#saran answers

[sarandipitywrites]

🐍- How do you deal with it when you come across a plothole?

I sit on the edge of it, my little shovel in hand, and stare into its depths as I contemplate my life choices.

Once I finish doing that, I try to look at what happens before the hole, after the hole, and at what's currently in the hole and figure out where the problem actually is. Like, if it's a "[character] would not do that" sort of issue, for example, I need to figure out if the problem is that [character] would, in fact, not do that, or if they would, but I just haven't done a good enough job of convincing the reader of that, yet.

Sometimes, though, a plot hole comes up because something I've written legitimately makes so sense with an existing bit of worldbuilding. When that happens, I have a choice: I can change the plot hole, change the worldbuilding, or dive headfirst into the plot hole and change the rest of the story to accommodate it. I chose the third option near the end of the first draft of The Art of Empty Space, which is how I ended up with an entirely new story lol

Not sure how much you saw of it while I was posting last year, but the basic premise of the first draft was a Beauty and the Beast style, monster-in-a-castle story, with the curse centering around Baz (the monster) and his real name. The plot hole came at the very end, when Lienzo was meant to learn the true name and break the curse; the problem was that anyone who learned the monster's real name would immediately forget everything about him (as, you know, part of the curse). What would make Lienzo so special? Why wouldn't he forget, when everyone else did?

The solution was: he wasn't special. He did forget. And that's now where the second draft of AES starts: after all the events of the original draft. Now, instead of it being a Beauty and the Beast retelling, it's a mystery thriller where Lienzo has to uncover what's already happened to him, break the cycle of this magically-induced amnesia, and break the curse on the beast and the city (and figure out who originally cursed them and why).

So, short answer: sometimes I fix the plot hole. Sometimes the hole fixes the plot 🤷

Thank you for the ask! 💜

[sarandipitywrites]

i've gone into my spooky playlist and brought you a halloween earworm...

happy spooky season!

trick or treat? 🎃

Trick! 🍭🎃☠

[vennilavee]

jjk as surgical specialties, go

[gallusrostromegalus]

I was raised agnostic and tend to remain ambiguous on theological matters.

-but my house has a porch on the second story that affords me a terrific view of my neighborhood and the Colorado Front Range and I was partaking of some peace before the 4th Of July Finger-Loss Festivities begin, and I have had a

~*Spiritual Experience*~

I just watched my neighbor try to unload an actual wooden pallet that had to have been forklifted into the back of his insecurity pickup worth of fireworks.

Except that he does not have a forklift in his garage.

He does have so much sports memorabilia and cardboard boxes of unsold MLM Merchandise and patriotically themed camping gear and posters of women in bikinis and flags of suspect political organizations in his garage that there is only BARELY enough space for the fireworks and certainly none for his truck.

So he had to unload the individual boxes of recreational explosives from the back of his truck and stack them in the minimal space he had cleared by hand. This is a tedious and time-consuming process as this neighbor has purchased a wide variety of recreational and locally illegal explosives instead of many of just a few types, so the individual boxes are rather small.

He begins, and this is crucial to what happens next, by cutting apart the industrial-grade saran wrap his explosives dealer had so carefully wrapped his merchandise in, and discarded it unsecured on his lawn.

Where Outdoor Conditions sometimes happen.

His process for unloading the fireworks is to 1. Climb up through the gate into the bed of his pickup truck (a feat made unusually difficult due to the slope of his driveway, and this man's fascinating decision to wear the world's Siffest and least Flexible Denim Overalls. 2. Once in the pickup bed, he selects ONE (1) box from the pile He is apparently from a niche religious institution that doesn't believe in stacking things. 3. Carries it awkwardly around the palette that barely fits in the truck bed 4. His wife yells "Be careful!" when he nearly falls out of the pickup. 5. He Yells "SHADDUP!" back at her. 6. The Large German Shepherd barks from inside the house. 7. He yells "SHADDUP!" back at her too. 8. He sets the (1) box down on the gate 9. Slowly and awkwardly climbs out of the pickup bed 10. picks the box back up, and carries it into the garage.

Question: Aren't you going to help this poor man? Answer: Absolutely Not.

There's four military veterans, MANY dogs, and several people with dementia in this neighborhood, all of whom are terrified by this chicanery every year and many neighbors have repeatedly asked him to maybe do the fireworks somewhere else. (This is the Eighth Year Running he's held a major demolition event in his driveway, and for those of you who can do math, you may be able to guess the precipitating incident to this little ritual) Additionally, I live in Colorado, a state marginally less prone to spontaneous and catastrophic conflagrations than a rotting grain silo, but only marginally. Our recreational explosives laws are written accordingly.

I am in fact calling the Non Emergency line to report Fireworks violations, and reading off the brand labels to someone named Dorothy, who is gleefully totaling up a SPECTACULAR fine for my oblivious neighbor.

However, while I'm on the phone with Dorothy, I notice the wind begin to pick up. and by "Notice" I mean "The Industrial Saran Wrap he left on his Lawn earlier is suddenly swept up about 100 feet into the air by an updraft intense enough to make my ears pop" And by "Pick Up" I mean "I look up to see the sky has turned a fun and exciting shade of glass green, and the bottoms of the clouds are bumpy and rounded, and the overall effect is not unlike looking up through the bottom of the cup at God's Matcha Boba Tea."

For those of you who do not live in places with Inclement Weather, these conditions mean "You have about 30 seconds before a Major Meteorological Event Occurs."

I move under the eaves. "Hang on Dorothy." I say, nose filling with Petrichor. "The show is about to be cancelled." "Oh, that doesn't matter!" Dorothy cheerfully informs me. "It's illegal for him just to possess those, no matter if he actually gets to set them off or not." "Terrific, because he's gotten maybe five boxes out of a hundred inside."

Sometimes, the weather gods are Merciful and give you a verbal warning, typically in the kind of thunderclap that makes your ears ring.

The Gods were not merciful today.

It's not often that I am in the time, place, correct angle or in a properly observational frame of mind to see this, But I got to see it today. Huh. I thought. I've never seen a cloud just DIVE for the ground before. Oh. I realized as it got closer. That's RAIN.

Sometimes, a thunderstorm will form in such a way that the rain that would normally be distributed over an area of say, five to tent square miles, is instead concentrated into an area of say, my neighborhood exactly.

So today, I was granted the rare privilege of being able to actually see the literal wall of water descend from On High and DIRECTLY onto my porch, my street, and my neighbor's truck, and his pile of unwrapped fireworks.

The sheer impact force of the downpour immediately scatters the teetering pile of fireworks boxes in the back of the truck, like the wrath of God striking down the tower of Babel. Boxes tumble, then are washed out of the bed of the truck by the deluge. Smaller Boxes are carried down the road in a little line by the stream forming in the gutter, like little impotent explosive ducklings.

My neighbor was definitely yelling something, but I could not hear what over the DEAFENING noise several million gallons of water makes upon high-speed contact with the earth's surface, but there was a lot of arm-waving and faces turning red as he went looking for the saran wrap that had probably blown to Nebraska by now, while his wife started disassembling the complex three-dimensional puzzle of interlocking material goods in search of a tarp. They do not have a tarp. They have one of those wretched Thin Blue Line flags though, and my neighbor jogs out in a futile effort to cover what's left in the truck.

Which is when the hail begins.

"HELLO?" Yelled Dorothy. "HI!" I shouted. "WE'RE HAVING SOME WEATHER!" "OH GOOD!" she shouts back. "WE NEED THE MOISTURE!"

I watch for a minute longer, but the loss was immediate and catastrophic- the hail is the size of marbles and dense and cares not for your pitiful cardboard and cellophane, ripping the boxes asunder and punching holes in the few things covered in plastic. The colors on the Thin Blue Line Flag are seeping all over the remains of that it was supposed to protect in a particularly apt visual metaphor. Not even the few boxes that made it into the garage are spared, as the German Shepherd escapes from indoors, and in an attempt to assist her humans, jumps directly into the small stack of not-yet-ruined boxes, scattering them into the driveway and deluge. She even picks one up so her humans will chase her around the yard, before dropping it in the gutter to be swept away.

So. I was raised Agnostic -but even I can recognize when God slaps someone upside the head and shouts "NO!" at them.

---

(If you laughed, please consider supporting my Ko-fi or preordering my book of Strange Stories on Patreon)

[enderlovez]

A Little Timid

Spencer Reid x Shy Female Reader WORD COUNT: 1100+

Summary: You bring Spencer something for dinner during a particularly stressful case. One thing, though—nobody else knows you exist.

Content Warning: Spencer is overworking himself and forgetting to eat, reader has a sister and a niece/nephew (not specified), pet names

────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ──────

You and Spencer have been dating for nearly three years, and throughout that time he's visited your workplace more times than you can count. Usually to spend your lunch breaks with you, sometimes just so he can sit and be in your company as you work.

Which your boss is completely fine with, for some reason unknown to you.

Oftentimes you find yourself wishing you could do the same for him, on the nights where he doesn't come home until stupidly late, but every time you bring up maybe bringing him lunch on your days off, he shoots you down entirely. Like a bird out of the sky, or some other stupid simile you can't be bothered trying to come up with.

It's quite different for him, being a federal agent and such, working with sensitive subjects and often in harsh environments, so you suppose it does make sense that he would want to keep you away from all that. Still, you can't help but feel a little hurt and slightly embarrassed every time he denies your requests.

And yet...

"You sound tired," you comment softly, stirring the pot of chicken soup in front of you.

"Mhm."

"Have you eaten anything yet?"

There's no response, which is answer enough for you.

"Lovey, you need to eat," you say with a sigh, putting down the spoon you were stirring with and lean back against the counter beside the stove.

"I know," he mumbles quietly.

You pull your bottom lip between your teeth, eyes turned down to the ground. "I'm making chicken soup, I could bring you some for dinner, if you'd like?" you suggest weakly. "And some of the bread I finished making earlier. You know, I could sit with you for a while."

Before he's even responded, you're bracing yourself for rejection.

"That would be nice," he sighs.

Immediately, the tension in your body melts away, a tiny smile making its way onto your face.

"You want me to bring one of those cinnamon rolls you like, too?"

"Yes please..." His voice is so quiet, you're sure he's practically falling asleep at his desk.

"Okay, I'll be there in ten minutes."

────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ──────

Spencer doesn't really think about much when he hangs up the phone. Only that he's really hungry right now, and that he really likes your chicken soup.

The fact that his coworkers don't even know you exist doesn't cross his mind once. Only when you're actually walking into the bullpen, does he realize he should've given them a bit of a heads up, because everyone is looking at you now.

No horrible looks, of course, they're only curious of who you are and why you're here, but you've never particularly liked people looking at you. It makes you feel all anxious and jittery.

Your eyes quickly scan the room (definitely taking note of all the people watching you) and when you finally find your target, a small smile makes it onto your face, despite the discomfort.

He pulls another chair over to his desk as you make your way over, walking just a little faster usual, and place one of those reusable supermarket bags in front of him.

"Hey there," you murmur, bringing his hand to your face so you can press a soft kiss to the back of it. This time, he doesn't even mention how many stupid pathogens can be passed through your hands.

"Beautiful girl," is all he says, quiet and uncharacteristically drowsy, as he reaches into the bag and pulls everything out. Two perfectly warm thermoses, a brown paper bag with some of your fresh bread inside, and two saran-wrapped cinnamon rolls that you've already heated.

You chuckle softly, taking your share of the food and offering him a hunk of warm bread.

Spencer bites off a chunk of the bread and really takes a look at you, now that you're distracted with your own soup. You're wearing a baby pink milkmaid dress, the same one you wore to your sisters baby shower last year, and a white cardigan with little flowers embroidered all over it.

He gifted you the plain cardigan, you were the one who added all the flowers and personal touches.

"I really appreciate this," he hums, finally opening the thermos of soup and spooning some of it into his mouth with one of the metal utensils you brought with you.

"I'm always happy to bring you food when you need it, lovey. Even when you don't necessarily need it, I'll come running," you say in a low voice, sipping your own soup straight from the thermos. "I wish you'd let me do it more. Even when you're not starving and sleep deprived."

He chuckles at the playful lilt in your voice, but knows you're actually being completely serious. "Maybe we can make this a more regular. On the nights I can't be at home—"

"And who might this be?" someone asks, appearing suddenly enough for you to jump a little.

You turn your head the smallest fraction to find another man leaning against Spencer's desk, a (seemingly permanent) smirk breaking through the tired, clouded expression everyone here is sporting.

"Uhm—hi—erm..."

You glance over at Spencer, who is, for the most part, paying no attention to the encounter, simply sipping on his soup and gnawing on his bread like he hasn't eaten in weeks.

"I'm Y/N," you manage, in a voice soft enough to bring serial killers to their knees (now there's an idea), wiping your hands on the fabric covering your thighs and sticking one of them out.

The man hums, eyes flicking between yourself and the man seated beside you. "I don't think Spencer's ever mentioned you before."

Your smile falters slightly, but doesn't disappear completely. "I'm his girlfriend," you say, "and I never really expected him to talk about me here. He said he wouldn't, anyway."

"Girlfriend?" he asks, as if it's the craziest thing he's ever heard. "You. Are Spencer's girlfriend? Spencer has a girlfriend?"

That seems to grab the aforementioned mans attention.

"Morgan. Is it really so hard to comprehend," he asks, wrapping an arm around you and pulling you close—as close as he can, with the chairs in the way, "that I could find a beautiful woman to love me?"

Ah. Derek Morgan, that explains it.

"You know that's not what I mean," Morgan argues, the smile not leaving his face. "And now, if you don't mind, I'll be around. Telling everyone. That you've got a gorgeous girlfriend, and kept it from us."

Neither of you have a chance to argue before he's gone. You're honestly surprised he didn't ask exactly how long it's been, but you're sure he wouldn't have liked the answer, so you don't push it.

"...this is great soup, by the way. I love you."

You chuckle, red coloring your face. "Thanks. I love you, too, baby."

[luveline]

𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐭 𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨𝐨 𝐦𝐮𝐜𝐡? | 𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧

you finally work up the courage to kiss Eddie for the first time and he can’t cope (even if he claims he can). 2k words. requested here

cw fem!reserved/shy!reader, first kiss, heavy kissing, mutual pining, eddie being a hot dork

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

Some people (Steve) call Eddie your loser boyfriend, while other people (the girls at work) call him the rockstar. 

You see both sides of him now. 

“Sweetheart!” he calls, the passenger seat window rolled down, his voice strong where he shouts behind the wheel. The van bumps the curve, leaving a sanguine line of rust in its wake and a creak to make everybody on the sidewalk wince. 

“Hello,” you call back. 

The van hums. You wait for him to be at a definite stop before you approach, hands on the open window, leaning up so as to see him best. It’s not just a usual date night tonight, Eddie’s taking you to Indianapolis for a rock show, and he’s dressed the part. “Woah, you look cool,” you say, bravely, wondering if that’s the right thing to say. It’s undoubtedly true —he’s slicked his curls with mousse to define them and leave them pitch black in accordance with his eyeshadow, dark and tapped into his lash line. The top he wears is incredibly tight, carving the softer lines of his abs for anyone to see, and his black jacket is ripped in places to expose the ink of his tattoos. “Are they multiplying?” 

“What?” he asks, grinning at you. “Are you getting in? It’s freezing!” 

“Your tattoos,” you explain, opening the door and popping up into the van with one shoe on the step. 

“Shit, you wanna see?” 

You’re not scared of Eddie, you just like him. He doesn’t worry you, doesn’t pressure you, nothing nefarious about him. He’s pretty, he’s considerate, and he does stuff like this, peeling out of his jacket to flex his arm at you and show you the Saran wrapping around his bicep. “Like that one?” he asks.

He has nice arms, and they’re all the better for his painful obsession. His newest one is difficult to see well under the wrapping. He notices you squinting and moves it up, tape pulling his skin. 

“Another bat?” you ask. 

“Not cool?” 

“So cool,” you disagree. This bat is unlike the others on his arm, which are small and simple in comparison. This one is heavily detailed and very dark, fangs in small triangles bared. The eyes aglow. The skin around it is red. “Did you get that today?” 

“On a whim. Still wanna date me, or is it getting to be too much?” 

You can’t answer him, and he knows that. You’re not very good at navigating intimate conversation or circumstance, though you like him, and he must know that too. Or he must really like you. Your dates have been chaste. Only last time could you work up the courage to take his hand, but when you had, he rewarded your courage with a drove of tenderness, fingers rubbing your knuckles and squeezing soft patterns for hours at the back of the movie theatre. 

The drive to Indianapolis takes near enough an hour. Eddie puts you on map duty but doesn’t use it, ignoring your offer of directions on the insistence that he knows a shortcut and then rerouting when you get too lost. He tells you there are snacks for you in the centre console and laughs, endeared, when you pop the lid and smile at it all. You talk about the show, a band you’d never heard of but had wanted to see on the grounds of sharing his interests. That’s what couples do, right? They try to do things together. You have to put yourself out of your comfort zone, and you’re happy to try if it means you can do it with him. 

“You nervous?” he asks, pulling into the parking garage outside of the venue, a towering, multi-story fiasco crammed with cars and motorbikes. 

“No,” you say, not quite mumbling as you look down at your hands. 

“Good, don’t be. I’m gonna look after you, we’re gonna have a great time. And then we can get takeout after?” You look up. He stretches his arm out to glance at his watch. “I would’ve taken you before, but good old Indianapolis keeps getting further away.” He smiles apologetically. 

You laugh without meaning to. His smile ramps up a notch. 

“I love when you laugh. You have such a cute laugh,” he says. 

“I know you’re lying,” you say, still laughing anyways. 

“I’m not lying, I love the way you laugh!” He shakes his head, curls falling away from his face as he flicks on the light on the car roof. “We have half an hour till doors open.”

“You don’t wanna line up?” 

“It’s kind of overwhelming and I figured we’d stay near the back of the crowd for your first gig here, it gets pretty rowdy.” He says ‘pretty rowdy’ like a drag, nodding gently, eyes lit with mirth. You love it when he talks like that. 

“We can go now, get further in. I can handle it.” 

“It’s not about handling it, I want you to have a good time. Plus, they could ruin your nice dress.” 

You meet his gaze all smiles like he is, but heat flickers in your chest and in your stomach, and you have to look away. It’s an impulse you’ve always given into. You’re reserved in the feelings department but trying not to be, Eddie deserves reciprocation, but it’s hard. Either way, he seems to understand this about you, and he hasn’t complained. 

Still, a bedraggled silence falls. Nearly awkward, unsure of how to tread, you sit together in your separate seats listening to cars parking and doors opening, closing on either side of you, the headlights of the cars driving past glaringly bright, white flashing over your screwed palms. 

“You okay?” he asks. 

You’re sure Eddie wants to kiss you. Three nights ago at the movies, after an hour of languid hand holding, he’d looked at your lips no less than three times as he said good night. He told you he’d had an amazing time, and that he couldn’t wait to see you again. You’d said the same in earnest, and then he’d just walked away. All those stolen glances and he hadn’t made a move. 

“Eddie… why…” You poke your tongue into your bottom lip momentarily, chewing it over. “Why haven’t we kissed yet?” 

“Um–” He lets out a nervous giggle before roughly clearing his throat. You peek at him, watching intently as he takes his hair away from his face with two hands. “I’m just waiting on you, sweetheart. No pressure.” He laughs as he talks, a picture of panic, “You’re sort of shy about that stuff, you know? I didn’t wanna surprise you.” 

“But you do want to kiss me?” you ask unsurely.

He puts his hand on your knee, the space between you suddenly smaller and warmer, the light like white glaze on his pupils, illuminating his finer details. He has a mole nestled under his eyelashes too small to see until now; it catches your attention. You stare at him too long. 

“Of course I do,” he says, eyebrows pinching together in concern. “I’ve wanted to kiss you since I met you.” 

You nod and snap your head back to your lap. Why does he have to be so nice? You wish you’d listened to Steve, even if he was joking, you shouldn’t have ever said yes to Eddie, because now you’re terrified you can’t kiss him and you’ll ruin everything…

“Hey, it’s fine. I’m not waiting for anything. You can take your time or you could never kiss me, and I won’t care. I swear. I mean, I really want you to kiss me but I’ll find a way to cope, I’m sure.” He takes his hand from your leg softly. “Do you want my jacket? It’s cold out, n’ we should probably start walking.” 

You pull your head up slowly. 

He reads your hesitant expression. “I’m in no rush,” he promises, head ever so slightly ducked to yours. 

Okay, you think. Okay, I can do this. You hold your breath and start to lean in. He falters, a millisecond of misunderstanding, before he recognises what you’re doing and smiles. He reaches for your waist with enough care to give you a chance to change your mind, and when you’re close enough to feel his breath, his lashes shutter. 

You follow suit, blind, with nothing but your intuition as you press your lips to his. 

With a feeling like the hum of the engine under your hands, you bring your fingers to his soft cheek and hold him still. He breathes in harshly, touches you far from it, his palm slipping behind your back to pull you in. You lean into it; it feels natural to give in, to turn your head one way and part your lips, to have him kiss back with heat and surprising sweetness.

You feel unlike yourself in a good way, falling back to kiss forward again, a third time, trying to chase the lulling bliss of his lips. The stomach aching want. Your hand chases across his cheek and into the curls behind his ear, needing him closer but not expecting the sound it elicits. He sighs into your lips and you flinch back, startled by the sensation. 

Eddie rubs your back with his index finger, unjudging as you drop your head to catch your breath. 

“You okay?” he asks quietly. You can hear his affection. It’s palpable. 

You nod, a dizzy weight collected in your forehead, thankful when his free hand catches your cheek and he turns your face gently to the side. “I got too hot,” you confess, only half of the truth. 

“It was pretty hot.” He smiles at you like you’re the only person in the world, like you’ve a secret only he knows. “Want me to turn on the A/C?” 

“No, I–” want to kiss you again, you think. You might even tell him so, but he starts to blow on your face, disrupting any thoughts you’d had earlier. He purses his lips and blows cold breath on your cheek, a tenderness in his gaze and the tip of his thumb where it rests just under your eye. “Oh.” 

This might be the most romantic thing anyone’s ever done for you. Your face feels precious in his careful hand, pretty under his longing look. You’re not scared when he encourages you back to his lips, your eyes quick to close, your hands across the gap of your seats to gather his shirt between tight fingers. 

His kiss is a reflection of him. Loser, rockstar, he’s eager and his hands start to betray that, his kissing melty hot and addictive as the tip of his nose presses hard to yours. You turn your face to accommodate him better and that small action drives him crazy. He’s pulling you in, smiling into your mouth, making breathy sounds that’ll stick around in your head ten times as long as the tingles filling your chest as just kisses and kisses and doesn’t stop. 

“M’sorry,” he says, pulling away, and then stealing another heavy, soft kiss like he couldn’t wait. “Sorry,” he apologises again, stroking the skin beside your eye to encourage you into opening them. “I’m not trying to get carried away. Just can’t believe you just kissed me.” 

“No, it’s okay, I– I really wanted to.” 

He kisses your cheek. You aren’t expecting it and you don’t know how to deal with it. It’s like kissing him has invigorated him, you’re a shot he knocked back, his excitement catching as he begs, “Close your eyes again, sweetheart, just one more–”

You raise your chin and he practically gasps, immediately pressing a last chaste kiss to your burning lips. 

“I’m not always like this,” he promises, leaning away, his fingertips falling from your face to trace down your neck, your shoulder. “You’re just so fucking pretty I lost my mind. I’m on best behaviour from now on, swears.” 

He raises his hand up in a scout’s honour. 

You breathe out happily. “Thank you.” 

“Oh my god. Quick, we better get out of this van before I lose my mind.” He shakes his head. “You’re insane. I have such a crush on you, holy fuck,” —he turns away from you and gets out of the van— “Jesus.” 

You pull down the sun visor to check your reflection in the mirror. You look thoroughly kissed, eyes aglow with it. 

“Fuck!” Eddie swears. You beam at yourself as he wraps on the window. “Come on, sweetheart! I have a concert to pretend to pay attention to.” 

You slink out of your seat, brave enough to try for another kiss so long as it doesn’t kill him dead right here in the parking lot. 

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

please like/reblog or comment if you enjoyed! I love knowing what you think and it means so much to me/ inspires me to write even more!!! <3 but of course I hope you enjoyed reading regardless :D 

[the-kr8tor]

The Less I Know The Better

Pairing: Hobie Brown x fem! Reader/ Spider-Punk x fem! Reader

Synopsis: An office holiday party gone awry.

Word count: 8.5k

Tags: Use of Y/N sparsely, no specific physical description of the reader (except for clothing), Reader has nicknames, part 3, mockumentary AU, Co-worker AU, Co-worker! Hobie, slight loser! Hobie, CW alcohol, CW food mentions, CW injury.

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Co-worker AU Masterlist

Part 3 >>> Part 4

Your whole body is stretched to perfectly line up the holiday garlands on the conference room walls. Back aching and arms starting to cramp while Jessica stands a few ways behind you. She instructs you on where to tack on the scratchy garlands with its sparkly tinsel. The air smells like cinnamon and ginger bread. The food is all laid out on a long foldable table, the sight alone has your stomach rumbling.

“Here?” You struggle a bit, arms aching as you tiptoe on the highest step of the ladder.

“A little bit further up.” You're starting to think that she's just playing with you. She notices your strained huff as you sweat from the harsh camera lights pointed right at you. “Sorry, I would help but the company will not pay me hazard comp if I fall, especially while I'm pregnant.”

“You're pregnant?” You almost fall back, metal ladder wobbling under you briefly before you manage to balance yourself. Your heart thuds in your chest, and you were almost grateful that the documentary crew wasn't there to witness it. Just their cameras that they placed on each corner of the room whilst they shoot b-rolls of the rest of the ‘cast.’ Great.

“Whoa, you okay?” Jess holds up her hands, quickly crossing the distance to steady the ladder.

“Yeah, um congratulations.” you exhale out a nervous bout of air. “That was almost the end of me.” With a nervous laughter, you climb back up the steps to pin the garland. You don't even care if it's lopsided or not, and Jessica doesn't speak up about it either as she grasps her stomach. “Crap, are you okay?”

“Yeah, I bet he was nervous too.” She takes a deep inhale. “I'll be back in a second.”Jessica leaves but comes sauntering back inside. “Can you start decorating the food table, thanks.” Before you could say yes, she's already heading towards the bathroom.

“Okay,” you climb down the ladder with measured steps. You're still a temp so that means if you get injured on the job, you won't get worker's comp. Just three months to go and you can finally breathe easily when you're officially an employee.

Once your feet are back on solid ground, you head towards the sparsely decorated table. There are saran wrapped dishes placed, courtesy of your co-workers. There are also a few dishes with tin foil covering on top of it to keep the heat in, and an empty punch bowl ready to be filled with juice. That makes your mind wander back to Hobie and how he's doing. You two have become casual friends throughout the past few months. He smiles at you whenever he delivers your mail, and would sometimes start a friendly conversation with you. “It's gettin’ colder, innit?” He asks, “What're you havin' for lunch?” And you'd answer back with a smile and a friendly reply. After that he’s gone and out on delivery again. And of course you sometimes have lunch with him together with the rest of the lunch club. But it doesn't feel the same as before the bar incident. You don't know what changed when you tried incredibly hard to not let exactly like this from happening. The awkward glances and the polite smiles have made you feel…bad. Frustrated. Like you've done something terrible to your friend.

MJ has been apologetic to you, and has taken it upon herself to seek out Hobie and his band to personally apologize to them. You start to notice that they've been hanging out more after that. Without you usually, well, more than usual. You don't mind it, or you keep telling yourself that you don't. She comes home telling you stories about the band and Hobie more and more. “He only likes the blue sour patch kids.” And, “yeah, he also told me that there used to be another band member.” You're happy that she found a new friend, and sometimes, just once, you wish that she'd invite you to one of those hangouts. You always liked being alone in your own little bubble of comfort. And MJ knows that, being your friend for a decade or so, she knows how introverted you are. She says that you're her favourite because you know how to listen. But you like to talk too. Not as much as her or as social as her, but it's nice to just be around people, to be invited to sit at the same table as them— to just talk and be listened to. Just like how Hobie is with you. But recently, you two have been missing each other in the office. Usually you would arrive just in time at the exact moment he arrives. But lately, you keep finding yourself alone in the office hallway while you wait for the elevators to open.

The lunch club is at least consistent, and you always eat with them in the break room. You're too afraid to ask where Hobie is or what's happening to him. Maybe he's planning on quitting? Maybe the band is just ramping up their performances from every weekend to every day? Either way, you haven't spoken to him in a while other than seeing him briefly with his mail cart. Why do you feel bad for missing him?

With a sigh, you look outside the window where a fresh drizzle of snow covers the whole empty soccer field right next to the office. The weather has been icy and chilly, more than when you walked to the bus stop. And the feeling’s mutual inside the office. Everyone just wants to go home and stay home. Hobie did invite you to that concert he was talking about a couple of months ago. You're still thinking whether or not you should go. Are you even still invited to that?

As you rearrange the red plates with printed garlands around it, an arm shoots out next to you. For a second you think it would be Hobie coming to fill the punch bowl or to place his contribution, but based on the rich cologne, it's Harry.

You know the scent well ever since you two started carpooling together. It all started on accident really when the ground was too slippery from sleet and he practically begged you to take you home, worried that you'd crack your head on the pavement on your way to the bus stop. After that it snowballed from taking you home occasionally, to giving you a ride home every night. He offered to drive you to the office every morning too if you hadn't told him that he actually lives out of the way from your side of town. He just sighed with a lopsided smile and accepted to only take you home to save you a bus fare. You liked the conversations with him, and you always offer to pay him back but he just shrugs and asks you to buy him a cheap cup of coffee from the convenience store on the way to your place. A cup of coffee turns into talking on the hood of his car while you two chat the night away while munching on chips and gas station hotdogs. It was a surprise kind of friendship that you never thought would blossom into something more than just being co-workers.

“Hey, ice princess.” He smiles, cheeks red from the biting cold outside as he places bottles upon bottles of red punch on the table right next to the bowl. “Your domain’s expanding.”

“Sorry about that.” You joke back, earning a rare chuckle from Harry. “Did you go outside in that weather?”

He blows at his palms, the tip of his nose is rosey. “Yeah, I forgot these in my car.”

“You should warm up, don't want you getting hypothermia now.” You cheekily side eye him.

Shaking his head with a grin tamped down by biting his lip, his cheeks grow redder. “Using my own words against me, wow.”

“I try my best.” You shrug, stacking the plates in a neat pile before you go around him to grab the box of decorations under the table. He helps you lift it up, and you give him your thanks as you place it on the table. It's filled with Santa Clauses, dainty snowmen, and tiny pine trees. “I heard about your sale, congrats.”

“Yeah,” he puffs out his chest with pride as he opens a bottle to fill the bowl. “Thank you, it was a tough sell.”

“I heard, literally, we're desk neighbors. I heard everything.” You say as you place the figurines of Santa next to a savoury smelling dish. “It was like I was watching ‘the wolf of wall street.’”

“Was I that loud?” He mutters while the gurgle of juice fills the bowl. “How about I treat you—” he swallows thickly. “— as a sorry for being too loud, and as a celebration.” Avoiding your eyes, you gaze at him, blinking slowly. “Nothing fancy, just dinner.”

“Okay,” you slowly say. You two technically always have dinner together. But this time it'll be a far cry from eating in his car while mustard dribbles from your fingers and he makes fun of you for putting mustard on your hotdog. It's still just dinner, right? “What do you have in mind?” You can practically hear the docu crew snickering from somewhere once they review the footage. This is probably ‘hot goss’ for them, or that's what Lyla always tells you when they focus on a couple in admin.

“There's this Thai place I've been meaning to go to.” Harry exhales shakily as he continues to pour the second bottle of punch. “Do you like Thai? We can go someplace else if you want.” He almost stammers out the last word.

You smile with endearment, fingers unconsciously playing with the snowman figurine in your hand. “No, I like Thai, that sounds great.” You even surprised yourself at how composed you sounded.

“Yeah?” He boyishly smiles, a brown curl falling over his eye as you nod. “Cool, great. I'll pick you up this weekend.”

“Okay,” you nervously nudge him, and he hides a growing smile. “Be careful, it's almost full.”

“Oh yeah, shoot!” He tips the bottle back before the juice spills over the old carpet. “Thanks, do you need help—?” Before you could say something, a shrill ring of a phone interrupts you both. He takes out his phone and winches. “Sorry, it's my dad…”

“No, it's okay, go ahead, I'm good over here.” You wave him off, and as he leaves, you notice him grimacing at the garland you just put up. “Shit,” you huff, placing the snowman down on the table as you make your way back to the ladder.

It's the last hurrah before the holiday break starts, and you're incredibly glad that you got hired into a company that has a week off during the holidays. So you definitely want to make the place look good or at least presentable to maybe impress your bosses.

The metal creaks under you while you climb up the highest step. You stretch yourself once again as you pluck the garland out to fix it. Something almost falls from within the thick garland, and you catch it in your hand before it falls. Opening your palm, you see a mistletoe all bundled together with a red ribbon. You stare curiously at it since this came from a box labeled ‘office holiday decorations.’ A mistletoe at an office party? Is that even appropriate? You chuckle at the thought.

“How's the weather up there?” A familiar voice asks and you crane your neck so fast that you accidentally fling yourself from the rickety ladder, grip loosening as your fingers brush along the cold metal step. “Oh shit!” You gasp as Hobie rushes in to catch you.

Bracing yourself for impact, you don't feel it as Hobie took the blow of the floor for you.

“Oh fuck, are you okay?! I'm so sorry, Hobie.” You take his cheek as he groans from under you. Your legs are beside him, accidentally straddling him while the mistletoe lands right on his chest— right in between the two of you. “Are you hurting anywhere?” You ask, frazzled and worried.

Hobie lifts up his head with a wobbly grin, eyes gazing at you softly then over to the fallen mistletoe. “Does this still count?”

You follow his line of sight. “Wha— Hobie!” Your cheeks run heavy with warmth when you realize what he's talking about. As you look down, your eyes are fixated on his goofy grin and handsome face. His wicks frame around his face, piercings glinting under the blinking Christmas lights.

“Why do we always find ourselves like this, lovie?” He reminisces about the time you fell on him during Lyla's earthquake scare while you're just trying to even out your breathing lest you fall unconscious on top of him.

“What happened?!” Jessica comes running after the sound of the ladder clatters on the floor. You're immediately rolling off of Him on the floor before she could even wrap her mind around the position you two were in. “Are you two okay?”

Hobie, still on the floor, lifts his hand and gives her a thumbs up. While you could only look at the carpet and how it feels under your clammy hands.

The rest of the office follows, all clambering over each other to witness the commotion. Miguel groans and pinches the bridge of his nose, while Lyla gasps at the scene in front of her. The lunch club walks in, eyes wide before shifting their vision over to a very flustered you and Hobie, who's still a puddle on the floor with the mistletoe on his chest; they all give him a knowing smirk. Meanwhile the camera crew are running to check if the mounted cameras captured the scene.

“If you're hurt, you gotta file a worker's comp, Hobie.” Lyla shakes her head when Hobie dramatically groans as he stands up weakly. “C’mon, man, you know I'll still give it to you without all that.” Miguel glares at her. “Pretend you didn't hear that.” She tells him.

Miguel could only wave it off with a scoff and returns back to work. Hobie gives you a hand, but before you could reach for it, Harry returns and helps you off the floor himself, earning a glare from Hobie.

“Are you okay?” Harry asks you after lifting you off your feet. “Nothing damaged?”

You shake your head, “no, I'm fine, Hobie saved me.”

The two men meet each other's eyes. Their jaws are set, moreso with Hobie while Harry looks more annoyed.

“Are you sure you're okay, Hobie?” You crane your neck and take your attention away from Harry to gaze at Hobie worriedly.

He cups your elbow and gives you a genuine smile. You haven't realized that you missed him this much for your heart to beat as loudly as it is right now. “Yeah, ‘m fine, lovie. Just glad I was there to save you.”

Lyla looks between you and the two men sizing each other up. She glances at Gwen briefly as cameras capture their knowing stares. “Alright, show's over!” She claps her hands together and shoos people away. “Y/N, are you really okay?”

“Yeah, I was just clumsy and good thing Hobie was here to save the day.” You flick your eyes to meet his own gentle look. Harry stays behind you, hands tucked inside his pockets while Pavitr picks up the ladder off the floor. “I'm really okay, I need to finish this.”

Stepping to the side, you head towards the table again and take out the decorations robotically as snow drifts down on the frosty glass. You say thanks to Pav before he gives you a smile and heads back to his desk.

“Good, Brown and Osborne, come with me.” Lyla says sternly, you've never heard that tone coming from her before.

“What?” Hobie asks while he stretches his shoulder.

“Why?” Harry groans.

“Because I said so, now.” She pushes them outside, leaving you alone with Jessica and the cameras.

“Damn.” Jess relays what you had in mind.

“Couldn't have said it better myself.” You look at each other before returning to work like nothing happened. Or you like to pretend to at least.

—

You don't know what happened in Lyla's office with Hobie and Harry, but the two are now avoiding each other like the plague, even more than before. Harry stands near the plastic Christmas tree, nursing a red plastic cup filled with punch. His jaw is clenched, shoulders kept straight and aligned to the wall behind him. He looks like the grinch with all the holiday lights and decorations around him. A classic Christmas tune filters through the air while everyone chats around the room. It's peaceful, even Hobie, whose eyebrows were furrowed together when he first entered, is now happily filling his plate with food.

The camera crew stands on each end of the room, giving everyone space after a very irked Jessica told them to back off or she'll call security on them. You still have no idea why Miguel even lets them in to begin with. Or perhaps it's the big bosses on top who are letting them film for tax break purposes. There's nothing interesting to film in the company anyway— or at least one that doesn't include what happened earlier, or back at the bar, or in front of your apartment. Maybe they should just ask to film you instead of pretending they like documenting the day to day work of an electric toothbrush company. At least then you'd have enough money to have your own place.

Gayatri and Gwen are talking about their classes whilst you listen until Hobie saunters in with two glasses filled with eggnog, one bitten in between his teeth, and the other in his hand. And a filled plate that he has to juggle all together lest there's an accident on the old carpet. His button up is open to a more casual look, necktie nowhere to be seen, while his sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, exposing a few tattoos along the way. You spot a spider on the underside of his elbow, and a music note near his wrist. For once you thank the bright fluorescent lights for showing them to you.

You side glance at him, unsure whether the drink was for you or not. He can't speak with the drink in between his lips, so he wordlessly tells you to grab the other cup in his hand simply with his eyes and a muffled call of your name. With a chuckle, you take the drink and he can finally speak as he releases the rim of the cup and places his plate beside a sweet smelling baking sheet of caramel fudge brownies.

“Thanks, Hobie.” You smile sweetly at him, and the two interns share a brief look.

“Where's ours?” Gwen interrupts Hobie before he could even say the two words.

“‘m not an octopus, Gwendy.” Hobie scrunches his nose at Gwen, sipping teasingly at his drink, leaving a milk mustache on his upper lip.

“Fine, chivalry truly is dead.” Gayatri sighs and takes Gwen's hand as they glare at him before heading towards the food table where Miles and Pavitr are talking beside a plate of mashed potatoes.

“Can you believe them?” Hobie nudges you and takes the space where the two women were.

“Maybe they really like eggnog.” You joke with a smile, sipping casually at the warm drink. It's creamy with a hint of warmth lining your tongue. “Oh, you got a little something…” pointing at your upper lip, he wipes at his mouth, miraculously missing the milk mustache. “No, right…” you take a handkerchief from your pocket and wipe it for him. “...here. There, you don't look like a baby anymore.”

For a moment, Hobie looks like a deer in the headlights. Blinking, he composed himself, smiling through the fog of shyness. “Got it all, love?”

“Yeah,” you say, leaning against the table as you two gaze at each other. You suddenly feel a wave of déjà vu. “T–The eggnog is really good, Hobie. Did you make it yourself?” In your flustered stupor, you try to make casual conversation as he stares at the handkerchief in your hand.

“It's Ned's recipe, but yeah I made it all by my lonesome. You kept my handkerchief?” He almost said breathlessly.

“Y–Yeah, you said I can keep it— but if you want it back.” You try to hand it to him but he chuckles and pushes the cloth back towards you.

“Nah, ‘m jus’ surprised you kept it.” Hobie scratches the back of his head,

You flick your eyes to the checkered handkerchief. “Thank you again.”

“Stop sayin' thanks, love, your smile’s enough for me.”

“Cheesy.” You say, muffled against the rim of your cup.

“What's that?” He plays along as his eyes glimmer.

“Nothing, I just said you're a cheese ball, Hobie Brown.” You tease with a lilt in your tone.

“Everyone fancies a cheeseball, don't you think?”

The two of you chuckle whilst the party continues to go on without the two of you. The snow stopped falling outside, covering the parking lot and street with a soft sheet of snow as the world seemed to come to a standstill. The gentle piano rendition of ‘jingle bells’ plays in the background, while the laughter of your co-workers instead of clacking keyboard filters through your ears. Hobie gazes at you with the same fondness back at the bar before you had to walk out in the cold. And you mirror his expression, lips curled into a subtle smile, body turned towards him as you two cradle matching cups of eggnog.

With liquid courage courtesy of the drink, you finally ask him. “How have you been, Hobie?”

“Fuckin' busy.” He sighs, hand placed inside his trousers pocket. “The show on the twenty fourth got us all bloody busy. The interns can't join so Yuri and the others have to work twice as hard without ‘em. I don't have a stand in though. That's why I've been out of it these past few weeks.” With the tip of his shoe, he nudges your heels. “I've been takin’ my lunch with the band just to get an extra hour of practice in. Why? Did you miss me?”

“No one can replace Hobie Brown.” You nudge him back, earning a wobbly smile from him. “And no, I had the lunch club to keep me company.”

“Well, shit, and ‘ere I thought you missed my presence.”

“I’m pretty sure that's called a delusion.”

Hobie laughs, a deep rumble that has the whole room staring briefly at him. And unfortunately, the cameras too. But for the first time, you don't mind all the eyes and lenses on you when his laughter fills your chest with warmth. And you're pretty sure it's not from the spiced eggnog.

He opens his mouth to say something, hand reaching for your elbow but before he could say it, Miguel calls for everyone's attention.

“Time for secret Santa, everyone gather around in a circle—”

“Ho! Ho! Ho!” Suddenly, out comes Lyla, dressed in a fluffy Mrs. Claus suit. It looks expensive to boot, and not like anything you see online. Does she use it every year? “I come bearing gifts!” She lifts up the giant velvet sack in her hands, barely lifted up from the weight of it. You remember that you had to put your present in the day before per Lyla's request. Your eyes nervously glance at the recipient of said gift.

Suddenly, Peter walks behind her, dressed as Santa, but in a blue suit rather than the iconic red. “We come bearing gifts!” He helps lift the sack over Lyla's head, earning an annoyed look from Lyla. It seems like they didn't talk about this beforehand.

Hobie shakes his head, smiling and clearly amused. “Fuckin' hell. C’mon, let's get our presents before Miguel gets to his fifth glass of eggnog.” Grabbing his plate, he slowly eats his way towards the slice of red velvet cake in the center that's crowded around by a mishmash of pastries and cold cuts. Your holiday cookies are piled up on his plate while he munches on poor frosty the snowman’s head. “It’s good.” He says, muffled by the cookie in his mouth. You chortle at him, lip bitten from tamping down a squeak of delight at his reaction.

You follow beside him, making a circle around Lyla and Peter. “Why, is Miguel a lightweight?”

“He gets to his sixth and he gets…chatty.” He offers you something on his plate, and since you already ate, you only took a mini muffin from it.

You can't imagine Miguel being chatty out of everyone whilst you munch on the tiny muffin. “Does he spill company secrets?”

“I wish, he talks ‘bout his personal life.”

“Ow, we better finish this quick then.”

You don't notice the way the interns are looking at the two of you from across the circle. Harry sidles up next to you on your left, biting into a kebab.

“Hey, Harry.” You smile at him.

“Hi, princess. Where'd you get the muffin?”

“From over…” Craning your neck to look for it on the table, you can't find the tiny muffins. “...I don't know actually.” You laugh unsurely. “I got it from Hobie.”

Hobie, without missing a second, says. “We're all out of it, bruv, that's the last one.”

Yep, definitely déjà vu.

Harry scoffs. “Right.”

You glance at the two of them as they avoid each other's line of sight. You really do feel like a referee whenever you're in between them.

“Alright, rules.” Peter says, and a groan echoes around the room. “Come on, we've got new people here so I gotta say it again. First of all, I hope none of you said who's your secret Santa before because you can only say that once after they open their present, capiche?” Another round of groans can be heard. “It's just not fun when everyone knows!” Everyone gives him an unenthusiastic nod. “Second, no second rule, just have fun!”

“That is the most dad thing I've ever heard.” Gwen says, and Peter dramatically frowns.

“It’s because I am a dad, Gwen!”

“Alright, enough, let's start because the lasagna isn't agreeing with me right now.” Miguel gruffly says, fifth drink in hand.

“Great,” Hobie says sarcastically. “‘Too much information' Miguel is ‘ere.”

Miguel scrunches his face and plops himself beside the dessert table. All without giving Hobie lip.

“Wow, he just accepted that.” You say, surprised.

“He gives up after his fourth drink.” Hobie bumps his elbow with yours as you two laugh. Unbeknownst to you, the camera is zooming in on Harry's disgruntled expression.

One by one, names are called to grab their presents. Some are happy about their gifts, like Miles, who got an old CB radio from Peter. But most are trying their best not to disappoint the person who got their name. Just like Gwen and her stuffed bunny rabbit gifted by someone in I.T. and like Miguel, who got a pair of airpods which Hobie reacted with a coughed out ‘arse kisser.’ No one dared to say who it's from after that. You have a feeling it's from Harry since he has a similar pair. It'll be revealed after everyone gets their presents anyway.

“Alright, this one is for… Hobie!” Peter exclaims as he hands the neatly wrapped present to him.

You bite your lip, fingers playing with the hem of your sweater as he opens the gift carefully. You only hope that he likes it since it took you so long to finish it.

Hobie whistles out as he admires the vintage leather jacket. “Damn.”

His finger skims over the metal buttons that you painstakingly polished and then over to the stitched holes that you carefully stitched to make different patterns of. You're not a seamstress of sorts, and you had to watch a sewing tutorial on how to make a lightning bolt simply with a needle and thread. The aches and blisters on your fingers are evidence of that. Turning the denim around, his eyes widen at his band logo that's stitched at the back. He recognizes it from a band t-shirt they used to give out. The fabric was cut from the front of it and then stitched on the back with neat running stitches. At the hem, his initials are painted in big bold letters.

“I said not to go over the limit.” Jess has had enough of the expensive gifts.

“I–I didn't.” You blurt out and everyone turns to you. Hobie included as his smile grows. “I thrifted the jacket and I made all the restoration myself. I didn't go over, it's even below the budget.”

“Okay, sorry about that.” Jess sighs, still clutching the hundred dollar gift card to some baby clothes shop. “Still,” she waves it around to make a point. “I see a pattern.”

“It's okay.” You resist the urge to meet with Hobie's eyes, or anyone's on that matter.

“You got this for me, lovie?” His voice is an octave higher, like he can't believe that you'd work so hard on a present just for him. Especially something that's so meaningful to him.

“Yep,” you pop the letter ‘p’ to hide your bashfulness. You finally gather the courage to look at him, finding that his warm honeyed eyes are looking at you softly that you forgot what just happened. “Do you like it?”

Harry side eyes the two of you, skimming over the band logo with a heavy look.

“I fuckin' love it.” Hobie says with a breathless sigh. “Where'd you even get the shirt? I lost mine years ago.”

“I asked MJ if she knew where to get it, she tried but couldn't find it so she told me to try talking to your band mates.” You nervously pick at your nail, rambling on. “Turns out Ned still had his.”

“Let me guess, he got you to pay a pretty penny for it, hm?”

You shake your head with a chuckle. “No, he gave it to me for free, as an apology for the bar. He's actually quite nice.”

“Good thing you asked him and not James. You picked the nicest one of us.”

“Please, you're plenty nice too.”

“‘m nice to those who deserve it, love.” He puts on the denim jacket, all the while watching you in the corner of his eyes. Thankfully, it fits him like a glove, except for the sleeve that's a few inches shorter, but he doesn't seem to mind while he has the biggest grin on his pierced lips. “How do I look?”

“You wear it well.” Is the only sentence you could manage that doesn't have the word ‘handsome’ or ‘gorgeous’ in it.

“Thank you, love.” He rubs the rough denim, smiling like a kid who just got what he wanted for Christmas. “It's perfect. I also have—” Your name gets called suddenly, interrupting his words.

“There you go, kiddo.” Peter hands you an expensive looking paper bag that's all tied with a sparkly navy blue ribbon.

“Oh, thanks.” You mumble out.

You were planning on opening it later after the party but since everyone opened theirs already, you suppose you had to. It feels like a birthday party of sorts where everyone’s singing you a happy birthday while you could only stare awkwardly at the candles on the cake. The cameras come around you, not trying to miss anything. Unwrapping the ribbon, and feeling like a goldfish inside a tank, you put your whole arm in the bag, feeling something smooth inside as you pull it out. The paper bag drops by your feet as you gasp at the gorgeous antique looking box in your hands. It's about the size of a textbook, it has some weight too.

“What's in the box!” Peter acts and you immediately get the reference to it. While most people rolled their eyes at it, you and Miles chuckled at the joke.

You run your thumb across the peony flower engraving around the metal clasp. It's well made, something you see at some expensive antique shop that looks like all the items are either cursed or haunted. Now you're afraid that when you open it famine and disease will escape out of it. But as you unclasp it, rows of vibrant paint tubes greets you. There's a handful of paint brushes along the top of it, by the looks of it, it's just as well made as the box. With a nervous chuckle, mouth agape, it seems that not just the bosses got the ‘arse kisser’ gifts.

Jess huffs but shrugs, accepting that people have gone over the price limit. At the end of the day, it's just a nice gesture.

“Who?” You instinctively look at Hobie, cheeks warm at the prospect of him being your secret Santa. But he just shakes his head, mouthing ‘not me.’ Then you look over to the group of interns and they all mirror Hobie's gesture.

A tap on your shoulder has you looking over to your left. Harry smiles softly at you, green eyes shining.

“Don't worry, I got it on sale.” He whispers to you, index poking the side of the box. “I saw your paint set back at your place, most of the tubes were almost finished so I thought I'd get you some new ones. This is what they call serendipity, I think. ”

“Harry,” you sigh out while everyone has moved onto you and your expensive looking gift over to Gayatri and her secret Santa present. “This is too much. I think there's every colour in here.”

“That just means you don't have to buy new ones for a while then.”

“I would've settled for just one tube.” You lean closer so as to not disturb the rest of the party with your conversation.

“Can't, you deserve all the colors of the rainbow.” Harry comes closer until his shoe kisses the side of your heels.

“This is definitely more than the rainbow, Harry.”

“You're welcome, princess.” He nudges you, hand lingering on your bicep.

Hobie swallows thickly next to you. The camera crew are eating it all up it seems.

Peter gasps as he lifts up his present, interrupting you and Harry. “It's a dragon onesie!” A crocheted one in fact as you chuckle at his reaction.

“It's for Mayday so don't try to wear it, mate—” A strained cough roars above the merriment.

Everyone looks over to the source where Miguel is hacking out a rough cough, a swollen hand clasped around his neck as he wheezes out. A caramel brownie falls from his other hand, rolling across the floor. Your eyes widen with panic as he keels over on the carpeted floors, bumping on the dessert table as food tumbles out and decorations falling while he's still coughing.

“Shit! He's choking!” Jessica runs over to him, palm slapping Miguel's back.

Everyone crowds around Miguel in a panic. His lips are swollen, eyes red as he continues to choke.

“I'm calling an ambulance.” Gayatri has the right idea and dials the number.

“Move over!” Harry speed walks behind Miguel, arms wrapping around his middle and trying to do the Heimlich maneuver on him.

Gasps echo around, worry and panic setting in.

“He needs CPR!” Peter argues with Harry and Jessica while Gayatri’s frantic call to emergency services roams above the voices.

Hobie crouches down, grabbing the fallen brownie on the ground and smells it. The harsh lights of the crew and their added space makes the situation worse and claustrophobic. Not an ideal environment for someone who can't breathe.

“What—?” You ask and Hobie has a lightbulb moment.

“Peanuts! There's bloody peanuts in this!”

You immediately push people away and bolt over to your desk, rummaging through your bag for the orange cap and leaving the paint box on your table.

“Does anyone have an epipen?!” Jessica yells in a panic, but you're already pushing Peter away from trying to do CPR on Miguel as the needle meets Miguel's thigh in a quick and practiced motion from you.

Within a second, Miguel inhales deeply, colour returning to his lips. His fingers and lips are still swollen, but at least he's breathing much better now.

“Holy shit!” Harry exclaims, eyes darting over to Miguel and over to you with something flitting across his expression.

“Holy shit.” Hobie says breathlessly, mirroring the same expression on Harry's face. You can't quite get a good read on them as you heave, hand still clasp around the epipen. Are they impressed or something?

“Damn, newbie.” Lyla pats your shoulder, then a round of applause follows around. You almost cower from embarrassment.

You look at Hobie, who's still fixated on you. “I always have one on me since MJ’s also allergic to peanuts.” You explain since he might be wondering why you carry it around. He smiles at you, eyes twinkling. “Keep that in mind, Hobie.” You say since they spend a lot of time together.

“Sure, l–love, whatever you say.” He stammers out, crouched across from you. Even when everyone pats you for a job well done, he can't keep his eyes off you.

“Nice save, princess.” Harry says, nodding and grinning at you.

“F–Fuck.” Miguel groans out a laboured exhale, head slowly lifting up. “Thank you.” You curtly nod at him, pride filling your chest.

“Alright, everyone, give Miguel some space!” Jessica shoos people put. “He needs some air.” The documentary crew gladly filters out and weirdly happy that they got some interesting footage. A bit fucked up, you thought.

“He still needs to go to the hospital.” You say as Hobie helps you up on your feet. Miguel is still on the floor while Jessica and Lyla tend to him.

“Ambulance is on the way.” Gayatri nudges you as the group gazes down at Miguel. “What else do you have on you, girl scout?”

“Narcan and antihistamines.”

“Shit,” the lunch club gasps in tandem.

“Remind me to always bring you when I go out to dinner at the seafood place.” Gwen shoves you lightly with a smile as you mirror her expression.

“Does this mean the party's over?” Peter asks and everyone just stares at him.

—

“Love, wait!” Hobie runs after you, sliding on the ice as he tries to keep himself on his feet. You stop and open your arms to catch him mid slide. He collides against you in a flurry of snow and giggles. “Sorry!” He laughs in your arms and he feels warm despite the weather.

“What's got you running on ice?” You laugh, a puff of smoke filtering from your cold lips. Your hands are still on him, and his touch lingers for a second before he pulls his backpack out and grabs a wrapped present inside. “Secret Santa's over.” It's merely a whisper as you stare at the brightly wrapped gift with ballpoint doodles all over it.

“I know, I jus’ wanted to give you somethin'.” He inhales, eyes bright and soft under the glare of the snow. The denim jacket is tucked under his thick coat, peeking under it and you smile at the thought of him loving it so much that he's still wearing it.

“You don't have to, Hobie. I told you that I already forgave you.”

His palm rests above your own. “It's not an apology present. You're my mate, and I give presents to my mates.”

There's warmth behind your eyes as you lean over and hug him without second thought. Hobie embraces you back, chin tucked on your shoulder while he smells like eggnog and cookies.

“You haven't opened it yet.” He chuckles, breath fanning the shell of your ear.

“I know.” Moving away, his hands hover around your sides for a second or two before fully leaning away. “I just wanted to say thank you. You made working here bearable.”

Hobie inhales shakily as he stares into your eyes. “You make it sound like you're leaving.”

“Not leaving just yet, Hobie. I've got rent and debts to pay.” You hug the soft present against your chest, his smile doesn't leave his lips while he gazes softly at you. “Can I open it here or…?”

“You can open it.” He says immediately, chuckling nervously while he scratches the back of his neck. “It's something for the concert on the twenty fourth so you don't have to borrow anymore.” Sniffing, he gestures at the present with his head. “You're still goin’ right?”

“Of course. You and MJ have been working hard on it. I won't miss it, I promise.” Your words have him grinning even more.

Carefully unwrapping the present and unfurling the blue crêpe paper, a black crocheted cardigan greets you. The soft thread has sparkles weaved around it, and when the light hits it, the whole thing almost glows. You choke on a gasp.

“Shit, did you make this?” You ask, impressed and happy.

“I did, I hope it fits because I jus’ fuckin' eyeballed it.” Hobie says with a bit of nervousness. “Look at that, you gave me a jumper and I gave you one. It's serendipitous.” He chuckles out the last word. “It's not a leather one, but I think this suits you.”

You can't help but reach for him and hug him again. “You’re right, it looks comfy. Thank you, Hobie, I love it.”

He pats your back, and you can feel his face tug into a smile. “‘course, love.”

A car horn honks behind you, and Harry rolls down his window, waving you over impatiently. You and Hobie unlatch yourselves away, and with him holding you at arm's length.

“In a bit!” You gesture back as you turn towards Hobie one more time. Not knowing what to say next, you could only bite your lip bashfully with a smile. “Thank you again, Hobie. I'll see you at the concert.”

“Bye, lovie.” You begin to walk away but he calls you back. “Oi,” he gets your attention and Harry's. “Drive carefully, yeah?” You realize that he's talking to Harry and not to you.

“I always drive carefully, Hobs.” Harry scoffs, getting out of his car as snow crunches underfoot. He goes around the hood to open the passenger side and waits for you.

Hobs?

“‘course you do, prick.” Hobie says under his breath while you enter the passenger side and give him one last wave.

Harry glares at him while he returns to the driver's seat. Rolling up his window, he turns to you, eyes softening as you meet his eyes. “Ready to go?” He glances briefly at the cardigan in your hands.

“Yeah.” Your smile doesn't fade.

—

The concert wasn't what you thought it would be. Instead of a dark bar with crusty seats and sticky floors, you stand in a decent domed concert hall that has food vendors to the side together with the various band merchandise. Both teenagers and adults attend the event, smiling and listening to a pop group playing on stage. There's still bright lights flickering in and out, spotlights shining around while the sound system booms and bounces all over the walls. Above the stage, a banner reads 'F.E.A.S.T. annual children's hospital benefit.’ Now you feel silly when you first thought that you'll once again tread around a bar.

“Are you sure you want to come here instead of the movies, princess?” Harry loops his arm around your hips, palm resting atop your side comfortably. “They have 4D. Y’know the ones that spray water on your face.”

“It's a charity, Harry.” You hold the back of his hand, craning your neck to look at him.

The first ‘dinner’ wasn't just a regular celebration dinner at all. Turns out it was an actual date, and you only realized it when he picked you up from your place and handed you a sweet smelling bouquet of flowers. He did the whole thing too, opened the car door for you, pulled the chair for you. Shared a slice of cake for dessert with you, and even secretly paid for the whole meal when he said that he was only going to the bathroom. He was sweet the entire time, a lot more talkative outside of work and the regular car rides, but a good date nonetheless. Immediately after walking you to your front door, he asks for another date with a sheepish smile. You said yes. You did promise MJ that you'll try. So try, you did. Then after a coffee date, you two went to a drive in theatre. The next thing you know, you two are already on your fifth date. Or is it your fifth? You lost count after the butterfly sanctuary date.

You haven't kissed him, apart from a chaste peck on the cheek, there's no lip locking. And he hasn't asked for it nor made a move to kiss you either. It's alright though, you're still not ready to seal the deal just yet. Maybe it has something to do with today, or maybe with a certain someone. You like Harry enough, but there's a nagging feeling on the back of your head for some reason.

“I know, it's just— you know what, this is nice.” Harry relents and pecks your temple. That'll need some getting used to. “I saw a Korean corn dog stand over there, do you want one?”

You're too distracted from looking for the band and Hobie's familiar gait. “Yeah, sure, Harry.” Turning back to him, you squeeze his hand. “I'll wait for you at the front.”

“You sure?” With a nod from you, he unwraps his arm from your side. “I guess I'll call you if we get separated.”

“Yeah, I'll be fine. This isn't like the bar.”

Chuckling, he pats the small of your back before walking towards the food stalls. And you see the familiar camera crew looking around, befuddled and looking lost. You immediately, yet subtly walk away, hoping that the crowd will help camouflage you.

As you make your way towards the front, you see MJ's familiar head of red hair. “MJ!”

She turns around, squealing and bounding towards you. “You made it!” Hugging you, she squeezes the life out of you. “Is that new?” Her eyes flick over to the black sparkly cardigan you have on.

“Yeah, it was a gift.” You hold her at arm's length as she bounces on the balls of her feet excitedly. The rest of her band stands behind her, all visibly excited as they give you a friendly yet quick greeting. “Remember to breathe, we don't want a repeat of the talent show.”

MJ rolls her head back and groans audibly. “Don't remind me! I still have nightmares from it! Good fucking thing we're not on for a little while.”

“Oh, I thought you guys were playing first before Hobie's band?”

“Change of plans apparently. They get to go on first.” She says as the spotlights go wild after the band playing on stage bows to the clapping crowd.

“Where are they anyway—?”

“So where's the new guy, huh? I need to see if he's hot so he can get my approval.” She tugs you to her side, bouncing up and down.

“He's not my— he's buying me a corndog.”

“A man after your own heart, I love that.” She pokes your chest.

You rub the point where she poked you. “Yeah, I guess so. Where's Hobie, I need to wish him luck—?”

A loud guitar riff bounces around the walls, signaling the band's arrival. The lights turn blood red, and the crowd goes wild at the sight.

Hobie looks stunning under the light, wicks pulled together in a ponytail, top almost sheer as it shimmers in the spotlight. His pants are tight and flared at the bottom, all tied together by silver accents, a belt that has a spider on the buckle, and numerous rings and necklaces on him. But most of all, the jean jacket you gifted him fits perfectly on him. He put his own spin on it, adding his own flair with a few buttons and patches while the sleeves are rolled up to his elbows. It all made you smile.

MJ screams each band member's name, voice cracking when she yells Yuri's name. Her band follows behind, fully screaming out together with the audience. MJ leads you towards the front to see them better, clutching your arm tightly and grinning brightly.

“Hobie!” She screams at the top of her lungs, earning a guffaw from you. “She made it!” Pointing at your head, your heart almost lurches in your chest when his eyes meet yours.

Immediately, the nonchalant look turns soft for you. But as quick as it came, he cranks his charm to a hundred and winks at you. A few people shriek, thinking that the wink was intended for them. You aren't sure if it was even for you.

The lights make his eyes glow bright red, skin looking like it's on fire as he shreds his guitar. Yuri's almost haunting singing voice adds to your swirling thoughts.

“Let's go, Hobie!” You add to the screaming fans, cupping your mouth with your hands for added volume. It has Hobie almost cracking a smile as you see his lips tug up, and he's clearly fighting with it as he swallows.

MJ guffaws, following your cheer with another.

“Hey,” Harry appears beside you, eyes flicking over to the band briefly before turning to you. “They ran out of corndogs!” He yells above the music.

You miss how Hobie sneered at the sight.

“That's okay!” You grin, yelling back. “Just enjoy the music, Harry!”

“Yeah,” he nods, and you feel his hand wrap around your own. It's not weird in the slightest since you two held hands before. “You must be MJ!” Harry leans in front of you, making you stand on your tiptoes to see Ned playing on the drums.

“What?! Oh you're the guy!” MJ does the same, shaking his hand. “Nice to meet you! You better take care of my girl!” You almost shush them both.

“I will, don't worry!” Harry nods and reciprocates MJ's fist bump.

MJ stands back up, “I approve.” She whispers into your ear, giving you a thumbs up.

You chuckle, putting your arm over her back to half hug her. You wonder if Hobie can see the three of you clearly while he's on stage. Or if he knows that he's got people rooting for him. MJ hoots and hollers, and you feel a hand cupping your cheek, moving your head towards Harry's face.

“Yeah, you okay?” You ask him, smiling until you feel his lips on your own. And the sound of a wrong guitar chord squeaks out.

[avocado-writing]

Kinktober #15

15. Hair Pulling // Glory Hole // Teasing (Old Man Logan x Reader)

You only wear the little shorts around the house when you’re sure he’ll have the time to rip them off of you. 

The climate is humid, always. Clings to you like a second skin, as if saran wrap is trapping in the sweat. So really, you have an excuse to wear them. Constantly throwing a look over your shoulder at Logan when you bend down to pick something off the ground, always leaning over at your waist so as to show off the curve of your ass to him. You can feel his gaze settle heavy on where your cheeks peek out from the bottom of cut-off denim.

“Oop, I’ll have to be more careful…” you sigh. With moments he’s on you, cock pressed up against the curve of your ass, getting hard and heavy in interest. You gasp at the pure size of him bullying into your space.

“Baby, what are you doing?” he asks, voice rough. A hand splays between your shoulder blades to keep you curved over. You nudge your ass back against him playfully and he growls.

“What, Lo? Just walking around the house is all…”

He hums, a gravelly sound deep in his check, rocking his length into your soft skin. You smother a gasp at the illicitness of it.

“You tryin’ to tease me, honey? Wearing those little shorts which drive me crazy?”

Unseen by him, you grin. Yeah. That’s exactly what you’re doing, because you know it never remains teasing for long.

When you don’t answer he pulls you to your feet with a rough but tender motion, pressing his lips against you with such force that the breath is stolen from your lungs. You’d gladly give it to him though. You’d give him whatever he asked so long as he kept you close. A calloused palm runs up the back of your thigh to take a meaty handful of your ass and squeeze. You grin against the kiss, smile blooming into the whiskers of his beard.

“You like it when I feel you up, sweetheart?”

“I like knowing I’m yours, Lo,” you sigh. His pupils blow wide at that and he can’t help himself, turning you around once again so that he can bend you over the back of the sofa. He takes a second to make sure you’re comfortable against the pillows - ever the gentleman even when he’s about to fuck the brain from your head - before he pulls the shorts down and runs a finger over your sex.

“No panties… you’re gonna kill me, baby.”

You know that the giggle you let out drives him wild. One hand on your hip at all times to steady you, you hear him mess with the belt on his pants to free himself. The head of his cock rubs against your wetness and he coats himself in you before sheathing himself inside fully, making the two of you moan in harmony.

“Logan…” you sigh as he settles, letting you adjust for a moment as he always does. Your hips rock back into him needily.

“I know, honey. I’ve got you, I swear,” he says through gritted teeth, starting to move in earnest. All you can do is hang onto the soft threadbare throw on your shared couch and let him fulfil his promise, fucking you with such force that it squeaks forward a few inches. You moan and whine and bite into one of the pillows, but Logan snatches it away meanly.

“No you don’t. You tease me, I’m gonna hear the noises you make when I put you straight.”

You turn to jelly even further under him. Any rigidity your bones had melts in your flesh as he slaps a thick palm against your ass and you gasp. He crowds over you; chest to your back, the buttons of his work shirt digging into your spine over the scrap of tank top you wear. He kisses along your shoulder as if to apologise for having to take a firm hand… as if you’d ever care. For a few moments everything in the universe narrows down to the snap of his hips against yours, alighting stars in your eyes as he makes you come just from being fucked so hard.

“Baby,” he says through gritted teeth, panting in your ear, “I’m not gonna last…”

“Inside?” you beg, but despite his desperation, you hear him chuckle. He pulls out at the last moment, leaving you achingly empty - instead jerking himself a couple of times so he finishes in your little shorts. He leaves thick ropes across denim, dripping obscenely from the crotch and down your legs; along the smacked cheek of your ass, too.

“Logan…” you whine. He shrugs and drops a kiss on your shoulder.

“Punishment fits the crime.” His chuckle is drawn from deep in his chest.

With a faux harrumph you step out of the shorts and drag them to the washing basket. They’ve done their job anyway… for now.

[sarandipitywrites]

Hey Saran, happy storyteller saturday! What are you most looking forward to writing in the (near) future?

hey Lizzy, happy (late) STS!

i've been really stuck on my draft of Spark Signature lately (like, have barely added to it in a couple weeks) because i kept bumping up against the feeling that Something Is Wrong Here so i couldn't keep going. -_- BUT i've finally reworked the outline into something my brain will accept, so I'M BACK TO WRITING IT! i knocked out like 2000 words last night and it felt SO. FUCKING. GOOD.

so, yeah, i'm excited for that :D thanks for the ask and for giving me an excuse to scream about the end of (this bout of) writer's block!

[pokemonblack3white3]

Btw my headcanons about Kieran's champion team behaviors

Grimmsnarl won't stop setting up reflects in front of people's dorm doors like saran wrap.

When people started catching onto this, Grimmsnarl just began standing in front of people's doorways himself to block their way. If one attempts to move him by force, he will cry to Kieran about it.

Dragonite tries to throw down with all other dragon-types on sight (including Hydrapple, the protagonist's bike, and all of Drayton's team).

Porygon-Z keeps breaking the academy's security system and letting the rest of the team in to raid the cafeteria's kitchen.

Porygon-Z sets off the fire alarm and/or the storm warning system at least once a week

Incineroar naps on top of PCs and refuses to be moved until he's done.

Two of Hydrapple's heads are nice but the rest are awful. They fight with each other all the time. The only reason they engage in less shenanigans than the rest is because the main head is one of the nice ones.

Politoed hides to jump out and activate drizzle to disrupt weather-based strategies as soon as the sun/sandstorm/snow is set up.

Picnics left unsupervised are at the mercy of Incineroar. Anything that can't be eaten will be knocked off the table or eaten anyways.

No phones are safe from Porygon-Z. Rotoms have learned to fear it.

Dragonite has a hoard of mostly stolen items that takes up the majority of Kieran's dorm.

Kieran is part of this hoard. Dragonite has trouble sharing him with even the rest of Kieran's team. He has a blood feud with Carmine.

Incineroar has no concept of his own size and strength whatsoever. He never takes no for an answer when he decides it's time to play. Many students have been sent to the nurse this way.

Politoed likes to relax in the waters of the Terarium and has no qualms with sending new students who mistake his cutesy face and highly cuddlable form for a weak and wild pokemon to meet Arceus.

Grimmsnarl keeps luring new students into the territory of strong pokemon in the Terarium, or steering them towards Dragonite when he's in a bad mood.

Kieran only started trying to correct these behaviors post Mochi Mayhem, but the instant any of them make a sad face at him he caves.

Except for when Incineroar tried to eat Furret. Incineroar pouted about there actually being actions for his consequences for days. He thought that shit was fake.

They all suck and Kieran loves them more than anything in the whole entire world.

[whoredyceps]

"OH LOVER BOY!" || 28 Days of Love: A Valentine's Challenge + Series

day ten: love at first sight

ᰔ pairing: frankie 'catfish' morales x reader

ᰔ summary: a special delivery for the catfish, in the form of heart cookies— and a baby's nap interrupted.

ᰔ author's note: short and sweet, grammy award winning album AND the essence of this little ficlet. i just watched triple frontier so i'm still getting used to frankie's character and how to write him. please let me know how i can improve/thoughts/constructive criticism!!! i hope y'all enjoy :)

ᰔ content warning: frankie being a single father, fluff, domestic situation, baby warning

You counted the heart cookies on the plate one last time before you finally wrapped the whole thing in saran wrap. It had been the tenth set you had made over the course of the night, and well into the morning.

Now, you were able to look at the labor of love you had created.

Ha. A labor of love to make enough cookies for the entire neighborhood. You weren't able to just go the easy route— stop at the local grocery store and buy cookies already baked. Instead, you were determined to make raspberry jam shortbread cookies, all heart shaped and dusted with sugar.

As you said every year, you were definitely buying store-bought treats next year. You weren't doing this to yourself again.

You loaded up the plates into a wagon you used for your gardening supplies. Once they were loaded up, you set off down the sidewalk to your immediate neighbor's house. A sweet older couple you made plenty of meals for.

Everyone had been kind, so touched by the notion of you baking for them. The entire route had taken you longer than you expected, considering everyone had invited you in for coffee and a cookie.

Before the final stop, you dropped off the wagon at the house before you continued to the end of the street. It was much easier to carry a plate than lug the wagon around.

You hadn't met the new neighbor yet. From what you had gathered throughout the morning, he was a veteran and a father. All you knew was there was a single truck parked in the driveway, but you didn't think much of it.

With the plate of cookies in one hand, you knocked on the front door with the other. There was silence before you heard a cry.

Shit.

By the time the door opened, your expression was full of regret. You gave an apologetic smile to the man, who held a crying baby in his arms.

"Hi. I– I am so sorry for causing this commotion," you apologized. "Can I help?" You nodded to the baby; you were eager to right what you had wronged.

The man, obviously flustered and a bit agitated, looked from the cookie platter to you. He blinked as he looked your face over. Once he realized you were waiting for an answer, he nodded once.

"Here, may I?" You held the plate out to him, your other arm out to take the baby. There was a moment of hesitation before he handed his daughter over.

As soon as the baby was safely in your arms, you worked your magic. Within minutes, she stared at you wide eyed, a bit amazed at the faces you made. It had been something you tucked under your belt when looking after some of the other kids in the neighborhood. Worked like a charm every time.

You glanced up the man and chuckled. He looked just as amazed as the baby did, his eyes right on you. You told him your name and held out a hand.

"I'm sorry for waking her up," you apologized. "I brought by the cookies as a little Valentine's Day treat. Every year, I bake cookies and bring them to every house in the neighborhood."

"Frankie," he finally sputtered out after a beat. "That— that's real sweet. Seems everyone in the neighborhood is kind, from what I've witnessed." He looked to his daughter, who had slumped herself against you. She was already falling asleep again.

"They're good people," you assured him. "We try to help each other out. Be a shoulder to lean on." You glanced down at the weight on your shoulder. The baby was wiped herself out as you swayed in your spot.

"I can see that," Frankie chuckled. He tried to take her back, but she whined and buried her face in your sweater. You hushed her, rubbing her back to help her settle again.

"I'm sure she'll be ready to move in a minute," you assured him.

Frankie watched how easily you took to his daughter, the way you held her close without a second thought. It went against his better judgment, just handing the baby over without so much as an introduction.

Then again, Frankie wasn't always known for his best judgment.

"Would you like to come in? Please," he offered. He stepped to the side and opened the door wider for you.

Part of the offer was to make it easier to transition his daughter to her crib, and finally put her down for the morning nap she had been fighting. The other part of him wasn't ready for you to leave. He wanted to find any excuse he could to talk to you, even if it was something as dull as the weather.

"You don't mind?" You asked as you stepped through the doorway. While you had been in many of your neighbors' homes, this time felt different.

"Not at all."

This Frankie guy threw your mind for a loop. You didn't believe in love at first sight, but maybe you were wrong. Whether it was love, or a stint of infatuation, you didn't care. You didn't have anything to lose, which meant you had everything to gain.

[enden-k]

OMG??? THIS NEW AFTERLIFE LORE DROP IS KILLING ME. Is there some way Napha gets to reunite with her husband??? Is he saved or somehow does "the thing" that I'm guessing was left out for spoiler reasons. Can Saran save him somehow? Urrrgh I need to know but I get the feeling you can't answer this question explicitly because we're not there yet 😭😭

Thinking of cat Saran doing biscuits against Vika and settling into a cat loaf to make myself feel better

providing a super quick cat loaf saran on vika !! <3

[allfearstofallto]

Food is a Love Language

Osamu x Fem! Reader

TW: None! Pure fluff

AN: Repost from my old account, don't blame me, I like to read it

You stared down at the basket. It had been placed beside your work bag, on a bench on the furthest side of the court. Inside was six neatly wrapped onigiri, each one with a different filling. Scratchy writing on the saran wrap of each rice ball told what they would contain on the inside, but other than that, there was a singular note at the bottom of the basket. It was neatly folded and smelled of the food it was packaged with. You looked at the gift and smiled, already knowing where it came from.

As the manager of a professional volleyball team, you found yourself getting close to your members and close to their family as well. You helped Hinata and his younger sister practice, Bokuto and his sisters offered for you to hang out with them often, and then there was Atsumu.

You didn’t know much about the highschool volleyball scene before becoming a manager, you barely even knew much about the professionals. You were at a bit of a disadvantage, still having to catch up on things. You didn’t know what happened in certain matches, you didn’t know what teams were considered to be better than others, you didn’t even know who on the team you were managing were rivals before becoming companions.

So when Atsumu mentioned that he had a twin brother, you nearly laughed in his face. He was a jokester afterall, and you had tragically fallen prey to just a couple of his pranks. But sure enough, he was serious. Not only was he serious, but he mentioned that his brother also used to play, but he quit to open a restaurant. All of this sounded made up, but when you asked around about it, it turned out to be real.

“Yeah! He was so cool! When he spiked the ball it would be like woosh, then bam! Ya know?” Hinata jumped eagerly as he spoke excitedly about Atsumu’s brother. You slowly nodded your head in response, you didn’t understand a word he’d said, you never did, but if you didn’t pretend to know, he would keep going.

“Atsumu's brother?" Bokuto began, scratching the back of his head, looking up at the sky as he thought on it, "He makes good food!" You expected no better answer from Bokuto. He thought with his stomach most days, even when he was playing volleyball. He did say that trusting his gut was the best thing to do in a game.

Sakusa was the last person you asked about him, Atsumu’s mysterious twin brother, “Annoying. They’re all annoying,” he sighed his answer out, his hand stuffed into his pockets. You don’t even think he’d heard the question, he always answered similarly when asked anything.

You remembered your first time meeting this twin. Atsumu insisted that you meet his brother because you’d hung out with everyone else's family members. You couldn’t turn him down, not only because he was right, but also because you couldn’t stop thinking about him. Nothing was making you more curious than one of your team members having a twin. Especially a twin who was a former volleyball player. From what you’d seen, everyone was so passionate about the sport, his brother being one of those people.

The entire time you walked to his restaurant, Atsumu complained about his brother. He said that he was lazy, rude, ignorant, and a bunch of other unkind things. If anyone would’ve heard what he was saying, they would’ve thought that he was talking about someone he was planning to fight. But you saw through it. The entire time Atsumu raged on and on, you could see a glimmer of excitement in his eyes and a little smile on his lips. He was happy to see his brother, even if he didn’t want to admit it.

The first thing you noticed about the building was that it was modest. A little smaller than the average building, but it still looked pretty lively. Onigiri Miya was plastered on a large sign above the door, and the smell of freshly cooked rice was already leaking onto the street. You felt your stomach rumble, Atsumu had offered to buy for you, the only thing he saw being good about his brother was his cooking after all.

A part of you still didn’t believe he was genuinely real, the twin, at least, not until Atsumu held the door open for you and you stepped inside. The sound of light, jazz music was playing over the speakers, giving the entire sitting area a calm vibe. And the smell, you couldn’t get the complete smell from outside, but now that you were in, it was all hitting you. Grilled fish, eggs, pickled vegetables, and seaweed. Amidst the idle chatter of the place, the smell was the thing you noticed the most.

Then you saw him, the spitting image of his brother. He looked exactly like him, you would’ve believed it was Atsumu standing behind the counter in a wig if not for the fact that he was standing right beside you. His hair was a light gray, a little longer than his brothers, you could see his black roots starting to grow in. That was practically the only difference, their face, body, even their smile was similar.

“‘Samu!” Atsumu shouted to his brother from across the restaurant. He finally turned to look at the both of you, his smile dropping when he laid eyes on the blond boy.

Atsumu didn’t even seem to mind the almost harsh reaction, rather he pulled a chair up for you at the bar, right in front of him. Right in front of the twin that you barely believed existed. You were still a bit dumbfounded, but there he was in the flesh.

“Why are you here,” he groaned. Their voices were a bit different, this ‘Samu sounded a bit more monotone. Or maybe he was just that angry.

“Introducing you to my manager!” he practically cheered, “This is my brother, Osamu.”

For the first time since you entered, he finally laid eyes on you. His face immediately softened when he looked at you, you supposed that that look was reserved for his brother.

His hands were planted firmly on his hips, the black waist apron he wore was dusted and dirty from a day's work. The gray shirt that he wore looked practically sculpted to his body. There was a little onigiri embroidered on the breast pocket of his shirt, your eyes were drawn to it. Even though they said he quit years ago, his arms were still large and firm.

“What he said,” he spoke a bit more kindly towards you, even bending over a little so that he was at your eye level where you sat, “I own this place. Nice to meet you, Ms. Manager.”

“Y-you too,” you managed to stumble out, before his focus turned back to his brother.

“Now are you actually going to buy something or are you just here to take up space that can be used by paying customers,”

“I’m buying, I’m buying,” he groaned, picking up a menu and showing it to you.

It was a fairly short menu. Only having different types of onigiri, some soups, teas, and a couple of alcoholic drinks. You let Atsumu order for you, saying you didn’t know what to get and that you trusted his judgment. Osamu snatcehd the menu from his brother’s hands when he was done ordering. He glanced at you a few times while he and Atsumu talked. You could feel his eyes on him and even met his gaze a couple of times, the two of you locking eyes for brief moments before he tried to turn his attention back to the conversation.

“You’d better pay for it this time,” he disappeared into the kitchen after he said that, leaving you with a chance to think about it. Think about everything.

“I thought you were lying,” you spoke in awe.

“Why would I lie about something like that?” he asked defensively.

“Because you’re you,”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

The two of you playfully argue back and forth. The casual conversation being what helped you both past the time. The atmosphere inside the restaurant was a calm one. The tea that you were served was even more calming. It had a sweet, earthy taste that only made you think of him. Of Osamu. The mysterious twin that you’d finally gotten the chance to meet, but were still so curious about.

“Here,” he said, sitting a plate of rice balls down in front of you, “Piping hot.”

You looked up at him again. There was a gentle smirk on his face. Atsumu had only ordered you two a piece, but there were three on your plate. The blond boy was too busy digging into his own food to notice, but you did. The way Osamu calmly gestured for you to eat up told you that much.

The first bite was incredible. The second was even better as you finally got a taste of the filling inside. It was long before you found yourself looking like Atsumu, stuffing your face full and trying to enjoy every bite.

“Like it?” he asked, the question was for you. You found yourself not able to answer. Your cheeks were completely full, you only nodded enthusiastically. It was the only thing you could do in order to not look like a complete slob. “I can tell.” This time, he reached across the bar and rubbed his thumb across your cheeks, brushing grains of rice away.

You could feel your face growing hot from just that one touch, but you didn’t pull away. Swallowing down the food, you rested your elbows on the bar, getting closer to him.

There was a tension between the two of you, you could feel it, even if you barely talked. As he tried to work and handle orders, he was still looking at you. Giving you half smiles, small waves, he’d walk up to you and ask you how the meal was. You’d long since finished at that point, only drinking the tea that he insisted on refilling for you. Almost as if he didn’t want you to leave.

The only time you were able to breathe, was when he went into the kitchen. Your mind was still filled with him when he was gone, but it was easy to not be a flustered mess without him in your line of sight. You could tell Atsumu was beginning to notice, the vibes between the two of you were hard for even the most oblivious person to miss.

“Don’t tell me-” he began, eyes wide and mouth agape.

“What?” you pretended not to know what he was talking about, but he wasn’t buying it.

“My brother? Him? Really?”

“What’s wrong with that?” Osamu answered before you had the chance to, sitting an alcoholic drink down at your side, “On the house.”

You looked him up and down, silently thanking him. The drink was sweet, you could barely taste the liquor in it. Atsumu eyed you as you drank it, his face was a mixture of emotions. Anger, Sadness, maybe a little bit of disgust, but you didn’t care.

“Gross! You never give me free drinks, ‘Samu! You never give me free anything!” he complained. The restaurant was practically empty now as it was closer to closing, so he was allowed to be his normal loud self.

Osamu practically ignored the boy, wiping down the counters around you, his hand brushing up your arm a few times, “You don’t have to pay this time, consider that your free something.” The words were meant for Atsumu, but he was looking at you. You supposed that meant that the free meal was for you as well.

“Thanks,” you answered, finishing off the last of your drink. The sweet taste still lingered in your mouth, beckoning you to ask for more.

He took notice of this, picking up the glass that now only held ice, “Want another?”

Before you even had the chance to answer, or even to tease him for trying to get you drunk, your arm was grabbed by his brother. A now fuming Atsumu was pulling you off of the barstool. It was a playful anger, you could tell, but even you knew that he was getting jealous. Not because you were flirting with his brother, but because you were getting special treatment.

“No more drinks for her! We have work tomorrow!” He shouted, pulling you out the door. You waved a solemn goodbye to Osamu, watching as he didn’t stop smirking, even after you left out the door.

Almost all the lights inside the building were off, but you could still see Osamu’s form through the window. His broad shoulders slumped just a little bit, but he continued to wipe down the counters. You didn’t feel sad though, you knew you would see him again. He was the twin brother of one of your team members after all.

Practice the next day felt the same as normal. You guided the boys through their stretches and helped them with their drills before going into your office. Sitting your clipboard down, you noticed something on your desk by your mouse. A neatly wrapped onigiri, still a bit warm to the touch.

Even though it was wrapped to keep it fresh, you could tell by the shape of it where it came from. One bite of it and that familiar flavor was filling your mouth. That familiar flavor and thoughts of him. Osamu Miya. You wanted to see him again, but you knew practice would run late. Another big game was coming up and when that happened, the team acted like all they knew how to do was play volleyball.

Rice balls began to pop up all over for you after that, in places that you were sure to see them. On your desk, in your bag, on the bench you always sat on when you watched the boy’s practice matches. You knew Atsumu was the one hiding them, having got them from his brother before practice each day. You knew before he even told you, walking up, his lips in a deep frown.

“Couldn’t think of a place to hide this one,” he groaned, practically forcing this rice ball into your hands. You couldn’t help, but laugh in his face. For someone who didn’t want to be doing this, he sure was enthusiastic about hiding them.

That’s what brought you back to this basket. This had been the most you were given in one day, which was a surprise because there was no easy Atsumu could hide something like this on his person. You were the only person with the keys to the gym.

You sat down on the bench beside the basket, carefully picking up the note and reading the few words that were scribbled on it. It was simple, lacking formalities and having his same god awful handwriting. Only containing one sentence that somehow made your heart beat out of your chest.

Won’t you come see me again?

-Osamu

[lnfours]

tolerate it | l.n

summary: if it’s all in my head, tell me now. tell me i’ve got it wrong somehow.

warnings: happy folklore/evermore season :) angst, language, fears of your partner falling out of love with you, slight anxiety and overthinking, fluffy ending bc i can’t make them stay mad at each other. kinda wanna do an evermore/folklore mini series, let me know if you guys would be interested <3

masterlist | listen

₊‧°𐐪♡𐑂°‧₊

the colder weather meant the sun was starting to set earlier, and it was evident as you gazed out the window, sitting at the dining room table. the candle you had lit an hour or so ago flickering softly, illuminating the room with a soft glow as the gloomy sky hovered above.

you sighed to yourself, taking another sip from the wine glass that sat next to your plate. you tapped on your phone screen, lighting up and displaying the time and the picture you had set as your lock screen. the 5:30 hovering tauntingly above the picture of you and lando from a few months back, your smile wide and trying to hide it in his shoulder as he held his camera to the mirror. he was sporting a smile also, you could almost hear your shared giggles through the photo.

he was supposed to be home an hour ago, and nights like this were happening more often. he’d always be an hour to an hour and a half late getting home. it was always an apology, saying ‘training ran late’ or the quadrant shoot ‘ran on longer than it was supposed to’, you’d see him for fifteen minutes while the two of you ate dinner, and then he’d go off to the office until he decides to join you in bed later in the night.

at first, you didn’t complain, knowing he was a man with a busy schedule, but after almost two months of this same song and dance, your anxiety was getting the best of you.

what if he was out with someone else? what if he was slowly losing interest in you? what if he just tolerates you?

the sound of the door closing pulled you from your thoughts, snapping your head up as you heard footsteps enter the room. he placed his keys, wallet and phone on the counter, frowning softly.

“sorry i’m late,” here we go again, “i told max i needed to be home by 4 and he insisted we played another round before i left.”

you nodded, taking another sip from the glass on your right, “‘s fine.”

he watched you swallow thickly, tilting your head to look back out the window. he noticed the way your hand tapped against your arm softly, his eyes moving to the plates set on the table. your grandmother’s china.

his heart dropped when he thought back to your conversation the other night, him saying the two of you would have a proper sit down meal tonight since he felt bad for running late lately.

and he just fucked it all up even more.

“you don’t have to lie,” he said, making you advert your attention back to him, “i know you know it’s not fine.”

you shook your head, “what’s it matter to you, anyway?”

he knew he deserved the digs and jabs you were sending his way, “seriously, lando, if you’re not interested in me anymore just say it instead of making me play this stupid game.”

the silence that fell between the two of you after was the final blow. he watched your cheeks glisten in the soft candle light, and fuck, he hated seeing you cry. especially when it was because of him.

he didn’t know what to say as your chair scraped the floor, getting up from your spot at the table and picking up your plate. the food untouched as you grabbed the saran wrap from the pantry.

he heard your quiet sniffle, “i’m so sorry, y/n-“

“then where have you been the past two months?” he blinked back at you before you continued, “every single day it’s the same, overused excuse. so, what is it really, lando? enlighten me.”

he swallowed because he didn’t have answer that didn’t sound like he was making an excuse. he really had been busy with work, but he knew he could’ve done better with planning to make more time for you and him.

you knew he loved you with every fiber of his being, but you were upset. you were angry and sad and all you wanted was for him to come home and spend time together like the two of you used to do. but it was like it was too much to ask for.

of course you knew what you were signing up for when he took you on your very first date, but you didn’t know it would mean being put on the back burner, begging to be let in on the things going on his life.

his silence made you nod, “right,”

he reached out to you slowly, not sure how you would react. you bit down on your bottom lip, the dam breaking now as he stepped towards you.

“y/n,” he said your name softly, understanding that your lash-outs were because of men who had hurt you in the past, knowing too well what it felt like when anxiety and over thinking takes over. he couldn’t be mad at you, he just wanted to make things right. make you feel reminded that he loved you. more than racing, more than his friends, more than anything in the whole world.

the back of your hands were raised to your eyes when he grabbed them and pulled you closer to him, letting your body rest against his chest. you gave in, knowing that at the end of the day, he was your safe place. your shoulder to cry on, the one who always saw you in your most vulnerable stages. there was no getting past him with this one.

your hands wrapped around his middle loosely as you cried softly into his chest. he rested his head against yours, rubbing your back the same way he always did whenever he’d comfort you. his lips pressed against your hair before he grabbed your face gently, lifting your chin to have you look at him.

he wiped the tears from your cheeks, eyes searching yours and that’s when you realized he had been crying too, “i’m gonna talk to my trainer and the guys and tell them i need a little bit of a break, and you and i are gonna spend every single day together doing whatever you want.”

you felt selfish now, “but this is your job, lan,”

“i don’t care,” he said, shaking his head as he moved his hand to hold your cheek, “they’ll be fine if i take a few days off.”

your hand came up to mimic his on your cheek, your fingers brushing against the small moles on his face. the same ones your lips press against whenever you kiss his face. the pads of your thumbs brushed away the small tear lingering around his nose.

“i’m sorry,” you apologized, feeling guilty for being cold to the boy who loved you like no other.

“don’t apologize,” he said, “i should’ve done better. you don’t deserve to feel like you’re on the back burner of my life.”

you wrapped your arms around his neck as his snaked around your waist, pulling you closer as if it was even possible. you looked back out the window, the light from the golden hour sun shining on the trees in the backyard. he pressed a gentle kiss to your cheek, “i love you.”

you smiled softly, pulling back to meet his gaze. your smile making his lips turn up into one mirroring yours, “i love you, too.”

he leaned down and pressed a kiss to your lips, a mixture of the wine you had with dinner and the salty tears you had cried a few moments prior with the subtle hint of your chapstick.

you both pulled away, him taking you by surprise when he lifted you off the ground. you squealed, a soft giggle escaping your lips as you clung onto his hoodie for dear life.

“lando!” you laughed, letting him carry you to the couch and thanking yourself for putting his dinner plate in the fridge earlier.

you had your boy back.

[distinctlywhumpthing]

First Night Home pt. 2

Previous — Masterlist — Next

Inhale, one, two, three, four. 

Exhale, one, two, three, four. 

Aiden jumps when Leo turns on the water. It seems like so long ago that he waited in this very spot on the first night. It’s fuzzy but he fixes his mind on those memories: Leo bribing him to come out from under the van with mini marshmallows; watching him cook dinner; even how scared he was, imagining how he might be punished for breaking the bowl. 

Anything but the last time he was in here. 

“Alright.” Leo takes a breath worthy of the size of this undertaking. “I’m gonna stay with you. We’ll skip the Saran Wrap and you can just hold onto my shoulders so your arms don’t get wet. Sound good?” 

He swallows and takes off his underwear. 

“Just look at me, okay? I’ve got you.” Leo lifts his hands one by one up to his shoulders like a slow dance. He’s so careful settling them there, especially his left hand, that Aiden’s covered in goosebumps when he’s done. Before he has a chance to breathe again, Leo starts to gently peel the tape and gauze from his collarbone and his arm. He curls his fingers into fists on Leo’s shoulders. 

“Sorry, sorry.” 

He’s not Harrison, he’s so far from being Harrison. 

It’s an insult to even have to draw the anti-comparison but his focus is like a scanning radio. It’ll lock onto the next strongest frequency whether he likes it or not. 

Inhale, one, two, three, four. 

Exhale, one, two, three, four. 

It’s not the same as when Leo counted for him at the hospital. 

“Alright, ready?” 

He is not. He nods. 

In a graceless dance, they get him standing in the tub and under the stream of water. He grips Leo’s shoulders, tries to focus on his steadiness. 

“Is it okay? Not too hot or cool?” 

He jerks his head in a nod, even though that only answers the first question, keeping his eyes locked on Leo’s face just like he said. 

Not looking down at the blood-colored water circling the drain, just like— 

No. 

Inhale, one, two, three, four. 

Exhale, one, two, three, four. 

Leo has to help wash the blood off but at least it’s a loofah. 

Not a washcloth. Not a sponge. 

He grits his teeth against the sensation, switches to counting straight up. Would he actually prefer a scrub brush and a cold hose? 

“Turn?” Leo poses it like a question, like there’s a choice. As if Aiden could bail right now. 

He lets Leo lift his hands off his shoulders, holding them up out of the shower spray. Turns to face the wall, raising his hands above his head to rest there, like he’s about to be strip searched. He starts to breathe through his teeth. 

Leo must hear the change because instead of the almost-scratch of the soaped-up loofah, it’s Leo’s hand that rubs circles across his shoulder blades. 

Aiden almost loses it. 

Trapped there, pinned against the tiles. He doesn’t want to look at them. But they are decidedly better than the ones he sees when he closes his eyes. He locks every muscle, forcing himself not to arch and twist out from under Leo’s too-careful, too-soft, too-kind, too-slow touch that he can only half feel. It’s all he can focus on and it goes on forever.

Even when Leo finally helps him turn around, replacing his hands on his shoulders, the other half of the sensation keeps ghosting across his back. 

It won’t stop. He wants to scream. 

Leo grimaces when he sees his expression. “Sorry, I thought— ”

“M’good,” he grates. 

Leo doesn’t push it. “You’re doing good, almost done.” 

A stab of guilt cuts through him. Leo’s helping him. Not hurting him, not even close. If only he could explain—

“Hey, nice choice.” 

It takes Aiden a moment to figure out what he means, he’s not pointing to anything. As soon as he realizes, his throat tightens and tears prick in his eyes. 

Lavender. 

When Leo wraps him in one of the giant, soft towels, something releases inside him and tears start running down his cheeks. He tries to hide them, lifting the towel to his forehead or hair to secretly brush them away before Leo can see. But it’s no use once he has to hand over the towel to get dressed. 

He gets as far as putting on clean underwear before Leo notices. 

“Oh, Aiden…” Leo says in that too-gentle tone that only makes him cry harder. 

He gives up trying to step into the sweatpants and sits on the bed, immediately regretting the loss of Leo’s hand under his elbow. He drops his head into his hands and sobs. 

Through the cracks between his fingers, he sees Leo kneel. “Okay, that’s okay,” Leo whispers. He takes the sweatpants off his lap and gathers one leg top to bottom to slip over his foot. Does the other the same and lifts them up over his knees. Pulls socks onto his feet. 

It aches how gentle he is. How steady and unhurried. No one’s ever given him permission to cry before. 

He rests his hands on either side of Aiden’s head, thumbs overlapping Aiden’s. “Come here.” 

Aiden lets him move his hands down to the waistband of the sweatpants, ready to pull them up. He pauses to wipe the tears from his cheeks with the softest brush of his rough fingertips. Aiden feels like he might split in two. He can only ever remember crying like this once before, when she died. He doesn’t know why he’s crying so hard now. 

Leo pulls him to stand and right into his arms. He’s barely aware of Leo threading his arms through a t-shirt, followed by another one of his old hoodies, because all he can feel is the steadiness of the arm he keeps locked around his waist. Like Leo knows he would otherwise fall to pieces. 

Once he’s dressed, Leo sits on the bed and pulls Aiden right back into his arms, holding him like he’s never letting go. He cries harder when he realizes Leo rubs his back to the same cadence as his own steady breathing. Up as Leo’s chest rises, down as it falls. Giving him something else to hold onto, all the while holding him together. 

All the shadows cast by the rising sun are gone now. The light changed from warm to bright, morning sun all the more brilliant from the snow reflecting it right back at the sky. 

“Leo..?” It slips out, something between a whine and whisper that he’s not even sure is coherent. 

“I’m right here. I’ve got you.”

“Mm’sorry,” he whispers. “Mmm….so’sorry.” 

“It’s okay, it’s all good.”

“Mmm…I—I—” He chokes on a sob, fingers curling into fists in Leo’s shirt. He almost didn’t get this. “I—mmm—”

“It’s all good,” Leo says him. “You don’t have to apologize for crying—” 

“Nnno, no—m’sorry, mmm’sorry, I-I—I—”

Leo stops trying to reassure him, just keeps rubbing his back in smooth, steady circles up and down, up and down. 

Aiden’s throat tightens. “I…mmm…w-w-w—” He shakes his head. Tries again from a different angle. “I-I…mmm…d-don’t…” He takes a deep breath. “W-w—” The word evades him again and he just skips it this time. He wants to say this. He needs to say this. “Mmm…t’go.” 

Leo’s hand stops and Aiden’s breath with it. “You don’t want to go?” 

A sob shakes through him and he nods. 

“Hon, we’re not going anywhere…?” 

He holds his breath. The voice in his head tells him he shouldn’t have said anything. He should have said ‘sorry’, should have said ‘thank you’, instead of trying to say more. 

“You don’t want to go? I— Oh...” 

Aiden can picture the change in Leo’s expression perfectly. He squeezes his eyes shut because he can’t bear to be wrong and catch a glimpse of anything different. Leo inhales to say something a few times but he doesn’t ever start. He doesn’t let him go either, so he can’t be too angry, but Aiden starts to feel the pressure of the silence like a door closing. It was so stupid to think—

He flinches when Leo moves him off his lap. “M’sorry—” he rushes to say but his voice breaks and it only sounds like another sob. 

“Hey, hey.” Leo’s hands find his face. “Look at me, hon.” 

He blinks away tears to find Leo kneeling in front of him again. “M’s-sorry,” Aiden whimpers, shaking his head. He wants to take it back. He’s sorry for saying anything that made Leo let go. “I—”

“Me too.”

A tear runs down Leo’s cheek and Aiden forgets whatever it was he wanted to say. He wonders what it would be like to lift his hand and brush it away with one of his fingertips like Leo does for him. He settles for bringing his hands up to hold onto Leo’s wrists. He feels worse than guilty that he’s upset Leo too, like this ache inside him is contagious. Aiden catches his bottom lip between his teeth to stop it from trembling, from pulling him back under the sobs.

Leo leans forward, bringing their foreheads together like he did at the hospital, and closes his eyes. “I’m so glad I found you,” he whispers. 

Aiden sobs, hands moving up to Leo’s shoulders almost on their own. Leo understands perfectly and pulls him back into his arms for the hug he wants. 

He’s shards and pieces but he’s here. 

And he’s not alone.

Previous — Masterlist — Next

@octopus-reactivated @maracujatangerine @nicolepascaline @whumpy-writings @cracked-porcelain-princess

@meetmeinhellcroutons @briars7 @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @jo-doe-seeking-inspo @neuro-whump

@painsandconfusion @fillthedarkvoid @rabass @crystalquartzwhump @dont-touch-my-soup

@mylifeisonthebookshelf @hold-him-down @guachipongo @creetchure @leyswhumpdump

@aseasonwithclarasblog @catawhumpus @magziemakeswhatever @pigeonwhumps @batfacedliar-yetagain

@whumpinthepot @dustypinetree @whump-in-progress @pirefyrelight @whumps-and-bumps

@i-eat-worlds @hellodecisionparalysis @heartfullofhoney @alternateminds

[endennnope]

Now that you mention it, and bc I love characters biting/being bitten, which amygdala characters are the biggest biters?

answered smth similar here

ranging from "biggest biter" to "not much of a biter":

azai is the biggest biter; loves leaving bruises, marks, wounds to show his claim. someone tells him not to and he still does

napha also likes to bite a lot, most often unconsciously like her biting down on yuxuan when shes feeling to good. shes not on a level like azai or smth tho ajdjdh

saran and yuxuan dont have a driving need or an animalistic part of their brain screaming at them to bite their partners or smth lmaooo but they do enjoy seeing their marks and esp bite more when they know their partner loves being bitten and marked

vika is the one who gets eaten up like a fluffy marshmallow 🐇