#cw: rpf talk

[mish-tique]

I am that anon and I've spent so much time thinking about the overlaps between kpop and f1. Not necessarily in a bad way because there's nothing wrong with enjoying either but both fandoms and industries have some drawbacks that are extremely similar. The "fan wars" thing and this attitude of fans thinking they're somehow superior because of the group or driver they stan, or even the gatekeeping attitude of trying to keep new fans out because they know more about this thing because they stanned this driver or group first. There's also this weird focus on looks in both to where it almost makes it seem like talent doesn't even matter anymore. I feel like this is glaringly obvious in kpop fandom and even if you watch idol survival shows and see extremely talented singers and rappers eliminated or judged on the basis of not having the right look. But it's been growing in the f1 fandom too. I have even seen large numbers of people agree that Max has no place in f1 because he's not hot enough to be marketable. That has nothing to do with driving a car, and a multi time world champion is going to attract tons of sponsorships so I'm pretty sure driving is more important there too. It also isn't as obvious with every idol group or driver, but there are some unhealthy body image standards and just discussions around weight in both fandoms and industries that make me v uncomfortable. This is a lot lighter than other topics too, but I also feel like neither fandom can let mistakes and things that don't matter in the long run go without bringing it up over and over again? I don't mean this in like a "this person said something problematic" but more in reference to their actual jobs. I've seen loads of ridiculous fan wars where kpop fans will share a video of the ONE time an extremely talented vocalist's voice cracked on stage, to try to assert that vocalist isn't talented. It very much gives off the same vibes as like people mentioning Sochi with Lando, or people mentioning how Max crashed a lot when he first joined F1, you get the idea. Clearly it would become a problem in either industry if it was becoming a repeated behavior, but this standard both are held to where if you make a single mistake, people write you off and claim you're untalented for your entire career is kind of weird and puts even more pressure in already high-pressure environments. It's not necessarily f1 directly, but I also think there's a pretty strong case to be made about the investments that go into idol training and f1 feeder series. Huge monetary investments, sometimes leaving their family and friends behind for years, very very little chance for most of making it in either if they're honest, more talent flooding the markets of both than really there is room for. There's also the same thing with like "big companies" giving their groups a much higher chance of success versus small companies that is very similar to the whole top team / midfield or backmarker team dynamic in f1. Like 9 times out of 10 the success either are able to achieve depends mostly on the contract they sign. Also, and probably most obvious, the FAN SERVICE. And don't get me wrong, I love a good wholesome hug when an idol or driver is going through it or maybe even happy and celebrating. I don't necessarily like these seemingly forced for PR "bromances," and I know a lot of people liked it, but I found things like the crowd yelling to Lando and Daniel to kiss on that one fan stage kind of creepy? Like I wouldn't care if they DID want to kiss, don't get me wrong, there's just something weird about fans demanding they do it. Its almost to where people can't separate like RPF from reality at times. It gives off the same vibes as people shipping idols until they basically start avoiding each other to avoid dating rumors. I don't even know how long this is getting, but I'm sure it's like a novel, so I will stop there but yeah. Many thoughts. 😅

HELP anon i must say that i was a little scared when i first saw this in my inbox dkghsdgsd. but don't worry!!

I used to be a kpop fan from 2015ish to 2019ish (? lines def aren't clear) and got "officially" into f1 early 2021 so for me it's more of a flow from one to the other and getting a lot of deja vu moments.

The "fan wars" thing and this attitude of fans thinking they're somehow superior because of the group or driver they stan, or even the gatekeeping attitude of trying to keep new fans out because they know more about this thing because they stanned this driver or group first.

Please, the fanwar flashbacks i keep getting is exhausting. And then especially when I think back about the solo stans vs other solo stans or the group stans vs solo stans.

Back then it would be baekhyun stans vs chanyeol stans (excuse me, I forgot the name for the solo fandom sdkhgsd. I can remember that exols used to be eris but that's about it!) and nowadays it's chirlies vs carlos fans, and what used to be exols vs armys because red bull fans vs Mercedes fans.

There's also this weird focus on looks in both to where it almost makes it seem like talent doesn't even matter anymore. I feel like this is glaringly obvious in kpop fandom and even if you watch idol survival shows and see extremely talented singers and rappers eliminated or judged on the basis of not having the right look.

Oh. My. God. The visuals!! The discussions there used to be within group fandoms over who was the main visual, who had no right being a rapper/singer/dancer simply because they relied on their visuals and the discussions about visuals in itself was. Something.

But it's been growing in the f1 fandom too. I have even seen large numbers of people agree that Max has no place in f1 because he's not hot enough to be marketable. That has nothing to do with driving a car, and a multi time world champion is going to attract tons of sponsorships so I'm pretty sure driving is more important there too.

I feel like some part of the f1 fandom is letting some off track factors play too much into the on track expectations and facts. Just because a driver is the next pretty it boy doesn't mean he will automatically do well, and just because someone isn't conventionally pretty doesn't mean he shouldn't have a place in a team... You can definitely enjoy a drivers looks or aesthetic but some have seemed to forgotten that their actions on track speak for themselves.

It also isn't as obvious with every idol group or driver, but there are some unhealthy body image standards and just discussions around weight in both fandoms and industries that make me v uncomfortable.

The reactions to Max during winter break but general body pictures are crazy. In both the kpop and f1 fandom fans seem to have some kind of image in their head of what "healthy" should look like and they fucking riot when reality doesn't match it.

Clearly it would become a problem in either industry if it was becoming a repeated behavior, but this standard both are held to where if you make a single mistake, people write you off and claim you're untalented for your entire career is kind of weird and puts even more pressure in already high-pressure environments.

You're totally right here anon, but it also weirds me out at times because like, in the end for both fandoms it counts that these people are fans and 90% of the time do not know all the facts or just can't look at it objectively. Both fandoms desperately need people to step back, take a breath and remember it's either a sport or music. ffs.

(...) but I also think there's a pretty strong case to be made about the investments that go into idol training and f1 feeder series. Huge monetary investments, sometimes leaving their family and friends behind for years, very very little chance for most of making it in either if they're honest, more talent flooding the markets of both than really there is room for. There's also the same thing with like "big companies" giving their groups a much higher chance of success versus small companies that is very similar to the whole top team / midfield or backmarker team dynamic in f1. Like 9 times out of 10 the success either are able to achieve depends mostly on the contract they sign.

The way being a red bull junior or a Ferrari academy driver is so alike to being an SM/YG trainee. They offer the best training, but also have the most new drivers/trainees vying for their attention. And let's be real, feeder series are totally the pd101 of f1.

Also, and probably most obvious, the FAN SERVICE. (....) I don't necessarily like these seemingly forced for PR "bromances," and I know a lot of people liked it, but I found things like the crowd yelling to Lando and Daniel to kiss on that one fan stage kind of creepy? (...) there's just something weird about fans demanding they do it.

THEY DID WHAT NOW??? But yes, that gives the same energy as fans demanding idols to do kisses etc on vlive/youtube lives. It's creepy as fuck and it makes fans seem like they truly think they can demand the craziest things from "their" idols/drivers.

Its almost to where people can't separate like RPF from reality at times. It gives off the same vibes as people shipping idols until they basically start avoiding each other to avoid dating rumors. I don't even know how long this is getting, but I'm sure it's like a novel, so I will stop there but yeah. Many thoughts. 😅

My only blessing is that while drivers seem to be aware of the "joke" romances, is that they seem less aware of RPF. (We are going to exclude that time where people close to max started reading my 4433 for fun and just could NOT shut their fucking mouth).

Which is kind of wild to me, because while kpop fans did talk a lot about rpf on twitter they also censorred a lot of stuff as like, ch*nyeol instead of chanyeol ( i guess the mv0 instead of mv1 of f1 only then less negative and more for safety), and some idols were aware of it, it was mostly ignored and looked away. You made sure you followed the right people so you were either surrounded by camp anti rpf or camp rpf.

With f1 rpf it's very much more containted to tumble and ao3, except lately i have seen a trend where people have become less afraid of mentioning actual rpf on twitter. Which scares me a little because drivers feel more active on twitter skdghds.

Yet at the same time ship names seem much more common knowledge and also accepted within the whole fandom (i.e. lestappen gets used by "bros" on reddit as emotional support rivals but also by ao3 writers.). So in f1 the line between "joking" implied shipping/rpf and actual shipping/rpf seems way thinner than in kpop, where back when i was there, you either used certain names or you absolutely Did Not Even Think About it.

Fuck I remember days where baekhyun fans would talk about chanyeol in a positive way and would censor chanyeol's name just to prevent chanbaek shippers from interacting.

Anyways thank you so much for your message and your interesting insight in your view on it!

I was about to say that i'll share my twitter thread about this topic on this page but i realized i got pics of myself on there so help me That Is Not Happening.

[kingofthering]

you've heard of shotgunning Rosquez and VR46 Marc? you can now have both

Marc crashes in Japan [yes it pains me to write this after the actual race we had but I need this timeline wise] and it's not gonna cost him Indonesia but it does damage his previously injured hand a litte.

A couple of days after Marc has come back to Madrid, Valentino appears at his front door. He says "I had stuff to do around and I thought I could check up on you" and there are a lot of things going on in Marc's mind when he hears those words but he's too tired to call Valentino out on something he doesn't even understand, so, he just lets Vale in.

When they move to the living room, Valentino finds out about the football game Marc was watching and he apologizes for interrupting him and they end up watching the end of the game together. [And there is Valentino with a smile on his face every time he watches Marc react in Marc fashion to one of the Barça actions, but we don't talk about that.]

After the final whistle, Marc says, "You really didn't have to come, I'm fine."

Valentino looks at the way Marc is flexing his hand -he promises it's more out of habit than anything-, tilts his head to the side, considering him. "Are you on any meds right now?"

Marc shakes his head. "Finished the anti-inflammatories this morning, didn't feel like taking pain medication tonight."

Valentino nods and grabs the jacket he had discarded earlier next to him, pulling a small box out of one of his pockets.

Marc can't say he expected the joint and the lighter that Valentino pulls up in front of him. "Do you mind?"

It's not an offer, not quite. Marc shakes his head again. Valentino gets up to open the large window to their right. When he sits back down, he's much closer to Marc than he was during the game, maybe a meter of space between them.

Valentino lights up his joint and Marc watches the line of his throat as he leans back to blow a heavy cloud of smoke over himself.

"Did you really roll this before coming here? Can you even roll? Don't tell me Uccio did this for you."

That makes Valentino laugh in the middle of a puff and he starts coughing, his voice all fucked up when he says, "Yes, Marc, I can roll. I've been a teenager with time to kill. You can't really use the bike to keep busy at night, so."

Marc's mind is immediately assaulted with the image of young Vale -blue haired Vale or longer hair Vale (he doesn't know which version is the more damaging for his brain right now)- using a grinder with a focused face and licking rolling paper with his tongue.

"It's not like you haven't seen me smoke before," Valentino comments when Marc is fully blanking out on an answer there.

Marc watches as Valentino grabs the now empty beer that he'd grabbed for him earlier during the game and uses it as an ashtray to discard the ashes building at the end of the stick.

"Yeah, I know, I do remember [name of the city that I have to decide at some point]."

"You do?" Valentino's eyebrows go up a little and Marc wants to pull them back down. Don't act surprised, fucker. "I almost thought you didn't considering you never mentionned it again."

Valentino has a smirk proudly sitting on his face. Marc feels hot. The smoke must be getting to him.

Eventually, Valentino takes pity on him and he says, "It's fine," with a smile and yeah, fine, Marc will be even finer if they don't mention that night again, he already had too much trouble trying to stop thinking about it the first time around.

"You've never taken a puff on your own, have you?" Valentino asks when they've both been half watching TV, half smoking (Valentino) or half pretending they're not watching Valentino's face when he pulls on the joint (Marc).

"I think you already know the answer here," Marc chuckles. "Not really interested in trying, don't think I'm ready to cough a lung on you just yet."

He's also fairly sure it would hit him harder than someone else blowing already inhaled smoke back into his mouth. He's been severely drunk around Valentino but high? He's not sure alone with Valentino is the smartest context for that.

Valentino laughs but it's not mocking so Marc can't have said something that silly. He feels observed for a moment, Valentino considering him, and then— "Do you want a shotgun again?"

Marc's survival instinct should probably have him say no.

[Something something about how the last couple of months have him gain trust in Valentino again, Marc thinking about some memories, etc etc. And as things stand, he nods.]

Valentino scoots himself closer and places his left hand on Marc’s neck, thumb at the hinge of his jaw. He almost expects Valentino’s fingers to move -squeeze, rub, pinch; whichever- but they don’t. Marc shivers anyway.

I can stay still on my own, he doesn’t voice outloud.

I trust you, he doesn’t say either.

Marc watches Valentino pull on the joint and he closes his eyes, waits for the impact like he’s just been thrown off his bike from a highside.

He's more ready than the last time and it might have been a decade but Marc's a good student. He opens his mouth when Valentino's lips touch his and he takes a sharp breath in, manages to hold it in for a hot second before he exhales, only coughing once despite the burn in his throat.

When Marc opens his eyes, he finds out that Valentino hasn't moved. He's still close to him, bright blue eyes even more dizzying than they usually already are.

Maybe Marc will blame the drug that has barely been processed by his body at that point. As it is, Valentino’s mouth is right there and Marc has to chase it.

He’s a little too brutal with it, too eager maybe, and their teeth click for a second. Valentino does apply pressure on his neck, then. Marc readjusts.

The next press of his lips to Valentino’s is gentler but still hungry, Marc pushing and Valentino keeping him steady.

[Some more kissing and Marc freezing when they both break apart to take a breath and he realizes what he's been doing.]

"I'm sorry," Marc says while feeling the most mortified he's ever been.

"No you’re fine, don't worry." Valentino tries to reach for his wrist. Marc draws back like he’s been burnt.

"I wasn’t thinking," Marc says, his eyes struggling to find a place to look at. On TV, journalists are still analyzing the game.

"Weed will do that to you," Valentino comments in the most matter-of-factly voice possible. It sounds odd. Marc doesn’t know how to read it.

"Look, is it really a shotgunning session with your friends if you don’t make out with them a little?" Valentino asks. His tone is awkward and Marc’s face is on fire and they still can’t meet each other’s eyes. "I can even make a list of the people this has happened with, if that can make you feel better."

Imagining Valentino kissing other people is the last thing Marc wants to do, what in the actual fuck. He can’t be hallucinating, can he?

"Maybe I should go," Valentino eventually says when Marc’s brain refuses to come back with anything for a long moment. "I have an early plane tomorrow and you need to rest."

"Right."

Valentino grabs his abandoned bottle of beer when he gets up and disappear in the kitchen with in, to dispose of it despite not knowing where the glass trash bin is, Marc assumes.

He closes the open window and stands behind Marc, forcing him to crane his neck around from where he still hasn't left the couch.

"Take care," Valentino says. Marc sees his right hand move, almost expects Valentino to squeeze his shoulder or ruffle his curls, which— silly.

Marc’s heart is still going haywire by the time Valentino has closed his front door. His pulse is throbbing in his hand.

It hurts.

[mostly-mcr]

help me find this fic??

all the keywords I can remember aren't helping, I don't think it was a particularly famous one. it had something to do with the theme of "I cast a spell over the west"??

all I remember is (may not be fully accurate) Pete and Mikey were togetherish during warped then split up after making a pact that if the tshirt they'd both signed made its way back to one of them they would get back in touch or something??

[kingdom0fcards]

Hearts Broken On My Back With The Lights On.

Pairing: Noah Sebastian/Nicholas Ruffilo

Content Warnings: death and mourning

Title from Walking On Gravestones by I See Stars

A/N: I listened to Feel Something by Movements and sobbed when writing this, idk why I'm on a sad fic kick recently but I like them

Noah says he feels like a cold graveyard that no one visits anymore, one that's lost by time and taken back by the earth.

Maybe he's more right than he thinks.

He haunts what he used to know, walking around his apartment like a husk of his former self, going to his room to sulk for hours.

When he does leave, he doesn't come back for hours. No one knows where he goes, they never will.

He visits that graveyard, going to the only gravestone never forgotten. He cleans it, taking the foliage off the stone and scrubbing it so he can read the name. He replaces the flowers every time, every week.

He visits twice a week, sitting on the same patch of grass every time. Noah leans his head on the side of the gravestone, like it's his shoulder and he's still here.

But it's cold and hard. But he's not here.

The stone digs into his skin a bit too much when he hugs it, it's not soft and smooth. Sometimes he gets cuts, blood getting on the stone. Maybe that'll bring him back, like a ritual.

But it doesn't.

His world used to be so bright, so happy, and now his world is rotting in the ground. He's probably a skeleton by now, all the art adorned on his body gone and his beautiful features only captured in old pictures.

He wish he could accept it. He wishes he can accept that he's gone. But he can't.

Noah sobs and tells the stone that he misses him.

"I miss you... I wish you were still around," he takes breathes between his sobbed out sentences, it feels like he's suffocating, "it's our anniversary." his throat feels tight, "happy five years, Nick."

Tears roll down his face as he hugs the stone, accidentally crushing the flowers he brought. Roses were always his favorite, he even tattooed one on Noah. It was painful, getting it on his knee, but it was a fond memory that he'll forever treasure.

They met when they were young, getting together five years after that and laughing at how repressed their emotions for each other were. People said they should've gotten together sooner, oh how right they were.

Noah losing him three years after they got together was the worst thing that's ever happened to him.

It was a day before Valentine's Day. Snow was falling and they were dancing in their kitchen, laughing, unaware of what the phone ringing would do to them. Nick answered, said he had to leave because of an emergency and Noah understood, giving him a kiss goodbye.

"I love you."

"I love you too."

Noah got a call hours later that he died, his world collapsed. He fell to his knees, sobbing and inconsolable, just like how he always is at his gravestone.

His tears stain the top of the stone a darker grey, the droplets disappearing in a bigger sea of the grey as it starts to rain. His tears covered by the droplets of water coming from the dark sky.

He doesn't move, only hugs the grave tighter and only leaving when the graveyard closes. He walks home soaking wet, still sniffling slightly as he walks into his apartment. Going into his room, he gets into his bed, not bothering taking his wet clothes off.

On his nightstand, his phone glows with a new notification but he looks at the picture of his lockscreen, he starts sobbing again.

He misses him so much.

[blorbocedes]

if I never lied, then, baby you'd be the truth

maxiel, 4.2k, rated: E

tags: the winner's room, Italian Grand Prix 2021, dubious consent, one sided maxiel, power imbalance

summary:

When they ask who Daniel wants for the Winner’s Room, the choice is obvious. There's a stray consideration to stick with the team, teach the sulking younger teammate some humility but Daniel’s not a fucking babysitter.

In his mind, there really only was one actual choice. It was always going to be him. Even if he's won six races this season, and hasn't called Daniel once yet.

Max Verstappen.

[joosthead]

SMUT PROMPT 2 PLZZZ

just too soft for all of it || j.k. f!reader

₊˚⊹⋆ prompt(s): 2S) crying crying during sex that leads to a pause or early end to comfort and take care of whatever emotions bubbled over & 3F)  gently pushing their hair behind their ear to see their face better

₊˚⊹⋆ reader: f!reader, no pronouns, reader gets referred to as his “favourite girl” one time. notfamous!reader lol also does not speak dutch

₊˚⊹⋆ word count: 4.4k

₊˚⊹⋆ cw: smut (fingering, piv), a good amount of negative self thought (i may have gone overboard—feeling inadequate as a partner, reader is very hard on themself and quite sensitive), mentions of anxiety/stress/being overwhelmed, a very fluffy and healthy joost :( aur i love him anyways, pls heed the prompt cuz that in itself is a content warning teehee, 🧀🧀🧀alert i can’t lie!!, a variety of dutch terms of endearment i'm not sure i’m using right but it’s for the sake of no y/n

₊˚⊹⋆ track of the fic: "sweet nothing" by taylor swift

₊˚⊹⋆ junote: i resonate heavy with this 🙃🙃 had the worst last few weeks of this uni year but i’m FREE!!!! thanks for requesting this, i combined this with a few other asks stated above! happy first juno joost fic to meee yippeee

rpf ahead—don't like it, don't read it!! you've been warned. please do not repost this on any other platform.

18+ only — explicit rpf content ahead, minors dni.

To say the utter least—it had been a hard few weeks for you. 

The whims of life carried you away like a tsunami to your normal routine—work and classes and friends and family and life, life that you couldn’t ignore or get away from like you wanted to do, nothing to do except doing it. And you’d been doing it, just fine for the most part, but one thing led to another, and the last week was a whirlwind of commitments, obligations, your procrastinating on all of them, somehow. You got yourself into a mess of your own making. 

It certainly didn’t help that your boyfriend, Joost, was away for his own life: a festival performance in Canada, one in Belgium, one in the Netherlands but not one you could attend easily with all of the work you had for yourself. After that, he worked on the new album in Germany, putting the final touches on his 9th project, filming new content and preparing for his upcoming tour. 

He left around the beginning of when your life started getting busier. If you added it up—23 days you hadn’t seen him in person, but it’s not like you were counting (you were counting, and sad the entire time about his absence.). It felt like the same amount of time you hadn’t even seen or talked to him, through the phone, on Facetime, even texting each other.

Voice memos in the bathroom at work, always apologizing for how rushed you had to be; leaving him on delivered for hours as you studied, or had an event you needed to be at, or had a person you needed to talk to, someone else who needed your time more than Joost needed yours, and it was too much. All of it was too much. Too much for you to handle easily, every second taken by someone else. 

You felt like a terrible partner, not being able to speak to him as much as you wanted. Seeing all of his messages, the reassurance that he understands how busy you are and that in the end, you'll always make time for each other…his ability to be such a good partner held up next to your perceived inadequacy made you even more stressed. 

In the end, it’ll all work out—today, Joost flew back home, though you still had a number of commitments and assignments to get to and couldn’t pick him up from the airport. Your mutual friend picked him up, and you bit your nails at every update given; willing the time to go slower so you could tidy up more, work on that one last piece of paperwork so you wouldn’t have to worry about it, make sure everything is perfect so Joost can have a good welcome back.

In the nick of time, you were able to get everything done, but it still felt as if there was something missing, like you'd be hit with a missed deadline in the midst of your time back together, and it would all come crumbling down. 

As you opened the door, right as your friend pulled up to your street, you tried to put it aside, and you did—for now. Late afternoon and you stand at the top of your townhouse steps, watching in nervous excitement as Joost unloads his luggage from the trunk. Your friend closes the trunk and waves at you.

You wave back, but your eyes are on Joost as he gathers the two suitcases and starts rolling them to you in a sort of disorganized frenzy, just as excited as you are; you would come forward and help, but it’s cute to watch him, clumsy and stumbling over his long pants and tote bag and everything—your Joost, finally back with you. 

He wears a heavy black jacket, sunglasses, a black cap that he takes off and shakes his hair out of; the sun shines off him, and you can't help but smile at the sight. His hair grew out a little, the darker blonde roots growing in. Those jeans are ones you’ve never seen before, new glasses, new clunky boots that look greatly uncomfortable but perfectly his style. Evidence of the time passed, and for some strange reason, it brings a pang to your chest that you try to ignore as you come down the steps of your house. 

“Come here, come here, come here, baby, I missed you,” Joost exclaims, arms open and leaving his bags behind him to come meet you halfway, laughing. 

You say as you hug him around his neck, his arms around your waist and squeezing you tight, “I’m so sorry I couldn’t pick—” 

“Don’t worry about it, I know you were busy.” 

You nod as he moves his arms around your neck and you go around his waist, Joost pecking your cheek several times and making you laugh. “I still feel bad I couldn’t pick you up.”

“Never feel bad, you’d still be the best even if you left me on the side of the road.” You give him and his compliment a weak smile as you pull away. 

—

The first time you get a moment to yourself in a month: Joost’s head lays in your lap as you both watch some cartoon on the couch together after eating. 

You cleaned most of yesterday and some of today; you cooked most of last night since you knew you had more time, preparing Joost’s favorite meal—it was the best you could reasonably do, considering all of the other obligations you had in these last two days. 

As he ate, you pushed around your own food; would’ve made it fresh, could've had a nice table setting for dinner, should’ve prepared more for all of this. You still gave him a sheepish smile as you watched him happily eat the microwaved meal you warmed up for him, no indication at all that he’s disappointed or unhappy like you are with yourself. You shouldn’t feel like this, but you do. It’s getting increasingly difficult to shake. 

The colors and lines dance across the TV, spouting raunchy jokes that you can half understand with the few years of Dutch you have under your belt; the air conditioner is on, and you can finally rest. Joost is changed out of his airport outfit and into some shorts and a shirt. He’s home, and you did the best you could do, and now he’s in your arms again. 

You don’t even mean to, but you sigh, perhaps louder than usual, because Joost looks up at you from your lap, brushes a lock of your hair out of your eyes, says, “You’re the best, you know?” 

It catches you off guard enough that you shake your head almost instinctively, not fast enough to hide…whatever feeling this is you’re feeling. “I don’t feel like it, Joosty.” 

“You don’t?” He gets up from your lap, sitting next to you, and brings his face close to yours. “You should, because you are.” 

Your noses are brushing, and even in the midst of your racing thoughts, you can't help but smile at him. His face grows into a smile, and you come forward and kiss him, deeply; you know it takes him by surprise, how he takes a little to kiss back, like trying to learn each other again. Nonetheless, he kisses back, holding your face in his hands, grinning into it—he's so pleased, so content, you know it by how sweetly he holds you. 

The TV becomes background noise to you, the air conditioner no use with how hot you feel when you move to sit atop him in his lap, one of his hands on the small of your back, the other on your ass as you grind down on him, licking into his mouth. 

“You're so tense,” Joost says when you pull away, thumbs rubbing into your back where there are sure to be knots in your muscles. 

You roll your eyes. “Can you blame me?” you snicker and he smiles. 

“I’ll relieve some tension for you, then.” 

Nothing but a few layers of clothes separate you—he smells so good, tastes so good, feels so good that you pull away, run your hands underneath his shirt, feeling his warm body, his stomach. You move to take it off of him, and he’s a step ahead of you, taking it off himself and attaching his lips to yours again, like a magnet. 

“You’re not wasting any time,” he says as you rest your hands on his chest and kiss down his stubble covered jaw to his neck, on top of Lola Bunny and back up again. 

“I need you, Joost,” you breathe in between kisses, and he pulls back and groans which makes you giggle, “What is that supposed to mean?” 

“You can't just say that, oh my god,” Joost whines, looking up at you pathetically, pupils blown and lips swollen from yours. “That’s so hot,” he laughs, and it makes you laugh too, how ridiculous he is. “Fuck, I love you.” He comes back in for one more kiss before he shifts so you can lay down on the couch, and he's on top of you, kissing again. He helps you shimmy down your shorts, your underwear, and in no time—his hand is between your legs.

“I would have taken it slow but—I’m too excited,” he breathes. You palm his hard cock through his shorts, coaxing a sigh out of him. Joost hovers above, leaning on one elbow and using the other hand to run his fingers through your slit, wetting them with how aroused you are. Involuntarily, your legs twitch, your breath catches in your mouth, and Joost gives you a soft laugh. “You’re so sensitive, schat.” Fingers still touching you so gently, he noses at your cheek—you’re a hairpin trigger, how reactive you are to him. “Has it been that long?” 

Breathless, you nod as he presses his thumb to your clit, petting at it. “Too long, I was waiting for you.”

“I could say the same for you.” 

You sit up, pushing up against him, still kissing like you can’t bear to be separated from him, but he pulls back from you—brings two fingers to his mouth, wetting them with his spit, and the sight brings your heart to your stomach with how arousing it is. 

Sure, Joost sends videos; yes, you have…homemade…videos of your own between the two of you; his deep voice through the speaker in your late night Facetimes, talking you through it or his incessant compliments when you send him some pictures of your own. 

Nothing compares to the real thing—the smell of his cologne on his collar even after he’s taken a shower; his blonde hair in your eyes as he kisses you; holding onto his strong arms as he fingers you, the wet sound music to your ears though normally, it would make you sheepish at how filthy this all is.  

Sometimes it makes you laugh that the random guy you met with a Crazy Frog tattoo on his forearm is now your boyfriend, but it feels so serious now more than ever. You realize now how much you’ve missed him, and how much you’ve pushed down that feeling in favor of everything else. 

Joost crooks his fingers inside of you and you moan into his mouth, which he smiles at. “You like it?” he asks, both of you knowing the answer. He knows you so well, inside and out. Knows that spot inside of you that renders you unable to speak, how to hit it just right like it’s muscle memory to fuck you with his fingers. He rubs your clit at the same time, using his spit and your wetness to do so, and God—you wish never leaving this spot was an option. 

Your climax fast approaches you; Joost kissing at the side of your lips, your chin because you’re too lost in your pleasure to kiss back. With a few more pumps of his fingers, he brings you there, a choked moan tumbling from your mouth as you cum, almost falling into him as he takes you through the last waves of your orgasm. “Thank you,” you breathe, pressing a deep kiss to his lips again now that you have the ability to. 

“Thanking me? Nothing to thank me for,” he says, but you shake your head.

“I disagree,” you say quietly, palming over his erection once more now that you’ve gathered yourself. “I have everything to thank you for,” you think, but can’t say out loud. You move so you can be on your knees on the ground in between his legs. It’s been quite a bit, enough so that the program on the TV is completely different now, the AC has turned off—he’s still so hard, still hasn’t been taken care of.

You're about to lower his shorts, take him into your mouth, but Joost takes your hand and says, “Can we skip it? I wanna be inside of you, lieverd.” 

Almost a whisper, you reply, “Whatever you want,” nodding, and he cocks his head to the side in confusion.

“You’re so quiet today. Is anything wrong?” He can read you like a book, the furrowing of your brow at his suggestion an easy giveaway. 

“Nothing’s the matter,” you lie, but he still looks disbelieving. “I just wanted to give you something back.”

“This is something back and more, baby. Lie down.” 

You do, too tired to argue for your side—the side that wants to give Joost everything you have and more, pay him back for the time you’ve been so absent, so distracted from your relationship and all the things Joost had been doing in the time away. It’s not as if you don’t want to lie down and have him fuck you—it’s just that you feel that you haven’t earned it yet. 

Your body language gives you away—“Still so tense, lieverd,” he says, squeezing your shoulder as you adjust, legs on either side of his thighs. “You sure you want to do this?” 

“Of course I do,” you purr, because of course you do, reaching into his briefs—Joost Klein branded, of course—and pulling his cock out, jerking it a few times and making him groan with the sensation. “You're so sensitive,” you quote him from earlier. “Has it been that long, schat?” 

The pet name makes his cock twitch; a month away, hard work on his album and music videos, content and marketing, coming back home to his favourite girl gazing at him starry-eyed with a hand around his dick and ready to take him inside. If you peered into his mind, this is what he’d be thinking. No thoughts match your worried thinking about how you may or may not have let him down—you didn’t. That would be impossible, at least to him. 

“Much too long.” 

You rest your head on a throw pillow that Joost has laid for you, and he lines himself up with your entrance. Fingertips on his stomach, you stop him for a few seconds from coming forward, and you wrap your hand around his shaft, swiping it through your slit a few times, collecting your wetness and his pre-cum on the head of his cock.

Loudly, he swears in Dutch, and the latter half sounds more like a strangled whisper than any real word. “You…fuck, my god…you are evil,” he laughs, even though he’s now rubbing the head of it against your clit, making you mewl. 

“You ready for me?” he asks, and you nod, licking your lips, trying to control your breathing. Your initial apprehension is long gone, though it could creep back every second—who cares? You’re finally together again. “You’re so wet,” Joost breathes as he eases the head of his cock into you. The stretch is something to get used to after so long away, but he gives time for you to adjust—seems like he might need it more than you do, how he sucks a breath in through gritted teeth, the snail’s pace he's going at. “I might cum right now.” 

“You promise?” you tease, watching the slow slide of his cock inside of you, watching just like he is. 

“I might have to promise with how this is going.” 

“You can do it,” you giggle and then moan because he's managed to fit half of his length into you. “I believe in you.” 

“Yay,” Joost smiles as he bottoms out in you, then gives you a kiss. “We did it!”

He holds his hand up for a high-five and you laugh—”I’m not high-fiving you while you're inside me.” 

“When has that ever stopped you before?”  

Rolling your eyes, you give him the high-five he so desperately wants and he beams at you with a toothy grin. “Never, I guess.” 

“Never,” Joost repeats, and then straightens up. You look up at him through your eyelashes—his mullet is mussed from the tangles of your fingers through his hair, his chest moving steadily up and down with the exertion of this all.  He moves your legs so your left ankle rests on his shoulder, the right wrapped around his hips. 

His hand creeps up your shirt, and you do the rest, exposing your tits to him. Joost is normally so clumsy, so heavy-handed—what a contrast that he can be so calm dragging his fingertips around your nipple, making it pebble in the cold.

He cups your cheek after you moan, then runs his tattooed knuckles down it, slips his thumb between your lips and hooks it on your teeth momentarily—you chase  it, but he continues down your chest and to your belly until his thumb is finally back on your clit and circling it slowly. 

The drag of his cock out of you is wonderful, so wonderful it makes you shudder when he does it, combined with his terribly slow treatment of your clit.

“My baby, did you miss me?” Joost says softly, kissing at your calf, your ankle as he sinks back into you. The sensation robs you of a response, a sigh tumbling out of your mouth before you can stop it, but he takes it as a response enough.  The smile on his face—the beauty mark under his lip, those deep dimples so prominent—you could never tire of it. “I missed you more, schatje.”

It feels so good, it feels like heaven being with him again. He comes back from such a busy time in his life, where you’ve done little, and all he has is praise and warmth and affection for you—fingers you within an inch of your life and doesn’t even ask for anything in return, just takes care of you in the way you need most. 

You know that he benefits from this just as much as you do—this isn’t so one-sided. But your brain is so frazzled from this last month, the nerve endings fried and in want of a fuck up to cling to like they have been whenever you’ve made a mistake at work, in class, in your relationship. 

Joost interrupts your thoughts: “I was so happy to see you on the steps, I could’ve sprinted to you if I wasn’t wearing those damn shoes.”

All of the times that you forgot to reply to Joost, getting a text saying your name and a sad face right after; the times where you were too distracted to give him your full attention and could only hum your acknowledgement to him, having to be reminded about what he said later; that one time just a few days ago you fell asleep on call with him in the middle of him excitedly speaking about a breakthrough with a bridge on the most important song of the album. 

The pleasure you felt earlier is now overshadowed by your racing thoughts. 

“I wrote a song about you, you know?” Joost says, his voice so gentle. I was only going to let you know when the album came out, but I can’t keep a secret.” Rocking against you, his pelvis rubs against your clit and it makes you cling to his shoulders. “The voice memo I sent you earlier—it was my first draft, just me. Did you like it?” 

“You…you wrote a song about me?” 

Only now do you remember the voice memo Joost sent you in the morning when you were still cleaning, the one that you saw and made a fleeting mental note to reply to later on, which you promptly forgot as you vacuumed, dusted, folded. 

Such misplaced priorities, and now you're paying the sad price.

“Joost,” you say, eyebrows screwing up, that all too familiar pulling feeling behind your nose and eyes—you realize quickly that all of the emotions bottled up inside of you from the past month have come out with vengeance at the new knowledge of Joost’s song about you. The knowledge wouldn’t have been new if you just paid more attention. 

You try to hold it back, pushing down the feelings again, but it just won’t work. All of it spilling over at the worst possible time, tears streaming down your face before you even know it. You fail to wipe the wetness from your cheeks—Joost stops his movements, asks in a panicked and concerned voice, “Oh my—are you crying, schat?”

Attempting to pull it together once more, you cover your face with your hands and shake your head silently, but your already sniffly nose sells you out. Your shoulders shake with your crying. Too far gone now. 

“I wanted—“ you sniffle, and he hands you a tissue from the side table for you to blow your nose into as he stumbles out and off of you. “I wanted to be with you tonight, but I just—so much—I never—I never listened to your memo, I couldn’t, I had to finish so much before you got here and I couldn’t and I feel so bad, like, you wrote a song about me and I didn’t even have the time to listen—” 

“Shh, shh, shh, shh,” Joost coos, brushing your hair out of your eyes as you sob. “Baby, please.” His expression is so concerned, eyebrows furrowed as he pats your back. “Wait, shit,” he says, getting up from the couch and looking down at his still bare bottom half. “Let me put everything back on, I’m sorry schatje, give me—“ In a hurry, he puts his underwear and shorts back on, tripping over himself and almost falling over. “I just can’t do this naked, I’m sorry.” 

That brings a laugh out of you and a laugh out of him, and you start explaining as he sits back down next to you, rubbing your arm. “I don’t—I don’t deserve you.” You shake your head, wiping your eyes with the backs of your hands. “I should’ve listened to what you sent me, I should’ve been there more.” 

“Bro,” he deadpans, beckoning you to come and sit on his lap. 

You do, still trying to get the tears out of your eyes as you settle into his arms. “Shut up, don’t call me bro while I’m crying,” you laugh, voice weak but lighthearted.

“Bro. I will do it again.” Joost gives you a second to let it out more, to breathe as he smooths his hands back and forth on your back. “You did everything perfectly, lieverd. Perfectly. We were both so busy, and you still made time to call me and text me. I would have been lost without you, I know for certain.” 

You shake your head. “I forgot to reply and pick up your texts so many times, Joost, I felt like such a bad person for doing so.” 

“You did? I didn’t notice. All I cared about was that you replied.  You’re not a bad person at all,” Joost says, and the sweetness of his words just make you want to cry more. “I appreciate more from you the effort that you put into everything, into what we have. Not what you couldn’t or didn’t do.” 

“You’re so nice,” you whisper, sniffling. You can’t think of a better compliment with how overwhelmed you are, so you kiss him, instead, and he kisses back. Even with this, you can tell how gentle Joost is holding your cracked pieces back together. 

“I’m nice?” he asks, smiling. “Best compliment I’ve ever gotten.” For a little, you both sit there in the silence together. “How about this—tomorrow, we can have a day to ourselves. You can lounge and study by the pool, and I’ll be your little butler or whoever and we can just relax for a bit, hm? Order food, drink, smoke, whatever.” Pausing, he grins. “We can even listen to the whole album, if you want.”

“You finished it?” you ask, sitting up more and incredulous. That’s complete news to you.

“This morning, right before I flew back here,” Joost says, nodding proudly. “I also texted you, but duty calls, no?” 

“You texted me?” He texted you? And you missed it?!?!? Again, the new information makes you cry, and he holds you tight as you do. “You should be mad that I didn’t see it,” you say in between dry heaves into his shoulder. “I’m so proud of you.” 

“I could never be mad at you, lieverd, and I’m sorry I made you cry again,” he says, rubbing your back, petting your hair. “I just wanted to let you know when I did it—it was just a timestamp, that doesn’t mean you needed to know right that second.” 

“But I wanted to know.” 

“You know now, and I know how proud you are of me. That’s enough, that’s even more than what I wanted.” You trust him and his words so fully, every passing second with him is another way to help you feel better. “I love you,” Joost says your name so seriously, a punctuation to his love letter. “I mean it.” 

“I love you too.” You kiss him, deeply, moments passing that you use to thank everything you can that he’s so good with your worries, your anxieties. “I’ll take you up on that offer for tomorrow, Joost,” you say, finally calmed down enough. Your eyes are incredibly bleary—you didn’t know that was possible. But at least you aren’t actively crying anymore. “Thank you for everything.” 

“Thank you for giving me something more to look forward to, schat. Now—let’s go run a bath together and listen to my song for you.” 

[xeeljii]

SHE'S MY COLLAR

I clear my system, I don't need no other  This is my persona, secret lover, she’s my collar 

WARNING! Explicit RPF! 

EDIT! Prequel available, you can read that first if you want.

Summary: You don’t want a relationship and he does, he should know better to keep falling in your trap but the feel of your soft legs wrapping around his hips is too tempting to quit so like a fool he keeps coming back to you.

Word count:  5.4k

CW: 18+, f! reader, friends with benefits, mentions of past sex, mutual pining, set in Berlin but reader is not specified to be German or anything, no specific body descriptions. 

You had met Joost some months ago, before the incident and before he blew up too. There was an instant connection. Not just psychical but he was easy to talk to, so funny and kind, really unlike anyone you had ever met. He was incredibly charismatic and the people around him seemed to adore him, you honestly had a crush as soon as you started talking but you had an amazing poker face too so you did well to hide it. The night you first had run into each other you were at a private event at some club in Berlin that a well connected friend had invited you to. He caught your eye and apparently so did you. The rest of the night was a whirlwind, you drank heavily, danced wildly and laughed together until your jaw started hurting, all to end up back at the place where he was staying.

You hadn’t even slept together that first time, well you had in the sense that he had let you sleep on his bed, wearing his clothes. However, in the morning when you woke up  he had fucked you within an inch of your life, still heavy with sleep but so deliciously slow savoring every thrust. He was a generous lover, always preoccupied with your pleasure first and he was a fast learner, sweet and eager to please. You liked fixating on the many beauty marks and tattoos that littered his body, enjoyed sharing a shower together and falling asleep on the couch after a make out session. It was never awkward, it just felt so good from the get go. The lines were not entirely clear, you would have casual sex together but also go out for lunch, and hang out like normal friends. You had bought him his own toothbrush for your place at some point, he didn’t say anything as not to fluster you but he appreciated it. He didn’t leave right after he finished, always made sure you came first too, he liked cuddling and he would help you clean up softly between your legs when your limbs were still too heavy for a bath. He was usually in town only for a day or the weekend at most but he made an effort to see you every time. He would bring food to have dinner before trying to get you in bed, he also brought you other trinkets form his travels and always texted and called you when he was away so you wouldn’t forget him in the meantime, as if that was even possible. It was nice but it made your heart hurt a bit, scared and expectant for when the fantasy would stop and your idilic “friendship” would end.  

You felt a little out of place in his life, he would always invite you to his shows and there you would see how you were not the only one enamored by him. It was fine really, you weren’t together, there was no expectations and furthermore you had no right to even feel jealous when it was you who coyly stopped his advances every time he tried moving the goalpost from casual to serious. He couldn’t complain, he felt so at ease when he was with you, you were smart, funny and beautiful, he really felt you came straight out of one of his dreams. But you seemed so far away at the same time, perhaps exactly like an illusion you wouldn’t let him get any closer. He knew you had a life of your own, friends and a job you loved but he also wished you would actually take him up on the multiple offers to fly you out with him, yet you never did.  Through the months you had known each other he had found himself in your bed countless times, he liked it more than taking you back to whatever place he was staying at. It felt like home in a way that made him greedy. Your place was nice and tidy, a little on the old side but it just made it more charming in his eyes. He wanted to bring you back to his home, to show you around the places he liked and where he grew up, to have you on his bed waking up every morning, yet for whatever reason you wouldn’t let him. Still, like an idiot knowing he was playing for the losing team he kept coming back to you every time.

One of the many nights you had gone out drinking together you ended up, as usual, getting separated from the group and wandering the streets alone, just the two of you, hand in hand. There was never an uncomfortable silence with you, his thumbs traced shapes on the side of your hand while you pulled him seemingly aimlessly under the street lamps. “Look!” You said happily pulling at his hand to follow, there was what seemed like a little run down playground and some old looking photo booths, you pulled him inside one. You both squeezed into the small bench, you were almost sitting on his lap. “You have to put the bill here” You pointed at a metallic slip. “I don’t have cash on me” He replied. “Oh! you owe me big time then” You said smiling poking out your tongue at him, you pulled some bills from your pockets and the machine started making strange noises before a bright light blinded both of you. You immediately erupted into shared laughter “Okay, quick pose!” The machine kept snatching pictures one after the other and you kept feeding it money amused. At some point he became too distracted by the faces you were making and didn’t even bother looking towards the camera, he thinks that is probably when he truly fell for you. You had noticed his stare and looked down at him. “You are wasting my photo money if you don’t pose!” You whined, he couldn’t bring himself to speak a single syllable, he just pulled you further into his lap and kissed you deeply. It felt like the world had started and stopped right there inside that photo booth. After an eternity in your lips he softly spoke up again.

“Can I walk you home?” He said a breath away from your lips.

You nodded, face red and pupils dilated “Yeah” Your voice was so pretty when you were breathless, he couldn’t wait to have you moaning under him or over him, however you wanted, he was just a fool at your mercy.

Before you left he had picked up the photos you almost forgot and shoved them in his back pocket, back home in the Netherlands he had carefully placed them on the drawer of his nightstand and kept coming back to them on days when he was feeling particularly homesick for your arms. 

Now he was in Berlin again, for a show, you knew because he had texted you days before asking you to come. You had told him you couldn’t, that there was some important work meeting you had to prepare for. Truth was, it wasn’t that important, but you were trying to put some distance between the two of you. Every time you had sex it became more tender more gentle, addicting in a way you knew you couldn’t allow yourself, it felt like making love. You felt bad about not getting to see him, guilty about the disappointed little face he made in a selfie he sent you as a reply, but you felt it was for the better. Like this, soon he would get tired and move on so he could become a fun memory that hopefully wouldn’t hurt you too much when you thought about him years down the line.

But you weigh heavy on his mind and on his heart and when the show is over and the alcohol is all gone he feels an impulse that gets him to his feet. He wants to see you. He knows you are busy but also distantly feels like you are avoiding him, like you caught on the fact that he is falling, or more like already fell, for you. But so what if he likes you? What if he is in love for real? What you don’t know cant hurt you and if he gets hurt in the process then that is fine, it doesn’t bother him, maybe only bothers a little bit. He knows the way to your apartment by heart, could probably get there blindfolded, has been there so many times he feels it is a second home, wants it to be a second home. He is drunk and deeply melancholic, he is feeling down on his luck but maybe a beautiful woman can save him, but only if it is you. The venue he is at is luckily close enough to your pace, he makes his way on foot, somewhere along the night it had started raining, fitting for his mood. He is only wearing a light hoodie, that quickly gets soaked, he honestly can’t even feel cold he is just moving on instinct trying to reach you. Soon enough he gets to the entrance of your building and pulls his phone out, texts you before his brain can stop him. 

You are rolling around in bed not able to fall asleep at all, not worried about the stupid meeting but knowing that Joost is in town and your idiot past self denied him makes you feel terrible. You should just enjoy the moment as much you can, take everything he is willing to give you and when you get thrown away there will be more fun memories. You don’t really know why you are tying to be the responsible one in this situation, you should just bet everything on your losing horse and let future you worry about how to deal with the unpleasant consequences. Right as you unsuccessfully try to close your eyes again and let the soft rain outside lull you to sleep, you hear the little ping of your phone on the nightstand. You already know who it is without having to check in the way your stomach does a summersault. But still, you pick up the phone and read “I’m outside, can I come in?”. Idiot, it is raining, he probably doesn’t even have an umbrella. You have to let him in or he will catch a cold, it is a kindness really, you have no hidden motives, you are just being nice, your hands are tied. You try to convince yourself as you immediately stand from the bed and walk quickly towards the door. 

You ring him in and wait right by the door with your heart threatening to pound out of your chest. He all but races pathetically upstairs, two steps at the time, like he can’t be fast enough to reach you. You wait on held breath and you hear his heavy footsteps right outside but wait until he knocks, then you make a show of waiting a few seconds, pretending like you are just getting up and open the door slowly rubbing your eyes as if you had really been asleep.  You move aside to make way for him.

“Come in” you mumble after a small yawn leaves your mouth, he walks in and takes his shoes off, then you notice that he is dripping wet. “Joost did you walk here?” You drop the sleepy act immediately.

“It wasn’t that far” he mumbles looking away, there is a small blush blooming on the high of his cheeks.

You stand in front of him taking his hoodie off “Go get in the shower, you are gonna catch a cold”.

He does as he is told there is a strange cozy feeling in this interaction that goes straight to his heart.

In the shower he keeps trying to come up with what to say to convince you to date him seriously. For a songwriter he feels he is not very good at this words things right now or maybe he is too drunk or maybe he cares too much about what you will think of him. He gets under the warm water, reaches for your soap, not the expensive one because you will get mad that he used it, but the one you use for everyday, his favorite one. He likes this, smelling like you, it makes him feel like he is a little bit a part of you, makes him wish you would become a little bit a part of him too. After a few minutes you open the door of the bathroom to drop a warm towel for him and take his clothes to dry. You say nothing, it feels too domestic, like it is a built up habit the two of you have. He wants to keep you all to himself. He never asks if you are seeing someone else and you do the same, it is common curtesy but he feels the question itching at the back of his throat every time he sees you start dressing right after you are done. He could take care of you, he makes good money, make it so you could be at every one of his shows. The rational part of his brain thinks he is being cruel. You love your job and your career, it would be like keeping a bird on a cage he can’t bear the though while at the same time he just keeps having this vivid fantasy of coming home to you every day, of waking up by your side, seeing your tooth brush next to his, have your hair clog the drain of his shower, actually buy groceries to have at home and not just the pre-made meals and beer he is used to. He wants to treat you right and be good for you and yet you are standing firmly on your side denying him even the chance. It hurts him, he feels a little inadequate for as much as he is sure of himself he still wants to ask what is stopping you from taking a chance on him. 

Outside you try to fix the bed a little bit after putting his clothes on the dryer. You feel electricity right under your skin, to have him naked in your bathroom, the man that just few hours ago had so many people screaming his name. It feels like a beautiful secret in your tongue, only for you. The reality is you like him as much as he does you, you really do, you are eager to see him every chance you can and your chest start beating so hard when you get a text from him. Since you met there has been rarely a week you go without talking and it feels nice, you want to keep it going. But he is a budding star, when you met him you could see it, that he was made of something otherworldly it was just waiting below the surface for the whole world to see and now they finally did. You are so incredibly proud of him, but it is exactly because of it that you can’t have him. He is young, can have so much fun with as many people as he wants, you don’t understand why he would want to tie himself down to you, knowing you can’t even follow him around like he wishes. He should be free, you would feel like you are cutting his wings too early and you can’t bear the thought of him deciding half way through that you are boring, that having a girlfriend is boring and the world is his oyster and he should just enjoy himself as much as he wants without you stopping him. He is not that type, not at all and you know it, but it still won’t let you take the step even when he has his hand out expectantly waiting on you. 

You hear the water from the shower stop, you are probably not getting lucky tonight and that is okay, you just like having him near you, with the weather now he works as a personal heather. You haven’t really just slept together without sex as an excuse, not since the first time at least, and it makes you a little nervous. You think briefly about changing into nicer pajamas but he already saw the ones you are wearing so no point, you feel a rush of nervousness raise on your body. Before you get more anxious, he comes out of the bathroom, hair leaving little droplets of water on your floor as he walks. White towel hanging low from his hips, you appreciate the softness of his belly, the happy trail that disappears under the towel, the way the hair there is darker than anywhere else in his body and even more noticeable when wet. You can’t help but scan all over his body, ogle at his chest, his soft pecs and the thin hair on them that looks white usually and now a dark golden yellow, his wide shoulders littered with freckles because he can’t be bothered to ever use sunscreen, he is so beautiful it hurts. Without the excuse of sex you feel shy looking and maybe like a little bit of a creep, you try to avert your gaze. If he notices the staring he says nothing about it and slowly walks towards you. You are holding a towel in your hands “Let me help you” You say raising your hands above his head, he stands right in front of you making you look up, you start gently moving your hands to dry his hair a little, he places his big hands on your hips and pulls you closer, wants to kiss you so bad but stops himself, he doesn’t want to get kicked out in the middle of the night when your unmade bed looks so delicious and inviting. You feel your cheeks heat up under his gaze, his thumbs drawing circles in the exposed skin under your sleeping camisole, you want to make this last forever. “Done” You say almost in a whisper, you throw the towel on chair nearby. Almost on instinct you raise to your tip toes and kiss softly at his cheek, too late you realize what you just did, infinitely more intimate than what you should, you just look away quickly and clear your throat.

“Lets get some sleep yeah?” You say turning around to hide your blushing face, you climb on the bed and raise the comforter, patting at the empty space beside you motioning for him to move.

You make it so incredibly hard not to like you and he is such a weak man. He takes a few steps before reaching the edge of the bed, takes the towel off and throws it to the chair before climbing up behind you. 

Your breath gets caught in your throat, of course he would sleep naked he has no other clothes here but it also makes you fight a great urge to stare at his pretty dick hanging heavy between his legs. You turn over on bed and have your back face him, you cannot deal with any more of this tonight so you will just have to avoid it and try to figure out the best diplomatic solution on the morning. As you start to settle down you feel him move behind you, for a moment he stops and then you feel his strong arms wrap around your torso and pull you to his chest. Your heart is beating wildly, he has to be able to feel it trough the thin fabric of your pajamas that is doing very little to separate you from the heat of his body, you can’t be expected to sleep like this. He thinks even if you were surgically sewn together it would not be close enough, you feel so soft under his touch so tender he wants to, no, needs to fall asleep just like this for the rest of his life. 

You close your eyes really hard trying to ignore everything around, you still actually need to sleep. There is a long moment of silence that feels like an eternity, then you feel him take a deep breath. You fear you know what is coming and you fear you are not strong enough right now to stop it.

“Why don’t you wanna date me?” He asks, the words come down on you heavy like rocks, you can feel a strain in his voice, you hate to be the reason why his usual cheerful tone is fully gone.

“Do we really have to have this conversation again?” You say your eyebrows knitting in worry.

“Yeah actually I want an answer.” He swiftly turns you around like you are weightless, he looks directly at you, deep blue eyes expectantly, you feel yourself shiver under his gaze, the tension is rapidly building up, you want to put distance between you but he has your legs trapped, tangled between his.

“Joost you know-” He cuts you off before you can give him the usual excuses.

“I’m serious about you, about us, would it be so terrible to date me?” He has a kicked puppy kind of face, you accidentally laugh at his dramatics, he adores that sound so much never tires of it. You snake your arms around his shoulders to pull him closer into a short kiss trying to distract him, he deepens the kiss eager explore you mouth, all but melts under your touch and you far too soon pull away before he can do more.

“You are hard” You mumble against his lips in between giggles.

He rolls his eyes at you, he is trying to be serious here “Ignore it, I am in the room of the woman I like where everything smells like her, give me a break.”

If there was any light in the room you would be able to see how deeply red his face is now.

“What are you a dog?” You say shaking your head entertained by his reactions.

You try to pull away but he grabs your hand again and rests it square against his heart like this way he will make you understand. “I really like you” He is not letting it go this time, you shake your head lightly again and pull your hand away, you cannot face this proximity, you untangle yourself from his embrace and raise into a sitting position, he does the same. 

“Joost you are great, really I don’t think I’ve ever met someone like you and I don’t think I ever will again.” There is a horrible pause, he knows what is coming next, the awful fear of rejection becoming reality far too quick. You continue “But you are traveling all over the world and that is so cool, I just can't be part of that.” He doesn’t understand why you look so sad when he is the one being let down here.

“We could make it work you know, phones exists and I come here all the time, it is only like an hour by plane” He is pleading at this point, feels so pathetic doing so but can’t stop himself. You make an effort to meet his gaze, he is being so sincere it feels bad not to.

“You could have someone new every night, at every city. You are young, you can enjoy yourself, you don’t have to tie yourself down to me, it would be such a waste-”

“Not to me, not when it is you” He is indignant at your proposal, he hates the idea that you could be so easily replaced, he feels like an idiot, like none of his efforts to make you understand how precious you are to him have reached you.

“I don’t want that” He is so exasperated now, it is like you are not listening to any of the words he is saying or not believing them which is even worse. “I don’t want any of that I don’t like it, I know I could but I don’t want it. I like you, I want you”. He pauses for a second to give himself strength to get it all out "It is my business and you can reject me if you want but you don’t get to tell me what I should do” He feels offended that you seem to not understand at all.

You had never seen him this angry. He goes speechless wracking his brain trying to come up with something else to say to convince you, maybe drinking before coming here was bad, he should do this sober, maybe bring some flowers and wear the blazer you like, maybe then you would not throw him out like an old toy. He is looking at you waiting for anything, his eyes are glossy, his lips almost tremble into a pout, his hands are clenched into nervous fists at his sides, he is pleading and you can’t help but reach out for him too. Fuck it, if you are gonna ever get hurt you want it to be him, if you get heart broken you want it to be him, whatever happens good or bad, you want it to be him, he is worth everything.

You close the distance between the two of you again, move to sit on his lap just to have him as close as possible, he has become a rock in your bed, feels like if he breathes he will break the spell and you will disappear right in front of his eyes. You grab at his hand, unclenching his fist with you fringes, softly stretching his palm and placing it right above your fast beating heart before speaking again.

“I really like you too Joost” His eyes shine impossibly bright, he looks at you stupefied, he can’t quiet belive what he is finally hearing, he feels your heart beating fast right under his palm, hard proof that you are just as gone for him as he is for you, his brain is trying to catch up to what is happening, but you help him.

You caress his cheek with your other hand and bring him into a sweet kiss. Your lips move together slowly like you are kissing again for the first time, his tongue pushes softly into your mouth, he wants to taste you, he traces the back of your teeth, you suck softly on his plump bottom lip, you smile into the kiss and pull away gently but continue to pepper soft kisses on his lips, on his  jaw, on his cheeks. You wonder if he was always this handsome or has your love made him even more beautiful now. He pulls you closer hugs you thigh, happy just to be in your embrace again and feel like he truly belongs there. He chases after your lips kisses you like he is drowning and you are the only source of air, he feels the softness of your mouth it takes him back to the first night he met you, he wants to stay here forever, live on this moment until the end of time, only you and him in a soft unmade bed kissing for eternity. 

Finally with lips kissed raw you pull away leaving one last small peck on the little beauty mark underneath his bottom lip. He holds you close, traces soft circles with his palms on your back under the camisole savoring every inch of exposed skin he can touch. You let him relax under you for a bit before you speak again, with a new world of prospects opening in front of you you want to share some more ideas with him now that all the cards are on the table.

“You know…my company is thinking of opening a new branch in Nethera-”

“Yes” he cuts you off immediately, you laugh at his eagerness.

“I didn’t finish talking” You push the hair away from his pretty face so you can see him better.

“You can stay with me yeah? I have a guest room you can stay there if you feel more comfortable, I am not trying to imply we have to sleep together but I mean we could if you wanted to” He is running his mouth all nervous and impatient like he is just a few steps away from winning the race of his life, you don’t reply, all too amused at his monologue, but it makes him fear he might have overstepped and scared you too fast with commitments. “I mean, until you get settled and you find an apartment, I could help you with that…” He trails off and looks away shyly, then looks up again holding your gaze. “But you could stay there too if you wanted, it could be your home too.”

He looks up at you from under white eyelashes, eyes full of hope. The possibilities seem endless, at this moment you feel like you can touch the sky with your hands and that if you couldn’t reach he would pull it down for you. You nod speechless, bite your lip and kiss him again, because you can, because he is yours. 

You keep playing with his hair as rest his head on your chest, feels your heart beat under his ear, he wants to memorize it, now knows he has all the time in the world to do so. You move slightly on his lap.

“But we really do have to sleep now” You say, your voice sounds suddenly so groggy, every worry you have had the past months, that would keep you up at night, seems to have melted away in an instant and your body is feeling so tired and heavy.

He nods against you and moves you softly into laying down position again. He wants to start getting used to taking care of you, he thinks it will come easy, already feels so satisfied with so little, he lets you settle on the bed then moves behind you again snaking his arms around your torso pushing his palms under your shirt to feel the soft expanses of your belly as you breath in and out, you let him, between his strong arms it feels like home. 

You feel your eyes close heavy, the sound of his calm breathing behind you lulling you to sleep, the steady beat of his heart perfectly in synch with yours, but you can’t fully let slumber take you since somewhere in the kissing his dick woke up again and is now pressing against your back.

You laugh to yourself before speaking. “Joost you know I can feel your dick, right?”.

He hums in acknowledgment but makes no further move, he just keeps holding you on his embrace, his chest against your back soft and deliciously warm. “Ignore it” He says in a sleepy mumble that transforms into a yawn right above your head. “My girlfriend has work in the morning, you have to let her sleep.” He loves how that sounds coming from his mouth, gets excited thinking about using that word again.

If you turned around at that moment you would see the beautiful smile that paints his features, he looks like he just won the lottery. He can’t wait for tomorrow, to wake up and have breakfast in your table, gets excited over the prospect of all the mundane with you. He falls asleep quickly with the warmth of your body nestled between his arms, in his  dreams he sees even further ahead, dreams of taking you with him everywhere you will let, of changing your contact name to “Liefde” and of continuing to call you his girlfriend forever and ever until one day if he is lucky, he can upgrade it to wife. 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

PREQUEL: STEP ON ME ₊˚⊹♡ MASTERLIST *ੈ✩‧₊˚

[icallhimjoey]

Almost, Always

♥ ♥          Joseph Quinn x Fem!Reader 

Summary: Happy endings aren't for everyone, so it seems, but that doesn't mean that you can't stop trying for one. Question is, are you actually star-crossed lovers that can figure something out, or just absolutely blind to reality and really fucking stupid?

CW / disclaimer: rpf, fem!reader, language, adult themes, cheating

Author’s note: so, i got a request from the lovely @lfdybadgirlsdiw that i wasnt able to let go and now, here we are, the beginning of a new five-parter! enjoy! lmk what you think, thanks! <3

Wordcount: 5.7K

part one - part two - part three - part four - part five

The first little crack.

“No, that is your side. And this should be mine.” Joe argued, arms flailing, gesturing at both sides of the bed as he stood at the foot of it.

The first little crack of many.

“Joe. I have always slept on this side,” you said, already in bed, tucked up and all cosy, barely able to keep your eyes open still.

If you hadn’t been aware of how much Joe had been pushing to get his way lately, this could have come across as playful banter.

“Listen. If we’re going to establish actual sides, you should be furthest away from the door.”

But given how Joe had been making you feel after compromising, after giving in and meeting you halfway, no one would think this was funny.

“Why?” you closed your eyes and nuzzled into your pillow, not even slightly bothered by Joe’s pleading who desperately wished you’d roll over to what, up until now, had been his side of the bed.

“For… just, because.”

“Hmmno.”

“For danger. What if a burglar gets in?”

You sighed. Deeply. Sank into your pillow more. It was the kind of breath released just before you were about to doze off, and it was meant to signal that you weren’t going to engage in this discussion any longer.

“Can we talk about this tomorrow?”

Joe could go and lay on his side of your bed, or he could go and sleep on the sofa, and that was that.

“Babe.” Joe tried to give you a little push, but the way you’d wrapped yourself up proved you needed more than just a slight shove to end up where he wanted you.

“Hmm.”

You were bone-tired, already all sunken into the mattress, ready to go visit another planet for a good few hours.

“Babe.”

You opened a bleary eye to see Joe still look just as awake and ready to win this argument as he was when you’d closed your eyes.

“This flat won’t get burgled.”

“You don’t know that. Might have someone kick in the door tonight, and, then what? Hmm?”

Something cute about this need to protect you, and you knew that’s what he could dress this up as, but the timing of it was so God-awful, you couldn’t see past the fact that you wanted to fall asleep on your own side of the bed already.

“Think of it this way,” you started, holding a stretched hand out that Joe easily took, knees pressing into the mattress as he towered over you for a minute. “In case of a fire, I’ll be the first one out.”

And just like that, Joe let himself fall into the empty spot next to you, seemingly giving up and giving in.

Good.

“A fire is much more likely than a burglar.” You concluded, word slurred and eyes closing again as Joe got his legs underneath the covers.

“That’s not as good but…” Joe thought for a second, then said, “If a fire breaks out here, it’ll be from that old hair thing of yours. That thing you use that smells like it’s melting.”

“See?” you mumbled, disagreeing, but happy to let sleep take you.

“Or because you leave an empty pot on a burner again.”

“Mhm.” Little less happy. You only did that once and it wasn’t even your fault.

“Or because–” 

“Joe.”

A short moment of silence followed.

“Fine,” he whispered, adding, “for now.” on the back-end of a deep breath. 

When you woke up the next morning, you were on Joe’s side of the bed.

“Morning.” Joe smiled, just beyond pleased that he’d gotten his way by moving your unconscious body across the bed in the night.

You gave him the blankest stare you’d ever given someone, which was easy because you’d only just opened your eyes, sleep still causing enough confusion to fully comprehend why Joe seemed to be awaiting a response.

You tutted and rolled your eyes when his expectant smile only grew.

He had rolled your defenseless body over in the night. What the fuck, actually. And this idiot thought he was being all cute. Was reaching over to take your hand into both of his, to pull it to his mouth where he gave it a small kiss.

“You’re such a child.” You pulled your hand from his grasp and turned away from him as you sat up.

“What?” Joe feigned indignancy, his smile too big to sell it to you properly.

“An actual child. This isn’t funny.”

“Oh come on. It’s a little funny.”

You got up and out.

“Babe.”

You ignored him. Walked right past him.

“Baby.”

The first little crack.

“Oh, come on!”

The first little crack of many.

Friday. End of a long day a long week of whirlwind work days and awful nights of sleep. It’s the wrong time of day for this.

“A flat white for…”

Autumn. Rainy, cold weather that your wardrobe’s not caught up to yet. It’s the wrong time of the year for this.

“Joe?”

You can give yourself a stern talking-to later about how most of the day had completely passed you by in a blur, but you hear the words flat white and Joe and are immediately more in tune with the world.

You look up from your phone in the queue to see Joe step forward and take his drink.

“Thanks.”

It takes a slow second for you to realise it’s really him. A slow blinking moment of just looking at him, a tired mind slowly speeding up to real world tempo, before your brain goes, it’s him.

Oh.

Oh no.

You’re too tired for this.

Wrong place, wrong time, entirely wrong headspace.

The second he turns, you make eye contact for the briefest second which prompts him to do a comically exaggerated double take that immediately makes running into each other less awkward. You smile despite your mood.

God, you’d almost forgotten what he’s like.

It’s been a couple of months now, just over half a year, and the hurt has dulled enough that trying to be normal, and civil, and courteous, and polite, and kind shouldn’t be the most difficult thing ever.

That’s your ex-boyfriend.

You hope your face didn’t show how that first millisecond of seeing him struck you, but you saw him before he saw you, so you are probably fine.

That’s your too-kind-to-pretend-to-not-have-seen-you ex-boyfriend. Your somehow-still-really-happy-to-run-into-you ex-boyfriend.

And now you’ve gone and smiled at him, even though pulling up the corners of your mouth feels like exercising at the minute, you need a nap so bad.

You shouldn’t have left work early.

Shouldn’t have decided to go for a large coffee on your way home.

Shouldn’t have looked up.

Shouldn’t have even wanted to check if the flat white was for your Joe.

Correction.

No longer your Joe.

Just Joe.

It’s fine, it’s fine. There’s a whole new person in your life. It’s fine. But it would’ve been lovely if the universe could’ve waited until after you’d drank this large black coffee you are about to order, but of course that’s never how things work.

Stars are against you when it comes to Joe, apparently.

Joe could’ve left it at that. You’d had a moment of oh my god it’s you, what are the odds across a coffee shop and he could have easily waved and left. Have that be the whole interaction. That would have been fine.

But instead, Joe decides to stay, and he communicates with looks for a moment. With facial expressions and gesturing arms.

It’s a wild look around from Joe that tells you, what a weird time and place to see you! and a funny tired shrug from you in reply that tells him, life’s weird, what can I say?

You feel a little proud that you’ve not ignored him. That you’ve not pretended you just didn’t see him only to later contemplate sending him an incredibly lame “was that you getting a flat white this afternoon?” text that you’d regret the very second those ticks would’ve changed colour.

You’re working at 40% brain activity right now, and it’s a little difficult to use your social filter to pretend to feel any other way than you’re actually feeling.

Up until now that meant that your bad mood was everyone else’s problem.

Seeing Joe now, it suddenly means that you can’t pretend that you don’t immediately notice shit like how he isn’t wearing any of his rings. And how he probably wore something that covered his hair earlier today.

Wrong things to focus on, but a tired mind is difficult to keep in its lane.

You see how Joe checks his phone with a thoughtful look before he then nods as he puts it away. He gives you a questioning look as he points down.

You got a minute?

And you do the same; check the time on the phone that’s already in your hand and think of a million excuses to turn him down, but you only have the gym later, and that’s it. When you look back up, you give him a funny nod and a half shrug and you try your best to make your eyes look like you’re properly awake.

Yea why not, go on then.

You’re an adult running into an ex and you said you’d stay friends and you had really truly meant it then, so this is fine.

He looks a little too handsome for his own good, but it’s fine.

Joe waits for you. Hangs around near the bar at the windows and half-sits on one of the stools there, one foot still on the floor, more leaning than actual sitting, with his back towards the windows.

You try not to watch him, but you can’t help but notice the way he lets his eyes scan the room for a minute. The way he looks over his shoulder as his eyes dart across the street.

It occurs to you how quickly the checking you used to do for him stopped after you broke up. After you left his world. It’s a little weird how, here, in the same coffee shop, in the exact same location, you’re in entirely different worlds from each other, and the closer to you get to the end of the counter, the more they overlap.

It’s one of the things you haven’t missed.

When you step into earshot properly, after ordering, you make eye-contact and smile at each other.  

“Hello,” Joe makes his voice go up and down, like he’s just as pleasantly surprised to see you as you do him, but you’re trying to not make it so obvious. “Fancy seeing you here.”

You smile and grab his arm for a second as a hello, rather than going in for a hug. “Hi.”

“Hi.” Joe smiles right back, and takes the touch of his arm as enough of an invite to hug you anyway.

You ignore the flicker of worry you see across his face, the slight twitch in his eyebrows, just before his face disappears from your view and all you can really focus on is how Joe smells.

All right.

Jesus.

Joe smells like that little hidden bottle of his old cologne that you still have, and it’s like being transported back into your old life a little. The life that you tried to hold onto with all ten fingernails until they all chipped and broke and bled.

When you step back, Joe smiles all warm, eyes fully fucking focused on you, like he’s glad he can just look at one thing instead of having his attention with all of his surroundings.

Not a hint of worry there now.

God.

You’ve missed him.

Miss him still.

You know that he can see how tired you are. That the slight concern that flashed across his face was only there because of how you weren’t fully opening your eyes after each blink.

“Nice shirt.” You comment, doing your best to keep the ice broken and not let it freeze back over.

Joe looks down at himself and grins wider. He’s wearing a shirt he only got because you said you liked it. Which, you still do.

“Thanks. You look good too.”

Liar.

What follows after warm smiles is warm small talk by the end of the counter until your coffee’s ready. He asks how you’re doing. What you’re up to. Remembers something specific that you had coming up at work ages ago, something that’s now long passed, and Joe wants to know how it went.

“My God. All right, Mister Memory.”

Charmer. He’s basically interviewing you.

“Oh, sorry. Is that weird? I’m being weird. Sorry.”

“A little. But… um…” you have to really think about that for a second. “Yea, all of that went fine.” you guess before your brain finds the right memory and you give him a slightly more certain, “Great, actually. Yea. It was good.”

Joe smiles. Nods. Looks like he’s really fucking pleased for you which is almost funny because you remember a time where your work hours were mostly an inconvenience to him.

“I should be asking what’s going on with you!” you chirp, and Joe just shrugs. Jokes, “Nothing much. Quiet life. Sort of boring, you remember what it’s like.”

You laugh. It’s out of you before you can stop it.

Fuck.

Joe has no business making you feel the way he is right now. You’re tired and in actual need of comfort. It’s dangerous to be around someone who knows how to give you what you want. What you need.

Your coffee gets placed onto the counter, and there’s this awkward moment where you now have your drink and maybe this is the moment where you go, Okay, was good seeing ya, bye! and dart out the door.

But instead, Joe grabs you by the arm and nods towards a table where someone’s packing up. “Come on, let’s sit.”

And just like that, you’re being lead over to go and sit down with him.

You take the biggest gulp of hot coffee before you sit down, definitely burn your tongue, and are already thinking of ways you can explain this to others. What if someone sees you? If someone gets a sneaky pic in?

You’re not doing anything illegal, obviously.

And it’s not like you went to this coffee shop on purpose.

You hadn’t meant to run into Joe.

But now you’re taking your coat off and so is he and you both have hot drinks to warm your hands and Joe pulls in his chair real close and asks you a bunch more questions about work, and your family, and he says he heard you traveled, which you did, and he’s making you laugh, and yea, you’re tired, and you keep suppressing yawns, but the coffee is helping a little, and it’s nice to sit, your limbs are thanking you for it, and Joe is acting like you meet up for coffee all the time, like this is normal, and you almost start believing it, he’s being so friendly and casual, until he suddenly leans over the table, both elbows on the faux marble surface, ducks his head down a little before he says, “Is this the time we... where we talk? About what happened?”

It catches you off guard, a little.

You don’t want to talk about what happened.

You kind of don’t even want to be talking to him at all if you really think about it. Not because you don’t like it. Despite that, actually. It’s lovely talking to Joe. That’s precisely the problem. You didn’t break up with him because you stopped liking him.

The longer you look at him, the more nice things you’re remembering about him. The more you start thinking about what could have been.

So you don’t respond for a moment, and then you give a half-hearted shrug.

“We don’t have to.” you say quietly, almost absently.

There’s not enough brain space available to you right now. This is the type of conversation to have five years down the line, after a long holiday where you’ve managed to catch up on sleep and… you know… when you look well rested. Tanned. Satisfied with life.

Not now.

You could carry all your essentials in your eyebags right now if you really tried, you think.

Joe just smiles at you. Watches you for a moment, head tilted back a little, chin jutted out.

“I mean, is there anything left to say?” You’ve pretty much said all that needs saying. Everything else is implied and doesn’t need to exist in the world, you think.

The two of you didn’t work out because it simply didn’t work out.

Joe seems to disagree.

He twirls his paper cup, his flat white, and raises his eyebrows a little. Makes you hold your breath at what he’s about to say next.

“Weird if I tell you I miss you?” his voice is all soft as he asks you, almost breathy, like he knows the effect it will likely have on you.

You let your head drop to your shoulder and grimace, eyes squeezing shut. “Oh my God,” you blurt out, and you sound like you’re in actual pain.

“Sorry, sorry. You’re right. I’m sorry.” Joe immediately back tracks, but this motherfucker is smiling. Blushing. He makes eye-contact with you as he goes for another sip of his coffee and then looks at his hand placing the cup back down as he adds, “You’re right. No need for me to tell you. So I won’t.”

He’s already said it.

You try your best at hiding a smile as you mirror Joe, going for a sip of your own. When you place yours back on the table, Joe can hear from the hollow sound of it that it’s empty.

“I, em…” you start, hand reaching for the back of your neck where you rub at your skin, a little awkward now that Joe’s said that he misses you. “I should probably go. I’m meeting…ugh, it’s– someone.” You cringe inwardly, try to do it so Joe doesn’t see it. You could’ve lied and said you’d be meeting Emily, but it’s a thought that comes to you after you’ve already been weird about it.

And Joe knows you. He sees you cringe inwardly just fine. Sees you rub at your neck the way you always do when you’re tired. Remembers all the times he used to take over and you’d fall asleep within seconds.

Joe knows that if you’re as tired as you look, there’s no thinking before you speak.

Someone.

Joe nods.

So there’s someone.

He bets this someone doesn’t know shit about how you like the back of your neck massaged, fingers in very specific spots, pressing and rubbing into very specific pressure points.

You resist the urge to rub your eyes. Rub your neck instead.

He sees that too and, in turn, tries to hide the sudden, protective wave that washes over him so you don’t see it.

He’s lucky you’re too worn out to catch his twitching hand that wants to reach out and replace yours.

“Sorry for making it weird.” Joe is still smiling, and you don’t want him to think that what he said is the reason why you’re suddenly done talking to him. You really are meeting someone. That’s not something you made up to round up this interaction.

“No, no. I’ve got–” you check the time, and you have so much of it before you have to be somewhere, but Joe doesn’t need to know that. “I’m meeting someone to go work out with.”

Joe raises both eyebrows and widens his eyes, the playful shock there clearly visible.

“At the gym.” You finish, and you scrunch up your whole face in a full grimace, because you know what he’s going to say.

“At the gym?”

“At the gym.” You confirm, finding your coat whilst your eyes remain in contact with Joe’s.

He sits back, a little baffled. A little… proud.

“She goes to the gym. Wow.”

You hate the gym.

You hate working out in general, but doing it in a gym, indoors, on machines? You really fucking despise it. Still. You’re going. Trying to put your best foot forward in this new relationship you’re trying out with this new person in your life.

Joe knows you hate the gym. He remembers the countless times he’d told you to just come with him. Come work out with him at his gym. He also remembers the countless times you’d told him to fuck off and that you’d rather die.

Something something personal development. Whatever. You’re fucking exhausted but, you’re trying, all right? Progress.

“That reminds me, actually,” you say, struggling to make your arms find the sleeves of your coat. “I still have your pumas.”

You say pumas like it’s meant to be a dig at him.

It is a dig, in your opinion. His old faded Speed Cats, these two feminine looking things. Fucking purple too.

The very second Joe learnt that you didn’t like them, still don’t, he started wearing them extra often.

Little shit.

“Oh my God,” Joe says softly as he huffs a laugh through his nose and closes his eyes for a joyous second. “My pumas.”

“I found them on one of the top shelves of the wardrobe.”

“I…” Joe narrows his eyes at you in suspicion, smile unwavering. “What were they doing there? If I remember correctly, that’s not where I left them.”

You know that’s not where Joe left them. That’s where you left them. Hid them. So he’d be forced to buy new shoes. Different shoes. Which he then did, so, it all worked out fine.

You give an innocent shrug as you get up, slow and sluggish, arms still not in the sleeves of your coat properly.

“No,” you sigh, feeling how bad your legs want you to go and sit back down. “But that’s where I found them.”

Joe laughs heartily and then, like you’re not two people who went through a painful break-up, also gets up and helps you into your coat. Holds it and guides your arms where they’re meant to go. Folds the collar so it sits how its meant to. Lets his hands linger there for a fraction of a second too long, but it’s nice.

It’s nice having Joe close.

“If you’re not doing anything right now,” you start, but stop because you’re already regretting where your mind is taking you.

You want to have Joe close so he can rub the back of your neck when you sleep.

No.

There’s someone else.

You can’t.

Shouldn’t.

“Oh, do you mind?” Joe is quick. Easily takes the step you hesitated to take.

“Well, they’re your pumas.”

You’re not sure how he does it. How he keeps this air of normalcy. Like inviting himself over to your flat to come and pick up a pair of shoes is all casual and fine.

It’s not.

And yet somehow, it is.

The familiarity that’s still there added to the amount of time that’s passed somehow makes this not feel like the wildest thing, even though you know that if you tell Emily that Joe came round to pick up his stinky old trainers, that she’d worriedly ask you if you were okay.  

The worry would be misplaced, because you’re actually totally fine.

You’re fine as Joe leads you from the coffee shop, opening his umbrella and offering an arm for you to link yours through, just so you can share the protection from the rain, no other reason.

You’re fine as Joe doesn’t need to be told where to go, obviously knows where you live and the quickest way to get to it.

You’re fine as Joe says something about the bakery near your flat that he used to go to all the time, and when he looks inside he squeezes his arms to his body in a silent moment of celebration, involuntarily squeezing you closer to him.

You’re fine as he makes you laugh when he pretends to be normal about baked goods, shrugging and clearing his throat and softly murmuring that you didn’t just witness him get excited over coffee cake that he’ll definitely get on his way home.

You’re fine as he keeps you from tripping up because you’re not really lifting your feet enough for your shoes to not get caught on the uneven pavers of the wet London streets you’re braving together.

You’re fine as you make your way into your building, where you share the small space of the lift together, and you lean against one of the side panels and can see in the reflective surface of the doors how Joe’s giving you a soft smile.

You’re fine as you let Joe into your flat, where you leave him momentarily to go get his shoes from your bedroom, and when you come back, he’s discarded his coat over one of your dining room table chairs, has already gone and turned down the thermostat, and is looking at one of your bookshelves near the TV.

“Found ‘em.” you say, holding them up before placing them on the table near his coat.

Joe throws you a look over his shoulder, smiles, but then goes straight back to scanning book spines. Like he doesn’t care about his pumas at all.

“You read this?” he picks up a book, turns around so you can see which one he means as he reads the blurb on the back.

You’re too busy staring at the visual of Joe in your messy living room, wearing the shirt you chose for him, to answer the question.

Too busy letting your eyes focus on his hands that you want in a very specific spot on the back of your neck right now, because your body remembers exactly what that feels like and you’re tired.

“Did you like it?”

Joe is in your living room and… it’s actually not fine.

Joe is wearing a shirt he only got because you liked it, and it’s not fine.

Joe is holding a book and you can see how large his hands are and it's not fine.

Joe confessed that he misses you, and you’re not fine.

Fuck trying to mold yourself into someone that goes to the gym for this new person who pales in comparison to your ex-boyfriend who kept you close and walked you home and who just took off his coat like he’s going to stay for at least a minute and who you can just be yourself around. You don’t have to pretend to care about working out, or about an untidy living room, or about your hair that’s frizzed up from the rain and... isn’t that just lovely?

Your lack of answers eventually makes Joe look up at you, and oh… you look like you’ve fallen asleep standing up, eyes slightly distant and unfocused.

“Hey, you okay?” the book Joe’s holding finds a new home on your coffee table as you blink a couple of times to bring yourself back into reality.

It doesn’t really work.

“Yea… yea, fine.” you say softly, your expression unchanged, eyes still just as glassy.

Joe doesn’t buy it.

Knows you.

Sees how you’re watching his hands. His fingers. Knows exactly what you want.

“You sure?” he steps closer, a little hesitant, because what even really is he doing here? He doesn’t want those ratty old shoes back. He thought those had been thrown out ages ago, well before the two of you got even close to considering not being together as an option.

Joe watches you stare into space for a moment, and sees you blink so slowly, you might as well just keep your eyes closed at this point.

There’s not a chance you’re going to be meeting someone at a gym.

Joe walks across the room until he’s right in front of you, and he stays there until your eyes slowly rake up his body and you’re looking each other in the eye.

He knows what he’s doing here.

You know what he’s doing here.

Joe watches you raise a slow arm up to let your own hand touch the back of your neck as you inhale deeply through your nose.

Joe smells nice.

“Can you, um…” you pause and frown, and let your deep breath escape you in a sigh, not finishing your question as you rub your fingers where you want Joe to rub his.

You don’t need to finish your question.

Joe knows you.

Knows he probably shouldn’t do what he’s about to do, but finds he wants to and so, why the fuck not, you know?

He grins, but only slightly, and uses both his hands. One to remove your own hand from your neck, the other to grab hold of it there, where he pushes his thumb right into the dip at the base of your skull and starts to rub in small circles.

It almost works like an off-button.

Joe knows it does, because it always has.

He has to grab hold of one of your arms to make sure you don’t topple over. He ignores how he feels your whole body shiver.

“You’re not going to the gym.” Joe says gently.

“Mhm,” you hum, not even sure if you’re answering a question or not.

Joe smells so nice. Familiar and comforting and just, lovely.

“I think you’re going straight to bed.”

Joe barely has to guide you. The smallest of pushes just makes you turn and walk straight back over to your bedroom where your wardrobe doors are still open from fetching Joe’s old trainers, and you vaguely think how Joe shouldn’t be in your bedroom with you, but… he is, and so what?

You try undressing with heavy limbs, jeans a little clammy and difficult to take off. You do most of it with your eyes closed and wait for Joe’s hands to come help you out. But they don’t come, and it’s a little confronting how that disappoints you.

It’s something to think about later though.

Joe came over for his shoes and is now just making sure you don’t trip and bash your head on something. That makes sense.  

But then, Joe hands you one of your own folded pyjama tops from one of the drawers and you can’t help but let a tired laugh escape you. You sit down on the edge of your bed and take it from him with dropped shoulders, head hanging to the side as you look up at him.

This is so stupid.

“Sorry,” Joe says a little sheepishly. “I just… remember where you keep things.”

“No, no,” you yawn before you add, “It’s fine.”

It’s not fine.

“I’ve missed you too.”

So stupid.

But again, it’s all something for later. Your leading with your wants right now. Not rational thought.

It’s want that reaches for Joe’s hand after you’ve put your pyjama top on.

It’s want that whispers, “Take your shoes off.”

It’s want that sits and stares at Joe with half-lidded eyes as he undresses until he’s in his underwear.

It’s want that asks if Joe can put his hand back on your neck where he had it before.

It’s want that lets you be scooped up and placed into your own bed, on the wrong side, furthest away from the door.

It’s want that doesn’t give a shit about where you are in your bed, because all you care about is that Joe’s there, and he is there when he climbs into bed right next to you and lays behind you on his side, not entirely big-spooning you, but if he just got a little closer...

Then he softly asks, “Is this okay?” and holds you by the back of the neck again which makes you whine into the pillows.

Joe is allowed any spot in the bed he fucking wants.

“There you go,” Joe says softly, and he suppresses a smile as he feels how you relax.

It’s the wrong place, the wrong time and absolutely the wrong person.

You logically know this.

You’re going to have some explaining to do tomorrow.

You know there’ll be missed calls.

There’ll be hurt feelings.

There’ll be guilt.

You know it’s all wrong, but it’s hard to let your rational mind make smarter decisions when it all feels so stupidly right.

You’re not doing anything illegal.

Joe said he misses you, and it took a little time, but you said it back. You miss him too.

Joe decides to stay awake until you fall asleep, and maybe he’ll take a short little nap himself too before he goes to get himself some coffee cake, he’s not sure yet.

He has to stop himself from shaking his head at the fact that he can tell just by the way you’re breathing if you’ve fully dozed off yet or not.

It shouldn’t take long. You’ve barely been able to focus your eyes on anything from the moment Joe saw you in the queue of that coffee shop.

Just before you drift off, Joe feels how you slowly turn around to face him. How you scoot a little closer. Then two smaller hands find his forearm, and Joe lets you wrap both arms around his bicep. Lets you hug it to yourself, which involuntarily makes his hand rest on one of your bare thighs.

Joe’s hand is warm, and his touch his gentle, and it fucking makes your eyes sting.

There’s something about being in bed with a man that makes you feel safe and protected and like you can actually sleep.

It’s not like that yet with who you’re seeing now. These are the things that take time. Hence how fucking tired you currently are.

Have been all day.

All week.

“Yea,” you suddenly whisper, and it’s so soft, Joe wouldn’t have heard it had he not been so close to you. “Miss you.”

You tighten your arms around Joe’s which makes his chest ache, and finally let sleep take you.

Joe smiles.

You said you miss him.

He knows you do.

Thinks that maybe you don’t have to.

What if there’s a way back?

He’ll find a way back. He knows he can.

“Yea,” Joe repeats, and decides taking a nap in your bed on your side is actually the best fucking idea he’s ever had.

“Miss you too.”

---

The Taglisted

@alwayslindie, @babybluebex, @capricornrisingsstuff, @chaoticgood-munson, @cowboymcflurry

@demonsanddemogorgons, @djoseph-quinn, @dolcevitalifestyle, @eddies-puppet, @emma-munson

@emotionaldreamer, @everythinghasafacee, @ferfan14, @figmentofquinn, @ghost-proofbaby

@gri959, @hanahkatexo, @hazelenys, @jewellethief, @joesquinns

@keikoraven, @kennedy-brooke, @lovelyblueness, @loves0phelia, @mandyjo8719

@mexicanfolklore, @munsonluvrr, @munson-mjstan, @munsonssweets, @nadixq

@niallersfreckles, @notverywise, @pepperstories, @phyllosilicate-s, @prettiestboyreid

@readergf, @royale1803, @skulliecadaver-blog, @sherrylyn0628, @shizlac

@solzi1420, @songforeddiemunson, @sweetberry47, @take-everything-you-can, @thebellenouvelle

@tlclick73, @werepartnersnow, @witchwolflea, @yunirgo

add yourself

[nayedoll]

Best Friends

joost klein x reader

description: you have always considered joost to be your best friend, oblivious to his feelings for you. after three years of quiet yearning, joost finally finds hope after you break up with your boyfriend, letting your true feelings for him come to light.

cw : fluff, friends to lovers, angstyyyy

word count : 2.6k

rpf ahead, do not read if uncomfortable !!!

───────────────────────

2019, at some song festival in Amsterdam; that was the first time you and Joost met.

Joost was sitting somewhere on the festival grounds, chatting with his equally drunk friends over the loud music. His eyes scanned the venue, littered with small lights as he sensed the electric atmosphere of the crowd surrounding him.

Then, his gaze settled on you approaching from afar, Alanis’ hand in yours so as to not get lost amongst all the people around you. Joost smiled as Alanis introduced you to the rest, saying that you were her friend who had just moved to the country.

Everything about you was perfect. Your hair was blowing in the gentle breeze as the colorful lights from the main stage highlighted your face, the shy smile on your lips becoming all the more apparent. You were wearing a short red dress that contrasted beautifully with the black outfits of everyone else and an oversized jacket on top that matched the material of Joost’s own jacket.

You instinctively sat down next to Joost whose friendly smile helped soothe your nerves. You couldn’t quite explain it but he radiated a sense of comfort and warmth that made you want to stick closer to him, despite having just met him. Maybe it was his dazzling smile or the entrancing blue color of his eyes or maybe it was just him in general. The way he softly spoke to you as if he had known you since forever, the awkward giggles that escaped his lips in between telling silly jokes, making you laugh along with him. You liked him.

It didn’t take long for you and Joost to become friends -best friends to be exact- as you quickly found a place in the friend group.

Joost felt so lucky, so blessed that you had stumbled into his life, slowly falling in love with you all the more with each passing day. You felt a certain way about him too, though you dismissed it as nothing. Platonic is what you called it in an attempt to mask your true feelings that you couldn’t act upon. Something else that was holding you back.

That something, Joost found out about shortly after.

You had both attended a friend’s house party, initially as a big group but got separated as the night progressed, in the various rooms of the house.

At some point, Joost was looking for you amidst all the drunk people that reeked of alcohol and cigarettes. He was planning on telling you how he felt for some time now and the handful shots of vodka he had previously taken, gave him the last bit of courage he needed.

A friend of his stopped him midway, making small talk as Joost looked around impatiently in hopes of catching a glimpse of you.

His eyes scanned the place some more before he finally found you but you weren’t looking at him. Instead you were on top of someone else with your lips hungrily pressed against his.

Joost felt heavy and the noise around him seemed to stop.

“Dude, you alright?” his friend asked, partly bringing him back to reality.

“Who is that?” Joost simply said with his eyes still glued on you as he nodded to your direction.

“Who?” his friend yelled looking back to you, “Oh him? That’s Y/n’s boyfriend,” he explained, “They’ve been together for some time, I think. He’s partly the reason she moved here,”

Joost nodded nonchalantly in contrast to the chaos that was his mind at that moment. His friend went on to talk about something else but all he could hear was the sound of the word boyfriend replaying in his head. Boyfriend? He should have expected it. To you, he was nothing more than a best friend.

He spent the next hour, alone on the balcony, smoking every cigarette in his pack, down to the last. lHe was hurt and confused, trying to understand why you hadn’t told him about your boyfriend. To be fair, you had given him a reason to think that there was something more there.

However, all of his bad feelings quickly subsided when you came out to the balcony, also alone, smiling brightly at the sight of him. You sat down next to him in excitement, relatively drunk as you rumbled about the party. Joost didn’t mention anything about what he had seen earlier. He only listened to you with a loving smile like he always did. He would wait for you.

—

Three years have passed since then.

Things slightly changed in your life as you slowly adapted to your new lifestyle in Amsterdam and realized many things. For one, you recognized how different you and your boyfriend, Adam, really were as he began showing his true self.

It was only recently that you broke up with him as your relationship had become a pile of screaming matches and his unreasonable jealous outbursts. You had tried really hard to ignore all the problems, get past them since the beginning but truly, you were growing more impatient with him by the day as his behavior became more toxic and something you couldn’t just push to the side anymore.

The final straw was when Adam asked you -practically demanded- to stop seeing Joost because according to him, men and women can’t be friends. A series of heated arguments followed at the end of which you briefly ended things with him and left his house without a second thought.

He tried to reach out multiple times but you didn’t budge, making your decision clear. In complete honesty, it wasn’t easy at first. Despite everything, you had been with him for quite some time and getting used to being alone was a struggle. But as time passed, only then did you look back on your relationship and realize just how toxic it was.

Ironically enough, Joost was there for you since the beginning. When he was with you, all the stress and loneliness you were feeling disappeared as he always came up with a way to lift your spirits.

You had been best friends for long enough but really, something felt different now. It almost felt like you were getting to know him again, truly appreciating how caring and loving he was. While you were with Adam, you could never get too close or too intimate with Joost. But lately, it seemed like all you needed, wanted was to be with him, just the two of you, enjoying each other’s company.

You had been spending the day at his place and vice versa, doing whatever, be it talking, watching movies or cooking -though you were the one doing the actual cooking while he entertained you.

Today was one of those days again. Joost had invited you over to show you some of the songs on his upcoming album and you had agreed, excited that you would see him again and also get to see his work.

Joost opened the door and entered his apartment, grocery bags still in hand. He had left you alone briefly to get some beers and food since you had spontaneously decided to spend the night at his place.

He placed the beers atop the kitchen counter, while humming one of his songs but paused briefly, confused by the silence of the house. Normally, you would have already come into the kitchen, talking his ear off about whatever topic you were most interested in at that time. You would always apologize afterwards for talking so much but Joost didn’t mind, he liked hearing your voice, seeing you get so passionate about something.

“Y/n?” He yelled out, expecting a response from the living room where he had last left you in but the silence continued.

“Earth to Y/n,” he said in a deeper voice, cupping his hands around his mouth as he walked through the house.

He came into the living room and it didn’t take long to spot you, passed out on the couch. You were sleeping soundly with Joost’s chunky headphones slowly sliding off your head.

Joost smiled softly at the sight, then tip toed over to the couch and sat down next to you, his body sinking into the plush mattress of the sofa. One of his songs was playing from the headphones in a muffled sound which earned a small laugh from him. How could you have possibly fallen asleep during any of his songs?

He removed the headphones carefully, pausing the music on the phone that was also slipping from your hand. His eyes lingered on your face.

Your lips were slightly parted with a hint of lip gloss on them as soft sighs escaped your mouth. Your hair delicately fell on your face that was slowly sinking into the couch pillows on your side.

Joost sighed, a bittersweet feeling coming over him. He loved you so much. From that moment at the festival until now, you were still so beautiful, both in appearance and in character. Back then at that party, he had lost all hope when he saw you kissing Adam. He had never liked him, or the way he treated you. But now that you had finally broken up with him, that hope was rekindled.

He brushed the hair out of your face, resting his hand lightly against your cheek just for a moment longer, caressing it with his thumb.

The sensation caused you to wake up, your eyes opening ever so slightly as you rubbed them with your hands. You purred, instinctively leaning into his touch as you looked up at him, your vision still blurry.

“Hey,” you smiled, recognizing the person in front of you to be Joost. The sun rays coming through the window casted a warm glow on his face and gave his blonde hair a golden hue.

“Good morning,” Joost grinned, then furrowed his brows, “Oh wait, it’s 7 pm,” he teased, you lightly slapped him on his shoulder and scoffed.

“Very funny,” you said in a mocking tone and rolled your eyes.

You stared at each other in silence as a sudden heat spread across your face and you held your breath. His blue eyes screamed of desperation, the need to say something and you sensed a hesitation in him that you had never seen before.

You blinked rapidly and pulled away from his touch. Joost quickly withdrew his hand that was on your cheek, clearing his throat amidst the awkward silence.

“Did you get any beers?” you asked in an attempt to restore the comfort that previously filled the air as you shifted in your seat.

“Uh- yes, yes I did,” Joost breathed, giving you a strained smile, “Got your favorite ones actually,”

A small smile formed on your lips.

“No way,” you exclaimed, “Heineken?”. Joost gave you a soft nod.

“You know me so well, Joost.”

And he did. All those years and he still remembered the smallest of things about you when your ex didn’t even know what your favorite color was. Probably another reason why you broke up with him, you guessed.

“Eh it’s nothing,” Joost said bashfully, looking away from you, God he was so adorable when he got flustered.

“No, really,” A hint of seriousness took over your voice, “You know me better than I even know myself at times,” you said, letting out a small laugh at the cheesiness of your words but what you were saying was true.

Joost’s smile widened, his dimples sticking out all the more.

“And…” your voice trailed off as you tried to process your thoughts, “Thank you for always being there for me. You’ve treated me even better than my goddamn boyfriend,” It felt like you were drunk, the words spilling out of you quickly. You had so many things to say to him, all of which you didn’t even know you had hidden in you. “Ex boyfriend,” you corrected yourself in a firm voice.

Joost felt his pulse quicken, fighting the urge to kiss you right then and there.

“He was an asshole anyways,” he said bluntly causing you to laugh.

“Yeah he was,” you sighed, “Maybe I should have dated you instead!”.

You stayed silent, taking in the gravity of your words. Deep down you weren’t joking when you said that. Truthfully, the thought had crossed your mind before but you always discarded it and felt guilty afterwards.

You noticed Joost being abnormally quiet as well and glanced at him, distinguishing a sadness in his eyes.

“What is it?” You asked, your gaze immediately shifting to worried.

Joost swallowed hard, averting his eyes from you. If only you knew.

“Nothing,” he mumbled, anxiously running his hand through his hair. You narrowed your eyes at him.

“Are you sure?” You shifted closer to him, your voice soft but layered with concern. He only hummed in response, looking down at his tattoos as his fingers grazed his bare arm.

“Hey,” you said, gently wrapping your arm around him, “You can tell me anything, you know?” You sensed just how tense he was and a wave of guilt overcame you. Why wasn’t he telling you? Was he mad at you for something? He did seem a little off ever since you broke up with Adam but you brushed it off, thinking of it as work stress from preparing his album.

“Joost?” you pressed and caressed his hair. That made him turn to look at you as you realized the increased proximity between you and him, feeling his breath hot against your skin.

Then, Joost took one quick glance at your lips and he leaned in.

You didn’t pull back. Something felt right about this, the way his soft lips touched yours with a kind of passion you’d never experienced before. He pulled your face closer and deepened the kiss as you made a soft sound against his lips.

So many thoughts were racing in your mind. That same feeling overtook you, the one from that night when you first met Joost and had been trying to suppress for so long; he was never just your best friend and only now did you have the courage to admit it to yourself.

Once his lips were apart from yours, the only sound that filled the room was the heavy breathing coming from both of you. You looked at him, your arms lightly wrapped around his neck. He smiled sweetly and you did too as you stared in each other’s eyes like two kids in love.

“I’ve wanted to do this for so fucking long,” he muttered, gently running his hands up and down the sides of your stomach, “I love you, Y/n.”

You inhaled deeply, your guilt returning as you thought about how oblivious you had been all this time. How long had he been keeping this to himself?

“I’m sorry,” you breathed. Joost raised an eyebrow, laughing softly.

“You’re saying sorry after I said I love you? Damn.” He said, sounding slightly offended.

“No!” You chuckled. “I’m sorry because I acted like a fool. I shied away from my feelings and I didn’t realize sooner that you felt this way about me and I should have realized sooner and-”

“Alright, alright,” Joost cut you off in his usual reassuring tone. You exhaled a long sigh as he placed both hands on your shoulders to comfort you. “Calm down, lieverd” he smiled. Even now, he was still so willing to make you feel better when he should be upset with you or at the very least, pretend to be it.

“I guess what I’m trying to say is that I love you too.” You said, watching as a proud smile grew on Joost’s lips.

“Took you long enough,” he teased.

“Hey!” You slapped him on his arm, he mouthed sorry repeatedly before pulling you in for another kiss. This time, it felt sweeter, more controlled as you both now shared the feeling of contentment in your heart.

You broke the kiss and drew back from him shortly.

“So when are we drinking the beers?” you asked jokingly, your hands tracing to his belt.

Joost smiled, grabbing your waist to bring you closer to him.

“That can wait.”

[just-some-random-blogger]

hey, sorry to bother you, I wanted to ask you if you could do Matt Smith x readerMatt and Reader are friends and colleagues, Reader has been in love with Matt for some time, but being friends she doesn't know what to do, when she hears the news that Matt seems to be dated Emma Laird. but when Reader gets drunk you go to Matt's house angry, at first Matt doesn't understand why Reader is so angry with him, but when Reader confesses everything to him, that he had feelings for you too

Security

It's midnight, and Matt is awoken by a call from his apartment's security regarding a drunk visitor.

Matt Smith x Reader | 500< | cw: gender neutral!reader, rpf, fluff, a bit of crack, typos, etc.

A/N: i havent done rpf in a while it kinda feels weird now /alsfhasfsaf. i changed a bit with the ending, so hope you still like it nonnie! I only used 'I' in this fic, so anyone can read <3. image from pinterest

Tagging: @pinksirensong @aralezinspace @sloanexx

"I hate you," I groan and push the man away.

In reality, the force of the push propels me back rather than the target. Matt grunts, only because he has to reach out and grab my arm. I flail him away.

He lets go only to grab me again because I topple.

"Chris'sakes," he mutters, reeling me in, "how'd you even manage to come 'ere, love?"

I grit my teeth and yank my arm free. Matt's raises his hands up in defeat.

"I hate you," I mumble again.

He shakes his head and leads me into his home, "right." He unlocks his door, "honestly, I'm the one who should be saying that, considering you came to my house during witching hour."

We step inside. I slowly strip myself of my shoes, and my coat, and my socks and my-

"Woah there-" Matt grabs my hand just before I can remove my shirt, "it's still a bit nippy in here. Might want to keep that on."

I huff and pull away from him. He watches as I wobble back into his couch. I slump on the cushions. He places his hands on his hips, "right. You want some w-- no, I'll go get you some water."

The next moment, I'm being hoisted up and seated down.

"Come on then, drink up."

Matt is crouched down in front of me. I turn away when a cup is brought towards me. I groan, "I hate you."

He sighs and places the cup on the coffee table. He sits down next to me and leans back. Arms crossed, he says, "right. You say that but care to explain why?"

I turn to his side and glare, "because I can't like you anymore."

He knits his brows together.

I release a breath. He slightly cringes at the smell of alcohol. I mumble, "... you've got... someone else."

"Someone else?" he says with a chuckle.

I turn to him as he laughs. I mumble, "I saw the articles."

"Have you now?" he says with amusement, "who was it this time?"

I grow angry at his laughter. I mumble again, "I fucking hate you."

He chortles, "what? Why? R'you in love with me?"

My eyes turn to the cup before me.

His laughter dies down. He shifts on his side and lowers his head to look at me, "... bollocks."

I turn to him, feeling a pit form in my chest. I mutter, "I hate you."

His brow quirks. "I know," he sighs out, "best we talk about this in the morning, love."

Matt stands and walks off. He comes back with a pillow and a blanket. He places the pillow beside me and drapes the blanket over my shoulders.

"Get some sleep," he says, placing a hand on my shoulder.

I look up at him.

He brushes his thumb on my neck, "we'll talk about this is the morning, yeah?"

He pulls away and places his hands on his hips.

I curl up into the blanket and lie down. I garble against the pillow, "fuck off."

He sniggers, "I live here, cutie."

[esanalysis]

HiMERU ESY2 Center - Ephemeral Festival Story Summary & Analysis

We've all see the live posts in regards to the new HiMERU center event. Everyone's been talking about it and I want to as well because boy do I have a LOT to talk about in regards to what we know about HiMERU, what we learnt about HiMERU, and all the misinformation that managed to spread around in some places. This one will be pretty long, however I hope this will clear misinformation up and make the story easier to consume.

Posted - September 6th, 2024

Edited - October 25th, 2024

Analysis Word Count - 3,508

Disclaimers and CW for this post are as follows;

- This is both a summary and an analysis of the story. I will somewhat briefly summarize what is happening and will add in my larger breakdowns of specifically HiMERU's actions and feelings here (as well as others if applicable/needed). - Later parts of this analysis will vaguely reference Obbligato and be talked about under the assumption there is at least a vague understanding of what happened during the event's story. If you have not read Obbligato, I highly recommend doing so. You can read the story here. - This will contain discussions and mentions of RPF and adult/minor relationships however in no regards will I be defending this. On top of this, I do not like Himekoha/Kohahime for reasons I do not think I need to get into. - Take some information with a grain of salt. At the time of writing this I am currently going off of live translations & other sources of information as no translations exist at the moment for this story. This may be edited in the future due to this. - Screenshots have been sourced from various live translations and put through Google Translate for clarity reasons and to show what I am talking about being in game. Take the direct translations with some salt because of this. - Usual disclaimers apply - see my pinned post for those. - If you would like to discuss or debate things I have come to the conclusion of, you can submit an ask!

With that in mind. Let's get started.

The opening starts out, put simply with us learning exactly what the "Pastel Bee Brothers" - shortened to "PBB" - is. PBB, in short, is a nickname for Kohaku and HiMERU due to growing popularity in the idol world separate from Rinne and Niki as well as Crazy:B as a whole. Despite this growth, the growth does not stem from anything good. It unfortunately stems from a piece of Real Person Fiction - "RPF" for short - that involves the romantic and sexual pairing of HiMERU and Kohaku that goes by the same name.

Despite this fact, we need to acknowledge two big things when it comes to the existence of RPF here. The first being, this is a real thing to happen. Ensemble Stars is not new to the concept of criticizing things that happen in both idol culture and the industry itself, albeit to varying levels of success. We can very clearly tell that this is what is happening here when we see HiMERU try to shield Kohaku from what it truly is. Kohaku does not understand what exactly the PBB fad stems from, aside from the fact it exists after HiMERU told him about it as seen by the fact that he's shocked by being prompted to prove he's over the age of 18 when looking it up for himself.

Afterwards, HiMERU does not seem to refer to what the PBB truly is despite seemingly knowing and continues to dance around this fact when Kohaku shows his confusion to the explanation HiMERU is reading off of the internet. This implies him trying to attempt to protect Kohaku from what he can in an attempt to be a more responsible adult for him.

We can see this in the few screenshots below.

*Sakuragawa is referring to Kohaku here, its a machine error

The story is not in favor of this existing, as RPF is a real thing that exists and while it is uncomfortable, especially in regards to the fact that this involves a coupling of an adult with a minor, I think it was the best play here. Kohaku and HiMERU have a very complicated relationship with one another although not a bad one. So fans seeing it, not knowing HiMERU's real age that we do as the reader, and everything else *would* realistically result in something like this.

Its something you should be uncomfortable with, and something that is good to be uncomfortable with. But despite this, we need to keep in mind that showing support for this thing is NOT what the goal is here.

From here, we can figure out that the popularity from the PBB has boosted the rest of the Bees' popularity, despite most of the work they're currently getting being related to HiMERU and Kohaku. Rinne only pushes the work the that the Bees get onto HiMERU and Kohaku, continuing to mess around with the other two's source of popularity (in this case, buying a Doujinshi to poke fun at them and also to learn exactly what the PBB is too due to having his socials frozen and being unable to see for himself). This results in the two taking a job where they work with a smaller company to create a show where the two live a simple and domestic life together to keep in line with why PBB is popular and continue to ride the monkey's paw of a trend.

HiMERU does note before production though, that Kohaku reminds him of Kaname. If you ask me, I think this is partially why HiMERU, the one that chose the job the two do, went with this. It doesn't seem very "HiMERU like" to do, but it could be how he himself feels not how the idol persona feels. We know how much HiMERU cares for Kaname, and how highly of a pedestal he places his little brother on so wanting something calm and to be able to properly care for his brother in the hospital doesn't seem like much of a surprise when you think about it and has the decision make sense.

This is only emphasized by his thought after about how he asks himself if this was what he wanted with Kaname, the ability to raise him better and be a better older brother after the Reimei incident during Obbligato.

After a while of the small show airing and gaining popularity, Kohaku doesn't understand the popularity still. Possibly even less due to how simple the show is when its something he simply doesn't like. On top of this fact, HiMERU has been acting slightly weird in Kohaku's eyes, possibly due to HiMERU's reasoning for doing the show. Niki does sympathize with Kohaku's criticisms with the show but despite this, he can't really find himself arguing with success.

Niki ends up criticizing things a bit more though despite this, making comparisons to what he knows better. He compares the show and fans to chefs and their customers, talking about how doing the same thing can be boring and stifling even if its what the people want. HiMERU seems to be ignoring this or not quite taking it to heart like he should. Possibly due to him not realizing he's projecting his own wants onto Kohaku? Though, that's just a guess and nothing else.

At the same time, Rinne turns out to have uploaded a video himself of his plans to sabotage the show that end up failing due to Rinne getting stuck in a box in a storage room under heavy furniture. The other three end up having to get him out of the box in the storage room after they find the video. However, I want to focus on Rinne's plans to sabotage the show.

Of course this could be chalked up the Rinne wanting to sabotage the popularity not focused on him, after all it's what he claims to be doing. Yet, I can't help but feel like his intentions are different. We know that Rinne cares a lot about the people in his life, even if he refuses to properly show it when not through his persona (though, this is an analysis for another day). Rinne bought the Doujinshi at the start of the story as a means to figure out what exactly the PBB was and why it was so popular. Combining the two facts, he was probably able to piece two and two together and want to sabotage what the PBB are doing and, in turn, their popularity. Likely for the safety of Kohaku much like HiMERU trying to shield him from what exactly PBB is. A lot of who Rinne is, is something you have to read between the lines for or else you also become someone fooled by Rinne's persona much like the other people of ES - however that isn't the focus right now.

After getting Rinne out of the box in storage, we timeskip a few weeks to one of Rinne's plans to sabotage the show. Its a roughly put together show created after annoying Ibara enough. The short of this being a search for something called the "Nagigon" which is a large creature of some sort that just so happens to be played by Nagisa himself.

It's important to note that Kohaku does have more fun with this compared to the more formal show he's working on with HiMERU. Filming for the show doesn't go very far however, due to the location of the shooting being leaked and getting swarmed with fans protesting that this place isn't safe for them to record at. This whole thing only manages to back up Rinne's worries for Kohaku and HiMERU, with them giving into the demands of the fans above everything else including their safety. This only backs up my thoughts on why Rinne is trying to sabotage the show, but I digress.

After this, HiMERU and Kohaku go back to filming the domestic show they were before. Kohaku's complaints only get worse from here, not only about the show's production but also being and idol as a whole. Despite this fact, HiMERU also does not like where the PBB has led them and the rest of Crazy:B telling Kohaku to accept it like he has.

Kohaku, once again, points out that this behavior is weird. HiMERU does try to listen to the fans more compared to the rest of the Bees, especially Rinne. Likely due to the fact that he doesn't 100% know what Kaname himself would do and also due to how HiMERU created the idol persona in the past. But at the same time, this is also likely due to nothing but popularity. HiMERU's goal as we know it is to keep the name "HiMERU" in the spotlight for when Kaname is healthy again and able to take the name back for himself. The sheer popularity that the PBB has is only helping his end goal, which is likely why HiMERU is acting weird. Normally, the popularity of himself follows the rest of Crazy:B but now its surged outside of the fact in a way he himself can control. It falls back on the concept of how this popularity is nothing but a monkey's paw. It's something neither of them truly like, more than likely due to the cause of it all on top of where it ended up getting them.

HiMERU is handling the pressure and stress of the popularity better than Kohaku though, as it ends up with him passing out and going to the hospital. Consequently the same one that Kaname is staying at.

At the hospital, Rinne and Niki end up staying with Kohaku as he wakes up while HiMERU is off with Kaname.

From this point on, things are going to get more wordy as the later half of the story contains more of what I want to talk about.

HiMERU notes that there's more merch around Kaname since the last time he was here, as well as the reveal that Kaname is more awake than before. He hasn't perfectly healed, and will likely be bedridden for a long time to come but he has been having a lot of improvement. The biggest of which being, that he is awake at times and seems to be requesting merch of his brother.

The full card cg shows pieces of merch in his room, the ones we can clearly make out being the Feature Scout 1 outfit poster, a poster of the Trip Album cover, and a plush of HiMERU in his Crazy:B uniform.

Kaname is far from healed, with this merch not of "HiMERU" but of his brother, being comfort for him and his bouts of incoherency. Kaname and HiMERU have both relied on each other in a way. Their relationship being nothing but complicated due to how they met, discovering each other's existence and everything that happened during the events of Obbligato.

Due to all of this, Kaname seemingly being fine with HiMERU doing what he's doing while also being unable to vocalize it properly due to his current state makes sense. We don't know the specifics of Kaname's condition, leaving us to unfortunately have to fill in the gaps so most of this is a mix between speculation and an understanding of both Tojou's character.

The name HiMERU was something that felt stifling to Kaname, it was a fact he mentioned to Tatsumi. This was something HiMERU didn't know himself until the events of ESY1. HiMERU was operating under the assumptions he himself had made and still cannot back down from. If anything, this fact proves that the brothers truly don't know each other that well. They never grew up together, for one reason or another (I'll get into that later), and as such have put each other up higher than they should be. They have never seen each other's faults properly.

This is being reflected in the merch that now surrounds Kaname. Despite the name never being his, and probably understanding that it will never be his. He's okay with this. A lot of people have been under the assumption that he wouldn't like what HiMERU is doing, but that's just wrong. If anything it could be freeing for Kaname, especially after the incident. We don't know much about him now after everything, because people can change and be affected by trauma like this in different ways. But it's probably safe to assume not much has changed by his actions.

He wants the comfort of his brother, and seeing him surrounded by not only HiMERU merchandise, but also PBB items likely brings him some of that comfort when he's awake and his brother isn't there.

And at the same time, when HiMERU is visiting Kaname, he seeks out the comfort of his younger brother. We truly see how conflicted he feels during this part, asking Kaname if this is what he truly would've wanted for the idol name he now has. He asks both Kaname, and mostly himself, if this is what Kaname wants and if he is truly crafting a place for him to be when he recovers. Only backing up the idea that the two don't truly know each other but only want the best for each other.

Although, this scene can't stay for too long. HiMERU unfortunately cannot entirely vanish to stay with Kaname as much as he'd like to do so. Rinne ends up catching him in the lounge leading the two to have an interesting talk. Rinne quizzes HiMERU on where he was and why his face looks sad, eventually revealing he knows about HiMERU's secret. It's something that could've been inferred from various other stories if you ask me, but seeing it properly spelt out is interesting. On top of this, Rinne also points out HiMERU is currently a year older than his persona, comparing his age to Niki which would currently make him 19. HiMERU doesn't shoot this down or acknowledge it being correct, giving nothing but a vague response about how faking your age by a year or so is more common than one would expect. While true - it is important to note that Rinne may be right due to HiMERU's avoidance of the topic.

*translation is a little broken - however it still shows Rinne saying "one year older" in reference to HiMERU

I'd argue this makes perfect sense. During the events of Obbligato, he would be about 17 or so, meaning he's still essentially a kid during this. In a way, it can make his actions make more sense when looking at it from this angle. However, I plan to dedicate an analysis to HiMERU's age sometime soon as I would like to talk about it separately and go more in depth about Obbligato and how this doesn't retcon what we know already but that isn't the focus currently.

Regardless, HiMERU ends up getting defensive and speaking in first person. Another something I deem important of note. After Rinne coming forward with the fact he knows his secret, even calling Kaname "Kannamecchi" as a nickname, HiMERU has nothing to hide. He speaks in third person to preserve his secret and be what HiMERU is supposed to be, not who HiMERU truly is. Without that secret, he's allowed to be himself. He's speaking for himself here, how he claims to not trust Rinne himself and threatens to harm him should he hurt Kaname or drag him into any sort of mess. Rinne however, takes this moment to try to drill into HiMERU that the PBB isn't good and how him being "HiMERU" isn't good either and making him act strange.

Another moment that shows how much Rinne cares so much about those around him despite his persona. Another thing I plan on talking about at some point.

HiMERU ends up calming down and asking about how Kohaku is doing, Rinne ends up turning this around on him and continues to push the idea that "HiMERU" is causing problems here and brings up how Kohaku was wrapped up in "HiMERU's" mess. This manages to be enough to get HiMERU to reflect a bit more, realizing that this all started from Kaname. The popularity was not only good for the idol name, but also seemed to be making Kaname happy with the growing merch in his hospital room. HiMERU was always skeptical about the trend, knowing about it in full and how odd it was in multiply ways. During this reflection, Kohaku walks up to the two of them. Both Kohaku and Niki were called to the lounge by Rinne, allowing them to hear at least part of the conversation the two were having including parts of HiMERU's self reflection and bits about Kaname.

This prompts the two of them to properly talk out everything going on. Neither of them are happy and only one was willing to admit it previously - HiMERU even taking a moment to remind himself and truly realize that Kohaku wasn't happy. Its a moment of selfishness we rarely see from HiMERU and one he doesn't seem to realize exists because he kept pushing the show "for the fans" when really he was also being a tad selfish with his own wants by imagining Kohaku as Kaname. Kohaku continues to talk about how he wants to show himself off more, be his own idol, instead of just listening to what the fans want like HiMERU seemingly wants to do. Niki only backs up Kohaku, expressing himself freely in the process to emphasize that people need to mix up what they're doing while also taking others into consideration. This also manages to click something in place for HiMERU, with him realizing that Kaname probably cared less about seeing the PBB and more about seeing his brother in any capacity.

This realization allows him to act more like himself again, or at least how people see him. Kohaku even feeling better after talking for a few. The two end up agreeing to put an end to the show going on and resume activity as Crazy:B as they always have, turning down Rinne's plans to go out with a bang as he normally would.

Despite this though, when Kohaku and HiMERU plan to do a live together at a festival and announce the end of doing things as a duo and go back to doing things with the rest of their unit, Rinne still manages to crash the party. Rinne, dragging Niki into his mess as usual, ends up turning it into a Crazy:B live since he didn't want just HiMERU and Kohaku enjoying the festival. Many fans end up speculating from this that Rinne forced Kohaku and HiMERU to halt PBB activity but they try to ignore that. Kohaku admits he enjoys Crazy:B for what it is, despite how hectic it can be with Rinne as a leader. HiMERU himself even recognizing that deep down this is what he was expecting, and in turn enjoying it.

After everything, Kohaku and HiMERU end up going back to finish shooting the little show with Nagisa and Rinne, enjoying that more than they did recording things as the PBB. Nagisa was even enjoying it himself. HiMERU truly came out from behind the persona he built up for Kaname more by the end of this story, as he continues to do so bit by bit with each story we see him in. The others even recognize this, Kohaku especially with calling out how HiMERU did see him as a little brother.

To summarize my thoughts and add a few notes that I couldn't add in elsewhere, I think the story is very good and a solid enough commentary on how popularity as an idol can come from varying places both good and bad (comparative to other ES stories at least) and how popularity itself is a powerful thing for better or for worse. Its not perfect by any means, much like any other Ensemble Stars story, but its a lot better than I think people give it credit for. We learnt more about HiMERU than we knew previously and a handful of assumptions I've seen some people have were confirmed - myself included. It's also interesting to see HiMERU be more selfish with his wants, even if he doesn't entirely realize it.

I hope we one day see HiMERU shine through more past his few moments of speaking in first person. I would like to see his real personality outshine the idol he portrays himself as. The bits we do see in the story feel powerful to me since his emotions get too strong in regards to Kaname that he lets his guard down, especially when people know his secret. Things likely won't be changing anytime soon, but improvement is still improvement and I want to see more of that.

Regardless, thank you for making to the end of this lengthy analysis. I hope you enjoyed reading it and I hope this story can now be understood better.

a/n

- I plan on making edits to this in the future when I have written the analysis on both HiMERU's age and how Rinne shows how much he cares about people, attaching the analysis to the points needed so people can further see me prove the points I would like to as the focus is on this story specifically and I would like some place separate to talk about these specific things rather than the story as a whole. - If anything needs clarification, I messed up information or you would like me to talk about something in more detail, do not hesitate to send an ask so I can talk about it or make fixes to the post as needed. I would like for this to be accurate as possible.

Edit Log

October 25th, 2024 - Edited a mistake where "Pastel Bee Brothers" was put as "Pastel Bee Boys"

[burning-sol]

Because I'm a loser I'm going over this piece of controversy because if it catches on here I will lose my mind. This controversy surrounds @ jinxontherocks and Charlie Slimecicle. All the following screenshots were taken the same day as typing, and I made this post with what may be incomplete information. DO NOT HARASS ANYONE INVOLVED!! Regardless of who you're contacting, regardless of your intentions, DON'T contact anyone shown here.. ANYONE!!

Jinx's Instagram lists their pronouns as she/they/he, please don't misgender her: https://www.instagram.com/jinxultraviolet

CW this shit is about RPF and MCYT NSFW (pornographic content of Minecraft Youtubers' characters and they themselves), there are screenshots showing censored posts of it and there is a brief mention of rape amongst them.

The tweet that started off my little investigation and is causing outrage..

https://twitter.com/shubluvr/status/1799909241404129604

Something I noticed as I was adding alt txt.. I don't know anything about Jinx or how she assigns "Close Friends" on his Instagram, but basically users can assign someone as a "Close Friend" and you can then post stories only ppl within that group can see. If Jinx is the kind of person who hands out this status to anyone they know, this isn't a big deal, but if this person was close to Jinx I want you to keep in mind the possibility that this is potentially a violation of Jinx's boundaries. If this person knew Jinx closely, they could have talked to her in private, but instead they chose to make this a public affair. At best this could have been something the anonymous person genuinely thought was the moral thing to do, or this person could at worst be straight up an emotionally abusive person who shared these photos as a way to egg on Jinx's "downfall" or something similar. Again, this is only POTENTIALLY, but you need to be critical of who is sourcing your information and what their intentions are.

So the screenshots do prove Jinx knows Charlie and has been interacting with him and maybe (MAYBE) even dating him.. Which!! I just wanna clarify before you ask, I searched this up, Charlie and Grace broke up. Jinx and Charlie are both in their early to mid twenties. Aside from this controversy, there is really nothing to say abt them that isn't just, "mind your own business".

https://twitter.com/insidetheslime/status/1770617006364262832

So why is this an issue? What's with the controversy? Let's check out that first quote tweet.

https://twitter.com/shubluvr/status/1793371199449547014

The claim is that Jinx, possibly, willingly engaged with someone who posted MCYT porn. Which the user states, "it wasn't my intention to present the examples of what that person posted as if u liked them" but then proceeds to reiterate again that "u have to go out of ur way to find an acc like that." so which is it? That's a rhetorical question, we know which it is because if it was the former people wouldn't be so mad. But at least we know where these initial claims came from so let me scroll back and see what this user had initially posted as proof.

Here's the thread.

https://twitter.com/shubluvr/status/1790861709218828459

The archive page linked: https://archive.md/g8xOX

So yes, this does prove Jinx followed an account that posted NSFW of Charlie (RPF) and Charlie's characters (MCYT). However, just following someone isn't necessarily proof you've seen the full extent of their content. So let's finally circle back around to Jinx's tweet in response to this (something that was quote tweeted earlier) and discuss why I have such an issue with this entire controversy. Time to crack open the point of this entire post.

https://twitter.com/jinxontherocks/status/1793353847437701538

Hi everyone, apologises for taking a few days to address this as I've been logged off of twitter for my own mental health and due to the constant harassment and death threats that I have been receiving. Recently, there was a thread posted on me showing how I was following someone who created NSFW art of some content creators, specifically Charlie who I'm friends with. I absolutely condemn this kind of boundary-breaking NSFW art of content creators, and would never willingly follow or interact with an account that I knew created art like this. I am only semi-active on Twitter, especially on my 18+ account, and I was shocked and upset to discover I was following an account like this at the same time everyone else did. Because this account is now deactivated, I'm not sure what I originally followed them for, but it was likely COD or puppy girl art. I've privated my NSFW account as well because I'm not comfortable with a bunch of people who are likely minors in the community scrolling through it. Because people are making some gross assumptions as well I want to clarify that I met Charlie IRL, and had no idea who he or his friends were at all or as content creators before meeting them. We met naturally, became friends, and still are. Throughout this past week I've received an insane amount of harassment and threats, and have seen tons of misinformation spread about me and the whole situation so I definitely felt a need to clarify everything. I knew essentially nothing at all abt this acc or any of their callouts or whatnot, that just wasn't the sphere of cc I was in at any point, and while I post semi frequently on here, I'm not very interactive with content beyond my mutuals. Likely gonna retcon that going forward and look more into who I'm following before I do. Also pointing out that a lot of the sc's included in this thread or others are being presented as or shown as if they were from my likes? They were not, straight up not. Just gonna clear that up now. Lastly, please do not harass the creator of the thread or anyone else involved in this situation please. Please be kind y'all, and good day!

Quick note, if behind the scenes Jinx had immediately gotten harassment and death threats after the conception of that thread, THAT'S why Jinx was suddenly "stalking" leaktwt. Like of course Jinx is going to find the source of a bunch of people who are telling her he sucks and (possibly) telling him to kill themselves. Someone becoming conscious of their own controversy very quickly after it's conception isn't an abnormal thing.

So basically, I felt like I was going bananas because I'm going through replies trying to see if there's more evidence but there's nothing really condemning Jinx that strongly. You have evidence they followed someone who posts RPF NSFW, SHE confirmed she'd followed the acc that posted RPF NSFW.. But do they condone it? Did he see it? WHERE is your evidence?? WHY are you all so convinced she condones RPF NSFW? Well I stumbled across this brilliant series of screenshots someone added that's making me lose my marbles.

https://twitter.com/4ngelcicle/status/1793729694577332396

artist: im genuinely baffled if anyone believes rhis like i cannot emphasize how much i only posted on that acc to post porn 😭 other user: she only followed you this april right? like after she meet charlie? artist: yess like only a few days to a week before the thread was made? im so confused how she couldve found me in the first place let alone follow me because ,, i only post abt charie my bio is nsfwrpf and my pfp was bsd and banner was fnaf? nothing to warrant her following me?

artist: uhmmm she followed me few days to a week before the first thread was made? i dont remember but i got the notification when she followed me on her very public acc? i didnt realize it was jinx tho so i just let her follow me? when i stalked her acc she just seemed like a normal nsfw acc without any nsfwrpf even in her likes. thats it in regards to interacting with me but its also strange how she even found me in the first place? my account is sightly inactive so it wasnt like i was tweeting something funny or even spamming the tl to regard being followed? anytime i posted on the public acc it was about porn because thats what the account is for 😭 so idek how she found my acc in the firstplace cuz i also censor everything?? but thats all i know xP artist: u already know most of it but yk

artist: omg ugh artist: literally the only things i posted on that acc ever was cc nsfw artist: if it was unrelated i would post it on my priv

My jaw DROPPED when I saw this. I wanna hone in on this one tidbit that you may have glossed over, "when i stalked her acc she just seemed like a normal nsfw acc without any nsfwrpf even in her likes. thats it in regards to interacting with me".. So that's it. THAT'S IT. Even the artist in question only has proof he followed them, not that there was any tangible interactions to prove she saw the RPF content. And also, "my bio is nsfwrpf and my pfp was bsd and banner was fnaf? nothing to warrant her following me?" So it is 100% possible that he had only seen the artist's pfp, banner, the words "RPF" but not the problematic content in question.. And here's a relevant reply from Jinx on the fact the artist had RPF in their bio-

https://twitter.com/jinxontherocks/status/1793370260885918108

So we actually need to talk about how exactly social media works, because for some reason nobody is bringing this up despite USING Twitter and KNOWING what Twitter feeds look like.

If you have ever been on a Twitter For You page (I'm checking mine now) you will know that the feed isn't strictly curated based on your following, Twitter has an algorithm that'll put posts on your feed based on different factors. When I go to mine, my feed isn't strictly people I follow (in fact it's barely people I follow), it's not chronological, and I don't know if this is still a feature but I distinctly remember times where I got shown posts that were LIKED by someone or RETWEETED by someone- So again, your feed can show you a lot of varying things that you're either only somewhat adjacent to or something that's not anything you're remotely interested in. So basically, you cannot know exactly what someone's feed looks like unless a person hand you their phone and you scroll through it. You can make ESTIMATES of what you thing someone's feed will look like, but, again, you can only know exactly what someone's feed looks like if you're able to scroll through it.

This is to say that it's 100% possible at some point Jinx came across a post from the account on their feed, didn't see it anything RPF related in the post or on their immediate page (assuming they clicked on the profile because you can follow people without going to their profile), and followed them. And even if they posted RPF the rest of the time, there is no way to know what % of Jinx's feed it would have been present on.. Which! Btw, is also influenced by if Jinx even frequents the For You page at ALL.. Which, Jinx claims he's not super active on Twitter, so that lines up perfectly with her explanation.

(And before you say something about it, we don't have access to the NSFW account because it got deactivated, but I personally doubt that the user literally only posted NSFW of RPF and MCYT. Most NSFW accs I've seen in my time always have even the slightest amount of variety.. So it's not to say it's not possible, but I think the artists' words are likely an exaggeration. That's the assumption this point is functioning under.)

Plus, remember what I mentioned about people liking or retweeting posts? It's kind of a whole point of social media that posts spread in chains, and it's 100% possible for posts from obscure or problematic people to reach normal people in the right circumstances. Again, this is just.. This is just how Twitter works?? How social media works?? And I feel like I'm insane sitting here typing out how posts actually end up on your feeds and reminding people what an algorithm is and that some people just AREN'T as online as you.

And I'm not saying all this to say that I am 100% sure that Jinx is innocent because I don't KNOW, and that's the POINT. You can't KNOW what Jinx has seen and what she hasn't unless you have proof of him interacting DIRECTLY with something.. And follows don't count because I know PLENTY of people (including myself at times) who don't vet the people they follow, and follow people from a post they've seen on their feed instead of their profile. The artist THEMSELF said, as I will highlight again, "when i stalked her acc she just seemed like a normal nsfw acc without any nsfwrpf even in her likes. thats it in regards to interacting with me"..

All the evidence I've seen as of typing this is heresay, and unless all these people can present some substantial evidence that actually SAYS what they WANT it to say, I'm going to believe that Jinx made an honest mistake.

There's probably some other arguments I could make to prove my point, but I've been so thorough with everything I've been typing for literal hours just covering this. So I just wanna get at something that REALLY pisses me off about Twitter and I don't want to fucking see.

STOP calling people complicit in someone else's behaviour just because they're close to them. You are very potentially blaming VICTIMS THEMSELVES and I'm so fucking done with this.

Some people are saying Charlie is condoning this behaviour and it is DISGUSTING because can you actually take a step back and think about what you're saying?? Maybe Charlie does know, maybe he's into some freak shit, IDK, but I think it's WAY more likely Charlie didn't. The chances are far more likely that, if the allegations here are true, Charlie's boundaries were VIOLATED and HE'S the victim here. Though we can't really know because (I can't stress it enough) we don't KNOW what's happened behind the scenes. Charlie liked the tweet jinx made..

Which could mean several things. Maybe! The allegations aren't true, and Charlie is showing support for her. Maybe! The allegations were true, but they've quietly resolved the situation behind the scenes. Maybe! The allegations were true, and Jinx LIED to Charlie so he believes her.

(And yeah, I am implying these allegations could be true and I STILL think Jinx should be given some leniency based on if they've changed their mind on the morality of that content and have apologised in private to Charlie.. Because life is weird and people are weird and people change. Like IDK, again, maybe Charlie into that freak shit. What are you gonna do if a guy likes NSFW being drawn of himself? Complain to HIM about what his boundaries should be?)

You don't KNOW, you CAN'T know. I will state this over and OVER, YOU DON'T KNOW. Don't harass Jinx over things you don't know are true. If you don't like him after hearing these allegations? You're allowed to! It's fine! Block them and move on. But DON'T pretend that's the same as having evidence, because from what I've seen, you don't.

And I got very heated in that last bit so I just wanna say, I've spent all my time (again, these past few hours) writing this post. I don't know if Tumblr knows about this or is already talking about this, but this is my thorough take on the situation. I just hope it clears up some things because I would really fucking hate if it caught on and everyone starts spread (potential) misinformation and ruining someone's life for literally no reason.

[clairesjointshurt]

danny wagner smut

blurby also feel free to request

minors:GET THE FUCK OUT

cw: this is a rpf so if you don't like them then just leave me alone and get off these tags

he is a hard-core munch and would fuck you with his tongue

would beg for you to sit on his face if he ever made you mad and would pull you down onto him just so he can go deeper

Danny would have you wear his necklaces while he fucks you so he knows you're his

I feel like he'd be more into positions where he can see your face and stomach while he fucks you so he can watch the muscles in your stomach contract and see your face scrunch and eyes water

he's a hoe for eye contact, if he's eating your pussy and you look down he's gonna kiss your clit and wink at you

if you suck is dick he'd be staring at you so he can burn the image into his brain to save for later if you look up at him while you deep throat him he might bust

he's loud. he might be one of the quietest in the band but in bed he steals the show. he's either groaning or whining or maybe even whimpering in your ear. he'd talk you through it for sure. ask you how you're doing and then turn it into praise or tease you

hard core switch

he would absolutely beg you to ride his dick and cuff him up but would also be fine tying you up and calling you a slut

I might be projecting here but he would spit In your mouth either in a degrading way or with a smile

praise he'd say:

princess, sugar, gorgeous, honey, angel

you're doing so good

love that

gimme more

please

or degrading:

you like that? of coarse you do.

fucking slut

oh you can't take it huh?

would be more teasing than degrading

I fuck you so good huh?

want you do fill you up don't you?

[sixohsixoheightfourtwo]

#does a lot of collaborations #with like sports people #and has like a chemistry with every guest he brings on #and probably a.. #size kink #but i never said that (via @bauxitt)

scream ing. never thought my cooped up lockdown mentality wld lead to this.. listen. you're so so right about EVERYTHING i gotta get back here i gotta recapture this feeling.

I need someone to obsess over this norwegian climber with me??

he's a retired professional and makes youtube vidoes (has 1 840 000 subs) in english where he climbs and tries challenges and different sports, really typical quiet norwegian and very humble, sweet guy. Often regarded as Norway's best climber. Atp I'm very alone with no fandom to speak of

And just gonna mention @sixohsixoheightfourtwo ... bc your 3-year-old post is giving me life

[astronicht]

whumptober day 1: “how many fingers am i holding up?”

(I wanna do some of these for as long as i’m feeling it as a kind of fic amnesty! get back into the swing of writing without pressure u know! it might be exactly two it might be literally just this one who knows!)

F1 rpf | max/daniel | figure skating AU | 1.5k, rated T

(mild cw for an injured kid)

The coach is a fucking joke. He’s across the lobby from Max, who is tying his sleek black skates and waiting for Christian to show up in about thirty minutes, clutching a coffee even though he’s woken up at 4AM for the last forty years.

The coach nervously leans close to a little girl sitting on the benches in her skates, her boots and blades wet with slush. She has a sleek high ponytail and still has her bum pad strapped on over her leggings to break falls and a closed-off look on her little face. The coach says, “How many fingers am I holding up?”

Jackass. He’s obviously a competitive skater working as a coach part-time because he looks all of nineteen, but that doesn’t fucking matter. He’s the coach. He should know better. Max’s hands feel clumsy on his laces. He’s probably going to have to— Or the mum—

As Max is scanning the little crowd of parents at the tables, the door to the rink swings open with a blast of cool wet air and Daniel strides in. He’s got new boots on, Max realizes numbly. Daniel and the little girl are also wearing the same brand of leggings, hers in miniature. She is probably seven years old.

“Hey, you took a spill, huh?” Daniel says, because if he was on the ice he’d have seen it. He’s walking a little gingerly, slush sluicing off his blades onto the rubber floor; his feet are probably rubbed bloody inside the stupid new Jackson Ultimas.

Max gets up, walks over. Daniel sees him and seems surprised, or maybe Max is imagining it. Max does not say anything. He squats on his toepicks in front of the little girl, ignores the stupid fucking coach. Daniel says, “Oh, uh— Max is just gonna do a little concussion check, yeah?” Daniel doesn’t ignore the coach at all, smiles at him, says something, but he does somehow dismiss him a little. It’s easy to see, to Max, that Daniel was coached by Christian for a long time.

Max looks at the girl. She stares back, jaw tight. He tells her, “No counting, only follow my finger with your eyes. And now you talk to me, okay? Explain exactly what happened.”

The girl hesitantly starts to describe the double loop that led to the back of her skull smacking into the ice. Max moves his finger to her left, to her right. Her words are in the right order, not slurred, but her eyes judder a little following his hand.

“Daniel, give me your phone.” Max says, squinting at the girl and sticking his hand up. Daniel’s warm hip is right next to him, shifting as Daniel fidgets, his phone probably in his fleece because he never leaves it on the boards unless he’s on the ice. Daniel hesitates, maybe, but then his cold phone is being fumbled into Max’s waiting hand. His lock screen is some fucking beach, screen protector clouding up under Max’s warm fingertips. Daniel does not even like the beach that much. Max taps to make the flashlight come on from the lockscreen and tries to ignore Daniel relaxing beside him, like he didn’t want Max to be nosy about his stupid life.

Daniel does get three incoming texts while Max is watching the girl’s pupils react to the light, flinching down to a point the way they are supposed to. But maybe a little slow. Max frowns. It is all normal for skating, injuries and concussions alike, but it makes him feel a little sick, sometimes, when it’s the little ones. He doesn’t practice around kids that often anymore, but then again, if she’s here this seven-year-old is probably thinking about breaking into juniors, probably very serious.

The girl’s mum comes in through the other set of doors, the ones leading to the rest of the rink, the other sheets of ice that Max normally rents privately for a few hundred dollars an hour — a little cheaper in euros. Someone must have texted her; one of the other mums at the tables by the window to the rink, probably, not the coach who is almost hiding behind Daniel while Max takes care of his fucking student. Max should charge him.

Max straightens up and says to the mum, but looking out at the rink through the windows, “She has hit her head. I am of course not her coach so I cannot tell you what to do. She is not confused now but some of her reactions are a little slow.” He swallows. “So yes you could of course get her checked out at a clinic.”

The woman turns to the useless coach and starts asking questions. Max looks at the kid. “Okay, good job,” he says. “Take a break, try not to fall on your head like this.” Then he walks back to his seat. He looks down at his skates again. He can’t find his gloves.

A rustle and a shadow in the fluorescent lights: Daniel is coming to sit beside him on the cold plastic bench. Daniel sighs. It is early but he looks more tired than an early morning. He only got one Grand Prix invitation this year. The girl and her mum are gone, the doors swinging shut. Max swallows. It is normal, but also he hopes the mum takes the girl to the doctor today, just to see.

“Alright?” says Daniel, almost warily. “Doctor Maxy.”

Max rolls his eyes at him, says, “It is so annoying. Of course a head hit rattles you, so it is hard to tell when it is real.”

“Well, this time she’s definitely fucking concussed,” Daniel says, rubbing his face.

“Oh. Did you tell her mum?” Max asks, surprised. He watches his own hands clench on his knees. His gloves are in the side pocket of his skate bag like always, he realizes. He doesn’t reach for them yet.

Daniel blinks at him, eyes wide, shadows under them a delicate purple. “I… yeah, I told her what the kid said: that she'd blacked out when she hit her head for a second? Any time you black out, it’s a concussion, right? I don’t know if the mum like, knows that.” He squints at the doors. “Cunt of a useless coach though.”

“No it’s not always a concussion,” Max corrects. The girl did say that, he remembers, when he was making her talk so he could test how she spoke. “Blacking out for a second when you hit? Then I would've had dozens as a kid.” Daniel shifts beside him, laughs a nervous little laugh. His head is in his hands. “I have had enough already, my brain would be mush, Daniel. Anyway it is not even the real test, the finger and the eyes thing and the talking. It is just a DUI test. Geri did it to you once, I remember, at Cup of China 2017? I asked what it was because I of course had not seen it and she said she used to party pretty hard, run into problems with friends sometimes, and she thought it had to be about the same.”

Daniel rubs his face again. “Was I concussed?” he asks. “In 2017?”

“Yes, I think so. But it is hard to tell.”

“No, I remember, I skated in that competition.”

Max shrugs. “You won the gold, then I beat you at Skate America two weeks later.”

“Shit, yeah. I remember now. Yeah.” Daniel tips his head back. On the tvs above the rink doors, the receptionist is playing YouTube videos of last year’s Grand Prix series instead of the rink sponsorship reel. It looks like Italy, the senior pairs event. Max watches Sui Wenjing get thrown through the air in a near-perfect twist, land on one edge of one blade like a sharp and flying thing. He has always wondered what it feels like, to land something from six feet in the air. No matter how high he can get his quads, his triples, he of course skates singles.

Max can smell Daniel’s cologne, which he is wearing at 5:03 AM, his sweat, the stiff leather of his awful new boots. “Well, gotta get back out there,” Daniel says. “These babies won’t break themselves in.”

They both look at Daniel’s new boots, which are probably full of Daniel’s blood for no reason, because Max doesn’t think his old ones were really broken or that bad or whatever. His coach probably told him to switch. Max switches boots when he needs to, always knows when to judge it, always gives himself the full summer before the competition season to break them in and let them tear him up a bit.

“Okay,” Max rasps. “Say hi to Lando for me. Try to land your Salchow.”

Daniel stands with his hand on Max’s hair, ruffles it and shoves Max, making him laugh. The clenching thing in his chest releases a little.

“Don’t bump your noggin,” Daniel says quietly, rapping his hand on Max’s head, gentle.

“Too late,” Max jokes.

Max stays sitting there for a minute after Daniel gets back on the ice, trying to wait out the rush of adrenaline, his heart still slamming like it was him who fucked up a loop, like it was his pale mother at the swinging doors.

—

concept brought to u by me in @/garagegremlin’s texts like OKAY they’re like all singles skaters but max has the heart of a pairs girl

[blacktofade]

Gemtho Fortnight Day 14

Prompt: rpf gemtho with gem running into him by chance and recognizing his voice (bumbing into him or smth? so he hasn't seen her) v romcom like

cw: rpf

Gem stops just after mile three of her run, panting, hands on her hips. She feels good — breathing has been easy, the ground gentle underfoot from an overnight rain — and her pace has stayed steady.

She walks along the forest path, surrounded by nothing but trees and birds she can just about hear above the music in her earbuds. She draws on her water and lets it work to cool her back down as she meanders, heading to the lookout point where she typically turns around.

She likes this place. It’s a well-kept secret, and at this time of day, it’s often only her and a few retirees going for their daily stroll.

Best of all, at the lookout, there’s a bench she usually uses to help stretch out the rest of her muscles as she stares out beyond the cliffs to where the sky and ocean meet. It’s the best form of therapy she’s found yet.

But today, as she breaks through the treeline, she realizes she’s not alone. There’s a man already sitting on the seat.

She pauses her music, hesitating just long enough for him to apparently notice she’s there, because he turns to look over his shoulder.

There’s nothing remarkable about him — a slender face, blue eyes, brown hair mostly hidden beneath a baseball cap branded with a logo she doesn’t recognize. He offers a polite smile, that she returns, and gestures vaguely at the seat beside him in a clear invitation.

“I’m good,” she promises and he shrugs as though to say suit yourself.

When he looks back toward the ocean, Gem watches him, taking in the straight line of his nose, the uneven stubble along his jaw, like he hasn’t shaved in a couple of days.

He doesn’t try to talk to her again and it’s easy enough to ignore him as Gem takes another drink of water and fixes the hair that’s slipped out of her ponytail.

Slowly, she inhales, letting the sea air fill her lungs, the distant sound of waves hitting the cliffs still soothing even after all this time, this many visits.

She folds at the waist, reaching down for her ankles and letting her muscles stretch now that they’re warm. It feels good — like the run back to her car will be enough to keep her stress at bay for a few sweet hours.

She hangs there for a count of thirty and then slowly pulls herself back upright. The man’s watching her, though he glances away when she notices, and she wonders if he’s been staring the whole time.

She stares at the side of his head for a long moment, knowing he’ll sense it, wanting him to feel awkward and ashamed. She watches him swallow, watches him bring a hand up to scratch at his stubble, and she finally gives in and turns back toward the forest.

There’s no point lingering just to be ogled.

She pulls up her phone to restart her music, ready to disappear into the trees again.

“Gem,” someone says and she freezes, thumb still hovering over the play button.

When she glances back over her shoulder, the man at the bench is standing, attention focused on her.

“Hey, Gem,” he says in a voice so familiar it makes her feel weak.

She blinks, and then blinks again, half wondering if she’s somehow dreaming, but the man moves closer, smiling like he doesn’t mean any harm.

“Sorry if I scared you,” he says and Gem can’t figure out why Etho’s voice is coming out of him.

She takes a shaky breath and tucks her phone into her pocket. “Etho?”

“Hey, Gem,” he repeats and her thoughts spin without getting traction for a long moment before it finally clicks.

“Holy shit,” she says, and she’s moving before she realizes.

She launches herself at him and he makes a noise of surprise, but still catches her around the waist with one arm, his other hand grabbing at her thigh as she winds her legs around his middle. He’s taller than she expects and he holds her as though she weighs nothing.

“Etho,” she whispers, her cap slipping off as she presses her face into his throat. She doesn’t care — why would she when she has Etho right there. “You said it was too far to travel.”

“You kept sending me pictures of this place,” he murmurs into her hair. “I had to see it for myself.”

It feels like Gem’s heart might beat its way straight out of her chest as she clings to him, and she finds herself pulling back just to stare down at him.

He’s real and he’s with her.

She reaches up, cupping his face with her hands before she leans in and kisses him.

His grip on her briefly tightens and he lets out a noise of surprise, like he somehow didn’t expect that showing up like this would elicit this kind of response from Gem.

But his mouth opens under hers and she hums happily.

“Thank you,” she murmurs between frantic kisses, and Etho holds her tightly, returning every single one as though he wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.