i hate labels - hobie brown (;spiderpunk) x oc/reader

wednesday 28th may 2025 - 3:21am

this better be good.

that's all i could think as i clambered up the fire escape, fully convinced i was about to have to fight for my life. i'd even donned my suit, something i prefer to avoid. believe it or not skin-tight spandex isn't exactly comfortable.

'it' turned out to be none other than Hobart Brown.

though Hobie's never been to my place, there's no point in asking how he found me, seeing as we have an in-built honing device.

it was an odd conversation.

"why didn't i do that thing and sense you?"

he didn't even feign surprise for my benefit, just glanced over his shoulder in recognition. i tore my mask off. it was awkward being the only one wearing one, okay?

"testing some new tech, disguises me. good to see it's working"

had it not been for his hair, i probably wouldn't have recognised him. he wasn't wearing his vest, nor his mask. his voice was low and flat, and it took me a second to fully process what i was seeing, if i'm honest.

"still got that place?"

he'd been sitting on the edge overlooking a desolate alleyway, bags and mask in hand. his luggage pulsed and shone in his hands, scraps of colour poking out at random as his clothing no doubt overflowed. he even brought his guitar.

"you're asking as though you aren't standing on my rooftop right now."

i joined him on the edge, i'm barely perturbed by the height anymore. barely. sometimes it still gets me a little wonky.

"you caught me."

when he finally did turn to face me, i knew instantly that whatever he asked, i was going to say yes. darkened circles had formed around his eyes, and he wore that same look of stress. he was wearing his same suit from earlier, only now it showed visible signs of distress.

gashes across his shoulders, effervescent blood just beginning to soak through. in his hand, one lens on his mask was cracked, the other glitching impossibly. on his wrist, i noticed both his watch and a second band, which glowed a deep purple, though it was noticeably damaged. even his spikes had been messed up, with multiple missing and one or two snapped at the base.

"sure. long as you need, dude."

i offered him a fist, expecting him to slap it away or scoff. instead, he actually fist-bumped me, before following me down the fire escape once again.

his stuff is all over my room. if i had attentive parents, i'd be worried about his guitar half-strewn into the hallway, but i don't, so i'm not. i had originally expected him to collapse the second we reached my room, but he had a weird amount of energy. nervous energy, i wanna say, but what do i know.

so we went out.

it was nice to have someone else to patrol with, and i got to show him a few sweet spots around the city. granted, he spent most of the time with his little wired headphones strapped to his head, deep in thought. i tried to pry them off him, i promise, but the bastard is strong.

at one point, he spoke up unannounced.

"thanks for this, man. things are...messy."

we had been hanging from some random bridge downtown, our feet firmly planted to the underside, our hair dangling into the void below. if we'd fallen, the water would've felt like concrete. but we never do. i moved forward to swipe at his hair, catching a dread in my palm and watching as it sprung back.

i remember wondering why he didn't say things were messy at home. i still do. what about the cops and his identity?

"all good, man. you'd do it for me. i mean, you have."

he scoffed, obviously, and attempted impossibly to fix his hair whilst upside down.

i chuckled and brought myself to a cross-legged position through use of my webs, which anchored me as i sat. he joined me after a typical period of silence, leaning on my shoulder. i wont lie, his hair was in my mouth a little. but i didn't mind. too much.

"you got school tomorrow?"

ugh. i groaned. i groaned just now, writing this!

"sadly."

"we'd better get going then. 'gotta be all studious tomorrow."

he smirked as he said this, and i can't help but worry he'll make an appearance at school again. he wouldn't. but then again, he already did. at lunch. and he 'doesn't believe in consistency'. he confuses me.

as i write this, he's star-fished across my bedroom floor, half-sprawled over some couch cushions, half pressed against the wooden floor. he doesn't seem to mind, i mean, he's snoring. his headphones are still vibrating around his ears, and i can faintly hear the bass from here.

he strummed his guitar a few times, kicked his boots off, and collapsed within the span of 5 minutes, leaving me here, writing this. virtually alone again in this empty apartment. it's nice to have him here. don't tell him i said that.