miffy's note heyyyy this is uhhh a bit choppy at the end. there will be a second part this is kind of a draft. if it didn't get out of my drafts y'all would have neverrrrr seen it to enjoy guys idk. there could be some mistakes in there idk if i read this again i will explode
no minors! this is an 18 and up blog stay away! drinking, smoking, profanity, a bit angsty
it didn’t take a genius to see the tension just starting to simmer beneath the surface between you and hobie throughout the week. the weight of those sharp glances and tight lipped smiles were unusual between you two. it’s a rare occurrence that never happens, especially in the eyes of another. however, when you’re forced in such a close proximity, the undisclosed issue weighs on top of the conversation like a suffocating blanket.
you try to be cordial, keeping the strain of your relationship to yourself. as irritated as you are at a certain brown-skinned punk, he still holds a special place in your heart. while he’s in the midst of band practice, it wouldn’t be the time to push and press him any farther. you curl up against the couch of the disheveled garage, knees pulled into your chest and sipping water out of the trillium colored forty ounce hyrdoflask.
the buttery fabric of your pink sweatpants rubs against the velvet material of the patchy couch. you try not to pay attention to the dissatisfactory feeling of the contrasting fabrics against each other. you remain perched against the arm of the chair, legs somewhat strewn across the lap of your friend delilah, or more commonly known as didi within the inner friendship circle. you both sit in almost silence; any attempts of a conversation would be quickly drowned out by the vibrating symphony of electric guitars, drums, and vocals mixing together in the amplifiers.
as the song comes to a crashing end, air buzzing with the remnants of hobie’s guitar solo, you feel your body begin to jostle as delilah scoots towards the edge of the couch, pressing her hands together in repetitive claps. her glee provokes a smile to spread across your face despite hearing this song at least ten times in the last couple days. “that was so good,” her eyes softened and settled atop issac. it doesn’t surprise you. after all, they have been pining after each other for months now.
“aw thanks, peach. you’re such a doll.” the latter says as the group disperses, taking a few minutes to recuperate from the taxing demands performing their self-produced mini album time and time again.
you wordlessly watch the gentle interaction between the two, ignoring the slow approaching presence hobie brings when he leans his weight against the arm of the chair. your body moves on it’s own fruition despite the not so secret annoyance you harbor, searching for his warmth and that familiar scent of woodsy cologne and weed smoke.
“you still mad at me?” hobie mumbles, hooking his hand under your chin to redirect your attention to his. he brushes his thumb against the smooth skin along your jawline, eyebrow quirked at your slight glower. he expected it considering just how you ignore him, dancing around him and his existence. “don’t you think this is getting ridiculous?”
you could respond, head tilted back and brown eyes boring into his, but you don’t. there’s some sort of satisfaction in not responding, playing the silent game and intentionally narrowing your eyes to quietly get your words across. you know he hates it but it’s what he deserves. you should have been elsewhere, stationed in the comfort of your family’s vacation house and sipping on bloody marys and picking cheese off charcuterie boards. instead, you’re stuck here somewhere near the edges of the city under the unfulfilled promise that maybe you’ll be able to take that trip at a later time this week.
hobie scoffs, tongue sliding over his top row of white teeth behind his lips. he supposes he brought this upon himself the moment he took interest in a shiny thing like you, so wrapped up in her own world, whims, and wants, nevermind all the effort he puts into securing your safety. “you’re so spoiled.” he clicks his tongue before rising to his feet.
a part of you is surprised to see him relinquish against your attitude, leaving you alone to sit in your spot as he retreats towards the minifridge. you turn in your spot, craning your neck in his direction as he takes his steps away from you, hands dug into the pockets of his cargo joggers. the other part of you knows this is one of the better reactions he can have provided you’re still surrounded by your peers.
you’re still bitter by the time the sun has begun to dip below the horizon. your plans to return back to your one bedroom apartment in the heart of the city has been temporarily put on hold as hobie had stepped away to pass around a blunt or two. it shouldn’t take no more than half an hour for him to get just enough buzz and perhaps another half hour until you actually leave harry’s, the lead vocalist, residence.
he’s kind enough to allow you to make yourself comfortable in his guest bedroom while you wait, mindlessly consuming the trash television flickering across the tv screen. you originally had intentions to take a short nap but the sleep never came. instead, you laid there doing the best you could not to mull to long on the disappointment of being here instead of enjoying the fresh air of the countryside.
it’s not truly all that serious. if hobie made a promise to you, he’d actually go through with it. the problem is he promised you this weekend that you could take a trip to indulge in your capitalistic background. just as you had finished packing your bags and dropped in front of the door, he informed you that your plans would have to be rescheduled. why? because once again, there’s some unnamed threat he cannot allow you to be exposed to, whatever that meant.
hobie left you out of the very details that would make you even the least bit understanding under the excuse that he is keeping you safe. all it does is make you resentful. it makes you hate his late night phone calls, the way he crawls into bed beside you far past midnight, the hints of purple and green that sometimes peek out of his bag you’re not allowed to touch. it’s hard enough having to give up part of the life you’re used to in order to live in his, downsizing your materialistic items, no longer consuming as many goods as you have before.
you damn near altered your entirely life just to make your relationship work, to meet him halfway. all you get in return is inconsistency.
and when he comes sauntering into the room, whites of his eyes now turned red, you’re filled with that same white hot hatred all over again. not at him, but at your current predicament.
“you’re not going to greet me? ‘hi hobie. i missed you’.” hobie ignores the way you look at him, kicking off his shoes at the base of the bed and climbing on top of the mattress with you. he doesn’t hesitate to press his body weight against you, long limbs wrapping around your waist and covering your form like a blanket. “you’ve been so grouchy lately.” he buries his head into the crook of your neck, inhaling what scent remains on your perfumed skin. his hazed mind finds this position particularly comforting, so much so that he lazily presses soft and closed-mouth kisses against the surface of your skin.
you don’t bother to welcome him with kind words. you don’t even look at him, aiming to drown him out as much as you can by putting whatever reality show currently playing at the forefront of your mind. “yeah? you think so?” you can’t help the sardonic tone you take. it’s as if the moment possessed you before you could truly think about it but even if you did . . . it’s unlikely you’d speak any nicer.
“hey,” hobie’s hands find the soft supple flesh of your uncovered torso easily. he doesn’t have to push your shirt up considering the flowing cropped white shirt you threw on earlier that day. he squeezes lightly, the corners of his lips turning downwards in a frown. you can feel them tugging against your neck. “what is up with you? why are you in such a strop?”
“a what?” your eyebrows raise and you turn your head to look over your shoulder. your mini twists brush and mingle with his freeform locs splayed across the sheets. your eyes land on his, low and hooded with the influence of marijuana consumption.
“why are you being so pissy?” he reiterates with jargon you’d understand with more ease than his particular dialect and accent stretching certain vowels against his tongue.
your expression doesn’t change much at all. if anything, your eyebrows only knit further together as you twist your body in his direction, completely abandoning the show you used as a cover for your frustration altogether. you push your body upwards, leaning against the flat palm on the bed. “you know i hate it when you call me that. you’re actually not helping at all.” you have to look down to glare at him.
hobie didn’t move. he simply left his hand wrapped around your hips, elbow bent in your lap and propping his head up against his hand. “i didn’t call you pissy. i said you’re in a strop. you didn’t understand what i was talking about so i used a word you’d know. it’s a synonym. if you take offense to it, that’s on you.”
“you’re so ridiculous, hobie, i swear. if that’s what you got from everything i said, if that’s what you think is most important then what are we even talking for?”
a couple seconds pass of nothing but silence. you can see in the way he looks at you just how much he’s calculating the current situation. he breathes in a breath through his nose and exhales the air out through puffed cheeks and an open mouth. “okay. . . i’m too high for this. i don’t think i can have the conversation you want to have right now.” he shakes his head, moving his arm strewn across your lap and bringing himself to standing.
hobie brushes his hands against his cotton cargos, still maintaining that sweet approach as he cups your cheeks in both his hands. he’s adoring, although firm in his decision to create space between you. “i don’t like arguing with you so i’m going to go. i love you; i’m not mad. i just cannot do this right now. talk to me when you’re ready, pretty.” he pulls you in close enough to peck the center of your forehead, warm and sweet.
he makes his exit, patting his doorframe on the way out. it’s always like him to take the mature route, playing the role of the dutiful boyfriend while being the cause of your emotional distress. knowing him, he’s avoiding it, putting off the confrontation as long as possible until you’re barely acknowledging him and he’s forced to bring the topic up again.
how annoying.
you still aren’t speaking more than a couple sentences by the time you take those first few steps into your apartment. the keys jangle as you hook them on the white command hook stuck to the beige painted wall. the silence is mutual, although for different reasons. you, because you have nothing nice to say to your lanky lover who previously brought you nothing but happiness. him, because he has no intentions of creating a larger rift between you.
“do you want me to stay over?” hobie’s voice, soft and soothing, breaks the silence with a deep drawl. he lingers by the doorway, unmoving and watching you shove you fingers between the heel of your foot and the back of your shoe.
“do what you want,” you say as you grab onto the wall to steady yourself. once your shoes have been removed from your body, you tuck them into the shoe closet. your shoes are nestled neatly between two other pairs, flat against the carpet and lined up from left to right.
you don’t have to turn around to face hobie to know he’s either sighing or rolling his eyes at your indifferent attitude. you also don’t have to watch him to know that he’ll decide to stay. it’s typical hobie behavior to aim to resolve strife before separating for the day or night.
your beliefs are only cemented when the door clicks closed behind you and his presence remains, shuffling through the routines of domesticity with you by his side. he hangs up his jacket and abandons his unnecessary accessories at the entryway. “do you want to talk about it, now?”
you can’t help the way you stare at him, filled with disbelief and mild anger. you want to tell him he’s so hypocritical, dancing around the issue under the guise of being too intoxicated, as if he didn’t know what was brewing between you the entire time. how dare he place the fault entirely on you despite having ample opportunity to approach the subject before. “i’m going to go take a shower.” you brush off his question and stalk towards your bedroom.
throw a transition in here
the steaming water provides a sense of relief against your warming skin. it takes a red tinted hue, goosebumps pricking at the sudden contrast of cold air and hot water. you savor the feeling, allowing your eyes to flutter closed while you bask in the warmth.
your bare skin is soft and dripping in water. the perfumed scent of fresh soap still lingers on your body, clinging to your form in a powdery cloud of cleanliness. it’s barely been a few minutes into your shower; you still have the soaked towel in between your fingertips, suds building and bubbling over one another as you drag it against your skin for the second and final time.
you can’t say you’re not surprised when you feel the shower curtain sliding open to accommodate a certain someone’s size. the steam goes rushing out of the enclosed space until the clear, plastic curtain has settled back into space. you’re not surprised when hobie’s hands find your waist immediately after either, strong calloused fingers digging into your soft flesh and pulling you closer to him by the hips.
you let out a whine at the loss of your previously enjoyed warm water but comply nonetheless when he buries his head in the crook of your neck, nudging your damp shower black cap out the way. “you’re in the way.” not only that but his body against yours is distracting. it’s pressing and wet, thin muscles contorting around your body, his own shower cap squeaking against yours, half-hard erection against your bare cheeks.
“you know we gotta talk about it, gorgeous. you can’t keep pushin’ it off and pushin’ it off just because you’re mad at me.” hobie reluctantly peels himself off of you, but only after gently removing the red towel from your grasp. he takes his time to run it in between your shoulder blades and down the expanse of your spine, eyes low and following his hand as it glides across your skin.
you both know you’re not going to push him away when he’s sweet like this even if you put up this facade of irritation. the only reason you haven’t bothered to up your antics is because he isn’t looking you in your softened eyes. “we could have talked about it earlier but you said you were ‘too high for this’ and that you couldn’t ’have the conversation i want to have’.”
“ouch, girl.” there’s a rich chuckle that vibrates in his chest as he sweeps the towel down your shoulders and along your arms, leaving the soapy mixture in his wake. “so mean. where do you get that mouth from?” he moves your pliant body as he pleases, pressing your back against his chest so he can venture along your collarbone.
you scoff, turning your head away from his general direction, staring at the droplets of water that hit the ceramic walls and dribble down onto the bathtub floor. “i’m still mad at you. the only reason i’m letting you in here is because you’re interrupting my time.”
“oh trust,” he can’t help the way he smiles just a bit when his fingers just happen to graze over your hardening nipped and you whisper a gasp. it’s not your fault your body recognizes his touch. “i know. that’s why we have to talk about it. why are you mad, mama?”
your knees nearly turn into jelly on the spot. why, why, did he insisted on taking such a slow and sensual approach? there were other ways to woo you, you’re certain. he could have made dinner, bought you flowers, washed and folded three loads of laundry. it’s such a low blow and one that leaves you defenseless so you have no choice but to scoff and turn away even further, as far as the muscles in your neck will allow you. “you know why i’m mad.”
he sweeps the towel along your torso, up and down your sides, exchanging hands to reach the untouched skin on the opposite side of your frame. “maybe i do but you need to tell me. y’know, use your words like the adult you are.”
. . . like the adult you are. the words ring out in your head like a song stuck on replay. you squint and your lips purse in the smallest pout you could hide. he speaks as if he wasn’t actively avoiding you earlier either, opting to get high instead of facing you head on like he knows he should have. “you’re such a hypocrite.”
“hey,” hobie’s hands find your hips again. he uses his hold on your body to turn you around until you’re looking him eye to eye, warm pellets of water raining down on your back. there’s a frown tugging at his lips as he hooks his hand beneath your left thigh and holding it taut against his waist. “i’m trying to work this out with you, darlin’.”
his touch is still just as tender when he trails that sudsy towel down your browned thigh. his other hand is planted securely on your waist, maintaining your balance without so much as a wobble. you realize rather suddenly that while he’s sauntered in under the guise of aiding you clean yourself, it’s far more likely he simply wants to just touch you. “what do you want me to do, hm? how can i make this better?”
it’s muscle memory, the way you wrap your arms around his neck. your fingers interlace, unintentionally pulling your bodies together in a mass of dripping wet and soapy limbs and annoyed attitudes piled together. you can tell yourself his approach isn’t right. you can insist it’s unjustifiable and disgusting to try and manipulate you into forgiving him, once again.
you wouldn’t particularly describe your relationship as toxic, not by far. if anything, hobie is nothing but sweet and adoring. it’s evident even now when he holds you in his hands, massaging your skin underneath his fingertips with the most gentle eyes. you will say there has been a sudden increase in miscommunication. the blame is shared equally; you’re both too stubborn for your own good sometimes, insisting one truth over the other as if two things can’t be true at once.
but he is trying. he did corner you with the intention of righting his wrong while simultaneously getting you to admit your own wrongdoing. maybe he shouldn’t keep his secrets from you. maybe he should have let you go alone back to your countryside home and met up with you later but it’s only fair if you admit your strategy to push him away is doing nothing for you.
still, hobie watches you insist. he watches the gears turn inside your head. he gets a front row seat in real time to see you double down, even with your hands wrapped around his neck and his palm resting against your thigh. even in this position he put you in. “tell me you're sorry.”
“tell you i’m sorry?” his disbelief is all over his face. his eyebrows jump up on his forehead and he releases his hold on you entirely. he’s still careful, making sure your foot is flat against the solid flooring of the tub before taking half a step back. he tilts his head and for a moment, you think this is going to make an absolute u-turn. you expect him to get riled up, accuse you of being a spoiled brat who cares only of herself.
what you don’t expect is for his shoulders to rise and fall with acceptance of whatever words you decide to spew in the moment. “okay, then. i’m sorry. i’m sorry for not speaking’ to you about this sooner, for blowin’ you off, and for upsettin’ you. you’re too precious for all that stress, yeah?” hobie doesn’t expect a response. in fact, his wet hands find your cheeks and cup them, squishing your face together just enough to make you all puffy. “‘m sorry, pretty. is that what you want to hear?”
“no actually. that’s not what i want to hear, not like that. you’re just placating me. you don’t actually mean that.” you have every intention to turn away from him, already reaching for the forgotten towel in his hand but you don’t exactly make it that far. you’re barely able to frown and outstretch your hand before hobie is on you again, lacing your fingers within his and pulling you to him by the waist. again, you’ve been forced to abandon the warm stream of water you were using as a blanket.
“i’m not. i mean it, i swear.” he brings your hand to his lips, gingerly kissing your knuckles. his eyes never once leave yours, even when those soft knuckle kisses make their way down to your wrist. “i don’t like arguin’ with you. it’s stupid ‘nd it’s happenin’ too much. tell me what the problem is and i’ll take responsibility. for all of it.”
this isn’t just because you couldn’t take at trip down memory lane and laze around your childhood home. you know that. you knew that the moment the anger started and you’re sure hobie isn’t clueless enough not to know that, too. he’s here prompting the truth out of you, after all. however, this isn’t really the conversation you thought you would have. really, you thought you’d have to live with your disdain for certain behaviors in private. not because you’re afraid of his reaction but because the topic can be so uncomfortable and there is nothing you hate more than strain in your otherwise perfect relationship. although, you can’t really call it perfect if you have to pretend there isn’t something unspoken you’re both dancing around. you’re absolutely clueless and hobie has all the answers and yet, you still hesitate to bring it up. it doesn’t matter how well you know him or the fact that he has never been anything but kind to you. most people will avoid something with an unknown risk for the sake of preserving what they already have.
“just say it, bug. it’s okay.” hobie prompts you again. he reads that turmoil-filled expression on your face so easily. he may be holding back some aspects of the truth but you’re holding back how you feel and that’s not going to do anything to push this rough patch along. “whatever it is, i can handle it. y’know i’ll never be mad at you for talkin’ to me.”
“i don’t —,” your voice cracks. it’s already wavering and tears begin to prickle in the corner of your eyes. the threat, the fear you have of this somehow going wrong weighs heavier on you that you thought it did. you were so ready to lash out on him earlier under the guise of being unable to travel. you’ve denied yourself of admitting the real reason but when he’s being so patient, allowing you to get the words out without judgement, making no sudden moves to console you or acknowledge the glassy sheen your eyes take, how can you not? he’s perfect, supposedly, so why do you doubt him?
“you tell me all these things for the sake of my safety but you don’t tell me why. i’m just expected to blindly follow you and i don’t like that. you go out, you do what you want, sometimes you come back late at night, sometimes you don’t come back at all. sometimes i don’t hear from you for days. i know everything and nothing about you at the same time. what is —”
“i’m the prowler.”
“what?”
well, that is not how he planned to tell you. hobie thought he’d do it in a more controlled manner. he envisioned the day in his head: he’d sit you down after a rather boring day in the confines of someone’s room, at your place or his, take your hands in his gently, and tell you with the softest voice he could manage, almost whispering the words. he did not plan on blurting the words out while the guilt ate away at him until he was nothing but a corpse of himself. he already said it. he can’t take it back now. there is no trying again.
“you know the prowler, don’t you? he’s on the news sometimes. stealin’, botherin’ politicians, crime fightin; if he feels like it. that’s me. i’m the prowler.” that nervous grin hobie makes when he doesn’t truly know what he’s doing makes it way on his face. he’s holding you even tighter now, afraid that if he let’s you go, you’ll just run away and he’ll never see you again. “that’s why i make strange requests sometimes. i know things you don’t know and i don’t want you out there when it happens.”
the water suddenly feels too hot on your skin. you’re no longer in a position to turn around and lower the temperature. you don’t even think you can take a step back right now. he’s pulled you in so tight, almost suffocating you with his words and his body. “hobart brown. what the actual fuck are you talking about?” you’re pulled into his chest when he wraps his arms around your waist. it’s a hug, a forceful one at that, where you have to turn your cheek to avoid being pressed head on into his chest. “what the fuck do you mean you’re the prowler?”
“that’s it. i’m the prowler. that’s the big secret. that’s what’s in my bag,” that, and some explosives, “that’s what i’m so overbearing, i guess. i was the prowler before we met. i just . . . didn’t want to scare you off, i guess. i probably just did, though. you can call me a sick bastard if you want. i won’t get angry.”
you don’t even know what to say. it’s not every day your boyfriend of a little under a year tells you he’s the infamous and very hated antihero. the same one you’ve criticised for holding up traffic or causing damage to city property that you, as a tax payer, would have to replace with the money out of your checks. you just stand there, arms by your side and head pressed against his chest. the rapid badump, badump, badump drowns out the rushing water out the shower head just a couple inches behind you.
you forgive him. truly, you do. you’re not seething with rage because he’s the prowler. you’re not preparing to shout in his face over lying to you, because he didn’t. you just don’t know how to take it. what does one do when the truth has been omitted for several months, even while practically leaving together, spending almost every waking moment by each other’s side. how could you have not noticed all the signs? you saw the suit. you saw glimpses of it. every time the prowler would be spotted somewhere, hobie was always out. his location on his phone, the one he gave you access to, always put him somewhere near the crime scene and yet, you neve questioned him on it. why? because you trusted him. so what now?
“hobie, you should go.”
you can’t believe what you’re saying. hell, hobie can’t believe what you’re saying. his grip falters. he can feel himself crumbling away, becoming a shell of what was once him. hobie has no choice but to respect your wishes, although reluctantly, and pulls away. he lingers, for a moment, with downcast eyes that are unable to look at anything else but the textured tub flooring. you’ve never seen him look like this, suddenly small and quiet, like he’s lost all sense of himself. “when can i . . . come back for my stuff?”
“what?” this time, you’re comforting him, or trying to at least. though you want to reach out for him, take his hand in your, give him a reassuring squeeze, you can’t bring yourself to. all you can do is offer a somewhat sad smile and shake your head. “oh baby i’m not, we’re not breaking up. i just, i need some time to think. no need to come back for your stuff.” you clench and unclench your fists by your sides. your palms are just itching to grasp him, to have that physical connection, to calm both his and your nerves. you need it. you know you can’t just ghost past this, though. you can’t pretend he didn’t drop a bomb in an attempt to reconcile.
you appreciate the truth and his blunt delivery. you appreciate that he’s told you face to face especially when you were asking for it, instead of dancing around as if you can’t handle it. you just can’t bring yourself to not care. you’re looking at him and at his naked form, dejected and shivering like a discarded puppy, and you still see him for who he is. he’s still hobie. he’s still the same man that carries you to your apartment drunk, that dances with you in the kitchen in the midst of making dinner, that pulls you close to his chest underneath the covers in the middle of the night. underneath that all though is a big gaping hole that you’ve just discovered. it’s a world you didn’t exist in until now. or maybe you did exist in it and that’s why he kept it from you. regardless, you need to think.
away from him.
in solitude.
so when hobie nods and makes a slow turn, reaching for the plastic shower curtain, you make no move to stop him. this isn’t the last image you want to have imprinted into your head and in another scenario, maybe you would have found this at least the bit funny. there’s nothing enjoyable about watching your boyfriend cower away from you.
you thought perhaps once he left and you were left alone in silence, you’d feel a little better. a little less suffocated by new information. a little more able to breathe and think clearly. instead, you just feel lonely. you feel cold despite being surrounded by warm vapor and hot water.
you take a deep breath, letting the air fill your lungs and the shivers roll down your spine. your brain is more scrambled than before. you had an idea of how the conversation should have went. you should have went on your rant. he should have apologized for being distant. you should have apologized for taking the childish approach. but instead . . . hobie is the prowler?
hobie is the prowler. your hobie? well, what the hell are you supposed to do now?
delilah is one of the last people you expected to encounter just so suddenly like this. it’s not that much of a coincidence, though. she does live around here. if you’re hungry and you venture out late enough, you just might catch her trapezing around by herself or with issac just a few paces behind her at the grocery store.
usually, you don’t really mind running into her. if anything, you’d be quite pleased, nothing but smiles and warm hugs. however, this time you would have preferred if she walked down another aisle and never saw you again, at least for today, because the moment you lock eyes, you can already tell what she’s going to say.
“⭐︎. where have you been, girl? i texted you and you didn’t text me back. plus, you haven’t been to any of the practices in the past week. not that you have to.” delilah approaches you slowly, eyebrows raised and hands gripping her shopping cart. the wheels squeak against the linoleum floor, outwardly expressing their distress for moving down the aisle.
you’re mid-reach, fingers still outstretched towards the chilled bottle of poms pomegranate juice. you can see your surprised expression in the reflection of the red-purple bottle perched on the shelf stocked with kombuchas, health shots, and packaged fruit. slowly, with a forced and strained smile stretching your lips, you turn your head in his direction. “hey de’ . . . hey.” the contents in the black plastic basket jostle around, cardboard and plastic knocking against each other.
you only had intentions of running in really quick to pick up the contents for tonight’s dinner. the pomegranate juice wasn’t necessary, simply a little treat you decided to splurge on, a healthy alternative to desserts or caffeinated drinks. it ended up being your demise, leading you right into delilah’s path and kept you so occupied, you hadn’t had time to notice her wandering over in time. “i got you texts. i’ve just been super busy. sorry di. you know i’d never ignore you, especially not on purpose.”
it’s not entirely a lie, though it might be a poor excuse.
delilah’s maxi skirt swishes around her sandaled ankles when she begins to walk towards her. her hand leaves the metal bar of her shopping cart to swiper her curly bangs out her face. the dangle around the edges of her forehead. she wears an apprehensive smile, lifted at the corners but accompanied by a head tilt while her eyes sweep over her form. she can only assume the worst because well . . . the situation causes for it. not that you would know but hobie hasn’t been doing too well either. he shows up practice when needed, answers calls when prompted, but it’s written all over his face. even when he’s standing right beside you, hobie isn’t always there. there’s a distant look in his eyes and frown lines etched into his skin.
recently he’s been quiet. it’s an uncharacteristic trait he’s taken on. even when the set up is perfect, even when harry practically spoon feeds it to him with brutal words criticizing the systems put in place under the guise of aiding the citizens forced to operate with them, hobie does nothing. he simply blinks himself into nonexistence and lifts his head only when called. it’s a miracle he’s even managed to show up at band camp but then again, he never really leaves. he sort of just lingers, slipping into the shadows to hide under the covers in the king bed in the guest bedroom. delilah had no idea he was such a sensitive guy.
“yeah,” delilah pulls her chocolate brown cardigan tighter around her shoulders as she steps farther into the produce section. the temperatures dip, cold air drafting from the refrigerated shelves of misted vegetables. “well, i’m glad to see you’re doing okay. how have things been between you and you know?”
you can tell by the she looks at you that she already knows. the question is, is how much does she know? “if you’re asking me about myself then i’ve been pretty good. work is work and i’m still working towards my degree. if you’re asking about hobie, um,” the floor suddenly becomes so interesting to you. you hone in on a discarded gum wrapping floating along the ground. when someone walks by, it gets swept up, drifting farther and farther away from you. “you know, we’ve both been so busy, i haven’t really had a chance to speak to him. we just haven’t found the time to meet up. i guess it’s just that season.” you brush your fingers along your jacket, snagging the polyester beneath your nails.
delilah’s eyebrows strain together in the center of her forehead. she doesn’t object, though. she keeps her lips sealed together and nods her head slowly in faux understanding. it doesn’t take a genius to know there is a second meaning underlying your words. “oh, okay. well, when you have a sec, maybe see how he’s doing? just a suggestion.” she ruffles her hair, tossing the lengthy curls over her shoulder.
a beat of silence passes between you, which is strange considering how close friends you are and the fact that neither of you have crossed paths in a week. things shouldn’t be so awkward between the two of you and yet it is.
“okay well, i’m going to let you get back to your shopping. i’ll see you around, then. text me later, okay? you can tell me anything.” didi plants a hand on your arm. it’s meant to bring reassurance but all it does is bring you guilt and resurfaces the wretched emotions you’ve just begun to compact away with a tattered bow.
you nod, swallowing the lump that’s begin to grow in your throat. you hadn’t noticed until now how shallow you’ve been breathing. you manage a tight lipped smile and silently try to calm your racing heart. the realization hits you all the same as it did the first time.
hobie is the prowler. he goes out late at night to do who knows what. the only time you catch it is when the news displays his criminal actions. usually it’s over breakfast when you’re both seated around the tiny kitchen table. sometimes you’re chewing on toast, other times you’re cutting up fruit but regardless, you watch the prowler weave through the empty streets, often searching of chaos to wreck. if not that, he just disappears. disappears from social events, shows up late to dates, slips out of bed too early in the morning. you assumed it was his inconsistency or his sporadic bursts of energy. however, you’ve come to learn, just now and far to late, that the real reason is because he is some sort of halfway villain. or maybe a hero with questionable morals.
“yeah.” your voice betrays you, coming out in cracks in squeaks. you don’t know whether or not you’re about to cry again but your eyes sting all the same. you feel like you’re going through a breakup even though the decision has yet to be made and completely yours to make. it’s just, you haven’t seen hobie in days and it’s causing withdrawals. your bed has never seen as big as it has until this week. “i’ll see you around.”
delilah turns on the heel of her shoe. she only makes it a few steps away before she’s glancing over her shoulder again. the cart is still in her fingers but the smile she wears looks more real. “we’re having a little get together-whatever tomorrow night. you should come by. if you do . . . you should know hobie is going to be there. it’s at his after all. we thought it would cheer him up. i’ll text you the details if you like.”
you respond with a shrug, busying yourself by scanning the shelves for nothing in particular. you don’t really want anything. everything you already came for laid in the plastic cart gripped tightly between your fingers. you can’t bring yourself to look in her direction and meet her eyes. your eyes are brimming with tears. it’s embarrassing and unexplainable. “sure. why not.”
when delilah said they were throwing something small, you expected something small. you didn’t expect to be called at two in the morning, just as you had finally gotten in between your sheets to rest your eyes after a long day of working and writing a paper for your critical reading class, to take a forty five minute drive to your boyfriend’s house nearly outside the city because his friends deemed him too drunk to be left alone.
forty five minutes, all by yourself, at two in the morning. it’s no wonder why he frequently stayed over at yours. no one enjoyed such a long commute. especially hobie, the one who hated driving the most. he didn’t like public transportation either, thinking it’s a complete waste of money to need to pay for transportation the city should be providing. if he couldn’t sneak his way onto a bus, he’d find another way.
you could hear his demands in the background of the rather short phone call with issac. most of his phrases centered around getting more drinks and the notion that he wasn’t as drunk as they thought he was. however, his words all slurred together in a nonsense jumble that would have been hard to decipher if you hadn’t previously been around plastered hobie, yourself.
“i don’t know what’s going on between you two, but i have to get didi home. we can’t stay and make sure he doesn’t fuckin’ kill himself or get arrested. he’s already tried to go outside twice.”
issac sounds fed up through the speaker, even more than you feel right now. granted, you haven’t had a chance to fall asleep, yet. you’re phone just hit the pillow when that default iphone ringer shout out the speaker from your phone sitting on the nightstand. “okay, okay. whatever. i’m coming.” you groan, throwing the sheets off your body.
you weren’t going to say no even if he hadn’t called in such a bad mood. you and hobie may not exactly be on speaking terms but you still carry endless love for him. if he needs you, and it’s clear that he does, you’re still going to show up no matter what hour of the night it is. besides, in his drunken state, he’s spewing words that make your heart pang.
“i’m not fucking drunk, you shit-headed bastards. i just want to see my girl.”
“sit the fuck down.” there’s a bit of a scuffle in the receiver. fabric brushes against the phone and muffles the voices going back and forth with disagreeing words. you can listen as you throw your legs over the side of your bed and push yourself to standing. you’d prefer if issac just hung up but until then, you’re subjected to whatever he may have to say; if you hang up, you risk hearing information he might have forgotten to leave out. “di’, take this.”
the sound of delilah taking possession of the phone draws your attention once again. you can tell she’s drunk too, because she giggles, all light and airy. you don’t get a chance to speak to her because the call cuts to an end shortly after. you assume it’s an accident, a push of a button she wasn’t aware of when she wraps her fingers around the flat surface. you shake your head and pull the sweatpants you’ve discarded back over your hips.
on your way out the door, you grab a gray hoodie left lying around on the back of your sofa and tuck it beneath your arm. your keys take precdelilahce over tugging the hoodie on your body; they end up stuffed into your pocket, clinking against each other and cold against the thin pocket fabric. you can feel it underneath, on your bare legs. besides, you’d rather wait until you’re outside to put it on to decide if it’s worth putting it on. you’re going to be seated in your car anyway with the heat on until you deem it warm enough.
it takes thirty five minutes to arrive at the marina. the lack of traffic in the late night hours and the notion that you did, in fact, push the speed limit just a couple miles over the allotted legal limit. it wasn’t that you were necessarily rushing or excited to see hobie . . . at least that’s what you tell yourself. he’s simply incoherent and you want to relieve issac and delilah of their babysitting duties. after all, they had their own problems to worry about and the hours are ticking by. there’s no need for them to be forced to stay there when you can easily set aside your problems for one night.
you don’t have to knock on the door to enter his house boat, either. just last month, he’s gifted you with a duplicate of his house key, one that you have yet to grow comfortable with freely using. you don’t have the privilege of hesitating just behind the door of the gently rocking boat. you do have somewhat of an advantage. hobie is incoherent and you know just what he’s like when he’s operating under the influence. the chances of him holding your last conversation against you is particularly low. after all, he did say he wanted to see his girl, assuming he’s talking about you.
you insert the tiny silver-colored key into it’s slot. the lock twists with a quiet click and the door handle turns under your grasp. “i’m here, guys.” you call out into the boat as you enter. you’ve spent just a minute inside his residence and yet, you can already hear the chaos ensuing deeper inside. you can see the living room from where you stand, cluttered with discarded solo red cups and half emptied glass liquor bottles. there was clearly more people here than the remaining three because there are blankets strewn all over the place, empty bottles laying on their side wherever they were left, and indents on the small couches surrounding the coffee table.
the sound of the door closing is drowned out by hobie’s incessant warbling that only gets increasingly louder when you announce your arrival. “baby! you’re here.” he moves in a blur, flinging his body up and stumbling over to your frame. even with his feet catching each other, hobie still manages to find his way to you rather quickly, quickly enough to catch you off guard when he throws his arms around your shoulders.
you blink and widen your eyes when the scent hits your nose. it’s nothing particularly unpleasant. you just happen to find the smell of alcohol burning your nose, especially when he presses himself farther into you with the goal of merging your skin together and functioning under one beating heart. just as you expected, he’s grown clingy, needy, consumed with thoughts surrounding you and you alone despite your past . . . misunderstanding. “issac, delilah, you guys are good to go. i got it from here. have a good night.” you pat hobie’s arm and shuffle forward, persuading hobie to follow with similar actions, as long as it meant remaining connected to you in any way possible.
issac simply nods, already occupied with pulling his arms far above his head and leaning backwards in a deep stretch. it’s already late, more than late really. you arrived closer to three in the morning, later than issac would have liked after spending so much energy on his own enjoyment and caring for others. at least, by now, he’s had time to sober up enough to take on driving delilah home — he had the least to drink, anyway — and even if there was no benefit, issac wasn’t the type to complain, especially when it came to his friends. “come on, didi.”
he has a secure hand wrapped around giggly delilah’s waist. her eyes light up when she sees you, but they shortly dim when she realizes how shortly your paths cross. “aw no,” she reaches out for you, hands cupping your cheeks lightly. she really has missed spending time with you. “you just got here.” her bottom lip juts out in the smallest pout. “guess i’ll see you later.”
“get your hands of my girlfriend,” hobie lifts his head from where he’s dug himself into your scalp just to scoff and gently nudge delilah’s hands away. even in his drunken state where he’s made a change in personality to become something akin to another layer of skin, he remains as gentlemanly and kind as he ever was. his words are accompanied by a stare, eyes narrowed and lips still buried into your hair.
“okay. it’s time for bed. bye delilah, bye issac.” you click your tongue and shuffle forward, again. your steps encourage hobie to follow your ministrations, taking half steps to get to his bedroom. you’re pleased to discover his room is untouched, left out of the drinking activities that have created the cluttered mess in the living room. the covers are still disheveled from hobie’s decision not to make his bed that morning. there is still a pile of clean clothes waiting to be put away piled up in the corner of the room. he still has shoes sitting all around the room, overturned and just waiting to trip someone up. his room is completely normal, left in a hobie-style neatness that has you kicking a clunky boot out of your way.
you manage to get him close enough to his bed to push him down on to it with a groan. he’s been weighing you down the whole way, dragging his feet across the floor and insisting on mumbling sweet words against your skin. “i love you so much.” he’s immediately sappy the moment his back meets the bed and his eyes meets yours. he doesn’t resist when you swing his legs onto the bed and nudge him farther back against the wall as a safety precaution, lest he make an attempt to roll off and stand up again.
hobie intertwines your fingers together. they’re loose and curling against your skin. he doesn’t attempt to make you stay. he just peers at you, a sad smile tugging his lips downward. it seems that for a second, he’s reached a moment of clarity. your face reminds him of the rotten feeling carving holes into his heart throughout the week. the pads of his fingers brush against your smooth skin and for a moment, he considers tightening his grip on you. “i love you a lot and i never say that, you know. do you hate me?”
you’re surprised to see his eyes gaining a watery sheen. they pool on his lash line and gather at the edges of his sideways turned eyes. the droplets, thin as they are, threaten to spill over onto his cheek and sink into the sheets. “no, of course not. i could have never hated you, pretty. i just . . . we just need to talk. later. when you’re in your right mind.” you reach across the bed, stretching your arm until your hand meets his cheek. it sweeps across the skin to swipe the fresh tears of sorrow beginning their slow trail down his face. the feeling you’re felt with is indescribable. there is no word that you can use to describe just how dark you feel on the inside. you don’t remember a time you’ve ever seen hobie cry, at least not so helplessly and especially not over you. you can only hope it’s because he’s drunk and emotionally but you weren’t there throughout the week. you have no idea just what he’s been through while you weren’t there and you did not ask about him.
“are you going home?” hobie is still slurring when he speaks to you. he shifts slightly, wiping his tears away and inching closer to you. he feels like he’s moving in slow motion, fighting against nonexistent waves in the air that aim to push him down and restrain him — or perhaps he’s just tired. the closer he gets, the more beautiful you look in his eyes. hobie thinks his favorite times to look at you are during sunset and in the middle of the night. the pale moonlight drowns you in a translucent glow. you look like you’ve bathed in silver. the air around you just glitters and sparkles and you look unreal. fairylike, magical.
his eyes dart between yours and your lips. the voice in his head is persuasive, encouraging him to close that small gap between you and kiss you like he longed to after not doing so for a week, after not even seeing you. he thinks he would have if you hadn’t so suddenly turned away; you probably caught on to his decision, had you left that open.
“in the morning, probably. i’m only staying to make sure you’re okay.” you busy yourself by reaching up to tangle your hands within your mini twists. they bounce and stretch when you pull and release them. it forces more space between you as hobie has to scoot away to avoid your fingers combing through the strands of hair weaved together. “just go to sleep. i’ll clean up and stuff.”
hobie stares at you a little longer. he blinks slowly before sighing. he plops down against the bed with a disappointed sigh. he has no more questions to ask. it’s evident because he turns away, silently pulling the covers over his body and up to his neck. it’s a good thing he doesn’t argue back or try to drunkenly resolve your conflict surrounding his little white lie. little.
the conversation comes to an end, which means you’re free to walk out like you said you would. however, you can’t help but linger a little longer. you yearn to climb into bed with him. you’d love to lay beside his warm body and hold him tight against your chest. you bet his sockless toes are freezing. you bet he’d purposefully lock you in his hold and press them against your ankles while you squeal and writhe. you bet he’d love that.
you know you can’t, though. not yet, at least. not until you talk about what it means for hobie to be the prowler, what affect it’ll have on your relationship, and why exactly he kept it from you only to tell you the way he did. so you stand, straightening your back and turning on your heel. you have to force yourself to leave the room, taking steps mindlessly out the door. if you stop or even think about it, you know you won’t make it. you’ll cave and come crawling back to him. you’ll climb into bed beside him and leave the plastic cups exactly where they are.
you still love him dearly. you acknowledge the loneliness you feel when you’re digging around in his cabinets in search of a trash bag. the ache in your heart is undeniable, but you already knew that. it just grows wore, more painful, now that you’re actually in his house with hobie just a couple feet away. you don’t know if you can face him after this, not yet. you weren’t ready to do so to begin with. you wanted to lay in your own bed and pretend there was someone laying beside you. you wanted to throw yourself into your schoolwork for just another week. attending classes throughout the day and work almost every other night kept you distracted enough.
there is nothing to keep you distracted here. it’s tempting to pretend nothing has changed and nothing is happening. you could just ignore it and go back to the way things were, as if hobie didn’t endanger himself every day, and possibly you. your only solace is throwing yourself into cleaning, tossing plastic into the trash bag and capping the bottles of unfinished alcohol. you do your best to restore the living room back to it’s previous conditions and by the time you’re finished — after putting bottles in the cupboard, juice cartons back in the fridge, and food wrappers into the trash — it looks almost as it did before.
it’s enough that you find yourself collapsing onto the couch. it’s not exactly long enough to be comfortable. your legs remain curled up to fit within the confines of the couch arms. you’ve tried letting them dangle off the edge but it’s not as comfortable as you would have liked. you lay on your back, staring up at the ceiling and listening to the distant sounds of hobie tossing and turning in his room. you confirm he has fallen asleep when you hear his snores from where you lay. they make you smile, chuckle even, at the guttural sound that escape his lips. they give you some form of comfort, both that he’s asleep, safe and sound, and that he’s there at all, waiting on you ever so patiently for whatever decision you make.
you’re lucky to have someone who is so understanding, you think. he hasn’t pressured you or reached out past occasionally asking delilah if she’s spoken to you, not that you’d know. you exhale a breath and roll onto your side. you tuck your hands under your neck and draw your knees as close to your chest as you can. you don’t know when you’ll be able to talk to him the way you want to but at least he’s waiting. at least he’s waiting and loves you, and you love him.
at least.
you wake with a low groan, sleep abruptly ended with a small shake of your body. your eyelids are still heavy when they lift, fluttering softly. you shift, pushing on your hands and sliding upwards against the couch. you realize slowly that you’ve gotten an ache in your leg from being so cramped up for so long. your vision adjusts to the dark just enough for you to make out the darkened shapes of the inanimate objects stationed around the living room.
you lift your head, tilting your chin upwards and craning it over your shoulder. you could feel the figure standing above you without having yet seen them. for a moment, your heart hammers in your chest. you forgot where you were. your brain conjures up some extravagant theory, one that involves you being kidnapped and left here as a hostage. that is until you become fixated on the shadowy figure of hobie brown.
“what are you doing sleeping out here?” hobie lifts his hand from your shoulder. he seems to be in a better condition now. his words are clearer and he looks at you, really looks at you. his hand falls on the back of the couch, and his fingers leave an indent in the couch cushions. he must of just woken up because his voice is hoarse, gravelly, an aftereffect of using it so much just a few hours prior.
“hm?” you hum, brushing your hair out of your face. you squint your eyes at him, silently waiting for your brain to catch up with reality. you shift again, dragging the throw blanket you grabbed farther up your body; the air is chillier than you thought it would be. “what? why am i what?”
“why are you sleeping out here?” hobie asks again, walking around the edges of the couch until he’s standing in front of you. you barely register his hesitation to touch you. you don’t really realize his hands find their way on you either, wrapping the blanket tighter around your shoulders and ushering you to stand. when you don’t argue against him or even resist, he takes it as a good sign. “i know you’re uncomfortable.”
you muster up a lowly hum as your feet sort themselves out beneath you. they shuffle against the floor, scraping against the cold flooring. the gentle rocking of the boat doesn’t help you much either. it makes your head loll as you try to shake that cottony feeling behind your half-lidded eyes. “‘cause,” you say, offering no further explanation than that.
at the time, you didn’t deem it appropriate to simply make yourself comfortable beside him. after all, you guys haven’t quite reconciled. sure, you showed up for him but you always would. it had nothing to do with whether or not you’re still “arguing” and more to do with the notion that he is still yours, in some way. yours to take care of, yours to love. and clearly, in some way, he feels the same because he clicks his tongue in his mouth and encourages you to walk down the lengthy hallway and into the bedroom.
“silly girl,” hobie shakes his head, his eyes boring into the crown of yours. he, for the time being, has to set aside the headache causing a dull throb in his skull, to guide you through the narrow doorway. thankfully, he does remember the earlier night. or at least most of it. he remembers feeling so down and turning towards alcohol to boost his mood, surrounded by people that would usually cause him nothing but joy. he remembers his heartache and deciding that he missed you. after that, it kind of became a blur. in fact, he didn’t expect to see you strewn across his couch, tucked under the blanket, and crammed in such an awkward position.
by the time you’ve gotten through the door and made that trek across the now ragged rug he thrifted— stole —, your sleepiness has been replaced with consciousness. you don’t say anything about it, though. instead, you let hobie help you up, a hand settled on the small of your back as your safety. it’s unnecessary. his bed isn’t high up and yet, he feels some deep instinct to do so, only pulling back when you’ve crawled towards the back corner of the bed.
you think that when hobie gets in bed beside you and beneath the sheets, that he’ll have something to say. maybe you’re imagining it but the air is oddly heavy. it smells of guilt and desperation. the unspoken words are just dancing between you. he doesn't say anything, though. he just lays there, glancing at you once before turning on his opposite side. to him, this is a sign that he’s respecting you and your decision, letting you come to him when you’re ready.
the silence between you is odd. it’s different when it’s behind phone screens and unanswered texts. at least then you could distract yourself with whatever you saw fit. but now, when he’s just a few inches away, so close you could reach out and trace your fingertips along the lengthy muscles along his back, you could suffocate. you blink, grasping the pillow tuck beneath your head and study hobie, or what you could see.
admittedly, you can’t imagine a world without him. he’s never been anything but doting and perhaps his heart is too big for his body. he cares in his own little way. he stands for what he believes in, sometimes aggressively so, but he really did want to keep you safe. you can acknowledge that. even now, when he’s being so quiet, you just know it’s hurting him.
“hobie,” you say with a start. your voice is just barely above a whisper. you have to make an effort to force his name from your lips. you almost choke on it and forget starting a conversation all together.
“don’t worry, sweethe— ⭐︎. i won’t do anything i’m not supposed to or anything you don’t want me to do. i’m not even here.” there’s a bittersweet smile that makes it’s way on to his face, not that you’d be able to see it. there’s nothing funny about the situation he’s found himself in but he can’t help the way he chuckles, dryly.
you push air out of your nose in a frustrated exhale. against your better judgement, your hand lifts and falls in between his shoulder blades, pressing gently as a way to demand his attention. “no, let me finish,” you insist, drawing your hand back when he curiously looks over his shoulder. “i want to talk. like, actually. about everything.”
you know you got his attention when he rolls around entirely. the act puts him closer than he was before but he still lingers outside of your space. even with all this distance between you, your breaths are shared. neither of you can meet the other's eye, too nervous and anxiously awaiting the outcome. hobie because he’s terrified you’re going to end your precarious relationship and you because you don’t have previous experience doing such a thing. it’s not everyday someone tells you they’re the prowler.
“listen,” you shift uncomfortably in your spot. already, hobie has winced at the sound of your voice. he can just hear the break up coming. his heart has already accepted it. “i don’t . . ., i don’t want to . . .”
“you don’t want to be to together anymore,” he finishes for you. it’s out of character how hoarse and gravely his voice is, breaking just towards the end, when he is forced to come to terms with your new relationship status, single. “okay. okay, you can sleep in here and i’ll sleep—”
you cup his cheek, pressing your thumb against his lips before he can finish his sentence. they feel a little chapped. the dry skin drags against the pad of your finger. “i don’t want to be distant like this anymore,” you’d rather cut him than try to calm his nerves. this is the first time you have ever seen him like this, wide brown eyes searching yours for reassurance. reassurance you can’t give because you don’t know what’s going on, either. “i don’t know what to do, though. why didn’t you tell me?”
hobie can’t stop himself from gathering your hand in his. he holds it with a gentle touch, pressing his lips into you thumb. he probably shouldn’t have but he’s been away from your touch for a week. it felt like eternity. it’s not something he ever wants to feel, again. “i just wanted to protect you. it’s easier to keep you out of that side of my life. i didn’t want to get you mixed up in all’at. i run in some dangerous circles, sometimes.” he mumbles against your skin, somewhat relieved to hear this isn’t the end of you and him. “plus, what if it scared you off or somethin’.”
he sounds pathetic. so sad, heartbroken and guilty at the prospect of breaking your trust like this. his sweet girl, his perfect girl, looking at him with such disappointment. he hated it. all you can do is blink slowly at him and sigh, bending your fingers to clasp his hand back. “hobes, i love you. you’re everything to me, pretty. if you just told be about it, we would have had a different conversation. you’re scared but i deserve to know. what affects you affects me too, whether you know it or not.”
hobie nods. he glances down at the subtle implications your intertwined hands make. he wants to pull you even closer and wrap his arms around your body. instead, he looks right back at you with his apology written all over his face. “you’re right. you’re right, i should have told you.” he doesn’t tell you that he’s never cared this deeply for someone before. he doesn’t tell you that he thinks he could explode with how much love for you he has most days. he just agrees, wanting nothing more than to be in your embrace.
you look at him a little longer, simply taking in his closeness and his warmth. his proximity makes your skin itch with anticipation. you missed him more than you thought you did. somehow. “we’re fine right? i mean, we’re not perfect and we still have to talk about it but for now . . ., we’re fine?” you inch closer to test the waters.
it’s only then does hobie pull you into his chest, thrusting his nose into your hair and inhaling the scent of your shampoo. it smells like shea butter and is soft against his nose. he holds you like you might slip through his fingers again, clutching your shirt in his hands. you’re flush against each other, molding into one tangle of limbs and long-lasting touches. even your heartbeat begins to syncopate to his. “mhm. we’re fine.”
he takes another smooth sniff of your hair and clutches you even tighter, hooking your leg over his hip. his thumb draws circles against your skin. it digs and digs but you don’t mind. if anything, you find it endearing, his desperation to keep you close, just as you were before all this. it makes him clingy, way more than normal. all you can do is lay there with closed eyes and a small smile forming on your lips when he presses his lips against your skin.
i have decided that it will be a two part thingy and the second will contain smut. the first one might end abruptly but expect a second part at some point. i'm home for the winter but i am going to begin working on something else bc i am inspired :p
Mary Janes band. But the members are all Hobie variants. They're all simply concept-art-Hobies.
So main-Hobie (our Hobie) introduces his new girl to his band.
All this obviously ends with groupsex.
╰┈➤ ❝ 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐑 ❞ | 𝐇𝐎𝐁𝐈𝐄 𝐁𝐑𝐎𝐖𝐍
PROMPT: when hobie takes an interest in you and brings you backstage after his concert to fuck you silly, you're interrupted by the other members of the band, who seem keen on joining in on the fun
WARNINGS: afab reader, voyeurism, exhibition, unprotected p in v, nipple play, blow job, throat fucking, cum eating, not a fivesome bc they aren’t all fucking at once, more like a threesome, anal fingering, anal sex, double penetration, degradation, praise kink, a bit of aftercare, this is the filthiest thing I've ever written, 7.7k wc (my longest post ever)
A/N: ily bc the concept art of hobie's band members was what i was going for in my last post. i gave them names to differentiate, so i hope you don’t mind. i've been working on this for two months, there's just so much in here that i've never written, so it took a long fucking time to finish this. idk why i hyped this up as much as i did in this post. it's not that good
It wasn't supposed to end like this. Brought to a Mary Jane's show by your friend who adored them was supposed to be a good way to reconnect after your busy lives separated one another and see the band they've been raving about for months.
Not this. Not Hobie fucking Brown, the guitarist with a captivating presence, rocking out in his own little spot on stage, noticing you. Not him handing you his guitar pick at the end of the show with a sloppy, sharpie heart on it, telling you to meet him afterwards with a sly grin.
Not this waiting for him after the show, your heart in your throat, only for him to find you and reignite the flame of lust you previously held.
Not any of this. Yet here you are, allowing his wiry arm to drape across your shoulders like it's the most natural thing in the world. Pulled backstage with the pick tucked in your pocket, you remained in a state of awe at him, taking in the way he walked to how lankly he is up close. It's hard not to with his height and tight-fitting patched pants, dressed with belts to accentuate his long torso. He's the pinochle of beauty, a model for the standard, and you're having trouble doing anything other than gawking.
It's how you end up bent over an old sofa, fingers scraping the worn fabric as your hips buck with the force of his thrusts.
"First time 'ere? Never seen a pretty 'hing like you before," he grunts, hands wandering from your love handles to your ass, kneading the flesh in his palm before pushing you further into the side of the sofa.
"Yeah-" you're cut off with a whine, slumping into the armrest digging into your ribcage. "F-friend brought me."
He whistles, his chest rumbling with a soft chuckle. "Lucky me 'hen, yeah? First punk show?"
His cock feels too heavy inside you to respond, so you shakily nod instead.
"Qui'e 'he welcome, innit? Ge''in' fucked by the guitarist on your first night. Unless you do 'his often? Do you le' every guy you meet wi'h a guitar dick you down, luv?" The low baritone of his voice is cocky and, oh so sure, patronizing tone teetering off into something more curious. Perhaps testing your motive? You're not sure, but amid your sex-filled haze, it adds to his charm.
Shaking your head, stars explode behind your eyelids when he slows his thrusts, leaning over you, his lips a hair's breadth away from the shell of your ear. "Well, don'' I feel special? Wha''s your name, huh?"
Gasping for breath on a particularly rough thrust, you have to scavenge your vocabulary to find the words to eventually tell him. Grinning, his pelvis grinds against your clit roughly, causing another wave of pleasure to crash over you, vocally too. His lips brush your neck, his nose nudging a spot behind your ear as he murmurs. "Name's Hobie."
You nod frantically, and his head tilts, lips trailing down the column of your throat. "You know me? Thought ya' said i''s your first time?"
His curiosity is authentic, slowing to an almost stop as he waits for a response. "My friend talks about you a lot, and y-your--" You try to distract yourself from how much he fills and stretches you, how the humid skin sticks to yours while you gather your scattered thoughts. "--Reputation is infamous at protests."
He stills, leaning back as his hand glides up and down your side while putting the pieces of your story together, gathering more of the puzzle that you are.
"You go to protests?" Genuine excitement coats his speech like a kid in a candy store, and you wish you could turn around to see that shift in him as he takes you for something more than he initially thought. A drawn-out whine vibrates your vocal cords as you wiggle your hips, earning a comforting rub to encourage patience.
"Didn't 'ake ya for a punk."
"Don't like the label."
His chuckle reverberates through his ribcage, amused. "'f course, ya' don't. Too cool for it, aye?"
Finding the strength to mewl, your toes curl as you try to move your pelvis back into him to gain friction in your pulsating pussy, but his fingers dig into the fat of your hips, unamused by your antics.
"Careful now, impatien' girls don't get wha' they want, do 'hey?" He warns, the underlying threat is not lost on you. The question is apparently not rhetorical because his hand strikes your ass with a loud slap, not enough to be uncomfortably painful but enough to leave your skin stinging. The precarious control of strength he seems to show suggests there's more power hidden in his angular frame than what you first picked him for, and the thought alone sends pleasurable butterflies fluttering in your stomach.
"I asked you a question, didn't I? Or 'ave you gone 'at cock dumb already?" His condescending fills you with the urge to prove him wrong, and you shake your head, something akin to a 'no' formed on your lips. Much to your dismay, he arrogantly smirks like he proved himself right, and his next words are said in a complacent simper, "'ts okay, luv. Didn't say it was a bad thing, I don't mind my whores a little dumb."
And with that, he slams back into you with a burst of energy, sending you reeling forward as he resumes his punishing pace, yanking you back and forth and reaching new points of dangerous thrill in the bruising grind of his hips.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck" he repeatedly moans, hands fumbling to tilt your abdomen upwards to ram you further down his cock obscenely. The breath is punched out of you, and you choke on the inhale, tears beading your waterline at the intensity of it all. You can't remember the last time someone pounded you with reckless abandon, filled you to the brink where nothing but their dick has clouded your mind. You don't think anyone ever will, and maybe that's the point. Of his groupies, of his fans, nobody will ever be like Hobie Brown.
Suddenly, the sound of voices grows closer, and you freeze underneath him, your head whipping around to face him. The makings of an orgasm dissipate the longer your full attention is captured by the people outside. Hobie, however, remains calm, maintaining a steady rhythm despite the jingle in the door knob. His eyes soften, and his grip loosens to give you a silent out without any form of judgment.
But he knows you.
You've only been in his presence for two and a half hours, yet he knows what you will choose; your unspoken limits and boundaries are like it's the most obvious thing in the world. It should mess with you how he already knows your next move before you make it, how inhuman his sense of perception is, and still, you find yourself saving the Nancy Drew within you for another time. Throwing caution to the wind, you embrace him with blind faith just as the door creaks open and voices filter in.
"And so I said to the cunt, he better have…" They stop all at once. The only sound besides the buzzing silence is Hobie's lazy thrusts in the wet squelch of your pussy, loud enough to make you cringe. "Didn't realize you were here, mate, my bad."
Yet they don't make a single move to leave. Instead, they stare at the back of your head where you're facing away from them, down to the curve of your figure, and then their eyes drop to your shorts somewhere beside the chair and trace the stretch of your legs until they stop where you two are connected.
"Nah, i''s alright, we're just ge''in' acquainted, is all." Hobie reaches down, his hand sliding over the apex of your thighs and reaching around the front, where his fingers ghost over your clit after being neglected for so long. You jump in surprise, grinding into his fingers, searching for more of the sweet rapture burning its way to your toes.
The chuckle, whether from Hobie or the men in the doorway, blends in with the static in your ears, and the next second, he moves past the bundle of nerves to the wetness leaking from your stuffed hole. Gathering the excess with his fingers, he brings it to the light, running his tongue over the digits, humming in delight and practically purring, "I think she likes me."
One of them sucks in a breath, and with your head craned the other way, you can't tell who. "Reckon, she's up for somethin' more?"
Well, that's the question, wasn't it? Whether or not you wanted to take the plunge into unknown territory, relinquish your control to the four men burning holes in the back of your head, unable to stray from the alluring promise of pleasure.
"What do ya think, luv? Think you can 'ake it like a big girl?"
Your cunt drools around him. The answer is embarrassingly easy. Maneuvering your head to the side to face the other men, you look at them, and they're looking at you and sharing the same expression: desire. A notable bulge strains their pants the longer they stand motionless, their chests rising and falling in an uneven pattern. They're more attractive than you remember, the situation and proximity alone adding to the sexual appeal they chase with ease.
In the name of all things holy, you pray there not be a God or deity staring down upon you, weighing your slipping soul like the Christians tell you he is. Being condemned for sins of such great pleasure has little importance in your sexual appetite, damning you if you do or don't seize the opportunity in the name of the powers that be.
"Yes, please."
In the blink of an eye, they're on you, hands brushing and running across your skin in virgin admiration. "Shhhittt, man, she's beautiful." Someone's fingers hold your jaw, moving your head around in laudation and inspection, whistling.
"'ear 'ha,' swee'hear'? Pre''ies' girl I've seen in a long while."
"Definitely," the other agrees, tracing your exposed skin with a single finger. "You're somethin' special all righ'."
A smile unwillingly breaks across your face at the praise. Warm and sentimental feelings churning in your chest the longer they shower you with it. The one closest to your head catches your reaction and laughs, lifting your chin with a single finger. "You like tha,' don't you? I didn't realize you 'ad such a good girl on your mitts, 'obes."
It's impossible to see Hobie's reaction, but you guess it's something akin to pride when he adds, "Even be''er pussy, mate."
There's a hum, and you feel his hands tickle your spine. "Then you might wanna give us space, yeah?" He, the other guitarist, points out chunky red and blue headphones hanging around his neck. "Y'know…since you haven't made her cum yet."
Hobie still lodged deep inside your guts, twitches and not in a sexually aroused way or im-almost-cumming kind of way, it's an irritation prickling at his skin, raising the hairs on his arm kind of feeling.
"Oh yeah?" he challenges, hands tightening over your body.
"Mhm, if you give me a chance I'll have her begging in no time."
For a second, there's silence, then his lips quirk into a mischievous grin, spreading across his face and reaching to his eyes that light up. Hobie leans in, eyes locked on the man in front of you but addressing you all the same, his tone low and amused. "What do ya' say, sweets, hmm?"
It's disguised as playful, but you know what he's confirming, and you clench around him, swallowing the lump in your throat as a breathless form of agreement forms on the wet muscle licking your lips. It's hard to believe that just a few hours ago, the thought of fucking someone you just met would be off-putting, wrong even. Yet, with the right push and pull, here you are, letting these men have free reign over every ounce of desire coursing through you.
Selling your soul to the devil never felt so good.
Hobie, still throbbing inside you, tugs on your walls as he pulls out, drawing a low gripe contorted by your outcry. A ring of white collects at the base, and he taps his tip on your clit before stepping to the side. His hand glides underneath your shirt, tender fingers stretching out across your spine to console you and calm down the emotions he's pulled to the surface. "Shh, I know, you're feelin' all empty without ol' 'obie yo fill tha' greedy hole ov yours, but don't worry yer pretty head sweets, you won'' be empty for long."
And with that, he takes a step back, and the rest surround you like predators. Multitudes of arms reach to caress your skin, running lines of admiration down and across your body. Now more at ease around them, you find your shirt comes off easily, with four hands aiding you in the process, the others hungrily diving at your torso for a taste of forbidden flesh.
To your left, Hobie stands there, his cock hard and bare between his legs while he watches the scene unfold before him. You rip your gaze away from him just as a pair of hands cup your tits and pulls you back into his chest, your spine arched and your ass hitting the rough denim.
"Prettiest li''le thing ion ever see, ain't that right?" The man behind you purrs in your ear, tilting his head to slot it in the juncture of your neck innocently. "I'm going to take right care ov ya', darling."
Thick, calloused fingers squeeze your breasts like a bra, enclosing them in his broad palm. Classifying yourself as flustered would be an understatement as you feel your face heat up, your body trembling with barely contained excitement. "Fuck– please."
You can feel his smirk against your neck, letting his lips linger in a kiss until his hands retract and the distinct sound of a zipper fills in the gaps. The cold air against your now bare nipples makes them harden, but not before another set of hands replaces them, fondling your cleavage with a skilled hand.
The bassist's fingers roll your nipples, earning a choked sigh as the singer behind you slaps his leaking shaft against your ass, precum dribbling onto your skin. He rubs himself over your slit teasingly, groaning at the feeling of your combined juices. The bassist, Glen, even pulls on your tits with a filthy grin, feeding off your reactions and the yelp you emit like a starving man.
Calem, the singer, guides himself through your folds and hums in approval. "Hobie's fuckin' lucky he found you first. I wouldn't share a lick of this delicious cunt with them if it were me."
The chunky locs framing his face swing as he shakes his head, the rest tucked behind his ear, lines his length with your pussy, slamming in a single devastating thrust. Your torso slumps against the couch, unintelligible noises singing from your mouth while you adjust to the size. He's big, much more than you anticipated, and although the girth isn't the same as Hobie's, it's damn near close.
"Mother fuckin'– Mary mother of Christ, how are you this tight?" Calem hisses, short jerks comparable to thrusts testing and teasing your limits. The taste alone of what's in store for you has added wetness coating his shaft, and not wasting another second, he starts a steady rhythm, building up momentum and speed with each jab. Moans intermingle with your cries, and his hand's fumble to find your waist in an effort you believe to steady himself rather than you.
Though you were initially unsure about the idea, hesitant even to allow others access to such a sacred place, you've found that letting go, trusting in Hobie and those by extension, feels good. Chemistry crackles like a live wire between you and the five other people in this room, temptation leading you into unspoken territories of newly found trust. There's no pleasing others or expectations here, just carnal lust spiking the blood rush to your brain. Worries of the world outside melt away, giving you the taste of life without inhibition under circumstances you can see yourself getting addicted to, all because of Hobie.
The others, the names you try to remember, stand in some combination to the side and out of your peripheral. Glen, who was playing with your nipples earlier, has pulled himself out of his pants, experimentally giving himself a couple of tugs as he watches the wanton display. Sid, the backup guitarist and vocalist, does the same, though the way his hands linger in your hair, you have an inkling of where he wants to use you.
Use. It's such an odd thought to let someone manipulate your body and control you without restraint or care for their pleasure. An idea that you're starting to come to terms with the longer you are surrounded by them and the electrifying energy that follows.
"You think that mouth is as good as her other holes?" The question shouldn't surprise you, nor should the vulgarity of it. Still, your head inclines towards Sid, running his hands over your scalp. "Dunno if the slut can handle it."
Your eyes widen, and you shake your head yes frantically before you can comprehend what you're doing, so eager to prove, to serve. A smirk returns your enthusiasm, his pupils dancing with something sinful. Chuckles reward your resolve to please them, but you're too honed in on his hand's increasing pressure on your skull to feel embarrassed. Then his fingers grip your hair and pull in one sudden motion, your neck straining in an awkward position until he kneels on the sofa, his cock bobbing a couple of inches from your face.
From this angle, your backside is spread out further on the armrest, and coincidentally it allows Calem's dick to curve and prod even deeper inside your belly than you thought possible. Cries flow like an endless stream of water from your raw throat, the sensitivity increasing tenfold and threatening to draw tears from how good it feels. No one has ever taken the time to learn the right pull and press to scramble your thoughts and turn everything you knew about sex upside down, but now you're sure there's no way you can go back after this.
"Pretty girl," he croons, "Bet you would do just about anything, huh?" Sid's lack of accent surprises you, though you don't dwell on it, and a tug redirects your attention to his imposing figure like a misbehaved puppy. "That's what I thought. Now be a big girl and open up wide."
Calem has slowed to a manageable speed, more languid than before, set on watching the scene unfold in front of him. Your lips part to accommodate as much of him as possible. Sid grins, lip piercing, stretching with it as he guides the tip to your outstretched tongue, tapping the bulbous head leaking precum on your taste buds. The saltiness and his musk swarm your head, the weight of it on your tongue and the silky smooth skin leaves you deliriously euphoric.
He glides himself in carefully, opting for you to decide how much you can take before he pushes your limits, and you've gotta admit, he's more attentive than you gave him credit for. When his cock hits the back of your throat, and a suppressed gag tightens your esophagus around him, he quickly loosens his clasp. Taking him at your own pace, you bob your head up and down his shaft, slacking your jaw further the closer you reach the base in a more controlled manner.
The wet heat of your mouth invites a twitch of his leg, and he yanks you down to his base, your nose buried in his public bone where short, prickly hair from when he last shaved scratches your skin. Gagging obscenely and earning a low, throaty groan from the recipient, you shut your eyes to better focus on each inhale while adjusting to breathing through your nose.
"Dirty girl. Taking two cocks at once like a proper slut. Just a bunch of holes for us, right?" Sid harshly spits, fucking your throat with the vengeance and aggression of primal need. Calem picks up speed to match the tempo of the man in front of you, prodding at your nerve endings, sparking with sex, and the reality of the situation settles in. Your hands scramble to his thighs, anchoring yourself as Sid fucks your mouth, leaking drool with an intensity you've never experienced before. Calem has no trouble setting a ruthless pace, kissing your cervix at an angle that has your back arching and your toes pointing.
"Keep doing that, gorgeous, yeah– fuck! You love it, don't you? Being filled on both ends like a fuckin' cum slut." A mewl scratches at your throat in response, vibrating your vocal cords in an apparently satisfactory one by his choked moan. It's ruthless and degrading being tossed around, but then the thrill, the rush of submission, has you rethinking everything you know about the word.
Everyone else watches, and that could be the most terrifying part because they aren't just watching; they're observing, regarding, and examining. You can see it in their eyes as they pump their hard dick with precum as their lube like they're preparing to be next. Glen, Ramone, Hobie, all ridden with jealousy and a yearning to be inside of you instead of him who is, and honestly, it's fucking hot.
Sid bullies his cock down your crowded windpipe, a groan hitched in his. He grows more frantic the closer he is to his release. Tears burn your eyes, and drool dribbles down the corner of your mouth, surely adding to a sight that could only be described as pornographic.
The coiled knot of pleasure in your gut twists, the onset of a climax finally in reach. The first tears break and stream down your flushed cheeks, creating tracks in which they have fallen. Calem notices this, his hand fumbling around your sweaty bodies to the spot between your legs.
"Yeah, yeah. Using you so well and you just can't get enough-" he grunts, a strangled and strained sound "–shit! Let go, f'me."
He pinches your clit between his middle and ring finger, and the world spins like a top, blackness dancing at the corners of your vision as an orgasm tears through your shaking limbs. Ropes of his ejection fill up your twitching pussy, liquid euphoria rushing through your veins and suffocating your brain with an unspeakable sense of bliss. It takes a second to register Sid pulling out and a stream of cum painting your face, as well as the noises of satisfaction that follow.
Calem sags against your bent-over figure, your lungs clawing for air during the comedown of such an intense release.
"Didn't do too much of a number on you, did I?" Sid, who has been uncharacteristically quiet since his orgasm, murmurs softly, his bracelets jangling as he reaches over to run a careful hand down the side of your face in assurance.
"No…it was good, really good." He smiles at that and flicks his fingers over your cheek. Eyebrows raised, your face furrows in confusion before he brings his hand to eye level, letting you see the milky white substance gathered at his fingertips. He taps them to your lips, a silent question to which you abide and open your mouth obediently, closing around his digits. Seemingly satisfied, he lets you suck the cum off his fingers, only retracting his hand when you've licked them clean.
"Good girl."
Sid brushes the back of his hand on your face to wipe the tears from earlier. Leaning into the innocent touch of another, you close your eyes to savor this bit of contact you don't often feel. However, it doesn't last long, and he taps your cheek in a goodbye, leaving the rest of his essence to dry on your skin, heading towards the leather recliner nearest you. An empty longing builds a lump in your raw throat, one you quickly shove down.
"Think you can 'ake ano'her?" For a moment, you blink dumbly at him, taking a couple seconds to understand the meaning of his words, and when you do, you whip your head around, your jaw loose. The drummer Ramone's, whose spiky red streaked hair and wild makeup that demands attention, smug question leaves your tongue feeling heavy in your mouth, the idea turning you on more than you would like to admit.
"Fuck man, you can 'ave her, 'm done for the night," Calem shakes his head, stripped headband damp with sweat, ignores the vulgar sound of your joined bodies to pull out. His lips barely touch your ear when he whispers, "You did amazing, darling."
He stands to his full height, and the air is pulled from you when he does while you lie limply on the couch, Calem flopping into a bean bag chair.
"Mhm," Ramone pulls you back by your hips, the rough material of his pants scratching your skin. "Can'' get over how pretty ov a sight 'his is."
The arousal from before returns slowly, dripping over your skin like honey as you're awakened underneath his touch. "Please." Pathetically, your toes curl to keep you patient, though it's running out faster than you can make sense of.
"There's no need to worry. You'll get a fill," Glen pipes in, taking a step forward. Your eyes widen, taking in the towering men with smirks so wide they could devour you.
"Now…" Ramone trails off, smoothing his hand adorned with rings over your backside before dipping to your crack and applying a slight pressure to your asshole. "Question is... you goin' to let me take you the way I wanna?"
Oh. You weren't expecting that.
The silence left in the wake of his question has Ramone pausing, his following statement softer. "Say 'he word, and 'his stops."
Despite how daunting the reality of the situation is, you were never much of a quitter.
"It's just… I've never…" You're unable to close your legs with Ramone in between them, but if you could, you would. Humiliation creeps up the back of your neck, and you cringe away at the uneasy tension you've created. An apology hovers over the tip of your tongue, but before you can get the words out, warm laughter soothes your flustered expression.
"Can'' imagine someone as lovely as ya' hasn't, but I can 'ake care of you. If 'at's wha'chu want," he offers without rebuttal, and really, the notion is appealing. You've seen it only on porn, and until now, it's been a festering fantasy you've stuffed away, motivated by the assumption guys didn't like that kind of thing. The prep and time spent to achieve a pleasurable experience turned most men away, or so you've heard, but seeing how wide his smile stretches and the anticipation in his dark pupils only solidifies what you want.
"Just go slow, please." Your voice is weaker than you would have liked, meaker, and he bends forward to press a kiss to your spine in what you can only imagine as gratitude. He jesters behind him for something, and a moment later, a plastic lid flicks open.
"Don'' go''a worry abou' a 'hing, princesss." Ramone preps your ass with practice ease, his fingers making quick work of stretching you out, squirts of cold lube coating your insides. He must do this a lot, you think mindlessly to yourself while a crook of his fingers inside you has you arching back deliriously into him. He adds more the more you loosen up around him, twisting and scissoring your entrance to encourage it to relax further around his ministrations. He grins, patting your backside when he deems you ready, peaking around to check your face for reassurance. "Ready?"
By now, any reservations you harbored have dissolved, your pursed hole winking at him while you adjust to the newfound emptiness. Only you catch movement out of the corner of your eye, the flash of black clothing and jewelry adorning dark skin, before a voice speaks up, one you quickly identify as Glen. "Before ya' do… think I squeeze in and fuck that pretty pussy of yours, dove?"
Surprise overtakes your features, your mouth gaping at the idea. You've just about slutted yourself out to the whole band, and with Ramone behind you, who doesn't seem keen on waiting to share you. Meaning…
"A-At the same time?" you squeak, raising your eyebrows in shock, horizontal wrinkles appearing across your forehead.
"What else?" he shrugs, unperturbed by your shock or thinly veiled hesitation. It's not that you're opposed to it, just the unknowing and unfamiliarity of such an act has you overthinking every possibility. Your mind works on overdrive, your thinly veiled fear forcing you to swallow the wad of spit congealed in your throat, searching the pattern on the couch for an answer. "We'll go slow," he adds, sensing your anxiety. "If it's too much, we can stop."
Well, when you put it like that…
"Slow," you establish, glancing up at him for confirmation.
His lips twitch in the ghost of a smile. "That's my girl."
You release the breath you didn't know you were holding, the praise like a warm, bubbly consistency to provoke a specific neurological response while he unbuckles his belt, the sound of metal clinking filling the buzzing silence.
"Upsy-daisy now, let's ge' ya' in a more comfortable position." Ramone doesn't protest when Glen helps you out of your precarious position, standing by when your wobbly legs threaten to give out on you. He lies on the couch first, guiding you by your hips until you're settled on top of him, your head nestled in the crook of his warm neck. Ramone follows behind, kneeling on the cushions with his dick in hand, stroking himself while Glen guides the tip of his own flushed head to your dripping entrance. His thickness pops through with barely any resistance, and you both moan in unison.
The feeling of being crowded to the brim again is more familiar than you would have ever thought. Glen starts without inhibition, grabbing your bent legs and tugging them further upwards to spread out your sensitive cunt. Your nose nudges his collarbone, crying out with each rotation of his hips, his shirt bunching around your fingers. It doesn't stop there when Ramone prods your asshole once more, and you gasp, unconsciously clenching hard around them both. You've been full before, first crammed with dick meat by Hobie, then Calem, and now Glen, yet this is entirely new.
"Ready?" he asks once more, and this time you're more unsure than before. If you had trouble taking one, how were two supposed to fit? Still, your reply gives away the lingering anxiety about exploring something new. "As I'll ever be."
"I'll go slow," he reminds you, watching your head bounce in a yes, your thoughts too scattered to form a verbal reply. Carefully, he unhurriedly pops through the ring of tight muscle, the lube he generously applied, making it easy to ease himself through your previously virgin hole. "Gorgeous fuckin ass. She's just strangling me, is that it?" Being referred to by your sex shouldn't make the apex of your thighs ache like it does or a whimper to escape your parted lips so easily. The stretch is overwhelming, so much so you forget to breathe until your lungs scream and you're panting indignantly.
"Breathe," he urges, a palm settling over your back while you get accustomed to the burn and fullness like no other. You gasp, tears pricking your eyes at the unfathomable stretch. You can feel every twitch and throb, every vein and pulse shooting up his cockhead to mix his pre with lube. His lip is tucked between his teeth the longer he waits for you to get used to the sensation, your stuttering breaths evening out into a normal rhythm.
"I'm goin' 'o move now." He announces, and his pelvis slams into your ass the next second. You're propelled forward, sliding up Glen's body as Ramone sets a brutal and unforgiving tempo. Ramone's dog tags clink above you with every impale, and the sound of skin slapping rings in your ears, filthy in every way possible, especially when Glen thrusts gather speed again.
There's a threshold you must have crossed, some otherworldly body taking hold of every sense and multiplying it times ten. It's inexplicable, the fullness, the weight of their cocks, and the synchronicity they move with that you were sure would be impossible to feel. But now, experiencing such a thing, having your brain turn to mush, and any form of self-preservation literally fucked out of you. You're unsure if you could ever come down from the high or even want to.
"Fillin' ya up so good, ya can barely think." Ramone grunts, spreading your cheeks to get a better look. He leans forward and spits directly on his moving cock, saliva joining the profane mixture. You're zoned out, perfectly content to let them use you as they please.
"Fuckin' trippy to feel you while I'm dickin' 'er down," Glen notes, grabbing fist fulls of your thigh. "Bet if it's weird for me, you're probably goin' mental, dove. Ain't that it?"
Shaking your head is the best response you can think of, weakly moving your hips back and forth while moaning into his skin. Glen's cock shoves and scrapes at your inner walls; already raw from your first encounter, you'll be marked with bruises for days. Although, guessing by the people around you, you're sure they won't mind.
"Yeah, you like tha'? Like my mates using you like a fuckin' toy?" Hobie interjects, his voice whipping your head to meet his hungry gaze. His dark pupils have been engulfed by the black of his irises, dewy skin glowing under the yellow fluorescent lights. The sight alone is filthy, his hand rapidly jerking at length, emitting a wet sound from the copious amount of precum.
The action is similar to those behind him: Calem and Sid, who do the same. You catch the moment Sid notices your gaze because he swipes his hand over the tip and arches beautifully in his rapture. They're all watching you like a prize to be had, Hobie most of all, whose movements are fast and sloppy, and you can't take your eyes off it.
"So good," you slur, so far removed from any thought process to give an intelligent response. You hope those two words will encapsulate what your scrambled mind can't.
"I be'… you're bein' fucked better than most whores." Grabbing your chin, he focuses your previously unfocused eyes on him. "Where's your manners, luv?"
"Thank you," you sob, your eyelids squeezing shut to relieve the burn behind them, but it's too late, and you're crying for the second time tonight. With makeup surely ruined and your appearance messy and unkempt, you have no modesty left to lose. That luxury has been stripped away from you like the clothes now lying in a crumpled mess.
"Not to me." He clicks his tongue in annoyance. "To my mates makin' sure you won't be able to walk out of 'ere."
Forcing your neck back, you stare at the upside-down image of Ramone, sweaty and crumpled features finding yours.
"Thank– you." A hiccup interrupts you, but he shrugs it off, taking it in stride.
"My pleasure." His behavior is playful, merging with something wicked that captures his bright and alive facial features, gleaming with a lust for life.
"Now him. The bloke makin' sure your insatiable pussy is stuffed." Your head is thrown forward, staring uncomfortably close into the eyes of Glen, but before you can express your gratitude, he says, "I know." And kisses you.
His lips are soft, experienced, and filled with a hunger he chases with his tongue. You long for it, the raw feeling and taste of another, the emotions spilled in the simple touch of your lips, yet you're ripped away by Hobie manhandling your hair.
"Ah, ah, ah," he tuts disapprovingly, pulling and twisting your swollen nipple roughly. Yelping in pain, his vision hardened, fixed on the space you and Glen were in. "I didn't say ya could do that."
"'M sorry," Tears slip freely down your face, the vulnerable head state you seem to have fallen into, making you more susceptible to insecurity. The rational part of your mind is baffled by the meekness that has come forth, the apologies and insecurity you've never embodied before now dictating your actions, and maybe if you had reached this type of submissiveness before, you would recognize it or the jealousy steaming off Hobie in waves in anger.
Alas, you don't, but Hobie does, and he softens, rubbing circles along the back of your neck. "Awww, so cum drunk, all you can do is babble, huh?"
He nods his head along with what he's saying before adding, "I bet." Hobie steps back to his spot, fingers finding his cock with ease. Jerking in sharp bursts from the force of their thrusts, the side of your face presses into Glen's chest, short punctures of moans and whines escaping. Being fucked by just Glen was one thing, but having two at once was another. The fullness you feel is borderline painful.
Hobie fucks his fist with even more vigor, pushing the limits of his own body by staving off another orgasm, determined to reach the edge with you.
Their dicks push out parts of your belly, the faint outline of them showing through your skin in a lecherous way. Strings of slimy release break and connect you to them through every pull-out and thrust back in. Your full-on crying, the pressure, the stimulation borderline too much heaved a choked-out breath from you.
"'s too much, too much," you sob, clinging to Glen like a lifeline while Ramone pumps into your gummy sensitive spots like he owns the part of your body, determined to show you that no one can do it better than him.
"Givin' it to ya so good, your fuckin' cryin' on i', Jesus," he hisses, grabbing a handful of your ass and squeezing it roughly. Each of them jackhammered into your holes like their life depended on it, adding to the lewd symphony they were orchestrating in the snap of their hips, pelvis against pelvis, a chase for the impeding edge you're dangling off of.
"Gonna cum, gonna cum, gonna cum," Glen chants like a mantra, his vision tunneling on making you both taste sweet release. Ramone wasn't any better while you writhed underneath him, the stimulation of his mushroom tip brushing previously untouched areas proving a greater reward than you could have imagined.
"Where?" Ramone growls, breaking you from your trance, and for the first time, you notice a phantom sensation in your throat, as if their thrusts reached your lungs, violating you from the inside out. You can feel them everywhere, the places they reach, yet you crave more of the fullness, needing everything they can give you like nothing before. You're not sure how you do it, but amidst the haze, you sob a ruined cry of "Inside," and it's all either of them needs.
All at once, Glen's sticky body stutters, sheathing himself entirely inside, chest Heaving as bursts of his seed fill you with a filthy moan. His mouth parts in a silent cry, broken sounds of pleasure auditable through the ringing in your ears and the obscene sounds that follow your apex. You can feel Ramones eyes watching your creamy entrance spit out bits of Glen’s cum and finish inside you at the pace of an erratic animal. His absurd amount of spend is plugged into your contracting, velvety walls.
Soreness fills your joints with lead, resigning yourself to lay on him while you regain your lost oxygen. You lose yourself in the aftershocks, the feeling in your limbs slowly coming back while Ramone pulls out.
"There ya go, atta girl, good girl. You did so well for us, gave us the night of our lives." Glen cooes, and Ramone returns with a rag to clean you up, his deliberate movements making sure to clean any traces of his cum painted on your face, along with the mess between your thighs.
Wearily, you find Hobie's gaze and drop your sight to his hand, covered in a drippy white substance. He seems almost embarrassed as he cleans himself up with a handkerchief, refusing to meet your eye until he tucks himself back into his jeans. You glance at him for a moment longer, intent on deciphering his behavior before you take in the rest of the room, the mystery of Hobie lost on you.
The yellow-tinted lights cast a sheen around the room, the faint thump of the bass from the stage reverberating through the poster-stained walls. Old recliners and bean bags surround the couch, and a coffee table overflowing with belongings like weed that hangs in the air like smoke. The lived-in feeling it brings is not lost on you or the familiarity of which they share it.
"Good as new," Ramone proudly announces, kissing the top of your head and patting your back. Somehow you manage to stand and pull your clothes on despite the boos he receives from Sid. You dare to examine the splotchy bruises starting to take shape around your hips, between your thighs, and decorating your chest. However, the band is happy to shower you with praises and compliments, all in a somewhat smug mood after seeing their impact on your body. Not that you mind it. You like knowing you matter, at least to these people.
Each of them begins to find some contraband to help themselves to while making it abundantly clear you are welcome back anytime. It's meant to be reassuring, but it doesn't explain how it soothes a deep ache inside you, a quell to the torn voice picking apart everything about yourself. Going through the motions in a haze, you're having trouble registering what had just occurred.
You enjoyed it, but now you're left, a hollow and empty shell doused in dry sweat and bruises, and you don't know how you're supposed to feel. The post-orgasmic high has worn off, leaving you detached from your body in an odd separated state. Refusing to cry over these conflicting emotions, you thank them, though they seem more keen on thanking you.
Ramone doesn't seem bothered by how you subtly grasp his arm to support your unsteady legs. Hobie was right. You can barely stand without feeling the ache they all left behind. You awkwardly manage your way to the door, saying the last of your goodbyes before coming face to face with the man who started it all.
"Um, thank you." Lip caught between your teeth, and you tried formulating some makeshift plan. The tension lingers, the unasked question of what's next hanging in the air like a dark cloud. What was supposed to be a one-time thing, sex with an attractive band member, had spiraled into something uncontrollable and unpredictable in mere minutes.
The attraction still hovers in the space between you. Despite everything, you still wanted him the moment he stepped on stage, and while you thought you knew even a fraction of what was racing around his busy mind, his behavior and motives remain an unsolved clue. He's unlike anyone you've ever met before, and you long to assemble the pieces and figure out who he is under all the makeup, piercings, and rockstar persona. And the longer you stand here, the more the opportunity slips away. Hobie notices the tension in your shoulders and places his hand over it, lip piercing and stretching with his mouth.
"You're 'he one who did all 'he work. No need to thank me." He grins, his hands cupping your face to keep you from looking away in the embarrassment burning your cheeks.
"I'm not…" You start, and you're about to dismiss your line of thought; so sure, he wouldn't want to hear it, but his fingers apply a bit more pressure to egg you on. "I didn't really do anything. Just glad I was worth your time, is all."
He doesn't take your shrug well, the slope of your frown, or your sagging posture because his expression loses its laid-back demeanor and goes cold. "You always were."
His lips collide with yours hard, devouring you, your taste, every curve that forms the smile he loves so intensely. You reciprocate, trying to replicate the same passion you feel for him in the messy mesh of your mouths feeding off each other's reactions, but he pulls away, panting and wild before going back in before you can even catch your breath.
This is what you were missing, you think. All this time, you two fit together easily, and a feeling you quickly ignore rises to your chest the longer you indulge in this. You know Hobie doesn't want more than sex, more than just one night, doesn't want you the same way you find yourself needing him. You can't expect more when there is none, but that doesn't matter right now.
His tongue flickers against your mouth in an invitation, pushing past your lips greedily when you whine into the spontaneous make-out session neither of you can get enough of. His wet muscle explores your mouth, dancing with your tongue in a way that has you melting into him, intoxicated and delirious with the lack of air.
Soon, however, you're forced to remove yourself when your lungs burn and scream for air. You try not to choke on air as you catch your breath, your head spinning all the while. Your hand smooths down his collarbone, dipping underneath his shirt, and instead of finding thin, a latex sort of material hugs him like a glove.
You frown, tugging a bit of his collar down in one swift movement, revealing red and the edges of a white spider web. Hobie's hand gently encloses yours, and you whip your head up, mouth agape, staring at him with the utmost astonishment. Your fingers tremble and clench harder around the fabric. His behavior, his unreal senses, and his affinity for reading people all fall in the explanation of the conclusion right in front of you.
TAGLIST: @alicefallsintotherabbithole
Hobie's Spiderman.
if you've made it this far, this is my official announcement that part 2 of this drabble is in the works and will not be another drabble (it's gonna be a true fivesome unlike this)
I've recently got back into writing fanfic and want to post them, but I have irl's on Tumblr so I can't be caught doing all that lmaooo
should I go the ao3 route??? or maybe the depths of Docs is where they're going to stay idk?? (´Д` )
ty!!! sorry for the ramble lol! <3
hi honey! honestly, why don’t you just create a second page? it wont show up linked to you i don’t think. i dont really use ao3 its so plain looking BUT it is a good platform. its a really good platform for writers so maybe you should go that route. post them so i can read them!!! tag me or something
it actually feels so nice to come back and have anons and interactions again i’ve missed you guys. never forget this is an interactive blog. INTERACT WITH ME
While I’m here can I say I started college this semester and peppermint patty was to me what high school musical was to middle schoolers. I was ready to have fun and all I’ve done is study to get this degree. 😔
PLEASE this is actually so funny and cute 😭 big sister to little sibling advice STAY AWAY FROM THAT BOY IN YOUR FIRST YEAR STAY FAR AWAY don’t do it please wait. not because of purity culture but bc he’s BULLSHITTING. but honestly, you gotta find the right person and trust it gets real exciting 😛😛 i get that experience whenever i want from him
miffy nation, i have something that i have been writing for a while. i was writing it before my long break and never finished it. HOWEVER, it is 12000 currently and unfinished and quite frankly, the length alone is discouraging me. there’s no smut in it at the moment. there’s a little but unfinished. i’m going to cut it short and post it bc i can’t with it rn. this is where you come in
should i
make it a two part series and put smut in the part
make it a standalone with no smut
miffy button <3
Voting ended onDec 1, 2025
i don’t have a problem with making it smutless but it would still have a second part . . .maybe. i don’t think it’s at a good place to be left as is but we’ll see
caution! mdni 13k wrdz, best friend's bother!hobie x black fem! reader, hobie is twenty one, reader is 19, small town in the country, everyone knows everyone, a very brief moment of angst, reader is jealous, misunderstanding troupe (?) but quickly resolved, crybaby reader, kitchen sex w/people in the house, unprotected sex, fingering, handjob, cunnilingus, p in v sex, unprotected sex, facial, cum eating, open ending
miffy's note! this took me like two weeks to write which is so much faster than every other fic i’ve written in a while. i knowwww she has a lot of words but she is my baby and I hope everyone loves her as much as I do. enjoy <3 pls do not spam like my blog if you enjoyed it, feel free to tell me in the reblogs
there’s a waxy smell in the freshly opened soda shop, one that reminds you of the shiny tiles that line the floor of the high school you graduated from, the high school most people graduated from.
highbury high, smack dab in the middle of highbury hills. it’s the only high school for miles, operating on a set curriculum and generic uniforms. fits right in with the small town vibe.
“do you know what you want?” your long-time friend, maise, glances over at you. she’s a darling thing, curly hair braided into pigtails and tied with two white ribbons. her arms are crossed over her stomach, clothed in a white tank top just barely cropped. “there’s so many options, i can’t decide.”
you sniff, eyes glazing over the yellow tinted menu. your tongue skims over your lips, getting a taste of the vanilla flavored lip gloss. “i dunno. i don’t even think i want anything. i’m too nervous, like i’m gonna throw up.”
maise’s deer shaped eyes find yours in sympathetic understanding. “aw, honey. it’ll be okay. it’s been years, now. i doubt he even remembers.” her hands massage the kinks out your tense shoulders in a tight grip. “you were a kid, anyway.”
“yeah, maybe.” you offer a small smile in return. you find you’re disinterested in the menu, stomach rolling in its queasiness for the anticipated scenario. “i still don’t think i want anything. i don’t think i could keep it down.”
maise just shrugs and orders a rootbeer float for herself. she gets your anxiety but she’s never been the best at helping you through your emotions, even more so when she can’t relate. maise doesn’t have an older brother, not one with an attractive best friend that she used to have a crush on as a child.
with the acrylic, milkshake cup settled between the fingers of your friend, you both move towards the booths surrounding the perimeter of the retro-styled shop.
it’s really, very cute. quaint with pop music softly wafting from the speakers and a red, white, and blue theme consistent throughout. america’s sweetheart is what this place is known as, although you prefer to think it’s talking about a better, more ethical version of the country.
“you have to admit it’s kind of exciting, though.” despite your claims, maise still pops a second straw into the float and settles the cup between you. “i mean, your brother and hobie are coming home today and you haven’t seen hobie in like, two years. the last time anyone saw him was on graduation day, right? and then he packed up and left town. and your brother! he kept contact this whole time and didn’t tell anyone? doesn’t that bother you a little bit?”
you wait until she’s retreated to grab the straw between your thumb and pointer finger and tap a long, drawn out sip. the sugary sweetness does nothing to quell your nerves but it gives you time to come up with a response. “mm, not really. hobie is quen’s friend. plus, everyone knew he was gonna skip town. he didn’t like it here and he made that very clear.”
although your words convey otherwise, there’s a small seed of discomfort in your tummy. it would have been nice to keep you in loop, especially since you were under the impression that you and hobie were somewhat acquainted with each other. after all, he’s been good friends with quentin since elementary school and has known you for just about the same amount of time.
“okay but you’re not even curious? not even a little?” maise tilts her head inquisitively, lips drawn in a pout. “hobie is coming home after being gone for two whole years and you don’t care at all.”
“i didn't say i don’t care, mai. i do care and it's nice that he’s stopping by for a visit but let’s be serious, it’s hobie. in all the years we’ve known him, when has he ever committed to anything?” you turn your gaze towards your baby pink nails, shiny and just long enough to clack against your phone when you text. “i don’t want you to get excited over a summer romance that hasn’t even happened and won’t happen. we’re friends and barely that. his loyalty is with quen.”
you can feel the change in the atmosphere the longer you sit in silence. you’re hesitant to look her in the eyes and find a sudden interest in the condensation trickling down the side of the glass.
“uh huh. so if you feel all of that, why are you nervous? you don’t like hobie anymore, and he owes you nothing. what’s the problem then?” she rests her cheek in the palm of her hand, supported by the elbow resting on the table.
instead of answering her question, your hand smacks down against the table. it echoes in the empty room, filled by only you two and mr. terry, the owner of the shop.
“you know what, i have to go. it’s almost three and quen should be home soon. you know how punctual he is.” you grab your purse and sling the strap over your shoulder.
“chicken!” maise points a finger at you. she’s glowing with a toothy grin while watching you prepare to bolt for the door. “you can’t avoid it forever, honey.”
you brush off her comment with a hug and a wave. “whatever. love you. i’ll call you tonight with the details, maybe. bye!”
you all but run out of the shop, white sundress blowing with the opposing force of your movement. it’s not quite three o’clock yet but leaving is better than letting maise interrogate you further. she’s a riot but she got you pinned up against the wall and there’s nothing fun about being forced to answer her questions and face the music you’ve been tuning out for weeks. at least now you’d have some time to freshen up before the great arrival.
by the time you’re finished primping and set the hot curler down to refresh your styled silk press, you can hear the engine of your brother's lexus rolling into the driveway.
you lean forward and tug the curtains back in a firm grip to peak out into the driveway. between you and quentin, you received the larger room with the connected bathroom and it offered a perfect view of the front yard. said view is particularly handy for times like these.
you watch the driver door pop open, breath hitched in your throat and refuse to make any movements until you get the answers you're looking for.
a polished sneaker makes its appearance and becomes stationed on the white pavement. a body follows, tall and stocky and unlike the statuesque frame you’re subconsciously excited about.
pushing yourself even more to your feet and across the expanse of your vanity, you flick the latch of your window until it clicks to signal its unlocked. you push it up with such force that it soars much farther than you anticipated but that’s the least of your concerns right now.
“quentin!” you yell from your bedroom with a wide smile and a vigorous wave at your older brother below you.
your voice gets his attention and he snaps his head in your direction. “ ☆ !” he mirrors your expression, arms open wide in a hug as if he expected you to fly down into his embrace. he bumps the car door closed with his side. “i’m coming up.”
quentin’s words don’t stop you from flinging your door open, running down the stairs, fingertips grazing the wooden railing as you go. to some it may seem odd to be so cheery over the reappearance of your sibling but he’s your best friend, a staple part of your life to which you’d be lost without. if you aren’t running to the front door to see him, then there’s clearly a problem.
he’s already in the entryway, though, and peeling off his jacket to hang in the coat closet. the pittering of your feet long alerted quentin of your presence so he’s not shocked when you’re throwing yourself at him. “jeez, girl. did you eat a whole cow? you’re strong as shit.” his arm comes to wrap around your back and become settled between your shoulder blades.
“shut up,” you roll your eyes in return and separate yourself from him. you give him a once over, from the two strand twists at the top of his head, across the gray nike tech, and to the pristine white laces of his shoes. “wow, you really don’t look like you belong here anymore. that’s crazy, quen. you’re all grown up.”
“yeah well,” he pushes the closet door closed, waiting for its creaking hinges to silence before continuing his sentence, “gotta get out of this town someday. not you, though. you can stay. it suits you.” quentin’s eyes are filled with a brotherly fondness while giving you a similar once over. “where’s ma?”
you follow him to the bathroom to watch him wash his hands. “at work. dad, too. told me to text them when you get home but, uh, where’s all your stuff?”
quentin flicks his wrists into the sink and side-steps you. he rounds the corner to enter the kitchen, making a beeline for the fridge and popping it open. “oh, it’s at hobie’s place. i figured i’d leave the extra shit there since he has his own crib. do you know what mom’s making for dinner?”
you’re still trailing behind him, now leaned against the countertop with your arms crossed over your chest. when you’re face to face with the source of your turmoil, it’s hard to pretend it doesn’t exist. “so he really is back in town, huh.” it's not a question with the way you say it, staring at your fluffy sandals designated for wearing inside the house.
“mhm. forgot how talkative people here are. news spreads fast.” he pulls out a container of last night's leftovers and sets it beside you, already closing the fridge and moving on to find a plate. when his eyes find their way back to you, he’s surprised to see you glaring at him. “why are you looking at me like that?”
“because i’m a little upset that you didn’t tell me he was coming home. i get it if he didn’t want to draw attention to himself but it’s just me. i thought we were all cool.”
“we are all cool. it just slipped my mind, swear.” quentin bounces around the kitchen. he’s still engaged in your conversation though his sole focus is getting some food in his system but every now and then, he’ll glance at you while scooping fried rice onto a plate. “i didn’t intentionally not tell you. i just had a lot to do with the packing and the whole coming home thing. plus, you just finished your first year of college so i didn’t think you’d care so much. which you also still have to tell me how it went,” he puts the fork in his mouth and sticks the plate in the microwave.
“quentin,” you’re tempted to stomp your foot, no matter how childish it will come across.
“i didn’t exclude you on purpose, ☆ . i forgot and i’m sorry. next time, i’ll tell you as soon as i know.”
you’re somewhat pacified with his response, tossing his words over and over in your head until your concerns are soothed and the gloomy feeling dissipates. “fine but you have no idea what i had to go through with maise today. i swear she had all these theories and speculations about what its going to be like that i could have avoided if you told me.”
the microwave beeps, ringing its alarm that the timer has finished all throughout the kitchen. quentin is quick to take out his steaming plate and make his way towards the table with you still in tow. “oh, maise! how is she? i haven’t seen her in a minute.”
“she’s good. good grades, likes her college, majoring in child development. who cares, though. i want to know about hobie. it’s been two years.” you sit next to him, even going as far as pushing the chairs closer as if the topic needed it, as if hobie is a taboo subject.
“he’s great. he’ll be by later, said he wanted to stop by and see you and then he has to make his rounds.” quen shovels a forkful of food into his mouth. he’s eyeing his plate with an almost blank stare. you’re too close for him to feel comfortable looking at you, expectantly. as if he’s going to drop some big news about hobie’s return.
he's not an idiot. he knows, knew, about your crush on his best friend. it was obvious watching you go through all the childish phases, giggling to clinging onto to him to trying to play it cool. quentin has seen it all and he doesn’t think he can handle watching your excitement grow and dull when hobie ultimately makes his decision to leave. “he’s got that place he rents out when he’s not here. don’t know how long he plans on staying, though. when i asked, hobie said two months so i guess we’ll see.”
you’re blissfully unaware of the idea that quentin’s words are for your sanity, to calm the budding excitement as you gather strands of your hair between the tips of your fingers and stare at the freshly trimmed ends. “that’s nice. maybe he’ll come to the summer festival in a few days.”
that elicits a scoff out of your brother. “fat chance. hobie brown? he’s not showing his face at those things. he thinks they’re capitalistic holidays that prey on children. personally, i think he just really hates this town and is coming up with a bullshit excuse not to go.”
you let the bundle of hair between your fingers go and it drops back towards your shoulder in a soft heap. “did he say that or are you speaking for him?”
“he doesn’t have to say it, stupid. i just know.” quentin points his fork at you, flinging grains of cooked rice in your direction. despite the gross reaction that flashes across your face, all he does is laugh. genuine laughter with his head tilted back, clearly delighted to have bothered his dear sister. “it was an accident. i didn’t mean to.”
“get away from me.” you scrunch your face in disgust and shove the chair away from the table. it screeches against the floorboards with each movement. “you don’t point your fork at someone, dumbass. that’s fucking gross.” you say as you rise to your feet and make your exit, rolling your eyes on the way out.
it’s futile to pretend you aren’t looking forward to hobie pulling into the driveway. behind the closed door of your room, you barely watch the virgin suicides. the volume to the movie is turned down so low, you can almost hear your neighbor’s dog trotting on the pavement enjoying its walk. you’ve even gone as far as to open your window just in case you’d be too preoccupied to hear him as is.
you haven’t bothered to change out of the pretty dress, wanting to give off the best first impression you possibly could. after all these years have passed, it’s nearly critical that hobie sees you as you are, an adult. not because you still harbor feelings for him, but because that’s what you are now. you’re all grown up, just as he is.
quentin’s asleep in his room and offering you no answers as to when his friend is actually arriving nor did he request you to wake up when he does so. it’s only right to assume he’d rather stay asleep when hobie arrives then, isn’t it? especially after such a long trip.
hence why when the sound of hobie’s motorcycle reverberates through the glass pane of your window, you roll off your bed and to your feet with a sudden quickness. contrary to the excitement you greeted your brother with from your upstairs bedroom, you close the window the moment you reach it.
as soon as the white latch clinks shut, you’re flying out the door and down the stairs. the tips of your fingers graze the railing, only truly grasping it when you find yourself losing your balance at the speed you’re moving. if only maise could see you now.
you pull the front door open before hobie has a chance to ring the doorbell with such force, he flinches. there’s still a finger hanging in the air, adorned in silver rings and what seems to be a hand tattoo. that same hand is connected to a body, just as tall as you remember. your eyes trail as far as his shoulders, gaze already tilted upwards and too nervous to continue. it never occurred to you what being face to face with hobie would mean, would entail.
you didn’t think about him and his pine scent, paired with the natural musk of being outside. not once did you even think about the possible changes he’d go through within the past two years. even without looking at his face, you can already point out differences. he’s leaner, more muscles protruding from his tank top. grungier too, with dark wash baggy jorts sitting so low on his waist, you can see the calvin klein boxers peeking through the bottom. if you thought seeing hobie show off his toned stomach was a lot, the sight of the ink on his arm has you at a loss for words. a full sleeve of various line art and doodles.
you’re sick to your stomach.
“you’re back in town!” you finally gain the courage to look him in his eyes and nearly fall to your knees. “and you pierced your face!” your eyes dart between the nose piercing, the lip piercing, and the eyebrow piercing. slowly, you soak it all in, including the shoulder length locs tied into a ponytail. only after all of that do you look him in his eyes, filled with the same warmth and wonder as they were two years ago.
“ ☆ !” hobie’s face lights up with the same childlike glee as before, too. it’s like nothing has changed when he throws his arms around you to envelop you into a tight hug. “you noticed, did you?” he chuckles, deep and smooth right in your ear. unfortunately for you, it sends spirals into your stomach.
“do you like them? i want to get my tongue pierced this summer, too.” he finally pulls away and reveals his toothy grin, full of dazzling white teeth that can only come from regularly visiting a dentist. “but how have you been? i haven’t seen you in forever. you’re so . . .” he gives you his own once-over, much shorter than the one you gave him, “not a little kid anymore.”
you aren’t too sure what to make of that but you step aside anyway to welcome him into your home. suddenly, you’re far more nervous than you were at the mere thought of hobie coming over. he was intimidating just as a concept but in person? he’s even worse. he’s too pretty and composed. “i’m so not a little kid anymore?” you try to offset your awkwardness by turning the situation back to him.
“yeah. i mean, you look nice, ☆ .” hobie stands with his hands in his pockets and a lazy smile. there’s not one ounce of embarrassment or hesitation written on his face. however, it oozes out of you. “so, where’s your brother at? he’s supposed to be going around town with me. it makes it less weird if we’re both there.”
“oh, quen fell asleep a few minutes ago.” you say with your back to hobie, disguising your reluctance as a sudden interest in turning the lock rather slowly. “you’re welcome to wait until he wakes up but he’s out cold.”
hobie clicks his tongue with a sigh, eyeing the walls of your childhood home. it’s still lined with the same family portraits and kindergarten crafts. there’s even his own graduation picture on the mantle, sandwiched between yours and quentin’s. he snorts at the sight, dressed in the same black graduation cap and gown but missing some of the cords adorned by the others. not only was hobie not too involved in the community, but he merely did what he had to in school with the exception of a few clubs and hobbies. “no, he’ll probably be knocked for a while. i’ll just do it later, i guess.”
you nod, hugging yourself in a tight grip. your act to self soothe during your one-on-one isn’t very effective. the air feels thick with tension. you have the impression that it’s one-sided because hobie turns to face you.
“how about you come with me instead? we can ride around and go to that one park we used to go to as kids.”
for a moment, your heart drops to your feet. staring into his eyes does nothing good for your nervous system. as much as you attempted to convince both maise and yourself that you harbor no feelings towards hobie at all, everything in you is screaming otherwise.
your eyes settle on the floorboards and you sniff. “i don’t know. i don’t think i’d feel comfortable on your bike. don’t you have to wear gear and stuff?”
“well, yeah i’m supposed to.” he shrugs. his head is tilted to one side. “i don’t, though. not here at least. if i’m on the highway or in a big city then yeah but not here. nothing ever happens here.” parts of the hobie you subconsciously fear appear as a shadow on his face. the corners of his mouth twitch downwards and his eyes become clouded, but only for a second. “we can take your car if you’d like. i saw it in the driveway. it’s cute.”
he’s referring to the little volkswagen beetle parked just outside with a tan exterior and a decorated interior. it’s full of flower vent clips, pink seat covers, and scented with gain car air freshener.
“um,” you busy yourself by smoothing your hands over the skirt of your dress. suddenly, you’re reflecting on the fact that you are somewhat dressed up. sure, you curl your hair and wear cute dresses on the regular but never have you worn a cute dress, curled your hair, waited for someone to come over, and beat them to the door before they could announce their arrival. “sure. i guess we can do that. i don’t want you to think you have to, though. you came for quentin and he’s asleep so don’t force yourself.”
you’re surprised when hobie laughs, nose wrinkling with genuine enjoyment. he shakes his head and places his hand on your shoulder. it engulfs your skin like a warm blanket and gives you a squeeze. “never change, okay? you’re so sweet. get your keys and let’s go.”
there’s a strawberry field just across the park guarded by a wire fence. some kids gather around the edges and pluck the berries off the overgrown branches that poke just close enough for them to reach with their little fingers.
the breeze carries the sounds of high-pitched laughter and squeals from the children running about. with school just recently letting out, the park is well occupied. it’s a surprise to no one to see a crowd of elementary schoolers running around the slides and pushing each other on the swing.
you sit at a bench. the metal is warmed from the sunlight beaming down. you have your phone in your hand, pumping out back to back texts to maise filled with terrible grammar and even worse spelling. to say you're panicked would be an understatement. you’re more than panicked. you feel so wrong about being here, more or less alone with your brother’s best friend. the same best friend that you’ve had the biggest crush on for years, only for him to disappear and for you to assume everything you’ve ever felt and thought would be gone with him. the same best friend who’s return brought back the juvenile feelings from your youth.
he’s gone to the ice cream truck parked in the parking lot to buy you both popsicles and therefore, giving you about five minutes to figure out your game plan. maise is no help. most her texts consist of “i told you so” and laughing at your inevitable demise. you feel just about ready to melt into the pavement and through your phone across the park, in no particular order. your nails just might break your screen with the amount of force between each push.
“are you mad at someone?”
you're quick to turn your phone off in the amount of time it takes for you to look up at hobie, standing in front of you with two popsicles, one in each hand. “huh? oh, no. it’s just maise. she’s being so stupid.” the frustration has yet to dissipate and your face shows it, huffing a breath of annoyance. “you’d think you ask someone for advice and they’d actually give it to you instead of making fun of you.”
“mm,” hobie has a seat next to you. he hands you the powerpuff girls popsicle, very obviously supposed to be styled after bubbles. its still in it’s wrapper and it’s a good thing at that. already the popsicle began to get a little soft in the summer heat. “advice about what?” he, himself, holds one of those spongebob ones that never come out right. for a moment, you consider that perhaps he’s reminiscing about the days where you, quentin, and hobie would run out at the sound of the ice cream truck and get the silly cartoon popsicles, only to compare who’s looks the worst.
“oh, just about my classes. i don’t know if i want to take one of my electives or not.” you spit out the lie faster than you can really process it. you peel the wrapper off the popsicle and stick it in your mouth to give you an excuse not to speak.
“i definitely can’t help you with that. i didn’t go to college so i really wouldn’t know.” for a brief moment, hobie finds humor in the distorted face of his spongebob popsicle before taking a small bite of the cold corner. “what’s it like? do you like it?”
the question makes you sigh. there really is no response you can give him that would push the conversation forward, especially when you have been asked the very same thing so many times by almost every adult in your life. “um, it’s okay. it’s hard, y’know, to find the motivation to make myself go to class and there’s always some sort of drama going on between someone and someone else.” you reminisce on the boy and friend drama you’ve both witnessed and experienced from a bittersweet perspective.
hobie nods, watching a group of giggling ten year olds run by. they seem to be participating in a game of tag, their cheeks rosy and eyes glistening with what can only be found in childhood. “can’t believe you’re in college now. that used to be us, playing at the park and then going to your house to have dinner.”
you don’t mention that hobie didn’t come to your graduation. instead, you kick a rock by your foot and change the topic of the conversation. “so, if you don't go to college, what do you do?”
“i’m a server at a restaurant. it makes pretty good money, actually. i can afford a one bedroom apartment in the city so i don’t mind. i’m in a band now too and sometimes i make stuff to sell.” he pulls out his phone for a split second to check the notification that vibrated in his phone before sliding it back into his pocket.
you’re grateful that he doesn’t outright tell you what he makes so you’re able to participate in the conversation and ask him, “what kind of stuff?”
“oh, like paintings, crochet stuff, stuff like that. arts and crafts that people like to buy. it does pretty well since that kind of thing is trending.”
the conversation falls a bit flat after that. you fault yourself, too self conscious to relax around him. a part of you is overjoyed to have him back and another part of you feels like a neglected afterthought. all this time, hobie was doing just fine. he was living his life and choosing who to keep contact with. it hurts your heart that he didn’t consider you at all but is so comfortable with returning and acting like nothing has changed. perhaps he didn’t take you as seriously as you would like.
“oh, that’s cool.” you try not to sound too sour when you say it. “it’s great that you made a life you enjoy.” you watch a blue drop of melted popsicle roll down and drip onto the white plastic gripped between your fingers. gravity continues to pull the droplet down towards the stick and it stains the wood blue.
hobie glances at you, eyebrows knitted together. he takes in your expression and the subtext behind it. it’s obvious what he’s doing behind his scrutinizing gaze. “yeah? you can be honest. you know that, right?”
“mhm,” you nod with a hum. you’re not interested in engaging any further with the topic. instead, you eye a ladybug crawling on the bench armrest. it’s not like you planned on discussing your deep emotional feelings with him anyway, especially not here. “i’m happy for you, really.”
you can still feel hobie’s eyes boring into the side of your face but the feeling does nothing to capture your attention and turn your head back towards him. instead, you nearly praise whatever higher power caused your conversation to be interrupted by an onlooker.
“oh my gosh, hobie brown!”
you both turn your head to the perpetrator. hobie is just as surprised as you are to see magnolia, from high school, walking up to you both. you don’t know her very well considering she was in the same graduating class as your brother but you’re aware of her.
truthfully, you’ve never liked her very much during your younger years. you despised the way she’d cling onto hobie and quentin, often forcing her way into their circle. at least, you’d consider it forcing. quentin always told you not to worry about it.
here she is again, forcing herself into your hangout with your supposed friend who’s there with you. she’s grinning as she walks up to you both, hands planted on her waist. you so badly want to judge her for her outfit choice but you know you can’t. it’s not like you don’t know what type of person magnolia is and how much she pushes the social standards most people operate with. still, something vile twists inside you and even more so when you catch hobie’s eyes wandering across her body.
that is also no surprise because you know their history. of course hobie wouldn’t be able to deny himself from staring at magnolia like this when she’s wearing daisy dukes, a tiny shirt, and so ready to reopen the book of their past.
“look at you. can’t believe you didn’t come by the moment you got back,” she teasingly smacks his arm with a tinkling laugh. her eyes briefly drift to your direction and she smiles out of politeness. “oh hey, sugar. tell your brother i said hi, would you?”
you nod and pull your lips tight. suddenly, what interest you did have died a painful death and you turn back to the ladybug as your only comfort. unfortunately, that too is gone and you’re left with nothing but the ability to listen in on a conversation you want nothing to do with.
“aw, maggie. don’t worry, i’m still planning on it. you’ll get a very special and personal visit, just for you.”
“promise?”
you nearly choke, face scrunching up in disgust. you’re not five and can read between the very obvious lines. you feel the need to remind them that you are quite literally right there and swallow the green monster making a nice home in your heart. “i don’t mean to interrupt but i have to get home and get ready for dinner. do you want me to give you a ride, hobie, or are you good?”
you try to hide your disappointment before hobie can say anything. you can tell by his hesitation and expression what decision he’s going to make, glancing between both you and magnolia. he’s going to spend some quality time with her. “i think i’m good but you should get back. drive safe, okay? text me when you get home.”
“okay. then, i’ll see you later.” you rise to your feet and dig your hand into your purse, searching for the keys to your car. “bye magnolia. it was nice seeing you again.” her words of the returned gesture fall on deaf ears as you turn and head back to the parking lot. there’s a frown etched on your face and you dump the mostly-eaten popsicle into the trash.
it never crossed your mind that you’re not the only one who is looking forward to hobie back around. you’ve been so used to viewing yourself as the center of the universe that not once did you think about literally anyone else who has been involved in hobie’s past.
you pull the door open of your car and get inside, staring out of the windshield. you feel so teenage girl romcom movie but you don’t know what to do about it. one half of you wants to sob and rot in your bed and claim your heart is broken and the other part of you just wants to go home, eat dinner, and call maise.
you sit there like that for a few minutes before eventually turning on your car and starting the drive home. sza blares through the radio and is your only solace on your lonely drive home.
“no! and then she just shows up and takes him?” maise pulls out two small boxes of sour patch kids out of the plastic grocery bags on the counter. her eyes are wide and she’s hanging on to every part of your story.
it’s been about a week and a half since that time in the park with hobie and you’re still reveling in the emotions of it. you have yet to make a decision on how to conduct yourself around him and as a result, have begun to avoid him. you find it’s better not to be near him at all than to stand there and know that he wanted you to leave him so he could probably have mind blowing sex with his small-town fling.
“she just walks right over and he basically starts drooling.” you’re also unloading various snacks and a liter of soda from the grocery bags. tonight, you both plan to watch movies and eat junk food until your tummies are threatening to burst and you’re both ready to pass out from exhaustion. “i’m so stupid. i should have known. we weren’t even in the same crowd back then. why did i think anything would be different now?”
maise pities you just a bit. she sympathetically presses her lips into a pouty frown and reaches over the counter to grab your hand. “poor baby. in your defense, you have more of a southern belle, sweetest girl in town thing going for you and hobie is the exact opposite. it makes sense why he’d go for magnolia. you two have nothing in common and you’re virtually inexperienced.”
“i have experience!” you begin to pile the various snacks into the bin you brought down from your room just for the special occasion. “i have plenty of experience.”
“you had one situationship for half of your first year of college that treated you like shit. that’s not experience, babe. that’s trauma.”
you whip your head to give maise a pointed glare at bringing up what you’re trying so hard to forget. that chapter of your life is over and it died the moment the academic year ended. “okay but the point is, i am not a baby and i bet i could fuck just as good as she can. he just sees me as a little girl and i can never change that.”
“so what are you going to do?” your friend leans against the counter on the opposing side of you. she crosses her arms over her chest after adjusting her black leggings as they have risen above her ankles.
“nothing,” you say with a sigh. you grab the basket and hoist it onto your hips. “like i said, he sees me as a child. i’m just going to do what i’ve been doing, nothing. ignore him. just keep my distance until he goes home and forget all about him.”
what you don’t tell maise is that magnolia isn’t the only one. sometimes, the habits from your childhood return and you sit yourself at quentin’s door with your ear pressed up against the wood. you listen to his conversations with hobie, sometimes on the phone and sometimes in person, about his recent endeavors with the locals in town. so far, there has been at least one other girl since magnolia. whether he bounces between spending his nights with the two, you’re unsure and you don’t think you even want to know.
maise begins to open her mouth to say something but snaps it shut at the sound of the front door opening. there’s an irregular pattern that comes from two people coming through the door and for a moment, your face flashes with panic.
“i’m beginning to hate going out with you. every single time there’s always some girl ready to — oh hey.” quentin stops in the middle of his sentence as soon as he spots you standing in the kitchen. he jumps a bit, not having expected to see both you girls watching him walk into the house. “what are you doing here, maise?”
“we’re having a movie night.”she rises to standing and positions herself at your side.
“the sun is still out.” quentin lifts a finger to point to the window with the blinds open. sunlight streams through the trees of your backyard and reaches the living room.
“yeah. we just came back from the store and now we’re pregaming by talking shit.” she throws an arm around your shoulder, taking notice of your silence and lack of movement. it’s almost like you’re not breathing and it’s definitely because hobie is standing right there in all his glory, smiling right at you. maise using her grip on you to subtly nudge some sort of humanity back in you.
“anyway,” you clear your throat and take a sudden interest in reorganizing the bin of snacks, “we’re going to get going. we have a lot of girl stuff to talk about so see you later.” you take maise’s hand and take the lead in walking past the two and up the stairs of your house. you don’t miss the quizzical looks from both men at your hastiness to get out of being around them.
frankly, this isn’t the first time you’ve made a bolt to get out of being in the same room as them, but only when hobie is around. however, no one makes a move to question it and lets you do as you please. to quentin, it’s a sign you’re no longer hung up over his best friend and is far better than getting your hopes up for nothing. to hobie, you’re abhorrently avoiding him for some reason and he can’t stand it at all.
it makes him antsy, as if there’s some big impending doom coming that he won’t be able to stop. it makes him uncomfortable to see you get along so well with others and flee the moment he steps into the room and oddly enough, it’s only ever started happening since that one day. was it something he said or did? surely it can’t be because he didn’t accompany you back home. after all, you did text him to let him know you made it safely like he requested so he thought everything was fine. what is going on with you?
it’s somewhere between the hours of two and three am when you make the decision to trek downstairs for a cold glass of water. maise had fallen asleep on the left side of your bed a half hour ago and you had beaten her. you won by staying out longer than she did and decide to reward yourself with a neutral drink to wash the syrupy taste out your mouth.
the house feels awfully cold during such hours of the night and you regret leaving the warmth of your room in your oversized shirt and little pink shorts. both of your parents came home hours ago, wished you a fun night and retired to their beds in preparation for work the next day. you’re assuming no one else is awake with the only other options being quentin and hobie, if hobie is even here.
you sniff and rub your hands along your arms as you round the corner and enter the catch. in the darkness of night and with your squinting eyes, you use what spatial awareness you have to guide your way to the glasses in the cabinet.
you just manage to wrap your fingers around it before there’s some sort of shuffling behind you. you’re unnerved, almost dropping the glass in the time it takes you to look over your shoulder at the perpetrator. “hello?” you try to make out the form in the dark and find purchase in the knife drawer in front of you.
“it’s just me.” the voice is gruff and familiar and washes over you like a relaxing wave of warm water. “sorry, i wasn’t trying to scare you.”
“hobie?” you lean towards him to make out his figure in the shadows. the moonlight does little to aid in visibility. there is only a pale light struggling to come through the window. you have to reach over and turn on the stove light just to see him since your eyes have yet to adjust. “i thought you went home?”
“i did. i went to see my parents and it went just about as well as i thought.” hobie takes a seat at the bar stools behind the aisle. he seems strained, running his hand over his face with a sigh. “so i came back because i like it here more.”
“why didn’t you just go to your own house?” you feel a little underdressed in your attire all of the sudden. sure, you are preparing to go to sleep and in the comfort of your own house but you’d hate to give off the impression that you’re walking around without pants on.
“because i like it here more. pretty sure i said that,” now he’s rubbing his eyes, sitting up to lean against the back of the chair. “if you’re getting a glass of water, can you get me one too?” hobie’s lips turn up into a small, sad smile. his eyes look tired, worn out from whatever went down at his parents’ house.
you forgot all about the glass in your hand, looking down at it as if it’s appeared from the ether. “oh, you can just have mine. i’m probably going to go back to bed.” you’re still dead set on ignoring hobie. for one, it makes it so much easier to get used to the feeling of disappointment that he doesn’t see you when you literally don’t have to see him. not to mention, it’s difficult enough to look him in his eyes but to be alone with him and look him in the eyes? you have to go.
you set the glass down on the island and slide it over to him, prepared to take a quick and silent walk back to the safety of your room and your best friend asleep on your bed. “goodnight, hobie.”
you don’t make it very far before hobie is speaking to you, again. his gaze is following your attempt at escaping him and it’s annoying him that this is probably the thousandth time you’ve evaded him. “what is up with you? i’m clearly going through something and would benefit from talking about it with someone. i literally just left your house and showed up again and you’re not even going to ask me how i got in?”
you try to not huff when you turn to face him with an eyebrow quirked. “what are you talking about?” you clench your hands into small fists, only to flex them and release what tension you carry.
“what am i talking about? you speak like, five words to me now. i don’t know what i did to make this happen and i’m sorry but you’re literally avoiding me. you came down here for what, a glass of water? you gave me yours before you even got one and now you’re going back upstairs so you don’t have to talk to me. what did i do?”
you shake your head at his words. he’s not wrong. you have been avoiding him and looking for any way out not to speak or be around him more than you need to. still, hobie doesn’t have to bring it up. he shouldn't have brought it up. what are you going to do now? “i still don’t know what you’re talking about. i haven’t done anything to avoid you. i just don’t want water anymore and i want to go back to sleep.”
hobie presses his lips together. he’s doing his best not to stare at you with hardened eyes so he turns away, looking at the countertop instead. his frustration is palpable but he’s sensible enough to restrain himself, to keep himself from turning it into an argument. “okay, go to sleep then. goodnight.” he taps his nails against the side of the glass, listening to the little plinks ro distract himself from the unrest in his soul.
you stand there, staring at the back of hobie’s head even though he’s dismissed you. you’re free to go with no repercussions but the guilt from doing so while knowing he wanted to talk about whatever is plaguing him is too much to handle. “oh my god, fine. what is it? what happened at your parents'?”
your feet drag all the way towards the island and you sit on the bench beside him. you rest your hands in your lap and stare at the numbers reading back the time on the stove. they’re green and a great source of something to look at that isn’t hobie.
“no, it’s okay. you don’t want to hear about my problems because it’s such an inconvenience to you. i’m just going to sit here and mope, maybe cry, and go home.”
“don’t piss me off.” you tsk, picking a strand of string off your shirt. your eyes cut to him in a sideways glare, urging him to talk and quickly before you change your mind. “what’s wrong? what happened?”
hobie pokes his cheek with his tongue. he stares at the ceiling before slowly closing his eyes. “i dunno, man. it was so bad. they think i’m a disappointment or somethin’. it’s written all over their faces.”
“that’s not true. they probably were just overwhelmed that you came home.” you do your best to reassure him but even you know that’s probably a lie. hobie’s parents disapprove of him, everyone knows it. they’re embarrassed their only son turned out to be some sort of punk neanderthal and actively denounce him in public.
“don’t kid yourself, dove. my parents hate me and you know it. we all know it. i went over and they practically screamed it in my face. we had dinner for five seconds and got into a screamin’ match about how i let everyone down by runnin’ wild in the streets.” he’s squinting now. “when have i ever run wild in the streets?”
you can only shrug, unable to give him a response. you don’t know what to say to him. there is no denying what he experienced. all you can do is listen and shrug. “i’m sorry about that. you’re not a disappointment. they just can’t understand why they like it here so much and why you don’t. that can’t be easy to understand.”
“yeah well, i’ll get over it. i’ll just stay away from them and they can stay away from me and we can all pretend we aren’t related.” hobie doesn’t sound bitter, he sounds defeated. he sounds like he’s been down this road many times before and expected an outcome no different than before. however, it’s only natural for a child to wish for their parents to understand them. “anyway . . .,” his head lolls to the side until he’s looking at you, staring at you, “why are you avoiding’ me?”
your lips curl into themselves and you feel the need to excuse yourself. “i’m not avoiding you. if you’re done with your rant, i’m going to go to sleep now.” you go to rise to your feet but your attempt is short-lived when hobie catches you with his hands on your shoulders.
“yes, you are. look. you’re trying to do it right now. you’re tryin’ to leave because i’m confrontin’ you about it. i’m not going to stop pressin’ you about it until you tell me.”
one look in his eyes and you can tell he’s serious. hobie has caught you alone in the dead of night. he’s got you face-to-face and there is absolutely nothing you can do about it but lie or tell the truth, neither of which would work here.
“i’m not avoiding you, hobie. i just –,” you avert your gaze until you’re looking at literally anything else, “– i just think it’s best if we keep a distance and remain cordial. we don’t have to be friends because you're friends with quentin. you don’t have to feel like you have to be friends with me.”
“what?” the man lets you go. his arms drop back into his lap and he’s looking at you as if you’ve just proclaimed your undying love for present day denzel washington. “where is this coming from? you’ve always been a friend of mine. we grew up together. just because i’m closer to quentin doesn’t mean we aren’t close at all.”
you rack your brain to find a way around the real reason by cherry picking the words until they form a sentence that makes sense. “well, yes but i’m not like you. i don’t think there’s anything you – i just – we aren’t the same. we’re in very different crowds and i don’t want you to force yourself to get along with me.”
“okay, we’re in different crowds. what’s that supposed to mean? i’m friends with you because you are different from me. if i didn’t want to be around you or anyone who isn’t the exact same as me, i wouldn’t have come home. you’ve never been insecure about our friendship before so what’s going on?”
you’ve just about reached the end of the line. you’re frazzled and unable to keep pumping out excuses. he’s just going to disprove every single one and deny you a reason to run away. he doesn’t get it and he won’t get it. there’s only one option left to do. every ounce of your soul is screaming at you not to, already burning from the humiliation but as far as you’re concerned, you have no other option. “you don’t get it. jeez, hobie, you’re so stupid. obviously, i’m avoiding you because i have feelings for you and you don’t feel the same. i don’t want to be around you when i know you’re just going to go out and fuck every girl in town.”
your little spiel is followed by silence. while what weight was lifted off your chest, your hands are beginning to sweat from the anxiousness. still, you’ve already said it and you can’t back down so you sit firm in your decision. your eyes still begin to water from the overwhelming emotion that comes with speaking your mind like that and being met with absolutely nothing.
finally, hobie tilts his head. “fuck every girl in town? what are you talking about? is that what people are saying about me?”
you burst into tears, partly because you took that as rejection and partly because you think he doesn’t care. he just brushed off everything you said to talk about his sexual endeavors. “you’re so mean. you’re so mean and you hate me and you want me to die,” you blubber through a watery gargle. your hands are unable to keep up with the tears that stream down your face. by the time you brush one away, there’s another one that takes its place.
“oh my god.” hobie’s eyes widened in shock at your immediate reaction. it happened faster than he can blink and he’s terrified that someone is going to wake up, find you crying, and blame it all on him. “why are you crying?” he pulls you into an embrace, tucking your head beneath his chin and into his chest. despite what many would think, his skin is awfully warm to the touch and it would have been comforting if he didn’t stomp on your heart.
“because i just spilled my deepest, darkest secret to you and you don’t care. you’re bragging about how many times you got laid instead of having human emotions.” you only sob louder as he runs his fingers along your spine in what’s supposed to be a soothing manner.
“i’m not bragging about anything. i haven’t even fucked anyone since i’ve been here. where are you getting your information from?” hobie can’t decide whether or not he’s concerned or humored. he lifts your head, but only briefly, to wipe the tears on your cheeks. the moment he sees your lip tremble, he allows you to go back into the comfort of hiding against him.
“i don’t have to get my information from someone. i just know. you literally left me for magnolia and i know that you’ve been seeing some other girl. plus, quen was saying something about every girl and you when you walked in.” your words are muffled in his shirt. you feel a little guilty because of how wet it is but then you think about how hobie wronged you and wish you soaked it with your sobs.
“okay, first of all, i did not fuck magnolia. i’d have to bash my head with a brick to consider doing that. second of all, i’m not seeing anyone. i’m trying to get a temporary job while i’m still here and i have to suck up to the manager because she doesn’t like me. and why is it my fault that people like me? i can’t stop them from liking me and i can’t stop someone else from talking about it. you’ve misunderstood every single thing and now you’re yelling at me.”
you sniffle and tilt your head up. there is suspicion and doubt written all over your face. “so if you don’t like magnolia like that, then why were you looking at her like that? like you were thinking about taking her clothes off.”
hobie reels his head back, giving you a similar mystified expression. “girl, what are you talking about? if i was looking at her any sort of way it was probably because she was standing in front of the actual sun and I couldn't see. i wear contacts and i forgot to put them in. you know i wear contacts so now i’m confused.”
for a moment, you don’t say anything. you sit there and replay his explanations over and over again, searching for any holes in his story. you slowly run your tongue over your lip as the embarrassment slowly sets in. he’s right, he does wear contacts. he got them senior year of high school and you suppose you just forgot. you forgot and cried and went on him for no reason.
hobie watches you come to the realization. he can tell it’s dawning on you when your face relaxes and forms into one of mortification. this is where he decides it’s humorous to him. it’s even more hilarious when he adds the cherry on top. “and your deepest, darkest secret? i already knew. it’s not really a secret if everyone knows.”
that brings you an entire new wave of waterworks but instead, they build and build in your waterline until they eventually spill over in an occasional spill. “so you knew this whole time and let me embarrass myself? and you’re rejecting me?”
hobie reaches off and tears a paper towel square off the roll. he shakes his head, bending the square into a smaller one. he uses it to dab your cheek with a tut of his tongue. “you have to stop crying. i can’t talk to you when you’re refusing to listen to me. at least cry silently or ask questions that i can actually answer.”
“no,” you take the square from his fingers. really, you snatch it and use it to clean your dribbling nose. “i’m so mad at you. i don’t want to talk anymore.” you take this chance to get off the bar stool and move towards the trash can. you’re still sniffling and occasionally gasping for air while you clean yourself up. “you knew this entire time and didn’t say anything? i’d rather you turn me down from the beginning than give me this false sense of security. you led me on.”
“no. no, i didn’t.” hobie watches you rinse your face with water. hearing his denial just makes you angrier.
“yes you did. you knew and you said nothing.”
“no i did not. you didn’t even ask me –”
“i don’t have to ask you because i already know. you’re the worst person alive and you only care about yourself –”
“ ☆ , listen. you’ve been assuming things for weeks and look where that got you. just, stop talking and let me speak, please.” his firm tone knocks any thought out of your brain and gets you to tighten up, real quick.
you look over your shoulder, not yet ready to look at him but finally ready to accept that you just might be wrong. you lift the neckline of your shirt over your face and use it as a method to dry it.
“in order for me to have led you on, you’d have to actually confess your feelings to me. at what point do you think i should have just walked up to you and say ‘hey, i know you have feelings for me that you aren’t ready to talk about yet but i just wanted to let you know that i’m not interested’? why do you assume that i don’t feel anything towards you, anyway? maybe i do but i don’t say anything because i know it’s not going to work. let’s think about it, i rarely ever come into town. you love town. at what point would i ever come along and see you?”
“you would get your ass on your bike and drive here like you did this time,” you mumble under your breath. you stand by the sink for a moment to gather your thoughts. you’re gaining clarity through the fog but now you’re drained. you’re tired and you don’t have the energy to feel displeased over whatever he has to say. it doesn’t matter what he has to say because in the end, it’s all going to be a no. “but whatever you say. we don’t work, okay. you’re leaving soon, okay. if that’s all, i’d like to go to bed now.”
“are you mad at me?” he asks from behind you, softly. he almost purrs it and it tugs at your will. you want so badly to let him in but he doesn’t want that and so you must persevere.
you shake your head with a breath. “no. i’m not mad at you. you’re entitled to your own opinion.” you put on the blankest expression you can manage and turn to face him. you cross your arms over your chest and manage to maintain what little composure you have.
he quips a brow at you, obviously not believing your claim and even more so when you don’t say anything to confirm it. “come here for a second.”
you shift your weight until your weight is all on your right side and your hip is popped. “hobie . . .”
“just for a second,” he outstretched his hand as an offer for you.
reluctantly, you take it and give no resistance when hobie pulls you into his personal space. his hands find your cheeks and squish them together until your lips are forced into a pout. “be honest with me, baby. are you mad at me?”
he doesn’t act surprised when you pause before nodding in response. “are you still going to be mad at me if i kiss you?”
hobie watches the thought go through your mind. you consider it and the consequences that come with it. it’s going to be a meaningless kiss because hobie has drawn the line. he can’t be attached to anything from this town and you know that. still, it’s an incredible opportunity to just pass up because of morality.
you shake your head.
hobie’s lips are soft against yours. there’s a subtly sweet taste but it’s possible you’re high off oxytocin. again, you clench your hands into fists but this time it’s to restrain yourself from holding onto him and pulling him tighter. you have to keep reminding yourself that it’s a meaningless kiss.
it’s even harder to maintain that thought when hobie’s mouth fits so perfectly against yours. he doesn’t move his hands from your cheeks but the kiss grows heated, regardless. his tongue, wet and warm, runs over the expanse of your bottom lip before worming its way into your mouth.
you mewl when it finds yours and sucks. you have to tuck your hands behind your back to hold onto your composure. your feet betray you, though, by bringing you even closer into him and in turn, into his lips.
“are you done cryin’?” he kisses the corner of your mouth and jumps to the skin along your jawline. like before, he kisses and sucks the trail of skin from there to your neck. “because it wouldn’t be right if i just left you here.”
you squirm in your spot and do your best to conceal the whines that threaten to bubble up out of your throat. “hobie, you said – you –” you finally rested your hands on the tops of his thighs. the voice in the back of your head telling you to give in is getting more and more convincing with each passing second.
“what did i say?” he pauses his ministrations to catch his breath and give you a second to find yours. he isn’t sure how the conversation took this turn but he isn’t complaining. if anything, he’s hoping it’ll never end.
you stare at him in the yellow light from the stove. there’s still a chill in the air but you’re buzzed with need. suddenly, you’re hot. it’s sweltering even without the heat being on. you need to find a solution to your lust and quick. you wrap your arms around his neck and pull him back into you, deciding the solution right there in the moment.
your lips crash against each other with a burning passion. hobie stands up out of the bar stool, his hands circling around your waist. he takes steps forward and forces you back against the counter across from you. you don’t mind, entangling your hands within his scalp. you’re willing to let him do whatever he wants to you and it shows.
hobie turns you around and presses his hardening cock against the plumpness of your ass. you gasp at the feeling of him rutting against you with his breath fanning over your shoulder, warm and sticky. there’s something that takes over, a horny little monster that throws all your inhibitions out the window. you’re equally as turned on, rolling your hips back on his in tandem with him.
“fuck, okay. don’t get too loud.” he whispers under the sound of the fabrics moving together. out of he corner of your eye, you barely get a glimpse of him shoving his fingers in his mouth before sliding underneath your clothing. he pulls your shirt up in a balled up fist and watches his hand disappear beneath the waistband of your shorts and elastic of your panties.
they waste no time finding your clit, sticky and growing swollen from your insatiable desire. “already so fuckin’ wet.” he rubs the nub in little circles, growing accustomed to your body and what you like most. occasionally, his fingers slip and unintentionally fall too close to your entrance.
your mouth falls open in a tiny “o”. you throw your head back onto his shoulder, eyes squeezed shut and grinding against both his dick and his fingers. you’re sandwiched between pleasure and doing your best to keep your moans limited to a whisper. you grip the edge of the counter and you’re actually grateful for it. it’s the solace that’s keeping you grounded to reality because without it, you’re sure you would have soared to the sky. “d – don’t tease,” you pant. you reach behind you searching for hobie’s dick and you find it easily. it’s hard to miss with the hard feeling of it against your skin and you swear you feel it grow harder when you wrap your fingers around it, still clothed over his sweats.
“sorry, dove. whatever you want,” hobie flattens his palm against your pussy. his middle finger prod at your sticky entrance to test your reaction but it slips right in, much to your pleasure. he has to take it slow with your sensitivity but hobie savors every moment. he’s not in a rush, especially when your fingers squeeze and rub at his clothed cock. he’s ready to stick it in now if he truly wanted but hobie wants this moment to last. he wants to burn the memory into his head and stain his life with whatever effects you have on him.
“mmm,” you hum, spreading your legs farther to accommodate his size. just one of his fingers could make you feel so full that you’re nearly satisfied like this. you have to close your lips and run your tongue along the inside of your cheeks to wet them again. “that feels so good.”
“yeah?” hobie asks. he’s so focused on you, he doesn’t notice how you’ve also managed to get your hand under the waistband of his boxers. he only realized what’s happening when your hand brushes against the stubble of his pubes and wraps around his shaft. “oh baby,” he whines in your ear. you can feel his dick twitch and jump at the tightness of your palm. he nearly falls over your frame when your thumb begins to circle around his tip.
hobie’s fingers stutter inside you. they push farther, deeper, making contact with your g-spot accidentally. he hasn’t gotten a chance to stick another finger in before you’re whimpering and nearly finger fucking yourself with his hand. “oh my gosh, right there. right there, right there!”
if hobie could have laughed at you, he would have. however, he has better things to worry about. like how your voice is beginning to rise in volume and he just cannot have that happen. “shhh,” is all he can manage throughout his full-body shudders. he uses his other hand to drop your shirt and instead stick his fingers in your mouth. they serve the purpose he intended, muffling your noises. he didn’t anticipate for you to suckle on them as if it’s the last thing you’d ever have in your mouth.
that, paired with the handjob and your gushing pussy around his fingers, he could have came right then and there. he could have exploded in his pants and made you cum and end it there but he didn’t. instead, he forces himself to pay attention to you. he puts his pleasure on the back burner and pushes his finger deeper, even going as far as to stretch you farther by adding a second one.
with his fingers deep in your throat and drool pouring out the corner of your mouth, your legs begin to shake. your chest rises and falls with each heaved breath. if you weren’t forced into somewhat silence, you’re sure you would have been calling out hobie’s name, drunk of him and him alone.
he has no idea what words you’re gurgling but unless you’re chanting about how you’re on the verge of cumming, he doesn’t care. luckily for him, it’s almost certain that you were and it’s evident with how your body falls slack in his arms and your cunt spasms around his fingers. the sight is an ultimate turn on.
hobie pulls his fingers out of your mouth and wipes the saliva over your cheek. he takes the opportunity to yank your bottoms down until they’re confined to your ankles. you step out of them and turn around, reconnecting your lips with his.
once again, you’re kissing hobie as an act of hunger, pushing your lips so hard together that they nearly swell. you cup the back of his head to draw him in. you’re delighted to feel his hands on the globes on your cheeks and set you onto the counter. it’s cold on your skin and so you flinch but it becomes a faint thought when hobie’s hands are anchored on the backs of your thighs. he pushes them back until your feet are flat on the counter and your glistening pussy is all on display, still creamy from your recent orgasm.
“just gotta get a taste,” he mumbles, mostly to himself as he eyes the shining cunt open and throbbing for him. he wastes no time wrapping his lips around your puffy clit, slurping at your slick. he enjoys the sapidity that’s unique to you, tangy and a bit sweet, like a refreshing dessert he could eat for the rest of his life.
he can feel the juices drip down his chin and coat the lower half of his face but that doesn’t stop him from eating your pussy like a starved man. you have to bring a hand up to your mouth to muffle the moans, watching the hobie lick between your folds and lap at your clit. your eyes are ready to roll back when hobie’s tongue pokes at your entrance. you want so badly to scream, to pull hobie’s head even closer to your aching pussy but you can’t. you can’t risk moving your hand off your mouth, knowing that the moment you do, you’ll wake up the whole house.
you compromise by using your other hand to support your weight and shift toward, putting yourself a little more onto your toes. in this new position, you’re able to move your cunt along his face. you push farther, going as far as to brush your clit along hobie’s nose.
his response is to tug your body to the edge of the counter and wrap your legs over his shoulders. your lower body is solely held up by him, his shoulder, and his hands. he swallows every ounce of your slick and sears your clit with a kiss.
it doesn’t take long before you’re finding yourself closer to the edge of a second orgasm. you ball your shirt up and shove the jumbled mess into your own mouth. your brain is foggy. you can’t think of a single thought that isn’t full of hobie, the pleasure, and the need to cum, immediately.
“mmmf,” you wrap your legs around his neck. dig your fingers into his hair, and tug just in time for another gush of cum to come flowing out of your pussy. every muscle in your body has relaxed and become putty by now. you’re at hobie’s disposal and you love that.
“you’re so perfect, i’m devastated.” he kisses your inner thigh, continuing to trail those kisses up your stomach, between your tits, and onto your lips. he doesn’t wipe the cum off his face as he does it. instead, he makes you taste it, wrapping his tongue around yours and wetting your cheeks with the stickiness as your arousal as he does it.
“no you’re not. you won’t stay for me.” you whisper between kisses, running your hands along his bare chest under his shirt. you grab the hem and pull it up until hobie inevitably allows you to pull it off. it’s discarded and tossed onto the floor.
“i won’t stay for anyone. you know this.” he disconnects from the kiss, but only for a moment. during this time, he drops his pants to pull out his cock, raging from watching you cum not once, but twice. in the darkness, you can make out an outline of it, long and skinny with a mushroom tip and bulging veins. he’s been straining this whole time but hadn’t complained at all, loving every second of pleasing you. he could do it for hours if he had the time.
you resort to pouting as hobie sets your feet back onto the ground. with his hands on his hips, he turns you back around until your back is pressed against his chest, once again. “just say you hate me.”
“keep saying that and i’ll shove my dick in your mouth.” he says, aligning his tip with his sticky entrance. you don’t mention how his threat holds no weight if you’d enjoy it. instead, you play into it and huff, resting your hands flat on the counter.
you brace yourself when hobie begins to push deep into you. the stretch is painful at first, enough that you have to grit your teeth and will yourself to relax through the shallow thrusts to ease his way into you. it only takes a few seconds before the pain is blooming into satisfaction.
he fits so well inside you, filling you as if he was created solely for this purpose. you reach up, resting your hand on his cheek for a source of intimacy in the slow thrusts. you use the leverage of the counter to push your ass back to meet his thrusts.
you don’t know how much willpower you have to continue standing on your own when hobie is doing such a good job of fucking you dumb. even with the slow pace, you have to give in, leaning over the counter. to hobie, this is leverage for him to take control of the situation. he slots a large hand over your mouth and the other rests on the small of your back.
almost instantly, his thrusts increase tenfold. you’re certain if this was done on a bed, it would have been rocking with such an intensity against the wall. you grasp his hand covering your mouth with yours, almost screaming into his hand.
“shh, you’ll w – wake someone u – up.” he leans over you. hobie doesn’t compensate for the sound of skin slapping against each other by speaking louder. instead, he gets closer to you and because of that, angles his dick deeper into your cunt.
in this new state, you can hear every soft moan and whimper that leaves his mouth. he’s not rough about it, almost singing in your ear. his breath feels moist on your skin and adds to the fire burning in your core. “just t – take it, baby.”
you almost sob, rising onto your toes and writhe underneath him. it didn’t occur to you that you’d be overstimulated by the time you’ve reached this point. as much of your fault as it is, you like to blame most of it on hobie for pushing it this far. you wouldn’t be tempted to push him away, feeling as though he would be forcing another one out of you, if he didn’t.
you’re still, almost stuck in place. he’s too good at delivering. your body craves more and less of him at the same time. you’re certain you can feel him in your throat, ready to pop out the other side and through your mouth if this continues long enough. it’s driving you crazy, so crazy you squeeze your legs together.
it doesn’t last long because coincidentally, hobie hooks his hand under your leg and pushes it onto the counter. your cunt squelches as it swallows his size greedily. he’s obsessed with watching his length disappear inside you and the white sheen that surrounds the base. “shit, you’re gettin’ tight. gonna make me cum.”
you can only wail at his words and press your forehead against the granite. your legs have begun to quiver for the second time that night and you’re almost certain your insides are about to explode. you’re unsure what is building up inside you but it’s drawing from somewhere deep in the pits of your stomach and you’re getting nervous. there’s not much you can do about it, nor can you think about it too much because hobie’s fingers are rolling your clit between them.
the bud is all swollen and practically hot to the touch. you’re dripping down your own thighs at this point. there’s a musk that accompanies sex in the air, thick and sending you into a daze. your eyes flutter closed before they roll back. you let loose, weak streams of squirt falling into the floor beneath you.
“holy fuckin’ shit,” hobie pulls out of you so fast, you whine and crumple onto the floor. he, as the kind gentleman he is, don’t force your weak body to move positions again. instead, he steps to your side and turns your head with a hand under your chin. “open your mouth for me. atta’ girl.”
you watch him through half lidded eyes jerk his swollen cock in front of your face until he’s spurting cum all over it. your tongue dangles open and catches what remnants dribble downwards into your mouth.
hobie’s equally sensitive body stands there for a moment to catch his breath. he slowly lowers himself onto the ground until he’s able to run his thumb over your cum-covered face to collect some of it on the pad of his finger and swipe it over your tongue. “how do you feel? want water or something?”
you wordlessly shake your head and crawl into his arms, despite the fact that your face is ultimately covered in his nut. you don’t mention that what you really want to know is what happens now. “just want to shower and sleep.”
he looks at you, half asleep against him, and then around the kitchen and the few pieces of evidence left behind. for one, the scent has got to go. “i’ll get you into the bath and i’ll handle the cleanup, okay? you just rest your pretty little head.”
you’ve already beat him to it, humming in response and envisioning the comfort of your queen sized bed. if you considered things awkward before, just what until you see how you try to navigate it in the morning.
caution! mdni 6k wrdz, hobie smokes weed, you’re drunk n contact high, you get it blown in your face, exhibitionism, kinda voyeurism, use of the word nigga, use of the word pussy and cunt, public sex, fingering f. receiving, oral m. receiving, sharing of cum, degradation barely ( use of the word bitch and slut once), choking but not really, brat taming if you squint, unprotected sex, pull out method, lmk if i missed anything! pls do not spam like my blog if you enjoyed it, feel free to tell me in the reblogs
hobie takes a long drawl of the blunt between his lips. his eyes are half lidded and his head is tilted back. in the dim lighting, you can barely tell his scleras are red but they are, pupils low and moving slow across the scenery.
he’s careful, knowing that you hate the smell. he doesn’t get it, though. you grumble every time he sparks up, claiming the smell reminds you of body odor, until you’re intoxicated yourself.
tonight, you’re indulging a bit, drunk off mixed liquors so you don’t mind. it’s the last thing you’re thinking about when he sits up and slots his mouth over yours. he blows the smoke into you, ending with a sloppy kiss.
you don’t smoke, or at least that’s what you claim. in a way, you don’t, never actually putting the paper to your lips. you just steal whatever hobie gives you because in your pretty, little head, it’s somehow better.
your body feels heavy. you’re so crossed, not thinking about how you’re tonguing hobie down in front of his friends. they’re not paying you much attention, either. this isn’t surprising, not with the explicit details hobie sometimes shares. it happens every party anyway. as long as you are both intoxicated, you’re unable to keep your hands off each other.
you mewl when he adjusts you in his lap, one hand on your back to draw you forward. your eyes flutter and your hands run over the navy blue mesh of his top. his tongue piercing is warm and bumping against the roof of your mouth.
you’re straddling his lap, standing out in the group of punks with your sparkly pink tank top and denim miniskirt. underneath you, hobie is your opposite in low waisted jeans, distressed and dark. his chains are layered and occasionally clink against each other when he moves.
you’re so in love with him and his little v line, peeking through the sliver of skin visible. you’re too greedy, grinding against his studded belt. the rhinestones don’t bump and graze your sensitive parts enough.
“mm mm,” he hums against your lips. “not here.” he kisses your cheek and creates just a bit of space between you in an attempt to keep you settled. his heart swells at the adorable disappointment in your eyes but he knows better than to comment on it. you like to villainize whatever you can to get your way and he doesn’t want to deal with you the way he usually does right here with everyone’s somewhat watchful eyes.
you sulk when he grins. he only tunes you out and takes another huff of the rolled blunt. “you jealous?” he chuckles at the expression riri, one of his bandmates, sports.
her face is contorted in disgust, being the unfortunate one to catch you two at the wrong time. “no, you’re just gross. i’ve never seen a couple so all over each other than you.”
hobie merely raises his shoulders in a halfhearted shrug. “i told you she was coming. you knew what that meant.” he exhales the smoke in your face again, mockingly sneering at his friend when you welcome it.
you barely hear their conversation between the insatiable throbbing in your core and the need to get inside hobie’s skin. you cling on to him and rest your head in the crook of his neck. he rubs your side while you mindlessly litter dark purple hickies along his collar. his hands come up to graze your arm.
it’s his party, or rather, their party. in celebration, his band decided to have a small get together to celebrate the release of their mixtape. it was supposed to be small. now it’s turned into a house party with the amount of plus ones in attendance.
the music causes a buzz in your bloodstream. you’re delirious and horny out of your mind. somewhere down the line, you made the conscious decision to down a hefty amount of casamigos and now you’re dealing with the consequences. “ ‘bie,” you snivel. you take his hand and guide it in between your bodies until his fingers are over the growing and slightly damp spot over your panties. you pant when he applies pressure, swiping aimlessly back and forth.
the dull ache in your stomach is heightened because of his toying. your drunken mind has you trying to push down on him, only for him to remove his hand with a click of his tongue. “i told you not here. gonna have to wait, pretty girl.”
hobie can’t tell if he’s seeing things when your lips tremble. he squints, both trying to examine the details through the haze and deter you from throwing a tantrum. you’re already halfway there, assuming he doesn’t care about what you want. you’re just about to give him a piece of your mind when you’re interrupted, timed perfectly.
“hey hobes?”
both your heads turn, spotting another band member stood to the side.
karl looks untroubled as he crashes somewhere on the couch. he hums as he gets comfortable, eyes scanning the crowd with a mischievous smile. “won’t believe what i gotta tell you.
“yeah?” hobie dangles one long arm off the back of the couch. he rests his head on his shoulder. the action both distracts and reminds you of your mission to decorate him in love bites.
you’re unaware of how karl turns, nodding his head in your direction. “some fucker wants to get to know your girl. saw us walking around and thought we were cool, thinks I can make something happen.”
you remain unaware still. the words don’t click in your head, no matter that hobie is speaking right here with you in his lap.
“oh?” he laughs a bit at the thought. it doesn’t bother him and happens more frequently than one would think. he’s gotten used to their gross antics but he doesn’t feel jealous. no, he’s pleased. pleased that someone else can recognize that he’s got the best girl. “hear that, princess? got a second boyfriend.” his eyes are downcast and on you.
you’re too dazed and busy to listen, covering every part of his skin until there is no space left. “don’t care,” you murmur. you’re not sure what you’re uncaring towards but it doesn’t matter. not when there are more important tasks to deal with.
hobie pulls you up by the neckline. he’s not shocked when you’re already glaring at him, convinced that, at this point, he’s torturing you. “you should. it’s rude to not speak to someone, you know.”
you feel so incredibly petulant beyond words. you blow a short breath through your nose. it takes you a second to find it, find your tone and patience. unfortunately, you can’t. “huh?” you snap.
fortunately, hobie doesn’t care. “you got a valentine or whatever the fuck. should go to talk to him.”
you know it’s not really a request.
it’s a game you both play, showing off your relationship to anyone who’ll see. as much as you hate being ripped away from him at times like this, you enjoy the game, too. it usually ends all hot and heavy, just how you like it.
before you’re standing he holds up a finger to karl, motioning the man to wait. hobie brings the blunt to his lip and immediately shotguns it into yours. he’s nasty about it, a hand groping your ass and rolling your hips down into his.
“jesus christ,” karl mutters. his face is scrunched up and even if the dark lighting, you can tell his cheeks are firetruck red.
yeah, showing off your relationship to anyone who’ll see.
you grin, patting karl’s shoulder as you stand. admittedly, you stumble a bit. your balance is all fucked up and you probably aren’t making the best decisions. “this will be you one day, bud.”
karl takes your hand in his. he can already tell you won’t be able to make it across the room without aid. you probably haven’t stood up since you sat down, too busy damn near dry humping hobie. “gee, i can only hope.”
hobie sighs, a deep rumble spreads in his chest. “not a scratch, karl.” he takes his eyes over you from head to toe, as slow as he can afford. they starting at your heels, up to the buns on either side of your head.
“we’re gonna go pimp her out, not to war.” the other rolls his eyes, trading his hand in yours to your elbow, both for more support and because he doesn’t know where you put it.
you both begin your trek around the quite spacious living room. you don’t know where you’re going and occasionally, you’re tripping over yourself. it’s not all that bad. most of the fault is because you decided to wear heels and even though they were thick and blocky, it didn’t do much in your current state.
your ankle wobbles and karl has to yank you upright. he doesn’t know how you haven’t injured yourself by now. maybe you are going to war, but with yourself. “what the hell? how much did you drink?”
you giggle with a shake of your head. “didn’t count. it’s fine! ‘m not blacked, just tipsy, maybe. oh and a little high.” you’re really not that far under the influence, you think. most of the influence is pure lust and when it’s subtracted from the occasion, you’re all bubbly.
karl looks over your shoulder. his attention is behind you and you see him wave someone over. “yeah well, try not to bust your ass. i’m calling that guy over now. his name is fuckin’ max or something like that.”
you completely forgot that’s what you came over for. it’s only been a few steps but between your bumbling and laughter, it slipped your mind. “oh. are you gonna stick around?”
“hell no,” karl sucks in his breath. his face twists and he points in pinky at hobie. “i don’t wanna be here when he gets up. you two are bad enough when you’re calm.”
sure enough, he’s still watching with a clear view from the couch in the corner. he lifts his fingers and wiggles them in a wave. you lick your lips at the sight of his hands. your pussy throbs at the thought of them pushing deep inside you.
“yeah, i’m out.” karl waves his hand in front of your face to get your attention. “i’ll be around if you need me. just call, i’ll hear you.” he doesn’t want to experience what you freaks are about to get into but he also doesn’t want to leave you here, faded with a man you don’t know.
he waits until the trade off happens and you’re left semi alone. you’re not exactly shy but nothing comes to mind. you’re uninterested, having already committing yourself to another. “max?”
“mark,” he says. he doesn’t look like anything interesting. sagging his jeans and wearing an ill fitting shirt. definitely not your type. if you lost him in a crowd, he’d disappear. his first mistake would be losing you in the first place.
however, if you want to be tossed onto the nearest surface, you have to push through it. “oh my gosh, i’m so sorry!” you flash a smile. you rock back on your feet, only to trip over yourself. without karl holding you up, you find yourself grasping for balance. an honest giggle leaves your lips at your clumsiness but it’s mistaken for delight.
mark’s hands grab at your waist and your first thought is how they don’t compare. they’re much smaller and he definitely isn’t handling you with care. you have to remind yourself not to frown when you’re jostled back onto your feet. “havin’ a lot of fun tonight? your nigga didn’t stop you?”
you can’t stop looking at his hand still holding on to you. if you weren’t turned off by his appearance, you are now with his lack of awareness. you make an excuse to bump his hand off when you “adjust” the top of your shirt. “who, karl? karl and i are not . . . definitely not.”
in mark’s head, this means you don’t have one. even if you did, there’s much doubt he’d care. “so what? you don’t have one then. you want one?”
“um . . .” you flick your eyes over to hobie. you know he’s still watching and knows it’s a universal sign that you can’t take anymore of this. “i do have one. just not him so . . .” you gather your hands together and curl them into each other.
“you can’t have friends? we don’t gotta do nothin’, just chill.” he speaks with his hands. they’re waving all in the air and smacking against each other. typically it wouldn’t annoy you but you really just don’t like this guy. “i mean, you don’t gotta tell him. he ain’t gonna go shit, anyway.”
you scoff to yourself. before you have a chance to defend your lanky little stick bug, a familiar presence subtly appears at your side.
you turn to him before he’s even looking at you.
his hand is on your cheek, gingerly. hobie isn’t glaring, nor is he smug but there’s something about him. as if he knows something mark doesn’t. and he does. he knows mark doesn’t stand a chance, knows he’s going to be upset someone like hobie has you wrapped around his finger. he knows he’s not going like the way he dresses and talks. he’s going to go off to his friends and call hobie a bitch and whatever other caveman words he can think of.
that’s exactly why he doesn’t stand a chance.
“made a new friend?” hobie finally looks at you. his gaze softens immediately and he moves forward to kiss your lips.
“something like that.” you sigh sweetly. even with your shoes, you don’t compare to his height. you have to pull yourself up. your aim is to deepen the kiss, biting his bottom lip when he doesn’t oblige.
hobie only pats your butt and you pout. “thanks for comin’, man. we really appreciate it.” he doesn’t offer any sign of respect. it won’t be returned. call him mean, say he’s stereotyping, but he has enough experience to know when someone will appreciate his presence and when someone won’t.
mark grimaces. he gives hobie a once over, obviously not happy with what he’s seeing. “this is your thing? shit. if i knew that, i wouldn’t have came.”
you feel something vile bubbling up in your throat. your stomach churns at his words. how dare he? he looks like every other person in the room, in this place that hobie pays for, and insults him like he’s worth something.
“well, it’s a good thing i told you then, huh? leave if you want to. have a good night.” hobie speaks before you do. he wraps his arm around your shoulder and slots his hand over your mouth. knowing your temper, he doesn’t need you making anything worse.
you both watch him stalk off in two different moods. hobie is just as calm as ever. he lets his aggression roll of his back like nothing. meanwhile, you’re grumbling about what a terrible person he is, how you don’t like him and anything you stands for.
“dumb bitch. that’s why you’re weird and bitchless.” you’re more upset he ruined the way things are supposed to go. hobie is supposed to take you in his arms and fluster both you and the third person. instead, you end up grumpy.
hobie chuckles. he massages your shoulder, adoringly watching you go on and on about how he sucks. “yeah? what’d he say to you?”
the thought alone has you groaning and going on another spiel. “he asked if you let me ‘have friends’ and ‘i don’t have to tell you’.” you crinkle your nose. as if you’d ever cheat and lie about it, or lie about anything at all. there’s no secrets in between you two and if there is any ever hesitation, it comes out eventually when the other person is ready. you can’t imagine keeping anything from him with ill intent. “you should have clocked him in the jaw,” you pivot and face him. you’re extra careful not to do it too fast and wrap your arms around his thin waist.
“while you’re standing right here? not gonna do that.” he hooks his hands under your arms and lifts you onto his waist. “you get hurt and i’ll blow this whole place up.”
with your little skirt, half your ass is out. you squeal, a hand going down to maintain as much modesty as you can. hobie is no help. he doesn’t care. his freak ass wants someone to see. getting rid of one person doesn’t mean everyone else’s eyes are no longer wandering.
he takes you back over to your original resting spot without struggle despite your wiggling and complaining that he isn’t doing anything to help you. he plops back down back, smirking when you’re bouncing from the impact. your hands fly to his shoulders to steady yourself.
“you’re done smoking?” you look around the group and don’t see a blunt in sight. it’s surprising from them, considering they always pass around multiple in rotation every night. you were only gone for a few minutes.
“i am. they’re not.” hobie pulls the strap of your top up. it’s fallen and despite the view of your tits he got, he didn’t particularly want everyone else to see them. not yet, at least.
he runs his hands along the tops of your thighs, straddling him. his thumb dips dangerously on the inner and dig into your bikini line when they run high.
you draw a breath, zeroing in on the action. “oh. why?” you can’t hear him when the need comes crashing back, just as strongly as it did before. you were under the impression this wouldn’t be happening and had no idea he planned on doing it here.
hobie likes you like this. he can never really describe it but you melt so easily. one touch, one graze of his fingertips and you’re all soft. it’s nice you can keep up with his libido but it’s even better when he can keep up with yours. “ ‘cause i don’t want to. why do you think?”
you don’t know what to think right now. not when his thumb grazes over your clit so slowly. it’s always you who’s so worked up while he’s so lax.
you rut against him, lip tucked under your teeth. you don’t know where to put your hands without making it obvious. he’s occupying the space in your lap and you wouldn’t dare clench the front of his shirt.
you settle for behind you, resting on your calves. in hindsight, it has the opposite effect but you’re all dizzy. you pant when he rolls the bud under his pads of his finger. you’re simultaneously regretting and rejoicing in the fact that you decided to wear a thong for the outfit. it’s thin and does nothing to dull the feeling.
a hand reaches into your peripheral. you can see the rolled smoke in between it’s fingers but you can’t be bothered to look over and see who it belongs to.
“thanks,” hobie acknowledges it. he leans into it to take his puff and tilts his head back. the remnants are released in the air rather than your face. the smell mixes with his cologne, musky and woodsy. you wouldn’t like it any other time but now. now, any part of him makes your pussy wet.
“thought you weren’t smoking,” you tilt your hips up and further into his hand.
he lets you, wanting you to become as unnerved as possible. “i wasn’t, then. i am, now.” his attention flicks down to your crotch. hobie wishes the lighting is a little better. he can’t see anything like this. sure, he can see his actions but he can’t see the effect it has on you. he can feel the damp spot when his fingers drift too far down and push into you as far as your underwear will allow.
you squirm, tempted to tug it to the side yourself. you can’t breathe under the pressure of need. how much longer is he going to delay this?
“stop movin’,” he squeezes your hip. “i let you act like act like a bitch in heat for a second but now you’re gettin’ greedy.” he doesn’t usually speak to you like this but when he does, it has you gushing. you keen while your head hangs low.
you clench your hands into fists and screw your eyes shut. “sorry.” you say while giving him your best attempt to sit still.
“and look at me. i’m playing with your cute little pussy. the least you can do is look at me.”
you shake your head in refusal but make eye contact with him, anyway. you’re shy, not because he’s toying with you, but because he’s toying with you in front of his friends, in front of everyone here.
“there you go,” he quietly praises you just under his breath, “there she is.” hobie nudges his way against you, nose poking at your neck. “it’s too bad i can’t suck on it till you’re creaming.”
you jump, your shoulder meeting your ear. it’s unintentional, following the way his breath tickles your skin. “don’t say that,” your voice is all watery.
he pulls the your baby blue panties to the side and sucks his teeth. his eyes are rolling at your words. “don’t say that? i have my fingers deep inside you and you’re telling me not to say that?”
“you don’t – ”
your body falls forward when it happens, when hobie plunges in his fingers without warning. your mouth drops open, knees digging into his side when your legs attempt to close. “ohh,” it leaves your mouth long and drawn out. the sudden stretch of his pointer and middle finger makes your body curl.
“someone just sold me these shrooms.”
you hear the crinkle of a bag somewhere nearby and the sound only gets louder. you can assume it’s being passed around but your blood is pumping in your ears. you breathe heavily, mindlessly sinking your teeth into his shoulder.
“i’d let you hold ‘em, hobes, but . . .”
his body shakes underneath you when he laughs lightly. his fingers don’t stop their incessant movements, stroking your walls. “all good. how much did you pay?”
you writhe when hobie digs into your spot, the palm of his hand bumping against your clit. you can feel a small stream of drool pooling out of your cheek. it’s more so with how chaotic you are, tongue and teeth relishing at his neck.
you feel a heavy arm stilling you against him despite your struggle.
“don’t mind her. she’s just being a baby ‘bout it.” he doesn’t apologize for his explicit acts. he apologizes for your distracting reactions, for your quiet moans. it unnerves you.
here you are, worked up and dripping in front of your boyfriend’s friends. they’re so casual about it and as much as you hate to remember, they’re not wrong to be. hobie gets off on this and by default, you do too.
“is she a baby or are you an absolute ass?”
“you’re gonna irritate me and i’m gonna take it out on her.” his lips is upturned and lazy. “so how much did you pay for it?”
you don’t care to listen to the rest of the conversation. you’re very obviously grinding downward to feel him deeper and it only results in you tightening around him with a gasp. you’re weakly tugging his face until he’s turned around.
he’s not exactly thrilled to be interrupted from his conversation but he takes pity and gives in. your lip connect, tongues immediately tangling with each other. your saliva mixes and he sucks on your tongue to satiate you. on occasion, your teeth bump and crash against each other but it doesn’t discourage you. you only lean into it.
his fingers increase their pace and he ignores the cramp in his wrists. he juts his fingers against the spot that has you digging your nails into him.
this is so surreal. you and your friends always like fun at the people who get off at your college parties. you’ve told hobie the stories in the past but he seemed disinterested. now, you’re those people at those parties and it doesn’t sound as bad.
“you cummin’?” he whispers to you and you alone. he prefers to this part to himself, only you two knowing without speculation.
your lifting your hips to escape the stimulation, mouth running dry from the way it hangs open. “mhm,” you squeal. the ball wound up tight in your core releasing, accompanying spurts of cream.
your chest heaving as you gulp out air. hobie pulls his fingers out with a low squelch only he can hear. a low whistle leaves his lips at the where his fingers glisten. you’re expecting him to press them to your tongue but your eyes widen when they continue to extend outwards. instead, they’re all in riri’s mouth.
they’re both eyeing you and you don’t know what to do. your attention darts between the both of them before focusing on the floor. your hands fiddle with your skirt. your face is burning, your whole body is.
“damn hobes,” she mumbles.
you can still feel their gaze on you, thick and heavy.
his hands are running from your back to your calves and back up again. the saliva is smearing over your skin. “i know. it’s better right from the source.” he slides your panties back in there spot and ignore how disappointed you look.
“ ‘bie,” you want to cry. you don’t want to beg in front of everyone but it’s as if he doesn’t care about you.
“stop your whinin’,” he fixes you with a pointed glare. hobie pushes you off his lap til you’re standing. “we’ll be back.” he doesn’t have to explain himself for everyone to understand what’s happening, not that he would anyway. he gets off the couch and takes your hand in his.
hobie takes you with him, guiding you to the bathroom. both your hands are clasped around his and you’re staring at him, wide eyed, rather than your surroundings.
he can feel you watching him. you’re doe eyed and it makes him harder than he already is. it’s as if he’s the only one that can fix it, and he truly is. hobie nearly tosses you into the bathroom. he slams the door behind him and flicks over the lock.
when he turns around, you’re kneeling and pawing at his jeans. you pout when you undo his zipper.
“what’s wrong, pretty?” hobie hooks his fingers under your chin and lifts it to his. “you don’t have to suck it if you don’t want to.”
“it’s not that,” you pull down his jeans . you wrap your fingers around the base and jerk your hand up and down his shaft. “you embarrassed me really bad.” you poke your cheek with your tongue. “can’t face your friends, now.”
hobie pinches your cheek. he mocks your expression before breaking out in a smile. “didn’t look embarrassed fucking yourself on my fingers. i’m not the one who licked your cum off ‘em.” he squeezes your face together until your lips are puckered.
he slaps his tip against your lips and smears the saliva-precum mix across your cheeks. you’re not moving fast enough, too busy telling him “problems” that he couldn’t care about. you don’t even mean them, just want something to irritate him with.
you shut your lips tightly and cross your arms over your chest. he’s only making you more likely to be difficult. you turn your cheek at him and stare at the rug. “not listening to me.”
hobie sighs and runs his hands over his face. he knows you’re delicate and are quick to throw a fit when you feel you have to. if he doesn’t get you under wraps, he’ll have to put in more effort in the long run. “what is it, baby? because the last time i checked, you’re the one who was about to scream my head off because i didn’t take out my dick right then and there.”
you purse your lips harder. “i wasn’t screaming. you’re being dramatic.”
“i’m being dramatic?” he cannot believe you right now. he squats down until you’re levelled with each other. his hand engulfs you by the throat. he doesn’t squeeze, just holds you close. “you’re mad at me because you came. most of it was your work, though. don’t piss me off.”
neither of you say anything for the passing moment. the only movement made is the small nod of your head.
he releases you following a quick peck on your lips. he stands and you’re back to your previous task, swallowing his cock. you hollow your cheeks, hands on his thighs.
hobie grips the sink behind you. he has to siphon his strength to prevent from breaking the counter. he tries, he really does to keep himself from fucking your throat.
he always does start off as gentle, restraining himself. he watches you, watches your spit dribble and froth. his hand strokes the back of your head. he’s all langley, long enough to do so with no problems.
you realize too late when he pushes your head down until you’re choking, eyes watering with your tears. they spill over your eyes when you close them and gasp for air when he lets go.
hobie brushes your tears away while you wheeze. “couldn’t help myself.” he does feel apologetic, although he would definitely do it again. he doesn’t, though. not until you’re ready, sniffling and aligning his cock with your mouth.
you relax as much as you can. after his big push, you down more than the last attempt. you’ve never been able to fit his whole dick in your mouth, considering the length. the rest of it is beneath your hands, being squeezed and rubbed.
he can’t help the way he bucks his hips forward. he does feel guilty when you choke but it’s overwhelmed by the vibrations of your temporary struggle. still, you persist. you suck and slurp despite your need for air. you’re a bit lightheaded and grateful when hobie takes a step back and pulls himself out.
he exhales, thumb pressing on his tip and holding his cock still to discourage himself from cumming. you can’t even fathom how you make him feel. he believes even if you kissed him long enough, he could cum untouched. “you’re so good to me,” he wets his lips, the other hand on the wall. “so good, too good.”
you drink in the praise with a satisfied smile. you wriggle your toes beneath you and decide to take advantage of his lack of attention. your fingers dip between your legs and underneath your underwear.
you lean forward just enough to fingerfuck yourself. it doesn’t feel as good as when he does it, purely because your hands are much smaller than his. “hobie,” you call out to him.
his actions to last longer are almost futile when he meets your big brown eyes. “slut,” he mutters and pulls you to your feet.
you don’t hide your smile when he turns you around by your hips and pushes you down over the counter. he flips your skirt up and yanks your panties down to your ankles.
you don’t give him a chance to tease, pushing your hips back the moment you feel his dick lined up with your slit. you grip the countertop until the tips of your fingers are white and devoid of the red tint.
hobie pushes down on your the small of your back. he trails his thumb over your tramp stamp. he looms over you, your back pressed against his chest. “you’re so pretty, honey. y’know that?” he squeezes your jaw, forcing you to look at yourself in the mirror. he thinks you look a little better like this, with tear stains streaming down your face and leaving the trails in your powder. the eyeliner you spent so long to perfect is a bit smudged and the highlight in the corner of your hair is gone.
you whine and wiggle your hips. he’s not doing enough. he’s not doing anything but talking about you and that’s not what you want. “stop talking, please.” you feel miserable, shoes clicking against the floor when you shuffle your feet.
“don’t start complainin’, you hear me? i don’t wanna hear it.” he kisses the nape of your neck and rises.
you think nothing of it. you’re awfully confident until he’s grasping your hips and snapping into you. you nearly scream, reaching back and pressing against his stomach.
hobie shoves your hand off his body and holds it instead. “what did i just say?” he much rather you squeeze his hand, nails pressing into his skin. he guides it back to the counter and leaves them both there, his other hand fucking you back onto him.
he’s using you. you can hear the the sound of impact between your skin. you can feel it too, toes curling under the straps of your heels. you can’t keep yourself quiet, moaning into the back of your hand.
for once, hobie doesn’t reprimand you about it. you can already barely stand, forehead resting against the coolness of the composite.
your legs wobble and you’re depending completely on him to hold you up. he’s a little limited in his view, unable to see your breasts bouncing underneath you. he’s not able to see your face, either.
you make up for it in the way you moan. he can hear his name slipping in, muffled in your hand. the other, underneath his, curls and coils. there is no escaping him when you’re pressed against a hard surface and he’s pressed against you.
“ ‘obie,” you pant. you bend your knee and straighten it out as a way to express your pleasure. in the end, he holds it in the air. with both your hands free, you use the hold on the counter to push back against him.
“don’t worry. i got you.” he reaches under your lifted leg, rolling your sensitive nerves between his fingers.
your back arches and you throw your head over his shoulder. your arms tremble as the waves of your orgasm comes crashing against you.
you’re dizzy, falling forward because he fucks you through it. your mouth is open and drool pools over the side. you don’t care. your cunt throbs with over sensitivity and tears begin in your eyes again.
hobie uses your back dimples as leverage. your pleas ring around in his brain but it’s all foggy. he’s so close and it’ll plaguing his thoughts. “sorry, angel. i’m so sorry.” his hand falls beside your eyes. his pace quickens and he has to cover your mouth when you get too loud.
he suddenly pulls out, spewing his cum over your ass. hobie has to take a second behind you, not that you mind. you don’t feel like moving yourself even when your tits are all squished and uncomfortable.
a few minutes pass before he takes some tissue to clean you up with soft touches. “you did so good.” he says, tossing the tissue away and getting another to wipe the slick on your thighs. “my perfect girl. you okay?”
“mhm.” you haven’t gotten up, eyes closed. your hit with an onslaught of sleepiness, your guess is from the waning influence of everything you’ve consumed tonight.
hobie pulls your underwear back up and fixes your skirt back into its place. he pulls your partially limp body up and gathers you in his arms. “are you fallin’ asleep?”
“mhm,” you hum again, coddling into his warmth.
he smiles, hooking his arms under your knees and lifting you into the air. he doesn’t have to ask to know you would love to be left alone to sleep so he takes it upon himself to carry you to his room to rest.
hobie really can’t wait until you wake up and he tells you all about how he fucked you to sleep.
