YO! To The People Who Have Spidersona's But Can't Draw- I GOT YOU!!

Stem the Tide

Pairing: Pirate! Hobie Brown x fem! Reader

Word count: 5.7k

Tags: Use of Y/N sparsely, no specific physical description of the reader, CW food mentions, TW blood, CW injury, TW death, CW vomit mention.

Between the Devil and the Sea Masterlist

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CHAPTER 8 >>> CHAPTER 9

There's water in your lungs.

Hobie's injuries scream at him to stop swimming, but he doesn't, not until he swims you to safety. He has you placed on a piece of the revenge, a shattered part of it, all splintered wood and sharp edges that dig into his skin.

The storm has subsided, the sea monsters went back into the water, the thought should ease him but he'd rather have the beasts within eyesight if possible. The sky is still dark and blue, the sun is just about waking up to the carnage floating on the depths.

His other half is paddling away from the trenches where the creatures could lie in wait. Eyes gradually searching for his crew but his main priority is you. You who haven't opened your eyes, you who haven't breathed nor moved. He worries, grief calling for him once again.

The fear of losing you is the only thing keeping him moving.

His arms ache as he tries to restart your heart. Pounding and pushing into your chest, doing his best not to crack any of your ribs. Chapped lips breathing life into you, inflating your lungs, chest heaving up but you don't expel the water. He ignores the freezing water; it's almost as cold as your skin, still it burns him with every touch he gives you.

You haven't breathed on your own for a long while.

He curses himself, wishes that he got to you faster but with all the jaws coming towards him he had to dodge in the water and with all the strong currents he let you drown. Fuck, why wasn't I fast enough? He thinks, guilt chewing him.

“C’mon, Scuttlebutt. Fuckin' breathe.”

Hobie sees land ahead so he paddles faster.

He sucks in air, then blows into your icy mouth. Pumping and pushing, his muscles are threatening to give out.

“Not you,” tears brimming in his eyes, the sun peeks in the horizon, illuminating your lifeless face. “Please, not you too.”

A large wave almost sweeps the two of you off the raft, he protects you with his own battered body. The wave helped, the makeshift raft beaching on the sandy shores of the unknown island.

He pounds his palms continuously on your chest. Thump, thump, thump. The sound echoes in his ears like death knells.

Nothing.

Your lips are turning an unnatural shade. He doesn't focus on it, instead Hobie leans in, breathing into you once again, moving his head down, he listens intently for a sign of your heart beating.

He can't even hear a faint beating.

“Fuck!” He continues the cycle, palms compressing on your chest, mouth giving you air straight from within him. “Open your goddamn eyes!”

Hobie yells your name, full of anguish and denial. He won't give up because if it was you in his shoes, you wouldn't have.

His sobs wracked his body, yet he does it again and again and again. He can't even look at your face anymore because if he fails, he doesn't want to remember your lifeless face, instead he'd want to remember you smiling, smiling at his crew, smiling at whatever joke Pav said, smiling at him.

He'll do anything to see it again. The crew can't lose you.

He can't lose you,

“No!” In his desperation, he hammers his fist harshly on your chest.

Nothing.

He does it again. Thrashing and drumming.

Nothing.

Hobie closes his eyes, leaning down to breathe life into you one last time. He's tired, too tired to continue. Lips lingering on yours, he holds onto you tight, refusing to let go.

You wake up to lips pressing on yours and salty water rising quickly from your lungs.

Gasping and coughing, you feel calloused fingers push your body to the side as you vomit out all the water. Eyes stinging, hands digging into the sand.

You hear relieved laughter behind you, hand gripping to your shoulder, the other rubbing gently on your back.

Spitting the last salty water out of your body, you fall back on the wooden raft, eyes adjusting to the sunlight. Hobie greets you with a tired smile, fatigued yet he still finds it in himself to grin from ear to ear.

The sun blankets behind him, bathing him in its light, piercings shining, and like fate's practical joke, there's a halo behind his head.

“Please don't tell me we both died and now we both ended up in the same place.” You joke with a hoarse voice. Tongue still tasting salt. “I can barely handle you while alive and now I have to be with you even in death?”

He laughs, the sound louder than the waves on the shore. “That's the first thing you say after almost dying? Miles is right, you use humour as a crutch.” with a shaking hand, he cups your cheek, laying his forehead against your own, resisting the urge to lay his head above your chest to listen to your heartbeat, just to make sure he isn't hallucinating.

You exhale against his face, breath fanning his eyelashes, it's enough proof that death has decided to give him reprieve.

“We're not dead?” You close your eyes, savoring his presence. Hands clasped around his wrist, feeling for his pulse.

He's not dead.

“No,” he leans away, relief under his sigh. “We're alive.”

You chuckle, ghosting your thumb across the gashes on his cheek. “You did good.”

Hobie shakes his head with a smile, rolling on his back, he falls on the sand softly, arms spread out. The once white sand turns into a shade of pink under him, reminding you of his injuries.

“I did good.” Eyes closed, hand reaching towards your side, he grasps your blouse in his palm like you'd fade away if he lets go of you for even a second. The cloth is warm on his skin, realizing that you're injured.

Your cough and groan was enough to ignite his adrenaline once again.

With a hand, you stop him from moving frantically. You inhale a sharp breath, “We need a fire going.” Sitting up on your own, shivering from the cold. He observes with his hands hovering over you.

“Alright, just stay here, I'll light it.”

“No, let me help.” Your wheezing says otherwise.

Hobie grasps your chin, lifting it to face him. Your skin is on fire, he smiles at life coming back to your body. “You drowned,” he doesn't want to say the other word or it might come true. “I think that trumps over a couple of stab wounds.”

“A couple?!” You blink in surprise. “Hobie—”

“Just a few slashes. Stay here, don't cause trouble, trouble. Captain's orders.”

“You're so fucking annoying.” You flop down on the raft, gripping your weeping wound, teeth chattering.

“You could say ‘thank you’ for once.” he teases in an attempt to bring back normalcy. Staring at your sand crusted hair, seafoam draped around you, he's glad he didn't give up in saving you just for him to get a glimpse of this view.

You stare at him through wet lashes, a small pout on your warming lips. “I'm losing blood, captain.”

The simple sentence gets him to clamp up, face suddenly serious.

“Bring me a coconut!” You yell, pout replaced with a small smile. You hide your wincing with a bite of your lip, drawing blood. Looking at him upside down, he has his hands on his hips, shaking his head.

“You're insufferable.” He quotes you before immediately jogging over towards the tropical forest behind you.

“And I, you.” You whisper into nothingness, touching your lips with the pads of your fingers.

—

The fire cackles next to you, the flames dance in your vision just like the fire that devoured the revenge. Smoke fills your lungs again, you cover your nose with your arm, eyes closed, trying to forget what happened. What you did.

Hobie holds a circular pendant tied to a stick, the metal glows red hot, the engraving of a wave twirls as he moves it closer to you.

You clutch the back of your head, it still stings when you press down, at least you're not freezing and wet anymore thanks to the fire next to you.

“How do I do this?” He asks, eyes flicking to your pained face.

“Just place the metal on top of my wound for a few seconds then take it off immediately. I don't want a piece of metal in me.” Your voice is muffled by your arm.

“Show me.”

Lifting up your blouse, you hiss, fabric sticking to the angry wound, revealing where the bullet pierced you. “He nicked me so there's no bullet to take out.”

“Less work for us then. Ready?”

“Yes, just use the plain side. I don't want it to leave a mark.”

“Bad news, scuttlebutt. It'll leave a mark.”

“Not what I meant. The wave, I don't want it to leave a shape.”

“I know.” Without warning, he places the bare side of the pendant on your wound. Skin sizzling, you bite into your arm, yells tamped down. Other hand gripping into his elbow. It's an unimaginable pain, you can't believe Hobie survived through two of these.

He flings it away, careful not to add to your pain. “You alright?”

You heave, a tear escaping from your eye. “I guess I deserved that.” Looking at him through half lidded eyes, he gives you a weak smile.

“You would've flinched.”

“You're right, I would've flinched. At least I'm honest about it.” You let the air kiss your searing skin. Letting your head fall on the tree trunk behind you, He watches you like you're already dead. “It was a joke, Hobie—”

“What happened to you? Below deck?” He shakes his head, glaring at your neck. You instinctively hide it under your hand, it's still tender to the touch.

“Had a run in with a very bad man. I got him though…” you nudge him with your foot. “I'm—” you can't find the right words. “I'm sorry about the ship, I had to defend myself, I didn't know the fire would—”

“The ship was already gone the moment Mathias found us.” Those grey eyes look at you intensely, remnants of the storm still leave traces behind them. “Don't apologize, you got him, that's all that matters.”

“I burned him alive, Hobie.” You blurt it out, confessing your sins. “I shot a man. I–I don't…It matters that I did that.”

He sits closer, leaving the searing metal next to him on the fire. Holding your knee, he tentatively touches your hand before he reaches for it fully. Skin meeting skin, hand holding yours, the same grey eyes soften for you.

“Let it matter then. But don't let it in, don't let them try to kill you a second time. Bury their bodies if you have to but don't mourn them.”

“Can we do that? Bury them? Not metaphorically, even without the bodies.”

“Yes, if you want to. I'll help you dig.”

You nod, gliding your thumb along the ridges of his hand. After a beat, you swallow a lump in your dry throat. “I can still hear his screams.” avoiding his eyes, you look down at the grains of sand, your tears leave patches of darker soil in its wake.

Hobie squeezes your hand. “I'll quiet it down for you.”

“How?” you look at him, eyes questioning, eyes weeping.

“I'll talk over it, make you listen to something else other than the screaming.”

You give him a tight lipped smile, forced, tears threatening to fall. You can't ignore their faces anymore. “Finn, Ned and—”

“We'll bury them too, and we'll mourn them. They deserve that much.”

“They deserve more, Hobie. Much more.” he pulls you in, seeking comfort from each other. Arms enveloping you. You let him take you in, his scent replacing the smoke clinging to your lungs.

“They do,” Mindful of each other's injuries, you lay your head on his uninjured shoulder, face buried on the crook of his neck. He does the same, nose kissing your skin. “they deserve better.”

He finds that his arms are molded to fit you.

“The others? Do you know they're alright?”

“I saw them escape, that's all I know.” You lean away, looking at him with worry. “We'll find them, but knowing Gwen they'll find us first, yeah?” he cups your jaw. “We'll get out of here, I promise.”

“I'll hold you to that.” You nod, leaving his warmth, back landing on the wood, letting yourself fall back to your old ways.

Hobie still has his hands shaped to fit you. “We have to survive first.” He taps your shoe. “Do mine next.” He lifts up his shirt, showing you all the angry gashes like a prized trophy. “Then our scars will truly match.”

—

Shoes discarded on the sand, you wade through the seafoam with Hobie. The sun glares, puffy clouds shielding you from the heat. A breeze passes by, seagulls squawk above.

“We could eat those.” He pipes up, kicking something under the sand.

“The sand?”

“The birds, thought you were supposed to be the smart one.” Leaning down, he grabs something red buried in the sand. “Help me with this.”

You stretch your shoulders, careful of your own injuries. Copying his stance, you both pull. “How do we even catch one?”

“Pistol, a spear or a trap.” He does all the work of pulling while you're still aching. His injuries still hurt but he'd rather do all the work than let you strain yourself. “Trust me, after eating fish for three days straight, you'd beg for something else to eat.”

“You think we'll be stuck here for three days?” you tug in sync, pulling it with all your strength.

“Maybe more—” he scoffs, finally hauling the fabric out. “It's our sail. Bloody hilarious.” the crimson lay half buried in the sand, tattered.

Ned would hate seeing it like this.

You trace the stitching around the edges, remembering how his expert hands once weaved around it.

“Oi” he brushes his knuckles on your hand to get your attention. You feel his broken skin briefly. “We could use this as our roof.”

“Mm-hmm, you do that and I'll continue searching around the shore. Maybe my satchel got washed up too” you let go of the cloth, already walking away.

“Nah, I'll come with.” He bunches up the sail in his arms, drowning his entire body in red.

Crimson like the eyes of the beast.

You shake your head, giving him a faint smile. “We can't stay together the entire time we're here. We'd drive each other crazy.”

Hobie catches up to you, wide strides and long legs sauntering over to your side. “Good thing I'm already bonkers.” he passes by you, looking over his shoulders to see your wide eyes looking at him. “Hurry up before the sun sets.”

You shake your head, jogging to walk by his side. “I bet in three days we'd start killing each other.”

He snorts. “I beg to differ.”

“Sure, keep telling yourself that.”

After a minute of walking along the beach, you find a washed up crate. Hobie opens it with the butt of his gun, punching a hole straight through. You pray that it's medical supplies or at least food.

He laughs, clutching his side, leaning on the box. Beckoning your confused self, he drapes his arm around your shoulder, showing you the contents.

You blink confused at the brown bricks. “Is this tea?”

He continues to chuckle like he heard an inside joke that you're not privy to. Taking one in his hand, he weighs it, surprised that it wasn't damaged by the sea water, he thanks whoever packed it well.

Opening the packaging, he brings it close to your nose. “Here.”

You flinch back, burnt skin tugging on your side. “What the hell! I'm not smelling that!”

He laughs louder, you wonder if his injuries ache too. “Just smell it and tell me what you think it is.”

“No! What if it's solid shit?”

“It's not! Solid shit? Really?” His broken lips hurt as he smiles wider. “Do you not trust me?”

You suck in your teeth, “fine, if this is shit I'm drowning myself.” With apprehension, you lean forward to sniff. “Is that?” You sniff again, this time with a laugh. “Holy shit!”

“It's bloody chocolate.” You grab his hand, smelling the sweet treat. “Guess you got your wish. An entire crate of ‘em too.”

“I can't fucking believe that it hasn't melted yet!” He hands you the entire bar and you grin. You both guessed that one of the navy ships was carrying it. “We only need a crate full of alcohol and we're good.”

Hobie clasps your arm, “We can stay here forever if we do find one.”

“Fuck off.” You say in between laughs. “I'm not staying here forever—” your smile falters, fear enters your body.

“What?” He turns around, following your line of sight.

A body, there's a body washed up on the shore. It's draped in a blue uniform and seaweed, seagulls land near it, tentatively pecking.

“Stay here.” He murmurs, draping the sail on top of the crate. You grasp his hand before he leaves your side. “Y/N, stay here.”

“No, what if he's still alive?” you hold on to him tighter.

He nods, eyes roaming your tensed face, your shoulders are straight, eyes staying on the body. “Alright, but walk behind me, yeah?”

You nod.

With every step, your fear encapsulates you further down to your feet, the warmth on your soles keeps you alert. Yet, your hand stays on the cold hilt of your dagger.

Hobie kicks the corpse, it stays unmoving. A group of crabs start to scavenge the body, pinching and taking skin.

“He's dead. No need to worry.” He looks at you over his shoulder, glancing at your tight grip on the dagger.

“What if we're not the only ones here?” your breath shudders at the thought.

“I'll sweep the island—”

“We'll sweep the island.”

He doesn't protest, knowing you won't take no for an answer. “Fine, just—” grabbing your hands, he fixes your hold on the dagger, guiding your fingers around the hilt. You freeze on the spot. “There, better.” He tugs at the weapon, it doesn't budge in your hold. “Now they can't take it from you. Don't let them take it away from you.”

“I won't, I promise.”

—

The island is small, smaller than you thought it would be. Green foliage and tropical trees cover half of the island. Dry leaves crunch under your foot, critters slither and chatter under the tall grass, making you conscious of where you land your feet. The rays of the sun peek behind the tree tops. Exotic sounding birds sing above the branches, their rainbow feathers fly overhead, leaving a breeze to flutter against your cheeks.

You almost run into Hobie when he stops abruptly. He whistles out, reaching blindly behind him to grasp your hand.

“Come on.”

Surprisingly enough, you don't let go, locking your fingers around his, letting the warmth course through your skin.

You hear rushing water.

“We're fuckin' lucky.” He pauses, watching you peek from behind to see what's in front.

You're in awe at the small waterfall, misty water cascading like unfurled silk; it splashes cool water down into a plunge pool. Before you know it, Hobie's stripping down to his knickers.

“Woah! A bit of a warning!” You cover your eyes quickly.

He hoots before you hear a loud splash.

Hobie calls your name, you can hear his smile from how he utters it.

“It's fresh water! We can drink this!” He yells over the sound of the waterfall.

“I'm not drinking your bath water!” You still avoid him, glancing all over the place except for where he swims.

“The water isn't stagnant! It's clean! Come over here!”

“No!”

“I'm not fuckin' naked, Y/N! Just fuckin' come here.”

With a stomp of your foot and a click of your tongue, you glance at him, avoiding staring at his bottom half.

“Someone else could still be here, Hobie and you're relaxing!”

“No one's here, trust me. We've swept the entire place, there's no one here. Jus’ us” He floats and you immediately look away. Laughing, he lets the water wash over him.

“Well I'm glad you're having fun!” You say sarcastically. “But I'll walk around so you don't get stabbed in the water.”

“I can finally teach you how to swim! Get in!” He teases, knowing you won't actually swim with him while he's practically in his birthday suit.

“Nope!” You walk away but still staying close to him. “Maybe when you're not naked I'll reconsider!”

“Suit yourself! Wait!” You pause, “Stay close, yeah?”

Nodding, you wave with the dagger.

You walk around the area, avoiding colorful flowers that you're too afraid to touch. Hands grazing the top of the tall grass, you gasp when a familiar plant catches your sight.

“What?!” You hear Hobie shout, “you alright?!”

“I'm fine!” You yell back. “Keep floating like a turd!”

He laughs, a second later you hear splashing.

—

You sit on the banks of the pool, tired muscles sagging into the dirt, your pockets are full of medicinal herbs. You're just glad you found the right plants that can help to stave off infection. If only you had a mortar and pestle then it'll help with digesting the bitterness better.

Drawing swirling patterns on the dirt with your dagger, you don't look at him, only flicking your eyes to see if he hasn't drowned from napping in the water. He floats aimlessly, skin glistening under the sun, toned chest and scars in full display. You huff, moving your eyes away from his body. Yet your mind wonders where he got them, it's better to think about it than letting your mind wander back to what happened on the revenge and your almost death.

The slight sting of your injuries helps keep you awake at least.

“You hungry?” You almost jump when he suddenly appears on the edge of the pool, arms tucked under his chin, grey eyes looking expectantly at you.

“A little. You?”

“Starving. We're gonna need to make a shelter soon.” Hobie twists in place, head resting on the ground, face staring up at the afternoon sky.

You scooch closer, he smiles when your upside down face fills his vision. “Do you know where we are?”

“No, I'm guessing we're in one of the thousand islands. We were near it when we—Just be glad that we didn't land on a cannibal island.”

“There's no such thing.” He reaches up, wiping the sweat off your brow. “Right?” you almost lean into his touch.

“We got attacked by a bloody sea monster, ‘m sure there's an island somewhere with cannibals.”

“True.” You shrug, trying not to remember what the beasts look like or even sound like. “Did you piss your pants too when they came up from the water?” Teasing, you fall into relaxation with him.

“No, I shat myself.” You laugh loudly. Hobie thinks he has the best seat in the house. “Can't fuckin' believe they're real.” He can't believe you're real.

“Still feels like a dream. Someone has to know those things exist.” The sun illuminates the side of your face, lighting up your features. He can't help but reach up again with the same excuse to wipe your face. “Thanks, I'm sweating a lot.”

“Really? I haven't noticed.” You roll your eyes. “Maybe if you take a dip then—”

“Nope.” To his dismay, you move away from his view. “Come on, fishman, we need to get started on shelter.”

“I just said that.” He stands up, groaning along the way, you look away. “and really? Fishman? That the best you can do, stinky?”

“Stinky?” You cross your arms on your chest, hearing clothes shuffle behind you. “What are you five?”

“Could say the same thing to you,” his face suddenly appears on your shoulder. You yelp, groaning comically, briskly walking away in annoyance. “Wrong way, scuttlebutt.”

You turn heel, trudging in a different direction while he chuckles.

—

Standing in knee deep sea water, the sun beaming down, soft sand under your toes and your stomach growling to be fed, you stand near Hobie whose trousers are folded up to his knees. The water laps at your legs, warm enough to be comfortable but cool enough to keep you in the water. Tiny fish weave around your legs, their fins brushing your skin.

“There!” you point too fast that you pull a muscle but you pay it no mind when Hobie misses the fish again with his makeshift spear.

“Fuck!” The spear is sticking out of the sand, Hobie who is equally starving kicks the water, it splashes all over your blouse.

Great, you're hungry and wet.

You huff loudly, frustrated like the man next to you. “I'm hungry.”

“I know.” He says flatly. Taking out the spear, he aims again.

The fish wiggle in the water like it's mocking Hobie.

“Maybe we can survive eating chocolates and coconut for the rest of our days?” You wipe the sweat off the back of your neck. “Or I can start catching some crabs.”

“Fuck this!” He yells, drawing his gun, he shoots at the fish, the bullet hits the water like a tiny cannonball, splashing you again.

It's a bullseye.

You scream when he grabs the still bleeding fish. Hobie smiles wildly, yelling triumphantly.

You both jump up and down in the water giddily.

—

The fire roars in front of you, your dinner needs some seasoning but it's better than sleeping hungry with only chocolate to fill your stomach. Times like this you miss Finn's cooking, and him.

Hobie looks at you through the fire, he's thinking of the same thing. Wishing that he wasn't.

“What kind of fish is this?” you break the quiet to stop your thoughts.

“The edible kind.”

“You have no idea do you?” Narrowing your eyes at him, you scoff.

“Fuck if I know.” Hobie shrugs, scrunching his nose.

“You're a pirate.” You stop chewing.

“Yes and? I'm not a bloody fisherman.”

“I thought you'd know, because you're in the sea most of the time.”

“Fishing was James’ job not mine.”

“Kinda wishing James was here then.” You murmur but he still hears.

“Give me your bloody fish, you ungrateful bastard.” he reaches towards you and in turn you pull your fish away from him.

“No!” he chuckles at your reaction, shaking his head before silence drapes over the peace you've both created.

You keep munching on the plain mystery fish. Hobie was kind enough to catch (shoot) another fish so you don't have to share one. It's flaky in your hands, now you smell like sweat, blood and fish. The greatest smell combination in the world.

You chew, “I need new clothes.” and a bath but you'll never admit it to Hobie.

“That bloke has some,” he points with his chin at the dead body, laying further at the beach.

“Ew, I'd rather stay in these.” You grimace, looking down at the tattered and singed cloth that's holding on to its last leg.

“I don't mind that, I can actually see your elbows from here.” he smirks, trying to look flirty but with him chomping on a fish head it ended up looking more hilarious than cute.

“My elbows? Oh you pervert.” Yet there's heat behind your cheeks even when his own cheek is covered in fish scales. “Should we bury him?” you change the subject.

“We should or it'll stink,” he flicks his grey eyes at you, the simple act wakes up the butterflies in your stomach, or maybe that's the fish. “like you.”

“I don't stink” a lie of course.

Hobie laughs into his half eaten fish. “I can smell you from here.”

“No you don't, that's the fish!”

“What's the difference?”

You flick a fin at him, it hits him on his head, sticking to his hair. Laughing, you take another bite, something hard almost breaks your tooth. You stop giggling, spitting out a round metallic thing.

Realization hits you, Hobie peeks at your hand,

His sudden loud guffaw makes you throw the bullet at him. He dodges it, still laughing hard and with a fish fin stuck to his hair.

“This is why fishermen don't shoot at fish!” You end up cackling too, finding his laughter contagious. “I almost bit into it!”

He guffaws louder, hiding his face and you get a full view of the fin on his hair. You shake your head, standing up to sit next to his shaking form.

“Stop moving! Let me get that thing off.” You grab it, throwing it into the fire.

His laughter subsides, staring at you with those stormy eyes. He sniffs, waiting for the other shoe to drop. Waiting for you to say something that could hurt or for him to say something that would make you leave. But you don't and he stays silent. Just reveling in each other's presence.

You read his expression, his lips still hidden under his hand but his eyes say everything. You don't want to ruin the night but you have to tell him or it'll eat at you, not letting you sleep and you ending up looking at him with pity and grief. You don't want that, you want to continue to look at him like you've recently found out from Miles, with reverence and fondness that's out of your reach.

“I'm sorry.” Your words don't hurt him but your expression brings a pang in his heart. “About…everything.”

“‘s not your fault.” Grief knocks on his door and he refuses to answer. “Nothin' to be sorry about.”

“Feels like it is.”

“You're not the one who killed them.” Grief tries to barge in on him, he blocks the door, still refusing to let it in. “There's nothin' to forgive.”

“Still, I'd like to apologize. They were good men.” Against your own better judgment, you take his hand, he doesn't flinch away, even twisting his hand to hold yours properly.

“Do you want to say goodbye? To them?” he murmurs like he isn't sure of it himself.

Hobie refuses to let it in, not again, not in front of you.

“Yes, but we'll do it once you're ready.” You whisper to him like the world could hear his secret.

Hobie sighs. Heart aching, he doesn't want to say goodbye, if it was up to him he'd never—

“Hobie?” You call his name softly, “If you need help with silencing the screams,” a shaky breath escapes you. “I'm here.”

He frowns, seeing her face and not yours for a brief second. Changing tune, he takes his hand away. “Thanks.” It's your turn to frown.

You inhale, “I'll go grab us some water for uh cleaning our wounds. I'll clean them before bed.” Walking away, you leave him alone with his thoughts, he hopes you turn back around, but you don't.

—

Hobie takes first watch, torso exposed to the sea wind, letting it calm the searing pain of his injuries. He observes for any boats or ships on the horizon, even hoping for a box full of medical supplies to wash ashore.

He rubs his heavy eyes, it's supposed to be your turn but he lets you sleep in, after everything he'd let you rest as long as you need to. Looking over his shoulder, the simple act makes him wince. He stares at your sleeping face, calm and angelic under the warmth of the fire, and he can't help but feel jealous. You're situated under the shabby shelter, protected by the red sail that's fluttering in the breeze. Foot twitching, you scrunch up your nose in your sleep,

Chuckling, he turns back around to face the beach.

There's still nothing but seagulls flying above the water and crabs digging into the sand.

Yawning, he shakes his head wildly to keep awake. So he decides to walk around the beach, stretching his throbbing muscles.

As Hobie kicks the sand between his toes, he finds himself standing next to the navy man's corpse. He stares at the lifeless eyes, lips blue, skin so pale it blends in with the sand. The crabs still eat the remains, pinching and taking bits. He scoffs, knuckles shaking, nails leaving crescent shapes on his palms.

He doesn't deserve to be buried, Hobie thinks. And he definitely doesn't need her pity. So he takes the man's legs, slowly dragging it down to the shore until it floats. The rush of waves wakes him up, cold water dousing his lower half. Hobie pushes it away roughly, letting the tides take it, letting the sea claim it like it has claimed his friends.

He watches it slowly drift away, yet his anger doesn't subside. The fire in him is still burning ever brighter. He mentally promises the crew he lost that he'll avenge them. That he'll get Mathias, even if it kills him.

Your screams bring him back to reality. Bolting away, wading through the water, the sand hinders his sprinting, he quickly runs to your side.

“Oi, oi!” Hobie watches your terrified face morph into relief when you see him. “What's wrong? Crab in your knickers?” He stops his joking when tears slide to your cheeks, your entire body is shaking. His chest heaves at your sobbing. Voice cracking when he utters your name, Hobie lets you breathe, holding on to your shoulders firmly.

You stare at him through the tears. “I–I dreamt that you left me here.” His façade breaks into two. “And I w–woke up and you weren't here. I thought—”

“I would never. I won't leave.” You continue to weep so he holds you, not to make you stop but to help steady you through it. He'd hold onto you every minute of every day if he has to.

It's frightening how well you two fit together, limbs tangled around one another. Like a pair of wings, one cannot fly without the other. And that terrifies you through the embrace.

“I'm s-sorry, I really thought.” You find your place atop his chest, face buried on his skin, his scars kissing your cheeks. Hands gripping to the small of his back, your nails almost digging.

“‘m here, ’m not leaving you, promise.” Hobie intends to keep it, not for your sake but for his.

my 'Six The Musical' content:

six

illustration: mugshot meme

animation: Catherine of Aragon, six vs history

animation: Anne Boleyn, six vs history

animation: Jane Seymour, six vs history

animation: Anna of Cleves, six vs history

animation: Katherine Howard, six vs history

animation: Catherine Parr, six vs history

animation: who ate María's powder donuts?

modern!au

illustration: character sheet (queens)

animation: Lina's little girls

illustration: character sheet (kids)

illustration: Lina's army portrait

illustration: step-children - Kat&Mae vs Anna&Eddie

Illustration: birthmarks & scars (queens)

sports!au

Illustration: character sheet (queens)

boardingschool!au

illustration: Go for it, Cathy! - ParrWard

tweets!memes

part 1

part 2

part 3

part 4

part 5

part 6

part 7

part 8

part 9

part 10

part 11

part 12

part 13

part 14

part 15

part 16

part 17

part 18

part 19

part 20

part 21

part 22

part 23

part 24

part 25

part 26

part 27

part 28

part 29

part 30

part 31

part 32

part 33

messages!memes

part 1

part 2

part 3 (special edition: Kat has ADHD and hates school 1/4)

part 4 (special edition: Kat has ADHD and hates school 2/4)

part 5 (special edition: Kat has ADHD and hates school 3/4)

part 6

part 7 (special edition: the Queens reaction to "I want a baby")

part 8 (special edition: Kat has ADHD and hates school 4/4)

part 9

part 10 (special edition: the Ladies In Waiting)

part 11

part 12

part 13 (special edition: the Queens reaction to "Mom, I got arrested"/the Six Kids)

(the post will be edited when more content is added)

The Fall

Pairing: fae! Hobie Brown x fem! Reader

Word count: On going

Synopsis: You've never thought taking a house sitting job would land you somewhere a human shouldn't be in.

Tags: Fae! Hobie, Fem! Reader, no specific physical description of the reader, TW blood, CW injury, horror elements, TW gore, Fae AU, specific warnings will be added to every part.

*I don't consent to having my work translated published on other platforms and copy pasted on any Ai software*

*all pictures are sourced from pinterest*

Navigation

Masterlist

Part I - Mudwood Manor.

Part II - He Beckons.

Part III - Scarlet Leaves

Ending I -

Ending II -

Reblog banner by @/cafekitsune

Ultimate Black Cat is finally here, guys!!!

Ultimate Spider-Man (2024) #11 releasing this November 20!

SIX THE MUSICAL - MODERN!AU: illustration

Lina's family tree 1/2

Lace

Pairing: Hobie Brown x fem! Reader/ Spider-Punk x fem! Reader

Word count: 4.7k

Tags: Use of Y/N sparsely, no specific physical description of the reader (except for her clothing), Cursing, CW spiders, TW Arachnophobia, TW violence, CW injury, angst, fluff.

My Navigation

Thread the Needle

CHAPTER 6 >>> CHAPTER 7

Your pulse thumps loudly against your skin, swallowing a lump in your throat, you bravely make your way towards your friend. That word hangs loosely in the balance, you have no right to get mad at Hobie, he has no obligation towards your feelings whatsoever. Especially that you've never voiced how much you like him, no how much you came to love him.

You've never exactly pinpointed the time or event that made you love your best friend, but you know deep inside that you have. Whether it was platonic before or romantic after a few years of knowing him. You know that you've loved the same man for years. That's why it hurts so much that he's been ogling the unknown woman in his presence. Hands tucked inside the pockets of his leather jacket, he watches her through half lidded eyes, a smile curling around his lips.

The woman's giggle cuts you like a rusty knife, leaving you bleeding and doubting everything. Doubting all the soft touches and lingering gazes from Hobie all those years of hanging out with him. Maybe you are delusional, your lovesick brain making you think and imagine that a man like him could ever love you back.

You hate yourself for being jealous, the big green monster rearing its ugly head. Whispering and gnawing at your shattering heart. Trying to tamp down the ugly thing, cageing it inside your chest like a feral animal, you exhale a shaky breath. Eyes growing glassy at the sticky kiss she leaves on Hobie's cheek. The large Oscorp museum looms behind the stage, casting a large shadow on the couple, as if the building's hiding them from you, mockingly adding to your pain.

Weaving through the crowd, you catch the last bit of their conversation.

"I'll see you at the after party, right, Hobs?" Her voice is sweet yet it sounds like nails on a chalkboard when she calls him 'Hobs'.

"Sure, Lacey," his voice monotone, "go, we're almost on." Hobie nods at her.

'Lacey' winks at him, giving him a flirty smile, waving goodbye. Her long curls bouncing as she walks away.

Hobie notices someone staring, he cranes his neck, squinting, instantly grinning when he spots you. "Oi! There you are! You're late. Nice boots, are they new?"

You clear your throat, blinking away the tears threatening to spill over. "Yeah" walking closer to him, you give him enough space. Far enough for him to not be able to hold you.

Hobie notices your downturned gaze, "you okay–"

"You made it!" Yuri appears from behind, bounding towards you for a hug. "Look at our lucky charm! Lookin' pretty as always" she holds you at arms length. Giving her the best smile you could muster.

Ned and James join her side, "nice shoes!" Ned exclaims, bass strapped on his back.

"'ave you been cryin'?" James asks, concerned. He (unfortunately for you) noticed your glassy eyes.

"What?" You chuckle softly "No, I had to run here, the wind whipped at my face" trying to save face.

"You sure it's not allergies? Pollen count is at an all time high today" James adds, nodding.

"You learned that at your da's radio show?" Ned teases. James shoves him.

"I'm fine, it's nothing" you shrug, it's not nothing, your heart feels like it's been run over by a train.

"You sure you're okay?" Hobie finally chides in, closing in the distance you've put out. Intertwining your pinkies together.

To Hobie's dismay, you pull away a second later, "yeah, good luck. I'll be in the crowd" you give the band a double thumbs up, "you guys better win!" Trying to sound cheerful.

"Hell yeah, we will!" James pumps his fist in the air for added effect.

You walk away, trying to get in front of the stage for a better view of the show, pushing past the crowd, some seem to be too out of it to notice you. Spotting the familiar curls, you stop in the middle of the crowd that's packed together like sardines. Lacey laughs with her friends, hyping them up, drinks in hand, singing a familiar song.

The lights turn to a different color, red enveloping the stage. You feel like you're underwater, the loud noises muffled in your ears. You can barely hear the announcer introducing the band, eyes fixated towards Lacey, she throws a flying kiss towards the stage. You don't have to look at who the recipient was.

Guitar riffs ring out, Hobie's band starts playing their song, the crowd suddenly rushes in, trying to get to the front of the stage, trapping you. Bouncing around dancing bodies, you can't get out of the wild crowd, some noticing you trying to get out, they move and part for you. But some are way too into it to notice you.

"Excuse me, please! Fuck!" You yell out. A stray elbow hitting you right on your eye. The smacking sound rings in your ears, hand nursing the injury. A hand flings to your cheek, backhanding you. "Fuck!"

"Oi oi, stop! y/n!" Hobie's voice echoes around the venue, you deduce that he grabbed the mic from Ned. The band stops playing.

Half of the crowd doesn't stop, still jumping and bouncing around, guessing they've probably snuck in liquor. You ping pong around sweaty bodies, The only thing you could do was try to protect your head with your arms. Closing your eyes.

"Hoy! Fuckers! He said stop!" Lacey's voice screams out, trying to push past the mass. You can barely hear her through the blood rushing in your ears.

A strong yet familiar arm wraps around your shoulder, looking up you see Hobie arguing with a stranger.

"What the fuck! I said stop! Were you dropped on your head?!" He shoves the man away. Pointing at another trying to argue back. "Fuck off!" He lets go of you, shoving the other with force.

"Hey mate, if she can't handle it, maybe–" The man slurs his words, he couldn't finish his sentence, his face connecting with your knuckles. He should be glad that it wasn't Hobie's or else he would have his rings embedded in his jaw. The man keels over, sobering him up in an instant, groaning in pain.

Hobie looks at you in shock, you look at the men like you want to rip them apart.

Everything crushes you, the weight and pressure of your project, expectations from your family, your love for him. Every insecurity seeps out of your bones, drowning you in its disgusting waters.

You throw your anger at the first thing you see.

"You fucking wanker!" You seethe, your eyes darken, the strangers bear the brunt of your anger. "Stop means stop motherfucker!"

Hobie holds you back, if he doesn't you'll get kicked out of the event, "holy shit" your fist held up, ready to strike again.

You push him off, eye stinging in pain. Huffing, You give the men one last angry glare before stomping away from the crowd, too angry to care that you have an audience. Hobie follows closely behind, calling your name urgently.

"What?!" You turn sharply, the skin around your injured eye slowly turning into a darker color.

"Are you okay?" He asks, hands ghosting over your closed fists.

"Stop asking me if I'm okay, Hobart! Do I look like I'm fucking okay?!" You yell, frustrated, wincing at the pain in your socket. "Fuck!"

Your heart aches when you fight with him, moreso when you yell at Hobie. You're angry but not at Hobie, you're mad at yourself, mad that you've read his love for you as romantic, angry that you never told him how you feel. Furious at your jealousy.

One word stays in your mind, your own voice screaming it out like bloody murder: Coward.

"Love" he says softly, hands wrapping around your tightly closed fists, your nails digging into your palms leaving half moons on the soft skin. Hobie slowly unclenches your fists for you, fingers opening up yours. "You need ice over that, I'll bring you to the first aid station and–"

"You don't have to, just go. Get back on stage" you pull your hands away from him, clenching your hands into fists again.

"y/n, you might be concussed–" Hobie stares at you, concerned.

"Go" you sniff. "I'll go there myself" turning your back on him, Hobie watches you walk away.

—

The first aid station sits further away from the stage, the loud sounds can still be heard from where you're sitting inside the large tent. Cheers echoes out, prompting you to close your eyes at the booming sound.

The frozen ice pack melts in your hand, condensation dripping down on your arm. Your eye socket stings even with the pain meds the nurse gave you. Your head feels like it's trying to escape your skull. Sitting on the plastic chair, elbows propped on your thighs, biting the inside of your cheek when you hear your friends asking for you.

Scooching away from their line of sight, hiding behind a water cooler, you try to make yourself small. You groan when you hear the nurse tell them your location. Your anger has finally subsided, embarrassment replacing it.

Maybe you should've left when you had the chance.

Feet shuffle their way towards you, staying put, staring at the grey concrete, shoes fill your vision. Yuri breaks the silence.

"You've got a mean right hook, remind me to never piss you off"

You don't answer glaring at their shoelaces. The water from the ice pack drops on the concrete, painting it darker.

"Bloody hell, give her some room" Hobie arrives at your side, gesturing for them to give you space.

Hobie crouches down, leveling with your down turned stare. Grabbing the not so frozen ice pack from your hand carefully, avoiding touching your hand, in case you don't want to be touched. He stares at your black eye with concern.

"I made you all lose didn't I?" You stare up at your friends, avoiding Hobie's brown eyes.

"We got third place, I don't count that as a loss. It's better than we hoped for anyway" Ned looks at you apologetically.

"Right, not your fault." James adds. "Competition's hard, love"

"You're just saying that, if Hobie didn't interrupt by saving me, you would've won"

"If Hobie didn't jump in I would've jumped after you instead" Yuri chides in, pocketing her drumsticks.

"Me too" Ned says.

"Me three" James raises his hand, "Hobie just beat us to it" he shrugs.

"Still, I'm sorry," saying it softly. You don't miss the way they avoided asking you if you're okay.

"You're the one with the black eye" Hobie stands up, "can I talk to you?" He asks.

"We'll see you later, yeah?" Ned places a comforting hand on Hobie's shoulder. "As for you," Ned looks at you, "you've got my number, call me whenever or better yet visit me sometime"

You manage to crack a small smile, "I will" you stand up, giving him a hug, squeezing your friend. "Richmond's only an hour away" letting him go, you give him a sad smile.

"That's right, I'm only an hour away" Ned pats your shoulder.

Yuri steps in, holding both your hands, "and I'm just in Cambridge" she hugs you tightly, "don't be a stranger, yeah?"

"I'll come visit you whenever I can then" you squeeze her hands.

"You better" Yuri gives you her rare ten megawatt smile.

"Yuri and I will be classmates so you can visit me too if you want" James pats your back awkwardly.

"Fuck off, no we're not" Yuri scrunches her nose at James.

"We'll see you at the after party, Hobie?" Ned asks the unusually quiet man next to you.

The after party, where she will be waiting for Hobie. You try not to think about it, mentally chastising yourself.

"Nah, I have to get ready for her show."

"That's rescheduled actually, it's happening next week instead of tomorrow" you correct him. Hissing when your skin tugs at your eye.

"We'll be there then if you ever decide to pop in" Yuri informs Hobie.

"Alright, see you" Hobie waves them off. Sitting back down you watch them walk away with sad eyes.

"Can I have my ice pack back?" You groan when the pain pinches your eyelids.

"It's basically water, I'll get you a new one" He moves towards the nurse. You sit there, contemplating the past events.

The green monster peeks back out, shaking its cage, shackles straining against its leg. You try to move away from the image of her hands wrapped around Hobie's necklace that you've given him three birthdays ago, cherry red lipstick sticking to his cheek. The way he looked at her, the fucking pain in your eye. You start seething again, wanting to punch something.

You sigh, palms over your tired face, avoiding your injured eye.

"You al–" he stops himself, walking on eggshells. You don't want him doing that around you. "Here's your ice pack, the nurse said you don't have a concussion so I can take you home. Only if you want to" Hobie hands you the ice pack.

"This seems familiar, huh?" You wince at the cold hitting your skin, trying to cut the tension.

"What?"

"Can you fucking sit down for a second" you gesture towards a chair.

Hobie sighs, sitting down backwards on the chair, resting his chin over the plastic back of it, arms wrapping around it.

"When we first met? Remember that? It was almost exactly like this"

He lets out a breathy laugh, "Right, you threw that sketchbook at Terry. Yuri's right, you've got a dangerous arm"

"Should've gone into baseball, or volleyball at least" you avoid his stare. "We were sharing an ice pack, while we bad mouth Terrence" chuckling sadly at the memory. You don't regret meeting him that day, if you could do it all over again even after knowing what will happen, you would, without question.

"Will you fucking look at me" Hobie asks softly, you jump slightly at his angry tone. "Can you tell me what's eating you, is it the project?"

You wait a few seconds to bravely look at him, your face unreadable. "It's not the project"

"Is it really rescheduled, or you're just trying to get rid of me?" Hobie narrows his eyes at you. You can't read him, his expression flat, except for the slight scowl.

You shake your head, "Why the fuck am I trying to get rid of you? Mrs. Williams had a change of heart and gave us an extension, that's it!" The conversation escalates, frustrated at Hobie for implying that you're getting rid of him. You would never.

"Then why are you angry?" He doesn't raise his voice, he never does, and he won't ever start to.

"Because! I'm–" you hear a loud cough, the nurse glares at you two. Hobie notices, standing up.

"C'mon let's go inside" He stands up.

"Yeah, because arguing inside a museum is much better"

"You think those fucks care about a museum?" He points towards the concert with his thumb, "I looked inside, no one's in there. They're all going to the after party anyway"

Sighing, you want to go home, but knowing Hobie, he won't relent. You wouldn't dare to go to his place instead, not wanting to taint your future home with a fight. Your dorm is out of the question, it's almost midnight, your RA wouldn't let Hobie in. You don't want to run from this, even if it means lying to his face.

"Give me the bloody card" He asks for the favour card tucked inside your pocket.

"You're gonna use one on this?" You hand it to him.

"Yes" he pops one off, Hobie doesn't want to ruin his relationship with you, especially with him not knowing the cause of your anger. So he's willing to do anything to prevent that. The wind carries the logo somewhere.

You wish you're that piece of paper right now. Only seven to go.

—

Walking around the futuristic room, the walls white and pristine, covered in blue neon lights. It looks like you're in one of Ned's favourite sci-fi movie, you can't quite make out the title though. The entire place is silent, with only a handful of people walking around, the only sounds are from displays, machines whirring in the background, and noises made by the displays' speakers. They opened up the museum really late for the concert as a promotion even though most people only stayed for the show.

You stop in front of a display, a projection of some enhanced spider lifting something that's apparently fifty times heavier than its weight. Sitting down on a bench in front of the display, eyes glued to the presentation.

Hobie sits next to you, giving you space. He watches the projection's glow on the side of your face, making it look like there's a giant spider crawling on your skin.

"I'm sorry for yelling at you" you finally break the silence. "I shouldn't have done that, you were only trying to help," eyes still watching the educational video. Taking a deep breath, "Why do you think I'm trying to get rid of you?"

"It's nothing" he watches as the enhanced spider bites another spider, fighting with it.

"It's clearly nothing" you scoff, "that's the first thing you thought of when I told you that the show's rescheduled"

Hobie wishes he brought Terry with him, his leg bouncing, a nervous habit of his. "I'm holding you back." He confesses, wincing, regretting it almost immediately.

Your neck snaps to look at him, "You're not, why would you think that?" You sound angry, but your concern for him wins over. "Why?" Tentatively scooching over, you close the distance, cupping his hand in yours. "If anything I'm holding you back, you could've gone anywhere after you left school. Yet you stayed"

Hobie raises his brow at you, scoffing. At first you thought he'll pull away his hand, instead he drops his forehead on your shoulder, fitting right in. He feels the roughness of your denim jacket, squeezing your hand.

The projector's light envelopes you two in emerald green as it switches to a different scene.

"Why do you think I'm still here?" He finally answers after a few seconds. It felt like hours for you.

"Because I'm your best friend" you say softly.

"Best mates don't look at each other like we do" he gathers all his courage, tired of all the pushing and pulling, tired of being selfish, locking his feelings from you. Hobie cranes his neck up to look into your familiar eyes. The same eyes he's longed for. He's so close to you he could see himself in your glassy eyes.

Your heart beats a thousand times per second, Hobie cups your jaw, gaze falling on your slightly parted lips. You hold his wrist, thumb right on his hastening pulse, you cup his jaw with your free hand, hand soft against his slight stubble.

"Best mates don't touch each other like this," he continues.

Your eyes wander around his face, looking for any lies of what he's told you, flabbergasted at his confession. Your breath is seemingly stuck in your throat, heart stuttering when he slowly closes the gap between you.

You don't pull away.

You can feel him tugging at the loose thread, it feels like it's tightening around you instead of breaking you two apart at the seams. The dam has a sizable crack in its foundation, threatening to burst open.

Hobie leans towards your lips, now or never, he sees you flutter your eyes close, taking it as a sign to seal your lips with his. He feels a crawling sensation on his back, ignoring it, thinking it's his nerves acting up. His heart pounds like a drum, he can't back down now.

"Agh! Fuck!" Hobie suddenly screeches, hands flying towards his nape.

"What? What is it?!" You panic, turning him around, yelping when you see a bright spider latched on his neck. "Fuck!"

"What is it?!"

"Spider!" You try to fling it away using your sleeves, avoiding touching the arachnid.

"It fucking bit me!" Hobie slaps his neck in one swift movement, the spider lays dead, still latched on his skin. "Did I get it?"

"Yeah, let me just–" you take a handkerchief from your pocket, taking the spider away from his skin, "there, got it" showing the spider laying on your pink handkerchief. "Oh god it's red"

"You think it's venomous?"

You laugh wholeheartedly for the first time that night.

"I'm serious, I could die from this" Hobie pokes the spider.

Like it's comedic timing, the narrator from the educational video says, "it's not venomous but it is advised to seek professional help when bitten by the wolf spider, some people could be allergic to their bites–"

Staring at each other, "wow" you manage to say at the same time, you giggle nervously, having no idea how to proceed with how things are now.

"It doesn't look like the wolf spider, they're a different color" Hobie pokes the spider to look at its underbelly, "yeah, different one" he acts as if he's suddenly interested in arachnology.

You look at him with so much endearment, your eyes are practically shaped like hearts.

"What?" Hobie catches your staring, a smile playing on his lips.

"Nothin'" you taunt him with a cheeky smile. He rolls his eyes at you but his smile betrays him.

The intercom rings out, "The museum is now closed, sorry for the early closing" a nasally voice says. "There has been an incident in one of our displays, please leave the museum in an orderly fashion"

Hobie clears his throat, hand scratching at his nape, also not knowing what happens now. "I'll take you home," He stands up, offering you his hand.

"Okay" you feel giddy as you take his outstretched hand. It feels familiar yet oh so different now. You've finally got confirmation about his feelings towards you, no matter how vague it was. You two have all the time in the world to discuss it. You've waited this long, you can endure a few more days of tiptoeing around each other. Baby steps, you think.

Swinging your intertwined hands, you look up at him. "Do you think the incident that they're talking about is this spider?" You pat your jeans pocket where the covered spider is kept. "Like it came out of its enclosure or something?"

"They don't have live specimens here, probably not" he entertains your question, squeezing your hand.

You both leave the museum, hand in hand. Ignoring an alarm blaring from somewhere.

—

You hug Hobie's leather jacket tighter around you, the cold air biting at your cheeks, helping numb the pain in your eye. Hobie takes your helmet off for you, the simple action he's done a million times before makes your heart skip a beat. You watch him with curious eyes, waiting for something to happen between you. The large brick building that houses your dorm looms overhead.

You notice him sweating despite the cold, "How do you feel?" You ask, concerned.

"I feel fine" he takes your helmet back towards the compartment of his motorbike. "Why?"

You step over to him, your palm feeling his forehead for a sign of a fever. "You're sweating, it's like fifteen degrees, why are you sweating?" He leans into your touch, sighing a bit.

"It's because I'm bloody fit" Hobie smirks, winking at you playfully.

You roll your eyes, "what if you're actually allergic to that spider bite? We might need to get you to a hospital" pulling back your hand to your side.

"I'm fine, seriously. I have no idea why I'm sweating though" He wipes his moist forehead.

"Okay. I can come with, just to make sure you don't have a weird reaction to it"

"You'll come to the after party?"

"You're still going to that?" Why? She'll be there, you bite your tongue, jealousy gripping you again. He's not going because of that, right?

"Yeah, It'll probably be the last one with the band, I want to make the most of it"

"Okay, just be careful" you wrap your pinky around his, "ask the others for help if you suddenly feel sick, please?"

"I will. Go to bed, you're knackered. Get some ice on that once you wake up, yeah?"

You bravely stand on your tiptoes to reach his cheek, kissing his skin softly. It feels just right, like your lips were perfectly molded for his cheek. Hobie seems like he ran out of air, frozen into place. He has no idea where to put his hands, your waist seems to be a little suggestive, arms seems to be more on the friendly side, if he grabs the back of your neck, Hobie's afraid he might pull you in for a kiss, which you might not want right now. So he settles for your shoulder, it feels awkward still.

You pull away, seeing a very rare sight of a flustered Hobie. Almost giggling, you clamp down, not wanting to tease him more or he might start hiding this kind of face he's currently making. His pupils are blown out, mouth agape. He returns to his nonchalant expression when he notices you biting your lips to stifle your giggling.

Grabbing his hands in yours, you bat your lashes, "Drive carefully, please?"

Hobie pulls you in by your belt loop, hugging you, his chin rests on the crown of your head, long arms enveloping you. He pokes your scalp with his chin. Your laugh pierces through the dark.

"Yeah, yeah" Pulling away, he carefully grazes his forefinger over to your black eye. "Sorry, 'bout this"

"Not your fault. Thank you for jumping in to save me, even if I yelled at you after" you look at him apologetically. "I'm sorry, again"

He shakes his head, not knowing the exact words to reply to you. Rubbing your leather clad arms, he stops when he reaches your hands. "Keep this for tonight, you can bring it back to me tomorrow, yeah?" Hobie subtly asks you out.

You grin at him asking for you to come visit him the next day. "Mm-hmm, I was gonna visit you anyway. You're due for a fitting"

"Yeah? Finished our baby then?" An excited smile appears on his lips.

"Almost, I think you'll like it" You say smugly.

"You made it, it's a guarantee I'll like it"

—

You adjust the weight of your heavy bag on your shoulder, walking along the water towards Hobie's houseboat. Grinning at the familiar boat, you speed walk to the doors. Bouncing on the balls of your feet, excited to see Hobie again after last night, After his 'confession'.

Hugging his leather jacket around your torso, moving the bag slightly away, just to show him that you didn't forget to bring it with you.

Knocking, you call out to Hobie. "Hey, it's me!"

The boat rocks a bit to the side, tilting your head, curious at what might've caused its movement since the river is calm. Finn is right, you can't hear anything happening inside. The boat tilts again, you hold onto the wall for support.

You knock again, "Hobie! Are you okay in there?"

Hobie finally answers the door, it swings wildly, sweat dripping on his bare chest, still in his boxers, his wicks uncharacteristically standing in messy angles. Gripping the doorknob in an iron hold, his chest heaves up and down like he's run a marathon, or like he just–

Hobie seems like he can't properly construct a proper sentence, he blinks at you through watery eyes, licking his dry lips.

You were about to ask him if he's okay, you freeze in place, face falling when a female voice rings somewhere inside– "Hobs?"

You feel a hole caving in your heart, leaving a Hobie shaped chasm, eyes glistening in the morning sun, you don't even wait for his explanation. You just run, run as fast as your legs could take you. You have no idea where to go. Your heart is shattering with every step, you have no time to pick up the pieces, leaving it scattered in the wind.

You can hear Hobie yelling your name, ignoring his urgent calls, you sprint away.

A/N: Everything will make sense in the next chapter 😉 thank you for reading! Please consider reblogging if you enjoyed it, it encourages me to write more ❤️

*pictures above are from pinterest*

End of Beginning

Pairing: Hobie Brown x fem! Reader

Word count: 18.7k

Synopsis: When the world seems to come to an end, life starts. Death looms and a virus has taken over. Life as you know it has ended and all you ever want is to see him again.

Tags: Use of Y/N sparsely, no specific physical description of the reader (except for clothing), CW pregnancy, vomit mention, TW blood and gore, CW injury, TW violence, CW death, CW guns, suggestive content, zombie apocalypse AU, established relationship, hurt/comfort, angst.

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You stare intensely at the two little red lines on the plastic stick. Heart beating out of your body while the muffled sounds of the party rattles the locked bathroom door. Your breath hitches in your throat, mouth dry and hands shaking from the mere sight of the three pregnancy tests having the same result— positive. There's no doubt about it as the double lines are as clear as day.

“Fuck.” Yuri says the exact same word you have in mind.

“F–Fuck.” You breathlessly say, voice trembling while you haven't moved an inch from where you're standing in front of the sink.

“What're you gonna do?” Yuri asks beside you, hand placed right on your shoulder as you start wobbling in place, afraid that you might keel over on the harsh tiles. “Are you gonna tell him?”

“I–I’m not sure.” You roll the simple silver band around your pinky finger. One that was given to you by Hobie a long time ago.

Finally lifting up your eyes, you stare at yourself in front of the mirror. You look disheveled, hair a mess from the concert. Your clothes still smell faintly like bile and the floor of a pub. The eyeliner around your eyes is smudged, and lips bare from all the wiping you had to do after getting sick all over James’ parents’ bathroom. You feel like a bloody mess.

It was Yuri's idea to run to the chemist's and buy different packs of tests for you after she walked in on you heaving out your dinner. Damn Yuri and her smart ass.

“I thought it was food poisoning from the shawarma we ate.” You deflate, tears threatening to spill over as you sit on the toilet.

“That place near the post office?” Yuri sighs, leaning against the cold tiles as her voice echoes around the bathroom that's as big as your living room.

You rub your palms all over your face, elbows placed atop of your knees as your body folds over itself in an attempt to calm down. There's a rock in the pit of your stomach, face clammy and lips wobbling. The soles of your feet feel numb, ebbing up to your legs and further towards your chest until it reaches your shaking hands. Your leg keeps bouncing up and down, as if it has a life of its own. You don't hear your best friend calling your name as blood rushes in your ears.

“Hey,” she kneels down in front of you, bare knees freezing from the tiles but seemingly not caring for the sensation as her kind eyes stay on you. Her leather skirt pools around her, a blob of black framing under her. “You okay?”

“Y–yeah, it's that place near the post office.” a tear slides down your cheek, and you're quick to wipe it away.

Yuri holds onto your knee, stopping the bouncing of your legs as she cups it with her palm gently and looks into your eyes. “Please don't tell me it's James'”

You pause, staring straight at her with a glare. “Bitch.”

She laughs, the sound bouncing all over the walls. “Mate,” her hand grasps your own, fondly rubbing at your sweaty palm. “You and Hobie have been together since the dawn of time. trust me, after our trip to the beach, I know it's his.”

You crumple in place, a smile slowly appearing on your lips as you hide your face. “God, you'll never let us live that down.”

“Seriously, we had to wear our noise cancelling headphones.”

“Stop!” Chuckling, you feel a bit lighter from her teasing. Just a tiny bit.

Yuri mirrors your smile, dark eyes crinkling at the corners. “What are you worried about, hm?”

You sigh, “you know what I'm worried about, Yuri.”

She shrugs and makes a face. “No, I don't, so don't waste both our time and just tell your best mate.”

Rubbing your eyes with your index finger, your entire body starts feeling the pin pricks all around you. “I just—” she patiently waits for you to gather your words. “What if he doesn't want it? That he'll leave me all because of…” you wildly gesture around your stomach.

“Are the hormones getting in your head already?” You give her a stern glare. “Babes, remember the time you accidentally broke his favourite vinyl?” You nod, wincing at the memory. “And that one time you dropped his guitar while attempting to clean it?”

“Please don't remind me, I have nightmares of breaking more shit.”

“Well, you might not remember that he never got mad at you.” Yuri smiles, taking your clenched hands and holding it in place. “He even placed the vinyl in a frame and made it look fucking cooler than before with its shattered pieces. And as for the guitar, he put a sticker of your face right on the crack and the motherfucker kisses it before every show for good luck.”

You chuckle, tears sticking to your lashes.

“All I'm saying is, he's not gonna fucking leave you because of this.” She beams at you, eyes shining from the bright light of the bathroom. “If he does, then I'm gonna help you raise that kid. But before that I have to bury him and you're gonna help me find a quiet and secluded place for him.”

You laugh, head falling down on Yuri's shoulder. “You really think so?” Your voice is small as she rubs your back.

“I know so, babes. Besides, this is his fault too.” You sniff and she holds onto you tighter. “And I know Hobie, he takes responsibility for shit he does. The one thing he truly loves in this world besides his guitar is you.” She whispers, love rolling off of her as she comforts you. “I've seen the way he looks at you, and that's not the look a man gives to someone he's ready to up and leave because of a baby.”

Your heart steadies in place as your mind flickers back to his face. Yuri's right, all those years of being in love with him, and the many years of being together would tell you that he won't bolt away from the product of all those years of loving each other. But there's that one thing you're worried about too.

“But—” you start and Yuri lifts your head up, scrunching your face in her hands.

“No buts!”

“Yuri,” you say, despite your squished lips and cheeks. “The band is just gaining traction, what if this—”

“I'm going to stop you right there.” She stands up, boots thumping on the tiles as she helps you stand up from the toilet and grabs a tissue to clean up your tear stained cheeks and messy mascara. “This won't stop us, and we'll learn to juggle it with you.” Gently patting your eyes, she smiles softly. “Don't forget, you're part of this band too.”

A smile manages to wiggle itself on your face with Yuri's bright encouragement. She does have a point, and you can't help but imagine Hobie kissing your baby's chubby cheeks, or the baby having his smile and his eyes. And the thought of him cradling them to sleep while the baby’s little lashes flutter close. He'll be a good dad, but at the same time you don't want to spring this huge news on him when his career is just starting to propel him and the band. You don't want to be the one to hold him back. Yes, you have options, but this is the product of your love, *years of that love. Maybe you'll be a good mother, for now, you have to be brave and tell him.

“I just manage the gigs, you guys can live without me.”

“Tell that to our lead guitarist.” Nudging your shoulder, she places you in front of the mirror. “We've got your back, alright? Do you think a baby will stop him from making music?”

“I don't know, Yuri. But thank you.” You nod appreciatively, swallowing thickly at the woman standing in the mirror. Will you still look like this in nine months? Will you be happy with your decision in nine months?

“Just tell him, or he'll be able to sniff it out like his surprise birthday party last year.” She gently shakes you in place, trying to get a smile out of you.

“I'll tell him, don't worry. He deserves to know.” You whisper as someone knocks on the bathroom door, their muffled words telling you to hurry up.

“Good, because it's his fault.” Yuri grabs another tissue and wraps all the tests and places it in your palm.

“Not entirely.” You chuckle out, and she makes a disgusted face.

“Augh, I swear you two are like fucking rabbits.”

You snort as you pocket the pregnancy tests. It feels vaguely heavy inside the front pocket of your jeans.

“You ready? Or do you need one more hug?” Yuri opens her arms, expecting for you to wave her away, but instead you step into her arms, embracing her. She hugs back wholeheartedly.

“Thank you, Yuri.”

“Anytime, lovely.” She kisses your temple, wiping away the kiss mark. “I can't wait to buy baby shit for whatever spawns out of you.”

“I can already tell you'll be a great aunt.” You say with a hint of sarcasm.

She scoffs, “of course I will be!” Wrenching the door open, you're met with James’ disgruntled face. “Jeez, do you need to pee that bad, Jameson?”

“Yes! Move!” He pushes Yuri out of the way and she shields you away from his elbow. “Why do girls always go to the loo together!”

The two of you shuffle away immediately before you get a sight of something that will surely make you hurl once again.

“Christ, it's because of all those beers he's been chugging.” Yuri walks next to you, eyes roaming around for the familiar punk’s back to bring you back to him.

“And to think that he has an army of groupies.” You find that your hand unconsciously meets with your stomach, protecting it from the rambunctious party goers.

The party is in full swing as you and Yuri go down the long winding stairs of James’ parents' mansion. Drinks are passed around, amber liquid sloshing out of the glasses and cans. Speakers play one of the band's songs, a loud punk anthem that adds fuel to the already on fire party. Expensive Arabian carpets now smell of beer and piss, crisps crunching down on your shoes, impossible to step around it when the place is packed with sweaty and dancing bodies. It's a miracle that nothing is broken or else James will never see the sun again after his parents see the aftermath of their million euro home.

“There's Ned!” Yuri guides you towards the makeshift bar which is actually the kitchen's island where bottles upon bottles of liquor sits on its previously pristine marble.

“Where the fuck have you two been? Hobie's practically going insane looking for you!” Ned exclaims as he pours you and Yuri a glass of gin.

You scrunch your face at the drink, stomach churning from the smell alone, and Yuri saves you by taking both glasses and chugging each of them without gagging or missing a beat.

“Whew!” The glasses clinks as she places it both down. “Thanks, Ned, I was getting thirsty!”

Ned blinks, and looks impressed at the feat. He sighs, ponting at you. “That was for her, I'll just pour you another one.”

“No!” You and Yuri collectively gasp.

“I mean—” you start, “I've been feeling sick lately, remember? I don't think drinking will help my stomach.” Yuri nods her head enthusiastically, agreeing with you.

“Right, I did tell Hobie that the shawarma place near the post office had a health violation last year.” Ned looks at something behind you, or someone.

A familiar arm loops over your shoulder, the comforting weight keeps your stomach from doing flips and hurling what's left of it onto the marble kitchen. His front is right behind you while his free hand has managed to wiggle itself into your backpocket.

“They said they're under new management, Ned.” Hobie chuckles out, warmth seeping through you.

You look over your shoulder, only to be met with his amber eyes that look almost golden under the light. He smells faintly of after concert musk and your own perfume that he keeps saying is his lucky charm. Smiling, he cups your chin with his palm, giving you a chaste kiss.

He scrunches his nose, smiling at you. “Did you brush your teeth?” His face then morphs into concern, brows furrowed and hands squeezing your side, fingers grazing your stomach. “We can go home if you feel too sick.”

“I did, don't worry I didn't use anyone's toothbrush, I just used my finger like a caveman. And please don't be a worry wart, it's nothing I can't handle, Hobs.” You lean against his shoulder, feeling infinitely better now that you're in his arms. Now that you're looking at him as he gazes at you with so much affection, you start to think that your worries feel silly.

“I don't think they had toothpaste back in the stone age, love.” He nuzzles your temple, nose tickling your hairline.

“Archeologists beg to differ.”

“Yeah? You an archaeologist now?” He flirts back, palm still cupping the back of your neck and thumb rubbing along your jaw. His rings are cold against your warm skin, comforting you further.

Yuri and Ned roll their eyes and tries to ignore the public display of affection while mixing in drinks and then downing it in one go. Like a couple of exasperated parents.

“I could be if I wasn't too busy being your manager.” You hold his hand as he kisses the tip of your nose. “And fluoride existed during the olden times, y’know.”

Hobie leans back, brows knitting together before a smile etches on his handsome face. “Really?” He says with a lilt in his tone. “This your way of sayin’ bye to the band?”

“Nope, someone's gonna miss me too much.” You whisper against his cheek, kissing him lovingly.

“I'm sure Ned will live.” Hobie laughs, embracing you as he sways you to the music.

“Don't bring me into this, bruv.” You and Hobie laugh at the look on Ned’s face.

Yuri stares at you and smiles, wordlessly telling you to tell Hobie the news. With a deep inhale, you twist around to cup Hobie's face and look at him with a serious expression. The glint of your ring urges you to continue.

“Can we go somewhere quiet? I need to tell you something, Hobie—”

“Oi, have the lot of you seen this?” James comes running in, flip phone in hand as he shoves the screen in each of your faces until Hobie takes it.

“That you finally washed your hands after taking a piss?” Yuri crosses her arms over her chest as she closes the distance and peeks over your shoulder.

A shaky and grimey video plays a scene of someone blowing out their birthday candles inside a restaurant. The celebrant claps while the guests cheer for them. It's all normal and happy at first then the camera zooms in on the background, right on the window where a man who looks like he's drunk, staggers and limps towards the restaurant window. Then a sound of an oncoming car skids to a halt but too late to stop in time. It hits the man dead on as he flips and flies over the car until his face meets and grinds on the asphalt, leaving a blood trail. Chaos ensues as the shaking of the camera moves towards the streets while onlookers yell and try to call for help.

“Fuckin’ hell, mate, what did I tell you about showing us these kinds of videos.” Ned groans then leaves to go tend to the makeshift bar again.

“No, no, just watch!” James pleads, shoving the screen in front of the band's faces but Ned just shakes his head. “It's bonkers!”

“C’mon, bruv, you can't jus’ show us shit like this.” Hobie moves the phone away from you, but you chase the screen with your eyes as you see the last bit of the video showing the man standing up like nothing happened.

Hobie tries to close the phone to save you from the sight but James snatches it and continues to show it to everyone else. Hobie tries to manoeuvre you away but with James' increasing insistence, Yuri takes one for the team and yanks it out of his hand and pockets it.

“No phone for you until you shut the fuck up about it!”

“Yuri! That's bullshit! That's mine.” James reaches for his phone but Yuri dodges him. “You're not my mum!”

“You tried to show us some live leak shit! No, absolutely not.” They fight like siblings while Yuri swats his roaming hands away.

“The bloke stood up like normal and his eyeball was hanging out of his sockets!” Their arguing falls into the background as Hobie leads you towards the corner of the kitchen.

“You alright, love? Not too queasy?” Hobie rubs your stomach, still unbeknownst to the growing life inside of you.

Taking his hand, you let it rest on your belly. “I'm fine, nothing I can't handle.”

He smiles, squeezing your hand and chuckling. “That's my girl, always so bloody tough, eh?”

“Yeah, that's me, tough as nails.” You nervously chuckle as if you weren't about to burst into tears a few minutes ago.

“Now, what were you about to tell me?”

“I—” you're suddenly out of words. “Can we go somewhere quiet first?” The raging bass of the music is starting to give you a headache, shaking through your skull.

“This serious then?” Worry flickers in his mind, and you know that he's trying to remember if he did something bad. “Did I do somethin'?” And you were right.

You shake your head, palms splayed over his chest whilst you lay down the lapels of his spiked denim jacket. “You didn't do anything wrong.” Your voice is gentle yet it wavers a bit from your own worries.

What if you don't do good for this kid? What if being a mother isn't for you? What if— your attention flits over to a staggering figure appearing from the hill. The shadow gets closer towards the house as you see them through the ceiling to floor windows of James' home, the glass is just situated behind Hobie. Everyone seems to not notice the person as it sprints on the grass. Their head dips back, as if the speed they're running at has their own head lolling backwards from the momentum.

“Is this because of me accidentally leavin' puddin’ on the table and having ants…”

Hobie's voice fades in your ears as your eyes stay on the figure that's coming towards you.

They're quickly gaining speed.

“Love?”

The party goers don't seem to notice the guy, continuing to dance and drink about all merrily. Your body freezes in place, mind going haywire, electricity running down your fingertips and stomach flipping upside down. It's as if your senses warn you of the figure, as if your innate fear response is acting upon itself.

Hobie cups your cheek gently just as the man gets closer, barefooted, shoulder bent at a harsh angle and blood dripping from his eyes.

Then more appear right on the hill, running like they've injured themselves, moon shining down behind them, bathing their shadows in silver light. They look like regular people, except for limbs that flail around, and mouths agape— the blood smeared all over them has your senses telling you to run.

Your breathing stops.

In a blink, there's a horde of them coming your way.

“Oi, you alright? You gonna be sick?”

“Run—!” As you say it, a loud smash can be heard as the first figure you saw comes crashing inside the house. People scream and dodge broken glass.

“Shit!” Hobie shields you away immediately, arms enveloping around you.

“What the fuck?!” James yells, trainers stepping on glass. “My parents are gonna kill me!”

Everyone looks at the body laying on the floor, around him lays plastic cups and crisps. He bleeds slowly into the marble floor, staining it with a puddle of warm crimson. You swear you saw smoke appear from within.

“Someone call an ambulance!” An acquaintance of the band yells as everyone else pauses to stare wide eyed at the still body.

“F–Fuck!” Yuri curses as she takes out her phone from her pocket, fumbling with it in a panic that causes the phone to slip from her grasp and onto the puddle of blood. “Shit.”

She takes a step closer to take it back, and you quickly yank her away. Everyone's attention is on the lone body, but yours are on the oncoming crowd that are running down the hill.

Yuri and Hobie follow your line of sight, gasping in place as they see a dozen or so figures running at breakneck speed.

The rest follows as the guttural groans get louder.

“What the fuck—!” Just as Ned says it, the lone body twitches on the floor and lifts his head up, revealing a grotesque slashed face with shards of glass embedded in his rotting flesh. Blood dribbles from his mouth, strings of drool and crimson leaving his cut lip. His veins pop out, black and blue. “What the fuck!”

You grab a knife from the bar, and you tug Hobie away. “Everyone, run!”

Glass smashes underfoot as everyone rushes to get to the exit.

Yuri holds onto your arm whilst Hobie takes the front. He holds onto your hand in a tight grip, shoulder smashing into the panicking crowd to get you out of there.

Bodies are packed into the doorway as people try to get out. Screams ring out behind you, screams that will haunt your dreams as tearing flesh accompanies the horrific sound.

“Fuckin’ move!” Hobie squeezes himself out in between panicking bodies, hand still grasping around yours. He yells your name, eyes set in a panic as blood splashes across the walls and expensive paintings.

You don't dare look back at the carnage as you manage to get out while your hand is around your stomach protectively.

“C’mon!” Hobie yanks you away, no time for gentleness as he leads you towards the car. “Fuck!”

The two of you run on the yard, the street filled with cries as people funnel out of the house. Neighbours come out of their houses, porch lights flickering on.

You notice the lack of hands around you as you look back at the house. “Yuri!”

Hobie pauses for a second, looking for the rest of his band in the midst of chaos and screams. Faces whizz by, but none of them look like them. With his heart plummeting down to his stomach, he continues to run and snatch you out of your worried stupor.

You stagger on your feet, the cold February air nipping at your cheeks. “What about the others?!” You cry out as Hobie unlocks the car and practically shoves you inside the passenger's side. Face unreadable. “Hobie!” He slams the door shut and goes around the hood to get inside.

He takes a breath for a second, hands wrapped tightly around the steering wheel, and eyes wild as he stares at the rearview mirror.

You grasp his hand, fingers trembling around his palm. “We need to wait for them.”

Swallowing thickly and with a shaking hand, he inserts the key in the ignition and starts the car.

“Hobie, we can't fucking leave them here!” You cry out, head turning towards the house where you see limping and bloodied bodies exit the place.

More and more come out, all covered in crimson, eyes eerily wide, and jaws permanently set ajar, mouths frothing and dripping with blood. They sniff the air as a few of them pick apart the stragglers left writhing on the grass.

“What—What the fuck are they?” Hobie watches as they rip and tear into bodies like they're wet paper. Limbs fly about, severed arms and legs fling out before landing on the former pristine grass.

“I—I don't know.” Your hand grips the knife tightly. “Do you see them?” You whisper, afraid of being heard by the creatures.

Hobie roams his eyes around, frantically looking for the band. He licks at his lips, sweat dribbling down the back of his neck. “...no, do you—?!” A fist bangs against the window, the face belonging to it seems familiar, whoever it was, they break his window with ease after a couple of punches. The tattered arm reaches inside, trying to grab at Hobie. “Fuck!”

You scream, and Hobie, in his panic, steps on the gas.

“Hobie!” The car speeds off into the suburban streets but whatever or whoever it was they still hold onto the side of the window, groaning, eyes bleeding and trying to bite at him with his golden teeth. “Fuck off!” You yell, holding onto the grab handles above to propel your legs over Hobie and kick them out of the car.

They fly away, body rag dolling, skidding into the asphalt and leaving a trail of blood.

You huff, heaving back into your seat as Hobie glances worriedly at you. “Are you okay?” You ask, adrenaline filtering through your veins.

He checks himself over, and finds nothing of note. “Yeah,” he reaches for you, palm cupping your cheek. “You?”

“I–I think so.” You look down at your shoes, finding specks of blood staining your trainers. The hula girl on the dashboard dances to the hum of the car, completely unbothered.

“What the fuck is happening?” Hobie asks as his attention turns back towards the road, carefully steering in through the neighborhood.

“I think what James showed us…” you try to catch your breath, hand placed on your stomach. “...is that— it's happening here too.”

“Love.” He exhales shakily, trying to even out his breathing and expel out the panic. “I think that was the pub owner.”

“What?” You look back, only to see the grand houses fading away. “Who?”

“The fuckin' guy who tried to grab me.” He gestures behind him.

Your face morphs into horror as realization flits over you. “What the fuck.” Looking back again, you only see the dark road. “That can't— he was at the party with us!”

“Do you think it's contagious?”

“What?”

“They looked like they were sick, like fuckin'— like rabies.” He waves his hand wildly.

“Rabies?”

“I don't know— all I know is that he was bloody fine the last I saw him.”

“If it is contagious, we need to know how you get it so we can avoid it.” You sit back down, hand still holding onto the small knife you grabbed from the bar. He nods, eyeing you from his peripheral.

The car grows quiet for a minute as you and Hobie ride towards the city.

“We left them there.” You say solemnly, eyes staring straight at the buildings in front of you.

“They're alright.” Hobie says matter-of-factly, hands clenching around the wheel.

“Hobie.” You say his name with tears in your eyes.

“I know they are.” He grabs your hand, squeezing it three times before letting go. Another minute passes in heavy silence. “If…” Hobie starts, heart heavy. “...If we get separated—”

“Hobie—”

“Jus’ in case, love.” He pats your thigh lovingly. “Jus’ in case, we meet back at the houseboat. And if that doesn't work or you can't get there…” he inhales shakily, afraid of losing you in the chaos. “D’you remember that cabin we rented out last year for our anniversary?” You nod, hand reaching for his elbow. “We'll meet there, right? Tell me you understand, love.”

“I understand.” You say with haste. The frantic look in his eyes has you reaching for him, hand placed in between the headrest and the back of his neck as he leans against your touch. “We'll be okay, Hobie.”

He swallows thickly, fists tightening around the steering wheel. “You come first, remember that, y–yeah?” His voice cracks as he runs a rough palm over his face. “Whatever happens, we stay together.”

Just as the words escape his lips, the car passes by a burning building on the side of the road. The embers flicker in and out, flames illuminating the darkened road in its yellow glow. The fire devours the whole place, warmth felt through the windshield, kissing your cheeks. You and Hobie share a heavy look, recognizing the place as the same diner you two had your first date together. It doesn't bode well, and it doesn't help with your churning stomach.

“Love.” He calls you softy, grasping at your hand that rests on your stomach.

You didn't even notice you were holding onto your belly until he touched you. “Yeah?”

“You alright?”

Hobie turns the car further into the highway as you two come across more cars than before, all leaving the city unlike you and Hobie.

“Y–Yeah.” You lie through your teeth, eyes watching as an ambulance whizzes past you towards the city. “What’s your plan?”

“We need to go home and then sail on the houseboat. I bet whatever those things were can't bloody swim.”

“Hobie, the houseboat can't handle waves from the sea.” You say as you instinctively knead at his nape.

“I know, love, we'll stay close to the rivers—” He abruptly stops talking, eyes following an empty bus stopped on the road. It looked normal at first, but when you stare into it longer, the bloody handprints on the windows make your skin rise. “We'll be fine.” His tone says that he's not just reassuring you but also himself.

A helicopter passes by above you, blades whirring and fading away as it goes out of the city. The familiar streets are filled with people, all lugging bags and their children carried on their backs as they try to leave the place. Your palm curls around your shirt, a pit in your stomach weighing heavily.

“I think we should turn back.”

“Back to where?” Hobie doesn't mean for his tone to be harsher than it was. “There's nowhere else.”

You almost jump in place when a jet plane whooses past, leaving behind a trail in the clouds. “Somewhere that isn't crowded.”

“We're in London, love, everywhere is crowded.” Hobie stops the car as you two hit traffic. “The world is endin’ and there's still fuckin' traffic.” He honks the horn in frustration, muscles straining under the harsh push.

The sound rings in your ears as you look around you. Pedestrians have a solemn look in their eyes, clutching at themselves. A few limp in place, ankle swollen or leg bleeding from the worst day in their lives. Your mind wanders back to Yuri and the others, wondering if they're alright, or if they're injured and limping like the strangers around you.

Hobie turns on the radio, flipping through the usual music channels to get to the news. The sound of the emergency broadcast has you and Hobie covering your ears from the shrill sound. He lowers the volume down from the last music jam you two had on your way to James'.

The radio cackles for a moment, signal fading in and out as static cackles. “Stay….home…danger…bite.”

“Useless piece of shit!” He punches the radio, suddenly, instead of the broadcaster's voice, an ear piercing boom can be heard from your right. The knick-knacks on the dashboard fall on the floor. “Fuck!” Hobie instinctively puts his arms around your head, shielding you.

The explosion reverberates, shockwave echoing through the city as it hits the car and breaks all the windows and windshields. Glass shatters around you whilst screams erupt all around the streets.

“What was that?!” Your ears ring, a piercing sound deep inside your ears. Hobie says something, mouth opening and closing but you don't hear him through the shrill deaf tone. “What?!”

He grasps at your face, pointing at the black smoke billowing from the distance. You follow his finger, seeing fire and brimstone, the heat from it searing your cheeks. “—we need to go!”

You stare back at him, eyes wide at an oncoming truck heading your way. It runs through cars like butter, flipping metal and ripping flesh. You don't have time to run, so you embrace him— The only way you know how to protect him.

—

Hobie wakes up with a flaring pain on his temple. Skin aflame as gashes and scratches mar his flesh. His vision fades in and out, and his throat dry as he swings upside down in his seat.

Panic sets in immediately, blood rushing to his head. The car is a mess, trinkets that were on the dashboard are now strewn across the car's ceiling. Glass shards littered around, and metal folded and creaking as he moves. He yells your name, throat stinging, chest heavy as he looks beside him.

He only sees a splash of crimson on the seat.

“Love!” He cries out, rough and bloodied hands trying to push away several metal rods piercing in between him and the passenger's seat, fencing him out. It almost split the car in half.

“F–Fuck! C’mon!” Looking through the cracks, he spots an opening before him and a trail of blood. That's probably where you must've gone.

His hand trembles as he feels through the seatbelt and releases it with a click. He falls down harshly, body folded against himself. Breath wheezing, he inhales through the pain.

The thought of you injured and alone was enough fuel for him to squeeze himself out of the window and into the street. Glass nicks his body, scraping against his skin. He bites his tongue, hands scruffed and bleeding.

Hobie falls knees first into the asphalt, body aching and various cuts bleeding on the cold grey ground.

With a deep inhale, he pushes himself up, palms splayed, and feet boosting himself up. His muscles scream in protest as blood dribbles from his brow down to his lashes. He finally makes it up, standing on unsteady feet.

Hobie goes back to the car, arms reaching towards the backseat where his guitar case lies. His fingertips brush along its rough leather until he manages to get a hold of it. He yanks it out of the back, a miracle that it's even intact after the crash. There's no care when he takes it out of the car, case smashing loudly against the broken shards of glass and banging on the metal door. As long as he has it back, he doesn't care about the damage.

There's a sudden animalistic groan in the distance.

On trembling legs, he turns around. His whole body freezes as he sees piles upon piles of cars littered around. Death lingers in the place, rotten flesh and drying blood wafting over his nose.

You have to be alive. You have to be.

As he starts to stagger around the car to climb over the debris and over to you— he falls back on the hood from the sharp pain stinging on his cranium; hip hitting hard on the metal. The sound bounces off the concrete street, and he hears the sudden shuffling of feet, then running footsteps.

Hobie lifts his head up, seeing a crowd— no, a horde sprinting towards him as they appear behind the flipped and broken down cars. All gnashing teeth and bloodied fingers trying to rip him apart.

Without a choice, he bolts away in the different direction you might've gone.

—

Warmth kisses your skin as you lay on the soft mattress. Face squished on the pillow as arms wrap around your body.

“Morning, Hobie.” It was all a bad dream then, nothing but a nightmare fuelled from watching a horror movie before bed. You run your knuckles over his cheek, he still doesn't stirr. “I know you're awake, Hobs.”

You take his cheek, palm resting along his jawline. He feels cold. “Hobie? You okay?” Sitting up, you try to shake him awake. “Hobie? Are you sick?”

His body immediately flings up, sheets flying off his body as his hands wrap tightly around your neck. The amber eyes you love are now a pair of bloodied rubies in his eye sockets. Blood drips from his lips, skin bubbling and melting off his skull. Blue and red veins snake along his flesh, curling around his eyes and lips.

“H–Hobie!” You claw at his hands, ripping away his skin, feeling it crust under your nails.

He chokes you firmly, and you gasp awake.

Your eyes meet with carnage, fire and smoke hitting your face as a breeze passes by. The once normal London streets look like a car junkyard. A throbbing ache spreads through you as you see the hula girl on the floor, crimson splashed on her ukelele.

“Holy shit, you're finally awake!” The least likely person you thought you'd meet up with taps your cheek. James' face is drenched in sweat and blood, shirt caked in drying blood as he shakes you awake once again.

“J–James? How?”

“I need to unclip you, okay? You're gonna fall.” Before you could say something or even wait for your mind to wake up fully, he cuts your seatbelt off with a knife and you fall headfirst into the car's ceiling. Pain blooms on the back of your neck as you feel aches and pains all over. “There, we need to fucking move, Y/N.”

“No, where's—!?” You twist in your seat, sitting up and weakly pushing him away as you turn towards the driver's side. Hobie is still strapped in his seat, sitting upside down, arms dangling from his sides. He's unconscious but breathing.

“Hobie.” You try to squeeze your hands in between the metal crammed in the car that divides your side from his. The beloved car has seen better days. “H–Hobie, fucking wake up!” The tips of your fingers brush along his shoulder, feeling his warmth against your skin. “Please!”

James yells your name, tugging you away. “We'll get him out! But we need to hurry, they're coming!”

“Who?” A low rumbling groan echoes out from the chaos. In your headache, you finally remember what happened.

“You need to get out of the car and I'll try to get him out. You won't go far with your leg.”

“My leg?” You look down, gasping as a large gash runs down your hind leg. Blood trickles from the wound as shards of sharp glass sticks out of it. “Oh f–fuck!” Immediately, pain shoots up. A blinding pain that has you grasping at James’ shoulders and biting down your lip.

“Yeah, I know, calm down.” James pats your back and brandishes the same knife you took from his house. “I'm going to jump over the cars and cut him loose, okay? Stay here.”

You nod, biting down your yelps of agony. Your hand wanders down to your stomach out of fear for the life inside.

James leaves your side, grunting and grasping at his bleeding arm. You watch him carefully as he tries to find a foothold on a side mirror attached to something that doesn't even look like a vehicle anymore with its crushed metal and shattered glass. Ageing blood drifts in the air, clotted and drying while screams and screeches echo all around the city. There's a low rumble of helicopter blades somewhere, and sirens fading in and out.

James still struggles to climb up over the pile of cars. You turn your head, glancing at Hobie in hopes of him waking up from his dreamless sleep. There's drying blood trickling on his temple, lips split and bloodied. Adrenaline makes your hand shake, his words echo in your mind— “you come first.” He'd want for you to not just sit there wait for him to wake up, so with a determination to survive in your eyes, you reach upwards to grab a scarf you know you've placed inside the console. Things tumble out as you open it, polaroids, keys, guitar picks and the blue scarf you've been looking for.

You hear James' grunts as you gingerly pick up a picture of you and Hobie on a random day at the beach. That day was freezing cold with the waters nipping at your skin, but you two didn't care as you chased each other on the frozen sand. With trembling fingers, you hide the picture inside your jacket pocket.

“F–Fuck.” You bite your tongue as you take out pieces of glass out of your leg. A tear slides down your cheek as you remove the last one that was buried deep inside your muscle. Inhaling, you flick your eyes towards James who's halfway up the pileup. “Okay.” Cinching the cloth tighter and tighter around your leg, you breathe in through your nose, mouth clamped shut to prevent a shrill cry from coming out. Tying it neatly, you finally take a deep exhale of air.

“Shit!” James yells, foot slipping off a bloodied hood of a car as he tumbles down on the hard ground. He groans, sitting up and cradling his behind.

“You okay?” You ask, swallowing down your fear as you quickly glance at Hobie, who's still unconscious. If you take too long to get him out, the blood rushing to his head won't be good. “James.”

“I'm good— fuck!” An arm suddenly reaches from within a crushed car, skin mangled, black blood oozing from the wounds. James crawls backwards into a car, the loud bump and his screech could wake up the whole city.

“James— shit!” You clamber out of the car, leg immediately shooting up a wave of pain that has you almost curling against yourself. With another look at Hobie, you limp towards James and help him up. “We need to get Hobie out!”

“Yeah—” his eyes turn wide at something behind you. “Fuck me.”

As you look over your shoulder, you see a wave of people clambering out of the destroyed cars and appearing from the side streets. The moon gazes behind them, a spotlight on their shambling bodies and shadows dancing on the pavement as their hands open and close, trying to grasp at you.

With your heart stuck in your throat, you grab a piece of metal laying at your feet. Its sharp edges sting your palms as the smell of the rusted iron meets with your nose. You look at Hobie, eyes tearing up at him sitting there alone and defenseless. You murmur an apology before smacking the metal against the hood of a car.

“Over here!” You scream, throat burning and legs inching towards an opening towards the alleyway.

“What the fuck are you doing?!” James tries to grab you, but you nudge him away.

“Getting them away from him!” You hammer away at the cars around you while you limp towards the alley. “James, come on!”

The rotting corpses follow you as you and James shimmy in between a downed car and a truck. Their running footsteps thud in tandem with your heart, metal pokes and scratch you but you carry on with gritted teeth.

You make it out of the pileup, immediately turning around to grab James by the collar before one of the shamblers takes a hold of him. Their fingers graze his back, almost ripping his shirt apart.

“Come on, you fuckers!” You yell, banging the metal rod around the walls whilst James guides you backwards.

The corpses struggle to get out of the small space, pushing at each other as bodies quickly pile up over the cars and spill over the cramped alleyway. A few hit the ground in a crunching noise, but the rest pay them no heed as they jump over their heads, stampeding over them while they desperately try to get to you.

“We need to run!” James grabs your arm, quickly looping it over his shoulder to help you bolt away. “I've got an idea!”

Before you could fully turn away, you see a glimpse of Hobie in between the piles of bodies and metal. He sits there, undisturbed and safe.

“Go!” With tears in your eyes, you sprint away despite the searing pain in your leg.

—

Hobie quickens his sprinting, wind whizzing past him as he almost tumbles towards the docks. Wood creaks under him, heavy boots thumping against the old wood and water logged planks.

It looks like he outran the corpses, but he can still hear them heaving out a throaty groan like they're in pain. He's not taking any chances as he quickly makes time and jumps over the side of his houseboat the second he sees its well loved façade.

“Shit, shit, shit.” His knees hit the deck and an almost blinding pain lights his joints on fire.

He grasps at his knees, body laying against the cold wood. Despite the pain, he unties the rope tether from the dock, using his muscle memory and ignoring the fear to quickly untie it. The ropes fall down into the waters, sinking down into the depths.

With a deep inhale, he crawls towards the welcome mat that he still remembers you got for him as a housewarming gift. That was before you were dating, but he already loved you back then— still does, a lot more now. Turning it over, he grabs the spare key and climbs back up, using the doorknob as leverage.

With his hands shaking, he opens the door in hopes of seeing you waiting for him patiently inside.

The door creaks open, and he's only met with dead air and darkness.

Hobie bites the inside of his cheek, trying to calm himself down as he makes his way upwards and towards the steering wheel. The framed pictures of you two and the band whizzes past him in the dark, all smiles and laughter etched in each photograph. He makes it up to the wheel, immediately inserting the key in the ignition as the whole boat lights up like a damn Christmas tree.

The bloodied and bloated corpses appear from the street, shrieking as they see him standing in the boat before racing towards him.

Hobie doesn't steer the boat just yet, eyes roaming around the docks, hoping, wishing that he would see you sprinting towards the houseboat you two shared.

But with every inch the dead comes close to him, he has no choice but to sail away without you.

He promises to find you, even if it kills him.

—

Your lungs burn from the running, feet sore and feeling like you're sprinting on hot coals. It's torture, pair it up with your nausea and your various wounds, you feel like you're better off as the dead’s meal. And yet, you still run with James leading you towards a pub.

His shoulder hits the double doors, bursting it open and pulling you through it and locking the doors with a propped up chair all in quick succession.

You stand in the middle of the room with a wild look in your eyes as you see a handful of people peeking out of the bar.

“Get out!” One whisper yells at you, and James finally joins your side.

“Absolutely not, mate.” He shakes his head, taking your hand, he leads you towards the back of the place. “I own this bloody place.”

You whip your head towards him with shock. “What?”

“Technically my dad does.” He whispers to you as he continues to lead you to an office while the survivors follow you with their heavy gaze.

“And here I thought JJJ only had that radio show.” You say as you close the door behind you to shut off the stares.

James rummages through the desk, trying to find something as you roam your eyes around the sparse room with a few accolades framed to the walls and its business permit. Behind the oak table lies a large cabinet with a lock on it. And to the other side of the wall is the back exit. There's not even a framed picture of his family in it, not even of James.

“One thing about my dad is that he loves yapping, drinking, and…” he grins, showing you a ring of keys. “Guns.”

“Guns? That's—”

“Hard to get here? Yeah, he had to pull some strings.” He immediately turns around, crouching down to unlock the cabinet. “The real deal is at our house, and you already know what happened there, this is just a small part of his collection.” A muffled curse escapes from his lips as he tries to find the right key in the dozen or so keys.

You look at the window from the office, seeing the survivors beginning to stand up and staring at you with curiosity. Without missing a beat, you close the blinds with a quick tug. You can't risk it, not when you've seen too many apocalypse movies with Hobie. Fuck, Hobie, your heart squeezes at the thought of him. You should get back to him using those guns, saving him like in the movies.

“How'd you find us, James— shit, have you seen Yuri and Ned?” You lean against the table as a wave of pain ebbs through you. Your hand grasps at your stomach, trying to calm yourself down.

His hands pauses, “...no, no I haven't. We got separated too. We all ran out towards another house to get help but when I looked back they were both gone. Then I jacked a car to get to the city— to my mum and dad, hopefully. That's when I saw the pileup and your car.” He clears his throat, sniffing and wiping his face with his sleeve. “I'm sure they're fine though, this is Yuri and Ned we're talking about.”

“Yeah, I hope so. I'm sure your parents are fine too.” That means Hobie is all alone out there. “James, we need to get back to Hobie.”

“I know, boss.” He says your nickname that he dubbed to you when you took on the mantle of being their manager. “No man left behind, I promise.” The cabinet finally unlocks, revealing a pump action shotgun and a pistol. “Thanks dad.” James grabs the backpack next to the gun, filling it up with as much ammo as he could put inside. “Help me with this.”

You nod, quickly kneeling down to shovel in ammo. Your leg hinders you to fold it, but despite the stabbing pain, you still crouch. “After we get Hobie, we'll hop onto the houseboat then we'll go out and find Yuri and Ned.” The boxes of bullets rattle as you shove it inside.

“Solid plan.” He takes the shotgun and loads it in with shells. You gawk at his expert movements. He shrugs, “of course he taught us how to use these things.”

“Perks of being friends with the royal family I guess?”

James makes a face, nose scrunched up. “Never went to their hunts, dad said I would've pointed it at them instead.”

You chuckle, “that's probably true.”

He smiles, handing you the pistol. “You know how to use it?”

“Uh, point and shoot?” You take the weighted gun in your hand.

James takes the gun and shows you the safety, “right means pew pew, left means no pew pew.” He then takes a cartridge and loads up the pistol and shows you how to load it yourself. “Just pull this back right after and you're good.”

“What if it jams?” You ask as he gives it back to you.

“Like in the movies, huh?” It's your turn to shrug. “That rarely happens with a gun like this. But if it does, you run like hell, okay?”

“Okay.” You inhale, letting your hand acclimate to the weight. “I never thought that there's this side of you, James.”

“I was really into watching doomsday preppers when I was younger. I guess the doom mongering kinda stuck with me.”

You chuckle, “we're kinda stuck together until we find them. How do you feel about that?”

“Fucking lucky that I got the fittest member in the band.” James jokes, nudging you as he puts on the backpack. He stands up, giving you a helping hand that you take.

“Not going to be fit for much longer.” You groan as your knees creak from under you.

“C’mon, you're not that old.”

“I don't mean it like that.” You inhale, “I'm pregnant, James.”

“Shit, is Yuri the father?”

You push him playfully. “Fucker.”

“Congrats? Shit timing though.”

You shake your head with a small smile. You feel lighter now that you've told someone else. “The worst fucking timing. I haven't told him yet— I was about to but then you know.”

“Yeah, the fucking dead rises again.” He walks over to the backdoor, unlocking it.

“Should we help them?” You gesture towards the window and the bar.

James sighs then nods. “Yeah, actually we should—!” The door opens and out comes a stumbling wall of decaying flesh. He immediately fires at it head on, blood and guts spraying at you and the walls as your ears ring from the loud shot.

You take James by the back of his collar, tugging him backwards into the bar as the loud shot has brought more visitors to funnel into the office.

You yell ‘run,’ but you can't hear your own voice.

James points the barrel behind you as more and more appear. You quickly open the pub entrance, flinging away the chair as chaos ensues inside.

Your hearing comes back just as the screams start.

James tries his best to help, shooting at anyone who comes close to the survivors but he can't protect himself and them at the same time. He's backed against a table as he reloads. Fountains of crimson splashes out of the bodies as the corpses rip and tear into their insides.

A few escape, pushing past you to get out into the streets. But most fall into the jaws of death.

Soon, the oaken floorboards and marble bar is covered in guts and bone.

“James, we need to go!”

James struggles to reload with his shaking fingers, with a deep inhale, you point and shoot at a corpse who came too close to him. He cradles his ear, wincing at the sound as he retreats towards you. The body staggers back, but your bullet missed the head, ear no longer there.

You take the opportunity to pull him out just in time as bodies pile up and spring over to you, you see a glimpse of one of the survivors with a huge chunk taken out of their face, twitching and writhing on the floor before they stand up and bite at the air with their bloodied teeth.

You don't have time to ponder what you saw as you and James run towards the docks.

Your leg aches but you carry on with the pain, you feel blood seeping through the measly bandage while you run. James holds onto your elbow, making sure you don't lag behind as you blindly shoot behind you.

James leads you back to where he found you and Hobie, his feet skids to a stop but when he looks inside the driver's side, Hobie's gone.

You almost cry at the sight. But you hold onto hope. “The docks!” James immediately understands as he lets you lead this time.

Muscle memory guides you towards the side streets where you and Hobie use as shortcuts to get home faster. Shoes thudding against the pavement, shots echoing in the dark as smoke and fire billows all over the city you call home.

The smell of the river has you running faster.

Muscles screaming to stop, you heave as you bolt over to the houseboat. Only to be met with nothing in its place.

“What the fuck?!” You scream, gun tightly around your hand. “Where—?!” Turning around, you roam your frantic eyes across the familiar dock, but the red paint of the houseboat is nowhere to be seen, only the rope that was tied around it is left floating on the water.

“Where is it?!” James yells, reloading his gun before making quick work of the corpses that fall down with a bloodied thud.

With a heavy heart, you pull James away and back into the streets. “It's not here!”

You're half relieved and afraid of what might've happened to him. Hobie might've woken up and went to the houseboat in hopes of meeting you there. But he had to leave, you know he wouldn't have any other choice in the matter if he chose that. But another half of you thinks that he perished along the way, that the houseboat is now floating along the Thames with its captain writhing and stumbling inside the very place you both cherished.

You shake the thought away, focusing on surviving for him and for the life inside you. He's alive, you know he is.

“Over here!” James pushes himself inside a broken metal fence, helping you squeeze inside as the horde catches up to you. You feel the heat of their bodies against your back as they desperately try to wrap their rotted fingers around you.

He pulls you, shooting at any stragglers as your destination gets near. A tall building stands before you with its shiny windows that reach high into the sky, and rotating doors that remind you of a fancy hotel.

“Keep running!” He yells, arm still holding onto you for dear life.

“Fuck, my leg!” You almost stumble, but James comes back to you and grabs your arm and places it around his shoulder.

“I'm sorry, we're almost there!” He yells, panicking as he bares half of your weight for you.

The two of you pass by a pub that's filled with screams of terror echoing out instead of the sound of music that you're used to. The windows are painted in crimson, splotches of blood marr the historical walls inside like spider lilies spread across the glass. There's still people in there, fighting for their lives as you see a flash of light and hear a loud bang that has your teeth rattling inside your mouth.

The horde splits off towards the sound, leaving you with a dozen corpses heading your way.

Your adrenaline filled heart flips as you see the name of the pub, and it's the same one you were in just mere hours ago with Hobie.

“In here!” James pulls you back into the present, pushing you towards the rotating doors and into the empty lobby.

You make it inside just in time before the dead get to you. James grabs the metal rod in your hand, using it to lock the rotating doors by placing it in-between the glass.

“It's not gonna hold on for long, we need to go up!” James grabs your hand, yanking you towards the stairs. “Seventh floor!”

You don't have enough time to gaze upon the expansive lobby with its marble floors and crystal chandelier. It seems as though the place lies untouched by the calamity outside.

Your mind goes on survival mode, running, dodging bared teeth, climbing up the stairs, shooting, kicking a corpse away from your ankle. And then sprinting upwards towards the winding stairs.

James couldn't risk it with the elevators, knowing that it could get stuck in between floors or worse, the dead lurk and wait inside.

The condo door is in sight, just when James trips and falls face first into the harsh ground. You look at the crawling corpse, who's rotting hand is wrapped around his ankle.

Without wasting time, you take your foot up, stomping down on their skull in a sickening crunch of brain matter and bone.

Eyeing down your deed, with its mess marked on the once pristine floors, James pulls you away and towards the door. Within a second, he inputs the code on the panel and the door clicks open. He pushes you inside and shuts the door with haste.

There's banging outside the door, and you're left standing in the hallway with James pushing a bookshelf towards it as a barricade.

You don't notice him calling your name as you stare at your bloodied shoe with brain matter sticking to its heel.

“Hey.” James grasps your arm, panting and eyes wide awake. “I need help with the door.”

With a firm nod, you take your mind off of what you have done, and whilst you push shelves against the door, you could only wish that Hobie's alright and he made it to the boat in one piece.

—

Hobie's stuck alone in his boat. With nothing but the waters and the fish to keep him company for two months, he sails towards the north where the cabin, the designated meeting place, lies. His hand tightens around the wheel, lips chapped, scruff scratching him, and bags dark under his brown eyes. He feels as if he's going sea crazy out here. Hundreds of worries have appeared in his mind, and most of it consists of you and your whereabouts.

Without the knowledge of you being alive and breathing, he keeps seeing you in his dreams. The last two months have been a nightmare for him. And it has gotten worse with every day that passes without you by his side. Now he knows why Yuri and the others always joke that they shouldn't separate the two of you lest the other won't function or go stir crazy. He only hopes that you're doing better than he is.

His eyes seem to circle around the sticker of your face on his guitar, right where you accidentally scruffed it. You two always talked about sailing the whole world on the houseboat, ignoring the fact that the boat can't withstand the harsh waves of the ocean. But it was a good dream nonetheless. If only you could be here with him, it's not sailing around the world, but the water at night would be a sight to behold for you.

The waters around the country have gone wilder by the week, he sticks to the beaches and the coast where he can control the houseboat better. Where the water isn't too rough around the old ship.

The boat isn't built for seafaring, or even long journeys. If the houseboat collapses against the rough waves before he could get to the small fishing town you two stayed in, his hope would dwindle, but he'll stay determined for you.

He can already feel your arms around him when the reunion happens. Or is that his mind playing tricks on him once again?

At least he has enough provisions to last him a few more weeks out in the open. But in time, he has to go dock the boat and scavenge for food. He doesn't need to load up with gasoline when the houseboat runs on solar. Thank fuck he built that before shit hit the fan.

The virus seems to have wrapped its teeth around the world. Marks of death lay waste to every city he sails by. Piles and piles of bodies, half burned by the very people who once knew them, afraid of the walking death that could savage them too. Cities now lay empty or crowded by snarling corpses. Some were lucky enough to build walls around a small commune, but it was obvious that they didn't want newcomers with the mounted guns and patrolling armed forces around it.

With every port and dock he passes, he looks for you and your familiar face. He hopes that with every wave and tide he conquers, you're getting closer to him. But whenever he passes by a coastal town, or a beach he once visited with you, he could only see the dead awaiting for him on the sand, like old friends waiting to be reunited with him. Their eyes are long gone, white scleras and crimson irises staring him down with their maws agape, biting at air and inhaling through their rotten lungs.

The shamblers, he calls it, or them, the former humans that were sadly infected, can't swim, but they also can't drown. So swimming in the water poses a risk of getting bitten by one of them that are treading the sea floor. Hobie doesn't risk getting into the sea after a limp hand wrapped around his ankle when he decided to take a quick dip.

In the past two months since then, he misses you, misses the way he would wake up to your face, arms wrapped around him and protecting him from the harsh morning cold. He misses the way you would smile and laugh. He misses the sound of your footsteps walking around the boat, sometimes he hears it at night when he's in between sleep and the waking world. Missing you was an understatement, he longs for you, longs for you to be alive and back beside him. They say that absence makes the heart grow fonder, but no one told him that the ache would be unbearable.

Hobie once hated the mundanity of life. The way he plays his loud music in the speakers, now he can't even turn on the stereo when every sound could bring the dead to him. Even the radio that he has taken for granted, one that you would always turn on in the morning without fail, now only plays static. Or the repeating sounds of the emergency broadcast over and over again. He sometimes wants to chuck it out of the boat and into the depths, but he remembers how much you loved the old radio and how you would sway to the music. So now he lets it play static, the sound keeping him company throughout the night instead of you.

The information pamphlet that the government tossed from an airplane glares at him from where he taped it on the side of the controls. Hobie still remembers the whirr of the engine above while the papers drift down like snow.

The drawings remind him of the ones in airplanes where they tell you what to do in case of a plane crash or how to put on your seatbelt. He feels like he's in a never ending plane crash heading to nowhere. The words ‘body fluids,’ ‘infected,’ ‘bites,’ and ‘ten seconds’ are engraved in his mind.

He once tried to call your phone in hopes of you answering it but he only heard your voicemail. In the rocky waters and the solemn sky, your voice echoes and presence felt through the speakers. He kept calling you after that just to hear your voice again and again until cell services stopped working.

He's utterly alone.

With a sigh, he steers the houseboat towards an empty dock. The wood creaks as he steps out, bag slung over his shoulder and rope itching against his palms. After taking a quick look around for danger, he ties the rope around the dock, securing his home before grabbing his hammer from his belt.

He stretches his arms and legs as if he's about to run a marathon, he probably would be after he tried to restock for supplies a few days ago. He can still smell the stench of rotten flesh and blood in his nose when a horde chased after him.

Like always he tries to find the evacuation area where you might be, or where other people might be. He would steer away from other survivors, but if there's doctors and a lot of people around, he's sure that they can be trusted. A gathering of people in the apocalypse could spell danger, but it could also be hope.

He treks along the empty street, nothing left but dusty shops, and abandoned cars on the road. There's no stench of death that lingers around the place, or blood splattered along the shop walls. Hobie guesses this town was one of the lucky ones to be evacuated before the virus got to them.

His hypothesis seems to be right when he spots a military vehicle abandoned on the side of the road. Peeking behind it, he doesn't find anything, not even a shambler waiting to bite at him behind the tarpaulin. He wonders what happened to this place.

Every place he encounters has him asking the same question, could you be here?

As he enters the large stadium, it's evident that it's long been abandoned.

Scattered boxes and tents lay where its occupants last left it. Needles and bloodied bandages are strewn across the painted floor and on the court seats. Hobie stands where the general seats would be, right in the middle of everything and with him having a good vantage point of the whole place. A breeze passes by, and papers fly ahead of him.

It’s completely empty, even if he scavenge for supplies in here he won't find anything.

Just as he's about to leave, he hears a clunking sound from the middle of the stadium. His hands hold onto the railings as he narrows his eyes towards the movement from behind the tents.

There, a couple of black clad strangers emerge from within, all holding onto their own blades.

Hobie immediately ducks down, hiding behind the wall and railings.

“This place is shit, there's nothin’ left!” One says, voice echoing.

“Keep your bloody voice down unless you want to wake the dead.”

“How fucking poetic of you.”

Hobie has managed to avoid the dead and the living, the dead a lot easier, but people are harder to get away from. He hasn't killed or maimed anyone, unlike the apocalyptic movies he had watched with you and the band. He tries to avoid it, staying away from staining his hands with red. The shamblers used to be human too, under all the rotten flesh and dead eyes, they once had a life, a family, someone that cared for them. So as much as he can, he only stuns them.

He has never encountered other people before, on his ship, the only faces he has seen are the ones in photographs. He always wondered where everyone went, if there's a huge ship somewhere carrying the whole world behind its metal back. Finding the strangers is comforting in a way, a way that he wasn't left behind to rot and survive on his own. That there are still people out there, living and breathing ones.

But it's clear that you're not here.

With a thudding heart, he slowly crawls on the dusty floor, gloved hand and knees dirtied by the muck and grime.

Hobie tries to not make any noise above the whistling wind and rustling trees. He avoids fallen bottles, and scattered paper plates. The voices fade behind him, the doors where he came from just in his line of sight.

He shifts left and right, crawling as he adjusts his belt. Your voice telling him that he needed a new one rather than the barely holding on rope echoes in his ears. He curses himself for not listening as he keeps adjusting the falling thing.

His breath quickens, pulse palpitating as he makes it to the door. His palm reaches for the doorknob, still kneeling down. But as he stretches himself, the hammer hanging from his belt falls.

Hobie gasps, fingertips brushing along its handle, trying to catch it. It falls down loudly on the floor, metallic clanging sounding like a death knell.

“What was that?!”

“Fuck.” Hobie, without wasting time, grabs the hammer and runs for his life.

The door swings open, the warmth of the sun greeting him. His boots thump loudly on the pavement, leaving his pursuers in the dust.

“Get back here!” They gain speed as their footsteps get louder, a cacophony of breaths and blades unsheathing. “He has supplies, get him!”

Hobie turns a corner, his destination still too far from him to see. His legs are starting to ache, chest aflame as he navigates the town that he thought would be empty.

“Shit!” He makes the mistake of looking back, finding three people now running after him. Wait, three?

A shambler joins the chase, eyes bloodied, arms trying to grasp at the couple.

“Behind you!” Hobie tries to help as they're too focused on trying to catch him.

Just as the man wielding a fire axe turns to look behind him, the shambler catches up and grabs him by the neck, taking a chunk out of his face.

His screams of agony would bring Hobie nightmares, but the guttural yell of grief from his companion would be etched in his mind forever.

“Wilson, no!” He cries, trying to help the other as blood sprays the pavement below.

The dead doesn't let go, maw properly set into his skin.

His pursuer cranes his neck towards the frozen Hobie, eyes pleading with him for help.

Hobie should help, could help. His mind is in scrambles as screams echo around the small town, waking the dead that hides in the forgotten homes. He swallows thickly just as the sound of running footsteps roar from further within the town. So he turns around, running away from the scene as more and more join in, hearing the screams of terror ebb out like a dinner bell.

He doesn't sleep that night, the faces of those strangers are painted behind his eyelids, faces contorted into pure fear. And yet he left them, had to leave them or he might've been caught with them. Died with them, died with strangers who tried to take his things and perhaps his life.

Hobie doesn't want to die amongst strangers, nor be forgotten and lost within the numbers of the dead. To be left for dead is his greatest fear, losing you was the closest he got to feeling that fear. If It's his time, he wants it to be with people he knows, people he loves, not wasting as a husk of himself in a place he doesn't know.

He lays awake in the same bed you once shared, the pillows still smell like your shampoo, and the room has lingering scents of your perfume. His eyes are heavy and lashes sticking to one another. The chipping paint of the ceiling morphs into shapes, the pub he played at, the band's faces, and you, smiling at him like always.

Closing his eyes tightly, he wretches the vision from his mind. He needs to stay sane. As he stands up from the bed, mattress creaking from his weight, he wraps your cardigan around himself, clinging onto it like a child's toy.

The ship rocks back and forth to the calm waves. Stars dotted along the sky while the moonlight stretches across the shining waters. Hobie sits on the deck, where you two would usually drink morning tea at, and where you'd be sitting when you're waiting for him to come home from a gig.

Everything reminds him of you, there's no escaping it, even if he doesn't want to. He doesn't know if it’s the only thing keeping him sane all alone, or the thing that's slowly making him bonkers. Either way, the memory of you keeps him company in the end of the world.

He brings his knees to his chest, chin propped up on it as his eyes follow a dot in the horizon. The moonlight shines on it whilst it moves on the water.

Fear grips him as it continues to move closer to his boat. The shadow moves from side to side, at the mercy of the waves.

Hobie stands up, putting on your cardigan as he makes his way up to the wheel. He steers the boat away from its way, now seeing it as a large cruise ship that's aimlessly floating on the water.

There's no light nor voices coming from it, only the familiar scent of decomposing flesh, and the sound of low groans.

He steers clear of it as he sees a face peeking from the side, eyes unblinking, red almost shining in the light of the moon. He swears he saw it grin at him.

As he swivels the wheel, he lets the ship pass quietly, letting it carry the dead on its empty voyage.

Hobie decides to get back into bed then, eyes too heavy, body too tired. His head lands on the pillow, sleep taking him into its calm arms.

—

Hobie wakes up to your thumb brushing along his jaw. He cracks an eye open, and your smile beams at him.

“Hey, you.”

“Hey, me.” A smile spreads across his cheeks, your familiar warmth and scent felt through his bones. His eyes feel so heavy, and you're so warm that he could fall right back to sleep.

“You’re loopy today.” The pads of your fingertips graze along his stubble. “Are you tired, Hobie?”

“Yeah, love.” He breathlessly says, smile etched on his lips as the sun shines behind you, bathing you in warm light. “Where have you been?”

“I was waiting for you.” You tilt your head with a smile. “You sleep like the dead.”

He chuckles, hand grasping on your waist. “I was lookin’ for you in my dream.”

“Yeah?” You chuckle above the sound of wind chimes. “Did you find me in your dream?”

“I haven't, not yet.” He sniffs, and yet can't smell your shampoo or perfume.

“Maybe you should wake up then, continue your search?” You whisper, voice gentle as your hands cup his cheeks.

Hobie grins tiredly, eyes half lidded. “You're already in front of me, what is there left to find?”

“You have to wake up, Hobie.” Your fingers pinch his skin, nails digging into his cheeks as the sun is replaced by darkness. And the warmth in your eyes turn stark white.

“Ow, what?”

“Wake the fuck up!”

Hobie jumps off the bed, head hitting the hard wall of the houseboat as thunder rips through the wood while lightning flashes outside. He can still hear the last echoes of your scream in his ears.

“Fuck!” The whole boat shifts to the side, dangerously close to tipping. His things are knocked from their place, glass shattering and making a mess of the bedroom. If he doesn't get up to the wheel, the waves might break the boat in half.

He panics, grabbing his windbreaker, and boots in the other. As he climbs up the steps, he puts it on awkwardly over your cardigan and as best as he can with his shoelaces loose.

Rain battens down on the houseboat, wind howling outside. Hobie zips his jacket on, taking a breath before opening the door.

The water smacks him right on his face, sharp rain drops stinging his cheeks. He slams the door closed, bracing the wind as he shields himself with his arm.

“Shit!” The slippery floors made it hard for him to find a foothold while the waves shook and turn the boat all over like he's in a blender.

Hobie grips the side wall, trying to keep his balance to get up the steps to the controls. The waves splash and slap his body around, completely drenching him from inside and out.

The winds howl a dreaded tune, one that sailors would run away in fear. Dark waves loom overhead, sea salt on his lips, and seafoam spreading by his feet. All he could do is brace for impact.

—

The city in front of you is still burning. Skyscrapers that used to reach the heavens are now nothing but flaming metal and acrid dark smoke. James had warned you not to stay too long on the balcony when the air outside leaves less to be desired, especially in your condition. James has been pleasant company, but the life growing inside you has made it extra difficult to stay in a good mood. Especially when the one person you want to be next to you is missing.

It feels like your heart is out of your body, missing somewhere else.

Your eyes glance over to the Thames, the water is dark and glimmering under the embers of the city and the moonlight. Despite the crackling of fire and low groans of the dead in the streets, the city is quiet, dead quiet.

You long for the days when the sound of a guitar rips through the morning hours of sleep. Hobie would always apologize with a smile, but you know he has taken the position of your personal alarm clock whenever he would wake up earlier than you. Nowadays you would wake up to James trying to pick up a signal from a CB radio he found during his runs through the building. He said it's to contact the rest of the band, but you can always hear him trying to call for his parents when you're in bed and alone with only the polaroid of him, and your baby to keep you company.

It's been two months since you found out, two months without Hobie. You try not to worry too much, telling yourself that he's alright and probably faring better than you and James. But you only do it for the baby, you know all that worrying would bear down on them. Even the prenatal vitamins James found for you from one of his neighbours wouldn't help if you kept on crying through the night with your chest sore while mumbling Hobie's name.

According to the pregnancy book you found, something that was probably owned by James’ mother, your baby is as big as a raspberry now. You already feel bloated and you dread trying to run away from the dead when your belly gets bigger with time. It also said that in three months the baby will be the size of a lemon, the thought makes you realize how long it has been since you've held fresh produce.

James' parents' condo is big, too big for just two people. You've been stuck within the four walls for months now when you can't step out of the building without the city's horde lunging at you. James and you decided to wait out the dead after you read in the government pamphlet that they like to travel in hordes and they tend to leave when there’s no one left to infect or eat. You've seen that the infected are beginning to thin out, but not fast enough.

The place isn't uncomfortable at all; it's probably the best place you could wait it all out in. It's all pristine white walls and modern furniture that must've been worth more than your houseboat. You've taken the guest room with its king sized bed and hundred thread count sheets. It has its own bathroom, and a bathtub to boot. And yet your mind keeps going back to the houseboat where you and Hobie were happy and content. You hate the fact that he's been missing for two months of your life, two months of the pregnancy where you imagined you two would lean on each other. Not spending it all with James, he's kind and patient, but he's still not your Hobie.

You try not to gaze at the river again, but you keep failing each time. The hot chocolate you made sits abandoned on a small table beside you as the wind blows against your cheeks. The scenery doesn't change, it hasn't changed in two months, but you hope and wish that one day the familiar red paint of the houseboat would appear on the waters with Hobie on it.

With a tight grasp around the binoculars, you take a peek at the waters. Your eyes roam around the same docks where you last saw the houseboat, like before, there's nothing.

James thought that giving you the binoculars would help quell your anxieties, but whenever you look through it, you could only see the faces of the dead staring back at you. You could only hope that you don't— would never see a familiar face among the horde.

The sliding doors to the balcony opens, and out comes James' head peeking through it. He gives you soft smile, blond hair tousled in the wind, and a beard needing a trim. The light from inside the condo spills out into the balcony. You always thought that the city's electric grid would run out within a few weeks, but it's still going strong.

“Hey,” he sighs, gazing at how you grip onto the binoculars and down to your growing stomach. “You feeling okay?”

“Yeah,” you inhale, lower back aching and stomach feeling heavier than yesterday. “Just sightseeing.”

He steps out, still wearing his dad's hunting vest, and his mum's silver bracelet. “Anything new?”

You shake your head. “I thought I heard a gunshot from somewhere, but I couldn't find where it came from.”

James sits down next to you with a groan, hand reaching for the binoculars. “Let me try.” You give it to him, hand subconsciously twirling the ring around your pinky. “Where do you think it came from?”

“West, just by the park.” You cradle your stomach, the growing belly still feels alien to you. But at least now the morning sickness is gone, but your feet look bloated inside your socks.

James hums, looking through the binoculars with intensity. He takes it off his eyes after a minute, shaking his head and giving it back to you. “Yeah, nothing, just a few of the infected.”

“Why are you still in your hunting vest? You already got us enough provisions to last us a couple of weeks.”

He looks down at his appearance, “sorry, I can't seem to just shrug it off.” You know what he meant by it, and it's not the vest he's talking about as he cleans off the grime under his fingernails with his thumb nail. “Does it bother you? I'll take it off.”

You stop him from taking the vest off. “No, it's fine, keep it on if you like.”

Nodding, James puts the beige vest back on. “Is your leg still hurting?” he glances at your leg that's perched on the railing.

“Just sore, is all.” You inhale, thumb drawing circles around your belly. “Putting it up helps.”

“If I just knew how to treat it properly before—”

“You did a good job, James.” You reach for him, palm resting on his arm. “If it was just me I would've thought of cutting it off or something.”

He smiles, patting the back of your hand. “How’s Hobie jr?”

“Fine, just like yesterday and the day before that.” You chuckle. “How are you holding up, James? I should be helping you out there.”

Scoffing, James flicks the back of your hand playfully. “You'd just hold me back, preggo.”

“Hey,” you say with a laugh. “All I'm saying is that you need someone to watch your back. Or at least help carry the load.”

He looks at your stomach then over to your face with a teasing glint in his eyes. “Looks like you already took the load.”

“You little shit!” Slapping his arm, he lets out a feigned yelp. “I'm serious, I could really help.”

“If something happens to you I wouldn't be able to live with myself, boss.” James looks at the distance, eyes darting over to the river. “Besides, I can handle it.” He flexes his arm, smacking his bicep.

You sigh, watching him with a strained smile and shining eyes. You blame the hormones. “Okay, but when you move up another floor again, I'm coming with.”

He shakes his head, chuckling and taking your mug of hot chocolate, taking a sip from the lukewarm drink. “Yeah, no.”

“James.” You say sternly, “come on, what if you get trapped up there alone? Ned would kill me if I get his best mate killed.”

“First of all, I'm nobody's best mate. Yuri is yours, and Ned is Hobie's. Second, I have a fucking gun and have been doing this alone for weeks now. I'll be fine.”

Your tone grows soft. “You're my best mate too, James. So is Hobie's, Yuri's and Ned’s. You're our friend, and if it was anybody else in your position, I would offer the same, and fight you just as hard.” You lean close, arms over the armrest as he stares at you. “I don't want you to fucking die in here alone. Especially when I can still do something to help. Because in a few months I won't be able to.”

“Do you think they're alright out there?”

“Don't change the fucking subject—”

“They have to be okay.” James licks his dry lips, swallowing down the lump in his throat. You've had this conversation before, and it always ends the same way.

You nod, chest heavy and hands shaking. “They are, I know they are. They're tough, our band will hold on.”

He swallows thickly, looking away at you and instead staring at the dark drink. The previous conversation wedges in his mind. “I just— I think I just want to be useful, you know? Because I know this stuff, shooting and shit. So I gotta use it to protect you and the baby because that's all I know.”

You feel tears prick at your lashes. “You've always been useful, James. You're our drummer, the music's shit without you.” He chuckles, sniffing as he gazes at the ruined city. “We're a band, we protect each other. And I've seen you do other shit with expertise, shooting is not all you know.”

He turns to you, smiling gently. “I do make a really good pot of stew.”

“The best.” You smile back, tugging at his hand and holding it fondly.

His face turns solemn, eyes downturned at your intertwined hands. “Can you promise me something?”

“Anything.”

“Can— will you end me if I ever get bitten?”

“James—”

“I've seen them closely, Y/N, I know they're in pain. I don't want to end up like that.” His voice breaks at the end, thumb brushing along the back of your hand, staring down at it. “The pamphlet said you have ten seconds before you turn, that's plenty of time to reload.”

Your lips wobble, head shaking before you inhale deeply. “...Okay. If that's what you want.”

“Y–Yeah, I want that.”

“It won't get to that, I promise.” You don't know that, but you promise him anyway.

“Thank you, boss.”

“Can you promise the same thing for me too—?” Before you could finish your words, the lights shuts off, and you see the wave of darkness ebb through the city. “Shit.”

“I think we need to get to that cabin sooner rather than later.” James utters in the dark.

—

After weeks of waiting and preparing in the darkened condo, with some luck and a miracle, you and James manage to get outside of the condo and even get to ride in his parent's lexus.

You shut your door as quietly as you can, heaving and laden with sweat as you're covered from head to toe in thick winter clothes; so if an infected gets to you, their teeth won't be able to penetrate the cloth. Patting your stomach, the roundness of it is still unusual for you now that you can feel the baby move around.

James mirrors your befuddled look, sweat dripping off his brows and beard sticking to his chin in what could be an uncomfortable feeling. He nods at you, smiling as he grips the steering wheel. All the bags and guns are thrown in the backseat, together with a baby bag that James managed to find in one of the flats.

“We fucking made it.”

“God, I could fucking kiss you right now, James.” You joke, reaching over the center console to briefly hug him.

“I wouldn't say no to that.” He chuckles out, patting your back before turning on the ignition with a shaky hand. “To the cabin we go!”

The engine stirs up immediately, a thrumming sound of victory. James presses a button on a small remote, prompting the automatic garage door to whirr awake.

You laugh, but the sound of running footsteps behind you has your stomach sinking. Looking behind and over the seats, you see a whole horde of them gunning for you and James. It's the building’s residents.

“We need to go!”

“Seat belts!” James revs up the engine and without missing a beat, backs the car towards the bodies as blood sprays all over the windows.

Clicking on your seat belt, you hang on for dear life as James panics and turns the steering wheel around to face the garage doors.

“James!” You yell as more and more clamber their way to the sides. The car jolts, wheels squeaking but not moving as blood and guts fly about.

The sound of the garage door’s metallic clanking has more of the infected join in, the stragglers left by the rest of the city's horde. The sun peeks through the opening, shadows of the stumbling and running crowd managing to squeeze through.

“The wheel's fucking stuck!” James presses down on the pedals, but the car still doesn't move.

You yell when a banging sound erupts from the backseat. Right on the glass, bodies and faces are squished in between it, blood and ripped skin kissing the car's window.

“I need to get out and—” James panics, but before he could grab the shotgun from the backseat, you're already holding onto it. “What—?!”

The loud reverb of the shot stings your ears as the glass of the back window now lay shattered all over your things.

“What the fuck, Y/N?!” James yanks the gun away and you surprisingly let him.

You crawl towards the seats, ignoring the broken and bloodied glass, and quickly ripping the bag zipper open as you grab a molotov cocktail from the arsenal you and James prepared exactly for situations like this. You only have a few minutes before your opening closes and before the horde gets back up.

Without questioning you anymore, James helps you by fishing out his lighter, clicking it once until the cloth lit up the whole car.

Just like Hobie taught you, you toss it through the opening you made within a half second.

The bottle flies over the dead, their heads turn towards the heat and light as it lands directly at them with force, shattering the glass and spreading the fire.

The guttural screams would haunt your dreams, but when the car lurches and the infected gather around the warmth and leave the car be, you smile victoriously.

James drives off, car hitting the streets with a metallic slam and wheels smoking. He hoots and hollers, smacking your side ecstatically.

“You absolute beauty, you!” He laughs, fist slamming against the car's ceiling.

Buildings whizz by, grinning back at James. His smile flickers away as his eyes move down to your lap. You suddenly feel a stinging ache on your palms.

With bated breath, you look down, blood pooling all over his mother's mink coat.

“It's probably fine—”

“Stop the car!” You yell as the car skids to a stop near the bridge. Opening the door, you immediately bolt away from James and climb up the wall of the bridge, standing precariously on the ledge as you look down at the Thames.

The sound of the car door opening has you looking back at a concerned James, the gun in his hand means that you both have reached an understanding.

Big Ben looms over the distance, its clock face standing still just like the world has. Just like you have as you count down to ten.

Your laboured breaths rise above the sound of the rushing river below you. It's dark depths calling for you.

Five.

“It's okay, boss, I—I think you're fine.” James utters but the tears in his eyes says that he has the same worries as you. “Ten seconds have already passed.”

Four.

“T–The glass had their blood, James.” You show him your blood drenched palms. “It might take awhile.”

“It won't fucking take you. Get down from there please.”

Three.

“The pamphlet said it transfers through bodily fluids—”

“Get the fuck down.”

Two.

“I can't.”

James slowly inches towards you, gun holstered.

One.

Your breathing rises, blood dripping from your wounds. “I think—” James yanks you away by the coat’s hem, dragging you away from the ledge as you land against his chest. Your cries are muffled by his own coat.

He shushes you gently, holding you in place. “You're good, see? Still alive.”

“I'm sorry, t–that was pathetic.”

“Pathetic? Nah, just melodramatic.” He sighs in relief, leaning away as he holds you at arm's length. Patting your cheek, he sees your left eye twitching briefly before stabilizing. “Let's get the fuck away from here. We have bandages in the car, come on, boss.”

You wipe all your tears, nodding and trying to calm yourself down. “Okay, we have a reunion to go to.”

—

“So, tell me about this cabin?” James asks while a storm brews in the distance, dark clouds looming over the trees on your right. “We have four whole days of travelling, might as well tell me about it.”

“What?” You ask, head still not screwed on tight on your neck after what transpired a few hours ago. The bandage around your palms are rough against your thumbnail, incessantly picking at it anxiously. The ring around your pinky is stained in red, you should clean it later.

“The cabin, tell me about your time there with Hobie. The PG version please.” He chuckles, eyes straight on the road as he carries precious cargo.

Shaking your head, you look over to him while a pair of beaded bracelets dangle from the rearview mirror. “It was nice, we went there for our anniversary.”

“And?”

“And?” You scoff with a smile. “That's it, we spent time lounging around the place and in the morning we would go out to eat and sightsee.”

“You have a way with your words, boss.”

“What do you want from me, James?” You shift in your seat, arms wrapped around your growing belly. “A narration?”

James shakes his head with a growing grin, eyes flicking to you briefly. “No, I'm just making conversation to fucking get you out of there.”

“Out of my seat?”

“No, your fucking head, emo. You've been quiet this entire time.”

“Oh,” you sniff as thunder rumbles from a distance. “Well, thanks.” You can't tell him that his annoyance actually worked and kept you distracted for a little bit, or you'll never hear the end of it. “The cabin was just an hour away from the town. It was pretty, you know, in a cabin in a horror movie type of shit.”

He chuckles, finally victorious. “Why? Is there a permanent smell of carcass around the place, oh! Or like dolls hanging from the ceiling?”

“That’s fucked up!” You chortle, smacking his bicep playfully while he mirrors your smile. It's nice to be finally out of the damn building you've been stuck on for almost three months. “No, there was none of that, just a bunch of antique furniture that looks older than me and Hobie combined. I remember the guy who owns it described it as, ‘rustic’ and ‘remote.’”

“That place is definitely haunted. Like someone died in there or some fucked up ritual.”

“Oh, you think you can do better?” You jab his side, earning a guffaw from him as he flinches away, stomach ticklish.

“Uh, yeah!”

“Of course you can, rich boy.” You roll your eyes, legs folding to rest on the seat with you, arms wrapped around it as you perch your chin atop your knees. Thunder rolls around, grey clouds now looming over the highway that's littered with abandoned cars and luggage.

“We have a farm further north— a fucking rest house more like.” He sighs, eyes fond as he remembers a memory. “We used to go there every winter with the whole family, go sledding and shit. Until the whole drama happened between my dad and aunt.”

“I'm sorry, James.”

“Nah, don't be. I was a kid, barely remembered the whole tiff they had. I just miss my cousins is all.” He shrugs, clearing his throat as he continues to drive steadily. “There's a huge chance that they might be there, y’know the whole family and stuff.”

“You planning on going there?” You ask, voice turning soft.

“Yeah, I think so— well, after we meet up with Hobie and hopefully the others.”

You smile, hand reaching to grasp reassuringly at his bicep. “Sounds like a good plan, James. We'll come with you, as support and definitely not to test out the hundred rooms you guys probably have. What's the name of the place?”

“Mudwood manor.” You nod, taking note of the name. “Dad's gonna have a heart attack if he ever saw you lot. He's still not over what happened two years ago.” He chuckles, hand patting your own in appreciation. “Thanks, boss, for everything. I think I wouldn't have made it this far without you.”

You shake your head, tears making your vision blurry. You blame the hormones. “That should be my words, not yours.” James mirrors your expression, inhaling deeply to get rid of the lump in his throat. “If your parents ever saw you now, they'd be proud of you. I'm proud of you.”

He subtly wipes away at his eye. “You gonna name the kid after me now?”

Laughing, you pat his arm before letting go. “Maybe, I'm seriously considering it.”

“Shit, really?” He says with disbelief. “James Junior, wow.”

You wince, making a face. “Probably not with the Junior. Ew.”

The two of you laugh as rain now pours over the car, drenching the pavement. The sound reverberates through the metal, and the broken window doesn't help with tamping down the sound.

You look over your shoulder, finding that the tarpaulin that you hastily stuck on the hole is hanging on.

“Hey,” James pats your knee, eyes shining despite the dark clouds and pouring rain outside. “We’ll make it there.”

“I know.”

“Let me worry for the two of you, okay?” He glances at your stomach, your belly button is beginning to protrude through your shirt.

“Careful, you'll have worry lines.”

“Birds find worry lines fit, boss.”

With a roll of your eyes, you pinch his arm. “Focus on the damn road, Jameson.”

—

“Wake up, Hobie.”

Your voice yanks him from deep slumber, hard pebbled rocks digging into his skin as he rises from the coast.

He aches all over, arms throbbing, knees screaming in protest as he kneels down on the rough rocks. His heavy eyes roam around the beach, finding nothing but miles of the rocky coast with its boulders piled up high, edges smooth from years of waves lapping around it.

Rain bears down on him, ears ringing from the sound of rain hitting the hardened ground. His body shivers, eyes straining from the downpour.

A sound of knocking wood from behind takes his attention. Looking over his shoulder, he finds the remains of his houseboat, all shards of wood and glass, memories scattered and floating in the cold dark water.

A scream almost escapes out of him. Hand covering his mouth, as he keels over to the rocks, palm digging harshly into the beach.

It was his home and yours for almost ten years, and it was his only salvation, his safety while he was out treading the waters. And it was his one reminder of you. Everything in it had memories, both fond and somewhat awful, but they were his, and now it lays in the bottom of the sea. Picture frames floating with the seaweeds, shoes and clothes tangled around drifting wood.

But by some miracle, his guitar case floats in between two rocks, knocking against the other, in tune with the waves.

Hobie, with whatever's left of his energy, stands up on wobbly legs. There's scratches all over his skin, all searing pain that almost had him falling back down on his knees. And yet he continues on, legs weak, feet barely moving towards the guitar case.

Salty water hits his feet as he shivers, he treads on until the water reaches his waist. The cold and salt exacerbates his injuries, with clenched teeth and shuddered breath, he reaches for the only thing that's left of his home.

The thick leather brushes along his fingertips, hands wrapped around it as he tugs it closer to his chest. Hobie shakily hugs it, a sob pushing through his carefully built wall as he cries atop it like it's a casket that's about to be buried.

His head lays on top of it while rain pours overhead. And his tears are carried by the salty waves.

—

Hobie lugs around whatever's left of his houseboat. All shoved inside a tattered backpack that was once yours. Your charms still clink against the other, and pins still clinging on the fabric. His hand holds onto the guitar case, afraid of opening it and seeing the damage on his guitar. So he carries it around, a heavy weapon that contains his most precious memory. He can still see the sticker of your face on the guitar, he hopes that it's still intact.

He's drenched from head to toe as the storm persists on his back, as if fate is playing with him.

It's bad enough that he had to trek the rest of the way towards the cabin, but the storm keeps following him, as if it's pursuing him and hindering him from finding you. With each town he passes, he sees less and less of the dead. Some lay withered on the ground, chest cavity opened, guts spilled all over the pavement while they desperately tried to reach him with their skeletal hand.

They seem to be dying out, or the virus can no longer keep them upright, not when the host is already decomposing. And now it desperately seeks a new host, even when their jaws are barely holding on, skin blanched and bones bleached by the sun.

Hobie passes by countless evacuation centres just like the one he saw before, and they all sit there empty just like the others. Medical tents lay fallen on the ground, gurneys broken and beaten beside dirty syringes and bandages. Despite that, he checks all of them thoroughly for a sign from you, anything that would indicate that you passed through. But he has seen none.

He feels like the last man alive.

He scavenges and rests in empty houses, careful not to wake the dead that might be hiding within the deep crevices of the town. Every night, he lights a fire, small enough to warm him and not let out smoke that would signal other people that could hurt him for what little he has. Hobie knows how to survive, he went through it during his teenage years, and he never thought that he had to experience it all over again. The uncertainty of where your next meal would be, the dangers lurking around every corner; and not trusting other people to help you. His old self is rearing his head again, peeking through his flesh that you once affectionately held in your hands.

When he finds you, would you see the same person you loved? Would he see the same person in you again after everything?

Hobie's own mind is his enemy. Back on the boat he only worried about hallucinations or delusions that could plague him in the dark. But out here, where the dead lurk, everything and anything could kill him. Even his own head.

It's been a week of walking, through rain and the dead, he finally makes it to the same woods that he once shared with you.

The gates of the cabin squeak in the wind, metal gates swinging around as the breeze picks up, fluttering his lashes.

There's a walkway leading towards the house made out of pebbles, pebbles that remind him of the coast, the same grey shade as the clouds, all rounded around the edges. He roams his eyes over to the cabin, all oak and dark yellowed windows. A porch sits in front with a rocking chair that gently moves back and forth in the wind. The perfect place to rest at the end of the world.

A wind chime clinks from somewhere, and as he cranes his head to the left, there sits under a pile of strewn out branches and leaves, a car, one with a shattered window at the back and side mirrors ripped from the hinges. Bloodied specks dot around its silver paint, scratches and bullet holes mar what was once pristine.

Hobie swallows thickly as he opens the gate, there right above the squeaking metal, a loud shot can be heard from the inside. He jumps in place, hand tight around the rusty metal. Then a guttural cry, one that sends shivers down his spine.

He runs on the path, stones rolling down as he makes his way towards the cabin. His hand wraps around the doorknob, finding it unlocked.

Pushing it, there's resistance from the other side. And as he stares down, he sees a pool of blood slowly spreading over the floorboards.

Panic sets in, as he pushes hard on the door.

“Get the fuck away!” Another shot echoes around as birds fly away from their perches outside.

Hobie heaves and stares at the bullet hole on the door. It missed his head by a couple of inches.

With wide eyes, he stares through it, body frozen as he sees you in the dark with a gun pointed right at him. For a second he thought that he's dreaming again. But he wouldn't dream of something so horrible as he sees what's in your lap.

“Why won't you just die?!”

Hobie dodges before another shot takes out a chunk of the door. Flinging his body towards cover, sitting on the floor with his back against the wall. “Love? It's me!” He can barely recognize his own voice.

“Oh god.” You cry, and a smacking sound can be heard. “I'm already going crazy.”

“No, you're not, it's me, love. It's Hobie.” He then calls your name, soft and filled with fondness that it has you dropping the gun on the floor, metal clanging on wood.

“Hobie?” But he can still recognize your voice.

“Yeah, don't shoot.” His whole body shakes with trepidation.

“Hobie!” Your sobs get louder as he opens the door, letting out the pungent smell of blood and letting in sparse sunlight that filters through the dark clouds. “Hobie?” He stands there, hand on the doorknob as he looks down at you and the body laying on your lap. Maybe you are going crazy. “I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.”

Hobie looks down, staring eye to eye at a dead shambler with a hole right in his head that was blocking the door. Then he gazes back at you with James' head laying right on your lap, eyes closed, blood pooling down the bullet hole in his head and down your legs.

His hand trembles at the sight of his friend, eyes watering, painting you in water colours of blood and gore. Chest sore and stomach in knots, he closes the distance. His eyes land on you, bloodied yet alive. Then he looks down, the familiar ring around your pinky is murky and covered in red, and then he sees it.

“H–He asked me to. James, he— he saved me again.” You stare at him with wild bloodshot eyes, hands drenched in crimson as you tremble and fix the blond locks on his head. “He got bit. I'm so fucking sorry.” There's a huge chunk of his neck missing.

“Are you—?”

“No, it didn't get m–me.” You heave, barely getting your words out as you stare into his eyes.

He kneels down, hand reaching down and towards your stomach. “Are you pregnant?” His hand is warm, and he feels real. You feel real.

You nod, tears streaming down your face. “I tried to tell you before—”

His arms engulf you, holding you close, breathing you in, death and all.

A/N: thank you for reading! Please consider reblogging if you liked it ❤️

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The fetishization of Hobie Brown

Side note: This post is not intended to start up the age discourse that surrounds Hobie. I am not going to get into it as this argument/debate comes up every so often and really doesn’t prove anything on either side you are on. I’m not dissuading anyone from absorbing any content of Hobie and saying it’s problematic EXCEPT for the things I’m pointing out in this post. If you see Hobie as a minor, that’s fine. If you view him as an adult, that’s also fine. Until the directors come forward and confirm his canonical age I am not going to bring up the same facts that is brought up whenever his age comes to discussion. This is just me bringing up a reoccurring issue I’ve noticed that doesn’t get too addressed by the community (and when it does it’s often pushed to the side)

The fetishization and inherently the oversexualization of Hobie Brown is not only problematic but also harmful. Black men being fetishized has been going on for decades since slavery times. I’m not going to go too deep into the history but if you’re interested this creator has a very good video discussing it.

With Hobie Brown being a darkskin black man that is part of the punk scene and comes off with a “rough” exterior you’re going to have people put stereotypes on him. Despite how he’s portrayed in the movie I’ve seen people headcanon him as this cold person who wouldn’t care about his partner’s feelings or come off as a womanizer that sleeps with a lot of partners without a care in the world. He fucks rough and is aggressive while the reader is this innocent person pulled under his spell. That’s where some of the problem delves with him being portrayed as this aggressive and sex deviant who doesn’t care about his partner(s) feelings. It’s a stereotype a lot of (mainly non black) people see black men as.

Despite the fact that Hobie in the movie shows to deeply care for his friends, even going as far as helping Miles who he didn’t even know up until now. He’s shown to be gentle when handling Mayday. Yet people still want to paint him as the polar opposite.

Take Miles G for instant. I’ve seen him get the same treatment with him being painted as a “gangster” who is aggressive and your typical gang lord despite him only having five minute screen time. While yes from that little time he does seem to be the much colder version of Miles Morales painting him out to be a thug goes into that dangerous fantasy a lot of people see black men. People (again mainly non blacks) view black men as this dominant and powerful man who is always aggressive in and out the bedroom.

The same can be said for Miguel who even the screenwriters have written him as “animalistic” and “feral”. Writing him off more as some beast than a human being.

Circulating back to Hobie there’s nothing wrong with finding him attractive the problem delves if you’re headcanoning him or viewing him as your stereotypical “hood” boyfriend who is deprived of any other emotion except for anger, jealousy, or this sex god who will beat up people first even looking at his partner. When we make these harmful stereotypes about black characters it starts to trickle down to irl and how we view actual people.

And we end up seeing shit like this on the daily. I don’t even have to explain why this is problematic.

All in all Hobie Brown is much more than just a pretty face. He’s a young black man living in an oppressive fascist society that he’s actively fighting against. He deserves to be treated more than just a sexy conveniently attractive guy but a much more complex character who’s backstory in atsv is still a mystery. If you’re just gonna sexualize him 24/7 and not see him anything outside of that you’re weird, and you’re even weirder if you headcanon with “he’s ugly but he got that big dick 🤪.”

Sink or Swim II

Between the Devil and the Sea Masterlist

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CHAPTER 13 II >>> CHAPTER 14

The air gets warmer as Collette giggles next to you. Arm in arm, John leads the way with a pout from the teasing his sister is throwing at him. Literally, she throws hazelnut shells at him. It sticks in his curls, he shakes his head as shavings of browns fall off like snowflakes.

“I am about to say a rude word,” he says through annoyance.

“Say it!” Collette giggles again, ragging on her brother.

“You f—” John pauses, the three of you stop right in front of the manor. “What's all this?”

A dozen or so carriages are parked up front, filled to the brim with flowers and crates upon crates of ingredients. The smell of saffron and citrus hits your senses. The staff busy themselves with unloading the supplies, frantic feet skedaddling in and out of the manor.

“Are we having a party?” you ask, tilting your head at a peculiar yellow spiky fruit.

“Guess so.” John scratches his head, “why didn't they take the back entrance?”

“Maybe they're in a hurry?” Co utters next to you, already leading you inside as you stare curiously at the weird fruit.

“It’s a pineapple, dear cousin. Come on, you'll miss breakfast.”

“Whatever this party is for, mother and father are going all out.” John sighs out, following close, dodging a staff member holding a tray with hundreds of plates stacked on it.

You have an idea on what this party is for, or who it's for. But you wish that's not the case.

Entering the dining room, your uncle sits at the head of the table, hands cradling his heavy head, groaning loudly at the noises just outside the room. Your aunt seems unbothered, eating her plate of fruit silently.

They don't look up when their children greet them both. They only nod in their seats, not even bothering to look at them. You feel bad for the siblings but they don't seem to be concerned by it at all.

“Sit next to me please!” Collette chirpily says, patting the seat next to her.

The dining room is huge, fitting well with the rest of the manor. Narra floors and numerous paintings adorn the old walls. The table is the longest one you've ever seen, strong mahogany standing the test of time.

As you sit down on the plush seat, your aunt spares you a pointed look. More than what she gave her own children.

“Where's Miguel?” You bravely ask above the silence. “And Lyla?”

Frederick rubs harshly at his face before staring you down with his hungover eyes. “Miguel went out on a walk. And who's the other one?”

“Nevermind.” You take a breath.

A man dressed impeccably in a fancy suit, stands next to you. He clears his throat, looking at you through his nose.

“How do you like your eggs…” he thinks for a moment. “...my lady?”

“Oh,” you're suddenly nervous as the whole table waits for your answer with bated breath. “What are my options?”

“Everything.” He flatly says, hands tucked behind his back.

John looks at you across the table, mouthing something. You don't understand what he's trying to say to you, it looks like he's trying to say ‘collette’ or ‘goblet’ by the looks of it.

You shake your head and say, “I'll have an omelette.”

“Very good, my lady.” He says as he walks out with measured steps.

John subtly gives you a thumbs up, and you have no idea why.

Frederick chokes on nothing. You think he's about to get sick but he chugs water before he can. He blinks rapidly like he's trying to wake himself up.

“Oh,” he says, only now noticing his own children in the room. “Where did you two go off to?”

“The birds, with Y/N.” John monotonously says while he stabs his egg.

“That time of the year huh? I haven't noticed.” Frederick’s words falter.

Collette clears her throat. “Y/N told us about her time at sea! She's very brave.”

“She got shot.” John continues for her with a proud smile.

In truth, you told them just the tip of the iceberg. Not even half of it, you spared all the important details of it, names of people and places, the cruelest parts of it and the crew you've come to see as family and him. You excluded him in the story because you promised to him a long time ago that you'll keep his and the crew's secrets. You intend to honour it until you're in the grave.

“Oh I've heard,” your aunt says in a stiff tone.

“You know I've once encountered pirates.” Frederick says whilst he picks at his fruit. “While I was sailing the hazelside ship, they were a rowdy lot. Rowdier than I am!” He exclaims, “in the end, father didn't pay for my ransom so they just brought me back to the docks after three weeks.” Chuckling, his face falls at the memory. “Well anyway, we have a ship gathering dust in the capital’s docks. She's a beut! You might appreciate her more, dear niece.”

You inhale sharply, tucking the information in the back of your mind. “What is she called?”

“The Osprey.”

“We've only been aboard once, and we didn't even sail!” Collette recalls. “Maybe you can sail it with us!”

John grins excitedly, “yes! That would be amazing!”

“No.” Their mother says before you could say anything. “It’s too dangerous. The waters are plagued by pirates and god knows what.” Her daughter’s face falls. “No.” she says for emphasis.

Your omelette arrives, the butler gives you a nod and your eyes almost bulge out of its sockets at how appetizing it is. The egg is fluffy, cooked to perfection with cheese melting inside. Vegetables and meat are tucked aplenty, you can't help but dig in immediately.

As you gorge yourself, the conversation has ceased. The noble family are eating quietly, no words exchanged, not even an awkward one. Not when their mother dearest glares at her pomegranate.

You finish off your omelette, and a bowl of pomegranate seeds is laid in front of you, replacing the finished plate. Remembering the last time you ate it, and how the juice ran down your arm as he ate next to you, as his warmth spread through you.

Now you're the one frowning at the fruit.

So instead of eating it, you rekindle the conversation. “Are we having a party?”

With your question, Frederick perks up at the mere mention of it. As if he's not suffering from a hangover, he claps his hands together, a grin spreading across his lips.

“Yes! The party, oh I almost forgot!” He beams at you. “It's for you, remember? Back at the palace?”

“I didn't know you were serious.” You chuckle nervously. A party full of aristocrats is the last thing you want or need.

“Oh, I'm at my most serious when I'm drunk!” He guffaws loudly, “we're introducing you to society! It has to be huge—!” Your uncle pauses, his eyes look behind you, his smile faltering slightly, mouth clamping shut.

“What's this about a party?” Miguel stands behind you, freshly pressed dress shirt tucked neatly inside his pants, hair damp and eyes fully rested. He's the exact opposite of you who hasn't rested a wink. Nodding a greeting at you, he places his hand on the back of your chair. “Sleep well?” He asks like he can't see the tiredness under your eyes.

“Mm-hmm.” You nod.

“Liar.” He winks at you teasingly. Turning towards your uncle, his face turns flat. “Frederick, what party?”

“Just a little get together, O’Hara, nothing fancy don't worry.” he chuckles, hiding from Miguel's stare behind his cup of tea.

Miguel grumbles, chest rumbling at the thought of you surrounded by strangers. Leaning down, he asks you politely. “May I speak with you?”

Looking at him in the corner of your eyes, you speak with a tone that Miguel could only describe as annoyance and with the exact same tone as an angry teenager who didn't get what she wanted.

“Do I have a choice?”

“Always, Y/N.”

“Hmm, of course I do.” You mockingly say. Standing up, you leave the table and the uneaten pomegranate. There's eyes on your back, it's better than knives.

Miguel leads you outside and into an empty sitting room. The entire room is purple, lilacs spread around the room from the settee to the curtains.

“What is it?” You swivel on your feet to turn to him with your arms crossed on your chest.

“A party?” He asks, exasperated.

“Hey, I'm not the one who planned this, Miguel.”

“I know you didn't.” Sighing, he plops himself down on the fluffy settee. “It's just bad timing. I can't be there tonight and the next day.”

You stare at him with wide eyes. “What? You can't leave me here. I just got here, and you promised.”

He's leaving you in the vultures’ den. Granted, your cousins are nicer than you thought they'd be, but you can't say for sure for your aunt and uncle; moreso for all the strangers that will visit tonight. Wrong timing is an understatement.

“I haven't been home in years, Y/N.” Miguel avoids your eyes, he doesn't see the fear in them. “I promised my staff that I'll be home for a couple of days to settle my estate and affairs. I haven't seen to any family matters in a long time. I haven't visited my daughter.”

You sit across from him on the coffee table. Elbows on your knees, ducking down to look at his downturned face.

“You'll be back?” You clearly distrust the man to a point, but he's the only person you know well enough in the entire estate. You don't want him to leave because what if he doesn't come back? What if the nobility eats you alive tonight?

He lifts his face to give you a soft smile, understanding your fear underneath your words. “I'll be back, I promise. I'll only be thirty minutes away, so if you really need to see me you can always get on horseback and come visit me within fifteen.” That eases you a bit. “Besides, I'm leaving Lyla with you, just in case. Mudwood manor is always open to you, Y/N.”

“Alright…just— what do I do? Tonight I mean?”

“Just smile and tell your stories. Feed them bullshit if you want to, just don't let their pompous asses get to you, hm?” He pats your bicep. “Can you survive a couple of days without me?”

“Yes, I think so.” You shrug shakily. “I’ll just tell them the story of how I almost got eaten by a sea monster. I'm sure that's interesting enough.”

Miguel laughs from the belly, the sound bouncing off the purple walls. “That's the kind of bullshit they'd eat up.”

“...sure, bullshit.” You clam up. “Just come back?”

“I'll be back, I promise. I'm not leaving you here alone. Your mother will haunt me to death if I do.” Smiling at you, he pats your head before standing back up. He walks towards the door, he turns back, grinning ear to ear. “I left a present for you in your room. I heard you didn't like the color last time. See you in a couple of days, Y/N.”

With a wave goodbye, he leaves the room. You groan audibly, putting your head in your hands, rubbing the heels of your palms on your eyes until little specks of dust appear in your vision.

You need sleep, maybe it's best that you do before you attend the shit show tonight.

—

Even with your protest, the handmaidens assigned to you scour you clean in the opulent tub. They scrub and scrub until you feel like your skin is about to fall off the bone.

Now clean and free of any grime, you smell like any rich noble could be— strong flowery scent from the numerous spritz of perfume and heavy citrus from the soap they used.

The stockings itches, the corset pinches, making you want to run and get naked in the woods instead. But after seeing the beautiful ruby red gown Miguel gifted you, you feel all the ache from the intense scrubbing fade away. Just a tiny bit anyway.

As you stand in front of the large mirror, you finally see your whole self. All lace and silver ribbons. All elegance and none of the person you once were. You suddenly feel like you're staring at a different person. Drowning in red, and jewels that would have fed you during the times you starved on the road.

“I look like a very large apple.” You say out loud. Your handmaidens stifle a giggle. The dress is so wide that you have to place your hands above it. If you sat down, the dress could probably eat you up.

The women bow at you, stopping them halfway with a frantic wave of your hands, they still do it. You don't blame them for it.

As they leave you alone in your room that makes you feel small, you admire the silver bangle in your arm. The accessory is in the shape of a bird, wings stretched around your wrist, face facing you, beak poking your skin slightly.

You suddenly have an idea when you feel for the pearl that you hid inside your corset. Fishing for it like you hid money down your bust, you take out the dark pearl. It still shines in the low light of the oil lamps. Taking a red thread your handmaids used to fix the fit of the sleeves better, and a pair of scissors, you craft a necklace made from the thread and the pearl.

Tying the thread around the dark pearl using the same knot that James and Hobie taught you, you finish it off by doing it twice around the pearl to secure it properly. Tugging and testing the strength of the three threads woven together, you gingerly tie it around your neck.

It sits prettily atop your clavicle next to your mother's golden necklace. You think it fits well together.

With a soft smile and a sob rising above your chest and a deep inhale, you close your eyes while patting the necklaces in one hand, and in the other, you feel for the dagger hidden inside your stockings.

You could cry but there's a sudden knock at your door. Lyla comes inside the room with a curious look. She whistles, ogling your form.

“I knew you look better in red, because christ, I think I'm falling for you, your grace.”

“Stop,” you look at her through the mirror. She wears a dark blue dress, lace adorning her front and sleeves. Silver stars placed around her neck and ears. “I could say the same for you, Lyla.” You tease back.

“Oho!” She saunters over to you, heels clacking on the polished floors. Placing her cool hands atop your bare shoulders, she coos, “our duchess knows how to flirt back. Guess you do learn everything from the streets.”

You roll your eyes, “I didn't learn that in the streets, Lyla.” Scoffing, you shove her hands off. “You just remind me of someone.”

“Aww,” she pouts. “And here I thought we had something.” Giving you her arm, she smiles genuinely at you. “Ready to wow them, Y/N?”

“God no.” You still take her arm.

—

There's a lot of people, a sea of finely dressed nobles clamoring to talk to you. Amidst the crowd gathering around you, there's a few of them who sneer and turn their heads away from you. They hold their drinks like it's about to shatter in their hands, grips strong and clearly annoyed at the newcomer, who in their minds is trespassing in their small circle of nobility.

You turn down numerous drinks since you want to be ready in case something happens. Or someone doing something they might regret once they see the steel of your dagger.

Miguel was right, entertaining them with stories gets their attention away from questioning you with unsavoury queries. After the sixth crowd hearing the ‘fake’ story of the sea monster, they've dwindled out, finding something else to entertain themselves with.

Lyla filters through the people who want to dance with you. She turns down every person she deems unworthy of your hand. Which is most of the people in the entire ballroom.

Underneath all the stuffiness of the event, the gorgeous ballroom is a pleasant surprise. The ancient walls are decorated with lit candles that dance with the music. There's flowers in every table and corner, it helps mask the scent of cigars filtering through the air. The music crescendos as the dancers in the middle finish off with a twirl and a hop. Their dresses whoosh and flap as they bounce, tulles swishing and heels clacking.

You sip at your glass of water, letting the ice inside cool you down. With the amount of people inside the ballroom, it's getting hard to breathe. You're glad that you planted yourself near the balcony where the breeze outside helps you from passing out from the warm air.

Shaking your now empty glass, the ice clinking inside, you huff. Lyla notices the sound and she promptly takes it from your hand before the condensation drips on your expensive dress.

“Be right back, don't move.” She says, wagging her finger at you.

“Wasn't planning on it.” you say above the loud chatter of the crowd and the music from the orchestra, but not loud enough for the people to notice you unattended.

But someone does notice, he comes walking towards you with wide strides and with a wide smile. He bares a striking resemblance to the king, ash blond hair perfectly coiffed, suit perfectly fitted to his broad form.

You don't notice him at first because you have been watching Colette dance circles around the crowd. Her lilac dress dances with her, the flowers in her hair adds to her beauty. John secretly keeps a watch on her too, he stands near the dessert table, mouth full of macaroons, hand occupied with a flute of champagne.

The stranger escapes your attention. With a tap on your elbow, you almost unsheathe your dagger at the man.

“I'm sorry,” he smiles politely. “Didn't mean to scare you, my lady.”

“Who are you?” You feel for the dagger with your hand above your dress.

“Viscount Eugene Thompson, my lady.” He takes your hand, pressing a kiss above your knuckles. Staring up at you through his lashes, lips still near your hand, he smiles, a smile that could make anyone fall to their knees. But you've seen better. “It's a pleasure to finally meet you.”

“Thank you?” You nervously glance towards Lyla who's currently eating an entire plate of cream puffs. “How may I help you, viscount?”

“A dance, perhaps?” Leaning away, Eugene waits for your answer. “You haven't been dancing and I've seen you watch the dancefloor with longing. I'm here to remedy that. If you'd do me the honour.”

“Uh… I have a bad leg that is currently not for dancing.”

“I'll help you,” Eugene squeezes your hand softly. “You can stand on my shoes and I'll dance for you. It's bad enough that you can't dance in your own party.”

No one comes to your rescue, meanwhile Lyla is scarfing down all the pastries on the dessert table.

With a deep inhale, you smile politely. “Sure, why not.”

Eugene beams at you like he won first place at a pony show. Guiding you towards the dance floor, you once again feel eyes on you.

“Take my hand, put your feet up on mine, and I'll do the rest.” He whispers softly to you.

With a nod of encouragement from (surprisingly) your aunt, you take his hand and the other placed behind his neck. Carefully and blindly feeling for his shoes, you stand on top of the leather that squishes under your weight. Chest to chest, he looks down at you with his sparkling eyes. Did you have a choice in this? Or did he back you into a corner? You guess you'd never know as he glides around the dancefloor whilst you let him carry you around effortlessly.

There are worse partners to be had in this situation.

“So, duchess—”

“My life at sea was tumultuous but rewarding and I learned a lot of lessons from it.” You recite the script you prepared for yourself.

“Not what I meant, my lady.” Eugene chuckles, “I was going to ask how you're faring in all of this. It must be…a lot.”

“Oh,” you suddenly feel embarrassed in front of the charismatic stranger. “It’s a lot, but I'll get used to it, viscount, don't worry about me.”

“Please call me Eugene or even Thompson, just don't call me viscount. It makes me sound old.” He laughs, it's light and honest. The sound fills you with ease.

You smile, “just don't call me duchess or my lady and I'll do just that.”

“As you wish, my la— Y/N,” he tests your name on his tongue. “I can't help but worry, you know. I just inherited my title so I know how it feels. Granted it's not exactly the same but I'm here if you need someone.”

“That’s— thank you, Eugene.” You smile genuinely, he squeezes your hands once, the act flinging memories back into your mind.

“Are you alright?” He asks, concerned. “You look like you're about to cry, is it your leg?” Stopping right in the middle of the room, he flits his eyes all over your face and twitching eye.

“No— I…”

“May I have this dance?” A familiar voice asks, and you feel like you're dreaming, suddenly floating through the clouds as your ears perk up from his voice.

Slowly, you crane your neck to look at him. You swear your heart stopped beating but the mere sight of him brought it back to life.

Hobie gives you the smile he reserves just for you, soft and endearing, all love and affection under the grey eyes you've come to love.

“I think she's done for the night—” Eugene tries to finish but you cut him off once you see Hobie's outstretched hand.

“Yes,” you say quickly. “Yes, you may.” Stepping off Eugene's shoes, you take Hobie's hand without sparing the other man a glance.

In your peripheral vision, you see Eugene smile through his annoyance. But your entire attention goes to the man whose hand you're currently holding, whose hand fits perfectly in your grasp.

“What are you doing here?” You say tearfully, voice breaking. The music hides your cracking voice and the crowd hides your unshed tears.

His calloused hands holding you aren't but a memory anymore.

“‘m sorry, I know you told me not to follow but—”

Laughing, you finally feel whole again. “Captain,” you say it with your whole heart. “Is it bad that I'm glad you did?”

“No,” Hobie lifts you up by your waist to place you atop his own shoes. His hand never left your waist as he dances with you. Letting your warmth fill his entire being, he resists the urge to take you away from the prying crowd. “It's not bad. Did you miss me, scuttlebutt?”

“Aye, I did.” You mumble, but you say the words truthfully. “Why are you here, Hobie?” Uttering his name audibly fills you with glee. “Not like I don't want you to be but—” you finally now notice his fine garb.

With a once over, you ogle him. The suit looks like it's tailored for him, cinching his waist perfectly. Even his shiny leather shoes fit him right. The red waistcoat matches your dress. The dress jacket covers his arms, you silently wish it didn't. A rose is pinned on his lapel, he smells of burgundy and sea salt. Home, you thought. You do miss the leather though. A well placed tophat on his head helps conceal his recognizable hair. You wish to see it again.

You haven't seen him dress like this the entire time you've known him. And based on his stories, he has never worn anything like it either.

He looks good, incredibly good in it, but you know him. And you know that he doesn't feel good in it.

Hobie admires you whilst you do the same. He feels like the fishbone stuck in his throat has finally gone away now that he can finally see you close, touch you and talk to you like he used to. Underneath all the silver and frills, he still sees the real you. But he's prepared to love both.

“You're ogling.” You beat him to it. “Where'd you get the clothes? The hat doesn't do you any favours.”

“A lord something something found himself unconscious after accidentally chugging down absinthe that he thought was gin. In his defense it was dark. He was lucky that I was there to catch him, eh?”

“What?” You giggle, hand kneading at the back of his neck. He missed that.

“It wasn't me though.”

“Sure.” You dress glides as he twists the both of you. Gasping, you hold on to him tighter. “Where'd you learn how to dance?”

“We all have our secrets, love.” Love, oh how you missed that.

“It was Finn, right?”

He sighs, smile still on his lips. “...yes.”

You laugh, placing your head on his chest, hearing his heartbeat wash over you. “I can't imagine.”

“I think it's better that you don’t.” He whispers. “Wanna get out of here?”

Lifting your head up lightning fast, you grin widely. “Please.”

“I'm walking out of here in five minutes, join me after three. And tell your bodyguard that you're just going to bed, yeah?”

“Are you finally going to kill me?” You joke, wishing that you could meld closer to him.

“Yes, I've got a pocket of pomegranate seeds at the ready.”

“Alright, wait for me?”

Hobie stops right where you two began. He helps you off with his hands on your waist. His touch lingers there for a second, a second more and it would've caused a scandal.

“Always, love. As long as you're comin'” He leans down, hand holding your own. Kissing your knuckles like a gentleman, his eyes never left yours, eyes crinkling the corners into a subtle smile. “I'll see you outside.”

“Yes.” You say breathlessly.

Hobie leaves, resisting the urge to look back at you.

As you watch his retreating back, your aunt suddenly appears by your side, making your skin jump.

“What—?”

“Who was that?” She commands.

“Lord…” You see a bee buzzing over an apple near the tables. “Applebees. Yes, lord applebees.”

“Huh,” She narrows her eyes, but accepts it as truth anyway. “Never heard of him. Do you know him?”

“Nope.” You act innocently. “Just met him.”

“Hmm, carry on.” Victoria finally leaves you alone.

Weaving through the crowd, avoiding Eugene and other people, you make your way towards Lyla with an excuse that you don't feel so well.

“I can escort you—”

“No need, I've basically memorized the manor now.” A big fat lie on your end. “Enjoy the rest of the party though.” You leave quickly, leaving her to her cream puffs.

—

The night air kisses your cheeks the moment you step outside. Scanning the field and behind the fountain, you see Hobie slink away towards the hedge maze, the top hat discarded just at the entrance. The greenery adds to your excitement.

“Little shit.” You say to yourself as you make your way towards the maze.

Hands lifting up your skirt, the fabric is silky soft and heavy. Yet you practically sprint towards the entrance with a smile despite the cold and spiky grass grazing along your feet. The full moon shines brightly, bronze braziers are placed along the maze, helping you find your way. The smell of dew and grass greets you.

Entering the thicket, you whisper yell for him. “Hobie!”

You jump when he answers somewhere inside the dim maze. “Place your right hand on the right wall, follow it and you'll find me, trouble.” You can hear his smirk through his words.

“You are such an ass!” You say with a giggle, following his instructions. The hedge is rough and pointy under your palm, your other hand is lifting up your dress so you could run faster.

Your leg aches but you don't care enough to notice.

“Hurry so you can beat the shit out of me then!” You now hear him a lot closer now. “Getting warmer, love!”

Huffing, puffs of smoke escape your cool lips. “Oh I'll fucking smack you upside the head.” You hear him laugh loudly at your words. Following the sound of home, you finally make it to the center.

Hobie yanks you immediately, pulling you close to his chest, laughs rumbling his chest as you screech. With a well placed hand on your mouth, you lick at his palm, earning a yelp from the man. Yet he doesn't let you go, instead he hugs you tighter against his chest.

After the laughter subsides and the sound of crickets permeates the air once again, you look up at him, back placed on his steady chest, arms around your torso. You stare at an upside down Hobie. He smiles, breath fanning across your heated face.

“Hello.” Your heart beats louder than a drum with the simple greeting.

“Hi, come here often?” You beam up at him, feeling his muscles relax at the sight of your smile.

“I come here every autumn, how about you?” Hobie pinches your sides, but you barely felt it through the thick corset

“Oh well I kinda live here now.”

“Really? Do I get a discount now?”

“Better, you get to stay here for free.” You stand on your tippy toes to lean further up until the top of your head is perfectly leveled to his lips. Just as planned, he places a feather light kiss that makes you shiver.

Eyes closed, his lips linger atop your skin.

“Are you alright?” Hobie asks, voice muffled by your skin.

“I am now.” You open your eyes to heaven.

He grins, “good,” taking a long breath, he feels like it's the first time he has breathed into you. “That's good.”

“Are you?” Your eyes flashes with worry.

Hobie pushes the thought of the crew leaving him in the void of his mind. “I'm fine, don't worry about me, scuttlebutt.” he turns you in his arms, concerned for the crick in your neck.

Hands splayed over his chest, you feel his heart beating faster. “The crew? Are they alright? No one got caught?”

He nods, cradling your face, noting every difference on your face since he saw you last. Eyes staying on your lips, he resists the temptation.

“Not our first escape. They're nearby and they're alright.”

You exhale, hands sliding up and down, blindly feeling for his skin under all the expensive cloth. It's still him underneath it all, and you're glad.

The dam breaks, thumping your head on his chest, you let out a sob. “I miss them. I miss you.”

“And I, you, love. You have no idea.” As he holds you in his arms, you tell him everything. From how Jessica found you, to how there's a conspiracy against your family.

“Mathias did the deed, Hobie.” He visibly stiffens at the sound of the navy captain's name. “He killed them under the behest of someone more powerful.”

“I know,” you lean away with a raised brow. “I was following you. I'm sorry, I had to know that he wasn't leading you towards your death.” Hobie expects you to yell and get mad at him. Instead you slap his chest weakly with a chuckle.

“Stalker.” You lay his wrinkled dress shirt down gently. “You could've let me know, I can keep a secret.”

“I tried, but I couldn't find an opportunity. You're popular now innit?” He stops your hand, placing his own atop it.

“Just a little bit.”

“I got close once but when I entered your room, you weren't there anymore.”

“I think that's when my cousins called for me—wait, how'd you get in?” Hobie finds your scrunched up face endearing.

“Employee tunnels, there's hundreds of them that connect to each room.” Before you could ask how he knew about them, he beat you to it. “Bribed a handmaiden with one of my necklaces.”

You stare at him with wonderment. “Let me pay you back then.” Untying the necklace you recently made, you place it in his open palm. You intend for him to keep it, in case your reunion is short lived.

Hobie takes it without question. He admires the dark pearl in his hand, the memory of your face after finding it is engraved in his mind.

“Help me tie it?”

You nod with a shy smile, pulse rapidly increasing. “Turn around, cap'n.” He obliges, mirroring your smile. With gentle and tender hands, you tie the red thread around his neck. He turns back around to face you, the pearl shines atop his skin brilliantly.

“Beautiful,” you whisper just to him, his own flustered face is reflected in your shining eyes.

A comfortable silence hangs above the both of you as his hands are placed on your waist, laying there politely. You do the same with your hands around his elbows. The two of you look like you're about to dance with the sound of the crickets as your choice of music.

You expect him to ask you to come with him. To run away and leave the manor, your family's legacy behind. But Hobie doesn't, cannot do that to you, now that you both have the same goal— kill Mathias.

“I’ll help you find whoever killed them, then…” you blink in surprise, heart pounding at his next words. “Come back with me to the mermaid's head? We can find a decent crew there. Then we can avenge them, every single one. After that we can sail wherever you want, see the real world.” His words are genuine, no lie or false hope in his tone. He believes that you and him can do it, do anything as long as you're with him. Gwen and the others are right, he needs to think things through more, and this is his chance to do so.

“You'll stay with me until then?” He nods, eyes serious but full of affection. Breath stuck in your throat, “With what ship?” You ask with a growing smile. Happy that someone finally wants to know the truth with you. Stay with you after so many people have left you.

“We'll find a way, we always do, right?” Hobie squeezes your waist softly. “Or after everything, if you want to stay somewhere, settle somewhere, we can.”

Oh.

“You've convinced me, you had me at ‘wherever I want’” You say, still in disbelief that he wants to stay with you.

You both feel it, the static in the air like lightning is about to strike where you and Hobie stood. He smiles sweetly and you give in.

Leaning in, hands wrapped around the back of his neck, you're prepared to seal the deal with a kiss. Hobie meets you halfway, his lips briefly brushes along yours and it's enough to send electricity through you from his skin alone.

His breath hitches in his throat, chest tightening, affection flowing freely from his fingertips. But before he could properly kiss you, a loud voice calls for you just outside the maze.

You both moved away quickly, flustered faces hiding the giddy smiles you and him both sport. His skin burns while his heart aches. Meanwhile, you can't stop thinking about his lips grazing yours. It'll keep you awake throughout the night.

Lyla yells like someone took her coin. Hobie quickly grabs you by the elbow, pulling you close and then whispering in your ear. His lips brush along the shell of your ear and you shiver from the touch.

“I'm staying at the barn.” Hobie kneads softly at the small of your back, eyes keeping watch at the entrance of the maze. “If you need to see me, there's a tapestry of a unicorn in your room. Flip it away and you'll see the doorway into the tunnels. There will be a fork in the path, take a right and it'll take you outside.” With every word he utters, you melt.

He subtly invites you, and you silently accept with a slow nod.

Backing away when he hears rustling outside, his warm hand remains a second on your heated skin. With a lopsided smile, he turns away.

Fading inside the maze, he disappears into view just as Lyla gets to the center.

“Christ!” She flicks a branch off her hair. “What are you doing here? You said you'd be in bed!”

“I went out for a walk.” Your tone is wobbly. “It's a lovely night for it.”

“Sure sure, you can walk anywhere you want. But come on, not in the ‘murder maze’ Y/N! Miguel's gonna cut my pay if I let you die on my watch!”

“And here I thought you really cared for me, Lyla.” You pout, you're in a good mood. But it could've been better if Lyla didn't show up at the wrong time.

“Pssh, come on, let's get you to bed. It's fucking freezing out here.” She beckons you over, grumbling about being a babysitter.

—

You lay on the soft bed, eyes wide open, arms spread across the large mattress. The blue canopy above you reminds you of the waves on your island. The windows are closed, while the fireplace illuminates the room. Shadows dance in your vision, and you wonder if he's cold.

With a shake of your head, you sit up, gathering enough confidence to visit him. After a minute of slapping your face awake and telling yourself to not be a coward, you finally stand up.

You're in your linen slip, frilly collar and sleeves, white roses adorning the almost see through fabric. It doesn't help much with the cold so you take your robe and hastily put it on. Gathering the thick blanket in your arms, you don't even bother folding it properly as you haul it out of bed to drag the heavy material across the room and into the tunnel entrance.

Stopping by the unicorn tapestry, you flip it open with your foot. A breeze passes by, peeking into the dark tunnel, you bravely walk inside.

You do the same thing like you did in the maze, right hand sliding across the right wall, following it to the exit. Your eyes adjust to the dark, soon after that you can see outlines of the chipped walls. You reach the fork in the path, and just as Hobie instructed, you head towards the right tunnel.

After walking the cool tunnel, you finally make it to a wooden door. It has seen better days, looking like it's about to collapse any second. With a creak, you push it open with your shoulder.

Finally making it outside, you beeline towards the barn. You remember passing it on your way towards the lake, so you strain your ears to hear the sounds of animals, using it as your guide whilst the moon shines a path for you.

The large doors loom above you, it's dark inside based from the crack on the door, a cow moos inside while a horse neighs. With your heart in your throat, you push open the door.

But Hobie flings it open before you could even touch the wood. His eyes are wide, mouth agape, hand trembling on the door. His surprise quickly turns into happiness.

“Can't sleep?” He asks like his legs aren't shaking, threatening to buckle under his nervous self.

“No, I thought you'd be cold.” A lie, in truth, you haven't slept well since you parted ways. “Don't just stand there like a tree branch, help with this.” You practically throw the heavy blanket in his arms. He catches it with an ‘oof’ but his smile stays on his lips. You remember how soft it was.

Hobie pats down the top of the cloth to get a good look at you, he wishes he hadn't for he thinks he died and gone to purgatory.

Your linen slip doesn't hide much as the moonlight perfectly aligns on your back, shining behind you, showing him every curve and dip of your body. The robe doesn't help as it's made from the same cloth, it just adds to his racing heart and rushing blood.

He swears the hay underneath his feet has burst into flames.

“Why are you sweating? It's freezing!” To add to your clueless cruelty, you step closer to him to wipe at the sweat streaming down his temple. “Yuck, Hobie!” You joke with a giggle.

“Are you trying to kill me?” He breathlessly asks, clutching the blanket tighter in his arms.

Your eyebrows knit adorably. “No? I left the dagger under my pillow.”

He clears his throat and his mind, “A-alright. D’you want to come inside?”

“O-oh.” It's your turn to be flustered. He looks beautiful in the low light, it illuminates his best features, which is every part of him in your opinion. “Are your friends alright with you receiving guests?” You tease to hide your current state.

Hobie looks over his shoulder with a laugh. The animals look back at him with blank faces.

“I think they're alright with it, as long as you pick up after yourself.”

“I can do that. I've heard I'm a wonderful guest.” You saunter towards the pen, Hobie’s eyes avoid your backside. “Hi, gorgeous.”

“Gorgeous? That one's new.”

“I'm talking about the horse, Hobie.” He finally looks at you petting the dark horse as the animal snorts in your hand. You giggle, cooing at the docile horse.

“I'm fucking done for.” He whispers lowly, a deep rumble under his chest. Closing the barn door, he tightly closes his eyes with a giddy grin.

“What was that?” You twist around to face him, the horse nudges you, asking for your attention.

“Nothin’” he saves face. “That there is Bernard,” he says while he places the blanket on top of a hay bail. “He's here at the barn instead of the stables because he won't let anyone ride him without bucking them off.”

“How'd you even know that?” You chuckle.

“The stable hand and I are best friends now. He's lettin’ me stay here as long as I stay quiet.”

“Best friends huh? Miles wouldn't like that.” You poke his bicep.

“He'd be devastated.” He jokes back, taking your finger right before you retract it back. Uncurling your fingers, he laces your hand together with his own. Your pulse quickens under his touch.

“Mm-hmm,” you could only say while he looks at you like you found a treasure chest just for him. It's the best you can do really.

“That one is Butter,” He gestures towards the cow staring intently at you like you're made of grass. “Don't try to pet her, she bites.”

“Noted.”

“The goat in the corner eating a shoe is Jack, he likes to ram people.”

“I already like him,” you say through a yawn.

“You can sleep here if you want.”

“As long as I don't share the bed with Butter.”

“Worse, you'll share it with me.”

“Oh that is definitely worse.” You giggle, squeezing his hand. “You drool in your sleep.”

“C’mon, up at the hayloft.” He guides you towards the ladder, grabbing the blanket on the way. “Careful, the second step is loose.”

“I can handle it, expert climber, remember?” Climbing up, you miss the way he averts his eyes.

Finally making it up, you roam your eyes at the small space covered in hay bales. There's a single circular window in the middle of the wall, the light filters through it, shining directly down at the laid out blanket on the floor.

“Nice, you're living in luxury, Hobie.”

He flings the blanket at your feet whilst he still climbs the remaining steps. “Cover yourself up, you'll catch a cold.”

“I’m fine,” your skin is on fire from where he touched you.

Hobie hums, avoiding flitting his eyes over to you where the moon shines a spotlight on you. He feels like he's not gonna survive the night, and you think so too.

Sitting down with a groan, he lays his head on the makeshift pillow filled with hay. It doesn't smell as much as you thought it would be, you wonder if these were fresh hay.

“How'd you get to stay here?” You ask, while you sit next to him. He scooches away to make space for you.

“The bloke knew who I was—”

“What?! What if he—”

“We're good, love. He won't tell anyone, he said I've helped his family once, I barely remember it but he was happy to keep everything quiet. Lie down?”

“Are you sure?” His hand guides you down on the blanket, hand on your shoulder, gently pulling you down. And you let him without apprehension on your end.

“‘m sure, you're not the only popular one. Don't worry about it, yeah?” Hobie grabs the blanket from your arms to lay it on top of you both. “This is nice, just like in the island eh?” He pats your arm.

“Only this time there's no sand in our knickers, just hay.” You lay on your side to face him, he does the same. “Hi.”

“Hello,” he smiles, hand splayed over your bicep. “This is a five star accommodation compared to the island.”

You bravely close the small distance, he's so close to you that you could hear his heartbeat.

With trepidation, you can't hold it in any longer, lest you regret never telling him.

“I love you, Hobie.” Staring at his swirling eyes, you feel yourself shudder. “And I know you only love the part of me that reminds you of her. And I'm alright with that.”

He swallows thickly, hands clammy.

“Don't worry, I've come to terms with it.” You choke back, smiling, accepting.

“I love you anyway.” He whispered in wonderment.

You can't believe his words. Eyes glossy, you shake your head. “Don't pity me—”

“I don't pity you, I love you. I-I may have liked you at first because of the similarities. But that phase has passed, the feeling is still there, it's stronger now.” He says truthfully, hands grasping your own, kissing your knuckles softly as tears flow out of your eyes. “Because I know you, Y/N, your hands are gentle when you sew me close. You give the same softness when you do it to my crew. Your eye twitches when you're annoyed. Your ankle never fully recovered after you twisted it, you talk to me like you fuckin' hate me but you smile at me like you loved me from the start.”

He holds you close, grey eyes calm, tears pooling in the corners. “I love the parts of you too. Similarities or not, I would have fallen for you either way.” With a nervous chuckle, he continues.

“I love you as you, not as MJ.”

With his confession, you sit up and then immediately pressed your lips against his own. He gasps, pleasantly surprised. You brace yourself on his shoulders, whilst he holds you in place by your waist. Lips moving in tandem, teeth clacking, breaths heaving above the sounds of the animals below—everything seems to fix itself.

Hobie holds you like how you hold rain in your hands— gentle and cradling the water like you would seep through his fingers.

You feel him smile through the kiss, it makes you snog him deeper. His fingers grasps at your slip, balling it in his fist, a proof that this is real and not a dream his lovesick mind concocted. Sliding his hand above your nape, he pulls you in closer, deeper and deeper the kiss goes, the less air he has in his lungs.

Reluctantly pulling you off with his hand lifting your chin away, you chase his lips before surrendering. “Fuckin' hell, let me breathe.” He chuckles out.

“Sorry.” You stare at his kiss bitten lips, and the sheer your lips left. “I got carried away.”

“Nah, don't be. I've wanted to do that for a while, you just beat me to it.”

Eyes downturned, nose kissing the tip of his own, you exhale like it's the first time you've breathed. “I'm not trying to replace her, I don't want that. I know she will always stay with you. So, let me ask you this— Are you sure? There'll be consequences.”

“I can handle the consequences. I'll fight the consequences.”

You smile. “We'll fight the consequences. Together.”

Hobie chuckles deeply, chest bobbing up and down, lifting you up and down on top of him. Your heart beats sync, grey eyes staring up at you with reverence, a whirlpool of affection swirling inside.

“I think I've got enough air now, do it again?” He asks like he's asking for a second heaping of lunch.

You nod with a grin, and you dig in.

A/N: Thank you for reading! Please consider reblogging if you liked it! ❤️

❤️Introducing Fluffy Fridays! ❤️

🎉 As part of my 500 celebration, I'm opening my requests for fluff plots, prompts 🎉

Please read before requesting

Rules:

❣️ Request must be Fluffy.

❣️ You can send your request any day of the week, but I'll only upload them on Fridays.

❣️ Plot/prompt should be short and sweet. Fic lengths will be 1000 words or less.

❣️ Hobie x readers only please.

❣️ AU's, headcanons, and imagines are welcome!

❣️ You can send multiple requests in if you wish.

❣️ Requests are only open for Fluffy Fridays. Regular requests are still closed.

❣️ Please send them in my ask box.

❣️ Please read my regular request rules for more in depth rules.

🥳 Fluffy Fridays are open indefinitely, even after the celebration!

🥳 I realised all my current wips are long fics so this is a good palete cleanser for when you want a quick read!

🥳 Regular requests will open after I finish all my current wips, so hold on to your angst and hurt/comfort prompts!

🥳 Thank you again for all the lovely comments, likes and reblogs on my works! You've all made me very happy ❤️ you guys motivate me to improve more on my writing so from the bottom of my heart, thank you!!!