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Ekko made that jump real quick 💀🙂‍↕️ as he should

Not a day goes by that I don't think of this. So! May I please get a love and monsters + multiverse of madness with Direwolf! Ekko and Vampire! Hobie with 📽?

It's been a few months since fem! Hunter! R and Hobie have met Ekko since that one night. For a reason that's beyond Hobie, Ekko keeps coming back to see them and hang out with them both. Hobie thinks the wolf has a thing for you and is a little ticked by him sometimes, only to get flustered at the sweetness directed towards him as well from the man. Hobie eventually says enough is enough and asks what Ekko's deal is, which leads both R and Hobie to be immensely flustered when Ekko reveals his feelings for them both.

OMG YESS A CONTINUATION OF THAT REQUEST!!! I hope you like it!

Pairing: Hobie Brown x fem! Reader x Ekko

Word count: 2.1k

Tags: No use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader, based around my in pursuit of blood series, a part 2, cw blood mention, cw food mention, vampire! Hobie, hunter! Reader, werewolf! Ekko, Spiderverse and Arcane crossover, fluff!

Katy's Summer Flick Screening

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Hobie's smile falters when he gets a whiff of dog hair just outside the manor doors. At first, he thought that Gwen and the others are back from camp early to surprise you and him, but when he sniffed the air, someone's awfully familiar cologne with a tinge of paint also wafts in his nose.

“Ekko.” His crimson eyes narrow dangerously, the hand gripping the doorknob tightens, squeezing the metal like its clay.

When he hears the sound of your laughter, he blinks the fog away, immediately twisting the door knob to open the door. He makes a mental note of fixing the lopsided metal once he rids of the werewolf menace prowling his home.

Hobie rounds a corner towards the kitchen, half wishing that Ekko's scent was merely a figment of his imagination. He has no idea why his mind would concoct such a thing when he clearly hates the guy. He figures that the platinum haired werewolf has been in his home so many times that his scent has been engraved in his mind. But alas, the werewolf himself is cooking in his kitchen. Wearing his ‘kiss the cook’ apron, using his favourite copper pans, and smiling ear to ear at his girl.

The scene looks so mundane with you sitting on the counter, looking so pretty while you simply peel potatoes. The whole kitchen smells of savoury meat and butter, there's a bowl of mixed veggies waiting for the werewolf to be cooked. But most of all, you look happy, eyes crinkled in the corners that he likes to peck sweetly, so far he has only seen a handful of people who made you smile like that, two of them are currently in the same room as you. Hobie has gotten so used to the werewolf’s presence ever since he ‘stumbled’ into his backyard. But it doesn't lessen his annoyance whenever Ekko's around, especially around you.

The platinum haired man seems to find himself in the shared home frequently. Whether he's having tea with you in the backyard, helping you water the plants in the greenhouse, or just sitting around in the vampire's living room. Ekko managed to wiggle his way into your daily life, which means, Hobie's daily life too. And that…irks the vampire. Ekko's simple presence has him wanting to lunge at him and take a chunk out of his neck, his pretty neck, see his life drain from those beautiful brown eyes of his, blood dripping from his chiseled jaw, then his lean arms that's always flexing—

“Hobie? You're home!” Your grin brightens his demeanor and wakes him up from his stupor. You do a little excited kick atop the counter tops. “We're making steak just ‘cause.”

“Gorgeous here mentioned that she hasn't had any for a long time, so we've decided to cook some.” Ekko leans his hip against the corner of the stove, arms folded in front of him, muscles bulging from the position. Hobie's jaw sets at the sight. “Just ‘cause we can.” He smiles at you then over to Hobie, fangs poking out of his lips.

“We were going to make you one too of course!” You exclaim happily as your smile almost enchants him. No potions or spells needed.

“How do you like your steak, Hobie?” There's a glint in Ekko's eyes, the corner of his lip tugging into a knowing smirk.

“Rare and bloody.” Hobie says through clenched teeth.

“I should've known.” Ekko rolls his eyes, chuckling as he returns to the pan.

“What's he doin' ‘ere again, lovie?”

Sauntering over to you, footsteps thumping against the tiles, his hand gravitates towards your waist, feeling how warm you are through your blouse has him even more…annoyed. Yeah, that's what he's feeling, annoyed. Annoyed that this werewolf has been savouring your warmth, that you practically smell like him now. Add the fact that his mere presence alone makes his stomach flutter. It's out of disgust for the werewolf, right?

“C’mon, he's a guest.” Placing the potato you were peeling on a bowl, you cup his jaw, thumb rubbing along the sides to loosen them up. He doesn't even care that your hand smells like potatoes. “And he's a friend, he's harmless.”

Ruby eyes glance at the cooking werewolf. “For now.”

“Hobie, play nice.” You whisper above his lips, he was too busy sneering at Ekko's broad back for him to notice that you've leaned closer. “Please? The trio are still at camp and I'm always alone here whenever you hunt. Ekko's a great friend.”

“I've told you that you can join me on my hunts.” His eyes soften to a pinkish hue. “And ‘m a great friend too.” Scoffing, he chases your lips before you teasingly move away to his dismay.

“As much as I love seeing you tear people's juggular, I don't want to prowl the night for assholes.” You placate his pouting with a brief kiss. His fang pokes out in the corner of his lips, reminding you of a certain cat blob. “Besides, great friends don't sleep in the same coffin.”

“You love my coffin.”

“I do, so much. But I need another friend too, y’know. And he's nice.” You sigh the last word out, “really nice.” Glancing between Ekko and Hobie, you grin, pressing another chaste kiss that has him wanting to carry you to coffin. “Have dinner with us? I'll make extra mashed potatoes for you.”

“Yeah, and if that's not what you want,” Ekko finally adds, eyes glancing at the two of you with a smirk. You swear that you and Hobie simultaneously swallow thickly from his gaze. “You can always feed on us, just for variety.”

Rolling his eyes, Hobie snatches the spatula from Ekko's hand with a grimace. “Mate, I don't drink werewolf blood, it tastes too much like kibble and tennis balls.”

“Well, mate.” Ekko's eyes sparkle at the word before leaning against the fridge casually just to get a better look at you and Hobie. “I haven't had kibble since I was a pup, and I prefer a chew toy nowadays, y’know, good for the gums.”

You snort at his joke, earning a wink from the platinum haired man that has your smile turning into a flustered one. The vampire sneers, a reaction that Ekko seems to be amused at. Hobie has been the only one who made you smile that way, so you glance away from Ekko, preferring to peel the potatoes instead of getting lost in Ekko's eyes just like how you do in those ruby eyes that are either staring daggers at Ekko or something else that you're more familiar to.

“An all organic diet for you then?” Hobie bites back, flipping the steak effortlessly on the pan.

“Yeah, better for the environment, I heard. Good for the health too.”

“Well, you're such a good dog then.” Hobie utters, and your eyes widen in disbelief, ready to lunge between them if you need to get in between the two before they could even start throwing claws.

Instead of pouncing for a fight, Ekko smiles, fangs in full display. “Woof.”

Your cheeks heat up, meanwhile Hobie suddenly prefers to stare at the searing meat rather than at the werewolf. “Fuckin' hell.”

—

After a delicious yet awkward dinner. Ekko volunteers to clean up the table whilst you and Hobie wash the dishes in the kitchen. Despite the tension, Ekko's whistling while he wipes down the wooden table. You take a quick peek at Ekko to check up on him just in case he wants to tuck tail and run away. He is a great friend, but if Hobie feels uncomfortable in his presence then you're alright with cutting the friendship. Hobie has been with you for far longer, and you'd stand in front of a wooden stake just for him. You'd be sad to see Ekko go though when he managed to get through your stone exterior.

“You okay, Hobie?” You ask the vampire next to you as you dry the plates that he recently washed over to you.

“Yeah, why wouldn't I be?” He doesn't even glance at you.

“You seem mad at me. You didn't talk the whole dinner, and you always talk my ears off.” Chuckling nervously, you duck to meet with his eyes. “Please do that again.”

“'m sorry for talkin’ your ears off, lovie.” Smiling, he wipes his wet hands on a towel before tossing it on his shoulder. “And ‘m not mad at you.”

“You don't have to say sorry for that.” Eyes tender, you tentatively take his hand, when he doesn't pull away, you intertwine your fingers around his. “It's good that you're not mad at me because my wooden stakes are collecting dust down in the basement.”

Chuckling, Hobie gently tugs you closer to press a kiss on your forehead. “Why did you think I was mad at you?”

Shrugging, you rest your chin on his chest while you look up at him. “Because of Ekko, that you don't want him here, especially hating our friendship. He could be your friend too, y’know. But if you tell me that I can't be friends with him anymore then I'll do it.” Your arms wrap around him, warming his cold blood whilst he sways you gently to a silent song. “I'll throw a tantrum but I'll do it.” That earns a smile from him.

“I'd never tell you to do that, love. I trust you completely, yeah? Even if it's with a bloke like him.”

“A guy like him?”

He shrugs, “a werewolf.”

“Ah,” nuzzling his chest, you peck his chin before reluctantly letting go. “I wouldn't dream of breaking your heart, especially with a werewolf because you're so against them that our werewolf roommate is out on summer camp that you're currently paying for.”

“I don't hate all of ‘em, jus' him.” Pointing behind him with his thumb, the vampire makes a face and sighs in defeat. “D’you want me to prove it then? I'll make nice with him, but we won't be best mates. ‘sides, he ain't a threat, love, when you wake up to this every night.”

“You know my hunter friends warned me about you.” Poking his chest, he grabs your hand and playfully bites it.

“They're bloody jealous,” with a kiss on the tip of your nose, he walks backwards. “I'll talk to our mate.”

“You know that word means differently to him, right?” You say back as he chortles. “Don't skip out on the dishes!”

Hobie hears you chuckle as he enters the dining room. Ekko is still wiping the table, cleaning every drop of gravy and oil on it.

“If you scrub it some more you'll take the varnish away.”

Ekko pauses, head dropping briefly as he smiles. “This table is gaudy anyway.”

“What's your angle with my lovie, hm?” Hobie's red eyes shine like a couple of dying stars in his sockets. “You’re not the first person to try somethin', and you won't be the first bloke I'll pummel to the ground jus’ like what I did to Osborne.”

“Ain't it obvious?” Ekko tosses the towel on his shoulder. “I'm not a homewrecker.”

“Good—”

“I like her—”

“You wanker, who wouldn't fuckin' like her but you're still a wanker—”

“And I like you too.”

“What?” Ekko's words has Hobie gawking like a startled fish. His intimidation falls quickly from the way Ekko smiles so sweetly at him.

“It's alright if you two don't want another, and I'm alright with just this, friends.” Ekko's brown eyes look behind him, prompting the vampire to look over his shoulder to a very flustered and frozen you. “At least I've told you now, no need to glower at me when I've told you my intentions. It's up in the air, it's your choice whether to grab it or not.” His brilliant brown eyes glance behind a shocked Hobie. “And if you want me to leave you both alone, I'll reluctantly leave.”

“I���m not clairvoyant but I'd be lying if I said that I didn't see that coming because I did but I didn't see you confessing this quickly.” You say, or more like ramble to the two men as your heart beat quickens like you're being chased by big foot.

Ekko's smile widens at that while gazing at the two of you affectionately. A genuine look that has the two of you softening at the sight. “You two have been kinder to me than my pack will ever be,” his voice turns tender, a sigh escaping. “I didn't expect to confess this early, or even… confess at all.” He pauses, eyes softening and glimmering under the chandelier lights. “Just say the word and I'll go if you want me to.”

Hobie sees him in a new light where he's not so afraid of staring at him with the same look he gives you. When he turns his gaze over to you, he knows that you're having the same thoughts as him ‘what if we want you to stay?’ and you know it just from his eyes.

“I think we all need to have a long talk.”

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Firstly, when you get this, you have to answer with 5 things you like about yourself, publicly. Then, send this ask to 10 of your favorite followers (non-negotiable, positivity is cool) <3

Hm… I guess I like:

1. That my writing is improving

2. How I take photos on my camera

3. My eyes? lol

4. My freckles? 💀

5. My…hair? 🤣🤣🤣

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!ATTENTION ARTISTS AND ANYONE WHO POSTS ON PINTEREST!

Image from Im_justarock on pinterest

They're training their AI with your posts! Go to settings > privacy and data and scroll down to this option and turn it off immediately!

Reblog to save someone's data!

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Omg Rudy the hamster!!! 🥺 they got a new member of the family!

Hobie being the one to spoil Rudy is so cute tho🥺 I can imagine he wanted one as a kid

HAPPY TWO YEARS OMLLL 🎷🐛 (i’ve not been verh active recently but hello hi)

Cheaper by the Dozen with 🎥 and Hobie plsss 🙏 Billie and Mona begging for a cat or dog until one parent finally gives in

(maybe that thing where dads always say they “don’t want an animal” until they get one, yknow what i’m talking about)

Yeessss i love this trope! Thank you for requesting, I hope you like it ❤️

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

Word count: 1.6k

Tags: No use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader, parent AU, mum! Reader, dad! Hobie, Billie and Ramona AU, fluff!

Katy's Summer Flick Screening - Second anniversary celebration 🎉

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My requests are open!

“Please, please, please, dad!” The girls' simultaneous pleading can be heard throughout the whole house as you cradle a gurgling Kitt in your arms. “We did our chores jus’ like you said!” Their synchronized voices are enough proof that twin telepathy is a real thing.

Kitt blows a raspberry as if he's joining in on the conversation. His eyes are big and wide awake as he still refuses to take a nap. Especially now that he heard all the commotion downstairs.

“What do you say we help dad with your sisters, hm, Kitty?” You coo, nuzzling his nose gently as he giggles and grabs your collar. “Alright, you're just as grabby as your dad.” Chuckling, you unfurl his chubby fingers.

Kitt blinks blearily at you, nose scrunching up while you head downstairs. He kicks around in his starry onesie, trying to escape your hold.

Hobie heard you before you appeared in the living room. The girls dangle from his leg and arm, their way of convincing their dad that they really really absolutely need a pet cat. His body is all folded, trying to shake his daughters off of him that they see as him being playful while they giggle and use their dad as their personal playground. He clearly needs help, and just by the look on his face, he pleads for you simply through his eyes.

“Girls, you woke up your brother.” You say, bouncing Kitt in your arms.

“Sorry, mum.” Mona hops off her dad's leg, looking apologetic with a pout.

“It's daddy's fault!” Meanwhile Billie puts the blame on Hobie, complete with an accusing finger aimed right at him.

“Wha—! He looks offended while the girls giggle at his reaction. “They're the ones who keeps askin' for a cat! Lovie, I swear our girls are out to get me.” Just as he says it, Billie climbs over his shoulder, perched on it and pinching his cheeks around. “See?”

You stifle a giggle, walking closer to hand him Kitt before taking Billie from his poor shoulders. “Stop terrorizing your poor dad.”

“Weeeee!” Billie kicks about as you carry her down. You place her on the couch but she refuses to release you with a hand around your blouse.

“We’re not terror—” Mona makes a face, trying to pronounce the word properly.

“Terrorizin’, cheese.” Hobie helps her, a hand placed on her head, ruffling her curly hair while Kitt watches his dad's face as he babbles in his arms. “You won't terrorize me when you're older, right, Kitt?” His son blows milk bubbles as a reply, making Hobie grin wider.

Mona nods, plopping herself on the sofa where you and Billie sit side by side as she cuddles against your side. “Terrorizin’, we're not doin' that to dad. We're just asking for a pet because he said that if we've been good and have good grades then he'll get us a cat.” Billie nods along, confirming her sister's words.

“Did I say that?” Hobie knits his brows, scooching in between you and Billie just to tease her.

“Dad!” She pouts, moreso when he makes a show of him resting against you just like how she did.

“Kitt and I get priority.” Nudging your shoulder, he cradles Kitt, who looks like he's fighting sleep now that his dad is the one carrying him.

“That doesn't make sense!” Billie crosses her arms over her chest, pouting even more while her sister calmly lays her head on your lap.

“Bee, sweetheart, dad's just teasing.” Reaching behind Hobie's head, you placate her with a pat on her head. “Now tell me what's the matter?”

Mona sighs, hands playing with a frayed thread on your trousers. “Daddy said that if we do well this school year and we do our chores then we get to adopt a pet.”

You raise a brow at Hobie. “Did you tell them that?”

“I did.” He says, gently wiping away dried milk from the corner of Kitt’s lips as he tiredly presses his cheek atop your shoulder. You make a mental note to give him extra kisses before bed. “But I didn't tell ‘em that it would be a cat. I remember sayin’ that it should be a small pet jus’ to start off with. Then they can get a cat or dog when they're older.”

Billie and Ramona look at each other briefly.

“Did dad tell you that, girls?”

They simultaneously nod slowly. “...yeah.”

You smile fondly at them. “Well, they have been good, Hobie. And we both saw their grades, I think they're ready for a pet—” the twins gasp, eyes sparkling at your words. “As long as they promise to take good care of it and that they're responsible enough.”

Mona climbs on your lap giddily, arms wrapping around your neck while Billie squeals as quietly as she can without waking up the now sleeping Kitt. You guess your boy has gotten used to all the noise that he can now sleep without a care.

“We're responsible enough.” They whisper yell, proving their point.

“You'll pick up after it, feed it, and make sure that it's healthy?” You ask, an arm around a smiley Hobie, who's content enough to watch, and the other hugging a very excited Mona as the twins nod enthusiastically with every word. “You have my approval but you have to ask dad too.”

They both turn to their dad with an eerie simultaneous movement. “Please, daddy?”

Straightening up, he feigns a sigh. “It has to be small—” their excited squeals interrupt him before they clamp down and listen. “And you have to keep it away from your brother.” With a glance at you, you subtly nod.

“We promise.” They give the two of you their biggest and brightest grin.

“C’mon, Mon-Mon, let's figure out what to get.” Billie hops off the sofa, grabbing her sister's hand and up they go the stairs towards their bedroom with their tiny feet bounding on the steps.

“I hope that doesn't backfire on us.” You say, this time you're the one cuddling Hobie whilst your hand holds onto Kitt's baby fist.

“Nah, ‘m sure the girls know what they're gettin' into. It'll help them be more responsible.” With a kiss upon your temple, Hobie's eyes flick from you then over to Kitt's sleeping face. “He looks a lot like you when he's sleepin’”

“When he's quiet, you mean?” You poke his side, chuckling as Kitt's foot twitches in his sleep.

“Yeah, and he kicks like you too.” Whispering, it seems like he's jealous of his sleeping son, eyes drifting close as he lets out a yawn. “They'd be good at it, remember their class pet?”

You wince. “I hope they don't choose a lizard. I remember it jumping on me when I got too close to its terrarium.”

“I'd rather they pick that than a hamster.”

You gently take Kitt from him as your son smacks his lips in his sleep. He might look like you whenever he naps, but he's Hobie's alright, that little mannerism of his is Hobie through and through. You'd know, he sleeps next to you.

“Why not a hamster? They're adorable.”

Hobie takes the memo, laying his head on your lap comfortably. “They smell.”

“You do too and yet we still kept you.” Joking with a chuckle, he squeezes your knee affectionately.

“Wake me up when they choose a tarantula.” Hugging your knees, he noses your thigh and starts to close his eyes.

Your eyes briefly widen at the thought. It's not too far-fetched with them knowing that their dad is Spider-Man himself. “You're not going to let them get a tarantula, right, Hobie?” He snores a reply. “Hobie?”

—

It's been a week since they got their hamster, Rudolph the benevolent. They insist on calling him that in full even though they get all tongue tied whenever they say his name. You still have no idea where it came from, you guess it's a character from their uncle Ned’s board game that they join in whenever Hobie brings them along for a session.

Even though the name perplexes you, and that it's only been a few days since he arrived, Hobie has built a whole house for the little guy. A house is an understatement, it's practically a mansion with its numerous colourful tubes and wheels that Rudolph can get into and play at. It's a hamster's paradise, and you've noticed that his bowl is never empty, or that he has been rolling around the house in his tiny ball that the girls chase around giggling. Kitt seems to like him too, he screeches happily and flails around whenever the ball comes rolling around.

This time though, with the girls off to a friend's birthday party, and with Kitt napping, you check on Rudolph before joining Kitt. But as the door creaks, you spot Hobie hand feeding the little guy while he cradles him on his palm.

“Hobie? I thought you'd be on patrol?” Guessing from his usual Spider-Man outfit that's only missing his iconic boots, leather jacket and mask, he got distracted.

He's caught red handed, freezing in place. “I went back because I forgot my keys.”

You glance at his waist. “I can see it hanging from your belt, honey.”

Hobie sucks in his teeth, flicking his eyes down at the adorable hamster. “He squeaked and I thought he got caught in the wheels again—”

“He's cute isn't he?” Crossing your arms, you smile at the two whilst you lean against the door frame.

“Jus' a little bit.” Shrugging, he laughs. “He's fuckin’ adorable.”

“He is!” You break your facade, crossing the distance as you sit on the armchair beside Hobie and pet Rudolph with your finger.

“Can't believe this fucker got me.” He says fondly at the big eyed hamster.

“The girls chose well.”

“D’you think Rudy wants a friend?”

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IS MY BABY KITT A SCRAPPER?! 😭🤣 DID HE GET HIS HITS IN?! (Hobie’s so real for that lmao)

BSN 👀👀👀

Actor!Aaron??? 👀🤭

WIP WEDNESDAY

BSN sneak peek and a few oneshots! I hope you guys are well ❤️

“‘m fine, mum.” Kitt mumbles, eyes downturned and looking at the scruff of his school shoes. Despite his words, you still fuss over him. “It doesn't hurt anymore, I promise.” You feel Hobie crouch next to you, taking a checkered handkerchief and gently grabs the melting ice pack to wrap it around the cloth wordlessly before giving it back to his son. “Did you get a few hits in?” He breaks the tension with a growing smile. “Hobie.” You pinch his bicep, but your stifled smile betrays you.

“You woke me up with your snoring.” “I don't snore.” “You do when you sleep on a chair.” With a helpful hand, you fix the bandana on his head. Smiling, it takes for you to grab his hand and hold him for him to relax. “Mornin’, scuttlebutt.” He sighs, kissing the back of your hand. “Mornin’, captain.” You say it just as softly as him.

“You okay, Mr. Davis?” You whispered to him sweetly that made him feel like a lovelorn teenager again. “What did I tell you about calling me that?” Chuckling, Aaron smiles back. You scrunch your nose. “That it makes you feel like a dean at a school. I'm sorry, again, I need to get used to calling your name especially when you've got an EGOT.”

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Aww 🥺🥹 I’m glad they made your day! Hope your day stays good ❤️ the kids are gonna have him stay in a cuddle pile or something after this 😭

Not All Heroes Wear Capes

Pairing: Prowler!Hobie Brown x Fem!Reader

Word count: 3.2k

Author's Note: Guess who's back (back), back again (-gain) 😅 jumping back in with some fluffy Prowler!Dad before I start working on more WIP's! Shoutout to @the-kr8tor for baby Kitt 🥹 I'd also like to thank @pinksugarscrub for beta reading and dealing with my panicky ass 🫠😂

Tags: Prowler!Hobie, Dad!Hobie, Older!Hobie, Fem!Reader, Older!Reader, Mom!Reader, Brown Family!AU, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, TW Body Image from Outside POV

The first sights that catch Kitt’s eyes are the twinkling stars hanging over his head. White lines connect to the tiny lights like constellations, hovering over him against a backdrop of dark blue. His mind instantly runs to the picture books you’d read to him every night, with you rocking him in your arms in your favorite rocking chair, your voice hushed and soothing reading out every word until he succumbs to slumber.

With a weak whine, Kitt slowly pushes himself up from his napping spot, his nose wrinkling from the creeping yawn tickling the back of his throat. Blinking away the slumber clinging to his eyes, Kitt’s senses start to stir awake in tandem– fuzz from the carpet tickling his skin; the faint scent of soap and the sun from his favorite blanket in his hand; the soft whirring from the small fan propped near his overheated figure. His wild coils cling to his forehead from sweat, with heat radiating from his body despite the fan’s best efforts, before he clumsily pushes his hair back like you usually would.

Rumbles rattle through his tiny bones, and Kitt turns to his lanky giant of a dad beside him, snoring with drool trailing from the corner of his pierced lip. Hobie’s black tank top clings to his sweat-slick skin, his chest rising and falling in a measured beat, with a small wet patch over where his heart would be. His long arm splays across the shaggy carpet and various pillows, many of them with colorful unicorns and other frolicking animals courtesy of Kitt’s sisters, while his short arm rests on top of the big stuffed dinosaur he stitched up for Kitt.

Normally Hobie had that hard arm glove over it, the shiny one that made him look like he was part robot. It was rare for Kitt to see his dad’s arm naked like this. There’s no metal on his arm, no sleeve or glove covering it. There’s no weird plastic fingers either, no crevices where Kitt’s goldfish crackers would accidentally fall between, no weird string that looks like the plastic strings on his sister Ramona’s tiny guitar. It was just his bare arm, with a jagged scar where a hand and part of his forearm would be.

Kitt likes it better like this though, the robot arm isn’t comfortable to hang onto.

A loud yawn soon bubbles up the toddler’s throat, tears pricking up in his chocolate eyes, before he sleepily crawls onto his dad’s chest. A pained grunt rips through Hobie’s lips the moment a tiny chubby hand pushes against his gut, followed by a heavy weight gradually crushing his chest, but the punk father bears with the pressure as he drowsily wraps his good arm around the toddler.

“Bloody hell– Kitt, son, can ya get off Dad–”

SMACK!

A tiny hand-shaped wave of pain ebbs through Hobie’s nose, and he bites back a curse bubbling up his throat as he gingerly rolls himself to the side and cradles Kitt onto the carpet. Blinking the sheen off his eyes, Hobie’s vision clears up to the sight of his little carbon copy– the same glint of mischief in his eyes, the same coily mane (that Hobie knows he has to style at some point), the same cheeky grin pushing Kitt’s chubby cheeks up.

The irritation melts off the older man’s shoulders as more giggles bubble up from the one-year old, the sound a calming chime to Hobie’s disoriented mind.

“Jesus, Kitt,” Hobie grunts out as he sits himself up, “ya definitely got yer mum’s hand.”

Small claps echo within the fairy light-lined makeshift tent before Kitt struggles to push himself back up and crawl onto Hobie’s lap. Pressing his cheek against his dad’s chest, a tender smile curls up on the older man’s lips before pushing Kitt’s hair back to press a kiss along his hairline.

“Alright, ya l’il menace,” a low chuckle rumbles in Hobie’s chest while Kitt wraps his arms around his dad’s neck, “It’s just us lads today.”

Clutching Kitt against his chest with his longer arm, Hobie gingerly crawls on his knees out of the makeshift tent his girls begged him to build, ignoring the quiet cracks up his spine. The toddler buries his face into the crook of Hobie’s neck, and a shaky sigh slips through the older punk’s lips before propping Kitt up with his other arm.

“Mummy’s takin’ yer sisters to a birthday party t’day,” Hobie grunts as he pushes himself up from his knees, “but that’s alright. We can make do here–”

Muffled whines vibrate against Hobie’s neck, and he can’t help but chuckle along as he bounces Kitt along towards the kitchen. “I know, I know, Mummy ‘n sissies usually play with ya, but we’ll have some fun, won’t we? Daddy knows he’s been a little busy lately, but he got a day off today. We got the whole afternoon t’ ourselves.”

Hobie’s bare feet pads against laminate flooring with each step, joining in the quiet cacophony within the small apartment. The sound of the outside world muffles through the window panes, traffic and construction softly vibrating through ivory walls, lined with various hanging frames with still frames of the kids’ lives– Billie’s first time riding a bicycle, Ramona swimming in a pool, Kitt taking his first steps rushing to the camera, amongst other captured memories. Whirring buzzes in Hobie’s ear the closer they get to the kitchen, the dishwasher humming and rattling along. The lingering heat inside slowly gets tapered off as the hot air siphons out through the fan blowing out the window.

Another whine rumbles in Kitt’s chest as the heat licks against his skin, but Hobie shushes in the toddler’s ear as he crosses to the old refrigerator.

“ ‘s okay, Kitt. Mummy made some ice lollies for ev’ryone, remember?” Hobie comforts the young boy, fighting off the urge to grimace from the sweat breaking out on his skin already, before tugging the freezer door open. “You helped too, yeah? You slapped the melon at the grocery store for Mummy– oh my god.”

The sudden gust of cold air provides respite for the father-son duo, kissing their heated skins. A stifled groan rumbles in Hobie’s throat before he rests his head against the door frame, letting the chill of the freezer linger longer.

Would a few minutes of cool air be worth the higher electric bill? Maybe.

A shifting weight nudges the older man from his brisk interlude. Hobie’s eyes flick into a sidelong glance, only to be met with Kitt attempting to stick his head into the freezer.

“Oi, Kitt!”

A guffaw bubbles up Hobie’s chest as he pulls the toddler out, who looks up at him with a giggle of his own while holding the prepared silicone popsicle molds. Some of Kitt’s teeth peek out through his gums as he smiles.

Okay, yeah, it might be worth the higher bill.

“Thank ya for helping Daddy,” Hobie struggles to stifle his laughter as he pushes the freezer closed with his shoulder, hiking the baby against his chest. “Make sure ya hold on t’ it, ‘kay?”

Kitt grips onto the thick edges of the mold, his little body pressing the cold silicone between himself and the crook of Hobie’s neck. Goosebumps prick up on Hobie’s skin from the chill before he carefully slides Kitt into his high chair.

“Alright, Kitty,” Hobie chuckles as he tugs the mold from the toddler’s hands, setting it to its side on the propped tray and revealing a small variety of flavors, “which one do ya want? Watermelon? Orange? Blueberry?”

Kitt stares at the sneak peeks of flavors, his eyes lighting up at the triad of red, orange and purple, before his tiny hand reaches for one of the watermelon popsicles. With a fond smirk he wraps his calloused hand around the mold, ignoring the biting cold on his skin while carefully squeezing the homemade ice lolly out.

“C’mon, ya bloody–”

Before the watermelon popsicle slips out of the mold, Hobie snaps his teeth on the wooden stick sticking out before pulling it out. More bubbly giggles ring against the kitchen walls while Kitt claps his hands together.

“M’kay, hang on–” the popsicle mold slips from his hand and clatters against the tray– “Shi– Shoot!”

Another shrill fit of laughter rings in Hobie’s ears as he quickly tears a napkin and drops the ice lolly from his teeth onto his hand. His eyes flick over to Kitt as he sets the frozen treat down on the kitchen table, and his heart melts at the sight of his son teething on silicone edges of the mold.

“Ah- ah, Kitt, wait, can’t eat that,” Hobie tugs the mold out of Kitt’s mouth, but he clamps his mouth onto the edge with more giggles bubbling up from his chest. “Kitt, no– it’s nasty! It’s not for teethin’–”

The mold suddenly slips from Kitt’s baby-toothed bite, the silicone snapping out of the baby’s mouth and nearly slipping from Hobie’s hand again. With a quick hand, the older man snatches the popsicle mold in the air before it clatters onto his foot, earning another giggly round of applause from his sole audience member. A huff of relief slips through pierced lips as Hobie drops onto a chair and sets the mold onto the kitchen table for the lone napkin-wrapped lolly.

Watermelon juice starts to seep into the paper towel as he tucks the ice lolly into his hand. Kitt’s eyes light up at the bright red frozen treat, his chubby little hands making grabbing gestures before grasping his father’s callused hand and wrapping his mouth around the popsicle end.

A snort sneaks up on the older man, a fond smirk curling up at the sight. “Bitin’ like a l’il vampire, ain’t ya?”

Little gurgles and slurps muffle against ice, chocolate eyes melting and lighting up from the cool treat coursing through Kitt’s little body. Drops of red plop onto the plastic tray, some dripping off his chin while the rest roll down his neck and seep into his shirt.

“Ah, damn.”

Hobie’s skin crawls from the sticky mess all over Kitt’s face as he tugs the lolly away, earning an upset whine from his son while he tucks it in his mouth by its side. Ice-cold watermelon juice floods Hobie’s taste buds, chills flooding over his overheated skin, while he rips another paper towel and gingerly wipes Kitt’s face.

“Yer gettin’ a bath either way,” Hobie winces as his teeth slowly sinks into the treat, aching through the sudden rush of coldness, “but the lolly made it worse, huh?”

More frustrated whines dampen through the paper towel as Kitt’s feet kick against the plastic tray, but Hobie bites back a snicker before gently pinching the boy’s nose. “Yer lucky yer cute. Got it from yer mummy, huh?”

As soon as Hobie pulls his hand away, Kitt blows a raspberry in protest, his face scrunched up and flushed red. Hobie can’t help but think of you in that moment– your face just as flushed and curled up into a scowl.

A wheeze forces itself out of Hobie before he pulls the popsicle out of his mouth, placating the toddler as Kitt happily mouths around the icy end again.

The cool chill from the freezer soon melts away from Hobie’s skin, the heat in the kitchen now radiating into his flesh. Soft whirrings continue to reverberate off the kitchen walls as the older man idly gazes at the youngest Brown teething the ice lolly.

A wave of chills washes over Kitt’s overheated body the more he gnaws on the frozen treat, watermelon flooding his mouth and tongue to his delight. His chubby hands grab hold of the melting lolly, the juices already sticking onto his digits and pricking his skin with goosebumps. Aches creep up in his gums, his growing baby teeth barely shaving through the flavored ice, but Kitt soldiers on while he sucks out more juice.

His sissies already call him a big boy, and they say big boys don’t cry. Not from his gums hurting from an ice lolly.

Kitt pulls away from the treat with a satiated smack of his lips, his red-tinted tongue peeking out to lick off the sheen of juice clinging onto his skin. His fingers release their sticky grip before retreating to his mouth, every last drop savored, as Kitt flicks his eyes back to Hobie.

Shades of purplish-blue hang under Hobie’s eyes, melding in along his own skin. Silver glints on his face as sun rays shine through the blinds, casting along his lip ring and nose piercing, as if the metal is the only other proof to Kitt of his dad being part robot. Hobie’s hand still holds the melting popsicle out, juice dribbling down his hand and arm until it pools onto the tray. But even with the sun bordering under his red-rimmed eyes and the heat making a mess with the melting lolly, he still has that same smile.

“God, yer a proper mess, son,” mirth flickers in Hobie’s eyes as he chomps down the rest of the half-eaten ice lolly before pushing himself up. “Lemme get me arm ‘fore I give ya a bath, yeah?”

As Hobie pushes himself up, his skin slick with sweat with his tank top clinging onto his figure, his gaze lingers on Kitt’s, dark chocolate meeting a sweeter one. A small smirk curls up on the older punk’s lips before he lifts his arms up in the air.

“Uppies.”

With a gummy grin Kitt mirrors his father, lifting his arms up in the air with his hands grabbing at air. A snort vibrates through Hobie’s nose before his– albeit sticky– hand grabs onto the back of the toddler’s shirt and gingerly tugs it up. Muffled whines rumble in Kitt’s chest, but they fall on deaf ears as the shirt peels off his torso, sweat and watermelon juice clinging onto cotton.

Rolling his shoulders, Hobie saunters over to the dishwasher just as it beeps that familiar tune, his shirt-covered hand popping the door open with steam billowing out. With a gentle tug on the bottom rack, another glint of silver peeks out of the washer, revealing a metal arm wedged between some pots and dishes.

Kitt’s eyes linger on Hobie’s figure as he pulls the steaming arm out, unfazed by the heat as it clatters against the countertop. A small moment flickers in Kitt’s mind, one of you screaming out a rare curse as you tried to pick up the same steaming arm from the dishwasher before Hobie rushed to your side. Even though Hobie was panicking while holding your hand under running water, he was a superhero to Kitt.

Hobie is strong, at least strong enough to handle hot things or pick up heavy things with one hand. He can lift both Billie and Ramona up in the air while they dangle onto his arms, spinning them around the living room until they all get dizzy. He can scare away monsters in the shadows, flashing his flashlight under the bed with his scariest scowl– even though it just makes Billie and Ramona giggle uncontrollably in their beds. Hobie can do anything and everything.

But lately, Hobie hasn’t been home as much. He’d leave with the girls in the morning but come home late at night when everyone’s asleep– something to do with picking up more night shifts. He doesn’t tuck them into bed like he used to, nor does he sing his lullabies (even though he’s not that good at singing). The closest that Kitt ever gets to seeing Hobie at night is quiet shuffling and clanking metal behind the walls. And whenever Kitt does see him, Hobie is either struggling to wake up or rushing to get ready for the day.

Billie tries to stay up every night to see Hobie, but she knocks out the moment she lands on her bed. Ramona, meanwhile, tries to delay the inevitable every morning by eating her breakfast slower, only for Hobie to tickle her until she gives in and finishes her toaster waffles. As for you, you continue with your routine– kissing him goodbye when he leaves with the twins, tending to the kids and the house, making his favorite foods for dinner before packing them for him when he comes home. You don’t show it, but Kitt sometimes catches you with one of Hobie’s spare arms, holding its hand for a few minutes before you carry on.

But even if he’s been working a lot lately, Hobie still has that same smile he’s always had when he comes home. If Kitt’s lucky, he’ll see Hobie wander into their room while Billie and Ramona sleep, still giving them forehead kisses like before. Sometimes you’d be waiting for Hobie by the door, patiently waiting for him before beckoning him to bed. Even if Kitt wants Hobie to stay home more, to play with him and his sissies more, Kitt just wants his hero to keep smiling.

Hobie pulls his limb sock out of his pocket and starts to roll it over his amputated arm, scarred skin slowly disappearing under elastic nylon, before he gingerly aligns it into the metal arm glove. Kitt doesn’t know why Hobie likes wearing it; it’s uncomfortable and looks hard to take care of. Not only that, but he wears gloves and long sleeves over it when he goes out, even if it’s hot. Kitt doesn’t like it, not when Hobie has to cover himself up, not when he sweats under those layers. When Hobie does have a chance to take his jacket off, Kitt doesn’t like it when people stare at Hobie and his arm– like the mean ducks to the ugly duckling in Kitt’s picture book. Even if Hobie doesn’t care, Kitt still doesn’t like it, not one bit.

But with all that said, Hobie still wears that arm. It still helps him carry Billie and Ramona when they want to be in the air; when he needs to fix something for work; when he wants to hug you from behind. 

It’s still a part of Hobie. And Kitt loves his–

“Dada.”

Hobie freezes just as the strap from the prosthetic arm snaps on his shoulder, sharp tingles ebbing through his flesh, before his eyes dart to the toddler, who hasn’t uttered a semblance of a word until now.

“Kitt? Did you just…?”

With his arms stretching out to the older punk, Kitt tries to lean over the propped tray of his high chair and bares his signature gummy smile as he coos “Dada” again. His tiny hands grab at the air, and his chocolate eyes light up when some sun rays creep over his face.

Kitt just said his first word.

Kitt just said his first word!

Loud clatters shatter the peaceful silence as Hobie rushes to pick up the baby, his hollers bouncing against the kitchen walls while Kitt launches up in the air. Kitt’s wild coils flutter up as he soars, his cackles joining his dad’s joyous laughter in a boisterous cacophony, before he drops back into Hobie’s arms. And the moment a loud click of a door rings through the apartment, the duo bolt out of the kitchen, with more laughter and cooing ‘dada’s following behind.

[hyperfix-wip]

YAY 🥹 Thank you!!

Not All Heroes Wear Capes

Pairing: Prowler!Hobie Brown x Fem!Reader

Word count: 3.2k

Author's Note: Guess who's back (back), back again (-gain) 😅 jumping back in with some fluffy Prowler!Dad before I start working on more WIP's! Shoutout to @the-kr8tor for baby Kitt 🥹 I'd also like to thank @pinksugarscrub for beta reading and dealing with my panicky ass 🫠😂

Tags: Prowler!Hobie, Dad!Hobie, Older!Hobie, Fem!Reader, Older!Reader, Mom!Reader, Brown Family!AU, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, TW Body Image from Outside POV

The first sights that catch Kitt’s eyes are the twinkling stars hanging over his head. White lines connect to the tiny lights like constellations, hovering over him against a backdrop of dark blue. His mind instantly runs to the picture books you’d read to him every night, with you rocking him in your arms in your favorite rocking chair, your voice hushed and soothing reading out every word until he succumbs to slumber.

With a weak whine, Kitt slowly pushes himself up from his napping spot, his nose wrinkling from the creeping yawn tickling the back of his throat. Blinking away the slumber clinging to his eyes, Kitt’s senses start to stir awake in tandem– fuzz from the carpet tickling his skin; the faint scent of soap and the sun from his favorite blanket in his hand; the soft whirring from the small fan propped near his overheated figure. His wild coils cling to his forehead from sweat, with heat radiating from his body despite the fan’s best efforts, before he clumsily pushes his hair back like you usually would.

Rumbles rattle through his tiny bones, and Kitt turns to his lanky giant of a dad beside him, snoring with drool trailing from the corner of his pierced lip. Hobie’s black tank top clings to his sweat-slick skin, his chest rising and falling in a measured beat, with a small wet patch over where his heart would be. His long arm splays across the shaggy carpet and various pillows, many of them with colorful unicorns and other frolicking animals courtesy of Kitt’s sisters, while his short arm rests on top of the big stuffed dinosaur he stitched up for Kitt.

Normally Hobie had that hard arm glove over it, the shiny one that made him look like he was part robot. It was rare for Kitt to see his dad’s arm naked like this. There’s no metal on his arm, no sleeve or glove covering it. There’s no weird plastic fingers either, no crevices where Kitt’s goldfish crackers would accidentally fall between, no weird string that looks like the plastic strings on his sister Ramona’s tiny guitar. It was just his bare arm, with a jagged scar where a hand and part of his forearm would be.

Kitt likes it better like this though, the robot arm isn’t comfortable to hang onto.

A loud yawn soon bubbles up the toddler’s throat, tears pricking up in his chocolate eyes, before he sleepily crawls onto his dad’s chest. A pained grunt rips through Hobie’s lips the moment a tiny chubby hand pushes against his gut, followed by a heavy weight gradually crushing his chest, but the punk father bears with the pressure as he drowsily wraps his good arm around the toddler.

“Bloody hell– Kitt, son, can ya get off Dad–”

SMACK!

A tiny hand-shaped wave of pain ebbs through Hobie’s nose, and he bites back a curse bubbling up his throat as he gingerly rolls himself to the side and cradles Kitt onto the carpet. Blinking the sheen off his eyes, Hobie’s vision clears up to the sight of his little carbon copy– the same glint of mischief in his eyes, the same coily mane (that Hobie knows he has to style at some point), the same cheeky grin pushing Kitt’s chubby cheeks up.

The irritation melts off the older man’s shoulders as more giggles bubble up from the one-year old, the sound a calming chime to Hobie’s disoriented mind.

“Jesus, Kitt,” Hobie grunts out as he sits himself up, “ya definitely got yer mum’s hand.”

Small claps echo within the fairy light-lined makeshift tent before Kitt struggles to push himself back up and crawl onto Hobie’s lap. Pressing his cheek against his dad’s chest, a tender smile curls up on the older man’s lips before pushing Kitt’s hair back to press a kiss along his hairline.

“Alright, ya l’il menace,” a low chuckle rumbles in Hobie’s chest while Kitt wraps his arms around his dad’s neck, “It’s just us lads today.”

Clutching Kitt against his chest with his longer arm, Hobie gingerly crawls on his knees out of the makeshift tent his girls begged him to build, ignoring the quiet cracks up his spine. The toddler buries his face into the crook of Hobie’s neck, and a shaky sigh slips through the older punk’s lips before propping Kitt up with his other arm.

“Mummy’s takin’ yer sisters to a birthday party t’day,” Hobie grunts as he pushes himself up from his knees, “but that’s alright. We can make do here–”

Muffled whines vibrate against Hobie’s neck, and he can’t help but chuckle along as he bounces Kitt along towards the kitchen. “I know, I know, Mummy ‘n sissies usually play with ya, but we’ll have some fun, won’t we? Daddy knows he’s been a little busy lately, but he got a day off today. We got the whole afternoon t’ ourselves.”

Hobie’s bare feet pads against laminate flooring with each step, joining in the quiet cacophony within the small apartment. The sound of the outside world muffles through the window panes, traffic and construction softly vibrating through ivory walls, lined with various hanging frames with still frames of the kids’ lives– Billie’s first time riding a bicycle, Ramona swimming in a pool, Kitt taking his first steps rushing to the camera, amongst other captured memories. Whirring buzzes in Hobie’s ear the closer they get to the kitchen, the dishwasher humming and rattling along. The lingering heat inside slowly gets tapered off as the hot air siphons out through the fan blowing out the window.

Another whine rumbles in Kitt’s chest as the heat licks against his skin, but Hobie shushes in the toddler’s ear as he crosses to the old refrigerator.

“ ‘s okay, Kitt. Mummy made some ice lollies for ev’ryone, remember?” Hobie comforts the young boy, fighting off the urge to grimace from the sweat breaking out on his skin already, before tugging the freezer door open. “You helped too, yeah? You slapped the melon at the grocery store for Mummy– oh my god.”

The sudden gust of cold air provides respite for the father-son duo, kissing their heated skins. A stifled groan rumbles in Hobie’s throat before he rests his head against the door frame, letting the chill of the freezer linger longer.

Would a few minutes of cool air be worth the higher electric bill? Maybe.

A shifting weight nudges the older man from his brisk interlude. Hobie’s eyes flick into a sidelong glance, only to be met with Kitt attempting to stick his head into the freezer.

“Oi, Kitt!”

A guffaw bubbles up Hobie’s chest as he pulls the toddler out, who looks up at him with a giggle of his own while holding the prepared silicone popsicle molds. Some of Kitt’s teeth peek out through his gums as he smiles.

Okay, yeah, it might be worth the higher bill.

“Thank ya for helping Daddy,” Hobie struggles to stifle his laughter as he pushes the freezer closed with his shoulder, hiking the baby against his chest. “Make sure ya hold on t’ it, ‘kay?”

Kitt grips onto the thick edges of the mold, his little body pressing the cold silicone between himself and the crook of Hobie’s neck. Goosebumps prick up on Hobie’s skin from the chill before he carefully slides Kitt into his high chair.

“Alright, Kitty,” Hobie chuckles as he tugs the mold from the toddler’s hands, setting it to its side on the propped tray and revealing a small variety of flavors, “which one do ya want? Watermelon? Orange? Blueberry?”

Kitt stares at the sneak peeks of flavors, his eyes lighting up at the triad of red, orange and purple, before his tiny hand reaches for one of the watermelon popsicles. With a fond smirk he wraps his calloused hand around the mold, ignoring the biting cold on his skin while carefully squeezing the homemade ice lolly out.

“C’mon, ya bloody–”

Before the watermelon popsicle slips out of the mold, Hobie snaps his teeth on the wooden stick sticking out before pulling it out. More bubbly giggles ring against the kitchen walls while Kitt claps his hands together.

“M’kay, hang on–” the popsicle mold slips from his hand and clatters against the tray– “Shi– Shoot!”

Another shrill fit of laughter rings in Hobie’s ears as he quickly tears a napkin and drops the ice lolly from his teeth onto his hand. His eyes flick over to Kitt as he sets the frozen treat down on the kitchen table, and his heart melts at the sight of his son teething on silicone edges of the mold.

“Ah- ah, Kitt, wait, can’t eat that,” Hobie tugs the mold out of Kitt’s mouth, but he clamps his mouth onto the edge with more giggles bubbling up from his chest. “Kitt, no– it’s nasty! It’s not for teethin’–”

The mold suddenly slips from Kitt’s baby-toothed bite, the silicone snapping out of the baby’s mouth and nearly slipping from Hobie’s hand again. With a quick hand, the older man snatches the popsicle mold in the air before it clatters onto his foot, earning another giggly round of applause from his sole audience member. A huff of relief slips through pierced lips as Hobie drops onto a chair and sets the mold onto the kitchen table for the lone napkin-wrapped lolly.

Watermelon juice starts to seep into the paper towel as he tucks the ice lolly into his hand. Kitt’s eyes light up at the bright red frozen treat, his chubby little hands making grabbing gestures before grasping his father’s callused hand and wrapping his mouth around the popsicle end.

A snort sneaks up on the older man, a fond smirk curling up at the sight. “Bitin’ like a l’il vampire, ain’t ya?”

Little gurgles and slurps muffle against ice, chocolate eyes melting and lighting up from the cool treat coursing through Kitt’s little body. Drops of red plop onto the plastic tray, some dripping off his chin while the rest roll down his neck and seep into his shirt.

“Ah, damn.”

Hobie’s skin crawls from the sticky mess all over Kitt’s face as he tugs the lolly away, earning an upset whine from his son while he tucks it in his mouth by its side. Ice-cold watermelon juice floods Hobie’s taste buds, chills flooding over his overheated skin, while he rips another paper towel and gingerly wipes Kitt’s face.

“Yer gettin’ a bath either way,” Hobie winces as his teeth slowly sinks into the treat, aching through the sudden rush of coldness, “but the lolly made it worse, huh?”

More frustrated whines dampen through the paper towel as Kitt’s feet kick against the plastic tray, but Hobie bites back a snicker before gently pinching the boy’s nose. “Yer lucky yer cute. Got it from yer mummy, huh?”

As soon as Hobie pulls his hand away, Kitt blows a raspberry in protest, his face scrunched up and flushed red. Hobie can’t help but think of you in that moment– your face just as flushed and curled up into a scowl.

A wheeze forces itself out of Hobie before he pulls the popsicle out of his mouth, placating the toddler as Kitt happily mouths around the icy end again.

The cool chill from the freezer soon melts away from Hobie’s skin, the heat in the kitchen now radiating into his flesh. Soft whirrings continue to reverberate off the kitchen walls as the older man idly gazes at the youngest Brown teething the ice lolly.

A wave of chills washes over Kitt’s overheated body the more he gnaws on the frozen treat, watermelon flooding his mouth and tongue to his delight. His chubby hands grab hold of the melting lolly, the juices already sticking onto his digits and pricking his skin with goosebumps. Aches creep up in his gums, his growing baby teeth barely shaving through the flavored ice, but Kitt soldiers on while he sucks out more juice.

His sissies already call him a big boy, and they say big boys don’t cry. Not from his gums hurting from an ice lolly.

Kitt pulls away from the treat with a satiated smack of his lips, his red-tinted tongue peeking out to lick off the sheen of juice clinging onto his skin. His fingers release their sticky grip before retreating to his mouth, every last drop savored, as Kitt flicks his eyes back to Hobie.

Shades of purplish-blue hang under Hobie’s eyes, melding in along his own skin. Silver glints on his face as sun rays shine through the blinds, casting along his lip ring and nose piercing, as if the metal is the only other proof to Kitt of his dad being part robot. Hobie’s hand still holds the melting popsicle out, juice dribbling down his hand and arm until it pools onto the tray. But even with the sun bordering under his red-rimmed eyes and the heat making a mess with the melting lolly, he still has that same smile.

“God, yer a proper mess, son,” mirth flickers in Hobie’s eyes as he chomps down the rest of the half-eaten ice lolly before pushing himself up. “Lemme get me arm ‘fore I give ya a bath, yeah?”

As Hobie pushes himself up, his skin slick with sweat with his tank top clinging onto his figure, his gaze lingers on Kitt’s, dark chocolate meeting a sweeter one. A small smirk curls up on the older punk’s lips before he lifts his arms up in the air.

“Uppies.”

With a gummy grin Kitt mirrors his father, lifting his arms up in the air with his hands grabbing at air. A snort vibrates through Hobie’s nose before his– albeit sticky– hand grabs onto the back of the toddler’s shirt and gingerly tugs it up. Muffled whines rumble in Kitt’s chest, but they fall on deaf ears as the shirt peels off his torso, sweat and watermelon juice clinging onto cotton.

Rolling his shoulders, Hobie saunters over to the dishwasher just as it beeps that familiar tune, his shirt-covered hand popping the door open with steam billowing out. With a gentle tug on the bottom rack, another glint of silver peeks out of the washer, revealing a metal arm wedged between some pots and dishes.

Kitt’s eyes linger on Hobie’s figure as he pulls the steaming arm out, unfazed by the heat as it clatters against the countertop. A small moment flickers in Kitt’s mind, one of you screaming out a rare curse as you tried to pick up the same steaming arm from the dishwasher before Hobie rushed to your side. Even though Hobie was panicking while holding your hand under running water, he was a superhero to Kitt.

Hobie is strong, at least strong enough to handle hot things or pick up heavy things with one hand. He can lift both Billie and Ramona up in the air while they dangle onto his arms, spinning them around the living room until they all get dizzy. He can scare away monsters in the shadows, flashing his flashlight under the bed with his scariest scowl– even though it just makes Billie and Ramona giggle uncontrollably in their beds. Hobie can do anything and everything.

But lately, Hobie hasn’t been home as much. He’d leave with the girls in the morning but come home late at night when everyone’s asleep– something to do with picking up more night shifts. He doesn’t tuck them into bed like he used to, nor does he sing his lullabies (even though he’s not that good at singing). The closest that Kitt ever gets to seeing Hobie at night is quiet shuffling and clanking metal behind the walls. And whenever Kitt does see him, Hobie is either struggling to wake up or rushing to get ready for the day.

Billie tries to stay up every night to see Hobie, but she knocks out the moment she lands on her bed. Ramona, meanwhile, tries to delay the inevitable every morning by eating her breakfast slower, only for Hobie to tickle her until she gives in and finishes her toaster waffles. As for you, you continue with your routine– kissing him goodbye when he leaves with the twins, tending to the kids and the house, making his favorite foods for dinner before packing them for him when he comes home. You don’t show it, but Kitt sometimes catches you with one of Hobie’s spare arms, holding its hand for a few minutes before you carry on.

But even if he’s been working a lot lately, Hobie still has that same smile he’s always had when he comes home. If Kitt’s lucky, he’ll see Hobie wander into their room while Billie and Ramona sleep, still giving them forehead kisses like before. Sometimes you’d be waiting for Hobie by the door, patiently waiting for him before beckoning him to bed. Even if Kitt wants Hobie to stay home more, to play with him and his sissies more, Kitt just wants his hero to keep smiling.

Hobie pulls his limb sock out of his pocket and starts to roll it over his amputated arm, scarred skin slowly disappearing under elastic nylon, before he gingerly aligns it into the metal arm glove. Kitt doesn’t know why Hobie likes wearing it; it’s uncomfortable and looks hard to take care of. Not only that, but he wears gloves and long sleeves over it when he goes out, even if it’s hot. Kitt doesn’t like it, not when Hobie has to cover himself up, not when he sweats under those layers. When Hobie does have a chance to take his jacket off, Kitt doesn’t like it when people stare at Hobie and his arm– like the mean ducks to the ugly duckling in Kitt’s picture book. Even if Hobie doesn’t care, Kitt still doesn’t like it, not one bit.

But with all that said, Hobie still wears that arm. It still helps him carry Billie and Ramona when they want to be in the air; when he needs to fix something for work; when he wants to hug you from behind. 

It’s still a part of Hobie. And Kitt loves his–

“Dada.”

Hobie freezes just as the strap from the prosthetic arm snaps on his shoulder, sharp tingles ebbing through his flesh, before his eyes dart to the toddler, who hasn’t uttered a semblance of a word until now.

“Kitt? Did you just…?”

With his arms stretching out to the older punk, Kitt tries to lean over the propped tray of his high chair and bares his signature gummy smile as he coos “Dada” again. His tiny hands grab at the air, and his chocolate eyes light up when some sun rays creep over his face.

Kitt just said his first word.

Kitt just said his first word!

Loud clatters shatter the peaceful silence as Hobie rushes to pick up the baby, his hollers bouncing against the kitchen walls while Kitt launches up in the air. Kitt’s wild coils flutter up as he soars, his cackles joining his dad’s joyous laughter in a boisterous cacophony, before he drops back into Hobie’s arms. And the moment a loud click of a door rings through the apartment, the duo bolt out of the kitchen, with more laughter and cooing ‘dada’s following behind.

[hyperfix-wip]

Summertime with Hobie and Kitt was an itch I need to scratch 😭 they just needed their well-deserved bonding time

LMFAOOOOO Hobie basically getting karma from when he was a brat 💀 at least Kitt makes it up to him after 🤣

Yay 🥺 thank you! I can’t help but make Hobie a doting dad and Kitt being an adorable bean. I’d be obsessed with the lollies if it was hot too 😭🤣 Hobie deserves to be loved by his children 😭

The moment I saw that scene I knew I needed to add it 🤣 (lowkey what jumpstarted this fic lmaooo)

These two are not good for my baby fever 🥲

Not All Heroes Wear Capes

Pairing: Prowler!Hobie Brown x Fem!Reader

Word count: 3.2k

Author's Note: Guess who's back (back), back again (-gain) 😅 jumping back in with some fluffy Prowler!Dad before I start working on more WIP's! Shoutout to @the-kr8tor for baby Kitt 🥹 I'd also like to thank @pinksugarscrub for beta reading and dealing with my panicky ass 🫠😂

Tags: Prowler!Hobie, Dad!Hobie, Older!Hobie, Fem!Reader, Older!Reader, Mom!Reader, Brown Family!AU, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, TW Body Image from Outside POV

The first sights that catch Kitt’s eyes are the twinkling stars hanging over his head. White lines connect to the tiny lights like constellations, hovering over him against a backdrop of dark blue. His mind instantly runs to the picture books you’d read to him every night, with you rocking him in your arms in your favorite rocking chair, your voice hushed and soothing reading out every word until he succumbs to slumber.

With a weak whine, Kitt slowly pushes himself up from his napping spot, his nose wrinkling from the creeping yawn tickling the back of his throat. Blinking away the slumber clinging to his eyes, Kitt’s senses start to stir awake in tandem– fuzz from the carpet tickling his skin; the faint scent of soap and the sun from his favorite blanket in his hand; the soft whirring from the small fan propped near his overheated figure. His wild coils cling to his forehead from sweat, with heat radiating from his body despite the fan’s best efforts, before he clumsily pushes his hair back like you usually would.

Rumbles rattle through his tiny bones, and Kitt turns to his lanky giant of a dad beside him, snoring with drool trailing from the corner of his pierced lip. Hobie’s black tank top clings to his sweat-slick skin, his chest rising and falling in a measured beat, with a small wet patch over where his heart would be. His long arm splays across the shaggy carpet and various pillows, many of them with colorful unicorns and other frolicking animals courtesy of Kitt’s sisters, while his short arm rests on top of the big stuffed dinosaur he stitched up for Kitt.

Normally Hobie had that hard arm glove over it, the shiny one that made him look like he was part robot. It was rare for Kitt to see his dad’s arm naked like this. There’s no metal on his arm, no sleeve or glove covering it. There’s no weird plastic fingers either, no crevices where Kitt’s goldfish crackers would accidentally fall between, no weird string that looks like the plastic strings on his sister Ramona’s tiny guitar. It was just his bare arm, with a jagged scar where a hand and part of his forearm would be.

Kitt likes it better like this though, the robot arm isn’t comfortable to hang onto.

A loud yawn soon bubbles up the toddler’s throat, tears pricking up in his chocolate eyes, before he sleepily crawls onto his dad’s chest. A pained grunt rips through Hobie’s lips the moment a tiny chubby hand pushes against his gut, followed by a heavy weight gradually crushing his chest, but the punk father bears with the pressure as he drowsily wraps his good arm around the toddler.

“Bloody hell– Kitt, son, can ya get off Dad–”

SMACK!

A tiny hand-shaped wave of pain ebbs through Hobie’s nose, and he bites back a curse bubbling up his throat as he gingerly rolls himself to the side and cradles Kitt onto the carpet. Blinking the sheen off his eyes, Hobie’s vision clears up to the sight of his little carbon copy– the same glint of mischief in his eyes, the same coily mane (that Hobie knows he has to style at some point), the same cheeky grin pushing Kitt’s chubby cheeks up.

The irritation melts off the older man’s shoulders as more giggles bubble up from the one-year old, the sound a calming chime to Hobie’s disoriented mind.

“Jesus, Kitt,” Hobie grunts out as he sits himself up, “ya definitely got yer mum’s hand.”

Small claps echo within the fairy light-lined makeshift tent before Kitt struggles to push himself back up and crawl onto Hobie’s lap. Pressing his cheek against his dad’s chest, a tender smile curls up on the older man’s lips before pushing Kitt’s hair back to press a kiss along his hairline.

“Alright, ya l’il menace,” a low chuckle rumbles in Hobie’s chest while Kitt wraps his arms around his dad’s neck, “It’s just us lads today.”

Clutching Kitt against his chest with his longer arm, Hobie gingerly crawls on his knees out of the makeshift tent his girls begged him to build, ignoring the quiet cracks up his spine. The toddler buries his face into the crook of Hobie’s neck, and a shaky sigh slips through the older punk’s lips before propping Kitt up with his other arm.

“Mummy’s takin’ yer sisters to a birthday party t’day,” Hobie grunts as he pushes himself up from his knees, “but that’s alright. We can make do here–”

Muffled whines vibrate against Hobie’s neck, and he can’t help but chuckle along as he bounces Kitt along towards the kitchen. “I know, I know, Mummy ‘n sissies usually play with ya, but we’ll have some fun, won’t we? Daddy knows he’s been a little busy lately, but he got a day off today. We got the whole afternoon t’ ourselves.”

Hobie’s bare feet pads against laminate flooring with each step, joining in the quiet cacophony within the small apartment. The sound of the outside world muffles through the window panes, traffic and construction softly vibrating through ivory walls, lined with various hanging frames with still frames of the kids’ lives– Billie’s first time riding a bicycle, Ramona swimming in a pool, Kitt taking his first steps rushing to the camera, amongst other captured memories. Whirring buzzes in Hobie’s ear the closer they get to the kitchen, the dishwasher humming and rattling along. The lingering heat inside slowly gets tapered off as the hot air siphons out through the fan blowing out the window.

Another whine rumbles in Kitt’s chest as the heat licks against his skin, but Hobie shushes in the toddler’s ear as he crosses to the old refrigerator.

“ ‘s okay, Kitt. Mummy made some ice lollies for ev’ryone, remember?” Hobie comforts the young boy, fighting off the urge to grimace from the sweat breaking out on his skin already, before tugging the freezer door open. “You helped too, yeah? You slapped the melon at the grocery store for Mummy– oh my god.”

The sudden gust of cold air provides respite for the father-son duo, kissing their heated skins. A stifled groan rumbles in Hobie’s throat before he rests his head against the door frame, letting the chill of the freezer linger longer.

Would a few minutes of cool air be worth the higher electric bill? Maybe.

A shifting weight nudges the older man from his brisk interlude. Hobie’s eyes flick into a sidelong glance, only to be met with Kitt attempting to stick his head into the freezer.

“Oi, Kitt!”

A guffaw bubbles up Hobie’s chest as he pulls the toddler out, who looks up at him with a giggle of his own while holding the prepared silicone popsicle molds. Some of Kitt’s teeth peek out through his gums as he smiles.

Okay, yeah, it might be worth the higher bill.

“Thank ya for helping Daddy,” Hobie struggles to stifle his laughter as he pushes the freezer closed with his shoulder, hiking the baby against his chest. “Make sure ya hold on t’ it, ‘kay?”

Kitt grips onto the thick edges of the mold, his little body pressing the cold silicone between himself and the crook of Hobie’s neck. Goosebumps prick up on Hobie’s skin from the chill before he carefully slides Kitt into his high chair.

“Alright, Kitty,” Hobie chuckles as he tugs the mold from the toddler’s hands, setting it to its side on the propped tray and revealing a small variety of flavors, “which one do ya want? Watermelon? Orange? Blueberry?”

Kitt stares at the sneak peeks of flavors, his eyes lighting up at the triad of red, orange and purple, before his tiny hand reaches for one of the watermelon popsicles. With a fond smirk he wraps his calloused hand around the mold, ignoring the biting cold on his skin while carefully squeezing the homemade ice lolly out.

“C’mon, ya bloody–”

Before the watermelon popsicle slips out of the mold, Hobie snaps his teeth on the wooden stick sticking out before pulling it out. More bubbly giggles ring against the kitchen walls while Kitt claps his hands together.

“M’kay, hang on–” the popsicle mold slips from his hand and clatters against the tray– “Shi– Shoot!”

Another shrill fit of laughter rings in Hobie’s ears as he quickly tears a napkin and drops the ice lolly from his teeth onto his hand. His eyes flick over to Kitt as he sets the frozen treat down on the kitchen table, and his heart melts at the sight of his son teething on silicone edges of the mold.

“Ah- ah, Kitt, wait, can’t eat that,” Hobie tugs the mold out of Kitt’s mouth, but he clamps his mouth onto the edge with more giggles bubbling up from his chest. “Kitt, no– it’s nasty! It’s not for teethin’–”

The mold suddenly slips from Kitt’s baby-toothed bite, the silicone snapping out of the baby’s mouth and nearly slipping from Hobie’s hand again. With a quick hand, the older man snatches the popsicle mold in the air before it clatters onto his foot, earning another giggly round of applause from his sole audience member. A huff of relief slips through pierced lips as Hobie drops onto a chair and sets the mold onto the kitchen table for the lone napkin-wrapped lolly.

Watermelon juice starts to seep into the paper towel as he tucks the ice lolly into his hand. Kitt’s eyes light up at the bright red frozen treat, his chubby little hands making grabbing gestures before grasping his father’s callused hand and wrapping his mouth around the popsicle end.

A snort sneaks up on the older man, a fond smirk curling up at the sight. “Bitin’ like a l’il vampire, ain’t ya?”

Little gurgles and slurps muffle against ice, chocolate eyes melting and lighting up from the cool treat coursing through Kitt’s little body. Drops of red plop onto the plastic tray, some dripping off his chin while the rest roll down his neck and seep into his shirt.

“Ah, damn.”

Hobie’s skin crawls from the sticky mess all over Kitt’s face as he tugs the lolly away, earning an upset whine from his son while he tucks it in his mouth by its side. Ice-cold watermelon juice floods Hobie’s taste buds, chills flooding over his overheated skin, while he rips another paper towel and gingerly wipes Kitt’s face.

“Yer gettin’ a bath either way,” Hobie winces as his teeth slowly sinks into the treat, aching through the sudden rush of coldness, “but the lolly made it worse, huh?”

More frustrated whines dampen through the paper towel as Kitt’s feet kick against the plastic tray, but Hobie bites back a snicker before gently pinching the boy’s nose. “Yer lucky yer cute. Got it from yer mummy, huh?”

As soon as Hobie pulls his hand away, Kitt blows a raspberry in protest, his face scrunched up and flushed red. Hobie can’t help but think of you in that moment– your face just as flushed and curled up into a scowl.

A wheeze forces itself out of Hobie before he pulls the popsicle out of his mouth, placating the toddler as Kitt happily mouths around the icy end again.

The cool chill from the freezer soon melts away from Hobie’s skin, the heat in the kitchen now radiating into his flesh. Soft whirrings continue to reverberate off the kitchen walls as the older man idly gazes at the youngest Brown teething the ice lolly.

A wave of chills washes over Kitt’s overheated body the more he gnaws on the frozen treat, watermelon flooding his mouth and tongue to his delight. His chubby hands grab hold of the melting lolly, the juices already sticking onto his digits and pricking his skin with goosebumps. Aches creep up in his gums, his growing baby teeth barely shaving through the flavored ice, but Kitt soldiers on while he sucks out more juice.

His sissies already call him a big boy, and they say big boys don’t cry. Not from his gums hurting from an ice lolly.

Kitt pulls away from the treat with a satiated smack of his lips, his red-tinted tongue peeking out to lick off the sheen of juice clinging onto his skin. His fingers release their sticky grip before retreating to his mouth, every last drop savored, as Kitt flicks his eyes back to Hobie.

Shades of purplish-blue hang under Hobie’s eyes, melding in along his own skin. Silver glints on his face as sun rays shine through the blinds, casting along his lip ring and nose piercing, as if the metal is the only other proof to Kitt of his dad being part robot. Hobie’s hand still holds the melting popsicle out, juice dribbling down his hand and arm until it pools onto the tray. But even with the sun bordering under his red-rimmed eyes and the heat making a mess with the melting lolly, he still has that same smile.

“God, yer a proper mess, son,” mirth flickers in Hobie’s eyes as he chomps down the rest of the half-eaten ice lolly before pushing himself up. “Lemme get me arm ‘fore I give ya a bath, yeah?”

As Hobie pushes himself up, his skin slick with sweat with his tank top clinging onto his figure, his gaze lingers on Kitt’s, dark chocolate meeting a sweeter one. A small smirk curls up on the older punk’s lips before he lifts his arms up in the air.

“Uppies.”

With a gummy grin Kitt mirrors his father, lifting his arms up in the air with his hands grabbing at air. A snort vibrates through Hobie’s nose before his– albeit sticky– hand grabs onto the back of the toddler’s shirt and gingerly tugs it up. Muffled whines rumble in Kitt’s chest, but they fall on deaf ears as the shirt peels off his torso, sweat and watermelon juice clinging onto cotton.

Rolling his shoulders, Hobie saunters over to the dishwasher just as it beeps that familiar tune, his shirt-covered hand popping the door open with steam billowing out. With a gentle tug on the bottom rack, another glint of silver peeks out of the washer, revealing a metal arm wedged between some pots and dishes.

Kitt’s eyes linger on Hobie’s figure as he pulls the steaming arm out, unfazed by the heat as it clatters against the countertop. A small moment flickers in Kitt’s mind, one of you screaming out a rare curse as you tried to pick up the same steaming arm from the dishwasher before Hobie rushed to your side. Even though Hobie was panicking while holding your hand under running water, he was a superhero to Kitt.

Hobie is strong, at least strong enough to handle hot things or pick up heavy things with one hand. He can lift both Billie and Ramona up in the air while they dangle onto his arms, spinning them around the living room until they all get dizzy. He can scare away monsters in the shadows, flashing his flashlight under the bed with his scariest scowl– even though it just makes Billie and Ramona giggle uncontrollably in their beds. Hobie can do anything and everything.

But lately, Hobie hasn’t been home as much. He’d leave with the girls in the morning but come home late at night when everyone’s asleep– something to do with picking up more night shifts. He doesn’t tuck them into bed like he used to, nor does he sing his lullabies (even though he’s not that good at singing). The closest that Kitt ever gets to seeing Hobie at night is quiet shuffling and clanking metal behind the walls. And whenever Kitt does see him, Hobie is either struggling to wake up or rushing to get ready for the day.

Billie tries to stay up every night to see Hobie, but she knocks out the moment she lands on her bed. Ramona, meanwhile, tries to delay the inevitable every morning by eating her breakfast slower, only for Hobie to tickle her until she gives in and finishes her toaster waffles. As for you, you continue with your routine– kissing him goodbye when he leaves with the twins, tending to the kids and the house, making his favorite foods for dinner before packing them for him when he comes home. You don’t show it, but Kitt sometimes catches you with one of Hobie’s spare arms, holding its hand for a few minutes before you carry on.

But even if he’s been working a lot lately, Hobie still has that same smile he’s always had when he comes home. If Kitt’s lucky, he’ll see Hobie wander into their room while Billie and Ramona sleep, still giving them forehead kisses like before. Sometimes you’d be waiting for Hobie by the door, patiently waiting for him before beckoning him to bed. Even if Kitt wants Hobie to stay home more, to play with him and his sissies more, Kitt just wants his hero to keep smiling.

Hobie pulls his limb sock out of his pocket and starts to roll it over his amputated arm, scarred skin slowly disappearing under elastic nylon, before he gingerly aligns it into the metal arm glove. Kitt doesn’t know why Hobie likes wearing it; it’s uncomfortable and looks hard to take care of. Not only that, but he wears gloves and long sleeves over it when he goes out, even if it’s hot. Kitt doesn’t like it, not when Hobie has to cover himself up, not when he sweats under those layers. When Hobie does have a chance to take his jacket off, Kitt doesn’t like it when people stare at Hobie and his arm– like the mean ducks to the ugly duckling in Kitt’s picture book. Even if Hobie doesn’t care, Kitt still doesn’t like it, not one bit.

But with all that said, Hobie still wears that arm. It still helps him carry Billie and Ramona when they want to be in the air; when he needs to fix something for work; when he wants to hug you from behind. 

It’s still a part of Hobie. And Kitt loves his–

“Dada.”

Hobie freezes just as the strap from the prosthetic arm snaps on his shoulder, sharp tingles ebbing through his flesh, before his eyes dart to the toddler, who hasn’t uttered a semblance of a word until now.

“Kitt? Did you just…?”

With his arms stretching out to the older punk, Kitt tries to lean over the propped tray of his high chair and bares his signature gummy smile as he coos “Dada” again. His tiny hands grab at the air, and his chocolate eyes light up when some sun rays creep over his face.

Kitt just said his first word.

Kitt just said his first word!

Loud clatters shatter the peaceful silence as Hobie rushes to pick up the baby, his hollers bouncing against the kitchen walls while Kitt launches up in the air. Kitt’s wild coils flutter up as he soars, his cackles joining his dad’s joyous laughter in a boisterous cacophony, before he drops back into Hobie’s arms. And the moment a loud click of a door rings through the apartment, the duo bolt out of the kitchen, with more laughter and cooing ‘dada’s following behind.

[hyperfix-wip]

Not All Heroes Wear Capes

Pairing: Prowler!Hobie Brown x Fem!Reader

Word count: 3.2k

Author's Note: Guess who's back (back), back again (-gain) 😅 jumping back in with some fluffy Prowler!Dad before I start working on more WIP's! Shoutout to @the-kr8tor for baby Kitt 🥹 I'd also like to thank @pinksugarscrub for beta reading and dealing with my panicky ass 🫠😂

Tags: Prowler!Hobie, Dad!Hobie, Older!Hobie, Fem!Reader, Older!Reader, Mom!Reader, Brown Family!AU, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, TW Body Image from Outside POV

The first sights that catch Kitt’s eyes are the twinkling stars hanging over his head. White lines connect to the tiny lights like constellations, hovering over him against a backdrop of dark blue. His mind instantly runs to the picture books you’d read to him every night, with you rocking him in your arms in your favorite rocking chair, your voice hushed and soothing reading out every word until he succumbs to slumber.

With a weak whine, Kitt slowly pushes himself up from his napping spot, his nose wrinkling from the creeping yawn tickling the back of his throat. Blinking away the slumber clinging to his eyes, Kitt’s senses start to stir awake in tandem– fuzz from the carpet tickling his skin; the faint scent of soap and the sun from his favorite blanket in his hand; the soft whirring from the small fan propped near his overheated figure. His wild coils cling to his forehead from sweat, with heat radiating from his body despite the fan’s best efforts, before he clumsily pushes his hair back like you usually would.

Rumbles rattle through his tiny bones, and Kitt turns to his lanky giant of a dad beside him, snoring with drool trailing from the corner of his pierced lip. Hobie’s black tank top clings to his sweat-slick skin, his chest rising and falling in a measured beat, with a small wet patch over where his heart would be. His long arm splays across the shaggy carpet and various pillows, many of them with colorful unicorns and other frolicking animals courtesy of Kitt’s sisters, while his short arm rests on top of the big stuffed dinosaur he stitched up for Kitt.

Normally Hobie had that hard arm glove over it, the shiny one that made him look like he was part robot. It was rare for Kitt to see his dad’s arm naked like this. There’s no metal on his arm, no sleeve or glove covering it. There’s no weird plastic fingers either, no crevices where Kitt’s goldfish crackers would accidentally fall between, no weird string that looks like the plastic strings on his sister Ramona’s tiny guitar. It was just his bare arm, with a jagged scar where a hand and part of his forearm would be.

Kitt likes it better like this though, the robot arm isn’t comfortable to hang onto.

A loud yawn soon bubbles up the toddler’s throat, tears pricking up in his chocolate eyes, before he sleepily crawls onto his dad’s chest. A pained grunt rips through Hobie’s lips the moment a tiny chubby hand pushes against his gut, followed by a heavy weight gradually crushing his chest, but the punk father bears with the pressure as he drowsily wraps his good arm around the toddler.

“Bloody hell– Kitt, son, can ya get off Dad–”

SMACK!

A tiny hand-shaped wave of pain ebbs through Hobie’s nose, and he bites back a curse bubbling up his throat as he gingerly rolls himself to the side and cradles Kitt onto the carpet. Blinking the sheen off his eyes, Hobie’s vision clears up to the sight of his little carbon copy– the same glint of mischief in his eyes, the same coily mane (that Hobie knows he has to style at some point), the same cheeky grin pushing Kitt’s chubby cheeks up.

The irritation melts off the older man’s shoulders as more giggles bubble up from the one-year old, the sound a calming chime to Hobie’s disoriented mind.

“Jesus, Kitt,” Hobie grunts out as he sits himself up, “ya definitely got yer mum’s hand.”

Small claps echo within the fairy light-lined makeshift tent before Kitt struggles to push himself back up and crawl onto Hobie’s lap. Pressing his cheek against his dad’s chest, a tender smile curls up on the older man’s lips before pushing Kitt’s hair back to press a kiss along his hairline.

“Alright, ya l’il menace,” a low chuckle rumbles in Hobie’s chest while Kitt wraps his arms around his dad’s neck, “It’s just us lads today.”

Clutching Kitt against his chest with his longer arm, Hobie gingerly crawls on his knees out of the makeshift tent his girls begged him to build, ignoring the quiet cracks up his spine. The toddler buries his face into the crook of Hobie’s neck, and a shaky sigh slips through the older punk’s lips before propping Kitt up with his other arm.

“Mummy’s takin’ yer sisters to a birthday party t’day,” Hobie grunts as he pushes himself up from his knees, “but that’s alright. We can make do here–”

Muffled whines vibrate against Hobie’s neck, and he can’t help but chuckle along as he bounces Kitt along towards the kitchen. “I know, I know, Mummy ‘n sissies usually play with ya, but we’ll have some fun, won’t we? Daddy knows he’s been a little busy lately, but he got a day off today. We got the whole afternoon t’ ourselves.”

Hobie’s bare feet pads against laminate flooring with each step, joining in the quiet cacophony within the small apartment. The sound of the outside world muffles through the window panes, traffic and construction softly vibrating through ivory walls, lined with various hanging frames with still frames of the kids’ lives– Billie’s first time riding a bicycle, Ramona swimming in a pool, Kitt taking his first steps rushing to the camera, amongst other captured memories. Whirring buzzes in Hobie’s ear the closer they get to the kitchen, the dishwasher humming and rattling along. The lingering heat inside slowly gets tapered off as the hot air siphons out through the fan blowing out the window.

Another whine rumbles in Kitt’s chest as the heat licks against his skin, but Hobie shushes in the toddler’s ear as he crosses to the old refrigerator.

“ ‘s okay, Kitt. Mummy made some ice lollies for ev’ryone, remember?” Hobie comforts the young boy, fighting off the urge to grimace from the sweat breaking out on his skin already, before tugging the freezer door open. “You helped too, yeah? You slapped the melon at the grocery store for Mummy– oh my god.”

The sudden gust of cold air provides respite for the father-son duo, kissing their heated skins. A stifled groan rumbles in Hobie’s throat before he rests his head against the door frame, letting the chill of the freezer linger longer.

Would a few minutes of cool air be worth the higher electric bill? Maybe.

A shifting weight nudges the older man from his brisk interlude. Hobie’s eyes flick into a sidelong glance, only to be met with Kitt attempting to stick his head into the freezer.

“Oi, Kitt!”

A guffaw bubbles up Hobie’s chest as he pulls the toddler out, who looks up at him with a giggle of his own while holding the prepared silicone popsicle molds. Some of Kitt’s teeth peek out through his gums as he smiles.

Okay, yeah, it might be worth the higher bill.

“Thank ya for helping Daddy,” Hobie struggles to stifle his laughter as he pushes the freezer closed with his shoulder, hiking the baby against his chest. “Make sure ya hold on t’ it, ‘kay?”

Kitt grips onto the thick edges of the mold, his little body pressing the cold silicone between himself and the crook of Hobie’s neck. Goosebumps prick up on Hobie’s skin from the chill before he carefully slides Kitt into his high chair.

“Alright, Kitty,” Hobie chuckles as he tugs the mold from the toddler’s hands, setting it to its side on the propped tray and revealing a small variety of flavors, “which one do ya want? Watermelon? Orange? Blueberry?”

Kitt stares at the sneak peeks of flavors, his eyes lighting up at the triad of red, orange and purple, before his tiny hand reaches for one of the watermelon popsicles. With a fond smirk he wraps his calloused hand around the mold, ignoring the biting cold on his skin while carefully squeezing the homemade ice lolly out.

“C’mon, ya bloody–”

Before the watermelon popsicle slips out of the mold, Hobie snaps his teeth on the wooden stick sticking out before pulling it out. More bubbly giggles ring against the kitchen walls while Kitt claps his hands together.

“M’kay, hang on–” the popsicle mold slips from his hand and clatters against the tray– “Shi– Shoot!”

Another shrill fit of laughter rings in Hobie’s ears as he quickly tears a napkin and drops the ice lolly from his teeth onto his hand. His eyes flick over to Kitt as he sets the frozen treat down on the kitchen table, and his heart melts at the sight of his son teething on silicone edges of the mold.

“Ah- ah, Kitt, wait, can’t eat that,” Hobie tugs the mold out of Kitt’s mouth, but he clamps his mouth onto the edge with more giggles bubbling up from his chest. “Kitt, no– it’s nasty! It’s not for teethin’–”

The mold suddenly slips from Kitt’s baby-toothed bite, the silicone snapping out of the baby’s mouth and nearly slipping from Hobie’s hand again. With a quick hand, the older man snatches the popsicle mold in the air before it clatters onto his foot, earning another giggly round of applause from his sole audience member. A huff of relief slips through pierced lips as Hobie drops onto a chair and sets the mold onto the kitchen table for the lone napkin-wrapped lolly.

Watermelon juice starts to seep into the paper towel as he tucks the ice lolly into his hand. Kitt’s eyes light up at the bright red frozen treat, his chubby little hands making grabbing gestures before grasping his father’s callused hand and wrapping his mouth around the popsicle end.

A snort sneaks up on the older man, a fond smirk curling up at the sight. “Bitin’ like a l’il vampire, ain’t ya?”

Little gurgles and slurps muffle against ice, chocolate eyes melting and lighting up from the cool treat coursing through Kitt’s little body. Drops of red plop onto the plastic tray, some dripping off his chin while the rest roll down his neck and seep into his shirt.

“Ah, damn.”

Hobie’s skin crawls from the sticky mess all over Kitt’s face as he tugs the lolly away, earning an upset whine from his son while he tucks it in his mouth by its side. Ice-cold watermelon juice floods Hobie’s taste buds, chills flooding over his overheated skin, while he rips another paper towel and gingerly wipes Kitt’s face.

“Yer gettin’ a bath either way,” Hobie winces as his teeth slowly sinks into the treat, aching through the sudden rush of coldness, “but the lolly made it worse, huh?”

More frustrated whines dampen through the paper towel as Kitt’s feet kick against the plastic tray, but Hobie bites back a snicker before gently pinching the boy’s nose. “Yer lucky yer cute. Got it from yer mummy, huh?”

As soon as Hobie pulls his hand away, Kitt blows a raspberry in protest, his face scrunched up and flushed red. Hobie can’t help but think of you in that moment– your face just as flushed and curled up into a scowl.

A wheeze forces itself out of Hobie before he pulls the popsicle out of his mouth, placating the toddler as Kitt happily mouths around the icy end again.

The cool chill from the freezer soon melts away from Hobie’s skin, the heat in the kitchen now radiating into his flesh. Soft whirrings continue to reverberate off the kitchen walls as the older man idly gazes at the youngest Brown teething the ice lolly.

A wave of chills washes over Kitt’s overheated body the more he gnaws on the frozen treat, watermelon flooding his mouth and tongue to his delight. His chubby hands grab hold of the melting lolly, the juices already sticking onto his digits and pricking his skin with goosebumps. Aches creep up in his gums, his growing baby teeth barely shaving through the flavored ice, but Kitt soldiers on while he sucks out more juice.

His sissies already call him a big boy, and they say big boys don’t cry. Not from his gums hurting from an ice lolly.

Kitt pulls away from the treat with a satiated smack of his lips, his red-tinted tongue peeking out to lick off the sheen of juice clinging onto his skin. His fingers release their sticky grip before retreating to his mouth, every last drop savored, as Kitt flicks his eyes back to Hobie.

Shades of purplish-blue hang under Hobie’s eyes, melding in along his own skin. Silver glints on his face as sun rays shine through the blinds, casting along his lip ring and nose piercing, as if the metal is the only other proof to Kitt of his dad being part robot. Hobie’s hand still holds the melting popsicle out, juice dribbling down his hand and arm until it pools onto the tray. But even with the sun bordering under his red-rimmed eyes and the heat making a mess with the melting lolly, he still has that same smile.

“God, yer a proper mess, son,” mirth flickers in Hobie’s eyes as he chomps down the rest of the half-eaten ice lolly before pushing himself up. “Lemme get me arm ‘fore I give ya a bath, yeah?”

As Hobie pushes himself up, his skin slick with sweat with his tank top clinging onto his figure, his gaze lingers on Kitt’s, dark chocolate meeting a sweeter one. A small smirk curls up on the older punk’s lips before he lifts his arms up in the air.

“Uppies.”

With a gummy grin Kitt mirrors his father, lifting his arms up in the air with his hands grabbing at air. A snort vibrates through Hobie’s nose before his– albeit sticky– hand grabs onto the back of the toddler’s shirt and gingerly tugs it up. Muffled whines rumble in Kitt’s chest, but they fall on deaf ears as the shirt peels off his torso, sweat and watermelon juice clinging onto cotton.

Rolling his shoulders, Hobie saunters over to the dishwasher just as it beeps that familiar tune, his shirt-covered hand popping the door open with steam billowing out. With a gentle tug on the bottom rack, another glint of silver peeks out of the washer, revealing a metal arm wedged between some pots and dishes.

Kitt’s eyes linger on Hobie’s figure as he pulls the steaming arm out, unfazed by the heat as it clatters against the countertop. A small moment flickers in Kitt’s mind, one of you screaming out a rare curse as you tried to pick up the same steaming arm from the dishwasher before Hobie rushed to your side. Even though Hobie was panicking while holding your hand under running water, he was a superhero to Kitt.

Hobie is strong, at least strong enough to handle hot things or pick up heavy things with one hand. He can lift both Billie and Ramona up in the air while they dangle onto his arms, spinning them around the living room until they all get dizzy. He can scare away monsters in the shadows, flashing his flashlight under the bed with his scariest scowl– even though it just makes Billie and Ramona giggle uncontrollably in their beds. Hobie can do anything and everything.

But lately, Hobie hasn’t been home as much. He’d leave with the girls in the morning but come home late at night when everyone’s asleep– something to do with picking up more night shifts. He doesn’t tuck them into bed like he used to, nor does he sing his lullabies (even though he’s not that good at singing). The closest that Kitt ever gets to seeing Hobie at night is quiet shuffling and clanking metal behind the walls. And whenever Kitt does see him, Hobie is either struggling to wake up or rushing to get ready for the day.

Billie tries to stay up every night to see Hobie, but she knocks out the moment she lands on her bed. Ramona, meanwhile, tries to delay the inevitable every morning by eating her breakfast slower, only for Hobie to tickle her until she gives in and finishes her toaster waffles. As for you, you continue with your routine– kissing him goodbye when he leaves with the twins, tending to the kids and the house, making his favorite foods for dinner before packing them for him when he comes home. You don’t show it, but Kitt sometimes catches you with one of Hobie’s spare arms, holding its hand for a few minutes before you carry on.

But even if he’s been working a lot lately, Hobie still has that same smile he’s always had when he comes home. If Kitt’s lucky, he’ll see Hobie wander into their room while Billie and Ramona sleep, still giving them forehead kisses like before. Sometimes you’d be waiting for Hobie by the door, patiently waiting for him before beckoning him to bed. Even if Kitt wants Hobie to stay home more, to play with him and his sissies more, Kitt just wants his hero to keep smiling.

Hobie pulls his limb sock out of his pocket and starts to roll it over his amputated arm, scarred skin slowly disappearing under elastic nylon, before he gingerly aligns it into the metal arm glove. Kitt doesn’t know why Hobie likes wearing it; it’s uncomfortable and looks hard to take care of. Not only that, but he wears gloves and long sleeves over it when he goes out, even if it’s hot. Kitt doesn’t like it, not when Hobie has to cover himself up, not when he sweats under those layers. When Hobie does have a chance to take his jacket off, Kitt doesn’t like it when people stare at Hobie and his arm– like the mean ducks to the ugly duckling in Kitt’s picture book. Even if Hobie doesn’t care, Kitt still doesn’t like it, not one bit.

But with all that said, Hobie still wears that arm. It still helps him carry Billie and Ramona when they want to be in the air; when he needs to fix something for work; when he wants to hug you from behind. 

It’s still a part of Hobie. And Kitt loves his–

“Dada.”

Hobie freezes just as the strap from the prosthetic arm snaps on his shoulder, sharp tingles ebbing through his flesh, before his eyes dart to the toddler, who hasn’t uttered a semblance of a word until now.

“Kitt? Did you just…?”

With his arms stretching out to the older punk, Kitt tries to lean over the propped tray of his high chair and bares his signature gummy smile as he coos “Dada” again. His tiny hands grab at the air, and his chocolate eyes light up when some sun rays creep over his face.

Kitt just said his first word.

Kitt just said his first word!

Loud clatters shatter the peaceful silence as Hobie rushes to pick up the baby, his hollers bouncing against the kitchen walls while Kitt launches up in the air. Kitt’s wild coils flutter up as he soars, his cackles joining his dad’s joyous laughter in a boisterous cacophony, before he drops back into Hobie’s arms. And the moment a loud click of a door rings through the apartment, the duo bolt out of the kitchen, with more laughter and cooing ‘dada’s following behind.

[hyperfix-wip]

Not All Heroes Wear Capes

Pairing: Prowler!Hobie Brown x Fem!Reader

Word count: 3.2k

Author's Note: Guess who's back (back), back again (-gain) 😅 jumping back in with some fluffy Prowler!Dad before I start working on more WIP's! Shoutout to @the-kr8tor for baby Kitt 🥹 I'd also like to thank @pinksugarscrub for beta reading and dealing with my panicky ass 🫠😂

Tags: Prowler!Hobie, Dad!Hobie, Older!Hobie, Fem!Reader, Older!Reader, Mom!Reader, Brown Family!AU, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, TW Body Image from Outside POV

The first sights that catch Kitt’s eyes are the twinkling stars hanging over his head. White lines connect to the tiny lights like constellations, hovering over him against a backdrop of dark blue. His mind instantly runs to the picture books you’d read to him every night, with you rocking him in your arms in your favorite rocking chair, your voice hushed and soothing reading out every word until he succumbs to slumber.

With a weak whine, Kitt slowly pushes himself up from his napping spot, his nose wrinkling from the creeping yawn tickling the back of his throat. Blinking away the slumber clinging to his eyes, Kitt’s senses start to stir awake in tandem– fuzz from the carpet tickling his skin; the faint scent of soap and the sun from his favorite blanket in his hand; the soft whirring from the small fan propped near his overheated figure. His wild coils cling to his forehead from sweat, with heat radiating from his body despite the fan’s best efforts, before he clumsily pushes his hair back like you usually would.

Rumbles rattle through his tiny bones, and Kitt turns to his lanky giant of a dad beside him, snoring with drool trailing from the corner of his pierced lip. Hobie’s black tank top clings to his sweat-slick skin, his chest rising and falling in a measured beat, with a small wet patch over where his heart would be. His long arm splays across the shaggy carpet and various pillows, many of them with colorful unicorns and other frolicking animals courtesy of Kitt’s sisters, while his short arm rests on top of the big stuffed dinosaur he stitched up for Kitt.

Normally Hobie had that hard arm glove over it, the shiny one that made him look like he was part robot. It was rare for Kitt to see his dad’s arm naked like this. There’s no metal on his arm, no sleeve or glove covering it. There’s no weird plastic fingers either, no crevices where Kitt’s goldfish crackers would accidentally fall between, no weird string that looks like the plastic strings on his sister Ramona’s tiny guitar. It was just his bare arm, with a jagged scar where a hand and part of his forearm would be.

Kitt likes it better like this though, the robot arm isn’t comfortable to hang onto.

A loud yawn soon bubbles up the toddler’s throat, tears pricking up in his chocolate eyes, before he sleepily crawls onto his dad’s chest. A pained grunt rips through Hobie’s lips the moment a tiny chubby hand pushes against his gut, followed by a heavy weight gradually crushing his chest, but the punk father bears with the pressure as he drowsily wraps his good arm around the toddler.

“Bloody hell– Kitt, son, can ya get off Dad–”

SMACK!

A tiny hand-shaped wave of pain ebbs through Hobie’s nose, and he bites back a curse bubbling up his throat as he gingerly rolls himself to the side and cradles Kitt onto the carpet. Blinking the sheen off his eyes, Hobie’s vision clears up to the sight of his little carbon copy– the same glint of mischief in his eyes, the same coily mane (that Hobie knows he has to style at some point), the same cheeky grin pushing Kitt’s chubby cheeks up.

The irritation melts off the older man’s shoulders as more giggles bubble up from the one-year old, the sound a calming chime to Hobie’s disoriented mind.

“Jesus, Kitt,” Hobie grunts out as he sits himself up, “ya definitely got yer mum’s hand.”

Small claps echo within the fairy light-lined makeshift tent before Kitt struggles to push himself back up and crawl onto Hobie’s lap. Pressing his cheek against his dad’s chest, a tender smile curls up on the older man’s lips before pushing Kitt’s hair back to press a kiss along his hairline.

“Alright, ya l’il menace,” a low chuckle rumbles in Hobie’s chest while Kitt wraps his arms around his dad’s neck, “It’s just us lads today.”

Clutching Kitt against his chest with his longer arm, Hobie gingerly crawls on his knees out of the makeshift tent his girls begged him to build, ignoring the quiet cracks up his spine. The toddler buries his face into the crook of Hobie’s neck, and a shaky sigh slips through the older punk’s lips before propping Kitt up with his other arm.

“Mummy’s takin’ yer sisters to a birthday party t’day,” Hobie grunts as he pushes himself up from his knees, “but that’s alright. We can make do here–”

Muffled whines vibrate against Hobie’s neck, and he can’t help but chuckle along as he bounces Kitt along towards the kitchen. “I know, I know, Mummy ‘n sissies usually play with ya, but we’ll have some fun, won’t we? Daddy knows he’s been a little busy lately, but he got a day off today. We got the whole afternoon t’ ourselves.”

Hobie’s bare feet pads against laminate flooring with each step, joining in the quiet cacophony within the small apartment. The sound of the outside world muffles through the window panes, traffic and construction softly vibrating through ivory walls, lined with various hanging frames with still frames of the kids’ lives– Billie’s first time riding a bicycle, Ramona swimming in a pool, Kitt taking his first steps rushing to the camera, amongst other captured memories. Whirring buzzes in Hobie’s ear the closer they get to the kitchen, the dishwasher humming and rattling along. The lingering heat inside slowly gets tapered off as the hot air siphons out through the fan blowing out the window.

Another whine rumbles in Kitt’s chest as the heat licks against his skin, but Hobie shushes in the toddler’s ear as he crosses to the old refrigerator.

“ ‘s okay, Kitt. Mummy made some ice lollies for ev’ryone, remember?” Hobie comforts the young boy, fighting off the urge to grimace from the sweat breaking out on his skin already, before tugging the freezer door open. “You helped too, yeah? You slapped the melon at the grocery store for Mummy– oh my god.”

The sudden gust of cold air provides respite for the father-son duo, kissing their heated skins. A stifled groan rumbles in Hobie’s throat before he rests his head against the door frame, letting the chill of the freezer linger longer.

Would a few minutes of cool air be worth the higher electric bill? Maybe.

A shifting weight nudges the older man from his brisk interlude. Hobie’s eyes flick into a sidelong glance, only to be met with Kitt attempting to stick his head into the freezer.

“Oi, Kitt!”

A guffaw bubbles up Hobie’s chest as he pulls the toddler out, who looks up at him with a giggle of his own while holding the prepared silicone popsicle molds. Some of Kitt’s teeth peek out through his gums as he smiles.

Okay, yeah, it might be worth the higher bill.

“Thank ya for helping Daddy,” Hobie struggles to stifle his laughter as he pushes the freezer closed with his shoulder, hiking the baby against his chest. “Make sure ya hold on t’ it, ‘kay?”

Kitt grips onto the thick edges of the mold, his little body pressing the cold silicone between himself and the crook of Hobie’s neck. Goosebumps prick up on Hobie’s skin from the chill before he carefully slides Kitt into his high chair.

“Alright, Kitty,” Hobie chuckles as he tugs the mold from the toddler’s hands, setting it to its side on the propped tray and revealing a small variety of flavors, “which one do ya want? Watermelon? Orange? Blueberry?”

Kitt stares at the sneak peeks of flavors, his eyes lighting up at the triad of red, orange and purple, before his tiny hand reaches for one of the watermelon popsicles. With a fond smirk he wraps his calloused hand around the mold, ignoring the biting cold on his skin while carefully squeezing the homemade ice lolly out.

“C’mon, ya bloody–”

Before the watermelon popsicle slips out of the mold, Hobie snaps his teeth on the wooden stick sticking out before pulling it out. More bubbly giggles ring against the kitchen walls while Kitt claps his hands together.

“M’kay, hang on–” the popsicle mold slips from his hand and clatters against the tray– “Shi– Shoot!”

Another shrill fit of laughter rings in Hobie’s ears as he quickly tears a napkin and drops the ice lolly from his teeth onto his hand. His eyes flick over to Kitt as he sets the frozen treat down on the kitchen table, and his heart melts at the sight of his son teething on silicone edges of the mold.

“Ah- ah, Kitt, wait, can’t eat that,” Hobie tugs the mold out of Kitt’s mouth, but he clamps his mouth onto the edge with more giggles bubbling up from his chest. “Kitt, no– it’s nasty! It’s not for teethin’–”

The mold suddenly slips from Kitt’s baby-toothed bite, the silicone snapping out of the baby’s mouth and nearly slipping from Hobie’s hand again. With a quick hand, the older man snatches the popsicle mold in the air before it clatters onto his foot, earning another giggly round of applause from his sole audience member. A huff of relief slips through pierced lips as Hobie drops onto a chair and sets the mold onto the kitchen table for the lone napkin-wrapped lolly.

Watermelon juice starts to seep into the paper towel as he tucks the ice lolly into his hand. Kitt’s eyes light up at the bright red frozen treat, his chubby little hands making grabbing gestures before grasping his father’s callused hand and wrapping his mouth around the popsicle end.

A snort sneaks up on the older man, a fond smirk curling up at the sight. “Bitin’ like a l’il vampire, ain’t ya?”

Little gurgles and slurps muffle against ice, chocolate eyes melting and lighting up from the cool treat coursing through Kitt’s little body. Drops of red plop onto the plastic tray, some dripping off his chin while the rest roll down his neck and seep into his shirt.

“Ah, damn.”

Hobie’s skin crawls from the sticky mess all over Kitt’s face as he tugs the lolly away, earning an upset whine from his son while he tucks it in his mouth by its side. Ice-cold watermelon juice floods Hobie’s taste buds, chills flooding over his overheated skin, while he rips another paper towel and gingerly wipes Kitt’s face.

“Yer gettin’ a bath either way,” Hobie winces as his teeth slowly sinks into the treat, aching through the sudden rush of coldness, “but the lolly made it worse, huh?”

More frustrated whines dampen through the paper towel as Kitt’s feet kick against the plastic tray, but Hobie bites back a snicker before gently pinching the boy’s nose. “Yer lucky yer cute. Got it from yer mummy, huh?”

As soon as Hobie pulls his hand away, Kitt blows a raspberry in protest, his face scrunched up and flushed red. Hobie can’t help but think of you in that moment– your face just as flushed and curled up into a scowl.

A wheeze forces itself out of Hobie before he pulls the popsicle out of his mouth, placating the toddler as Kitt happily mouths around the icy end again.

The cool chill from the freezer soon melts away from Hobie’s skin, the heat in the kitchen now radiating into his flesh. Soft whirrings continue to reverberate off the kitchen walls as the older man idly gazes at the youngest Brown teething the ice lolly.

A wave of chills washes over Kitt’s overheated body the more he gnaws on the frozen treat, watermelon flooding his mouth and tongue to his delight. His chubby hands grab hold of the melting lolly, the juices already sticking onto his digits and pricking his skin with goosebumps. Aches creep up in his gums, his growing baby teeth barely shaving through the flavored ice, but Kitt soldiers on while he sucks out more juice.

His sissies already call him a big boy, and they say big boys don’t cry. Not from his gums hurting from an ice lolly.

Kitt pulls away from the treat with a satiated smack of his lips, his red-tinted tongue peeking out to lick off the sheen of juice clinging onto his skin. His fingers release their sticky grip before retreating to his mouth, every last drop savored, as Kitt flicks his eyes back to Hobie.

Shades of purplish-blue hang under Hobie’s eyes, melding in along his own skin. Silver glints on his face as sun rays shine through the blinds, casting along his lip ring and nose piercing, as if the metal is the only other proof to Kitt of his dad being part robot. Hobie’s hand still holds the melting popsicle out, juice dribbling down his hand and arm until it pools onto the tray. But even with the sun bordering under his red-rimmed eyes and the heat making a mess with the melting lolly, he still has that same smile.

“God, yer a proper mess, son,” mirth flickers in Hobie’s eyes as he chomps down the rest of the half-eaten ice lolly before pushing himself up. “Lemme get me arm ‘fore I give ya a bath, yeah?”

As Hobie pushes himself up, his skin slick with sweat with his tank top clinging onto his figure, his gaze lingers on Kitt’s, dark chocolate meeting a sweeter one. A small smirk curls up on the older punk’s lips before he lifts his arms up in the air.

“Uppies.”

With a gummy grin Kitt mirrors his father, lifting his arms up in the air with his hands grabbing at air. A snort vibrates through Hobie’s nose before his– albeit sticky– hand grabs onto the back of the toddler’s shirt and gingerly tugs it up. Muffled whines rumble in Kitt’s chest, but they fall on deaf ears as the shirt peels off his torso, sweat and watermelon juice clinging onto cotton.

Rolling his shoulders, Hobie saunters over to the dishwasher just as it beeps that familiar tune, his shirt-covered hand popping the door open with steam billowing out. With a gentle tug on the bottom rack, another glint of silver peeks out of the washer, revealing a metal arm wedged between some pots and dishes.

Kitt’s eyes linger on Hobie’s figure as he pulls the steaming arm out, unfazed by the heat as it clatters against the countertop. A small moment flickers in Kitt’s mind, one of you screaming out a rare curse as you tried to pick up the same steaming arm from the dishwasher before Hobie rushed to your side. Even though Hobie was panicking while holding your hand under running water, he was a superhero to Kitt.

Hobie is strong, at least strong enough to handle hot things or pick up heavy things with one hand. He can lift both Billie and Ramona up in the air while they dangle onto his arms, spinning them around the living room until they all get dizzy. He can scare away monsters in the shadows, flashing his flashlight under the bed with his scariest scowl– even though it just makes Billie and Ramona giggle uncontrollably in their beds. Hobie can do anything and everything.

But lately, Hobie hasn’t been home as much. He’d leave with the girls in the morning but come home late at night when everyone’s asleep– something to do with picking up more night shifts. He doesn’t tuck them into bed like he used to, nor does he sing his lullabies (even though he’s not that good at singing). The closest that Kitt ever gets to seeing Hobie at night is quiet shuffling and clanking metal behind the walls. And whenever Kitt does see him, Hobie is either struggling to wake up or rushing to get ready for the day.

Billie tries to stay up every night to see Hobie, but she knocks out the moment she lands on her bed. Ramona, meanwhile, tries to delay the inevitable every morning by eating her breakfast slower, only for Hobie to tickle her until she gives in and finishes her toaster waffles. As for you, you continue with your routine– kissing him goodbye when he leaves with the twins, tending to the kids and the house, making his favorite foods for dinner before packing them for him when he comes home. You don’t show it, but Kitt sometimes catches you with one of Hobie’s spare arms, holding its hand for a few minutes before you carry on.

But even if he’s been working a lot lately, Hobie still has that same smile he’s always had when he comes home. If Kitt’s lucky, he’ll see Hobie wander into their room while Billie and Ramona sleep, still giving them forehead kisses like before. Sometimes you’d be waiting for Hobie by the door, patiently waiting for him before beckoning him to bed. Even if Kitt wants Hobie to stay home more, to play with him and his sissies more, Kitt just wants his hero to keep smiling.

Hobie pulls his limb sock out of his pocket and starts to roll it over his amputated arm, scarred skin slowly disappearing under elastic nylon, before he gingerly aligns it into the metal arm glove. Kitt doesn’t know why Hobie likes wearing it; it’s uncomfortable and looks hard to take care of. Not only that, but he wears gloves and long sleeves over it when he goes out, even if it’s hot. Kitt doesn’t like it, not when Hobie has to cover himself up, not when he sweats under those layers. When Hobie does have a chance to take his jacket off, Kitt doesn’t like it when people stare at Hobie and his arm– like the mean ducks to the ugly duckling in Kitt’s picture book. Even if Hobie doesn’t care, Kitt still doesn’t like it, not one bit.

But with all that said, Hobie still wears that arm. It still helps him carry Billie and Ramona when they want to be in the air; when he needs to fix something for work; when he wants to hug you from behind. 

It’s still a part of Hobie. And Kitt loves his–

“Dada.”

Hobie freezes just as the strap from the prosthetic arm snaps on his shoulder, sharp tingles ebbing through his flesh, before his eyes dart to the toddler, who hasn’t uttered a semblance of a word until now.

“Kitt? Did you just…?”

With his arms stretching out to the older punk, Kitt tries to lean over the propped tray of his high chair and bares his signature gummy smile as he coos “Dada” again. His tiny hands grab at the air, and his chocolate eyes light up when some sun rays creep over his face.

Kitt just said his first word.

Kitt just said his first word!

Loud clatters shatter the peaceful silence as Hobie rushes to pick up the baby, his hollers bouncing against the kitchen walls while Kitt launches up in the air. Kitt’s wild coils flutter up as he soars, his cackles joining his dad’s joyous laughter in a boisterous cacophony, before he drops back into Hobie’s arms. And the moment a loud click of a door rings through the apartment, the duo bolt out of the kitchen, with more laughter and cooing ‘dada’s following behind.

[hyperfix-wip]

The way everybody thought R wasn’t real 😭🤣

Crazy stupid love with 📽 !! With Jason of course ♥️

Jason admits he has a girlfriend but the batfam believes she isn't real until one day, she shows up. (Your choice on if they were penpals, long distance, etc)

Hehehe i had so much fun with this one! I hope you like it pinky! ❤️❤️❤️

Pairing: Jason Todd x fem! Reader/ Red Hood x fem! Reader

Word count: 5.6k

Tags: Use of Y/N sparsely, no specific physical description of the reader except for clothing, established relationship, you and Jason are penpals turned lovers, CW food mentions, alcohol mention, a few suggestive jokes, fluff!

Katy's Summer Flick Screening 📽️

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Jason has been acting…strange lately. He's usually all frowny and moody during patrol. And it has his brother a little concerned. The vigilante has been like this for a few weeks now or maybe even more when it's only just now that Nightwing realises that he hasn't cursed out Bruce for months now. He just thought that he got a new shiny gun or something.

The man perched on the edge of a billboard with him does not look like the broody Red Hood, who prefers to work alone and amidst the dark. He's more… mellow.

As Nightwing stares at his brother, his gaze narrows at the way Jason's mouth curves upward in such a weird way that he thinks that he could be infected by the Joker toxin.

“What's wrong with you?” He blurts out, arms crossed over the symbol on his chest as Red hood barely looks up from his phone.

“Why, what's wrong with who?” Barbara unintentionally hears his question through the comms that Dick keeps forgetting to turn off during lulls in patrols.

“Jason, he didn't even look at me.” He says, offended when Jason keeps smiling at his phone that's too bright for him to take a peek at. Curse the permanent fog around Gotham and its almost eternal darkness.

“Because it's a rude question, Grayson.” Jason finally responds gruffly, his green eyes briefly glancing at his brother with annoyance.

“Well, I apologise for being concerned about your well being.”

“Wait, what did he say?” Tim replies from across the city through the cackling comms. His voice is strained as the unmistakable click of the device sounds in his ears that signals that everyone has joined in on the conversation.

“He said— Jason, open your comms.” Dick raises a brow, clicking his tongue, impatient while Jason keeps typing with nonchalance.

“No.” The red clad vigilante says flatly.

“Stop typing for a second and unmute.” Nudging Jason's boot with his own, Dick huffs when he continues to ignore him.

“Oh shit, he's typing?”

“That's very concerning indeed, Drake.” Damian replies monotonously with sarcasm as the wind rushes from his side.

“I'm ignoring that—!” Tim groans, followed by the sound of something falling down on the ground harshly. Heaving, he exhales loudly. “What I meant was that I've noticed that too.”

“Noticed what?” Nightwing tries to take a peek at the phone again, but Jason's too quick, shutting it off and placing it inside his pocket with a smug look.

With a click of a button, he unmutes his comms. “That I'm talking to someone.” Jason rises to his full height on the slim metal bannister, feet stable against it like he's just standing on solid ground.

“You're talking to someone?” Everyone asks in various tones of surprise.

“You have friends, Todd?” Damian asks, everyone could hear the smirk from his voice.

“I thought you were in some book forum arguing about Jane Eyre or some shit.” Tim sounds more winded but decides to tease his brother anyway.

“Good on you, Jason. You need friends outside of this.” Meanwhile Barbara sounds ecstatic as she types on the bat computer.

“Please tell me it's a therapist.” As for Nightwing, he presses his hands together and points at him with a glimmer in his eyes. “You do need it, Jay.”

“We all need it, Dick.” The Oracle sighs.

Jason has an intense urge to jump off the billboard and head home. “First of all, yes, I have friends, you demon spawn. Second, I am in a book forum just because people's opinions are shit. Third, stop looking up who I'm talking to, Barbara.”

“Oh shit! You got found, Barbs.”

“I can't believe you've got friends.”

“That's still a no on the therapist then?”

“I'm not—!” The Oracle fumbles out, sighing against the receiver but the typing doesn't cease. “How did you even—?”

“I can hear you typing it all out.” Sighing, Jason hops off the railing and lands on a more solid structure beside his blue clad brother. “Let me save you some time since you're all going to find out anyway because you can't mind your own fucking business.” With a deep inhale, second guessing his decision, he swallows thickly before uttering your name with fondness that his family doesn't miss from his tone. “You all happy now?”

There's silence on both ends.

Dick purses his lips together, either trying to suppress a chuckle or from saying something that'll get his teeth knocked out. For a moment, the quiet has Jason nervous. He acts like he doesn't care as he leans against the billboard, his back turned against an advertisement about Wayne enterprises.

“Well, that's… nice, right? That's a girl's name, I think?” Tim sucks in his teeth, groaning as he sits down on a random rooftop to nurse his wounds. “I mean, it's not like it's bad if it's not— I'm proud of you either way, Jay!”

“You're digging your own grave, Drake.”

“Stop calling me by my last name, Damian, we live in the same house!” Tim rolls his aching joints and clears his throat. “Anyway, I call bullshit on this! You have no time or the charisma to pull someone—”

“Found her!” Barbara victoriously claps, then changes tune with a clear of her throat. “I mean— thank you for telling us, Jason.”

“Yeah,” Dick approaches him with the same trepidation as a zoo keeper in a lion enclosure. “That must've been hard to tell us, Jason.” With a palm on Jason's broad shoulder, he smiles lopsidedly.

“My therapist tells me I need to open up more.” With those parting words, Jason leaps off the billboard expertly, shooting off his grappling hook and landing safely below before Dick could even register his brother's statement.

“You hear that, Bruce? I think our Jaybird has a girl.” Barbara smiles widely while the others are left speechless.

“I heard.” Batman's unmistakable deep voice sounds out through the comms. “Bring her to dinner at the manor.”

“Not a chance!” Jason exclaims above the roar of his motorcycle's engine. He yanks the earpiece out before his family could even speak their piece. Their muffled voices echo into the night as he decides to patrol around the city on his own. Preferably without his family's nosey selves.

—

“I told you, not a chance.” Jason plops down on his couch, the springs bouncing briefly under his weight as he unlaces his boots. “Babe, absolutely not.”

“Well, it's the perfect chance.” You bite the inside of your cheek, phone tucked in between your shoulder and cheek while you spread butter on toast. “I'm going to visit you in a week and I could finally meet your family then! Two birds with one stone.”

Dead on his feet, he forgoes yanking off his boots to rest his head against the back of the couch, staring at his popcorn ceiling. Maybe he should scrape that off for you, just in case you don't like the look of it.

“A week's time, huh?”

“Imagine that, a year of being together and we can finally see each other in person.” He could hear the excited grin from your tone.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Shoot, Jaybird.” Your use of the word isn't lost on him, making him smile as he hears you take a bite of your breakfast.

He has never gotten used to the time difference. When it's the dead of night on his side, you're just about to wake up. There's pros and cons about it, usually cons since there's not enough time in the world to speak with you. But all the sleep he lost during all the conversations he had with you, either nonsense or full of affection, is all worth it just to hear your voice.

It all started from a pen pal service that his therapist recommended so he could talk to someone and hopefully make a friend. He still has his issues but having someone to talk to has made him better, feel less alone and feel less shit about everything. Whenever he opens his eyes in the morning, his heart no longer beats like a drum the moment he wakes. And the world doesn't seem so bleak, that it doesn't feel like it's beating him down just because it's him. And it wasn't all thanks to you, like you've always told him, the progress is all because of him and how he chooses to make everything around him. And just like what he always tells you, you've been a guiding light on that path.

Then it went uphill from there, a one page letter turned into two, then to three, then it's as if he's writing a college essay and sending it to you. If college essays are about the books he's hate reading and what he did that day. After a year of letters, the two of you finally took a leap forward and exchanged numbers. It was slow at first, but it was the greatest decision he ever made. The first time he heard your voice could be compared to finding bottled water in a desert. Then the first video call with you would be him seeing an oasis. A year of phone calls and late night talks has finally come to fruition with you visiting Gotham.

“What are you eating?”

You almost choke on the piece of toast, chuckling while coughing through the receiver. “And here I thought you were going to ask something more paramount.”

“Asking what you're having is paramount because you eat nothing but toast in the morning.”

“Toast is good enough, Jason.”

He sighs, starting to unload his weapons from his holster to the coffee table. “Not enough for my girl since you're anemic. Seriously, babe, you need something more filling and healthier than that.”

“Oatmeal makes my stomach ache, Jay.” You say whilst mid-chew.

“I know it does, and I'm not just talking about oatmeal.” His tone is laced with so much endearment that you almost left your toast to cook an omelette instead. “You could have eggs and bacon, pancakes, or hell, even an everything bagel.”

“That sounds like toast with extra steps.”

Chuckling, he shakes his head, chucking off his boots as it thumps on the floor. “When you get here I'm making you a breakfast spread.”

“Says the man who only eats cereal in the morning.” You say in a sing-song lilt as you finish your breakfast. Or according to Jason, a half-assed breakfast.

“You don't want me to cook for you?” Brows furrowing, phone tucked in between his shoulder and cheek, he yanks off his jacket, tossing it next to him.

“Of course I want that.” You say softly, almost a whine as your mind concocts a sweet scene where he brings you breakfast in bed. “You'll even make me waffles with cinnamon?”

“Anything you want, sweetheart.” A smile appears on his tired face, hand brushing along the silver bracelet you've sent him. “Make a list of all the food you want so when you get here I'll make it all.”

“Even if it's like… shepherd's pie or pizza?” Your heart feels full, even just the notion of him talking about wanting to cook for you fills you with glee.

“Sounds like a challenge. I'll fucking make it all from scratch.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“Even if you have to bring it to your dad's place?” Jason can practically hear how you bite your lip shyly from your question.

“Babe.”

“What?” You ask innocently as you enter the bathroom, voice bouncing off the tiles.

“I know what you're doing.” Standing up with a groan, he heads towards his bed, immediately flopping down on it from the fatigue clinging to his bones.

“What exactly am I doing?” You place the phone near the sink, propping it up with a facial wash bottle and putting the call on speaker. The whole thing is familiar to the both of you, something so mundane and yet so special.

“Get dressed, you'll be late.” His cheek is pressed on the pillow, one eye open as the screen illuminates his face.

“C’mon, Jay! Please? If I turn on my camera right now—”

“Don't tempt me.” That makes him sit up by his elbows though.

“Why, because you can't resist?” He knows you're wiggling your brows right now even if he can't see you.

“No, because you'll be late.” It takes for his iron clad restraint from saying yes to you.

“Please?” You open your camera and bat your lashes. “Oh nice temple, babe.” Teasing, you remind him of the time when he accidentally opened his camera for the first time and you only saw his temple during the whole call because you were too shy to tell him.

He pulls the phone back to see you, but before opening his camera he makes sure that the domino mask is off. “You really want to meet them?”

Seeing you in all of your glory under the white fluorescent lights of your bathroom has his muscles relaxing almost immediately. The thought of you wanting to see his family has his chest feeling warm. He finds that you have that effect on him.

“Only if you want me to. I won't push it anymore if you tell me otherwise.” Gazing at an obviously tired Jason makes you want to jump on a plane and cuddle him until he feels better. Or at least make him feel like the world isn't weighing him down.

“So you were just being a little shit?” Twisting around, Jason lays comfortably on his pillow, smiling whilst you put toothpaste on your toothbrush as if he's really there with you. Standing beside you and rubbing away the crusts in your eyes.

You blow raspberries, head tilting with a chuckle. “Always. I like to keep you on your toes.”

Sighing, a palm placed on his forehead, he looks into your eyes and wishes that you were beside him, hogging the blanket. “I'll…think about it.”

“Okay, that's good.” Your beaming smile lightens up his whole demeanor even further. “Should I pack a fancy dress—?”

Rolling his eyes, he can't ignore the call of sleepiness as he sinks further into the mattress. “You'll be late, I'll see you in a week.”

“Look for someone in red.” You wink.

—

At the airport, he looks for someone in red. Sure enough, you sport a red dress that hugs you in all the right places. But his crushing embrace feels much more comfortable as he greets you with the best hug you've ever felt. Greet is an understatement, Jason almost tackled you to the ground when he first saw you coming out of the gate looking like his dream come true. He even accidentally ripped his welcome banner that he refuses to admit took him hours to do. “It has glitters,” he proudly said with a puff of his chest as he held you against him.

All the awkward tension you thought you would have with him was gone the minute he wrapped his arms around you. The two of you fell perfectly together like puzzle pieces.

“Hi, Jaybird.” Leaning away, you cup his face affectionately, thumbs running along his freshly shaven jaw. “You're way hotter in person.”

His head lolls back in laughter, arms wrapped around you with a gentle squeeze. “I knew you'd say that.”

“And your ego's bigger too.” You poke his chest, and it feels like you're poking a brick wall.

“You’re not too bad yourself— my eyes are up here, babe.” With a hand on your chin, he takes your attention away from his well toned chest that you most certainly can see through his plain black shirt. Maybe he should've worn white just for this occasion.

“Hmm?” Your gaze lingers for a second too long before looking up at him.

“Hmm,” he hums teasingly. “I was saying that the screen doesn't do you any justice. You're gorgeous, fucking beautiful.”

You giggle as he peppers your face with quick kisses. “Any more adjectives?”

Leaning away, Jason cups your face in his warm hand, happiness radiating off him in waves. “Maybe more after we get home.”

Home, that makes your stomach do a cartwheel and your heart leaping in place. “Please don't tell me you scraped off the popcorn ceiling, it gives the place character.”

He sucks in his teeth, wincing as he carries your bag effortlessly for you with enough space to hold your hand. “Should've said that before, babe.”

“Aw, that's fine, your books are enough to make the place homey.” Nuzzling his bicep, you still can't believe that you finally get to hold him, even moreso, to stay with him and kiss him just like how you imagined.

“That and the pot roast I made for you.” Jason's gaze upon you is saccharine, probably sweeter than the apple pie he made that's waiting for you.

“You didn't!” Your giddy voice rings around the airport as he guides you outside and towards home.

—

When Jason first said his father is well off, you expected a mcmansion with six bedrooms with its own bathroom, and roman pillars where it shouldn't be, not a literal manor that's the size of your hometown's mall. After he told you that his adopted father is Bruce Wayne, you thought he was joking at first. Even before you stepped off that plane you still thought that he was fucking with you. Now that you're staring at the proof, you should've anticipated seeing all of these, but you know that nothing could've prepared you once you're right in front of it.

He notices the look on your face as he pulls the car around the roundabout where a gorgeous gothic fountain lies in the middle of it.

“You look worried,” parking, he clicks his seatbelt off to twist in his seat and hold your hand. “I did tell you about my family right?”

“Uh huh.” Nodding, dumbfounded by the sheer size of the façade, you feel like you've shrunk down and you're looking up at your childhood dollhouse. “It's fucking huge.” You say with a sigh, face practically smushed against the car window as you roam your eyes at every tiny detail of the manor.

“I’ve heard that before.” He chortles, chuckling even more when you pinch his side playfully. “What?”

“You better not say stuff like that once we're inside.” Despite your words, you beam at him.

“Or what, hm?” Leaning closer until his breath fans your cheeks, and his cologne wafts against your nose, a breath staggers in your throat. “What are you gonna do, sweetheart?”

When he expects for you to fluster, you take on the challenge to prove him wrong. Your hand meets his collar, pulling him to you, his lips meeting your own. For a moment, the car fills with the sounds of lips smacking together as his hands roam and grip your waist, effectively wrinkling your dress.

When you pull away, he hasn't had enough. Clicking off your seatbelt to free you and hold you closer, he chases your cherry coated lips and kisses you fervently and ignoring the way your lipstick transfers to him.

Jason feels like he can kiss you forever but alas, you needed air. Once he reluctantly pulls away for your benefit, you inhale deeply, irises blown out, lips a mess with gloss sticking to places where it shouldn't be.

Your guffaw sends his heart aflutter as much as the kiss did. “Oh that is not your color, Jaybird!”

“It's not? Well I'm hurt, babe, I thought I'd match with you.” He says in between bouts of laughter, thumb cleaning up the edges of your lips.

“Hold on, you'll stain your fingers, I have a handkerchief.” Giggles subsiding, you take it out from your purse then you gently dab it on his lips, wiping away the residue of the kiss. “There, you don't look like a clown anymore.”

“Speak for yourself.” Smiling, he takes the cloth from you and does the same around your lips. He wipes away with precision, concentration evident on his face, the tip of his tongue poking in between his slightly pinkish lips. You smile through it all. “There, now everyone won't know.”

“That we've sinned? Good thing I wore a dress with a high collar.”

He dramatically winces. “You better not say stuff like that once we're inside.” Intertwining his fingers around your own, bringing it up to his lips, eyes never leaving yours, he places a gentle kiss on your knuckles. “Did that help with your nerves?”

“A little bit, yeah.” Sighing with a smile, you kiss the inside of his wrist. “Do I look okay? Maybe I should change, or maybe the wine we brought isn't enough—”

“You look more than okay, you look fucking amazing.” He says affectionately. “And the wine we got is enough, it's Alfred's favourite so you're already good in his book. You don't have to worry, especially with them liking you.”

Tilting your head, you rest your chin atop the intertwined hands. “Yeah, well I still want them to like me. It's Bruce fucking Wayne, just sitting in his driveway is nerve wracking enough. And your siblings… you made them sound like they're the best because they are and I just don't want them to hate the girl their brother is dating.”

“Bruce is just Bruce. The playboy rich guy isn't his thing when he's home. To us he's just some nerd who occasionally leaves his bedroom to show face at a board meeting.” He'll one day tell you about the detective and vigilante side of the oldest Wayne and the rest of his family while you're still reeling from the truth of his late night ‘job’. But for now, he just worries about you having a good time and not running away screaming before dinner starts. “And my siblings, they're like any other sibling, fucking insufferable.” He says the last word fondly. “You'll be okay, and they'll like you, if they don't, well they're not allowed at our place anymore.”

“Strip them off their access to your fridge? How cruel of you.”

“That's what they get. And you're not some girl I'm dating, you make it sound like you're the girl of the week I'm bringing to dinner just to annoy Bruce when you're in fact my girl.”

Your eyes sparkle as the sunset coats the horizon in warm orange and pink. “I better not be the girl of the week, Jason Todd.”

“With that dress on?” A low whistle echoes around the car. His eyes unabashedly roaming around your form, making you hide your giddy face behind the enclosed hands. “You’re the girl of the year, babe, and I predict that it'll be like that next year then the next and then the next—”

Your cheeks turn warm, and you couldn't help but cup his face tenderly in your hands. “Okay I get it, you romantic.” With a gentle press of your lips on his, eyes closed, smiling through it all before leaning away to see the lopsided smile on his handsome face. “I'm ready, let's go in.”

“Let's hope they're ready for you.” A kiss upon your forehead does the trick to make you feel braver.

—

Hand in hand, you and Jason walk up the steps towards the intricate door. Even the door is a work of art with its detailed art deco carvings. It even has one of those golden antique door knockers with a face on it.

Your hand is about to reach for it just as the door opens to your surprise. An older gentleman greets the two of you. He offers you a small smile, eyes sparkling when he meets Jason's emerald ones.

“Master Todd, this must be her.” He says in a posh British accent as you giggle nervously. “I've heard a lot about you, Miss.”

“You’re Alfred!” Recognition flickers on your face while Jason watches the interactions through smiling eyes. You grab his gloved hand, shaking it excitedly. “I've heard a lot about you too. All good things, don't worry.” You look at Jason affectionately, letting go of the smiling butler before you loop your arm around his own as he mirrors your soft expression. “Jason always has good things to say to his family.”

A slight shock appears on the older man's face. “Really?” Jason subtly shakes his head at him.

“Yeah, it's great to finally meet you—!” Something whizzes near your face, wind fluttering your lashes just before you could register Jason's hand in front of your flabbergasted face.

“Damian!” An unfamiliar voice echoes through the hallway, running footsteps getting closer to you. “Oh thank fuck you got it, Jason.”

“Master Tim, we have told you not to launch your drones inside the house.” Alfred says calmly, hands placed behind his back as he stands up straight. A direct contrast to how Jason looks with his silent fuming.

Jason is none too pleased when a small drone almost cuts your whole face with its whirring blades. The device squeaks out as Jason's grip tightens around it.

“You alright?” His expression softens when he turns to look at you.

“Yeah,” you exhale, chuckling shakily, palm patting his bicep. “I'm good, nice catch.”

“Shit, is that her?” The dark haired teenager raises his brow at you as a boyish grin spreads across his face. “Y’know, we thought you were imaginary for a second.”

“Nope, as real as I can be. You're Tim, right?” You say before winching when Jason crushes the drone in his grip as sparks fly out briefly. You're concerned about his hand for a second then you see his nonchalant face, he's seemingly unbothered about it, as if he crushes drones in his bare hands as a hobby. “Sorry about your toy.”

“I'm not.” Jason says gruffly as tiny plastic shards sprinkle down his hands then to the floor.

“Yeah…I'm Tim.” The poor kid watches the pieces fall near your feet. “And it's fine, it's not like it's a new prototype that I've been working on for weeks now.” Frowning, eyes narrowed at his brother, he looks like he wants to scoop it out from the carpet. One look at Jason and he folds, “sorry about almost hitting you. It was Damian's fault anyway.”

“Sure, blame the kid.” Another raven haired stranger walks in, this time, his arms are open, greeting you with a hug and a big grin which makes you embrace him back. You gotta hand it to him, he gives good hugs, probably a close second to Jason. “And here I thought you'd be some fifty year old dude living in his parent's basement that's catfishing my brother.”

You chuckle at his comment as he holds you at arm's length. He has one of those smiles that could make anyone trust him wholeheartedly, Jason has warned you about him. “You must be Richard! It's great to meet you.”

“That sounds too specific, Dick, did that happen to you?” Jason pinches the back of his brother's hand, prompting him to let you go with the roll of his blue eyes.

He scoffs, hands resting on his hips. “No. Actually, people use my pictures to catfish other people. The more you know.” Chuckling, scratching his jaw, he turns his attention back to you, smiling back. “So, wine!” Taking the bottle from your hand, he whistles lowly. “An ‘88? You know your way into my heart already.”

“How charming.” A dark haired boy suddenly appears from nowhere, and you almost jump from his abrupt appearance. There's an obvious remote control peeking from his trouser pocket, tucking it in further when you notice it. With a stretched hand, he gestures for you to shake it like some well mannered business man. “Damian Wayne.”

You take his hand, making sure that your grip is just right as if you're walking into an interview. “It's nice to meet you.”

“We thought you were a mere figment of Todd's imagination.” Damian grimaces when Tim throws his arm over the boy's shoulder, nudging him teasingly to add to his annoyance.

“Yeah, thank you for proving us wrong. We owe Alfred and Barbara some money.” Grinning, Tim pulls his little brother away just as Jason knits his brows together.

“You made a bet on—?!”

Dick clasps Jason's shoulder, shaking him in place as he looks over an irked Jason to address you. “Sorry about Barbara not being here, she has a thing—” Pulling Jason back, his expression says that he was about to lunge at his brothers. It has you grinning even more at their sibling interaction. “—at the station. And about my brothers, we got them on clearance.”

“It's alright.” Even with Richard's hold, it's your touch that has Jason calming down. His hand slides upon your back, rubbing circles and pushing you closer against him. “I'll get to meet her eventually.” Chuckling at his joke, you relax even more from Jason simply holding you, and feel less awkward by the first meeting as the minutes tick by.

“Will you be staying long in Gotham, Miss?” Alfred asks.

“Yes, or else Jason will huff and puff about it.” You say with affection, head laying against his bicep for a moment as he grips onto your waist with his warm palm.

“I don't huff and puff.”

“You do have the makings of the big bad wolf, Todd.” Even Tim snorts at Damian's joke. They look over to you and Jason whilst their blue eyes subtly crinkle at the corners from the sight.

Jason cracks a smile at the pair. “Yeah, sure. What's for dinner? We almost brought some lasagna today but we were too…” his green eyes sparkles mischievously as he glances briefly at you. “...busy.” Your eyes warn him.

“Dinner?” Dick blinks at the word as if it's in a different language before his brilliant blues widen at the realisation. “That's today?! I thought you two were just dressed like that to make us all feel bad!”

“You forgot?!” Jason winces, “I told you about it a week ago!”

“I was busy, okay!”

“There's supposed to be a dinner? Oh, I need to fire up the oven.” Alfred's face blanches, palm placed atop his forehead.

“Why didn't you tell us, Dick?!” Tim adds, smiling with mischief. You guess he doesn't truly care about the miscommunication, but he adds fuel to the fire just to watch it burn. “I would've called Barbs!”

“It's fine! We can just order something—” you try to placate Jason and Alfred at the same time. “It's really okay!”

“I could've made a roast.” Alfred blinks at his feet. “I am so sorry, miss. I will whip up something really quickly. Ordering out on this occasion is inadequate.”

“It's really alright, we can just have leftovers, right, Jason?” You turn towards the two arguing brothers.

“I told you to mark it on your calendar!”

“You should've reminded me!”

“I did!”

“Maybe you should've done it again!”

Meanwhile, Damian sits down on the foyer, watching it all unfold.

Calculated footsteps echo in the hallway, but you're too busy trying to tell everyone that it's alright for you to notice the new person in the room.

“Father.” Damian smiles as a large hand clasps his shoulder. “Richard forgot to tell everyone about dinner with Jason's lover.”

“Lover?” Jason makes a face at the word, pausing mid poke at Richard's chest. “You make it sound like we're having an affair, Dami.”

With one look from the man himself, you almost ducked behind Jason. Instead, you raise your head high, hand stretched to greet Bruce Wayne. No pressure at all.

“Mr. Wayne,” you inhale as he takes your hand. It's not his mere stature that's intimidating, it's his whole presence. It's as if your fight or flight response kicks in. You just chalk it up to nerves from meeting him. As you give him the most polite smile you could make, you exhale when he releases your hand. “It's nice to meet you, sir?” You fumble at the last second.

“Sounds like a question.” His brow raises, eyes flicking towards Jason, who sidles next to you.

You gulp down, stuttering with every word. “It's not a question— I'm sure, very sure, absolutely sure—”

“Stop playing, Bruce.” A familiar hand slides behind you as Jason stares back at him. “Y/N, Bruce, Bruce, Y/N.” Formally introducing the two of you, Jason's touch atop the small of your back helps with your stuttering self.

A smile etches on the older Wayne's face. “I was just teasing, Jason. It's great to meet you, and here I thought that he'd be a hopeless romantic forever. Just call me Bruce.”

His words calm your nerves down a smidge. “Bruce,” you test the name on your tongue, albeit unsure at first, but when he smiles even more, you genuinely beam back. “You look a lot taller than on TV.”

The man chuckles, your heart swells when you made the Bruce Wayne laugh. “We’ll help Alfred with dinner, Y/N, make yourself at home.”

“Oh thank you, that's nice but I want to help. Can't let you all have the fun.” You smile at Jason sweetly, a look that the whole family doesn't miss, especially when Jason gives you the same rare saccharine look.

“You'll make your signature toast?”

“Maybe in the form of garlic bread this time.”

Whilst the family leads you towards the kitchen, your hand never left Jason's, holding onto him with excitement and anticipation for the dinner ahead. If this is how they reacted to you, you wonder how they would be when you both tell them that you're moving in with him.

[hyperfix-wip]

🍿

Hey katy you still giving out writing tips? Cause uh. I wanna learn to be as good at descriptions as you. And also i would like to ask if you have writing tips for dialogue. Cause i mean i think im a good writer but i want to be better. Cause i wanna start making scripts to act in and stuff like that </3

YESSS I DOOOOOOOO and i love answering them!!!!! Again im not a professional whatsoever im just speaking from experience and what I've learned so far!

Hmmm tbh i think i over describe stuff wayyyy tooo much 🤣🤣 but i guess that comes from just observing a lot of things bc im not a talkative person so i tend to look at every little detail of where im at and that kind of translates to how I describe stuff (and honestly i hold back 😂) what i usually do is that i place myself in the scene im writing so I want the readers to feel the same way too like they're right in that scene too. So I tend to describe the weather (which is my fav) how they're feeling, what the characters are doing are they standing up, are they sitting adjacent to the mc? Like those tiny details really make the scene feel more alive. Add the place where they're at too, if the place is something as common as a library, a bank or a simple street then i tend to describe the tinier stuff around it bc ppl already know what that place tends to look like. Same goes for food, sometimes smaller description is better especially if the reader probably already knows what it smells/taste like. If not then you can describe it as best as you can. Also over describing things aren't always the best for example if your scene is fast paced and u want the reader to feel that it is then simple is definitely better. And don't underestimate paragraph breaks! It helps to distinguish the action much better and it makes the scene feel slower or even give tension if done well. Could also be used to make things feel quicker too

As for dialogue the same goes to the first part bc i tend to listen around me at what ppl say and how ppl tend to speak to each other. But of course realistic isn't always the best bc that tends to be boring sometimes. So I guess what i usually do is think of what I'll reply in that situation and then think of something more clever like how you do when you're in an argument but hours later while in the shower you think of a better comeback at them. Also be insane/jk 🤣 and talk to yourself lol Sometimes embodying both characters in a scene helps in creating better dialogues! Also reading good books and good cinema/ shows that has all the fixings you want to learn is a great way to see how the professionals do it!

You are a great writer! It just takes some time to realize what you're capable of bringing to life

[hyperfix-wip]

Hobie, honey, can you tell us who said that to you? 😊 just need to have a chat—

I have flown down to hand you a request for your screening event! Happy second anniversary!!

Love and monsters with 📽️ and vampire Hobie? Perhaps dancing in the night rain with r??

- 🐦‍⬛

VAMPIRE HOBIE MY BELOVED 😍 thank you for requesting, bestie! ❤️

Pairing: Vampire! Hobie Brown x fem! Reader

Word count: 1.5k

Tags: No use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader except for clothing, vampire AU, hunter! Reader, set in my 'in pursuit of blood series,' cw food mentions, fluff!

Second anniversary celebration 🎉

Navigation

My requests are open!

You have no idea what's up with Hobie recently but he has been down in the ditch to put it lightly. He's sulking, whenever you come across him around the house, his shoulders are slumped, wistfully sighing, and his usually bright red eyes are dimmer, glossed over like you forgot his birthday. You checked, and it's not even close to being his birthday or an anniversary or any special event.

When you start to walk over to him, he doesn't even glance at you nor run away. He just stays there, looking at a flickering candle or outside the window whilst you try to ask him what's wrong or placate him with your kind touch. It's unusual, the house used to feel alive, cheery and warm, now it feels like how it used to before you dropped the wooden stake that was aimed at his heart and loved him instead. It's dark and cold, the perfect vibe for a vampire's abode, but not for this vampire.

It's just like any other day in the manor, you wake up to an empty coffin unlike before where you would wake up to his kisses and embrace. With a concerned sigh, you don your robe and go out trekking around the manor to find him. It's unusually cold in the halls, you miss Pav's spells lingering in the kitchen, Gwen's loud footsteps, and Miles' presence in the drawing room. They're still at camp, maybe that's why he's all brooding? The nest is empty and he misses them? But he was so excited when he realized that you two would be alone for weeks while they're away, or perhaps he has grown tired of you? You wish that wasn't the case and he's just having some vampire blues.

You found him being mopey around in the living room this time, chin resting on his palm as he stares outside where the last remaining sunset slowly drenches the sky in deep purple and blues.

“Hobie, you hungry?” You tentatively ask, palm gently grasping at his nape as you duck to meet with his eyes.

“Not really, lovie.” His tone is small, and yet heavy in your bones. It's impossible not to feel his sadness through his voice.

Thunder rolls in the distance, lightning piercing the sky. Great, rain, that'll definitely lighten his mood.

“How about you go help me with breakfast, hm?” Your thumb glides along his cold skin as he avoids your eyes. “You can make a fruit smoothie, you like using the blender.”

Hobie shakes his head, pulling his legs closer to him as rain drenches the whole yard. The cold rolls in, thunder and lightning striking in the distance.

“Or maybe not, it's not a smoothie kind of day anyway.” Trying to smile, you sit adjacent to him on the window nook. “Maybe some tea would be better.” Mumbling, you rest your back against the padded wall, velvet fabric soft on your skin.

Not a single word uttered by you is missed by Hobie's ears. “D’you want me to make some for you?”

Inhaling, you mirror his position, tucking in your legs as you watch raindrops drench the stained glass window. “That would be nice, but I'm way more comfortable here with you.” Your gaze softens, smiling fondly at him.

“Jus’ say the word, yeah?” With a nudge on your foot, he turns back towards the window.

“Yeah, stay here with me, would you?”

“I'm the first bloke ‘ere, love.”

“It's never just a ‘yes’ or ‘no’ answer with you, hm?” You tease, nudging him back as you manage to pull a small smile from him.

“Where's the fun in that?” He raises a brow, eyes twinkling.

Chuckling, you turn back towards the window as you hug yourself to shield from the cold.

For what could've been hours, the two of you stay there in silence. Just savouring each other's presence, watching the grey clouds dance around the sky as the lightning illuminates it.

“You know what this weather reminds me of?” You ask, hoping he'd answer.

“What does it remind you of?”

You close your eyes for a moment. “That one time you helped me with that merman near the docks. It rained just like this.”

“We both smelled like bloody fish for days.” Scoffing, the corner of his lips tug into a gentle smile.

“Yeah, I had to scrub until my skin was raw.” Turning towards him, you nudge him again with your foot as he takes his attention to you. “But you did help me from turning into fish food.”

“The only time my earplugs helped outside of concerts.” His heart swells at the memory of you thanking and hugging him with relief for the very first time. “I still don't understand why a merman with an ugly mug could enchant you, lovie.” A lightning illuminates the side of his handsome face.

“Please, he was, to quote you, ‘bloody fit for a fishman.’” You scoff, rolling your eyes, fists unfurling as the tension you felt before dissipates.

He scoffs back, legs unfolding, eyes turning lighter as he gazes at you tenderly. “Please, ‘m more—”

“But you're more fit though.” You interrupt, smiling at the growing smile on his face.

His fangs peek in between his lips, chin laying on his clavicle for a second before turning back to you and opening his arms. “That's the only right answer. C’mere.”

“I've won the grand prize then.” Your victorious giddyness is prevalent as you slot yourself between his legs, back laying on his chest as he wraps his arms around you. Nuzzling your face on his skin, you sigh, chin pressed on his chest.

“Love?”

“Hm?”

“D’you think ‘m cold?”

“No, I feel very warm right here actually.” You say with your whole heart as you close your eyes, letting the sounds of rain lull you.

“That's not what I meant—”

You abruptly lean away to face him, palm cupping his cheek. “I know what you meant. And my answer is the same. You're warm, Hobie. Despite the cold bloodedness, you're the warmest person I've ever met. Warmer, kinder than anyone. I've never shivered in your presence.”

“It's never jus’ a ‘yes’ or ‘no’ answer to you, hm?” You nod, pecking the tip of his nose. His crimson eyes threaten to spill over. Hands grasping onto your hips, he slumps over you, head resting right on your chest. “Thank you, love.” Whispering, he gently presses a kiss upon your clavicle.

“Anytime,” you say, muffled against the top of his head. “Can you tell me who said that to you? Y’know, just for research. I've got a new set of arrows I want to try out.”

Chuckling lowly, he lifts his head up from your chest, palms cradling your face. “It doesn't matter now. I've got you ‘ere with me, that's all that matters.”

A loud thunder rattles the whole house, almost making you jump in your skin. Hobie's touch was enough to calm you. Your heart swells at his words, and you're sure that he can hear it beat louder than the thunder.

“This also reminds me of that one time I called you to pick me up from the bus stop.”

He leans away, eyes narrowing suspiciously at you. “Love, no—”

“Love, yes.” You giggle enthusiastically, squeezing his cheeks. “What do you say, Hobart Brown, dance with me in the rain once again?”

“I was drunk and—” the sparkle in your eyes makes him back out on his words. “I'd be chuffed to dance with you in the rain.” You grin already standing up and tugging him by the hand. “But don't blame me if you get sick.”

“No promises!” Giggling, you lead him to the front door, opening it excitedly as you continue down the wet steps.

The rain seeps into your robe and sleep clothes immediately, drenching you from head to toe as you jump around the wet grass. Hobie watches your plucky dancing with a grin, chortling when you almost slip if not for his hand.

Pulling and pushing his arms in a little dance, he thinks you look marvellous in the rain, the grey clouds acting as your backdrop and the sounds of the raindrops falling on the roof as your music.

After a minute of being entranced by you, Hobie joins you in the dancing, stomping around, arms holding you in a sort of punk version of a waltz that has you dizzy and giggly even more.

Pulling you closer as you wrap your arms behind his neck, you sway each other in the breeze. He's as drenched as you, water dripping on his jaw, curls sticking to his forehead. With lightning striking behind him, lighting his form and enveloping him in light, you feel warm despite the cold rain seeping into your clothes.

“Did this help you? Even just a little bit?” You say above the rain as you gaze at him sweetly.

“The rain or you?”

“The rain, I suppose making you feel much better will come after when I— we have to bathe together to save water, don't you think?” His crimson eyes glow underneath the darkness, hands squeezing your waist, fang poking his bottom lip in anticipation.

“You're right, love. There's a nationwide drought. But why do we have to wait until the rain stops?”

You already know what he's up to before he could even lift you off your feet and carry you back into the house.

[hyperfix-wip]

Poor James 😭🤣 (even though I was laughing the whole time)

Imagine summer with TTN crew. (I love them all sm) maybe they all go to the beach? Having a sandcastle competition? Surfing in the ocean? Having yummy cold drinks and icecream? AHSHSB so cute

Ahhhhh the ttn gang!!! I missed them!! Thank you so much for requesting! I hope you see this ❤️

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

Word count: 1k

Tags: No use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader (except for clothing), Set in my thread the needle series, best friends to lovers au, fluff!

Navigation

James wakes up to a seagull squawking at him. Instead of the sun and the sea greeting him from his nap, the bird's beady eyes gaze at him like he's a piece of fallen french fry. Its face is so close to his own that he thinks that its beak will start poking his eyes out. And yet when he tries to move away, he can't.

Paralyzed, his eyes widened in panic, immediately yelling out until the bird flew away. “Help!” Instead of his bandmates’ concerned faces, Yuri's laughter echoes in his ears. His worry encapsulates him when he realizes that his entire body is buried underneath piles of sand that they specifically molded and sculpted like a mermaid's body. “You fuckers!”

Yuri's smug face shows up in his peripheral. “Aww, a bit stuck in there, Jamesy?”

“Yuri—! I knew it was you!” He tries to wiggle out, the sand manages to topple over a bit, destroying the intricate details of the seashell bra. “Let me out of here! Ned!”

Yuri clicks her tongue playfully as she crouches beside him. “Ned had to pick up the love birds since their van broke down on the way here.” She has her signature cheshire cat smile, fingers walking atop the sand sculpture until it stops near his nose, pinching him teasingly to his increased annoyance. “No one's going to save you, James.” Her tone lilts as James tries to kick about under the sand to his frustration, slowly escaping out of it. He has to give it to Yuri, she packed it in real good. Which is concerning to say the least.

“Yuri, come on!”

“I did tell you not to fall asleep! At least I put the umbrella next to you so you don't turn into a raisin.”

“Yeah, sure, thank you, Watanabe!” James continues to wiggle around desperately when she starts to shake a potato chip bag in front of him and threatens to spill it all over the sand on top of him. “Don't you dare—!”

“I was gone for twenty minutes!” Ned’s voice peaks, disappointment laced in his tone. “Get James out of there, Yuri.”

“Finally! My saviour!” James cries out.

You lug your beach bag around, stifling a bout of laughter at James’ expense. While Hobie full on guffaws next to you, carrying the water cooler and a backpack around his shoulder. The beach is packed just like how you predicted, but it's still breathable despite the number of beach goers. The sun is perfectly warm, and the sea breeze kisses your cheeks as it passes by. While the waters are gentle enough to swim around in without worrying about the rough waves. The surfers might be disappointed to see it but it's so calm that the mere sight of it eases you.

You're dressed for comfort, linen shorts and a breezy blue blouse that matches the ribbon on your sunhat. Even Hobie left his iconic leather at home in favour of keeping cool. He's dressed for the warm weather, too well as his loose tank top shows his toned torso out to the whole beach and free for you to ogle whenever you please. The sun cascades around him, and you almost forget about the situation at hand when your eyes start to follow a bead of sweat dripping down his neck.

Pinching his bicep, you try to tamp down his laughter before his stomach starts to hurt. Clearing his throat, he exhales, tears prickling at the corner of his eyes while he makes a show of wiping it away under his sunglasses. One look from you has him straightening out. Poor James pouts in his sandy prison.

“I wasn't laughin’ at you, mate, I was…laughin' at the seagull that passed by.” His palm slithers on the small of your back, then his hand casually slides inside your back pocket. You roll your eyes, hiding the fact that you want to do the same to him while he sports his denim shorts with its frayed edges. “Yeah, it had a whole pizza in its beak, you should've seen it.”

“A whole pizza?! I couldn't fucking see it because of Yuri!”

Yuri mouths a ‘good save’, giving him a thumbs up. While James burrows further into the sand from embarrassment.

“Yuri has to dig him out alone.” Ned is the disappointed parent as he helps Hobie place down all your shared belongings on the sand in the small patch the group has claimed.

“What?!” The ravenette immediately protests. While James blows raspberries at her mockingly. “Can I at least get some help from gorgeous?”

“No,” Hobie answers for you, eyes narrowed suspiciously at her as she smirks. “You buried him by yourself, you can dig him out alone.”

“Sorry, Yuri.” You shrug, biting your lip to stop a giggle as she dramatically lays on the sand and groans face first into it. “I still have to change into my swimsuit, maybe after—”

“A swimsuit you say?” She immediately lifts her head up, twisting around, chin placed atop her palm as she raises a brow with her eyes twinkling mischievously.

Hobie side steps in front of you like you're already wearing your swimsuit, shaking his head at his drummer. “I jus' remembered, Yuri, that you don't know how to swim.”

Pulling him away by his belt loops, you scoff with a roll of your eyes. You'll be lying if you said that Hobie being so sweetly protective of you, albeit playfully with his best mate, doesn't make your heart leap in your chest.

“You wouldn't dare, Hobart.” They have a staredown as you sigh, letting him go. Sitting down on the beach chair beside an equally tired Ned, you accept his offer of a soda while the two argue around James.

“Well, here's to summer.” Ned raises his soda can at you before you gently tap yours to his.

“Here's to summer, and good friends.” You say with a smile whilst Hobie wrangles Yuri on the sand, teasing that he'll throw her into the deep end. The sound of the waves together with laughter eases you in place as you let the sun shine on you.

“Guys? I need to pee.” James says with a whine as sand flings at his face whilst the two continue to tumble and wrestle.

[hyperfix-wip]

The way I was giggling from the first two excerpts and then got sucker-punched by the zombie one 😭 I’m not ready, I need to get more ice cream and blankets or something—

WIP WEDNESDAY

I've been working on a few oneshots!! Deity au is going smoothly and if I lock tf in i could finish it soon! The second one is a jason req and im so lowkey excited for you guys to read it!! Lastly it's the zombie au coming back with a vengeance!!

Reminder that my requests are still open!!! I very much still need some ekko, ghost, gaz, aaron and jason!!! And hobie too 🤭

“Me and Agatha will keep you awake.” Smiling at the horse, she nibbles on a piece of hay. “Besides, she's still too weak to move around.” “You named it?” Hobie asks from the bed, sitting crossed leg that reminds you of the days where you and a few friends would read on the grass.

“Absolutely, I couldn't just call her horse, that'd be rude.”

“What are you eating?” You almost choke on the piece of toast, chuckling while coughing through the receiver. “And here I thought you were going to ask something more poignant.” “Asking what you're having is poignant because you eat nothing but toast in the morning.” “Toast is good enough, Jason.” He sighs, starting to unload his weapons from his holster to the coffee table. “Not enough for my girl since you're anemic. Seriously, babe, you need something more filling and healthier than that.”

“My boots would fit you now.” Hobie stifles his hurt, eyes glancing at your swollen feet briefly before staring at the same pain in your eyes. “Maybe, I'm going to need maternity clothes soon.” Inhaling, you purse your lips together. “I'm going to wear all those old lady dresses with the plain daisies and bland colours. You won't think I'm fit anymore.” Your knuckles brush alongside his arm. “Nah, you're still peng in my eyes, lovie. Even if you dress up as Yuri's grandma.” Taking your hand, he twists it gently to hold onto you better.

[hyperfix-wip]

The way I was hooked on this chapter 😭😭😭 I fucking gasped and everything

Set Sail

Pairing: Pirate! Hobie Brown x fem! Reader

Word count: 7.3k

Synopsis: Setting off with a brave face towards the deep blue.

Tags: Use of Y/N sparsely, no specific physical description of the reader, pirate AU, established relationship, a sequel to BDAS, CW violence, CW injury, Vomit mention.

Navigation

Beyond the Sea of Night Masterlist

Chapter 7 >>> Chapter 8

“Right, so it's just you and Hobie staying the night?” Riri flicks her eyes at you and Hobie with a knowing look.

“Yeah, just us.” Your hand never left the back pocket of his trousers. Buzzed from the alcohol, the smile on your face is sewn permanently on as your eyes slightly glaze over.

Hobie waves the others out the door while they stagger back towards the harbour, grumbling how you two beat them to the punch. He sneakily places a handful of coins inside Davey's pocket before the old man could protest. Clayton offered the old pirate a night in one of the rooms free of charge, but Davey just mumbled about not leaving his potted plant all alone in his shack. The warm smile is evident on his face though when he exits the tavern.

“Just…” The brunette scrunches her face and shakes her head as she hands you a key to a room upstairs. “...keep it down, yeah? Remember, we live here too.”

Chortling, you feel the two slices of pie weigh heavy in your stomach. “We're going to pass out, Riri, so you don't have to worry about that.”

Hobie whips his head so fast at you that you thought you heard something crack. “We what?”

Craning your neck at Hobie, squeezing him, you place the key inside his vest pocket. “Can you check the room out? I'm going to grab some water for when we wake up with a headache.”

“A headache? We don't want that now, lovie. You goin’ to screw my head in.” With a goofy smile, index drunkenly gesturing around his head, eyes red from the rum and a bit wobbly on his feet, he pats the key in his pocket. He then leans towards you for a kiss, albeit clumsily as he aims for your cheek but lands on your eyelid instead with a resounding smack before heading for the stairs. “‘m goin’ to make sure that there's no lizard in our bed.”

You blink at his slurred words. “Yeah, you do that, Hobs.”

Sending a drunk wink, he heads up the stairs while you watch him almost crawl up on all fours, afraid that he might tumble down.

“I don't know how you did it but he's absolutely wrapped around your finger.” Riri rolls her eyes, sliding a pitcher of water on the counter over to you. “I don't remember him being like this since MJ—” she winces, immediately regretting her words. “—shit, sorry.”

“No, it's alright, don't apologize.” Your hand wraps around the cool pitcher, feeling the cold ceramic under your searing palm. “The love was there, and you never regret love.”

Something flashes behind her eyes. “Even if it ended that way?”

“Yeah, even if it ended that way.”

She nods along, “the love was there.” A soft smile etches on her lips.

You mirror her expression, “did you know her? MJ?”

“I did.” Swallowing thickly, she rests her elbows on the counter, index tapping alongside the pitcher. “And I think…I think that she'd be happy to see that Hobie's taken care of.”

“Do you think she'd be alright with all of this?” Gesturing around you, your brows knit together. “With everything that happened, with what her crew endured partly because of me?”

Riri opens her mouth to respond, but her grandfather interrupts by placing his cane right on the counter loudly with a thump. He sits on the stool beside you, twisting around to face you head on.

“Don't seek approval from ghosts, kid. It'll only end in more grief than you've given them before.”

“Grandfather—”

“They’re not her crew. Never have been.” His jaw tightens. “Mary Jane was a force, a traitorous force. And I should've seen it before all those pirates perished because of her.” He sneers, like salt sprinkled on his tongue as he says her name. The anger rolling off of him in waves that you could feel tide over you. “We lost good people because of her. Don't think for a second that a ghost will tell you that you've done a good job when they've never done such a thing when they were alive.”

“Grandad, we don't talk ill of the dead.” Riri looks at him through her steely gaze.

Scoffing, he's furious, perhaps driven by the liquor in his veins, but his words don't slur nor stumble over the other. It's genuine anger for the woman you've never met, for the woman Hobie once loved.

“Not this one, sweetheart, this one, a traitor, a god damn navy spy— worse than a fucking mutineer, I'm free to curse at.”

“Clay—” you start but he continues.

“She hurt my boy,” his tone lowers, reddened eyes staring right into your soul. “No one gets to hurt my son like that. You better not do that to him, duchess, or I won't be so cordial with you.”

“I won't.” You respond without missing a beat. “I'll never hurt him. If I do end up doing it, Clayton, I give you permission to cut my head from my neck.”

Clayton's eyes widen briefly before clasping your shoulder. “I'll hold you to that.”

“Do you want it written down?”

Seemingly impressed, he grabs a piece of parchment from behind the counter as a half joke and a challenge. “Let's have it then.”

You don't back down, glancing at the paper for a second before taking an ink and quill from Riri's side of the bar. “Hand it over.”

Sliding the paper over to you without another word, he watches you write down the same words you uttered. Right under them is your name, signed and delivered back to the irate captain before you. His eyes widen in disbelief, that you've actually done it, but the way his chest puffs out settles that you're as much as a force like the stories he heard.

“If we're done here, I'm going to check on him.” Before you leave the bar with the water pitcher in hand, he calls you back by your name— not your so-called title, or kid, or doc, your name. The man before you still sends fear striking into your gut, but when you look over your shoulder, blank eyes staring right back at him with a subtle grimace— he looks small, tired and old.

“Can you do me a favor?” Taking his cane from the counter, he taps it on the floor, blemished calloused hands placed on the head as his eyes turn forlorn. “When you get to the islands, tell him that I'm sorry.”

Your anger dissipates at his words. “What do you mean?”

“Just… sorry.”

Riri stares at her grandfather with confusion, a twin expression that you also have on your face.

Sniffing, the older man waves his hand then slumps over himself. “Ah, never mind that, I don't even know what I'm even talking about.”

You step forward. “No, I think you do—”

“Doc,” Riri goes around the bar to help her grandfather off the stool as he sways on his feet. “He gets like this whenever someone close is about to leave. He doesn't want to admit it but he's going to miss you all.” Wrapping her arm over his shoulder, she smiles. “Go join Hobie, make sure he doesn't vomit all over the sheets, I just washed them.”

Staring at the pair, mind churning, you decide to head upstairs without another fight.

Sluggishly walking down the long hallway, you open the last door with a creak. Your footsteps echo around the room, dim and airy when there's only one lit oil lamp on the bedside table, and the windows wide are open to let the breeze in. The sounds from outside the tavern echoes in the room, mumbled words, coins clinking and footsteps thumping around the shambles. It's as if you're never truly alone in Mermaid's head. There's always someone awake, someone speaking, alive and trying to survive.

Pushing the door further, the sight of Hobie laying face first, long legs dangling off the canopy bed has your previous concerns fading away. His position makes you smile with endearment.

Placing the pitcher on the table, you grab his legs and gently rest them on the bed. You fold away the conversation you just had downstairs inside your mind for now, but for tonight, you gently unlace and take his boots off, slowly get rid of his vest, one arm after the other and then tuck him in the blankets lovingly. He looks peaceful, like nothing in the world worries him, like the world didn't beat him until he has scars to show for it. He's comfortable, safe as he softly snores above the goosefeather pillow.

As you lay your head beside him, you can't fathom a day that you'll hurt him. Never in all the days you started loving him think that one day you'll shatter his heart into a million pieces. Rolling the ring around your finger, you stare at the black pearl, similar to the one around his neck, you can never bring yourself to get rid of either— the ring and him, even if you wanted to. You love him too much, and right next to that love is deep affection that goes beyond everything. It's tattooed deep within your bones, and yet it's as simple as breathing, it's easy, the love you have for him. Betraying him— hurting him in ways that you could never think of will break you in half more than it'll break him if you do something similar to what she has done.

Right there and then, on the bed that smells like lavender and sea salt, your knuckles gently tracing over the curve of his jaw— you promise to him, to yourself, that the great love you harbour for each other won't end up crushed by the waves. *The love was there, but despite your own uttered words, you'll never forgive yourself if it ended that way.

—

“Promise me that you'll write to me about all the medical miracles you're going to do at sea.” Octavius seems to never let you go in her bone crushing hug.

“I promise—”

“My protégé!” She pushes your head further into her neck, almost suffocating you with her hair as she hugs you tighter. “You were the best apprentice I've ever had the pleasure of teaching!” You mumble something to her but it’s lost in the sea of curly hair. “I've got you something actually!” Finally pulling away, you inhale deeply whilst she rummages for something in her satchel. Once she finds it, she places it on your hand. “It's a pocket book filled with everything you need to know that we never got to cover because of the lack of time. I knew that we were never going to finish all of it in a month, so I wrote this all out for you. It has recipes, treatments and procedures, everything you'll need.”

“Oh, Doctor Octavius…I—” The book is thick, leather bound with a caduceus stamped right on the cover. It's hefty as you weigh it in your palm. “Thank you— for this and f-for everything.”

“No need to thank me, knowledge should be passed down, not kept in your head.” Tapping the book with her index, she smiles fondly at you, her eyes glossed over behind her thick glasses as her hand clasps your shoulder. “Just promise me that you'll pass this down to someone.”

“I promise, doctor.” You hug the book against your chest, expression mirrored as you nudge her. “Go, you've got that appointment with the headache man.”

She chuckles, placing her hands inside her skirt pocket casually. “I swear that he only comes back because he has a thing for me.”

“Your father wouldn't like that, Olivia.” Grinning, you giggle, reminiscing about your short time learning under her.

“Please, he'd rather see me marry a man with a hole in his head than die unmarried.” Shrugging, she glances at the galleon behind you as the crew begins to pull up the anchor. “Be careful, alright? I'd hate to see that pretty mind of yours go to waste because of a cannonball.”

“I'm good at dodging.”

With a final nudge on your arm, she begins to leave, eyes lingering between your form and the ship. “Remember everything I taught you?”

You poke your temple with a smile. “Right here.”

“Good, just remember, clean your instruments and cut under the elbow.” Saluting you, she disappears into the busy crowd. “Bon voyage, doc!”

“Thank you, doc.” Eyes trying to find her familiar hair in the crowd, you feel a poke on your side.

“Finally, I thought she'll never leave.” Riri tilts her head, smiling as you turn your attention to her. She taps her wooden leg against the dock, hands on her hips as she glances at Yuri behind you whilst she's carrying the last of the crates up to the gangway. “Can you do me a favour, doc?”

“Shoot.” You stare at her eyes knowingly. “Does this involve a certain someone?”

“Hah!” Her leg thumps on the dock again with a laugh. “Yeah, Miles, Gwen and Pavitr. You take good care of them, alright?”

“I will, don't worry, they're like family to me too.” You say with fondness, and she clasps your bicep with a squeeze as thanks.

“Good, they're great kids, even better as pirates. Just make sure they get back here in one piece.” She jokes, pulling you in for a quick hug. “And a certain someone too, I suppose.”

Chortling, you hug back with a pat on her back. “I’ll try my best, Ri.” Pulling away, you hold her at arm's length. “And thank you for everything, the warm welcome and the good food.”

“That's actually my job, so no need for thanks. I should thank you for paying Hobie's tab.”

“I still can't believe he ate that much pie and drank so much and still look like drift wood.” You say with a flabbergasted look whilst the tavern owner chuckles. “Don't get me wrong, I love his drift wood ass.”

“It runs in the family I guess.”

You blink. “What—?”

“Ri! There you are!” Miles interrupts, bounding towards the two of you with a grin. His satchel weighs heavy around him, a hand wrapped around rolls of parchment.

“There's my guy!” Patting Miles’ head, she throws an arm over his shoulder. “What do you have for me, Morales?”

“Portraits to add to your collection.”

Unraveling the scrolls, he shows each one of them to Riri while you take a not-so subtle peek. There are individual drawings of each original crew member, one has your likeness where you're smiling. Another with Hobie in his tricorn hat and sporting his signature smirk. And of course there are portraits for each of the bloodsail pirates. He even included a few portraits from the departed crew, Finn and Ned look like they're standing right there with the three of you, as if they're both taking a peek at their own pictures. Lastly, he pulls out a bigger piece of paper that has everyone in one drawing, a landscape where the crew are standing and posing on the deck.

“I even made this one with everyone in it.” His voice lowers, sniffing as he hides his bashfulness.

You and Riri coo at the sentiment, chest filling with warmth. The navigator just rolls his eyes, shoving the papers into Riri's arms. She chuckles lightly, ruffling his hair as he scoffs and tries to fix it.

“That's so kind of you, Miles.” A gentle hand clasps his shoulder, wiggling him in place as you gaze at him with fondness. “I especially like Finn's and Ned’s.”

“Aye, it really looks like them.”

“Thanks, I tried to remember what they looked like.” Mumbling, he gently smiles at the two of you. “I'll make another one with all the new crew in it too—”

“That's not the point, dad! You should've told me first!” Gwen's voice rises above the rowdy hubbub of the harbour whilst the rest continues on in loading the last minute supplies on board.

George's face contorts into pure agony, his hands hovering around his daughter as he whispers to her. Perhaps they're words filled with apologies or just to calm her down. But the way his expression tightens, shoulders slumping as they try to hide behind a pile of crates, his efforts seem to be in vain.

“Shit, here we go.” Riri sucks in her teeth.

“He still hasn't told her?” You ask Miles, wincing as Gwen flinches when George tries to grasp her hand.

“No,” Miles sounds dejected, watching the two murmur at each other with what you assume are venomous words. “He waited until the last minute.”

“That's shit behaviour.” Hobie's voice says behind the three of you, prompting you to look over your shoulder. He forces a smile on his face, arm placed over your shoulder as the tricorn hat hides his grey eyes from you. “Did you get to send your letters, love?”

“Yeah,” you nod, grimacing when Gwen’s voice peaks but her words are starting to sound incoherent from the tightness of her throat. Hobie looks worried for his first mate, while Riri has to hold Miles back before he could slide in between the pair. “I sent them yesterday together with the twin's letter.” You say with worry in your eyes.

“They were alright with that?” Hobie's gaze watches on between the scene in front of him then over to your concerned expression.

“Not really,” you sigh. “It was one of my requests for them. I guess I didn't want their parents to think that they're dead or worse. Did I do the right thing, Hobie?”

Gwen's words echo in your head, ‘One less worry.’ The twins would be an added worry, not just for you but for everyone else on board. Maybe George leaving would be the best, even if you feel strongly against his decision.

“I don't know, love. Maybe the wankers will appreciate it or maybe not, either way, you can't control it.” He ducks to meet with your downturned eyes, practically reading your mind. “It's out there already, *they're ‘ere already. There's nothin' else you can do ‘bout it. You've done your best.”

“I guess so.” Leaning against him, you flinch when Miles manages to escape Riri's hold and stomps towards Gwen and George with a determined look. “Should we stop him?”

“Nah, give him the benefit of the doubt, he might turn the tides for ‘em.” He squeezes your arm, pulling you closer until your head rests atop his shoulder.

“Did Mister Stacy tell you that grandad offered him a place at the tavern?” Riri adds, keeping the papers inside her coat pocket for safe keeping before crossing her arms. You and Hobie raise your brows at her. “Yeah, got him to become our runner and an every man at iron heart.”

“He's got it all figured out then.” Hobie scoffs out, palm rubbing along the length of your arm.

The three of you watch as Miles acts as the mediator, leading them away from prying eyes and towards a nearby alleyway.

“Perhaps there's a chance he could stay.” You utter under your breath, but the words aren't missed by the two pirates beside you.

“Or maybe he won't.” Riri turns to the two of you, opening her arms for a quick goodbye. Maybe to placate you or distract you, either way, it helps. You smile, reciprocating the hug as you wrap your arms around her.

“You already gave me a hug, Ri.” You grin, patting her bicep as she pulls away.

“That one was for goodbye, this one is just to make Hobie jealous.”

Sure enough, you turn your head to see Hobie sporting a flat look. “‘m not jealous.” He scoffs, earning a chortle from you and the tavern keeper.

“Sure, beanpole.” Her eyes shine fondly, Riri turns to him and opens her arms, which Hobie sighs at but soon returns the embrace. “You be good alright, captain? Doc might've paid your tab already but that doesn't mean you can't come back here.”

Snorting, Hobie moves away, cupping her elbow with a small smile. “Clover's still ‘ere, not to mention your rhubarb pie, a lot of reasons to come by I suppose.”

Riri snickers, rolling her eyes. “Fuck you, Brown.”

“Fuck you too, Williams.” They beam at each other while you watch the interaction with a tamped down chuckle. Riri would make a fine addition to the crew, but knowing where she and Clayton stand on going back to seafaring, they wouldn't even consider it.

There's the familiar thumping of wood against wood as Clayton closes the distance with his cane in hand. “I heard my name, you better not be cursing it, Brown.”

“I keep tellin’ you, the lad doesn't have respect for the elderly, Clay.” Thorpe walks beside him, bandoliers fully stocked with guns and bullets as if he's about to go to war. His ravens follow behind him, their dark eyes roaming around the ever moving crowd like always.

Hobie groans at the sight of them, head lolling back in annoyance. “What the fuck are you two doin’ ‘ere?”

“To see you off, you knobhead.” Thorpe scrunches his nose, shaking his head in disbelief. “What did I tell you?” He nudges the older man beside him. “Absolutely no respect.”

“I wouldn't fucking respect you either, Thorpe.” Clayton says off handedly, arms opening to embrace Hobie, which he hugs back with a grin. An act that doesn't surprise you one bit. “You're not allowed to die before me, kid.”

“Aye, can't have that now, old man.”

Meanwhile, the pirate council member clicks his tongue and ignores— or what looks like he's trying to ignore Clayton's words. “Will we see you back here again, bloody duchess?”

“Hopefully,” you pry your eyes from Hobie and Clay as they whisper something to each other. “Maybe next time we won't be greeted with guns in our faces.” To hell with fearing the big man, you're about to set off anyway. What is he gonna do, pull a gun at you?

The corner of his mouth twists up. “If you bring the immortal back, then we won't. I'll even hand you flowers when you get back.”

The staredown between you and Thorpe is interrupted by Clayton’s cane knocking against the damp dock.

“Try not to make a little version of you while you're at sea, alright?” Patting Hobie's cheek, he nods at him.

“Clay, c’mon, I've got an iron clad restraint.” Hobie chortles at his old man's words, and you shake your head subtly from Hobie's statement.

The older Williams lets him go with a click of his tongue. “She says otherwise.” He points at you before giving you a hand to shake. All the while Hobie makes a mocking face. “Doc.”

“Clayton.” You take his hand firmly, shaking it politely. A friendly acknowledgement for the other.

“Right, where're the others? I haven't bid my farewells yet to everyone.” Letting go, he looks around the busy dock for familiar faces.

“Pav's on deck with James and the others. Miles and Gwen are presumably talking to a brick wall in the alleyway.” Riri answers for you.

“They’re out there making out?” Her grandfather asks cluelessly. “That's a horrible visual.”

Sighing, Riri gently takes his arm and leads him away up to the ship. “No, that's not what I meant.”

“You said they were talking to a brick wall, that's not some kind of euphemism kids say these days?” Clayton's question fades in the background as they walk up the gangway.

“No, grandad.” She shakes her head, chuckling to herself as they bid farewell to the rest of the bloodsails with open arms.

It's just you and Hobie against a man who fancies himself as Blackbeard.

Jaw set, Hobie confidently places his hands on his hips as he defiantly stares Thorpe in place. The air turns electrifying, air heavy with their unwavering stares. There has always been tension between them ever since you met Thorpe on the Tempest, but this, it feels like they're about to bite each other's heads off. The ticket set Hobie off, crumpling and tossing whatever cordial feelings he had left for the tide turner.

You wonder how they were back then when Thorpe was his captain. There's clear respect for the other, perhaps that's the only thing that's keeping them from drawing their guns at each other's heads.

“Any last minute request you want us to do? Maybe you want a souvenir from the islands, hm? I heard that they make good noodles.”

Shaking his head, Thorpe swallows down what could've been a retort. Instead, he stares right at Hobie's grey eyes without backing down. “Jus’ need you to take one of my daughters with you.”

Eyes widening briefly, immediately steadying when he doesn't want to show his shock at the experienced captain. Your palms curl into fists, hidden behind your back as you glance at his daughters.

“Sure, why don't I take two of ‘em and make space jus’ for ‘em, hm? Hell, why don't I also bring Olga along? The more the merrier.” Hobie sneers.

Thorpe shakes his head whilst his daughters share a quick look. “Olga doesn't like how gaudy your ship is— no offense, love.”

“None taken.” You mumble, not leaving Hobie's side.

“You only need to bring one, Hobie. Besides, didn't you recruit less members to make space for loot?”

Hobie has a deep frown, jaw tightening even further. “Somebody once taught me that I have to make every journey count. We won't be sailin’ that long jus’ to fetch your man. If we see a ship to take then we fuckin’ take it.”

“I'm not opposed to that, lad. As long as you fulfill the ticket.” Thorpe takes a step closer. “One way of knowin’ that is for one of my girls to come on board so I have leverage that you'll be back ‘ere, that you'll actually do what you're told.”

“You're standin’ on my bloody neck, Thorpe. You didn't give me much choice but to do what you and the council asked.”

“It’s a ticket, Hobie, we're not exactly askin’ you, you're compelled. You do remember that you took an oath, yes?”

Hobie huffs, grey eyes swirling like a pair of whirlpools that are about to drag and drown the man in front of him.

The tension between them sizzles, sparks flying around as it threatens to light a fire underneath them.

Even Gayatri and Zarina look on edge, you probably look just the same. Before you could try to stomp at the embers and help calm the tides in between them, Davey Mullins sidles next to Thorpe. A grin is evident on his weathered face as he carries a beaten up leather bag on his shoulder and a potted snake plant in his arm. The leaves look well taken care of, soil properly nourished as the plant gently sways in the sea breeze.

“Hello!” His lightheartedness helps dissipate the flickering tension.

“Davey? What are you doing here?” You sigh in relief, thankful that his abrupt appearance helped.

“Gonna sail with the duchess and the captain just like before!”

Even Thorpe blinks at his words. “Davey, mate, you're not—”

“You still know your way around the ropes, Davey?” Hobie interrupts, and a clear irritation can be read on Thorpe's expression.

“Aye! Just give me a gun and I'll point and shoot at whoever you want, Captain!” His enthusiasm is inspiring to say the least.

You lean towards Hobie's ear, pinky wrapping around his own sneakily. “You sure about this, Hobie?”

“Absolutely not.” Whispering back, Hobie turns his attention back to the old man. “Welcome aboard, Davey Mullins!”

“Hobie.” You and Thorpe say simultaneously. For once you two could agree on something.

“If the old man is allowed on board then my girl is too.” Gesturing for Gayatri to stand at the forefront, he pats her arm. The girl sighs and bites the inside of her cheek while her sister looks at her feet. She clearly doesn't want to come with, but what could they do other than to listen?

“Whatever you want, Thorpe, you can put a fuckin' kangaroo on board for all I care.” Hobie pushes past them, tugging you along as he saunters towards Gwen, Miles and George who are just now exiting the alley.

“Right!” Thorpe tries to act casual. Hobie's nonchalance seems to annoy the man even further. “Go get them, Gaya.”

Looking over your shoulder, you see the sisters embrace on the docks, whispering to each other before letting go. Gayatri takes one last look at Zarina, brown eyes softening as the sun hits her almost golden eyes. Her hand wraps tighter around the strap of her pack, jaw set as she ignores Thorpe’s attempt at a hug in favour of going up the gangway. She briefly glances at Thorpe with disappointment, unlike what you saw before with the unlikely family, it's as if they're stuck between the devil and the sea. Add the obvious absence of their adopted mother, it paints a picture for you.

“Do you think that was a good idea? Letting her on board?” You ask, trying to keep up with Hobie's long strides.

“You know what they say, love, keep your friends close but keep your enemies closer. She's better off where I can see her.”

“She’s not exactly the enemy here, Hobie, her father is.”

“Thorpe is as much as her father as a bloody merman is.” He stops midstep when his eyes spot Gwen and George embracing tightly, taking each other in like it would be the last time. “Fathers don't leave you to fend for yourself in shark infested waters.”

“I'll keep an eye on her then, just in case.” You watch as his eyes darken. Perhaps it's from the situation at hand, or from the conversation itself. But he still doesn't let your hand go, instead he squeezes you more, head turning to press a gentle kiss right on your temple. “Will that be alright?”

“Aye, I'll never tell you what to do, love, you're your own person, remember that. Just keep your weapons close, yeah?” With a deep exhale, his expression turns softer, but still on edge as his hand wraps tighter around yours, anchoring himself to you.

“I will.” Nodding, you press your head against his shoulder for a moment before pulling away. “Will you be alright?”

“I've handled shittier shit that was thrown at me.” He says with a snicker while the two of you wait for Gwen and George to finish. Meanwhile Miles stands awkwardly to the side, pretending to find two fighting rats near a barrel to be of interest to him.

“You could've just said that you'll be alright.” Chuckling, you cup his cheek, thumb rubbing along his jaw as he leans against your warm touch.

“Now, that wouldn't be me, lovie.” With a kiss upon your finger, he moves away just as when the three walk over to you. “Made your decision, George?”

The blond has his arm over Gwen's shoulder, looking forlorn and yet he seems to be lighter, like a heavy boulder is finally lifted off his back.

You try to grasp what his decision is through their faces, but Gwen looks down at her feet, face hidden, hands clutching at her father's vest like a small child. While Miles gazes at the side of Gwen's face with deep worry.

“Yes, I have.”

“Don't keep us hangin’, mate.”

He shakily inhales. “I'm leaving. I'll be staying at the tavern until I get back on my feet and sail back to the mainland.” His words are uttered with certainty. “I love Gwen, but the Osprey isn't my place.”

“Right then, you have your things?” Hobie bluntly says, and you pinch his side for his choice of words.

“Are you sure about your decision, George? You'll always have a place with us, and you're a good fighter.” You say, brows furrowed as you try to make your case.

Miles and Hobie share a look.

“I am, but what other good could I do on board? I can't cook, can't figure out the ropes. I'll be a burden to everyone.” George shrugs, still holding onto his daughter. “I may be a good fighter, but I'm not a good sailor.”

“But you'll be with your daughter. Wouldn't you want to stay with—”

“Y/N,” Gwen says sternly, eyes forlorn as tears stick to her lashes. “We already talked about it, it's what he wants.”

“Right, I'm sorry, you're right. It's his decision to make.” You pull yourself together for Gwen. Hobie rubs the space between your shoulders to comfort you.

“Gwen was the one who convinced me to leave actually. Before that I was…conflicted.” George's words have you blinking. “I’m better off here, I'll worry for us both so she doesn't have to. Besides, you've got more experienced crew on deck. You're good people, I'm happy to leave her to all of you.”

Your eyes flick over to Gwen's blue eyes. She's braver than you, but there's apprehension behind those baby blues. If you were in her place, would you have done the same?

“I'll help get your bag, dad.” Her tone is raspy as she starts to walk ahead of the group.

You give Hobie a concerned look, and he just nods before throwing an arm over Miles' and George's shoulder as he keeps them a few steps away from you and Gwen.

“There's some things you need to know ‘bout Clayton, George.” His voice and their conversation fades behind you as you sidle next to Gwen.

“Gwen—”

“I'm alright, if that's what you're about to ask.”

“That's good, but that wasn't what I was about to say.”

“Spit it out then, doc. We're about to leave.”

“Are you sure about this?” You grasp her elbow, stopping in place as Hobie leads the two men around you and Gwen to continue towards the ship.

Miles looks on with worry but you reassure him with a small nod. And George has a never ending furrowed brow from the strange friendliness of the captain.

After a beat, once the trio walks away from earshot, Gwen shakes her head, sniffing and rubbing her eyes with her sleeve.

“It's for the best, I—I don't want to lose another one.” Her broken tone shatters you.

“You won't—”

“You don't know that— you can't even promise that.” She meets with your eyes, a sea of blue washing over her lashes. “I know that this life is dangerous, but where we're going, I—I don't know if—if we'll all make it back here together.”

Sighing, fingers wrapping around hers, you blink away the unshed tears. “I know— I— it's difficult to leave someone behind. And the situation is more difficult as it is. I'm conflicted too, Hobie offered to let me stay here— twice actually.” You chuckle nervously, “and I still don't know if it was right, that I'm either sparing him the same hurt or condemning him to grief even more. All I know is that being away from him and not knowing what he's doing or how he's doing— would hurt more than dying during the journey.”

Closing her eyes briefly, she inhales shakily, squeezing your hand twice before letting go. “I can live with that. I've lived with that.”

Nodding, exhaling out all the heaviness of the conversation, you understand and respect her and George's decision. “Alright then.”

“Let's get him out of here so we can finally leave.” Patting your back, Gwen walks across the docks to climb up the gangway.

You follow behind her, hands in your pockets, feeling for the ring around your finger. Clayton gives the first mate a half hug before he and Riri exit the ship. Clay glances at you briefly, and Riri thumps her fists against your own.

Roaming your eyes around the less crowded dock now that most of the crew are now on board, you see Thorpe looking forlornly at Gayatri as she stands on deck, as if he's regretting his decision. Zarina doesn't wait for him and leaves the harbour before she could decide to jump on board and join her sister.

Just as you step on the ramp, you see George with a bag slung over his shoulder, waiting for his daughter on deck to bid what could be his final farewell. You pause in place, watching him cradle her face, saying something to her in a soft tone, thumb brushing along her reddened cheek. He spares Miles a glance, shaking his hand and murmuring gentle words to him while the younger man nods along.

Hobie averts his eyes from the scene, jaw tightened and fists clenched. He meets with your eyes, the smile fading as his grey eyes suddenly widen in fear before you feel the harsh end of a gun bashing against your nape.

You land in a sickening thud on the gangway, head smacking against the wood, vision piercing as a blinding white light flickers in and out. Head swirling and back aching with radiating pain. You're paralyzed with agony.

The world comes to a slow around you, movements halted, voices yelling and the wind blowing softly against your heated cheek.

“Cousin!”

“Love!”

“Doc!”

Their calls for you rings louder than the sound of the waves below you before your ears start ringing in high pitch. The water reflects the scene before you, Mickey holding the butt of a musket to your head, not aiming, but threatening to hit you again. His face is red with anger, curses thrown at your prone body then over to the crew on deck. But you can't hear his words, muffled in your ears like you're underwater.

There's the unmistakable yet muffled sound of a gun sliding from its holster. You look up, seeing Hobie seethe, yelling furious words at Mickey as the man snickers and stomps his foot behind you.

If a bullet escapes from Hobie's gun then the whole ship and its crew will never leave the twin islands. That same thought passes over Thorpe's face as you get a glimpse of him while you turn around to face Mickey.

“I fucking told you that I'm going to get the twins back—!”

With a swift kick, you sweep the brute off his feet. The whole harbour watches as he falls down, head hitting the wooden ramp in a sickening crunch before plunging into the tides with a splash.

He was in front of you, then a second later he's floating on the water, bleeding into it like fresh ink on paper.

Sounds return in your ears as you heave in place. Your tongue sticks to the roof of your mouth, bile threatening to rise up from your stomach while the pain becomes all encompassing.

“Duchess!” Thorpe's booming voice calls for you.

Clayton's cane presses against the man's chest roughly, stopping him in his place. “It's Mickey's fault, you do know that, right?”

Thorpe gestures towards you, trying to make his case to the senior captain whilst his expression turns more irate as the second ticks by.

“C’mon!” Hobie’s familiar hold pulls you back on your feet. “Bloody good hit, love!” He drags you on the deck, passing by a frantic George as he runs down the ramp that still has remnants of Mickey's ego. “Good luck, Stacy!”

“You too, captain!” The blond lifts the gangway once you and Hobie are on deck, and proceeds to swiftly push it on board with the help of the crew.

Hobie lays you on the floor, your back leaning against the bannister as bells and whistles ring around the harbour. The sound of departure.

“You alright, love?” His grey eyes are frantic, palm pressed against the small of your back as he gives you a once over. “You got him good.” He tries to act normal, despite this, his voice shakes, hand trembling against you.

“I'm fine.” You shake away the slithering pain, blinking the dots away. “Go, do your c–captain thing before Thorpe makes us answer for that.”

Smiling, he pecks your forehead. “Captain thing, think we might need to do some trepanning on you, hm?” Standing up, he instructs everyone with a commanding tone. “Unfurl the sails!”

“Unfurl the sails!” James echoes out on the other side of the ship.

The crew mill around the deck, untying ropes until the main sail opens up into a brilliant white, leaving the red sails alone for now.

“Lift up the bloody anchors!”

“Lift the fucking anchors!” The sound of heavy chains rattles the whole ship.

“Are you alright, cou— doc?” Collette grasps your arms, joined by a concerned John, Gwen, and Miles. Their silhouettes dances around your vision.

“Are you bleeding anywhere?” Someone asks, words barely coherent in your pain-addled mind. Maybe it's doctor Aarav or Davey, but you can't decipher the voice when the sounds are muddled inside your ears again. You feel like an elephant stomped right on your back and jumped on your head.

“I don't—” you try to swallow down the ache, grimacing when a flash of pain strikes right into your hips. “I don't think so. I hit my head pretty hard, I think.” Dots flicker along your vision as you wince.

“I think she's concussed.” Either Gwen has learned alongside Octavius with you or Aarav suddenly has blond hair. You have no idea who's even touching your face as they look into your pupils. “We need to get her below deck—”

A sharp whistle rings around the island, ear piercingly loud enough to have you blinking away the foggy vision and for your ears to strain and try to focus on the rushing sounds of the ship. James' loud voice echoes around, telling people what to do on board alongside Hobie's instructions.

The ship starts to move, water rushing around the hull. Your eardrums shake as people— both on board and on the harbour cheer for the departure of the large galleon that used to take up three ships' worth of spaces on the dock. Since most of the island's inhabitants helped in one way or another with the renovations, their reaction to it finally sailing brings them the same satisfaction as everyone on board.

“All aboard the Hydra's Fury!” Hobie exclaims as he stands right next to the helm. The crew– both old and new cheers at the winning ship name.

Amongst the eruption of cheering, you vaguely hear someone calling you from below. Or is it just the pain that's causing you to hear things?

“Isn’t that the blacksmith?”

The ring. Hobie's ring.

Gwen's words give you some adrenaline to push yourself off the floor to look over the balcony. Wind rushes around you, lashes fluttering while the sound of frantic footsteps thump against the wooden dock. Sure enough, Opal, the blacksmith runs alongside the ship, waving a small box in her hand.

“Shit! The fucking ring!” The thought of leaving something so precious makes you climb over the bannister, hanging from the side of the ship with an open palm. “Toss it!”

You ignore the others frantic and panicked yells as you hold onto a slim piece of the railing.

“What?! I can't make that throw!” The blacksmith tries to keep up with the ship by running along the length of the dock. “This arm is for hammering, not throwing!”

George sprints and makes it to her side in record time. “Give it here!”

“I don't know you, guy— hey!”

He snatches the box from her hand, and with a wind up, he aims and throws it to you.

You're fully prepared to catch it, but instead of feeling the velvet box on your hand, you empty the contents of your stomach right into the waters below.

George grabs the blacksmith by her waist, helping her dodge your breakfast.

“Shit!”

Head hurting as if Octavius is drilling into your head. You miss the box by mere inches as you lose your grip on the railing and begin to fall.

An arm wraps around your middle, and another catches the box safely in one swift motion. The black pearl pendant swings alongside your cheek.

“You made it rain down on ‘em, hm, love?” Hobie's voice is the last thing you hear before the darkness envelopes you.

[hyperfix-wip]

🥲🥲🥲🥲

Started watching Apothecary Diaries last night, so prince! Hobie and you as his taste tester🤔

You've built up a tolerance for posions due to experimenting with them when you were young, but that doesn't stop Hobie from nervously watching you taste his food for poison. He doesn't like the whole idea that a person has to risk their lives for his safety and he's even more worried when it's you, the person he used to play with as a kid whenever he managed to sneak out of the palace. You were his closest friend, and you didn't even remember him. Perhaps it was a side effect from experimenting with poisions and herbs for so long, he thinks as he watches you taste the broth before you, lips pressing together in a slight grimace.

Oh @hyperfix-wip would love this!!!

OMG AND R IS HIS BESTIE TOO?!

Mayhaps hobie is the only heir so they have to take precautions, he never liked the idea of having a taste tester in the first place but when they revealed that it was you he swear he has never been more afraid especially whenever you take the first bite of food

I can see r having some sort of luna lovegood esque personality with this au!

R having resistance to some poisons is funny like imagine they cough after and Hobie's like "so it's good then?" But r just pours the soup on a plant and it immediately withers 😂😂 but imagine the one time they eat something they don't have a tolerance too