now y’all are trying to say it’s pr…why can’t y’all believe that he’s actually in a relationship????
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hobie x gn! reader
hobie is definitely an adamant tease. i also see him as like crazy perceptive ??? not only because he’s a spider person but also because he’s just an observer at heart, so whatever he does to you he knows what effect it has, mentally or physically.
whenever he wants to kiss you he always guides you by your chin. one, because he knows you love the hand placement, and two, because it’s easier to bring your plump lips to his own, and he can’t help but get eager at times.
hobie and you strolled down the chaotic streets of London, his lanky arm strung around the curve of your waist as you attempted to make your way to his apartment (attempted is the key word here, hobie lived about 5 minutes away from the pub y’all were visiting, but the walk was now reaching 10 minutes seeing as hobie couldn’t keep his hands off of you, not that you were in any rush).
“come on love, jus’ one lil kiss and I’ll leave you be, yeah?” hobie gently pleaded, peering down at you through his thickened lashes.
you set the palms of your hands against his chest, appreciating the slight flex of his pecs, and pushed him away from your figure, continuing to trot down the sidewalk, “no bee, we’ve been walking forever and my feet are tired. I’ll give you a kiss when we get home.” you dramatically gestured towards your aching feet, sighing at hobie’s raised eyebrow.
“well we can’t ‘ave that can we?” he inched his fingers down towards your thighs.
“nope, so if we can pick up the—” you squealed, latching on to hobie’s bicep and he held you close to his chest, his fingers curling around the crease underneath your knees, “hobie! what the hell!?”
“wha’? you said you was havin’ trouble, jus’ tryna be a good mate.” hobie tilted his head towards your pursed lips, chuckling at your pouting expression, “‘lowe it, ‘m not puttin’ you down.”
you sighed, peering back at hobie, “you just want to give me a kiss, huh?” you teased, placing a hand towards the crook of hobie’s neck.
“and what of it?” he adjusted you so he could bring the tip of his thumb and pointer finger to your chin, grasping it softly and guiding it towards his own. you indulge him, softly kissing the plush of his lips, humming in satisfaction.
“mhm, feeling cheeky today aren’t we bee?”
“been hangin’ ‘round me too much love, startin’ to sound like me.”
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idrk how to phrase this but the amount of people who think minors esp teenagers don’t have any sexuality is so strange to me. i totally get not wanting to sexualize teens and i think that’s a good thing but when i watched my friend on twt once get told “you can’t be asexual because you’re a minor and minors don’t experience sexual urges” i realized that ppl r kinda missing the point lmao
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did you grow up with chronic pain? did you get called sensitive as a kid/teen with chronic pain? were you bombarded with wisecracks from adults who said you won’t know real pain till you get older? join my initiative to ban this vile practice from planet earth!
i had chronic pain as a kid. (still do now.) my physical ability was best in childhood, like, i could do cartwheels then, meanwhile i can’t walk now. but istg my pain was regularly at this very same level back in childhood. ok i have extra symptoms now which make things harder, but if we’re JUST focusing on the pain part, it’s often the same. this blows my mind. the level of pain that i have now, bedbound and with opioids and a million accommodations, is the same level i had when i was 10 when i was just walkin around all day, asking my teachers nicely if i could sit indoors during playtime. (they said no btw.) back then, every time i tried to tell people how much everything hurt, adults said i was “sensitive”.
was i sensitive? is that what i was?
I think i must have been insanely powerful as a 10 year old to be out and about with a level of pain that makes me nonfunctional as an adult. I wonder how many kids and teens are in that amount of pain right now and are being dismissed because of their age. i think the way adults treat children with long term pain is evil. “you don’t know real pain! it only gets worse as you get older! wait till you grow up!!”
okay i waited.
i’m closer to 30 now than i am to 10, and the more hindsight i gain, the more i realise what a horrific violation it is that my pain was ignored when i was the most vulnerable to the trauma of unmanaged pain and had the least frame of reference for what level of agony is normal to experience while climbing stairs
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Soap knows Ghost is beautiful. He doesn’t need to see his real face to know. It’s in the way he carries himself, his thick British accent, the arrogant quirk of his eyebrow that shifted under his mask. He never had any urge to take a peek at his face under that mask, always respected his boundaries, always stayed fairly within line.
But during the mission in Las Almas, where Ghost had so unwaveringly pulled off his mask, Johnny felt like his whole world had been shaken. Maybe it was because Ghost was his whole world Soap had been obsessed ever since. The crooked curve of his nose, his clipped and messy dirty blonde hair, the slight curve of his Cupid’s bow on his upper lip, the jagged scar that had been carved into pale, almost sickly skin. It was all so utterly Simon. Soap felt unhealthily obsessed. Genuinely, he thought that he could not be any more head over heels, and he goes and does this.
It was stupid how eager Soap was to draw his face. It was like he was a puppet on a string, pulled by his untethered compulsiveness. He had to be cautious. He yearned rip off the mask Ghost has just put on again to kiss him stupid in front of everyone. 141, maybe. But not the Los Vaqueros. He does have that sliver of sanity to hold himself back. But god, if that doesn’t just open up a door of opportunities for him behind closed doors. The extra areas of skin that were now not so unreachable was like dangling a candy in front of a child and expecting them to not take it.
Simon is beautiful. Simon is so pretty. Simon is stunning. Pure Bonnie.
Soap wills himself to shut the fuck up and focus on the mission. He wants to see Simon again. Preferably, in a setting with more light. Soap feels like he’s rediscovering ghost all over again, he wants to see his smile, his annoyed expression, his huffs and grunts, everything on his face. Good lord, does he have dimples? Soap thinks he might just die.
The act of seeing ghost’s skin lights something in soap. He doesn’t know what it is, but he feels the impatience and desperation to find out what it is. He grapples and tries to identify it, but like his callsign, it slips away and he’s left with a frustratingly empty feeling he knows only ghost can fill. I’ll find out. I swear, I’ll find it out.
Soap has never been a patient man.
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