- summary : After arriving to your meeting late, you find out that you've been directed to share your classroom with the new hire.
!!} teacher AU - no y/n - light clothing + hair desc, no gender desc
( word count: 1.5k+ )
As you stand in front of the school building, you frantically fumble with your lanyard to find the right key. The rustling of your thin raincoat, shaky breathing, and trinkets scattered in your bag flinging around echo around the school’s entrance.
“Come on..” You grunt through gritted teeth, wiping rain from your forehead with your wrist.
The automatic ‘beep!’ of the door made you sigh in relief as you stepped through the entrance. A big gust of cold wind immediately hits your face as you enter, the ends of your hair strike your face, forcing rainwater into your eyes and leaving a stinging sensation on your cheeks. Not only were you late for your meeting, you were also soaking wet from head to toe and exhausted from grading papers the night before. You give a quick smile to the unimpressed secretary and bored children slumped in small uncomfortable chairs. You try to calm yourself down as you speed walk to the stairway. You sigh looking up at the dreadful flights of stairs awaiting you. Determined, you remind yourself that you only had to stay here for half an hour, and you could leave as quickly as you came. You shake off the tiredness and forcefully pursue yourself up each step.
A wave of relief hits you as you finally reach the top of the mountainous staircase. Taking a few deep breaths, you cleansed your head of all the thoughts that swarmed and pestered your mind and plastered a bright smile on your face.
‘ You’ve got this! They’ll understand why you’re late… That thunderstorm could blow the whole school away at this rate. It’ll all be- ‘
Your thoughts were quickly interrupted by a click of a door. The ‘STAFF MEETING’ door to be specific.
‘ You’re kidding...‘
All of your coworkers emerge from the room in an almost clown car-ish fashion. You hurriedly step out of the way as they all leave to their respected classrooms. Questioning yourself on whether to leave or stay, you watch each of them as they leave. Some looked back at you; a handful recognized your situation and gave a look of pity. Others grimaced at the wet puddle of a person stupidly standing outside of the meeting door. A small amount didn’t care enough to notice, but you knew they were probably wondering why it smelled of rainwater and hair product. Everyone looked so professional and put together; meanwhile you had rain seeping into your socks, and your hair was actively frizzing up as each second passed. With a sigh, you finally decided to return back to your classroom. Just as you turned around, the last person exited the meeting room. He was a broad, dark chestnut-haired man with a grey suit with a striped yellow and baby blue tie. His gold pin with the bold words ‘Principal Ayer’ reflected in the light. The man caught a glimpse of you and let out a relieved sigh. You gave him a mindless smile, praying that he didn’t notice your absence.
He catches up to you with a smile and greets you.
“I’m so glad I caught you. I know you’re ready to go back to the classroom and prepare for the end of break, but we've hired a new music teacher.” He explained.
You nodded at his vague explanation, waiting for him to go on.
“But, unfortunately…” He started. “We don’t have enough classrooms to let him have his own..”
You blankly stared at him. Your classroom was inherently smaller than the core classes, and to be sharing the already cluttered space with a random man and his students would be suffocating.
“Well, Principle Ayer–”
“Now I know what you’re thinking;” He interrupted. “‘We won’t have enough space!’. But I spoke with Mrs. Vandi -- the English teacher a few doors down -- and she’s offered to give you her classroom in March. It’ll only be a temporary installment.”
Thinking about the offer, you sigh in defeat. Although you were beyond annoyed, you knew Principal Ayer was trying his best to help out. At least he was trying to make things easier on you. You gave a weak smile and nodded.
“Yeah.. Sure." You agreed with a fake smile, attempting to hide your disappointment.
“I knew you’d accept! I almost thought I’d have to store him in one of the gym classrooms!” He joked to himself. “So it’s all worked out! Two electives in the same room!” He smiled, patting your shoulder.”
The gym classrooms were one of the only classrooms that weren’t renovated after the school was eligible for the grant money. They were stored away and were mainly used for student held clubs and in school suspension rooms. You were also pretty sure that’s where all of the questionable students went to do their questionable things. You couldn’t possibly bring yourself to just let the new hire settle in there.
“Yup! Just.. helping out!” You croak with a smile.
He hums in agreement. “Well again, I do appreciate it. He seems like quite the character. I’m sure you both will get along fine.”
“Mhm!..” You mumble, forcing a smile as he walks away.
-
You finally arrived to your classroom, still thinking about the interaction. You pulled your land yard from your pocket and grabbed your classroom keys. You placed your hand on the doorknob to find it unlocked, although you could have sworn that you locked it when you left yesterday. Cautiously, you open the door and walk in. Looking around the room you begin to hear rustling in the closet followed by a quiet curse. You quickly turn around to see the storage closet light on and a shadow wisping around.
“Hello?...” You called out as you fully entered the room, gripping your keys tightly.
The shadow immediately stopped in its place, the sound of boxes falling down attached to another husky curse exited the closet. You hear an array of footsteps – presumably walking over the mess of a storage closet – a lanky man with wild, but nicely kept wicks stepped out wiping dust from his shirt.
Before you could even begin to trigger your fight or flight, he smiled and reached his hand out for a handshake. “You must be the art teacher.” He greeted, looking up from his shirt.
“Uh-huh… And you’re the new music teacher?” You asked as you took his hand and shook it.
“Lucky guess.” He chuckled, lightly squeezing your hand in return.
As you both let go there was a slight pause letting you both take the opportunity to study each other. You admired his accent and charm (...and appearance). Noticing his gaze; you scolded yourself for staring. You divert your vision to the messy storage closet again.
The man caught on to the awkward situation and quickly spoke to cut the silence. “Ah, you’re wonderin’ how I got in here..” He finished your thoughts, holding up a set of keys. “Principal Ayer gave ‘em to me. Sorry if I startled you luv.”
You couldn’t help but smile at how genuine he sounded. You quickly shook your head, “No! No, you’re fine. I wish I knew you were coming earlier though. I would have cleaned the closet a bit.” You explained, awkwardly gesturing to said closet.
”Ah, nothin’ to worry about. ‘S not too bad.” He consoles a warm smile. “How long have you been teaching?”
”Not too long. I’ve always been interested in teaching art so I’ve been helping around with art lessons here and there. I was only hired here at the start of this year.” You told him, setting your keys on your desk.
”Hm, I guess we’re both sorta new to this teaching thing huh?” He asked, moving closer.
”Guess so…” You giggled against better judgement. You internally cursed yourself again with an almost unnoticeable wince. “Well, what about you?” You started, clearing your throat. “Have you taught music before?”
”Not at all,” The man replied aloofly. “But it’s always been a passion of mine so why not try to inspire others with it.” He shrugged.
Oh, he was absolutely perfect. You couldn’t help but smile at his answer. Another wave of silence washed over the two of you. You fidgeted with your hands as the sound of the rain started to settle in. The man took another detailed glance at you. He admired your personality and how you practically radiated throughout the classroom. He was definitely excited to work with you to say the least.
As the rain began to pick up you realized what you came in for. “Well, I’m going to head out before it gets bad out.” You said, heading to your desk and grabbing a stack of personal essays and stuffing it in your tote. “I hope you find what you’re looking for also! If you have any questions you can always ask me…” You paused, silently asking for his name.
”Hobart Brown. I go by Hobie.” He said with a fond look.
“Nice name.” You smiled, grabbing your keys and heading towards the door.
“I presume yours is nice too?” He questioned, jokingly.
You laughed at his bluntness and told him your name in return. He repeated it with an impressed nod.
”It fits you luv.” He chuckled. It almost hid the sincerity in his voice.
”Yours too, Hobie.” You called out before leaving.
The silence flooded into the classroom once again. As it’s followed by the rain and the fading sound of your boot heel hitting the ground, Hobie couldn’t help but smile with a slight shake of his head. You were a breath of fresh air.
a / n: woah, second fic posted!! can't really tell if i'm proud of it or not.. idk. this took me wayy longer than i wanted it to take and i wanted to add a lil new years addition but i was too eager to post it..
rafe wasn’t always so buff. when you two first started dating he was sorta lanky. you would pinch his thin arms and tease him. when he starts buffing out? holy shit you can’t get enough of him.
he’s come home from the gym and the first thing you do is shove your face into his chest, inhaling him as you rub your face against his pecs. he wraps his arm around your head, practically suffocating you in him. “mell goo.” you mumble into his chest. your hand slowly trails up and you squeeze his pec. like it’s a boob. he hisses and smacks your hand away, shoving you playfully.
you pout, “i wanna squeeze.”
he snickers out a laugh, smacking your hand away from him again. “leave me alone.”
this brightens you up. “are you ticklish?” your tone is teasing, fingers twiddling at him.
he lets out a full bodied laugh at this, pushing your hands away again. “get off, weirdo.”
“just let me honk your tit and i’ll stop”
“i don’t have tits.”
“dude, they’re staring right at me”
“im not your dude”
“okay my beautiful dude let me honk it”
“im feeling very sexualized”
another time when you guys are getting ready for bed. he’s brushing his teeth and you’re applying under eye cream. his arms look absolutely delicious, flexing soflty as he keeps brushing. you can’t control yourself.
you chomp down on his bicep. he stares at you completely bewildered. “did you bithe me?” mouth full of toothpaste
“you looked yummy” you say it lamely. as if it’s no big deal
“you’re like a dog”
“only like? Let’s solidify that” you chomp the air
he laughs, playfully shoving your face away from him.“get away from me”
“come on, it’s just cute aggression. I need to get it out”
“cute aggression? you think im cute??”
you shrug again, nodding. “i’ll show you cute baby,” he scoops you up trodding you over to your shared bed as you laugh happily. “it’s my turn to honk and bite you”
Simon Riley is the type to mutter, “Suit yourself,” when you ask him if you can call him something cute.
You could call him Shithead all day, for all he cares. It wouldn’t dent that invisible iron door in his chest, because he doesn’t give a shit what you say or don’t say about him, what you like or don’t like. He’s his own island, he doesn’t need your good opinion or anyone else’s.
But what he doesn’t know about you, is that you’re fucking annoying. It starts soft as little “baby”s and “sweetie”s, and of course he doesn’t even bat an eyelash. Just the usual puppy love bullshit, it’ll wear off.
But then you start slipping in the “my favorite person in the whole world”s and the “precious thing”s, and he’s narrowing his eyes a little, growing uncomfortable with how that settles something stuffy in his lungs. It’s a little too far for his liking, but he did say you could call him anything. And he is, well, incredibly competitive. So he decides he can take it.
“Delicious lil guy,” you whisper into his neck after you’ve given him a good chomp.
“Prettiest thing I’ve ever seen,” you sigh, running your hands through his wet hair after a shower.
“Sweet little baby cupcake,” you mumble when he wraps himself after you after getting home from work past midnight.
All heartfelt and honest, and unfortunately for him, stone cold sober.
“Have you seen me?” he finally demands one night, after you’ve kissed all over his face and told him how perfect it is.
You frown down at him, a little confused. “…yes?”
“I’ve got— fucking—“ he makes a gesture with his hand, indicating his face.
You narrow your eyes and really squint, trying to figure out what he’s getting at.
“Scars,” he finally huffs.
“Oh, yeah.” You smile down at him, tracing the history of violence with your eyes. “I forgot about those.”
“You forgot?”
“I haven’t really noticed them since like the first few weeks. Aren’t brains funny?”
Puppy love, he reminds himself, as you settle into his arms and sigh happily. This slicing pain in his chest and the burning in his eyes… this is puppy love. It’s totally normal to feel like he’d rather throw himself off a building than see you hurt. It doesn’t matter that he spends his time before falling asleep just thinking about you, inventing new ways to make your life better in any way he can conceive.
Summary: Hobie was not the best boyfriend. It’s not his fault, he has an obligation to his city and by proxy, the multiverse. But, he doesn’t want to lose you. Unfortunately, revealing his secret does the opposite of what he had hoped.
Tags: Angst, Hurt/No Comfort,Canon-Divergence, (Hobie doesn’t reveal himself after killing Osbourne, Comic villains and events but movie Hobie, He’s supposed to be British but I forgot like halfway through writing)
Words: 3147
author’s note: If I had a nickel for everytime a girl broke up with her superhero bf bcs he lied abt being a superhero I would have 2 nickels.
Honestly tho I rly don’t like the whole ‘I’m upset because you lied to me’ trope in the superhero genre. I feel like there’s a much better reason to break up with a superhero so here’s my idea. I’ll talk more abt it in the end note.
Anyway enjoy!
AO3 Version
My AO3
Masterlist
Soaring through the air with nothing but a thin string as support, fighting monsters 3 times his size sometimes from a different universe, killing the fucking Prime Minister; none of these things have brought him as much anxiety as he feels in this moment.
It was so late, after 2 in the morning, and he was rushing back to his apartment grunting in pain from his injuries. It’s never fun fighting Kingpin, but hopefully after tonight he won’t have to do that anymore. Kamala had finally discovered his new place of hiding, Osbourne’s old bunker.
No matter how badly his ribs stung with every thwip and pull, he didn’t let up or slow down for a second. You were waiting for him. You’ve been waiting for him since he left at 8. Fuck, it’s been 6 hours? How did he let time fly like that?
‘She’s going to kill me,’ he lightly joked to himself. His stomach turned, he knows deep down that you were getting down to your last straw. You’re always so sweet about his disappearances. He tells you he needs to go; “Being in-charge of a non-profit anti-establishment organization dedicated to the dismantling of our government doesn’t allow you to have much free time, love. I’ll be back,” he would say. Your gorgeous smile would present itself and he just has to give you a kiss before he leaves. That smile has become less bright in recent months.
You’ve started voicing your annoyance as well. “Yeah, so I’ve heard,” you would respond. Or, “Duty calls?” With an eye roll. His least favorite response was, “Why don’t you date the organization instead?” The chuckle you let out after that was so dry and your smile was so empty. It scared him.
There were times where he wasn’t there in the first place. He regrets those the most. He’s missed so many important things, some of which he couldn’t understand how or why you forgave him. He certainly wouldn’t have if he was in your position. You had to be an angel or something. Fuck, he loves you.
Tonight was supposed to be a shut-in date night. Just the two of you, some junk food, and a scary movie that you’ve been dying to see. His watch beeped with a message: got a lead on Fisk. He looked at you and you just…let him go. You didn’t smile, you didn’t frown, you just looked into his eyes and turned away.
“I’ll be right back, I promise.” You didn’t respond, and at that moment, he decided that when he got back there would be no more secrets. No more sneaking around. No more lies. He loved you and you deserved to know.
From what he could see through the window, the lights were off. A part of him is relieved, hoping you weren’t awake so he could just take care of his injuries and slip into bed next to you. He would just have to wait to tell you tomorrow morning.
But, that plan is put to shit when he opens the window and quietly steps inside his living room. The tv is off and the snacks have been cleared. Hobie starts to panic. Did you go home?
He slips off his shoes in case you were sleeping soundly in his room and starts to walk slowly towards it. The door is cracked just a bit and the light is off there too. The entire apartment was shrouded in darkness, the only possible light coming through windows from the moon. He looks through the crack and relaxes upon seeing your silhouette in bed. He lets out a quiet sigh and creeps away to the bathroom.
“Hobie?” He freezes. A few seconds pass and he hears the bed creaking and feet shuffling across the floor. He still doesn’t turn around as his door opens to reveal you in your pajamas, face puffy, and eyes red.
You had been waiting for him to get home for what felt like forever. You were so excited earlier today, but there was this unrelenting churn in your stomach telling you that he would leave eventually. And of course, you were right.
Honestly, you didn’t understand why you were still with him at this point. You know he lies about where he is. You’ve known ever since he invited you to a protest his non profit put together. You told him you wanted to become an official member and he shot it down immediately. “Too dangerous for a peng-thing such as yourself,” he told you. He was right about it being dangerous, everyone was gassed and it hadn’t even been 15 minutes. But that didn’t matter. You wanted to be a part of it. Especially after they got to witness Prime Minister Osbourne’s beheading.
He didn’t even use it as an excuse most of the time. When you would wait for him to meet with you, his reasonings were fickle if he even had any.
“Got caught up with something,”
“One of my mates needed me, you know how that goes,”
“It doesn’t matter, I’m here now aren’t I?”
Oh, and there was your favorite, “Get off my back, will you? I’ve got a life too.” The times where he had nothing to say at all, as painful as it was, were much better. You were so sick of it and you just hoped that he could tell.
Right now, in this moment, you’re not sure because he still hasn’t turned around. You couldn’t see much in the darkness of the hallway, but you at least knew it was him and he was walking away. “You can’t even look at me?”
Hobie stood still, his mind racing. He didn’t know what to do. He didn’t want to see the look on your face. He knew you were disappointed. He could hear it in your voice. “…I,” he clears his throat. “I didn’t think you would still be awake.” He cringes.
You blink at him. “You didn’t think I would still be awake?” You repeated vexedly, your voice growing stronger.
“I didn’t mean it like that,” Hobie tries to save.
You closed your eyes and took in a sharp breath. “You know…if you’re cheating on me, I’d rather you be honest about it.”
Hobie finally turns around. In the dark, you can’t see his mask, but he can see you perfectly. You looked so dejected and it destroyed him. He could tell that you had been crying before he got here, and now you’re eyes were welling up again. His chest pangs.
“I don’t appreciate you leaving me without a word and coming back whenever you want,” you continue, your voice breaking. A tear slips down your face and you quickly wipe it away only for another to follow right after. “Do you think I’m stupid?” You sob, trying to remain strong as he walks towards you. “That I would just be okay with that shit?”
Hobie still doesn’t answer. Instead, he stands a couple feet away from you right next to the light switch. “Are you not going to answer me?” You growl at him. Still, nothing. “Ho-”
The light turns on. His name halts in your throat as you gaze upon him. Your tears don’t stop and you raise your hand to your mouth, a shaky gasp escaping you. Hobie finally peels his mask off to reveal his cut up face.
For a moment, there’s nothing but silence as you try and process this new information. Hobie was…Spider-man. Your boyfriend was Spider-man. That’s why. That’s why he was never there. That’s why he can never be there. Hobie opens his mouth, the breath he takes being enough to cut through the tension. “I’m sorry.”
He continues to walk towards you, praying that you don’t walk away. You’re frozen in place. “I’m so sorry.” He holds his arms out and embraces you in a tight hug relaxing into your arms when you lift them up and wrap them around his neck. You bury your head into his shoulders making his suit wet from your tears.
Hobie’s lips begin to quiver. He swallows a sob before speaking again. “I didn’t know how to tell you...” His voice cracks while trying to find the right words to say. “I just…I am so sorry for lying to you. I’m so fucking sorry.”
For a while, the both of you just stand there in each other’s presence. There was a feeling of anxiousness in the air; for Hobie, he was worried why you hadn’t said anything. As for you…
“Come on.” You grabbed his hand and walked the both of you to his bathroom where you sat him on the toilet and tended to his facial wounds. You remained completely silent, still trying to gather all of your thoughts. It made him all the more terrified.
Hobie repeatedly geared himself up to speak to you, but ultimately kept his mouth closed. What could he say? It was you who needed to talk. You needed to tell him how worried for him you would be. You needed to tell him how happy you were that he was okay. You needed to tell him how angry you were at him for lying to you.
You needed…you needed…
He needed you to say something. Anything.
But you didn’t know how to tell him. And when you were done with his face he stood up and took your hand to walk the both of you back to his room. You followed at first, but quickly stopped. He looked back at you in confusion, his heart racing. “What is it?”
You let go of his hand with him refusing to do the same. It went limp in his hold as you stared at the ground. Your eyes filled with tears and fell just as quickly. Without looking up, you finally told him what was on your mind. “I…I was going to break up with you tonight.”
His heart dropped. He releases a huff having been completely floored by that charged sentence. What do you mean you were going to break up with him? What do you mean there was no saving the relationship the moment he left? What do you mean he was too late?
His mouth opens and closes, trying to find the words to convey his shock. “Was?” He decides upon, foolishly hopeful.
The breath that you take in, the look on your face, and the tears falling down it killed anything inside him that held onto the possibility that you still wanted to be with him. So he lets go of your hand too. “No.” You say.
Hobie is appalled. His eyes dart around the hallway as his mind tries to make sense of what was happening. His breathing gets harder and faster. He begins to shake his head. “I don’t-,” he stutters, “I-I don’t understand.”
“Hobie-”
“I mean, I…” he hikes his shoulders up and holds up his hands. Finally, he looks at you. His chest aches at the sight of you, he’s never seen you so dejected. He gestures at himself. “You see…you see why.”
You walk towards him and put your hand on his chest to try and calm him down. It does nothing. Instead he holds his own hand over yours to keep it there. “And I am so glad that you trusted me enough to tell me. Your secret is safe with me, Hobie.” After telling him that, you lose any resolve you had and sob. Your voice is strained when you talk, and you have to take small pauses to catch your breath and remain coherent. “But that doesn’t change the fact that you missed my graduation-”
“I was almost eaten alive.” he quickly defends, remembering that annoying day. The Inheritors have become a very big nuisance since Osbourne’s death and are the reason for so many of his disappearances. He would explain all of this to you if you gave him the chance.
You scrunch your face with a look of confusion, but when he doesn’t explain any further, you continue. “And you missed my recital-”
“So I could keep Kraven from fucking up 38th street.” He was starting to get upset. It’s like you weren’t listening to him. He was Spider-man. Of course he couldn’t be there for every facet of your life. And you knew that now. So…what the fuck? “If I hadn’t done that, your mates wouldn’t have anywhere to live.”
You could hear the annoyance in his tone and body language, and it made you a little miffed. “I understand that-“
“Do you?”
You slap your head in frustration. “You’re not getting it, Hobie. You weren’t there-“
“Yeah, I fucking couldn’t be because I’m too busy trying un-fuck our city and everyone in it. Including you.” He says, slightly raising his voice. How dare you get mad at him when you’re the one who’s leaving? “I mean, I’m showing you why I can’t be there and it’s still not enough?”
You never stopped crying, but now you were pissed. You glared at him. “You think that fixes everything? It doesn’t change the fact that I stood outside the auditorium and waited for you right before and right after my name was called for nothing. Or that I almost fucked up my solo because I couldn’t think about anything besides the fact that you weren’t there.”
Hobie raises a finger at you. “I-”
“Stop interrupting me!” You shout, immediately recoiling but keeping your glare. Hobie blinks at you in disbelief. “Knowing that you were off saving the world does not mean I didn’t need you there with me when my sister was-” Choking on your words, you cover your mouth with your hand in a feeble attempt to hide the sob that escaped. Hobie’s anger dissipated and all that was left was utter heartbreak.
You took a second to recollect yourself, shying away from his touch when he reached out to you. He drops his arm by his side. “I don’t understand,” he whispers, his voice breaking.
Taking another deep breath, you drop the ball on him , finally. “If you’re worried I’m going to go off and tell Jonah Jameson-”
“No,” he practically shouts. “I’m not fucking worried about that. I’m upset, because my girlfriend is breaking up with me!”
“Don’t fucking yell at me!”
Hobie slams his hands against his head and walks away from you, panting. All you can do is watch him, anticipating his next move. Bracing yourself for whatever he’ll say out of anger.
After a few moments of breathing, he drops his hands and turns to look at you. “So what you just-don’t love me anymore?”
“What?”
“Is that it? There’s someone else?”
You furrowed your brows and looked around the room wondering where the hell he got that from. “The fuck? No!”
“So why don’t you want to be with me anymore?”
You groaned in frustration and covered your face with your hands. He just wasn’t getting it. “That’s not what I’m saying-”
“The fuck are you saying?” His voice louder than it’s ever been towards you.
“I want to be with you, Hobie,” you tell him, the tears never ending. Your voice, as loud as it is, shakes and cracks. Hobie grabs his hair, his mind completely scattered. You were confusing him left and right. Why can’t you just come out and say-
“I don’t want to be with Spider-Man.”
Everything seems to stop. The only sound being you calming yourself down as you take some deep breaths. You couldn’t look at Hobie, you just couldn’t. As for him, he couldn’t stop looking at you utter disbelief and heartbreak.
His bottom lip quivered as it hung open. His nostrils began to flare. His chest rose and fell as he felt the lump in his throat grow. Why won’t you look at him? Please look at him…please?
“You…I don’t…” he simply can’t find the words to describe how he felt. To put it simply, you were breaking his heart. He loves you. He fucking loves you so much. It hurts that there’s nothing he can do to fix this. He can’t just stop being Spider-Man, no matter how hard he’s considering it at this moment.
He doesn’t know what yo do. He’s so hurt. He’s so…fucking…angry.
“Get out.” He says, looking at the ground.
You jerk your head up at him. Wiping your eyes, you ask him, “What?”
Hobie angrily puts his mask back on. “Get the fuck out,” he repeats, louder this time. You don’t move. You didn’t want it to end like this. Was it really going to end like this? No…
“Ba-Hobie,” Slip of the tongue. But it was too late, he heard it and it broke him even more.
“I don’t want you here when I get back.” He turns away from you and stalks towards the window. Without looking back once, he lifts it open and hops back out into the night.
You slap your hand over your mouth and squeeze your eyes shut. This feeling in your chest, you wanted to lie down and scream at the top of your lungs. You were hoping he understood, that you could reason with him, but now you were left a lonely shell of your former self. You would hate yourself for breaking his heart the way you did. As you gather your things and leave the apartment, you start to wonder, was this even worth it?
On the trek home, you decided; yes. It hurt, but nothing would compare to the pain of him not being there at the hospital when you told him you needed him there. All the moments that you needed the man you loved and he was no where to be found, you found joy in knowing that you would never experience that again.
You weren’t angry with Hobie anymore. You knew why things were the way they were now. But, that’s not a love life that you wanted. That was the most difficult thing you had to do, but you had to do it. You weren’t going to be a superhero’s girlfriend. You just weren’t. You hoped he understood one day.
And he will. But for now, Hobie watches you leave the building with a hole in his heart and hatred in his mind. For now, you just don’t want to make it work with him. Hobie knows the two of you are meant to be, he just wishes you would understand that-
No. He wishes you would accept him. You don’t . And that destroys him.
For now, you simply don’t love him enough to accept him for what he is. A huge part of him was scared of this, and would you look at that, it came true.
He was so confused. So hurt. How could you. How could you?…
ending a/n: Hi! How was it? I hope I wrote it well. I really wanted to make sure it was clear that they both are valid in their feelings about the whole thing. It made sense that it would all blow up and not end well and I think it’s very easy for someone who is dealing with a lot of emotions to not really think rationally or listen to the other person.
If you read this whole thing and was like ‘what is wrong with her’ let me try to explain my thought process. She doesn’t want to be with a superhero. She wants to be in a relationship with someone who can be there for her. Hobie was never there, if he was it was few and far between. And that’s bcs of his obligation to the world and multiverse. That’s no one’s fault. She gets that. So she’s going to find someone who CAN give her the time she needs. Someone who doesn’t have a duty to the world. Someone who can focus on her as much as she does for them.
Of course, Hobie isn’t going to understand that. All he hears is that she doesn’t want to be with him. So, he’s thinking irrationally, not really listening to what she’s saying. Taking things the wrong way bcs he’s heart broken.
I like where I ended it, but I am very open to a pt 2 in the future where they’ve gotten over it (or maybe not 👀) but they’re not going to get back together. It’ll be like closure unless I decide to never let Hobie heal from it. Hmmmm. Idk idk idk!
Anyway, I hope you guys understood my thinking and enjoyed this version of this trope. I don’t think I’ve seen it done before, it would be nice to start a trend of this. I would love to see how other people interpret this. Please feel free to discuss this particular topic more with me if you would like! I don’t bite! Y’all have a good one🩵🩵
discuss on “who’s hobie’s cop” led to “what if hobie’s cop was Jeff morales and he leaked information to Hobie about the inner workings of the corrupt police force and got caught right before a massive protest he was going to help lead with spider punk which would also be an announcement of his quitting the force” which led to this. thanks @jacuzziwaters @they-callme-ami
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Oh.
It finally clicks.
Hobie’s not sure how he didn’t notice before. Maybe it was the rage—the embarrassment of being played a fool overloading his usually rational thought process. Maybe it was the surrounding chaos—the screams of agony as symbiotic teeth gored into flesh. The sounds of popping as gunshots rang off endlessly. The cracking of bottles and bones when met with a much stronger force—overwhelming his senses and leaving Hobie unable to see the man in front of him as anything else but a traitor.
It’s only now as he stares into Jeff Morales unnaturally sunken eyes, white sclera eating away at his warm brown irises that Hobie realizes he wasn’t lied to after all. As the foam trickles out the corner of his friend’s cracked lips, dripping off the sides of the man’s violently twitching jaw. Hobie’s stomach twists in disgust as the black tendrils spread across Jeff’s brown skin like ink in water.
Hobie’s finger is on the trigger of the gun he snatched from the symbio—Jeff’s waistband. He doesn’t realize he’s trembling until the man’s hand grabs his wrist, stilling it. Hobie’s about to snatch it away but Jeff’s milky eyes bore into his through his mask and keep him frozen in place.
The older man’s mouth twitches again, then opens, and the younger one’s blood runs cold as a haphazard desperate message trickles past his friend’s bloody lips.
thoughts about Hobie Brown x black reader who’s a model trainee
a/n: this is fluff. reader is described as feminine with kinky hair. this song was the inspo, it’s stuck in my head LOL.
♡ Seeing you was a breath of fresh air. You were the only other black model in the line up, a symbol of progress but also an opportunity for connection.
“Thought this place already had their “look”.” He’d joke, introducing himself to you with a toothy smile. His own distinctive style complemented yours.
You weren’t here by mistake. He realized this watching you walk for the first time. Seeing you gracefully strut down to the taped line, confidently smirking into the camera. He shook his head in disbelief. You were in a league of your own and whatever magic you were working, he wanted more of it. Later he’d get your number.
♡ He’d watch you backstage making shit up, adding more personality to your walk.
“How was that? better than the last?” You’d ask the brit. He’d nod with a distant look in his eyes. Respectfully, he wasn’t listening to a word you were saying.
♡ Behind the scenes he’d proudly be “difficult”. He’s hovering over the shoulders of your stylist with pursed lips. These people were clueless.
Likewise, you were trying to keep it professional but you couldn’t keep your lip from curling in disapproval. Every careless comb through your coils caused your face to tighten into a grimace.
You share a knowing look with Hobie who disappeared from the reflection of the wide mirror to later return with his own materials. He’d gladly fix you up, being generous with his products, tenderly handling your scalp. You learned to trust him far more than the industry after that.
The same rule applied to makeup. What’s his is yours. Whatever issue left you looking a mess was made up for by Hobie’s everlasting kindness. He’d routinely let you borrow his contour, powder, lip liners and everything in between as you figured things out.
“You know what’s mad?” He’d start, a brush feathering over your lids while he did your eyeshadow.
You’d already be stiffing a bitter chuckle, preparing for another one of his complaints. He never hesitated to speak his mind.
“They can give you two hundred pound earrings jus’ fine but nah, fenty’s too big of an investment. Bloody tossers.”
He’d handle you like the doll you are while applying a rich brown into your crease, something that actually made sense on your skin tone. When finished, his eyes would trace over your face, taking you all in. “Yer stunnin’.”
tags: no use of y/n, no physical description of reader, reader-insert, fluff, slice of life, suggestive, marijuana, tension + mutual pining , an almost kiss.
synopsis: you visit hobie during his smoke. his suggestion to share a breath flusters you both.
You were so stupidly anxious today.
The scowl you hauled with you today was not appreciated, yet it stuck as you grew more and more irritated with each passing hour. Frankly, you needed to chill out. You could admit that at least. You usually don’t think to bother anyone, always opting to wallow in your room as usual. This time around though, your silent room was torturous. Silence was tolerable literally anywhere else... especially at Hobie’s.
You thought about it. Hobie didn’t seem to ask anything of you while you were over. Quiet or not, he got along with any personality. Still, you rocked nervously, rechecking your phone as you waited for his reply. You had asked about some park but...
Hobie: let’s just do my place. ppl are nosey.
He sends you an address. It's not far.
This one was definitely his. No one else would willingly make their home look like it was hijacked by a bunch of drunk teenagers. Even his boat was punk.
You don’t need to knock. He’s at the door the moment he feels your weight on deck causing the narrowboat to sway. “Found my cocoon?” He greets you with a smile, crinkles eyes tinted pink.
His earthy stench hits you when he opens the other slim, wooden door. You purse your lips knowingly, returning his greeting with your habitual handshake, “Hey Hobie.”
“Watch your step.”
He follows behind as you enter what looks like a long corridor. Living room, kitchenette, bedroom and bathroom all merged together. A cool, salty breeze flows from several open windows making the thin smoke wisp around. You lean on one of the kitchen counters, Hobie slipping by you and waiting for you to slip your sneakers off.
“It's really cozy in here.” You comment in pleasant surprise, looking around for where to place your shoes. He appreciates it although he won't say.
“Behind you, mate.” He pulls a drawer out of the small staircase you descended to get in, placing your shoes inside. He built the compartment himself figuring everything in a narrowboat needs a purpose. You hum, impressed.
“What’re you lookin’ at? Go get comfortable.” He teases.
You're quick to plop down on the couch, observing the rest of the boathouse. You admire the rich wood interior behind the walls full of colorful posters. Records leaning against a thick, boxy TV seemingly unused. He starts his tour unprompted, narrating from the counter.
“Got a lil’ bookshelf.” He gestures with his chin at a two-shelf case, a zine collection stuffed underneath magazines and other jumbled books. You nod, appreciating how homey the space is. He makes living on a boat actually look nice.
“Stove. Toilet. Telly for the mandem.” He watches you grab the remote before gently taking it from you and stuffing it into some other compartment.
“Not for you though. Anythin' else is more interesting than that shite.” He passes you a sketchbook instead, dedicated to his visitors. Its bright red cover full of doodles made in paint, colorful stickers plastered over the graffiti. He hands you a thick green marker along with it. “Righ’ there you go. see that? No ads”
“What’s wrong with TV?” you challenged, snickering in disbelief.
He rolls his eyes, “‘S fine if ya don’t mind bein’ a cog.” He sits back down next to you, cushion sunk under his weight. Thin paper crinkles against his fingers as he rolls a joint, continuing his previous activity. You pull your feet up onto his couch and your knees towards your chest. Your doodles are heavy-handed, subtly chewing the inside of your cheek while you scribble. You thought you were holding your composure well, but it wasn’t lost on him.
He flicks his lighter open, click followed by a gentle hiss and crackle.
“Are you anxious about somethin’ specific?” he asks softly, one brow inched upward. He takes a long hit, exhaling streams through his nostrils.
You reply way too quickly, “No? I mean, I just feel itchy, I guess. It’s always something.”
He blinks at your short babble, “Yer brains jus’ buzzin’ off. I know that feelin’.”
Your nerves did concern him, making him uneasy despite his high. He fought to keep his expression neutral but his eyes narrow nonetheless.
You speak up again, unsure of yourself. “...But it’s not just that. I feel shit out of luck,” you let out a bitter huff of laughter, “The universe is targeting me Hobie. I just can’t prove it yet.”
He chuckles deeply. You assume it’s just his high but hell, he knows a thing or two about the universe. You were half-right. “Maybe. But are ya sure it’s not somethin’ else goin’ on?”
Your eyes slowly separate from his, “Not that I know of.” You mumble back cryptically.
Despite your words, a few familiar scenes flash through your head. The same moments you’ve been ruminating over for months now. His eyes are trained on your sketchbook but momentarily flicker to your face, trying to decode its constrained expression. Your wrist flicks with each new doodle. He can’t tell if it’s calming you down or making things worse.
“I’m not sayin’ yer crazy or nothin’. Jus’ that sometimes we're so focused on lookin' for the big answers that we miss the small ones righ’ under our noses." He chuckles, exhaling another cloud of smoke, “No pun intended.”
You rub your neck and exhale sharply through your nostrils, tone growing even more defensive. “I’ll think about it.”
“Nah, nah. Not what I meant. The opposite, actually. Like, shut your brain off.” He throws his free hand over the couch, playing with your sleeve.
He gives you a sidelong glance before puffing out four skillful halos that lightly tap and disperse against your cheek. A short laugh slips from your lips. You turn towards the fog, his mischievous grin revealing his canines.
You’re more touched than bothered. “What was that for?”
“Ya look like you need some. True or false?”
“True?” You reply
He tilts his head, his thumb tracing light circles into your arm, “It’s a question?”
“I just don't know how-"
“To smoke? Yeah, that parts obvious.” He murmurs, mostly to himself. His cheeks hollow, then puff. Taking another long drag before blowing out more neatly stacked rings. How was he even doing it? You wave your hand, playfully fanning them away, stress leaving you bit by bit as his teasing forces you back into the present.
“‘M not sure how you do this shit sober. But I can still help.” He says, eyes gleaming with that strange, drug-fueled mirth. His fingers drag down your arm as he commits the moment to memory. He grabs hold of the sketchbook, eyes flickering back up to yours with a lazy half-lidded stare. He tosses the red book back onto one of his speakers. “Wanna speed this up?”
Your mind wonders with different possibilities, “Speed what up?”
“Your high. You gotta scoot closer if you wanna feel anythin’. I don’t feel like closin’ all the windows.” He smiles.
Neither did he want to either. He was going to milk this moment out as long as you let him. Did he always look at you this way or were you tripping...?
“That’s fair.” You scoot in, masking your sudden wave of nervousness behind a toothy smile. Without warning he reaches and hooks his hand under your ankles, hitching you forward until your feet rest on the cushion just beside his hip. You suddenly become aware of your exact spot in space, tucked in close enough to smell his musky cologne.
“Jus’ face me ‘kay? Inhale.” It’s his only instruction before he leans in. The sentence you were forming dying halfway, replaced by his offer to shotgun.
Your heart hammers against your ribs, half of the smoke slipping from the both of you before it forms a small tunnel. You pull back slowly, but he lingers.
He playfully nudges you,“Ya fuckin’ lost half of it.”
You blink rapidly, chuckling out in a high pitch. God your ears were on fire. “My bad.”
“You’re fine.” He replies, his hand wandering to the nape of your neck. “Try opening a bit wider this time.”
Your stomach flips. It’s genuinely taking everything in you to not spontaneously combust. Your own sweaty palms grip your knees in anticipation, heat radiating off you in waves.
His head tilted to the right. Smoke hung at the top of his mouth before he leaned in again. His soft lips graze against yours, tightening the seal and blowing a warm, bitter fog into your lungs. Your head goes light, feeling his tongue press against the tip of yours. He pulls back a few seconds later, abruptly ending the pass-off. Silence hangs in the air, the boat swaying with the natural current of the canal.
“Feelin’ it?” He asks, his breath caught.
You nod still silently questioning if the rush was drug-induced or not, “Something like that.”
tags: No use of y/n, no physical description of reader, mild language, sleepy reader, slice of life, platonic, sweet hobie brown, comfort / tough-love (?), hobie wants you to succeed
꒰ you need encouragement to finish your paper before dawn ꒱
A low rumble stirs you awake. Warm, large hands wrap around your plush torso before you can fully open your eyes. Hobie gazes down at you, his hand moving up to wipe the drool from your face.
“‘S two. Like you said.” he speaks again. You realize the rumble is his voice, trying to keep quiet.
Your alarm clatters as you sit up by your elbows. “Fuck,” you breathe out, staring into the void that is your room at 2am. Despite how delirious you are, you’re happy to see the punk leaning over you, courteous to wake you up on time like you asked.
“Yeah, I’d figure you’d click snooze.” He adds, shutting off your phone’s ringer for you. You’ve never tried so hard in school before, you guessed this is what it must feel like, carving out a few hours of your night to write a paper you coul finally forget about. He lets out an amused huff as you stare into the wall. You wondered how much your grade would really drop if you just didn’t turn it in. Nah, he wouldn’t let you. His large fingers cup and squeeze your face, rousing you again with a soft shake, “Oi.”
You clear your throat, turning to the side to sneak back to sleep. If you looked tired enough maybe he’d leave you alone? You hear his faint voice rumble faintly, “Mate, I’m serious.”
He cups the small of your back, another siding underneath your shoulders before he pulls you upright and shakes you again. “I mean it.” he murmurs, gently scooping your eye boogers out with his short, painted nails. “What part are you on now, hm? Your paper.”
Your eyebrows knit together at the thought. It’s taken you hours to push about a meaningful sentence or two, just for you to quickly erase it, refusing to think about it again. “I’m nowhere hobes. I can’t write for shit I told you that already.” You reply.
He tsks in response, thumbs pushing your eyelids down before blowing at the rest of the built-up crystals. “Come out of it. You write fine, get up.” He lifts a leg off your knees, giving you a choice. You shift to the side of your bed, fixing your hair and staring into your carpet. “I just want to improve,” you add quietly.
He lets out a soft sigh, “You can improve. You’ve seen me do it righ’? I don't ‘ave a lick of school, just a library card.”
The room gets quiet, a bit solemn too. The both of you seem quite deep in thought as you reflect over your life circumstances. Is that why he tried so hard? He just wanted to see you succeed where he never had a chance to? A train’s echoing blare reminds the two of them where they are.
Your mattress shifts as you finally stand up, tiredly wobbling your way over to your desk. While the Brit was happy to hold you accountable, he didn’t think you really needed it. He’d only wished you’d believe in yourself more. He stands up too, only to gather your materials. A couple of pens, pieces of scrap paper.. mini tissue pack. “Look, you’ve got solid work ‘ere. An’ I genuinely don’t care if it takes you ‘til six to realize that.” He smirks.
You chuckle shyly, turning on the lamp beside you and picking up your pen.
