Punk! (Hobie x Reader)

Hit Ya (Hitcha!) With The (Witha!) Punk (PUNK!) Tactics!

Before we enter I stop him to ask, "What was the decision you had to make?" something that's been on my mind.

"Hard to explain, innit? Gwendy is in dang-a, but you're here."

When I tell you, this hit me like a ton of bricks.

"Is that a joke? I'm in no danger here. There's no question on who you should choose," I scoff. "The selfish option would be me? Don't be selfish,"

He blinks at me. And nods.

We meet the band, but Ri's missing.

"She's caught a bug," Robbie shrugs, downing a soda.

Damn.

Cap looks at me, "She'll be fine by the next gig," he nods.

I smile at him, to thank him for reassurance.

"But, just in case, you should learn a song or two," Cap suggests.

Oh.

I look up at Hobie. He nods hard. I laugh.

"Sure," I shrug.

"Atta girl," Robbie claps.

  "So, I've never even touched a—,"

  "You kno wha'?" Hobie says. "Why don' you learn guitar?"

  "What? Why?" We look at him.

  "Ri will be okay, but I might not be here in a month," the band looks around with each other to see who will react first.

  The tension in the room is cold, because no one wants him to leave, but with all this information, we know he will most likely have to.

  "Sure," I mumble.

  "Okay," they groan.

  "Chin up, fam. I always come back don' I?" He looks down at me. "And you, you can piss off yo're dad'y,"

  I smile considering it. Then laugh imagining it.

  "Rich Rebbor!" Robbie shouts. "That's what they'll call you," he claps—how he does.

  "That's nice," Cap laughs.

  And just like that the mood is back. Spider-punk ain't all punk, huh?

  The night goes to rehearsals and practices.

  Back home I kiss the punk goodbye and he swings away—unlike a spider, more like Tarzan if you ask m—!

  Bang, bang, bang!

Dad shouts my name. "Who the hell is that!?"

  Oh, shit! The cameras! Ri couldn't—FUCK.

  "Calm down, Dad!" I open the door and he flicks on the light, scanning my bedroom with angry eyes.

  "Where is he!? Hm?"

  "Dad—,"

  "You bring people into this house!? What the hell are you wearing?" He growls.

  "Dad, c'mon," I exhale. "Do you really think that at my age I just want to take pictures and go to school!? Jesus. I don't even want to live here, you know!? Ever since," I take a breath because this might hurt. "Every since mom died, you've become so angry, and cruel, and inconsiderate, and whatever. It's exhausting! I was just talking to a friend. And this?," I signal to my attire, "this is what I'm into right now. It'd be all open to you if you'd just be a dad and not an angry misogynistic senator for two seconds."

  My fists were curled and my body warm. I could almost attack him.

  "Yeah? Take this mess off. NOW," he growls.

  "No."

  When he lunges at me, there's a sense of betrayal...

  My dad has always been cruel but never abusive. And in this moment I realize. He's nothing to me.

  Spinning out of the way, I push him down. Feels good to put my skills to use.

  I curse him and grab a handful of underwear from my drawer before leaping out of the window.

  No tears are running down my eyes for that fucking prick—at least that's what I tell myself.

  I'm light on my feet, and the air is thick, ready to storm.

  But before I get to my bike, I'm grabbed.

  "Gettin' you outta 'ere," he huffs.

  Hobie. Fuck. I feel safe to cry, but I can't.

  I'm not a bitch.

  Like a puzzle snapping into place, I fit into his arms as we whisk away.

Smut next chap. (aggressive) you've been warned.