English Muffin

Hobie Headcanons as a Dad

It doesn't matter if he has a daughter or a son, he would one hundred percent teach them to defend themselves, not without a bit of sass of course. "Are you sure you're mine? That punch reminded me way too much of slime bouncin' off the wall."

Shoplifting. Oh, his kid wants a toy? If it's from a corporate store, he's snatching it with ease but if it's something large that his kid wants, he would just make it, or steal small parts one at a time.

Shoulder rides/piggy back rides all the time, play wrestling is always going on.

If his partner has a different accent than him, he would absolutely teach the kid to make fun of their other parents speaking. "Why is our child saying I speak like Donnie Thornberry when I'm angry..?" "Not a clue, babe." He's secretly cackling.

He wouldn't do the reach behind the seat thing in the car and say, "Dad tax". He would reach back in between stops, taking the snack/bag up front so the kids would have to steal the snacks back. "If you can steal it, s'yours."

Hobie as a Dad, would mean you'd find little sketches of his kids in little spiderman outfits with punk flare of course in the pockets of his jeans or vest, and if you just find little cut out patterns for such suits and a homemade sewing machine...no you didn't.

Hobie Doodle <3

What about Hobie Brown with a Hispanic/Latino Partner? :0

Hobie Brown with an Hispanic/Latino S/O!

-If you come back from a family gathering, this man is instantly sitting down beside you wanting to know the juicest of gossip that's been going on, he'll run and grab a bag of chips before sitting back down beside you, eagerly listening to hear how Cousin Alejandro has been getting in trouble with all the ladies while Auntie Eliza is going on her forth husband or something. "No way! What happened next babe?" He asks while shoveling chips into his mouth.

-If you have unruly hair, and need help this man is already sitting you down between his legs and taming the beast of your hair, he's likely had similar experiences due to his own hair being quite thick so he'll always offer a helping hand to his lover. "Did you also sleep right the toaster...but lose?" He wouldn't be able to resist an smile at your unamused face.

-If you bring him along to family gatherings, I don't think he would really interact with the cousins, or siblings of yours around his age, he's mostly playing with the kids, running around playing hide n seek or something, he'd of course be cordial with the other family but kids are much simpler for him to interact with, and kids like him because he's built like a jungle gym. (lovingly, of course)

-I think he would attempt to speak your native or second language if you knew it, its something he'll try to improve on over time, you'll sometimes hear him mumbling about his streak and something about a stupid green bird, but, if you're in the other room you might hear Hobie speaking underneath his breath, "I think im saying this right??"

Sickly Sweet Part II

I shuffle about in the kitchen, buttering two pieces of toast onto a plate before walking over towards the stove, stirring the pot of soup with the spoon sticking out of it. The atmosphere is almost peaceful if it weren't for the sound of a ball bouncing off of a wall coming from the bedroom down the hall.

Tap...tap...tap.

Then silence.

"Baaaaaabe?" Hobies stuffy voice rings out from the open bedroom door, and I can't help the small tinge of frustration in my tone.

"Yes, Hobie?" I call back over my shoulder, opening up a cupboard above the stove to grab a tray as well as a bowl for the soup.

Another beat of silence passes.

"That ain't right...you callin' me by my government name jus cause you're upset with me." He whines.

At that, I can't help but roll my eyes.

"Well, sweetheart if you weren't kissing all up on me when I was sick we wouldn't be in this position." I throw over my shoulder, before facing the soup once more, filling it up to the brim with homemade chicken soupy goodness, placing it on the tray next to the two slices of toast on the small plate.

Another beat of silence before a sneeze rings out from the bedroom, an small irritated groan following afterwards. I begin to walk towards the bedroom, tray in hand and once I enter the doorway I'm greeted with the sight of Hobie, burrowed underneath at least four blankets with a cold compress on his head looking absolutely miserable.

"I ain't pleading the fifth..." He murmurs, looking at me with tired puppy dog eyes, the lack of eyeliner apparent due to him feeling too sick to put any on himself but his natural eye bags are as present as ever. I give an amused huff as I walk closer, setting the tray of hearty food on the makeshift-crate before sitting beside him.

"How are you feeling?" I ask, removing the cold compress on his forehead and replacing it with the back of my hand, checking his temperature. 'still hot' I think to myself.

"Miserable, I think this may be it for me." Hobie grunts, but leans into my hand regardless of how gross he feels right now.

"I'd like to write my last will and testament." He groans. "You'll get everything of course, lovey, but Pav gets my record player, he's been eyeing it for months I swear it-" I interrupt Hobie's tangent with a gentle shove to the forehead, making him lay down on the pillows.

"You're not dying, my god. Are you always this insufferable?" I question although I already know the answer, and letting out a small laugh, I had the same thing not even a week ago and I wasn't nearly as bad as Hobie.

Hobie merely sniffles, and nods. "You love that about me." He comments, familiar cocky smile shining on his lips.

I merely sigh and nod, "Yes, I do love that about you." Unable to stop the small smile of fondness in my face, my hands move and gather the tray of food from the side table, and place it on his lap.

"C'mon, eat and get your strength up." I gently urge, and Hobie sits back up, eyeing the food before taking one of the toasts from the plate and dipping it into the bowl of soup before tearing a bite out of it. He hums in quiet delight at the taste before swallowing.

"Thank you, Sweet pea. Mean it." He says, tired eyes squinting up as he smiles at me, before snuggling himself further into the pillows behind him.

"I don't suppose your bedside manner includes kisses and cuddles?" He suggests with a cheesy smile and eyebrow wiggle, taking another bite of the soup damp toast.

I let out a laugh, shaking my head. "Not happening." I say to which Hobie nods, shrugging his shoulders. "Was worth a shot." He smiles anyway.

Hobie Brown with an asthmatic S/O

This man is stressed, he knows you can take care of yourself but seeing you have an asthma attack first hand has made him a bit of a mother hen at times, even though he tries not to be.

Bundles you extra warm and tight in the winter, and makes sure you have your inhaler always accessible when it's summer or spring.

He knows you have pockets but, just as a small gift he makes a small pouch for your inhaler, adding some stickers to remember him by on it.

When he spars with you, he would check in if he hears you get a bit wheezy. "You feelin' alright, love?" "Yes, babe, just like ten minutes ago." "Jus checking on my trouble n strife is all."

If you have any specific allergies or anything makes your asthma act up, he's removing the source instantly if he can help it. An plant? Gone. An furry animal in shedding season? He's luring the it away with a treat and pets, hurriedly washing his hands before returning to you.

If you forget about your inhaler at times, you're getting major attitude. "You got your inhaler, lovey?" "Yes, babe." "...you're sure." An pause..."yes..." "Then why am I looking at it on the bedside table." Another long silence. "I dunno."

Hot Damn

A simple bet is how your night started.

A simple, yet incredibly irritating bet. Hobie's best mate, Jensen, had opened his fat mouth, likely running on more than enough liquid courage then the amount both Hobie and you had drank in the few hours you've been at the bar.

"I'd bet that you two love birds can't manage to not touch each other by midnight." Jensen bets, his open beer nearly sloushes over the table as he gestures to Hobie's arm drapped over your shoulder, you roll your eyes but you can just feel Hobie's gears moving in his head at the taunt from Jensen.

"Oh? And what are you betting?" Hobie hums, eyeing Jensen over the rim of his own drink, quirking an intrigued eyebrow at his best friend, rubbing his hand up and down soothingly where it rests on your upper arm. Jensen shrugs, before his eyes brighten, likely with an not so good idea you presume. "How about this, you guys don't touch each other until midnight and I'll shut up whenever you tell me to, and I'll even throw in a six pack." He throws in, and you see Hobie look down at you in silent question 'what do you say?' Hobies eyes communicate.

It isn't necessary an...awful idea as you expected it to be, so you nod in agreement. "Deal." You say, taking an swig of your own drink as Hobie retracts his arm from your shoulders with one last lingering touch before placing it on the table as Jensen smiles cheekily.

How hard could it be, right?

Apparently it's about as hard as walking an straight line when you're pissed drunk.

You stew in your irritation, occupying yourself at peeling away the already ripped leather of the booth seat you're sitting on, flickering your gaze to watch Jensen and Hobie playing pool across the room. You think you're the only one suffering from the no touching bet, until you notice the small longing glances Hobie sends you way whenever Jensen turns to line up his pool cue, his eyes lingering on your form as his lips frown in an sympathetic gesture.

You sigh quietly, stopping your picking distraction of the poor leather seat to take another swig of your drink, nearly choking when you hear an familiar voice call out to you, "Hey! I didn't know you came here. What a coincidence." The voice laughs and you turn in your seat, eyes widening in confirmation. It's Jeremiah, your most recent ex. Walking right up to your table.

You clear your throat as you muster an tight fake smile, absolutely caught off guard from seeing Jeremiah after months of not running into him, debating if it were truly an coincidence.

"Jeremiah! What a...pleasure, I didn't expect to see you here either." You laugh, although it's tinged with nervousness as you push down the disbelief you're feeling. You glance over at Hobie, expecting him to be unbothered playing with Jensen still, freezing up slightly when you're met with Hobie's unimpressed pointed look at Jeremiah, looking him up and down, before his gaze meets yours, with an much softer look although it's still cautious.

You nod, reassuring Hobie from across the room that you've got this. Hobies shoulders lose a bit of their tension, his grip on his own pool cue loosening as he nods back, giving his own reassuring small smile before turning his back to return to playing with Jensen. Hobie knows you can fight your own battles although that doesn't stop him from glancing at you out of the corner of his eye every now and then.

Jeremiah settles himself across the booth from you, his eyes taking you in as If it's the last time he would ever see you. "Well, you certainly have changed, haven't you?" He hums, leaning his hand on the table top. You give an small shrug, "Yeah, that's kinda what happens when you don't see each other for months." You murmur, looking at Jeremiah with unimpressed eyes. Your split with him wasn't necessarily messy or emotional, he just claimed to have lost feelings and you both parted your own ways.

Jeremiah chuckles a hint bashfully, "I suppose you have a good point." He smiles slightly, his eyes drifting down to where your hand rests on the tabletop, his hand beginning to move not so subtly towards yours.

"I was thinking we could-" Jeremiah is cut off by an quick flash of color, an arm placed right between Jeremiah's hand trying to meet yours, slamming against the table "So sorry." Hobie's unapologetic voice says, his hand pulling back with one of his many rings in the palm. "Forgot my ring." He smiles unrepentantly although the smile doesn't reach his eyes as he places the ring back on his index finger. You're sure there weren't any of his rings on the table when he left..

"Oh dear, don't tell me I'm interrupting." Hobie says as he slides into the booth seat beside you, his tone filled with sarcasm, he seemed hell bent on letting this poser on knowing he wasn't welcomed as he glares expectantly at the man across from him.

Jeremiah practically flinches back in his seat, his hands moving up in an placating defensive motion. "I didn't know she was with someone, I'm so sorry mate." He apologizes, and you can practically feel how wound tight Hobie is as his leg bounces slightly beneath the table with adrenaline.

"Sorry? Nah, nah, you're not sorry but if you're not out of this booth by the time my girl blinks, you will be." Hobie's voice drops into an unfriendly blunt tone, Jeremiah staggers to his feet, taking no chances, you're half tempted to blink just to see what Hobie had planned for him.

Hobie lets out an chuckle, watching Jeremiah retreat to the other side of the bar with such quick feet you'd think his feet were on fire. Hobie leans back in his seat beside you, his arm twitching as he begins to drape it over your shoulder, just barely remembering the bet as his arm hovers, adjusting it to lay over the back of the booth with an irritated huff. "This bet is going to be the proper death of me." He murmurs beside you, and you sigh, nodding in agreement, resisting the urge to cuddle up against him as you normally do whenever in reaching distance of him.

"How much longer do we have?" You ask, bringing your drink back to your lips to take the last swallow of the refreshing liquid. Hobie leans his head back, squinting his eyes as he reads the clock hanging above the entrance of the bar. "Thirty more minutes." He groans softly, you groan along with him at the news. "This sucks." You murmur, rubbing your hands over your face.

Hobie hums in agreement, his eyes drifting over to where Jeremiah is ordering an drink at the bar. "Especially with that bloody poser.." he rolls his eyes, his fingers twitching momentarily as he moves to brush an lock of hair out of your face before pulling back with barely restrained frustration, it doesn't help when Jensen comes by with a tray full of drinks, sitting down across the booth.

"I got the drinks!" He says with such drunken cheerfulness it makes your teeth grit not to mention Jensen being both Hobie and yours reason for being irritated, "Oh, fuck off Jensen." You and Hobie say in unison. Jensen just sighs, used to this treatment, "Why does everyone hate the guy who brings the drinks?" He murmurs.

Thankfully about twenty five minutes goes by swiftly, partly due to the nice liquid distractions in front of you. Hobie seems to still be tense, gripping his drink tightly as he drinks at it, his attention seeming elsewhere while his foot taps against the ground beneath the table, you're more interested in listening to Jensen yap on about his girl troubles, using that as another welcome distraction than losing the bet and accidentally touching Hobie out of pure instinct, although your distraction excuses himself to the restroom leaving you wanting for more juicy girl drama.

The clock on the wall begins to ding, indicating it's midnight, you don't even have an moment to think before you're hoisted from your seat beside Hobie and into his lap and spun around to face him as something hard presses into your inner thigh. "Alright, if any of you don't want a show, get out!" Hobie announces to the bar, before his head ducks into the crook of your neck, pressing hot open mouthed kisses and nips to the sensitive flesh there, your protests getting caught in your throat.

There aren't many patrons in the bar, thankfully, but the ones that are there begin to already shuffle out, even the bartender decides to fuck off, merely telling Hobie to lock the door behind him once we're done. Jeremiah is seen gawking at the bar, rooted in place. Hobie turns his head to face him still nuzzles into your neck, sneering slightly. "You had your chance, mate. She's all mine now." And to prove his point Hobies large hand comes down to your ass, squeezing and fondling you through the fabric of your jeans, making you squeal slightly as he rocks you against his erection in his jeans, the friction hitting against your clit just right.

"Be a good lap dog n' scram." Hobie huffs, one of his hands moving to shuffle your shift up, pushing past your bra to suckle at one perky nipple, you can't help but melt into his touch after so long of being restricted from him, wrapping one of your hands into his wicks to push him further into your chest in encouragement, you don't even notice Jeremiah rushing out with an small barely noticable limp, he's going to be nursing his own excitement all by himself it seems.

Hobie continues to lavish that one nipple before pulling back to give an similar treatment to the other, swirling his talented tongue around the sensitive nub. You whine impatiently, grinding your core against his erection through his pants, he grunts at the friction, moving back to look at you with blown pupils, his hips rising upwards to meet your needy movements.

"Tell me who you belong to, lovey." he huffs, his head burrowing back into your neck, biting and suckling purpling love marks. Your back arches as he finds your sensitive spot on your neck with familiar expertise, "Mmfh- I'm all yours, only yours." You reassure him softly, your hand still gripping gently into his wicks.

Hobie groans against your neck before he pulls back, "That'll do it." He nods, lifting you out of his lap to stand before quickly hopping out of his seat, unbuttoning and pushing past the confines of his pants while you do the same, once both barriers are out of the way, he gently but firmly bends you over the tabletop, giving your ass an quick appreciative smack, rubbing it when you turn your head to glare at him half heartily. "You missed my touch didn't you, sweetheart?" He hums, nudging his length to your wet entrance, coating the tip of his dick in your arousal, even in his own need he never fails to tease you at least once. You nod with an whine, trying to roll your hips back onto him, even widening your legs to further entice. "Of course I did! Please just fuck me." You huff with an hint of desperation, trying to look back and see if Hobie at least looks like he'll be merciful and fuck you properly.

Hobie chuckles, one hand moving to wrap gently around your throat as he leans over your back, "So impatient, be a good girl n' take it." He murmurs against the shell of your ear you don't have a moment to call him a hypocrite before his hips move forward, his cock sliding in with barely any resistance from your wet walls welcoming him inside, the both of your groan in bliss as the wonderful feeling of being connected.

"That's it baby, so good f'me." Hobie groans, beginning to thrust into you, pulling almost all the way back until sinking back in with deep strokes, finding an rhythm quickly, you can't help but whimper beneath him, your hands in front of your to steady yourself from his deep thrusts. His grip on your throat remain gentle and sweet, his thumb stroking softly at the marked flesh of your neck.

"O-only for ah~ you." You choke out, barely heard over the sound of wet skin on skin, and Hobies heavy breaths and groans. His dick twitches inside of you, his head goes into the back of your neck as his thrusts falter for just a moment. "G-goddamn.." he curses, "Sweetheart, if you keep saying stuff like that I won't last fer' much longer..." He pants against your neck, the hand not on your throat holds your hip steady, as he pounds into you.

Your walls flutter around him, as the coil in your belly tightens in arousal as his words hit a certain chord in you. You practically purr as your hands turn white on the grip on the edge of the table, you know it isn't a good idea but fuck it, you're already here. "Not gonna fuck, a-ah~ me proper?" You tease through your moans, and that seems to be Hobies final straw, he growls before the hand on your hip drifts to your inner thigh, lifting it up before he thrusts up into you, way deeper because of the new position. "This 'proper' enough for you?" He huffs into your ear his accent thickening, not waiting for a response as he thrusts up into you like his life depended on it, his hand moving further, moving your thigh onto his forearm while he begins to apply just the amount of pressure to your clit the way you like it.

You yelp, your hips bucking at the sudden stimulation and your orgasm practically crashes down on you, Hobies name getting caught in your throat. Hobie hisses at your walls clamping down on him, his own orgasm ripping through him as hot thick ropes of cum flood your velvet walls, you both cry out together as you share your climaxes, Hobie softly fucks you through it, prolonging your pleasure, murmuring soft praises into your ear and for a moment, you're both panting and basking in the afterglow until an door is heard creaking open.

"Hey, where did everyone go?" Jensens clueless voice chimes, Hobie and you look over just in time to see Jensen return to the main area of the bar, his eyes widening comically at the sight of Hobie leaning over you and his hand still gripping your inner thigh, your lower half practically on display.

"Hot damn.."

"Fuck off, Jensen." You and Hobie groan in unison.

Sickly Sweet

Like Clockwork, every year in the spring I get sick. Be it the flu, extreme irritable allergies that won't go away or just a stubborn cough. It happens.

I groan, trying to shuffle some of the blankets that are cocooning and holding me hostage in my boyfriend's bed off of me, searching for a moment of rest from being so hot.

"What do you think you're doin'?" Comes from the doorway, and I practically deflate at the sound of that cocky voice I love so much.

"Babe, I need a minute without these blankets suffocating me." I quietly hiss, glaring at Hobie.

Hobie only walks closer, stopping right by my side to take the damp rag from my forehead and placing a fresh and cold one in its place.

I can't help but tense up at the sudden coldness of it but it becomes very welcomed after I get used to the feeling.

"Is this really necessary..?" I huff, but Hobie merely gives me an raised eyebrow look, and I roll my eyes.

"Open up, Lovey." He says, grabbing the thermometer from the crate-makeshift side table. I only glare at Hobie, eyes narrowed in refusal and pure stubbornness. "No."

"No?" Hobie repeats, an amused smile rising to his lips, shiny piercing at the corner of his lips catching in the dim light of the bedroom lamp.

"No, this is childish and I don't want to-" I'm interuptted by Hobie swiftly catching my jaw in one hand, placing the thermometer gently into my mouth and under my tongue, shutting my mouth around the thin piece of metal.

"Hush and let me take care of my darling, alright?" He murmurs, eyeing the thermometer and me with his own stubborn yet loving look.

All I can do is sigh and nod, letting Hobie keep me trapped underneath piles of blankets, fetching me cool rags to place on my forehead and hope I don't sweat to death.

Hobie Brown with an insomniac S/O

-Hobie probably has some insomniac tendencies as well, so the both of you might stay up together until one falls asleep, covering whomever falls asleep first up with an blanket.

-Hobie would try to be the one to head to bed last if he can help it, making you a soothing tea or snack in attempts to relax you to bed before him OR he would blast his punk music and get to you to dance with him on the bed, trying to tire the both of you out completely in attempt for sleep. It's usually the second option.

-He would totally suggest an pillow fight, sometimes you'd be just watching something on the television late at night and, you'd have a second to react before a pillow would be thrown in your direction. "To the death!" Although it would mostly end with the both of you panting on the floor, having exhausted yourselves running about the apartment, dodging, ducking and smacking each other with pillows. "Worth it." Hobie would wheeze.

-If you're not feeling up to a snack or a midnight mosh pit in your room, Hobie is more than content to just hold you in his arms, while one hand is either rubbing up and down your back or fiddling with your hair murmuring softly about his day, and when you finally fall asleep to his voice, he would just admire for a few moments, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead and whispering tired reassurance for your dreams. "S'all right there, Sweet pea."

Hobie Brown Quirks Headcanons

-Do not bend down in front of this man if you're either his partner or very close friends, he is smacking your ass, regardless of where you are, without shame. When you turn around to scold him, he has an carefree grin on his face, hands up in mock innocnce. "I 'ave not a Scooby Doo what you're talkin' bout."

-He will curse out inanimate objects. Stubs his toe on the way out of his place on a loose floorboard? He's cussing it out, he accidentally gets wacked in the head by a branch? he's flipping it off. His reasoning is, "I ain't about discrimination, everything can be cursed out."

-I don't necessarily see Hobie being a messy person, being punk doesn't equal having an messy lifestyle, however he will have his days where he wakes up, with an ungodly need to clean. he's tying his hair up, and has an armload of cleaning supplies, and just cleans top to bottom. I just see him having a blast cleaning with his favorite playlist in the background bumping, nodding his head along to the beat as he sweeps.

-Pins. Pins and stickers everywhere. His mirror has the edges covered in stickers, with a bit of spray paint edging the rim as well, the back of his door? Covered completely, stickers overlapping from different shows he might have been out to completely random ones. He for sure has multiple pins that's "Kindly Introduce the Rich to my Fist" related. He sees a bucket full of stickers at local businesses? He passes by a few times a week to scope out which ones he doesn't have.

General Hobie Headcanons!

-He definitely carries a penny in his pockets just so he can use, "Penny for your thoughts?"

-Has the randomest shit in his pockets. Crumbled pieces of paper? Check. An half eaten bag of chips he was saving for later? Yep. Turning those tiny crumbled pieces of paper into balls to toss at Miguel when he isn't looking? You betcha.

-Snacks non stop yet gains nothing. He would be wandering around HQ bored as hell and eating his chips in one sitting, then eat a burger, then drink an soda in like ten minutes and still be hungry. He would stare into your soul while refilling his soda in a water cup down at the spider cafeteria.

-Hobie just has the warmest hands. He's a heater, so he gets warm very easily so him wearing crop tops and tanks should be expected frequently, I see this man just chilling in his boxers briefs at his place, absolutely miserable in the heat and only giving one word hums or grunts in response to anything he's asked.

-He has stabbed himself with his pins on more than one occasion. He switches out his pins depending on the day, but he has some sentimental ones that he refuses to take off. "Ova' my dead body, more like."

-definitely has a weird sense of humor and talks to himself on the daily, although most of it might be late night delirium because he is for sure a night owl. "Is darkness just the lack of light or is light the lack of darkness?" A pause..then a whispered continuation. "Am I just darkness with the lack of light???" Proceeds to stare at his hands as if they personally wronged him.