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whatsupsonnyboy · 3 months ago

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Drunk in my mind | Joseph Quinn

PAIRING: Joseph Quinn x fem!Reader

SUMMARY: Joe and you (actress!reader) met during the filming of a romantic thriller, you two struggle to keep your undeniable chemistry professional. But when intimate scenes push your limits, the line between acting and reality begins to blur.

wc: 5.9K

warning: fluff, slow burn, co-stars to friends, friends to lovers, mentions of sex, swearing, overthinking, angst

a/n: heeeeeey, i know it's been ages, so sorry, but you know how life could be! anyway, i recently got lot of free time so i decided to pick up writing this precious man. This one just got on my mind while listening a podcast, originally it was going to be a one shot... looks like it's gonna be more parts to this! Hope you enjoy it 😌

Feedback is welcomed <3

request are open | masterlist

part I | part II | part III

He was feeling really excited about the whole thing. The whole project was kind of a dream if he was honest, the story was captivating, the arc of his character was interesting and challenging and the chance to work with Mark as a director was more than anything he could have dreamt of. He felt like the whole universe was playing on his favour, as if it was saying “hey, here you have, you deserve it”, and that could only make him feel grateful and lucky.

He had known since the very first moment he accepted the role who his co-star was going to be. He remembered how worked up he felt—the incredible chance to work with such a talented and young actress, someone with that kind of range. It was exciting, a little intimidating even. The thought of it made his heart race a bit. So when the two of you finally met, he couldn’t help but like you instantly.

And he had noticed that you liked him too. The chemistry between you two was undeniable, something neither of you had tried to hide. It wasn’t just about the physical attraction, though there was plenty of that. No, it was something deeper, a connection that he couldn’t quite put into words. There was an admiration there, something rooted in the way you thought, how you carried yourself, your mind… it fascinated him. And he felt that same spark from you, even if neither of you dared to acknowledge it fully. In an environment like that—so close, yet so professional—it was delicate. Neither of you wanted to be the first to cross a line that could jeopardize everything.

The first few days of filming were a blur of getting to know each other on screen, but it didn’t take long before it was clear you two clicked on a deeper level. Not even two weeks into the filming, and you had found yourselves spending almost all your breaks together. The quiet moments during meals, those late-night chats after a long day of work, felt like they meant something more than just passing time. You'd wander around the city on free days, both of you enjoying the shared silence between laughter and conversations that didn’t always make sense, but that somehow felt significant.

Joe would sometimes catch himself watching you when you weren’t looking, studying the way your eyes lit up when you spoke about something you were passionate about. He’d love to listen to you for hours, about everything and nothing, and that feeling of connection lingered in the air between you. The way you made him feel heard, understood… it was rare. And judging by the way your gaze would linger on him, he could tell you felt the same.

But there was always that unspoken tension—the fragile balance between admiration and attraction, and the fear that crossing that line would change everything. Especially there, in that professional environment, where neither of you could afford to lose focus.

The more time he spent with you, the more he liked you. He found himself continually impressed by the way you worked—the passion you poured into every scene, the incredible talent you demonstrated even in the smallest moments. It wasn’t just your skill; it was your intensity, your energy, the way you approached everything with such genuine depth that it left him captivated. He couldn’t recall ever feeling that way about anyone else. Sure, he had admired colleagues before—he could still remember how stunned he had felt working with Denzel back in Gladiator, or the first time he shared a scene with Lupita. But none of that compared to what he felt now. This was something different, something unexplainable. And it was delightful. Getting to do a romance thriller for the first time while working with someone like you made everything feel effortless.

He found himself looking forward to every scene with you, not just because of the professional challenge but because of how naturally the two of you clicked. You seemed to challenge him in the best way, pushing him to reach new emotional depths, yet there was always this lightness between you both that made working together seem easy.

He had even forgotten about the sex scenes —the very thing that had made him hesitate when he first agreed to the movie. He had done intimate scenes before, of course, but this was different. When he had read the script, he had known it would be a whole new level of vulnerability. But as the filming drew closer, it felt almost like an inevitable tension was building between you two. It wasn’t just physical; it was mental, emotional, a strange but undeniable connection he couldn’t quite put into words.

Edith, the intimacy coordinator, had talked to both of you, together and separately, several times already. At first, it had made him feel calm, safe, almost like everything was under control. But the more time he spent with you, the more that sense of control started to slip away.

The idea of the two of you being semi-naked on a bed, pretending to have sex, sent a shiver down his spine. Not a bad one, not a good one either. No, it was something far more complicated. It felt… unprofessional, and yet it was so much more than that. The goosebumps that had run through him when you kissed him during the first take a few days ago… they had lingered. The memory of that kiss wasn’t just physical; it had settled deep in his stomach, making him question everything. And the worst part? He was afraid to be the only one who felt it.

He couldn’t let this happen. He liked you, of course… as an actress, as a co-worker, as a friend even. But that was all, right? He couldn't allow his body to suddenly want you in a way that went beyond professional respect. Oh God, he was feeling ridiculous. He was supposed to be a professional, and that’s how it had to stay. But how the hell was he supposed to act casual about you being above him, with nothing but a thin piece of cloth separating your bodies? Your breasts close to his face as your eyes locked with his, looking at him as if he was the only man in the world. How was he supposed to resist that?

He could certainly tell the difference between reality and acting. But how was he supposed to teach his body that distinction? The worst part was the guilt. Guilt because of how unprofessional he felt. Guilt because he had let this go so far without acknowledging what was happening inside of him. It had been so easy to let his guard down around you. He had felt so comfortable with you from the start, so at ease in your presence, that he hadn’t even stopped to question his own feelings. Now it felt like he’d jumped into this situation without looking at the consequences.

But now it was too late to undo those feelings. The scenes were scheduled to start early next week, and he had no idea how to handle this newfound tension between you. How was he supposed to manage those feelings—this raw attraction—within the next two days? He didn’t know if he could control it. Production had given the entire crew the weekend off, and he was left with two options: spend the weekend with you, in town, facing the intensity of his growing feelings, or retreat to London and try to pretend none of it existed.

He could already feel how difficult it would be to run away from this. Because it somehow felt like he was running, but taking a little space felt like the best, he could still book a flight, go back home and try to clear his head. Joe wasn’t sure that it would work, but at least he had to give it a try.

It wasn’t something weird of you to appear out of nowhere in his hotel room with a pretty nice plan that would immediately convince him to get out of the hotel. But that night he was going to force himself to do things right.

“What do you mean you can't?” you asked in a laugh.

Joe tried to stop you at the door, but it was worthless. He couldn’t even articulate a word at the look you gave him as you made your way in his room.

“You leaving?” you asked then. “Where you off to?”

You looked at the carry-on luggage on the bed. All what he needed for a weekend out was already packed.

“Home” Joe simply answered and the inquiring look in your eyes made him go on. “I thought it’d be nice to see my mum and friends”.

“Oh, I see”.

You seemed disappointed, and Joe felt like there was something else you wanted to say so he remained silent.

You didn't.

“I’ll be here on Sunday night”.

Why had he said that? It felt like he was explaining himself, he needn’t, you hadn’t asked for it either.

“Have a good weekend Joe” you said, with fake sympathy and left the room afterwards.

He couldn’t explain how awful he felt the moment he heard the door closing, or even why he was feeling that way. But he was not going to stay and figure it out, he would let that to Monday Joe.

You couldn’t understand a single thing. It was nonsense. One day he would treat you like you were the most beautiful and fascinating creature in the entire planet, the next, he would run back to London without a single explanation. Not that he owed you one, because you two were nothing but co-workers. Explanations were for people who were romantically involved, weren’t they? And Joe and you were nothing like that.

Because spending every single moment of your free time with him didn’t mean you felt anything for each other. It just meant, you liked each other, as co-workers. You just enjoyed each other's company in a job environment full of unknown people.

It was nice to have him around. Somehow, it made you feel like you were just hanging out with someone you hadn’t seen in a while, as if your paths had crossed before, in another time, another place. Talking to him about anything felt effortless, like catching up with an old friend, which was a rare gift. He had that gift.

You had heard the rumors, of course you had. Almost everyone who had come across Joseph Quinn always used the same words: “nicest of the guys,” “damn funny,” “witty sense of humor,” and “incredibly sensitive.” And all of them were spot on. But it was more than that. You couldn’t help but admire how much he made you feel seen, how, despite the attention and praise that followed him, he managed to make you feel like you were the only one in the room when you spoke.

At first, you were simply delighted by how everything had aligned so perfectly. The chance to film a movie with Mark, one of the most promising directors in the current industry, was already a dream come true. And then there was Joseph Quinn, the charming, talented British actor whose reputation had already preceded him. From the very beginning, everything was going better than expected. Mark’s direction was an experience in itself—eccentric and demanding, but exciting and fulfilling all the same. But Joe… Joe was everything you could’ve dreamed of and more.

From the moment Heather, the casting director, introduced you to him, you felt a spark. That dreamy look in his eyes, the sunglasses perched atop his head, holding back the honey curls that were starting to grow long again, and that stupid, adorable accent that made your heart skip a beat. He was effortlessly charming, but it wasn’t just his looks or the humor he carried so naturally; it was the way he made you feel at ease, the way he seemed genuinely interested in getting to know you, listening to you as if your thoughts were as valuable as his own.

You could clearly remember the way your stomach flipped the first time he asked you how you were feeling after the first day of shooting. You had felt terrible, after a night of no sleep. Leaving home for a long time was always kind of torturous, especially when it meant sleeping in a bed that wasn’t yours. Such a small, silly thing, yet it had made everything feel off.

But you were sure your lack of sleep and the consequent irritability had gone unnoticed. Or at least you had thought so, until Joe insisted that something was wrong. You hadn’t expected him to notice —especially not so early, not after just one day of filming. But he had, and the way he looked at you, like he really cared, made you feel like you owed him a little real kindness in return. After all, he was the only one who’d truly seen through your facade, despite all your efforts to hide how miserable you were feeling that day.

You two had ended up in his room, ordering the fanciest food you could find on the service menu, and watching the first Netflix blockbuster you both could find on the smart TV. There was something calming about it.

You had fallen asleep quickly, almost immediately after a few spoonfuls of the seafood rice Joe had ordered. The need for rest was bigger than your hunger. And strangely, falling asleep in Joe’s bed had been incredibly easy, a stark contrast to the nightmare it had been to even try to fall asleep in your own room the night before. Maybe it was just exhaustion, maybe your body was begging for rest—maybe it was the warmth and scent of him next to you that made it feel like you were safe, like you weren’t alone in this strange place.

You remembered waking up to the sound of Joe’s alarm blaring, and the embarrassment quickly rushed through your body as you realized you had fallen asleep in the bed of a stranger who also happened to be your co-star. It felt like the worst possible thing in the world at that moment, but Joe didn’t seem to care at all. He emerged from the other side of the room, where there was a sofa-bed, and you realized he must have let you sleep alone while he stayed there, keeping his distance. His smile when he looked at you was warm and soft, the kind of smile that made you feel... something you couldn’t quite name. He asked if you had a good night, and you could only nod, still blushing a little, but now, with a hint of warmth spreading in your chest.

However, the night he disappeared you weren’t feeling delighted at all. You had almost felt abandoned. Absurd, you knew, but couldn’t help it. And that really pissed you off. Because you didn’t even have the right to feel like that. Joe was just your co-star, your almost friend maybe. So all the rage and the frustration were useless.

You didn’t want to waste more time feeling like that, and you knew that if you stayed at the hotel the whole weekend, it would turn into endless hours of overthinking. So you fixed yourself internally, as if you had just gotten up from a fall and texted Sam.

She was one of the supporting actors in the films, and she was really nice and fun. She loved being out so it meant you’d probably get no rest for the next 48 hours, but that was better than to go over and over the same thoughts in the loneliness of your hotel room. Alcohol and loud music seemed like a better choice.

It hadn’t worked. He knew it the moment he was back to the filming location, he probably had known a long before he entered his hotel room, but opening the door of the suite made it land hard on his chest. There was that feeling all again, as it had never left, just had gone undercovered for a few hours. The terrible urge to go running to your room and kiss you, hold you, run his fingers through your hair as you rested your head on his chest.

He was done. He was finished. All the repressed feelings and unsaid words were pressing on his chest like a ton of rocks, making it hard to think, to breathe. It was like the world had shrunk, and all that mattered was this impossible attraction, this desperate need to be near you. He couldn’t even remember feeling this helpless about anyone before. It was almost unbearable.

He hadn’t said a word about it back home, maybe he should have talked about it with a friend, could have helped… but he had been so determined to be distracted about the whole thing, that going over the matter hadn’t really been an option. It had probably been a childish choice, but regretting it then, in the loneliness of his hotel room, within a few hours to go and face reality, was pointless.

Someone was knocking the door just a couple hours after he had finally been able to fall asleep. Getting to sleep decently had turned into an impossible mission with hundreds of intrusive thoughts constantly hunting his mind. And now, he would not only feel miserable, he would look like it too. Edith instantly pointed it out the moment he opened the door. Not helping at all.

She was there to talk to him before getting to the set, Joe knew she was going to be there, he also knew he was going to talk to you after. Another talk for you two was awaiting the moment before entering the set. So he kind of knew he could still do something… maybe he could talk about how not exactly comfortable he was feeling about the sex scenes, but how was he supposed to do that. First, those scenes weren’t exactly the problem. Second, then what? What was he expecting to happen?

Joe ran again through every single fake scenario that had haunted him for the last weeks while he was showering and getting ready. Edith was waiting in the living area of the suite, and as soon as he heard Joe out of the bathroom she started with the questions.

“How was your weekend off?” she politely asked.

“Mm, great” he simply replied. He knew the small talk was her way of not jumping straight into asking about being ready to get naked in front of a camera. “How about you? You get some rest?”. He asked, trying to not be a dick with her.

Edith explained how she hadn’t fully taken the days off, though she’d rested a bit. She spent most of the time working on the shooting protocol and handling some logistics. She told Joe they were aiming to wrap up everything in one day, two at most. She mentioned details about the environment—how she’d been adamant about lighting, the silence during the shoot, and limiting the crew in the room.

Despite knowing she was saying all those things to make it look like a friendlier scenario, it just had the opposite effect on Joe. When he entered the room Edith was in, she didn’t even try to hide the concern in her face at Joe’s appearance.

“Are you feeling alright, Joe? If you feel sick or something we could talk to Mark and postpone everything”. Her tone was soft, and for a second Joe really thought about it.

He could play sick. He could try to slip out of the situation for at least two or three more days… maybe he could fix his mind. Try to put in order some thoughts and see things in a different way. But that wouldn’t work unless he talked to you about it. That was what he had to do. Confront his feelings about you and explain how fucking nervous, no. How fucking sick it made him the idea of getting an erection in the middle of filming, and how violent it would be for you and for him, and for everyone in the damn room. Maybe you would be comprehensive. Maybe you would even laugh about it. Or maybe you would think that Joe was a complete idiot, an unprofessional guy who couldn’t take control of his own body for a few hours.

“No”. He hissed, almost unconsciously. “No, I… just need to eat something” he lied. “I’m fine”.

Edith raised an eyebrow, skeptical. It was like she could hear every word of his internal struggle. She pressed on, asking if something was worrying him. Joe shook his head, offering no further explanation. She didn’t want to push, but he could feel her concern. She then mentioned she’d be there for the whole shoot, that he could ask her for anything he needed to feel more comfortable. She even casually suggested a jockstrap if that was something he was worried about.

Before leaving Joe’s room he specifically mentioned how she knew that these scenes could be stressful, and sometimes even awkward, but that he could totally trust her about anything he didn’t really feel like doing. He also told Joe that lots of actors have a hard time about getting unwanted erections, but that was something really natural, because despite him being an actor, his body didn’t necessarily acknowledge that. She concluded by assuring him that everything was going to work just fine and left Joe to go to your room.

Joe didn’t really know how to feel about that information, it somehow made him feel better and at the same time made him more anxious to become one of those actors she was talking about.

Saying Joe looked terrible was an understatement. He looked sick, pale, distant. You’d tried asking him, but he responded with nothing more than a monosyllabic grunt, eyes averted. The coldness, the avoidance— it rattled you. What had changed? Why was he acting like this now?

First, the sudden withdrawal, and now, the silent treatment. It made no sense. Especially now, when you were on the verge of exposing yourself in front of him. It made the whole situation even more uncomfortable. You needed this to be over, more than ever.

Edith offered a few more directions, calming words, and encouragement before the two of you stepped onto the set. The space was intimate: Edith, Mark, a few techs, Laura and Henry —just the essentials. The air buzzed with anticipation, but it didn’t throw you off. You’d done this before. You’d been through much more explicit scenes. And Mark and Edith had been nothing but professional and supportive, so the only thing that made you nervous was Joe.

Neither of you exchanged a word while Mark ran through the sequence, explaining the shots and movements. You nodded in unison, your eyes never meeting his.

Minutes later, you were pinned against the wall, Joe above you, his body hovering just an inch from yours, his hands firm but cold—one gripping your arm, the other on your hip. His touch felt distant, almost mechanical, and when your eyes met his, you caught a flash of something you couldn’t quite place—nervousness? Anxiety? But you couldn’t bring yourself to ask.

You both stood silent as Mark called “ACTION.” Joe delivered his lines. You laughed on cue, and then he leaned in for the kiss. This time, his lips found yours with such intensity, it startled you —a hungry, almost desperate kiss that stirred something deep within your stomach. You didn’t have to fake it. The chemistry was still there, you could feel it, even if you both had to keep up appearances for the crew.

But the more you kissed, the more strained his body became. His hands were tense. The roughness in his touch grew harder, sharper. It wasn’t like before. It wasn’t like how he used to kiss you, with that mix of admiration and passion. It was stiff, forced. Something was off.

The rest of the scene went downhill. Joe seemed to withdraw further as the shots progressed. His body, rigid as a board, betrayed every word he spoke. The tension was palpable. When it came time for the bed scene, the air felt suffocating.

You straddled him, your torso barely covered by the robe. His gaze never left your body, but his eyes held no warmth, no connection. Instead, they were guarded, cold. As you lowered yourself onto him, he swallowed hard, his whole body stiffening beneath yours.

You couldn't ignore it anymore. His discomfort was suffocating.

“Are you okay?” you whispered, despite the growing unease.

He nodded, a faint, bitter look crossing his face before he turned his gaze away from you.

Before you could speak again, Mark gave the signal to get into character. The cameras rolled, and you tried to keep your focus. But God, it was so painfully obvious.

You shed your robe, and when Joe let out a quiet, almost imperceptible sigh, the silence in the room felt deafening. He didn’t move. Didn’t speak. The whole scene felt like it was falling apart.

You repeated your lines, but Joe’s response was hollow, distant. He ran a hand over his face, visibly frustrated, but still unwilling to acknowledge what was happening.

"Sorry, sorry," he muttered, his voice low but lacking conviction. "Let’s start over, I—I wasn’t ready. My bad.”

You did it again, hoping that maybe, this time, things would fall into place. But when you leaned in for the kiss, he was stiff—his lips barely responding, his movements robotic. The chemistry was gone, replaced by an uncomfortable stiffness that everyone in the room could sense.

Mark stopped the scene, his face a mixture of confusion and frustration. "What the hell is going on? This is not the energy we’ve had for weeks. Where’s the chemistry?" His voice cut through the tension like a knife.

You both stood there, silent, trying to navigate the gap that had appeared between you, both of you utterly confused by the growing chasm between your previous connection and the awkwardness that now stood between you.

You tried again, but after a couple of failed attempts, the scene became more and more artificial. Joe’s responses were mechanical, his body unyielding, the chemistry as absent as it had ever been. Mark, now visibly frustrated, demanded answers, but neither of you had any to give.

By the sixth attempt, Joe couldn’t take it anymore. He shoved you aside, freed himself from your hold, and pulled his robe around his body. His face was twisted in anger, his frustration spilling over as he muttered under his breath.

"This is ridiculous," he spat, walking away, leaving you and the crew behind, still trying to understand what the hell had just happened.

Mark instantly followed Joe out of the set, maybe to try to talk to him or to calm him down, but it was clear that something had broken. Everyone in the room fell silent, watching as Joe stormed out. It was like the tension in the air was a living thing, pressing down on everyone. You felt paralyzed for a moment, unsure of how to react. He wasn’t like this at all. You had never seen Joe like this—nervous, frustrated, and overwhelmed. It was as though he had completely closed off from you, and you couldn’t understand why.

You stood there, holding your robe, feeling utterly exposed in every way. It wasn’t just the physical vulnerability of the scene—it was emotional too. Joe’s behavior had sent a confusing signal, and suddenly the chemistry that had felt so natural seemed impossible to grasp.

Edith was quick to approach you. “Take five,” she said softly, gesturing towards the corner of the set. “We’ll give him some space. Let’s reset.”

You nodded silently, walking away from the set as the crew murmured among themselves. They were all so professional, but you could tell they were uncomfortable. It wasn’t just the awkwardness of the scene anymore—it was Joe, and the way he was falling apart in front of everyone.

You found yourself in the small lounge area, sitting down, trying to breathe through the confusion. What had happened? What was wrong with Joe?

It wasn’t long before Edith came over to sit beside you. “You okay?” she asked, her voice full of concern.

You wanted to tell her that you were fine. You weren’t. But you didn’t know how to explain what was happening.

“Do you think he’s okay?” You finally asked, your voice tight. “I mean… is he...?”

Edith hesitated. “I don’t know,” she said gently. “He’s been off the whole morning. He seemed like he was pushing something down, but I didn’t want to pry.”

You bit your lip, frustration bubbling up again. This whole situation felt so... off. Everything was supposed to be smooth. The chemistry, the camaraderie, the work—it had all been seamless until now. And now, it was like a wall had gone up between you and Joe, and you had no idea how to break it down.

“We’ll talk to him,” Edith said, after a moment. “Don’t worry. We’ll figure this out. Just try to take a break. Don’t overthink it.”

You nodded, but your mind raced. It didn’t make sense. What was going on with Joe? Why couldn’t he just talk to you?

After a few minutes, Mark came in, looking more serious than ever. “We’ll have to reschedule for tomorrow,” he said, eyes scanning the room. “Take a break, everyone. I’ll talk to Joe, and we’ll figure out where we go from here. I don’t want to push this.”

With that, the set slowly emptied, leaving you alone in the quiet of the lounge. You felt a sinking feeling in your stomach. Something was wrong, and you had no idea how to fix it.

On the way back to the hotel Edtih tried to talk to you again but you weren’t feeling like it, so you politely refused and went to your room alone. You needed to rest for real. You needed a shower and to hide under your bed until it was 2026. You were feeling ridiculous, exposed, frustrated… you were not even sure why you were feeling like that, no one, not even Joe said that any of it had been your fault, but yet you were feeling responsible.

And that overwhelming feeling made you more upset if it was possible, because it was truly unfair. You were not irrational though, you knew you couldn’t blame Joe for the way you felt, but at the same time he had been a dick for the last 72 hours or so… how could you not feel as if you had done something wrong. Maybe you had, you could deal with that, but why wouldn’t he come clean about whatever the hell was upsetting him?

You couldn’t stand being in your room all alone chewing over the same thoughts, you needed answers, so if Joe wouldn’t be brave enough to talk this out, you were. You put on some jeans and a hoodie and with your hair still wet you left your suite and walked to Joe’s.

Maybe he wasn’t even there, he should have since he had claimed to not be able to keep up with the shooting. But it didn’t matter, you were determined to talk to him even if you had to wait there for hours.

He gasped your name when he opened the door, eyes widening in genuine surprise. He didn’t look as bad as he had this morning —but he still wasn’t quite himself.

"We need to talk," you said, but Joe didn’t move. Didn’t even blink.

"Joe, seriously."

"I… I wouldn’t even know what to say," he confessed. At least this time, he looked at you.

"Well, I do. So at least you're going to listen."

He didn’t argue. He just stood there, silent, watching as you walked past him into the living area. When he finally followed, he sat on the armchair across from you. Something about that —his distance, his passiveness— made your anger flare.

"You’ve gotta be kidding me, Joseph Quinn." Your voice was sharp, cutting through the silence.

Joe opened his mouth, but you didn’t give him the chance.

"How dare you? What kind of psychopath makes me believe he cares, that he's comfortable with me, that we're friends—only to turn around and act like none of it meant anything? What was it, Joe? Just a game? A fucking joke?"

"I care about you," he whispered, but you weren’t done.

"Oh, you care? Funny, because all I see is someone who’s been acting like a complete asshole for days. And for what? I don’t even fucking know. But you know what I do know? That this —whatever the hell this is— is cruel."

Joe stared at you, his expression unreadable. Not a single word. No excuses. No explanations. It was infuriating.

"And now, you just sit there like you have nothing to say? Nothing about the filming, about this morning, about how I fucking feel?" Your voice was rising, the frustration pushing you past your breaking point. "How could you do that?"

Joe finally stood up, his movements restless, his frustration mirroring yours.

"You want me to talk?"

"Of course I fucking do!"

He ran a hand through his hair, pacing the room, looking as torn apart as you felt.

"Then you should know—I was never pretending. Never," he shot back, his voice raw. "I do fucking care about you. You're important to me, okay?"

You let out a bitter laugh. "Then act like it."

Joe exhaled sharply. "I don’t know how, alright? I already told you—I don’t know what to say. What do you want from me?"

"The truth, Joe. That’s all I fucking want." Your voice cracked, and for the first time that night, it wasn’t anger driving you. It was exhaustion. Defeat. "I just want you to be honest about what’s wrong with you. With us."

Joe looked away. His silence was worse than any argument.

That was it.

Your chest ached as you turned to leave, blinking fast to keep the tears at bay. Joe said your name in a whisper, but you didn’t stop. He called it again, louder, but you kept walking.

You were almost at the door when you felt his hand wrap around your arm. Firm, but not rough. Desperate.

"Let me go, please," you whispered, voice shaking.

Joe didn’t move.

"Joe, please."

He heard it then—the way your voice broke completely. The way you were crying, whether you wanted to or not.

"Look at me," he begged. "Please."

You couldn’t. Instead, a quiet sob escaped, and your body gave up fighting. That was all Joe needed to pull you in, his arms locking around you. You didn’t resist.

"I'm sorry," he murmured, again and again, his voice breaking as he held you tighter.

You turned in his hold, but instead of meeting his gaze, you buried your face in his chest, hands gripping his shirt. He cradled the back of your head, his touch tender in a way that made it worse.

Because he still wouldn’t say what you needed to hear.

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averagewriter-inthedark · 5 months ago

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The Widow's Bite of Love🕷️ | Johnny Storm Imagine

Link to my Marvel masterlist | part 2 here

Characters & Pairings: JosephQuinn!JohnnyStorm x black widow!reader (romantic), the Fantastic Four (platonic).

Content Warnings: fluff, profanity, flirtatious banter, mentions of canon violence, canon divergence | female!reader (she/her) | wc: 2.7k

Requested 📨 yes/no

Premise: Having returned from an intense mission with the Fantastic Four, Johnny Storm receives a welcome home from his girlfriend that's both a reminder to always remember making his presence known, and that behind her rough exterior there's a softness reserved only for him.

note: yeah, Joseph's Johnny Storm already has me in a chokehold and the movie isn't even out yet. I'm having to improvise of course since we don't know much but I'm having fun creating AUs in the meantime. Enjoy 💌

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Johnny knew better than to not announce himself when he entered the apartment past midnight after returning home from a week's long mission. It’d take him a second to shout, “Honey, I’m home!” but all the energy in him was exhausted. The mission took longer than planned. He was bruised and covered in dried blood from superficial cuts to his face and shoulders. Staining the crisp blue and white suit he wore. All he wanted was to get out of the suit, spend an hour in the shower, and bury himself under the covers to sleep until the end of time.

However, that would have to wait.

As Johnny practically dragged his feet across the floor in the direction of his bedroom, forgetting to turn on the main light in the living room, he was knocked off his feet with a knee to his stomach. “Ummph!!”

His attacker pushed him into a wall, his body ricocheting off and dodging the next kick which would’ve hit his side. Their arms wrapped around him, maneuvering him with brute force to put him on his back and Johnny groaned at the pain that shot up his spine. He may not have broken any bones but that didn’t mean he was in great condition.

Using what little strength he had, Johnny put his whole body in pushing the figure off him. They let out a grunt and Johnny froze. It was hard to see, but there was something familiar about the moves his attacker was throwing at him and the familiar grunt that echoed in his ears. Then he caught a glimpse of their side profile thanks to the moonlight flickering in from the living room blinds.

‘Oh fuck…’

Johnny scrambled up and he heard her do the same. But whereas he raced to the light switch, she went to the coffee table and Johnny felt his blood drain. Thankfully he reached the switch first, flicking it on right as a dreading *click* filled the space.

“Baby!” his hands waved frantically, matching the tremor in his tone. “It’s me, baby! It’s Johnny!” The gun trained on him hesitated, and Johnny let out a breath of relief when he saw the instant recognition in her face. The relief only lasted a second though, because then he winced as it was replaced by fury.

“Jesus Christ, Johnny!! I could’ve killed you!!” Her scream echoed off the walls and matched her eyes full of wrath. “What the fuck did I tell you about sneaking up on me like that?!”

“I know! I know--I’m sorry!” his hands stayed up, threatening to fall down but he didn’t want to use any sudden movements knowing she was pumped full of adrenaline. Judging by the sweats and tank top she wore plus the wildness of her hair, she had to have been asleep and heard him come in. Sending her into agent mode. “I--I was distracted and I forgot to shout. I didn’t know if you were--I don’t…I don’t…” the words struggled to fall. His mind, fogged with fatigue, was racing with thoughts making it difficult for Johnny to get a grasp on them.

Plus, his heart was pumping from nearly being shot by his girlfriend.

Y/n, taking in his appearance fully for the first time since their unorthodox reunion, frowned and clicked the safety on the gun, tossing it on the coffee table where it’s usually hidden. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have come at you like that without confirming--.” Johnny gently cut her off.

“No, you have nothing to apologize for.” His arms fell to his side as he moved to ease his body on the armchair closest to him. Every muscle in him screamed, and while the fire that consumed his veins helped, it wasn’t enough. “It’s one in the morning. You were probably asleep and I knew better than to just walk in and expect you to know immediately that it was me. After all,” he grunted with a wince, watching as she moved to the kitchen to flick on the kettle before approaching him. “We were supposed to be back two days ago.”

“Yeah I figured something went wrong when Sue refused to answer my calls,” her body crouched down so she was level with his knees. “I was tempted to come after you guys.”

“Why didn’t you?” he leaned forward with a wince, smiling sheepishly at her look at disapproval. He obviously wasn’t great at hiding his pain from her.

“Because you always have everything under control. You’d pull through,” she assessed his features, glowering at the cuts that marked his skin painted with dried blood. The splotches on his suit and slight tears in the fabric. “Looks like this time you had a little more cut out for ya.”

Johnny chuckled, “you could say that.” The whistle of the kettle sounded, and Y/n got up to begin making Johnny a cup of herbal tea. Handing him the steaming mug before squatting once more. The heat of the cup was comforting, and thanks to his powers Johnny didn’t have to worry about burning his tongue when he took the first sip. “Thank you, darling.”

Her hand came to his cheek, making him lean into her touch as she pressed a kiss to his temple that was free of blood. His bottom lip was bruised with a small abrasion, so she refrained from kissing his mouth and instead left one on the corner. Laughing when he tried to catch her lips, but she pulled away causing him to groan.

“Wait here and drink your tea while I go run you a bath,” she squeezed his knee as she started to stand.

“Wait, no, no, no, baby--I don’t need a bath.” His hand snatched hers before she could walk away. Y/n let him hold her in place, but her brow raised with a knowing look. Johnny gave her his best puppy dog eyes, “The shower is perfectly fine and you have training in the morning. You go back to bed--I’ll be fine.”

Y/n scoffed lightly, “Bold of you to assume I’m not taking the day off, Johnny Storm. You just got back and I’m not letting you out of my sight for at least three days.” His face flushed red, causing a smirk to appear on her. “Plus, as if I need training. You and I both know it’s really for my sparring partners. Not me.”

“Which is why--,” he pulled her forward, letting his chin rest on her stomach as he tilted his head up. Sighing when her hands cupped his cheeks. “They are counting on you. You’re the best person for the job, Widow.”

“I’m off the clock,” Y/n smirked at the name, fingers going up to his hair to smooth it out. “That name only works on me when I’m on. Now stop trying to switch the subject.” She scolded, stepping away despite his refusal. “You’re going to drink this tea, get out of this suit and have a nice hot bath. Then you’re going to bed and sleep the rest of the day. Got it?” She left no room for argument, and Johnny wasn’t going to attempt, nodding with a tired yawn.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Good,” she leaned down to kiss his temple one last time. “Don’t move till I tell you to.” The response she got was a lazy two finger salute, and Y/n retreated to their bathroom. As the water filled the tub, she went to Johnny’s drawers to remove a t-shirt, sweatpants, and boxers, placing the clothes on the countertop before grabbing a packet of Epsom salt, bottle of bubble bath, lavender oil, a fluffy towel, a face towel and some candles from the cabinet. She also made sure to grab the first aid kit hidden beneath the sink.

She poured the bubble bath liquid once the water reached about ⅓ of the tub. Then lit the candles and placed them on the stained-glass windowsill. Shutting the water off when it got just below the brim of the tub, Y/n poured a cup of the Epsom salt and let it sit for a minute before returning to the living room.

“Alright, pretty boy, let’s get you cleaned up.” The smile on Johnny’s face was enough to light up a galaxy. If someone would’ve told him when he first gained powers rivaling the sun that his heart would be captured by a woman with deadly skills like the spider she’s named after, he’d say they had lost their mind. But the universe had a funny way of proving him wrong.

Carrying the brute of his weight, Y/n’s left arm went over his shoulders while the other wrapped over the front of his waist. Encouraging him to lean on her as she helped him off the chair and to the bathroom, “Baby, we’ve been over this before, you’re not going to hurt me,” she grumbled when he tried to keep himself steady.

Eventually they made it to the bathroom, perching Johnny on the edge of the tub where Y/n unzipped his suit and got it down to his torso before turning to allow him some privacy while he removed the rest and eased into the water.

“All good?” she asked, opening the first aid kit to retrieve bandages and alcohol pads.

“Yeah,” he moaned, welcoming the hot water as it hugged him. Instantly soothing the strained muscles that were already relaxing. Yeah the shower would’ve been a bad idea. “Thank you.”

“It’s the least I could do for putting you down when you were already,” Y/n’s tone was apologetic, and Johnny gave her a look. Silently telling her to stop being sorry for the incident ten minutes prior. Y/n dismissed his look, bringing the wipes and bandages over as she took a seat on the stool beside the tub. “Also, how many times have you done this for me?” Now it was Johnny’s turn to smirk.

“A few, give or take.” More like a dozen. Y/n’s returned back from missions covered in blood and bruises so much that Johnny’s already got the bath set when her jet lands.

“Exactly,” she says with a hum, bringing his face toward with one hand while the other gathers water on the face cloth. “Now let me take care of you.”

For the next 40 minutes, Johnny soaked in the bath as Y/n wiped the blood off him and tended to his wounds. She washed his hair while he relayed the details of the mission. Telling her how he came to be all battered and bruised thanks to an explosion he didn’t anticipate, too close to the line of fire. With the lavender oil Y/n massaged his shoulders and back, paying careful attention to the bruising so as to not hurt him any further.

When she was all done, Y/n pressed soft kisses all over his face. The contours of his cheekbones, the bridge of his nose, the space between his brows. His temple, his jaw, the corner of his lips. By the end of it Johnny was begging for her mouth on his. He craved it. Going as far as to murmur, “Please, baby,” when she pecked his chin. Eventually Y/n caved in. Meeting his plush lips for a shot, but sweet, tender kiss. There was a bit of pain on Johnny’s end due to the cut, but he didn’t care. He needed this.

The water remained warm due to his elevated body temperature, but once satisfied Johnny got out of the tub and dressed while Y/n put everything back in its place. The two then left the bathroom, Y/n flicking the lights off on their way out and led Johnny to the bed. “Oh,” he moaned just like the bath, relishing the feeling of the plush mattress gave him. It felt like laying on a cloud. “That’s so nice.”

Y/n laughed, urging him further into the bed so she could pull the comforter over his torso. Practically tucking him in before moving around to her side, joining him under the covers. Instantly Johnny pushes himself onto his side to curl up against Y/n, who laid on her back and welcomed him with opened arms. As he tucked his face in the area by her shoulder and neck, one hand went to her stomach to sneak his hand beneath her tank top and rest it on her waist.

“You know tonight reminded me of the first time we met.” He spoke after a minute, eyes fluttering shut at the feeling of her fingers move to card through his blonde hair. The action made him shudder, pressing himself further into her side.

Her chuckle made his body move slightly, a teasing tone in her reply, “You mean when I tried to kill you?” He could hear the smile in her voice, and it caused his own to appear.

Johnny remembered it like it was yesterday. He and the Fantastic Four were on a mission to locate a highly dangerous radioactive substance that could level an entire country. Recovering it was crucial God forbid it landed in the wrong hands. So they should’ve expected they weren’t the only ones after it.

Something they found out the hard way.

During the extraction, Johnny found himself face to face with the barrel of the gun in the hands of the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. Dressed in a black tactical suit with too many weapons for him to count and a stare enough to send him to the grave. Johnny felt a bunch of emotions at once. From fear at having a gun on him, to confusion at the red hourglass on her belt.

The encounter ended with Johnny getting a taste of what he would come to know as the widow’s bite. An electroshock weapon via gauntlets on her arms. Strong enough to put Johnny on his ass allowing her to escape with the package. The next day during the Four’s debrief, they discovered her identity.

Her name was Y/n L/n. A highly trained and enhanced assassin of the now disbanded and classified program, the Red Room. Called the Black Widow, Y/n was an expert marksman, master of weaponry, professional in hand-to-hand combat and possessed equipment the Fantastic Four had never seen. The files indicated she’d been a key part in the dismantling of several European governments and linked to a dozen political assassinations. The records alone were enough to make their skin crawl. And frankly the Four were confused as it was common knowledge that when the Red Room disbanded, they killed all the Black Widows under their command to prevent their secrets from getting out.

Turns out, they missed one. Who happened to be their best asset ever produced.

Why was she after a radioactive substance? They didn’t know. But whatever it was they needed to find out fast and locate her before whoever she was working for got it.

Their answer took weeks to uncover. And when they did the events following resulted in Y/n turning on the man she initially stole the package for and aligning with the Fantastic Four to bring him down. Initially they were suspicious, naturally so. Y/n was a spy, breaded and forged to become the best Black Widow the Red Room had ever produced. She was formidable, highly intelligent. A weapon in her own right.

But she was their best chance at beating the guy. She knew his weaknesses. Knew his plans. It was an unlikely alliance, but the odds were against them.

That was years ago. Now after saving the world too many times to count and nearly losing their lives, the assassin turned agent laid in Johnny’s bed in their shared apartment of Baxter’s Building. Holding him in her arms with a softness that took his breath away. The complete opposite of the threatening aura she possessed in the field.

“I love you, Y/n,” He breathed into the night as sleep overtook him. Succumbing to the exhaustion as his heart fluttered at the feeling of her lips attached one last time to his forehead.

“And I love you, my darling Johnny Storm.”

#johnny storm x reader #johnny storm x you #johnny storm imagine #mcu johnny storm #johnny storm fluff #johnny storm x female!reader #black widow!reader #marvel imagine #marvel fanfiction #mcu imagine #mcu fluff #fantastic four imagine #fantastic four fanfiction #fantastic four fanfic #joseph quinn imagine

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pankowcrumbs · 6 months ago

Text

MasterList

Requests: Open

💕Fluff 🌶️Smut 18+ ❤️‍🩹 Angst 🖤Sad 💛Male reader ❤️‍🔥 possessive

💔 heartbreak

Prompt List and Characters who I write for.

Masterlist for Stranger Things Cast and Actors

Joseph Quinn Masterlist

Masterlist for Outerbanks and Actors

Masterlist for Formula One Drivers (and Ex Drivers)

Masterlist for Members of the Bands 5 Seconds of Summer, One Direction * and The Vamps

*Excluding Liam

Masterlist for Everyone in the Harry Potter Universe

Masterlist for Bridgerton Characters and Actors

Masterlist for Marvel Characters and Actors

(except Tom Holland ↓)

Tom Holland

💕 The Key (One shot requested)

Tom is shit at throwing and its integral to the scene making a hilarious mess up.

💛💕 Slip up X Male Reader (one shot requested)

You and Tom are married and he accidently outs you both on live TV.

💕Puppy Love(one shot requested)

The puppy interview with Tom

Sam Holland

Harry Holland

💕Tour (One shot)

Harry directs your Tour documentary but you both fall in love along the way.

Kit Connor

💕 The Last Box (one shot requested)

You and Kit meet in the most unlikely of places over a box of coco pops.

💕 The call (series)

You meet Kit at a house party in London.

Chapter 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6.

💕 When the wave hits (one shot requested)

You and Kit watch the Sunset together and get knocked over by a rouge wave.

💕 Let the woman speak (one shot requested)

Kit keeps Stealing the mic in an interview when you are asked questions.

💕 Pillow Fort (one shot requested)

You're having a Movie night with the cast of Heartstopper and it ends in chaos.

💕 Sneezes (one shot requested)

Kit Can't stop sneezing in a serious scene making everyone place bets and giggle.

💕 Sleepy (one shot requested)

You, Joe and William fall asleep and end up in a tangled mess leaving Kit to judge you all.

💕 Skating (one shot requested)

You and Kit go Ice skating with the Cast.

💕 Age Gap (one shot requested)

You are 5 years older than kit and it gets you anxious about what people say.

Kit Connor

💕 Exposed (one shot)

Kit reassures you when the pressure of being his girlfriend gets to you from the public.

💔 It'll Be Okay (one shot)

Story is inspired by the song It'll Be Okay by Shawn Mendes

Taron Egerton

💕 Blind Date (series)

you star alongside Taron in a movie.

Chapter 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9. 10. 11.

💕 Fame (one shot)

a meet cute on the carpet for Kingsman

Tom Hardy

💕 Whiskey Kisses (one shot)

a few too many drinks and karaoke and you're kissing your co-star.

💕 Game over (one shot)

A intense board game night

💕 Bookshelf (one shot)

When Tom comes home to you trying (and failing) to make a bookshelf.

Will Poulter Masterlist

Richard Madden Masterlist

Paul Mescal

💕 Blind date (one shot)

You and Paul are set up on a successful blind date.

Austin Butler

💕 Click (one shot requested)

You are a photographer and Austin won't stop flirting.

💕 Karaoke Confessions (one shot requested)

One night after Karaoke Austin your flatmate confesses his feelings towards you.

💕🌶️*Hands (one shot requested)

You express your obsession with Austin's hands and it turns you both on so much.

*smutty but not actual smut

Pedro Pascal

💕🌶️*Blurred Lines (long one shot)

You and Pedro are romantic love interests in a new movie but there is a 25 year aged gap and it gets complicated when the feelings are becoming real underneath the characters.

*implied movie scene smut but not real sex

🌶️ Younger (one shot)

You and Pedro at a hollywood party - there is a 25 year age gap and you have sex seeing where things go.

💕Dad's best friend (one shot)

You fall for your dad's best friend Pedro.

💔 Echoes of Us (one shot)

Story is inspired by the song Our Song by Anne-Marie and Niall

Horan

Charles Melton

💕The warfare love triangle

Charles' ending

A choose-your-own-ending story with a love triangle with Will, Joseph and Charles on the set of Warfare where they each try to swoon and charm you.

💕 Communicate (one shot requested)

You are deaf and Charles learns to communicate with you making you feel seen and valued.

💔 Vienna (one shot)

Story is inspired by the song Vienna by Billy Joel

YUNGBLUD/Dominic harrison

💕Photo albums (one shot requested)

You and Dom look through your old photo albums of you as a kid and it sparks a conversation about your future kids.

ACOTAR Rhysand Cassian Azriel

Fourth Wing Xaden Riorson Dain Aetos Ridoc Gamlyn

Asa Butterfield

Lewis Capaldi

Fred Hechinger

All rights reserved. No part of these stories may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including printing, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

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kittwix · 2 months ago

Note

can you pls write hcs about the joestars s/o being a gyaru/o? like letting the reader draw eyeliner on them and stuff like that <3

Joestars with a Gyaru! Reader

Jonathan Joestar, Joseph Joestar, Jotaro Kujo, Josuke Higashikata, Giorno Giovanna, Jolyne Cujoh, Johnny Joestar, Gappy Joestar, Jodio Joestar x Gender Neutral! Reader

word count: 2.1k words

tags: fluff content, for the sake of fun and whimsy.. lets pretend that Jonathan and Joseph's time period are out the window considering gyaru originated in the 70s (thanks google), established relationship for all, stand user! reader hehe

Jonathan Joestar

Your colorful clothes and carefree personality really stood you out from the others. He couldn't help but let his eyes linger on to you far longer than necessary, even after the two of you had made it official and started going steady. He wasn't one to really judge people on what they look like and their background. Regardless, he was still very sweet and supportive of your attire.

"So... what do you think? Pretty cool, right?" You smiled, a brush in hand as you looked over your shoulder at the sight of your boyfriend looming over with his arms behind his back.

"I think you look rather ravishing, my dear." He complimented, his blue eyes softening at your gaze and the corners of his lips curved to match the equal smile you had.

"Cool it, romeo.. now you're embarrassing me here." You pouted playfully, turning to look back at your reflection as you tweaked your makeup some more.

"My apologies... I can't help but admit how desireable you are." He continued, his own cheeks flushing as he takes a step forward. "Now that you're done.. I take it that we will be going out soon for our date?"

Joseph Joestar

Okay on one hand he loves it but then on the other he thinks you're kinda weird, but in a good way. He's not accustomed to Japanese fashion styles like that, it takes him a while to kinda understand what you're aiming at here and just used to how you're dressed. However, he knows a thing or two with slapping on makeup on his face (*tequila joseph hint hint*)

"Getting yourself all pretty for me, babe?" You could hear him smiling behind his words as he towered over your seated position with your back facing him. You were adjusting the makeup around your eyes, glancing between your reflection in the mirror and then at your makeup bag.

"I'm looking good for myself, not everything is about you, Jojo." You sneered, applying lipstick before letting it drop back in your makeup bag. Looking back at him, a growing smirk appeared on your face as an idea popped into your head. "Speaking of which, why don't you let me touch up on your face really quickly?"

Joseph flinched a little at this as he stared hard at the eyeliner pencil in your hand as you pointed it at him. "Get that away from me!" He teased. "And what's wrong with how I already look? Aren't you just dying to kiss my handsome face? My steel muscles? I'm the full package, baby!"

"Oh, be quiet!" You hissed at him, though it was hard to contain your own giggles after hearing him howl with laughter as he clenched on to his belly.

Jotaro Kujo

Honestly he kinda doesn't care about how you dress, though he does find it to be a bit much. Still, you were bold and thats what he liked about you and if it expresses physically into your attire then it wouldnt bother him at all. But sometimes, he hates the attention that it brings and especially for any punks that try to mess with you.

"Get lost." He spat, his baritone voice startling both you and the dude who was mocking you from afar.

"O-or what? Gonna beat me up?? Y'know that's like a crime right? Don't think I can't report you and your freak of a nature slut." The guy continued, but it was obvious that he was intimidated by him. Those were the wrong choice of words and in a blink of an eye, the guy was bruised up and slammed into the nearest wall.

"Holy shit..!" Your eyes widened as he leaned back a bit in shock, like a cat with its fur standing up. "Wasn't that a bit much?" You asked, still you couldn't help but take your phone out with a charm dangling at the end as you took a quick photo of this.

"That asshole was running his damn mouth for too long." Jotaro reiterated, turning his back to face you. "Besides.. how fucking stupid do you think I am for letting him bad mouth you like that.."

You nearly choked on your own spit at his words. It meant a lot coming from him and honestly, you'd be lying if you said it didnt make you wanna giggle and kick your feet.

"Aww.. going soft on me now, Kujo?" You teased and he simply sighed and muttered 'Good Grief'.

Josuke Higashikata

He loves it so much and he will 100% let you do some of the makeup on him as well. He's the type of guy that would want to try and get into the kind of things you're into and that includes dressing up a bit. Might've convinced him to dress up next time you see him at school and when he shows up, it's definitely a shock for everyone.

"Josuke..?" Koichi was the first to call out to him in question, his eyes were wide and he was a bit speechless. Yukako stood by him as well, though she glanced between you and Josuke before quickly connecting the dots here.

On the other hand, Okuyasu burst into a fit of laughter as he pointed at his best friend. "What the fuck are you wearing?! You look stupid!" He roared as he clenched on to his belly.

Josuke stood there with a blush on his face as his friends continue to tease and question him about his appearance. "Say whatever you want, but I wanted to try something new." He scoffed at this before making eye contact with you in which you could only smirk back at him. "I think you look really cute!" You chimed in, hooking your arms around his and walked to his side. Despite the playful comments his friends were giving him, he still managed to smile knowing that he made you happy.

Giorno Giovanna

It's the first thing he notices and he'd be lying if he said you weren't eye candy. He doesn't hold much opinions to what you look like per say, but you've discovered part of him that's got an eye for fashion whether it's intentional or not.

"Long and colorful nails suit your eyes, Cara." He would say, taking your hand and bringing it up to his lips to graze your skin. "I think you should go with purple next time instead of blue."

"Eh..? You think so?" You were a bit stunned to be getting suggestions from him, he was the last person you'd expect to really care. "Geez, Giorno... didn't think you'd pay that much attention."

"Of course I would." He answered back, still holding on to your hands gently. "Who do you take me for?" He continued to tease. You felt like your head was about to melt and explode from how hot it was getting. Hearing him talk so sweetly with that voice of his made your heart jump.

"So.. you like it?" You asked.

"I like you. Whatever you wear will only highlight what I already adore." And that was the nail on the coffin and now you have melted under his hands. He knew exactly what he was doing and goddammit was it working.

Jolyne Cujoh

She loves it. Thinks you're really cool and honestly she wouldn't mind trying it herself to match with you. Would let you paint her nails, do some light makeup and then take pictures together.

She did a double take when she saw you walking in with your full attire. Her eyes widened and her lips parted in shock. She didn't expect to see you dress down like that but she digs it.

"Am I seeing things? You look so freakin' cool..!" She gushed, already admiring down to your nails and your hair and even the makeup.

"Now I feel like I look normal in comparison to you." She chuckled sheepishly but you placed your hands on her shoulders and gave her a few pats.

"Now, now, Jolyne! Tell ya what, you come shoppin' with me tomorrow and I'll get you all dolled up like me!" You chirped happily in which she felt her own cheeks flush at this as she averted her gaze.

"Alright, fine... at least I get to spend some time with you." She muttered bashfully.

Johnny Joestar

Thinks that it's a bit much, though he admires your bold decisions to dress in that way. Honestly, if you catch him staring at you funny, he might even find it to be weirdly hot and he'll be bashful when you point it out to him.

He blinked for a moment, staring at your clothes. You caught the way he kept staring without saying anything so you turned your head to face him and placed your hands on your hips with a scoffed expression.

"You're staring.." You narrowed your eyes at him as you pouted.

"Did a glitter bomb go off on you..? You look like a walking disco ball." He blurted out.

"You don't like it?" You questioned as you took another look at yourself in the reflection of your outfit but he was quick to correct himself given at how upset you had gotten.

"N-no..! I didn't mean it like that. I actually kinda like it." He muttered, though he was avoiding eye contact with you which only made you smirk when you pointed it out. "Don't get any ideas..."

Josuke Higashikata (Gappy)

A bit confused by your appearance but he seems really interested regardless. Thinks its easier to find or spot you in case he gets lost or when you're in a big crowd.

"Eh..? Is that you?" You hear him ask as he tilts his head to the side a bit. He likes from just how bouncy your hair is and how colorful your nails are. "What's with the look?"

"What's the matter? Not liking it? I wanted to go all out today." You explained, fetching a mirror in your bag to take a look at your reflection.

"Not bad. Just... cute." He stared some more as you approached him slowly with your hands behind your back and an innocent smile on your face. He looked at you curiously. "What?"

"You're still staring.." You pointed out in which he blinked in response before scratching the back of his neck.

"Is that a bad thing? You're so cute, it's hard to look away when you're so loud." He admitted with a little smile in which you giggled back in response ans pressed a little kiss to his cheek.

Jodio Joestar

He's into it, draws the attention and with attentiom equals dollar signs. At least thats the logic he tells himself. He's also just pretty chill with most things you do and that includes whatever you wear, no matter how eccentric or boring. Plus when he gets the money, he'd wanna spoil you.

Jodio's lounging in a beachside cafe in O'ahu, leaning back in his chair as he sipped his cool beaverage and enjoyed the sun shining down on his skin.

"Joooodiooo..!" You called out to him and ran to where he was seated as you wrapped your arms behind his shoulders. "You promised that you'd come hang out with me when you're done with your 'business deal'! I see you relaxing here, you're not so slick!"

"It wasn't a business deal." Jodio answered, leaning in to your touch as he kept his eyes closed as he sunbathed. "But, now that you're here.." He trails off, taking one of your hands in his own before turning his chin up to face you. "Let's hang out now."

"Yeah right... and then you'll ditch me again for some quick cash!" You pouted.

"Profit is profit and think about it," He started as he pats the spot next to him and you quietly sat right by him. "With that extra cash, maybe I'll slide you a few benjamins to treat yourself to something nice. Maybe something for that bouncy hair you got."

"Now that's just wishful thinking.. if only we were rich." You frowned playfully and he laughed at this before wrapping an arm around your shoulder.

"Just you wait, babe."

fin

masterlist <3

#jjba #jjba fluff #jojo bizarre adventure #fluff #kittwix drabbles #gender neutral reader #kittwix sfw #joseph joestar #joseph joestar x reader #jonathan joestar x reader #jotaro x reader #josuke x reader #giorno x reader #jolyne x reader #johnny joestar x reader #gappy x reader #jodio x reader

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flare-queen · 11 months ago

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Deputy, Seeds and Babies.

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godlygivenanxiety · 3 months ago

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i feel like a lot about joseph's insistence on the deputy being his family and how he says he almost killed them in those seven years out of mercy but decided he would 'show them forgiveness'... sounds like possessiveness born out of fear of being alone, father~

#far cry new dawn #joseph seed #fc5 deputy oc #danny martins #the judge #the father #oc x canon

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sgiandubh · 3 months ago

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(Perhaps) the right end of the stick?

Just before the sordid show of which I have been the unwilling subject, I have promised you my take on this whole Mexican charade and I intend to settle this once and for all.

In the meanwhile, I have been watching with a jubilatory smirk, from the side wings of the fandom, how the dots have been, as always, connected in the most mendacious possible way. And how rivers of pixels have ran amok with the utmost minutiae regarding that distillery trip to San Sebastián del Oeste.

For what is worth, everyone kept an eye exclusively on the Czech young woman, simply because that was the narrative to be sold to S's fandom. And what I believe is the wrong end of the stick, waterfall sound tidbit on top. But we know that, at least ever since that (in)famous 'Go, Sarah', right?

Despite my hinting in comments, almost nobody asked themselves anything of substance about The Fan, whose first selfie with S gave away the getaway (see what I just did here?).

This lady, to be more precise - forgive me, but I think you might not remember her, right?

Or should I rather say Dr. Sarah and Mrs Solange Neustadter, judging by her dual, and even manifold, online persona?

First, there was Dr. Sarah Neustadter, PhD, specialized in clinical and transpersonal psychology and author of Love You Like the Sky, a rather well received book on grief management and coping mechanisms, after someone's suicide:

[Source: https://sarahneustadter.com/about/]

Up until now, there is strictly nothing to write home about. Enter Mrs. Solange Neustadter, who is really Dr. Neustadter's version 2.0. With a slightly different profile, personal brand and short-term projects:

[Source: https://www.instagram.com/solange_neue/]

She is supposedly an OL/S fan, but how come there is zero OL-related content on her Instagram page? Not the slightest shred of an allusion, while we do have many references to travel (with Mexico a firm favorite), Anthony Bourdain, comparative mythology authors like Joseph Campbell and his Hero with a Thousand Faces (a great read I highly recommend, by the way), etc. And even her former boyfriend, that she unfortunately lost to suicide - hence the book, which I believe is a very good one.

Things become perhaps more interesting once we move to X, which proves that at some point, The Fan felt the need of a change in her own life:

[Source: https://x.com/SolangeNeue]

For some reason, I found this short comment tidbit quite interesting, especially considering her new, very recent Captain Solange personal brand:

But also a slowly emerging interest for Hollywood and its Tinseltown industry:

A screenwriter, absolutely. With a strong interest in learning how to become a professional and a romantic drama feature screenwriting project. As such, she took part to the Stowe Story Labs' Fifth Annual Sidewalk Narrative Lab, a workshop and networking-oriented side event of the Sidewalk Film Festival (Birmingham, Alabama), an indie oriented event which managed to attract Time Magazine's attention:

[Source: https://stowestorylabs.org/news/stowe-story-labs-announces-roster-for-fifth-annual-sidewalk-narrative-lab]

And now for her newest incarnation, Captain Solange, The (surprised?) Influencer. Not really successful, if compared with her ambitions, but hey, a girl can dream:

[Source: https://www.thehandbook.com/influencer/solange-neustadter/ - last updated on July 14th, 2023]

It is, of course, just a coincidence, that her new website has just been released after her Mexican trip:

[Source: https://www.solangeneue.com/]

Basically, yet another women-oriented empowerment and dating/ life coach service, with rather hefty price tags to boot:

Her six-weeks programme based in LAX promises her clients 'life changing tools', in order to 'make [them] feel outrageous and connected'. Also, this - for some reason, this caught my eye:

'Hot tips on where to meet great Angelenos' - here is where a bell does ring, indeed. I can't help but wonder if this very interesting person is on Raya, hmmm.

To cut the story short, I am honestly asking myself a couple of very simple questions:

What are the odds (and by this, I mean the organic odds) that a screenwriter-cum-influencer wannabe, who is in dire need of networking and/or some extra social media exposure, would spontaneously meet S in Nayarit, Jalisco, Mexico?

And what are the odds the above screenwriter-cum-influencer would post the selfie that relaunched some wild innuendo, in a very much overdriven fringe of a C-lister's fandom?

Come to think of it, this is a really, really small favor to ask of a friendly, but definitely transactional 'stranger'. And mutually beneficial, to say the least. Note she immediately knew what to do: after luring the iPhone Alarm Tumblr Brigade, she quickly deleted the tag on her post, along with all the nosy fan questions. Go figure, huh?

The rest of the story really did write itself. This is nothing we have not already seen. I could take bets, already, perhaps including what next week will bring us. Heh.

I am going to let you draw your own conclusions. I could be tragically wrong, in which case I am ready to acknowledge and recalibrate, as always. But let's also remember this simple cycle/pattern:

Instagram follow (mutual or not, it does not matter, at this point in time) -> Fan pic (usually a latergram) -> Instagram Story (now, with voices 🙄) -> Mutual/Collateral Instagram follow(s) -> even more innuendo -> if it does stick: double down, no matter how outrageously/if it does not stick, abort operation and leave in drawer, ready for future reactivation.

It never fails.

Aye, caramba! Exactly.

#fandom #shitshow #Jalisco speculation #Czech young woman and more

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lightsoutmatthews · 4 days ago

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Hii! I was wondering if I could please request Joseph Woll x younger reader like by 5 years? or maybe Willy/ or auston with younger reader with not too big of a gap but like 6 years difference? Something about them connecting and she’s like someone with a background who isn’t really connected to the hockey world (moreso legal/psych) like the NHL players association member and how she’s not as open to wanting to explore the connection with Joseph because she’s different compared to other WAGS (not like the standard; like non-white)?? Thank you if your down to do this ask!!

I will preference this by saying I am NOT a person of color, any and all experiences described in this are inspired by what friends told me or from media!!

If anyone is in any way shape or form uncomfortable with me writing about people of Color please don’t hesitate to let me know!!

From different worlds – Joseph Woll

You weren’t even supposed to be at the game. It was one of those last-minute “you work too much, come out for once” nights.

One of your co-workers had gotten tickets from her brother who worked in media and dragged you along.

You weren’t dressed in blue or white, you didn’t know any of the chants, you didn’t follow hockey aside from the occasional headline that was popping up on your feed.

You worked in legal and that world didn’t exactly intersect with the sports one.

Your days were full of NDAs, document review, contract language and arguments about the intent versus the execution. Sitting in the lower bowl, with overpriced beer in hand, watching grown men slam into each other wasn’t your usual Thursday.

Still, something about the way the goalie moved coughed your attention. Calm. Efficient. Focused.

You didn’t know much about the position, but even a newcomer could see he was solid back there.

His name flashed across the jumbotron: Joseph Woll.

You made a mental note to look him up online later, more out of curiosity than anything.

Later, in the private media lounge (which you had no real business being in, but your co-workers brother waved you through), he walked in. He was taller than you expected, hair damp, suit neat but not flashy.

He didn’t carry himself like someone who wanted attention.

You didn’t notice him approaching until he stopped in front of your group, offering a polite smile and a greeting for your co-workers brother.

Then his eyes landed on you. “Hi,” he greeted.

You didn’t say anything at first, just nodded. It wasn’t nerves, it was some sort of distance. Like you weren’t sure what he wanted or if you wanted to be seen by someone like him.

Your co-worker elbowed you. “This is my friend. She´s the brilliant one who talks circles around judges.”

You gave a polite, short smile. “I work in legal. Mostly compliance,” you explained.

“Sounds complicated,” he offered.

“It is.”

He chuckled softly, clearly not thrown off. “I´m Joseph.”

“I know,” slipped out of your mouth before you could stop it.

There was a beat of silence, but not an awkward one. More like he was studying you, in a quiet, respectful way.

Then someone else pulled him aside and you figured out that was it.

You didn’t belong here anyway.

---------------

You didn’t expect to see him again.

The charity fundraiser was just another work assignment. Your form had sent you to oversee legal logistics for a client´s nonprofit initiative. Contracts, permits, donation tracking.

It was hosted in a boutique downtown venue, full of glass walls and strategic lightning.

You wore a structured black suit dress with minimal jewelry; your work badge clipped at your waist. Efficient and professional, invisible to everyone who wasn’t actively looking for you.

Then you spotted him.

Same calm posture, same composed energy.

His suit was different this time, lighter and a little sharper, but he still didn’t walk like someone trying to be noticed.

He was surrounded by people. Event photographers, fans that managed to get an invite and someone who looked like a PR person.

You didn’t think you were near him long enough to notice you, but he did, and when he did, he smiled.

No big wave, no dramatic move to get your attention. Justa simple, small smile. Like he remembered you.

You nodded politely, then turned back to your laptop.

------------

A few days later your phone buzzed with a new Instagram dm.

@josephwoll: Hey. I hope I´m not being weird here but it was wondering if you ever wanted to catch coffee or something.

You stared at it until your phone went dark, opened it again and starred some more.

You didn’t reply, at least not right away because if you were being honest with yourself, the whole thing made you feel a little uneasy.

Not in a really bad way, just in a way that forced you to think too much.

You weren’t one of the women he probably saw all the time. You weren’t blonde. You weren’t bubbly. You didn’t post curated outfits or spotted team merch in the arena.

You were a little sharp. A little too direct. Quiet, but guarded. You grew up in a house where respect mattered more than looks, where ambition wasn’t optional, where you had to fight your way into law school scholarships and navigate cultural codes every that just to be taken seriously in rooms that weren’t made for you.

And hockey? That wasn’t your world.

You didn’t grow up skating even though you lived in Canada and you didn’t watch the Leafs with your dad.

You didn’t know what a power play was until two months ago. You only knew his name because it had flashed across the screen, and even then, you had forgotten it until you saw him at the even.

Why would someone like him, who could easily date someone who fit the image, someone who already knew the system, be interested in you?

You weren’t naïve. You heard what people said about you. They said it like it was a compliment, but it always meant different.

And you weren’t in the mood to be a novelty.

So, you didn’t answer. For two days you left the message unread.

You kept working. Reviewed contracts, drafted redlines, responded to firm emails like nothing was sitting in your inbox that made your stomach flutter and twist at the same time.

On the third day, after a long day and a later dinner alone in your apartment, you opened the message.

Your fingers hovered over the keyboard, typed a few words but deleted them, then, tried again.

In the end you sent: I´m not really part of your world.

The typing bubble appeared almost immediately.

@josephwoll: That´s kind of the point.

You didn’t reply again. instead, you stared at the wall above your couch for ten minutes, trying to decide what kind of person you wanted to be in this moment.

Cautious? Or curious?

You weren’t sure yet. So, you waited.

-----------

Two weeks passed before you agreed to meet.

Not for dinner. Not for anything that felt too much like a thing. Just coffee at neutral ground.

He picked a small café off Queen Street. Something quiet and local with no cameras.

You showed up five minutes late, not because you meant to, but because you debated going right up until the moment you locked your apartment door.

A part of you were still tense when you entered, like you were about to walk into a room that required a code you didn’t know.

When you saw him, seated at a small table in the corner, hoodie and cap, sipping on something that looked like tea, you almost turned around.

But he looked up and smiled like he was genuinely glad you showed up.

“Hey,” he said, standing, not making a move to hug or assume.

“Hey,” you replied, sliding into the chair across from him.

The first few minutes were awkward. Not in a bad way, both of you were just guarded.

He didn’t push. You appreciated that.

He asked about your job and actually listened when you talked about compliance, how it was less about catching people doing bad things and more about preventing the bad things in the first place.

You expected his eyes to glaze over. They didn’t

“Do you like it?” he asked with genuine curiosity.

You paused. “I like what it means. I like that I´m the person they call when someone is trying to slip something shady through. It´s like quiet justice.”

He smiled at that. “That´s a great phrase.”

You shrugged. “It´s not catchy enough for a TED Talk.”

He laughed and for the first time, your shoulders relaxed a little.

Eventually, you asked about hockey. Not because you suddenly cared about stats, but because it felt fair.

He kept it light. Told a funny story about a miscommunication on the bench. Mentioned a teammate´s obsession with weird superstitions. Nothing arrogant or an over explanation.

You liked that.

When the conversation slowed, something pushed at you though. “I´m not…I don’t really fit the WAG thing,” you mumbled.

He looked up from his drink, seriousness overtaking his features. “I didn’t ask you out to fit a thing.”

“It´s not just that,” you added, “I don’t look like the rest of them. I didn’t grow up in this world. It feels too far away.”

You figured you should be clear with him from the start to prevent something from happening that would end up in chaos and catastrophe.

“Far from what?” he asked.

You hesitated for a second. “From me.”

He didn’t try to talk you into it. He didn’t say “That´s not true” or “Don’t think like that”. Instead, he said, “Yeah, I get that.”

You looked at him, skeptical. “Do you?”

He nodded. “I went to a school where most of the guys were trust fund kids who played golf and wore blazers for fun. I didn’t fit either.”

You snorted. “Not the same thing.”

“No,” he agreed. “Absolutely not, but I get what it´s like to feel like you´re visiting someone else´s life.”

That stuck with you.

Neither of you filled the silence for a while.

Eventually, you said, “I´m still not sure what this is.”

He tilted his head slightly. “It´s just coffee.”

That made you smile.

---------------

Dating Joseph wasn’t a performance. Not for the media, not for the team, and definitely not for Instagram.

There were no hard launches. No coordinated photos, no tagging locations or sitting front row in Leafs gear. You didn’t post anything, and he didn’t ask you to. If anything, he seemed relieved by how private you were.

It started with a few more coffees. Texts that didn’t feel obligatory. A night walk in Trinity Bellwood’s when the city was quieter and you didn’t have to share him with a hundred eyes.

You told no one at work. Not because you were embarrassed, but because explaining it felt like inviting opinions you didn’t need. You weren’t interested in becoming office gossip, or in fielding questions like “Wait, the hockey player?” followed by the subtle once-over, followed by the even subtler but you don’t seem like the type.

Besides, you liked keeping it yours.

At first, everything between you stayed in this safe, in-between space. Not casual, but not quite defined. You’d meet after his practices, usually later in the evening when your work was winding down.

You’d talk about nothing, or everything. Sometimes he’d come over, still in sweatpants, and you’d sit on your couch eating takeout and laughing over some weird legal story you’d picked up during the week.

He always asked questions. About your cases, your background, your parents, who he learned were immigrants with strong opinions and even stronger expectations.

“So, they don’t know about me?” he asked one night.

You gave him a half-smile. “Not yet. They think I’m working too much again.”

He didn’t push. Just nodded, and said, “I get it.”

And he did.

You could tell by the way he never assumed things. He didn’t act like his world was more important. If anything, he seemed to tiptoe around it, like he was wary of how much space it could take up.

But the space came anyway.

The first time you really realized was at a team dinner.

You weren’t supposed to go. He had RSVP’d solo; told you there was no pressure. But a few days before, he mentioned offhandedly, “I’d like to bring you. If you want.”

You said yes.

Then spent the next three days debating it.

You changed your outfit six times. Settled on a long-sleeved cream blouse and tailored pants. Clean, simple, nothing flashy.

When you walked in, holding his hand, you saw the way people glanced your way. Curious, maybe a little confused. Not rude. Just...surprised.

The other partners were friendly, mostly. Smiling, sweet, and immaculately styled.

A few made genuine conversation but others asked vague, surface-level questions that circled around the same invisible curiosity:

What are you doing here?

You laughed politely. Answered things like, “I work in legal compliance,” and tried not to wince when someone said, “Oh wow, you must be smart.”

But what stuck the most was the comment made halfway through the night.

One of the girlfriends leaned over during dessert, smiling at you like she meant well. “You’re really pretty. So… unique looking. Kind of exotic, you know?”

You blinked.

Joseph heard it too. His hand stiffened just slightly under the table.

You smiled thinly. “Not really a word I like.”

“Oh?” she blinked. “Sorry, I meant it as a compliment.”

You nodded once. “That’s what everyone says.”

Later, in the car, neither of you said anything at first. The silence sat there between you. Heavy, but not hostile.

Finally, he spoke. “I’m sorry.”

“You didn’t say it.”

“I still hate that it happened.”

You shrugged, looking out the window. “It’s not the first time.”

“I know,” he said quietly. “Doesn’t mean it should keep happening.”

You exhaled. “It’s not about her. It’s… the feeling. Like I’m a tourist in your life.”

He looked over. “You’re not.”

“You say that. And maybe you believe it. But people look at me and wonder why I’m there. They see you, and then they see me, and it doesn’t line up.”

“It does to me,” he said firmly. “You’re the only thing that feels real sometimes.”

That surprised you.

He didn’t say it like a line. It wasn’t rehearsed or dramatic. He said it like it had been sitting in his throat for a while and just came out.

You looked at him.

Really looked.

And in that moment, you realized how alone he probably felt too.

Everyone assumed athletes lived in the center of the world. But Joseph didn’t act like someone in the center. He moved around it quietly and cautiously. Like he didn’t want to get swallowed.

You weren’t so different, after all.

Maybe just in opposite corners of the same room.

------------

You didn’t call it a relationship.

Not because it wasn’t one but because calling it that felt like something you weren’t ready to explain. Not to your friends, not to your family, and maybe not even to yourself.

It was easier to keep it unnamed.

You weren’t hiding him, but you weren’t ready to invite him into the part of your life that came with history, culture, expectations, and a family that had never been subtle about what they thought made sense for you.

Still, the more time passed, the more you realized this thing between you wasn’t staying casual.

Joseph was consistent. He wasn’t intense. He didn’t overwhelm you with messages or big gestures. But he showed up in quiet ways, small ways that chipped away at your usual distance.

He noticed when you were tired before you said anything. He remembered the case you were working on and sent you good luck texts the morning of court filings. He made sure you ate, even if it meant dropping off dinner outside your office when you worked late.

It wasn’t showy. It wasn’t loud. It was steady.

That steadiness made it harder to keep the lines blurry.

So, one night, sitting on your couch with your legs tucked under you and his hoodie slouched over your frame, you asked the question that had been hovering for weeks.

“Is this something?”

He didn’t pretend not to understand.

He looked at you, calm and open. “Feels like something to me.”

You nodded. “It feels like that to me too.”

But the words caught in your throat again, so you looked away and said, “It’s just… hard to bring people into my world.”

Joseph shifted closer, careful. “What part?”

“My family. My culture. The assumptions.” You exhaled. “It’s not that they wouldn’t like you. You’re impossible not to like. It’s just that you wouldn’t be what they expected.”

He nodded slowly. “They want someone like them.”

“Exactly.”

“I’m not threatened by that,” he said simply.

You raised an eyebrow. “You should be.”

He smiled a little. “I’m not.”

You didn’t know what to say to that. You weren’t used to people not being intimidated by your background or, worse, trying to flatten it to make it more palatable.

Joseph didn’t do either. He never tried to decode you. He just listened.

Later that week, he asked, “Would it be easier if I met them as a friend first?”

You blinked. “You want to meet my parents?”

He shrugged. “Eventually. Not if it’s too soon but I’d rather show up than have you carry it alone.”

That did something to you.

Because no one had ever said that before. Not in that way.

You didn’t say yes that day. But you didn’t say no either.

----------

A few more weeks passed before you finally told your parents.

You mentioned him on a Saturday call. Your mom asked if you were seeing anyone, casually, like she always did. You hesitated, then said, “Kind of. His name is Joseph.”

There was a pause. Then: “What does he do?”

“He’s a goalie. Hockey.”

Longer pause.

“Like… for a team?”

“Yeah. Professionally.”

Another beat. “So… he plays for fun?”

“No, Mom,” you said gently. “It’s his actual job. He plays for the Leafs.”

Silence.

Then your father’s voice, in the background: “You’re dating an athlete?”

You sighed. “He’s not just an athlete.”

That’s as far as it went that day. They didn’t ask to meet him. They didn’t say much else, but you could tell they were turning it over in their heads. Running it against the mental checklist they had built since you were old enough to spell lawyer.

Still, you were proud of yourself for saying it out loud.

It didn’t fix everything. But it was a start.

-------------

A few nights later, Joseph came over with groceries.

You had been too tired to cook, and he showed up with enough ingredients for a real meal, chicken, rice, some kind of salad you wouldn’t normally bother with, but that he somehow made look easy.

You sat on the counter, watching him chop and season like it was second nature.

“Do you always do this?” you asked.

“What? Cook?”

“No. Show up like it’s nothing.”

He glanced over. “It’s not nothing.”

You looked at him, serious now. “Why me, Joseph?”

He looked up, took a second to answer. “Because you don’t treat me like I’m something I’m not.”

You tilted your head. “And what’s that?”

He dried his hands. “Famous. Special. A job.”

You blinked.

“I like that you talk to me like a person,” he added. “You push back. You challenge me. You don’t perform.”

You swallowed, because something about that made your throat tight.

He stepped closer, leaned against the counter next to you. “And if I’m being honest… I think I need someone who sees me that way.”

You didn’t say anything for a long minute.

Then quietly, you said, “I think I need that too.”

He smiled. Just a little.

And that night, for the first time, you let yourself believe that maybe – maybe – this wasn’t something you had to keep at arm’s length.

Maybe you weren’t a tourist in his world.

Maybe you were just new to it.

And maybe that was okay.

#joseph woll #toronto maple leafs #joseph woll imagine #toronto maple leafs imagine #joseph woll x reader #nhl imagine

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rogue-durin-16 · 2 months ago

Text

HEAD-TO-HEAD (part XXII/?)

Summary: Joe thought she was pretty. Had he just said that, things might have been different for them. Maybe they wouldn't have gone head-to-head at each other for three years like it was a contest.

Pairing: Joseph Liebgott x Reader

Genre: angst/rivals to lovers

Tags:

Head-to-head: @derersketnoget @ladystardustfromarss @lanadelray1989 @chanshugsaretherapy @hoddystark @sxalbatf @jetjuliette @luvrottt @fromjupitertocentauri @ecompstolemysoul @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy @bitter-post-millennial @gotxpenny @knight-of-thesun @scottstr3et

Band Of Brothers: @fernando-jpg @chubbypotatoepie @tvserie-s-world @clumsy-wonderland @lordndsaviorwinters @lanadelray1989 @chanshugsaretherapy @hoddystark @gotxpenny

Permanent taglist: @randomparanoid @karlthecat15722 @thebutchersdaughtersblog @amourtentiaa @comfort-reads

Warnings: language, alcohol, smut (drunk sex, mutual masturbation, exhibitionism? bruh idk I'm just here clutching my pearls💀😭)

A/N: oof I almost cut this one out twice, but @jupiterberriez took the time to make a gorgeous edit for this fic so now I gotta post it in her honor. Y'all once again say thank you to jup and enjoy<3

Head-to-head masterlist

Band of Brothers masterlist

Rogue-durin-16 masterlist

The fancy pub of the Berchtesgadener Hof was a mess of smoke, sweat, and noise. Someone had dragged a phonograph out of storage and forced it to sing jazz through its warped lungs. Exhilaration and alcohol commanded the victorious celebrations of a day none of us thought would live to see.

I stumbled on one of the bar counters' direction, breathless from laughing at Luz's joke, which probably wouldn't have been that funny if I were sober. Malarkey, draped on a stool, poured the remaining liquor of the bottle he had claimed on a glass, and handed it to me without a question; a gesture I appreciated.

"Danke." I said, saluting before tossing it back, my free hand going up to hold my newly acquired hat in place.

"Jesus, how much've you had?" Malarkey questioned, his face pink from the amount of booze running through his own veins.

"Uh... not enough," I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. "do we have something that'll burn on its way down?" I bent over the expensive surface to check what was left after the entire 506th raided the place.

"Lemme see—" George launched himself over the bar, landing on the other side with close to no grace, empty bottles clattering around him when he lost balance. Both Don and I broke out an intoxicated cackle.

"The fuck you wearin'?" A high-pitched voice drawled behind me, almost offended.

I turned to see Joe sprawled in a sofa someone had definitely stolen from another room, one arm hung over the backrest. His legs were spread, bottle in hand.

More, half lying on the opposite end of the couch with a cigarette between his lips, let out an amused scoff at my look. "You headin' to be judged for your war crimes, Sarge?"

I looked down at myself. The Nazi officer's jacket hung open over my shirt, the matching cap still perched on my head. The insignia gleamed under the warm lights of the room, ridiculous and wrong.

"Fashion." I said flatly. "You wouldn't get it."

Joe squinted. "You look like a dictator's wet dream."

"And you look like you lost a fight with a bottle of Cognac." I quipped sweetly, making a point to put the words out clearly.

Joe blinked like he hadn't expected me to come that close. "Why don'tcha take that shit off?"

"If it bothers you so much, you take it off."

"Wait, what?" Luz snorted returning to sit atop the counter with a bottle of Korn he managed to scrounge up from some abandoned box.

"Dunno," I shrugged; an attempt to move past my own quip. "'M drunk outta my mind."

"C'mon, take that off." Joe insisted, leaning forward, using his elbows on his thighs as support.

With an annoyed exhale, I marched over without answering, yanked the cap off my head, and dropped it in his lap. "There. Happy?"

I reached out and plucked the bottle straight from his hand. His fingers tightened, like he might actually stop me. He didn't, but eyes followed my lax moves as I took a long swig, the liquid hot down my throat.

"Jesus," I coughed, turning the bottle in my hand to check the label. "Okay..." My narrowed gaze did its best to stop the letters from dancing on the . "Think I like this one." I stated, and with some difficulty, got around the misplaced couch and away from the men.

"Hey—" he called after me. "You takin' my bottle?"

I didn't answer. Just raised it behind me in a lazy wave and kept walking, slipping off the main hall and into what I would have sworn was a service corridor. Maybe. Between the daze, the alcohol and the lack of proper light, my mind could barely tell.

I made it halfway down before I heard his footsteps catching up behind me—unsteady but determined.

"You can't just... steal a man's liquor." he muttered, voice low as he cornered me near what I guessed to be a pantry.

I spun to face him a bit too fast, losing my balance momentarily. "Wasn't stealin'." I feigned innocence, my free hand finding the closest wall for leverage. "'s called borrowin', alright?"

"Oh yeah?" He stepped closer, boxing me in between the wall and his chest when I rotated to be face to face with him. "What do I get in return?"

I tilted my head, looking up at him from under my lashes, pulse thudding louder than the music still playing in the background. "You want somethin' in return?"

"That's a fine ass Cognac," he scoffed, pointing at the bottle held hostage against my hip. "'Course I want somethin'."

I tilted my head to the side, a honeyed half smile twisting my visage. "Whaddya want?"

The second-guessing flashed over his face, more noticeable than he would've liked. "You're not subtle."

"Maybe I don't wanna be."

Joe exhaled heavily through his nose, his hand coming up to rub his forehead before his eyes dropped to my mouth.

I leaned back, partly to stop the world from spinning, partly to grant him distance. As a response, Joe stepped closer.

I raised the bottle, tipped it in his direction like a toast. "Happy V-E Day, Lieb."

His brow ticked. He stared at me like he'd misheard—or maybe just didn't know what to do with it.

"…What'd you just call me?"

"Lieb."

"Never called me that."

"Don't make it weird," I said, a little too soft. The bottle clinked gently against the wall as I lowered it to my side. "I'm sayin' a lot of bullshit."

He took another step, his chest grazing my own. "You're just sayin' things you don't wanna say."

"Same thing." I mumbled, not once breaking eye contact.

His hand came to rest on the wall beside my head, knuckles brushing my temple. Two of my fingers looped around his belt, not so much to tug him towards me as it was to hold him there. His mouth hovered near mine in a quiet pause that stretched too long, so I leaned up and kissed him. A quick peck to show my cards better than any messy sentence would. He chased me unconsciously, too slow to catch himself before I noticed.

"You want this?" I whispered, giving his belt an unnoticeable jerk to hide the insecurity with boldness.

"The fuck's it look like?"

I went in again, this time deeper, lazy and aching; the kind of kiss that tasted like celebration and regret in equal measure. His lips were warm, parted, tasting faintly of whatever the hell he'd been mixing up with that cognac bottle. His hand switched the wall for my face, fingers curling beneath the underside of my chin to angle my mouth harder against his.

It got desperate fast—tongue and teeth clashing incautiously as I tried to convey unsaid truths into a reckless act.

The bottle dropped from my grasp; it hit the floor with a dull thud when a muffled moan tore free from his chest, ringing into the kiss. His palm pressed the small of my back to bring me closer, mouth hot and hungry. I did my part to keep him flush against me, clumsy hands traveling up and down his shoulders, fisting his jacket, caressing his cheek, tugging his recently trimmed locks when his teeth trapped my lower lip between them.

My nose bumped his cheekbone when his mouth traveled down my jaw, then to my throat. My head thunked back when sloppy hands pulled my shirt out of my pants, eager fingers trailing up my stomach, hands splaying over my skin, all heat and calluses and uncoordinated hunger, mapping out my body like he wanted the moment ingrained in his touch.

"You're way more fun like this." he muttered, voice thick with something more than just alcohol.

One of his thumbs brushed just beneath the band of my bra, sneaking under the thin layer and making my breath stutter in a gasp against the side of his throat.

"God... Shuddup." I slurred, sliding one hand down, past his belt buckle, fingers clumsy against the rough edge of his waistband. He twitched when I pressed my palm to the front of his briefs. Not even skin to skin yet, and he was already half hard—straining, shifting his weight like standing still was suddenly a problem.

"Y/n…" He said my name like a warning, either for me or for himself, I wasn't able to tell. "I'm—fuck...'m too drunk for this."

What a sobering fucking thing to say.

"We can stop." I mumbled with heated cheeks, not quite meaning it. My hand stayed right where it was.

He didn't even look at me at first—his eyes flicked sideways, back toward the end of the hall where voices still echoed, raucous and drunk and far away from the storm brewing between us.

What am I doing?

I leaned in, pressed my forehead to his collarbone, let the weight of my body fold into him. My fingers squeezed him over the fabric, slow and lazy, and he groaned—quiet and desperate, through clenched teeth.

His hands slid up my back, under the bra strap, down to my ribs, blunt nails digging just a little too hard like he didn't know his own strength anymore.

"Y/n," he said again. Half a plea. "Shit—"

I halted my movements and lifted my head to meet his blown pupils. "Wanna stop?"

"Fuck that." He denied, and so I kissed him again—slower this time, making an effort to keep myself from spiraling out into the turmoil he brought upon me with his lips and his touch and the way he seemed to want me—genuinely want me—bad enough for me to believe it; for me to believe this was more than playing chase for him. More than an outlet for the horrors we had been put through.

My fingers slipped past the waistband, under the cotton. He shuddered. One of his hands slid around to grip my ass, hauling me against him.

"Jesus," he hissed, mouth half on mine. "You're fuckin'... Shit—feel so good—"

"I said shut up." I urged, my lips pressed against his.

"You shut up." he snapped back, breath hitching when I stroked him properly, twisting my wrist in an uncoordinated rhythm that made him jerk in my hand.

We were barely upright, his thigh wedged between mine. My hips rolled down on it automatically, chasing friction, chasing anything. We were grinding like teenagers in a closet, a bad move away from losing what little sense we had left.

He found the button of my pants—missed it once, then again, and cursed against my cheekbone when it finally popped open. His fingers slipped inside. Between. Against me.

My head thunked back against the wall hard enough to sting. "Fuck."

"Yeah?" he fanned, cockiness coating his tone. "God, you're wet."

"Fuck you." I mewled, more impatient than biting.

"'M tryin'."

We were all lust and fingers and panting, unsteady hands working each other with zero finesse. Messy, uneven, desperate. His mouth was everywhere—neck, collarbone, the edge of my jaw. Mine was on his shoulder, biting down when the rhythm got too good.

I let out a whimper, hips jerking down against his hand, against his thigh, against him. He groaned low in his throat and I felt it all the way through my ribs.

I was going to come like this—drunk and wrecked, in a fucking service corridor while the rest of the Company toasted to the end of the world.

"You close?" he rasped.

"Mm-hm." I was mindful to keep my lips tightly pursed, not trusting the noise that would come out if I didn't do so.

"Me too."

"Fuckin' hurry up."

"Bossy."

"Joe—"

His hand flexed, grinding harder—one last effort to tear me apart.

I came with my forehead pressed to his neck, biting down to keep from making noise, while he spilled over my fingers seconds later with a broken moan.

We stood there, clinging to each other, breathing like we'd just run up Currahee. My hand was still down his pants. His was still in mine. Neither of us moved at first; neither of us met the other's gaze either. He placed a poor excuse of a kiss on my temple—something that could've been easily brushed off—, and removed himself from me. I took it as a cue to do the same.

"Still want my damn bottle." He blurted out, breathless and half absent. A deflection of it all.

"All yours." I managed to respond, slipping away from him arms to resume my walk as if nothing had happened. I heard the clink of the bottle being dragged back into Joe's grasp. I didn't look back.

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