punkflower oneshots.. ⭐️

needle in a haystack.

Omg I haven't posted in foreverrrr

Here's a look into Hobie's fear of needles (Headcannon), before I finish the big one about it.

Possibly short?

Hobie sat in Miles's living room, surrounded by scattered pieces of Gwen's teleportation watch. Miles's parents were out of town for the weekend, leaving the spacious apartment to the two of them. With his brow furrowed in concentration, Hobie meticulously tinkered with the delicate components, trying to repair the damage Gwen had inflicted during their last mission.

As he worked, a sense of calm washed over him, the familiar rhythm of tinkering soothing his frayed nerves. But just as he was making progress, disaster struck. Hobie got up from the couch to fetch a tool from across the room, only to have his cloth caught on the edge of the couch. With a sharp tug, the fabric tore, leaving a jagged tear in its wake.

"Fucking hell," Hobie muttered under his breath, frustration bubbling up inside him. He stared at the torn fabric, a sinking feeling settling in the pit of his stomach. How could he have been so careless?

Miles, who had been lounging on the floor nearby, looked up at the sound of Hobie's expletive. "What's wrong, babe?" he asked, concern coloring his voice.

Hobie sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "I tore my cloth," he admitted, holding up the torn fabric for Miles to see.

Miles's eyes widened in surprise, but then he offered a reassuring smile. "Don't worry, I can fix that for you," he said, getting up from the floor.

Relief flooded through Hobie as Miles reached for the torn fabric, his fingers deftly threading a needle. But as Miles began to sew, Hobie's heart rate quickened, a sense of unease settling over him. Needles. He hated needles.

It wasn't just a mild discomfort; it was a deep-rooted fear, a visceral reaction that sent shivers down his spine. His father, a cruel and abusive man, had often used needles as a form of punishment during Hobie's childhood. It was a twisted form of control, a way to keep him in line and ensure his compliance. The memories of those painful experiences still haunted Hobie, lurking just beneath the surface of his consciousness, waiting to be triggered by the slightest reminder.

As Miles carefully maneuvered the needle and thread, Hobie felt a wave of nausea wash over him. He tried to push the memories away, to focus on the task at hand, but it was no use. The sight of the needle, the sharp glint of metal catching the light, sent him spiraling into panic.

His breathing quickened, shallow gasps escaping his lips as he fought to keep the rising tide of fear at bay. He clutched at his chest, trying to steady himself, but it was no use. The panic was overwhelming, consuming him from within.

Miles glanced up from his task, concern etched on his face as he noticed the change in Hobie's demeanor. "Hey, sweetheart, are you okay?" he asked, setting the sewing kit aside.

But Hobie couldn't speak, couldn't form words to articulate the terror that gripped him. All he could do was shake his head, his eyes wide with panic.

Miles moved closer, reaching out a hand to touch Hobie's shoulder, but the gesture only seemed to heighten his distress. With a strangled cry, Hobie pushed himself off the couch, stumbling backward until he collided with the wall.

Miles's expression shifted from concern to confusion as he watched Hobie retreat into himself, his body trembling with fear. "Hobie, what's wrong? Talk to me," he urged, his voice laced with worry.

But Hobie couldn't hear him, couldn't process anything beyond the suffocating fear that consumed him. His vision blurred, tears streaming down his face as he struggled to breathe, to make sense of the chaos raging inside him.

Minutes passed like hours, the panic refusing to relent its grip on Hobie's mind and body. It was as if he were trapped in a nightmare, unable to escape no matter how hard he tried.

Miles stayed by his side, his presence a reassuring anchor amidst the storm. He spoke words of comfort, his voice a soothing balm against the turmoil within Hobie's mind.

Slowly, gradually, the panic began to subside, leaving behind a profound exhaustion in its wake. Hobie's breathing steadied, his muscles relaxing as the tension drained from his body.

With a shuddering sigh, he looked up at Miles, his eyes red-rimmed and swollen from crying. "I-I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice hoarse with emotion.

Miles shook his head, reaching out to gently cup Hobie's face in his hands. "There's nothing to be sorry for, Hobie. I'm just glad you're okay," he said, his voice filled with love and understanding.

remember when I used to put the words at the end ?

811 words.