darlingofthorns

[darlingofthorns]

Idk even know what to say. The pacing is chef's kiss, your portrayal of R with their dialogue and actions, It's amazingly accurate but not so specific that it fits one person specifically. I like how you're building the relationship between R and Hobie, you're acing it with the perspectives and showing that they BOTH like each other within less than 5k words in each chapter, it literally blows my mind!!!!

Keep up the good work, this is so so creatively written and entertaining.

HANDPICKED

PART EIGHT.

Hobie Brown x GN!Reader

2.2k words

You work at a flower shop in late 70s London and Hobie's being a menace. Slowburn? Probably will be around 10 parts. Strangers to reluctant acquaintances to friends to something more. Maybe a lil' messy?

Part one. Part two. Part three. Part four. Part five. Part six. Part seven. Part eight.

Hobie didn’t leave that night. He didn’t try to, and you didn’t ask him to. He didn’t leave the night after that either, and you had naturally started to buy groceries for two. 

You liked him by your side better than anywhere else. You knew he was safe. His injuries from last time weren’t that bad, and besides a few nasty bruises and broken lip, he was fine. Still, you knew it could’ve been worse. You had taken the time to see even the faintest scars on his skin, each of them with a story you could only imagine would make your insides churn. 

His belongings started to crowd your flat. It started with jewelry and random accessories he’d leave on your bedside table or on the bathroom sink. You’d find rings and other spikey, leathery things scattered across the floor. Then, it was the clothes. The jacket, the sweaters and ripped shirts. You didn’t mind the extra mess. His presence lingered like the sweet aftertaste of a whiskey with a touch of honey—warm and addictive. 

When his guitar finally made it into your flat, that’s when you knew he was coming back. If not for you, then at least for that.

You started to notice every quirks he had, every stupid little habit, the way he never wore matching socks—he couldn’t care to keep them in pairs—how he still tensed at distant sirens, and how he looked out the window wistfully when he thought you weren’t watching.  You also noticed the way he seemed so much calmer there. You thought it was the lavender potpourri Rose taught you how to make. She did tell you lavender had relaxing properties.

You tried to leave your bed to him while he was recovering, but he was never going to let you sleep on the ground. It was too cold, he said your chattering teeth would’ve kept him from sleeping. You didn’t argue for too long, even if his injuries weren’t serious and he was strong, you liked the idea of being able to check on his breathing anytime of the night. He noticed every time, but he pretended to sleep through it.

It felt natural, like he had always been there. The only reminder that he hadn’t was that you tripped over his boots in the small entryway, your muscle memory not yet accustomed to the new obstacles on hte ground. 

Warm rays of winter sunlight peeked through your curtains, slowly pulling you out of your dreams. You sat up and looked down to your side, where he rested, sleeping peacefully. Hobie was not a morning person, and you knew not to bother him or wake him up.

You took the time to watch him again, enjoying the newfound ability to just stare at his face uninterrupted. His bruises had almost fully disappeared, completely healed up, and you were happy to see he didn’t bring any new ones home in a while. 

He was so dreamy, sleeping like that, his face fully relaxed, his jaw hanging slightly open. You wanted to just grab his cheeks and… you weren’t sure. Maybe make a dozen prints of that pretty face. 

Carefully, you made your way out of the sheets, getting something good ready for breakfast. As you were turning on the gas, wanting something warm, you heard groggy groaning coming from the bed. A smile graced your lips as you saw his tired form standing up tall. He dragged his body to you like it was heavy, before putting his hand on the counter beside you, resting his weight a bit too close for comfort, his warmth engulfing you. “Why’d you always have to get out of bed so early?” He complained, almost whining like a child, except the child had a morning voice so deep you questioned how your ears could even pick up that frequency.

“It’s almost 10.” You retorted.

“That’s wot I'm sayin’. So damn early.”

You just laughed softly. He was a bit too at ease, almost leaning on your back. You gulped, you could feel the faint blow of his breath against the shell of your ears. 

You had gotten used to having him around, but not this close. Still, you tried to persuade yourself this was just a normal, friendly interaction, that the warm fuzzy feeling in your veins was due to the smell of the apple melting with the oats. His fingers found your arms and it almost made you flinch as you tried to stir the pot.

“Porridge, really?” He wasn’t sure if he should laugh or groan.

“What’s wrong with porridge?” You were ready to scold him.

“Nothin’, t’s just tasteless, mushy an’ gross.”

“You’re tasteless,” you retorted, earning a low chuckle. He leaned a bit more against you, almost putting all of his weight onto your back.

Maybe it was his tiredness, or maybe he just couldn’t resist the comfort of leaning into you.

You were scared he’d fall asleep right there. You turned down the gas, letting the oatmeal simmer, before turning around to face him.

He was even closer than you imagined, and you felt your breath hitch in your throat. Suddenly, his hand settled on your hip. You froze, every nerve lighting up at once. Before you could process it, he gently moved you aside.

“Careful,” he murmured, his tone soft but firm. “Y’were gonna burn yourself.”

A breath you didn’t realize you were holding escaped as you watched him. Even half-asleep, even with his guard down, he was careful with you—always.

He stayed close, though, not quite stepping away. The air between you felt heavier than the steam rising from the pot, and it wasn’t just the heat from the stove making your cheeks burn. You tried to steady your voice, turning back to the stove, muttering something about needing to watch the oats. 

“Shit, I almost succeeded in ruinin’ the oats and force you to eat something actually flavorful,” he joked, relieving some of the tension there.

You started to stir the pot again, your hands feeling clammy and shaky, trying to focus on anything but the lingering tickle of his hand on you. Hobie moved to the window, cracking it open to let the cool winter air seep in. The fresh breeze made the room feel lighter, although it did little to alleviate the heat in your cheeks.

��When the oats were ready, you poured the mixture into two bowls, sliding one to him.

He shook his head dramatically. “Can’t believe you’re makin’ us eat that.”

“You haven’t even tasted it yet. It tastes like apple pie!” You defended.

“Pre-chewed apple pie,” he corrected with a lopsided smirk.

You rolled your eyes. “If you hate it so much, I’ll just eat yours too.”

“Oi, now. I didn’t say that.” He gladly accepted the warm bowl, muttering something about “sacrifices for survival.”

Without a second thought, you both settled back on the bed, bowls in hand. Eating on a table was a social construct anyway. Your knees collided, and the silence was filled with the quiet clicking of spoons. He reluctantly admitted to liking it, but just a little bit, and only because you made it. 

After some time, both bowls rested on the bedside table, while you two were lounging, basking in between warm quilts and sheets, a few feet apart from each other. You let out a content sigh, happy to sit there with good company and no responsibility whatsoever. 

Hobie stretched his arms and cracked his back. “M’bored.” His eyes scanned across the room, before landing on his dusty guitar. He reached over you for his instrument, and you took the time to look at its worn state, covered in stickers and random stuff, engraving and dirt.

“Does that thing even play?” You jokingly asked, and he was the one glaring at you for once. You felt a cold shiver run down your spine. You were pretty sure he knew you were -mostly- joking, but you made a note to yourself to never piss him off.

He started to play something, fingers idly drumming notes without much cohesion, just looking for a melody to click. You watched him.

You never saw him play before, so it did grab all of your attention. He really looked in his element there. You knew he was in a band or something along those lines, but he didn’t elaborate. 

You felt like he was trying to figure something out. You watched as his fingers moved instinctively over the strings, the random notes forming something cohesive—until, like a spark catching flame, it clicked. The music shifted, richer and fuller, wrapping around you like a second skin.

It felt like a rush of creative energy, striking like lightning. You thought the few notes he played before sounded good already, but when he reached what he wanted, it was a whole other level. Chords followed each other seamlessly and you found your mouth hanging open catching flies. He was focused fully — locked in even. His eyebrows tugged together, drawing a tense line on his forehead. 

It made shivers run down your spine and your arms covered in goosebumps. For once, you struggled to focus on just him, not when the music filled every corner of the room down to the crevices in your thoracic cage. Every fiber of your being vibrated with the strings under his fingers, and hell he was just jamming on your bed. 

Now, you wanted to attend a gig. You thought about it before out of curiosity, but now it was a need. You wanted to see him up on a stage, you wanted to see him in his element, observing him in his natural habitat. 

Part of you was a bit scared though, you wondered how poorly you’d fit in there, sticking out like a sore thumb in the middle of punks and other cool people you didn’t have much in common with. The idea of not fitting in his circle, of him suddenly realising that maybe you two didn’t have that much in common either, made you uneasy.

His music kept your thoughts from spiraling, and you focused back on his playing. There was some instant you swore actual light came off his guitar.  

It was only when he put down his guitar that he noticed you staring at him like that. Sure, he was aware you were watching, he had no issue playing in front of people, and he picked up his guitar with the knowledge you’d be the audience. 

But not like that, with eyes wide and shining like a kid. He wasn’t ready for that sight, his mouth dry, almost empty of a teasing comment.

It wasn’t fully enough to render him witless, and he gave you the usual smirk he did before saying something stupid, only it was slightly delayed this time.

“Bloody hell, did I break ya?” He waved his hand in front of your awestruck face, and you had to swallow down the admiration of your expression. You felt like a kid caught staring at their idol.

“I—You did not break me.” You tried to defend weakly, your words coming out hesitant and messy. 

“Uh huh. Sure did not. I know I’m that cool, but still—”

“You’re… Alright, I guess.” You deflected with puffed cheeks.

He raised an eyebrow. “That’s all?”

You bit down your lips, and almost shyly reached to fidget with the folds of your clothes. With a defeated sigh, the truth bubbled up despite yourself.“Okay, that was... incredible. I mean, I knew you had to be good, but that—” You gestured vaguely, as if words couldn’t fully capture it. “That was something else.” You admitted, your eyes going back up to meet his. He looked like he was hanging to your every word, every ounce of validation you gave him, his guard slipping for just a moment, before his cocky grin snapped back into place like a shield.

“You should come to a gig sometime.” He offered, and a smile crept to your lips.

“Really?” You looked out the window. “M’not sure. Never really went to anything like that.” 

“Well there’s a first for everythin’!” He chirped and you giggled at his enthusiasm. No matter what insecurities still stuck to your skin, you couldn’t say no to the genuine excitement in his eyes. “My mates n’ me are playin’ next week.” 

Your eyes widened. “Shoudn’t you be… training with them or something?”

“Wot fo’? Ya just saw how talented I am.” He joked and you scoffed in disbelief. “C'mon, I know ya wanna see it live.” He teased, nudging your shoulder playfully.

You bit down a shy smile, unsure about it. Sure, you did, but it made you anxious too. “Mh… is there going to be lots of people?”

“Plenty. T's club down Upper Street, maybe a ten minutes walk from yer little flower shop. Looks a bit posh but don’t let it fool ya.”

You nodded, trying to remember even if you weren’t sure yet. “Mh. We’ll see…”

“Nah, don’t pull any we’ll see on me. You’re coming, period. Wanna see you there.” His enthusiasm was contagious, and you let out a defeated smile.

“Fine, alright. I’ll be there.” you agreed, your voice quiet but resolute. For a second, Hobie just stared at you, and then his grin grew wide and mischievous, his eyes lighting up like you’d just handed him the winning lottery ticket. 

There is a separate doc called chapter cemetery because of how many time I had to rewrite those

Tag list: @hoe-bie

[darlingofthorns]

OMG OMG OMG KATYYY YOU DONE IT AGAIN AAAHHH ❤️❤️

I love this interpretation of R so much!!!! I was giggling in my chair all stupidly because of the coin throwing part lolll, AND AND you managed to write R's first attempted words without making her sound like a baby which I appreciated so much omg

Ughhh I need the crew's reaction to meeting her!!!

A Pearl

Pairing: Pirate! Hobie Brown x fem! Siren! Reader

Word count: 6.1k

Tags: no use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader (except for clothing and siren traits), pirate AU, Siren AU, CW blood, TW death, CW eating human flesh, CW injury, CW food mentions, CW alcohol mention, Pirate captain! Hobie, a touch of hurt/comfort, Fluff!

Requested by @brokeaesthetic — Hello, this is my first time sending a request to you. Hopefully this is a good one to request for my first time. Okay, hear me out Sea clay & Epsom salt in a heart-shaped bottle❣️. Okay, so reader is a siren and Hobie is a pirate. And for many years reader has lured sailors, pirates and fishermen to a watery grave. But one day, when a pirate ship sails into her territory, she prepares herself about to lure them in until she sees Hobie and she's immediately infatuated. She stalks the ship for a couple days before hobie notices. Like something falls overboard, and she throws it back up. He thinks She probably wants something so she he throws down something shiny for her to keep. But she takes that as flirting(she has a huge crush now). So when one day the ship is attacked and Hobie falls overboard, she saves him. And then he develops feelings blah blah blah. I actually wanna draw this😭😭

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Katy's one year celebration 🎉

Your siren song echoes throughout the fog-covered sea. Together with your kind, you lure seafarers into their watery graves with your angelic voice that pushes them into a haze until their bodies splash overboard. With each tone you sang, more bodies hit the cold depths below. As the fog dissipates, so is your cover. Diving below before the survivors catch wind of what transpired, you swim towards the nearest drowning sailor.

Bubbles rise up from his lips, and you swim faster towards your meal. Another siren comes your way, and you have to hiss and bare your sharp teeth at her so you'd get your food. As she tries to fight back with her own growl, you smack her away with your tail, fighting for what's yours. With a yelp from the other siren, you don't waste time sinking your teeth into their fleshy neck.

Warm crimson flows from their skin, body thrashing against your own but your sharp nails dig further and further into their body as you eat your fill. Suddenly, their eyes turn the shade of seafoam, and his body is still. You open your maw and you bite into him.

This has been your life ever since your kind was forced to flee into the deep waters of the sea. Food is scarce, fish and birds shy away from the small rocky islands you've called home so you're forced to eat naive sailors rather than starve.

As you leave the cold waters and into dry land, your tail ebbs away to make way for a pair of legs. Shaking off the salty water, you head into your cave, hands wiping away all the blood and guts from your lips. Your home is small, cozy and away from the others. You keep tiny trinkets picked up from the waves, some you've taken from unlucky sailors. The wind chime you've made yourself that's filled to the brim with shiny human things twinkle in the night. The sound helps you sleep, the various knick knacks are the only things that keeps you going. It's survival of the fittest out in the open ocean, especially when you're being hunted down to extinction.

As you lay your head to sleep, you dream of better things where you don't have to hide amidst the rocks and the salty waves.

A loud rambunctious commotion wakes you up in the middle of the day. Their loud cheering can be heard from far away out into the sea. With bleary eyes, you blink at the odd ship, its red sails earning a curious tilt from your head.

You're still full from your last meal, there's no fog to hide you if you so desire to lure them. And surely you can't go back to sleep now that you're fully entranced by the hooting and hollering out in day break. Usually seafarers are quiet around these parts, only the eerie songs about the lingering death hidden beneath the waves are sung on deck can be heard at any hour of the day.

So with a curious raise of your brow, you head back into the sea. It's against better judgement, and you're in danger of getting caught or worse if you're ever found, but if you're careful enough, you'll find out more about humans than anyone in your kind has ever known about. Maybe you'll learn their tongue too.

Racing against the tides, you make it to their ship in quick time. You raise your head above water, enough to take a peek and listen in on their conversation.

“I told you our captain can do it!” An excited voice exclaims. “Three fucking cheers for the crimson spider!”

A roaring cheer echoes out, and it has you more curious than ever at who this captain could be. You spot the anchor dangling just above the water, so with a determined huff, and with curiosity fueling you, you head towards it to climb the ropes holding it up.

Your tail soon turns into a pair of legs, and you climb faster and quieter up on the rough rope. Finally making it above, just below the deck and still hidden from everyone's view, you see a whole crew of pirates dancing and drinking on the deck. Their laughter warms your chest, and their jolly music has you smiling at their human celebration. Whatever it may be.

“C’mon, lads, it was nothin' special.” Someone says, the crew surrounds him, all grinning at the man.

“Nothing special?!” The one with a sloshing cup full of wine says. “You blasted the fucking admiral to smithereens!”

“Ned's right, Hobie, they're going to need a bloody shovel just to scrape him off the floor.” Another happily says, clasping what you surmise is the titular captain. “If it weren't for you, James and I would've died. Not to mention the new crew managing to not piss themselves while getting us all out.” The raven haired woman smiles, nudging him and toasting her cup against his own. “You did good, cap’n.”

“Right, stop inflatin’ my ego.” Hobie, you think that's the captain's name, shakes his head with a smile. He's handsome you think, hands painted with ink that reminds you of sea life, and a face that looks chiseled by the goddess of the sea herself. You've never seen a pirate not quite like him. His smile single handedly brightens up the already merry ship, and instead of toning down the festivities, it loudly continues on. “We still have shit to do!”

“No we don't!” A blonde girl exclaims as she dances with another crew member as music plays.

A bout of laughter follows, and Hobie surrenders and joins in on the party after giving the sea a glance over. He's probably on the lookout for danger while everyone is too busy partying. He's not just handsome too, but also smart and practical as he secretly tosses the wine overboard to remain sober while everyone else drinks their fill.

You grow ever more curious at the captain. His hair stands out, beautiful wicks all tied together in a ponytail to keep the wind from messing it up. His sleeves are rolled up as he navigates the wheel, dozens of ink drawn on his arms, each having different designs that your otherworldly eyes have never seen before. And his eyes, his brown eyes are aglow with happiness, as if he's at his peak in his seafaring life. He doesn't gloat or bask in the compliments, rather, it seems to motivate him more to do better for his crew; unlike the other captains you've seen so far. He truly cares for them like they're his family, they could be as he looks at them all with fondness.

Morning soon dips into the afternoon, orange hues kissing the pleasant blue of the sea. The party is long gone, they've retreated back into their cabins, probably snoring away all the wine they've drunk. Hobie's alone on deck, save for a few pirates snoring on the floors while clutching at wine bottles and even their blunderbuss.

He looks like he's genuinely enjoying the quietness, letting the sea sing to him its primordial song. His hands relax against the wheel, eyes glittering like the water below. Sighing, you admire the captain beneath the orange glow and how it illuminates his handsome features.

You daydream about what life could be for you if you were a pirate sailing the seven seas. Would you even be good at it? Would you find precious treasures on your adventures? And would the captain praise you for your heroics just like the crew have done for him?

A loud clattering of something metallic takes you back to reality. A rolling coin heads your way, threatening to fall into the depths. Hobie follows right behind, boots thumping as quietly as he can but frantic enough to get the coin before it falls.

Your eyes widen, immediately plunging down into the water before he could spot you dangling on the anchor. As you splash down, the coin drops into the sea, its gilded metal glimmering in the water.

“Shit.” You hear his muffled curse.

Without thinking, you scoop up the coin before it plunges down deeper. Admiring the simple thing, you wonder what's so special about it to have the captain run after it in haste. You've seen a hundred of these, and you still have no idea why humans fight to the death just for it. You seem to not think things through as you rise above the water and throw it back on deck. If it was so special to him, you'd rather have it be back in his hands than on your own.

“The fuck?” His shock is evident in his voice. As you hear the familiar footsteps, you duck back inside the water to hide and then you see his face peek from above. His eyes scan the water, finding nothing out of the ordinary. “I thought I heard somethin’”

You can't help but giggle at his confused expression. Bubbles rise up from your smiling lips, and Hobie knits his brow at the weird occurrence.

With curiosity, he throws the coin back into the water and watches it plop down. You catch it underwater, looking up at him as he anticipates for it to jump back up on its own.

He waits and waits, but after a full minute, he leaves the side of the ship. You smile, preparing to throw it back to the deck. But before you could leap, he comes back to take another look, as if he could catch it moving mid air.

You laugh, hands clasped over your lips. He scratches the back of his head, and blinks the tiredness away.

“I'm goin’ bloody bonkers out ‘ere.” He says, going back to the upper deck to steer the ship once again.

“B–Bonkers.” You repeat with your own voice, giggling to yourself at the word. “Bonkers!” Your tail swooshes happily, coin grasped tightly in your palms.

With a teasing look above, watching the ship as it sails, you decide to throw the coin back on to the ship. This time though, you don't hold back. Swimming deeper to gain momentum, you quickly swim back up and leap into the air, and toss the coin right on the highest deck. It hits him right on his head.

His startled scream and the crew's more terrified yells was worth the effort of doing that. A string of curses erupt throughout the whole ship as they wake up one another with their earth shaking screams.

Hobie races to the bannister, but you're already long gone and swimming back to your tiny island, laughing as you swim.

—

Night comes and you're still asleep because of this morning's activities. A startling boom wakes you up, followed by yelling and the crackling of fire. You know the smell well, a mixture of blood and gunpowder floating in the salty sea.

You look outside of your home, finding the same red sails burning and crashing down into the water. Your heart plunges down, and you've got only one person in mind— Hobie. Without sparing another second, you swim as fast as you could towards the fighting. You expertly dodge corals, seaweeds that threaten to entangle your tail and sea life that parts for you. It's further than you thought, but you continue on with hope in mind.

The second you get there, you see fellow sirens gathering and taking chunks out of the ones that have fallen deep enough in the water. There's no saving the ones who are long gone, so you desperately search under the heat of the fire and wreckage for the familiar face.

While you swim around, you see a small dinghy rowing a few ways away from the fight. A single oil lamp guiding them in the dark. As you look closer, you find that it's a handful of Hobie's own crew, and they're fighting a couple of sirens who are trying to grab hold of them to pull them down into the dark depths. You race over to their side, not to go help pick them apart one by one, but to hiss and fight your kind.

With a show of your teeth and a few scratches along their scaly arms, they scramble away, leaving the crew behind. Looking back at them, you find that they're already staring at you with wide eyes. But you don't care as you search each of their faces for the captain, leaping over to the side of the boat as it sways side by side. When you don't find him, hopelessness clings to you like seaweed.

“Ho–Hobie?” You manage to let out with few resistance from your throat. Their faces can't be painted as they look at you with a mix of awe and fear. “Hobie!” Your yell startles them more. But it's effective as the same blonde you saw earlier points back towards the ship where you can briefly see his silhouette still on the deck. “Thank!” Swimming away, you leave the puzzled crew members behind.

Swimming with all your might towards the blaze, your arms are raised in front of your face to protect you against the blaze and the bodies floating around. you leap up into the sinking ship without sparing another minute, legs carrying you towards him the second your feet hit the slippery wood.

Hobie's fighting a much bigger man than him. Both evenly matched as swords clash amidst the flames, and the moon bears witness to it all.

Just as you get closer to them, the man strikes Hobie's side with a dagger that was hidden underneath his sleeve, drawing blood from the captain.

“No!” Your guttural yell takes the assailant's attention, giving you enough time to pounce on him and rip his face with your teeth.

His screams fill the night, and as he falls harshly into the floor of the sinking ship, you quickly make your way towards Hobie's side.

“Wha–who?” He gasps for breath, red staining the floor underneath him.

You point at yourself, “I…will help.” You manage to find the right words to convey your feelings.

“Help?”

“Yes,” grabbing him, you effortlessly carry him over your shoulders. “You will live.” Turning around to look for his crew members, your eyes hone in on the small boat getting farther and farther away. If you tried to swim there with him in tow and him weighing you down, he wouldn't make it. So in a last minute decision, you dive into the water towards your small island.

—

Hobie groans in his sleep, and your hands smell of herbs. You haven't concocted something like this in years, but your memory still serves you right as his wound is healing well. He's still unconscious, but at least he's alive.

None of his crew has come to take him home, so you kept him safe from the other sirens, kept him warm and hydrated by simply wetting his lips with fresh water from a river further into the island. It's been a few days since the fight, and his breathing is much better, and everytime you place your ear by his heart, it beats normally. You might not be human, but you've lived long enough to know about their anatomy. Well, you've eaten their anatomy.

“I…” your brows knit in frustration from not finding the right words. You've been practicing lately so when he wakes up, you can explain yourself to him. “...I eat.” That sounds wrong. “No, I don't eat…you.” You smile after you think that you've translated it correctly. “Yes, no eat.”

Patting his arm gently, you test if you could wake him up. You're growing quite impatient. With a sigh and not even a stir from the pirate captain, you go back to shore to bask in the water. The night is calm and there's no fog or other ships abound, so you sit and wait and watch as the tiny crabs burrow themselves in the sand. The sky stretches before you, stars twinkling beside the moon as you reach up with your hand to look at them between your fingers.

A groan echoes out in the cave, and as you stand up, you come face to face with the captain you've grown fond of.

Hobie's eyes widen at the sight of you. Your scales glow iridescent light from how the moon shines upon you. The makeshift clothes you wear that consist of shells, fishing nets, cloth from broken sails that sticks to you like wet paper, and rope tying it all together has his eyes squirming away to look at your face instead. As if looking at the face of a goddess is way better for his poor heart.

“Hello.” You enunciate.

He doesn't know what to say.

You take his reaction as fear. “Oh no, I will not eat.” Taking a step closer, you expect for him to flinch away but he doesn't. “No eating captain.” Smiling, you're proud of yourself for managing the words.

“Why? Do I not taste good?” He jokes, one that flies over your head. “‘m a bit offended by that, love.”

You slow blink at him. “Love?”

“I think that wasn't very funny either. Sorry.” Hobie chuckles nervously, “why did you help me?”

“Oh I know!” You come closer to him, hands clasped in front of you out of excitement. Pointing at his chest, your smile makes him smile, albeit nervous at how sharp your teeth are. “Bonkers!”

Hobie breaks into a bout of laughter. “You saved me because ‘m bonkers?”

You nod in quick succession. “Yes! And.” Inhaling, you gather all your strength to muster the correct word. “Pretty.” You remember that word from a sailor who once whispered it to you before you sank your teeth in him. “And!” You pat his pockets, he squirms away before you find what you were looking for within a half second. “This!” Showing him the coin, his face morphs into understanding.

“That was you?” You nod and He smiles softly, eyes darting from your face and at the waves as he rubs at his eyes. “And you think ‘m pretty?”

“Yes, and a good cap’n.” You mimic the exact words you heard his crew said to him.

“Now you're the one inflatin' my ego.” He shifts his weight, eyes meeting with your own. “I think you're pretty too.”

Smiling, you giddily bite your lower lip from the compliment. “Thank.”

Hobie chuckles, “you're good at this already, love.” He gestures towards his patched up wound. “And this. Thank you for the help.”

“Thank you!” You grin bigger, and he's slowly getting used to the rows of sharp teeth. *Slowly.

“Right, goddess, I have to build a raft to get to my crew.” He says and you're having a hard time deciphering his words. “Ah shit, you look even more adorable with that confused face.” His tone is laced with endearment.

“Thank you?”

“You're welcome.” He grasps at his injury as he wobbles further into the island.

“No,” you carefully take his hand, stopping him from going further. You're careful not to scratch him with your claws. “They will eat you.”

“Who's they?” As he looks towards the trees, he sees a dozen or so glowing eyes blinking at him. “Fuckin' hell.”

“Fuckin’ hell.” You mumble back.

Hobie side glances at you, lips curling into an unsure smile. “I'll think of something else to do then.” He walks back with you following close by. “For now at least.” Mumbling, he stretches his aching body from the prolonged idleness.

“Morning, they sleep.”

“It's safe in the mornin’?” You nod, a bit unsure but a nod nonetheless. “Alright,” he sighs, stomach grumbling. “Do you have food?”

“Only human.”

Hobie swears under his breath, not completely understanding whether you only have human food for him, or that the only food available is actually human. He has a long night ahead of him.

—

You have grown accustomed to the situation at hand. There's no rest for the wicked now that Hobie is in siren territory. You keep a close eye on them as they watch you with their glowing eyes at night, their appetite is insatiable even though they had their fill a few days ago because of the recent sea battle. Hobie's well enough to craft weapons for the two of you, so he made a spear that he whittled down, and a small dagger that he sharpened just for you. Your claws are the best weapons for you, but you still took it gladly. He made it especially for you so of course you'll keep it. No one has made you anything before, and you cherish it together with the trinkets you've collected over the years.

Days go by, more and more sirens leave you and Hobie alone in your tiny corner in the island as they've given up on hunting him down. You've proved how strong you are over the years of living alone. He's much better now that the wound you've relentlessly tended to has healed in record time. He keeps thanking you for it, but you can sense the melancholy in his eyes everytime he looks towards the sea. There's no sign of his crew coming to rescue him. You feel for him and his longing.

You and Hobie have some sort of schedule now, he picks fruits in the morning, then he teaches you human language in the afternoon after he gathers materials for the raft he's making. You've gotta hand it to the captain, he's quite good at surviving. You guess that he has done this before. And sure enough, when you asked him about it, he told you of a story that he was once stranded on an island, only surviving on fruits and crates of chocolate that had washed up on the shore. You wonder what that tastes like.

You're slowly liking the peace he brings to the island, there's no more petty squabbling between you and the rest of the sirens now that they've fully left the two of you. He's not liking the fruit and nut diet the island has an abundance for him though. Because of the lack of fish and birds that pass through the island, out of fear for the nature of the creatures that live there, other species avoid the place. He has to opt for a less filling meal everyday, it doesn't help much with energy as he needs it in building the raft. But he strives through it, chatting with you as if he's not trying to survive day by day. He even introduced you to fire and the warmth that it brings, not just the destruction you've seen it do.

You're carnivorous in nature, so one day, out of curiosity whilst he boils sea water to drink and roasting tree nuts over the fire, you asked if you could have one of the fruits he's holding onto.

“You can eat?” You point at the brown hairy fruit.

“Yes,” Hobie chuckles as you scooch over to him. Knee to knee as the campfire cackles through the night. The flames make the iridescent scales on your arms and legs sparkle. “It’s called coconut, and it's sweet.”

“No poison?” With the pad of your finger, you curiously touch the white part of it.

“No poison—” he starts to give it to you, only to realize something that might be crucial. “—Actually, it might be for you.” He moves the coconut away from you, worry etched in between his brows.

“Oh.” Your shoulders deflate.

“Sorry, I jus’ don't want my saviour dyin’ from a coconut.”

“I won't die, I'm strong like you.” You proudly say as you poke his chest.

Hobie smiles, the golden flames illuminating his handsome features. “I know you are, pretty. But you're afraid of it bein’ poison and there's probably a good reason for that.”

“Why?” You tilt your head, wide eyes blinking at him.

He can't help but think you're adorable, despite the sharp teeth and nails. “Species usually have a natural fear instinct of things that could kill ‘em.” Chuckling, he shakes his head. “What am I talkin' ‘bout? My mate Ned can explain it better for you, lovie.”

“Are you…” He waits patiently for you to continue. You're still getting used to human speech, but Hobie quickly found out that you're a quick learner. “...afraid of me?” You ask in a small voice, a stark contrast to how you sing your deadly song.

Hobie shakes his head with a gentle smile, palm patting your forearm briefly. “I used to, not anymore.” You've proven your friendliness to him more than once, he knows you're good too.

You feel like the boulder stuck in your throat is gone just from his reassurance. “Thank you, Hobie.” His smile grows wider at how much you've improved with your Language in such a short time. You clear your throat, waking up from a haze when you stared too long at his eyes. “Is Ned a friend?”

“Yeah, you'd love him. He's smart just like you.” Hobie looks into the fire sadly.

“Can you… tell me? About your friends?”

“You want to get to know the crew?” He stares at you fondly, the same look he had towards his crew back then. You nod with a smile, you're all ears. “Alright then.”

He tells you stories of life out in the sea and on land. The places he has been, the people he met and lost. And of course stories about his crew members and how they fought well, what their jobs are on the ship and what they dream of. With each word he utters about them, his face blooms into a more joyous one. But your own smile fades as the realization that he would leave your little island one day— And you in turn. Your heart aches at the thought you'll be left alone again.

Sometimes you wish that you don't understand humans as well as you do for this to hurt less.

—

Days fly by, turning into weeks as you two fall into a rhythm on the island. Each day that passes, Hobie's inevitable departure gets closer and closer, and you're already dreading the day he'll row away from you and the life he built there on the island. Your speech has gotten a lot better than before thanks to Hobie's teaching. In between the busy days and quiet nights, the two of you make time to just be yourselves. No lessons, no building the raft, just laughing at nonsense that Hobie has told you, or telling him stories of your time under the sea. The things you've seen in the depths always have him on the edge of his seat.

He even surprised you one day with a tiny display shelf to place all your collected knick knacks in. The way you jumped up to embrace him almost had him falling down into the waters. And in turn, you made him a necklace made from beads and seashells you've found, he never takes it off since then.

The two of you found affection for the other. A friendship that transcends despite the differences.

Morning comes once again, and the waves come to visit the little island you call home. You feel energized, finally having slept well without waking up in the middle of the night. After taking care of the unconscious captain, and fighting fellow sirens, this was the first time you've actually slept through the night. You're used to waking up to the moon, but with Hobie being with you in your cave, you've also taken to sleeping at night and waking up at the same hours as him. Sure you're missing out on sailors, but there's always scraps left for you in the morning with it floating in the water, small scraps, but food nonetheless. Yet, you're still starving.

Cracking one eye open, you see the empty spot next to you. Jumping out of bed, you worry that Hobie got eaten in the middle of the night, the feeling subsides when you see him weave ropes on the sandy beach.

“Mornin’ pretty.”

“Morning.” Your voice cracks with sleep. “Have you eaten?”

“I have,” he smiles, gesturing at the pile of coconuts he left on the half finished raft. “I didn't see you hunt yesterday. You okay?”

You shake your head without hiding your true feelings. “Starving.”

Hobie can practically feel your weakening form tremble from where he sat. “I can try again with the fish—”

Stepping closer, your irises have grown into slits, teeth bared in front of him. “There's no fish, Hobie.”

Nodding, his breath gets stuck in his throat as you get closer and closer to him. His natural instincts tell him to run. “I think I saw a bird fly over an hour ago, maybe I can—”

Your sudden sobs stun him in place. Cries echoing around the island as you hide your tearful eyes away from him. All your worries collapse on you, add the fact that you haven't eaten in days is a recipe for disaster.

“Shit—” he slowly steps closer, trepidation in each footstep upon the sand. “I don't know, love, maybe I can set up a trap in the water.” With an arm reaching towards you, you quickly step back in a hurry.

“Don't!” You yell, sniffing and wiping away at your tears. “I might eat you.”

Hobie chuckles, tensed shoulders relaxing and trying to reassure you with a single smile. It doesn't work when you frown deeper. “Right,” he walks closer to you, but you walk backwards and into the side of the cave. Now caged in as he cups each of your tear stained cheeks. “I know you won't eat me, love.” His thumb brushes along your tears, wiping it away as you look at him through your sticky lashes. “‘sides, you haven't eaten in days, if you wanted to eat me you would've done it days ago.” Smiling, he tilts his head. “Seriously, I think you don't find me appetisin’”

You sniff, eyes downturned only for him to duck to meet with your eyes. “I'm sorry for crying, I'm just hungry.” Gently laying your head against his clavicle, he chuckles and welcomes your warmth with open arms. “I'm sorry for eating people too.”

“Don’t be, they probably deserved it.” He pats your back while the other cradles the back of your head. “You can have a nibble on my arm—”

You smack his chest lovingly, giggling against his skin. “No.”

“You sure?” Hobie laughs atop your head. “Maybe I can make some sort of sauce to pair with me.”

Chuckling, you embrace him tighter. You don't know when you'll be able to hug him again so you take your time in squeezing him. “I'll survive, don't worry.”

He hums, getting a whiff of sea salt as he presses his nose on your hair. “I don't doubt that, love.”

Eyes closed, you remember the fruits and nuts on the island, maybe if you try it, it might satiate your hunger. You know your kind’s diet didn't always consist of human flesh, but that was before your time. So maybe, just maybe, it wouldn't hurt to give it a nibble.

When he went out to gather more wood for the makeshift raft, you grab a handful of nuts and a coconut from his stash. You sit cross legged inside the cave, heart thudding in your chest. Eyeing your herbs that you placed right next to you just in case you start bleeding out of your eyes, you take a deep inhale and immediately carve out a part with your nail and take a bite out of the fleshy part of the coconut.

Chewing, you let the sweetness spread on your tongue. You don't feel any different than before, no tingling sensation or blood dripping from every orifice. So you swallow down and wait for a minute.

Sitting there frozen, you feel fine. With a bout of loud laughter, you start eating the rest of Hobie's food, waiting a few seconds in between to test if it has any effects on you. The next thing you know, you've eaten your fill. Coconut juice is left on your lips and hands, the shell from the nuts are spread all over the floor of the cave and your burp echoes inside the place. Chuckling, you hear the sound of clattering wood right in the entrance of the cave.

“What—!?” Hobie quickly makes his way towards you, panic settling in his bones as he opens your mouth with his fingers. “Did you eat it? Love, you need to vomit it out!” He's considering shoving his hand in your mouth.

Your garbled words have him thinking that you're choking. “Fuck no!” His fear gets to him as he hugs you from behind and squeezes you in quick succession. He doesn't know siren anatomy, but maybe it's not so different with his own. So with determination, he tries to dislodge whatever you’ve eaten. “Shit– fuck!”

“I'm alright!” You let out instead of the food he was trying to squeeze out of you. Twisting around, you pat his cheek, giggling with amusement. “See?” Spreading your arms, you show off your still-alive self.

He heaves, palm placed atop his heart. “You're fine?”

Nodding happily, he finally lets out a sigh of relief. He feels like he's the one who's about to collapse. You guess you can stop eating human flesh now, maybe you should tell the others about your findings.

Hobie lays his forehead on your shoulder, hands placed on your hips as he levels his breathing. You pat his back, cradling him and letting out a laugh with every sigh he lets out.

“There there, captain.” You teasingly say. He could only groan in reply.

—

The day has come for him to leave. It's earlier than you thought it would be, you hoped that he could stay for a week or two more, but with the sight of a ship with the familiar red sail floating a few miles away, it has Hobie preparing for the short trip.

You help him with the final preparations, tying the last rope around the wooden planks, and securing the bundle of coconuts on the raft. Your heart weighs heavy, but you can't keep him away from where he's supposed to be.

The sun shines brightly above, but you don't feel its warmth against your skin.

Holding the dagger he gave you atop your chest, you watch him push the raft from the beach closer to the shore. Your lips wobble as he grins wider at the ship from afar.

“They're waitin’ for me, I knew it.” He turns towards you, and you hide your sorrow with a forced smile. “Love.”

“Keep safe, captain.” You manage to say without a broken sob. “Stay away from here, you might not be…” you inhale shakily, “...so lucky next time.”

“Come away with me.”

His hand reaches towards you as the waves lap on the beach. You stare at his stretched hand, tracing the scars along it with your tearful eyes. He whispers your name softly, beckoning you closer.

You hug the dagger closer to your chest. “They’ll hurt me.” His hand grasps gently at your chin, raising your face to meet with his eyes. “Just like how I've hurt people.”

“You told me you saved ‘em. And you saved me.” He shakes his head, eyes softly looking into your own. “I won't let them hurt you, I won't let anyone hurt you.”

“I'm different, Hobie. Not human enough.”

“You're human enough for me, love.” Leaning closer, he nudges his forehead against yours briefly. “Come away with me, let me show you the world.”

Your eyes close as he moves closer, lips brushing nervously atop your own until you make a move. His lips taste of fruits, sweet and gentle on your own lips. You're careful of the sharpness of your teeth, but he doesn't mind as he kisses you like it's the last time he'll ever taste you. It might as well be if you decide to stay. It'll break his heart, but if that's what you want, he'll give it to you. If you want the world, he'll put it on a silver platter just for you.

You've captivated him without your siren song, but he's more than ready to dive into the depths if you so will it.

Leaning away, you open your eyes to his shining ones. “Will you have me as I am?”

Hobie grins and kisses each of your cheeks until you're smiling. He nods, “with everythin’ I have.”

With one final look at your home where your collections of human things lay, you leave it all for the pirate you have in your arms. Hopefully you'll see more in your adventures.

[darlingofthorns]

Bullet Holes in a Guitar

Pairing: Hobie Brown x Stylist!Fem! Reader / Spider-punk x Assasin!Fem! Reader

Description: When given one last job to end your career as an assassin, during your work, you run into a punk and his disastrous band.

Warnings: Blood and violence, weaponry, cursing, implied abuse of power, no physical description of R other than clothes here and there

Chapter 1: Boxed In

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

The man grunts as your foot shoves him further on the ground. His lackeys lay bruised and blue behind you, their clothes torn, soaked in rain, and smudged with dirt. Their unmoving bodies spilled crimson into the drains, the long hunt finally coming to an end. They needn't lose their lives. Just their beloved boss had to be put down, but you give credit to their loyalty.

"You bitch!" The man spits at your boot, his own blood dripping down his mouth before it mixes with the rain water. His eyes are crazed and filled with anger, hair that was previously slicked back now lay sticking to the sides of his face, his blunt now smushed under your foot. Your boss will be thrilled to hear that one of the many thorns on his side has been eliminated. You didn't care that much about that part of the mission. Just getting paid to take down corporate assholes like him were good enough.

You look down on him with an icy glare reserved for pathetic men like him. Mask snug around your face, hood hiding your eyes in its shadow, the neon lights of the street reflected on the bloodied bodies that surrounded the two of you. Thankfully, no one was out tonight to see this grueling sight. Windows and doors were shut closed, the stands empty, shops barren. The fog danced and slithered just a few inches off the ground, making the scene more dramatic.

Your mind shifts to the irony of it all, the oddly beautiful view with its inspiring neon colors were now stained with a crime scene. How many more times would you have to do this until you could get away from all of it? Every moment after your eyes are shut closed, the same dream would haunt you, the same memories. Blood forever stained your hands, unmoving and stubborn, gripping to your skin like it was its very color. Every object in your grasp turned a weapon, every assignment given to you is another person dead.

The wheezing of your current assignment brought you back to the wet streets covered in red. The man was close to his last breath. No help would be fast enough to aid him. Maybe it was fitting for a pig like him to suffer until his last cough anyway. He has done immeasurable crime. Human trafficking, dealing drugs, scams, and how many mistresses did this guy have again?

Before you could get lost in your thoughts further, a familiar beeping noise rang, one that alerted you to any further information. You tapped on the device next to the shell of your ear.

"How's my favorite assassin doing?" The voice spoke, an annoying screech of a voice that always brought some unexplainable anger to you. Never mind information when your 'guy in the chair' is some dude who you only know by voice and whatever drama he tells you about his coworkers.

"Gent. Hq talked to you about this. This is unprofessional." You replied, voice colder than usual, so no one would recognize your actual pitch.

"You and I both know professionalism can kiss my ass-- Listen! We got a new assignment for you!" Gent cheered. You could hear him twirl in his wheeled office chair.

"You're not allowed to call me that." You huffed, shaking your head. A short silence follows between the two of you, and you wondered if the line had somehow cut off. When you decide to open your mouth to say something, it closed promptly at the annoying start of Gent's voice.

"So, uhh.. you done with your assignment?" He completely ignores your previous statement. Your brows furrow before giving the bloodied man before you one last good kick to the nose, the crack of his bone echoing.

"Yeah." You answered truthfully as you walked away from all the scattered bodies. As an assassin, it wasn't your job to be clean up crew too. Either someone will come in and clean it up, or police will find them. Whoever comes first wouldn't know who left all that blood spilled on the street, no trace of anyone there.

"Alright! I'll pull up your next file. This one's- uh, unique!" Gent cleared his throat.

"Meaning?" Your voice going back to normal as you walked the hushed streets.

"Meaning you're not gonna particularly, specifically, exactly, generally..." He went on and on.

"Gent."

"Okay, you're not gonna like this one!" He finally admitted.

"And why is that?" You swerved into an alleyway swiftly after sighting a car light from a mile away, the fog fortunately covering you.

"You need to somehow go undercover in York."

"New York? That's not so far away...what's the deal?"

"No.. York as in England, York. As in England, Britain."

"..."

"Y/n?"

"Yeah, I'm here. But, England?" You whispered, confusion and frustration mixing in your tone.

"I know, I know.." Gent hushed you.

"But listen, if you complete this.. you'll be set." He let out a small chuckle.

Those few words almost lifted the weight off your chest. It almost seemed like the world was dangling a piece of meat in front of you as if you've been starved for days. It's offer tempting and successfully persuading. This could be it. No more blood, no more close calls, no constant instruction and destruction. You'd be free to live as you please. Wear clothes that don't restrict you, talk how you want, live how you want.

"I'm gonna guess you'll take the job?" Gent laid back in his seat with a smug smirk as he files his nails.

"When do I start?"

"In a week or two. We need you to lay low incase the press find out about your most recent...errand." He shrugged.

"But until then, get in the car." He twirled in his black office chair again. You turn your head and find a shiny black car pulling up in front of the alleyway, the same one you spotted.

"Talk to you next time, Y/n!" He sang. You let out a sigh, from the long day of hunting down that gang in the casino to just chatting with Gent can take the caffeine induced energy out of you. Amidst your thoughts, you slipped into the car, no words spoken to the assigned driver. Nor did you make a sound.

You did notice he seemed spooked at your sudden appearance, the hair on the back of his neck prickling up with his eyes widening for a split second before he started the engine.

...

"Word on the street says you're moving abroad!" Your neighbor stopped you in your tracks as you were about to reach your door. The cursed entrance stands only a few feet away, you wonder if you could just pretend you didn't hear her and quickly go in.

Dropping your shoulders with a twitch of an eye, "Uh..yeah." You sighed in defeat, slowly turning yourself to face your innocent neighbor. Who in reality, has been nothing but nosy to you. Which really doesn't help you as an assasin, you already have countless detectives all around the country trying to trace you based on blurry security camera pictures.

"Wow! I've always wanted to go to the big ol' tea country!" Her eyes sparkled as she locked her hands together and dreamed of Britain.

"I didn't tell you-" You scratch the back of your neck, trying to find place to speak before she inevitably cuts you off.

"Anyway.." She looked to the side, avoiding eye contact as she does.

"So you already got a job or a place to stay?" She fiddled a strand of her red hair as she chews the gum in her mouth with a smack of her lips. She always asked you curious questions. It started out as small talk, you put in what you could at first so she didn't grow suspicious, but as time went on, her questions seemed more like riddles about your personal life.

"Heading out for the day?"

"You have any pets?"

"You always look so tired.. what's up with that?"

"Do you have a girlfriend or a boyfriend?...or a friend.?"

There weren't many risks in answering her inquiries. You tried to live your life as boring as possible so people don't show interest, answering questions with the most plain answers you could think of. But somehow, Holly has stayed ever so curious.

"Uhm..no. I guess not." You tell the truth, keep it short and simple but left out the part that Gent was already looking for apartments you could stay at.

"Ah, that's a shame." Holly shrugged. You looked at her with a blank stare, knowing and waiting for when she tells you an idea she conjured up, like she planned the conversation and she's pulling strings on whatever happens next.

"Oh I just remembered!" She clapped, smile gleaming up at you.

"My brother in law is in England. He's planning on selling his loft and moving back here! Didn't this line up perfectly?"

Ah, there it is.

"Wow, that's crazy." You attempt a typical response.

"Wait, brother in law? I didn't know you were married."

"Didn't you know? I own half of this building, I bagged the landlord.!" She whispers that last part to you, elbowing you discreetly as if you guys weren't the only two in the stairwell.

Suddenly everything clicked, from the way she knew what your name was immediately after you moved in to when your rent was due.

"Ah." You say dumbfounded.

"I'll see you around, gotta help with dinner. Email me if you're interested in that loft!" Before you knew it, she was already halfway down the stairs, waving theatrically.

You sighed, turning around to enter your humble abode that's been decorated for you. The apartment doesn't feel like home. But, to be fair, you were barely in there.

The walls of pictures are all edited, the framed certificates on the wall are fake, and even the two trophies "you got from high school" were custom-made to fit the space on your bookshelf. Despite the warm ambiance Gent and his team pushed into the space, so it looked like you weren't one of their best assassins. The air always seemed cold. Loneliness struck you every night or early morning as you entered through the door. No one greeted you, no familiar smell danced through the air, no embrace warmed you up from the cold feeling of taking someone's life.

You were by yourself. Like you've always been.

...

"Hobie!" Gwen shook him harshly by his arm, ignoring the few spikes that poked her from his jacket. Said man wakes up with a snort, looking around the room half awake and his guitar sliding off his lap as he sits up from his bean bag made of various patches.

"Wha' happened.." He blinks away the sleep, slapping himself awake. One side of his hair has perfectly stood up instead of its usual out turned position, a product of him sleeping on his left side. He looked like the epitome of being disoriented.

"I've been trying to wake you up for like half an hour!" The blonde paces around the room, arms flung in the air in disbelief. Her sneakers slide on the hardwood floors, Hobie's eyes regaining focus by watching her shoes glide past him.

Shaking his head, "Alright, alright... why're you doin that?" He grabs his beloved guitar, placing it to the side.

"That stylist Nix hired a month ago quit! You guys need one before that show at the bar next week, duh!" She snatches her cardigan off the growing pile of clothes on the floor, her eyes lighting up when she spotted it.

"Tha's it? Gwendy, we can style ourselves." He waves her off, flopping back into his place on the bean bag. "Right, only wake me up if someone's dyin next time." He begins to doze off again, crossing one leg over the other and putting his hands behind his head before Gwen's cardigan hits him straight on the face, his spider senses failing him miserably.

"Style ourselves my ass! Yeah, maybe if the world gave the whole band like five years to decide on which leather jackets to wear before every show!" Gwen stood before him, her hands on her hips as her foot taps on the floor impatiently. Gwen eyes his disheveled state, wondering how this guy led a handful of successful missions.

"Alright, alright.." Hobie surrendered, hand gently grabbing her cardigan off himself. "We'll get another bloody stylist.." He folded it neatly, tucking it next to his guitar and adjusting himself to go back to sleep, muttering small grumbles as the cushy chair sinks to his liking.

Gwen walks out of the room with a loud bang of the door after making sure he's true to his word and giving many suspicious glares his way.

[darlingofthorns]

Katy, this reminds me of the Arctic Monkeys Song: No. 1 Party Anthem. The lyrics and the actual meaning behind it might not be accurate to the actual story of the fic, but I can legit imagine like a little sad animatic to the song, and as the lyrics go on its like Hobie and the band's memories of their R, who is now dead but they're getting deja vu from the alive R and their memories are like sort of throwing them off.

Lyrics like "Before the moment's gone" and "May suggest there's somewhere from which I might know her". Again, the song has a whole different meaning but the vibes are there 😢 the sad and angsty vibes.

Once More to See You

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

Word count: 8.4k

Synopsis: Like Alice in wonderland, you accidentally fall to another universe where everything is different from your universe, including your best friend, Hobie Brown. Will you be able to come home to your best friend before you get ripped apart molecule by molecule? Or will you fail and leave the love of your life wondering where you are for the rest of his life?

Tags: Use of Y/N sparsely, No specific physical description of the reader, CW Blood, CW violence, TW death, CW injury, CW vomit mention. Bestfriends to lovers (speedrun edition), established relationship, Hurt/comfort, Angst.

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Masterlist

Eyes almost crossed, back hunched and aching, you tinker at the tiny components of the inter dimensional watch Hobie started putting together. He brought it to you last night with a paper bag filled with your favourite takeout to bribe you in helping him. “It's for emergencies,” he said, “I don't trust that vampire from the future,” he grumbled in between bites of chips.

The soft music from your record player filters through the dimly lit room, save for your work lamp, the sun is just about setting in the horizon. You have the perfect view of the expansive London skyline just outside your window. It's a foggy day, clouds hanging above like cotton balls, fluffy and grey— rain's coming, you surmise from the unmistakable smell of petrichor. It's already raining somewhere, you think. And you worry immediately for him since he's still on patrol. Did he bring a raincoat with him at least? But knowing him, he'd just swing around while there's a downpour. And when you scold him while he's dripping wet, soaking your carpet, he'd just shrug and say, ‘I looked bloody good at it though’ to which you'd scoff, but secretly agree.

Distracted, you poke at the wrong wire with your metal pliers, a spark from the main power source shocks you, flinching and yelping, you check for any damages on your fingertips.

“Should've worn rubber gloves, love.” Hobie's sudden whisper in your ear makes you jump out of the stool, goosebumps appearing on your arms as he catches you before you land harshly on your back. “Got you. Maybe you should invent seatbelts on barstools, hm? You'd make a fortune from pubs alone. No more drunkards falling face first.” He jokes, arm snaked along your back, hand splayed over your ribs, and face dangerously close to your own.

You decide to quip back as revenge for making you almost fall. “I would invent it if you weren't dropping so many projects on my lap.” Still floating above the floors with the help from his hold, he fakes letting you go. You squeak, hands instinctively flying to his shoulders for support. Maybe you shouldn't have teased him when he's the only one standing between you and a bump on your head. “You little—”

He raises a pierced brow, “what'd you say again, love?” His mischievous smirk tells you that he's about to do it again, so you surrender. How could you fight him when he looks at you like you're the only person in the world that's worthy of his touch?

Lips clamping down, you still glare at him despite the overwhelming fondness for the man holding you in place.

“That's what I thought.” Chuckling, he sits you upright back on the stool, he even fixes your shirt for you. “There, lookin' mighty fit today, why are you all dressed up?”

It's your turn to quirk an eyebrow, “dressed up? Hobs I basically live in this shirt.” He unabashedly roams his eyes over to the old band shirt that he made himself once upon a time. “Bold of you to assume I have some place to go.” You say even with the searing heat from your cheeks, and clammy hands.

“We could go,” Hobie shrugs, hiding his sudden shyness, you have that effect on him. “There's a new building we could swing to, if we go now we could still catch the sunset.” He inches closer, hand smoothing down the goosebumps on your arms.

“It's gonna rain, Hobs.”

“How'd you know? You a weather girl now?”

“I can smell it, and also my knees feel it.”

“What are you eighty?” He says with a laugh. “Does that make you a cradle snatcher?” Half joking, he really wishes that you'd get the hint.

Eleven years of friendship and counting, you still haven't crossed that invisible line between friendship and something more. It's not from the lack of trying from Hobie's end, no, he has told you a few times that he fancied you, more than a best friend would. But you're too afraid to say it back, to say or even scream that you fancy him, or love him is the better way to put it. But you're afraid that it might not work out, that friendship is the best thing for the both of you, that all the longing looks thrown between you, and all the lingering touches were all just attraction because you've known each other for basically forever; and the feeling wouldn't last once you do get together.

You don't want to risk your friendship only for it to end in tears and heartache. No, you love him too much to hurt him like that, and he knows it too.

He was more bold with his feelings for you a few years before, years before he was bitten and was given the heavy responsibilities. But now that he bears the title of Spider-man, he's starting to think having a romantic relationship with you while he's tangled up in all the danger he faces everyday, isn't such a great idea. So his advances are much less now, Hobie just misses you, he suppose, that's probably why he asked for your help with his own batch of watches even though he can handle it on his own while he's blindfolded. An excuse to just see you, an excuse to be in your presence. Because if you can't be together, he'd settle for staying like this forever, just best friends.

Best friends who unequivocally love each other, best friends who are waiting for the right time. Even if it means waiting for forever.

You smile softly, knowing that his joke is a half wish. “That means you're a coffin snatcher then.”

Hobie leans closer, hands on top of your table that's behind you, arms caging you in. You can smell the leather on him, and the usual scent he sports when he's particularly in a good mood. You'd know, you gifted the cologne to him. He thinks you're uncomfortable because of the position, he was about to move away but you remedy that with a smile, and with your hand placed on the back of his elbow. He can feel how your pulse hammers against your skin.

“C’mon, love, the view's pretty up there.” His view right now can't compare though.

“I can see the view from here, besides, I still have work to do.”

He tilts his head, an act he knows you can't resist. “I’ll swing you back home quicker than you can say ‘cougar’” you laugh, eyes crinkling in the corners, and he thinks your smile is better than any sunset he has ever seen. “You've been cooped up in here for too long. When was the last time you've seen the sun—?” You open your mouth for a quip but he beats you to it, “not including seeing it from your windows.” Nodding, he raises both eyebrows, looking at you through his long lashes.

For a moment he thought you'd agree, that you bought into his charms. But you clear your throat, moving away, lips tightly closed like you refuse to spill any secrets. Or spill out a confession. I don't want to ruin this, you think, if I go, what would happen up there? Your mind runs through a thousand scenarios, a consequence of your genius mind. It's not all good, you suppose, and you're sure that whatever happens on top of that skyscraper, you'll never come back from it.

You love him, you really do, but he has a heavy burden to carry. You don't want to add to it. Leaning to the side, still sitting on the stool, he instinctively hovers his hand close to your side, just in case you fall off again.

“I fixed the problem on your watch by the way.” Changing the subject is good, changing the subject means you don't have to face reality.

“Yeah?” He acts nonchalant, yet, there's a lump in his throat that threatens to choke him. It's not all your fault, he thinks. All the tiptoeing around each other, all the heavy side glances aren't all your fault, it's his too. He might've faced a hundred or so dangers but he can't seem to find the courage to finally say those three magic words. Jaw tightening, he's not mad at you, he's mad at himself.

“Your initial power source didn't have enough juice. Hence why it can't generate the right particles for inter dimensional travel.”

Hobie leans on the table, hand still close to your waist, eyes roaming intently at your handiwork. You're good, too good at making these watches, even better than Miguel could be. Or he's just biased. You made it look good too, even with the hodgepodge of materials he gave you.

“You figured that out in less than twenty four hours?” He's in awe of you, he could've thought of that, but it would've taken him a tad longer. “Fuckin' brilliant,” he says under his breath.

You raise your chin proudly, “I did, it was easy-peasy.” It was not, you barely slept because you couldn't sleep not while this huge glaring problem sits at your work table. If it needs fixing, you're gonna get it fixed within the day or you think you'll crumble into dust. Especially if it's Hobie asking for help.

Hobie beams, he's incredibly proud of you, but, “you crossed your lines, love. If you want me to catch on fire then you did it brilliantly.”

“What?” Your smug smile melts, eyes scanning the colourful wires. Shoulders sagging, you glare at him. “No, it's not.”

“Yes it is,” chuckling, he takes your hand to guide and point it out for you. “Right there. Between the cooling system and the red wires.”

Eyes narrowed, nose wrinkling, he smiles at your cute expression. “I can't see— oh.” You see it, the mess of wires lies just under the new power source that you were so proud of. “Fuck.”

“You owe me,” Hobie pokes your side.

“No, I don't. Not all of us have super eyesight.”

“Really? Blamin’ my poor eyes?” Hobie widens his hazel eyes, brilliant swirls of colours mesmerize you.

“Your eyes are far from poor.” You shove his face away from you gently, smiling, you laugh at his fake glare. “Don't you have to patrol, spiderman?”

He surrenders, huffing, he takes his mask from his back pocket to put it back on his head. “Fine, just make sure to fix your wires, I don't want to come back to a crater the next time I visit.”

“I'll uncross them, don't worry. I'm not an amateur, y'know.”

Hobie pats your shoulder for now, maybe he'll pay you a visit again tonight just to make sure your flat didn't turn into ashes. You call him back before he could exit through your fire escape.

“Be careful, please?” Your worried tone makes him turn back around to face you. You imagine that he's at least smiling under his mask. “Just…I have no idea what to do with your watch if you suddenly croak.”

“Always so bloody sweet,” walking back towards you, he grins even though you can't see it. Your worries make you reach towards him. Holding him by the lapels of his leather jacket, you trace the little stitches he made. His spider senses tingle, and he hears how your heart quickens. “I'll be fine, yeah? Don't worry ‘bout me.”

“You know I'll always worry.” You whisper.

“I know, I'm like that too when it comes to you.” Your breath hitches in your throat. He shuts his senses down so he can't hear how fast your pulse thumps, or how you weakly swallow down your nerves. “Why don't I come back here tonight, ease that genius mind of yours.” He pokes your forehead, you nod. “Good, I'll bring takeout, that isn't instant ramen. Seriously, love, that shit ain't good for you.”

“It's tasty though.”

“You'll get kidney stones.” He begins to walk backwards, so he could still see your face as he goes. For some reason, he doesn't want to go. But he suppose that he always has this feeling whenever he visits.

“I've got a clean kidney,” you softly smile, waving goodbye, hoping that he comes back to you in one piece just like always.

“Sure you do,” one leg after the other, he exits from the window until you're staring into your open window and until his lingering scent fades.

“Right,” you sigh, slapping your cheeks to stay in the present, then turning around to continue your work.

For an hour you painstakingly untangle the wires with your tweezers, minutes turn into hours, and your empty stomach grumbles. Lower back aching once again. For a second you're just about finishing it, then a spark lights up, then a blinding explosion of colours.

You should've worn rubber gloves.

—

Hobie swings casually towards your flat, it's a lot harder to swing with one hand while the other holds onto the plastic bag filled with your favourite. Smiling under his mask, wind blowing towards him, buildings whizz past as he increases his speed.

The smell of smoke hits his nose. Then puffs of black tar greets him where your flat used to be.

Heart in his stomach. He lands on the pavement less gracefully, the bag slipping through his trembling fingers.

A crowd watches on at the burning building, pieces of glass lay under his boots, crunching as he stands frozen on the spot. His eyes roam for your familiar face, around the people that watch the blaze, grief curls around his throat when he doesn't find you amidst the throng of strangers. It slowly suffocates him.

Your name spills out of his lips, hoping with every utterance of your name you'll emerge unscathed. He feels dizzy.

A firefighter notices him. Hope blossoms in his chest when Hobie turns towards the uniformed man. But the forlorn face the man sports under the soot covering his skin says it all. “There's no survivors!” He yells above the sirens, Hobie crumbles to his feet. “There's no survivors. You're too late, Spiderman.”

He's too late. His ears ring, he could only hear the crackling of the fire whilst it eats away at you. Charred wood collapses, nose stinging from the smoke, vision blurry as tears silently fall.

You're gone. And all that's left of you are ashes that float down towards him like grotesque snowflakes. Sticking to his suit, heat clinging to his skin.

It's too soon, he had a lifetime with you. A sudden burst of rain pelts at him. You were right, rain was coming.

He should've tried harder to convince you to go out.

—

A swirl of neon colours whizz past as you fall into the kaleidoscope depths. Scream stuck in your throat, hand stinging from how you grip the watch, or what's left of it. It's now in your hand, jagged metal pieces piercing your skin. There's a light at the end of the tunnel, bracing yourself, you fall on the harsh concrete. The portal spits you out feet first, skidding across, body tumbling on the ground. You're otherwise unharmed despite the harsh landing.

Eyes adjusting in the light, you blink rapidly, shielding your eyesight from the intense sun.

Wait, the sun? Wasn't it sunset a few minutes ago?

Sitting up, you roam your eyes around where you landed. The familiar London skyline is to your right, while on your left are buildings you can't seem to recognize no matter how you try to remember.

“I don't think I'm in Kansas anymore.” You say, full of bewilderment. The watch worked, but in the way you wanted it to.

The roof where you landed on is dirty, full of abandoned broken furniture. Pots upon pots of dead plants stacked on top of the other. Good thing there isn't any broken glass or you'd be bleeding.

Propping yourself up, you stand up on two wobbly feet. Stomach churning, vision warbling, you think you're about to be sick. You can't believe Hobie does this on a daily basis.

You inhale sharply, trying to compose yourself and the instant ramen in your stomach. “Oh fuck.” Exhaling, you calm yourself down. Heart finally steadying to a normal rhythm, you sigh before you check the remains of the cracked watch in your hand. “Shit!” The broken pieces fall off from your palm as you look at it. “I'm fucked!”

Like a child throwing a tantrum, you kick a cardboard box, it soars across the roof. Groaning loudly, you stomp on the ground as if it was its fault that you're in another dimension.

You felt it before it happened. Something spreads inside you, like a bolt of lightning has struck you. The sensation starts from the crown of your head to your fingertips, goosebumps appearing on your skin, you glitch for only a second but it's enough to give you motion sickness.

“Oh my fuck—!” A blast from behind you reverberates, wind rushing around you, whipping your searing skin. “What the—?”

If being stuck in an alternative universe wasn't enough, a guy wearing huge mechanical wings is approaching you quickly. Too quickly.

Before you could duck, the cackling vulture grabs you from the roof. Lifting you up, the whiplash from his momentum almost breaks your neck.

“Got you!” He laughs in your ears, metallic claws digging into your biceps. A black slithering blob weaves around his bicep, crawling up to your own like a slimy worm.

“What the hell, old man!” You scream above the noisy exhaust of his wings. “Let me go! I was literally just standing there!”

He clicks his tongue, like he's chastising a child. “No, no, no, not until he gives me what I want. Then I'll think about letting you go, but it's a long drop.”

“Who—?” As he says the word ‘drop’ you look down, vertigo making you nauseous. You must be a hundred feet above the streets. You wish Hobie was here to save you. Tears in your eyes, panic sets in, making your hands tremble and your chest desperately heave in air.

A flash of red and black, a harsh crack of bone, and a splash of something warm on your cheek, you fall from the vulture’s hold.

Gasping, reaching for something, anything to hold onto, you get snatched up before you turn into a bloody street pancake.

A strong arm envelops you as you hug tighter, face hiding away from the harsh winds. Clinging onto the stranger, they seem oddly familiar under your touch. They smell familiar too, like your nose is so used to it that you can recognize it above anything else. Leather and bergamot, the scent he wears when he's in a good mood.

You raise your head to take a peek at your savior. The spikes on his head are dark and swirly, like an evil unicorn's horn. They don't shine in the sunlight anymore, it's the same deep shade as his mask. He no longer bears the resemblance of your Hobie. He feels like him, smells like him, even the warmth spreading to you is the same. There's a deep familiarity, yet, there's something amiss.

“Hobie?” You call, and when he shifts his head to gaze at you, his grip loosens.

Craning his neck down, the eyes of his mask widens. “Y/N?” He breathlessly asks, arm sliding off from shock. “Shit!”

“Hobie!” Briefly falling, he catches you immediately. You both land on a roof, his arms are around you, hand shielding your head from the collision as you both slide across the terracotta roof. Eyes closed, you hide your face on his chest as he bears the impact for you.

Hobie groans, glad that he's wearing leather that helped with lessening his injuries from the awkward fall. Opening his eyes, he thinks he has died when he sees your face look back at him.

Expression etched into worry, you check for any injuries on his body. You get a good look at his suit, it's different, way different than you saw him last. The only thing that stayed the same is his old leather vest, but it looks like it's more well worn than the last time you've seen it. There's marks on the leather, and holes where it's not supposed to be in. You'd mend it for him like always, but there's more pressing matters.

Hobie reaches for you, black cloth enveloping and swirling around his toned arms, showing a bit of his scarred skin. You don't miss how his hands tremble as he holds your face in his calloused hands. It's all familiar to you, yet, his hands are more rugged, rougher, but you know it's him. You could recognize his touch anywhere.

“Did the vulture finally get me?” You raise an eyebrow at his question. The heaviness in his chest slowly fades for the first time in years, he wants to tell you everything, to hold you forever in his arms until all the holes in his heart are filled by you once more. His thumbs wipe the crimson off of your cheek, an instinct of his.

“W-what?” You shake your head, and he relishes at the sound of your voice. The same voice he has only heard in your old voicemails that he plays before going to bed. “I think you have a concussion, Hobs.” Gently, you reach for his mask, he stops you before you could lift it away.

“Hobs,” he chuckles weakly, “I haven't heard of that name in years.”

You know this isn't your Hobie but you can't help but sympathize with him, you can hear the sadness and hurt laced with his deeper tone. You'd ask, but it isn't your place. Literally.

Hobie sits up with a groan, back cracking, the sound making you wince. “Sounds like you need to stretch more.” You joke.

He laughs, his mind tricks him, making him think of all the teasing you've said to him once upon a time.

“I think my back is beyond saving by just stretching.” Head leaning on his elbow, arm propped up by his knee, he still can't wrap his mind around your existence. “Which dimension did you come from?”

You straighten your back, lips curling into a smile. “How'd you know I'm not from here?”

Hobie reaches for his mask, for a moment he pauses. Still, with an apprehensive tug, he takes off his mask. Shock and confusion is evident in your expression. Reminding him of the time when he told you he was Spider-Man all those years ago.

“You're…old.” A hundred questions flood your mind at the sight of his crow’s feet that decorates his eyes. He has smile lines around his mouth, he still has piercings but there's less of them now. His hair is graying, patches of grey that weave around his locs. Under the wear of time on his face, you could recognize that face amidst a thousand faces. It's Hobie, but not your Hobie. “Definitely not in Kansas anymore.”

He chuckles deeply, he misses that humour of yours. “You look how I remember.” he whispers, you could barely hear his words.

You knit your eyebrows together. “Did I travel to the future instead of a different dimension?” The same sensation passes through you, rattling your bones and wracking your senses. You glitch once again. Stomach churning, you cough out harshly.

Shaking his head, Hobie stands up then he gives you a hand. “Not time travel,” you take his hand weakly, lifting you up, he worries for you. “Definitely from another universe. Come with me to the safehouse and we'll fix your watch, yeah?”

Nodding, you trust him completely. “Okay, just to remind you though, don't jostle me around too much—”

“You get motion sick from web swingin’, I know, I remember.” His heart aches, and you can see it hidden behind his hazel eyes.

—

After swinging across the city, and with you fighting the bile rising to your throat, you two finally make it to his safehouse that's masquerading as an old laundromat. You and older Hobie enter from the back door, and another door greets you, all thick steel and seemingly bullet proof.

He enters a set of codes on the numpad that you didn't notice until he was pressing numbers in. You don't bring out the fact that the passcode was your birthday.

The door beeps, an indication that it's unlocked. He looks at you over his shoulder, smiling softly at your nervous eyes.

“Stay behind me, yeah? Don't mind the lads. Or the whispers.”

“Whispers? Why would they gossip about me?”

“Nothin'” he turns back around. “Just stay close to me.”

“Okay, I wasn't planning to wander anyway, it looks like a small house so—” just as you say it, a long staircase leading down to what looks like the abyss makes you think otherwise. “Are you evil Hobie? You planning on bringing me to your little house of horrors to kill me?”

“Are you part of the sinister six?” He asks flatly, slightly enjoying the banter.

“No—”

“Then you've got nothin’ to worry ‘bout.” Hobie continues to walk down the stairs, heavy boots thudding against the concrete with every footstep. Darkness surrounds him quickly, you could only see the outline of him under the dark. He notices the way you stay on top of the stairs, hands wringing together. “I've got a torch if you're scared—”

“Yes!” You exclaim too fast. “I mean, sure, yeah.” He doesn't tease, for that you silently thank him. You hear a click, and then a torch coming from a gadget on his arm lights the way. “Thanks,” you whisper, finally catching up with him.

The stairs lead you down further, with only Hobie's torch guiding the way, you subtly hold the hem of his vest. If he minded, he never said anything. Ears popping, another door greets you at the end.

Hobie knocks, a rhythm that you can't quite place. A panel on the door slides open, a pair of eyes roams over to Hobie's face and then to yours. Brown eyes widening at the sight of you, they close the panel, then they open the metal door with a creak. Light escapes from the opening, and you shield your eyes from the sudden brightness.

“Holy fucking shit,” a female voice exclaims. Their cadence is full of surprise, and somewhat breathless. “W-what— how?”

“She's not from here,” Hobie explains, almost sounding forlorn at his own words.

Your eyes finally adjust, and you see an older Yuri gawking at you. She has aged well and gracefully, you think, as she sports the lighter hair with confidence and wrinkles barely noticeable.

“Yuri?” You still ask even though you're ninety nine percent sure that it's her.

“The one and only, gorgeous.” Without thinking, she drags you inside, pulling you in for a hug. You heard her sniffle, and you felt how her shoulders relaxed just from the hug alone. So you let her embrace you, with your hand awkwardly rubbing in an attempt to soothe her. Pulling away, she holds you at arm's length. She pats your shoulder, smoothing your sleeves, “still gorgeous, and still unfair.” Snorting, she lets you go, turning towards your companion. “Gwen's been waiting for you.”

Hobie gets flung back to the present, the simple sight of Yuri hugging you has brought him to the past, back when everything was better.

You stare at him, and he knows there's a lot of questions swimming in that genius mind of yours. He nods once wordlessly, not trusting his own mouth to form coherent words right now.

You follow him just as he instructed, Yuri reluctantly lets you go. Your nails dig into your sweaty palms, and eyes restlessly looking around the safe house. The place is expansive, walls high up, and when you look down, you see weathered tiles that have cracked from time. There's a train track in the middle, and you realize it's an old metro station. Instead of advertisements and train schedules on the walls, you see several monitors hanging on it, thousands of wires running through all of them, beeping and buzzing coming out of the computers. There's also weapon racks littered around the place, large and something that looks like it came from a sci-fi film.

There's a lot of people running around, all clad in the same style as Hobie. Leather, chains and metal spikes all adorning their forms. You quickly look away whenever you pass a stranger who widens their eyes at the sight of you.

Tugging at Hobie's vest, you peer at him. “Why does everyone give me that same look? And who's Gwen?”

He doesn't stop his strides, “Gwen's a friend, she knows you, kind of.” He decides to tease you. Maybe it's his brain trying to compensate for the time he hasn't done it. “Why? You jealous? Green eyed monster rearing its ugly mug?”

You scoff with a playful smile. “Technically, I don't know you, so…” his smile wavers, “there's no way I'd be jealous. Also you're…old.” His smile returns, there's a question that suddenly pops in your mind. “Are we a thing here?” You suppose you should ask just to get it away, and this isn't even the same Hobie back home so you don't lose anything by asking.

His face flattens, something passes by his eyes and he turns away. “Don't worry ‘bout it.”

“That's not answering my question, or any of my questions—”

“Gwen.” Hobie passes by you without sparing you a glance.

He enters a large open space that is full of computers and screens that blink and beep. There's a dozen or so people that walk around the area, all looking frazzled and tired. It looks like a command center of some sorts. A stranger bumps into you, accidentally shoving you by your shoulder.

“Sorry, I—” The man stops in his tracks, it's Ned, or at least this universe's version of Ned. The wrinkles around his eyes and white hair says that he must've been the same age as this Hobie. The clipboard in his hand falls from his grasp, eyes wide and watery, he gasps. “Y/N—”

Hobie appears next to you, “yeah it's her, Ned.”

“B-but…she's—”

Hobie shakes his head, wordlessly having a conversation with his best friend. “We'll talk later, I promise.” He softens his voice. The interaction has you more confused. They have a stare down with you caught in the middle.

You give Ned an apologetic smile. Crouching, you take the fallen clipboard, giving it back to him. “Here, sorry for bumping into you.”

His hand trembles as he takes it. “It's okay, I gotta go.” Rushing, he leaves you and Hobie.

“Is he okay? Please don't tell me you're working him to the bone.” You scold him.

“No, you know I'll never do that.”

“Just like I said, I technically don't know you.” Exasperated from all the dodging Hobie has done, you walk away and towards the command center where a large table sits in the middle and in-between a huge screen.

Hobie has forgotten has stubborn you can be, following behind you, he can already see Gwen looking furious just standing next to the table, all menacing like.

“Hobie, what the fuck did you do?” The sudden angry tone makes your skin jump, kind of reminding you of your days back in school. “Have you finally lost your damn mind?” The blond woman gestures towards you.

There's red streaks in her braided hair, clothes perfectly suited to her form. She stands out from the rest, she looks sporty in her varsity jacket and white trainers. But of course she wears a pair of leather pants and an old band shirt that says ‘fuck getting fridged!’ You have no idea what that means.

Before she could blow a gasket, you explain yourself. “It's not time travel actually,” you say, voice faltering once you notice all eyes are on you. “It's interdimensional travel— on accident! I didn't mean to.”

Gwen crosses her arms over her chest, “you a spiderperson? Do you answer to Miguel?”

“No, not a spiderperson, just some idiot who made a huge mistake by trying to make her own watch because my best friend asked me to.” You take the broken watch from your pocket to place it on the table. “See? I broke it.”

“Your Hobie asked you to help him?” Older Hobie asks, you nod, his eyes flick over to you and then the bracelet. “Sounds like something I would do.” He whispers to himself.

“Wait, you don't have a watch on you anymore? Then—” Gwen starts but your glitching interrupts her.

It was only two seconds but you felt like your insides were being ripped apart, and your eyeballs were getting scooped out by a spoon. Heaving, hands gripping on the table for balance, you cough loudly as Hobie pats your back.

“Motherfucker—! That one was worse than the last one.” You almost choke on your own spit. “Goddamnit.”

“I was about to ask why you're not glitching, I guess I got my answer.” Gwen hands you a water bottle. “Here.” Turning towards Hobie, who's already picking apart the bracelet, she sternly calls for his attention. “What do you plan with her?”

“Fix her watch then let her stay because she's Y/N.” He nonchalantly says, lying through his teeth to rile up his already mad right hand woman.

“Your real plan, Hobie.” She taps her foot impatiently, you still wonder what his words meant. “We don't have the time or the resources to help her right now. Especially when our little machine still hasn't turned on.”

“Would you rather have her molecules ripped apart or spare a few parts so she could go home?” Hobie places his hands on top of the table, eyes narrowed, challenging Gwen. Whilst you take in his words. “Our main focus still hasn't changed, she's a guest and if we don't help her she will die.” Inhaling, he continues, “you heard her, she has someone to go back too. Someone who's lookin' for her. Do you really want him to experience that kind of—” he stops after feeling your eyes on him. He clears his throat. “We'll help her fix the watch, it'll take me a few hours to finish it and we'll still be on schedule for the attack.”

You set aside your oncoming demise to ask him about ‘the attack’. “Schedule for what?”

Gwen visibly relaxes from your gaze, you surmise that this universe’s you has history with her. “We're gonna take down Osborn once and for all.”

You knit your brows together. “You haven't done that yet?”

Gwen and Hobie blinks in surprise, intrigued, everyone else who wasn't already eavesdropping looks at you expectantly.

“What do you mean ‘haven't?’” Gwen asks, eyebrow raised.

“We already did that in our dimension a few years ago. I still have a few scars from it.”

Hobie cranes his neck towards Gwen, hazel eyes suddenly forlorn, shoulders heavy, and jaw tightening. “You succeeded?”

It all hits you, they've failed in where you and your friends have succeeded. You gained where they've lost, and you feel for their pain, you for*his suffering. You now know why he gave you that look the first time he saw you.

Composing yourself, even though your chest feels heavy, you still act as if their revelation doesn't bother you, when it has impacted you like you're the one who lost. “Y-yeah, I mean everyone helped a lot. I just did the best I can.” You scratch the back of your neck, “we had this thing that can cripple the symbiote inside his men—”

Gwen takes out a small circular device from her pocket. “Like this?”

You shake your head, “no, we just hooked a bunch of amplifiers around the area and Hobie and his band played really fucking loud. My ears ring just thinking about it.”

“Yeah we all know about them hating loud sounds but that didn't work for us before.” Gwen and Hobie's hopes are dashed. “And after all the tries, we stopped trying that method.”

“Why don't you guys ask for help with spider society? I'm sure—”

Hobie cuts you off, scowling at his feet. “I did, I asked for help. And what did that vampire from 2099 say?” He grows frustrated, knuckles shaking, eyes looking away from you. “He refused, saying that no one could intervene. That this was my canon event, and if anybody helped that it'll put the multiverse into dangerous territory.” Shaking his head, the man before shows up, and Hobie turns away from him. “It's bullshit, that's why I left.”

“We did find out why sound doesn't disable the symbiotes. Osborn made some kind of shield around them.” Gwen pipes up, shifting the conversation before Hobie gets angrier from the mere mention of Miguel.

“Like armor?” You ask.

“Yes, it's invisible to the naked eye. Thanks to Hobie, we finally found their Achilles heel. If only we could get this damn device to work then we'll be free of him and his regime.” She continues.

“Maybe I can help—”

“No,” Hobie quickly says, hurt in his eyes, he avoids yours. “No, I'll get your watch fixed up and you can go.”

“But I may be able to help—”

“No,” he emphasizes, with a shaky breath, he calls for Yuri. “Take her to the extra room,” instructing Yuri, she smiles at you apologetically. “Stay there until your watch is fixed.”

“She might be right—” Gwen starts but Hobie ignores her.

You glitch once again, stomach turning inside out, this time you feel like your skin is being ripped away. Eyes rolling on the back of your head, head spiralling. The next thing you know, you're laying on top of a hard mattress. Groaning, vision adjusting, you sit up carefully.

Your eyes adjust to the dim light hanging above, a single light bulb that swings from a draft seeping out of a crack in the wall. The room is small, barely even fitting the single bed. Walls of grey concrete surround you on all sides, there's a few posters on the walls that are tacked lopsidedly. They're all worn down, like they're older than you from the looks of the fading ink. A singular guitar sits at the corner, black and cherry red, hundreds of stickers are placed on it, adding to the roses that are painted all over it. It screams Hobie, but not your Hobie. Just sitting on his bed makes you miss him, even though you know they are not the same.

Stretching your aching neck from awkward angles it was put through because of the glitching, you spot a polaroid picture sticking out from under the pillow. You don't want to be nosy, but seeing your own face smile at you has you reaching for the photograph.

It's you, but not you exactly. Your face is the same, clothes you can't recognize. The only thing you can recognize is the way you hold onto Hobie. This universe's Hobie. Cheek pressed on his own, mirrored smiles on both your lips, his arm around your waist, pulling you close as if you'd fade away. And your arms enveloping around him like you're shielding him from harm. There's one detail that jumps at you with how yellowed the paper is and how crumpled the corners are, you're both incredibly young.

“Oh,” There had been signs, and this now confirms it.

You look at the steel door as if you had x-ray vision, as if you can see through it and see the Hobie that this version of you had loved once upon a dimly lit pub where the polaroid was taken.

Placing the picture back where you found it, you test your shaky legs. You make it two steps before you start glitching out, tumbling towards the door, forehead pressed on the cold steel, you heave dryly.

There's tears in your eyes when you open the door. Silence greets you, the air is cold and stagnant, the lights that were blinking at you earlier are now dim enough that you have to feel your way towards the concrete hallway and out into the warm light. Your hands glide along the almost frozen walls, rough sandy concrete hitting your palms like sandpaper. Footsteps quiet to not rouse the sleeping crew.

Finally making it out, lungs cool, and teeth chattering, you feel sicker by the minute. Hobie stands next to the large console, back towards you. Metals clicking and grinding against each other, Hobie doesn't look over his shoulder from your presence.

You knock on the wall to not startle him and ruin his work. Hobie finally cranes his neck to look at you, shoulders tensed and eyebrows knitted together in either frustration or concentration.

“You okay?” You ask, voice echoing in the vast room.

“I should be askin’ you that.” He goes back to the table, immediately tinkering.

“Well, are you?”

“You're stubborn.”

“My best quality.”

You hear him softly chuckle thanks to the silence hanging in the air. Walking closer, you smile at the sight of his rubber gloves that protect his hands.

“So?” You ask again.

“Never better.” He flatly says, eyes focused on putting your watch together.

“Why'd you leave the society?”

“Thought you were smart?”

“I am, and a consequence of that is being utterly curious.”

Hobie sighs but doesn't stop working. “Creative differences.”

“Ah, I knew it. You and my Hobie would get along well.” Your words trail off when you see the same spherical tech sitting next to him. “Is that the thing you can't figure out?”

He spares it a glance. “Yeah, the bane of my existence.”

You go around him to look at it closely. Eyes narrowed, arms tucked, you lean closer. “I think—” you grab it before Hobie could stop you. The glitching must've taken a toll in your critical thinking because you crack it open like an egg in your hands. “That's your problem.”

“What the fuck?” He says breathlessly, almost yelling, eyes wide, hands already grabbing the tech to fix it. “What is wrong with you?”

“Thin shell.”

“We've established that you have a thin skull—”

“Rude, but I'm talking about that.” You point at the sphere while Hobie's cradling it like a baby. “the shell is too thin,” you take half of it, pointing out its faults. “See? You need to make the shell a bit thicker, put a pressure plate so that—”

Hobie has a growing smile. “When it's thrown it automatically turns on. With the thicker shell it can withstand it and with it helps distribute the energy more evenly. Shutting all the shields down around its vicinity without needing to push a button.” His eyes widen with realization with every word he says that you already know of. “That way we can arm every rebel with a hundred of these and take down Osborn's venoms without risking close combat. Fuckin' brilliant.” He looks at you in wonder. Embarrassment flickers in his eyes, he should've thought of that, yet, he didn't. You might not be his Y/N but you're worthy of her name.

“Sometimes the easier solution is the best.” Your next sentence has your hands shaking, he notices. “Was your Y/N as brilliant as me?” You finally ask.

Hobie's cheery face falls, “She was smart, but not that brilliant. Her bravery makes up for it.”

“I'm sorry.” Tears stick to your lashes, heart aching for the man before you.

“You are curious.” After years without you, he still has no idea how to respond to those exact words. “How you feelin’?”

“Me?”

“Finding out a version of you is dead must be fuckin' weird.”

You shake your head. “I first thought that I'd see an old wrinkly me.” A half joke. You smile at him to make him feel better, but with how forlorn those hazel eyes are, you might've made it all worse. You weren't lying, you wanted to see a glimpse of your future, but finding out the version of you here is long dead doesn't compare to the feeling of losing someone you've known for years, loved even. “It's terrifying, but it doesn't compare to how hurt you must be. Losing her, I mean.”

He didn't see you grow old. He didn't experience growing old with you.

Hobie clears his throat, “I know you're not her.”

“And I know you're not him. But it looks like we both share the same feelings for them respectively.”

“That obvious?”

“Hobie once told me that in every universe there's always someone for Spider-Man. So yes, it's obvious.” You give him an empathetic smile. “How'd you know it's the same for me?” For us?

“You talk about him like how I talk about her. Takes one to know one, love.” He holds your hand briefly, like it was acting on an old instinct. “Have you told him? How much you're bloody smitten? I have a feelin’ you haven't.”

You nervously chuckle, hands fiddling with a loose screw on the table. “Nope.”

“Let me guess, waitin’ for the right time? Scared of what would happen in the long run?” He says knowingly.

You don't look him in the eyes. “Yeah.”

Something flashes behind Hobie's eyes, after a beat of silence, he finally speaks. “She died protectin’ my crew, did you know that? She died protectin' me, and how do I thank her? Years of failing, years of fighting and we've only come close but never winning in the end.” Hobie sniffs, head raised to look at the graffiti painted on the ceiling. “If i just told her that I loved her, I would've had more time with her. Instead, I was a coward, all those years wasted because I'm a coward.” Hobie finally looks at you, the warm light from the lamp lights the trapped tears in his eyes. “Don't wait for the right time.”

You shake your head, heart clenching at the sight. “I don't think all those years were wasted. You loved her quietly, and I think she did too. Time spent together isn't wasted, just like your silent love. Love is never wasted.”

He smiles softly, the resemblance of a younger Hobie is etched under the small smile. “You would know.”

“I would know,” you smile back. Trepidation hangs around your neck like a two ton steel necklace. “How would I know that he feels the same way? What if it doesn't work out? Or worse, reject me?”

“His loss,” Hobie grins, a genuine one that you haven't seen this version of him sport. It's the only thing you need for reassurance. “But I highly doubt that will happen.”

Nodding, you feel determination where the heaviness once resided. “I'll tell him when I get back. I promise.” You say wholeheartedly.

“You better, don't make the same choices I did.” Hobie holds your hands like how someone holds a feather, gentle and kind. “At least I got to see her one last time, eh, love? A bit younger but beggars can't be choosers.” You feel something heavy on your wrist. Looking down, you see a working watch. Hobie slyly put it on you, it even has your dimension already keyed in on the screen. You look back at him, mouth slightly agape. “Too much power, that was the problem. Sometimes the easier solution is the best.” You laugh at him using your own words against you.

“Thank you, do me a favour?”

“Tit for tat, huh?”

You giggle, then you face him seriously. “Crush Osborne. Fucking decimate him. Or I'll come back and bring the cavalry.”

Hobie's finger ghosts above the button. “You know where to find me, love.”

“And you know where I am.” You smile as the portal opens behind you. A gust of air breezes past you, eyelashes fluttering in the wind, a kaleidoscope of colors dancing on Hobie's face, illuminating his hopeful eyes. “I'm serious, if you need help—”

He slides his hands away from yours. “Go home, Y/N, your Hobie is lookin' for you.” With the mention of him, you give him one last smile for him to remember. You take a step back and fall back into the portal.

—

You fall unceremoniously on the wet pavement, body crashing on a pile of discarded boxes and metal trash cans. The crashing sound would've startled anybody and would have their attention, but no one seems to pay you mind as everyone stares at the ashy remnants of your flat. Groaning, you slap your forehead because of your stupidity. You feel relieved because you seem to be home. Everything seems to be in place, and everything seems to be normal.

“Fucking idiot.” You whisper breathlessly at the sight of your charred flat. Your relief gets washed away when you see Hobie in his suit kneeling down in agony whilst bystanders watch on in grief. Your eyes flick over to him and back to your flat, then back to him.

His shoulders are shaking, head in his hands, nails digging into his mask. You'd yell his name if not for the crowd. Instead, you walk to him, legs still wobbly but getting steady with every step. Soon enough, before you could make your presence known with your hand reaching for his shoulder, he moves his head so fast that you're afraid that his neck would snap. The eyes of his mask widens, standing up, he grabs you lightning quick.

Arms holding you close, you feel his warmth as he slides his hand to your pulse. Hobie sighs in relief, even laughing as he slots his face in the crook of your neck.

You mirror him, hands kneading on his back, telling him you're back and you're not going anywhere with the simple touch.

“I thought— where—?” he starts, but you press your lips on his cheek. He practically freezes in place even with his mask acting as a barrier.

“I love you,” you confess, just as promised, and truthfully. “I love you—!” In a half second after the words are uttered, he swings you both effortlessly on a rooftop, away from prying eyes.

Hobie steadies you on your feet, mask discarded in a heartbeat. “You mean it?”

“Of course I do.” You don't miss the sight of his tear stained cheeks. Your hands reach for him, thumbs rubbing softly on each cheek. “I love you, Hobie.”

“Good, then you don't mind me doin' this?” The warmth of his hand seeps through his gloves, that won't do, so he takes his gloves off to feel you. His bare hand is on your nape, the other is placed on your waist, fingers tapping on your skin lovingly.

You already know what he's asking. “Nope, not at all—”

With an inhale, he closes the distance, kissing you, taking your breath away.

You've fulfilled your promise.

Support banner by @/cafekitsune

[darlingofthorns]

Too true bro I hate finding smut fics of him LITERALLY EVERYWHERE when I search up anything spiderverse related. I mean it might just be me being a sex repulsed asexual but idk it irks me. AND ALSO wasn't his age described as "just a little bit older than Miles"?

He's a great character, but I think some people need to get off social media or rethink before saying something. Every fandom has its weirdos, and it's not unusual, but it doesn't excuse the fact that ts is creepy behavior.

i hate the sexualization of hobie brown, aka spiderpunk.

people find him attractive, which is fair and i don't care if you find a character attractive (there's limits, obviously), but i look at art of him which is beautiful and shows so many parts of him and uses his art style and i go to the comments to see what everyone else thinks.... and its just basically smut in a pinterest comment section.

like this is a more tame example, but come on...

i know it's the internet and i should probably just ignore it and move on, but it pisses me off when i'm just trying to look at nice fanart and see what others think about the art or the character or the relationship between them... and then i'm hit with people describing how they want him to fuck them

[darlingofthorns]

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☆●INTRODUCTION●☆

"I hate getting flashbacks from things I don't want to remember."

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☆ Heyyy, you can call me Thorn 💙

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☆ Likes: Thunderstorms, art, fashion,

folklore, milkshakes, and music

☆ Dislikes: Entitled adults, strong smells, certain textures, disorganized rooms, being overwhelmed, peanuts.

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DNI: Racists, homophobes, ableists, zionists, proshippers, if you're a dude that fully believes he's an alpha, yk all that bad stuff LIKE GET OUTTTTT !!!

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I'll link whatever I'm gonna post here inamin so it's organized but not rn rahhhh

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Note: my blog will never showcase any smut. But, there will most likely be a bit of gore in a few artworks and writing, but I will try my best to put a warning everytime. Thx 💙

[darlingofthorns]

WIP - Bring spidersonas back!! 💗

Might as well post my art here !

[darlingofthorns]

Me and gang 💪