#in the midst of my doom thinking

[luguangs]

We are alive. And we will continue living. So long as you remain by my side.

[yioh]

what are your favourite genres for books/manga?

[earlysunshines]

drive me crazy!

pham hanni x fem!reader ; angst, fluff

synopsis: hanni can bear physical touch—unless it’s from you and is oblivious to why that is, oblivious to only her.

warnings: sixth!member reader ; cute and FLUFFY YAAYYY!!!! ; my girl... pls why r u stupid my cute little idiot ; a lil angsty ; idk anything else i didn't mention ; oh um... rly jdashfasd iffy on how the pacing is plus the pining and like everything... was supposed to be short and cute but then i made it more LOL ; not proofread (i don't like reading if u couldn't tell)

a/n: short, silly, cute, lovely, adorable (so hanni) anyways HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!! to gf!! also now all the members i write for have a sixth!member reader fic LOL

hanni has always been fine with physical touch, she kind of has to be considering she’s friends with danielle and hyein.

she lets them drag her by the arm, cling onto her, and whatever else that they desire because that’s just how they are. hanni is fine with this, she’s fine with anything the members do.

but you? you’re a whole different story and she has no clue why.

the slightest amount of physical contact from you sends her spiralling, she can’t think right the moment your shoulders graze or fingers brush against one another. her palms go sweaty, her breath gets short, and her face warms up; hanni tends to be more distant when it comes to you.

maybe it's the way you do it so effortlessly, plus that little smirk on your face that renders her dumber than she already is. maybe it's because your hands are always so warm that it makes her flinch away, or maybe it's something more. but this could mean nothing, right?

--

exhibit a:

hanni wasn’t always wary of your touch. there was a point in time where she’d give you hugs without thinking, let you lean on her shoulder or lean on yours, even intertwine fingers during livestreams or just spontaneously because why not?

one night, while in spain during your time recording for the new ep, you two had been put into a room together. there had been two beds, but you wanted to hangout near hanni while you doom scrolled and texted your friends. hanni let you linger there, neither of you had made any physical contact during the time until you mindlessly put your leg over hers, linking it.

while you went on your phone hanni would glance at you, she didn’t know why. you caught her in the midst of it, interrupted her while she traced the curve of your lips and she could only blush.

“is there something on my face?”

hanni still stares, not answering for a bit until a few seconds pass.

“no, i just zoned out.”

“okay...?” you ignore it with a chuckle, returning to your phone.

after hours of scrolling, you yawn, your phone falling somewhere on the bed as the hours of recording and singing throughout that day had caught up to you.

you fell asleep first, your breathing soft and steady, while hanni lay beside you, wide awake. she didn’t mind though. you hadn't moved to your bed, and hanni isn't strong enough to carry you (she's smaller and shorter, that's quite given; you tease her endlessly for it). she couldn’t bring herself to wake you up, watching the peaceful way you drifted off. she felt warm next to you, like it was the most natural thing in the world to be here, sharing this moment. eventually, she let her eyes close too, not bothering to move. she liked the closeness.

the two of you fell asleep beside each other on your backs, your hands barely touching and a leg tangled with the other.

when you woke up, the first thing you noticed was how you were wrapped around her. your arm was draped over her waist, your body molded against hers, and for a moment, you were too comfortable to move. it was similar to the feeling of cuddling your pillow at night in the dorms, but instead with hanni. you really liked the feeling of her in your arms, weirdly enough.

hanni was awake now too, but she hadn’t shifted yet. instead, she lay still, her heart beating faster as she became hyperaware of the closeness between you two. she could feel your warmth, every breath, every slight movement, and it made her feel bubbly and panicked.

hanni wasn’t used to feeling this way, like her entire body was on edge, but in the best way possible. being this close to you—it made everything feel different, more intense. physical touch isn't new to her in the slightest, considering all the members are a little touchy (danielle is a whole different story), but she's never felt this way with you or any of the other members. her thoughts were running a mile a minute, and she couldn’t help but steal glances at your face, admiring how soft and peaceful you looked in the morning light. her nerves kicked in when she realized how close your lips were to her shoulder, how intimate this all suddenly felt.

fuck, hanni thought. everything felt so perfect, but this only made her more wary.

and then you stirred, slowly waking up again, your eyes fluttering open. when your gaze landed on her, your lips curved into the softest, sleepiest smile, and it made her heart skip a beat.

“morning han,” you mumble, your voice raspy with sleep as you reach up to gently caress her face. your thumb brushes her cheek, and she can’t help but lean into your touch, her skin tingling from the simple gesture.

hanni can't breathe. her lips part, and then she closes her mouth to tense her jaw.

“you’re so pretty in the morning,” you say, still groggy but sincere. "how are you real?"

hanni’s face flushes immediately, her heart doing flips as she stares at you, wide-eyed. “you can’t just say things like that,” she murmurs, trying to suppress a smile, feeling shy all of a sudden.

you chuckle softly, your hand still resting on her cheek, not wanting to pull away. “why not? it’s true.”

hanni wants to pull away, it's too much. she feels like her heart might just escape from her chest.

the way you look at her, sleepy but affectionate, makes her feel weirdly nervous in the best way. the closeness, the intimacy—it’s overwhelming, but in a way that makes her want to stay right there, wrapped up in you.

but she can't, the pit in her stomach doesn't let her.

she shifts away, turning and groaning playfully as she stretches. she checks her phone, the time saving her from this situation.

"shit, we should be getting up soon."

you frown, hand resting on hanni's waist still until she sits up and rubs her eyes. "do we have to?" you ask, wanting to stay in bed a little longer with her in your arms. something about being so close to her and her specifically makes you really content.

"we have to get to the location, eat, get ready, recording—you know, all that."

you pout, rolling away from her and finding a pillow to replace her warmth.

"five more minutes?"

"fine..." hanni huffs, looking at you fondly. she can't tell if she's fond of the weird rush you give her either.

—

exhibit b

hanni is in the middle of vlogging, setting up her phone on the counter as she stirs something on the stove. her voice is light, a little bubbly, as she explains what she’s making for dinner, though she’s focused on keeping everything smooth for the video.

the phone drops and she groans, biting her lip subtly as she sets it back up, returning to her little commentary.

“so, i’m just letting this simmer for a bit,” she says, leaning closer to the pot, “and then i’ll—”

before she can finish, you come up behind her, wrapping your arms around her waist. she gasps, then freezes for a second, her whole body stiffening as your head gently rests on her shoulder. she can feel your warmth instantly, she can smell your signature sweet perfume, and the sudden contact makes her heart jump into her throat.

your arms pull her close, and her cheeks heat up as if the stove’s flames were warming her directly. she knows she’s still on camera, but for a moment, she can barely remember what she was even talking about.

“hey,” you mumble softly, voice low and a bit tired, but sweet. “what are you making?”

hanni’s grip on the spoon tightens, and she laughs awkwardly, trying to play it cool. “uh, j-just… dinner,” she manages, her voice a little higher than usual. her brief stutter earns a punch to herself (mentally of course) and she cringes internally. her brain is short-circuiting from the feel of you pressed against her back, your head so close to hers. she swears her face is probably bright red by now. there is no way this is getting cut out, especially not with the popularity you two have as a duo.

you lift your head from her shoulder, standing beside her but still lingering close, your arm brushing against hers. hanni tries her best to focus on the camera, forcing herself to talk about the food again, but it’s so difficult with you right there, looking effortlessly adorable after coming back from your shoot. you’re in casual clothes, but there’s something about the way you look—tired but still glowing—that makes her even more flustered.

“you look cute,” she hears you say softly, just loud enough for her to hear but not for the camera, and it completely throws her off. you look her dead in the eye, your gaze dropping to her lips and then back up as you smile. she almost drops the spoon, quickly looking at the camera and then back at the food, trying to regain her composure. her mind is a mess. how is she supposed to vlog when you’re like this?

“uh—thank you,” hanni stammers, her cheeks fully tinted pink now. she tries to laugh it off, stirring the pot with more focus than necessary, but the tension in her shoulders gives her away.

you chuckle softly, leaning a little closer to check what she’s making. “need help?”

hanni shakes her head quickly, eyes wide as she glances at you, then back at the camera. “n-no! i’m good, totally fine,” she insists, though her flustered state says otherwise.

“okay,” you hum, stepping back but still watching her with a teasing grin. "but if you need me to cut anymore veggies or meat i can! just ring me up! bunnies, did you know that i'm actually a wonnnnnnderful cook? i used to cook a lot with my parents-"

hanni lets you ramble, she loves hearing you ramble. she can't help but smile everytime you do, your voice is like music to her ears, it’s a symphony.

when you're finished with your ramble, you bring the attention back to hanni. "now back to our show!"

hanni lets out a quiet breath of relief, trying her best to wrap up the vlog—or at least this segment. “so, yeah! um, this just needs a few more minutes, and then dinner will be ready.” her voice wavers slightly, but she manages to end the video, turning off the camera with shaky hands.

as soon as the camera’s off, she turns to you, her face still red, and you can’t help but laugh softly at how flustered she is.

“you’re impossible,” she mutters, playfully swatting at you, but there’s a shy smile tugging at her lips.

“what?” you ask, oblivious to everything going on.

"i--" hanni pauses, shaking her head before flicking you in the forehead. "go change, dinner will be ready by then."

…

@/dailyyn on twitter:

“hanni and y/n crumbs! look how good y/n looks after the shoot… imagine being her gf and she greets you like this… id kill to be hanni”

the clip shows you surprising hanni, making her blush with your subtle antics and sharing the cute moment on camera. fans go a little insane partially because of your look, and also the chemistry between the two of you.

↪️@/tokkijeans: is it just me or are they really close? like.. suspiciously close

↪️@/ynslover: replying to @/tokkijeansi wouldn’t be surprised if they. were dating… i’ve never seen hanni so shy

↪️@/hanynenjoyer: this video is so cute! they’re my everything…

—

exhibit c

the studio was lively, filled with activity as the photobook shoot progressed. bright lights flashed intermittently, casting soft shadows over the set as you and hanni stood close, posing for the camera.

you two were in arguably casual clothing, but obviously topped off with some extra details because it was for a photoshoot. you couldn't stop staring at hanni, stealing glances whenever you could. she looked gorgeous, that wasn't debatable. her hair was styled in a way that made it a little wavy and a small clip pinned the hair that would frame her face back.

in return, hanni was doing her absolute best to keep her cool. the light makeup made your features stand out subtly, especially your lips (which hanni couldn't stop stealing a peek at), making you look stunning. you'd probably go trending on twitter later, hanni knows you like to upload selcas after things like this, and each one never fails to gain lots of attention.

(not just from the fans, but from your fellow member too.)

the photographers suggested subtle intimacy—small, delicate touches, heads leaning together, eyes locking in moments that felt almost too real. they had convinced you two it would fit the concept: domestic, casual, and comfortable. for you, it was easy to comply, maybe even natural, to slip into those roles. especially when it was hanni by your side.

your hand brushed against hers as you adjusted your stance, smiling to yourself when you caught her glancing at you. hanni was trying to keep her cool, you could tell—but why? her usual ease seemed strained, her body a little tense despite the casual poses. but you? you were just happy to be this close to her, to feel her warmth as you both leaned into the moment.

the photographer directed a few more shots, asking you to sit beside hanni and lean your head against her shoulder. you did so with ease, resting your cheek carefully on her shoulder. you could feel her freeze slightly under your touch, her body rigid against yours. you bring your hand over and place it over hers, rubbing your fingers gently against her skin to coax her back into relaxation—miraculously, it works.

you didn’t think too much the whole thing; after all, these shoots always required some closeness. but with hanni, it was different. your heart felt lighter being near her, warmer in a way that you didn’t feel with anyone else. you smiled softly as you shifted into the next pose, letting her lean against you this time, her back pressing against your shoulders.

she smelled sweet, like the faintest hint of citrus, and you found yourself wanting to linger there a little longer.

"you smell good." you mumble softly as the photographer readjusts his settings. "like really good."

hanni doesnt answer, she opts for pinching you playfully instead, earning a chuckle.

"what? you look really good too."

"shut up." hanni says, mostly for the sake of her sanity. "you're so... ugh."

the moment ended when the photographer had caught both of your attention again. you two stop bickering (if you could even call it that) and focus once more.

the camera flashes one final time, and the photographer calls it a wrap. as the crew began to clear the set, hanni quickly stepped away, her cool facade returning as she busied herself with adjusting her outfit, avoiding your gaze. your heart sank a little at her sudden distance.

you stood there for a second, watching her, a growing pit of uncertainty forming in your stomach. it wasn’t the first time this had happened. hanni had a way of pulling back whenever you got too close, a way of putting space between you that made you second-guess everything. you were touchy with everyone—that was just who you were—but with hanni, it was different. she made you happier, made your heart feel full in a way that was hard to describe. she was so adorable, so easy to be around, and sometimes you couldn’t help but think of being close to her all the time.

but now, watching her act distant again, you couldn’t help but feel a bit upset. was it something you did? were you pushing too far? but she's completely fine with dani dragging her around, haerin randomly leaning against her, and even she initiates the phsyical contact with minji. not to mention hyein, who's always clinging onto everyone — but that's hyein, she's like a younger sister to you all.

your thoughts spiraled as you bit your lip, trying to shake off the gnawing feeling.

hanni finally glanced your way, catching your gaze for a split second before quickly looking away, her face unreadable. you frowned, taking a step toward her. “hanni… are we good?” you asked, trying to keep your voice light, though the hint of worry bled through.

she hesitated, fidgeting with the hem of her shirt. “yeah, of course. why wouldn’t we be?”

“i don’t know. it just—” you paused, struggling to find the right words. “sometimes, it feels like you’re… distant. like you’re pulling away. was the shoot too much? was i too much?"

hanni blinked, her expression softening just slightly, but she still didn’t meet your eyes. “no, no— and i’m not pulling away,” she said quietly, but the uncertainty in her voice didn’t do much to reassure you.

you narrow your eyes at her, trying to believe her. you sigh, running a hand through your hair. “okay. if you say so.”

the air between you felt thick, tense, and it was hard to shake the disappointment that clung to you as you watched her pack up her things. you wanted to be close to her, wanted to feel that warmth again, but right now, it felt like she was slipping through your fingers.

this left you spiraling even more, trying to figure out what went wrong. hanni walks over to watch the others, letting danielle cling onto her and not visibly getting nervous or anything like that. was it you? it had to be.

—

soobin was like the big brother you never had, and you were forever grateful for that accidental meeting while you were a trainee and he was a rookie—when he’d spilled his coffee all over you. it had been embarrassing then, but now? it was the reason you had biweekly catch-up sessions—usually over facetime, since no one in the industry liked to see a girl group member breathing the same air as a boy group member.

but today was different. today, the two of you were in one of the company lounge areas, sharing snacks from the convenience store and sipping on the flavored milk soobin had brought. he watched you quietly, eyes filled with concern as you sank into your chair, picking at your fruit gummies without much enthusiasm.

“have things been rough? are they pushing you too hard?” he asked, his voice soft.

you shook your head, your lips pressing into a thin line. “i think my coworker hates me.”

“as in… a member?”

“yeah.” you sighed, popping an orange gummy into your mouth and chewing it slowly.

“may i pry?” soobin asks, stealing a gummy from your pack.

you nodded. “yeah, go ahead.”

“who is it?” he questions, chewing his stolen gummy.

“hanni.”

soobin froze mid-chew, his brows furrowing. “wait, hanni? but— the internet’s always talking about you two. i mean, i know you can’t trust everything online, but i’ve seen it too. you guys seem close.”

“yeah, well, i think she hates it. all the physical stuff, everything i do…” you trailed off, sinking deeper into your seat. “am i terrible?”

the hood of your sweatshirt slipped over your head as you slouched, messing up your hair. soobin couldn’t help but giggle at the sight, tilting his head as he looked at you. “you’re not terrible, y/n,” he assured you, his voice steady. “maybe she’s just—”

“i think i’m in love with her.” you blurted out, groaning as you covered your face with your hands. “i’m in love with her, i think. no, fuck that, i know.”

soobin stared at you, wide-eyed. “you what?”

“i’m in love with her,” you mumbled again, sinking even lower into your seat, hands covering your face. “god, i realized it last night while i was sulking in bed at midnight. and now, everything makes sense. i want to be close to her all the time because i want something more. and i feel like a creep because—am i weird? am i… am i a predator for being so touchy with her? what if she hates me for it?”

he watched as your expression shifted from miserable to horrified, your body practically sliding off the chair now. his deep voice cut through your spiral, calm and steady as ever. “you’re not a predator. trust me. the fact that you’re aware of how your actions might affect her shows that. you’re self-aware, and you care enough to try and make things better.”

“but… this could ruin everything.” your voice was small, defeated.

“it won’t,” soobin says firmly. “i know you.”

“do you know her?”

he shrugged, smiling softly. “i don’t need to know hanni as well as i know you. you always get things done, y/n. you always work it out. remember when we had those dating rumors? you handled that pretty well.”

you groaned at the memory, but it did lift your spirits just a bit. the whole two-week ‘scandal’ had been absurd. someone had noticed that you and soobin both had the same roblox sticker on your phone cases in your selcas, posted just two days apart. it blew up online, spiraling into dating rumors that, frankly, neither of you could believe.

the whole thing was based on a sticker. a roblox sticker. beomgyu had given soobin the sticker, and soobin, thinking it was dumb and funny, gave you one too. somehow, the internet made it a conspiracy.

you had to lie, saying you barely knew soobin, and that you found the sticker on the floor of the hybe building, thinking it was funny. it was the only way to get the fans to calm down. soobin had to pretend he barely knew you as well, but the two of you had giggled over facetime because of it—which was great for your mental state while you noticed the forced hate towards you.

“ugh, that was so weird,” you mutter. “if only they knew we’re—”

“completely off the radar,” soobin finished for you, chuckling. “like some future lavender marriage if the media doesn’t get off our asses.”

you snorted at that, “gross,” but your smile quickly faded as the weight of your current situation settled in again.

he shrugged, his smile gentle. “i don’t need to know hanni as well as i know you to be sure of this. you’re the kind of person who works through things. you always have, and you always will. you’ve told me how close you two were during your trainee days—there’s no way she’d want to throw that all away. besides, isn’t it better to have her in your life, even if you’re in love with her, than to lose her altogether?”

for someone so stupid, he’s equally as wise.

you bite your lip, a sense of helplessness settling in your chest. “i don’t know,” you say, voice soft. “sometimes, i just want to pull away, distance myself so i don’t screw it all up, but… but then i’m around her, and she’s just so... so hanni. she’s adorable and funny and makes me feel so warm inside. and then i'm close to her, and it’s like this weird feeling that makes me want more, but… i don’t want to scare her off. i don’t want her to think i’m weird.”

you could feel tears of frustration prickling at the corners of your eyes, your hands trembling as you spoke. admitting your feelings out loud made them feel so much more real, and that terrified you.

soobin leaned over, placing a hand on your shoulder, his deep voice a steadying force amidst the chaos of your thoughts.

“you’re not weird,” he repeated gently. “you just care. and that’s a good thing. but you need to trust yourself, y/n. you’re good at this—at reading people, at figuring things out. if hanni ever felt concerningly uncomfortable, you’d notice. just... be careful. take your time. you’ll figure it out. i know you will.”

you stared down at your hands, twisting the edge of your hoodie in your fingers. the weight of your confession hung heavily between you and soobin, but there was also a strange sense of relief in having said it out loud—like you had finally let go of something you’d been holding onto for far too long.

“yeah,” you said softly, nodding. “i guess so.”

—

two days after spilling your alleged unrequited love to your wonderful, amazing, stupid, and very gay bestfriend you had gotten dating rumors with—you're sent to a prada show.

being one of the faces for the brand meant being sent to fashion weeks, shows, and various other schedules that had you showing off the designer brand. and each time this happened, you went viral, because prada never fails to impress, especially when it's you.

you’re set for a photoshoot, this time for the cover of vogue. the weight of it feels significant, but not overwhelming. you’re wearing a prada crop top that shows off your toned abdomen, the result of months of dedication and hard work. the black blazer and slacks, perfectly tailored, give you an oversized yet effortlessly chic look, striking that balance between casual and captivating. everything fits like a glove, intentional but laid-back.

you admire yourself in the mirror, your eyes tracing the sharp angles of your makeup. the subtle eyeshadow that makes a statement, the clean lines, the way it accentuates your features—you can’t help but praise the makeup artist, murmuring compliments as you run a hand through your messy, artfully tousled hair. it’s wild but controlled, you snap a picture quickly for your fans.

when it’s time, you step onto the set, the bold red backdrop making you stand out even more. the lights hit just right, casting shadows that emphasize your figure, and for a moment, as you strike the first pose, you think to yourself: wow, this is for the girls.

after shooting is done, you monitor your pictures and are caught off guard from how great they look. you weren't that confident about oyu rvisuals back then, singing and dancing you could od well, but visuals got to your head. you've learned to love yourself more the more your members and the internet praised you, but mostly because hanni used to compliment you a lot even with your bare face, you wish she still did it.

"woah," you say, snapping pictures of the monitoring screen to post to bubble later.

...

hanni is sitting at the dinner table, a snack in hand as she absentmindedly scrolls through her phone. the dorm is quiet, most of the members tucked away in their rooms, and hyein isn’t around tonight since she's with her family. it’s been a long day, but she finds some comfort in texting her sister, filling the silence with their usual banter. she's distracted enough that she almost doesn’t notice the notification from the official newjeans account.

her thumb hesitates before clicking on it, already assuming it’s something from your vogue shoot. everyone knew you were out for the day, busy with your big shoot, so it seemed natural. but what she didn’t expect was how stunning you’d look.

the first picture stops her cold. you’re lounging on some plush couch, leaning back with that casual confidence she’s only ever seen in person—half smirk, half knowing gaze. hanni’s heart stumbles in her chest. you look beyond good. you’re breathtaking. the makeup, perfectly done but not too much, the messy hair that somehow looks effortlessly styled—it’s too much. she gulps without even realizing, eyes locked on the screen as she stares for longer than she cares to admit.

thirty seconds go by, maybe more, before she hesitantly swipes to the next slide. each new picture draws her in further, and it’s not getting any easier to look away. you’re a vision in every shot, and her chest tightens with each one. she knows she’s been trying to distance herself, trying to get her feelings under control, but how is she supposed to do that when just seeing you on her screen makes her lose her cool like this?

“you’ve been staring at that for a while, haven’t you?” danielle’s voice cuts through her thoughts, light and teasing. hanni jumps in her seat, turning to see danielle settling in next to her. she leans over, her eyes landing on the picture of you still displayed on hanni’s phone. “she looks pretty.” danielle adds.

“um, yeah,” hanni mutters, hurriedly swiping out of instagram, but the heat in her cheeks is unmistakable. she sets her phone down as if that’ll somehow help her case.

danielle smirks, raising an eyebrow as she gives her a sidelong glance. “you seemed to like that post, huh?”

“i was just… zoning out,” hanni tries, but the uncertainty in her voice betrays her. it sounds unconvincing even to her own ears.

“seemed like more than that to me.” danielle’s voice is light, playful, but there’s a glint in her eye that says she knows exactly what’s going on.

hanni lets out a forced laugh, trying to brush it off. “what are you even saying?”

“i’m saying,” danielle starts, leaning in just a bit closer, “that it’s quite odd of you to stare so hard at her. not just at her on the cover of vogue, but in general.”

hanni swallows hard, trying to play it cool, but the flutter in her chest tells her otherwise. danielle’s right, and the worst part is, she can’t even deny it.

danielle’s eyes linger on hanni, clearly not buying her act. hanni feels the pressure building, but she stays silent, forcing a simple shrug as if nothing’s wrong. she knows danielle is waiting for her to crack, but she’s not ready to let everything spill. not yet.

"so…" danielle starts, her voice teasing but gentle, “you’re really gonna act like that wasn’t you staring at y/n’s photos for, what, five minutes?”

hanni scoffs, though it sounds forced. “it wasn’t five minutes, and i wasn’t staring like that.”

danielle crosses her arms, eyes narrowing in playful suspicion. “right. sure you weren’t. you only jumped like i caught you doing something illegal.”

“i was just… scrolling,” hanni mutters, turning her attention back to her phone, trying to seem unbothered. she swipes through random apps, but danielle’s quiet presence next to her makes it impossible to focus on anything else.

“scrolling, huh? that’s what you’re going with?”

“yep.”

“uh-huh. so if i ask again why you were so focused on y/n, you’re gonna say… what?”

hanni huffs, leaning back in her chair. “danielle, it’s not a big deal. i just zoned out, okay? she’s my friend. we work together. seeing her on my feed isn’t weird.” her tone is defensive, too defensive for her liking.

danielle raises her eyebrow, unrelenting. “zoning out on the same picture for thirty seconds? then the next one? and the one after that? you sure it’s nothing?”

hanni’s lips press into a thin line, irritation bubbling up, though it’s more with herself than with danielle. why is this so hard? why can’t she just brush it off? but danielle is looking at her with that piercing, curious gaze, and hanni knows she’s not letting it go. plus, it's danielle.

“you’re imagining things,” hanni tries, though her voice wavers.

“am i?” danielle leans forward slightly, her tone is soft but persistent. “because i know what i saw. and this isn’t the first time you’ve been weird about y/n.”

hanni blinks, her guard starting to slip. “what do you mean ‘weird’?”

“you’ve been acting strange around her for a while now,” danielle points out. “you avoid her, then get all flustered when she’s near. and now you’re sitting here, staring at her photos like you’re in a trance. come on, hanni. something’s up.”

hanni clenches her jaw, trying to hold onto the last bits of defense she has. “it’s… it’s not like that. she’s just—”

“just what?” danielle cuts in, her voice more patient than accusing. “you can tell me. whatever it is, i’m not judging.”

hanni sighs, her resolve beginning to crumble under danielle’s persistent questions. she opens her mouth, but no words come out, her mind racing to come up with some kind of excuse, something that’ll make danielle drop it. but there’s nothing, and hanni knows it.

danielle’s watching her closely now, not pushing too hard but clearly waiting for hanni to finally let it out. “hanni, it’s okay. i’m not gonna force you to talk if you don’t want to. but i’m just saying, i’m here if you need to get something off your chest.”

hanni bites her lip, her heart pounding in her chest. she can feel the words bubbling up, the truth she’s been trying so hard to suppress. but how can she admit it? how can she explain that being near you makes her feel like her heart is about to burst, that every touch and smile from you sends her into a spiral? she's beyond fucked.

“danielle, it’s not… it’s not what you think,” hanni starts, but even she knows how weak it sounds. she shifts uncomfortably in her seat, her eyes darting away from danielle’s.

danielle lets out a soft sigh, her tone turning gentle. “hanni, it’s okay to feel something for her. you don’t have to keep it all inside.”

“i don’t—” hanni stops herself, the words catching in her throat. “it’s not… ugh, i don’t even know how to explain it.”

danielle stays quiet, waiting for her to continue.

hanni rubs her face, feeling the heat rise in her cheeks. “i don’t… i don’t know what to do. she’s just—she’s everywhere, danielle. i can’t even breathe when she’s around. she’s always so close, always so touchy, and it’s driving me insane. i can’t handle it.”

danielle’s expression softens further, nodding slowly as if to encourage her to keep going.

“and it’s not like i don’t like her or anything,” hanni continues, her voice wavering. “that’s the problem. i like her too much. and i don’t know how to deal with it, so i’ve been pushing her away. and now she probably thinks i’m a complete jerk, but… i don’t know what else to do.”

danielle raises her eyebrows. “you’ve been pushing her away because you like her?”

hanni groans, slumping down in her seat. “yeah. because every time she's close to me i feel like i’m gonna explode. she’s so—ugh. she makes me feel things, and i hate it. i don’t know how to be around her without freaking out.”

“so you’re in love with her,” danielle says simply, no judgment in her tone.

hanni freezes, her heart skipping a beat at the words. in love. she opens her mouth to protest, but the truth is already sitting heavy in her chest. she exhales shakily, realizing there’s no point in denying it anymore.

“yeah,” hanni mutters, almost too quietly for danielle to hear. “i think i am.”

danielle leans back, a soft smile tugging at her lips. “well, that’s a start. at least now you’ve admitted it.”

hanni buries her face in her hands again, feeling the weight of the confession settle over her. “what am i supposed to do? i’ve been acting so weird around her, and she probably thinks i hate her now.”

danielle shakes her head. “hanni, i don’t think y/n could ever think that. if anything, she’s probably wondering why you’re avoiding her. you should talk to her.”

hanni groans again. “but what if she doesn’t feel the same way? what if i ruin everything?”

“you won’t,” danielle says confidently. “you’re both close. i don’t think y/n would throw away your friendship over this. but you’ll never know how she feels if you don’t talk to her.”

hanni knows danielle is right, but the thought of confronting her feelings—and you—feels terrifying.

"and if it makes you feel better..." danielle continues, "i don't think the chances of her not returning the feelings are high. she cares for you a lot and she's not nearly as touchy or close with any of us—just you han."

"oh."

hanni bites her lip, fighting every worry in her head. as she does so, the root of her crisis returns home.

both her and danielle look up to see you sighing as you close the door, waving at them tiredly as you walk towards where your room is. danielle tilts her head, looking at you closely: your shoulders are sinking a bit, your hair is messier than before, and you look exhausted.

"how was everything?" danielle asks you, ignoring hanni beside her who's trying to recover from her feelings taking over. "your makeup is still intact."

"i fear." you say tiredly, rubbing your eyes. "it was cool, but they made me do a lot of promo and interviews. it's over now at least."

you glance at hanni, who's failing to meet your gaze.

"well," you start, "i'm going to go wash up and pass out. night guys."

"night!" danielle beams, smiling.

you look at hanni, waiting for a response. she finally looks you in the eye, then seemingly scans your face and hesitating before she also says, "night y/n, rest up okay?"

"yeah, of course han." you smile softly, waving to them once more before disappearing into the hallway.

danielle looks at hanni immediately after you're out of their sight, and speaks as soon as she hears the door close.

hanni just groans, hiding her face in her hands as she mumbles, "she looks too good i can't possibly--"

"don't be like that." danielle scolds, "it'll be fine."

hanni can barely look at you these days, the fact that she has to face you while knowing everything she feels is real and inescapable—hanni might be on her deathbed soon.

—

the room is warm, sunlight streaming through the thin curtains and casting a soft glow over the space. your blanket is tangled around you, your loose pajamas wrinkled as you lay sprawled across your bed. hanni stands quietly in the doorway, staring at your still form with a soft sigh. she knows she should wake you up; you've overslept, and the rest of the members have already started their day. but as she stands there, watching the rise and fall of your chest, something holds her back.

your hair’s a mess, sticking up in all directions, and you’re wearing that loose t-shirt she gave you months ago. it’s oversized, slipping off your shoulder, and the sight of you like this—so comfortable, so unguarded—makes her heart skip a beat. there’s something about how peaceful you look that makes hanni want to crawl into bed with you, to be close, but she knows she shouldn’t.

she swallows, shaking off the thought, reminding herself why she’s here. she’s supposed to wake you up, not… whatever it is her mind keeps drifting to. taking a deep breath, she walks closer and kneels by the edge of your bed.

"y/n," she whispers, poking your cheek gently. "you’re gonna be late if you don’t get up."

you don’t move, still lost in whatever dream you’re having and turning away. hanni shifts awkwardly, not sure what to do. she leans down and lightly pokes your cheek again. "come on, y/n, wake up."

nothing.

with a tiny huff, she pokes you again, this time a bit harder. "seriously, you can’t just sleep all day. you’re going to be late!" she whisper-yells. 

you still don’t stir, and hanni finds herself smiling despite her frustration. you look so... soft like this. relaxed. carefree. she’s really tempted to lay down beside you now, more than before. she wants to pull the blanket over herself and close her eyes, pretending for just a moment that things are the way they used to be—before all this weirdness between you two. she could pretend there’s nothing on the schedule, she quite literally has free will, she could do it and nothing would stop her. 

but she can’t. she knows she can’t.

instead, she pokes your cheek one more time. "y/n," she whispers, leaning closer. "please get up."

without warning, you move, but instead of waking up, you grab hanni’s wrist and pull her closer, dragging her halfway onto your bed. she yelps, startled, but you don’t seem to notice. you just snuggle into her, wrapping your arm around her waist as if she’s your pillow, your face pressed against her stomach.

hanni freezes, her heart pounding in her chest. you’re still half-asleep, clearly not realizing what you’re doing, but that doesn’t stop the warmth from rushing to her cheeks. she feels like she’s on fire, caught between wanting to escape and wanting to stay right where she is. your warmth, your scent, the way your body feels against hers—it’s overwhelming.

"hanni?" you mumble groggily, eyes still closed. "what are you… doing?"

"uh," hanni stammers, trying to keep her voice steady. "you need to get up. you’re gonna be late."

but you don’t move, just hum in response, your hand moves to loosely hold hers. hanni swallows hard, her whole body tense as she tries to ignore the warmth of your skin, the soft feel of your fingers intertwined with hers.

this is too much.

"hanni?" you mumble again, voice thick with sleep, your hand instinctively pulling her a little closer. "just five more minutes."

hanni can barely breathe, her mind scrambling for some kind of excuse to get out of this without completely losing it. she manages to slip out of your hold, her heart pounding as she sits on the edge of your bed, trying to compose herself. "you need to get up now, y/n," she says, a little firmer this time.

you finally stir, blinking up at her with bleary eyes, confused by the sight of hanni sitting at the edge of your bed. "hanni? what are you… what are you doing here?"

she shifts awkwardly, trying to keep her tone casual. "you were sleeping in, and i came to wake you up. the others are already in the dining room."

you sit up slowly, rubbing your eyes as you look at her. something feels off between you two, a tension that wasn’t there before, something bigger than before. you can feel it too, even in your groggy state. the silence hangs heavy in the air, the unspoken distance between you making everything feel… strange.

"hey," you mumble, running a hand through your messy hair, "we, uh… haven’t really talked much lately, have we?"

hanni glances down at her hands, fidgeting with her fingers. "yeah," she mutters, her voice soft. "i guess we’ve both been kind of... distant."

you nod, still trying to shake off the sleep. "i don’t know why it’s been like that," you say, your voice quiet. "feels like something changed, and i don’t really get it. i’ve been wanting to talk to you, to be honest.”

hanni’s heart tightens at your words. she knows why she’s been distant—because you make her nervous, because she’s terrified of her feelings, because she doesn’t know how to act around you anymore. but she can’t say all that. not now. not like this.

"i’m sorry," hanni finally says, her voice barely above a whisper. "i didn’t mean to pull away. i just… i didn’t know how to handle things."

you look at her, a faint frown creasing your forehead. "handle what?"

hanni shrugs, avoiding your gaze. "just… everything. i guess i got overwhelmed, and instead of talking to you about it, i kind of shut you out. i didn’t mean to."

you’re quiet for a moment, processing her words. it doesn’t really make sense, but it’s something. "i thought you were mad at me," you admit softly. "i didn’t know what i did wrong."

hanni’s heart aches at that. "you didn’t do anything wrong," she says quickly, shaking her head. "it’s not you, y/n. it’s me. i’m sorry for making you feel that way."

the two of you sit in silence for a while, the tension slowly easing as you both realize how much you’ve missed each other. there’s still so much left unsaid, so many things neither of you are ready to admit yet, but this… this is a start.

"i missed you," you finally say, your voice quiet but sincere.

hanni looks up, her heart swelling at your words. "i missed you too."

the weight of the past few weeks lingers in the air, but for the first time in a while, it feels like things might be okay again. even if neither of you is ready to fully address the feelings you’re both clearly harboring, at least you’re talking. at least you’re trying.

and for now, that’s enough.

—

hanni and danielle sit side by side on the couch in the waiting room, both scrolling through their phones. it’s a quiet break, the kind they savor between the chaotic schedules, but their attention keeps drifting to where you’re seated, getting your makeup done. you’re chatting softly on the phone, smiling as you talk to your parents, completely at ease in the chair.

hanni, however, can’t seem to focus on anything else. her eyes flicker over to you every few seconds, as if drawn by some invisible force. she watches how you laugh quietly, the way the stylist’s brush glides over your face, how you seem so naturally pretty even in this hectic setting. her mind is still spinning from your recent talk, even though it was brief. it lingers with all the things unsaid, all the questions still hanging in the air.

next to her, danielle finally breaks the silence.

"so," she starts, her voice casual but curious, "did you and y/n talk?"

hanni’s fingers freeze mid-scroll, and she glances at danielle, unsure of how to answer. after a moment, she sighs. "yeah, we talked… sort of."

danielle raises an eyebrow. "sort of?"

hanni shifts in her seat, picking at the edge of her sleeve. "we addressed the distance. like, we apologized for being weird with each other, but… i don’t really know where to go from there. it’s like, we acknowledged it, but it didn’t fix everything. i still feel…" she trails off, struggling to find the right words. "i don’t know. confused, maybe?"

danielle watches her closely, nodding slowly in understanding. "well, that’s a start, right? at least you talked about it."

"yeah," hanni mutters, but there’s a tinge of uncertainty in her voice. she glances back at you, still on the phone, still pulling her attention without even trying. "but it doesn’t really feel settled, you know? like, we just put a band-aid over it."

danielle sighs softly, leaning back against the couch. "stuff like that is complicated," she says, almost as if she’s speaking from experience. then, after a moment of silence, she turns to hanni with a teasing smile. "by the way, you’ve been staring at y/n this entire time. i can’t believe she doesn’t know that you… you know,"

hanni’s face flushes, and she quickly looks away, crossing her arms defensively. "i was not."

danielle laughs, clearly not buying it. "uh-huh, sure. i’ve been watching you. every time she moves, your eyes follow. it’s like you’re in a drama, and she’s the lead you can’t get over."

"i’m just… i’m just making sure she’s okay," hanni tries to defend herself, though the heat rising in her cheeks betrays her. "she’s on the phone with her parents. what if something’s wrong?"

"oh, please," danielle says, her smirk growing. "you’re just using that as an excuse to admire her. you’ve been acting like this for weeks, hanni. just admit it. remember her prada post?"

hanni opens her mouth to argue, but the words die in her throat. she knows danielle’s right, and that makes it worse. instead of responding, she just sinks further into the couch, burying her face in her hands.

danielle pats her on the back with a chuckle. "don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me. for now."

hanni groans, peeking through her fingers at you again. you’re still deep in conversation, oblivious to the way she’s been spiraling.

"you’ve got it bad," danielle teases softly, her tone more understanding now. "but it’s okay. maybe just… give it time. you two are good together, even if you don’t know where to go from here yet."

hanni nods, grateful for danielle’s support, but her eyes drift back to you. she can’t help it—there’s something about you that keeps pulling her in, no matter how hard she tries to resist.

—

it’s late, and the dorm is quiet. hanni sits on her bed, phone in hand, staring at the screen. she’s been thinking about you all week (she’s always thinking about you), the tension that had built between you two finally dissipating after your brief talk. things have felt… fine, normal even, but it’s almost too normal. like the distance you both addressed had just been covered up with another flimsy bandaid, never fully resolved. 

the problem is, she can’t stop thinking about you. and danielle, who’s oddly observant, keeps urging her to clear the air.

"just talk to her," danielle had said earlier, as they watched you laugh with the others during practice. "y/n wouldn’t let this mess up your friendship, you know that."

and now, as hanni sits there, her fingers hover over her phone screen, wondering if she should actually text you. she taps out a simple message before she can second guess herself:

hanni: you up?

the reply comes almost instantly: 

y/n: yeah, what's up?

hanni: can’t sleep

y/n: aw me neither i was calling my mom earlier and after that i couldn’t close my eyes for more than a minute

hanni: :-(  sorry to hear

hanni doesn’t know what else to say, but you beat her to the chase.

y/n: come over?

her heart races for no reason, and before she knows it, she’s standing in front of your room. she hesitates for a moment, then knocks softly before opening the door.

you’re sitting on your bed, scrolling through your phone. you’re worried that you scared her off again after being left on read. thankfully there’s a knock at your door a minute later, and when you see her, you offer a small smile. "hey."

"h-hey," hanni says, feeling a little awkward as she steps inside and sits on the edge of your bed. there’s a brief silence, the kind where you can both feel the unsaid words hanging in the air. she picks at her fingernails, glancing at you out of the corner of her eye. you’re still in your pajamas, hair a little messy, looking so comfortable that it’s hard to look away.

after a beat, you exhale, breaking the tension. "fuck this," you mutter, shifting to lay down on the bed, patting the space next to you. "come on."

hanni blinks, then, after a moment’s hesitation, lies down beside you. the bed feels small with both of you so close, but she’s trying to act normal, like her heart isn’t doing backflips just from being near you. you both stare up at the ceiling for a moment before you start talking, and to hanni’s relief, it feels natural.

you talk about everything—the group, your recent worries about the new routines, the photoshoots you’ve got lined up, how excited you are about the new choreography. hanni listens, nodding along, occasionally chiming in about her own thoughts. it feels comfortable, almost like it used to be, like there’s nothing between you but shared conversation.

"i’m really liking the new choreo," you say, turning your head slightly to look at her. "it’s intense, but it’s fun, right?"

hanni nods, her voice soft. "yeah, i love it. i think it’s one of our best routines."

there’s a pause, the kind that feels more like a breath than an interruption. she glances at you, and for a moment, everything feels lighter. like maybe this is enough—just talking, just being close like this.

"you’ve been doing great, by the way," you add quietly, eyes meeting hers, and suddenly both of you are all too hyperaware of how close and physical this is. "i know things have been weird, but i’m glad we’re good."

hanni swallows, her throat feeling tight as she stares at you. for a moment, she considers saying more, opening up about everything she’s been feeling. about how she’s been avoiding you because being close makes her too nervous, how danielle’s been pushing her to be honest, how she’s been daydreaming about you too much for her own good; she considers dropping the fact that she’s in love with you. but instead, she just gives you a small, appreciative smile.

"yeah," she whispers, her voice barely above a breath. "i’m glad too."

maybe it’s because it’s late and you’re too tired to keep pretending, sick of shrinking into some shell. maybe it’s because hanni is right there, looking like a dream, even more than that. maybe you’re young, stupid, and undeniably in love with her. the tension has been building all night, and before you can stop yourself, the words leave your lips, making your chest feel impossibly tight.

“i need to be honest with you,” you murmur, picking at your fingers beneath the blanket. “and you can pull away and leave after i say it.”

hanni frowns, sitting up slightly. “what?”

you swallow hard, the weight of your confession heavy in your throat. you sit up and put your face in your hands. “hanni, i like you. i like you the way people do in love songs. i like you like people yearn for each other in half the songs on your playlist. i don’t know any other way to say it, i’m—i’m sorry.”

there’s a beat of silence, a long, agonizing pause where you feel your heart shrinking into itself. hanni stares at you, her brows twitching, mouth slightly open, and all you can do is pray that this isn’t the moment everything falls apart.

“are you serious?”

you flinch. “i’m sorry—”

“no, no.” hanni shakes her head, turning away to stare up at the ceiling, hands covering her face. "i need a minute."

your heart shatters, the weight of rejection sinking deep. “hanni, i’m so sor—”

“don’t be.” she lifts her hands just enough to show her forehead, a wide smile breaking across her face. "oh my god. i like you too. i’ve been trying to tell you, i didn’t know how. danielle has been telling me to confess for weeks, but i was so scared."

your breath catches. "wait—seriously?"

hanni nods, still grinning, and suddenly everything shifts. the tension that had been suffocating you both breaks, leaving the air light and giddy. you both can’t look at each other for a moment, the sheer happiness boiling up inside making you fidget, trying to contain the laughter threatening to spill out. it’s a nice contrast from the (what seemed like) years of pining.

your hearts are pounding, faces flushed, and the awkward energy between you only makes it all the more real. now you’re both sitting next to each other like two middle schoolers in love—something like that—giddy, flustered, and shocked.

hanni glances at you through her lashes, then covers her face again, laughing softly. “i can’t believe this.”

“i can’t believe it either,” you admit, feeling the heat rise in your cheeks.

for a second, neither of you move. then, on a whim, you reach out and take her hand, the touch sending a rush of warmth through your body. hanni turns to you, her eyes meeting yours with that same mix of nervous excitement. it feels like time slows down, the world narrowing down to just the two of you. and before either of you can talk yourselves out of it, you lean in, your lips meeting hers in a soft, tentative kiss.

the world stops for a moment.

when you pull back, both of you are breathless, grinning like losers.

"oh my god," hanni says, eyes wide, voice barely above a whisper. “was that too quick? did we rush it?”

you laugh softly. "probably. but i think i would like, die if we hadn’t… yeah.”

without saying anything else, you both lay back down, facing each other on the bed, your fingers still intertwined. it feels easy now, like a weight has lifted, and the giddiness that lingers makes it impossible to stop smiling.

eventually, the talking fades, and you both drift off, tangled together, feeling a sense of peace that neither of you had realized you were missing.

everything feels right for the first time in weeks---hanni in your arms, your arms wrapped around hanni, being close to hanni, hanni close to you---and there's nothing that makes you happier in the moment.

[zluckychap]

i give my thoughts on sebastian and painter's roles in pressure's story because i am bored (see below)

sebastian is selfish.

he isn’t inherently selfish. his circumstances, however, forced him into a situation where he had to be. i would argue that his selfishness is the only reason he is still alive.

as of the lockdown, sebastian only has 2 goals in mind.

1) his own survival and 2) urbanshade’s downfall. anything he must do to accomplish those goals is a moot point.

in the midst of the lockdown, sebastian encountered something. or rather, someone. a fellow victim of urbanshade, who hated them just as much as sebastian did. someone willing and able to assist him in his goal of achieving freedom.

that was all he needed to hear.

sebastian is at least a bit fond of painter. he finds the little guy endearing.

but he mainly likes painter for his usefulness. he sees painter as an asset. therefore, he isn’t really inclined to treat him as a friend.

the deal they made stated that painter would buy sebastian time to organize an escape, in return for seb taking painter with him. in the end, painter’s fate relies entirely on sebastian’s willingness to honor that deal.

is there any chance that sebastian might actually do that? of course there is. that chance is just very, very, very low.

one thing that might compel sebastian to make good on his deal is his sense of honor as a businessman. he honors the sales deals he makes with the expendables, even if he hopes they all explode.

though i suppose if he had a habit of cheating them out, or killing them without reason, they’d stop coming to his shop, stripping him of a valuable source of data. sebastian is kind of forced to honor his deals in that scenario.

if sebastian chose to break off his deal with painter, he would not get the short end of the stick. painter would be the only one inconvenienced.

what about a sense of kinship? granted, while seb had it way worse, seb and painter are both victims of urbanshade. would seb feel compelled to save another poor soul from the same fate as him? ehhh…

in order for sebastian to care enough about honoring his end of the deal… he needs to put someone else’s needs before his own. does he care enough about painter to do that for him?

right now, as things currently stand within the story… my money’s on no.

it’s evident that sebastian doesn’t check in on painter much, if at all. he isn’t bothering to keep him updated on a plan that they are supposedly both in on.

despite that, painter holds onto hope that sebastian will come back for him. it’s not like he has any other options.

sebastian doesn’t check in on painter because, well, he is selfish. his circumstances have forced him into a mindset where he thinks his only chance at survival means exclusively looking out for number one.

in order to improve his own odds of survival, he did the bare minimum of what it would take to get painter on his side… and then left him out to dry.

heck, painter’s usefulness is the only reason the two are even acquainted. if, when they met, painter had been unable to assist sebastian at all, i guarantee seb would have just been like “welp sucks to be you, byebye” without a second thought.

so as things are now, painter is most likely doomed, as is the friendship he thinks he has with seb.

the only question remaining is: is there hope for them in the future? is there a feasible chance that they could both get the happy endings they deserve?

in order for that to happen, sebastian needs to learn to care again. to trust again. to do the work to keep and maintain painter’s friendship.

to try to accomplish his goals not just for himself, but for those he cares for.

could that possibly be in seb’s future?

i don’t know. but i don’t wish to rule anything out.

and i’m certainly not going to give up hope on these two just yet.

after all, anything is possible.

[razrbladekiss]

MAPLE HAZEL | Joel Miller — Part Three

SUMMARY: joel’s misery is palpable. you’re oblivious to it. until you’re not.

PAIRING: no outbreak!joel miller x afab!reader

WORD COUNT: 5.9k, you are welcum.

WARNINGS: angst. reader is an eagles fan (do NOT come for me, they are my boys. go birds 🦅). F L U F F. mentions of reader’s dad. tommy and joel are jerks, but joel redeems himself. tommy can suck a fat one. i kidddd <3 this is probably the angst-iest this story’ll get because im addicted to the fluff so. enjoy. 🤞🏼 not proof read or edited, i cannot be fucked for that.

TAGS: if you would like to be added for future installments, then let me know besties!! if i’ve forgotten anyone that’s asked to get added, then please slap me. @millersleee @goodvibesonly421 @j0elmlllers @scorpio-echo

SERIES MASTERLIST

Joel’s hands seize the steering wheel of his truck—the same one that’s presently stationed on your driveway—knuckles turning sheet white for the hold that he has is completely unforgiving. And sore.

He’s irascible. Livid. His anger is sheathed by shame and hatred for himself as the way that he conducted himself this morning was unseemly. Even for Joel, it was appalling. And though you didn’t appear to have any reservations, he knew that he bothered you. Your face didn’t allude to irritation, nor did your tone or mannerisms, but Joel was more than conscious of your internal hurt.

He just knows you that well.

But now he’s sitting—legs numb and cheeks charring red—striving to conjure up an apology that’ll help to shirk any ill-feeling that you may have toward him. Because he was a fucking jerk this morning.

And it was all because of an Eagles sweater, believe it or not.

9.42 AM

Birch Grove is bustling. It's considerably brighter, this morning. The doom and gloom that enveloped your small town yesterday has now dissipated, leaving nothing but small puddles of rainwater and grit in its wake, and it’s beautiful. A sight to behold when you’re leaving your house today.

You avoid the wetness on the road—hoping not to muddy your shoes—and bounce onto the sidewalk, admiring the oil slick that blankets damp gravel on your way over to Joel’s. You swear that there’s a divot in the concrete that holds semblance to a heart, but you’re not sure if that’s just a delusion from lack of sleep or some sort of sign from the universe telling you that perhaps it’s time to find a significant other.

Nonetheless, you take in the scene. How yesterday—in the midst of a storm—not a single body littered the crosswalk, therefore leaving Joel’s little coffee shop completely empty. But today—now that the air has cleared and rain almost dried up—it’s like nothing had even happened, and the entire town is out in force. Like they always should be.

Joel watches in awe as you make tracks across the street toward the cafe—wondering how he ever deserved such a buoyant presence like you in his life despite the fact that he’s a perpetually miserable middle-aged man—and busies himself so you don’t think he’s been ogling you this entire time.

But then the bell rings, Joel’s eyes flick up—against his own will—and you bound over the threshold with the biggest smile. He swallows extremely thickly.

“Good morning.” You say, as happy as ever—clearly on a high from your not-date—and pad through the room toward him. “Can I please have a—“

“You’re late.” 

One of your perfectly tweezed brows raises. 

“For work.” He elaborates. Joel clears his throat. “You’re late for work.”

“I got the day off.” You remind him. He vaguely remembers you saying something about this elusive break on Monday, but was honestly too distracted by his brother attempting to use the coffee machine. 

Joel nods, taking your favorite mug off of the shelf. You smile at the sentiment. 

“Ah, you’re going shopping. Right?”

You nod. Your stomach gurgles when your eyes satisfy the gaze of a perfectly plump cinnamon roll. Not too thick, not too over-done, and the right bun to icing ratio. It’s sitting—alone—in one of the little cake cases.

“I am.” You reply, taking the glass dome off of the top. Like last time, you swipe the sweet treat right from underneath Joel’s nose. Only, today, you slide two dollars across so he can’t complain. 

But he wouldn’t anyway. Not today. Because he admires the fact that you’re ungovernable, while simultaneously respecting him. To an extent, anyway. 

“I can get you some fall decor.”

“No—“

“He needs to spruce this place up.”

His eyes roll when he’s pouring the frothed milk atop your latte, hardly going unnoticed by his larger-than-life, sometimes a bit too overbearing brother. 

Tommy acknowledges you by saying your name, and you grin back at him. It’s nice to see one of the Miller’s with anything but a stoic expression slapped against those rough, rugged features. Though there’s something about Joel’s that seems rather superficial. 

Despite being perennial at times, you feel as though you’ve cracked through his tough exterior and. You’re certainly able to decipher between his real and mock revulsion. Last night was the first time that Joel’s guard had truly been down, and it was wonderful. 

“Get him some pumpkins. A wreath—“

“I don’t need no pumpkins. And what the hell is a wreath?”

The youngest brother pulls a stool out next to you, and bumps your shoulder as he sits. He looks at you as if to say get a load of this guy, and you laugh. Joel passes you your latte, and you think that you see a hint of a smile tugging at those plush lips. But you won’t swear to it. 

“A wreath is what Mrs. McKlaren has on her front door for each season.”

“Yeah.” Tommy chimes in. He pulls one of the Birch Grove Gazettes from the pile beside the cake case, and opens it up. “But you knew that. You’re just playin’ dumb in front of—“

You elbow him. “Quit teasin’.” Further defending your friend, you say; “it’s not his fault if he’s not too polished up on the names of things. He’s not pussy-whipped like you are, Tom.”

Joel chuckles at that comment, thanking you with a nod. A man of few words, though you get him. Down to a fine art. 

“True.” He flicks through a few pages, before he’s turning to you with a grimace when you take off your jacket to reveal one of your dad’s old Eagles sweaters. “Oh, God no.”

You frown, putting it to sit on the seat next to you. 

It’s common knowledge around these parts that there are two teams, and two teams only that it’s acceptable to support. Unless you’re flaunting the badge of the Texans or Dallas Cowboys, then you’re basically committing a federal crime.  And the men of Birch Grove take this very, very seriously. 

“Joel. I know you’re friends with this broad—“

“Watch your mouth.” He grumbles, appearing from the kitchen. He has his head down, hands full of cutlery. 

“Sorry.” Tommy says oh so quietly. “But—but look. She’s wearing the mark of the devil.”

Your eyes are rolling so hard you fear that they’ll roll straight from their sockets and into your coffee. You just know that beneath the green flannel, Joel is donning an Aikman jersey.

“That’s so dramatic.” Arms are being folded over as you speak, and he still hasn’t looked in your direction. “It’s just a football team—“

“Woah.” The two Millers harmonize. Joel eyes you directly and turns his nose up as soon as he heeds the shade of green that should be classed as blasphemy, not midnight.  

He didn’t know that you liked them. Tess liked them, too. But you know that. You’re not fucking stupid. 

And perhaps she might’ve aided the disgust that percolates through Joel whenever he hears someone utter the name Brian Dawkins, but he can’t help associating them with her. That same way he thinks of her whenever Fall rolls around, or whenever you step into his little cafe. 

He has such strong feelings for you, but needs to put them aside. He needs to bury them deep for fear of the past repeating itself because he isn’t sure if he can go through that again. His guard goes up, and eyes go down. He busies himself with cleaning. 

“Sacrilege.” Tommy spits. “It’s not just a football team, woman. It’s Irreverent. To come in here and wear that is absolutely ridiculous.”

Your jaw rolls and you look down at the faded logo. 

“I respect that you root for the birds, I do. It must be hard to support such a shit team—“

“Language.” Joel scolds, a little heated. “But, I agree. Can’t go wearin’ that ‘round these parts. It’s almost as bad as you comin’ in here wearing a Steelers jersey.”

Tommy grimaces. It’s not quite as bad, but it certainly sucks. 

But, to you, what sucks is the fact that these men—grown fucking men—are chewing you out over a sweater. It’s child’s play. 

“They’re not a shitty team. They’re great.” You defend your guys, watching Joel try to control the bitterness threatening to bust right out of his lips. “I’ve always loved them. My dad is from Philly—“

“Explains why you have such crappy taste.”

You blink at Tommy. 

“Anyway.” You clear your throat. “I’ll always root for the birds, because they’re my favorites. I also, believe it or not, enjoy the Cowboys when they play at home, or against the Giants. It’s patriotic. But they are a pretty shitty team—“

“No, they ain’t.”

“They are.” You uphold, making direct eye contact with the youngest sibling. “Remind me, when was the last time they went to the Superbowl?”

Tommy’s jaw rolls, and Joel can feel himself slipping. 

“Ninety-five.” Begrudgingly, he says. “But that don’t mean shit—“

“Kinda does.” 

“No it don’t.” He growls. “When was the last time those damn birds won the big game, huh?”

Without missing a beat, you say; “twenty-eighteen. They beat the Patriots by eight points, Brady sucked and Foles was the MVP. I tailgated at the stadium with my dad and uncle—“

“In Minnesota?”

“Yessir.” You tell Tommy before taking the last sip of your—now lukewarm—coffee. “I’ll also be heading to Philly to see the Eagles v Steelers game.”

Joel scoffs. 

“Got somethin’ to say, old timer?”

He grinds his lips together before saying; “just baffles me s’all. Don’t get how someone—Dallas born ‘n raised—can root for a team from Philadelphia.”

“Just the way it goes. But I did say that I enjoy them from time to time.”

“Shouldn’t be that way.” Tommy interjects. “Texans are meant to support Texan-made teams all the time. Not fuckin’—“

“Tommy.” Joel gestures to the customers, scolding him again for his crudeness. 

You pull cash from your purse while the two of them bicker, putting atop the counter before Joel can even refuse. You shrug on your jacket, too, promptly doing up the buttons so the tension can dissipate a little. But it doesn’t. 

“I’m not arguing with you two morons over football any longer.” A little meaner than intended, you tell the two of them. You turn to Joel, brows furrowing. “And I know why you despise the Eagles; I’m not an idiot. I saw her walking ‘round the place with her scarves in the winter, ‘n the occasional jersey on football Sundays.”

Tommy looks between the two of you, sensing some friction. 

“Don’t project Tess’s shit onto me, Joel.” Blunt, you say. “I’m sorry that I was the reason for her leaving, but it ain’t my fault we have the same interests. You can’t pussyfoot around forever, and I don’t appreciate gettin’ admonished for a fucking football sweatshirt.”

“Don’t.” He warns, wrenching a dish rag between calloused fingertips. He knew that last night’s conversation was deep-rooted in something more than just you being curious. “I’m not pussyfootin’ ‘round. I just don’t wanna talk about her.”

“I know.” You say—realizing that you were a little too hot off the mark—but you don’t feel sorry. “But there’ll always be people who like the same things that she did, or say the same things, or remind you of her.”

He looks at you. He knows what you mean. He knows that you know that—in some kind of way—you make Joel think of her. You’re so strong, like Tess. So outspoken, exactly like her. But you’re caring and kind, and don’t get jealous over the slightest little things, and you let him speak. 

You let him tell you about his troubles, not that he shares too much. And you’re not pushy. But now, it feels like you’re being exactly that. 

“I’m sorry that my mere presence as a Goddamn Eagles fan pisses you off, Joel, but I’m not going to be able to change that. You’ll just have to try and detach those memories—“

The dishrag is being hurled onto the bar along with his fists. “I’m not gonna detach those memories! I ain’t gonna forget her just ‘cus you think you know me and my relationship with that woman so well! You don’t know shit. All you do is come in here ‘n drink coffee, rant about crap that nobody cares about, make me listen to your stupid fuckin’ problems—and I’m sick of it!”

You blink back tears as you stare at him, for the volume is intimidating and completely unwavering. You’ve never been yelled at before—in front of customers, by Joel—and you want to be sick. Everyone is staring. Some people are even leaving. 

Has he always felt this way? You wonder. Has Joel always thought that your ramblings are pointless, and that your issues are facetious? You’re sure that he’s just spewing nonsense at this point, but it still stings. 

“Joel—“

“Get out.” He looks down, hands gripping tightly the wooden countertop. He refuses eye contact. 

Tommy gives you a weak smile, immediately regretting setting foot into Joel’s this morning. Quite like you, really. 

“I’m really sorry for bringing her up, Joel, I know how—“

“Go.” His eyes lift to satisfy your gaze, hurt written over his features. “Please…Just leave.”

“Okay.” You nod, lifting your purse from the stool. It’s a quick bye to Tommy that has those damn tears spilling as you walk to your car, not even looking back to wave or smile at your friend like you usually do. 

You fear that this’ll change the trajectory of your relationship with Joel. And his brother knows that. 

He knows that if he doesn’t say something—at this point, anything—then Joel will just let this sit and fester, and become something that it has absolutely no business being. 

His brother knows that you’re the only constant in his life—aside from family—and if he lets you go, then he’ll be considerably more bleak. He’ll have his patrons to keep him company, but he won’t have you. The girl that has—unbeknownst to her—given Joel something to look forward to every day. 

The girl that Joel can’t help thinking of, or talking about, whenever he gets the chance. And despite not always showing his admiration, he’s besotted with you. Infatuated, perhaps. His fondness so clear that everyone can see it. Everyone, aside from you. 

Especially after that.  

“You’re a fucking jerk.” Tommy chastises. “She shouldn’t have mentioned Tess, but that was horrible—“

“I don’t care.” Through gritted teeth, he tells him. “She took it too far—“

“No, we did.” He admits. “She probably wouldn’t have brought the bitch up if we didn’t tease her for wearing her dad’s fuckin’ sweater.”

Joel swallows the lump in his throat, refusing to admit that Tommy could be right about this. 

“You need’a get a hold of your emotions, brother. Can’t be sendin’ her away like that when we both know you’ve got feelings for her—“

Joel grumbles as he rounds the counter, polishing a few tables in hopes that his sibling will go and leave him to it. But he doesn’t. 

“Can’t let Tess be the reason you two ain’t talkin’. ‘Specially ‘cus she ain’t even in the state anymore.”

Fuck. Off. 

Tommy watches him feign emotion, knowing deep down that his brother wants to beat himself to a pulp because you didn’t deserve any of that. 

“She’s right, y’know?”

“What?” 

Tommy says your name. “She’s right. If you don’t cut ties with the things that remind you of Tess, then you’ll never be happy. Always be comparin’ shit to her, and makin’ yourself miserable. Or miserable-r.”

“That ain’t even a word, dipshit.”

“True, though.” He says. “Joel, you’re so in love with this girl, you can’t let her go over a Goddamn football team—“

“Not in love.”

“Bullshit.” The youngest spits. “You get literal heart eyes whenever you look at her, and don’t even try ‘n deny it ‘cus Maria notices too.”

Joel blinks at him, wondering how he’d been so openly vulnerable. He‘a confused at how he’d unintentionally let his guard down enough to display his feelings. The ones that he wasn’t even certain about. 

“It mightn’t be love, Joel, but you’re mad about this girl.” He says a bit softer. Quieter. “And you can try to put these feelings aside, but what’re you gonna do if she walks in here with another man? Or she goes on more dates and finds the one? You just gonna live with it? Just gonna be jealous and miserable for the rest of your life?”

Joel walks to the café window and just stares for a few moments, secretly hoping to see you stomp across the street to give him a piece of your mind. But you don’t. 

“Think you’ve done enough wallowin’ in the past, don’t you?”

He supposes that he’s right. Joel knows that there’s some truth to what is being said to him, and so he turns the Open sign to Closed, and gestures for Tommy to get the remaining customers to leave. 

“What’re you gonna do?” 

“Make things right.” Joel grabs his jacket from the coat stand beside the door, and throws the shop keys to his brother. “Close up for me, will ‘ya?”

Tommy shakes his head. He gets off of his stool and goes behind the counter, grabbing one of the aprons from the hook beside the kitchen door. 

“Turn the sign back ‘round. You might’ve just lost your most loyal customer, you can’t afford to fuckin’ lose no more.”

Joel just nods. He has no fight left inside of him. He does as told, and storms across the sidewalk to his truck. 

He’s been stationary for the last fuck knows how long, just mentally preparing himself for whatever bullshit will spill from his lips the second he sees you. If you even want to open your door to him. He wouldn’t blame you, if you didn’t. He gave you shit, and kicked you out when you spoke your mind. And the truth. Because, that’s what it was, wasn’t it? As harsh as it might’ve been, it was the truth and it was what he needed to hear. 

It’s been two hours since getting a verbal beat-down and, strangely, he really misses the sound of your voice. The oddly dulcet tone. The sweet, honeyed rhythm that slips from between two of the plushest, softest looking lips he’s ever bared witness to in his entire life. And even though some of the words that fell from them were harsh, he no longer cares. 

If he doesn’t apologize, then he might not get to hear you speak again. And he’ll take several scoldings if it means that he can listen to your beautiful tone. 

Fuck. 

“C’mon, dickhead.” He tells his reflection in the mirror. He eyes himself, wondering whether the hat should stay on or off. Because if he takes it off, then his hair might look bad, but if he keeps it on then you mightn’t be able to take him seriously. 

He’s overthinking it. 

It stays on when he’s lugging his body—warm and palpitating—from the cabin, and onto the gravel of your driveway. He minds the flower beds when his boots hit ground, knowing that he’ll have hell to pay if he crushes your blooms or kicks up any mud.

His breath is hot and heavy. It’s like he’s just ran the Boston fucking marathon, not sit in his truck for the better part of twenty minutes being too much of a pussy to knock at your front door. 

But now he’s strolling to your porch, and can’t put it off any longer. He doesn’t even know if you’re home, but he guesses that you are. The wreath that you got today—golden leaves adorned with acorns and berries—is hanging proudly against the wood that you’ve painted sage. 

He laughs to himself when his hand comes up to knock, number eight. It’s almost comical how the number of your house coalesces with the number of his favorite ex-Cowboys player. But he’s not going to bring that up. Maybe another time. 

Joel takes a few deep breaths, heart only stuttering when he hears your footsteps approaching over the suspended wood flooring. The one that he actually had to help you sand down just eight months ago because you always felt that they looked too dark. Depressing. 

He smiles weakly. It doesn’t last long. When you swing the door open and your face falls, then so does Joel’s. 

“Hi.” He whispers, internally kicking himself for being such a wimp. He clears his throat. “Nice wreath.”

You fight a grin. Your disappointment outweighs any semblance of softness at this very juncture. 

After a few hours of mulling it over—and rage shopping—you’ve come to the conclusion that you were at fault. But Joel certainly didn’t make it any better when he kicked you off the premises after his hurtful monologue. 

“Thanks.” Your cardigan is pulled tightly around your body. Cream always looks so good on you. “Is—uh—is there something that I can help you with?”

Joel looks down for a split second. It feels like forever before he’s looking directly at you again. The thumping inside of his chest hasn’t once subsided since appearing at your street, he’s never felt like this before. At least, he can’t ever remember feeling like this. 

And it’s because of this—feeling—that he’s struggling to extrapolate his inward thoughts. You heed it. You know him like the back of your hand, apparently. His face is sullen—almost remorseful—and eyes hazy. 

Has he been crying? No. He’s probably just really annoyed. He looks like that sometimes when Tommy’s pissed him off, and he needs to vent. 

You shift aside, gesturing for Joel to come in. He hesitates for a moment, before he’s stepping over the threshold and into your beautiful home. The home that presently smells like a mixture of Sandalwood and Lavender, but Neroli and Bergamot in the summer months. 

What the fuck is Bergamot? Why do I know what that smells like?

He takes it in. The subtle scent, the fall decorations that make your cozy home look even more appeasing. It’s cute. It’s put together, clean, and inviting. It’s so you. 

You shut the door behind him when he takes a few paces into the entryway, just watching him. His broad shoulders swathed in soft, green flannel are tipped slightly forward. He’s not holding himself the way that he usually does. 

“Is everything okay, Joel?” You break the silence, shuffling past him through the hallway and to the kitchen. You hear him follow behind. Those heavyset footsteps make your heart ache, for some reason. 

Even by the way he walks—slow, long strides—he seems down. Remorseful, perhaps. And though he doesn’t wear his heart on his sleeve, it’s always easy to tell how he feels. 

“Tea?” You offer without turning around, taking the kettle that’s just come to a boil on the stove. “I have chamomile, green, or English.”

“No coffee?” Your head shakes, pulling two mugs from the small shelf above the counter. Joel sits at your kitchen island. “How come?”

Two English teabags are being lifted from the carton—he didn’t specify, you just guess—and plopped into ceramic. 

“I don’t make my own coffee. Don’t taste the same when I do.”

His heart aches. After skipping a beat, of course. He takes a seat at your kitchen island, watching you potter around, clearly not prepared for a guest. 

“Tea is a little more warming, anyway.” You gesture for the sugar and he shakes his head. “Don’t enjoy coffee when I’m on my own. Only when I’m with someone.”

“That why you always come to see me in the mornin’?”

Faintly, you smile. Your head bobs a little bit, hanging low. 

He says your name. You look at him. “Y’know, if you ever want a coffee outta hours, I’m usually at home. You can come ‘round, if you wanna.”

That strange gnawing sensation returns beside a debilitating thumping. He feels the same, but you don’t know that. 

“Same here.” A weak smile tugs at the corners of your lips and you bring Joel his tea. The white ceramic is festooned with acorns and leaves, and he swears that you’ve just given him one of your best mugs. 

You sip quietly your warm beverage, standing opposite to where he sits in an uncomfortable silence. A lull that neither of you realize lasts an entire minute before you’re clearing your throat, and Joel is still trying to find his words. 

“Listen.” He sets down the tea—the best he’s ever had—and shifts a little bit. Joel tries to avoid eye contact with you, but understands that this is one of the times that he needs to show you just how important this is. It’s not just a casual conversation at the coffee house, anymore. 

You’re facing him fully, now. Eyes wide, lips parted a little bit. 

“I’m really sorry about earlier.” His tone is honest, wreathed with a hint of genuine sadness. “I had no business being such a jerkoff to you, kid. I said some hurtful shit, and I let my mouth get away from me.”

“You were a total dick, Joel.” 

He nods. “I know.”

“And I know that I never shoulda brought her up, but I didn’t think you’d yell at me. In front of everyone.”

He starts to cringe as he remembers what he said. How he said those horrible things. You’re such a sweet girl, he can’t believe he flipped out on you that way. 

“Do you really think that what comes outta my mouth is crap?”

“No, of course not—“

“Is everything I say fucking pointless?”

“Hon—no—no, of course not.” Joel fumbles his words a bit, just glad that he didn’t refer to you as any other embarrassing fucking pet name. He's not even sure that you caught it, what with being blinded by such a haze of anger. 

You do, though. You just don’t acknowledge it. 

Your thumb loops through the glossy handle, and you look into your mug. 

“I choose to start each morning the same way; at your café. I don’t do it because I want to come in and ruin your day by ranting, or spillin’ my guts about shitty dates and bad friends.” You refuse eye contact, still watching the tea slosh around as you move the cup ever so slightly. “I do it because I like you, Joel. You’re a great guy, and make my days a little bit easier. I’d even go so far as to consider you one of my friends. But, if you don’t feel that way—“

“Hey.” He reaches out for your hand. He’s surprised that you don’t pull away when his tan flesh meets yours so suddenly. Joel asks you to look at him, and you oblige. 

It’s so sad. Your eyes—so full of hurt—now locked on his. Soft, warm fingers wound between his thick digits. He frowns. 

“Listen to me.” Stern, though soft, he tells you. “Of course I feel that way. I tell you shit that I ain’t even told my own brother, ‘course I see you as a friend. Probably the only person I’d even wanna spend time with, if I’m honest.”

“You’re just sayin’ that, ‘cus you hurt my feelings—“

“No, I ain’t.” Joel shakes his head, trying to ignore the fact that he hurt your feelings. “I’m serious.”

“As a heart attack?”

He chuckles. “Yeah, kiddo, as a heart attack.”

Eyes roll at the sentiment, wondering whether there’ll ever be a time where Joel doesn’t refer to you as kid or kiddo. He tells you that it’s because he’s a lot older than you, but you both know there’s not even a ten year gap between the pair of you. He’s just dramatic and wishing his life away. 

“I’m—uh—I’m no good at this shit.” He looks down, a little curl poking through the back strap of his cap catches your eye. “Feelings, ‘n all.”

Instinctively, your thumb traces over the skin of his hand. You nod. You know. 

He's not the most sentimental person—nor does he cogitate  with his heart—but Joel is one of the most thoughtful men you’ve ever met, and these last few days have you feeling a different way about him. You can’t say that it’s a crush—crushes are for kids, is what your mother often tells you—but it’s certainly something. 

You’re just worried about the fact that he can’t let go of Tess. 

“Don’t gotta explain feelings, sweetie.” You tell him with a smile, reaching for your mug. The tea is cool, now. A little bit easier to drink than when it was piping hot and burning the roof of your mouth. “Just gotta feel ‘em, that’s all. Explain once you understand.”

You take a sip of the drink you made a short while ago, hands detaching. Joel almost feels weak without your touch, now. But he supposes that had it lasted any longer, he’d crumble. 

“Always know what to say, dontcha?”

“I do.” Conceited—though completely satirical—you say. He smiles, and so do you. “But in all seriousness, Joel, I know that you appreciate me. And I know that today was a complete one-off, but I just gotta know one thing.”

“Go for it.”

You suck in a breath, hating where you’re about to lead the conversation. “Did last night make you think differently of me? Y’know, when I asked those questions and pried a little?”

Joel’s heart thumps. Again. He doesn’t know how to say yeah, last night changed everything. But not ‘cus of what you asked me. 

He supposes that he can’t lie to you. He’s as transparent as a pane of fucking glass, at this point. 

“No. Definitely not.”

“Really?”

He nods. “Really. You had the right to know. Nothin’ has changed.”

Liar. 

He’s looking at you with those big fucking heart eyes that his brother teased him about earlier, and he knows it. He knows that he’s smitten. Truly, Joel is more than conscious of the fact that he’s falling—or more appropriately, fallen—for you, but he’s not at liberty to say. 

“You can tell me, y’know?”

He nods. “I know. There’s nothin’ to tell.”

“Okay.” Your tone is skeptical. He’s lying. 

He’s also been sitting here for far too long and is in desperate need of a long, cold shower to wash away the day and shirk any feelings before they come to bite him on his perfectly round ass. So he gets up—pushing the seat back beneath the island—and smiles at you. 

“Left Tommy behind the counter?”

Joel nods. “Yeah. He’s probably cussin’ me out right ‘bout now.”

Your laugh is genuine. Hearty. “Best get back then, hon.”

Joel’s mouth goes dry when his lips part to speak. Nothing materializes. Not even when he’s walking to the front door—you’re hot on his heels—can he figure out what to say. 

He’s opening it before he’s even certain of what he’s doing. 

“Miller.” You say and he turns around. He can’t help looking directly at your lips. “I’ll see ‘ya tomorrow.”

“Yeah.” He coughs. “Have a good night.”

“You too.”

He’s about to walk away—and you’re about to shut the door—before he’s leaning over the threshold and letting all rationality dissipate. Joel’s left hand meets the doorframe—mere inches from your own—and his breathing grows sporadic. 

Well, now or never, I ‘spose. 

Your fingers tingle, legs weaken. It’s only a split second, but it feels like an eternity that Joel is just standing there; staring at you. He’s waiting to make a move, you’re almost certain of it. 

“You gonna do somethin’?” You taunt, tilting your head a little. It almost snaps him out of his anxiety-induced haze. It eggs him on, if anything. 

“Fuck—shit—yeah.” Joel steps forward so that he’s no longer leaning, and the tips of his boots meet your toes. He’s careful not to stand on them. It’s sweet. 

He’s sweet. 

“C’mere.” He’s telling you when one of his calloused hands meets the nape of your neck, and both of yours are instinctively pawing at his chest. The soft, white  jersey beneath that customary flannel is like satin against your fingertips. He draws you in closer. “I lied.”

“‘Bout what?” You whisper, letting Joel’s hand shift to your cheek. It’s hard not to melt into his touch. 

His thumb brushes over your skin. You wilt beneath it. 

“Last night.” Your eyes are locked. “Everythin’ has changed.”

You nod. You feel the same way.

“And I dunno how to go ‘bout this, ‘cus I can’t do this whole lovey-dovey crap, but I do know that I wanna kiss you.”

He pulls you forward so that your faces are almost touching, and your hands have no choice but to rest atop the peaks of his glorious shoulders. This is something you only could’ve dreamed of. You and Joel in this position—on your doorstep—like something out of a fucking romcom, or Gilmore Girls. 

C’mon, man. Kiss her. 

The man’s heart juts in his throat. Two noses graze one another—when Joel angles his face so that he’s not pushing too firmly against yours—and you can’t help smiling wide at the prospect of Joel Miller, grumpiest man in Birch Grove, taking a liking to you. 

It’s almost as if your entire time with Joel flashes before your eyes—all of the early mornings and late nights spent at his coffee house, the stories shared and secrets told—and everything comes to a head in this particular moment. 

Your smile doesn’t falter. Not even when his lips meet yours, and he pushes the most dulcet kiss against your mouth. It’s so gentle. Nothing more than a delicate peck, but so passionate in the sense that; the two of you need this. The tenderness of the other’s touch—the sweet, cloying taste of sugar on your tongue meshed with malt from the tea—is welcomed almost immediately, accommodated by an unexpected desire and thirst for intimacy. 

And though it is but a peck, the two of you know that this is the start of something. Something completely unexplainable and somewhat unexpected, but something nonetheless. 

You’re the first to pull away. He’s too enamored with you. 

“Joel.” You breathe against his lips. Cheeks are flushed red, eyes hooded and completely blown with lust. “Thanks for comin’ here, and apologizing.”

“Thanks for acceptin’ my apology.” He tells you. Joel takes a step back—not before running his thumb over your skin one last time—for fear of initiating something else. “Wouldn’t have blamed you if you didn’t wanna.”

“Don’t go sayin’ that. ‘Course I’ll always accept your apologies.”

Joel’s heart rate must be through the roof at this point. 

“Even if I run outta maple hazel syrup?”

A gasp falls from your lips and you feign anguish. You soon smile. He looks at his wristwatch, and sighs. 

“I better get goin’. Left Tommy alone a while, now. Not sure if I’ll have a cafe to get back to, if I keep him any longer.”

You laugh. “Go on. I’ll be there tomorrow.”

“If it hasn’t been burned to the ground, you mean?”

“Yeah, if it hasn’t been burned to the ground.”

Joel nods. He’s fishing about the pocket of his flannel for the key. 

“Enjoy the rest of your day, hon.”

His cheeks heat up. “Yeah, you too, kid.”

You can’t help letting out a little ha ha when he’s getting into his truck, and you’re watching from your post against the doorframe. When he gives you a little wave, he pulls away and you’re ambling back into your hallway. Satisfied. Though somewhat confused. 

Nothing could’ve prepared you for the trajectory of this day, and you suppose that nothing will ever come close. You just need to figure out what happens next. 

[secriden]

One of my favourite things about the way Fadel's plan (to "make them [Style] fall in love with us [me]") plays out is that when he dials up his affection and goes all out on the sweet flirtation and tenderness, Style immediately finds it weird and strange and suspicious and off-putting. Fadel pretending to be #whipped actually makes Style pull away like none of Fadel's aggression and violence and outright rejection did -- because it wasn't sincere, and Style could sense that.

When Fadel first drags Style out and starts peppering kisses on his face, Style turns away from his kisses and pulls back/pushes Fadel away from him to start questioning why Fadel is acting so strange. This is the same person who later propositions Fadel in a public bathroom whilst knowing one of the stalls is currently occupied by a stranger, so whilst I fully acknowledge Style probably genuinely did not want his dad to see them necking in his place of work, I'm also convinced it wasn't the only reason.

Because when Fadel allows some honesty to slip out, when he says "Don't you ever think that I'm only like this because of you?", Style actually softens and turns into Fadel's kiss for the first time in the scene. His hands go from pushing upwards at Fadel's neck to clenching softly against his shoulder and upper arm, like he's finally able to relax and hold Fadel closer (you can actually see the difference in these screenshots compared to the ones above). Style stops resisting and sinks into the kiss, lets his eyes almost slip close because something in him recognises that Fadel spoke true.

The same thing happens in Style's bedroom when Fadel continues his charade: Style is smiling, but there's a distinctly uncomfortable and awkward air about it, and he actually pulls away when Fadel continues to sniff-kiss him while going on and on about loving the way Style smells like gasoline. Fadel tries to be clingy again and Style outright calls him out on how weird he's being, so Fadel is forced to backtrack into sincerity:

Suddenly, Style's wariness turns to excitement and interest; he happily agrees to come along and asks what he should get Bison as a gift. Fadel is literally torturing himself to keep up this excessive affection and tenderness (the away Fadel's softness and sweetness just drops once Style goes to take that shower. Ugh. T_T) and gets nothing from Style until he offers something genuine -- a request for time to celebrate someone Fadel truly loves.

In fact, it's the pieces of honesty (or at least I'm assuming that this is also true since he was honest about Bison's birthday), and only those, that Style responds positively to. We have seen Style flirting constantly in previous episodes but he literally has not said anything scandalous or suggestive so far, nor has he initiated any affection even once until this moment.

And the reason why I love all this SO MUCH is because it really shows the evidence of Style's words before he even says them. In the midst of all the secrets and lies between them, ever since he found out about Fadel's secret and decided he was going to keep pursing him anyway, Style has been chasing and chasing Fadel's sincerity. And each precious revelation that Fadel gave him -- his parents' murder, his inability to trust, his desire for something genuine from Style -- has been carefully stored away in Style's heart like nuggets of gold. Which is why Fadel's performance was doomed from the start; because Style was moved by the true things and not the lies, and Fadel's pretensions can have no effect when Style's heart now has the ability to recognise that which he has already grown to love.

[neigepomme]

watching the sunset with caleb fic i beg >< just laying our head on his shoulder with his arm around us ARGH i need something fluffy 🙏ALSO CONGRATS ON 500 FOLLOWERS!! you deserve the world 🫶

˙ ✩°˖ ✈️ style / caleb x reader

synopsis; special delivery! did a certain pipsqueak order a cute pilot boyfriend to distract her from her upcoming exams? well you're in luck, because caleb is here to help!

🍎 pomme's notes — omg i have not listened to taylor swift in a HOT MINUTE this was fun.. if anyone's interested in participating in my drabble event, the info is right here!

⋆ 800 words / fluff / fem reader / 2nd person

exam season was going to kill you. or the heat in your dorm room. whatever came first.

studying for the hunter's exam was a pain, on top of that you were growing insanely homesick and missing caleb's braised chicken wings. you loved the prospect of being a hunter, of course you did, but being away from your boyfriend's arms and instead being doomed to pull all-nighters 3 days in a row? not fun.

on top of that, the AC in your dorm room was out and you felt yourself sticking to your chair. the sad fan that the college provided while you waited for maintenance wasn't doing much to help, instead the soft breeze from your window was the only thing bringing you a semblance of cool air.

but in the midst of your misery you just thought about caleb.

he was busy at the DAA, probably with an assignment in the deepspace tunnel or something, so you didn't let him know that you really, really missed him — something about not putting pilots under stress. that didn't stop you from dreaming about him whisking you away from your studies, just for the evening, at least.

your phone buzzing broke your reverie, and when you look down to read the text message, your entire expression brightens.

getting up from your desk, you look down your window, and it's like caleb can read your mind. leaning against his car outside of your dorm, he waves at you to come down, and you quickly put on shoes and run to him.

"i thought you were in the deepspace tunnel?!"

he grins at you before leaning down to hold you tightly in his arms.

"what, can't i miss my girlfriend who's clearly been deprived of vitamin caleb? you look like you haven't been sleeping at all. exam season's that bad?"

you really were going through a caleb deficiency but you weren't going to outright admit it, so you instead just melt into his embrace and complain about your finals. how much you've studied, and how stressful your teammates for your end of semester presentation were — and that stupid broken AC.

resting his chin atop your head, he hums and sways with you back and forth, soothing you a bit from finals anxiety.

"what do you say we go on a ride and watch the sunset together then? distract you a bit from schoolwork."

it's in moments like these that you think caleb truly is your soulmate.

nodding furiously, you open the passenger door and get inside, all while he laughs at how excited you are. this was just like when you two were younger, he'd take you on late evening drives and you'd sing along to whatever song was on the radio while the soft breeze caressed both of your faces.

this was the closest to heaven on earth. caleb by your side, singing taylor swift songs at the top of your lungs together, while sipping the fizzy apple soda he got for you.

he pulls into a parking lot near a national park, where you can see the setting sun reflected into the nearby lake motioning at you to get out. opening the car trunk to reveal a blanket laid out and a box of your favorite cut up fruits, he hops in before extending a hand towards you.

"get comfy, i'm kidnapping you for the next few hours before i have to go back to the DAA."

caleb really was an angel sent from above to save you from college troubles, wasn't he? you grab onto his hand and he drags you towards him, allowing you to rest your body against him, his arm resting around your waist.

finally allowing yourself to exhale and push away the stress of exams, you lean your head on his shoulder and stare at the sunset. the purple and orange shades remind you of him, his gorgeous eyes always so full of love when he looked at you.

"this sunset looks like you, caleb. i missed this."

you don't need to see his face to know that he's got a smile plastered on it after hearing your comment, his ears probably red and his cheeks flushed from your sudden wave of romanticism.

"mmh. missed this too, pips. missed you."

and as the last rays of sunlight fade from view, you think — loving caleb could never get tiring for you. a never ending teenage love, never growing old, never going out of style.

🍎 pomme's notes — i think caleb would know the lyrics to popular pop songs and yell them out with you in the car nods nods.. also caleb come whisk me away from my responsibilities PLEASE!!!!!

[conflictofthemind]

Thoughts on "Escape from Camazotz"

Oppressive Suburbia, Conformity, and Season 5 Themes

I've long thought that a major focus of Season 5 will be the contrast between the families of The Wheelers and The Byers, and exploring how non-traditional family environments can be freeing vs the oppressive structure of the nuclear family.

In a Wrinkle In Time, Camazotz is a planet controlled by the big bad of the book, the "IT", who forces the citizens into a conformity that resembles American suburbia. All of the houses the same, the citizens the same, doing the same things at the same time without individual identity. Without anything different. Different means a lot of things, but with Stranger Things dropping different in reference to Will's identity and the presumable themes of this season, it will heavily codify as queerness and how it threatens the cisheterosexual family model.

Henry was raised in the 1950s, a decade still revered by conservatives for it's traditional family dynamics that supposedly were the peak of culture and happiness for all. That was all a lie, of course, and Henry knew so as he shows to Nancy and Eleven during his monologue. The second most conservative decade aside from the 1950s in American society is widely considered to be the 1980s.

The Creels will serve in parallel to The Wheelers; the worst example of what they could become and the damage that this type of family could do to a child that is different in any way. Notice how Vecna selectively shows Nancy visions of The Wheelers dying, but not anyone else she may consider family or friends (like Jonathan).

That is; unless they change their ways and come together as a healthy functioning family facing their traumas, The Wheelers will be toast.

Karen has been moved up to a main character role this season. Ted's actor says the father starts to show up more for Holly (hold that) and realizes he wants to act differently. Holly has been recast. Finn has said Mike goes on a much more personal journey this season, and steps up as a leader.

Oh, also: the catalyst for all of this is that Holly goes missing. The contrast will help show how the Byers (including El and Hopper here) were able to pull together and help solve Will's disappearance, versus how the Wheelers as a closed off nuclear family grapple with Holly's vanishing.

Each of the Byers is in some kind of a non-1950s conformist relationship, but particularly Will (not in one now but we all know he will be). I think El might represent, after she breaks up with Mike, the fear of the unmarried woman being satisfied without a husband. The above shot really emphasizes my point.

I predict that Will will end up coming out to his family rather early on, and we will see all of them immediately accept him with little surprise or push-back. Will is a visible gay man who comes from an open minded non traditional family (divorced, non-married, adoptive) that is willing to have honest conversations.

But this theme will place the most focus on the Wheelers. Mike is the main character of said family and this will particularly focus on his arc, and his acceptance of his queerness in the midst of suburban conformity.

He is not visible, he comes from a Reagan-supporting family who don't communicate with each other. He is not particularly close with his family like Will is. He pushes his feelings down and tries his damn hardest to be normal despite it all. His trauma hasn't really been addressed at all. He is falling back into his usual habits - the one thing he dared to do different (grow his hair long) has gone back to how it was.

It's not all doom and gloom though. This season above all will be a redemption arc of the American nuclear family, how they choose to escape their conformity and learn to be there for each other, thus overpowering Vecna. Not that the Wheelers are going to end this personally.

"Great, more hysteria. Just what we need". "It's the news, now indistinguishable from the tabloids".

[rauspberries]

Hard Day's Work

summary: In which you decide to visit the firehouse for some help and end up walking out with a boyfriend... kind of.

tags: evan buckley x fem!reader, fake dating (kinda), season one evan buckley, evan buckley is a FLIRT

Part two of What a Feeling, could be a stand-alone if you want. WC: 2k+

“Can you mount a TV?”

You hadn’t expected Buck to say yes. You definitely hadn’t expected him to excitedly nod his head, handing over his phone for you to put your number in so that he could visit your apartment after shift. He had apologized profusely for not being able to do it right that moment, claiming that Captain Nash had already been getting on to him for disappearing during shift and he didn’t want to put himself in more hot water. Not even for his fake girlfriend, he had remarked with a playful smirk and a wink that had almost melted you into a puddle right then and there.

Now, you paced in your kitchen, thankful that you had cleaned the entire place before you had lumbered your way over to the 118. The last thing your racing, nervous heart needed was running around your apartment to quickly pick up the laundry you had scattered about and the dishes you had left in the sink. 

The time between getting home and the end of Buck’s shift seemed like forever and even longer. You moved from the kitchen counter to your bathroom floor to the living room couch, doom-scrolling on your phone to try and distract your mind. You went from the opinion that this was stupid, you should text and cancel to the daydreaming of what this could become. A handsome firefighter in your apartment, doing housework that you needed… 

It was a scene out of one of the romance novels you tended to read.

You were brought out of your dumb dream by a few, hestiant knocks on your door, immediately lifting your head. Your heart started thumping against your rib cage again, the same queasy waves of butterflies that had originally sprouted when you got home coming back in full force. Your hands shake as you wipe them on your jeans, getting off of the couch and making your way towards the door.

Taking a moment to catch your breath, you run your fingers through your hair once more before pulling the door open, eyes widening as you come face-to-face with Buck’s fist. He had been in the midst of knocking again due to your hesitance to open the door, you notice.

“Oh! I’m sorry. I-I thought you maybe hadn’t heard my knocking, you know, since it was kinda quiet the first time. Uhm.” Buck clears his throat, a soft silence hanging in the air before he raises his arm, the toolbox in his hand clunking at the movement. “I brought my own tools. Didn’t know if you had your own or not. I had to stop by the hardware store for a few things, like a hammer, a drill… Well, honestly, all of it, but it’s okay.” 

He winces at the way he had been rambling, his tongue suddenly feeling heavy in his mouth. He had talked too much. He tended to do that when he was nervous.

You let out a soft laugh, holding the door open a bit wider as you step to the side. You’re glad to see that this situation is just as awkward for him as it is for you. It makes your heartbeat a little bit slower. “Would you like to come in?”

Buck rolls his lips into his mouth to keep himself from speaking any more, nodding as he steps into your apartment. His cerulean eyes take a wide glance around everything, making you feel like you had just split your chest open and revealed everything to him. 

You look around just as he does, wondering what he thinks when he sees your blue couch, so out of place against the white wall it sat against. You deliberate if he thinks the decorative pillows you’ve collected over the years are excessive, or if he’s internally laughing about the stuffed animals that perch in their own respective spots. You almost feel embarrassed by the posters on the wall, the memorabilia from posters and fake street signs covering every inch, until you realize that it’s just a great way for him to get to know you without going through all of the chitchat.

After his initial survey is over, he turns towards you, a ghost of a grin playing on his lips. “I’m assuming the TV you want put up is the one sitting on the box?”

A groan leaves your lips at the idea of how silly it looks, letting the ball of your hand rub into your eye. “That’s the one. And the only one, I promise. Living alone, I only need a TV in my living room, although it does end up with me sleeping on the couch more often than not.”

Buck’s chest rumbles with a low laugh as he steps forward, setting his toolbox on the ground and unlocking it. “It does look like a very comfortable couch. It has a lot of friends on it, too.” The tease falls off of his tongue effortlessly, his eyes finding your face to check and make sure it didn’t pinch a nerve.

Instead, you just laugh, shaking your head as you move into the kitchen. “Can I get you something to drink? Don’t people usually give lemonade to construction workers?” You mumble out loud, opening your fridge and peering into it. Again, you’re grateful for your productivity earlier in the day as you eye the fullness of it.

Another chuckle comes from the man behind you, the sound of a drill whirring following. “Are you calling me a construction worker?” He jokes, the light-heartedness having eased the tension of a first meeting.

“Shut up,” you retort. Pulling the gallon of raspberry lemonade you had stored in the fridge, you pour it into two of your nicest glasses, shutting the cabinet quickly so that he couldn’t even attempt to get a glance at all of the funny cups you had collected. 

You carry the glasses around the island just as Buck finishes drilling the mounting bracket into the wall, working a lot quicker than you thought he would. A pang of disappointment hits you directly in the chest at the idea of him leaving both your apartment and your life way too soon. 

“Does this look right?” He asks, looking over at you questioningly before back at the mount. “Even? Is it where you want it? I can move it and fill in the holes with spackle if it’s not right, you just have to let me know.” The worry in his tone has you grinning, letting your mind wander to the incredulous idea that he wanted to come back and do more stuff for you, just to see you again.

Handing him his glass, you shake your head. “It looks fine, Buck. As long as I can see my TV from my couch, I really do not mind where it is,” you add. You look up at him with a smile, heart jolting as his lips pull into a handsome smile.

He breaks the eye contact he had with you as he steps towards the island, setting down his glass before rolling up his sleeve. You admire the tattoos among his forearms as he talks, only to shake your head when you realize you haven’t registered a single thing he said. “Huh?”

Buck laughs knowingly, shaking his head. “I said, will you help me lift? As much as I’d love to do it all by myself so you could sit yourself comfortably on the couch, I can’t hold the whole thing on my own.” He quirks a brow, watching you closely.

You nod dumbly as you set your drink down, rolling up the sleeves on your sweater. “I’m able to do some physical work by myself, I guess.” You groan playfully, crouching down to grab the bottom corner of your TV.

As soon as Buck has his hands on the other side, he counts down from three, both of you lifting until the back of the TV is aligned with the mount he had already drilled into the wall. You hold it silently as he secures it to the mount, only letting go once he gives you a soft nod.

Both of you step back as soon as you confirm that it's sturdy on the wall, hands on your hips as you take it in. Buck had gotten it right the first try. The TV was level, not even slightly dipping on the side, and it hung perfectly fine on her wall. 

Turning to face him, you give him a grin. “We did it.”

“We? Are you sure?” Buck teases, crossing his arms over his chest. You swear he does it just to taunt you, your eyelids fluttering as you look down before immediately looking right back up at his eyes.

“I gave you the lemonade,” you retort playfully. You gesture at the cups on your island, brow quirking in a dare for him to challenge you.

He doesn’t, opting with giving you a playful roll of his eyes. Another soft silence falls over the both of you, neither one wanting to say the words that’d end your time together. It almost makes you want to start breaking stuff, just to ask him to fix it and stay a bit longer so you could pick his brain about everything that was Evan Buckley.

Buck breaks the silence with a slightly sheepish grin, shoving his hands in his pockets as he faces you. “I guess that’s it. Unless you have anything else you need help with.” The last bit comes out as a slight purr as he takes a step forward, invading your space as his cologne washes over you. It smells like man, all woodsy and absolutely alluring, especially when it's paired with the way he looks directly into your eyes, staring into your soul.

Unfortunately, you cannot come up with an excuse to keep him there. You shake your head in disappointment, a frown pulling at your lips. “I don’t think so.”

A soft hum of discontent leaves his lips as he somehow gets even closer, his chest just an inch from yours. “That’s a shame.”

“Why?” Your voice doesn’t sound like your own, the question meek in tone. Something about the way he loomed over you, all six foot two of him, was intimidating, but not in a way that scared you. It was exciting, it was fun. Directness from Buck was frightening, in a way that caused a shiver to travel up your spine. Goosebumps covered your arms so fast that you quickly moved to pull your sleeves back down.

You had never been one to flirt. Men usually came to you, even if they tended to be grimey and gross. Even with that, all it took was a good smile, a few well-timed words and boom. You had ‘em right where you wanted them. But with Buck, it was a game. It was equal attraction, not an ounce more on his side than on yours. It was a competition – who could break first.

His arm raised slowly, fingertips trailing along the back of your hand until he finally cradled your fingers in his palm. “I’d love to spend more time with you,” he admitted. The flirty tone in his voice has your chin tilting up towards him subconsciously, although you don’t have time to feel embarrassed about it. You notice that his own head is tilting down towards yours, his nose skirting against yours tauntingly. “I think I just thought of something you could fix. I can’t handle it myself.” You tease, your lips tilting up at the corners in a smile. He urges you on with a raise of his eyebrows, your smile turning into a pout. “My lips. They hurt.” You feel childish saying it, but you brush off the sheepishness as it works.

Buck chuckles quietly, raising his hand and sliding it along your neck, fingers threading through your hair as he cups the back of it. “I can fix that, I think.” His grip tightens as he angles your head back more, making it easy for him to press his lips against yours, dainty and gentle.

[greensagephase]

Hi, guys

Before you continue reading, I ask that if you disagree with my sentiments mentioned below, you refrain from sending/leaving hateful responses.

I will not tolerate that.

Be mindful.

Be compassionate.

Be respectful.

Be a decent human being.

Today is over a month since I was last here. I'm sorry for disappearing for the entirety of January, but I haven't felt mentally nor spiritually well to be on social media, even tumblr, which is realistically one of the very few apps I use.

I didn't plan on taking this break, which has been (I think) my longest break from this app by far.

I had originally planned to take a few days off to rest after the holidays and looked forward to getting back on the app a few days later, but as the days went on, I found myself with a feeling of impending doom.

I know it's probably not easy to tell through a screen, but I'm the kind of person who tries to remain positive and strong in the midst of hard times. I always try to be uplifting and/or offer comfort as best as I can to myself and those around me; family, friends, and even acquaintances and complete strangers, who strangely feel compelled to share with me the difficulties they are going through sometimes.

However, I've found it difficult to remain positive and strong these past few weeks, but especially the last few days. Some of you may know, or maybe don't, but I'm located in this country: 🇺🇸.

I won't go into detail, but there's a lot going on rn and so much of it has been affecting me emotionally, and it's the reason why I've been trying to avoid social media; to balance my consumption of news/updates. I've found myself throughout the days feeling an array of emotions: sadness, worry, anger, disbelief, disappointment, heartbreak, helplessness, surprise...

Although I've been experiencing pretty much every negative emotion possible, I'm trying to regain my strength, positivity, motivation, and hope. It's much easier said than done, but I'm trying not to let myself sink further into this negative bubble.

I debated taking a few more days off, but I've genuinely missed being here and I also didn't want those of you who care to keep up with my shenanigans to wonder about me and think that I'm abandoning the fandom, or something like that.

I'm still here, very much loving on our fav Spider-Man. I will continue to write -- something I haven't done since my last fic update in December, to be completely honest, but definitely looking forward to doing again -- and share it on here. I'll also try to be more active and catch up on notifications over the next few days at my own pace.

Thank you for reading this update. I hope you guys are doing well and taking care of yourselves.

Pls stay safe out there

Alondra❤️

[novashelby]

The Storm That Heals Us~ Tommy Shelby x Cancer patient!Reader: Angst

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Reader

Warning: Triggering topic such as cancer

Word Count: 1,223

Summary: Tommy's wife is diagnosed with cancer and tries to hide it from him because they have a rocky marriage

This was requested by anon a while back. I hope it is okay. I don't do well with the topic of cancer

We’ve only been married a year. They say three is a lucky number. I was supposed to be the lucky number. But truth be told, nothing about our marriage had been lucky. In the midst of all his darkness, I was convinced he married me for emotional convenience. But when Tommy Shelby found out I wasn’t going to be walked on or over, we started fighting more. A hot head and one who hates to be wrong. It’s a bit tricky to figure out which one of us is which. Perhaps we are the same person and that is why we suck together. 

But that is not why it’s unlucky number three. Just last month I was bathing, feeling the warm soapy water encasing my body. When I dragged the sponge over my right breast, something seemed off. Something seemed tender and bruised. Quickly, I threw the sponge in water and felt around with my hand. There was a small lump, but nonetheless a lump. If I was anyone else, I would have assumed a pimple or swollen hair follicle, but I’m not anyone else. It’s the family curse. My great grandmother, my grandmother, my two aunts, and my mother have all found the lump. Thankfully for my mother, she was able to get it treated. But I am doomed for bad luck. That’s what Tommy tells me everytime something happens. “You have that fookin’ luck…that bad luck.” 

As soon I found that fucking lump, I went to the doctor only to get confirmation of what I already knew. I hate to say that the first thing that left my mouth was, “how long?” But the doctor sighed. They always sigh. 

He told me, “Well, it’s small. We’ll remove it and do some radiation treatment-”

“And lose my hair?” I also hate to say that was the second question, but Tommy loves my hair. Sometimes I think what he loves about me is thinning with each day.  

I never told Tommy about the procedure, and one night, when he went to run his hand over my body, I stopped him. It was as if I was repulsed by him. Just as I knew, Tommy didn’t take very kindly to my refusal. He sat up, looking at me before saying, “is this how our marriage is going to be now?” We sat side by side, under the covers on the bed. He replaced my breast in lieu of a cigarette.

“I don’t feel well,” I said, and his response made my blood boil. 

“You never feel well anymore,” he said. “I’m starting to think it’s me. Perhaps we should discuss something that will make you feel better.” There was always a tone of threat. He dealt with his lovers as he did his business partners. 

That was it for that night. 

Which brings me to now. The bathroom floor feels cold against my clammy body. I puked up my dinner which was nothing, but a few biscuits and a glass of milk. Milk is a no-no for my new stomach, I’ve learned. But as I’m on this bathroom floor, I realize. I realize that Tommy will know. He will figure it out. My body will thin out, I’ll be bruised, and my cheeks will sink in. Nevermind my hair that is already falling out in clumps. As I hear his footsteps approach, I try to gather myself to save face, but moving just makes it worse. My body feels like it’s on a merry go round, and I cling to the toilet once more. At this point, as I feel the burning acid climb up my insides, I don’t know what I am throwing up. It is a clear bile. 

As I am hunched over, Tommy walks in and asks, “are you pregnant?” Oh, how easy that would have been. 

I turn to him, face pale. I could see myself in the mirror. My eyes look sunken with heavy bags. “No.”

He sighs. “Have you seen a doctor?” he asks like I am dumb.

I’m blunt. “Yes.”

“Well?” he presses, coming inward, leaning on the bathroom vanity, puffing on his smoke. Always a smoke. Before I can answer him, I beg him to put it out.

“The smell, Tommy-”

“How far along are you?” he asks, disregarding the fact I told him I’m not pregnant. “Funny enough, love, we haven’t fucked in two months. Every night I wait for your comfort. Perhaps you’re going elsewhere for it-”

“I’m not pregnant, Tommy.” My head is boiling at this point and I feel my temper on the verge. I sit up, resting against the toilet, trying to catch my breath. He’s not convinced, I can see it in his face. How he’s half ignoring me. 

“You know,” he starts, pointing a finger my way. “I do fuckin’ love you. You married me, thought you understood the way I am-”

“Tommy,” I plead, closing my eyes. “Please.” But he goes on and on about how I betrayed his trust, but he still loves me and wants to work through whatever it is. 

“But that fuckin’ baby is going-”

“I’m not fuckin’ pregnant!” I yell at him in a tone I never dared to before. It was enough for him to get a bit startled. He is about to say something else when I say, “I found a lump on my right breast.” Tommy pauses mid-smoke, and looks over at me, eyes knitted. “A few weeks ago, maybe a month ago now…I don’t know. They ran a test-”

“You never told me,” he says in this low, depressing whisper that makes me feel like every problem in the world is my fault. Tommy finds his way to the bath basin and sits on the edges. He throws his lit smoke in the sink and runs his fingers through his hair. “And you never thought to tell me?”

“I didn’t want it to be another burden-”

“What?” He turns to me, face like a ghost. He slides to the marble flooring next to me. He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t have to. I feel him tenderly grab me by the face, placing me in his lap. His chin rests on my head. “Fuckin’ ‘ell, love, I’m…love, you should have told me?” This was the Tommy I met and agreed to marry. The one who is tender and loving, smooth talking and sweet. I twist in his lap and his hand rests on my cheek. “I’m scared to ask-”

“It’s early enough,” I say, nodding, swallowing the lump down. “But it doesn’t feel any better-”

“No, no it doesn’t,” he agrees, leaning down to place a kiss on my forehead. “God, love, I love you so much. And I just…I've been so selfish. From now, you and I are going to go through this together-”

“Tommy, Tommy, please,” I whisper. “Just lets not act all weepy-”

“I’m not,” he protests, gripping my chin. “I’m taking care of you because if you have forgotten, I am your husband.” Yes, I have forgotten, but at this moment, I forgive it and soak up his affection. I need every inch of tenderness I can get my hands on. And so, I move on and relax into his words. “I love you.”

“Thank you, Tommy,” I say before quickly adding, “I love you, too.” 

[daylighted]

MANAGER BEN HERE AND I KNEW U WOULD SEE MY VISION !!!!! hate fucking in the payback conference room, desperate secret make out sessions in the elevator, intimate touches during vought banquets and parties AAAAAHAHHHHHH i can always count on u queen!!! and i live for a (healthy) age gap story !! in my head shes mid-twenties and sb is around 30-40's like u said, bc honestly its jensens prime

love u

i fear i think all of jensens life is his prime so of course i have to agree with u. anyways let me feed the ppl a lil. a tease if u will

also can we pls send all the love to manager!ben anon bc this is literally not my idea whatsoever it is all urs pooks u are the genius behind all this every time u come up in here i SCREEAMMM

it started so innocently, when you think back on it now. this man you couldn't stand; the girl he was instantly pulled in by and couldn't leave alone. maybe you should have known that it was doomed from the start from that alone, but perhaps you were, while denying it, hoping that it wasn't.

soldier boy's kissing you in between the first and the ninety ninth floor. your parent's office, where you were supposed to be heading, is on the twenty-fourth. but of course, ben was conveniently waiting for the elevator at the same time as you. of course, he stands by the buttons, acting as if it's an act of chivalry within itself to hit your button for you.

"what floor are you, sweetheart?" he'd asked with that little quirk in the corner of his mouth. and you'd said twenty-fourth, and he'd promptly ignored it, pressing the ninety-nine at the very top of the list.

an argument ensues. it always does. but he plays you like a harp, and touches you just as gently, as if those same hands weren't stained with invisible blood that you only knew about from the stories your parent told you about. none of them are heroes, they'd said, it's best to not fall for that illusion no matter how desperately they try to paint it.

ben was desperation at its very core. your leg was hiked around his waist, and it felt heroic; the way his tongue swiped against yours. it felt heroic as he stole your breath from the cage that was your lungs. and it definitely felt like you were being saved when his bloodstained, killing fingers pushed the fabric of your panties away and he dipped them inside of you like you could singlehandedly wash them clean.

"they hate you," you pant on his mouth, not as an accusation but a simple statement. you do this sometimes, when you're overwhelmed, and he's making you feel too good for a man that you despise, that you punched in the face on your first meeting, and tried to the next three times you saw him, too. little reminders for yourself that this man did not equate to his actions. it was too much, though, to think about if that logic applied to the deaths on his conscience. "i hate you," you correct, and somehow it becomes a loop, like you could convince yourself if you repeated it enough.

his fingers are buried deep, the tips of them pounding relentlessly against your cervix, stretching out your spongey wet walls while they desperately clench around them. his mouth is a bruising force on yours, teeth having already nipped your bottom lip, and even his soothing kisses to follow were rough and intense.

his nose presses against yours, and for a second he might be ben, but then his mouth opens, and you're reminded that he doesn't think you're special; at least, you don't think so. you don't know that he doesn't do this with anyone else - pin them to the elevator wall in the midst of an argument, trying to stoke the flames that so far only you have been able to rise within him.

"hate me quietly," soldier boy chides into your mouth, and you must be utterly screwed, because you listen.

[itzsana-kiddingmenow]

hiiii can i request lee jeongin with ler minho maybe like minho just finds jeongin cute so he wrecks him🤭🤭🩷🩷

𝙥𝙪𝙙𝙙𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙪𝙥 𝙖 𝙛𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩:

𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙙𝙨: 1k

𝙖/𝙣: happy birthday to my dear love @jeonginsdiary!! i’m so happy i got to post this fic sometime near jeongin's birthday too hehe, even if i'm a little late to both of them :3 i hope you all enjoy this!! (ALSO I MADE A TITLE PUN DO YOU LIKE IT FJIJDFHNFID)

𝒍𝒆𝒆: jeongin

𝙡𝙚𝙧: minho (accomplice-seungmin)

𝒕𝒂𝒈𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕: @someone-who-loves-kpop-saranghae @jeonginsdiary @leeknowstan33 @v--143 @wereallgonnadieonedaybutnottoday @inkytornpagess @lajanaa @a-wild-seungberry @channieissocute125 @soap143 @seungsluvv @skznccmlee @moony-9 @sunny-117 @minnielvrr @bamgyuuu-2001

𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐢𝐜 𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠! 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐞? 𝐤𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐮𝐛s🖤

Jeongin should have known better. He really should have. But the pudding had been right there, unattended, practically begging to be eaten. How was he supposed to resist? How was he to know Minho would come back that quickly?

Now, here he was, sprawled on the floor, trapped beneath Minho, with Seungmin sitting behind him, casually pinning his hands down with the weight of his own body. Worse—way worse—Seungmin was also holding the very chain that had been looped around Jeongin’s wrists, keeping his arms stuck above his head. Just in case he got any ideas of defending himself. Cause apparently that's wrong when Minho's in a mood.

Anyway, it didn't even matter that he had eaten Minho's pudding, because the statement Min made while pinning him down was more than enough to reinstate the one and only thought that Jeongin was completely and absolutely doomed.

"You know, even if you hadn't eaten my pudding, I would have tickled you anyway."

Jeongin tried to wail back in the midst of his wild giggles, but it was nearly impossible as Minho's hands roamed every weak spot, every ticklish area available for those ticklish thumbs to slide into to make the maknae throw his head back laughing oh so loudly.

And Seungmin? He was just minding his business, reading a book, eating chips, and enjoying the background noise of Minho's teasing coos and Jeongin's frantic cackling.

"These seem very ticklish, don't you think?" Minho mused. Thumbs suddenly latched onto his hips, thumbs rubbing circles into the divots as his other fingers squeezed ruthlessly. It was a vicious attack, one that sent him bucking under Minho’s hold, his laughter climbing in pitch until it was nothing more than gasping, desperate little giggles.

"SEUNGMIN HYUHUHUHUHUHUHUNG!! HEHEHEHEHEHEHEHELP MEHEHEHEHEHEHEHE!!" Jeongin howled for assistance, his eyes watering horribly at the sensation of Minho digging deeper, along with the maknae having no choice but to watch Min's hands tickling him, leaving him more flustered than ever.

Seungmin turned a page.

Minho’s hands dived into Jeongin’s tummy then, kneading mercilessly, thumbs rubbing deep circles near his bellybutton, his other fingers pinching the hypersensitive spots near his sides. Jeongin practically screeched, thrashing as much as he could under Minho’s weight, but the older refused to budge. If anything, he just settled in more, completely unbothered by Jeongin’s increasingly desperate laughter.

Seungmin, meanwhile, was entirely unaffected. If anything, he looked bored. His grip on the chain was relaxed, but firm, ensuring Jeongin’s arms couldn’t come down even as he instinctively yanked and pulled, desperate to protect himself, somehow, some way.

“Wow,” Seungmin hummed, flipping another page. “I think this is the loudest you’ve ever been. Imagine if we recorded this.”

To which Jeongin absolutely did not turn 50 shades darker red at the thought.

"MIHIHINHO—YAH!!" Innie blurted out, gasping for air as everything stopped for a second, Minho's hands frozen at their spot on his sides.

"...What was that?"

Jeongin barely registered what huge of a mistake he had made when he looked up into Minho's eyes. That glint, that glint of mischief meaning Jeongin had about five more minutes to survive before his gravestone listed "Tickled to Death" as his reason for passing.

"W-Wait...Minho hyung. MINHO HYUNG—NAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHHA!! STOP IT STOHHOHOHOHOHOHOP!!" Innie howled, the sheer force of his laughter cracked as he thrashed, head tossing back as if that would help him escape. But there was no escape, not with Seungmin pressing down on his hands, not with Minho’s weight keeping him pinned, not with those awful, awful fingers kneading into the most unbearable spot on his legs. His thighs.

“I think this is his worst spot,” Minho mused, digging in even harder. “What do you think, Seungmin?”

“Sounds like it.” Another page turn. A glance down, unimpressed. “You really should’ve just left the pudding alone.”

Jeongin couldn’t even respond anymore. His laughter was bordering on silent, body shaking as tears pricked the corners of his eyes, face a deep shade of red. And yet—

Minho still wasn’t stopping.

“Do you regret it now?” he cooed, giving another deep squeeze, right into that spot at the tops of Jeongin’s thighs that made him nearly levitate.

Jeongin squealed so high-pitched that even Seungmin flinched.

“Oh yeah,” Seungmin muttered, shaking his head, “that’s bad.”

Minho chuckled, hands relentless. “You haven’t even apologized properly, you know,” he reminded. “You’re just laughing. And laughing, and laughing and laughing, but you haven't apologized at all.”

"AAAHHAHAHAHAHAAHAHA I CAHAHAHANT BREHEEHHEHEHEHEEAAATHEEEE!!"

"Awwww, isn't he adorable, Seung? I could just tickle him all night." Minho cooed in a baby voice, squishing Jeongin's dimpled cheek with one hand. "And he's so so so dramatic, and for what, baby? We both know I'm not stopping until I've had my fill~"

Jeongin twisted desperately, his legs kicking wildly, but Minho was relentless. His fingers vibrated against each rib before spidering up toward Jeongin’s underarms. Which certainly got a reaction.

"NOOHOHOHOHOHOHO WAHAHAAAHAHAHAIT!!"

"Wait?" Minho mocked, his hands skittering up Jeongin’s sides before drilling into his ribs, sending the maknae into an adorable, teary eyed, squealing frenzy. "You waited before eating my pudding? No? Then why should I wait before tickling you to pieces?"

Jeongin kicked out, his legs jerking under Minho, but Minho merely pressed down harder, keeping him trapped as his fingers clawed at his underarms mercilessly.

"OKAHAHAHAHAAHAY OKAY!! IHIHIHIHIHIM SO SO SO SOHOHOHOHORRY FOR EATING YOUHUHOUR PUHUHUHUHUDDING!!" Innie wailed. "PLEEHEHEHEHEHEEASE STAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAP!!"

"Alright, fine, fine, you're okay..." Minho laughed, getting off of the younger. Seungmin marked his page and closed his book. “Huh. That was entertaining." He moved to untie the maknae, who was a mess on the floor, tears falling into his hair, cheeks red, panting adorably as he laid there, all energy drained and gone.

With that, Seungmin undid the chain and stood, heading back to his room. Jeongin immediately rolled onto his side, weakly curling in on himself as he tried to recover.

Minho patted his head. “Learned your lesson?”

Jeongin made a small, miserable noise.

Minho grinned. “Good.”

eeee im sorry if my writing's shit.

[seonghrtz]

𖤐ㅤ 𝖿𝖺𝗂𝗋𝗒 𝗍𝖺𝗅𝖾 𝗄𝗂𝗌𝗌. ๑ 𝗿𝗼𝗿𝗼𝗻𝗼𝗮 𝘇𝗼𝗿𝗼 !

ゾロ + femreader ! after being struck by the power of an akuma no mi, you are doomed to sleep for eternity. ／ fluff & mutual pining.

Being part of the Straw Hat Crew meant not only being a pirate, an outlaw, hunted by the Marines and the World Government, but also being in constant danger in exchange for satisfying Captain Monkey D Luffy's insatiable thirst for adventure.

Not that you didn't enjoy the adventures, you had the chance to meet incredible islands and people ⸻ you and the crew even ended up on an island in the sky! The Grand Line was full of mysteries, and it didn't hurt to unravel them as you continued to make your dreams come true. But some situations could have been avoided if Luffy hadn't been so impulsive in his desire to venture into unknown lands.

An example of this would be the current situation in which the Straw Hat crew find themselves...

You felt your legs betray you as you ran in a random direction through the forbidden forest that Luffy had decided to explore. Even the scary stories of the inhabitants of the small village near the forest, about a monster that inhabited the forest and all those who tried to explore this area never came back, weren't enough to dispel Luffy's desire to discover the true mystery of this place. Kids' bedtime stories wouldn't scare Luffy ⸻ but with you, Usopp, Chopper, and even Nami, it worked a little differently; it was enough to make you think twice before getting into trouble. By the way, if there were stories, it was because something had happened before.

But by some quirk of fate, the crew was trapped in the forest, fleeing from a monster ⸻ the monster from the stories that had turned out to be real. As you ran, looking for the right way out of the forest, you noticed the absence of your companions. You were alone, at night, in that vast, frightening forest.

With your legs tired and sore, you began to slow down until you came to a panting halt with your hands on your knees. You turned around, squinting your eyes to find a familiar figure in the darkness, but nothing. 'I really am alone...' you thought to yourself. As you turned forward again, you noticed a hooded figure standing in the middle of the path.

"I see you lost your crewmembers." A dark voice rose above the nocturnal sounds of the forest.

"Who are you?" you asked, trying to control your breathing.

"I have several names, but I am usually called 'The Witch of the Woods'," the person laughed.

"You're the witch from the stories!" You tried not to sound frightened when you met the figure who frightened the villagers.

"I see they're still talking about me, and there are still those who think they're brave enough to invade my forest, even after being warned of what I'm capable of."

"Look, to tell you the truth, I didn't want to be here." You scratched your head, unashamed of the sincerity in your tone, "This was all my idiot Captain's idea!"

"And to tell you the truth, I don't care whose idea it was for you to invade my property and put an end to the peace that reigned here. Either way, you're all going to pay for your captain's stupid initiative!"

Before you could say anything or prepare to flee, as your fatigue would not allow you to fight for long, you felt your body hit by something and gradually a feeling of drowsiness came over you and the only thing you could see before you closed your eyes was the sinister smile of the Forest Witch shining through the darkness.

Zoro had no idea where he was. Surely he was lost (again) in the midst of so many identical trees. But his main goal was to clear all obstacles, find the crew and get back to the ship. He couldn't remember exactly what had happened to make him run in that direction. The only thing he could remember was that Luffy had persuaded the crew (despite several protests from Nami, Usopp, Chopper and you) to explore the forest, which was technically forbidden, and that he heard a loud noise and Usopp and Nami's desperate cries and ordered everyone to run back to the ship.

"Oi! Who's there?" Zoro asked after hearing the sound of voices. He quickly put his hand on the hilt of his katana and approached the figure in front of him who was standing and looking at something on the ground ⸻ what Zoro soon realized was a body. The boy squinted, trying to see in the dark, when he noticed that the person on the ground was wearing a pink dress that he would recognize anywhere, even without meaning to. "What did you do to her?"

"Well, I didn't do anything." The hooded figure laughed, "She just got what she deserved, just like all those who invaded my forest, she's now condemned to sleep for eternity."

"Stop talking shit." Zoro grunted before he attacked the unknown person and threw them away. They hit something Zoro didn't even bother to look at. He bent down next to you on the ground and put his ear to your nose, listening to your faint breathing. "Hey! Hey! Come on, wake up! Hey, we have to get out of here!" He shook your body, not as gently as he should have. "What did that witch do to you?" Zoro picked you up like a bride and went back to looking for a way out.

The half hour that Zoro wandered through the forest like a ghost in redemption seemed more like an eternity, and with each passing second, though he wouldn't admit it even to himself, his concern grew for the crewmate in his arms who wouldn't wake up. Eventually ⸻ and with a bit of luck ⸻ Zoro made it out of the forest, first meeting up with Chopper and Usopp.

"Apparently she's under some kind of spell." Said a worried Chopper, "We'd better get her to the ship!"

It wasn't long before the others arrived on the ship, and Sanji was arguing with Zoro about his lack of responsibility for a lady's safety.

"Hey Chopper, did you manage to wake her up?" Luffy asked hopefully.

"Nothing so far." Chopper sighed sadly, "I'm going to do some more research on what I can do to wake her up."

In the corner of the room, Zoro let out a discreet sigh and heard the witch's voice in his head. 'She's now condemned to sleep for eternity.' Was it possible to sleep for eternity? How many years was an eternity? You couldn't sleep that long, you had dreams and goals to achieve. Would you never wake up, or was the witch just bluffing? Maybe the witch was making something up to scare him. Maybe you would be up bright and early the next day, ready to train with him. At least you were in good hands, so maybe he shouldn't worry so much...

For a week, you slept soundly.

Apparently, no method Chopper used was enough to wake her up, not even the ones he had learned in his medical books. And your absence made it seem as if something was missing from the crew ⸻ especially to a certain swordsman.

"I thought of something to wake her up!" Sanji exclaimed smiling, "Maybe I should kiss her!" His eyes turned to hearts as he imagined the most romantic scenario of a prince waking his princess with a kiss of true love and they spending eternity together.

"And why would you kiss her?" Usopp looked at Sanji blankly.

"Because that's how enchantments are broken in fairy tales," Sanji replied, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"And what guarantees that you are her true love?" Usopp asked again, emphasizing the 'you'.

"How much do you want to bet that I'm the love of her life?"

"Stop this nonsense!" Nami shouted, "If a kiss of true love is the solution to wake her up, then maybe she really is doomed to sleep forever." Nami's expression turned sad.

"Why do you say that Nami?" Chopper asked, holding back tears, he couldn't lose one of his friends, a part of his new family.

"What guarantees that she has already found her true love? They could be on the Grand Line, in East Blue, anywhere in the world, and they could be dead at the same time."

"Don't say that! I'll do everything I can to wake her up!" Chopper said with conviction.

"Trying won't kill anyone." Robin muttered so that only Zoro could hear.

"What did you say?" Zoro turned to the woman next to him, confused.

"I was just saying that trying doesn't kill anyone, you'd be a good match." Robin got up from the table with the smile of someone who was in on something and walked out of the kitchen.

Zoro looked down at his empty plate. A kiss of true love? Nonsense! You wouldn't wake up if Zoro kissed you, he was sure of that... But then why was he thinking about what it would be like to kiss you?

Zoro looked at your sleeping figure on the bed. The sight of you, completely relaxed, sleeping soundly without a care in the world, as if nothing could touch you, with no idea that you might never wake up again. Zoro was afraid for a moment. Afraid of never hearing you again, afraid of never looking into your eyes, never seeing your smile. Zoro was afraid to lose you. And Roronoa couldn't accept losing you, you were a part of his life that he couldn't let go of easily, he couldn't let you go ⸻ even though he didn't know why it was so hard to let you go.

‘Trying won't kill anyone.’ Robin's voice echoed in his mind. Maybe he should try to kiss you? Would you mind if he kissed you? Would you like him to kiss you? What if he kissed you and you didn't wake up? What would that mean? That he wasn't the love of your life, or maybe that only works in fairy tales? What if Sanji kissed you and you woke up? Zoro shook his head, trying to forget the image of Sanji kissing you and you waking up. He certainly wouldn't want that to happen...

But what if he kissed you and you woke up?

Were you meant to fall in love and stay together? Were you made for each other?

Maybe Zoro wasn't ready to get romantically involved ⸻ but he wouldn't have minded if it was with you...

He tightened his grip on the Wado Ichimonji, determined to carry out his plan. And if you didn't wake up after the kiss, he would do the impossible to wake you up. And in the end, Robin was right, it wouldn't kill him to try just once.

As he got closer to your face, Roronoa felt nervousness rising inside of him. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, he couldn't give up when he was so close. And then he locked their lips in a three-second kiss before standing up quickly, incredulous at his own actions. He slowly opened his eyes and looked at you, you were still sleeping...

A sigh left Zoro's lips and he turned quickly with his back to you, ready to leave the room.

"Zoro...?" Your voice came out weakly as you blinked your eyes slowly, trying to adjust to the brightness, and sat up in bed, stretching.

"What?" Zoro turned to you in surprise.

"Huh? What's going on? The last thing I remember was meeting someone in the forest who called herself a witch..."

"You were hit by an incantation, Chopper suspected it was the power of an Akuma No Mi. You slept for a week..."

"And you woke me up?"

"Um..." Zoro murmured in confirmation.

"With a kiss?"

"Um..." Zoro murmured again and scratched the back of his head, feeling embarrassed, something that certainly wasn't in his nature.

"Thank you," you smiled openly. And it was then that Zoro realized how much he missed you, perhaps he had never realized what your absence could do to him. You got out of bed and approached Zoro's still figure with long steps, on tiptoe you reached for the boy's cheek with a kiss. "Thanks for saving me again."

"It was nothing..."

"So... you're my Prince Charming?" You smiled teasingly and nudged Zoro's waist.

"This is no fairy tale and I am no prince." Zoro stared at you, his words carrying no weight.

"Yeah, I know!" You laughed, "But you woke me up with a kiss anyway!"

"Yes, but don't think that I'm going to take it easy on you in training." Zoro smiled sideways as he saw the smile disappear from his face, "And remember, you haven't trained for a week."

"Come on Zoro... don't be so mean! You should be nicer to me!" You sulked, "We're soul mates, you shouldn't be mean to me."

"If you do everything right like a good girl, maybe I'll reward you at the end." Zoro's sly smile made you burn with shame.

Zoro could have awakened you from a deep and eternal sleep, but he would have been the reason for your death.

© seonghrtz, 2024. all rights reserved, please do not copy / steal / translate / modify any of my works !

[deus-sema]

I've been missing out on fandom drama lately (job hunting + snark coated with sugar from relatives can be an exhausting combo) for I just end up sleeping most of the time. Anyway, enough with that.

But news has reached my ears that apparently some folks are mighty pissed at Haladriels/Saurondriels/Saladriels/Neurons for cooking up Half-Maia Celebrian and Granddad Sauron takes Arwen to the amusement park theories.

I am not surprised though. Those nasty Haladrielsessssssssssssss. Always going around making things worse with their pesky fanonsesss. As if the show which is literally an expensive Tolkien fanfic and the fandom that's usually neck deep in fanon needs any more fanon right now.

For the love of Eru, Haladriels, stop posting your HMC/Grandbaby Arwen fanfics online. Who uses the Internet for that stuff anyway? Has PJ (The Most Esteemed Captain Of the GalGan ship) taught you nothing? Make a million dollars and write/direct a proper trilogy for your ship to fulfill all your shippey fantasies.

So, back to Sauron + Galadriel = Celebrian theory, have you guys lost it?! You all have been so distracted by this that you have been ignoring the glaring evidence that has been right in front of you all along.

Yes. It is true that Sauron and Galadriel will make wild, passionate love. Yes, it is also true that they will be parents and grandparents eventually. But their child is not who you think it is. This whole HMC business is obviously a smokescreen to hide their actual love child who is..................

............yes you guessed correctly

Look at that sass, the confidence, the sex appeal. That's a Half Maia alright. Only Galadriel and Sauron could have created this perfection.

That smirk would make Daddy Dearest proud.

So, here is what is going to happen: RoP will go full soap opera. Sauron and Galadriel will have a heated one night stand on a stormy night after which Galadriel gets pregnant. Gil-galad is incensed because such a scandal will bring shame upon their house before all of Middle Earth. Cue dramatic confrontation scene where he berates Galadriel.

In order to brush this under the carpet, it is decides that Half Maia Thranduil shall be raised by family friend Oropher. No one is to breathe a word about his true parentage to anyone.

RoP goes on. Time skip happens. HMT grows up. By the way, I already have an actor in mind for him. See, McPayne? You guys don't even have to lift a finger. You can see both Miv and Charlie in him. Also, get him a nice wig. Better than what they gave him in that dragon show.

So, back to the telenovela. We have flash forwarded to Dagorlad now. RIP Oropher.

Thranduil confronts Sauron. I need them to shamelessly ripoff pay homage to this iconic scene so that the audience starts screaming (in joy? sorrow? anger? helplessness? you decide). Bear is going to kill it with the score.

Anyway, the rest is history. The show ends with Galadriel in Lothlórien, HMT in Mirkwood and Sauron lurking around the two of them in Dol Guldur. A family that is near yet, doomed to never be together. Can you name a greater tragedy?

Am I forgetting anything?

Oh yes. Legolas also built a ship to take Gimli and himself to Valinor. What started on a raft with soulmates stranded in the midst of a storm culminated in a ship with soulmates heading off to their destination.

That said, I would pay whatever remains of my savings to see a post credits scene with disembodied spirit Sauron punching the air after seeing Gimli making a move on both his girl and his grandkid. Trust the Dwarves to be a pain in his ass for eternity.

[chaos-chloe]

The Great Gaming Fiasco

Summary: Grizzy rage, I think you already know this<3

TW: Established relationship, rage. anger, warzone moment, kissing, cursing and screaming, lmk if I missed anything

This fateful night started like any other, with the trio gathering their keyboards, their spirits high and laughter echoing through the room. “Ready to beat some noobs?” Grizzy hollered as he loaded up the game, the anticipation crackling in the air like static electricity. The familiar battle sounds filled the room, and they dove into the chaos.

“Why doesn’t that work?!” Smii7y bellowed, fierce frustration spilling from his lips like a dragon's fire, slumping dramatically in his chair as his avatar met an untimely demise. He banged his hand on the desk with a sound akin to thunder.

“Ello Grizzy!” Puffer sang with a comedic flair as Grizzy was unexpectedly reincarnated, flinging his parachute in a desperate bid to return to the sky. But alas, the parachute refused to open—like a deflated balloon. Grizzy’s frustration spiraled as he began to rain blows on his keyboard, resulting in a dramatic self-kill that could only be described as tragicomic.

“WHY WOULD YOU KILL YOURSELF?” Puffer cried out, the desperation lacing his voice as if they were in a high-stakes war council. “I COULD’VE REZZED YOU! WHY?!” 

With a dramatic flourish, the keys rained down like confetti, creating a chaotic storm of letters and symbols — a keyboard glitter bomb exploded across his desk! Each key had its own story, its own mission to fulfill in the kingdom of Warzone, and now they lay shattered in despair.

The keyboard chaos continued, keycaps flying around Grizzy’s desk like tiny meteors in a galactic explosion of rage. The comical scene escalated, with Smii7y unable to stifle his laughter. “I think I need a new keyboard,” Grizzy declared with a resigned sigh echoing through the room, a solemn testament to his fiery spirit, as if he had just climbed Mount Doom only to find it was a mere hill.

“He just lost all his keycaps.” Smii7y said with a smirk growing on his face, while Grizzy fumed, the air tinged with both laughter and despair. “Oh my god” Puffer moans in emotional pain in the background. “Bro it aint working today.” Smii7y responded to Puffer's distress. “Nothing’s working.” Smii7y joked about how each bug felt like a monster stalking them in the night, ready to pounce at any awakening moment.

“I’m kicking over the key caps, I’ll clean that mess later.” Grizzy growled, “It's a problem for another day.

 “What do you mean mess?’ Puffer aspirated at Grizzy

“Wait, can you even use your keyboard? Did you go get a new one?” Puffer asked for content

“I got a new one- well i stole __’s” Grizzy responded “Ugh-let me straighten my desk” Puffer laughed at Grizzy’s misery. 

“Yeaahh” “What the fuck happend?” “What happened to you?” Smii7y and Puffer asked.

“The situation where you're gonna pull your parachute and it says “NO”” Grizzy explained as annoyance seeped through his voice. “Yeah! That literally just happened to me as well.” Smii7y agrees with Grizzy’s annoyance at the game with their bugs. They exchanged stories of their own gaming disasters, an unwritten pact of camaraderie knitting them closer amidst the chaos.

“Yeah so then I decided to slam my keyboard, which killed me, which made me even more angry. So I just clapped my keyboard together, ‘til everything came off.” Grizzy tells the replay of what just happened.

“Were you doing a last second one?” Smii7y asked. “Uhh-no i pressed it like 3 times before landing, it just didn't pull.” Grizzy answered with a slight tone. 

“Like right now.” Grizzy placed ___’s keyboard down with some force, as he was clenching and unclenching his fist, storming off, as the trio couldn't help but spiral into a cyclone of banter, laughing yet again at Grizzy’s misfortune. Grizzy stormed off out of frame towards his right office door which was left open. 

In the midst of the laughter, the mood shifted. A loud crash resonated from Grizzy’s office, while I was in the kitchen. Quickly followed by a blood-curdling scream that sent shivers down their spines. 

“FUCK!!!”  Grizzy’s roar thundered through the house, slicing through the laughter like a lightning bolt, a haunting call of despair that made everyone freeze. After that there was an eerie unusual stillness lurking in the house. 

My skin jumped as his scream blared to life, roaring like a thousand ghosts at once, sending ice down my spine. I gasped in shock, my eyes popped open like saucers, my adrenaline rushing through my veins. In a flurry, I leapt out of my statue like a state.

With curiosity piqued, I tiptoed towards the scene, every step echoing with anticipation. Approaching cautiously, I soon found myself colliding with Grizzy, his frustration evident and his door hanging askew like a battle-worn shield, leaning on the doorframe. “Let me guess... warzone moment?” I quipped with a smirk, but concern laced my words like a thick fog that hung in the air.

“Yeah, I didn't know how else to take my rage out of my body, since I already broke my keyboard. I was most certainly not breaking your keyboard, yes I stole it after I broke mine. I knew how much time and money you spent on that keyboard.” Grizzy explained while I was giving him the “mom” look. As we stood there, I couldn’t help but chuckle. The chaos of gaming had turned into a comedic rendezvous, where gaming mishaps became fodder for laughter and camaraderie.

 “Well I appreciate  you not breaking mine, but now I have to fix your office door babe.” I say walking out his arms towards the closet of tools/storage that they have. 

As I set to fixing his door, the banter resumed. “Is it possible to rage hard enough to break a door?” I teased while wielding my tools. Grizzy sheepishly scratched his head, his triumph of rage slowly fading into recollection of the bond we all had. 

I heard Grizzy walk back into his office, as my hands were full of tools and glue so I could repair the holes in the wall. “I’m done, shut the fuck up. SHUT THE FUCK UP! I’m done, I’m done.” Grizzy repeated. “I just broke my door with my hands, now ___ is fixing it. I’m FUCKING DONE.” He screams in anger and slaps his hand on his desk.

“Sorry, baby, I'm not mad at you.” Grizzy apologized to me, as I was trying to make myself as small as possible. I was putting toothpicks and wood glue together in the holes, where the screws used to be. Grizzy ended the stream right after he apologized to me. 

“You’re fine babe, is there anyway you can get the sandpaper that i left on the counter. Also maybe the wirecutter in the tool box?” I asked him a favor, I felt my phone buzz in my butt pocket.

Hey ___ you okay? Grizzy okay? -Puffer

Yes we are both okay, he is calming down now as we are both putting the door back together. Try to tell, chat that too. You know how shit can spiral out of control. 

Will do, and okay we were just making sure

Its all good! I’m probably gonna make him, go get us food in a min

(read)

Moments passed as I tuckered away at the door, awaiting Grizzy’s emotional cooldown. “After all this fixing, how about a nice dinner?” I suggested with a smile, already picturing a delightful feast to reward ourselves after the wild night.

“C’mon babe, let's get your fine ass off the dirty floor and go find a nice restaurant.” Grizzy nodded enthusiastically, offering his hand to help me up, grinning ear-to-ear. As I stood up with his help, I gave him a kiss on the lips and started tugging him to the door, laughing together.