaking under her breath.

Summary: Peter can't stand that little black dress Characters/Pairing: Peter x Fem!Reader Word Count: 470 Warnings: 18+ mdni!! female anatomy mentioned a couple of times, smut, MJ and Peter have split up A/N: Idk if anyone else needs him, but i need him

You had been Mayday's babysitter for a year now. In this year Mayday had become quite close to you.

Unknowing to you, so had Peter B Parker.

Lingering glances and touches sent your way only became obvious at the Christmas party Peter invited you to (one that MJ was holding). You weren't the babysitter that night as they had hired a second person to do your job.

You thought it was weird, but oh well, you got paid enough for what you did anyway.

Your outfit consisted of a black shimmering dress, slimming and extenuating in all the right places. You wanted to make a good impression, especially since you were just a babysitter to everyone there

you noticed just how long Peter's hand seemed to linger against your hip when other people were around

The way his fingers dug into your flesh, sending shivers down your spine in the most pleasurable way

In a way that left you wanting more

The whisper and touch of his soft breath against your neck had your knees weak, buckling under the pressure of his presence

His hands grip your thighs as he pushes you against the kitchen counter, hiding from the curious eyes of the party

"Stay quiet.. don't want them to know about our fun, do you?"

His words have you shuddering again, head rolling back against his shoulder as soft lips press against your pulse

You feel the slight drag of teeth and whimper

Peter is enjoying each little whine and squirm he's gifted with. Unbeknownst to you, he's been eyeing you all night long, desperate to gain your attention so he can whisk you away from the sight of people who claim to be so close to him

He drags you up the stairs, exchanging dirty words over hushed whispers

"Can't wait to feel you wrapped around me, baby.."

He has you pinned against a wall before you know it, hands exploring the supple skin underneath your clothes

Peter seems to seamlessly peel your panties off from under the dress, leaving you somewhat exposed as the black fabric scrunches at your hips

His fingers leave bruises in your hips that last for days. The red handprint on your ass didn't seem to disappear for a while either

Your moans and whimpers are music to his ears. It's hard to stay quiet when he's so adamant on lapping at your pretty cunt until his mouth is covered in your slick.

He has you in every position imaginable.

On your knees, fucking your face like there is no tomorrow, legs spread on the bed while your hands fist the sheets. Knees thrown over his shoulders as his tongue flicks against your clit.

All he wants is to please you...

And he does just that.

Your knees are sore the next morning and knuckles are still somewhat white from how hard you clenched the sheets

Your dress seems to be ruined, and you can't seem to find your panties anywhere

Peter greets you with coffee and a smile as if nothing happened, but you take note of that longing look in his eyes that shows he wants more than just one night.

Heartthrob to Heartbreaker

Hobie Brown x Civilian!F!Reader

Tags: Fluff, slight angst, established relationship, hidden identity, slight stalking, pinning to bed, neck kisses

Summary: Hobie and you have been dating for 10 months but you haven’t met his second identity, and so when he begins to follow you around, and gift you flowers as Spider-Punk, you can’t help but be creeped out. At one point he gets a bit too close, forgetting that, to you, he was a stranger, causing you to panic when a media article paints you two as a couple… you worry what Hobie thinks

A/n: Inspired this work by @tenaciousduckpoetry. Specifically her idea of:

“Flirtatious! Hobie who shamelessly flirts with you as Spider-Punk to the point where news articles are written about spider-punks mystery s/o”.

Enjoy meine Lieben!

You and Hobie had been dating for roughly 10 months, although he didn’t like labels he found his ways of making it clear that he still saw you as his girlfriend, and loved being your boyfriend. You’d spend most nights at his place, cuddled up in his arms while watching a movie, or lying on his lap reading a book while he played his guitar.

You loved spending all the time you could with your boyfriend, preferring to be in his home over anywhere else. Especially since recently you’ve been catching the attention of your city’s spider-punk. He’d often ‘bump into you’ during his missions, accidentally pay for your daily coffee before you even get to the cafe, you’d even catch him watching you through your windows when you were at work.

You tense when you hear a soft tap on your window, seeing as you were on the 10th story you knew exactly who it was. You turn your head and see a familiar face, hanging in a spiderweb hammock, with his head in his hands and looking at you.

You stand up and sigh, walking to the window and looking at him unimpressed. He just gives you an exaggerated wink and watches you, the soft roundness of the eyes of his mask, and the way they look into your own coming across as affectionate. As if he was looking at you in adoration.

You reach for the chain of the blind, closing it on his face. You can hear a soft huff from behind the glass, watching his shadow disappear from behind the blind. You smile and go to sit back down at your desk, hoping to get back to work.

Throughout the rest of the day you spot the spikes of his mask poking over windowsills, or can see remnants of his webs on the pillars outside the building. You try to ignore all of it and just focus on your work, seeing as it was an important project due in a few days.

When you finally leave the office the receptionist stops you, calling you over. “Mrs! Before you head out, someone dropped these off” you give her a look of confusion but she then holds up a bouquet of flowers, a variety of wildflowers, not one of them looking identical to another.

You couldn’t help but immediately think of Hobie, knowing he’d give you something so inconsistent. You give her a smile and grab the bouquet, admiring it. She then adds “The rather tall gentlemen looked quite similar to our spider-punk” she winks at you and you blush, your smile dropping at the reveal that it wasn’t from Hobie.

“O-oh?” You say and she just nods. You press your lips into a fine line, but then smile at her before leaving. “Thank you Julie” she smiles and then has you chuckling softly as she adds “Of course, more than happy to deliver your secret admirer’s gifts”

You walk out of the building, looking around. So sure you would see him on the walls of the building, or hanging off a street lamp. But he wasn’t there, you let out a sigh of relief and begin to walk to Hobie’s place.

You relaxed the more time that passed without seeing Spider-Punk. On the way home you pass by a restaurant with empty vases on the outdoor tables. You pop your head in and get permission from the owner to put the flowers in the vases.

You spend a few minutes separating the flowers into groups and placing them in the vases. You then let out a sigh, dusting your hands and walking off. You didn’t want to come home with flowers from a stranger, especially when you were going to your boyfriend’s apartment.

When you’re roughly 10 minutes away from Hobie’s place, you hear footsteps behind you, they’re quiet but get closer to you. Just when you turn your head to see who it was, Spider-Punk moves to stand in front of you. The shock of him being so close causes you to step back, pressing your body against the brick wall of a building.

His face is an inch from yours, causing you to blush a deep red as your eyes go wide. “Hey love” he says and you swear his tone was eerily familiar… but you brush it off and decide to focus on getting back to Hobie. “H-hi… sorry but I need to go.” You go to walk off but he places a hand on the wall, leaning over you, simultaneously blocking your path.

“Oh yeah?” He says and tilts his head, you watch as he eyes you up and down and your unease turns to anger and irritation. The way this stranger was looking at you had you uncomfortable. “Yeah. To my boyfriend” your tone was stern, and your expression dropped to indifference.

He lets out a chuckle which vibrates through your body, it felt teasing, almost mocking. He leans in closer, tilting his head slightly to whisper in your ear. “Boyfriend? Hm isn’t he a lucky man?” The way his breathe tickles the sensitive part of your neck through his mask had you blushing again. You place your hands against the wall behind you, trying to ground yourself.

Before you could respond there’s a flash sound next to you, turning your head you notice a few people having spotted the scene and taking photos. The flash coming from a paparazzi. Once you spot them you can hear a soft scoff leave Spider-Punk as he pulls back from your neck, turning to look at the paparazzi as well.

It’s then that a few people run up to the two of you, asking… no, shouting their questions at you and Spider Punk. Ranging from “Care to comment on your relationship?!” to “Spider-Punk, who’s this little bird?” You stand there, frozen in place, all the attention having you like a deer in headlights.

It’s when Spider-Punk leans towards the paparazzi and says “Well… this here is my little bird” that the people start shouting more questions, getting louder, but you ignore it as you look at the Spider with a incredulous expression. You scoff and then lean forward, so you’re talking directly into his ear “I’m not your bird. I’m taken asshole”

He turns his head towards you, and you swear you can sense a smirk under his mask, you just scowl at him and then shove him off you. It earns a few ‘ooo’s and you then stomp off, brows still furrowed as you continue to make your way to Hobie’s apartment.

Just as you’re around the corner from his place, your phone begins to buzz. You assume it’s a message from Hobie, asking where you are, but instead it’s from a friend. A, seemingly, hastily typed message in all caps, with an attached link.

You open the message and you stop in your tracks as you read it. ‘OMG I LOVE HOBIE BUT I DIDNT KNOW HE WAS AN OPTION?!?’ You open the link quickly, it led you to an article. You read the headline with shaking hands, causing the phone to shake as well… it caused your breath to catch in your throat.

‘Heartthrob turns to Heartbreaker; Spider-Punk spotted with Secret Sweetheart!’ You then see the photo of you and Spider-Punk from a few minutes ago. You notice how it was front page news, as you look at more news websites, and just see that photo and over again. Then reading how they quoted him calling you ‘His little bird’.

Your mind immediately thinks of Hobie… what was he thinking seeing this? You then start sprinting, your heart beat quickening as you get closer to Hobie’s apartment. You finally reach it, running up the stairs and going to open the door, fumbling with your keys from your nerves before finally getting it in the lock.

You swing the door open and throw off your shoes, running into his bedroom and spotting him lying on the bed. When you run in, breathing heavily, his eyes focus on you, placing his phone on the bed and standing up. “Oi, love what’s wrong? You alright?” He walks up to you, placing his hands on your shoulders.

You look at his phone on the bed and see he had the article open, you then can’t help as your eyes well up. You grab his hands in yours, holding them in front of you as you begin to ramble, trying to explain what happened, your breathing turning shaky.

“Hobie listen it’s not what it looks like! I-I don’t know him, I don’t know why he’s so obsessed with me! I swear I didn’t know he was going to do that… he was just following me after work! I swear Hobie!” Your words begin to break, soft sobs leaving you as you feel a few tears slide down your cheeks, blazing a trail for more to follow.

Your hands were shaking, you were looking into Hobie’s eyes, desperately trying to find whether he was angry, or felt betrayed, or wanted to break up with you. The thought of losing him because of some stranger had your mind reeling “please… you have to believe me” your voice getting weaker, more quiet.

Hobie’s face drops, turning serious, and appearing guilty. “Aw love… come’ere” he lets go of your hands, wrapping his arms around your body, pulling you tightly against his chest. “I believe you…” he rubs your back comfortingly, kissing your head as you begin to cry harder.

You close your eyes, crying into his chest, wrapping your arms around his torso, feeling safe in your boyfriend’s chest. “Take deep breaths for me yeah?” His voice was soft, trying to calm you with his words. You nod softly and then start to take deep breathes, feeling your heartbeat finally slow.

“There… that’s a good girl.” He had a soft smile on his face, looking down at you as if you were the most delicate but gorgeous thing in the whole world. Once you’ve calmed down a bit, you pull your face out of his chest and look up at him. “Y-you’re not mad? You don’t want to break up with me?” Your questions left him speechless for a moment, his brows furrowing.

“God no love, I would never do something so daft” he brings a hand to your face, tucking a few stray hairs behind your ear with a smile. “B-but the article?” You go to say but he silences you with a soft kiss to the corner of your lips. He then pulls away and guides you to sit on the bed.

“Stay here. Lemme show you something.” You nod as you watch him step out of the room, when he comes back… well, he doesn’t come back. Instead Spider-Punk enters the room. Your eyes widen and you scoot back on the bed a little. “Hobie?!” You call out, trying to look behind the masked man.

He then raises his hands in the air “s’alright love…” you look back at him as he takes off his mask. Revealing the devilishly handsome man that is your boyfriend. Face piercings, naturally half-lidded eyes, signature smirk… the whole nine yards.

You sit up and then stand up off the bed. You raise a hand, placing it on his cheek, your eyes looking him up and down. “Y-you’re… Spider-Punk?” He nods his head, softly grasping your hand in his, turning his head to kiss your palm gently. “What’d I say eh? You’re my little bird” you feel relief rush through your body at his words.

After a bit, you began to feel slight agitation, pulling your hand away from his face and hitting his chest lightly. “You scared the hell out of me! I really thought some stranger was obsessed with me!” He chuckles when you hit him again, catching your wrists with his hands and pulling you against him again.

“Luckily… now you know it was just your boyfriend who’s obsessed with you” you froze slightly at his words, having never explicitly said he was your boyfriend. It made you blush slightly and he smiled, leaning down and kissing you softly. You melt against his plush lips, feeling how they seemed to mold with yours.

After a bit he pulls away and then furrows his eyebrows, “Where’d ya put my flowers?” You widen your eyes and give an awkward chuckle. “Well… in my defense. I didn’t know they were from you” at that he pulls away slightly, feigning a shocked expression. Clutching his chest with a hand, while putting on an exaggerated frown.

“You got rid of em? You cheeky girl!” He then lifts you up by your waist, throwing you onto his bed. You let out a soft yelp but chuckle as he climbs over you. Grabbing your wrists and pinning them above you on the bed. “I can’t believe you” he pouts and you can’t help but smile.

You scoff and then teasingly retort back “I can’t believe you thought it’d be a good idea to flirt and stalk me as Spider-Punk” He shrugs, smiling down at you. “To be fair… I thought you’da recognized me. The guitar, the voice, the way I knew you’re sensitive right… here” he leans into your neck, softly blowing on the same spot Spider-Punk - well… Hobie - did earlier. You softly shiver and he begins to kiss at your neck, you can feel the smirk on his lips.

“Now that my secrets out… I’d love to show ya all that Spider-Punk has t’offer”

Unresolved Feelings

Summary: Hobie has been nothing but nice to you, sadly, you can't return the favour Characters/Pairings: Hobie x GN!Reader, minor Gwen x GN!Reader Word Count: 800 Warnings: mention of canon events, death, panic attack, emotional distress, angst

"I can't even look at him Gwen." Your words came out trembling, eyes watering. "I can't look at him or talk to him. I-.. I can't go on another mission with him. I almost got us killed!" Your rambling was never-ending. The look in your eyes sent chills down the young woman's spine. It was something she recognised herself, however not on your face. Dark bags covered your cheeks, pupils small and hair a mess. Your clothes were the same that you wore yesterday, meaning you probably slept in them.

"It's okay. We can talk to Miguel.. He'll understand." She said your name so softly, hands coming to rest upon your shaking shoulders. A hiccup slipped past your swollen lips and you almost started crying again. "I'm sure we can fix this." Gwen offered a sympathetic smile, thumbs wiping away any stray tears that dared to fall down your soft cheeks. "Come on, let's get you in some clean clothes and brush your hair. Then we can go talk to him, okay?" Her words were so sincere and comforting that you couldn't help but be embarrassed about your sudden emotional outbursts.

You nodded.

While getting ready, with Gwen pulling some clothes out for you to put on and helping you brush back your hair, you were completely lost in your thoughts. Hobie came to mind and the memories followed.

Hobie was your canon event. In your universe you worked as a variation of spider-man. Hobie was your best friend, your ride or die, the person you promised to look after no matter what; and you failed him. In a moment of quick thinking where you could have prevented his death, you faltered and instead, he ended up 6ft underground. The memories left a cool shudder running down your spine. Goosebumps formed across your arms and the hair at the back of your neck stood at attention.

"He won't understand, Gwen. This is useless." You spoke quietly, rubbing your face as if that was going to get rid of your eye bags. "This isn't going- you know what Miguel is like! If anything this will make it worse." You huffed through your nostrils.

Gwen just shook her head an rolled her eyes. "You're a pessimist." She sighed softly, squeezing your hand ever so gently. "I promise it will be fine."

Of course, by the time you had made it to Miguel's 'office' you were feeling a little bit better. Gwen had reassured you that Miguel might listen, and you wouldn't have to see Hobie again. Part of that pained you. In fact, part of you longed to crawl right back into his arms as if nothing had ever happened. The thought of simply inserting yourself back into his life flashed through your mind, following by the look on his face as he fell. You couldn't put him through that again..

The conversation went... okay. As okay as it could go. You were now free from any interactions with Hobie Brown. You felt so conflicted. Gwen understood your pain. Seeing such a close friend die and then to be confronted with that same person, but not your own version is traumatizing. The amount of unresolved trauma that comes back is overwhelming; no wonder you were getting no sleep.

On the way back to the lobby you were confronted with this unresolved feeling. The same punk rocker that you had been actively avoiding was marching his way towards you, a slight frown on his hollowed face. Your heart was racing, your head almost spinning. He stood in front of you and yet you couldn't move. Your feet were frozen, eyes staring into the deep brown of his own. You felt like crying again, but nothing came out.

"You've been avoiding me."

His words didn't come out as harsh or controlling, but rather concerned.

"Get out of my way."

"That doesn't change the fact that you've been avoiding me." Hobie said your name in the same way that your version did. Your shoulders shook slightly, head hung lowly.

"It doesn't fucking matter- okay? You didn't do anything! So get out of my way, Hobie!" Your words were harsh. Your tone was conflicting against your thoughts. No matter how much you wanted to run into those familiar lanky arms or playfully flick his chin, you couldn't, because this man wasn't your Hobie. The Hobie in front of you was a stranger. One that you only had superficial feelings too, and one that you could never be nice to.

The pained look he gave you made your heart ache within your chest. He didn't say anything and just stood to the side, taking a step out of your way. Your mouth moved but no words came out. Instead, you forced your feet to move before you did anything that could have been even more stupid than your outburst. You left him standing there with your head now held high in an attempt to seem strong.

Hobie could see through your act. You couldn't fool him.

Rotten

Summary: You're sick of Miguel treating you like shit Characters/Pairing: Miguel x GN!Reader Word Count: 342 Warnings: angst, Miguel deserves a jump scare warning in everything A/N: why are all my old fics so short :((

"Everything I did was to protect you!"

Those words were etched into your brain. How dare he tell you that. He hasn't thought of you since your wedding night.

Every day you heard the same excuse for why Miguel wasn't at home. Lyla would send a message, 'Sorry, Miguel won't be coming home tonight, work is keeping him late.' Every single day! It was pathetic and you knew it. You stuck around because, 'love conquers all', right? Fucking wrong.

Today you had finally had enough. You had bottled so much anger that all you could do now was boil. Your face grew red, cheeks hot in pure rage. You could hear your own blood rushing through your body in tidal waves, adrenaline causing your heart to thud against your chest. Your stomach felt like it had flipped inside out.

"For me? Oh, Miguel. You have done nothing for me!" The words slipped out faster than your mind could think. "You have been a selfish, piece of shit since the moment I met you. It just only took me two years to fucking notice." Your feet moved forward and before you realised your finger was hitting his chest with every word that slipped past your swollen lips.

Angry tears poured down your cheeks. "I have waited. I have been patient! I have let you dump your sob story on me. I did everything to make sure that you weren't going fucking crazy! I sacrificed my own fucking sanity for you! God, how I wish I had of ran away the day that I married you."

Your words hit him like knives in the pit of his stomach. His mouth ran dry. It was the first time you had ever seen him entirely speechless. Usually he had an excuse, but you supposed he had used them up in the two years you were married.

"Nothing to say, yeah? Guess you wasted all your excuses. You don't deserve me, Miguel O'Hara."

That was the last night you saw Miguel O'Hara and you were happy about it.

Soft!42 Miles who only wants what's best for you. He provides for you through his work as the Prowler.

Soft!42 Miles who enjoys the feeling of your hair between his fingers, the look of peace on your face as he combs his fingers through your hair is like pure heaven

Soft!42 Miles who likes to leave small notes on your mirror telling you just how perfect you look

Soft!42 Miles who also wants to take you on so many dates that he has a list on his phone of all the places you mention enjoying or wanting to go to.

Soft!42 Miles who likes to hug you from behind, face hidden in your shoulder as he smirks against your plush skin.

Soft!42 Miles who melts everytime you call him a term of endearment, no matter what it is.

Soft!42 Miles who just wants to hold you in his arms each and every night, knowing that you are safe and loved.

Flirtatious! Hobie Brown who can't help but lean in close to your ear and whisper the sweetest of compliments just to witness the blush on your face.

Flirtatious! Hobie who knows just how much you love it when he calls you by pet names and will use it to his advantage. "You got a sec, sweet pea?"

Flirtatious! Hobie who enjoys the way you throw back the best comebacks to his pickup lines

Flirtatious! Hobie who shamelessly flirts with you as Spider-Punk to the point where news articles are written about spider-punks mystery s/o.

Flirtatious! Hobie who loves the feeling of your breath against his ear when you whisper back how stupid that pick up line was.

But most of all, Flirtatious! Hobie who can't help but smile every time he sees your blush because he knows he's the one who caused it <3

Baby Fever

Summary: Hobie calls you over while babysitting Mayday. Characters: Hobie x GN!Reader, Mayday Word Count: 434 Warnings: fluff A/N: n/a

"You're getting pretty soft there, Hobes." You flashed a gentle, loving smile as you watched his long arms drape over Mayday.

"Nah, I'm not bruv." He huffed through his nostrils, his face just teetering on the edge of a smile as he looked down at the toddler. There was something about that little girl, 'Spiderling' as most of HQ called her, that literally had his heart melting. Despite how tough his exterior was he didn't think he'd ever be one to deny babysiting Mayday.

"I don't know, babes. I think I can see you melting right there." You teased, hand coming to gently run over the sleeping toddlers head. "Isn't she just the cutest?" You whispered, leaning in to press a small kiss on his cheek.

"She's just a rebel in training. Gonna be the best anarchist, ain't ya?" He hummed, looking down at her with that gentle smile of his.

Accidents Happen

Summary: Hobbie's medusa piercing gets stuck on your septum ring after a more heated make out session Characters/Pairings: Hobie x GN!Reader Word Count: 447 Warnings: minor mention of claustrophobia, panicked reader, reader has a septum piercing A/N: no one can tell me Hobie wouldn't look hot af with a medusa

"Oh my god.. Hobie. Hobie it's stuck." You words came out rushed and almost slurred, lips swollen and bruised from the harsh kisses your boyfriend had given you just seconds before. The once passionate moment was beginning to fizzle into nothing more than a dying ember at the bottom of a fire pit. You knew you should have flipped up the jewelry embedded in your septum and now, here you were with Hobie Brown literally stuck to your face.

"When people joked about you being stuck to me, didn't think you'd take it seriously, luv." His words came out teasingly, hands still gripping your hips. With a gentle squeeze of his hands he leaned in the slightest bit to close the small gap between your lips. "No. Hobie- it's.. it's actually stuck." As much as you loved the intimate way in which he was so close, you were also beginning to feel claustrophobic.

Your face heated up, cheeks going red and breathing becoming the slightest bit more rapid than your previous panting. Hobie's thumb caressed your cheek. "Lovely, it's okay. Take a deep breath for me, yeah? I'll get you out of here." His words were comforting.

You took one deep breath in, held it for four seconds and slowly exhaled. He glanced at your eyes and then to your nose, seeing just how tangled you really were. The slightest movement would tug on the silver jewelry between his tip lip and nose.

"m just gonna bring my hand up to your face, 'kay?"

He knew it wasn't going to help your panicking, but now that you were slowing your breathing he was more confident in his decision. Long fingers came between your noses. He brushed against yours, smiling a little when he noticed that sweet look in your eyes. In a few swift movements he had unscrewed the ball of his medusa, catching it in his free hand. He pulled back slightly and was quick to put the ball back on, not wanting it to get lost.

"That's better, innit luv?" He grinned mischievously.

"Much better. Thank you, Hobie." You sighed softly, feeling a lot freer than a few seconds ago. His hands began to move back to your hips. You flipped your septum ring up into your nose and giggled quietly at the gentle strokes of his thumb against your waist. "Let's get back to what we started, hm?" Hobie suggested, leaning back into your lips.

Touch starved! Hobie loves to have his hands on you. His hand might be on your hip, in your back pocket, fiddling with your ring finger, etc.

Touch Starved! Hobie who doesn't care who sees him kissing your neck, marking and biting just to get any taste of you.

Touch Starved! Hobie who leans in every time you pull away. Your touch lingers against his cheek, leaving soft sparks against the tinted skin.

Touch Starved! Hobie who lets you do his eyeliner because he loves the feeling of being close to you. Having you in his lap with his eyes closed and the most dazed look on his face. He's in heaven.

Touch Starved! Hobie who sprays his pillow with your perfume because he finds your scent so attractive.

Touch Starved! Hobie who's always got his arms wrapped around your waist from behind when standing around HQ. No one has ever seen you two apart, you're practically attached at the hip now.

Touch Starved! Hobie who is desperate for any touch you're willing to give him no matter if it hurts...

Sure, Next Time.

Summary: Hobie only comes to you after trouble Characters/Pairing: Hobie x GN!Reader Word Count: 1.4k Warnings: Blood, injuries, dislocated finger, hurt/comfort A/N: Pls bear with me as I attempt his accent lmao

It didn't necessarily surprise you when Hobie accidentally let it slip that he was Spider-Punk. You could recognize the sticker abused guitar and stressed leather jacket anywhere. What did surprise you was the number of injuries he sustained and how easily he could hide them from you. If he had a limp his excuse was, "Tripped in my boots, luv." Any other injuries he used the excuse of having started a fight with some capitalist douchebag. And you believed it. It was only until he came back for you to patch him up after every battle that you began to truly let your anxiety feed into it.

Hobie had climbed through your window at 2am. The sun was nowhere to be seen, and the moon was shrouded in clouds. You had become a light sleeper as of late, the rise in crime getting on your nerves and preventing that precious rest you craved.

You woke up at the sound of those familiar heavy boots against your tiled floor. Squinting, you recognized the familiar shadow of a certain spider-man, or at least the shadow of the spikes on his head. "Hobie?" You reached to turn on your bedside lamp. Tired eyes squinted as the warm light enveloped the room. Your voice was scratchy from having been woken up at an ungodly hour. Your hair was all over the place, strands in front of your eyes and sticking out in ways that you didn't know it could. You thought this was a dream with how Hobie had frozen like a deer in headlights at the end of your bed.

Hobie thought he could just slip in and out, weaving his way to your bathroom and taking a couple of bandages for his trip home. He was wrong and now look at him. He had barely made it to your house in one place and there was no doubt that he was not making it back to his own. All his weight was on his left leg, he was using a web connected to your roof as leverage to keep him upright. You could see a dark stain seeping through his mask just above where you assumed his left eyebrow to be. You suspected there to be more than what you could see through his mask but would have to wait until you finally got him to the bathroom sink to find out.

The corners of his lips turned up as he watched you struggle to untangle your legs from the bedsheets. "Need some help, luv?" A shit eating grin adorned his face, but you couldn't see it. Even when he was injured, he still managed to make your cheeks flush in embarrassment.

You rolled your eyes. "I'm just fine." You huffed, finally finding the floor against your feet and taking steady steps towards the injured man. You didn't see him using your roof as leverage and silently cursed yourself for taking so long. "You better not pull out my roof with that web. Otherwise, you'll be the one dealing with my landlord." You huffed only half-joking. Humour seemed to be your coping mechanism. "Don't get all funny on me now, luv." He chuckled, sounding worn out and in pain. You helped him through your mediocre apartment, having draped his arm over your shoulders and letting him rest his weight against you as you walked (stumbled) to the bathroom.

With a slight huff through your nose and grunt that you wished was silent, Hobie was now sitting on your toilet, the lid shut. He was too tall when he sat on the sink (you found that out the first time he came over) and well, you didn't have much room up there to begin with. You crouched to the cupboard below your sink. In a Spider-Punk themed box (made by you to tease Hobie) was a consistent supply of bandages, disinfectant wipes, alcohol wipes, splints, etc. There was everything you could think of that someone would need when injured. You made this box not long after the first time Hobie came back with blood dripping from his forehead, and you didn't have anything to help. That night was filled with gentle apologies and worried glances.

"Can you take the mask off, Hobes?" You mumbled, having pulled the box onto the sink. You turned to watch him, tired eyes noticing just how he flinched when he moved his arms to push the mask over his head and tossing it to the floor. His hands were trembling, one of his fingers looking to be the slightest bit out of place. The cut above his eyebrow was bleeding profusely and it looked as if part of his piercing had been pulled on.

"'s not as bad as it looks." His hands gently moved to rest on your hips, eyes glancing towards the worried look on your face before moving to the roof. "Not as bad as it looks. Baby, you've probably got a concussion... No, you've definitely got a concussion." You mumbled, hands already digging into that spider-punk themed medicine box. You managed to pull out some baby wipes and a few alcohol wipes. Adrenaline was coursing through your veins, heart thumping in your ears. Your hands came up to caress his face, taking a baby wipe to gently wipe the blood dripping down his face. There was a visible wince and a hiss of pain that came from the touch. Hobie's long fingers gripped the fabric of your pyjamas.

"I'm sorry, Hobie..." you muttered, trying to be as gentle and careful as possible. Once the cut was cleaned and a bandage was placed over it, it was time to move to his finger. "I'm even more sorry about this. We're gonna need to put it back in place, okay?" You were kind of glad you took that health course in high school now.

Hobie let out a groan, too tired to respond with words, but it was clear he was not looking forward to it. His hands released their grip on your hips and instead were placed in your palms. "Okay, we're gonna count to three and I'll put it back in. That good, baby?" You asked.

The suspense was killing Hobie, he was already in pain as it was. He's had dislocated digits before, so he understood the importance of getting the limb back in its socket as soon as possible, but that didn't mean he was going to enjoy it. He nodded. "Yeah, okay." He hummed in response. Except you didn't even count. You waited until he spoke up and quickly pushed the digit back into its socket, earning a muffled (still loud) groan of indescribable pain. "I'm sorry! Fuck, I'm sorry. It's over now." You apologized, wrapping his swollen wrist in a compression bandage. The tears brimming in his eyes and the sick pop of his finger had you feeling queasy. You felt your stomach flip and not in the usual happy way it did when Hobie was around. However, you pushed the feeling aside, hands resting on his cheeks as you leaned in to press a small kiss just to the left of his bandage.

"Let's get you to bed..."

After finally fixing up his injuries the two of you had found yourselves lying in bed. Hobie was next to you, one arm drapes over your stomach, the other resting under his head. His lips brushed against your cheek.

"I worry about you. About what you're doing." You spoke quietly, glancing back into his eyes for a moment. "I know it's for the greater good, but seeing you come home in the middle of the night half dead every day is- It's not nice." You rambled quietly before finally going silent.

He huffed through his nose, although it wasn't angry. "I know, luv. Gonna give you a heart attack one day." he joked, pressing his lips to your temple. "I love you." The words came out quiet, barely leaving his lips before you turned to face him.

"I love you too, Hobes. But next time you get a dislocated finger just go to a doctor. I literally felt sick from that." You mentioned, earning a small nod and a deep chuckle.

"Sure... next time." He mumbled in response, closing his eyes and wrapping his arm around you securely. There was no need to worry about the outside world as long as you were in his arms.

What the ASTV Boys Love about you!

Warnings: does fluff count??? Lots of fluff lol, slight mention of panic in Miguel's section, reader is mentioned to know Spanish

Tried keeping it as gender neutral as possible!

Miles Morales

- The way you call him, mi vida. You already knew some (or were fluent) in Spanish. However, you didn't necessarily speak it often. There weren't much times where you needed to other than around family. So, when you first called him 'mi vida' he basically malfunctioned. His cheeks went pink and his jaw dropped, but he snapped back quickly after you called his name. It was so simple but he truly new you were the one.

Pavitr Prabhakar

- Where to start.. This man loves everything about you, from the way you look to the way your mind works. Personally, I think his favourite thing about you would be how you look when you're concentrating. Whether you poke your tongue out or bite your bottom lip, he's so entranced, watching you with the look of a lovesick puppy. He enjoys seeing you so passionate about something.

Hobie Brown

- He loves the way you hold his face when you're fixing a bloody nose or a cut above his eyebrow. Heck, he loves the feeling of your slightly calloused yet still soft hands against his sharp cheeks. The way you're so apologetic when he winces as you're cleaning a cut, but you scold him after just so he knows you're serious. It has his stomach doing happy little flips knowing you care so much about him with just this simple touch.

Miguel O'Hara

- He loves the minimal physical touches you offer. The gentle brush of fingers or a simple caress of his shoulder. It's comforting, but not overwhelming. He isn't huge on PDA, so you not being overly touchy is something he loves so dearly. It's something where touch says more than words. He knows that you understand when he's stressed or upset when you give his hand a squeeze, a gentle reminder to help him ground himself.

Peter B Parker

- He loves your hair. Whether it's short, long, or a mohawk. He loves how soft it looks, the gentle touch to it. His favourite thing is to touch it while cuddling. You could be wrapped up in his arms and he'd somehow be twirling your hair between his forefinger and thumb. It's more of a habit. You know how some baby's play with their hair to go to sleep?? That is exactly what Peter does, but with your hair.

Forgot to say these can be platonic or romantic it doesn't matter honestly

I've been having the most adorable ideas for a hobie x reader or e42/1610 miles x reader fic but I can only remember 2 rn.

One is where reader is nonbinary but afab and they're on their period. They get really bad gender dysphoria because of their cramps constantly reminding them that they're afab and Miles or Hobie comfort them and it's really sweet and it's all fluff.

My second idea is an Japanese reader who is obsessed with Japanese legends and myths specifically ones that have to do with school like Hanako-san of the toilet (GO WATCH TBHK IT'S AN ANIME BASED ON THAT MYTH AND IT'S SO GOOD) or ones where you have to go to an abandoned building. I would especially love it if during some school breaks you and Miles/Hobie go to Japan and go try and see if those myths are true or not for little dates. You've also been to Japan with your parents who moved from Japan to America ever since you were a toddler so you know Japan more specifically Tokyo like the back of your hand so you show Miles/Hobie around and some really cool restaurants and stores.

I just am really craving for someone to make these ideas a reality but idk if anyone's willing to do this bc it's so specific 😭

Hey I’ve been stressing over college and I’ve been in the biggest art block of my life

so take some Oc drawings and our favorite Anarchist because I finally saw the movie a few weeks back✨

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

➼ No beta we die like uncle Aaron

➼ No warnings! Just fluff here

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

How the FREAK do Miles and Hobie fit their hair under their masks?

Before anyone tries to gaslight me on this, I myself am a black person. I have an afro. I currently have an afro right now as I'm typing this post. I know how tough it is to tame that thing. So please tell me how Hobie and Miles have these cool big hairstyles, and yet their hair fits under the mask perfectly as if it's completely short (when it's not). It's like all their hair temporarily disappears. That high cut Miles got would make him look crazy when the mask gets on IRL. Not to mention, imagine how crazy it'd look once he took it off. Hobie's result would be even worse. And for those who think I'm overreacting,

Look. Look at the photos

LIKE, YO, HOOOOWWWWWW?!?!?!?!?!?!

The introduction

Gay people, rise up. It's Hobie time.

Warnings:

-swearing

-Miguel O' Hara

(This takes place around two and a half years before the main story, I'm working on organizing it into a masterlist rn)

You don't know exactly where you are.

That's getting more and more common these days, though, so you don't hold it against the very upset-seeming Latin man or the weird asshole hologram lady, and look forward to the small camera before you.

"I'm- I'm really sorry, what is it I'm supposed to be doing again?" Your hand finds the textured, plastic back of the chair, and you run a thumb over the grain to soak in the feeling. The man whose name you're already forgetting scowls, and he steps forward.

"Can you just- Lyla, can you do the thing?" He sounds annoyed. It makes you shrivel in on yourself, smile sheepishly as you pray that you'll make it out of today without having to deal with him any more than this.

"What thing?" Lyla, as you find out her name, seems to revel in that question, cocking out her hip in that too-big jacket and grinning as she responds.

"The information- explainy thing. You know what I mean." Lyla crossed her arms, and stuck her tongue out a little bit.

"Hah, you're talking about a different thing. You know, for someone with such thorough naming conventions-"

"I know! I understand, I get it, ay-" You've just been sitting there this entire exchange, borderline shaking as you try to understand what the fuck is going on here.

The screeching on a loud guitar makes you jump, and cover your ears. The frustrated man glances for a second, before nodding ever so slightly to Lyla, who seemingly makes a note somewhere.

"Sensory sensitivity, got it-" She speaks as you lower your hands, eyes wide and anxious like a feral cat trapped in a corner.

The big man seems to soften his posture a bit more, but he balls his hands into fists before stomping off in the direction of the guitar.

"Alright kid. Let me help you out a little here." She swoops through the air until she stands behind the camera, and gives you a seemingly more considerate smile.

You hear the shutter open.

"Introduce yourself." You don't think you pulled a face at that, but the way Lyla reacts, you simply must have. She sighs, but remains patient.

"Like your name-"

"My name??? No, no, no, no, no. I wanna do this my own way." She steps back, puts her hands up causally, before she seems to blip out of existence again, seemingly content to let you work this out on your own.

The camera is, in fact, scarier alone, but you swallow down that fear and start to talk.

"Uhhh- Hi. I'm- I- I- I-" Words seem to evade your idiot mouth as you look down the lens of the camera, before you pinch the bridge of your nose.

"Motherfffff-" You cut yourself off at the "f", remembering the single, beady eye scanning you, the piercing vertical eye of the moitor at it side that likely shows you there, too. So you correct yourself. "I shouldn't say that."

"Y- Ugh, goddammit. Webs, spider, you get the gist. Call me Orb-" Before you can finish your poorly-planned little clip, the door opens, but the cadence of the footsteps are different.

There's a stupidly lanky boy there, with a guitar on his back and adorned in spikes.

Twists stick out from his scalp, honeyed a nice yellowish at the ends, and he wears a lip ring and earrings, though they don't go up past the lobe very far.

He seems to be made of some sort of collage, infinitely shifting snippets of newspaper and color in his little backdrop as he changes color. Currently, he seems to be sticking to gray. It's neat, but you don't yet know how it works and that only sours your already confused mood further.

You frown a little, he seems to catch it.

"Oi, mate. Who're you?" Wow. He is stupid British. Some part of your brain lights up with that, chews on the way that voice rings through the space.

Not rich, from the slang, and he's clipped, so you guess somewhere South-East, judging by the jacket, near Camden.

The punk seems to squirm a bit, and he less confidently says "Wot the fuck's up with you? You're starin'"

You feel your cheeks heat with shame, but you speak up.

"Not staring, just… observing. It's different." He raises a brow, but lets you finish.

"I like your twists. Very… cool."

He pauses, before taking one of them into a gangly hand. You see the corner of his lip twitch up but you don't know why

"Thanks."

There's a moment of dead air, but you both ask the same question at once.

"Do you know why we're here?" "Do ya know why we're in this shithole?"

You meet his eyes. They're a nice brown, your brain supplies, but they would look much better in warmer lighting.

He starts to giggle. You think his laugh is funny, and chuckle too.

"Right, I guess we should get to know each-other if we're stuck here, yeah?" He's walking over now, asking that question like you know what you're doing.

"I'm Hobie. Hobie Brown." He doesn't offer a hand. You're grateful for that, this has all been too much already.

"I'm Orb-weaver." Your voice is flat enough to make him raise a brow, but he shrugs, seemingly fine with dismissing that as just how you are remarkably fast.

"All business, huh?"

"No. My name is just on a need-to-know basis right now." You answer, and he leans on the edge of your chair, smiling.

"What if I-"

"You don't need to know." His lips lose some of that smile, and, for a second, you flounder to fix that, at any cost. But you can't tell him your name.

"But… I appreciate your tenacity." It's a compliment, one of the rare ones that you give, and Hobie seems to register that, because the papers surrounding him shift again and he turns… pink. Huh.

"That sounds like a label, mate, I don't do those."

"What?"

The recording stops.

The conversation doesn't.

Why Hobie disappears

Not very long, just a little thing I wrote! Features/warnings:

Hobie is protrayed as very much being genderqueer in some way, shape or form, and is referred with he/they/she throughout the story + one instance of the reader calling him "girly" which Hobie explicitly enjoys and is implied to have talked about beforehand.

Reader is implied to also be genderqueer, and Hobie refers to them as "big man" once, they also stim when they get excited. Other than that, gender neutral reader and no warnings, just silly fluff!

It's widely understood that Hobie in himself is a wild sort of enigma. This is why no one really seems to question where he's going or why, what he plans to do. Hobie is just... Hobie, and he Hobies around until he leaves and presumably Hobies around some more wherever he trotted off to. Gwen and Pav wonder about this, because after every mission (or, at least, the few that Hobie bothers with), he just sort of magically slips off and reappears sometime later. It's Pav that suggests tracking him down, but Gwen would be a liar to say she's not also curious.

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You sit on the floor, cross-legged with a punk at your side and a sewing machine in front of you. Tartan weave rubs against your fingers as you sew darts into the fabric, ensuring it would fit just a bit more snugly at the waist, because Hobie really liked that sort of thing in clothes. "Y'want a cinch, right? Nothin' too far off your usual?" Just in case, you double check. Hobie looks up from his guitar, and nods. You don't really note that he's smiling, and he knows you aren't, but the corners of his lips twitch up anyway. "Yeah. Thanks again, bruv, couldn't ever do that shit like you." There's something in his voice that makes you smile, nod a little firmer than normal. Hobie knows that. "Yeah, yeah, 'nuff with the flattery, I'm on it." Truth be told, this little symbiosis of Hobie giving you projects to work on and you giving him much better clothing in return has grown into something much more significant. Friendship. Even when you weren't working on anything, taking a rare break to clear your head, Hobie would let you sit near him (regardless of if you were in a talking mood or just wanted to be quiet for a few hours), sometimes talk about what he was doing, sometimes teach you a little tidbit about his universe's idea of how punk works. It was similar, for the most part, but you liked to learn new things anyway, so it never hurt. Your skilled fingers thread the machine before you as Hobie continues plucking at quiet chords with the guitar. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Gwen and Pav felt like this search was endless. For at least an hour, they had found a grand total of nothing, like Hobie really had vanished into thin air. He wasn't at his place Gwen had checked, so he was probably somewhere at the Spider Society, but tracking down someone so rebellious that no one bothered to ask where he was going was proving to be ridiculously difficult. It takes another half hour to find one of the smaller rooms of the Spider Society, a little sort of craft-haven and quiet space. Pav cracks the door, and gasps a little. "Gwen, Gwen, look at this." ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ When you take the now-fitted shirt off the machine (with a slight skirt you'd added made of scrap fabrics), you grin, and toss it to Hobie. "Try it on, fucker, should be perfect." Your confidence isn't misplaced, it seems, because when Hobie taps your shoulder to signal that it's good to turn back around, they're a fucking vision. Smudged eyeliner, torn pants, and the little suspenders, all the same, but with your work, cinching at the middle and showing off the wonderful lines of form, tracing down their hips until the skirt cuts off mid-thigh, Hobie looks so much more at home in it. "Fuck yeah!" Hobie smiles when you jump up and flap your hands a little, lets you circle them like a hungry shark as you rave about the new thing you'd tried, a different stitch or something. Hobie couldn't care less what you did. It was something you had made, and that was enough. "Beautiful, can't believe you're lookin' so good, girly." The tender, feminine nickname makes Hobie's chest thrum a little with satisfaction. She knows you know that she loves it when you do that, when you use other pronouns just to show her that you know and care for her preferences. "Thanks, big man. 'Preciate it." Now its your turn to grin, and wrap the punk up in a tight hug from behind, stupidly happy and content. Hobie is nonchalant. You are not. It works well. The lanky Brit smiles, and pats your hand around their waist. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Gwen and Pavitr had stood stock still as they watched this exchange. It was deeply shocking to them. Hobie, who was hanging out and being nice with some random, excitable spider that neither of them had met before. And this other spider seemingly knew things they didn't if Hobie's little smile was anything to go by. Gwen, however, softens. Hobie had his confidants, and she has hers. Maybe that's why she gently pulls Pav back, and smiles at him. "C'mon. Let's get lunch. Hobie's doing his own thing."

Why did I make this? Idk, don’t question it 😃