#black pvc gloves | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

whatifyoulivelikethat · 2 years

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how pretty, m | pjm

pairing(s): jimin x reader

summary: You catch Park Jimin in a... comprising position. As in, he's a bit... stuck. Sigh, okay, he's in a black vinyl catsuit but now he can't unzip the back zipper himself because he can't lift his arms higher than his shoulders since the damn thing is too tight and he's sweating buckets, so can you stop staring and help already???

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; smut (slight dom!reader / sub!Jimin dynamic, heavy petting, fingering his mouth(?), f-receiving oral); yes, I saw Jimin's 'ID: Chaos' preview photos and I got, let's say, inspired; happy Jimin day! :D

p.s. don't forget to powder.

"This is what you needed help with?"

"Er... yes?"

This was absurd.

"I can't believe my eyes are seeing what they're seeing right now."

"Can you stop standing there judging me and just help me get out of this?!"

You held up a hand and staggered back against the doorframe of the bedroom that wasn't yours, the clear indication of needing a damn minute. Maybe several. The person in front of you was obviously in distress and now you were also in distress because for some reason Park Jimin was standing in front of you wearing a shiny, black, full-on catsuit, long black hair sweaty and normally angelic face scowling in annoyance.

You didn't know what was going on but you knew what was going on.

"Hey!"

You cut in before Jimin could say anything more. "Why did you call me?" you interrupted tiredly, slumping in mock dramatics. Not that he knew that.

He looked taken aback. "W-Well, I figured... because you're all... you know..."

You looked at those big eyes and shocked expression and did nothing to help him.

"You're experienced in things like this..." Now you watched the unease and the doubt creep into Jimin's eyes, awkwardly shifting away, eye contact suddenly too much because, hold on, what if you weren't the kinky freak he was insinuating that you were? That would be... embarrassing. "Aren't you?"

You just stared at him.

Jimin slowly turned bright red.

Don't smile, me. You'll give yourself away.

You raised an eyebrow.

"Did you powder?" you abruptly asked.

Amusingly, Jimin reached up with his gloved hand and touched his face.

"Powder? Am I sweaty right now?"

He thought you meant his face.

Cute.

You noticed the back of the arm had a lace-up detail that went all the way to the shoulder. A cool element, but you now realized why Jimin as asking for help. By the sound of that heinous crackling, the material the catsuit was made of wasn't shined latex like you originally thought. Closer to a cheaper PVC or something like that, maybe, which meant the seams especially were undoubtedly extremely stiff. He likely couldn’t raise his arms above his head, let alone reach behind him. Oh, Jimin. You idiot. You get what you pay for. You sighed as he spun around, trying to catch his appearance in the nearest mirror before immediately freezing up when you put your hand on his shoulder.

Yup.

He bought the cheap stuff.

Also, yes, he was very sweaty by now.

"I meant, did you cover yourself and the catsuit with baby powder or something similar before getting in it?"

"Did I do what?" Jimin sputtered, pitch hiking as he snapped back to face you, long black hair all over his eyes. You had a brief glimpse of the silver zipper in the back, maybe a centimeter or two unzipped. Yup, because the material became rigid and difficult to move in once moisture was trapped. There was nowhere for it to go in this unbreathable plastic.

You grabbed his head.

He seized up, caught puppy doing a naughty thing.

You stared right into those pretty eyes of his and chewed at nothing, the left side of your jaw moving as if you had gum. You didn't. This was your thinking face.

You kept your voice very calm.

"Why didn't you ask Min Yoongi to help you?"

Jimin did that thing he usually did when he was mortified and started laughing, until you collected a fistful of his hair and yanked on it, making him yelp and go wide-eyed. Still not really looking at you.

"U-Um... c-come on, I can't ask Yoongi-hyung..." he sputtered.

You didn’t let him get away with it. "You most certainly can. He has experience. He wouldn't bat an eye."

Jimin squinted irritably. "He'll make side comments. He's mean."

He wasn't looking at you. His head was turned to the side, striking profile framed by damp, messy black strands, full lips pulled into an adorable pout.

You could simply unzip him. It'd be a pain to slowly roll this cheap suit off him but you could do it, give him some helpful tips for next time and be on your way. Never speak of it again. Just a secret between you and Park Jimin, who apparently wanted to experiment with fetish wear, probably something he saw in porn that he was into, which was none of your damn business until he made it your business.

And, somehow, Jimin seemed to know details about your business.

Interesting.

You leaned in, your lips to his ear, eyebrow lifting as you neared.

Lingered, low voice like intoxicating smoke.

"I'm mean too."

You reached up and pushed his hair aside, rezipping those last few centimeters.

Those dark brown eyes darted towards you, watching you from his periphery, but he didn't move, frozen at your closeness, your name slowly falling from his lips. A little too breathless and erotic to be anything but what it was.

Your hand raised and tweaked his large silver hoop earring.

Jimin shivered.

You tried very hard not to smile. These little details were important in setting up the scene. You didn’t want to ruin the moment. It took some effort because this was cute, lovely Park Jimin standing in front of you in such a compromisingly sexy position.

You used the seconds that ticked by to remind him that.

And then.

"Pretty," you murmured.

You smiled faintly. There was wariness in that expression, unsure what you meant. Didn't want to be wrong. You could understand that. Admitting your fetishes was scary, unless you were sure of who you were talking to.

You reached up again, but this time towards his chin, fanning your fingers out and caressing his jaw, nudging lightly but letting him take his time to face you. Honestly, the horrendous crispy noise of the cheap PVC was killing your ears, but you ignored it, tilting your head as Jimin shyly and slyly watched you.

"You should have asked me to help you with putting it on," you hummed, looking down and then back up.

His eyes flickered away, embarrassed. "It... It wasn't that hard to put on..."

"You should have also asked me what to buy," you chuckled, stroking his cheek with your fingertip. "There's a reason people wear parts to make it look like a full catsuit rather than the whole thing. Also a reason why it costs so much to get a proper fit and quality material, so you don't get stuck asking the one freaky chick you know to cut you out of it."

He looked startled. "Cut me out of it? Really?! That's..."

"A waste of money? Yeah. But I doubt you'll wanna keep it anyway, because it's gonna smell since you didn't powder to absorb the sweat."

He looked deflated. "Shit..."

"Are you wearing underwear?"

Jimin gave you an indignant look.

You didn't back down. You already knew he wasn't wearing any. The lines would have shown since the material was clinging to every curve of his body. You just wanted him to tell you.

Because you were mean.

You smiled.

He frowned. "W... Well..."

"If you give me permission, I can find out for myself."

Common sense told you to not turn this opportune moment into the intro of a porn movie, but depravity and a dirty mind whispered, do it, so you did what any sensible person would do and let him go, stepping back to pick up Jimin's desk chair and turn it around before taking a seat. Brought your knees together, smoothing out your skirt. Getting comfortable.

Leaned back.

Smirked.

You were wearing your work clothes, which consisted of a white blouse and flowy knee-length navy skirt. Your dark gray plaid coat was by the door, along with your purse. Sheer stockings, thigh-high, but Jimin didn't know that.

Yet.

"I thought it was weird that you didn't meet me at the door," you commented casually. "I would imagine you would want to get out of that as soon as possible."

He chewed on his very full lower lip, visibly trying to come up with an excuse. "Well, what if the neighbors saw?" Nice one.

You shrugged. "Could have said it was a Halloween costume. It's that time of year."

His expression visibly contorted to, aw, shit, didn't think about that.

You gave Jimin very little time to recover from your sensible deduction and cocked your head, smiling far too calmly.

"I'm tempted to order you to crawl to me, but I imagine right now your sweaty constricted knees would loathe that, so I'll allow you to walk over here and sit in my lap."

Jimin was, for lack of a better description, too stunned to speak for several seconds. You spent those seconds admiring the way the material clung to his chest and legs. For as cheap as it was, he made it look like a million bucks. Not one to skimp on the aesthetics. You appreciated it.

"W... Why?" he breathed.

The question hung in the air, weighed with questionable implications.

Many people accused you of not being able to turn it off and what they meant by it was your faintly amused smirk and the way you maintained eye contact when saying things that shouldn't be seductive but were because you were the one saying them.

"I could stand up, unzip you, and pretend nothing happened... or you could sit in my lap so I can thoroughly admire how pretty you look right now, Park Jimin."

If you were wrong, Jimin would be whining and yelling at you to help him right now, but you were not wrong and he gingerly stepped towards you, all about the image, graceful lines and bouncing light off the material, jarring sound in his wake, but you pretended not to notice, instead focusing on his face and the care he took to balance on top of you, straddling both your lap and the chair, putting himself in an even more compromising position.

You placed your hands on his thighs.

He gasped and then tried to cover it up by shutting his mouth very quickly.

You rubbed the hard muscle underneath, listening to the plastic crackle, enjoying it now because you were the cause of it, peering at that beautiful face and those plush lips slowly parting, his breath heavy with sensual depth.

"It looks good on you," you whispered, lightly praising him.

"O-Oh...?"

He knew he looked good. Was just being humble so you could praise him more. You didn't, instead pressing the uncomfortable material into his skin. His face scrunched up a bit, but then relaxed as you massaged him, closer to his hips, closer to his inner thighs, closer to his crotch.

"Are you wearing underwear?"

You murmured softly, like it was a dirty secret between you and him.

Jimin told the truth this time.

"N-No..."

You rewarded him by ghosting your hand over his crotch, listening to his breath hitch, watching his lashes flutter. He didn't give in quite yet, still unsure if he should trust this headspace, but you weaved him into your erotic web, each action adding another silken strand of the fantasy, molding your hands to his ass and squeezing, flexing your fingers as he exhaled. A little shaky, him clutching the back of the chair. You gripped a little harder, tracing the line at the center, below the zipper. Little by little, he fell apart in your hands, tipping his pelvis forward, and now it was obvious, so obvious that he liked it, your indistinct smile becoming a calmly satisfied one, framing his trim waist with your fingers.

"Were you trying to seduce me?"

Jimin glanced at you, the corner of his lips ticking upward, mischief in those lidded eyes.

"Is it working?"

You cupped his erection and palmed it unashamedly, making his eyes flutter closed and his mouth open, tilting his head back, experimentally rutting his hips into your touch. You let him chase the friction, not putting too much pressure but applying solid attention, the black vinyl wrinkling over his toned chest. You raised your other hand and drew circles around his nipples, pressing into the fabric to find them, and now you heard Jimin moan, his lithe body giving in to this new and strange sensation, something dark and dirty about it, something he wasn't used to, something he couldn't do again because you would educate him properly for next time, but for right now...

"Let's have some fun."

You could tell he wanted some control in this situation, but who was asking who for help now? Who was the dirty one thinking dirty things to trick another? Your hands on his waist, pulling him closer, chuckling at his resistance, welcoming it, making his frown disappear with the rise of your fingers, splaying out to trace his lips, framing that hole, watching him try to hide behind bashfulness.

You raised an eyebrow.

Who was looking to cause a little chaos?

His little pink tongue popped out and licked your fingertip, naughty desires in those dark brown eyes.

Pretty could be filthy too, hm?

You half-smiled and shoved your finger into his mouth.

You did borrow the bathroom to wash your hands before entering his bedroom, hence why you left your purse by the door. Not because you had any intention of shoving any fingers in any holes upon arriving, but simply a habit you picked up when you visited places that you didn’t frequent often. There was probably some psychological reason for that, just like how there was probably some psychological reason that you perversely enjoyed the surprise on Jimin's face when you rubbed his tongue with the pad of your fingertip, just like how there must be some reason you enjoyed the tactile warmth and wetness against your skin.

Maybe it was the tendency to always be in your head, always thinking, always internalizing, so you sought out the tangible, the raw, the natural beauty.

Even if it was messy.

Even if it was a little wrong.

It didn't really look that wrong as you dragged your finger out of Jimin's full lips, toying with the softness, wiping his glistening saliva down his chin and onto the black vinyl, listening to the thin moan that escaped his throat, seeing that internal battle in his eyes of whether he liked that or not, taking in the whole image, black hair shadowing his eyes, looking so picturesque and angelic that you almost forgot it was all a little wrong.

You closed your lips around your finger and made a show of tasting his sweet spit, winding your tongue around your knuckle as you observed his expression, fascinated by your every movement, shallow breaths making his body tremble.

"Pretty lips."

You saw the embarrassment flutter into his gaze at your remark.

"Makes me want to sit on your face."

You know that saying, one thing led to another and next thing you know your knees are pressed into Park Jimin’s bed, sandwiching his head between your thighs and riding his face?

No?

Oh.

Well, that happened.

For someone who was most likely quite uncomfortable, Jimin did not seem bothered at all. He let you grip his hips and push him back, let you rise and touch forehead-to-forehead even though he had to bend over slightly to do so, let you breathe on his lips, so close to touching, building anticipation, and then he let you catch his hands out of the air, interlocking your fingers with his gloves.

You licked his nose, playfully.

Intimacy was not only a kiss, and you showed him in every touch, in the hands held and the trust fall onto his own bed, into the push and pull of adjusting his body to your liking, running your hands over his slender frame, cheap vinyl and glossy friction, but you cared not, preferring to circle his body and inspect him at every angle, being obvious and frank about it, reminding him he couldn’t hide.

You removed your panties and climbed onto the bed.

“Last words before I take them away?” you purred, straddling his torso, not yet lifting your skirt.

He had an endearing smile.

“You look extra beautiful when you’re like this,” Jimin murmured. “You should be like this more often around me.”

Oh, damn.

That silver tongue did make the heart flutter.

Seconds later, it made the heart race as you had to reach behind you and clutch his waist, gasping at the warmth, your teeth biting into the hem of your skirt to hold it up, black gloved hands holding your thighs open, and you were right, so fucking right, what a euphoric, addictive feeling, those soft plushy lips accompanied by his nimble, flexible tongue, and he might have looked gentle but there was surprising strength behind that pretty face.

You grinned around the fabric, thoroughly enjoying the image below you.

Jimin smiled back with his eyes, squeezing your thighs.

It would not be that comfortable or safe to sit on his chest, so you held yourself up with your knees and shins pressed flat to the bed, your hands on his waist to anchor yourself, so hot with the layers of fabric and the unbreathable vinyl, and yet there was something about the discomfort that was sensual, that and the tension in your thighs, the inability to make all the noise you wanted due to your self-imposed gag, the controlled force you used to press down onto his face, solid enough to be immovable, on the cusp of suffocation, watching those dark brown eyes under you, lashes lowered, tempting allure.

It shouldn’t have come to this.

It wouldn’t have, if you both didn’t have the same dirty mind.

You rolled your hips into his face and he latched his lips right above your pussy, your juices sticking to his chin, suction and tongue rubbing against your clit, tangled black strands over his forehead and his gorgeous face, fuck, something about him being so beautiful doing something so noisily and viscerally sexual was just so, so appealing, the corruption of innocence.

Well, if said innocence could curiously dress itself in skintight black vinyl and still call itself that, that is.

Heh.

You left your eyes close and the muffled moan vibrated in your chest, your hair falling back, spine in a graceful arc, grinding your hips into Jimin’s face and feeling the orgasm shimmer throughout your veins, blood singing, nerves firing, thighs shivering and the sensation of forced release and lost control onto his skin, racing shiver shooting through you and making your shoulders shake, his name trapped in your throat behind clenched teeth.

Jimin’s groan was stifled by your pussy as he tipped his head down and lapped up your throbbing slit, moaning into your body as he licked it up, swiping his tongue all over, hot, wet caress, pleasure escalating, your eyes rolling back behind closed lids, purring low in greedy gratification.

His tongue slid between your slick folds, thrusting into your pulsing walls.

You let the moment linger.

Just bear a few more seconds, Jimin, please.

You removed your hands from his waist and caught your skirt hem from your teeth, ragged breath drawn out as you pulled back, taking care to untangle yourself from his arms, a smug rush of heat seeing his face, glistening with sweat and your orgasm painted over those pillowy pink lips. He was gasping, catching his breath as you glided down, and then his eyes widened when you lowered yourself, framing his head with your hands, letting your heavy exhale drift over his shaking mouth.

“Want a kiss?” you teased.

A flash of delight over his features and Jimin didn’t bother to reply, choosing to close the distance and smear your cum onto your lips as he kissed you, your tongue circling around and tasting yourself, and then it was the tango of tongues, playful dance with hands on each other’s cheeks, getting too hot and uncomfortable in that sticky, afterglow kind of way.

You laughed, breaking apart, Jimin playfully following you with a giggle, trying to trap you again, the cheap vinyl screaming from every wrinkle. You pinned him down, grinning, having too much fun now, unable to hold back any longer.

“I gotta get you out of this thing,” you snickered. “It sounds awful.”

“It does,” he agreed, swiping at your hands. You parried him and sat on his abdomen. He pouted and puffed his cheeks. “I think I’m swimming in my own sweat too.”

“You stupid dummy. Do some research before getting freaky.”

Jimin wiggled his eyebrows.

“I did. Heard you have a kink for cute boys doing dirty things.”

You cocked an eyebrow in mock disapproval.

“Tsk tsk. Guess your lesson will have to be extended to the shower, you sexy little rascal.”

“I’m not little.”

“I’m about to see, aren’t I?”

“What? Oh!”

That was you grabbing his package through the catsuit.

“I’m intrigued. Time to get this off you. Scissors?”

“Do not get scissors near my di–”

masterpost

#jimin x reader #bts smut #jimin smut #jimin x you #park jimin x reader #park jimin x you

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iknowsescapingjourneys · 11 months

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(A/N: I have literally never written a fan fiction in my life so this is going to be an adventure. I have an eighteen chapter series planned for this if things go well. I am a white girl that grew up in the middle of nowhere, USA, so if I get any British slang wrong or accidentally mess up something when it comes to his culture, please correct me! I am completely open to concrit.

Other than that, there’s not many triggers in this chapter. Kinda new to Tumblr, I was an embarrassing teenager the last time, pls don’t look at my posts, so I don’t know what needs to be tagged. There’s some fighting, but nothing graphic or gory. Mentions of theft. That’s about it. I am going off of the interview with the directors that say that he is an adult, and there will be smut in later chapters.

Please let me know what you think! I will also do requests for one-shots if anyone has anything in particular they’d like to see.)

Reckless Driving

Hobie Brown x Fem! Reader

Chapter 1

The crunch of glass beneath the PVC of Doc Martins seems to become an increasingly familiar sound. The stretch and curl of fingers in her gloves causes the sound of metal claws scraping together to echo through the showroom of the commercial jewelry store, barely audible as an alarm blares heavily above her head. The night vision equipped in her helmet makes it easy to see the glass case she’s peering down at, and with a slam of a gloved, clawed fist, the barrier shatters into a hundred sharp, sparkling pieces that fall to the floor and the display below. Claws curl easily around necklaces and rings, dropping them into the cargo pockets of her pants.

She knows how long it takes the police to show up, and she knows that she has three minutes left, if she’s lucky. She’s been here longer than she usually prefers to be, having had a difficult time busting the first display open. The police scanner in her ear chatters away, reports of her misconduct and theft a hot topic. She scoots to her left, repeating her earlier process, and zipping up the pocket when it feels heavy against her thigh.

She turns on her heel to dash to the employee exit in the back, but finds herself colliding with something, a mix of blue and red and black. She stumbles back, eyes widening beneath her masked helmet. Her first instinct is Spiderman, who she is more than well acquainted with, and not in any way that could be deemed positive. Her fist flies through the air without thought, stopped short when it’s grabbed mid trajectory and used to push her back into the broken display case. Her back arches to avoid sharp shrapnel, and she kicks a leg up, outsole colliding with a denim clad knee.

Denim? She pauses her onslaught long enough to get a good look at who exactly has wandered into her crime scene. An eyebrow raises beneath the LEDs of her helmet as she takes him in. This, this was not Spiderman. What looked to be heavy liner circled the mask’s eyes, dripping down below the eye holes. The suit was covered in spikes, both built into it and adorned with bracelets, and belts, and even protruding from the leather jacket that hung loosely on his frame. A guitar was strapped across his back, strings messily sprouting from string trees.

She was pulled from her analysis when a heavy boot made contact with her chest, sending her flying back into the cash register of the jewelry store. She could hear sirens approaching over the sound of the alarm screaming, and she knew flashing lights were only moments away. Her eyes flickered back up to the man encroaching on her space like a predator stalking its prey.

“Man, look at the time,” She spouts, notes of sarcasm and nervousness sprinkled throughout her otherwise surprisingly even tone. “Guess I should probably head out.” She continues, throwing her upper body to the side to avoid another well aimed kick. This time she notices the yellow and blue of ladder laced cords.

“Blue laces, huh? Seems like an odd color for someone working with the cops.” She taunts, managing to pull herself over the counter of the cash register, shoving open the door to the back room with her own boot as she backs herself up.

The man seems to pause for a moment, running his eyes over her figure with a look of confused conflict. “Y’know lace code?” He asks, and she can’t help the laugh that bubbles from her throat.

His accent is thick, and it’s immediately apparent to her that he is not from around here, though New York was known to have a melting pot of people. His voice is deep, but not intimidatingly so, and she finds she actually quite likes it, even from the small sampling she’s heard so far. Her eyes glance down to her own laces, strung up in a similar fashion. One side yellow, the other side purple.

“I might,” She finally answers with a grin, knowing that the duration between the question and her answer was probably long enough that he knows she was taken aback by his accent.

She turns the lock to the back exit with clawed fingers, being as delicate and quiet as possible as she continues to attempt to distract him long enough to get herself out the door.

The heel of her palm presses against the metal lever of the doorknob, her eyes locking on a shelving unit just a leg’s distance away.

“I like the pin,” She mentions, gesturing with her head towards the large A of the anarchy symbol adorned on his jacket. When he glances down in an effort to see which one her eyes have locked on, she kicks her leg out, sending the shelf crashing between them, creating a makeshift barrier.

She knows if he’s anything like the Spiderman she’s used to, he’ll make quick work of throwing it to the side, but it’s a divider long enough for her to slam her hand down and barrel out of the metal door keeping her from her motorcycle.

The pads of her non-gloved fingers press down hard on a button strapped to her thigh and the bike roars to life in a brilliant light show, greens and purples illuminating the dark alley. She throws a leg over the seat, straddling across the leather as her foot slams into the gas, lurching forward as the metal door flies open again to reveal the lanky frame of the man she’d fought with moments prior.

By that point though, she was practically a bat out of hell, motorcycle weaving through alleys so fast that she wasn’t much more than a blur. To be fair, she’s well aware that he could probably catch up to her if he wanted to, using the webs to leap from building to building. Track her down, wrap her up, deliver her to the police.

For some reason, it doesn’t surprise her when he doesn’t.

______________________________

He couldn’t be arsed to chase after you, if he was being honest. First of all, this was a chain, and the markups on the shit they sold was enough to make his anarchist blood boil. Combined with the fact that the cops were out to get her, (and he would rather die than be seen working in collaboration with pigs), it seemed less than important to go swinging through a city he wasn’t entirely familiar with to repossess some cliché engagement rings and some overly gaudy necklaces.

So he knew it wasn’t guilt about letting her get away that rattled around in his head a day later. That conclusion lead him to where he was now: staring down at his boots as they moved him through the night, barely cognizant of what was going on around him as he shifted through thoughts that seemed to pop up faster than he could shoo them away, akin to pop-ups on a shady website.

His tongue ran back and forth over the metal of his lip ring, feeling the shift of piercing to flesh with each passing movement. A stem he often found himself utilizing when he was overwhelmed with his own mind.

He’s only pulled from his thoughts when a familiar sound erupts through the silent air from across the park he’s meandering through. His head snaps in the direction of the noise, pierced brows furrowing slightly. The rumble of a bass guitar, clearly played by someone with experienced fingers, because the tune sounded incredible.

Through the light foliage, definitely planted by a city council in order to make the area look more ‘organic’, he was just capable of making out a feminine frame propped on the black plastic playground border. He couldn’t say he recognized the song, but it definitely had an edge to it. A bite. He liked it.

She didn’t seem to notice him as he made his way over, eyes locked on the way her fingers caressed four thick strings, and the way they reverberated as she pulled away from each one, the timbre of each note filling the air.

“A little late to be putting on a show, innit?”

He can’t choke back the laugh that climbs from his chest when her head swings up to make eye contact with him, her fingers stuttering on strings that release a roar upon her mis-strum. He makes note of the way her eyes widen, akin to a deer stuck in the headlights of a car. Clearly she wasn’t used to people stumbling upon her little solo jams.

“Not much of a show.”

The woman in front of him mumbles, her eyes downcast once again in embarrassment, though he was just capable of making out the dusting of blush that adorned the apples of her cheeks. He settled himself on the plastic divider next to her, brushing off a piece of mulch that threatened to fall to the grass outside of its designated area.

“Not sure about that, princess. Can’t say I wasn’t enjoying it.”

He watches her blink a few times, face twisting in confusion a little as she glances up at him. He takes the chance to let his eyes wander the details of her complexion: the little laugh lines on the corners of her lips and nose, the way her eyes shimmer in the dim light of the lamp post, the gloss applied to her lips.

“Princess?”

She asks, and he realizes that she thinks he’s some prat trying to harass her in the middle of the night. He gives an apologetic smile, his lip ring reflecting the lighting and enunciating the gesture.

“Seems like I’m about to make a total cock-up of this whole situation.”

He laughs, rubbing the back of his hand against his forehead, warm flesh brushing cold metal bumps of thick metal captive beads.

“Promise I’m not tryna chat you up. It’s just a ‘abit.”

He watches her frame deflate from the bristled posture it held moments prior, and he relaxes slightly as well, leaning back as palms dig into rough wood shavings. His eyes wander her before he gets to her shirt and the back of his large, ringed hand hits her shoulder.

“You like R&B?”

He asks, fingers gripping on the hem of the black material and pulling it slightly to flatten the material so he can get a better look at it. Her lips twitch in discomfort for a moment, an action he doesn’t miss, and he pulls his hands away, not embarrassed but feeling a little bad for what definitely seemed like harassing this girl now.

“Erykah Badu is the background track to just about every trip I’ve been on.”

She says softly after an extended silence, and the little grin that climbs the corner of her lips is not lost on him. Maybe she wasn’t completely under the impression he’d lost the plot. He pulls his phone from his pocket, glancing at the time.

Then he glances at it again, eyes widening. How had he managed to fuck around until two in the morning? If people weren’t pissed because they were looking for him, they’d be pissed the next morning when he couldn’t drag his arse out of bed.

He was honestly a little disheartened by the fact that he’d managed to absolutely flounder the entire conversation, just to pick himself up right as he had to leave.

“Really should get going. I’m absolutely gutted I couldn’t ‘ear you play more of that bass.”

He says with a grin, long legs pulling to a stand as he tried to remember what direction he’d come from and how to get back. His spidey-senses tingle right before his hand wraps around his wrist, and he yanks it away at the last second out of instinct. She seems dissuaded by the rejection, and he does his best to soothe the burn with a grin.

“Sorry, doll. Just not used to being touched.”

He apologizes, raising horizontally pierced brows as an invitation for her to speak her mind. It’s the least he could do for harassing her and then fucking off right as they started to actually have a conversation.

“Do you think I could have your number?”

He’s no stranger to being hit on. He’s no stranger to being the one to hit on others, either. And he can’t deny that she’s a very beautiful woman. Still, he knows better. This isn’t his universe, and he’s not here to make friends, and especially not here to shag around whatever version of New York this was.

“I’m flattered, really. Can’t say I think that’s the brightest idea though. I could be mad, y’know?”

The woman’s shoulders drop slightly at being pied off, and he reaches out to set a hand on the pewter gray of the shoulder of her shirt.

“Don’t take it personal though, princess. I’ve just got a lot on my shoulders at the moment.”

He reassures, letting his hand drop back down to his side and turning on his heel before he stared at her too long and changed his mind. The last thing he needed to do was find himself attached to a civilian, especially one that he’d have to dimension hop for. The cons far outweighed the pros.

Hobie Brown was a rebel, but he wasn’t daft.

#hobie brown #hobie x reader #hobie brown x you #hobie brown x reader #spider punk #spider punk x reader #hobie brown x fem!reader

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