That’s My Lion Shaped Son Right There You See Him He’s So Precious

Ultimate Black Cat is finally here, guys!!!

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

The eyes, chico... They never lie.

Last one for comfort week 🥰 Hobie sees you!

Threadbare

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

Word count: 5.5k

Tags: use of Y/N sparsely, no specific physical description of the reader (except for their clothing), CW panic attack, injury mention, insecurity, food mention, R has nicknames, angst, fluff.

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CHAPTER 4 >>> CHAPTER 5

Your feet hurt, toes aching inside your chucks. You should've worn something comfier. Raising your tired legs a few inches away from the concrete, thinking the elevated position might help with relieving your strained muscles. You sit dejected near the river, disappointed that you couldn't find a flat for Hobie. Your back aches from the not so comfortable metal bench. Your lashes flutter against the cold gust of wind, making you hug your coat tighter around your torso.

Hobie plops next to you, a water bottle in hand. He groaned when he finally got to sit after hours of standing and walking around.

He raises a curious brow "what are you doing? Are you about to take a dive in the river or somethin'?" Hobie points at your lifted legs.

"My feet hurt" you hold your hand out towards the bottle, he hands it to you wordlessly. "Thanks, you drank?" Shaking the half full bottle, Hobie leans against the back of the bench, head lolling off the edge, his long arms spread out over the back of the bench.

"Yeah" he sighs, eyes closed, the sun's rays hitting his face, painting him in a heavenly light.

Taking a sip of water, you glance at him, his loose tank top peeking from under his leather jacket, clavicle on full display. You almost choke on water when you see his adam's apple bop up and down. You cough harshly, Hobie perks up, patting your back as you cover your mouth with your hand, heat on your cheeks.

"The fuck happened?" He asks, half concerned, half teasing.

You happened, you wanted to say, coughing louder, Hobie sits up, still patting your back.

"Maybe you should drink some water," Hobie smirks.

"Funny" you say in between coughs, tears in your eyes. You inhale and exhale, your coughing fit stops almost immediately. You sniff, murmuring a small *goddamnit.

Hobie cups your cheek, wiping at the stray tear that managed to escape your eye. "Maybe someone was thinking of you, that's why you choked" me, it was me, I was thinking of you. He almost blurted out.

You lean into his touch before he takes his warm hand back. "Why in the world would they be thinking of me?" You look at your watch, "at three pm on a sunday of all days?"

"Why wouldn't anyone think of you?" He manages to blurt this one out, his eyes widening for a second, you look at him dumbfounded, hope blossoming in your chest. "you probably owe them money" he plays his first comment off, managing to stay cool even though he was slightly panicking. Your shoulders slump in disappointment, deciding to just ignore the first sentence.

"Shit, you're right I think I still owe Ned twenty pounds. Remind me to pay him before he leaves for Richmond" you lightly push him with your shoulder.

"Sure, I'll definitely remember that" Hobie sarcastically says.

You sigh, staring into the water, you watch as a boat sails by. Hobie notices your drop in mood when you mentioned Ned, he sometimes forgets you're also friends with him, knowing him for years now.

"Gromit, he'll be fine, yeah? He's all grown up, we taught him a lot" He taps your foot with his. You look at him, a frown on your lips.

"You make it sound like he's our kid, and he's leaving the nest"

"Weird way to put it, love" A smile slowly growing on his lips.

"Shut up, you started that weird comparison first, I'm just imitating you" you chuckle, you smile slowly fading away "it's just that–" you look at him, staring and waiting. You wish you brought Terry with you, you find that speaking through him is much easier. "It's nothing"

"Nah, you can tell me." He inches closer to you, the back of his hand on his leg, palm waiting for you.

You gaze down at his hand, fingers itching to hold him, "He's been with you for a long time, Hobs. Even though you've moved from band to band, he's always been your bassist, *always"

"People will always move on. Can't do anything to stop them, sometimes you just gotta wish 'em well" he ducks his head to meet your downturned gaze. "We can always visit him, Richmond's only an hour away"

"That's not what I meant, Hobie" you finally reach for his hand, squeezing it.

"I know what you mean" He holds your hand like it's the most precious thing in the world. "We can't stop their progress just because we don't want them to leave" he squeezes your hand. "People will leave, I've accepted that a long time ago"

"And yet I'm still here" you move closer to him, leg right next to his jean covered ones.

"And yet you're still here" Hobie chuckles despite this, he's never been more afraid of the possibility of having the same conversation with you except you'll be the one leaving him.

You grin at him, lacing your fingers together with his, afraid of letting him go. He sticks to you like a web, pulling you towards his chest, a warm hand on your nape. You cling to him like a spider would, arms enveloping him completely, you both feel the same thing, Home.

Electricity passes through you when Hobie presses a featherlight kiss over the crown of your head, as fast as it comes down it fades mere seconds later when Hobie pulls away from you, hand staying a few seconds longer on your head.

You sniff, blinking away the tears gathering in your eyes. "We still haven't found you a place. Maybe I could hide you in my dorm until we find one?"

"Your RA's a bloodhound, I'm sure she can sniff me out the second I get there" He acts nonchalantly, a comforting arm over your shoulder. You lean back into his arm, his knuckles brushing over your coat. "We've got plenty of time, deadline to leave isn't until after your show, so we're still good"

"Maybe the last place we looked at isn't too bad?"

"Their bathroom had stairs leading down towards the shower, the place is a bloody deathtrap" he scoffs.

"Yeah, I guess slipping and falling on your ass isn't so punk of you" you try to use reverse psychology on Hobie.

"That's not gonna work," a small canal boat floats idly right in front of the bench, "besides they don't allow pets"

"You don't even have a pet" the boat honks loudly, you two ignore it.

"How are you gonna visit me then?" Hobie smirks playfully.

You jab him on his chest with your finger, "Dickhead"

"You got a new insult? Just call me a wanker next time" He pinches your arm, you yelp, poking him some more.

"You wanker" you jokingly glare at him, he finds it adorable, resisting the urge to peck the smirk off of your lips.

He goofily smiles at you, "There you go" his words dripping in fondness.

The boat honks longer and loudly, interrupting your banter. Hobie glares at the intrusion, a middle aged man waves at you two from the boat.

"Boat!" He yells out when he finally gets your attention, pointing enthusiastically at his boat. You look at him confused.

Hobie answers for you, "yeah mate, we can see that" he yells, "good for you!" He turns back to you but the man replies, stopping Hobie from continuing your conversation.

The unnamed man shakes his head, "No! Boat for sale!" He says in an accent you can't quite pinpoint.

Hobie's hand sits heavily on your shoulder, but you don't mind, finding it comforting especially after your emotional talk.

"It's a houseboat!" He points at you both "maybe couple interested? It's very cheap!"

"What are we gonna do with a houseboat?" You whisper to Hobie, he looks like he's contemplating. "Hobs?"

"How much?" He yells towards the man.

"Hobie!" You hold his arm, stopping him from going near the boat, "He seems shady" you whisper.

"He seems cool," Hobie shrugs. "Besides, he said it's cheap, better than having stairs in the bathroom." He moves near the water, you barely make out what they're saying, too concerned that you might get murdered on a houseboat of all places.

—

You stay with Hobie inside the Houseboat, it looks worn out but at least there's no holes in it. The floorboards creak with every move of your feet, and the faucet leaks, the sound annoying you with every drip drop of water on the sink. Standing close to Hobie, you hold onto the sleeve of his jacket, eyes wide awake for any danger, making sure you two don't end up on the nightly news.

The houseboat is smaller than the flats you've looked at hours ago, it has a cozy feel to it, from the narra floors to the adorable navy blue kitchenette. Despite it looking a little worn down, you know it's been well loved, with every scratch and indents on the wooden floor, the chipping paint revealing a different color behind it, they all have history, if only walls could talk. Even with all its flaws, the boat looks taken care of, no bugs eating away at its foundation, no rust on the metal finishings, and best of all no water damage in its interior. This could work.

"You can pay it off in installments" the man, you've now learned, is named Finn. He didn't miss the irony of his name, a man named Finn living in a boat, he made a joke about it earlier that you politely laughed at. Finn continues his sales talk with Hobie.

Maybe it's fate, meeting Finn. You don't think you can handle another go at flat hunting, your feet ache just from the thought of it.

He leads you two to the master's bedroom, big enough for a queen's size bed, and a simple cabinet. There's a small window on the side, the late afternoon sun filters through the opening.

"See?" He walks around the room "big enough for the two of you! Your girl will like the cabinet space" he smiles, his thick beard moving when he talks.

You don't correct him, you don't blame the man especially with how you're clinging on to Hobie. You stare at the peeling paint on the walls, there's a dust bunny on the corner of the floor.

Hobie doesn't chide in, listening intently to Finn's sales talk.

"And look! A bedroom with a view, eh?" He gestures towards the small window like he's presenting on stage. "And listen," He knocks on the walls, "Thick walls for a houseboat, perfect for privacy, eh?" He points to you both.

You look at Hobie, stifling a laugh. He stares back at you with a smirk over his lips. Oh not again.

"You sure 'bout that, mate?" He loops his arm over to your waist, rolling your eyes so far back you're sure you could see your brain. He bites back another quip, just in case it might make you uncomfortable.

"Yes! I'll go outside, and you scream as loud as you can, I'll tell you if I can hear you" he skedaddles out of the room, "be right back!" He leaves the boat completely.

"What if he's calling his friends to help murder us?" You ask actually concerned.

"Y/N," he clicks his tongue, "don't judge a book by its cover, besides you got me to protect you"

"You and those skinny arms of yours? We're both dead, Hobs"

You jump when Finn yells through the open window, "These walls are also perfect for when it rains, you can barely hear it!" He says with a huge smile, you think he's actually excited to show you how sound-proofed the place is. "Close the window then you scream, yes?"

Hobie takes a few steps to reach the window closing the glass, for added effect he also closes the curtains, blocking Finn off.

"He could lie and say he didn't hear us" you say, arms over your chest.

Without warning, Hobie yells loudly, you quickly put your hands over your ears. "You ass!" You yell back.

Hobie laughs from his stomach, taking your hands off your ears. You glare at him.

"Don't you dare yell again, I swear, Hobie you almost blew out my eardrums"

"I don't think you need ear drums in the fashion industry" he's still holding your hands, his rings cold against your palms.

"Well I need it" you hear a knocking from the other side of the window. Hobie releases your hands to open it, Finn's smiling face looks back at you. You think Hobie's right, you shouldn't have judged the man so quickly, he's genuinely a jolly person. His huge arms don't help though, the man could strangle you both without breaking a sweat.

"See? I didn't hear a thing!" He taps the shell of his ear, "no interruptions for you two" he laughs, his guffaw reminds you of Santa's laugh.

"Alright bruv, let me talk it out with her, give us a few minutes, yeah?"

"Of course, I'll be outside. I won't be able to hear anything here anyway!" He chuckles, closing the window shut.

You knit your brows, confused. Hobie saunters towards you, hands on his hip. "What do you think?"

"What do I think?" You blink, surprised.

"Yeah, sure the place needs some polishing" he looks at the bright lime green walls of the bedroom, grimacing. "And a coat of paint. It'll be home by then, not to mention this place only costs a year worth of rent. And there's no stairs inside the bathroom"

"And no carpeted floors in the kitchen." You mention one of the places you looked at earlier in the day, "why do you need my input? It's your place"

"Because there's a second bedroom here" your heart skips a beat at what he's implying, smiling bashfully at Hobie. "There's enough space for us both, you could put your sewing machine over there," he points at a corner in the small living room. "Y'know, after you graduate, if you want to" he looks anywhere else except your face.

"Do you want me to?" You say slowly, making sure what you heard from him is real and not what you've imagined in your head several times before.

" 'course, you're my best mate, why wouldn't I want to"

"O-Oh" you try to say it with less sadness in your voice. He is your best friend, why do you sound so dejected at the title?

"There's no asshole landlord that's for sure, just us" he steps closer to you, trying to convince you more, his hand reaching out towards your elbow.

"Yeah, well technically you'll be my landlord" you tease him, playing with a loose thread from the hem of his tank top.

"Fuck off, don't call me that" He scoffs, rolling his eyes at you, "we'll talk about it after you graduate, yeah?" Hobie's thumb traces circles on your elbow.

"Okay. If you really like this place, you should get it" you nod with approval.

"Do you have the card on you?"

"What for?"

"Well, who's gonna help me fix up this place?" A smile curling on his lips.

"Goddamnit, Hobs" you take out the card from your pocket, handing it to him with a huff. "You only have eight left by the way" you would've helped him anyway, if only you weren't so busy with the project you would've given this one for free.

"I know how to count" He punches out a logo, it floats down on the wooden floors that definitely need some polishing. He gives it back to you "c'mon let's not keep the big man waiting, he might start to think we're snogging in here"

"He won't hear us anyway" throwing away your comment, you walk out of the room, acting nonchalant, your hand shakes slightly when you push open the creaky door. Hobie never anticipated that you would say something like that, he stands in the middle of the barren room, dumbfounded.

Hobie follows you after he collects himself. You walk outside, finally breathing in the cool air, you felt stuffy when you were inside. You look at the water while Hobie negotiates with Finn, they've been talking for a while now, so you decided to occupy yourself. A wave hits the side of the boat, almost throwing you overboard if not for you holding onto the sides.

"You alright there, little lady?" Finn asks. Hobie looks over his shoulder, seeing you hold the side with an iron grip. He quickly makes his way over to you, hands already moving you away from the edge.

"Fuckin' hell, I leave you for one minute" he grumbles.

"I'm okay, jeez dad" Hobie walks you back to Finn, Hand securely on your waist.

"You two are adorable! You remind me of my partner and I when we were younger" Finn sighs longingly.

"Is that why you're selling the boat?" You wince at the question you blurted out, "sorry, not my business"

"It's okay, I like talking about him. We're moving back to Amsterdam so I had to sell the boat. We've lived here for fifteen happy years, hope it's the same for you both" He sounded so genuine, a happy smile on his face the entire time he was talking to you. You don't have the heart to correct him on your relationship with Hobie.

You nod, smiling shyly. "That's really sweet of you, thank you, Finn"

"Thanks, mate. Appreciate you" Hobie shakes Finn's hand, sealing the deal.

"I'll send you the papers" Finn's grin turns melancholy, "never thought I'd ever sell this place, take care of her for me, would you?"

"She's in good hands" Hobie lets go of Finn's hand.

"And you two better take good care of eachother," he winks at you both.

—

You sit in front of your sewing machine, it thumps loudly inside your small dorm room, your mannequin is full of different shades of plaid cloth pinned on its sides, you sigh, blinking away the stress and fatigue.

Glancing at your final design, you scowl at it, despite it looking like a carbon copy of Hobie. You can't figure out what's missing in the outfit, you've added a bit more of you in it, but it still doesn't feel like you.

Your mind is cluttered and it shows in your surroundings. Your sketchpad is full of sketches of Hobie, the corkboard in front of you is littered with punk fashion references, polaroids of you and Hobie together, patches, pins and fabric samples. The loud sound of the machine makes your ears twitch, the needle going in and out of the piece you're sewing into.

Someone knocks loudly from the other side of your paper thin walls for the third time that night, they yell at you to keep it down, but you don't stop, have to finish this, you grit your teeth, grip loosening on the fabric, on your peripheral you can see a picture of Hobie smiling at you, clack, clack, your machine whirs. Knock, knock, the knocking persists. Your ears ring, licking your chapped lips, you keep forgetting to exhale. Mrs. Williams' grating voice echoes in your head, or you won't graduate. Ned's voice overlapping with hers, sorry, y/n. On top of all the noise, you try to focus on Hobie's familiar tone, got you, don't worry. You feel the walls closing in on you.

"Shut the fuck up!" Your neighbor knocks loudly, almost toppling over your corkboard.

You almost slip your thumb over the needle, if not for your reflexes your finger would've been a part of the pants you're sewing. Your eyes are blown out, breathing heavily. You're suddenly overwhelmed by everything, your jumper scratches at your skin, toes curling in the cold despite your fluffy socks covering them. A sob escapes you, you dampen it with your hand over your mouth. Shutting your eyes tightly closed, you focus on your breathing, legs involuntarily shaking, tears rolling over your hand. Your heart drums loudly in your chest, as if it could jump out at any second.

It's getting hard to breathe, you feel sick.

Weathering it out for what feels like an eternity, You finally let it all out of your system, chest hurting from the suppressed crying, your eyes are red. You've grown more tired, heaving from the lack of air. You notice the sudden silence, it almost gets you again, tears pricking in your eyes, threatening to spill out.

Coming down from it, you sniff, using your sleeve to clean your tear stained cheeks. You exhale, clearing your throat. Taking the half finished pants from under the sewing machine, cutting off the thread and then grabbing a spare needle from your kit. Your hands are shaking trying to insert the thread inside the tiny hole. Frustrated, you fling the needle and thread over your messy table. The metal clatters on the wooden table.

The mixture of different emotions swirl inside your stomach, wanting to vomit it out, or better yet, grab it by the neck and toss it as far away as you can.

You want to give up. Shaking your head, getting rid of the horrible thought, you can't give up, you have to keep going, you've made it this far, you're almost at the finish line. Thinking of Hobie, he wouldn't give up, but you're not him, you're just you, plain old you. People often wonder how you manage to stay in your major, with your simple button ups, white chucks, and your usual light cardigans, avoiding any bright colors in your wardrobe or other styles that would gather attention. Compared to your style, your classmates' eye-catching looks match with your major, not to mention they're not afraid to flaunt their unique styles.

Sometimes you miss the old you, the young starry eyed y/n, clothes always in full and bright colors, with matching accessories to boot, shoes sparkling in the light. You don't even remember when you buried your old self.

You miss her, wishing you never listened to the opinion of others, wishing that you never cowered behind their judgemental stares. Hobie never did any of that, but you can't help but hide yourself to stop people from their snickering. You sometimes wish to borrow a smidge of Hobie's don't-give-a-shit attitude, but alas the world doesn't work that way.

You suddenly have the urge to seek Hobie's warmth, instead you settle for the next best thing. Sighing, you crawl under the covers, head hitting the pillow. You're not giving up just yet, there's no shame in resting, you won't be able to finish your work like this anyway.

You eye your old cherry earrings, dangling on the side of your mirror, the only piece you kept from your old self. Mind going back to the past. You remember who helped you pick it from the mall, the only thing you could afford with your allowance. You two would always go there after school, window shopping and hunting for the latest trends. This was before you and Hobie became close, your friendship still blossoming.

You wonder how your old friend is doing, maybe you should call him up, ask him for tips, he's always had a better eye for designing ever since you were kids, considering him a protégé, his hand always scribbling away on his sketchbook.

Bringing the covers up to your nose, you close your eyes, trying to remember your old friend's number.

—

You finally hear Hobie's motorbike coming towards the event's place. People stare at the loud intrusion. You snort, knowing that he likes the disturbance he's causing.

You speed walk towards him, just in case he revs up his engine to spite everyone. "Hey, Hobie" You greet him with a tight lipped smile.

He takes off his helmet with a groan "what's this place? A concert or somethin'?" Hobie squints at the spotlights near the entrance.

"You okay? I made you some coffee. You said you lot played last night" you hand him a small thermos.

"That better not be from our starbucks card"

"No, that thing's expired, I brewed this from my good stash"

He turns his engine off, clambering off the motorbike, his heavy boots thudding against the asphalt. He hesitantly grabs the thermos. "No tea?"

"Nope, ran out of them last night" You take a good look at him, he's wearing his signature leather jacket covered in various pins and patches, his jeans a patchwork of cloth and metal accessories. His piercings shine in the moonlight. "Sorry I couldn't come last night, I needed to finish the pants"

"Fuck me, that's actually good" he says after taking a sip, "it's all right, the show was business as usual"

"I didn't miss anything?"

"Nah, missed you though" Hobie loops his arm over your shoulder, walking towards the entrance "Ned missed ya" he added to hide his first comment.

"The real question is, did James miss me too?" You joke, you're not naïve with how the guy manages to stammer every time you talk to him. Only when you talk to him.

"Everyone missed you" he holds you tighter.

"I better come to the next one then" you pinch his side.

Entering the venue, Hobie stops in his tracks, arm loosening off your shoulder.

"Where the fuck did you bring me?" He stares at the pearlescent runway, the sides full of chairs. Photographers and audiences move towards their seats.

"A runway show!" You nervously grin at him.

"Nah, y'know I don't like big brands, this place reeks of capitalism. Thought you wanted to get shawarma" He glares at you.

"We're gonna eat later, hear me out before you start walking away, please" Hobie narrows his eyes at you.

"Go on"

"This is a small brand, a niche fashion house. This event is this big because it's their first major collection. I promise you their clothes are all from sustainable materials and—" Hobie impatiently taps his foot "—and half of the proceeds go to charity! You know we both share the same sentiment when it comes to clothes. My entire wardrobe came from thrift stores and I recycle the fabrics I used on old projects."

"We haven't been in a thrift store in a while" He grumbles out.

"We can go after the show if you want"

"Now you're just bribing me"

You sigh, "I'm in a designing stump right now and I really need the inspiration, but I'm not forcing you, you can go if you really don't want to watch, I'm not gonna hold it against you"

Hobie stares you down, now under better lighting, he notices the bags under your eyes, your lips dry as bones, his annoyance turns into concern. You're stretching yourself too thin, maybe asking you to accompany him in finding a flat wasn't such a good idea. He mentally notes to retract his previous favor from you.

"Alright, you better not be lying about all that shit you said" He walks towards one of the chairs, pulling you by your sleeve.

"I'm not, Danny told me all about it"

He stops mid stride, "who?"

You sit down by the end of the runway, feeling lucky finding a good seat in front. "Danny from school, you don't remember him?" You pat the chair next to you.

"I literally don't remember anyone, except you and big Terry, him because we used to beat the shit out of each other. And you because I can't seem to shake you" Hobie quips. He sits down next to you.

"You are sooo sweet" you sarcastically say, "Danny's that small kid, with the big glasses. I used to hang out with him before he changed schools"

"You have other friends?" He acts surprised.

Rolling your eyes, you excitedly grab his arm when the light changes, the spotlight follows the first model out on the runway. You watch, taking note of the details on the dress.

Hobie watches your face the entire time, he deciphers your expressions– he translates your pout to mean that you liked it, everytime you narrow your eyes it means you didn't like it. You tighten your hold on him, that means you absolutely loved it. He chuckles when you grimace, oh you did not like that pair of pants.

The show ends, he turns his head towards the stage just in time for you to look at him with a satisfied smile. He nods and claps with you.

You reach for him, "come on, I see Danny over there!" You drag Hobie out of his chair, hand clasped over his.

He lets you hold him, Hobie feels disappointed when you let go of him, flexing his hand as you run up to Danny.

"Holy shit, cherry! You actually made it!" Danny greets you with a bear hug.

You pull away, an arm's length away from him. Hobie lingers behind you, waiting for you to introduce him. "Hi, Danny! Look at you Mr. Bigshot over here!"

"I'm just an assistant," he shrugs.

"Yeah, to the main designer!" You look over your shoulder, excited to reintroduce Hobie. "Danny, you remember Hobie, right?"

"Oh my days! Hobart Brown! My replacement" he playfully puts his hands on his hips. Hobie steps up to greet him.

"And you're not as small as I remember, what happened to the glasses?" He acts as if he remembers Danny clearly. Hobie fists bumps Danny's knuckles. "Call me Hobie, yeah? Only cops call me Hobart, and her, occasionally" He points at you with his head.

"Growth spurt and I got contact lenses, it's nice to see you again, hero"

So he's that Danny, Hobie finally remembers him.

You grin widely at the interaction, feeling energized and inspired. "The show was amazing! Thank you for inviting us"

"You're very welcome, unfortunately I can't hang around that long, gotta help them pack up" Danny points towards the back stage, "we'll catch up next time, okay?"

"Aww, that's too bad, thank you again. And yeah definitely we'll catch up some other time" you give your old friend a hug.

"Oh! I almost forgot, you asked for some advice on the phone, right?" Danny asks, you nod at his question. "Do whatever the hell you want, design whatever you fucking want, as long as you're happy with it, you're golden" he gestures widely while he talks. "I mean look at me! I'm wearing a pinstripe suit, I look like a fuckin' mobster from the 20's, do i give a shit what people say? No! Of course not."

Hobie leans down to your ear, slyly whispering "I can see why he's your friend, man's bonkers"

You bump your shoulder with Hobie,"That's– thank you, I needed that" you can't believe that Danny noticed your different style, even years later he still knows you.

"See, I still know you," he says as if he can read your mind. He winks at you, "missed you, cherry. Take good care of yourself" Danny walks away, he stops walking for a second, turning back to you both. "Oh! And Hobie, be a fucking man bruv, you're not fooling anyone" He continues to walk towards his destination.

Hobie looks surprised, was he watching you two interact while he was backstage? Did you say something to him? Nevertheless in the five minutes Danny talked to him, he read him like an open book. Can this guy read minds? If so, Hobie is in trouble.

You look at Hobie confused. "What did he mean by that?"

At least one theory is debunked, "don't know, love. Told you he has a few screws loose"

You look at him suspiciously, "you didn't say anything to him right?"

"No, why? Did you say anything to him?"

"I just asked him on the phone if we can meet, and he invited me here. I mentioned you and he told me to bring you too, that's it. Oh and also for the advice" you narrow your eyes "you sure you didn't say anything?"

"Why are you looking at me like that? No, I didn't" He tugs at your sleeve, trying to pull you out of the venue.

"Okayy, well he basically called you a wanker, soo"

"You called me a wanker, wanker"

You gasp, feigning hurt, clutching your non-existent pearls. "How dare you"

"You're just fuckin' hungry, c'mon" He slips his hand over yours, pulling you out of the event's place, dodging any questions you have because of what your old friend said. You giggle as he easily pulls you towards his bike.

He places you next to his motorcycle, plopping your helmet over your head, you laugh at his antics, "oh you're hangry, huh?"

Hobie secures the helmet, "he's right, y'know"

"Hmm? About what?" You look up at him through your lashes.

"Wear whatever you want. Don't hide yourself, especially with me." he shrugs "red suits you best, cherry" he clicks his tongue at the last word, annoyed that your old friend came up with a better nickname for you. Heat rises in your cheeks, Hobie avoids your eyes for a moment. "Let's go, I want shawarma" he lightly slaps the top of your helmet.

You look down at your shoes, smiling fondly.

A/N: I promise that Finn and Danny are the last ocs in this story (maybe lol). Thank you for reading! As always likes and reblogs are appreciated ❤️

*pictures above are from pinterest*

Between the Devil and the Sea

Pairing: Pirate Captain! Hobie Brown x fem! Reader

Word Count: On going

Synopsis: All your life you've been running away, what happens when you accidentally stow away on an infamous ship that has a captain who's notorious for being the world's most wanted pirate. Will he welcome you as part of his ragtag crew or will you end up walking the plank? Or worse, will your past catch up to you?

Tags: Pirate Captain! Hobie, Fem! Reader, no specific physical description of the reader (except for her clothing occasionally), R has nicknames, Arachkids x Reader (platonic), TW blood, TW violence, Strangers to lovers, slow burn, fluff, angst. Set during the golden age of piracy. Specific Warnings are listed on every chapter.

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

*pictures are from pinterest*

Chapter One- Seafoam on the Shore

Chapter Two- Claimed by the Sea

Chapter Three- Amidst the Waves

Chapter Four- Go by the Board

Chapter Five- Sailing Close to the Wind

Chapter Six-

Chapter Seven-

Ocean banner and support banner by @cafekitsune

I posted this on TikTok but never talked about it here-

I did a Gen3 Venus cosplay!!!

The wig was the hardest part, the amount of pink hair on my living room floor could’ve made a whole new wig lmao 😭

˖🎸 ༘ ⋆˚₊⊹ his muse

hobie brown x fem!reader

this has been in my drafts for. forever. like it was summer when i wrote it on a whim. this initially started as a request for hobie with a reader that came from wealth. the vivienne westwood imagery picked up from there, and i just kinda had fun with it. and now im posting it- huzzah!

warnings: smoking (cigarettes). mentions of drinking. slight nsfw at the very end. meet-cute that leads to smut. hobie being a flirt. fem!reader.

hobie is in the midst of a creative rut that he can’t get out of, no matter how much he tries to. that is, until some inspiration walks through the door.

hobie was in a musical rut.

which never happened to him. never. if he needed a subject for a song, all he had to do was look outside for five minutes or watching the news for even less to have a subject.

that was the wonderful thing about hating the establishment: infinite cruelty, infinite song ideas.

but here he was, staring down at his guitar and picking at strings aimlessly. nothing came to him, no note or melody stuck out to him as song worthy.

he was sitting on the worn couch in his band’s makeshift studio, crosslegged and hunched over his guitar like a madman.

a soft knock came from the doorway, and he looked up to find one of his band mates hitting their knuckles against the doorway.

“you need to get out, man. you’re cooped up.” he said, stepping into the room to stand over hobie like a mother hen. “some fresh air will do you good.”

hobie scoffed, never one to take orders from anyone. but then he exhaled and leaned back, looking up at his friend with an exasperated expression.

“and where exactly do you intend for us to go?” he asked lowly, grumbling.

that’s exactly how he ended up here, in a music club full of bodies he didn’t want to touch and liquor he didn’t want to drink.

it wasn’t a traditional club scene by any means. It was a bit more artistic, leaning away from rave-style places that he’d gone to before. but it still wasn’t his preferred place.

he nursed a shirley temple, which his friend had shoved into his hand unceremoniously before disappearing into the crowd. hobie had decided that he would be the designated driver, and he understood that his band mates were going to take full advantage of that fact.

when they entered the place, his drummer had leaned over.

“maybe you’ll find a muse, hobes. i’m sure there’s plenty of pretty things in this place to give you ideas.” the boy wiggled his brows, and hobie promptly shoved him away with a chuckle.

now, he leaned against a counter and wondered what the hell he was doing. this wasn’t air. this was just distracting noise.

and said noise was becoming a little too much for his senses.

he made eye contact with one of his more sober mates, gesturing that he was going to go somewhere private. he sent a text to their group chat as well saying the same thing.

not a role model

-> heading to the back, text or call if you need me

little drummer boy

-> you’re no fun, man.

not a role model

-> 🖕🏿

he moved down a hallway, the sound of bass and electronic beats fading into a pleasant jazz sound that made its way through the speakers overhead.

the space behind the actual club was a kind of lounge, filled with warm ambiance and vinyl records and leather arm chairs. when his friends brought him here, he always inevitably retreated to this quieter space.

it was ironic really. the punk unable to handle crowds and noise. but this was a much different setting from his own shows, so he cut himself some slack.

he sunk into one of the armchairs in a side room, his head lolling back to look up at the ceiling. his head slightly throbbed, and he began to regret not drinking water.

he reached in his pocket to pull out a cigarette box.

he wasn’t a casual smoker, not by a long shot. it just helped to have something to drag on sometimes, something to burn his throat while he was thinking.

right as he put the cig to his lips, the door banged open and slammed shut once more, the lock sliding home.

his spider-senses told him to prepare, but when he looked up they stopped buzzing.

because a girl leaned against the wall across from him, her chest heaving and her eyes wide.

she looked afraid, scared. the way her fingers trembled alerted him to the sheer amount of adrenaline running through her veins currently.

and she hadn’t even noticed him yet. he took a moment to glance over her.

she wore a pretty little lace dress, black and short, with straps that barely cling to her shoulders. his eyes drifted down her bare legs to the black platform gogo boots on her feet, and he was impressed with the height she was balancing on. he knew from experience that those shits weren’t easy to master.

he had been a model once, and he knew enough to see that the girls clothes were expensive. like, wearing his rent expensive.

she took an anxious step, only to wobble like a baby deer, legs too long to stand properly.

maybe not so stable after all.

when she still didn’t notice him (too busy listening to the door), he opened his mouth to make himself known.

“runnin’ from something, little fawn?”

her eyes snapped to him, and she jumped slightly when she realized that someone else was in the room with her. her wide doe eyes did nothing to help disapprove the nickname. she opened and closed her mouth to speak, struggling to get the words out.

“i’m not running.”

he chuckled.

“no? do ya’ slam and lock doors at clubs often then?”

she scoffed at him, rolling her eyes. she took a step away from the door, though he could tell she was keeping track of any noise.

“i’m just…catching my breath.” she said, pulling at the necklace around her throat.

hobie’s eyes drifted down to it, surprised to find a string of pearls with an all too familiar saturn pendent.

his curiosity got the best of him. “real or fake?”

her eyes darted up to meet his, and she looked away in embarrassment as she said “real.”

he let out an impressed whistle. “that’s why you’re running.” he mumbled as the pieces clicked together.

she gave him an incredulous look, eyebrows furrowing in a way that he found adorable.

“my guess” he said as he stood from the chair, taking a step towards the girl. “is that you definitely aren’t supposed to be here. rich girl, pretty dress, innocent look. this place is practically forbidden for your like.”

her gaze hardened into a glare. “and what exactly is my like, hobie brown?”

he smirked. “you know my name.”

a statement. she deflated slightly.

“i’ve been to your shows.” she said, voice lowering. it was just enough to make him realize how close they were. he registered her body language quickly, noting how she didn’t shy away. so he didn’t either.

“interestin’, doll. does your daddy know?”

“don’t condescend me.”

he took a step back then, raising his hand in an ‘i come in peace’ gesture. “easy there. just askin.”

he went to grab a lighter to light his cigarette, reaching down into his jackets pocket. when he found nothing, he groaned softly.

a click made him look up, only to be met with the girl holding up a lighter of her own. he leaned forward to light his cigarette, and she held his gaze as the sizzling sound breiflu filled their silence.

“as you can see” she said softly. “i am not quite ‘my like’.”

he let out a puff of smoke, making sure to turn his head so that it didn’t flow into her pretty face. she coughed anyway.

he chucked. “what you doin’ with a light if you don’t smoke?”

she flipped the lighter in her hand, and it took a moment to notice that it was one of the silver heart ones that were popular.

“you like vivienne, huh?” he said, looking down at her with half lidded eyes as he took another drag.

“what can i say, i have a thing for punks.” she replied, looking up at him through her lashes.

oh, he was going to eat her.

“s’that so?” he asked, wanting to drag whatever admission she was holding in. he leaned close over her, and she stretched her neck to look right up at him. this close, he could smell whatever shampoo she used.

she was off limits. but he never really abided by rules, did he?

“what’re you runnin’ from, doll?” he asked, tapping his cigarette out as he waited for an answer.

“my father sent a body guard out to find me. i snuck out, and the man’s in the club right now.” she said, watching the way his lips curled around the cigarette.

the air kicked on, and the girl below him shivered. he shrugged off his jacket with a sigh, pulling it around her. she accepted it gratefully, practically nuzzling up against the collar.

fuck, he was a goner.

“better get you out of here, then.” he said, using the edges of his jacket to tug her closer. she smirked, allowing him to pull her against his body. “that would be great.”

he leaned down as he texted the chat, brushing his lips against the top of her ear as he typed.

not a role model

-> hey, i got someone i need to take home. anyone sober?

little drummer boy

-> the fuck are you on about, why would anyone be sober.

fresh meat

-> i am, go enjoy yourself hobes.

thank god for tyler, he thought as he pulled back the collar of his jacket to press his mouth to the girls jaw.

as she snuck him into her room later, the lyrics of a song began to write themselves in his head.

and as he thrust into her, her hands fumbling against her silk sheets and her moans in his ear, he realized that he had found his muse after all.

Colours 👀

🤘🏽💥 📰

ATTENTION TO ALL WRITERS

attention to all writers please, there is a person on wattpad stealing peoples fanfics on here!!

Please be careful, their wattpad user is @/@Alexx__S4Nt14G0

They stole my steve rogers oneshot TALL BABY and translated it into spanish without permission.

Thanks to the user who warned me and told me abt this!!

I love you. (pt 2)

hobie brown x black! reader

words: 4.9k

rating: teen & up

summary: Love was a four letter word and it fucking hurt.

warnings: gender isn't mentioned for reader but they're fem leaning; drinking and vomitting; beginnings of a panic attack; hurt with no comfort (yet); just a lot of longing (reader is going THROUGH IT)

pt. 1

Love was a four letter word. 

If you looked in a dictionary, it would tell you that it was an intense feeling of deep affection. Unfortunately, you couldn’t remember the last time you had opened a dictionary.

Love had its definition skewed throughout your life. The affection you received from your parents was in the name of “tough love”. It told you that you weren’t meant to be sensitive, you weren’t meant to make mistakes— you were meant to know things before ever learning them.

Your definition of the word love always had the word tough attached to it. You didn’t know there could be love without it. A love that didn’t crumble your self-esteem or ground your self-worth into dust didn’t seem possible.

Love was a four letter word. A four letter word that hurt.

Love hurt. 

Yet, at the same time, love could be hypocritical. It was hypocritical when you read the Bible and prayed to a being that was all-knowing and all-loving, yet damned you to a hell for something it knew you couldn't control. You were damned to hell for love by the god of Love, the supposed embodiment of the emotion itself.

It was hypocritical when the very being of love spared none in the name of it. The god of Love demanded love above one’s children, or else. The god of Love demanded love even in the face of complete and utter annihilation, or else. 

Love was a four letter word and it was demanded of you, or else. 

Love was tough.

Love was hypocritical. 

Love hurt. And it hurt. And it hurt. 

Until it didn’t— until someone saw your broken pieces and decided they were more than worthy enough to be put back together.

Love was a four letter word and you had found a new definition in Hobie. You had found it in his voice, whether it was at the top of his lungs when he was performing or gentle words only meant for your ears. You had found it tucked behind his smiles, directed at you or not, and in every blissful touch you’d received from him.

He had blurred your past definitions of love until you had opened a dictionary, skimmed the damn thing for the word love, and found Hobie under it. It was a love you had cherished and did your best to nurture.

You held it close to you, even when it had you curled up on your bedroom floor and silent. Your tears would slide down your cheeks, dry, then rinse and repeat. The thought of eating made you sick to your core while the thought of moving made you curl yourself into a tighter ball. You were sure you would’ve snapped out of your spell eventually, but you didn’t move fast enough for your friends.

Love was a four letter word that made your friends force their way into your apartment and physically remove you from the depression that clung onto you. Your best friend had picked you up off the floor and held your trembling frame as you tried to curb your sobs. She wiped your tears with her thumb and held you tight, whispering that you could come back from this.

Could you?

Your trust had been shattered— you had allowed yourself to be vulnerable, thinking there was no way you could be stabbed in the back. In some cruel twist of fate, you’d been correct. Hobie had looked you in your eye and lodged a blade into your chest. 

You were fooled by the fickle thing called love— a fool for seeing what love was capable of being and still trying to prove otherwise. You saw it, believed it finally. You were done trying to find a new definition for it. 

Love was hypocritical.

Love was demanding.

Love was Hobie.

But love still hurt. 

And it hurt. And it hurt.

In the beginning, you were incapable of going places that you knew Hobie would be. The pub? No. The old community center? Absolutely the fuck not. Just the thought of seeing his face again made your heart crumble in your already blood-covered hands. Picking up the pieces was hard enough— connecting one fragile piece to another required a determination you no longer had. So you gave that up and focused on repairing your walls.

Because love hurt and you’d be damned if you let it hurt you again.

By the second month, you were able to maneuver through life without falling apart at the reminder of Hobie. Your walls had a shaky foundation, so you barred yourself from drinking, knowing how messy you would become. The liquor would burn your throat then remind you of cool nights where confessions left your tongue and you received gentle kisses in return.

You couldn’t handle that.

By the fourth month, your foundation was solid enough to recall your breakup without ruining your entire day. Instead, it would sit uncomfortably with you for a few hours until you finally pulled yourself free from the darkness that stuck to you. Then, with a deep breath, you could return to your life.

Love still hurt, but you could find a way to live with it again.

By the sixth month, your walls offered you a shield that you desperately needed, surrounding you on all sides and standing tall. You were able to visit places that you knew had a tiny possibility of Hobie appearing. It didn’t mean that your carefully trained eyes wouldn’t be apprehensively scrutinizing every person who entered your vicinity. You were well within your rights to do so.

Six months and thirteen days had passed since your breakup. The cloud that followed your every move had dissipated and you could see things clearly again. You allowed yourself to breathe for once, inviting the fresh air to enter your healed lungs. You allowed yourself to have fun.

Love still hurt, but at some point, you had to let your walls do their job and protect you.

Your best friend mentioned a house party that a friend of a friend would be having for their 21st birthday, which meant there would be more alcohol than you could ever dream of and maybe a chance to find someone new. The last part had made your lips curl in disgust, making your friend laugh out loud. 

It didn’t take much to convince you to go, it would be the perfect opportunity to lift that bar you had placed on drinking and just let loose.

You had dressed nice and in something that fit your curves just right and always made people look your way, then waited for your designated driver.

When they arrived, you greeted your best friend’s friend then searched the packed car for said best friend. You slid into the backseat, sitting beside a girl you’d never seen before and tapped the driver.

“Hey, where’s…” you trailed off as the driver formed an ‘o’ with her mouth. 

“That’s riiight, she wanted me to apologize for her since something came up last minute.”

You blinked owlishly. “What—”

“She flaked, friend, but don’t worry we’ll have fun without her. Ain’t that right!” She shouted and a chorus of cheers and whoops filled your ears. 

You sunk into your seat and tried to convince yourself that it’d be fine. You’d be having fun. You were going to have fun.

That was the mantra you repeated to yourself until the car pulled up to the building that held the party. Before you stepped out, the driver made sure to let you guys know to keep your purses and bags in the car and under the seat. 

“If ya’ll are gon’ get fucked up tonight, you’re better off leavin’ your shit in here. I don’t have time to be searchin’ that damn condo for your bags.” She had pointed her finger at each of you to emphasize her point.

You were incredibly reluctant to leave your bag, but she had a valid point. You did as you were told and before you knew it, you were taking shots with the birthday boy. You two would throw the liquor back and restrain yourselves from making faces. 

The music was deafening and you were sure the amount of people in the condo was a fire hazard, either way, you were having fun. You danced with some of the people you carpooled with, you made new friends, and most importantly, you had fun. 

But that was at the beginning. 

Your first sign to go was when the birthday boy passed out on the sofa while more people entered the front door. That told you that the party would keep going with or without him, and you didn’t know how you felt about that. 

Your biggest sign to go was when the very people who showed up late wanted to keep the party going. They poured alcohol into your cup when it was running low, they dared you to take more shots, and you kept accepting. 

You kept accepting until you couldn’t stand up straight and things were passing in blurs. Then, the regret set in.

You shouldn’t have come here. 

There were too many people and you were sure your driver fucking left you. You didn’t recognize the faces that surrounded you— hell, the birthday boy was nowhere to be found. You could feel your anxiety threaten to show itself, but you refused it.

Instead, you drank more. You threw back shot glass after shot glass hoping to drown your unpleasant emotions, but caused the opposite effect. The liquor only sank and allowed your burrowed feelings to float to the fucking top. 

Shit.

You didn’t want to deal with the emotions that bobbed in your face— the anxiety that laughed in your face for trying to drown it. And standing on trembling legs in the middle of this fucking party only added to your sudden helplessness. You had blown past your limit a long time ago and it felt like you were beginning to tear at the seams from just too much— too much. Why were you so irresponsible?

Bodies knocked into you, throwing you into a daze and making your stomach churn and gurgle. 

You weren’t having fun anymore. You weren’t having fun. 

You only managed to stay upright from sheer determination alone, because you knew if you toppled over in front of all these people, you would be inconsolable. 

God, usually you were much better at handling your alcohol intake, but you’d fucked up. Why had your driver left you? Why had your best friend left you alone? Why had Hobie— 

Oh.

Oh no no no. 

You tried your best to screw that jar shut, but it cracked and shattered in your hands. That mess of emotions spilled all of its unwanted contents everywhere. Your heart rattled behind your ribs and screamed at you. Your thoughts were incoherent as a dangerous flush went to your face. Your ears burned, your cheeks burned, and your vision began to blur.

You wanted to go home.

Someone pushed past you, making you stumble, but all you could think about was how you kept getting abandoned. You let yourself be vulnerable, even just a little, and got abandoned. Your hands shook violently as you tried to silence your spiraling mind. Your stomach begged you to stop moving as it worked overtime to deal with the alcohol and the sudden rise in anxiety.

You wanted to go home.

You wanted Hobie— but he left you.  

Someone else brushed against you, muttering apologies. Your breathing was rugged and your lungs suddenly couldn’t get enough air. Your world was tilting and your eyes were wide with unshed tears. 

You could feel that double-edged sword lodged in your heart and you knew it was bleeding again. You feared that it wouldn’t stop this time. You feared that you wouldn’t come back from this. 

You just wanted to go home.

Someone knocked into you and you let out a cry as you fell into another person. You grabbed onto their arms as they caught you. You were sick of the touching, you were sick of the anxiety and liquor that made your stomach upset, you were—

“Duck?”

For once, your thoughts went silent. For fucking once, everything just seemed to stop. Your wide, glassy eyes slowly trailed up this oh so familiar torso until they stopped at a pair of eyes you wished you could unsee. You…

You were going to be sick.

“Oi, duck, are you—”

All at once, your insides rebelled against you. You couldn’t stop the alcohol from leaving your stomach and landing on Hobie. He couldn’t do anything but stare at you in complete and utter shock as your rejected alcohol trailed down his pant leg. 

Humiliation flooded your entire body and you burst at the seams. Tears rained from your eyes and you began to sob. You tried to speak but it was all too much. Through strained vision, you could see concern wash over Hobie’s face and before you knew it, you were being led to the nearest bathroom. 

Hobie barely flicked the light on before you were rushing to the toilet and puking again. Your face was drenched in a continuous flow of tears and you were sure you looked fucking pathetic. The thought only made you cry harder until your body shuddered and you dry heaved again. 

You heard the door shut and when you looked up, Hobie was staring at you with those damn eyes of his. His eyebrows were furrowed and he appeared as if he didn’t know what to do with his hands. Your gaze landed on the wet stain on his pant leg.

“‘M sorry,” you said with a shaky breath. Hobie was quick to reassure you. 

“‘Low it, duck. S’fine, I swear it.” 

Fuck, you hated hearing his voice again. You hated it. You hated how each word knocked down your walls— shattered your protection. You hated how it made you so weak in the knees that you had to kneel in front of the toilet.

You hated throwing up.

Your body heaved again and there was a comforting hand on your shoulder. Before you could even think about reveling in the touch, you pushed it away. 

“Don’t,” you spat. You couldn’t handle it. 

Hobie raised his hands to show that he would stay hands off. You felt the sword dig deeper into your chest.

“Ya here alone?” he asked you, moving to be level with you. He leaned himself against the sink cabinet as he sat down. You hated him for it.

“‘M not s’pposed to be,” you muttered. “Got left.” Like he had left you. You could feel the tears pooling in your eyes, threatening to spill. “I wanna go home but I left my keys in her car— why’d she leave me?” Why’d he leave you, too?

“She left ya by yourself?” he said slowly. He sounded incredulous which, almost several months ago, would’ve warmed your heart but you could only hum in response. 

You released a heavy sigh and reached forward to flush the toilet. The sound of flushing filled the bathroom as you attempted to rack your inebriated mind for a solution to your problem.

You weren’t too keen on being sick and stuck at this never-ending party. You slowly tilted your head to look at Hobie, who seemed to be contemplating something while he stared at where the floor connected to the wall. His legs were bunched up due to the small size of the bathroom and he absentmindedly picked at his nail polish.

You couldn’t begin to know where his mind was at, but you missed him. You should’ve hated him for it, but you missed him.

His presence alone made you dodge the full brunt of your panic attack, even though he left you. You missed him so badly that it hurt.

Your eyes snapped back to Hobie’s face when he suddenly took in a deep breath. He turned to face you, then paused. You don’t know what he saw in your expression, but it brought out a grief in his eyes you hadn’t expected. It made him look away to collect himself before he said, “Look, ion really like the idea of leavin’ ya here alone so,” he trailed off then made himself meet your gaze. “My boat’s a few blocks down the way. You can get ya bearin’s there, sleep, or whateva ya wanna do. Whateva you’re comfortable wit’.”

You should’ve told him no. You should’ve laughed in his face and been spiteful. You should’ve, but—

Love was a four letter word and, unfortunately, Hobie was still one of your definitions. 

The universe had a funny way of testing you, of being cruel to you. In some inexplicable domino effect, you agreeing to a house party after six and a half months of grieving a relationship led you here, following Hobie to his boat. 

The two of you walked out of sync with each other, mostly because of your pettiness. You did your best to linger a bit behind him, not daring to enter that space beside him even if his pace was slow enough for you to catch up. That space no longer belonged to you, no matter how much you wanted it to.

On the other hand, you couldn’t exactly walk straight and you’d be damned if you were to somehow bump into Hobie.

You could tell he wanted to offer his help, but he had been told to keep his hands off and that’s exactly what he was doing. 

One unstable foot after another, you made it work, even if drowsiness fought against you. It ebbed at the edges of your vision and weighed your legs down. Hobie peeked at you over his shoulder. “Y’sure ya don’ need any help?”

You leveled a glare at him. “‘M fine,” you snapped. But because karma was an asshole, you tripped and would’ve busted your ass if it weren’t for Hobie’s reflexes. You held onto his arms as he stabled you. At the same time, you tried to make the world stop spinning through pure will alone.

You brought your hand up to your head, silently hoping you wouldn’t need to throw up again. “Fuck— okay, um.” You were completely out of breath as you waited for your words to unscramble themselves. You squeezed Hobie’s arm. “Jus’ gonna… hang on here.”

You were glad that he didn’t laugh at your sudden change of heart, instead he nodded his head and waited for the okay to keep moving.

You should’ve hated how patient he was with you. You shouldn’t have agreed to this— but was there really any other option?

You gave the okay and the two of you walked together. If it weren’t for the way your exhausted mind slowly gave into drowsiness, you would’ve at least attempted to stay away from the space beside Hobie. You couldn’t help it.

You missed him.

You didn’t know how long it took for you to reach the dock, but you were sure it took a whole hell of a lot longer because your legs were untrustworthy. By the time you got inside of the boat, you were beelining for the bathroom again.

You were so tired, man. And you wished your stomach would catch a fucking hint. You had nothing left to give. 

Hobie had disappeared somewhere you didn’t know, you couldn’t exactly hear anything over your dry heaving. Though, it didn’t take long for him to pop up in the doorway with a shirt and a pair of shorts in his hands. 

You spat into the toilet and flushed it, hoping that this would be the last of your fit.

“Ya still have some clothes here— I’ll leave ‘em here.” He placed them on the counter while you stared at him.

“Figured you would’ve tossed ‘em by now, Hobie.”

“Thought you woulda come for ‘em.”

You didn’t mean to laugh out loud, the sharp sound cutting through the bathroom, but imagining yourself going out of your way to see him again— there was no chance. “I couldn’t handle the thought of seeing your face again.” You paused, dragging a hand down your face. “Still can’t.”

He was quiet for a moment. “Fair.”

You hated how he looked at you with a muted shame. He had brought this upon himself— upon you both. You bit the inside of your cheek.

“... you haven’t come for your things either.” You knew that by heart, especially knowing exactly where that box of his belongings sat in your closet. Waiting.

“You haven’t put ‘em in the rubbish yet?”

You didn’t say anything. There had been a reason for your madness— the main thing stopping you from doing so. You didn’t like acknowledging it and your best friend hated hearing it. It made you feel pathetic.

It wasn’t fun admitting that you were holding out hope for his return, like you were some sad puppy that was abandoned at a park.

In your silence, Hobie answered your initial question quietly. “Honestly, I didn’ think you’d wanna see my face.” And he’d been correct.

You didn’t think you could handle the rest of this conversation without bursting into tears. “I’m gonna get changed now.”

He perked up, suddenly remembering his point of coming to the bathroom in the first place. “Righ’, righ’. I’ll be out here.”

When he closed the door, it felt like you could finally breathe again. You put on the pajamas and did your best not to topple over in the process. Then, you reached under his sink and rinsed out your mouth with his mouthwash. 

Inevitably, there was one last problem.

“You’re not gonna fit on the fucking couch, Hobie.”

“Then I’ll sleep on the floor.”

You barely withheld your eye roll, because knowing you, the moment your eyes disappeared behind your eyelids, they wouldn’t return. “I can sleep on the couch—”

“No.”

This fucking— “Well you’re not sleeping on the couch or the fucking floor.” 

“Neither are you.”

Your mind was not happy with either you or Hobie. You wanted to sleep. You needed to sleep. And your back and forth was preventing that. “Then we’re sharing the goddamn bed.” You shouldn’t have even suggested it, but if it meant that you could pass the hell out, then by all means.

That was a problem for a future you.

The suggestion didn’t win without a fight because, unfortunately, that’s just who you two were. You wanted to sleep, Hobie didn’t want to make you uncomfortable, you didn’t want him on the couch or the floor— back and forth until you two finally met in the middle. 

You would share a bed but have two separate blankets. And that’s how that went as you two had your backs facing each other. You didn’t allow yourself to think or to revel in how much you missed sharing a space with Hobie.

You let your mind drift until you fell asleep. 

At some point, you let go of sleep and cracked open an eye. The sun was not yet up and the room was still dark. It reminded you of nights that held whispered I love you’s until they disappeared into the quiet atmosphere. In that moment, Hobie’s resting face came into focus.

You didn’t realize just how close you and Hobie had shifted toward each other in your sleep. It was like a muscle memory that shouldn’t have belonged to you anymore, but it still prevailed. 

Your faces were inches from each other, sharing the same air, and you could feel his breath ghost over your face. You should’ve had a larger reaction to it than you did, but your drunken mind and exhausted body let the familiar comfort lull you back to sleep.

Love was a four letter word and it was unyielding. Even after refusing to learn any more definitions for it, it refused to give up. 

Love was unreasonable.

Love was inexplicable.

Love was unyielding.

But it still hurt. 

You were reminded of that whenever the blade in your heart sank deeper. You were reminded of that when you woke up the next morning to an empty bed.

It took you a moment to register exactly where the hell you were, yet it was overshadowed by the fact that your head was threatening to split open. You hissed and shut your eyes.

Fuck fuck fuck— what did you drink last night? 

You flipped on your back to think, though you wished the boat would stop rocking for a moment— oh what the fuck.

No. 

There was no way. 

You opened your eyes in a panic and as much as your body hated you for it, you sat up. Your eyes roamed around the familiar room as memories of last night flooded your mind. Disbelief clawed at your chest as you racked the memories for a reason why you would agree to come back here. 

You tossed the blanket aside and your eyes landed on the nightstand. There, a bottle of water and two pills waited for you. 

Oh god. 

You slapped a hand over your mouth as tears threatened to burn at your eyes. It didn’t help that you realized that all of the curtains were purposely shut to keep the room dim. Your hands moved over your eyes, knowing that if you cried now, your headache would be worse. 

Regardless, you took the pills and chugged the water. The quicker you were out of here, the better it would be. 

You found your clothes from the night before and slid them back on. Your body ached and your head pounded, but you needed to go. 

You searched the floor for your shoes but you knew for a fact that they were by the front. Immediately, you reached for the door but stopped short. You knew Hobie was out there, if the soft strums of his guitar were anything to go off of. 

You dragged a hand down your face and mentally prepared yourself. Hobie had already wrecked the protection you had surrounding your heart and you knew you were completely and utterly weak when it came to him.

You put your hand on the handle and twisted it. The subtle light change made you hiss which made the guitar notes stop. 

Making eye contact with Hobie was as difficult as you knew it would be. You turned away and searched the ground for your shoes. 

“How ya feelin’?” 

God, he needed to stop talking. You were weak. You couldn’t do this. 

“Like shit. Have you seen my shoes?” You weren’t prepared to have him stand up and walk over to you with the shoes in hand. Without looking at him, you muttered your thanks and took them from him. You put them on with shaky hands. 

“Duck—”

“Please, don’t call me that right now.”

“Sorry, (Y/N).” Somehow that was even worse. “You headed to ya friend’s?”

“Yeah. Gonna tear her a new one for flaking and for recommending her stupid friend.” With your shoes on, you stood to your full height and tried to reason with your racing heart. You felt like a frantic mess and with Hobie standing so close to you, you couldn’t even begin to repair your broken walls. “Thanks for letting me stay and for the painkillers. I’m gonna go.” 

You thought you could keep it curt and maybe get out of this with just a little bit of dignity, but you went and looked Hobie in his eyes.

Those honey-colored eyes of his had a way of keeping you stuck. You hated that he didn’t stop you from stepping around him, how he silently agreed to your departure. Yet, it was his fault that your hand stopped on the doorknob. It was his fault that you stopped and turned around to face him again.

You two stood there, staring into each other’s souls, the very souls that bled for each other. You hated that as frantic as he made you, you still wanted to be near him, to be with him. You turned away and turned the knob.

Then, there was a hand grabbing yours and your resolve crumbled. You turned back around with watery eyes and you hated seeing the regret written all over Hobie’s face. You couldn’t stand looking at it, so you moved your attention to his hold on your hand.

You had half a mind to pull away.

“‘M sorry for leavin’ ya like I did. I truly am.”

You were quiet for a moment. “But you’re not sorry for leavin’, are you?” you whispered. You wished you could’ve had some bite behind your words, but you didn’t. Hobie’s brows only furrowed further and you slid your hand out of his grasp, bringing it close to your heart. You inhaled deeply. “You’re not selfish enough, Hobie.” 

Love was a four letter word and it was many things.

Love was demanding.

Love was hypocritical.

Love was unreasonable— unyielding. 

Love was unpredictable.

But you needed it to be selfish for once. 

You needed Hobie to be selfish for once, because it was tearing you apart. He wouldn’t ask you to stay, even if you loved each other from the bottom of your hearts to the depths of your souls. You wanted him to beg you to stay, but you knew he wouldn't.

“You already know how I feel about you, but you still—” You choked up on the word. “... is keeping me safe worth keeping us miserable?” 

You didn’t wait for an answer, instead you opened the door and left. With each step, you repaired your walls one brick at a time, because even with all the things love could do and had the potential to be…

… love still hurt.

divider by cafekitsune :3

had to cut this bad boy in half so the comfort isn't here JUST yet. thanks for all of your comments/reblogs you guys are hilarious <333

taglist: @hoe-bie @hao-ming-8 @anonoussy @amianelf-main @muffinlovesfiction