#I bought it on a shirt actually because I’m OBSESSED
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i’m begging you, more olderboyfriend!simon !! i’m obsessed with it, it’s the hottest fucking thing ever.
oh em gee! so glad you liked it, i didn’t think people would actually like him 😓
YOUR BOYFRIEND SIMON RILEY
olderboyfriend!simon who always has to be touching you, whenever, wherever. he doesn’t care who watches, he’s yours, you’re his. his hand in yours while walking down to your favorite cafe, his hand on your thigh in every car ride, his hand resting on your waist when you’re standing on his balcony.
olderboyfriend!simon who lets you color in his tattoos, saying it adds a bit of ‘character’ to him. he just rolls his eyes and scoffs, mumbling a quiet “alright, go ahead.” under his breath. earning a smile from you as you pull out your new markers you bought today, simply because they were cute.
olderboyfriend!simon who lets you be needy all day, knowing he gets to satisfy them at night. making you straddle his lap, only allowing you to cockwarm him, his hands placed right on your ass holding you down. “you were needy all day, isn’t that right?” gosh, he loves teasing you.
olderboyfriend!simon finally gives into your whining, laying you down on his bed, tugging his shirt over his head and tossing it to the floor, “ready?” he would ask, already knowing the answer as he watched you nod. his lips curving into a smirk as he began to slowly thrust into you.
olderboyfriend!simon who grabs your hand placing it onto your stomach, making you look at how he slides in at out of you. “fuck— i’m already so deep, guess this pussy knows who owns her, hm?” - “you’re embarrassing me, old man.” now you’ve done it, you only say that to get on his nerves, and it did.
olderboyfriend!simon who felt a rush of adrenaline after your choice of words, “i may be older than you but you know you love this dick.” you’ve given him an instant ego boost now, his pace getting faster as he pressed your hand down harder, leaning down to kiss you. “don’t call me that again, ‘kay?” he said, as you nodded.
olderboyfriend!simon who slides one hand down, gripping your waist, his older hand slithering up to grab your breast. his lips moving down from yours onto your nipple, moaning softly as he sucked and gently pulled on the skin. “si…oh my gosh—“ he chuckled deeply at your reaction.
#call of duty#cod smut#simon ghost riley#female reader#simon riley x reader#simon riley smut#simon riley#cod mwii#cod mw2#simon riley x you#smut#fluff
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now that i have read the williams fic, im wondering if you have any headcannons related to the relationships in the fic???
oh yes definitely I am Not Normal about them!
The ‘Logan Look’ started during preseason testing 2023 when James overheard Logan doubting himself and called him in to have a meeting explaining why he signed him, why he need to believe in himself etc etc
It can express any type of emotion James has for him, but as Logan grew more confident it’s more commonly used to express pride in him
Because Alex is used to having younger siblings and Logan has an older brother they slot together almost instantly.
Random touches, slapping each other on the arm, stealing food from each others plates, calling the other names when they’re being annoying.
Once, when they were pissed at each other, they threw things out of their drivers room and into the other boys room.
It started with like, Logan throwing a pen to try and his Alex and escalated to Alex getting ready to throw his helmet when James walked in and gave them a disappointed ‘Logan Look’
James is a big believer in “family dinner” so once a race weekend the boys all go out to eat at a local place, sometimes team members come, sometimes friends but it’s usually just the three of them
When Alex found out James liked photography he also took up an interest and “no george I didn’t do it just to spend more time with him that’s ridiculous”
When James is recording his reports of race weekends, Logan stands behind the camera to try and get him to laugh.
Logan’s love language-as you might have guessed reading the fic-is physical touch
While James originally doesn’t like that too much, he knows Logan loves it and will do anything to keep Logan smiling
Alex actually met James when he was younger through a visit to the paddock via Red Bull Junior program and he told him he’d win a world championship one day.
Alex thought he was lying, trying to appease a kid. But when James joins Williams he expresses just how serious he was
In an effort to “impress” James the boys try and learn aerodynamics and complex math and engineering
It nearly broke them
“Logan how much water have you drank today?”
”Alex you need to eat more than an apple”
“Neither of you wander off too far okay?”
When James and his wife had their baby, the boys were one of the first people who came over
James nearly cried when he saw the boys cooing over her, trying to get her to smile
As Williams moved further and further up the grid, more people began to take note of the fatherly dynamic they got going on
Someone on twitter says that ‘James Vowles gentle parented Williams to the front of the grid’ and Logan makes t shirts for the entire team to wear
James has bought a parenting book on teenagers/young adults and his wife is so fond
Logan/Alex: James which one of us is you’re favorite?
James: Lily
i’m obsessed with them, might keep making headcanons or little fics/one shots cause i’m definetly not finished with them
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Deep Breath
Romance short. A painter is obsessed with the butcher across the road.
Also on Patreon / / Also on Medium.
7k, M/M, rated M. A painter is utterly obsessed with the butcher across the road, and the butcher is a little obsessed back.
Lots of mental illness in this one, lots of reference — implicit and explicit — to suicidality, drug use, alcoholism, sexual assault and rape, ableism, consent issues, including past child sexual abuse, all in the context of a victim in recovery whilst also being in active addiction.
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Bertie knows a few things about Michael pretty much as soon as he moves in across the way. He’s the sort of man, it becomes clear, to wear his heart on his sleeve, and on his face, and sometimes, stained down his front.
Bertie initially met him in the corner shop – it was only ten in the morning on a Saturday, but Michael had already been drunk. Bertie had been arrested at the sight of him, hadn’t known exactly what to say or what to do, but had felt he should perhaps do something – Michael had been bent to the side with his torso at a sixty degree angle from his waist, a half-drunk bottle of vodka hanging from his right hand’s loose grip, peering at the magazines.
“’Scuse me,” Bertie had said quietly, reaching past him for a copy of the i, and Michael had turned to look at him and his jaw had dropped. He was a painfully thin man, so skinny as to seem almost skeletal under his grey hoodie that was a few sizes too big for him, and his tracksuit bottoms where there was nearly half a foot of string hanging down his crotch, because he’d pulled the cord so tight about his waist. The whole tracksuit is spattered with multicoloured dribbles of paint, and a lot of those paint stains are on his skin, too – around his wrists, his neck, all over the backs of his hands and underneath his fingernails.
“Who are you?” he’d asked, his eyes as wide as dinnerplates, so much so that Bertie almost couldn’t see the grey bags underneath them.
“Me?” Bertie had asked, glancing from Michael to Javed behind the shop counter, who shrugged at him. “Uh, I’m Bertie, mate. The butcher shop is mine.”
Michael’s eyes had blinked a few times, and he’d smiled sort of dreamily, high as fuck and out of it but at least happy in the moment. His gaze had roved from Bertie’s face down to his throat, then to his shoulders, his chest, further down. “A butcher,” he’d said breathlessly, and then trailed after Bertie as he’d bought his newspaper and his pint of milk, followed him into the street.
In short order, Bertie had learned the basic facts about the man – that he’d moved into the flat across the road, above the old laundrette, that he was a passionate alcoholic, that he had a great affection for various drugs and hallucinogens, that he was an artist.
That frequently, he wanted to kill himself.
He seems a nice lad, though – he’s cheerful, when not on the verge of committing, and he’s complimentary, friendly. He wouldn’t harm a fly, except that he might harm himself. He likes to stand on the pavement outside of the shop and watch Bertie work.
“You’re literally the only reason I’m still alive, Bertie,” he says softly after two months or so after moving in, a month and a half after they meet in the shop. “I think about not seeing your shirt ride up while you lift a pig carcass over your shoulder ever again and I put the gun down.
“Oh, you have a gun now?” Bertie asks as he shifted his coat on his shoulders. “Well, I’ll need to take that off you, I think. But otherwise, Michael, that’s really nice.”
* * *
Bertie is a straight man, mostly. Michael isn’t, obviously.
Bertie discovers the first time they kiss outside the Goose and Gander that he’s actually quite a good kisser. Michael stands between his legs where he’s sitting down and moans when Bertie drags him in closer, and they kiss for a while – kiss until Michael’s hair’s all mussed up and there’s a thin sheen of sweat on his skin.
That happens a few times, every few weeks – each time, Michael’s on top of the world for a few times; each time, Bertie thinks, “Am I gay, maybe?”
He has very good wanks about it, although Michael’s not much like the girls he’s fucked or dated before. Bertie feels a bit hot and funny in the stomach when he thinks about just how narrow the man is about the waist, about how Bertie can get his hands all the way around him, about how his thumbs fucking touch over his navel. Michael’s got light bones like a fucking bird, and it takes nothing to lift him up and move him around, fragile and easy to manipulate.
Gay or not, Michael’s a good inspiration for a bit of horniness, and it’s—
They’re good wanks.
Michael’s unstable, sure. Sometimes, on the nights where he gets drunk without much else – the same nights Bertie crosses paths with him in the pub – he’ll sing and sing, sing love songs and hymns in French or German or Latin, and he’s honestly got a lovely voice until it breaks in the middle and he starts to sob.
He’s often high – he’s almost always drunk.
Bertie gets used to seeing him around, to making pleasant conversation with him, to singing with him, to seeing Michael watching him through the window, or lingering behind the counter, or catching him in a kiss in the smoking area of the Goose and Gander.
It’s not unheard of, in the four or five months that Michael’s been around, for him to disappear for a day or two, but on the second day, Bertie always goes across the road and knocks on his door, makes sure that Michael answers him.
On day three, with no answer even though Bertie’s nearly shouting through the door, Bertie just forces the lock (he wasn’t always a butcher), and finds Michael passed out on his living room floor. He’s vomited a bit, and after easing his stained hoodie off his shoulders, Bertie lays him down on the sofa in the recovery position.
He’s snoring softly, breathing evenly, and when Bertie pats his face, he grunts and moves a little bit, which is good.
Bertie’s never been in Michael’s flat before, never… Michael’s said, of course, that he looks at Bertie – he hasn’t needed to say, of course, because Bertie’s got eyes. He notices. Michael doesn’t just look at him – he stares at him, studies him, looks at him near-well worshipfully.
It had never occurred to Bertie that he was committing details about his body to memory to fucking paint him.
Michael’s apartment is a mess – the cheap beige carpets are stained with paint and beer and burnt in places with cigarette ends; the room smells most strongly of paint, but also of different alcohols, smoking. After Bertie opens up the window to bring in some more air and ventilation – God knows that the fumes can’t be great for Michael’s consciousness.
He paints with canvases. Bertie’s seen the paint on him, of course, has seen the canvases being delivered, and sometimes Michael walks around with paint brushes in his pockets.
Bertie stands there with his hands on his waist, looking around the room – there’s a singular sofa and a coffee table which have both been shoved up into the corner, and you can’t sit on one or use the other because they both have canvases on them. Against every wall are stacked canvases leaning at an angle; there are twelve or fifteen easels with more canvases mounted on them, and there’s more canvases in the corridor.
There’s more in the bedroom too, Bertie supposes – the only place with only a few canvases is the kitchen, and that’s because it’s a tiny space that’s filled with empty cans and bottles and stacked up dishes that haven’t been done and a few open bin bags filled up with takeaway wrappers.
Bertie moves slowly through the space, absently picking up rubbish to throw away since he’s already here, and he looks at each and every canvas. Some of them – maybe one in eight or ten – are still lifes. They’re gorgeous, lots of them. There’s the classic bowls of fruit – although it doesn’t escape Bertie’s notice that they’re studies of the bowls of fruit he has on top of his counter – and there’s studies of the meat arrays, of his tables, his knives.
There’s studies of shelves in Javed’s shop, of the magazines or the drinks bottles, one of the ice cream freezer; there’s one really nice one of the Goose and Gander after closing, with only two lights left on inside and no one around anymore, glasses and pitchers left mostly drunk on the picnic tables outside. One of the glasses in the foreground is tipped on its side, and Bertie can almost smell the cider in his nostrils, looking at the golden frothing drip of it over the edge of the table to puddle on the floor.
The rest—
The rest aren’t still lifes. There’s a few sketchy ones of Javed in the shop; there’s one slightly larger one of Tina in the Goose and Gander, laughing at someone’s joke as she pushes a full pint across the bar.
The rest of them, the bulk of them? Another, what, a hundred-and-twenty, a hundred-and-fifty canvases?
They’re of Bertie.
Bertie at work – Bertie slicing meat, parcelling apart a chicken or a pig, Bertie making mince, Bertie twisting new sausages into being, Bertie ringing up customers, Bertie smiling, Bertie washing his hands in the sink. There’s detail bits – details of Bertie’s hands and his fingers, the scars and the hair and his fingernails and the bend in his once-broken ring finger rendered in loving detail, looking slick and shiny and almost three-dimensional where it’s been painted and layered on the canvas.
There’s zoomed-in depictions of Bertie’s face, of the side of his mouth, of his upper teeth where you can see the glint of gold on the back one, where Michael’s used real gold paint so it shines, there’s study after study of Bertie’s eyes, of all the little flecks of colour in his irises that Bertie’s never considered before, there’s ones of his eyelashes, of where his hairline is rising and thinning, of his earlobes with the scar visible from where it used to be pierced until someone ripped the ring clear out and he had to get it stitched back up.
There’s studies of his apron strings, and you can see the bulge of his backfat over the tightly-drawn white ribbon, see the fabric puckering where it’s been pulled in flush to his body and it wants to get itself free, of the little sliver of his belly and its underside and the creases of flesh there when he lifts something heavy or reaches for things and his shirt rides up, and studies of the bulge of his cock in his tracksuit bottoms or his shorts when he gets an early delivery and comes down without yet getting dressed.
There’s details of beads of his sweat or saliva, or the slickness on his lip after he and Michael have kissed, of the whiteness of his knuckles as he grips tight at a delivery box.
And those aren’t even the full portraits of him – the one lugging a pig on his shoulder, or laughing with a pint in his hand, or just him standing there in conversation, just him walking down the street.
Bertie’s dismissed a lot of things he’s said before. When Michael’s said things like, “I could stare at your ear lobes forever,” or “Sometimes, Bertie, my heart stops beating because I look for too long at the dip of your belly against your thighs and I think about how warm my hand would be if I slid it in between them,” or “I really like that grey t-shirt you have, the worn one that gets sweaty and goes dark at the small of your back.”
He says nice things – he says Bertie looks good, or handsome, and he’s even said, “I’m obsessed with you,” or similar things, and more than that, he smiles at Bertie. He beams at him, he walks up to him in the shop or in the street and just lingers at his side, or—
But painting like this? It’s real.
Sure, they’ve kissed, but Michael never remembers to charge his phone, and often forgets the whole thing entirely, so it’s not like he uses the hook-up apps, and he can’t reliably go further into the city, is by his nature a homebody, even gets all his drugs delivered. Bertie had shook it off as convenience, as Michael reaching for Bertie because he’s there and he’s convenient and he’s safe and he’s not terrible-looking, although not good-looking either, just average and reliable.
He'd thought he was just—
Just flirting. Laying it on fucking thick, sure, but at the end of the day, just trying to get Bertie’s attention and keep it.
He’d never even mentioned fucking painting him.
Bertie feels his eyes burning a little as they water, and he wipes at them, breathlessly laughing.
“Oh, God,” Michael wails as he sees Bertie standing there – luckily, he’s moving pretty fucking slowly with the weight of the hangover, and it’s not really any work to wrestle the Stanley knife out of his hand before he can slit his wrists open. He squeezes on Michael’s wrist to make his fingers go weak, the knife clattering onto the floor, and then he keeps him held by his skinny little wrists as he sobs drunkenly into Bertie’s thigh, mashing his face into the flesh.
“Do I need to call an ambulance?” Bertie asks over the noise after a few minutes, and Michael mumbles, “I’m so sorry I’m so embarrassed I’m so—”
Bertie lets him keep going until he tires himself out, and then melts over Bertie’s lap.
“I need to replace your lock,” Bertie says after a while, rubbing circles into Michael’s back. “I can pick one up around the corner and put it back.”
“Bertie,” Michael says quietly, the words muffled by Bertie’s thigh, “Do you ever want to run away together?”
“Well, Michael, we’re both forty, and I haven’t run anywhere in twenty years,” Bertie says. “Plus there’s the mortgage to consider.”
“I’m thirty-two.”
“You look terrible for it. I hope you don’t mind me saying.”
Michael turns in Bertie’s lap, looking miserably up at him. His hair is greasy – Bertie isn’t sure when he last had a shower, and he’s vaguely aware that Michael might not know when asked, either. He’s the sort of man that always looks a bit physically wet whether he’s recently showered or not.
“Didn’t think I’d live this long,” he says.
“Oh dear,” Bertie murmurs. “Shall we get you in the bath?”
“There are paintings in the bath.”
“Right,” Bertie mutters. “Well. I’ll move them, first.”
* * *
An hour later, Bertie’s fixed the lock on the door, and he’s sitting on Michael’s toilet, which is made of an astonishingly green ceramic to match the bath, looking at him stewing in the bubbles.
“So,” Bertie starts, watching as Michael scrubs over his knees with a flannel. “Are you… rich?”
“God, I wish,” Michael mumbles.
“Where did you learn to paint like this?”
Bertie gestures to the largest painting that’s now leaning up against the wall – it’s one of Bertie leaning down to scratch one of the neighbourhood cats behind the ear. Part of the reason he’s painted it, Bertie supposes, is because crouched down Bertie’s jeans have come down to show his arse crack and the lower part of his back, but it’s still lovingly depicted. Every thread of his jeans is visible, it seems to him, and it’s fucking incredible – let alone the hairs on his back.
“My parents sort of let me alone with a local painter, and he trained me up,” Michael says, gesturing vaguely with one hand before continuing to scrub, sloshing the water a bit.
The silence lingers between them for a few moments, and Bertie listens to the slosh and splash of the water, watches Michael’s pensive expression. “Did he do anything else to you?” Bertie asks cautiously, and Michael looks up at him, smiling faintly.
“Oh, yes,” he says. “All sorts.”
“Christ,” Bertie mutters, and Michael laughs, like he sometimes does when he obliquely references some horrible fucking thing that’s happened to him.
“Well, it was worth getting fiddled,” Michael says. “That’s how I learned to paint – I didn’t go to university or anything.”
“I don’t think it was worth getting fiddled, but I suppose I’m not an expert,” Bertie says. “How do you pay for groceries?”
“Oh, my sister comes in and picks out the saleable things every month or so and she sells them – she pays my rent and food and gear out of the money.”
Bertie blinks, taking that in. “She’s selling them?”
“Mm. Or, she takes them, anyway, and she pays my rent – my groceries get delivered, and she gets paints and canvases delivered. It might be that she just takes a few to make space.”
“So people might be buying pictures of me?” Bertie asks, feeling slightly faint at the idea of anyone taking home any of these extremely horny oil paintings of his body and hanging them up on their walls.
Michael sighs softly and says, “I’d buy pictures of you.”
“Yeah. Okay. Well, I need to talk to your sister, because I need to know who is buying this stuff of me. And also, she needs to put more vegetables in your grocery order.”
“Ugh,” Michael groans, and falls back in the bath.
* * *
Michael’s older sister is a genuinely pleasant and surprisingly well-adjusted woman – she’s eight years older than he is, and she comes around on the last Sunday of each month to check on her brother, take canvases, clean up a bit around the flat. She looks flustered, at a glance, not necessarily because she is, but just because she looks like that.
Where Michael’s hair is limp and prematurely greying from its mousy blond colour to an anemic white-grey, Cath’s is a brighter blond, sticks up at all angles from its messy top-heavy ponytail, and where Michael’s eyes are a pale green, hers are darker, more intense.
“I’m Bertie,” he says.
“Oh,” Cath says as she stacks some more small canvases in a crate. “I know.”
Bertie looks at the painting in her hand, one that Michael’s done of his armpit. Bertie owns the green vest in the painting, but he doesn’t remember when Michael might have seen him. The hair painted there is curling, sweat clinging to some of the hairs. “Right,” Bertie says. “Of course.”
“I know quite a lot about you,” Cath admits, looking awkwardly down at the canvas and then looking away, seeming almost abashed. “Not just physically. He doesn’t really talk about anything else since he first laid eyes on you. You’re actually why he moved in.”
“Aww.”
Cath blinks at him. “… Aww?”
“Well,” Bertie says. “That’s sweet, isn’t it?”
“People don’t normally find it sweet,” Cath says.
“Well, it’s not as if he means any harm – and the art is beautiful. It’s obviously a bit much, it’s… It took me by surprise. But Michael, he’s lovely – we get on. I suppose I’m glad I make him so happy.”
Cath bursts into tears with a wail to rival her brother’s, and Bertie stares at her. Cath sobbing in front of him was not exactly what he’d wanted out of this meeting. He leans back in his seat to make sure that Michael still isn’t back.
“Everyone’s so awful to him, they’ve always been awful to him,” she sobs into her hands, tears streaking down her cheeks and dripping down her chin. “I always think I’ll come around to wherever he is to find him dead, we’re always having to find him somewhere new to live because he starts getting obsessed with someone or starting fights or kids throw rocks at him or call him awful names, and it used to be we’d always have to keep in contact with the council and half his social workers have been awful – lots of them hate him, you know, because he’s so, so… And one of them raped him, and it was so awful, that was in Chichester, and when we tried to take it to court Michael refused to testify against him even though he was bleeding after and so I started selling his paintings and we moved him closer so I could come regularly and sometimes Stephen comes except he gets in awful fights with Stephen and I just want to make sure he’s got shelter and food and that he’s drinking water and not getting hurt or assaulted and this is what Van Gogh’s family did, basically, they just sort of tried to look after him and he died and I don’t want him to die but I just don’t have time to be here all week when I’ve got the kids to look after and Auntie Eva and you’re just so patient with him and you’re so kind to him and you just let him sort of, sort of be with you and it’s just so good of you, I can’t get over it!”
Bertie doesn’t know how to interrupt her, or if he even should. He just sort of sits there and lets her sob at him, listens to the torrent that falls out of her mouth.
“It’s not really patience,” he says. “We’re friends.”
And yeah, Michael is psychosexually obsessed with him, it turns out – probably wanks himself over Bertie until he’s raw, if only he could get his cock hard enough to do that – but it’s not as if Bertie doesn’t wank a bit over Michael too.
They’re bros. They hang out, they talk, they chat.
They talk about sports, a bit – Bertie explains what’s happening on the television, explains the rules or why the ref has made one call over another, what exactly is happening. Sometimes, what the game is. They talk about politics, which Michael knows a lot more about – about different politicians, about different fuck-ups and shit on the news, all that sort of thing. Michael knows about all that, actually listens to the news sometimes when he paints – Bertie avoids it all like the plague.
Michael’s had, what, a hundred or so psychiatrists? They’ve talked about those, and Bertie has a job keeping them all straight, which ones were good – a disappointing number of them. They’ve talked about Bertie’s past as a burglar, too, and his two years in the nick, what it was like. Michael’s been in every kind of institution except an actual prison, it seems.
Cath is still crying, and Bertie doesn’t exactly know how to explain to this sobbing and obviously loving woman that his relationship with her brother is not exactly the sexual-romantic or maybe just kind of divinely ordained thing Michael has been envisioning (or imagining), but it’s not as if it’s charity.
Bertie’s a bit of a freak himself, isn’t he?
“Well,” Bertie says, patting her knee, “you know that you were worried about finding him dead? About him— Well, killing himself, or anything else?”
Still teary-eyed, she draws in a hitching gasp and asks, “What? Oh. He said you took the gun off him.”
“It was a starting pistol, and it was unloaded,” Bertie says. “Chaz, his ket dealer, gave it to him.”
“Chaz?” Cath repeats faintly.
“I just think he’s probably anaemic,” says Bertie. “He’s been feeling more faint more often, and he’s paler, bruising easier. He needs to eat more iron.” Cath starts off like she’s going to do another round of wailing, and before she can fill her lungs up, Bertie says, “Listen, listen, Cath, I’m just saying— Why don’t I just do it? Do his groceries? Like, I can do that – we eat a lot of meals together anyway, takeaways and that. Is that okay? Would that help you?”
It occurs to him that maybe the woman should be a little more fucking streetwise than she is, at least where her brother is concerned, that she should show a bit more distrust of him, that she should at least ask some questions—
She just hugs him and sobs thanks into his shoulder.
He feels bad that she’s so upset about it, just that it feels a bit shit, he supposes, that she’s crying so much without asking Michael, without talking to him. Obviously Michael threatens to kill himself every other week, but this really is his shit to get upset about more than hers.
Bertie is distracted by it, anyway – he forgets to ask if she’s been selling the paintings or not.
* * *
It puts a fire under him to eat at least one meal a day with Michael, which is normally dinner, because Bertie is awake from five or six in the morning until about ten, and Michael’s typical sleep schedule is from about three in the afternoon until eight, in the periods where he’s sleeping more than usual.
Sometimes he cooks at home and brings things around, or Michael brings things over to him – sometimes, Bertie brings the ingredients and cooks in Michael’s kitchen, which he has to attack vigorously with cleaning supplies to make it habitable and usable before he starts being able to do that.
Not so much because of dirt – although it’s dirty, most of it is just piled up dishes and empty cans and bottles – but more because of paint and turps and all sorts of stuff, none of which is advisable for human consumption.
Bertie’s eating more, too, eating more healthily. After long, hard fucking days of physical work on his own, being on his feet all day, keeping track of everything, doing his accounts, doing everything— It’s not like his hours are unbearable. He’s lucky to be in the position he’s in, he knows that.
But it’s hard to make himself go through the effort of a proper homecooked meal when he’s been handling meat all day and has no brain left for it, easier to just toss an oven pizza in or get a pie from the pub. It’s easier, when he’s got someone else to cook for – it’s easier, when someone else justifies the effort, someone he cares about.
“Oh, it’s like we’re married,” Michael says one evening as he comes in from the living room, watching Bertie spatchcock a chicken in his kitchen. Michael’s flat is much smaller than his, but it holds the warmth a lot better, and it’s cosier, now the sofa isn’t filled all over with paintings. “Would you be my housewife, Bertie?”
“I think you’d be mine, if you were a woman.”
“I’ll be a woman for you,” Michael says breathlessly, and Bertie turned his head to look at him, gave him a half-smile.
“I like you like this.”
Michael gasps, spreading one paint-spattered and grimy hand over his extremely-oversized (it’s Bertie’s, and Bertie has no idea when he pilfered it) t-shirt, which reads 100% PRIME ENGLISH BEEF. “Homo,” he accuses.
“Internalised homophobia much?”
“Darling, I’ve internalised things you couldn’t even imagine.”
“I bet,” Bertie says, tossing his potatoes in the colander before he gets the pan of hot oil out of the oven, exchanging it for the chicken.
“Would you pose for me?” Michael asks.
“Seems like I don’t have to – you paint me from memory well enough. You got a photographic one?”
“Eidetic. Remember every crease and hair and dimple on every man who’s ever touched me. Consensual or otherwise.”
Bertie must crumple somehow, or show his horror in his expression, because Michael giggles, his arms crossed over his chest, huddled in the overlarge t-shirt and swimming in the fabric. “But it would still be nice.”
“Do I have to?”
“No. But would you?”
“What do I have to do?”
“Take all your clothes off.”
Bertie huffs out a laugh, tossing the potatoes in the sizzling oil before he slides it into the next shelf in the oven before reaching for an egg-timer. “Is that all?”
“Would you? It would make me so happy.”
“For how long?”
“Forever.”
“Liar.”
“It would be forever if I killed myself right after,” Michael says.
“If I take all my clothes off for you and you kill yourself, Michael, that will hurt my feelings.”
“Does that mean you’ll do it?” Michael asks, and Bertie sets the egg timer down before wiping off his hands.
“The timer’s set for an hour and ten. I need to give those potatoes a shake at forty-five.”
Bertie strips off his clothes and sits back to pose on a stool. To begin with, Michael doesn’t actually start painting – he sets up one of his primed canvases and just stands there and gazes at him, looks his body over. Bertie’s never felt threatened or insecure about male attraction, even though the man that catches his eye is pretty rare compared to a woman. He let a few guys suck him off when he was inside, and there’s something nice, even, about how open and and hungry men are about his body when they’re horny for him. They don’t just see him as cuddly or cosy or as some kind of protector for them as a big, beefy fat man.
The way Michael looks at him is not just horny. He has a feverish, twitchy manner about him at all times – he’s almost always sweating, hair streaked back, smeared with paint, his eyes wide, his breathing a little fast. He tics in conversation, especially once he’s excited, and especially once he’s high.
When he stops to look at Bertie it’s like he comes over almost meditative for a little bit – he comes over a little calmer, breathes slower, relaxes, sighs. It’s the way some people relax when they go into a church or when they get into a quiet room after being in a crowd, when they finally make it to an appointment when they were scared they were going to be late.
And that? That’s not just flattering – it’s beautiful. It’s beautiful and baffling, the idea that a man should look at him – him! Bertie Strand! – and experience such peace, even fleetingly.
“Your cock is gorgeous,” says Michael.
“Thank you,” Bertie says, feeling his lips twitch.
“Can I suck it?”
“You’re meant to be painting.”
Michael shifts on his feet, pouting out his lips and looking at Bertie with his eyes widened. “But I—”
“After dinner,” Bertie says. “Maybe.”
Michael paints like a demon most days, paints fast – he doesn’t really go out much, rarely goes further afield from this street. He gets nervous and paranoid around crowds of people, and his definition of a crowd is frequently more than two people. He doesn’t smoke cigarettes, but they always meet up in the Goose and Gander’s beer garden anyway, because he can’t bear the people in there when there’s walls on all sides.
Now and the Bertie insists Michael come with him for a walk and they look at the roses in the community garden – Michael always brings his sketchbook and some charcoals, complains about having to go out and walk anywhere, but once they make it, he draws and he draws. He draws flowers in bloom, draws leaves and stems, draws people’s dogs or passing cats, draws people here and there. It’s easier for him when the two of them go places together, when he knows he can just lose himself in what he’s doing. He’ll fill page upon page with flowers or bees or animals or people, gets down on the floor and lies there so he can see the grass from a particular angle and draw it just right from the close-up, from below.
Bertie likes to watch him sketch or paint – he really loses himself in it, moves so quickly with his pencils or charcoals or crayons or paint brushes, and as Michael starts to paint now, his hand becomes a blur. He spins the palette around and around in his hand, a nervous movement like a fucking pizza tosser – he says it helps him mix the paints.
“I’m sure people think you’re my carer,” he says after a few minutes of painting, and Bertie thinks about when they’re out in the park together. Michael won’t go without him – pigs’ll come fucking harass him otherwise, want to arrest him or have him committed or otherwise want him to be inside where no one can see him. Kids will have a go; “concerned parents” and neighbourhood watch sort of cunts and all those kinds of people. “Did Cath say?”
“Yeah,” Bertie says. “Tried to explain that we were friends, that it wasn’t just, you know. Fucking sympathy or some bullshit.”
“She can’t really imagine that anyone would be friends with me,” Michael says, shrugging his shoulders. “The only reason she doesn’t have me put in some institute is because I’m such catnip for sex offenders. Did she ask if you were raping me?”
“She didn’t,” Bertie says. “I thought that she should have, to be honest.”
“Maybe,” Michael says. “She’s never really understood it. When I was a teenager, after Mum cut me off, she thought I was asking for it all the time and kept thinking that, and then after what happened with Paul Sears, she felt really guilty for everything. Went extreme in the other direction. She’d do anything for me, I think. But she doesn’t really think of me as a person, I don’t think. She doesn’t even like to be here when I am – she always sends me out when she brings things over or starts cleaning up.”
Michael’s voice is quiet, his tone distant and a little dreamy, although not particularly happy or contented. He’s not smiling or laughing like he does with some of the rape jokes, where he enjoys saying things just to make Bertie flinch or groan, enjoys making the subtext and the assumptions explicit and blatant.
This conversation is more honest, in a way – and more painful, too.
“People think all sorts,” says Bertie. “It doesn’t make them right.”
Bertie’s arms aren’t crossed, his hands resting on his thighs. Michael’s enthused about his “magnificent rack” before, so he doesn’t want to cross his arms.
“A lot of people think it’d be better if I just bit the bullet and killed myself,” Michael says casually. Bertie can see he’s not thinking that much about it, because he’s focused on the work, looking between Bertie and the canvas.
“Well, I don’t,” murmurs Bertie. “None of those people know you – I do.”
Michael looks over the canvas and meets Bertie’s gaze now instead of looking down at his chest, and he smiles at him.
“You went to school in Birmingham, right?” he asks as his eyes flit back to his work. “Were you always big?”
“Always,” Bertie says. “Used to get in fights at school – I was softer when I was a younger, started to put on bulk and muscle when I was a little older. Used to get in fights a lot.”
“You got bullied?”
“I was a bit of a bully, probably,” Bertie says. “I got impatient with people. All my teachers thought I was thick as well as ugly – other kids picked up on it. Couldn’t read, couldn’t do a lot of maths. Dropped out early.”
“You couldn’t read?”
“I can,” Bertie says. “Takes me ages, though – all the letters swim. My parole officer when I got out, he put some stuff on my phone and my computer. Changed the fonts so they’re easier.”
“Dyslexia?”
“Probably.”
“I’m no great reader either,” Michael says. “Can’t concentrate on the page – I prefer pictures.”
“I see that.”
Michael watches a lot of TV, although he doesn’t like the noise – he always has the TV on in the background, the sound muted with the subtitles on. Bertie’s never sure how much of it he takes in, how much he engages with it.
“What about you?”
“Dyslexia? No, not that one. I tick a few other boxes, depending on which expert you ask.”
“I meant school.”
“Oh.” Michael pauses a moment, resting the corner of his paint palette against his chest and letting the arm holding his paintbrush go loose. He’s only smoked a bit of weed today and he’s moderately drunk – they’ve been sharing beers, and he’s only had enough vodka to steady his hands. He’s squinting into the middle distance, thoughtful, when he says, “I don’t remember much of it. I got in fights at school too – with teachers, with students. I wasn’t nearly as mad back then, but I wasn’t normal. The term “wasted potential” was bandied about.”
“Mm, I know that one.”
Michael tilts his head slightly to the side, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. “I think my PE teacher hit me once,” he says. “I might be remembering it wrong, but I think so – he said I shouldn’t run like a faggot, and when I pointed out that maybe I should, because I am one, he smacked me. It made such a loud sound, Bertie. Like a thunder clap.”
Bertie looks at him seriously. “You don’t remember?”
“It’s all very hazy, and I’m sure half of it’s imagined and made-up anyway. That’s the problem with very mad people, Bertie. It all gets a bit Alice in Wonderland and the truth gets muddled up – and then when we do tell the truth, nobody believes us.”
“I believe you,” says Bertie. “About your painting tutor, about the social worker, about all of it. They shouldn’t have done all they did to you.”
“Probably not,” says Michael affably. “Do you think I’d be normal if they hadn’t?”
“Maybe closer to it, but it’s too late for that now, and I do like you like this.”
“Oh, that’s nice,” says Michael in a softer voice, warmer, sweeter. His eyes crinkle when he smiles, and they’re slightly wet. “I almost like myself when I’m with you, Bertie.”
“Will you remember that the next time you’re on the verge?”
“Probably not, I don’t remember much of anything when I’m in that state,” says Michael. “But I’ll do my best.”
“That’s all I ask for,” says Bertie, spreading his hands. It makes his chest wobble, how he moves in the seat, and Michael lets out a low, quietly wanting noise.
When they finally stop to eat, Michael keeps making twitching movements back toward the canvas, but each time Bertie says he won’t go back to posing again until they’re both finished their plates. He’s gained a little weight in the past few months, which is good. He still swims in Bertie’s t-shirt, but he doesn’t swim in his own quite so much.
He'll never be a big man, no, but he’s no longer emaciated in the way he was – his eyes aren’t quite so sunken in, his bones not showing as obviously. He doesn’t look healthy, but he doesn’t look starved, either.
“I love you, Bertie,” says Michael.
“Love you too,” says Bertie, and Michael looks at him so stunned for a second that Bertie actually feels an aching pang in his chest.
“Really?”
“Really.”
“Does this mean you’re gay now?”
“I wouldn’t say so, but who knows what other people think?”
* * *
Michael kisses him after dinner, straddles his thighs and kisses him while cupping Bertie’s cheek, cradling him like Bertie’s face is the most precious, delicate thing in the world, and he has to be careful not to break him.
“Can I suck you off now?”
“You don’t want to keep painting?”
“I’ll keep painting you after.”
“Michael, if you suck me off, I will fall asleep right after.”
“I’ll paint you sleeping.”
“Fine,” says Bertie, but before he pulls away he catches him in another kiss, and Michael whimpers. Bertie pulls hurriedly back, not sure if that’s a bad noise, but Michael scrabbles at his arms to pull them to wrap around him, grinds down against his lap and begs silently for Bertie to continue, so Bertie does. They make out for a while before Michael sucks him off, and it’s been a few years since Bertie’s felt anything but his own hand, so he doesn’t last long.
Michael kisses him slowly after until Bertie, dozy and exhausted, relaxes back and falls asleep.
* * *
Bertie wakes in the morning to Michael crammed into the gaps between him and the sofa, his face pressed into Bertie’s chest and shoulder, one of his arms banded around Bertie’s belly. He’s stuck into the gap between him and the back of the sofa, dead asleep.
Bertie smiles at him, gently touches the side of his cheek, pushes a curl of hair back from Michael’s sweaty temple.
“You’re warm,” mumbles Michael. He doesn’t move.
Scattered on the floor are pages of sketches of Bertie sleeping, close shots of his hands, his thighs, his arse, his closed eyes, of the shapes he falls into as he sprawls on the sofa cushions.
“Did you ever find out if she sells the paintings of you?” Michael asks.
“Fuck’s sake,” Bertie mutters, and swipes his hand over his face. “I’ll ask the next time I see her.”
If he remembers, he thinks. He doesn’t know that he minds so much now either way when it makes Michael so fucking happy to draw him, to paint him. When it’s so nice to sit with him in the quiet and pose for him, or just spend time with him like this.
Michael doesn’t sleep enough, so Bertie lets himself enjoy the cosiness of it, of his warm body and his slower heartbeat, until Michael gets up to piss and take a huff of white spirit and then ask, eyes as big as dinnerplates (partly from the inhalant, partly because he’s just good at the puppy dog look) if Bertie can make him some eggs before he goes to work.
Bertie, laughing, makes him an omelette, and Michael sketches him at the hob. Bertie can’t keep the smile down, and he sees the same expression reflected in Michael’s face.
FIN.
---
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Here’s my official Disney Hercules/Disney Villains/Hades merch haul (so far lol)
You guys already saw these but here’s the Sega Disney Villain Mystery Prize plush and a limited edition flexing Hades medallion pin lol
These are 2 Hades Funko pops I have (left: regular glow-in-the-dark Hades, right: throne Hades) and a 25th Hercules Anniversary Christmas ornament of Hades and baby Herc
also btw I bought 2 Funko pops because the glow-in-the-dark one has a defect with the hair in the back (I think it was attached wrong so there’s like a weird gap in the back), also you need a UV light to make the Funko pop glow in the dark and that basically only works if I have the light from my window shining on it (and I’m a hermit that hates light so I never have my curtains open 😂 honestly thinking about putting it in my car as a dashboard ornament and then buying the “chessboard Hades” Funko pop to replace that one in my room lol
This is the $50 Hercules blanket I mentioned before that I got from the Disney store on my birthday last year lol, it’s really comfy and soft and I actually slept with it last night because it got cold in my room lol
A Hades T-shirt (also got it last year for my birthday at the Disney store lol)
You all know I have Horn of Plenty and the book from the Disney Villains book series (also the book sleeve came with random scratches and stuff on it when I got it so that kinda sucks and makes it look dirty but oh well lmao) lol, but I also have a Disney villains coloring book (actually thinking about getting some more Disney villain coloring books! There’s a color by numbers one that I really want to buy!)
These are actually pictures I got from a 2023 Disney Villains calendar I got for Christmas in 2022 lol. I literally only wanted it for these pics specifically because I just love them so much! Actually, the “I bring the fire” one was actually for the month of March (which is my birth month lol)!
I believe this was my very first Disney loungefly bag and wallet set of Hades! I actually currently use this one when I travel lol! I just love how gorgeous Hades looks 😍 also whenever I go out and people are like “omg I love your bag!” I have to resist the urge to be completely honest and say “Thanks! I’m in love with him! He’s my fictional husband!” 😂 but instead I’m just like “Haha! Thanks! I just love Hades and I’m obsessed with him!” 😂 it’s literally that meme like “They don’t know I’m in love with a fictional character” 🤣
I think this was 2nd set I bought? I just ADORE the flowers around Hades! I got it because it just instantly reminded me of Hades and Persephone lol! They also didn’t have a matching wallet so I got one that kinda matched. I know the quote on the wallet is hard to read because of the lighting, but it says “NO PLACE FOR FAIRY TALES” lol (there’s actually another Disney villains bag with Hades with flowers on it and I wanna buy that one too 😂)
And then my 3rd loungefly set lol! I love this one too because it has 3 pockets and it’s glow-in-the-dark! (I like to use this one around Halloween lol idk why I just think it looks cooler for some reason). My only thing about this set is that the wallet is small and doesn’t have a coin pouch, so there’s no place to put my change. I’ll have to find a cute coin purse to go with it lol.
And last, but certainly not least, my collection of the Hades comics! I just love the way Hades looks in all of these!!! 😍💙
Anyways, that’s it lol! I also have fan made merch (mainly stickers but also other stuff) of Hades, but I thought I’d just show you guys the official Disney ones. I’ll certainly be adding more to this collection, so stay tuned for more lol! 😁
#I’ve been meaning to do this for week now and finally got the energy to do it 😂#sorry about the glare and awkward cropping/angles in some pics#my room has the worst lighting 😂#disney#hercules#hades#hercules 1997#disney’s hercules#disney hades#hades disney#hades hercules#disney villains
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can I request a Remus Lupin imagine to Lover by Taylor Swift
happy to oblige, hope you love it!
Lover
Remus Lupin x reader
words; 1,428
song; Lover by T Swizzle
warnings; none i dont think
my masterlist
hehehe he's so cute
i'm gonna be so fr with y'all, writing is the only thing keeping me from having a big mental breakdown so smiles :)
if you love a song, the marauders, and my writing, request a song fic and your wish shall be my command.
ENJOYYY
We could leave the Christmas lights up 'til January
And this is our place, we make the rules
“It’s closer to Easter than it is Christmas, why is your tree still up?” Lily asked, eyeing our cat who was playing with the bells hanging on the lower branches of the Christmas tree.
“Because Christmas is superior and deserves recognition all year.” I explained, glancing at my boyfriend who laughed with his friends. “And it makes Remus happy.”
And there's a dazzling haze, a mysterious way about you dear
Have I known you 20 seconds or 20 years?
“Oh, and I got you multiple candles because I know how much anxiety you get burning candles because you don’t wanna “waste” them, so I bought like, five so you didn't have to worry about that.” Remus said as he unpacked the grocery sack, pulling out the assortment of candles he bought.
I looked at Remus with a lovesick smile, “I’ve never told you about that.” I said quietly and he paused to look me in the eye.
“You didn’t have to. I know you.”
Can I go where you go?
Can we always be this close forever and ever?
“Okay, Moony, are you ready to g- what the fuck?” James said as he walked through our apartment door, Sirius and Peter trailing behind him.
“Oh, wow, Moons, looks like you got a leech.” Sirius commented, walking into the kitchen and raiding our cupboards.
“I was ready, but then she attached herself to me and she won’t let go.” Remus explained, rubbing my back softly as I clung onto him.
“You can’t take him.” I mumbled, my voice being muffled by his shirt and James laughed. “I’m serious, I need him.”
“Actually, I’m Sirius.” Sirius said, walking out of the kitchen with a spoon and a jar of peanut butter.
“Fuck you.”
Sirius scoffed, “Rude.”
“C’mon, love, it’s only for a weekend.” Remus said and I just held on tighter.
“Nope. I’m a crazy obsessive bitch and you can’t go.”
“At least she’s self aware.” Sirius said as he left the house, stealing our peanut butter.
And ah, take me out, and take me home
You're my, my, my, my
Lover
“Sh, you’re okay now.” I soothed gently as Remus panted, the cuts across his body red and angry. I carefully wiped away dirt and blood and bandaged up his words, all the while talking quietly to him to calm his mind. “It’s all done, Rem, you’re okay.” I whispered, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead, he closed his eyes and almost instantly let sleep take over. I sighed and walked into the living room. “Rough night?” I asked the three boys and they nodded.
“It’s been getting worse lately.” James said, revealing the large cut on his upper arm.
“Well, everything will be alright. Let’s not worry him.”
We could let our friends crash in the living room
This is our place, we make the call
“Take your shoes off on my damn couch, Sirius Black.” I scolded as I walked out of the kitchen, a bowl of popcorn in my hand.
“My bad, your majesty.” he said and took his shoes off, throwing them at my legs.
“I don’t like you.”
“You love me.”
“Nuh uh.”
“Hello, love.” Remus interrupted, grabbing the popcorn from me and placing a kiss on my cheek.
“Hello, Rem.”
“What are we gonna watch?” Peter asked from his fort on the floor and James stuck his head out of it, opening his mouth and signaling Sirius to throw him a piece.
“Ooo!” I said excitedly, turning to Remus who already knew what I was going to suggest. “Can we watch-”
“Love and Pain and the Whole Damn Thing?” We said in sync and I laughed with a nod.
“We’ve watched literally every time we’ve had a slumber party.” James said with a frown and his wife threw a pillow at him.
“It’s a great movie, James.” Lily scolded.
And I'm highly suspicious that everyone who sees you wants you
I've loved you three summers now, honey, but I want 'em all
“Six, oo, seven.” I counted quietly and Remus snorted.
“What are you doing?” He asked.
“Counting, duh.”
“Well, yes, but what are you counting?”
I glanced at Remus, “The amount of people who look at you and do a double take, which obviously means they think you’re cute, which I wouldn’t blame them to be honest.”
“That’s cool. Sucks for them though, yeah?”
“Why?”
Remus paused and grabbed my arm, making me come to a halt. He smiled and pressed a soft kiss to my lips. “Because I’m all yours.”
Can I go where you go?
Can we always be this close forever and ever?
“Y/n, you are the love that came without warning; you had my heart before I could say no.” Remus recited to his friends.
“That is the cheesiest thing on Earth.” Sirius commented but James hit his arm.
“I think she’ll love it, and that makes it even cheesier.” He said with a nod and Remus smiled gently.
And ah, take me out, and take me home (forever and ever)
You're my, my, my, my
Lover
“Will you marry me?” Remus asked, finishing his speech that brought wet tears to my eyes.
“Yes, Rem, yes I will. Of course I will.” I whispered and he put the ring on my finger before standing up and throwing his arms around me. He spun me around in the air and set me down to plant a fat kiss on my lips, joy radiating off him.
Ladies and gentlemen, will you please stand?
With every guitar string scar on my hand
I take this magnetic force of a man to be my lover
“Do you, Y/n, take this man, Remus, to be your lawfully wedded husband?” The priest asked and I smiled at Remus, wiping a stray tear off his cheek.
“I do.”
“And do you, Remus, take this woman, Y/n, to be your lawfully wedded wife?”
Remus nodded, “I do.”
My heart's been borrowed and yours has been blue
All's well that ends well to end up with you
Swear to be overdramatic and true to my lover
The priest nodded with a smile, “You may kiss the bride.” Whoops and hollers filled the air as our lips met, the loudest coming from Sirius, James, and Peter who were off to the side. I smiled into the kiss, happy to finally be tied to Remus - which also means his best friends - for the rest of our lives.
And you'll save all your dirtiest jokes for me
And at every table, I'll save you a seat, lover
“Y/n/n-” A small voice said and I looked down to see a five year old Harry pulling gently on my dress.
“Ah, my favorite boy.” I said and bent down to pick him up. “How are you, little man?”
“I good.” He smiled wide, placing a wet kiss on my cheek and I laughed. “Uncle Remmy said to give you a kiss.”
I looked up at my husband who winked at me with a smile, “How kind of him. Can you go tell him it’s almost time for cake?” I said and Harry nodded as I set him down. He immediately began running to Remus as fast as his little legs would let him, an angry expression on his face with his teeth bared and little growls coming from his throat.
Remus laughed as Harry whispered in his ear. He stood up and immediately made his way over.
“I assume you did not tell Harry that you wanted to meet me in the bedroom?” He said with a smirk and my eyes widened.
“What?!”
Can I go where you go?
Can we always be this close forever and ever?
And ah, take me out, and take me home (forever and ever)
“Ah, Paris, the city of love.” I sighed dreamily and Remus laughed.
“You are my city of love.” He said and I furrowed my brows.
“That makes zero sense.”
“Are you sure?”
“Positive.”
“It makes sense to me.”
“You’re weird.”
“Are you sure?”
“Extra positive.”
You're my, my, my, my
Oh, you're my, my, my, my
Darling, you're my, my, my, my
I smiled at Remus and looked in his eyes as we laid together on the bed.
“You’re beautiful.” He whispered and my smile grew.
“You’re beautifuller.”
“You’re beautifulest.”
“You’re beautifullerest.”
Remus snorted, “That’s definitely not a word.”
I winked, “I’d beg to differ, Mr. Beautifullerest.”
Lover
taglist (if u wanna be added comment);
@loving-and-dreaming @1lellykins @poetrypirate
#aanoia#romance#marauders era#remus lupin#the marauders#james & peter & remus & sirius#sirius black#harry potter#remus lupin fluff#remus lupin x you#remus lupin x reader#remus lupin imagine#peter pettigrew#marauders headcanon#marauders#hp marauders#marauders map
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Hazbin Hotel: The Corruption of Creativity. Part 1
1. Introduction
Hello everyone, I normally don’t make huge posts like these, but I thought it would be important to make this review and discussion about the latest animated show on Amazon Prime, Hazbin Hotel, and the people behind the scenes who worked on the show, mostly the show creator Vivziepop. Back in 2019 when I first watched the animated pilot of Hazbin Hotel, I was interested to see how this show, if picked up, would go about with its story. Like many people who were still fans of Vivziepop’s work, I wanted to see this show become a good adult animated series. In fact, as the production was going on behind closed doors, I supported viv and her work via Patreon for a time and bought some merch from Sharkrobot.com to help fund her endeavors—I even still have my Angel Dust t-shirt and Hazbin Hotel poster in a black picture frame.
2. Personal Fan Origins
Though I wasn’t an og follower of viv back in her older days on DeviantArt, I was introduced to her work around 2014-2015, that’s when I originally saw her fan-animated Kesha Die Young music video and since then I became a fan of her work and was obsessed with her means of creating very expressive and stylistic characters. Vivziepop was the artist who not only introduced me to the furry community, she was also a big inspiration for my artwork and still is to some extent now, had it not been for her, I don’t think I would’ve been in the position I’m in now to make art or it would’ve taken me much longer than where I started.
But as much as I was a casual fan of her work, I was also a skeptic of her as a person over time. Primarily due to how she would be overly defensive towards criticism, radiate a toxic personality on others and friends of hers, and how she would intentionally and unintentionally weaponize her audience against those that landed on her blacklist. These traits would only become more apparent over time, but I like many others had the mindset of “separating the art from the artist” And while there is some validity to be made on that notion, it makes it all the harder when the person intentionally makes the art inseparable from who they are or they’re still active or alive and will constantly change their position or view on things. I know there’s a much deeper discussion to be had about this notion and how relevant it actually is, but for the sake of this post, I won’t dive into it that much.
Watching Helluva Boss in 2019 onward would prove to be a conflicting experience since the first time watching the first season wasn’t as bad, some episodes had some strong character development, decent action scenes, and enjoyable songs. 2, 5, and 6 were some of my favorites in the series, but around season 2 episode 4, I was losing interest and I began to see the cracks in the show and noticed that the charm had dwindled going into the second season. Episode 6 was where I stopped which is funny because the last episode (at least currently) was episode 7 which I didn’t even bother to give any attention to because I didn’t like the show much anymore: The characters were losing whatever charm they had originally, making the characters I did like lose that vibe I enjoyed and those I didn’t like before I just didn’t care or it made it all the worse, the pacing didn’t get any better as the show was always going so quickly but rarely having time to sit down and digest even when there were scenes that had those moments, and for a show that would have differing times from 10-30 minutes, it made it all the more rushed, the stories were all over the place in a way I had no fun engaging with or could get behind, sometimes plot points like D.H.O.R.K.S’s evidence of demons would be revealed but never brought up again or have the same impact on the show, and some of the songs were forgettable (though I did enjoy Cotton Candy).
After I stopped giving HB a watch I decided to be patient and wait for when Hazbin Hotel would drop, and on January 18th, 2024, the first episode would drop to present the new show to the world.
3. Hazbin Hotel Review (Spoilers, Obviously)
Summary -
Hazbin Hotel is an adult animated series about the daughter of Lucifer named Charlie Morning Star, a demon princess seeking to rehabilitate sinners in a less violent way to combat overpopulation in hell. Along the way, she manages to get support from the enigmatic radio demon named Alastor who helps Charlie and Vaggie bring in sinners in an attempt to redeem their souls for a price while trying to be as cooperative as she can with the odds stacked against her.
When I first watched the premiere of the show, I wasn’t really blown away or impressed by it, which isn’t a bad thing since not a lot of shows have a strong start with their early episodes in the season. Where it did get interesting however was around 4-6 when it started to focus more on character development and give some time for the main cast to shine and maintain some consistency with the story, though this has its limits. There were also some decent songs, some funny dialogue, and even some sprinkling of action around the end. Unfortunately, in the later episodes, it started to fall back to where the show lost its touch. So let me get around to the pros and cons of Hazbin Hotel:
The Good -
As someone who felt burnt out from Helluva Boss, this is an improvement as far as comparing viv’s older work goes, which is a slight benefit.
Performances are great as far as voices go, especially when you have people like Keith Davids in your line up, though I would be a little more positive on the casting choices if it didn’t also come at the cost of the old cast, I genuinely believe they should’ve been given additional voice roles if not main ones for the show, so that sucks.
Songs can be hit or miss in this show, with More Than Anything (both the first and reprise) and Loser Baby being the better examples and the rest not sticking out to me as much, either because I don’t think they had as much impact or they felt out of left field. I think it would’ve been better to not have every episode with a song number unless it was a grand introduction to something (i.e. Poison, Loser Baby, More Than Anything). Though I don’t expect this to be a popular opinion so whatever
The visuals are fairly competent with few to no issues that caught my eye, my only critique would be that due to how fast everything feels it can be hard to follow what's all happening, not to mention having the background and background characters look as eye-catching as the main cast can throw people off of where they should put their focus on. It's not as terrible enough where I loathe it, but it could make some contrast of who/what you should pay more attention to.
The Bad -
The story loses track of the main premise of Charlie trying to redeem sinners and her relationship with Vaggie. The side plots don’t interest me as much aside from Angel Dust and Husk having some empathy for each other slowly through the series, and the other main cast aren’t nearly explored as much. Idk the best way to describe it, but it seems that most of the focus of the side characters isn’t where it should be (the hotel’s residents) and more so on those outside the hotel, which I think would’ve worked better in the second season rather than just the first. If season one was just focusing on the residents, Charlie and Vaggie more than the other characters, I wouldn’t mind that. I think the only exceptions to this would be the hell overlords discovery of how to fight back and Lucifer helping Charlie with the hotel. But back to the main cast, Charlie and Vaggie’s moments of romance and bonding seem few and far between, which sucks since this is supposed to be about them right? RIGHT?! The potential is just wasted.
Not every song is needed or has a place in every episode, though that could be because I wasn’t feeling them as strongly compared to the ones mentioned. Not much else to say there that hasn’t already been said.
Characters don’t appeal to me as much aside from Niffty and Sir Pentious (they’re the best) and unfortunately, the characters I should care about don’t get enough time to shine due to how this show is hastily paced—which leads me to my next negative.
Pacing is absolutely atrocious, for episodes that last 30 minutes, it feels like everything has happened yet also little has happened in such a short period of time (which is insane to me) Viv has had pacing issues in the past with her work which is concerning to me, mostly because she wasn’t always this speedy with her series, there were times she had more breathing room for her older works for instances like the Son of 666 and Timber, even the short Bad Luck Jack (which I liked) suffered from this in ways. Idk what exactly happened, but it seems like viv’s workflow has just gotten worse over time, and her artistic magic, patience, etc has just vanished.
Jokes? For what attempt of humor was there, it was very little. Once in a while, there was a joke that stuck the landing or made me chuckle, such as Charlie and Alastor swearing unexpectedly, only because it’s so out of left-field you wouldn’t expect it, so the joke works. Or when Niffty and Sir Pentious act their usual awkward selves in front of others. But everything else is just not funny to me because the majority of the humor is either sex or profanity jokes that don’t have that great of build-up or go for something more than just “haha adult words” which ironically makes it more juvenile than adult. I don’t mind stupid humor, but make it funny and not because you want to say “fuck” for the sake of it. Even if it’s just for casual talk, it's overly excessive. It doesn’t hurt to find humor in other ways even if those don’t land either, it's better than just resorting to profanity and sex.
Additional Comments -
When it comes to Vivziepop’s older works, it’s better than Helluva Boss but weaker than her shorts or animated music videos (fan-made or original), the strongest elements within the series lie within the hump of the season and fall short from the beginning and end. Though as annoying as that is, it pales in comparison to the other elements in the show.
Heaven’s methods of carrying out exterminations every year to dissuade the populace of hell from rebelling is just a very dumb thing to do when there are so many other ways to shatter the morale of a persecuted people or nation without lifting a single sword that would’ve been better implemented and create a larger divide between heaven and hell and less costly as well. Perhaps this is just to further showcase how arrogant and incompetent Heaven is, but I have my doubts on that.
Alastor as a manipulative radio host works well between Charlie and Vaggie, though I wish they wouldn’t have explained his ties to the disappearances of hell’s overlords so soon, it just takes away from his mysterious nature as this eldritch being. That part to me would’ve worked later on. (Yeah, I’m also aware they did something similar in the pilot too, which brings up another issue I have)
Continuity between the pilot and the first episode is pretty murky, it doesn’t help matters when the plot of the pilot and the series episodes get collaged in so haphazardly. If I never heard of Hazbin Hotel or Vivziepop’s work before, I’d kinda be thrown off a bit and try my best to catch up on what’s going on. I don’t expect an expose of how everything works, but an organic flow of how things come together would’ve been nice. For instance: the pilot itself feels more like an episode one than the actual episode 1 of the first season. I know the point of the pilot isn’t as strict in its rules, since it's supposed to sell an idea to a network or distributor. Hell, The Amazing Digital Circus does something similar to how Hazbin Hotel does with presenting a first-episode introduction into the world and characters, only it does it far better and it hasn’t even gotten its first episode out yet, but I don’t want to compare apples to oranges on two different shows. The point is, the first episode should’ve had a better flow to it or at least maintained something more consistent like the pilot did.
But by far the most glaring problem in the show isn’t part of the show itself believe it or not. But to keep this short, I’ll leave that for part 2.
4. End of Part 1
Originally when I watched the series I gave this a 7/10 on IMDB because I came at this from a perspective of how I would judge the work based on viv’s prior craft, this gave it a point above Helluva Boss, primarily with pacing, and direction of what it should be about and where to focus the story and characters. That being said, I was being very generous and didn’t also factor in on how it stood on its own two feet, and to be honest? It's not that good. For the first season of a new adult animated show, it’s too rushed, and not fleshed out enough in areas where it needs to be, The majority of the characters I have little interest or investment in, and despite having its moments, it's not enough to keep me hooked to know what happens within the next season.
This would bring it down to 1 point for that to a 6/10, I know some fans would put the blame on Amazon, A24, or Bento, but here’s the thing, other shows have had episodes with similar limited space and time to tell their stories yet do a far more superior job in doing so than this, from what I understand, Amazon seems pretty open for a studio big or small to do as they please with what resources they have to get out what they can regardless of the restraint of episodes to be made, thereby making studios try their best to work harder on making a show work with such little episodes, so I see this mostly as a personal thing with viv and her team than just amazon.
Now I would just leave it at that and move on, but I’m afraid this is where things get more muddy and grim.
#longahpost#review#critique#vivziepop#hazbin hotel#helluva boss#vivziepop criticism#vivziepop critical#vivziepop critique#hazbin hotel critique#hazbin spoilers
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can u make one about maybe telling bam you’re pregnant??😭🙏
Y/N Tells Bam She’s Pregnant HCs!
Bam Margera X Fem!Reader
Warnings: None!
An: Thank you for the request!! I’ve noticed a trend recently with a lot of baby related requests XD Bam has a tendency to get carried away with whatever he gets into, so I don’t think raising a child would be any different!
Bam doesn’t know what to say
I mean, what man does when his girlfriend tell him she’s pregnant?
“Wow. Wow. I mean…wow.”
He stumbles over his words for like a solid minute in disbelief before asking if you’re really sure it’s his
When you tell him that yes, not only is it his but you also want to keep it, the only thing he can can come up with is,
“A-awesome…?”
The thing is, despite his usual antics, Bam can be a pretty sentimental guy, especially when it comes to you, so even though you thought it was sorted and done, he was still processing it
Until that evening you caught him playing some skateboarding video game in the living room after all his buddies went home
He doesn’t notice you standing behind the corner, so it’s totally genuine when he passes the game and sits back with this sorta bewildered smile on his face.
And he murmurs to nobody in particular, “I’m gonna be a dad.”
The following months were filled with Bam tending to your every need
Sure, you liked it when he made sure the castle was stocked with your favorite foods or massaged your feet, but it was a little excessive
You waited until week three of breakfast in bed to say anything. Digging your fork into the fluffy French toast your boyfriend told you he made but you could obviously tell it was April’s cooking, you laughed, “You know, you could really ease up on it. I’m pregnant, not dying!”
Still, he wasn’t discouraged
One day, Bam surprised you with a custom baby inside he got made- black with a hot pink heartagram on it
He held it up proudly, “He’s gonna look so awesome in this!”
When you asked how he knew it would be a boy, he said it was just father’s intuition
“Plus, if it’s a girl, it’s got pink on it!” Well he had a point.
Don’t even get me started on names
You know he would suggest Ville, and there’s no way in hell you would benaming your baby after some Finnish rock star your boyfriend was obsessed with
And when you go shopping for baby stuff Bam insists on trying everything out
Even if they don’t offer samples of baby food, he will be asking for them because,
“Our kid deserves the best, Y/N! If I wouldn’t eat it, he’s not gonna eat it either.”
Evidently, he didn’t like anything he tried expect those puffed rice snacks so he bought as many as he could fit in his arms (and he will 100% eat them all before the baby is actually born)
The soon to arrive baby was giving Bam a bit of a crisis of conscious
You assumed the whole wearing a tie with his usual blazer and t-shirt combination was some Avril Lagvine fashion thing
And you didn’t mind him spending fewer nights out at the bar with his buddies and the decrease in trips to the ER
But when he brings up selling the lambo for a ‘more reasonable car’, you put your hands on his shoulders and took a deep breath
“Bam, I love you, but there is no way in hell I’m letting you sell that car.”
That’s when your boyfriend admits to you that he has no idea what he’s doing
You could tell
#jackass#bam margera#jackass fanfiction#jackass fanfic#fluff#jackass x reader#bam margera x reader#Those baby snacks go hard I eat those things like no tomorow
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i wanna cut to the feeling
Eddie Munson x Steve Harrington
Summary: Robin drags her best friend to a Corroded Coffin show. How were they to know sparks would fly between Steve and a member of the band? (aka, the fic where Steve fixes Eddie's hair before a show and falls in love immediately)
Word Count: 3.2K.
Chapter 2 ~ Chapter 3 ~ Chapter 4 ~ Chapter 5 ~ continued on Ao3 (linked here)
Warnings: Language, drinking, Hairstylist!Steve, Rockstar!Eddie, nothing crazy yet but I reserve the right to get crazy later
A/N: This is inspired by a tiktok I saw of Joe Keery talking about how he put curlers in a costars hair every night for three months and got really good at it. Also I wrote all of this today so if there are mistakes please go easy on me <3
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“Steve, you’re coming out with me, and nothing you say will change my mind.”
Steve watched from the desk as Robin got ready in front of her bedroom mirror. She had called him in for hair advice, which he gladly provided, but if he’d known it was all a ploy to get him to leave the apartment, he would have been more resistant.
“I’m just so exhausted from work this week,” he complained.
“That’s what you say every week,” Robin countered. She turned to him, her look now finished. “Please, for me?”
“That’s what you say every week,” Steve responded. It was true, Steve’s social life had gotten a bit boring recently. Ever since he’d been promoted to manager at the salon, he was working over forty hours a week, and it was hard to imagine going out after that. But maybe, just maybe, he had enough energy tonight to actually do something.
“Yeah, but this week is special!” she said. “Corroded Coffin is doing a free show at the bar down the street from us, and you know that’s never going to happen again, so you might as well get dressed because we’re going.”
She was right. Corroded Coffin was this up and coming band that Robin was obsessed with. Steve had listened to their music before, and they were pretty good.
“Fine, I’ll go,” he sighed. “But I’m not staying out all night.” Robin squealed, then ran to him to pull him into a hug.
“Yes! Okay, be fast, I wanna get there early so we get a good spot.” Steve thought about reminding her that it probably wouldn’t be that crowded, considering they weren’t that popular of a band, but he didn’t want to dampen her spirits.
Since he was crunched on time, he mainly focused on making sure his hair was acceptable, then swapped out his work shirt with a nicer one. Before he knew it, he was off with Robin, walking down their street.
They didn’t live in the nicest part of town, but their apartment was affordable and had a dishwasher, so they figured as long as they stuck together they’d be alright. Steve wasn’t ever too concerned, in fact he would be quick to fight anyone who tried to break in, but Robin insisted they install extra locks on the doors anyway. It was a good system.
“I’m surprised you like this band so much, considering they’re all men,” Steve teased. Robin rolled her eyes in fake annoyance.
“People don’t only like bands because they’re attracted to the members, Steve.” She flipped her hair, then smiled once the bar was in sight. “Besides, if a band is entirely composed of dudes, who do you think the fans are?” Steve noticed a group of beautiful women walking into the bar, and then laughed at the realization.
“Damn. You’re diabolical, Buckley.”
Once they got into the bar, they each bought a drink. Robin ordered a vodka cranberry, and Steve ordered a rum and coke. It was their standard when they went to bars together, even though they ordered different things when out with other people.
It was still an hour before the show, and the bar was mainly empty - as they typically were at 6pm. Robin, eager as ever, made her way to the spot closest to the stage, dragging Steve by the hand with her. It was a small venue, but he imagined by showtime it would probably be somewhat full. They sipped their drinks and chatted, as Robin told Steve about her most annoying customers and he told her about his most entertaining clients. Once he’d finished his drink, he excused himself, saying he had to go to the bathroom - but really he went outside to smoke a cigarette.
He knew this bar pretty well, considering it was down the street from his apartment, which meant he knew that there was an alley leading to the back of the building that nobody ever went to. Steve tended to prefer privacy at this point in his life - especially when it came to hiding the fact he smoked. Robin would probably kill him if she found out.
He lit up, enjoying the moment to himself, but it was short lived. A door a few yards down burst open.
“Fuck, man. I fucked up. I really fucked up.” Steve watched as a frazzled man paced back and forth, talking to someone on the phone. “I don’t know why, okay! I just, I thought I could just - Yes, I realize I have a personal stylist for that.”
The man looked vaguely familiar, but Steve couldn’t place from where. Then through context clues, he put it together - He was in the band.
It’s not like he’d ever seen pictures of the guys in Corroded Coffin - Their album cover didn’t have their faces on it. The man continued to argue with the person on the phone, until he said one final biting remark, I’ll fix it, and then hung up with a groan.
“You alright there, man?” Steve asked.
“Shit! Didn’t see you there,” he replied. “Yeah, I’m fine.” He took out his own cigarette and lit it, stressed.
“Sounds like you’re having a hair emergency.”
“Don’t be a dick.”
“Oh, I’m not,” Steve said, defensively. “I never kid about hair emergencies.” The man continued to look at him, perplexed. Steve finished his cigarette and stomped it out on the concrete. “I’m a hairstylist. Been doing it for years now. Maybe I could help you?”
“Shit, really? Yeah, that would be great.” He looked at the cigarette in his hand and considered putting it out, despite him only having just lit it.
“Don’t waste it,” Steve insisted. “Tell me what happened first.”
“Uh, okay. Well, it’s been a minute since I’ve gotten a haircut and my bangs kinda grew out, so I tried to…”
“Ah,” Steve said, immediately understanding. “Happens all the time.”
“How bad is it?” he asked, nervously.
“Hard to tell since it’s so dark out. Here -” Steve took out his phone to use the flashlight, then noticed a text from Robin.
Dude, did you go full Elvis and die on the toilet or something?
He shook his head, then responded,
All good here, one of the band members needs hair help.
Steve turned the flashlight on and pointed it towards the man’s hair, and that’s when he got a decent look at him for the first time.
He was the kind of guy that probably would be completely intimidating, had he not been an anxious mess over attempting to cut his own bangs. It was a weirdly vulnerable way to be introduced to someone, but it was a way Steve had become used to at the salon. He didn’t like seeing people upset, but he liked knowing he could fix whatever was upsetting them.
Steve was barely taking in the bombardment of texts Robin was sending, because he was so focused on the hair - and the guy wearing the hair.
WHAT
WHAT??
Which one??
Steve
Steve
Steven.
Please respond to me.
STEVE
“Who’s blowing up your phone, dude?” the man asked, amused. Scrolling through his texts, Steve chuckled, and figured he’d answer at least one of her questions.
“It’s just Robin,” Steve answered, vaguely. “What’s your name?”
“Eddie,” he answered. Steve replied to Robin’s text accordingly, then put his phone away. He’d seen what he needed to. “So, what’s the verdict?”
“Completely fixable,” Steve responded. “Do you have scissors or should I go grab mine?”
“You mean to tell me that you don’t keep extra scissors in your pocket for situations like this?” Eddie teased.
“They’re in my other jacket,” Steve responded. Eddie laughed, but it wasn’t a joke. “I live just down the road, I’ll be back in five minutes, okay?”
“Nah, no need,” Eddie dismissed. “I have some in the dressing room. The murder weapon, if you will.” He gestured for Steve to follow him into the building through the back door.
Steve had never seen this part of the bar before. It wasn’t anything terribly fancy, just a small room with some mirrors where the rest of the band was hanging out. They all seemed to ignore Eddie and Steve’s arrival, focused on their own insecurities.
Eddie fetched the scissors from a pile of his things on the table, then turned to hand them to Steve. When he saw Steve in the full light of the dressing room, something in his face shifted.
“What?” Steve asked, confused. Eddie didn’t respond. Instead, he just shrugged, then sat down so Steve could work his magic.
“I’m really trusting you here, ya know,” Eddie said, sternly. “I don’t let anyone other than Crissy near me with scissors, usually.”
“Don’t worry, I’m really good at my job,” Steve assured him. The fluorescent lights gave him a better idea of what he was working with, and it still wasn’t so bad. Eddie had enough hair that the pieces he’d trimmed unevenly could be easily hidden in a pinch. “I barely will have to do anything, I promise.”
“I’m kinda weird about my hair,” Eddie admitted.
“Believe me, I understand.” Steve smirked, then used his fingers to untangle some of Eddie’s curls.
“I know you do. The only reason I’m not freaking out right now is because your hair is cool as hell.”
“I’m sorry, this is you not freaking out?” Steve teased, measuring out the strands of Eddie’s bangs on either side of his forehead. Eddie rolled his eyes, but kept his head still. “Thanks, by the way. Good hair has always kinda been my thing.”
“Yeah, I know,” Eddie responded, casually. The comment caused Steve to freeze.
“You know?”
“Uh, yeah. Steve Harrington, right? We went to Hawkins High together.” Steve continued to look at Eddie, puzzled. “And you obviously don’t remember me, which is unsurprising.”
“Uh, sorry, I don’t.” Steve resumed what he was doing, expertly making his first cut. “I have to get kinda close to you for this next part.”
“I don’t bite, Harrington,” Eddie said, absentmindedly playing with the rings on his hand. Steve chuckled, then pulled up a chair and sat in it.
Steve had worked with hundreds of clients, and boundaries were always super important when it came to this sort of thing. Hairstylists are destined to be up close and personal, so it’s part of the job to make sure the other person feels comfortable. Eddie seemed entirely unfazed by Steve’s proximity, which is why it was especially strange that Steve didn’t share that sentiment.
Just a couple more snips, that’s all, Steve thought to himself. But in order to get the precision he wanted, he’d have to get closer. He scooched the chair forward until his knees were pressed to Eddies, then felt his stomach drop when Eddie parted his legs so Steve could move even closer.
With their legs slotted between one another, Steve had no trouble evening out the last few strands.
“Almost done,” he said, trying desperately to make his voice not sound shaky. The fact that he was so thrown off by this was incredibly unprofessional. Steve was up close to people all day every day, and yet they never made him feel quite like Eddie did. For example, he never found himself wanting to stare at a client's lips quite so much before. He made his final cut, then fluffed out the final product. “Voila.”
His gaze met Eddie’s, a moment that lingered perhaps a second too long. Steve scooted the chair backwards, exhaling. Sometimes, with clients, he found himself focusing so much, he forgot to breathe - but it was quite obvious this time around that he had been doing that for a different reason.
Eddie swiveled in his chair to look at himself in the mirror, then broke out into a huge smile.
“Damn, you can barely tell anything happened,” he said, incredulously.
“See? Crisis averted.” Steve stood up and put his hands in his pockets, trying to seem as casual as possible despite the fact that he was losing his shit a little bit. He had to get out of there, immediately. His fingers grazed the smooth surface of his cell phone, which gave him the perfect out. He took his phone out, seeing another bunch of messages from Robin, each one more aggressive than the last. “Shit, I should get back out to my friend.”
“Yeah, and I gotta start setting up out there,” Eddie replied. “Thanks again man.” He rested a hand on Steve’s shoulder in gratitude, and it took everything in him not to jump at the physical contact.
“Yeah, no problem. Glad I could help.” He nodded, giving a close-mouthed smile.
“Uh, so we’re probably gonna go out after this,” Eddie said. Steve stopped himself from saying, What? We are?? Instead, allowing Eddie to continue. “So if you and your friend - uh, Robin - if you guys wanna come with, find us after the show. Least I can do is buy you a drink, right?”
“Sounds good,” Steve responded without thinking. It did sound good, spending more time with Eddie. But he wasn’t even planning on being at this show in the first place, and now he was going to hang out with the band after? It was all completely batshit insane. Robin was going to freak. “Okay, break a leg out there, Eddie.”
“Oh, I plan to, Steve.”
Steve made his way back into the bar where he’d left Robin. The room had filled in quite a bit since he’d last seen it, but he could still spot his best friend from a mile away. When she saw him, she looked pissed.
“I am going to murder you, Harrington.” She punched him playfully. “Tell me everything.”
“Uh, okay, well.” Steve wasn’t sure how much detail he wanted to give Robin about his interaction with Eddie, particularly the sexual tension he felt that absolutely could not have been reciprocated. Steve was openly out as bisexual, and even before that the closet he lived in was basically glass considering he was a hairstylist with a lesbian best friend. Still, it felt weird to tell Robin he was attracted to Eddie. Maybe it was because he knew she’d get all smug about it.
“Come on, before the show starts!” she prodded. Steve thought she might punch him again, so he continued.
“Eddie was freaking out because he tried to cut his own bangs, and I told him I could fix them, so I did. Not much else to tell.”
“You know I know when you’re hiding something from me, right?” It was true, Robin always saw right through Steve.
“Oh, he um. He invited us both to go out with him and the band after the show.” Her eyes widened, bigger than Steve had ever seen them.
“Holy shit. Holy shit, are you serious? Both of us as in you and me? Robin and Steve? With Corroded Coffin?” Steve nodded. “OH MY GOD!”
He couldn’t help but smirk at her excitement. It would have been a bit embarrassing had the house lights not gone down at that exact moment, her cheering mingling with the crowd’s.
Then, Eddie walked out on stage, and it was at that moment Steve realized just how close to the band he and Robin would be, thanks to their early arrival and her determination to get a good spot. Steve couldn’t help but admire his work as Eddie’s hair moved with each step. It was impossible to tell there had ever been an issue in the first place.
Steve had never seen Corroded Coffin live before, obviously. He’d heard their music in the apartment quite a bit - enough to know the words to their most popular song, at least. He tried his best to act completely natural during the show, and not as if he was thirsting over the guitarist, but at least he wasn’t the only one. It seemed like most people in the audience shared a love for Eddie Munson. Steve heard several girls around him muttering to one another about how badly they wanted him, and Steve smirked at the knowledge that they wouldn’t be having drinks with Eddie later, while Steve would be. Eddie knew how hot he was up there, and he really leaned into it. It was maddening. Meanwhile, Robin was enjoying herself to the fullest, completely oblivious to Steve’s internal conflict.
He knew what would fix this. Alcohol!
He tapped Robin on the shoulder and mimed a drinking motion. She gave him a thumbs up in response, so he headed towards the bar, where he ordered a whiskey - double. He pounded it down, then asked for a beer to go, just so he had something to hold in his hand. Being at a concert or a party and having a drink in his hand always felt to Steve like having an umbrella in the rain - without one, he was miserable.
He returned to Robin swiftly, already feeling the effects of the liquor. In his tipsy state, it was a lot easier to keep himself from overthinking. After that, he was able to enjoy the show along with everyone else around him. Eddie had been looking out past Steve and Robin the whole night, so he felt invisible in a way - like maybe, the lights were arranged so that they were hidden and Eddie couldn’t see them. From then on, he cheered like a maniac with everyone else, egging on the guitarist who was way too full of himself already, and hollering when he took his jacket off on stage.
Steve wasn’t sure why he was so freaked out by his attraction to Eddie in the first place. It’s not like he’d never had a crush on a guy before. He chalked it up to just being weirded out by it happening while he was cutting his hair, and shrugged all the other weird vibes away. Thank God for alcohol, right?
The band's final song was Steve’s favorite - the one he knew all the words to. Robin used to use it as a rickroll of sorts, until Steve finally admitted he liked it. After that, they sang along to it in the car almost every time they rode anywhere.
Robin started singing, and grabbed Steve’s hand to encourage him to do the same. He was tipsy and giddy with the energy from the audience, so he obliged, delirious.
He’d grown so accustomed to his feeling of invisibility, he’d almost forgotten he wasn’t actually invisible. This became abundantly clear when Eddie’s eyes locked in on Steve, whose voice immediately cut out at the attention. Eddie continued to sing, staring down Steve like he knew exactly what he was thinking.
Then, the motherfucker smirked.
Steve looking up at Eddie on stage like that, close enough to see the beads of sweat on his forehead, was the sweetest kind of torture. Eddie’s fingers moved along the fretboard of his guitar with ease, and when he’d flip his hair? Yes, it was dramatic, but it also was probably the hottest thing Steve had ever seen.
Oh, sweet Jesus, he thought to himself. Robin is never going to let me hear the end of this.
(next chapter)
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Taglist: @ofherscarlettwitchways @livvyshmiv @paintballkid711 @abraca-fxckyou @allbimyself26 @jellybabiesforall @allbymyselfexceptformycactus @justaloadofgarbage-blog
#st fanfic#writing#me#steve harrington#eddie x steve#steddie#eddie munson x steve harrington#rockstar!eddie#robin buckley#platonic stobin#robin and steve#stranger things#stranger things fanfic#stranger things au#eddie munson#modern au#i wanna cut to the feeling
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Alias
part one - part two
Joseph Quinn x Fem!Reader
Summary: At the end of part one, you were stuck with a bouquet that had been delivered to your work place with a note attached to it from Joe (or should I say Steven?). Attached to it was his number. Not only that, but he also mentioned hiding a note in the book he gifted you. A lot to digest, that's for sure. Which step are you gonna take next?
CW / disclaimer: rpf (don't read if it's not your jam), fem!reader, fluff, wee bit of sadness gifted in a comfortable blanket (i hope)
Author's note: I genuinely did not expect the love for part one, for which I want to thank you all a lot! I'll save the rest of my ramble for my note at the end. One quick thing though: Irish Tom makes an appearance. If you've got no idea who that is, then you're probably not on Twitter much, because he's a big deal over there. Simply put, it's the nickname that was given to Joe in the green shirt downing a guinness in that one music video. That's all you need to know really :) Enjoy!!
Word count: 16k (almost 17k - oops)
Your hand scrubbed the rag back and forth on the beat of Meghan Trainer’s “Made You Look” that blasted through your speakers. At least, until the stain seemed too stubborn for you to keep a casual pace and you started aggressively picking up the speed, only to slow down when your arm got tired. The song hadn’t been your decision, but rather the random radio station you had put on as you didn’t want to be indecisive about which music to pick for cleaning. While it had been fun that your friend came over for drinks, her spilling red wine over your carpet and you being too drunk to notice until the next morning certainly didn’t feel great. The carpet was a light taupe and you actually loved the feeling of it under your bare feet in the morning, so you weren’t ready to say goodbye to it just yet. Maybe you should ask your mom. Or Deniz. After all, he had been going on non-stop about these cleaning videos that he was totally obsessed with lately. If you were honest with yourself though, you knew you weren’t going to contact Deniz. You avoided him outside of work because of this one question he kept repeating:
“Have you texted him yet?”
And your answer would always be the same.
“No.”
It wasn’t as if you didn’t want to text him. Oh you wanted to. Badly. But what if he had changed his mind?
“Ridiculous,” Deniz had said, when you brought this excuse up for the umpteenth time. “Even if he regretted putting the note in your book, which he doesn’t, I assure you, he still wouldn’t have sent you flowers, Y/N. That wouldn’t make sense. Didn’t you say this guy is very careful with social media and all that stuff? Yet he was willing to risk giving out his number, not knowing you all that well. And he did it twice. This man didn’t make that decision on a whim. Or maybe he did, but it was a very confident first whim. The second time was definitely less of a whim.”
“Stop saying whim, it’s starting to sound weird when I think about it for too long,” you had grumbled, avoiding the subject.
“All I’m saying is if you, of all people, have ruined the cover of your book by opening and closing the book too often, I think the least you can do is text the man responsible for it. Just tell him that you’re mad and move on.”
Through the crack of your open bedroom door you could see the book Joe had given you on your nightstand. A too precious of a place for something you were trying to ignore. The thing was, you didn’t actually want to ignore it. And it was his fault that the cover of the paperback wasn’t sitting snugly on the story anymore but was lifting upwards, slightly bent at the ends. It was infuriating. You always went through a whole ordeal to ensure your books looked as neat as they did when you bought them. But then someone called Joseph had had the audacity to stick a note in between, and you, not wanting to move the note too much, had decided it would be best to just look at it from that position. Which resulted in you opening the book far too often to check if it was all real. Even if you had a very real wilting bouquet of flowers on your dinner table. No amount of proof was ever going to be enough to let it sink into your brain that you hadn’t just gone completely delusional. As much as you had seen Joe, the unapologetically British man, in those two days, you couldn’t shake that he was also still very much Joseph, the actor. You had been standing in front of the mirror, trying to convince yourself that even an actor could want you for who you were. And maybe it was true. But he wasn’t just an actor. He was Joseph, the actor. The unapologetically British man that was stupidly funny, handsome, had the right balance of wit and sarcasm and had a sense of style that made you want to eat your shoes. Everything just fit.
“And on the phone we have Steven—” The radio announced, and you groaned loudly.
“Shut up, shut up, shut up,” you grumbled, getting up to rinse off the rag. The crack in the door was looming, calling for you like an annoying, attention seeking ray of sunshine that would take away all of your vision on a foggy morning. It worked. You gave it attention.
As you took the book in hand, you sat down on the edge of your bed and opened it. The note was still there. You had it pretty much memorized by now. Which was not something that had been on your to do list for the week, but it happened anyway.
Surprise! I doubt I’ll have the guts to ask you any other way before I have to leave, so I’m writing this in the comfort of my hotel room beforehand and hope to find a smart way to give it to you.
If you like, I’d love to take you sightseeing sometime. Let’s discuss details over the phone, yeah? Here’s my number: +44793XXXXXXX
x Joe. Or Steven. Whatever you prefer at this point, really.
A week had already passed by now. Actually, it was a little over a week. If you waited even longer, he was going to think you didn’t want to talk to him. Which frankly was the last thing you wanted to achieve, but the fact that you had already waited more than a week to respond made that a nagging thought regardless. You knew you should just text him already. Get it over with. Whatever happened after was for then to worry about, right? It would be a waste to just… do nothing. That simply wasn’t an option. Your bed was a comfortable place to toss and turn around on with your phone, typing and erasing texts, over and over. Nothing seemed right. Did you have to apologize? Of course you did. You had ignored him and his pretty bouquet for more than a week. That was rude. And you had ignored the note as well, even though you had only found it after receiving the flowers. To him that was over two weeks ago already. Great. Your brain provided you with an endless cycle of worries and reasons why this would end like a shit show.
Hi Joe, it’s Y/N. Sorry for the late response to your card. I loved the flowers a lot. I had indeed not found the note until you mentioned it, so good call! Sightseeing with you sounds lovely. I hope you’re doing alright! x Y/N
You despised the text. Nothing felt right. It was either too forward or too formal. Too cold or too desperate. It would be nice if he could smell your desperation through the text and perceive it as something beautiful. As soon as you hit send, you regret it. But there was also a sense of relief. And a newfound dread. What if it’s not really his number? What if he reads it but has already moved on to someone else he happened to meet at an event and deemed interesting enough? It was horrifying. To keep your body and mind occupied, you did a thorough cleaning of the rest of your apartment before going out and offering the neighbor to walk their dog. It was an elderly woman named Bertie, who always appreciated it whenever you offered to take her poodle Suzie on a long walk. While she was capable of letting Suzie out herself still, long walks were no longer an option for her. And so, you found yourself looking at a manic poodle who was no longer pearly white, but a combination of green and brown from the grass and mud she had been running and rolling around in. Which was fine, as she had an appointment at the dog groomer waiting for her tomorrow anyway.
The amount of times that your phone had left your pocket to sit idly in your hand while you waited for the screen to light up had risen to an incredibly embarrassingly high number. He could be busy. Your time zones were a little off, but not enough to think it would be a highly inconvenient time. At least, if he was in London. Who knew where the man was at, with his busy schedule. Once you realized that you might have texted him at a weird time, your worries only increased. Surely he had enough experience with receiving texts at odd times by now? You groaned in frustration at being able to do nothing else but wait and were met with a funny look from a passerby. As much as you wanted to prolong your stay at the dog park, after a while even hyperactive Suzie had had enough and it was time to go home. On the way back you received a number of messages of which none were from Joe, resulting in you muting a couple of group chats and even a few people that you just didn’t want to let become the cause of one of your mini heart attacks right now.
The evening set and after a lousy dinner, you watched a comfort show on Netflix just to make time go faster. You figured he might give you a hard time and take his sweet time to respond, but you hoped he would spare you the horror. The horror you had so selfishly not spared him in return. Not that he would have been staring at his phone like you were doing right now, surely. Eventually, sleep got the better of you and you dragged your tired mind to bed. You fell into a fairly easy slumber after tiring your mind with overthinking. At least, until your phone started to buzz.
“Fuck me,” Joe mumbled to himself, looking at his phone with squinting eyes, the light being way too bright for his current state. Waking up to have this be the first thing he saw aside from the ceiling was not what he had anticipated for this morning. He read the text over and over, pinching himself as he very much felt like he was still asleep. His heart was steadily picking up the pace. By now he had honestly not expected you to text him. It had been over two weeks after all. One if you hadn’t seen the first note. He’d assumed that you would have texted him sooner if you had been willing to meet up. The text felt a little stand-offish somehow. He couldn’t pinpoint what it was, but then again he also couldn’t think of another way of forming those sentences to make it less… awkward? His note had been awkward too. Both of them. He groaned tiredly as he put his phone down to rub his face with his hands, only to pick it up to look at it again. At least you had texted him back, right?
Joe had had a pretty rough week. The first one had been pure agony already, but after not hearing from you a second time, he was sure he had misread the signs you apparently had not given him. He was single for a reason. It had been the third day of moping around after sending you the flowers that Andrew, one of his best mates whose apartment he was currently residing at, had told him to suck it up. There was no way in hell this woman didn’t like him, according to his mate.
“You’re the internet boyfriend now, no woman is gonna pass that up even if you looked like a donkey’s arse,” Andrew had told him, “and believe it or not, you don’t look like a donkey’s arse.”
Well wasn’t that lovely to know. Could definitely add that to his CV. It didn’t matter what Andrew said, though. He could care less about being the internet boyfriend or the knowledge that women would throw themselves at him given the chance. He only cared whether you had any interest in doing so, and preferably not in a ‘throwing yourself at him’ kind of way, but rather a ‘I am genuinely interested in you as a person and would love to get to know you better’ kind of way. Dating was a drag as it was, and the addition of becoming this internet sensation had only made it worse. He didn’t trust that the women he went on dates with actually went with him because of his silly one liners, or his music taste, or his knowledge of food. He could usually tell by the glint in their eyes whenever he started to bring his work into the conversation. It was the worst. And the best, because he hadn’t seen that familiar glint in your eyes in the slightest.
His eyes were still glued to his phone when he dragged himself out of the guest room, through the living room and towards the bathroom. What should he text back? He vaguely noticed movement on the couch from the corner of his eye, yet wasn’t alerted by it until he connected the sounds coming from that same direction to a certain leisure activity. His eyes flew up automatically as a high pitched voice shrieked, followed by the distressed voice of Andrew. The latter quickly scrambled to grab a blanket to cover what seemed to be a woman he was hooking up with. In the morning? A quick glance at the scattered clothes on the ground made Joe guess that they hadn’t slept yet.
“Uh— Shit, sorry,” Joe apologized quickly, averting his eyes and making his way to the bathroom a little quicker. He suddenly felt very naked in just his boxer briefs, even though he was the only one in the room wearing any clothes currently. Blankets didn’t count.
“You’re good,” Andrew sighed after he quickly guided the woman to his room and stuck his head outside, “I thought you were supposed to be gone like an hour ago? That event?”
Joe turned around and gaped at him for a good five seconds before looking down at his phone. Fuck. Fuck.
“What got you so distracted?” His mate asked, noting that it was quite out of character for Joe to be late.
“She texted.”
“Y/N?”
“Y/N.”
“I told you she would. See? Fussing about and for what?” Andrew grinned, before glancing subtly into his room. “Anyway… I got something to do here.”
“You mean someone,” Joe pointed out dryly. This got a hearty laugh out of Andrew who disappeared into his room and resumed undisturbed this time. Within fifteen minutes, Joe found himself in an uber, which must have been a record. His hair looked a bit wild, but otherwise he was presentable. He took out his phone again, trying to think of what to say, when he got a text from his stylist asking where he was. Perhaps he’d reply later, then.
There had been no time to calmly put together a text to send you. He didn’t want to rush it, not now that you had finally replied. And now it was already evening. Instead of going back to the apartment straight away, he found himself at a rooftop bar with an outlook on the beach where he had had dinner and a drink. Still holding the Guinness in his hand, which he had been surprised to see on the menu at a bar like this, he watched as a flock of birds flew across the horizon where the sun was already setting so low it had taken most of its light away. Looking down at his phone again he shook his head and decided to just call you instead. About ten seconds in of listening to the beeping and absently wondering if the sunset had looked as pretty in London tonight as it did here right now in Los Angeles, he suddenly clasped his hand over his mouth and hung up the call with panicky fingers. Shit shit shit.
As you were from Europe, the time difference could well mean that he had just called you at possibly four in the morning, if not later. Way to make a first ‘distanced’ impression, Joe, he thought meekly. His screen suddenly lit up and in his haste he turned down your call, thinking he had accidentally been pressing things and called you again. He groaned out loud now, his hand finding his face to drag his fingers from his forehead down to his chin, an exasperated sigh following it.
“Right, that’s it,” he mumbled to himself. He was just going to call you again. Fuck up once, fuck up twice, might as well just pay the price.
“Hello?” You asked hesitantly, wondering if he was going to hang up again. Your heart was beating loudly in your chest.
“Uhm, hi! Sorry? Sorry. I didn’t think of the timezones. And then I accidentally hung up on you,” Joe said nervously on the other end. “We could call tomorrow, if— if you want, of course.”
“That sounds like a smart idea,” you agreed with a soft chuckle. “But first I want to say thank you, for the flowers, and the note. I really liked them both. Sorry if my text was, I don’t know, weird.” You winced at your rambling but a subtle laugh from him made up for it instantly.
“A little,” he agreed and you could literally hear him smiling, confirmed by a soft giggle leaving his lips. “It’s always a little awkward, isn’t it? I hope I didn’t push you to respond, with the flowers and all that.”
“Oh, no! Not at all. I was just overthinking it, delaying my response. Sorry about that.”
“No, no, it’s okay. Me too. At first. I kind of nearly called your office but decided against it,” he admitted. You couldn’t help but laugh, thinking of the reaction that would have had in the office. More than a few people had been jealous to hear that it had ended up being Joe instead of David, wanting to know all about it. Melody and Petra in particular. You had kept it professional, leaving out that you had had dinner and met up the day after. Nevertheless, their jealousy was evident. Had either of them picked up the phone… Remembering that you were still on a call you quickly shrugged it off.
“Oh that would have been a disaster, you’d never hear the end of it.”
“Is that so? Why’s that?”
“Some people at the office have the hots for you,” you said casually, earning a surprised hum from the other end.
“Do they now?” A quiet beat. “Have I met them? At the event, by any chance?” The question itself was innocent, his tone of voice however, was not. Was he flirting? A smile crept onto your lips as you tried to remain calm, your heart beating in your chest so loud you were scared he could hear it all the way over wherever he was.
“Not all of them. Do you want me to slip them your number?”
You heard him chuckle softly.
“Nah, I’m good. I recently met someone, kind of wanting to see where things will go with them.”
“Mmh, I see. Well, the offer stands,” you say lightly, although there was obviously no way in hell that you would ever give his number to the likes of them. If he wanted them to have his number, he could send them flowers. “Where are you now anyway?”
“LA. Flying back the day after tomorrow though.”
As much as you didn’t want to admit it, you were still incredibly tired. Which meant you had to yawn almost every 30 seconds to your own annoyance.
“Oh that’s,” another yawn escaped your mouth, “...nice. Sorry. How is it?”
“Maybe I should let you sleep,” he voiced kindly. “How about I call you again tomorrow? Or text, if you prefer that. I don’t want you to wake up exhausted tomorrow, or, in a few hours I should say.”
“No. It’s still today.” Another yawn. “Tomorrow comes after I really wake up.”
Joe let out a gentle laugh.
“Okay, tomorrow it is.”
“Maybe text first though, just in case.”
“Alright, will do. Well, uhm, good night then, yeah.”
You chuckled softly.
“Goodnight Joe.”
“Night Y/N.”
The next day you spent the majority of your time working on a training you were supposed to give some interns on Friday while trying hard to not check your phone all the time. If he was going to become the reason your hand was chronically glued to your phone, he would have to pay up. You weren’t sure how yet, but you’d think of something. When your phone lit up right as you were making yourself a coffee, you had expected it to be Deniz as you had just sent him some files to check. Working on the weekends wasn’t exactly your favorite and it wasn’t exactly the way things were supposed to go, but you made do. Something had to be done for you to be able to pay the rent. Your heart skipped a beat when it wasn’t Deniz, but Joe.
Hey x
Hope you slept well
You hadn’t, but you weren’t going to tell him that.
Hi x Like a baby. What about you?
So… you woke up four times a night, crying for god knows what?
The corners of your mouth turned up into a smile and you found yourself typing back immediately, throwing all texting rules in the wind. He replied fast as well, so why shouldn’t you? Despite your eagerness you still took a sip from your well deserved coffee first.
Something like that! Except I woke up only once, because someone decided to call me in the middle of the night…
What a jerk. Did you tell him to fuck off?
Not exactly… we’re kind of texting.
Hmmm, not sure that’s the best idea… How about you call me instead? I’m fun
You’re fun?
Very
I dare you to prove it.
Not even ten seconds later, Joe called you. Did a silly impression of an actor you had no idea of, but you laughed anyway. It was the way he presented it, the sillyness, the charming giggle at the end. After that, he finally answered your question whether he had slept well, which he had, and he told you about his plans in LA for the upcoming days. You told him about your plans for the week, which were sadly mostly work related. As your conversation progressed, Joe seemed to dilly dally around a subject, which you certainly weren’t going to bring up yourself, but you really hoped he would. Finally, he cleared his throat after expressing his love for this little Italian place he had discovered yesterday. A short silence pursued, almost too long to not comment on it, but then he spoke up.
“So… the note. I was thinking, if you can get time off that is, as it’s a bit short notice, but maybe we could meet up next week? Friday 'till Sunday?”
“Oh, gosh, I’ll have to ask. But where do you want to meet? I know you mentioned sightseeing, but…”
“Amsterdam. I’ll arrange the hotel, separate rooms of course, you just have to get there. We could meet at the airport, go to the hotel together if you like.”
“I’m not sure if I have the budget for all of that,” you admitted hesitantly, already cursing yourself for being honest and possibly ruining the best opportunity in romance you’d ever had. Joseph hummed, sounding like he was taking in your words thoughtfully before responding.
“Oh, if the plane ticket is too expensive I can—“
“No no no, I just meant everything as a whole,” you said quickly.
“All you have to worry about is the plane ticket. The rest is on me.”
“Joe, I can’t… that’s too much.” You didn’t even want to think about what it would cost him, the answer would be the same no matter what: Too much. As much as you wanted to see him, you weren’t the type of person to just blindly accept huge gifts from someone. Not even people you were close to. So for him to offer a weekend getaway on his behalf was a lot to digest.
“Look, I really want to see you again. If the three days are a little much we could just meet up once and leave it at that, treat the rest as a little break from work. No obligations whatsoever. How’s that sound?” he asked you then. You noticed he sounded nervous. Not in an obvious way, rather that he seemed to be holding onto his breath, waiting for your answer.
“Only if you let me pay you back as soon as I can,” you demanded. It went against your principles to accept, but how could you not? This compromise made it a little easier to agree, and after some hesitation Joe went along with it.
“Alright, sure. Why not. Deal.”
“And of course I’d love to spend the majority of those days with you.” You didn’t want to say all, as it could possibly imply something. The fact that you were literally traveling to another country to meet up with a man you honestly barely knew was already enough of a challenge as it was, no matter how charming he was. You couldn’t help but ponder over the weirdness of it all. Wouldn’t normal people text longer instead? Keep it long distance? Then again, maybe he had become so used to traveling that perhaps it didn’t feel like that big of a deal. Or maybe he just wanted to see you as badly as you did him.
“Great! And I mean it, no obligations. If you change your mind after spending a never ending boring Friday with me, you’re free to change plans. Obviously. But I wanted to emphasize it,” he assured you.
“I’ll still have to get the okay from my boss though. There’s a possibility I might have to bring along some work… To get him to say yes.”
Joe understood that it wasn’t always easy to get days off from work which of course was no surprise. With the promise of immediately asking your boss, you eventually hung up. You decided to call your boss instead of text or email him, wanting to get an immediate response. Surprisingly, he agreed to your day off as long as you would do some extra hours the next week and still gave the interns their training on Friday evening. It wasn’t perfect, but certainly better than you had expected it to go. When you told Joe the good news, he was delighted.
That’s brilliant! I’ll find us a nice place to stay. Whenever you have time, can you let me know which flight you want to take? I’ll do my best to find one around the same hour. As for Friday, that’s a bit of a bummer, but it’ll be fine. I’m really excited! x
Up until Friday, you texted throughout the day whenever you could find the time. With your busy schedules and the time difference it wasn’t exactly easy to get quick responses, but you both found yourselves glued to your phones when you realized the other had a moment of free time to chat. You discussed the sightseeing that you wanted to do and decided on at least two that you had previously mentioned. It felt almost criminal how easy it was to talk to him. How normal it felt to be meeting him again in a couple days.
After his unwavering support, you had decided to tell Deniz about it. Not just for that reason, but also because you knew he would be texting you nonstop if you didn’t show up at work without telling him why. You had FaceTimed and his shiteating grin had been impossible to wipe from his face.
“Oh he is down bad, sister,” Deniz purred and you vigorously shook your head in front of your phone, getting a laugh out of your work bestie.
“He is! Paying for a hotel and whatnot? For three days straight, in another country? Come on Y/N. I know you’re a bit oblivious sometimes but you can’t be this oblivious,” he told you.
“As if you wouldn’t be if you were in my shoes!” You protested meekly. “It’s really weird, okay? He’s big.”
When Deniz nearly choked on his water and started to belt a mixture of coughing and laughter, you rolled your eyes.
“I mean as an actor. You know what I meant. Why am I even explaining it to you,” you sighed. Deniz shrugged, a grin still evident on his face.
“Oh I don’t know, getting a rise out of you is fun. So, tomorrow? What time?”
“I’m arriving just past one. He’ll be there a little sooner so if he can make it he’ll wait at my gate. If not, he’s going to text me where else to meet him.”
“I’m so excited for you.”
You smiled, nervous butterflies stealing the show in your stomach.
“So am I.”
FRIDAY Amsterdam 01:25 PM
The suitcase felt too heavy as you hastily made your way down to where you were going to meet Joe. His flight had been slightly delayed, meaning you would be out at around the same time. So instead of waiting at the terminal, he had offered to wait near the exit towards the trains.
You spotted him from a mile away. There was something about the way he stood there, suitcase in hand, standing straight while trying to blend in with everyone else in the area, wearing a black hat and sunglasses on top of them. Oh, Joe. He was wearing a white T-shirt and loose blue jeans, Adidas underneath. It was a nice, casual outfit. His jacket lay discarded on the suitcase. Although you spotted him quickly, it took him having you stand right in front of him to snap out of his daydream. If you could, you would have wanted to replay the way his face lit up upon seeing you over and over again.
“Y/N!” He stepped forward, his luggage forgotten as he pulled you into a tight hug. You wrapped your arm around him and you could smell his perfume as he tucked his chin into the crevice of your neck. It didn’t feel real yet that you were actually seeing him in real life again, but when his scent soared into your nostrils like a memory never forgotten, it sunk in. You answered his beaming smile with one of your own. “How was your flight?” He asked as he pulled back, keeping his hands on your elbows.
“Joe,” you said, greeting him back at last. “It was alright, yours?” He shrugged.
“Apart from the delay, it went pretty smoothly. Did you have lunch yet?” You nodded, suddenly feeling a little shy around him.
“Cat got your tongue?” He asked with a soft smile as you started to walk towards the exit that led to the trains.
“Sorry, no, just a bit nervous.”
“Well that makes two of us,” he smirked, lightly nudging you with his elbow. “I was thinking we could go to Anne Frank’s house after we get settled in our rooms? I assume we need less time for that one than the other stuff so the afternoon should be fine, according to the reviews. Of course, we can also just grab a drink if you’d rather relax today.” His eyes flicked to your face to check your expression, only to remove his gaze again as soon as you looked up. On top of that, his jacket had slipped off his suitcase and with a soft curse word he turned around to pick it up. That man was nervous.
“I think that’s a great idea, the first one. We’ll have time to relax in the evening, won’t we?” You offered kindly, your smile adding to the attempt to relax him even though you weren’t relaxed yourself at all. Somehow it was easier to pretend that you were because he clearly displayed the opposite. It seemed to help, as his shoulders visibly relaxed.
“Yeah, you’re right!” He turned to look at the departure times of the trains, trying to find the right one. “Let’s see…”
“Platform 8, right?” You offered, pointing to the left screen. Joe turned to look at you shortly and smiled before he let you lead him to the ticket station. You had been here several times before after all, it only made sense. The train ride was fairly short, so you decided to stay in the section near the doors where you sat down on tip-up seats instead of getting into a compartment. Due to the noise from the train that’s always louder in these in-between sections, you didn’t really talk. Instead, you gazed out of the small windows from the train door next to you, and Joe was doing the same on the opposite side. Or so you thought. In reality, he was watching you.
Joe didn’t even wait to ask to carry your suitcase up the stairs when you realized the elevator was out of service. Didn’t wait for the other elevator to be cleaned, just hoisted up both your suitcases and started walking up the stairs. All the way up to the fifth floor. Your rooms weren’t next to one another due to unavailability, but they were in the same hallway with only about seven or eight rooms in between. After Joe guided you to your room, he excused himself to freshen up and change into something ‘more appropriate’ whatever that might have meant. In all honesty he didn’t even know the answer to that himself, he just needed to get rid of his sweaty T-shirt. Although it wasn’t exactly necessary, you felt the need to change as well, and swapped your T-shirt for a nice green top with a three quarter sleeve. Since the rest of your outfit was neutral and leaned to a pretty much colorless aesthetic, the pop of green worked delightfully for your overall appearance. You touched up your makeup just slightly, which only consisted of a bit of eyeshadow and mascara. When you looked into the mirror you debated adding more, but the gentle knock on the door stopped you from doing so.
“It’s Joe.” His voice came through the door. You had assumed as much, although nowadays it didn’t hurt to make yourself known just in case. When you opened the door, his eyes only widened slightly before a relaxed smile settled on his lips.
“Hey,” he said softly. “You ready?”
You nodded and quickly walked back to grab your jacket. “I am now.”
Joe had changed into a white button down, rolled up at the sleeves, same jeans, same shoes. Instead of his suitcase, his arm had now taken the role of carrying his jacket. Once you had left the hotel, it turned out that Joe knew exactly where to go and how to get there. Had it all planned out. When you mentioned it, a blush tainted his cheeks. It remained for the rest of the ride, although he did try to pretend that it was hot on the tram as an excuse for the pink shade.
“Just thought it would be nice if we didn’t have to think about all that on the spot,” he had said, and you could only agree.
After a fairly short time of waiting in line in front of the museum, you were allowed in. For the most part, the museum consisted of photos and tiny descriptions about the people that had been part of Anne’s life. It wasn’t a big museum, but it felt like one of those that you just had to have seen at least once in your life. There was a picture wall in Anne Frank’s room, and of course the famous bookcase where they had hidden behind. Joe took it all in quietly, just like you, and occasionally nudged you if he saw something he wanted to share. You went ahead on the small staircase that led to the attic and held out his hand for balance.
“Thank you,” you said softly, not wanting to disturb the people who were lost in their own thoughts. It bothered you a bit that you were at a loss on what to say to him. You had FaceTimed, texted, called, with not all that much awkwardness and now he stood next to you, his brows furrowed as he examined the room in full concentration, his hands behind his back, you had nothing to say. It worried you that he might find you boring, although he didn’t seem bothered in the slightest. You just weren’t sure. The gift shop had you occupied for a little while, mostly just to admire all the different products they had based on Anne and her story.
You decided to go for a walk until you found something to get a drink, which resulted in you ending up at The Dam. It was nice to have a familiar sight where you had already been with him. Your eyes fell on a stall where you noticed the famous stroopwafels that you hadn’t had last time. After Joe had left at the bookstore last time, you had settled on getting some store bought ones, which were good but never as nice as the ones they prepared right on the spot.
“Have you ever had fresh, uhm, no idea how to pronounce this but… stroopwafels before?” You asked Joe curiously. He snapped his head towards you, immediately out of his trance that he had gotten into due to a comfortable silence and having lots of things around him to take in.
“I haven’t, is it good?” His eyes flicked over to the stall, following your gaze towards it after you nodded. He watched how a couple took one each and seemed pretty delighted after a bite. He focused on you again and found himself unable to look away from your pretty face. It was obvious you were craving one and you looked rather cute while doing so.
“You want one?”
“Yes, and I’m paying,” you said immediately before his hand could even move an inch towards his wallet. “They sell drinks too, want anything?”
“Y/N, you really don’t have to—”
“Come on, Joe. You’re not gonna win this argument,” you told him with a soft smile. He narrowed his eyes at you for a couple seconds and then caved, seeing that you were determined.
“I would love a coffee, thank you.”
“And a stroopwafel I presume?”
“Uhm— yes! Please.”
Joe scratched the back of his neck as he joined you in the short line in front of the stall and you couldn’t help but smile at his demeanor.
“What is it?” Joe wanted to know, curiosity getting the better of him after spending a couple minutes fidgeting with his sleeve, readjusting it.
“Nothing, just thought you looked cute.” When Joe’s eyes widened just slightly, yours nearly bulged out of their sockets as you scrambled together another response. “I— I mean, just—”
“No, no you're fine! I actually have been wanting to mention that you look really pretty today,” he said bashfully, his hand going back up to his neck to soothe his nerves a little. “Green suits you really well,” he managed to add.
“Oh, thank you, you’re making me shy now,” you mumbled softly, a shy smile on your lips. Joe smiled in return and nudged your side gently.
“Me too.”
“Volgende. Volgende! Oh… tourists. Next! Come on lovebirds, there's a line here.” The lady from the stall looked at you both impatiently and you hurriedly told her your order after you apologized. A few minutes later you had found yourselves a place to sit with a nice view of the performers on the square. Joe groaned in delight as soon as he got through his first bite and looked at you with big eyes.
“This is delicious! So fucking good— Sorry. I’ve got a foul mouth sometimes,” he said, though not really sounding sorry at all.
“Oh come on, no need to pretend like you care,” you smirked. “Swear away. It’s good, right? I can never skip it when I’m here.” Joe grinned and quickly covered his mouth and shrugged as he did before he replied.
“I mean I do care a little bit. Just trying to make a good impression I guess. Well neither will I from here on out, I know that much.”
“You’ve left a great impression already, I doubt you’ll taint it by a bit of swearing Joe.” You meant what you said, how could you not? He had literally gone out of his way to meet you again in the Netherlands to live out the plan you had had in mind for his last day before everything changed. He had sent you flowers. He had sent you sweet good night messages on occasion. There was nothing that he could—
“Thank you, by the way, for this.” He held up the stroopwafel and you smiled warmly as you gave him a nod. The man even showed his gratitude for something small while he had been treating you to so much already.
“It’s my pleasure.”
Yeah. There was nothing that he could do to jeopardize all that. And as of right now, all he had been doing so far was lift your impression of him even higher up the scale.
After having dinner together at the hotel, which was just for convenience, you had to give the training to your interns. None of them seemed very happy having to do that on a Friday evening, but your company did more questionable things like that, which they were sadly used to by now. Joe had given you some privacy and retreated to his own room while you sat in your own with your laptop, background blurred. You tried to keep the training as short as possible which the interns greatly appreciated and you told them to send any lingering questions to your email, as none of them seemed very insistent on keeping the call on any longer than necessary. It was after you shut your laptop down that you noticed you had a text. There was a photo attached to it.
Is your minibar also filled with this stuff?
You smiled and checked out your minibar which indeed showed the same contents as Joe had. Several bottles of wine, gin, tequila and vodka. Considering everything was probably insanely expensive,you quickly closed the minibar just to make sure you wouldn’t accidentally break something.
Yeah, it is!
It took less than fifteen seconds for Joe to respond.
Oh, you’re done? Wanna come over?
To your room?
Yeah
Oh dear. There was no way you were going to say no to that. Before you could even had a chance to overthink on what to respond he added:
Wear something comfortable
While you surely hadn’t intended for Joe to see you in anything but normal clothes, you still found yourself putting on your sports leggings and a T-shirt before heading over to his room. You gently knocked once and could hear his hurried footsteps as he made his way to the door.
“Hey you,” he greeted you with a smile as he stepped aside to let you in. Your rooms were pretty much identical apart from the fact that your armchair was yellow and his was a dark green.
“Hi, sorry it took so long,” you apologized, which in turn made Joe shake his head.
“No need, it’s work. I get that,” he told you while his gaze lingered on you, as if to say of all people, he’d definitely understand. “I was thinking we could maybe watch something. I got us some snacks and drinks from a local supermarket,” he explained as he sat down on the perfectly made up bed.
“I’d love that,” you told him with a smile and you hesitantly sat down on the other side of his bed, watching how he lifted his legs upon which you mirrored after taking your shoes off. He had already propped the pillows up behind himself and quickly reached over to do the same for you before you even had a chance to lean back. With the remote in hand, he started browsing through the hotel’s catalog and pointed out a few options.
“I’ve heard Miracle Workers is fun,” you mentioned after he had scrolled for a bit.
“Sure, let’s watch that.”
After going through the process of renting the first episode, he poured you both some drinks and put the bags of chips and candy in between the two of you.
“How was the work thing?”
“Oh, it was fine. We all wrapped it up as quickly as we could and we’ll deal with the rest on Monday.”
Joe nodded as he had just popped some candy into his mouth and made a funny gesture as he tried to speed up the process.
“That’s good. My god that took forever.”
You felt very aware of his presence next to you as you watched the show and you tried really hard not to be distracted. In a futile attempt to ground yourself you put both of your hands flat on the bed next to you, trying to focus on the soft sheets rather than the Sounds of his dry chuckles that made your heart skip a beat. He seemed completely engrossed in it, as if it was all that was left of his world now. Him and the TV show. You firmly believed he had forgotten about you even being there until you felt a warm hand cover yours and grab it. You didn’t dare to look at him at first, but when you did his eyes were still trained on the screen, his cheeks carrying a pinkish tint to them.
“I think that guy is gonna mess it all up. What’s his name again?”
“Alf…red? Brian? I don’t know.”
Joe snorted. “Yeah those names are absolutely similar too. Anyway, you know who I mean, yeah?”
You nodded and you felt him squeeze your hand for just a second. Just a subtle reminder that he was still in fact aware of your hand in his. It took him about 40 minutes and another rental to start stroking the back of your hand with his thumb. You sat like that for the rest of six or seven episodes, which made grabbing snacks somewhat of a challenge although Joe made sure to hold out one of the bags to you regularly. Occasionally either of you would comment on the show and you’d discuss or laugh about it and everything just felt very natural. Apart from the fact that it all happened in a hotel room, maybe.
“How do you feel about going to the Van Gogh museum tomorrow? It’s the last weekend of the exhibition,” he suggested, his thumb still running slow circles on your hand as he turned his head to look at you.
“Oh, you remembered!” You exclaimed, a tad too loudly for your liking but the grin on his face made up for it.
“I did,” he said almost proudly. “I’ll take that’s a yes then?” You nodded and matched his expression, giving his hand a gentle squeeze.
“Yes, of course! It seems to be really beautiful.”
“That’s good, cause… I may already have tickets. Which is good because it was sold out when I checked earlier.” He shrugged casually and you softly shook your head at him.
“You really came prepared, huh?”
Joe smiled bashfully.
“I might have, yes.” He checked his phone for the time and gently let go of your hand.
“Let’s have breakfast at the hotel and then head to the museum. And we’ll just see how the day goes before we make other plans. Sound good?”
“Sounds perfect.” You got up from the bed at the same time he did, feeling slightly mixed on how nothing happened but some hand holding. While you loved that he was taking his time, you just… wouldn’t have minded some making out, you know? At the same time you wouldn’t want to rush anything and if he took whatever you two had going on right now seriously, it was only a good thing. He followed you to the door and the moment you stepped back to get out of his room, he wrapped you in a hug. His scruffy beard tickled your neck a little.
“I’ll see you tomorrow. Nine?”
“Nine’s a good time,” you agreed as you wrapped your arms around him. His hand found the back of your head and when he pulled away, you daringly pressed a kiss onto his cheek.
“Well, good night then!” You quickly said as you turned on your heel, making him stumble over his words as he was still recovering from your unexpected kiss on the cheek.
“Y-Yes! Good night Y/N.”
SATURDAY
When you took in each other’s appearance the next day, you realized you both had unconsciously gone for similar outfits, judging by your black from top to bottom turtle neck, jeans and boots, topping it off with a large coat. You later on confessed that you had debated wearing a black beanie to which he had replied that it was getting scary now, as he had been doing the exact same thing. The only difference in your outfits was the color of your coats, as you wore a brown one and he wore an emerald green. No matter how many times you stole a glance, you kept repeating the same thought in your mind over and over.
He looks so hot.
Joe sometimes lost sight of you in the large rooms but always managed to pop up right behind you the moment you realized you had wandered off too far. Sometimes, he’d rest his chin onto your shoulder to read along what the description of a painting said, or just to discuss some details of a painting with you. Right as you entered the hall of the exhibition, you felt lingering eyes on you. It made you want to look around to see where they came from, but then again you didn’t want to alert them to anything.
“I think we’re being watched,” you mentioned softly, wanting to give Joe a heads up so he had time to decide whatever he wanted to do with that information. Joe nodded and took your hand in yours, as if to comfort you.
“I know.” He continued to walk around unbothered, although you could tell he was slowly searching for an escape route. The subtle change in atmosphere almost made you miss out on the wonderful exhibition. Left and right of you, the walls consisted of four large paintings that seemed to move and next to each frame was a door that you could enter. In every room, there was a 3D version of one of the paintings where you could walk around in real time. It was an experience meant to bring Van Gogh’s art to you in a more immersive way.
Only after you entered the door next to the painting of a sunflower field in front of a barn, you realized that the movement you had spotted on the paintings earlier had been people who were walking in this room, essentially bringing the painting to life. You noticed a group of girls now following you more obviously and you pulled Joe along in the sunflower field. It was much bigger and had way more layers to it than you’d expect it to have when looking at the frame displayed on the wall. Just when you wanted to say something, Joe pulled you to the back of the room towards the “barn”, past a large group of tourists. He took you aside, his body hovering closely next to you as he pulled you into a hug, his head buried into your neck which sketched a different view for outsiders to see.
“Sorry,” he mumbled into your neck, his lips grazing your skin by accident. “I thought it would maybe get them to leave before we do if they can’t find us.”
“You think their eyes didn’t follow you like hawks?” You mumbled in return, to which he softly chuckled while his arms relaxed around your waist.
“Fair point,” he mumbled as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Still… ‘s not so bad, is it?”
“You mean this, right now?”
Joe hummed to confirm and you shook your head, relaxing your arms as well. His warm breath tickled your skin and you could feel every nerve in your body focusing on the places where his body touched yours.
“No, it’s not,” you agreed softly, letting your eyes close for a moment to take it all in. His thumbs Never ceased their movement of drawing circles on your back and you soon found yourself copying the movement. After a moment, Joe decided to break the silence.
“Is it just me or has it become quiet in here?” You opened your eyes slowly, your eyes narrowing at the projector light and looked around.
“Everyone’s gone,” you said a little surprised, not expecting to literally be the only ones left. As soon as the words had left your mouth, new people came in.
“I guess the coast is clear,” Joe sighed and he finally let you go, though not before giving your hand a light squeeze. You smiled softly at him and gestured towards the exit.
“Do you want to check out the other rooms?”
“Absolutely.”
This time you spent a little longer in the gift shop and you decided to buy two tiny paintings on an easel with one being a replica of “Starry Night” and another one of “Almond Blossoms”. In turn, Joe had bought his best friend a print of “Head of a skeleton with a burning cigarette”, which he found undoubtedly funny because of their never ending love for nicotine. It was a curse, he had said, but one that brought you unexpected company every now and then. He had no idea you had bought two paintings as you had only shown him one, wanting to give the other one to him later.
The next activity you had gone for was a boat excursion through the canals. You had some time to kill before dinner, which Joe had apparently already reserved a table for as well, so you decided you might as well check out the view by daylight this time. You sat near the window while Joe leaned closely to you whenever he wanted to get a closer look, his arm always on the backrest of the bench you were sitting on. He loved pointing out things to you that often had nothing to do with the sightseeing itself, such as two birds fighting over a piece of bread in the water and a third one flying away with it. Several people in the boat had wondered why he suddenly had belted out laughter and you had to cover your mouth to soften your giggles the moment his ears started to turn a crimson red.
“Oh shut up,” he had mumbled with a smile, giving your shoulder a little nudge as another giggle escaped your lips.
“So which one were you rooting for?” You had then asked him softly to which he had responded:
“The French one.” Which had not made sense at all, and by the time you arrived back at the dock you and Joe had descriptively been dressing up pigeons in your head, with baguettes and barrettes and all kinds of other things.
The restaurant had been fancier than any you’d ever stepped foot in. Five courses, each one more luxurious than the next. He wasn’t up for discussion about the bill and pointed out that you had treated him too earlier, as if the stroopwafel came anywhere near the price range of even one bite of your course. You hadn’t dared to bring up your gift for him in a place like that, as your plan originally had been. Instead, you enjoyed listening to Joe talk about his friends and family back home and you also shared some tidbits about your own.
It didn’t surprise you that you had been holding a breath of relief until the moment you stepped out of the restaurant and Joe gave you a funny look.
“Not your scene?” He asked curiously and you shrugged.
“Just not used to it is all. The food was absolutely amazing though, as was the service. You really picked a good place.” You explained with a kind smile.
“Yeah someone recommended it to me, so I figured it was worth a shot. He usually has good taste. I’m glad you enjoyed it. So… where to next?” His eyes curiously watched your expression, trying to gauge what you wanted and if you’d actually be honest about it.
“Is it weird that I’m feeling a beer?” You asked as you slightly squinted your eyes at him, your eyebrows knitting together. Whatever answer he had expected, it certainly wasn’t this.
“You’re really asking me, Sir Guinness, whether I want to go for a beer?”
“Wait, Sir Guinness?”
Joe quickly shook his head, realizing he said too much. “Ignore that, focus on the other stuff,” he said hastily.
“I do recall overhearing this girl asking you about a music video where you were drinking Guinness last time…” you started, enjoying how his face turned a little desperate at the mention of it.
“You heard nothing.”
“I’m pretty sure it wasn’t “Sir Guinness” that she said, though. I have to admit I tried finding what she was talking about at the time but, no luck…” you smiled slyly at him. “Maybe you could show me?” He shook his head so many times that you lost count, his hand going up to emphasize what he was saying.
“Oh hell no. Nope. Can’t do that. I won’t. I won’t! Out of the question. You can ask me anything but that,” he said resolutely.
“Your audition tape, then.”
“That was quick,” he remarked with a faint smirk.
“I have my priorities. It seems to be a big deal in your fandom still. Are you gatekeeping it?”
“It’s—,” Joseph sighed. “Sort of. I can show you some other time, it’s on my laptop at home.” Then, he blinked a couple times and pulled a funny expression as if he was confused.
“Hold on, how did this conversation start, for me to end up with me promising to show you my audition tape?”
“Beer.”
“Right! Beer. I know a nice Irish pub, do you want to go there?” He offered.
“Sure Sir Guinness, let’s go. Oh! I remembered. She called you Irish Tom.”
“Irish Tom?!”
“Don’t ask me, I haven’t even seen the video.”
“Tom, really? Why don’t I remember this?”
You simply shrugged.
“I believe you misheard them and then they didn’t repeat it because everything happened kinda rushed.”
“Oh, I see,” he replied simply, until a frown dawned on his face. “Wait. Why do you remember this?”
“Don’t look at me like that! I didn’t have anything to do.”
“So you eavesdropped?”
His teasing grin made you automatically follow him as he started to walk towards, you assumed, the Irish pub.
“I overheard.”
“That’s what they all say, don’t they?”
“I don’t know, Joe. Do they? You seem experienced in the matter.”
“Are you accusing me of being a professional eavesdropper? Cause if so—”
“No I was just—”
“— You’d be right.”
A laugh that could have matched one of a Disney villain who was bad at being a villain left his mouth and he leaned back to hook arms with you.
“Come on. This way.”
The pub was crowded in a good way. Meaning that it wasn’t so full of people that you couldn’t get your own table, but it had enough commotion to sit and chat fairly unnoticed unless you brought attention to yourself. You had started out at the bar, going for a tropical beer while Joe immediately went for a Guinness, true to his name. Two drinks later you had managed to snatch a booth for the two of you which gave you plenty of room. Although, Joe had decided he wanted to sit next to you instead of across, which didn’t leave you much room on the bench as he unapologetically spread his legs. At first, you let him. You liked the close proximity and you’d slap yourself in the face at the end of the night if you’d do anything to jeopardize that. But after bumping your knee against the foot of the table a few times after he nudged you, you spoke up. Blame the fact that there were already five beers in your system.
“Joe. Move.”
“What? You need to go to the restroom?”
“No, just move your leg, you’re manspreading as if you’re nine ft. You’re not that tall.”
He opened and closed his mouth a couple times with barely any sound coming out of it until he settled on a sneaky, all knowing smile.
“Did you really sit with that thought, fussing over it for god knows how long?” He wanted to know. You shook your head, which was only a partial deviation of the truth. Most of the time your brain had been occupied by appreciating his full lips, his luscious looks or his incredibly pretty eyes. And the lashes that man had?! Completely unfair.
“I was not,” you replied, trying to remain serious. “Now, if you don’t move…”
Joe seemed to love the sound of that and rested his head on top of his palm with a cheeky grin.
“Then what?”
“Then I’ll claim what’s mine.”
“Ooh,” he feigned to sound intrigued. “Is your name on it?”
You frowned at him.
“On what, the booth?”
Joe shrugged and gestured around, pointing at various objects.
“The booth, the seat, wherever.”
A fake annoyed sigh escaped your lips, but not before he caught your little smile, making him grin even wider.
“No.”
“Then what do you plan to claim?” If he wasn’t so cute with his amused eyes and goofy smile, you would have been annoyed when he gave you another nudge with his knee.
“My rightful space. Half of the bench,” you demanded, your eyes narrowing playfully. Joe’s jaw slacked as he looked at you as if you had said the weirdest thing.
“Half?! I need at least 60%,” Joe protested.
“For what? I need 50. No compromise.”
“Alright, just claim it then, like you said. I’d like to see you try,” he told you with a smirk that gave away that he was enjoying himself far too much. You gave him a glare that was too playful to be taken seriously and he mockingly patted your leg.
“Don’t be upset, love.”
The use of the pet name surprised not only you but him as well, as did the hand that did not seem to want to be removed from your leg. Hesitantly, he let his thumb glide over the fabric of your pants, his eyes no longer teasing as they instead focused on your leg and the way his hand seemed to look just right in that position. Somehow, somewhere in your brain which was going all over the place due to his hand, alcohol, his face and his hand, you managed to notice that his guard was down and you decided to do the first thing that came to mind to claim your place. He looked up at you in surprise when you swung your leg over his, his hand following it as if it had been glued to you and you settled the weight down. Joe seemed too stunned to speak for a moment but automatically leaned back to give you enough room for your leg, though his hand now lay frozen.
“So that’s how you do it,” he commented softly, a smile so genuine it hurt your fragile heart. You nodded, shifting your leg for comfort and took your glass in hand.
“That’s how I do it,” you confirmed with a nod. You gazed at each other for a brief moment until he averted his eyes to grab his glass again, a chuckle escaping his lips.
“You’re so interesting,” he told you as he gazed up at you, a small smile lighting up his face. You reciprocated his smile and then cocked your eyebrow gently.
“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?” The question left your lips so softly it made him lean in to catch the words before he nodded.
“Good. Definitely good.” He finally dared to move his hand again, gently caressing your leg, watching your expression carefully as he did. You quietly took a few sips from your beer before the silence was interrupted by three loud guys, singing what sounded like a birthday song except it was probably in Dutch. They halted in front of your table, telling you both that it was the blonde guy’s birthday, then proceeded to repeat that information in English when they realized you weren’t Dutch, and presented you with a shot of tequila and a slice of lemon. After thanking them, they didn’t wait for you to take the shots and just went onto the next table.
“Well, it would be a waste to leave it,” Joe said, already licking his hand and shaking some salt onto it before holding it out to you. You smirked at his eagerness and copied him, taking one of the shot glasses in hand.
“Cheers!”
You watched as Joe took the slice of lemon into his mouth and only left the peel. Once the burn of the alcohol had subsided, he excused himself for the bathroom and you immediately missed the warmth of his leg beneath yours. When he returned, he didn’t immediately sit back down, but instead invited you along as he wanted to go for a smoke, though not before he ordered you both another drink.
“Do you smoke?” he asked as soon as you stood outside the pub, leaning against the wall closest to the entrance. The light from inside illuminated his face and you wondered if he could ever not look good. Even with a cigarette in hand, a habit you normally quite disliked, you found yourself focussing on his little gestures as he smoked. Taking a drag, holding it, the way his eyes followed the smoke upwards as he exhaled, everything. It was stupidly mesmerizing.
“Y/N?” He glanced at you amusedly as he flicked off some ash and watched you regain your composure.
“I, uhm, no. I don’t.” You had to bite your tongue not to stupidly ask “you?” in an automatic response. You watched as he took another drag, letting it swim around in his lungs before he exhaled up towards the sky.
“Do you mind it?”
“No,” you lied. Or well, in this case, maybe you weren’t lying. You actually really liked what you saw and couldn’t care less that he was paving a black, ashy road inside his lungs. No, that wasn’t true either, you did care for his health.
“Penny for your thoughts?” If you weren’t mistaken, he looked a little concerned. You were certain when he gently took hold of your elbow, cocking his head to the side.
“I’m sorry, I’m just—”
Joe held up a hand, interrupting your apology.
“If I did something to, I don’t know, make you uncomfortable—”
“No no no, not at all! Please don’t mind me,” you quickly saved him from worrying. “Sometimes I just get lost in thought a little.”
Joe’s expression relaxed a little and you felt his thumb gently graze the side of your elbow.
“Pray tell, what was going on in your mind that got you so distracted?” He asked you curiously, his hand dropping again as he leaned against the wall. You calmly took a sip from your beer as you watched him, expression curious, body language open and inviting.
“You,” you say boldly and you watch his expression go from curious to intrigued. Then, a lazy smile appeared on his face.
“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?” He mimicked you from earlier.
“Good. Definitely good,” you returned the favor of not coming up with an original response and his lazy smile turned into a toothy grin before he chuckled. A shiver ran through your body and demanded to be seen.
“Are you cold?”
You weren’t sure. Had it really been the cold that made you shiver or had it just been the raw sound of his chuckle rumbling up his throat? You said yes anyway.
“A little.”
“I’d give you my coat but…” he cocked his head towards the window, as both of you had decided to leave your coats inside. Then, after taking a drag of his cigarette and exhaling it to the side, he took a step closer to you and wrapped his arm around your shoulders.
“I can do this though.”
You allowed yourself to feel the comfort of his embrace as you leaned into his body, sliding your arm around his waist.
“Better?” He asked looking down at you, his eyes widening just a touch when he realized how close your faces were right now. You nodded shyly, cheeks warming up.
“Much better.”
His hand caressed your shoulder as well as your upper arm and once he was done with his cigarette, he rested his cheek against your head and only lifted it to take an occasional sip from his beer.
“I think the pub’s about to close,” Joe mentioned softly as more people started to drift outside, chatting away way too loud for the quiet night among them after being used to raise their voices inside the pub for some time. You chugged the last bit of your beer and nodded towards the door.
“Shall we grab our coats then?”
For the time of the hour that it was, the tram towards your hotel was packed. Judging by the appearances of most people you assumed they were going clubbing somewhere. It was around 2 AM already, but surely in a place like Amsterdam some clubs stayed open until the early hours, making it essentially still ‘early’ to start your party. You didn’t have a seat, so instead you and Joe stood closely together, his arm only hovering behind you in case the tram made a sudden movement. The people around you were so noisy that you both took the time to give your vocal chords a little rest until your stop.
He stepped out of the tram first only so he could extend a hand to you to help you as well. Once you started walking he weaved his fingers through yours and you both let the return of the silence around you sink in as the noise of the tram ebbed away in the distance.
As you stepped in the elevator, your silence continued and was only broken when Joe pressed the button of the fifth floor and the elevator voice announced that the doors were closing. That and the elevator music, which was exactly as you would imagine. Since you were no longer holding hands as Joe had needed both to push open the heavy entrance of the hotel, you stood on opposite sides of the elevator. Joe leaned against the railing and you noticed he was already looking at you when you turned your gaze in his direction. A soft smile played on his lips and he nodded upwards at the speaker.
“Horrible, isn’t it?” He said, his voice sounding a little raw from the need to clear his throat, which he did right after.
“The worst.” You nodded and smiled while you watched him push himself off the railing and take two steps towards you to close the distance. He looked down at you and took your hand in his own, giving it a light squeeze. Just as he was about to say something, the elevator paused its movement.
“Third floor. Doors opening.”
With a startled look he turned around to see a group of five men, very obviously drunk, enter the elevator.
“Is it going down or up?” One of them asked the others. None of them seemed to know the answer and whilst they were discussing it, the elevator doors closed again. They took up lots of space in the elevator and Joe made sure you both had enough room by barricading the corner where you stood with his arms.
“Up. Why’s it going up? Go down!” Another guy said, pressing all the buttons.
“Idiot, now it’s just gonna go to every floor, this is gonna take ages.” A third one sighed. They barely took notice of you and Joe, who raised a subtle eyebrow at you and smiled reassuringly as you looked a little uncomfortable. When the elevator stopped on the fourth floor one of them looked at you expectantly and you gave him a thin lipped smile as you shook your head. Before it stopped on the fifth, Joe had already grabbed your hand again and guided you along the side of the elevator to the front while being faced with some drunken commentary that neither of you paid much attention to. After quickly exiting the elevator and taking a right turn you halted at the parting, your room being on the left side and his on the right and a sigh escaped his lips when he heard the elevator doors close again.
“That was something,” he mumbled.
“I think they’re gonna go up all the way to the fifteenth floor now, unless they realize they might as well hop onto the other elevator instead,” you remarked and Joe nodded.
“Maybe the guy who pushed all the buttons simply didn’t want the night to end yet,” he said softly, implying that this thought didn’t just come up out of nowhere.
“Who knows,” you responded feebly, suddenly feeling a little shy. Joe seemed to match your shyness and smiled bashfully.
“Well then. I guess, good night? Or should I say good morning?”
“Don’t,” you groaned. “It’s still today, remember?”
“I know,” he agreed with a soft smile, “just like teasing you is all.” He pulled you into a tight hug that seemed to last longer than the one he gave you last night, but maybe your sense of time was just a little twisted. Nevertheless, it felt nice. Which was why it was a shame when he pulled back, his eyes taking in yours and then looking away and down at his hands as he released you from his grip.
“See you tomorrow. Shall I come by your room when I’m awake?” He suggested.
“Yeah, I’ll do the same if I happen to be awake sooner.”
“I’ll text first, to check,” he added with a smirk.
“Okay,” you nodded, smiling sweetly at him.
“Okay, yeah. Good night then, y/n.”
“Good night Joe.”
He gave you a last, breathtaking smile before you both turned around and walked to your rooms. You could hear a door being opened and closed and you were sure it was his. Something inside you wanted to go to his room, tell him you also didn’t want the night to end yet, but instead you found yourself holding the card in front of the reader to unlock your door and you stepped inside.
However, before you could turn around to make sure the door was closed, you felt two hands grabbing your waist and you shrieked. Quickly you turned around, your eyes frantically searching for the perpetrator, only to find a sweet, familiar face full of worry.
“Oh god, sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. I was really just thinking that I didn’t want to regret holding back another time so I’m gonna kiss you right now if— if that’s okay,” Joe told you in one breath.
“I— what did you just say?” you stammered as your heart was still racing from being grabbed so suddenly. He had said it so quickly that your brain was still catching up. Joe licked his lips nervously and a pink shade colored his cheeks as he let one hand slip off your waist to run it through his hair.
“I was just overthinking things, a lot, about if I should just go for it and uh—” he grabbed his chin, his thumb and index finger following the scruff of his beard as his thoughts rushed in all at once, making it unable to make sense of them.
Watching him being so nervous, the realization of what he had said just now finally dawned on you. He wanted to—
“Kiss me,” you blurted out, cheeks growing warmer.
“Oh— okay, yeah.” His eyes darted to yours, not knowing which eye to focus on because both looked so pretty and he wanted to take in all of you and not just one thing. He lightly shook his head to come back to his senses and finally found the courage to do what he had wanted to do since the day he left you in front of the bookshop. His hand cupped your cheek ever so gently, a soft but shy smile on his lips as he leaned in closer. You met him halfway and pressed your lips against his, an appreciative hum softly leaving his lips. When he felt you leaning back his hand found the back of your head, keeping you in place as he teased his tongue along your bottom lip, asking for access. Simultaneously as you opened your mouth to deepen the kiss, he pulled you closer by your waist. Your hand reached up to smooth your fingers through his curls, something you had been craving to do all weekend.
You had totally forgotten about the fact that you were still very much standing inside your doorway for everyone to see and when someone suddenly shrieked, Joe panicked and rushed you inside. The romantic moment had gone, although you could still taste it blissfully on your lips. A combination of mint and cigarettes and something else that was just him. His hand lingered on your waist as he stared at the door, thinking of all possible repercussions this action might have.
“Do you think they saw?” He asked you, his eyes darting from the door, to you and back. You shrugged and glanced at him empathetically.
“I couldn’t tell if they made that sound because of us, you, or if it might have been something else.”
“Fuck me,” Joe groaned, his hand coming up to his face. You nudged him gently with your hip and smiled softly.
“Not so fast casanova,” you joked. He looked at you, his expression softening upon the realization that you weren’t as freaked out as he was. “And I don’t think you have to worry. Even if they saw us, I doubt they had enough time to get any evidence anyway. It will be fine,” you reassured him.
“They might be waiting for the moment I, or we, for all they know, get out of this room though,” he mumbled. His gaze was directed at the door again, wishing he could see through it to know if the coast was clear.
“Then stay, if that makes you more comfortable.”
Joe quickly turned his head towards you in surprise and then presented you with a cocky grin.
“I thought you said “not so fast”, love,” he teased as his grin grew wider. You gave him a light push against his chest and laughter escaped his mouth, his shoulders visibly relaxing. “I’m joking,” he then added in a more serious tone while he took your hand in his. He looked over at the double bed.
“You really wouldn’t mind?” His thumb brushed over the top of your hand lightly as he carefully watched your expression.
“No. I did mean what I said though,” you warned him gently.
“I know you did,” he responded with a soft smile, leaning in just slightly to plant a kiss on your forehead. “Same goes for me.”
Joe was grateful for your spare toothbrush and stayed out of your way as you changed into a T-shirt and leggings to sleep in. You realized with dread that he was about to see you without any makeup on and while you hadn’t been wearing a lot, it still scared you a little. Joe had taken it upon himself to get under the covers on the side of the empty nightstand and was scrolling through his phone when you joined him after getting ready for bed in the bathroom. His expression made you suspect that he was looking for anything troublesome on social media, which he confirmed as soon as you slipped under the covers.
“Can’t find anything yet, so I guess we might be in luck. Nothing on the museum stuff either.”
“Oh! I’m an idiot. Jeez, hold on.” You lifted the covers to slip out of the bed again and searched in one of your bags.
“What… Why did this suddenly trigger a response like that?” Joe asked, confused as he watched you. When you turned around holding something tiny, he squinted trying to see what you were holding and you smirked.
“Here,” you said, presenting it up close. “For you.”
“For me…? Why?” His mouth still stood agape in surprise when he took the tiny canvas of the “Starry Night” replica in hand and inspected it closely.
“You said it was your favorite, so…” You shrugged, hoping you didn’t just give him a corny gift in comparison to all that he had already given you.
“I love it. I absolutely love it. Thank you so much, that’s so kind of you.” He wrapped you in a slightly awkward hug, with you hovering over the side of the bed a little as you had been standing a little too far away for it to be comfortable.
“You really like it?” You asked softly as he carefully put it on his nightstand and he turned his head to look at you in surprise.
“Of course! Why do you sound so doubtful?” He asked curiously as his gaze followed you back into bed. You got comfortable first, turning off the big light leaving only the ledstrip above the headboard of the bed on and then laid down on your side.
“I don’t know, I just don’t know how to make up for all that you did,” you confessed, feeling a little silly about it. Joe matched your position and carefully lifted a hand towards your face to brush away a stray strand of hair.
“You’re already doing plenty by just being here with me. I want you to know that. And I really appreciate the kind gestures but don’t feel like you have to catch up or something. That’s not why I invited you to this… I don’t know, three-day-date?” A snort escaped his lips and his shoulders shook a little as he laughed. “I just really, really like spending time with you. And kissing you isn’t half bad either,” he grinned as you feigned indignance until you giggled and then suddenly his lips were on yours again and your silly banter was drowned out by a shuffling of sheets and soft sounds escaping the both of you.
How you both were able to show restraint to not let making out turn into something more was a mystery to you both. However once he settled on his back, one arm around you as your head rested on his naked chest, you knew exactly why. No words were needed to express how you felt in that moment, as it just felt right. You weren’t in a rush. When you both became too tired to really hold a conversation, which was probably around the time that even the clubs in Amsterdam were closing, Joe gave you a sweet good night kiss. After that, his hand gently nudged you to roll on your side so he could be the big spoon and he wrapped his arm comfortably around your waist. You turned your head towards him to steal another kiss and with a soft smile on his lips, he kissed your shoulder before burying his face into your neck. It turned into the first night of great sleep you both had had in a long time.
As blissful as the night had ended, all the more dreadful became the morning when it dawned on you that this was your last day together. Joe was no longer spooning you, but instead your leg was hoisted over his waist, hand curled up in his neck. You would have assumed he was still asleep by his slow breathing, but the hand caressing your thigh gave away the opposite. Instead of looking up, you uncurled your hand and brushed your fingers along his neck and played with the ends of his hair.
“Morning,” he whispered, his voice sounding a little raspy. “Sleep well?”
“Until I woke up, yes,” you mumbled, the sadness of your realization squeezing your chest tightly. Blissfully unaware, Joe chuckled and his hand came up to caress your cheek.
“Isn’t that usually when sleep ends?” He asked jokingly, his hand dropping to your arm. When you didn’t reply right away, he gently squeezed your arm. “Hm?”
“I just don’t want today to end,” you mumbled, sounding smaller and more fragile than you wanted to. Joe sighed and wrapped his arms around you for a tight hug and kissed your forehead.
“Me neither. But we have,” he picked up his watch to check the time and frowned slightly, clearly not happy with the news he was about to bring, “two hours left.”
“Two hours?!” You sat up immediately and Joe’s arms slacked off your body.
“And then some, at the airport. But two hours before we have to leave yeah,” Joe said apologetically, taking your hand in his and tugging on it lightly. You felt a lump growing in your throat and his beautiful brown eyes looking up at you with compassion only made it worse.
“Come cuddle?” Joe tugged on your hand again and you relented, resuming your old position. He pulled the covers back up and lifted your chin so he could look at you. Your eyes met his and a moment of silence was shared between the two of you before Joe captured your lips in a gentle kiss. He leaned back again to look at you once more, his hand cupping your cheek and you could see his eyes shift back and forth between your own.
“You’re so beautiful.”
His soft spoken words sounded so sincere that any retort of denial died on your lips. You licked your lips and tried to find a response in your mind but his eyes and the light touch of his thumb caressing your cheekbone distracted you.
“So are you,” you eventually told him softly, causing him to smile and shake his head a little in disbelief.
“Don’t know about that,” he smirked, to which he was met with a stern look on your face and his expression immediately turned into looking caught while doing something bad.
“Don’t do that,” you told him, “you’re very handsome.”
“God, stop it,” he chuckled as he hid his face behind his hand.
“You started it,” you pointed out dryly, tearing his hand away from his face. Joe was slightly red in the face and he groaned as his face got revealed.
“Not so you could say it back!” He protested, more laughter escaping his lips when you started a back and forth fussing around with your hands. At some point he had you flat on your back, hands pressed into the mattress by his own on either side of your head.
His eyes darkened slightly as he leaned in, his lips almost touching yours when—
“Housekeeping!” A loud knock on the door followed by a rattling sound made you both jump up and scramble away from the bed. You urged Joe to hide in the bathroom and opened the door to find a small, blonde haired woman in front of you.
“I’m so sorry, I haven’t packed all my stuff yet. I’ll be out as soon as I can,” you promised quickly, not knowing what Joe had booked precisely but assuming you were both supposed to have checked out already. The woman assured you it was fine as long as you were out within half an hour. As soon as the door closed, Joe stuck his head out the door.
“I completely forgot about that, I’m such an idiot,” he sighed, looking for his clothes to put on while you got your suitcase out.
“I should’ve thought of it as well honestly… Maybe you can use your charm on one of the clerks though?”
“My charm? Doubt it.”
“You, Mr. Quinn, are very charming.”
“And you,” he said while pointing at you with his shoe, “should remember that you just lost that battle earlier and will lose again.” You shared some gentle laughter with him until he suddenly got distracted by needing to grab your gift and holding it close so he wouldn’t forget it.
Your clothes were tossed in a somewhat folded stack into your suitcase apart from what you were planning to wear, and you were relieved that you had plenty of room left in your suitcase for once because you didn’t want to waste time properly packing it all up.
“Alright, I’m gonna head to my room and pack real quick. Meet you in the lobby?” He offered, stepping closer to steal a quick kiss from your lips that immediately threatened to turn into a longer one. When his hands started to roam over your back you reluctantly stopped him, as twenty minutes since the lady left had already passed and you still had to get dressed.
“See you at the lobby,” you nodded. As soon as the door clicked shut you quickly got ready, putting on simple blue jeans with sneakers and a light gray sweater after you freshened up in the bathroom and lastly added the tiniest bit of makeup. With two minutes on the clock you met up with Joe at the lobby and he looked pleasantly impressed with what you had managed to do in such a short time. He looked more disheveled than you did and you assumed that’s why he was wearing a black beanie on top of his head. His black shirt was tucked into his jeans and he was wearing his boots again.
“All good,” he told you, nodding at the clerks behind the desk. “Turns out a photo with Eddie Munson can be used as leverage sometimes,” he mumbled underneath his breath.
“See? I told you,” you told him proudly and he rolled his eyes, nudging you with his elbow.
“Yeah, yeah, fine, alright. So… should we drop our stuff here and grab a bite, chill at The Dam for a bit until it’s time?”
“Sounds lovely.”
Wanting as much ‘alone’ time as you could have, you went for a sandwich and a drink from a food stall, finishing up with another stroopwafel on The Dam as a treat. You sat down on a bench together where you had the perfect view of someone painting caricatures of tourists who sat down with them.
“Next time we’re gonna get one of those. As soon as we see one,” Joe told you as he gave a nod towards the painter.
“Ooh, there’s gonna be a next time?” You teased, to which he gave you an unimpressed look.
“There’d better be. Doesn’t have to be Amsterdam though. Lots of caricature painters all around the world.” He slung his arm loosely around your waist, stroking your side.
“You seem to have big plans,” you said with a smile.
“Well, yeah. I wanna make this work.” Joe turned his head to look at you and you could tell he was serious.
“Do you think it will work, though? With me being from Y/B/P and you basically being everywhere and nowhere all the time?” It wasn’t something that you wanted to ask. The last thing you desired was putting doubts into his mind. But you had to know for your own sanity how he viewed that part of your lives and possibly, futures together.
“It will have to, won’t it?” Joe shrugged. “In case it’s not obvious yet, I really like you. And it fills me with dread that I can’t just hop onto the tube to see you but that’s just how it is. I fully intend to see you in person as often as I can, though. I… We’ll make it work,” he promised, not only to you but to himself as well. You rested your head onto his shoulder and he followed your gesture by resting his cheek on the top of your head.
“We will,” you softly agreed. Silence. For some time, neither of you spoke, until you did.
“I’ll miss you.”
“I’m gonna miss you too, Y/N. So much.”
All of your willpower was required not to cry at that moment. Instead, you hugged him tight and he lifted your chin to plant a soft kiss onto your lips.
“Are you not worried anyone will see?”
“Did some thinking last night,” Joe shrugged. “Figured to hell with it.”
You chuckled and put your hand on his cheek to make him look at you.
“I’d like another kiss then,” you said sweetly. Joe smiled and leaned in so close your lips were almost touching but without kissing you.
“You’d like one, hm? But are you getting one?”
“Don’t test me Joseph.”
Joe smirked and kissed you sweetly.
“I kinda like it when you call me Joseph. Though I’m not sure if it’s because of you saying it, or if it was the fact that you looked annoyed with me.”
“I’m sure you’ll find out at some point,” you assured him with a grin.
“You’re not even gonna repeat it for me while looking happy with me?” He pouted for extra dramatics and when you shook your head he heaved a deep sigh.
“Well then—” The alarm on his phone signaling that it was time to get your stuff interrupted him, and the next sigh that left him was a real one.
“Time to go love.”
With the little time you had left at the airport, you decided to stroll around a bit until you were expected at the gate. Joe had gone for a quick bathroom break and came back with what seemed to be a notebook and a pen.
“Need something to do on the plane?” You asked curiously. When he shook his head and sat down next to you, handing you the notebook and pen, you frowned.
“We’re gonna make a list,” he started, “of things we’re gonna do when we meet again next time. First up: caricature. I assume you have better handwriting than I do.”
You smiled, thinking back on the note he had written and decided that yes, you probably did indeed. After writing it down, you looked up at him.
“Alright. What’s next?”
“Go to a zoo? Or an aquarium,” he suggested. “Cook together.”
You wrote it all down with a smile on your lips.
“You’re full of ideas,” you mentioned. “I think you should take it for when something comes to mind.” Joe immediately shook his head and nodded down at the book.
“We need your handwriting, otherwise we’re gonna wonder what the fuck we’re supposed to be doing. I’ll text you if I think of something.”
A few more things were added to the list and then Joe decided it was time to put it in your bag so he could hold you for a little while. At one point you softly giggled to yourself, gaining Joe’s curiosity.
“What’s up?”
“I was just considering whether your freaking out last night was just a subtle ploy to get into my bed,” you said jokingly. He put his hands on your shoulders to make you lean back so he could look at you, mouth agape in shock.
“How dare you? I’m much smoother than using a silly excuse like that!”
“Are you now?”
“I’ll prove it to you next time.”
“Doesn’t really count, does it? It already happened.”
“Maybe. And maybe there’s something else that hasn’t happened yet that we need a bed for. Or well, not necessarily but, you know, for comfort—”
“Joe. You can just tell me you want a massage.”
He laughed a little louder than even he expected to do and gave your chest a light push with his fingers.
“How’d you guess? My back’s been sore from carrying these conversations…”
“Now you’re treading on a dangerous path.”
Your banter got interrupted by an announcement that you had to go to the gate and his shoulders visibly slumped. Every step you took towards your gate felt heavy and you used up as much time as you could to get there, holding Joe’s hand the whole time. He sensed that you were getting emotional and did his best to comfort you with the caress of his thumb until you finally halted in front of the gate.
“Alright. We’re not gonna be sad, because I need to see your pretty smile before I go, okay? And we will call as soon as we’re both able to. It’s only temporary,” he promised as he cupped your face with his hands to kiss you softly. It was hard not to demand more of this little moment, but you had no choice.
“It’s only temporary,” you repeated with a nod, biting down on your lip when you felt it threatening to wobble. Joe nodded and wrapped you in a tight hug, his arm around your waist and his hand on the back of your head.
“I’ll see you soon.” Another promise fell from his lips as he rubbed your back.
You stole one last kiss from his lips, touching his face with both hands before running your hand through his hair and squeezing him tight, and then it was time to let go. You turned around before you would change your mind and felt him reach for your arm for a quick last squeeze. You knew you’d burst into tears if you looked back, so you didn’t, but your resolve to give your tear ducts a break crumbled as soon as you sat down in your seat at the window. Needing him more than ever, you opened your phone to text him only to find that he had already texted you. There was a photo attached of himself sitting at his own gate with a playful, sad expression on his face. You could tell by his eyes that he was only adding the playfulness because he was actually really sad.
Joe: Miss you already x
You: I’d send a selfie back but you don’t want to see this right now
Joe: Aw, that bad?
You: Literally rivers. They had to mop the floor three times already
Joe: Wow. Next time you do that, we should fill up a pool or something.
You: Sounds like a lot of work. How often do you intend to make me cry?
Joe: Lots. But only because I’m super funny
You: We’ll see about that
Joe: Yeah. Soon. Very soon x
You: I have to turn off my phone now
Joe: Don’t flirt with strangers
You: Can I flirt with people I know?
Joe: No
You: You can’t either
Joe: Wouldn’t dream of it. Although…
You: ?
Joe: With Jamie I can’t really help it. I mean… have you seen Jamie?
You: Fine, he gets a pass. Really gotta go now :(
Joe: Ok. Talk to you soon love x
You: Have a safe flight x
Joe: You too x
Joe: Another thing for the book. We didn’t take any photos together, it’s a crime. Joe: BTW. What is your opinion on shitty weather?
FIN
Author's note: This fic got out of haaaand. Literally twice the size than part 2 simply because no ending felt right. I know this may feel a little sad, but I hope you all enjoyed your fun times together. I couldn’t just randomly end it and well, airplane goodbyes suck. Hopefully the texting at the end lightened the mood a bit. Thank you so much for the love on part 1, I hope I did part 2 justice and that you’re not throwing tomatoes through the screen right now :) Lots of love x
Dirty Martini taglist:
@thefemininemystiquee - @peaches-and-plums-motherfucker - @cup-half-full-of-anxiety - @emmysuebull22 - add yourself
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greye! i’m obsessed with the idea of steve and billy not together (yet!!) but sharing clothes like nobody’s business, and everyone thinks they’re together then one day they go: wait this whole outfit doesn’t belong to me… are we dating or something..
Hi, anon! Yes, here you go, I have less of "everyone" and more of "Robin" but you know, she's omniscient.
~1800 words, no smut (unfortunately but there are hints of gross boys so.)
Steve doesn’t know when he last washed this shirt. In fact, he’s pretty sure his mom must have bought it for him because he doesn’t know where it came from either. It doesn’t smell at least, well, it kind of smells like Billy’s cologne but almost everything of Steve’s smells like Billy’s cologne.
It’s like his mom’s Chanel No. 5, too strong and it lingers everywhere. He borrowed the guy’s jacket once and now his entire closet smells like Billy’s cologne. (It’s turned a little bit into half Billy’s closet anyway, since Steve has managed to collect more than one article of clothing from him).
But the shirt at hand, in his hand, actually. It’s probably clean, if a bit unfamiliar. Steve buttons it up quickly, tucking it into his khakis and hurrying out the door. He needs to get to his car now or he’s going to be late. And if he’s late, then Robin, Max, and Billy will be late and he can’t do that to them. Steve swings himself around the banister, dodges his mom’s wooden spoon for not respecting the house, and grabs his Family Video vest on the way out the door.
His mom didn’t even compliment his shirt which she usually does when he wears something she picked out. Whatever, Steve has to go now if he wants to pick up all the people he’s suddenly become responsible for.
Billy just stares at Robin in the front seat until she moves to the back with an eye roll, climbing through the front seats and ignoring Steve’s squawking. Billy takes her spot, shoving his seat back like he does every day until Max kicks the back of it.
“Is that my shirt?” Steve asks when he gets a good look at the pullover Billy is wearing. It’s dark green, the collar is a little stretched out, probably because Billy holds his collars out stupidly far to not mess up his curls.
Billy looks down at himself and shrugs. “Maybe, I found it in my hamper this morning.”
“Green’s a nice color on you,” Steve decides with a shrug.
Robin gags from the backseat, Max puts her headphones on, and Billy flips the channel to something loud. Steve wills himself to not get a headache on the drive to school.
Right before he gets out of the car, Billy leans over to pop the last button on Steve’s shirt, nodding at him. “Looks better like that,” he tells him and slides out of the car. “Make sure to save Terminator for this tonight.”
Steve flips him off instead of answering, but he doesn’t fix the button. Billy’s usually the one wearing short-sleeve button downs, so Steve figures his advice is solid at least.
He goes to work and tries to flirt with a few girls who don’t do much for him. They’re all very pretty and nice and eager to listen to him, but none of them push him. None of them challenge his thoughts or opinions, not the way Billy does. None of them offer their numbers, but he doesn’t think he would take them anyway, he’s just felt bored with the girls lately.
When Steve picks everyone up from school, hours later, he passes over the Terminator VHS that Billy requested.
“Nice, you get any numbers today?”
Steve shakes his head, pulling into traffic to drop Max and Billy off first. He’ll have to go back there later to pick Billy up for their usual movie night, but the guy is studious and likes to get a headstart on his homework on Friday nights.
“Nah, but I did get a lot of compliments on my shirt, good call with that button,” Steve tells him.
Billy laughs and waves his hand at Steve. “Well, it is mine, so that makes sense.”
Oh. That’s why Steve couldn’t remember where he got this shirt, it didn’t belong to him in the first place. Billy must have left it at some point and Steve just let it get mixed into his closet. No harm, no foul, it’s not like Billy started the morning by asking for it back.
“Well, it brings out my eyes so I’m keeping it,” Steve replies, though the shirt is blue. So it more than likely brings out Billy’s eyes, but Steve is not one to get hung up on technicalities.
Billy just laughs at him and sticks the Terminator VHS in his bag for later.
When Steve gets to Robin’s house to drop her off, she leans in his window on her front lawn. “Have fun with your boyfriend this weekend,” she teases.
Steve makes a face. “You can come too, you know, you don’t need to just make fun of our friendship.”
“Ew, god no, I’m not third wheeling,” Robin retorts, shaking her head. “Just be safe and have fun!” She waves as she heads into her house.
Steve rolls his eyes and pulls away, he probably needs to clean the living room for when Billy comes over.
***
“Okay, that’s definitely my shirt,” Steve says when Billy climbs into his car.
Billy looks down at the yellow pullover and shrugs. “Probably. Your clothes are way more comfortable for lounging in than mine.”
Steve rolls his eyes and pulls out of the trailer lot to head back to Loch Nora. “Sure, okay, you’re just a kleptomaniac.”
Billy gives Steve a once over and points at his sweats and t-shirt. “Mine and mine. You stole that shirt from me three months ago and those sweatpants four months ago.”
Steve chances a glance at himself and frowns. These sweats were a little baggy, but he likes to wear sweats a little baggy. “Okay fine, you can keep my shirt.”
Billy switches the radio station like he’s won an argument and Steve tolerates it when Aerosmith comes screeching out of the speakers. As much as Steve likes to give Billy shit for his music, he doesn’t really mind it all that much. Some of the music he listens to is downright tolerable.
Back at Steve’s house, they both sit on the couch, backs on either end, legs tangled together under a blanket. It’s intimate, it’s the most intimate Steve has ever been with someone who’s not a girl, but Billy doesn’t make it awkward. It’s just normal for them. Sharing clothes, sharing a blanket, sitting in each other’s space.
“You even trying to get girls’ numbers anymore?” Billy asks, chewing on a Red Vine and turning away from the movie.
Steve raises his brows, hand stuck halfway down the Pringles can, he keeps wiggling his fingers like that’s going to make them reach the Pringles better. His hand is just too damn big for the can. “Yeah?”
“Just doesn’t seem like it,” Billy comments and he’s on the warpath now, has sniffed out a weakness of Steve’s. “‘Cause I feel like you could get some numbers if you tried.”
Steve frowns and pulls his hand out of the can. His knuckles are all salty so he does the smart thing and licks them off while he thinks. “I don’t know, I have you and Robin, I don’t feel like I need a girlfriend anymore.”
“Sure seem to need my shirts though,” Billy mutters, glancing back at the television.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Steve demands, putting the can down on the floor, he pushes himself to sitting a bit more instead of lounging.
Billy shrugs, tugging on his candy with his teeth. “Nothing, just that Monday you were wearing my jacket, Tuesday a pair of jeans you stole from me, Wednesday my sweatshirt from San Francisco, Thursday a pair of my sneakers, and today you were wearing my button-down. Just seems like you care more about stealing my shit than finding a girlfriend.”
Steve scoffs at that, throwing his hands in the air. “Yeah? Well, Monday you wore my jeans, Tuesday you wore my Letterman jacket, Wednesday you were wearing my blue vest which I want back by the way, Thursday you were wearing one of my polos, and today you’re wearing two of my pullovers! It seems like you have the same problem! You’re worse than a girlfriend! Nancy only ever stole one of my sweatshirts.”
Billy just stares at Steve as he chews on his Red Vine, mouth open and obnoxious. Steve throws a pillow at him to get him to close his mouth, but Billy catches it and throws it right back. “I’m worse than Wheeler, huh?”
“Yeah, you steal all my shit and you don’t even put out!” Steve replies, waving his arms at Billy wildly.
Billy starts laughing, throwing his head back and staring at the ceiling.
Steve just watches him, snuggled into Billy’s t-shirt and sweatpants, feeling warm and comforted by the spicy scent of his cologne. Steve should buy a bottle of it so he can smell like Billy all the time.
When Billy finally gets his laughing under control, he licks his lips and drags his head back up, looking over at Steve. “What do you mean you have me and Buckley?”
“You guys are my friends, we can share everything, I don’t need a girlfriend to share all my emotional issues with,” Steve explains, picking a loose thread in the blanket.
“Right.” Billy looks back at the television for a moment, goes quiet for long enough that Steve thinks he’s going to drop it. “Are we dating?”
“What?” Steve asks, choking on nothing. He grabs blindly for his can of coke, taking a swig which makes him cough from the carbonation.
“Well, you said it yourself, we share clothes all the time, sure seems like we’re dating. Like if one of us was a girl, we would be,” Billy explains, shrugging casually like it’s not a life-alerting thought.
Steve takes another drink of his coke, slower this time so the bubbles don’t go up his nose. He watches Billy, gaze still trained on the movie like Arnold is going to say something Billy hasn’t heard before. “You say that like you don’t mind the idea.”
Billy flings himself off the couch to pause the movie, doing like an army-crawl to push himself back onto the couch. He fixes Steve with a look and he could give Nancy a run for her money with that look. “I’m pretty sure I’m wearing a pair of your underwear right now too.”
Steve sputters at Billy and kicks him under the blanket with a socked foot, a sock that might have belonged to Billy at one point. “Oh my god we’re totally dating.”
“We’re totally dating,” Billy confirms with a nod. “And I’m keeping your clothes.”
“Well, not if I keep yours first,” Steve argues, putting his coke back on the floor.
Billy tackles him to the couch and Steve tries to tickle him off but he gets a knee in Steve’s ribs and before long Steve is begging for mercy. So Billy kisses him until his sides hurt from giggles and his cheeks ache from smiles. And his shirt definitely smells like Billy again, but he really finds he doesn’t mind.
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Deep Night Ep 1 Thoughts
I tried to start watching this about two hours ago but then my sister called and then I had to run to the store for some pain meds. They really should invent a me without a headache. Anyway I got my meds, a cake, and about a million beverages so I guess it’s time to start. Episode 1: Headache Nation under the cut because boy oh boy did I ramble
Oh this is only 8 episodes? I thought it was 12. This works for me. I do love a good solid 8 episode long show.
*eats pickle* damn they got aerial boys. More of this everywhere please?
Already obsessed with the music. Do you know what gets me every time? Strings. Just listen to the build up they do. Ughsjsjskdjwkd I love string instruments
WHO sings this opening??? I am OBSESSED with their voice.
Oh to be a beautiful lady in a skintight bodysuit doing aerial tricks by a giant window in a very yellow room. I might be in love with her. I don’t care if she ends up being evil or something. I love her.
I know its not exactly the same but every time I hear host club I think of them:
Boy take the cookie! Free cookie! I wish I was a hot boy in a BL that was being offered homemade baked desserts. I just remembered I bought a cake. I must pause to go get a slice or I won’t be able to forgive my man for this:
Do I see…a ql character…with glasses???? Gonna need to add this boy to my spreadsheet. Anyway he better keep them. No one spoil me.
Wait I have the opportunity to do something very funny. To me and to only me. I also bought a bottle of sparkling cider. The best non alcoholic beverage. So I’m gonna drink this straight from the bottle while these boys are stuck getting drunk with actual alcohol at this club. Okay note to self. In the future, open the sparkling cider over the sink. Why are you more adept at opening champagne?
Ooohhhh rivals. Academic rivals. All these business statistics are too much for me. But I’m intrigued. I actually think these two would make good business partners. Perhaps. Could be wrong.
I should probably start learning names. So far all I know is Japan. And also that he’s my favorite. *eats chip*
The music is trying to tell me things are serious but I don’t care enough yet for things to be this serious.
Oh a grandiose staircase. I want a grandiose moment on those stairs. But I want to be wearing sweats and be as unserious as possible. Those stairs have obviously seen far too many serious moments. Those stairs need to see some whimsy.
I do not think I like Khem. At least not yet. I like Japan and Khem’s mother. I bet Khem will grow on me. But right now he kind of irks me.
Did Khem show up to this club in a cardigan??? Are cardigans fine at clubs? Where can I find that cardigan I want it.
I am OBSESSED with Khem’s necklace. I am not a big jewelry person but this necklace is absolutely working for me. I mean look at it! The way it rests on his clavicle (I think thats what it is don't look at me) but it draws your eye down to his chest where the shirt under his cardigan is hiding his body but the unbuttoned top button of the cardigan is wanting to show more. Maybe cardigans ARE club attire. But only with that necklace and only on this boy.
Why does this woman want Khem to live with her? I hope the show helps her remove the stick up her ass. Though I’m not sure the actress can pull off the stern character she’s portraying. It makes me take her a little less seriously and I don’t know if that’s intentional or not.
Ah I see some fantasies ARE universal. Someone remind me when I’m done watching to reblog gifs of this kiss. Also want to point out how much I love the music in this scene. The whole thing absolutely and incredibly gorgeous. Actually obsessed. Stunning. Everything stunning.
I would like to give Japan a hug actually.
I’m in love with Khem’s mother. Outta my way gay boy I’m about to become your step parent.
Me vs. street noise. Who wins? The answer is street noise. Every time. Not even hiding in my hoodie helps.
The GUFFAW that came from me when they show Khem as a valet? Oh they say traffic assistant. I am in LOVE with his mother.
Either these shows need to stop showing me food or I’m gonna need to make a trip to Thailand because that looks so good.��
These sound effects are SENDING me.
Damn right boy. Get paid. Get that bread. I love him.
A LAPSIT? In the very first episode? More likely than you’d think.
This soundtrack reminds me of the Life is Strange soundtrack at times and that is my favorite game soundtrack of all time.
Okay episode 1 done. I really enjoyed it despite all of the interruptions I dealt with. Time for episode 2! I do not know if I’ll watch more than the first 2 episodes today but I am very excited to keep going.
#deep night#deep night the series#deep night series#rae liveblogs deep night#<- gonna be using that tag for this methinks#anyway i'm having a good time so far and now my headache is gone#bl cures disease it turns out
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In Another World - MHA x Reader
A/N: This is my fist fanfic I've ever written so I apologize if it's cringy and all that. I just wanted to write some of this for fun, I know that there might be some words that shouldn't go where they are supposed to be but I'm just testing the ropes. Hope you enjoy and all. This fic is posted on Quotev under the username:
InsertName (InsertName89437)
And on Wattpad under the unsername:
What- (@Someone__random)
Key:
Y/n - your name
b/n - brothers name
s/n - sisters name
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POV: Y/n
Location: Minnesota, USA
Date: ##, ##, ####
Earth - 2097
______________________________________________________________________
Everything happened so fast, one moment I was walking on the sidewalk to school until I ended up in a hospital bed fighting for my life, literally. I got here due to an incident that will forever change my life.
It started off when I was getting ready for school at 6 am. Yes, 6 am because I have three other siblings and two of them; my older brother and younger sister; love to take up to almost an eternity in the bathroom.
Having the strength I needed, I got up and made my bed, went to a show and other bathroom business, went back to my room and got dressed. My outfit for today was black leggings, white Airwalks with white low socks, a tight gray shirt, an oversized brown hoodie, my red glasses, the ring that had my name engraved in it, and finally, I did my hair into a ponytail.
I then went back to my room to grab my forest green backpack that has whatever I needed for school and other random stuff.
Walking into the kitchen, I ate some breakfast and went on my way after saying my ‘goodbyes’ and ‘I love you’s’ to my parents.
My siblings were still in bed due to the fact that I decided to walk to school instead of taking the usual bus that came to pick us up at around 7:25.
The walk to school is usually around 30 minutes. So, I pulled out my phone with an anime YMHA themed case and checked the time; 7:00.
“I should get there in about 30 minutes.” I noted myself as I went onto Spotify and played Hamilton's musical playlist, popping in my ear buds as I walked my way out of the neighborhood and began my trek towards school.
My parents think that having an All Might themed, and an Eraser head themed phone case was weird, and that I should’ve bought a book or something at Barnes and Nobles. But it’s whatever, I guess.
It’s not like I’m obsessed with that anime only though, I also like Demon slayer, Tokyo revengers, and Attack on titan. The fandoms are okay, except for Mha’s fandom. It makes me want to bleach out my eyes and pour holy water on them. Other than that, I actually like it.
At least I’m not like any other typical (your ethnicity) 15-year-old girl who likes to be out on the streets doing who knows what.
As I looked around, I noticed that I’m just under the bridge. Not even at the half point yet, and so to save some time later on I ran across the road after looking both ways to get to the other side and continue on my way.
“Why does the school system request we bring textbooks home?” I complained while walking.
I finally made it to the fairgrounds, and it was already 7:30.
“Shit I’m goanna be late!” I said as I sped past the fairgrounds and by the time, I finally made it to the crosswalk that separated me and the school it was already 7:50.
“Dammit, only 5 minutes before the first bell.” I thought as I waited for the cross guard to say I could cross.
“Can’t these cars go any faster?!” I say in my mind as I check the time; 7:55. I only have 5 minutes before I’m officially late for school. And I really don’t want my parents yelling at me for that.
As if a god heard my prayers, the cross guard let me cross the street.
I started speed-walking across the street until something decided to body slam me hard while taking all my breath away. And guess what, it was a Ram truck that rammed into me.
“Too much ram not enough dodge” I thought as my body flew across the street a couple of meters.
I finally landed with a thud and felt pain and only pain throughout my entire body. It feels like I’m there but I’m not there at the same time.
As I lay on the road like roadkill, I began to hear a lot of commotion at the same time. I hear what sounds like doors slamming, people shouting and a lot of gasps here and there.
Was this the way I was going to die? On the road? I mean, at least give me some time to make my will and shit.
I then felt myself being shaken by someone, telling me something inaudible.
What felt like forever to me but only 5 minutes to the people around me, blue and red flashes of light were seen and sirens were heard.
It all sounded very faint to my ears, but I could still hear it.
I felt myself being lifted up from the ground and onto something softer. That's when I noticed that it was a stretcher and that the ambulance had come. I felt being transported into an ambulance and as the doors closed shut, the paramedics/medics surrounded me and started doing something.
They started asking things or talking but it was hard to hear, and so I closed my eyes and lost consciousness.
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I finally woke up.
Sitting up straight I look around to see the room dark. “So, it was night.” I thought to myself as I noticed some type of plastic bracelet on my ankle.
“So, I am in a hospital.” I say to myself. My body still hurts like hell though, and only now do I notice that I have an oxygen mask on.
I look down to my arms and see PICC lines intact and connected to a blood bag.
“So, I am dying…” I thought as I looked around once again. I find a balcony this time, and so I pull out the lines and take the mask off and head my way towards the balcony.
Opening the screen door and closing it behind me, I notice a rocking chair, making my way towards the chair and I finally sit down.
Looking up at the sky, I begin to just talk to the stars and the moon as if it were my family.
“I remember having a rocking chair at home, it was blue and white. Dad and I would always sit outside late at night like this. Enjoying our own company.”.
Silence, so I continue to talk more.
“Oi mom, do you remember that one time I burnt the beans? Huh, I always seemed to blame you for it…I’m sorry….”.
“Hey b/n, s/n, b/n. Sorry for being a prick to you guys. I really do love you guys…I’m just bad at showing it.”
Tears flowed down my face. I’m goanna miss them all. Mom, Dad...b/n, s/n, b/n...
I start to feel my eyes closing shut, and so with my last breath I say:
“.... I’ll be sure that I’ll say ‘hi’ to grandpa for you guys………”.
As I said those last words, my eyes finally closed shut from the world I used to live in, now falling into oblivion.
“I can finally rest properly now.”
E̸͕͑̌̊́̎̾͘͝͝r̷̛̍̓̄̽̀̓̓̒͘ͅR̶̨̞̥̘̞͙̠͔͗̎̑̋ọ̸͔̪̅̓̍̇̈́̄̔̍R̷̛̗̻̆̽̾̑̈́̈̉͒͘͝ ̸̡̞̳̱̯̦̖̂͐̓ ̴̺̥̌̍̽̋͋́̾̀̾̋̇ ̸̢̧̭̤̯̥̙͍̰̟̟̹̈́̅̎͊̀̏͐̀͝͠ ̷̡͎̻͔̙̙̞͚̬̈́̈́͗̌́͒̋̐̅ ̵̧̧̗͕̩̣̤͔̟̀́̏̅ ̸̧̢̪̗̞̫̺͚̲͓̞͕̯͛̅̂͒͑́̓̂̓̔͋͜͠ ̴̝̺̽̽̎̎̄͂̿̇̏̃̈́̊̃̚̕͝ ̶̘̥͉̼͛̑̽̈̾͌̈́̒͜ ̵̢̢̨̛͎̳̪̠̞̙̩͉̯͑̈́͒͗͜ͅ ̵̩̹̰̠͉̤͓̗̝́͋̔͗͑̃̅̓̾̆͘̚̚ ̵̨̯̭̬̩̺̣̭̽͠ ̶̨̧̮̖̗̫̟͙̮̰͂͂̑̔̕͘ ̸̲̲͉͍̲̩̻̲̝̯͕̬̈̍͌̔̕ ̸̢̡̢̝͓̘̳͚̟̻̬̰̼͐͊̿͒̑͗͗̑̑̃̑͗͌͝͝ ̴̜̘͈͖͔͉̹̲͌̉͛̇͌̑͜ ̵̬́͒̒͒̂̽͘ͅ ̶̢̤̩̬̿̊̇̉͋̄͛͂̾͆͝͝͝ ̸̨̢̡̭̗̠͕̺̼̬͎͕̮͚̓͌̊̄ͅͅ ̶̫̗̠̗̩͌͌ ̶̱̗̐̂͋
̵̹̙̣͖̩̘͈̻̤͉͖̒̓̀́̈́͑͒̅͜͠ͅġ̷̛͍̖̝͋́͐̈́͗̐͋͐̏̀̓͝Ļ̸̞͙̘̥̼̥̹̩̫̬̣̻̿̈̿͋̊͂̅̓̓̆͊̓́̿͛̊͜͝ͅi̴̧̛̙̦̇̅̀̈́͜T̶̨͎̹̮̮̀͐̈́̇̊̂̔͛̚͠͝ç̶͇͙̓͒͌̾̏͂͗̽̈́̈́̈́̀͘͝͝H̵̤̬̲̭̪̝͉̺̳̦͈̼̖̺̹̳̱̎͊́̆̃͠ ̴̤͎̇͑̒͒̍̐̇̋̓͗͛͘͘̚͜ ̸̧̯̱͖̟͊̃̒̌̂̇́͋̐̀̍͆͋͌͝ ̶͕̱̦̥͈̣̳͇̮̦̠̭̙͇̦̐̋̿̈͐͒̕̚͝ ̶̫̳̮̝̻̄̄̔̈́͐̋̆͜͜͝͝͠ ̴̛̥̩̼̩̝͕̥͕͈͎̹̍̓̌̎͒̅͊̕̕͝ ̵͍͖̥̮͍͓̱̠͒̅̾̀̂͗̌̀́ ̴̨̛͈̭̲͍̘̮̘͉̪͉̖̰̦͓̈̏̑̑̍͗̏̾́̓̉̈́͆̋̚͝ ̵̢̤̗̱̀͐̿̏͘̚ ̶̢͚̯̻̯͇̘̳̞̳̲̯̩͖̪̋̔̔̌̏͂̆̈́͘͜͠ͅ ̷̡̛̦̟̼͙͔͓̰̒̉͆̀̉̚ͅ ̸̨̧̘̳͉̫̳̥̹̩͊̈́́̅̂́͐̕͝ ̴̫̐͒̓̂̾̀̅̄͐̕͝͝͝ ̵͈͇̻̗͇̖̗̐ ̸̨̨̹͙̩̱͇͕̟͚̘̟̱̋͋͜͠ ̴̧̨̡̥̹̦͚̙͇͙̮̱͉́͊̊̇͛́͒̆̒͆̍́̎͊̽̀ͅ ̸̨͖̪͚̼̥̀͝ ̴̠̤̻͒̀̓̃̈́̌̇̋̾́͗̋̽̌̽͜͝ ̸̡̢̨̟̱͉̩̰̰̜̦̳̖̮͈̉̌͒̎͊̌͊̏̏̿͗̄̀́̇ ̶̛̪͔͕͇̆́̾͆̈̄́̂ ̴̡̡̛͎̳̝͚̻̗͉͓̼̩͕̜̝̘̽̈̀̒̍̆͆́̒͋͋̕̚̚̚͝ͅ ̴̨̛̪̬̇̀̀̐̓́͗̌̚ ̷̨̺̞̙͓̣̺̲͑̎̿̉̍̇̑̇̔̓̈̕͜͝ ̷͓͓̖͌̉̔̅̄̐͊͋̄̎͂͗ ̶̨̧̦̩̳͚̹̖͉̣̱̰͕̱̻̯̀̀͋͛͒́͋̋̀͝
I open my eyes.
Wait, didn't I just die? All I see is white. Just white.
Looking around in confusion I thought, “Is this really what happens after death?”. I don’t see anything but white, and it makes me sick.
I now look at myself, I’m still wearing the same clothing I died with. And I still have the things that I died with, which included my backpack, phone, and earbuds.
I finally look down to my hands, specifically my middle finger on my left hand. There layed a silver ring that has my name engraved in it. It was a gift from my dad. I ran my other fingers from my right hand along it and felt tears consuming up in my eyes, ready to go down like a raging river. I wipe the tears away before they could fall, no use in crying now.
Looking up, I let out a loud gasp as I saw a figure standing right in front of me. It was about average height, and it didn’t have any physical appearance other than the shape of a regular human.
“Are you Jasmin?” they asked. I was stunted, but nodded slightly as it then continued to speak.
“Do you wish for another chance?”.
“...What do you mean by another chance?" suspicion started to seep into my mind as I asked that question to them.
“Another chance at life, in another world.” they simply said as if it were so obvious.
I was bewildered, another life in another world. They seemed to sense my hesitation because they spoke again.
“I know it sounds too good to be true, but I offer this to those who didn’t get to live their life to the fullest. So, I’ll ask you again, Jasmin. Would you like another chance?”
Giving it some thought, it didn't seem like such a bad idea. Infact, I think this is the perfect chance at where I want to live again.
“Can I keep my memories and choose which world I want to live in, along with the timeline?” asking them while having an idea of what I want.
They seemed to think about it for a second and slightly nodded their head. And so that was the moment where I went full on anime mode on it.
“Alright. I would like to live in the MHA world and grow up during the time where all the characters like Midoriya and all the other characters are growing up. And that should be around the year ####. I’d also like to have a hero worthy quirk as well so that I can become a hero or something. I’d also want to be able to live in Japan, anywhere that works as long as I’m close to UA. And I’d like to keep my normal appearance but other than that, I’m done.”. I end that with a serious face while looking at them. They began to speak back to me in response, “I don’t think you know how this works-”, before they could even finish, I gave them a dead serious look.
“Man, I’m dead. At least let me live in a place where I choose.” I said as they finally gave in., they began to put their hands together and all sorts of colorful lights surrounded them. After a minute or two, they finally opened up their hands and revealed a black and yellow pill in their hands.
“Once you swallow this pill, you can’t go ba-” before they could even finish their sentence, I already snatched that pill and swallowed it whole. Nothing happened for a hot minute, but I started to feel off. My vision started to get blurry and black spots started to cloud my eyesight and soon enough I was in the void again.
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POV: Y/n
Date: (Your birth date, minus the year)
Location - Tokyo, Japan
Earth - 2376
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As the effect took place, it finally began to fade away. I opened my eyes to be greeted by adults surrounding me. One of them was holding me up, a woman. And beside her was a man. I looked around at the other adults and realized they were doctors. So, I was in a hospital after all.
“I think we’ll call you, y/n. A beautiful name for a beautiful girl.” the woman said while the man smiled happily along with her. The doctors around us were congratulating as they got some paperwork out. At that moment I realized that one of the doctor's faces had not two, but three eyes. And that’s when I realized that I was where I wished to be.
In the Mha-world.
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Well, I'll be posting more and keeping you all up to date, see ya!
#for you#my hero academia#mha fanfiction#fanfic#mha x reader#mha x y/n#izuku midoriya#bakugo katsuki#shouto todoroki#dabi#hitoshi shinsou#shigaraki tomura#all for one#mha#mha fic#fyp#reverse harem#all might#aizawa shouta#eraserhead#mha hawks#hawks#character x reader#character x y/n#writing#writerscommunity
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The Patient- A Kristanna Paramedic Oneshot
Universe: Modern AU/ Paramedic AU
Rating: T (13+)
Length: 2267 Words
Summary: Anna has to call 911 after a small fire breaks out in her condo. The hot blonde paramedic is the best and worst part of her day.
A/N: Day 10 of the 2022 Advent Calendar. I’ve managed to get behind again, of course, and I had to write this prone on my bedroom floor because I’ve fucked my back up, but you know what, I’m going to keep going anyway. Please ignore any factual errors about paramedics and medicine here, I did a little research, but otherwise I just wanted these two idiots to smooch under a new circumstance.
Today was, decidedly, not Anna’s day.
She sat, mortified, in the back of the ambulance with the most attractive man she’d ever met in her life, mutely checking her over for injuries.
“Really, I’m alright,” she said, then coughed, “I didn’t get burnt or anything when I was turning off the oven and using the fire extinguisher, I just couldn’t let the smoke out of my kitchen because the window was painted shut.”
She coughed again, not exactly proving her point that she was, in fact, fine. This was what she got for paying someone to renovate her condo without triple checking all their references and their work. Her detail obsessed sister would be so disappointed in her.
“Smoke inhalation is a very serious problem Ms. Arendelle.”
He was so serious in both tone and expression when he turned to his colleague to ask them to grab a mask and an oxygen canister.
She felt her face grow hot, and it had nothing to do with the fact that she maybe had inhaled a little too much smoke when her oven decided to catch fire for no good reason, other than perhaps spite. She’d just bought it and had it installed, and she wasn’t wholly convinced that the ghost of her last oven wasn’t possessing the new one because she’d only been preheating the empty appliance when the fire started inside it.
“Really, I’m fine.”
He was having none of it. He gave her a very unimpressed look, which both frustrated her and contributed to her blush. He was very attractive, but he also was clearly a hard-ass with lacking bedside manner.
She glanced at the name tag attached to his shirt and read “K. Bjorgman”.
K? Kyle? Kameron? Karson?
No, none of those seemed quite right for Mr. Hard-ass.
“Here’s that tank Kristoff.”
Kristoff? What the hell kind of name was that? Must be short for Kristoffer.
“Are you refusing treatment?”
She looked from his nametag back to his face. He looked infuriatingly displeased and she thought about saying that she was just to bug him, but that probably wasn’t ideal for her health given that the other paramedic hadn’t argued with him about the need for oxygen.
“No, I just think this is a little overkill probably, it was just a small kitchen fire.”
“With no ventilation where your oven was burning… what exactly?”
“Itself,” she answered miserably, “Because of course it would.”
“Right, so potentially plastic, chemical surfactants and whatever else should or shouldn’t have been in there at the point of ignition.”
She threw her hands up, “Yeah, sure. Whatever you say Mr. expert.”
He seemed to smile, just a small quirk in the corner of his mouth, but it was something. She wasn’t sure whether he was just used to getting what he wanted and was happy because his gruff attitude and good looks combo was working out for him once again, or whether he actually found her funny.
She was mad that it made him somehow even more attractive and that it made her want to continue to comply.
***
Elsa was going to pick her up at the hospital as soon as she could get out of work, which would be… God only knew when. She was sitting crankily glaring at her cellphone screen by herself in the hospital cafeteria with her hand bandaged because she had, evidently, managed a injury… from the fire extinguisher. She didn’t remember pinching the side of her hand between the trigger mechanism and the can, she hadn’t even felt it until she was being checked out in the emergency room, where they’d discharged her for not showing any signs of serious smoke inhalation, as she’d suspected despite Mr. Kristoff “hard-ass” Bjorman Paramedic’s insistence that she be checked out.
“Glad to hear you’ve been discharged.”
The voice was unfamiliar, quiet, and warm, and she could hardly believe her eyes and ears when she turned to see who was speaking and found a somewhat muscular, smiling blonde man in a paramedic’s uniform. He was holding a cafeteria tray, looking genuinely glad to see her there. The nametag on his pocket, of course read K. Bjorgman, and she almost rubbed her eyes to confirm that she was not hallucinating the man smiling before her. It was the same man, but now he seemed not just attractive, but approachable.
God, if I feel that uniform it’ll be made of boyfriend material.
She tried to shut off the parts of her mind that were rapidly ceasing to be annoyed with him. She was still having a terrible day, and she was not about to let someone who had a role in making her day worse suddenly swoop in to make it even more upsetting by being so attractive in her vicinity that she was bound to embarrass herself.
“Yeah, they said I was fine.”
She looked back from him, down to her phone and started scrolling blindly through some social media site or another, she wasn’t paying any attention to what was passing by on her screen. She wasn’t really interested in her phone at all, she just didn’t want him to stick around and watch her make an ass of herself.
“Yeah… I’m sorry I was so pushy about encouraging you to come to the hospital by the way. It’s hard to tell how much smoke someone’s inhaled on scene and I’m always a little extra worried about it. I hope my behavior doesn’t make you pause before contacting emergency services again if you ever need it.”
She looked up from her phone and saw the genuine remorse in his expression which threw her off entirely. He really had nothing to be sorry for, he’d just been doing his job and she had honestly felt a little bit better after getting oxygen and being checked out, even if she wasn’t seriously hurt. There was peace of mind in being sure that she hadn’t accidentally scorched her airways or something.
“It’s okay… I watch too many tv dramas so I probably would have been worried that I was dying later anyway. Better to be checked out and cleared than to have my sister plan a funeral.”
“I’m glad you see it that way,” he said, looking a little less repentant and a little more appreciative, “I usually don’t get a chance to talk to people after I get them to the hospital, but you were the last call I was on for the night so I’m glad I decided on hospital food for dinner. If it’s not too awkward, maybe I could sit with you while you’re waiting for your ride?”
“Yeah, I might be here for a while, so I don’t expect you to sit with me the whole time.”
But I do want you to sit with me for some of the time, just so I can memorize the way you’re looking at me right now like you really do care.
She was so screwed.
“Your ride coming from far away?”
“No,” Anna answered honestly, shrugging her shoulders, “She’s just a workaholic, so she’ll get me when she decides to leave the office.”
He frowned then, but then quickly covered the displeasure she registered by sitting down in the empty chair across from her and smiling.
“Is it usually advisable to fraternize with a patient?”
He laughed at that, “I wouldn’t really call this fraternizing, just checking in, and you haven’t been my patient for over an hour now. If you’d like me to go though, that’s something I’d comply with, no questions asked. I don’t want to violate your right to privacy.”
She shook her head. She knew that she should tell him to go because she was just waiting for the other shoe to drop, but something told her that him being around wasn’t really a bad thing.
Maybe I’m going to choke on my water and he’s supposed to be here to give me mouth to mouth or whatever.
She was a little peeved with herself that she didn’t know whether that would an improvement or worsening of her day.
“No, you can stay. I guess I could use the company.”
He smiled at that, and Anna thought that she’d never seen anyone look more genuinely happy in her life.
***
Kristoff was rather pleased with himself when he dusted his hands off on his jeans and looked around at the condo around him. The new, new oven was installed and functioning and all the windows were opening and closing as they were meant to. He’d also helped Anna to fix a cabinet that wasn’t closing properly in her bathroom and touched up some badly painted crown molding, not because it was dangerous or inconvenient, but because she’d seemed annoyed by it.
“Kristoff you’re my hero!”
He snort laughed, unable to help himself.
“Not usually the context in which I hear that, but I’ll take it.”
She swatted him playfully and he’d never felt prouder of himself than he did when she smiled at him appreciatively.
He’d been nervous when he’d approached her in the hospital cafeteria a month before. He knew that it wasn’t really protocol to follow up with a transport after arriving to the hospital unless it was through the official paperwork laden path. He’d been unable to help himself when he’d seen her alone and moping the in the hospital cafeteria, knowing that he was at least in part, the cause of her frustration.
Now he was grateful to himself for taking the leap.
They’d talked for over an hour over terrible soggy French fries and coffee, and when she hadn’t heard a word from her sister, her only support system, he’d been the one to drive her home.
After that she’d asked him for his cell number, asking him if it would be alright for her to maybe text him to get a drink sometime. He’d agreed, letting the ball be firmly in her court regarding whether they would meet up again.
He’d been thrilled when she’d asked him out for drinks the next night and had let him in a little more. He’d never really been great at making friends, but when he was with Anna it had felt natural to talk about himself and listen to her talk about her own life.
Many more nights of dinner and drinks had lead them to the sort of comfortable friendship they were enjoying now.
She’d told him about her job and how she was sometimes scared that her parents wouldn’t have been proud of her being a kindergarten teacher when their family history was all about business and law. He’d told her about how his parents dying in a fire from smoke inhalation had made him want to be a paramedic like the one who had saved him with the help of firefighters when he’d been three years old.
She’d told him about how ashamed she was about her condo because she’d been almost certainly cheated by her contractor given the shoddy workmanship evident in her home, especially when compared to how much she’d paid. As soon as she’d told him about being too embarrassed to tell her workaholic sister about the situation because of her history of thinking of Anna as “flighty” and “impulsive”, and how she didn’t want to sue the contractor or hire a new one lest her sister find out, he’d offered to help her fix the issues that made it an unsafe place to live.
Helping people stay safe was his job after all.
He hadn’t told her that the offer had nothing to do with work, that nothing with her felt like work.
“Seriously Kris,” she said warmly, wrapping her arms around his waist for a surprise hug, “I don’t know how I lucked out to get you in my life.”
“Well you had a contractor who installed a recalled stove and painted your windows shut… I don’t know how lucky you were.”
She swatted his back playfully, but then slipped her hand up his back slowly.
It felt amazing.
She pulled him in a little closer and he settled his hands on her waist, hoping that she didn’t mind the contact.
“Are you sure you won’t let me pay you for the help?”
The question was genuine, he thought, but also she didn’t seem to be thinking too much about it with her eyes portraying something a little more pleasure than business.
He shook his head and then ducked his head down, just slightly, slowly, to see how she would react.
She pressed into him, any space between them now eliminated by her insistent contact.
When she went up on her tiptoes to close the distance between their faces, he let go of his worries that he may be overstepping and let her press a kiss to his lips.
“This,” he said, resting his forehead against hers after the chaste kiss, his hand working into her wavy red hair with great care “This is more than enough… just being with you is all I’ll ever need in return for all the help in the world. Being your friend Anna… that’s enough.”
She hummed appreciatively.
“What if I want to give you more than just friendship?”
His nose rubbed against the side of hers, he could feel the warmth of her cheek against his and despite the roughness of his stubble, she didn’t move away.
“Then I’ll be the lucky one.”
She kissed him again, and even with his eyes closed, he could imagine the smile on her lips, feeling it against his.
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*puts my chin in my hands and kicks my legs around like we’re at a sleepover* ok soooo here have some random little headcanons:
-after the finale Patty is generally like very relaxed and at peace, like she’s just so happy to have Allison back where she belongs that she believes that everything’s going to work out for once in her life. She’s just like whatever’s going to happen will happen in its own time, and she’s just going to enjoy being with Allison.
Allison meanwhile is losing her mind day in and day out obsessing over every little thing like “she kissed my shoulder while we were in the kitchen the other day, what does that mean??? I looked down her shirt am I a horrible friend??? I think she used to have a crush on me but I’m not sure if she still does or really ever did and is that very presumptuous and also homophobic to think about??? If I kissed her would it ruin everything???????” Not knowing that she could do basically whatever she wanted and it would be fine. This goes on for like six more months.
-Listen Patty and Allison have been hanging around the same house together for like a decade and don’t get me wrong Patty’s apartment is darling and she had to take care of her household since she was eleven but she was also eleven when she started having to take care of a household, you know? So by the time she was hanging around Allison’s house in her early twenties she was taking fucking notes about all the weird little cleaning tips that Allison would use (because she actually had someone to teach her) when cleaning up after shenanigans or trying to impart some basic housekeeping on Kevin. Where I am going with this is that they are already pretty in sync about most practical aspects of living in a house together and have achieved that most impossible and sexy of romantic fantasies, being with a person who loads the dishwasher the same way as you.
-The first book Judi the librarian ever gave to Patty, back when she started hanging around the library after her mom died, was Harriet the Spy. Patty checked it out several more times that year and eventually just kept it and Judi never brought it up.
-When Patty was like a junior or senior in high school Judi thought to herself like “ok so like are we gonna be addressing this or not” and went to a Barnes and Noble and bought with her own money a new copy of like Annie on My Mind or something and slipped it into her recommendations pile for Patty that week, pretty much betting on like never getting it back, but Patty brought it back with the rest the following week. Judi was like “….and how did you like them?” And Patty was like “great! :)” She had not cracked the spine at all on it and Judi was not prepared for that move so was just like “…welp I tried!” and added it to the catalogue.
#also while I like to think they’d have a real convo for comedy purposes:#strong contenders for ‘we just kept hanging out and people refer to us as dating so I guess we are now?’#kcfh#kcfh spoilers#kevin can f**k himself#kevin can fuck himself#kevin can f himself
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Ooooh for the comfort prompts I’d love to see what you’d do with “I’m going to fall asleep…” for elriel? 💕
hello! a fun fact about you is that you're my first ask ever, so lots and lots of thanks :) here's a lil college drabble because i'm obsessed with that trope lately!
tw: fluff, super light mentions of sex
wc: 780ish
Elain looked up from her notebooks to the sound of her front door opening. She assumes it's one of her roommates, but when Azriel is the one to materialize outside of her bedroom door, she can’t help but smile at him silently. They just exchanged keys yesterday, and it felt like a big step for them–Elain and Az both know they need their own space to rest and recharge, but lately, it’s felt like their ‘own spaces’ involve each other. She can think of one night in the past month that they weren’t at his apartment or hers, and so when he almost fumbled his key down a gutter last night trying to give it to her, she couldn’t help but accept. He looks so good standing there, leaning up against her door frame in gray sweatpants and an old navy t-shirt that looks way too perfect on him, watching her, the barest of smiles playing on his lips. Most of their meetings start like this: in silence, smiling at each other, taking a moment to just be in the other’s presence.
After a minute she reaches her arm out to him, and he comes over, somehow simultaneously wrapping her arm around himself and flopping down on the bed directly on top of all her binders. “I’ve already taken three finals this week, and yet I still have another one tomorrow. I don’t think I was built to withstand all this stress, ‘Lain”
Elain laughs at his melodramatics and starts clearing her bed of school supplies. It’s late afternoon now, and she and Az had planned to go grab dinner as a finals-week brain break, so she knows she won’t get much work done for the rest of the night. They both have one exam left, and then they can escape to the cabin they’ve booked for the holidays and spend two weeks doing nothing but each other. She might’ve bought some underwear for the occasion. “Az, I think you are perpetually the most stressed out person I’ve ever met,” she tells him, pulling a binder out from under his ass. “Where do you want to go to dinner?”
“I actually made the executive decision that I did not want to go back outside in the cold to simply go get food that we could eat here, so takeout’s in the kitchen.” Azriel looks up at her with a grin, knowing he read her mind. Elain hates going out in the freezing cold more than she has to, and the fact that he knows that just makes something in her chest jump.
She drops down onto his chest as he lets out an “oof,”
“I. Love. You. You are my favorite human to ever exist ever. You know you read my mind?” she’s laughing as she tells him, peppering his face with kisses.
“Yeah, yeah,” he says quietly, a blush growing on his cheeks. It still is hard for him to hear her verbal affirmations sometimes, but Elain tells him she loves him so much, she thinks he’s finally starting to believe he deserves her. She rolls off of him, grabbing his hand and pulling him up after her and into the kitchen. Az, perfect boyfriend that he is, knows that pho is her favorite exam week meal and brought her a bowl of her favorite. She gives him another kiss for this and he responds with one of his small smiles.
They eat together in the kitchen, and talk quietly about their days and their stress levels and the music that’s getting them through. After cleaning up, Azriel lays down on the couch with Elain on top of him and they turn on the Great British Bake-off. He reaches up to kiss her and groans when she tries to deepen it. “I want to, Lainey, but I am quite literally about to fall asleep, and I don’t know if you want me to pass out right when I get inside of you.”
She blushes at his words and yawns: “S’okay. I’m tired too.” Laying back down on top of him, her breathing evens out, and she’s asleep before Paul Hollywood judges the signature round of bakes. Az puts his arms around her and falls asleep, too.
Three hours later, Nesta comes home from her–ahem–study session with Cassian, to find her sister and her best friend wrapped up in each other on her sofa. She sighs, turns off the auto-playing Netflix in the background, and tucks a blanket in around them. It was about time those two got the peace they deserved.
Yay!! thank you so much for reading!! comments/follows/likes/constrictive criticisms are always appreciated!! suggestions are open
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— ☆ haneul’s relationship with svt (hyung line)
scoups ♡ neulcheol, hancheol
annoyed older brother, annoying younger brother
“haha old man” “you are like three months younger than me”
seungcheol forgets that haneul isn’t in the maknae line at times because of how much he has to keep him under control
“kang haneul, stop it” “i will bite all of your fingers off right now.”
haneul will always find a way to somehow annoy seungcheol
insists that he’s a better rapper than cheol and sadly svt takes haneul’s side because they’re just annoying like that LOLOL
on the inside we know seungcheol loves haneul! hugging him even if haneul is grossed out, eating at restaurants together, etc.
jeonghan ♡ 2han
partners in crime
cheaters
“no jeonghan did not cheat! it was never in the rules!” “yeah exactly! what cheating are you talking about!”
do not put them in a room alone together
they’re always holding hands!
they also like to team up together. whenever they’re together, the members just prepare for the absolute chaos that’s gonna happen
they are very close. very very close
“jeonghan, are you wearing haneul’s shirt?” “no this is mine” “yeah that’s his shirt” *the shirt is haneul’s and they both know that*
joshua ♡ hanshua, neulshua
soulmates
“yo joshhhh!” “yo neullll!”
matching clothes, matching jewelry, matching items
they also like to go out together and jokingly call each other pet names
haneul is a “sunday morning agenda supporter”
haneul, jeonghan, and joshua are like an evil trio that make fun of seungcheol together
haneul is very affectionate around joshua and enjoys his company, literally gets sulky when shua doesn’t pay attention to him
“aww is hannie mad?” “go away i am going to punch you”
very popular among carats!
jun ♡ juneul, hanhui
sunshine and sunshine protector, maybe even father and son?
haneul is so fond of jun. jun is his BABY
HE IS ALWAYS SMILING WHEN JUN IS AROUND
“MY JUNNIE!!” “MY HANEUL!!!!”
haneul spoils jun a lot
“junnie do you want this?” “oh su-“ “here you go 🥰”
haneul calls jun “junnie” so much to the point where he forgets to call him jun or junhui
kang haneul is the number one huihui i’m afraid
also very popular among carats<3
hoshi ♡ hoshneul, neulshi(?)
besties
haneul fully supports the horanghae agenda. he has become one with hoshi
“hoshi, horanghae!” “hyung, neulranghae!”
when haneul is with hoshi, he is so loud oh my
loud introverts when they are together
haneul likes to get tiger merch for him to support the hoshi tiger agenda. he has bought many plushies for him
jokingly starts singing random duets together (especially during gose)
haneul can literally do nothing and hoshi starts cackling
“WHAT ARE YOU LAUGHING AT 😨” *hoshi manic laughter*
wonwoo ♡ woneul
brothers
they’re more like chill brothers that just grew up with each other and didn’t mind instead of siblings that fight all the time
but when they do bicker it’s so funny 😭
“hyung did you eat my food i was saving when i literally told you to not take it” “yeah” “what” “what” *starts slapping each other*
wonwoo’s number one hype man!
“our jeon wonwoo! so hot!”
wonwoo got haneul into games and haneul became obsessed
“hey wonnie.. what are you reading” “a book abou-“ “nerd”
LMAO but overall they are a very underrated pairing!
woozi ♡ neulhoon
best friends
haneul likes to keep jihoon company while he’s in his studio
likes to write lyrics together
“haneul it’s oddly suspicious on how you’re so good at writing love songs…” “because i’m thinking of you *winks*” “never do that again”
they like to tease each other a lot, especially on gose
“did you know that haneul hyung is like a cat when he’s with me?” “you literally cannot say anything, you are the exact same, lee jihoon.”
haneul was actually a bit scared of jihoon during their training eras, but they warmed up to each other easily!
super underrated pairing. literal crumbs.
— haneul’s masterlist hyung line maknae line
pls ignore how purple the gifs look i literally used the same filter as my masterlist + profile edits
#kpop oc#kpop male addition#kpop addition#kpop added member#kpop male oc#seventeen addition#seventeen added member#seventeen 14th member
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