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fariesoiree · 4 days

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caution! mdni 7k wrdz, prowler!hobie, brat reader, black fem reader, afab reader, reader at a club, hobie n reader argue for a bit, alcohol consumption, car sex, public sex, fingering, p in v, unprotected, cream pie, plan b mentioned, oral fixation, drool/spit, spanking, pretty sure that's it

miffy's note! had plans for this and it did not go in the direction i thought it was going to go in but that's okay bc it would fit better with another character i may or may not write for in the future wink wink hope you like ; pls do not spam like my blog if you enjoyed it, feel free to tell me in the reblogs

the blinding white light coming from your friend’s phone screen does nothing to stop your current mission. if anything, it’s encouragement for you to lick the rim of the shot glass, nestled snugly between the breasts of your other friend, gianna. there’s a grin on your face as your teeth clamps down on the glass. you throw your head back and allow for the alcohol to burn its way down your throat. around you, people holler their praises for your behavior. adrenaline courses through your veins as you lean against gianna, wrapping your arms around her neck in tune to wrapping your lips around hers, plucking the green lime from between her teeth.

“bow, bow, bow!” addison shouts over the excitement. her fingers tap the skin of your ass, shaking in ripples from the way you shake your hips with a small smile on your face.

the club scene is one of your favorite places to be on a saturday night. it’s one of the few times you can justify wearing the tiny denim dress, skirt pleated and fanning out around your thighs. there is nothing that can keep you away from the loud music unless you wanted to, not even hobie.

hobie brown, the one person you were supposed to spend your night with. you remember the morning, the argument that ensued about your plans tonight. your anniversary has always been a big deal to you and he knows that. you just simply can’t wrap your head around why him handling what secret business he has is more important than your happiness. how hard can it be to just put it off for another tonight? what does he even do?

it wasn’t addy or gia who offered to bring you out tonight, but it was you. you’re the one who invited them out, enticing them to dress up in skimpy clothes and parade around the city for free drinks and whatever club you deemed to be worth your time.

“i have to pee!” gia loops her arm around you. she has to lean towards you to have a chance of being heard over the music. even then, there’s still a quizzical look that crosses your face. the few shots you’ve downed throughout the night have dulled your senses.

“she said she has to pee, bitch!” addison giggles in your ear. her words are more slurred than yours and she stumbles on her heels. her hand encircles both of your wrists and takes the lead to the bathroom. her sleek ponytail swings behind her, changing undertones to reflect disco lights overhead.

“where’s your man, tonight? i thought you were going to be in the house.” she yells over her shoulder, following the slow moving line towards the entrance of the multi-stalled bathroom.

you roll your eyes with pursed lips and cross your arms over your chest. “i dunno! he said he’d make it up to me tomorrow but i don’t want to do it tomorrow, i want to do it today.” the smooth song change from the dj hypes you enough to begin a small dance in front of your friends, whining your hips in tiny circles.

your words make gia cast a look at you. “that’s so . . . only you would feel like that.” you know what gia means, hinting that you’re acting irrational to a small problem but you couldn’t care less. you know what you want in when you want it.

the line grows smaller and smaller until you three are standing under the dimmed light bulbs in the bathroom. gia has left your sides to relieve her bladder while your stare at yourself in the mirror. you smile at yourself, running your fingers along the braided pigtails on your head. they cascade down to your waist, courtesy of the added hair, and with very minimal frizz. you’re pleased that you had the opportunity to take pictures before you got to the club. they’re already posted onto your page, with little care about whether or not your boyfriend sees them.

“tell me if i’m wrong, though. i don’t want to do anything tomorrow because tomorrow isn’t our anniversary; today is. i would have stayed home too, all bitter and mad, if he didn’t specifically tell me not to leave the house like . . . what? first, i can’t celebrate our anniversary and second, i can’t celebrate at all?” you turn to addison who slathers her lips in shiny, pink lipgloss.

“no, you’re right. there is no reason why you shouldn’t be able to do what you want since he’s so clearly doing that.”

“he’s doing what? who’s he?” gia wedges herself in between the two of you and turns the knob until the water is rushing out the faucet. it’s too loud, even in the bathroom, for her to hear the conversation from the privacy of the stall.

“i was asking if i’m wrong because i don’t think i am. he told me that i can’t go out tonight but i don’t give a fuck. who is he to tell me what the fuck i’m going to do?”

“baby,” you don’t like the way gia is looking at you right now, “let’s think about what hobie does for a living. i think if anyone should tell you what the fuck you’re going to do, it’s going to be him.” she shakes her hand to dry them after checking the holder to see the emptiness. she can see your pout even in the low lighting and shrugs her shoulders. “but you know, do whatever you want to do. you’re going to be all over him again anyway.”

you know she’s right but that’s not the response you wanted to hear. therefore, instead of taking it well and considering her words, you huff and turn around to strut your way out the bathroom. “whatever, i don’t want to talk about it anymore. let's just go dance or something.”

you’re filled with a fervent need to shake off the thoughts that’s blossoming at the edge of your senses. it makes you uncomfortable to think about so you consider another drink, lingering by the bar. luckily for you, your anger works faster and you roll your eyes again at the emotions tossing around in your stomach.

you kind of expected gia to give you a more reasonable answer, considering she isn’t drunk and has always been more logical. you like her like that, thinking of your two friends as the little angel and devil that rest on your shoulders and decide what moves you make. unfortunately for gia, the devil is being just a bit more persuasive tonight.

addy’s read your mind and has already ordered another round of shots for the three of you. she hovers over the bar, looking over her shoulder every now and then to both ensure you haven’t suddenly vanished into thin air and sing song lyrics back to you.

you’re not too far behind her, holding one of gia’s hands and swaying to the music. you keep your eyes trained on addison for the most part, only glancing away to look at your surroundings and occasionally curve a man who gets too close for comfort.

there’s a brief second where the beat changes and your hazed mind is too concerned with enjoying moment and having fun. you anchor yourself onto gia and bend over until your ass is hiked up into the air and thrown around in quick circles. from your position, you’re unable to see the body that walks it’s way towards you until it’s flush against your skin and the fabric of the jeans rub harshly against you.

you immediately stand up, having no interest in cheating on your boyfriend despite the fact that you’re out of house without him being aware and advising against. the first thing you see is gia’s shocked expression, looking at the person behind you. the second expression you see is an awfully familiar face glaring down at you. it takes no longer than five seconds for you to figure out just who it is that’s standing in front of you.

by the time your brain had connected the dots and signaled the big red alert, there’s already a hand clamped firmly over your mouth and the other one wrapped around you waist, dragging you with him wherever he chooses to take you.

your stomach fills to the brim with fear, eyes pleading for some form of mercy all the way through all the shuffling to the vip lounge, somewhere you’ve never been. the sudden and new change in environment doesn’t bring any ease to the situation. instead, you’re struggling to turn around and watch the small shape of your friends disappear as the crowd swallows them up.

“don’t look at them, look at me.” hobie forcefully regains your attention by redirecting your eyes with one sharp tug of your cheek. “the fuck are you doing here?”

your lip trembles but you find strength in the fact that you are not alone. there are other people scattered along the little area he’s pulled you in, lounging on the plush black couches and pouring liquor out of the glass bottles on the table.

they eye you curiously, deciding whether or not your spat would be enough drama to be worth their attention. surely hobie can’t do too much.

“i’m having fun with my friends. the fuck are you doing here? i thought you were supposed to be handling business.”

you can see the way he clenches his teeth and grinds them together, eyes narrowing into slits. his hand, attached to the arm that wraps around your waist and keep you anchored in his lap, previously resting on your thigh grips it with a sudden tightness.

you’re caught in a stare down with him, partly out of fear and partly out of defiance. you sit nearly still and so pretty across one of his thighs. your hands rest in your lap, tugging subconsciously on the bottom of your dress.

“is that your girl?” it’s another voice that brings you two out of your silent argument, turning towards a woman taking a seat across from you. she gleams at you after hobie nods and leans back into the couch. “pretty little thing. should keep her away from me.”

you swear you hear hobie mumble “you can have her” faintly behind you and whip around to stare at him some more. your lips are pressed into a firm line.

hobie doesn’t meet your scrutinizing gaze. he keeps looking at the woman on the other side of the lounge instead. his thumb brushes along your thigh as a distant thought. “anyway, about our deal,” if you blink, you’d miss his eyes flicking in your direction, “i’ll consider it. y’know i don’t like following orders so if i do it, it’ll be on my own terms.”

you’re not oblivious to the glances you get. they look a bit anxious; obviously, you aren’t supposed to know what it is they’re discussing but it’s not the looks that make your stomach turn. rather, it’s because hobie is in fact doing business. you just decided to come to distribute revenge for something you’ve conjured yourself. you lick your lips and curl them into themselves.

the conversation kind of dulls to the back of your mind as you focus on other things. for one, you’ve tantrumed yourself into a corner and for two, your other friends have essentially vanished to the ether. the anxiety it brings on prickles your skin in a way that’s so uncomfortable, you’re nearly nauseous. you’re frenzied, seated in hobie’s lap and on display for everyone to see.

“ — nah, i don’t really plan on staying. we’re actually celebrating tonight so we’re going to head out.” hobie brings you out of you frazzled daze by shifted your weight on his lap until you’re up on your feet. he has to tug the back of your dress down to cover your black panties, exposed from the way your dress has risen and bunched around your hips.

you would have laughed if you weren’t nervous. “what about my friends?” you say as you trail behind him, hand in his and weaving through the crowd of people on the way to the exit.

“your friends are two grown women at a club. i think they’re capable of handling themselves.” hobie knows you can barely hear him but that doesn’t stop him from trekking forward. not once did he turn to speak to you or even pause his pace, up until you’ve both stepped outside into the cool air.

“okay but i came with them. i can’t just leave without telling them i’m leaving. they’re probably worried about me.” the whine is your voice is hobie’s breaking point.

he drops your hand and turns around, glaring down at you. your head is cradled between both of his calloused palms gently, unlike the way he holds you in his gaze. he’s tempted, right here on the sidewalk, to shove his thumb in your mouth to shut you up but he remains rational with what little sense he has left. “i asked you to do one simple thing. one thing. i said we could do something tomorrow. one thing, love.”

you reel your head back until you’re free with a miffed expression. again, your arms are crossed over your chest but this time in hopes of serving as some sort of protection. “i don’t care what you asked me to do. you should have rearranged your plans for me.”

“i should have what?” hobie’s voice gets pitchy with disbelief. “sweetheart, look at what you’re wearing and then think about who bought it for you with the money from their job.” his hand comes to run down his face, pulling on the skin with a sigh. “you’re being unbelievable, right now.”

you don’t hear him, not how he says it. what you hear is yelling, complaints, and how much he hates you. your sensitive feelings are wounded at him calling you unbelievable, especially when you make perfect sense. he is just too stubborn to hear you out. “so? you should buy me stuff. that’s the least you can do when you put work above me, work that i’m not even allowed to know about.”

again, you’re caught in a stare down with your boyfriend. both of you are steaming with frustration from the other not wanting to accept defeat. you have no interest to be caught at a standstill and certainly have no interest in being seen arguing on the sidewalk.

“whatever. you’re being a dick.” you turn on your heel and stomp away. your shoes click with each step on the sidewalk in tandem with your steps. in your hand, your phone screen shines bright as you scroll through the apps.

“where are you going? i didn’t park over there.” hobie’s voice only gets slightly fainter behind you before picking up in volume. his shadow lingers behind yours, always staying only a few paces behind.

your shoulders rise and drop in a shrug. “i don’t know. wherever the wind takes me.” you don’t mention that you’re planning on getting an uber, finally finding the black and white icon. your head lifts for a moment as you try to figure out what street you’re on.

“are you calling a ride?” it doesn’t occur to you that hobie is tall enough to just see over your shoulder, especially with the lack of a privacy screen. his hand comes in contact with your shoulder to stop you and turn you around to face him. “you’re not getting an uber, duck. i’m taking you home.”

“i’m not calling anyone and i’m not going anywhere with you, either. stay out my business.” you don’t even attempt to hide your phone from him. you let him watch you select the location and wait for the estimated prices and wait times to load.

“you’re being such a brat, do y’know that?” hobie has to physically force your phone out of your hand and into his back pocket to stop you. there has never been a moment where you’ve worked yourself up and listened to anyone but yourself. you being slightly inebriated is just the cherry on top.

“and you’re being a stupid ass bitch.” you jab his chest with the tip of your finger with so much force, you stumble forward into his arms. your words are laced with venom and you have full intention to keep walking away if he hadn’t tightened his grip and hoisted you into the air.

“okay, that’s enough.” hobie does what he can to protect your honor, hooking his hands under your knees. he sounds exhausted with this whole thing, taking it upon himself to take matters into his own hands. “you’ve officially lost of your mind”

you can squirm all you want but it’s no match for his iron grip. it still surprises you that someone as lanky as hobie is about to throw you around with such ease. he doesn’t even struggle with so much as a grunt.

“you’re being a prick. i hate you!” your forced proximity only upsets you further and is shown through your exaggerated dramatics. you’re upset, but still feel the need to wrap your arms around his neck for added stability.

“mhm,” he hums, adjusting your weight so he can gain the ability to pull his keys out of his pockets. you’re not sure what type of car he drives and truthfully, you’re not too interested in knowing.

all you know is it’s sleek, black, and the only thing hobie splurged on in your entire relationship. it must be nice if people gawk and take pictures when he speeds past on the highway.

the doors unlock with a chime and a small flash of the headlights. right after, hobie pops the door open and slots you inside and nicely as he can. he’s a bit too tall to do it comfortably, having to hunch over to get you in the car.

you huff and whine and groan behind the tinted windows, legs and arms crossed. you sit and stare out the windshield when hobie rounds the front of the car and gets in the drivers seat.

hobie doesn’t start the car right away. instead, he sighs and looks over at you. he reaches over the middle console to encompass your hand under his. “do you want to try that again or are you going to keep acting like a spoiled brat?”

“i’m not acting like anything.” you don’t bother to move your hand away or turn to look at him. you just sit there, knees turned towards your door and away from him. this is your silent announcement. you’ve made your choice and you’re standing firm in it.

“you’re right. you’re not acting because you are one. so are we going to talk about it or not?” hobie leans against the door. he’s dropped the keys into the cup holder and stares at the side of your face, trying so hard to be as flat as possible. “actually, you don’t have to say anything because i’m going to talk. you’re going to listen.”

“i’ll listen when i want to listen.” you mumble to yourself. it’s absentminded and really only meant as spite. it’s unfortunate that hobie doesn’t take it that way. or maybe he does. the lines blur together when he has your chin in the palm of his hands and looking at you with the most disapproving expression.

he doesn’t know how to get inside your brain. he can see the insistence in your brown eyes. hobie is already fed up with this conversation and it has barely began. no matter what he says to you, you deny and deny and deny any fault. all the blame belongs to him, apparently. that’s the narrative he’s forced to hear. you’re not going to listen to his words. he’s going to have to break you down using other unconventional methods.

hobie runs his thumb along the flesh of your bottom lip. it’s soft and molds around the imprint of his finger. the action does exactly what he hoped, warming you up to his touch enough for him to slide the pad of his finger onto your tongue and press it flat. “do you ever listen to the sound of anyone’s voice or just your own?”

you had nothing to say and even if you did, giving him a response would only prove his point. you just sit there with hobie’s thumb pressing and sliding around your tongue. your mouth is gaped open just enough for your teeth to rest against the hardness of his knuckle. drool begins to pool behind the bottom row of your pearly whites. you could easily pull your head back but you don’t, far more interested in where he plans on taking this.

“you’re being silly, dove. i’m talking to you because i can understand why you’re upset but all this other stuff is stupid. you can bitch and moan all you want but until you shut up and listen to me, we’re not going to get anywhere.” his thumb crawls further and further down the cavern of your mouth until your eyes are watering with what little oxygen you can get down. he holds it there until your throat is constricting around it.

afterwards, hobie smears the spit along your cheek. he pulls his hand back into his own vicinity and reaches under the seat for the chair. it slides back with the low vibrating hum until it’s at it’s furthest setting. hobie also moves the back of the seat back so there is enough space for someone to sit comfortably in his lap, that someone being you.

but not yet.

first, hobie reaches over and pulls your legs over the middle console. your skin is smooth with shea butter and sparkles with body glitter. his hands find your strappy heels, flicking the end of the strap up and out of the buckle. “what? you have nothing to say now?”

you’re still boiling with anger but don’t pull back when he slides your shoes off and tosses them onto the floor. “i thought you didn’t want me to. you can’t even make up your mind. first, you say i talk to much and then you say i don’t talk enough.”

“because every time i give you a chance, it’s just bullshit.” hobie massages the balls of your feet in a way that would have otherwise been romantic under different circumstances.

“you’re bullshit. you’re a liar, ‘bie. your business was not important enough that you had to blow me off for an entire night. you had a conversation and left.” you sneer at him from your position. your white painted toes catch the dull lighting from the streetlamp and contrast in hobie’s tanned palm.

hobie takes a sharp breath at your words. every time he thinks he’s made progress, you’re right back where you started. “you know that i get you whatever you want, do whatever you want to do. there is nothing in this world that you could want. you ask me for it and it’s done. one would think it’s reasonable to assume that if i ask you to do one thing, i have a reason. i didn’t pull that out my ass and say you should just stay home.”

“yes, you did.” you’re unrelenting in not allowing hobie to speak any sense into you. anything he says is wrong and he’s going to get the point sooner or later. it’s easier for hobie to agree, apologize, and make it up to you as soon as possible. “because you don’t love me anymore.”

it happens so fast, the way hobie has you pulled over the console into his lap. the movement is awkward and hasty and you can admit to hitting your head on the ceiling but in the end, you’re in his lap and straddling his waist, knees tucked on either side.

“what? are you going to yell at me some more, now?”

his response is not words but pulling down the tube top section of your dress down. your tits spring out and bounce with their newfound freedom. hobie squeezes them in both his hands, rolling your slowly hardening nipples between his fingers. you have to fight a gasp while your faces squeezes together.

“if i have to break you down piece by piece so that you think for more than five seconds, i will. otherwise, we can have a normal conversation and you can admit that you’re wrong.” hobie doesn’t have to wait for a response before he’s flipping up the bottom of your dress. it’s a good thing too because you don’t answer.

you’re a bit too focused on remaining adamant when hobie has his hands, searing hot, onto your hips. you chew your lip between your teeth and try not to make it obvious when you sneak glances down to your clothed cunt, right over his jeans. but of course hobie catches you; you’re right in front of him.

“you know why i didn’t want you to come?” hobie holds your hips firm in his grasp as he rolls them back and forth on his lap.

your clit occasionally catches against the fabric covering his zipper. you swallow a mewl, hands circling around his neck once again. this time, your fingers have gone to lace together on the cushiony head rest instead of just gripping onto his shoulders. you give your head a small shake.

“because, pretty, i don’t want those people to know who you are. you’re my whole world. they find out who you are and don’t like something i do, who do you think they’ll take it out on?” he’s tempted to mock you, smiling at the whispers that fall from your lips. it’s a shame that it takes you this much to play nice.

you fight between moving away and crawling back to the passengers seat and losing yourself to him. in the end, you’re quickly growing agreeable, grinding down on him on your own so much so that hobie doesn’t need to do much but ensure you maintain a certain pace. “don’t care.”

two sonorous smacks against your ass rain out. the sound sizzles the air around you and you yelp, falling over his shoulder. you wouldn’t be surprised if the skin was already beginning to turn a very faint tint of red with how heavy-handed he decided to be.

“try that again, dolly. you’re gonna hear it whether you want to or not.” he rubs the stinging pain as an apology but keeps you held in a firm glare. he trusts that you’ll do it right this time or he’ll just have to do it again and again.

this time, you tremble and twitch. your eyes begin to spring with tears again from the pain but they dry just as quickly. “y – you.” you speak into the cotton clothing of his shirt. it nearly fills your mouth and muffles your words.

there’s two more slaps that has you reacting in a similar manner, lurching away from his hand and hovering into the air. hobie forces you right back down, pulling your panties to the side. the denim underneath you is quickly replaced by hobie’s hand, circling a finger around your swollen clit. “again.”

“me?” it’s an answer you’re surprised about when you lift your head to look at him but it has to be true because the other answers weren’t. you have the sudden urge to pull your knees together but you’re unable to with him seated between them, drawing moans from your mouth. you think about leaning forward to kiss him but hobie must have read your mind because his hand comes to circle around the column of your throat and holds you in place.

“mhm, my entire world. the best way to get back at me is through you. i don’t like them knowing too much about you and getting you too involved. this is my shit and i like knowing you’re at home, safe, instead of out in the world when shit like that is happening.” he tilts his head as he watches you unravel, just from his fingers on your clit, swiping along the skin.

by now, you’ve gotten wet enough for his fingers to slip further towards your entrance. your arousal gathers enough to glide they’re way along your walls and push inside. he starts off with one to test the waters, getting a front row seat at your expression change.

“dirty fucking slut, all this to get you to shut up for more than five seconds.” his teeth catch the light, smirking arrogantly at you. “you ready to say you’re sorry? gonna admit you’re wrong?”

his finger is accompanied by another before he can get through the questioning. you can hear his smugness in his words but it all gets drowned up inside your head. there’s nothing that can get through to you except the sound of your voice and your whines for something more. “ ‘bie . . . please.”

“that’s not an answer,” he says, still pumping his fingers inside you. they find the little spongey spot that makes you squirm with ease. he considers you lucky that he doesn’t take repercussions for your slip up. “tell me you’re sorry for being difficult, treacle.”

hobie half expected you to nod and cry out your apologies. a part of him knew better than to expect you to turn the tide of your actions and actually feel any remorse. it just makes that part all the more upset when you confirm his suspicions and shake your head. “should have –”, your body trembles and you let out a gasp upon feeling your cunt twitch in his hand, “changed p – plans.”

“jesus fucking christ,” hobie grumbles in your ear. his fingers slip out of you in a squelch, deafening to your lust-focused ears. he doesn’t give you long to miss the feeling before he's wrapped a hand around your waist and planted a hand firmly on your cheek. with this new position, hobie is able to lift your body until you’re on your knees. with his other hand, he plunges his fingers inside you, settling on a rapid pace.

each glide of his fingers sends you into another spiral of frenzy. your legs shake to hold up your weight; you’re sure you would have fallen by now, had hobie not held you so closely to him. “oh my – fuck!” you cling onto him, hiding your head in his bundle of locs, tied messily at the top of his head. the bun slouches over from supporting your head and ends of locs poke out of the hairtie.

“i can explain it you all i want but you won’t listen, right? because you’re right and i’m wrong. should have changed my plans, huh? should have just said no, i’m going to spend time with my girl who has a more flexible schedule than anyone else this concerns. cause’ you’re a special fuckin’ princess, aren’t you?”

your nails dig into his skin, pink french tips leaving little marks. your mouth falls open in a little “o” and your toes curl beneath you. your entire body feels as though it’s going to explode. you can’t help but fuck his fingers back, pushing your hips farther and farther down as far as you can go. “mhm,” you aren’t sure what you’re agreeing to but knowing wouldn’t have changed a thing. “ ‘bie, i’m gonna –”

“i know, princess, i know.” he says, turning his head towards yours. he lips meet the very edge of your jawline, kissing what he can reach. it’s encouragement to bring you to the brink of collapse, shaking through your orgasm.

your cunt throbs, gushing your tart arousal all over his fingers. the feeling pulls a dull ache at the base of your core until you can’t take anymore, reaching back to swat his hand away. as relieving as it is to feel his hand exit the warm slickness of your cunt, you’re not quite done yet.

hobie brings his glistening fingers up to your face, after seating you back comfortably in his lap. they stick together loosely with the webs of cum stringing between them. you grab his wrist and stare at him with hungry eyes, resting his fingers into your mouth. your tongue wraps around them with ease and licks the tart dewiness of his fingers.

he digs his fingers into your mouth, exploring the wet cavern meticulously. your spit bubbles and spills out the corner of your mouth. you choke when he pushes too far but you lean into it, curling your mouth around his digits until they’re clean and shiny.

below you, hobie has begun to unbutton his jeans and pull them down with enough space to pull his dick out of his boxers. you can’t see much of it in the moonlight but you’ve become acquainted with it enough to grow horny again.

your hand flies to encompass the shaft and runs along the length. your circle the tip with your thumb, smearing the budding precum across his skin. you watch it get harder and stiffen in your hands, all while hobie forces you to drool and drool some more. it’s when he’s ready that he pulls his fingers out your mouth lifts your head with his wet hands. “i want you to sit on it, love.” he sweetens the deal by pecking your lips and getting the faintest taste of your arousal. if he had more room he would have had you bent over and suckling at your clit.

he doesn’t have to ask you again because you’re eager to raise your hips. you align his tip with your sticky entrance, still dripping from your previous orgasm. the first push of his tip in your pussy makes your face contort and twist. you pause to allow the pain to dull before continuing again, slowly inching your way down.

hobie sits, a hand resting on the door. the other comes to your cheek, swiping across in what you assume is supposed to be empathetic and soothing. he makes little grunts, the farther he gets into your folds. you’re just as tight as he remembers, but somehow even better.

you get lower and lower until he’s sheathed completely into you, cockhead nudging the deepest parts of you. your expression eases but your cunt flutters, crying out in need. you wait for hobie to do something . . . and wait and wait and wait.

hobie watches your expression become more and more confused, occasionally spurring up in need when his dick twitches or jumps. he doesn’t say anything, just showcasing a hint of a smile as your blown out eyes become more and more frustrated.

“you’re pissing me off.” you don’t wait for him to say something when you decide on moving, yourself. you rise and fall on his dick; it disappears in the space between your legs. you can hear the sound of skin slapping against each other in a melody that’s vinous, hazing your mind with a thick fog.

“it’s your dick, baby. take it yourself.” he groans. the feeling of your perfect pussy wrapped around his leaking dick makes him frantic for more but he maintains his restraint, gripping the hand grip on the door.

you’re bouncing on his cock as if you’re trying to force an orgasm out of you both. the car rocks in the street and the windows slowly begin to fog with each panted breath. it’s obvious to any onlooker or pedestrian what’s happening inside but it’s a distant thought in the back of your head.

the current position has hobie lined up right with your sweet spot but there’s just something that you aren’t doing. it’s so close, you can feel it. your body feels so good but it’s not enough. you’re partially satiated and still craving more, whining in frustration when you feel him mere inches from sending you astral projecting.

you’re growing desperate, slamming yourself down fervently. even with your mouth open and moans spilling out, you’re still frowning. your hand flattens against the ceiling as if that’ll do anything but still, you just can’t seem to get it right.

“shit, baby, you’re doing so good.” your actions do nothing for yourself but hobie is having a great time, head throwing back against the headrest. to him, you’re repeatedly swallowing his dick inside you. you’re pushing him to the edge, forcing out moans from his mouth.

you’re convinced his oblivious; usually his words would act as encouragement but now you’re just upset. you’re upset he’s even getting a chance at cumming and you’re not. it makes you stop rather quickly, a pout across your lips.

hobie raises a brow, hands falling on to your thighs. they dance along your skin and invoke goosebumps in his wake. “what’s your problem?” his hands slip under your dress and out of it again.

“this isn’t working. i want you to fuck me. i can’t do it on my own.” your hand is still on the ceiling and the other is still on his shoulder. you’re essentially cockwarming him out of sheer exasperation, telling him to do something. not begging, not even asking, but telling.

“what do you mean, pretty? you’re a big girl, you don’t need me to do anything. you can do it yourself because you ‘hate me’, and i need to ‘stay out your business’.” he mocks you with a matching frown, hands still gliding around your skin. they move up and down your sides now, wanting to pull your dress off but not having the space to do so without it being too difficult.

your pout only grows the more he speaks to you. your words in his mouth shoot back at you like chemical warfare. if you weren’t already so desperate to cum, you would have hopped off and back into the passenger's seat. “stop acting like that.”

“you stop acting like that. you’re being a real brat and want me to do something for you but can’t even apologize. y’know you’re being one too because you wouldn’t just tell me to cancel everything unless you’re being petty.”

“ho - bie,” you whine, a small fist pounding against your chest. you attempt to see if you’re really and truly incapable of getting yourself off. it’s evident with your whine when you grind your hips down that you’re unable to do anything. it feels good but it’s not good enough and you both know it.

“say it.” he says. he tucks one of his hands behind his head while the other goes to fondle your tits. they’re squished and tugged in all sorts of directions. “like you mean it or we can just go home.”

you let the idea sit in your head as if you’re really considering it but you’ve realized you don’t have much of a choice. you could have said sorry before on the street when you knew you were wrong but you didn’t. you put up a fight because being more wrong is better than admitting to being wrong.

the longer you sit there in silence — because hobie sure as hell isn’t saying anything — the more your dilemma dawns on you. “i’m sorry, hobie. i didn’t mean . . . i’m sorry for being annoying and talking to you the way i did.”

“are you lying?” he tilts his head with a smile. there’s still that same fire in your eyes, especially after admitting defeat. he doesn’t mind it as much now that you’ve said it though, because it’s just the first step in getting you to chill the fuck out.

“no,” it’s flat when it falls out your mouth but it works and you’re rewards with hobie’s hands on your waist.

he’s got the chair adjusted enough to be able to anchor his feet onto the floor. his shoes allow him a good grip to thrust into the air at a remarkable speed. his hands serve the purpose of holding you in place as he pounds into you.

hobie is a mess underneath you, whining with heated breaths himself. he holds you hard enough to bruise, falling so far off the edge that he drops your body against him to meet his thrusts. it’s hard enough that you go crashing forward within the first few seconds, perched over hobie close enough to feel his breath fan over your face.

if you could, you would have traced your finger over his face, paying extra attention to the dimple that comes and goes. instead, your head falls into the crook of his neck and you give up what little control you held on so dearly to your heart. “i’m sorry, i’m s – so sorry. was mean and i d – didn’t mean it.”

it only takes a little bit of his attention to change your tune.

“i know, dove. i get it,” he’s not too focused on your apologies when he’s ready to burst. he’s merely holding himself back for your sake, wanting to cum with you. his entire body is on fire and his skin is dewy with sweat but he’ll hold off, only for you. “shit, gonna cum soon.”

in response, you slink a hand in between your bodies and catches it on your clit. you tremble on impact but rub little circles in a messy manner. your earlier attempt did nothing but make you sensitive and needy. having hobie’s cock actually hit where you need him most brings an entirely new wave of desire.

it only takes a few more seconds before you’re sloshing out cream, sticky and leaving the base of hobie’s cock white. each clamp of your pussy convinces hobie that you’re trying to milk him dry. you’ aware or not, are practically begging for him to cum. you’re hungry for it.

he lets out a final gasp and shudders, releasing thick spurts of cum inside you. it’s hot and fills your insides to the brim. it’s nearly uncomfortable, dripping down your folds out of any gap the liquid can find.

hobie heaves a breath, gentle with the way he shuffles about to reach into the glove compartment. he can hear your complaints about the movement, too sensitive to stand it, but he doesn’t respond, not verbally. he ever-so-kindly pulls out his dick and uses the napkins to clean what he can. it doesn’t do the best but it’s okay, for now. “are you okay?”

you look down, lifting your dress to aid in the cleanup. your hair is frizzy and no longer slicked but other than that, you’re fine. “mhm,” you hum, patting your flushed cheeks with your hands. you wish they were cooled, feeling a little hot with all the warmth trapped in such a small space. “i’m not mad at you anymore.”

“oh yeah?” he chuckles, balling up the napkins and discarding them haphazardly somewhere in the darkness. hobie helps you back into your seat, reaching out a hand to brush it lovingly over your head and down the length of your ponytail. “you really have to start trusting me. i have your best interest at heart, lovey, i promise.”

you shrug dismissively, flattening a hand over your stomach. your cunt still feels warm with cum and you’re briefly reminded by the moisture around your thighs. “you should probably get me a plan b.” under the tips of your fingers, you can feel the vibrating waves of your stomach rumbling. “and some food, i drank a shit ton and after that, i’m pretty hungry.”

the keys jingle in hobie’s hands when he picks them up. he turns the car on and cracks the windows. music immediately blasts from the speakers, shaking the interior of the car. “i thought you were on the pill?” it comes out more of a question than a statement.

“i am but it’s just in case. do you want to be safe or do you want another brat running around?”

hobie rolls his eyes but he doesn’t do much more but hand you his phone. “just put in directions to the nearest pharmacy. two of you right now would be too fuckin’ much.”

#ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.♯ 𝙧𝙚𝙗𝙡𝙤𝙜

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fariesoiree · 4 days

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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.

#ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.♯ 𝙧𝙚𝙗𝙡𝙤𝙜

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fariesoiree · 4 days

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Okay, hear me out: reader wearing Hobie's clothes. I think he would personally go bananas, and it literally does not matter how they fit you. His t-shirt clings to your curves? Lovely. Big and flowy like a dress on reader's smaller body? Perfect. It would honestly be adorable. Not only I think he would encourage it, but also wouldn't be able to keep his hands away whenever he sees you. The t-shirt and boxer's combo? He's be so eager to get you somewhere where he can show you properly how pretty you look.

Love from ☄️

comet anon! hi dolly i saw your comment and i forgot to respond bc i got the sillies :p so glad you liked it gorgeous! i was wondering if you’d stay anon after exposing yourself like that 😭 response under theeee cut

hobie is suuuuuch a lover boy you can’t tell me otherwise. he’s just a little cutie and he can’t help but want you all the time. like alllllll the time. like in public he’s all cool or wtv but he’s probably a stage five clinger but in his own way yk yk. not like physically touching you but he likes to crowd your space or be near you or just breathe your air. he would sit in the bathroom while you shower and idk play you his most recent favorite song

so yeah no doubt he’d absolutely love coming home from a long hard day of upsetting the politicians and wondering if he can realistically egg their houses and see you in his clothes. he’s the type to give you his clothes on purpose. “here. i think you’d like this.” and it’s one of his most loved shirts that he’s worn thin and had to patch together bc hobie does not believe in waste!!!

it’s like a little treat to him. he does not gaf what you take from him 😭 you can haaaaave it. take his whole closet so he can get all in your face and admire you, even when you try to push him away bc it’s too hot and his houseboat doesn’t have strong enough ac or you’re making breakfast or literally doing anything that doesn’t involved him. it gets even worse when it’s summer time bc he is soooooo attached to your hip behind the closed doors of your privacy. hands literally everywhere and they’re so bad and bc he got bit by that radioactive spider he’s always constantly freezing or constantly burning up. it all depends on the weather.

i think the only time it really turns sensual is when you complain that he’s too warm and to gtf off and his response is probably to take your his clothes off then. he’s cheeky like that but it’s not smooth at all but he’s probably laughing the entire time. he’s so UGH ilyhsm

#⋆ ·˚ ༘₊· ̗̀ 💌 ••• ⁀➷ 𝙛𝙧𝙤𝙢 . . .#☄️#hobie brown #hobie x black!reader #x black fem reader #x black reader #astv hobie #x reader #hobie x reader #hobie x y/n #hobie smut

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fariesoiree · 4 days

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updated my tags! stayed up to do hw and now i’m gonna at some cheesecake and k.o. gn pretties

#❝ 𝙗𝙡𝙖𝙝 𝙗𝙡𝙖𝙝 𝙗𝙡𝙖𝙝 ❞ ✧ ೃ༄

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fariesoiree · 4 days

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haiiiii :3 i just wanna say you seem really cool and sweet and i love your work!!! have the best day ever 🤍🤍

omg you think i’m cool! actually i think youreeeeee cooler and sweeter and lovelier <3 thanks sm for the support i hope your day is better than mine

#⋆ ·˚ ༘₊· ̗̀ 💌 ••• ⁀➷ 𝙛𝙧𝙤𝙢 . . .#abisangelss

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fariesoiree · 4 days

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wahhh i’m bored what if i asked one of you guys to enter my inbox and talk 2 me. would you??? pretty please!!!

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fariesoiree · 5 days

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i think i’m going through a writing rut i have zero inspiration for all my full length fics :/ n also i wanna redo my tagssss

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fariesoiree · 5 days

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Heyy babes it's me againn

I was wondering if you'd consider writing a smutty drabble about hobie with a reader who has a praise kink? 👀

Much love from yours truly, ☄️

welcome back! always love the interactions c: of cawrse you can! idk how long this is but i think it qualifies as a fic soooo . . . hate the ending but it was getting tooooo long c: ageless and minors dni i will block you, black fem reader, she/her prns

hobie first notices the way you sort of . . . cower when he compliments you a few weeks ago. maybe cowers isn’t the best word — more like shy away. sure, you’ll always smile and accept it all with grace but there’s always something about it. if he looks at you hard enough, your brown eyes looks a little different than usual. it brings about a curiosity in him that he’s never had before.

it’s a question that dwells in the back of his mind and only resurfaces now, when you’re both created comfortable indents on hobie’s gray couch, one that he’s gotten secondhand and restored himself. he holds a wine glass in his hand, filled with cheap, store bought wine. he doesn’t care too much for the taste or expensive experience and you feel fortunate that you are able to pick out the bottle this week.

on the tv, just large enough to cover the stand, plays another episode of too hot to handle. each time another bad episode of trashy reality television comes to an end and netflix auto plays another — your account because hobie would never — you just let it continue playing, transfixed on the forced drama.

“you think you could last on a show like that?” hobie asks, taking a sip from the round glass. the wine is more sweet than bitter and leaves a subtle alcoholic aftertaste on his tongue. he would prefer something a little stronger but the point is not to get drunk. instead it’s to enjoy each other’s presence. “like, on an island with a bunch of hot guys that you can’t fuck but you want to, so bad.”

you glance at him from the corner of your eye expecting to meet his gaze, only to find the side of his face. even from this direction, the angles of his jaw is still just as sharp and reflects his true beauty in a way that used to intimidate you in the earlier days of your relationships. “well, can i fuck the girls?”

hobie’s tongue clicks against the ridged roof of his mouth with a hushed tut! he rolls his eyes but the corners of his lips twitch upwards. you’re such a smartass. “obviously not. don’t act daft.” in between his words, he pauses to scowl at the private interviews from the contestants.

“then no. plus, i only want you. if i ended up on that show after meeting you, i’d just be bored, i think. what would i even do?”

a chuckle rumbles in his chest, spreading in thick warmth that crawls its way out his throat. his head lulls in your direction and the hand, attached to the hand wrapped around your shoulder, rubs across your bare skin, left uncovered under the white shortsleeved loose, cherry patterned top. it’s long enough to be perfectly comfortable when you’re curled up into his side, hanging around your arms without constricting your movement when the fabric gets bunched and stick beneath you.

“jeez, bug. aren’t you proper perfect. always treatin’ me so well.” when he looks down at you, there’s that look again, along with the sheepish smile that slowly creeps along your face. he doesn’t know how to describe it, but it’s there and it makes him curious. you’ve never been too shy with him, not anymore at least. yet, here you are, losing your train of thought every time he sweet talks you. “why do you do that?”

this time, instead of continuing to sit there with that distracted look on your face, you squint at him. his question confuses you enough to turn your head, having to tilt your head up to eye him comfortably. “do what?” you rest the base of the wine glass on your knees, propped up and pressed into your chest. the sock-covered soles of your feet are stable on the couch.

“that thing. every time i say something nice to you, you start acting weird.” hobie explained. he mirrors your expression, confused that you’re confused. how could you not know? you’re consistently doing it, each and every time without fail.

“i don’t know what you’re talking about, ‘bie.” you say with a small shake of your head. the shiny fabric of your silk bonnet catches the sunlight and reflect it back out of the skylight over your head.

hobie’s houseboat is quaint, a little small, and depends heavily on the natural lighting. several windows are littered around the walls and occasionally left open to allow the cool breeze, rolling over the water, inside the room. the kitchen and the living room are only a few steps away, so much so that hobie doesn’t necessarily need a table in the kitchen. instead, he opts for bar stools at the counter that keeps the space from feeling stuffy.

the small, gray sectional is covered in a throw blanket and a few pillows, all varying in color and material — courtesy of you. the brown, coffee table in front of you has its own decor on it. decals from different shows hobie watches, figurines of characters he’s a fan of, a couple plants too that thrive in such sunny conditions.

a little ways down the hall is the bathroom, which is more open concept than your standard way of living. the sink is left unguarded and open to the houseboat residents while the shower and toilet are surrounded by three walls and a door, all designed to mimic the texture and appearance of wood.

farther down from that is the only bedroom in the boat, the one that you frequent for midday naps when you’re seeking the comfort of your partner. the little space is does have is narrow and only enough to fit a full sized bed, stacked on top a bed frame that allows for pullout drawers beneath, optimizing the storage. there’s a window next to the bed with blinds that stay pulled up during the day so you can ogle at the soft waves the push and pull of gravity brings about.

he’s gotten his walls decorated with posters of bands, memorabilia, and other random clutter hobie’s collected over the years. it’s never truly tidy here but it’s comfortable, it’s cozy to be somewhere that feels lived in without regrets.

“you don’t know what i’m talkin’ about?” hobie reiterates with a curl of his lips. he’s got his thick, dark eyebrows furrowed together, knitting and inching together on his forehead akin to caterpillars. sometimes, he’ll rest with his head on your lap and flinch under the cold tweezers when you pluck astray hairs out of their follicles.

you shake your head again and lean further into the warmth of his side. “mm-mm,” you hum and take a sip of the stella rose, pink and swirling in the rounded walls of your glass. you can still feel his skeptical eyes focused on the top of your covered head. before he can press you anymore, you cut him off, lifting your finger to point at the screen. “she’s actually an idiot. he’s been flirting around with two other girls but she’s still trying to get with him. that’s so stupid.”

he wants to side eye you, listening to that voice in his head coming up with what feels like rational assumptions but he doesn’t, because you’ve already moved on. instead, he just shrugs and drops it entirely — for now. “maybe she’s into that. a girl cuck.”

nighttime comes peacefully. the horizon darkens as the sun dips out of visibility. you made dinner, seasoned asparagus with steaming mashed potatoes and herb-crusted chicken; hobie washed the dishes from that night and after going through the motions of getting ready for bed, you both ended up in bed and under the soft sheets, wrapped in each others arms. you’re especially grateful that the boat remains well-vented and the air is cool on the water when you’re pressed into hobie’s bare chest. his skin is always so warm to the touch, so much so that it makes you hot with prolonged contact. in the summer, you can only cuddle for a few minutes before rolling away and throwing the sheets off to cool down.

you got your phone shoved into his face, playing yet another cat video. you smile at the orange feline on your screen, running around its living room in glee. “it’s so cute. i want one so bad.”

“yeah? think you’d be better off with a rock. can’t even take care of yourself.”

you can feel him smirk into your shoulder. one of his long arms goes to trap your body before you can turn and swat at him for his antics. he knows you and how you’d probably flick his forehead for talking about you in such manner.

“what — fucking — ever. get off of me.” you mumble, writhing in his strong hold forcing you into the mattress. he’s left you with enough room to turn your head. it’s a desperate attempt but you try anyway, straining your neck towards his skin to clamp your teeth down. each time, he angles just out of your reach and scoffs.

“feral ass animal. say please and i’ll let you go.”

“hobie!” you more or less whine, lifting your legs and pushing it against is. your futile kicks do nothing but tangle your legs in his until he’s got them squeezed and trapped. you’ve officially lost and there’s nothing you can do.

hobie couldn’t be more pleased with himself and distributes more of his weight onto your back. he grins, white teeth gleaming in the yellow lighting from the lamp on the shelves above your head, set on dim and creating a cozy mood to relax in. “say it. say it or we’ll sit here all night.”

you purse, pout, and wiggle even more. your phone has been discarded and forgotten about, lost somewhere in the bed between your struggling for power. it takes a few minutes to fall still and the air fills with harsh breaths from the both of you. hobie’s giggles are mixed in with snorts and you can’t help but smile at his delight.

“fine! whatever. please let me go.” you’re more upset that you have to admit defeat than the playful battle you’ve gotten yourself in.

it’s almost immediate, the way hobie retracts his grip and removes himself from you entirely, except for the sole arm lazing over your waist, lightweight and without purpose. “atta’ girl. you’re such a good listener.”

he expect some snarky remark to leave your lips, glossy and slathered in aquaphor but nothing. you don’t do anything at all. you only lay there, hands feeling around for your phone. you don’t even turn around to smack his shoulder. you do nothing at all and it confuses him.

hobie sits up, propping his head into the palm of his hand. from here, he gets a wide view of the expression you’re trying so diligently to hide. he can see the soft, timid smile on your face. you’re too busy digging around for your phone to notice his peaked interest. by the time you’re wrapped your fingers around the now warm glass of your phone, hobie’s fingers have done the same but with your chin and tugging it in his direction. “you’re doin’ it again,” he muses.

you’re forced to roll onto your back in his new position and clutch the phone against your chest. you feel a bit like prey, stationed underneath hobie and being accused of something you aren’t even sure about. “what?” your attention flickers between both of your eyes. you’re trying to get an gauge on the situation and turn even further to him.

hobie, much like you earlier, says nothing. his brain whirs with thoughts that rush through a million miles a second. he’s back to jumping to conclusions, working through the possibilities on his own. there’s only a few theories that he can come up with but they all sound silly. all except one. “you like it, don’t you?”

“what?” you repeat, even more lost than before. you’re rapidly falling behind his train of thought and squint your eyes at him. “you have to give me more than that, hobes. i don’t understand right now.”

he repositions himself, sitting up in totality. he doesn’t hold onto you anymore and instead moves to the space in front of you, space that he created by pushing your legs apart until you’re straddling his waist. he’s got a leg hanging off the side of the bed and dangling. the other is folded into him. “are you acting dumb or are you deadass?”

the sudden change in his demeanor has you spooked, even more so because you’re left in the dark. “are you mad at me? did i do something?” you push yourself up until you’re just a few breaths away. your heart races and you’re already wondering how to make up for your wrongdoings.

with the lighting, the room is still pretty dark. you can’t see too well that far apart but when you’re up close and personal with hobie, every detail in his face is on display and perfectly meshing together.

“you like when i talk nice to you. it’s obvious, darlin’. you start acting weird every time. ever since a few weeks ago.” his accusation is based on a few things he’s noticed as the days passed.

“well, yeah.” you sound like he’s the one pretending to be dumb, getting so worked up because you’re appreciative of his kindness. “of course i do . . .? what’s your point?”

hobie shakes his head. his own night cap glints with the occasional red glow. by now, he’s got his hands on your waist making temporary indents into your skin. “no. no, not like that. i’m talking about you like it. like, real bad. like, i bet i could get your panties wet from it, alone.”

your mouth falls open in a shocked o shape. it catches you completely off guard that he’s so suddenly brought up your infatuation with his sweet talk in such a suggestive manner. “huh?” is all you can manage because worst of all, you know he’s right because you have been hoping you’ve been discrete about it this entire time. “shut up?!”

“you didn’t say no.” he looks arrogant now, thumbing the elastic band of your cheeky-cut underwear, made from a gray cotton material and hemmed with a cream lace trim. the little bow on the front is sewn in and perfected with perma-stitches. hobie pulls it back and retracts his thumb. every time it snaps back into place, his grin widens. “i mean, if you wanna experiment, we can. y’know i never mind it, gorgeous.”

it’s suffocating. this whole thing is suffocating and you feel like you’re going to die in the best way possible. this so called “experiment” was not supposed to go this far. it was only supposed to be for a little bit, a half hour max and then you’d both go to sleep with the new knowledge to expand upon at another time. this was particularly important because you had to wake up early tomorrow and hobie knows this. it’s your fault; you shouldn’t have believed him. he looked too excited to worship you in praises and got so carried away that you’ve gotten your chest pushed into the bed. the arch of your back is so deep, you’re pushing your ass so high in the air and against hobie’s thighs.

hobie’s experiment is going so well for him. he’s gotten his chest against your back and his lips right next to your ear. his goal, done successfully, is to make his words as clear as possible so they process in your brain and send another wave of desire racking through every nerve of your body. a hand of his swipes along your clit, curling around the front of your body. his arm is getting somewhat squished underneath you but he couldn’t give fuck all about it. he’s too busy focusing on your wanton moans as you lose yourself, throwing your ass back fervently.

you got your head planted firmly into the bed and hobie hates it. he despises the muffled tone he’s given no choice but to hear; he puts up with it only because he’s having so much fun, too much fun. leaned down so close the the shell of your ear, he’s able to speak so alluringly, never mind the gravely tone his voice had taken on under the strain of casting his pleasure to the back of his mind. “my good — shit, god you’re so perfect — good fuckin’ girl.”

your response is nothing but open-mouthed whines into the sheets, leaving behind a damp trace of the shape of your lips in your wake. your legs quiver and would have otherwise been plopped onto the bed but you’re held up, what little strength you can muster through your forearms and hobie’s snacked around your waist working together keeping you where he’s got you.

you roll your head in his direction and cup his cheek. you look needy, basking in the warm lighting and drowning out the croaking frogs hidden in the shrubbery surrounding the lake. your fingers dig into his cheek to pull him closer and attach your lips to his, rewarding him with wet and sloppy kiss. both of your saliva mix as your tongues swirl against each other.

each particularly deep thrust paired with the smooth words of encouragement constantly flowing from hobie sends another watery gush of arousal from your cunt. it leaks down the sides of your thighs and becomes slathered on hobie’s.

he can’t help but laugh when your attempts to kiss him fall weak and you’re moaning against him. “hobie,” you whisper with a flutter of your eyelashes. they brush across his cheek and hide the burning desire in the brown rim of your eyes behind your eyelids.

a shudder runs down your back, all in preparation for your ultimate undoing. your head droops back into the bed and you clutch the sheets between your fingers. it’s all balled up and pulled into wrinkles.

he wants to reassure you but he can’t; hobie isn’t any better. he’s just as needy as you are, just as dizzy and on the brink of ascending. it’s just something that comes with being buried in your fluttering cunt. “perfect fuckin’ pussy. soo wet f’me, huh.” he says it more like a statement than a question. he doesn’t have to ask because he knows. it’s not like there’s anyone else that can get you to unravel like this, get you so soft beneath them, get your cunt dripping in slick.

there’s a moment when all movement stills and the feeling, the orgasm ebbing away brings a certain discontent that makes you mewl in hopes that the sound would active some carnal sense in his brain. it doesn’t. the only thing that happens is hobie shifting behind you, lifting his torso until he’s looking down at you. his hands grip at your waist, thumbs pressed into the curved dimples in your back. he likes to think they’ve gotten deeper from the amount of times he’s planted them here. “you want it?”

if you were in your right mind, perhaps the eagerness at which your head rise and falls with a nod. “yes, yes please. please, hobie. i want it.” by now, your bonnet had slipped off and tumbled onto the floor, leaving your hair exposed to the elements. you’re fortune to have twisted it a few days ago because even with the hairs beginning to frizz and coil into knots, most of it remains maintainable.

you can feel his rather large palms massaging your skin. it jiggles in waves whenever his hand cracks down hot and heavy. with enough time, you’re sure he could leave behind a dull shade of red. “do it yourself then, treacle. go ahead. take your dick.” he wraps his hand around the back of your neck, brushing your hair off your shoulders until he’s able to get a good, firm grip. he’s able to lift your head this way, pulling you out of your trance so you’d really and truly hear him.

you can feel your breath hitch and is stolen away. your limbs move for you, reaching out and taking a hold of the headboard. the other hand is firm on the bed, as firm as you can get it. you’re panting by the time you’ve gotten yourself here but you know it’s the right decision because hobie’s fingers trail down the column of your spine.

your tongue goes to spread across your now chapped lips. you can feel each ridge created from your once hydrated lips, stolen from the kisses and rubbing against the sheets. with your newfound hold, you sniff, grit your teeth, and throw yourself back against him.

hobie does nothing else but lightly hold your waist and eye each ripple of your round cheeks when they slam against his groan. he wants to throw his head back but then he’d miss his front row seat to your show, in all your glory. “l - look at you. mmm, fuck! looks so — . . . so good.”

you’re so mouthy, now but it’s all warbling and blabber, nonstop and nonsensical in tandem with every stroke you subject yourself to. it’s unexpected that this is what the night ultimately led to. after watching tv, eating dinner, and bickering with the love of your life, he finishes it off by filling your pretty little head with praises.

“look at how you fit around me. y’so good.” hobie peels apart the round globes of your ass. he’s able to get a clear view of his cock, long and skinny, sinking in between the folds of your cunt. it all glistens with arousal, coating the base of his shaft in a thin, milky liquid. he can’t help but lower his head towards your body and stick out his tongue. a droplet of his spit rolls down his tongue. it adds to the wet mixture of your sex and gets lost in all the precum.

he’s going to kill you, you’re certain. his cock is going to crawl its way up your esophagus and murder you. there’s no way it won’t with how full you feel, your cunt and your brain. still, even with how overwhelmed you feel, there’s no chance you will ever stop. if anything, it’s reinforcement to keep going, to hold the headboard harder, to launch your body back farther. the praise is going straight to your head and he knows it. hell, you know it. to die like this would be an honor and somewhere, in the deep, depths of your brain, you’re hoping it never ends.

#⋆౨ৎ˚⟡ 𝓵𝓸𝓿𝓮 𝓵𝓮𝓽𝓽𝓮𝓻 . . . 𝓯𝓻𝓸𝓶 . . . ☄️ 𝜗𝜚⋆#hobie x black!reader #hobie smut #hobie brown #x black fem reader #x black reader #astv hobie #x reader #hobie x reader #hobie x y/n

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