hamburgerhelpersotherhand

[hamburgerhelpersotherhand]

Thank you for tagging me !! 🥹

Currently Reading: Lord of the Flies and Crime & Punishment… kind of a crazy duo.

Last Song: 2econd 2ight 2eer by Will Wood from my shuffled playlist on Spotify.

Last Film: China Salesman (2017)… listen. My friends and I watch random movies on Tubi every week. This one wasn’t good (the worse the film is, the better), but the fight scenes had us hollering!!

Last Series: Game of Thrones for the first time! Just finished season 5. The last series I completed was probably Dexter…?

Sweet/Savoury/Salty: I have a preference for salty snacks - movie theatre popcorn specifically!

Tea or Coffee: Neither! I never got the taste for it, and I can’t really have caffeine now. I enjoy plain water like a boring person.

Working on: Developing and illustrating a comic book, writing some various fics, aaaaaand trying to 100% video games when I am doing absolutely nothing else.

Tag: @ineedmorefanfics2 ‼️

— TAG NINE PEOPLE YOU WANT TO GET TO KNOW MORE !

thank you for the tags LOVE you guys and hit me up on my disc for a kiss: @gojodickbig @fayerie @sugurusladyknightt @fear-is-truth

currently reading: haha who reads lol... last song: cowboy gangster politican - goldie boutilier last film: superman last series: overcompensating sweet/savory/salty: spicy i make my own rules tea or coffee: anything with caffeine to keep me going working on: getting over this gosh darn cold that wants to keep me shackled in my bedroom

✦ nine no pressure tags my loves: @prosypepper @joemama-2 @letteremi @hellowoolf @redrrem @getouyuri @eraserbread @nialovessatoru @kunareads

[hamburgerhelpersotherhand]

Literally made the best drawing for this acct today but I can’t share it bc then my secret identity will be revealed…

But just know I’m heavily considering creating art pieces specifically for this account only.

[hamburgerhelpersotherhand]

Larvae

Helaena Targaryen x Fem!Reader

Summary: You and Helaena spend some quality time together.

Warnings: Near period-typical homophobia, infidelity, a small description of physical violence. Well, the rest of the warnings are what you make of this short story.

This takes place somewhere after Aegon II’s crowning, so team black isn’t present. Also, in this fic, Reader’s identity is left vague and up in the air. I didn’t feel comfortable giving Reader a set house since I’m not entirely familiar with every political and identifying thing about the numerous houses in the GoT / HoTD universe, and my ass likes accuracy.

You had awoken in the very earliest hours of the morning, dressed as the sun was still rising, and set out to complete a self-assigned task.

Your knees hit the stone of the garden’s walkway heavily, your hands fussing with the flowers.Your blade is sharp as you slice the prettiest ones from their stems, determined to leave the garden with a decent selection.

Your handmaiden stands behind you, hands clasped together as she watches with nerves alight. She clears her throat suddenly, but you don’t mind the action as you cut through another stem. When you make no effort to stop, she clears her throat anew.

“My lady, we are not alone,” she states softly.

Your head moves then, looking about the garden. When you turn around entirely, looking in her direction, you catch the eye of a familiar man.

Aemond walks along an arched loggia, peering above the stone banister into the garden. You observe him quietly as he watches you.

“It’s only Aemond, he won’t say anything,” you assure her. You stand then, finding your current collection of flowers to be sufficient.

You hand the small bouquet to your handmaiden before placing your knife in its leather sheath, then brushing the dirt off your skirt for a better presentation.

When you look up, Aemond is gone — off to occupy himself with important things, you conclude.

You exchange your sheathed knife for the bouquet, a wicked smile spreading across your features. An excitement spreads through you as you skip across the garden, rushing to the steps of the Red Keep. Your handmaiden follows behind, urging you slow down and to watch your step among the ragged stones.

You’re at the doors of Helaena’s chambers in little to no time. Your free hand flies to your skirt, brushing off your hands again. Your handmaiden cringes back, quick to grab your hands with a loose rag she’d carried for this reason exactly.

“Your dress should remain clean, my lady.”

You nod her off, laughing as she folds the dirty rag. You waste no time knocking on the door, making your presence urgently known before entering. Your handmaiden stays outside.

The mornings are always pleasant in the company of Helaena. Often, you would find yourselves seated and entranced in lovely conversations. As she recounts something to you, you always listened eagerly — hands cradling each other in tender affection, knees touching through the dense material of your skirts.

This morning was no different.

As you open the door, you spot Helaena, her attention drawn to a table. Her children, Jaehaerys and Jaehaera, are seated in the centre of the room on the plush carpet, playing among their toys. They don’t spare you a glance as they busy themselves. Children of their age rarely show interest in others.

“Helaena — good morrow!” You sing to her as she turns from her table. A smile spreads across her features as she takes you in.

“What do you have there?” She asks, curious but completely aware of your lurking in the gardens.

“Flowers — for the bugs,” you admit.

She grins as she spins back to the table, collecting a box between her hands. She turns to you then, and steps forward. You meet her at the bench, both of you dropping to the seat.

She unclasps the small cage then, producing the sight of the loveliest caterpillar you’d ever seen.

“Which ones do you think it would like?” you ask her quietly.

You tilt the flowers toward her. Helaena observes the bouquet very thoroughly. She drifts her fingers among them, parting them to see. Her eyes land on yellow.

“The bird’s-foot trefoil,” she decides as she slides the flower from the others. She gently folds the long stem back and fits it into the cage.

The caterpillar looks pleased as its arms reach out. You laugh at that, leaning closer for a better view.

When you turn to look at Helaena, you find your faces merely an inch apart. She looks at you too, smile ever lovely. Her eyes dip for a second, and your own smile wavers as a deep blush spreads along your face and neck.

Her hand meets your cheek unexpectedly, her thumb brushing loose wicked hairs that must’ve fallen from the style you’d had it in. When she leans in to graze her lips to your own, you welcome the intimacy with fluttering eyes. You kiss her once, twice, her skirt brushes against yours like it so often did and she pulls away.

Helaena shuts the cage with a small click and looks upon her children as they play. Her expression is solemn.

You had not been intimate since Aegon had caught the both of you doing exactly what you’d done now. His anger was disturbing, and Helaena had powerlessly witnessed the way he’d struck you across the face. His hand found your hair as he pulled you in for a demeaning inspection of the red mark left behind. You were certain he would not have been so vile if your intimacy with Helaena had been his own perverse suggestion.

Your hand reaches and entwines with Helaena’s then, and she looks at you again. There’s a sadness weighing on her face, but you smile reassuringly.

[hamburgerhelpersotherhand]

I think my biggest weakness in writing is having too many ideas and changing my mind all the time because of it 💔

I’m writing like 4 fics rn and one of them has been rewritten I KID YOU NOT like five times 💔💔

I think I just need a friend to bounce ideas off of but I’m alone in this beeeecause I find sharing my thoughts embarrassing 💔💔💔

[hamburgerhelpersotherhand]

Infatuation - Chapter 4

Joe Goldberg x Reader (ft. Love Quinn)

Previous | Masterlist | Next

Summary: Love's longtime friend moves back to LA. Fortunately, Joe's never had too much trouble adapting.

Warnings: Alcohol consumption.

After some time to myself, being unemployed and all, I thought... hey... what if I finally go through my draft? It seems to be a common occurrence, to be unburdened by this story until I have no other things to do. But it is the unfortunate way that I function. As for the story itself, things are beginning to pick up and I can't help but wonder what our dearest Reader could possibly be thinking.

It's been a few days since I found you crying over the dining table. I press the buzzer easily now, and wait for you to let me in. At the sound of the lock sliding back, I open the door and make my way up the stairs, pretending I don’t see the water damage spreading around the building.

You open the door for me with a smile, all teeth, and it meets your eyes. You sigh, dreamy, and I smile back, satisfied. There’s comfort in our little ritual.

“Hey,” I greet.

“Hey – thanks for coming by,” You return to your little place at the kitchen island, tapping away at your laptop. A paper coffee cup from the local place down the road sits beside it, a notepad too. By your feet I see two boxes overflowing with documents. I glance down to the gift bag in my hand before setting it down by the door and shedding my boots.

“Didn’t see you at Anavrin today,” I state, making my way to the seat by your side. You were very consistent up until recently, arriving early to see Love on her lunch breaks – sharing food. Snacks. Treats. Lemon cookies. But everyone has their moments, and you’re allowed some space from Love. She’s been overbearing since you’ve arrived in LA, hasn’t she? “Thought maybe you’d be there for lunch.”

“No, not today.” You mumble, frowning. You tab out of the document on your computer as I sit down. It looked like a tax form. You grab your pen and fiddle with it. I think back on the messages you’d exchanged with Love this morning.

‘Can’t come by this afternoon,’ you’d tried to be nice as you cancelled plans. At least, this time, you hadn’t gone through most of the day without a warning. ‘Going through paperwork.’

You know, Love looked pretty upset. I watched her face fall when the message came in – but you were being truthful. Still, she was optimistic. The bag I left by the door says it all. As you sat there, I looked down at your notepad. A task list.

“So,” You begin, twisting your chair to look at me. “Today, a few things. I have somebody coming to pick up the sofa and coffee table set, and we’re working on emptying the bedroom. I already threw out all her underwear. You know, stuff that can’t be sold or donated.”

I nod.

“We’re gonna fold and bag the other clothes,” You sniff, shutting the screen of your laptop and tossing your pen atop the notepad. “But I think we should work on putting the baubles in boxes first.”

“Before we start,” I raise my hands in a pausing motion, I lift off my seat and make my way back to the bag I left behind. “I actually have something for you.”

“Oh, you got me something?”

“Hey, before you say anything - !” I lifted the bag and brought it to you. You reach for it hesitantly, and I set it on your lap. “Open it.”

You glance up at me, my face betraying nothing as I smile and motion toward the bag. You sigh, a dumb smile stretching across your face. You’re happy. You’re not admitting it out loud, but gifts do please you. You reach past the coloured tissue paper and gently grasp the neck of the bottle, lifting it with care. When you set your eyes on the label, your jaw nearly drops.

“Oh my god,” You mumble, cradling the bottle with both hands, reading the label anew. “Oh my god – this is, like… ridiculous.”

I laugh, and you hop off your chair, gently placing the bottle on the counter before jumping onto me. You wrap your arms around me tight, and I’m taken by surprise. An instant after the action sinks in, my hands slide up your waist and around your back. My fingers feel numb at the contact, and I gulp when you squeeze me.

“Thank you so much,” You sigh and I feel that familiar tingle ride up my back. You let go a moment later, my arms turning to mush as you push away. You look back at the bottle, observing it fondly. “This is so wonderful, I don’t even know what to say.”

The praise lights something in me as I grin. A part of me feels content not telling you the bottle was from Love, just for the time being. I’ll correct you later.

“You don’t have to say anything,” I chuckle. “We can just get right back to work.”

You try to hold back your smile, admiring the bottle for another moment before glancing my way. You nod your head, and place the Artisanal Vodka by the sink.

Passing the doorway into the bedroom, nothing looks particularly different. The boxes that were earlier folded and tucked behind the door now sit open around the room, still empty.

“We can just start putting things in boxes,” you say, stepping into the bathroom.

“Sounds good.”

I pick up some familiar framed pictures above the dresser and observe them closely. Now that I know what I’m looking at, I’m taking in the details. I recognize which one could be your mom. You’re far from a perfect replica, but you two share some physical similarities. I can hear you rummaging through drawers. I look over and you’re shoving old makeup into a trash bag.

“Did you want to keep the pictures?” I ask.

“Uh,” You straighten your posture and look at me through the doorway. “No. I think her friends have their own copies. We can throw out the pictures and keep the frames.”

I nod my head and turn a frame over. I pry the tabs away and slide out the backing board. I ungraciously take the picture out of the frame and place it on the dresser. I close the back of the frame anew and place it in a box. I do the same with the others, stacking the pictures on the dresser and placing the frames in the box. On my third picture, as I’m prying the tabs away, I draw my hand away with a hiss.

“You okay?” You ask from the bathroom.

“Yeah, I just…” I shake my hand, huffing. “I cut myself.”

“Well,” you exclaim loudly. “You’re in luck.”

I place the frame back down and watch you walk into the bedroom with a white box.

“I hadn’t yet boxed the first aid kit,” You laugh. “Let me see the damage.”

I sit on the bed and you approach. You sit by my side and place the kit between us.

“I’m not a doctor, but if you need an amputation,” You pull out a band aid. “I just got some pretty good vodka to disinfect it.”

We laugh together and I shake my head.

“You’d waste the good stuff just like that?”

“Waste! You’d call saving your finger a waste! I heard you need your hands to bind books.” After a thorough observation. You wrap the band aid around my finger and shut the box.

“You got me there,” I sigh. “How on Earth would I ever stock bookshelves again?”

“Your luck hasn’t yet run out – stitches are not in your future as of today,” You pick up the kit and shake your head with a huff. “Now – let’s get back to work.”

There’s an ease to the placement of items in these boxes, especially once you finally finish with the bathroom and join me in their organization. I watch your hands fold the clothing you’d told me would be donated, and a question pops into my mind.

“You’ve decided where everything here goes, but what about you?”

You look at me quizzically for a moment, so I ask again.

“What are you going to do when this is all over?”

You drop the folded dress into a garbage bag and hum. I reach for a stone figurine which still sat on the dresser, and cradle it in my hand.

“You know,” you begin, stopping short to no doubt choose your words carefully. “I thought maybe I’d go back home.”

I nod, listening. You’re pensive for another moment before continuing.

“I don’t think there's a place for me in LA anymore. I’ve outgrown the noise, and I want to live quietly.”

“Sounds poetic,” I tease. You roll your eyes, finding my statement amusing. I’m quick to temper the humour with a douse of reality as another thought creeps through. “What about Love?”

“What about Love?” You repeat, scoffing. Your smile falters as you grab another garment to fold. “She asked me the same question. I told her I’d have to think about it.”

“Why wo–”

“I just don’t –” You cut through my question, waving your free hand to halt me. “I’ve… Can we just…” You shut your eyes then, embarrassed by your abrasive reaction. Your hands return to the garment, your eyes drifting to your task. “Please, don’t make me explain myself.”

I turn my attention back down to the stone figurine in my hand, brushing my thumb across it. I nod my head, but I don’t understand. I smile reassuringly, and you nod back in approval with your own wavering smile. If you had planned to leave, then why make her believe the decision hadn’t been made?

It's quiet now. We continue to unpack the bedroom in a pregnant silence. I think about your words, and the meaning behind them. You, in-turn, look kicked. You think about me, what I might think of you. What Love thinks of you.

Despite the tension, you invited me back the next day, pretending as though the question had never invaded the space between us.

The apartment is finally empty after less than a week of stacking baubles in boxes and laundry in plastic bags. The majority of the usable furniture is sold while the harder to rid items are donated. And when you’d told me you had a surprise for me, I knew what to expect. I can see your texts, and I knew Love was on the way. She had come by with lunch for three and, after a nice meal shared on the carpet, she helped with deep cleaning the wooden floors and patching up the drywall. Does Love know that you plan to leave?

The only things left to sort through were the boxes of documents still sitting by the kitchen island, which you’d assured us you’d find your own time to get through.

—

I watch Love now, as she prepares dinner, and I brush my hands along her hips. We’re celebrating tonight. For the hard work you– we had put in.

“Nice bandaid,” Love teased me. I huffed. My hands continued up her hips and around her stomach.

“Will…” Love warns me, but I feel too content to move away. She sighs. “She’ll be here soon. Is the cutlery set?”

“No… not yet,” I responded.

“Could you set it for me?”

I kiss the back of Love’s head and reluctantly pry my hands away. I open the drawer and fish out forks and knives. In the dining room, I place the three sets carefully. As an odd number, Love and you are seated on one side of the table while I sit across. Love joins me in the dining room a minute later with a lighter.

“Can you believe how empty the apartment looks now? God, her mom left it a mess.” She says.

“The building isn’t doing too good either,” I add. Love leans over the table and brings the lighter to the single candle sitting between our seats.

“Yeah, it’s just… a pretty old building. They should probably think about renovating it soon, there are better options on the market for about the same price. Maybe better.” She observes the candle’s new flame flicker. “Like, I have no idea how you found your place. It’s a pretty good deal for what it is.”

“Well, it has its issues. Things you don’t really notice until you live there.”

“Like what? The location is pretty nice, and I like the outdoor decor.”

“The walls are pretty soft. You end up with a hole or two from just hanging pictures.”

“I never noticed a hole in any of your walls before,”

“Uh,” I hesitate for a second and sniff. “I patched them up.”

The doorbell rings and we’re torn from the conversation. Love follows behind me as I go answer.

When I open the door, your face lights up with a smile.

“Hey, you…”

“Hey,” You wave, and I take a step back to let you in.

Love is on you in less than a second, arms wide as she scoops you into a hug.

“Oh my goooood,” She exclaims as you hug her in return, back bent at an awkward angle. You laugh, but it’s uncomfortable. “I’m so proud of you.”

“What! Why?” You laugh. “Will did most of the work.” Love rolls her eyes.

“Don’t be ridiculous. You told me you had no clue how you’d get through this. You got through it. In like just about a week, mind you.”

You swat her away with a chuckle, and she catches your hands with a grin.

“You did great, babe.”

You’re reluctant to accept the praise when you share the work, but you’re just as deserving of it as anyone else. And, besides, Love knows how to lay it on thick.

As you begin shrugging off your coat, Love jumps into action. “Let me get that for you,”

You laugh as she slides the sleeves off your arms and hangs the coat on the rack haphazardly. I quietly fix it as it threatens to slip off.

“I made your favourite,” Love hums to you, locking her arm around yours before directing you straight to the dining room. I follow behind, hands in my pockets. I’m an idle observer.

Love pulls out your designated seat and sits you down at the table. You drop your purse by your feet, it jingles with that familiar bell. Love flies back to the kitchen not a moment longer, eager to bring out the plates. I pull my own seat out from under the table and sit. I adjust myself in the chair, leaning back. My eyes lock onto yours. The candle between us flickers pleasantly.

“How’s the paperwork going?” I ask.

“It’s going well,” You assure. “Lots of shredding.”

“Sounds like a great way to spend your day,” I laugh.

“Oh of course,” You laugh along. “I wouldn’t want to be doing aaanything else. But I think I’ll be absolutely elated when it's over.”

I fight back a sneer at your frank statement, instead returning a tight smile. Love returns, holding a dark pristine bottle.

She turns over my glass and pours me a cup. When she flutters over to you, she does the same. Her hand finds your face, brushing your cheek, and she smiles warmly at you. You smile back, but it doesn’t quite meet your eyes then. She sits down after filling her own glass of wine, setting the bottle off to the side.

When Love lifts her cup, we follow suit.

“I just wanted to tell you again how proud I am of you,” She sings. “And how happy I am that you’re back here in LA. I just – I still can’t believe it some days.”

You nod, with that smile I’m catching onto. My eyes watch you and Love eagerly. When she clinks your cup to hers, the fabricated joy falters. Love turns to clink cups with me, and she looks at me strangely then. I think she noticed it too. I clink my cup with you, and you don’t even spare me a glance. You quickly bring the cup to your lips and drink down the red wine in heavy gulps, face scrunching as it burns its way down.

Love sips hers as she eyes you, and I don’t even touch mine. I set it back down.

Love rises from her seat, picks up the bottle and unexpectedly places it in your reach. She says nothing but smiles with a knowing look on her face. You glance up through your lashes at her, unsure. You take the bottle by the neck, cradling its bottom with your free hand, and pour yourself another glass.

Her hand touches your shoulder gently, rubbing a circle into it.

“Dinner should be ready now,” She assures you before making her way back to the kitchen. You set the bottle back down with a thud.

You drink more than you eat. Your face is flushed, your speech slurs. I look at Love like she’s to blame. Despite having poured yourself those cups, she supplied the bottle.

Somewhere between finishing our plates and now, you softened. You visibly relax in your seat, and you look at me with hazy, drunken eyes. Your foot nudges mine under the table and I glance behind me – toward the kitchen. Love is bringing out dessert. You do it again, and I look back to your eyes.

I see something then, in those sleepy depths. You’re fighting back an urge, something that threatens to fall off of your tongue. You want to tell me something. I lean forward expectantly, my seat creaking, and you part your lips ever so slightly.

Love hums a key as she waltzes back into the dining room, holding a plate of something sweet. You break your eyes away from me slowly, fluttering your lashes tiredly as you look at Love. I clear my throat and readjust, not quite leaning back as I was before. She sets down the cheesecake between us, the forks and glass dessert plates already accounted for.

“You want the first slice?”

“Sure.” You respond, voice small in the quietness of the room.

She hums, but cuts your slice still. She places it on the plate, grabbing an extra berry to garnish the slice, and serves you. You pick at your piece.

When love sets down my plate, I lunge in with my fork. I take it between my teeth and I savour the dessert. It’s sour like a lemon, a little bitter too. The berry syrup atop helps to sweeten it. When you finally take a bite, you pull the fork away to chew slowly. Your eyes are to the table, not quite observing anything. Your face betrays nothing, and I wonder what you’re thinking.

“Careful –” Love swipes her thumb under your lower lip, quickly picking up the red dribbling syrup. She brings it to her mouth and laughs. “You’re going to make a mess,” She exclaims, sucking her thumb.

“I’m sorry,” You apologize, huffing. You set your fork down. “I think I had too much to drink. I don’t think I can finish this,” Given the way the night has been going, I could laugh at that statement.

Love’s hand disappears below the table, out of sight. You look at me. I lean forward in my seat and take another bite.

“I’ll pack you another slice to take back with you. It’s getting late anyway,” She says. Love’s hands come up and pull your attention to her, she cradles your face, steadying you. She looks into your eyes. You smile at her, warm but insincere, and she smiles back.

“Will’s going to drive you home,” Love tells you.

Without another choice in the world, you nod your head.

[hamburgerhelpersotherhand]

I pretty much just finished Chapter 4 of Infatuation (after sitting on it for however long). I'll reread it again later juuuust incase, and probably have it posted this week.

We're getting some more Looooove and, after the major events of Chapter 5, I'm considering changing the pov to third person... just to change things up a little.

[hamburgerhelpersotherhand]

Is the new season of YOU out? I don’t have Netflix anymore and I have no clue, but I saw a clip on TikTok and scrolled so fast😭

[hamburgerhelpersotherhand]

Cuculidae

Oliver Quick x Reader (ft. Felix Catton)

Summary: Oliver comforts you.

Warnings: Mentions of past dubcon, cheating, pregnancy. This is a Saltburn fanfic, so certain themes are to be expected.

I wrote this literally the day after I saw the movie in theatres, but I didn’t like it enough to post. I found it today and it’s actually kinda goooood 😭 Who tf was I trying to impress?

It was past Midnight, somewhere in the very earliest of the morning. The television’s screen lit up the library in an eerie glow. The overnight marathon of a series you’d seen numerous times before finally nearing its end.

Your head lifts as you groggily fall back to earth. Your eyes were heavy and your neck creaked from discomfort, no doubt caused by the odd angle you’d fallen asleep in. You observed the television flicker as the credits played. You sit up, collecting your thoughts.

“You’re awake.”

You turn your head, disrupted from your recollection of the night. A figure looks back at you, sitting on a lone chaise, distant. It’s hard to make it out in the low-light, but Oliver watches you.

“Farleigh went to bed.” He says.

You breathe for a moment, thinking. You remember Sir James being first to go, saying something about having an early morning, and Elspeth followed shortly after. Venetia’s hangover finally got the best of her, and she scurried off to bed with a blanket tightly wrapped around her shoulders, and, somewhere between then and now, you’d fallen asleep on Felix.

“Where’s Felix?” you ask, wetting your lip as your eyes carefully inspect the room.

“Bathroom,” Oliver answers shortly. “He’ll be back.”

You nod before stiffly occupying yourself with the television. You watch absently as names scroll, your mind carefully watching Oliver from the corner of your eye. When he shifts in his seat, you tried not to flinch.

Oliver wasn’t your friend. Before Saltburn, when you’d all been attending Oxford during the year, you’d considered him boneless and soft. You didn’t hate him, of course. He was shy, you’d firstly assumed, and he seemed to enjoy Felix’s company to a worrying degree. But Felix was good and, somewhere along the doubts, you’d decided Oliver deserved a friend like that.

You’ve since regretted the thought ever crossing your mind, the faint memory of a careless, uncontrollable drunken night drifting by.

“You’ve been ignoring me,” Oliver suddenly says, cutting through your thoughts. You hold your breath for a moment, and he waits.

“I’m going to bed,” you throw back, quick to get on your feet. When you stand, he mirrors you like a mocking reflection. The chaise he’d been occupying catches on the floor of the library with a squeal. You’re still.

“You don’t scare me, Oliver,” you assure him sternly, bitingly so. You want him to back off.

“I wasn’t trying to,” he responds, slow and agonizing. Your head stays down, eyes peeking at the flexing hands at his sides.

“Im going to bed,” you repeat.

“No,” he says, “We need to talk.”

You refuse to look up at him, but Oliver doubly refuses to be ignored. He steps forward, slowing his stride the closer he got, until he was all you could look at. You stare at his chest, nerves alight and feeling incredibly non-confrontational on this night.

His hand reaches to your chest, then, flattening his palm to your heart. Your skin crawls beneath, but you make no move to deter him.

“Talk to me,” he says. “Tell me what’s on your mind.”

“Oliver,” you sheepishly say, tasting his bitter name as it slid out.

“Mhm,” he sounds. Oliver’s fingers tug on your shirt absently; the collar, the trim, the buttons. He didn’t pay it any mind, although you were certain the action itself had been a deliberate attempt to invade your space. It always was.

You sniff, your chest growing heavy, your guts crossing and twisting uncomfortably. Before you can speak, your throat tightens and your eyes begin to burn.

You swipe at your mouth, the threat of throwing up igniting your worries tenfold… but, even then, you knew telling him nothing was fruitless. He’d continue to pry, to poke, to prod, to rip, and to collect. Still, you struggle to open yourself to him now. You sniff, blinking away something in your eye.

When your eyes meet his, you read his thoughts. They’re knowing, and everything you’ve ever experienced feels exposed. You whimper and hold your breath as you brace for what teeters on the end of his snake-ish tongue.

“You’re pregnant,” he whispers as a shuddering sob escapes you, reluctant and dreadful.

His eyes rake over you. Below the iris is an endless abyss, a dive in is surely a deep fall, and he has just the manners to set them on you; surrounding you like a cavernous moat. You’re isolated.

He’s right, which could only mean a few handful of things. Unfortunately, you could already narrow down the possibilities.

He’d been in your bathroom, scavenging through your bins. You were many things, but you were not stupid. Oliver had been looming around your bedroom since you stopped waking up in Felix’s bed and stopped using their shared bathroom — a bit after you’d spent that regretful night together. Guilt ate at your core the morning after, but holding Felix close was comforting. He didn’t have to know, you concluded. Felix didn’t have to know anything.

Besides, Oliver must feel bad too, you thought… you thought.

Oliver huffs as his arm reaches over your head, its shadow causing you to flinch, but pulls you into a shushing embrace.

Your lip quivers as your head is nearly crushed against his chest. He coos, his fingers tangling themselves in your hair as he brushes through in faux affection. You’re repulsed.

“Did you tell him?” he asks, quiet.

“No,” you hesitate to respond. It’s not something you had wanted Felix to know, and it wasn’t something you felt you’d have the chance to explain.

“Tell him.”

Your heart drops. Oliver releases you from his uncomfortable hold, his eyes searching for yours through your cloud of tears. He swipes underneath them, humming delightedly.

Your mind begins to drift away, a fog settling as your thoughts travel. You feel disconnected for a moment, away from your body. Where is Felix?

When you don’t say anything, lost in your head, Oliver takes your shoulders, shakes you back to your prison, and repeats himself.

“Tell him you’re pregnant,” he watches your eyes as you come back down, your mind reeling. Oliver turns your back to his chest, his arm returning around your neck as he brings you in for another straining hug. Your hands grip his sleeve, tugging uselessly as your neck cranes up. “Let him believe it’s his.”

“No—“

“Yes,” he breathes. “What’s the alternative?”

You think, but his answer comes swiftly. It ghosts along your ear, following a stiff swallow.

“… Would you tell Felix it’s mine?”

You shudder at the mere thought.

“Let him believe…” Oliver leaves a lingering kiss below your ear. You shudder.

“Where is Felix?” you hiss quietly, looking up in an attempt to breathe unobstructed.

“He went to bed.” Oliver says, huffing before pressing another kiss to your neck.

[hamburgerhelpersotherhand]

Cuculidae

Oliver Quick x Reader (ft. Felix Catton)

Summary: Oliver comforts you.

Warnings: Mentions of past dubcon, cheating, pregnancy. This is a Saltburn fanfic, so certain themes are to be expected.

I wrote this literally the day after I saw the movie in theatres, but I didn’t like it enough to post. I found it today and it’s actually kinda goooood 😭 Who tf was I trying to impress?

It was past Midnight, somewhere in the very earliest of the morning. The television’s screen lit up the library in an eerie glow. The overnight marathon of a series you’d seen numerous times before finally nearing its end.

Your head lifts as you groggily fall back to earth. Your eyes were heavy and your neck creaked from discomfort, no doubt caused by the odd angle you’d fallen asleep in. You observed the television flicker as the credits played. You sit up, collecting your thoughts.

“You’re awake.”

You turn your head, disrupted from your recollection of the night. A figure looks back at you, sitting on a lone chaise, distant. It’s hard to make it out in the low-light, but Oliver watches you.

“Farleigh went to bed.” He says.

You breathe for a moment, thinking. You remember Sir James being first to go, saying something about having an early morning, and Elspeth followed shortly after. Venetia’s hangover finally got the best of her, and she scurried off to bed with a blanket tightly wrapped around her shoulders, and, somewhere between then and now, you’d fallen asleep on Felix.

“Where’s Felix?” you ask, wetting your lip as your eyes carefully inspect the room.

“Bathroom,” Oliver answers shortly. “He’ll be back.”

You nod before stiffly occupying yourself with the television. You watch absently as names scroll, your mind carefully watching Oliver from the corner of your eye. When he shifts in his seat, you tried not to flinch.

Oliver wasn’t your friend. Before Saltburn, when you’d all been attending Oxford during the year, you’d considered him boneless and soft. You didn’t hate him, of course. He was shy, you’d firstly assumed, and he seemed to enjoy Felix’s company to a worrying degree. But Felix was good and, somewhere along the doubts, you’d decided Oliver deserved a friend like that.

You’ve since regretted the thought ever crossing your mind, the faint memory of a careless, uncontrollable drunken night drifting by.

“You’ve been ignoring me,” Oliver suddenly says, cutting through your thoughts. You hold your breath for a moment, and he waits.

“I’m going to bed,” you throw back, quick to get on your feet. When you stand, he mirrors you like a mocking reflection. The chaise he’d been occupying catches on the floor of the library with a squeal. You’re still.

“You don’t scare me, Oliver,” you assure him sternly, bitingly so. You want him to back off.

“I wasn’t trying to,” he responds, slow and agonizing. Your head stays down, eyes peeking at the flexing hands at his sides.

“Im going to bed,” you repeat.

“No,” he says, “We need to talk.”

You refuse to look up at him, but Oliver doubly refuses to be ignored. He steps forward, slowing his stride the closer he got, until he was all you could look at. You stare at his chest, nerves alight and feeling incredibly non-confrontational on this night.

His hand reaches to your chest, then, flattening his palm to your heart. Your skin crawls beneath, but you make no move to deter him.

“Talk to me,” he says. “Tell me what’s on your mind.”

“Oliver,” you sheepishly say, tasting his bitter name as it slid out.

“Mhm,” he sounds. Oliver’s fingers tug on your shirt absently; the collar, the trim, the buttons. He didn’t pay it any mind, although you were certain the action itself had been a deliberate attempt to invade your space. It always was.

You sniff, your chest growing heavy, your guts crossing and twisting uncomfortably. Before you can speak, your throat tightens and your eyes begin to burn.

You swipe at your mouth, the threat of throwing up igniting your worries tenfold… but, even then, you knew telling him nothing was fruitless. He’d continue to pry, to poke, to prod, to rip, and to collect. Still, you struggle to open yourself to him now. You sniff, blinking away something in your eye.

When your eyes meet his, you read his thoughts. They’re knowing, and everything you’ve ever experienced feels exposed. You whimper and hold your breath as you brace for what teeters on the end of his snake-ish tongue.

“You’re pregnant,” he whispers as a shuddering sob escapes you, reluctant and dreadful.

His eyes rake over you. Below the iris is an endless abyss, a dive in is surely a deep fall, and he has just the manners to set them on you; surrounding you like a cavernous moat. You’re isolated.

He’s right, which could only mean a few handful of things. Unfortunately, you could already narrow down the possibilities.

He’d been in your bathroom, scavenging through your bins. You were many things, but you were not stupid. Oliver had been looming around your bedroom since you stopped waking up in Felix’s bed and stopped using their shared bathroom — a bit after you’d spent that regretful night together. Guilt ate at your core the morning after, but holding Felix close was comforting. He didn’t have to know, you concluded. Felix didn’t have to know anything.

Besides, Oliver must feel bad too, you thought… you thought.

Oliver huffs as his arm reaches over your head, its shadow causing you to flinch, but pulls you into a shushing embrace.

Your lip quivers as your head is nearly crushed against his chest. He coos, his fingers tangling themselves in your hair as he brushes through in faux affection. You’re repulsed.

“Did you tell him?” he asks, quiet.

“No,” you hesitate to respond. It’s not something you had wanted Felix to know, and it wasn’t something you felt you’d have the chance to explain.

“Tell him.”

Your heart drops. Oliver releases you from his uncomfortable hold, his eyes searching for yours through your cloud of tears. He swipes underneath them, humming delightedly.

Your mind begins to drift away, a fog settling as your thoughts travel. You feel disconnected for a moment, away from your body. Where is Felix?

When you don’t say anything, lost in your head, Oliver takes your shoulders, shakes you back to your prison, and repeats himself.

“Tell him you’re pregnant,” he watches your eyes as you come back down, your mind reeling. Oliver turns your back to his chest, his arm returning around your neck as he brings you in for another straining hug. Your hands grip his sleeve, tugging uselessly as your neck cranes up. “Let him believe it’s his.”

“No—“

“Yes,” he breathes. “What’s the alternative?”

You think, but his answer comes swiftly. It ghosts along your ear, following a stiff swallow.

“… Would you tell Felix it’s mine?”

You shudder at the mere thought.

“Let him believe…” Oliver leaves a lingering kiss below your ear. You shudder.

“Where is Felix?” you hiss quietly, looking up in an attempt to breathe unobstructed.

“He went to bed.” Oliver says, huffing before pressing another kiss to your neck.

[hamburgerhelpersotherhand]

i’m not too good with words and i don’t wanna overstep, but i hope you aren’t too hard on yourself for not writing. i understand depression can make everything feel like a monumental task so take as much time off as you need!! i’ll patiently wait as long as it takes for whatever you choose to post. you are one of the best writers i’ve ever found on tumblr! please try to take care of yourself and put yourself first <3

That’s honestly so nice to hear, I really appreciate you reaching out like this !

I try not to be harsh on myself but it’s difficult. I don’t really talk about this much, but I’m an artist and a bit of a perfectionist. I used to post a lot about my own characters and created digital pieces inspired by them ! It was my passion ! But I haven’t been super active on that side of the internet either. I’m trying to find that passion again, hoping it helps me through this. So far, the only things that interest me are video games and lounging around. 😔💔

But thank you again for leaving me a message, it’s honestly really nice to wake up to such a nice comment !! <3

[hamburgerhelpersotherhand]

Infatuation - Chapter 3

Joe Goldberg x Reader (ft. Love Quinn)

Previous | Masterlist | Next

Summary: Love's longtime friend moves back to LA. Fortunately, Joe's never had too much trouble adapting.

Warnings: NONE HERE.

My motivation hit a new low. I’m trying to find time for my projects, but it’s become increasingly difficult with what I can only assume to be a form of depression looming over my head. Despite it all, here is a new chapter that’s been sitting in my drafts!

My next shift at Anavrin is slow, long, and haunting. I attempted to occupy myself with a list of possible themes for future book displays, things that Calvin and, more importantly, Forty would approve of. With my phone, I scrolled through socials, observing new trends, watching what was and what could become the new popular fad with the mainstream crowd. I hated it.

My reprieve should’ve come in the form of our little app – the one I can snoop on your texts with – but you hadn’t messaged Love since yesterday. I assumed you’d called her back after I had left, but I didn’t have access to that nor to anything beyond your lacking exchange of messages. I looked about the store, watching an older woman as she perused the biography section with her basket of tangerines. As she slotted a book back into place, she smiled at me. I smiled in return, but quickly turned my attention back down to my phone. I hadn’t heard you come in – the bell on your bag a ghost to my ears – and lunch was well over.

“Can I get this wrapped?” I shut my phone off and pull it, along with my list, under the counter. I smile at the older woman as her shaky hands set down her selected book.

Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother by Amy Chua.

“We don’t gift wrap, but we do have gift bags. Is that alright?”

She smiles tightly and nods her head. I reach down and pull out a folded bag, alongside a single recyclable sheet of tissue paper. I scan the book and the bag. I never had to gift wrap anything at Mooney’s.

“I’m getting this for my daughter-in-law. She’s giving me a lovely grand daughter this month,” She beams. I don’t care. “Thought I’d get her a parenting book.”

“This book is a memoir, It’s not really meant to be followed as a parenting book.” I say, folding the paper over the book.

“Huh, well. Maybe she can learn something anyway. Life has lessons, too.”

I nod, slide the wrapped book into the bag, and ring her up. She pays with a tap, glancing my way every so often, but takes the bag from my hands and shuffles away a moment later. By the looks of it, she didn’t seem too happy with my response.

Before I pull my phone back into view, I catch sight of Love by the open kitchen window. She has her phone to her ear, pacing. Talking. She bites her lip when her mouth shuts. It seemed I caught the end of the conversation as she tears away from her phone, ending the call. Love taps away at the screen, biting her thumb. I quickly look down to my phone again, app open, but no ping. I feel my phone buzz and I open my own messages.

‘Dinner tonight?’

I look up again and catch Love smiling at me, warm, inviting, a hint of something more. She waves. I smile, delirious, hot, some bitter feeling creeping up. I wave back.

—

By the time we arrive at Love’s place, it’s late. Love drops her grocery bags onto the counter and I follow in tow. She stretches her arms to the sky, flexing her fingers. I take her purse from her shoulder and set it aside.

“Sooo… How was lunch today, Lovey?” I tease. Love gives me a pointed glare, a smile peeking through before she punches me in the arm. I feign a pained hiss, laughing when she rolls her eyes. She turns her attention to the groceries.

“You’re funny,” She says, humourlessly. “My lunch was fine. A little lonely, but fine.”

“Didn’t Y/N keep you company?”

“No, actually. She didn’t show. I called her and she told me she wasn’t feeling well.”

“Maybe I don’t know her too well, but it doesn’t really sound like her to cancel without warning.” I remember the app – no messages were exchanged.

“No, it’s… not like her at all. But it’s alright,” Love huffs. “She’s been stressed lately.”

“You wanna know what I think?” I ask as she hands me a bag of fruits.

“Mhm? Toss those in the freezer for me.”

I turn to put them away as I continue.

“I think you have a tendency to quite literally Love-bomb,” When I turn back around, Love looks at me unhappily. I laugh and raise my hands in defence of my point, gingerly stepping to her. “Heyy – She just came back to LA and you’ve been practically non-stop poking her for attention. Now, I’m not saying she hates it… I just think you need to ease up a little. Back up. That’s all.”

“I don’t know,” She tries. My fingers find her shoulders and glide down the sides of her arms. I slowly grasp her hands as she relaxes into the affectionate touch.

“But I do.” I reassured. She sighs.

“Maybe you’re right.”

“Always am,” I arrogantly say. Love playfully jabs me in the arm and huffs. “Hey!”

“How about home made pizzas?” She suggests, turning back to the grocery bags and continuing to unpack them like she hadn’t just stabbed her finger into my shoulder. She doesn’t particularly enjoy being teased like this, but I can’t help it.

“Sounds good, Lovey.”

She gives me another pointed glare, but the creeping smile she attempts to suppress continues to say it all.

“Help me unpack, will ya?” I kiss her cheek and reach across to the bags.

“Anything for you, Lovey.” I whisper by her ear. Exhausted, she only huffs.

I take hold of the neck of a bottle and slide it out of a lone bag. Love watches me as she places a bag of naan on the counter.

“Artisanal vodka?” I ask, shifting the bottle in my hands as I read the label.

“Saw it at the store, thought I’d pick it up. It can go in the cupboard,” She lazily points behind her as she takes out the fresh bag of tomatoes. I make my way over to the cabinet, opening the door and placing it among partially drunk bottles of wine.

“What’s the occasion?” I ask.

“Well, seeing how Y/N is doing with everything, I wanted to get her something nice to encourage her.”

“Didn’t seem like the artisanal vodka type,”

“Oh she’s not, but I wanted to get something that could double as, you know? Decoration?” She laughs and I imagine the bottle sitting on a mantle, sticking out among cheap decor. I haven’t known many people to keep their full, unopened bottles of alcohol out as decoration. It’s something you see in rich households, and usually only ever in the movies. They’d more realistically find themselves collecting dust at the back of a cupboard, anyway. “Anyway…”

I turn back around as Love beckons me over, folding the now empty grocery bags.

“It’s late, so I don’t think I’ll make the dough tonight… we’ll use naan instead. Is that alright?”

“Love, it’s more than alright. It’s perfect.”

—

When I arrive at the apartment on my next day off, a moving truck is parked in front and the front door is wedged to be kept open. I decide not to hit the buzzer as I scoot on by, making room for the men carrying boxes and furniture up the stairs of the building. I hop up the steps eagerly, watching the movers march down to pick up more loot from the truck.

When I get to your door, I go to knock – but set my hand against the door handle in one last change of mind. I twist it open.

Inside, I spot you on your floor, fumbling with the dining table. It’s on its side, and you’re vocally sobbing as your hands work some screws – only to pull on the leg and find it hasn’t loosened one bit.

“Hey,” I say, and you jump. You turn to me and wipe your eyes. Your delicate features are red and heated by the crying. “Are you okay?”

“Will, I –” You sniff, turning back to the table. “Oh my god.”

“I think you have new neighbours moving in,” I say. “Everything good?”

“No,” You grunt, pushing the table back and running your fingers through messy strands. “I’m just trying to take apart this – this stupid Ikea table. It’s a nightmare.”

“Won’t it fit through the door regardless?”

“Thats not –” You hiccup. “That’s not the point. The buyer wanted it taken apart.”

“Yeah? And how much are they buying it for?”

“Thirty dollars.”

“That’s hardly a reasonable price for the labour. Hey – look at me. Put the screwdriver down.”

“But they won’t buy it unless I take the table apart first – I just want it out of here. Please.”

“I’ll help then. But you should know there are definitely people out there who would buy it the way it is. Putting together Ikea furniture can be pretty daunting.”

“And taking it apart is a pain in the fucking ass!”

“Definitely, but I’ll help. Here –” I take my boots off and make my way to you. I sit down with a grunt, not often finding myself seated on the floor. I reach my hand out and smile to you.

You drop the screwdriver into my awaiting palm, and try to smile back. You wipe your eyes again, sniffling.

I turn my attention onto the leg of the table you’d been trying to pry off.

“So… how are you feeling?,” I shift my position as I start screwing the legs off.

You scoff.

“Like shit.”

“And why’s that?”

“I don’t know,” You start, and I keep quiet knowing you’ll fill the silence that follows with an answer. You sniff again, your nose stuffed. I hardly believe you’re only crying over a table. “I’m just… I’m feeling… I’m kind of sad.”

“Why’re you sad?”

“Jesus, Will. You ask a lot of questions.”

“I’m just looking out for you,” I defend. “It’s not every day you find someone you know curled up on the floor and crying over an Ikea table.”

“Fair,” You huff in a similar fashion to Love, I think amusedly.

“So…?”

“It’s my mom,” You finally answer. Chewing on your lip as you watch me turn the table to deal with the next screw. “I feel like I never had a mom. But I’m still left cleaning up after her. She was real, you know? The amount of shit she hoarded – all the pictures – it proves it. But not… she’s not really my mom. I don’t know how to put it into words.”

“That’s okay, take your time.”

“Maybe I’m just being ungrateful.”

“You don’t owe your mom anything. Not even gratitude.”

“I know that, but… I just – It’s hard. I feel like my mom died years ago, but I didn’t cry then. I’m crying now.”

When the next screw falls into my hand, I place it with the others. I take a second to look at you, but you shrink away. Hiding. You don’t like when people stare, I can tell you feel transparent.

“Grief hits us all differently. I think you’re mourning the person she could’ve been. It’s sad to think, but some people aren’t built to appreciate the lives they had. They’re just like that,” You hide behind your hair. “They don’t always deserve their families,” Without thinking it through, my free hand finds your cheek, grazing my thumb across it and pushing straying tears out of the way. When all you do to react is look down, I allow my fingers to brush the hair out of your shyly hidden eyes. You gulp, and I watch the familiar bob of your throat. You look up to me, then. I burn hot at the close proximity, the intimate action becoming all too real the moment you set your eyes on me. You don’t say a word, and I tear my attention – and my hand – back to the table.

I hear you let out a deep breath, shaky almost.

“Thank you,” It comes out different. You wipe your tears away – or, rather, you wipe my touch right off your cheek. I don’t overthink it. I try not to. You lift yourself up a second too soon, and I immediately regret putting my hand on you. I feel shame flood my system, growing in a dark consuming pit. I grind my teeth and drop more screws onto the rolling pile. When you come back, you surprise me by sitting in the same spot you had left – maybe a tad bit closer.

“Do you want one?” You ask me, and I look over to find the familiar metal tin facing me; open and eager. The same number of cookies we’d left, minus the one in your free hand. You hadn’t had a cookie since you shared them with me last. The shame that attempted to overtake me a moment ago drains out as I reach in. I smile at the cookies, bringing one between my teeth.

[hamburgerhelpersotherhand]

Are you still continuing the cheating Hannibal x reader?im so invested in it its so good and i wanna know what the reader does.no pressure thought you don’t have to! Xxx

I had wanted to start writing the next part (part 4), but I’ve had a lot of things come up and it slipped my mind !

Honestly, I really like the story I was going for… Reader being Hannibal’s ex, Will being a sort-of rebound, Hannibal not so subtly pulling Will’s strings and making him a danger to Reader. It’s fun! But I think I’m going to let it slip away again…

I’d love to still discuss things further / answer questions / dive into some thoughts if people wanted, just no new requests to add additional parts anymore.

[hamburgerhelpersotherhand]

Infatuation Masterlist

Briefly put, this is a masterlist for Infatuation (new and old), to facilitate navigation on this blog. For the big Masterlist, click here.

I'll make this look nicer when I have the time...

There are many differences between the two versions. Unfortunately, for those who prefer the old, it won’t be continued.

New (WIP)

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5

Old (FINISHED)

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8 - Part 9 - Part 10 - Part 11 - Part 12 - Part 13

[hamburgerhelpersotherhand]

Infatuation Rewritten - Chapter 2

Joe Goldberg x Reader (ft. Love Quinn)

Previous | Masterlist | Next

Summary: Love's longtime friend moves back to LA. Fortunately, Joe's never had too much trouble adapting.

Warnings: NONE HERE.

I'm very sorry this took 3 MONTHS to post... a lot has happened. Hopefully the future will have faster updates. Also, this part is pretty short and I don't really like it, but I I'm reminding myself that it's all just building up. Until next time!

It’s noon when I’m buzzed up to the apartment. Love caught you up on the last minute changes. Still, you open the door with hesitancy and step back without once looking me in the eye. I peel my boots off, taking my time to really look around the living room. There’s nothing of interest here anymore, now knowing this isn’t your place and these aren’t your things. When I make my way to the corner table by the couch, I pick up a frame. Another picture without you in it.

“She had a lot of friends,” You sniff. I turn to look at you. “Left almost everything to them, actually.”

“What a great mom…” I comment and set the picture back in place. “What did she leave you?”

You look around the apartment, gesturing about. I look too, but nothing else catches my eye. Where are your things?

“Garbage.” You respond. You rub your nose then, when I don’t respond, and sniff again. You still don’t meet my eyes.

“This apartment, too?” I inquire, but you shake your head.

“In a way… she left me with the bill. I can’t afford a place in LA on my own, and It’s costing me money I don’t have for this place to sit unoccupied. So, I’m clearing it for new tenants before the month’s over.”

I rub the back of my neck. Your mom sounds like a bitch, but I’d like to stay focused and get the real job here out of the way. “Should we get started?”

“Yeah, uh… First things first,” You start, pointing behind you toward the kitchen. “We have to throw everything edible in the cupboards out.”

“Everything?”

“Everything. It all has to go. I already cleared the fridge this morning.”

You walk around the kitchen island, bend down to pull out a drawer, and come back to the surface with a few plastic garbage bags. I take one, and we begin.

The cupboards themselves seem to be in good condition, until I pulled one open and the knob comes right off. We laughed. You reassured me it had happened to you too, and that you simply pushed it back into place. After throwing the few cereal boxes left inside into my garbage bag, I did the same. The inside of these cupboards are dusty, and the small black pellets left behind look more like mouse shit than they do crumbs. I’ll have to tell Love I was right about the rodents.

I reach over and take a metal tin. Something jostles inside as I bring it to my ear. You peer over from your corner and jump.

“Not that,” you say as you reach over to take the tin out of my hands. “Love made those.”

“And your mom’s been keeping them in her cupboard?”

“No, of course not,” You roll your eyes and start prying it open. “Love gave them to me the other day. They're homemade cookies.”

When the cover comes off, I see six golden cookies spread out. They look good.

I look up at you, wondering.

“You can take one, I don’t mind.” You say.

I reach in and take a cookie, bringing it between my teeth not a moment sooner. I bite.

The flavour is sweet and tangy. Lemon, I recognised it quickly… You can really taste Love in them. But, I can’t help but sulk a little; she doesn’t make me cookies, I think sourly.

“Good, right?” you ask, taking one for yourself before shutting the tin. You split a piece off and pop it into your mouth. I watch the action, chewing away at my bite. I feel cold. Upset. I’m growing bitter at the thought of Love making treats specially for you. I’m jealous, I know. Jealousy and I know each other remarkably well.

Once the cupboards are empty of the numerous snack boxes your mom seemed to endlessly collect, we tie the garbage bags and bring them to the front door.

We spend the rest of the afternoon wiping the surfaces clean, scrubbing the tiles, and making sure anyone could feasibly lick spilt milk off the fucking floors.

As you scrub away at the floors with a brush, I wipe down the inside of the cupboards – rat shit and all. We’ve engaged in small talk throughout – mostly on the subject of your family life since the split. You lived with your dad up until recently. He never remarried.

“How’s Love?” You suddenly ask me. You hadn’t seen her since the dinner… probably the longest you’d gone since the ten years before. I groan, but you don't hear it.

“She’s been good,” I say. “She’s out of town with Forty today.”

“And… you?”

“What about me?” I smile, looking down as you pause your scrubbing. You don’t look up at me as you spray tile cleaner down.

“How are you?”

“I’m good, I’ve just been helping you tidy the place up.”

I watch you smile at that.

“And I appreciate it,” You huff, grabbing a rag to wipe the suds. You look up at me then, and I watch as your eyes shy away the moment you notice me staring.

“I think I’m done with the cupboards.” I state.

“Right,” You acknowledge. “I’m just finishing up here and I think we can call it a day.”

By the time we’re done, two full garbage bags have been tossed in the communal bin outside. The kitchen’s done, clean, as pristine as any of LA’s cheapest apartments can get. I stretch my back as I check my phone. Already 4 o’clock.

“Hey, Will?” You ask as I crack my knuckles and make my way to the front door. “Do you have somewhere you need to be right now?” I turn to look at you. Your lips are tucked in, eyes curious.

“I don’t have to be anywhere in particular, no.” I answer, crouching to slide on my boots. “Why?”

“I was thinking of treating you to lunch.” You say, chewing on your lip as you tear your eyes away. “To thank you for helping out. Would you be okay with that?”

I’m surprised as I tie up my laces unsteadily. “Yeah, sure. I don’t think I’d mind that – Isn’t it already 4 pm?” You could almost make me blush.

“A late lunch, then. Calling it dinner just sounds like a date.” You say, laughing your comment off with a wave. I nod slowly, thinking. Just a treat… and I have nothing waiting for me at home.

“Sure, sounds fine to me.”

“Perfect, let me grab my purse.”

—

We’re seated in the far back of a dingy diner. The waitress sets down two glasses of water before leaving us alone with the menu. You drop your familiar jingling bag right by your side in the booth and lift the glass to your lips. Your hands set it down a moment later, my eyes continue to linger on them while you talk.

“So, how did you and Love meet?”

“Anavrin, can you believe it?” I say playfully.

“Really?” You respond with surprise as you lift your arm, drop your elbow on the table, and rest your chin on your palm. “How did that go?”

If I said I followed her around for a while, got a job where she worked, and she still made a move on me first, would you believe me? I think I’ll just skip to the good part.

“Okay, so… She picks up this peach, and–” Before I can finish, you put your hand out to stop me.

“Wait, let me guess…” You hold off for a few seconds and raise your brows. “She said it looked like a butt?”

“Actually, she asked me if it looked like a butt.” I reply snarkily and you roll your eyes.

“Same difference.” You say as you wave me off.

“Oh no…” I feign a ground-breaking realisation, my gestures playful as I can’t help but smile. “Don’t tell me I fell for an overly used pick-up line…”

“Ah, I really couldn’t tell you how often she used it, if at all,” You take a deep breath before continuing with a smile. “but I remember we had an ongoing joke like that – about peaches and butts.”

“I guess you’ve left an impact.”

“I guess so.” You look around, suddenly sheepish as you take a sip of your water, again. You change the subject. “Know of any good bookstores around here? I’ve been gone for so long that any of the places I can recall have been bought out and replaced.”

“Well, there’s Anavrin. Where I work. With books.” We both crack a smile again and you nearly laugh in my face. I raise my brows and slowly nod my head to really hammer in that I wasn’t kidding.

“Right. I’m not looking for vegan cookbooks or autobiographies.” Cute, you’re trying to be funny.

“Oh, come on!” I grip my chest and feigned a painful jab to my heart. “I’m sure I can get you the book you’re looking for. If it isn’t in stock, I can order some copies.”

“You’d do that for me?” You tilt your head in such a curious way and I feel myself getting warm under my shirt.

“Of course! So, what’re you looking for?”

“I – Nothing yet… I’ll let you know. I’m working on a project.”

“Ooh – If you don’t mind me asking, what’s this project for?”

“Hmm… mostly myself. I don’t have a job so I spend my hours reading and writing.”

“You can make a career out of writing.” I assure you.

“But then it wouldn’t be fun! The moment I have a deadline, I don’t want to work anymore.” You pout.

“I take it you have money set aside?”

“Yes – kind of. I had money set aside, but…” You look away, clicking your tongue as you think. Your lips part for a moment, as though you were ready to say something, but you hesitate. “Yeah. Just a bit.”

“I don’t mean to pry, and – and you can just tell me you don’t want to answer anything – were you close with your mom? Before everything, I mean.”

“No,” You laugh while lacking the joke. “She never liked me. I think she just never wanted kids. Maybe she felt threatened by having a daughter. And, actually, as a testament of her hatred, she left me with nothing but the overpriced apartment.”

“Is there anything I can do to help?” I frown.

“Oh, trust me when I say you’re already doing more than enough. I’ll be out of there sooner than later, and I won’t have to worry about payments weighing me down.”

You lift your arm and your hand falls to the single laminated menu between us. You look through it slowly. I watch you, and I feel pity.

“You said you like writing,” I begin, opting to change the subject.

“Correct.” You reply robotically before looking up at me.

“Have you ever thought about publishing any of your work?”

“Maybe one day. It’s never been a priority of mine, but I’ve thought about it before.”

“Do you have anything I could read so far? Might be able to give some pointers, advice… you name it.”

“Of course! But – but I’d prefer to read it over again beforehand. I have a strange process; it may not even be comprehensible in its current state.” You laugh and I can’t help but chuckle along.

“I’m sure it’s not that bad.”

“Oh ease up on it! I can see why Love likes you so much,” You say. “You’re very supportive.”

I smile at the comment, feeling content. You’re not so bad yourself.

“Know what you’re getting?” I suddenly ask, bringing both of our attention back to the menu. You bounce and look down.

“I was thinking about a club sandwich,” you say, “What about you?”

“I mean, I haven’t looked at the menu yet.” I laugh and realization hits you. The menu is spun to face me as your finger hits the page.

“This is what I’m getting – the club sandwich,” Your finger slides down to the selection below it. “They also have a BLT option,” and below that, “mac and cheese, corn dogs…” and as you continue to talk, my mind begins to blank. My eyes dawdle on the movement of your hands, following where they had been on the sheet as your words drift off into nothing, but your voice remains. I’m thinking about the softness of the way you’re speaking to me, serenely, and I’m entranced by the sound.

“Do you know what you’d like?” I’m snapped out of my daze, my thoughts. My eyes shoot up to look at you and you tilt your head with the question still fresh in the air. I blink.

I… like……

I look back down and point at something simple. Quite frankly, the options at local diners tend to be, for a lack of a better term, just as expected.

“Fries?” You ask and I blink a few more times. I wasn’t really thinking, actually.

“Yeah, I mean. What a great lunch, right?” You laugh and ask me again, but I reassure you a plate of fries is just fine.

When the waitress makes her rounds, we place our orders. She refills our waters and we meld back into simple conversation.

As we spend the next few hours talking, even when our food arrives. I watch you pick at your plate. You’re slow to eat because you talk so much. You’re opening up like never before, and I’m slipping into a familiar feeling I hadn’t expected. When you finish your fries, you ask. “Can I pick off your plate?” and I let you because you gave me half of your sandwich to try. I watch the way my fries slip past your lips and, when you swallow, I watch that too. I swallow too, too.

I need to fuck Love.

—

“Hey, Will,” you inquire on our walk back to the apartment. The chit chat was nice, even if the lunch was unappetizing. Fries alone don’t sate much. “Would you be able to stop by tomorrow? To help a bit more?”

“Well,” I laugh. “I work tomorrow,”

“Right,” You close your eyes and tuck your lip, nodding. “I just–”

“I can come over on my next day off, if you really need the extra set of hands.”

“That would be really helpful,” You sigh contently, shoulders dropping. “Thank you.”

“How does Tuesday sound? You think you’d be free then?”

“Oh, I’m free,” You assure me. “I don’t have much else to do in the city.”

Your phone rings – the sound like the chime of a bell – and you fish it out of your purse to answer it.

“It’s Love,” You tell me as you accept the call and put it to your ear. We stop our promenade and you turn away, no doubt to feel like you have a crumb of privacy.

“Hey, Lovey,” You sigh. I can practically hear the smile on your lips as you step around distractedly. I rub my nose and watch you. I can’t hear Love from this distance.

“Actually, I – I already ate,” You laugh, pushing your hair out of your face and behind your ear as you turn around. You’re watching your shoes as you languidly pace, suddenly unaware of the world moving around you as you listen to the call. I take hold of your forearm and pull you to the side when someone walks by. You’re a little surprised at first, but nod at me appreciatively. I can hear Love from here, beside you, tucked closer to the buildings and out of the way of passersby.

‘With Will?’ I hear Love say.

“Yeah, with Will. It was a, uh… a thank you for helping out. He didn’t have to, you know? So…”

‘See! He’s not so bad,’ When you glance up at me, I move to look around, observing the sidewalk across the street. I can’t help a smile from creeping up.

“You’re right,” You huff. “But, um… We’ll talk again later, okay? Will and I are still walking back to the apartment.”

’Sure thing, babe,’ I bite the inside of my cheek, but my smile doesn’t falter. ‘Lunch tomorrow?’

“Yeah, tomorrow. Hope things went well with Forty today,”

When you hang up, I turn my head to look at you. You look forward, defeated.

“Good?” I ask.

“Yeah, good.” You reply, already continuing our path back to the apartment. I follow while you lead ahead.

“I’m not so bad, eh?” I throw in, and you glance behind to roll your eyes at me. I laugh and catch up to you, nudging your shoulder. You huff and finally laugh along too.

"Not so bad at all," You shake your head and huff.

We part ways in front of the building, exchanging lazy waves as you hop up the steps.

"See you on Tuesday," I say.

I watch you the way I had that other night, clumsily twisting your key, pushing on the door too soon. When the door's unlocked and finally opens, you turn to look at me one last time, waving again.

"Tuesday!" You confirm, slipping through the crack.

I turn away, making my way back to my car.

[hamburgerhelpersotherhand]

Infatuation Rewritten - Chapter 1

Joe Goldberg x Reader (ft. Love Quinn)

Previous | Masterlist | Next

Summary: Love's longtime friend moves back to LA. Fortunately, Joe (Will) never had too much trouble adapting (Season 2).

Warnings: Alcohol consumption (we're all adults here), Joe actually loses his mind a little at the end.

Now for something nobody expected! The long-awaited rewrite for Infatuation... I have 40 pages of this, by the way. I'd like for *some* of them to see the light of day... and so I've told myself: If I wait for it to be perfect, It'll never be posted. I hope you all enjoy, and feel free to share your thoughts! xoxo Ona

My eyes roamed the list of names by the front door of the apartment complex. There were about four total, so finding yours was the easiest part. The hardest step came in the form of mustering up the courage to press the buzzer. But, was it really a trouble with courage? The more I thought, as my finger hovered over the button, the more I began to consider it to be uncertainty.

I pause and reach my other hand into my pocket. My fingers slide across the screen of your phone, and I remind myself why I'm here. Simply put, I’m here to give you your phone back. I found it on the passenger’s seat of my car and almost thought to tell Love… Instantly, a part of me knew she would’ve pried it from my grip to give to you herself – and I couldn’t pass up the opportunity for us to speak again, this time unmonitored by her perceptive gaze and sharp ears… and without the alcohol in your system.

Last night, you clung to Love as she touched you tenderly, playing the role of your dutiful sober saviour. She hosted a dinner and she invited her friends. One of them was you.

“A good friend,” She had called you. The last she’d spoken to you was ten years ago, and I guess I hadn’t realized good friends stay out of reach for a decade at a time. It didn’t matter how much time had split you two apart, though, because Love embraced you with a warm smile and open arms. There wasn’t any malice, no judgement either. She was just happy to have you back in her life. When you got too drunk to take public transportation, Love tried to coax you into staying the night. You wouldn’t budge, even with a slipping tongue, fluttering eyes, and a head too heavy to stay upright. So she compromised: you let her coddle you, sober you up just enough, and I drove you home. It wasn’t even that late, Love just couldn't stop pouring you wine after wine after wine. You seemed like you needed it, though. Tense as you were. Pent up little thing.

“What’s your relationship like with Love?” I asked, feeling rather bold with your inebriated self. The image of her hand resting on your thigh flashed in my mind. I laughed. “She hadn’t mentioned you until you’d moved back to LA. She practically can't shut up about you now.”

You shifted in your seat like a child. No position in my car seemed comfortable for you, and you had made it more than obvious.

“She’s a good friend.” You responded and looked out the window like it meant something. Love had said the same thing — I believed you both — but I felt as though you were withholding something else from the conversation. The annoying bell on your purse jingles as you tuck it closer to your side.

“You two seem close. Should I be concerned?” I then asked teasingly, laughing to fill the awkward tension of a silent car ride. I wanted to spark something in you, but you brushed it off as you curled your arms around your waist.

“I think I had too much to drink…” I glanced at you, and I was suddenly nervous. Your coat was askew, hanging off your shoulders. I knew you were drunk, but your direct announcement sounded to me as a warning.

“Tell me if you need to throw up, okay?” You slowly nodded before slotting your forehead against the cool car window. We remained like that until you got home, choosing to stumble your way for a block to feel a semblance of privacy – but I watched you walk up those steps. I knew your building, and you were still too fucked up to realize.

I pull your phone out of my pocket and look it over one more time. My thumb runs over the plastic case before turning it around and looking at myself in the black reflection.

Your phone is dead. Has been since I found it. None of my chargers fit into the port, unsurprisingly. It’s one of those phones where the keyboard slides out, for Pete's sake. Your phone is more than a few generations old. A brick. I chewed my fingers raw trying anything I could to get it started again – I wanted to pry, really. I’ll be honest with you here, I really wanted this glimpse into your personal affairs.

I wondered, exasperatedly, about what you were hiding behind this screen. Clutching it tighter into my palm, I lift my free hand and press the buzzer.

A few long moments after the sound, I hear a click.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Y/N. It’s Will –” I begin to say, ready to explain myself in the same manner I had rehearsed at home, eating breakfast, in the car, and on my way up the steps. However, you cut me off immediately.

“Do you have my phone?”

My heart skips a beat and I’m momentarily stunned. I blink a few times before speaking.

“Yeah, actually.” I replied. “I found it on the passenger seat this morning, I guess I didn't see it when I got home last night.”

“I’m going to buzz you in.” Perfect.

After hearing the buzzer, the door clicked. I made my way inside. The stairs were wooden and creaky, the walls showing obvious water damage, and the lights hummed obnoxiously. Obviously, none of this was of your doing. Your landlord just didn’t care.

Your door’s paint was chipping off, revealing the cracked wooden layer underneath, but the rusted numbers on your door somehow looked worse. I knocked.

I heard the shuffling of your feet from behind the door before it opened. When your head peeked out, you gave me a smile and extended your hand.

I momentarily look at it, thinking… Right. I drop your phone into your awaiting palm. I almost thought you wanted me to reach out as well. That would’ve been too good, right?

“May I use your bathroom?” I ask.

Your mouth opens momentarily, as you look away and off to the side. There’s nothing there, you’re simply thinking it through and disappearing into your head again.

“Sure.” You then reply, reluctantly scooting back and giving me my first glimpse into your apartment.

If only you knew how ecstatic I was to slip through the crack of your front door. My heart thumps excitedly, as I waste no time looking around. By the door sits a coat hanger with a few pairs of shoes around its feet.

“Should I take off my boots?” I ask.

“Yeah, actually. I’d appreciate it.”

I untie the laces and slip them off my feet. Then, just as I drop them by the coat hanger, you beckon me to follow.

Your apartment is a fair size, with one large space making up both the kitchen and the living room. Right of the front door, a short hallway leads us to a room. As you continue past the door, I slow myself and look to my left. Your hallway has a little louvred closet, and I can’t help but reach out and open it. There’s nothing exciting inside, only white bed sheets.

“The bathroom is over here.” I suddenly hear you say from within the bedroom. I close the closet and hurry along, hesitantly making my way into your room.

I examine the layout of your furniture: your bed is made, your dresser tucked away in the corner, your desk by the window, and your small bookcase right by its side. I take another look toward your window: It overlooks the front of the building, I think. I want to look around more, but I’ve already entered an uncomfortable silence through this simple observation… you’re bound to find it weird. Hell, you’re already finding it weird – my being here – if your reluctance to me using your bathroom is anything to go by.

“Thanks.” I tell you, nodding in your direction and scooting by to enter the bathroom. I peer over my shoulder, however, and take another peek into your bedroom before shutting the door.

In the bathroom, I made my way to the toilet and listened to your shuffling from the other side of the door. I lifted the seat without paying much attention, and stilled when I heard you leave the bedroom entirely. I didn’t really need to go to the bathroom, but I wasn’t lying when I said I needed to use it.

I waited a moment, lowered the toilet seat again, and didn’t bother flushing or washing my hands. The sound could set you off that I was finished, and I definitely wasn’t finished. I needed the opportunity to snoop just a tad bit more. I unlocked and creaked the bathroom door open, observing the quiet room with more attention than I had before.

Stepping out of the bathroom, I leave the door open. My head snaps in the direction of your bedroom door and I pleasantly find it shut from the rest of your apartment. You’re making this too easy. I make my way around quietly, being careful with my steps as I approach your nightstand with a familiar object glinting in the natural sunlight of the room: your phone, on its charger. When I press the button on its side, the logo appears as it powers on.

I take the time needed for the phone to boot up as an excuse to look about your room. The bookcase, which I had only glanced at before, takes shape infront of me. My hand drifts along the spines of the books… and I feel unsatisfied. You have a small selection of kitschy modern romance novels. My judging eyes shift to your dresser, the framed pictures sitting on top catching my attention. I don't recognize anyone, but a weird feeling washes over me. You’re not in any of these pictures. I feel a… disconnection… from the room. My eyes move elsewhere and I catch sight of a few unopened cardboard boxes against the wall near the bedroom door. They’re folded. Unused. I wonder briefly as I look back down to your phone. It’s open.

Unlocking it was easy, no password. You know, the good thing about an older cellphone model is how easy it is to just… get in. I flip your phone over and pop the back right off. I slide the chip out of my pocket and right into place. Once everything is back in its place, I unlock your phone and fully install the hardware. As much as I would like to start snooping about your phone now, I close it and set it back down on your nightstand. I make my way back into the bathroom, pulling my phone out all the while. I open the freshly installed app and bite at my lip as I see the device sync up. Done.

I flush the toilet, wash my hands, and make my way out of the bedroom. When I step back into your living room kitchen, you’re seated at the short island, your back to the small living room.

“Thanks for letting me use your bathroom,” I say, making my way back to the front door. You swivel the chair as I walk by and watch me duck for my boots.

“Thanks for bringing me my phone. I was almost going to head out to Anavrin–”

“Oh, I don’t work Saturdays. You would’ve missed me entirely.” I say all matter-of-factly, like an asshole. You shrink.

“Noted.”

As I loop the laces around, I look up at you. Your brows knit together and you avert your eyes from me. I watch you for another moment, smiling to myself. You’re nervous.

“What’re all the boxes for?” I ask, looking around the apartment. They’re a little sprawled out everywhere, but most of them are still folded up. I chew my cheek as I wonder – are you packing up to leave already? You just got here not even a week ago. Is that what’s gotten you so nervous? Cause I caught you? I bite my tongue and choose to rephrase my thoughts. “Still unpacking?”

“No, It’s… complicated.” You respond.

I nod my head and stand. Your eyes fleet to me for a second before drawing away. Is it me, Y/N? Am I making you nervous?

“Thank you again, for my phone.” You mumble, drifting off somewhere. I smile wide, and huff. You’re not a threat. A pest, likely. But not a threat.

“Yeah, no problem.”

I’m out the door not a moment later, spinning my keys while on the way to my car.

—

Back at my apartment, I notice the door’s unlocked.

I'm cautious as I walk through the threshold, peering ahead only to notice Love behind the counter.

“Love, I didn’t expect you to break into my apartment.” I tease, taking off my boots and shedding my jacket.

“I thought you’d be home,” she whines. “Besides, it’s not breaking in when you’ve got a key.”

I make my way into the kitchen, to her side, and slip my hands around her waist. She turns her head to look at me, a big smile on her face.

“Where were you?” She mumbles, still looking down at the counter.

“I went over to Y/N’s apartment,” I began, rolling the hem of her shirt between my fingers. “She forgot her phone in my car last night.” I kiss her shoulder.

“Mmh,” Love hums. “That was nice of you.”

I look over her shoulder, noticing the restaurant brochures infront of her.

“What were you doing here?”

“Looking for something to order. I don’t really want to cook again tonight.”

I lift my hands off her hips, placing them on either side of the counter. I press forward, and slide one of the menus into view.

“This one seems good.” I whisper, inconsiderate of what I’m pointing to. I’ve got one thing on my mind right now, and it isn’t the brochures.

Catching onto my carelessness, Love turns around and faces me. She tilts her head and observes my face for a moment before sliding her arms around my neck.

“How did it go?” Love suddenly inquires about us again.

“It went well,” I tell her, keeping it short. Still, she pries.

“Tell me more,”

“Well, she showed me to her bathroom,” I look around, as though I was recalling the few minutes I stood in your apartment. I’ll keep the snooping to myself. “Aaand, that’s about it.”

Love thins her lip. She’s pensive for a moment. She thinks, and I watch her grapple with her thoughts as she looks about the kitchen. She clears her throat before speaking.

“Will,” She starts, her hand taps my chest and I watch it circle around. “I wouldn’t be asking you this if it wasn’t important, but… can you do me a huge favour?”

My hands find Love’s face, cupping her cheeks, and pressing her forehead to mine. My eyes search hers, and I pout.

“Anything for you,” I tell her. Anything.

“Forty has this thing tomorrow… I didn’t think ahead, and my plans are jumbled. But, this is really important.”

For a second, my stomach drops. I try not to let the horror show on my face as I’m convinced she’s about to glue me to Forty’s side for a day. But she continues.

“Y/N needs help clearing the apartment,” My eyes narrow, and I nod as I continue to listen. “You see… Will. It isn’t really my place to say this, but I thought you should know her mom passed away a few months ago. She’s been trying to sort through the estate, and they finally gave her the green light to clear out her old apartment. I can’t be there to help.”

Love’s hands slide over mine, cupping my fingers as I cup her cheeks.

“Are you free sometime tomorrow? Would you be able to help her out?”

With this revelation, the framed pictures sitting on the dresser make sense.

“I mean… yeah. I can do that.”

Love lights up at my response, hopping up for an intimate kiss. My hands fall to her ass, but she pulls away too soon. Always too soon.

“Thank you, Will,” She grins, tapping my chest again. “I’ll let her know.”

As Love pulls out her phone, I watch her tap away at the screen.

“You know, that entire complex looks unlivable. The place might have a rodent problem, too.” I say as she hits send.

“I know! I told her she could stay with me,” Love leans her head against my chest with a frustrated huff, slipping her phone onto the counter.

“You both already spend so many afternoons together,” I begin, sliding her head up to look at me. My fingers brush her cheek, and my next words come out hushed. “If she was around any more, I’d never have you to myself.”

Her eyes flutter as my hands brush baby hairs out of her face. I hum, and lean in for another kiss.

“Will,” she starts, pressing her palm into my chest. She pushes me back, and I let her. “I’m not in the mood right now. Is that alright?”

I purse my lips… a little agitated, but I understand. I’m in the mood, but I understand. She doesn’t want to have sex, she wants to talk about you.

“Of course, Love,” I kiss her cheek. “Some other time.”

With a smile, she returns her attention to those stupid brochures. I agree to whatever she wants, whatever she’s in the mood for. I always do.

Once dinner’s sorted, we pair it with a movie on my tv. We cuddle, and it’s nice. During an intimate scene, a quiet one with rustling bedsheets, Love decides to speak.

“I’m glad you’re getting along well with Y/N.” She says with a hum, rubbing her face into my chest. I grunt when her hand squeezes my knee. “She appreciates it too, I know it. She doesn’t know many people in the city anymore.”

I tear my eyes away from the sex on tv to look Love in the eyes.

“Are you doing anything tomorrow?”

“Yeah, I have that thing with Forty. Someone seems a little forgetful tonight” I laugh and apologize, scolding myself. Of course… Tomorrow. I did forget. She turns her attention back to the movie. When I reluctantly return my own attention to the screen, I can’t help but scrutinise everything I see. Love seems pleased, watching the protagonist and her girlfriend lounge after what felt like the most drawn-out fucking I’d ever witnessed on tv. She’s probably thinking to herself: what a nice couple, happy, in love, and all tuckered out. But I feel differently. I see something I’m missing. We could be them, Love and I. But, instead of being wrapped in each other with more to do than to SAY, I think about the brick phone, I think about the lunch dates, I think about the selfishness of only reaching out when things became convenient, and I think about YOU. I think about the rust on your door, think about your dead mom, I think about how Love wants me to help you pack her things – like I’m some tool to be borrowed and Love’s the kind neighbour willing to lend – and I think about how Love touches you and I can’t help but wish I could crawl into your skin and rip you up from the inside.

The bell on your bag rings in my ears, jingling as you tap it over, and over again. Should I feel threatened by you? Because I do, even when everything about you proves to me you’re no threat at all. You’re meek, small, pathetic. Despite it all, you’ve stepped into my yard, trampled the very bushes I’ve trimmed and watered to perfection, and made yourself cozy against the love of my life. And, like a call to battle, the bell stirs something in me.

But you’re innocent, I cry in my head. You’re not Peach. You’re no evil mastermind, and stepping into someone else’s yard doesn’t mean much when you’re a helpless rabbit. Your mom is dead, you’re grieving. I think about you, in my car, curled in on yourself, skin exposed. Scared. I grit my teeth at the thought.

When Love departs, just after the movie ends, I spend some time catching up on your messages. That’s all I can really do, actually. With such an old model, your system doesn’t allow access to anything, anywhere, anytime. Just the text messages. I scroll to find your mention of me dropping by earlier.

‘Left my phone in Will’s car. He dropped it off.’

‘He’s the best <3’ Love responded.

About twenty minutes after that, Love let you know I’m replacing her tomorrow.

‘We can reschedule.’ You tried, but Love tells you the plans are already made. You can’t run from this. Neither can I.

I recline on my couch, huffing as I read as far as your messages go. I couldn’t get the older logs but anything you send from here on out, I have access to. When the late hours of the night finally catch up to me, I look out my window at the flickering street lights, and I head to bed.

[hamburgerhelpersotherhand]

Just binge read infatuation!!! It’s so good! I’m sad there aren’t more Joe Goldberg fics on here

I totally agree!! Although, in all fairness, I haven’t gone out of my way to get some Joe content in a while.

I think his style of narration makes writing for him a fun project, and more people should do it!

Anyway, I’m glad you liked Infatuation enough to binge it <3 Joe Loves You <3

[hamburgerhelpersotherhand]

HI! Can I be added to the taglist for Infatuation? I'm not sure if you are accepting taglist requests but you are I would love to be a part of it :) It's the best JoexReaderxLove series I've found and it's keeping me on my toes lol Hugs n Luv <3

I’m asked this very often, but I’ll be real with you all… I don’t know how taglists work!!! Even as a veteran Tumblr user… I’m pathetic.

But — Thank you for the kind words!!!! I really appreciate it!! Hugs and luv to you too, darling ❤️ xoxo