#verse: Chapter 3 | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

the-kr8tor · 8 months

Text

Knee Socks

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

Word count: 4.5k

Tags: Use of Y/N sparingly, no specific physical description of the reader, bullying, blood, violence, food mentions, fluff.

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CHAPTER 3 >>> CHAPTER 4

Hobie converses with his friends, casually leaning on the playground's chain link fence, he's only eleven, that awkward stage where he thinks he's too old to use the slide, but still too young to be taken seriously by the older kids. He's too tall to be just eleven, almost a foot taller than his classmates, always mistaken for someone older, he takes it in stride, becoming his year's resident protector from would be bullies. His sheer height alone makes them stop in their tracks, not to mention his perseverance when the bully decides to fight Hobie, even if they're taller or bigger than him, he doesn't back down despite his lanky form and sometimes nerdy personality, wiping at his bleeding nose, he stands up, knuckles at the ready.

This alone makes Hobie an absolute legend in the playground. He doesn't care about that though, he just does what he thinks is right, and that's protecting those who cannot defend themselves.

The children playing stops in their tracks when a loud shriek rings out, ears perking at the difference of the sound from a happy playing yell. This one sounded like they were in pain, Hobie stomps towards the sound, the crowd parting for him.

He sees a bigger kid holding a smaller one by his ear, he recognizes the bully from his year, the smaller one seems like a year younger than him. The crowd around them gets bigger, some kids would be hollering for a fight, some could only watch. Before Hobie could run up to them, a flash of something pink hits the bully right on his forehead, causing him to let go, crouching and holding the bleeding cut it left behind.

You fearlessly strut up to him, screaming your tiny head off, "fuck off, Terrence!" You pick up the pink sketchbook from the ground, threatening to throw it again.

Hobie's eyes widened at your choice of word, not used to hearing it in the playground, he smirks at your bravery, especially that you're five times smaller than the bully. He watches as you shield the smaller kid from Terrence, book at the ready.

You look over your shoulder to look back at the younger kid on the ground, clutching at the shell of his ear, tears falling on his rosy cheeks. "You okay, Danny?"

With you distracted, Terrence finds the opportunity to grab you by the ankle, losing your balance and swiftly falling on your back, you let out a small pained sound. Hobie had enough of being a bystander, he runs up to the bully, punching him square in his face. Terrence doesn't back down, tackling Hobie, they both fall on the harsh gravel, Hobie shields his face from the oncoming punches while Terrence keeps aiming at his face.

You stand up, no time to dust yourself off, you yell a battle cry, flinging yourself on the bully's back, trying to get him off Hobie. Your small fists thump helplessly on the bigger kid's back. Suddenly the crowd parts, a couple of winded teachers arrive, one yanks you off Terrence, while the other stops him from punching Hobie. They hold you both back, like a couple of kittens trying to claw and scratch at each other.

"Enough!" One of the teachers yells out, Hobie sits up, a cut on his lip. Eyes watching as you don't let up from trying to kick Terrence's ass.

—

You sit on one of the school clinic's cot, an ice pack on your head, the condensation slides over your face, landing on the paper of your mangled sketchbook.

"Little shit" you murmur out, wiping at the water on your precious notebook.

The curtains separating the beds flings open, you jump from the sound of metal.

"Y'know you could get in trouble for that" Hobie looks at you, a similar ice pack over his cheek. He sits criss crossed on the bed, blanket pooling around him.

"You would know, of course" the previous anger still lingers, your usual shyness gone from your system.

"So you've heard of me?" He raises his brow, hissing when he moves it.

"Who hasn't heard of you? Here" you toss your ice pack over to his cot, "you look like you need it more" Hobie fumbles a bit before he finally catches it. He looks back at you, your face scrunched up in anger, brows knitted together, you look at the pink notebook like it'll spontaneously combust right in front of you.

"You look like Gromit, when you're mad" he brings your previous ice pack to his brow, the other held up to his cheek. "Y'know when he scrunches his face" you look at him angrily "like that!" He points out.

"Hey! You want a piece of me too?" It sounded much braver in your head, but with the fading adrenaline and anger, your shyness peeks back in, making your sentence sound meek.

Hobie holds up his hands, dropping the ice packs on the bed "nah, I can't fight you"

"Why? Just because I'm a girl?"

"Nope, I saw what you did to big Terry, thought you gave him brain damage" he pokes his temples. "I don't want that notebook flying at me, especially with that aim of yours"

"Fucker already has brain damage" you say softly, your shyness definitely creeping in, but you're still angry enough to swear.

"Where'd you learn to curse like that? You don't look like someone who swears"

"The telly" you shrug.

"That shit ain't good for you"

"You sound like an adult," you scrunch your nose "they always tell me I swear a lot when I'm mad. You swear too, y'know"

"I'm allowed" Hobie leans back, grinning.

"How are you allowed?" you ask, genuinely curious. Why is he allowed and you're not?

"I'm older" he says matter-of-fact.

"You're only a year older than me" you scoff, wincing when a sharp pain hits the back of your head.

Hobie hops down from the bed, quickly grabbing the ice packs. He moves towards you, sitting down, your sketchbook in the middle between you. He hands you the ice pack back, you give him a small thanks, hissing when the cold hits your skin.

"You alright? D'you want me to get the nurse?" He asks you as if he wasn't injured himself, looking worse than you.

"I'm fine, you look worse than me though"

"You draw?" Hobie doesn't acknowledge your last comment. He tries to take a peek at the pages, you clamp the book shut with lightning speed.

"I'm not showing you my sketchbook"

"Why not?"

"It's private! And I don't know you"

"Well, name's Hobie Brown" he extends his hand towards you "and you areee? Then you tell me your name, That's how this usually goes"

You narrow your eyes, "I know who you are" slapping his hand away but you tell him your name anyway, trying to be the polite one "Y/N, it's Y/N Y/L/N"

"Now we know each other, now can I?" His hand hovers over your notebook. "Damn, this looks like it's been trampled"

"Fucking Terrence" you seethe, sliding the book over to him. "Here"

"Fucking Terrence" Hobie smiles as he flips through your sketches.

—

Your mind goes back to the present when your familiar mug lands on your messy table, the content sloshes a bit to the sides.

"Careful!" You hold the mug, stopping its motion.

"Shit, sorry. You looked like Gromit there for a second" he chuckles, sitting down on your bed, a piece of biscuit in his mouth, the springs squeaking under his weight.

"Augh, you trying to bring back that nickname?" You take a sip, the warmth of the tea relaxes the aching muscles of your hand.

"It's always been there, Gromit" he lays down, swallowing the cookie, his chucks still on his feet.

You stand up immediately, cringing when his soles graze your bedsheets, grabbing his shoes off your bed "shoes off!" You struggle as Hobie watches on with a smirk "fuckin' take it off!"

"You're mad mad" he sits up, unlacing his shoes.

You put your hands on your hips, socked feet tapping impatiently. Hobie flings his shoes off, looking smugly at your annoyed face. He lays down, arms behind his head.

You narrow your eyes at him "awwe, are you tired?" You asked sarcastically.

"Yes, talking to you the entire day is tiring"

"You're not the one designing this thing" you gesture towards your table that's littered with crumpled papers, various designs pinned on your corkboard. Your hand cramps at the thought of drawing another line.

"Giving my opinion is tiring, why don't you rest for a bit, you're obviously knackered" he taps the space beside him. It wouldn't be the first time you've shared a bed, it's impossible that you haven't, being that you've been best friends for ten years. But you're still unsure, knowing that when you lie down (especially next to him) you won't get back to work again. But it doesn't mean that your heart doesn't skip a beat whenever you do share a bed, it practically stops in your chest until you two wake up.

Hobie sees your dilemma, knowing you wouldn't be able to work on your designs if you lie down next to him. "Come sit down at least" he finds a middle ground.

You sigh, surrendering, as long as you don't rest your head on your pillow you'll be fine, right? Sitting down, Hobie's legs props you up, preventing you from laying down completely.

You hum, leaning your entire weight over his legs, you can feel the rough material of his jeans on your back, your jumper doesn't provide much barrier from his warmth.

"Don't fall asleep" Hobie pokes your arm.

"Hard to when your bony legs are stabbing my back"

He moves his legs back, you fall halfway, head almost landing on his knees. You smack his arm playfully. Hobie predicts that you'll slap his chest next, he moves his arm shield himself. Lo and behold, that's where you hit him next.

"Fuck you, Wallace" despite your swearing, you grin widely, Hobie laughs at his old nickname, he keeps dodging your attacks, Hobie parries your hand, stopping it mid air. He holds your wrists in front of him, warm fingers wrap bracelets around them.

He laughs victoriously "who you callin' Wallace? Do I look like I'm bald?"

You try to get his grip off your wrist, pulling, but his grip is too strong–it doesn't hurt, it's the opposite actually, his grip on you provides comfort and stability. A laugh escapes you "you smile like him" he says it with you, copying your voice mockingly, already knowing that you'll say those exact words.

You roll your eyes, trying and failing to take your hands back, Hobie pulls you in, making you lean over his chest, your heart immediately jumping at the close proximity of his face from yours. Hobie didn't think this through enough, now he doesn't know what to do next. You both pause on your play fighting.

He watches your reaction, your lips slightly parted, pupils blown out. You do the same, cataloging every line on his face, eyes finding the familiar color of his iris, the late afternoon sun gleaming on his lip piercing. You quickly move your eyes back to his, realizing you've been staring at his lips, you swallow down your fear. You lay on top of him, frozen.

You exhale, breath fanning his face, your pulse thumping hard against Hobie's hand. He loosens his grip on your wrists, giving you time to pull away, but you don't so he slides his hands from your wrists over to your hands, fingers stopping at your clammy palms.

Hobie raises his head slowly to meet yours, his heart uncharacteristically beating hard on his chest. He realizes that his heart only acts this way around you. He can feel the dam straining against the overflowing water.

Knock

The sound breaks you both out of your daze, pushing away from each other, you avoid Hobie's gaze. While he looks at you longingly, chest heaving at what almost transpired.

Knock

You try to act nonchalantly, clearing your throat "yeah?"

"It's almost six! Get your visitor out" the dorm's RA yells out like a warden.

"Yeah, okay!" You give her a thumbs up, as if she can see you through the door. Hobie notices your awkwardness, taking it upon himself to break the awkward feeling.

"She doesn't have x-ray vision" He stops himself from touching your arm, hand landing back to his side.

You scoff, heat slowly leaving your cheeks "c'mon time to go home" you stand up, refraining from tapping his chest.

"We're not done yet" he sits up by his elbows, eyes following you gathering his stuff like a one night stand trying to get him out of your place.

You sigh "I don't think we can finish this today, Hobs" you say defeatedly "I mean look" you take a pinned sketch, showing it to Hobie. You both act like nothing happened, used to the almosts.

He looks at your sketch of him, drawn like a runway model, your design looks good, for him at least. Already sure whatever you make for him will be amazing. But judging from your pout he guesses it's not good enough for you.

"It looks good" he reassures you, "what's wrong with it?"

You drop his shoes back on the floor, stepping over it to sit back down on the bed. You hold the paper gingerly, noting every single line you've drawn. "There's something missing, it– I don't know" you groan.

"Make me understand then, they all look good enough for me" he gestures at your designs on the corkboard "I like the one with red on it"

"They all have a touch of red" you roll your eyes, "I don't know, they just– they have more Hobie in them, than of me y'know?"

He nods "yeah, I can see it, you need more bits of you in it"

"Mm-hmm, it's supposed to be a perfect blend of us both" you cross the barrier that you've put up between him, leaning your head on his chest.

"Yeah, it's like if we had a kid and they ended up lookin' like a clone of me" he looks at you teasingly, a smirk curling on his lips.

"Again, weird analogy, Hobs" you huff out.

He chuckles "D'you wanna rest or continue this at my place?" Hobie covers the top of your head with his palm, blanketing your scalp in his warmth.

Thinking for a second, you want to rest, but on the other hand, you need to keep working, you never know when both of your schedules will clear up, this is one of those rare times.

The loud knock echoes again, "your place, then" you look at him, cheek laying on his chest, hearing how his heart beats against your ear.

Hobie smiles, more than happy to spend more time with you.

—

You stop by a convenience store on the way to his place. The harsh white lights make you squint until your eyes adjust. Hobie grabs a basket, handing it to you.

"Such a gentleman" sarcasm dripping on your lips.

He walks backwards, winking at you, hands in his jean pockets. Hobie beelines for the frozen aisle, his chucks sliding against the tiled floor.

You sigh, already knowing what he'll grab. You take a couple of crisps, Hobie's favourite and yours. You bend down to grab a packet of biscuits, hearing a tinkling sound on your left, your eyebrows knit in confusion at the peeking green sock puppet.

"Hello there" You ask, thinking there's a kid playing around. You stand up, the small basket almost full.

"Hi" the puppet's mouth moves, but Hobie's voice comes out, you laugh at how he tried to hide his voice by making it higher pitched.

"Hobie, where'd you even get that?" You say in between airy laughs. You can't see where he is, Hobie's body is hidden behind a display of oatmeal, but you can clearly see his metal bracelet peeking out from under the puppet.

"Name's not Hobie, it's y/n, and I have a passion for fashion" the puppet's mouth moves dramatically as Hobie speaks.

You giggle at his antics, grabbing the puppet by its 'throat' "ack!" Hobie acts like he's choking. He moves in your line of sight, still making choking noises. The cashier looks at you weirdly, releasing your hand from the puppet.

You keep laughing, Hobie's smiles victoriously, getting the desired reaction from you. You clutch your hand over your stomach, heaving from laughing.

"You done?" Hobie is still speaking through the puppet, his throat aching from making his voice higher.

"Yep, you can stop making that voice" you smile, playing with the little bell strapped on the puppet, it rings softly at your touch.

"Thank fuck," Hobie clears his throat, speaking in his normal deep voice "they're selling these over there" he points to his right, using the puppet to point at it.

You see the bright display of different sock puppets, the bold letters reading 'all proceeds go to the children's hospital'

"It's cute, what even is it?"

Hobie moves the puppet from side to side, little yellow spikes on its head, a long tongue lolling on the side of its mouth. "I think it's supposed to be a dinosaur"

"Looks like it, but its tongue is too long to be a dinosaur, maybe it's a lizard?" You look at Hobie questioningly.

"Don't look at me, I don't know either" he shrugs.

"Whatever it is let's take it, he's kind of adorable, in a weird looking way" you take it from his hand, putting it inside your basket.

"Just like you" Hobie quips.

"Funny" you poke his chest. "You got the frozen pizza?"

"Nah, got distracted" Hobie walks towards the freezers, you follow closely behind, he flings the door open. You peek under his raised arm resting on the freezer door, looking at your choices.

"Four cheeses? Or overload?" You ask.

"You want me to shit myself?"

You giggle "right, lactose intolerant, forgot for a sec, overload it is. Thought you have lactaid?"

Hobie takes the frozen pizza box, bringing it to your cheeks, you jump away when the cold box hits your skin. "I ran out of it"

"Ass" you scoff, wiping away the condensation.

He laughs from his belly, putting the box inside the basket. Hobie grabs the heavy basket from you, happily giving it to him. He makes his way towards the cashier, you quickly grab a couple of canned soda from the freezer, catching up to Hobie.

The cashier gives you an annoyed look, probably because of the noises you two made. You look at him apologetically as he scans the items.

—

You arrive at his place, slightly shivering from the cold air that pricked you while in the back of Hobie's motorcycle. He gets off first, helping you with a steady hand.

"Remind me to bring a proper jacket next time we ride this late. Christ alive it's bloody freezing" you rub your arms, trying to get warm, your thin jacket isn't helping much to shield you from the cold.

Hobie takes off his leather jacket despite being only a few feet away from his place, he drapes it on you since your hands are full with the plastic bag of food. He holds your hands together breathing hot air into it, your heart swells at the small act.

"Why didn't you tell me you were cold? I could've stopped for a bit and handed you my jacket, you idiot" he grumbles out, still rubbing your hands warm.

"It was a short ride, Hobs. Besides we're here already you don't need to do this"

"Inside isn't any better, radiator's fucked since yesterday" he brings your hands to his mouth, blowing more warm air into your cold hands.

"Just my luck" your breathing stutters in your throat when Hobie looks at you through his lashes, lips dangerously close to your hands. "Let's just go inside, I'm hungry" you pull your hands away, already missing his warmth. Hobie looks at you like you grew a second head.

"Oven still works, right?" You clear your throat.

Hobie takes out his keys, opening the door for you "yeah, gas still works" he sniffs, the cold finally bothering him.

Entering the small house, you can hear the loud sound of the television, bright against the darkness of the modest living room. Ned and James play couch co-op of golden eye. James sees you standing awkwardly by the doorway, not paying attention to the screen, his character dies, making Ned annoyed.

"Come on, bruv! We can't pass this level with you dying every bloody minute" Ned follows James' stare, ending with you standing stiffly in front of the door, too awkward to walk in front of the telly, not wanting to disturb them. Hobie's behind you fumbling with the lock.

"Hi, sorry to drop in" you smile shyly.

Ned slaps the back of James' head "really? You got distracted?" He whisper-shouts, James jumps slightly in his seat, Ned quickly moves his neck to look at you, "It's alright, y/n! Make yourself at home"

"Thanks" you say, smiling sweetly.

"Oi, it's rude to stare" Hobie finally locks the rusty bolt, eyes staring at James.

" 'm not," he defends himself, thick Manchester accent rearing its head. "I was lookin' at the bag, is that pizza?" He acts interested in the contents of your bag.

Hobie side eyes Ned, having a non verbal conversation with him.

"I think there's enough for us four, where's Yuri? I still haven't thanked her for her help" you say.

"She's with her friends," Ned says.

Nodding, you walk towards the kitchen, Hobie not too far behind. "Have you talked to the landlord about the broken radiator, Hobs?"

"Don't need to, we're moving out anyway" Hobie replies nonchalantly, like it's old news to you.

"What?" You drop the plastic bag a little too hard on the counter. "What do you mean you're moving out? Where are you moving?" Fear creeps up to you.

"All of us are moving, actually" James pipes up from the couch, Ned elbows for him to shut up.

Hobie grabs a flyer from the fridge door, showing it to you. "Battle of the bands, our last show before we disband"

"You're gonna disband too?!" You look at Ned sitting on the couch, watching the interaction unfold. He replies for Hobie, seeing he might need some help explaining it to you.

"Sorry y/n, it's true. James and Yuri are off to uni, and I'm moving back to Richmond"

You look at Hobie sadly, knowing he'll be left behind by one of his oldest friends. You're well aware that Hobie doesn't like sticking to one band, moving on to a different team every few years, this doesn't surprise you, but Ned has been one of the few constants in his band, always his chosen bassist, and his oldest friend next to you.

Ned and James start their game again, giving you as much privacy as the small space can provide, trying to not listen to your obvious private conversation, they wish you two could just talk it out inside Hobie's room instead. Or better yet, just kiss about it, saving you both the energy.

Looking up at Hobie, eyes slightly watering at the thought of him being left behind, you'd never even thought of doing that to him. Of course you know he can handle himself, but you can't bear imagining him alone. Or maybe it's because you can't imagine going through life without him, turning out he'll be fine on his own without you. And you're the one who's projecting your fears towards Hobie.

Your lives have been intertwined since childhood, celebrating wins together, laughing and crying at the good and bad. You've been through almost everything together, it's hard to imagine your life before you met him, more so after your lives untangle from each other.

"When's the last gig?" You try to not let your emotions get to you, but your smile doesn't reach your eyes. Hobie sees through your charade, he holds your hand subtly, thumb rubbing circles over your palm.

"It'll be fine, love" I'll be fine, he wanted to say, but he swallows it down, tossing it over to the pile of all the unsaid words he wanted to say to you. "We've been planning it for awhile, just need to find a place and I'm good to go"

"You haven't found a place yet?" completely forgetting there are other people in the room with you, melting into his touch.

"Not yet, y'know me, always putting things off" he tangles his fingers through yours. "Once we win, I'll get enough to rent a place"

"I'll help you find a place" you squeeze his hand, he squeezes back three times.

"You givin' it for free? No need for me to punch out a hole in our card?" He teases you.

You roll your eyes "Don't push it, Hobart. But yes, you don't need to use our card for it" you joke, you would've helped him anyways, card or no card.

"Good, thanks Gromit" he smiles, reluctantly untangling your fingers from his. Hobie hands you the flyer, moving towards the counter to take out the food. With that your previous conversation ends, but your sadness and anxiety for what the future holds still lingers. Everything seems to change too fast, you don't think you're ready for any of it.

You smile softly at the nickname. Reading the contents of the advert– Battle of the bands at Oscorp Museum! your eyes widening when you gloss over the date on it. "Hobie, this concert is happening the day before our show"

"And? It's not on the same day" he takes out the puppet from the plastic.

"Yeah, but won't you be too..tired?" You ask.

Hobie huffs, taking the puppet off the counter, slipping it on your hand, you raise a brow at him "say what you really mean by 'tired' use the puppet to help" he crosses his arms over his chest.

You narrow your eyes, playing along, raising your arm halfway. You speak through the puppet, trying to talk with your mouth closed "won't you be too hungover?"

"There we go!" He claps "Thank you, y/n for the honesty"

"That wasn't me, that was the puppet"

"We have a real ventriloquist here, huh" Hobie takes out the frozen pizza from the box, slipping it inside the oven, he shuts the oven door closed "There won't be any alcohol in the venue, there's nothing to fucking drink"

"Sure" you say, still speaking through the puppet, rolling its head with your hand movements.

James whispers to Ned "they were all sweet to each other a second ago, now they're fighting"

"Reminds you of your parents huh?" Ned whispers back.

"Actually yeah, good eye"

Ned looks at him confused "not a compliment, bruv"

"Huh?"

"Nothin' what's up with the creepy puppet?"

Meanwhile, you continue to bicker with Hobie, the cold not helping with your attitude "You know I'm thinking of naming him Terrence, he looks like a Terry, right?" You make the puppet look at you, making it nod.

"Fuck off, after that Terry?"

"Yeah, we can tell exactly what we mean through Terry then we can both put the blame on him" you make the puppet nervously look at both of you.

"Fuckin' Terrence" Hobie remembers the bully.

"Exactly! Fuckin' Terrence" you both laugh, you don't even remember why you were fighting in the first place.

A/N: Thank you for reading! As always likes and reblogs are appreciated ❤️

*pictures above are from pinterest*

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