αяє тнσѕє му ¢нυ¢к тαуℓσяѕ? *:.｡..｡.:*ℍ𝕠𝕓𝕚𝕖 𝔹𝕣𝕠𝕨𝕟 *:.｡. .｡.:*

𝖢𝖧𝖠𝖯𝖳𝖤𝖱 𝖳𝖧𝖨𝖱𝖳𝖸: 𝖨𝗇 𝖸𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖣𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗆𝗌, 𝖸𝖺 𝖧𝗈𝗋𝗇𝖻𝖺𝗀

Baked beans, eggs and bacon lay on beds of buttered toast, evenly divvied between two plates. (soz if ur vegan baby girl, he's a brit so we eatin good) Steam rises from the food, still hot from the pan.

"That smells great. Didn't know you were a chef."

He hands me one of the plates, along with a set of cutlery. "Just eager to impress."

"All this for little old me?" I joke, turning and walking over to the couch, focused on balancing the plate properly on one hand.

He chuckles, a low sound that reverberates through my entire body. I'm suddenly hyper aware of his presence behind me. I can practically feel his body heat radiating, even though he's at least a metre and a half away.

Trying not to let my mind be clouded by his existence, I flop onto the lounge, eager to dig into the steaming plate before me. "What seasonings did you use?"

He scoffs before taking a seat on the opposite end of the couch, tangling his legs with mine where they meet in the middle of the lounge. "Only the best. Eat and find out."

I comply, letting the soft yolk of my fried egg run over the toast before cutting off a piece and tasting it.

I can't help but let out a groan as the flavours melt in my mouth.

"How did you make something so simple taste so good?"

"Talent." He ends his sentence there, too busy shoveling food into his mouth to continue the conversation. Not that I mind. The food is practically calling my name, begging to be eaten.

We eat in comfortable silence, broken by the occasion pleased hum from me, due to the fact that the meal was immaculate.

I'm practically licking the plate once I'm done. He watches me in slight fascination.

"You look like a dope."

Bringing the plate down onto the coffee table, I lean back on the armrest, completely full. "I am a dope. I'm just about ready to a start rubbing my tummy like a pregnant lady and say an extremely overused phrase that is said by every middle-aged person in existence."

"'I'm as full as a fat lady's sock?'" Hobie guesses, placing his plate and cutlery atop mine.

"Bingo."

We sit there grinning like dummies, not breaking eye contact.

"Did you do your piercings yourself?" I question, my eyes trailing over each of the studs and rings that line his face and ears.

"Uh, ya." He scratches at his neck lightly, shrinking slightly under my gaze as it skims over his face.

"That's so cool! How many do you have?" I scooch closer, bring my legs beneath me as I lean in to further scrutinise him.

Eyes wide, he takes a minute to respond. "A lot. Lip, eyebrows, nose, tongue, ears..." He trails off.

"Do you want to get any more done?"

"Nips. Thought about bellybutton, but haven't decided yet."

"Sick as!" I rest my head on the back of the couch, still staring intently at each individual piercing.

"What 'bout you? What do you wanna get done?"

"I'm not sure. I swear I have thought about getting all of the ones under the sun, but never actually made up my mind about any of them."

"All of them?" His grin quickly lowers to a mischievous smirk. "Maybe you could let me do a few for you."

I roll my eyes at him, but the grin stays planted on my face nonetheless. "You are not piercing my clit, man."

"Awwww, c'mon." Hobie mock pouts, pulling out the puppy dog eyes as he leans in slightly.

"In your dreams, ya hornbag." I plant my hand on the centre of his chest, pushing him back lightly onto the armrest of the lounge.

For those two seconds of contact, my heart leaps from my chest.

Hobie's expression signals his pulse jumped, too.

I don't dare dwell on it.

~

A/N:

everybodyyyyy (yeahhhhhh)

rock your bodyyyyyy (yeahhhhh)

anyways

what do u guys think? do you want hobie to give you a piercing or two? if so, let me know which!

also i have made the decision not to mention putting on a bra while y/n gets dressed. not everyone wears bras and i would like to try make this as inclusive as i can when it comes to race, features and clothing preferences!