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essieeeeeeeee · 5 years

Note

Imagine if Hobbs and Shaw got their own sitcom.

ok, so it’s not actually a sitcom, but here, have this pile of hot shit that I wrote up after reading this comment anyways.

———-

“No fucking way,” Shaw snaps, throwing the contract back down on the table with an angry slap. The words STARRING: LUKE HOBBS, DECKARD SHAW stare back up at him from it mockingly. Shaw clenches his jaw in annoyance; if looks could kill, the papers would be a pile of ash at this point.

“You need to suck it up and take the deal, Decks,” his sister says, crossing her arms, lips twisted with irritation. Deckard snorts derisively and Hattie’s scowl deepens. “This could get you back up to the top and you know it.”

She pauses, and a tinge of regret comes over her expression. “It’s not like we have offers like this pouring in anymore.”

Deckard turns his face away without replying. There isn’t much to really say, anyways; she’s right, and they both know it. Not too long ago he had studios pitching big name roles like this to him at least weekly, but the phone calls have since dried up, and there was no use in pretending they both didn’t know why.

Hattie said she didn’t blame him, that he’d been justified in all of it, but Deckard couldn’t quite convince himself. He may have felt justified at the time, thrumming with rage as he’d stormed onto the set and punched Dominic Toretto right in his goddamn fucking smug face after the man had pulled a stunt that had landed Owen in the hospital, but most of Hollywood hadn’t felt the same way. They’d labelled him a trouble-maker after that, and trouble-makers weren’t the hirable sort in this business.

He and Toretto may have been on better terms now, after sussing things out, but the silver screen was an old business that held even older grudges, and mistakes like that were never really forgotten - as evidenced by he and Hattie’s year-long dry run.

“Look,” Hattie pleads, running a hand through her hair, “just read the script. It’s fantastic. It’s going to be big, Deck. And they really, really want you for it!”

Deckard grimaced. The problem was, he’d already read the script. And his sister was right - it was fantastic. Beyond fantastic, really. It was the kind of role his fanbase loved to see him in, and he knew just from looking at it that the movie was going to be big. Great writing, an incredible director, and a star-studded cast.

If only one of those stars wasn’t a giant wanker.

“I can’t work with him, Hat. He’s a massive fucking arsehole.”

“And you’re, what, prince charming?” She snorts. “Come off it.

“Besides,” he sneers, electing to ignore that comment and leaning his head back against the couch to stare at the ceiling with disdain, “the moment Hobbs finds out who they want to co-star, he’s going to throw the script out the fucking window.”

“He’s already signed.”

Shaw pauses. He tilts his head to the side to stare at his sister, and she crosses her arms and raises a haughty brow. Deckard squints at her in suspicion.

“What do you mean, ‘he’s already signed’?”

“I mean,” Hattie drawls, “Luke Hobbs has already signed. He told the producers he had a few conditions -”

“Of course the diva has conditions,” Deckard scoffs.

“- and one of them was that he could back out of the whole thing if you specifically didn’t sign for this role.”

Shaw’s mouth falls shut at that proclamation. He doesn’t quite know what to say, besides a hearty what the fuck?, and even that doesn’t fully portray the sheer bewilderment he feels from his sister’s words.

“You’re telling me,” Deckard says slowly, as though not quite able to believe the words about to fall from his mouth, “that spray-tan sasquatch wants me in on this? And he knows they want me for this role?”

Because he wouldn’t just be co-starring with this one, oh no. That would make the whole situation too easy, wouldn’t it? The role they’d cast him for wasn’t the sidekick, or the buddy-cop partner, or even the villain, which he’d played quite a bit of in the past, and thoroughly enjoyed at that.

It was the love interest.

“He knows,” Hattie says, and Shaw doesn’t really appreciate the way the corner of her mouth twitches in poorly-suppressed humor. “And he wants you in for it.”

“Since when do you know so much about what Luke fucking Hobbs wants, anyways?”

“We talk,” Hattie says, shrugging. Deckard stares at her, affronted. “What? He’s charming.”

“Traitor,” he mutters. Shaw stares down at the script again, and drums his fingers anxiously against the armrest.

Luke Hobbs wants him in the movie.

Luke Hobbs wants Deckard Shaw as his love interest in the movie.

Shaw was convinced that this was all some sort of publicity stunt that the man was cooking up, but he couldn’t help the flush that worked it’s way up his neck even so.

“Fine,” he snaps, snatching the papers back up from the table and taking the pen that his sister smugly hands him with a glare. “But if this goes tits up, I reserve the right to say I fucking told you so.”

He quickly scrawls his name as Hattie crows in success and grabs her phone, immediately making calls to whichever producer was waiting for the confirmation. Deckard stares down at his signature with sudden dread.

Luke Hobbs’ love interest. Goddamnit, he thinks.

This was going to be a disaster.

(part 2 here)

#deckard shaw #hattie shaw #luke hobbs #hobbs and shaw #shobbs #i apologize in advance #i've never written stuff before so #would appreciate constructive criticism #my drabbles #this is dumb sorry #shobbs romcom au

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omnivorousshipper · 4 years

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Movie star au?? I want to see Shobbs as Hollywood enemies to being LITERAL SWEETHEARTS 🥺

Omg yes! Of course! That sounds so cute!

Luke Hobbs is a big action star, but still upcoming. He just got a big break and is now being asked to be in all these big name movies (Think Chris Pratt’s journey from Parks and Rec to Marvel and Jurassic World.)

But the thing is, he’s stepping on the toes of Deckard Shaw. Even though they’re setup in different countries, movie studios still ask for them. And it’s not until one studio snubs Deckard and gives his big role to Luke Hobbs.

Deckard is pissed. That should have been his role! Especially since the main character was going to be the leader of other badass characters, one being played by Deckard’s little brother, Owen. While Owen usually just sticks to dramas and romcoms, he was lucky to get a role in an action film, something he’s been wanting to do with Deckard for a long time

So, both brothers are pissed at Luke. And Owen makes Luke’s life on set a near living hell. And he hates Owen’s guts for that, especially when Owen takes to twitter and bad mouthing him.

From then on, Luke makes it his goal to try and take roles from Deckard, just to piss the brothers off. What he doesn’t expect is Deckard to use that against him.

Luke hears Deckard’s really trying to go for this one cop movie and so Luke immediately offers himself up at the lead and gets it. What he’s not expecting is the movie to be absolute crap. He regrets taking the role and learns that Deckard baited him. Deckard never intended to take the job and now Luke was stuck doing a really, really bad movie.

From then on, no studio even thinks about asking both of them to be in a movie together. It’d be chaos. And while Deckard doesn’t do feuds on the internet, Owen absolutely does, so their rivalry is legendary.

It’s not until Owen gets into a horrible accident during the production of a movie does things change. It was all purely accidental, but lands Owen in the hospital with a crushed foot and bad concussion.

Luke does feel bad for him and tweets out his sympathies and sends a gift to Owen’s hospital room. He heard a rumor the guy had a massive sweet tooth. After that, it seems like that was what broke their feud because Owen stops hassling Luke online

The next time Luke and Deckard meet, it’s at a premiere. Luke goes up to Deckard and asks him how Owen’s doing. And he feels a little bad that Deckard looks shocked that Luke cares. He doesn’t like Owen for his personality, but even he can sympathize because Owen won’t be able to work for a while

When Deckard sees that Luke is genuinely concerned, he softens up and talks about how Owen’s fine, just cranky that he can’t move around a lot. From there, they talk, a lot more civilly than they have ever done. They get a lot of looks that night.

From then on, their rivalry is done and they actually help each other promote the other’s movies. It’s not until one studio gets cocky and asks them both to be the main leads in a buddy cop movie titled “Johnson and Statham”.

They have amazing chemistry on screen and off. Deckard gets to see that Luke is actually a really kind and funny person, while Luke gets to see a much happier and softer version of Deckard.

The paparazzi of course eats this up.

From getting pictures of them smiling at each other, holding hands, going on dates, and even a shared kiss. They both say yes when they’re offered the leading roles to a romance movie

(The baiting of a bad movie actually did happen between Sylvester Stallone and Arnold Schwarzenegger. Arnold trucked Stallone into acting in the movie “Stop! Or my mom will shoot!”)

Hope you enjoyed friend! I love this Au so much!

#shobbs #asks #deckard shaw #luke hobbs #hobbs and shaw #owen shaw #movie star au #omni answers

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essieeeeeeeee · 5 years

Text

here, have a thing that nobody asked for but I wrote anyway.

shobbs rom-com hollywood au, part 2.

(also, for reference - didn’t want to have to deal with the “TWO MALE LOVE INTERESTS?? OH THE HETEROSEXUAL HORRORRRRRR” in this fic, so let’s say the majority of the world population here is bisexual and it wouldn’t be groundbreaking to have the roles filled that way, ok? ok. yay world-building.

also also, I’ve de-aged Deckard a bit [which is kind of hilarious, because the F&F franchise has already de-aged him from Jason Statham’s age to 46] in order to make he and Hattie’s age gap not so large, so say he’s about *handwave* 40 in this one or something.)

--------------

It’s a strange feeling, being back on set after so long away.

The hustle of crew members to and fro is a familiar rhythm, though, and Deckard watches it from the solitude of his spot against a far wall. An occasional roving stagehand gives him the side-eye, but overall he’s left alone, and for the most part ignored. That suits Shaw just fine - he’d always been a bit of a loner in the studios, even on the bigger budget films he’d been a part of, and he has no interest in changing that now.

There was some rather specific company he’d like to avoid here, anyways.

Deckard allows himself one more sweep of his gaze over the crowd - and, yes, still no hulking figures in sight, thank Christ - before glancing back down at the script in his hands.

It had obviously been through some edits since the copy that’d been sent with his contract. Shaw didn’t mind; it was a solid bit of writing then, and perhaps even more so now. The wit behind the lines was coy and humorous in a way that he knew the audience would appreciate, and there were plenty of spots where a little improvisation could work well.

The only issue he had was who he’d have to say these lines to.

“Reading your script?”

Shaw barely keeps himself from startling as Hattie is suddenly at his side, hooking her arm into the crook of his elbow. She smiles up at him; it’s got a wavering, nervous twitch to it, and Deckard is instantly suspicious.

“Perfect. Wonderful. Are you dehydrated? You look dehydrated. We should get you some water immediately,” she babbles, and suddenly he’s being pulled away from his spot and firmly guided in the direction of catering.

Deckard narrows his eyes.

“Hattie…”

“Hydration is important, Decks,” she says primly, refusing to look him in the eye while continuing to march them forward. Deckard looks to the ceiling in a silent prayer for patience.

“Alright, what are you on about?”

She puts a hand to her chest, as though offended.

“Can’t imagine what you mean - just trying to keep my brother from dehydration -” Hattie demures, eyes wide, innocent as the day she was born. But Deckard is a big brother, and he knows for a fact that his sister was a devil from the moment of conception, so that bullshit doesn’t fly with him.

“Hats,” he snaps, and stops in his tracks, forcing her to halt with him. "Touched as I am by your concern for the state of my piss - cut the shit. What's going on?"

Hattie wrinkles her nose. “That’s disgusting,” she huffs, unlinking herself from him and crossing her arms. And then, suddenly, the uncomfortable fidgeting starts, and Deckard’s eyes narrow even further.

His sister being nervous was never a good sign; twelve times out of ten, it meant some sort of shit for him specifically.

"You remember how Roman Pearce was supposed to be taking the third starring role?" she blurts abruptly, chewing on her lip. Deckard’s frown deepens into a sneer.

"I'm assuming that means the idiot backed out," he replies flatly. Pearce had never really liked him much after the Toretto incident; Deckard was honestly surprised when he'd heard that the man had even signed onto this project to begin with. The news of his bowing out wasn’t that shocking, all things considered.

It still didn’t explain why his sister was acting like a fucking spooked cat, though.

"Yes, well - oh shit-" Hattie hisses, eyes widening at something behind him. But before he can turn to look -

“Deckard Shaw!” a voice booms out from over his shoulder.

Deckard instantly stiffens.

A hand - large, heavy, familiar - finds itself on his shoulder. Shaw is somewhat proud of the monumental restraint it takes not to rip it the fuck off.

“Well aren’t you a sight for sore eyes,” the deep voice chuckles from beside him. “Been lookin’ all over the studio for you.”

Shaw swallows down the nasty reply that rises automatically to the tip of his tongue, and grimly locks eyes with his ex as the man circles round in front of him.

“Brixton,” he acknowledges numbly. The other man’s hand is still a firm and steady pressure against Deckard’s shoulder, and he hates it.

“Decks,” Brixton murmurs, eyes flicking over Deckard’s face. His tongue appears briefly to wet his bottom lip. “Been a long time, hasn’t it? Four years now, that right?”

Five, Shaw thinks, but refuses to say it, because he wasn’t fucking counting, goddamnit. He offers a tight smile in reply instead. Brixton’s knowing grin widens at the sight of it.

Deckard wonders, briefly, how much trouble he’d be in if he ended up punching another big-name star in the mouth.

He’s sure Hattie would cover for him, if nothing else.

As though catching on to Deckard’s thoughts, Brixton’s gaze drifts over to his sister, and his smile takes on an edge of bitterness. The man offers her a nod.

"Hattie," he murmurs in greeting.

"Deckard's ex,” his sister drawls in return. Brixton’s smile falters momentarily into a sneer before he laughs.

"Ah, no hard feelings on all'a that, right luv?” Lore’s hand squeezes Deckard’s shoulder, and Deckard again ponders the merits of inflicting severe bodily harm. “We're all adults here."

"Hm," Hattie humms, as though unconvinced, gaze flicking up and down the other man. Brixton's lips tighten.

“What are you doing here, Brixton?” Deckard snaps, interrupting the two’s pissing contest. He grows wary as the other man’s gaze jumps back to him and Brixton’s smile turns mean.

“What, you ‘aven’t heard?” he asks, amused.

And, Oh. Oh no, Deckard thinks. Dread prickles sharply at the nape of his neck.

Suddenly he understands what his sister had been trying to warn him about.

“They hired you as the third lead,” he answers dully, and as Brixton’s smirk confirms it, a feeling of numbness crawls over Deckard.

What the fuck, he thinks bitterly. What the ever-shitting FUCK is my fucking life.

He clenches his jaw and smiles tightly at Hattie, murder in his eyes. She makes a face back that clearly states ‘how the fuck was I supposed to know?’

“Got it in one,” Brixton chuckles, patting Shaw’s shoulder with the hand that still won’t let the fuck go. His eyes meet Deckard’s, and suddenly Brixton’s gaze is intent, burning, and the smile drops from his mouth as he stares. Deckard feels caught in it; he tenses.

“Looks like it’ll be just like old times, won’t it Decks?” he murmurs lowly, gaze flitting back and forth between Deckard’s eyes. “You and me? We should talk sometime.”

Shaw stays silent; he can feel Hattie’s frown of disgust, but Brixton’s always been overwhelming when he gets like this, and Deckard has never really been able to find a way to overcome that.

So he nods, stiffly, and Brixton smiles, giving another strong squeeze to Deckard’s shoulder before finally withdrawing his hand. The man takes a step back before clapping his hands together.

“Good catchin’ up with ya, Decks. Hattie,” his lip curls as he glances at her briefly. Hattie smiles sarcastically back. “Got a few things to take care of before the meetin’, but we’ll go for drinks later, yeah?”

He doesn’t wait for an answer before walking away with a swagger in his step.

The tense atmosphere doesn’t quite leave with him. It’s quiet between the two siblings for a few moments after Brixton’s gone; Deckard takes the pause to unclench the fists that he’d unknowingly made at his sides.

Finally, he raises his eyes to Hattie, and the anger in them is obvious. She flinches.

“Decks, I - I’m so sorry -”

“Just give me ten minutes,” he snaps, dragging a hand down his face. He can’t look at her right now without the raging urge to shout welling up in him. So instead he turns away, and starts moving in the opposite direction Brixton had swaggered off to.

“... we have a meeting in twenty -”

“Ten FUCKING minutes, Hattie!” Deckard snarls, stalking off without another glance behind him.

(Part 3 here)

#deckard shaw #hattie shaw #brixton lore #hobbs and shaw #hobbs & shaw #shobbs romcom au #here have more awfulness #not sure how i feel about this part but whatever #what happens next??? do you know??? because i sure don't!#flying by the seat of my virgin author pants #my drabbles

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essieeeeeeeee · 5 years

Text

Shobbs romcom au part 3, comin’ at ya.

---------

Deckard slips down the hall with an expression that he can only assume projects every ounce of his rage, as the few people lingering in his path quickly side-step out of the way. He doesn’t pay much attention to it, though. His thoughts are otherwise occupied, a whirlwind of emotions that he can’t quite seem to shove down far enough to escape from.

He ends up ducking into the first bathroom he comes across, and slams the door behind him.

A cursory glance at the stalls tells him that it’s mercifully empty. Shaw makes a beeline for the sink, leans both hands up against the porcelain counter until his knuckles whiten from the tightness of his grip, and slowly releases a long, shuddering breath.

Brixton.

How could this have happened? Five years of vigilant avoidance - declining invitations to any functions his ex could show at (all of them, really), ignoring texts and phone calls, changing the channel when Lore was even so much as mentioned - and somehow, fate finds a way to get him stuck with the man all over again. And not just stuck, but having to work with him? To have to acknowledge his presence, to make conversation, to pretend Lore hadn’t ripped his still-beating heart from his chest and stomped on it, in front of millions?

Fate was a fucking cunt.

With a strap-on, apparently, considering how much she enjoyed fucking him over.

A shudder works its way down his spine, and Deckard grinds his teeth together. He grabs the tap and wrenches it on with more force than necessary, cups the cold water in his hands, and splashes it onto his face. The shock of cold doesn’t help as much as he’d hoped; he still feels tense, trembling with anger and other emotions he doesn’t bother to name (because anger is fine - anger is all he needs, and all he’ll let himself feel).

And oh, is he angry. So, so angry, to the point that he’s not quite sure what’ll happen, if they stick him in a room with Brixton in this state. He can’t afford it - not after Toretto.

Hattie would kick his arse, if he had a repeat performance of that shitshow again.

A brief pang of guilt strikes him. He shouldn’t have yelled at Hattie. None of this is his sister’s fault, and logically he knows this, but he can’t help the bit of blame he wants to lay at her feet for strong-arming him into this situation in the first place. Deckard squeezes the sink ledge even tighter.

He really needs to hit something.

He raises his head, and stares at his face in the mirror. Watches the rivulets of water drip down the curves of his cheeks for a few silent, contemplative moments.

“You’re a fucking idiot,” Shaw snarls - and then, abruptly, rears his fist back, and sends it slamming into his own reflection.

The glass shatters instantly. Deckard revels in the sharp jolt of pain radiating up his arm, and watches the broken pieces of mirror rain to the ground with a crash. It’s oddly soothing, he thinks, eyes caught on a drop of bright red on the sharp edge of one sliver, to watch the destruction he could cause from a single strike.

The following silence, after the chime of splintering glass, is almost deafening. Shaw stares listlessly at his fractured reflection in the few fragmented pieces of mirror left behind.

He thinks, briefly, about how appropriate the sight feels.

The sound of a throat clearing over his shoulder jolts him out of his musings.

"I know the sight of your face can be traumatic, but maybe don't take it out on the mirror."

Deckard closes his eyes. Takes a deep breath in.

As if his day couldn’t get any worse.

"Piss off, Hobbs," he hisses, pulling his fist back from the mirror and resting it on the sink ledge. He can feel the wet slide of blood dripping down his wrist, but the numbness that swept in after his initial outburst makes caring about that a difficult task.

Hobbs chuckles behind him, and Shaw can’t quite muster up the amount of irritation he knows he’d usually feel about that.

“Seven years bad luck, you know,” the big man says, closer this time. Deckard raises his eyes to the busted mirror again to see Hobbs stroll into view behind him.

Ten minutes alone, Deckard thinks. Couldn’t even get that, in this miserable shitstain of a day.

“Put it on my fucking tab,” he mutters absently. He raises his hand to take a look at the damage, and Shaw frowns at the sight of his split knuckles. Several small shards of glass are still embedded in the skin.

Those were going to be a bitch to get out.

Movement in the mirror catches his eye again, and he glances back up to see Hobbs coming closer, a frown on his face. The furrow in his brow almost looks concerned.

The expression makes Shaw’s hackles rise. He doesn’t need the man’s pity.

“Why don’t you make yourself useful and go pick up something heavy?” he snaps, and Deckard knows the insult’s weak, but he doesn’t have enough energy to deal with Hobbs’ shit on top of everything else right now.

Hobbs outright ignores it, though. And instead of stopping, he moves closer, and in the next moment he smoothly snatches up Shaw’s wrist before Shaw can even register the movement.

Deckard stiffens; the sudden warmth of a big hand against his cold skin is startling, and freezes him in his tracks. He stares at it in some surprise.

“You should see medical,” Hobbs says, and Deckard half-registers it as he watches the other man’s thumb brush an absent-minded circle over the skin of the Brit’s inner wrist. Shaw can feel a flush start to make itself known around his neck from the action. “Some of these are deep, might need stitches.”

Deckard stares for another moment, caught up in that small, continuous brush of the other man’s thumb - before abruptly gathering his wits about him and snatching his hand back from Hobbs' grasp.

“Deaf as well as dumb?” he barks, taking a step back from the bigger man to recenter himself. “I said leave me the fuck alone."

Hobbs' lips tighten and he rolls his eyes. “No,” he corrects mockingly, crossing his arms, “you said ‘piss off’ like a whiny prepubescent child. And since I am actually a grown ass man, I made the executive decision to ignore it.”

“Pretty sure you’re just a grown arse,” Deckard sneers.

“Pretty sure you’re just a pain in the ass.”

“Tch,” Shaw scoffs, but instead of leaning into the argument as per their usual, he turns his back on the other actor and moves his attention back to his damaged hand instead. He didn’t have the time or energy for this conversation right now; all it was doing was reigniting his earlier fury, and Shaw needed some semblance of calm if he was going to survive the upcoming meeting.

With great effort, he ignores Hobbs' presence completely, and focuses on gently wiggling a small shard of glass from his knuckle. Another dribble of blood wells up as it slides out without much fuss. He dips his hand under the still-running tap to wash it away.

"So, what's got princess Deckard in a snit now?" Hobbs asks calmly beside him, leaning his hip against the adjacent sink.

Deckard fishes out another sliver of glass and sneers.

"Tell me, Hobbs - when exactly did you get the notion that my life was any of your business?"

Hobbs laughs, soft and low. "Wow, someone really did just piss right in your wheaties, didn't they?" He leans closer, and the wide, charming grin the actor's sporting is hard to miss as he moves further into Shaw's personal space. "Come on, now: tell papa Luke all about what's got little Deckard wound up this time."

Deckard bristles. "Here's a thought," he snaps, brusquely grabbing at the last splinter still wedged into his skin, "how about you go and fu-"

Shaw cuts himself off with a hiss of pain; the glass is bigger, and deeper than expected, and sends a sharp bite of agony through his hand as it slides out. Another fount of blood slides sluggishly down his arm.

Hobbs' brows furrow, expression warping from playful to concerned again, and he immediately reaches out a hand towards Shaw's wrist. "Here, let me - "

But suddenly Shaw thinks of Brixton - his hand reaching out, on his shoulder, squeezing, an unwanted, spine-shuddering presence, and he smacks Hobbs' fingers away, stepping back with a withering snarl.

"Get your mitts off'a me!"

Hobbs jerks back, and holds his hands up in surrender. "Sure thing, cupcake," he snaps back, his annoyance obvious.

Deckard doesn’t care, though. He aggressively turns to the sink and washes off the remaining blood before grabbing a paper towel to wrap around the wounds. Hobbs lowers his arms again, then crosses them, and snorts.

“Just saying, though - you might want to start getting used to my mitts on you, if you really want to be a part of this movie.”

Deckard stills. He glances back to Hobbs, and his eyes narrow.

“I'm a goddamn professional, Hobbs,” he says, each word sharp and pointed. “I'll do what needs done in front of the cameras, but outside that? Stay away from me."

With that, Deckard decides it’s time to leave. He turns, and strides to the door, posture tense and bristling.

"Professional, huh?" Hobbs replies, pointedly eyeing the broken mirror as Shaw sweeps by him. "Then maybe you should try dialing it down a few thousand notches. Don't need you punching anything else on set."

Deckard's gait falters, and he stiffens. Toretto. The reference was obvious. And, strangely enough, the dig actually hurts.

He didn’t expect that. Didn’t expect that he’d give enough of a damn about Hobbs’ opinion of him, at this point, considering their history, but -

He guesses his skin isn’t quite as thick as he’d thought.

Something to work on, then.

"Stay out of my fucking way,” Shaw says slowly, not bothering to turn back around to face the other man, “and we won't need to worry about that, will we?"

Deckard slams the bathroom door open, and storms back out into the hall beyond.

Day one, and this was already turning into a fucking nightmare.

#hobbs and shaw #luke hobbs #deckard shaw #shobbs #shobbs romcom au #my drabbles #sorry this took for-fucking-ever to get done #*squints at it* why do i never like what i write #poor deckard #can't catch a break #poor hobbs #can't catch a deckard #i mean #what #i sure make deckard say fuck a lot #is this what the kids these days call 'projecting'?

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