hi katy!! hope you are doing amazing 🫶🫶 may i request like hobie and R are not something oficial with their friends, specially with yuri being R's friend!! in a situation like a party? or a friends night out somewhere and then hobie and R are nowhere to be seen but nobody really thinks something is going on lol; so then probably yuri and the rest of the band where going outside to smoke and chat, but while they are going R and Hobie are just making out in some corner like two teenagers 😭 then everybody shocked specially Yuri watching both of her bestfriends just casually there kissing; and then you can continue with any end you want😛 anyways i love your art happy 3 years💕💕
GAHHHHH THIS WAS SUCH A SCRUMPTIOUS PROMPT WONDODMDOSK I hope you like it!!!
Pairing: Hobie Brown x fem! Reader/ Spider-Punk x fem! Reader
Word count: 1.7k
Tags: No use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader except for clothing, established relationship, cw food mentions, cw suggestive, cw drinking mention, fluff!
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3rd anniversary celebration
The party has gotten too rowdy for you. You’re overstimulated, starving when you’ve only had crisps for dinner, and you’re so tipsy that you stare at the pool water before you like it owes you money. The colour changing lights underneath the water mesmerize you, from blue, green, purple and red, it goes on and off as your feet move along the surface, soles skimming over the shallow water as you hear the muffled thrumming of music from the house.
Hobie spots you outside in the backyard after he’s been looking for you for the past twenty minutes. At first he had his eyes on you the whole night, waiting for Yuri and the rest of the band to leave you two alone so he could hold your hand behind their backs. But the moment he took his eyes off you to talk to a friend, he glanced back only to find you nowhere to be seen.
Hobie doesn’t like hiding his relationship with you from his mates, he’d rather scream to the whole world that you’re his and he’s yours but alas, Yuri will beat his ass for dating her best mate since kindergarten. When she specifically told everyone that you’re off limits, in her words, “she deserves a decent lad that will make her happy and not a bunch of punk rockers that will break her heart.” To that he agreed to, you deserve to be happy, but not the latter, he would never break your heart. He has fallen too hard for you to even think of doing that to you.
It’s not like you obeyed Yuri’s words either, you liked Hobie back wholeheartedly, embraced the prospect of dating him. From the first lingering touch alone through every hangout, to the stolen glances across the room, you took all the signs and went with it by asking him out yourself. Your reason? If Yuri ever found out, or the day finally comes when you have to tell her all about the two of you, she can’t blame him, not fully anyway when you’re the one who made the first move.
It was a ballsy move, and honestly? It made him fancy you even more. And now, six months into dating, countless date nights where you two had to go across town just to have dinner or walk around the park, and a lot of kisses— Hobie is fully committed to you, and you’re committed to him.
He doesn’t have the guts just yet to tell Yuri that the lacy underwear she found in his houseboat was yours, or that the extra toothbrush in your flat right beside your own wasn’t an old toothbrush that you use to clean the toilet but it’s his. Yuri has become hyper vigilant ever since she saw a sock underneath your couch that was clearly not yours. She thinks you’re hiding a new man from her, and she really wants to meet him to be the judge of his character. But she doesn’t know that she already met the guy and is in the same band as hers.
Yuri’s been pestering you about it, whilst Ned and James want to hear about the mystery girl Hobie’s been having around the houseboat. One time they went to his place to write some songs together whilst you two were snogging on his bed and you had to hide inside his bedroom for three hours. Your bladder was about to burst when they finally left. You couldn’t just leave through the windows either when you’ll fall into the canal and then they’d definitely know what’s up when they see you swimming around in the dirty river in your underwear.
Hobie’s about to come outside to see you when Yuri calls his name from the makeshift bar on the kitchen island.
“Oi, flat arse!” She yells above the noise of the party as she holds up a plate of biscuits and half a sandwich cut into a triangle. “Have you seen our girl?”
“No,” he shakes his head, shuffling over to the glass door to hide you. “Why?”
“Can you find her for me? She said she’s starving and this is the only edible food in this place.”
“Sure.” Taking the plate, Hobie has an intense urge to go out and sprint towards the nearest shop to get you something more filling.
“Oi, fuckwad! Order us a pizza or something! Use your parents’ card!” Yuri screams for James.
James, who’s rudely interrupted by Yuri as he was about to kiss a blonde, glares right at her. “You fucking order it!” The card flew over the crowd when he tossed it.
Hobie catches a glimpse of Yuri fighting with a bloke when he caught it before her.
“It’s not yours, you cu—!”
The glass door is shut right behind him, muffling the ruckus inside.
You’re a sight to behold beside the pool. The rainbow lights illuminate your features, as your half lidded eyes catch the light. Your dress is hitched up, pooled around you beautifully, framing you as you smile wistfully at the water as your feet kick gently in it.
You feel him before you hear the thumping of his boots. “You better not push me in, Hobie.” Tilting your head over to him, your cheek presses against your shoulder as you smile sweetly up at him.
“Wouldn’t dream of it, lovie. I could get you wet without needin’ to push you into a pool.”
“Oh, you’re so charming.” Chuckling, the sound of your laugh is a balm to his soul. “What do you have there?”
“Half a sandwich and biscuits Yuri got for you.”
“Oh, thank fuck.” Your hands reach up over to him as the plate is handed over to you. “Please don’t be peanut butter and jelly—” you take a peek inside the sandwich. “Yes.”
“What is it?” Hobie sits beside you, folding his leg as he folds the hem of his trousers before taking off his boots.
“It’s mayo and pepperoni.” Taking a big bite, you offer it to him. “You want some?”
He makes a face, taking a sugar coated biscuit instead. “‘m good, love.”
Shrugging, you inhale the rest of the sandwich. “It wasn’t the best but Yuri did her best.”
“If I’d have known you were hungry I would’ve run to the shop and gotten you somethin’.”
“And what would you have gotten me?” Your eyes sparkle as you flutter your lashes and take a biscuit from the plate sitting in between you.
“Anythin’ you want. Anythin’ under fifteen quid that is.”
Hobie always loved the way your grin spreads across your face, lightening up his whole world.
“A whole fifteen, oh you spoil me, baby.” It takes you two big bites of the biscuit before gently pushing the plate away to scooch over to him closer. Hobie’s arm immediately wraps around you, tugging you to his side as he rests his chin atop your head. “I want to get out of here and make out with you in the houseboat.”
“Why wait?” His fingers squeeze at your side, tickling you slightly as he breathes you in, a combination of your sweet perfume and the pool chlorine wafting from the water. Hobie was only half joking, until you gaze at him with those familiar soft eyes that spell out ‘bedroom’ for him.
“You are insufferable.” With a giggle, you splash him with water with your foot.
Hobie laughs with you, trousers damp but it was worth it to see the playful smile on your lips that he keeps gazing at.
“But you’re right.” You shrug, that look he knows as your, ‘fuck it,’ expression as he watches you lift your leg out of the water and over his lap. One second you were beside him, the next you’re straddling his lap, shuffling to find a more comfortable position as your heels tap at the small of his back. “There, much better.”
Fuck, you’re going to kill him someday.
“Bloody hell, lovie.” Hobie’s breathless from that alone. His hands move to hold at your waist as you wiggle teasingly that has his breathing going shallow and his skin aflame. His lips are immediately on yours, kissing fervently, feeling how you smile through the kiss before completely melting under his touch. “You’re,” his tongue flicks in between your parted lips as you let out a breath. “Goin’,” your hips buckle, and his grip tightens around you, fingers digging into your skin as your dress pools around the two of you. “To kill me.”
“Only if I can come with you.” Giggling, your palm finds his hair, tugging him away, making him tilt his head back as you kiss the hinge of his jaw, feeling how he shivers under your touch.
Hobie’s rough palms glide along your back, panting, eyes half lidded and staring up at the starry sky that melts in his vision from your warm kisses. “Yeah, like…” his words flicker out of his mind when you nibble at his throat. “Romeo and Juliet— fuck me.”
“Trying to, Hobie.” Chuckling over his skin, feeling how he trembles underneath you just from a few kisses, well more than a few kisses. Still, he’s completely undone, chasing your lips, chasing the warm sensation as his fingers grip at your nape.
It’s his turn as he pulls your head back gently, granting him access to your neck as he wets his lips before digging in.
“Hobie, d’you have cash for—” Yuri stops in her tracks, coins dropping from her hand as she stares dumbfoundly at the scene before her.
“Yuri, what’s taking so long— holy fucking shit.” James guffaws, a hand slapping at his mouth immediately as Yuri grabs him. “Yuri, come on…” his voice is muffled and warbled by her hands gripping onto his pouted lips.
“Have you two seen— oh…” Ned almost stumbles into the two, eyes wide at how Hobie’s nibbling at your neck and how you’re smiling happily through the kiss. “Oh! We should, uh, go, lads…”
Ned tries to grab Yuri by her arm, knowing that she’s silently seething in place. But it seems that her anger is something else as she stomps over to the smooching pair, who are too entranced by each other to notice the stares.
Synopsis: After the death of James, you and Hobie both try to be normal despite the fact that the world is ending. Supplies are dwindling and your condition hinders your movements. There's someone at the door.
Tags: No use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader except for clothing, established relationship, Zombie apocalypse AU, CW pregnancy mentions, CW blood and death, CW guns, CW food mentions, grief, hurt/comfort, Part 2 of my zombie AU series, CW suggestive language, Part 1 is a must read to understand this one.
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Part 1 <<< Part 2 >>> Part 3
The bath water swirls around with the crimson ichor. The reflection on the water has a blank stare, dull eyes barely blinking as you gaze right back at it.
Your hands are wrinkled under the prolonged dip, fingertips having the same shape as the swirling tepid water. The tiny pinprick wounds on your palms from the shattered glass of the car window have healed well, leaving only small scars dotted along your flesh.
The room is slowly growing darker with every minute you spend inside, the cozy decorations around the small space with its carved woodland creatures, lace doilies and fluttering curtains are nothing but a mockery to you and what’s gnawing in your head. Their shadows loom over the walls, shapes cageing you in.
It’s quiet inside the familiar bathroom, what was once held a fond memory for you is now marred by the recent memory of James begging for you to shoot him. You can still hear his cries, pleading, begging for you to end him to keep you and your baby safe. The way his hands shook, cradling the bleeding bite and how his voice gurgled in his own blood, and yet he still smiled at you towards the end. Even then he was trying to comfort you.
Your protruding stomach bops up and down in the water, belly button peeking through the mix of blood and soap. You haven’t let out a single tear since Hobie helped you inside the tub, hoping that a warm bath will help. When all it did was numb you.
Gazing at the ceiling, mold dotted along the wood, your eyes sting as you tilt your head down, face half submerged in the water. Waves lapping at the sides of your face. You miss James, he was your companion, a friend that helped you survive the first days of the apocalypse. He was your anchor through it all, the voice of reason when all you wanted was to run outside and look for your lost love. It’s ironic, compared to before the world ended, you and the rest of the band were the ones holding him by the scruff of his neck.
As you run your palm over your stomach, the pinky ring shines atop it, you promise to yourself that you’ll live on so that his sacrifice wouldn’t be in vain. He would’ve wanted you to do just that, but that doesn’t make it alright. You have no idea how to tell Yuri and Ned that their best mate is dead, and that you killed him.
What if his parents are still alive? How would you tell them that their only child is dead? That he died protecting you while holding out hope that he would find them?
The door creaks open, and Hobie peeks through the crack. His cheeks are coated in dirt, and there’s soil underneath his fingernails as he knocks softly. He looks the same as you remember before you had to leave him in the car with hopes of coming back for him. You did come back for him, but he was nowhere to be seen. For three months you wonder where he was, if he’s eating, or if he’s even alive. Now that he’s here, standing in the same room as you, breathing the same air as you, your heart feels like it’s beating once again. Albeit cracked, but alive, thumping quietly as it keeps you and your baby breathing.
“Love,” his voice seeps with fatigue. “You’ll turn into a prune.”
“You like prunes.” You answer softly, tone as tired as his. “Come sit with me please?”
“I’m all dirty,” His boots thump against the floor mats, tracking mud and dirt. His hand clamps over his eyes playfully. “and you’re all naked.”
You manage a small smile. “How do you think I got this?” Gesturing around your stomach, he peeks through his fingers.
“A stork?”
“Nope, birds and the bees, Hobs.” Opening your palms, you gesture for him to join you.
“Yeah, I think I remember that in biology.” Kneeling down, knees creaking in protest, he places his arm over the rim of the bathtub, chin resting on his elbow. “How do you feel?”
“Like sun dried shit.” Your attempt at a half assed joke.
He manages a smile. “The baby?” His eyes gaze gently down, worry etched on his brows.
“I think the baby’s fine. I’m not at the stage where the baby could start kicking like a horse yet. But everything feels fine, considering.” Sniffing, you lean against his arm, a cold cheek pressed on his warm skin. “I really wanted to tell you… I really did.”
Hobie’s free hand reaches to cup your chin, turning you gently to face him. “I know, lovie.” He sighs, thumb brushing along your damp skin. “When did you know?”
“At the party, with Yuri.” The mere mention of her has your heart squeezing in your chest. The same feeling is clear on his face too. “We got a bunch of tests after I got sick all over the bathroom floor.”
“Is that what you wanted to tell me? Before…everythin’?”
“Yeah, I still have the test, kept it just in case.”
His eyes flick over to your growing stomach, belly button protruding above the surface like a buoy. “Well, I believe you, proof or no proof.”
You manage a small chuckle. “I’m way past doubting it. The morning sickness was the worst, and my feet are swollen.” Lifting a foot above the water to show him, Hobie’s brows knit in worry, it looks painful. You look like you’re in pain. He then sees the scar on your leg, a long scar tissue that is still red around the edges of skin. He doesn’t ask how it came to be when he doesn’t want to upset you even more.
He feels sorry that he wasn’t there, that he wasn’t there from the start, holding you, making you feel better. He should’ve been there, he should’ve been here before you. Maybe, just maybe, James would still be alive, that he would hear the muffled shuffling of the undead behind the closet door, and end it before it started. And he would welcome you both inside with a relieved smile.
“My boots would fit you now.” Hobie stifles his hurt, eyes glancing away from swollen feet before staring at the same pain in your eyes.
“Maybe, I’m going to need maternity clothes soon.” Inhaling, you purse your lips together. “I’m going to wear all those old lady dresses with the plain daisies and bland colours. You won’t think I’m fit anymore.” Your knuckles brush alongside his arm.
“Nah, you’re still peng in my eyes, lovie. Even if you dress up as Yuri’s grandma.” Taking your hand, he twists it gently to hold onto you better. Water mixing with soil.
“Remember when she used to make us all those sugar cookies during band practice?”
“Yeah, I’ve gained weight durin’ that.”
“We all did, Hobie.” You gently smile, squeezing him once. After a beat, your smile fades. “Is it horrible of me to think that it’s a good thing that she’s already gone before all this shit happened?”
“No, love.” His thumb runs along your palm. “I wouldn’t wish this on anyone.”
The back of your eyes stings, heat behind them as you swallow thickly. “I should’ve— I should’ve come looking for you. When I came back to the car, you weren’t there anymore.” You fight the tears from spilling. “And then we ran to the docks, and the houseboat wasn’t there either. I’m sorry, I should’ve tried harder. I could’ve tried harder.”
“Just the thought of you comin’ to look for me is enough.” With a gentle hand, he moves a damp strand of hair away from your face. “I’m jus’ glad you weren’t alone.”
Your eyes fall on his fingers, the dirt digs into his nailbeds, darkened by mud and soil. “Yeah, I wouldn’t have survived this long without him.” Your nail scrapes at the dirt, trying to get it clean. And he lets you. “You should’ve seen him, Hobie, he was…he’s great.” Vision glistening, you stifle a sob.
“I think he was a scout when he was a kid.” A smile curls in the corner of his lips at the image of James wearing those uniforms when he was just a boy. Green and khaki complete with a beret and sash filled with patches. Hobie beats himself up for not remembering if James really was a scout. “I know he was great, lovie, jus’ seein’ you here is proof enough.”
“He went full on survivor. We were stuck at his parent’s condo for a bit until we ran out of supplies and the electricity in the city was shut off.” Your palm is pruning, but you’re afraid of leaving the comfort of the tub. “I got a baby book though.”
“Yeah? Like the one with baby names?”
He wants to tell you what happened to him in those three months, how he struggled, how he longed to see you alive, how he was seeing you in his visions. And what he saw, what he had to do to get back to you. You know that the houseboat is gone from his expression alone, if it wasn’t you two would’ve sailed out of the town before the blood dried on the floor.
You gently shake your head, water sloshing softly. “No, the kind that has instructions on home births.” Voice wavering, you hold onto him tightly, realizing what he has to do when the time comes. “I’m scared, Hobie.” Your throat betrays you, closing up as you let out a sob. “What if something happens to the baby? There’s no hospitals or doctors anymore—”
Hobie brings your face to his chest, shushing you tenderly as he rubs at your back. Despite the water drenching his sleeve, he still holds onto you as waves of tears flow out of you. He’s scared too, afraid to lose the baby, afraid to lose you. For ten years, he has loved you, and for those ten years, he never once thought of a day without you in it. He can’t lose you when he needs to love you for the rest of his life.
“It’s alright, we can do it, yeah?” He feels you nod against him as you shiver in his arms. “We’ve watched enough hospital dramas to know all about givin’ birth.” Joking, Hobie kisses the crown of your damp head as you manage a chortle.
“That’s reassuring.”
“I’ve got you and the baby. I promise that you two will be safe and sound.” Leaning away to cradle your face, he meets with your shining eyes, tears still clinging to your lashes. “I promise you.” Even if it kills him.
“Okay.” Inhaling deeply, you grasp at his wrist, a firm yet affectionate hold. “And I’ll watch your back, like always.”
Hobie smiles, the kind that reminds you of the days where he would play on stage, giving you that same reassuring smile as the lights flicker on his handsome face. “To start off, let’s get you dry and warm before you catch a cold.”
—
When you pictured saying goodbye to one of your friends, you never envisioned burying them at an age where they shouldn’t be six feet under. That it’ll just be you and Hobie, staring at the freshly packed ground right in front of you with a crudely made headstone. James doesn’t deserve one that is made out of a broken window panel, he deserved a headstone that is carved out of marble, where his name would remain etched on it forever. Not like how you wrote his name on the wood with a sharpie.
His father’s hunting vest feels rough in your hands. Dried blood staining the very same fabric that James once wore. You’ve been told that his father wasn’t the best, but the vest brought him comfort throughout his survival, a reminder, his fuel to continue living. Now it remains in your trembling hands, fingers digging into the dark blood.
“D’you want to say a few words?” Hobie utters softly amidst the strong wind as trees rustle nearby. If he thinks hard enough, he can imagine that his best mate doesn’t lie six feet under him. That he didn’t bury him there with his bare hands.
You shake your head, chest aching, eyes heavy and hot with unshed tears. No words could ever stifle your grief, there are no words in the world that makes this right, no worthy words to describe how great a man James was.
He understands your grief and your guilt, he knows you well to know what’s rushing inside your head. His eyes wander towards your shaking hands, and the façade he built to keep you steady and anchored almost crumbles.
“J–James Jameson,” his tone cracks, fists shaking, nails leaving crescent shapes on his palms. “You’re the best damn drummer I know, save us a spot up there, yeah?”
You heave, tears streaming down your face as you take a careful step forward. With your heart in your stomach, you kneel before the headstone, laying the vest around it, imagining that you’re putting it on him for the last time. “You’ve done well, James.” Your words are carried by the wind, palm placed atop the fresh soil, where his head could lie underneath.
Hobie’s arm curls around you, chin resting atop your head as he faces the grey sky.
—
The days have gone by with silence. The surrounding woods let out a whisper of leaves and a howl at night. But inside the cabin, grief lingers in the air, staining the wooden walls, slithering on the floorboards.
James’ presence weighs heavy between the two of you. Even though Hobie never said that he blames you for it, you still beat yourself up for what happened. If only you were quicker, that you didn’t hesitate before pulling the trigger. Every day Hobie lets you know that he doesn’t, for one moment, blame you for James’ demise. Through his actions, taking care of you, making sure that you’ve eaten, slept, taken your prenatal vitamins, and his touch, he lets you know that he loves you, that the world hasn’t ended for him because you’re still by his side.
The two of you have just been surviving on sparse supplies, and the water taken from a well behind the house that he has to boil before letting you take a drink. But the quiet, and the stifling air inside the space makes it more unbearable. You’ve tried to turn on the telly when the solar panels on the roof have recharged, but you’re only met with static. Not even the radio plays crappy music anymore, just an incessant buzzing. It’s as if you’re the only people left in the world.
The books and board games on the shelf meant for guests are gathering dust. You’d rather spend your days studying the baby book, every word memorized and carved in your head. Hobie made himself the handyman of the house, he fixed the holes on the front door where your bullets hit it, and he has reinforced all the windows with planks of wood he found in the tool shed. In case a shambler comes too close to the perimeter he set up that he agrees is abysmal when he only has strings and cans to work with. It’s a crude version of an alarm, and he wishes he could make something better for a precaution.
Hobie barely sleeps, keeping watch at night and day, taking naps in between when his body shuts down. When you see him dozing off on the couch, you sit beside him and he’s immediately magnetized to your side. You always tug his head down on your lap, letting him sleep there as your old cardigan that he managed to save from the houseboat is draped on his shoulders. Sometimes you see him reading the same baby book, folding the edges of the important pages when it’s your turn to keep watch. You miss him, even though you two sleep on the same bed with his arms wrapped protectively around you. But the easy conversations, the laughter, you miss those. This isn’t a way of living anymore.
You can’t help it when your eyes wander towards the spot where you held James one last time. No matter how much you scrub at the walls and floor, the stain stays. A macabre reminder of that day amidst the comfortable cottage decorations placed by the same dead man resting beside James’ grave.
The bowl of canned chicken noodle soup in front of you warms your cheeks as Hobie’s palm leaves your shoulder with a squeeze. Your eyes dart towards his side of the table, noticing that he doesn’t have supper, only a glass of room temperature water.
“Hobie?” Clearing your throat, your hand rubs at your stomach. Your shirt has gotten smaller, making you pull it down occasionally over your swollen belly.
He sighs in relief just from hearing your voice, pausing by the counter tops, hands reaching above the cabinets. “Yeah, love? Feelin’ alright?”
“Where’s your soup?” Craning your neck, you see the opened cabinets, seeing it nearly empty, save for a can of chocolate pudding, and a pack of dried beef jerky that’s still unopened. Just by the look in his eyes, he doesn’t need to say it out loud. “We need to go into town.”
“I need to go into town.” He leans on the counter, arms on his side as the dark circles under his eyes are illuminated by the electric lamp that was recharged by the solar. “Before you say anythin’, I’ll be quick.”
“And alone. You need someone to watch your back. We’ve got two guns for a reason.”
“Sure, I’ll jus’ ask one of the woodland creatures to come with me.”
“I don’t want to fight, Hobie.” Standing up, hand braced under your stomach, you close the small distance towards the kitchen. The cabin used to carry good memories, now it only bears agony. “Please, let’s not argue.” Hands rubbing his arms, you gaze at him softly. “I’m still not that far along, I can still run if we need to.” You don’t want to tell him that your scarred leg aches when you run.
You feel all the heaviness that James left in your heart, but you can’t let it hinder you forever when you’ve got Hobie and the baby to think about. They’re now your reason to survive, just like how James held on because of the baby and in hopes of finding his best mates and his parents.
Hobie avoids your eyes, sighing as he takes your hands in his. He feels the small indents from the scars that you told him about after another night of crying. He doesn’t want to look at it when it only makes his heart break at the thought of you getting hurt. So he keeps his eyes on the promised ring around your pinky instead, the same one he saved for months just to get it for you.
“What if we see those things? Or worse, run into people?”
“We hide or run, and if need be, we fight.” You look at him with determination and with untapped bravery he hasn’t seen yet. “I don’t want you to starve yourself. Or for you to die when I’m stuck here waiting for you to come home when I don’t know if you’ll ever be back.” Reaching over him as his hand falls on your hips, you take the beef jerky and the lone can of chocolate pudding. “So which one will it be for tonight?” With a small smile, you weigh both in your hands. “I need you full of energy tomorrow.”
Chuckling, Hobie takes the beef jerky and then takes your chin daintily in his hand. “The last time you told me that was before a concert.”
“I remember.” Sunlight passes by your eyes. “You killed it that night.”
His eyes wander behind you where his guitar case is tucked in-between an armchair and the telly. He still hasn’t opened it. “You follow me, yeah? When I tell you to run, you run, when I tell you to leave me behind, you do just that.”
You take a second before nodding.
“Let’s share the puddin’” Throwing his arm over your shoulder, and a peck to your temple, he leads you back to the table.
Kissing his cheek, you giggle, the very first genuine laugh you’ve let out in a couple of weeks. “That’s what I like to hear.”
—
Hobie hesitated before taking the car into town. The engine could draw unwanted attention, or it could break down in the middle of a drive. But he can’t exactly make you walk for miles on end when you’re almost four months pregnant. If only he had a bicycle on hand, and go on a ride with you like when you were teenagers sneaking out to go wherever you please.
“I hope we find a shoe place.” Your mumbling gets his attention, hand reaching towards your thigh as he keeps his eyes on the road. You place your hand atop his, squeezing once as you smile fondly at him. It reminds you of a similar memory when the two of you were driving in his old car to a gig or a date at the park. Not driving towards what could be a dead town filled with rotting corpses. “Some new trainers would be good for my sasquatch feet.”
His piercings catch the light, glinting from the sun shining on them. Hobie looks incredibly handsome, you’ve always said that the sunlight suits him more, and he would always say that the moonlight fits you best. His locks are tied into a ponytail that you helped him with. He desperately needs a haircut when his curls are starting to cover his eyes that you always have to move them away, covering a new scar he got from the car crash right on his forehead. It’s not because you think it makes him look awful, but you hate the fact that he got hurt, that he had to tend to his wounds himself. Your guilt refuses to let you look at the scar.
Hobie snorts, noticing your lighter demeanour now that you’re out of the cabin. “I’ll keep a look out.” Thumb drawing circles over your jeans, he squeezes again. “And your feet aren’t that big, love. I’ve seen bigger.”
Pinching the back of his hand, he lets out a chuckle. “Yeah, yours.” Your eyes warn him before he could even smirk. “And don’t say it.”
“Wasn’t gonna.” From his smirk alone, you could tell that he was in fact ‘gonna.’
Smiling, for a moment you forgot that the world ended, that James isn’t laying six feet underground just beside the living room window.
Hobie senses the negative shift in your demeanor. From all his reading on the baby book you brought, he has read that when the mother is in good spirits, and not stressed, the baby will turn out healthy and happy. He has made it his mission that you and the baby remain in okay spirits, impossible to make it better on account of the things around you, but he still wants to try. After James and everything else, something as small as new trainers could help brighten you up. He’s even contemplating that the cabin might not be the best environment for you, but where would he bring you that is safer than a cabin in the middle of the woods?
“I’ve been thinkin’” Clearing his throat, he shifts in his seat with the town now in sight.
“A lot, I imagine.”
He glances at you with a small smile. “Yeah, too much.” Sighing, he slows down the car once the town’s faded banner greets him. The place doesn’t look any better like before, but it doesn’t look worse either. “What if we look for other places we could stay? Somewhere safer, quieter and away from cities for when the baby is born.”
“The cabin is already all of that.”
“Yeah, I mean…somewhere that doesn’t remind you of what happened.”
Your eyes cast down at your lap, index mindlessly picking at a hang nail as you gaze at your ring instead. “I don’t know, Hobie, James is there, he’d be alone.”
“He’ll understand, love.” Sighing, he parks the car on the side of the silent fishing town. “We don’t have to make a decision now, jus’ think ‘bout it, yeah?” With a hand on your thigh, he squeezes you reassuringly, and you smile right back at him with the same kind of comfort. “I see a cobbler over there, maybe someone didn’t pick up their shoes.”
Like always, he helps with your seatbelt gently, even avoiding grazing your stomach with his hand. Maybe it’s him being careful with you, but it’s as if he’s afraid to really hold onto your stomach, afraid to face the baby that could possibly end your life.
He smells faintly of the watered down minty shampoo and a coconut body wash that the last renter left at the cabin. While you probably smell of the milk formula for mothers that you’ve been rationing since you left the condo with James. Even then, Hobie pecks your temple sweetly.
“There, you ready?”
Taking his hand, you place his palm with apprehension on top of your stomach, letting his warmth ebb through your skin. “I’ve read that babies tend to already know their parents in the womb, but you haven’t been there the first months so I want them to get to know you more. Is that alright?”
His lips tug into a smile, chuckling softly as he feels around freely. “Yeah, ‘m the dad, love, of course it’s alright.”
You match his grin. “Just checking.”
Kissing your cheek, his lips linger for a moment before pulling away. He looks around with bated breath, making sure that there aren’t any surprises lurking around the corner shops. The town is quiet, eerily quiet, like in one of those apocalyptic shows Yuri pestered them into watching with her.
Cars are left on the road, some doors still open as the wind and rain ravage the leather seats. From the pink and yellow banners around, and the wilted flowers all tied with a pretty ribbon around the lampposts and shop windows, he’d think there was some celebration happening before the world ended. A flyer fluttering by gets stuck in the windshield wiper, it answers his question.
“‘Happy Mother’s day.’” You read solemnly. “Fuck me that’s ironic.”
Hobie scoffs a laugh, patting your stomach gingerly as he inhales deeply.
He doesn’t see any movement from the streets, no rustling, just some trash getting carried by the wind. But he spots something in the corner of his eye, a flash of movement inside the cobbler’s store, a quick shadow darting in between shelves of shoes.
“What is it?” You ask, brows furrowed as you feel his trepidation. “You okay?”
“We should move on.” Hobie starts the car again, as something gnaws at the back of his mind, telling him to move, telling him, ‘not here, there’s death lingering here.’
“I thought…” you don’t argue, trusting his instincts. “Okay. Maybe a house would be better.”
The car jolts to life as Hobie keeps his steely gaze on the road. “Yeah, the neighborhood is probably better to look through.”
The two of you drive around in silence, the fear sits between the two of you, heavy and permeating as the car rolls into a suburban area with white picket fences and blue windowsills. The place looks normal, still pristine and untouched by the dead and survivors.
Hobie looks around, car slowing down as he spots a two story home that he has probably seen dozens of times in his life. It looks fine, no blood on the walls, no corpses laying around, just an overgrown lawn and dusty windows.
“This is the one?” Your eyes narrow as the sunshine reflects onto the car windows and onto your eyes. It was a gloomy day when you went out, but the sun wanted to be seen for a moment. It’s a good reprieve from all the grey and darkness in your mind.
“Got your gear?” Hobie clicks his seatbelt off and then over to yours in a swift calculated movement.
“Yep,” you inhale deeply, taking his helping hand as you get out of the car. There’s a small ache on the pit of your stomach, and you chalk it up as nerves. You fix the hold on the backpack, a hand feeling for the kitchen knife on your belt and the gun hidden underneath your coat and tucked into your jeans. “Yours?”
“Ready,” Hobie shows you his backpack and the shotgun strapped on his shoulder, he then pats the hammer dangling on his belt before nudging your hand, resisting the urge to hold it instead. He needs his hands free to protect you. “Food and water first.” He instructs. “I’ll keep a lookout for shoes.”
“If we find the stuff we need for the home birth should we grab it? Or should we save space for food and toiletries?” You’re careful where you place your feet as you both walk onto what was probably a pristine lawn before the dead walked around.
“If we still have space in our packs, I don’t see why not.” Hobie keeps a careful eye around, making sure his hand never leaves the handle of the machete. And that you’re within his vision at all times.
“Maybe we’ll find some strings for your guitar too. They’re small, so it’ll fit my pockets.”
Hobie falters for a moment before stopping in front of the door. “You opened my guitar case?”
“Yeah,” you say as you cup your hands around a foggy window whilst you try to take a peek inside. When you’re met with silence, you lean away to look at him. “Am I not supposed to? I’m sorry, I got curious.”
“No, love, it’s alright.” His pinky brushes along the back of your hand. “It’s jus’ that I haven’t opened it since the houseboat broke down.”
“Oh, well, it’s fine, just that the stings are a bit fucked. No water got in or even a scratch on it.”
“That’s good.” With a relieved sigh, he gently taps the glass window to double check that there aren’t any shamblers hiding inside.
The two of you wait for a bit, but when a minute passes by without the sound of a pained groan or movement inside, Hobie grips the door handle.
He sees a wind chime a second earlier before he could open the door. With his height, he easily stops the chiming before it could chime out with a hand. Hobie then yanks it out, and gently places it on the ground.
“Good eye.”
“Thanks—” he’s about to push the door open, until your hand catches his wrist.
“Alarm.” You mutter with a shaky tone, pointing at the sign hidden behind the tall grass of the overgrown lawn. ‘This house is protected by Octavius security.’ It reads in big bold letters.
“Fuck me.” Slowly, he lets go of the door knob. “What are the chances that they don’t have power either?”
“I don’t know, but we can’t risk it.” You swallow thickly, a hand brushing along your stomach for comfort. Pursing your lips, you remember a conversation you had with James on one warm evening, warm enough that he made popsicles for you both. Yours was mango because he said that fruit was better for the baby, and he had chocolate instead. You’ve been craving mangoes nowadays, but can’t say anything to Hobie to add more to his stress. “I’ve got an idea, follow me.”
Slowly, with a hand on your knife, you carefully tread the lawn and over to the side of the house. Hobie follows closely behind, too afraid to lag behind you, afraid that you’ll get lost in the tall grass, or get snatched by one of the dead.
There’s a fallen kid’s bicycle on the ground, half buried in grass and dirt. Once upon a time a kid rode that up and down the neighborhood, now it lays there, rotting, slowly rusting, like the world around you.
“Here.” Clearing your throat, you both make it to the back door without a hitch. So far so good. “Okay, let’s hope that—” you begin to bend down, but Hobie stops you halfway with a hand on your chest.
“Let me. What are you looking for?” Crouching, Hobie looks up at you as the grey clouds start to obscure the sun behind your head, covering the halo around you.
“A key under the welcome mat.”
“Lovie, I don’t think…” and yet he still lifts the dirty mat, only to find a single key under it. “Well, fuck me sideways.”
“Already did that.” You cheekily joke, helping him stand up with a hand wrapped around his lean bicep.
Hobie smiles, really smiles, the kind of smile he would flash at you during lazy mornings where you two have nowhere to be that day. “You offerin’?”
Chuckling, you snatch the key from him as you insert it inside the lock. “Maybe if you find me some shoes.”
“Promise?” His lips curl into a mischievous smile, one that you’re incredibly familiar with.
“Yes,” biting your lip with a stifled laugh, you take a step back for him. “Could you please open the door?”
“How’d you know that the key would be there?”
“James’ dad owns a security company, and he told me that some people would usually forget their codes, or are afraid that when there’s no power they won’t be able to go inside because the system automatically locks the house. So sometimes they’d ask to not have an alarm at the back door, for big houses that is. For the key, well,” you shrug smugly. “I just applied common sense.”
He smiles proudly at you. “I keep forgettin’ that his dad had his hand in a lot of pies.”
“Just open the bloody door, Hobs.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He mocks a salute, unlocking the door slowly as the door creaks. Hobie peeks through the gap, waiting for any shamblers to appear. Tapping his blade on the door, once, twice, he waits some more, a precaution. Whilst you keep watch of the surroundings, heart beating loudly in your chest. “I think we’re good, lovie. Just need you to stay close to me, yeah?”
You nod, mouth feeling dry as you grip at the hilt of the kitchen knife. Your feet feel like you’re standing on warm sand, and your belly does somersaults, the baby could probably feel the tremors in your body as you enter the home with Hobie right in front of you.
This time, you’re making sure that you see the threat before it happens. The two of you sweep the kitchen first, the pantry has some food left but no monsters lurking in it. He finds the laundry room, same thing, no dead nor a soul inside.
You breathe a little better, and Hobie gives you a reassuring look, nudging your arm in a simple, ‘we’re okay,’ gesture.
While you keep watch, Hobie ransacks the pantry.
One thing has caught your eye though, on the counter, there is an empty flower vase with yellowing water, and beside it is a wilted and long dried up bouquet of roses. You take a peek inside the card, and it reads, ‘happy mother’s day!’ Scrawled by tiny hands written in crayon.
He loads up the duffle bag with food first, canned foods are the priority as he avoids the perishables. You wanted to check the fridge whilst he’s doing that but he can’t, or won’t let you out of his sight. You did promise to watch his back, so you did with your hand on the pistol right on your waist as he stacks cans upon cans of food.
Then he sees the biscuits, chocolate coated ones that he knows you like the most. He takes a box of those, checking the expiration date wouldn’t have meant anything when he has lost track of the date already. But if it doesn’t smell or isn’t covered in mold, it could still be good, so he packs it instead of another can of peas. He grabs a few seasonings too, and what’s left of the rice they had. He read that rice is good for the baby, so he takes it even though it weighs a ton.
The duffel bag is filled to the brim already when he finishes packing.
“Love.” He can’t help but smile, turning around to face you. “We’re not goin’ to starve.”
Chortling, you give him a quick yet loving peck on his shoulder. “Thank you.”
“There’s more in the fridge, and there are still jugs of water in here.” He whispers, in case there are lurkers upstairs.
“We also need soap.” Your eyes glances over to the laundry room. “What do we do?”
Pursing his lips, his eyes darts from the fridge, where there are magnet souvenirs and family photos on it, then over to the laundry room. He really needs clean clothes too. “We load this up in the trunk, dump it all in there then come back here.”
“Greedy, but I agree. I can’t sleep for another day in those sheets.”
With your approval, and a squeeze to your hand, the two of you trek back to the car, and carefully dump the canned goods inside the trunk of James’ car.
“I’ve never asked.” Hobie starts, a hand clasped around a can of peaches. “What happened to the window?” Glancing at the missing window at the back that was hastily wrapped in tarp and taped by duct tape, you follow his gaze.
“A horde got to us when we were leaving the condo building.” The stacking pauses on his end. “We were okay, we made it out by using molotov cocktails.”
He smiles fondly as something swims in his eyes, pride perhaps? Or perhaps jealousy. “You learned from the best.”
“We did, Hobie.” You tap the back of his knee with your foot as you finish your side. “I hope we find deodorant.”
Nodding, Hobie shuts the trunk as quietly as he could as he takes the empty duffel bag in his hand. “You smell great, love.”
“It’s because your brain started blocking the smell.” Giggling, you start your trek back again with him in tow. The steps are lighter, less careful now that you know what to expect.
“Nah, I think it’s your pheromones, you smell fit.”
“Never say that word ever again, Hobie.” That earns a kiss from him as he steals one from behind, right on your nape, before stepping around you to get to the laundry room before you could.
It goes like that for an hour, when the bags get full, he dumps it into the car and goes back again. It’s routine for the two of you, one that he refuses to go in and out alone when he can’t bear to leave you outside or inside the house for that matter. Even though it was tedious, going back and forth, he would still do it if it meant never straying too far from your side. He lost you once, he’s not planning on losing you ever again.
Both of you have cleared out the first floor, you found laundry detergents, food and water, now you’re on a mission to get some new clothes or maybe some pillows and blankets while it’s still light outside.
The walls of the house have grown familiar for you, the pictures on the walls of an unknown family, all strangers, and yet you found a connection to them. Somewhere in between taking their supplies, you wonder about them. Did they prefer beef over chicken when everything you found in their freezer was beef? Did their son ask for snacks before dinner like every kid does? How were they living now? Did they escape together? Or perhaps they’re shambling somewhere together with the rest of the dead.
Brows furrowed, your feet are on fire as you take a breather on the steps, taking hold of the bannister as you inhale through your nose and exhale out of your mouth. A breathing exercise that you read in your book.
“Love?” Hobie calls your name with worry. “You good?”
“Yeah, it’s just that…my feet are really fucking swolen and it kind of hurts. And I sort of need to pee.” Wincing, you give him an apologetic smile.
“Alright.” He sighs in relief, almost smiling. “I’ll take you to the loo.”
Hobie does a quick sweep of every room, there are only two bedrooms upstairs, and one office that is under lock and key. Every room is quiet and pristine, except for an odd smell coming from the master bedroom. Once he deems it safe, he helps you into the bathroom, keeping watch just outside the closed door.
Hand on his weapon, he keeps finding himself looking at the nursery right in front of him. It has light blue walls, powder blue like the sky on a good day in London, and it’s painted with fluttering birds and flowers. There’s a crib in there too, pristine, probably newly bought when there is still plastic wrapped around it. On the other side of the room is a small bed, meant for a toddler with rocketship bed sheets and glow in the dark stars tacked on the ceiling. In between them is an old rocking chair, oak and probably older than Hobie. And sitting on top of it is a box of trainers, with a neat pink bow on the lid. It’s from the brand that he knows you have been saving up for before the dead started walking.
He glances at the closed bathroom door, hearing you shuffle on the other side. The door is closed, and he didn’t find any undead inside the whole house. The place is safe and the nursery faces the loo where he could still keep an eye on you, so he takes a step away from the door and over to the rocking chair.
Hobie makes his strides quick and quiet, crossing the short distance over to the box as he takes it. He opens the lid, finding the same soft blue inside, the shoes seem to be larger than your usual size, but it would now fit you.
Grinning, his mission is accomplished. He shoves the pair inside the duffel bag, turning around with a triumphant smile on his face. “Love.” He shows you the box just as you exit the bathroom. “Look.”
The sheer happiness on your face makes his chest warm. He hasn’t seen you have that expression in a long while, it’s as if he’s a thirsty wanderer who finally found an oasis. For the first time ever since the party, he grins widely, the unabashed carefree smile that tugs at the corner of his lips first, right next to the piercing, a lopsided smile that never fails to turn your legs into jelly.
“Please tell me it’s my size.” Your hands reach for the box, squealing giddily once you see the size on the side.
“Open it.” His stomach thrums with excitement.
“Yes, new—!” Your face falls at the emptiness, and once you turn to look at the father of your unborn child, his cheeks are puffed, trying and failing to stifle a guffaw. “You wanker.”
“I couldn’t help it, lovie.” Tossing the box away that lands into the crib with a thump, he leads you to the rocking chair as you scowl at him like back when he accidentally ate your cheesecake in the fridge that you were saving for the end of the day. Hands on your shoulders, he’s still smiling at you, crouching down as he retrieves the shoes from the duffel bag. “‘m not evil.”
Your expression melts from annoyance to giddiness once again. “It’s blue.” You utter softly, lashes batting as Hobie slowly unlaces the old dirty shoes you have on.
“It is.” Chuckling fondly, he gently takes off your shoes, palm carefully cupping your heel, a thumb brushing along the hill of skin before slipping the new shoes on you. “Brand new too, we hit the jackpot.”
“I think it’s the exact same one I was saving for.” You still remember the road to and from work, where a shoe place is situated right on the road home, where you always look at the display longingly, waiting for the shoe to go on sale. “Just in blue.”
“What was the colour you wanted?” He slips the next one on your other foot, tying it twice, making sure that the laces won’t suddenly untie and make you trip and fall.
“Black,” you admire the shoes on you as you wiggle your feet about. “Easier to pair with my clothes.”
“Either one suits you.” Taking both feet, he taps the heels together playfully. “They fit you perfectly.”
“Thank you, Hobie.” You follow his smiling eyes as he stands up, a hand perched on the armrest of the rocking chair as his knees creak.
“Thank the bloke who got it.” His head tilts to gesture at the room. He wonders if the man who lived here got the shoes for his wife on mother’s day, or just because he wanted to show his love for her. Hobie knows he would do the same for you.
The irony doesn’t escape you when you find yourself sitting in the middle of a nursery. Maybe in another life, you and Hobie are refurbishing the spare room in his houseboat, the room you both use as a workspace slash art room slash library. It was littered with trinkets from you and Hobie the last time you saw it. You don’t remember much what was on the shelves when it’s been so long but you do remember the feeling whenever you spent a whole lazy afternoon with him in there.
The soft rocking of the boat would lull you to sleep whilst you read on an old lazyboy you two found abandoned on a street corner, the same one you had to call in James and Yuri to help haul it in the van. You would read and Hobie would tinker with his gadgets, sometimes taking odd fixing jobs from friends, fixing an antique clock, a radio, or a fan. The sound of the tinkling metal, the curses under his breath, and the water splashing against the side of the boat, it felt like home. It was warm and cozy, but it was colder in the winter when the space heater doesn’t help much with the chill. Those were the days where Hobie would huddle close to you on the armchair underneath all the blankets even when you both don’t fit in the chair. You miss those soft days, the peaceful days where you don’t have to be careful where you step, where the stench of death and decay doesn’t stick to your nostrils. It was just living, now all you know is surviving. Surviving to see Hobie for another day. Surviving to see the day your baby is born.
“Love,” he senses your heavy thoughts, hand reaching out to your chin, lifting it with his knuckle softly. Hobie doesn’t have the right words to comfort you, maybe there are no right words that will ever comfort you, but he tries, the only way he knows how, the only way that could get your mind out of the plague that is your mind. “You wanna take a look around? Maybe they’ve got something we could use for the baby.”
“We’re in a nursery, Hobs,” you say with a teasing tone. “I’m sure there’s baby stuff here we could use.”
Hobie chuckles, exhaling through his nose as he helps you off the rocking chair. He wonders if he could fit the chair in the car, the baby would love it, you would love it. The cabin already has a rocking chair but it’s old and weathered, looking like it’ll keel over once someone sits on it.
“I’ll check if they have books on giving birth.” His hand lingers on your hip before turning to the bookshelf with colourful children’s books.
“I’ll raid the closet.” Your hand instinctively brushes along your stomach, feeling the heaviness weigh you down.
You didn’t plan to get pregnant, moreso get pregnant during the end of the world where society has collapsed. You always knew from the moment you saw those two red lines that it wouldn’t be easy for the two of you, but now, you just feel regret and shame. Regret that this happened so soon in your life. Ashamed that you can’t be of any help to Hobie as the months go by. And when the inevitable comes, you could die, and you don’t want to leave the love of your life all alone in this world with a newborn to take care of. Or worse, you both don’t survive, and Hobie’s truly left alone.
You’re tired, exhausted already from carrying the extra weight on you. Bones aching on a microscopic level, as if you have a sack of cement on the small of your back. If you feel this tired just after a few months in your pregnancy, you fear for the coming months. What if you end up being bedridden? You’ve heard countless horror stories from women in your family at how terrifying it is to give birth. They said that when you’re giving birth, you have one foot buried in the ground. But they had doctors and medicine, while you have a book from the 90’s about childcare. You might die in front of Hobie while covered in blood and screaming in pain. You don’t want that to be the last thing he remembers of you.
Fists clenching, you feel the indents left on your palms. You take deep breaths, reminding yourself that stress isn’t good for the baby. So you start to distract yourself instead. You stare at the adorable clothes on the rack, all colour coded, from dinosaur onesies to tiny coats and matching beanies, you have the urge to take it all. The owners of the house have great taste, and you feel guilty for even being inside.
Taking a red and white plaid onesie that has matching socks, you turn to show Hobie.
“Lovie, look.”
“Hobs, look.”
You simultaneously turn to face the other.
You smile as he mirrors your expression. “‘Oh, the places you’ll go,’ really?”
“It’s a good read.” Shrugging, he shoves it in the dufflebag. “But look, baby names.”
You’re supposed to be happy, to smile at the book and imagine the names you could name the bundle born out of love, but you can’t find that happiness as you feel a lump on your throat form. Baby names are the last thing on your mind right now.
“That’s great, Hobs.”
“Couldn’t find any books about births, though.” Placing it inside the bag, right beside a teddy bear he nicked from the crib, Hobie smiles at the small pile he gathered. If he noticed your faltering expression, he doesn’t say anything about it. “What’d you find?”
“It looks kind of punk, doesn’t it?” Lifting the onesie, you peek over it, trying to hide your wobbly expression.
“Lovie…” taking the fabric in your hands, he grins fondly at the onesie. It’s so small, barely the size of his forearm, and he can’t help but imagine a little version of you wearing it. “This is the most fuckin’ adorable thing I’ve ever seen.”
“Take it?”
“Absolutely.” Peeking behind you, he sees more, eyes going wide at the swaddling cloths, tiny booties and the cutest bear onesie he has ever seen. “I say take ‘em all.”
You snort, backing away as he helps himself to the baby clothes. “That’s greedy, Hobie.” Despite your words, you help him shovel in the small socks and cute bibs. “Take some towels too, I read that they drool a lot.”
A laugh escapes his throat, barely contained as he almost forgets where he is, what might be lurking in the dark corners of the house. “Love, look at this one.”
He lifts up a plain yellow shirt with the bold pink letters that reads, ‘Daddy’s favorite.’ You clamp your mouth shut, before spluttering out a giggle.
“D’you think they have an adult sized version of this?” His eyes sparkle with playfulness. “For you, I mean.”
“Fuck, you’re so annoying.” And yet you shove the tiny shirt inside the bag with your cheeks aflame and a laugh bubbling in your throat.
“Love you too.” Pecking your temple, he moves away from the closet. “C’mon, we gotta move on to the bedroom.”
Your brows raise to your hairline, heat blossoming in the pit of your stomach. “What, right now?” You haven’t done that in a while, fuck, you just now realized that you haven’t done it since you found out about the baby. Your hands are suddenly at the hem of his shirt, desire filling your chest.
Hobie’s brows furrows for a moment before realization flickers on his expression. Eyes drifting down at your pawing, and then back over to your half lidded eyes. “Fuckin’ hell, love, not that. We need sheets and new clothes. Although that’s temptin’.” He pecks your pouting lips, giving you a sly smirk through the kiss. “Maybe later if you play your cards right, hm?” Now he’s in the mood too. It just crossed his mind when all he thought about recently was how to survive and finding you alive.
If your cheeks weren’t searing before then it’s fiery now. “I can’t believe I let you fuck me.” Groaning, head tilted back to hide your flustered expression, you walk past him towards the master’s bedroom.
“C’mon, lovie, that’s the reason why you’re pregnant.”
You flip him the bird on your way out that makes him smile even more. For a moment there he felt normal, that everything was back to normal and he’s at home with you while the houseboat rocks gently.
The two of you make it to the bedroom, and the smell hits you before he gets a whiff of it. It’s dank, like mold clinging to the damp walls, like the smell of wilted flowers downstairs, only stronger, more prominent.
“God, what is that smell?” Plugging your nose, you wince. “It kind of smells like teeth at the dentist. I’m gonna hurl if we stay here long.”
“Don’t know, but I don’t like it.” Hobie moves you aside gently before treading the dry carpet to open a window. The sun is beginning to set outside, and worry gnaws at his chest. Soon this place would be crawling with the undead. “We need to hurry, this is our last run before we head out.”
“Yeah, gotcha.” You don’t argue as you hastily grab everything you need. Some clothes that might not fit either of you perfectly, even a few maternity clothes you found, a couple of thick coats, and the sheets you’ve been eyeing.
The bags are almost full when you finish grabbing the things you needed, and Hobie even managed to find a couple of camping backpacks to fill it with two pillows and more blankets. He’s ready to leave when you remember the towels.
“Shit, Hobie, we need towels.”
“Love, we can wash the ones we already have.” Fixing his hold on the bags, he checks the ticking clock on the wall and the sun setting in the horizon that paints the sky a deep bloody orange.
“Those are threadbare, Hobie, I could the count strings on it. I’ll be quick, promise.” You’re already at the bathroom door, opening it as it creaks, the sound echoing through the hallway.
“Lovie, wait, let me—”
The stench permeates through the bedroom from the bathroom, stinking up the whole place, the same wilted flower smell. Teeth, it wasn’t just teeth, it’s bones.
“Fuck…” The bile rising up your throat and the spit filling your mouth almost made you retch. But the sight of the bodies hugging in the bathtub, surrounded by dead flowers makes your heart fall to your stomach.
The door is shut before you could let out a sound. Hobie holds you in his arms, and you stay there, frozen, still staring at the door, as if you could still see them decaying inside the tub.
“C’mon, love, we need to go.” Hobie whispers in your ear, gentle and reassuring as his hand rubs up and down your arm. He calls your name with the same gentleness, honeyed and saccharine, trying to get you to move.
Once you blink away the blurriness in your eyes, you turn to Hobie with an unreadable expression. There were three of them in there, no, four, a family, one still in the mother’s cleaved open belly. Their skin has turned to leather, sun dried, stretched over blanched bones.
“Love?” His thumb traces the length of your jaw, grounding you to the present. “We need to go.”
“Yeah, let’s go—”
There’s a shadow in the doorway.
It hunches in the dark, breathing, watching.
You act first, grabbing the shotgun from Hobie’s back as you aim.
Hobie exhales, eyes wide, before yanking at the barrel, pulling it up and away from the figure.
The shot rings out through the house and out of the opened window.
Pieces of the ceiling fall on the carpet, paint and wood cracking and splintered, falling upon the stranger like raindrops.
The figure now crouches, grasping at its ear, while a hand, a wrinkly old palm stretches at you, surrendering.
Your ears ring, a shrill deaf tone that rattles your teeth inside your mouth whilst Hobie nurses his singed hand.
“Fuck!” You yell, but you don’t hear your own voice.
The sounds are muffled in your ears as Hobie grabs the gun from your hands.
“What are you doing?!” His voice fades in and out in your hearing. His eyes are wide, frantic as he points at the crouched figure. “He’s alive!”
The words strike you like a fist.
“What?” You ask, befuddled, heaving heavily as you stare wide eyed at the stranger in the doorway.
“I’m s–sorry…” a trembling voice says, spluttering and weeping on the floor. “I’m sorry, I–I didn’t mean to—” he chokes on air, coughing as he desperately tries to clear his throat.
Narrowing your gaze, honing in to make out the man’s face, you see an old man cowering from your stare. Guilt gnaws at your conscience.
“Oh, fuck, I’m sorry. I didn’t—” you wipe your hands at your jeans, as if it’ll clean the gunpowder on your skin. As if it’ll undo what you have done. “I didn’t know, I thought you were one of them.”
“Mate,” Hobie’s words feel dry on his tongue. “Who are you, how’d you get in here?” If the man was dead, he wouldn’t be so afraid, as he eyes you underneath his bucket hat. If he was, he wouldn’t have wasted time staring in the doorway instead of devouring you. Hobie’s wary as he stands in front of you protectively. He might’ve saved the stranger’s life, but he doesn’t know him and what he’s capable of. “You can stand up, we’re not goin’ to hurt you if you don’t try anythin’.”
You stand still, breathing heavily as you keep your weapon close while your hand shields your stomach.
The stranger is old, trembling as he stands up as instructed, back hunched, and messy hair untrimmed; his dirty blonde hair is matted under his hat. He looks frail, and you could easily outrun him, but you’ve learned never to underestimate anyone in this world.
“My—” his voice is crackly at the edges, tongue trying to wet his dry lips. “My name is Norman, I’ve been here since…since I don’t know.” His tone is weak and rough like someone who has a cold. “My son, he has a place here, but—but I forgot where it was, and I got lost. He…he said that he’ll meet me here in town.”
“Old man,” Hobie takes a step closer, while his free hand holds onto your wrist, keeping you close, all the while his other hand grasps at the weapon on his hip. “We’re not ‘ere to fight, but if you could jus’ move away from the stairs. We need to get out of ‘ere before any of the dead come.”
“I– I don’t know where I am.” His lips wobble, sniffing as his big brown eyes fill with unshed tears. “I’m sorry, who…who are you, lad?”
Hobie slowly inches towards the door as you hold onto his shoulder, blade at the ready as you peek over him.
Something in you pities the man. He reminds you of Yuri’s grandmother when she got sick, when there were days she wasn’t herself. You recognize the same condition in the man, how in the world has he survived this long all alone?
“Hobie, I think he’s unwell.” You whisper to him, feet feeling the dry carpet below you, the sky outside is going dark, and the automatic lights inside the hallways open. There’s power, and you could see the office door that was locked is now wide open.
“I know, love. We jus’ need to get out of ‘ere.”
The old man’s eyes pleads you for help. His face is gaunt underneath his salt and pepper beard, the skin around his eyes are darkened, and eyes beady. His nails are awfully long, curved and yellowed at the end. He has been surviving on his own whilst his own mind attacked him.
“He needs help.” Your grip on Hobie’s shoulder tightens desperately.
James would’ve helped him. Just like he helped you.
“Love.” The protest is on the edge of his tongue. But when Hobie turns to the man and his raggedy clothes, and the gaunt of his cheek, skin blemished and blanched, it reminds him of the people he would meet at the soup kitchen he volunteered at. The same place where he used to come to when he was struggling. “Norman, right?”
The old man reluctantly nods, as if he’s trying to recall his own name.
“C’mon, before the dead get ‘ere. They would’ve heard the shot.” Hobie grabs the fallen bags from the floor, glancing at you briefly as your expression is a mix of regret, relief, and pity. “Lovie, stay close. You too, Norm.”
“I haven’t heard that name in awhile.” He mutters under his breath, nodding along to his instructions.
Hobie lets him walk first, keeping a close eye on him, in case he is bitten. If he followed behind you, his mind wouldn’t be at peace if that was the case.
The whole house is lit up the moment the sun faded from the horizon. In the warm yellow lights, the place doesn’t feel so eerie. In another world he would have a place like this with you and the baby, maybe have the kid grow up in a nice house like this. It was near impossible before the world collapsed, now it’s just wishful thinking. Like how one would imagine winning the lottery.
“Where did you two come from?” Norman asks, arms curled around himself for comfort.
“The woods, we’ve got a cabin there.” Hobie adjusts his hold onto the bags, crossing the threshold towards the kitchen and to the back door where you two entered. Where he propped a can of peas on the door to keep it ajar just in case.
You watch as Norman’s face furrows, as if he’s trying to recall something deep in his mind.
“We have to hurry—”
Hobie sees it happen in slow motion, Norman’s hand wrapped around the door knob of the front entrance, tugging at it out of instinct.
“Norman, no!” You scream, but it’s too late.
The alarm blares around the house, echoing throughout the neighborhood. If the shot didn’t gather the dead’s attention, the alarm would.
There are rushed bare footsteps slapping against concrete outside.
“Run!” Hobie grabs you harshly, yanking and pulling you towards the back door as you reach your free hand over to Norman.
He takes your hand desperately. In his addled mind, he recognizes danger, and it makes him sprint behind you.
Hobie lugs the bags around his back and arms, whilst leading you outside. The same carefulness when you two arrived is out of the window the moment he heard gurgled groaning.
He turns his head towards the cul-de-sac, and he sees a gaggle of the shambling dead run at break neck speed towards him.
Their limbs flail right behind them without a care, they’re caked in blood, jaws unhinged, claws raised up as the wall of rotting stench follows them. Blood drips from their eyes, gnashing their teeth in the air as if they’re tasting him on their blackened tongues.
He makes it to the car, throwing the bags into the backseat and helps you inside the passenger seat before going around the hood to the driver’s side and hops in quickly. Thank fuck he had the foresight to not lock the doors. It was a horrible decision back then when there was danger of getting the car nicked, but he figured that you two were the only survivors in the whole town. He thought so at least.
“Love!” He yells your name, whilst you frantically put on your seatbelt. He could see the corpses run in the reflection of the side mirror.
“Norman!” You scream, waking the stranger from his terrified stupor, frozen just beside the car. “Get the fuck inside!”
The old man scrambles inside, tossing his whole body in the car whilst Hobie doesn’t waste time in starting the car, or even waits for Norman to shut the door.
The engine splutters weakly.
“Fuck you! C’mon you stupid, cu—!”
The pained shrieks of the dead come close as the car roars to life.
Exhaust fumes exit out of the car as Hobie steps on the gas. The wheels screech on the cement, leaving tire tracks as he drives quickly out of there.
A can of peaches rolls out of the backseat and onto the street just before the opened door beside Norman slams shut as Hobie turns a corner, watching the corpses fade in the rearview mirror.
“Holy fuck.” Panting, bad leg aching, you turn to Hobie with wide eyes. “Are you okay?” Your hand squeezes his trembling arm.
“Yeah, yeah…” Hobie swallows the bile in his throat, utterly relieved to be out of there. He takes your hand, and presses a heavy kiss on your knuckles whilst keeping an eye on the road. “You?”
“I’m good.” Smiling and chuckling, knees wobbly, you turn to Noman, who is still laying on the pile of canned goods and bags you got from the house. “You okay, Norm?”
The man’s lips stretches into an easy smile, “yes, thank you.”
You rub Hobie’s bicep, giving him a quick loving peck. “Let’s go home, Hobie.”
A/N: sorry for the really late update I had to get into the zombie au vibes to get to writing lmaoo please reblog if you loved it!
Reminiscing about James death is really heartbreaking ☹️
The tension, stress, gut wrenching feeling i had while reading this felt like I was there with them
The scene where it's just a family of four huddling together in the bathtub as they decay broke my heart 💔💔 genuinely shed a tear because that is so sad 😓
Synopsis: You go to work like normal even though you don't feel normal. But a Co-worker is ready to lend a shoulder to cry on.
Tags: No use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader except for clothing, Part 6 of my series, mockumentary AU, the office AU, Co-worker AU, CW food mentions, R is going through it, hurt/comfort.
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Part 6 >>> Part 7
Miguel calls for a meeting right at the start of the shift, and Hobie finds you already sitting up front. Looking just like how he remembered— pretty, sunshine kissing your cheeks with a smile worthy of a portrait.
He maneuvers over to you, or tries to anyway but Lyla and Jessica get to sit by your side before he could.
You couldn’t even pretend that you didn’t see him as Hobie goes to sit at the back together with the lunch club. Feeling eyes on you, you see the camera right on you as you act casually despite your fingers tapping incessantly at your thigh.
“Did you see that she’s back?” Pavitr exclaims excitedly to the lunch club. “Do you think she brought us exotic snacks?”
“She didn’t go to some far flung country, Pav.” Gayatri says, hands intertwined with his. “But she did say that she got us something. What do you think, Hobie?” Her brown eyes look at him teasingly. “I missed her, did you miss her?”
The rest of the lunch club stifle their laugh, even Miles turns his head away to have a giggle.
“She got you guys keychains and magnets, she told me.” He casually answers to annoy them, they’re not getting a reaction out of him.
You did tell him in a text when you showed off your haul of souvenirs that were haphazardly placed on top of a hotel bed. Hobie won’t tell them that he zoomed in on each one to look for his souvenir.
“Oh, fuck off, the surprise is ruined.” Gwen sighs, shaking his head at Hobie. “She does look great though.” Tilting her head, the others join in, simultaneously tilting their heads at an angle to get a better look at you. “I bet Hobie thinks so too.” She cheekily jabs his bicep, earning an annoyed yet flustered grunt from him.
“Yeah, she’s glowing.” Miles remarks as the other three agree wholeheartedly. “Man, we should’ve volunteered instead.”
“Please, as if we could sit still during a boring ass conference about electric toothbrushes.”
Their banter falls in the back of Hobie’s mind in favour of seeing your smile and hearing your laugh. After months of missing you, wanting to see that same smile again after Peter said something stupid to you like today, Hobie was so close to volunteering to join you on the road. He almost did, but Lyla, in all her kind-heartedness hidden underneath all that perfume and faux fur lined around her stilettos, told him that it’s for the best to leave you alone. To leave you to your soul searching. Hobie didn’t understand it at first, why you would leave and prefer to be all alone for months on end going from boring conferences to another. Until he remembered the night he followed you after what happened during your birthday.
Maybe he buried that moment deep in his heart because the hurt and pain he saw on your face almost broke him. You didn’t deserve it, MJ didn’t deserve you.
MJ tried to get him into her band and join them on their record label, but despite his dreams, despite his wants, he declined. Not after what he witnessed.
He blinks and he’s standing back on the hill with your car parked haphazardly, lights opened as the night chill lingers in his bones.
The camera crew found you first, he would credit them in following you before he could but they have their cameras pointed right at you as you sit still inside the driver’s seat. As if you’re in a catatonic state, as if MJ’s betrayal took a part of your heart that makes it tick.
He exclaims your name, and he could hear the camera lenses whirr right behind him. He ignores them in favour of you, it’s a good thing that they’re not invading the already volatile tension or else he’d be shoving them on their asses, and breaking their equipment, contract be damned. Hobie doesn’t even shut off the van nor close the door when he’s urgently making his way over to you. The headlights illuminate his way to you, shadows dancing on the grassy ground.
“Love.” He makes it to your car, knocking on the window as you stare blankly at the view in front of you.
The stars are out, and the moon shines in a cloudless sky. It’s beautiful out, and the city skyline below blinks at him whilst the sounds muffle from where he stands above. It would’ve been a romantic spot, and it might’ve been a prime make out point for teenagers but he doesn’t feel the love tonight when tears are still streaming down your frozen expression.
Instead of banging at the windows, he stays right there, leaning on the door, all the while keeping an eye on you. He doesn’t speak when he knows that no words could ever make you feel better.
You just lost your best friend, and unfortunately, he knows the feeling.
The lock clicks, and the squeak of the windows has him moving away from the door.
You meet with his eyes, a calming brown, a familiar sight, one that you needed most. You open your mouth to speak, to say anything, but no words come out.
So he speaks for you. “Can I sit with you?” He asks, soft, gentle and understanding.
You nod, and it’s enough for him to move. He goes around the hood of the car and opens the door.
Hobie sits in silence, your car smells like lemon, freshly cleaned, and the bobblehead of a cat on the dashboard bobs up and down in greeting. The car feels like you, warm, comforting, just like the crocheted blanket draped on the backseat, and the easel and paint brush keychain dangling right on the rearview mirror. Just like everything in your life, you carved a place of yourself in it the moment you finally could. The moment you finally feel at ease and just breathe.
The barbed wire bracelet hangs loose around your wrist, the metal catching the moonlight as it dangles aimlessly. You feel like the bracelet, just dangling there, holding on by your teeth.
Hobie thinks that he should've given you a better present for your birthday, something sweeter, something more meaningful, not a five year old bracelet he bought on a whim at a flea market. What MJ did to you was awful, he feels awful, today was supposed to be your day, something to smile and reminisce about in the future. Not like this, ending up in the middle of nowhere with your heart broken into pieces with someone who has no right words to say to you.
It feels easy to sink into the plush of the seat, and Hobie thinks that it should be easy for you to relax in your own space, but instead he sees your shoulders taut, and knuckles shaking around the steering wheel as if you don’t belong here, as if you’re about to be yanked by the collar and tossed right outside and kicked down the hill for intruding.
You were happy, and you were finally coming out of your shell, only for that shell to be bashed and broken down into pieces with a hammer. You can never go back.
The whirr of the engine sings as it hums, and what seemed to be for hours, he stayed there with you in silence.
The cameras keeps a long distance away from the two of you, capturing the scene from behind as they could see the two silhouettes through the glass. Then, your hands leave the steering wheel, and the crew captures the moment you lay your head against his shoulder. No words exchanged, just a simple comforting gesture that means the world to you, that he gladly lets you have.
It’s been like that ever since your birthday, just a quiet yet gentle reassurance that he’s there for you, whether you’re willing to talk it out or just to be in someone’s presence. He’s there, a nod at you in the hallways as you pass by, hands grazing along the other, or a smile tossed at you from across the bullpen. And you’d give him that tight lipped smile that tugs at the corner of your lips, the one that you regret giving him when he deserves more than a half-hearted smile, when you want to smile at him fully like before.
Sometimes he lets you know that he’s there with you through food, making sure that you’ve at least eaten something for that day. Hobie meal preps for two, and has to wake up an hour earlier than usual, but that’s alright for him, you’d usually eat it, sometimes you won’t, either way, it’s all worth it just to see your shoulders relax and your fists unfurl the moment you take the first bite or just to see that someone still remembers you.
He would offer words, but when he was in your shoes all those years ago, all he wanted was for someone to understand, to just be there and not talk about the pain of being left by someone you once loved. So he stayed, lingered and kept an eye on you at the office, until the day you didn’t come to work, only to find out through Miguel that you volunteered to leave for months.
He was actually happy for you, glad that you have taken the reins and pulled yourself up from the hole of your grief to get out of it. Even if that means he would miss you dearly. He can always text and call you anyway.
And he did a few times, more than a few times. You’d always reply though, despite the time difference. You’d always go out of your way to respond to him, whether it’s just a picture of his lunch, a silly picture of the lunch club during band practice, or a random cat he saw on the street, you’d always reply. And in turn, you send him pictures of your dinner, the boring conferences with a little snooze emoji added in, or where you are occasionally. A hotel you’re currently staying at, a restaurant you’re in, or even a gas station where you have a stop over to grab some snacks for the road, whatever it is, Hobie is there to keep track of you, like a wordless agreement that you two have. Someone has to know your location, and you trust Hobie enough to let him know where you are. Sometimes it’s blatant, where you would actually ping your location and send it to him, that’s when he would always check his phone every two minutes to check on you, and only after you message him that you’re at the airport or that you’re finally in your car, that’s when he lets out a sigh of relief.
The band and the lunch club thinks he has become a lovelorn loser pining for you across the ocean, while the documentary crew thinks he’s irritated like he has a wooden splinter up his ass. He’s both, but he’ll never say it out loud, or to anyone for that matter.
Jared pans the camera to Hobie’s resting bitch face and he flinches when Hobie flicks his eyes at him, flipping him the bird that he has to edit out and take another overtime just to do so.
“Holy shit, Hobie.” Gwen snatches his wrist, fingers digging in that has him waking up from his thoughts of you. “Is that—?”
Leather heels clack from outside as he sees a glimpse of shiny raven hair from the conference room windows. The door opens, and Miguel pauses from his speech about workplace safety.
The man sighs tiredly. “You’re late.”
All eyes are on the newcomer as Hobie and the lunch club’s eyes widen in shock. “What the actual fuck.” They simultaneously say to the delight of the producer.
“Yuri?” You’re the first person to acknowledge her by name. “What are you doing here?”
“I work here now.” She shrugs casually, and the lunch club breaks from their shock to laugh loudly that it makes the boom mics peak. “Oh, hey, you guys are here too.”
“What?” Hobie blinks and rubs his eyes, when he opens them she’s still there standing in her three piece suit and pencil skirt. “You can’t work ‘ere!”
“Why not?”
You look over your shoulder over to them to stifle a laugh, only to realize that it’s the first time you’ve seen him fully. Hobie’s gaze turns to you, and he immediately softens. Giving him a small wave, Lyla interrupts.
“Yeah, why not?” She stands up, giving her chair to Yuri, making a show of it as she raises a brow at Hobie. “I hired her as our social media manager.”
Miles scrunches his face. “We’re an electric toothbrush company.”
“We’re not getting any collabs with that mindset, Mr. Morales.” Yuri says teasingly to irk him. “So this is where you go off to, Hobie, I thought you worked at the diner.”
“That was nearly a decade ago, Yuri.” There’s a blooming headache in between his brows.
She simply rolls her eyes, turning to face you as she sits down. “Oh, hey gorgeous, I didn’t know all the pretty ones get to sit up front.” Winking at Lyla, then over to Jess, she sets her manicured nails onto the first row.
“Hi, I’m Peter—”
“No, thank you, Paul.” Yuri waves him away casually. “So, don’t let me keep you, boss man.”
Miguel looks like he’s about to burst a vein, he’s definitely going to have a stern talking to Lyla about her bias on hiring new people.
“Welcome, Miss Yuri Watanabe.” He greets monotonously to scattered applause. “As I was saying, we will have a union meeting about what happened in shipping…”
—
The day went on as usual despite the little surprise at the start. Turns out Yuri was a great addition to the team, she had great suggestions that would help increase sales. Plus she’s getting along well with everyone, especially Lyla. The downside is that she might call for some people to help in making those said internet content. You’ll probably be hiding from her just like everyone else after hearing that.
You’ve seen everyone, greeted and chatted with pretty much every single co-worker, and have given them the small souvenir you stocked for them. Lyla gets a pretty pink scarf that was fully weaved, Miguel gets a novelty mug of mount Rushmore, while Jessica gets a pair of baby booties that have palm trees from your trip to LA. The lunch club gets their keychains and magnets that have their names on it from all the places you stopped, each looking gaudy as the next. And Harry gets the classic souvenir t-shirt that he may or may not wear. Even Peter and Jared get something, but one person hasn’t received theirs, and coincidentally, he’s the only person whom you haven’t spoken to yet since you got here.
It was a busy day for you, and you didn’t have enough time to speak to Hobie, even at lunch when you had to skip it in favour of catching up to some work. Miguel noticed and handed you some vending machine biscuits to stave off the hunger, which you appreciate, but now you’re starving.
You stayed back fifteen minutes after you’re supposed to clock out purposefully. Harry has kissed your cheek goodbye with a promise to catch up next time, and the lunch club has invited you over for a movie night with the band on the weekend.
Whilst you hear the fading giggles of Lyla and Yuri from the closing elevators, you grab your bag quickly and take the present in your hand with one mission in mind— get to the mailroom.
To your surprise, you find the room already empty. You’re sure that he hasn’t left yet when your eyes were glued to the elevators. You’re about to pull out your phone to call him, but you hear rustling from behind his desk.
The place was a convoluted mess, it probably only makes sense to him and Gwen. It’s filled with piles of boxes, manila envelopes, and tons of files haphazardly placed in the corner. The shredder is filled to the brim and probably breathing its last life. There is one thing that caught your eye though, in a sea of boxes and blanched papers, is an orchid. It’s purple and pretty, a sight to behold in the mess.
“You like Terrence?” Hobie pokes his head from under the desk, hair sticking out from all angles, and a few pieces of shredded paper clings to him.
You almost shriek, staggering back as your back hits the wall. “Fucking hell, Hobie!”
Hobie has the audacity to laugh. “Shit, sorry, love.” Standing up, dusting himself, he tilts his head teasingly at you. “You got somethin’ for me to send out?” He gestures for the box in your hands.
“Yeah, wait, no, actually this is for you.” You close the distance, offering the present to him bashfully. “Consider this mail delivered.”
His eyes shine under the humming fluorescent lights as he takes the box gingerly in his hand. He weighs it in his hold, chuckling under his breath, and instead of opening it, he turns to gaze at you with the same smile. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” You utter with the same warmth.
He still doesn’t open it, and you’re now bouncing on the heels of your feet.
“You look happy.”
Chortling, your head tilts down to hide your bashful smile and your heated cheeks. “Yeah, fresh air and two hours of screentime a day will do that to you.”
“Nah, you did this yourself. I’m happy that you’re happy.” His thumb scratches at the box nervously. “‘m…” he takes a deep breath, and your sweetened familiar perfume wafts in his nose that immediately eases the tension in his shoulders. “It’s good to see you back, really, ‘m happy you’re back.”
Your eyes flick towards him, still smiling. “I heard that you were irritated the whole time I was gone.”
He groans, head tilting back as he runs a hand on his expression. “Damnit, Jared.”
Giggling, you close the distance again, a hand gingerly brushing along the petals of the orchid. “Why terrence?”
“Gwen named him, I don’t know why she picked that though.”
“What would you have chosen instead?”
“Leopold.”
You let out a laugh that has him smiling even more. “Yeah, as if that’s any better.”
“It’s a mighty name for an orchid, love.” Hobie finally opens the present when he notices your eyes kept flicking over to it and then back to him with unbridled anticipation.
A domed glass greets him, and as he gently takes it out of the box, he sees the Colorado mountains inside the snowglobe, perfectly still as snow drifts inside. It’s not some cheap novelty globe, it’s well made, wood and glass with a metal band around it. His thumb feels an engraving up front, and he turns it to read the words, ‘wish you were here, Hobie!’ engraved right on the metal. His heart almost stopped, and his breath hitched in his throat.
“They almost misspelled it as ‘Hobby,’ I made them redo it. I was very brave about it actually.” Biting the inside of your cheek, you look at him with trembling anticipation. “I know it’s gaudy and probably not to your taste but it reminded me of you. I just thought, ‘wow, Hobie would love to see the mountains.’ And a snowglobe of it is the closest thing I could get you, a picture just doesn’t do it justice.”
“Lovie.” Stepping over boxes and around the table, he comes closer to you, eyes gazing into your own tenderly, russet swimming with something you’re not yet privy to. “It’s beautiful, I love it.” Your name almost slips off his tongue in place of ‘it’.
Your shoulders physically relax as you let out a sigh of relief. “That’s great, maybe you could find a place for it in your houseboat.”
“Speakin’ of,” he rolls the snowglobe in his hands, feeling the coldness of the glass. “D’you want to pick the spot for it? I’ll make us dinner, nothin’ fancy, jus’ some leftovers I have.”
Past you would’ve said no, but this version of you, who is just finding out how to truly live? What’s stopping you?
“As long as you let me buy the drinks.”
“Deal.”
—
Hobie admires the snowglobe on his desk, tucked in between his soldering machine and a wrench, a prettier sight amidst metal and unfinished projects.
He catches a giddy smile on his face from the reflection on a sheet of metal, and instead of fixing his face and flattening the smile, he grins even more. You thought of him when you saw those beautiful mountains, enough that when you saw the snowglobe at a gift shop it reminded you of him. It makes his heart lurch in his chest, to be seen as something as beautiful as those mountains felt more than familial, more than friendship, he could only hope at least.
A warm feeling underneath his ribcage calls your name, and he doesn’t muffle it.
The microwave beeps, and he wakes up from his lovestruck thoughts to grab the two bowls of leftover pesto that has angel hair pasta instead of the usual when angel hair was the only thing left in his cupboard.
Placing each one on a wooden tray that Ned left behind, he also grabs two mismatched glasses on his way out.
When he steps out of the houseboat, the cold seeping into his jeans and the cloudless sky spanning across the bay, he doesn’t see you in the same place where he left you on the patio chair.
“Love?” You might’ve fallen overboard, or hell, left without a word.
“Over here!” Your voice echoes amidst the rushing sound of water below. He follows the source, head looking up to see you sitting on his roof.
The way the moon lines up with the back of your head is heavenly, silver painting your smile, and the stars flickering right around you is a sight to behold that it takes his breath away.
“How’d you get up there?” His chuckles echo, bouncing off the waters as he gazes up at you with reverence.
“I used the chair,” you say it like it’s the most obvious thing. “The roof is stable right?”
“I hope so. Don’t want you fallin’ through it.”
“Insurance will cover idiocracy, I’m sure.” Shrugging with a laugh, you reach out to the tray. “Come up here, the view is amazing.”
He can’t resist your invitation. So he gives you the tray with some maneuvering, glasses and utensils clanking against the other as you place it on your lap.
“Right, move over, itsy bitsy spider.” Hands gripping the edge of the roof, he makes it look effortless to climb up with one pull up. His shirt rides up, stomach peeking in between the hem and the waistband of his jeans. In truth he could already feel his shoulders and lower back ache from the exercise. Groaning, he positions himself beside you, finding that the plastic bags from the shop are placed right behind you. He dusts his hands, and chuckles to himself, feeling your gaze on him. “Fuckin’ hell, love, you got me climbin’ my own roof for some slurpees and hotdogs.”
“And here I thought you climbed up here for the view.”
He considers you as the view, the best kind, probably a favorite of his. “That too.”
“So,” you reach for the slurpees, one raspberry and one electric blue that will surely taste nothing like blueberry as you pour it into each glass. “What’s been happening with you while I was gone?”
‘Wait for you to come back.’ Is what he wanted to say, but he bites his lip, teeth caught in the piercing as he unweaves it as nonchalantly as he could without you noticing. “Jus’ the usual, work, band, cook, band again.”
“That’s good. Keeping yourself occupied.” You mutter, looking at each drink in hand, trying to choose. Red or blue?
“I’ve got an idea.” Hobie takes both drinks, dumps half of the red into the plastic cup where it came from, and does the same with the blue. He then mixes both in the glass, making purple. He does the same to the other, making two new drinks. “There, save you some time.”
Your laughter brings out the moonlight even more as the light catches in your eyes. “Brilliant. This will surely not give us diabetes.” His fingers brushes along your own as he hands you your share. He’s cold, as cold as the drink in your grasp, and you want nothing more but to warm his hands with your own.
“As if these hotdogs won’t give us food poisonin’.” Despite his words, he takes a generous bite of the gas station hotdog that he lathered in ketchup and mustard.
“I’m immune to food poison at this point.” You grab a napkin and gesture to the stubble on his chin. “Sorry, you got a little…” he wipes but doesn’t get the blob of ketchup. Shaking your head with a grin, you move. “Can I?”
Hobie nods, then freezes in place whilst you wipe his chin gently. His eyes watch as you concentrate on the stain, the tip of your tongue poking out from between your lips and eyes narrowed like it’s the bane of your existence. “Got it all?”
“Yep,” your soft expression returns once you do. “Got it.”
The interaction didn’t feel awkward nor forced, it felt natural to the both of you, as if no time apart has passed.
“So, why the orchid?” You ask after a bite of your pasta that warms your insides.
“A client left it for Miguel.” Hobie pauses eating to watch the reaction on your blissful face when you take the first bite of his cooking. “But he said he didn’t want to take care of it, so Gwen and I have been takin’ care of it. It’s the office mascot now.”
“Can’t believe you had me replaced for a flower. A Terrence too.” You test the name on your tongue, garnering a chortle from Hobie. “The name is still weird, but sort of makes sense in a way.”
“You and a flower, there's barely any difference, both lovely.” He declares wholeheartedly.
“You’re a cheeseball, Hobie Brown.” Shaking your head with a smile, you feel your cheeks warm up despite the cold.
“You love it.” Nudging your arm, he watches the smile appear on your face. Lyla was right, the time apart made you feel better. “Any stories to tell me from your trips or am I not worthy to hear ‘em?”
“When were you not worthy?” You nudge him back, meeting with eyes, catching his gaze on your own that takes your breath away. The breeze flutters your lashes, and you get wind of his cologne, the same one you smelled on a random sunny day in California, one that you speed walked to follow, thinking that Hobie was there, only to see a stranger at the end.
Clearing your throat, you face your meal, stabbing your fork into the pasta before deciding to take a sip at the sickeningly sweet drink that lines your mouth. “Anyway, it was okay, the hotels I’ve been to were nice. And…” your tone fades as your thumb wipes away the condensation on the glass. “It was a good distraction.”
“Yeah,” Hobie swipes his tongue over his lips, elbow atop his knee as he looks into the water. “It probably wasn’t easy for you, being alone after what happened.”
“It’s weird though,” you shake your head, ducking down to meet with eyes as he returns your gaze. “I didn’t feel as lonely as I thought I would be. Being alone wasn’t so…lonely. I had you, you were one message or call away, and so were everyone else. And I haven’t felt like myself in a long time. I think the time I spent with myself helped me find— I don’t know how to put this, myself again. Does that make sense?”
“Yeah, it does.” Hobie’s russet eyes shine underneath the silver moonlight. Catching sight of the barbed wire bracelet he has gifted you that is still clasped around your wrist securely. You kept it. His heart swells.
“It was good and all, but I don't think I would've survived another month like that.”
“‘No man is an island,’ they said.”
“Yeah. I’ve got a story actually,” sitting up, you lay the tray behind you as you hold onto your slushie. “I signed up for a guided tour of New Orleans while I was there, y’know the touristy ones that shows you all the spooky places.” Hobie nods, listening along as he angles his body towards you unconsciously. “And I befriended this nice sweet old lady named Janet, and we chatted the whole way, turns out she’s been going to the same tour for a decade or so because her husband used to be a tour guide. I think she knew more than our tour guide.”
You chuckle, eyes glossing over as you continue. “Well, anyway, I went to the bathroom and when I came back out, the bus was gone. So I was like, ‘not again.’” Tone catching at the end, his hand instinctively reaches out to you, before his own trepidation stops him. “I didn’t know anyone, didn’t know where I was and my battery was dead. I sat there on the curb, wondering what to do, then five minutes later, the bus came back around again with a screaming Janet. She noticed I was gone, and she came back for me when she has only known me for an hour. An hour,” your cadence pitches higher, anger this time rather than sadness. “when I’ve known MJ for more than a decade.”
“Love…” Hobie calls your name softly as your head falls into your hands, fists rubbing in your eyes. Your body shakes, and he holds you, his own reluctance makes him pause but he does it anyway, and lets you cry, keeps the trembling to a minimum, absorbing it into himself.
“I–I think I’ve always been alone,” your words are muffled by your hands. “I just didn’t notice it whenever she was with me.” Lifting your head, you rest your cheek atop his waiting shoulder, and he lets you, he cradles you beside him on the creaky roof of his houseboat. “I don’t think she saw me like how I saw her. I love her, I really do, but she wouldn’t have noticed that I was left by the bus. But Janet did, you did, you always did. Hobie, I don’t want to be left by the bus anymore.”
A beat passes, and his palm gently brushes along the length of your arm, gently, softly, like a rock skipping on water.
“When I was a kid,” Hobie takes a deep breath, blinking away the blurriness in his eyes as he lays his chin on the crown of your head. “I got left by the bus too durin’ a trip, and Ned noticed that I was gone jus’ like your old lady did.” You let out a wet chuckle. “How ‘bout we both make sure that we don’t get left by the bus, hm? We’ll be each other’s…what do you call ‘em ‘ere?”
“Buddy, a buddy.”
“Yeah, that, a buddy, we’ll be each other’s buddy. Keepin’ an eye on each other, hm?”
“That sounds nice.” The breath you let out feels like the weight on your shoulders were finally lifted off of you. He feels nice under your cheek, warm, steady, whilst you feel his breath fan the top of your head, a familiar presence that you have been longing for. “I’d like that.”
“Me too, love.” Craning his neck down, he ducks to look at you.
The slow smile appearing on your face reassures him that you’ll be alright. “You know what the trip made me realize?” He hums. “It made me realize that I shouldn’t let everything pass by me, like I’m a bystander in my own life. That I should go and— and live. The world is fucking huge, Hobie, and I was missing it.”
“Then go and see it, lovie.” He holds your chin in between his thumb and index, grinning lovingly at you, a grin that you could feel in your chest.
You chortle, cheeks warm, heart feeling light. “I will, maybe once I’m financially stable, and when I find an apartment.”
Hobie’s brows furrow in worry. “You have no place to stay? Love,” he’s leaning away, holding you by your shoulders. “Since when?” He fears the worst.
Your jaw clenches, swallowing down the lump in your throat. “...Since my birthday.”
“Shit, love…” His face contorts into deep concern, not chastising or judging you, just incredibly worried. “So there wasn’t an aunt?”
“I know. And no, there isn’t.” You mumble apologetically. “I’ve been working on it and I haven’t found a good place where the locks actually work and where the place doesn’t smell like black mold.”
“Love.”
“I know, I’m…picky.”
“No, I— I’ve got a free room.” Scratching the back of his flaming neck, he feels utterly ridiculous for even saying that. Great, he just made things complicated and awkward between the two of you.
“Hobie, I can’t— that’s, that’s too much of an ask.”
“Funny when ‘m the one who feels like ‘m askin’ for too much from you. You’re in a vulnerable state and I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable—”
“You’re not!” You touch his cheek, and he immediately clamps up. “I mean, I know what you’re saying, and you’re not taking advantage of me, it’s probably me taking advantage of your kindness.”
“You’re not.” He’s trying incredibly hard not to fumble his words. “I was the one who asked, love.”
“Can we start again?” You wince, fists curling in front of your face to hide your gritted expression that he’s endeared at.
“D’you want to be my roommate?” He starts again, more steady, more sure this time around.
“Only until I find my own place,” a hand patting his bicep, you smile lopsidedly. “and I will pay you, no buts, no saying no to my payment.”
“Lovie, d’you want to come live with me until you find your own place, and with reasonable rent?” Hobie restructures his words with a teasing glint in his eyes.
“Yes.”
Raising his cup, he clinks it with you, the slushie melting, the night growing colder. “Welcome home, then.”
Grinning giddily, you can’t help it when your legs kick about as it dangles from the roof. “To being roommates.” The two of you take a drink together, letting the same teeth rotting sweetness coat your tongue. “I’ve got more interesting stories actually. Less sad this time.”
Synopsis: After the disastrous birthday party, your heart is broken into pieces. Lost and alone, you find help from an unlikely friend.
Tags: No use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader except for clothing, Co-worker AU, part 5 of my series, mockumentary AU, The Office AU, CW food mentions, R is going through it. Hurt/comfort.
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It’s a beautiful sunny day at the office. The sun is shining, the birds are singing, and despite the stark grey brutalist architecture of the office, nothing could ruin the day. Plus the documentary crew got some new equipment after the network’s big bosses liked the pilot they edited. ‘It’ll be a big hit,’ they said, and Jared the camera man is already thinking about buying a new car from the bonus he’s about to get.
But the subjects of the said documentary aren’t doing so hot unlike the people recording their every move.
Hobie’s almost permanent glare on his face is evident every time the camera pans to him. From the mail room to the break room, he’s scowling, either at the wall or at a particular brunette office mate just across the bullpen.
“How are you doing?” The producer asks him, finally managing to get a one on one with the angry punk.
“What the fuck do you think?” He purposely curses to give the editors a hard time to bleep it out. Whenever he notices the cameras on him, he’s flipping them the bird, or straight up leaving the room.
“Why are you so irritated?” The woman with the tablet asks once more, unfazed by his petulance.
His eyes stare at the expensive camera lenses, as if his glare alone could light it on fire. Jaw clenching, he takes a deep breath. “‘m constipated.” His lackluster reply garners a tight lipped expression from the people behind the cameras.
“Is it because she hasn’t been here for three months?” Jared the cameraman, with balls of steel, asks the punk who has broken a few camera lenses before like he’s best mates with him.
Hobie’s expression softens briefly from the mere mention of you, not a moment too soon, he blinks the tenderness away as he swallows thickly. “What’s it to you, Jared? You’re not invited to our gig anymore.” Vaulting out of his seat, he rips the mic out of his dress shirt, the fabric riding up to reveal a bit of his toned stomach that would have the female viewers wanting more. “Fuck this.”
Jared looks guilty, the other camera turns to the crew member, and he fixes his expression right away. It’s like poetry. The cameraman becomes the subject.
“Mr. Brown, need we remind you of your contractual obligation?” The producer states with a steady tone. Hobie hates this new producer more than the other when the last one at least had the decency to give them space. “If you leave right now you’ll be suspended without pay.”
Hobie runs a hand over his face, surrendering and plopping himself back on the chair. He really wants to punch the lights out, the literal blinding lights of the crew. “Mate, I work a nine to five job that pays me less than what ‘m owed when the white men in suits upstairs buys their fourth yacht. When Darius from shipping had to make a donation page for the treatment of his broken leg when it happened right in the building but the higher ups won’t pay for jack shit. You askin’ why I’ve been so annoyed? That, that’s why ‘m annoyed. Any more questions?”
The producer quietens down, jaw tight and gripping onto the tablet in her hands.
“No? May I go now?” Hobie says sarcastically. The moment she nods, he gets out of his seat, pushing the door open roughly that the thud is captured by the boom mics.
Harry stands on the other side of the door, having a glaring session with Hobie. He pockets his phone, smiling smugly, as if he won something.
The producer smiles at the interaction.
“Move.” Hobie says through gritted teeth as the cameras hone in on his closed fist.
“Have you heard from her?” Harry asks with a raised brow, looking over his nose like a pompous aristocrat. He doesn’t need to mention you by name when Hobie knows who he’s talking about. “She just sent me a picture of the Colorado mountains—”
He gets shoulder checked by Hobie on his way out, not giving him any more attention.
The camera hones in on Harry’s dissatisfied look, rolling his eyes as he sits in the same place Hobie left. “You wanted to hear from me?”
“So, she’s in Colorado?” The producer questions him, shaking off Hobie’s pointed words. “How’s the relationship going?”
“Yeah, I mean…” he leans back on the chair casually, arms crossed over his chest as his eyes wander around, except for looking at the lenses. “It’s going.” Shrugging, he clears his throat. “We text.”
“No calling?”
His index scratches at his cheek, nodding. “A few times.”
“Right.” Jared is skeptical, and Harry gives him a look.
The producer takes a deep breath, bored of the conversation. “Can you call in…” she scrolls through her tablet. “Oh, speak of the devil. I thought you said she’s in Colorado?”
“She is.” Harry’s brows knit together, taking out his phone to check. “Yeah, she said she is.”
“Not according to my schedule. Said she’s supposed to come back to the office today.” Her eyes shine from the prospect of a drama.
“Oh.” Harry smiles, but feels the dread in his chest.
—
Jared is the first to greet you, lugging around the heavy equipment as he exits the elevators and out of the building to get to the parking lot. He spots your car idling, windows rolled down, letting the air out. He sees you brush your teeth just outside, spitting onto the bushes as your hair is all mused, blouse skewed like you slept in the same bushes.
He’s about to call for you, until he sees the state of your car. Outside it’s dusty and muddy, dirt clinging to the tire rims, needing a clean. That’s no cause for concern when he has seen dirtier cars. But what’s concerning is the inside, he zooms in on the interior using the camera, and sees the mess inside. It’s a nest of luggages, blankets and pillows, books, art supplies and a few shoes. It looks as if you’re living inside your car.
Jared’s hands shake as the camera trembles in his hold. You are living in your car.
“Shit.” You say, muffled by the toothpaste in your mouth, eyes wide, toothbrush falling from your mouth. “I can explain.”
—
Jared looks at you with furrowed brows, more concern than pity as he interviews you beside your car. Your hair is now brushed, neater and you don’t have toothpaste in the corner of your mouth anymore. For once, he’s glad that he volunteered to do this alone rather than have a whole team behind him.
“So…” you kick a pebble, sucking in your teeth as you look at the blinking camera. “I’m living in my car.”
“What happened to the conventions?”
“I still went there and did my job, don’t get me wrong.” You chuckle nervously, biting your lip as your shoulders slump. “I think it’s best that I start from the beginning.”
—
“Fuck!” You punch your steering wheel, landing a harsh land right on the horn as it blares out into the neighborhood. Sighing, you rest your forehead against it, letting the tears out as you cry all alone with everything you owned inside your trunk and in the backseat.
Even after you sold almost all of your ‘abysmal’ paintings, you still don’t have enough for a down payment for any decent available apartment. You already used up your savings to get the car, and now you’re broke and living out of said car for the past five days. No one knows of your situation, and you like it that way. You don’t want them looking at you with pity, or offering help that you couldn’t possibly repay.
You’ve been apartment hunting during your breaks, and in turn, missing lunch with your friends. The lunch club said that they missed you whenever one of them would pass by you in the bullpen, and Gayatri has even asked if you’re doing okay. Which you have said that you are, a complete utter lie on your end.
Hobie has been trying to get you to talk about what happened on your birthday, but you usually just shrug with a tight-lipped smile. Citing that it’s all behind you now, and that he doesn’t need to worry about you when you’re doing alright. While Harry gives you the same worried look, they both try to reach you, when one would give you lunch, the other would try to share his with you. Which you both always decline when you always eat in your car in between looking for apartments.
Ironically, they seem to be getting on like a house on fire when it concerns your wellbeing.
Both men have shown their concern for you, but you shut them out, sometimes unintentionally, sometimes intentionally. MJ left you, your oldest friend, the one you shared a half of a necklace with that is now floating somewhere in the bottom of a river— if she could leave you, they would too. So you spare yourself the heartache, drowning yourself in work and being alone. It’s not going great though. You miss your friends, you miss your cozy room, you miss the days when you’d laugh with MJ whilst watching crappy reality TV. You miss your life.
You miss living.
Your eyes glance at the rearview mirror, seeing Hobie’s gifted cardigan laying atop the only remaining painting you kept. Instead of looking at it to give you some sort of motivation, you cover it some more.
You head back to work like usual, stomach filled with instant ramen, and yearning for something more filling for today. Rubbing your eyes with the heels of your palms, you head back inside.
The day went on as usual, you avoided the camera crew despite them shoving the cameras and boom mics into your face, trying to get an interview with you. But you always manage to dodge them with a glare.
You do good work, not excellent, not abysmal either. Just good, enough to keep you on the payroll. As the sky turns dark, you ignore the heavy eyes staring at your back whenever you pass.
When the day is done, you head outside to breathe in the cool air, the weather is turning warmer day by day, and soon it’ll be harder to find shade to park under or else you’ll become a cooked salmon inside when you wake up inside the car.
People pile out of the building one by one, and you see the documentary crew pick up their equipment and haul it inside their van. You wave goodbye to the lunch club as they carpool together in Gwen’s beat up sedan. They gave you the same polite gesture, whilst hearing them ramble about an oncoming test that no one studied for. You sigh, missing them as they drive away.
“Lovie.” Hobie’s voice cuts through the darkness as everyone else heads out of the building and into their cars. “Headin’ home?”
For once you’re glad that the previous owner of the car had a really dark tint on the windows that made it harder to look inside. You have no idea why they did that or what kind of mischief they were doing inside that needed the dark tint, but you don’t care when you got the car cheaper than the market price. Is it legal though? Probably not. But you don’t have enough money to get rid of it even if you wanted to.
“Yeah,” you smile, one that does not reach your eyes. “I just want to take a long warm bath after that shit show of a meeting.” You’re not lying, you want to have a long soak in a tub that isn’t a grimy shower from a cheap motel that you occasionally rent just to have a shower.
“Yeah, Miguel really handed it to us.” Hobie sighs, scratching the back of his neck. “Listen, the band and I are havin’ a small get together this weekend in my houseboat since Ned’s movin’ out. You can come if you’re not too busy.”
You’d want nothing more.
But you can’t.
“I’m sorry, Hobie, I can’t.” You could cry right there and then, and you’re sure that he’ll let you cry on his shoulder. “Busy, my aunt’s visiting.” You must’ve given Harry that same excuse before, but not to Hobie. “I haven’t seen her in a decade, so...” You hate lying, especially right to your friend’s face, but you have to bite the bullet and retreat back into your shell that MJ wanted you to get out of so badly. It’s lonely in there, but at least you won’t get hurt, you won’t get left behind.
Past you would say, “maybe next time!” with a cheerful smile. But this version of you can’t.
“That’s fine.” He takes it in stride like always, he’s good like that. “Maybe next time.” It’s a strike to your soul. “Drive home safely, yeah?”
“Of course.” You smile, and it still doesn’t quite reach your eyes. If Hobie could see it, he doesn’t mention it.
The keys jingle in your carabiner, and you stare at the silver charm that Miguel gifted you on that fated night. It’s a cute little peanut with a top hat, smiling right at you. The reference doesn’t go over your head, and you always smile whenever you look at it, proof that you left a mark on someone’s life that is worthwhile.
You don’t notice another pair of eyes looking at you until he’s crossing the distance over to your car.
“Hey, princess.” Harry tilts his head, ducking to meet with your downturned eyes. “Having second thoughts about going home? Or did you forget something inside?” Chuckling, he misses the sad look in your eyes when you could blink it away.
“Oh, no, I’m just spacing out. Tired, I guess.” You give him a half hearted smile.
“Yeah, we got our shit kicked in by Miguel.” He sniffs, playing with his car keys. “Listen, I talked to my dad about MJ and that you’re about to move out so he offered to let you rent one of his apartments downtown. What do you think?”
If only he knew that you already moved out, or to put it properly, kicked out.
“That’s nice, how much is the rent?” There’s hope under your ribcage.
“It’s not much.” He shrugs, “a thousand a month, he gave you a discount.” Smiling, your own smile falls. His expression falls. “It’s a two bedroom, and near a lot of restaurants.”
“Harry, that’s—” you try to think of more polite words. “That’s kind of him, but that’s way out of my budget. Sorry.” You’re not really sorry. But you know his heart was in the right place.
“Right, yeah, I guess it is.” Clearing his throat, he rakes his fingers through his hair. “I’ll keep asking around though.”
“Yeah, thanks.” You reply, already halfway inside your car.
“And uh…” Harry leans against your window, thankfully you had the insight to only open it a smidge. “I kind of rambled on about you to him, so now he wants to meet you.”
The revelation wakes you up more than a triple shot of espresso. “What?”
“Dinner, just dinner at his place, nothing much.” Harry looks like he’s digging his own grave.
“Oh, I’ll think about it, Harry.” You feign a smile. “Busy, you know.”
“Yeah, your, uh, cousin is staying with you guys, right?” His eyes stare into the small crevice of the window that you cracked open.
“Yeah, yeah, she’s just, really sad about the divorce, so I have to be with her and try to lighten her mood.” Sucking in your teeth, you start the ignition. Another blatant lie let out. “Speaking of, I gotta go.”
“Sure, sorry.” Stepping back, Harry watches you drive away.
The lights from the lampposts flicker past you as you drive around and around until you reach the office once again. All the parked cars are gone, and the only lights inside is the one in the lobby where the security guard is snoring away whilst a baseball game is playing on a tiny TV.
Everyday it’s the same thing for the security guard, Warren, you come to learn from his nametag— he has a giant donut and a burrito for dinner, opens the portable TV and within a few minutes, he’s snoozing away when he’s supposed to be guarding the place. It’s good news for you when you can sneak back in, have a cold shower in the office gym, warm your food that you got from the convenience store in the microwave and head out in just twenty minutes. It’s foolproof, and you always try to avoid the security cameras, but it’s not worth it anymore when you learned that the footage is deleted within twenty four hours, so by the time the morning shift would clock in, last night’s footage was deleted at six am sharp.
You’re getting too good at it, sneaking about, that maybe you should plan a heist at a bank or something like in your favorite heist movie. You just need a team of intelligent women to back you up.
You just got out of the shower, still shivering from the cold as you hug Hobie’s cardigan around yourself. It smells like your car’s air freshener and the instant noodles you had last night, despite that, it’s still soft and brings you comfort. You should probably head out to a laundry shop to get your clothes washed when it’s starting to pile inside the trunk. You’re in an old t-shirt from college that’s slowly fading away from time, and a pair of checkered pajamas that was at one point MJ’s.
With a sigh, the microwave finally beeps, signaling that your dinner is ready. Tonight’s dinner consists of convenience store pasta that might give you food poisoning, and this morning’s leftover breakfast sandwich that you splurged on to keep morale up. The only plus side of your abysmal dinner is that Hobie always kept your tea stocked inside the cupboards, even when you haven’t bought a box in awhile. You made yourself a cup like always, and the first warm sip ebbs from your chest to your stomach, a much needed warmth.
You take your meal carefully, hands wrapped in a small towel as you place it on the breakroom table. The office feels eerie this time of day, it’s dark and liminal, that sends shivers down your spine. It feels wrong to have it be this empty when it’s usually so full of overworked and underpaid employees. Hobie’s ghost story about a nightshift janitor doesn’t faze you anymore whenever it wiggles its way inside your head during times like these.
During the first few days of being alone after getting kicked out from MJ’s apartment because the realtor couldn’t possibly sell the house when you’re still living in it— you stayed at a cheap motel that smells like roaches and day-old boiled eggs. But the money soon ran out, draining your already dried up savings within just a few days. Plus your card was declined in the same place, you’re embarrassed to go back. So now you had to resort to sneaking inside the office during off hours, eating at the same breakroom where you could sometimes hear Hobie’s laugh whenever you sit down that’s adjacent to his usual seat.
You feel yourself going insane, especially when MJ never bothered to speak to you after what happened to your birthday. She just packed her bags one day, told you that the realtor is coming the next day and she moved away that very same day. She didn’t even try to hear you out after the stunt she pulled, the house was a wreck, the decorations you had painstakingly made were strewn about, trampled on the ground. When you did try to talk to her, voice stern yet wobbly, and eyes brimming with tears, she laughed. She really laughed in your face and said, “I didn’t ask you to do this for me, y’know.”
But she did, she fucking did, and now as you’re stewing in your seat, you question yourself whether she did ask it. Or did you just assume that she asked for a big party like every fucking year? Nevertheless, you got mad, you snapped at your best friend, and you said some words that you couldn’t possibly take back.
And she snapped right back at you with more ferocity, like it came so easy to her. That the words were already on the tip of her tongue, left to curdle inside her mind until it was time to be let out.
She accused you of jealousy. How you would always cling to her side, never leaving her alone. That you were the one holding her back. When all you did was try to be the best friend she deserved, the same girl who let her cry on your shoulder before a school trip because her parents didn’t let her join. But you stayed behind, lying that yours didn’t let you join either when the letter with their signatures is tucked safely inside your ladybug jacket that you adored so much.
You played together all day in the school’s playground until your classmates came back, and you stayed the whole time, you stayed with her even when her parents kicked her out during high school and you let her crash at your place. You stayed even when she asked out the guy she knew you had a crush on. You stayed even when you had to juggle classes and part time jobs and come back to your dorm only to see that she had another party and she’s once again passed out on your side of the room. You stayed, you wore the same cheap half of a best friend necklace that turns your skin green because it’s the first gift you got from her when she hasn’t worn hers in years.
You stayed, and yet she left.
Before you could stop it, tears streamed down your cheeks like waterfalls that your vision turned blurry and the show playing on your phone fell in the back of your mind.
The fork falls in between your fingers as you cry in your hands, weeping in the empty breakroom, the harsh fluorescent lights whirring above as the rest of the bullpen is as dark as the night sky outside. Maybe MJ is having the time of her life right now at her penthouse suite with her bandmates, and she already forgot about you.
Your name is suddenly called, but you chalk it up to your sorrowful state, ignoring it.
A big hand squeezes your shoulder, and you jolt back, screaming bloody murder as you see a blurry face in your eyes.
“Fucking fuck!” You fall back in your seat, back hitting the cold floor as your dinner clangs beside you, pasta sauce falling in a splat of red and convenience store cheese.
“Shit! It’s okay, it’s just me!” Miguel, your boss, the same man you saved during the holiday party stands before you in a more casual attire— a pair of denim jeans and an old fading ‘Star Trek’ shirt. His hands are up, trying to calm you down. “You okay?”
“Mr. O’Hara?” Eyes wide, you stare at him in horror. “Oh fuck…”
“Hey, it’s okay!” He’s immediately on the defensive after seeing your tear stained cheeks. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”
You shake your head, still feeling the remnants of your crying session in your chest. “No, I’m okay.” Miguel gives you a helping hand that you shake off, standing up by yourself with your hand perched on the table for leverage. “I’ll go, I’m sorry.”
“No, just—” he moves to stop you, completely looming over you. His eyes dart down to your fallen dinner, and he lets out a breath, eyes gazing at you with sympathy. “You hungry?”
“What?” You rub your eyes with your sleeves.
“I can get us a sandwich from the deli place. They’re still open.”
Shuffling your feet in place, you would refuse, but the growl from your stomach answers for you.
“Okay.” You answer in a small tone. “Can I get one with extra cheese and a soda?”
His expression softens. “Sure.”
When Miguel came back with the food, he half expected you to be gone. But you even surprised yourself that you stayed.
“Cold cuts with extra cheese.” Taking out a footlong sandwich, the paper wrapper crinkles as he places it in front of you. “And a soda. I didn’t know which one you wanted so I got the usual. I got you a chocolate bar too, it was on sale.” The full sized bar is pushed to your side as you feel your heart squeeze in your chest.
“This is good, thank you.” Sniffing, you open the can gingerly.
“You cleaned?” He asks, sitting adjacent to you as he takes out another sandwich and a bottle of orange juice.
“Yeah, I didn’t want the sauce to smell.” You’re immediately taking big bites of the sandwich the moment you opened it. “I’m sorry.”
“No, it’s good, you showed incentive.” Miguel squeezes out two packets of hot sauce in his sandwich, before taking a generous bite.
A beat passes, you chew, he takes a sip of his juice, and you stare anywhere else other than your boss.
“Can I ask?” He starts, and your glimmering eyes stare at him with worry that he regrets it immediately. “Just…you good, kid? You’re not in trouble or anything?”
You contemplate your answer as you watch the mayonnaise drip from the sandwich onto the paper wrapper. “I— I’m not in trouble. I don’t know about being good though.”
“Do you need my help? The company’s?” Miguel’s voice is uncharacteristically tender, as if he’s speaking to his own kid, or perhaps a wounded animal. “I’m sure I can do something, whatever it is.”
Your nose wrinkles, swallowing down the meat and cheese as you take a big gulp of your drink. “A million bucks would be lovely.” You joke, and he lets out a laugh through his nose.
“You and me both, kid.” He wipes at the corner of his mouth with a napkin and leans back in his seat. “There are programs that could help with whatever you’re struggling with.”
Your jaw clenches as you let out a breath. “Remember my birthday?”
“Yeah.”
Shutting your eyes, you rub with the heels of your palms before taking a deep breath. You tell him what happened, and how MJ means to you. You’re not retelling the story because you’re looking for pity or for more harsh words towards your best friend, just someone that would listen, lend an ear for you to ramble on and on, someone to help take the load off of you.
He listens and hangs on your every word, nodding every so often, as if you’re in the conference room showing off a presentation. But it’s not a presentation, and you’re in your pajamas, crying in front of your boss.
“That…” his jaw tightens, looking away and shaking his head. “I’m sorry about that. But you know you can’t keep sneaking back inside the office.”
“I k–know, I’m sorry.” Your tone breaks in the middle before clearing your throat. “I just didn’t know where to go. I just have to survive until the next paycheck and then maybe I can find a place that isn’t a dump. Or at this point I’m okay with it being a dump.”
Miguel blinks, thinking and takes a deep inhale. “Remember this afternoon’s meeting?”
“Yeah, about the conventions that no one wants to go to.”
“You should volunteer. It’s almost three months away from the office, and you get to stay at three, sometimes four star hotels. They have good food and sometimes you’ll be accompanied by someone here or someone from another branch. But usually it would just be you.”
Being alone in unfamiliar places sounds horrible, but that’s probably what you need, some time alone to be with your thoughts, to not sleep in your car and eat shitty food that takes off a year of your lifespan with every bite. It might not be the stability that you were looking for, but at least you don’t have to struggle every night, trying to figure out where to park your car just to sleep without getting the cops called on you. And contemplating whether if it’s worth it to buy gas or food for that day.
Miguel sees the conflict waging in your eyes. “You’ll get a weekly allowance. Plus gas and food expenses.”
Your brows knit together, eyes narrowing suspiciously. “Then why doesn’t anyone want to volunteer?”
“They have people waiting for them at home.” He simply says, not to purposely jab right at your heart, but it also seemingly strikes right at him too. “It’s three months away from them, and the conventions are the most boring thing in the world. I’d rather watch paint dry.” Finishing his sandwich in one big bite, Miguel cleans up his side.
“Three months, huh?”
“Three months of listening to saggy old men ramble about electric toothbrushes and how it could eradicate dentists.” The faucet squeaks as he washes his hands.
“That’s horrendous.” You turn around in your seat to address him. “I’m in.”
“Good,” he takes a relieved breath, drying his hands on a towel. “Pack your things, it’s this Friday.”
“I’m already packed.” You give him a small smile. “Thank you, Miguel.”
“No problem. I hate it when my employees mope. It’s not good for our image.” He shrugs, giving you a rare smile. “Listen, kid.” Leaning against the counter, he tosses the towel on his shoulder, and you suddenly feel like a kid again having a strange yet important talk with your dad. “I know how hard it is to be at this age. Everything’s uncertain, everything feels like it’ll be temporary. And everyone feels like they’re leaving you for greener pastures.” That part hits right at you like an arrow to your heart.
“But,” He continues. “treading the waters alone is worse than walking through it with people you care about. So when you slip and fall into the water, and trust me, you will, they will drag you back up to the surface, and in turn you will do that for them too. Don’t tread the waters alone, kid. You’ll drown.”
“But what if,” you clear your throat of the sob threatening to spill over. “What if those people turn towards a different tide? They go upstream without me?”
“They either come back for you or you find new people to walk with.” Miguel’s lips curl into a soft smile. “There will always be people treading the same path as you, you’ll meet them, and they may come and go, but a few will always stick with you. You just have to find those people and nurture them, friendship is a two way street, kid.”
You hide the tears brimming in your eyes with a well timed wipe of your sleeve to your eyes. “Thank you, Miguel. You’re not as scary as they say you are.”
“You’re not so bad yourself.” He chuckles under his breath, before tossing the towel back on the counter. “Make sure to close the lights, the night janitor hates it when they’re left open.” Turning to leave, you call his name as he pauses mid step.
“Wait, why are you here?”
He shrugs, looking over his shoulder. “My daughter’s with her mother, and I guess I wanted to get some work done in advance so next time I could be with her without worrying about work.”
You give him equal sympathy. “Humanity isn’t built for this work shit.”
Miguel manages a chuckle. “Damn right.”
You’re left all alone, Miguel’s cologne lingers in the air, a sharp burgundy, and the cold crisp air from the aircon reminds you of how lonely you are.
You stare into the darkness of the bullpen, and right across from where you sit is your cubicle situated right beside wide windows where the moon greets you.
It’s just you and the moon now, at least wherever you go, whatever you are doing, there’s always a guarantee that it’ll be there with you at the same time to stare right back at you.
You decide right there and then that you’ll live, not just surviving. Not because MJ told you to get yourself out there, but because you wanted to, you want to experience things, to see the world beyond the four concrete walls of the office, beyond MJ. Even if it means being alone.
—
“Why are you telling me this?” Jared’s voice wobbles, caught in his throat after he heard your story.
Shrugging, you take a deep breath. “I’d rather you hear it from me than the cameras you guys installed everywhere.” Leaning away from the car, you cross your arms over your chest. “Besides, it’s bound to get out now that I’m back.”
“Are you still…?”
“Yeah.” You grimace, half embarrassed, the other half afraid to admit your own failings. “Maybe you can recommend a place?”
Jared’s face turns red behind the camera and you wonder why. “I kind of live with four roommates.”
“That sounds like hell, I’m sorry.” Wincing, you clasp his shoulder. “I should get back to it.” You gather your bag, slinging it over your shoulder as you ready yourself for the day ahead. It’s been months since you’ve been back, months since you last saw any of them, months since you last saw Hobie.
“G–good luck.” Jared stays rooted in place, filming your retreating back. Then he sees the producer from high above the windows, catching the sight of her flashlight that she turns on and off repeatedly. She has an intense look on her face as he zooms in right on her. He realizes his job is to follow you. “Shit, fuck!”
—
“Hey, Warren.” You greet the security guard, and he grunts in reply, giving you a small wave while his attention is on the small TV screen in front of him that is currently playing a football game. “What a game last night, huh?”
He perks up, expression brightening. “Hell yeah it was! You caught it?”
You scoff a laugh. “Duh!”
“Go Arsenal!” He hollers, fists pumping up as you step into the elevator.
Truth be told, you only saw it because it was playing on the pub TV screen where you were having your dinner. The bartender’s number sits heavy in your pocket, he was cute, talkative, and he was nice. You’d call him if your situation is better, or if your relationship with Harry wasn’t so complicated.
Harry would message you at least once a day, sometimes it’s a picture of his lunch, but usually it’s a selfie of him while on the way to work or at the gym. It’s sort of comforting to know that he still cares after everything that happened and that you upped and left without a notice, with just an off handed announcement from Miguel to the whole team while you were already at the airport.
You’d reply to him occasionally when your days are less busy, a simple ‘how’s it going over there?’ or a snapshot of where you are. No matter how simple your reply was he would always reply enthusiastically, a ‘that looks great!’ at your lunch, or a ‘having fun?’ complete with a heart emoji at the end. The message that always halts you in your tracks is the nightly ones, where he’s sweeter, more tender. A ‘missing you,’ or a ‘thinking of you right now.’ You’d be lying if you said that it didn’t make your heart skip a beat, especially the ones where he attached a picture of himself in bed, torso bare, eyes sparkling in front of the camera.
Your feelings for him are complicated, you like Harry enough, but there is one person who always appears in your thoughts right after talking to him, a reminder that he’s not Hobie. That he’ll never be Hobie. That you just don’t feel the same connection with Harry unlike with Hobie. With the latter it’s easier, you feel like yourself around him.
With Harry, it’s different, you’re more restrained, like if you said the wrong thing he won’t like you anymore. You don’t know what it is but Harry feels so out of reach for you, like he’s living in a skyscraper and you’re just a passing pedestrian in his life.
You promised yourself and to Harry that you’ll take it slow, and you have, the most you’ve done with him is a peck to the cheek and hold his hand whenever you’d walk with him. Minus the kiss at the concert, that still sends shivers down your spine, and a horrible ache in your stomach that reminds you of your day at the hospital. He’s your friend, that’s it mostly, but you know that he wants to be more than that, and a part of you wants it too. But of course, it’s not that simple when you’re still longing for someone you can’t have.
When Harry feels out of your reach, Hobie feels like someone you can never have. Someone who deserves better than you could ever offer, someone who is as cool as him, as nonchalant as him, as sweet and caring as him. Someone who has their life in order.
You feel as though he won’t be happy with you, that he’d feel like there is something missing when he’s with you. And you can’t bear the thought of holding him back from his real happiness because of you. He deserves someone more like him, someone more like MJ.
It hurts to know that love has an expiration date, that they would leave you some day. Maybe they’ll love you now, but what if in a few years, maybe in a few months, they won’t feel the same way? That they’d discard, and you’d be all alone again.
All that lovesick thoughts were hidden in the back of your mind throughout your trip, now that you’re back, it’s out in full force. At least when you were away it took a back seat. This is why you’re dreading coming back here, now you have to face all the things and people you left.
You’ve changed, grown, and experienced things, you’ve met people too, but this place brings you back to that girl who couldn’t even look directly at the cameras. Maybe this time it’ll be different, you won’t shy away this time, that you’ll be better, maybe even someone who would be worthy of being loved back. A love that will stick, a love that will linger and stay with you forever.
Either way, all of that will have to take a step back in favour of you finding your own apartment, lest you have to sleep in your car in a dark parking lot again. You can face all that drama right after.
“Hold up!” Jared runs after you, and you casually hold the doors open for him with your foot. He huffs, thanking you with a bashful smile. “Thanks, nice one.”
“No problem.” You smile back, wondering how things were back here while you were gone. “So Jared,” the man immediately points the camera right at you, cheeks flushed, hiding it behind the lens. “What happened here while I was gone?”
“Nothing much.”
“Really? All those months? Nothing?”
“Well,” he sucks in his teeth. “there was a fire.” The camera captures your shocked expression perfectly. “Everyone’s fine, don’t worry. But Peter almost got fired.”
“What?” You blink.
The scene flashbacks to two months ago.
“Fucking move!” Lyla has her porcelain cats in her arms, pushing and shouldering everyone out of the way through the chaos like a quarterback on a mission.
Smoke billows out of the breakroom, and the cameras flick back and forth from person to person frantically whilst dodging them. One person shatters a window using his chair, while another quickly gets carried away from the said opened window when in a split second he could’ve realized that he’s on the tenth floor too late. Then the camera moves again, and a handful of people are trying to exit out of the air vents as their crawling could be heard rattling up there.
“We’re gonna die!” Pavitr screams in Gayatri’s arms as she hauls him away in a fireman’s carry hold.
“I’ve got you, babe!”
“Whose fucking fajita was in the microwave?!” Jessica grabs the fire extinguisher, heels clacking as she heads face first into the fiery fray.
“Jessica, no!” Miguel follows a second later with two mugs filled with water. “You can’t inhale smoke!”
“What the fuck is happening?!” Harry shrieks, pressing the elevator doors open button like a mad man. “My dad won’t be happy about this!”
“Shut the fuck up, Malfoy!” Hobie walks in frame with another fire extinguisher in hand. “Go and fucking help, you wanker!”
“You can’t use the elevators during a fire, dumbass.” Gwen says casually, unbothered by the chaos. A half second later, she’s dragged away by Miles down the steps.
“Let me save you, Gwen! Just this once let me save you!”
“It’s a microwave fire, Miles, not a damn monster attack!”
The camera then pans downward, right under a table where Peter is crouched down, holding his ears as he mumbles under his breath.
“Not my fault, not my fault.” His lips wobble, eyes stinging with tears as the lenses hone in on his face.
“Peter B. Parker!” Jessica’s furious scream almost breaks the mics. The camera moves over to her as she holds onto a burnt tinfoil with his name written on it in big bold letters.
“Well, shit.” You stifle a laugh after seeing the chaotic footage from Jared’s phone. “Wait, why do you have that video saved?”
“I got promoted after the rabbit incident. Now I’m also an editor.” Jared answers with pride.
“Congrats— wait, the what now?” The Elevators chime open, and you’re greeted by a familiar face.
“Welcome back, kid.” Miguel smiles genuinely that it even has Jared taken aback, zooming in the camera right on his rare happy expression.
“I’d say that it’s good to be back but…” chuckling, you open your arms for a hug after stepping out of the elevators. “Not really.”
To the camera man’s surprise, Miguel hugs you back, even patting your back.
Jared feels like he was transported to an alternative dimension where you’re best friends with your boss. He mutters a shocked curse under his breath that not even the mic could capture.
“Yeah, well, it’s good to have you back.” He pulls away, and the befuddled Jared steps back until he hits the wall, still gawking at the scene of you smiling at the usual stern boss. “How was the trip back? And did you manage to use Gabriella’s sweater she sent for you?”
“It was okay, it was a bit bumpy but I’m alive so good. And I sent Gabri a picture of me wearing it in Colorado actually.”
“She didn’t tell me that.” His brows scrunches as he leads you further into the office and to the familiar bullpen.
You wince, looking apologetic and ignoring the rest of the camera crew crowding around the two of you. You’ve been to Las Vegas during peak season, this is nothing to you. “I see that she’s still mad at you for missing her soccer game, huh?”
Miguel kneads the space between his brows. “I have no idea how to make it up to her.”
“We’ll figure something out, don’t worry, big man.” You fist bump his bicep, and Jared truly feels like he’s dreaming.
A happy shriek echoes out, then a stack of heavy papers falls with a thud. “You’re back!” Lyla skips over to you, brimming with happiness as she pushes away the crew to hug you. “My favorite is back!”
“Oh, hi, Lyla, missed you too.” You embrace her back, patting her back. “How’s Hannah?”
She leans away, rolling her eyes. “Hannah’s out, babes, she was too clingy for my taste.”
The producer shares the same shocked look as the rest of the crew.
Lyla groans, annoyed by their presence alone. “Please, you can’t film everything.”
The scene cuts to a few weeks ago, where Lyla is talking on the phone all hush in the stairwell.
The boom mics capture your name from her painted lips. “I’m telling you, she’s the one, I’m already picking out the ring—” Lyla notices the eyes, or cameras for that matter right on her as she groans. “Hold on, there are vultures around.” Her heels clack as she descends the stairs.
Then the footage turns to Miguel chuckling at something on his phone, clearly talking to someone. His brows suddenly furrow, and he turns his narrowed eyes right at the camera, clicking a button on the remote as the blinds close on them.
Another scene pops up, and with the whole lunch club minus Hobie, at the breakroom, laughing at their phones.
“Is that even legal?” Pav leans closer to his screen.
“Who cares?” Miles and Gwen answer at the same time, before sharing a tender look.
Even from miles away, for some reason, you were less alone than you were with MJ.
Jared hones in on your face. “I talked to them while I was away.” Shrugging, you continue into the office with the others in tow.
“Not because she wanted to.” Lyla adds, and you shake your head at her with a smile. “To think she wanted to be a lone wolf. You are not an alpha, girl, more like an omega.”
“What the fuck, Lyla?” Gwen’s smile falters after she corners you with her arms stretched out.
“What?” The head of the HR department just shrugs.
“Don’t mind her, she’s just excited that I’m back.” Beaming, you hug the blonde. “How are you, Gwen?”
“Good, really good.” She sends you a sneaky wink.
“That’s great.” You wink back, smiling knowingly.
The producer is clearly irked by all the information she’s missing.
“Princess!” Harry grins from ear to ear, arms wide, ready to receive you.
“Hi, Harry.” He embraces you before you could open your arms to him. “Oh!”
“Sorry, hi, you look good.” Putting you down, his hands linger right around your wrists, fingers grazing the barbed wire bracelet, as the cameras, and Lyla zeroes in on the contact. “Welcome back.”
“Thank you, and you look good too. Did you do something to your hair?”
“Yeah,” he touches the ends of his hair bashfully. “It’s lighter, not really blonde but I wanted a different look.”
The scene cuts to Lyla on the confession chair. “Different look my ass, it’s a shade lighter, my cat’s hair is lighter than that.”
It goes back to Harry holding you. “You like?” He asks, and you nod.
“Yeah, it–it looks good, makes you look younger.”
“Thanks.”
“Look what the cat dragged in.” Peter grins, but when he sees Miguel right behind you, scowling right at him, he does a one eighty. “Good to see you again!” He shuffles to his chair with a nervous laugh.
“He’s on probation.” Miguel simply answers the question lingering in your mind. “You have your report? Show me before the rest gets here.” He ushers you away from the crew and everyone else as you happily nod.
“Don’t hog her all to yourself, Miguel!” Lyla exclaims.
“Excuse me.” Once the doors shut and the cameras are outside his office, you deflate right on the chair in front of his table. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” Miguel shuts the blinds to the crew’s dismay. “You can rest here for a bit until you have to clock in, want a coffee?”
“Please.”
“Got it.” Before he could leave, you call back to him. “Hm?”
“What report? You didn’t say anything about making a report.” Your expression spells panic.
Chuckling, Miguel shakes his head. “It was an excuse to get you out of there.”
A grin spreads on your face. “Don’t tell Lyla but you’re my favorite.”
Miguel leaves his office with a smile on his face.
If only the blinds were open then you would’ve seen Hobie stand by the mailroom as he gazes right at where you are with a softened smile on his face.
Jared turns the camera to the presence, but he only manages to see a glimpse of the punk’s dress shirt before he disappears behind the door.
Synopsis: Jousting isn't all fun and games when the love of your life is participating in it.
Tags: No use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader except for clothing, established relationship, princess! Reader, Knight! Hobie, medieval AU, CW violence and injury, CW food mentions, R has unnamed family member/s, inspired by GOT, fluff!
A/N: I was heavily inspired by the knight of the seven kingdoms 🤭 I highly recommend watching it!
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The tent stinks of seared metal and old leather. The scents waft around Hobie as he stands beside his squire, a small stumpy boy that could barely reach up to help him strap his chest plate on. The squire struggles, standing on his tip toes as he makes a face that has him looking like he ate a bad clam.
“Tybolt, there’s no dishonour in usin’ the stepstool. That’s why I made it for you.” Hobie flicks his eyes down at the struggling boy.
“But, Ser, it’s dehumanizing.” Tybolt turns his gaze upwards to meet his knight’s eyes.
“Big word for a lad.” With a subtle smile, Hobie simply moves his foot, gathering the stepstool by its leg and then pulling it towards little Tybolt. “C’mon, don’t make me crouch for you, the blokes ‘ere aren’t as nice back at the keep.”
“Yes, ser.” Defeated, Tybolt steps up the stool to secure the leather straps around his shoulders. “May I ask you something?”
Hobie’s gaze wanders around the stuffy tent with its racks of weapons, from lances to swords, to wooden shields that bare each knight’s coat of arms; he hasn’t been in a joust since his first year as a knight. The sight alone makes his stomach tumble, and his mouth turning dry. The last time he was in a joust he almost lost an eye, he has the scar just under his brow to prove it. He won that tourney and got him the title of champion but it made him a tad fearful of jousts.
Hobie did manage to get something better than the job of lieutenant after that— he got to meet you. Even though it’s under a royal, a job is a job, plus, he gets to be near you at all times being your sworn protector. He has done more than protecting you throughout the years though. No one could pry that information out of him even if they threaten him with a hot metal poker to the eye.
He wants to get this tourney done with so he could return to your side once again.
“As long as it’s not as shite as the question you asked me yesterday.”
Fixing his clinking chainmail, Hobie glances at the various knights getting fitted with their armours with the help of their respective squires. Their armours are all different in variety, some are ornate, showing off exotic flowers or animals as helmets, intricate chestplates that depict their house’s sigil and different coloured capes that flutter right behind them. But some opted for the more practical armour that will keep them well protected from a flying shrapnel or from a mace hurling right at them.
“I just asked how you manage to go to the loo with all these on.” Voice squeaky, Tybolt huffs beside him as he finishes the first strap of the chestplate before he heads down and around to fix the other side.
“You’ll find out when you become a knight yourself.” Tone soft and genuine, the boy smiles at him wholeheartedly.
“Thank you, Ser.” He whispers, making sure that the leather straps are extra secure.
“What was your question, mate? And please don’t ask how to woo ladies this time ‘round.” Chuckling, Hobie subtly sizes up his opponents. He might be anxious about the joust, but he still wants to win. Or at least not to make a fool of himself.
Wiping the metal plates with a clean cloth, Tybolt rubs away any fingerprints he accidentally left on the steel. “I was going to ask about the princess.”
Hobie almost chokes on his own spit, and yet he gathers his composure before the squire could notice the way he cleared his throat. “What ‘bout her?”
“If she’s as annoying as everyone says she is.” When Hobie doesn’t answer him, Tybolt backtracks, pausing mid movement, as if he just remembered who he’s talking to. “I–I meant no offense, it’s just that, I’ve heard the workers talking about how she talks everyone’s ear off. And that’s the reason why the northern prince broke off the engagement.”
Scoffing, Hobie sneers at the mere mention of the so-called prince. “She was the one who broke it off ‘cause he was a prick.”
“Aye, but the prince is wealthy—”
“Wealth isn’t enough of a reason to fall in love with someone.”
“Is that why the princess fancies you so much? Because you’re a pauper?”
“I should clout your ears like the other knights do, mate.” Rolling his eyes with a joking chortle, Hobie stretches his hands, testing how loose the metal gloves are, something so small could make or break his aim once the joust starts.
Shrugging with a small smile, Tybolt hops off and admires his handiwork. “You’re not that kind of knight, Ser. Maybe that’s why the princess fancies you.”
“You were jus’ askin’ what kind of person the princess is but you seem to know how much she fancies me.” Brow raised, Hobie takes the offered leather belt from Tybolt. He secures it around him, and then he takes the necklace from under his chest armour plate to bring it atop it. The simple jewelry glints, catching Tybolt’s eyes.
“Not all women can be princesses but all princesses are women. Simply enough, they like a man in armour.” Hands on his hips, Tybolt shrugs and makes a proud face.
“And you know this because you’re an expert in ‘em?” Hobie gestures for his shield, which is almost bigger than Tybolt himself as he wobbles on his feet to get it to him.
“Barely, Ser. I just say what I observe. And I tend to observe a lot when no one pays much attention to you.” Peeking above the shield, Tybolt smiles at him. “It’s the way she looks at you, like you’re the last sweet roll, or a blacksmith to his favorite hammer.”
Grabbing the shield with ease, Hobie stares at the red spider painted in a sea of black, a sigil that he made when he was much younger than Tybolt. “Word of advice, lad, do less observin’ when it comes to the ladies of the court if you want to keep your head on your shoulders. And you can’t say that people don’t pay attention to you because I do, the other knights at the keep do. You’ve got friends, y’know.”
“Hollow threat, Ser.” Smiling at his knight’s last comment, Tybolt doesn’t falter from the former advice. Hobie simply narrows his eyes at Tybolt, a brow raised and a subtle smile hidden beneath the surface. He’s his squire, alright. Maybe he taught him too much. “Yes, Ser.” Defeated, Tybolt scratches his cheek bashfully.
“More trainin’ less oglin’” Ruffling Tybolt’s hair, the boy smiles before brushing off Hobie’s hand away.
“Oi, Hobart!” Someone calls for him from the front of the tent. The noise outside filters in through the opened leather flaps as the blonde swaggers inside.
The sound of a blacksmith’s hammer landing against metal, horses huffing and people excitedly walking around as they wait for the event enters for a brief moment. The sun peeks through briefly, giving him some much needed warmth when you’re away from him. He really cannot wait for the tourney to be over.
The smiling knight’s armour is shiny and new, a white silver with golden vines weaved around the steel plates that deeply contrasts Hobie’s black and red armour with its web like texture design. His white cape that drags behind him matches the rest of his armour, stark white with its hem dirtied by the mud and dirt outside.
“James?” A smile grows on Hobie’s lips as his squire makes a face at the other knight moving closer with his arms open. “What are you doin’ ‘ere, you wanker?” He receives his fellow knight with a grin, embracing him as their armours clank against each other. “I thought you weren’t invited!”
James pats Hobie’s back, the sound is akin to shields ramming against steel armour. “My lord sent me here for the tourney of course!”
“Your lord? You mean your father?”
“Yes, fuck off!” James pushes Hobie lightly, but it has the poor squire shaking in his boots, remembering the last time an unruly knight pushed the red spider knight like that. “Father, lord, what’s the difference, really?”
“One pays you and the other fucked your mother,” Hobie has a wicked smile on his lips. “wait, you’re right, what’s the difference?”
“Still a poet with your way around words.” James clasps his shoulder way too harshly for the boy’s liking, he then turns to the young squire, flashing him a smile. “Has he told you that he used to be an actual poet? A real charmer with a lute too.”
“No.” Tybolt beams up at him, eyes shining.
“Don’t talk to my squire.”
“I can talk to anyone I like, Hobart.” Rolling his eyes, the two knights shove each other off playfully that reminds Tybolt of a couple of ducks he watches behind the castle as they always fight over the food he gives them. James’ gaze lowers, a cheeky grin immediately spreading across his handsome face. “Oh, would you look at that, Hobie has a sweetheart.” Whistling lowly, James eyes the necklace around Hobie’s neck.
The squire’s gaze turns to the single ruby dangling on a silver rope right atop his knight’s chest plate. Tybolt has a feeling as to where it came from, but he’d rather not say it out loud. Hobie is kind, kinder than most knights to their squires at least, but he’d rather not test him by saying your name in front of his friend and most definitely not in front of the realm’s greatest knights, who are probably listening in. His teasing before was a different case, knowing that everyone knows of your character and how friendly you are to everyone at court, but by accusing Hobie of wearing a favour, a ruby necklace more exactly, is like treason. Scratch that, it’s not like treason, because it is treason. Your brother, the king might be called ‘the just’ and the kindest ruler the kingdom has ever seen in recent years, but he won’t take kindly to vile accusations against his only sister.
Hobie brushes away James’ index that pokes the ruby. “Get your dirty hands off it.”
“Oh, come on, I just want to see.”
“I got it myself— James.” Flicking his best mate’s forehead, the fellow knight staggers back dramatically, nursing his so-called injury. “I warned you.”
“Mate, there’s no way you would buy something this fancy, moreso with your lieutenant salary.” Hands on his hips, James’ eyes glance at Tybolt for a moment, as if he’s waiting for him to jump in on the teasing.
“Says the one gettin’ stipends from dear ol’ father.” Hobie doesn’t falter, instead he snatches his folded cloak from his pile of things to clip it on himself, partly to hide his nerves from getting found out, and the other half just to get out of the knight’s tent and out of possible gossiping ears. Knights don’t particularly partake in gossips, but their squires definitely do. Tybolt is proof of it.
Blowing a childish raspberry, James then turns to the only one who would not lie to him. “Lad, do you know where Hobie got that necklace from?”
Tybolt freezes, glancing back and forth to his knight then over to the blond. “Ser?”
“Stop pesterin’ the boy—”
James bends his knees and places his hands atop it for emphasis. “I’ve got a bag of coins with your name on it.”
“Alright, now you’re jus’ bribin’ him.” Clicking his tongue, Hobie grabs James by his shoulder to yank him up to his feet as the man chuckles from Hobie’s reaction. “Tybolt, you’re dismissed, James and I will have a drink before he offers you knighthood for gossip.”
“I wouldn’t protest!” Tybolt blurts out.
“I like this lad!” James gestures at the squire as he’s actively getting pushed out of the tent by Hobie. “Tell me when you’re bored of being his squire and I’ll get you a better knight!” He yells over his shoulder whilst Hobie practically drags James out of the tent.
“I can’t wait to dirty your pretty white armour out on the joustin’ field.” Hobie says whilst yanking James by his white cloak.
—
The tourney is packed with people, nobles and small folk alike. You don’t usually like tourneys with its violence and blood in full display, but you can’t possibly skip this one royal event when it’s held specifically for your brother. Plus, Hobie’s participating, and you’d rather be there to see him joust rather than die from nervousness when you have no idea what happened to him during the competition.
As you walk up the steps to the royal box with carnations all decorated around the place, the kingdom’s flower and your house’s sigil; the nobles, who have the pleasure of sitting with you and your brother nod their heads respectfully at you with polite smiles. The brilliant yellow gold canopy shields the whole royal box from the sun, whilst the common people filter through the gates and onto the sides of the field, more than eager to watch the tourney from behind the fences.
The whole field is bustling with life, fire and smoke coming from blacksmiths, the scent of roasted meat and fresh bread wafting through the air together with the stench of wet dirt from the grass below. And the colourful tents are all pitched up high, all in different fabrics and colours and even decorated heavily with each house’s sigils and motifs, signifying that they have taken part in the festivities.
Your plush seat is placed beside your brother’s, placed much lower than his, but just as opulent and grand with its finely carved unicorn at the back rest together with the family crest. The common people cheer excitedly around the jousting arena, waving their chosen knight’s banners. You could even see an area that is filled with supporters of the red spider as they chant his name.
With all the excitement, you don’t feel the same as everyone else with your hands wringing together, sweat gathering on your upper lip, stomach churning and eyes skimming over the arena as if you’re one of your brother’s purple clad sworn protectors; always looking for threats lurking around. Biting your lip and twirling the ruby ring around your middle finger, the trumpets sing of your brother’s arrival.
He swaggers in, a royal purple cloak dragging behind him as his crown shines against the sunlight. It’s much warmer now, and it’s not helping your sweaty self hide your nerves. The crowd cheers for him as you stand up to greet him, you hope that he doesn’t see through you but as he passes by your seat to get to his throne, he raises a brief brow right in your direction. Or it could be for Lord Faulton that sits behind you with his numerous scandals looming over him.
When the king sits down, you and the others follow suit. You clutch onto the arms of the chair, nails digging in as if your seat would get yanked right from under you.
Your brother leans closer to you subtly, eyes keeping up front as he smiles and waves at the crowd. “You’re abnormally quiet, sister.”
“Is it crude to say that I need to take a massive shit?” You whisper back, much to his chagrin.
“This is why you’re still unmarried.” He says jokingly.
“I wonder why you’re still unmarried, hm?”
“There’s no rush for an heir when I’ve got you as my lawful heir.”
“You know I’m not keen to be queen.” You sigh, eyes scanning the sunlit field for the familiar black and red armour as the bannermen come out and hammer down each knight’s banners right into the muddy soil brought by last night’s rain.
“That’s why you’ll make a good one.” Your brother thanks the cup bearer before taking a sip of mulled wine. “Now, tell me, what’s got you forgetting your crown?”
“My—” you feel for the top of your head, eyes closing, wincing in realization. No wonder why your head feels lighter than usual. “I wanted to look…casual today.”
“Of course, sister,” scoffing, he chuckles atop the rim of his glass. “I guess I’m overdressed then.”
“I’m glad that you finally noticed.” Your eyes glance up and down at his whole royal ensemble with a cheeky raised brow.
“It’s my nameday and my anniversary, and yet you won’t give me some reprieve?”
“Technically our nameday was a week ago, brother,” you roll your eyes, hands placed on your lap as your nails leave crescent moons on your palms. “but you don’t see me complaining about it.”
“This is why I was born first.”
“It’s because mother wanted you out of her quicker.” Turning your attention to your brother, you don’t back down.
“Royal pain in the ass.”
“Royal dickhead.” Shaking your head with a subtle smile, you pluck his glass from his grasp and take a generous sip as he sighs and takes a new drink instead. You feel the warmth lining your stomach, exhaling out grape scented air as you bite the inside of your cheek. “Why does it have to be a tourney? We could’ve just had a nice and calm feast instead.”
“Because tourneys boost morale, sister.” Sitting back, he lounges as the squires start to gather outside right on the jousting field. “It’s been half a century since the last war and our knights are itching for a fight. Wars have been started for far less than wanting to drench their swords in blood.”
“Not all knights are like that.” You say under your breath, but your brother most definitely heard it as he nudges your elbow with his. Just in your peripheral vision, you could see Tybolt lugging around his knight’s equipment.
“Which particular one exactly?” He asks with a lilt in his tone, as if he already knows the answer to his question.
Anxiety bubbles from your stomach, caught as you refuse to look at him whilst your nail scratches at the silver goblet. “No one in particular—”
The trumpets sing again, this time in a more rushed tune together with the sound of war drums that strikes right at your chest, signaling the knights appearance.
Pursing your lips, your eyes immediately find him within the crowd of knights in their finest armours.
Hobie stands taller than the rest, shoulders squared as his red cloak flutters in the spring breeze. Tybolt now stands beside him, holding onto his shield and lance, sandwiched in between the heavy weapons as the poor boy struggles to stay upright.
The red spider gets on his horse as the rest of the knights do, except this one has his eyes meeting yours the moment he sits down, as if he felt your eyes right on him. He’d wink at you if not for the numerous eyes staring at him too, so as a compromise, he nods curtly at you, still knightly and casual without the gossipers singing how the emerald field champion is so lovestruck with the princess and the person he swore to protect. It’s a gentle reassurance, but it doesn’t help calm your flipping stomach and sweaty palms. Just the thought of wooden shrapnels flying dangerously at him has your nerves in knots.
You give him a nod back, albeit a shaky one as your eyes convey all your worries to him.
There were two people in the whole field that noticed the tiny interaction while most were more focused on putting their bets down or cheering for their champions to win— your brother and Hobie’s squire. One who knew you since before you were even born, and one who could clearly see the obvious secrecy between the two of you that transcends a knight and princess relationship.
“Is that the particular knight you were thinking about, sister?” Your brother, the king, whispers to you with a teasing tone.
“Hush, brother.” You utter in between clenched teeth. If it was any other day you would’ve joked back, but with the fight looming, you’re not in the mood.
“He’ll be alright.” He says softly, a mere whisper that has you meeting his eyes. “He’s a fine knight, he’ll do well.”
“I don’t care if he does well or not, I care if he gets injured…” swallowing down thickly, your fists shake around the goblet. “or worse.”
Inhaling deeply, the king finds your hand and pats it fondly. “You can excuse yourself if you need be.”
“I don’t want to,” turning your attention back to the field of knights, you blink the warm tears away, swallowing down your anxiety and facing the event head on. “I need to see.” You need to see him.
Pride swirls in your brother’s eyes. “Very well.” He sits upright, watching the knights gather at each side of the field through his steady gaze.
Hobie eyes his opponents, whose horses neigh and huff in anticipation. They stand ways ahead of him and his squad, armours shining as they stare at his side of the field. Three knights occupy the left hand side, on the first lane is Ser Gunther, known for his brute strength with the mace. Hobie could see that his infamous mace that has smashed dozens of skulls is held by his squire at the ready. His bronze horse whinnies wildly, causing his emerald armour to shine brighter in the sun. The bright green symbolizes his house colour and his crest, an almost blindingly green hue that resembles the first grass of spring.
Right beside Gunther the grim is Ser James himself, Hobie’s best mate, other than Ned, who’s currently learning at the academy, and with Yuri gone across the seas to make a name for herself, it’s just James and him left at the capital. And by some fate, his oldest friend gets to joust against him. Hobie’s already calculating where to hit him that’ll cause less pain to his friend.
The other knight in James’ side is Ser Crawford the younger, who dons a simple armour that’s adorned with poison ivy right on the metal. The vines even spread to his horse’s armour, weaving around the metal as if it’s growing right around it. Hobie wonders if Ser Crawford knows that he looks like a fence with overgrown vines snaking around it rather than a mighty oak covered in vines like his father, Ser Crawford the older.
“Sizing our opponents up, hm?” Ser Eugene that rides on Hobie’s left snickers at him. “No need, I’ll knock young Crawford off his horse with one lance.”
Hobie looks at the knight up and down, seeing him in his shiny golden armour and sapphire crown that sits right atop his helm that looks traitorous since he’s next in line after you. As if he has already crowned himself king when your line still sits the throne. He likes that it’s a middle finger to the crown, but if he’s king, that means that you’re dead, and if you are, Hobie thinks Eugene would be too, by Hobie’s own sword and so would everyone who had their hand on your death. The thought alone fires him up even more.
“Knocking out a knight, who’s a season away from turning ten and eight seems unearned, don’t you think, Ser Hobart?” The blue clad knight, Ser Theodore the Unyielding, says beside him, smiling genuinely as the sun hits his chest plate, where a sailing ship is etched right on the metal, symbolizing his seafaring roots. He doesn’t look too unbothered that he got matched with a known brute.
“Aye, I think so.” Hobie looks back at Eugene simultaneously with Theodore. “You better be careful, mate, those vines are poisonous.”
“A simple itch won’t stop me.” Eugene scoffs, reining in his horse as he snatches his lance and shield from his poor squire.
“I know someone who has died from the hives of a poison ivy,” Theodore smirks right at the annoyed knight. “I heard that it wasn’t so pleasant.”
Hobie chuckles, followed by his right hand knight as the irked knight’s jaw clenches. Eugene then leaves his lane, trotting his horse towards the royal box, holding up the tip of his lance upwards. It’s Hobie’s turn to clench his jaws, eyes narrowing at where the fellow knight points his lance at.
“I ask for the favour of the fairest maiden!” Eugene announces to everyone as the audience eats it all up. “My princess, if you’d give me the honour?”
Your brother has to nudge you for you to notice him. “Y–Yes, of course, my good Ser.” Playing the part of a perfect princess, you grab the offered flower wreath that’s adorned with yellow ribbons from an attendant before placing the wreath into the lance, letting it fall until it reaches the handle. “Good luck, Ser.”
“Princess.” He flashes you his best smile, but you’ve seen better as you can’t help but glance at Hobie, who is smiling cheekily at the interaction.
You sit back down, but you shouldn’t have as Hobie makes his way over to the royal box, lance reaching up towards you with a smirk. Eyeing him down, you stifle a grin.
“I ask the favour of the kindest maiden.” The tip of his lance taps the railing rhythmically, the same knock he does before he enters your chambers. “Lady Juniper,” his eyes go from you to the young girl sitting a few ways behind you. “May I have the honour of being your champion?”
You turn to look at the noble girl smiling from ear to ear as she takes the offered wreath of flowers that’s laden in red ribbons over to him. Sitting fully, you watch with tender eyes as she could barely reach over the railing to place the wreath into the lance. Hobie helps her by tipping his lance further down, winking at you at the opportune moment while everyone’s eyes are on the blushing girl.
“Good luck, kind Ser.” She says in the sweetest tone.
“Thank you, my lady.” Hobie smiles genuinely, before heading back to his lane.
“You did marvelously, lady Juniper.” You say to her with the same smile as Hobie’s.
“Thank you, your grace.” Curtseying before you, she’s ushered by her mother, matching her daughter’s happy smile.
“Huh.” Your brother says under his breath, quiet enough for the people behind him to not hear, but loud enough for your ears.
“What’s that?” Already annoyed, you kick him subtly with the length of your gown hiding it.
“Nothing, best not to anger you when I already bet against your knight.”
“You what— oh you fiend.” You’d say those words louder if not for the crowd around you. “How much did you bet?”
“Fifty gold.” He side eyes you, smirking wickedly. “Walter does the betting—”
“Walter!” Abruptly turning around to face the scribe, he jumps in his seat, shaking in fear that you could almost hear the clinking of coins in his pockets. “A hundred gold for Ser Hobart to become our champion!” You announce boastfully, followed by murmurs and then cheering from the others as they bet alongside you.
“Yes, your grace, right away, your grace.” Frantically, he jots down your bet, hands too sweaty as he drops his quill.
“Fifty coin, what a joke.” Your eyes narrow dangerously at your brother as you see the audience eagerly watch whilst the knights put on their helms and ready their lances.
Hobie for sure heard your jape, but to him, your support means the world. It’s his drive that feeds his adrenaline rush, pumping up his blood as he puts on his helm. It’s practical, and protects him when lances start to split in half, but it obscures half of his vision, it doesn’t matter when his eyes are on you up on the royal box.
When you feel his familiar gaze upon you, you send him another curt nod, more steady this time, not at all romantic, but to the both of you, it’s a kiss upon his cheek from far away, a hand wrapped around yours from a distance. A gentle reassurance that you’ll have all the time in the world with him later.
Hobie then brings his hand to his chest, right where the ruby necklace lies hidden underneath his armour. And you run your finger around your ring, as if you could feel each other’s warmth through them.
“Men, steady yourself!” Hobie’s voice booms around the arena, fluttering the winds itself. “And don’t fuckin’ die!” His team hurrahs, banging their shields with their lances together with the opposing teams. He swears James smirked right at him before closing his visor.
“You’re about to make a lot of people rich, Ser Hobart.” Theodore cheekily says, voice muffled by the metal of his helmet whilst Eugene snickers beside him.
“Ser?” Tybolt taps his armoured foot, jaw set as he frowns up at him.
“Yes, Tybolt?”
“Don’t get mortally wounded, or worse, whichever comes first.”
Chuckling, Hobie smiles under his helm. “I’ll try my best, lad.”
“Not at all reassuring, Ser.” With his final words, the boy backs away to the farthest of the fences with the other squires and spare racks of weapons.
Inhaling deeply, the knight brings his attention towards the men in front of him, fists tightening around his lance and the leather strap of his shield.
The king smirks, hiding his smile from behind his fist as he turns his attention to the field. They wait for his word, and with a nod from him, the joust begins with the eerie sound of a ram’s horn.
Horses neigh and whinny, the sound of thundering hooves has people hooting and hollering louder above the sound of the charging knights. Hobie has never been to a real full blown battle, but he can imagine that it’ll sound like this.
He points and aims his lance as the wind hits the metal of his armour, and he hits James dead on by his shoulder. Wood shattering, splitting down the middle as the shards rain down upon the field. But he doesn’t celebrate when his friend stays on his horse and grabs another lance from Tybolt.
Meanwhile, Theodore holds out his own with Gunther the grim, despite his brute strength, the blue knight manages to unhorse the man, which he wasn’t so happy about when he challenges Theodore to one on one combat whilst the rest of the joust is happening right in the middle of the field.
Hobie grabs another lance from James’ squire, pivoting his horse immediately to strike again. He could feel his horse’s muscles straining under him as he charges towards James.
The sun hits his visor, and he narrows his vision, missing James and hitting his shield instead.
This time around, Hobie gets the brunt of the lance’s force. He staggers back on his horse, held by the stirrups as he faces the sky whilst the horse runs back to his lane.
“Fuck!” Shaking off the pain radiating from his side, Hobie checks for damage, only to see Eugene fall on his back harshly, landing on his arm that cracks from his weight. He groans in pain, clutching his misaligned arm as the younger knight yells above him victoriously.
“Ser!” Tybolt shrieks below, giving him a new lance as James is already halfway down the lane, charging at him, looking like he’s ready to kill.
Hobie doesn’t waste time in taking the outstretched lance, the horse kicks dust as Tybolt dodges just in time to watch the lances hit each other in a shower of splintered wood.
James grits his teeth, taking the offered lance immediately as he bolts back towards Hobie. From where he rides, he could see the fire in his friend’s eyes. Back in the tent, they’re best mates, laughing at shared memories and sharing ale, but on the field of battle, there are no friends here.
Pointing his lance right at James’ shoulder once again, his friend anticipates Hobie’s next move, moving his shield in front of his shoulder at the last second.
But Hobie knows his friend well, he grew up with James, broke bread with him during harsh trainings, laughed with him, and learned beside him. So when his fellow knight moved his shield, Hobie moved his lance an inch downwards, hitting him dead center, flinging his friend off his horse and down on the ground. He lands in a sickening crush of metal and skin.
Heaving, Hobie looks over his shoulder to see a crumpled James before stopping his horse in the middle of the arena and hops off within a second. He runs towards his oldest friend, taking his helmet off to help him breathe better.
“Y–you motherfucker.” James whizzes out, breath taken out from his lungs. His right eye is bloodshot, capillaries broken as he musters a smile through the pain.
Chuckling, Hobie sighs in relief as he pats his friend’s chest plate. “You almost got me there, mate.”
“F—Fuck you, bruv.” Coughing and wincing, James is helped up by Hobie’s outstretched hand.
“I’ll take that as you yieldin’” Looping James’ arm over his shoulder, Hobie waddles back to Tybolt, who’s too busy cheering for Theodore as he goes toe to toe with the bigger Gunther. Their shields and weapons clash, metal against metal. Knight against knight.
“Four broken lances…” James chuckles, only to wince and hold his bruised side. “I think that’s our record.”
Hobie scoffs, akin to a laugh. “I think we can break that next time.”
“I don’t think there’ll be a next time with your princess looking at you like you stole a kiss from her.” It’s James’ turn to snicker, flashing Hobie a teasing smirk. “I knew that ruby necklace looked awfully familiar.”
His heart beats in his throat, threatening to spill out his guts. “James—”
“No need, If anyone asks, I know nothing.”
“Thank you, old friend.” Hobie hands him off to a pair of waiting doctors as they help him.
“Just buy me a pint after this, wanker.”
“I will—”
The sound of applause and cheers interrupts him. Hobie turns his gaze at the fighting pair, and to everyone’s surprise, Ser Theodore the Unyielding stands victorious above Ser Gunther. Which means—
“Hobie and his squad have won the joust!” Your voice stands above the loud crowd, grinning at him from above as you clap your hands victoriously whilst your brother claps to possibly humour you and to give respect to the knights.
Hobie yanks his helmet off so you could see his smile shining around the dirtied and bloodied arena. His face is covered in dirt and grime with a bit of speckled crimson.
He tastes metal on his tongue.
“Ser!” Tybolt screams frightfully at him. “You’re bleeding!”
Bringing his gaze downwards, he sees a piece of a wooden lance protruding from his side, wedged in between steel plates, crimson oozing slowly out of the wound, painting his metal boots in his own blood.
“Well shit—”
The last thing he hears is your scream as he falls into darkness.
—
“You should be in bed.”
The sun bares down on you, a field of wildflowers bloom around, a green field dotted with colourful flowers that matches your gown.
Hobie opens one eye, laid upon the bed of flowers as he smiles up at you, painted in a halo of light, smiling down upon him like an angel brought from above. “And you’re late.”
“I had to escape from my ladies.” Hands upon your waist, you can’t help but look at his bandaged side that you could see through his thin tunic. “While you have no excuse.”
“I haven’t seen you in a couple of moons, my lady, so please spare me the unpleasantness of your glare for my yearnin’ is greater than my self preservation.”
“Shit.” Closing your eyes with a wince, you hear Hobie chuckling under his breath. “Hobie the poet is back.”
His hand wraps around your ankle, thumb caressing your skin lovingly. “You love it though.”
“I do…” Sighing, you plop down beside him. His hand immediately reaches up to your cheek, feeling the warm summer air kiss your skin. “How are you faring? How’s the wound?”
“Better, the doctors said that it didn’t hit anythin’ important.”
The corners of your lips curl up into a small smile. “That’s good, Tybolt did good with securing your armour then.”
“That he did, he may be a cheeky arse but he’s good at his job.” Sitting up, you help him steady himself against a strong elm tree behind him. “How are you? You were beside yourself at my bedside.”
“You’re the one who’s injured and yet you ask me how I am?”
“Well, I don’t think I’ll be able to forget your cries.” He softly says, taking both of your hands in his to place gentle kisses upon them.
“I should put James under the axe for what he did.” You jokingly say, squeezing him three times, earning a chuckle from Hobie.
“Ned and Yuri wouldn’t be too happy about that. And he’s proper guilty ‘bout it, even kneeled before me or else he’ll get a beatin’ from Yuri. I told him that gettin’ his horse and sword was enough of an apology.” Head resting against the tree, he looks ethereal under the dappled sunlight that filters through the branches and leaves. His eyes are aglow, a greyish blue that reminds you of a stormy sea. Strong and unyielding, and yet soft like a spring rain when it comes to those he cares about. “‘m fine, love. You don’t have to worry.”
“Can’t help it.” As he tugs you beside him, you lay yourself down on his side, careful of his injury. “I worry, and I worry, but that’s a part of it. What am I supposed to do with you, Hobie Brown, hm?” You say with all the love in the world.
“Go behind the tree for me and fetch your present?” He utters sweetly against your temple.
“What?” Leaning away, your worried frown is turned upside down. “What for?”
“Your nameday present.” He smiles with you, picking up a stray leaf from the top of your head. “I didn’t finish it in time.”
“But you already gave me my present?” Your fingers play with the ruby necklace dangling around his neck as your brows knit together in confusion.
“A kiss and a visit to your chambers aren’t exactly a present worthy of you, lovie.”
“Then what is it?” There’s a growing smile on your face that Hobie loves so much.
“Look and you’ll see. I’ll go and get it for you but…” he gestures to his wound. “‘m a bit indisposed.”
With a stifled giggle, you kiss his cheek and leave his side to go around the large tree.
There’s a wicker basket filled with a wine bottle, a loaf of rye bread and your favorite cheese. Those were enough to make your heart a flutter but when you see a thick leather bound notebook beside the wine, it piques your interest and your stomach leaps at what could lie inside.
“You can’t miss it, love.” Adjusting his position, Hobie hides his excitement with a wince. His injury still aches but being in your presence is like a comforting balm on his wound.
You return with the basket in hand, grinning from ear to ear that even your brother would say is unladylike of you. “What’s inside?”
“It’s clearly food, my love.” Smirking, Hobie points at the basket, eyes shining teasingly.
“No,” sitting back down beside him, the basket laid in between the two of you, you show him the thick notebook. “I was talking about this.”
“It’s a notebook.” He simply says.
“Hobie, I’ve seen tomes thinner than this!” Giggling, he takes it from your hands and opens a random page for you to see. Your own smiling face drawn in sharp graphite greets you right on the parchment. Eyes watering, you gaze back at Hobie. “You— you drew this?”
“Aye, and a lot more.” He says with pride, flipping to another page where he drew you whilst you were getting fitted for a dress. “This one’s one of my favorites.”
“You rake.” Smiling, eyes crinkling in the corners, you peck the tip of his nose. “Please tell me that this has your wonderful poems in it.”
“Aye, one for each day that I’ve loved you.” He utters with all his heart.
“That’s a lot of poems.” Your eyes water, sniffing and yet your smile stays as he gently wipes a stray tear away from your cheek.
“There are a lot of days that I loved you.”
“I love it,” hugging the book against your chest, you gaze at him fondly through wet lashes. “And I love you, my knight.” With a smile, you lean closer, a hair’s width away from his lips as you give your proper thanks with a much needed kiss.
Taking your hand in his, he places it atop his heart as his thumb brushes along the ring he gave you. Usually it’s you who leans away first for air, but with his injury, Hobie’s the first to pull away, albeit reluctantly as he chases your lips for another peck before parting fully.
“How the tables have turned.” You utter jokingly above his lips, feeling his breathing hitch in his throat as he takes in a gulp of air. Your palm rubs his chest lovingly, encouraging him to breathe slowly as you inhale with him. “There you go, my knight, I’ve got you.”
“L—love.”
“I know, I know, I’m here.”
Hobie takes a deep breath in, wincing yet he steadies himself before you could help him with the glass of wine. “You bet on me.”
You roll your eyes. “Of course I did, I knew you’d win.”
“Sounds like you owe me my cut.” Smirking, Hobie’s arm snakes around you, pulling you impossibly closer beside him as the basket is pushed down in favour of having you near.
“Too bad, I forgot my coin pouch in the castle.” Arm around your shoulder, a hand squeezing your elbow, you instinctively lean your head atop his chest, hearing his heartbeat and how it syncs with yours.
He sighs, pecking the top of your head that doesn’t bear the heavy crown. “Good thing that we live in the same place.”
A beat passes, and you could feel the gnawing thought in the back of your mind.
“Hobie, I think my brother knows.” You bluntly say, craning your neck up to face him with tearful eyes. “About us.”
Instead of sadness or shock in his handsome face, he doesn’t seem to mind the revelation. “He’s the king and your brother, ‘m not even surprised.”
“Hobie,” you sit up, palm resting above his heart. “What if he assigns you somewhere else? What if, god forbid, strip you of your knighthood?”
“Lovie,” his tone softens even more as he caresses your cheek with his knuckles. “I know your brother, not as much as you do but I know that he loves you more than what the other houses think. He won’t do such a thing, especially if it means losin’ you.”
“Losing me?”
Hobie tilts his head, “what would you do if he does that? Separate us?”
You blink, chuckling at your own revelation. “You’re that confident that I’d leave with you?”
“Well, you don’t want to be queen someday and you’ve rejected every bachelor in the realm. ‘m fairly confident ‘bout it.”
“You ass.” Laughing, he matches your laughter as the sound gets carried by the wind, fluttering the wildflowers.
“‘m serious, your brother won’t do that. He’d rather you marry me than risk your wrath.”
“And would you?” Your tone turns quiet, unsure as your fingers play with the ties on his tunic. “Marry me if he makes us?”
“Lovie.” Hobie takes your face in his hands lovingly, calloused palms brushing along your skin like finely woven silk. “Even if he doesn’t make us, I’d do it. If you want to.”
“But you won’t be a knight anymore.” You utter through unshed tears, soft and quiet, as if saying it will strip him of his title.
“I could be both, I’d be honored to be both.” His forehead touches yours, gazing softly into your eyes as he holds you in his strong arms that have held you far longer than you could remember, that you’d let hold you forever if he could. “And if he does separate us, then what else is stoppin’ us from leavin’ this all behind for us?”
“M–must you be so sweet to make me cry joyfully?” Face planting right on his chest, you rub your tears right on his tunic as you feel his chuckle rumble in his chest.
“We could become farmers, or sail the seas and find somewhere as warm as this, where we could jus’ be us.”
“What k–kind of farmers?” You could barely get the words out as you let out a soft cry.
“Pomegranates, you always loved those the most.”
“Pomegranate farmers it is then, if not, we become pirates.” That earns a hearty chuckle from Hobie.
“I have to draw you like this.” Your squished face in his hands, you pout at him as he pecks the pout off your face until you’re grinning at him. “Add it to our collection.” Hobie gestures at the notebook on his lap with his head.
“As long as you’re in this one. Preferably with me.” Poking his chest, he matches your smile.
Pairing: Hobie Brown x fem! Reader/ Spider-Punk x fem! Reader
Word count: 5k
Synopsis: The Hobie Brown support group helps a fellow spider.
Tags: Use of Y/N sparsely, no specific physical description of the reader, cw food mentions, cw suggestive, established relationship, multiple variants of Hobie from my different AUs, cowboy!/OPIN! Hobie, dad! Hobie, Vampire!/IPOB! Hobie, Prowler! Hobie, Spy!/ Mr. Smith! Hobie, Pirate!/BDAS! Hobie, fluff!
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A part two of this fic!
A/N: Happy Valentine's day!! 💐❤️❤️
Hobie wakes up uncharacteristically early. It’s still dark out when his alarm buzzed around his wrist that he had to set to vibrate lest it wakes you up too. Your cheek is pressed against his chest, sleeping soundly, too soundly that he has to pry himself from your grasp like opening up a beartrap wrapped around him.
Carefully, once he’s out of your warm embrace, he takes his pillow and wedges it in your arms instead. Hopefully that’ll fool you before you suddenly wake up without him by your side after you felt his absence.
Just like he guessed, you squeeze the pillow and nuzzle your face atop it like how you'd usually do to him. He's completely enamored by you even with your hair all mussed, and drool on the corner of your lips.
With one last loving look at you, Hobie tip toes out of the bedroom, body still sore from last night’s activities, he’d stay in bed with you until noon if it weren’t for the fact that it’s Valentine’s day. He’s not a fan of the holiday’s capitalist side, but he does like the idea of celebrating love, and as much as he shows you how much he loves you every second of everyday, Valentine’s day can’t be beat, the kisses you left on his skin proves that.
The whole houseboat is dim except for the moonlight spilling from the windows and a single lamp as his light, with the whole place rocking softly against the waves outside. He’d turn on the kitchen lights but he can’t risk it when you could wake up from it. The remnants of last night’s dishes are still in the sink, long forgotten because the both of you got distracted by each other. He would wash it now but he needs to focus on your Valentine’s day present before you could wake up.
“Right.” He inhales the cold morning air, shivering as he opens the fridge, light flooding the kitchen whilst taking all the ingredients he hid behind a box of protein bars that James left. He was absolutely sure that you wouldn’t be able to look there when you’ve said that the protein bars tasted like chalk. Arms filled with ingredients, he shuts the door with his foot before he freezes from the cold and hobbles over to the counter.
Sucking in his teeth, Hobie then starts to gently take each ingredient down on the counter. Juggling cans of creams, milk, flour and eggs. The most fragile comes first, a single egg carton is placed safely, the shop he got it all from was last minute because Rhino was particularly not in a Valentine’s day mood, they only had two boxes of four eggs on the shelf when the recipe needed at least a dozen. He’s starting to regret choosing to make a pavlova now.
One carton is left in his arms, it sits atop a box of raspberries, and under that is a whole packaging of sugar that wobbles in his hold. His tongue pokes out from in between his pierced lips, deeply concentrating when one wrong move could topple the tower of ingredients and have you be woken up by a mountain of mess in the kitchen.
His hand shakes as he grasps the carton, and as if some cosmic entity wanted to see his downfall, his watch vibrates out of nowhere, a hologram screen suddenly popping out, scaring the shit out of him.
“Fuck—” he’d scream if it weren’t for you sleeping in the other room, but he stifles himself by biting his tongue.
Thanks to his quick reflexes, Hobie catches the toppled ingredients mid air like his life depended on it. He looks like a contestant in one of the Japanese game shows you watch where the contestants have to twist their body to fit into a very specific silhouette. His leg is lifted up to catch a carton of milk, arms raised on his sides to catch the flour and fruits, and of course the eggs just had to land right on his head. If his hair wasn’t already mussed from last night, it definitely is now.
“Looking like a proper ballerina, bruv.” His own voice sounds out from his watch as the hologram moves to automatically face him. “She did a number on you, hm?” An older version of him snickers, having almost the same marks right on his neck.
“Fuckin’ hell, old man.” Hobie huffs, exasperated. “It’s four in the bloody mornin’”
Another hologram pops up beside the existing one, a more pinkish hue that adds to the bright orange light of the former hologram. “Someone better be dyin’.” Another variant of Hobie appears within the pink hologram, yawning and scratching his scruff, this one has a southern drawl mixed in subtly with his accent. “You lot almost made me crush an egg.”
“Jus’ an egg? Don’t you live on a farm?” Hobie grimaces, hopping on one foot to place the carton of milk down and then bending over to slide the eggs to the counter. “The old man ‘ere almost made me drop everythin’.”
“‘m in the middle of nowhere durin’ the wild west, mate, it’s not all sunshine and rainbows ‘ere.”
“Alright, calm your flat arses, we all know that you’re all awake to make somethin’ for your lovies.” Dad Hobie rolls his eyes as he whisks something off screen. “Someone needs our help.”
“Need changin’ a diaper?” The cowboy version of him snickers, while the sound of a rooster echoes from his side of the call.
“Yeah, yeah, don’t forget that you’re lookin’ right at your future, wanker.” That shut him up as the older Hobie makes a scrunched face.
Hobie kneads at the space in between his brows, extra careful with taking the utensils he needed from the cupboards. “Who needs our help?”
“Prowler.” Dad Hobie says it with a teasing smile. “Say hi, prick.”
The room lights up with another hologram, this one in deep purple that almost drowns the rest of the holograms in its light. “How the fuck do you make chocolate?” His voice shakes desperately, whispered while he seems to be hiding in a dark room with his face so close to the camera. He looks like he’s in one of those found footage horror films that always makes your motion sickness act up.
“Why do you look like you’re in a coffin?”
“Yeah, that’s my thing, mate.” Another call blinks in, this time in bright crimson as this Hobie variant has two prominent fangs poking in between his smiling lips. He looks like he’s in his red velvet bathrobe, faring better than Hobie when he’s still in his boxer shorts, shivering in the cold.
“‘m hiding from my girl.” Prowler whispers, his locs swinging as he leans closer. “She sleeps like the world is huntin’ her, one fuckin’ sound and she’s awake with her claws out.”
“Well, she is the black cat.” Cowboy Hobie utters under his breath as he chops something up in the background.
“Hidin’ where exactly?” Hobie asks, finally starting to make the pavlova cake.
He sighs, rubbing the space in between his brows. “The closet.”
“We’ll be waitin’ for you when you’re ready, mate.” Cowboy and Older Hobie make the same exact joke.
“Bruv.”
“I remember dating a black cat, it ended with her shreddin’ my denim collection.” Vampire Hobie shivers as the sound of a sewing machine hums in the background.
“Wasn’t she a shape shifter?”
“Everyone shut the fuck up, how the fuck do I make chocolate?” The purple clad Hobie rambles on. “‘m on my last ingredients, I wasted a whole fuckin’ thing and it ended up lookin’ like actual shite.”
“I think that’s a talent.”
“Did it taste like shite too?”
“Prowler, did you forget Valentine’s day?” Hobie reads his desperation clearly with a slight tug in the corner of his lips.
Prowler clams up.
“Shit, you did.” The older variant chuckles, “I’d say that you’ll be fine if your lovie isn’t the black cat, but she is, so good fuckin’ luck.”
“At least yours isn’t an otherworldly bein’ or a cryptid. I know there’s a variant of her out there that’s like that.”
“It’s our first Valentine’s day, alright?” The poor Prowler variant sighs defeatedly. “It’s not my fault that I only realized when she showed up in a—”
“Let me stop you right there, mate,” Dad Hobie puts a finger up in the most fatherly way possible. “my boy is awake and watchin’ the telly but that doesn’t mean he can’t hear you.”
“Says you who has all those marks on you. And didn’t you call Prowler a prick jus’ then?” The outlaw says with a snicker.
“They’re mosquito bites. And he’s three years old, he doesn’t understand that.”
“And my arse is fat, fuck off. Now help me.” Prowler almost sounds like he’s whining, utterly desperate to get you something to show his fondness for you.
“Who’s three years old, Prowler or your kid?” Vampire Hobie guffaws, straight up calling the other older Hobie a liar as he chuckles to himself whilst he’s focused on his sewing.
“First off, what kind of chocolate are you tryin’ to make?” Cowboy Hobie asks, mixing something vigorously.
“Regular chocolate?” He makes a face, looking like he’s in some found footage film from the angle and from the pitch black background with only the hologram’s light shining on him. “I thought it was bloody simple, I even got the molds and everythin’.”
“Wait, you said you forgot the day, how did you get heart shaped molds last minute? I couldn’t even find a dozen eggs.” Hobie is in disbelief, remembering how every store in his dimension was picked clean of the valentine’s day stuff.
He shook his head at the over-consumption, that’s why he prefers making his gifts for you, something you’d appreciate better than a polyester heart shaped pillow that has been manufactured a million times before. The other Hobies share the same sentiment, he excuses Prowler for being desperate and with him having his first milestone with you, or more like with his own lovie. He’s still not used to that when all his variants have near identical partners with only small differences that are hard to decipher for someone who doesn’t know you.
Sighing, the Prowler grumbles something under his breath before showing them a Halloween themed chocolate mold, it clearly has a cat shape, a witch’s hat and cauldron, and tiny skulls.
The thunderous laughter that follows, both has Hobie and the Prowler lowering the volume and switching to the headphones that are attached on the side of the watch. Something that Miguel didn’t think of but the Hobie Brown variants did during one afternoon of tea. Their booming laughter shakes his ear as Hobie stifles a chuckle, not even blaming Prowler Hobie when he knows the desperation to make something to show his love for you.
“Mate, your lovie isn’t a witch!” Cowboy hoots, slapping his knee in laughter.
“Oh, you’re killin’ me!” The thousand year old Vampire laughs so hard that it looks like he fell from his chair as his camera shakes before it shows him lying on the floor giggling.
“‘m callin’ pirate and spy and siccin’ ‘em on your flat arses.” The purple variant whisper yells whilst glowering at his screen.
“What would they do, make me walk the plank and shoot me?” The outlaw taunts.
“Who am I shootin’ at?” A finely dressed Hobie variant blinks in, adding a green hue to the collection of holograms. His suit is all crinkled to hell, and there’s blood right on his collar that he doesn’t seem to mind one bit. Not a single Hobie looks too concerned about it either, already so used to his antics, his usual spy slash assassin self, and whatever the company has him doing with his fake missus.
“I don’t make people walk the plank anymore, I do keelhaulin’ now.” Another hologram appears, this time it’s in ocean blue, adding calmness to the call if not for Prowler’s annoyed expression. Pirate Hobie seems to be on top of the crow’s nest as the waves dance in the background, wind rushing against the speakers whilst sea shells clink together in his hands.
“Lovely.” Hobie sarcastically says, he regretted asking him what keelhauling is during one of the many meetings he has been in. The vampire showing him a historically accurate video of it didn’t help him one bit, he did understand the process of it, too well in fact.
“What’s happening?” The pirate captain asks whilst not looking at the screen as he chisels something in the background. “Wait, someone’s missin’” He sniffs, and blinks at the group of holograms that mirrors his own face.
“Cherry Hobie isn’t answerin’” The older Hobie answers, checking his watch and shaking his head, not out of pure disappointment but from understanding, but maybe with a bit of disappointment too. “so ‘m guessin’ that his lovie’s awake.”
“Bloody good.” The vampire is now sitting properly back on his chair. He has a dust bunny clinging to his velvet robe from when he fell to the floor. It’s a miracle that his lovie hasn’t woken up yet from all the racket he’s making with his sewing machine and from his fall “At least one of us is gettin’ it.”
“All our lovies are asleep?” Hobie asks as he measures his ingredients whilst the houseboat rocks in the waves, which is a task and a half in itself.
“After last night, she has to be.” Vampire Hobie chortles under his breath, smiling and puffing his chest with pride.
“Fuckin’ hell, we didn't need to hear that, bruv.”
“Wait, tinkerbell ain’t ‘ere either.” The dapper yet bloody Hobie asks, looking at the glowing holograms as he pauses from polishing something metallic.
“Right, well, that’s rough.” Making a face, the spy lights up a cigarette all suave like. It seems that he’s making something for you too, but Hobie can’t tell from how he’s holding onto a knife as a harsh lamp light illuminates his face, and he thinks that he doesn’t even want to know. “D’you think he’s cryin’ on a bed of flowers right now?”
“Don’t be mean to the poor bloke.” The older one chastises, clicking his teeth as he ties his long locs together before continuing to make breakfast.
“Yeah, you don’t know how good you have it, wanker.” With his fangs bared, the vampire shakes his head with a grimace. “I’d know.”
“‘m goin’ to hang up if you lot don’t help me.” Prowler almost whisper yells in between his teeth.
“What are you all makin’ for your lovies?” The pirate captain asks, fixing the bandana on his head before looking directly at Prowler with a subtle smirk. He clearly knows what he’s doing to the vigilante.
“Wha—”
“Kitt Kat, stop tryin’ to eat your sister’s barbie.” Sighing, the oldest of the bunch, vampire excluding, looks over his shoulder with a raised brow. “Mona’s goin’ to be mad at all the slobber you left.”
“‘m makin’ her a holster ‘cause she keeps complainin’ that the company mandated one is shit.” Surprisingly, the spy answers without a single quip. Instead, he smiles fondly at his handiwork before showing the fine leather holster up to the camera for everyone to see.
“I wish I thought of that!” With the waves thrashing at the side of the ship, pirate Hobie holds onto crow’s nest bannister. “I made her a trinket plate from a clam, and ‘m makin’ her a bundle of charms for her hair to match mine!” He yells atop the sound of the wind and the squawking seagulls, smiling brighter than the sunrise bathing him from above.
“She’d love the pearls, mate.” Grinning wholeheartedly, the outlaw moves his watch so it could face a finely woven blanket all folded neatly on the dining table. “I made her a blanket out of the wool from our sheep. Plus breakfast in bed.”
“Careful, bruv, or you’ll be seein’ clones of yourself runnin’ ‘round the farm from how sweet you are.” Chuckling, voice rumbling his chest, the older Hobie shows his stove that’s working overtime with the amount of food cooking on it. “‘m cookin’ breakfast for her and the family like always, and I made plates with my girls durin’ our ceramics class. It’s a bit lopsided but I know she’ll love it— Kitt, what’d I tell you ‘bout climbin’ the shelf.”
Suddenly, his hologram wobbles as he leaves the watch on the counter while the rest of them watch their older self rushing to grab the baby that’s climbing the shelf. Baby Kitt giggles loudly that the mics picked up. His babbling would have anyone cooing at him, even a thousand year old being.
“I should’ve muted you, mate.” Vampire Hobie sighs with a smile. “Great, now I want my own.”
“Isn’t that a death sentence for her?” Hobie asks, crouching down to place the cake inside the oven.
“No, this ain’t twilight. The baby might jus’ look weird.” Snorting, and the sewing machine whirring, the vampire knits his brows. “I think.”
“Weird like smeagol or weird like fae?” The spy puffs out smoke into the camera.
“Poor bloke is catchin’ strays and he ain’t even here.” A hand runs over the Prowler’s face, exasperated.
“Probably a mix of a muppet and CGI Renesmee.” The vampire is probably joking, but Hobie can’t really tell with him, and he’s a version of himself. “What about you, new Hobie? What’d you get for her?”
“I embroidered patches for her jacket and now ‘m makin’ chocolate and a pavlova cake. She really loved the one we had at James’ birthday.” Hobie doesn’t stop from baking as he starts mixing in the ingredients for the chocolate so it has time to cool in the freezer before you wake up.
“Finally someone knows how to—”
“‘m makin’ her patches too!” Fangs in full display, vampire Hobie interrupts the vigilante for what must’ve been the umpteenth time today. Hobie would feel bad for himself, but he isn’t. “And a pouch for her wooden stakes.”
“Fuckin’ hell can we jus’ focus!” The Prowler has had enough. “I jus’ need to know how to not make it taste like a battery!”
The Hobies pause for a moment, all having similar growing smirks on their faces before laughing at his attempts. Meanwhile, Prowler thumps his head quietly against the closet wall.
Dad Hobie is now carrying baby Kitt in his arm whilst the tiny version of him chugs milk. He makes a face after hearing the tail end of the conversation as he adjusts the bracelet back on his wrist properly. “How in the flyin’ fu— fudge did you manage that?”
“Dada!” Kitt points at the holograms happily.
“Hi, Kitt!” They simultaneously greet, except for an irked Prowler, who is currently rubbing at his temples.
“For the love of—” suddenly, the darkness around Prowler is illuminated as the closet door creaks open.
Hobie has never seen his own expression look so terrified and shocked before, he doesn’t bring a mirror during his toughest fights anyway, so it comes as a surprise to himself when he sees his own face looking so scared and befuddled that he shudders in place.
“Hi, lovie.” The Prowler smiles, albeit wobbly as he swallows thickly.
“What are you doin’ in my closet with…” your voice is heard in the background as everyone waits with bated breath, as if they make a sound they’d get the claws too. “...A shit ton of chocolate and my mixer?”
“Tryin’ to make you chocolate.” He simply says, doubling down on his ten megawatt smile as he stares up at you whilst holding onto the silicon tray of Halloween cats and cauldrons.
“Bloody smooth, mate.” Spy whispers, making the poor Prowler cover his whole watch before you could open the door wider.
“I heard you talking.” You utter, probably leaning against the doorway, Hobie knows that tone well enough to know that the Prowler version of him will be more than fine. Maybe there aren’t a lot of differences between your variants when he can tell the endearment and fondness in your cadence. “Already hitting up someone?”
“I was talkin’ to no one, jus’ myself.” He’s technically not lying. “And no, bloody hell, love.”
“C’mon, I can think of another use for all that chocolate.” Your voice seems to be closer to the receiver now, more sultry and saccharine. All the Hobies know that you’re most likely crouching down and cupping the Prowler’s chin in your hand with a flirty smile.
“Yeah?” The longing in his voice is very prominent, especially to the other variants, knowing it all too well.
It doesn’t take a genius to know when to drop him from the group call. The purple glow of his hologram blinks away, and the remaining Hobie variant gawps at their screens. The exact feeling strikes them after hearing your voice, they suddenly miss you, even though you’re just in the next room, or below in a shared cabin in pirate Hobie’s case. Or in a coffin for Vampire Hobie.
“‘m done with my present.” Stretching, the dubious spy is the first to break. “‘m goin’ to head out. She’s probably awake.” His hologram fades away without another explanation, but everyone could see the hidden excitement on his face.
“Aye, me too.” Clearing his throat, Pirate Hobie looks below the crow’s nest with a smile. “My lovie’s waitin’ for me below.” The cold blue hologram blinks out from the call.
The sound of a rooster echoes in the background of the outlaw’s hologram. “Yeah, I think my lovie’s awake too.” He’s either vying for the Oscar win or he heard your footfalls from above. “See you blokes next meetin’?”
“Yeah, don’t forget to bring the book I lent you.” Hobie says whilst his eyes keep darting towards the bedroom door where you remain asleep, resisting the urge to check on you.
The cowboy drops the call all too excitedly with a curt nod.
“Hear that? I think my darling’s awake.” No one believes the vampire as he giddily smiles, fangs and all, before shedding off his obvious lie. “‘m not goin’ to sugar coat it, lads, I want to snog my lovie.” He simply says before his hologram fades out into nothingness without another word.
“Right, jus’ us, old man.”
“Sorry, mate, ‘m done cookin’ and I have to put this little man back to bed or he’ll start biting me.” Bouncing the smiling Kitt in his arm, dad Hobie shuts the stove off and smiles at his son fondly. “Ain’t that right, Kitty? Say bye.”
“Bye, bye!” His Chubby hands wave at him goodbye as Kitt smiles toothily. Hobie couldn’t help but wave back with a chuckle, he can clearly see that the little Hobie got your smile and the way your eyes crinkle in the corners.
“Good luck with your cake, mate, ‘m sure she’ll love it.”
“Thanks, you have a good one, yeah?” Smiling, Hobie shuts the bracelet off as the older version of him nods and with Kitt waving enthusiastically back at him.
“What smells good?” Just in time, you lean against the doorway, eyes blinking at him blearily as you yawn. “Why are you awake so early?”
“Too many questions this early in the mornin’, lovie.” Leaving the mess in the kitchen, he distracts you by crossing the small distance, arms outstretched, and within a second, he’s embracing you and gently twisting you around to face the bedroom and away from his present.
“I’m asking a lot of questions because you’re being weird.” Nudging his jaw with your cheek as you giggle, he pats your behind and lifts you up briefly to place your feet atop his own. He hobbles back inside the bedroom with you whilst peppering your cheek with kisses. “Who are you and what have you done to my Hobie?”
“Jus’ your regular ol’ Hobie, sorry.” He whispers in your ear, blowing raspberries atop your cheek as you let out a giggle.
The back of your knees hit the bed, and the two of you plop down on the bed with his hand protecting the back of your head as the two of you bounce briefly together. He lands atop you, and he immediately buries his face in the crook of your neck, humming in satisfaction with your strawberry scented shampoo wafting over him.
“Oh, but I love this Hobie, just the way he is.” You coo endearingly, a soft touch caressing the back of his neck lovingly.
“And I love you,” leaning away to gaze back at you, Hobie beams from above, brushing a stray strand away from your cheek. You feel the calloused pads of his fingertips run along your jawline, tracing you like an artist with fine marble. “Even when this lovie is always late…” your chuckles interrupt him, and yet he matches your happiness as he wedges his knee in between your knees, elbows propped beside your head as he continues and makes himself comfortable atop you. “likes to interrupt when I confess my love for her, and always forgets her tea after makin’ it. I’ll still choose this lovie over…” Hobie leans closer, nosing the tip of your nose, a hair’s width away from your lips. “And over,” with a peck, he moves away as you chase his lips. “And over,” kiss, “and over again.”
Giddy from his antics, you then take his face in your hands, legs wrapping around his hips and locking him in place. Hobie grins as he kisses you, with every peck, with every touch, and with every breath he lets out he shows you his love for you. That you’re the only one for him in all the multitudes of universes.
Breathless, you pull away, pupils wide as you gaze upon his kiss bitten lips. “You taste like icing.”
“I know ‘m sweet, lovie.”
“Are you baking a cake?” Your eyes sparkles at the prospect.
“Maybe,” your excitement is palpable, ebbing over to him. “maybe not.” Your disappointment is immeasurable. “Probably.”
You pinch the smirk away from his expression, Hobie dramatically lands on his back on the bed, acting like your pinch was a smack from Rhino. Groaning with a roll of your eyes, it’s your turn to loom over him, a mirror of his previous position. “Cake for breakfast? I should be on my knees right now.” His eyes were enough for you to double back. “With a ring, Hobie! With a ring!”
“I wasn’t thinkin’ of anythin’ else.” He acts innocently, hands running up and down your sides.
“Behave or you won’t get your present from me.” Your empty threat has him grinning even more as his leg hooks around your thigh. Eyes flicking down, your lips curl into a mischievous smile. “Hobie.”
“Fine,” surrendering, he releases your leg and watches you twist in place to rummage through the bedside table. “You hid it in there?”
“Yep, I knew that you won’t touch the mess of wires in here.”
Shaking his head with a grin, Hobie places his arm over his eyes as he hears you curse under your breath. “Found it?”
“It’s like wrangling snakes— aha!” You crawl over to him once again, straddling his waist as you pat his arm. “Open.”
A dainty red box with a tiny ribbon is placed right on his chest. “Shit, you weren’t kiddin’ with the ring, hm?” His heart leaps at the sight of it.
Biting your bottom lip, he could feel your nerves. “Open it, please.”
“Only ‘cause you asked nicely.” Gently, he takes the box in his hands and carefully unwraps the ribbon. “Is it the part for my watch upgrade that I’ve been lookin’ for?”
“Finding a unicorn for you is much easier than getting you that doohickey.”
“Doohickey—” his snort abruptly stops as he stares at a ring that’s shaped like a guitar, not just any guitar, his own guitar. An almost perfect replica, only smaller with less stickers and scratches. “Holy shit.”
“I said the same thing after I finished it. I surprised even myself.”
The way his neck craned up to look at you so fast you thought that he cracked something. “You made this?” His chest fills with pride, gazing at you proudly. He never doubted that you’re good at anything you put your mind into.
“Yeah, I took a jewelry making class, it was more like blacksmithing with all the smelting we did though.” Tilting your head, your fingers tap his lean stomach rhythmically. “But that’s what I made from what I learned, do you like it?”
“Is this why you had those burns on your hands before?” His hand grasps your own, thumb caressing a small scar right on your palm.
“...yeah,” you bashfully say, heart pounding. “It was worth it though.”
“Lovie…” Hobie can’t believe his eyes, the effort you put into this single tiny ring has him thinking that he’s the one who should be giving you a ring whilst he’s on his knees and proudly telling you about his undoubted love for you. “I should’ve made a three tier cake.” You deserve it all, but for now, he needs to snog you until he’s breathless or he’ll spontaneously combust.
Your loud guffaw has your head throwing backwards, and he matches your laughter, eyes crinkling in the corners that never fails to have you smiling even more. “I’ll take any kind of cake you bake happily, Hobie.”
“I fuckin’ love it,” sitting up, he quickly puts on the ring before cupping your face in his hands as you feel the cold metal against your cheek. “I fuckin’ love you.” Peppering your face in kisses until you’re a giggling mess, Hobie smiles through every single one of them.
“Hobie,” you’d kiss back if he wasn’t so eager to eat your face. Sniffing, you smell something burning. “Hobie.”
“Let.” Kiss, “Me.” Kiss, “Snog you.”
“Hobie, the cake!”
“Ah, fuck!” Maybe he should’ve let you off his lap before rushing to the kitchen as he manages to carry you whilst sprinting to save the cake and the houseboat from a very warm Valentine’s day.
Was reading this again (because I am OBSESSED) and it got me thinking....who's 'Cherry Hobie' 👀 lowkey think its either TTN Hobie or co-worker Hobie... or i could be just thinking too much into jt.....
Ughh I need to catch up on your others fics too ESPECIALLY BDAS NEW CHAPTER. 😓😓 hatteeee being so busy n not indulge myself into your amazing works 💔💔
Pairing: Hobie Brown x fem! Reader/ Spider-Punk x fem! Reader
Word count: 5k
Synopsis: The Hobie Brown support group helps a fellow spider.
Tags: Use of Y/N sparsely, no specific physical description of the reader, cw food mentions, cw suggestive, established relationship, multiple variants of Hobie from my different AUs, cowboy!/OPIN! Hobie, dad! Hobie, Vampire!/IPOB! Hobie, Prowler! Hobie, Spy!/ Mr. Smith! Hobie, Pirate!/BDAS! Hobie, fluff!
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A part two of this fic!
A/N: Happy Valentine's day!! 💐❤️❤️
Hobie wakes up uncharacteristically early. It’s still dark out when his alarm buzzed around his wrist that he had to set to vibrate lest it wakes you up too. Your cheek is pressed against his chest, sleeping soundly, too soundly that he has to pry himself from your grasp like opening up a beartrap wrapped around him.
Carefully, once he’s out of your warm embrace, he takes his pillow and wedges it in your arms instead. Hopefully that’ll fool you before you suddenly wake up without him by your side after you felt his absence.
Just like he guessed, you squeeze the pillow and nuzzle your face atop it like how you'd usually do to him. He's completely enamored by you even with your hair all mussed, and drool on the corner of your lips.
With one last loving look at you, Hobie tip toes out of the bedroom, body still sore from last night’s activities, he’d stay in bed with you until noon if it weren’t for the fact that it’s Valentine’s day. He’s not a fan of the holiday’s capitalist side, but he does like the idea of celebrating love, and as much as he shows you how much he loves you every second of everyday, Valentine’s day can’t be beat, the kisses you left on his skin proves that.
The whole houseboat is dim except for the moonlight spilling from the windows and a single lamp as his light, with the whole place rocking softly against the waves outside. He’d turn on the kitchen lights but he can’t risk it when you could wake up from it. The remnants of last night’s dishes are still in the sink, long forgotten because the both of you got distracted by each other. He would wash it now but he needs to focus on your Valentine’s day present before you could wake up.
“Right.” He inhales the cold morning air, shivering as he opens the fridge, light flooding the kitchen whilst taking all the ingredients he hid behind a box of protein bars that James left. He was absolutely sure that you wouldn’t be able to look there when you’ve said that the protein bars tasted like chalk. Arms filled with ingredients, he shuts the door with his foot before he freezes from the cold and hobbles over to the counter.
Sucking in his teeth, Hobie then starts to gently take each ingredient down on the counter. Juggling cans of creams, milk, flour and eggs. The most fragile comes first, a single egg carton is placed safely, the shop he got it all from was last minute because Rhino was particularly not in a Valentine’s day mood, they only had two boxes of four eggs on the shelf when the recipe needed at least a dozen. He’s starting to regret choosing to make a pavlova now.
One carton is left in his arms, it sits atop a box of raspberries, and under that is a whole packaging of sugar that wobbles in his hold. His tongue pokes out from in between his pierced lips, deeply concentrating when one wrong move could topple the tower of ingredients and have you be woken up by a mountain of mess in the kitchen.
His hand shakes as he grasps the carton, and as if some cosmic entity wanted to see his downfall, his watch vibrates out of nowhere, a hologram screen suddenly popping out, scaring the shit out of him.
“Fuck—” he’d scream if it weren’t for you sleeping in the other room, but he stifles himself by biting his tongue.
Thanks to his quick reflexes, Hobie catches the toppled ingredients mid air like his life depended on it. He looks like a contestant in one of the Japanese game shows you watch where the contestants have to twist their body to fit into a very specific silhouette. His leg is lifted up to catch a carton of milk, arms raised on his sides to catch the flour and fruits, and of course the eggs just had to land right on his head. If his hair wasn’t already mussed from last night, it definitely is now.
“Looking like a proper ballerina, bruv.” His own voice sounds out from his watch as the hologram moves to automatically face him. “She did a number on you, hm?” An older version of him snickers, having almost the same marks right on his neck.
“Fuckin’ hell, old man.” Hobie huffs, exasperated. “It’s four in the bloody mornin’”
Another hologram pops up beside the existing one, a more pinkish hue that adds to the bright orange light of the former hologram. “Someone better be dyin’.” Another variant of Hobie appears within the pink hologram, yawning and scratching his scruff, this one has a southern drawl mixed in subtly with his accent. “You lot almost made me crush an egg.”
“Jus’ an egg? Don’t you live on a farm?” Hobie grimaces, hopping on one foot to place the carton of milk down and then bending over to slide the eggs to the counter. “The old man ‘ere almost made me drop everythin’.”
“‘m in the middle of nowhere durin’ the wild west, mate, it’s not all sunshine and rainbows ‘ere.”
“Alright, calm your flat arses, we all know that you’re all awake to make somethin’ for your lovies.” Dad Hobie rolls his eyes as he whisks something off screen. “Someone needs our help.”
“Need changin’ a diaper?” The cowboy version of him snickers, while the sound of a rooster echoes from his side of the call.
“Yeah, yeah, don’t forget that you’re lookin’ right at your future, wanker.” That shut him up as the older Hobie makes a scrunched face.
Hobie kneads at the space in between his brows, extra careful with taking the utensils he needed from the cupboards. “Who needs our help?”
“Prowler.” Dad Hobie says it with a teasing smile. “Say hi, prick.”
The room lights up with another hologram, this one in deep purple that almost drowns the rest of the holograms in its light. “How the fuck do you make chocolate?” His voice shakes desperately, whispered while he seems to be hiding in a dark room with his face so close to the camera. He looks like he’s in one of those found footage horror films that always makes your motion sickness act up.
“Why do you look like you’re in a coffin?”
“Yeah, that’s my thing, mate.” Another call blinks in, this time in bright crimson as this Hobie variant has two prominent fangs poking in between his smiling lips. He looks like he’s in his red velvet bathrobe, faring better than Hobie when he’s still in his boxer shorts, shivering in the cold.
“‘m hiding from my girl.” Prowler whispers, his locs swinging as he leans closer. “She sleeps like the world is huntin’ her, one fuckin’ sound and she’s awake with her claws out.”
“Well, she is the black cat.” Cowboy Hobie utters under his breath as he chops something up in the background.
“Hidin’ where exactly?” Hobie asks, finally starting to make the pavlova cake.
He sighs, rubbing the space in between his brows. “The closet.”
“We’ll be waitin’ for you when you’re ready, mate.” Cowboy and Older Hobie make the same exact joke.
“Bruv.”
“I remember dating a black cat, it ended with her shreddin’ my denim collection.” Vampire Hobie shivers as the sound of a sewing machine hums in the background.
“Wasn’t she a shape shifter?”
“Everyone shut the fuck up, how the fuck do I make chocolate?” The purple clad Hobie rambles on. “‘m on my last ingredients, I wasted a whole fuckin’ thing and it ended up lookin’ like actual shite.”
“I think that’s a talent.”
“Did it taste like shite too?”
“Prowler, did you forget Valentine’s day?” Hobie reads his desperation clearly with a slight tug in the corner of his lips.
Prowler clams up.
“Shit, you did.” The older variant chuckles, “I’d say that you’ll be fine if your lovie isn’t the black cat, but she is, so good fuckin’ luck.”
“At least yours isn’t an otherworldly bein’ or a cryptid. I know there’s a variant of her out there that’s like that.”
“It’s our first Valentine’s day, alright?” The poor Prowler variant sighs defeatedly. “It’s not my fault that I only realized when she showed up in a—”
“Let me stop you right there, mate,” Dad Hobie puts a finger up in the most fatherly way possible. “my boy is awake and watchin’ the telly but that doesn’t mean he can’t hear you.”
“Says you who has all those marks on you. And didn’t you call Prowler a prick jus’ then?” The outlaw says with a snicker.
“They’re mosquito bites. And he’s three years old, he doesn’t understand that.”
“And my arse is fat, fuck off. Now help me.” Prowler almost sounds like he’s whining, utterly desperate to get you something to show his fondness for you.
“Who’s three years old, Prowler or your kid?” Vampire Hobie guffaws, straight up calling the other older Hobie a liar as he chuckles to himself whilst he’s focused on his sewing.
“First off, what kind of chocolate are you tryin’ to make?” Cowboy Hobie asks, mixing something vigorously.
“Regular chocolate?” He makes a face, looking like he’s in some found footage film from the angle and from the pitch black background with only the hologram’s light shining on him. “I thought it was bloody simple, I even got the molds and everythin’.”
“Wait, you said you forgot the day, how did you get heart shaped molds last minute? I couldn’t even find a dozen eggs.” Hobie is in disbelief, remembering how every store in his dimension was picked clean of the valentine’s day stuff.
He shook his head at the over-consumption, that’s why he prefers making his gifts for you, something you’d appreciate better than a polyester heart shaped pillow that has been manufactured a million times before. The other Hobies share the same sentiment, he excuses Prowler for being desperate and with him having his first milestone with you, or more like with his own lovie. He’s still not used to that when all his variants have near identical partners with only small differences that are hard to decipher for someone who doesn’t know you.
Sighing, the Prowler grumbles something under his breath before showing them a Halloween themed chocolate mold, it clearly has a cat shape, a witch’s hat and cauldron, and tiny skulls.
The thunderous laughter that follows, both has Hobie and the Prowler lowering the volume and switching to the headphones that are attached on the side of the watch. Something that Miguel didn’t think of but the Hobie Brown variants did during one afternoon of tea. Their booming laughter shakes his ear as Hobie stifles a chuckle, not even blaming Prowler Hobie when he knows the desperation to make something to show his love for you.
“Mate, your lovie isn’t a witch!” Cowboy hoots, slapping his knee in laughter.
“Oh, you’re killin’ me!” The thousand year old Vampire laughs so hard that it looks like he fell from his chair as his camera shakes before it shows him lying on the floor giggling.
“‘m callin’ pirate and spy and siccin’ ‘em on your flat arses.” The purple variant whisper yells whilst glowering at his screen.
“What would they do, make me walk the plank and shoot me?” The outlaw taunts.
“Who am I shootin’ at?” A finely dressed Hobie variant blinks in, adding a green hue to the collection of holograms. His suit is all crinkled to hell, and there’s blood right on his collar that he doesn’t seem to mind one bit. Not a single Hobie looks too concerned about it either, already so used to his antics, his usual spy slash assassin self, and whatever the company has him doing with his fake missus.
“I don’t make people walk the plank anymore, I do keelhaulin’ now.” Another hologram appears, this time it’s in ocean blue, adding calmness to the call if not for Prowler’s annoyed expression. Pirate Hobie seems to be on top of the crow’s nest as the waves dance in the background, wind rushing against the speakers whilst sea shells clink together in his hands.
“Lovely.” Hobie sarcastically says, he regretted asking him what keelhauling is during one of the many meetings he has been in. The vampire showing him a historically accurate video of it didn’t help him one bit, he did understand the process of it, too well in fact.
“What’s happening?” The pirate captain asks whilst not looking at the screen as he chisels something in the background. “Wait, someone’s missin’” He sniffs, and blinks at the group of holograms that mirrors his own face.
“Cherry Hobie isn’t answerin’” The older Hobie answers, checking his watch and shaking his head, not out of pure disappointment but from understanding, but maybe with a bit of disappointment too. “so ‘m guessin’ that his lovie’s awake.”
“Bloody good.” The vampire is now sitting properly back on his chair. He has a dust bunny clinging to his velvet robe from when he fell to the floor. It’s a miracle that his lovie hasn’t woken up yet from all the racket he’s making with his sewing machine and from his fall “At least one of us is gettin’ it.”
“All our lovies are asleep?” Hobie asks as he measures his ingredients whilst the houseboat rocks in the waves, which is a task and a half in itself.
“After last night, she has to be.” Vampire Hobie chortles under his breath, smiling and puffing his chest with pride.
“Fuckin’ hell, we didn't need to hear that, bruv.”
“Wait, tinkerbell ain’t ‘ere either.” The dapper yet bloody Hobie asks, looking at the glowing holograms as he pauses from polishing something metallic.
“Right, well, that’s rough.” Making a face, the spy lights up a cigarette all suave like. It seems that he’s making something for you too, but Hobie can’t tell from how he’s holding onto a knife as a harsh lamp light illuminates his face, and he thinks that he doesn’t even want to know. “D’you think he’s cryin’ on a bed of flowers right now?”
“Don’t be mean to the poor bloke.” The older one chastises, clicking his teeth as he ties his long locs together before continuing to make breakfast.
“Yeah, you don’t know how good you have it, wanker.” With his fangs bared, the vampire shakes his head with a grimace. “I’d know.”
“‘m goin’ to hang up if you lot don’t help me.” Prowler almost whisper yells in between his teeth.
“What are you all makin’ for your lovies?” The pirate captain asks, fixing the bandana on his head before looking directly at Prowler with a subtle smirk. He clearly knows what he’s doing to the vigilante.
“Wha—”
“Kitt Kat, stop tryin’ to eat your sister’s barbie.” Sighing, the oldest of the bunch, vampire excluding, looks over his shoulder with a raised brow. “Mona’s goin’ to be mad at all the slobber you left.”
“‘m makin’ her a holster ‘cause she keeps complainin’ that the company mandated one is shit.” Surprisingly, the spy answers without a single quip. Instead, he smiles fondly at his handiwork before showing the fine leather holster up to the camera for everyone to see.
“I wish I thought of that!” With the waves thrashing at the side of the ship, pirate Hobie holds onto crow’s nest bannister. “I made her a trinket plate from a clam, and ‘m makin’ her a bundle of charms for her hair to match mine!” He yells atop the sound of the wind and the squawking seagulls, smiling brighter than the sunrise bathing him from above.
“She’d love the pearls, mate.” Grinning wholeheartedly, the outlaw moves his watch so it could face a finely woven blanket all folded neatly on the dining table. “I made her a blanket out of the wool from our sheep. Plus breakfast in bed.”
“Careful, bruv, or you’ll be seein’ clones of yourself runnin’ ‘round the farm from how sweet you are.” Chuckling, voice rumbling his chest, the older Hobie shows his stove that’s working overtime with the amount of food cooking on it. “‘m cookin’ breakfast for her and the family like always, and I made plates with my girls durin’ our ceramics class. It’s a bit lopsided but I know she’ll love it— Kitt, what’d I tell you ‘bout climbin’ the shelf.”
Suddenly, his hologram wobbles as he leaves the watch on the counter while the rest of them watch their older self rushing to grab the baby that’s climbing the shelf. Baby Kitt giggles loudly that the mics picked up. His babbling would have anyone cooing at him, even a thousand year old being.
“I should’ve muted you, mate.” Vampire Hobie sighs with a smile. “Great, now I want my own.”
“Isn’t that a death sentence for her?” Hobie asks, crouching down to place the cake inside the oven.
“No, this ain’t twilight. The baby might jus’ look weird.” Snorting, and the sewing machine whirring, the vampire knits his brows. “I think.”
“Weird like smeagol or weird like fae?” The spy puffs out smoke into the camera.
“Poor bloke is catchin’ strays and he ain’t even here.” A hand runs over the Prowler’s face, exasperated.
“Probably a mix of a muppet and CGI Renesmee.” The vampire is probably joking, but Hobie can’t really tell with him, and he’s a version of himself. “What about you, new Hobie? What’d you get for her?”
“I embroidered patches for her jacket and now ‘m makin’ chocolate and a pavlova cake. She really loved the one we had at James’ birthday.” Hobie doesn’t stop from baking as he starts mixing in the ingredients for the chocolate so it has time to cool in the freezer before you wake up.
“Finally someone knows how to—”
“‘m makin’ her patches too!” Fangs in full display, vampire Hobie interrupts the vigilante for what must’ve been the umpteenth time today. Hobie would feel bad for himself, but he isn’t. “And a pouch for her wooden stakes.”
“Fuckin’ hell can we jus’ focus!” The Prowler has had enough. “I jus’ need to know how to not make it taste like a battery!”
The Hobies pause for a moment, all having similar growing smirks on their faces before laughing at his attempts. Meanwhile, Prowler thumps his head quietly against the closet wall.
Dad Hobie is now carrying baby Kitt in his arm whilst the tiny version of him chugs milk. He makes a face after hearing the tail end of the conversation as he adjusts the bracelet back on his wrist properly. “How in the flyin’ fu— fudge did you manage that?”
“Dada!” Kitt points at the holograms happily.
“Hi, Kitt!” They simultaneously greet, except for an irked Prowler, who is currently rubbing at his temples.
“For the love of—” suddenly, the darkness around Prowler is illuminated as the closet door creaks open.
Hobie has never seen his own expression look so terrified and shocked before, he doesn’t bring a mirror during his toughest fights anyway, so it comes as a surprise to himself when he sees his own face looking so scared and befuddled that he shudders in place.
“Hi, lovie.” The Prowler smiles, albeit wobbly as he swallows thickly.
“What are you doin’ in my closet with…” your voice is heard in the background as everyone waits with bated breath, as if they make a sound they’d get the claws too. “...A shit ton of chocolate and my mixer?”
“Tryin’ to make you chocolate.” He simply says, doubling down on his ten megawatt smile as he stares up at you whilst holding onto the silicon tray of Halloween cats and cauldrons.
“Bloody smooth, mate.” Spy whispers, making the poor Prowler cover his whole watch before you could open the door wider.
“I heard you talking.” You utter, probably leaning against the doorway, Hobie knows that tone well enough to know that the Prowler version of him will be more than fine. Maybe there aren’t a lot of differences between your variants when he can tell the endearment and fondness in your cadence. “Already hitting up someone?”
“I was talkin’ to no one, jus’ myself.” He’s technically not lying. “And no, bloody hell, love.”
“C’mon, I can think of another use for all that chocolate.” Your voice seems to be closer to the receiver now, more sultry and saccharine. All the Hobies know that you’re most likely crouching down and cupping the Prowler’s chin in your hand with a flirty smile.
“Yeah?” The longing in his voice is very prominent, especially to the other variants, knowing it all too well.
It doesn’t take a genius to know when to drop him from the group call. The purple glow of his hologram blinks away, and the remaining Hobie variant gawps at their screens. The exact feeling strikes them after hearing your voice, they suddenly miss you, even though you’re just in the next room, or below in a shared cabin in pirate Hobie’s case. Or in a coffin for Vampire Hobie.
“‘m done with my present.” Stretching, the dubious spy is the first to break. “‘m goin’ to head out. She’s probably awake.” His hologram fades away without another explanation, but everyone could see the hidden excitement on his face.
“Aye, me too.” Clearing his throat, Pirate Hobie looks below the crow’s nest with a smile. “My lovie’s waitin’ for me below.” The cold blue hologram blinks out from the call.
The sound of a rooster echoes in the background of the outlaw’s hologram. “Yeah, I think my lovie’s awake too.” He’s either vying for the Oscar win or he heard your footfalls from above. “See you blokes next meetin’?”
“Yeah, don’t forget to bring the book I lent you.” Hobie says whilst his eyes keep darting towards the bedroom door where you remain asleep, resisting the urge to check on you.
The cowboy drops the call all too excitedly with a curt nod.
“Hear that? I think my darling’s awake.” No one believes the vampire as he giddily smiles, fangs and all, before shedding off his obvious lie. “‘m not goin’ to sugar coat it, lads, I want to snog my lovie.” He simply says before his hologram fades out into nothingness without another word.
“Right, jus’ us, old man.”
“Sorry, mate, ‘m done cookin’ and I have to put this little man back to bed or he’ll start biting me.” Bouncing the smiling Kitt in his arm, dad Hobie shuts the stove off and smiles at his son fondly. “Ain’t that right, Kitty? Say bye.”
“Bye, bye!” His Chubby hands wave at him goodbye as Kitt smiles toothily. Hobie couldn’t help but wave back with a chuckle, he can clearly see that the little Hobie got your smile and the way your eyes crinkle in the corners.
“Good luck with your cake, mate, ‘m sure she’ll love it.”
“Thanks, you have a good one, yeah?” Smiling, Hobie shuts the bracelet off as the older version of him nods and with Kitt waving enthusiastically back at him.
“What smells good?” Just in time, you lean against the doorway, eyes blinking at him blearily as you yawn. “Why are you awake so early?”
“Too many questions this early in the mornin’, lovie.” Leaving the mess in the kitchen, he distracts you by crossing the small distance, arms outstretched, and within a second, he’s embracing you and gently twisting you around to face the bedroom and away from his present.
“I’m asking a lot of questions because you’re being weird.” Nudging his jaw with your cheek as you giggle, he pats your behind and lifts you up briefly to place your feet atop his own. He hobbles back inside the bedroom with you whilst peppering your cheek with kisses. “Who are you and what have you done to my Hobie?”
“Jus’ your regular ol’ Hobie, sorry.” He whispers in your ear, blowing raspberries atop your cheek as you let out a giggle.
The back of your knees hit the bed, and the two of you plop down on the bed with his hand protecting the back of your head as the two of you bounce briefly together. He lands atop you, and he immediately buries his face in the crook of your neck, humming in satisfaction with your strawberry scented shampoo wafting over him.
“Oh, but I love this Hobie, just the way he is.” You coo endearingly, a soft touch caressing the back of his neck lovingly.
“And I love you,” leaning away to gaze back at you, Hobie beams from above, brushing a stray strand away from your cheek. You feel the calloused pads of his fingertips run along your jawline, tracing you like an artist with fine marble. “Even when this lovie is always late…” your chuckles interrupt him, and yet he matches your happiness as he wedges his knee in between your knees, elbows propped beside your head as he continues and makes himself comfortable atop you. “likes to interrupt when I confess my love for her, and always forgets her tea after makin’ it. I’ll still choose this lovie over…” Hobie leans closer, nosing the tip of your nose, a hair’s width away from your lips. “And over,” with a peck, he moves away as you chase his lips. “And over,” kiss, “and over again.”
Giddy from his antics, you then take his face in your hands, legs wrapping around his hips and locking him in place. Hobie grins as he kisses you, with every peck, with every touch, and with every breath he lets out he shows you his love for you. That you’re the only one for him in all the multitudes of universes.
Breathless, you pull away, pupils wide as you gaze upon his kiss bitten lips. “You taste like icing.”
“I know ‘m sweet, lovie.”
“Are you baking a cake?” Your eyes sparkles at the prospect.
“Maybe,” your excitement is palpable, ebbing over to him. “maybe not.” Your disappointment is immeasurable. “Probably.”
You pinch the smirk away from his expression, Hobie dramatically lands on his back on the bed, acting like your pinch was a smack from Rhino. Groaning with a roll of your eyes, it’s your turn to loom over him, a mirror of his previous position. “Cake for breakfast? I should be on my knees right now.” His eyes were enough for you to double back. “With a ring, Hobie! With a ring!”
“I wasn’t thinkin’ of anythin’ else.” He acts innocently, hands running up and down your sides.
“Behave or you won’t get your present from me.” Your empty threat has him grinning even more as his leg hooks around your thigh. Eyes flicking down, your lips curl into a mischievous smile. “Hobie.”
“Fine,” surrendering, he releases your leg and watches you twist in place to rummage through the bedside table. “You hid it in there?”
“Yep, I knew that you won’t touch the mess of wires in here.”
Shaking his head with a grin, Hobie places his arm over his eyes as he hears you curse under your breath. “Found it?”
“It’s like wrangling snakes— aha!” You crawl over to him once again, straddling his waist as you pat his arm. “Open.”
A dainty red box with a tiny ribbon is placed right on his chest. “Shit, you weren’t kiddin’ with the ring, hm?” His heart leaps at the sight of it.
Biting your bottom lip, he could feel your nerves. “Open it, please.”
“Only ‘cause you asked nicely.” Gently, he takes the box in his hands and carefully unwraps the ribbon. “Is it the part for my watch upgrade that I’ve been lookin’ for?”
“Finding a unicorn for you is much easier than getting you that doohickey.”
“Doohickey—” his snort abruptly stops as he stares at a ring that’s shaped like a guitar, not just any guitar, his own guitar. An almost perfect replica, only smaller with less stickers and scratches. “Holy shit.”
“I said the same thing after I finished it. I surprised even myself.”
The way his neck craned up to look at you so fast you thought that he cracked something. “You made this?” His chest fills with pride, gazing at you proudly. He never doubted that you’re good at anything you put your mind into.
“Yeah, I took a jewelry making class, it was more like blacksmithing with all the smelting we did though.” Tilting your head, your fingers tap his lean stomach rhythmically. “But that’s what I made from what I learned, do you like it?”
“Is this why you had those burns on your hands before?” His hand grasps your own, thumb caressing a small scar right on your palm.
“...yeah,” you bashfully say, heart pounding. “It was worth it though.”
“Lovie…” Hobie can’t believe his eyes, the effort you put into this single tiny ring has him thinking that he’s the one who should be giving you a ring whilst he’s on his knees and proudly telling you about his undoubted love for you. “I should’ve made a three tier cake.” You deserve it all, but for now, he needs to snog you until he’s breathless or he’ll spontaneously combust.
Your loud guffaw has your head throwing backwards, and he matches your laughter, eyes crinkling in the corners that never fails to have you smiling even more. “I’ll take any kind of cake you bake happily, Hobie.”
“I fuckin’ love it,” sitting up, he quickly puts on the ring before cupping your face in his hands as you feel the cold metal against your cheek. “I fuckin’ love you.” Peppering your face in kisses until you’re a giggling mess, Hobie smiles through every single one of them.
“Hobie,” you’d kiss back if he wasn’t so eager to eat your face. Sniffing, you smell something burning. “Hobie.”
“Let.” Kiss, “Me.” Kiss, “Snog you.”
“Hobie, the cake!”
“Ah, fuck!” Maybe he should’ve let you off his lap before rushing to the kitchen as he manages to carry you whilst sprinting to save the cake and the houseboat from a very warm Valentine’s day.
Are requests still open? I am a sucker for the coworker au. Would you do a one shot with sick reader? MJ is m.i.a after saying she'd pick up medicine and soup. Hobie calls to check in with r and realises MJ bailed so he takes matters into his own hands and does what he can till r feels better. If you want to make it a little drama maybe he sees MJ on his was over, but shes very obviously not getting stuff for r?
Coworker au oh how I missed writing you!!! Thank you for requesting! I hope you like it ❤️
Pairing: Hobie Brown x fem! Reader/ Spider-Punk x fem! Reader
Word count: 4.3k
Tags: No use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader except for clothing, co-worker AU, based around my co-worker series, established relationship, description of illness, food mention, one suggestive joke, fluff!
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My requests are open!
Hobie was looking forward to work today, but not because he really absolutely wanted to get some work done. Simply because of someone he really wanted to see, someone he doesn’t get tired of seeing everyday, someone he dares not say that he has been crushing on hard. Someone he really wanted to talk to about a movie that you two have been waiting for what seems to be forever that coincidentally opens next weekend, and by sheer coincidence, he already has tickets for. Two tickets to be exact.
And that someone is currently missing work. Something so unusual that his worry slithers up his throat almost immediately. The whole time you’ve been working for the company, you’ve never missed a day of work, you were never late either.
When he went to your desk to drop off a package for you, you were obviously not there. Your chair is still tucked under the desk, and the unmistakable scent of your perfume doesn’t linger in the air either. He’d ask your desk neighbor, Harry, but Hobie’s not on good terms with him right now and would rather listen to nails on a chalkboard than to hear his voice. So with the excuse of the very important package, he goes to Lyla in the HR department. If anyone knows where you are, it would be her.
Hobie hates Lyla’s department, he likes Lyla enough, she’s a chatterbox and likes to gossip but at least she’s funny and is very much in support of the union. But the HR department just gives him the heebie-jeebies. Maybe it’s the unnerving posters that remind him of propaganda, or the utter quiet inside, either way, he really doesn’t want to be here right now. He’d call you but he doesn’t want to be that bloke since you're not responding to his message. So off he goes to the HR department that smells weirdly of photocopy ink and stale coffee.
Package in hand, Hobie knocks on Lyla’s office door before opening it. Peeking through the crack, he sees something he never thought was possible— Lyla working.
“Hobie, sorry, I’ll be with you in a second.”
“If you’re busy I can come back.” The box rattles in his arm as he points back to the hallway.
“Nope,” she finishes her typing with a flair. “You’re good, come in.”
Hobie’s eyes are narrowed suspiciously at her as he walks further in. “Yeah, I have a package for—”
“She’s sick.” She immediately answers, hands folding in front of her. “I can already tell by the look on your face.”
“What?” Hobie blinks, nose scrunching as Lyla simply raises a brow, not even intending to explain herself. “Did she say anythin’ else?”
“Just that, but she really sounded sick. Like dying kind of sick.” Lyla leans forward for emphasis. “But I wouldn’t worry too much, she said that her roommate is getting her the meds.”
“MJ? Yeah, sure…” his worry grows. “I’ll jus’ keep this in the mail room for now.”
“Oh yeah,” before Hobie could walk away, she calls him again. “by the way, Harry doesn’t know.”
“About what?” Looking over his shoulder, Hobie’s brows instinctively knits together after hearing Harry’s name.
“That she’s sick or he’d already be there.” Lyla, for some reason, sends him a wink, as if they have a secret shared. “I mean he’d be missing work for her but we all know that he doesn’t need any more money.”
His grasp on the doorknob loosens as he raises a questioning pierced brow. “Why are you tellin’ me this, bruv?”
“Because, bruv,” she scoffs, rolling her eyes. “I’m here to tell you that you can have an early lunch. On the house.” Lounging back on her seat, Lyla flashes him a wicked grin, brows rising up and down. “You know, just in case you want to get a nice warm chicken soup from the nearby deli place for no reason. I heard that it’s a miracle cure.”
“Why are you doin’ this?” Hobie's eyes narrow dangerously.
“Maybe just maybe, I’m a good friend.”
“To me, or to her?”
“Why can’t I be both?” Shrugging, she chuckles. Her phone rings, and her smile drops instantly. “Now, shoo, I’ll cover for you.”
“Question,” Hobie takes the opportunity like a low hanging fruit. “What if I suddenly don’t feel well, I think my throat is itchin’ and my eyes are hot.”
Lyla doesn’t buy it, even if she wants you and Hobie to finally get together, she likes having money, and unfortunately she needs this job to have that. “Don’t push it, Hobie. I’m not a miracle worker. Now go before Harry gets wind of this.” She ushers him away with a gesture. “Two hours, that’s my limit.”
It’s Hobie’s turn to smile, victorious. “Thanks, maybe I’ll get you some chicken soup too.”
“With croutons.” That’s all she says before answering the phone as Hobie closes the office door right behind him.
Hobie immediately makes a beeline for the mail room, ignoring Miles’ and Pav’s stares, quickly taking his jacket and bag before anyone else could notice. He stares at the package with your name on it and decides at the last minute to take it with him. He’s almost at the elevator when he hears a familiar voice calling his name.
“Where are you going?” Gwen raises a brow, looking at him up and down as he fixes his hold on the package.
“Lunch.” He simply says, gulping down and acting nonchalant.
“It’s only ten?” She checks her watch for good measure just as the elevator doors open. “Hey!”
Hobie steps inside without a second thought and punches the close door button frantically like he’s in some horror movie and the killer is right on his tail. “Sorry, Gwendy, no time to explain.”
She huffs and speed walks over to him, leaving the mail cart in place. “Get me something too—!”
The elevator doors close inches away from her face, and Hobie laughs to himself, his chuckles echoing inside the whirring metal chamber. “Right, soup then check on lovie.” He says it like a mantra, a man on a mission.
—
The streets are barren, probably not that weird considering that it’s a weekday and it’s not even near lunch time yet. Plus, the cold is a natural deterrent. It’s perfect for Hobie though because he got to the deli shop in record time to pick up two bowls of chicken soup, one with croutons on the side and an extra BLT sandwich for Gwen.
On his way back to his van, he munches on a protein bar that the shop keeper was kind enough to give him for free after a quick chat about the savoury soup that Hobie was even tempted to take a sip for himself. Just as he gently places the goods on the passenger side, he gets a glimpse of a familiar head of red hair inside a nice looking car that’s stopped by the stop light just in front of him.
“MJ?” He couldn’t even believe his own eyes as your best friend slash roommate is jamming along to loud music, grinning from ear to ear.
Her eyes glance at him before recognizing him. “Hobie, hey!” She waves and Hobie waves back, albeit more reluctantly, especially when she’s supposed to get your medicine. “Hop in! Check it out, my friend got a new ride!” Tapping the door, she flashes him her best smile. “C’mon!”
“Can’t, I have work.” He crosses the distance to check on her. Sighing in relief, he doesn’t smell any liquor on her, and sees her whole band with her. “D’you have her meds?”
“Whose meds— oh!” Her green eyes widen before planting a palm on her forehead. “Yeah, I got her the meds, I dropped it off at home ages ago.” Head lolling out of the window, the music blares right in his ears. “She wasn’t answering the door and I sort of left my keys inside so I dropped it on the doorstep. I’m sure she has it now.”
“You jus’— MJ, she’s sick.” He emphasizes with his hands on his hips.
“Yeah, but I knocked really loudly.”
“It’s bloody freezin’ out ‘ere.” Shaking his head disappointedly, he scoffs at her. “Never mind, I’ll check on her.” Hobie’s already walking away with furrowed brows just before the light turns green.
“Are you sure you don’t want to hop in?” MJ yells back, and she gets her answer with a slam of Hobie’s car door.
—
Hobie stopped by a pharmacy on his way to your flat, just in case the medicine that MJ got you wasn’t enough, or god forbid the wrong kind. Juggling two bags, one with the cold medicine and throat lozenges, and the other with the food, he sees the white paper bag that’s now drenched from frost left right on the doorstep just like MJ said.
“Fuckin’ hell.” Alarm bells start ringing in his head, imagining you having the fever of your life as you lay curled up on your bed.
He looks around for a way to get inside. He sees the obvious, a doormat which he looks under to only find bugs and a wad of gum. Dismayed, his worry grows as seconds ticks by. He then sees the window beside the door, it’s cracked open just a smidge, enough for his arm to wedge inside.
When Hobie was going through the dreaded puberty, he hated how long his arms had gotten, people called him lanky, a beanpole and joked around him being an octopus. As time went by, he grew to love himself and his lanky appendages, this time though, he really loves his long arm for managing to unlock the front door even when he almost spilled soup on your doorstep.
Inhaling deeply, the tip of his nose is freezing and his fingers are turning stiff, he picks up the now trashed medicine and heads inside the warm flat.
“F–Fuck.” Shivering, Hobie wipes his boots on the doormat, shutting the door closed behind him and placing the bags on the table before yanking off his jacket. “Love?” He calls for you tentatively, warming his hands with his breath as he heads towards your bedroom door. “You awake?”
The floorboards creek, and as he grasps the doorknob, the door flinging open before he could do it himself, he’s almost greeted with a canvas right on his face. “Fuckin’ hell!” Jumping back, the canvas drops, thumping against the floor to reveal a weary you.
Your eyes are shot, red and puffy. Whilst you clearly have sweated through your pajamas as the fabric clings to your skin that he has to look away. Lips dry, you suck in a shuddered breath, knees almost buckling under your own weight in either relief or from your fever.
“Hobie?” A crackly cough escapes you.
“Yeah, lovie, it’s me.” He holds up his arms in front of him in case you keel over. “Are you alright?”
“I think I’m starting to hallucinate.” Breathlessly, you stagger back inside the bedroom on wobbly feet. “Out of everyone why do I have to hallucinate Hobie? Fuck, do I miss him that much?” You utter to yourself before plopping face down on the mattress that has your silhouette left of it from how much you’ve sweat.
Hobie tries to ignore your comment, but the way his heart thumps in his chest with his cheeks feeling warm, he’d think that he’s the one having a fever. “Right,” clearing his throat, he quickly toes off his boots haphazardly and leaves it outside your door before walking in. “Can I check your temperature?”
“You can check my ass for all I care.” Even with your muffled words, Hobie pauses mid step. “I’m dying, I’m really dying, where the fuck is MJ?”
“I don’t know, love.” He stands over you, unsure of what to do. But he knows one thing though, he needs to protect your heart from getting hurt by your so-called best friend. “Oi, can you turn around for me?” Even as he stands near you, he could feel the heat radiating from you.
Head rising up weakly, you pout. “Oh no, it’s one of those sexy hallucinations.” And yet you turn to face him with no ounce of finesse. Your half lidded eyes meet his own, cracked lips smacking together. “Don’t tell MJ but I’ve had so many sexy dreams about you that it’s frankly insane.”
“O–Okay— it’s me, not a hallucination or a dream.” Hobie chuckles nervously, looking away, anywhere else other than the way you gaze at him. “And your secret’s safe with me.”
“Goodie, okie dokie.” You give him a thumbs up, or more like a toes up that has you giggling to himself and with Hobie stifling a laugh.
“Where’s your thermometer?” He helps bring your foot down gently with his hand wrapped around your ankle. From the brief touch alone, he could tell that your temperature has skyrocketed.
“With Waldo.”
“Love, I need to know your temperature.”
“It’s over there, you wanker.” Hobie never knew it possible for someone to call him a wanker that has his heart leaping in his chest in a good way. He follows your finger, and sure enough he sees it on your bedside table right alongside a teddy bear that’s dressed up as Waldo, stripes and all. “I’m hungry.” You stare at the swirling ceiling as Hobie picks up the thermometer that still has your last temperature right on the blinking screen. “I ate the last canned soup. But MJ said she’ll get me something warm from the store.”
“Oh shit.” He’s immediately sprinting to the living room.
You don’t even notice his panic. “Y’know, I could go for some cordon bleu with white sauce, maybe chocolate pudding too, oh, and some hash browns, yum.” Talking to yourself as the ceiling swirls in your vision, you hear the faint sound of glass clicking together while you let out a weak breath. “Is it just me or does hash browns sound like Hobie Brown? It rhymes, right?” You’re lifted up gently as you lay limp against his side. “Maybe the real Hobie likes them. I should ask him next time.”
“Open your mouth, love.” The medicine pokes right at your dry lips. “Shit, you should’ve called me, or fuckin’ anyone.”
“Take me out on a date first.” You weakly brush away his hand with a grimace, sniffing and coughing on his side.
“Maybe after you get better, but you have to drink this now.”
Your eyes narrow at the medicine before craning your head to face him with a hopeful gaze. “We’re gonna go on a date after this?”
“Yes,” Hobie cradles you in his arms, smiling down at you fondly, not minding how your pajamas cling to his skin. “Open your mouth, please.”
Chuckling, you take the medicine with him helping you swallow it down with some water. With a sniff, you lick your dry lips. “My Hobie never says please.” Your palm pats his chest affectionately, a small thank you, as your sweaty cheek presses atop his heart.
“That’s not true, I say please all the bloody time.” He can’t seem to find it in him to place you back in bed, as if his hold would cure you instantly.
“I was lying.” You say in a sing-song tone, voice croaking.
Hobie beams down at you, a thumb gently cleaning up the water that dribbles on your chin. His chest aches at the thought of you all alone with a fever that high, waiting for medicine and for help that wouldn’t come. “You should’ve called me.” He softly says more to himself as you make yourself comfortable in his arms.
“I tried…” your eyes flutter close, tucking yourself against him, back folded to hug him. “But my battery died because MJ borrowed my charger and I don’t know where it is…” a cough wracks your chest whilst Hobie pats your back until it subsides. “She’s forgetful like that…” Even in your fever haze, you defend her. “Hobie?”
“Yeah, lovie?” He brushes the stray hairs away that's clinging to your sweaty face.
“I need a bath, I smell like Harry’s tuna sandwich. I fucking hate that tuna sandwich.” You sniff him, he smells of lavender detergent and his signature cologne, smiling to yourself, you grip onto his shirt with weak fingers. “Specifically that tuna sandwich.”
Chuckling, he stifles in his guffaw lest it disturbs your calm. “I got you chicken soup, I can heat it up for you while I change your bedsheets so you can rest. How does that sound, hm? You good with me changing your sheets?”
Your half lidded eyes gaze at him softly. “Sounds lovely.”
“Yeah?” His smile could cure you. “I’ll wrap you up nicely on the couch and put a wet cloth over your head, is that alright? I’m goin’ to carry you now.”
“Yep,” sighing, arms thrown over his shoulders, you shut your eyes tiredly. “Hobie?” You call for him as you’re lifted off the bed gently. “I think I need a new roommate.”
“I’ll help you look for a better one.” Hobie chuckles against your hair before plopping you down on the couch carefully. He cradles your searing cheeks, crouching down as he smiles at you. “Don’t fall asleep.”
“Why?” He could see that you’re fighting sleep as your eyes flutter open and close.
“Because,” His breath gets stuck in his throat. “I’m afraid you won’t wake up.”
“Don’t be silly.” Your forehead thumps atop his shoulder as he takes the couch blanket and drapes it around you securely. “But okay.”
“That’s my girl.” He says with his whole chest as he helps you sit properly, placing the throw pillows around you to secure you in place. “I’ll make this quick.”
“You don’t strike me as someone who’s quick with it.” Giggling, you nudge his leg with your foot as you wink tiredly at him.
“Fever riles you up, good to know.” He takes one good look at you all bundled up before heading to your bedroom to grab a small towel. Pausing mid movement, he chuckles to himself before heading to work in making your fever go down.
Hobie moved like he’s being paid a thousand bucks per minute. He opened your bedroom windows to let out the air while he changed your bedsheet and blanket, which he does in record time. He then puts clean pajamas in the bathroom for you later before taking the thermometer, pocketing it and heading to the kitchen to heat up the soup for you. Within just ten minutes, he’s back on your side with warm soup and a thermometer to check your temperature again. The wet cloth atop your forehead is almost dry just from your warmth alone.
“Can you put this on for me?” Crouching down, he sees your eyes closed, body limp as you lay your head on the armrest. “Love?” He’s panicking, heartbeat racing as he shakes you. “Shit, oi.”
“I’m awake, I’m awake.” Eyes fluttering open, the color has returned to your lips, albeit slowly. Hobie lets out the loudest sigh of relief ever. “What smells good?” Sniffing, you blink blearily at him.
“Chicken soup, you think you’re good to eat?”
“Yep.” Sitting up, you blink at him slowly, as if you’re trying to place his face. “Hi, how are you?”
“‘m good, better than you are right now.” A hand on your knee, he feels that your fever has gone down a little but you’re still warmer than usual.
“Can you sit down beside me?” Voice small, you nudge him with your foot. “The walls are closing in on me, dizzy.”
“Yeah, I can.” Knees creaking, he sits down beside you just like you asked and takes the warm bowl. “D’you want me to feed you?”
“I’m not a baby.” Back resting against the plush couch, cheek pressed against it, you gaze at him with fondness. “Hi.”
“Hi, you already said that.” Chuckling, he places his palm on your forehead to feel your temperature more accurately. “You feel better, but I still need you to use the thermometer to be sure.” Taking a throw pillow he places it on your lap and rests the bowl on it. “I’ll get you some water.”
“I feel icky. Like I’m made out of slime that rolled around… something sticky, I don’t know.” The spoon trembles in your grasp, and Hobie can’t find it within himself to leave you even for a moment. Before he helps you, you persist determinedly, blowing the soup and taking a generous sip. “That’s good, did you make this?”
Hobie’s tensed shoulders eases up visibly. “No, I bought it.”
Humming, you take another sip. “I’ll pay you back.”
“You can pay me back by eating it all.”
“Thank you, Hobie.” You’ve grown more lucid after taking the medicine.
“No problem, it’s you, love.” He nudges your shoulder with his own before standing up to grab you a glass of water. “You’re gettin’ better, and ‘ere I thought I have to bring you to hospital.”
“Good thing you didn’t, because I wouldn’t be able to pay for it.”
Hobie sighs, hands on his hips. “I’ll run you a bath, is that alright?”
Nodding, you gaze up at him with tenderness, chest feeling a different kind of warm. “Yeah, thank you.”
“No problem,” he matches your soft expression. “Eat, I’ll be back.”
—
Hobie waits just outside your bedroom door as you take a bath. He’d wait in the living room on the couch but he fears that your dizziness would cause you to slip and fall, so he guards you at a respectable distance, keeping his ears open. He keeps himself entertained by looking at available flats that could be within your budget. You didn’t ask him to do that, but he has had enough of MJ abandoning you when you have done nothing to deserve that abandonment.
“Hobie?” The door abruptly opens, and with his back against it, Hobie falls backwards, now looking up at you in a fresh pair of strawberry printed pajamas that he picked for you. “Sorry, you okay?” You give him a helping hand, looking at him apologetically.
He could stay down here forever and look at the view from below forever if he could. “Yeah, ‘m good.” Taking your hand, his calloused palm turns so sweaty that you think that he caught the flu from you.
You heave him off his feet, chuckling to yourself as you see a dust bunny clinging right on his lapel. “You’ve got a little something…” reaching for his neck, Hobie freezes in place, skin warm, heart thundering. “There, I need to clean my floor.”
“Definitely better.” You’re still out of breath and a bit shaky on your feet, he notices with worry in his eyes. To ease his concern, you head to the bed, sitting down and resting against the headboard as you pat the space beside you, inviting him.
Hobie bounces on the balls of his feet for a moment, hyping himself up before crossing the small distance and sitting down by your feet. “You look good— I mean, better, yeah, better.”
Colour has returned to your lips, and your eyes don’t look as swollen and red as before. You’re not sweating as much either or trembling just from standing up. You still feel faint with a cough here and there, and Hobie could tell that you’re fighting it by how you breathe in with effort.
“Thanks, I checked my temperature and it’s back to normal now thanks to you.” Smiling, you poke his side with your knee. “How’d you know I was sick by the way?”
“Lyla, she was worried about you and told me so I went to check on you.” Pausing, his fingers play with the frayed edges of your pajama pants. “‘m glad I did.”
“I guess having perfect attendance before and then suddenly being absent one time would have anyone concerned.”
“Or your mate is jus’ worried.” He nudges back. “Like I was.”
“Thank you, Hobie, really.” Sniffing, you hide the fact that you’re trying not to cry from feeling loved and remembered by having a convenient excuse of having a cold. “I’d probably still be drowning in my fever haze without you. Lesson learned, always keep the medicine cabinet restocked.” Chuckling nervously, you don’t even realize that you’ve got Hobie on your bed, just someone you care about while having a heart to heart and not your coworker turned friend that you have fallen for. “They’re probably looking for you.”
“The mail can wait.”
“In that case.” Tapping the side of the bed, you scooch away to make space for him. “You need to rest too after all that shit you had to endure because of me.”
Hobie snorts and sits beside you, shoulder to shoulder as he moves his head in your direction. “It’s not endurin’ if it's for you. We take care of people we care ‘bout, nothin’ wrong with that. You deserve to be cared for too, love.”
Blinking away the tears, it’s not enough as you rub at your eyes. “Shit, sorry, the cold’s making my eyes water.”
“Don’t rub it, you’ll make it worse.” Chortling, he then takes your wrists gingerly, fingers bracelet around yours as you sniff and exhale. “Speakin’ of mail, I’ve got your package, I think it’s another shipment for quality assurance.”
“Did you use that as your excuse when Miguel saw you sneak out?” Gazing at him through your wet lashes, you tentatively rest your head on his shoulder, not placing your whole weight on him, hovering more like. But Hobie doesn’t lean away, instead, he cups the side of your head in his palm, helping you get comfortable.
“Bold of you to assume that I got caught.” Winking, your laughter that follows has him grinning even more.
Your arm wraps around his, and Hobie smiles against the crown of your head whilst his hand intertwines around yours. “That’s my Hobie.”
The movie tickets in his pockets weigh heavy, maybe he’ll ask you next time when you’re all better. Hobie doesn’t care that it’s way past his extended lunch when he’s got you falling asleep in his arms. Hopefully Lyla will forgive him when he gets back with her soup.
Pairing: Hobie Brown x fem! Reader/ Spider-Punk x fem! Reader
Word count: 4.1k
Synopsis: Hobie falls down the rabbit hole and meets multiple different versions of himself from different universes.
Tags: Use of Y/N sparsely, no specific physical description of the reader, multiple variants of Hobie from my different AUs, cowboy!/OPIN! Hobie, dad! Hobie, Vampire!/IPOB! Hobie, TTN!/Bestfriend! Hobie, Prowler! Hobie, Fae!/TF! Hobie, Spy!/ Mr. Smith! Hobie, Pirate!/BDAS! Hobie, CW food mentions, established relationship, fluff!
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Octobie'25
Custom banners by @across-the-spidershroomverse
Support banner by @/cafekitsune
A/N: I can't believe Octobie is almost over 🥹
The fight with the sandman was tedious, Hobie’s heaving and sweating as he watches the anomaly get wheeled back to HQ. He’s so knackered that his knees are wobbling, and his arms and wrists ache from all the web swinging he did. There’s a cut on his forehead where the sandman got lucky with a fist made out of sand. He never thought that sand could even hurt that much to begin with. He’s glad that there’s no sandman variant in his dimension.
He’s left standing in the aftermath of the fight, buildings crumbled before him, sand dunes covering streets and cars. It’s as if the whole city turned into a desert within the short hours of the struggle.
“You look like shit.” Gwen appears behind the portal with a hand on her hip as she saunters over to him.
Hands on his knees, panting, he notices his trainers on her feet before looking up at her with a glare. “Are those my chucks?”
“Y/N let me borrow it since hers doesn’t fit me.” She shrugs, looking at his sand clad suit teasingly. “You better shake that off before you come home, she was having one of her cleaning maniac phases before I left.”
Sighing, just the thought of seeing you at home has him wanting to run away into your waiting arms. “Thank fuck…” he mumbles to himself before taking a step towards Gwen and then shaking his head and body as sand flies and flicks towards the blonde.
“Hey!” She pushes him away as Hobie chuckles. “I just washed this, man!” Wiping her suit, she groans when the sand sticks to the spandex of her gloves instead. “Oh, come on!”
“Now you have to clean up too before goin’ back home.” Flinging some sand away from his watch, even scrubbing at the screen to clear some stubborn bits away, he dials in his home dimension. He groans when he remembers something you asked him to do before giving him your usual kiss at the door. “Ah, shit.”
“What? Did it break in the fight?”
“No, I forgot that lovie wanted me to grab some walnut bread for dinner.”
“The one from Miles’ place?”
“Yeah, that’s the one.” Hobie blows a tired raspberry as he inputs 1612’s coordinates. “She fancies that stuff better than ours.”
“I could get it for her.”
Almost immediately, Hobie’s eyes flick back at Gwen with a teasing glint. “Alright.”
“Shut up and give me the cash.” He could tell that she’s blushing under her mask as she pats her open palm.
“I didn’t even say anythin’.” Handing her a couple of bills, she rolls her eyes and walks back to the portal. “While you’re there, invite him over.”
“Oh, fuck you!” Walking backwards, Gwen flips him the bird before the portal closes behind her.
Snorting, Hobie turns his attention back to his watch as the lights flicker for a moment before he smacks it and the screen returns to normal. He makes a mental note to clean it when he gets home, for now though, he needs to melt into your arms or else he’ll collapse with his own longing.
He needs a cold pint after all that, and maybe some ibuprofen for his aching muscles. So without wasting any more time as the clean up crew finally arrives at the scene, he opens the portal to home and steps into a kaleidoscope of orange and red lights. Hobie’s fatigued body floats around the colourful tunnel in precise directions until he speeds up abruptly, the kind of speed that could be felt through the neck, a quick snap of momentum that has his limbs flying about.
“What the fuck?!” Getting a glimpse of his watch, he sees it flicker in and out, colours inverting, gears buzzing and the screen turning to black. That can’t be good.
Suddenly freezing in mid air, the tunnel shifts backwards as if someone pressed rewind on a remote control. His body floats aimlessly in zero gravity for a moment, until the tunnel turns again. He’s then flung about, back and forth and then around and around like he’s being blended into a smoothie. The G force was enough to make his neck hurt, jaw tightening as he flexes his muscles when he sees the light at the end of the tunnel. He braces for impact.
He thanks all his spidey experience for handling the rough landing. Rolling onto the familiar wooden floor, a tactical roll over the couch that has his muscles throbbing even more, he finally falls on solid ground, limbs limping and relaxing when he’s face to face with the houseboat’s ceiling, complete with the chipping eggshell paint, and some plastic glow in the dark stars. Wait, he doesn’t remember putting those up.
“Love?” Calling for you on instinct, he keeps his gaze up on the ceiling as he feels the tiredness creep up on him. “I think ‘m goin’ to sleep ‘ere.”
“You’ll catch your death there, big man.” His own voice answers back at him, tone strikingly similar to a light southern drawl.
Hobie’s head immediately lifts up as he stares at the source of the voice. His eyes widens at the leather cowboy standing by his feet with a glass of whiskey in hand. As if having a cowboy inside his living room wasn’t enough, the said visitor sports his own face, complete with his signature nonchalant expression. Despite the obviously different style, he has a very noticeable scar across his neck.
“What the fuck?” You’re the first thing that pops in his mind, are you okay? Where the fuck are you? “Where—?!”
“I didn't know we ‘ave a new member, old man.” The sound of footfalls has both Hobies turning to look, where a sharply dressed version of him sits on his armchair with his leg casually thrown over his thigh. This Hobie smirks at shocked Hobie’s raised brow, knowing damn well that he’d never wear something as claustrophobic as a navy blue suit. He has more questions when he sees blood splattered across his dress shirt, and a holstered gun peeking underneath his coat. “I think we got a live one ‘ere.” Smirking, he swishes his martini casually.
“What’s happenin’? Why the fuck are you all in my house?! And where’s—?”
“I thought I was smarter than this.” Another Hobie says, casually leaning against the wall as he wears an almost exact same spider suit as him. Except that he wears a different leather vest that looks like it’s been worn down but well loved that includes a very obvious cherry patch right atop his heart. “You’re in a different dimension, bruv. Fell through the crevice like Alice, innit?”
Realization flickers in his eyes, groaning, head falling back onto the floor, he grimaces and checks his watch. Sure enough, the screen is buzzing with different streaks of light. The sand definitely did more damage to it than he thought. That’s what he gets for trusting Miguel’s tech instead of using his own.
“Fuck.” Biting the inside of his cheek, the smell of salt and sea breeze suddenly wafts over his nose. When he opens his eyes, he faces a large tricorn hat that hides the face of its wearer. For a moment he thinks that this one doesn’t bear his face, but when the pirate looking man crouches down and smirks, he knows that it’s a variant of him too. “What the fuck are you supposed to be?”
“This one got some fuckin’ lip.” This Hobie’s tone is commanding, like a captain running a tight ship but with all his Hobie-like flare with his silver chains dangling around and leather boots that look well tended to. “Like all of us, I suppose.” Tilting his head, the pirate narrows his eyes at Hobie’s full head of hair. “Am I the only fuckin’ one?”
“What?” Scrunching his nose, his eyes roam around the identical faces. “A pirate me? What’s next, a fucking cryptid version of me?”
“I guess the closest one is a minotaur version of us.” The most similar Hobie to himself says against the mouth of his pint.
“Oi,” the suited Hobie flashes his mismatched eyes. “Don’t forget ‘bout fairy and Vamp over there.” He gestures using his chin towards the kitchen, where two more Hobies stand side by side conversing amongst themselves.
The ethereal looking Hobie clad in green and with sad eyes knits his brows. “For the last time, Smith, ‘m not a fairy.”
“Tomato, tomato.”
“I’ve got no bloody wings.”
The chill velvet clad Hobie clasps the fae’s shoulder. Wine red eyes glowing under the kitchen lights as he swishes a suspicious red liquid inside his glass. “D’you want me to drain him? Jus’ say the word.”
“Alright, you broken souls.” An older Hobie steps up from the bedroom as the other variants stop their banter. He has smile lines around his lips, and crow’s feet around his brown eyes. His long braids have white hair weaved around each braid beautifully, salt and pepper hair that adds to his charm. Hobie could only hope that he’ll age that well. He guesses that he will be. “Welcome to the club, what’s your gimmick, hm?” The man smiles at him, dimples in full display, one that Hobie doesn’t have.
“My gimmick?”
“Aye, what’s so different ‘bout you that separates all of us from the other?” The pirate sits down on the couch with a groan. “Sometimes it’s more obvious.” He gestures around his 1700’s seafaring attire.
“Sometimes it’s not.” The cherry Spider-Man says as he leans away from his post to grab a spring roll from the dinner table. Suddenly Hobie’s feeling a lot hungrier than before. “I had a will they won’t they with my childhood best mate. My Y/N and I are together now, don’t worry.” He says while chewing.
There’s a sudden sobbing wail coming from the kitchen.
“Look what you’ve done, mate.” The vampire hisses, fangs sharp as he tries to soothe his fae counterpart by patting his back. “You’re bloody callous, I swear kids these days.”
“Can’t imagine bein’ away from my lovie.” Someone in the corner adds, the darkness hides him as Hobie could only see a purple outline around his eyes and form.
“Isn’t your lovie the black cat?” The older Hobie says with a teasing tone before the Hobie in the corner backs away into the dark once again. Shaking his head, the older one seems to be the one in charge, or tries to be as he keeps everyone from biting each other’s heads off. They do say that the ones who are similar to each other are the ones that end up not getting along. “Cowboy Hobie over there is obviously a cowboy—”
“An outlaw.” He corrects, shooting him a finger gun in his direction.
“Sure,” old man Hobie sighs tiredly. “the one in the corner is the prowler version of us from earth-616.”
Hobie looks over his shoulder to stare at the mysterious Prowler hunched in the corner as he hears munching coming from the dark. “How come I’ve never seen you lot at the society?”
“Not all of us got bit by a spider.” Reaching towards him, the silver fox gives him a helping hand. “I avoid the society, and Wallace over there,” he gestures towards the punk Spider-Man with a cherry patch on his vest. “Usually avoids spider variants of himself.”
“So what’s this then, a support group for us?”
“Sort of, we talk, give each other shit and sometimes a helpin’ hand.” The cowboy utters as he fidges with the bandana around his neck. “Shit, we are a support group.”
Once on his feet, Hobie dusts himself off, making sand fall from the crevices of his leather jacket and from his pockets down onto the carpet. The older Hobie raises a brow, russet eyes striking him like a chastising father.
“I’ll clean it up.” Hobie’s immediately looking around for a vacuum.
“Don’t even try to clean, I’ll vacuum it up later before my lovie gets home. Sit, eat, while they fix your watch.”
Shaking his head, locs dangling and charms clinking, he leads Hobie towards the dinner table where various plates of food are laid out, together with a familiar platter of chocolate chip cookies that just screams your recipe.
“My—” checking his wrist, he finds the interdimensional watch gone and in place of it is a blue bracelet that he has seen on visitors at the society. “Shit!”
“Calm down, it’s in good hands.” The prowler version of himself is now sitting on the living room floor together with the cherry Hobie, who are now tinkering with his watch. “What, you don’t trust yourself?”
“I trust myself but I don’t trust you, mate.” Knitting his brows, Hobie finds himself pushed down on the chair as a cold pint is shoved in his grasp.
“We all want you to go home. Trust me, I don’t want you stayin’ ‘ere any longer like these wankers.” The older Hobie says while looking over his shoulder at the cracked open bedroom door.
The dapper Hobie appears by his side at the dinner table, kneading at his shoulders with a mischievous glint in his eyes. Whispering against the shell of his ear like the devil at work. “Say, you have someone, right?”
“Yeah—”
“Oi, fairy, looks like you’re the odd one out again.”
“I will strangle you with my vines!” Vines slither out of his arms angrily, trying to lunge at the teasing Hobie. He’d be successful if not for the vampire holding him down with one hand whilst casually drinking.
“Calm down, Tinkerbell!” The suited Hobie fans the flames.
“That’ll work well in your favour.”
“Pissin’ off a mythical bein’, sounds ‘bout right for us.”
“I once fed a man to a gator.”
“We know, mate. And I bit a man’s throat open, we all have our traumas.”
“You’ll wake up my boy!” The older one steps in between them.
Their conversations fall in Hobie’s deaf ears the second he takes a sip of his beer. The cold drink is a cooling balm against his aching body as he sighs in content. The place might look the same as his home, but their beer definitely tastes better than the one from his world. As he munches on some cookies that are definitely your making, he looks around the houseboat, finding all the walls have empty spaces for picture frames that were clearly taken down based on the lighter shade of wallpaper that is in the shape of a frame.
Everything from the steady oak table and mismatched chairs is surely from his houseboat, but there are tiny details around that says differently. The kitchen cabinets are painted in lime green instead of soft blues that he’s used to. When he peeks inside the cracked open door of the bedroom, it has the same four poster bed, same wallpaper that he remembers you picking, and the same wardrobe. But he definitely doesn’t remember putting a baby crib in there with a homemade mobile circling atop it.
The older Hobie notices his gaze, chuckling and clasping his shoulder with the same comfort as one’s father would. “My youngest, you woke him up when you went through the portal, so be quiet, yeah?”
“You’ve got a kid?” He asks in wonderment. “I thought you were supposed to jus’ be...old?”
“No, well, kind of, I have kids with my girl. Three of the little buggers.” Fixing a plate, he gives him a generous amount of food that has Hobie immediately digging in. “Can’t tell ‘em their names though, or I might change the direction of where you’re headin’”
“What?” He asks mid chew as the father figure hands him a napkin, the others listen in, clearly trying to know the new bloke that managed to stumble upon them. The argument finally calmed enough in favour of listening.
“Y’know, like time travelin’” The other Spider-Man says as he carefully screws open the face of his watch, not elaborating any further even when Hobie’s expression wordlessly asks for it.
“Don’t you mean our kids?” The fae adds, glittering golden eyes flash with mirth.
“Don’t make it weird. I’ve got my limits, mate.” Groaning, dad Hobie shuts the bedroom door fully with an experienced aim with his webshooter.
“I’m hundreds of years old.” The being retorts back.
“You don’t act like it.”
“Wait, wait, do we all have the same bird?” Hobie interrupts the argument before it strikes a flame.
“Aye, we do.” The pirate version of him whips out a piece of parchment from his trousers, unfolding it to reveal an old timey portrait of you.
Hobie’s heart leaps in his chest, from your eyes down to the shape of your face, it’s clearly you.
“I know, that’s my scuttlebutt. ‘m guessin’ that she looks exactly like yours?”
“Aye, I mean, yeah.” Chuckling, he hands the picture back gingerly, as if the paper will crumble in his grasp.
“This one is mine,” vampire Hobie unlocks his phone and shows off his wallpaper of you in a coffin, pretending to be a corpse with a large grin on your pretty face. When Hobie raises a brow, the being clicks his tongue. “What? A thousand year old vampire can still learn technology.”
“It’s not that.”
There’s metal tapping against glass coming from the armchair. “This one’s mine.” The suited Hobie shows off his wedding band. “Is that enough proof?”
“You’re not actually married to her, bruv.” Prowler Hobie mumbles under his breath, fixated on the watch. Even then, he still manages to give him lip. “It’s a fake marriage, remember?”
“I don’t need a reminder, Barney.”
“Alright, enough, we’ve already gone over our time.” Dad Hobie checks his own watch, a plastic one with pink glitters on the watch face. “You two need to finish up before my girls get home. I have to put up the pictures and clean up.”
“No, no, slow down.” Fae Hobie says with a smile.
“Don’t make me throw you back inside your abode.”
“So we all end up with her?” Hobie utters softly amidst the group, a tender smile curling around the corner of his lips, eyes gentle, mirroring the others’ eyes from the mere mention of you. The thought of you being his soulmate crossed his mind a few times, but this supports that theory. You’re the one for him.
“Yeah,” the cowboy tips his hat at him. “Trust me when I say this, no matter the timeline, what universe we’re in, it’s always been her.” The whole room quiets down from his sweetened words, a hush falling around the room. Not a dangerous or awkward pause, but something sweeter and softer as Hobie could see it in their eyes that they’re reminiscing about you. “And it’s bloody amazin’, innit?”
When he doesn’t respond, Vampire Hobie steps forward, smiling softly as his fangs poke out from in between his lips. “Don’t tell me you find it borin’, Hobie.”
“No,” shaking his head, his eyes fall towards the plate of cookies. “I find it comfortin’.”
A grin spreads around the whole room, infectious as they all begin to chuckle. He guesses that they all agree.
“Couldn’t have said it better than myself.” Dad Hobie clasps his shoulder, smiling tenderly as he almost chokes on his words. “So, what’s your story, hm?” Sitting down beside Hobie, the rest follow behind, huddling around him, keen on listening.
“I think it’s less interestin’ than what you lot got goin’ on.”
“Try us.” With waiting gazes, Hobie gladly tells everyone his side of the universe as they all listen intently.
When the food and drinks are all gone, and the story is all finished, his newly fixed watch is done and dusted around his wrist. They stand in front of him, Spy Hobie leans against his fae counterpart, while Vampire Hobie snaps a photo of the newcomer.
“Jus’ like I said, you’re free to come back ‘ere, mate.” The silver fox utters, arms folded in front of him as he gives him a subtle smile. “Only if we have a meetin’ scheduled though. Don’t want you hoppin’ in my dimension while we’re havin’ our family dinner.”
“I won’t barge in next time.” Chortling, Hobie inputs his home dimension, checking it twice before pressing the button. He can’t risk falling into a different world again when he really just wants to come home to you.
“Get home safe, big man.” Fist bumping him, dad Hobie sends him off with an armful of tupperwares filled with food.
As Hobie nods, he can’t wait to tell you about the crazy day he had, especially with the bit of him finding out that you’re his love, and your soulmate in every universe where the two of you exist. As he steps into the glowing portal, the orange hues flicker off the second he gets in. But as the door closes, another opens.
The front door clicks open where you step through the doorway with a raised brow.
“Alright, which one of you is my husband?” You say with a smile, a hand on your hip as you meet with older Hobie’s eyes with a teasing glint.
“I wish I was your husband.” Fae Hobie mumbles under his breath, before getting yanked back by the older one of the group.
“Hi, love.” Older Hobie chuckles nervously while the others find the situation amusing. “The meetin’ kind of got away from us—”
Suddenly, the bathroom door creakily opens, and out comes Hobie with box dyed blonde and chopped hair, together with bright blue eyes.
“What’d I miss?” He says with an american accent.
You back away with a yelp, clutching your imaginary pearls with a shocked expression as if you were whiplashed by his presence. Your surprised hop was enough to have the whole room laughing.
—
“So you’re telling me that you already had dinner?” You ask as you stare at your Hobie like he grew three heads. He smells like your flowery soap, all clean and free of sand. He has a bandage over his cut, courtesy of you.
“Love, I jus’ told you that I met different versions of my self.” Sauntering close, he holds out his arms, embracing you as he cages you in between the kitchen counters and himself. “Including a vampire and a bloody pirate, and you’re more surprised at the fact that I already ate?”
Chin resting atop his clavicle, you flutter your lashes as you pout. “But I made carbonara, it’s your favourite.” Your thumb rubs along his windswept brow. “And we already know that there are different versions of us in other dimensions.”
“Yeah, but there’s a swashbucklin’ version of me out there somewhere.” Squeezing you, Hobie nuzzles the crook of your neck, nose brushing along your jaw line. “And you like vampires and ethereal blokes. They also said that there’s a venom me, can’t imagine meetin’ him.”
“I like you more than dusty old beings.” Cupping his cheek, you gently lift his head up to meet with his pout. “I’m sure that you’re the best out of all of them.” You whisper atop his lips, making him chase the kiss as you lean away with a giggle. Hobie resists the urge to carry you to bed “I’m a bit biased, but I know so.”
“I’ll still eat the carbonara, I made room for it.” He practically whines above your lips.
“You did?” Nosing his cheek, he sighs in content, he’s more tired than he thought he was. “It’s cool by the way, I’m glad you met some new friends at the Hobie tea party.”
“I learned somethin’ new today too, but I’ll tell you later after dinner.” Based on his tender gaze, you have a feeling on what it is, and you resist the urge to usher him to bed just to hear him say the words. Smiling and snorting, Hobie pecks your lips, tasting the pasta sauce on your lips when you most probably taste tested it beforehand. “Maybe you could have some sort of group with your variants.”
“Bold of you to assume that I don’t have one already.” A grin spreads across your lips as Hobie’s eyes widen. “Tell your spy version to man up and just confess to his missus.”
“What the fuck did he do?”
“He already knows.” Sending him a wink, you lean close to kiss his cheek. “I have my own gossip circle too. Please help me with the table, Gwen got the walnut bread I liked.” Hobie’s immediately grabbing the utensils with a lopsided smile.
Tags: No use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader except for clothing, reader can be read as any gender. Knight AU, Medieval AU, CW blood and injury, CW death and violence, CW suggestive, established relationship, hurt/comfort.
Requested by Anon: Hello🫡 For your event may I trade a ticket for fantasy au + emergency contact [theatre masks] w/ knights!reader and Hbie. Reader is a pegasus knight that gets injured during a scouting mission when the group gets ambushed by mages or a fantasy version of a villian of your choice!
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Katy's Summer Flick Screening
“On the eve of our knighting ceremony, and I find you here reading casually like always.”
Hobie looks up from his book, grey eyes illuminated by the silver moonlight as he sits beside his oak tree that’s as mighty as him. Scratches mar the trunk, its age is shown through every scruff and every name. Several squires have left their mark, engravings of their house sigils or simply their initials. It’s been tradition to leave something on the ancient tree on the day you become a squire, but as early as you could remember, it’s always been his tree. Always basking under its leaves, from dappled sunlight to glimmering moonlight, you could always find him here on the edge of the wood’s clearing just beyond the castle walls.
As he smiles up at you, chainmail matching the silver of his eyes, armor laid down beside him, and your carved initials just above the crown of his head, he looks magnificent— beautiful as the sky you wake up to, as heavenly as the sunset.
“I didn’t know it’s against the rule book to have some alone time before we get passed down to some lord.” He says gruffly, brow raised, eyes honed in on you and you only.
“Well, you’d know because you love your books so much.” Gesturing at his lap where the book rests, the metal of your chainmail clinks amidst the night song of the woods.
Chuckling, Hobie’s eyes glance down at your lips, and your heart skips a beat just from that glance alone. “Just sit the fuck down, love.”
“If you insist.” Feigning a sigh, you lay your sword down on the grass with a clank before sitting down beside him. Once you crane your neck to face him, you find that he’s already staring right back at you fondly. “What? Do I have something on my face?”
“Yeah,” leaning closer, he reaches for your face, thumb brushing along your bottom lip enticingly. “Right here.”
“Care to get rid of it for me?” You whisper lowly, sweetly as your hands wander to his chest, a palm splayed atop his beating heart.
His grey eyes flick at your eyes, amusement swirling in those pools of silver. Without another word, he moves close, lips pressing against your own. You kiss him in tandem, a delicate dance, an intricate one that only the two of you know of. A hand cups the back of your neck, pushing you closer, deepening the kiss with need. With the moon as your witness, you breathe him in. The scent of flowers from the field before you drenches him in sweetness, the honeyed ale on his tongue clings to your own, a buzz to the senses as he grips onto your waist with fervor.
Before you know it, he guides you atop him, a hand upon your waist and thigh as you straddle him all without the connected lips parting.
A breeze passes by, and a horse whinnies from somewhere, prompting you to quickly pull away, panting for air and checking your surroundings.
“What?” Hobie asks, hands wandering around your sides, brushing along the curves of your body as chainmail clinks against his palms. “No one’s ‘ere, no one comes ‘ere, lovie.” Snorting, his eyes smile playfully. “‘cept us, I guess.” Poking you, he gets your attention with the double meaning. “Calm down, yeah? I’ve got you.”
“I know you do.” Smiling, leaning down to nudge his nose with your own, hearts beating in sync, he sighs in content. “But if our instructor catches us—”
“I’ve got my sword to help me explain our…” his eyes glances at the position you’re in, grinning from ear to ear as he squeezes your hips. “Predicament.”
“And how would you do that, pray tell?”
“I’ll tell him that there was a wild boar.”
“Mm–hmm.”
“It almost got you but I saved you.”
“And then?”
“You fell on top of me?”
“Fantastic, we’re saved from a lifetime in the dungeon.” You giggle, poking his cheek teasingly as he mirrors your smile.
“That’s why we have our swords, hm?” Tilting his head, Hobie savours the sight of you on top of him with the full moon as your backdrop, providing you a halo of silver. “Will you fight beside me?”
Your eyes shine, palms cupping his face with love. “Always. To fight alongside the best swordsman in the whole realm would be a privilege.”
“Second best.”
Grinning widely, you bite the bottom of your kissed bitten lips. “Are you telling me that I’m the best one?”
“Nah, that would be our instructor. Come off it.” Tickling your sides, your laughter echoes around the clearing as you fall on the soft grass below. His hand protects the back of your head, all the while the other tickles you.
“I yield!” Heaving, his tirade stops and as you open your eyes, you see him atop you, looking down at you affectionately. Your chuckles fade when the light in his eyes flicker out and his grin falls. “Hobie—”
“They’re goin’ to separate us. I know they will.” The hurt in his voice has your heart aching.
“You don’t know that, you might be the best in our class but I’m the second. They always put the best two in the same house.” When he doesn’t look too convinced, his brows furrowed, lips downturned, you pull him down by his chainmail and cradle him in your arms. Hoping that the cold of the metal and the warmth from your embrace eases him. A hand upon the back of his head, you nose his hair, pressing gentle pecks. “Stop worrying, even if they put us in different houses we can still see each other occasionally.”
“Occasionally isn’t enough.” He mumbles, taking your wrist to hold your hand and intertwine his fingers around your own. “I need you beside me, I don’t remember a time where I’d look to my right and you weren’t there.”
“Well, maybe during your birth—”
“Love, ‘m serious.” Lifting his head up, he looks desperately into your eyes. “I can’t do this without you with me.”
“Yes, you can.” You say as if you don’t feel the same, you need him just like he needs you. You can’t fathom being away from him for a long time. The doubts circle around your mind, but being orphans, growing up together, having each other since childhood and surviving the whole apprenticeship, it’s always been him. But you know leaving is out of the question, when this is all you know, when this is the only option two outsiders have to survive in this cruel world. “I know you can.” Your tone almost breaks, but you put on a brave face just for him.
“What if they put you in the far north? You hate the cold.”
“Then I’ll think of you to keep warm.”
“Who’s goin’ to keep me on my toes? Who’s goin’ to hold you like this?” He spirals, breath shuddering as he continues. “Love, we could jus’ go, take our horses and run off. We didn’t even want this.”
Sniffing, tearful eyes glittering under the moonlight, you hold him in place. “Desertion is punishable by death, I can’t lose you that way. I refuse to lose you that way.”
“Love—”
“I’ll visit you if you can’t. I’ll fucking beg my lord to give me one day to come to you, and I’ll write until my hands bleed.” You hold his face with determination. “We can do this, we can survive just by that. It’s striving through it or death. It can’t be the latter.”
Hobie falters, brows knitted together, lips wobbling as he lays his head back down atop your chest. Silence embraces the whole clearing, with only your breaths and the crickets singing through the night.
After a moment, he then lifts his head up, tear stained cheeks, grey eyes darker as he cups your cheek. “It can’t be the latter.” He reiterates with a somber tone. “I’ll miss you. I’ll do all that too, if my pretentious prick of a lord won’t let me go, I’ll break my oath and kill him where he stands.” His eyes soften, inhaling deeply. “And I’ll run the parchment shop out of paper with jus’ my letters.”
“Promise me then.” You manage to say without letting out a stifled sob. “Promise me all that and I’ll do the same.”
“Even killin’ a lord?”
“Probably not to that extreme,” his soft chuckle eases your heavy heart. “but yes. I’ll miss you too, so much.”
“I promise.” Hobie holds out his pinky to you, something that he hasn’t done since childhood. As you wrap your pinky finger around his, you smile and pull him to you, letting the kiss show how much you love him under the shared tree.
—
The promise is broken within a week of being away from each other. War broke through like a snap of a branch, slithering throughout the entire kingdom. Just like how Hobie predicted, he got sent off to the royal house to protect the ones he loathed. And with you further in the east where the winds howl at night and the cold wakes you up from your dreams of him.
The only comfort you had was his last letter addressed to you, when he wrote his fear from the whispers of an oncoming war. And Hobie’s only reminder of you is a lock of your hair inside an old locket you had given him before you got whisked away to somewhere he couldn’t reach.
He kisses the necklace before heading out, tucking it inside his armor every battle, keeping it safe from the blood and grime. It’s his only constant reminder that there’s still good in this world when all he has seen has nothing but sorrows, death knells clanging throughout every fight.
Blood is spilled on the battlefield, knights and young squires alike. Sieges have become the norm, days turned to weeks, weeks turned to months, and all he ever knew is the pained cries of his men, and never the ones who started all the bloodshed because of a botched succession after the king’s death. His lord remains untouched by all the despair, armor shiny and new.
Hobie’s mind has brought him nothing but noise, ears still ringing from the clashing of metal against metal. He wanders through the camp just outside the castle walls. Muddied and tired, dried blood clinging to his scruffed armor. He doesn’t know where he’s heading as his feet take him to the edge of the camp, where bodies still lay limp on the bloodied and dirty soil. His helmet shields his face from the wandering eyes of his men, to them, he stands tall as their commander, brave and fearless, but to himself, he’s nothing but a husk of his former self. If only you could see him now.
His hand reaches for his necklace, mismatched chains clasped on the locket after it broke a dozen times during countless battles. He yearns for you, for your warmth, to see your smiling face, and to hear your voice that he’s slowly forgetting. Maybe he should’ve held you tighter that night under the tree, maybe he should’ve taken you by the hand and ran away with you despite your apprehension. Maybe then, he’d know you’re alright and alive, maybe then, you’d be by his side.
As a tear flows down his cheek, he hears the sound of horses running towards camp. A horn blows from somewhere, and on instinct, he unsheathes his sword, heart beating rapidly.
“It’s the eastern troops! Reinforcements!”
Instead of yells, he hears cheering from within the camp.
The eastern banners appear from the edge of the woods, a golden osprey with a sea of blue in the backdrop. Horses and foot soldiers marches into camp with their pristine armors and determined faces.
Your name spills from his lips, hope and longing weaved within his call. Hobie sheathes his sword, waiting for you.
The eastern lord holds his head up high, helmet decorated with feathers, drenched in blue cloth with his house insignia. Hobie bows reluctantly, but he plays the part well on instinct. When the pretentious man passes, he lifts his head up, only to see you riding behind him.
Hobie’s heart skips a beat, like seeing you from a dream, dressed in the finest armor, a silk sash wrapped around the bodice. The hilt of your sword is from carved ivory, an eagle’s head expertly carved. Even with your face hidden behind a helmet, he knows it’s you, from the way you hold the reins, and the way you sit and ride the horse, just from your presence alone, he knows it’s you under all the metal and finery.
He’d call for you, scream your name from the top of his lungs, but he bides his time. Keeping a tight hold against the hilt of his sword, waiting for the right opportunity.
Hobie walks away towards the main tent, surely to meet up with his men and his lord to greet the eastern troops. But just as he walks away, you gaze at his retreating back with wonderment, tender and soft under the heavy helmet as your hold on the reins tightens, leather gloves squeaking as your heart soars.
—
Throughout the whole meeting, his eyes kept darting to your face that’s now in full display. There’s not much change to you, no new scars, no ache within those eyes he loves so much. And he’s glad that it turned that way, that despite the war, it was far kinder to you.
He missed everything about you, your smile that he wishes he could see right now, your laughter, your touch upon his skin. He wants nothing in this world but to hold you, if not for everyone else inside the tent, he’d take you far away from this place, and anywhere that the war hasn’t touched. To keep you away from all this death and suffering, to bring you back to the tree and read to you again, to kiss you under the dappled sunlight, and to hear you say his name with tenderness that he could only hear from your lips.
You could barely hear the strategy with your blood rushing in your ears. Hobie, your beloved, looks like the world chewed him and spat him out. There are scars all over his face and neck, big and small, new and old. Some are still healing, red and angry on his flesh that you used to touch lovingly. When the war broke out, with his house at the center of it all, you wished that you were in his shoes instead, that you were the one fighting and he was the one that’s safe and far away from all the death and rot that the crown has given him. You missed him, you missed the light within his eyes, you missed his kisses and the way he holds you— but you love him this way too, under the rough exterior, the permanent frown, it’s still Hobie, your Hobie.
As the meeting concludes, the waiting has been agonizing for the both of you. Hobie waits for the sunset, for the moon to appear in the sky. And when the stars finally align, he returns to his tent, weary and tired. He pretends to not notice the presence lingering behind him, just across the bonfire, eyes following his every move, waiting for the right time. Just as he unclasps the sheath of his sword, the tent opens once again, revealing you in all your glory.
“Commander?” You call, voice soft and tender, just like he remembers.
Hobie turns to face you, yanking off his helmet to see you fully. “At your service.”
Throat closing, you mirror his movements, taking off your helmet to reveal your tear stained cheeks. “What brings you here?”
“The war,” he casually says, shrugging. “You?”
“I heard that the best swordsman in the whole realm is here so I decided to see him for myself.”
“Jus’ fuckin’ c’mere and embrace me already.” The second he opens his arms, you sprint to him, metal colliding with metal as you finally hold him in your arms. “I missed you, love— fuck.”
“I know,” you sniff, face hidden in the crook of his neck, inhaling his scent— he smells like the sun and morning dew, he smells like home. “Fuck, I missed you too.”
The armor crinkles against the tight hold, he then shoves off his gloves, throwing it haphazardly on the ground with a clunk so he could cup your face in his bare palms, skin to skin just like it’s supposed to be.
“There you are.” Your quiet sobs cinches his heart. “What did they do to you?” Taking his cheek, thumb brushing along the scruff and the raised scars along his face, you break down in front of him. “When I get my hands on—”
“Already done, love.” Grey eyes gaze into your eyes, swirling pools of molten silver and steel, candle light reflecting in them like melted gold. “‘m alright now, fuck, ‘m better than alright.” Leaning close, he starts to pepper your face with desperate kisses that turn into softer pecks, love and affection ebbing from every kiss.
After all this time, he kisses the same, and you hold on to him just like always— tender and full of longing like it’ll be the last.
Hobie’s teary eyes look upon your face, taking you in, taking all the sadness within those eyes he loves so much. You smile through the tears, closing in to meet with his waiting lips. For a while, the two of you stand there, in your armor that’s perfect, no scruffs, no mark left from battles, compared to his that has darkened through each fight. Sword slashes on the surface of the metal, bent steel and chainmail that has seen better days. Each mark left on his armor is proof that he survived it all, that he went through it, strived through it just to see you again. And that day has finally come, and Hobie feels complete again, you feel whole again.
“Can I?” Your fingers drop to the ties in between his armor, eyes asking for permission. “Let me take care of you.”
His hand grasps your own, locking eyes with you as he nods wordlessly.
You begin to unlace his armor just like back in the day, back in the barracks, helping each other take the heavy load off from each other’s backs, even for a moment’s reprieve.
One by one, metal drops by his feet whilst he watches you through loving eyes. When you kneel before him, not out of command, or as a fellow knight, but out of love for him, he unclasps the sheath of your sword, and then starts to unlace your shoulder plates as you undo his leg armor.
With a helping hand, he helps you stand up, the sounds of the army outside is muffled in his ears, horses whinnying just outside his tent, and the cackle of the fire reminding him of days when he would just stare at it in hopes that he’d see your face amidst the embers. His wish has come true when you remain by his side, fate giving him reprieve, becoming kinder.
Your hand is gentle upon his shoulder as you push him down to his knees. Hobie obeys your command, hands brushing down your thighs as he kneels. His palms are warm against your skin whilst he unlaces your armor with grace and reverence for you.
The armor falls, and so is his façade. No longer a commander that leads an entire army, just a man that carries his love for you in his chest.
Hobie gazes up, and you take him by the chin, raising him to his feet before you kiss him and take him as he is without the clanking of metal and the scent of dried blood.
Parting, breaths mixing together, your hand slides to his calloused palm. You then guide him to the bed, taking the clean basin of water and cloth to begin washing the death and decay off his flesh.
“Love.”
You hum a response, hands wet as you gingerly scrub his hands on your lap.
“‘m sorry ‘bout my promise.” He whispers to you in the silence of the night.
Flicking your eyes to him, you smile, eyes glimmering under the dim candle light. “You don’t have to apologize when I broke it too. War isn’t kind to lovers.”
“War isn’t kind to anyone.”
Nodding, eyes forlorn, you place his hand atop your beating heart. “I’m staying here with you after the siege tomorrow.” His eyes widen, opening his mouth to protest but you beat him to it. “And before you say anything, I already asked my lord and he approved as long as I take a handful of soldiers with me. I convinced him by telling him that it’ll help keep the peace between the two houses when your lord retakes the throne.”
His grey eyes flicker with sadness and borrowed grief. “What if somethin’ happens to you?”
“Hobie, we’re at war.” Your grip on him tightens. “That’s the exact same question I have asked myself throughout those lonely months every time I think of you. What if you get injured? What if you’re already dead and I’ll never know? That I’ll never see you again?” Brows furrowed, a tear escapes, flowing down your cheek as he wipes it gently with his thumb. “At least this way I’ll be near you. We fight alongside each other, remember?”
Hobie’s gaze flicks down to the intertwined hands, languishing, thinking about your safety, your fate in the war. Being away from you was torture, but seeing you die when he could’ve done something to save you? That’s hell on earth.
Sometimes he wonders if things were different, that this god forsaken war didn’t happen, the promise would’ve been kept, that he’d meet you under the tree every full moon. He’ll never own land or have a title to his name, but you? You’re enough for him, that the thought of the end of this war and coming home to you will be worth more than lands or titles.
“Please don’t send me away.” Your whisper strikes his heart. “I don’t think I can handle being away from you again.” Tears flow out of your eyes, dripping onto his skin like snowflakes upon hot coals. “Hobie, please.” Grasping his arm, he returns the hold, taking you in his arms and embracing you tightly like the world will take you away from him.
His oath might be for some lord, who would replace him within a heartbeat, but his heart and sword belongs to you.
A hand cupping the back of your head, he pulls you closer, skin to skin as he kisses the crown of your head.
“I won’t ask you to leave, and I’ll keep you safe. I promise.” This time he intends to keep it.
—
The siege went on for days, countless soldiers from both sides perished throughout the fight. Blood has been spilled on the very same soil he kneeled upon to take his oath. Every way he turned, fire burns, death lingers and despair marks people’s faces.
As Hobie patrols the streets, body weary, hand shaking around the hilt of his bloodied sword, he turns to his right, hearing your voice above the sound of carnage and pain. He sees you amidst the debris, beside broken down homes, cracked walls and charred bodies. No longer is your armor pristine, now marred by the same scars he has, dark and caked with blood and mud. But you’re alive, eyes tired, and hands trembling as you help wounded civilians. Bandaging them up with your own supplies, hands dirtied by dark scarlet, and yet you remain an anchor to them, grounding them with your softened words, even when they curse and spit at you for being the enemy.
He closes the distance, kneeling besides you. One shared look is all it took and you hand him the bandage, helping with the same gentleness that contrasts the battle that happened.
—
Slowly, his lord’s house retakes the whole city into their grasp. More blood, more death, but you remain beside him until the end just like you promised.
The sky opens up to a brilliant blue, smoke clearing, and the scent of death no longer clings to the city. By day, Hobie remains beside his lord’s side as he plans his coronation despite the whispers of another house coming to dethrone him before he could take the crown officially. He hates those days, but by night, he returns to you, waiting in his chambers like you own the place, smiling softly as you greet him with a much awaited kiss.
All the elation has to come to an end on the day your lord departs back home. Thankfully, he kept his word to you, leaving you and your squad to stay and keep the peace between the two volatile houses. Just so the heavenly bliss could continue.
Hobie helps you put on your armor first, metals clicking together as he expertly puts it over your head.
“Y’know, I have a squire just for this.” You tease, a hand atop his head as he laces your leg armor for you.
“And have you be touched by another? Fuck no, lovie, I rather wake up in the arse crack of dawn to help you suit up.” Tapping your thigh, Hobie remains on his knees, looking up at you with a lopsided smile on his face.
Chuckling, you bite your lip and pat his cheek. “You’re jealous of a teenager?”
“I was a teenager before, and I know what’s goin’ on inside their heads.” His arm wraps around your leg, chin resting against your knee comfortably.
“Oh trust me, I know. I took the brunt of it if I remember correctly.” Grinning, your giggles bounce off the stone walls when he kisses the inside of your thigh teasingly. “It was exactly like that but with more slobber and you were all sweatier than usual.”
Hobie guffaws, a rare sound that’s music to your ears. “Come off it, I don’t slobber.”
Index placed under his chin, your thumb rubs along his skin. “Just a little bit, my love.” Pulling him up simply with your hand upon his chin, he rises to his feet, all the while gazing at you with love in his grey eyes. “Will you be alright alone for a few days?”
An arm wraps around your middle, head falling down on your shoulder with a quiet thump. Hobie groans, feigning a sob.
“I’ll take that as a yes.”
“No, take that as a no.” Huffing, his head lolls back and you place your hand upon his nape to lift his head back up to face you.
“It’s only a few days, I’m just escorting the rest of the army. And I’ll be back before you know it.” You say softly, kissing his cheek with a loud smack of your lips. “After that we can continue what we were doing earlier, hm?”
Hobie raises a brow, eyes sparkling with mirth as he smirks. “What are we waitin’ for? Off you go then.”
Chortling, you hold out your bare hands. “My gloves, you forgot them.”
“Right, gloves.” Snorting, he takes your hands and kisses each knuckle before retrieving your missing gloves.
“My squire wouldn’t have forgotten my gloves.”
“Your squire is as tall as your sword, love.” Securing your armor, he then checks each strap to make sure they’re all right and secure. Grabbing your helmet and your sword, he takes one more look at you, gaze roaming all over you with tenderness. “Let me come with you.”
Your shoulders sag, already looping your arms around him with a kiss on his temple. “My lord hates you, y’know that. And we can’t risk it unless he goes against his promise of letting me stay.”
Hobie savours your warmth, nosing your neck lovingly. “I swear your lord is bloody in love with you.”
Leaning away, you hold him at arm’s length. “Probably, or I’m just the best knight he ever had.”
“I’d duel him for your hand.”
“And you’d win.” With one final kiss on his lips, silently promising him for a proper one when you get back, you lean away and smile as the sun hits your eyes. “Now, help me with my sword, please.”
—
“Are the preparations for the coronation ready?” The lord asks, a crown of silver laurels laid upon his head.
“Yes, m’lord.”
The council’s conversation falls in his deaf ears, as he stands beside his lord, even with their voices overlapping above the other, Hobie’s thoughts are still on you. He thinks of the dinner he’s going to surprise you with, a special one that he has been planning for a long time. It’s not a picnic under the shared tree when it’s still not safe outside, but it’s enough to have your heart soaring when you see what he has planned on top of one of the castle towers. Hobie laid out a blanket there, a basket of bread and cheese hidden inside, and a bottle of wine that he had to trade a pouch of coins for. He’s excited, rightfully so when the tower faces the clearing where the shared tree is standing.
Good thing that he’s wearing a helmet or else his lopsided grin would’ve ticked the wrong lord and have him thrown out of the council chambers.
Suddenly, his thoughts are halted by the sound of the doors slamming open. Out comes a squire dressed in blue, lithe and bloodied, followed by a couple of guards trying to hold him down.
Hobie grips his sword, keeping it close just in case.
“My lord! There’s been an ambush!” The young man fends the guards off before the lord raises a hand and the men simply stands aside. Heaving, head bleeding, the boy stifles a sob. “It’s the northern houses, they’ve come together and were waiting for us just behind the clearing.”
“What happened to your lord?” A council member asks.
“I— I don’t know. My knight is protecting him—”
Hobie blinks, realization flickering behind his visor. It’s your squire, the same bloke he teased, the same one that went with you to escort the eastern lord back home. For the first time, after countless battles he faced, his hand trembles around the hilt of his sword. Fear encapsulates him, death knells ringing in his ears as his heart turns to stone and falls down to his stomach.
“Where?” Hobie’s tone is steady, and yet loud and commanding as it simply silences the whole room.
“Near the squire’s tree, sir.” His tree, the shared tree that has your initials carved alongside his. The same one that he called home with you, where he first confessed, where you kissed him right after. Where it all began, and perhaps where it will end.
Hobie immediately marches outside against his lord’s wishes. His fists collide against the doors, almost breaking it apart as he leaves the chamber.
His heavy footfalls are thunderous within the halls, desperate and unforgiving as he marches to the knight’s barracks. Once inside, everyone falls silent, his sheer presence alone silencing the whole room.
Hobie’s breath is warm against the helmet, he then strides towards the shields, grabbing the one you left on the rack before facing his men.
“With me.” He simply says, and without further explanation, his knights follow him to the jaws of death, marching towards the horses with calculated steps.
Before he knows it, mind rushing, fists tight around the reins, he’s racing towards the familiar clearing with your name on his lips, like a prayer, a prayer that he wishes will be answered.
The wind whizzes past him, hooves echoing outside the castle walls like an incoming avalanche. Your face passes by his mind, fearing the worst, hoping for the best as his heart cinches in his chest.
With the sounds of battle getting closer, he pushes his horse to the limit. He unsheathes his sword, your initial carved along the hilt, and he charges head first into the fight.
His sword collides with an enemy’s neck, slicing it clean off as he keeps his eyes peeled around him. He looks for your familiar armor, and the way you move fluidly with a sword. But everything around him is chaos, steel kissing flesh, blood sprayed on the grass where he used to run towards you with a smile on his face. The place that used to remind him of happier days is now sullied with the scent of battle and the sight of gore.
Hobie keeps fighting, gnashing his teeth with every strike. He loses himself, adrenaline coursing through his veins like bubbling lava. Spilled blood coats his armor, darkening his weapon.
“Commander!” One of his knights call for him above the screams, they point at the tree where you defend the lord with all your might. “The eastern lord!”
That’s not his target, he’d rather let the pretentious man die if it means that you’ll live to see the end of the day. So he rushes towards you, hooves beating on the ground loudly, trampling flowers and limbs alike.
Hobie’s focused on you, the way you slice through the enemy, the way you defend with all your might as your lord cowers behind you. As he gets closer, your tired yells are a strike to his senses, he cannot bear to hear you in pain, or to see you slowly succumb to the fatigue. Your movements slow, languishing with every strike.
“Come on!” You scream to the enemy, taunting them as your sword points right at them. Panting, your eyes meet with Hobie, who is rushing to you like a man scorned. Smiling, blood coating your cheek, your happiness fades when you spot a bear trap laid down on his path. “Hobie, stop!”
But your warning is too late, the horse’s hoof gets trapped within its metal maw, and Hobie drops down on the ground with a sickening thud. His armor clangs hardly, heavy on his body as he immediately stands up despite the throbbing ache on his head. Yelling at the enemy surrounding you, some turn towards him, baring their axes and screaming back at him before bolting for him.
Hobie dodges a blade, his sword piercing through the enemy’s shoulder and into another. He yells your name like a battle cry, hands slick with crimson, gazing at you whilst you defend and attack at the same time. You fight together like it’s a dance, calculated motions, fluid and in sync.
Meeting with your gaze mid fight, he sees you smile tiredly at him. Even with all the death and scarlet around you, you still manage to have his heart skip a beat.
He nods, a brief acknowledgement, telling you that it’ll soon be over. Smacking at an enemy upside the head with your shield, he then tosses the metal at you.
With the shield in hand, you can properly defend as you block a hit aimed right at your heart. Once your sword enters their clavicle, there are only a handful of soldiers remaining. So you hand the shield to your lord, wordlessly telling him to run into the woods and use the shield as a defense.
Hobie’s world falls in slow motion, you turn back to the fight, facing him with shining eyes as the lord runs away behind you just when a soldier manages to pass him and lunge at you with a spear.
“No!” In a split second decision, he flings his sword right at the enemy’s back, hitting him dead and center. Relieved, he looks at you and meets with your eyes, his relief is shattered when blood spills from your mouth.
The enemy falls before you, revealing a gaping wound right in your stomach.
Your name spills from his tongue, acrid and bloody.
An arrow hits his back, then another and another, ignoring it in favour of rushing to your side. The pain is nothing compared to seeing you fall right in front of him.
Hobie’s agonizing screams fuels his army, continuing to fight beyond his command. When he catches you in his arms and he falls to his knees— you no longer breathe.
“L—Love?” His voice breaks, clutching onto you tightly. He shakes your limp body, a gloved hand touching your cheek. He can’t feel your warmth, so he yanks his glove with his teeth, cupping your face once again as he feels you going cold under his touch.
Under the shared tree, his heart breaks, his ichor dripping down his back like waterfalls. And your life slipping from his hands.
The sun bathes your face in light, as if you still live. Hobie brings you closer, shoving off his helmet before placing his face in the crook of your neck. He breathes in your fading scent, and he doesn’t feel your pulse beat under his touch anymore. Hearts no longer beating together.
He leans away, kissing you one last time as more arrows rain down upon him. One hits his back and yet he still shields you away with his own body. Standing up with his last strength, he carries you towards the tree, right under the carved initials just like always.
“I promised you, love.”
Kneeling down with you still in his arms, tears dripping onto your cheek, Hobie gently closes your eyes, seeing the sun’s rays within them after gazing into them one last time.
Another promise lay broken at his feet.
Heartbeat slowing, armor dripping with his own blood and yours. As he lays his forehead against your own, with the bloodied flowers around you, and his last vision is of you, he finally stops fighting and shares the endless quiet with you.
A Ghost, a Vampire and a Dodo Bird Walks into a Bar…
Pairing: Vampire! Hobie Brown x fem! Reader
Word count: 9.6k
Synopsis: Ghost hunting isn't like how it is in the movies.
Tags: Use of Y/N sparsely, no specific physical description of the reader except for clothing, vampire AU, vampire! Hobie, hunter! Reader, In pursuit of blood part 4, clairvoyant! Miles, Werewolf! Gwen, Witch, Pavitr and Gayatri, CW blood and injury, CW suggestive, mockumentary AU, WWDITS AU, established relationship, fluff.
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“Damn,” is all you have to say when you get to your destination. “How do you know Pavitr again, Gayatri?” You ask as you crane your neck up and outside the car window just to gaze at the massive gothic mansion in front of you.
“All witch apprentices know each other. Our mentors typically let us interact.” She answers, unclasping her seat belt as everyone except for Hobie gawks at the massive place.
“We have a group chat…” Pavitr simply adds, taking a quick snap of the mansion. “But I didn’t know your place looks like this, Gaya.”
“I’m used to it, I guess.” She shrugs as you shut off your engine.
“Alright, ground rules.” You look behind at the passenger seat before they go outside.
They all groan in tandem.
“Listen to mum.” Hobie defends you, using the rear view mirror, and dabbing the corner of his lips with a handkerchief when it left a stain that awfully looks like the same shade of your chapstick right on the cloth.
With a playful tap on Hobie’s bicep, you continue. “I don’t want to be that guy but we need to be extra careful because the thing that’s haunting the house isn’t a pixie.”
“Yeah no shit, Sherlock.” Gwen utters, checking her nails.
“Gwen,” you call gently as she turns her attention to you. “Did you take your meds today? The ghosts inside might overwhelm you. I don’t want you straining yourself, okay?”
“I did, yeah, don’t worry.” She gives you a wobbly smile. “I don’t want to hear them whispering to me either.”
You nod. “Just listen to what Hobie and I have to say, when we tell you to run, you run, when I tell you to cast a spell you do it.” Your eyes glance along their faces. “And for the love of all things that’s good, don’t live stream the whole thing.”
They all turn towards Hobie.
“That was one time, I misclicked!” The five of you continue to stare at him. “Come off it.” He huffs back down on the seat.
“You almost exposed us, Hobie.” Miles winces at the memory.
“Yeah, we almost got the HOA on our asses again.” Gwen adds with a chuckle.
Patting Hobie’s chest to placate him, you turn back towards the backseat. “I have extra equipment and holy water in my trunk, you guys can—”
“Sweet! Ghost hunting time!” Miles bolts out of the car and immediately heads towards the trunk. “I call dibs on the water gun!”
“Wait, I want the radio thing!”
“Miles, no fair!”
“Are they always like this?” Gayatri asks before following right behind them.
“Yep.” You pop the letter ‘p’, peripheral catching the documentary crew arriving together in tandem with Harry’s car. “Hobie.”
The vampire immediately turns to you with a small smile. “Yeah, lovie?”
“Do me a favour and keep an eye out for them? Something tells me that this isn’t a regular haunting.” Your eyes glance worriedly at the huge mansion.
“How ‘bout you then?”
“You know I can handle myself.” Reaching for his cheek, he leans against your touch, pecking your palm and gazing at you affectionately. “Besides, I’m good with poltergeists, if this doesn’t end up being something worse than that, we’ll be okay.”
Leaning over the console, he kisses you gently, once, twice, thrice for good measure. “Can I have some of that holy water too?”
“That’s like acid to you.” Giggling, you wipe the sheen off his lips with your thumb.
His brows furrowed. “Nah, it doesn’t do that to me.”
“Really?” You’re even more confused than him.
“Yeah, I don’t remember the last time I was burned by it. Probably durin’ Victoria’s time.”
“Huh, that’s weird—” you almost jump at someone knocking on your car window.
“Stop making out and let’s go hunt a ghost!” Gwen impatiently stomps her foot.
“Alright, alright we’re coming.” Sighing with a subtle smile, you unclasp your seat belt and head out with Hobie. He beats you to opening the car door first when he zoomed on over to your side within a second. Taking his helping hand, cheeks warm, your smile falters when you see Harry giving you a look. Hand sliding away from him, Hobie follows your line of sight and glowers right at him. “Come on, Hobie.” You whisper to him gently and he complies without hesitance.
The cameras capture the whole thing on film: Harry’s questioning expression, surely with a remark on the tip of his tongue, and with you hiding the fact that you want nothing else but to hold onto Hobie freely but you’re forced to lay low. Meanwhile the vampire wants the other hunter to burst into flames simply from his gaze.
Hobie shows his displeasure by staying by your side the whole way up to the house, his palm hovering just above the small of your back. The metal gates squeak as Gayatri opens it. She then begins to unlock the large ornate front door with a ring of keys with so many rattling keys attached to it in all shapes and sizes that it rivals Hobie’s infinite carabiner.
“Shoes off inside please.” Gayatri instructs as the group follows suit, entering the abode and leaving the shoes at the door.
The documentary crew lets everyone else go inside first when they can’t possibly fit themselves in through the door with their large equipment while your group stumbles as they take off their shoes one by one.
The second you step foot, your whole body tells you to run, a slithering sensation that has goosebumps rising on your arms. You’re used to that feeling when you’ve been hunting ever since you could properly hold a wooden stake, so you ignore it, chalking it up to nerves.
Once inside, feeling tucked inside your mind, you whistle lowly at the decor. From floor to ceiling, it’s a genuine Victorian style home. The curved staircase adds whimsy and charm with its carved wooden bannister that stretches from the three floors down to the foyer. A gothic style chandelier laden with dark crystals catches your eye as it shimmers under the moonlight provided by the sun roof above. It’s the least modern house you’ve ever seen, everything you see around you doesn’t look like it came from the same year or even the same century as the present. There’s also a few dead giveaways on who lives here, there’s dried herbs dangling from the ceiling that seems to be held up by nothing; that gives off the smell of a cottage in a forest. And the gaudiest taxidermied critters are littered all over the place like there’s no lack of supply for dead furry creatures to use as decor.
You’re still in the foyer, and you wonder what treasure lies within the house when you go further in. As much as you love Hobie’s treasures that he gathered through the years, you’re just as impressed with the house with its curated pieces that you’re sure that museums are currently looking for.
The cameras try to record properly from behind, but they can’t get inside just yet while the others are still unlacing their shoes.
“Shit, is that an Egyptian bangle?” Gwen’s eyes widen at the display case sitting casually on a glass cabinet like they’re a regular old collection of a Sylvanian family.
Miles drops your pack by your feet to gawk at the golden bangle with its shiny sapphires. Chuckling and rolling your eyes, you grab your pack and sling it over your shoulder.
Hobie’s attention is immediately on the intricate bangle, red eyes narrowing at the sight of the turquoise beading and large carved scarab in the middle. “Yeah, made before King Tut’s time, I bet.”
“Since when are you an ancient Egyptian expert?”
“I lived through it, Gwendy.” He simply says. And Gwen gives a ‘fair enough’ expression.
Something feathery waddles and catches your attention. “Fucking hell, is that a dodo bird?” You point at the bird walking casually to the kitchen.
“Oh shit, let me see!” The trio sprints away, their socks almost making them slip and fall on the polished floors as they clamber against each other.
“Sorry ‘bout ‘em.” Hobie apologizes on their behalf.
“It’s alright. I get it though, I was like that when I first got here— please don’t touch the Mayan calendar.” Gayatri slaps away Harry’s hand that’s about to poke at a finely carved stone.
“I just wanted to see if it’s the real thing.” Harry mumbles and nurses his ‘injury.’
Hobie smiles blatantly at Harry and nods approvingly at Gayatri instead. Meanwhile, the crew are just starting to filter inside, trying to quickly toe off their shoes to capture the place.
“I suppose we don’t have time for a house tour. So where should we start—?”
As if on cue, an invisible force pushes at the group, as if an intense wind is trying to blow everyone out of the house.
Eyes stinging, you quickly grasp at the corner of the cabinet. Hobie leaps to your rescue, wrapping his arms around your waist, securing you in place. While Gayatri utters a spell to keep her in place as she shields her face with her arm from the wind. With the camera crew that are nearest to the door, they’re the first ones out, equipment flying and tumbling beside them, shattering most of their stuff. Jared catches the edge of the door, hanging for dear life before getting flung outside together with his crew members. Harry almost flies out right after, but Hobie catches him at the last minute, holding him by his scruff like a misbehaving puppy.
“Hold on!” With a flick of her hand, sparks flying out, Gayatri halts the wind. “I think we’re good. This is what I’ve been talking about.” Heaving, she looks over her shoulder to find the three of you looking disheveled and missing the whole documentary crew. “Did you close the door?” She asks worriedly.
Harry yanks himself out of Hobie’s grasp and heads on over to the front door frantically, only to find that it doesn’t budge open. “Shit.”
Meanwhile the documentary crew outside are banging at the door, pleading to be let in and speaking of getting reprimanded by their big corporate boss if they don’t get any juicy footage.
“Let me try.” Gayatri whips out her keys again, trying to open the door.
“Wait, where are the kids?” Your heart sinks down to your stomach as your feet takes you towards the kitchen where they went. Panic envelopes you when you don’t find them inside. “Hobie, we need to—” as you turn around, you find yourself all alone when you thought he was following you. The whole house is as silent as the dead. “Fuck me.” Hands shaking, you hold onto the straps of your pack to ground yourself.
“Okay, first thing’s first, find someone.” Muttering to yourself, you decide to head further into the mansion. Leaving the kitchen, back to the foyer and to the hallways under the staircase. “I’ll take anyone, hell, even Harry.” Taking some chalk inside your pack, you start to mark the hallway with an X to keep up with the moving rooms. “I don’t think we have a regular ghost here.” Shuddering, you see your own breath escape you as you feel the sudden burst of freezing cold touch your shoulder.
Heart beating rapidly in your ears, your hand brushes along the salts inside your pocket before quickly turning around and flinging it behind you.
“Ow! Fuck!” Harry gasps, holding onto his stinging eyes. “What’d you do that for?!”
“Shit, sorry! I thought you were a ghost!” Taking his arm, you lead him back to the kitchen, only to find a completely different room. This time, the whole space is filled with ancient Egyptian artifacts, complete with a sarcophagus standing upright in the middle of the area. It’s like you walked into a museum. When the torches flicker on, your mouth turns dry. “I guess we’ll wash that off with some holy water.”
“Do it! It’s not like I’m going to burst into flames!” He exclaims as you guide him towards an elegant green settee in the corner.
“Are you sure about that?” You say to yourself as you wash his eyes. The water drips down, and you grimace at the wet carpet that it leaves. “Sorry.”
“It’s fine.”
“I’m talking to the owner of the house for ruining their carpet.” Chuckling, Harry doesn’t seem so amused as he stares at you with his reddened eyes. “How do you feel now?”
“Like a million bucks. You know I’m starting to think that these aren’t pixies.” Scratching his eyes, Harry groans and sinks further into the seat. “Just leave me here, call me when you’re done with the ghost.”
Scoffing, you take your pack and go. But before you do, you feel a magnetic pull towards the sarcophagus. Turning back around as if you’re on auto pilot, you suddenly find yourself in a dark cramped space.
“What the fuck?!” Waking up panting, fists banging against the lid, you scream as loud as you could. Feeling for your pack, you try to find your flashlight. “Fuck, fuck, where is it?!”
“Y/n?!” Harry’s voice sounds like he’s a million miles away from you. “How the fuck did you get in there?!”
“What?” You pause in your movements. “Where the fuck am I, Harry?!”
“Inside the fucking sarcophagus!”
“Oh shit balls.” Heartbeat quickening, you finally find your flashlight as you immediately turn it on as light floods inside, you’re face to face with the lid and its carved hieroglyphics. Just when you thought taking that Egyptian hieroglyphs class back in college was stupid of you, it finally came in handy.
Taking deep breaths, you try to calm yourself, and imagine being in Hobie’s coffin instead of a dusty sarcophagus. You’re used to the coffin since you practically moved in his room, but instead of giving you a sense of comfort inside the cramped walls, this one just gives you the heebie-jeebies.
“Genius, say something! Don’t tell me you suffocated in there!” Harry’s fists bangs at the sarcophagus.
“I’m fine!” You look behind you to find nothing but the solid wall of the tomb, and you thank your lucky stars for that. Seeing a wrapped mummy under you would’ve stopped your heart, you can handle flaming monsters and loveable vampires, but mummies give you the ick. “Can you find something to pry it open?”
“I think so!” There’s stomping on the other end. “There’s a scepter in here.”
“No! Don’t use that! That belongs in a museum, you’ll break it!”
“Well, I can’t just leave you in there!”
Huffing, you bite the flashlight to rifle into your bag for something sharp and long, only to find a fountain pen and a small dagger. Inhaling, you feel the air grow thinner inside. “I have a dagger but I don’t think it’ll work but I’ll try!”
“Try, please!”
You manage to snort at his desperation as if he’s the one locked inside. Placing the blade in between the cracks, you try to pry it open. With all your strength, it doesn’t budge.
“Did it work?”
“Do you see me now?”
“No?”
“Then it obviously didn’t work!”
“Is it too late to say that I’m not over you—?”
“Really, Harry?!” Grimacing, you try again with the dagger. “We were together for barely a week, man!”
“It was the best week of my life!”
“Idiot.” Muttering, and giving it your all as you push, the blade suddenly snaps in half, grazing your palm in the process. “Fuck, ow!” Exclaiming, Harry hears it and proceeds to panic further. “It’s fine, just a cut!”
“Oh, god, you’re going to die in there!”
“Shut it, Harry!” Winching, you wrap your hand around your shirt in a makeshift bandage. You’d reach for your pack on the floor but you’re bleeding too much as it manages to stain the lid of the sarcophagus.
“Hold on, I’ll find help!”
“Wait, you’ll get lost!” Judging from the door slamming close, you’re alone. “Idiot. Why the fuck did I date him?”
Steadying your breathing, you try to relax your anxious body but it’s harder when your hand aches. Eyes honing in on the hieroglyphics in front of you, the words capture your attention. Might as well read it, you then quickly realize that it’s a story, something like a folk lore that you’ve never heard of before.
It paints a picture for you, a servant and a noble man’s daughter. Two star crossed lovers doomed at the start, both forced to do the family’s bidding. As you translate the symbols, you feel sand underneath your feet, as if you’re flung right into the story. You watch as the two shadows hide their love from scornful eyes, meeting in the dark and acting as if nothing happened when the sun arose and the world puts them back in their place.
Your bloodied hand brushes along a symbol that you can’t quite decipher, a whole line that was either struck away by a sharp weapon, or ruined by the elements and time itself. Continuing the story, your blood staining the carved symbols, it reads that the servant died but came back to life, a gift from the gods, or a curse, you can’t exactly tell when your knowledge needs polishing. Either way, you know that he became a vampire just from that line alone.
“A night creature.” Your lips move on their own, reading it in ancient Egyptian like it’s suddenly your mother tongue.
Reading further, the story turns into an outdated textbook about vampires, something you already know about, from the sun killing them, to things that were already proven untrue. But as you go on, it gets harder and harder to translate with the carvings turning unreadable from all the weathering. But something catches your attention, a small section of the story that was carved as an afterthought, that if true, the knowledge will change everything you knew about vampires.
Hope blooms in your chest, a thumb running over the carved line as you chuckle. “I need to tell Hobie—” your flashlight shuts off suddenly, and the wall behind you crumbles to dust as you stumble backwards into another space.
Wincing, back aching, you look at the stone clad room with torches lined up on the hieroglyphic covered walls. This one feels different than the artifact room you first stumbled upon. The previous place had everything behind glass, and the stone walls were clearly fake, made with foam and painted to look weathered, looking like a museum. But this one seems legitimate, as if you fell right inside an actual tomb.
You roll on your front, eyes staying on the single pedestal right in the middle of the dim space. It’s lit above by a single hole on the ceiling, angled up and looking like the inside of a pyramid. Standing up, footsteps echoing, you can’t look away from the jeweled necklace placed right on the stone pedestal. It’s expertly made, simple with its single golden chain, and clearly from the same era with an ankh pendant dangling on it.
The single ruby sitting right in the middle of the ankh captures you, the same shade as Hobie’s eyes, scarlet and clear as it drags your hand towards it without another thought. It only took a single touch for you to ease into unconsciousness.
—
“Love?!” Hobie panics when he follows behind you to the kitchen only to find it empty. “Fuck!” A palm atop his chest, he tries to even out his breathing. “Where are you?!” Screaming, he’s met with silence. “Gwen, Miles, Pav?!”
He’s flinging cabinets away, trying to find a semblance of your presence or the trio’s before storming back into the foyer. Stopping in his tracks, eyes widening in sheer horror, he sees your limp body on the bottom of the staircase.
“No.” His own body refuses to move, limbs turning to stone at the sight of your head bleeding profusely on the carpeted floor. “Lovie?” Eyes watering, he heaves, blood rushing to his ears.
Wiping his eyes to see you clearly, your body is gone from the floor as if you weren’t there to begin with. Panting, hands on his knees, he never felt so relieved.
Hobie thumps his head with the heel of his palm, blinking away the unshed bloodied tears. “It’s messin’ with you.” He whispers to himself for comfort. “It ain’t real. It ain’t real.”
A hand circles around his elbow, a touch he knows all too well. Relaxing, Hobie’s worry fades away as he smiles, turning around to face you.
“Are sure that I’m not real?” You say in an empty tone, blood caked on your face, skull cracked.
“Fuck!” Hobie stumbles backwards and into a cabinet of artifacts that almost breaks from the collision.
Standing in the middle of the foyer, he’s haunted by the ghostly sight of you. Then, one by one, all the versions of you walk out, each marred by the fatal injuries that ended your life. Each wearing different clothes from eras that he lived through, ones that you never survived in to see the next.
“Or am I showing you the end?” The voices overlap with each other, an echo of the past, a chorus of his failures.
“Stop!” Waving his hand in front of him, the hauntings fade away like dust in the breeze.
“What are you doing?” Pav appears from behind, making Hobie jump away in surprise.
The young witch holds onto a good mannered dodo bird that’s sleeping in his arms, and he doesn’t look like he’s bothered by all the hauntings when he seems to be relaxed.
“Pav, you good?” Hobie’s red eyes glance around, seeing that he’s definitely not in the foyer anymore but in an expansive library that spans high above like an observatory. “How did I—?” Hand on his chest, he tries to calm his breathing.
“The ghost makes the house move around. I lost Miles a few rooms ago, and I thought I saw Gayatri but it wasn’t her. I don’t know where Gwen is.” Pav casually says, giving the vampire a helping hand as he takes it with a thankful nod. “Good news though, I found a book here that could help us.”
Hobie takes his hand away when he feels that something isn’t right with Pavitr. “You sure you’re okay, Pav?” His crimson eyes search his face, but nothing seems to be amiss.
“Follow me.” Gesturing with his head, Pavitr walks towards a large leather bound book sitting on a pedestal. “This one.”
Glancing around, Hobie takes the book into his arms. “Which page did you say it was—?” When he turns around, he finds himself alone, and a quiet giggle lingers in the air together with the smell of sulfur. “Damn it, shit’s playin’ with me.” Muttering and unbothered, Hobie leaves the room whilst skimming through the book’s contents.
His footsteps thud softly on the floor, eyes honed in on the pages as he navigates the winding corridors.
“What the fuck is this?” Groaning, he finds that the book is all about the mundane history of how stairs came to be. “Arsehole.” There’s that giggling echoing around again. Tossing the book haphazardly with a thud, he decides to walk around in hopes of finding someone, hopefully you.
Fists opening and closing, gulping down his worries, he enters each room with fading hope. One by one, he checks each room. He encounters a blue space filled with blooming violets, its scent encompassing the whole place. A half painted portrait sits right in the middle of the opulent room, together with a painter's pallet laying by it.
Squinting his eyes, vision zooming in on the portrait, the woman in the painting blinks back at him.
“Nope.” Hobie slams the door shut, already walking away. “Where the fuck are you, love?”
His anxiety grows even more when goosebumps rise on his arms, which was a thing of the past for him, one that he hasn't felt in a long time, a grounding feeling that he has only felt when he first laid eyes on you. He’s not afraid for his own life when he has lived a thousand lifetimes, but he’s afraid for yours, Miles’, Gwen’s, and Pavitr’s. He promised to protect you this time, and in turn promised to protect everything you hold near and dear. He wants to keep that promise intact.
Stepping further into the house, hallways getting longer and more doors appearing, the whole place suddenly drops in temperature. He could see his breath as he hears someone crying, a muffled sob that has his senses on high alert. Honing his hearing, he finds the source at the end of the hallway.
With every step, the hallway extends even further than the mind could comprehend. Stretching infinitely into oblivion.
“Wanker.” Grinding his fangs, he curses the ghost like it just took his lunch money instead of it messing with his mind. Cracking his neck, Hobie starts to sprint to the end, only for the hallway to stretch even more when his hand brushes along the doorknob briefly. Heaving and pausing for breath, he rests his hands on his knees for a moment.
Something catches his eye on his right, something that has his heart plunging in his stomach— his reflection.
Hobie crosses the small distance towards the floor length mirror that shows his true self. The outfit he picked this morning, the trio’s gifts adorning him, and the mark you left right on his clavicle. It’s him, a sight that he hasn’t seen since he turned— since he died. A hand reaches for the mirror, a bloodied tear escaping him when he finds it real.
The cold mirror was a shock to his senses, but your face appearing by the side of his head shocks him even more, almost restarting his heart.
When he turns around, he finds no one beside him, only your perfume lingering in the air, but not the one you usually reach for, no, it’s the same scent that your ancestor used to wear— lavender and eucalyptus, a sweetened scent that brings his senses back in time, when he was merely a nobody and you were someone who finally saw him for who he is and not what he was forced to do.
“Love?” His voice echoes around the hallway, breath stuck in his throat as his skin rises with goosebumps.
“Here.”
A breathy whisper from behind compels him to turn around and face the mirror once again, only to find it reflecting nothing. He doesn’t know if it was cruel to give him the vision of himself after a thousand years, or a brief kindness.
As Hobie wipes the bloody tear streak drying on his cheek, he decides to go further. Focusing his gaze onto the end of the loop, commanding it to stop. This time, the hallway obeys him and stops moving, enough for him to grasp the cold doorknob and enter the next room.
Stepping through, he senses the cold again. His eyes glance around, fake torches line the ancient Egyptian themed room, as if he stepped foot inside a museum with its glass cabinets laden with artifacts, and the sarcophagus standing upright right in the middle of it.
Hobie eyes the golden sarcophagus as familiarity floods his senses. A panther’s face is in place of a man’s head, expertly carved into the wood, complete with all the regalia that’s worthy of a pharaoh’s burial. His sharp nail taps at the weathered lid, leaving a sharp indent on it.
His ears pick up a quiet weeping, tilting his head, he sees Gwen huddled behind it, cowering with her hands covering her ears.
“Gwen.” Breathing a sigh of relief, he immediately walks over to her, hoping that she’s the real deal this time.
She lifts her head, eyes red and puffy as she clutches onto her ears. “Hobie?”
“Oi, it’s alright, jus’ me.” Kneeling down, Gwen abruptly lunges at him, embracing him for comfort. His eyes widen for a moment, not used to the girl’s affection before gently tapping at her back. “Shh, you’re alright now, Gwendy.”
“It’s so loud here, Hobie.” Her grip on his shirt tightens, and that’s how he knows that she’s real. “She’s so fucking loud.”
“Who?”
“The ghost.” Sniffing, frown deepening, she leans away. “S–She keeps saying things, fucked up things.”
There’s something creaking behind him, and he chalks it to the old house making sounds.
“What kind of things?”
“About you, and Y/N.” Tears blur in her eyes as Hobie carefully moves her hair away from her wet cheeks.
“Gwen—”
“She said that you ruin everything you touch, that she’ll die if you don’t—”
“It’s awful to tell lies, sweetling.” Your voice echoes from behind, but it’s not the same tone you usually give him during the early nights where your limbs are tangled around him. No, it’s something antediluvian, ancient, whispering right into his head.
Gwen yelps, and Hobie’s immediately up on his feet, backing away from you, something he has never done before. He grasps Gwen in his arms, clutching the back of her head as he sees the sarcophagus lid open and in full display while you peek around it.
Your eyes smile at him, irises large, covered in black liner that drips onto your cheek. Nails tapping against the wood, golden bangles clinking against the other, you giggle, preferring to hide the other half of your face.
“You’re not her. Let her go.” Hobie’s stern voice bounces off the walls, causing the lights to flicker from the sheer volume.
“Make her stop!” Gwen clutches her ears, sharp claws digging into her skin.
“Shh,” you put a finger to your painted lips, bloodied red, as scarlet as the blood that flows through your veins. “It’s alright, come here, I’ll take care of you like always, hm?”
“Hobie, don’t let me go!” Gwen hides herself further against him, crying into his chest.
“I won’t, I won’t.” Hobie keeps her close, eyes never straying too far from you, or what is currently possessing your body. “Show your real self then, c’mon, don’t be shy.”
“Oh, I’m my true self.” Your giggles sends shivers down his spine, not the usual kind as you step out into the light. Arms on your sides, showing yourself off and grinning from ear to ear, Hobie feels like he was flung back in time.
There you stand, clad in white linen that drapes around your form, a kalasiris that’s almost sheer as the light touches it, daintily painted with royal blue flowers. You may not have the exact same face as the woman he once knew a thousand lifetimes ago, but the smile you don on is the exact same one he loved, once prayed for to see as the dawn breaks.
You wear golden jewelries straight from the displays around the room, beads that are a mirror of the ones he used to trace with his fingers delicately. The things adorning your body aren’t the real deal, some are replicas, fakes, but the necklace atop your broad beaded collar can’t be replicated.
“Oh this old thing?” You notice the way his eyes hone in on the ankh dangling around your neck. “Do you like it?”
Hobie has never felt this much fear and anger in his heart until now. “How—”
“You’re not the only one that has keepsakes.” Biting your lip, your fingers play with the pendant. “Ironic, no? Seeing that the person who gave me this was the opposite of life itself.” You say with a lilt, dropping your smile as you gaze back at him. “Oh, Hobart, you look just the same. Pity that I look different every time you meet me with every generation that comes and goes.” Smacking your lips together, you take an eerie step forward. “Maybe someday you’ll fuck one that looks exactly like me.”
Hobie’s eyes widen when you lunge at him suddenly, teeth bared, hissing and screaming like a banshee.
“Fuck!” Jumping up to the ceiling, he keeps his hold onto Gwen, who keeps her eyes shut as he perches in the corner. “You good there, Gwendy?” She shakes her head, clawing at her ears, bleeding onto his collar.
You look up at him with a chuckle. “Aw, come down here, you’re no fun.”
“Yeah, no, lovie.”
“Please?” You give him your puppy dog eyes.
Hobie shakes his head, “that’s not goin’ to work on me.”
“But it always does the trick.” Frowning, you then leap up, trying to claw at him before he dodges and lands on the ground with a thud. You now look down at him, grinning, digging your claws in as you crawl upside down on the ceiling. “And here I thought you loved me.”
“I do.” His words make you stunned in place, as if he knocked you out. While Gwen clings to him, he spots the water gun filled with holy water right beside the settee. “I fuckin’ do, my love. Stop this, let her go and we’ll talk like always. Remember our tree?”
Eyes softening, lips wobbling, a tear escapes and plunges down on his cheek. “Hobie?” Your tone changes, one that he’s more recently familiar with.
“Yeah, lovie, it’s me.” Hobie telepathically tells Gwen his plan before gently placing her down on her feet. She looks apprehensive, but nods along with determination. “C’mon then, let’s talk, yeah?”
Gently crawling down, lips downturned, whilst Gwen slowly inches her way towards the water gun. Her foot accidentally knocks against the plastic, causing you to abruptly stop mid crawl.
Your head cranes up to stare at him, dead set to sink your claws right into his neck.
“Shit.” Hobie takes the brunt of the collision, it may not be you in there anymore but it’s still your body getting bruised and beaten. “Gwen!” Shielding his head, your nails scratch and stab him as you straddle his front. Your screeches will haunt his dreams. “Hurry up!”
“I’m trying! It’s the pump action kind! Fuck!” He could hear the squeaking of the toy.
“Do you know why she ran off when she heard that vampire’s question, hm?” Your hands grasp at his wrist, trying to unfurl his arms as you lean as close as you could, eyes manic, grinning like a maniac. “She doesn’t want you, she doesn’t even care for you. She’s repulsed by the idea of having your children.”
Hobie tries to ignore the venom laced in your words, still on the defense.
You notice the plastic squeaking and you turn your attention right at the werewolf. But Hobie traps you in his hold, long legs enveloping around your waist, hands gripping onto your wrist tightly that it leaves marks on your skin. He’d apologize to you later, but his priority is getting you back. With his strength, he keeps you in place even when you snarl and try to bite at his face hungrily.
“Gwen!”
“Take this, you bitch!” Water is sprayed all over you and Hobie, drenching your face, smudging the dark liner even further.
Heaving, you freeze but you’re unharmed, a grin spreading across your face. “Ouch, that tickles.” Licking the water, you cackle, as you manage to escape Hobie’s hold, pouncing at Gwen with intent to kill.
“No!” Hobie reaches for you as Gwen braces for impact. He takes hold of the necklace, yanking you backwards as the chain breaks and you slide down on the floor from the sheer momentum. He fears that he accidentally hurt you when you don’t move on the floor. “No, no, lovie.”
“Hobie, don’t!” Gwen captures his arm, the pendant swinging from his closed fist. “She could be faking.”
“It’s Y/N—”
“I know, it’s the necklace that has its hold on her, you need to destroy it.”
Sure enough, when you move slowly, floating back up on your feet with ease, your laugh floods the whole room as the lights flicker. “He can’t, not when it means so much to him. Weren’t you out looking for it for years?”
Hobie gazes at the necklace, thumb rubbing along the ruby in the center. If it means having you back, so be it. When he turns back to you, your smile falls, screaming as you pounce towards him.
Throwing the necklace down, Hobie quickly smashes it against the heel of his foot, shattering the necklace into a thousand pieces as a puff of red smoke fades out. Catching you in his arms with ease, you fall limp into his arms, as Hobie sighs in relief.
Hobie carries you, a hand moving your hair to check on your sleeping face. He could hear your heart beating steadily against him, breath fanning his lips as he hopes that you don’t remember a thing when you wake up.
Gwen relaxes, dropping down on the settee as she holds her head in her hands. “Is she okay?” She asks, voice muffled by her hands.
“Yeah, she’s fine.” Hobie joins Gwen’s side, cradling you against him on the sofa, keeping you safe. “You did good, Gwendy, she’d be proud of you.”
“I have no idea how she does this every day.” Kneading her forehead, Hobie pats her head affectionately. “Who was that, Hobie?” Lifting her head, eyes still teary, she takes one worried look at your sleeping face. “She was saying a lot of things about you. Crazy shit.”
“Someone from the past.” Hobie leans back on the chair, easing himself further as he steadies his breathing. His arms bleed, but as he holds onto your bloodied hand, he’s more worried of his blood and flesh sticking into your nails while he attempts to clean them. “Jus’ forget what she told you, it’s probably a spirit tryin’ to impersonate her.”
“How would a spirit even do that?”
“Things hold memory, Gwen.” He utters softly, a hand cupping your cheek and fixing your hair.
“What if…” her brows knit together. “What if that was really her, whoever she was.”
Hobie shakes his head, sighing as his eyes glance at the broken necklace on the floor. “That wasn’t her.” He turns to Gwen. “She wouldn’t say those things.”
“Your memory could be wrong, Hobie. It’s been a thousand years.”
“When it comes to her, I don’t forget anythin’.”
Gwen looks like she’s about to say something else, lips pursing together, fists opening and closing before she lets out a breath. “Did you actually kill—”
“Gwen!” Miles kicks down the door as it slams against the wall. The dodo bird saunters in, waddling like it owns the place. His eyes finally meets hers and he lets out a relieved sigh. “You’re alive—! What happened here?” He looks at the messed up room as Pavitr pushes him away.
His face falls when he sees you limp in Hobie’s arms. “She’s dead!”
“She’s alive, Pav.” Gwen says flatly, standing up and looking away from you and Hobie.
“She’s alive!” Pavitr rejoices and runs toward you, checking your pulse. “What’d you do now, old man?!”
“This time, it’s not my fault.” Hobie manages a tired smile.
“It kinda is.” Gwen mutters, arms folded over her chest.
Miles looks at her with knitted brows. “Seriously, don’t keep us hanging.”
“She got possessed by a spirit. We took care of it.” She says monotonously, eyes glancing at the mess.
“I should’ve seen that coming.”
“Where’s Gayatri and the pixie guy—?”
“No!” Harry appears from the broken door, looking like the scream painting. “I knew it! You hurt her!” He points an accusing finger at Hobie.
“She’s alive, mate.” The vampire moves you away from Harry’s touch as he makes an offended expression. Hobie simply clicks his tongue and turns to Pav, who’s wiping your wet face carefully with a handkerchief. “Where’s your bird? I need to ask her questions.”
“Why? And I don’t know, I lost her inside the Klimt room.” The dodo bird seems to agree as it chirps and pecks at the cracked ruby on the floor.
“Ooh, the Klimt room, how romantic!” Miles teases, nudging Gwen and trying to get her into the joke. She just looks away and walks out of the room without another word. Hobie stares at her retreating back with a frown. “What’s wrong with her?”
“This is why you’ve been single for a long time, Miles.” Pav chortles out as he picks up the ruby from the dodo’s beak.
“Hey! You’re single too!”
“Can you give me that, Pav.” Hobie instructs as Pavitr hands him the ruined ruby.
“Can I have that?” Harry points at it, but Hobie quickly pockets it, glancing at you briefly. “Come on, it’s broken anyway.”
“It’s cursed, d’you really want it?”
Harry smacks his lips together. “No, not anymore.”
“Man, she’s really napping, huh?” Miles leans against the wall casually as he watches the lone dodo bird waddle around the room while Pavitr plays tag with it. His eyes wonder at your bloodied nails and then at Hobie's scratched arms, putting two and two together. “I mean, I’d be sleeping too if I got possessed—”
“Unicycle!” You suddenly jolt awake, making everyone jump in place, clutching their pearls. Panting, you cautiously look around you, eyes landing at a relieved Hobie, who gazes at you with tenderness. “I had the weirdest dream, babe. Shit’s crazy.”
Chuckling, eyes glistening over, Hobie cups the back of your head and brings you close for an embrace. “I bet it was, lovie.” He softly says against your neck, pressing a gentle kiss right on your pulse.
Harry has an intense look on his face, confusion and disgust warping his expression. Miles and Pavitr are the ones to notice as they share a knowing look before grabbing the other hunter by the arm and leading him away with an excuse.
“I think we saw a nest of pixies down the hall!” Pavitr tells a convincing lie.
“Pixies, you say?!” While Harry hurries along right behind the ushering pair.
You hug back, arms enveloping around him affectionately. “I’ll tell you all about it later— what the fuck happened to my hands?” Leaning away, glancing at your bangles, bloodied nails and newly acquired outfit, you meet with Hobie’s eyes questioningly. “Why am I dressed like a discount Cleopatra?”
Grinning and laughing, Hobie reaches for your cheek and decides to peck at every inch of your face, clearly endeared and relieved that you don’t remember a thing.
His soft kisses has you falling into a fit of giggles. Lips brushing along the curve of your jaw, to your eyelids that smile at him, then the corner of your lips and down to your bare neck. Kissing and loving you in a way that he could freely show when he couldn’t a thousand years ago.
“What’s gotten into you?” Smiling, you hold onto his cheeks, lips frozen mid pout. “What happened to the ghost?”
“Gwen and I exorcised it.” He says through pouted lips as you squeeze his cheeks together.
“You did? Without me?” It’s your turn to pout. “I missed all the fun. Miles would be pissed. Where is Gwen anyway? Is she okay?”
“He’ll live. And she’s fine, went out for some air, I think.” Taking your palm, he brings your finger to his lips, kissing it gently while keeping his sight on you. “It was an easy one, don’t worry ‘bout it.”
You nod, distracted by the way he kisses your hand like it’s your lips. “Seriously, did you hypnotize me into role playing? Because you know that you don’t have to do your little mind games with me when you could just ask.”
“I'd never hypnotize you for somethin’ like that, lovie.” Moving close, fang poking at the corner of his lip, he nips at your bottom lip as your breath hitches in your throat. “Besides, I know you’d say yes to dressin’ up.”
Nudging his nose with your own, you feel his laughter reverberating in his chest. “You know me well.” Leaning away with one last kiss on the tip of his nose, your eyes sparkle with life. “How’d I end up here anyway? Last time I remembered I got sucked into some weird room with a necklace and I blacked out.”
“How’d you manage that, hm?” He couldn't keep his hands or eyes off you, yearning for you to stay in his presence and languish within your space.
“I got stuck in a sarcophagus—” gasping, you suddenly remember the important thing you learned. “Wait, I need you to come with me!” Standing up, you take both of his hands and guide him out of the stuffy room.
“Am I goin’ to get my present?” Hobie follows willingly, interlocking his fingers around yours as he watches your back whilst you glance his way every so often. Your linen dress trails behind you, and for a moment, Hobie sees the past where you run just in front of him in a field of reeds.
“Something better! I hope.” You mutter the last word.
Hobie blinks, and he comes back to the present. Happier to be in the present rather than be stuck in the past.
Entering the closest room to the outside of the house, you enter a plain sitting room that matches the rest of the decor. No hauntings, no cold spots, and no winding infinite hallways to stop you. You guess that Hobie and Gwen really finished the job.
Stopping by a closed window, you peek through the curtains, finding that dawn is almost breaking in the horizon. The sky is in your favorite state, a bitter blue encapsulating the whole world. A cold and fresh breeze whispering in the trees, just as the first sounds of the morning comes to life.
Opening the blinds, you turn to him just as the blue light hits your form, the linen fabric brings little resistance to light as it lines your body without hiding you within the halo of royal blue.
“Love,” he says breathlessly, swallowing down his need and resists the urge to grab you and take you home. “If this is it then ‘m bloody well satisfied.”
Rolling your eyes with a chortle, your shining eyes balance out the cold, a warmth that’s enough to thaw his frozen heart.
“No, I’m not it, Hobie.” You say softly, beckoning him over, stretching your hand over to him as he slides his palm over to you. “We wait for the sun.”
His crimson eyes swirl with trepidation. “You know that It’ll kill me, right?”
“I read something in that sarcophagus, a story about one of the first vampires to be born.” Hobie’s eye twitches, letting you continue. “It was a typical love story, where a boy meets a girl in a forbidden love that ends in death. But that’s not why we’re here.”
His eyes glance worriedly at the rising sun behind you. “Better hurry up with your story, love, or you’ll be snoggin’ a pile of ashes soon.”
“Shit, that sun rises fast.” Turning to look at him, you smile brightly. “Do you trust me?”
“That depends, d’you trust that dusty old sarcophagus?”
“It said that vampires older than seven centuries could survive the sun. So yes, I’m willing to try if you would.” Bringing his hand to your lips, you kiss his knuckles desperately. “Hobie, if this works, you can feel alive again.”
“Jus’ bein’ around you makes me feel alive.” He answers back, despite your soft kisses, the thought of him dying in front of you scares him. And yet he nods and lets you bring him towards the window.
He trusts you.
Your heart swells at his words, but you know him, Hobie harbours sadness within, behind those sweet smiles and tender eyes— he longs to feel the sun on his skin, to feel alive and walk amongst other people in the light and not be hidden beneath the darkness anymore. A kind soul like him deserves to be seen in the light.
“We’ll start off with your hand, okay? Just in case.” The apprehension lingers in your voice, wobbly and terrified. With the wind blowing, the sunlight slowly creeping into the window, you open the glass a smidge and bring the intertwined hands outside and towards the light— waiting for the sun to come.
Hobie’s eyes are on you the whole time, if he crumbles to dust right there and then, he’d want his last vision to be of you, basking in the creeping light. He could see that you’re worried, and the sight of the camera crew running outside with their large equipment adds to his anxiety. Great, they’ll either see something revolutionary or capture a vampire dying for the first time.
The crew stations themselves near enough to film the whole scene— the sunlight slowly coming towards the window, with you subtly shaking and with him keeping steady, being your rock as he lets it happen.
Hobie felt the warmth before he saw it. The sun perfectly lines around his wrist and your own, yellow light bathing the lovers’ hands. Like an oil painting drenched in light.
His flesh doesn’t tear apart nor melt into your hand. And he doesn’t feel faint or dying, he feels warm. Life envelops him with every second that passes as the sun shines right up to his elbow. Bloodied tears blur his vision. He’s alive again.
You gasp, eyes stinging with tears as you meet with his scarlet eyes. “I’m so glad I learned how to read hieroglyphics—”
His lips collide with your own in a fervent kiss. Hands on your face as he tastes you, blood pulsing, heated as the sun shines fully on the two of you.
Your arms loop around the back of his head, pulling him closer, chest to chest as if you could feel his frozen heartbeat against your own. You let out a breathless sigh, and he takes you in fully, pulling you impossibly closer, deepening the kiss, slow and deliberate, as if you and him are joined as one. He feels his flesh rise with goosebumps, hands gripping onto you like you’re his life line.
Needing to breathe, you’re the first one to pull away reluctantly. Eyes blown out, panting and heaving above his parted lips, you rest your forehead atop his own, breathing him in. Fresh linen and citrus, crimson eyes that gazes at you and only you.
You finally see him in heavenly light, the sun cast upon him, red eyes turning a shade lighter as the rays hit his chiseled face.
Hobie wipes away a fallen tear from your eye, chuckling happily as he lets the warmth of the sun kiss his skin. Nothing could compare to your warmth, but this is a close second.
“I didn’t turn to dust.” He whispers, wiping the sheen off your lips with his thumb.
“I’m glad you didn’t.” You shake your head, smiling and pecking his warm cheek.
“What use is a ball of fire to a waking god?” He hears the words in your voice, but your lips remain smiling at him, gazing at him fondly. Just like what happened today, he tucks it inside his head and ignores the whispering voice haunting him.
“Love.” His tone is sweeter than anything you’ve tasted. “We can go to the beach.”
He could already see dancing with you under the sun and the sand beneath your feet.
Chuckling, a stifled sob escapes from your chest. “Yeah, we can. Just say the word.”
Arms enveloping around your waist, he lifts you off your feet and twirls you in place as you laugh. “Let’s go now, we can go right now.”
“Hobie, the kids—”
“Go, go, out!” The door abruptly opens, and Gayatri ushers the trio out frantically.
Gwen has a deep frown, arms crossed over her chest. Even when you wave at her, she doesn’t look back. Keeping her gaze away from you for some reason. Miles clutches onto the dodo bird, refusing to let go as Pavitr looks like he wants to stay for a little while longer.
You share a questioning look with Hobie, still elated by the discovery.
“What’s happening?” You ask, grabbing Pav’s elbow before he jumps out of the window. “Is the house on fire or what? And where’s Harry?” The answer to your last question pops up when you hear Harry’s car start and you then see him peel away into the street. “What a dickhead.” You mumble, which Hobie’s the only one to hear, pinching your side with a chortle.
Pav’s about to answer, but Gayatri beats him to it.
“My mentor’s coming! Look, thank you for everything, I’ll compensate you and show my thanks properly but you all have to go right now.” Her arms gesture towards the opened window. “Please?”
“I’m sure your mentor will understand—”
“She will! She’s really kind and thoughtful, but her witch friends aren’t and they’re all coming for breakfast.” Gayatri flicks her hand to the door and shuts it close with a bang and a click of the lock. “That’ll give us some time but please, I’m so so sorry, I promise I’ll make it up to all of you.”
“Come to our house for dinner?” You offer kindly and she grins, nodding. “Pleasure doing business with you, Gayatri, stop by whenever you’re free.” You hop out with a lighter heart. You even smile at the crew, and Jared the cameraman smiles right back at you despite his recent injury. For the first time, you’ll ask them for the footage and have it as a keepsake.
Hobie agrees, giving her a smile before leaping out into the lawn. “We’ll make somethin’ from Snoop Dogg’s cook book.” He says as he grabs the dodo bird from Miles’ arms and releases it back inside the house, before he could protest about it, Hobie then yanks him out of the window. He stretches his hand out for Gwen, but she stares at his hand for a second and leaps away without his help. “Right,” he keeps his composure as you look at them both curiously. “I still need to talk to you, Gayatri, ‘bout all the shit inside.”
“Okay, I’ll tell you everything, I promise.” She nods and tugs at Pav’s hand bashfully before he could jump out. “Thank you so much, Pav, really, you saved my ass back there.”
Pavitr has a wobbly smile, “n–no problem, Gaya.”
Leaning towards her fellow apprentice, Gayatri pecks his cheek chastely. Before he could even react, she utters a spell that has him floating outside gently onto the lawn.
“Bye Gaya…” Pavitr giggles, waving shyly at her.
Hobie could sense the new heartbeats coming, so he takes you all in his arms, bracing to run towards the car.
“Wait,” somebody finally notices as Miles stares at Hobie with furrowed brows. “You’re in the sunlight and you’re not turning to stone?”
“New power, big man.” Hobie simply winks while the trio’s eyes widen at the information.
“Oh shit—” Gwen gasps before Hobie zooms to the car at the speed of light with everyone in tow.
—
“I’ll write a ‘no’ for now.” Quill utters, thick rimmed glasses falling down their nose as they write at the form.
“Sorry for bailing on you, Quill.” You say, hand never leaving Hobie’s side the whole time, while the crew gladly stands behind you two to gather the conclusion of the council visit.
“It’s good you came back because I was about to send out Bob for you.” They monotonously say, glancing at you and Hobie briefly. “Hunter or not, no one can kill him.” Sliding the papers on the table over to your side, they eye the wooden stake at your waist. “Sign here.”
“What is Bob anyway?” Your pen scribbles out your signature before handing the forms to Hobie.
“Does Bob still like baklavas?” Hobie adds, signing his name right beside yours officially.
Your heart thuds in your chest, but Hobie’s hand grounds you in place. “Maybe we can bring you guys some—”
“He grew out of it.” They scoff, gathering the papers and slams a stamp right on it.
“Okay then.” You awkwardly say in between your teeth.
“Is that it? Can we go now?” Hobie just wants to go home and continue the celebration with everyone. Especially you, alone, in the coffin with him.
“Not yet, we need a blood sacrifice. A hand will do.”
“Wait, what?”
Hobie grasps your hand tighter, ready to pounce if need be.
Sighing, they point at the sharp end of the fountain pen. “Just a prick of the needle.”
“Oh,” chuckling nervously, you’re about to give your hand out but Hobie goes first just in case. Quill pricks at the back of his hand quickly, gathering a drop of his blood and placing it on the parchment. Hobie gives you a reassuring look, encouraging you to continue. “I guess it’s my turn now.” With new found bravery, you show your hand and they do the same to you, completely painless. “That wasn’t so bad.”
Tugging at your hand, Hobie brings it to his lips, giving the back of your hand a kitten lick to heal you. It’s safe to say that your mind wasn’t quiet as he whispers sweet nothings inside your head that you welcome gladly.
Clearing their throat, bursting the little bubble around you that even the crew are glad for Quill’s interruption, they file the form into a cabinet elegantly. “You should receive the certificate within three to five years.”
“That’s a long wait.” Snorting, you’re up on your feet while Hobie’s so eager to come home that he lifted you off the chair by your hand.
“We’ve got all the time in the world, lovie.” He says inside your head, taking you in his embrace before disappearing into a puff of smoke and leaving the council and the crew behind.
They stand awkwardly with their bright lights and boom mics before the relations officer.
“You hiring? Do you have dental?” Quill asks genuinely.
Finally had the time to read this and it did NOT disappoint 🥹🥹
The last few paragraphs, Hobie finally enjoying being out in the sun without dying, the official certificate of them being together— it brings genuine tears to my eyes
They make me SICKKKKKKK, they're so stupid in love it brings tears to my eyes
